Dearest Harry - Eileen's Story

Thanks to my darling Kim for a mega fast betaing job and of course my wonderful TQA


Chapter Nine

Harry was pretending to be asleep. He had done quite a lot of that recently, because the adults around him were, quite frankly, freaking him out. They had been very protective of him; Mrs Weasley kept hugging him and stuffing him full of food and Mr Weasley and Professor Lupin (“Please call me Remus, Harry. I am not your teacher any longer. I would like it if you considered me as a friend.”), kept trying to have serious conversations with him. But the problem was that Harry really did not want to have those conversations with them, not now, not ever, really. And he did not know how they would react if he asked them about the things that were troubling him. ‘Probably throw me out of the house,’ he thought sadly.

A couple of years ago, hell, even last year, Harry would have been delighted to have someone, anyone, well any adult at least, show this much interest in his life. But as far as Harry was concerned now it would be too little, too late. He just didn’t have time for this anymore. He had the other horcruxes to find, he had Voldemort to hunt down. Although Harry suspected when the time came that he wouldn’t have to hunt too much. And he had a life to lead. He had things he wanted to do before it was too late and the guilt ridden Order members were stopping him being where he wanted to be, which sure as heck wasn’t here!

Dumbledore’s death had changed things for Harry. He no longer felt like he was a child; he couldn’t be really, could he? When the Headmaster was alive, Harry could have turned to him. Even if he didn’t altogether trust him, he did love him. The Headmaster had shown more interest in Harry than any other adult ever had, and didn’t that make him pathetic that he loved the old man so much? Harry knew that Dumbledore’s love was flawed. He had gotten so many things wrong, but he had cared for Harry, hadn’t he? He had been proud of him, he’d said so, and that meant more to Harry than he could ever say. The old wizard might not have been perfect, hell, he had been far from perfect as far as loving, protective mentors go, but Harry had never been picky; he would take what he could get.

He had done some serious thinking this summer. Hermione had been researching and before she located more Horcruxes, he and Ron were at a bit of a loose end, hence the decorating and plenty of time for serious contemplation. The Dursleys just offered even more chance to be alone with his thoughts, so Harry had come to a number of conclusions.

First of all he decided that it was far too late for him to think about having a family. It would have been nice, it really would, but it was too late now, he was grown up. Deep down he also couldn’t help thinking that there must be something inherently unlovable about him, but that hurt so he tried to ignore the part of him that insisted that that was the case. The trouble was he had realised that his interest in Ginny was all tied up with this seeking-a-family thing that he had. She smelt of home. She had red hair like his Mum, like Mrs Weasley. Perhaps red hair said ’home’ to Harry. They could have had children together, lots of children and he would have finally had somewhere to go where people loved him, the one thing he had always envied Ron.

When he had realised this, he had also realised that he hadn’t really fancied Ginny that much. He had loved to hold her. He had adored the hugs and the tenderness, but Harry knew that he was rather starved in that direction and he enjoyed a hug from Hermione or Ron almost as much. When he really thought about it, Harry realised that in fact he didn’t really fancy girls at all. He didn’t get ‘turned on’ by Lavender Brown like Ron and the other boys had been, although he could see in an abstract sort of way that she was quite pretty. When he tried to picture people that he had fancied in his head all he could come up with were boys.

There was Cho, of course there was Cho, but she had been really boyish, hadn’t she? And one face that came back to him time and time again was Cedric. Surely he hadn’t fancied Cedric? Was that why he had been so upset for so very long about the boy’s death? Even more upset than he had been about Sirius in some ways?

Then there had been Oliver Wood, whom Harry had had a crush on in first year, and later Charlie Weasley. Charlie the dragon tamer had hard muscles and a laid back air that appealed to Harry. Lately, why lately, ever since he had found himself leaning against him on his bed, being soothed by smooth, cool fingers, Harry found himself thinking about Malfoy, and that really bothered him. Could he possibly fancy the ferret?

With all his musings over the past few months he kept coming to the same conclusion: That he was gay; helplessly screamingly, definitely gay.

Or maybe he was bi? But how did you know things like that anyway? He didn’t know what to do about his new feelings. He wanted to ask someone, get some advice but there simply wasn’t anyone he could ask. Wasn’t that just typical of his life? He thought ruefully to himself, apart from that short period when he had had Sirius he had never really had anyone to ask about anything personal and that just made him sad. Even Dumbledore who had given so much advice in the past, had said he would always keep an open door for him would have been no help with this particular worry. Harry could not ever imagine broaching this subject with the man.

There was no way he could ask Hermione and Ron about it either. They had each other and if they weren’t sure about something, if something hurt them then they asked their parents and their parents would love them no matter what. Harry was afraid to ask his friends about his sexuality. What if they hated him? What if they didn’t want to be with him anymore? What if they felt the same way about homosexuality as his uncle did? What if everyone in the wizarding world did? Harry didn’t know if his uncle was as bigoted about this as he was about so much else. Maybe other people didn’t feel the same way, maybe they wouldn’t mind, but how was Harry to know? How could he take the risk?

Harry didn’t really know how the magical world felt about homosexuality. He knew how the Muggle world felt, well some of it at least. Dudley’s friends had spent a lot of time calling Harry the sort of names bullies loved to use on smaller weaker boys: pouf, queer, pansy, ponce. But maybe their attitude wasn’t common? Harry just didn’t know anyone who was gay who he could ask, or if he did, he didn’t know that they were gay. If anyone at school was, Harry hadn’t noticed. He had been too busy following Malfoy around all last term and that in itself was rather gay when he thought about it later.

Harry had imagined various scenarios where he had spoken to people that he knew and what their reactions would be. The most favourable candidates were Tonks or one of Ron’s brothers. But what if they were disgusted by him and then told the rest of the family (the Weasleys), or Remus (Tonks) and they rejected him too? Harry didn’t think he could bear it if the friends he had made turned away.

Were so-called heroes even allowed to be gay?

He had to deal with this on his own, just like he had had to deal with everything else in his life and the fact that the adults in the house kept telling him that they would look after him and help him that they were “there for him.” Why, that just showed Harry how truly alone he was.

How could he discuss the things that were really bothering him with any of them, really? He could imagine how he might ask the questions.

‘I have to find horcruxes, which just happen to be bits of Voldemort’s soul, created when he murders people, any suggestions on destroying them?’ But Dumbledore had made him promise not to share that piece of news with any adults.

‘I have to kill an evil wizard and I’m really, really frightened about dying. I don’t want to die. I want to live and grow up and have some one love me.’

Didn’t that just sound needy and pathetic?

Oh yes, and the final juicy worry. ‘I think that I am probably as camp as a row of tents but I don’t want to die a virgin. What shall I do?’

The very thought of what they might say, how they might react made Harry cringe, and their responses to the Dursleys and Harry’s childhood confirmed Harry’s suspicions really. They were sorry, they didn’t know, they would make things better. But they couldn’t make things better, could they? It was far too late for that all that, in his opinion. All that could be done now, as far as Harry could see, was to put everything behind him and move on. Trying to somehow turn back the clock would do no good at all.

Right that moment, lying on his bed in Grimmauld Place, tucked up in the nice clean sheets Mrs Weasley kept putting on his bed (he privately thought that Snape had told her about the sheets thing at Privet Drive and she was probably overcompensating), Harry didn’t think he could ever remember feeling so alone and he squeezed his eyes tight shut to try and stop the tears that were trickling down his cheeks and collecting in his hair.

His eyes were closed right now because he was doing his best to ignore Snape and Malfoy. They were both in his room talking in low tones. The blonde boy seemed to go nowhere these days without the snarky professor. Malfoy was speaking quietly to the ex-potions master.

“But we have to tell them soon, Professor Snape. It’ll be full next week and we need to get help.”

“I’ll speak to Harry when he wakes up, Draco.” Snape was saying. He seemed to be treating the other boy a bit more kindly today. He had been really snappy with him recently.

In fact Snape was the reason that Harry’s eyelids were clamped shut right now. Of all the adults in the house, Snape was the one who was truly freaking him out. The man was just acting so differently towards him and Harry was becoming quite worried. In recent days he had carried Harry upstairs. Stroked his hair (on several occasions), patted his hand (more than once), and called him ‘Harry’ more times than Harry could count, and since when had Professor Snape called him anything but ‘Potter’ in the most scathing of tones? Just lately Snape was being nice to him and Harry thought he knew why.

Snape must be able to tell that he was homosexual. Perhaps he was one too? Could gay people recognise other gay people, Harry wondered, and if so, how? But why on earth would Snape be interested in Harry? Harry knew he was skinny and small and not very attractive and he worried about whether anyone would ever want to be with him, surely Snape wouldn’t? Harry really hoped that the Professor hadn’t guessed and didn’t want to do anything with Harry because that was just, well, eewww, but it was the only thing he could think of really that made sense.

Harry’s mind was churning with worries and questions. So much so, that he was not paying attention to what was happening around him. So when Snape spoke, he nearly fell out of bed with shock.

“I know you are not asleep, Harry. Open your eyes. I think it is time for us to have a talk. Do not worry, we are alone.”

Of course that really worried him and Harry couldn’t help himself, he started to breathe more rapidly. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to be alone with Professor Snape and he sure as heck didn’t want to have a conversation with him about anything. But if he mentioned Harry’s possible gayness, he decided that he was going to run.

Slowly he opened his eyes and pushed himself up in bed so that he was sitting rather than lying down.

Snape was looking down at the floor. He was seated in a chintz armchair, close to Harry’s bed. Now he had spoken it was almost as if he did not know how to proceed. But Harry thought that couldn’t possibly be right, since when was Snape ever lost for words? Certainly never around Harry, he had always found it perfectly easy to call Harry all kinds of names and make clear to everyone exactly what he thought of him.

Snape’s silence was doing its bit to convince Harry that he had indeed been right and that Snape did know about him. Then the man reached over and took one of Harry’s hands in his own, much larger one.

Harry squeaked. He couldn’t believe it, he actually squeaked! Then he grabbed his hand back and thrust it under the bedcovers as if it had been burned.

Harry was astonished to see that the man looked almost hurt by his action.

Oh no, he was so fucked! Probably quite literally if he wasn’t careful.

“I am sorry, Harry,” the man was saying, “I….er….I just need to talk to you about something very important. I’m sorry but I don’t quite know how to begin.

“You see, Harry, I have seen a very different side to you in the last few days.”

Harry was trying very hard to still his breathing. He could feel himself almost panting with anxiety.

“Things have changed recently for me and I have learned about something that I think will fundamentally alter our relationship.”

Harry stiffened. His hands were back on top of the covers right now and he was anxiously picking at the sheet, unconsciously searching for loose threads.

“I have been a lonely man for most of my life, Harry, my own fault. The reason I am so alone today is entirely due to my actions, I realise that. But I have discovered something recently that might change that. Not just for me, but for both of us.”

Harry squeaked again.

Snape looked at him strangely, as if he could not understand Harry’s reaction. His dark eyes locked on Harry’s and the man stared intently at him for a moment or two.

He reached over to still Harry’s hands and as he did he continued talking. Harry reacted instinctively he jerked away a bit too strenuously and before he could do anything to stop it he was falling out of bed, crashing heavily on the bare wooden floor.

But as he was pulling back and falling he was still listening to Snape speaking to him in a calm moderated voice.

“You see, Harry, I have discovered we are related. I am your uncle, your mother was my sist…..By Circe, are you all right you stupid boy? What do you think you are doing?”

Harry’s backside hurt, his ribs were still sore and Snape, who had tried to stop his fall, had accidentally wrenched his still tender shoulder.

‘Ouch,’ he thought. But he said, “What? What did you say, Professor?”

“I asked what you thought you were doing. Surely you don’t still think that I would hurt you?” The man sounded a little wounded, confused by Harry’s actions.

“No not that!” Harry snapped, “Th..the other thing. What were you saying about my mother?”

He felt very foolish sitting on the floor staring up at Snape who had draped himself over the bed in order to see Harry on the other side.

“I’m sorry. I know it must be a shock for you,” Snape was continuing, “I probably could have handled it better. I didn’t quite know how to break the news.”

“Just say it!” Harry hissed, he thought he was probably going into shock.

“I said, you foolish boy, that I have just discovered that I am your maternal uncle.”

A/N Thank you for all your kind reviews, I am glad that you are enjoying the story. *hugs you all* Lucie