Walk the Shadows

It was possible the Dark Lord did not know the full extent of the boy's connection to him . . . and if he did not, getting a potion to ease the effects of that spell would clue him in.

He realized after a few minutes that the boy was clinging to him, now, hands fisted in the sleeves of Severus' robes, and that he still had not spoken. Quietly, Severus said, 'Vision?'

The boy nodded against his chest, and drew a shuddering breath. 'Was havin' 'nother go at Bella. He's still mad.'

Severus suppressed a savage smile of triumph. He'd never liked the cold, crazed bitch, and for her to have fallen out of favor was all to the good. 'Anything else?'

Harry shook his head, then let out a moan; the movement obviously pained him.

'Just stay still awhile,' Severus told him. 'It will pass.'

'I know.' The voice was so tired sounding, so resigned, that Severus was taken aback. Did any of them know, truly, what this boy had gone through? Especially over the last five years. He knew, vaguely, about what had happened when Potter met Quirrell in the room with the mirror, and that he had somehow fought a basilisk and the spirit of Tom Riddle, and once more come out victorious. He knew that Potter had gone against Dementors more times than any who did not live at Azkaban, and had faced Voldemort again at the cemetery of the Dark Lord's rebirth. But he hadn't really thought about it in more than the abstract. He hadn't really considered what the impact of all that fighting and surviving had been on the boy's psyche.

If the Dark Lord's plan was to show this boy kindness and thus gain his trust whilst usurping him for his own purposes . . . it was possible it would work.

In the meantime, though . . . 'You need to get up now, and wash yourself, Potter. You're a bit ripe.'

The boy stiffened, obviously affronted, and Severus continued, 'How many days has it been since you had a proper bath?'

A shrug. Back to indifference, were they? 'Tell you what, Potter. Either you get up and take a bath, or I'll dunk you in there, clothes and all.'

The boy shot up, wresting himself away from Severus' hold. 'You wouldn't!'

'I would. It's high time you snapped out of this . . . this lethargy. You've spent enough time wallowing.'

'Wallowing!'

'Yes, wallowing,' he sneered. 'The Headmaster thinks so highly of you. What would he say if he could see you like this?'

'He'd see that I'm blind, Snape! And, and . . .'

'And?'

'And here, and alone, just like always.'

'Oh, for pity's sake, stop it. You're not alone. I'm here, locked in just like you.'

'Not like me!' A flush had crept up Harry's neck and reddened his cheeks. He'd turned around on the bed, so that he was facing Severus, even though his eyes were still covered. On his knees, his hands in fists. 'What do you know, anyway? You think you know me, but you have no idea what I'm like, or what's happened to me.'

Since Severus had just been thinking along those lines, he made a non-committal noise, which might have been interpreted as a snort of amusement, if one had it in mind to take it that way. As he expected, the boy exploded. 'Laugh, sure! What does it matter to you, if everyone who ever cared about me is dead? If my relatives hate me or abandoned me to die? All that matters to you is that I look like my dead father, who was an arse to you when you were kids. I've never done anything to you like that, and yet you've always hated me. You treat me like I'm dirt, just like they do.' His hand swung out to encompass the whole of the world.

'What of your fan club?' Severus asked, still prodding the boy out of his malaise.

The boy actually growled at him. 'The same fan club who whispers about me every time that Skeeter woman prints her stories? The same ones who thought I'd petrified students and tried to kill them and who thought I was telling lies for attention? Those fans?'

'I meant your Miss Granger and Mister Weasley.'

'Oh. Them.' The boy subsided once more. 'Hermione's always stood by me. Always. Ron . . .' He sighed. 'Not so much.'

Surprised, though he really should be, he supposed – the youngest Weasley boy was rather immature – Severus pushed a bit farther. 'Not as enamored of you as she is?'

Potter made a snorting noise of his own, sounding disgusted. 'He was jealous of me, jealous, when my name came out of that bloody cup in fourth year. Jealous that some Death Eater git was trying to kill me. I told him he could have the bloody fame and the whispers and Daily Prophet stupidity and all of it. I sure don't want it. I just wanted to be normal. Not some freak.'

The way he said the word made Severus frown. 'Freak?' he echoed.

The boy slumped, cushioning his head in his hands and hiding his face. His shoulders hitched up in a shrug and he shook his head. 'Never mind.'

Oh, no, you don't, Severus thought. Not when I've gotten so close to having you back to your defiant self. 'Who called you that?' he asked, taking a guess.

Only one shoulder shrugged this time. 'Dursleys. But I don't care.'

'No?'

'No!' Potter's face came up again, looking furious. Good. 'And neither do you, so leave me alone!'