Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Actodum’s Gate ❯ Because of Harry ( Chapter 3 )

Den of the Serpent

Harry rubbed his eyes, rolling over onto his back with a low groan. He felt awful although the poison had worn off the night before; he hadn't the will to move afterwards. His arms felt as if they had been turned to lead, limply hanging at his side, useless.

He spotted his wand, tucked away safely on the small table that rested beside his bed; the boy lifted his hand and attempted to pick it up. A bright yellow glow emitted from the end of the wand, causing it to heat instantly, as if it had turned into a hot, poking iron.

“Shit!” He spoke loudly dropping the offending stick to the ground; it promptly rolled under the bed.

The green-eyed young man closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. His wand had rejected him…how oddly befitting. It had burnt the tips and insides of his fingers; each was now covered with a thick layer of black soot.

Wonderful…

Shaking his head, he stood and walked towards the elongated full body mirror that had appeared in the room.

Spending three weeks inside the Room of Requirement had helped Harry to discover that he didn't need to be outside in the hallway to change the room's look. With the right amount of concentration and emotional control, he could make nearly anything within the four walls come to him.

The olive-eyed young man stood before the mirror, staring at its pristine surface; the boy looking back at him was smiling even when he was not.

The mirror mimicry waved and gave a saucy wink; Harry didn't feel it, honestly he couldn't really remember feeling that content. Most likely just a lapse, he knew he had been happy. The first time he came to Hogwarts, flying on his broom…those were happy memories.

He lifted his hand and ran his short fingers over that face, the face that he had never felt really belonged to him. Just a reflection of what everyone wanted…

Sirius had always seen James. The Dursley's saw a slave to do their surplus housework. The Wizarding world saw The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Even Voldemort, even he saw someone else, the carrier of his demise.

Who did he see?

Who was Harry Potter, at heart? Not that mask that he had to put on for Hermione and Ron, he thought silently. Not that emotionless slave that worked for muggle slave drivers. Nor even the Hero who came to save the day when the world had gone down the tubes.

Who am I?

Harry closed his eyes, a feeling of doubt festering within his chest. He balled his fist, pulling it back then slung it forward.

Crash!

The boy's hand shattered the glass, jagged pieces cutting into his flesh. He didn't even seem to feel it; blood poured from the newly onset wounds, each injury like a tiny red river.

He slowly slid downwards, closing his eyes; small pin pricks of salty tears came to them as he whispered softly into the secluded room.

“Who am I?” Harry's voice was quiet; quieter than any scream, but as in most things…it is what one does, not say that is important.

A silent watcher stood, disappearing down the decrepit hallway, making his way to arrange a change. Something had to be done.

 

Harry had attempted to study, several rolls of parchment laid in front of him. He had been trying his best to finish up the Defense against Dark Arts paper that was due the next morning.

He knew it was stupid not to finish such an important assignment early. It was very hard to write with two severely wounded hands, he'd tried desperately to heal them himself, but had no luck.

The door opened, and Snape came inside. He was dressed in something different today. An odd black muggle shirt left unbuttoned leaving his pale chest visible. The ensemble also contained a pair of black leather pants that clung tightly to his legs, fanning out around his feet.

His hair was also altered making his face appear nearly handsome, pulled back into a low ponytail. Harry was shocked, if he didn't know Snape so well he would never had guessed that his Tutor and this sex-pot where the same individual.

“Get up Potter, You're coming with me.” He spoke looking down at Harry as if he was a tiny insignificant bug who was about to receive a very painful boot-to-body experience.

His black eyes filled with such loathing that Harry had to look away, they where currently made even fiercer by the thick amount of kohl outlining them. Snape was no teacher now, he was a God.

“Where are we going?” he questioned, slowly standing, his hand was luckily wrapped with a gauze that he had disguised as his skin. Snape would only know the difference if he touched him, something that Harry felt would from now on be very unlikely.

“Shut up.” Snape quipped face twisting into a snarl. “You are to follow me, silently. I won't be wasting any of my magic on an invisibility charm, you will as be using your father's ill beget cloak.” he shouted and turned on his heel, heading away from Harry.

The teen barely had time to react, grabbing his invisible cloak from the metal railing of his bed and pulling it over himself; Snape led him down the school's many hallways, then down the large set of stairs. They soon arrived at the dungeons, Harry was silently astounded; he hadn't been here in quite awhile (not that he'd been much of anywhere); it hadn't changed, just like Snape…stable and terribly uncomfortable to be near. It was still frigid, dark, and dank.

Perfect living conditions for the creature that was Severus Snape.

“You will not touch anything inside, not my books, not my potions”, he glanced at Harry with a distinctly unhappy expression, “and not my pensive.”

Snape lifted his hand, pressing his fingertips to the door, making a symbol something Harry had never seen before. He briefly thought it might be some sort of Rune. Small metal pieces that looked like silver circles came out of the entryway. They twisted, in a fashion similar to the way a clock winds on the inside, turning and locking into one another; Harry thought it was odd, and very specific looking.

“If anyone else were to do that, poison darts would be released. They would die within minutes.” Snape spoke coldly, not bothering to glance to Harry, something inside his stomach pinched. He knew it was not and idle threat.

They went into the teacher's quarters, going through a small hallway until they reached a large room, the den Harry supposed, though he said nothing. It was filled with various interesting objects; the furniture was dark warm oak, with small intricate carvings of different types along the raised edges. Books where stacked neatly in a long bookshelf against the farthest wall, small bottles; potions varying from a nearly clear liquid, to a dark dank black shade that contained swirling purple mist in at the top. The room seemed to contain everything and anything that a wizard would need to accomplish his daily tasks.

One plush dark crimson chair sat before a wide gray fireplace, it was older, with thin golden strings carefully stitched into the arms and down both sides.

“Sit.” Snape spoke then turned going to the back bedroom that Harry had yet to see, he didn't think he would.

Harry felt strange, what was he doing here? Obviously Snape didn't want him anywhere near his rooms; Dumbledore must have kindly `requested' it.

That didn't bode too well to Harry, he was tired of this. He was so sickeningly weary of the old man forcing him around situations that in the long run, seemed to make his life that much more problematic.

The Potions Master returned, holding a small vile and jutted his hand out. “Drink it.” He spoke, staring at Harry with carefully guarded eyes. A small part of Harry secretly questioned what the tall foreboding man could possibly be concealing, but that was not really any of his business was it?

Harry was far too untrusting to simply gulp down the ugly putrid green potion that rested in his fingers. The glass was very thick, which meant the potion inside was either incredibly helpful, or poisonous to the point of being restricted. The boy smiled bitterly and realized that at the moment, he didn't care which.

Opening the container, Harry lifted it to his lips and swallowed every last drop. Snape's dark ink eyes taking in the consumption. “I trust that you will refrain from injuring yourself further. I will not give you another healing Potion Potter.” He snarled with a defined glare to secure that Harry would in fact never think of punching another looking glass.

The air rushed out of the boy's lungs, he knew.

Merlin what would the bastard do? He'd lose Hermione and Ron no doubt, as well as what little information he was given about the on-goings of the outside world.

“Your lessons for Potions, as well as Defense against Dark Arts have been moved, both will be here.” Snape spoke, conjuring his own chair with a wave of his wand. It had a wide thick back with dark green coloring, larger outlines of silver running along each of its edges.

“Why did you cut yourself?” Snape questioned, Harry was surprised. “Why? It doesn't matter.” He spoke staring into the dancing orange and yellow flames that he couldn't remember being lit, maybe they where automatic.

“Of course it matters you fool. Harming yourself is not only brainless, but dangerous.” Snape lifted his hand, a bottle of Firewhiskey floating over and landing in it gracefully. He then poured himself a goblet and sipped it silently, as if it would drain away the annoyance he felt at Harry's presence.

“The weaker you are, in mind, or body, the more likely it is the dark lord will attack. Your mind, Harry Potter, is vulnerable. You should do well to remember that.” He spoke softly, as if too tired to make an effort at a decent insult.

Harry nearly felt perturbed at this, why was Snape acting as if he cared? Wouldn't he just rather have the Gryffindor boy toy fall off into a gutter somewhere?

No.

Harry knew better. Snape had given up everything, his freedom, and his future. All to defeat Voldemort, to destroy that evil monster that Harry had never, or could never understand.

“You are allowed to come down here at night or in the days if it is absolutely necessary. The Headmaster seems to believe that it will do you some good to be in my presence.” Snape spoke, staring into the fireplace; Harry couldn't keep his mouth from hanging slightly ajar.

Snape glanced up snorting, his mouth lifting into a sneer. The taller man's lengthy body was leaned back into his chair, the shadows of the room casting an eerily attractive glow over his deathly pale skin.

“If I knew that such permission would render you in such an idiotic condition, I would not have offered it, no matter what I had agreed to for Albus.” His voice was not as chilling as usual, actually sounding genuinely amused.

Harry didn't doubt that the Firewhiskey was warming his blood rather quickly, causing such a lapse in his cold persona. The younger man had to withhold the urge to suggest that Snape drink more often.

 

 

 

 

The days passed quickly for Harry, so quickly in fact that he had not even noticed that a month had passed. His world had changed so quickly, gaining Snape as a `true' teacher, flipping around his emotions with such static force that he could barely remember anything. Growing up really was hard.

This only lasted until Hermione reminded him of their upcoming major examines. With his constant training, and worrying over Ginny, Harry seldom had time to think about the dates; which he now had to make up for his “slacking” (or training to survive) in regular terms.

For that reason he was currently taking his books down to the Snape's quarters. To cram as usual, it was much easier when he had Snape to bounce questions off of. As well as the large resource of books to choose from (some of which Harry knew where not in the library.)

The elder man was really a much better teacher in private, though still bitter and aloof most of the time. Still a git for all the problems he caused.

But then Harry smiled underneath his cloak, there where moments when he could spot a bit of his wry sarcastic humor, which all too few individuals knew how to appreciate. It was subtle and rare, but something that Harry had learned to look for.

He finally reached the dungeons, quickly forming the Rune symbol that was the lock to the door; personally Harry had thought it amusing. `Shade' Or the ancient word for that which is hidden.

He slipped into the quarters, The Potion's Master was currently grading some papers; he didn't bother glancing up as the boy entered, which was fine.

Harry had grown used to it.

The green eyed young man stopped, and sat on the floor before the fire place, pulling out several books, quills and bits of parchment.

He managed to work silently for a good hour that is before his hand started to cramp; it would do that occasionally (he would never be like Hermione who could manage to write three ten scroll essays without stopping, sometimes he thought that girl just wasn't human)

Harry set his barb down, placing his tan hand out to the side, glancing over to his recently found…companion. Sirius hadn't been particularly pleased with that bit of information, but then he was rarely pleased with much when it came to Snape.

That was just fine in Harry's opinion, he wouldn't give up either of them, no matter how much the snake and dog wanted to rip each other a part, and play with the entrails.

The lad had found himself gaining a bit of a fascination in his elder. His dark demeanor filled a gap that Harry had never even realized he possessed until the slimy bastard had slithered in to fill it.

“I do not appreciate being stared at Potter.” Snape spoke, coal colored eyes glancing up from his last bit of parchment, most likely those damn essays that he kept handing out at the last minute. (Harry still hadn't finished his)

He sat down his grading quill and arose from his (what Harry considered) uncomfortable desk; the taller gentleman came forward and drew up his favorite chair.

He sat next to the young man, about a foot away. Wearing not his large button up robes, but one of his loose white shirts, the first few buttons left hanging for the heat that he would endure as the summer started to come.

“I wasn't staring.” Harry replied in a slightly snooty voice, the black haired man raising an elegant eyebrow.
“You Potter are not even trying to lie.” He gave a shake of his head and popped each of his long elegant fingers with a snap of his hand.

Harry couldn't resist watching the act, his own lime-shaded eyes widening, he thought of those long exquisite digits slowly covering his skin.

“Why would, that be? It doesn't seem like you to forsake being despairingly atrocious in your speech.” Snape spoke watching the boy with a tilted curiosity to his gaze. “Just say what it is you are thinking.”

Harry sighed and looked up at him, gaining a bit of his Houses traditional courage for the moment, or at least he desired it.

“I want to call you Severus, when we're here alone.” The brown haired young man spoke with an air if dignity.
“Why would you want to use that name for me Potter? It means nothing; I hold no attachment to it. As well as the fact that you are my student.” Snape replied, watching Harry with a cold suspicious expression.

“It's a matter of respect.” Harry replied glancing up to stare at the other through his glasses, seeming to harden and look as if a bit older. “I respect you, and I would like too think that you respect me. We're equals.”

Snape sat silent, examining Harry with such thoroughness that Mad-Eye would be rather proud.

“Fine, if you must, you may call me by my first name. Though there are stipulations, you are not to tell Weasley or Granger of this arrangement. Nor will you at any time refer to me in such a manner before the members of the Order.” Snape, no Severus replied standing up, he went back to his grading.

Harry thought that was just fine, he wouldn't have wanted to ruin the new sort of solid ground they had reached.