Saving the Savior

Set in the summer after OotP

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR and her peeps.

A/N After what Harry went through with Cedric’s death at the beginning of OotP, all that angst and stuff, I see him reacting this way to the horrors he witnessed in the Ministry of Magic.

Beta’d by the incomparable knightmare. She can only do so much with an amateur like me, so send all flames my way.

“Someone needs to go talk to him,” Molly Weasley said from the kitchen table at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, focusing her sad gaze on Hogwarts’ Potions Professor, Severus Snape.

Snape carefully set down the tumbler of firewhiskey he’d been sipping, and scanned the faces of the seven adults who were all staring at him. Most unusual. This called for a *shudder* conversation.

“And why, if I may inquire, is everyone looking at me? I was led to believe that the child has sunk into yet another fit of teenaged angst. Surely you don’t believe that I could do anything other than push him straight over the edge into thoughts of suicide?” the greasy-haired man sneered. “Although if I succeed in that, may I take his body to the Dark Lord? Imagine the rewards I’d get for that one.”

Remus Lupin sighed and placed his hand over Minerva’s, staying her anger. “Severus, to be honest, you are the last person we would send to Harry. We’ve done everything we can think of, but he won’t even look at us. He barely eats and he refuses to speak with Ron, Hermione, or any of his other friends. We’ve run out of options. You are our last hope in reaching him.”

Albus Dumbledore sighed tiredly and added, “Please, Severus. Perhaps you can break through the barriers he’s placed around himself. I ask only that you be gentle. The boy has gone through enough, and we’re asking still more from him.” At that, the old wizard stood, ending the short meeting with the eight Order members: Arthur and Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Severus Snape, and himself.

Snape could not deny the old man’s request. He had feared for the Headmaster’s health since the last confrontation with Voldemort at the Ministry of Magic weeks before. After Dumbledore and Harry Potter left the Headmaster’s office that fateful day, Albus had lost his infernal twinkle, the one that had been present since Snape himself was a student. No one knew what had transpired between the two wizards from the time they apparated out of the Ministry and the moment they stepped off the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmasters office, but since that day Potter had wrapped himself in a cloak of rage- filled silence. The two weeks with his Muggle relatives had made the boy withdraw even more into himself. The one and only time Harry had seen Dumbledore since his return to Order headquarters, his normally bright green eyes had turned to shards of emerald ice, and he’d turned from the white haired wizard in a towering fury.

The only good thing to have come from that moment was when, as Harry was storming up the stairs to the room he’d barricaded himself in, he’d blasted the shrieking portrait of Mrs. Black off the wall, leaving a smoldering ruin in its place. Of course, no one knew exactly how he’d done it, as he hadn’t been holding a wand and his mouth was still set in a firm, thin line, but general opinion had it that it was simply a by-product of the extremely powerful boy’s anger. After all, he had blown up his aunt right before third year. But at least now people could ring the doorbell when they arrived.

Small comfort, that.

Snape scowled at the remaining members and levered himself up from the table, downing the last of the firewhiskey for strength, and made to walk out of the room. Coming to a sudden halt, he spun around, grabbed the remainder of the bottle of spirits, his empty glass, and liberated the still full one from Remus with a snarl at the werewolf, before sweeping out of the room in search of that blasted brat. Within moments he found the boy, ensconced in an upper room with the refugee hippogriff Buckbeak. Upon seeing this, the Potions Master stopped, bowed low in respect to the beast, and seated himself in an uncomfortable chair near the door.

Severus poured two fingers of whiskey in his glass and held out the other to the boy who was stubbornly keeping his back to him. “Why don’t you take this firewhiskey, boy? Lupin didn’t touch it and there’s no sense in it going to waste.”

Harry merely shook his head, refusing the drink, and turned back to Buckbeak, stroking a pale, thin hand over the hippogriff’s soft feathers. Seeing the indication of malnutrition in that hand, Snape scanned the room, searching for evidence of uneaten food. Surprisingly enough, the food tray sent up by the house elves was empty. In fact, the plate appeared to have been licked clean.

Narrowing his eyes at the silent human occupant in the room, Snape guessed, “How long have you been feeding all your meals to that creature?” He was proven correct when Harry’s back stiffened and he half turned, nearly making eye contact before snapping back around. Severus’ scowl blackened, and he bit out, “That is unacceptable, Mr. Potter! You will not starve yourself. If you will not eat of your own free will, I will be forced to feed you myself, and I can assure you that neither of us would enjoy that.”

Sensing no resistance from the boy, he summoned a house elf and ordered another tray be sent up. When it arrived, Harry reluctantly moved over and began listlessly picking at the food.

“Every day I will come here, and I will make it my duty to ensure that you are eating. The only way you will be able to avoid my company will be for you to join the others for your meals. If you miss even one, I will be here. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded, but otherwise did not reply.

“Very good, Potter. It is thoughtful of you to keep your foolish Gryffindor mouth shut. I may find myself rethinking my opinion of you yet.”

Still getting no response from the dispirited youth and seeing that the tray was empty, Snape turned to leave. He was brought up short when he couldn’t even grasp the doorknob. There were wards blocking anyone from getting closer than a foot to the door.

“Apparate,” came a voice from behind him, rough and scratchy from disuse.

“Very well. Have a good evening,” Snape said, before apparating directly to the kitchen.

Molly turned with a shriek when he popped in, but quickly recovered as she turned to him with hopeful eyes. “How did it go? Did he speak to you? How does he look? Oh, the poor dear!”

“Cease your prattling, woman, and I’ll answer your questions! First, it went very well considering the fact that Potter and I spent thirty minutes together and we are still alive with no hexes being thrown or food being poisoned. Second, he only said one word to me. Third, he is entirely too skinny. The boy is practically emaciated, no thanks to you lot and your kid glove treatment of him. He hasn’t been eating, and I assume none of you thought to put your foot down at his foolishness! A fine lot of capable adults you are, not even able to get one boy to obey you.”

“He spoke to you?” Remus asked hopefully.

Snape stared at him incredulously. Everything he’d said and that was what made an impression? He growled out, “One word only. Don’t excite yourself.” He couldn’t believe how blasé this group was about the child starving himself.

“But that’s fantastic!” Arthur interjected. “He hasn’t spoken one word that we know of since he arrived three weeks ago.”

“Were you aware that he has locked himself into that room?” Snape asked, suspiciously. Upon receiving three nods, he lost his composure completely and shouted, “AND NONE OF YOU SAW FIT TO MAKE HIM LEAVE THE ROOM? YOU JUST LET HIM REMAIN THERE?!?” In a towering fury, Snape swept from the room and with a distinct ‘pop’ apparated out of the house.

*******

The next morning, a seething Snape was once again at Order headquarters. Without a word to any of the Weasleys assembled for breakfast, he swept up the stairs to Harry’s room.

After arriving, he saw that the breakfast tray still had food on it, and ordered another for himself. The two men ate in complete silence and when Severus had finished, he promised to return for lunch. And so it continued for the next four days.

But on the fifth day, Friday, there was a small change.

As Severus was leaving for the evening, he bade Harry his usual, “Have a good evening.” Just before he apparated out, he heard a faint, yet unmistakable “Thank you.” No one in the house had ever seen the snarky old Potions Master smile, and because no one was in the kitchen that night, they never would.

Such were the triumphs of Severus Snape. After another week he was up to “Hello, Professor” and the standard “thank you”. The rest of the household--which now included Hermione Granger and her traveling library--had become used to the visits from Snape. In fact, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had stopped flinching every time they came across him in the hallway and Mrs. Weasley ensured that a spare bedroom was always available for Severus ‘just in case he needed it.’ Which he never did.

Finally, in the first week of August, Snape felt that Harry was comfortable enough with him to attempt conversation. It was completely one-sided of course, but he updated Harry on the workings of the Order, what his friends were up to, and new items available at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. When he spoke of the new and improved Wizard’s Chess pieces—which bled when decapitated and lost organs when disemboweled—he was heartened to see a smile cross Harry’s face.

It hadn’t occurred to him until he saw that small shadow of a grin how often he’d seen Harry smile in the past. His new demeanor almost made him appear to be an entirely different person, and Snape was shocked to realize he actually missed the smiling, spirited, foolishly Gryffindor Harry of the previous years.

Feeling a flush of accomplishment, Snape said his goodnights and waited for the “thank you” before apparating home.

The next morning found him entering the kitchen and bellowing for the other household members to make an appearance. When thundering footsteps announced the arrival of all the Weasleys (minus Charlie and Percy), Hermione, Tonks, Remus, and—surprisingly—Dumbledore, he immediately asked for any new information he could impart to Harry.

“Merlin’s beard, Severus! I thought Voldemort was attacking, the way you yelled!” exclaimed a multi-hued Tonks.

“Have you made progress, my boy?” Dumbledore asked with a heartbreakingly hopeful light in his eyes.

“I spoke to him last night about Order business, what the other children are getting up to—which I had to make up since I have no desire to know what they do—and the twin’s joke shop.” Here he turned and spoke directly to Fred and George. “He was amused when I told him about your new items.”

“Perfect!” George exclaimed

“Why don’t we just drag him to the shop then?” suggested Fred.

“I don’t think he’s quite ready for that horror,” Snape remarked dryly. “Perhaps you could let me bring him one of your less hazardous new products, however.”

“Right!” said Fred.

“We’ll get straight on it, sir,” George added, snapping to attention with a sharp salute before the twins apparated out.

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Hermione hesitantly, indicating herself and Ron. “We really miss him.”

“You might have tried to visit him. He is living just down the hall from you,” Snape sneered, shooting the girl a hot glare for what he saw as her abandonment of a friend in need.

“We do that every day!” Ron shouted. “Every time we go up there, he pushes us out with his magic. You’re the only one he lets in the door. Why?” he asked, hurt and bewildered. “Why you and not us? Why does he hate us now?” the boy asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

Snape was dumbfounded. He’d had no idea that Harry was denying entrance to everyone else.

“I apologize Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. I had no idea.”

The teenagers weren’t the only one’s shocked at this apology from the dark haired man. Dead silence greeted his statement, as everyone tried to think of something to say.

“Will you take our letters to him?” Hermione asked finally, and receiving a nod from a slightly embarrassed Snape, ran upstairs to retrieve them.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said upon her return, handing him the packet of letters. “Please let him know how much we love and miss him.”

Severus nodded and journeyed up the stairs to his silent breakfast, formulating a plan on the way.

“Good morning, Potter,” he said, after bowing to Buckbeak and settling himself in for breakfast. “I trust you slept well. Today, we are going to try something new and unusual. We are going to talk. And by we, I mean to include both you and myself. You can start by looking at me.”

At this announcement, Harry began trembling violently and shaking his head. Alarmed, Severus soothed, “All right then, tell me why you won’t look at me.”

“Because,” Harry rasped out, “he’ll see you. And he’ll kill you.”

“The Dark Lord?”

“Yes!”

“Why do you think he’ll kill me?”

“He won’t stop until he kills me and everyone I love,” Harry replied shakily. “He sees them all, through me. It’s why he used Sirius to lure me to the Department of Mysteries.” The last bit ended in a sob that Harry quickly brought under control.

“All right Harry, I want you to understand something. You can look at me without worrying that I’ll die. Not that I understand why that would worry you. After all,” he said, trying for a bit of humor, “your Advanced Potions classes would be a lot easier for you without your snarky old git of a Professor there, right? But seriously, even if your theory is correct, and I don’t think it is, the Dark Lord knows that I am your Professor. He expects you to see me. So go on,” he urged. “Look at me.”

Harry flinched as he processed what Snape said. After a few moments, he lifted his chin and slowly raised his gaze, blinking harshly as he was obviously fighting his fear of looking. When dull green eyes met black, the older man smiled gently and said, “See, I’m still here; still alive. And I will continue to present myself for your inspection until you understand that no one is going to die simply because you look at them.”

“I do believe that’s enough for now, though. Here are some letters from your friends. They asked me to convey to you how much they miss and love you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Harry, one more question before I leave. Ron told me that you haven’t let anyone in but myself since you got here. Why me? What would make you want to spend time with me versus your friends?”

Harry looked at him in amazement and said, “But sir, I’m not that stupid. You’d hex me into next week if I forced you out. I’m scared to death of you.”

Snape just smirked. “Enjoy your day, Mr. Potter. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”

With that, Severus apparated to the kitchen, where Dumbledore was waiting to hear his report on Harry’s progress.

++++++

When Snape returned at lunchtime, he noticed that Harry had apparently taken his words to heart. He still was not making eye contact, but for brief periods of time his eyes would flicker over his professor. In fact, he almost seemed on the verge of speaking.

And then, he did.

As Snape was preparing to leave, Harry’s voice shocked him into stillness. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“For what my dad did to you. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Well, try. As much as I would like to hold it against you, you insolent brat, you cannot be held responsible for something that happened before you were born. Pity,” Snape said gruffly. He was admittedly surprised that of all the things Harry could have chosen for his first unsolicited conversation, it would be an apology.

After a long pause, Harry said harshly, “I hate being lied to.”

Snape merely quirked an eyebrow in response.

“Not you,” a humorless laugh, “no, you’ve always been brutally honest. But everyone else… They always told me what a good man my dad was, how brave,” Harry sneered disgustedly.

“Harry, as much as I hated your father, he was a good man.”

“How can you say that?!?” Harry asked in a voice thick with emotion. “Do you know the only other time I’ve seen something as horrible as what he did to you? DO YOU?!? The Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup did the same thing to a Muggle family. MY FATHER WAS JUST LIKE THEM!” Harry’s eyes glittered with the pain of his confession.

“Harry, your father was a 15-year-old boy playing a prank. That is a far cry different from grown men terrorizing an unsuspecting family for something they have no control over.”

“So you’re saying that you think it’s ok, what he did to you? You’re wrong. It doesn’t matter how old he was or wasn’t. I’m fifteen, well sixteen now, but still… I would NEVER do something so vile.”

“Not even to Malfoy?” Severus asked softly.

Harry just glared at him, insulted.

“Harry, the point I am trying to make is that the intent behind the actions is what you need to consider. What you saw that day was nothing more or less than what I’ve seen countless times in the hallways of Hogwarts between Gryffindors and Slytherins. What you saw at the World Cup was much more than that.”

Harry just shook his head, stubbornly refusing to see the difference. “I would never do that. None of my friends would ever do that.”

“What about a bat-bogey hex? Would any of your friends do that?” Severus asked, knowing full well what had happened on the Hogwarts Express in June.

Harry clenched his jaw and said, “Ginny only did that because Draco and his goonies were trying to jump us. It was used as self-defense.”

Severus sighed and dragged a hand down his face, searching his mind for a way to explain this so the boy would understand. “Harry, I know it’s difficult for you to understand this, but your father lived in a different time, a different atmosphere. While the Dark Lord had started his reign of terror, it really hadn’t affected the students much. Oh, there were deaths here and there, but nothing like the students today. You’ll be hard pressed to find one of your classmates from any kind of Wizarding background that hasn’t been touched in some way by this war. It has made you all just a bit more responsible, you especially. Your father had no reason to be more responsible, more mature than he was. Neither did I. What you saw in the pensieve was simply one of many confrontations between your father and myself. There are many things, hexes and jinxes, that I did to him that I now regret.

“And you had no reason to apologize anyway. Your father did that himself, shortly after I joined the Order. And since I forgave your father then, I suggest that you forgive him now. Allowing such anger to fester is what makes wizards turn dark, Harry. You don’t want that.”

“If you forgave him, why do you still hate him so much?”

“Just because I forgave him does not mean I forgot. It was easier to distance myself from you, his son, by focusing on the things he did when we were children. It was imperative that I show only hatred for you, so I fed that old anger. I do not regret my decision to do that because it helped my position and kept those who might seek out weakness in me from finding any.”

“So you don’t really hate him anymore, you just want a reason to hate me?”

“You’re oversimplifying yet again, brat. I needed something to separate myself from you, the person I am ultimately fighting for, because I have a role to play.”

Harry became quiet, thinking about everything Snape had revealed.

“Now it’s time for you to rejoin the rest of the world, Harry. You need to stop hiding behind that door.”

“I can’t, sir. You know I can’t; just because I can look at you without damaging consequences doesn’t mean that I want to endanger everyone else.”

“Harry, did it ever occur to you that there is no reason for me to see you during the summer? If the Dark Lord could truly see through your eyes like you think he can, I would have been killed already. He would not have hesitated to kill me this morning for knowing where you are and not reporting it.”

“You lied to me? But that’s…that’s so…”

“So very Slytherin of me, yes I know. Thank you. It’s nice to have one’s efforts appreciated. But now you understand why I say that you can come back to the land of the living. Staying up here is not a life, Harry. It’s a nonexistence. You’re hiding, and that violates all the qualities that make you a Gryffindor.”

Harry flushed, realizing the truth in that statement. He nodded and said, “All right. I’ll be at dinner tonight.”

“Why not come down with me right now? I heard the Weasley children talking about a Quidditch match later. Wouldn’t you like to fly again?”

Harry’s eyes flashed with an inner fire. Snape smiled to himself, seeing that he had hit upon the one thing that might tip the scales in his favor. He leaned forward and said softly, “Firebolt.”

Harry laughed, his first genuine laugh in months. “You don’t have to use psychological warfare on me. I give up. I’ll come down right now.”

Snape felt his heart grow three times its size in his chest*; all his years of spying for the Order didn’t give him the sense of accomplishment that he felt right now. If his life meant nothing before, he could say that perhaps he had made a difference to this boy, this savior.

They went down the stairs, where Harry was greeted like the prodigal son. A feast was held that night for him and he was enveloped in the loving embrace of the only true family he’d ever known. He gave Snape full credit for bringing him back to life.

And Harry was finally able to feel peace.

The End

*A bit of the Grinch, Dr. Seuss