Third Place - Romance

Severus gazed down at the boy sleeping soundly on the rug before him. The reactions of Harry tonight were quite different from the ones he would have imagined Potter to have, which merely emphasised how blinkered he had been when it came to the boy. He could not forget the moment when Harry had whimpered in helplessness as he found himself too weak to even undress. The boy was so vulnerable. So very easy to scare and hurt. What hope then, did he have against Voldemort, or any of the death eaters? What hope was there at all?

Harry would have to be coaxed out of his shell, and listened to with sympathy. And comforted. And then made stronger. That was not something that he could do, nor would he want to. He would have to talk to Albus, and soon.

Harry couldn't sleep on the rug all night. Severus levitated him and transferred him to the bed. As he covered the boy he renewed the now almost constant linking spell to inform him of Harry's condition, and then made his way to the headmaster's office.

Albus was waiting for him.

"Cup of tea, Severus?"

He shook his head and moved to the chair in the corner, the one which made him feel like he was being interrogated the least. Students never felt that way with the headmaster, but his manipulations were too subtle for them to detect. They were very obvious to Snape, however, and he avoided the traps set as often as possible, which was to say, so far, never. At least he tried though.

"Now, what is it you have come to talk to me about?" inquired the old man.

Unpleasant as the news was, Severus knew that to shock the headmaster was rare, and the expression which would doubtlessly soon grace Dumbledore's face would keep him amused for months. There is a silver lining on this rain cloud after all, he thought. He drew the moment out, savouring the anticipation.

His inner voice told him sharply to get on with it. It said he was being immature.

"Albus, I have something of great importance to tell you as regards young Harry Potter-" he started, then stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, Snape thought with confidence that they wouldn't remain that way for long.

"What mischief has Harry got himself into now? I assure you Severus, I doubt it was done with ill intent, and I do not think it appropriate to take house points or expel him during the holidays," the headmaster teased.

Snape was thrown for a second, before remembering that he had a fairly predictable track record when coming to see Albus about Harry.

"No, I... Harry lied to us." There, that was the best opening he could think of. Now Dumbledore would ask him what about, he would tell him, and then he could leave.

"I see," said Albus gravely. He did not say anything else. Snape knew he was doing this on purpose. It was impossible to have a proper conversation with the man, as he never reacted as he should. Which was why he always won every argument. Severus knew that the headmaster could outwit him so after a long pause he gave in.

"There was no Death Eaters attack. Harry's own relatives beat him. I believe that the abuse has been going on for some time."

"Are you sure of this, Severus, absolutely sure?" The intensity in the tone of Dumbledore's voice startled Snape.

"Yes. The uncle confessed it, boasted about it indeed, how they hoped to beat the magic out of him. And just now, when I confronted Harry, though he was evasive, he eventually started to admit the truth. He was very upset at my discovery of it."

Albus slumped back in his chair heavily, his expression distant and disturbed. "But Harry...Oh Merlin." He brought up his hands to cover his face.

Snape judged how he was reacting then added, "And Harry begged to stay here over Christmas, didn't he?" The headmaster looked up again. "And you told him that Christmas was a time for family, didn't you?" he hissed, angry that Albus, who always seemed to know everything, had let something of this magnitude past him. Angry at himself, for feeling guilty about what had happened.

He had not finished. Now that he had begun his accusations they flowed so easily. "They nearly killed him. Harry Potter nearly died because he was forced to live with people who hated him. And he never told us. How much do you think he trusted us then, and how well do you think that we knew him?"

Dumbledore's voice was swamped with guilt also. "I made him stay there. I never checked on him, I should have checked on him. Oh Merlin, Harry...Harry why didn't you tell us what was wrong?"

Snape interrupted the headmaster's self-recriminations. "He is crushed, Albus; I am not sure how much of the boy we knew before even exists now." He hesitated, before deciding that there was nothing more he could do here. He had taken out his frustrations on Albus, and Albus would hopefully take them out on the Dursleys.

"Here are the pieces of the wand," he laid them on the desk, then uncertainly he said "I'm not sure if he's ready to talk yet, maybe you should give him some time." But in his mind Snape thought that Harry had already had years to get ready to talk, the problem was unlikely to improve with further delays.

Severus was just falling asleep when he heard the cry. The spell informed him that Harry's heart rate was increased. Which meant he was in danger. Theoretically. Considering the revelations of the day, as well as yesterday's experiences, he had a sneaking suspicion of what was really happening. Rushing out into the other room, he was proven correct.

Harry was tossing and turning restlessly on the bed, occasionally making small noises of distress. Snape moved to his side, not knowing what to do. This nightmare was obviously not the Cruciatus curse - from the lack of screaming - and there was little he could do to help with normal nightmares now. He would brew some dreamless sleep potion for the boy tomorrow, he decided. For now Harry had become quiet again, curled up on his side and shivering since he had kicked the covers off. Snape picked them up off the floor and draped them back over the boy, then went to his own bed.

The next day he applied the salve then left Harry to his own devices and went into his lab again. Making up a stock of Dreamless Sleep potion for both Harry and also for Pomfrey's stores took up most of his day.

After that he went to see Albus again, now that the wards were nearly finished he had a lot more free time. He greeted Severus with a smile, though it was a sad shadow of his usual one, and they discussed Harry. Eventually the decision was reached that forcing Harry with a spell or potion of some kind to talk could destroy any trust he had left in them, so Snape was delegated to convince the boy to open up and be more willing to talk to the headmaster.

That meant the boy would have to trust him, thought Snape. Why on earth would Harry do that? He stole some of Dumbledore's sweets as he left to give to the boy. Perhaps bribery would work if all else failed.

He went back to his rooms secure in the knowledge that the Dursleys would soon be taken care of. Maybe Albus would let him watch.

That evening was a quiet one. Snape and Harry ate dinner then sat on the couch reading. Snape thought about ways to try and get the boy to talk for a while, decided that none of them would work, so became absorbed in his book and blocked Harry from his mind.

However, ignoring the boy became impossible when the linkage alerted him to Harry's heart speeding again. With a sigh he turned, expecting him to be asleep. He wasn't. Harry was just staring into the fire, the hand holding his neglected book had fallen to rest on his thigh. Blank staring.

"Harry," said Severus. No response. "Harry?" louder. No reply.

Snape reached out a hand and gripped the boy's shoulder. Like a statue coming to life Harry stirred, then looked around at him sluggishly. Severus was alarmed at the glazed look in Harry's eyes, and shook him hard.

Harry seemed to slowly to rise from the daze he was in; he became focused and the linking spell calmed down. Severus stopped shaking him.

"Sir?"

"What were you doing Harry?" Snape asked, needing to know what had set the alarm off so badly.

"Nothing, just thinking," came the nonchalant answer.

Thinking. The boy must have a hell of lot going on inside his head behind that facade. This incident had worried Snape, as well as Harry's ability to just brush off whatever it was as though it was nothing when quite clearly it was something.

Said it would fester, his internal voice commented. Snape wondered if it was a conscience. He didn't think so.

He gave the boy the sweets. This didn't seem to help, so he left him alone.

Albus came round later. Snape felt Harry's heart began to pound again. He really was terrified of talking. Still, feeling Harry panic every few minutes was annoying, and no longer necessary. He cancelled the spell on Harry so that he could get some peace.

Harry wouldn't even talk to the headmaster. He took his wand, now once more fully operational, back in silence. As soon as Dumbledore had left the boy ran to the bathroom. Snape thought he might want to cry in private. Which was just as well, as it made him uncomfortable when Harry cried in front of him, made him feel responsible. And guilty. And something else.

When the boy returned he looked perfectly composed. Of course, with his new knowledge of Harry's acting skills, that didn't mean much.

Severus slept well that night, with no interruptions. When he got up in the morning he saw that Harry had not, by the darkened circles under the boy's eyes. This puzzled him. The boy had not had nightmares, as Snape had given him some of the potion. Anyway, he himself was a very light sleeper and would have been woken if the boy had screamed or made any noise at all. He had even left his door open slightly, just in case.

He decided to take the headmaster's advice, and allowed Harry to try some of the practicals which he had failed in lessons. Which meant allowing him into his lab. Yet another sacrifice.

Harry seemed distracted. He kept making the most foolish mistakes. Snape, growing irritated by the boy's clumsiness, was about scold him when he saw that Harry's hands were trembling. He assessed the boy's face and knew it must be from tiredness. He really couldn't understand him. Knowing it was pointless trying to do any more, he called off the experiment and they went back and sat on their accustomed places on the couch.

Having Harry there was definitely not as bad as he had first thought it would be. The boy was passive and quiet, almost too much so, he never touched any of Severus' things. While personally Snape preferred him this way, he did realise that it meant something was wrong with the boy. No one was this submissive naturally. Not without it being drummed into them with sharp objects apparently, said his little voice. He didn't argue with it.

Harry lay out on the rug again for Snape to smear Pomfrey's potion on. Tonight would be the last time they would have to use it. The boy's back looked much better, and it was easily discernible from the way that he moved that it hurt much less. When Severus had first seen it he had been shocked, not just at the extent of it and thinking how much force it would have taken to do such damage, but that Harry had managed to live with it for so long before asking for help. The boy seemed determined to cling to the shreds of his pride sometimes, and then completely abandon it at others. His behaviour did, unfortunately, make sense to Snape, he had seen abused children before, even been one, to a much lesser degree, himself, but he still had no idea how to deal with one.

He rubbed the lotion in gently, taking his time, feeling Harry slowly relax. Maybe the boy was coming to trust him after all, he thought. As he worked his way down Harry's back, he pondered over whether Harry would ever pluck up the courage to speak to Albus. Snape knew that he had to do so, for in this matter the headmaster would not be a patient man, Albus thought that he had created the problem, and was determined to fix it. As soon as possible. By whatever means it took. And Snape felt that rushing the boy was the thing most likely to drive him away. But not doing anything didn't seem too wise either. It was so complicated.

He went to sleep undisturbed by Harry again, and was pleased that his potion had some personal benefits as well as helping the boy.

It didn't last. He had a nightmare and woke up in a cold sweat; the expression in Voldemort's eyes as he had seen them when he was discovered a traitor burned into his brain. He lay there for a minute, attempting to go back to sleep, but soon realised that it was impossible. He slid out of bed with a sigh, and thought that maybe he should take some of the dreamless sleep potion for himself.

Severus stepped out into the main room and warmed his hands in front of the fire for a few minutes. It comforted and soothed him to watch the flames flicker. He turned, about to go to his lab and fetch a bottle of the potion, when he stopped, astonished at the sight before him.

Harry was exposed on the bed as the covers had been kicked across the room. His back was arched, his hands clawing at the air. His mouth was open in a silent scream.

Severus was at his side in an instant, raising the lights. At first he thought that the boy might be having a fit, but as he looked down upon him he saw the drop of blood leaking from Harry's scar. Finally comprehending what was happening, he cast a general dispel. The sound of tortured screaming was instantly audible.

He accio-ed several potions to him, and a pitcher of water. The water went over Harry's head, and as the boy woke up, gasping and choking, the concoction went down his throat before he became aware of what was happening. Then he began reacting to what had occurred.

His shuddering and jerking was far more pronounced this time, noted Severus as he grasped Harry's shoulders worriedly to steady him. The potion would take a minute to start working. The boy suddenly crumpled into a ball and seemed to be attempting to crawl inside himself. For a moment Snape felt a deep connection, as he remembered how that felt, after Voldemort cast that curse, then he was on the outside looking in again, trying to get Harry to uncurl.

Even as the potions began to calm Harry down, he was still obviously terrified and confused. Snape thought wryly that waking him up with cold water definitely hadn't improved the boy's recovery, even though it released him quickly from the nightmare.

The boy was still trembling. Severus wasn't sure if he even knew where he was. Harry hadn't been this bad before, and it scared him. The boy was clinging to Snape's robes now, desperate for contact. Knowing that he needed to be grounded, Snape wrapped one arm around the boy's shoulders and placed the other on the back of his head as he pulled him close to his side.

Eventually the harsh breathing became more even, and Snape sighed in relief. He looked down into clear green eyes.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

Snape blinked. That was the last thing he expected the boy to say.

"Didn't the potion work?" he asked with a certain amount of professional curiosity.

"No, stupid visions - it never does." Harry seemed to be falling asleep again, the combined effect of the potions Snape had given him overwhelming his system. Just after he closed his eyes, Severus heard him murmur, "Have to practice silencing charms more then."

He laid the boy down. And renewed the link to him. Harry, it seemed, still had far too many problems for Snape not to be monitoring him.

Harry slept in late the next morning. Very late. By the time he stretched and rolled over, feeling marvellously well rested, he had noticed the very bright glow of the lamps. And Snape sitting eating what looked like lunch.

He scrambled to get up, clumsy in his haste, and earning more than one amused look from the potion's master. He supposed that providing entertainment value to others was better than being completely useless.

Walking up to the table in his pyjamas, Harry snagged a piece of toast and sat down in a chair with one leg tucked up under him. He munched half-heartedly, eating slowly in tiny bites so that Snape wouldn't order him to have some more. He really couldn't stomach anything else, and knew he would probably just end up feeling sick anyway.

It was strange how he didn't feel quite as self conscious around his professor any more. He had become used to his presence and no longer felt intimidated by him the whole time- just the times when Snape was actively trying. Which he didn't seem to that much. Harry supposed that he got bored of being so constantly menacing. He was still grouchy, but that was okay; in fact Harry liked this, as it meant no long conversations, no sympathetic 'trying to understand his pain'. Although, if there ever was someone who would understand in the school. He supposed that only Snape had seen enough of the dark side of human nature to do so.

He finished the toast and started to rise from the table, but his professor motioned him back down. He knew what was coming next, could practically feel the questions rising in the man.

"Why didn't the potion work?"

Harry was not surprised that Snape's pride had made him wish to know how his work had not been faulty first before thinking about anything else. He just shrugged. It was becoming a habit, so much easier than digging up answers he didn't know himself.

Snape's eyebrows drew together. Harry watched their movements carefully as indicators of how much he could attempt to evade the questions and prevaricate before Snape became truly angry with him.

"Well if you would tell me why it didn't, then I could improve it so it would work," snapped Snape.

Harry made a mental note that avoiding this particular subject was obviously not possible- it touched too closely upon Snape's work. He weighed the consequences of telling the truth, against the fact that there was no lie he could tell that the man would accept. He looked up. Snape's had not removed his challenging gaze from Harry's face. Not good. He had to speak then.

"They aren't actually dreams," he admitted. "At least, I don't think that they are. And dreamless sleep has never worked on them, I brewed some myself." The eyebrows rose as if the very thought that Harry could make a potion correctly was in doubt. Harry rolled his eyes. He was good enough at potions when he tried. "Anyway, since I'm connected to Voldemort," he couldn't help the slight waver in his voice as he said that, "the potion cannot stop the nightmares, the visions." His voice had sunk down so low as to be barely audible, and Harry distantly registered that Snape had leaned forward to hear him.

The darkness from his dreams was before him. Once more, he heard the screams, the cries, the absolute despair.

The nightmares always took place in absolute pitch black surroundings. He was completely isolated, hearing only the sound of his laboured breathing punctuated by the tortured screams of others in the distance. And he knew that they were real people, suffering. But he could never see them; he would twist around to the direction of the noise, and stumble that way. Then he would hear another, from a different source, and he would turn that way. And the screams would get gradually further away. And he would grow desperate, thinking that it was all real, and needing some contact. And then the whimpering would start, and the groaning. That was almost worse than the screaming.

When he had wandered for so long that he had given up all hope, and could no longer walk, but fell to the ground, he would feel a presence behind him. He had a long moment to appreciate that he had failed, that everyone depending on him would die, would soon be screaming in the dark too. Then the Crucios started. They didn't stop. They never stopped.

"Harry!"

His head jerked up. He saw Snape's face in front of him. And there was light. So much light all around him. It took him a few seconds before he recognised where he was. And understood that the darkness, and not this place, was the dream.

He mumbled something- he wasn't sure what- and got up. Trudging over to the bathroom, the blackness kept flashing in front of his eyes. He locked the door behind him, moved to the sink. Filled the bowl with water, dunked his head in. Held it there for a moment too long, until his lungs were bursting and his vision began to fade to black in reality. Then he raised his head and took great gulps of air in, and collapsed to the floor, leaning against the wall.

He wasn't sure anymore whether the dreams weren't far more real to him than this place. He seemed to spend just as much time there now. And the darkness, true darkness, the kind that cannot be found simply by closing one's eyes, was almost normal to him now. Almost comforting. He both loved and hated not being able to see what was going on around him; it protected him from the world but also made him feel alone. He could not have one without the other.

He stood again, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was alone anyway, completely alone, always. He wished he still had his glasses so that he had the option of taking them off and not seeing the things around him. He would have liked that choice. A choice which had been taken from him by the headmaster. He knew that Dumbledore had meant well, but that didn't stop his current resentment. He hadn't been given a choice in being the wizarding world's hero either. He hated that.

Of course, when he did have a choice, he made the wrong one. He had a choice in taking the Triwizard cup. He had made Cedric take it too. He had killed Cedric.

His eyes were drawn to the razor lying on the shelf. Most wizards used magic, but Snape, it seemed, liked to do it the Muggle way. The blade glistened in the light. He reached out and touched it with his fingertips. It felt cold. Felt wonderful against skin that burned with shame and disgust.

He picked it up. Ran his fingers over the smooth metal. Then he moved the flat of the blade in a line down his face, then down his arms. The coolness coming from it spread through him. It made the darkness go away. Or perhaps it was the opposite. But he no longer felt torn between two realities, two versions of himself anymore. There was just this.

He stroked the tip of his thumb repeatedly over the edge of the razor. And was cut. He did not feel the pain, but rather an icy sensation flooding through his veins, calming the uncertainty and the fear within him. He took the blade away and watched as red welled in its wake. Deep red. He stared at it. Then he looked up at the mirror again, to see if he looked more like himself rather than a murderer.

He saw Snape.

He turned, the blade falling from nerveless fingers. Snape was standing in the doorway, watching. He had been watching. The coolness in Harry began to fade away and he felt the panic return at full strength. He had been discovered. He wasn't sure what the feeling of shame was for this time, but it scalded his body in its intensity.

No, he thought. No, this cannot be.

Snape thought that Harry had been in the bathroom long enough. The boy had looked awful prior to fleeing. Though the link was not alarmed it had become strangely quiet. And he had not yet come back out. A suspicion began to grow in his mind. If it had been one of his Slytherins, he would have been sure. He strode swiftly to the door. It was locked. He should have thought of this possibility before, it was surprising that the boy had not tried anything sooner with such circumstances.

"Alohamora!"

He pushed the door open slowly. Harry had his back to Severus, his hair was soaked for some reason, and was staring down at his hands.

Snape was filled with fear. He should have known. But because it was Harry Potter, he had dismissed the idea of suicide. Prejudice once again. Harry, the boy here now, was obviously someone who was not a stranger to the idea.

He wasn't sure if he made a noise, or if Harry looked up of his own accord, but the boy saw Snape's reflection. He spun around, becoming deathly pale, and the razor blade clattered with an obscene amount of noise as it hit the floor. Harry's lips parted as though searching for something to say. And Severus was released from his frozen state.

He lunged forward as Harry backed off, and grabbed the boy's wrists, twisting them to reveal...unblemished skin. He glanced up at the boy's face, full of guilt, then to the blade. It had blood on it, though not much, which was now smeared over the tiles. He found the cut on Harry's thumb. Absolute relief flooded through him that the boy had not had time to go any further.

Harry tried desperately to wrench his wrists from Snape's grasp as he was dragged back out into the living room- practically thrown onto the couch! Snape paced in front of him, muttering. Then sat, and looked at him with piercing eyes that saw too much. And spoke words that penetrated Harry's defences.

"I should have known. Were you in my house I would have guarded against it earlier. Obviously you have more in common with Slytherin than I suspected."

Harry would have been amused by this remark's irony at any other time, and astonished at what could nearly be considered a compliment from Snape, but at this moment he could not. He was aware only of the blood rushing through his brain and of Snape's voice talking.

"What made you cut?"

He couldn't answer that. How could he answer that?

"What made you cut, Harry? Was it that your relatives beat you, made you feel helpless? Was it that no one, not even your friends, ever knew you for anything but your fame, and never loved you? Was it Voldemort, and the pressure put on you to defeat him? Was it Diggory?"

All excellent reasons. Snape knew so much. So much. There was no escape.

"Yes." A slight pause then, "No."

He couldn't bring himself to say anything else for a long time, and waited for Snape's tongue lashing to fall on him as he built up whatever small reserves of courage he had left. When nothing was said, he tore his gaze from his hands and looked at his professor. Snape was waiting. Not patiently, for his eyes glittered with unsaid words, but still in silence.

Harry thought that perhaps this was what he was like to his own house, almost civil. Almost nice. Snape had said he would have expected suicide if Harry had been in Slytherin, did that mean that he had dealt with suicide cases before, in his own house.

"It was Cedric." The sound of his own voice speaking startled him. "But, not him, the guilt- the guilt because you are all going to die, and then it will be your screams I follow in the darkness. It was because of the darkness, because I don't know if that world isn't the real one anymore."

He literally couldn't speak another word. His throat had closed over. His stomach rolled. He told himself that he would stay in control. It scared him that just saying the words had made him feel physically sick.

Snape didn't seem to know how to react. Harry felt almost relieved that there was some part of him that the other man didn't understand. He didn't understand the darkness. He made a good guess though.

"Harry, tell me about the nightmares."

Nothing could be hidden from this man. Nothing. It was useless. It had been hard enough telling Snape what he had already, he didn't know if he could force any more words out. He croaked pathetically, the meaning beyond comprehension, even to himself.

A glass of water was handed to him. He took it gratefully and sipped it. His throat relaxed. But now that he was able to speak, he grew more nervous. The darkness crept in at the sides of his view. The trembling of his hand caused the water to spill and he looked down at it in shock. Someone's hand pried the glass out of his hand and removed it. He looked up. Snape. Snape was here. He was talking to him.

"It's black," he choked out. "Always so black, can't see anything. Can just hear the screaming. Sometimes I think I know who it is. Sometimes I hear echoes of Cedric. Sometimes I feel their pain. Then He comes, and He curses me. And all I ever know is the darkness."

Snape said nothing.

"And now, sometimes, I can see the darkness even when I'm here. And it makes me feel so alone."

There. He had said it. He had told all, as he had thought he never would. Now all he had to worry about was the man he had confided in. Trust was something he had little of, and he never thought that any of it would be invested in Snape. But Snape had the power to destroy him now; it would be so easy for him. Harry himself knew that the smallest of his own thoughts sent him into depression, so what could the harsh tongue of the Potions Master do to him? And he had to stay strong. Had to.

"Harry, you really should talk to the Headmaster. He can help you," Snape said uncertainly.

Harry shook his head. Dumbledore wouldn't understand. And Dumbledore's illusions of him were not ones that he wanted to dispel. No, that he could not do, however much the headmaster knew already was too much.

"I want to be on my own for a while," he whispered. Seeing Snape's suspicious gaze: "I wouldn't try to kill myself. It was an accident just now. But I wouldn't try to kill myself. Wouldn't that be selfish for the Boy Who Lived. What irony!" he finished with bitterness.

Snape seemed about to say something, but Harry grabbed a chair and headed out of the door. He closed it, and sat facing it, which of course meant he wasn't really on his own after all.

"Hello, Harry," hissed the voice of the snake in welcome. "Serminysa is glad you have come.

Harry nodded, still too overwhelmed to talk much. The snake seemed more than happy to make up for his lack of words with her own.

"There is nothing interesting in the walls anymore. The talk of the insects wearies me, and those of my own kind I refuse to talk to. They do not understand- what it is that I deal with. They live safe in their dens and do not feel the loneliness, or feel the fear and pain that radiates from around me."

Harry had locked eyes with her as she spoke, feeling a depth of understanding there. Now she seemed to make a realisation.

"Your fear. Your pain. Little snake, why do you scream? Why do you hurt?"

"At night the darkness swallows me and I cannot breath," he answered at last. That was the best way to explain it. He began to feel more at ease, speaking in Parseltongue helped to calm his emotions.

"I see," she hissed, "The man who lives here- he is sometimes swallowed by the darkness too. Though he does not scream as you do." She appeared to consider for a moment, then "Perhaps it is a bad den you have chosen, if the darkness in it harms you both so."

"Not that kind of darkness," said Harry, miserably.

She turned black eyes upon him. "I know."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Harry watching the twisting motions of her coils as they both thought.

"Serminysa thinks that to make the darkness go away you will have to find a light."

Harry was about to make a sarcastic comment when he saw her eyes were perfectly sincere. He subsided and listened.

"Find something which drives away the darkness. Have you never had lights?"

Harry thought. "Yes, my friends, my godfather, my magic."

"And why has their light dimmed?"

"My friends don't know me, not really. They never see the darkness inside of me. And one of them in particular never got past my fame. My godfather is never around. I haven't heard from him in so long. I'm worried about him. I think he might be...and my magic? My magic is no good to me, it could not defend me when I needed it; it brought me pain and grief. No, the lights are no longer strong enough to hold back the darkness."

The snake nodded. "Then you must find new ones. You will have to look hard, to find a source of light, down here in the dungeons. Do not let the darkness take you, or you will not be able to rise from it again."

She was a very wise snake, Harry thought, her words did not give him hope but rather taught him to look for it. He was not sure how to find it though.

"I have something for you. I have not met one worthy before, have not talked to someone in so long. But you came, and you talked to me, and you are strong." As though she heard the doubts in Harry's head she repeated "You are strong. Touch my tail."

Harry stared at her for a second before getting up and stroking a hand tentatively over her tail. Nothing happened.

Snakes cannot frown, but that doesn't mean that he didn't know that she meant to.

"No. Push your hand into it."

Harry was puzzled now, and curious. He thrust his hand forward. The painting did not rip, yet his hand went through it. The picture became translucent, and he saw there was a small cavity where his hand was.

"Now find what is hidden."

Harry moved his hand cautiously, exploring the boundaries of the space. His questing fingers came across a rounded object, and he brought it out. The painting was solid again. He was holding an egg, it just filled his palm. He looked up at the snake in wonder.

"You will take care of her," commanded Serminysa. "At least she may have some intelligent conversation. And maybe her glow will help light your darkness. Keep her warm."

Harry did not even have time to say thank you before the snake slithered out of the painting.

He went back inside, the egg in his pocket. Snape was on the couch, reading. He watched Harry's entrance. Harry imagined that the man was checking he had all of his limbs still attached and arteries untapped. Harry hated to disappoint the man. Oh well.

He went and sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, enjoying the heat that the magical flames produced, and waited for the egg to hatch. He had a feeling it would be soon.

Flawed Lines - Chapter 7

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