The Last Dance

No Heaven- Part Six

2006-01-26T04:44:45Z

Title: No Heaven – Part 6/??
Author: Majenta
Rating: Eventually NC-17, PG-13 in this part.
Pairing: Snape/Harry (pairings mentioned in passing include Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Lupin)
Contains: angst, drama, romance
Warnings: Complete and utter disregard for the existence of HBP. Suicidal!Harry, self-mutilation
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the work and property of JKR. I mean no harm, I make no money

woohoo, I'm on a roll tonight.....an editing roll....XD

**
Snape was beside himself with anger for the rest of the evening. Professor McGonagall’s interruption did nothing but make him angrier.

“You need to control yourself with the students, Severus. And most of all him!”

“I have said it once and I will say it again: I will not give him any special treatment, I am fed up with his insolence.”

“That boy has been through quite enough!” She said stiffly. “You would do well to remember your own situation when you were his age.”

He hated that most of all, and he received it from everyone on the faculty: patronizing comments, reminding him that they had all been his teachers before his colleagues. He glared at her. “With everything I have taken on, I consider myself an adult, Minerva.”

“Then act like one!” and she stormed out. He slammed the door behind her and locked it, pacing back and forth across the empty classroom.

It was melodramatic to be sure, but it felt as though no matter how long the past stretched out and away from him, Potter was always under his skin, no matter if it was father or son. Gathering up his books clumsily, he wrenched open the door again and disappeared into his office, hoping to find some peace there.

He realized, after sitting uselessly at his desk seething for a good ten minutes, that it was the fact that Harry had gotten the better or him that really set him off. He’d never let Harry change his mind before.

Seeing what he sees certainly does have its consequences, eh?

He checked his watch and resigned himself to read until evening fell, then he’d work again. He almost fooled himself out of remembering that he did indeed have Potter’s Occlumency lesson that evening.

He tried to reel himself in, feeling so perturbed was wearing him out. When Harry came sulking in, he had to bite his tongue not to lash out at him. “Come in and put your things down.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed angrily and he dropped his bag heavily to the floor, pulling out his wand. His eyes were very red, though not from crying. He looked as though a sleepless night had passed since class had ended.

“I see,” Snape forced out finally, “that you understood the chapter I assigned you about Occlumency practice fairly well.”

Harry stared suspiciously at him at this before nodding, his wand drooping slightly in his hand.

“How much have you been practicing?”

He set himself up to sense Harry’s lie, if he had one. Harry ground his teeth and managed to respond without any nasty words. “Before bed each night, and after homework in the library.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, let’s get right to it, then, shall we? And after your lesson we will settle the matter of your detention.”

Harry’s eyes flashed and dulled again. He nodded, looking away.

“And I trust I don’t need to remind you to mind your manners,” Snape whispered dangerously, leaning across his desk. Harry ignored him. The lesson began after that. Harry was on the floor within ten seconds, gasping for breath and looking furious. He rubbed at his scar with the back of his hand, pushing himself up again. The whole mess seemed such a waste of time.

But the second time was different. Snape started to lose his concentration as he watched a memory spin through Harry’s mind, a hundred dementors circling around him and Sirius’ crumpled body. At least he thought, at first, that he was losing his concentration because he could feel Harry pushing back. Harry’s eyes were getting clearer.

Unfortunately (he would later think) he didn’t have the time to strengthen the hold on his memory before Harry hit him with a spell. “Protego!”

He felt a burning pressure between his eyes and his wand loosened in his hand, his vision clouding with memory. He was five and he was hiding from his father (the dusty smell of the closet choked him) while he searched the house, screaming for Snape to show himself. He was being forced up against a wall by a group of laughing Gryffindor boys, his hands bound behind his back.

James Potter’s hand was pressed over his mouth.

No.

I won’t let you see this.

“Enough!” Snape found a grip on his wand and frightened Harry into breaking the spell. He tumbled backwards, almost falling into a desk but catching himself.

A horrible, burning nausea was filling Snape’s stomach the longer Harry didn’t look at him, his chest heaving beneath the red and gold of his school tie. How much had he seen? Like an invisible mark that comes back again, the fingertips of Harry’s father pressed hard into his cheek and the cold stone of the wall against his back. He wanted to punish Harry for seeing this but somehow he held back. Harry was very pale.

“Stand up and face me, Potter, this isn’t a game.”

But Harry’s movements had grown sluggish. He turned his body but not his eyes, he kept them on the floor.

I wonder how he liked seeing that, his beloved father?

But more than the shame it caused Harry, Snape wished he could have seen some other memory, any other memory.

Harry seemed to have lost his thread after that. He fell easily to Snape’s spell each time he cast it, looking more frustrated and miserable each time. Snape was just beginning to get aggravated when Harry fought back for the second time, very briefly, but enough to find a good painful memory in Snape’s mind: being tortured. By Voldemort.

When the deep red of his eyes flashed between them, Harry cried out and put his hands over his face. Snape regained a good grip on his wand, “Get up, Potter, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I can’t see,” Harry panted, “My scar . . .”

Snape rolled his eyes and set his wand down, wiping a bead of sweat from off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Harry tried to get up, stumbled, and pushed himself into a desk, his hands still over his face. He was shaking very badly. It took Snape some time to realize that something was truly wrong. “Pull yourself together!”

“I’m trying!” Harry grunted. Snape could at least try and use this a lesson too, ease the tension in the room. “Do you think the Dark Lord is going to give you a moment to sit down and collect yourself, Potter?”

“No, just give me a minute!” Harry shuddered again, much more violently this time, and when he drew his hand away from his forehead Snape could see that his scar looked swollen. The memory had been too intense and too close to the both of them and it had acted upon something in Harry that he couldn’t control. Well, he would have to learn to do the impossible in many respects, this was just one more thing he needed to get past.

As the silence drew on, however, Snape reluctantly set his wand down and crossed the office, pouring Harry a glass of water.

Harry looked doubtfully at it, his eyes watering very badly. Snape sighed. “Potter, if I was planning on poisoning you, believe me, I would have done it long ago.”

Harry took the water and drank it, though his shaking did not cease. Snape hesitated and then sat down at his desk. “Do you need to visit the hospital wing?”

Harry shook his head and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

“If you are that strongly affected by the mere memory of him-“

“It’s not that! I think it’s feeling the spell put on you, by him . . . it makes my scar hurt like hell.” He looked up suddenly, maybe because of how personal what he’d just said was, maybe because he’d sworn. In any case, Snape seemed to have lost the energy for comebacks.

What Harry had seen that night, both the memory of Voldemort and the one of James, crouched fresh in their minds. Snape wished he could forget about it; it was typical in Occlumency training, “You know, Potter, that whatever we see in this room . . . stays in this room. Do you understand me?”

Harry looked thunderstruck. “I’ve never told anyone anything about what you see and . . . about what I see.”

Snape was surprised by his forcefulness. He nodded curtly and gestured to the glass of water, which Harry finished. “There, are you able to continue?”

Harry shrugged. It set Snape off again, because everything did. “Your problem, Potter, is that you are letting your own victory get the better of you. Don’t ease up when you feel you are succeeding, don’t lose your concentration!”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Harry said moodily. Snape ignored him.

“I want you to take another book and practice what it recommends.” Snape lifted his wand from where it lay and pointed it to a bookshelf. A thick book zoomed off and almost into Harry’s face, but he caught it just in time. “You keeping your concentration is of utmost importance, even if you feel pain because of it, even,” he paused, remembering the sweaty palm of James’ hand, “if what you see disturbs you.”

Harry nodded again, folding the book under his arm.

“Now, we have the matter of your detention to settle . . .”

Snape felt, when Harry looked at him again with loathing, a sense of relief. He wasn’t sure why.

**

Harry realized, when he left Snape’s office, that he still had most of his homework to do. He felt ill and weak. The throbbing in his head had died down but more than his show of weakness and more than physical pain, one image stayed burned into his thoughts like a shallow, painful cut.

His father, laughing, pressing Snape to a wall. Maybe it had looked worse than it actually was but that was just wishful thinking because he had felt what Snape had been feeling, he’d felt it rush through him. He could have gagged on it.

He dragged himself up to Gryffindor Tower, the strap of his bag cutting into his shoulder, and the portrait swung open to let him inside.

Instead of going upstairs right away, he did what he’d been trying not to do during his entire Occlumency lesson: he went into the bathroom and threw up.

When he felt tears start to come into his eyes, he shut them hard and hated himself for it. He was not going to cry over this. He pressed his face against the back of his hand, resting, then pushed himself up. He was grateful no one had come in at least.

The hallway seemed long and twisted outside. He leaned against the wall, rubbing at his scar. I wish this was just my scar hurting, I wish that it hurt worse so I didn’t think about it anymore.

He made his way shakily upstairs, not meeting eyes, and crawled between the curtains of his bed, shutting them. Inside, he hugged his knees to his chest and took deep, slow breaths.

If he could just calm the fuck down about this, he would be fine.

He forced himself to do some homework, though the ache in his stomach only grew worse and his thoughts wandered. He waded through a chapter summary and part of a star chart before he lay back against his pillows and let his books fall to the side, shutting his eyes.

Last year, when he’d seen Snape’s memory inside the Pensieve, it had been horrible. He didn’t think that it could get any worse than what his imagination was beginning to play out.

Sirius and Lupin had loved James Potter, they’d told Harry that he was really, truly a good person. He wouldn’t seriously hurt anyone . . . would he?

After a while, Harry kicked his clothes off and lay naked between his sheets, sweating. He wanted to feel something else than this and so he tried to ignore his lingering trembling and persistent hunger pains beneath the knots in his stomach and slid his hand down over his stomach, between his legs.

If he could feel something other than this, anything at all, he’d take it. He shifted to lay more completely on his back, letting out his breath, and spread his legs a little more, trying to get a rhythm going. Heat flared up in his stomach and below but it was hard to concentrate on it. It was hard to keep their lesson out of his head, and the memory of their fight earlier. Snape. Why did he have to think of Snape now? Not in this bed, now with his hands on himself and his breath hitching. He would leave Snape at the door, he wouldn’t let him come into his room. Not into his mind now.

Harry arched up into his hand, squeezing his eyes shut, but after a while he began to realize that climax was impossible. Frustrated, he let his muscles loosen and lay panting in the dark, his fingers resting along his inner thigh.

Fuck this place, and these memories. Fuck him for making me doubt my father all over again, when I never even had him to begin with. Slowly, Harry began to dig his nails into the soft, warm skin of his leg. First just resting them there, then burying deeper until it began to hurt and the pain rippled down his leg. He ground his teeth and pressed even harder, suddenly not knowing when to stop. He felt the skin sink away beneath his short nails and then finally break. Blood wetted his fingers and all at once he felt better. He relaxed, the knot in his stomach loosened and he drew his hand away from the cuts and finished jerking off. It was easier with the blood on his fingers.

He rolled over onto his stomach, his face buried in his pillow, and practiced Occlumency until he fell asleep. Having an excuse to feel nothing was something he was beginning to crave.

**

Snape lay sleeplessly in bed, his eyes darting across the ceiling. Surprisingly, Harry’s lesson had for the moment completely left his mind. He didn’t think of James or his son and their meddling in his life.

He lifted his head slightly and looked at his bedside table where Dumbledore’s note lay, the edge torn where he’d ripped the envelope open.

He had the feeling that his nights would turn sleepless and long and he wasn’t sure why he knew it was bad news, but he did. He’d been waiting for it anyway. At least now he’d know.

Severus,
Please, if you can, come to my office tomorrow after your lessons have finished. I think it is time we finally talked. I think it is time I asked of you what I have been meaning to ask.
I think it’s time I was completely honest with you.
- Albus

After an hour of lying there restlessly, Snape got up and mixed himself a sleeping potion. He knew that not knowing was, in a way, better than knowing and he wanted to spend this last night of wondering without dreams.

***

No Heavan - Part 5

2006-01-26T04:09:39Z

Title: No Heaven – Part 5/??
Author: Majenta
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry (pairings mentioned in passing include Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Lupin)
Contains: angst, drama, romance
Warnings: Complete and utter disregard for the existence of HBP. Suicidal!Harry, self-mutilation
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the work and property of JKR. I mean no harm, I make no money

:: I am so sorry that I've been so terrible about posting parts of this. College has been eating me alive but I'm in a brief respite now so hopefully I'll get a bunch of this up in the next few days::

Just because he was no longer donning the black cloak he knew so well didn’t mean Snape was exempt from attending the Order meetings, being involved in the planning stage of things. Though with little information to bring with him, it was almost embarrassing to show up in London under a blanket of rain clouds empty handed.

Not his ideal Saturday morning activity but, really, what else was he going to do in his free time? He wiped the rain from his face with the back of his hand, shivering, and rang the doorbell of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, which had remained the headquarters to the Order when its location was never discovered the previous June. Molly Weasley opened the door, drying her hands on towel. “Professor.”

He pulled back his cloak, clearing his throat. “I hope everyone’s arrived.”

She nodded, smiling with one corner of her mouth. “Everyone’s in the kitchen, come in and get yourself warmed up.” She stood aside to let him enter and, shaking the rain from his cloak, he turned to see Lupin’s figure curled in an armchair down the long hallway, his chin resting on one pale fist. He turned his head slowly, his eyes catching up a moment later. “Severus.”

Snape was by no stretch of the imagination a forgiving man, but he was not inhuman. He pitied Lupin and his pity grew each time they saw each other. Far from making them closer, it made Snape uncomfortable. He tried to make an escape to the kitchen staircase but Lupin was already drawing him in, uncurling from his chair. “Do you have a moment? The meeting isn’t for another ten minutes or so.”

That’s what he got for coming early. Snape hung up his cloak and walked towards his former classmate and enemy who sat sad-eyed and grey-haired, a man gone mad or lost over the death of the lover he’d mourned for twelve years only to have and lose again. Somewhere, in the basement of his thoughts, Snape didn’t think that Sirius had deserved him.

It was hard now, and he was just beginning to notice it, to think of Sirius without reliving Harry’s memory of his death like a morbid bystander. Having any one thing lead his mind back to Harry was a bother to him. When Lupin shifted, his attention shifted too. Snape could fully take in, from this close, how thin he’d become, how sunken his cheeks. He looked, to Snape, as though he was not long for this world. Soon, perhaps, the last one who remembered the way he had been as a child would be silenced. Far from comforting him, the idea was somehow terrifying.

“How have your first couple of weeks been?” Lupin asked kindly, moving as though moving hurt him. Snape crossed his arms over his chest so he didn’t fidget. “No staggering differences in the aptitude of the students.”

Lupin smiled at him, a smile that Snape found himself incapable of returning. “It will be nice for you to have some time off.”

Snape wasn’t exactly thrilled that half the Order must know by now that his spy work was on suspension for Merlin-only-knows what reason. He nodded curtly, but it wasn’t a yes. “I daresay I’d rather be working than not.”

“I guess you’re like that aren’t you,” Lupin said mildly. Snape was about to ask him what exactly he meant by that when he was hit by another question, one he didn’t expect. “How is Harry doing?”

Snape retaliated without thinking. “Now why on earth would I know that, Lupin?”

“You’re teaching him Occlumency again, aren’t you?” There was plaintive quality to his voice, as though he was trying to convince a child out of a potential tantrum. Snape frowned. “Yes.” When he realized something more was expected of him, he continued. “He hasn’t progressed much.” Nothing but criticism seemed to come to mind when Potter was brought up.

“But how is he, Severus?” Lupin urged. Snape looked at his watch, wishing the meeting would start. “Lupin, it is not my habit to inquire after my student’s personal lives.”

He’s a wreck, though, and that’s what you’re asking to hear. The thing is, I do know, but believe me, I didn’t ask for it.

Every time he comes into my office unprepared, he hands me his memories. If he ever practiced, neither of us would have to deal with the shame of knowing.

“I hope you’re keeping an eye on him,” Snape realized that there was, to a certain degree, a very dire need in Lupin’s voice. He may have seen into Harry’s mind, but he didn’t let himself dwell on what he saw there (well, maybe a little). He wondered now how thin the thread was that Harry now dangled from.

“Haven’t I always?” Snape murmured and Lupin gave him a look that said: well, I’ve bothered you enough for one day. When Snape retreated from the living room, Lupin followed him at a slow limp, taking a walking stick out from behind his armchair.

Before the meeting, they all exchanged their polite, stiff good-mornings and Snape wondered, as he looked around, how many besides Lupin knew that this was his last report for the time being. He wondered also what Dumbledore had in store for him.

Predictably, Dumbledore was not there.

**

In a trunk, at the foot of his bed, Snape kept his Death Eater cloak and mask, the same ones he’d used when his allegiance had been genuine. They were neither dusty, nor unkempt. When he returned from the meeting, he lifted them from his trunk and spread them across his bed, brushing the wrinkles out.

Just in case.

The feel of the cloth beneath his fingers was slick and slightly warm.

Sometimes I even felt like a different person, but that was what I wanted to feel.

He put the mask to his face and breathed in, a flood of uncomfortable and very powerful memories flushing through him. He folded the cloak and mask back up and put them at the bottom of his trunk, then locked it. So much for that, for now.

Pretty eager to risk your life, aren’t you, Professor?

He sat down at his desk, piled high with papers and books and half melted candles, and rummaged around for the stack of assignments he needed to grade.

Unlike most students, when Snape had been young he’d enjoyed class-work a great deal. Perhaps that was because it was a convenient escape from the rest of his life, or maybe it was just because he was so good at school and almost nothing else. Watching students now make stupid mistakes on assignments he would have found simple frustrated him because in a way he took it personally, he couldn’t help it. He was not one to tolerate stupidity.

When he reached Harry’s homework a few papers in, he frowned, loaded up his quill with red ink, and sat back to peruse it. Indeed when Harry had first come to Hogwarts, every time he’d seen his name on a piece of parchment he’d wanted to throw it into the fire.

But we’re all adults here, aren’t we?

Snape stared at Harry’s assignment for a few minutes, his quill poised, then turned it over perplexedly to see if there were any clues on the back. Besides a few grammatical errors and incomplete explanation, there was nothing wrong with the homework.

Harry had never turned in an assignment of this quality.

He copied it. Grinding his teeth, Snape scrawled a large zero at the top of the page and wrote ‘see me after class’ beside it. He took a few moments to fume over it before moving onto the next piece of homework, leaving Harry’s over to the side because he’d come back to his Occlumency assignment at the end. We’ll compare the two, he couldn’t have copied both of them now could he? He thinks he can get away with so much.

Potter just seemed to be popping up all over the place these days, most disturbingly in Snape’s mind. He’d promised himself, back when he’d grudgingly agreed to teach Harry again (or rather when his arm had been twisted), he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let it get to him the way it had before, the sharing of thoughts. The mistrust of each other. Finally, he pulled Harry’s Occlumency homework toward him and read through it.

Obviously, it wasn’t the same caliber as the false Potions assignment, but it was better than usual, and it was painful even for Snape to admit it to himself. If he was going to go ahead and bother considering it for a moment, a change certainly had come over Harry and it was reflected even in the way he wrote, his handwriting neater and more slowly written than ever before. Snape recognized the slow change in him, the way all his movements seemed to sag and crush in upon him.

I hope you’re keeping an eye on him.

Well, that’s my job, isn’t it? Whether I like it or not. And whether he likes it or not.

He gave the Occlumency homework an 8 out of 10 and continued grading, pushing it out of his mind.

**

Harry tried to practice Occlumency before sleep took him but sleep never really came, not completely. He lay hot and shivery on his back in the dark of his curtained bed and stared wide-eyed upward, first thinking of nothing and then drifting. He rolled back and forth and lay on top of his sheets, sweating. He slept close to morning and was awakened late. His body burned with tired.

He went to Potions on an empty stomach and sat dazed at his desk, not doing his best to focus on the assignment in front of him. When Snape slipped in between the rows of desks, handing back homework, Harry picked up his essay and his mouth fell open. “But Professor!”

“After class, Potter,” Snape tapped the top of his parchment, his dark eyes narrowing, and moved on. Harry was livid. He didn’t care if Snape saw him do it or not; he crumpled up the assignment and stuffed it into his bag, earning a few incensed stares from his classmates. The addition of anger to his fatigue made him dizzy and he stared at his desk until his eyes watered.

“Harry, what . . .?” Hermione whispered beside him.

“Leave it,” he hissed back. His fingers shook as he cut his roots up. I don’t know what you’re trying to fucking prove, he thought, red swimming before his eyes, but you’re not even worth my time.

“I asked you a question, Potter,” Snape’s voice slipped through finally and he looked up, his cheeks hot and his eyes narrowed. The class laughed nervously.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said darkly, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He felt Hermione trod on his foot but he ignored her. Snape’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and he turned to the class, which had let out a murmur. “Well in that case, Potter, would you care to tell the class what you are doing besides making your potion incorrectly.”

“Meditating,” Harry shot back. “You know, trying to clear my mind.”

That did it, and Harry was glad. Snape’s face flushed and his eyes narrowed. “Detention, Potter, and twenty points from Gryffindor.” The room was utterly silent. “And while you’re at it, ask someone who isn’t a complete idiot to help you salvage your potion. I won’t waste my time with students who are utterly incapable of following directions.”

Harry didn’t know it was possible to become angrier, but he did. Hermione looked beside herself with anxiety and Ron looked shocked, though maybe a little pleased. Class dragged endlessly on and Harry’s anger only mounted.

He remembered, suddenly, the last time he’d seen Snape at the end of fifth year. How he’d felt, in that moment, as if he would never hate anyone with such intensity. When the class filed out at the end of Potions, Harry pulled his crumpled homework out of his bag and clutched it in his fist, waiting red-faced near Snape’s desk.

For a long time, Snape didn’t look at him. At last, when the rest of the students had gone, he waved his hand lazily and the door closed. He met Harry’s eyes, calculating. Harry matched his stare. “Why did you fail my homework?”

“To what do I owe your incredible demonstration of insolence during class, Potter?”

Harry ignored him. “Why did you fail me, I got all the answers right. I know I did.”

“You call me sir,” Snape whispered, “when you speak to me.”

Harry lost his temper completely. “Sir! Fine, why did you fail my homework, sir?”

“Because you obviously copied it and don’t you dare raise your voice at me.”

Harry was dumbstruck. “You think that I copied this? I spent hours working on this! I can’t believe this! How dare you!” he cried, his voice raising as he spoke.

Snape shot out of his seat, white with anger. “DON’T YOU DARE RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME, POTTER!”

“Why would I copy my homework?”

“Because you are not smart enough to have written that!” Snape roared.

The hurt in this washed over him and fueled his anger. “You can’t do this. This is so stupid.”

“Are you telling me what I can and cannot do?”

Harry threw the paper down on Snape’s desk, not caring that he had gone too far and not caring how much more detention he got for this. “I wrote every word of that and if you want to know for sure, you can just break into my mind, can’t you? Why don’t you just look inside my head like you do for everything else and see that I’m telling the truth?”

Snape went for his wand. For one dizzying second, Harry thought that Snape was going to curse him but instead he pointed it at the crumpled sheet of parchment, his hand shaking, and a beam of red light shot out, transforming the zero out of ten into a perfect ten. He grabbed the homework and held it up for Harry to se., “Is this what you want, Potter? Another trophy, another accomplishment?”

“What is going on in here!” They both turned, abruptly, at the sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice. Snape withdrew suddenly, though Harry could feel he was still seething. Harry felt sick to his stomach with anger. His desire to turn and run from the classroom was almost overpowering.

“We’re just discussing Potter’s detention, Minerva,” Snape said silkily, “I daresay I can handle it on my own.”

“We’ll see about that,” She barked. “Potter, upstairs.” He was grateful for the interruption but he’d wanted to solve it on his own. He hadn’t wanted Snape to have the last word, but he had.

Snape glared at him. “We’ll finish this later, Potter.”

Harry grabbed the parchment out of his pale hand and left without looking behind him.

Somewhere below the feeling of anger was the feeling of relief that Ron and Hermione hadn’t waited for him (and if he’d thought harder about it, he would have wondered why) because more than he didn’t want to take it out on them, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

He walked silently and quickly up the stairs, across the great hall and out the front doors, instantly assaulted by the freezing air. He squinted against the cold but refused to acknowledge it. He buried his hands in his pockets and went towards the water and the sparse, old trees that ran along the shores. Wet grass clung to his sneakers and the edge of his cloak and in his mind he saw Snape’s angry, vindictive stare. And Sirius.

Always Sirius.

He dropped his bag and sank down into the dewy earth, digging his heels into the pebbly shore. There was silence across the lake. He wanted to burn himself out across it, like the last blaze of the sun. Vanish into these cold waters.

He wanted one second of peace, and then again that was so much to want.

He realized, after some time, that his Potions assignment was still clutched in his hand. Without looking at it, he let his fingers relax and put it in his bag, crossing his arms around his knees and drawing them to his chest.

The sun started to go down.

His thoughts, once they were in motion, began to drift. Harry thought over the end of last year, and not just about Sirius. About what Dumbledore had told him.

He’d made the choice then not to tell Ron or Hermione what Dumbledore had said and he found that he still did not regret that decision. The weight of it and the memory of hearing it seemed to still his anger, pull the air out of him, until he was left small and cold on the bank of the lake, wondering how it was possible for him to do all that he had to.

He supposed that comparatively, Snape being an asshole wasn’t such a big deal. So why did everything cut so sharply these days? After how he’d lost his temper, he wondered how Snape would get back at him. So what? It didn’t concern him like it would have before.

His forehead gave a soft throb and he lay it against his knees, bending his neck, silent.

No Heaven, Parts Three and Four

2005-12-30T02:19:52Z

Yeah, it was Chritmas and I suck and I'm late getting this up, so two chapters this week instead of one! Happy Holidays and may all your Snarry wishes come true.

Title: No Heaven – Parts 3 and 4/??
Author: Majenta
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry (pairings mentioned in passing include Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Lupin)
Contains: angst, drama, romance
Warnings: Complete and utter disregard for the existence of HBP. Suicidal!Harry
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the work and property of JKR. I mean no harm, I make no money

Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 6th year, still plagued by Sirius’ death and sinking under the weight of a building depression. As if things couldn’t get any worse, he and Snape are required to resume his Occlumency lessons. As Harry withdraws deeper into himself, Snape is forced to realize that he may be the only one with the power to help him and, willingly or not, he may have to.

**

When Snape returned from London that weekend, Dumbledore told him that his outings for the Order were, for the time being, indefinitely postponed. He wasn’t sure how exactly this made him feel. He was still reeling from the summer and somehow the idea of it all stopping so suddenly put him at such loose ends. He felt as though he should be doing something. “You needn’t give me a vacation, Albus.”

He took his glasses off to rub his eyes; Snape waited for bad news to come. “This isn’t a vacation exactly . . . I have some other work in mind for you but,” Dumbledore’s voice trailed off, “another time perhaps.”

Talking to the headmaster often left an unsatisfying bitterness in the back of Snape’s mouth. He didn’t waste his time trying to pry reasons out of him, it was unsettling enough. Work was over for now, non-school work. His hands were tied either way. Snape frowned at him. “Well if you feel like enlightening me, Albus, you know where I’ll be.”

He couldn’t go back to his office to grade, not after that. He wound his way down the spiral staircase, not really paying much attention to where he was going. He stopped when the polished wooden door closed behind him to steady himself. Schoolteacher again, that’s what he always became. He wished that the past was so easily transformed. He didn’t want to be told that this, for the time being, was his only task.

Besides, the ache in the pit of his stomach told him that Dumbledore wouldn’t cut his work down, for he was beyond useful, unless he had some other job in mind. Putting off the telling never made it easier.

He came around a corner and nearly collided with a student, taking a step backwards. It was Potter. Snape’s lip curled, not the person he was most interested in seeing. Harry stared up at him, the blue moonlight filling out one cheek, blackening the other.

They stared back and forth a moment longer before Snape spoke. “And just what are you doing prowling about at this hour?”

“I’m not up to anything, if that’s what you mean.”

That prickle again, like an irritant to his skin. “You, Potter, are seldom not up to something.”

Harry looked at him again with eyes neither wide nor angry. “I’m practicing. For our lesson.”

“Ah, by wandering about in the dark?”

“It’s easier to clear my mind that way.” Harry shoved his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes finally narrowing. “Sir.”

Snape didn’t have the energy for it, not tonight, not even to push Potter’s buttons. “Then be quick about it. If you are out of bed, I shall know.”

“Yes, sir.” Without the one last awkward pause Snape was expecting, Harry bowed his head and darted around him, his sneakers echoing flatly against the stone walls. Snape stood in the shaft of moonlight Harry had been on the cusp of seconds before and stared out the window, the ground bathed in blue. He shivered in the breeze through the open shutters and thought: early winter.

He stood for a long time, arms crossed over his thin chest, with his eyes on the sky outside until clouds rolled in and covered the moon. He moved on.

**

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Harry was dreading his Occlumency lesson. The weekend had given him too much time by himself, sitting around to think, and not practice. He paced back and forth outside Snape’s office door for five minutes before finally knocking.

“Come in.” Snape was leaning upon one fist, scribbling with red ink across a piece of homework. His eyes darted up, looked Harry over, and he pushed his papers aside. “Put your things down and come here.” He stood, flexed his fingers, and lifted the stone Pensieve from a shelf behind him. Its basin fluttered blue and it made Harry ill to look at it. He turned his eyes away and set his bag down, rolling up the sleeves of his robes. He hated that sinking feeling of being trapped in this office. He polished his wand on the edge of his robes while Snape removed a few silvery strands of thought from his mind and sent them floating down into the Pensieve. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Getting any ideas, Potter?”

Harry was irritated that he would even bring it up again, “I don’t care about what’s in that Pensieve,” he lied stupidly. He waited for Snape to get angry or take points but he just looked thoughtful. Harry hated being studied. “Have you practiced?”

“Yes,” it was sort of true.

“Well,” Snape undid the first few buttons of the cuffs of his robes so he could roll them up. “We shall see about that, won’t we?”

Harry steadied himself, closing his eyes and opening them again, and locked eyes with Snape. He didn’t hesitate before hitting him with the spell, “Legilimens.”

Harry pushed back as much as he could, his scar searing with pain. A few seconds of black, thoughtless mind and then memories rushed through him, a wind he could not turn his back to. He saw dark tombstones jutting up through a low mist, hooded figures. He could feel Snape pressing in on his mind, he felt him there.

Harry staggered. Sirius was falling, he wanted to catch him. He reached out his arms and his wand clattered to the floor. He couldn’t reach him.

Sirius was falling.

He cried out as his knees cracked against the dungeon floor, pain shooting up his legs. His scar hurt so badly that he could barely see. Snape didn’t give him time. “Get up.”

Harry swallowed the bile in the back of his throat and reached for his wand, refusing to rub at either his scar or his knees, all of which throbbed badly. He wouldn’t show Snape anything else, not anything else.

If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have to see him fall night after night and never be able to reach him.

If it weren’t for you, Sirius would be alive.

His anger gave him fresh surge of energy. He wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his robes. “Okay, go.”

Again, the spell hit hard. I won’t let you in. Harry held his breath and pushed back, his hand shaking and slowly, through a memory of Lupin’s devastated eyes, Snape became clearer. Harry opened his mouth, “Protego!”

He remembered it from last year, that strange sense of vertigo. Memories not his own streaming through him. Images stopped and sped on, a small boy being hit hard across the face. It made Harry lose his concentration. He managed not to fall, catching himself on the edge of a desk, and saw, to his amazement, that Snape was panting slightly. The memory washed over him again and it made him feel dirty. Had that boy . . . had that been Snape?

Snape looked at him then with utter loathing, his face very white. Harry prepared himself for punishment but Snape seemed to reel himself in. “Sit down.”

Harry did.

He waited for color to flush back into Snape’s cheeks but he remained white, silent. Finally, he rounded his desk and sat down. When he slammed his wand down on his desk, Harry knew for certain how angry he was. Well, it wasn’t his fault for getting it right for once.

“That was better,” he said finally in an even voice. “But let me ask you this. Are you capable of holding your concentration longer than a few seconds?”

Harry didn’t answer.

“If you stop to marvel at what you’ve done, do you think your defenses will just stay up?”

“No,” Harry tried.

Snape glared at him. “From this point on, things will become much more difficult. I don’t have time to stand by while you catch up. You’re going to have to improve much more quickly than this. I have neither the time nor the energy to continue these lessons all year.”

He paused to let this sink in and Harry remained silent.

“You can throw off the Imperious Curse, am I correct?”

Harry stared at him, not knowing if he wanted an answer or not.

“Potter, are you deaf!”

“No,” Harry shot back hotly, his face flushing. “Yes, I can throw off the Imperious Curse.”

“Then you should have made the connection by now. Occlumency is very similar to throwing off such a curse. You must master your mind and learn to keep your concentration, no matter what distractions are around you, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As of yet, I can already tell that your idea of practicing is staring off into space. If you want to get this right, and I should hope that you do, then you are going to have to practice hard and you are going to have to practice long. You may have slipped by working poorly in the past but if I am to donate my time to you, I will not waste that time.”

“I understand,” Harry said, more forcefully than he meant to, but he didn’t really care. They glared at one another. The longer Harry stared at Snape, the longer he became absolutely sure that the boy being hit across the face by his father was the man now sitting before him. As the silence ended, Snape stood and, seemingly at random, pulled a book down from his shelf and thrust it across his desk towards Harry who reached forward to take it. “There is a concise and very useful chapter in that book concerning the subject of Occlumency. I want you to read the chapter and give me a roll of parchment summarizing what you’ve learned, as well as practicing the exercises suggested by the book, due next Potions class in addition to your other homework.”

Harry couldn’t believe he was being given extra homework. “But sir-“

“Do you really want to try my patience, Potter? Return the book to me along with your assignment, do I make myself clear?”

Harry didn’t answer. He shoved the book into his bag and left the office without looking back.

**

Snape didn’t sleep well that night, and he easily blamed it on Potter. He twisted round in sweaty sheets, anxious.

He should have been on his guard, Harry shouldn’t have seen.

Damn memories that he didn’t even remember he had. That one of his father, he hadn’t remembered that until tonight, but Harry had found it in him. He was irritated with himself and wondered, vaguely, how Harry was ever going to make progress if he forever guarded himself so completely.

Well, he’d just have to learn. He ran a hand back through his damp hair. Restless.

Finally he forced himself out of bed, the stone floor a cold shock to his bare feet, and poured himself a glass of water. He wouldn’t lose sleep over this.

Not over that boy.

His irritability carried over into classes the next day, as it often did, and he found himself being a bit harder than usual on students (and not caring). He made a third-year girl cry for spilling the contents of her cauldron and he dared the class to change his mind, watching their eyes fix on him with hatred.

Go ahead, try me.

He was pleased to see that Harry looked as though he hadn’t slept much either. Why that satisfied him, he didn’t know. But it did. “Pass up your homework.”

The class moved sluggishly for their bags and pulled crumpled rolls of parchment onto their desks. Snape went from row to row, holding out his hand. When he came to Harry, he stopped. “Do you have something else for me, Potter?”

Harry was still going through his bag. After a moment, he placed two rolls and the book in Snape’s outstretched hands, his eyes on his desk. He reached out with a spell under his breath, just for a moment, to see if he could push at what Harry was feeling. But there was just empty thought. Sadness. He broke his gaze and moved away.

For the rest of the class he sat behind his desk, shuffling through homework and shouting out instructions to the students. He paused when he came to Harry’s Occlumency assignment and unrolled it. At first glance it was, admittedly, more carefully done than his usual work, though the pen had been shaking when he’d written it. He pushed it to the side of his desk and waited for Harry to walk by him at the end of class. When he did, Snape pulled him aside. “Potter, come here.”

Harry turned slowly, his eyes unblinking, and came towards Snape’s desk. His bag sagged dangerously off his shoulder, his eyes were heavy-lidded. Snape didn’t pay any attention to these things. “Did you understand everything that you read?” He waited until the last of his other students had left he classroom to ask him. Harry nodded. “I think so.”

Snape pushed the book back at him from across the desk. “I want you to keep the book for this week and practice the exercises that it recommends. I expect also that you lend the same kind of attention to your abominable Potions homework that you do to your Occlumency homework.”

They stared at each other, both trying to figure if there’d been a thinly veiled compliment in there somewhere. Harry let out a breath and shoved the leather-bound book back into his knapsack. “Yes, sir.”

When he was gone, Snape stood and erased the blackboard, walking back and forth beneath the wall and his desk, not really watching where he was going.

**

“What was that about?” Ron and Hermione were waiting for him outside the Potions classroom. Harry sighed and met Ron’s gaze. He shrugged his shoulders. “Occlumency homework.”

“Oh Harry, he gave you extra homework?” Hermione looked scandalized. “He can’t do that, can he?”

“I’m supposed to treat it like another class,” he shrugged his shoulders again and, not surprisingly, didn’t want to talk about it. “Besides,” his words came out harsh and sarcastic, though he didn’t know why he’d be talking to them like that, “don’t want to cause anymore trouble, do I? Better get it right before I start offing people again.” His anger flared and quickly turned to detached sadness, the kind that makes you feel as though you haven’t eaten in days. He averted his eyes from their hurt looks, pretending to straighten the strap on his bag.

“Harry . . .” Hermione sighed in a very upset voice. Harry shook his head. “Let’s get to class before we’re late, alright?”

He saw, to his great frustration, Ron and Hermione exchange a significant look. Like I’m not even here. Between being angry and being at least grateful that they were concerned for his well-being, he went with being angry. They didn’t look at each other for the remainder of classes. Harry wasn’t surprised when Ron pulled him aside at the end of the day. “Fancy a walk down to the lake? My legs are a bit stiff.” Nice excuse, Harry thought. But after a certain point, there was no point in ignoring him, not this friend. His best friend.

“Sure,” he agreed after a pause. Ron looked pleased. “Cool, let’s go.”

It was still warm enough so they didn’t need their cloaks outside, but the sun had an autumn-tinted coolness about it that made Harry shiver. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s getting cold kind of early this year,” Ron mused quietly, and Harry knew right away that it was a lead-up because Ron never said that sort of thing. He spoke again after a pause to draw in breath and hold it. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to tell me what’s been bothering you.”

Harry said nothing.

“Me and Hermione are really worried about you. We’re your friends, Harry. Even if you don’t think we could understand or something, I still wish you’d just tell us rather than leaving us out.”

“Look, Ron,” Harry felt like he couldn’t possibly explain himself in a way Ron could understand. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, alright? I just don’t feel like talking about it. To anyone,” he added, when Ron opened his mouth to argue again. They walked in silence for a few paces and the setting sun blazed brilliantly through a grove of trees. Harry didn’t bother to shield his eyes, but squinted instead. The grass was a fantastic green beneath and, far below the hill the lake caught the last rays of the sun in a blinding mirror. Beautiful, and it made him so utterly lonely. He wondered again, out of all the things that were bothering him, what was bothering him most tonight?

“You know, Harry,” Ron said gently, but in an urgent sort of way, “I saw him die too.” For some reason, Harry wanted to hit him for saying that. “But you still have your mom and dad, don’t you?” He didn’t know why he said it and he honestly wished that he hadn’t a second later, but Ron’s angry change of expression still made him feel very little.

“Fine,” Ron said hotly, “If you want this to be a contest between which one of us is more tragic, than go ahead. I’m not playing that game with you.”

“Sod off, Ron.”

“Right,” said Ron angrily. “Same to you. You know what? I don’t feel like a walk after all. Goodnight, Harry.” He turned abruptly and hurried back up the hill, his head bowed and his hands shoved stiffly into his pockets. Harry sat down miserably by the edge of the lake and tossed tiny pebbles into the water. If he wanted to drive them away, he was doing a damn good job of it. He realized that it wasn’t before, but right then when he felt the most alone.

**

Harry didn’t go back inside until long after his teeth had started to chatter. The sun had set behind the wall of the forest and shadows spread out across the lake and grounds. Lights started to flicker on behind him and he turned, fearing somehow that Ron would still be there waiting for him.

To avoid seeing him, Harry went to the library with his schoolbooks and set himself up at a table behind several high, tottering shelves so that he couldn’t be seen. He put his homework out on the table, staring at it moodily. The ache he’d had in his chest all summer, that same dull ache tightened and pricked at him. He pulled Snape’s Occlumency book towards him and flipped through it, thinking about his fight with Ron.

Right, clear my mind. He shut his eyes and let out a long breath, spreading his hands out on the desk. He heard the movement of students through the shelves, felt anger, and then that sad, deeper part of him. The part of him that was missing.

If I didn’t think about him every time I closed my eyes, if I didn’t think about Sirius, this would be a whole lot easier. He opened his eyes again, frustrated. He propped the book up onto its spine and began to read.

The book said that it was much the same as meditation. Concentrate on your breath, watch the breath come in and go out. Harry did this for several minutes before he got bored and flipped through the chapter to see if there was anything else he could try. Finally he was forced to move on to his other homework in respect to time. He waded through his Charms and Transfiguration while the night turned black outside and he set his Astronomy homework aside, which he always did with Ron. Well, maybe he can do it himself this time.

He pulled his Potions book towards him because he always saved Potions for last, what a treat. He opened to the page he’d angrily dog-eared earlier and read his assignment, unrolling a fresh piece of parchment and putting his name at the top.

Whenever he started a Potions assignment, he was flooded with what he might actually write, what he might want Snape to read. I could do a really shitty job on it. Just to spite him. Harry felt like taking his anger out on someone and Snape seemed a likely target as any. Perhaps the most likely target.

I know, he thought, I know what would really get him. If I got every single answer right.

Harry worked tirelessly on it until passed ten, amazed that Potions homework, when done correctly, could take so much effort. He dragged himself up to bed but met eyes with his two friends when he entered the common room, before he could slip away. When they saw him, they jumped slightly apart and Harry realized, with a resigned feeling, that they’d been sitting much closer. He felt like turning around and leaving again.

“Harry,” Hermione tried. “You want to come sit down?”

Harry shrugged. “I got most of my homework done already. I had a load.”

“Come sit anyway,” Hermione patted the space next to her and Ron avoided his eyes. Finally, he sat and shrugged his bag off, warming his hands by the fire. A silence passed before Harry saw Hermione step on Ron’s foot out of the corner of his eye and Ron sigh. He sat forward a little. “Hey Harry . . .”

“Yeah?” not turning all the way around.

“Sorry.” Harry almost wanted to whirl around and yell at Hermione for making Ron apologize but found that he was too tired in the end. He didn’t want the stupid fight to go on anyway. He was torn between saving his pride and acting mad for a while longer but he was too tired even for that. He nodded. “That’s okay, thanks Ron.”

The air settling, they sat in a circle together by the fire and spread out the rest of their homework, Harry’s Astronomy remaining. Ron eyed Harry’s Potions book, probably wondering how far to stretch the bonds of their freshly-made peace. “You do your Potions homework already?”

“Yeah, you can borrow it,” he pushed it towards Ron across the rug and Hermione frowned but said nothing, probably wanting to avoid another fight. Harry wondered how long she’d had to boss Ron around until he agreed to apologize for being a complete ass. Or maybe Harry had been the ass, who knew. Ron was staring at Harry’s Potions assignment, his brows drawn together. “Hey Harry, what gives?”

“Huh?”

“You get smarter or something?”

“What?”

Ron waved Harry’s assignment at him.

“Oh,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck where his skin prickled. “Yeah.” When Ron continued to stare at him, prompting him for an explanation, he gave in, quietly. “I just . . . was really pissed at him and, I guess, I wanted to do something that would make him really angry, like make him give me a good grade on my homework.”

Hermione looked as though she did not think that was a good reason to be studying harder. Ron smiled unevenly and chuckled. “That’s kind of weird.”

Harry’s face flushed a little, he didn’t know why, “Is it?” Now that he’d said it out loud, it did sound a little weird. He wished suddenly that he hadn’t told them the real reason.

**

_majenta @ 2005-12-19T14:46:00

2005-12-19T22:49:17Z

Okay, here's part two, as promised. I think I should start making the parts a bit longer, about 1000 words longer, so I'll do that next week. Now that I'm done with school, I got a cold right away, so I'm not feeling very coherent. Forgive any mistakes, but next week I will have a beta =)

Title: No Heaven – Part 2/??
Author: Majenta
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry (pairings mentioned in passing include Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Lupin)
Contains: angst, drama, romance
Warnings: Complete and utter disregard for the existence of HBP. Suicidal!Harry
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the work and property of JKR. I mean no harm, I make no money

Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 6th year, still plagued by Sirius’ death and sinking under the weight of a building depression. As if things couldn’t get any worse, he and Snape are required to resume his Occlumency lessons. As Harry withdraws deeper into himself, Snape is forced to realize that he may be the only one with the power to help him and, willingly or not, he may have to.

Harry almost didn’t feel like telling his friends but later that night he did.

“But he can’t make you, can he?” Ron cried indignantly. Harry appreciated his enthusiasm. Hermione said nothing but looked at him sympathetically over the spine of her book.

Harry moved his chess piece moodily. “Yes he can, Dumbledore’s orders.”

“Well you can talk to Dumbledore about it, can’t you? I mean, you have enough going on without extra work-“

“I don’t feel like arguing about it. I’ll just go.” Harry watched Ron’s knight smash one of his pawns in two. Ron didn’t seem to notice. “Well . . . good luck, I guess.”

Harry lost the game in two more moves and went up to bed.

He undressed in the dark. The early September heat still lingered in the tower and he felt his t-shirt clinging to his back the moment it touched his skin. Across the grounds, he could see the lake stretched out in bright moonlight. It was always like this when he returned and always more full of memory.

Sometimes he felt too full of memory to breathe.

Maybe, he thought numbly as he lay atop his sheets, eyes on the ceiling. Maybe at last one good thing will come out of these fucking Occlumency lessons.

At least I won’t have to feel anything when I think of him.

Now that he was out of that house, away from Lupin’s devastated loneliness, he allowed his wound to open up and spread. He allowed himself to feel for one second what he’d been biting back all these months.

He shut his eyes. He quieted his breath. He waited for the spell to pass but sleep never really found him

**

Snape was looking for a reason to push Harry’s buttons. That was a part of him that he couldn’t help. When Harry knocked and pushed into his office that Tuesday evening, shrugging his bag to the floor, Snape couldn’t hold his tongue. “You’re late, Mr. Potter.”

Harry regarded him with empty eyes. Something in him looked exhausted. Snape wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. “Sit down.”

Harry hesitated before dropping into the chair opposite Snape’s desk. Each time he breathed, he looked as though he were trying to push all the air from his body. Emptying himself. Snape lay his wand out on his desk as if showing it off. “You know why you are here.”

Harry kept up his silent act for one more awkward pause before shifting in his chair. “To learn Occlumency.”

His lack of perception was staggering. His obvious disrespect was like a needle under Snape’s skin. Potter was the last person he’d take that from. “Sir,” he responded softly. Harry narrowed his eyes. “To learn Occlumency . . . sir.”

“We are here, Potter, because you failed to learn Occlumency last year.”

“You wouldn’t teach me,” Harry was quick to argue, but his words lacked their usual enthusiasm. “Sir.”

Snape wanted to reach for his wand but he didn’t. He knotted his hands together, the memory of last year surging through him like a bad taste. He’d locked the Pensieve away where his damned prying eyes wouldn’t find it. He wasn’t considering the possibility of forgiving him, or forgetting it.

“I do not have the time to settle the score with you, Potter, nor do I have the desire. Had I the choice, you and I would not be here tonight but as the Headmaster has made a request of me, I am obligated. I would expect you to feel obligated as well. Thick as you tend to be, I hope the unfortunate events of last June have opened your eyes. Your unwillingness to practice and to learn has already resulted in one death. Let’s see that it does not happen again.”

Harry flinched noticeably and something vulnerable passed across his face. Misery. Snape did not pause to feel sorry for him. He did not appreciate being blamed for a death he had not caused. Harry Potter would have to have that preying on his own conscience. “Now take out your wand and stand up.”

They stood to face one another, Harry looking bored. Snape wanted to hit him. “Now clear your mind. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

Harry shot him a look and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The room stilled around them and Snape readied his wand in front of him, fingering it. He wanted to hit Harry with the spell before he was ready for it, he wanted to make him have to run to catch up. “On my count. One, two, three, legilimens.”

It was effortless to break into his thoughts. Snape was assaulted by a sudden rush of images and one plainly clearest among them: Sirius’ dazed eyes as he fell, his body curving in a gentle arc towards the veil. His lips parted and breathless . . .

Harry cried out and fell to the floor, his head in his hands. Snape lifted the spell. “Get up.”

Harry struggled a moment but managed to get himself back on his feet again. He was breathing very hard and looking away. Snape was only startled because he had never known exactly just how Black had finally bit the dust. And there it was, running itself ragged in Harry’s mind like a bad dream. No wonder he looked half-dead.

But it was no excuse. “You are not even trying.”

“I am trying, sir.”

Harry failed three more times beneath Snape’s spell and each time fell painfully to one or both knees on the stone floor. On the third time, he didn’t get up right away. His wand had clattered away from him and he was breathing hard. His scar looked red and puckered, like a burn. “Are you wasting my time, Potter?”

Harry shot him a furious look and forced himself up again. His legs were shaking. After a moment of waiting for him to do it himself, Snape picked up Harry’s wand and thrust it at him, furious. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and clear your thoughts. Push back with your mind, don’t just stand there. You are letting me in.” He felt like a broken record. He’d sounded the same one year ago, Potter hadn’t listened then.

As if he ever listened.

Snape cast the spell, Harry stumbled, and Cedric Diggory’s dead eyes stared up from the deep place of his mind. He let out a terrified breath and pushed back, not much and not enough, but it was something. Snape lifted the spell, if only to wipe the dead boy’s face from his mind. Harry looked exhausted; to continue the lesson would be useless. He swept his hair out of his eyes and sat down behind his desk, laying his wand aside. Harry would not meet his eyes.

“You pushed back that last time,” he said. “Were you paying any attention to what you were doing?”

After a moment of silence, Harry nodded.

“Do not make me repeat the consequence of not practicing.” He waited for Harry to protest or argue, but he seemed to have lost his taste for it.

“If you find yourself incapable of being able to practice, I shall know and arrange a study hall for you. To save us both the pleasure of each other’s company, I suggest you treat this as any other class and your homework as any other assignment, not that you often give much thought to homework.”

“Right, I understand, sir,” Harry spat out at last. He did not meet Snape’s eyes. Snape felt his lip curling, knowing that he could still get to Harry. It was almost a relief, considering the deadened look in his eyes. It was haunting, not something that Snape wanted to deal with if need be.

“In that case, this lesson is over. I’ll expect you next Tuesday evening, punctual and with much improvement. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Harry shot back, slinging his back over his shoulder. The door clattered shut behind him and the room was silenced again. Snape sat at his desk a long time before pulling his grade book towards him and opening it.

Unable to concentrate, the easiest solution seemed to be to blame it on Harry. He wondered what it had been, what had made him feel so rattled.

It was those dark images, he realized, those dark places in Harry’s mind. He felt them flex and pull at the first spell and he wondered, in an unattached sort of way, how deep those dark places went.

He then wondered if it was possible to be unattached to a thought like that.

**

Harry felt shaken and angry for the rest of the week and he didn’t bother trying to cool it down. He pushed his pride painfully aside, he wasn’t worried about that. His scar ached and that was what he hated. The breaking in and the taking. The fact that Snape looked in and saw.

More and more he realized that the last thing he wanted was to be looked at. He felt, each time his scar gave an eager throb, that Snape’s eyes were still on him.

Fuck it.

“How was your Occlumency lesson?”

When Hermione brought it up that Friday evening, Harry couldn’t believe she’d restrained herself for so long from asking. When a couple of days had slipped by with no mention of it, Harry was hoping his reluctance to dish up any information was a hint his friends were taking.

Obviously not. “It was lousy.”

She gave him a sympathetic look and Ron stared agreeably at him over the spine of a comic book. “It’s a curse, mate.”

“Thanks,” he wanted that to be the end of it but Hermione prodded on, apparently trying to be helpful. “Why is it lousy?”

“Well,” Harry put his pen to his temple, feigning thoughtfulness, “Snape’s the teacher, and he’s a horrendous git. That about does it. It doesn’t help that he’s livid he has to teach me again. He should’ve asked my opinion. I’d rather go without the lessons-“

As soon as he said it, Snape’s words cut painfully through him, a bit of memory he’d wanted washed away.

Your unwillingness to practice and to learn has already resulted in one death. Let’s see that it does not happen again.

Harry tried to swallow before his mouth dried up but all words died on his tongue. His friends didn’t notice.

“I hope you’re practicing, Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “He’s going to be even worse if you don’t practice.”

Harry’s temper wanted to flare up at her but he caught it just in time. “You know, it’s pretty difficult to wipe your mind when you’ve got this much going on. In fact, if he wants me without a thought in my head, he should attack me during my History of Magic lecture. I guarantee that my mind will be absolutely blank.”

Ron sniggerd appreciatively but Hermione continued to look at him, her eyes slowly bringing him to a focus. He didn’t want anyone looking at him like that. Not her, and not Snape. “I’ll practice,” he shrugged his shoulders. “And if it ends up being a waste of time, it won’t be any different from last year.”

He offered them a friendly good-night to make up for his bad mood and escaped to bed, the weekend already full of restlessness. He took a long time to walk up the stairs and measure their feel, look out all the windows. The boys’ dormitory was empty and he so he stood quietly by the window because he would not be bothered there. There was nothing but quiet up here, and his deep in and out breath. The creeping up to another long night.

These days sleep was a long time coming and mornings were slow to come out of it. He passed his classes in an aching fatigue while at night he sweated and twisted round in his sheets, sleepless. Wanting to avoid that, he finally sat on the window ledge and pulled his knees to his chest.

He actually tried, for a moment or two, to clear his mind of thought. It was more because he wanted to prove Snape wrong than anything else. But then . . . then there was that other desire. The desire to be free of thought. He wondered if Occlumency was really the same thing.

He watched the edge of the lake burst open with moonlight and spread, blinding him. When Ron and the others came up to bed, he crawled away silently, his glasses off, staring up at his dark canopy like the underside of a bad dream.

**
~ end part two ~

Just to remind everybody: this journal is no longer friends only. If you would like to receive updates about this story or anything else, add away, I'd be happy to have you!

No Heaven - 1/??

2005-12-13T04:30:28Z

*deep breath* Alright, here goes.

For the last two years, I have been working on a novel-length Snarry fic called No Heaven. I got almost 600 pages into writing it in 2004, decided that I didn't like how it had turned out, and started rewriting it. I have, at this point, quite a bit of it done. I'll be updating a chapter once every week, probably on Monday or Sunday. I have, currently, enough story to do this for 8-10 weeks, and I'm currently working on it again. After HBP came out, I temporarily lost the desire to work on any fic that didn't include HBP canon, but that's over now, so I'm forcing myself to work on this again. It's kind of my baby, so please be gentle. If you see any glaring errors, please let me know. I will post it here as well as over at snape_potter every week. As I said before, this journal will no longer be Friends Only. Anyone and everyone is welcome so, without further ado, here's my story.

Title: No Heaven – Part 1/??
Author: Majenta
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry (pairings mentioned in passing include Ron/Hermione and Sirius/Lupin)
Contains: angst, drama, romance
Warnings: Complete and utter disregard for the existence of HBP. Suicidal!Harry
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are the work and property of JKR. I mean no harm, I make no money

Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 6th year, still plagued by Sirius’ death and sinking under the weight of a building depression. As if things couldn’t get any worse, he and Snape are required to resume his Occlumency lessons. As Harry withdraws deeper into himself, Snape is forced to realize that he may be the only one with the power to help him and, willingly or not, he may have to.

Part One:

The setting sun was yellowing and pale on the far horizon of the mountains. The edge of the forest cut out the sky along a jagged edge and over the stream of carriages bending up the road, the night’s gathering of storm clouds raked out the stars. Harry felt the first few drops of rain against his cheek. He rested his head upon his folded arms. Behind him, his classmates talked loudly.

He’d been like this on the train, this quiet. He was glad that no one had really noticed. Absently, he played with the edge of his cloak and closed the window, shutting out the night air. He could hear the thestrals cooing softly outside. He wondered if he’d be able to see them even better now. But a second death hadn’t made anything else any clearer for him.

He was half-way to admitting why his stomach ached. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared out the window again. The rain blackened the ground and nightfall covered it up. He was on his way to admitting what made him feel suddenly so strange.

He didn’t want to be back here. It was the first time he’d felt that way. He was uneasy to think this because he didn’t want to be home either. Not in the Dursley’s muggy, suburban house, nor the graveyard of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Everything there had quieted and shuddered to a halt. He’d spent most of his summer there after escaping from his relatives a week into the holidays. Dressed in his black t-shirt for Sirius’ funeral, cloistered behind the house in a shaggy grove of old rose bushes. London’s moody heat had made him lethargic. He’d spent those weeks with his nose buried in a book while members of the Order came and went.

He hadn’t spoken much all summer. Lupin had noticed most of all and now Harry felt guilty about not talking back. Lupin seemed lost wandering the halls of Sirius’ old house, the house that Sirius had left his lover in his will. Harry thought it was stupid that a person so young should have to have a will, and that it should be carried out. Lupin sat beside him all the long hours of the evening and tried his best to unearth some of their old camaraderie but Harry knew he wasn’t much help to anyone.

He kept to himself, he let the summer pass by. In this familiar carriage, with these familiar people, he felt like a stranger in his own body.

When it pulled to a stop, Ron nudged him in the arm to get him moving, “Oi.”

“Sorry,” Harry pulled his cloak around himself and stepped out into the rain. Hermione gave him a gentle shove from behind, “Oh hurry, I don’t want to get wet again.”

It was raining in London too, the same storm must have followed them there. Harry walked behind his friends, them side-by-side, and found himself looking away. He wanted to be happy to see them, or at least guilty for being quiet, for not being happy. But he wasn’t, not really.

When they moved to walk on either side of him, he didn’t meet their eyes. He didn’t move away either.

**

Severus Snape never felt exactly prepared for the arrival of the students and the coincidental beginning of the school year. After that terrible summer, teaching would seem like a distraction, and unwanted at that. He stared at himself stupidly in the small mirror behind his door, running his fingers through his limp hair. There was that old self-consciousness of his, lurking around again. He’d didn’t look at himself in the mirror much, which might have been considered strange for someone still so young.

He stood back and let out his breath. He hated looking tired but feeling tired was much worse. He paced the length of his bedroom once more before slipping out into the hallway and locking the door behind him. He held his wand loosely in his pocket out of habit. At least at Hogwarts, he didn’t have to watch his back.

A summer of working for the Order had made him apprehensive. He caught himself before he looked around corners. He tried to put his nerves to rest.

“So much of the knowledge that we’ve gained . . . we wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, Severus.”

He wasn’t particularly interested in Dumbledore’s thanks. He did what he had to out of duty. The dull ache of the Dark Mark on his left forearm was enough to push him further than he would like to venture beyond the call of duty. He was restless in the castle without a task and a risk. He did what he was told the same way that he had as a Death Eater and so there was his curse, subservience. He’d await Dumbledore’s instructions and until then he’d feel at a loss. He’d sit at his empty desk, silent.

When he entered the Great Hall though a door in the back, the students were pouring in. Across the room, as he lifted his head, he met Harry Potter’s eyes (Lily’s eyes) and saw that they were empty.

**

“Of course,” Ron held his schedule up loosely in one hand, looking disgusted, “Double Potions, first day back.”

“You can have this, I’m not hungry,” Harry pushed his plate across the table and Hermione began to pick at the cinnamon bun he’d left, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, looking sideways. He hadn’t slept well and he was far enough into the morning so that it was beginning to weigh on him. Outside, dim sunlight came though last night’s rainclouds. It felt like September. He looked through his bag to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any of his books.

I wish I didn’t keep thinking it but coming back here has never felt like this.

He wondered how long it would take before one of them asked what was on his mind. He wasn’t startled when Hermione cornered him after breakfast, her brows drawing together. Standing side-by-side, Harry realized how much taller he had grown over the summer compared to her. He looked at his shoes. “Harry, is something wrong?”

“No,” he lied. Lying made him tired, “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Hermione looked very defeated, “Well, if anything is bothering you . . .”

“We’re gonna be late if we don’t go,” Harry prodded quietly, “And I don’t really fancy a detention my first week back.”

Hermione couldn’t argue with that. The hallway was emptying and Harry began to walk away, his bag sagging heavily on one shoulder. A few moments later, he heard Hermione catching up with him.

If she asks you ‘what’s wrong,’ what are you going to tell her? Harry started down the stairs towards Snape’s dungeon, his mood worsening.

When you wonder ‘what’s wrong,’ what’s it going to be this time?

That was what made him feel so heavy, that he couldn’t put his finger on it.

**

Dumbledore’s office had an off feeling about it because being in it was often coincidental with bad news. Snape took a drink of the tea the Headmaster had placed in his hand when he entered, though he would have preferred something a little stronger. “Albus, I have a class to teach in ten minutes.”

“I’m aware of that, Severus, you’ll get there in time. Don’t worry.” Dumbledore’s eyes had become deep-set. He looked haunted. Don’t we all. “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you last night but I have business in London this evening. I wanted to speak with you as soon as I could.”

Bad news, here it is. “What is it?”

“I would like to request of you,” he met Snape’s eyes wearily, “That you resume Harry Potter’s Occlumency training.”

Snape’s appetite vanished, along with the calm he’d conjured to work him through his first day back, “Albus, if you intend to torture me then send me back to doing spy work.”

He cocked an eyebrow sympathetically but in his voice was a warning. Snape wondered if he can reel himself back in. “Right now, it would be a great service.”

“I thought we put this matter to rest last year.”

“Last year things were different.” His voice was full of fatigue. “If Harry’s lessons had continued . . .” he trailed but Snape could easily fill in the words.

If his lessons had continued, Sirius Black would still be with us.

Such a loss too, his sarcasm fired up. For the sake of honoring the dead and all that, he kept his mouth shut. Dumbledore continued, “I want to avoid another unfortunate accident at all costs. Harry must be prepared.”

“Then you prepare him, Albus. Now if you’ll forgive me, I have a lesson to give.”

Dumbledore rose from his chair, and though there was no malice in his face, Snape lingered. “If I cannot ask you to do this, Severus, then I must require it of you.”

Damn him. “Then I am overrun.”

“You’ve always done what was needed for the Order. This task is vital and I entrust it to you entirely.”

“Then I best not fail a second time.”

“Severus,” that kindness, the way all his words softened. It had almost been enough to drive Snape to madness when he’d been a student. Now it made him turn his head, no matter how much he wanted to look away, “I’m trusting you to put the past aside.”

“Trust all you like,” Snape drew himself up, opening the door, “You and I both know that it’s easier said than done.”

**

“Potter,” Harry froze in the doorway, shutting his eyes. The rest of the sixth-year Potions class pushed passed him out into the hallway and Snape’s eyes lingered on the back of his neck like fingernails. He turned on his heel. “What?”

He knew he shouldn’t have answered like that but after being stuck in a room with him for the last two hours, he didn’t care. His whole stomach ached when he looked at him. His skin crawled with want to be outside.

I promised myself last year that I wouldn’t forgive you. Try me.

Snape sized him up, his lip curling, “Five points for impertinence.”

Harry kept his face neutral, staring him down.

“Follow me, I need to speak with you in my office.”

“But Professor, I have Transfiguration-“

“Then I suggest you follow me quickly lest you make yourself late.”

Harry heaved a sigh and followed him, his teeth pressed hard together. His jaw ached.

He stood rooted by the doorway while Snape crossed the office, sitting opposite Harry in the chair behind his desk. He folded his hands together, deliberately taking longer than he needed to. Harry hated his dark eyes and how thin he looked. He hated that he’d seen him coming and going from Lupin’s (Sirius’) house all summer.

“The headmaster has suggested,” he savored the word angrily, “that you continue to study Occlumency this term.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. This was all he needed, “But-“

“Do not interrupt me, Potter,” Snape said through clenched teeth. Hatred seethed between them, Harry didn’t care how obvious he was. Snape cleared his throat, “I’ll require a copy of your schedule so I may make appropriate arrangements for our meetings.” He extended his hand and Harry handed him his schedule after fishing through his bag for it. His hands trembled slightly and he hoped Snape didn’t notice it. He didn’t want anyone to mistake his anger for nerves.

Snape took his time looking over the schedule, knowing he was making Harry late. “My office, tomorrow evening at six o’ clock.”

“Yes, sir.” He spat it out.

“And believe me, Potter, before you start cursing your luck,” he leaned forward. “No one finds this task more disagreeable than I.”

Harry’s mind was in fog all through Transfiguration. He gazed out the tall windows, his chin on his hand, and when Ron poked him lightly in the arm to win his attention, he ignored him.

He wasn’t sure why.

**

~ end part one ~

Part two is coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this and if you have any comments, thoughts or suggestions, please let me know!

_majenta @ 2005-12-12T20:20:00

2005-12-13T04:21:06Z

Big Update!!!

This journal is no longer going to be Friends Only. If you would like to read my stories/see my art, please feel free to add my to your FL and comment somewhere on my journal and say hi. I'd love to get to know more of you!

some Snarry at last

2005-08-24T21:51:55Z

No way! Snarry!

Title: Human
Author: Majenta
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: HBP
Summary: Harry and Snape’s defeat of Voldemort leaves them running from the Death Eaters that remain, but Snape may not last the night. Harry watches over him, rethinking what he once thought of his Potions professor.
Disclaimer: I make no money, I mean no harm.
Length: 1,364 words

Harry wasn’t sure why he remembered it later, the dream. It was the sort of dream that left you in a sickened, blushing haze in the morning, the sheets twisted painfully around you. Half-way through fifth year, and it had managed, somehow, only to increase his hatred of his Potions professor. Ex-professor now.

Vague in the way that dreams always are, especially to a virgin, the tumble and the unreality of sex; a pleasure you’ve experienced only at the frantic touch of your hand but think must be ten thousand times better with a lover. And the face of your partner is drawn somewhere out of memory, indiscriminate and very seldom kind in its choice. Then, that night, it was Snape.

An estimation, also in the way that dreams are, his body was pale but probably more muscular and young than it really was. Those few darkened moments, the climax that drove him out of sleep like the toe of a boot between his ribs and then the horrified guilt that followed. Everyone dreamed of their teachers, of their enemies, in their mind’s random assignment of recognizable faces to inconsequential lovers in inconsequential wet dreams.

Yet he remembered this dream, suddenly and imprecisely all at once, and even more strongly than Dumbledore’s death when they finally reached the sanctuary of the forest and hid.

Voldemort lay dead and tangled in his useless, fragmented body. His face lay still, which wasn’t really a face at all. Even all the trees that lay between that body and where he and Snape sat crouched were not enough to cover the stench of death that still clung to Harry’s hands. He wanted the body burned, more than he cared about surviving that night.

Snape slouched against the trunk of an ancient, sagging tree and cradled his crushed hand to his chest, panting. The blow to his head, as well, was taking its toll, and Harry could see a jagged cut just below his hairline that shed a tear of blood every now and then. The blow had dampened and weakened the sharpness of his eyes but none of the impatient control in his voice, “Keep your head down, Potter.”

Harry closed his eyes. Somewhere along the way, or maybe during the fight, he’d lost his glasses. The blur of his vision began to make his head ache, worse almost than the slow, lingering remains of the Cruciatus curse. Still, in the low light of the forest, he could see that Snape still wore his Death Eater robes, for warmth now probably more than camouflage. Snape had already defended Harry once tonight and it had cost him enough so that Harry knew he would not be able to defend him a second time, nor would he be hidden by the darkness of the forest if the remains of Voldemort’s followers found them.

Harry hugged his knees to his chest. The forest around them shifted in a breeze unnaturally chilling for late April and Snape shivered, keeping his wand balanced on one of his bent knees. Again, he wiped the blood on his forehead away.

Ever the detective, Harry had always wanted the answers to his questions drawn out for him with immediacy, no detail left ambiguous. Yet now, after so many months of fierce hatred and resolve, to see his misconception of Snape’s role in this game laid out so openly before him left him asking for no explanation. The suddenness and horror of Dumbledore’s death need not be drug out again to prove any point, nor the price Snape undoubtedly had paid and would continue to pay, if he lived, which indeed was doubtful now.

The point remained that Voldemort lay dead now, and it was by the hands of both of them. Even this, though, Harry did not dwell on. He rubbed his sore face, watching Snape through blurry, half-lidded eyes, and the dream came back to him again.

At the time, fifteen years old, he’d been so filled with irrational disgust, but disgust more aimed at himself, disgust that he’d come so hard at the thought of Snape’s hand between his legs.

Now, remembering the dream of them lying skin to skin seemed more of a memory than anything else, more of a reality, and it seemed to prove to Harry that despite all of their mutual dislike and misunderstandings, Snape was human. The realization, really, was that he’d been human all this time.

Harry closed his eyes completely again and listened for the sound of distant explosions, of the pounding of feet on the grass. When he heard nothing, he rose up onto his knees and leaned forward, “Professor.”

Snape started very slightly, his eyes lifting from whatever doze he’d been in. The wound of his hand lay open in a pool of blood in his lap. When he reached for it, Snape pulled it away, “Keep your hands to yourself and sit down.”

His words, though slurred, still sounded the words of a teacher. Harry hesitated, then ripped the few inches of hem from his cloak and bound Snape’s shattered hand. Snape did not finch or look Harry’s way, but from the way he tensed, the pain must have been incredible. Maybe, though, he was too numbed to feel it the way Harry felt he must. His wand sagged in his right hand between two fingers, which trembled slightly. Harry felt the dizzying, swooping sensation in his chest that Snape was dying, that he would die there in the middle of the forest.

And would Harry say ‘good riddance’?

No, not now.

“I’ll take watch for a while,” Harry suggested quietly, conscious of the fact that his sight would do them little good without his glasses. Snape shook his head. Typical. He tried to speak, reprimand again, perhaps, but he sighed instead and lay his head back against the tree. It took Harry a whole minute to realize that he’d fainted at last from the pain or the loss of blood or some other thing; from the annoyance of being trapped in this terrible place with Potter once more in his debt after being so wrongly doubted. Harry almost smiled.

Gently, Harry undid his cloak and lay it on the ground, taking Snape by the narrow shoulders to guide him down to it. When he lay curled on his side, Harry sank back into the shadow of the trees and waited, listening again, but his eyes never left Snape.

He thought, now, that if he had that sort of dream, it would only be of someone he fancied. The way he’d awakened that morning so full of guilty desire, you’d have thought he was pining for a lover he already had. Harry lay his hand on Snape’s chest and kept it there to make sure his chest still rose and fell. Around them, the stars cleared and a pale, grayish-blue filled the sky with the first hint of dawn. Dew clung to his hair; he wiped the dew from Snape’s forehead, which was covered still in blood. Shivering, he at last gave up his watch for cold and fatigue and lay down next to Snape’s nearly motionless body, wrapping an arm very loosely about his waist to share what little warmth they could muster on a cold morning.

Back to chest, spooned together, Harry thought: this feels so different from that dream, because it isn’t a dream at all. He smelled blood and sweat faintly in Snape’s damp hair, and something else that must have been his scent. Harry breathed it in, almost laughing at himself.

If I dreamed of you again, professor, I don’t think I’d mind as much.

Harry held his wand loosely in one hand, keeping the other resting just above Snape’s stomach which still rose and fell with shallow breath. He’d be keeping an eye on that, more than he was on whether or not any Death Eaters were coming their way. He hoped, though, that if they did find him, he’d be able to have Snape in his debt for once.

He hoped that, this one time, he would be able to save the both of them.

~ end ~

_majenta @ 2004-12-14T21:03:00

2004-12-15T05:09:34Z

Hello! I'm afraid that this journal is

If you want to be added, please comment and tell me a little something about yourself! ^_^

~ Majenta