Secrets

Contrary to his initial beliefs, Snape found that it was nearly impossible to ease Harry off of meth without the use of another drug. The problem was, though, that getting him off meth resulted in increased use of heroin. Meanwhile, the battered boy was still expected to attend classes. Luckily, prior to his relapse, Harry’s grades had been exemplary, so he could afford to be somewhat preoccupied. This was good, because Harry spent a good deal of his time curled up in a ball on the living room rug. He hadn’t tried to beg Snape for anything; he knew it wouldn’t work. Indeed, it seemed like his spirit was broken for some reason. Snape almost wanted him to do something, just to see some emotion in him.

“I was thinking,” began Snape, “that tomorrow we’d begin weaning you off of the rest of the drugs.” He looked at Harry, hoping for some response. Not surprisingly, Harry seemed to find the ceiling quite interesting. “You can, of course, continue to smoke cigarettes if you feel the need,” continued Snape, “although eventually that too will have to end.” Still no response from the boy. Sighing, he moved to the floor and scooped the boy into his arms.

“Why do you shut yourself away from me, Harry,” he asked, stroking the boy’s back. “Why are you silent all of a sudden?”

If Snape could read Harry’s thoughts, he might have figured out why. Harry was afraid, afraid of being thrown out again, afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to feel. He found it was easier to retreat into himself, and just allow his body to exist. Sure, the rest of the world saw him as a shell of his former self, but he was protected. If he didn’t do anything, then no one could say that he’d done something wrong. Still, he wanted to respond to Severus, wanted to trust him again. He wanted to feel worthy, but it seemed so impossible.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Severus separated himself from Harry and went to answer it. Before he could properly react, Ron and Hermione burst into the room and made a beeline for Harry. Within seconds, Hermione had wrapped her arms around Harry.

“We’ve missed you, Harry,” she said softly. “When will you come back to us?” When forlorn green eyes looked up to her, Severus felt a pang of jealousy. He brushed it away, telling himself that it didn’t matter who got Harry to snap out of it, so long as someone broke through his barrier. “I know it’s hard,” she continued, “but you can trust us. We love you, and nothing has been the same since you ran off.”

“What if it’s wrong,” asked Harry suddenly. “What if everything I do is wrong?”

“Then we’ll work through it,” she said. “Harry, what you are doing isn’t right. Hiding away from people isn’t healthy, and your friends miss you. I know,” she added, smoothing his hair out of his face, “that Severus misses you. He doesn’t care about your mistakes, he just wants his Harry back.”

“But what if,” he started, only to be cut off by Hermione.

“No what ifs, Harry. We’re your friends. There’s nothing you could do to drive us away,” she said.

“We know,” interjected Ron, “you’ve tried.”

“Hush, Ron,” chided Hermione. “Harry, we love you as you are, flaws and all. Please come back to us. Let Severus help you.” When Harry nodded slowly, Severus sighed in relief. Somehow, Hermione had fixed him. “Well, not fixed him,” he reminded himself, “the boy is still addicted to cocaine and probably heroin, but maybe he’ll be receptive to help now.”

“We’re going to go do homework now, Harry,” said Hermione softly. “Come join us when you’re ready to.” She kissed his head and rose to her feet. She nodded at Severus and then she and Ron exited the room. It was then that it happened.

Severus had just closed the door when he felt arms wrapped around him. He turned around to see Harry frantically trying to bury himself in his arms and chest. Snape could hardly contain his joy at this. It had been quite a while since Harry had hugged him. He stroked the boy’s hair and back and felt the boy’s body begin to shake, as for the first time, Harry allowed himself to cry.

“I want to be better,” he whimpered. “I want to be with my friends, want to be with you, I just…” he trailed off as his voice cracked.

“I know Harry, I know,” whispered Severus, “and we’re going to get you better.”
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“It’s so fucking hard,” yelled the boy who lived, in a rare display of temper. “For the love of god, why can’t I just use what I want to use when I want to use it?” He glared at his mate, daring him to say anything, knowing that Severus would fight fire with fire. Angrily, he began to pace back and forth.

“You know, if you don’t stop pacing, I’m going to have to replace the bloody carpet,” quipped Snape.

“Fuck you, and fuck your carpet,” hollered Harry.

“So eloquent today,” muttered Snape.

“I could just leave, you know,” threatened Harry. “I could just up and disappear, and you’d never find me, and I could do all the things I wanted to.”

“Yes, I suppose you could,” replied Snape calmly. “But obviously, you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Then make it fucking go away,” howled the boy. “I just can’t do it without it.”

“You’re starting to sound like Lupin, with all the howling. I may have to brew you up some wolfsbane potion, just to be safe.” Snape continued to sit on the sofa, sipping his tea. He knew that eventually, Harry would stop ranting and would instead curl up beside him and whimper until the worst of this particular craving past. Until then, though, he had to put up with Harry’s mood swings and rants. Poppy was thinking about acquiring some muggle medicines to help him through this time. She said that his mood swings were dangerous, and what’s more, he was probably suffering from some sort of chemical imbalance. Snape didn’t doubt it. Harry cycled rapidly from elatedly happy to dangerously morose and apathetic.

“I don’t see why I need to quit anyway,” he continued. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world. I mean, if I can find happiness through something, then how can it be so bad? You don’t see Ron and Hermione trying to take you away from me, do you?” His green eyes bored holes in Snape’s skull, daring the man to answer.

“Well, if you’d consider for a moment, the difference between ingesting poison on a regular basis and a consensual, loving relationship, you might gain some insight,” commented Snape wryly. He looked at the carpet, noticing that Harry really was wearing a hole in it from his regular pacing. The boy never slept anymore; he couldn’t. He hadn’t learned how to cope with the thoughts on his own, and Snape had learned the hard way that the boy would become addicted to any sleep aid currently available in the world. As such, Harry hadn’t slept in about two weeks. Remarkably, the boy still maintained his high grades. Snape knew it was because he spent all night studying to keep his mind off things.

“You don’t even let me smoke inside. How on earth is that supposed to be supportive,” muttered Harry.

“Well forgive me if I don’t want my quarters to smell of cigarette smoke for the rest of my tenure here.” He could see that Harry’s patience was wearing thin, and he knew that soon the boy would collapse on the sofa.

“It’s just so hard to remember,” he said sadly. It hurt Snape, to hear how haunted Harry was. \"I just want to forget sometimes.” With that, he flopped down on the sofa and leaned into Snape.

“What you need, Harry, is a hobby. Whatever happened to that blasted guitar you used to play,” asked Severus.

“Pawned it,” said the boy softly.

“Well that was stupid of you,” replied Snape. Mentally, he made a note to track down a guitar for Harry.

“Right, insult my intelligence why don’t you,” snapped Harry.

“I find that leaving that to your professors is insult enough,” said Snape in a barely audible voice.

“What’d you say,” asked Harry defensively.

“Nothing, why don’t we play chess or something?” With that, the pair began to play, Harry scowling at the pieces when they tried to engage him in conversation.