you raise me up || harry potter

chapter 62

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passacaglia

★ handel/halvorsen ★

♢ ♢ ♢

Harry paced outside Snape's office, trying to gather the courage to knock. He'd been at this for a few minutes now, holding up a fist to rap on the door multiple times before losing his nerve. What would Snape say? This was the umpteenth time Harry had completely and deliberately disobeyed the one thing Snape asked of him. What would he think? Would he yell? Would he treat Harry coldly? Harry knew Snape didn't hate him anymore, but wouldn't anyone get tired of being repeatedly defied? What if this was the last straw?

Suddenly, the door opened, and Harry started a few steps back in surprise, already jumpy from nerves. "Professor—" he stammered.

"You've been pacing for five minutes outside my door," Snape said, his face impassive. "I thought I'd put you out of your misery."

Harry gulped, walking inside as Snape shut the door behind him softly. They both sat down, one smooth and collected, one fidgety and nervous. 

There was a silence.

"Is  Pro—"

"Lupin is fine," Snape said shortly. 

Harry recoiled slightly. 

"I'll let you know when he is no longer indisposed," Snape continued. And then he sat in silence, looking at Harry.

When Harry couldn't bear it any longer, he blurted it out. "I'm sorry, I really am—"

Snape held up a finger. "I don't need that," he said. "I know you're sorry. You always are. Always so apologetic. But for the wrong reasons, I'm afraid." Snape studied him over steepled fingers. 

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, more reserved this time. "And... okay, but it always works out, doesn't it? I mean, Sirius is gonna be free now! It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't—"

"And therein lies the problem," Snape interrupted, his voice still low. "You seem to think that the end justifies the means. That as long as you've managed to save the day, you were right in making the decision to run headlong into an unknown danger."

Harry's jaw tightened at "save the day." Snape sounded like a broken record, and Harry was getting sick of it.

"So what?" Harry said hotly. "You think I have a... a... a hero complex, or something? You think I want to be the hero of the day? You think that I think that I'm a hero?"

"You know I don't," Snape said. "Perhaps that was the wrong turn of phrase. You do everything you do for the right moral reasons, but not for the practical ones. Why, Harry?" Snape's words suddenly took on a tone of hidden desperation, a question in a question. "I don't understand. You could have just as well come to me. To the headmaster. Did you really have to follow a large black dog into a violent, flailing tree? Enlighten me, please. After all I've tried to warn you of. That this thoughtlessness, this curiosity and recklessness of yours..."

He stopped abruptly. But the unspoken words were clear. 

... could get you killed.

Harry immediately felt guilty for getting angry. How could he, when Snape was the only person who seemed to even remotely care about Harry's welfare? The only person who had ever attempted to set down rules for his own well-being?

But Harry wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to people caring. So he sat there, unable to speak, unable to conjure up any words that could explain his conflicted thoughts.