Devils and Angels
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
19
Views:
30,164
Reviews:
97
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
19
Views:
30,164
Reviews:
97
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
PART TWO: As I Walked By Myself
Synopsis: That horrific night is now three months behind him, and Harry will never be the same again. He knows not where his love has fled, and his anger has been replaced by immense sadness, and loneliness. The only one who seems to have realized this, is Arthur Weasley, who has offered shelter to the distraught young man.
********************************************************************
PART TWO
As I Walked By Myself
Voices reverberated in the depths of his dream like echoes bouncing about a nameless void in which he felt disembodied. It had been nearly three months, even though he didn’t know how many days had passed since that nightmare on the top of the tower; he had ceased caring about the passage of time long ago. He just existed from one day to the next in a clouded daze. There were days he was excessively angry, and sometimes days would pass without him uttering a single word. He dreaded the nights the most, for he would either have disjointed dreams where he would be searching in vain for something elusive, or he vividly relived that night. When he would awaken, he found nothing but twisted sheets, a cold bed that offered little comfort, and the rest of the night would be occupied with memories as he desperately wished it had never happened. All Harry knew at the moment was that he continued to suffer despite the Dreamless Draught he was given just before bed, and that he was lonlier than ever. He awoke with a start, which always happened when he saw Severus’ pale face wearing that odd expression before he apparated. He clutched the blanket close, and stared at the darkness about him. He was at the Burrow of all places.
Arthur Weasley had gently insisted Harry stay with them. He didn’t care if Snape had been the young man’s love interest for he held no prejudices at all in that regard. The man simply could not, despite what Harry had told him, believe Snape could have acted on his own impulses. This belief caused much friction in the family, which was worsened by the fact that Greyback had savagely mauled one of their own.
Ron tentatively began to speak with him, but it didn’t remove the hurt Harry felt, nor would their friendship ever return to the same easy-going manner it had been in the beginning. That hurt combined with the recent events had caused him in a very short time to become a bitter man, who instinctively began to hold others at arm’s length. He was alone regardless of the people around him, and his life would never be the same. Sirius often visited, and much to his own surprise, Harry silently allowed it. It dismayed Black to see the drastic changes in the young man. He had lost more weight than was feasible for his frame, and his pale, drawn countenance was almost too much for Sirius to bear as he would watch Harry sit wearing a dull expression on his face. It saddened him that he had treated his godson the way he did, and he truly regretted it for he now knew that it wasn’t merely the lust of experimentation. He realized Harry truly loved Severus, and finally understood no one could really control with just whom they fell in love with.
Harry sighed, and threw back the blankets. He dressed quietly and tiptoed down the stairs. He eased the door open, and walked out into the night. He left this way, because he didn’t want to be followed or talked out of it. He knew where he was going, and he knew where he wanted to be; he apparated with a soft pop to the boundaries of Hogwarts, and walked into the still dishevelled castle.
He went to the dungeons, and Snape’s old rooms. It was still incredible to him what happened, but he knew it had for he witnessed it. The young man entered without difficulty - Aurors had removed the password when they went through everything in the man’s chambers. He made his way through the office and into what was once Severus Snape’s private sanctuary. Harry sat on the rumpled bed. It remained the way Snape had left it the last time he slept there. He turned his head and stared at the pillow that still bore the hollow of where a head had lain.
He found to his astonishment that his rage had subsided when a sob forced its way out, and tears rolled profusely down his cheeks as he gently placed his hand in that indentation. Despite all that happened, and knowing Snape had cast the killing curse, he couldn’t stop loving him. He slowly lay down then curled onto his side, and clutched the pillow to his heart. Sobs wracked him throughout the rest of the night, and he fell into an emotionally drained and exhausted sleep shortly before dawn.
When it was discovered that Harry was missing from the Burrow, a mild form of panic set in among its occupants. Speculation abounded, as ideas as to his whereabouts were bounced back and forth.
“He’s gone after Snape,” Fred stated flatly.
“Death Eaters could have got him!” Ginny exclaimed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we would know if they got him,” Ron sounded sure of himself.
“Could he have gone looking for You-Know-Who?” George piped in.
“You don’t think he might have went somewhere to uh – hurt himself do you?” Ron’s face had gone white as he finally put to voice a thought that had plagued him for days.
Silence filled the kitchen, and other faces paled as well as they looked at one another.
Arthur scraped his chair back, and suddenly stood. “Ron, you’re coming with me. I think I know where he might be.”
“Oh Arthur, you don’t mean – you can’t be serious to think the poor boy would do such a thing?” Molly Weasley clutched her husband’s jacket, and looked to him for any answer other than the one she did not want to hear.
“I don’t know. I do know the boy – huh, sometimes I forget – the man, has suffered the pangs of hell, and he’s really had no one in his corner for the longest time. He’s hurting Molly, and we, his alleged friends haven’t been there when he first needed us. I’m ashamed I stood by and allowed it to happen.” He kissed her on the forehead, and added, “I’ll let you know what we find out.”
They arrived at Hogwarts. Each staring at the scars of battle the ancient castle still bore.
“Do you really think he’s here Dad?”
Without hesitation Arthur answered as he immediately set off across the grounds, “I’m sure of it.”
Entering and picking their way through rubble that had been piled into heaps, they could see that the cleanup and repairs had already begun. Reaching the entrance to the dungeons, they descended the stairs into the chill gloom.
Ron stopped short, “Why here?”
Not slowing his stride, Arthur Weasley said, “Because the dungeons is where Severus spent most of his life, and Hogwarts is where Harry was the happiest, at least I believe he was. It was like home for him, you know that – for the both of them really. Where else would he be?”
The portrait swung freely giving them admittance. The elder Weasley put a finger to his lips indicating for his son to remain quiet and together they proceeded through the interconnecting rooms until they found Harry curled upon the bed and still clutching the pillow. His dark hair was in more than its usually tousled state, his eyelids were puffy, and his face streaked with the dried salty trails tears had left behind.
Ron stared at his childhood friend, and finally it appeared he realized the enormity of the man’s sadness as it suddenly dawned upon him. His face grew red; his brown eyes large, then he whirled on his heel and fled to the outer office. His father followed him out and found him leaning against the wall.
Ron quickly swiped at the tears that betrayed him at last, “He’s really loves the old git, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, even now despite all that’s happened,” Arthur placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“He’s gonna make himself sick with this, you know?”
“And that’s where we come in, son. Harry is grieving for his loss, and it will take a long time for him to even begin to recover. He doesn’t have to walk through this journey by himself; he didn’t have to in the first place. You see Ron; all you need to do in life is not be afraid to have faith in the ones you care about. Do you understand now?”
“I think I do. It’s – just I – I mean it was a shock to find Harry liked guys, you know – that way. That was bad enough, but for him to want to be with Snape like that… it scared me. Dad I really didn’t mean it. Harry must hate me, and I don’t blame him.”
Harry awakened when he heard light footsteps, and hushed conversation. His head hurt, his nose was stuffed, and for some time he had been listening to them speak as he lay there.
“To tell the truth, I don’t believe Harry is capable of hate. He has emotions just like you and I, but he’s more like his Mum, I think. She’d get angry, and not speak to you for days, and then when she wasn’t upset any more she be there apologizing over and over, and driving you mad with it. That was when you knew there was no real hate behind her anger. She did Severus that way when she found out about him, and she never had the chance to speak to the man again because Harry's dad wouldn’t allow it. James got his way only because she loved him, and wanted him to be happy.”
“You never talked about them before.”
“I know son, but I want you to know that Harry is more tender hearted than you think – just like Lily was, and to a great extent believe it or not, so is Severus. Why do you think they both get angry when something happens? They’re just trying to protect themselves from being hurt.”
“But Snape was always angry, and bloody scary.”
“Exactly, and you have no idea what he went through when he was a boy to cause all that.”
“And this is why you think he’s innocent?”
“Well, to some extent none of us are completely innocent son, I really think the man was forced into it some way.” Arthur put his arm around his son’s shoulders and added, “Now, why don’t we go and tell your mother about Harry, and have us a fine breakfast? We’ll let him sleep now then come back and check on him later.”
Harry listened as they left and shut the entrance behind them with a soft snick. He rolled to his back, keeping his arms wrapped around the pillow, and said to himself, “Loving him scared me too, Ron. It scares me now that I still love him – and need him, in spite of what he’s done.”
He rose and reluctantly released the pillow. For someone as young as he was, he had never felt so old. He looked around the room picking up odds and ends to inspect them, hoping to find something he could take with him. Opening drawers he rummaged around and found an old tattered journal; its black leather binding worn shiny from years of use, and its corners quite dog-eared. He leafed through its yellowed pages glancing at the numerous potions listed within, and he could smell age mingled with various odours of potion ingredients. Regardless of being depressed, it reminded him of the Tom Riddle diary and his typical Gryffindor curiosity reared its head. Harry removed his wand to cast several spells hoping it would reveal hidden secrets. Failing to find any, he figured that was why it was left behind by the Aurors. He pocketed the journal anyway, and feeling just as empty as he did when he entered, he sadly left to return to the Burrow. At least there would be noise and sounds of life to fill his ears, even though he felt alone in the midst of a crowd.
Harry paused for only a moment when he entered the Burrow. All eyes turned to him showing visible signs of relief. Molly thrust a plate in his hand with the gentle admonishment of being too thin after he declined the invitation to sit at the table. With a quiet promise to eat, he ascended the narrow stairs to the privacy of his small room. Hedwig was not on her perch, and the young man shrugged his shoulders figuring she had been let out to hunt.
Setting the plate aside, he sat heavily on the side of the bed as he pulled the journal free of his jacket. Leaning back against the headboard to read, Harry soon realized the journal wasn’t merely a compilation of potions and their ingredients – this tattered book was much more revealing than the Aurors even dared to believe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My apologies for being away and not posting - it's been that time of year to deal with the mad rush of mid-terms, and other angsty problems. I shall resume with the next chapter this weekend.
UPDATE: I have revised the ending of this chapter. It just didn't look finished to me. Apologies for the delays in updating.
Potions Mistress
Voices reverberated in the depths of his dream like echoes bouncing about a nameless void in which he felt disembodied. It had been nearly three months, even though he didn’t know how many days had passed since that nightmare on the top of the tower; he had ceased caring about the passage of time long ago. He just existed from one day to the next in a clouded daze. There were days he was excessively angry, and sometimes days would pass without him uttering a single word. He dreaded the nights the most, for he would either have disjointed dreams where he would be searching in vain for something elusive, or he vividly relived that night. When he would awaken, he found nothing but twisted sheets, a cold bed that offered little comfort, and the rest of the night would be occupied with memories as he desperately wished it had never happened. All Harry knew at the moment was that he continued to suffer despite the Dreamless Draught he was given just before bed, and that he was lonlier than ever. He awoke with a start, which always happened when he saw Severus’ pale face wearing that odd expression before he apparated. He clutched the blanket close, and stared at the darkness about him. He was at the Burrow of all places.
Arthur Weasley had gently insisted Harry stay with them. He didn’t care if Snape had been the young man’s love interest for he held no prejudices at all in that regard. The man simply could not, despite what Harry had told him, believe Snape could have acted on his own impulses. This belief caused much friction in the family, which was worsened by the fact that Greyback had savagely mauled one of their own.
Ron tentatively began to speak with him, but it didn’t remove the hurt Harry felt, nor would their friendship ever return to the same easy-going manner it had been in the beginning. That hurt combined with the recent events had caused him in a very short time to become a bitter man, who instinctively began to hold others at arm’s length. He was alone regardless of the people around him, and his life would never be the same. Sirius often visited, and much to his own surprise, Harry silently allowed it. It dismayed Black to see the drastic changes in the young man. He had lost more weight than was feasible for his frame, and his pale, drawn countenance was almost too much for Sirius to bear as he would watch Harry sit wearing a dull expression on his face. It saddened him that he had treated his godson the way he did, and he truly regretted it for he now knew that it wasn’t merely the lust of experimentation. He realized Harry truly loved Severus, and finally understood no one could really control with just whom they fell in love with.
Harry sighed, and threw back the blankets. He dressed quietly and tiptoed down the stairs. He eased the door open, and walked out into the night. He left this way, because he didn’t want to be followed or talked out of it. He knew where he was going, and he knew where he wanted to be; he apparated with a soft pop to the boundaries of Hogwarts, and walked into the still dishevelled castle.
He went to the dungeons, and Snape’s old rooms. It was still incredible to him what happened, but he knew it had for he witnessed it. The young man entered without difficulty - Aurors had removed the password when they went through everything in the man’s chambers. He made his way through the office and into what was once Severus Snape’s private sanctuary. Harry sat on the rumpled bed. It remained the way Snape had left it the last time he slept there. He turned his head and stared at the pillow that still bore the hollow of where a head had lain.
He found to his astonishment that his rage had subsided when a sob forced its way out, and tears rolled profusely down his cheeks as he gently placed his hand in that indentation. Despite all that happened, and knowing Snape had cast the killing curse, he couldn’t stop loving him. He slowly lay down then curled onto his side, and clutched the pillow to his heart. Sobs wracked him throughout the rest of the night, and he fell into an emotionally drained and exhausted sleep shortly before dawn.
When it was discovered that Harry was missing from the Burrow, a mild form of panic set in among its occupants. Speculation abounded, as ideas as to his whereabouts were bounced back and forth.
“He’s gone after Snape,” Fred stated flatly.
“Death Eaters could have got him!” Ginny exclaimed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we would know if they got him,” Ron sounded sure of himself.
“Could he have gone looking for You-Know-Who?” George piped in.
“You don’t think he might have went somewhere to uh – hurt himself do you?” Ron’s face had gone white as he finally put to voice a thought that had plagued him for days.
Silence filled the kitchen, and other faces paled as well as they looked at one another.
Arthur scraped his chair back, and suddenly stood. “Ron, you’re coming with me. I think I know where he might be.”
“Oh Arthur, you don’t mean – you can’t be serious to think the poor boy would do such a thing?” Molly Weasley clutched her husband’s jacket, and looked to him for any answer other than the one she did not want to hear.
“I don’t know. I do know the boy – huh, sometimes I forget – the man, has suffered the pangs of hell, and he’s really had no one in his corner for the longest time. He’s hurting Molly, and we, his alleged friends haven’t been there when he first needed us. I’m ashamed I stood by and allowed it to happen.” He kissed her on the forehead, and added, “I’ll let you know what we find out.”
They arrived at Hogwarts. Each staring at the scars of battle the ancient castle still bore.
“Do you really think he’s here Dad?”
Without hesitation Arthur answered as he immediately set off across the grounds, “I’m sure of it.”
Entering and picking their way through rubble that had been piled into heaps, they could see that the cleanup and repairs had already begun. Reaching the entrance to the dungeons, they descended the stairs into the chill gloom.
Ron stopped short, “Why here?”
Not slowing his stride, Arthur Weasley said, “Because the dungeons is where Severus spent most of his life, and Hogwarts is where Harry was the happiest, at least I believe he was. It was like home for him, you know that – for the both of them really. Where else would he be?”
The portrait swung freely giving them admittance. The elder Weasley put a finger to his lips indicating for his son to remain quiet and together they proceeded through the interconnecting rooms until they found Harry curled upon the bed and still clutching the pillow. His dark hair was in more than its usually tousled state, his eyelids were puffy, and his face streaked with the dried salty trails tears had left behind.
Ron stared at his childhood friend, and finally it appeared he realized the enormity of the man’s sadness as it suddenly dawned upon him. His face grew red; his brown eyes large, then he whirled on his heel and fled to the outer office. His father followed him out and found him leaning against the wall.
Ron quickly swiped at the tears that betrayed him at last, “He’s really loves the old git, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, even now despite all that’s happened,” Arthur placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“He’s gonna make himself sick with this, you know?”
“And that’s where we come in, son. Harry is grieving for his loss, and it will take a long time for him to even begin to recover. He doesn’t have to walk through this journey by himself; he didn’t have to in the first place. You see Ron; all you need to do in life is not be afraid to have faith in the ones you care about. Do you understand now?”
“I think I do. It’s – just I – I mean it was a shock to find Harry liked guys, you know – that way. That was bad enough, but for him to want to be with Snape like that… it scared me. Dad I really didn’t mean it. Harry must hate me, and I don’t blame him.”
Harry awakened when he heard light footsteps, and hushed conversation. His head hurt, his nose was stuffed, and for some time he had been listening to them speak as he lay there.
“To tell the truth, I don’t believe Harry is capable of hate. He has emotions just like you and I, but he’s more like his Mum, I think. She’d get angry, and not speak to you for days, and then when she wasn’t upset any more she be there apologizing over and over, and driving you mad with it. That was when you knew there was no real hate behind her anger. She did Severus that way when she found out about him, and she never had the chance to speak to the man again because Harry's dad wouldn’t allow it. James got his way only because she loved him, and wanted him to be happy.”
“You never talked about them before.”
“I know son, but I want you to know that Harry is more tender hearted than you think – just like Lily was, and to a great extent believe it or not, so is Severus. Why do you think they both get angry when something happens? They’re just trying to protect themselves from being hurt.”
“But Snape was always angry, and bloody scary.”
“Exactly, and you have no idea what he went through when he was a boy to cause all that.”
“And this is why you think he’s innocent?”
“Well, to some extent none of us are completely innocent son, I really think the man was forced into it some way.” Arthur put his arm around his son’s shoulders and added, “Now, why don’t we go and tell your mother about Harry, and have us a fine breakfast? We’ll let him sleep now then come back and check on him later.”
Harry listened as they left and shut the entrance behind them with a soft snick. He rolled to his back, keeping his arms wrapped around the pillow, and said to himself, “Loving him scared me too, Ron. It scares me now that I still love him – and need him, in spite of what he’s done.”
He rose and reluctantly released the pillow. For someone as young as he was, he had never felt so old. He looked around the room picking up odds and ends to inspect them, hoping to find something he could take with him. Opening drawers he rummaged around and found an old tattered journal; its black leather binding worn shiny from years of use, and its corners quite dog-eared. He leafed through its yellowed pages glancing at the numerous potions listed within, and he could smell age mingled with various odours of potion ingredients. Regardless of being depressed, it reminded him of the Tom Riddle diary and his typical Gryffindor curiosity reared its head. Harry removed his wand to cast several spells hoping it would reveal hidden secrets. Failing to find any, he figured that was why it was left behind by the Aurors. He pocketed the journal anyway, and feeling just as empty as he did when he entered, he sadly left to return to the Burrow. At least there would be noise and sounds of life to fill his ears, even though he felt alone in the midst of a crowd.
Harry paused for only a moment when he entered the Burrow. All eyes turned to him showing visible signs of relief. Molly thrust a plate in his hand with the gentle admonishment of being too thin after he declined the invitation to sit at the table. With a quiet promise to eat, he ascended the narrow stairs to the privacy of his small room. Hedwig was not on her perch, and the young man shrugged his shoulders figuring she had been let out to hunt.
Setting the plate aside, he sat heavily on the side of the bed as he pulled the journal free of his jacket. Leaning back against the headboard to read, Harry soon realized the journal wasn’t merely a compilation of potions and their ingredients – this tattered book was much more revealing than the Aurors even dared to believe.
Potions Mistress