Disclaimer: Basically, I don't own Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling does; I just like tormenting, I mean playing with, her characters.
Author's Note: So sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I've been rather busy. But the neat part of this chapter is that I wrote it in London. That's right, London. I'm taking a semester to study over here, so yeah, that's why this chapter is so late.
And as a little side note, a few days ago on Monday they were filming a scene from the fifth movie (the one where Mr. Weasley takes Harry to the Ministry hearing) and they had to close down a part of the London Underground tube system to do it, since they were filming it at a tube station and on the tube, basically. If only I had known about it that day instead of finding out the next day. I could have gone to that station and maybe have seen something! But I was on the tube at the same time, so that is still kinda cool.
Anyway, the title of this chapter, along with many of the upcoming titles, is the title of a song that I think goes perfectly with the mood of the chapter. I love lyrics to songs, and sometimes I can just imagine parts of stories going along exactly like the lyrics.
This chapter is "Fix You" by Coldplay.
On to the story!
Chapter Eight: Fix You
The next week was a blur to Harry. He kept expecting Dumbledore to call him up to his office for a "chat" or to walk into the Great Hall amid shocked faces and cruel laughs (from Slytherin). But there was nothing. No worried glances or rumors or even a whisper.
And that scared Harry even more.
Why hasn't he said anything? Harry continually thought regarding Snape. He could only assumes the silence meant that Snape had something much crueler and humiliating in store for him. It would just like Snape to do that to Harry.
All through that week, Snape watched Harry. Actually, a better term would be studied. He studied Harry.
He studied the way Harry interacted with his friends, always putting on a fake smile and acting every bit the hero they thought he was; but it was all just an act. Snape could see that now, could see that he had been wrong about Harry for the past five years.
That scared Snape. The thought that he could have been fooled so easily by a mere act the same as everybody else. He had always prided himself on being able to read people, to know when someone was hiding something or not, to see through someone's act.
But he had missed this completely. He never even thought Potter capable of such duplicity. And he had to admit that he was an excellent actor. He had to be to hide such pain from even his closest friends.
Now, though, he saw every fake smile and heard every fake laugh. He noticed how Harry edged away from any physical contact, even from Granger and Weasley. He discovered that Harry was a very withdrawn person, never letting anybody get too close.
It wasn't until the next Friday, a little more than a week after the 'incident', that snape finally decided to confront Harry.
"Potter, stay after class," he barked as his students were packing up to leave.
This is it, Harry thought as all his friends filed out of the room, abandoning him in Harry's eyes.
As the last student left, Harry steeled himself, wiping every emotion from his face, and turned to Snape.
"Yes, professor?" he asked as Snape cast several silencing and locking charms on the room.
"When did you start?" Snape asked him, deciding that the direct approach was best.
"When did I start what?" Harry asked, giving Snape a confused look.
Snape controlled his urge to snap at the boy and instead answered him.
"When did you start cutting yourself?"
"I don't believe I know what you're talking about, Professor."
"Drop the act, Potter, because it's not fooling me anymore!" Snape grabbed Harry's arm, shoving his sleeve up. There were no marks on the skin.
Harry smirked and was just about to say something when Snape cast a powerful counter-concealment charm. Harry's smirk fell.
A criss-crossing of scars was suddenly revealed on Harry's arm, along with a few recent cut marks.
Harry growled and pulled his arm away from Snape's grasp, shoving the sleeve back down.
"Fuck off, Snape!"
"When did it start, Potter?"
"What does it matter to you? You don't care!"
"It matters that one of my students is purposefully harming himself! It matters that you, of all people, would be so reckless with your own life after all the precautions that have been set up to protect you!"
"Oh yeah, all the precautions to protect the great boy-who-fucking-lived! Can't let anything happen to Dumbledore's little weapon, now can we! Did it ever occur to any of you that it is my life, not yours, not Dumbledore's, to play around with and manipulate! I am so sick of everybody deciding stuff about my life and making choices that affect me without even asking what I think and then excuse their actions by calling it protection! So if I decide to cut my arms and risk my life, then I don't see why it should fucking matter to anybody else! It's my life! And my decision!" Harry was shouting by now, tears streaming down his face.
Snape was dumbstruck. He had to admit, Potter did have a point. Everybody was making decisions regarding the boy, decisions that affected his entire life, without even consulting him first. It wasn't right; but then, none of this was right.
"You're right, Potter, it is your life and your decision. But that still doesn't answer my question: When did it start?"
Harry stared at him, not understanding what exactly was going on, but he was too tired from his outburst to do anything other than finally answer Snape.
"Since the beginning of the summer," he said in a defeated sigh.
"I thought that might be when." Snape thought a moment. "Potter…Harry, I'm not going to tell you to stop, as you probably already know that you should, and I am not going to tell the headmaster about your cutting." Harry breathed a sigh of relief at that. "But, I am going to have to insist that you meet with me at least once a week to talk about your cutting and everything else that seems to be bothering you. And you will talk, Po…Harry, otherwise I will have no choice but to tell the headmaster. Do you understand?"
Harry looked at him. He didn't want to talk to anybody about his cutting or anything else, least of all with Snape; but it seemed like he didn't have any choice in the matter. Just like in everything else. Harry thought bitterly.
"Yeah, I understand."
"Good. Now, you will meet me in my office after dinner tonight. Do not be late, as I will take it to mean that you've decided you don't mind if I tell the headmaster."
"Fine," Harry growled, before turning around and stalking out of the room. He hated Snape right then, hated him more than he ever thought possible. Fucking bastard…
Snape watched him stalk off, wondering how he got into the mess he was in. How was he, Severus Snape, greasy bastard of Slytherin, supposed to fix Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Gryffindor?
But, long ago, he swore to himself he'd never let any student of his make the same mistakes he did.
I don't know how, but I promise, I will try to fix you…
A.N: Another reason why this is so late is because it took me a long while t figure out how to write. This is a very important chapter, a very important scene; one I didn't quite know how to go about writing, especially the part where Harry explodes at Snape and the reasons why Snape would want to help Harry.
It was weird, my own story surprised me. I wasn't expecting Harry to ask why it mattered to Snape. I didn't have a good answer to that.
It's weird when your own story gets away from you.
And I'm still not too happy about Harry's explosion, but oh well…