Afraid to Live, Afraid to Die
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
16,528
Reviews:
33
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
16,528
Reviews:
33
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
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.
Chapter Four: Words Are Empty
**Please do not comment on how I write. It's simple. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. If there are mistakes however, you are more than welcome to point those out. This is Harry/Snape and will get dirty at some point, so please be patient.**
Italics = Harry's writing
CHAPTER FOUR: WORDS ARE EMPTY
It’s my mistake
There’s no use in crying
It’s time to learn
If You Ever ~ The Rasmus
He’d lost so many people he cared about, friends that shouldn’t have been snuffed out like a candle. The depressed boy sat in front of the fireplace in the Hogwarts kitchen, an empty bottle of Firewhiskey dangled from his hand. Refusing to leave the kitchen, the house elves had to bring things for him, which they were all too happy to oblige. Kreacher, however, was the one who made him get up and take care of himself, the boy-who-lived almost wished it was Dobby, but that thought led to more dark places.
Almost two years had passed since the horrible day and the nearly broken man had not uttered a single word since then. It hurt Harry to meet Mr. Weasley’s eyes, after all the man had lost four children and his wife, the guilt was too deep within their hearts. It was surprising to others, the person he missed the most. After all, up until the end, he had been an enemy, the boy had blamed the death of the headmaster and a series of others events on him.
A sound behind him startled Harry out of his dazed and drunken state, and he jumped out of his seat. The bottle of Firewhiskey clattered to the floor as his hand went to hover over the pocket where he kept his wand. Thankfully it was only Hermione, with a giant bag in one hand and a book in the other. The bushy-haired girl often sat with him, both longing for company, yet neither wanting to speak. Giving her a half-hearted smile, he moved forward to help by taking the bag. The book she held was the one he had found in the library a month and a half ago. As she sat down, Harry noticed that the gourd was also in her hand, hidden by the book. Hermione had not let go of it upon returning from seeing the memory, as if afraid to lose the thing Ron had sacrificed his life for. Giving her a look, he raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that, I know he’s gone, but if things go right then it won’t matter,” Hermione chastised like he was the one doing it instead of her.
Shaking his head, Harry sat back down in the worn leather chair, Hermione sitting next to him. She began leafing through the book, while he picked up another bottle of alcohol. Harry wasn’t sure how long his mismatched eyes stared into the fire, or even what brought him out of it, but he first noticed that he had almost finished off the bottle, and then that Hermione was staring at him. Looking over at her, Harry saw the determined look in her eyes. The gourd that she held was glowing in iridescent colors, the potion that was in it was finally complete.
“I guess it’s time,” Hermione said, quietly.
Harry watched her, wishing that he’d see some sign of hope on her face, and he was not disappointed. They sat there in silence for several more minutes, eyes not leaving the gourd. Hermione finally shifted, breaking the spell.
“You should go,” Hermione said.
Harry shook his head, then motioned at her.
“I’m not strong enough to face them again. Besides, you’re the one Voldemort really wants,” Hermione said, pressing it into his hand.
“Promise you’ll go into hiding, just in case this doesn’t work. After all, the book says you can’t pick the time or place to return to,” Harry’s eyes searched hers.
Hermione nodded and gave him a small smile, when he took the gourd. She put the book into the bag resting between them, and then shrunk it. Harry took that as well and left the kitchen, down into the dungeons where there was more room, and less by-standers. Using his wand, Harry wrote the spell in the air, made possible by a special ingredient.
“Incido universus aperio mysteria chacc
Exhibeo denou ego articulus pridem
Concieo duae creo singulare pectoris coagmentum corpus
Obsecutus hic dicti subvectonis substantia amplius pacalis spati.”* Harry opened the gourd and a downed the potion.
Behind him a swirl of colors erupted and the last thing he saw was Hermione’s hopeful face before he blacked out.
_________________________________________________________________________
When he awoke, it was to a bright light directed into his eyes and a pounding headache. The light left, and other senses came into play, he became aware of talking and something vile tasting being shoved down his throat. Struggling to open his eyes, the first person his eyes locked onto was none other than the greasy potions master he had not seen for two years. Instinctively reaching out to him, Harry’s fist caught in the black fabric Snape was famous for. Snape was obviously not paying attention to the boy, as his back was turned, so when he felt the slight tug, Snape’s first reaction was to draw his wand and point it at the offending person, only to find himself staring down his wand into all too-familiar green eyes. Surprised by the lighter one, yet somewhat relieved that the boy was awake, Snape tried hard to hide the emotions accidentally showing on his face.
“Potter, stop clutching my robes and tell us how you got here. You’re supposed to be at the Muggle house until tomorrow. Were they the ones who hurt you?” Snape demanded.
When the boy only smiled, Snape’s anger and glare deepened, but those were gone when the boy suddenly sat up and hugged him tightly. That caught any attention that may have been previously pre-occupied by arguing. The Order of the Phoenix stood around, some gaping at the boy in disbelief. That was, until Sirius snorted. Snape turned his glare at the man, once again cold.
“You think this is funny, Black?” Snape barked.
“That potion must have rattled his brain to make him hug you like that.” The sound of the new voice seemed to draw Harry out of his dazed, yet happy, moment. Flinging himself at his godfather, Harry allowed himself to cry for the first time in two years.
Sirius was obviously at a slight loss as how to comfort him, and was grateful when Remus moved closer, at which Harry clutched tightly to the werewolf, who patted his back, and smoothed his hair. When Mrs. Weasley came into the room, carrying a bowl of soup, Harry pulled himself from Remus and desperately clung to her. The motion caused her to drop the bowl, and she was stunned for a moment before wrapping him in a motherly embrace. Snape wasn’t one to be ignored for long, so when Harry was finally seated back on the couch, he struck.
Roughly grabbing the boy’s chin, Snape turned it to see the rather long scar. It started at the jaw line and continued up into his thick black hair. Using his free hand, Snape followed the trail to where it ended at the back of his head. The boy’s entire left side of his face had nearly been removed.
“Did the Muggles hurt you?” Snape repeated his question.
Slowly, Harry shook his head, followed by pointing to the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Audible gasps sounded throughout the room, while Snape narrowed his dark eyes dangerously.
“I know for a fact that the Dark Lord did not come near you this summer,” Snape retorted.
Harry shook his head again and his eyes landed on the bag Hermione had given him, grabbing it, he opened the bag, pulling out the book, handing it to Snape, who promptly flipped through it, a letter falling out. After retrieving it Snape noticed Granger’s hand-writing and opened it, reading it silently:
“Dear Professor Snape,
It seems strange addressing this to you, since you haven’t been among the living for two years. Yet I must tell you to prevent this horrible ending. It has been two years since the war, and the end of 7th year. Surprisingly, we lost the war and experienced horrible losses. I will not list them, but you were among the count. The war still resumes and we continue to endure pain, there is not much time left until the truce is over. When it happens, I know the last of us will fall. Harry still suffers the most: night terrors, and signs of having his mind touched by Voldemort. Harry either refuses to speak or truly cannot anymore, I am not sure which. I do know that we have run low on supplies, for us to even think about healing him, and trips to St. Mungo’s is forbidden to us. Voldemort has put a lot of restrictions on both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, he is killing us, slowly. Give us all a second change to save what can be saved. I know you are the best one to help him for I believe that if he is not speaking on purpose, it was your death that broke him.
There are some memories that you shared with him in your dying moments, of which he never shared, but often spent time watching them. I’m afraid that you must watch him at nightfall for he tends to search for happiness in the bottom of the bottle. If you do not believe all of this, then I have included a copy of the Daily Prophet from today. Also, please make sure that the other letters make it to the appropriate people.
Please watch over him.
Sincerely, Hermione Granger.”
Folding the letter, he tucked it and the others into his robe, looking at the Prophet. Sure enough it was dated four years in the future and there was a picture of ‘Minister Voldemort’ on the front page. Kneeling in front of Harry, Snape inspected him.
“Time travel from four years in the future. Well, you certainly don’t look 19, or even 15 for that matter. Perhaps 17 at the youngest, it seems you merged with your younger self. While your body became younger you kept some of the features from your older self,” Snape paused. “Well, do you have a plan?” All the while, he inspected Harry’s neck with his fingers.
Harry gave Snape a pointed look, which reminded the older man he could not speak, and Harry couldn’t use his normal way of communicating while underage. Conjuring a parchment, quill and ink well, Snape set them on the coffee table in front of Harry. Using them quickly, he scrawled on the parchment, handing it to Snape when he was done.
“I suppose the first thing to do should be getting the Prophecy before Voldemort can try. Then I have a task that Dumbledore didn’t give me until the end of my 6th year. I know where they all are, so it should be easy, then we get Voldemort before he takes over the Ministry and starts killing Muggle-born.”
One of the dark eyebrows rose at the mention of the Prophecy, but Snape did not comment until he was done reading.
“So you know about the Prophecy?” The taller man asked, handing him the parchment back.
Harry nodded before scribbling on the paper again. “Yes, I also know what it says, but it’s not important. We just have to stop Voldemort from getting it.”
Snape nodded. “I agree. Now what about this task the headmaster told you of.”
Harry got up and walked over to the desk, pointing to the one locked drawer. Mad-Eye’s magical eye seemed to assess the situation before he pointed his wand and it popped open. Reaching inside, Harry pulled out a gold locket and quickly putting it on the desk. As it made his sorrow almost overwhelm him. Harry held up one finger followed by seven.
“One of seven?” Remus asked.
Harry nodded, picking up his bag and dropped the locket in.
“What are they exactly?” Sirius asked.
Harry pointed to his scar, indicating Voldemort, then towards his heart, making a ripping motion.
“His heart ripped apart?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Shaking his head, Harry looked towards the wolf in the room. He made the Muggle symbol in Charades for synonym and then tapped the bottom of his shoe.
“A synonym for bottom of the shoe. Foot? Heel? Oh! Soul!” Remus guessed, while Harry shook his head, and waved his arms when the guesses were wrong, until finally getting it right.
“You’re talking about a Horcrux?” Snape asked and when Harry held up seven fingers, he spoke again, “Seven of them? That’s impossible.”
“You know about Horcruxes?” Mad-Eye asked.
“Very little, just that it is hard to make one of them, much less seven. If you put a part of your soul into one, until that item is destroyed there is always a way to come back from being dead,” Snape sighed and sat down on the previously occupied couch. “So how many do we have? What are the other ones?”
“We have three, the diary from my third year is destroyed, the locket, and myself. The others are Helga Hufflepuff’s cup in Bellatrix’s vault, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem in Hogwarts, the Salazar Slytherin’s ring in the Riddle house and his snake Nagini.”
“Well Mr. Potter, it seems like you have a lot of work ahead of you. I suggest you enlist the help of your friends for the Horcruxes. We’ll come up with a plan to get the Prophecy and let you know,” Snape said standing, fully intending to leave.
He was stopped by Harry’s arms around his waist.
“Mr. Potter if you do not remove yourself at once I will be forced to bring you to Madam Pomfrey, where she will detain you for days.”
Harry smiled, releasing his professor to allow him to leave, but he merely moved away to the other side of the room, away from the clingy student. Sirius stood next to Harry, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, while Remus was smiling down at him, ignoring Sirius’ glare at Snape’s back.
“Come Harry, I’ll explain to your friends so that you won’t have to write it all down again,” Remus said, and together they left the room, sweeping by Snape, who still looked slightly shocked.
Finally, after collecting his dignity, Snape let his face become blank and his black cloak billowed out behind him as he passed them in the hallway.
*Cut open the universe to reveal the mysteries of boundless empty space
Allow a second time, take away my second self to moments long ago
Bring together two, make a single soul in a joint body
Obey this command, transport essence to a more peaceful period
_____________
Preview of Chapter Five: Something Sacred
When they saw him, they fell quiet, and Harry knew that they had been discussing him. The boy sat down at the table, slumping his head onto his folded arms, resting on the wood.
“Can I get you something, Harry dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
Bitter laughter floated through his head. ‘Yeah, a stiff drink or two,’ He thought wryly. Without lifting his head, Harry shook it, indicating that there wasn’t anything he could get from them. It was only because of his left eye, that saw magic auras even when they were closed, that he noticed them leaving. Abandoning him to his sinister thoughts.
Italics = Harry's writing
CHAPTER FOUR: WORDS ARE EMPTY
It’s my mistake
There’s no use in crying
It’s time to learn
If You Ever ~ The Rasmus
He’d lost so many people he cared about, friends that shouldn’t have been snuffed out like a candle. The depressed boy sat in front of the fireplace in the Hogwarts kitchen, an empty bottle of Firewhiskey dangled from his hand. Refusing to leave the kitchen, the house elves had to bring things for him, which they were all too happy to oblige. Kreacher, however, was the one who made him get up and take care of himself, the boy-who-lived almost wished it was Dobby, but that thought led to more dark places.
Almost two years had passed since the horrible day and the nearly broken man had not uttered a single word since then. It hurt Harry to meet Mr. Weasley’s eyes, after all the man had lost four children and his wife, the guilt was too deep within their hearts. It was surprising to others, the person he missed the most. After all, up until the end, he had been an enemy, the boy had blamed the death of the headmaster and a series of others events on him.
A sound behind him startled Harry out of his dazed and drunken state, and he jumped out of his seat. The bottle of Firewhiskey clattered to the floor as his hand went to hover over the pocket where he kept his wand. Thankfully it was only Hermione, with a giant bag in one hand and a book in the other. The bushy-haired girl often sat with him, both longing for company, yet neither wanting to speak. Giving her a half-hearted smile, he moved forward to help by taking the bag. The book she held was the one he had found in the library a month and a half ago. As she sat down, Harry noticed that the gourd was also in her hand, hidden by the book. Hermione had not let go of it upon returning from seeing the memory, as if afraid to lose the thing Ron had sacrificed his life for. Giving her a look, he raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that, I know he’s gone, but if things go right then it won’t matter,” Hermione chastised like he was the one doing it instead of her.
Shaking his head, Harry sat back down in the worn leather chair, Hermione sitting next to him. She began leafing through the book, while he picked up another bottle of alcohol. Harry wasn’t sure how long his mismatched eyes stared into the fire, or even what brought him out of it, but he first noticed that he had almost finished off the bottle, and then that Hermione was staring at him. Looking over at her, Harry saw the determined look in her eyes. The gourd that she held was glowing in iridescent colors, the potion that was in it was finally complete.
“I guess it’s time,” Hermione said, quietly.
Harry watched her, wishing that he’d see some sign of hope on her face, and he was not disappointed. They sat there in silence for several more minutes, eyes not leaving the gourd. Hermione finally shifted, breaking the spell.
“You should go,” Hermione said.
Harry shook his head, then motioned at her.
“I’m not strong enough to face them again. Besides, you’re the one Voldemort really wants,” Hermione said, pressing it into his hand.
“Promise you’ll go into hiding, just in case this doesn’t work. After all, the book says you can’t pick the time or place to return to,” Harry’s eyes searched hers.
Hermione nodded and gave him a small smile, when he took the gourd. She put the book into the bag resting between them, and then shrunk it. Harry took that as well and left the kitchen, down into the dungeons where there was more room, and less by-standers. Using his wand, Harry wrote the spell in the air, made possible by a special ingredient.
“Incido universus aperio mysteria chacc
Exhibeo denou ego articulus pridem
Concieo duae creo singulare pectoris coagmentum corpus
Obsecutus hic dicti subvectonis substantia amplius pacalis spati.”* Harry opened the gourd and a downed the potion.
Behind him a swirl of colors erupted and the last thing he saw was Hermione’s hopeful face before he blacked out.
_________________________________________________________________________
When he awoke, it was to a bright light directed into his eyes and a pounding headache. The light left, and other senses came into play, he became aware of talking and something vile tasting being shoved down his throat. Struggling to open his eyes, the first person his eyes locked onto was none other than the greasy potions master he had not seen for two years. Instinctively reaching out to him, Harry’s fist caught in the black fabric Snape was famous for. Snape was obviously not paying attention to the boy, as his back was turned, so when he felt the slight tug, Snape’s first reaction was to draw his wand and point it at the offending person, only to find himself staring down his wand into all too-familiar green eyes. Surprised by the lighter one, yet somewhat relieved that the boy was awake, Snape tried hard to hide the emotions accidentally showing on his face.
“Potter, stop clutching my robes and tell us how you got here. You’re supposed to be at the Muggle house until tomorrow. Were they the ones who hurt you?” Snape demanded.
When the boy only smiled, Snape’s anger and glare deepened, but those were gone when the boy suddenly sat up and hugged him tightly. That caught any attention that may have been previously pre-occupied by arguing. The Order of the Phoenix stood around, some gaping at the boy in disbelief. That was, until Sirius snorted. Snape turned his glare at the man, once again cold.
“You think this is funny, Black?” Snape barked.
“That potion must have rattled his brain to make him hug you like that.” The sound of the new voice seemed to draw Harry out of his dazed, yet happy, moment. Flinging himself at his godfather, Harry allowed himself to cry for the first time in two years.
Sirius was obviously at a slight loss as how to comfort him, and was grateful when Remus moved closer, at which Harry clutched tightly to the werewolf, who patted his back, and smoothed his hair. When Mrs. Weasley came into the room, carrying a bowl of soup, Harry pulled himself from Remus and desperately clung to her. The motion caused her to drop the bowl, and she was stunned for a moment before wrapping him in a motherly embrace. Snape wasn’t one to be ignored for long, so when Harry was finally seated back on the couch, he struck.
Roughly grabbing the boy’s chin, Snape turned it to see the rather long scar. It started at the jaw line and continued up into his thick black hair. Using his free hand, Snape followed the trail to where it ended at the back of his head. The boy’s entire left side of his face had nearly been removed.
“Did the Muggles hurt you?” Snape repeated his question.
Slowly, Harry shook his head, followed by pointing to the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Audible gasps sounded throughout the room, while Snape narrowed his dark eyes dangerously.
“I know for a fact that the Dark Lord did not come near you this summer,” Snape retorted.
Harry shook his head again and his eyes landed on the bag Hermione had given him, grabbing it, he opened the bag, pulling out the book, handing it to Snape, who promptly flipped through it, a letter falling out. After retrieving it Snape noticed Granger’s hand-writing and opened it, reading it silently:
“Dear Professor Snape,
It seems strange addressing this to you, since you haven’t been among the living for two years. Yet I must tell you to prevent this horrible ending. It has been two years since the war, and the end of 7th year. Surprisingly, we lost the war and experienced horrible losses. I will not list them, but you were among the count. The war still resumes and we continue to endure pain, there is not much time left until the truce is over. When it happens, I know the last of us will fall. Harry still suffers the most: night terrors, and signs of having his mind touched by Voldemort. Harry either refuses to speak or truly cannot anymore, I am not sure which. I do know that we have run low on supplies, for us to even think about healing him, and trips to St. Mungo’s is forbidden to us. Voldemort has put a lot of restrictions on both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, he is killing us, slowly. Give us all a second change to save what can be saved. I know you are the best one to help him for I believe that if he is not speaking on purpose, it was your death that broke him.
There are some memories that you shared with him in your dying moments, of which he never shared, but often spent time watching them. I’m afraid that you must watch him at nightfall for he tends to search for happiness in the bottom of the bottle. If you do not believe all of this, then I have included a copy of the Daily Prophet from today. Also, please make sure that the other letters make it to the appropriate people.
Please watch over him.
Sincerely, Hermione Granger.”
Folding the letter, he tucked it and the others into his robe, looking at the Prophet. Sure enough it was dated four years in the future and there was a picture of ‘Minister Voldemort’ on the front page. Kneeling in front of Harry, Snape inspected him.
“Time travel from four years in the future. Well, you certainly don’t look 19, or even 15 for that matter. Perhaps 17 at the youngest, it seems you merged with your younger self. While your body became younger you kept some of the features from your older self,” Snape paused. “Well, do you have a plan?” All the while, he inspected Harry’s neck with his fingers.
Harry gave Snape a pointed look, which reminded the older man he could not speak, and Harry couldn’t use his normal way of communicating while underage. Conjuring a parchment, quill and ink well, Snape set them on the coffee table in front of Harry. Using them quickly, he scrawled on the parchment, handing it to Snape when he was done.
“I suppose the first thing to do should be getting the Prophecy before Voldemort can try. Then I have a task that Dumbledore didn’t give me until the end of my 6th year. I know where they all are, so it should be easy, then we get Voldemort before he takes over the Ministry and starts killing Muggle-born.”
One of the dark eyebrows rose at the mention of the Prophecy, but Snape did not comment until he was done reading.
“So you know about the Prophecy?” The taller man asked, handing him the parchment back.
Harry nodded before scribbling on the paper again. “Yes, I also know what it says, but it’s not important. We just have to stop Voldemort from getting it.”
Snape nodded. “I agree. Now what about this task the headmaster told you of.”
Harry got up and walked over to the desk, pointing to the one locked drawer. Mad-Eye’s magical eye seemed to assess the situation before he pointed his wand and it popped open. Reaching inside, Harry pulled out a gold locket and quickly putting it on the desk. As it made his sorrow almost overwhelm him. Harry held up one finger followed by seven.
“One of seven?” Remus asked.
Harry nodded, picking up his bag and dropped the locket in.
“What are they exactly?” Sirius asked.
Harry pointed to his scar, indicating Voldemort, then towards his heart, making a ripping motion.
“His heart ripped apart?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Shaking his head, Harry looked towards the wolf in the room. He made the Muggle symbol in Charades for synonym and then tapped the bottom of his shoe.
“A synonym for bottom of the shoe. Foot? Heel? Oh! Soul!” Remus guessed, while Harry shook his head, and waved his arms when the guesses were wrong, until finally getting it right.
“You’re talking about a Horcrux?” Snape asked and when Harry held up seven fingers, he spoke again, “Seven of them? That’s impossible.”
“You know about Horcruxes?” Mad-Eye asked.
“Very little, just that it is hard to make one of them, much less seven. If you put a part of your soul into one, until that item is destroyed there is always a way to come back from being dead,” Snape sighed and sat down on the previously occupied couch. “So how many do we have? What are the other ones?”
“We have three, the diary from my third year is destroyed, the locket, and myself. The others are Helga Hufflepuff’s cup in Bellatrix’s vault, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem in Hogwarts, the Salazar Slytherin’s ring in the Riddle house and his snake Nagini.”
“Well Mr. Potter, it seems like you have a lot of work ahead of you. I suggest you enlist the help of your friends for the Horcruxes. We’ll come up with a plan to get the Prophecy and let you know,” Snape said standing, fully intending to leave.
He was stopped by Harry’s arms around his waist.
“Mr. Potter if you do not remove yourself at once I will be forced to bring you to Madam Pomfrey, where she will detain you for days.”
Harry smiled, releasing his professor to allow him to leave, but he merely moved away to the other side of the room, away from the clingy student. Sirius stood next to Harry, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, while Remus was smiling down at him, ignoring Sirius’ glare at Snape’s back.
“Come Harry, I’ll explain to your friends so that you won’t have to write it all down again,” Remus said, and together they left the room, sweeping by Snape, who still looked slightly shocked.
Finally, after collecting his dignity, Snape let his face become blank and his black cloak billowed out behind him as he passed them in the hallway.
*Cut open the universe to reveal the mysteries of boundless empty space
Allow a second time, take away my second self to moments long ago
Bring together two, make a single soul in a joint body
Obey this command, transport essence to a more peaceful period
_____________
Preview of Chapter Five: Something Sacred
When they saw him, they fell quiet, and Harry knew that they had been discussing him. The boy sat down at the table, slumping his head onto his folded arms, resting on the wood.
“Can I get you something, Harry dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
Bitter laughter floated through his head. ‘Yeah, a stiff drink or two,’ He thought wryly. Without lifting his head, Harry shook it, indicating that there wasn’t anything he could get from them. It was only because of his left eye, that saw magic auras even when they were closed, that he noticed them leaving. Abandoning him to his sinister thoughts.