Third Place - Romance

Whenever Snape saw Harry now the silver snake always accompanied him. Harry spent most of the day taking to it in Parseltongue. Snape would often just sit and listen to the amazing sound of the language, though he always had his nose buried in a book so as not to be too obvious. The snake was becoming a great friend of the boy. It was exactly what Harry needed, Snape had decided. He actually seemed content when talking to Sylrissin, if not happy. Snape feared that happiness would not be a look seen on Harry's features for a long time to come.

With the melodious hissing as a background, Snape pondered over all that he had learned of Harry. Harry who felt the pain of others as they died in his dreams. Harry who felt guilty for every one of those deaths. Harry who was only fifteen yet had gone through so much.

Harry who should have been in Slytherin.

He had always thought that Parseltongue. was a trait which should never have showed in a Gryffindor. And now he knew. Harry was supposed to have been in Slytherin. Why then was he not? It was a question which could only be answered by applying to Harry personally, and he would not do that. Not only did he not wish to interrupt the boy's enjoyment of his new pet, but he also didn't wish to remind Harry of the other cruel words that the Sorting Hat had uttered. Harry had enough guilt.

So this is what it is like to be sensitive to the needs of others, he mused idly. This is how Albus feels, and why he acts the way he does. How long had it been since he had genuinely cared about the well-being of someone else? He did not need to care for Albus, as the Headmaster took care of himself, but this boy, this vulnerable, defenceless boy, whom he had 'coaxed' into opening up to him and was now therefore dependent upon him for support and stability, he had at some point without realising it begun to care about what happened to Harry.

Harry took several naps during that day, making up for the previous sleepless nights. And Snape stayed nearby, and woke the boy up if he showed any signs of distress. The snake lying with him, curled around the Harry's wrist, seemed to help drive the nightmares away as well, and she always hissed him back to sleep. Snape wondered if snakes could sing lullabies.

Late in the afternoon, when Harry was awake and just gazing down at the dozing snake who had been sated with a dish of warm milk, and Snape was sitting next to him reading, the boy started to talk to Snape. It made something in Snape's heart clench that the boy trusted him. That anyone trusted him. What a foolish thing to do. He was almost afraid of the amount of pleasure he derived from knowing that Harry did so, had proven last night in speaking of his true fears, and was proving now by speaking of his past. What was he to do with such trust? The very least he could do was listen.

"They never really hurt me before you know. Not like that. It was just... they weren't expecting to have to take me over Christmas. I mean, things weren't that great during the summer after the Weasleys made Dudley's tongue swell up. But this time - well, Dudley wasn't any worse than usual. He would pick on me whenever he got the chance. He used to trip me up a lot, spill things all over the place so that I would have extra chores. Tell my uncle lies to get me into trouble."

Harry's voice faltered slightly, "Uncle Vernon. Well, he's always hated me. And I guess it was my fault for using magic in the first place. But he shouldn't have killed Hedwig. How could he? She never did anything. It's so unfair."

Severus watched as tears began to flow. He reached out, as he had once in the hospital wing, maybe that was when he started to care? He gently brushed the drops away.

"So they put me back in the cupboard. I guess it wasn't so bad. I was living in there for eleven years so I should have been used to it. But it made all of my fears worse somehow."

They kept the boy in a cupboard for eleven years? And he speaks of it so casually. What kind of monsters would do that to a child? The same kind that would beat a boy to within an inch of his life, and not care for him when he was sick, and starve him.

He found himself growing angry at the Dursleys all over again, but he made sure that his temper did not reach his eyes, for he knew that Harry would believe it to be directed at him and throw his walls up again. And it had taken such effort to break them down, even when they were already crumbling. Again he marvelled at his instinctive need to protect the boy.

"And then they couldn't feed me since there was no way of getting food in, not that they fed me before but I always stole something while I was cooking. Though sometimes I was caught. Which just meant more chores."

All of this on a person was more than enough, but then Harry had to carry the burden of Voldemort, knowing that he was very likely to die, and that the world expected him to save them. He was not surprised that Harry had cracked under the strain. Now he was just astonished that it hadn't occurred earlier. Harry must be strong indeed. But no one was that strong. Everyone needed someone to confide in, to rely on.

His inner voice questioned who he had. Albus. It saw that for the pathetic excuse it was. Albus was someone he could rely on yes, but he was not someone that he could truly confide in. For Albus would not understand Severus. Just as the Headmaster had not understood Harry.

Harry fell asleep, and Snape just sat there staring at the boy's features. Until his face was relaxed in sleep, it was not truly apparent how much his cares weighed on him.

The little silver head of the snake lifted to turn to him. She hissed in agreement, though Severus wasn't sure with what.

The next few days flew by. Snape started helping Harry with his potions practicals again. The boy did seem to have some talent after all. Although he could have sworn that the snake was giving the boy tips the whole way through. Maybe she was just commenting on the smell.

When Harry found something in one of his textbooks, no matter the subject, that he did not understand, he would ask Severus. And Severus would explain. As patiently as was possible for him. Which of course wasn't very, but when Harry started going into more depth on why it made no sense to him Snape found it much easier to help. He would have refused to help Harry directly with his homework, but the boy didn't ask, so, feeling magnanimous, he pointed the boy in the right direction when he was looking for answers in the wrong places.

Meals became less formal, usually consisting of junk food, which Snape confessed a hidden liking for, alternating with salad. And lots of cookies. The dining table was abandoned for the couch, as it was far more comfortable, and allowed them to keep on reading whilst eating. Harry was turning out to be quite a little bookworm. Meals were eaten with their fingers, and Snape took care to spell all of the texts against dirt and grease. Ever practical.

Snape was almost ....comfortable with Harry around.

Term started. Harry moved back to Gryffindor Tower. Hundreds of children flooded the corridors. Snape had to readjust to being glared at the whole time, naturally starting to glare back. The school was too noisy for him now.

In contrast, his chambers were too quiet. He had got used to Harry being there, the little noises he would make, the sound of his breathing, the sound of his snake hissing.

Now that Severus could stretch out on his couch again he found that he didn't enjoy having his space as much as he had thought he would.

Harry sat with his friends in the great hall and picked at the food on his plate. Ron was telling him about how great his Christmas had been, and of all of the presents he had received. Harry was feeling bitter, as he had spent his Christmas unconscious, courtesy of Ron. Not that it was Ron's fault, the present coming like that, but still, he couldn't stop irrational anger from welling up inside him.

Hermione, unlike Ron, was more astute than the average block of wood, and figured out that Harry was being a little too quiet.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Hmmm, interesting question. Not exactly original though.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired. I had to get up really early this morning for some last minute packing."

He was lying again. He hadn't had to do that for a few days now, while he was staying with Snape, and he felt an almost physical pain at slipping back into the habit. It's what they need to hear, he told himself. That didn't make it any easier for him to bear.

Unfortunately, Ron seized hold of the change of subject enthusiastically.

"So, how was your Christmas then Harry?"

"Oh, you know, the usual."

Meaning so many things. It was almost the truth.

"Did you get my present? How come you didn't write?"

Was that Ron's way of asking why he didn't get a present? Very subtle. Or not.

"Yeah, I got your present." Yeah, a present, and a whole lot of broken bones and bruises, and a dead owl, and could never go back to the Dursley's again unless he was completely suicidal. "Thanks a lot. Sorry I didn't get you two anything but I didn't really get a chance to go out much."

They accepted this, and he appreciated it, though he couldn't help comparing their reactions with Snape's. Snape would never have believed him if he said that. But then Snape knew far more about him than either Ron or Hermione. Now that was a depressing thought, his best friends knew nothing about him and how he was feeling inside at all.

They hadn't seen Sylrissin yet, she had stayed in his pocket. She complained of course, but he didn't think that the dining table was the best place for introductions.

When they got back to the common room he brought her out and showed her to them. Their reactions were typical. Harry could read them so well. Ron ran across the room in fright at first, but after Harry explained thought that she was extremely cool and wanted to know if she did tricks. Sylrissin asked if she could bite his tongue off, since he made far too much use of it in her opinion. Hermione got excited and immediately fled to research what kind of snake she was.

Harry really did feel tired. And being with his friends was more exhausting than he remembered. Did they never stop talking?

Ron wanted to stay up and talk, but Harry blocked him out, took the dreamless sleep potion and cast a silencing spell in what had become his ritual before bed. Then he went to sleep, Sylrissin curled up by his ear.

He woke up in the usual way, by throwing himself out of bed with the force of his tossing and turning. This time there was no one there to comfort him, he had allowed himself to grow used to having Snape there when he woke up. So he sat on the floor by himself and shuddered as he fought to dispel the remainders of the darkness haunting him. After ten minutes, he figured out where he was. After half an hour, he managed to stand up.

He looked at his bed in trepidation. He knew from experience that if he tried to go back to sleep now the darkness would suck him straight back in. And he didn't want that. He went and sat by the window for a while, staring at the stars. He felt his eyelids start to droop.

Harry forced himself back up and, grabbing a book, went down to the common room. He sat by the fireplace and tried to study. Sylrissin, curled round his wrist again, still hadn't forgiven him for disturbing her sleep, so wasn't speaking to him. He attempted to study for a while, but in the end gave up and started staring into the fire. It was familiar and soothed him, and he quickly fell asleep sprawled on the rug in front of it.

His friends found him there in the morning. He was surprised he had had no further nightmares, and told them that he had woken up early and wanted to read for a while, then must have dozed off.

It was almost the truth. Almost. This was what most of his life at Hogwarts had been like, stretching and bending the truth so that it would suit others. This was what his life was for, the good of others.

He excused himself and went into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection. He looked around reflexively to see if there was anything he could cut with. There wasn't. And he hadn't cut himself again, not since just after Sirius died. He was still working on convincing himself that he didn't need to.

His reflection. He gazed deep into its eyes and began to think of all the things he should be. He was the Boy who Lived. He was the son of Lily and James Potter. He was a good Quidditch player. He was brave. He was bold. He was a Gryffindor. He was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter joined his friends and walked down to the Great Hall with them, laughing.

Professor McGonagall found him after breakfast. She had obviously heard about his staying over the holidays, though he doubted that she knew the real cause.

She inquired after his health, and how he had been doing with his studies. It was so easy for Harry to lie to her. She accepted everything he told her. Why wouldn't she believe Potter after all? It was Harry that couldn't be trusted. But Potter was a lie. Harry was in a maelstrom of confusion. McGonagall left. He had a feeling she barely restrained herself from patting him on the head.

His own head of house didn't understand him at all. He got on far better with Snape.

Class was the same as usual. He understood many of the topics a lot better after his Christmas studies, but wasn't about to volunteer answers, so kept quiet. He worked hard to stop himself from falling asleep in History of Magic, as he feared the consequences.

He handed in all of his homework, which he had actually completed in time without Hermione there to push him. The things he had resorted to when there was nothing else to do!

But now there were other things to do. His friends would be expecting him to spend all his time with them, holding extended conversations about topics he now found meaningless. There would be no more quiet time with just his books and Sylrissin. And Snape.

It was as he was walking to lunch that he heard a call in Parseltongue. He looked down at Sylrissin, but it hadn't been her. He finally saw Serminysa in one of the portraits nearby on the wall. She had shoved the regular occupant off to one side and the knight was giving her a peeved look. Harry approached.

"Hello, little snake. How do you fare?" she asked

"I'm fine thanks. How about you?"

"I am free. But you lie. I can smell it. I can hear it. You never lied to me before. Why do you do so now?"

Harry felt his walls falling and grasped them desperately. He couldn't lose them now. His friends could not know. They were looking at him strangely, he motioned them to go ahead but they wouldn't leave. He was Harry Potter. He was Harry Potter.

"I'm fine," he said more forcefully. He lifted up Sylrissin and showed her to the painting. As he had intended, the snake was distracted.

"Oh, look at the little one. She is beautiful, is she not?"

Sylrissin preened herself, if snakes can preen. The intent was there.

Serminysa laughed.

"All young snakes are vain." Her gaze lingered on Harry. "Though I had not thought you so. You have changed, and it is not a good change.

Hiding under rocks merely means that you will be caught unawares when the tiger bites your tail. And there is nothing but darkness where you hide. You will never find a light like that."

Her stare switched back to Sylrissin. "Take care of this man-snake, little one. For it seems he cannot be trusted to take care of himself." She left.

Harry ignored his friends' inquiries as to what was going on and what the snake had said and carried on down their path. He did not want to think on what she had said. It cut too deep. He would never find a light like this. Never find hope.

Then he would have to live without it. He was everyone else's hope. That would have to be enough.

Harry ran straight into Malfoy on the way down to Potions. By the time they had picked themselves up off the ground the other boy's face was set in a sneer, blatantly copied from Snape, and Ron was standing at his shoulder, looking for a fight.

And Harry felt nothing. There was no hatred for Malfoy, who had made his life a misery, and there was no gratitude for Ron, who was sticking up for him. He just felt weary.

"Potter, I see you fall back down to grovel in the dirt at every opportunity," said Malfoy in a provocative way. Harry saw Ron's fists clench. But he didn't care. What did it matter?

But then, Ron was staring at him, waiting. He was Potter. He fought Malfoy. It was what he did. It was who he was.

"Just because it's your natural habitat doesn't mean that you have to pull the rest of us down with you to make yourself feel better." It was a good comeback, but Harry didn't feel pleased at all. Ron was happy. He was still Potter.

They walked on.

Potions was a class that Harry had been dreading. No more Mr. Nice Snape. He would go back to being the usual scowling professor who hated him.

The professor was horrible to every one of the Gryffindors. When he made derogatory comments about Harry's skills it got to him in a way that Draco's shallow insults hadn't. The more so because he knew that he didn't deserve these comments. His work was perfect. He had studied particularly hard to make sure he got his potions right.

Snape had gone back to treating him as Potter again. Which was what he had wanted from everyone, but somehow it hurt more because Snape had been the one person to see his true self, to see Harry. And if Snape was treating him as Potter that meant no one saw him as Harry. Harry was beginning to disappear under the mask of Potter. He reminded himself again that that was what he wanted, no one needed Harry, but they depended on Potter. Harry had to go.

So he sat there in potions class with the two halves of himself clashing. Harry wanted to cry. Potter would never cry. He stared at the floor stoically.

Then he realised he hadn't heard anything that Snape had said in the last ten minutes, and the professor was glaring at him. The rest of the class was staring. Harry wanted to run away and hide. But Potter would never do that.

Snape told him to stay behind after class. Everything was back to normal then. Harry Potter predicted himself many weeks of unpleasant detentions. After all, he was Potter, and the person he had just annoyed was Snape.

Flawed Lines - Chapter 9

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