Chapter Text
Staring out at the darkened street from the corner of his bedroom window, Harry Potter was lost in thought.
His thoughts lacked insight, lacked the ability to make sense and he, let them wander. These unwanted thoughts were repressed memories and his diligent attempts at keeping them out of his mind were fruitless. He felt lost, alone and almost infuriatingly useless.
The same thoughts crowded his mind with vivid images, clouded his eyes with moisture and sometimes his palms with blood from the mere force of his nails digging into his skin unveiling his anger, guilt and remorse. His shoulders felt heavy, dense with the weight of the responsibilities vested upon him. The responsibilities he was too young and too weak to be expected from. But the future was foretold, awaited and demanded even, and he was never the one to back away from escapades.
The sorting hat wasn't flawed in it's decision, he's a Gryffindor to the core.
Now all he has to do is destroy Voldemort, drain him of his sinister power and most alluringly, pop his bubble about being the greatest sorcerer of all times. At the same time, he acknowledged the unpleasant fact that it was as impossible as it was tempting.
Maybe not impossible, but certainly close enough to fill him with dread and qualm, not for his undeniably ephemeral life but for disappointing the ones who still hope. To disappoint the people who trust him to annihilate their miseries. He knew that he had already defeated You-Know-Who a handful of times, but all those defeats were short lived and not really defeats. Those were escapes. He was blessed with a fair dose of luck and could only hope that it won't run out in the inevitably sticky situations to come.
In the meantime, he'd rather not think about it. But there was little he could when he was locked up in a place as useless as he felt. He's gone through his completed homework more times than he'd like to admit, read and re-read his friends' letters and worked. In all honesty, he'd kept himself busy. Too busy to let the troublesome memories haunt his mornings, too busy to let the guilt sink in and eat him alive, too busy searching for things to keep him busy. But he was running out of excuses. And the guilt was as fresh as a bath after three years in a shithole.
It was a few more weeks to school, and he felt itchy with impatience. He wanted to get out of this room, to be somewhere he belongs and is welcomed. Someplace where guilt won't tag along and do something worth the time of the world.
He wonders if this was how Sirius felt. Stuck in a place with no one but his own thoughts for company when everyone else was working with their lives at risk. But Sirius was far more superior than Harry is, in every aspect. Better at coping with loss and being judged, dealing with uselessness and guilt. Guilt was probably the only thing he could relate with his godfather. To be held responsible for the loss of the people you love, if not by others but yourself.
He has a thing for saving people, Hermione had said. He laughed bitterly at that. He was not very good at it, was he? Sirius indeed was a better man than he was. And the fact the he was and i'snt, is enough to prove his point. He sighed. He was tired. Physically, he felt ready to jump upon anything worthwhile but mentally, he was drained. He gently touched his sensitive eyes and rubbed off the tear stains who seemed to have plans for permanent settlement. He got up from his bed and looked around his room. The room was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Owl feathers, apple cores, dirty wares, wasted wrappers and a mass of newspapers sat behind the base of a lamp on his desk. The headlines of one caught his eye:
HARRY POTTER : THE CHOSEN ONE?
He immediately cringed. It was pathetic really. Harry's glorious transition from a 'Liar' to the great and prolific 'Chosen One' was quicker than one could think. The public adored him, now more than ever and all he wanted to do was throw bricks at the Ministry for filling them up with hope. Worthless hope that he, Harry Potter can save the world.
He sighed yet again and walked back to his bed. His eyes again darted towards the darkened alley but this time, halted there. The peaceful brightness of the streetlight was blocked by a figure. On closer inspection he caught the outline of a man.
A man in cloak.
Curious, he headed closer towards the window and tried to map him out. The man had long, dark hair and was moving closer towards him. He came closer and closer until his face came alive in the faint light.
Harry gasped. Surprised and too shocked to move a muscle, he stared at the familiar face as he moved over and was now standing just behind the front door of the house. He blinked a few times and shook his head to clear the vision, but the man still stood at the same spot, waiting patiently. But knowing the man and that it was far too dangerous to test his patience, Harry jumped out of his bed a rushed out. He walked down the stairs carefully to not wake his kind-at-heart relatives from their snooze and opened the door.
"Snape." He blurted out before he could stop himself. "What are you doing here?"
Severus Snape's lips curled lightly as he spoke, "It's lovely to see you too, Mr. Potter." His voice betrayed his words. "Please excuse the late hour, did I disturb your slumber?"
"Umm…No?" He gave himself a mental shove at the pathetic response. "I mean no. I was awake. What do you need?"
Snape gazed over his shoulder, inside the house and again back at him. "Is there someone at the corridor?"
Surprised, Harry shook his head no.
"Are your relatives awake?"
Another shake.
"Is the house unsuitable for visitors?"
Growing annoyed, he shook his head again. "Is it that you're impolite, then?"
Harry blinked and flushed as he realised what the man was implying. "No. I'm sorry. Please come in." He invited him in as politely as he could. But the bastard wasn't done.
"Oh, are you sure? You were rather reluctant. Would you have to scrub the entire house once I leave to get rid of my evil presence?" He said, fluttering his eyes innocently. Harry took a deep breath, swallowing down the urge to kick his Potions Master's shin.
"Actually, yes. I do have to scrub the entire house in the morning, so if you don't mind skimping both of our time, I'd like you to come in and state the reasons of your pleasant visit."
Snape's eyes widened and then narrowed. He gave Harry a curt nod before following him inside. "I have a few things to discuss with you. Is your room fitting?"
Harry gave him a jerky nod before gesturing him to follow him upstairs. He opened the door and realised a little too late that his room really wasn't suitable for visitors. Or one particular visitor, in his case. He quickly brushed his bedsheets to make room for them to seat and tried very hard not to get embarrassed. His visitor however, didn't comment on that and took a seat next to his desk, folding his legs in a rather king-like fashion.
"You have a lovely room." Snape commented somewhat awkwardly. Harry's eyes widened. Why the greasy git trying to be polite? He was pulling off a rather disturbing performance.
Harry searched his eyes for signs of mocking and burst out laughing when he couldn't find any. "Are you serious?" He managed to let out.
Snape's lips settled to form a thin line. "Not really." He said smoothly. "That was merely an unsuccessful attempt at courtesy." He looked around his room and approved; a chiseled lie it was. "Well, that's more like it."
His mind fleeted to find anything polite enough to say that won't question his good breeding, but the very presence of the flat-faced bat was enough to make his mind void of a single good natured syllable. Avoiding such formalities would be a wise decision.
"Why don't we skip the awkward small talk and get to the point?" He suggested carefully, ''Sir." He added as a second thought, not sure he'd like to know what the point was, but curious anyways.
"Sure." Snape offered. Harry exhaled, and waited. Waited. And waited.
"Well?" He said irritatedly when Snape remained silent. He was getting rather frustrated. Neither of them were fans of the the other, so why wouldn't the snob just blurt it out and leave him the fuck alone?
Snape, who was pointedly staring at the floor looked up at that. "Oh. Well, you're not going to like what I'm about to ask from you, so before you start yelling and throwing useful utensils like the ideal teenager you are, you must let me finish first, all right?"
He snorted. As if he expected to be gleeful and all jolly-jolly after their talk.
"Yes. That's understood. No yelling or throwing things. What do you want?" His mind brought him back to the havoc he'd created in his Headmaster's office after the appalling clutter at the Ministry. He winced.
Snape took a deep breath. His usually blank face was pinched in a way that distinctly unmasked his discomfort. "Once your school reopens, I'd like you to try and befriend Mr. Malfoy."
"What?" Harry choked out. That was not even the very last thing on his mind. That ferret hasn't even crossed his mind over the previous weeks, and quite unsurprisingly.
Snape raised his eyebrows. "Shall I repeat it for you?"
Harry shook his head. "As in, Draco Malfoy?"
He asked slowly, aware that his eyebrows have already crossed the boundaries of his forehead. Snape rolled his eyes.
"Oh are there a lot of other Malfoys attending Hogwarts whom your expecting to meet?" Harry ignored him.
"But-why? There's a war on the edge for Merlin's sake, and you want me to associate with the likes of Malfoy! You've got to be kidd-"
"I remember you agreeing to let me finish before throwing your unwanted tantrums." Snape interrupted him.
"I think you've said enough for me to decide that I'm not interested in your offer. I'd like to avoid him if I can help it and you're asking me to befriend hi-"
"May I ask why exactly do you have such strong feelings about your classmate? Snape raised his eyebrows.
Harry snorted. Oh the holy times, Snape was making him snort. "Why do I dislike him?" He huffed. "Maybe because he insults me and my friends in every named occasion? Or maybe because his Death Eater father is out there planning my murder with that maniac? Or maybe because he's prejudiced, snobbish and an absolute arsehole?" He laughed. "I can go on forever, Snape. For all I know, he could be a Death Eater himself."
Something changed in Snape's expression, a blank look overtook his sneer. He remained silent for a few seconds, a few awfully uncomfortable seconds.
"That's the point, Potter." He sighed. He looked tired, eyes heavy with the apparent lack of sleep and amplitude of baggage to worry about. Looking at him, Harry thought he should at least make an effort to hear him out, no matter how ludicrous his request was.
"What's the point?" He asked carefully. Politely even. Snape looked up at him, his expression unreadable.
"Tell me Potter, do you have any friends from other houses?" Surprised at that sudden change of subject, he answered.
"I do. I am on good terms with a handful of people from other houses. Everyone was welcomed in the D.A, you know, where we used to practice defense last year? Some of us are quite close, I'll say."
If Snape was surprised, he didn't show it. The D.A was old news now anyways.
"Everyone?" Snape asked.
He nodded. "Anyone who was interested."
"Anyone from all the houses?" He raised his eyebrows.
Harry frowned. It was clear what Snape was implying, but he really haven't given the chance that any Slytherin would be interested in joining their ranks a second thought. He settled for, "Well. Anyone who didn't worship Umbridge, I suppose."
Snape narrowed his eyes. "And the inverse includes all the students from Slytherin." He said, deadpan. "Even the ones who came to me with complaints about her bunk practices. Even the ones who acknowledged her evident incompetence. And even the ones who genuinely wanted to learn something, isn't that right?"
Harry was astound. He remained silent. "It's people like you Mr. Potter and your ironclad beliefs that such students are suffering." Snape whispered a bit harshly, seemingly satisfied with Harry's reaction.
"But they don't like us. We're not pure enough for them." Harry blurted out defensively.
Snape narrowed his eyes again. "You're aware, that not all purebloods end up in Slytherin, aren't you? And also that they're not all from such a household?"
Well, yes. He did know that. Of course he did. "But what about muggle borns? There isn't a single muggle born witch or wizard there, I bet." He retorted, smug.
Snape's expression didn't switch. "Even that's not unheard of."
That definitely surprised Harry. There were Muggle borns in Slytherin?
"Wha-"
"I'm not here to drench your gruesome unawareness. Why don't you tell me another reason for your tactless judgements."
Harry swallowed audibly. "Alright. It's not only about blood purity. They take pleasure in hurting people. They mock us all the time and are arrogant, selfish -"
Snape's mouth curved into an ugly sneer. "Are you taking about Slytherins as a whole or solely Mr. Malfoy and his pitiful cronies?"
Harry's eyes widened. 'Pitiful' described the idiots perfectly, but never did he thought he'd hear Snape of all people using the word for his snakes. Snape rolled his eyes.
"Oh no need to look all surprised, Potter. I'm not going to overlook the obvious just because I'm privileged to have them in my house. I won't judge on those grounds, unlike some people." He eyed Harry with critical eyes.
Harry was uncomfortable. He wasn't prejudiced, was he? No, he didn't like to think he was. Because he wasn't.
But, facts hold a significant place in the area of observation and it was plain as a bloody day that Harry didn't like Slytherins. Almost as much as the other way around. But his dislike was justified as the only Slytherins he knew were far from being the light of his life. They were known to be arrogant, vile, self-absorbed and overall stinkers and he couldn't find a single incentive for not believing so.
And anyway, a snake wouldn't call himself a devil, now, would he?
"Since we're in the subject, what do you have to say about your moonshine sentiments about Gryffindors?" Harry said pointedly, folding his arms.
Snape's eyes widened meaningfully. "Fat words, Potter. I see that you really were bored if you had time to swallow the dictionary."
Harry smiled sweetly. "Just answer the bloody question."
He sighed. "I've no personal grudge against your house, Potter. It's just that you lot are nincompoops."
Harry snorted. "If I'm judgemental, what do you call yourself then?"
Snape's eyes flared. "A professor. And I'd like to be addressed like one." He glared at him, suddenly furious.
"What? What did I eve-" Harry spluttered indigenously. The elder man's eyes were blazing with an emotion he could only collate as rage. Snape snickered bitterly.
"Well it's no surprise that you've sprouted into a barbarian, you're after all, you're father's child." He spit the last words.
Harry was perplexed. But more so, enraged. Just a few moments ago they were having a moderately polite conversation, even though the subjects in consideration were highly uninvited. Well suck a fucking dildo, if he was to go along with the man's mood swings! And for Merlin's sake, he didn't even make an honourable insult to deserve such a reaction.
"What's your problem? What did I even say to blow up your snotty fuse?"
As it turned out, it wasn't the best thing to say.
Snape's eyes twinkled wickedly. "Oh yes of course, your inapt choice of words. Another acquired trait evidently."
"Will you shut up about my father already! I know he wasn't-" He took a deep breath, as fluttering images of Snape's worst memory rushed through his mind.
He sighed and spoke a bit slower this time. "I know he wasn't perfect or ideal or any of those things you think you are, but he was still my father. And don't even dare to pour scorn about my mother, I won't have any of it." He warned.
He remembers how his mother's face fell as soon as Snape spit the word Mudblood.
The harsh, immaterial word used to shadow down the proficiency of those who weren't privileged enough to be born into a Wizarding family. But the word 'privilege' lost it's value as he countermanded how most of the pure-fucking-blooded ones turned out to be.
Snape fall silent. For a tiny fraction of a tiny second, Harry saw an unusual intensity of pain in his eyes. But he could only guess as it lasted as long as a blink. Was he regretting it?
Harry knew what he did wasn't right as well. The man was a prat, but so was his father. He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry." Snape looked straight up at him, his eyes furrowing.
"I'm sorry for…that I looked through your memories that night. That was - that wasn't right. It was disrespectful, rude and wrong. I of all people know what it's like to be denied privacy, but I still - umm, I'm just really really sorry, I hope you know that." He said firmly, though feeling extremely uneasy.
"And also, I'm sorry that I didn't believe you when you said my dad was a dickhead." He might have flashed a small smile at that.
Snape widened his eyes, clearly not believing his ears. He eyed Harry for three long seconds before looking away, which had Harry fidgeting his hands. "You're sorry." He repeated.
"That's what I said, yes." Harry nodded. "But I really didn't appreciate you calling my mother names. She was helping you, for Merlin's sake."
He murmured. Snape stared at him, without blinking. The creep. He seemed to be at loss of words, for which Harry was surprised. But also, glad. They both needed a few seconds of silence before taking up on their strangely electric conversation. Harry had always wanted to apologize to Snape for his intrusion that night, but the time, place nor the words would have been right.
Snape broke the contact for a few seconds before looking up at him again. "Slytherins are believed to be ambitious, resourceful, proud, cunning. And these traits can be incredibly helpful in the coming War, you've been bragging about. People refuse to acknowledge that. It's evident in the way they're being treated that they're believed to be evil. Some of their parents follow the Dark side. Some of them, marked. And it won't take a bat of an eye for them to compel their children to do the same. That's what I want you to prevent. Make them see, believe, realize that it's no longer about themselves and their petty rivalries. That it's not about the pride of their own and I want you to believe. Believe in them. Include them. And learn to work together. Start with Mr. Malfoy, because most of his housemates follow him. If you both can get over yourselves and form a truce in the least, then others will follow. You don't have to make friends, if the idea repels you. But know this, that they can be strong, idealistic allies. We need them, Potter, do you understand?"
Harry didn't. Half of his mind was still stuck in their previous conversation. But Snape was acting like it didn't even happen. Even a nod of acknowledgement would have been very very pleasant. But he supposed that it was too much ask from his potions master. Harry had surprised him, after all.
The other half of his mind was reeling. And he couldn't help but think that Snape's words made sense. That the Slytherins really were being excluded and that if the same continues, it'll be too late they'll make the wrong decision. That they still had a chance.
"I understand." He said lowly. "But, why me, though? Wouldn't it be better if you talk to them about this?"
Snape curled his lips just a bit. "Aren't you the Chosen One? And it's you lot who have to work together. Trust is hard to earn, even harder with history like yours. But you'd be surprised at the amount of faith they put in you. And before you ask, yes, even a few Slytherins worship you. Your fat eyes have failed to ever notice."
Huh. Harry was out of words. He wisely kept his mouth shut.
Snape sighed. "Look, there's nothing I can say to change your opinion if you don't give them a chance. See for yourself. Look into them, search for goodness, isn't that what you do?"
It sounded like an insult. Or that may have been his imagination.
"So, what do you say?" Snape urged.
'No', he wanted to say. For no good reason, but that he's stubborn. But it's merely an impractical word, isn't it? Though used so frequently and spoken so confidently that you'd think, it works. That saying 'NO' ceases all our problems. But guess what; NO, it doesn't.
'Yes' he wanted to say as well. Because he knew Snape was right. That this was bigger than the petty rivalries teenagers pleasure themselves with. That neglecting it, waiting for others to to do all the work is not going to save anyone's skin, including yours. That this was a matter of life and death.
"Okay." He said. A bit too sadly to be convincing. But this was the right thing to do, he knew. Snape had given him something to think about. He'd almost forgot about-
Fuck.
Sirius. He'd almost forgot about it, about how much he was effected by his death. But it was done, wasn't it? No amount weeping, sulking or depressing himself for it can bring him back. But he could make it worth. He could prove that his God father, his parents, Cedric and numerous others didn't die for nothing. He owed them that. He needed to fight. He had to win. And he'll welcome all the help he could receive to do so. He blinked back tears and took a deep breath.
"Okay." He said again, more confidently this time.
Snape merely nodded. As if he expected nothing less. "Alright, if we're clear about that, can we move to the next matter?"