Third Place - Romance

Snape was- though he would not fully admit it to himself- relieved when Harry came back through the door. Now that he was aware of the possibility of the boy harming himself he could not find any reason stopping Harry from doing so. He dreaded telling Albus this; the old man would not react well to the sign that Harry had broken down entirely.

It had been just a small cut on the thumb, such a small cut. But Severus had seen the look in the boy's face, had seen him try to hide and deny. He had seen those reactions before, though not for a long time, and he feared what they meant for the boy. He feared what it meant for the world, if the Boy Who Lived was to fall.

Harry sat down in front of the fireplace, allowing Snape to watch him more easily. The boy looked contemplative, his hands playing with something in his lap. If he was feeling calmer now then perhaps Severus should try talking to him again. He had to try and prevent the boy from making further attempts until the boy would talk to Albus. Though he wasn't sure- especially after this - that the boy ever would talk to Albus.

He called the boy's name, softly, several times before Harry finally looked up at him. He wasn't sure this was from a reluctance to talk or because the boy was daydreaming again. Harry tentatively turned around fully, staying down on the rug. He was cradling his right hand against him, and for a moment Snape thought that he had made a severe misjudgement and shouldn't have let Harry go before, then he realised that the boy had not hurt himself but was rather holding an object.

His eyebrow rose along with his curiosity. He wondered what on earth the boy had found. He was going to ask in a civilised manner but his tongue slipped into the habits of old.

"Bringing in the trash are you now-" he stopped himself from continuing and comparing it in some way to the boy. Be neutral. Be neutral, ran through his head. Dealing with suicidal, trauma case here.

"Yes, well, it should match the rest of the room then, shouldn't it!" Harry retorted.

For a second Snape's ire was incited at the boy's insult to his accommodations, but was quickly doused by the realisation that Harry, however feebly, had answered back to his professor. He had some spirit left in him then. He was not a lost cause. He could still be saved.

Snape forbore to answer in case he pushed the boy too far, and held out his hand in command. Harry got to his knees and shuffled closer, but would not give the item to him. He barely stopped a scowl. He wasn't sure if he didn't personally prefer the boy without spirit. Then the little voice reminded him how broken Harry had looked in the hospital wing, and after his nightmares, and told him that that kind of loss of spirit was not a good thing. He couldn't think up a reply. He supposed that Harry's slight rebelliousness was not as irritating as it might once have been.

"Let me see," he ordered, though with as little harshness as possible. The boy hesitated, and then held out his open hand.

Snape saw an egg, just big enough to fill the centre of the boy's palm. Its shell was smooth and shiny, and though white it had a slight silver sheen to it. He reached out his hand to touch it, and the egg was swiftly withdrawn.

He stared at Harry. "Where did you get this?" The egg looked rare and magical- a snake egg, if he wasn't mistaken. Where on earth could the boy have found it?

"Serminysa gave it too me." Snape frowned at him; that had made no sense whatsoever. Obviously noticing his professor's confusion, Harry added "The snake in the portrait. The egg was hidden inside. She said I should take care of it, and keep it warm."

Severus was astonished. Absolutely taken aback. A snake in a portrait had given the boy a magical egg. Of course, that was just the sort of thing that would happen to Potter. Then he reminded himself that this was Harry. He reached out to touch the egg again, this time holding Harry's gaze, and the boy did not move back. He ran his fingers over the surface of the shell. It was fairly cold.

"You really should take better care of such a gift, boy." Harry flinched, and Snape was surprised, he hadn't said anything that mean, he had been far more callous before with no reaction. What was it then which frightened the Harry this time?

"What is it, boy?" Another flinch, quickly suppressed, but not soon enough to hide it from Snape. He knew that the egg should be warmed immediately, but something told him that this was more important.

"Harry?" The boy just stared at him mutely. Severus had a sudden idea. His little voice said it thought that testing it was wrong. He went ahead and did so anyway.

"Boy!" shouted sharply and with hate. Harry cringed away and folded in on himself. Snape could hear words being muttered. He crouched beside the trembling form.

"Please don't hurt me, Uncle Vernon, please stop" was repeated over and over again. Snape realised from the symptoms and the link that the boy was having a panic attack; he must have triggered it by calling Harry by the same title his uncle did. His little voice told him he was cruel. He noticed he was out of calming potions. How was he supposed to deal with the boy then? The little voice told him he had brought this on himself. Then it blew raspberries. He thought he must be totally deranged to have such an immature inner voice. There was probably some deep meaning to it. He hoped Trelawney never found out.

He put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry however, didn't seem to find it comforting as he scrambled backwards, apparently expecting a blow. Snape sighed. He was not meant for this. Now, what had he done with the last one?

"Harry. Harry?" Damn boy, listen to me! "Harry, no one is going to hurt you. Harry, its Severus." He hadn't meant to say that. He was Professor Snape. It was so hard being one thing in your head and another to everyone else. He briefly wondered if that was how Harry felt about being Potter. "Harry?"

This time when the hand rested on his shoulder the boy did not pull away. Severus felt the heartbeat begin to slow through the link. At last, progress. Harry slowly raised his head.

"Come on," he coaxed the boy. He was not made for coaxing. Why couldn't Albus be here? The little voice told him that if it was the headmaster present, Harry would not be Harry anymore but Potter; he would show his true feelings even less than he did with Snape. And it was not good to shut your true feelings inside. Snape knew from personal experience. Ongoing personal experience.

He took the egg from sweaty fingers. "At least you've warmed it up a bit," he said, drawing the topic away from Harry's relatives. Severus instinctively knew that now was not the time to push. The boy could not take much more.

He modified the amount of heat that the fire was giving out. Then he placed the egg in the ashes.

Harry spent the rest of the day studying, and practising his magic. He occasionally just monitored the egg, and Snape honestly did not think that he had ever seen the boy look as content as when he was doing so.

Snape himself was making more calming potion, and meditating upon ways to improve the dreamless sleep mixture.

Before Harry went to sleep, he remembered to wish the boy a Happy New Year. Before he himself went to sleep, he remembered to cast the counterspell to silencing charms on Harry.

Screams. Why was he not surprised? Sighing, he got out of bed and trekked to the living room. It could have been a repeat of the night before - Harry was in exactly the same state. He could not think of a better way to wake the boy, so another glass of water went over his head, and the potions down his throat. Harry was still whimpering in pain so Snape reached out a hand to calm him. The boy flinched as he had earlier.

"I'm sorry Uncle, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," was whispered hoarsely.

Harry's apology for waking him the night before suddenly made sense. What had the boy's relatives done to him when he'd screamed at night? Snape reached out a second time, and when Harry understood that the touch was not to be followed by pain, he leaned into it.

They stayed like that until Harry's rasping breathing eased, then Severus withdrew his hand. Harry was crying. Silent tears meandered down his face. Snape supposed that it had finally become too much for the boy to bear.

"Harry, what's wrong?" He would have thought it would have practically killed him to be this nice to the boy a week ago, but now it wasn't so annoying. And he did genuinely want to know what was wrong. His inner voice laughed at him. He didn't see what was so funny. He handed Harry the water left in the glass.

"Sirius." Snape tensed at the name. Bloody bastard, tried to kill him. It was an automatic reaction to the name. The stupid man had never even apologised. He should have been expelled. He should have damn well stayed in Azkaban.

"Sirius is dead."

Snape just stared at Harry, before logic reasserted itself.

"Harry, you have no way of knowing that. It was just a nightmare. Nothing more."

Harry scowled at him, it was a passable imitation of Snape's regular look, and he would have laughed if Harry hadn't been crying in front of him.

"It wasn't a nightmare, the potion stopped the nightmares. This was the blackness. This was a vision. This was real. He's dead."

"Harry, I really don't think that..."

"He's dead! He's dead." The absolute conviction in the boy's voice shook Snape. He opened his mouth but found nothing to say. Except.

"I'm taking you to see the headmaster." The boy tensed up immediately. But it was time, and Albus should know about the boy's nightmares anyway. Visions. Whatever.

At three in the morning he really shouldn't have been surprised that Albus wasn't there. He was, however, having formed the impression that the headmaster never left his office. He left Harry sitting there in his pyjamas and went to search for him.

He found Dumbledore in the kitchens, eating cheese and talking to the house elves. Shaking off the shock of the bizarre sight, Snape quickly explained what had happened.

They hurried back upstairs, but as Severus was about to enter, Albus shook his head, and cracked the door open just enough for them to see and hear through. Snape gave him disapproving look, mainly annoyed that he hadn't thought of it first. He put his eye to the crack.

Harry was fidgeting in the chair where he had been left. Severus was growing impatient, but acknowledged that the headmaster must have a reason for waiting. Suddenly a voice came of the room. It was not Harry's.

"You're restless."

Harry looked up and saw the sorting hat on the shelf. He sighed wearily.

"Hello," he said to it.

"What are you here for then?"

"I'm supposed to talk to the Headmaster about my visions." Without waiting to be asked he picked up the hat and put it on before sitting down again.

"Can you really call them visions when you don't see anything?" it continued talking out loud.

Then, "I'm sorry about your godfather."

A tear seeped out against his will. The storm within Harry began rising to the surface. He fingered the egg which had been transferred to his pocket again.

"It's just... I didn't know him that well, but he cared. I think. Cared about what happened to me. He didn't know me at all either, but that's because he never got a chance, because I was too weak to kill Pettigrew. And he died so horribly..."

Harry's voice trailed away as he tried to throw off the memory of the pain Sirius had gone through.

"You've been though a lot, haven't you, Harry Potter?" It was a rhetorical question. "You know, if you'd been in Slytherin, not all of this would have happened."

Harry's head snapped up. "It wouldn't?" he whispered.

"I told you, you would be better off there, you would have been helped Harry. There you would have been understood. And you would have understood your own world, yourself, and the darkness so much better. You would not have stayed with the Dursleys, the Triwizard tournament would not have ended like that, and you would have found a way to deal with the connection with Voldemort. You were not meant for Gryffindor, and your bravery is wearing thin."

Harry's head was bowed once more.

"Then I made the wrong choice again. I was so stupid. And everyone suffers because of me."

"Now, now, Harry Potter, not everything in the world is your fault. And there is hope yet."

"I cannot see it. Cannot see through the darkness."

"Then find a light to guide your way."

Harry thought in his head that the hat sounded suspiciously like...

"Serminysa. Yes, well, she and I have talked. The bare walls are not interesting enough to occupy my time or hers. So she sometimes slithers her way through other portraits to come up here. Has not in a long while, for she was guarding something, but she came earlier for she said she was released."

Then quietly in his head it said 'You will find hope Harry, do not fear. And being in Gryffindor may have given you other things, and prevented other deaths. No one can tell for sure.'

He took the hat off his head and set it back on the shelf, then rearranged himself more comfortably in the chair, thinking that the Headmaster must have wandered into the forbidden forest or something.

Severus followed Albus into the room, sitting in his usual corner. He was still trying to process the fact that the Sorting Hat had said that Harry was supposed to have been in Slytherin, would have done better in Slytherin! Although he could see its point- had Harry been in his house, Snape would have known the boy better and seen the signs of abuse. And his house members would have been far more likely to accept him as he was.

"So Harry, how can I help you?" The boy's heart rate sped up. Snape sighed. Harry really was terrified of explaining everything to the headmaster.

"Sirius is dead."

Dumbledore slowly extracted the story from the boy, though Harry was most reluctant to tell. Snape carefully watched the way that Albus showed no disbelief, not doubting the boy for a second, and compared it with his own reaction of telling the boy he was imagining things. So that was how it should be done then. Harry showed no inclination to talk about anything beyond his nightmares, and did not mention that he had cut himself with a razor. Snape wasn't surprised at that either.

"Well, my boy, I don't know what we can do about the visions you have, but I shall further research blocking the connection between you and Voldemort, and Professor Snape will see if he can find a potion to help you. We will find a way." The Headmaster had managed to put enthusiasm in his tone, and smiled encouragingly at Harry.

Harry nodded indifferently.

They left, the Headmaster calling out "Happy New Year, and Harry, if you ever want to talk to me about anything, I'm here."

Albus Dumbledore got very little sleep for the remainder of the night, whether this was due to the cheese, his troubling conversation with the sorting hat after Harry left, or anticipation of the morning's events - or all three - was debatable. The delays caused in attending to the Dursleys had merely added to his rage against them. That they could hurt poor Harry so! And that he himself had been so blind as to let it continue. It had taken a while to organise a fitting punishment, and he had pulled in many favours from the Ministry, but now all was ready.

He took his time dressing and breakfasting, determined not to hurry. Then he made his way to Hogsmeade, where he met three aurors and they apparated to the Dursleys'.

Appearing in the middle of the kitchen while the family was having breakfast gave them quite a shock. They all jumped up and, managing to make food fly everywhere in the process, stampeded for the doorway.

Albus smiled. He had wondered how Severus had treated them when he had seen them. Now he knew. They were afraid, and though he would not normally have seen this as a desirable state of affairs, this time it was justified. For they had caused fear and pain in another. Fear and pain in Harry, who did not look like he would be recovering from their 'tender care' anytime soon.

Spells were cast to keep them from fleeing. They were surrounded by the wizards. The man, Harry's Uncle, attempted to bluster his way out, but was silenced. Albus did not wish to here what he had to say. His self restraint would only go so far in this matter.

"You are charged with persistent neglect of the well being of your charge, Harry Potter, as well as his bodily abuse. You will be taken and given Veritaserum to verify this, then kept in a prison where you will no longer be able to inflict harm on others."

The man's podgy face showed stark terror, the folds of flesh under his neck wobbling like jelly as he shook. Albus felt nothing but contempt for him. For all of them.

He leaned in close, "But first, I wish to give you a gift of my own, one that you so eminently deserve." He cast a complex spell on the three of them, the aurors standing by passively. They had been specially selected as being loyal to him rather than the Ministry, and they approved of his decision.

As the family was transported away, Albus heard the first cries and whimpers of pain cross their lips. Now that was justice. Every time they thought ill of Harry from now on, which they would undoubtedly do since their current situation was due to him, they would feel the hurt that the poor boy had suffered as they beat him. Justice indeed. He apparated away himself, knowing that Severus would enjoy hearing the news.

Harry had not slept. He had not slept as he feared hearing Sirius' dying screams. He feared feeling his pain again.

He had not slept because he feared how Dumbledore would treat him now, and feared the pressure that might be put upon him to share his private troubles. He felt guilty over the way the Headmaster had instantly and without question accepted his words as the truth about Sirius, even though he had lied to him so recently. Why should he ever trust Harry again? Harry was not worthy of trust.

He had not slept because of what the Sorting Hat had said. It had said things would have been different. How?

If he had been in Slytherin, he would not have stayed with the Dursley's. That probably meant he would have hexed them and been relocated elsewhere by the Headmaster.

If he had been in Slytherin, Cedric would not have died. Harry would have understood what the presence of Barty Crouch Junior on the Marauder's Map meant. And he would not have asked Cedric to share the cup with him. So Cedric wouldn't have died.

If he had been in Slytherin, his connection with Voldemort would have been severed. What did the Hat mean by that? Was there some way of doing so that had not yet been found?

So Harry sat by the fire for the remainder of the night, watching his egg, and thinking about all of the bad choices he had made in his life, and all of the ones that had been thrust upon him.

With the dawn came a letter. It would have been hard to deliver to the dungeons by owl, so was re-routed through the fireplace. Harry picked it up gingerly, not sure if he wanted to read it. He instinctively knew what it concerned, and who it was from. He sat staring at it for almost ten minutes, and then hurriedly opened it before he changed his mind.

Dear Harry,

What I have to say should not be told in a letter, but since I am currently in hiding and have no hope of seeing you in the near future, there is something I have to tell you. You deserve the truth. Sirius was staying with me temporarily while he was wounded from his last encounter with some aurors. Voldemort found us- I don't know how. They knew of his goal of exposing Peter, and thought him too dangerous to live. He's dead Harry, he died bravely, fighting. He told me to tell you that he loved you and that he was very proud of you. I'm sorry I cannot be there, and sorry I could not write more, but the aurors and the Death Eaters are now searching for me. I'll be fine, and I will come and see you as soon as I possibly can. Be strong Harry, keep going. Sirius is not the only one who is proud of you. I am, and I know that Lily and James would be too.

Remus Lupin

Be strong. Keep going. But those were the things that he couldn't do. He wept as he read that Sirius was proud of him, he shouldn't be, his Godfather would be nothing but ashamed of him if he knew the truth.

It hurt him that Professor Lupin would lie to him, tell him that Sirius died bravely. He knew that his godfather had not, had died tortured and screaming. He had felt it. Remus said that Harry deserved the truth, but was treating him like a child, trying to give him comforting lies. That didn't work when you were Harry Potter, with the burden of the world on your shoulders. And he didn't deserve comforting lies. After all, it was all his fault that Sirius was dead. All his fault.

He made his way to the bathroom, noting that Snape wasn't up yet. It wasn't surprising since he'd kept his professor up most of the night with his nightmares. He never caused anything but grief for others.

He locked the door behind him. He wasn't even going to try and pretend this time. He went straight to the razor. It didn't even occur to him to wonder why Snape hadn't removed it.

He just wanted to play with it, to feel it in his hands. To try and cool the heat which was taking him over.

He took off his pyjama top, discarding it on the floor. Then he ran the blade over the flesh of his bare chest, slowly. For a moment it helped, and he traced imaginary designs on his skin with reverence, then the burning sensation came back. He cried in frustration- it had helped more last time. Then he remembered that when his blood had flowed, the heat had left for longer.

The razor moved up his body, to his neck, then his shoulder, then down his left arm. He began to press it in harder so that it left a white mark trailing behind it. Down to his finger tips, then up again. Pause over the vein at the wrist. Forbidden. Moving slightly up to the side. Pressure. Release.

As the blood flowed, he closed his eyes and sighed in relief, feeling none of the usual panic which always ruled him now. There was darkness in doing this, but it seemed comforting rather than hard. He felt less alone.

The feeling began to fade. He cut again. His eyes stayed closed as the euphoric wave washed over him again.

He didn't hear the door open this time either.

Suddenly arms grabbed him from behind. The heat came back. Along with the panic. He struggled against the grip, forgetting where he was, automatically believing that pain and humiliation would follow. Words in a sharp tone were thrust at him, and they did nothing but confirm his fears. He continued to fight the arms, which were now more securely wrapped around his middle. The voice was harsh. The hands were restraining him. Darkness, true darkness, took him over and he could see nothing beyond it. He heard the screams.

"Fool boy." He heard. He screamed himself, with remembered pain and the promise of it to come. He bucked and kicked and heaved but could not get free, from his bindings or the darkness. He had never been able to. He wondered if there was any point in trying. But he did anyway.

The arms stayed strong but suddenly the voice softened.

"It's alright Harry; it's alright. Calm down. Calm down. Stop struggling. I need you to be still. I can help you."

The gentle tone confused Harry, Neither Vernon nor Voldemort would speak to him like that. But then who was it? Where was he? Was it a trap? The arms didn't seem to be hurting him- they were just trying to keep him still. And the voice was kinder now. He knew that voice. He stopped his violent motions gradually and stood still. He began to feel light-headed. He thought he might faint. He moaned and swayed, unable to control his body. The arms were still around him though, and supported him. He was ashamed to need the support, but too exhausted to protest. He slumped back against the other's chest trembling as dizziness overtook him. He closed his eyes. Then opened them again to try and escape the darkness which was ever lurking behind his lids.

He almost started thrashing again, but a cool hand laid on his forehead made the tension drain away. The darkness began to seem less black.

He was distantly aware of being picked up and carried, but his mind was drifting again and it was so hard to focus. He was placed on the couch. He could feel the soft leather against his skin. It was more real than anything else in the world at that point, and he dug his fingers into the material, clinging on with all of his might.

Long cold fingers closed over his own, trying to release them from what they were clutching. They grasped his hands and held tight, anchoring him as he fell through his despair and uncertainty. The darkness faded further. He could make out the glow of a fireplace to one side. But the Dursleys don't have a working fireplace, he thought confusedly. A last surge of emotional pain flooded though his body and he arched his back, overwhelmed. The hands moved from his, one sliding up to wrap around his body and the other cradling his head as it was thrown back. The hands made it easier to cope. The darkness continued receding. He could make out a shape in front of him, and the panic began to dissipate slowly.

Something was held to his lips and he swallowed reflexively as liquid was poured into his mouth. It was cold too, and soothed him.

The light became brighter, and he closed his eyes, unable to deal with it at that moment. He lay there and concentrated on breathing, as the voice was telling him to do. He relaxed little by little, and clarity of thought returned to him. He opened his eyes again.

Snape was sitting beside him, putting a bandage on his wrist, where it had been cut. Where he had cut it. He watched the scene in a detached way, until Snape looked up. Something glittered in those eyes, and he shrank away, knowing that his professor must be angry.

Immediately Snape's face softened, becoming in Harry's eyes less hostile.

"Harry, I'm not going to hurt you. It's alright Harry."

Snape wouldn't hurt him. Of course Snape wouldn't hurt him. He had saved him. More than once. Harry couldn't think of anything to say. That happened a lot recently. Was it because there was nothing to say or because he was too afraid to say it?

"How did you know?" he whispered. Shame. He felt such shame. Even this he hadn't been able to do right. And Snape had seen his shame. Harry wasn't sure if he wasn't too tired to care anymore.

"I put a charm on the razor blade. You didn't think me so stupid as to leave it there for you otherwise, did you?"

"Wasn't thinking," Harry muttered, admitting the truth. Or maybe he had been thinking too much. But about something else.

A non committal noise then, "Will you tell me?"

Harry stayed silent.

"Harry, you have to tell someone. You can't let this carry on. And I might have to change the colour of my bathroom floor to red just to save the effort of cleaning up."

It wasn't a spectacular attempt at humour, but Harry appreciated it.

"Oh, you don't want to do that," he managed to say. "It would clash horribly with the rest of the decor."

Snape smiled. Harry had never seen him smile before. Had never heard him laugh like he had in the hospital before either. Maybe his professor was different in the holidays. He was certainly a lot nicer to Harry than he had ever been before. Harry didn't think he could have dealt with the full wit of Snape directed against him right now. So he was glad that the man had found a way which involved less personal insults of letting his humour out.

And maybe he was right. Maybe Harry couldn't hold it inside anymore. It didn't seem to be doing any good. And Snape already knew so much.

The hands tying the bandage were gentle. Harry closed his eyes and began to talk.

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to hear Sirius anymore. I didn't want to feel him being tortured. And I was thinking about all the mistakes I've made. Lupin sent me a letter," he said quietly and with as little emotion as he could manage.

"What did it say?" The voice did not push, it inquired. Harry could deal with that.

"Nothing much. He's on the run. He's proud of me. Sirius is dead." A pause as he worked out how much he wanted to say. "He lied to me."

"Black?" The name was almost growled.

"No, Professor Lupin. He said that Sirius died bravely."

"What made you think that he was lying?"

"Because I felt him die. He did not die fighting. He was..." Harry broke off, and picked up on a different thread. "And I just thought, that it was all my fault that he died, because of what I did. Or didn't do."

"You are not responsible for everything you know. You cannot be. Other people make choices too. They are responsible for themselves." Came the steady reply.

Harry hung his head. It made sense, what Snape said, but it was hard to apply it to himself.

"I don't understand." Harry looked up. "I don't understand most of what you're going through. But let me try and help." Dumbledore would never have said that. He would have said the opposite, and it would have infuriated Harry. But Snape didn't pretend to know all of the answers. It was scary, but at least there was no pressure.

"Is that why you cut yourself then, the guilt?"

Harry nodded numbly. "And the darkness. And knowing I could do nothing." He wrestled with himself for a moment. Snape wanted to help. He didn't care why anymore, it didn't matter. "And because I was hot."

This seemed to catch Snape's attention. "Hot?" Harry said nothing. "What do you mean?" Would Snape understand if he told him this?

"Harry?"

"I..." He had to say this, he felt the darkness threaten. "I was burning inside. And touching the metal made it stop. But then it wasn't enough." Swallow. "So I cut, because it made the fear go away, and I felt stronger, the way I'm supposed to feel."

He didn't dare to look up at Snape. He couldn't. His stomach clenched nervously.

Fingers caught his chin, tilted his head up. Dark eyes looked into his.

"Thank you," Snape said sincerely. Harry was confused- it must have showed on his face. "For trusting me enough to tell me."

Trust? Harry supposed he did trust Snape. He hadn't really thought about it while he was telling him. That showed trust didn't it, that he had not doubted him. Though he had feared his reaction. So much confusion. So tired.

As his eyelids fluttered closed Snape shook him gently. He opened them again and yawned in complaint of the disruption to his rest.

"Harry, you won't try that again will you?"

Eyes so heavy.

"Harry, you must not hurt yourself again, do you hear me. If you feel that bad then tell me and we can try and find another way of making the fear go away."

Harry nodded, and then fell asleep in earnest, with Snape still sitting beside him holding his wounded wrist.

He woke again feeling something moving against him. The first thing he saw was the egg resting in his lap. It was rocking. He stared at it, entranced. He was dimly aware that Snape was present, watching him, but it didn't worry him.

The twitching of the egg increased, until finally a small break in the shell appeared, and the egg cracked open. He reached down and pried the pieces away. His breath was stolen from him as he stared down at the small snake curled up on it. Her scales were pure silver and gleamed in the light from the fire. She was beautiful.

She looked up at him. And hissed softly.

"Hello," he welcomed her, "my name is Harry." He reached out a tentative hand and stoked down the length of her slender body. So smooth. She was cool to the touch. Like the razor had been. But less hard.

She stared at him with black eyes. "Greetings." Somehow he had known that she would be able to speak, though just out of the egg. "I am Sylrissin." She slithered slowly and somewhat awkwardly further up his body till she could look him in the eye. "I am glad to meet one such as you."

Flawed Lines - Chapter 8

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