And now it was obviously morning and the potion had finally worn off. He lay quietly for a moment, reveling in the quiet and wondering if he could possibly permit himself to drift off again. Then he heard a whimper of distress that he instinctively identified as Harry's and his eyes flew open.
"Potter," he whispered, cognizant of being in the Infirmary and remembering how battered the Weasley boy had looked тАУ to say nothing of Poppy. "What is it?"
Harry looked over at his professor, his eyes filled with tears. He wasn't even sure what was wrong, exactly. It just all felt awful. The horrible head growing out of Quirrell's skull. The fight and how Ron had been covered in blood. The disgusting threats Voldemort had made against Hermione. The Dark Lord's casual, offhand instruction to Quirrell to kill him. The sudden realization of what his parents' last moments must have been like. The awful knowledge that Voldemort was truly back and determined to kill him. The sickening noise that the transfigured pumpkin had made as it crushed Quirrell's skull like an eggshell. The guilt over nearly getting his friends killed with his stupid "Case of the Mysterious Turban". Or the fact that he felt absolutely no guilt for actually killing another human being. Was he no better than Voldemort?
Snape scowled at the brat's inability to express himself. Was the child one or eleven? He had asked Potter a simple question, and the boy appeared incapable of doing anything but quivering his lip at him. Obviously he was going to have to take control of the situation. "Come here," he ordered firmly, folding back his blankets. He could hardly keep hissing over at the next bed, and if Harry chose to ignore him, what recourse would he have? The obvious course of action was to bring the boy to him. After all, why should he go to the boy? He was the adult. Let the boy be the one to get out of his nice warm bed.
Harry didn't wait for a second invitation. He scooted out of his bed and over into his professor's before the man could reconsider. He snuggled against his professor who was, for once, not dressed in his usual black. Like Harry, Snape was in standard hospital pyjamas, though his had a little Slytherin crest on the chest.
Harry hugged his professor hard, laying his head on the man's chest and letting the sound of his heartbeat calm him. He felt a powerful rush of love as Snape's arms encircled his shoulders and held him close.
Snape kept a firm hold on the little creature. He wasn't about to let Harry take off and hide like a frightened animal. Better to hold him tightly until he realized that struggling to escape was useless. It had nothing whatever to do with reassuring the brat or being all sentimental. It was merely that Snape had no intention of having to traipse all over the castle looking for wherever a traumatized first year might hole up or, like last time, having to drag him out from underneath the hospital bed.
"Really, Potter," Snape scolded, once the brat had stopped trembling. "I don't expect you to be articulate, but simple answers should not be beyond you. Are you in pain?"
"No, sir," Harry answered obediently. He was so lucky! His professor took such good care of him.
"Are you frightened?"
Harry squirmed. "A little," he admitted.
Snape sighed. It was unfortunate that the boy had to learn at such an early age about the threat Voldemort posed to him, but there was no way around it. No use sugar coating the truth. "It is true that the Dark Lord is a powerful adversary, Potter," he finally said, choosing his words with care. "But he is gone for now and you saw with your own eyes that he is in a weak and incorporeal state. You need not fear for your safety here and now."
" 'S not that," Harry said, twisting to look up at his professor with surprise. "I know you'll keep me safe."
"And so I will," Snape agreed, doing his best to ignore the warm feeling of pride that the boy's foolish comment had triggered. "But then what are you frightened of?"
"Me," Harry admitted. "I think I'm gonna grow up to be like Him."
Snape could hear the upper case letter. "Like the Dark Lord? Why on earth would you think that?"
" 'Cause I'm a murderer, just like him," Harry whispered, burying his face into Snape's chest. "I killed him! Well, Quirrell anyway."
"Potter!" Snape's voice was trembling with fury, and Harry looked up in dread. Would his professor kick him out now that he knew what Harry had done? "I recognize you are a Gryffindor, but kindly do not be any more moronic than you can help! Surely even you can recognize the fallacious nature of the moral equivalency argument?"
Harry just blinked at him, mouth open. Snape sighed again. Gryffindors, Severus. Remember what Gryffindors are like. "Potter, don't you understand the difference between killing and murder?"
"UmmmтАж." Harry screwed up his face in thought. "In murder you mean to make 'em dead, but in killing, you don't necessarily mean it. Like if you accidentally hit someone with a car?"
"A Muggle example but one that is reasonable," Snape allowed.
"But I meant to kill him, Pr'fessor," Harry argued unhappily. "I wanted him to die. An' I don't even feel bad about it."
"Idiot." Snape scowled. What does McGonagall teach them in that House? "Of course you wanted him dead, Potter. Quirrell was a willing stooge of the Dark Lord. I assume he was trying to harm you and your friends?" At Harry's nod, he continued, "Then you can imagine my reaction if you hadn't tried to kill him. What did I tell you about defending yourself?"
"Th-that I should," Harry acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean I had to kill him."
"Potter, you are an 11 year old child. You were battling a fully grown wizard who was not only a DADA instructor in his own right but also had some sort of link with the most powerful Dark Lord in the last half-century. In a situation like that, you do not seek to wound or capture. You kill before you are killed."
"B-but that's murder," Harry sniffled.
Snape sat up and tugged the boy until Harry was sitting up, face to face with him. "Potter, this is important, so mind me well. That is not murder. Murder is the deliberate killing of an innocent who means you no harm. You did not murder anyone, though you did in fact kill." Harry's lip started to quiver again, and Snape glared. "Potter. You have no reason to be upset. Now listen closely. There is a Muggle saying that I expect you to remember: 'If someone is coming to kill you, rise early and kill him first.'" Harry blinked in surprise, his lip stilling. "Now, what does it mean?"
"It тАУ it means that if you know someone is trying to hurt you, then you should get out of bed and get him before he gets you?"
"Exactly. It means that if you know that someone intends to do you grievous harm, you have an obligation to protect yourself. You are not to sit in bed and cower and moan and hope that something happens to dissuade him. You are not to wait to see if he has a last minute change of heart because the odds are excellent that he won't. You are to rise and take action before the other person can harm you." Snape gave him a very stern look. "This does not mean that if you think someone might hurt you, you then have permission to harm him. It does mean that if you have evidence that someone is actively trying to kill you, you should remove that threat before you тАУ or others тАУ can be harmed."
Harry sniffled. "But if I want to kill Him like He wants to kill me, doesn't that make me as bad as Him?"