Chapter 1: A Rough Encounter
Chapter Text
The golden sun rays receded slowly from the tall windows of the library, extinguishing the last of the illuminated dust particles in their wake. The vast room was now dimly lit, with the only light source being a single torch above one of the working desks. The occupant of said desk was sitting in a wooden chair, knees drawn up, a thick book propped up against them. The boy had tried to focus on the words in front of him, but his thoughts kept straying, and every few minutes, Harry Potter found himself staring aimlessly out the window. In the end, he had succumed to gazing unfixedly at the sunset colors.
It had been two full weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and things were starting to slowly return to normal. Well, as normal as could be expected. After all, when was the last time something had been normal for 'The Chosen One'?
The raven-haired boy lightly snorted to himself at the mere thought. Since his coming to Hogwarts seven years ago, it seemed as if nothing had ever been normal since. Ranging from trolls to a snake-faced sadist, every year had brought something new, and it always had everything to do with the 'Chosen One.'
Merlin, how Harry hated that moniker; it caused him to scrunch his nose every time he heard or thought of it.
But now, there could finally be peace (Harry frowned at that internal thought), or, at least to a certain extent. True, Voldemort was now gone for good, but what of the repercussions? The aftermath? So, so many casualties, and each one of them made the light side's victory feel more like a loss. They had won, but at what cost?
It was incredulous, Harry thought, that no one seemed to blame him for the deaths of the countless witches, wizards, and creatures, but rather saw him as a miraculous savior of the bloody Wizarding World. He sighed and shut his book with a thud, tossing it onto the desk littered with the other books and scrolls of parchment. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his thumb and forefinger, causing his round glasses to slide up. Slowly stretching and leaning back in his chair, he craned his neck to look at the darkening book-filled room.
For the past two weeks, Harry had spent the majority of his time cooped up in the Hogwarts library, attempting to catch up on the seventh-year material he had missed. Though, he more often than not found it hard to concentrate on his work, as the same nagging thoughts and musings refused to recede from the surface of his mind. He would often think about the Weasleys, who were currently at the Burrow, or about Hermione, who was with her parents. The boy smiled as he remembered the countless letters he had received from the Weasley clan, urging Harry to stay at the Burrow with them.
But he just couldn't bring himself to accept the invites. After what had happened to Fred, it just felt... wrong. Hogwarts, on the other hand, provided him with solitude and peace. There weren't many people left in the old castle, as most of the professors had gone home to their families for the remainder of the summer (once the school had been restored back to its original glory). Only McGonagall - the newly acquainted headmistress, Hagrid, Madam Pince, a few other professors, and Madame Pomfrey remained.
Oh...And Severus Snape.
Harry cupped his face with one hand, propping his elbow on the cluttered desk, and stared out the window at the last rays of light sinking behind the landscape. How ironic, he mused, that the Head of Slytherin had almost died of a snake bite. But irony aside, Harry reflected back on these past two weeks, recalling how Snape had been discovered barely alive in the Shrieking Shack when Harry, his friends, and McGonagall had gone to retrieve his body. There, they had discovered not only that the ex-Death Eater was still breathing, but a strikingly familiar-looking red-gold feather lying next to him.
The rush back up to the castle had been difficult with an unconscious and hovering Snape in tow. However, once Madame Pomfrey had stabilised him in the infirmary, she revealed how Snape had survived Nagini's snake bite.
It was courtesy of Fawkes, of course.
A few days later, Snape had awakened, though drained of energy and deprived of speech due to his damaged vocal cords. But once Snape had regained enough energy for a conversation, Harry was the first person to have it with him.
He had filled the professor in on everything that had happened, from the Horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows to Voldemort's defeat. Snape's reaction had been priceless as the man had sagged in his hospital bed out of pure shock and relief, his stoic demeanour forgotten.
Then, the hardest part had come.
Despite their history of mutual hatred for one another over the last seven years, Harry had thanked the man for his contributions to the light side. He had also thanked Snape for the memories he had given him of not only the crucial information, but of Lily Potter as well.
Present-day Harry cringed at the remembrance of how awkward that conversation had been. Though, how it had ended with an argument was still a mystery to him. Then again, it was still Snape. Just because the wizard had survived a lethal snake bite didn't mean he would suddenly have a change of personallity. Oh, Harry didn't doubt the man still hated him, though a oart of him had been hopeful of... of what, exactly?
Perhaps to make amends and get on civil terms with his professor? To build a sort of friendship with him? It certaintly hadn't escaped Harry's notice that, now with even the Lupins and nearly the whole order dead, he had close to no-one left. And Snape just ever-so-convenientlly happened to be his last link to his late mother, Lily Potter. But Harry knew that was a naive thought. The man clearly had not wanted anything to do with Harry, and it wasn't like seven years of mutial hate were suddenly behind them, just water under the bridge.
Feeling a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him, Harry rested his head on the smooth wooden surface, using his hands as a pillow. Just thinking about Snape and everything along the lines tended to give him headaches. Still, his attention span had definitely degressed in the last two weeks, and he couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the aftermath of the War. It was a slightly unsettling feeling, knowing he and Snape were in the same building (as enormous as the castle was). Well, maybe not unsettling, but the fact did not elicit an positive emitions in Harry. He hadn't seen Snape ever since that day in the infirmary, though he knew for a fact that the man was still there, recovering... as far as he knew... but he didn't know. He had no way of knowing. How would he know? For all he knew, Snape could have long since vacated the premise. And then, even this thought unsettled Harry...
He was in a state of dissonance.
Harry groaned rather loudly, cradling his pounding head in his cupped hands. He just didn't know what would happen if they encountered each other again. He wasn't wasn't sure if the Potions Master's hate for him had changed, but he found he would rather not know. He didn't want to bicker with the man, not anymore. Not after all the losses and in the aftermath of the War.
It was almost cruel, how people like Remus, Tonks, and Fred, who had been practically like family to Harry, had died, yet the one person who had hated Harry since his first day at Hogwarts had somehow survived.
Snape was right; life is unfair, was Harry's last thought before his eyelids drooped, and he succumbed to sleep.
Harry groaned softly as the rays of morning sunlight streamed down on his face, causing his eyes to smart. He tried shifting his head away from the light this way and that, but the endeavor was futile, as there were more windows on either side of the one in front of him.
Groggily, Harry lifted his head and rubbed his eyes, feeling his glasses lopsided on his face. He grimaced at his sore back. This wasn't the first time he had fallen asleep in the library, but that didn't negate the fact that it was extremely uncomfortable. Harry slowly stood and stretched before taking in last night's mess on the desk, frowning at the sight. Reaching into his back jeans pocket, he pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus. Half past nine, it read. He had missed breakfast, but found that he couldn't care less. His appetite lately had been all but nonexistent.
Slowly but surely, the boy had been about to tidy up his study area, but stilled at a sudden noise. Automatically, his hand flew to his jeans pocket, when his wand was stored. His grip on it tightened, and he instantly became more alert. There were still a number of Death Eaters that had escaped after the battle, so there really was no such thing as being over-cautious.
The young wizard flattened himself against the nearest bookcase as silently as he could, wand held at the ready. He listened intently, and then he heard the noise again. Footfalls, he deduced... something was awfully familiar about their clanking against the stone. But after having been on the run for nine months from pretty much the entire Wizarding World, Harry wasn't taking any chances.
Deciding to opt for a better view, Harry slowly moved along the bookcase, keeping as silent as possible. He stopped dead, though, and held his breath when something small and hard crunched under his foot. A loose pebble — brilliant.
Harry's heart rate quickened when he could no longer hear any sounds coming from the other presence. He knew the intruder knew, and vice versa.
This was it, Harry thought, chosing he would go with the offensive first. His signature spell would do.
At the sound of a rustle of fabric, Harry lept from behind his bookcase and aimed wildly at the potential intruder.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
The spell collided with the shield and rebounded on Harry, resulting in his wand flying out of his grip.
"Potter!"
Harry stared at his opponent with dread and surprise, feeling his heartbeat slow.
The wizard in front of him was none other than Severus Snape, adorned in his usual black suit and robes, although his hair was only slightly less greasy. He had dark circles under his eyes, looking quite sleep-deprived. In some ways, he looked almost better than the last time Harry saw him, as well as in some ways he looked like a depressed insomniac. A bit of white bandage could be seen peeking out of his collar, but the man had followed Harry's line of sight and quickly adjusted it.
"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, feeling a bit embarrassed. He started lowering his wand, when Snape snapped at him.
"Idiot. What evidence do you have of me not being a Polyjuiced enemy?" he spat.
Harry bristled. "I'm not an idiot. And I know for a fact you're you because no one barks out my name like that," he retorted indignantly. "But if it'll satisfy you, what was the last thing I said to you the last time I saw you?" The question was the first thing that had popped into his head.
Snape rolled his eyes, then narrowed them. "I do believe I recall the word 'git' being muttered," he drawled sarcastically. Harry smirked and shoved his wand into his back pocket.
"What are you doing here at such an early hour, Potter? I never thought I'd live to see the day when I would find you in the library."
Harry fisted his hands, annoyed. "Really, Snape? Because I don't think I'll ever live to see the day when you don't act like a sarcastic git," he retorted.
Both of Snape's eyebrows rose, though his expression appeared almost bored. "My, my, not so much of a morning person, are we?" he drawled. "For your information, Potter, that slip of the tongue would have cost you at least fifty points, were we still professor and pupil."
"Whatever." Harry rolled his eyes. Merlin, it felt good to be able to finally do it without consequence. He crossed his arms over his chest, shivering slightly from the chilliness of the castle. "So, what, you were released?" When he'd last seen Snape in the infirmary, the wizard couldn't even walk, and heavily relied on hourly doses of different potions.
Snape put on a serious expression. "No, Potter, I had merely created a duplicate of myself, tricked the incessant woman of a Medi-Witch, and made my grand escape from the infirmary. Of course I was released," he deadpanned.
Harry shrugged, but couldn't help a small snort from escaping him. "Right, of course." In all honesty, he himself hated spending any longer than necessary in Pomfrey's clutches, so he could only imagine how much Snape hated it as well.
The two wizards were silent for a moment, Snape appearing to study him. Harry hated the feeling. Their dispute still hung in the between them, making the air stuffy. He decided to cut things short.
"Well, umm, I'll be going, then. See you around, sir," he said awkwardly, making his way to exit the library. He paused at the doorway, however, at Snape's voice.
"Why are you still here, and not at Mr. Weasley's?" The question came completely out of the blue.
"Huh?"
"Why aren't you at the Weasleys?"
Harry had a strange look on his face. Why did it matter to Snape, of all things? He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm Just...not, I guess."
"You're just not?"
Harry began twisting his shirt in his hands, sparing a glance down at his shoes. "Yep."
Snape said nothing for a moment, but instead studied Harry some more, his face a statue. "You are staying here indefinitely." It was a statement, not a question. "Why?"
What was up with all the questions? Harry bristled. "Look, that's none of your business! What's it to you, anyway?"
"Language, Potter," growled Snape in warning. "It matters' to me whether or not I will have to watch over your trouble-seeking thick head so you don't get kidnapped, or attempt to do something foolish and Gryffindor-ish! There are still Death Eaters gallivanting about, protective wards or not."
This grated Harry's nerves. How old was he? He didn't need a babysitter! "You don't have to babysit me; I've just defeated the darkest wizard of the century, remember?" he snapped sarcastically, evident disdain in his voice. A sneer colored the Slytherin's face "And I don't seek trouble. Trouble just seems to find me."
"You thick-headed dunderhead, you wouldn't stand a chance against even the lowest-tiered Death Eater! Just because you've defeated the Dark Lord does not mean you are invincible!" snarled Snape, crossing his arms over his chest. Why did he always have to look so intimidating?
"I never said, nor thought, that I was invincible," countered Harry, glaring daggers at Snape. "You don't have to watch over or protect me anymore. I'm a grown wizard, and certainly don't need a sodding babysitter!"
With that said, Harry turned on his heel and marched out of the library, not even bothering to take his books and parchment with him.
Chapter 2: The Fallout
Summary:
Harry loved the castle. It was his true home from the moment he'd stepped foot in it. Sure, practically every year an evil Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher would try to kill him, but there were so many good memories as well.
Chapter Text
Harry marched out of the library without a single glance at the greasy bastard. He couldn't help but reprimand himself for even considering the notion that something had changed between them. No. In fact, the stiffling awkwardness between them now made things much worse. He laughed mirthlessly to himself at his own naiveté.
It still stung though. Somewhere deep, deep down. One of the few people that he had left, who were a link to his past and his parents, was a lost cause in terms of building at least a civil relationship. He'd saved the git's life, apologised for doubting his loyalties, and had thanked him for his contributions to the light and the war... even in his mother's legacy. He had even apologised for his father bullying Snape when they had been students at Hogwarts!
And what did Harry get in return? The same sneering and sarcastic remarks he'd gotten throughout the last six-seven years.
It was so pathetic of him, Harry knew as he looked out the tall windows on his left mid-walk. It must be the aftermath of the war, the psychological impact it had made on him. There had simply been to much death, and the some funerals were still scheduled for the near future. The world still seemed bleak as the entire Wizarding community was making an attempt at normalicy. But there was still too much rubble to clean, too many wounds to heal, both physical and mental.
Like himself and Snape, he mused. Harry was no fool: despite the mutual disdain between them, he knew Snape was also struggling to come to terms with thigs himself. And just like that, not for the hundredth time did Harry's thoughts take him back to the dispute he and the dour man had had in the infirmary...
Snape was in one of the infirmary beds, neck and chest area wrapped in gauze that was visibly peaking from beneath his white infirmary shirt. His hair still looked as though someone had washed it with oil, and the dark circles under his eyes indicated insomnia and stress. Harry could sincerely relate, for he himself was still plagued by recent events to the point of sleepless nights.
Harry was perched uncomfortably on the edge of the chair beside Snape, fingers playing with the hem of his war-weathered shirt. He had just filled in the gaps of Snape's knowledge of what had happened after he'd 'died' in the Shrieking Shack. From the Deathly Hallows to his own survival, and everything in between, Snape now knew, though a rather brief retelling of events. Harry hadn't much dived into the details. Throughout his telling, his ex-professor's eyes ha often widened with shock or surprise, and he would often also fill in some gaps, or would nod his head.
Now, Harry sat and awaited Snape's assessment of things… his thoughts? Maybe his own side of the story? maybe he would dive into his history of himself and Lily, or maybe he would pose questions? Maybe this was a turn at last in their relationship, which could yet be salvaged? Above all, Harry didn't want to be pushed away. Not now, not by anyone. He already felt vulnerable enough as it was.
But Snape's answer was disappointing.
"Surely the Boy-Who-Saved-The-World has better things to do with his time rather than to sit here in my sulking presence?" he drawled smoothly. "Sign autographs, or kiss newborn babies?"
"Don't call me that!" Harry snapped automatically, irritated him beyond anything to be called that. He hated the stupid hero titles everyone had been branding him with. Well, there went his naive hope.
Snape raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? Not so keen on basking in your fame, are you, Mr. Harry Potter? Your father would have been strutting about, signing every autograph possible, so why are you not indulging yourself in the endeavor?" he sneered.
Harry had enough. He couldn't take the sneers, the retorts, and the offensive remarks. Normally, he couldn't really care. But now, on top of his own internal struggle and depressive state, he didn't have the energy nor will to endure Snape's usual crap. Abruptly, he jumped to his feet, knuckles turning white on his fists. "You know what? You're right, why am I here?" he exploded. “I have enough of my own things going on without your petty school grudges. I tried to be civil to you, but clearly I was just wasting my time. But for what it's worth, Snape, I am NOT my father! So you are either deaf or blind," finished Harry more cooly.
Snape just quirked an eyebrow at him, the look of disinterest and indifference making something in Harry snap. He needed an outlet. He needed this. And Snape, the person who had belittled and profanitated him so much, was the perfect victim.
“Ah, yes, always playing the victim,” sneered Snape. “Am I suddenly indebted to you, Potter? For saving my life? Should I grovel at your feet because you have saved the Wizarding World?”
"Listen, I don't know where you got the idea that I was a spoiled and pampered little prince, basking in my bloody fame. Fame for what, for having had my parents killed by a maniac? For having to literally die in order to murder? For having lost nearly everyone in this bloody war!? I still don't know where you got the notion that I was a spoiled prince — My so-called 'relatives' treated me like rubbish all those years! I never knew what being spoiled felt like!" he spat. Harry wasn't even sensoring what was barreling out of his mouth anymore, but Harry was tired of screaming into his pillow at night in the desolate dormitory, hurt from years of being stuffed in and withheld.
The air in the room seemed to have become almost suffocating, but Harry didn't want to stop there. It felt good to finally have a good yelling fit at Severus bloody Snape. As if a huge stone was being lifted off his shoulders.
Unfortunately, at that precise moment, Madame Pomfrey's heels started clanking against the stone floor. Harry gritted his teeth, deciding for escaping before he got caught in her scolding for 'disturbing the patient'.
"Sorry to have wasted your time, professor,” sneered Harry coldly, turning to leave. “I was wrong to think you would be less of a git than before. I shouldn't have bothered." He gave Snape a venomous glare, grabbed his wand, and stormed out of the infirmary without as much as a second glance at Snape, muttering under his breath.
Fuming silently, his head in the clouds, Harry wasn't really aware of where his feet were taking him, but he didn't really care. Digging his nails painfully into his palms, he rounded a corner.
THUMP!
The sudden collision would've sent Harry to the floor, had it not been for a pair of warm hands that were grasping his arms, steadying him. Harry looked up and found himself staring right into Professor McGonagall's piercing blue eyes. He quickly recovered, blushing from embarrassment, and straightened himself. "Professor! Sorry, I didn't see you," he apologised sheepishly.
Professor McGonagall released her grip on Harry's arms and tightened her own spectacles, which had slipped a bit from the impact. She didn't look any less exhausted then the last time he had seen her. "Heavens, Mr. Potter, you move akin to a drunk hippogriff! Are you quite alright?"
Harry offered her a lopsided smile. "As alright as one would be after talking to Snape. Once a git, always a git, I guess," he shrugged with a frown. He quickly realised what he'd just said in front of his headmistress, but he didn't exactly regret it.
"Language, Mr. Potter!" she chided in her crisp voice, though only halfheartedly. Raising her brows slightly, she asked, "He was released?"
Harry gave her a non-commital shrug. "Yeah, though whatever treatment Madam Pomfrey had been giving him, it didn't seem to have any effect on his reptilian tongue."
McGonagall appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking back at Harry again. Exasperatedly, she inquired, "What happened?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't really want to talk about it, Professor. Not that it would change anything."
McGonagall thinned her lips, but gave a small nod, a smirk crossing her wrinkled features. "Ah, yes. Our dear Severus always had a very sharp tongue indeed," she mused, seemingly more so to herself than Harry. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I suppose I should be on my way, then. I was just enroute to meet with the Minister."
Harry frowned. "How're things at the Ministry?" he asked. He knew that Kingsley, the newly-appointed Minister of Magic, was struggling with restoring everything back to its order. There had been rumourse circling about Death Eaters having infiltrated the Ministry.
Sighing, she briefly turned her head to look out one of the tall windows, before answering, "It is rather hectic there at the moment, I'm afraid. The Aurors are busy with either trying to round up the Death Eaters, or participating in their trials. As you may recall, Lucius Malfoy's trial was most straining." She said this with a bit of a pointed look at Harry.
About a week ago, Harry had vouched for the Malfoys during their trial. The Ministry officials had been ready to chuck the two Death Eaters into Azkaban, sparing Narcissia, but upon Harry's insistence, the family was let off with a pardon, under the condition that they were to be checked up on by Aurors every fortnight. Not many people had approved of such leeway, including the headmistress.
McGonagall took a moment to straighten her robes a little. "I'd best hurry. Run along, Mr. Potter- that was figurative speech! Do not even think of running in these corridors again!" At Harry's barely-suppressed smile, she turned to leave, but then turned back around. Her voice warmed considerably when she added, "And should you need to talk, well…the password is 'Albus', Mr. Potter." She momentarily gave his shoulder a small squeeze, offering a reassuring smile.
Harry smiled back. "Yeah, thank you, Professor. I will," he replied, knowing full well that he wouldn't be doing that anytime soon. It's not that he didn't like his professor or didn't trust her, he just doubted that she — or anyone else for that matter — would understand him.
Harry watched his professor head in the direction of her office until he couldn't see her. Feeling a little more calm and composed, he took a deep breath and made his way up to Gryffindor Tower.
"Password?" the portrait of the Fat Lady inquired.
Harry rolled his eyes. He was the only student in the castle, and yet the Fat Lady still required the password. "Godric," he muttered, frustrated with the unnecessary security measure.
"Precisely." Satisfied, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open to reveal the cosy-as-ever Gryffindor common room. Harry had to shield his eyes with his hand from the illuminating rays of late morning sunshine flooding in from the window. He crossed the room to close the curtains, but stopped when he caught sight of the memorial of the fallen fifty-four from the battle. The heroes were respectfully laid to rest on the small island in the distance beside Dumbledore's grave. The sight always pulled at his heartstrings.
But that he didn't wish to fall down that depressing rabbit hole again. So, shaking the morbid emotions away, Harry pulled the red-gold curtains together with a little more force than necessary.
He made his way over to the sitting area around the fireplace, where he slumped down on the comfortable couch. His back ached satisfyingly from the change between the hard wooden chair and the soft and comfortable couch. Pulling out his wand, he twirled it in his hands, contemplating what he should do, before deciding. "Accio parchment and quill!"
He hadn't heard from either Ron or Hermione for a few days now, and he had to admit that he was starting to miss them. After the grand adventure they'd been on together, it was only natural to miss Hermione's bossy voice and Ron's jokes.
Harry smiled to himself as he remembered first meeting them on the Hogwarts Express. If only they had known what was in store for them. Hermione would have definitely lost consciousness if someone had told her she would be dating Ron. Harry chuckled to himself. Had only they all known what was in store for them.
Picking up his self-inking quill, he started to write a letter to Ron first, asking how they were all holding up and that he would 'consider' their offer for him to stay with them.
After finishing the first letter, Harry set it aside and started writing a letter to Hermione. He asked how she and her parents were doing, expressed how much he missed her and Ron, and inquired if she would be able to visit the Burrow for a short time.
It was somewhere in the afternoon when Harry finished writing the letters. It had taken him a couple of failed pieces of parchment, but he was happy with the end results. Utilising a neat Letter-Sealing charm he'd learned a few days ago, Harry collected his work and made his way out of Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the Fat Lady's grumbling about her beauty sleep being disturbed.
Lost in thought, Harry relied solely on his feet to take him to the Owlery. He was suddenly overcome with memories of Hedwig — the first real birthday gift he'd received and his loyal friend. "Stop it," he whispered to himself firmly. Dwelling on it was no remedy.
All too soon, Harry found himself entering the Owlery, letters in hand. The tower had been repaired and cleaned a mere week ago, but already the place smelled quite awful, with owl droppings and small vermin skeletons littering the floor. This was the first time he was here since it had been repaired and he noticed that there were fewer owls than usual. It was obvious that many of them had been frightened out of their feathers during the battle and fled, some not even wishing to return.
Harry couldn't blame them, though. In fact, sometimes he wished he could do just that; simply fly away and never return to this whole nightmare.
Shaking off his mundane thoughts, Harry found two willing owls to deliver the letters. He gingerly tied the letters to either of the owls' legs and stroked their feathers when they affectionately nibbled his fingers. A rare smile crossed his face. He had always liked owls. They were smart and dead-useful, unlike Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, who did nothing but scratch and hiss at people it didn't like. It saddened him, of course, the memory of Hedwig, and this irritaed him even more.. It seemed no matter where he went or what he did, everything elicited depressining and painful memories. The fallout, he thought, had left a colossal mark on everyone. He wondered what it would be like, for the next wizarding generation to read about the two Wizarding Wars in their History of Magic textbooks.
A sharp pain in his pointer finger brought him back to reality. He yelped, glaring at the tawny owl that had the audacity to bite him. Harry shook his head and sighed to himself, and shooed the two noctournals off to deliver the mail. He watched the two owls fly off into the distance in slightly different directions until the small specs of black dissaeared in his vision, and made himself comfortable in a crook of the tower. Having nothing better to do, he chose to practise some of the charms he'd learned recently.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he finally made his way back inside the castle, the sun was starting to slowly set, making the temperature drop a little. Harry was glad he wore a light jacket. It was definitely an early summer this year, though the castle still somehow managed to maintain its cool temperature, so a light cardigan was preferable. But after such losses and such a life, Harry had learned to appreciate everything he currently had, even the more unsavory aspects. He loved the castle. It was his true home from the moment he'd stepped foot in it. Sure, practically every year an evil Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher would try to kill him, but there were so many good memories as well. And as of now, there was no Dark Lord looming over his shoulders, nor were there any evil DADA teachers out for his neck... well...
Okay, fine, Snape didn't count. Not anymore, he supposed.
One would only stop to ponder how Harry was still sane after all he'd been through, what with the darkest wizard of all time plotting his demise, teachers after his life every year, Basilisks and tournaments galore, not to mention the constant deaths and the Dursleys. Not to forget having been called a liar in the Daily Prophet and having to write 'I must not tell lies' on his hand with his own blood.
But that was in the past. And still, he was home.
Feeling emotionally drained, Harry decided to head back to his dorm and straight to bed, skipping dinner. These days he would get tired much easier, due to his nightmares haunting him in his sleep. Almost every night Harry would wake up, screaming and sometimes crying into his pillow. Come dawn, he would feel like an inferi.
Luckily, he was the only student there, so he didn't even need to cast a Muffliato spell when he went to bed. He'd tried asking Madame Pomfrey for more Dreamless Sleep, but his requests were rejected, as it was highly addictive. And as he made his slow journey back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of forbodding wash over him. His nightmares had been worsening lately, and he was becoming more and more exhausted with each passing day. He couldn't keep going like this, but he also didn't know what to do. He had never felt more alone than he did now, so vulnerable and fragile. He hated the feeling, but he couldn't help it. It seemed as though everything was quickly catching up to him, and he could do nothing about it.
Reaching the entrance, he mumbled the password rather incoherently to the portrait of the Fat Lady and headed straight up to the dormitories. Not even bothering to wash or change, or even cast a Refreshening Charm, he plopped onto his bed... but his landing wasn't as soft as he'd been expecting, but rather hard., accompanied by a rustle. Rubbing his side with one hand, Harry turned over to reveal the books and parchments he'd left in the library earlier. Too tired to care how they'd ended up on his bed in the first place, he settled for the thought of a house elf having been kind enough to bring them up.
Shoving his things to the other end of the bed (some thudding to the floor), Harry layed back down on his stomach, drawing his pillow closer and burying his face in it. He was asleep within a minute.
Chapter 3: A Dificult Decision
Summary:
"I'm afraid an Auror party has recently uncovered potential Death Eater plans to make a move on you and Severus," Kingsley said grimly, looking at Harry. "We also suspect that a handful of them are under Polyjuice, posing as Ministry officials. As of now, we do not know whom to trust."
Chapter Text
The next morning, Harry was rudely awakened by a pulsating headache, its cause unknown. It took him a few moments to fully come to and realise that the source of the blood pounding in his ears was an infernal owl pecking at the window. Normally, Harry wouldn't have minded, but with his ever-such -lovely mood lately, he wished he had a slipper to chuck at the bird to let him sleep! Every peck annoyingly echoed in his head, tickling his already thread-thin nerves. He tried pulling his pillow over his head... but couldn't locate it.
Finally giving up when the owl gave a particularly loud screech, Harry groggily pushed himself up on his bed. Attempting to swing his legs over the edge, the tangled sheets made him lose his balance. The hard impact with the cold stone floor disoriented him slightly, but served to wake him more. Cursing while rubbing his head, having located a small bump, he slowly got to his feet when the incessant owl continued pecking at the glass.
"Alright, alright! M'coming..."
Pushing the window open, he allowed the small tawny owl entry inside. The bird, slightly blurred in his glasses-less vision, ruffled its feathers and innocently outstretched its right leg. Harry somewhat clumsily untied the ribbon and collected envelope with the Hogwarts wax seal on it. In his periphery, the grey eagle owl hooted, and Harry knew in owl language it meant 'food?'. Despite himself, he chuckled and gave in to card his finger through the owl's feathers. It hooted happily, leaning into the touch.
"Sorry, girl... or boy. I haven't anything on me," he apologised guiltily. The owl immedietly lost interest in him and flew back out the window. Shrugging, Harry walked back to his bed and groped around in the tangled sheets for his glasses, remembering that he'd fallen asleep wearing them. Having located them, he shoved them on and slid his finger under the flap... He immediately recognized McGonagal's handwriting on the letter inside.
Mr. Potter,
Please see yourself to my office at half past eleven.
Sincerely, Minerva M.
Harry reread the short sentence several times, thinking he'd missed something. He wondered what had happened. Could it have something to do with the Death Eaters? Unease settled in his stomach at the thought. These days, one could expect anything, mostly the negative 'anything'. Harry had half a mind to pretend he had never recieved the Headmistress' letter, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had appeared. He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and bravery meant facing things he dreaded and feared. It meant to have gut and a strong will. Ignoring the letter would make him a coward.
Dropping the letter on his night table, he quickly made his bed and chose clean clothes, thinking if his life was a slight mess at the moment, he could at least organize something even as trivial as his own mess. Having smelled himself, he also settled for a quick shower before going down to have a late breakfast, since the grandfather clock in the corner read just a little past 9:30.
Feeling refreshed in clean clothes, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall. But upon having reached the huge, open doors, he hesitated. There sat all the staff that had remained, including McGonagall, Hagrid, Pomfrey, and Slughorn...His decision was spontaneous. Harry sharply twisted on his heel and settled for having his breakfast in the kitchens instead.
Hands stuffed in his cardigan pockest, he trudged his way through the castle to the lower levels. Through the cellars and the portrait of the Pear, Harry was immediately greeted by a plethora of House Elves jumping up and down, offering him everything ranging from cinnamon rolls with fruits to eggs and bacon.
When Harry had his fill (mostly coffee and a nibble of toast, his typical fuel), he checked the time with a Tempus and saw that it was 10:15. Turns out, he had got too engrossed in conversation with the elves. The Head-Office was a bit farther from the kitchens than it was from Gryffindor Tower, so Harry sadly bid the elves goodbye.
He took his time, knowing he was still rather early. And yet, the journey seemed far too quick for his prefrence.Having given the stone gargoyle the password, he waited for the spiral staircase to take him to the top. When he arrived at the wooden door, however, he paused, pressing his ear against it. From within the office sounded raised voices.
" — idea is utterly ludicrous, Minerva —! "
"Oh, hush with you, Severus! It will only be for a little while, and only if Potter agrees - "
"And what, pray tell, gave you the notion that he will be amenable?"
"I am hopeful that Mr. Potter will see reason -" She stopped talking abruptly, and a moment later, the door was swung open to reveal the Headmistress, eyebrows raised in an inquiring and knowing manner. Harry blushed profousely. "Ah, Potter. Right on time," she acknowledged. To Harry's relief, her wrinkles softened and she gestured for him to come in. Inside the circular office, silence fell immediately between the other two people in it, and all heads turned him. Snape was on his feat, clad in black, who appeared to have stopped pacing when Harry had entered. Sitting in one of the plush armchairs was the Minister, Kingsley Shaklebolt.
"Morning, Professor, sir, Minister," greeted Harry politely, trying to mask his surprise. Trying to avoid eye contact with the Slytherin in the room, Harry plopped himself in the plush seat next to Kingsley's.
"Mr. Potter," the Minister reached for his hand, shaking it, "It's good to see you again." With a small chuckle, he added, "Thankfully still in one piece."
Somewhere in the background, Snape snorted. Harry ignored him. "Nice to see you too, sir," he said with a smile.
Clearing her throat lightly, McGonagall took a seat. "Mr. Potter, you are surely wondering why you are here. I'm afraid the news isn't as light-hearted as one would have hoped." She turned to the Minister, indicating with her head for him to take over.
"An Auror party has recently uncovered potential Death Eater plans to make a move on you and Severus," Kingsley said grimly, looking at Harry. "We also suspect that a handful of them are under Polyjuice, posing as Ministry officials. As of now, we do not know whom to trust."
For some reason, this didn't take Harry by surprise. He had known about the Death Eaters, who had fled after the battle, for a while now.
"Isn't there a way to flush them out?" Harry asked weakly.
Kingsley was about to respond, but Snape beat him to it. "Honestly, Mr. Potter, I had thought that after having brewed Polyjuice in your Second Year, you would possess the knowledge of a Potions Master on the topic," he drawled sarcastically.
"Severus!" McGonagall snapped. Snape ignored her, and Harry ignored Snape.
Trying to diffuse the tense air, Kingsley cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter. Polyjuice is undetectable unless it wears off on its own. There are no spells to detect any kind of potion, either. Other than that, the Death Eaters could also be using other means of disguise."
Harry crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking from McGonagall to Kingsley. He sighed. "Right, so, what do we do, then?" he asked.
"We, Mr. Potter?"
Harry's brows furrowed. "Well, yeah! I want to help; that's why I was called here, isn't it?"
The witch and wizard shared a glance, before Kingsley nodded. "As a matter of fact, there is a way you can help. We believe it best for you and Severus to go into hiding indefinitely, at least until the situation is more under control or resolved completely."
Tense silence filled the circular office for a few moments, all eyes resting on Harry.
"I'm not hiding anywhere!" he protested, his voice hard but controlled. He'd had enough of running and hiding for a lifetime. If anything, he wanted to help fight, track down, uncover the Deatheaters, not hide from them like some coward!
"Besides, I'm safe here, aren't I? And Snape— well, Snape can go wherever he wants, I guess. Or he can stay here as well."
McGonagall sighed and looked at Harry wearily. "Mr. Potter, loathe as I am to say this, your head is the Death Eaters' number one objective. Even the wards around Hogwarts could prove insufficient. Severus Snape, a traitor to them, is also on their target list, and I daresay that they want him almost as much as they want you; perhaps even more so. Aside from that, he is also a wanted Death Eater by the Aurors, and it would be pointless for us to attempt to prove his innocence at such a time."
"Well, that's something new, isn't it?" Harry scoffed sarcastically, addressing himself being a target. He'd survived seven years of either creatures or other wizards trying to kill him, hadn't he? It wasn't big news that the leftovers of Voldemort's army wanted him dead.
"Mr. Potter, the circumstances of this situation differ. Without a leader, the Death Eaters are quite unhinged. If you recall, they had been under strict orders from You-Know-Who to bring you to him in one piece. There is nothing holding them back now." Kingsley spoke in his deep, resonant, calm voice, for which Harry was grateful. "Not to mention, you would be putting all of Hogwarts under threat by remaining here, and any other place that is already known to either them or the Ministry." He crossed one leg over the other, and neatly but firmly interlocked his fingers, awaiting Harry's response.
Harry didn't know how to reply to this. He couldn't bear the thought of putting other people in danger. They had already lost too many people because of the war. But he also didn't want to be locked away somewhere safe while the Death Eaters were busy hunting him down, hurting innocent witches and wizards in the process.
But the facts were staring him in the face: if he remained here, or anywhere else, it would likely cause more death and destruction.
The Gryffindor was playing with the hem of his shirt, lost in thoughts, when McGonagall's small cough brought him back. He gave himself a mental shake before looking up at Dumbledore's sleeping portrait.
"Fine," Harry acquiesced, keeping his eyes trained on the empty portrait of Dumbledore. In his peripheral vision, he could see the surprised but relieved looks on the others' faces. But really, was there even a point in arguing? After a moment, Harry spoke again, his voice even. "Where will I be staying?" He knew that the Burrow and Grimmauld Place weren't viable options. He finally turned to McGonagall, who had her lips pursed, before turning them into a straight line. She looked at Snape, then Kingsley, who decided to take over.
"The place of temporary residence has to be remote, undetectable, and under the Fidelius Charm," Kingsley began carefully. "That does not leave us with many options. Most wizarding family estates are registered within the Ministry. However, One old family in particular had an manor that evaded being registered because of its powerful and ancient wards. It is under the Family name of Prince."
It took Harry a moment to register the name. He then sharply twisted in his chair to stare at Snape, who was standing off to the side with a deadpanned look on his face. "But... but that's Snape's mother's maiden name, isn't it?"
Snape nodded in confirmation. "Yes, another mystery solved; well done, Mr. Potter," he remarked dryly.
Before Harry could retort, McGonagall cut in. "The Prince Manor will prove sufficient in providing both you and Severus— "
"Wait! You mean you want me to stay with him!?" Harry cut across indignantly, straightning up in his armchair, nails digging into the armrests. "Aren't there any other options?" he asked desperately.
Somewhere behind him, he heard a scoff. "I assure you, Mr. Potter, I want this no more than you do, however, our options are very limited. I didn't just spend seven years of my life spying, putting my life on the line, and protecting you- just for your Gryffindor head to throw all of it away! I will not leave business unfinished, and if that means housing you indefinitely, then so be it." His tone was harsh, but Harry could hear the sincerity in it. It was still hard sometimes to remember that this was the man who had always been secretely protecting him.
Harry glared at him, and then turned to McGonagall, still sat behind her desk. "Professor, how do you expect— I mean, we can't even have a civil conversation without being at each other's throats! How— How long do you think this 'indefinitely' will last?" Harry was starting to get irritated. He was a fully grown wizard, for Merlin's sake, and almost an adult in the muggle world! His word should be final in this conversation, not theirs!
But something was holding Harry back from lashing out on their idea. He hated the idea of putting more people in danger; Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and the falen fifty-four were enough.
The headmistress sighed. She gingerly took off her rectangular lenses and began wiping them with the edge of her sleeve.
"As I am well aware." She fixed both Harry and Snape with a pointed look. "However, seeing as you are no longer professor and pupil, I see no harm in you attempting to find a common ground. This isn't about some school grudge, but about your safety and well-being. You are both adults, so I suggest you sort this little dispute out. We are sadly out of options."
The small childish part of Harry beamed at McGonagall's calling of him an adult. He didn't let it show, however. Expelling a deep sigh, Harry shrugged in response. Snape's being on the brink of death hadn't exactly changed anything between them, and there was still a lot of water under that bridge. Harry was certain that Snape still hated him all the same, but he knew he didn't hate him.
At least, not anymore. How could he, after all that Snape had risked and done for the light side — him — to win? He had been best friends with Lily Potter, had probably loved her. And despite their falling out in fifth year, Harry knew that Snape had been trying his best to make it up to her all this time. This alone made it hard to hate the wizard.
Besides that, Snape was Harry's last link to his mother, and he didn't quite want to lose that.
It was at that moment when Harry realized he'd spaced out and everyone was staring at him. Blinking himself back to reality, Harry raised both arms before dropping them back on the armrests in a defeated gesture. "Alright, fine."
McGonagall flashed him a brief, tight smile, though one of relief, and Kingsley simply nodded his .
The headmistress smiled at him. This was going to be an interesting summer.
Chapter 4: Prince Manor
Summary:
"Wand out, Potter," muttered Snape, walking beside Harry towards the manor.
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned bright and early for Harry, who had barely gotten any sleep for the umptieth night in a row. He was getting used to sleep eluding him. At this rate, he was sure he'd have permanent dark circles by the time he turned eighteen.
Having taken a quick shower, Harry returned to the boys dormitory. On his bed, he began checking his leather satchel if he hadn't forgotten anything. Pleased at himself for having mastered the Expandable Charm, he muttered under his breath the items that he found inside.
"...Map…Mirror shard…Cloak…Potions book…"
Nodding his satisfaction, Harry perched on his red-gold bed, craning his neck to have a final look at the room. It was somewhere around 7:30, but Snape had told him last night to meet him near the Entrance Hall at 9:00 to leave for the Prince Manor.
Harry contemplated going down to breakfast, but found his appetite lacking. He wasn't ecstatic about being under the same roof as Snape, let alone that that roof belonged to the man himself.
On the other hand, he toyed with the idea of inquiring Snape about his mum. He didn't care whether Snape would sneer, or yell at him, but Harry was getting that information. Snape was his last link to Lily Evans Potter.
Not knowing what else to do with the remaining time, Harry swung the satchel over his shoulder, re-checked his jeans pocket for his wand, and made his way down to the Common Room at a lazy pace. He basked in the sunlight streaming through the window as he descended the stairs, before looking around the room for the final time.
He was going to miss the comfortable couch and armchairs, the flickering flames in the grate, and the warm atmosphere of the Gryffindor dwelling.
Steeling himself, Harry stepped out from the portrait of the Fat Lady, who just groggily grumbled something incoherent at him, still half asleep. Harry shook his head. Despite the faculties' best efforts, Hogwarts' security was equivalent to that of assigning Fang to guarding the Sorcerer's Stone.
At a lazy pace, he headed down to the Entrance Hall. Once there, Harry slumped himself against the heavy oak doors and waited for Snape and McGonagall. A sly smile crossed Harry's face. I can't believe I arrived earlier than Snape. The guy has always been incredibly punctual and always on time, so to arrive earlier than Snape was something worth putting in history books! Maybe Hermione might be interested…
Five minutes till nine, the unmistakable dark cloaked figure of Severus Snape was making its way down the corridor and straight for Harry, with McGonagall beside him, his dark cloak billowing menacingly behind him. He also seemed to have a black leather back slung over his shoulder. His face was even more stoic than the gargoyle's, Harry noted.
Dang, he really does look like a bat crossed with a vampire…
"Potter," greeted Snape curtly, as he loomed over Harry, who was still sitting on the floor.
"Professor," Harry greeted back, lifting himself off the floor.
"I am no longer your professor, Mr. Potter, thus the honorific is no longer appropriate," said Snape dryly.
"Uhh… What should I call you then, sir?"
"I believe you've just answered your own question, Potter," Snape deadpanned. "Sir will do just fine, I believe."
"Sure thing, sir," conceded Harry.
"Mr. Potter," greeted McGonagall, her expression professional, yet warmth glimmering in her eyes. She gave him a thin but reassuring smile.
Minerva reached out to grasp Harry's hand, patting it. "Stay safe, you two. Merlin only knows how stubborn and trouble-seeking the both of you are!" She glared at them as though they were a couple of first years who had gotten in trouble. Snape rolled his eyes at her, but shook her hand when she extended it.
Snape gave him a sharp nod, and without a word of exchange, beckoned the boy to follow.
Before Harry knew it, he and Snape were making their way down to the front gates of Hogwarts, both remaining silent. It was a hot day in May, and Harry kept wondering to himself how Snape could tolerate such temperatures in his black suit and cloak. The man didn't give off any indication that he was hot, striding briskly in his trademark wide gait.
Once they were outside the front gate, Snape held out a familiar-looking piece of parchment with writing on it. It was an address, the same as in the old potions book. "Memorise it well, Potter, unless you want to splinch half your body while apparating."
Harry swallowed and took the parchment, repeating the address of the manor to himself several times before handing it back to Snape. Harry took Snape's warning seriously.
Snape extended his hand to Harry. "Take my hand, Potter," he ordered bluntly. Harry obliged and felt the familiar feeling of apparition.
Within seconds, Harry and Snape found themselves standing on a cobbled road and were pleased by the splendid countryside scenery around them: rolling hills with patches of oak trees and cottages scattered unevenly throughout. The road they were standing on, Harry guessed, potentially led to a town that was visible in the distance.
"Wow," Harry breathed in amazement. He looked over at Snape, who was also taking in the beautiful scenery.
Snape looked unfazed by the scenery, and turned sharply to the large, black iron double gate just behind them, brandishing his ebony wand from his wrist holster. "Potter," he beckoned Harry to follow him. He then pointed his wand at the gate and started chanting in some unknown language with his eyes closed. Harry, afraid of distracting his ex-professor, remained quiet.
A minute or two later the double gates swung open, revealing a cobblestone road leading to a wide, graceful two-story, beige and grey manor. It was surrounded by vast lawns of well-kept grass.
"Wand out, Potter," muttered Snape, walking beside Harry towards the manor.
"Why?" asked Harry, confused.
Snape let out an exasperated sigh." Constant vigilance, remember?"
They stopped at the double front doors, and Snape gave Harry a cautionary look before unlocking the doors with a complex wand movement. Snape cautiously entered the building, and Harry followed behind. The place was well-lit, thanks to the tall windows. They were standing in a large entrance hall, with corridors leading off to the left and right. In front of them was a grand, large staircase.
Snape cast a Homenum Revelio spell, and narrowed his eyes in confusion when the wand indicated that they weren't alone. "We have company," Snape muttered in a low voice, which sent shivers down Harry's spine.
"Is it possible that the spell is wrong?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
"Unlikely" said Snape shortly, looking around.
As if on cue, a loud CRACK came from the left, startling them both. Snape's reaction was immediate and he sent a stunning spell at the source of the sound, only missing it by a hair. Harry was also about to cast a spell, when he heard a terrified squeak, and thought it sounded vaguely familiar.
"Master Prince, Please! It is just Nibby!"
Snape halted at the last moment, a curse on the tip of his tongue, and stared at the house elf cowering before them. She had large brown eyes with long lashes and a neat tea cosy wrapped around her slim body. She seemed to be a bit taller than most house elves.
"Are you the Prince house elf?" inquired Snape, lowering his wand a little. Harry was surprised when he noticed that Snape's free hand was held in front of him, almost in a shielding manner. Snape realised this and quickly withdrew his hand.
Nibby the house elf bowed. "Yes, it is I, Nibby. I is the house elf of the noble manor of Prince, ready to serve master Prince."
"I am Severus Snape, and this-" he gestured at Harry "-is an impertinent brat, Harry Potter."
Harry took offence and shoved Snape in the ribcage with his elbow. Snape smirked but ignored him.
"Hello, Master Severus! Master Harry!" she smiled warmly at them. "Nibby is very excited to finally meet her master and his son!"
Harry almost choked and Snape made a strange sound in his throat that sounded like something between a cough and a laugh. "Mr. Potter is not my son, Nibby. He is…" Snape looked at Harry briefly, "a guest here at Prince Manor. He was once a student of mine."
Nibby blinked. "Master Severus is a teacher?"
"Was. I used to teach Potions at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry," answered Snape bluntly. "Nibby, please give us a tour of the manor."
Harry did a double take at this. "Wait— You mean, you've never been here!?"
Snape sighed. "Not particularly, No. I was simply aware of the Prince inheritance shortly after the demise of Fiona Prince, my great-great grandmother. For reasons that are of no concern of yours," he glared at Harry, "I wished to have nothing to do with it, unless necessary."
Not sure how to respond to that, Harry nodded. Everything about the ex-Death Eater was an enigma, even with the knowledge Harry already had about him from those memories.
The house elf sprung to her feet, her eyes popping with excitement. "It would be Nibby's honour, Master Severus and Harry!"
Nibby first led Harry and Snape into a large, cosy sitting room with a lot of comfy looking couches and armchairs, a few cupboards and bookshelves lining the walls. On the other side of the room were large windows and a glass entrance to a porch overlooking the vast grounds at the back of the manor. The sitting room was done in earthy tones, and also featured a large fireplace.
The next room Nibby led them to was a handsome study, which was done in similar earthy tones, but was slightly smaller than the sitting room. It had a large mahogany desk, a few arm chairs, and tall bookshelves. Severus found himself tracing a finger along the spines of a few books in interest, reading their titles. He was pleased to find a good selection of rare spellbooks.
The dining hall was also on the first floor, which was an elongated room in beige and brown. A long wooden dining table stood in the middle of the room, elegant chairs lining its sides. Harry couldn't believe they were going to be eating here.
Nibby continued to show them a few other rooms such as the kitchens, bathrooms, and even the basement, which Severus immediately claimed for his potion brewing. Now, they made their way up to the second story of the manor, and found themselves in a huge library, which could've easily rivalled the one at Hogwarts. Harry imagined the look on Hermione's face if she saw it.
Finally, they arrived at a huge bedroom that could have easily fitted three of Dudley's bedrooms in it. It had a huge four-poster bed, writing desk, wide wardrobe and other furniture. The room also had a huge window area, overlooking the grounds of the manor and a small sitting area. A door to the left led off to a private bathroom.
"This is one of the master bedrooms," informed Nibby. "There is a slightly bigger one down the hall."
"This can be your room then, Potter," Snape told Harry, who had a look of disbelief on his face.
Harry nodded, trying to hide his wonderment.. Never in his life had he ever had this sort of luxury. It had always been either the cupboard under the stairs, or Dudley's second bedroom, which was in a desperate need of renovation. Harry stepped further into the room, examining it.
"I will leave you to unpack, then."
Harry mutely nodded at Snape, only allowing himself a grin when he and Nibby left. As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry ran across the room and flopped onto the large bed, enjoying the feeling of the silk sheets beneath him. He lay there for a couple of minutes, before getting up and peering into the wardrobe.
The wardrobe had many shelves and a tall mirror attached on the inside. It was then that Harry looked at his reflection for the first time in…how long has it been, four, five days? He almost didn't recognize himself, because the seventeen year old boy staring back at him was very skinny and had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was as messy as ever, and his skin had an almost unhealthy tint to it.
Harry shrugged.
He unpacked his clothes from his rucksack, which consisted of only a couple of Dudley's old shirts, trousers and socks, folding them neatly and barely filling a shelf with them. He then took out his photo Album, which he put on his bedside table. Harry decided to keep his Gringotts key, DA coin, mirror shard, map, and Invisibility Cloak in his rucksack, which he stashed under his bed.
When he was finished unpacking, Harry peered through the windows at the grounds of the manor. The grass was swaying hypnotizingly in the soft, summer breeze, and a few willow trees were scattered here and there. A large, circular stone wall encompassed the grounds and the manor.
Harry sat down on the window seat, pressing the side of his face against the cool glass, and stared out at the grounds below. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed he was on the fourth floor, rather than the second, because both stories had such tall ceilings. Harry found the manor overall very welcoming and cosy. Thanks to his so-called relatives, Harry had never liked small rooms or confined spaces, so he was relieved that the manor had such spacious rooms.
Harry had not even realised that he'd dozed off, until he was woken up by a knock on his door. He glanced out the window and was surprised to see a beautiful sunset. Was he really asleep for so long? Wincing slightly from stiffness, Harry got up and sleepily called, "Come in!" at the door.
Snape appeared in the doorway, looking a little uncertain. "I trust that you've already unpacked?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see. Well then, dinner is in ten minutes. I would like you to join me in the dining hall. We have much to go over."
"Okay."
Snape mutely nodded and left the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.
Chapter 5: Rules
Summary:
"Alright, Potter. Let us go over some ground rules, shall we?" Potter didn't protest.
Chapter Text
Harry found it almost a little surreal that he would be having meals with his former, most hated professor at Hogwarts. Not that he was looking forward to it. The air between them was still as tense and stifled as ever, what with their library encounter, history, and dispute at the infirmary a few weeks ago.
However, Harry was adamant at getting more information about his mum out of Snape. It would just take time…And a crap ton of patience and willpower.
Entering the dining hall, Snape was already seated at the head of the long, mahogany table. Harry lingered in the doorway for a minute, feeling a little hesitant. Fortunately, Snape looked up at him at that moment and gestured with his hand towards a seat to his right at the table.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "Unlike you, I possess no desire to shout at each other from across the room."
Harry mentally gave himself a small shake and wordlessly occupied a chair to the right of Snape, keeping a few seats of space between them.
No sooner had he done that, than a plate with silverware appeared in front of both him and Snape. Several dishes filled with salads, mashed potatoes, and meats coloured the table before them, accompanied by pitchers of water and juice.
Harry had to close his gaping mouth when he saw all the food. He was used to the delicious meals at Hogwarts, but he definitely wasn't expecting something of the sort here at the manor.
Heck, he'd even mused over the possibility of Snape starving him.
"Honestly, Potter, one would think you have never seen food," half sneered Snape. "I suggest you eat. We have an agenda-full of things to review, afterwards."
Harry, feeling his cheeks flush a little, started to pile food onto his plate. He didn't eat much, as his appetite hadn't been the best, as of lately. He knew he was skinny for his age, but he really didn't think he was up to stomach a lot of food.
The two ate in silence, Harry oblivious to the curious looks Snape was giving him and his almost empty plate.
As they ate, Severus couldn't help but notice the reluctant way Potter was half eating, half playing with his food. The boy barely had anything on his plate! Was he ill or something? Even he, Severus, who wasn't one to eat a lot, had at least double on his plate of what was on Potter's.
Was the food not to his liking? Severus would've believed this a month ago, perhaps. But now, he wasn't sure.
Since Potter's outburst in the infirmary, Severus had had some time to mull the rant over. Potter had mentioned something about his relatives never having spoiled him, and him not being like his father. Severus would probably have dismissed these claims, were he not a Legilimens.
Though he'd never deny it, Severus actually regretted his biden comment to Potter about what he was doing with him, the greasy git, in the infirmary. Perhaps he'd felt embarrassed? Or irritated? He wasn't sure. The concept of someone willingly talking and keeping him company was foreign to him.
So, Maybe the boy just felt uncomfortable around him, then? Severus couldn't really blame him if that were the case. He, himself, felt likewise. This whole arrangement irked him to no end. But, as he had for the last seventeen years of his life, Severus would have to endure for the sake of his vow to Lily and Albus.
Ever since Severus had recovered from Nagini's bite, he had done his best to avoid Potter. That encounter in the library had been completely coincidental, when he had been in need of a book from the off-limits section. He still couldn't get over the fact that the boy — a Potter — had apologised to him on behalf of James Potter! Severus had accepted the apology, of course, but this seriously shifted his hate-blinded view of the famous Harry Potter
The sight of Potter still left a bitter taste in his mouth. The round spectacles, the unruly mop of hair…And Lily's green eyes, those which Severus had betrayed almost two decades ago with the overheard prophecy, and in his fifth year, when he'd called his best friend that horrendous word.
Furthermore, the knowledge of Potter knowing his deepest secrets was probably the worst of it all. Why Severus had given his memories to the boy that day in the Shrieking Shack, he wasn't sure. It had been such a spontaneous decision, on his part.
But he'd also been sure he was about to die, and figured it wouldn't hurt for Lily's son, who was also destined to die, to know the whole truth — the whole story.
He owed him that much.
And now… Well, it seemed that his duty of protecting the Potter brat wasn't over. And if the two of them were to spend an indefinite amount of time in hiding, they were going to need to set rules in boundaries, so that neither would go insane or twist the other's head off.
They were no longer professor and student, Severus knew, so he could no longer assign him detention, or deduct points from his house. The best he could hope for was cooperation on the boy's part.
Snapping himself from his musings, Seveus decided not to comment on Potter's poor nutrition, and turned his attention back to his own plate.
Once both had finished eating, Severus simply vanished the rest of the food and plates with a flick of his hand. He then rested his hands neatly on the table, steepling his fingers together, and looked at Potter.
"Alright, Potter. Let us go over some ground rules, shall we?" Potter didn't protest. "Now, you are an adult, and thus, I do not see the need to set you a bedtime or monitor whether or not you've skipped breakfast. You are a responsible adult wizard, and I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt to stay out of trouble and behave accordingly."
Severus paused to judge Potter's reaction before continuing. The boy wore a blank look on his face, and bobbed his head in agreement ever so slightly.
"All rooms in this manor, as well as the grounds and the owlery, are accessible to you. However, by no means are you to venture into my quarters, potions lab, or study — unless you have a death wish, or are on the brink of death itself. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
Potter visibly gulped at Severus's sharp warning tone. "Yes, sir."
Severus continued. "Breakfast is at eight, Lunch is at one, and Dinner is at six. If you skip any of these meals, that is your problem — I am not a nursemaid. I also ask that you keep your room tidy. Nibby has her hands full, as is, and you are completely capable of cleaning up after yourself."
"Of course, sir," Potter gritted out.
Satisfied that he'd gotten his point across, Severus inwardly sighed at what he was about to say next. "Additionally… I would like you to know that, should a need arise for assistance… you may consult me." At Potter's surprised expression, he hastily added, "Of course, if the matter is trivial, and isn't some teenage drama or frivolity. But, at any rate, I will try and be of assistance." Snape's voice grew a little sterner. "But I do expect you to come to me in case of any emergency, especially medical, magical or physical."
Potter nodded again, something that had always irked the Potions Master. "Will you cease with the foolish body gestures!" he snapped. "I require a verbal answer, Potter," he demanded.
The boy visibly contorted with anger and frustration, his blank expression screwing up. Still, it impressed Severus how the boy took a deep breath, and said tightly, "Yes, sir."
Severus smirked. "Very well. I expect you to keep yourself productively busy throughout your stay here. You have free reign of the library, and I will be evaluating what you've learned weekly on the subject of your choice. It is enough that you've missed your whole seventh year at Hogwarts, and do not fall under the impression that I am not aware of your poor sixth-year grades," he drawled.
The boy was mid-nod, but caught himself and parroted the only two words he had spoken all dinner. "Yes, sir."
Having covered pretty much everything, Severus decided they should call it a night. Rising from the table, "You should get some rest then Mr. Potter, as should. As it is around eight, and too early for bed, I suggest you explore the library, or do as you please, for that matter… keeping what we've just gone over in mind, that it."
Potter rubbed his eyes under his glasses tiredly. Severus hadn't even realised just how tired he was until just now. "Actually, sir, I think I might just turn in for the night."
Severus nodded, thinking the same. "As you wish." With that, he spun on his heel, robes billowing dramatically in his wake, and left the room.
Harry followed Snape out of the dining room, and they parted ways on the second landing, both headed to their own rooms. As soon as the door shut behind him, Harry leaned against the doorframe, ran a hand down his face, and groaned.
Even after everything, the git was still a git. Well, at least he hadn't called Harry any of his many, colorful expletives.
But, really, what did Harry expect? So far, that was the most civil, one on one conversation they had ever had, despite Snape having done most of the talking.
The man's rules were reasonable, Harry supposed, except for the 'weekly evaluation' part of it.
Was Snape still in a position to act as his professor? Harry wasn't sure whether the dour Potion's Master would be returning to teach at hogwarts, but Harry knew he would be returning for his seventh year, along with Hermione.
Still, if Snape let him pick any subject or topic of his choice, Harry would make the most of this opportunity to study DADA. He knew the ex-Death Eater was a very powerful and knowledgeable wizard, only a fool would question it. So, even if Harry would have to endure his snarky demeanor and remarks, he would still make an effort to learn as much as he could.
Besides, he was starting to rethink his earlier passion of becoming an Auror.
Seven years of saving the whole bloody wizarding world had been enough, thank you very much.
And, right now, McGonagall's offer of taking up the DADA post sounded very preferable to him.
Harry took a quick bath, tossed on some pajamas, and took out his wand. He pointed it straight at his door, and cast a silencing spell, not wanting to wake Snape with his screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares.
The situation would be horrifying, and Harry really didn't want to deal with a grouchy Severus Snape in the middle of the night. Perhaps he would ask for some Dreamless Sleep tomorrow?
But no — it might lead to Snape questioning him. I guess I can go without it for now, Harry thought to himself, before collapsing on his comfortable bed with at least a hundred pillows on it.
His last thoughts were of Ron and Hermione. He would have to ask Snape if he could borrow an owl. Harry was sure he would go insane from living under one roof with Snape without any outside contact with his friends.
Chapter 6: Reunited Souls
Summary:
Snape stared at Harry, then back at the spot where the patronuses disappeared. "Impossible," he breathed. Harry was sure he had never seen such shock on his ex-professor's face.
Chapter Text
Harry made his way down to breakfast the next morning, feeling up for a strong cup of coffee after yet another night of nightmares. He was really starting to appreciate the Muffliato Spell, which he routinely put up every night before bed, and took down in the mornings.
Again, Harry considered asking Snape for some Dreamless Sleep, but refrained from doing so, as he wanted to avoid an unnecessary conversation as to why he needed it, and to be spared of the 'addiction' speech about it, like the one Madame Pomfrey had given him last week.
When Harry entered the dining hall, he wasn't surprised to find Snape already there, dressed in his usual black attire and sipping on some tea and skimming through a potions magazine. The table had a large selection of different breakfast foods, including fresh fruit, yogurt, porridge, eggs and bacon and so on.
Snape didn't so much as look up when Harry entered and sat himself down in the same spot he'd occupied at dinner.
Harry didn't mind the ignorance, and helped himself to some plain yoghurt with fresh fruits, as well as poured himself a large cup of strong coffee — the only thing he knew would keep his exhaustion at bay.
As Harry half-ate, half-played with his food, his thoughts strayed to his friends. He really wanted to write to Hermione and the Weasleys about where he was, and to explain the current situation, but he had no owl of his own now, and knew he would have to ask Snape's permission for him to send any kind of letters.
Steeling himself, Harry cleared his throat. "Er…Sir?"
Snape looked up from his book at Harry after a moment. "Potter?"
Harry put down his cutlery and started lining it up neatly on the table absentmindedly with one hand. "I was wondering if I could write to my friends?"
Snape considered him for a quiet moment before replying. "Yes. I have anticipated you inquering me about this. As it so happens, I had consulted the headmistress prior to our leave, and we've decided that contact with the others is preferable to be kept to a discreet minimum. There is a small owlery here at Prince Manor, though you will have to ask Nibby for directions. Furthermore, you will have to be very vague and careful not to include any information that might compromise our location," Snape told him.
Harry's shoulders sagged with relief a bit. "Ok, thank you, sir." Harry thought he heard Snape mumble under his breath "Gryffindors", but let it slide.
"Sir, where's Nibby?"
Snape looked at Harry curiously before answering. "I'm not sure. I believe she is tending to the manor. She likes to keep out of the way, from what I've gathered. All you need is to just summon her."
Silence fell between them, until Snape spoke again. "Mr. Potter, I would like to make a proposition," He stated out of the blue, putting aside his potions magazine.
Curious, Harry nodded. "Yes, sir?"
Snape took a deep breath before continuing, black eyes locked with the green. "I have been considering this for some time now, and I believe this decision has much merit." Snape paused to judge Harry's reaction, and continued.
"After all you've told me about your defeat of the Dark Lord, I have come to realise that you possess great potential in you, contrary to what I have told you all these years." he admitted stiffly. "Since there is still a present danger to your life, I believe you could use some… proper training."
"Proper training?" echoed Harry.
"Indeed. I am going out of my way to train and teach you in all that I can. I know of spells, hexes, and curses that you could never even begin to imagine, Potter," he informed in a low, dark voice. "Things I've learned from under the wing of the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. You may have defeated the Dark Lord, but that does not make you all powerful against the Death Eaters, especially now that they are as good as wild dogs without a leash, without orders to hold back."
Harry sat in stunned silence for a moment, mulling over what Snape's just said. Were his ears deceiving him, or was Snape offering to actually…teach him? Harry gave an involuntary shudder as he remembered their disastrous Occlumency lessons.
But, this is what he'd wanted, wasn't it? Just last night, in fact.
As if reading his mind, "Remembering our disastrous Occlumency lessons, I can assure you that these lessons will be nothing of the sort." Snape sighed, his lips thinning into a straight line. His voice terse, he surprised Harry by saying, "I admit to my methods of approach having been… unorthodox and uncalled for."
Harry stared at Snape in shock. Had he just… Apologised? To Harry Potter, not to mention!
The rememberence of the Occlumency lessons brought a bitter taste to Harry's mouth. He still partially blamed Snape for Sirius' death. He suddenly felt a surge of anger and resentement towards the man sitting just a few seats away.
Still, a voice murmured in his head, you should have tried harder; made an effort. It's also your fault Sirius had gone to the Ministry in the first place.
Harry sat in silence, staring into his coffee. Maybe he should consent to Snape's offer. He did, after all, skip his seventh year at Hogwarts, so he had missed quite a lot. In truth, Harry didn't know many spells or curses; his favourite and signature one was Expeliarmus. And Snape was Voldemort's most powerful and trusted Death Eater, so the man was obviously very skilled and powerful. So, why not? Not that Harry had anything better to do here at Prince Manor, after all.
"Alright, sir," Harry finally said with a small, resigned shrug. "When do we begin?"
Snape seemed surprised by the abrupt decision, but school his features quickly.
"After breakfast, if you are up for it," he answered.
Despite himself, Harry was itching to do some magic that wasn't casting a Tempus spell. In a few swift gulps, Harry downed the rest of his coffee. "Sure."
Once they'd finished breakfast, Harry ran up to his room to grab his wand, with instructions to meet Snape in the entrance hall.
Downstairs, Snape was already there, waiting for him, arms crossed, tapping the side of his arm with his other hand impatiently. Harry had to admit that the entrance Hall looked beautiful with the rays of sunshine streaming through the tall windows, lighting up the small, decorative details engraved into the walls. It was quite big, too — perfect for lessons or duelling.
Being the strict, no-nonsense teacher that he was, Snape jumped right into it without preamble. "You obviously know how to cast a patronus but do you know how to send messages with it? It is crucial that you possess this knowledge."
Harry shook his head in answer, remembering his mum's doe patronus that was now Snape's.
The man went into full teacher mode. "This form of the Patronus spell is more complex, and requires an ample amount of concentration," Snape drew out the last few words, looking pointedly at Harry.
"Mind you, the strength of the memory you choose will determine the length of the message you choose to send. Before speaking the incantation. think of the message you wish to send clearly and concisely," Snape lectured. "Still in the land of the living with me, Potter?"
Harry nodded. "So far," he replied cheekily.
"Watch it. Wand out, brat."
Snape brandished his own wand, while Harry raised his. "Watch me closely. Do not attempt this until I tell you to." Snape swished his wand in a smooth arch, summoning the beautiful doe Patronus. The animal leaped gracefully around the hall, before stopping at Harry's feet.
"Remember to focus on a strong, positive memory," the doe spoke in Snape's baritone voice, and returned to its master's side.
Snape then turned his attention back to Harry, who had been watching the beautiful doe in awe.
"Ready to try it for yourself, Potter?"
Harry nodded. "I think so…"
Harry copied Snape's instructions. He brought up the memory he had always used when casting a patronus, and racked his brain for something to relay to his dour instructor.
He barely suppressed a chuckle when the words 'You're a Potions Master… Haven't you ever heard of shampoo? Really popular these days, you know.' flitted through his mind. He knew if he used them, he might as well sign his own death certificate.
A majestic stag emerged from his wand. It flew over to Snape, and spoke in Harry's voice, "I think I got it."
The two wizards then watched as the stag made a circle around both of them, and then returned to Harry's side. Snape was about to say something, but what happened next made them both speechless.
The doe and stag started playfully prancing after one another around the hall a few times, and then coming to a halt, only to put their heads together and stand remain like that until they disappeared.
Both Snape and Harry were at a loss for words, their faces portraying dissbelief. How was that possible? What happened?
Snape stared at Harry, then back at the spot where the patronuses disappeared. "Impossible," he breathed. Harry was sure he had never seen such shock on his ex-professor's face.
At last, Snape seemed to have recovered. "Come," was all he said. Harry followed without a word. Snape led them into the sitting room and sat — more like slumped — himself into an armchair. Harry sat on the sofa, his legs feeling like jelly. Neither said anything for a minute, before Harry broke the silence.
Harry had to swallow the lump in his throat, thinking of Lily and James. "Sir…How…How was that possible?"
Snape looked at him, boring his black eyes into the green ones. "The patronus is the purest form of magic that there is, Potter. It relates greatly to its owner's soul, or the previous owner, much like ourselves." Snape spoke softly, his deadpan voice lost. "Although it is hard to explain, I think your parents' love was so strong that it impacted their Patroni, and thus what happened when the two were reunited after such a long time," saying this, his voice was terse
Harry was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in between. "So…Almost like…Reunited souls?"
Snape nodded. "That is one way you could view it, I suppose."
There was silence for a moment. A soft smile appeared on Harry's face. "You really loved her, didn't you?" It was a statement, not a question.
For the first time in history, Snape smiled sadly at Harry, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you could ever know," he said solemnly, his voice barely audible.
They sat in silence for some time, neither saying a thing, both lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, despite himself, Harry snorted lightly. "You know, sir, it's kind of ironic."
Snape tilted his head to the side a little. "Care to elaborate?"
Harry scooched into the corner of the couch and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his hands around them. "Well, we've hated each other since my first potions class in year one, but both shared the same love for my mum. You hated my dad, and I got his Patronus, while you have my mum's. On top of all that, you have always tried to protect me…" Harry trailed off when he realised he probably wasn't making any sense and was babbling. It made more sense in his head than when put into words.
He glanced at Snape uncertainly, who was staring out into the distance with an unfocused gaze, deep in thought.
Harry was starting to regret saying anything.
Finally, Snape blinked himself back to reality, shifting a little in his seat, and locked eyes with Harry's. He clucked his tongue, looking at him as if he were the most interesting thing in the room. "How ironic indeed…" Then, much to Harry's surprise, Snape smiled. It was so subtle, only the corners of his lips curling slightly… But it was genuine. Harry couldn't help but smile back.
"My mum and dad seemed happy…" he said suddenly before he could stop himself. Harry didn't know why he'd brought it up, but it was the first thought that had come to his mind.
Snape's brows crinkled in confusion, not really sure what the boy meant by that. "What do you mean by 'they seemed happy'?" he asked slowly.
Harry started twisting the hem of his shirt around his fingers, drawing his knees a little closer to his chest at the memory. "Sir…do you remember when I told you about the Deathly Hallows?" he said carefully.
Severus nodded, not sure where Potter was going with this. The boy had already told him about the whole debacle with the elder wand, and mentioned briefly the Invisibility cloak…But something seemed to be missing, Snape could tell.
Potter started fidgeting with a loose thread in the couch, giving his utmost attention to it. "There's the wand, which belonged to Dumbledore, and the Invisibility cloak, which was also in his possession until he gave it to me…And there's also the Resurrection Stone. In Dumbledore's will, he gave me the first snitch that I caught back in my first year, with the words 'I open at the close' on it. At the time, none of us knew what it meant. But once I found out that I had to die, it all made sense. Do you see what I am getting at, sir?"
Severus sat still, gears turning in his head as he tried to make a connection. What was the boy getting at? Dumbledore had two of the Deathly Hallows in his possession out of the three. So that left the Resurrection stone. But if Dumbledore had two of the Deathly Hallows, what were the chances of him having the third? Realization was slowly dawning on Severus, his heartbeat quickening, though his expression remained stoic. I open at the close…The snitch…The Resurrection stone…
Severus paled, looking just like he did when Nagini attacked him in the Shrieking Shack. He stared at Potter, eyes betraying the disbelief he felt.
Potter only nodded his head at him. "The Resurrection Stone was inside the Snitch," he confirmed. "It was meant to be a sort of…closure for me, I guess you could say."
Severus' mouth felt dry at what he'd just realised. His body felt numb as he stared at the seventeen year old boy on the couch. Finally, Severus seemed to find his voice. "You saw them," he stated hoarsely.
"Yeah…I did. Mum, Dad, Sirius, and Remus."
Severus felt a lump clog his throat. "What did they say?" He knew it was a private matter between the boy and his loved ones, but curiosity overtook him.
Potter's voice was thick when he replied, fixing his gaze on an imaginary point. "They said they were proud of me…and that they will be with me to the end." Potter paused briefly, but then continued, speaking more to himself rather than the other wizard.
"She was beautiful. I really do have her eyes," the boy said softly. "The way she smiled at my dad…and my dad at her…Sirius looked younger, and Remus less exhausted. They all looked…Happy…At peace." Potter suddenly stopped talking, his voice cracking a bit.
"What happened to the Stone?" Severus inquired, forcing himself not to fidget with his hands.
"I left it in the forest," Potter answered simply after taking a breath.
Severus had a hard time coming to terms with what he was hearing. The boy had seen them and talked to them. James and Lily…After sixteen years, the boy spoke with them. The things Severus was feeling were uncountable. Relief, happiness for the boy, jealousy, pity, remorse…guilt.
He even threw away the Stone….
Before Severus could lose control of his emotions, he stood without warning, startling Potter a bit, whose gaze followed him as he walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room, and took out an elaborate glass bottle crystal glasses. Silently, he made his way to the coffee table in front of the couch and poured the amber liquid into each of the glasses halfway.
Potter eyed him curiously, but said nothing when he was handed his glass, swishing the liquid around in it in his hand. Severus went back to his seat, and held up his glass of Firewhisky.
Technically, he was of age.
"I trust you are familiar with Firewhisky, Mr. Potter?"
Potter chuckled. "Yeah…Sir. A bit."
Severus gave him a stern glare. "I trust you to be responsible, young man; I will not have a drunk seventeen year old brat setting fire to my Manor." His expression sobered a little. "I figured we could both use it after such an eventful morning."
Potter smirked cheekily as he lowered his feet so that they were touching the carpet below and slung one arm over the back of the couch carelessly. He held up his own glass. "To Voldy being finally dead, sir," he toasted.
"Indeed," Severus toasted back.
At the same time, both wizards tilted their glasses back and drank the traditional, wizard drink, feeling the warmth spread through them like fire, much like implied in the drink's name.
Chapter 7: Are You Seven Or Seventeen?
Summary:
Snape gave him an odd look before pinching the ridge of his nose and shaking his head, wand in his other hand. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you seven or seventeen?"
Chapter Text
Harry entered the dining room to find a rather dishevelled-looking Snape sitting at the head, in the process of refilling his cup with coffee. It didn't escape Harry's notice that the man had dark circles under his eyes. Guess I wasn't the only one who didn't catch any sleep.
"Mornin', s'r," slurred Harry, stifling a yawn as he entered. Snape grumbled something incoherent in return.
Harry hadn't slept a wink all night, mulling over the Patronus incident while flipping through his photo album. He thought he could vaguely remember breaking down once he'd reached the end of the book, but everything seemed a blur. Of course, those times when he had fallen asleep, he would wake up from nightmares.
After waking from his third nightmare, though, Harry had decided to compose letters to his friends, one for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Now, all he had to do was send them out.
As always, the table was crammed with all sorts of breakfast foods, but Harry had eyes only for the coffee pot of the sweet, savoury, dark drink that would be the only thing keeping him upright all day. Reaching for the first cup he saw, he filled it to the brim and began chugging it down.
Snape cleared his throat. "Perhaps offering you that firewhiskey hadn't been such a bright idea on my part, afterall, Mr. Potter."
Setting his cup down and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Harry looked at him in confusion. "What makes you say that, sir?" he queried apathetically, refilling his cup and bringing it to his lips again.
"That's my cup."
The coffee sputtered out of his mouth, cartoon-style. Harry eyed the white china and the amused-looking man with an aghast expression. He felt his cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red that could've bested Ron's hair.
"Ack– ! Sorry, sir," he stumbled, grimacing at the coffee-sprayed plate of pancakes in front of him.
Snape hummed. "For the record, Potter, had I known alcohol has such an effect on your attention span, I daresay I would've provided you with a Sobering Brew. It certainly would explain your atrocious efforts in Potions," he mused dryly. Silently, Snape brandished his wash and Scourgify-ed the mess.
"It's not the alcohol," Harry argued. "And, 'for the record', professor," he stressed the honorific. "I daresay that absolutely nothing would've changed the way you treated me," he retorted, throwing Snape's words back at him.
The Potions Master had a sour look about him, returning his wand back inside his wrist holster, but said nothing in reply.
Neither uttered another word after the coffee incident, and the rest of breakfast was a quiet affair.
"I suggest you use this day to explore the library, Mr. Potter," Snape suggested out of the blue, getting up from his seat.
Harry looked up at the older wizard. "Are we going to have another lesson today, sir?" Harry found that Snape could teach rather well when he wanted to, probably also when he wasn't teaching a bunch of unruly first-years or the children of Death Eaters.
Snape gave him an odd look. "Would you…like to?" he asked, a little sceptical.
Harry shrugged. "You know, you can be a really good teacher when you're not breathing down my neck." he pointed out.
"Yes, well… You aren't such a bad student as I had once percieved you to be. You catch on rather quickly, if yesterday was of any indicator," the ex-professor replied back.
Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. "Excuse me, sir, would you mind repeating that again?" he said in a buttery-innocent voice, pressing his hand to his ear. "I don't think I heard you correctly, but it sounded as though you were complimenting me?"
Snape scowled, and glared at the coffee pot next to Harry. The dark drink suddenly splashed out through the spout right into the boy's face.
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed indignantly.
Snape smirked. "Impudent brat."
Harry reached for the napkins, but Snape swiftly sent a Scourgify charm at Harry with a swish of his ebony wand, smirking in triumph at the look on his face.
I'll get him back for that, thought Harry.
Following breakfast, Harry decided to explore the grounds a little before his lesson with Snape after lunch. The sky outside was a beautiful blue with not a single cloud in sight. Harry figured they must be somewhere in the northern parts of England, because it wasn't as hot here as at Hogwarts.
The manor grounds were just neatly kept grass, sprinkled with a couple of unevenly-scattered willow trees, all encased within a tall, stone wall. There were no walk paths or hedges, save for a small cobble path leading to a small but tall shed that had many opened windows and matched the manor's exterior. That is where Harry decided to go first, as he figured it must be the owlery Snape had mentioned earlier.
Snape had mentioned he would have to ask Nibby for directions to it, but found it unnecessary when he caught sight of a short, circular den with a brick turret. When he reached the large, wooden doors, Harry found that they were locked.
Sadly, a simple Alohomora didn't do the trick when he tried to open it with his wand, and he flushed at the fact that that was the only unlocking spell he knew. If Hermione knew, she would have a fit, he thought.
"Nibby!" Harry called out.
There was a loud CRACK behind him. He turned around to see the house elf.
"Master Harry, sir!" she greeted, her large eyes glimmering in the sunlight. "How can Nibby help master Harry, sir?"
"Hey, Nibby. Do you know how to unlock the owlery?"
Nibby's expression sobered a little. "I apologise, master Harry, sir, but the current heir of Prince is the only one who can unlock it," she explained.
Brilliant. Now, he would have to ask Snape to unlock it for him. Or would he?...
When Nibby disappeared, Harry turned back to examine the shed. It wasn't too tall, around a quarter of the size of the manor. Its windows were wide open, and Harry could hear hooting coming from inside. Harry's plan was simple: come back with his letters, climb inside the shack through one of the windows, send the letters, and climb back out.
See, easy?
And he wouldn't have to bother Snape. He figured it was best to leave the man alone, especially when he, too, was tired and grouchy. Before leaving after breakfast, Snape had informed him that he would be in the potions lab, and not to be bothered unless absolutely necessary.
Harry quickly ran back to his room to grab the letters he'd composed last night, and back to the owlery, re-reading what he'd written.
Ron,
I don't know if McGonagall has told any of you, but I'm no longer at Hogwarts. Don't worry, I'm safe. I can't say where I am, but I am with the 'bat'. Everything is fine, but we can't include a lot of information in our letters, as they might get intercepted. We could try to come up with some sort of code for communicating. What do you think?
Maybe I'll ask the 'bat' if you can visit, though that won't be anytime soon.
How are you all holding up? How's Ginny and Goerge?
Write back as soon as you can!
— Prongs
A feeling of excitement rushed through him as he put one foot on a rock sticking out of the cobbled shed wall and pushed himself up, grabbing hold of the top of the door frame with both of his hands. He then searched around with his other foot for a wide crack or another rock to find purchase on, and, sure enough, found a petruding stone that was a little higher than the one his other foot was situated on.
Harry repeated the process a few times, grabbing onto the jagged rocks as he climbed higher. Finally, his hands reached the thick wooden ledge that went around the shed. With a little difficulty, he pushed himself up and stood on the ledge, using his arms to balance himself. He then pressed himself against the wall and scurried to the nearest window. He climbed through the window and jumped down.
Inside the owlery were no more than twenty or so owls, and the interior was actually well kept, aside from a few small, vermin skeletons, here and there. Harry figured either Nibby was responsible for this, or there were some sort of cleaning spells put on the place.
The owls all hooted a little moodily at their uninvited guest, but didn't swoop down and attack Harry, for which he was very thankful for. He found two, beautiful owls, and tied the letters to their legs. The owls took off with the letters through the large open windows, one headed to the Gangers, and one to the Weasleys.
Everything was going great for Harry as he started climbing back out of the shed, but, of course, that was short-lived. As Harry was testing his footing on the wooden ledge on the shed's exterior, he felt his foot slip, and the world spun around him. Moments later, Harry felt a jolt of pain shoot through his right shoulder as his body met the ground below with a dull THUMP.
The Gryffindor cursed a few colourful expletives under his breath that would have earned him a scolding from Hermione. He sat up, propping himself on the elbow of his uninjured arm. Harry felt incredibly stupid for not reacting fast enough and casting a cushioning charm. He was a grown wizard, for Merlin's sake!
The intensifying pain in his shoulder told him that it must be dislocated, if not worse. Harry had to grit his teeth to hold back a moan when he tried pushing himself off the ground one-armed. Luckily, the rest of his body seemed uninjured, just sore, though his ankle also throbbed a little.
Limping slightly all the way back inside the manor, cradling the arm with the injured shoulder with his other hand, Harry thought of what he would tell Snape. Harry only knew of the Episkey spell, but he was no good at it, and knew he wouldn't be able to cast it by himself. So, his only option left was the Potions Master, currently in a grouchy mood and probably wanting not to be disturbed.
Yeah, this was going to be interesting, Harry thought to himself.
But Snape did tell him to come to him in case of a medical emergency, as well as any other.
Harry stumbled downstairs into the chilled basement, marvelling at how much the place resembled the dungeons at Hogwarts. He paused at the door leading to Snape's potions lab, rethinking his options. Did he really want to bother Snape? He was sure to hear a whole speech about 'Gryffindor foolishness and recklessness'.
Maybe Harry would be able to fix his shoulder by himself, after all…?
He had just been about to turn away from the door when it suddenly swung open, startling both Harry and a surprised looking Snape.
"Potter!" He narrowed his eyes on Harry. "What are you doing here?"
Before Harry could answer, She felt the obsidian eyes scanning him, making him feel as though he were under an ex-ray. Finally, when Snape noticed Harry cradling his arm, his hand suddenly reached out and pulled Harry inside with a small yelp.
"Explain!" Snape Snapped, reaching for his ebony wand in his robes. Oh, he looked angry alright.
"Er…I fell," Harry said lamely, trying to sugarcoat it. Well, it was the truth, wasn't it?
"You fell," Snape echoed, crossing his arms across his chest, glaring at Harry. "From where, might I ask?"
"Er…"
"Potter! Look at me."
Harry's head snapped up immediately at Snape's sharp command.
"I can spare us the pointless jiberish by simply using Legilimency on you." Harry's eyes widened. "However, I am feeling extremely lenient today and, as I have no desire whatsoever to explore what's inside that thick skull of yours, I will let you explain yourself," he said impatiently, arms crossed.
Harry sighed, seeing no point in beating around the bush. "I fell from the owlery," he shrugged, feeling himself flush and looking down at his shoes.
Snape gave him an odd look before pinching the ridge of his nose and shaking his head, wand in his other hand. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you seven or seventeen?"
Harry felt his cheeks burn.
"What, by Merlin's beard, robes, and wand, possessed you to climb the owlery in the first place?" he demanded.
In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went, thought Harry. "I wanted to send letters to Hermione and the Weasleys. The door was locked and I didn't want to bother you, so I decided to climb in through a window. I got in alright, but slipped on my way back out." Then, as an afterthought, he hastily added, "But it's no big deal. I'm fi–"
"You moronic Gryffindor!" Snape cut him off, looking just like he did when 'someone' blew up Malfoy's cauldron in Harry's second year. Harry gulped. "Out of all things you could have thought of, you chose to break into the owlery like some sort of delinquent! Sheer, dumb luck that you've only managed to merely dislocate your shoulder! You could have been seriously injured! Have you no sense of self-preservation!?"
Harry wondered how Snape knew his diagnosis before he even cast the spell on him, but decided to hold back his tongue..
Suddenly, long, cold fingers tightly gripped his chin, forcing his green eyes to meet the black. "Listen to me, Mr. Potter, and listen to me well," he growled in his dangerous, silky voice. "While you may be a grown wizard legally," he acknowledged, "you are still seventeen years old and, frankly, I quite agree with the muggle law, stating that a child is considered an adult at the age of eighteen, if not older."
Harry gulped, wondering why Snape was so wound up.
"Furthermore, I am still your elder, and thus I will not tolerate disobedience," he growled, but then his tone softened by just a fraction. "I made a vow to protect you, Mr. Potter, and I take that vow seriously." Harry was taken aback by the sincerity in the man's voice as he said that.
"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?" His voice was barely audible, but sharp as knives, nonetheless.
Harry didn't get a chance to reply. There was a mumbled Episky, and he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, accompanied by a sickening CRACK. Harry wasn't able to hold back a cry, but the pain was gone almost immediately after. His shoulder felt good as new!
Harry looked up at Snape, who's wand was still raised.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter, such drama." He pocketed his wand in one swift motion and moved towards a wooden cabinet.
Harry cautiously rubbed his shoulder, which still felt sore to the touch. "You could've done that before giving me a whole speech, you know," he complained.
"Now, where would the fun be in that?" came Snape's dry reply from inside the cabinet as he dug around for something. Finally, the Slytherin returned, holding a small vial of magenta-red potion. He shoved it into Harry's hand. "Take this," he ordered flatly.
Harry eyed the potion cautiously, and then looked at Snape.
"Honestly, Potter," he rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so using far more amusing methods — I am a Death Eater, after all," he sneered distastefully.
"Ex-Death Eater," Harry pointed out, but didn't argue with him, downing the liquid in one go. Almost immediately, the soreness and leftover pain receded from his shoulder. Harry gave the Potions Master an apologetic look as he handed the vial back to him.
"Er, sorry, sir…" He shuffled his feet nervously, feeling like a dunce. "And… Thank you."
Snape vanished the empty vial with a careless flick of his wrist. "My, such gratitude from the saviour of the Wizarding World, oh my," he remarked dryly, leaning back on his palms against a long work table behind him.
Feeling awkward, Harry tried changing the subject. "Er, nice potions lab, sir," he said whilst twisting his head to look around. It was a moderate sized stone room, lined with multiple cupboards and shelves of different potion ingredients and vials. In the middle of the room stood a long, wooden work table, on which multiple cauldrons sat. There were a few stools as well. The chilly atmosphere reminded him of the dungeons.
Snape's lips quirked up ever so slightly as he, too, glanced briefly around the room. "Yes. Turns out, potions-making ran in the family. This whole lab was already filled with all of the necessities upon my discovering it. The potions had expired a long time ago. However, all the potions ingredients were preserved under powerful Stasis spells," he explained, fondness over the subject evident in his voice. Harry gave him a small smile.
It was a small reminder that the man was also human, not a blood-sucking vampire. He, too, had hobbies, passions, and emotions — contrary to what Harry had thought prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Very well, off you go. I will be having lunch down here," dismissed Snape shortly.
Harry took that as his sigh to leave. Thanking his ex-professor again, Harry made his way back up, missing Snape mutter, "Honestly, that boy will be the death of me, Lily!.."
Chapter 8: Rags
Summary:
Potter suddenly grew defensive. "What's it to you?" he snapped. Severus had obviously hit a chord. In this situation — especially if the boy had inherited Lily's temper, which he had —, it seemed preferable to keep a calm demeanour. Luckily, controlling emotions was Severus' forte.
Chapter Text
Snape and Harry were walking out onto the manor grounds, their wands in their pockets. It was an hour past lunch, and time for Potter's lesson, just as Severus had promised him not a few days ago.
Earlier that day, Severus had come extremely close to losing it when Potter showed up to him with a dislocated shoulder and limping. By Merlin's beard, the boy had no sense of self preservation! To climb a shed, of all things foolish!
The boy had merely dislocated his shoulder, and his ankle had been close to meeting the same fate, according to the non-verbal diagnostic spell he'd cast.
Severus still felt obliged to upkeep his vow and protect Lily's son, no matter if said son was now seventeen and had defeated the bloody Dark Lord. And if that included teaching and training Potter, then so be it.
Tutoring Potter was, by far, the last thing Severus Snape wanted to occupy his time with, but it simply wouldn't do to have the boy not know how to adequately protect himself. From what he'd managed to gather, Potter's knowledge of charms, curses, and spells was that of a fifth-year's! He wouldn't stand a chance against a Death Eater, Merlin forbid it ever came to that.
"Alright, Potter, I want to see how well your defensive spellwork fares," he said without preamble. They were now standing in the middle of the huge, grass lawn, Prince manor behind them. It was sunny and very warm, so Severus had to leave his cloak down in his potions lab.
"Er, okay, sir. What do you want me to do?" asked Potter, a ridiculous grin on his face. Oh, how Severus missed the days when Potter would cower at the mere sight of him.
Though, he couldn't help the wolfish smirk on his face. "I will be the offensive, and you will be the defensive," he explained in his usual, teaching voice. Contrary to popular belief — again — Severus did enjoy teaching; just not dunderheads. However, he could see Potter had some potential in him.
His favourite years to teach were always the sixth and seventh years, who had enough wits in them at that age to take their education seriously. And now, how could Severus pass up the opportunity to teach the son of Lily and bloody James Potter whatever he saw necessary without the ministry's abominable curriculum? He'd always wished to teach what he deemed necessary without having to follow the Ministry's crackpot curriculum, but the fact that his first opportunity to do as such with Potter was almost too ironic
Potter readied himself, stretching his arms and legs a bit, while Severus backed up so that they were a good distance apart for duelling.
Once Potter gave him a thumbs up, indicating that he was ready, Severus sent a stinging hex at him (though it was not a mild one — there was no need for dangerous spells and curses…yet.)
Potter successfully cast a Protego and blocked the hex. Good. Now, to evolve to a more difficult level…
Severus cast a more powerful hex at Potter, which he successfully managed to block as well, but nearly missed a follow up curse when he thought the attack was over and let his guard down.
"Foolish Gryffindor, NEVER let your guard down!" scolded Severus. Unknowingly quoting Alastor Moody, "Constant vigilance!"
As they progressed, Severus sent more than mere stinging hexes, like the Leg-Locker, for example. Potter seemed to be faring well, for the most part, aside from that fact that Severus had to tell him to adjust his footing and his appalling grip on his wand several times over. At least the boy had the decency to flush and do as he was told.
Fifteen minutes in, and Severus had seen enough of the same Protego.
"Acceptable, Mr. Potter," said Severus when he crossed the distance between them in a few, lengthy strides. "However, you can not constantly rely on Protego all the time. It is a rudimentary spell, one that will not save your hide from every spell, curse, and hex thrown at you."
Panting a bit, Potter replied, "Well, I don't really know any other shielding charms."
"Of course you don't," deadpanned Severus, pinching the ridge of his nose. He then looked at him. "I am going to teach you a more powerful shield, one that will not only withstand more powerful blasts, but also repel the spells being thrown at you with guaranteed precision at your opponent."
"Brilliant!" Potter gripped his wand more tightly, looking at Severus with determination in Lily's — his! — eyes. No matter how many times Severus would look into those eyes, he would always see Lily in them, and it would always catch his breath in his throat.
Severus swallowed hard, and jumped right back into teacher mode. "The incantation is Protego Exgorgio," he lectured. "Repeat it."
Potter repeated without fault.
"The wand movement is like so," Severus showed Potter the wand movement. It was similar to the Protego one, just a little more elaborate.
Potter nodded, indicating that he understood.
Once there was an adequate distance between them, Severus sent a more powerful curse at Potter. For a second, he had almost regretted sending such a powerful curse at the boy he was supposed to be protecting, but he let go of the breath he hadn't known he was holding when Potter successfully cast the shield charm right on time. The curse bounced off the shield and came hurtling back at Severus, who repelled it with a lazy flick of his wand.
Potter gaped at him like a fish. Severus smirked. He wasn't sure if the boy was shocked that he had successfully cast the spell on his first try, or if he was taken aback by Severus' magical abilities.
Apparently, it was the latter of the two.
"Sir, that was brilliant!" Potter met him halfway.
Severus smirked. "You dared to underestimate my abilities, Mr. Potter?" Severus purred silkily.
"Er, no, sir!" said Potter hastily, shaking his hands vigorously.
"Good. You'd better not," Severus warned.
They continued to practise for a good hour. At first, Potter had been the defensive and Severus was the offensive, but twenty minutes in, they switched. Potter was now throwing all the curses and hexes he knew at Severus ("Give it all you've got, Potter. Do not hold back!"), which almost made the ex-Death Eater cringe. The boy's offensive knowledge was just as limited and lacking at his offensive.
But Severus had to admit that Potter really was good at duelling, despite his spells matching the fifth-year's curriculum. He, of course, was no match for the boy, yet Potter's attacks came strong and swift. And though Severus wouldn't admit it, he found that he didn't hate duelling with the boy.
When both wizards stood sweating and tired, they called an end to their lesson and made their way back inside the manor. As they were walking, though, it was just then when the man took notice of the boy's clothes. Why do they look so torn and tattered? And isn't that the same shirt the boy had worn for the past two days?
"Potter!"
Potter turned his head to him, but continued walking. "Sir?"
"What are you wearing?" he sneered.
Potter looked confused. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked, looking down at his shirt and jeans, if one could call them that.
"Why do they look as if they'd been pulled out of a dumpster and chewed on by a troll?" Severus elaborated, gesturing at Potter's rags with his hand.
Potter flushed and ducked his head. "Oh, umm…"
"haven't you any other clothes?"
They stepped over the threshold into the sitting room through the back door, closing it behind them. Before Potter could step any further, Snape halted him.
"Well, I didn't pack a lot of clothes with me when we went searching for the Horcruxes, so I didn't have much choice," explained Potter matter-of-factly with a whiff of irritation. The reason made sense, yet something else was nagging at Severus…
"Then why is your shirt three sizes too big for you?"
Potter blushed even more, if possible. "Er…Well…All of my clothes are from my cousin, Dudley. And he was always kind of a baby killer whale…"
Severus looked at Potter oddly. Didn't the boy's relatives provide Potter with his own clothing? Why was the bloody saviour of the bloody Wizarding World wearing rags? For reasons unfathomable, Severus felt a sudden rush of anger course through him.
"And, are your relatives too poor to buy you something as simple as clothes?" Severus pressed on in a quiet, deadly voice.
Potter looked at him apprehensively, considering his next words. Before he could reply, however, "And do not even think about lying to me," warned Severus.
"..."
"Yes or no will suffice, Mr. Potter. Sometime this year, if you please." Severus said, his patience thinning.
"No, sir."
Severus was quiet for a minute, observant, before gesturing to him to sit on a couch. Potter looked reluctant at first, but complied.
"Elaborate." Severus sat himself in an armchair.
Potter shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it, sir."
Ok, now Severus was both irritated and curious. "I did not ask you to talk about it, merely to answer my question," he said carefully, steepling his fingers in his lap.
Potter suddenly grew defensive. "What's it to you?" he snapped. Severus had obviously hit a chord. In this situation — especially if the boy had inherited Lily's temper, which he had —, it seemed preferable to keep a calm demeanour. Luckily, controlling emotions was Severus' forte.
"I am merely curious as to why the saviour of the Wizarding World wasn't provided with basic necessities such as normal clothing. I understand that you hadn't packed much with you for the journey, but that does not excuse your relatives for refusing you adequate clothing."
Potter scowled, absentmindedly poking a finger through one of the many holes in his shirt. "Well, they never really cared, so why would they," he said tersely. "I've always had either Dudley's way-too-big clothes or the things Aunt Petunia would sometimes find in the charity sections."
Severus felt his blood simmer. How dare Tuney deprive her own flesh and blood of adequate clothing? Was this some kind of sick joke? Severus remembered Lily's sister well from their childhood, and she had never been a pleasant person.
She would always try to get Lily in trouble and she greatly disapproved of magic, even though she had tried to write a desperate plea to the Hogwarts headmaster so that she would go and learn magic, too. Truly, it had always astounded Severus how the woman was even related to Lily, let alone was her sister!
He was also bitterly reminded of himself during his childhood. His clothes had also been mostly from secondhands, but at least they had fit… More or less. At least his parents had been poor, a valid excuse, as opposed to Potter's relatives.
"Potter, what clothing articles do you currently have here with you?" asked Severus carefully.
Potter glared at him from his seat with a guarded expression. "What does it matter?"
Severus growled. "Answer my question, Potter."
"I have enough, alright?" he snapped, this time standing up in the process. "Look, I really don't want to talk about this right now — not ever, for that matter. I don't know why you care, all of a sudden, but just… Forget I ever said anything!"
Before Severus could even reply, Potter all but stormed out of the sitting room, leaving the Potions Master alone with what he'd just learned about the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.
That evening, Potter didn't show up for dinner. Severus found out that the boy had ordered his food upstairs when he'd asked Nibby. Prior to this, Severus had sat in the same spot Potter had left him in the sitting room for a few hours. It was obvious that this was a very sensitive topic for the boy — Severus would know. After all, he had been just as guarded about his family life at home as Potter was earlier today. Still was.
But really, why did he care? It wasn't as if Potter was his ward or anything like that. No, Potter was now a grown wizard.
Lily would be rolling in her grave if she knew that her only son was deprived of something so basic as his own clothing by her own sister!
But that couldn't possibly be the end of it, can it? Surely, there has to be more to it.
Tuney had always hated magic, and you know it, whispered a knowing voice in his head.
Severus sighed heavily. It was obvious that Potter had nothing but rags for clothes up in his room at the present, Severus didn't need Legilimency for that. What would Lily have done if she were here now? She would have gone out and bought a whole store of clothing for her son, no doubt.
But Lily wasn't here, and he, Severus, was partially to blame. But Severus was here, and he decided then and there that if Lily could not do that for her only son, then Severus would.
Blame it on guilt…shame…remorse…the vow he had taken years ago…But this way Lily's son, not just James'. He would do this for her, in hopes of atoning for his sins and mistakes. At least slightly so.
No, Severus would do something about this, he felt adamant to. Lily's son will not walk around in secondhand rags, not if Severus could help it. And he would get to the crux of the matter. There was more to the story, he was certain of it, call it his double-agent gut feeling. Even if it took the whole summer to pry the information out of the boy, he would be successful.
But, for the time being, there was only one reasonable thing he could do to rectify the situation.
Severus had an old friend to contact.
Chapter 9: To Rectify A Situation
Summary:
"Severus, old friend!" greeted the wizard warmly in a posh accent, extending his hand to Snape.
"Prinnick," greeted Snape politely, shaking the wizard's hand. "Thank you for coming."
Chapter Text
The next morning, Harry got dressed — this time mindful of picking his cleanest pair of jeans and shirt to avoid another chat like yesterday's with Snape — and went down to breakfast. He stifled a groan from his sore backside from having fallen asleep on the window seat again.
Honestly, Harry, you've got a huge, comfy bed; fall asleep there and not at your desk or the window seat, he chided himself.
As Harry made his way down for breakfast the next morning, he was still fuming about yesterday. After leaving the sitting room after their lesson that day, Harry had made a beeline to his room upstairs and refused to come out. It was childish, but the last thing he wanted to do was face Snape again after that. So even though it meant missing dinner that evening, Harry had stayed. He wouldn't starve to death from missing one meal. Hell, he could live without food for weeks!
He would've had breakfast in his room as well, but Nibby had warned him that Snape had a thing for etiquette, and the last thing Harry needed was an irate, ex-Death Eater ranting about that. Yesterday's rant was enough.
How dare Snape try and pry for information like that! What did it matter to him if Harry's clothes were torn or old or five sizes too big or something? Oh, right, he probably just doesn't want him strutting the halls of Prince Manor looking like a peasant. Must be embarrassing for him.
Ever since he'd parted with the Dursleys when they went into hiding, Harry just wanted to forget about them. Sure, some of his nightmares were still visited by Uncle Vernon on occasion, but that only made Harry more determined to forget about them.
Alas, Snape had resurfaced some unpleasant memories for him, resulting in more nightmares.
When Harry entered the dining hall, he found Snape there — as usual — sipping from his cup and reading a newspaper. Harry tried to squint at the title as he edged closer to his seat, but Snape noticed this, and quickly vanished it with a flick of his wrist.
Neither greeted the other. Harry sat himself down and poured himself some much needed coffee as he felt the dark gaze following him. Both were silent for a few minutes, but curiosity got the better of Harry.
"Why did you vanish the paper?" asked Harry suspiciously.
Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. "Given your past experiences, I only figured you wouldn't want to come within two feet of the Daily Prophet."
Harry ignored this. "Anything I should know?" he asked rather coldly. "I know there is, so don't even think about lying!"
Snape seemed to think over his answer, giving Harry an odd look. "There has been a Death Eater attack," he stated distastefully.
"What!?" Blood began to pound in Harry's ears. "What do you mean?" he demanded, subconsciously grabbing the tablecloth with his hands. He couldn't stand the thought of more casualties. Innocent casualties.
"Calm down, you foolish boy!" ordered Snape, watching Harry intently, his eyebrows furrowed. "I will tell you more on the matter once you've calmed yourself, and no sooner."
Harry shot him a glare, but forced himself to take a few deep breaths. A few moments of silence passed, "Sorry, sir. Can you please tell me more?" he said in his calmest voice, jaw strained.
"Very well," conceded Snape, taking a sip of his coffee. "Apparently, the leftover Death Eaters and quite a few Azkaban criminals have been ganging up and attacking both wizarding and muggle families. Their attack pattern appears to be rather random, at the moment."
A squid squirmed in Harry's stomach as he listened with horror.
"As we speak," Snape continued, "the Ministry is doing everything within their power to track down the remaining followers of the Dark Lord and sentence them to Azkaban. They strongly advise caution and vigilance at all times, of course," he drawled with obvious disdain in his voice at the last part,
Harry thought he was going to throw up. More innocent people kept on suffering at the remains of Voldemort's army, even though the war was over. And the victims could be anyone on the street…
Harry did throw up.
Luckily, Snape had foreseen this, because when Harry wiped his mouth with a napkin, Snape passed him a vial of minty-coloured potion. "Drink. It's a stomach soother mixed with an Anti-Nausea Potion."
For once, Harry accepted it gratefully and without complaint. He uncorked the vial and downed the liquid in one go, at the same instant as Snape Scourgify-ed the vomit from the floor with his wand. Immediately, Harry felt loads better, but his cheeks were burning from embarrassment.
Looking back at Snape, Harry felt mortified! Had he really just thrown up in front of Snape? Oh, Merlin! "Sorry, sir," Harry apologised, his face beet-red. "And umm…thanks for the potion."
Snape waved a negligible hand. "Don't apologise for something you cannot control, Potter," he said dismissively. Then his expression softened, by just a fraction, to an almost concerned look. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, wiping the remains with his napkin off of his lips. He took a deep, bracing breath. "When will all of this shite just end already?" he flung his head back exasperatedly, covering his eyes with one hand.
"Your guess is as good as mine, Potter," replied Snape wearily. "I thought I would spare you from the-less-than-pleasant news and avoid a scene such as this one… "
Harry crossed his eyes and glared. "I want you to know something about me, sir: I hate being kept in the dark. I'm not seven! And so what if I threw up? You can't just hide everything away from me."
"It is no longer any of your business. You had been prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord, not his army," retorted Snape.
Harry's ears reddened, this time of anger. "Oh, so you're saying I should just lounge around on my backside while more innocent people are being tortured?" he sneered, something Harry almost never did. Being around Snape so much must be rubbing off on him.
Snape looked at him crossly. "You are being melodramatic, Potter. Do not look at it that way. Like I said — it is not your responsibility. You've defeated the Dark Lord, tus putting an end to the war; that's more than sufficient, not even considering what tortures you've been put through for nearly half your life."
Harry wanted to argue, but decided against it. Snape just couldn't and would never understand. Yes, Snape did have a point there, but it was because of Harry that this war even happened in the first place. It was Harry's fault that Voldemort had been resurrected, it was Harry's fault that Cedric and Sirius had died. It was Harry's fault the battle had taken place at Hogwarts…
So, so, so many had died, and now those Death Eaters were re-grouping and attacking more people…
Harry's throat was starting to feel tight, so he smartly shut his trap rose from his seat, all appetite gone. It would be fruitless to try and argue with Snape on this. No-one would ever be able to understand. No-one.
He was just in the doorway when Snape called after him. "I expect your presence in the sitting room by four this afternoon," he said shortly. Harry heard, but showed no sign of acknowledgment, and left.
"Cutting it close, Mr. Potter," Snape commented As Harry entered the sitting room. He had been in the library the whole time, and had lost track of time. He had been trying to pick a topic to do research on for Snape's weekly evaluation of him.
"I am on time, though," pointed out Harry, gesturing at a clock on the mantelpiece, the hands of which pointed to 15:59 in roman numerals.
"Mhm."
Suddenly, green fires erupted in the fireplace, the unmistakable swooshing of the floo. Harry watched in shock as a short wizard with a monocle and stylish indigo robes stepped into the sitting room. His robes were styled with peacock feather designs, and he had greying hair and a short goatee.
Harry was too stunned to speak. What was the man doing here!?
"Severus, old friend!" greeted the wizard warmly in a posh accent, extending his hand to Snape.
"Prinnick," greeted Snape politely, shaking the wizard's hand. "Thank you for coming."
Prinnick beamed. "Of course, Severus! Anything for you!"
Snape nodded and turned slightly to face Harry. "This is Mr. Potter, Prinnick," Snape gestured with his hand at Harry.
Prinnick's eyes lit up like light bulbs. "By Merlin's robes, Severus!" He touched the back of his hand to his forehead as if overwhelmed. "When you told me you had a customer for me, I didn't think it would be THE Harry Potter!"
The short man crossed the distance between them in a few steps and grabbed Harry's hand, shaking it so vigorously that he thought it was going to fall off. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Potter!"
Finally having regained his voice, Harry replied awkwardly, "Er…Yeah — I mean, Yes, It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Prinnick." When Prinnick finally let go of his hand, Harry turned to Snape. "Sir, what's going on? What did he mean by 'customer'?"
Snape smirked wolfishly. "Mr. Prinnick, here, is a good acquaintance of mine, and is willing to help rectify your wardrobe situation," he said matter-of-factly.
"What!?"
But Snape cut him off before he could utter another word. "Mr. Potter, you will have a say in some things, but this is not one of them. You will stay quiet and you will obey Mr. Prinnick's orders because I am more than capable of putting a silencing spell and a sticking charm on you."
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, but closed it shut again when Snape gave him a look that said 'I dare you'. Somehow, he knew Snape would make good on his threat.
"Shall we, then?" Before Harry could reply, Prinich exuberantly grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him to the centre of the room. Harry was still too stunned to speak. Without warning, a magical measuring tape appeared mid-air, and started attacking — no, measuring — Harry, while a charmed quill took notes on a piece of parchment, the old wizard muttering to himself quietly whilst moving around Harry like a wolf that was about to eat its prey.
"My, oh, my. Tsk tsk tsk. No, no, this won't do at all. What will he need, Severus?" Prinnick inquired, a disgusted look on his face.
With another wolfish grin at Harry, Snape began. "A better question would be what he will not need, I'm afraid. Several pairs of socks and undergarments, five plain T-shirts and four pairs of jeans — two blue, two black. Several button-up shirts and three pairs of trousers — one navy blue, black and grey. Two light cardigans and several jumpers. A suit — navy blue—, and two sets of pyjamas. Also, throw in a bathrobe or two while you're at it. Oh, add two pairs of trainers, and a pair of dragonhide boots."
Harry stood stock-still, gaping at Snape in shock, his voice lost. How did he say all of that in one breath?
Prinnick kept bobbing his head as his charmed quill scratched furiously at the parchment. "Splendid!" he exclaimed, splaying his hands in delight. "And the fabric quality?"
Harry finally found his voice. "Sir—"
"Shut it, Potter!" Snape snapped, shutting Harry up successfully. Harry was at a loss for what to do. How was he going to break it to Snape that he didn't have enough money with him?
"The same as my own," Snape replied.
"Splendid, splendid, my boys!" He trotted back over to Snape. "That'll be—"
But Harry never got to hear the sum for all the clothes, because at that moment, Snape cast a silencing charm around them.
Harry's frustration grew. How could they just pretend that Harry wasn't there? How was he supposed to pay for all that if he couldn't even hear—
Oh.
Oh, Merlin.
NO…!
Harry, for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, was stunned into silence. But no, he thought, it couldn't be! Snape would never…Why would…Would he? Why!? No — it wasn't possible.
Yet, looking back over at the two wizards under the silencing spell, Harry's eyes widened as Prinnick handed over the longest receipt he had ever seen in his life to Severus, who took it without even so much as glancing at it!
A moment later, the silencing spell was lifted, and Harry heard Prinnick say, "Happy to help an old friend, Severus! Expect your purchases within five minutes." Prinnick waved a cheerful goodbye at Harry, and vanished through the floo, leaving the two wizards alone.
Harry wasted no time.
"Snape! Why would you — How did you — How did he…?" Harry was flailing his arms everywhere as he rambled nonsense.
"Calm down before you hyperventilate, Potter," Snape drawled in a mock calming voice. "Now, I believe the appropriate response would be 'Thank you, sir, for providing me with something my so-called bloody 'relatives' could not'."
"I..I just don't understand, sir… Why would you do this?" he asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
Snape sighed. "Because, Mr. Potter, I will not have you strutting around as the saviour of the entire bloody world in nothing but rags," Snape spat, though his vitriol not directed at Harry, for oncel. "Your mother would be rolling in her grave if she ever knew that you were deprived of such a basic necessity by her own sister and your aunt!" he snarled nastily as he began pacing the length of the room, his robes billowing angrily behind him.
Was Snape angry on…Harry's behalf? As much as Harry refused to believe it, a small part of him thought overwise. And, turns out, Harry had been right — Snape was just embarrassed of him.
Before either could say anything else, dozens of neatly stacked clothes appeared on multiple couches and armchairs. Harry gaped and moved cautiously towards them. Was this really all for him? Harry gingerly picked up a blue and white striped shirt and began examining it closely, savouring the moment. Someone did this…for him!
"Sir…you really didn't have to…" Harry finally choked out, hating the way his voice sounded so hoarse. "I can pay you back…"
Snape shook his head. "You are correct there, Mr. Potter — I didn't have to; I wanted to." Snape pointed out. "And I will not be accepting a single knut from you. I have enough wealth to get me through this lifetime and even the one following."
Harry just stood there, looking at all of HIS new clothes, clutching the shirt close to his chest as if it were a lifeline. This was surreal! And to think Snape, of all people…
The man cleared his throat. "Why don't you take all of your new clothes upstairs?" It wasn't a suggestion.
His legs half numb, Harry pulled his wand out and cast a Wingardium Leviosa to make the clothes hover behind him. Before leaving, Harry turned around to look at Snape, who gave him the smallest reassuring nod, but reassuring nonetheless.
"Thank you, sir." Harry smiled gratefully at Snape and left for his room, his new clothes hovering behind him.
Chapter 10: Burning The Past
Summary:
“Know any interesting demolishing spells, Potter?” asked Severus, cocking his head at him with a smirk.
“I’ll manage,” Potter reassured him.
Chapter Text
Severus Snape sat slumped in an armchair, elbows on knees and head bowed forward, still in the sitting room where Potter had left him a few hours ago. His thoughts felt like a jumbled mess, clouded with conflicted emotions.
For years, and especially this last week, he had solely relied on his Occlumency shields. Seeing the Potter boy every day hadn’t helped in the slightest, it would often cause him pain just to meet the emerald green gaze — the eyes he had betrayed all those years ago.
It was with terror that he realised his shields had finally slipped a bit too far.
This last week had been trying for him, and it had taken every last ounce of Severus’s mental shields to maintain his emotionless and stoic facade, though they had slipped not once. The time when the boy had come to him with an injured shoulder, and the Patronus incident, were just to name a few.
But today, after seeing the look on the boy’s face upon receiving those clothes — it had struck a chord somewhere deep within Severus. Something so familiar… So old, yet familiar.
Being the Death Eater turned spy that he was, he had seen the hope, disbelief, sadness, distress, and joy light up Potter’s face as he had clung to that one shirt as if it were a lifeline. This had set off alarm bells for Severus.
Even he, who hadn't had many clothes growing up, hadn’t had that sort of reaction upon receiving something as basic as clothing. Yet, Potter’s reaction could have fooled anyone into thinking he'd just received a new broom.
He remembered Tuney far too well to look past the signs.
Her resentment towards anything magical, including her own sister…
"Lily, you're a freak!"
He wasn’t stupid. He remembered, clear as day, Potter’s memories of his relatives mistreating him from those Occlumency lessons in his fifth year. He had simply chosen to ignore it, the bitter truth.
Just how low had he stooped back then? Abuse, neglect at the least, of the boy was as evident as the Dark Mark on his arm.
And then, there was also his own father, Tobias Snape. "Freaky boy, jus' like your mother!"
Severus wondered what experience the boy had with that foul word that Tuney had favoured so.
Potter had stayed most holidays at the castle…
So had Severus. Annually.
Oh, Merlin…
Potter was as thin as a stick.
Severus had been thin, but not to that extent.
“How extraordinarily like your father you are Potter, he too was exceedingly arrogant, strutting about the castle.….A spoiled prince, you are, just like your father… ”
Oh, Merlin… Lily…
Severus thought with horror what Lily must think of him.
Since that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow seventeen years ago, the same guilt, anguish, and remorse had stuck with him, like an old, stubborn potion to a cauldron. There were few nights where he would sleep peacefully without the beautiful redhead haunting his dreams, whispering to him on a mantra 'you betrayed me, Sev… How could you?', with those green eyes harsh and cold.
Either that, or Nagini and the Dark Lord would visit his slumber, making him relive that night in the Shrieking Shack.
When he would wake, he would find himself drenched in cold sweat, as opposed to his own blood. Still, those nightmares were preferred over the ones of Lily Evans, sneering in his face and reciting all of his sins.
Including those he had committed against her son.
Severus shuddered at the remembrance of Lily Evans. Even still, he couldn’t bring himself to refer to her as 'Potter'. Not a day went by that he didn't think of her, about his sins, mistakes, and wrongdoings. Some days, he couldn't even meet himself in the mirror.
And now… He didn’t know what would happen now. Hell, he didn’t know where this line line of thought was headed — it was all just barreling down on him, piling like a tower of stained cauldrons.
He could only hope that, somewhere above, Lily approved of today.
Severus didn’t regret having bought the boy a whole wardrobe. On the contrary, seeing Lily’s smile on Potter’s face had made it worth it. The boy really did have her smile, and the way he would often scrunch his nose in confusion, though subtle as it was.
But, though he would rather choke on something than to admit it, a minuscule part of him, deep, deep down, had actually been… Well, for the life of him, he couldn’t describe the feeling he’d felt when Potter had cradled a shirt to his chest as if his life depended on it. Had it been relief? Satisfaction? Happiness? Pity? Sadness?
Either way, he had done something for Lily though her only son, for whom she'd died to protect. Whom he’d sworn to keep safe.
Severus knew he would never be able to redeem himself, to atone for his mistakes and sins — his record was far too stained beyond the point of either. The least he could do was provide Potter with something his mother would’ve, had she still been alive.
It came to Severus that this must have been the first time anyone’s ever done something like this for Potter, and he felt almost… pleased that he was that first. Spying for the light had been one thing, but doing something for Lily’s son was a whole other.
And there was no Dumbledore or a Dark Lord to stop him from doing as he pleased.
Thanks to the boy. This small gift was the least he could do. In truth, Severus owed him so much…
The boy’s reaction had been a guilt reminder to Severus of what he’d cost the boy — a normal family, Lily and James Potter. All because of his moronic mouth. Potter knew it all, and Severus couldn’t fathom how he still hadn’t killed him. Even after his unorthodox treatment of him all those years at Hogwarts…
At that moment, Severus knew he wouldn’t even defend himself if Potter tried to kill or torture him. It would be well deserved. Yet, he knew that the boy would never resort to something like that — he was his mother in character, Severus now saw, through and through.
But how could the boy even tolerate him? Lily hadn’t bothered with him after that fateful day in their fifth year.
It was both Potter’s greatest strength and weakness — his capacity for love and forgiveness.
Damn it, Dumbledore had been right!
For the life of him, Severus had no idea how or why he’d ended up where he was now, knocking on the boy’s door. He had missed dinner, and hadn’t shown himself all evening.
There was no answer, however. He knocked again — nothing. Strange. Severus slowly opened the door to peer inside the almost-dark room.
On the bed sat Potter, rigid as a statue and still clutching the same blue and white striped shirt, his face, for once, unreadable, and his eyes unfocused. His new clothes lay in a heap beside him on the bed, untouched.
Severus carefully strode over to the bed. What was wrong with the boy? Was he in some sort of trance? Was he even aware of another presence in the room? When Severus got close enough, he was caught off guard by the tear tracks on his face.
“Potter?” he asked, letting go of his snaky and deadpan demeanour for once.
No answer.
“Potter!”
This seemed to have worked, because the boy’s gaze became focused and fixed on Severus, widening as realisation dawned on him.
“Potter, what’s wrong?”
Potter hastily wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve, looking away. “Sorry, sir,” he quickly apologised. “I’m fine.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “No, Potter, you are obviously not fine.” When Potter didn’t reply, Severus took a perch next to him on the bed. This was new territory for him, and he was mentally cursing Black and Remus for dying and leaving this mental mess of a seventeen-year-old wizard with practically no one.
You know he blames you for the mutt's death, whispered a voice. In his eyes, you're at fault once again…
A few long, silent moments later, Potter finally spoke. “No one’s ever done this for me,” he whispered hoarsely and so quietly that Severus could’ve easily missed it. His voice was thick with emotion, so thick it felt like a punch in Severus’ gut.
He maintained his stoic mask, however.
Severus nodded his head slowly. “I figured as much.” He tried keeping his voice gentle and even — he hadn’t done the former years.
“Why?” Potter finally looked at him, and his eyes — Lily’s eyes — were filled with wet confusion and wonderment.
Severus swallowed. Dropping the whole ‘saviour of the wizarding world won’t strut around in rags’ pretence, he opted for honesty. “Because, Potter, you have been denied this for far too long, and it is long overdue,” he explained patiently. “It is also the least that I could do for your mother. It is what she would’ve done.”
Fresh tears started spilling down his face, and Potter quickly turned away again, embarrassed. Severus, who wasn’t sure what else to do, pulled out a vial of lavender-coloured potion from one of his inside pockets and nudged the bottle into the boy’s hands. Potter took it silently and downed the contents in one go. It was a calming drought.
A breath of relief was expelled from the Gryffindor, but his grip visibly only tightened on the shirt. He handed back the empty vial and stared at the floor. “Thanks,” he whispered, clearing his throat as if trying to recompose himself.
Severus took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say.
“Potter… we need to talk.”
Potter shook his head. “There is nothing to talk about, sir.”
“On the contrary, I disagree.”
Silence followed. Then, “Why are you so upset at the prospect of someone providing for you?” Snape asked, keeping his voice low, psychoanalysing the situation and only half-guessing.
Potter shrugged. “I’m not upset in a bad way. The clothes are brilliant — and thank you for them. But you didn’t have to pay. I have enough money in my vault, and I can even pay you back, sir, I swear.”
Severus sighed. “Potter, do you think your parents would have wanted you to spend their money in such a way? They would be rolling in their graves if they ever knew that no one had provided something as basic as adequate clothing for you all these years. One does not need Legilimency to figure out that clothing isn’t the worst of it, as far your relatives go,” he spat the last few words.
The boy turned to look at him, surprise written on his face. “Yes, I am aware, Potter. I had known your aunt, do not forget,” he said bitterly.
When Potter didn’t respond, Severus decided to try a different tactic. For reasons unfathomable, he wanted the boy to open up a bit. Bitterness, neglect, and pent up anger and trauma could have negative consequences, if anyone knew this, it was Severus Snape.
“I can actually empathise with you. I, too, had to wear old rags and oversized clothing, though my situation had been slightly different from yours. My drunken father would spend all of our money on alcohol and cigarettes, leaving almost nothing for my mother and me. We were quite a poor family, if you could even call it that,” he sneered. “But, of course, you’ve seen that in my memories.”
Potter looked at him again, the green eyes understanding. “I’m sorry about that, sir.”
Severus snorted bitterly. “It is of little importance now.” He sighed. “You had always looked rather skinny for your age, not to mention the clothes you would sometimes wear — oh yes, Mr. Potter, I had noticed even back then, but I was a blinded fool who decided to ignore the simplest signs that something wasn’t right. For that…” he swallowed, “...I apologise.”
The boy gave him a small, sad smile. His fingers were tracing the stripes on the shirt still in his hands. “Thank you, sir. For everything, really; I appreciate it,” he said in a quiet voice. “I really like my new clothes. Thank you.”
Severus nodded and stood up. “I am glad I have been of help.” He helped Potter up by offering his hand. “It is close to dinner; would you prefer to dine with me or up here?”
“Downstairs, please,” his answer surprised the older wizard.
When they sat down in their usual seats, Severus noticed that Potter was still clutching the shirt, probably unaware of it. He cleared his throat. “Do you consider that shirt to be your dinner guest, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked dryly, trying to defuse some of the awkwardness in the air. Potter’s cheeks flushed as he became aware of the clothing article in his hands.
“Oh. Sorry, sir.”
Snape smirked and called, “Nibby!”
With a crack, Nibby appeared right beside Severus. “What can Niby do for Master Severus, sir?” she asked eagerly.
“Take what Potter’s holding upstairs and into his room. Just put it with the rest.”
Nibby took Potter’s now-a-bit-wrinkled shirt and popped away. No sooner had she done that than dishes of mashed potatoes, green salads, roast chicken, and beverages appeared in front of them. Potter looked at the food with a frown, and Severus figured his appetite wasn’t voracious after his emotional ordeal.
Silently, Severus Accio-ed a vial of anti-nausea potion, placing it in front of the boy. He seemed to have recognized it immediately and downed it in one gulp, flashing him a grateful look.
They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the clattering of silverware against their plates. As usual, Potter didn’t eat a lot, Severus noted.
But what did it matter to him if Lily’s son ate enough or not? Or that the boy was thinner than he himself was — and that was saying something.
Severus shook his head. He wasn’t in charge of or responsible for Potter. Providing him with a new wardrobe was one thing, but Molly-fussing was a whole other.
After dinner, Severus thought of something that might lift both of their spirits a little. So, standing in front of the boy’s door, he knocked and went in when he was granted permission.
Potter was — to his relief and satisfaction — wearing his new pyjamas, which were dark blue with a silver trim. Severus couldn’t help but cock an impressed eyebrow at him. “Quite a change, wouldn’t you agree?” he said dryly.
The brat rolled his eyes but nodded nevertheless. “Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks again for them, sir.” Then his face sobered a bit. “But I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, s —”
“For the final time, you will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Potter, lest you wish to go through all that trouble only to have the money sent back to your Gringotts vault,” he cut him off, his voice brooking no room for argument. “By now, you should know just how much I hate repeating myself.”
Potter gave him a lopsided smile. “Or what, are you going to take points off of Gryffindor?” he replied cheekily.
“Brat.”
“Git.”
Severus ignored that last comment. “Where are your old clothes, Potter?” he demanded flatly, getting straight to it.
Potter blinked. “Sir?”
“Your old clothes, you daft Gryffindor,” he snapped, but without the usual malice in his words.
Potter looked at him as if he’d grown a second head but then reluctantly pointed at his wardrobe. Severus grinned wolfishly and brandished his wand. “Accio Harry Potter’s abominable clothing!”
Potter watched in bemusement as all of his old clothes — rags — hovered over to Severus and dropped down onto the floor with a soft THUMP. Severus glanced back over at the boy with amusement. “Shall we split the pleasure, Mr. Potter, or would you prefer to have the satisfaction of lighting these rags on fire all to yourself?”
The boy gaped at him like a fish out of water, at a loss for words. Severus remained patient with him, waiting for the Gryffindor to piece two and two together. Oh, this, they would both enjoy.
After a moment, realisation dawned on the Gryffindor, and he shot towards his bedside table, grabbed his wand, and rushed back over to him, an excited glimmer in his eyes as he looked at his old clothes. “I think it’s only fair for us to split it since you’re the reason I can do this,” answered Potter happily. Severus could almost feel the excitement radiating off of him.
They split the small pile and stood a few feet apart, wands pointed at the rags. “Know any interesting demolishing spells, Potter?” asked Severus, cocking his head at him with a smirk.
“I’ll manage,” Potter reassured him.
Simultaneously, both sent their spells — or in Severus’ case, a curse — at the rags.
“Incendio!”
“Bescorchio Ignis!”
Severus’ pile of rags burned with black flames, but soon died down, not even leaving any ashes behind. Potter’s share of clothes just burned in red-orange flames and eventually left a small pile of ashes.
“Brilliant,” Potter breathed. Then he turned to Severus, a huge grin plastered on his face, making him look like fifteen rather than seventeen.
“Indeed, Mr. Potter; Indeed.” Take that, Tuney, you old hag! he thought indignantly.
For the first time in a long while, Harry slept peacefully that night with the memory of his — Dudley’s — old clothes burning into nothing but ashes, and with magic, nonetheless. Oh, the irony of that! It was almost as if he had been watching all the mean insults, neglect, and abuse from the Dursleys burn away into nothing but a mere pile of ashes, as if some sort of closure.
All thanks to the man who had bought him a whole new wardrobe and made it possible in the first place.
Harry wasn’t sure what to make of Snape anymore. It was like one moment they’re at each other’s throats, arguing, and the next moment the two shared a deep level of understanding. It confused Harry to no measure.
He was still embarrassed over his breakdown from earlier. He had expected Snape to mock or belittle him, but was pleasantly taken aback when the man had offered him a civil conversation and a calming draught.
He had even opened up about his own past, something Harry knew wasn’t his forte.
Perhaps he would open up about his mother in the same way? Harry would have to dwell on how best to best bring up his request.
Chapter 11: A Gryffindor Head
Summary:
"Whatever it is that goes on in that thick head — running headlong into danger, foolishly and courageously," he sneered with an eye roll, and fixed Harry with a no-nonsense look that would have made a third year cry.
Chapter Text
It had been a few days since the burning of Harry’s old clothes, and the first week at Prince Manor flew by. Everyday, Harry would sit in the library and read through many spellbooks, occasionally even some interesting wizarding literature. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was slowly starting to go all ‘Hermione Granger’, what with reading being the best way to occupy his time here at Prince Manor.
He had actually missed studying. This last year had made him realise just how much for granted he had taken things like school and tests. Compared to being on the run for nine months and facing Voldemort, schoolwork seemed like bliss to Harry now.
Snape being Snape, the ex-professor took great care to remind Harry of his weekly evaluation. Harry, of course, put up little to no protest. And given how Snape had let Harry pick a topic of his choice to research, he had ironically decided on Potions. There was a catch behind this, of course.
Even after seven years, Harry’s first Potions lesson was still embedded in his memory, word for word. So, he had decided to do research specifically on the topic of asphodel and wormwood. It would be like a sort of closure for the unfair evaluation for his eleven-year-old self, he figured.
Currently, his twelve-inch report was almost complete, and just in time, too, as tomotow was its due date.
Aside from spending hours in the library, the two wizards also had their daily defence and magic lessons. Snape would always introduce him to a new spell or, if it wasn’t too dark, a curse. Every time, Snape would go straight into lecture mode, and Harry would be astounded all over again by the sheer amount of knowledge Snape held, and just how powerful he was.
They would also often duel — Harry’s favourite part. And while his spellwork was improving, Snape’s defences and reactions never wavered.
At times like those, Harry was reminded of the time he’d chased after Snape out onto the grounds after he’d killed Dumbledore, filled with hot anger and rage. He remembered sending spell after curse at Snape with the utmost hatred, but the wizard had blocked them off with a simple flick or flourish of his wand, as if he were duelling against an eleven year old!
Harry still hadn’t asked Snape to share about his mum. He wasn’t sure why, but even after that night when he and the older wizard had burned his clothes, Harry still felt tense and awkward around the man. There still was, after all, seven years of mutual hate and vitriol in the air between them.
Harry would ask eventually, when the moment was be right.
It was Tuesday when Harry had sent his letters to Ron and Hermione (and injured himself), and he was overjoyed when he’d received their replies earlier today, though wondered what had kept them.
In the letter, Ron expressed his astonishment about Harry staying with the ‘bat’. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s letter, because whilst he’d tried being as vague as possible, he also managed to include a few things such as: ‘Has he mentioned any potions that might require body parts? Remember what Moody said: 'constant vigilance,' mate!’ Or: ‘Is he a vampire that goes hunting out at night as we had suspected?’
Not to mention: ‘Did the snake bite make him nicer?’
Ron’s letter was pretty vague, meaning that even if it had gotten intercepted, people would have a hard time decoding it.
The information of exactly how Snape had nearly died hadn’t been released to the public, only that of Snape’s survival. Kingsley, being the newly-appointed Minister of Magic, had somehow managed to avert the Wizengamot’s attention from the ex-Death Eater, as his case was rather complicated, and directed it to the other remains of Voldemort’s army. However, this didn’t alleviate the fact that Snape was still considered a wanted Death Eater and traitor.
The rest of the letter was pretty vague, and Ron asked if Harry could come over sometime, or vice versa. Harry took this into consideration, but wasn’t sure if Snape would allow it.
After all, him, Ron and Hermione must have been his least favourite students to teach of all time. So…how would Snape react to Harry’s request to have his friends over? He decided to ask him about it later (when Snape would be in a good mood and, preferably, had a glass of firewhisky in his hand.)
Harry could just visit the Burrow, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to show up there after Fred’s death. The last time he’d been there was after Fred’s funeral, and he had felt as though the walls of the building would close in on him and crush him.
The letter from Hermione was similar to Ron’s, though not as rude towards Snape. She said that she would be coming over to the Burrow in a few days, and also asked if they could see each other. Her letter was also vague — almost too vague and complicated with abbreviations such as ‘GTTB’, which Harry later figured out meant ‘Going to the Burrow’.
The idea of seeing his friends excited Harry. He missed them dearly, but understood that they all had needed the few weeks away from one another, and with their own families. Of course, the Weasleys had all but adopted into their clan over the years, but Harry still felt like an intruder.
Another reason he was anxious to see his friends was to discuss the Death Eater activity. He had asked Snape to save the Daily Prophets for him to read later every morning from now on, rather than vanish them, to which Snape had agreed with reluctance.
And thus, every morning, Harry would read about more Death Eater attacks and casualties. The Ministry being the Ministry, wasn’t much help, even with Kingsley as Minister of Magic, so Harry wanted to hear what his friends thought on the subject and if they had any news that wasn’t in the papers.
In all truth and honesty, Harry didn’t know what he would do with any of the information he would gather. He and Snape were locked in this manor for the sake of laying low, by Merlin’s beard!
Still, after the life he’d had, it simply wasn’t in Harry’s nature to sit back.
It was during breakfast on Monday morning when Harry finally steeled himself to ask Snape if Ron, Ginny and Hermione could come over.
“I suppose….” Snape drawled in response, surprising Harry with his lack of protest. He sipped at his morning tea as he looked Harry over with his piercing gaze, contemplative and almost accusatory.
Harry felt annoyed at this. “We’re not going to set your robes on fire or steal potions ingredients from your lab, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He played around with his eggs and bacon on his plate with his fork. He often wondered why he even bothered showing up for breakfast, what with his big appetite.
Snape glared. “On the contrary, Potter, given your’s and the famous Golden Trio’s history, I believe my concerns are justified,” he retorted snarkily. The Slytherin was quiet for moment. “ And ‘set my robes on fire’? That seems rather oddly specific and familiar to me, would you happen to know why?”
Harry shuffled his feet under the table nervously, looking at Snape sheepishly and going red in the face. He struggled keeping his face void of amusement at the nostalgic memory. The man wouldn’t possibly go mental over something that had happened in the trio’s first year, right? Either way, Harry could tell they were busted.
“Uhh… Well, in our defence, we had pretty good reasons to think it was you after the Stone.”
Snape’s eyebrow arched. “I’m flattered. Care to elaborate?”
Harry pressed his lips together, sucking them inwardly. “Err… It happened during the first Quidditch game of the year, and my broom started bucking, remember?” Of course he does. “Hermione noticed you muttering something whilst looking at me, and she uh…” Sorry, Mione. “She kinda set your robes on fire.”
“Ah.” Snape’s expression was a strange mix of realisation, amusement, and… that's all Harry could gather before the man’s face turned statuesque once more. ”After seven years of… Had I known, Miss Granger would’ve owed me over 200 Galleons for those robes, Potter!”
Harry gulped and gave his ex-professor an innocent shrug. “Still, you’ve gotta admit that that was impressive for a first-year.”
Snape sighed, shaking his head. “Insufferable Gryffindors… “
Harry held his breath, feeling Snape was contemplating his final verdict.
“…Very well. I shall grant them permit to visit. But I shall speak with the headmistress first, as my floo is already connected to her’s. Your friends will have to utilise her floo, as I will not be adding their’s to my network for numerous safety reasons.”
Harry’s spirits were lifted instantly, him mumbling a “thank you.”
Snape hummed dryly. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt to be responsible and not to get into any trouble, given your infamous streak.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
They had the rest of their breakfast in silence, but Harry’s spirits were instantly dampened when an owl delivered a new copy of the Daily Prophet. Before Snape could, he snatched the paper.
Today’s headline of the Daily Prophet read: Death Eater Sightings Near Claremont Square: Coincidence Or Not?
Harry immediately got a sick feeling in his stomach as he re-read the headline. No…It couldn’t be…Claremont Square was where…
Fighting down the eggs he’d eaten earlier so they would stay in his stomach, he straightened out the paper roughly, and began to read the article.
During the late hours of the evening on the 30th of May, 1998, the Ministry of Magic received a letter from a wizard couple, stating that they had spotted several dark-cloaked figures moving around the park of Claremont Square. The couple claims never to have witnessed such activity in the area until late that evening, when they had been taking a stroll.
“There were two of them,” stated Mrs. Bonwood during questioning by Ministry officials. “They did not see me and my husband, but we could tell they had their wands at the ready in their pockets.” When they were asked if the wizards were wearing Death Eater masks, they denied seeing them. “They were standing sideways to us, so their faces were obscured by their hoods,” states Mr. Bonwood.
The Auror office stated that they believe this to be a taunt or a diversion, as no Death Eaters are foolish enough to risk themselves by being out in the open like that. The Head of the Auror Department says they want to provide the aurors with a false lead to steer them away from the lead they are currently following.
The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, urges everyone to remain cautious and vigilant…
Harry thrust the paper at the table in frustration, not wanting to believe what he’d just read. Claremont Square…That couldn’t have been a coincidence! Harry put his head in his hands, propping his elbows on the table.
“Still hold no regrets over reading that dreadful paper, Potter?” Snape sneered, looking disdainfully at the crinkled newspaper in front of Harry.
“They have Grimmauld Place,” Harry finally croaked, his voice hoarse with dread, eyes locked on the article.
“Have they now?” Snape said nonchalantly, as if Harry had just stated that grass is green.
“And the Ministry is oblivious as usual,” added Harry bitterly, mostly to himself.
“Stating the obvious, Potter,” said Snape calmly, pouring himself more tea. With a flourish of his wand, the paper vanished, but Harry couldn’t care less.
They had Grimmauld Place.
Sirius’ house.
The Order’s HeadQuarters.
Sirius’ house.
There were filthy Death Eaters in Sirius’ house!
Harry had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding. Snape’s unconcerned tone and words grated his nerves. Of course Snape wouldn’t care; why would he? He and Sirius had hated each other’s guts, and that was an understatement of the century.
But Grimmauld Place was Sirius’ house, and now it legally belonged to Harry, along with…
Oh, shit.
“Kreacher…” Harry breathed, finally looking up. This also seemed to have caught Snape’s attention.
“That Mutt’s wretched house-elf?”
“Don’t call Sirius that!” snapped Harry, giving Snape a glare that could rival the man’s. “And, yeah. They could torture Kreacher into spilling information about the Order.”
Snape sighed, pinching the ridge of his nose. “Yes…A rather unfortunate turn of events, I must admit.”
“Do you think that it really is all a diversion? To make the aurors lose their trail?”
Snape looked thoughtful, turning his cup in his hand by its handle, before replying. “It is probable,” he said grimly, a shadow flickering across his face. Then he looked over at Harry seriously.
"Whatever you are thinking in that Gryffindor head of yours — stop it!" he growled dangerously, glaring at him with a knowing look.
Harry's head snapped up. "Stop thinking about what?"
"Whatever it is that goes on in that thick head — running headlong into danger, foolishly and courageously," he sneered with an eye roll, and fixed Harry with a no-nonsense look that would have made a third year cry.
"I know you, Harry James Potter," he said in a low and dangerous, yet calm voice, eyes narrowed. "You have a knack for finding trouble, and mixed with a hero complex makes it a lethal brew."
"I'm not going to run off to Grimmauld Place, if that's what you’re concerned about!" snapped Harry, glaring crossly at the older wizard. "And I don't have a 'hero complex' or a ‘knack for finding trouble’ either," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh?" Snape raised an amused eyebrow at him. “And how is your shoulder doing, Mr. Potter?” he asked innocently. Harry’s ears reddened a bit.
"Furthermore, what exactly would you call running off after the Stone in your first year, or saving Miss Weasley in your second year? The third year — helped a convict escape. Fourth? Fifth? Sixth? Your whole, bloody LIFE!?"
Sighing heavily, the man appeared to be fighting for composure. He took a long sip of tea, as if letting his words sink in.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, thought for a moment, opened it, and closed it again. After a moment, "I don't have a hero complex," he said stubbornly, sounding like a five year old.
"Mmm-hmm," was all Snape replied. “Have your evaluation report finished by noon.” And that’s where the conversation ended.
After breakfast, Harry wrote to Ron and Hermione, telling them that they will be able to come over through McGonagal's floo. He couldn't wait to see his friends…and Ginny. He felt guilty for avoiding them all, but they had all needed the break.
After he'd sent the letters (Snape had unlocked the owelry for him a few days ago) Harry went back to the library to add final touch ups to his report until lunch, after which he and Severus were to follow their schedule and have their daily duelling lesson. They were actually something Harry had really grown to look forward to.
It was one hour to noon, and Harry's assignment laid on one of the coffee tables, finished. To occupy himself, he had settled for some light reading, though his thoughts weren't on his book Ancient Herbs And Their Roots.
Reading with his eyes and not his brain, his thoughts strayed back to what he'd read that morning. It still made his blood boil when he thought of Death Eaters inside of Sirius' home — legally Harry's home!
What had they already done to the place? What were they even doing there in the first place? And would they really torture Kreacher for information? Harry didn't believe that the Death Eater sighting near Grimmauld place had been for the sake of a diversion. No — for some reason, Harry had a gut feeling that there were Death Eaters in the old house. It was well concealed, after all, and was fairly big — perfect for a place to regroup, meet up, and recuperate, even if only temporarily.
If only the place’s location hadn’t been compromised after their last Ministry escapade.
Harry closed his book with a sharp SNAP and flung it angrily on his arm chair when he stood up. Angry and frustrated, he crossed the room to stare aimlessly out of the tall windows at the grounds below.
Today's weather matched Harry's mood perfectly — overcast and windy, just before a storm. He leaned against the window frame, hugging himself for comfort, staring broodingly at the darkening sky outside. It soon started to rain — fat drops of water falling from the sky, tapping against the window. He traced a finger on the glass, following a raindrop as it slid lower and lower downward, oblivious to his own tears now sliding down his face in the same manner.
A wave of grief, anguish, and hurt washed over him at the remembrance of Sirius. He had died so unfairly! It was unfair. It was simply all unfair! He felt like a child to be thinking this, but it hurt, and it was true.
He and Sirius had been supposed to be a family, him and his godfather. He had been supposed to live with Sirius, finally have someone to care for him and be his guardian…
Why can’t I just have a normal life for once? Harry asked himself bitterly, shutting his eyes tightly. Was it really so much to ask for?
“It may have escaped your notice, but life isn’t fair!”
Snape had a point — Life wasn’t fair. But that wouldn’t stop Harry from making the rest of Voldemort’s pitiful army pay. Bellatrix might be dead, but her demise didn’t justify Sirius’. It was then and there that Harry made a vow to himself to make sure every follower of Voldemort’s, every Death Eater, Snatcher and criminal was put behind bars in Azkaban.
And Snape? a voice asked in his head. Do you wish the same for him as well? Remember, he had been the one to goad Sirius in the first place, and he had ignored your plea in Umbridge’s office… He, too, is a filthy Death Eater… You could do it, you know, turn him in and leave him at the mercy of the Ministry, for all the years of suffering he’s cost you…
Harry shook his head. With Snape, things were complicated. On one hand, Snape had given up basically his entire life for the light side, for Lily Potter, for the war… He had protected Harry since he’d stepped foot into Hogwarts. Now, he’d taken Harry in, provided for him, in some ways, and even bought him a whole new wardrobe — more than his so-called relatives had ever done for him.
Harry wasn’t one that could be bribed, and he knew that Snape’s recent provisions weren’t bribery — far from it. But actions spoke louder than words, and Harry had been deeply touched by the gesture. And, anyway, Snape was his last tie to his mum. He had lost so many people in this war, he couldn’t lose even Snape, even if it was Snape, of all people.
And it’s not something his mum would’ve wanted. Even though their friendship had ended in fifth year, Harry was sure his mother would never wish harm on him. On anyone, for that matter.
Snape was an exception.
It was settled. Harry would see to it that no remnant of the snake bastard’s army remained. He would do it for his parents, for Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Mad Eye, Fred, Cedric, Hedwig, and so many more that had died from this war, all because of a stupid prophecy. All because of the Chosen One…
And he had to do it alone. He wouldn’t put anyone else at risk.
He had to end what was started.
Chapter 12: The Trio Reunited
Summary:
No sooner had the small clock chimed 11:00, than green flames appeared in the grate, and three figures appeared in the giant fireplace, each stumbling and pushing one another as they tried to get out.
Chapter Text
Harry kept checking the clock on the mantelpiece every minute, counting down the seconds to 11:00. He was finally going to see Ron, Hermione and Ginny again, hear their voices, return their smiles, and embrace them warmly. It had been a few weeks since he’d last seen them, and he missed them dearly.
Just a day ago, plans had been made for Harry’s friends to visit him for the day here at Prince Manor. And while Snape wasn’t ecstatic to have a bunch of Gryffindors waltzing around here for a whole day, he’d kept relatively quiet on the subject.
But Harry couldn’t wait. He yearned for their welcoming, warm company, for their laughter, for their conversations so much, he was practically rocking on his heels like some impatient five-year-old.
“Enjoying your staring competition with the clock, Mr. Potter?” came Snape’s dry voice from one of the couches behind Harry.
Not taking his eyes off the hands, which now read 10:58, Harry pointedly ignored him. Snape had insisted on being present when Harry’s for when friends came through the floo, so that he could bombard them with his rules and threats, despite Harry’s many reassurances that he would tell them instead.
No sooner had the small clock chimed 11:00, than green flames appeared in the grate, and three figures appeared in the giant fireplace, each stumbling and pushing one another as they tried to get out.
“Ronald, stop pushing me!”
“It’s not my fault, Mione!”
“Oh, honestly, you two, shut it!”
Finally, they managed to stumble out, each of them covered in soot, looking around, and finally setting their eyes on their friend.
“HARRY!” they all choroused, and flung themselves at Harry, engulfing him in a hug.
“Mione, Ron, Ginny! Hi, guys, I’ve missed you!” said Harry, though his voice was muffled in Hermione’s bushy hair. A big lump appeared in Harry’s throat, so he wisely chose not to say anything, simply savouring the moment instead. He could have sworn he heard the others swallow hard as well.
They stood there like that for a while, just holding each other, when they finally pulled apart.
The newcomers seemed oblivious that a certain wizard in black was in the same room as them, and Harry completely forgot about him as well, too caught up in the moment.
Hermione was wearing light-blue jeans, a plain pink T-shirt, and a light jean jacket, her hair bushy and wild as ever. Ron sported khaki trousersand a red T-shirt. Ginny wore a simple yellow summer dress, and her hair was as red and long as ever.
Before Harry knew what was happening, Ginny flung her arms around him and gave him a small kiss on his cheek, before pulling back quickly. Harry’s cheeks turned the same shade of red as her hair. Ron and Hermione turned away, stifling their giggling.
Someone cleared his throat gruffly. “I certainly hope you lot are capable of restraining yourselves more than this?”
Horror-struck, they all turned their heads to look at Snape, just now realising that he was in the room. Now all of their faces were as red as Ginny’s hair.
“P-professor Snape, sir! How are you?” Hermione stammered, having recovered the quickest.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Adequate, miss Granger. Are you?” He gestured with his chin toward them all.
Harry cursed his face for still prickling with heat. “Sorry, sir. And yeah, we’re all okay.”
Snape sighed and rolled his eyes. Without further comment, he stood and moved closer to the foursome. “Granger. Weasley. Weasley,” he greeted, nodding his head a little. “It is good to see you.”
Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “It is?” he asked dumbly. Hermione shoved him in the ribs with her elbow. “Ronald!” he chided.
“That is quite alright, Miss Granger, I was expecting that sort of response, from a Weasley nonetheless,” he said dryly, glaring at Ron towards the end. “However, given recent events and revelations, I would like to extend my…apologies for the unfair and unprofessional mistreatment towards you over the last seven years.”
The trio gaped, speechless. Snape turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, you really are the brightest witch of your age, and for what it is worth, you had always been my best-performing student out of all houses and years.”
Hermione stood stock-still on the spot, her mouth wide open, but no words coming out. Luckily, Ron nudged her gently in the shoulder, and she recovered. “T-thank you so much, Professor!” she beamed. “I’m so honoured, sir!”
Snape nodded. “No need to address me as ‘professor’ any longer. You may refer to me as ‘sir’,” he said, sparing a glance at Ron and Ginny.
Without further ado, Snape said curtly, “Very well, then. My lab, rooms, and study are off limits, unless you all wish to meet your end at such a ripe age.” Ron visibly gulped, which made Snape smirk nastily. Harry just rolled his eyes, but didn’t dare say anything.
“You are not to disturb me unless someone is on the verge of death, which I hope will be avoidable, However, I do not put it past you four to get into the usual sort of trouble…” his black eyes scrutinised all of them for a moment, before finally settling on Harry the longest.
“Ok, ok, sir, we get it! Don’t worry, we won’t bother you,” placated Harry, desperately wanting to get a move on. Snape glared at him some more, as if to say ‘Tone check, Mr. Potter.’ but instead waved a dismissive hand at them.
“See to it that you don’t,” he said with finality and warning in his tone, and swept out of the sitting room, his black cloak billowing behind him.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “Honestly, mate, how are you still alive!?” he remarked in astonishment.
Harry shrugged. “Honestly, guys, he’s not all that bad. He’s just not a…people person…”
Ron chuckled dryly. “Once a bat, always a bat, I say — Ow!”
Hermione shoved him in his arm. “Ronald! Don’t say that about him!”
“Oi, come off it, Mione! Just because he’s finally given you your long-overdue credit doesn't mean you have to go all Gilderoy Lockehart on him!”
Hermione’s ears turned pink. “How da– !”
Their bickering was broken by Harry, who was now on his knees, clutching his stomach, laughing his head off hysterically. Ginny was also laughing, though not as hard.
“This…is…what…I’ve…missed!” Harry rasped out in between laughs. A moment later, they were all laughing, Ron and Hermione clutching each other for support.
Once they all calmed down, Harry took Ginny’s hand, gently brushing it with his thumb, and addressed them all. “Come, guys. I’ll give you a tour and you can tell me what’s new.”
The foursome followed Harry as he showed them the backyard and owelry, then the dining room and his huge room. He decided to save the library for last. His friends were astounded.
“Honestly, mate,” commented Ron, “who would’ve thought the Dungeon Bat was so rich just by teaching Potions!”
Harry frowned. “He said he inherited it from the Princes, but he didn’t elaborate much.”
Ginny nodded. “I keep forgetting he’s a Half-Blood. Our family was supposed to inherit this one, huge manor somewhere in Leeds, but we were skipped when mum and dad began supporting muggleborn rights and all that.”
As they followed Harry, they all exchanged news and filled Harry in on what’s been going on lately. They kept the conversation remotely light at first, with topics such as how Hermione fetched her parents from Australia, and Mr. Weasley getting promoted. Harry also filled them in on his summer so far, and they eventually got to the topic of the Death Eater attacks.
Just as well, because they were now standing outside the library entrance.
“Hey, umm, Mione?” Harry paused, his hand on the door handle.
“Yes, Harry?”
“Try not to freak out too much, alright?”
Hermione let out a small laugh. “What are you talking about, Harry?”
Without further comment, Harry pushed the door open, revealing the huge library of Prince Manor. Hermione’s eyes widened to the size of Nibby’s, and Harry could have sworn he heard her sniffle.
“It’s beautiful!” she whispered. They all laughed, and followed Harry inside.
“Not bad, mate!” wistled Ron, looking around. Ginny also looked impressed. Hermione was…Sniffing? No — examining some of the books cases.
The four of them sat down around a round coffee table, which was piled high with the books Harry had left there earlier. Ron and Hermione sat themselves on the mini couch, while Ginny and Harry chose armchairs.
Hermione scrutinised the books on the table with an impressed expression. “You’ve been busy, Harry,” she acknowledged with pride.
Harry shrugged. “Well, not much else to do around here.” He turned to Ron and Ginny. “So, what’s up with the Death Eaters? Does your dad know anything else about them?” he asked, fidgeting with the hem of his blue shirt.
Ron and Ginny exchanged looks before replying, “Well, not really, mate,” he said. “Only what’s in the Daily Prophet, though he, McGonagall and Kingsley agree that it might be a diversion. No Death Eater would be stupid enough to set foot in Grimmauld Place.”
Harry frowned, crossing his arms. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t know what, Harry?” asked Ginny.
“Well…I mean…What if it wasn’t to tip the Ministry off? What if one of them really was ‘stupid’, and was just spotted while making their way to, or from Number 12?” There. This was the question that’s been bothering him for almost a week now.
The three of them exchanged uncertain looks, until Hermione spoke up. “I don’t know, Harry…It just doesn't really seem like them…”
“Well, what if that’s just the reaction they are hoping to get?” burst out Harry. “I mean, maybe that’s just part of their plan — hide in plain sight; make it seem too obvious!”
They were all quiet for a minute, neither sure what to say, mulling over the words.
Then, “I’m also worried about Kreacher,” Harry admitted.
“The house elf?” verified Ginny. Harry nodded.
“You think they might get something out of him?” asked Ron, concerned.
“I don’t doubt it. With a few rounds of Crucio, I think he might,” Harry said gravely.
“Poor Kreacher!” Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head.
“Well, I don’t know about ‘poor’, Mione…”
“Ron! He helped us! Without him, we might have never found the locket!” Hermione admonished.
“Guys!” Ok, so, maybe Harry didn’t miss the bickering as much as he’d first let on. All heads snapped to him, looking chastised. “Look, as usual, the Ministry isn’t any help. And I can’t let the Death Eaters stay at Sirius’ and torture Kreacher for information — it’s too risky.” Harry paused, taking a bracing breath. “I want to go check if the Death Eaters are really there or not,” he said finally.
Silence ensued, everyone’s shocked faces at Harry. Silence reigned for a while, before Hermione burst out. “Harry, that’s dangerous! What are you thinking?”
“Yeah, mate, c’mon! Leave it to the–”
“To the Ministry?” Harry cut him off. He laughed mirthlessly. “Are you mental! Since when has the Ministry actually done something?”
They were all quiet, neither knowing how to counter that.
Harry took another deep breath. “Look, guys, I’m not asking you to come with me. I don’t want to put you in danger…again,” he said firmly. “But I have to do this. This whole war…It’s because of me and that bloody prophecy! I have to end this. I have to…close this whole thing so that we can all just live our normal lives. Don’t you want that, too?”
Ginny reached and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, you’ve already defeated Voldemort. This isn’t your fight anymore.”
Harry started pacing, frustrated. “You just don’t get it. Those Death Eaters are behind so many lives and destruction, and for all we know, they are currently in Sirius’ house, which is now considered my house! Now to mention Kreacher, who wouldn’t last through a few seconds of Crucio without spilling everything he knows! And, even if he wouldn’t spill anything, no-one deserves that kind of torture,” he concluding with a shudder.
“...”
Ron stood up and went over to Harry. “Well, mate, if seven years of life-threatening adventures haven’t taught you anything, there’s no bloody way we are letting you have all the fun.” He looked at Ginny and Hermione firmly. “Right, guys?”
They nodded, albeit slowly.
Harry smiled, but then shook his head. “No — I won’t have you risking your lives–”
“Oh, for the love of— Harry, when will you learn?” sighed Hermione exasperatedly, standinding from her seat. “We’re with you, no matter what!”
“Yeah, Harry. Or have you really forgotten all the stuff we’ve been through?” chimed in Ginny.
Harry smiled a watery smile at all of them, a huge lump in his throat. He swallowed thickly. He didn’t want them involved, especially after Fred’s death. But he could tell that his friends were incessant in their decision, and Harry mentally berated himself for even thinking they would have let him do this alone.
“Alright. Thanks guys.”
Ron brushed it off with his hand. “Oi, it still sounds bloody suicidal… So, what’s the plan?”
Chapter 13: Plottings And Discoveries
Summary:
"It's settled, then. We all apparate to the park in front of Claremont Square, tomorrow at midnight," Harry finalised, leaning back in his chair and taking another bite of his biscuit, a determined look on his face.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry summoned Nibby to bring them some snacks, which she then set on the round table for them. With warm mugs of tea — and mouthfuls of biscuits, in Ron's case — they began plotting a stake out of Number 12, Grimmauld place.
"But we can't tell Snape," said Harry suddenly once they'd formed a plan.
"Why not?" asked Hermione slowly, cradling a cup close to her chest.
"Because, he'd go mental if he knew what we're planning. Besides, we're all of age," explained Harry matter-of-factly.
"Okay, mate, it's your funeral," warned Ron, shrugging his shoulders. He then started humming a slow, sad tune. Harry ignored him.
"Alright, so, do we all agree with the plan, then?" asked Harry, locking eyes with everyone. They all nodded in confirmation, except for Hermione.
She shook her head and looked at Harry intently. "Harry, please promise us you won't do anything rash or dangerous, okay?" she pleaded. "Promise to just stick with the plan…"
Harry sighed, looking offended. "First Snape, and now you, Mione?" he remarked exasperatedly. Hermione's glare did not waver, however. Harry absently traced the embroidered dents on his armchair. "I won't, okay? I'm not stupid or something, Mione."
"I wasn't implying that you are, Harry!"
He smiled slightly at her. "It's fine, Mione, I was just kidding."
The foursome went over the plan one last time. With a bit of luck, they would know if the house was overrun with Death Eaters, and if so, how heavily it is guarded.
"It's settled, then. We all apparate to the park in front of Claremont Square, tomorrow at midnight," Harry finalised, leaning back in his chair and taking another bite of his biscuit, a determined look on his face.
"If anything changes, owl each other, right?" piped up Ron.
"Let's not forget our DA coins," reminded Ginny. "They would be safer and more efficient."
"Oh, that reminds me!" Harry reached for his wand and Accio-ed some parchment and quills. "Maybe we should come up with some code words?"
"That's a brilliant idea!" praised Hermione, reaching for a sheet of parchment and a quill.
"But we still get to call Snape 'bat', right?" laughed Ron.
"Yes, and we shall call you 'Roonikins'," said Ginny with an eye roll. Ron blushed. Harry frowned, but said nothing.
After half an hour, each of them had their own list of code names.
Grimmauld place — Phoenix Den
Prince Manor — Bat Cave
Hogwarts — Hog's
Burrow — Red Den…
"Don't lose these, guys," Harry warned them, rolling up his parchment.
"You know, wizards used to code everything in the Victorian flower language," commented Hermione absently.
"What's that?" he asked.
Ron rolled his eyes. "It's an old wizarding tradition, but it's died out," he supplied. "They made flowers and plants mean different things and used them in secret letters and stuff."
Hermione being Hermione, chose to give Harry a normal answer. "The Victorian language of flowers was used back in the 1800s to send meaningful messages and to convey secrets."
"I once got a secret Valentines card that was coded in it, " cut in Ginny, blushing a little. "It took me a month to figure out."
"What'd it say?" asked Ron mockingly.
"That's none of your business, Ronald!" she snapped at him.
Harry sniggered. "Do potion ingredients and herbs count?" he asked, picturing the Gryffindors gifting Snape with a bouquet of whatever potion ingredients conveyed what they thought of him.
Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying, "I think so, yes. For example, the asphodel is often associated with death, regret, and mourning, whilst beetle eyes mean good luck and fortune. Or basil; it means good wishes."
Harry suddenly had a small hunch, but it was nothing more. He supposed a little help from Hermione couldn't hurt. "Remember the question Snape gave me during my first potions lesson?"
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "You still remember that?"
"Yeah. What would I get if I mixed powdered asphodel with an infusion of wormwood? So, I did this whole report on it…" He decided to leave out the part when Snape had covered almost the whole paper in red ink, due to tiny mistakes and grammar corrections. "Asphodel is a type of lily, right? Well, I read a lot about the two herbs, and I think it might… Bah, but it can't be…" He trailed off uncertainly.
This was enough to catch Hermione's curiosity. With an excited look on her face, she bolted off the couch and began scanning the many bookcases. Finally, with a small "Aha!" she returned with a thick, old tome. Curious, Harry sat next to her on the couch with Ron.
"Asphodel…Wormwood," Hermione muttered under her breath as she scanned the table of contents.
"I've found it!" Hermione passed the book to Harry. His eyes widened when he read about the Asphodel — a type of Lily. His heartbeat quickening, Harry began to fumble with the pages until he found wormwood. White as a sheet, he handed the book back to Hermione. All of them were quiet, until Hermione's eyes widened as well.
"Oh, Harry!..." she clasped a hand over her mouth, small tears glistening in her eyes.
"What does it say?" asked Ginny anxiously.
"Asphodel is a type of lily, and means 'My regrets follow you to the grave'," she explained quietly. "And wormwood is associated with regret and bitterness."
Eerie silence followed as they slowly pieced it together.
Finally finding his voice, Harry managed to croak out the words: "His first words to me were an apology."
"I bitterly regret Lily's death," Hermione interpreted. Harry swallowed thickly. Ron's eyes were the size of bludger, and Ginny just smiled sadly.
Harry didn't even know what to think. Snape's first words to him were a coded apology! And Harry hadn't had a clue up until now. But why didn't Snape just say so outright to him?
Harry imagined things would have been a lot more different if he had known the true purpose of that unfair questioning. This just proved further how deeply Snape regretted what had happened, and how much he loved Lily.
Maybe it was time to have a chat with his ex-professor…
After they'd had lunch (Snape hadn't joined them), they all went up to Harry's room. Harry and Ron enjoyed a game of wizards chess he'd found earlier, and Hermione and Ginny watched them play, time-to-time attempting to give either player advice.
Hermione had never been a good chess player, and Ginny wasn't very interested in it. They asked Nibby to bring them some tea and snacks, but as the house elf was about to leave, Hermione invited her to join them. Harry was sure for one moment that Nibby was going to cry. Luckily, she didn't.
When Harry spectacularly lost to Ron for the fifth time in a row, Ron challenged Nibby to a game just to rub into his face a bit more. The two opponents played for a good thirty minutes, and they were all shell-shocked when Nibby actually won. Hermione laughed her head off at the fact that her boyfriend had lost to a house elf, which made Ron's ears go a brilliant shade of red.
As Harry watched all of this unfold, he couldn't help but think that this is exactly what he'd missed. Just being with his friend, talking about nothing important, laughing their heads off, and having a good time. He hadn't felt this carefree in a long time — almost a whole year, if not longer. At that moment, Harry made a wish to no one and nothing in particular for things to stay this way.
It was half past eight when they said their goodbyes back in the sitting room. Harry told them to give the rest of the Weasleys his greeting. Before they stepped into the floo, they all exchanged knowing winks and nods, remembering their plan for the following night. Harry felt a pang of pride at the determined looks on their faces.
After they had flooed home, Harry went to find Snape, though not before making a spontaneous detour to his room and stuffing something into his pocket. He was pretty tired, but he also wanted to thank the man for letting his friends come and visit. That, and another matter he was tentative about bringing up.
The first place he'd checked was the potions lab, of course, and wasn't surprised to find Snape there, bent over and stirring a bubbling cauldron with utmost concentration etched on his face. He felt a little amused to see his hair in a dishevelled state, greasier than usual. The door into the lab was ajar, and he had been about to knock gently when the baritone voice acknowledged his presence.
"Potter," Snape greeted, not taking his eyes off of his cauldron. "I take it that Granger and the Weasleys have left?"
"Yes, sir." Harry hesitantly stepped further inside. "I wanted to thank you for letting them come over," he said, tracing the wood markings on the table with his finger. "I really missed them and it…helped. A lot. I appreciate it."
When Snape spoke, stirring his potion with a ladle, his face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes seemed a little softer than usual. "Contrary to your beliefs, Potter, I do know that isolation in the company of your favourite ex-professor can get quite depressing. Whilst I made a vow to keep you physically safe, it would all be for naught if you mentally weren't. It wouldn't do for you to lose your mind — I would most probably not be able to administer you to St. Mungos." The last statement, Harry realised, had humorous intent.
Harry gave him a look and crossed his arms. "You're making it sound like I can't stand your presence, sir," he said with a light laugh.
Peering into an open book on the workbench, Snape remarked without looking up. "Am I incorrect in my presumption?" he asked dryly, voice betraying no emotion.
Harry pondered this for a moment, remembering his little internal conflict back in the library the other day. He hadn't thought of it so bluntly before. A month ago or so, Harry would have confirmed this without hesitation. But, now?
Emerging from his thoughts, Harry noticed that the man's movements appeared to be stiffer, but his face as stoic as ever. He realised he must've taken his silence for an answer. "No! No, I, uh… I didn't mean to—" he rushed to explain, blabbering.
Snape sneered. "With right reason, Potter," he said, grabbing a knife and starting to chop up some herbs.
Harry felt horrible. He tried to take a recomposing breath. What a mess this was turning out to be. "Sir, no, I don't hate you. I'm sorry if my silence made you think that… At least, not anymore I don't…"
This time, Snape halted in his work and looked up at Harry. Obsidian met emerald, the black eyes scrutinising and searching… Sceptical. "You don't," he parroted Harry's words, posed as more of a tentative question.
The Gryffindor frowned, shaking his head. "I don't. Not after, well, everything." He emphasised this by splaying his hands slightly.
Snape's face twisted into a look of repulsion, but for once, Harry had a feeling it wasn't directed at him. "You forgive far too easily, Potter. It is probably your greatest weakness. I strongly urge you to overcome it. You persist to wear your Gryffindor heart on your sleeve, and it will lead you astray," he said scathingly.
Harry took offence at this. He wasn't sure why, but the words stung a bit. He wanted to fire back insults and colourful accusations at the man who'd belittled and ridiculed him for so many years…
But he didn't. It would get them nowhere. And anyway, that's not what he'd come down here for.
He took a fortifying breath before blurting, "It was an apology, wasn't it?" It was a statement, not a question.
Snape suddenly visibly tensed, setting aside his knife and stared at Harry with a confused expression. "I beg your pardon?" he said silkily.
Harry began to fidget with the edge of the wooden workbench, but forced himself to maintain eye contact with Snape. "The question you asked me in my first year... it wasn't a real potions question, was it? It was an apology," he elaborated, feeling like he was treading in dangerous waters.
Snape's stoic mask betrayed him, expression both bemused and portraying something pained deep within the tunnel-like eyes, his face the colour of chalk. He studied Harry as if he were an inexplicable potion that he couldn't figure out. Harry held his breath.
Several, long, silent moments passed… The silence felt suffocating. But Snape eventually muttered a stasis spell over his cauldron and pulled out a stool, slumping onto it and motioning Harry to do the same. He complied.
"It appears you've figured it out." he stated wearily, face guarded. Harry nodded.
"I just wish you had told me this in my first year. Maybe we wouldn't have been such enemies? I mean, I probably would have understood."
Snape sighed, running a hand down his face, suddenly looking twice his age. "You must understand that my intention was never for you to know the whole truth — any of this. I only gave you those memories because I felt I owed you an explanation — the entire story. The truth, for once. It was an act of desperation. Had I revealed anything to you sooner, it would have put my cover at risk."
Again, he sighed heavily. "However, I doubt it would have impacted my treatment of you positively," he admitted. As an afterthought, Snape added quietly: "Although… I am not averse to that alternative universe of yours, Mr. Potter."
Harry smiled somewhat bittersweetly at the comment and agreed silently.
After a moment of contemplation, Harry asked, "Do you regret giving me those memories?" in a quiet voice, biting his lip. His hand absentmindedly brushing his trouser pocket.
Snape's lips thinned and he briefly looked away, before responding haltingly, "I'm afraid I cannot answer that. It is —" he sighed — "complicated."
A bit disappointed, Harry decided not to push the issue any further, sensing that that was all the man was going to divulge.
"Sir?"
"Potter?"
Harry stressed his lip again. Now was a time as good as any, he figured.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial of something of neither gas nor liquid state in it. Holding it out for Snape to see, he noticed a range of emotions flicker across the man's eyes as he recognized the vial, apparently at a loss for words.
Harry awkwardly cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry for not giving this back to you earlier, sir. I sorta forgot." He shuffled his feet against the stone. "Thank you for them." he thanked sincerely.
With that, the boy offered the object to its rightful owner, who accepted it gingerly, surveying it and Harry as if uncertain of what to say.
"Er, sir? I know this is kinda long overdue, but I'm sorry for looking into your pensieve in fifth year. I had no right to, I only thought that there was information about Voldemort—" Snape flinched— "and the Order… Dumbledore, he kept me in the dark back then…" Harry belatedly realised he was rambling, but persisted.
"But what I saw in your memories, I was horrified. I never knew my father, and everyone would alway compare me to him — But I'm not like him. He was a bully, and… I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of it. What he did to you was cruel and unjust, and you deserved none of it."
Throughout his rant, he kept staring into his lap, not able to meet the man's gaze.
"For what it's worth, sir, I want to apologise for my father. Since I'm sure he never apologised to you, and will never be able to… I will."
The silence that ensued felt suffocating. Harry could feel Snape's obsidian eyes boring holes into his head, though he wasn't able to lift his head.
After several moments, there was a heavy sigh. "Potter, I…" For the first time, Harry could tell he'd rendered Snape speechless. The man was clearly struggling.
"You really are so much more like your mother." The statement was muttered so quietly, Harry could've missed it. "Thank you… I appreciate it."
Surprised, Harry finally raised his head. Snape looked as uncomfortable in his seat as Harry felt. He stood abruptly, pocketed the object, and simply bobbed his head in acknowledgement. Both wizards shared a brief look of understanding for a minute, but that one look seemed to make up for a lot of unsaid words.
As though nothing had happened, the Potions Master walked back over to his cauldron. He picked up the ladle and began to stir the brew. Curious, and thankful for the interlude, Harry went to peer over his shoulder, interpreting the man's lack of verbal response to be the end of the matter.
"What are you making, sir?"
Snape scowled. "One does not make potions, but brews them, Potter." He turned back to his cauldron, mumbling under his breath about six years of magical education gone to waste. Harry ignored this and watched as his ex-professor started chopping up some weird-looking plant.
"I truly had high hopes that you would have recognized a potion that you and your little friends had brewed in your second year."
"What? You– You knew about that!?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "Of course I did. I didn't take more than two brain cells to deduce that it was you who had stolen boomslang skin from my stores, setting off Malfoy's potion in the process," he drawled. "Obviously, it's Polyjuice Potion, Potter."
Harry's ears turned pink. "Er…yeah." He sucked in air through his teeth. "Heh — I guess I can add that to my list of apologies to you, huh, sir?" Snape said nothing, focused on his brew.
Curious, Harry walked around to the other side and asked, "What's it for?"
Snape paused what he was doing for a moment, as if in thought. "You will find out tomorrow, Mr. Potter," he decided. "If that is everything?"
Harry bit his lip, feeling its sting. Enough stalling, he decided. "Actually, sir… just one more thing." He fidgeted with his hands. "Can you… Can you tell me about my mum?"
The ladle dropped from the Potions Master's hand, falling to the stone floor with an echoing clatter. The man whirled on Harry, something raw, painful, and guarded in his eyes. Harry almost regretted asking.
They stood like this for a while, Snape's face an expression of internal conflict, eyes boring into his emerald ones. Finally, the man seemed to have recomposed himself and bobbed his head once, the gesture so out-of-character for the stoic Death Eater turned spy.
"I will consider your request…But I do believe that can be arranged sometime. Sometime later, perhaps," was his halting, uncertain answer.
Relief flooding through Harry, he gave him a small smile. He did it! Small victories.
"G'night, sir," he bade the man and left the lab.
…
"Good night, Potter."
Notes:
You guys have no idea how much I struggled with editing this chapter, specifically the conversation between H and S.
Also, I won't be able to upload tomorow, so probably expect the next chapter on the 28th.
As always, pls tell me what you think!
Chapter 14: Excursion
Summary:
The man regarded them both suspiciously, but then walked out from behind the bar over to an empty corner of the pub, gesturing for the two wizards to follow. Wordlessly, the man pressed his thumb to a spot on the barren wall and mumbled, "Witchgary Square."
Notes:
This chapter honestly such a long time to edit! It's not one of my favourites, but I think you'l enjoy the next chapter better than this one. As always, please leave a comment. Also, I am going to have to start getting ready for school, so I won't be able to post so often. Maybe ever other day, or so.
Also, the next few chapters are the ones I've been really excited about uploading! I rlly like them:)
Chapter Text
"Sir?"
"hmm?"
"Yesterday, you promised to tell me what the Polyjuice potion you're brewing is for?" reminded Harry, disinterestedly picking at his pancakes with his fork.
Again, he found his appetite lacking, but showing up for breakfast seemed almost like a ritual now, and, though Harry wouldn't admit it out loud, he enjoyed the occasional bits of conversation he shared with his ex-professor.
Snape curtly nodded once." Indeed I had, and I shall divulge." He took a sip of his tea before neatly clasping his hands together on the table. "A few days ago, Nibby had informed me of the town not far from here — Jamestown." For a moment, the man's face twitched at the name. "Normally, a muggle town wouldn't interest me, however, there appears to be a small, concealed wizarding marketplace there."
"So...kind of like a mini Diagon Alley?" Harry remembered Hagrid tapping the three stones at the entrance with his pink umbrella.
"According to Nibby, yes. It is rather small, however."
Harry nodded, piecing things together. "So then, you're going to Polyjuice yourself?" Harry continued at Snape's nod. "Why do you need to go there?" he asked.
Gracefully, Snape took out his wand, gave it a flourish, and a parchment with writing on it appeared in front of him. "A few essential potion ingredients," he said absently. But the parchment was at least two feet long, a few essentials!
"Wow. Can't imagine what your non-essentials list looks like," joked Harry, sniggering at the long list. Snape ignored him and banished the parchment.
"If you so wish… you may accompany me, Potter," Snape offered hesitantly.
Harry was surprised at the invitation." Really, sir? I wouldn't annoy you, or anything?" he asked cheekily.
"Don't make me regret it," he warned, growling half-heartedly.
"How are we getting there?" Harry asked.
"On foot," Snape deadpanned.
"Right." Never would've guessed.
"It's about a twenty minute walk from here."
Harry downed the rest of his coffee, grimacing a bit at the bitterness. "Alright, sir. When are we leaving?" He was excited about seeing something other than the walls and grounds of Prince Manor.
"In ten minutes. Make sure to bring your wand and cloak."
Harry rushed upstairs to his room to get ready. Since the jeans with the big back pocket had been burned, he would have to settle for his rucksack. He decided to leave all of his other belongings out, taking only his wand and Invisibility Cloak as a safety precaution.
Back downstairs, Snape was already waiting for him, but Harry had to blink a few times to take in the sight before him.
In Snape's stead was now a man with short, fawn hair, somewhere in his twenties, sporting brown trousers and a plain, dark blue button-up shirt. In his hands were two vials, one of them empty.
"Not what you were expecting, Potter?" asked Snape, seeing Harry's shocked expression.
Harry shook his head, finding it rather hard to believe this was still the dour Potions Master. "Who's hair did you use for the potions?" he asked hesitantly, accepting the potion from Snape.
"I always keep a few hairs for such occasions in my private labs at Hogwarts. I retrieved them shortly before our departure from Hogwarts," he explained simply. "I picked these up when I was in muggle London once, but I am not sure who these people are."
"Will one hour be enough?" Harry asked, looking at the potions critically.
"It is an improved formula," Snape answered rather smugly. "One that doesn't take forever to brew and lasts a whole two hours, as opposed to one."
Harry slowly took one of the vials and regarded it carefully. He uncorked it and took a sniff, only to regret it immediately. Yep, still smells like piss, he confirmed to himself, improved formula or not.
With a small cheers salute, Harry downed the revolting potion. He was instantly reminded just how much he hated the Polyjuice juice transformation. Within moments, he felt himself grow a little taller. When he felt his hair, he found that it was a lot shorter.
With a flourish of Snape's wand, a huge mirror appeared in front of them. Harry was now a young teen, and had slightly curly, chocolate brown hair. His skin was a slightly darker tone as well, and his eyes were brown.
Suddenly, a thought dawned on Harry: He wasn't Harry Potter anymore! No one would recognize him and he would just be like any other normal person. He didn't have a whole war of casualties behind him anymore, no. He was just...someone else. It felt good.
"I like it!" he decided firmly. Snape rolled his eyes. He banished the mirror.
"Should the topic arise, we are uncle and nephew," Snape informed emotionlessly. "We need aliases," he then stated, and smirked evil at Harry. "Mr. Harold Bratson," he drew out the name slowly and silkily.
Harry scowled at him, and was about to retort when an evil smirk grew on his own face. "Alright, sir," he began calmly." If you get to pick my name, I get to pick yours…Mr. James Cauldron!" Harry started laughing, and the withering look on Snape's face didn't help him stop.
"Yes, quite ingenious," he mused dryly, unamused.
"Sorry, Mr. Cauldron — fair's fair."
And so, a very amused Harry and a slightly vexed Snape made their way past the front gates of Prince Manor, and started walking down the pavement road in the direction of the town.
It occurred to Harry just then how strange it felt to be someone else than the famous Harry Potter. He felt so carefree and normal — the way he'd wanted to feel all his life. He wasn't 'Freak', and he wasn't the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Today, he was Harold Bratson — a normal boy, with a normal life.
The name wasn't too bad, either.
He wondered if he would ever feel this way as Harry Potter.
They'd been walking silently for fifteen minutes when Snape suddenly reached into a pocket on his shirt and began searching for something. Harry realised that Snape must have cast an expandable charm on the pocket earlier. Without a word, he retrieved a small leather pouch from the pocket and handed it to Harry.
"S– Sir?" Harry didn't understand why he was handed the pouch, but the jiggle coming from it told him that there was money in it.
"Should anything interest you, do not hesitate to buy it," Snape told him evenly.
Harry stared at him, amazed. "Wow, umm, thank you, sir! I'll pay you back as soon as I —"
Snape held up his hand, silencing Harry. "I swear by Merlin's wand, Potter, I am this close —" his thumb and forefinger were a millimetre apart — "to Obliviating that phrase from your dialect."
Harry smartly shut his trap, and marvelled silently at the pouch of money in his hands the rest of the way.
Jamestown boasted charming cobbled streets and roads, adorned with blooming flower beds in almost every corner. The architecture of the buildings was old, yet vibrant with colour. The area was dotted with quaint shops and cafes bustling with people.
They headed towards the heart of the town, where Snape led them to a small, almost empty pub named 'Frank's Pub'.
The pub wasn't as impressive on the inside as its exterior let on: It looked very depressing, dreary and reeked of old fish. There were a few round wooden tables set up, and a bar was situated on the far side of the room, where an old, hunched man with a sailor hat and long beard sat, reading a familiar looking paper. As they got closer, Harry noted that it was the Daily Prophet.
The old man lazily looked up at Snape, and then at Harry, scowling. "What'cha wan'?" he asked, his voice gruff and coarse.
Snape, Harry saw out of the corner of his eyes, tried to sneer in disgust at the old man, but failed miserably now that his face was that of someone else's, rounded and had softer features. "We have been told of the wonders of this town…and of its magical secrets," Snape told the barkeeper, emphasising the last two words smoothly and looking him straight in the eyes.
The man regarded them both suspiciously, but then walked out from behind the bar over to an empty corner of the pub, gesturing for the two wizards to follow. Wordlessly, the man pressed his thumb to a spot on the barren wall and mumbled, "Witchgary Square."
Almost instantly, a door appeared in the once barren wall. The old man pushed it open and gestured for Harry and Snape to go through it.
Snape nodded a curt thanks, and walked through the door, Harry following closely behind. They were now standing in another pub, but this one was slightly bigger and much livier. There were witches and wizards sitting around tables that were actually large barrels, drinking butterbeer and chatting with one another. It wasn't too crowded, but no one seemed to have noticed the two new wizards come through the door.
He and Snape walked outside, and Harry was surprised to see that it, too, was called 'Frank's Pub' as well, according to the sign above the entrance.
Looking around, the buildings there were very similar to those in Diagon Alley, but there were fewer of them. Mostly, there were colourful booths and stands stretching on either side of the main street. There were many witches and wizards here, and Harry thought this is exactly what a mini version of Diagon Alley would have looked like.
"Harold."
Harry turned around to look at 'James'. "Yes, Uncle?" he said with a tiny smirk.
"We meet up back here in one hour. Is that clear?" said the brown-haired man, his tone brooking no room for argument.
"Sure." Harry conceded.
Without another word, the two parted in different directions.
Severus Snape moved gracefully from booth to stall, scrutinising the various potion ingredients before purchasing and checking them off his list. Despite never having been to this place before, he found it reminiscent of Diagon Alley and easy to navigate. He wondered how Nibby had known of this place and how to get here. Perhaps from the previous Princes?
The streets were decorated with colourful banners in celebration of the Dark Lord's downfall, as he had overheard in passing conversations. There were also numerous photographs of Potter with the words "The Chosen One" plastered on nearly every post.
Severus tried to ignore all of it and focused on selecting the necessary ingredients, but his mind kept wandering back to yesterday's conversation with the messy-haired boy.
Seventeen years ago, Severus had been dreading Potter's start at Hogwarts, knowing the symbol of everything he had lost and of his biggest life mistakes would strut the corridors of the castle for the next seven years. He had still been wracked with immeasurable guilt and shame, something his present day self still harboured.
Severus had known he had to say something to the boy — an apology, perhaps. It was the least of what he owed to Potter for Lily's death.
He had spent weeks of torture by trying to come up with something discrete, coded, but so that its meaning conveyed what he wished to say perfectly-well.
And then, Pomona Sprout had given him an epiphany one day when she had been rambling on and on about her usual nonsense during a staff meeting.
The Victorian flower language. It was perfect.
And thus, he was satisfied when he'd 'asked' the boy his question on asphodel and wormwood.
But never had he thought that Potter would figure it out — that had been his main reason for using the flower language in the first place.
Apart from feeling ashamed at Potter knowing, Severus was surprised to find something akin to relief. As if a boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. He had always been a closed-off, private man, and being a double-agent hadn't given him much room for things like emotions or feelings.
Not that he cared for such things now.
In all of seventeen years, if not more, he hadn't shared his history, his past, his story — the whole of it — withanyone. Even Albus hadn't known things to the extent that one person currently did.
Strangely, however, Severus found that he didn't mind that Lily's son knew. There was something… ironically cathartic about it. For once, he felt relieved that someone actually knew, and it scared him. Severus didn't deserve a shred of his forgiveness, but it was a small comfort still that that boy was Lily's son.
The boy was too forgiving…
A trait that neither Lily nor James had shared, for that matter. Lily had been forgiving, but to a certain extent. When a person crossed a line, she would leave them be. Her son, Severus was sure, would be ready to forgive even a Death Eater if he got to know his struggles and past enough.
But Severus didn't deserve it — any of it. Especially Potter's apologies. To say he had been shocked by Potter's words would be an understatement. The boy, the son of James bloody Potter — Severus' sworn enemy — had actually apologised to him in his father's name! He had apologised in the infirmary upon Severus' wakening, but it had been haste and very formal, more of an acknowledgement.
Severus would have sooner expected for pigs to fly than to hear his late enemy's son utter those words. He felt ashamed of ever having thought of Potter as an arrogant, spoiled, selfish brat. He was anything but.
Which made him suddenly very self-conscious. Had he apologised to Potter? He had so much to apologise for, and yet, he still hadn't. He had Potter's seventeen orphaned years to apologise for, and seven years of abusing his power as a professor.
What kind of human being was he? Lily would be so ashamed…
Thinking back to the vial of his memories, Severus had expected Potter to keep them to himself, given that those were precious memories of his mother in her early childhood and older. However, the boy, as he'd stated, had simply forgotten.
Upon accepting those memories back, Severus had been reminded of exactly which events they contained. It was a strange concept to him, knowing that Potter knew, and yet, a foreign comfort.
Thinking back on their time in isolation in Prince Manor, Severus had to begrudgingly admit that he'd come to find the presence of Potter somewhat tolerable. For Severus, this was a significant admission. The boy would mostly keep to himself, and abide by the rules he'd set for him, which weren't tremendous feats.
And although they mostly kept their distance, meeting only at meals and during magic lessons, Severus secretly enjoyed Potter's company. While James's appearance was undeniable, Lily's personality shone through with his every move. Despite his initial dislike for the boy, Severus had grown accustomed to his presence.
Their duelling lessons in particular interested Severus. Potter had much potential in him, and wasn't such a dunderhead at the art as Severus had originally perceived him to be. Although Potter never had the upper hand on him, Severus wouldn't rate his skill level too low.
Another thought nagged at him, and Severus couldn't shake its weight. How was he supposed to tell Potter about his mother, whom Severus had all but sold out to the Dark Lord? The quilt and shame of it make him feel ill. He told Potter he would consider it, that he most likely would tell him.
What else could he have said? Again, he owed it to the boy, even if it internally pained him. He was sure that whatever he would tell Potter about his mother, Severus wouldn't be able to look into those emerald green eyes that had once been Lily Evans-Potter's.
Severus cast a quick Tempus to check the time. It was ten minutes until the hour was up, and he had managed to buy everything he needed. Slowly, he was making his way back to Frank's Pub, when his eyes travelled to a stand selling wand holsters.
He remembered how Potter always carried his wand in his jeans pocket — oh, yes, he'd noticed. It was not acceptable: a witch/wizard should always have their wand within a milisecond's reach. Rummaging in one's trousers for their wand could cost them precious time, and that was not acceptable for the Boy-Who-Had-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord-And-Now-Has-Death-Eaters-Hunting-His-Head.
Should Severus get Potter a wand holster?
It's what Lily would have wanted.
And the boy also needed one — it was a necessity.
And not just any, but the best one, for that matter. Of dragon hide and gold dragon silk thread.
Severus scanned through the various wand holsters. He was quite fond of his own, and decided he would get nothing less for Potter. So, after a few minutes of suggestions from the seller, and more Galleons than he'd expected to spend, Severus was pleased with his purchase, and made his way back to the Pub.
Harold Bratson, a dark, curly-haired boy, incognito, strolled through the streets of Witchgary Square with a sense of carefree bliss. Conversations about the famous Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, filled the air, but nobody paid any attention to Harold Bratson, and Harry finally felt normal for the first time in his life. He wasn't fawned over, he wasn't being hunted by Death Eaters, and he wasn't being hounded by the Daily Prophet.
He was normal, or, at least Harold Bratson was.
Harry made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the numerous posters and newspaper clippings with his image plastered on every available surface, opting instead to purchase a gift for Ginny. He didn't exactly need anything for himself, anyway.
The fact that Snape had given him money to spend was… unexpected. He couldn't explain the warm feeling he felt at the fact, when he remembered how the Dursleys had never wished to spend a penny on him. So, this was the first time something like this had ever happened.
It was… considerate.
In truth, Snape wasn't so bad. In fact, Harry found that he wasn't averse to the man's company. He had taught him a lot, and the fact that Snape had promised he would consider telling Harry about his mum had lifted his perception of the dour Potions Master.
It was quite new, Snape not belittling and verbally assaulting Harry for every single little thing he did and didn't do. And over the last week, Harry found that civil conversations were a reality with the man, and at times, they were quite nice, too.
The ex-Death Eater was very knowledgeable, yes, but that's not the only reason why Harry enjoyed duelling lessons, or even their occasional, sarcastic banter over meals.
It was the fact that he and Snape had one enormous thing in common, and that was Lily Evans Potter. it had never been said aloud, but Harry knew Snape also knew this. The memories that Snape had given to Harry had somehow created a thread of mutual understanding for the both of them, perhaps because that both had lost her, either as a friend or as a mother.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Harry was stumped as to what he should get Ginny. While most girls were fond of makeup, dresses, and hair accessories, Ginny was quite the opposite. She was passionate about Quidditch and had a fiery personality that could rival even Mrs. Weasley's.
Harry had initially considered a Quidditch-related gift, but that felt too obvious and lame. He was unsure of exactly how much money Snape had given him, but the weight of the small, leather pouch suggested a hefty amount.
Something shiny, gleaming in the sun, caught his eye. Harry stopped at a small stall with a stout, old witch behind it. The stall had mostly jewellery on display, with the sign above advertising 'interactive stones — protect your loved ones'. Curious, Harry decided to ask about it.
The old witch noticed Harry looking through her goods. "Hello, dear!" she greeted him sweetly. "Something caught those pretty brown eyes of yours?"
"Hi. Yeah, umm, what does it mean that the stones are 'interactive'?" he asked.
The kindly old witch informed Harry that the jewellery came in pairs, with stones that would glow warmly when the other wearer was in trouble.
Harry thought it was brilliant. He picked out two plain metal bands, each with a matching fiery-red stone in the middle runic engravings. He paid a steep fifty Galleons for the two bands, mentally promising to pay Snape back the costly price.
He thanked the old witch and made his way back to Frank's Pub, where Snape was already waiting impatiently for him by the entrance. Harry had lost track of time when he had been picking out the bands for him and Ginny.
Once at the pub, Harry gave him an apologetic look.
"Are you ready to leave?" Snape asked impatiently, leaning against the stone wall of the pub.
Harry nodded. "I guess so, yeah." Looking around one last time, he commented, "I liked it here. Thanks for taking me with you, sir."
Snape said nothing, and simply beckoned for Harry to follow.
The two wizards made their way back to Prince manor. As they were exiting Jamestown, Severus asked if he got anything. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Harry figured the man deserved to know what his money was spent on, and took out the two identical metal bands from his rucksack, explaining to him their purpose. He expected the man to yell at him when told their price, but Snape surprised him.
"An appropriate gift," he approved. Snape examined one of the bands in his hand closely. Handing it back," I've no doubt Miss Weasley will appreciate it," he added.
They walked the rest of the way back to Prince Manor in companionable silence. When they arrived at the double gates, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off, and they were themselves again. It was lunchtime by then, so they went straight to the dining room.
They had lunch in relative silence. When Snape had finished and stood, he paused, one hand still on the table.
"There will be no duelling today, Mr. Potter," he informed. "I will be busy restocking my potions ingredients." He made to leave, when suddenly, Harry stood and called after him.
"Sir!"
Snape paused, turning his head slightly in Harry's direction. "Potter?"
Harry didn't know what possessed him to ask: "Can I — Er…CanIhelpyou?" he rambled, rushing the last few words. There was a brief silence, as Snape seemed to consider his offer, his brows slightly furrowed in bemusement.
He hadn't the slightest idea why he had asked to help Snape, but he didn't stop to ponder his reasons.
"...If you so wish to," he nodded, and briskly turned to leave. The effect wasn't as dramatic, however, since the man didn't have his menacing robes on. "Come down in ten minutes."
Chapter 15: Let Bygones Be Bygones P-1
Summary:
As Harry was lining the Pepper-Up vials in one of the cabinets, he was so caught up in his thoughts that his hand accidentally knocked over a round flask of translucent-blue potion. Its contents spilled out before Harry could retract his hand, leaving him with potion stained fingers.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"For reasons beyond my understanding capabilities as to why you wish to volunteer, you certainly may put these potion ingredients away, organising them alphabetically into those cabinets over there," instructed Snape, pointing from the multitude of jars and containers on the table to the cabinets along the wall.
Without a word, Harry nodded and began the task. He figured he just needed to do something with his hands to keep his thoughts from straying to the stake-out later that night, at least that's how he justified his desire to help Snape in the lab.
When Harry had lived with the Dursleys, he was constantly treated like a house elf with all the chores his Aunt and Uncle had assigned him, but they distracted him from his mundane thoughts. Physical labour was actually something he'd grown almost accustomed to. Doing something with his hands had always kept his mind busy.
He wondered if this was the reason the Potions Master appreciated the art of Potions Making — because it was like a sort of reprieve from the world and his thoughts?
Aside from this, Harry also wanted to see if he could pry anything out of Snape about his mum. He did say that he would consider it, so that wasn't a no.
However, all too soon, there was nothing left to sort or put away, and Harry was almost disappointed.
"That'll be all, Potter — thank you for your assistance," Snape said, crushing something with a mortar and pestle as he peered into a book.
Harry bit his lip and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Are you going to make a potion?" he asked.
"Honestly, Potter, a monkey would have learned by now that the correct term is —"
" —brew," finished Harry, cutting him off and earning a glare.
Snape shook his head in exasperation. "But to answer your question, yes." He moved around the table and opened a dark green, leather bound journal. He flipped through the pages of the same, elegant, spidery scrawl, until he reached the middle. He then gestured to Harry to come closer.
Wolfsbane Potion, it said at the top. Beneath it were many crossed out notes and potion ingredients. Obviously, things weren't going well with the potion.
Harry looked up at Snape inquiringly. "Wolfsbane Potion?" Was he trying to change it, or something?
Snape nodded. "I am trying to improve the formula, though it is proving to be quite problematic. Despite my extensive knowledge and expertise, it is one of the hardest formulas — globally — to modify," he explained, tracing his index finger over his writing.
"Can I help you, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. Snape arched an eyebrow at him.
"I do not know, can you?"
Damn, really, Snape? "I mean: may I help you?" he rephrased.
Snape smirked. "No, you may not. The potion is far too advanced and requires much precision and experience." He paused for a moment, looking at Harry. " However…If you truly desire to aid me in brewing, you may try your hand at Pepper-up Potion. I am yet responsible for stocking up the infirmary, and Madame Pomfrey is running low. It is a fourth-year level potion; I sorely hope you aren't below that," challenged Snape in one breath, drawling the last few words.
The Potions Master — back in his black suit and robes glory — pointed to an already set up cauldron on the far side of the table and handed Harry the recipe. The Pepper-Up Potion was simple enough, and they had already brewed it once, at Hogwarts.
Not that Snape had graded it fairly.
Harry shared no complaint and got to work. The two worked in companionable silence for a while, both engrossed in their own work. Harry made sure to take his time with his steps, giving his utmost attention to measuring, mincing and cutting everything well.
It was an hour later when Snape put a Stasis on his potion and came over to peer into Harry's. Harry held his breath, waiting for the infamous sneer or insult at his work.
But nothing came.
Instead, Snape raised an amused brow, looking up from the potion to the boy. "My, my, is the world really ending?" His voice was laced with mock seriousness. "An apocalypse, perhaps? It would appear, Mr. Potter, that you are not such a dunderhead at potions as you had originally let on."
Hesitantly, yet hopefully, he glanced up, letting the remarks to slide. "So…the potion is correct?" Harry paused grinding his bay leaves.
"Add the final ingredient, and we shall see," was Snape's short reply before walking back over to his own work. Harry couldn't suppress the grin that reached his face.
He was just adding the crushed dragon scales ingredient into his cauldron when he suddenly commented, "Professor Slughorn told me that my mum was the best at potions." He paused to stir the potion counterclockwise six times with the ladle, before adding, "Though he'd never mentioned you..?" Harry figured he would have to be sneaky with his questions, so Snape wouldn't see this as 'telling him about his mother' outright. He wasn't sure if the man was ready for that.
Snape gave a small, dry, humourless laugh. "Shamelessly, I will, have you know that I was the best at potions out of all years and houses. Your mother was a fraction below my level." Snape smiled bittersweetly into his cauldron.
Harry leaned forward on his elbows against the table, soaking up every word.
"Naturally, she was favoured by Slughorn, though he never paid me any attention, I assume because of the company –" he sneered at the word– "I was around."
Silence followed. Harry could tell the man wasn't inclined to say more on the topic. "Well, he should have, you know?" he said quietly but firmly. "Praised and credited you fairly, I mean."
Snape shrugged, a look of indifference on his face, though something flashed in his eyes. "I really couldn't care less," he stated bluntly. After a moment, "I have reason to believe you have inherited her talent for brewing."
Harry glanced up with a hopeful look, his emerald-green eyes lighting up. "You do?" he asked hopefully.
Snape scowled, though it was not directed at Harry. "If it weren't for the trauma I had instilled into you during your Potions classes, I think you would have done a…more than satisfactory job," he admitted, and gestured with his chin at Harry's cauldron. "That right there is what led me to such a conclusion."
Harry grinned broadly and ducked his head. Finally, something else I have in common with my mum, other than her eyes! Everyone had always pointed out how he had Lily's eyes. Now, he had something else in common with her! For years, people had always compared him with James — had seen him as James!
But not with Snape. Harry knew the man wouldn't lie to him, what with his blunt truth. And it warmed him every time Snape would tell him more about his mum — let slip, more like. All the same, hearing that he could have inherited her talent for potions just made that feeling all the bigger.
"Thank you, sir," he whispered, hating the way his voice sounded so thick. Remembering about his Pepper-Up potion, Harry bottled up a single sample and gave it to Snape for approval.
After a moment of analysing and sniffing the potion, The man nodded once, the corners of his mouth quirking up ever-so-slightly.
"Bottle up the rest, and store them in the second cabinet from the far left corner," he instructed.
Nothing could ruin this day, Harry thought to himself, as he decanted potion into multiple empty vials, corked them, and set them on the table, Snape's words still echoing in his ears.
As Harry was lining the Pepper-Up vials in one of the cabinets, he was so caught up in his thoughts that his hand accidentally knocked over a round flask of translucent-blue potion. Its contents spilled out before Harry could retract his hand, leaving him with potion stained fingers.
Before Harry could do or say anything, he started feeling…strange. He stared at his hand with horror as it started to grow smaller and smaller. The same was happening to the rest of him, he realised with even more horror. The lab seemed to be growing bigger…or was he just getting smaller?
Harry carefully ran his small hands over his face, before quickly darting to a large, glass vial set by his cauldron to look at his reflection. He let out a yelp, but then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, surprised that his voice sounded so childish. Indeed, the boy in the reflection was no longer seventeen, but rather eleven. His clothes hung loosely on his scrawny form like rags. His face was a lot rounder, and his hair was as messy as always.
"Snape!" he managed to croak out, embarrassed by how ridiculous his voice sounded.
"What is it, Po–?" he stopped abruptly as soon as he saw the small, scrawny boy in clothes that hung on him like tea cosies on house elves. His obsidian eyes shifted to the knocked-over vial on the shelf, and a wicked smirk tugged at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest and laissourly leaned against the wall.
"Ah. It would appear that you have made acquaintance with my De-Aging potion, is that correct?" he drawled.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I did, alright? Stop looking so smug! I knocked it over by accident!" he cried indignantly, throwing his small hands up in mock surrender. "Can you turn me back, now?" Snape cocked an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Please?" Harry added as an afterthought.
The sadistic smirk on Snape's face only grew.
"Snape!" Harry growled, though the effect wasn't as menacing as it was in his head. "Turn me back now, you slimy git!"
Snape shook his head, amusement glimmering in his black eyes. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Potter. Thirty points from Gryffindor for your blatant use of language towards a professor, and another ten for destruction and waste of precious resources."
Harry couldn't reply, he was sure he would completely lose it if he did. He shot Snape a venomous glare, but the man had already turned his back on Harry, continuing with his work on his potion.
Harry suddenly had an idea.
He would probably be murdered for this.
But it will be worth it.
Now, it was Harry's turn to smirk wickedly.
Quickly schooling his features, Harry made a grunt of resignation, and even stomped his foot angrily to add to the show. Snape paid him no mind. Good.
Harry innocently went back to the cabinet with the spilled potion — nearly tripping over his shoes and jeans in the process. He had to stand on his toes to reach the shelf with the spilled potion, but was rewarded to see that there was still a little bit of it left inside the knocked over flask.
Being careful not to touch any more of the blue liquid, Harry took the flask and quietly stalked up behind Snape. However, having been a spy for nearly half his life, Snape immediately spun around to face him, a look of mild surprise on his face.
It was now or never.
Harry splashed whatever was left of the potion in the round flask onto Snape's unprotected hands, and watched with satisfaction, excitement, shock and interest, as Snape started to change. His form was even scrawnier than that of the thirty-eight year old's. His face was pale and shallow, but without the wrinkles and his raven hair was a little longer and greasier, too.
Standing before him was seventeen-or-so-year-old Severus Snape.
"HARRY BLOODY JAMES BLOODY POTTER!" Snape growled, though his voice wasn't as deep and menacing as before. In fact, Harry would never have guessed it was Snape's in the first place.
Harry instinctively took a step back, but couldn't stop the laughter from escaping his lips. He was now laughing hysterically on the cold, stone floor, clutching at his stomach. "How — do — you — like — a taste — of — your own — medicine!" Harry choked out in between laughs.
"How extraordinarily amusing, Potter," Snape sneered, checking his own reflection on the same bottle as Harry had earlier. His long, pale fingers traced over his features, and then carded through his long hair. Snape scowled at his own reflection, and turned back to Harry, who had now calmed down, and was standing on two, shaky feet.
For a long minute, the two stared at each other. Harry couldn't help but noticed the similarities they both shared: both had been scrawny for their age, and had pale skin — clearly from malnourishment. Their hair colour was the same, except Snape's was long and greasy, while Harry's was short and messy.
Snape seemed to have been thinking along the same lines, because he, too, was looking at Harry as if he were the most interesting potion in the world. Neither said anything for a moment.
"So, uh…" Harry began awkwardly. "How long 'till the potion wears off, again?" he asked cheekily, knowing full well that Snape wouldn't have any objections to a counterpotion.
The scrawny seventeen-year-old dragged a pale hand down his face and pinched the ridge of his nose. "Seeing as neither of us have consumed the potion, the effects will wear off within an hour. Otherwise, an antidote would be required —"
Snape stopped talking suddenly, and began fumbling with his left sleeve. He carelessly rolled it up, and stared at the bare skin of his forearm, still unmarked by the horrid skull with snake. His breathing was shaky as he stared at the clean flesh in amazement, emotions flickering on his pale face.
Notes:
Sorry for the abrupt and awkward ending, but I had to split the chapter into two because it got sooo long. Part two is up!
Chapter 16: Let Bygones Be Bygones P-2
Summary:
"Your mother saw me for who I really was," Snape finally croaked out, voice barely audible. "She did the right thing by ending things between us… You should loathe me."
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
RECAP: The scrawny seventeen-year-old dragged a pale hand down his face and pinched the ridge of his nose. "Seeing as neither of us have consumed the potion, the effects will wear off within the hour. Otherwise, an antidote would be required —" Suddenly, Snape stopped talking, and started fumbling with his left sleeve. He carelessly rolled it up, and stared at the bare skin of his forearm, still unmarked by the horrid skull with snake. His breathing was shaky as he stared at the clean flesh in amazement, emotions flickering on his pale face.
Harry wasn't sure what to say. He could only imagine how surreal and emotional it must be to not see the Dark Mark on the same spot it had been in for half your life. Harry remembered the so many times he had wished his scar would just disappear forever. In a sense, the two had this in common — scars that remind them of their dark past. Except, Snape's was of his own volition, whereas Harry had not had any choice.
"When exactly were you marked?" Harry asked quietly as Snape continued to stare at his left forearm with a pained expression. Was the question too personal for him?
Snape took a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes. "Right after I graduated," he spit out, roughly covering his arm back up with his sleeve. He spun around, meeting Harry's gaze, before flinching, as if it hurt him.
"Oh…"
"I was a fool!" he burst out suddenly, a look of utter self-loathing upon him. "It was the biggest mistake of my life! I should've listened— I should've known—" Snape sneered angrily, as he leaned heavily on his palms against the table, head bent.
Harry carefully moved closer to the distraught man, not entirely sure what to do. "What's done is done, sir. Yes, you've made mistakes, but so has Dumbledore, and Voldemort, and Hermione, and I, and everyone else on this planet!" he cried out.
Snape spared him no glance, and Harry tentatively put his small hand on Snape's shoulder — where he could barely reach — in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Snape flinched at the touch, and Harry expected the man to bat him away, but he turned to face Harry instead, a concoction of emotions on his face. Pain glittered in his obsidian-black depths, his brows were furrowed together, a crease between them, and his whole face seemed to have sagged, shallow and pained.
"I'm being comforted by a bloody eleven-year-old Gryffindor," he sneered, though without malice. Harry smirked.
"Seventeen-year-old," Harry corrected, pulling his hand away. "Look, sir, stop blaming yourself. Please? I've already forgiven you," he repeated, "and you've more than atoned for your mistakes. Yes, you have the mark, but it doesn't define who you are…"
"And how would you know what I am, Potter?" the man whispered harshly, still leaning against the table, his eyes shut.
"Well, you've saved my life more times than I can count, so that alone speaks volumes —"
"Out of obligation to the vow, Potter!" Snape lashed out, looking as if an unspeakable weight rested upon his shoulders. He straightened up, still towering over Harry. "Whatever you are trying to prove is simply beyond me! I have committed irredeemable sins — killed, tortured, spied, betrayed, lied! It is inexcusable and shameful! There is no redemption for me!" he snarled with such hatred, Harry flinched.
"I have done nothing but belittle, torment, and mistreat you from the first moment I laid eyes on you — a fool blinded by hatred and prejudice. I have committed unspeakable crimes during my reign as headmaster, professor, and Death Eater— crimes against my students, my colleagues, my home!" he yelled, but stopped abruptly. Harry was sure he'd heard his voice crack.
"I cannot even begin to fathom why you had approached me in the Shrieking Shack that day — why you even returned to retrieve my allegedly-deceased body!" he continued in a weak voice, steadily growing again. "Why do you not see me for who I really am? A filthy Death Eater, a man who had brought about the death of your parents!? A man that should be imprisoned in Azkaban for life, if not kissed by a dementor!"
"SIR, STOP!" cried Harry. He belatedly noticed that he was a bit taller now, and Snape looked to be around in his twenties, but ignored it. Instead, he grasped the ex-Death Eater's wrist with a vice grip. "Sir, that's not true at all! Well, maybe the first parts, but not the last part! Can't you see? Even now, you're blinded by hatred, but it's directed at yourself."
"Potter—"
"NO! Shut it! Let me talk!" Harry couldn't believe he had just said those words, but carried on, regardless. "Regarding the vow — yes, you were obliged to protect me because you took it. But that's the thing — you took it! It was your choice! Don't you see?"
"Dumbledore—"
"I know!" Harry cut across, remembering how Dumbledore had manifested Snape's guilt into working for him in Snape's memories. "He's manipulated many people. Still, you could've said no. You could've easily refused. And, even before that, you chose to warn Dumbledore that my family was in danger. You regretted relaying that prophecy to Voldemort—" Snape flinched violently — "and you still do. Those were all your choices, sir, and actions speak louder than words. You've been trying to atone for your mistakes for nearly half your life, and it was because of you that I was actually able to kill HIM." He said all this firmly, tightening his grip on Snape's wrist momentarily, as if giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"The mark doesn't define you, sir." His green eyes bore into the black, pained ones. "Only your actions do. I'm sure my mum would've forgiven you if she were here now, but she shouldn't have given up on you like that. What you said was an accident, and she should have understood that."
Snape stared at Harry, white as a sheet, rendered speechless.
"Look," Harry sighed, lessening his grip and letting his hand drop to his side. "We've just survived a war, the biggest one the wizarding world has probably ever seen. We've lost so many…" his voice was suddenly thick and hoarse.
"Mum… Mum wouldn't want you to suffer because of a mistake you made almost twenty years ago. She would've wanted you to move on. To live…" He hoped dearly that he was spewing out some sort of wisdom. "And I don't want to keep fighting with you. So, let's let bygones be bygones, alright?"
Snape eyed him strangely, eyes more full of emotion than Harry ever thought was possible. The man's appearance reminded him of the younger Snape he'd seen the pensieve, when he was in Dumbledore's office after the Potters' deaths: conflicted, pained, worn out, miserable… broken. Harry hated it — it scared him, seeing the usually stoic and emotionless professor like that.
This was the man who had protected him, risked his life for him, offered him his manor, had bought him clothes, fed him, given him money, tutored him, had jumped in front of a werewolf to protect him in third year… No, this definitely wasn't a 'filthy Death Eater'. This was a man who had done more for Harry than even his parents had in the short time they had been a family.
The two of them were quite similar, actually: both were broken war heroes, both had lost their loved ones, both blamed themselves, and both risked so much for the war. Even their childhoods were similar, in some ways.
And both loved Lily Evans-Potter — an amazing mother and friend.
They had no-one else left. Harry had the Weasleys, but Snape was alone and was the last tie to his mother. And Harry suddenly felt a rush of respect for him. He wouldn't give up on Snape like his mother had. This man had sacrificed
Despite the situation, Harry was thanking Merlin that Snape looked like his thirty-eight-year-old self again, which meant that the potion must've worn off him as well.
"Your mother saw me for who I really was," Snape finally croaked out, voice barely audible. "She did the right thing by ending things between us… You should loathe me."
Harry shook his head resolutely. "I don't loathe you, sir — not anymore. She was your best friend, and she shouldn't have given up on you like that. And… I promise that I won't give up on you like that…. As long as you don't give up on yourself."
Suddenly, his face was being pressed against something sturdy and soft, his thin frame enveloped within strong arms that circled around his back. He had first stiffened at the contact out of surprise, but after a moment wrapped his own arms around the man, his head pressed into the crook of his neck, returning the embrace. His nostrils filled with the earthy scent of herbs and potion ingredients, and he found it quite calming.
"I am so sorry," whispered Snape into his hair, ruffling it a bit. Harry's heart gave a little jolt when he heard Snape's voice break. "I regret it so much — everything," he choked out.
"I know," Harry responded, his voice muffled and thick. "Thank you, sir."
"No, Po— Harry. Thank you."
The two stood there like that for a long while, both enjoying each other's comfort. When they finally pulled apart, there were a few silent, awkward moments. Fortunately, Snape went for the save and walked back to the workbench where he had his things set out and began manually cleaning up, as though nothing had happened. He was clearly embarrassed. Harry decided to pitch in, also needing something to occupy his hands with.
He still couldn't believe Snape had embraced him, but Harry knew that Snape was also human, and had emotions and feelings just like everyone else. The man simply knew how to bury them deep within him. It made Harry sad to wonder when was the last time Snape had had someone to open up to, let alone express his emotions like this.
After a few minutes of silent cleaning, Snape finally spoke, clearing his throat beforehand.
"You did a fine job today on that potion, Potter. In fact —" he seemed to struggle with his words a little, " — I couldn't have done it better myself."
Harry nearly bumped his head under the table, under which he was picking up some of the shrivelled figs he'd dropped earlier. "Thanks. It's a lot easier to brew when the professor that hates you isn't criticising and belittling everything I do." But he almost regretted saying this as soon as it had left his lips.
Harry heard a deep sigh from across the room. When Harry emerged from under the table, he found Snape leaning against the edge of his workbench with his palms. "Potter…I never hated you. I only hated what you represented." Snape's tone was firm and somehow gentle and remorseful at the same time.
"Everytime I looked at you, I was reminded of my biggest mistakes. There is a big difference there. It is no excuse for my unorthodox treatment of you, however," he finished solemnly. "You must also understand that I had a cover to maintain. You know well that my house was swarming with the children of Death Eater, and had I shown you any shred of leniency, much would have been compromised."
Harry nodded, rubbing his forearm. "I understand, sir."
Snape looked conflicted for a moment, before he began speaking haltingly. "It's occurred to me that I've never officially apologised to you, something that is long overdue." He sighed, clearly steeling himself. "Thus, for all the years of torment, pain, and suffering I've caused you… For every unfairly-deducted point to every cruel comment… For relaying the prophecy, and for our most unfortunate Occlumency lessons…you have my deepest, sincerest apology."
Harry smiled at him, nodding. "Thank you, sir. It means a lot. I accept."
Looking uncertain, yet somewhat relieved, Snape retrieved something from his robes and held it out for Harry to see.
"It is quite reckless and impractical to carry one's wand in their rucksack, and not have it within a second's reach," he stated in a more business-like tone. "Therefore, I figured this would be appropriate for you to have."
Harry couldn't believe it as he carefully accepted the wand holster. It looked very high-quality, made of black leather and its seams glinting in gold, including the initials HP embroidered elegantly on the inside.
"You got this for…me?" It looked absolutely stunning, and Harry was sure he'd never been given anything as expensive and this… Except for his Nimbus and Firebolt, of course.
The man scowled. "If it is not to your taste, you certainly may return it."
Harry's eyes widened. "No! That's not what I — I wasn't…" Harry recomposed himself. "That's not what I meant sir. I was just surprised that you got me something, is all. Thank you — It's brilliant!" he beamed, meaning every word.
Snape nodded, expression more relaxed, and a small twinkle in his black depths. "You are welcome. It also becomes invisible once you put it on, so you will have to get used to reaching for your wand automatically and knowing its exact position without seeing it." After a moment, he added, "Use it well," his voice underlined with a warning.
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the lump of guilt in his stomach.
Back in his room, Harry decided to try out his wrist holster. He strapped it on his left wrist so that he would pull the wand out with his dominant hand. As soon as he'd fastened the last strap, it, along with the wand inside, became invisible.
"Brilliant," he breathed. Harry practised pulling his wand out and stowing it back in the invisible holster. He could still feel the straps and his wand, just that they were invisible.
It was half ten minutes to midnight when Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed and holding the coin in his hand, turning it over from time to time.
He tried to swallow down the guilt gnawing at him, threatening to overwhelm him. He felt as if by going to Grimmauld place, he would be ruining whatever respect he and Snape had formed for one another… especially after today's emotionally-draining day. What would Snape say if he found out that Harry had put himself into danger, yet again? A voice in his head kept telling him that he was a full-grown wizard, and that Snape wasn't in charge of him…
But another voice kept going back to their conversation earlier that day, and for the life of him, Harry couldn't decipher the crux of this guilt that he felt.
"...Use it well…"
Those same words that had been in the small note when he'd received his father's cloak from Dumbledore in first year. Of course, Harry had used the cloak for sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night, trouble finding him left and right. Now, Snape had told him the same words, and Harry wasn't sure why he, yet again, felt guilt churning inside him.
Perhaps it was because Snape had bought the holster for his safety, and Harry was about to risk it? Would Snape be disappointed in him if he found it?
For the first time in his life, Harry cared whether Snape was proud or disappointed in him. It was a strange feeling, something he'd never experienced at the Dursleys. But, why?
Harry shook his head
He and his friends had already made a plan. Harry had to do this. For Sirius. To end what was started.
He sent his first message.
"Everyone still on board? — Prongs." He wrote, and began to wait for a reply, fidgeting with his coin. A few minutes later, the Galleon turned warm.
"All good. Claremont Sq. 00:00. — R. H. G."
Extinguishing the lights in his room with a quiet Nox, Harry threw the invisibility over himself, turning invisible. He quietly closed the door, made his way down the grand stairs, through the entrance hall, and finally, he was outside.
Taking a deep breath, Harry spun on the spot and apparated with a resounding CRACK!
Notes:
Please review! What did you think? Sice I've posted 2 chapters today, expect the next one maybe in a few days? I'm not sure. Rest assured that there WILL be a chapter, but I just don't know when I'll be able to post it, what with school and everything. Also, good luck to everyone with school, I wish you all a happy First of September! Also, please leave a comment to tell me what you think of the story so far :D
Chapter 17: Stake-Out
Summary:
All was going well, until Ron accidentally stepped on one of the loudest floorboards in the whole bloody house.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was surprisingly chilly and windy in London that night when Harry appeared at Claremont Square Park. The streets were dark and empty, the only sounds coming from the rustling of the leaves, and the shadows dancing deceivingly.
still hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, he crouched down behind some bushes and took out the DA coin.
“I’m here — Prongs” he wrote, and waited for a reply.
The coin turned warm after a short moment. “On our way to the South side of the park. — R.H.G.”
Harry sighed lightly and tugged the cloak more securely around himself, wondering why, out of all nights, tonight felt like an autumn one.
He heard soft rustling behind him, and immediately drew his wand, still crouched down in the bushes, on high alert. To his relief, he heard a familiar voice whisper, “Harry?”
He lowered his cloak, revealing only his head.
“Over here!” he whispered back, a little louder. From behind a few large bushes appeared Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who swiftly joined Harry.
“Alright, guys, have you seen anything?”
“Nothing. There’s no-one outside,” whispered Ginny from Harry’s right, rubbing her arms with her hands from the chill.
“Well, c’mon then, let’s move to a better position so that we can have a good view of the house,” suggested Ron.
No one expressed any complaints, so the foursome — still crouching — moved closer to the small, black, iron fence at the edge of the small park. Luckily, there was a low and dense tree very close to the fence, right in front of 12 Grimmauld Place, so that’s where they settled.
Their plan was simple: stay hidden and look for any signs of Death Eater activity. Hermione would try and detect any sort of wards set around the area, which would help determine how bad said activity is, if there was any. If there turned out to be no wards set — which Harry highly doubted — then they would call it a night. If there were, then they were to spy from safety on the house and gather intel.
Harry was itching to just bust into the house, wands drawn, and let all hell loose, but he knew he — they — couldn’t do it; it was too risky and, as Snape had so eloquently put it throughout the years, foolish and Gryffindor-ish.
Harry’s stomach gave a sudden lurch of guilt. If Snape knew what they were up to, he would skin Harry alive, and after that evening’s emotional and revealing conversation, Harry hated the thought of Snape perceiving this stake-out as a betrayal of whatever trust the two had been able to build over these last two weeks. After all, Snape had vowed to keep him safe, and here Harry was, foolishly staking out a probably-swarming place filled withDeath Eaters.
But he knew that Snape no longer held any power over him — them! They were no longer students and professor, and were all adult wizards…But the guilt continued to churn uncomfortably in his stomach, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking of what Snape would think if he knew. Would he be disappointed?
“I’m going to see if I can detect any wards,” came Hermione’s hushed voice from his left, startling Harry out of his thoughts.
Hermione raised her wand and began chanting different spells in Latin. Every few sentences, she paused, concentrating intently. No one dared to interrupt her. Harry was glad that Hermione had her hair in a braid, because he wouldn’t have appreciated her bushy mane getting blown into his face by the wind.
A few minutes later, Hermione lowered her wand, a grim look on her face. “There are concealment and silencing wards set, but I just don’t understand why they didn’t put up any of the more advanced wards,” she told them, keeping her eyes fixed on the house in front of them.
“Maybe the Death Eaters just have a ‘death’ wish?” joked Ron, earning a slight punch to the shoulder from an unamused Ginny.
Harry slumped down against the thick tree trunk with a sigh. “Well, at least now we know that they’re there. I guess we'll wait for now. Make yourselves comfortable,” he insisted.
As they all sat themselves in the deep shadow of the thick tree, eyes on the surrounding area and house, no one really said a word. It was ghost-quiet, and the wind had died down a little. Harry’s hands were getting a little cold, so he shoved them inside his pockets, only to feel something thin and cold in them. It suddenly hit him that they were the silver wrist bands he’d bought for himself and Ginny.
He looked over at where Ginny sat, a foot or so away from him. “Psst, Ginny!” That caught her attention. Harry gestured to her to come closer. Together, they moved to the opposite side of the thick trunk, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.
“What is it, Harry?” asked Ginny, curious.
Harry felt like the biggest idiot when he began to stumble over his words. “I erm…Well, the other day...I…I got you something!” Feeling his cheeks grow red in embarrassment, Harry took out the two silver wrist bands from his pockets, and handed one to Ginny.
The girl studied it closely in her hands, tracing her fingers delicately over the single, red stone in the middle. Then, she looked up and beamed at him.
“It’s beautiful, thank you, Harry!” She leaned forward and gave Harry a small kiss, before putting on the silver accessory.
Trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach, Harry explained,“I have an identical one, see?” he showed her his band, already on his wrist, too. “The stone warns you if the other wearer is in danger. I think it turns warm, or something.”
Ginny smiled at him, a little cheekily this time. “Well, with your history, it’ll certainly come in useful.” She nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Thanks Harry, it’s brilliant!”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, gazing up at the now-clear sky. Harry suddenly thought of Sirius as he spotted the constellation, and his thoughts returned to their stake-out. He and Ginny joined Ron and Hermione again, and the foursome continued watching.
Almost an hour later, a distant, yet all-too-familiar, CRACK sounded bringing them all back to full
From the shadows of the park’s foliage, the foursome watched as an unmistakable, dark cloaked figure with a skull mask moved swiftly towards 12 Grimmauld Place. The figure paused, looking around at his surroundings, wand drawn.
For a heart-stopping moment, the Death Eater’s gaze lingered on the place from where they watched, but then continued up the stairs to the door of 4 Grimmauld Place, and knocked on it.
They watched with bated breath as another cloaked figure answered the door, and let the other in, but not without some sort of remark and what sounded to be a jeer.
“Well, there you have it,” Ron huffed.
Harry’s insides churned. He was expecting as much, but to actually see it only infuriated him. How dare they strut about the place? How dare they use it as their residence, as if they own the place? And what of Kreacher? No matter how sour that house elf was, he didn’t deserve to be tortured for information.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Harry?”
“I’m fine, Mione.” He batted her hand away, and without warning, took out his wand and muttered, “Homenum Revelio!” pointing his wand at the house straight ahead.
There were only two Death Eaters in there.
But how could that make any sense? Why would there be only two of them?
“There’s only two of them,” Harry muttered to them, puzzled still.
“But that doesn't make any –”
“Sense, I know, Ron,” Harry interrupted. Maybe they could take them out? Were they strong enough to take on two Death Eaters? Harry knew they said they wouldn’t actually go in…
But what if Kreacher was being tortured at that very moment? What if the bastards were carelessly shifting through every room of the house, including Sirius’ childhood bedroom? Worse, what if they found something that was once his mother’s or father’s, like that letter from Lily and photograph of the Marauders?
And they couldn’t call for the Ministry — that place was already overrun with Death Eaters, and it wouldn't do to add oil to fire, as the saying went.
“I’m going in.” It was a statement, a decision already made.
“Are you mad!?”
“HARRY!”
“Don’t be stupid, mate!” came their protests all at once.
“Look, guys, you don’t have to come! There’s only two of them, and, for all we know, they might be torturing Kreacher and trashing the whole place!” He took a deep breath. “I can’t just let them…They’re in Sirius’ home! The place that could have been MY home, had he not…”
Harry couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he let out a slightly shaky breath of fury and grief at the unfairness of it all.
“There’s no way we’re letting you go in there all alone, mate!” added Ron, punching him in the shoulder. Harry frowned.
“No. I can’t let you —”
“Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry James Potter!” cried Ginny exasperatedly. “When will you learn? You’re stuck with us, and vice versa!”
Despite himself, Harry smiled at them, warmth taking place in his chest. He kept forgetting that his friends would stick with him through thick and thin.
“Alright then,” relented Harry, his gaze falling on Ginny. “Gin, you stay here, in case something goes wrong and we’re in trouble, alright? Go straight to McGonagall if anything happens.” Harry hated how commanding his voice sounded with her, but he couldn’t let anything happen to Ginny, and she would be their only hope of calling for help, should anything go wrong.
Ginny looked as if she were about to argue, but in the end agreed, giving Harry a small squeeze on the shoulder. “Be careful, alright?” she whispered.
“I'm her brother, and it’s like I don’t even bloody exist!” muttered Ron irritably. Ginny rolled her eyes and ignored him.
Under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, the trio crossed the street to the house, and walked up to the door silently. Hermione, being the best at charms, muttered “Confractus Cinccino!” and they heard a soft CLICK.
From the tiny crack in the door, no light issued; it was pitch dark inside. Slowly and carefully, the Trio stepped inside, wands at the ready, straining their ears for the smallest noise. The dingy entrance hall was clear, so they peeked into the dining room on their left. No one was there, so they began moving towards the staircase as quietly as humanly possible.
All was going well, until Ron accidentally stepped on one of the loudest floorboards in the whole bloody house.
The groan from the floorboard made Harry cringe at the sound, and moments later, the familiar shrieks and wails of Mrs. Black’s portrait sounded deafeningly loud throughout the house.
“...Filthy mudbloods!... Scum of the earth!...Blood traitors!...”
Heavy footsteps sounded from the staircase leading down into the basement, and the trio froze on the spot, breaths held.
“Who’s there!?” demanded a gruff voice as a Death Eater ascended the wooden stairs, landing right in front of the invisible trio. Blood pounded in Harry’s ears as he recognized Amycus Carrow. The Death Eater looked around, his wand drawn, before stiffening and looking straight at where they were, pressed against the wall to keep from touching the man.
“Attack on command,” breathed Harry, keeping his voice barely-audible.
What happened next seemed to go in slow motion: the Death Eater’s eyes suddenly widened with realisation, and he reached blindly with his hands in all directions, before finally grasping the cloak. Harry knew then and there, that their cover was blown. At the same instant, more Death Eaters had emerged from the basement — Harry assumed at least three or four, by the sounds of it.
“NOW!” He shouted, and all hell broke loose. The cloak was thrust off them, and the trio began duelling the Death Eaters. Spells and curses were flung left and right as countless colourful beams of lights lit the dark place.
They ducked behind walls and furniture, rounding corners and attempting surprise attacks on the enemies. Harry was by far the most skilled dueler out of his friends — courtesy of Snape — and found it amusing how he was actually proving to be a challenge for two Death Eaters at the same time! He heard more spells and shouts from behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around to look.
All was going considerably well, until a slashing curse grazed Harry’s shoulder. He hissed at the pain, cursing under his breath that the shoulder belonged to his dominant hand. This distraction was enough, however, because a moment later, Harry was hit with a Petrificus Totalus, and he hit the dusty floor with a thud, landing painfully on his nose. He could smell and feel the blood now issuing from it.
Bloody wonderful!...Literally!
The Death Eaters laughed and jeered in triumph.
“Nice going, lads! We got the infamous Trio!”
“Hey, Alecto, didn’t you say you were stunned by some girl in the Ravenclaw Common Room?” came an unnamed voice from somewhere behind Harry.
A female’s voice replied: “Yeah, but it was that annoying, daydreaming blonde, none of these!” she spat.
“Can you believe we actually got Potter?” An unfamiliar, smug, male voice boasted.
“Alright, alright, settle down!” Harry realised with a chill down his spine that that voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy. “Let’s bring them downstairs. Then, we can have some…fun,” the blonde bastard nastily drew out the last word.
The next thing Harry knew, he, Hermione and Ron — all of them under Petrificus Totalus — were being carelessly levitated downstairs into a dimly lit, damp and rotting basement of 12 Grimmauld Place. The basement was a small, stone room with a couple of old cabinets with peeling paint, and a couple of broken chairs. Other than that, it was pretty baren.
They were all thrown unceremoniously onto the cold, stone floor in a corner of the room, and watched as five Death Eaters poured into the basement, grinning at them evilly, chattering excitedly. Harry recognized both of the Carrow twins, Dolohov, Rookwood, and Malfoy.
The blonde wizard lazily walked to the middle of the room, so that his back was turned to the trio, and was facing the rest of the Death Eaters. “My friends, what a victory at last!” he announced. His audience laughed.
“Now, now, we will all have our fun with them, so there is no need to worry,” he assured them calmly, and turned slowly to look at the three wizards on the floor. “Mr. Potter…” he drawled. “I must thank you for vouching for myself and my family,” he said in mock sincerity. “Your kind heart has never led you astray.”
Yeah, I see now how big of a mistake that was! thought Harry savagely, trying to ignore the pain in his bleeding nose and shoulder.
“I suppose…” continued Malfoy. “That I should repay you, manners being manners, so my gift to you is to take pity on your acquaintances, and finally finish what the Dark Lord has failed.”
Harry felt his blood freeze, as he thought of what was about to happen to him and his friends. His only comfort was the fact that he would be the first to suffer, as it was because of him that they were in this mess in the first place.
He only hoped help was on its way.
His wand was roughly yanked out of his hand by Malfoy, and carelessly tossed to the side with a CLANK. Then he was levitated and dropped in the middle of the room, and felt himself being released from the petrifying spell.
His victory was short lived, however, because just as he started to stand, he heard a loud “CRUCIO!” bellow behind him, before he dropped to the floor from the unbearable pain in every inch of his body that he hadn’t felt since his fourth year. Seconds felt like hours as he writhed and screamed and convulsed on the cold stone floor, helpless to do anything.
Harry, Hermione, and her brother had been gone for a while now, and Ginny was really starting to worry. It had been over fifteen minutes, and there was still no sign of them. Something had gone wrong, she just knew it.
Suddenly, she felt something warm on her wrist. Rolling up her sleeve, she realised it was the bracelet Harry had gifted her.
Without a second thought, Ginny spun on the spot and Disapparated, reappearing only moments later in front of the huge double gates of Hogwarts. Without stopping to catch her breath, she raced across the grounds and through the castle, only stopping before the ugly stone gargoyle.
"You idiotic piece of useless rock, let me through!" she bellowed at the unwavering gargoyle.
"Sorry, can't let you through without a password," it replied, uncaring.
"Why, you little b...!"
"Miss Weasley, what is the meaning of this!?" Ginny spun around and couldn't remember feeling so relieved by the sight of Professor McGonagall, who was hastily walking towards her down the large corridor.
She wasted no time. "Professor, Ron, Harry, and Hermione are in danger!"
McGonagall's eyes widened before flashing dangerously behind her spectacles. "By all means, do explain, Miss Weasley!"
"They're at Grimmauld Place! Our plan was just to stake out the place at first, but then they went inside and told me to come get you if they were in trouble," she explained at a pace she didn't know she was capable of. Luckily, the professor didn't question her.
"I will inform the Order at once." Not wasting a second, she sent multiple Patronus messages before turning back to Ginny. "I informed Severus, the Minister, and the Weasleys. We are to meet in front of 12 Grimmauld Place," she informed her briskly, beckoning her to follow.
Together, they hastily made their way through the castle, across the grounds, and finally Disapparated once beyond the wards.
Notes:
An issue I've noticed with AO3 is that italics and bold textdon't work here... Not sure how to fix that, and I know that distinguishing thoughts and stuff might be a bit hard because of it. I'm not sure how to fix it, and I would seriously appreciate it if you guys could give me a few pointers. Also, please review, it really helps me! This chapter didn't have our favourite Potions Master in it, that that will be compensated for in the upcoming chapter!
Again, all of my chapters are already written, so I have no reason to abandon this story, it's just that it sometimes takes a while to edit them cuz they're a bit old. Anyway, school's started, so I MIGHT have to limit my uploads to once or twice a week!
Don't forget to review!
Chapter 18: The Traitor's Wrath
Summary:
Ignoring the rest of the Order members, the ex-Death Eater followed the screams down into the basement, but stopped dead at the sight that met him at the bottom step.
Notes:
Alright, chapter 18! Thank you so much for all of your reviews, they seriously help :D
I have recieved my class schedule today and, oh, boy, am I going to be busy :/ Yeah... School life's just great, y'know? Some days, I'm going to come home pretty late. But what does this mean for this story? Nothing much, just that I'm probably going to post on the weekends, or sometimes randomly during the week. I ALSO strongly suggest you all like turn on notifications or whatnot, since I won't be uploading in a consistent schedule.
Other than that, when I wrote this chapter like seven months ago, I remember being very proud of it. Of course I have heavily edited it. Anyways, please review, share your thoughts, and ENJOY! I think the chapter name is pretty self-explainatory :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Something bright suddenly lit the dark room. Years of spying had taught him well, and Severus stirred immediately, gradually becoming more awake. It took him a moment to realise that the light was coming from a cat Patronus — Minerva's Patronus. The man was up in an instant, already on high alert. The cat spoke in Minerva's voice, clear urgency lining it.
"Potter, Weasley, and Granger are in danger. Grimmauld Place — Meet us there."
The mist-like cat dispersed, leaving the room dark once more. Severus felt his heart pounding in a way it hadn't in almost seventeen years. His only thoughts were now of the idiotic child he'd been trying to keep safe all these years, and of all of the horrible case scenarios that he might be in. He couldn't explain the gut-wrenching fear churning in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it.
Severus snatched his ebony wand from under his pillow, quickly spelled his pyjamas into robes, and crossed the room to a large glass cabinet. Muttering the password to open it, he stuffed his robes with potions and supplies. Satisfied, Severus raced downstairs, through the entrance hall, and dis-apparated as soon as he was outside, his heart still hammering against his rib cage.
Why was the boy at that mutt's house in the first place, with Weasley and Granger, no less? Severus had had his suspicions that they had plotted something during their visit a day ago, but he'd never thought it would have been something as foolish as this! He should have said something; he should not have given a group of Gryffindors the benefit of the doubt!
Severus couldn't lose the boy.
Despite the anger he felt toward the Gryffindor, it was heavily bolstered by fear and anxiety. This time, however, it wasn't for the sake of Lily, or her child, or the vow; it was for the boy himself, and that frightened Severus to no end.
Being a spy, it was never advisable to have friends, family, or people you cared about. In the end, either the spy or the innocent would be hurt and grieving, and over the last seventeen years, Severus had made sure not to let anyone into his heart.
But, somehow, for the first time since Lily, someone had promised to give a chance; to not give up on him. Someone had forgiven him, someone had actually understood him and showed him kindness no-one had in an immeasurable amount of time.
Somehow, Severus had let down his guard. Otherwise, what could explain this gripping fear that threatened to engulf him?
Lily had done this once, but Severus had ruined everything. And he would not fail again. He could not lose even Harry.
Despite his thick robes, Severus shivered slightly at the chillyness of the summer night. As soon as he'd apparated in front of 12 Grimmauld Place, he was met with the sight of Kingsley, Minerva, and the whole Weasley clan, all with drawn wands. Everyone stared at him, clearly shocked by his presence, but didn't say anything, though some of them were shooting him nasty glares. But Severus wasn't paying them any mind — his thoughts were only on one person.
Thankfully, Kingsley wasn't one to beat around the bush.
"Thank you all for coming. Now, as the Ministry is still overrun with imposters, we will have to infiltrate the building ourselves. Here is the plan," he began instructing in his deep, resonant voice. "From what Miss Weasley has told us, there are at least two Death Eaters in there…"
This is why Severus held such high respect for the man — he was blunt, business-like, and got straight to the point. Of all Order members, Kingsley had always been the most tolerable.
"...We go in, wands drawn, and begin to search the place. We will set off the wards either way, thus there is no point in maintaining cover." He turned to Severus.
"Severus, take Arthur and Bill and search the basement." He turned to address the rest. "Myself, Minerva, and Molly will search the upper floors. The rest of you…" his gaze lingered on George Weasley, Miss Weasley and Percius Weasley, "will remain here on standby," he finished.
No one dared to argue, and Severus was the first to take action. Despite the fear crawling through his veins, a vicious smirk appeared on his face as he thought of all the curses he'd learned over his years of being a Death Eater, and how he was planning on finally getting creative with them.
Oh, he wasn't holding back this time.
No-one touched Lily's son. No-one.
No-one touched Harry.
Oh, how he would shake some sense into the Gryffindor once he got his hands on him. The boy had zero sense of self-preservation, and Severus was sure he would be the death of him.
Severus, Arthur and Bill were the first to enter the half destroyed entrance hall of the dusty place, and Severus cringed at the thought of what might await them once they had found the Gryffindor dunderheads.
Almost immediately, a blood curdling scream that made Severus' blood freeze rang through the house. The Order be damned; he knew that voice!
It would not happen again…
It had already happened once…
He wouldn't fail Lily twice. He would not lose Harry.
Ignoring the rest of the Order members, the ex-Death Eater followed the screams down into the basement, but stopped dead at the sight that met him at the bottom step.
Lying on the stone floor was a scrawny figure with a black mop of hair, writhing and convulsing from a curse Severus was all-too familiar with. What made his heart clench were Harry's obvious attempts not to scream and beg as his lips were clamped shut so tightly, they were turning a blu-ish shade.
The boy's right shoulder was bloodied, and so was the lower part of his face. Five Death Eaters — their backs turned to him — stood before the boy jeering, laughing and taking turns torturing Lily's son. Granger and Weasley were lying in a corner, petrified and watching everything unfold with bloodshot eyes.
Severus saw red.
Driven by pure rage and furry like he hadn't felt in years, Severus began unleashing every hex and curse he knew at the Death Eaters. They were taken by complete surprise when a powerful Stunner flew at the wizard currently holding Potter at wandpoint. The figure crumpled to the ground, making everyone turn around and immediately take action against the intruders and the traitor.
Severus cast a Mirroring Shield Charm, sending the onslaught of curses flying toward him back at their castors.
"SNAPE, YOU TRAITOR!" bellowed a voice he recognized as Lucious Malfoy's. Severus smirked wolfishly as he gracefully hurled more curses at the others and dodged oncoming ones. He successfully knocked out the Carrow twins — evil, student-torturing bastards they were — and sent a viper at Lucius, which caught him off-guard and coiled around him, sending him to the floor with a THUD.
Severus skillfully dodged more curses from Rookwood and Dolohov — their skills had been lacking — and sent a purple jet of light, which split into two mid-way, each shooting for either Death Eater. To his utter satisfaction, Dolohov and Rookwood began bouncing from floor to ceiling, side to side, both yelling their heads off. Severus solved the annoying problem by casting a Silencing Charm on the two. Finally, the unfortunate pair were ruthlessly thrown against one of the old cabinets on one side of the room, the furniture toppling atop them.
The next few minutes were utter chaos as spells, curses, and even Unforgivables hailed through the air. At the last Death Eater standing, Severus sent one of his favourite curses he'd learned from the Dark Bastard himself — Poenitentiae Eco, a curse that implanted vivid memories of the target's most regrettable actions, haunting them with guilt and potentially driving them to seek redemption.
He was unaware of all the Order members staring in utter shock and awe at him, mouths gaping wide open, from the base of the stairs.
Without a second thought, Severus dropped to his knees beside Harry, who lay twitching on the ground, his eyes closed and his breathing laboured. Severus gently turned the boy over to examine the damage, before barking at the Order fools over his shoulder.
"Well, what are you all gaping at! Take care of the Death Eaters and tend to Granger and Weasley!" No one dared to do otherwise, and shuffled off to do their part.
Turning back to Potter, Severus gently propped him up against his chest and fished for an Anti-Cruciatus potion within his robes. The boy stirred slightly, but was limp against him, half-unconscious but still twitching. Severus began to pour the potion down into the boy's throat, gently massaging his neck to aid him in swallowing the liquid, hating the way his hands were shaking.
He carelessly tossed the vial aside and retrieved a level 10 Pain Reliever, his personal Anti-Cruciatus Potion, and a Blood-Replenisher. Following the same procedure, he poured the two potions down Potter's throat, and only then cast a Renervate on him.
Severus held his breath.
After a moment, Potter's eyes fluttered open. "Whazit hapfen?" he slurred, beginning to shiver. Severus exhaled in blissful relief.
"Quiet, Harry. Remain still," he instructed, his voice softer than it had been in decades. He felt a sudden wave of protectiveness over the small frame still against him, and subconsciously tightened his hold on the boy he'd come so close to losing. Grabbing the edge of his long cloak, he wrapped it around Harry, providing him with warmth — it would be counterproductive for him to catch a cold, he reasoned.
Severus vowed that as soon as the brat was back to normal, he would shake some sense into that thick skull of his. But that would come later.
Severus quickly cast a Diagnostic spell, and saw that the boy had an injured shoulder, a concussion, and the usual post-Cruciatus effects. He continued to hold the boy propped up against his chest, waiting for him to come to a bit more. There was a risk of throwing up after experiencing a concussion and the Cruciatus Curse, after all, so lying down really wasn't an option for the dunderhead, lest he choke on his own vomit. He would treat his shoulder later.
"Severus?"
His head snapped up at the sound of Kingsley's baritone voice.
"I'll take care of Potter; you focus on searching the place and securing the Death Eaters," reassured Severus. As an afterthought, he added, "How are Granger and Weasley?"
"We're fine, sir," came Mr. Weasley's slightly shaky voice from the stairway. "Just a little bruised, is all."
"Is Harry…?" came Granger's shaky voice from beside Weasley.
Severus ignored this question, and fired back his own. "How long was he under the Cruciatus?"
Granger stammered a bit. "I– I think they did five rounds of it, each one no more than fifteen seconds with intervals of ten seconds." Her eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears, a look of realisation dawning in her eyes, and Severus knew she was thinking of the Longbottoms, driven to insanity by this very same curse.
Severus sighed heavily. With intervals, the curse wasn't as harmful as compared to being kept under it interminably. He answered the girl's earlier question. "Rest assured that he will be alright, although I can't say the same about you absolute dunderheads once I get my hands on you!" growled Severus. The two eighteen-year-olds looked ashamed, looking at Potter.
"What, in Merlin's beard, robes, and wand, gave you the moronic idea to come here in the first place!?" he demanded, his fear turning into anger.
"T'was my 'dea, s'r," Ha– Potter slurred, becoming more awake and slowly trying to get up. Severus held him down.
"Remain still, Potter, your turn is yet to come, trust you me," he whispered harshly, and even though his tone lacked its usual bite, the brat-who-lived-to-get-into-trouble visibly cringed, making Severus internally smirk. Good, I haven't lost my touch.
Minerva's crisp voice sliced through the air. "Miss Granger, Mr. Wealsey, pray tell what made you act so foolishly tonight!" she demanded, sounding as if she had just caught them out past curfew.
"We were just going to observe Grimmauld Place, but then we thought that Kreacher was being tortured for information about the Order," explained Granger, wrapping her arms around herself.
"And Harry couldn't stand those evil gits being in Sirius' home!" added Weasley, rather defensively. "It's legally his home, remember?"
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and reciting potion ingredients to calm himself. Ah, of course, the mutt, Severus thought with disdain. The brat and his hero complexes! He and the boy were going to have a long talk once he'd recovered.
A sharp hiss and intake of breath from Potter brought him back out of his thoughts. Looking down, Potter's shoulder was still very much injured and bleeding. Severus instantly began muttering "Vulnera Sanentur…Vulnera Sanentur…Vulnera Sanentur…" over and over again in a sing-song voice, tracing the tip of his wand over the gash.
As he worked, he noticed that Potter was starting to lean into him, visibly trying not to wince at his injury. Severus knew that Vulnera Senentur wasn't a painless spell, as it made the skin and muscle around the wound stretch and grow. And though he'd take this to the grave with him, it tore his heart to shreds to remember that this boy had faced far worse, starting with the Basilisk literally piercing his arm with its venomous fang. The boy had never truly had a childhood, hadn't he?
Lily must be rolling in her grave…
The wound started to close, but left raw, red traces, which would scar unless treated within the next few hours with one of Severus' special salves. Once he'd finished, he also cast a Scourgify on Potter to clean him of blood. Luckily, his nose didn't seem to be broken.
He was dimly aware of half the Order staring at him in surprise, confusion, and disbelief, and Severus sent them one of his fiercest glares, daring them to peep a word about the predicament. The Weasleys looked absolutely tearful, and everyone else had concern and bemusement written over their faces.
The ex-Death Eater sighed. "H– Potter will be alright; he is simply suffering from a concussion. I will see to it that he makes a quick recovery, though your excessive audience is quite unnecessary."
A few people muttered under their breaths, but didn't pose any arguments. Molly Weasley approached him, nodding shakily and carding her fingers through Potter's unruly mop. She then smiled at Severus gently.
"Ron has told us that things have changed between you and Harry, Severus," she said gently. "Dumbledore had always told us that there is much more to you than meets the eye — take good care of Harry. And it's good to see you." With that, she ushered everyone out, only McGonagal and Minerva staying behind.
Severus stared at her retreating form in astonishment. Where were the insults, the blame, the accusations towards him? It was him who had, albeit accidentally, cursed off her son's ear. He, who had killed Dumbledore. He, who was a Death Eater; had relayed the prophecy…
But to hear 'It's good to see you'?
Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Potter, still enveloped in his cloak and no longer quivering. Severus found that he was quite content with holding the boy, a small reassurance that he was alright.
Damn it, he was going soft.
"Severus." Kingsley walked up to him. "How are you?."
Severus ignored his comment. "I will be escorting Mr. Potter back to Prince Manor soon; he needs to rest," he informed Kingsley. "If I may, Minister, I would suggest stationing a select-few — trusted — Aurors around the place, accompanied by stronger wards, too."
Kingsley considered this for a moment, before nodding once. "I was considering as much, Severus. As soon as you and Mr. Potter leave, Aurors will, indeed, be doing a sweep of the place."
Severus nodded in appreciation, and turned his attention back to Potter. He noticed that the boy's eyes were open, looking at him, the bright emerald orbs slightly unfocused without their glasses, and Severus found it almost too painful to keep their gaze.
"Can you stand?" he asked more softly than he'd intended, reaching for the round-rimmed glasses on the floor and handing them to him after a quick Reparo.
"I– I think so, yeah," he replied, slipping them on.
Very slowly and gently, he helped Potter up, keeping a vice grip on his forearms as the boy stood on shaky legs and leaned heavily against Severus. He might be conscious, but Severus knew the after-effects of the Crucio curse all too well, even with the potions.
"M'fine now, sir. Thanks," mumbled Potter, looking up, green eyes meeting the black, reminding Severus again painfully of the vow he'd almost failed to uphold to Lily. He remembered the way his heart had pounded against his chest when he'd heard the message from Minerva not an hour ago, and subconsciously only tightened his grip on the boy.
"Shut up, Potter," he growled in a low voice. "If I ever hear you say that you are 'fine', I will personally make sure you are not, and will go through with my earlier threat to permanently remove that word from your vocabulary," he threatened, not really meaning the words coming from his mouth.
The boy chuckled and slowly straightened up. Potter was still twitching slightly, but that was a norm for the after effects of the Unforgivable. Severus reluctantly let go of him, but held his hands at the ready in case the boy's knees buckled.
"Severus," sounded Kingsley's baritone voice from the stairs. "Take Mr. Potter and leave. I am about to alert the Aurors."
Severus scowled. "I'm assuming those would be your more trusted ones?"
Kingsley nodded. "Of course. We shall meet and discuss tonight's events at a later time."
Severus nodded, and gripped the boy's upper (uninjured) arm once more, even though he could stand on his own. He as good as dragged the boy up the stairs, and the two disapparated once outside.
Notes:
Please Review!
Chapter 19: Thanks For Reminding me
Summary:
"Thanks for reminding me, sir," he muttered bitterly, boring his eyes into Snape's dark ones, before twisting on his heel to leave.
Notes:
Here's the next chapter! It feels like it's been weeks since I have posted the last chapter, when it's only been a few days. Also, Thank you all so much for your comments! Please review my work, feel free to make suggestions, and pretty much everything else. Maybe tell me what you would want to see happen in this story?
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Harry found the walk from the front gates to Prince Manor too brief for his liking as he was practically dragged by the Potions Master. Every now and then, the boy would steal a glance at his ex-professor's side profile, but the man just kept his gaze fixated up ahead, his mouth a very thin line. Harry could tell that the man was seething with anger, evidenced by his tight grip on Harry's upper arms, and that the man was waiting to unleash it as soon as they entered the manor.
The aftereffects of the Cruciatus had all but diminished, which Harry figured must have been courtesy of all the potions Snape had given him. He was still recovering from the surprise of how Snape had aided him in the basement. He couldn't help but remember the warmth he'd felt at being pulled against something soft and sturdy, and being held and covered with some soft, thick material… that feeling of safety which he hadn't felt in a very long while. And had Snape called him 'Harry'? The soft voice in which he had spoken to him — he would bet anything that there had been concern lining it…
Harry was certain of one thing, though — the man was an enigma.
But as he was led closer to the manor by the shoulder (uninjured, thankfully) like a sodding toddler, Harry grew more and more ashamed. He wasn't some dim-witted teen, yet he knew his actions tonight had been reckless. He knew he had put his friends, yet again, into danger. And for what? His desire to kick some Death Eaters out? And now that he thought about it more level-headedly, he had to admit that the four of them really didn't stand a chance against several grown wizards who had learnt from Voldemort himself.
Though, another voice in his head whispered irritation towards the man currently leading him up the front steps of the manor. Just who did he think he was, treating him like a child? Harry was an adult, for Merlin's sake! Not to mention that he would be eighteen in a month. What did it matter to Snape what Harry did and where he went? If he got tortured or killed?
Well, yes, there was his vow to keep Harry safe for Lily Potter, but he couldn't possibly keep an eye on Harry all his life, right? The thought alone was ridiculous. He was an adult wizard who had survived six years of homicidal teachers trying to kill him, a dark lord obsessing over his death, and being on the run from the whole wizarding world in absolute wilderness for nine months straight!
Heck, Harry had committed treason and had escaped by dragon out of Gringotts not too long ago, and had even faced a Basilisk when he was twelve!
He had incinerated a man at eleven!
No, he didn't need anyone to look out for him. He'd never had a need for it, and didn't have one now.
Though, he couldn't deny that the feeling of warmth he'd felt not long ago had been pleasant...
Merlin, he was so conflicted!
Harry was lost in his own thoughts when he was abruptly interrupted by the loud sound of the front doors shutting behind them. It dawned on him that he and Snape had arrived in the entrance hall of Prince Manor. Before Harry could even utter a word, he was suddenly spun around and forcefully shaken by Snape, who had a firm hold on his upper arms.
Impotent anger glimmered in his eyes, which resembled dark tunnels that seemed to withhold secrets deep within. "How do you feel?" he asked stiffly, though voice monotonous. Harry didn't like it.
The Gryffindor swallowed before answering, "Fine."
Oh, that had been the wrong thing to say.
Snape stared at him for several moments, as if trying to find any trace of deceit, though his temple twitched at the single-word answer. Then, all hell was let loose.
"YOU IMBECILIC. THICK HEADED. GRYFFINDOR. DUNDERHEAD!" finally burst out Snape, emphasising every word with a hard shake, spittle flying from his mouth at the boy. Harry's vision shook.
"Have you absolutely no sense of self preservation, Potter!?" shouted Snape. The shaking had stopped, but the man's long, cold fingers held a tight grip on Harry's upper arms. He wondered belatedly if they were going to bruise.
"I realise that you are a Gryffindor, but even I had not anticipated something as foolish, thoughtless, and reckless from you as the stunt you had just pulled, with Weasley and Granger, no less! I repeat— HAVE YOU NO SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION, OR ARE YOU DELIBERATELY BEING OBTUSE!?..." The words kept rolling off Snape's tongue like butter, and the man looked downright livid.
"You could have been killed, HARRY!" he cried. "A few moments longer under the Cruciatus Curse, and you would have gone insane!" There was a note of desperation in his voice that shook Harry a bit.
All Harry could do was stare, his mouth dry and uncomplying. He had never seen the man in front of him so angry before, but what really tipped Harry off was an uncharacteristic emotion glimmering in those black eyes, and the way his eyebrows were furrowed together with a crease. Had Snape really been that concerned over Harry? But why? And did he just use his first name again?
The Slytherin in question was still ranting passionately, throwing in an occasional colourful expletive that Harry had never heard of.
"...You had put yourself and your friends into danger without even any backup, not to mention a plan! You went in, unaware of what awaited you inside, unprepared and barely of age! Can your thick head even begin to comprehend– Do you have even the slightest idea of what you had put me through!?"
Harry's breath got caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly at Snape's last words. It made him feel guilty and confused at the same time — a combination he'd never felt before in his life.
Surely, that last remark had meant something else?
"Why would you care?" Harry suddenly burst out, slipping out of Snape's grip and swaying only slightly. He hated this confusion that everything was in, and now he didn't even know what to expect from Snape. "I am an adult, alright, Snape! I don't need you treating me like some sort of sodding toddler!" Harry clenched his fists painfully in his pockets.
"I am almost eighteen, for Merlin's sake! I don't need you – or anyone, for that matter to—...That house is currently under my name, and I wasn't about to let those good Death Eater friends of yours trash the place!"
Ok, that was low, Harry admitted to himself, slightly breathless. He briefly wondered if he'd overstepped some line with his last sentence, as a flash of anger and some other emotion flashed in Snape's eyes. But Harry refused to back down. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly and held his posture.
Snape's lips curled into a venomous sneer, and if looks could kill, Harry would have been nothing but a mere pile of ashes from the glare the man was giving him. "Unlike yourself, Potter…" he began icily. "At least I am not responsible for their deaths and losses," he hissed venomously, spitting Harry's name and the last few words.
Okay, that had been even lower, and it hurt – more than it should have. Was Snape serious? Or was it just a petty retort to what Harry'd said?
Or was it the man's blunt truth?
Harry stood stock-still, too shocked for speech. Maybe Snape was right; maybe everyone really had died because of him.
Cedric certainly had, and how were the others any different?
Harry felt his eyes begin to sting, and he subconsciously took a step back from the intimidating, black-cloaked ex-Death Eater. But he refused to show weakness, especially in front of Snape. No — he would look the man in the eye, chin held high, hoping against hope he didn't look as hurt as he felt. He shoved his fists deeper into his pockets, though, feeling them shaking even worse.
Snape said nothing, only stared inscrutably at Harry, as if struggling to find the right words. There was a brief flicker of regret on his face, though Harry had missed it, including his struggle to regain composure. Harry didn't give him the chance to recompose himself, though; all he wanted to do was to get far away from the man.
"Thanks for reminding me, sir," he muttered bitterly, boring his eyes into Snape's dark ones, before twisting on his heel to leave.
"Po— Harry—"
"Just stay the hell away from me, alright?" snapped Harry over his shoulder, and stormed off to be anywhere else than with Snape.
He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth.
Severus had always prided himself on being in full control of his words, emotions, and actions, but today seemed to be the day all those qualities had crumbled.
In the midst of their argument, Potter had the gall to call those scumbags his 'friends', and while Severus was sure that the boy regretted his choice of words — his face was too easy to read — , he himself had retorted with an even less-appropriate response, and it had been low, even for Severus.
Of course, Potter had taken those words to heart, the hurt in his — Lily's — eyes had been abundantly clear. Severus had wanted to say something to justify what he'd so rashly blurted out, but no right words had come to mind.
He had suddenly had a flashback of when he'd called Lily "mudblood". Severus had realised with horror that history was repeating itself. Again, he had hurt someone with hurtful words he did not mean, and that 'someone' being Lily's son didn't help. With a lurch in his stomach, he thought briefly if Potter would despise him and would turn his back on Severus just like Lily had. He tasted bile in his mouth.
"Thanks for reminding me, sir." His voice had been quiet, but bitter, clearly hurt. As the younger wizard had turned to leave, Sevetus had tried desperately.
"Po– Harry—"
"Just stay the hell away from me, alright?"
Since when had 'Potter' become 'Harry'? Though, loathe as Severus was to admit it, those few words had hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving him to simply watch the boy storm off.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly through it. He was still angry at the boy's idiocy for pulling off such a dangerous stunt — how could he not be? There he was, sound asleep, with the thought that Potter was safe within the walls of Prince Manor, when all of a sudden Minerva's Patronus comes and clears up that misconception for him!
"Why would you care?"
Indeed, why did he care? An automatic answer sprang to his mind: Because he's Lily's son…
At least, that's what he kept telling himself. He couldn't get over the gut-wrenching feelings of fear and panic he had felt coursing through him a mere hour ago, those which he hadn't felt in many, many years.
Severus found that he hated it, that gripping fear that had taken hold over him, and wished never to experience anything like that ever again.
I must truly be losing my mind…
But how was he supposed to protect Lily's child if said child had zero sense of self-preservation?
Did he care for Harry Potter? Not just because of the boy's mother, but because of the boy himself? This past week, give or take, had been revealing, and it had changed Severus' view of the boy drastically. It had also given him ample time to think many things over.
Dumbledore had once asked him the question of whether he'd grown to care for the boy…
How ironic, Severus thought spittingly…
"I'm an adult, alright, Snape!..."
Yes, the brat had a point – he was an adult, but only legally. Mentally, he was both a thirty-five and an eight-year-old, however possible that was. The boy had been forced to grow up far too quickly but, at times, the bouts of childish behaviour he had never had the chance to express found ways to expel themselves in compensation.
Take the owlery incident, for instance.
It's no wonder the boy has never relied on any adults, Severus thought heavily, seeing as every year, a teacher had tried to kill him, whilst the closest to him had died, and others betrayed him… How was Potter still sane?
In reality, he'd never really had anyone, from what Severus could gather. His relatives obviously hadn't been the most loving of guardians, and he and Black hadn't had a chance to be a normal family. Lupin hadn't been too close with the boy, and Dumbledore… Well, he had been more of a mentor. But what made this all the worse was that they had all left him, though it was unwillingly.
Severus wasn't a fool — being a spy had its pros, as well as its cons.
"...stay the hell away from me, alright!"
Those words kept replaying in his mind like an old, broken record stuck in a loop. Would Potter give up on him? He'd promised he wouldn't, though Lily had promised him something similar in their second year at Hogwarts, that they would always be friends and nothing would ever ruin that.
And yet…
Severus' stomach lurched violently at the thought, and he fought to swallow down the bile rising to his throat.
Severus knew nothing could justify what he'd said to the boy. He knew he had to apologise, though the thought made him uncomfortable, still. His countless apologies to Lily hadn't made any difference… He was horrible at them, but he knew that if he didn't at least try, he would surely lose Ha– Potter as he had lost her.
They needed to have a civil conversation, one without incessant yelling and false accusations. He would have to hone his temper around Potter if he wanted to get anything through that thick head of his.
Recomposing himself, Severus decided to give himself and the Gryffindor some much-needed time to cool off. They were both exhausted — mentally and physically — and required adequate time to recollect their thoughts. Sighing, Severus strode down to his lab to acquire some anti-scarring-and-bruising salve for Potter's shoulder.
The last thing Harry Potter needed were more blasted scars, after all.
He took his time retrieving the small container of the healing goo in order to stall time, but he knew the salve would need to be applied soon in order for it to have any effect.
He could have simply ordered Nibby to deliver the salve to the boy, but it had to be applied by a professional, and neither Potter nor a house elfe fit that category.
Potter was not in the sitting room when Severus entered to look for the boy, which is the general direction the boy had stormed off in, but found the glass door leading to the porch open slightly. The boy is so obvious, he would have made a disastrous Slytherin, he thought with a wan smirk as he stepped outside.
The sky was now light turquoise, and the first rays of sunshine were starting to peek over the horizon. He'd always loved early mornings, and found it a time of cherishable peace and silence. At Hogwarts, no student found it interesting to stray the corridors of the castle so early, as opposed to the middle of the night, so that was the time Severus had often strolled the ancient halls and grounds. It had been a truly melancholic feeling, and he wondered briefly if Potter had sometimes had the same reasons for his nighttime wanderings.
Oh, right; Potter.
Shaking himself back to the present, Severus scanned the vast lawn for the unmistakable mop of black hair. He started getting irritated — and loath as he may to admit it, anxious — , when the brat was nowhere in sight. But just as he was about to leave, he glimpsed something white-blued striped in one of the willow trees not too far from him.
The boy would have made a disastrous spy…
He made his way over to the lone willow tree, and found himself sighing at the sight that met him: in all his glory, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Cause-Trouble was nestled not-too-comfortably within the lower branches of the tree, asleep, with one foot hanging limply over the edge. His glasses were askew on his face, and the boy had a look of unease about him, reminding Severus of all he had been through.
It made Severus think back to Albus, and he was suddenly filled with impotent anger at the old coger, and all he'd put Lily's son through. Severus had been manipulated for seventeen years, was lied to and deceived, all for the sake of said son to somehow survive.
When Severus had been told of the Boy's inevitable fate, he had wanted nothing more than to screw the old wizard then and there. To find out that the child, whom he'd spent nearly half his life protecting and keeping safe, would have to die… Severus had held no feelings for the boy, but the news had crushed him, nevertheless.
That night, he had drugged himself asleep with firewhiskey.
Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore had used both him and the boy as mere pawns in his bloody war, and it bewildered Severus how he had known the bitter truth all those years and had still had the audacity to look his Golden Boy in the eyes.
"You've been raising him like a pig for slaughter!"
"Don't tell me now that you've grown to care for the boy, Severus?"
To add to all that, he had also had the audacity to request strenuous missions and tasks of Severus, to risk his life and to practically face death every time he would attend a Death Eater meeting, and on top of all that had used his grief and remorse to further drive him on.
"You must be the one to kill me, Severus…"
"Severus… Please."
Albus had asked him of the impossible, but, as his devoted spy and double-agent, as a man of grief, remorse, and guilt… Severus had obliged.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Even though it had internally killed him.
Albus' dead corpse still haunted Severus's nightmares to this day, them alternating between images of Lily, his drunken father, the Dark Lord, and, more recently, the child he'd vowed to protect that had a penchant for trouble.
Severus shuddered as he remembered what had transpired not a few hours ago. Never again did he wish to experience that kind of fear and terror. Ever.
Turning his thoughts back to reality, Severus again studied the sleeping boy closely. True, he wasn't a boy anymore, but Potter also had the appearance of amore of a fifteen rather than a seventeen-year-old, especially asleep. Severus noted this, and suddenly found himself longing for his own comfortable bed.
Severus figured Potter's reaction to seeing him again so soon would be far from adequate, so he decided to cast a strong Sleeping Charm on him, one usually utilised during medical procedures, and lowered the fabric covering the boy's shoulder. As gingerly as he could, he began to rub the goo in, wincing in empathy everytime Potter did in his sleep. Fortunately, the boy was situated at his chest level, so the task wasn't too hard.
Once a generous portion of the salve had been applied, Severus cast some gauze around the slightly-red shoulder. Lowering the shirt fabric back down, the Slytherin sighed deeply and ghosted his fingers over the messy fringe.
How could this be the Wizarding World's saviour? How had this scrawny thing managed this whole time with the weight of such a role on his shoulders?
"You are going to be the death of me, Harry," he mumbled quietly before turning to leave.
Walking back inside, Severus considered possible ways to hold the inevitable conversation with Potter, and when. He knew he no longer held any power over him, seeing as they were no longer professor and student. No longer could he dole out detentions, or dock points. No – at any moment, the Gryffindor could even get up and leave without Severus none-the-wiser, if he wanted to, and it was only a matter of time before the boy actually snapped, like a bubbling cauldron left unattended.
No. They had to make amends, his pride and dignity be damned.
Severus hadn't even noticed that his tired feet had carried him straight to his bedroom door, as if they had a mind of their own. But he didn't complain; he was straight up exhausted from the eventful night. The man didn't bother to make his bed or change his clothes, but simply collapsed unceremoniously onto his huge four-poster bed. The thoughts of the impending meeting with Kingsley, and the conversation with Potter which he so dreaded, were all of his plaguing thoughts, but it was the one of a slumbering Lily's son, Harry, safe within the willow tree, that had allowed him to drift asleep.
Chapter 20: Conflicted
Summary:
Wearily, Harry made his way outside and into the owlery. He'd only been here a few times thus far, and he found that he quite enjoyed the company of the many owls. If he ever needed an outlet, they would listen, but would remain quiet.
Notes:
Here is chapter twenty! This was originally much longer, but I had to break it up because I didn't want to post such a big bulk at once. With school, I haven't had much time to edit this, so I hope it's alright. Anyway, this chapter is quite short and uneventful, but I felt like a more subdued transitional chapter was nesassary. Plus, a good opportunity to get Harry's view of things.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry's back ached and his whole body felt sore upon waking. He couldn't decide if it was due to him having slept in a tree for Merlin knows how long, or simply it was the aftereffect of the Cruciatus Curse. He shut his eyes tightly from the bright afternoon sunshine shining through the leaves above him, and slowly began to shift within the branches.
As he slowly came too, memories of Grimmauld came flooding back to him. He sat up abruptly, nearly hitting a branch overhead. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, the Order… were they alright? He could vaguely remember their voices reassuring that they were, but whom exactly had they been reassuring? Harry shuddered at the remembrance of what had felt like interminable rounds of the Cruciatus; the searing-hot pain that had slithered through every muscle, nerve, bone, and cell of his body.
But, then, it had ended. He had been barely conscious at the time, but he could remember countless jets of light soaring overhead in and from every direction, accompanied by several voices bellowing, crying out, and yelling.
Later, he had felt himself being pulled up against something soft and sturdy, and being enveloped in something warm and thick… He was sure he had never felt such safety and comfort in his life. Yes, there had been instances with Ron and Hermione, even the Weasleys, but this had been… different.
That something soft and sturdy had then vibrated with a low yet soothing voice. Harry had tasted something vile on his tongue, which he had later recognised as potions.
He hadn't been aware of who the person holding him had been until he had come to completely.
When Harry had realised that that person was Snape, of all people, Harry couldn't help but just stare.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, it was only then that Harry had realised that his shoulder was no longer aching. Lowering his sleeve in curiosity, the boy found it to be bandaged in gauze. He found it strange, as he hadn't any recollection of it being bandaged, but then realisation hit him that Snape must have tended to it when he had been asleep. For several moments, Harry stared at his wrapped shoulder, unable to believe Snape's forethought, and perhaps even...care?
An angry, irritated and guilty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as Harry thought back to the things he and Snape had verbally thrown at each other. He knew his remark hadn't been appropriate, nor true. But what Snape had retorted had hurt Harry more than it probably should have.
Harry hated it. For years, he'd blamed himself for almost every single death and casualty, but to hear it be confirmed by the person who spoke nothing but the blunt truth had really been a low blow. Was Snape disgusted by him? Did he see him as a murderer? Did he blame him? Harry wasn't sure what to think anymore, other than that whatever level of trust they had been able to establish over these past few weeks, he had really mucked things up.
But why did he care? Again, he found himself asking the question. He had always cared for himself, and it was such a weird concept of Snape -
No. Snape doesn't care; don't be ridiculous, Harry! It's only for the sake of his vow and your mum...
For an unfathomable reasons, that thought really dissappointed him, and he hated himself for it.
But Snape had still cared enough to tend to your injury, a voice in his head reminded him.
Did Snape care? No — he couldn't possibly. At least, not in that way, right? Oh, get your head out of the gutter, Harry!
It wasn't possible. It wasn't, he told himself.
"Do you have even the slightest idea of what you had put me through!?"
The words still rang in Harry's ears, and he honestly wasn't sure what to make of them. No one had ever uttered those words to him. Words of care, concern… No, Snape must have simply been concerned over his vow to protect Harry. If an Unbreakable Vow was broken, the person who had taken it died, didn't they?
Ugh, he was SO conflicted! It was like his every thought contradicted the other.
Groaning as he stretched, Harry eased down from the low willow tree and slowly began making his way back into the Manor. He wasn't sure what he would do if he saw Snape again, but he sure wasn't in the mood for it. He knew he should apologise, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it after everything that had happened. His shame at his actions and his remark mingled with the anger and frustration at the man's retort, and confusion as to why the Slytherin had bothered to tend to his injury after everything made his head whirl.
Upon entering the sitting room through the back door, Harry expelled a small sigh of relief when the black-cloaked figure was nowhere in sight. Glancing up at an antique clock on the wall, he then knew that it was 2:30 PM.
Guess I was more tired than I'd expected when I climbed that tree, huh?
He knew he'd missed lunch, but he wasn't hungry anyway. He made his way to his room, deciding to compose a letter to the Weasleys. Once there, Harry wanted to lock his room and made to reach for his wand in his holster, when he realised that it wasn't there. Harry held a hand up to cover his eyes.
Lucius Malfoy had so carelessly yanked and tossed away his wand before having his 'fun' torturing him. With a sickening feeling, Harry wondered if it was still there — on the cold, stone floor, forgotten. His cloak was also probably at Grimmauld Place, if it hadn't been confiscated by an Order member or the Death Eaters.
But the thought that Grimmauld Place had been liberated helped to ease some of Harry's worry. He would go there again sometime later, now that it was safe, to retrieve his things… and to, perhaps, search Sirius' and the other rooms of the house of Black. He was hopeful he would find something of his parents, or perhaps something that the Death Eaters had left behind.
Harry suddenly shivered, feeling very exposed without his wand — his only feeling of comfort for almost eighteen years. Even back at the Dursleys, where he hadn't been allowed to use it, he had still felt a lot safer when it was in his possession. But now, he was pretty much powerless and defenceless, and Harry found that he did not like that feeling of helplessness and discomfort.
But, there wasn't anything he could do about it now, and asking Snape wasn't an option for the time being. So, Harry decided to write those letters. He felt incredibly guilty for putting them in danger last night, and wanted — needed — to make sure they were alright. They had no reason not to be, but Harry still wanted reassurance, and to apologise.
He could only imagine the reprimanding and scolding rant Mrs. Weasley had given them.
For a long while, Harry just sat at his desk, staring blankly at his empty parchment, his quill dripping ink and poised. Actually starting the letter suddenly seemed harder than duelling. Finally, the first part of the long letter was addressed to Molly and Arthur, and the rest of it to his friends and Ginny. Once he'd finished his letter, Harry was surprised to find the grandfather clock read half past five.
Wearily, Harry made his way outside and into the owlery. He'd only been here a few times thus far, and he found that he quite enjoyed the company of the many owls. If he ever needed an outlet, they would listen, but would remain quiet.
There was one owl in particular that Harry had grown rather fond of over his few times there, and vice versa. It was a handsome, light grey Great Horned Owl with feathers of mottled grey-brown, with flecks of white around its eyes.
On occasion, it would nib at Harry's finger passionately, and Harry would stroke its feathers with his fingers. It brought back nostalgic memories of Hedwig, but he tried not to dwell on them too much.
As the boy sat on the dry grass-covered floor of the Owelry, cross-legged, the same Great Horned Owl flew down to him from its perch. Harry extended his arm for the bird to perch on it. It screeched softly and Harry could hear the faint rustling of its feathers. In the distance, he heard the sound of other birds calling out to each other.
"Hey, boy," greeted Harry. The owl cooed in greeting and gently nibbled at his fingers. A small smile lined Harry's face, and he curiously studied the owl. "Should I name you something?" he wondered out loud. The owl merely cocked its head at him.
Harry looked out the window for inspiration, his gaze drifted to the sky and the clouds above. He imagined the feeling of flying on his broomstick through them, remembering his first ever broom, the Nimbus 2000.
"Nimbus," Harry tested out the name. "How would you like that, Nimbus?" he asked the owl. To his amusement and surprise, the owl scooted further up his arm and rubbed its head against his face, shifting his glasses slightly. Harry laughed, running his fingers gently through the owl's feathers.
After sending the letter to the Burrow by Nimbus, he sat there for a while longer before going back inside the Manor. He really didn't wish to see Snape yet, but he knew that a long conversation with the Slytherin was unavoidable. Knowing Snape, the man never left matters unfinished.
But what would there be to say? Snape probably thought of Harry as a murderer, a disappointment, and to top that off, Harry had called the Death Eaters his 'friends'. And while he hadn't meant what he'd said, he was certain that Snape meant his retort. After all, he wasn't one to say things he didn't mean.
Harry was itching to hear an update from the Weasleys, McGonagall, or even Kingsley. He needed to know what had happened once he and Snape had departed, and if the Aurors had found anything that might hint at what the Death Eaters had been up to.
Unfortunately, his letter would have to do for the time being, and Kingsley had told Snape that he and McGonagall would meet up with them when they had the time.
To kill time and to ease his nerves, Harry decided to head to the library to research defensive and offensive spells that would be useful in the future. Despite recent events, he was still determined to ensure that every last follower of Voldemort ended up in Azkaban. His duelling had greatly improved with Snape's help, if being a challenge for two Death Eaters simultaneously was of any indication, but there was much room for improvement.
Harry browsed the library shelves for interesting titles. He traced a finger along the leather-bound spines, finding the feel of it soothing and satisfying. Perhaps it was Hermione's influence on him over the years, or maybe it was the cosy atmosphere of the library and the smell of books.
Ten or so minutes later, Harry was seated in his favourite armchair with a good selection of spellbooks resting in a stack on a coffee table in front of him. He flipped through the old, slightly yellowed pages, taking notes on a spare piece of parchment he'd found lying around earlier.
He didn't know how long he'd been in the library for, but his reading was suddenly interrupted by a loud crack. He startled, but calmed once he'd realised it was Nibby.
"Master Harry Potter, sir," she squeaked. "Master Severus is wanting you in the sitting room. Master Severus is saying Headmistress and Minister are being here."
Harry perked up and was on his feet in an instance. He thanked Nibby and hurried downstairs. It didn't matter that he would have to see Snape; he would hear an update from McGonagall and Kingsley! Of course, he wasn't ecstatic about the speech the old witch would undoubtedly grace him with, though.
Accepting whatever fate had in store for him this time, Harry rushed out of the library.
Notes:
Expect a new chapter tomorow. Don't forget to review!
Chapter 21: The Lynx And The Cat
Summary:
"HAROLD JAMES EVANS POTTER!" she burst out.
Yep, there it was.
OR
Snape shifted uncomfortably, standing stiffly within a foot of Harry, his obsidian eyes locked on him. "Potter," he repeated, his voice softer and weaker than Harry had expected. "We need to talk."
Chapter Text
Upon entering the grand sitting room, Harry halted in his steps, slightly out of breath. Standing in the middle of the grand room were, indeed, Snape, McGonagall, and Kingsley, all of who had, apparently, been waiting for him, none looking too happily at him. McGonagall's lips were in a tight line, a sure sign of warning, and Harry mentally braced himself.
"HAROLD JAMES EVANS POTTER!" she burst out.
Yep, there it was.
The aged witch, wearing tartan robes and with her hair kept in a dishevelled-like state, rounded on him, her crisp, cutting voice slicing through the air. "Out of all the imbecilic, foolish —" to Harry's surprise —"Gryffindor-ish things to have done! Do you realise the absurdity of your actions; the risk at which you had put the Weasleys, Miss Granger, and yourself into!? You were tortured, for heaven's sake — we are most fortunate you are still alive, let alone sane! Had it not been for the young Weasley…"
For a moment, McGonagall looked almost tearful and relieved, but quickly schooled her features. She went on, her hands on her hips in a Molly gesture. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected more from one of my Gryffindors," she sniffed. "Just so, even your father and godfather had had more common sense to them than what you've just displayed! Honestly, Mr. Potter, did you have a death wish, stepping foot into that enemy-infested house!?"
Harry just stood there, enduring the witch's rant. At this point, it seemed more like she was rambling randomly, as if unsure of what to say and in what precedence. It wouldn't do to contradict her, though, and Harry knew that what she was saying was true. It was at times like these that he felt like an utter child, not taken seriously. He hadn't missed her comment about his dad and Sirius, and he couldn't help but feel, not only a pang of shame at himself, but also a pang of hurt at being compared to them.
Why did everyone always compare him to people he had barely known; people who were long dead?
McGonagall sighed wearily, with no-one daring to speak. Harry felt as if he'd just been caught out of bed at Hogwarts. "Mr. Potter," she began more briskly but calmly. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, and Miss. Granger have already filled us in on what had happened, and I dare say that your reasons for such a thoughtless excursion are far from merited. You must understand that you are not obligated to hunt down every Death Eater that's out there. It isn't your duty, and I am quite disappointed that you hadn't consulted either one of us regarding such a serious matter. This is specifically our job, and we've placed you here with Severus for the sake of your protection."
Harry clenched his fists as the woman continued her speech, sharp eyes scrutinising him. They wouldn't understand, he reminded himself. It was his duty, he had decided this long ago. Besides, hadn't he 'confided' in them in first year? Second year? almost every other? No. He had to do this on his own. It was his fight. It was him, and him alone, that had to end all of this.
But they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't, couldn't, and Harry would simply have to nod his head in agreement and compliance with his fingers crossed behind his back.
This time, it was Kingsley who spoke up. "I must side with Minerva. For a while, a publicly-anonymous party of our carefully-selected and trusted Aurors had been preparing to make a move and infiltrate the building. And your actions have caused quite a hindrance in their other operation plans," he said grimly.
Harry suddenly got a queasy pang in his stomach, and frowned. He spoke for the first time. "What do you mean? We — Snape got all the Death Eaters, didn't he?"
The wizard shook his head. "Essentially, yes. However, Lucius Malfoy had managed to escape via portkey just when you and Severus had departed from Grimmauld Place. As of now, we know not of his whereabouts, though we believe he will put the other Death Eater strongholds on guard, which complicates their chances of a surprise attack on them."
Harry scuffed his feet, not sure how to respond. Sorry would just sound very inappropriate at this point. Fortunately, Snape broke the silence, sounding tired and worn out; Harry purposely ignored him, unwilling to meet his eyes.
"Perhaps we should sit?" he suggested, and Harry thought he felt the man's eyes linger on him for a minute. The other two adults acquiesced, reluctantly choosing their seat upon the couches and plush chairs set up in a semi-circle before the grate. Taking cue, Harry cautiously perched atop an armrest of an empty chair.
McGonagall sighed. "Potter." Their eyes met. "What are we going to do with you? You are of age — act like it, for sweet Merlin's sake! What, in the name of all that's magical, were you thinking!? You were tortured — you could have died, if not driven into insanity! And Miss Granger and the Weasleys?"
Harry took a shaky breath at the reminder of his friends, but steeled himself. "I had to do it." he stated determinately. "Grimmauld Place was Sirius' home and our headquarters — I couldn't just let the Death Eaters stay there! Also, they could have tortured Kreacher for information, and no-one deserves that," he answered. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened, alright? I know it was stupid, and I shouldn't have rushed in like that, but…" you just wouldn't understand. "But I couldn't — can't — just sit around and do nothing, and you can't expect me to! They are after me in particular, and they are hurting other people to get to me."
"Mr. Potter, that is—"
"How are Hermione and the Weasleys?" he asked hastily, hoping against hope to distract them.
The aged shot him a disapproving glare, and then shook her head in exasperation. Unbelievably, she muttered, "Gryffindors," under her breath, and actually answered his question. "They are quite alright, and they were frightfully concerned regarding your physical health."
Harry sighed in relief, but also scratched his head at this. "That sounds oddly specific..?"
She smirked, looking at her ex-colleague. "In truth, we were all concerned over what Severus would do to you now that you were at his mercy. Perhaps he was low on a few ingredients?"
Sevrus snorted at her remark, speaking for the first time in his dry voice. "Believe me, Minerva, no potion would produce potent results from containing Potter in it," he replied. Harry wasn't quite sure whether to feel relieved or offended. It belatedly came to him that Snape had been very quiet, and had barely said anything.
"Just so, Mr. Potter," she replied to his earlier words. "Though you may be their primary target, you are under a false impression. They are also targeting many muggleborn families, as well as 'blood traitors', I'm afraid. And get this silly notion out of your head that you must do something about it! For Merlin's sake, Potter, haven't you suffered enough?" she finished sadly.
Harry didn't reply to that, knowing it would be futile to argue with her. They simply wouldn't understand, he calmly reminded himself again, and nodded his head in acknowledgement for the sake of moving away from the topic.
Luckily, though, Kingsley chose that moment to clear his throat.
"Mr. Potter," said the Minister. "Regarding your earlier concerns, I can assure you that the house elf is alive and well. Your safety, however, is our number one priority. I am hopeful to see more forethought from you in the future. Please, the Ministry is on your side." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Kingsley interjected. "Yes, I do realise that the Ministry hasn't been kind to you over the years, but things are changing, that I can assure you of."
In conclusion, the man in the turquoise robes and a hoop earring said, "We must learn from the past and prepare for the future, for we are stronger when united." He paused, letting the message sink in. "Now, I do bring news regarding the Ministry, and Minerva and I have very limited time."
Snape nodded. "Indeed. What had occurred post our departure?"
Harry was very grateful for the quick change of topic, and he perked up at the new topic, trying to focus solely on Kingsley and not the still-disapproving glare he was getting from Minerva, and trying to ignore Snape's gaze.
The Minister answered. "In abridged form, our anonymous Auror party had searched the place upon your departure. They had discovered traces of your magic, Severus, though I had neither confirmed nor denied your earlier presence there. The Aurors were unsuccessful in acquiring anything that might reveal the locations or plans of the other Death Eaters, yet they had concluded that yourself and Lucius are the ones leading them. Grimmauld Place is currently under numerous protective wards, and under careful Auror watch.
Snape snorted dryly, his only response to the news. Kingsley made a 'Well, you know how it is' gesture with his hand.
"This further complicates the process of exonerating your case and clearing your name, of course," he went on, "thus why it is essential for you to remain in hiding until we have gathered enough proof to support your case. The Ministry no longer takes even the word of Death Eaters under Veritaserum, as they believe that the imposters inside the ministry have tampered with their stocks."
Severus shook his head in disbelief. "A bunch of thick-headed idiots, they are," he growled disapprovingly. "Veritaserum cannot be altered even in the slightest, as the key components of the potion are extremely sensitive. It is one of the Seven Untamperables in Potions Making, and the fact that this has slipped the minds of those so-called potions masters makes me question their field of knowledge."
Kingsley nodded in agreement. "Yes, well, not many are available, unfortunately, thus why you had been our main potions supplier all those years. But that is beyond the point. In conclusion, it is pivotal that you lay now, especially during these times. And, Mr. Potter," the man turned to Harry, seriousness in his eyes.
"This also concerns yourself. Keep vigilant. The most help you could do is to leave everything to the Aurors. We are well underway of tracking them down, and we will not give up until every one of them has met justice, that I promise you. You may also help in gathering proof to support Severus' case, as we have close to none."
Harry nodded in reply, but he was not prepared for what McGonagall said next.
"Another thing, Mr. Potter," she added, somewhat regrettably. "We also have reason to believe that the floo network is being monitored by the Death Eaters. I'm afraid travelling by floo is a great risk — myself and Kingsley have taken a great one by simply coming here… I'm afraid it is best that you do not visit the Weasleys for a while, and vice versa, as I'm sure you have been thinking along those lines," she said downcastly. "Before our coming here, I did bring a letter to you from them, however."
She reached into an inner pocket of her robes and pulled out an envelope. Harry's eyes threatened to water when he recognised Mrs. Weasley's handwriting, a pit in his stomach growing at the thought of her telling him how disappointed they were in him. Harry forced his thoughts to stray, however, and nodded as he accepted the letter. McGonagall's words took a little longer for them to fully sink in, and when they did, it was like a punch to the gut of disappointment and sadness.
He decided he would open the letter later, however.
He hadn't even noticed until now that the witch was still talking until then. "... will keep in touch minimally, Severus, and refrain from owl mail, as there have been several reported cases of them being intercepted. This concerns you as well, Potter," she informed briskly. "Which means no letters… I'm sorry."
Kingsley checked the clock on the mantel and suddenly bolted from his seat. "It is time we were leaving. Minerva and I have a meeting in less than five minutes with the Wizengamot and Hartling." At this, Minerva stood after him and followed the man to the fireplace. Harry and Snape stood as well.
Before reaching for the floo powder, however, Kingsley reached into his turquoise robes and pulled out something silky and neatly folded.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. His invisibility cloak!
"For Merlin's sake, Potter, use it well," warned Minerva as Harry solemnly accepted the item. He nodded, revelling in the feeling of safety that suddenly enveloped him.
"Thank you for coming, Minister, Minerva," thanked Severus, shaking each of their hands reverently. Harry did the same, apologising quietly another time. Once the two had disappeared into the green flames, Harry and Snape were left alone, an awkward silence ensuing between them.
Harry still couldn't meet Snape's gaze, and had just been about to leave when the man spoke abruptly.
"Potter," he called stiffly, the tiniest note of desperation in his voice mixed with clear exhaustion. Perhaps it was just that that made Harry finally cave and look up. It was the first time that evening that Harry actually looked at the man, and the sight that met him almost threw his off-guard.
Dark circles lined his obsidian eyes, and his greasy hair hung frazzled, as if he'd been sleeping and had been assaulted by his pillow. His usual black suit appeared creased and wrinkled, and his expression was guarded, too.
Snape shifted uncomfortably, standing stiffly within a foot of Harry, his obsidian eyes locked on him. "Potter," he repeated, his voice softer and weaker than Harry had expected. "We need to talk."
Notes:
What did you think of the 'Seven Untamperables'? That was a sponteneous idea that just came to me out of nowhere.
Expect the next chapter somewhere mid-week! As always, please review, as it really helps. I really hope I've made Kingsley and McGonagall in-character, as I had really struggled with that. BTW, in case some of you were confused about the chapter title, Kingsley's Patronus is a lynx, and McGonagall's is a cat.
PS: I just finished writing the 33rd chapter, and all I can say is that there is quite a bit of upcoming drama;) As I had mentioned once, I have 29 chapters pre-written, and I overlooked to mention that I am yet to write the other chapters. I have 33 as of now, and it's slow going because I've been mostly busy editing the pre-written chapters(my old writing is so bad, lol, and I am slightly tweaking some things here and there.)
Chapter 22: An Emotional Mess
Summary:
A sudden wave of fury coursed through Harry. Damn Slytherin! Well, cunning didn't clash well with stubborness, now did it?
Notes:
As promised, here's the next chapter! It's only the second week of school, and we already have likke five or six tests planned. Life's been busy, so please don't mind the grammar. Expect ch.23 on the weekend! As always, R&R! Enjoy!
Also, tysm for over 2k hits!!!!
Chapter Text
Harry couldn't help it, he expelled a shrewd laugh. "What is there to talk about? I've already known for a while that it was because of me they all died! It's only that everyone else has always sugar-coated things for me." Harry shook his head disbelievingly. He looked right into Snape's eyes with confidence. "Not you, though, sir. You always speak the blunt truth, and have cleared things up for me quite a bit. So– Thank you."
Snape's expression went from guarded to guilty and perhaps a little pained, which mildly surprised Harry.
"Look, I'm sorry for what I said, alright? It was wrong of me. Now, if you don't mind, sir, I will be going." He turned on his heel abruptly to leave. But just as he was stepping over the threshold, Snape's next words made him halt.
"I have your wand."
Harry turned back so abruptly that he heard his neck crack slightly. His wand. He had completely forgotten about his wand. But what was Snape doing with it in the first place?
Then, a terrifying thought occurred to Harry.
Would Snape use his wand as leverage? What right did he have!?
As if reading his thoughts, the man asked calmly "May we sit?"
Harry ignored his request. "I want my wand back."
"And, by all means, you shall receive it back… once we have talked."
A sudden wave of fury coursed through Harry. Damn Slytherin! Well, cunning didn't clash well with stubborness, now did it?
"I've already told you, sir, there's nothing to talk about. I've apologised to you, and — oh! I almost forgot: thank you for rescuing me for the hundredth time in my life," said Harry with strained politeness and mock in his voice, his fingers tightening around the cloak and envelope still in his hands.
Snape looked away for a short moment, as if deep in thought. Then, he closed his eyes and expelled a deep sigh. "Please…" There was that note of desperation and pain in his voice again — it caught Harry off guard; he had never thought he would live to see the day Snape pleaded.
"Just… hear me out at the very least — that is all I ask," he reasoned. "Then you may have your wand back, you have my word." Snape repeated his earlier request. "May we sit?"
A little surprised that Snape was asking him for permission to sit, Harry finally acquiesced, wordlessly sitting on the couch, placing his belongings beside him. Snape took a seat in the chair adjacent to him. Folding his hands neatly in his lap, he was quiet for a moment, studying Harry intently; Harry had never liked this.
"Potter," Snape began heavily, his voice stiff with formality. "...My previous remarks were grossly inappropriate and vulgar. They were not a reflection of the truth, but rather irrationally spoken untruths. I can offer no excuses for my behaviour. I'm afraid the words had just–"
" —Slipped out?" interjected Harry, remembering what Lily had said to Snape when he had tried apologising to her. He knew it was a bit cruel on his part, but he felt no pity.
Snape's expression fell, suddenly closed off, before schooling back into a blank mask. He ducked his head ever-so-slightly, his greasy locks obscuring his face from Harry's view. Harry had to admit that he'd never seen Snape look so open and vulnerable before, except for when he'd cried in the Shrieking Shack.
"I am… not good with terms of endearment," he admitted haltingly, as if it cost him his pride. "It was inexcusable, I'm fully aware. If I could take it back, I wouldn't hesitate to. Unfortunately, all I am able to do is offer my apology, and leave it to your discretion to decide whether to accept it or not. But I meant not what I said. You are most certainly not responsible for ANY deaths or losses, and to think otherwise is deceitful and disgraceful."
Harry could make out the sincerity in Snape's voice, filled with remorse, pain and regret, though he could tell he was struggling with his words.
But Harry didn't know what to believe anymore. He felt conflicted and confused. He yearned to believe Snape that he wasn't responsible for those deaths, but the bitter facts stood. He had been the reason for the war, he'd been the reason for Voldemort's resurrection, he'd been the reason Sirius and Cedric had died…
But, deep down, he wished more than anything that it wasn't true, and perhaps an iota of his conscience knew that he wasn't…
He also wanted to believe that Snape hadn't meant what he'd retorted earlier. It was just like the man's fifth year, Harry thought wryly.
What would his mum have done?
Ironically, Harry was in a similar position as she had been when Snape had called her that unforgivable word. But Lily hadn't been interested in his apologies, even though they had been friends for most of their childhood.
Harry knew how much Snape regretted his words, and how he had been paying dearly for that one slip-up for over two decades. But Harry didn't agree with his mum. She shouldn't have turned her back on her childhood friend so easily. Harry and Ron had had many rows in the past, but they always made up and remained best mates.
And Harry was neither Lily nor James. He was Harry– just Harry; his own person. And he wouldn't turn his back on Snape like his mum had all those years ago, which had led the man further down the dark path. It made him wonder what would have been had his mum forgiven Snape.
Would the man still have become a Death Eater? Would he and Lily — dare he think — have wed? If Lily had given Snape a chance at redemption, maybe he wouldn't have become a Death Eater, and things would have played out a lot differently? Harry mentally shuddered at the realisation of the huge impact that forgiveness could have.
No– he'd forgive Snape. He had promised him that he wouldn't give up on him like his mum had, hadn't he? Neither he nor the man had been speaking irrationally at the time.
Harry fidgeted with his hands, not sure how to start. He hesitated, mouthing silently as he tried to gather his thoughts, but Snape wasn't pressing him. The man sat still, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined. He gazed into the distance with unfocused eyes. Taking a deep breath, Harry finally steeled himself.
"I forgive you, sir. I already told you once that I won't give up on you like my mum had," Harry said, looking down at his hands before continuing. "And I'm also sorry for what I said — I really didn't mean it." He closed his eyes for a moment, taking another breath. "It's just — I feel as if it really is my fault– all those deaths, you know?"
Harry's voice was quiet and hesitant. In his periphery, he saw Snape shake his head vigorously and fix him with a determined look.
Snape sighed mournfully. "Yes, Potter; regrettably, I do know," he admitted quietly. "Listen to me," he said more firmly, leaning forward. "People die in war, and you cannot change that. They did not die for you or because of you. They died at the hand of the Dark Lord and his followers, and they died for a better future — that remains an unchangeable fact."
At Harry's sceptical expression, Snape spoke three words that suddenly had the impact of the Imperius Curse on him.
"Look at me."
Harry's head snapped up, meeting Snape's intense gaze.
"It. Is. Not. Your. Fault!" He enunciated every word clearly and fiercely. "It was a grave mistake on my part to bring it up, and I sincerely regret it. It had been a petty retort, shameful and untrue"
"Well, you're wrong!" Harry exclaimed, straightening and clenching his fists. "Cedric— Sirius— They all died because of me! If it weren't for- If I hadn't- "
Harry stumbled over his words, his heart racing and his palms sweaty with the weight of guilt and uncertainty. There was no denying the truth: he was the one who had told Cedric to grab the Triwizard Cup with him, which turned out to be a portkey that transported them to that graveyard. Harry was the reason that Sirius had been at the ministry that night, because Harry couldn't learn Occlumency and fell for Voldemort's trap! How could Snape not see that?
Sirius, Cerdric, Hedwig, Fred, Dobby, Lupin — all of their deaths were someway or another tied to him, and the weight of it all felt suffocating,
Hot tears began to prickle at the back of Harry's eyes and he despised himself for it. He brought up his knees close to his chest and looked away, ashamed. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he remained quiet. After a moment, Snape cleared his throat softly.
"Mr. Diggory's death is not your fault, Potter." Snape assured him resolutely yet gently, his baritone voice somewhat soothing. "Neither of you could have foreseen that the cup was a portkey. What happened that night was most unfortunate, but Mr. Diggory was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time."
"How would you know?" whispered Harry, eyes suddenly moist and longing for reassurance from the older wizard. "You weren't there to witness it; how can you be so sure?" How could Snape state something so surely when he didn't even know the whole story?
Snape moistened his lips before responding. "Perhaps not." He conceded softly. "Still, I know for a fact that the situation had been out of your hands, hence why it is not your fault." he finished matter-of-factly.
"But that's just it!" Harry burst out, flailing his hands for emphasis. "In the maze– I told–" Harry struggled to find the right words, and his breathing became more erratic. Could he trust Snape with this information? How much could he trust the man? Would it change his opinion of Harry, if he knew the whole story?
Harry felt sick to the stomach, a hundred thoughts swimming through his head. He tried to get his breathing under his control, he could not bear to look up into the cold' dark depths of his ex-professor. Clenching his hands into tight fists, Harry took a few deep breaths to try to recompose himself.
Snape waited patiently for Harry to speak. "You what, Potter?" prompted the man gently.
The sudden obstruction he felt in his throat made it hard to speak as he struggled to get the words out. "I told Cedric to take the cup with me," Harry shakily whispered, barely audibly. His clenched fists were starting to tremble. "I told him to because– because I thought it was the fair thing to do." His throat painfully clogged up, but he continued.
"He told me to get it myself– had insisted, even…It was because of me that– that he…" He shook his head, trying to get a grip on himself. So many had died because of Harry, and there was nothing he could do about it. Harry hugged his knees closer to his chest, resting the side of his face on them, head turned away from the dark-robed man. He could feel the older wizard's gaze on him, and could only imagine the disgust he was looking at him with now.
He expected some mean, cruel comment, or the trademark sneer of disgust and hatred…But nothing came.
Instead, Harry felt the couch dip beside him, and then a warm hand settle on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. The same hand then snaked around his back and pulled him into a half-embrace, squeezing his other shoulder in the same manner. Harry didn't refuse the comfort and leaned into him gratefully, trying to suppress the sob lodged in his throat as he buried his face in Snape's shoulder.
Suddenly, all past mistakes and hurts on the Snape's part disappeared. Harry didn't care that he was a grown wizard, he didn't care that he should be stronger than this. He simply needed this, this feeling of safety, one of which he had been deprived all his life.
What an emotional mess this was turning out to be…
There was a long moment of silence between them, occasionally interrupted by the chirping of birds outside. The sitting room was bathed in the final rays of golden sunlight, which illuminated small particles of dust floating in the air. The serenity of it was mocking Harry, it felt like.
In Harry's peripheral vision, Snape's gaunt face was slightly obscured by his locks of greasy hair as the man gazed in the direction of the window. He belatedly noted how Snape's eyes weren't the obsidian-black tunnels as he'd always perceived them to be, but they were actually a very dark brown, almost amber in the warm sunlight.
"It was not your fault," Snape assured resolutely, finally speaking, with a soft edge to his voice. "There was no way either of you could have known— no, let me finish, Potter," Snape held up his hand to silence whatever protest Harry had been about to throw at him. Resigned to his fate, Harry smartly shut his mouth with an audible click of his teeth.
"Tell me this," continued Snape, "if the circumstances had been different, and the roles reversed, and it had been Mr. Diggory who had told you to take the cup with him, resulting in you getting — let us say for the sake of theory — gravely injured, would you have blamed him for not being a bloody seer and predicting the future?" Snape half sneered towards the end.
Harry snapped his head back in order to look up at Snape, and could only blink dumbfoundedly at the blunt, yet merited perspective the man had presented. Leave it to Snape to make his whole world turn on its axis, he thought wryly. He desperately wanted to believe Snape's words, but a small part of his mind kept replaying the guilty feeling. The reassurance felt sugarcoated, and, besides, it certainly didn't apply to Sirius.
"But Sirius — if I hadn't gone to the Ministry —" he couldn't continue, for his voice cracked.
The hand on his shoulder squeezed it gently. When Snape spoke, his voice came out a bit strained. "As far as your godfather is concerned, he was a fully grown man, capable of making his own decisions. You did not ask him to go to the Ministry; it had been his choice entirely." Harry could almost sense the sneer on Snape's face as he talked about Sirius, but he could tell that he was trying his best to conceal it for his sake, and that meant a lot.
When Snape continued, his voice was bitter and still strained. "You are more than entitled to blame me for his death, however. I suppose I should have given you a clearer indication that I had understood that Black was in danger. I am less than proud to say that my goading him certainly didn't help matters."
Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He had blamed Snape for Sirius' death, but not more than he blamed himself. If only he had made a greater effort in Occlumency, maybe Voldemort wouldn't have been able to penetrate his mind and give him that vision. At this point, Harry was so torn that he felt utterly lost.
It made Harry think of Sirius and Lupin, but also of everyone else they'd lost in this war. Unfortunate accidents, one could say, but little difference would it make. A loss was still a loss, and it wouldn't do to dwell on it.
Finally gathering himself, Harry eased away from Snape, mourning the loss of comfort but not wanting to seem like a baby. He reclined back against the couch cushions, fidgeting with his fingers. It was ironic to think how he had never really discussed his guilt with anyone, and the first person he was divulging this to was Severus Snape.
But Harry was also very grateful to him. He was not one to sugarcoat, and always delivered the blunt truth, even if it wasn't pleasant. Strangely, Harry felt a sense of security with him; a growing respect for the man. Who would have thought? He had to admit that after talking to Snape, his chest felt lighter.
And maybe, just maybe, he could believe what the man was saying.
"Thank you, sir," finally said Harry, meeting Snape's eyes. He wanted to say more than just 'thank you', as if it wasn't enough, but Snape seemed to understand him, for he nodded solemnly.
"And I did use to blame you for what happened to Sirius, but I guess I was just looking for someone to blame; like an outlet." he added, rubbing his neck, feeling sheepish. "M' sorry," he mumbled. "I– Dumbledore told me that you couldn't have reacted to me in any other way in Umbridge's presence, but I guess I just refused to see it like that."
Snape held up a hand and gently shook his head. "Be that as it may, I could have done more to instil trust in you, and our massacre Occlumency lessons hadn't been of much help, either."
Harry shrugged and nodded meekly.
"Let us concede that both Mr. Diggory and Black had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time, Potter," offered Snape. "It is futile to blame oneself over the result of unfortunate circumstances and things we had no control over."
As an attempt to lighten the atmosphere with his trademark sarcasm, "We aren't a pair of bloody seers, thank Merlin. If you were, then I would be much more concerned over your mental state."
Despite himself, Harry chuckled and shook his head in amusement. He felt strangely light and less burdened. Snape's expression turned serious again and he shifted in his seat.
"Promise me that you'll consider what I've told you, Potter." Harry was surprised to find a concerned note in Snape's voice. Was he concerned over Harry? No— It wasn't possible. He had no reason to.
Yet there was a small, hopeful part of Harry that almost wished…
"Yes, sir; I will." And he meant it. A pause. "Thank you again, sir," Harry said sincerely. "I've never really told any of this to this extent to anyone…" he added softly.
Snape's expression turned to one of unease, and then something seemed to glimmer in them, before going back to stoicism. He sighed, overlapping one thumb over the other in his lap. "I am not someone you should be confiding in, Potter. I am far from perfect, and I find it quite inappropriate, given my history with… everything…" He shook his head. "I am not a good man."
Harry shrugged, though a little disappointed. "No one is perfect. And… I don't believe there are bad and good people. It all just depends on our actions, doesn't it? And… It's just that — you understand, y'know? You know what it's like to feel remorse. My friends could never understand to the extent that you do." Harry bit his lip, hoping he was making sense. "You also wouldn't lie or sugarcoat," he frowned disdainfully, "something I've always hated to put up with."
"You are correct; I would not lie nor sugarcoat. It is ineffective and a waste of one's breath, Potter." confirmed Snape, nodding.
"Harry."
"Pardon?"
Harry bit his lip. "It's Harry, sir." He fidgeted. "You can call me Harry — not that you have to — I mean, my friends call me Harry, and you're —?, but it's totally up to you — or, you know, Potter's fine, too—"
"Po— Harry!" Snape held up a silencing hand. " I am…not averse to that idea."
Harry smiled. Then, the Potions Master sighed.
"I suppose you would like me to extend the courtesy?" he inferred with a raised eyebrow.
Harry shrugged cheekily. "If you don't mind… Severus?" The name felt so foreign on his tongue, but it sounded less insolent than when he would say 'Snape'. Maybe because all these years, he had only known him as Snape, the Bat of the Dungeons, and not 'Severus Snape,' the epitome of 'never judge a book by its cover'. 'Snape felt tainted with cruel associations, whilst 'Severus was the person beneath the dark armour.''
"I do not mind, no. But if you so much as dare to call me 'Sev' or, Merlin forbid—"
"I know! I know! You'll turn me into potion ingredients," supplied Harry, smirking. "Oh, wait. No potion with me in it would produce potent results, right?" he joked, parroting Sn– Severus' earlier remark.
Harry stood up from the couch and stretched, realising that the room had grown darker. He reached for his wand holster to rectify the matter, but then remembered his wandless predicament.
A soft clearing of the throat sounded to his right.
"Looking for this, Mr. Potter?" Sn– Severus asked silkily, twirling a thin piece of wood in his hands. Harry immediately recognized it as his holy phoenix feather wand and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. He eyed longingly, and then looked at the man questioningly. He made a move to grab his wand, but the dark-cloaked took a step back.
"Oh, no, Mr. Potter. Not quite yet, I'm afraid," he drawled silkily. Harry glared at him.
What!? What was he playing at?
"Relax, P—Harry," he placated. "You will have it back, but not before we discuss a few other things."
"Other things?" Harry deadpanned.
Sna— Severus smirked smugly. "Did you really believe me so ignorant as to drop our topic of your little escapade?"
Harry audibly groaned, causing Severus to roll his eyes. "Sit." He commanded, pointing one long finger at a vacant armchair.
Chapter 23: I Can't Promise You That
Summary:
But when he was expecting Potter to nod, or, Merlin, even shrug his shoulders, the boy shook his head definitively.
"I can't promise you that, sir."
Notes:
As promised, here's the next chapter! I quite like this uploading schedule of twice a week, so it will probably stay like this. I will PROBABLY post the next chapter on Tuesday, as I have a big test to study for on Thursday (Bleh, it's history.) Also, like, it's so ironic how I know pretty much everything about the HP fandom, including hundreds of characters and events and their biographies and stuff, but I can't seem to memorise three chapters about real people and events...
Anyways, that's enough of my complaining. Thank you for all your comments, they always encourage me and make my day! This chapter is pretty long, and I struggled with it a bit. I hope you like it, and tell me what you think! As always, enjoy!
Chapter Text
The sitting room was bathed in the receding rays of golden sunlight, giving the room a cosy and welcoming atmosphere. Two wizards sat there, sipping hot tea and nibbling on bite-sized sandwiches that Nibby had brought them. Although it was dinner time, neither of them had much of an appetite for more than a snack and some tea.
There was a mutual, tense silence between them, making even the cackling of the flames in the fireplace and swallowing sound sonorous. Both were pondering deeply over their conversation a mere ten minutes ago.
Severus had learned that The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Defeated-The-Darkest-Lord-Of-The-Century was an emotional mess, wracked with guilt and grief over things that weren't even his fault, put bluntly. It was unjust, he thought ruefully, that since the tender age of fifteen months old, the boy's life wasn't an easy one. But, as Severus had known all his life, life wasn't fair; he and Po— Harry were prime examples of the saying.
During their conversation with Minerva and Kingsley, Potter hadn't so much as acknowledged his presence. Normally, Severus wouldn't have cared less, but he hadn't been able to deny the slight tinge of hurt he'd felt. His fear of P— Harry having given up on him had increased tenfold back then, and when Kinglsey and Minerva had finally left, Severus had been desperate.
Thankfully, he had managed to get the boy to hear him out, and things hadn't gone as badly as he had expected them to. He had apologised, in spite of his words being stiff and formal. He had never been good at apologies. Fortunately, they seemed to have left the matter behind them. Potter wasn't even 'Potter' anymore, was he? He was 'Harry'.
The name sounded foreign and untainted to Severus, the name of not James Potter, his childhood nemesis, and not even Lily's son; but of a boy of his own persona.
Severus had yet to make the foolish Gryffindor acknowledge the stupidity of his escapade the previous night, though. His apology had taken significantly longer than he had originally anticipated, but he wasn't a man to leave a matter half-finished. The conversation had been inevitable, and the boy had to realise that he could trust adults.
Though, said boy had never trusted them – that much was obvious. But who could blame him, really? From Severus's childhood years of knowing Tuney, she had never been one to show much love or compassion. So, clearly, P– Harry hadn't ever trusted them. And now, with the recent deaths of Potter's godfather, the werewolf, and even Dumbledore, whom Severus knew had cared deeply for the boy, it felt as though the universe was conspiring to make life unnecessarily difficult for someone whose destiny had been marked from the day he was born.
Oh, not to mention that the DADA professors had tried to kill him every year.
Adults kept leaving Po–Harry, so it only made sense that Harry didn't trust them.
And now, Severus was faced with a task he'd never anticipated to be placed with — offer Potter guidance. What other alternative was there? Yes, he wasn't a saint — far from it, really. But who else could understand Potter the way he did? Severus could definitely empathise with regards to guilt, grief, contrite, and remorse, but would never lie or sugarcoat anything, which is what the boy needed; the blunt truth in order to face reality.
Though, was he really suitable to give advice and guidance to the boy, whose parents he had all but murdered? The boy, whom he had belittled and tortured those years at Hogwarts? Severus Snape was not a good man. He had lied, and killed, and tortured — under the Dark Lord's orders, of course, but that did little to atone for these sins.
Still, the boy had little whom he could trust. Yes, he had the Weasleys and Granger, perhaps even Minerva… But it was just as P– Harry had said; they always sugar-coated the truth for the sake of consolation. No, the boy needed someone to hear him, listen to him… someone who could empathise… he needed harsh truths and acceptance, and this was something Severus could provide.
Still, that bout of doubt continued to mingle on his conscience.
And if this was a way of making it up to Lily, and upkeeping his vow in full, it was up to him to shake some sense of self-preservation into the thick Gryffindor skull; lest he wanted to experience the pre-heart attack feeling again when the boy would run off in the middle of the night again.
But was this even about Lily's son, anymore? Or was it about Harry?
And how would he actually get it through said thick skull? Reflecting on their argument that morning, it was evident that shouting, insulting, shaking him by the shoulders, or even snarling would only worsen the situation.
Over the past few weeks, he had learned that Potter responded best to civil yet firm language. Severus recalled how impactful Dumbledore's words were when spoken calmly and softly, with his piercing blue eyes penetrating his own gaze. He had learned from his mentor that a calm and controlled voice was often more powerful than a raised one.
Severus looked over the rim of his cup to see that Potter had finished with his sandwich, and was cradling his own cup close to his chest. He was slumped sideways on the couch, knees drawn up and back reclining against an armrest. Severus himself was back in his armchair.
Feeling they have been procrastinating enough, Severus softly cleared his throat to get Potter's attention. The green eyes — Harry's eyes, not Lily's — snapped up to meet his obsidian ones, and Severus's throat tightened a little from seeing them a little duller than usual.
"Firstly, I hope you realise exactly how irrational your little stake-out escapade was," he began, keeping his tone firm but calm. "Not only had you put the Weasleys and Miss Granger in danger, but you had also foolishly and thoughtlessly risked yourself as well."
P—Harry frowned and averted his gaze, remaining silent. Severus went on. "I understand your Gryffindor tendencies to rush headlong into danger but, by Merlin, have you no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?" His voice sounded almost exasperated towards the end. "Care to indulge me with the brilliant motives that had almost led you to having been an iota away from being driven into insanity from the Cruciatus?" He inquired coldly, the remembrance only making him angrier.
The Gryffindor looked up at him from his cup, an incredulous look upon him. "Haven't already answered that? You already know," he said dodgingly.
"Ah, but it was the lack of context which I found rather curious," answered Severus knowingly.
The Gryffindor fidgeted with his cup, swishing the tea around absentmindedly and frowning back into it. He was silent for a while. "I couldn't let them lounge around in Sirius' childhood house, and the Order's headquarters," Harry began sourly. "It would have been an insult to his and the Order's memory. Besides, they had Kreacher, and we thought he might have been tortured for information."
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, but condemned himself to remain level-headed. You will get it through that thick skull of his through civil terms, he encouraged himself.
"Potter. There is more to that, and do not even think about lying to me. Yes, your reasons have merit but, surely, had things really been that simple, you would have confided in the Minister, or Professor McGonagall, if not in myself?"
But Harry shook his head relentlessly. "I— I can't tell you. Not yet, at least…"
Severus had just opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Begrudgingly, if he wished to earn the boy's trust, he had to respect his wishes and privacy. Oh, he would find out, one way or another, but it would take time. Instead, the man set down his empty teacup and steepled his fingers. He allowed for a change of topic.
"It seems to have slipped your mind that you could have summoned that pathetic excuse of a House Elf to check in on him."
Potter's eyes widened as realisation dawned in them. He suddenly stiffened. "We didn't think of that," he admitted, scowling to himself. The boy groaned in frustration, sliding a hand down his face.
"Yes, well, forethought isn't exactly something Minerva's cubs are renowned for, now is it?" he remarked dryly. "Just so, it is of no importance any longer." Severus made a dismissive gesture. "What matters now is that there won't be a repeat of such foolishness in the future, I presume?" he inferred testily, silently priding himself for the amount of patience he was having with the boy.
But when he was expecting Potter to nod, or, Merlin, even shrug his shoulders, the boy shook his head definitively.
"I can't promise you that, sir."
…
"And, pray tell, why the hell not?" demanded Severus somewhat frustratingly.
But Harry shook his head again. "You wouldn't understand, for sure."
"I understood the previous time, did I not?" Severus pointed out calmly in his resonating voice.
Potter made a soft noise in his throat that was reminiscent of a shrug. "This is different," he argued.
The air around them felt stuffy, and neither wizard said anything for a time. Severus contemplated his next, strategically and carefully-chosen words, whilst Potter twirled his cup in his hands, frowning into it with narrowed eyes as if in deep thought.
Merlin help me, if the boy is trying to read tea leaves, then his mental state is past the stage of no return.
Sighing to himself, Severus tried again, but with a slightly different approach. "Why do you feel the need to play the hero, P– Harry?" He prodded carefully. "And do not lie to me," he warned. 'I have my ways of knowing' hung in the tense air between them.
"I don't 'play the hero'," Harry objected, tightening his grip around his small cup. "It's just…" He pressed his lips together in thought, staring down at the floor. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself for a while, as if wagering between a rock and a hard place.
Finally, he said haltingly, "It's just that I can't stand by and do nothing," he admitted quietly. "No matter how I look at it, all of these deaths feel like it is my fault — like I am the cause of all this, and am just sitting back and doing nothing about it."
He added quietly after a moment, "Like I'm the one who started all of this." The boy leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, and his head hung low, the small cup held with both hands. Severus could empathise with that completely, the same feeling of fault and grief; the feeling of helplessness whilst innocent people are suffering. Like he was responsible for the war.
"...Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?..."
"...Lately, only those whom I could not save!..."
Yes, he remembered that conversation with Albus well. The shock he'd experienced then, he'd thought he was going to experience his first ever heart attack. Severus had watched so many men and women die in his life, and he had always felt responsible for them, starting with his mother taking her own life. Severus had only been thirteen at the time, and Tobias Snape had enjoyed telling him how his mother had been fed up with him.
Of course, the feeling of responsibility and contrite had increased within him at his joining the ranks of the Dark Lord. As his trial, he had been ordered to do horrendous things to innocent victims, the memories still giving him no reprieve to this day.
Then, there had been Lily, and how he had relayed the overheard prophecy to his master. He was sure he would never live down that shame and remorse.
But was it really the way Harry felt about himself?
Severus then carefully asked, "And why do you consider it to be your fault?"
Harry shrugged, shifting a little in his seat, but continued to look down at the laminated wooden floor. "Well, for one, he'd marked me as his equal," he began matter-of-factly. "Later, he'd used my blood to come back to corporeal form, and killed people just to get to me– people had died because he was trying to get to me! And I could do nothing about it!" He ground out, knuckles turning white from his grip on his tea cup.
Severus was about to say something, when Potter's head snapped up and he burst out.
"He took my parents, my godfather, Remus, Dumbledore, and so many others from me, either himself or through other people!"
Severus felt his throat tighten when he heard Harry's voice slightly break.
"Even though he's gone — for good, this time — I can't consider this bloody war over until people stop dying or getting hurt from the remains of his army."
"…"
"I have to end what was started," Harry concluded after a long moment, speaking more to himself than to Severus, a determined glimmer in his emerald eyes. "I want to see every last remaint of Voldemort gone or put away in Azkaban. And it has to be me that does it. And before you argue, my mind is set, and I will do it regardless of whether you let me or not. I'm not a kid, and this is something that I have to do."
The words struck Severus with horror, though he wasn't sure why exactly. Perhaps because his younger self had once thought along those lines? He understood how Harry felt about the aftermath of the war being his responsibility. And if Severus hadn't been able to stop himself from joining the ranks of the Dark Lord, who was he to stop Harry from going through with this suicide mission, therefore putting himself into constant danger? The Gryffindor was too, well, Gryffindorish to not run headlong into danger, driven by grief and courage — two very deadly ingredients, the combination prohibited.
Courage often got people killed, and Severus shuddered yet again at the failed stunt Harry had pulled off recently. Yes, he was no longer a kid, but a grown wizard — by law, at least — and Severus had no control or authority over the boy's actions, so the best and only thing he could offer is his guidance.
But, in truth, wasn't it also the way Severus felt about things? He wished nothing more than to see every Death Eater — down to the last — put into Azkaban or dead. He had regretted joining the Dark Lord's ranks from the very beginning, and the thought of the vile remains of his memory roaming about repulsed him.
If he hadn't relayed the damned prophecy to the Dark Lord, countless people could have been saved, and he and Harry wouldn't be in the predicament they currently found themselves in. If one were to squint at things, it was he, who had started all of this. Had he not relayed the prophecy, the Dark Lord would never have targeted the Potters, which then essentially led to the rest.
So, wasn't it also his duty to end what he himself had started? Maybe this would be a way for him to redeem himself of his past sins and mistakes?
He could still protect Lily's son if Harry agreed to his help and guidance, which would technically be killing two birds with one stone. He would be in on the Gryffindor's reckless plans, and Severus would have more grounds on which he could intervene.
Severus knew that this was a dangerous path to tread, but he also knew that it was necessary. He could not let Harry face this alone, not when the boy was so set on seeing this through to the end.
Though, getting Harry to agree would be the hard part, really. Did the bot trust him enough?
Severus steepled his fingers neatly and fixed Harry with a most intinent look, one he would have normally given to his colleagues when he had something important to say. A look, which made clear he was not to be interrupted.
"Harry." He began, minding not to stumble over Harry's name, and continued in an even voice. "I can empathise with you completely, and am able to see matters from your perspective quite well, as well as understand them…" His words sounded very stiff and hollow to his own ears, and he inwardly cringed. "Allow me to accompany and assist you."
"What?" Harry appeared caught off guard, having probably not been expecting the ma to be so forthcoming. Severus held up his hand, silencing the boy.
"Indeed. I can be of valuable help and asset to you. Additionally, I know the way the Death Eaters operate. However," he said, his voice stern and unyielding. "We must cooperate. Under no circumstances are you to run headlong into danger without a proper plan or discussing it with me. I do not care how old you are; if we are to do this, then we are going to do this properly." A pause. "Are you amenable?"
"Yeah, but, why?" Harry asked confusedly with incredibility. "Why would you help me? Why would you even agree to this in the first place?"
Severus considered his answer for a long moment. If the boy were to trust him, there would have to be honesty between them. Of course, lying wasn't an option. Yet, he didn't wish to get into his reasons as to why. Instead he replied softly, "because your aren't the only one with the need to end what was started, Harry."
Understanding dawned in the boy's green eyes, and he nodded, a mutual, empathetic silence ensuing between them.
Harry suddenly sat upright, hands clasped in his lap, looking at Severus in a considerate way. The boy was clearly mulling over his offer, and, for a moment, Severus toyed with the possibility that Potter might burst out or throw a fit.
"I– Do I have to give you an answer now?" The younger wizard asked slowly.
Severus shook his head. "Certainly not. You may take as much time as you need," he reassured him.
"I'll think about it…Thanks for the offer, sir."
When Severus nodded his head in acknowledgement, Potter stood and moved towards him. "Can– May I have my wand back now?" The boy held out his palm to Severus.
Severus gave him a look that said 'don't make me regret it', and reached into his inner robe pocket. As soon as he presented the wand, Harry snatched it from Severus' hand. But Severus was most curious when the boy carefully twirled the wand in his hands as if it were made of glass, gazing at it fondly, before stowing it in his invisible wrist holster.
Severus just barely managed to contain a small smile from appearing on his face at the sight of his gift being used. It nostalgically reminded him of the time he and Lily would exchange Christmas gifts when they were little.
"And for Merlin's sake, Harry, there exist other spells aside from Expeliarmus," chided Severus exasperatedly.
Harry blushed, but shrugged, and then smirked at "You know, sir… It's kind of ironic how you taught me my signature spell."
Severus inwardly did a double take. His confusion must've been showing, for he elaborated.
"In my second year, remember? You were duelling Lockhart, and used Expeliarmus on him. We all thought you were, like, the most powerful professor in the school after that," he replied with a light chuckle.
Severus scowled, reminded of that blonde, fake bimbo, his lip curling. Of all the different professors over the last seven years, Lockhart was second on his list of most-hated — yes, Lockhart even surpassed Lupin, who was tied in first place with Moody. Delores, of course, was first and foremost on that list.
But, in all fairness, he had hated them all.
Ironic, how he was still standing after having taken up that jinxed position of DADA.
But the fact that Harry had learned his signature spell from him… He couldn't place his finger on what he felt at that moment… It was something akin to what he felt towards himself when he'd been elected as the world's youngest Potions Master. Pride?
Severus smirked. "Yes, and I also seem to recall feeling that particular spell used against me a year later," hedrawled, remembering the incident in the Shrieking Shack.
Shaking his head, Severus cleared his throat to regain Harry's attention. The boy's head snapped up, and he looked at Severus with a questioning expression.
"Sir?"
Severus stood from the couch, now towering over the younger wizard. He adopted his stern, cruel Bat of the Dungeons look and crossed his arms. To his slight disappointment, Potter looked unfazed by his menacing demeanour. Since when had the brat ceased being scared of me?
"Whilst I am flattered, it has also occurred to me that over your years at Hogwarts, you had scarcely faced any forms of consequences for your foolish actions and stunts. This stretches from the Troll incident in your first year, up until your escapade to the Ministry."
Harry glared at Severus defiantly, but stayed silent. "The Headmaster had always dismissed your putting yourself and others in danger and awarded points and his bloody lemon drops," Severus continued, half sneering. His voice then dropped to barely above a whisper. "That. Ends. Here."
"Excuse me?" The boy remarked, affronted.
"You heard me correctly, Mr. Potter." Severus confirmed. "Had I been your head of house, you would have been in detention until your graduation day, scrubbing cauldrons and cutting up Flobberworms, since expulsion had secretly never been an option in your case."
Harry scoffed indignantly. "I'm not your student anymore, Snape." He pointed out scatthingly. "We're both adults– I'm old enough to be in the Order."
"True, but consider it compensation for six years of consequence-free behaviour," Severus replied.
The Gryffindor scoffed and arched a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? And what are you gonna make me do, Professor? Scrub cauldrons?" The Gryffindor unknowingly sealed his own fate, and Severus smirked nastily.
"Ah, that sounds adequate, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked gobsmacked, and seemed too stunned for argument. With another pointed glare at Severus, he squared his scrawny shoulders and lifted his chin, arms still crossed. "Fine; have it your way." He acquiesced, muttering "Slimy git," under his breath.
Severus dismissed the comment good naturedly and smirked triumphantly. "Tomorrow, my lab, 10:00 AM," he announced. Then, in a taunting tone, he added, "You might want to wear something expendable, lest you enjoy Flobberworm mucus on your favourite clothes."
Chapter 24: Detention
Summary:
"I wasn't made aware that magic is now acceptable during detentions all of a sudden," Severus drawled testily, arching an eyebrow.
Notes:
Here's chapter twenty four! Not much to say, excpet that this probably isn't the best of my chapters. Sill, I have decided to upload it. Hope you like it:) Also, thank you for all of your comments and 2600 hits! Expect chapter 25 on either Saturday or Sunday. Enjoy!
Chapter Text
At exactly 10:00 the next morning, three soft knocks sounded on the door to Severus' lab. The Potions Master noted with amusement his ex-student's punctuation, shaking his head with a sigh, and called P– Harry to come in. The door opened to reveal the green-eyed seventeen year-old.
"Morning, professor," greeted the boy casually, a hint of mock in his tone, as if they were back to being professor and student, and diligently stepped inside. Severus smirked inwardly, rolling his eyes.
"Likewise, Mr. Potter, although, unless you are on some muggle drug, I see no meritful reason for you to be as cheerful over a detention," he remarked dryly, and showed Potter over to a corner of the chilly, dark lab, where a hefty mountain of potion-stained pauldrons stood by a sink. As Severus silently conjured a pair of dragonhide protective gloves for him, Harry replied.
"Oh, right. Sorry." Instantly, he became more subdued, clearly forced, but then bursted out laughing. "Sorry, sir, it's only that this situation is kind of ridiculous," he choked out, leaning against the wall.
Severus scowled at the Gryffindor's audacity. "Care to enlighten me as to how you find this situation amusing?" He was surprised by Potter's sudden lift of mood, given the news they had received over breakfast.
"Well, we're no longer professor and student," he pointed out, "And I've just defeated the Darkest wizard of the century a month ago, AND I was tortured by Death Eaters a few days ago… Yet, somehow, I'm still in detention?" He shook his head in amusement, and ignored Severus' glare. "Some people never change, I guess."
"Well, unfortunately for you, the 'bloody hero of the world' card has never worked with me," Severus reminded smugly. "Now, enough dawdling. You've a detention to fulfil, and I've work to get done. Get to scrubbing, O, insufferable Saviour of Wizardkind."
Thankfully Harry snorted and got right to work without a word of defiance.
As Harry scrubbed dutifully, Severus brewed a potion for the infirmary, basking in the pungent scent of various ingredients and the purple fumes his potion was emitting. The Potions Master's each movement was precise, careful, and well-measured. It was his reprieve from many of his troubles, one of the few things that had kept him sane throughout his life as a spy.
As he worked, Severus absently compared the currently scrubbing Potter to Hogwarts student Potter he'd known all these years. The boy was much more subdued and compliant now than he had been at school…or had that just been Severus' blinded prejudice towards the boy at that time?
Since recent revelations, he'd come to reconsider all of his initial perceptions of Harry Potter. Last night had been… revealing, to say the least, and just thinking about it made his head hurt.
The only sounds in the damp lab were the bubbling of the potion, and the Gryffindor scrubbing the cauldrons with a metal sponge. The boy was unusually quiet compared to the mood he'd entered the lab in, and Severus knew it was due to the headline in the Daily Prophet from earlier.
Just the previous night, five wizards and two muggles were killed in a small village not far from Godric's Hollow, their bodies found near a small, muggle campsite near the Forest of Dean. Their pattern seemed random, but their victims were either muggleborns, half-bloods, or 'blood traitors'. Well, no surprise there, he thought bitterly.
Severus had contemplated hiding the Daily Prophet from Harry when he first read the news, but Potter had been adamant on reading the morning's paper, so Severus had relented. Potter had only managed to read about halfway through the article when he thrust the paper down at the table face-down, then took a big swig of his coffee, grimmancing, but saying nothing.
It was evident that there was a dangerous potion brewing inside the boy, threatening to overflow from the anger and frustration. And, as the saying went, 'emotion brews disaster'. Severus didn't know how Harry had passed the remainder of the time before his detention with him, since he had retreated down to his lab to get started on brewing, but he would bet his vault that the boy had succumbed to brooding over the depressing news and thinking up ways the attack was his fault.
Oh, they had discussed this topic just the previous night. Alas, as Severus well knew, guilt was often a permanent scar, an internal one that is difficult to rid of, if at all possible.
This made Severus all the more desperate for Harry to accept his offer of help. He had no way of stopping the foolish Gryffindor from doing as he pleased as he was an adult, too, but helping him would allow Severus to keep an eye on the boy, whom he'd sworn to protect.
The two wizards continued to work in silence, both enveloped in their thoughts. Not twenty minutes later, Harry announced that he was finished, wiping his hands dry on a clean towel.
"Are there any more cauldrons?" he asked, looking around curiously.
At first, Severus was certain that there was no possible way that Harry could have scrubbed fifteen cauldrons clean in such a short span of time, but was internally gobsmacked when the boy presented him the neatly stacked, spotless cauldrons. His eyes darted from the completed task to the accomplisher suspiciously, and then pinned him with a knowing look.
"I wasn't made aware that magic is now acceptable during detentions all of a sudden," Severus drawled testily, arching an eyebrow.
"I didn't use magic." denied Harry, sounding a little affronted and holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"Well, I highly doubt that even Nibby would be able to clean half of that stack in the span of twenty minutes," Severus pressed, arms crossed.
Harry shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands into his back jeans pockets. "Doubt what you want, sir. I didn't use any magic," he repeated, growing impatient. "You would be surprised if I told you that I did this exact sort of thing at the Dursleys all the time."
Severus hadn't expected such an explanation. He wasn't sure how to reply to that, but it made him all the curious about Lily's sister's family, and how they had treated the saviour of the Wizarding World all those years. It made him grow… curious, and perhaps a little wound up at what Harry was saying. Putting two and two together, it was clear that Harry hadn't been a 'spoiled prince' over at his relatives'.
Before Severus could inquire, however, Harry beat him to it, changing the subject. "Is there anything else you want me to help you with, sir?" He asked, glancing around the dimly-lit, stone room.
Severus received the unvoiced request to abandon the subject of his relatives, and Severus compiled only out of pure empathy, remembering himself at the boy's age whenever a rare soul would inquire about his home situation.
Thus, he considered Harry for a moment before showing him to the ingredient storeroom at the back of the room, tasking him with reorganising anything that was out of place in alphabetical order. All of his herbs and ingredients were always well-organised in their respective places, but sometimes, a jar or two would get misplaced if the Potions Master was in a rush.
To Severus' surprise, the boy nodded his head without argument, shrugging his shoulders slightly at the sight of all the jars and containers in the small shelved space, and set to work with a determined look on his face.
Severus went back to work on his potion for the next half hour…His potion was now just the right shade of midnight blue and was shimmering from the recently added powdered unicorn horn, when Harry broke the comfortable silence.
"Sir?" he called, peering out of the storeroom and holding a small, blue leather pouch in one hand.
"Po– Harry?" Severus returned, looking up from his work. It was still foreign for him to use the boy's first name.
"What's the difference between crushed and powdered dried lionfish spines?" was his out-of-the-blue question, catching the Potions Master a little off-guard. "I'd read somewhere that in some potions, crushed spines are preferable over powdered ones, but sometimes the recipe leaves the choice to you," he elaborated.
Severus' whole attention was now on Harry, searching the younger face for any sign of a sneer or hidden sarcasm, but was surprised to see only pure curiosity in the emerald green eyes, which were looking inside the small pouch, inside which were presumably said dried Lionfish spines. Six years of magical education, and the boy is suddenly interested in the subject? was Severus' puzzled though.
Adopting his lecture tone, Severus launched into an explanation: "When powdered, the spines add a thicker consistency to your potion, at the same time strengthening the other ingredients in it. Crushed spines, on the other hand, aren't as fine, thus not changing the consistency, nor strengthening the ingredients. It depends on the nature of the potion you are brewing."
He paused to judge Harry's reaction, and was surprised when the boy nodded his head in understanding.
"In some rare cases, the recipe's other ingredients are so strong and concentrated that it makes little to no difference whether the spines are crushed or powdered."
Severus finished his explanation with a small fond smile. He loved the fine art that was Potions Brewing, which is one of the select few reasons why he had put up with those dunderheads as Potions Master in the first place.
Harry had a thoughtful look about his face, as if mulling over what Severus had just told him. What Harry said after a moment surprised Severus even further.
"It's interesting."
Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy in front of him. "Who are you, and what have you done to Harry Potter?" He deadpanned, feigning concern.
Harry laughed and shrugged his shoulders, leaning sideways against the doorframe. "Dunno, sir." He played along. "For all you know, I could be a Polyjuiced imposter." He feigned a serious voice. When Severus arched an amused eyebrow, P– Harry dropped the act.
"I've always found potions interesting, s' just…Well, the class isn't exactly pleasant when your professor is prejudiced against you," he admitted in a low voice, tossing the blue leather pouch from one hand to the other.
A pang of guilt settled at the bottom of Severus' stomach at Harry's admission. Could it be that the boy had inherited Lily's passion for potions, only to have it been drowned by Severus' cruel taunts and remarks? The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water.
He reminisced over the days when he and Lily had shared the same passion and talent for the subject; it had often been one of their favourite topics to discuss. What would she say to Severus if she were here now? After all, Severus as good as crushed a small part of Lily Potter in her son.
"Perhaps we can remedy that now." Severus said slowly, turning his attention back to his potion, which he quickly put on a stasis spell. The ladle started mixing the now lighter blue liquid counterclockwise.
Severus, brushing the detention aside, beckoned Harry over to his workstation. Tossing the pouch of dried lionfish spines on the wooden table, Harry began observing the Potions Master's work of mincing some mandrake root.
"You may retrieve the clover honey from the storeroom. Pour exactly two pipet-fulls of it into the potion," Severus instructed, keeping his tone even and tossing the minced mandrake root into the simmering cauldron.
Harry hesitated for only a moment, but didn't question him. Had Severus looked up in time, he wouldn't have missed the small smile tugging at his lips. The boy quickly retrieved the small jar of the golden-yellow syrup, and Severus stepped aside to give Harry room to work, silently observing the boy as he carefully squeezed the pipet in the honey, and added it twice to the potion.
Severus barely contained his pleased smile when Harry looked in awe at the potion which was now changing its colours from a light blue to lilac, magenta, and then finally a gradient of fluorescent orange and yellow.
As the ladle changed its stirring to clockwise, Severus jumped into his lecture mode once again.
"Clover honey in particular contains various vitamins and minerals and offers powerful antibacterial and anti-inflammatory benefits, "he explained, screwing the lid back on the jar and setting it aside. Harry leaned against the table on his elbows, looking at Severus attentively.
"In the muggle world," the Potions Master continued passionately, "Honey is commonly used in cold and cough medicines and various home remedies due to its unique health-promoting properties. In potion brewing, honey can be found in almost every medicinal potion, which enhances the other ingredients and boosts their potency."
Harry's eyes held intrigue. "What's the potion? Harry asked, turning back to the orange fume-emitting caudron.
"Mandrake Restorative Draught," Severus answered.
"What's that?" Harry asked again, curiously pointing with his finger at a silver dish with small blood-red berries in it.
Severus internally beamed but kept his expression schooled. No one had ever listened so intently to Severus' explanations on potion ingredients or the subject in general, let alone posed questions. The dunderheads at Hogwarts had never really bothered with the subject, save for a select few who found the art interesting at best.
And to think that Lily's passion had been passed down to her son… that it hadn't been lost.
Only Lily had ever listened to Severus rant relentlessly about the different properties of rare ingredients and their uses, and would portray sincere curiosity. There really was more of Lily than James bloody Potter in the boy, Severus mused to himself.
Harry's question had led to follow-up questions, and soon enough the boy's 'detention' with the Potions Master had turned into a full-on Potions lesson. From boom berries to dragon scales, Severus passionately tutored Harry, who seemed to be absorbing his every word.
In no time at all, the potion was complete, and Harry was helping Severus bottle it up into small, empty flasks and carefully storing them in a wooden crate with a handle to be carried in.
"Earlier, you'd mentioned that you found the class unpleasant, yet not the subject." Severus commented. "Care to elaborate?"
Wiping his hands on a clean rag, Harry leaned against the table, a small shrug tugging at his lips. "Well, there are many classes which I hate, but enjoy the subject, and vice versa," explained Harry. "Take Defense, for example: Quirrel, Lockheart, and Umbridge, were all awful teachers, but I always found the subject interesting."
Harry looked up at him sheepishly, "Same with Potions. You're right; it is interesting. Just the environment is what makes all the difference."
Severus found himself mentally agreeing with Harry. He himself had hated many classes, but had loved the subjects. Had it not been the Marauders, maybe his experience wouldn't have been so miserable? Harry was right; it all really does depend on the environment, and Severus berated himself for making the young Gryffindors Potions lessons a living hell when they had been in school.
"My favourite subjects were Defense and Potions, though they were the classes which I despised," Severus found himself replying suddenly. "Those, and a select few other classes were the ones Slytherins and Gryffindors had shared back then." Unlike Harry's situation, none of Severus' professors had been foes, spies, or homicidal, so his dislike had never been in the professors.
"What did you think of Divination, sir?" Harry then asked, a bit of mirth in his voice. Severus almost sneered at the mention of the useless subject and the freud that taught it.
"Put it this way, Mr. Potter: If your marks from the subject were anywhere above Acceptable, I would be genuinely concerned over the state of your mental health," Severus answered bluntly, raising his chin a little. "I have never really understood why you had even chosen the subject over literally any other to begin with," he added as an afterthought, but genuinely curious.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Seemed like the easiest subject to take," he said. "Besides, we thought we could both suck at the subject if it turned out to be hard, since Ron was also taking Divination." Lazy, yet a reasonable explanation. "It wasn't very hard, though; just supid. She wouldn't stop predicting my death every time she saw me," Harry added in a laugh, and Severus almost chuckled himself.
"Yes, she has done so since the beginning of time. Nothing new, however." Severus brushed off the subject, painfully reminded of the prophecy he'd overheard Trelawny give.
Once they were finished bottling up the potion, Harry even offered to help Severus with the cleanup, which the older wizard didn't mind. The two wizards continued talking about inconsequential things as they cleared the worktable and put away the ingredients and brewing tools, both feeling less tense in the presence of the other.
Strangely, Severus had grown to enjoy Harry's company, damned he would ever admit it aloud. Harry almost seemed like a friend to him at this point, at which Severus would have sneered at a mere month ago. But as things have changed, so have their perceptions of each other.
The two wizards made their way out of the lab for lunch, the wooden crate of Poppy's potions hovering in front of them.
Harry found himself distracted from the food on his plate by his thoughts of his 'detention' with Sn–Severus from earlier. Harry mentally marked this date on his imaginary calendar as the day when he had actually enjoyed a detention with the Bat of the Dungeons.
Harry was surprised at how easy it had been talking to Severus about potions and school, and Harry had really enjoyed the Potions Master's lectures on different potions ingredients and their properties. Harry had always known that Severus was a very academic person of high knowledge, but actually hearing the man in full lecture mode about any random question Harry had for him…that was a new level of impressive.
Harry hadn't lied to Severus when he had told him he has always found potions interesting. Ever since Severus' little speech about the "art that is potions making", Harry had been reading his textbooks on potions non stop, desperate to improve.
It hadn't been his fault that Severus had always belittled and ridiculed him in class! If not for the usual belittling comments, snide remarks and unfair points deduction, Harry would have bet his vault that his marks wouldn't have been in such a suffering state, if Slughorn's lessons had been of any indication.
After their very long and exhausting conversation the previous day, Harry had found yet another side to Severus, one with which he felt safe and reassured. The man had confirmed that he would never lie to, or sugarcoat anything for Harry, and Harry easily found solace in that. He had never been able to trust adults, and yet he found reassurance and a sense of trust in Severus.
So, could he really trust Severus Snape? Could he really accept the ex Death Eater's help? Was the man's offer genuine? Was Severus' drive of guilt and responsibility enough to make him want to partner up with the son of his childhood nemesis for good? Could Harry really accept his help; his assistance?
On one hand, Harry wanted Severus' help, yet on the other, he felt a sense of trepidation. Despite all they'd been through these past few weeks, Harry still felt a little weary around the man who'd ridiculed and belittled him for such petty reasons. Harry had forgiven; not forgotten.
"Food is meant to be consumed, not fooled around with, Mr. — Harry." S– Severus' smooth, drawling voice brought Harry back to the dining room from his musings. Harry blushed and put his fork down, frowning slightly at the mush he'd created on his plate.
"Sir," Harry began tentivilly. "I've been thinking…I want to go to Grimmauld Place."
This caught Severus' attention. His fork froze between his mouth and his plate, before he put it back. "Pray tell, why, Potter?" He asked neutrally, looking intently at him, though Harry could tell that the man wasn't too ecstatic at the sudden proclamation.
If he wants to help me, this will be like a small test trial for him; to see just how things would work if I agreed to his offer.
"I want to see if there are any clues we've missed that The Death Eaters had left behind," Harry said confidently, returning Severus' gaze in hopes of appearing tougher than his scrawny self. "Maybe there are maps or plans that the aurors had missed?"
Severus expelled a sigh; he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips almost tiredly, elbows resting on the table. "I highly doubt that, Harry," he finally responded, sounding weary. "Grimmauld Place had no doubt been searched upon by the Aurors upon our leave. If they had uncovered anything, I am certain McGonagall would have been made aware, consequently we would know as well."
Harry bit his lip. It made sense, but…"Still, I want to check, sir." He insisted.
Severus finally stopped rubbing his eyes, and looked up at Harry. Harry had only then noticed the dark circles under the man's eyes; he looked exhausted! Even his hair looked a little frazzled. In the dim lighting of the potions lab, it had been hard to notice the clear signs of exhaustion on Severus' face.
It was an awkward couple of moments as Severus just looked at Harry with a searching gaze. Harry squirmed slightly under the scrutiny, but condemned himself to keep a straight posture.
Finally, the man gave in. He sighed through his nose, only softer this time. His mouth was a thin line. "I will require your cloak, then, Potter."
Chapter 25: Have You Ever Seen An Xray?
Summary:
“Have you ever heard of x-ray spells, Harry?” asked Severus abruptly, still looking at him. Harry’s curiosity piqued.
Notes:
Yikes, this chapter got long! I feel like my chapter length is a bit inconsistent, but sometimes I can't help it... I want to address a few things, by the way:
1. I have credit to give to someone for an idea, but that's at the end of the chapter.
2. This chapter was innitially part of a single chapter, but when I edit I usually add a bunch of stuff and I end up splitting the whole thing.
3. We've surpassed 3k hits! TYSM!
Anyways, that's it! I hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was early the next day that two cracks resounded in Claremont Park, causing a flock of birds to startle. Two figures wasted no time hiding themselves behind some bushes, wands drawn just in case.
The sight of the old building brought memories of the past battle to Harry's mind, making him suddenly feel very self-conscious. He felt a shiver crawl down his spine remembrance of the cruciatus Curse, as though thousands of knives were slowly tearing him apart. But a small movement beside him made him push those thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand.
In a way, Harry wasn't afraid of experiencing anything similar again… Though, not because there were no Death Eaters in Grimmauld Place, but because he knew that Severus wouldn't allow for it.
They had a decent view of Grimmauld Place, and Harry spotted several Aurors stationed around the house, disguised as muggles. They seemed to be keeping a close eye on the property. It was just as they had expected.
One of the aurors, dressed in a simple button-down shirt and black jeans, was stationed at the front door, pretending to be reading a muggle newspaper. The other suspected Aurors were chatting while walking up and down the street. Harry had to admit, their muggle disguises had improved.
The plan he and Severus had discussed earlier was a risky one, but with a bit of luck, it should work.
Severus, who was less than thrilled about returning to Grimmauld Place, was currently invisible under Harry's cloak, crouched somewhere beside him. It was quite ironic that Severus Snape was using the same cloak that had once belonged to not only James Potter, but the Marauders and a whole generation of Potters…but Harry chose not to comment on it.
"Sir, are you here?" whispered Harry, glancing around. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a low, deep voice sounded from his other side.
"It would do you well to be more attentive of your surroundings" admonished Severus lightly. "Naive idiots," he went on. "The wards set around the house are so predictable. A seventh-year could perform them," spat the man incredulously, a sneer evident in his voice. Harry was a little surprised at that — why hadn’t the Aurors bothered much with warding the place? Obviously, things at the Ministry hadn't changed much, even with Kingsley, and Harry felt his lip curl.
Wait, since when did my lip curl? Living with Sn– Severus must be having a bigger influence on me than I thought…
"So, taking them down won't be a problem? And you said you can do it without setting them off?" Harry asked, peering through the leaves.
"Yes, although there is no other way inside. It would arouse suspicion and put everyone on high alert if an Auror were found unconscious on the doorstep," explained Severus shortly. "You will have to get them to lower the wards, and we shall slip inside."
Harry frowned and turned his head in Severus’ direction. "Brilliant. And just how am I supposed to do that?" He asked sarcastically. "Won't it be a bit suspicious?"
"Fortunately, you and I do not share a mind, so I couldn't possibly know what sort of excuse your Gryffindor head would come up with that wouldn't be too...out of character for you." His tone was light, but sarcasm lined it. Harry rolled his eyes. More seriously, he said, "Last time I checked, this property is legally yours. That should serve as a bout of inspiration to you."
The boy considered things for a moment, worrying his lip, and then finally ahrugged."Alright. Fine. Stay close, I guess." mumbled Harry. Without waiting for a reply, he rose to his feet and began to walk towards the ancient and noble house of Black.
He could faintly make out the Slytherin following behind him, the man's footfalls against the pavement path barely audible. As he approached the Auror, he wasn't really sure how to get the man’s attention, therefore, he settled on a short, awkward wave.
"How may I help– Mr. Potter!" greeted the Auror, lowering the paper he had been reading. From the man's stance, Harry could tell that the wizard was prepared to reach for his wand in an instant. “What an honour!”
"Er, hi," Harry greeted back somewhat lamely. “I want to enter Grimmauld."
The auror's eyes narrowed slightly. "I require identification, Mr. Potter." It was clear that he suspected Harry of being a wolf in sheep's clothing, judging by his tone.
Harry bristled at that. This was legally HIS house! He shouldn't need to present identification! He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to quell his anger. "Will my wand do?" he asked tersely, slowly withdrawing his phoenix feather wand from his invisible wrist holster.
The Auror noded shortly, but eyed Harry and the wand warily. Withdrawing his own wand, the Auror pointed it at Harry’s and muttered a complex incantation.
"All seems to be in order, then," announced the man, his features relaxing slightly. He looked a little sheepishly at Harry, and offered a handshake. "Jack Blerry at your service," offered the Auror. "Apologies, Mr. Potter. Can't be too careful. Minister's orders."
Yeah, I see what you mean. Ironically, there’s a wanted, invisible ex Death Eater just behind me, Harry mussed to himself, biting his tongue.
"S'fine." Harry brushed it off hastily. "Can you also take down the wards while I'm in there?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Jack considered this for a moment. "I suppose…you are the legal owner of the premise, so I guess we could make the allowance," he conceded. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "May I have a reason, however?" The auror inquired, drawling his words a bit.
Uh, yeah, this is MY legal right, and I don’t have to give you any damn reason! he thought savagely, though refrained from pulling that card, lest he wished to draw suspicion.
"Just… it would make me feel more comfortable without them…"
Okay, in Harry’s defence, that had sounded more convincing in his head.
Jack cocked his head a little, his eyebrows furrowed, but apparently let it slide.
"I'll just need a time span, then." he added.
"Er. I think three hours should be good," answered Harryafter a second. The Auror silently allowed for this, and began to mutter incantations, flourishing his wand. After a few, short moments, Harry could strongly feel the atmosphere around them change, remembering what Severus had once lectured him about being able to sense wards during one of their lessons.
Jack then muttered another spell at the front door. There was an audible click.
Before stepping through, Harry deliberately paused at the entrance, holding the door a little wider than necessary, and took his time holstering his wand. The Auror didn't seem to become suspicious of this, though.
Once the door behind them closed, Severus reappeared, neatly folding Harry's Cloak and draping it over his arm. The shrieks of Sirius’ mother filled the old building but they was ignored.
"It would make you ‘feel more comfortable’…? Yes, that is certainly not out of character for you." drawled Severus, cocking an eyebrow at Harry with a smirk. Harry blushed.
“Hey! No complaining! I got us in, didn't I?" he defended indignantly, crossing his arms. "Where should we start?” asked Harry, changing the subject quickly.
The man brandished his wand and nonverbally switched on the lights in the corridor. The entrance hall they were currently in showed no signs of the duel from a few days ago, and was back to it’s old, dusty self. The Aurros must have cleaned up when they'd searched the place.
Before Severus could reply, however, the dust on the floor began to swirl and take the form of a ghostly, screaming Albus Dumbledore. Harry stiffened at the familiar sight, having once encountered it a year ago.
The Slytherin’s already pale and drawn face suddenly lost whatever colour it had, turning the colour of parchment. He stood stock still, too shocked to move and unable to move his wand. His eyes grew wider than Harry had ever seen them, horrified gaze fixated on the ghostly Dumbledore, which was now gliding towards them with outstretched hands.
“Snape!” it rasped “Traitor!” pointing a ghostly finger at him.
But then, just like last time, the jinx suddenly dispersed, a mere foot away from the pair. Neither moved, neither spoke, silence reigning over them. Severus looked like he was inwardly hyperventilating, and continued to stand statuesquely, staring at the spot the curse had been a mere moment ago.
“Sir, are you alright?” Harry asked carefully, walking around to stand in front of the man. Slowly, his eyes became more focused, and his shoulders sagged when he finally fixed his gaze on Harry. With a few, shaky breaths to recompose himself, Severus hoarsely answered Harry’s previous question.
“The basement would be most logical,” was his only reply. With that, the man was already moving towards the stairway, his dark cloak trailing behind him.
But, for reasons unfathomable, Harry chose to probably at the ex-Death Eater. The sight of Albus Dumbledore had seriously shaken the man, it was clear as day, and it made Harry think back to how Severus had talked to him in the sitting room about his problems. Who did Seveus Snape have to return that favour?
Down in the damp and baren basement, Severus also lit the place, and Harry shivered a little, though it wasn’t from the chill. Trying not to look at the spot where he had been nearly tortured to insanity, he turned his attention back to Severus.
"Sir, are you alright?" he asked once more, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. Severus turned his head to look at him, a careful neutral expression on his face, but his dark eyes glimmering with emotions the Gryffindor couldn't identify.
"Yes," he answered dismissively. "Now, we need—"
"Sir. Severus. please. It's okay if you were—"
"If I was what, Mr. Potter?" hissed Severus coldly and harshly. "If I was too shocked to move my wand to defend ourselves, let alone a single muscle? That the pathetic little jinx the Order has placed here still haunts me to this day, regardless of whether it was real or not? That it was I who had killed him, regardless of whether it was on his orders!? That I had MURDERED him!"
Severus was breathing deeply, and his eyes widened slightly in shock, as if only just realising what he’d just admitted. So, he sneered at Harry, and turned away.
Harry was silent for a moment, suddenly filled with pain at what he was about to admit. "I think I would have had the same reaction if I had seen Sirius like that," he mumbled In a low voice, rapidly blinking the image out of his head. He probably would have broken down, for that matter.
His efforts were repaid, however, when the dark-cloaked man suddenly turned back to his, their eyes meeting with something akin to deep understanding. Even without saying anything, a million words seemed to pass between them, one of pain, grief, and remorse.
Severus sighed. "I suppose we both have much to work on."
Harry shrugged. "You're setting a fine example, sir," he remarked sarcastically. Inwardly, though, he was once again reminded of their sitting room conversation. He and Severus were probably the only people they could trust to understand. Both were scarred from the war with sorrow, grief, and the whole mix of conflicted emotions. And if Severus was willing to help Harry, then the boy was willing to return the favour. it would simply take time to crack the ex-professor's hard, outer shell.
“Have you ever heard of x-ray spells, Harry?” asked Severus abruptly, still looking at him. Harry’s curiosity piqued.
“No, sir,” he answered honestly.
“Have you ever seen an x-ray?”
“No...”
Harry knew of x-rays, but had never actually seen one. As a kid, the Dursleys had almost never taken him to the doctor’s, Merlin forbid, the hospital. They would say it was too expensive, so any injuries he sustained had to rely solely on his magic.
Severus stared at him strangely before schooling his expression. "X-ray spells enable the caster to see through objects and view their surroundings in greater detail, revealing hidden or obscured things not visible with the naked eye," he explained in his lecture tone. Harry had never heard of such spells. He nodded at him to continue, intrigued.
“Watch closely, then.” Severus pressed the tip of his ebony wand to his temple, though his eyes remained open, fixated on a spot somewhere above Harry.
“Lustrare Oculus obscurata!” Snape incanted. For a brief moment, Harry saw a white haze briefly glaze over his obsidian eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“Your turn, Mr. Potter.”
Harry pulled out his own wand from the invisible wrist holster, and mimicked the ex-professor’s demonstration. He loved the feel of the smooth wood in his hand — the feeling of safety. Harry struggled to remember the incantation, however.
“Lustrare Oculus Obscurata,” Severus reminded him wryly. “And keep your eyes open!”
Harry repeated after him, eyes fixated on a spot on the stone floor. “Lustrare oculus obscurata!” he incanted.
Suddenly, a shimmering curtain of white passed through his vision, leaving in its wake a whole new view of the world around him. The world around him now had a green-greyish tint and appeared in a grid pattern, as if he were looking through a transparent, coloured sheet of plastic.
“Brilliant,” breathed Harry, beaming and looking around. He felt like no secrets could hide from him — it was an amazing sensation. He looked back at Severus, and was surprised to see looking at him with something between amusement and… something else in his eyes, despite his expression remaining stoic, his head cocked to the side.
“There is a first time for everything, as the saying goes, I suppose," Severus said. "Let us not waste any more time. Search the basement, but DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!” warned Severus menacingly. “Stay vigilant, for Merlin’s sake, you Gryffindor.”
Harry rolled his eyes at him, amused. "Of course, O' lord of cunning and caution," he mumbled under his breath.
Several minutes passed as the two wizards searched around the basement, but were unsuccessful in finding anything. There were no concealment spells on the old cabinets, drawers or any of the walls, and Harry was starting to grow a little hopeless.
After about 10 minutes, he and Severus went back up to the ground floor.
“To cancel the spell, simply encant Finite Incantatem.” The older wizard informed Harry, lifting the spell off himself. Harry followed. He had to blink a few times from all the sudden colours around him. The world didn’t seem as bleek when you had seen a green-grey version of it for a while.
“Searching the rest of the house would exceed our time limit. If I recall correctly, there is a house elf that lives here — Kreacher, was his name? I’m interested in what he knows.”
Harry's breath suddenly caught in his throat. In all the recent commotion, he had completely forgotten about Kreacher! Was he even alright? He felt horrible! "Kreacher!"
There was a small pop and, to Harry’s, the old house elf appeared before them, seemingly in one piece. The creature bowed, and Severus visibly scowled in distaste.
“What can Kreacher do for Master Harry Potter, sir?” Kreacher croaked out.
"Kreacher, are you alright? What happened? Did the Death Eaters do anything to you? Or the Aurors?"
Kreacher scratched his bald head. "Dark witches and wizards were here, Master Harry Potter," he said darkly. "They is were looking for master, and they is found Kreacher. Kreacher told he dosen’t know anything. They tortured Kreacher, saying they is wanting information, but Kreacher is loyal to Master Harry Potter."
Harry expelled a sigh of relief.
"Do you recall said witches and wizards hiding anything here? Or maybe you had overheard one of their conversations?" inquired Severus briskly, clearly annoyed at Harry’s sentimentality towards the elf.
Kreacher turned to look at him, as if noticing the tall man for the first time, and visibly grimaced. "Kreacher can sense the presence of something dark… Master Harry Potter’s friend is a bad person. He is one of them." His round, wrinkled eyes were fixated on the ex-Death Eater's left hand, which the man quickly moved behind himself, looking uncomfortable.
"Enough of your impertinence!” the man hissed. “It was a direct question, creature. Answer it, lest you wish me to resort to forceful methods. I strongly advise you to choose wisely," he sneered coldly down at the elf.
“Answer him, Kreacher,” allowed Harry.
Kreacher returned the glare, and somewhat nastily said, "Kreacher is old, and Kreacher's memory is bad. Kreacher cannot remember…" he rasped out.
Severus' eyes gleamed with impotent anger, but then a small, slightly evil, smirk slid over his face, and he addressed Harry. “I’m sure a little Legilimency won't do the little miscreant any…permanent harm.”
Harry suddenly remembered the horrible sensation of someone sifting through your memories in your head. It sent a shiver down his spine. What effect would it have on the old house elf? After Harry’s experience, he wouldn't wish it for anyone.
Severus must have noticed Harry’s uncertain look, for he then added, “I see no reason to be concerned over the vile-mouthed creature. However, rest assured that the experience for him will not be so… as intense as you may remember...” He suddenly faltered, trailing off, his mouth thinning as he caught Harry’s gaze, guilt shining in his eyes.
The boy furrowed his eyebrows at him. “So you were making those lessons so unpleasant and painful for me on purpose!” he accused scathingly, not able to help himself. A small pang of hurt suddenly ached in his chest. He had already known it — it wasn’t anything new. Yet, after everything they’d been through, the friendship and mutual respect they’d established… It hurt to know that Severus had wished him, a child, such harm.
Severus ran his hand through his hair, a conflicted and ashamed look upon his face. He hesitated for a moment, then expelled a deep sigh, averting his gaze. “I… I am not proud to admit that I could have been more careful. It was unjust, cruel and unprofessional on my part.” His eyes softened at the corners and his eyebrows knitted together. “There is no excuse that could possibly justify my actions. For what it is worth…I...apologise,” he finished quietly, remorse evident in his voice.
The man’s blunt confession made Harry clench his fists tightly in his pockets. How could a person have tortured a child, had abused the power of their position to cause pain and discomfort knowingly? How could the man standing before him be the same same from a few years ago?
“Did you enjoy it?” he found himself suddenly asking, dreading the answer. He daren’t look up to meet the man’s eyes, though if he had, he would have caught the other’s face turning a ghostly shade of white.
“I… ” he choked on his words, and that was all the answer Harry needed. The boy felt a pit settle in his stomach. Finally Severus found his voice, so quiet and pained that Harry had barely missed it.
“I am not a good man, Harry. I have always been bitter and alone, and I have said this before, and I shall say it again: I am so sorry. I… ” he shook his head in evident self loathing and disgust. ”I was blinded by prejudice, though that is a pitiful excuse. But, Harry…” Severus made a move as if to place his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but refrained in the end, causing the boy’s green eyes to meet his dark ones. “If there were any way for me to take back all the pain I’ve caused you, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Harry swallowed, regarding the man consideringly. His voice was sincere, and he was surprised to find so much regret and guilt in the obsidian orbs. He sighed and looked back at his sneakers, hugging himself as he suddenly longed for comfort.
It seems like everytime the two of them had this kind of conversation, either one of them got hurt, in a way. Or new things would be revealed, not those of innocence, either. Harry honestly wasn't how he felt about everything that Severus had just told him.
This was supposed to be a sort of trial for Severus, to see if Harry could really trust him… Well, honesty was a big aspect of trust, and Severus had been completely honest with him this entire time. He had already apologised for his wrongdoings. Harry knew he meant it. There was no point in crying over spilt milk, as the muggle saying went. They had to let bygones be bygones.
They had called a truce, after all, which meant no more animosity between them. Severus didn’t hate him anymore...At least, Harry hoped so. Because he certainly didn’t hate the Slytherin. Not anymore… Harry believed Fawkes had given Severus a second chance for a reason, that being a fresh start.
Besides, Harry had promised he wouldn't give up on him like his mum had.
The boy finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, meeting Severus’ eyes, which welled with relief before his face donned a stoic mask once more. “It's in the past. Let’s give it a go, then. As long as it won't hurt him."
Secerus nodded once at him in acknowledgement. "Kreacher,” he addressed the elf with obvious disdain in his voice. “Look at me.”
The house elf only scratched its bald head and craned it to look at the tall figure, when he realised its mistake.
“Legilimens!”
Harry simply stood there, curiously observing the two for a moment. Elf and wizard stared into each other's eyes, but their gazes were unfocused. Both expressions were blank, void of any emotion. Harry wondered if that’s how he looked during his Occlumency lessons with Severus.
But then, the older wizard’s face contorted in pain and discomfort, and before Harry knew it, the mind connection between the two broke. Kreacher stumbled back, panting. The Slytherin, to Harry’s shock and concern, stumbled and slid to the floor against the wall behind him. Kreacher recovered first, so Harry rushed over to the fallen wizard.
“Sir!” Harry exclaimed, helping the wizard up by his arm. His breathing was as though he had just run a tournament. “What happened?”
Severus shakily got to his feet and leaned against the wall. “Legilimency…can be…dangerous when performed…on…creatures or…animals.” He explained.
“And you did it anyway!? Are you alright, sir?” Harry asked, unsure of what to do and offering his hand, which was batted away.
His breathing evening out. “Unquestionably.” He waved Harry’s concern off, adding dryly. “I'll live.” He straightened up, and the two looked at Kreacher, who was glaring at the black-clad wizard with evident contempt. Severus returned the mutual glare.
“Are you okay, Kreacher?” asked Harry.
“Master’s friend is a mind reader,” Kreacher accused with a scathing tone, ignoring Harry’s concern.
“Indeed, and you are a House Elf,” retorted Severus dryly. He turned to Harry. “There is something hiden behind that insufferable painting of Walburga Black.”
Notes:
To give credit where credit is due, thank you so much to James Marshall for giving me the idea of using the painting/portrait of Sirius' mum! (Fanfiction.Net) Much better than what I had originally written.
Expect the next chapter sometime mid-week (not entirely sure when exactly, because I have, like, three or four upcoming tests and a bunch of homework *rolls eyes*.)
Chapter 26: Sorrowful Discoveries
Summary:
Pocketing the pictures worth more than gold, Harry reached with his hand inside the compartment in the wall, and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Its edges were slightly old and tattered, but other than that it was in good condition.
Turning the parchment over to the written side, Harry's knees buckled of their own volition when he instantly recognized Lily Potter's handwriting.
Notes:
Thank you for all of your amazing comments! As always, I try to do my best, but school's a real b sometimes and I rarely have time to edit/write. However, I am going on a little 'vacation' trip next week, so I'm planning to get a lot done... Anyways, more notes at the end, and enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Severus flung the moth-eaten velvet curtains open with his wand to reveal a large painting of Walburga Black. As soon as he'd done this, however, she began to shriek profanities at the top of her lungs, giving the heavy-lidded woman an inane appearance.
"...FILTHY BOOL-TRAITORS, SCUM OF THE EARTH, MUDBLOODS, CROOKED-NOSED—"
"Vocalis Diminisus Furanteur!" countered Severus in his baritone voice. The painted woman seemed to choke for a moment, a wild look in her crazed, black eyes, and then a small orb of yellow-ish light broke out of her mouth. It floated into Severs' ebony wand, and disappeared.
And Walburga Black could speak no more.
Harry stared at the wizard, mouth agape. "Seriously!? You could do that all along!?" he cried indignantly, remembering all those times the man had visited Grimmauld Place and could have done the same to the insufferable painting.
Severus shrugged. "Now, where would the fun have been in that?" he remarked innocently, but then turned serious. "It is a dark spell that rips the victim's vocal cords out, and stores them within the caster's wand. Said castor has the ability to return them to the victim…" Here, he turned to sneer somewhat smugly at the indignant-looking painted woman, "But that is left to their discretion."
Severus pursed his lips in thought, looking back down at Kreacher. His lip curled. "You must know how to remove the painting, elf. The Death Eaters were successful, which means they had either tortured the information out of you or they had cracked it themselves."
"Wait, but I thought there was a Permanent Sticking Charm on the thing," recalled Harry. "Aren't they supposed to be, well, you know, permanent? Even Mad-Eye had tried."
"Nothing in the world is permanent, Harry. Not even the strongest of spells, curses, charms, or jinxes. They all have loopholes, even the Permanent Sticking charm. In the world, there is balance, and this applies to magic firsthand," he lectured.
Harry filed this, marvelling at the Slytherin's wisdom. They had never been taught this at Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, he'd never even heard of it anywhere… But it did make sense, he supposed.
"Right. So, you think the Death Eaters have hidden something behind it?"
"Affirmative." He turned back to Kreacher inquiringly.
The old house elf shook his head, slowly backing away. "No... No… Wizards shall not touch Kreacher's poor mistress. Oh, no… What would poor mistress Black say to Kreacher if she could see him now.. No..No…"
"Kreacher, just tell us. Please?" prompted Harry, his own patience starting to run thin with the elf. "Those dark wizards hid something behind the painting, and we have to get it."
The creature shook his head. "Kreacher didn't see… only heard. A bad wizard said an incantation. Long, Latin…dark…"
Harry heard a weary sigh from behind him. He turned back to look at Severus, who was looking at the elf with a pinched expression, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I see no other option than to perform Legilimency on you again. Forgotten memories are harder to access, but it isn't impossible."
"Wait, Severus, isn't there another way?" inquired Harry, suddenly concerned. "You've said it yourself that it's dangerous to use Legilimency on creatures… and after what's just—"
"Are you accusing me of incompetency, Mr. Potter," asked Severus cooly. Harry was unamused, however. The man sighed. "Whilst I appreciate the concern, there is little need for it. I am fully capable of withstanding the implications of my own decisions. Now, if you'll excuse me…" his dark gaze locked with the elf's, but at the same instant the creature bolted. He didn't get very far however, as Severus Levicorpus-ed him right back and bore his black eyes into his giant, round ones.
The minutes ticked by, Harry growing more and more nervous. It was taking much longer than last time. The scene still bothered Harry, the unfocussed look in the elf's and the man's eyes. Finally, the connection broke, but this time, Severus didn't even stumble before he crumpled to the dusty floor, his wand dropping and rolling away with a clank.
"SIR!"
Harry was at the man's side in an instant. Fortunately, he was still conscious, and Harry helped to prop him against the wall in spite of his weak protests. His breathing was laboured just like the previous time, and he kept his eyes closed.
"What can I do? Do you have a potion, or…?" rambled Harry frantically, unsure of how to help. But Severus managed to lift his hand and wave it in a dismissive gesture.
"I'm… Alright." He rasped out, slowly sitting himself more upright. "The counter spell… is… Perdere In Permanens. 'Infinity sign' wand movement clockwise. Go."
Harry regarded the man sceptically, but in the end figured he should obey. Severus just seemed out of breath, and on the mend. He turned back around to check up on Kreacher, only to discover that there was no trace of the elf. Well, that probably meant he was well enough to have scrammed away. He had half a mind to go looking for him, but remembered they were on a time limit.
Brandishing his own wand, Harry practised the wand movement for a second before performing it on the painting. Nothing happened for a second, but then its rim glowed in an emerald-green light, before fading away. The painted woman in it looked beyond herself as if on the verge of hyperventilation, but Harry paid her no mind.
Just then, he realised that Severus was back on his feet, standing beside him. Nodding approvingly at Harry, he waved his wand to remove the painting off the wall, turning it over mid-air to reveal the back. Indeed, several pieces of parchment were stuck to the back.
Muttering a few spells in Latin, the wizard gave the papers an approving nod and carefully removed them. With his head, he motioned for Harry to follow, and led them to the kitchen.
With his wand, he hovered and set them down on the long wooden table. Together, they began to examine their finds.
The biggest piece of paper was a muggle map of the United Kingdom. It had red ink markings all over it. Harry and Severus examined it with a sense of apprehension. There was a red 'X' on a spot in the centre of London, and another 'X' in the middle of the Forest of Dean. An area Harry recognized as where they currently were was circled red.
To Snape's evident surprise, the town of Cokeworth was also marked, and to Harry's Horror, so was Godric's Hollow. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he continued to examine the map. There were bits of writing here and there, saying things like 'Traitor's place' or 'Base A' and 'Plan 7'.
The most interesting aspects were probably all the red and black markings over the mountains of northwestern Ireland, many crossed out or scribbled over, making the paper look like Ron's Potions essay after grading.
Harry and Severus looked up at each other, concern and confusion in both their eyes. Neither knew what to say for a minute.
"This must be a map of either their bases, or places where they have plans to carry out in the near future," spoke Seveerus grimly. His eyes wandered back to the map. Harry was about to speak, when he saw the Slytherin's eyes widen.
"No…" he murmured quietly, running a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on a spot on the map. Harry followed his gaze to a red triangle marked on the North Sea, not too far from the shore of England. He frowned.
"Sir?" Harry asked tentatively.
"They're planning a breakout in Azkaban."
"What!? H—how can you be sure?"
Severus sighed, and looked up at Harry, his expression grim. "Have you any other explanation as to why a triangle would be marked, Potter? Azkaban is a staggering, three-sided tower in the middle of the North Sea. It's marked as 'Operation C'."
Harry went quiet. So the Death Eaters were planning something involving Azkaban? "But we've caught the ones that were here," Harry pointed out. Severus expelled a humourless laugh.
"Harry, their numbers are staggering. Just because five of them have been caught does not mean they don't have any other strongholds or headquarters."
Harry gulped. "We should tell Kingsley. He should put the Aurors on guard."
The older wizard nodded and moved the map aside, beginning to examine the other papers in the pile. Harry noted that these were pages that looked to have been ripped out of books. He walked over to stand beside Severus so that he didn't have to read the texts upside-down.
The pages, Harry realised with a shiver, were all about Dementors. The texts spoke of their origination, how they were bred, their abilities, and how to counter their effects. However, upon reading the last page, both wizards blanched at the circled text.
…Can be controlled by the means of a series of prohibited, dark spells…Opposite of the Patronus Charm…Leaving them undeterred and indestructible…
"They plan to carry out with the Dark Lord's old plan," Severus whispered, mostly to himself. A chill ran down Harry's spine for the umptieth time that hour.
"W-What plan?"
"The Dark Lord had once had an obsession with Dementors, specifically when he had been growing his army for the Second Wizarding War," he explained gravely, still staring down at the pages, leaning heavily against the table with his palms.
"And…you think they want to…go through with it?"
"They aren't the only ones who wish to 'finish what was started', Potter, if one puts it that way."
Gulping, Harry asked, "What was the plan?"
Severus scowled at the ripped out pages, a dark shadow momentarily flickering across his face. "Not many had been in on his plans, only a select few… myself included." He sighed. "HE had been researching ways to control the Demented creatures; to be their commander. Yes, HE had succeeded in winning them over to his side for the war, but only by having bribed them. He was…unsuccessful in discovering a means of actual control over a whole army of them, most fortunately. However, he had mentioned that he was looking for a source; a core that contained the absolute power of darkness…"
Harry groaned and leaned against the table with his elbows, putting his face in his hands, making his glasses slide upwards.
"Eloquently put, Mr. Potter," agreed the man with a sigh. A little firmer, he then pondered aloud. "Perhaps we should search the rest of the house. I have never particularly been to the upper stories. There is a significant chance that these pages had once belonged to some of the books that had been kept here."
Harry lowered his hands from his face and gingerly rubbed at his eyes. Adjusting his glasses, he nodded in agreement.
The two wizards made their way up stairs, Harry visibly cringing at the creaking floorboards, but sighing when he remembered that Mrs. Black's portrait had been shut up. He decided to start with the topmost floor, which just happened to have Sirius' old room.
Harry paused in front of Sirius' childhood bedroom. The last time he'd been in it, he had found the letter from Lily and photos of the Marauders. He knew he had searched the room well back then, but he couldn't help but feel as if there was a good chance of finding something with the x-ray spell.
Severus had also been in here…
Severus Snape had cried over the same letter from Lily that Harry had found later, only the man had taken the second page of it with him. He had also ripped a picture of James, little Harry, and Lily, so that he had only the half with Lily on it. He wondered if Severus still had them, but wasn't sure about asking the man.
With a deep breath, Harry turned the knob and walked in. The spacious room was just as he had left it last summer: a large bed with a carved headboard, a tall window with long velvet curtains, a candle chandelier, and some basic furniture pieces. The walls of the room were plastered with many pictures, and his room was decorated with Gryffindor banners and colours.
Harry walked in somewhat cautiously, taking in the room that had once belonged to his late godfather. An instant feeling of guilt threatened to wash over him, but he swallowed it.
Taking his wand out, Harry cast the curtains apart, so that the daylight would light the room. The bright rays of sunlight lit the tiny dust particles in the air, creating a melancholy ambience. Next, Harry muttered the X-ray Spell. The world around him instantly became gridded and green-grey tinted.
The curious Gryffindor began looking around the room. The walls were opaque, but the pictures didn't show in his vision anymore. To Harry's dismay, wherever he looked, there appeared to be no hidden compartments in the room. He searched the chest of drawers, the wardrobe, even under the mattress of the bed; but found nothing. There were no bookshelves in the room, but Harry had also been hopeful to find something akin to the letter from his mum, like last time.
He was just about to turn to leave in slight disappointment, when something caught his eyes. The huge Gryffindor plaque hanging on the wall was, too, opaque… except for its middle, which was in a light grid. It was barely noticeable, hence why Harry hadn't spotted it before.
Hopeful with excitement, Harry cancelled the X-ray spell with his wand, and walked over to the plaque. He tried removing it the muggle way from the wall, but it wouldn't budge.
What is it with this place and Permanent Sticking Charms?
But it didn't make any sense; why would Sirius have made the plaque completely unremovable if it had a secret compartment behind it? Unless…
Harry suddenly had an idea. It was probably a long shot, but definitely worth a try. Sirius had been, after all, a proud Gryffindor.
For five minutes straight, Harry spoke different names, terms, words, phrases...Anything that Sirius could've used as a password for the plaque, just like the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Sure, he could use that spell he'd used on Walburga Black's portrait, but he thought it would be disrespectful to Sirius's memory.
Harry was growing irritated quickly. He'd already tried his parents' names, Dumbledore, Hogwarts, anything associated with Gryffindor...He'd even tried 'Snivelous' for Merlin's sake! Yet, nothing made the plaque budge.
Harry was just about to give up, when a last resort came to mind. Praying that it worked, Harry said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and held his breath.
His heart gave a leap of excitement when the Gryffindor plaque slowly swung aside, revealing a small square hole in the wall. Heart racing slightly, Harry reached inside with his hand. The first thing he felt was a few small square pieces of smooth paper, so he decided to take those out first.
Harry's breath got caught in his throat when he saw that the small paper squares were pictures of Lily, James and baby Harry. The pictures were magical ones, meaning that they moved.
The first picture was of Lily playing with baby Harry in a room that appeared to be the nursery. Another picture was of James and Harry curled up and sleeping on a plush couch in front of a fireplace, James' glasses slightly askew.
The final picture in Harry's hands was of his mum sitting with her knees drawn up in a plush armchair with what looked like a small sketchbook in her lap, and appeared to be in the middle of drawing something with her pencil.
Harry was oblivious to the hot streaks of tears pouring down his cheeks. His mind felt slightly numb, and there was a burning ache in his chest. These pictures were priceless to him; they were exactly what he'd been hopeful to find, and find them he did.
He wondered now, more than ever, what his life could have been like, had there been no Voldemort. His mum was sketching in that last photo, right? So, did that mean that she was artistically inclined? Would she have taught Harry to draw?
Harry could remember his occasional doodling in Binns' History of Magic classes, and they left much to be desired. In fact, Ron would often challenge Harry who could draw an uglier version of Snape.
Pocketing the pictures worth more than gold, Harry reached with his hand inside the compartment in the wall, and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Its edges were slightly old and tattered, but other than that it was in good condition.
Turning the parchment over to the written side, Harry's knees buckled of their own volition when he instantly recognized Lily Potter's handwriting.
25th October, 1981
Padfoot,
How are you holding up? We haven't heard from you in awhile. I do hope you're doing alright in your parents' house in London. Moony had visited a couple of days ago, and had spent some time playing with Harry; said he needed a 'mood lift', since the previous night was a full moon. Harry loves him, I can tell. Moony is great with children, and I even suggested he apply to be a professor at Hogwarts. Of course, he refused because of his 'hairy problem'.
James and I have been discussing a certain matter regarding Harry. Our dear boy already has you as his godfather, but I cannot help but feel paranoid. This is a war, after all, and things happen. I was considering assigning Harry another godparent, but Moony is, sadly, out of the question. I wouldn't entrust Harry with Petunia even if she were the last person alive on this planet, and Wormtail has been very distant lately, probably preoccupied. The Longbottoms are a good option, but they are already quite preoccupied with their son. I have one more person in mind… though James had almost cursed when I told him who. He said he would think about it, but it's not like we have many other options.
Before I tell you, just know that I've had a while to think this over. Dumbledore would probably be against it, but I know that this person would never let harm befall Harry.
The person I have in mind is…
But the name there was scribbled over with an unhealthy amount of ink, making it impossible to read.
Lots of love,
Lily.
numbing shock and grief coursed through Harry. His hands were clammy and his body trembled and his vision blurred, any attempts to stop the tears now rapidly flowing down his face in vain. He didn't bother wiping them away, though. The world around him felt muted, and Harry didn't register the smooth, deep voice addressing him from the doorway.
Harry continued to silently cry, oblivious to the other presence in the room. It hurt him to know just how much his parents had cared for him, to have wanted to take extra precautions so that Harry wouldn't end up with Lily's sister, only to be taken from him by Voldemort. It was unfair. Unjust and unfair!
And who had his mum had in mind to make Harry's other godfather? Why had Sirius scribbled over it? Was that person bad?
Harry was so consumed in his grief that he was only half aware that there was someone kneeling on the floor beside him, reading the same letter as he had.
A few silent moments passed, and then Harry felt a warm hand rest on his right shoulder, giving it a light, but comforting squeeze. Harry knew, without a doubt, that the only other person in the house was Snape, and slightly stiffened at the touch. He squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying for the tears to go away. But as the silence stretched on, he felt himself relaxing at the reassuring touch, and even leaning into it just a bit.
In the back of his mind, Harry was absolutely mortified to have Snape see him having a breakdown… no doubt that the man probably thought him weak. He would have expected Severus to ridicule him for crying like a twelve-year-old, but never for the man to offer comfort.
There was a quietly-mumbled "Scribbulus Revelio!" and then a gasp. Through his tear-blurred vision, Harry finally saw the name of whom Lily Potter had wished to make his godfather.
(…)person I have in mind is Severus Tobias Snape.
Harry's jaw went slack, a tidal wave of conflicted feelings and emotions raging within him in a hurricane. First and foremost was shock and disbelief, as the implied person was probably the last one Harry would have ever guessed. Then there was a mix of sadness, relief, and hope for something that never happened. There was sorrow over something that could have been. But also sudden happiness at the realisation that said person was still alive and well, sitting on the same dusty floor as he was.
And dread at what Severus' thoughts on the revelation were.
He was at a loss for what to do or say as he simply stared down at his mum's handwriting. It hurt him deeply to know that Sirius had kept this from him all that time. Had his prejudice against Severus really been so strong that it had overruled Harry? Why would he keep something like this from him? The thought seemed almost unbearable.
Had he even cared?
And then, Harry broke down in full, the weight of everything too heavy for him. In his subconscious, he was aware that Severus was still there, witnessing his emotional there was nothing he could do about it, and he continued to cry in earnest, tears of grief and sorrow pooling on the floor.
However, after a couple of minutes, he could have sworn he heard a sniffle from his right. It took Harry by surprise, and then he felt that familiar hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. A sudden warm feeling enveloped Harry, the small gesture meaning the world to him. It was in that moment that he realised that he truly wasn't alone in his grief, and Harry found solace in that.
Even over the course of them hating each other for seven years, Harry and Severus had always shared one major thing in common: their love for Lily Potter-Evans, a remarkable mother and friend.
As Harry reflected on this, he realised that he really could trust Severus Snape, who was currently experiencing the same pain, grief and remorse as he was, exposing his most vulnerable, humane side.
With a newfound level of trust and respect for the man beside him, Harry took a second to recompose himself, cleared his throat, and said clearly, "Let's end what was started, sir. Together."
Notes:
Maybe some of you thought that the whole 'godfather' thing sounded familiar, and that would be because I found this headcanon on Pinterest once. I'm not sure I'm supposed to give credit here, but here it is to the person who had initially come up with that. Tell me what you think in the comments, and feel free to make suggestions! Maybe you want me to include something in this story? I'm open to suggestions and promise to consider them:)
Next update on the weekend(as always, Ig)
Chapter 27: Library Search
Summary:
The two wizards had lost themselves in time once they had begun their search in the huge library. Harry could have sworn that either the place was somehow alive and hated them, or their luck was plain rotten and there simply weren't any useful books on the Dementors.
Notes:
As promised, here's chapter 27! Wow, it's hard to believe this isn't even half of my entire story! As always, tysm for all of your comments and support! More notes at the end:)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry took two steps at a time as he rushed upstairs to his room. He and Severus had just arrived back from 12 Grimmauld Place, and Harry wanted to put away his cloak, his mother's letter, and the pictures he'd found earlier, before going back downstairs to join Severus in the sitting room. The man had told him that he was going to contact Kingsley and require his immediate presence in the meantime.
The journey back to the manor had been quiet, both him and Severus having been lost in their thoughts. Harry was still having a hard time processing that Sirius had withheld such information from his own godson, but his embarrassing break-down seemed to have done him good, and now he just felt an empty void in his heart. It made him wonder if Sirius Black hadn't been the person Harry had always perceived him to be, always in a good light.
Even though the man hadn't been made into his guardian, Harry still felt like he should've been informed. It still hurt him to think that Sirius' hate for Severus had been stronger than his love for his own godson, after all.
But the recent revelation had brought another unsettling thought to him: Would this make things awkward between him and the Slytherin? Would this change anything between them? If so…how?
But he'd have to dwell on this later.
Gasping slightly for breath, Harry wrenched the door to his room open and crossed the space between him and his bed faster than he thought possible. He dropped to his knees, and reached with his hand under the bed, fumbling for his rucksack. This was where he still kept most of his belongings.
Despite him having more storage accessible to his needs than he's ever had, Harry felt more comfortable with keeping his things in his rucksack for reasons unknown.
Shoving his Invisibility Cloak, pictures and the letter inside as carefully but quickly, he stowed the rucksack back under his bed, and rushed back downstairs as fast as his feet would carry him.
As soon as he stepped over the threshold into the sitting room, the fireplace roared to life with a flare, and out of it stepped the Minister of Magic. Severus was already there to greet him, and Harry walked over to join them.
"Severus, Mr. Potter," Kingsley greeted them kindly with a small incline of his head. Severus reservedly returned the pleasantry just as Harry finally reached them.
"Minister, thank you for coming on such short notice," said Severus.
"Hi, Kingsley," Harry greeted. Harry noticed then that the Minister had dark circles under his eyes and that he looked weary, adorned in his usual dark blue robes with gold trim.
"It is good to see you, Mr. Potter," responded Kingsley. Turning back to Severus, Kingsley adopted his serious, deep voice, and clasped his hands neatly behind his back. "No problem in the least, Severus. I knew this wasn't a social call." His voice was calm and resonant, but Harry could tell there was worry underlining it.
"That, you are correct," Severus confirmed with a sigh and gestured for them to sit. Harry took a seat on one side of the couch, with Kingsley taking the other; Severus chose his usual armchair.
Not beating around the bush, Severus steepled his fingers and began in a brisk tone. "Earlier today, Mr. Potter and I had searched Grimmauld Place in hopes of uncovering something that the Aurors had perhaps overlooked." Kingsley, clearly surprised at this, raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. Severus continued.
"And uncover, we did," he concluded gravely. Reaching inside his inner robe pocket, Severus took out the folded muggle map and passed it to Kingsley to examine. There was silence for a short moment, broken occasionally by the rustling of the smooth paper, as the Minister scrutinized the map, frowning from time to time.
"We think the Death Eaters might be planning something regarding Azkaban," Harry supplied, breaking the silence.
Kingsley made a low humming noise. "Yes. With them, it is only a matter of when they will choose to act on whatever they have planned," he replied, still looking at the map. "From an anonymous source, our Auror team has managed to gather that they may be centered on the dementors."
Severus nodded. "I have reason to believe that the prison is currently their number one objective, as they will not want to plan any major attacks without 'proper amo'," offered Severus. "It does not take a genius to deduce that the markings across the map are either their bases, or their targets."
With a soft sigh, Kingsley carefully folded the map back up and handed it back to the Slytherin. "I'm afraid you are correct. It is unlikely that they would act without a plan, especially since their numbers have been depleted since the end of the battle," agreed Kingsley, twisting one thumb over the other.
"They are still recovering, and we doubt that they will go through with their plans anytime soon. As I've mentioned earlier, we have an anonymous source, but we can never know the authenticity of the intel."
Harry gestured with his chin towards the folded up paper in his lap. "You should be careful with them," Harry concluded darkly. "What if the Death Eaters are planning to attack Godric's Hollow, or Hogsmeade, or anywhere else that's been marked?"
Kinglsy nodded in acknowledgement. "Your concern has merit, Mr. Potter. Yes, I will have to see what can be done…" He shook his head. "Unfortunately, we still haven't been successful in flushing out the imposters, and our anonymous Auror Team is rather small compared to the numbers we actually require." The Minister sighed." This does complicate things a bit, doesn't it?" he gave a dark, mirthless laugh.
Bit of an understatement, really, thought Harry dryly.
They were quiet for a moment, and then Kingsley spoke again, intertwining his fingers neatly in his lap. "As the muggle saying goes, there is no point crying over spilled milk. I do not know how you two have managed to bypass the security around Grimmauld Place…" he gave them a small wink. "After all, we had taken so many measures to ensure the maximum strength of the wards."
Harry smiled at him gratefully. The Minister went on. "But I urge you two to lay low. Severus' case is already moving up in the queue of Death Eater considerations, and it would only jeopardize it if he were seen or caught. I do not think I need to explain why you, Mr. Potter, are you advised to heed caution, too?"
"No, sir."
"Excellent," He said briskly. "Nevertheless, I thank you for your assistance." Kingskey stood, and Severus and Harry followed suit. "I really must be leaving," he decided, looking from wizard to wizard. "I must consult Minerva and the Wizengamot; time is of the essence." Kingsley glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, before turning back to them. "Severus, Mr. Potter, your help has proven very beneficial, and I am grateful to the both of you on behalf of the Ministry."
The two wizards acknowledged this with a simple nod.
"Continue keeping a low profile," were his final parting words, "and remember our old friend's wise words: 'Constant vigilance'." With that, The Minister of Magic threw a handful of floo powder into the flames, spoke his destination clearly, and was engulfed by the green flames with a swoosh.
"Harry."
The boy turned around to face Severus. "Yeah? I mean, yes, sir?"
Severus seemed annoyed at Harry's informal response, but brushed it aside. "If you pose no objections, kindly join me in the library. I do not believe I have made you privy of the fact that I was successful in locating the book from which the pages had been ripped from."
Harry's ears felt warm at the memory of what had happened earlier that day. Since Harry's telling Severus that they would work together, both had sat in silence for some time, simply staring at Lily's old letter. When they had made to leave, barely a word had been spoken between them, both wizards were embarrassed over their emotional breakdown. But that silence had been mutual in deep understanding and, in a way, it had been comforting.
Harry nodded and followed Severus out of the sitting room, falling into step with him. "Where did you find it?" He questioned.
"I had found it in a bedroom under the name of R.A.B." There was a slight hint of a question in his tone.
"That's Regulus Arcturus Black," explained Harry as they ascended the stairs to the second floor. "He was Sirius' brother, and he's the one who replaced Slytherin's locket in the cave."
Severus suddenly came to an abrupt halt on the last step of the stairs, and whirled around. Harry nearly bumped into him.
"What!?"
Oh, right. Harry mentally facepalmed himself. When he had been filling Severus in on the whole Horcrux thing, he hadn't gone into too much detail about any specifics regarding them. As far as the man currently knew, there had been 7 horcruxes, including Harry, and what they had been, but not how Harry and his friends had acquired them.
"It's a long story," responded Harry with a light shake of his head. Now wasn't the time or place to dive into the topic, and they had more pressing matters at the moment. He walked around the man and continued towards the library. After a moment, he heard the footfalls of Severus's wide strides catching up to him.
Both silently entered the library, and Severus beckoned Harry over to a small sitting area in the middle, which offered plush armchairs, a couch, and a round coffee table. Severus chose the armchair, whilst Harry sat in the corner of the nearest couch.
"Nibby!" Summoned Severus. With a pop, the house elf appeared before her master. "Bring us some strong tea, and perhaps a small snack." The House Elf eagerly nodded her head, sparing a glance at Harry, before agreeing and disappearing with a small pop.
Harry definitely hadn't been expecting tea and snacks, but was grateful for the thoughtful gesture, nonetheless.
His expression growing more serious, Severus reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a miniature book, before resizing it back to normal with his wand. With a frowning glance, he passed it over to Harry. It was very old and battered, and the binding seemed very flimsy and fragile, yet the cover was what made a small shiver run down Harry's spine.
'Darkest Creatures And Curses'
"Turn to page one hundred twenty-six," instructed Severus, not taking his eyes off the book in Harry's hands. The boy complied and began to flip through the aged book, but halted when he'd realized that there were only Roman numerals and the texts were in Latin. Confused, he looked up at Severus.
"You know Latin?" he asked in surprise.
"Not fluently, but a sufficient amount, yes. It is a surprise to me that after six years of magical education, you still don't know Roman numerals," said the ex-professor exasperatedly. "Look for 'CXXVI'."
Still in disbelief over Severus' knowledge, Harry diligently flipped to the instructed page, finally stopping once he'd reached it. There, several torn edges of the next few pages protruded from the gutter, leaving about ten pages missing. The only thing part of the chapter left, however, was it's name at the very bottom of the paper: 'Anima Acetabulis: Imperium et infirmitates' on page 126.
"This roughly translates to 'Soul Suckers(Dementors): Control and Weaknesses'," supplied Severus.
"Wonderful," Harry gritted through clenched teeth. "They ripped out the whole bloody chapter and we've only found two pages!" he groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "They must have taken the other ones with them."
"Language," Severus chided. "I was unable to locate the rest of the missing pages, excluding the few we had found at the mut– Black's place. However, I'm certain we will be able to find something on dementors here," he reasoned, gesturing with head at the bookshelves. "The rest of that book holds no valuable information; I've already gone through it."
Harry didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment an ornate silver tray with two cups of steaming hot tea and biscuits appeared on the coffee table. Without comment, Severus reached for his cup, blowing on the drink. When Harry made no move, Severus peered over the rim.
"I advise you to eat, lest you wish to starve yourself to death — a most counterproductive thing when the world is in need of its hero again." Severus's tone was light and dry. Normally, the 'hero' comment would have irritated Harry. Now, though, the Gryffindor found himself wanting to chuckle at the words…but only a little.
Sighing in resignation, Harry reached for his own cup and a small peanut butter biscuit. It felt strange to feel hunger but not have any appetite. He took a small bite of the biscuit and drank some tea along with it. The hot liquid felt good in his throat, comforting him. With each bite, Harry's appetite grew, and it took him several more biscuits to realize just how hungry he actually was.
Once the two had finished with their tea, their stomachs not as empty as before, the two wizards were ready to begin their search.
"I'll look in the section on magical creatures. You can look in the dark arts section," Harry suggested. Over his many visits to the library, he now held a good understanding of which section was where. He only hoped they would find something useful on the Dementors. He figured it's the best they could do for the time being.
The sooner they figured out what the Death Eaters had planned to do with the Dementors, the better.
The two wizards had lost themselves in time once they had begun their search in the huge library. Harry could have sworn that either the place was somehow alive and hated them, or their luck was plain rotten and there simply weren't any useful books on the Dementors.
Every once-in-a-while, when either of them would think that they had found some useful piece of information, they would read a short text or sentence out loud, only for the other to shake his head. There were plenty of books on dark creatures and Dementors, but none spoke of ways they could be controlled or weakened. Quite the opposite, actually. All the books stated the same thing: there are no ways to 'control' Dementors."
By the time the clock chimed 20:00, the round coffee table was groaning under the weight of all the discarded books carelessly piled on top of it.
Harry skimmed through the table of contents of yet another heavy tome. Finding nothing promising in it, he tossed it to join the book pile. Pausing for a moment, he rubbed his eyes under his round glasses with his fingerpads, forcing himself to remain awake.
"Where is Hermione when we need her?" groaned Harry.
A few seconds later, Severus's footfalls clacked against the marble floor, approaching from behind the couch. "Enough of your incessant whining, Potter," he said irritably, coming around the furniture. "Besides, I believe I've found something promising. It is quite a long text; in Latin, too. Thus, I will read a rough translation to you. Pay attention, for I will not indulge in repeating myself."
Despite the stern tone, he heard weariness in Severus's voice. Harry could empathize completely, feeling a huge yawn lodged in his throat, and nodded. Severus walked slowly around the couch, took a perch on the other side, and began reading the text aloud haltingly, pausing to formulate a translation.
"There are certain defenses one could use against Dementors, specifically the Patronus Charm…. Whilst the Patronus charms is a spell of pure and positive magic, thus repelling the creatures, there also exists an anti-Patronus spell, which lures the Dementor in, as opposed to driving them away… The spell, whilst highly dangerous to perform…"
Harry listened intently for the first few minutes, but he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open at his ex-professor's deep, resonant voice. Several times, he tried forcing his eyes open.
"…Dementors are purely dark creatures, their minds are…In their nature, the Dementors feed off…However, that is not the case…Whilst they seek…No true loyalties."
Harry fought to keep his head from dropping, but it was proving an impossible task. His eyes stung with exhaustion and felt like they weighed tonnes. He rested his head against the back cushion, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Was Severus still reading? Yes, he was. The baritone, soothing voice was still there, somewhere to Harry's left. It felt almost as if the man was trying to hypnotize him into sleep with it.
"...Harry…"
Before Harry knew it, he was fast asleep.
The room had grown too quiet; Severus stopped reading abruptly and turned his head to look at the sleeping figure on the other side of the couch. He sighed, but couldn't bring himself to blame the boy. He himself was exhausted from the eventful, emotionally-draining day.
Severus was still shaken from Lily's letter, and the Legilimency he'd performed twice on that wretched house elf had taken a bit of a toll on him. And after the meeting with the Minister and the several-hour library search, the wizard wondered how he was still functioning.
How could have Lily thought him, Severus Snape, suitable to be her only son's godfather? Did it mean that she had forgiven him for all he'd done, or had it been an act of desperation? Either way, Severus knew he would never know, for he had ruined everything. These same thoughts overcame him for the umpteeth time that day, forming a physically-painful pit of remorse and self-hatred churning in his stomach.
If only he hadn't opened his big mouth, at least that second time, maybe he would have been made Harry's godfather? Maybe he and Lily would have reconciled? Maybe the war would have even been prevented? Maybe he wouldn't have abused his position as professor so much on Lily's child, and they would have gotten on well?
So many 'maybe's, all wistful, bittersweet, and impossible.
Severus glanced at Harry again, the almost-eighteen-year-old looking more like a sixteen-year-old, his face more peaceful and unroubled than Severus had seen it yet. His round frames were slightly lopsided, and Severus nearly reached over to straighten them, but suddenly turned away, shutting his eyes tightly.
He didn't deserve to even touch this child, despite Harry having told him that he forgave him. The same heart-wrenching guilt was still ever-so-present, eating away at him as though it were decaying. It mattered little that he had spent half his life protecting and watching over Harry, or that he had turned away from the Dark to spy for the Light; what he had done to Harry in the past six-seven years was beyond inexcusable, ranging from verbally assaulting him to taking pleasure in causing 'mini James Potter' pain with Legilimency.
Oh, what must Lily think of him from the above?
Severus shut the long-since-forgotten book with a soft snap, setting it down beside him, and let his head drop against the back cushion. He closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands, as if the pitiful act would shield him from his internal demons.
Harry had said that he'd spoken to his mother in the Forbidden Forest that fateful night before surrendering to his alleged death. It was nowhere in his rights to ask the boy what Lily had told him, but a part of him almost envied Harry for it.
But what would his ashamed-self have even said to her? He would have probably dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness and await her verdict and judgment, his dignity all but forgotten.
But that would never be, he knew. And anyway, perhaps he really was a coward, for the thought alone of seeing the beautiful redhead again, facing her brilliant, emerald-green eyes terrified him.
Still, she had considered making him Harry's godfather…
But that was before she had been killed a few days later from Severus' cause. That was before she had seen him emotionally torture her child from the above, helpless to do anything about it.
And still, Severus was surprised to find that he wasn't averse to the idea of being Harry's godfather… he actually quite liked it, even… but why?
A sudden rush of livid hatred coursed through his veins as the mutt's face unbiddingly formed in his mind. That imbecilic, irresponsible mutt had been Harry's godfather instead, and Severus did a double take at the sudden jelousy he felt. It wasn't right, he shouldn't be jelous of his childhood tormentor... and yet, over Harry, he was. And of all things, Black had had the audacity to hide this bit of information knowingly from him and Harry all that time, even having scribbled over it!
And of all the times he'd felt hatred and loathing toward the wizard, nothing could compare to what he was currently feeling.
All over one young man, the son of Lily Evans-Potter.
But, again, why?
The ex-Death Eater was asleep before he could ponder the question.
Notes:
I want you guys to tell me how old Harry mentally sounds in my story, and what you think of it. Should I make him sound a bit older? Younger? Everytime I read a fanfic about post-war Harry, my perception of his mental age changes… in some fics he sounds like a fifth-year, and in some he sounds like a 25 yo… In my opinion, he's been through a lot(understatement) and is pretty scarred by the war, but he also didn't have a normal childhood, so maybe his mental state is trying to compensate for that? I'm no therapist, lol. What are your thoughts? Feel free to comment and share your opinions!
BTW: I came up with a lot of the spells and potions in this story myself (of course not the obviously-known JKR ones) and they will get more common as the story progresses. They are all Latin, and you can even translate them to see what they roughly mean.
That's all - tysm, and don't forget to comment!
Chapter 28: That's A Bad Idea
Summary:
“Harry,” Severus’ voice was clear and firml, his tone slicing through the air like a hot blade. “I said no.” His voice brooked no room for argument, finality lacing it as well as… was it concern? “If we are to work together, we must learn to trust each other and accept that some things are better to be dealt with solitaire.”
Notes:
So, I know I said that I would post earlier within the week, but... belive it or not, I had NO time whatsoever for editing or writing! Also, thank you al so much for all of your comments, answers and OVER 4K HITS! Love you guys!
A few more things before you read the ch, though...
1. Fanfiction.Net is seriously lagging for me and I can't even save my new chapter there to upload it, so in case that concerned any of you... yeah, idk, the site's been acting up lately, and the support team has simply been ignoring me.
2. I was quite skeptical abt posting this chapter, mainly because of the first scene. I chose to keep it, though, because younger me had really liked it. If it's too oc, don't come at me😅
Anyway, that's it! Don't forget to comment, and enjoy!
Chapter Text
Harry grimaced from the bright rays of sunshine shining into his shut eyes. He let out a soft humm as he burrowed his face deeper into the warm, slightly scratchy fabric, wondering idly where he had gotten such a pillow that smelled of herbs and potion ingredients.
His pillow slowly rose and fell evenly… Harry racked his brain for what kind of charm could do that. Nevertheless, the boy felt comfortable, and tightened the thin blanket around himself, though found it a little restrained by something.
As he slowly became more aware, memories of the previous night began flooding back to him. He and Severus had been in the library…He vaguely remembered a soothing, deep voice reading something about dementors, and then he’d known no more. Fortunately, no nightmares had penetrated his sleep for the first time in ages, though he was unbeknownst as to why.
Harry let out another soft humm, snuggling deeper, the fabric slightly scratchy against his cheek. His mind only half-awake, it took him a few moments to register the slight shift his pillow had just made. Why would a pillow shift?
Blinkingly, he cracked one eye open. His vision was incredibly blurry from lack of glasses and sleep, but as it adjusted, Harry took in the color black. Black fabric with black, round buttons. His other eye now open as well, he had to do a double-take at what was covering him.
It was black.
It was a black cloak.
Snape’s cloak.
Realization hit Harry like a huge firecracker in the face. Harry suddenly shot upright in one swift motion, causing the other to jerk awake. “Wha— Potter!” Severus slurred, the wizard’s hair a greasy mess and his eyes fluttering open and shut from sleep.
Harry struggled to untangle himself from the black cloak around him since it was attached to Severus. The man, presumably not fully aware of what Harry was trying to accomplish, must have thought that he was being wrestled. It was then that a small tug of war broke out between the two.
They wrestled for a mere moment, but Harry finally lost his balance and indignantly rolled off the couch onto the hard, threadbare rug. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but slipped on a book lying on the floor. It sent him stumbling backwards to the nearest bookcase; his head hit wood and a moment later, a series of heavy volumes came tumbling down on him with several loud thuds.
“Potter, for Merlin’s sake!”
Harry desperately tried to rub the pain away and felt a painful bump. His eyes were squeezed shut and his cheeks were aflame. Had he seriously used Snape as a bloody pillow? Harry felt he would never live down the mortification.
The man in black, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, crossed the space between them in two lengthy strides and yanked Harry to his feet by his upper arm, although not as roughly as the boy would have expected.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” inquired Severus, showing a splayed hand in front of Harry’s face and whilst keeping a firm grip on the boy’s arm.
Harry, who was still rubbing his head with one hand, squinted at the long, slightly blurred fingers of his ex-professor… they were moving around all funny. “Erm…six, sir?” No, wait, you only have five fingers on each hand!
Severus gave Harry a bewildered and concerned look before reaching into his robes and fumbling around for something, his hold on him unrelented. He cursed under his breath, but finally retrieved a small vial of pale-blue potion. With a moment’s hesitation, he handed the potion to Harry.
“Drink,” he ordered, keeping his hand at the ready in case he would need to catch it. Harry obeyed. The liquid was bitter and tasted strangely. Thankfully, the throb on his head receded and Harry handed the empty vial back to Snape.
“Thanks,” he thanked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and struggling with the awkward predicament. Honestly, sometimes it seemed as if Severus carried a whole apothecarry in his robes!
“How very Gryffindor of you that was, Mr. Harry Potter,” drawled Severus wryly, relinquishing his hold on Harry’s arm, though his attempt at sarcasm belying his discomfort and embarrassment. “Executed with the grace of a lion.”
“Ha-ha,” Harry rolled his eyes sarcastically, feeling his cheeks catch fire. Finally meeting Severus’ obsidian eyes, he took a small step back — almost slipping on another book —, awkwardly shuffling his feet. Clearing his throat, “Er, sorry about that, sir. I didn’t realize… well, you…”
The man’s brows furrowed slightly. Something in his eyes hardened for a moment, but not in a malicious way, as if thoughtful. Harry couldn’t be sure, as he was still glassless, but he could have sworn he’d seen concern in them. “Are you alright?” the man asked.
A warm feeling suddenly settled in Harry’s stomach, but he decided to swallow it down. He had used Severus as a pillow, his cloak as a blanket, had just created a mess of probably old and antique books… and the man was asking him if he was alright!? Harry had to swallow before answering with a jerk of his head.
Seemingly satisfied, Severus cleared his throat and brandished his ebony wand. The books promptly flew to their respective shelves as if nothing had ever happened. “Accio Potter’s glasses!” The round lenses flew into the man’s outstretched hand, which he handed over. He turned to look back towards the couch, and Harry followed his gaze to an old book lying on the carpeted floor.
He gave Harry what the boy presumed was a final, contemplative look. “If you are certain. Go wash up, then come down for breakfast,“ dismissed Severus, already striding out of the library without another word.
As soon as the huge library doors closed behind the Slytherin, Harry expelled a sigh and dragged a hand over his face. He didn’t even wish to mentally review what had just happened, also wondering if he could perform an Obliviate on himself. No. Simply forget it.
And, hey, it wasn’t his fault that he’d been so tired that he’d fallen asleep on the couch, right? With a final sigh, Harry wisely did as he was advised. After having taken a quick shower and putting on a fresh set of clothes, he took his time joining Severus downstairs.
Severus was already seated and was serving himself what looked to be tea. The dining room was filled with golden, morning sun rays, the illuminated dust particles creating a pretty effect in the air. The table was, as per usual, laden with all kinds of breakfast foods, the heavenly smells of waffles and scrambled eggs wafting through the air.
Harry felt his stomach grumble, unable to remember the last solid meal he’d had, and promptly joined the man in his usual seat. He still felt a bit embarrassed from the incident earlier, but chose not to comment on it. Speaking of the devil, as he was piling on some waffles, the older wizard spoke.
“How is your head, Mr. Potter?”
Damn the sarcastic, sadistic bat!
“S’alright. Thanks, sir,” mumbled Harry, feeling his ears prickle and suddenly intensely focused on pouring the maple syrup in a swirly pattern over his waffles. He could practically feel the older wizard roll his eyes at him.
“Am I correct to assume I had wasted my breath last night? If I recall correctly, you had fallen asleep before I’d even finished reading the text.”
Harry flushed. “Er…Sorry, sir,” he apologized sheepishly, playing with his clean fork.
But Severus only waved a dismissive hand. “I am not condemning you for it; we were both rather exhausted after the day’s events,” he replied shortly. “I will, however, recite what I have managed to gather. Fortunately, it seems our efforts haven’t been in complete vain.”
Harry perked up at this, a speered piece of waffle halfway to his mouth. “So you did find something? About the dementors?”
“Yes. However, it is quite… unsettling.” He paused to take a sip. “What can you tell me on the topic of Patroni, Harry?”
The boy scratched a small spot on the tablecloth. “Well, it’s a charm that relies on pure and happy memories. It produces a silvery-white animal guardian, I guess, and it can be used to send messages, fight off Dementors, mostly…” he summed up.
Severus nodded at him. “Expand on the Dementors.”
“Erm, well, the Dementors feed on happiness… they suck it out. And the Patronus is made of pure, light energy, which drives them away…” Harry wasn’t sure what else he could add to that.
“Indeed. Have you ever pondered how they function, however?” inquired Severus, steepling his long fingers. Upon Harry’s shake of the head, he explained. “Very few are actually privy to such information, for it has always been kept confidential within the Ministry and the Unspeakables. The Dementors feed on others’ happiness and light, which they then convert into dark energy, forming their aura. In a way, they cannot survive without happiness, ironically though it is their greatest weakness. It is both their greatest asset and their greatest weakness.”
“Of course, Dementors hold no true loyalty, except to whoever can provide them with the most victims to feed on; there are no true ways to control them…or so it was believed,“ he said darkly “From what I've managed to uncover from a tome last night,” Severus went on, “There exists a curse that can be viewed as the opposite of a Patronous Charm. Whilst the Patronus Charm repels the dementors, the Tenebris Cogitando lures them in. While a very dark spell, it can grant the caster an amount of ‘control’ over them.”
Harry’s nose wrinkled, causing his glasses to slip slightly. “How does it work?” he almost dreaded to know.
The ex-professor absentmindedly grimaced into his long-since-forgotten cup of tea. “The Curse accentuates on dark thoughts and vile intentions.The very nature of such a curse is extremely dangerous, as it drains the caster and the roundings of almost all positive energy, converts it, and acts as a powerful beacon. Said beacon projects such negative energy that the Dementors perceive the caster as their elder, and thus feel obliged to follow them.”
Harry pushed his plate away, the waffles with syrup no longer appetising to him. “Mmm. Brilliant. So, you think that’s what the Death Eaters are using?”
Snape sighed, downing the rest of his tea and setting the cup down. “It is… merely a speculation. I doubt they would take on the risk of such a dangerous curse. However, given limited information we’ve managed to uncover thus far…it is probable.”
Harry pursed his lips, mulling over just how screwed they could be. “So, uh… What are we going to do about it?”
The slytherin scoffed. “Regarding the curse, nothing; the matter is far out of our hands,” he dismissed briskly. “What you will do, however, is be more conscious of your nutrition and not spoil your body with sugar,” he scolded lightly, sneering at Harry’s discarded plate of waffles.
But Harry ignored the nutrition comment. Frustrated, he clenched his fists around the tablecloth. “Are you saying we should just do nothing?” Hadn’t they discussed this a few days ago? “I told you, sir, I AM going to do something about it, with or without your help,” he said firmly.
“What I am saying, Harry, is that the matter regarding the curse is out of our hands. Regarding the Dementors, I remain unsure; we will have to do more research on the matter…” Here, the wizard paused speculatively, tapping his finger rhythmically against the table. Harry watched his lips form into a thin line, wondering what the man was thinking. He had cooled off by now, his frustration dissipated.
“There is a library…” began Severus, speaking haltingly, “One where I may be able to find more on the topic…It’s at Malfoy Manor.”
Harry’s eyes widened. Since the Malfoys’ hearing at the Ministry, he hadn’t heard from any of them. Well, until Lucius turned up in Grimmauld Place, that is. He wondered if Draco and Narcissa were also in on Lucius’ whereabouts and doings. But, really, of all the libraries, it just had to be the Malfoy one? WHY!?
“Wouldn’t the Hogwarts library do, Severus?” asked the boy hopefully.
“I’m afraid not. Lucius Malfoy keeps a concealed, restricted library, where he has been storing the Dark Lord’s personal collection of Dark Arts texts and books. Not even the Ministry possesses such books.”
Harry vehemently shook his head. “That’s a bad idea, sir. What if they have a trap set up?”
Severus frowned, averting his gaze momentarily, something flickering in his eyes. “Possible, yet unlikely. I doubt Narcissa and Draco are partaking in Lucius’ little schemes, for if they are, they wouldn’t still reside at the manor. The Ministry had probably infiltrated the residence shortly after Lucius was caught.”
The Gryffindor his lip. He still didn’t like the sound of that. “Then I’m coming with you,” he decided.
Severus smirked at this with a raised eyebrow. “Hmm. Worried, are you? I’m flattered,” he drawled. Then, his face turned serious again. “And no, you will not be accompanying me. This is something I must do alone. The risk is too high and your presence certainly wouldn't help matters, especially if there IS a trap. Your life isn’t worth mine, and under no circumstances am I allowing you to risk it.”
“But–”
“Harry,” Severus’ voice was clear and firml, his tone slicing through the air like a hot blade. “I said no.” His voice brooked no room for argument, finality lacing it as well as… was it concern? “If we are to work together, we must learn to trust each other and accept that some things are better to be dealt with solitaire.”
The boy sighed, slumping back in his chair, realising the Slytherins’ arguments overruled his. Oh, he would have put up more of a fight, but Severus had many points. Trust. They had to work on trusting one another. “Fine,” he relented. “But no-one can know we’re doing this, alright?”
Severus nodded his agreement. “Unless one’s life is at stake and it is unavoidably necessary, then yes. I do believe this was implied back when we’d agreed to do this together.”
Harry gave him a wan, tight smile, glad he and the older wizard were at least on the same page in that. Not only that, but he was also glad to have the ex-Death Eater on his side. “Yeah.”
Snape surveyed him for a moment, expression inscrutable. Harry could’ve sworn he saw something akin to guilt momentarily flash in his eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I believe it a good opportunity for you to visit the Weasleys whilst I’ll be away, Harry.”
The boy did a double take. “But didn’t Kingsley say it was dangerous?” he asked, heart beating with hope and longing for his friends’ familiar, warm faces.
“So it is. However, you are quite capable of Apparition, are you not?”
Harry mentally facepalmed himself. Of course! How had that not occurred to him earlier? The rhythm of his heart increased with excitement and hope, the task of trying to conceal his grin becoming more challenging. Yes, he would do just that!
Of course, Harry still felt really guilty about having to put his friends in danger with their stake out (even though they had written to him that it was alright), but he knew he couldn’t avoid them forever, either.
So, Harry nodded his head at Severus. “I think I’ll do just that, then. Thanks, sir,” he said smilingly. Severus nodded at him.
“Should any trouble arise, send for me via Patronus; alert McGonagall, but avoid the Ministry. The Ministry is still—”
“Look who’s worried now, sir,” interrupted Harry cheekily. Severus flashed him an unamused look and scoffed… but Harry noted the absence of deny to that claim.
“I will require your cloak,” he said instead, rising from his chair. “Retrieve it; I will await you in the entrance hall.”
But despite his earlier excitement, Harry couldn’t shake the forboding feeling in his gut. It was still a bad idea.
Chapter 29: Damn It, Potter Was Right!
Summary:
Severus cursed, already reaching for his own wand. Damn it, Potter was right!
Chapter Text
A black-cloaked figure stealthy hid behind some shrubbery, quiet as a shadow, trying to peek through the dense leaves.
Up ahead, beyond the grand, menacing wrought-iron gates, stood the majestic Malfoy Manor. With the dreary, Scottish sky in the background, the black turrets appeared even more eerie, a few crows squawking and flying around them.
Severus Snape, double-agent, spy, ex-Death Eater, and Potions Master, held his wand at the ready, the epitome of constant vigilance. Despite his everlasting resentment toward the late Auror, Alastor Moody’s words had been embedded in his head since the first time he’d heard him say them.
The surroundings were eerily quiet, betraying no signs of another presence than his. Severus wasn’t fooled, however. Only after a round of a series of detection spells did his paranoia allow him to emerge from the shrubbery and onto the cobbled road leading to the front gates.
Donning the insufferable Invisibility Cloak he had borrowed from Harry, Severus strode up to the road, pausing before the iron gates, setting out to try to detect the types of wards set up around the property. After a moment, he sighed slightly with relief.
Only the typical anti-breach wards had been erected, but not the dreaded anti-Dark Mark one, which could detect the ugly, skull-snake tattoo embedded on his forearm. Being the powerful wizard, nay, ex-Death Eater that he was, the man then easily breached the wards without setting them off, and continued further down to the manor itself.
As he strode, Severus couldn't help but recall the last time he’d been here. It had been a meeting of the Dark Lord’s most trusted Death Eaters, where Severus got to witness Nagini gruesomely feast on Charity Burbage, the late Muggle Studies professor.
The event would still often replay itself in his head, or haunt his dreams at night. They had been good colleagues, and Severus had respected the professor. But to watch helplessly as she got devoured shred-by-shred by the Dark Lord’s snake…
He shuddered, remembering his own experience.
The woman’s voice penetrated his mind…
Severus… we’re friends…Severus, please…
Indeed, there were some things which would haunt him till his dying breath, perhaps even in the afterlife.
Stopping at the front entrance, Severus ran another few ani-warding and detection spells, before casting a non-verbal Alohomora on the double doors. They produced no sound as he peered through a small gap between them, before completely entering and closing the door behind him.
The huge entrance hall’s light source was only the feeble daylight penetrating through the tall windows. Severus knew the place’s layout inside out, but his current concern was determining whether he was alone.
He cast a non-verbal, “Homenum Revelio!”
The ebony wand vibrated. He wasn’t alone.
He sighed, both relieved and unsettled. On one hand, the people there could be Death Eaters. On the other, they could be Narcissa and Draco.
Severus had no particular desire to see his godson and his old acquaintance. From the very beginning, he had been forced into the role of the boy’s godfather, given at the time he had been looking for ways to get closer to the Dark Lord’s inner circle. And what better way than to become Lucius Malfoy’s son’s bloody godparent?
He had never been a ‘children person’ (quite ironic how he had been a professor for seventeen years). Up until Draco’s Hogwarts years, Severus had been avoiding the Malfoys like the plague, having turned that page in his book. His views had changed drastically after that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow, and he couldn’t stand the thought of associating himself withDeath Eaters like Lucius Malfoy. However, upon Draco’s arrival to Hogwarts, he had taken much pleasure in playing favorites, given his knowledge of the rivalry between Potter and Malfoy.
Now, he resented himself for his unfair and deluded accusations about Harry, about the boy being spoiled and him being a prince, all-the-while Draco had been exactly that. Just how petty had he been, to stoop to such a low level?
Still, he had hated Potter — all that he’d represented —, and had had a cover to maintain.
Severus and Draco had never had a close relationship. At first, Severus had tried to guide and help the boy, seeing his bullying ways. It hadn’t even been the boy’s fault as much as Lucius’, really. Yes, Draco had grown up rich and spoiled, but neither Lucius nor Narcissa had ever been too caring towards their son… Although, what would Severus know of a loving, caring family, anyway?
Still, Draco had grown more pompous and cold with his every year. Again, Severus had never in particular cared, but given his position as godfather, he had still felt obliged to somehow guide the boy. Up until the summer of 1995, Severus had dreaded Draco complying to his father’s wishes and accepting the Dark Mark… Alas, just that had happened. Yet another soul he’d failed to save, so young and innocent, wronged by his parents and upbringing. Severus had failed to save Draco Malfoy from eternal enslavement to the Dark Lord, lest he died. And now, the young man was tainted for life with the revolting mark.
When Draco had taken the Dark Mark, Severus’s dislike for the child had only deepened. Not only had he been under the unbreakable vow Narcissa and Bellatrix had made him into, but he couldn’t help but see himself in the boy, young and foolish, stained for life with the hideous mark. He pitied him for having been practically forced into accepting the mark, but that had also been partially the boy’s choice, as well. Draco had wanted to bring honour into his family, and taking the Dark Mark had seemed like the only way to accomplish that.
The stupid brat had always been the attention-seeking one, not Harry. He had always had a thirst to prove himself, and what better way than to foolishly become a Death Eater?
But Draco had made his choice, and there was nothing Severus could do about that.
Nevertheless, he had tried offering his assistance to the young Slytherin, but the boy had still blamed him for Lucius’ fall from the Dark Lord’s graces and his imprisonment in his Sixth Year..
“Who’s there?” a familiar voice from the top of the grand, marble staircase brought him back from his thoughts. Squinting, Severus could just make out Narcissa Malfoy, partially engulfed in shadows. Behind there was another person, but Severus couldn’t make them out.
Severus removed the Invisibility Cloak and stowed it into his robes. Wand still poised, the wizard answered, ”It is I, Narcissa, Severus Snape. You needn’t fret.”
Slowly descending the stairs, the shadowed woman spoke hesitantly. “You’re alive?” The figure behind her was none other than Draco, his pale grey eyes cold just like his father’s, locked onto Severus scrunitisingly.
“As far as I’m concerned, yes.” Good, this meant that they hadn’t been in contact with Lucius or any of the Death Eaters. Otherwise, Lucius surely would’ve informed them of the ‘traitor’s survival’.
The two figures paused at the base of the stairs, coming into light. Severus had never seen Narcissa in such an unkempt state before, her usually-neat hair slightly bedraggled, and her outfit lacking any jewellery. Strangely, no follow-up questions followed.
“How have you been, Narcissa? Have you been in contact with Lucius or any Death Eaters?”
She shook her head. “No,” answered the woman monotonously. A meek alarm bell went off in Severus’ head, but he chose to ignore it. For now.
“What are you doing here!” demanded Draco coldly, speaking for the first time and stepping in front of his mother. He, too, looked quite unkempt, dark circles under his eyes.
The ex-Death Eater inwardly sighed. His gut was urging him not to divulge too much in them. “Calm yourself, Draco. It is a long story. I understand that my appearance here may be a tad impromptu, but I have come to ask for a favour. For classified reasons, I need access to your library.” He knew he was being blunt, and perhaps the request was a bit ill-mannered, but something felt… off. The two figures’ eyes had something… spine-chillingly familiar about them.
“Why?” inquired Narcissa, taking a step forward. Severus’ grip on his wand subconsciously tightened, but he didn’t move a muscle. “Whatever it is, you can tell us,” she assured in her aristocratic voice.
“As I’ve already told you, that information is classified. All I can tell you, at the moment, is that it involves the Death Eaters’ plans.”
“TRAITOR!” suddenly bellowed Draco. “Tell me, how does it feel to have betray the Dark Lord? You could’ve had power, wealth, status… could’ve served the Dark Lord as his most trusted follower…” He sneered, the resemblance to Lucius uncanny. The teenager began slowly descending the marble stairs, reaching into his pocket.
And that’s when everything clicked into place. The slightly-glazed look in their eyes— how could Severus not have realised it before!?
They were under the Imperious.
Severus cursed, already reaching for his own wand. So it WAS a trap. Damn it, Potter was right!
Suddenly, a green light shot out of Draco’s wand, Severus barely dodging it. His reaction was immediate. “Expelliarmus!” But the spell collided with Narcissa’s.
Spells and curses flew left and right, two against one. Severus dodged, served, and blocked with grace. The Unforgivables, he couldn’t block, so he had to rely solely on his agility and cover behind some pillars. He knew he couldn’t hurt his two opponents — they were innocent, after all — so he didn’t dare use any offensive spells or curses. His only plan was to play the defensive and disarm the two, perhaps even Stupefy them.
Severus had never seen Narcissa in action, but he had to admit that she was quite skilled. Her movements were well-times and graceful, but most of them were the ones the Dark Lord had personally taught them. She lacked force, however.
On the other hand, Draco’s spellwork was on the more impulsive side, though most of it was quite rudimentary. Still, they came hurtling at Severus rather quickly, and with Narcissa’s quick and smooth movements, it was proving a bit of a challenge holding the two of them off, especially given that Severus had so many effective spells at his disposal, but couldn’t fire any of them against the two innocent, Imperio-ised victims.
And after all the sins and wrongdoings, tortures, and murders… how could he bring himself to hurt his own godson and his mother? The mother, who had begged him just two summers ago to protect and watch over her son?
No, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt them, be it at his own expense.
The three opponents duelled for a long while, neither backing down. Seeing as Severus was on the offensive, his advantage was that Narcissa and Draco would tire out first. However, casting shield charms and dodging incoming curses and hexes wasn’t inconsequential, either. At last, he had just managed to Stupefy Narcissa, but at the same time his shield charm had failed at blocking an incoming curse from behind, an Unforgivable. The world around him suddenly turned into pain as he crumpled to the ground, writhing from the Cruciatus.
No matter how many times he’d been Crucio-ed by the Dark Lord, one could never get used to its intolerable, torturous pain. He’d never begged for relief, though. Had never screamed or made a sound. He’d simply waited it out. Much like he would now.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain abruptly stopped. His whole body felt like it was on fire, every nerve, body part, and muscle screaming. He laid on the cold, marble floor, panting and exhausted.
Severus had to suppress a moan when a foot roughly turned him over on his back.
“Ah, Severus,” spoke Draco in Lucius’ voice, sending chills down Severus’ spine. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a pity. And for what? For whom?” He sneered. “That disgusting mudblood?”
Rage boiled Severus’ blood, but he had no energy to get up, held at wandpoint. His wand was still clasped tightly in his hand, he just needed to catch Draco off-guard.
“And to have deceived the greatest Dark lord of all time? To have fooled us all? Well, perhaps not Bella — she had kept insisting she could smell a sheep in wolf’s clothing. A shame, if you ask me. You held much potential. Any last words?” he finished silkily.
“Just one,” Severus rasped out, his voice hoarse. “Impedimenta!”
“Sliceo!”
Severus’ turquoise light hit Draco square in the chest, propelling him backwards into a wall and successfully knocking him out. But Draco’s blood-red spell also had also hit Severus, and he suddenly let out a cry of pain. Something began soaking his robes and his vision slowly turned fuzzy.
He knew of this dark curse well, it one of the Dark Lord’s favourite to use to torture victims — a slicing curse, much like the name implied.
Trying to gather his thoughts, Severus knew he had to get help. He quickly reached into his blood-stained robes, his every movement feeling as if a hundred blades were piercing his skin, and fumbled around in them. He quickly downed a blood-replenisher, as well as a pain-reliever. Slowly, the world around him became clearer, but the effects were only temporary, however. There was a fireplace where he could floo out of the manor, so he had to get there.
Steeling himself, the Potions Master crawled painstakingly-slowly into the huge sitting room for what felt like an eternity. Upon finally reaching the base of the fireplace, he barely had any energy left in him. The pot of floo powder was situated on the mantelpiece, so, gathering his last strength, he Accio-ed it down. It clumsily landed beside him. Grabbing a handful, he thrust it into the fireplace, rasping out the first place that came to mind.
Notes:
To make up for my last chapter’s tardiness, I’ve just finished editing a 5600 word chapter! WHAT!? Yeah, so, again, I had to split it into two seperate ones, thus why I'm posting this one. I also kind of wanted to make up for my last chapter, which I’m not a big fan of and I’m sure it wasn’t my best piece of work… I don't know, I thought it was a bit awkward and short.
ALSO! This is for the Draco Malfoy fans: I’m tired of always seeing Draco in literally every single Severitus fic. I like him as an individual character, but his presence in Severitus fics just makes me nauseous at this point and is often intrusive and overbearing. SORRY DON’T COME AT ME! Like, it’s always him becoming either Harry’s sibling or a close friend and sharing all the attention… I have never understood the hype, and I don’t like that. So, since this is my fic, you’ll be seeing very little of him. I’m not going to make him evil or anything like that, but he’s just not going to be one of the main or sub-main characters in this fic. A little spoiler, he will have a ‘happy ending’ in the end, but it’s just going to be something in the background.
Well, thanks for reading my little rant. I’m glad I finally got that information out there. Next chapter coming Monday! Don't forget to comment and/or make suggestions😊
Chapter 30: A Short Respite
Summary:
eventeen or not, bloody hero of the bloody Wizarding World or not, he was desperate for a reprieve, for the feeling of freedom and ellation. And if the war had taught him anything, it was to take advantage of every opportunity he had, for one could never know when their time would come.
Notes:
Finally, we get some Weasley/golden trio interaction! I really enjoyed writing the characters in this chapter, mainly because of how fun they are. ANyways. I really hope they're in-character. Tell me what you think, I would love to hear your opinions. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry Potter stepped through the front door when it invitingly swung open for him, and was immedietly greeted by a heavenly scent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking. He hadn’t forewarned anyone of his unexpected visit, but he knew no-one would mind, and that thought alone made him want to smile. The place was rather nostalgic, holding some of his best, warmest memories, despite the few unpleasant ones. The boy hadn’t been here since Fred’s funeral, and a sudden wave of sadness sobered him. The atmosphere felt a little heavier, too, a painful reminder of his guilt.
But before those thoughts and memories fuly envelope him, the kitchen door suddenly swung open and out ran Mrs. Weasley. When her eyes landed on Harry, they brightened with warmth and excitement.
“Harry, dear!” she exclaimed, squishing him into one of her suffocating bear hugs. “Oh, what a lovely surprise! How are you? Is everything quite alright? Are you hungry? My goodness, you look simply famished — has professor Snape been feeding you alright? Oh, when I get my hands on—”
Pulling away, Harry smiled warmly at her. “No! No! Yes, he’s been feeding me,” he placated. “Hi, Mrs. Weasley. Sorry for the unexpected visit. I know it was kind of spontaneous,” he apologised sheepishly.
Her smile only widened. “Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” she waved it off. “You're part of the family, dear. Now, are you hungry? I’ve just made a fresh batch of pumpkin pastries,” she fussed.
“Er, no thank you,” declined Harry politely, afraid to hurt her feelings. “I actually wanted to see Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. Are they here?”
“Oh, well, of course you did! They’re out in the backyard, last time I checked.”
Harry thanked her and turned to head for the back door, when a warm hand suddenly stopped him and pulled him into another tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re alright, dear. We’ve been so worried,” admitted the woman, tightening her hold on him. Harry smiled wobbly, a lump forming in his throat.
“I’m sorry about Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Weasley. I know it was stupid of me —”
“Oh, nonsense, dear! What matters is that you’re all alright. We’ve already read your letter. Everything is alright.” She pulled away. “Now, off you go, then. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” she double-checked, giving him a stern look. Harry chuckled and shook his head. Honestly, he was almost eighteen, and she still treated him as though he were eight. Still, it was rather nice, considering he’d never had anyone to fuss over him like that.
Not that he would ever openly admit that.
He thanked Mrs. Weasley once more and headed for the back door. It brought a wide grin to Harry’s face when he saw Ron, George, and Ginny playing a mini game of Quidditch, Hermione lounging in a picnic chair with a book. The sight warmed his heart, a nostalgic feeling washing over him. It was a different kind of nostalgia, however. Over their years at Hogwarts, they had never really had many chances to simply be normal teenagers, playing quidditch and lounging about without a care in the world. Well, alright, there had been such instances, but they had been quite rare, and even then, there had always been a threat or problem looming over their heads.
Now, even with the Death Eaters out and about, the war was over, and they could finally have some semblance of normality…
At least to an extent.
Harry reminded himself that none of them could actually lead normal lives, ones where they wouldn’t have to worry about the safety of their families and loved ones, until the last standing Death Eater, Voldemort follower, was captured.
Something that he and Severus were trying to accomplish.
Shaking off the mundane train of thought, Harry was glad to see George having fun. He couldn’t imagine what Fred’s death had actually been like for him, but judging from the last time he’d seen him, the twin hadn’t been doing very well. Now, he looked much better, a smile on his face.
“HARRY!” cried Ginny, landing her boom and rushing over to embrace him. She stuck an impromptu peck on his cheek.
“Hey, mate, what are you doing here?” joined Ron, sounding a bit concerned, George and Hermione right behind him. “Everything alright?”
Harry playfully rolled his eyes at everyone’s concern. “Yeah, guys, I’m fine,” he assured them. “I just… Are you all alright?” he returned the question.
“Yes, we are. We were actually quite concerned about you,” replied Hermione. “We received your letter, but thought it would be too risky to write a reply. Oh, Harry, please stop blaming yourself so much!” she implored.
Harry smiled tightly, remembering his previous conversation with Snape on the subject. “I’m just glad you’re all alright.”
“We were really worried about you, mate,” said Ron. “Thought Snape would use you for spare potion ingredients.”
“Well, actually,” chimed in George, “I had wagered on him personally torturing you first, but you appear to be in one piece.”
Harry shook his head, amused and knowing that Severus would actually be the last person to do that to him. “Well, he didn’t. He was angry, but we talked about it,” he replied easily.
Ron looked at him with a deadpan face. “Wait, so, he didn’t do anything to you? No life threats or consequences?”
Harry rubbed his neck. “Weeeel, he did give me detention, sort of. Had me scrub cauldrons. But it was alright.”
Hermione chuckled. “Well, did you honestly expect something different from professor Snape, Harry?” Her face turned serious. “How is he, by the way? Did he really let you visit?” Her face donned a frown. “Oh, no, did something happen?”
“Really, Mione? You’re concerned about the greasy git? OW!” he rubbed at the spot where Ginny had punched his arm.
“Ronald, he’d saved Harry’s life… again! And how could you say that about him?” she bristled, then turned back to Harry inquiringly.
“Well, my apologies if it’s a little hard to forget his treatment of my best mate since first year!” Ron retorted indignantly.
“Enough!” snapped Harry, suddenly defensive over the man. “No, nothing’s wrong. Yes, Se– Snape did let me visit — I didn’t sneak off without him knowing or anything like that. And, Heah, he’d been a git to me — us —, but he… had his own reasons. Look, he’s really helped me out a lot — more than even the Dursley ever have.” Harry paused, not wanting to put too many eggs in one basket.
“Look, he’s changed, alright? It’s not my place to reveal a lot, but just know that he's not such a greasy git as we’d once thought him to be. He’s actually been very decent to me — more than decent. And we’ve grown a certain respect for one another… It’s kind of hard to explain, but…” he shrugged, averting his gaze.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder after a silent moment. “I believe you, Harry,” said Hermione. “I mean, we already know that Professor Snape has always been on our side, but it’s still a little hard for us to believe that he’s changed. Still, I can see how he could have, especially since the time of our last visit.”
Harry nodded. “Thanks, Mione.”
“Well, I guess you're right,” slowly allowed Ron. “But I’ll see it once I believe it. He’s still a Death Eater, you know,” he pointed out.
“Wow, Ron, really? I never would have known,” said Harry in sarcastic bewilderment, though his chest warmed at his friends’ concern for him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
“So, what are we going to do now?” asked Ginny. ”Kingsley told us it’s too risky to send you letters by owl, and the Floo Network is being watched. He also said we shouldn’t visit you since Snape would have been against it. Oh, and, George knows everything, just so you know.”
Scuffing his feet against the grass, Harry sighed. “ We are not going to do anything. Snape and I… We’ve talked and… well, we’re not going to do anything about it.” Harry felt horrible ying to his friends, his gut twisting. “He and Kingsley are right: there really isn’t much I can do about the Death Eaters. It’s best to just leave it to the Aurors.”
Hermione studied him speculatively, as if trying to scan his face for deceit. Ginny and George looked uncertain, but Ron smiled at him. “Well, that’s bloody right, mate. Blimey, I’m just glad you finally got it through that thick head of yours. It’s not your fault, you know, all of these Death Eaters,” he spat. “Look, just try to relax for now, alright?”
Harry smiled tightly at his best mate. “Yeah. Thanks, Ron. I’ll try.”
The others were still looking sceptically at him, though. Hermione then said, “Alright, Harry. I trust you. Just…Know that we’re here for you…And be careful, alright?” Harry had an odd feeling she was referring to something else. “Listen to professor Snape, too.”
“Oh, c’mon Mione!” exclaimed Ron. “Harry’s just said he’s not going to try anything!” Turning to Harry, “Look, mate. I know that Snape’s innocent, and all that. But I still think he’s still a greasy git. I mean, how can you trust him after everything he’s done to us — you! You should still be careful around him.”
This angered Harry, his fists clenching. “Actually, Ron, it’s what he’s done FOR us, not TO us!” he defended in a dangerous, growling voice. “I’ve just told you, he’s changed. We’re no longer at each other’s throats.” Would they be considered friends? Allies? That part confused Harry a bit. A mix of both, perhaps?
“Look. I would trust him with my life — he’s saved my hide more times than I can count. If you’ve got a problem with that... then, I don’t know.”
Hermione put a warm hand on his shoulder. “I believe you, Harry. And, you know, I think he really cares about you… In his own way,” she said. Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Really? What makes you say that, Mione?”
She bit her lip. “When the Order found us in the basement that night, you should’ve seen Professor Snape — he was shooting spells and curses left and right as soon as he spotted you. When the Death Eaters were taken care of, you were his first priority… Don’t you remember?”
Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did Severus care about him? Out of duty and the vow, perhaps. But beyond that…? He’d offered Harry to stay at the manor, bought him a whole wardrobe, taught him magic, and had emotionally helped him.
So… Did Severus care?
Well, he certainly didn’t hate Harry, and much likewise.
But, no, that was impossible. Severus couldn’t possibly care about Harry. The thought alone seemed ridiculous.
Giving his thoughts a mental shake, Harry simply shrugged with his mouth in reply.
“Alright, mate. If you trust him… I suppose I can see why,” relented Ron. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Harry smiled at them. “I know. Thanks guys. All of you. So, any news from the Ministry?”
George shook his head. “Nah. Dad’s been working late-night shifts lately because there have been so many muggle sightings of the Death Eaters and ‘strange things’. Other than that, they still haven’t flushed out the imposters. Kingsley’s saying they’re planning something, but no-one knows what.”
Harry nodded, his mood instantly dampened. It had occurred to him just then that he hadn’t read the Daily Prophet in a while. “There have been more casualties, haven’t there?” he asked, already knowing the answer. The others nodded their heads morrosly.
“Oh, it’s just horrible,” said Hermione. “Another half-blood family has been killed — the Panes, I think. And two muggles have ‘disappeared mysteriously without a trace’. Several Dark Marks were spotted a few days later over a suburb in Ireland.”
Harry’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. He’d expected such news, but to actually hear it was different. And what were the Death Eaters doing all the way in Ireland?
“Have any of the Death Eaters been caught?”
“Nope,” replied George. “Although, the Aurors came close to catching one not too long ago during the Ireland Incident. They’re all on high alert.”
Harry sighed and nodded. Whatever it was that the Death Eaters were planning, it must have something to do with the dementors and the Tenebris Cogitando curse.
“Oi,” Ron bumped his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, alright? I know you’re already blaming yourself in that bloody head of your’s, mate. Don’t. You promised us you won’t try anything, right?”
The Gryffindor nodded, lips drawn in a thin line. He surreptitiously crossed his fingers in the pocket of his trousers as he said. “Yeah. I did promise. Again, thanks guys.” He smiled at them in reassurance.
George came to clap him on his back. “Anytime, Har! Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of all this mundane rubish…How about a game of Quidditch?” he suggested.
Harry realised just then that he hadn’t flown a broomstick in ages, and instantly agreed. Sure, he had about a dozen worries plaguing his mind, but when he remembered the carefree feeling of wind rushing through his hair, he couldn’t resist.
Seventeen or not, bloody hero of the bloody Wizarding World or not, he was desperate for a reprieve, for the feeling of freedom and ellation. And if the war had taught him anything, it was to take advantage of every opportunity he had, for one could never know when their time would come.
With Hermione having settled back in her picnic chair with her book, the four of them played several rounds of Quidditch. Ginny’s flying and manoeuvres had improved since their last Quidditch game, and Ron and George weren’t much behind, either.
Soon, Mrs. Weasley called them all inside for a snack break (how could she not?) Harry had taken his glass of lemonade outside into the gardens, and was pleasantly surprised when Ginny joined him. He smiled at her, and the two began walking towards the apple orchard in the distance.
“You’re a terrible liar, has anyone ever told you that?” It was a statement, not a question. Harry had almost spit out his drink and instead began choking on it.
“Idiot,” commented Ginny whilst pounding him on the back as he coughed. Harry felt his cheeks growing beet-red.
“Uh, well, Se– Snape has, I guess,” he answered.
She frowned and shook her head, her long, red hair swaying in the soft breeze. “Look, I know you, alright? I know for a fact that you’re not just going to sit back and do nothing. Ron, he…” he pursed her lips funnily, “Well, it’s not entirely his fault he was born a little dense. But you can’t fool me or Hermione.”
“Gin, I…”
“No. Look,” she turned around, taking his hands into hers. “I actually… understand. You’ve never been one to sit back and do nothing. I understand because that’s how I had felt when I had volunteered to participate in the battle. Just…” she looked into his green eyes with concern. “Just be careful, aright? I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but don’t be stupid about it.”
Harry swallowed hard, the task of keeping her gaze almost painful. “I promise I’ll be careful. I just don’t want anything—”
“ —anything bad happening to us, yes, I get it.” She shot him a piercing look. “You also have a damn hero complex, but I guess there’s nothing I can do about that. Nobody’s perfect.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to reply to that, he just shrugged. They resumed walking, holding hands in mutual silence. Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, feeling the need to justify himself more.
“I know it’s stupid, Gin, but I have to end this. It hasd to be me. And Se– Snape has agreed to help me, so I’ll have him. I won’t be completely alone in this, you know?” He hastily added, ”Just, please, don’t tell the others, alright?”
They had arrived at the orchard, and Ginny guided them to sit in the shade of a low tree, protected from the harsh, summer sunlight. “Alright,” she agreed. She clucked her tongue in thought. “You call him ‘Severus’?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Again, a lot has changed,” answered Harry honestly, not seeing a point in covering up his earlier slip-ups. “And he calls me by my given name, too.”
To his surprise, Ginny smiled at him. ”I believe you, you know. About Professor Snape. And, sure, you’ve had poor judgement of people all your life, but—” she said cheekily, but was interrupted.
“Bad judgement? Me?” cried Harry indignantly. “Remember, It was me who thought something was up with Draco and Snape in Sixth Year!”
Ginny blew a raspberry and then cordially cleared her throat. “Let’s see… First Year, you thought Snape was after the Stone; Second Year, you thought Hagrid had opened the Chamber of Secrets; Third Year, you thought Sirius was trying to kill you; Fourth Year, you thought Karkroff had put your name in the Goblet; Fifth Year… well, you know the rest.”
Harry groaned and brought his knees to his chest, burying his face in them. He meekly grumbled something incoherent. Ginny patted him on the back, chuckling.
“You and that damn hero complex, Potter.”
“Thanks, Weasley.”
They sat in silence for a moment, before Ginny broke it, changing the subject to something lighter. “So, Harry, you’re coming back to Hogwarts?” she asked, looking at him.
Harry smiled, lifting his head. Was he coming back? He really wanted to, but wondered if he would even survive until that long. “Yeah, I guess so.” He sighed nostalgically. ”I sorely wish to have a normal year at Hogwarts without someone trying to kill me,” he mused wistfully. “Maybe I will, you know? Once this is all over.”
Ginny nodded in understanding, then laughed gently. “I know. Though, knowing you, you will still end up in Madam Pomfrey’s clutches every other week, no matter if someone is after you or not.”
Harry lightly shoved her playfully in the shoulder. “What, it’s true! Something always happens to you!” she laughed even harder. “It’s like you and trouble are soulmates!”
“Oi, shut up, Weasley!” Harry remarked playfully, his tone light. “It’s not like I go looking for trouble, it just sort of finds me !” he huffed.
“Sure,” she replied cheekily.
After a moment, “You’re also coming back, right?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from himself.
“Oh, definitely! So is Hermione. Ron’s really excited about the Auror program he’s been offered. I’m excited for Quidditch, especially.” She looked at Harry in mock seriousness. “Just don’t go all ‘Oliver Wood’ on us, alright?”
Harry feigned thinking intently for a moment, rubbing his chin with his finger. “Maybe I will…” he drawled.
The pair leaned contently against one another and enjoyed the melancholy silence. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at-peace. His thoughts then strayed to Severus, and how he’d suggested he’d visit the Weasleys in the first place.
Did the man really care about him? Hermione’s earlier words flitted into his mind.
Surely not…
That made him think of how things were going for the wizard at Malfoy Manor. The mere remembrance of the place brought a shiver to Harry’s spine, Hermione’s ear-splitting shrieks echoing in his ears.
Had something gone wrong? Had there really been a trap set up at the manor? Was Severus in trouble?
But no, Severus was an incredibly-powerful wizard, Harry reminded himself. He had bested six or so Death Eaters single-handedly at Grimmauld Place! Surely, he would be alright… right?
Despite his self-reassurances, he couldn’t help but feel his gut churn with worry… as if it knew something was wrong…
As if on cue, Hermione’s frantic voice suddenly filled the gardens. “HARRY! HARRY, COME, QUICKLY!”
Notes:
Don't forget to comment! Did you like this chapter? Any hot takes on what might happen in the next one? Next chapter somewhere mid-week, as usual:) Ah, it's so great, now that I haven't got, like, 100 tests in one week. Thew! QUESTION! From now on, would you like me to inform you of the exact dates of when I will post my next chapters?
Chapter 31: Told You!
Summary:
Said boy pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Told you!” Severus rolled his eyes to the heavens.
Notes:
1.So, I kinda posted this chapter late, but I spent (no kidding) 3 hours edditing this! Thew! (but I like how it turned out:))
2.I will try to alert you guys of the exact dates of my next upload, especially since I have many chapters pre-written. However, sometimes I wont be able to set a specific date(if I’m unsure of my own schedule).
3. We’ve reached over 5k hits. THANK YOU!!!🥳🥳🥳 such a milestone.
As always, don’t forget to comment:)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry sprinted through the back door, following the sounds of voices wafting from the sitting room, with Ginny at his heels. He had no clue of what was going on, but judging by Hermione’s frantic shouts, he felt an unsettling pit growing in his stomach.
Upon entering the sitting room, Harry did a double take of the sight before him.
On the floor, before the fireplace, a black-cloaked figure laid in an undignified heap. Beneath it, the threadbare rug was quickly turning a brilliant blood-red, mixing with all the soot. The greasy, black hair, and ebony wand clutched in one hand, were unmistakable.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat, but he willed his legs to move. He knew exactly who that was.
Everyone was already huddled around the prone figure. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and George were carefully turning the man over. Harry had to bite back a gasp upon seeing how pale Severus' face was — and that was saying something.
“Goodness, SEVERUS!” cried Mrs. Weasley rhetorically, reaching for her wand and uttering diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell. “What happened!”
The man slurred something indecipherable, barely conscious. Harry felt helpless as to how he could contribute. Everytime he tried to get closer, his path was blocked by the others. The scene before him was truly horrifying, and he found a damn lump forming in his throat. Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley solved that problem.
“Harry, dear: there’s a Blood replenisher, an Anti-Cruciatus potion, and a thick, blue salve in the cupboard above the kitchen tap,” informed the Weasley matriarch briskly, still running her wand over the man’s body.
Harry needed no further prompting. As though the Dark Lord himself was at his heels, he raced to the kitchen. He thrust open the cupboard; the sheer amount of different containers, vials, and jars threatened to overwhelm him as he callously sifted through them, not giving a damn about the mess he was making.
After what seemed to him like hours, he found the prescribed blue salve and the two potions. Upon re-entering the sitting room, he saw that Severus' upper attire had been completely stripped, several nasty lacerations barely visible from all the blood covering his chest. Mrs. Weasley, and even George and Hermione, were muttering more spells, appearing a little out of breath. Harry hastily rushed to the side, offering Mrs. Weasley the fetched items.
The witch promptly spelled the two potions into the wizard. But as her hand reached for the blue salve, her lips pinched and she seemed to think better of it. Then, she ushered everyone to give her a little room and began chanting spells in an unrecognisable language. Harry held his breath.
…Bellatrix Lestrange laughs…
…A spell fires from her crooked wand…
…The look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he falls through the ancient doorway and disappears behind the veil…
…Sirius is gone… Another person left him…
The Potions Master suddenly stirred with a shaky gasp, but continued lying on the floor, his breathing evening out as he seemingly transitioned into a normal sleep. The profuse bleeding also seemed to have lessed.
Harry exhaled a shaky breath of relief, his shoulders sagging.
Mrs. Weasley then Accio-ed several towels and a bowl of water, wetting them and starting to clean the man.
“Is he…Is he going to be alright?” asked Harry, moving closer to where the prone figure on the floor.
The Weasley matriarch paused briefly in her task and gave Harry a tight smile. “He will be quite alright, dear,” she assured him. Turning back to Severus, she said, “I recognised the curse that was cast on him — very nasty, dark magic, mind you. We were quite fortunate; I only managed to close the wounds due to the curse not having been very strong. Whoever had cast it must not have been too well-versed in it.”
A million thoughts whirled in Harry’s head. He knew Severus had gone to Malfoy Manor, so he must’ve been right — it was a trap! According to Mrs. Weaasley, the spell hadn’t been cast by someone too well-versed, and as Harry was pretty sure no grown Death Eaters would’ve slipped up like that, this led him to only one blood-boiling conclusion.
Draco Malfoy.
But before he could think up ways to murder the blonde, he heard Hermione suggest, “Should we move him to the couch, Mrs. Weasley?”
She nodded. “A fine idea, dear.” Uttering a Levicorpus, she levitated Severus over to the couch, where she continued her work.
“Mrs. Weasley, why didn’t you use the salve?” asked Harry, eyeing the blue container still on the floor. The witch answered without looking up.
“That salve would have been ineffective against a curse such as this one, dear. You may take it back.” The woman clucked her tongue, shrewdly looking at the audience. “Children, why don’t you all wait in another room?”
“Children!?” baulked Ron indignantly. “I’m ‘bout to start bloody Auror training!”
“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, YOU WILL WATCH YOUR MOUTH AND YOU WILL LEAVE THIS INSTANT!” She turned to look at the Golden Boy as if nothing had happened. “Harry, Professor Snape will be quite alright. Please, wait in the kitchen.” Though, it wasn’t much of a suggestion, more of an order.
Harry silently thanked her for her consideration; he was sure Severus wouldn’t have appreciated the audience of his five, least favourite, former students… even if he wanted nothing more than to stay.
Everyone filed out without another complaint, including Harry, though not without a last look at the unconscious figure. Once in the kitchen, the door behind them shut. Harry half-leaned, half-sagged against a counter and sighed.
“He’ll be alright, Harry,” Ginny reassured him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You heard what mum said, and she knows a thing or two from having raised seven kids.” She tried for a bit of light humour; Harry appreciated this, but it didn't make him feel any better.
Why did he feel so shaken? Yes, there was the fear of losing yet another person to the dark side — a link to his mother and one of the last standing Order members… Like Sirius…
but Severus was more than that to him now, he realised. A friend, a role-model… perhaps even a mentor. Harry had come to respect the Slytherin greatly, more than he ever would’ve imagined possible.
Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had alway protected him, despite his unorthodox treatment and resentment of him… He had saved Harry's life in First Year, had followed him into the Shrieking Shack… shielded him from a werewolf, had offered Harry to hide out in Prince Manor, had taught him different spells and magic, and had provided for him, both emotionally and materially…
He had sacrificed himself in the Shrieking Shack, bravely accepting his fate in the face of Voldemort and just barely surviving.
That’s a hundred-fold more than the Dursleys had done for Harry in 16 years.
Severus had spent the bigger half of his life risking himself for the sake of others, putting himself in danger, as if his own life weighed nothing.
And Harry was sick of people dying on his watch. He couldn't afford to lose Severus.
He was shaken out of his reverie by the others’ voices bombarding him with questions.
“...you know what happened, mate? Snape’s a really strong wizard — I think we’ve all known this bloody well since our first year. Whoever’s done this to him…”
“...Professor Snape just came stumbling out the floo as I was passing…”
“...there something you’re not telling us?”
“Harry, what—?”
“SHUT IT!” Ginny’s strong reverberated through the kitchen, her hands splayed. Harry had never been so grateful to her. The picture of calm, but a fire in her brown eyes, she turned to Harry. “Harry, do you know what’s happened to Snape?”
But just as he had been about to lie, the door flew open and Mrs. Weasley came out, the bloodied towels and gauze hovering after her.
“Mrs. Weasley, is he—?”
“He’ll be quite alright, Harry,” reassured the woman for the umpteeth time. “He’s resting now — still unconscious, but stable. Do you know what happened to him?”
Harry closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to count backwards to regain his composure. If he had a Galleon for every time someone had asked him the bloody question…
His fists clenched tightly in his pockets as he bit into his lip. Yes, he knew perfectly well where Severus had come from, and had a pretty darn good guess of what happened to him. But he couldn’t tell them. Not only would it endanger and worry them, but he and Severus had agreed that they would keep it confidential.
“No. No, I don’t,” he lied, a guilt-ridden squid churning in his stomach. “We parted this morning but he didn’t tell me anything.” Well, at least one part of it wasn’t a lie…
Mrs. Weasley’s lips thinned, a not-quite-fooled look on her plump face. “Are you quite certain?” she inquired. Harry nodded stubbornly. She looked as though she wanted to say more on the matter, but sighed instead. “That man and his poor self-preservation,” she muttered under her breath, placing her hands on her hips.
“You haven’t the slightest idea of how he would sometimes show up after his Death Eater meeting, you know,” she carried on. “Would fight us to the death, that one, against helping him until he was on the very verge of collapse!” She shook her head in exasperation. “But, very well. I'll go ahead and inform Minerva and Kingsley— honestly, I thought he was supposed to be in hiding, not pursuing —”
“NO!” cried Harry. All heads swivelled to look at him. He scuffed his feet, clearing his throat. “There's no need, Mrs. Weasley.” Brilliant, how would he get out of this one?
“Why-ever not?” she questioned with a puzzled look on her face.
“Erm…”
“Because Professor Snape wouldn't want that,” answered Ginny in his stead, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it an understanding squeeze. “He would probably want to speak with them himself to tell the whole story. It would be pointless for Kingsley and McGonagall to come now.”
Harry's heart beat faster, an insurmountable surge of affection for Ginny flooding his chest. Never had he been this grateful to his girlfriend.
Mrs. Weasley seemed sceptical at first, but eventually nodded. “You are probably right, Ginny. Alright, then. But I’m afraid professor Snape will have to spend the night here.”
The boy nodded slowly in understanding, but the idea of returning to Prince Manor alone was a bit unsettling. And the feeling had nothing to do with fear of being alone or of getting attacked without the powerful ex-Death Eater around. It just felt…wrong.
“Oh! Harry can stay, too, mum,” proposed George suddenly. Harry’s spirits lifted hopefully as he turned to look at the older witch’s reaction.
“Oh, what a lovely idea, George! Well, of course, he can,” Mrs. Weasley allowed warmly, smiling at Harry. “I would never have let you go back alone, anyway, and you could definitely use a bit of company,” she said knowingly. “Now, off you go. Avoid disturbing Professor Snape… I'll start up dinner. Arthur and Percy will be here soon — oh, they will be overjoyed to see you!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. For everything,” thanked Harry reverently.
“Oh, there’s really no need to thank me, dear. And don’t you worry, he’ll be awake by tomorrow.”
That night, Harry couldn’t sleep. He kept twisting and turning in the conjured, spare bed. From a tempus, he knew it was sometime past three in the morning.
The rest of the day had passed uneventfully, save for the surprised reactions from Mr. Weasley and Percy upon discovering their unannounced guest . Of course, it had been an awkward few moments explaining the prone, unconscious figure on the couch. Thankfully, neither had been averse, though Harry could tell that Mr. Weasley had a sore spot for the man.
After dinner, Harry had felt utterly exhausted, mostly mentally. He couldn’t shake the bloodied and pale face of his ex-professor out of his head, no matter how sedulously he’d tried. He knew he’d been awfully quiet during the game of Wizard’s chess, exploding snap, and even the light-topic conversations between his friends, but the same unsettling thoughts wouldn’t persist plaguing him.
Harry had managed to fall asleep a few times (having cast the usual silencing spells around himself), but had woken up all the same by the usual, terrifying nightmares, a few of them including the scene in the Shrieking Shack with Nagini. They were nothing new; he was used to them… it was whom they had entailed that made them extra unnerving.
Glancing at the far side of the room, Ron was peacefully snoring like an ill banshee with a horrible, raspy cough. How nice it must be, Harry mused, to sleep so peacefully and take it for granted. Getting up silently, the boy padded out of the room and descended the stairs. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he let his feet carry him.
The only light there was from the dying ambers in the grate, barely lighting the prone figure lying on the couch. Harry padded around the furniture and planted himself in one of the plush armchairs facing the couch.
Severus was covered in a light blanket, the rise and fall of his chest steady, covered up to his chin. Harry and Ron had always secretly wondered if Severus snored in his sleep, and how loudly. Turned out, the man did, but at half the volume of Ron’s snores.
Harry knew the man’s chest must be completely wrapped with gauze. In the soft firelight, he spotted with a chilling shudder Severus's exposed neck. Nagini's fang marks were easily noticeable, the sickening-looking tendril-like scars branching out from them. Harry realised that they hadn’t really discussed Severus’ survival.
Since Madame Pomfrey had stabilised him when the wizard had been brought to the infirmary, she'd assured Harry that he would live, only thanks to Fawkes' tears. At the time, Harry had taken the news rather neutrally… now, however, the young man couldn't help but silently think a prayer of thanks that the man had survived. If this event had left him this shaken, he could only imagine what the Nagini incident would have been like for him…
Still, they had never really discussed it… perhaps it wasn’t Harry’s place, but things had changed between the two of them, hadn’t they?
Maybe he would mention it one day.
The ebony wand, the Gryffindor noted with a hint of amusement, was still clutched tightly in one of the Slytherin's hands, hanging over the edge of the couch. It sobered Harry to think just how hard the man’s life must have been that he subconsciously recognised and clutched his wand even in his sleep.
Well, Harry had to admit that he himself had once been guilty of such an act: at the Dursleys, when he’d returned after his fifth year at Hogwarts. With Sirius dead, the Dursleys had taken much pleasure in treating their nephew like rubbish. No longer having felt safe, Harry had taken up sleeping with his wand under his pillow, the only feeling of comfort and safety he had had there.
The thought of Sirius made his thoughts swerv to his mum’s letter about making Severus Snape his guardian. How much different would his life have been, had his mum managed to officially appoint Severus as his godfather? Would he have treated him differently? Would Harry have lived with him? Would he have even cared?
He was surprised, however, that he wasn’t completely averse to the idea…
Alas, a few days... only a few days later, Lily and James had met their demise, and Harry would never know what might have been.
Curling up in the armchair, Harry pulled a knit throw that was draped over the back cushion, wrapping it around himself. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a sort of peace… serenity… comfort, here. Stability.
Soon enough, Harry drifted off to sleep, one that was nightmare-free.
The first thing Severus was aware of upon gaining consciousness was that he felt as though a horde of hippogriffs had run him over, danced on his chest, and departed with a kick or two in his ribs.
His head felt groggy and disoriented, but he realised it lying on something soft and plush. Trying to figure out his whereabouts, Severus began trying to explore with his heavy hands, eyes still shut, but his wand still safely clutched in one hand.
It was daytime, he deduced from the light penetrating his closed lids, and he appeared to be laying on a couch of sorts — that meant he was out of immedate danger. For a few minutes, he simply laid there, trying to remember what had gone down, and where exactly he was, given that he was sure he was in a safe environment.
Then, his memories flooded back to him, and his eyes suddenly flew open.
Still in a lying position, he tried turning his head here and there to observe his surroundings. He was at the Burrow, he realised with relief, and he was also heavily bandaged, specifically his chest area.
His gaze fell on a sight he never thought he would see: Harry Potter. The boy was curled up in an armchair with a knit draped over him, his glasses lopsided and on the verge of slipping to the floor. He didn’t look particularly comfortable… but definitely younger than seventeen.
Severus was taken by surprise, but the more pleasant kind than not. During his Death Eater days, no one had ever been there in the infirmary, by his side, when woke up. Poppy had usually been there to fuss over him in her incessant manner… but that was different.
Lily had, a small voice in his head reminded him. Before he’d screwed things up with her, she would always be there when he woke up in the infirmary (usually from another one of the Marauders’ pranks).
And loathe as he was to admit it, it touched Severus to see her son doing the same.
How could he not have seen how much more there was of Lily than James in the boy… in Harry.
Severus simply laid there, not being able to take his eyes off the boy he’d accused of being James bloody Potter all those years. How could he have? The two couldn’t be more different, aside from appearance.
The boy unquestionably had Lily’s smile, and, of course, her emerald-green eyes. Though, he didn’t have the appearance of a seventeen-almost eighteen-year-old. Lily had certainly looked her age, even James had.
Severus silently cursed Tuney to hell. Clearly, genetics had nothing to do with the matter of Harry looking like a sixteen-year-old. He was surprised, however, when a sudden feeling of protectiveness overcame him.
His musings were cut short when Harry stirred, and emerald-green eyes met obsidian-black ones. The boy started a bit, jerking up in his chair and barely catching his glasses before they could fall.
“Sir!” he cried. “Are you alright? What happened? Do– Do you need anything—?”
Severus held up a silencing hand, grimacing at the slight discomfort it caused it. Yes, definitely Lily, through and through. She would barrel him with the exact same questions upon his waking whenever he had ended up in Pomfrey’s clutches.
“Calm yourself, you insufferable Gryffindor. At this rate, your hyperventilation might put you into a more critical state than mine.”
The boy flushed, plucking on some loose threads in the knit throw. “Sorry, sir. Are– Are you, though? Alright, I mean?”
Amused, “No, Potter. As you can evidently see, I have died and become a ghost. Personally, I would be more worried about myself than my ex-professor.”
Harry chuckled, the sound bringing an unidentifiable nostalgia to Severus’ heart. “And why’s that, sir? Cause you’d haunt me?”
“Perhaps,” Severus allowed.
The door suddenly burst open and barreling in came Molly Weasly.
“Oh! Severus, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” she inquired, coming around the couch and kneeling beside him. Severus had always hated people dotting over him (courtesy of Poppy Pomfrey, that is), and wished she would just let him be.
“Now, I’ve been able to counter the curse — Sliceo, I believe it was —, but I decided to forgo the Sagebind Restorative Salve, as it would have been useless against your wounds. Had we not stocked up on healing potions a week ago, I honestly don’t know what would’ve become of you!”
Severus said nothing, only grimaced. That was the last thing he needed — Molly-coddling. He had to get out of there. The sooner the better. But as he tried propping himself up on his elbows, Molly pushed him back down with her hand.
“Oh, no, you do, Severus Tobias Snape! You’re not going anywhere until I’ve made certain you’re right as rain.”
Potter chuckled, the impudent brat!
“I’m completely capable of sitting up, Molly!” snapped Severus. Alas, his snarkiness had never worked with Poppy, and it certainly didn’t have an effect on the Weasley matriarch.
“Sure you are,” she replied sweetly. “Go ahead then; sit up,” she dared, stepping back. To prove her wrong, Severus attempted to lift himself up, but bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out, several colourful expletives running through his head.
He sighed exasperatedly. “Fine. Have it your way, you incessant woman.” She gave him a knowing smile, already reaching for her wand. She invented several diagnostic spells.
“mmm-hmm,” she hummed. “Yes, healing quite nicely. A–”
“ — few swallows of Wildroot Mendblend Elixir will suffice,” Severus cut across her, batting a hand at her. “I trust that you have it?”
Molly paused to think. “I believe we should… I’ll have to check the attic for that….” She finally nodded and left the room to fetch it.
“So, what happened?” asked Harry immediately, leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped. “Was it the Malfoys?”
Severus sighed heavily, lying back and running a hand down his face. The Malfoys… “It appears you were correct, Harry… It was a trap,” he admitted begrudgingly. Alas, he owed the boy so much.
Said boy pointed a finger at him accusingly. “Told you!” Severus rolled his eyes to the heavens.
“As I was saying,” he drawled pointedly, “Narcissa and Draco were under the Imperius. I’m assuming it was Lucius’s doing, considering the pleasantries Draco had uttered to me. I managed to neutralise — stunning spells, nothing lethal. Draco had been about to incantate the killing curse when I managed to Impedimenta him. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to block off a Cruciatus, and things had escalated from there.”
Harry bit his lip and momentarily averted his gaze, thinking. But Severus wasn’t fooled; something was clearly bothering the boy. He decided to allow him ample time for composure.
“Are you… I mean, are you and Malfoy close?” asked the boy hesitantly, catching Severus slightly off-guard. “I mean,” he rushed to exonerate himself, “I know you had taken that Unbreakable Vow to help him… and you two have always seemed close-ish, I guess?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, it must have been hard for you, going through all that…”
Severus sighed, suspecting the crux of Harry's concern. “Not particularly, no,” he answered evenly, closely watching the younger’s reaction. Something about Harry’s tense posture seemed to relax slightly, and Severus was curious to try something else. “Despite his being my godson, we have never been on more than adequate terms. Yes, Narcissa had made me swear to protect and help him a few years ago, but our relationship only deteriorated the more I tried offering him my assistance.”
Harry’s emerald-green eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re his godfather?”
It was the strangest and peculiar thing, something akin to disappointment and jealousy momentarily flashing on the boy’s face. Now, more than ever, Severus wished to use Occlumency on him, but he refrained. The act, even if executed unbeknownst to Harry, would be reminiscent of spitting on the trust and respect the two had managed to build.
“A very unknown fact, but yes.”
“Oh.” The boy hummed, seemingly the most articulate response he could muster, biting his lip again. After a moment, he seemed to recompose himself. Nodding, Harry looked at him seriously again. “Okay, so… now what? Mrs. Weasley said that she would contact Kingsley and McGonagall when you awoke.”
Grateful for the change of subject, Severus contemplated his answer for a moment. “Contact the Aurors,” he decided. “Let them infiltrate the Manor, handle the Malfoys, and locate any possible traps that had been set up. We still require access to the manor’s library.” He touched his lower lip in thought. “As for Kingsley and Minerva… I shall assure Molly Weasley that I will contact them from the manor.”
Harry opened his mouth, but then understanding dawned in his eyes and he nodded. “Good idea. Wait… did you say 'we'?”
“Indeed, Mr. Potter. It would appear that your earlier concerns had merit. Furthermore, Malfoy Manor will not hold as much danger after the Auror team will have searched it, and I can see your help will be requisite. After all, we have agreed to proceed with this endeavour together, have we not?”
Harry nodded, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Thanks, sir. But, y’know…” He looked a bit uncomfortable, rubbing his arm with his hand. “I’m just… glad that you’re alright,” he said with a tentative smile.
Severus had to process these words for a minute, looking at him as though he were a mysterious potion. Since Lily, Harry was the first to have uttered these words to him. He couldn’t put his finger on what the warmth in his chest was, filling him like hot tea in winter, so he blamed it on a weird side-effect of his injuries.
Clearing his throat softly, he said, “Thank you, Harry.” And he meant it.
Harry smiled at him, Lily’s infectious one. Severus couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from turning upwards into a smile of his own. The first rare, genuine smile in decades.
The boy was going to be the death of him and of his reputation… or whatever was left of it, anyway.
Notes:
Next chapter on the 15th Oct!
OMG! I’ve just had to change/move around three whole chapters because of a plot hole I found🫣… this fic feels like it’s never going to end, tbh. I have a rough plan of all the chapters, and so far this fic is going to be AT LEAST 57 chapters long!😭... are any of you even interested in sticking around for that long?😅😂
QUESTION: I've included some italic text in this chapter and I tried pasting it in a bit of a different way so that it showed... did it work?
Chapter 32: Messbing Tea
Summary:
At the last thought, Harry’s will caved and his shoulders shook, the feeling of loneliness, such as he’d never felt before, overcoming him. That sob did finally escape, and the hot tears mixed with cold sweat dripped down onto his hands.
Notes:
New chapter! I feel like it's almost canon now to add the 'nightmare' scene/chapter to a Severitus fic, so here we are!
But this chapter and the next two are going to be a major shift S' and H's relationship. Be warned: much angst coming up.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry found himself utterly alone in a room that seemed to stretch on infinitely into the distance. He was standing on solid ground but, glancing downward, he noticed that the floor was a mirror. The sight that met him caused him a double-take at his own reflection. His clothes were dirtied, tattered, and bloodied in some places. He himself was covered in cuts and dirt, as though he'd just emerged out of a battlefield…
He thought he could hear voices in the background, but they sounded weak and indecipherable.
Suddenly, everything around him began to move and shift, hundreds of images flashing by him like a choppy film. He recognised himself in First-Year… Second-Year… Third-Year…finally, the images stopped at Fourth-Year.
“We take the cup together,on the count of three….”
“...Kill the spare!”
“...Avada Kedavra!”
“NOOO!”
The scene shifted. The flashing images finally halted, and all around him, Harry heard jeers, cries, and yells as bright flashes of spells and curses whizzed by. He turned his head. A breath caught in his throat.
Sirius. Bellatrix.
Again, Harry tried to shout at him to get away; to run… but no use…
The veil still swallowed him whole.
“NO! SIRIUS! Please— NO!” he sobbed as he collapsed to his knees. The world stilled around him, and once he’d callmed, he found himself in the same, endless room once more.
“Worthless, good for nothing freak!” sneered Uncle Vernon, one hand on his wife’s shoulder, and the other on his son’s.”All you ever do is bring back luck. Well, no more! We should have left you at an orphanage, you worthless thilth.”
“I'm sorry…” Harry whispered weakly, his throat scratchy, and only half-aware of the fact that he was back to his seventeen-years-old self.
“It was your fault I was killed,” sounded Cedric’s scathing voice. Harry turned his head to see the handsome, young Hufflepuff standing not far from the Durseys, his eyes appearing blank.
“I– No, I—” Harry’s words got stuck in his throat. “I’,m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” he cried desperately. Cedric sneered distastefully at him.
“You’re always sorry, aren't you?”
Harry’s heart stopped for a minute. Turning around, he saw Sirius, the handsome face looking down at him with contempt and loathing. “If you hadn’t gone to the ministry, I wouldn’t have died, Harry. James wouldn’t have gotten me killed. You are nothing like him. What kind of a godson are you?”
“Stop…”
“I thought you loved me, and yet, you let me die… All because of your reckless actions… You’re a disappointment.”
“No! Please, Sirius, I do love you! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” his vision was completely blurred with his tears, and he was trembling uncontrollably.
more people continued to appear in front of Harry: Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Fred, Hedwig, even Alastor. Harry was shaking uncontrollably, unable to do anything. It felt as though a thick, grey cloud were enveloping him in despair. Hot tears were streaming down his face, his vision blurry.
“...You could have done more!”
“...You let everyone die!”
“...I was never meant to be a spare!”
“...You just hid away!”
“...You are pathetic!”
“...Yessss, Harry Potter. Yessss….” Hissed a cold voice, “It issss all your fault.”
“No. No, stop. Please.” Harry just wanted this to be over.
The cold voice wouldn’t stop laughing, “You should have surrendered long ago…You were a fool! You let everyone die for you… a coward.”
At one point, Harry could swear he could hear someone calling his name, but everything just seemed like such a blur to him; His head felt like a beehive as he continued to sob.
“Please,” he howled weakly, face hidden within his hands. “Please, wh– what c–can I d–do–”
“Nothing, Harry,” Hermione’s voice responded. Harry didn’t even bother to look up. “It’s too late for that.”
“We lost Fred because you wouldn’t show yourself to HIM,” said Ron, his voice hollow. “You are a coward.”
“Save it, Potter,” spat a different voice. Harry's head snapped slightly to the right at the speed of light, but he wished he never had.
Severus, in all his dark cloak and greasy hair glory, was standing with his arms crossed, ugly hatred and loathing contorting his features. “Arrogant. Lazy. Spoiled. Impertinent. Impudent, and insufferable. Why I have ever bothered protecting you is beyond me. You aren’t worth an iota of the effort everyone has put in for you, just like your swine of a father. Even your mother would be disappointed in you. And here I thought you weren’t like him...”
Harry couldn’t reply, he just sobbed and sobbed, his heart shredded into pieces. Severus continued.
“I have always loathed you, Potter, and always will. You disgust me. You’ve put countless lives at risk, more than half the Order’s dead because they had tried to protect you. You may have vanquished the Dark Lord, but that was your only asset to us.”
The rest of their voices were drowned out by his own heartbroken sobs.
“...Harry…”
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he looked up, everyone was gone. Everyone except for Snape, face still contorted in disgust and hatred. Harry felt too worn out to speak, but he knew that, come what may next, it would completely undo him.
“...HARRY!”
And Snape’s next words did.
“HARRY WAKE UP!”
“You’re all alone, Potter. And you’re the only one to blame. They only cared for you because you were the winning pawn in this war, but you’ve always been alone, and always will be.” with that, he disappeared.
“Noooo!”
Harry shot upright in his bed like a bullet, drenched in cold sweat and something salty and warm running down his cheeks which sure wasn't sweat. His whole body was trembling uncontrollably, and his breathing hitched with every breath his lungs tried greedily to take.
“Harry, you were having a nightmare. I need you to breathe deeply, can you do that?” A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder and Harry flinched at the touch, but he recognised the deep, baritone voice well, though, and noticed that the room was dimly lit.
It was with mortification and terror that he realised that Severus Snape was sitting on the edge of his bed, his features lined not with contempt and hatred, but with deep concern, a crease between his brows. a concerned glimmer in his obsidian depths. His ebony wand laid beside him, lit with Lumos.
It had been a nightmare…
it had seemed so real…
But it wasn’t. Severus didn’t hate him. This Severus didn’t hate him.
His legs were suddenly grabbed by two hands and forced over the edge of the bed. His bare feet met the icy, stone floor, sending a shiver of shock up his spine. “Harry,” Severus enunciated his name concisely, his deep voice soothing and gentle. “Match my breathing. Inhale… Exhale… In… Out…” The Potions Master exaggerated his own breathing.
It took every shred of Harry’s effort to do as he was instructed. With great difficulty, he tried to match Severus, but his throat was still painfully clogged with a suppressed sob, his breath hitching every now and then. In…— hitch— Out…In…Out… — hitch —
Everytime he closed his eyes, scenes of his nightmare would replay in his head, so he settled for staring down at his trembling hands in his lap. For a long while, the two sat there like that, Severus never letting up coaxing Harry to simply breathe. Eventually, His heartbeat calmed significantly, and when he exhaled one last time, he finally dared to lift his gaze.
What he found intrigued him deeply. Severus’ eyes were filled with deep concern, though his expression remained stoic, only his eyes glimmering with worry. A lump threatened to return to harry’s throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down.
“Better?”
Harry could only nod, his cheeks reddening in mortification. When was the last time someone had helped him through a nightmare like that?
Then, a more unsettling question formed: how had Severus known he was having a nightmare? Surely…?
Then, realisation dawned on him like a bucket of ice. He’d forgotten to erect the silencing spell.
“Harry?”
Had he really screamed that loud? Oh, Merlin, what must Severus think of him now? That he was weak, for sure. A weakling, a pathetic weakling, cry-baby that couldn’t endure a bad dream.
“Harry!”
But that hadn’t been a ‘bad dream’. No — that had been the a nightmare from hell.
“HARRY!”
Harry was suddenly shaken out of his thoughts — literally. Both of Severus’ hands were grasping his shoulders, shaking him lightly. Now, his whole face betrayed his concern, the lines and wrinkles making his look twice his age.
“I– I’m fine,” managed Harry automatically, his voice hoarse. “Th– thank you…I'm sorry.”
Severus eyed him carefully, hands still on his shoulders, though squeezing them comfortingly, and Harry caught himself leaning into the touch. For a moment, the man appeared to be in deep thought. Then, to Harry’s terror, he got up to leave. The boy tried desperately to reach out to grasp his hand, to ask him not to leave, but it was too late.
Severus left the room hastily, not even bothering to close the door in his wake.
Sudden sorrow enveloped Harry, and that big, fat lump was back, threatening to suffocate him. Hunched over, Harry repeated in his head on a mantra: I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care… It’s fine. Whatever. It dosen’t matter. He dosen’t care…
At the last thought, Harry’s will caved and his shoulders shook, the feeling of loneliness, such as he’d never felt before, overcoming him. That sob did finally escape, and the hot tears mixed with cold sweat dripped down onto his hands.
It was just like in his nightmare: he was alone, and had nobody to care for him. Severus was disappointed, disgusted, and ashamed of him. He didn’t care, and Harry had just woken him up by screaming bloody murder, and Severus had every right to get up and…
But then, that familiar, warm hand was back. Harry’s breath hitched and when he looked up, a tidal wave of disbelief and relief washed over him. Severus was back, perched upon the edge of the bed, a vile of lavendar-coloured potion in his hand.
Severus didn’t remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. “Drink this, Harry, it’ll help. I apologise for leaving so abruptly; Accio -ing potions often leads to them getting destroyed mid-journey, and I wouldn’t trust a house elf with the task, either,” he explained as he single-handedly uncorked the vial.
Harry didn’t trust himself to speak, and obediently reached for the offered potion. Just before he could grasp it, however, Severus must have noticed his horribly-trembling hands, for he batted them away gently. Surprising Harry, he raised the vial to his lips. Harry downed it within a few gulps, and immediately felt himself calming.
For several long moments, the two sat in silence, Severus seemingly lost as to what to do. Then, suddenly, he stood, this time taking Harry’s hand. “Come,” was his only remark, and though his tone was gentle, Harry could tell it wasn’t a suggestion.
Not having any better ideas himself, Harry stood on shaky legs, grabbed his glasses off his nightstand, and followed, shivering slightly in his pyjama trousers and shirt. Severus noticed this, for he non-verbally Accio-ed a dark green robe, similar to the one he was wearing. He tossed it over Harry’s shoulders, allowing him to pull his arms through by himself, and then pointed his ebony wand at Harry’s bare feet, which were adorned in comfy slippers a second later.
Harry was touched at the simple gesture that anyone else would have taken for granted. No-one had ever cared whether he was cold or warm to this extent. The situation suddenly reminded him of the night he had had the vision of Mr. Weasley being attacked by Nagini. When McGonagall had escorted him to Dumbledore’s office, she hadn’t bothered with such things as Severus had just now.
Severus draped one hand across Harry’s shoulders, squeezing the opposite one from him, and led them down the marble stairs and into the grand sitting room. With a snap of his fingers, a roaring fire burst alight in the grate, bathing the room in a warm, orange light.
Severus deposited Harry onto the couch in front of the fireplace, and sat himself beside him. He then gave his ebony wand a small flourish, and atop the coffee table in front of them appeared a small bowl of water and a clean, white flannel. Wordlessly, Severus bundled up the flannel in his hand and dipped its end in what looked to be warm water, judging by the steam along the sides of the glass bowl.
Harry watched in curiosity, but what surprised him was when two fingers gently removed his glasses and grasped his chin, turning it slightly. The other hand began washing his face tenderly with the warm flannel. Harry couldn’t remember a single time when someone had done something like this for him. He’d seen the Dursleys do this for their son on occasion, but when it would come to Harry crying or being upset, they had simply locked him up in a cupboard or ignored him.
A voice in his mind protested, saying he was far too old for this, but another voice, a much stronger one, urged him to savour this warmth that he’d been deprived of his whole life.
It was nice.
Neither spoke for several minutes, Harry having closed his eyes at one point. His vision was rubbish without his glasses, anyway. He enjoyed every warm stroke of the soft fabric, and though he would never outright admit it, he was disappointed when it was over.
Reopening his eyes, Harry belatedly noticed that his hands were no longer trembling and his breathing was normal. His eyes met Severus’ onyx ones, and Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to put the gratitude, care, respect.. the warmth in his chest, into words to justify how he felt. Severus, however, appeared just as uncomfortable as Harry felt, which came as a measure of relief to the boy, knowing it wasn't just him.
At last, Severus cleared his throat. “Would you like some tea?” The question was so uncharacteristic of him and felt out of the blue, but Harry nodded his head, trying to smile slightly but feeling his lips simply refusing to comply. Severus flicked his wand, and a silver tray of two mugs and a teapot appeared. The man poured them both a mugfull, an unbelievably-heavenly scent wafting through Harry’s nostrils and calming his nerves further.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, reaching to take his serving.
“Messbing tea; my personal blend,” replied Severus, cradling his own mug in his lap. “Chinese ginger root, goldleaf lavender, messbing buds, Ukrainian melissa, and a few other herbs. I have found it twice as effective as a calming draught after a long session of grading First-Years’ Potions essays,” he remarked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. Despite himself, Harry finally managed a wry smile.
He took a sip, feeling the flavourful drink course though and warm his body. For a while, the two sat in companionable silence, sipping at their tea and gazing at the flickering ambers.
“What was the nightmare about?” Severus suddenly asked, his voice low and barely above a whisper. Harry almost choked on his tea.
This was the last thing he wanted to do. Living through the nightmare once had been enough, but recounting it would mean doing it all over again. Besides, how could he tell all those things to anyone, let alone Severus? In answer, Harry shook his head.
“I don’t want to talk about it, sir,” he whispered, keeping his eyes set on the tiny leaf specs floating in his mug. Suddenly, they seemed like the most fascinating little things in the world.
Severus sighed, though barely audibly. With a bit of hesitation, he said, “It would help you.”
Harry snorted mirthlessly. “Did it help you?” he fired back, though without any heat.
The man brought up a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “Do not take example from me. Admittedly, no, though for a different reason.”
“Which is?” prompted Harry. Severus turned to look at him.
“Because I have never tried to,” he admitted morosely. “Though, I wish I had. And see what’s become of me, Harry?” he said softly. “A vengeful man, lonely and sinful. I do not wish the same for you.” He heaved a sigh. “You may be of age, Harry, but in truth, you reached adulthood regretfully sooner than any child should have. The atrocities you’ve faced…” he shook his head. “You may not realise it now, child, but everything that’s happened to you, the feelings and emotions you’ve pent up inside you… eventually, they will eat you alive, but by that time it’ll be too late to rectify the damage.”
When Harry opened his mouth to speak, Severus cut him off. “However. I understand if you do not wish to confide in me. You may certainly feel much more comfortable talking to the Weasleys or Granger; perhaps even Miss Weasley. Yet, I urge you to confide in someone…” He took another sip of his tea and turned his gaze to the flames.
Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and mug still clasped warmly in his hands. He considered Severus’ words, but took his time with it. Should he really confide in someone? Would his emotions really eat him alive one day, as the man had phrased it?
But the thought alone seemed ridiculous. He'd managed sixteen years of his life without hearing someone cry and complain about how unfair his life was. And, here he was: still alive and sane.
Besides, whom could he confide in, really? He loved his friends more than anything in the world, but they would only pity him, and pity was the last thing Harry needed. Hermione would surely burst into tears and Ron would begin jumping to conclusions. Ginny… Ginny might simply leave him, saying he should see a Mind-Healer before seeing her .
Harry actually shuddered at the thought of telling Mrs. Weasley. He was sure she would suffocate him in one of her bear hugs and he would drown in her tears before he would be able to finish his first sentence.
That didn't leave him with many options… except…
But would Severus really be wiling to edure his worries, nightmares, and all the ‘cockroaches’ in his head? He had sounded like he wanted for Harry to confide in him…
Severus would never pity him, that was certain. If anything, Harry was sure the man would simply sit and listen, something that Harry was actually secretly desperate for. Just someone to listen; to hear him.
But Harry quickly gave himself a mental shake. No. He could deal with his bad dreams himself. He had been dealing with them for years now, and Severus happening upon one of his worse nights changed little to nothing.
And yet, the man hadn't judged or scolded him for it. He'd actually gone out of his way to help calm Harry down, as opposed to simply scoffing at him and retiring back to bed.
His head was telling Harry one thing, but his heart was telling him another.
To trust or not to trust?
He had never told anyone about his relatives or his nightmares before, only a certain extent of it to his friends, and just so, very vaguely. Would he really be willing to open up to Severus?
At this point, the Gryffindor was really starting to consider the idea. From what he already knew, Severus hadn’t had the best childhood, either. So, maybe he would actually be able to empathise? To understand — really understand?
This was the man who had done so many things for Harry over the last month or so, that Harry couldn’t even begin to recount them all. And tonight, when he’d awoken from his nightmare, Severus hadn’t Molly-cuddled him. There hadn’t been any pity in his eyes. Instead, he had been calm, collected, and level-headed about everything.
He was the stability Harry had felt that night at the Weasleys.
He had already decided a while back that he trusted Severus. So, why not with this?
Taking a bracing, slightly shaky breath, Harry turned his head to Severus, who hadn't moved an inch, sipping silently at his tea. Harry then averted his gaze to the fire in the grate to match Severus, steeling himself.
“What do you want to know?”
Notes:
Just a few things before you go!
I ended up deleting a bunch of the nightmare scene itself cuz it got sooo long (1960 words or smth.), and I hope it wasn't too long/overwhelming...(?) Definitely let me know what you though of it!
If any of you are wondering about the messbing tea: yes, I came up with it. I remember once visiting the Carpathian Mountains in Ukraine on holiday, and we got to try their 'Ukrainian melissa' tea. OMG it was, like, the BEST tea I will have ever tried in my life, so I really couldn't resist including it as one of the main ingredients in messbing tea. The whole conflict over there rn is just heartbreaking, so I thought I would contribute to their lovely culture at least in this way.
Also, when I pasted the ch text in, some of the words/letters shifted weirdly... I tried fixing it as much as I could, but I might have missed something. Sorry \ (*__*) /
That is all - thanks for reading! As always, don't forget to comment :) I have a fairly busy week ahead of me, so I will either upload on the 18th or the 19th Oct. Stay tuned!
Chapter 33: Numb
Summary:
When Harry finally finished, he felt utterly drained, as though he were a sponge that had been wrung out. All the hurt, all the injustice, and every other conflicting emotion that had built up inside him, had finally found an outlet, draining him in the process and leaving him in this numb-like state.
Notes:
Hi! Sorry for posting a bit late! I spent SO. MUCH. TIME. Editing this chapter, but I really like how it turned out!!! So much emotional $h*t, he-he (aka, my free therapy cuz I'm no milionare to afford any ×__×)
Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments on the previous chapter — you're all amazing!😁 hope you enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think:D
Thanks for 6k hits and 200+kudos!!!!!!!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The crackling and sizzling of the flickering flames in the grate was almost enough to drown out the volume of Harry’s voice, which was just barely above a strained whisper as he spoke of things he never thought would leave his lips; things he had once vowed to take to the grave with him.
Sat upon the plush couch and leaning forward on his elbows, he stared unfocusedly at an imaginary point, clutching his mug of messbing tea in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white.
The black-clad wizard sat statuesquely on the other end of the couch, his face an inscrutable mask the last time Harry had seen it. It had been like so for the past odd hour, but to his relief, he found that Severus was a frightfully good listener. Not once did he interrupt, comment, nor interject… the man didn’t pity, he didn’t judge, and he didn’t Molly-cuddle. He just listened, and Harry couldn’t have asked for more.
But that was Harry's only solace in this situation.
Severus had asked him to recount his nightmare for him, and Harry didn’t dare to fib any of it — not only did he know the man would see right through him, but his soul had also begged for a release of the untainted truth; the hurt he'd underlyingly been harbouring his entire life.
It was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than even walking to his death in the Forbidden Forest. Beginning to talk about his nightmare had taken him several minutes, dozens of variants of where and how to begin swimming through his head.
But then, surprisingly, it got easier. The more he talked, the lighter his chest felt, as though a weight was being gradually lifted off him, relieving him of a significant amount of the heavy burden.
He told Severus of all the jeering voices in his nightmare… With a bit of insistence from him, and much hesitation, fear and reluctance on Harry's part, he told Severus the specifics of what dream-Snape had spat at him, right before he awoke.
Severus hadn't reacted, only continued to just be .
But the loss of weight in his chest had felt addictive, so much so that he craved more… he craved for the relief, for someone to hear and to know… someone to listen…
He told Severus about the Dursleys: how they had starved him, neglected him, insulted him… How many nights he’d spent locked up in his small cupboard, anguished and depressed, hopeless and cold… How when he was five, his Uncle had ‘accidentally’ locked him out of the house on Christmas Eve during a heavy snowstorm…How his Aunt had 'forgotten' him in a grocery store, and he had been brought back to Privet Drive by the authorities…
But then, one thing led him to another, and before he knew it, he was pouring his heart out.
He told Severus about Cedric, and his still ever-present guilt over his death… He relayed the words the boy had spoken to him in his dream…
He told Severus about Sirius, about how he and Hermione had gone back in time to rescue the man, and how he had promised Harry a home, a family… He told him about when everyone’s families had shown up to support their children in the Triwizard Tournament, and he had had no-one to call his own — still didn’t (though he'd neglected mentioning that so obviously).
He told Severus of how utterly alone and miserable he'd felt in Fifth-Year…
He told Severus of the night Sirius had battled Bellatrix LeStrange, and how the veil had swallowed him whole, merciless and mocking.
Throughout his tale, Harry hadn’t dared to look up in fear of seeing either pity, contempt, or disappointment in Severus’ dark eyes… he was sure it would end him. It surprised him he hadn’t broken down this entire time, but he felt too hollow to feel any emotion. His voice was low and monotone, as if he had resigned on everything in his life, his mind blank. He subconsciously thought spoke like an automaton, the kind he'd often seen Dudley watch on TV.
It made him wonder if this was the state Severus had had to resort to as a spy, or perhaps even prior to that… this feeling of numbness.
But Harry found that he preferred it over enduring the pain of all the whirling emotions inside him. This state of blissful carelessness and delusion.
When Harry finally finished, he felt utterly drained, as though he were a sponge that had been wrung out. All the hurt, all the injustice, and every other conflicting emotion that had built up inside him, had finally found an outlet, draining him in the process and leaving him in this numb-like state. He didn't think he could cry. He wanted to, so badly , but felt like he had no more tears left in him to release — he’d done enough of this quite a few nights, in fact, often sobbing and weeping under the concealment of the Silencing Spell.
No one knew, and with each new dawn he would simply give the matter a wide berth, refusing to even acknowledge his breakdowns in his own mind.
But the feeling of long-overdue release felt like a blessing. His cards were all laid out so plainly and clearly in front of him now, it felt like someone had reorganised his mind.
But the older wizard had yet to respond, and Harry couldn't help feeling unnerved and apprehensive. Time seemed to stretch. The two wizards sat in silence, neither sure of how to proceed. Then, Severus finally heaved a heavy sigh, though it was laden with pain and anguish, and his breathing was slightly shallow. Harry tensed, his palms sweating so much that the mug almost slipped out of his grasp.
Severus cleared his throat. “Harry, I… ” In his periphery, Harry spied the Slytherin shaking his head, visibly conflicted. “You should have told Dumbledore…”
Harry expelled a shrewd laugh, bitter and mirthless. “You think I didn’t, sir?” It was a rhetorical question. “I went to Dumbledore several times, the first being in First-Year. Of course, I couldn’t spend the summer away from them, though I didn’t understand why until he told me about the Blood Wards tied to my Aunt."
Severus dragged a weary hand down his face. “He should have done something — WE should have done something." A disgusted look appeared on his face, his lip curling. "Quite unfortunately, all the old coot had ever cared about was the war, and we were his pawns. Surely, you understand this, Harry? I had realised this the moment I'd switched sides.”
"... You've been raising him like a pig for slaughter!..."
Harry nodded woodenly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I understand. He manipulated people… you, especially.” For the first time, Harry turned to look at Severus, and the emotion in his eyes almost overwhelmed him. But there was no pity there, only… understanding, and perhaps even empathy… but it was a comforting sight, and Harry felt his tense muscles slowly begin to relax.
The man glanced away for a moment. "Dumbledore should have at least made an effort to alleviate your situation. Even now, I can think of several routes he could have taken to rectify the matter."
"Why do you think he did it, though?" asked Harry quietly, staring down at his mug. He had viewed Dumbledore as a mentor his entire life, but many things had changed upon his death. Now, Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to know why the deceased man had never even made an effort to help him about the Dursleys.
"His aim was to foster dependence and reliance on him," stated Severus bluntly. "To have the Boy-Who-Lived stringed on his fingers meant power and authority. To reiterate, you were a pawn. In my presumption, Dumbledore believed that your relatives' mistreatment of you would only motivate you over to his side. Had your home situation improved, you probably wouldn't have been so inclined towards him. Our lives have always been nothing more than chess pieces on his board he called life: strategic and with only one goal in mind. "
Harry nodded grimmly, a lump of disappointment settling in the pit of his stomach. The words had cut him deeply: just another person who hadn't cared about him as Harry, but as Harry Potter. Just another person who had played, used, and left him, like an old kitchen rag. Nothing new there, of course.
Just like in his nightmare…
Harry wanted to cry his eyes out, but they were desolate of tears. His throat stung as if it were on fire, but no sob rose to it. Then, he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Despite himself, Harry leaned into the comforting touch, closing his eyes and savouring the comfort.
It was reassuring, perhaps a sign that he wasn’t as alone as he’d initially thought, at least not now. Someone was there, beside him, offering empathy and understanding, and even comfort.
“You do understand that you deserved none of that abuse, don't you, Harry?” asked Severus, concern lining his low, baritone voice.
Harry scowled at the word. "Can we not call it that? And it wasn't abuse. Neglect, maybe. But 'abuse' is a bit of an exaggeration."
"Debatable. Notwithstanding, you haven't answered my question," accorded Severus softly.
Harry said nothing for a moment, considering the question. In truth, he wasn't at all sure how he should answer that. His silence must have been interpreted the wrong way, however, for two strong hands suddenly gripped both his shoulders, forcing him to face Severus. The shallow face looked even paler, even in the warm firelight, an array of anguish, concern, guilt, and disbelief sketched upon hsi features, the black depths whirling with emotion.
“Harry, what your relatives did to you is inexcusable!” he whispered harshly, giving him a gentle shake. “You must understand that no child deserves to be treated that way, even if said child had commited murder, or had even set a bloody house on fire! You've committed none of those things, and even if you had, your relatives —” he spat the word — “would still lack a valid excuse for their actions.”
Harry was rendered momentarily speechless at the conviction in Severus' voice. He shook his head and rushed to explain. “I– I know,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I mean, I realised this when I was around five, I think. When I got locked out of the house that day. It…” He said the next word so quietly, he practically mouthed it, “hurt. It hurt so damn bad.” The stupid lump was suddenly back and he ducked his head, too ashamed of his admission. What was he doing?
But the hands on his shoulders only tightened their hold, and one of them moved up to rub circles on his back. Harry relaxed considerably, trying to even out his breathing.
“You are aware you never have to see them again, yes?” asked Severus after a moment. Harry only managed a meek nod.
The two sat in silence for a bit, when Severus spoke again. “Regarding your recent nightmare — I have never heard anything more inaccurate. Dreams are not a depiction of reality — they are merely the resemblance of our state of mind, of our feelings and emotions, of our haunting demons. One must not dwell on them, lest they possess a life-long ambition of pursuing Divination.”
Harry swallowed. It reminded him of something Dumbledore had once said“I know,” he said. “And I know it sounds stupid, but It’s just that it felt so… real. E— Especially when you said I was alone and that you hate —”
“Harry!” The hand rubbing his back suddenly stopped and he was forced to look at the man once more. This time, however, he could see a flicker of anger mixed with conviction. “You. Are. Not. Alone! Never have been, and never will be!” He emphasised this by shaking his shoulders. “You have countless friends, allies… You have the Weasleys, Granger, Longbottom, McGonagall… You have me, should you wish it… These people would give up their lives for you, do not even bother to deny this. And, for Merlin’s sake, child — do not push them away like I once did!” There was something akin to desperation in his voice, something raw and deep. "And I do not hate you, Harry. I have never hated you, only what you represented. Of that, I will always be regretful, but I am sincere in my remorse."
His voice trailed off and he took several deep breaths, clearly trying to recompose himself. Perhaps the man was right, Harry considered. Yes, he'd lost many people, but he wasn't alone in his loss. Remus had lost a best friend, George had lost a twin; the Weasleys had lost a son and sibling, Teddy had lost his parents, the Order had lost its best Auror… the list went on.
But he really did have his friends and the Wealseys. He loved them all dearly: Mrs. Weasley was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had, and he loved Ron and Hermione like kin. Not only them, but everyone he knew.
He even had Severus, he realised, feeling warmth at the thought. The man was a mentor, a friend, an ally… perhaps even the closest thing Harry had ever had to a…
Harry swallowed thickly and quickly shook the wistful thought away. He could only imagine the horror if Severus knew, and he didn’t think he would live down the shame and mortification after that.
Suddenly, he was regretful over the fact that he hadn't confided in the man sooner. Of course, there were some paths that were never meant to be taken, and Harry probably wouldn't have without the trust they shared now, but it did make Harry wonder how different things could have been if Severus had been appointed his godfather. Despite Harry having known the real Severus Snape for only a few short weeks, he knew, deep down in his gut, that life would not have been so terrible then.
Even with his spying duties, even undercover, even with the hatred towards what Harry represented… they would have reconciled... Somehow.
But that was both wistful thinking and an impossible scenerio.
Harry twisted to peer at Severus again. The Slytherin's eyes were glazed-over as the dark orbs gazed into the hypnotising flames. The young man couldn’t help but wonder when Severus had confided in someone about his demons and troubles. He bet not even Dumbledore had known the extent of it. Considering that the old wizard hadn’t even known of Severus’ Patronus form until the man had personally cast it for him that day…
“...After all this time?...”
“...Always…”
Tentatively, Harry put his own arm on top of Severus’ arm. The man turned his head to him, surprised slightly. “Were.. Were you parents also…?” he tried prompting. Severus seemed to catch on, and shook his head in exasperation.
”You needn't carry my burdens, Harry. I do not wish to discuss my own familial matters, especially when yours are of far greater concern.”
Harry frowned. “I mean, that was basically my line of thought about the Dursleys, but here we are. Look, it… you said that you wish you had opened up to someone, but had never had the chance… why not me? It would help,” he cheekily quoted him.
The Slytherin actually chuckled dryly. “You know, Mr. Potter, you would have done well in Slytherin, throwing my own words back at me.”
Harry smirked. “Kinda ironic, how the Sorting Hat had almost put me in Slytherin.” To his amusement, Severus’ eyes widened and he gaped at Harry in bafflement, as if the boy had just sprouted another head.
“It’s true, sir,” he affirmed with a bit of a laugh, deciding to expand on it. “When Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley the summer before First-Year, I ran into Draco. Of course, he made quite the first impression on me, boasting about Slytherin House and his whole ‘pureblooded family’ propaganda. Then, on the Hogwarts Express, I met Ron, and he told me that every wizard who’s ever gone bad had been in Slytherin. So, when it was my turn to get sorted, I asked the hat to put me anywhere but in Slytherin when it suggested it.” Harry frowned morrosly. “I guess it’s good that it listened to me; it would have complicated things quite a bit for you, huh?”
Severus nodded in agreement. “Indeed, it would have.” He dragged a hand through his greasy locks, something Harry had never seen the man do before, a clear sign of nerves. His face was drawn with lines in deep thought as he scrutinised Harry carefully, and then he finally relented with a resigned sigh. Steepling his fingers and staring unblinkingly into the dying ambers, he began wearily.
“Very well… As you may already know, my mother — Eileen Prince — was a pureblood. The Princes had also shared the same pureblood mania and beliefs as the Malfoys, and you can only imagine the kind of blow it was for them to discover that my mother had gone and married a muggle. They banished her from the family, of course, just like Walburga Black had with Sirius Black.” Severus almost spat the name in disgust, but seemed to have caught himself at the last moment.
"Growing up, my home life was less than ideal. Of course, my mother had regretted her decision to marry my fa– Tobias Snape immediately, but her income wouldn't have been sufficient to provide for the two of us and file for divorce. Though Eileen was an exceptionally-bright witch, Tobias had driven her into a state of depression. She simply hadn't the strength to utilise witchcraft against him. Eventually, she commited suicide."
“I felt ashamed of the Princes, and thus it revolted me to accept their inheritance — their filthy gold and this manor along with. I wanted nothing to do with either my mother’s or father’s parentage.” His stare was vacant as his eyes were glazed over, fixated on the clasped hands in his lap.
Harry, who was listening intently, suddenly remembered something he’d seen in Snape’s memories. “Sir,” he began carefully. “Was your father…I mean, was he…Did he…”
“Was he an abusive alcoholic who had mistreated my mother and I? Yes, Harry,” Severus admitted, disgust being the most evident emotion on his usually-stoic face. He was clearly not bothering to hide it; probably saw no point in it, more like. "Eileen passed when I was in Third-Year. My father and I had only endured the others' presence until I became of age due to legal matters. Since then, he moved out and I never saw nor heard from him again."
“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.
Snape snorted. “I do not want your pity, Po– Harry. Why you are apologising is beyond my understanding. In any case, it is a moot point now. On the contrary, I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome.”
Harry clenched his fists and looked straight into Snape’s onyx eyes. “It’s not pity, sir. And I could say that my relatives are also a moot point — then we would be tied,” he fired back. “I just… I don't know,” he gave up quietly, not too sure where he was going with this. “I guess water really is thicker than blood, sometimes, huh?” he added spitefully.
Severus didn’t reply to that, but looked at Harry curiously, something soft and gentle about his gaze. For a few silent moments, the two gazed into the fire, Harry’s words giving both of them something to ponder over. Suddenly, Severus cleared his throat, his voice sounding sterner.
“Care to enlighten me as to why you have been utilising Silencing Charms these past few weeks?”
Harry blanched, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. He snapped his head to the man, unsure of how to reply. He considered denying the accusation, but the sharp, obsidian gaze told him it would be fruitless.
Severus sighed wearily for the umpteeth time that night. “You should have come to me for some Dreamless Sleep. While it can be addictive, small doses would go a long way and wouldn’t hinder. I can see warrant in your actions, - I understand I am not the most approachable person — but to go to such measures for the sake of me not knowing is inhumane , Harry! I forbid you to further erect Silencing Spells.”
“Wait, what!?” burst out Harry. Who did the man think himself to be? He was a grown wizard, for Merlin’s sake, fully capable of deciding for himself. A sudden wave of betrayal washed over him… he knew he shouldn't have told him anything! “So, what, you want me to wake you every night, screaming bloody murder?” The thought alone was both terrifying and mortifying, but to hear it aloud made it sound tenfold worse. He started shaking his head in refusal. “I — no way. Look, I'm sorry that I woke you up; it won’t happen again. But you have no say over what—”
“ —You will be surprised at the sheer amount of what is within my right, Potter!" he interjecter, something in the Slytherin’s eyes hardening. "I will not allow you to suffer nightly emotional meltdowns and insomnia under my watch — I am not a sadist!”
“Oh, so, it’s back to ‘ Potter ’ now, is it, Snape ?” he shot right back scathingly, suddenly on his feet, albeit, admittedly, a bit wounded.
“P—!” But Snape caught himself at the last moment. He tiredly brought up his hand to rub the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking a few years older. He closed his eyes, and after several moments, seemed to have recomposed himself. “ Harry, it is undeniably inhumane to suffer as you do. I can only presume how long this has been going on for, and it is exceedingly unhealthy. I realise our relationship is complicated, but I would appreciate it if you could place a bit more trust in me. We are not enemies.”
Harry ducked his head, unsure why he felt ashamed. He was right; it was complicated. This whole bloody situation was! When was it not?
Perhaps Harry hadn’t gone to him because he was afraid that the man would perceive him as weak, or would be disappointed in him?
But maybe he should trust the man a bit more. He had never wished for anyone to hear his nightly cries and sobs, as vice versa, though he’d always silently prayed someone were there for him; someone who would show concern, would personally fetch him a calming draught, would make him talk about his nightmare to make him feel better, would comfort and squeeze his shoulder and would rub circles on his back…
And the man had disallowed him to erect Silencing wards not out of malice, but out of, dare he say, care? Because he was worried and concerned for Harry? Because, in the long run, he would only benefit from it?
The Dursleys had always only yelled at him to 'shut up' whenever he would wake them with his nightmares, expressing not an iota of concern for their nephew.
Harry suddenly felt a warm feeling fluttering in his chest, gradually growing. When he turned to look at Severus, his expression as inscrutable as ever, the Gryffindor gave him a small, tired smile. “I’ll try to, sir. Thank you.”
Just then, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed, signalling four in the morning. As if on cue, Harry fought to stifle a yawn, suddenly drowsy, but the last thing he wanted was to go back to his bedroom — it was far too tainted with associations of nightmares. And, besides, it was so toasty and warm here, on the couch, in front of the dying embers… Did his room even have a fireplace? He couldn't seem to recall…
“You should get some rest, Harry,” advised Severus. “Will you require Dreamless Sleep? We would not make a habit out of it, but one night wouldn't hurt — Harry…? Harry…?”
But the Gryffindor was already half-asleep, curled up in the crook of the couch. Just barely, he managed to mumble, “No, thanks, sir,” before he dozed off into a peaceful sleep. He didn’t have any nightmares this time, only a strange feeling of someone tucking a warm blanket around him, removing his glasses, and carding their fingers through his mop of hair.
“Goodnight, Harry,” whispered a soothing voice. "Forgive me."
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to comment — it really helps and motivates/encourages me. Next chapter on the 22nd Oct!
Chapter 34: Slip-Up
Summary:
Harry,
I have gone to Witchgary Square. Have breakfast and meet me down in my lab as soon as you can (written at approximately 8:00 A.M.).
— S.
Notes:
Hi! Soooo, this is a slightly smaller chapter than the ones I usually upload, but I am REALLY happy with how it turned out. I feel like my writing's improved quite a bit in the last few chapters (because they were written more recently).
It's hard to believe that, as of this chapter, this story has surpassed 100k words - insane! And we're just halfway finished! Thank you for all of your support, it always brings me joy to read your comments.I hope you enjoy! more notes at the end:) (warning: heavy angst incoming, especially in the next two chapters)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Harry awoke, it was to find himself lying on the couch, covered by a soft knit throw. Memories of last night flooded back to him and he groaned, letting his head drop back down onto the cushion and covering it with his arm.
Had he really said all that to the man last night? He wasn’t sure how he felt about Severus knowing about his nightmares and the Dursley, and forbidding him to use Silencing Spells… But it felt nice to know that maybe, just maybe, by miniscule chance, Severus almost, sort of… cared about him.
He found he liked that concept.
And the prospect of taking Dreamless Sleep to finally get a decent night’s sleep was quite welcoming.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, he groped half-blindly for his glasses on the coffee table. But Harry was surprised to find a rustle of paper under his spectacles. Donning his round rims, he read the note.
Harry,
I have gone to Witchgary Square. Have breakfast and meet me down in my lab as soon as you can (written at approximately 8:00 A.M.).
— S.
Curious at the request, Harry spared a glance at the clock atop the mantelpiece. He did a double take when it read half past eleven. Shooting to his feet — and neatly pocketing the note — Harry rushed upstairs to shower and dress.
Fifteen minutes later found him fumbling with the buttons on his emerald green shirt in front of his wardrobe mirror. The hot water had definitely done him some good, as he felt more relaxed. He simply didn't see the point in breakfast these days, and refreshening charms just wouldn't have cut it. Before heading downstairs, he took great care to store Severus’ note into his photo album.
Harry decided to forego breakfast and simply head down to meet the Potions Master in his dank environment down in the basement. He was sure the man had long since returned from Witchgary Square, and was probably fuming that Harry hadn’t yet shown up. And if there was one thing Harry wished to avoid, it was Severus in a bad morning mood after he'd been deprived of sleep.
Was Severus angry with him? Why had he requested his presence? The man had been very wound-up at the topic of Harry erecting Silencing Spells on his room…
Despite the warm weather outside, Harry shivered as he descended down into the basement. Hesitating for only a second, he rapped his knuckles thrice on the wooden door. A few seconds later, the black-clad Potions Master answered the door and ushered him in.
“Morning, sir,” greeted Harry apprehensively, looking around in interest. Several cauldrons were set up on the workbenches, the charmed ladles in them stirring their mysterious contents at different speeds and intervals. A calming lavender scent wafted through the room, along with several other herbs Harry Couldn't place his finger on. There were also many potions ingredients and spare sheets of parchment scattered about.
Severus mumbled some incoherent greeting in return, and Harry just then noticed the dark circles under the man’s eyes, along with his slightly-dishevelled, greasy hair. He felt a pang of guilt at the conclusion that Severus hadn’t gotten any sleep after the whole nightmare fiasco.
“Severus? I’m uh… I’m sorry…” he mumbled, scuffling his trainers against the stone floor.
Severus turned to look at him with confusion. “What on earth are you apologising for?”
“For last night. And for sleeping in so late.” At the man’s brows furrowing, Harry rushed to explain. “I must have kept you awake, and you wrote that note a while ago… You should have woken me, sir,” he rambled, feeling a slight pink tinge creep up to his ears.
Severus looked at him strangely, and then surprised Harry by expelling something between a laugh and a disbelieving snort. He reached out with one hand, placing it on Harry’s shoulder, and guided him to sit on one of the stools.
He shook his head. “Foolish Gryffindor…” He himself then took a seat beside Harry, facing him. “Do not blame yourself for my lack of sleep — it was my choice entirely to sit with you. Furthermore, I thought you could use a lie-in after last night’s events…” Be looked at the boy inquiringly, his black eyes betraying his concern, and it gave Harry that warm feeling again. "On that note, how do you feel?"
Harry toyed with his fingers. “I’m fine, sir. Thanks again for… well, y’know...” being there for me.
Severus nodded jerkily, appearing slightly uncomfortable and folding his hands neatly in front of him. “Very well. The reason I have requested your presence is to offer you an alternative to Dreamless Sleep.” Harry’s interests instantly piqued at this. “I have successfully improved the potion to one that is not as addictive, along with a few other cosmetic tweaks. Humour me, Mr. Potter , do you know how Dreamless Sleep functions?”
Harry frowned, scratching his head to remember. They had covered the potion in Fourth Year, but he couldn’t remember that far back. “No, sir.”
"And, do you know of muggle drugs ?"
Very confusedly, "Er, well, yeah, i guess." Though, he would wager a guess that Dudley knew more on the subject.
Severus nodded, and began to lecture. “Dreamless Sleep’s base consists of Nightgale Steelgrass, a very powerful sedative. If used irresponsibly, one-too-many ounces could even put a hippogriff into a deep coma. In the potion we all know and love today,“ he drawled sarcastically, ”only a very moderate amount is used. The grass is dehydrated, then ground into a fine powder. This powder can become highly addictive for our bodies — a drug, if you would. In the potion’s case, just enough of it is used to put the drinker into a deep-enough sleep to prevent nightmares and dreams of any kind.”
Harry listened intently with interest. He was, yet again, astounded by the sheer knowledge this man possessed. It also came to him that, had all their Potions lessons been like this, it could have easily been everyone's favourite subject.
The Potions Master continued. “I had taken it upon myself to find an alternative recipe, one that doesn't include this sedative. It proved to be quite a challenge, given that Dreamless Sleep is one of the Seven Untamperables, but after a bit of experimentation…” He gestured at the scattered ingredients and cauldrons, “I have finally developed one.” He finished a bit smugly with his signature smirk.
Harry had been about to smile, but realisation suddenly dawned on him. Did this mean that Severus had been up all night, working a potion, for him? Was that why he’d gone to Witchgary Square — to stock up on supplies or ingredients?
All for him… When was the last time someone had done something like this for him? Aunt Petunia would always simply tell him to 'ride it out' whenever he'd been ill, but at Dudley's second sneeze of the week, she would excuse him from school and treat him as though he were dying!
Harry swallowed “Severus, you didn’t have to…”
“Harry,” he growled. “I certainly didn't have to; I wanted to. I assure you, no-one forced my hand. And I believe a more fitting response would be along the lines of ‘thank you, sir; I appreciate it’.”
This time, Harry did smile — grinned, even. With as much revertness and sincerity as he could infuse into his words, he said, “Thank you, sir; I appreciate it.”
Severus nodded and reached for a vial rack, retrieving a single corked vial of midnight-coloured drink, tiny stars and sparkles floating mesmerizingly around in it. “One mouthful per night should be sufficient. Mind you, every potion is addictive, it simply depends on dosage and responsibility. I trust you to use it well.”
Harry nodded seriously, pocketing the vial. At one point in time, he would have questioned anything he received from Severus, primely a potion. But things had changed drastically since then, and Harry trusted the man with his life, perhaps even more than the Weasleys (as much as it surprised him to think this.)
Severus cleared his throat, recapturing Harry’s attention. “Another matter I wished to discuss with you regards how we are going to penetrate the wards around Malfoy Manor.”
Oh. Right.
It had been a full week since the Malfoy Manor incident; Harry and Severus had been researching ways to penetrate the wards the Aurors had set up around the territory. It was being kept under surveillance of the Aurors, and they still needed access to the library, according to Severus.
Several days ago, Severus had gone back to the place to see if he could detect what wards the Aurors had erected. He returned in one piece, thankfully, though barring news that the wards were designed to detect the Dark Mark, or anyone with malicious intent, alongside some of the more basic wards.
This posed a problem, as Severus claimed to already know how to take down basic wards without setting them off, but not the Anti-Dark Mark ones. And even Severus' extensive knowledge of counterspells and curses wouldn’t cut it.
Regarding the Aura Detection wards, Harry would be alright, as Severus claimed to know an anti -Aura detection charm, but that wouldn't apply to the man himself.
He and Harry had searched the Prince library for possible solutions, but any spell that was powerful enough to take down the Dark Mark detection wards was too dark and complex, and Severus had refused to go anywhere near Dark Magic again.
In the end, Severus had simply given up on the spell concept and assured Harry that he knew a potion that could achieve the desired result.
The Potions Master had been very secretive about what kind of potion, though, and for the last few days, he had scarcely even seen the man, who was often locked up in his lab with orders not to be disturbed.
Harry trusted Severus completely, especially with potions… but something about the whole situation unsettled him deeply.
“Is it about that potion you’ve been working on?” asked Harry, already knowing the answer.
“It is.”The Potions Master turned to couldron beside him, but Harry thought he could see a flicker of… apprehension in his dark eyes. Harry’s curiosity and sense of forbidding deepened.
“Severus? What is it?”
The Summoned the cauldron set off to the side closer to them with a smooth hand motion, allowing Harry to peek inside. The potion was a milky-white colour, and if he had had to guess what Dumbledore's socks had smelled like — this was that same, putrid smell.
It was hard to keep his face from scrunching up. “What is that?”
“ That is what will allow me to penetrate the wards without setting them off, Harry,” he replied shortly, his blunt answers bothering Harry.
“But…?” he prompted suspiciously, knowing there must be a catch. Severus sighed and rubbed his temples.
“It is risky.”
The younger wizard blinked. “Risky how ?” If Severus himself was saying a potion was risky, then that couldn’t be good. Harry tried figuring out the man’s face, which was carefully blank and as inscrutable as always. “Severus?”
The man folded his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers on one of them. With a sigh, he explained, “This is an altered brew of the Depellerum Animam Potion, an ancient potion that had been used by the Dark Lord as punishment.” Severus drew a slightly shuddering breath. “The function of the potion was to deplete the consumer of their magical core.”
“WHAT!?” bust out Harry. “But, wait, you said that this is an altered version?” he inferred hopefully.
“Yes. This version of the potion contains thirteen ounces of grindespice, for adding more would have rendered it useless. Thus, it will deplete my magic core only for several hours, though it is not a guarantee that there won’t be any… lasting damage. HOWEVER,” he stressed, “I have, additionally, brewed a counter potion, one which should cancel out the Depellerum … if worst comes to worst, that is.”
Should!? Harry shook his head vehemently. “No. Absolutely not! Severus, you can’t actually be serious.” He was on his feet. “The idea is ludicrous, and I won’t let you do that to yourself! What would we do if you did actually lose your magic?” And to think that this was the man that had lectured him on 'self-preservation'.
Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, his voice developing a slight edge. “There isn’t any other alternative solution, Harry, and I think you well know that. We've been trying to find a solution for a week, but to no avail. And time is of the essence. Alternatively, I cannot let you go to the manor alone for a multitude of reasons, one of which being you not knowing how to bypass the security placed upon the manor or the concealed Malfoy library. Any slip-up would instantly alert the Aurors. This is, frankly, the only way.”
But Harry stood his ground. He pounded his fist against the table once. “NO! What if you lose your magic permanently? What if it never comes back? What will we do then? That would be horrible, Severus, and I won’t let you. We’ll find another way — there has to be one! I’m bloody tired of people risking their lives for the sake of the 'greater good'! So, I don’t care if it takes another week, or another month — you’re NOT drinking that stuff!”
Severus’ eyes hardened. “Potter, sit down! You most certainly will not order me what I can and cannot do. My decision stands, and it is a very low risk which I am willing to take. To reiterate, time is of the essence , and we are only wasting it!” he hissed. “And whilst I appreciate your incessant concern —”
Harry bulked, trying to ignore the small pang of hurt. Something in him snapped, be it his heartstrings or his temper. “Incessant concern!? INCESSANT CONCERN!? Of course I’m bloody concerned!” he yelled, not really processing his words. “What, is it so hard to believe that someone bloody cares about what happens to you!? Even after everything!? Are you really that bloody stuck-up!? But you know what — GO AHEAD! Drink it, for all I care! It won’t matter because your a stuck-up bastard and you will never realise that there are people who are concerned for you! But, just… just… " He felt like pulling his hair out in exasperation. "Why can’t you realise that— If something happens to — I can’t lose even you! You’re the closest thing I have to a fa—!”
Oh, shit.
No, he had NOT just slipped up like that.
But one look at Severus’ pale, gobsmacked face told Harry more than he needed to know.
Fuck.
His face heating up with shame and mortification, and his heart beating with hurt, anger, and frustration, Harry spun on his heel and stormed out of the lab, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding bang .
He didn't stop running until he sank to his knees out in the grassy back lawn.
Notes:
What do you think? BTW, the whole Dreamless Sleep theory is completely my own (I came up with it very spontaneously and everything had just clicked in my head). But I think my explanation for how the potion works sounds authentic, no?
It's also spooky season, so I was wondering if you guys would be interested in a short one-shot? It would still be Severitus, but wouldn't be relelvant to this fic. Let me know if you would read it, cause I already have a draft of it.I have also found a sollution to my poor summary skills, so now I'll just paste in a sentence or two from the chapter... definetely an improvement, I'd say. I've already edited the previous chapter summaries.
Next chapter: ⚠️ATTENTION! [updated on 24th oct.] Unfortunately, I won't be able to post on the 25th like I had initially promised. instead, the next chapter is going to come on saturtday, the 28th.
Chapter 35: Damage Done
Summary:
Severus Snape could easily count the number of times all breath had been knocked out of him; as if the world had stopped, leaving even his mind stunned speechless.
Notes:
So, I know I innitially promised a chapter on Wednesday, the 25th, but I wasn't able to post then. I announced this in the end A/N of the last chapter. Sorry if some of you felt let down or smth... More notes at the end, ENJOY!
ALSO, TYSM for over 7k hits!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Severus Snape could easily count the number of times all breath had been knocked out of him; as if the world had stopped, leaving even his mind stunned speechless.
One of those times was when he’d found Lily, dead amidst shambles of the Potter residence… when he'd held her unresponsive body close, just barely-warm still, and lamented harder than Dumbledore's phoenix could ever.
Another was when Nagini had savagely assaulted him… Often at night, Severus would get to relive the horrifying experience in merciless nightmares, none of them having a favourable ending. The gruesome sensation of wet dampening his high collar; the razor-sharp fangs of the ferocious creature…
Then, the time he’d discovered that Harry had gone to Grimmauld Place those few weeks ago, that blood-freezing fear and raw anxiety clawing at his insides like acid. And, of course, the time he'd discovered Lily's voucher to appoint him, a Death Eater, as godfather to her only child.
And yet, none of those instances could compare to what he felt now.
Severus wasn’t sure how long it had been since Harry had left, or how long he’d been standing in the same spot, staring at the closed lab door in poorly-composed shock. For the first time in many years, he found himself incapacitated with shock, silently asking what had just happened.
It had all started with him informing Harry about the Depellerum Animam Potion, and things had only gone to hell from there.
When Harry had first objected to him drinking the dangerous potion, Severus wasn’t sure what he’d felt. Had it been pride? Had it been fondness? He found that his chest would often warm more and more often, specifically when he was with the boy. It had felt good, when someone defended him and his health so intently.
Though, of course, with Severus’ irascible temper, and Harry’s (which he’d no doubt inherited from Lily), their disagreement had escalated to a yelling match.
But what had shaken Severus Tobias Snape to his very core had been the boy’s near slip of the wording. It still rang in his ears, like a broken record on a vinyl.
“...You’re the closest thing I have to a fa—!...”
Severus leaned heavily against the nearest workbench on his palms, trying to reign in his breathing and reeling thoughts. No amount of Occlumency and mental shields of stoicism could have ever prepared him to hear that string of words. He had seen the shock of realisation written in Harry’s emerald green eyes — shining with hurt and mortification — clear as day. Then, he’d fled, and Severus couldn’t have felt more relieved and broken at the same time when he did.
How did this happen? Severus found himself asking numbly. How had he and the boy gone from loathing each other to holding such a deep and mutual respect, trust, and perhaps even care for the other? How could Harry Potter see him, Severus Tobias Snape, his school tormentor, rellayer of the overheard prophecy, murderer of Dumbledore… as a fa—?
No. He shook his head, trying desperately to erase the word out of his head. He couldn’t allow for it. It had never meant to be like this; Potter was meant to hate him — that had always been the strategy, the plan, the protocol, the main condition on which Severus had agreed to keep Lily’s child safe.
He and Albus had never planned much further than the inevitable war, not that the thought had ever crossed Severus' mind. Now, though, he knew that had been another one of the old coot’s carefully-strategic and planned out chess moves — to not give him any hope for the future, so as to keep his loyalty and services to the Order and the 'Greater Good'.
And now, a month post-battle, Severus was at a loss for what to do, and not only in terms of his life. He couldn’t allow Harry to see him as such a figure in his life. Certainly, the man had toyed with the possibility that Harry had come to see him as a mentor, but nothing beyond that. Severus had agreed to offer Lily’s son guidance and help, he’d agreed to help him round up the Death Eaters for the sake of his Gryffindor stubbornness, all the while protecting him… but to be his parental figure?
James Bloody Potter must be rolling in his grave…
Severus shuddered, though not from the chills of the basement laboratory. The thought scared — terrified — him. He had never imagined himself being seen in such a position, and now, Severus almost wished Harry would go back to hating him. Life had been easier then: mutual… perhaps not hatred, but definitely strong dislike, not the porridge-like mess of sentimentalities.
Yes, life now would have been simpler that way, even if it would hurt Severus like a knife to the heart. Harry had lost many people in his life, mostly parental figures. His parents, of course, Black, Lupin, Dumbledore… Moody, even.
But those people hadn’t had such soot-covered hands, so to speak.
They hadn’t killed, nor tortured, nor lied, nor spied… They had been what Harry needed and yearned for — someone without having committed such horrendous crimes, someone whom the boy could look up to, someone who could actually offer him a family, support, comfort… love and compassion, even.
Severus knew well and bitterly that he could never give that to Harry. To start with, he had grown up with an abusive, alcoholic, so-called father. Tobais Snape had left many scars on Severus, not only physical ones, but those which could never be erased. He could only imagine what awful impact he could have on Harry.
Severus was also still atoning for all his past sins and mistakes, and he was probably the last person whom Harry should take examples from. He had committed unforgivable crimes, and he loathed the very thought of Harry making them, too. He would be an unhealthy influence on Lily’s child… on Harry.
Why was it him who had survived the war? It was unjust that he, a Death Eater, who had belittled and hurt the child all those years, had survived, rather than Lupin, Tonks, and even Black. They should be here, not him! Severus didn't deserve to be alive, whilst their bodies rot under the cold ground. He would gladly switch his life for one of theirs without hesitation. What good was he, anyway? What purpose did he serve here, alive?
No, Severus decided. He couldn’t let Harry get close to him. The damage was already done, perhaps irreversibly, but Severus knew he had to try to distance himself from the boy. Even if it would hurt him more than a hundred Cruciatus Curses, Severus would do it. Before it was TOO late. It would be for the best…
Ah, or would it? Asked a sly voice in his head. You would be just another adult who had typically left the boy’s life. Harry craves stability, and he’s already lost almost everyone… Your abandonment could scar him deeply.
Harry has the Weasleys , Severus reasoned against the irritating voice. Surely, Arthur would make a hundred times better father figure than he, Severus Tobias Snape, would.
Imagine how much distancing yourself could hurt Harry… It would destroy the trust the two of you have built… you would just be another adult figure that left him. And what of the boy’s quest after the Death Eaters? He would be hurt by your actions, and would turn his back on you— would give up on you—
The black-robed wizard lowered his heavy head against the splintery, wooden surface, leaning heavily on his elbows. His wobbly breath was drowned by the softly simmering cauldrons not too far from him.
When had he come to care for Harry so much? He often worried about whether he ate enough or not, if he had slept well, or if he was feeling unwell… Last night had shaken Severus — he had suspected that Harry hadn’t been sleeping well since his coming to the manor, but had never outright asked, for which he mentally kicked himself now. But to realise that the boy had been utilising Silencing Charms to contain his screams and suffering…
Severus cared…
He cared so much…
Severus had done his best to offer him comfort, mainly with words. It was a foreign concept to him, after all. Still, it seemed to have been sufficient, as Harry had calmed and even managed to fall asleep. How much had the child — now a young man — had to endure throughout his life? Countless people owed so much to him, Severus being the first…
"...Forgive me…"
Severus hadn't been able to sleep last night, however. No, the scenes kept replaying in his head of the boy’s horrifying childhood (if one could even come to call it that), accompanied by his hollow, monotone voice that told the tales. It would haunt Severus for weeks, if not months. Sure, his father had been abusive, and his mother, Eileen, had been impotent to help them, but neither of Severus’ parents had been so vile and neglectful.
And neglect could sometimes be more traumatising than physical abuse. But to neglect a blood-related child so knowingly…
But Severus would exact his revenge on the Dursleys; that was a vow. For everything that he stood for, he would exact his revenge.
But this still didn't solve his current predicament, however.
Severus knew he couldn’t be what Harry wanted him to be — yearned for him to be. He had spied for the two most powerful wizards of the century, and yet, that had seemed like a breeze compared to his current internal struggle of conflict and anguish. The thought of losing Harry almost caused him physical pain, one which he hadn’t felt since losing Lily that fateful day.
He cared so much…
He’d lost her twice, in fact, in fifth year and on October 31st. He had barely survived them both. But now, he had no-one except for the boy who’d given him a chance… who didn’t judge him, who accepted his sinful self, and had managed to somehow worm his way into Severus’ heart.
If he lost Harry, he might as well let the dementors take him — there wouldn’t be much difference in his resulting mental state. He would be a dead weight, nothing to the world except a filthy traitor and Death Eater. Protecting Harry and being needed gave him purpose. Without purpose, he was a waste of space.
But he also couldn’t take on such a consequential role in Harry’s life…
Harry isn't even mine…
He was supposed to be mine….
But he wasn’t. It was never meant to be.
The thought struck Severus’ heart like a hot blade. It cracked like a china vase, the sharp-edged tendrils seeping deep.
Perhaps that is why he had harboured such hatred for the boy — what he represented — from even before Hogwarts? Subconsciously, of course. From the night he’d gone to Godric’s Hollow and had cradled Lily’s dead body, had shed gallons of tears of guilt, regret, and remorse over her… that night, he had seen Harry for the first time. A one-year-old baby, eyes so green that it had seemed as though Lily herself had settled in them, to the point that it was too painful for Severus to bear their gaze.
The result of his slip-up in fifth-year.
The result of James Potter and Lily Evans.
The result of his stupidity.
A reminder of what had been supposed to be his.
The son that was supposed to have his high cheekbones, deep-black hair, and Lily’s beautiful eyes.
But still, he cared. He cared so much…
Severus suddenly banged his fist hard against the wood, several jars and ingredients jumping from the impact. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the saying went, a wanderer lost in a jungle of his own conflicted emotions.
What should he do?
Severus began to pace the length of the lab resstlessly, gaze unfocused. He knew that Harry was upset — and that might be an understatement. He would have to talk to him and hope for the best. He’d learned by now that Harry responded to reason and conversation, not emotional yelling matches, and Severus silently berated himself for letting that slip his mind.
But talk to him about what, exactly? What was there to discuss? What would he say to him? Over the last few days, Severus had been working interminably on ways to bypass the Anti-Dark-Mark wards. Spells weren't an option, as they were either too dark to perform or wouldn't work competently, so a potion was their first and last resort.
The Potions Master had initially considered using a De-Aging potion, but he'd dismissed that thought as soon as it had appeared for several reasons: primely, a De-Aging potion could only modify your internal organs and external appearance. The Dark Mark was a different kind of magic. Dark magic. Forbidden magic. It could be masked by concealment charms or potions galore, but the hideous tattoo would remain embedded on the inside ever-still. It was the kind of magic that was imprinted into one's soul, a grievous and everlasting mistake.
Consequently, Severus had been reminded of the dreadful potion the Dark Lord had always ordered him to brew for him, the worst punishment method considered to Wizardkind. Of course, now, he'd altered the Depellerum Animam Potion, but that didn't alleviate all risk.
Harry's words suddenly rang in his mind once more: "...You’re NOT drinking that stuff!... Of course I’m bloody concerned!... Is it so hard to believe that someone bloody cares about what happens to you!?... Why can’t you realise that— If something happens to — I can’t lose even you!..."
"...I can’t lose even you!..."
The boy was frightened of losing another person. Already, he was wracked with guilt and loss over so many people's deaths, and…
But, wait, it wasn't like Severus would unalive by drinking the potion. Worst case scenario, he would lose his magic, and even that was probably reversible. So, why had Harry made such a mountain out of a molehill?
Or, maybe would he simply find Severus useless without his magic? This thought settled deeply and painfully in his stomach. But, then again, wasn't the ex-double-agent used to it? His entire life, his only asset had been his magic and competence in Occlumency/Legilimency. Dumbledore had used him, blackmailed him, and manipulated him all to his own benefits. Otherwise, Severus Snape was a dead, sinful weight traversing fruitlessly about the earth.
Was this how Harry also saw him? An asset to be used? Well , thought the man bitterly as his nails scratched the wooden bench, just as he should.
But this string of thoughts didn't resolve the question of the guilt the boy would have placed upon his shoulders, were Severus to lose his magic. How could the older wizard allow that? The hormone-driven young man was already far too war-scarred to lose another person, especially once he'd, Merlin knew how, grown attached to, or one that had been trying to convince him not to blame himself for others' deaths.
It was then that a sudden, spine-chilling thought trickled down his back. What would have been had Lily and James actually appointed him as one of Harry’s godfathers? In her letter, Lily had proposed the thought, though the date on the missive made him wonder what would have happened had she not perished only a few days later.
How could she have even considered him, of all people, as a suitable godfather for her only child? The two of them hadn’t spoken to each other since their fifth year, and had barely even seen each other at Order meetings. Had she forgiven him, then?
Severus could feel a vicious headache coming on, along with a wave of sudden exhaustion. His thoughts seemed a random, erratic ramble at this point. Brandishing his wand, he checked the time. He was gobsmacked to find that it was past dinner. How long had he actually been here?
And what was Harry doing? The wards he had erected around Prince Manor after the Gryffindor’s escapade to Grimmauld Place would warn him in the case of anyone entering or leaving the property, and, fortunately, Harry was still safe within them.
The man dragged a hand down his face. He would have to talk to Harry, they needed to sort many things out. But it would have to wait until the next day, he decided. He himself was exhausted, drained physically and emotionally. No doubt so was the boy. To add to that, he was still probably wound up from earlier, and needed adequate time to cool off.
Severus even had a saying he had always lived by: ‘emotions brew disaster.’
Mind made up, the Potions Master extinguished the fires on the several ruined potions that had been simmering for far too long, and made his way out of the lab.
He was en-route to his rooms when he suddenly heard the floo flare in the sitting room. Turning sharply on his heel, he hurried after it, wondering what had happened.
Upon entering the sitting room, he wasn't too surprised to see Minerva dusting excess soot off her viridian robes and elaborate hat.
"Ah, Severus!" she greeted briskly. "How are you?"
The man returned the greeting and looked at her with a blank expression. "Minerva. Has something happened?" he asked cautiously and urgently.
The witch smiled, her wrinkles deepening and underlining her exhaustion. "Oh, Severus, no. Nothing's happened. I only thought I would come check up on you and Mr. Potter. You needn't worry," she consoled.
The tired wizard dragged a tired hand down his tired face, sighing from relief. On top of everything, the last thing he needed was some bad news. "As welcoming as I find your presence, Minerva, couldn't this wait until morning?" Severus asked dryly.
Minerva sighed. "I apologise, Severus. I have been rather busy with Hogwarts and the Ministry. Many things still need to be done before the start of term, and the Ministry has decided to make many…adjustments…" she finished sourly, leaving Severus curious.
Severus considered her for a moment before inviting her to sit atop one of the couches, himself summoning a glass jug of firewhiskey. He chose his usual armchair, and Minerva sat on the couch. She gratefully accepted the offered glass of golden-brown drink.
The two sat there for a minute, staring into the fireplace, both lost in their thoughts and enjoying the burn of the warming beverage… at least in Severus' case. At last, Minerva spoke.
"I can see things have been going quite well, Severus?" she inquired, swishing the drink in her glass.
Ah, yes, bloody wonderful, really.
"Yes."
"Mmm-hmm."
Minerva didn't press him, though Severus knew she knew that was an outright lie.
"And how is Potter, Severus? I do not think he is enjoying his confinement overly much?"
Bloody fantastic.
"Potter is doing adequate," he bit out, taking a small sip.
The witch eyed him with a knowing look. She was far from a Legilimens, but her reading skills were as good as.
"Now, why don’t I believe that?"
"Hmm. Do enlighten me, woman."
"Don't you take that tone with me," she warned. Then, Minerva sighed. "Severus. I have known you since your First-Year, and I know when something is wrong. Whatever is the matter, you may tell me…"
He took another swig of his drink, grimacing as he said. "There is nothing to tell, save for that I never deserved to live." He would later blame the firewhiskey for loosening his tongue.
"Now that is a load of hippogriff dung, if I have ever heard any." She reached over to put her hand on his. Severus didn’t bother lifting his weary head. “You know, you’ve never really had much self-regard, Severus. Your self-esteem has always been low, and I do wish I had known why.” Here, her voice sounded more pained and regretful. She shook her head. “If only I had known… Albus, he… why, all he told me was that you regret Lily’s death… I could have helped.”
Severus flinched slightly at the name.
“You and her were so close…” she trailed off nostalgically, as if recollecting memories. “I am so sorry, Severus. Truly,” she said remorsefully, patting his hand. They had already had several conversations regarding Severus’ spying and the war when he had been recuperating in the Hogwarts infirmary, and Minerva had spoken with devastation and guilt. She had said she felt horrible for duelling him and driving out of the castle; for having sneered and spat at him and his name that past year, hoping to make his life all the more bitter for ‘betraying them’.
Yes, those things had hurt, no matter how many mental shields Severus had erected. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a heartless bastard. Every night, he dreamt of the students under his headmastership, their occasional screams of torture that would echo through the castle halls. He had tried everything in his power and capacity to alleviate some students’ detentions, or punish them himself so as to save them from the mercy of the Carrows.
He remembered Weasley, Longbottom, and Lovegood attempting to steal the Sword of Gryffindor from his office, and in spite of the action being utterly foolish, he had respected their valency and loyalty.
But those days had been long and insuffererable. He had never felt so alone in his life as he had back them. Severus had usually had his meals up in Dumbledore’s office (he had refused to claim it as his own), but whenever his presence had been mandatory in the Great Hall, he would be met with jeers and sneers from both staff and students alike.
At some point, he had finally broken down, a small respite he had never willingly allowed himself before. The guilt, the remorse, the weight of it all… He had lost everyone he had ever been even marginally close with. He had lost Lily, he had killed his mentor, and he had lost whatever trust and respect he had managed to build with his colleagues.
But he had known he had to carry one, in the name and sacrifice of Lily Evans Potter, and her son, whom Severus had sworn on his magic to protect and watch over.
Severus shook his head mentally, trying to repress his depressing thoughts. He then noticed that Minerva was studying him intently, concern shining in her blue eyes. Severus sighed and downed the rest of his firewhiskey, not even bothering to refill his glass tumbler. What was the point?
“It is I who must apologise, Minerva,” whispered Severus, his voice hoarse, black eyes staring into the fire. Minerva started to protest, but he cut across her. “To avoid fruitless bickering over the matter, you are long since forgiven. It is in the past, and in any case, I deserved nothing less.”
Minerva was quiet for a moment, and then asked. “Quite the contrary, Severus… But, just so, I know something has happened between you and Potter. I…” she trailed off, pursing her lips. “That night in Black’s house, when you saw to Potter, you were… different. Heaven knows you’ve loathed the boy for years—”
“It is complicated, Minerva,” the wizard cut her off tiredly, dragging a hand over his face. “And I have never loathed him, only what he stood for.” He sighed deeply, figuring Minerva was probably the only person, other than Harry, whom he could trust. To an extent, at least. “It is true that I now find his presence… tolerable. Harry isn’t like,” his face crewed up in distaste, “like his father. Nor Lily, either,” he admitted quietly, twisting the crystal tumbler in his long fingers.
Minerva gaped at him a little indignantly. “ Harry ? Whatever happened to ‘Potter’?” she asked somewhat smugly. Severus rolled his eyes at her, ignoring the remark. Then, the aged witch's face took on a more serious look. “While it is lovely to hear that the two of you are no longer attempting to rip out the other’s throat, I know something has gone amiss. You were always hard to read, Severus, but I have known you long enough to see past that heroic stone mask of yours,” she said matter of factly, yet gently.
Severus leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in them. He was exhausted, the firewhisky was starting to kick in, and a headache was starting to come on. Still, there was no point in refusing the incessant woman. Besides, other than his worthless dignity, what did he have to lose?
“I’ve allowed him to get too close to me.” He whispered it so quietly, it was almost inaudible. “He sees me as… as a… ” The word was clogging his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. But understanding dawned in Minerva’s eyes after a moment. She smiled a little.
“My goodness! I don’t know what happened here, but, heavens, when Kingsley and I had suggested Potter hide with you, we had even wagered on who would have whose head first…Oh Severus, but that’s wonderfu—”
“It most certainly is NOT!” snarled Severus, getting up to pace. “I cannot be— I cannot begin to replace what the boy had lost. I am not the right person, Minerva — I all but KILLED his parents — I am the reason why he feels the need for someone to fill in that void! He is emotionally desperate, and I just so happened to be, inconveniently, his last tie to his mother. I have commited sins worthy beyond Azkaban! I– I can’t…”
He could no longer continue, knowing that another word would be his downfall. His throat ached, as if an Ironbelly Dragon were scratching at it. He grabbed the marble mantelpiece with one hand for support as though his life depended on it, bending his head down and trying desperately to recompose himself.
The sitting room was silent for several long moments. Then, he heard soft footfalls, and a warm hand settled on his shoulder.
"You really have grown to care for the boy, haven't you, severus?"
Like my own, he thought, but didn't voice his reply. This seemed to have been answer enough, though.
“Oh, Severus.” Suddenly, two arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace, and Severus was so drained that he didn’t even fight her. Instead, he snaked his own arms around the witch’s body, and clung onto the rare bit of comfort he was offered.
Witch and wizard stood there for a while, Severus trying to reign in his emotions. It was Minerva who broke the silence first. “Potter has lost nearly every adult figure he’s ever had in his life, Severus. His parents, Lupin, Black, Albus… I’m quite certain his relatives aren’t the nicest of muggles either,” she confessed. “He needs guidance, Severus. A mentor, a beacon of stability. He needs to know that he can trust other adults. The foolish stunt he had pulled off a month ago lacked forethought and self-preservation.”
Severus shook his head, pulling away and blushing. “He is of age, Minerva. A few weeks, and he will turn eighteen — the legal age in the muggle world. It is too late.”
“Contrary to your belief, It is not,” contradicted Minerva. “Yes, he has defeated He-Who-Must-Not… Voldemort , but he has also been through horrors no other witch or wizard has ever faced. He needs someone to help him, and from what I can tell, he’s grown to trust you.”
Severus lifted his head to finally look at her, his expression pained and uncertain, stoic mask gone. “I’m afraid I’ve pushed him away, just like I had Lily, with my foul and thoughtless words.” Minerva said nothing, clearly silently prompting him to continue. ”Again, I have said something that I regret…” Severus didn’t wish to elaborate further, however. The matter was still between him and Harry.
Minerva nodded slowly. “The boy has a huge capacity for love, care, and forgiveness, Severus, something Albus had alway made sure to point out.” She patted his shoulder. “You’ve always had to put up a stoic front, understandable as it was, but you are no longer a spy. You can finally let people in. Heaven knows, you couldn’t for nearly your entire life. You two need each other, even if you are too stubborn to see it… actually, that is one of the key traits you two share,” she finished amusedly. “Talk to Potter, Severus. Everything will be right as rain.”
Yes. Talk is what they both needed to do. And while Severus still wasn’t fully convinced over his take on everything, he knew what he had to do.
But that would have to wait until morning.
Minerva departed shortly, and Severus finally retired upstairs. He had a strong urge to check in on the boy, but decided against it just as his knuckles were poised at the door.
Once in his bedroom, the man didn’t even bother to change into night clothes, and simply collapsed onto his bed, willing for sleep to take him. Little did he know, however, that another restless night awaited him and the occupant in the other room.
Notes:
So, regarding the De-Aging Potion, I decided to exclude it for the sake of canon and because it wouldn't really make sense for it to remove the dark mark completely. Otherwise, i bet many death eaters, primely Severus, would have found a way to rid themselves of the mark that way permanently.
Also, for those of you who remember the 4th book(HP and the GoF) when Fred and George Weasley tried to bypass the age restriction barrier set up by Dumbledore with an ageing potion, it didn't work because they were still underage. I thought that was interesting, and when I looked more into it, it did make sense to conclude that (de) ageing potions only change your exterior, not interior self. So, basically, the Dark Mark would still be in Severus, even if it wasn't visible. Besides, without a de-aging potion I think things will get significantly more interesting>:D (I hope my explanation isn't too confusing?)
Initially, i wanted to go with the De-Aging potion since I've sorta foreshadowed it in one of my other chapters, but yall are here for the angst and, in my opinion, having the two of them being around the same age would have been a little weird and would have just felt more inclined to slash, and there's going to be none of that here, so, yeah. But don't worry, i have some angsty chapters coming up>:)
Also, I've thought about this long and hard, and I've decided to start uploading once a week. I've been quite busy with school and other extracurricular activities, and I don't want to post bad content, so the extra time will give me ample time to improve the content for you.
So, from now on, I will post every Saturday. As always, thanks for reading and comment your thoughts down below!
PS!: I've just posted my Halloween one-shot called 'Closure'. Go check it out! Comment what you think of it:3
Chapter 36: Restless Night
Summary:
Apparently, Severus wasn't the only restless soul. Why was the boy out of bed? Had the potion not worked? Could he also not sleep? A nightmare, perhaps?
Notes:
Alright, a new chapter! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you like it:) A special thanks to Leo: thank you so much for your amazing comments on my chapters! It motivated me so much reading them😊🫠 But, overall, thank you to everyone for your support and comments, especially on ch.35 --- they made my heart melt!!!
IMPORTANT!!!!: this chapter starts with a nightmare, so here's a warning of mentions of blood, injury... and, well, idk what else. It's nothing too gruesome(at least, for my standards) but if you find this kind of stuff disturbing, just skim through it.
more notes at the end. ENJOY!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A long shadow slithered along the rotten, dusted floorboards, its eirie hissing echoing hauntingly in the deserted room. Severus stood statuesquely, onyx eyes following the shadow, though its creator was nonexistent. It seemed to be weaving it's way sporadically, often disappearing from view into nothingness before reappearing again, heading in his direction.
Footfalls.
Soft footfalls, something so nostalgic and familiar about them… but they didn't belong to the hissing creature.
His heart was hammering in his chest, a sense of predipidation washing over him. He'd been here before, in the Shrieking Shack, more times than he wished to count. He knew, in his heart, what was about to happen… it happened almost every night, and yet, that fact did not change anything.
"Severus… the wand… it defies me…"
A terrifying shiver crept up his back, chilling his blood to ice. The snake-like voice had come directly from behind him. He darent turn. He knew couldn't show weakness, be it emotion or reaction.
"...You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus… but only I can live forever…"
The shadow of the beast upon the floor suddenly became visible once more. Nagini, in all her glory, hissed expectantly, almost batting her tail in anticipation. Severus could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His ebony wand was in his sleeve holster, where it always was, but he found he had no way to retrieve it. He was completely incapacitated by some force or another.
He already knew what was going to happen next.
"Nagini… kill."
The huge snake suddenly lunged for him. Severus let out a cry as he toppled backwards, hitting the wall and sliding down against it to the filthy floor. The Snake struck. Sharp fangs pierced his neck, the feeling of a million tiny needles ruthlessly digging into it. The Snake continued to strike, over and over again. He was now lying in a pool of his own blood, fruitlessly trying to staunch the wound on his neck.
He knew what came next. Death. It would serve him right, he thought bitterly… But he'd failed the mision! He'd failed to warn the boy… Lily's son… Harry…
Then, those soft footfalls sounded again. A sweet scent, one of fresh lilies and pollen, filled his lungs. His heart sped up, though not entirely of fear.
And then, there she stood: Lily Evans Potter, with those mesmerising, emerald-green eyes and long, red hair. She was stunning, donned in the same green sweater she had worn the night she died.
But her uncharacteristic sneer directed at him made his stomach clench painfully.
"Pathetic," she spat, disgust evident in her once-warm voice. "And you thought you could atone for what you've done? For the pain you've caused, for the crimes you have committed!?" Her voice kept rising. To Severus' further horror, she stepped closer to him and knelt down. Lily took his chin between her thumb and index finger, turning his head this way and that as if inspecting a piece of rotten food. The movement aggravated his wound to seer with pain, but he accepted it. He knew he deserved it.
"I'm… sorry" he tried croaking out. It came out as a gurgle.
"You are the reason behind everything," continued Lily coldly. "I had a family," she whispered, her voice suddenly pained and raw. Her eyes glazed over, and Severus found he couldn't turn his own away from them. He almost wished she would yell or hit him, because this was worse. "I had a beautiful family, and you took it away from me. You relayed the prophecy. Had you not, countless casualties would have been spared."
Something wet streaked down his gaunt face. "Lily—"
"How DARE you speak my name!?" she snarled, roughtly letting go of his chin and standing back up. "After all you've done!? After you've belittled, insulted, and hurt my son!? I had thought you were a better man. I had thought you would show kindness and support to Harry…"
…Had…
“Plea…se…”
Severus' vision went blurry with tears, the pain in his neck no longer consequential. Nothing mattered. Nothing—
And then, right where Lily had stood, was Harry. He looked exhausted, clothes and face covered in blood and bruises. Those emerald-green eyes were dulled behind the round spectacles smudged with grime and sweat. A scarred war hero.
“Harry—”
“Oh, so it's 'Harry' now, is it, professor?” he replied cooly, towering over him. “Whatever happened to 'Potter' or all those other infamous profanities?” His face contorted into a sneer. “You're pathetic. You got what you deserve, see, rotting away, all alone. And you thought I cared?”
“I…ca—”
The spine chilling laugh made the hairs on his arms stand up. “You CARE? You hurt me again! You've loathed me since my sorting, you slimy git! If you truly cared, you wouldn't have made my life so missirable. You wouldn't have relayeed the prophecy to your master like some sodding puppy!”
“You disgust me.”
The world was slowly fading, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. He was only aware of the immesurable pain, not from his injury, but in his chest…it was worse than the cruciatus.
“For…give…m–”
“I should have given up on you long ago, just like my mum had.” And then, to Severus' horror, a sudden green light filled the room. The young man dropped to the floorboards with a thud, green eyes staring into nothingness.
Severus shot upright in his bed with a strangled gasp, panting as his hand wildly flew under his pillow for his wand. He found it almost immediately and cast a Lumos.
After several moments, he sagged with relief. it had only been a nightmare… again. The same one, over and over again. He shuddered violently at the skin-crawling sensation of the Dark Lord’s snake's fangs sinking into his skin, the pain more unbearable than a Cruciatus…
The appearance of Lily was always like a punch in the gut, and she would go over every wrongdoing he'd even committed, and how worthless he was. Severus was far from new to these scenes, but what had really shaken him to the core had been Harry’s words over his sudden appearance, right before he dropped dead at his feet.
Were it not for his mastery in the mind arts, he would have probably been hyperventilating by now. With immense willpower, he forced himself to breath in and out until his racing heart calmed. The man shook his head, unwilling to delve further into his horrid dream. It had only been a nightmare. It made Severus wonder how in Merlin’s name Harry managed it all.
Harry…
Still shaking slightly, Sevrus donned his night robe and quietly slipped out of his room into the dark hallway, lit only slightly so with shafts of pale moonlight. He would stroll around the manor, perhaps the grounds, even. It was, after all, what he had always done at Hogwarts whenever he had had difficulties sleeping. The recent nightmares and troubles would also put him in an especially sour mood — perfect for scarring the living daylights out of rule-breaking students.
As he was passing Harry’s room, he pause in his tracks. Perhaps he should check on the boy? What if he, too, couldn't sleep after their earlier dispute? If he was having nightmares, maybe Severus would ease his worries?
Just as his long fingers poised above the door handle, they quickly retracted, as if burned. Severus gave himself a mental shake. He was being paranoid, and no sounds were coming from the other side of the door. He could sense that there weren’t any Silencing Spells at play, which helped to lessen his worry.
Though, he couldn't deny the small, satisfied feeling at the fact that Harry had listened to him in terms of concealing his nightmares. Perhaps he had even taken the potion Severus had brewed for him?
The man sighed and continued on his way.
But as he was passing one of the tall windows overlooking the backyard, something caught his eye, his spy instincts urging him to stop. Squinting slightly to better see, he spotted a thin figure sitting in the grass, legs criss-crossed and facing away from him.
Apparently, Severus wasn't the only restless soul tonight.
Why was the boy out of bed? Had the potion not worked? Could he also not sleep? A nightmare, perhaps?
Severus gathered himself and started for the ground floor. Opening the door leading to the back porch silently, he slipped outside, not wishing to startle the boy. His each step was calculated and deliberate as he slowly and cautiously inched closer to the figure.
The boy seemed oblivious to his unexpected company, however. His hands were weaving a few grass blades, apparently absentmindedly, for his head was tilted back slightly, gazing up into the night sky. His eyes unsettled Severus slightly, as they were unfocused and glazed over.
Severus really wasn't sure what to do, something he didn't experience often. Should he make his presence known? He didn't want to spook the boy, either, though.
But he was already there, and even despite the wards set around the Prince property, he still didn’t like to leave Harry out here alone in the dead of night. He was being unreasonable and paranoid, but having been a spy for seventeen years had taught him better.
Besides, he and Harry needed to talk.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, Severus cleared his throat softly. The boy made no reaction to or acknowledgement for the other presence, not even a twitch. Unsettled, Severus sat cautiously beside him, also crossing his legs.
"Why are you out here, Harry?" he asked quietly, eyeing his side profile Harry remained silent, eyes fixed on the sky above. Curious, Severus looked up, following the boy’s general line of sight, and his stomach gave an unpleasant jolt.
It was the Sirius Constellation.
Shaking his head inwardly, Severus sighed and asked very softly. "Nightmare?"
Again, the boy voiced no reply, simply continued to stare upwards, his hands knotting and weaving the blades of grass.
Again, he sighed softly. It took him a while to gather an adequate string of words. "Harry, I… apologise. My reaction this evening hadn’t been the most appropriate, but… Harry, you must understand that I…" He struggled to find his words, feeling as if his whole vocabulary was alluding him.
"I'm the one who should apologise, sir, not you," said Harry hollowly, his voice barely above a whisper amidst the chirping of cicadas. "I wasn't aware of what I was saying. It was an accident. It won't happen again." It was monotone and blunt, void of any emotion. It pained Severus, and just like in his nightmare, he wished the boy would yell or scream at him.
"No. Harry—" he swallowed and placed his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. He felt a pang of hurt when Harry flinched, but didn't retract his hand. "Harry, this is extremely hard for me. What you said earlier — I didn’t mean to hurt you." Severus sighed. He was rambling and making an incoherent mess out of things.
"You were right, it is hard for me to grasp the concept of someone ca— looking out for me. But, Harry," he paused. "I cannot be the person whom you wish me to be. It would be unwise and offensive in your parents' memory. Not only that, but I am also a wanted Death Eater. I have committed sins that are well-beyond your knowledge. After this little mission of ours, or whatever you wish to call it… Well, best not get attached before I get carted off to Azkaban. The trial — if there will ever be one — would be far from fair, not that I deserve anything less."
Severus clasped his hands together nervously, rubbing them as he continued. "I have nothing to offer you, Harry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I have lived a terrible, sinful life, led by grief, hatred and remorse. I am the last person you should be looking up to, and I could never take up that role in your life."
The man squeezed Harry’s shoulder. "I am genuinely pleased that our relationship has come this far, and I am honoured that you perceive me in such a light. But you have a bright future ahead of you, child, as opposed to myself. I beg of you: do not follow in my example. I will always be here for you, and will offer any assistance you may require to the best of my abilities… But, Harry," he looked at him with pain, for once not bothering to mask his emotions. "I cannot be that person."
With bated breath, Severus awaited Harry's reaction. After a moment, the boy slowly nodded, as if in understanding… no, acceptance… resignation… And then, his eyes glazed over, his next words shattering Severus' heart.
"They always leave."
It was said so quietly, he had barely caught it.
"But I understand, sir. It's fine."
The boy had yet to look his way, and his face was a mask of stoicism as he continued staring upwards, completely unreadable save for the eyes, ones welled with such emotion that Severus couldn't bear to look their way.
Severus knew it was far from fine, Merlin, how he hated that word. Had he said the right thing? Now he was having doubts. What was wrong with the boy? What was his reason for acting so strange? Surely, there had to be more to it than their dispute?
Ah, but Harry’s reply kept ringing in his ears, telling him otherwise. He was certain he'd hurt the boy, something he had vowed to himself never to do again, neither physically nor emotionally. But he'd failed, and he was at a loss for what to do.
"...They always leave…"
One needn't have been a seer to deduce to whom Harry had referred to. Literally every parental figure he'd ever had had left him, unwillingly, by a cruel twist of fate. The boy had never experienced a family, nor a normal life. And no longer was he a boy; he was a man. A fine, young man who had never received a reprieve from carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders, a war-scarred young man, who had faced such horrors that no witch or wizard had in their life.
For a crazy instance, Severus imagined Harry living there, at Prince Manor, permanently. The huge rooms and halls wouldn't be so empty anymore, and Harry would be shielded by him and the wards from the cruel world. There would be no heavy burdens, no dark wizards or the corrupt Ministry…
Of course, Severus knew that that was far from being a possibility, and gave himself a mental shake.
He finally managed to find his voice. "Harry… I won't leave you — ever. I promise," promised Severus, meaning his every word. He gave Harry’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, hoping the Gryffindor would turn to look at him. To his dismay, however, Harry persisted to stare upwards. Severus was growing desperate.
He sighed, feeling lost at what to do. Clearly, the matter still bothered the boy, and Severus knew he couldnt leave things unfinished. Bracing himself, he tried to gather his words. But as he had been about to speak, Harry surprised him.
"Funny thing, care is. They all left because they cared… because they cared about me," he whispered hollowly, as if unaware of his company. "People get hurt when they start caring about me. I was just too bloody dense to realise what a curse and burden I am. I'm sorry for what I said, I just wasn't thinking straight. But, you’re right; it probably would be unwise — I don’t want anything happening to you. An inconvenience."
"Harry, no, you are neither of those things!" remarked Severus somewhat harshly. “And that is not why I think it would be unwise!” he swallowed hard at what he was about to say, still keeping his hand on his shoulder. "Harry… over this past month, I have gotten to know you— not the boy whom I had painted arrogant and spoiled all these years, but you. And, over time, I have come to realise that your presence is rather… tolerable." He cringed at his own words: stiff, bland, and lacking.
“...Pathetic…”
But before Severus could speak again, Harry cut him off, shaking his head. "There has to be something wrong with me," he suddenly decided.
"Harry, there is NOTHING wrong with you, you foolish Gryffindor boy!" It wounded as much as it surprised Severus when Harry flinched at his last word. What did it mean?
Harry kept his gaze trained on the starry night sky above. When he spoke, it seemed as though he were speaking to himself rather than to Severus. "No. There has to be. The Dursleys love Dudley, the Weasleys have a huge family… Teddy," at this, his voice cracked. "Teddy has Andromeda Tonks. He's an orphan, and yet he has someone to care for him…" Tears began streaking down his cheeks, glimmering in the moonlight, and he pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Remus, he appointed me as Teddy’s godfather. But I can’t be there for him. It would only put him in danger. If I c–care for someone, it puts them in danger. E— Even now.”
Severus couldn’t take it anymore.
He grasped both of Harry’s shoulders tightly, forcing him to turn a bit and look at him.
"Enough!” he snarled. “There are so many people who care about you, consider you their family — I care for you, you moronic dunderhead!" Severus cried out, giving him a shake. The emerald-green eyes, haunted and hollow, suddenly widened. "I— " he choked, unable to believe what he’d just admitted, embarrassed and at a loss for what to say next.
Harry stared at him with huge, disbelieving eyes, as if searching for any sign of deciept. It complelled Severus to say, “I do. I care for you, Harry Potter. And I shall say it however many times is needed.”
Harry's face crumpled and he burried his head in his arms, hugging his knees close. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound. Severus felt his heart constrict and shatter all over again. Actions unprocessed, he scooted closer and draped an arm around the distraught form.
And then, suddenly, the boy lunged himself at the man, burying his face in his shoulder and clutching at his nightshirt as if it were a lifeline. Small tremors shook his thin frame, and once Severus’s body caught up to his brain, he, too, wrapped his arms around the young man in return. Never before had Harry seemed as small as he did now. Beneath the scars of war were insecurities and fears… trauma.
Harry really had been forced to grow up to quickly, and the consequences of it were catching up to him.
But Severus would help him. He wouldn't leave Harry. He would do right by him and Lily.
The two sat there like that for a while, long enough to notice the sky slowly turning a light turquoise. The grass was wet with early morning dew, and it was a bit chilly, but none of that mattered. As some point, Harry had loosened his grip and sat himself next to Severus, simply leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder, his breath occasionally hitching.
At long last, Severus broke the melancholy silence, speaking in a low, quiet voice. “Harry, I appreciate your concern in my regard, but I am positive that this potion is our only chance. We have a shared goal, do we not? We require access to the Malfoy library, and this may be our only chance. Lucius keeps many dark and ancient tomes there, and we might even discover something about the dementors or Lucius’ plans. Furthermore, I have full confidence in my brewing skills, and trust the counter potion to work, if not the Depellerum one.”
As a weak attempt to lighten the situation, he added, “After all, I am not the youngest Potions Master in all of Europe for nothing.”
Harry was still for a moment before he lifted his gaze to meet Severus’, a sudden, hopeful look upon his face. “Can't you use something like a De-Aging potion, Severus? Remember when you got de-aged, your mark— ”
“I'm afraid not,” he interrupted the young man softly before he could get his hopes up. “A De-Aging potion wouldn't completely rid me of Dark Magic such as this. It would only alter my appearance and conceal it,” said Severus sorrowfully.
Harry's visage fell with disappointment. “I still think it’s risky, Severus. And I don’t… I don't want to lose you…”
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you trust me?”
The boy, much to his pride, replied instantly, “Yes,” without a sliver of doubt in his voice. Severus felt his chest swell with fondness.
The arm that was circled around Harry tightened on his shoulder gently. “Then, please, trust me on this. On the off-chance that worst comes to worst, I will only lose my magic, and even that, I am certain, is irreversible. Do you remember what I had once told you? Nothing is ever permanent. One’s magic core can never be truly depleted. Think of it as a muggle battery, for example. Just like you can restore charge in a battery, you can replenish your magic,” he assured him, neglecting to mention that he didn’t think a life outside of Azkaban awaited him, and his magic would be useless then.
“And I will not have you wallowing in meritless guilt over such a turn of events. The outcome of this will be completely out of your hands. I also understand you must think I shall be of no use to you without magic, but I can assure you that, should the need arise, I will be there for you. Always,” he added as an afterthought. To his surprise, Harry's eyes clouded with confusion and disbelief.
“Why would I think that?” he asked in a genuinely-clueless tone. “Even if you, hypothetically, lost your magic, I would still need you. I was just…” He bit his lip in hesitation. “I just thought that you wouldn't be able to fend for yourself, and the Ministry would cart you off to Azkaban. I guess… well, I don't really know…" he admitted resignedly.
A weight he hadn't realised before was suddenly lifted off his chest. He was needed… Harry didn't think of him like an asset or a pawn…
Harry was quiet for several more moments, and the two watched in tranquill silence as the first sun rays started peeking over the horizon, colouring the sky in soft pinks and oranges.
“Severus?”
“Hmm?”
Harry bit his lip, suddenly looking anxious. ”Did you… did you mean what you said earlier? about… that you…care…?”
And Severus didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Harry, I did,” he affirmed firmly. “You are probably the first person I have cared for since your mother, and that is why your words had frightened me so.” He sighed, rubbing Harry’s shoulder but looking out into the distance. “Life as a spy, a double-agent… I knew I couldn’t afford to grow close to anyone. Keeping distance and isolation was all I have ever known, and I hadn’t even allowed myself to grow close to Dumbledore. You can only imagine the implications that would have had when I had to… kill him.”
He cleared his throat. “My point is, yes, I have grown to care for you, but not out of obligation to the vow. Not even because of your mother… I have grown to care for you, Harry.”
Harry swallowed hard audibly, attempting to clear his throat not once. His voice hoarse, he whispered, “Thank you… I care for you, too, Severus.”
His breath caught in his throat. “You needn't say that—”
“But I do, Severus. I do care for you, too. I mean it.”
Severus would never have imagined the sheer amount of elation and warmth such simple words could elicit, and he tightened his one-arm embrace around Harry. It made him rethink all those years the both of them had gone without someone to care for. Just how similar were they?
They continued to sit in content silence, listening to the chirping of early morning birds, neither wishing to get up. Then, Harry spoke again.
“You never really told me why you wanted to help me end all of this. Remember? That conversation in the sitting room? You offered to help me…” he trailed off uncertainly.
Severus sighed. Yes, he remembered well. As to why? Well, back then, he hadn’t wanted to divulge his reasons to the boy, but things had changed since then, and if there was one soul that he could trust on this planet — it was Harry.
“You had put it curiously, ‘to end what was started’,” began Severus, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Unfortunately, I had started all of this,” he stateted bitterly. “The night I had relayed the prophecy to the Dark Lord changed everything. My actions caused chain reactions that have led to this war. My actions had resulted in the deaths of your parents, and to you being marked.” His voice was one of contrition and self loathing, his throat threatening to constrict. Though, he steeled himself to continue.
“I regretted getting marked with this repulsive rubbish—” he slid his left sleeve up, revealing the ugly skull-snake tattoo — “the moment I had received it,” Severus spat. “I have always despised what the Dark Lord did, though at the time, he had manipulated idiots like I into joining him. I, as much as you, wish to rid the remains of the Dark Lord. Those bastards have commited perhaps even more unforgivable things than I. Additionally, I would never allow you to go about these Gryffindor-ish plans of yours on your own.”
“In fact,” he continued, changing the subject slightly, “have you ever wondered why the Gryffindor classes are often paired with the Slytherins, and the Hufflepuffs with the Ravenclaws?” Harry shook his head ‘no’.
“It is because of the key traits those Houses share that compliment the other’s. While Gryffindors may be brave, they are often driven by foolish courage. Here, Slytherins help to balance that out with their cunning and slyness, and vice versa. You can imagine something similar with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.”
Harry hummed in thought. “You know, I’ve never really thought of it like that,” he admitted. Then, he chuckled. “So, what, are you saying we’re like a ‘dream team’ or something?”
Severus rolled his eyes playfully. “Merlin help me, I’ve teamed up with a Gryffindor.”
Harry lightly shoved him in the ribs, his grin eliciting incomprehensible warmth in his chest. Amused, Severus shoved him in return, causing the boy to lose his balance and tip over onto his side, the wet grass staining his shirt. Severus rose to his feet, brushing himself off and helping the Gryffindor up.
“Okay, Severus. Let’s do it,” Harry assented. The Slytherin looked at him inquiringly.
“Are you certain?”
“Pfft. Now you’re asking me? I mean, I don’t like it, but I’m amenable.”
Severus shook his head and draped his hand over Harry’s shoulders, guiding them back towards the manor. The road ahead was never an easy one, but together, they would stand a greater chance.
Notes:
So, what did you think? Let me know in the comments bellow. I'm so glad I now post once a week(sorry) because OMG I just changed up chapters 37-43... I'm beat! But now, at least I have ample time for my studies and writing without rushing/sacraficing anything. So, yeah, expect the next chapter on the 11th Nov.
Chapter 37: Stay Vigilant
Summary:
But then, it felt good to know a wizard like Severus would put so much trust in him. Hell, he was all but entrusting Harry with his own life. And Harry would be damned if he wouldn't live up to his expectations. If worse came to worse, the Gryffindor would put his every skill, charm, spell, and curse to defend them.
Chapter Text
A deep shadow fell over a thicket of shrubbery from the looming building ahead, a small reprieve from the scorching sun in its sumit. The manor stood proud and tall with its majestic turrets and stone gargoyles beyond the wrought-iron gates, though the inadequate protection, visible to the naked eye, belied the wards erected around the property.
Two wizards were engulfed by said shadowed thicket. Their vantage point was perfect: out of sight but also a clear view of what went on beyond, providing them an occasional glimpse of a passing Auror standing guard. The plan had been revised numerous times. Though simple as it was, one wrong move could flunk it.
According to their observations, there were approximately eight Aurors guarding the courtyard of the property altogether. Since the Wards were specifically set up to detect the Dark Mark, Severus would drink the Depellerum Animam Potion, which would deplete his magical core to the point where the wards wouldn’t be able to detect him breaching them.
But getting inside the manor was going to be the hard part.
It had been decided that Harry and Severus would navigate the courtyard and manor under the invisibility cloak. Severus claimed he knew a hidden entrance at the back of the grandiose building, which would lead them into the dungeons. Harry couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of having been thrown in there with Ron and the others while Hermione was being tortured by LeStrange.
However, given it was a sunny summer's day, they would have to watch out for their shadow. Unfortunately, being invisible under the cloak didn’t mean light could go right through you, and if an unidentified shadow were spotted by an Auror, their cover would be as good as blown. It was especially risky, too, since Severus wouldn’t have his magic. If they were caught, the ex-Death Eater would be taken into custody and carted off to Azkaban.
Harry’s stomach churned at the thought. He hated the possibility, and he hated the Depellerum Animam Potion even more. Everything about this plan seemed like a game of chance with a lot on the line. One wrong move, and all would have been for nought.
Crouched somewhere beside him beneath the invisibility cloak was Severus himself. And, though Harry couldn’t see him, he could practically feel the tension radiating off the man. This did little to ease his own anxiety.
They were waiting for the Auror standing guard by the entrance gates to leave his post. They had been analyzing the Aurors’ shifts since 6:00 AM, and they had learned that the guards rotated their posts every hour, with an approximately thirty-second window in between for the next guard to arrive. This next window would happen in about fifteen minutes, and this was where he and Severus would seize their opportunity.
Harry awaited this moment with dread. Since their admittance of mutual care for one another, Harry’s fear of losing Severus had increased tenfold, like a stomach bug churning interminably in his stomach. This was the first person to have outright admitted that they cared for him, something that Harry had practically prayed for since his realizing that the Dursley would never care for or love him. It meant he wasn't alone, that he had someone to worry for him… at least, he hoped that was the case with the Slytherin.
Somehow, Harry had also grown to care for the man over the last month. They shared so much in common, including this mision and the desire to end what was started seventeen years ago. The almost seven years of mutual disdain and spite were long behind them, no longer seeming consequential. They had long since made up, had both apologized, and now certainly wasn't the time to focus on the past. They had their goal uniting them after all.
And now, there were so many things that could go wrong; even the tiniest slip could cause disastrous consequences, with the potion completely erasing Severus’ magic, the ex-Death Eater getting captured and carted off to Azkaban, and everything in between. Harry loathed all possible scenarios equally.
It was ironic, really, how Severus had the audacity to lecture him on self-preservation, yet showed close to none towards himself.
“Ten minutes, Harry.”
Harry’s head snapped in the direction of the smooth, baritone voice. He was, of course, met with the sight of shadowed grass and leaves, the man himself invisible. It felt beyond weird to him, not knowing fully where to look exactly. At the reminder, something in his gut tightened, call it trepidation or foreboding. He swallowed hard and nodded, his mouth running dry. He blamed the heat, though.
Suddenly, a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, startling and making him jump a little.
“Do you require a Calming Draught?”
Despite himself, Harry chuckled. “What, do you also have that in those robes of your’s?” He really must be incredibly easy to read. He’d never been good at masking his emotions, something that Severus had made sure to point out since Fifth Year.
There was a deep sigh, and then the invisibility cloak was lowered, revealing Severus’ head. Harry’s breath hitched when he spotted genuine concern in the black eyes. “Harry, if you wish to forfeit—”
“No.” Harry shook his head determinedly. “No. Let’s do this. I’m fine. Sorry,” he said jerkily.
Severus seemed to study him intently for a moment, his eyes feeling like laser scanners. At last, he spoke. “I had thought that, by now, you know better than to lie straight to my face,” he intoned.
Harry frowned. “Well, what am I supposed to tell you, then?” he whispered harshly, splaying his hands. “No, I’m a sodding toddler that’s afraid of everything going wrong!” Harry blushed, realizing what he’d just said, and looked away.
The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly, though no words of wisdom or encouragement came forth, much to Harry’s dismay. After a moment, though, he said, “I have once assured you that I would never lie or sugarcoat the truth, and I meant that sincerely. So yes, unfortunately, the chances of something going amis with either the plan or the potion is existent. However, one may never know lest they try, and we are stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
Begrudgingly, Harry nodded in understanding, looking back over at Severus. It was ridiculous, but in hindsight, he realized he actually felt like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he despised that he was putting yet another life on the line, no matter if said life came willingly. But then, there was that urge, that drive, to lead a normal, danger-free life, and that felt far more encouraging than the former.
Harry sighed and gave Severus a meaningful look. The man appeared as though he wished to say more on the subject, but then something vibrated…It was the ebony wand.
"Three minutes. Prepare yourself," he instructed briskly, raising his wand and murmuring the anti-warding spells that would take them down. It took several minutes and foreign-language chanting, before finally casting the Anti-Aura Detection Charm on Harry they had discussed earlier. His bony hand next reached into his robes pocket and pulled out the small vial of the dreaded, milky substance.
He paused. “Do you remember the failsafe?”
Harry nodded, remembering the powerful anti-ward spell Severus had shown him earlier, which would break all wards and allow them escape… if all hell broke loose, Severus would drink the counter potion for the Depellerum one to regain his magic and defend them, but he had thought Harry had to know the spell too.
That was their failsafe.
But then, it felt good to know a wizard like Severus would put so much trust in him. Hell, he was all but entrusting Harry with his own life. And Harry would be damned if he wouldn't live up to his expectations. If worse came to worse, the Gryffindor would put his every skill, charm, spell, and curse to defend them.
As Severus uncorked and brought the glass rim to his lips, a look of determination sketched upon his face, it seemed as though time had slowed for Harry. It was almost poetic, how the Potions Master could very well be drinking his own demise, like a muggle shooting himself in the foot. As the man downed the potion, not even grimacing at its taste, it seemed to have lasted minutes, whereas in reality it was only mere seconds.
Harry would have marveled over his mentor's bravery, but knew they had to get a move-on. With a final nod at Harry, Severus threw the cloak over their heads, and, together, they hurried over to a little ways off to the side of the front gates.
It was an interesting experience, as both were far from first-years and barely fit beneath the cloak. Severus was pretty tall compared to Harry, so he had to do most of the crouching in order for their feet not to show.
With another spell, Severus motioned at the stone wall and they walked through. Fortunately, no unexpected surprises awaited them on the other side. Quickly, the two hid behind one of the tall, neatly-trimmed hedges. From there, they waited with bated breath, keeping a look-out for Aurors.
"Keep vigilant, Harry," whispered Severus, his breath tickling the tips of his tousled hair. Harry nodded back.
Severus navigated them through the maze of hedges, allegedly leading them to the secret entrance. Sticking to the shadows was tricky, and paired with glancing around and over their shoulders every few seconds made the task more cumbersome.
After about twenty minutes, the two finally came upon a very overgrown and secluded area with an old, closed well with a small snake figuring at the top next to a shack. Harry found it peculiar that the Malfoys would even stand the thought of having something so muggugle-ish on their territory.
At that moment, Severus pulled the cloak off them, pocketing it within his robes. Harry wanted to ask how the man knew about its origin, but now wasn't the time nor place. He watched silently as Severus traced his hand along the jagged stones in a pattern of sorts, almost as if spelling something.
Suddenly, the stone snake figurine from the top of the well slithered down
the structure. It perimetered the well, and finally shaped its body into a round handle in the center of the closed trapdoor.
"Wait, but isn't your magic—?"
"The password works for anyone magical, even with an iota of magic left in their core," replied Severus shortly. "Just as I had said: one's magic can never truly be depleted. It is embedded in our veins, blood, and bones."
Severus reached for the handle and pulled, revealing a bottomless but dry hole with a ladder leading down. With instructing Harry to close the trapdoor behind them and use his wand to cast a Lumos, the ex-professor began to descend a few meters down the ladder. Harry followed soon after.
The wood felt old and brittle, arousing a bit of worry in Harry. Climbing a ladder down an endless pit with a shining wand in one’s mouth, blinding their eyes, was quite difficult, to say the least, and Harry’s footing has nearly slipped not once. Below him, he had a clear view of the top of a halo of light on Slytherin’s greasy hair.
Suddenly, Severus warned him to stop, himself coming to an abrupt halt.
“Wha ithit?” whispered Harry, his words muffled from the wand clasped between his teeth.
“I feel no ladder below. I suspect it’s a small drop, but there is a spell to check that,” Severus replied in a low tone. “It is quite simple. A simple flick of the wand with the incantation Descendio Lumos!”
Curious, Harry reached for his wand with one hand, holding on tightly with the other, and attempted to perform the spell a few times. On the third try, he got it right, and a small orb of light began descending the dark tunnel before finally resting some five meters down, lighting the cracked, cobbled dungeon floor.
Severus nodded. “Now for a Cushioning Charm, if you please.” Harry did just that, and watched as Severus jumped down and landed smoothly. Once he’d moved out of the way, the younger wizard joined him as well.
“Excellent job, Mr. Potter,” complimented Snape amusedly. "Five points to Gryffindor. "Harry hid his grin and ducked his head, a warm feeling spreading through him at the compliment.
"Only five, professor?" he asked cheekily in mock-politeness.
Though that warmth didn’t last long, Harry suddenly shivered slightly from the damp chill of the dungeons, suddenly envious of the cloaked wizard. Looking around, they were in a narrow tunnel, a dead end to their left. It was eerily quiet, not even the soft trickling of water from an exposed leak or the flicker of flames in torches, like he so nostalgically remembered being at Hogwarts.
“Honestly, Harry, do you not know a simple Heating Charm?” inquired Severus, exasperated but without any bite. Harry blushed and quickly cast it over himself and even the man. Together, the two of them cautiously crept down the dark tunnel, Severus back under the Invisibility cloak and Harry walking right behind him, wand alight. Despite him being practically defenseless, Severus had insisted on taking the lead for Harry’s safety's sake. At that point, he had barely managed to refrain from lecturing HIM on self-preservation!
Eventually, they came up at what appeared to be the main intersection of the dungeons, with several corridors branching off in every direction. Severus ordered Harry to engrave a distinguishable dent above the tunnel they had just emerged from, and they continued down the widest corridor.
The rest of their journey was uneventful, thankfully, and they currently found themselves ascending the main staircase leading out of the Dungeons. Severus navigated their way through the kitchens, multiple hallways, corridors, and staircases. Their journey was painstakingly slow, as they had to pause several times to wait out an occasional Auror passing by.
The dark manor was just as Harry remembered it. He would often revisit it in his nightmares, reliving the tortured screams of his bushy-haired friend and reminded of Dobby's untimely death. He still shuddered just thinking back on it, though made sure not to let it show. It was in the past, after all, he reasoned with himself. Bellatrix was dead, and the Malfoys were… scarce.
Yes, very reassuring indeed.
At last, they paused at a set of huge, double, dark oak doors. Harry quickly unlocked it with an alohomora, and the two slipped in silently. Inside was an enormous library, only composed of dark wood with viridian accents in contrast to the one at Prince Manor.
But Severus didn't appear impressed. He simply beckoned Harry to follow him. They arrived at the very back of the room, a quite shabby little corner area with much more torn and weathered books on the shelves. Without a word, Seveus began scanning the spines meticulously, his dark eyes sharp and a crease in between his brows. Harry stayed quiet, afraid of distracting the man. Finally, the Slytherin pulled out a book that didn't go out all the way, like a lever.
Harry waited for something to happen…
Nothing happened.
But then, Severus walked right through a bookshelf, disappearing. His hand suddenly stuck out, making a 'follow' gesture at Harry.
As he walked through, Harry did a double take. They were in a lavishly-decorated library/sitting room, though a rather small one, at that. The bookshelves had carved, elaborate patterns on them, painted gold and emerald green, and the armchair and rug matched the slytherin theme.
"Gape later, search now," Seveus scolded, ready scanning the spines of the many tomes and books.
"What exactly are we looking for, sir?" Asked Harry, running his finger along the wooden engravings.
"Anything on the topic of Patroni and Dementors. Lucius Malfoy had often bragged about his collection of dark magic books, particularly on topics that have been lost to time."
Harry nodded dutifully, crouching down and beginning to scan the lower shelves.
Notes:
I realise this chapter isn't my best one. I'm not too proud of it, and I apologise for it's short length. This was more of a transitional chapter, but I can assure you the next one is SO MUCH better. The words just weren't really speaking to me in his one. Writer's block, I guess ┐(ﾟ～ﾟ)┌. Notwithstanding, tysm for over 8k hits! I can practically smell the 10k mark😅 I'm honestly pleasantly surprised that so many of you are reading my story. When I first started uploading, I honestly thought the whole plot was rubbish, as was my writing. Ty for all of your lovely comments and support! Oh, also, I'm curently working on another oneshot, and I might post it soon. I really like it and think it's supper angsty.
Little spoiler for the next chapter: Fight And Flight. --- coming November 18th!
Chapter 38: Fight And Flight
Summary:
His heart rate quickening, Harry swiftly and quietly brandished his wand somewhat clumsily, and then held it in a ready stance. Severus held a finger up to his lips, just like that night on the astronomy tower.
Then, all hell broke loose.
Notes:
Hi again, hope you enjoy!
TYSM FOR 9K HITS! LOVE U ALL!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Though the lack of windows made him unsure, Harry would wager that several hours had passed since they had begun their search. Discouragement was starting to dawn not only on him, but the other wizard as well. They had found countless books on patroni and Dementors, even inferi; countless spells and curses galore. Though nothing on the Tenebris Cogitand curse, though Harry had come across several horrific and gruesome texts that made him question the sanity of the witches and wizards that had come up with them.
The young wizard slumped discouragingly against a bookshelf, half-heartedly flipping through Darkest Secrets of the Shadow Age. He had just been about to put it back and announce defeat when Severus called him over. His hope and curiosity piquing, Harry swiftly joined the man on the other side of the room at a small sitting area.
"I believe I've found something related to the anti-patronus charm. Here." he pointed at a scroll of parchment and self-inking quill laid out amongst other opened books as he explained.
"Abridged, the Tenebris Cogitando curse is said to have originated from an object known as the Tenebris Orb. Its history can be traced back to 1025, when the first encounter with dementors was recorded by wizardkind. A wizard named Alycide Legmore had invented the Patronus Orb, a magical object that is considered to be a power core of the Patronus Charm, which was used at the time in the Patronus Charm's stead to protect towns and villages. However, his brother later created the Tenebris Orb, a polar opposite of the other."
"This orb is said…" the wizard traced his long finger along a paragraph," to possess the power of all darkness, despair, and discord. Though unclear why, Alycide's brother allegedly destroyed the Patrous Orb, but its magic was caught and salvaged in time by Alycide in time to convert it into the charm we use today."
Severus furrowed his brows in thought before continuing. He quickly turned to scan briefly over a few other opened books on the small table. "Again, the lack of context is a bit problematic, but from what I've gathered, the brother had somehow split the Tenebris Orb. He converted the first half into a curse, the Tenebris Cogitando , in fear of his brother seeking revenge by destroying his orb. It is claimed that the Orb was hidden by Alycide' brother in an expansive cave system near an old village at the base of modern-day Silver League Cliffs."
Harry tried to file that information, trying to connect the invisible dots. "So, what does it have to do with the Dementors?"
Severus clucked his tongue. "I have a strong hypothesis," he stated. "The Patronus Orb had the absolute power of light, happiness, and good. Drawing an educated guess, the Tenebris Orb is the complete opposite of that, harboring absolute darkness, disperse, and discord. Interpreted, such an Orb could hold the potential to control the dementors, as the creatures would percieve it as a hierarchyly-bigger dark power."
"And you think that's what the Death Eaters are after?" inferred Harry, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Severus looked at him grimmly.
"It has clinched to me now what the Dark Lord had meant when he said he was searching for the core of darkness, an object with the power to not only control the dementors, but to unleash it upon wizardkind. But that is beside the point; I suspect the Death Eaters already know of the Tenebris Cogitando Curse, and must be on the hunt for the Orb."
Harry agreed. If this was true, then the enemy were already several steps ahead of them. A spontaneous thought popped into his head. "Wait! If the Death Eaters know of the Orb, they must have also read it from here," he said, gesturing at the many open texts laid out. "But wouldn't Malfoy have taken the book with him? Why would he leave such valuable information behind?"
But the Slytherin shook his head. "No book, tome, or even paper that is this property's can leave the premise of this room. It is heavily warded, and even if Lucius Malfoy had been here and had read the same books as we are now, we would never know for certain." He eyed the old text shrewdly. “Then again, there is no charm disabling me from copying the texts to parchment.”
Harry nodded in agreement. "Yeah that's smart. Hey, wait, remember that map we found in Grimmauld Place? There were all of those markings over Ireland, I think somewhere in the Northwestern part… Do you think they were guesses of the Orb's location?"
Severus leaned forward, propped up on his palms on the dark-oak table, looking down at the array of parchment and books with a crease between his brows. "The thought has crossed my mind…" he agreed haltingly, then paused to think, his eyes narrowed calculatively. “If they are, indeed, after the Orb,” he said slowly, “then they must be several steps ahead of us as we speak. Should they acquire it, the consequences would be dire."
“So… we beat them to it?” inferred Harry, leaning against the edge of the table and peering up at the man. Severus shot him an incredulous look, as if Harry had just sprung a second head.
“ We , Mr. Potter? Against a plethora of Death Eaters after an ancient and potentially dangerous magical object? Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that a core of such highly-concentrated magic, let alone the fact that it is pure dark magic, has a likelihood of exploding with such force that it could wipe out everything within several-hundred feet?”
The Gryffindor frowned, biting his lip and crossing his arms. He tried to conceal his irritation; he hated it when Severus would talk to him in such a sarcastic and condescending tone, especially when he used his last name. It was too tainted with the past, and elicited unpleasant memories to surface. “But couldn’t this be our chance to put an end to everything? I mean, we could even use that to our advantage, you know?”
“Harry—”
“Isn’t this what we’ve agreed to? If the Death Eaters get their hands on that Orb — you said it yourself — things could end catastrophically. The Ministry is still squirming with imposters. Maybe if we think of a way to…" He trailed off, tracing his fingers along his jawline in thought.
Severus growled. “And just how, pray tell, are you planning on taking on an army of Death Eaters with only two wands? Ah, yes, I can see it now on the Daily Prophet headline: Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World, and filthy Death Eater traitor best Voldemort's remaining army.”
“I never said we would run headlong to confront them with a declaration of war — that's ridiculous, Severus, even for me!" Harry defended, slightly offended that the wizard would think so naive of him. "We could maybe locate them at those caves where the Orb's hidden — that's probably where they have their main stronghold. Then… hmm, we could set up some kind of trap? Or…"
Now, Severus was no longer looking at him with exasperation, but a deeply-thoughtful and intrigued expression. "Perhaps…" he mused. "If we were to forewarn the Minister, he could gather an army of Aurors and keep them on stand-by. Provided that we will have located this stronghold , we could set up an instant transportation method for them to travel through and infiltrate the premise without sufficient time for the imposters to alert the others of an attack. This would potentially flush out the Polyjuice Death Eaters.”
The boy stared up at him with wide eyes. Their plan was hatching, and revelation was dawning in Harry. "That's actually brilliant! But what would we do with the Tenebris Orb?" he inquired.
The Slytherin began neatly rolling up the ink-stained parchments and shutting the books closed. "I suggest we cross that bridge when we are at least halfway to it, that being when we consult the Minister," he concluded. "There is an abundance of particulars requiring careful deliberation yet, but I suggest we postpone the matter until we can contact Shacklebolt."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, holding no objections to what the man had said so far. "I think you're right, sir. Yeah, we should probably do that."
Severus straightened up, pocketing the scrolls neatly into his inner robe pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. He shook his head as he looked down at Harry. “Sweet Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?” he groaned. “The particulars are vague, and the future is uncertain, though it is becoming increasingly apparent that this is going to be a cumbersome mission. If we are to go through with this… tomfoolery , we are to plan and prepare for every possible scenario. We must keep vigilance, NOT rush headlong into danger like some valiant lions; a repeat of 'Grimmauld Place' would not only be a large setback, but also would jeopardize the mission altogether and our well-being.” He gave Harry a long, unblinking stare, who nodded solemnly, amenable to those terms.
"Of course, sir."
Then, something in Severus’ eyes softened; just barely, but it didn’t get past Harry. Something alike concern, but at the same time… pride. He swallowed thickly, but when Severus spoke next, it caught him completely off-guard.
“You have to promise me, Harry… I cannot lose you.” The last part was whispered almost inaudibly, but Harry heard it, and it formed a lump in his throat.
Harry couldn't help a sad smile, solemnly saying, “You too, Severus.”
The marble-tiled corridors of Malfoy Manor were dead silent, the only barely-audible sounds were those of two sets of soft footsteps. It was somewhere around sunset, but the building was very dark, what with the heavy clouds obscuring the once-vibrant blue sky outside. A storm was impending.
The two wizards had accomplished what they had come here for, and the task of slipping out of the manor was upon them. The Invisibility Cloak was back in use, this time concealing both Severus and Harry (the taller man having to crouch down slightly) as they navigated their way through the maze-like corridors and stairs back down to the dungeons.
All seemed well. Technically, Harry should have been relieved, but something in his gut told him he was wrong. Something… something wasn't right. It was quiet. Too quiet… No longer were the sounds of patrolling Aurors, nor their occasional bits of conversation as they passed the invisible pair. No. It seemed as though the eerie manor had been eradicated of life.
As the two of them came to pause before a turn, checking to be sure that the route was clear, Severus bent his head and whispered four dreaded words: "Wand at the ready," so quietly that Harry had barely distinguished it from his breath.
His heart rate quickening, Harry swiftly and quietly brandished his wand somewhat clumsily, and then held it in a ready stance. Severus held a finger up to his lips, just like that night on the astronomy tower.
Then, all hell broke loose.
Two hands suddenly roughly pushed Harry, causing him to hit the floor just in time to avoid a blue jet of light that hit the wall where his head had just been. He quickly scrambled to his feet, intent on retaliating, but was caught off guard when a familiar hand latched around his wrist with a death grip and pulled.
"HEY, YOU! STOP IN THE NAME OF THE MINISTRY OF—"
But Harry didn’t hear the rest. He and Severus were already bolting down the corridor and down the marble stairs, the boy just barely keeping up with Severus’s long strides. Behind them, spells and curses hurled toward them, miraculously missing their targets by a hair.
Harry didn't hold back. Trusting Severus with his life to steer them, the young wizard randomly fired back over his shoulder, his spells consisting mostly of defensive spells and harmless hexes and charms. He couldn't hurt the Aurors, as it wouldn't pan out well for him and Severus in the long run.
“DIFFINDO! EXPELLIARMUS! CONFUNDO! PROTEGO—!”
They had just entered a vast marble hall with towering columns supporting balconies, when Severus yelled, "FIRE AT THE CEILING!"
The man had slowed just barely, enough for Harry to adjust his aim without a second's thought or doubt. "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. A powerful beam shot from his wand, and the high ceiling above them exploded.
Huge chunks of concrete and stone rained down on them, but the hands that suddenly pushed him behind a doorway weren’t quick enough. They both toppled over and fell unceremoniously… Harry felt something sharp graze the side of his head, his vision going slightly blurry and spinning for a short moment, a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
He gingerly brought up a curious hand and hissed, unsurprised when he located the source of the increasing hot, searing pain, and retracted blood-stained fingers. Severus cursed colorfly beside him, and Harry turned just in time to see the Potion’s Master’s hand covered in slimy, unsettlingly-familiar fluorescent-green liquid.
His heart sank. The Depellerum counter-potion.
All of this happened in a matter of a few moments. Just then, Harry was roughly yanked by the wrist once more, pulled to unstable feet without warning. Severus made a wild dash for it, dragging a stumbling Harry in tow as he struggled to adjust his footing. The young wizard recognised their surroundings as second floor, and remembered the stairwell to the dungeons was situated on the ground floor. As they ran, bellows and shouts of orders and spells echoed through and ricocheted off the marble walls from every direction. And by the sounds of it, the Aurors were gaining on them.
Desperately, Harry swung his wand wildly. "PROTEGO EXGORGIO!" The charm shot back over Harry's shoulder, appearing just in time to rebound the oncoming curses and sending them back at the casters.
"YOU FILTHY DEATH EATER — !"
"HE'S KIDNAPPED HARRY PO—!"
"FACE US, YOU COWARD!"
but Harry and Severus ignored the voices, undaring to look back. They were descending the grand stairs that led down to the ground floor, and just as Harry had had the intention of turning in the direction of the dungeons, Servers seemed to have other plans, for he redirected them towards the huge, front doors. Harry didn't question the ex-Death Eater, and promptly blasted the door open.
“SNAPE, YOU TRAITOR!”
"SLIMY BASTARD, WE KNEW IT!"
"THE DARK LORD TRUSTED YOU!"
Harry felt his stomach sink. The imposter Death Eaters were there.
The wizard duo ran for all they were worth through the maze-like hedge gardens, ducking behind the neatly-trimmed shrubbery to avoid incoming projectiles. They were almost to the huge stone wall of the property, and Harry was preparing to cast the failsafe, when a sudden wave of vertigo hit him, and the world began to spin as though he were drunk on firewhiskey. The sounds around him registered as muffled, the earlier ringing only intensifying… his knees buckled and hit the pebbled ground.
Nothing made any logical sense anymore, and if felt as though time stretched, playing everything like a blurry film in slow motion. He knew there was danger surrounding them, but couldn't regain his composure for the life of him… his heart was pounding in his ears like a drum… confusion; everything so disorienting…
Two strong arms were suddenly pulling him to his feet, gentle yet firm and strong, one circling around his back and securing under his shoulder. Harry leaned against the person heavily, and felt himself being dragged onward… Someone was yelling words into his ears, a deep but frantic voice. It was significantly closer this time, and Harry thought he could make out his name at times…
" — rry, the failsafe — cast it! Harry!"
Harry tightened his grip on his wand automatically (still miraculously in his hand), suddenly feeling more woozy and funny. He tried shaking it off with head, but that was a poorly-misjudged move… He felt one side of his jumper, mostly the collar area, cold, sticky, and wet. Something was trickling — no, pouring — down the left side of his face. But he forced his thoughts back to the task at hand.
"Harry, the failsafe!" the urgent voice implored. This finally seemed to snap him back to it. Harry lifted his head as best he could and realized they were at the stone wall… he racked his brain for the incantation.
" Deficit a…custodia diruunt !"
The spell hit an invisible barrier, causing the air around them to wripple in clear waves, and then tendrils of blue cracks shot out from the area of impact and began spreading along the ward hemisphere. It reminded Harry of the barrier the professors had erected before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Time seemed to stretch longer and longer, the sounds echoing strangely in his head, and a strange ringing in his ears. Harry was barely aware of someone supporting him under his arms and dragging him along again. The person kept saying something, was it his name? They sounded worried.
Harry’s eyes began to slowly droop… his whole body felt as if someone had cast a Featherlight Charm on it….
"...arry!.. Harry, Aparate us out. HARRY!"
They kept moving. He winced at the painfully-loud voice, but it helped a bit to shake and wake him up a little. Harry suddenly remembered what he had to do, and with the last shred of strength he possessed, clung tightly to soft, woolen fabric, and spun on the spot, a picture of home forming in his mind for the first time.
But before the familiar sensation of tube-like body compression overcame him, a different person shouted something in a foreign language… a bright flash of purple light… Then everything went black.
Notes:
Alright, what did you think??? I SERIOUSLY enjoyed editing this chapter so much!!! Ah, finally, we got some action, am I right? The next chapter is going to be angstyyyyy. Can you try to guess what will happen? Also, I hope the whole Tenebris Orb and Patronus Charm lore stuff wasn't too confusing. Those are purely all my ideas/imagination, and I can't help but feel like I'm bad at plotting and really making sense of everything. Also, if you remember the chapter where Harry and Severus returned to Grimmauld and found that map with markings on it, I had initially written 'Scotland' instead of 'Ireland'. That was a typo and I changed it, FYI. Heh, whoops.
Next chapter coming on the 25th of Nov!!!
Chapter 39: Hold On
Summary:
It was only then when he realized that the memories he'd made at the manor — by far, his relatively-best ones in two decades — weren't limited to the building itself, but to the person with whom he'd made them. Harry. And as long as he was with him, Severus was losing nothing.
Notes:
WARNING: mentions of blood and injury, but even I hate delving too deep into that kind of stuff, so it should be relatively fine.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For the first time in his life, Severus' feet lost balance upon the hard impact with solid ground. He crumpled to the cobblestone, with Harry supported under the arms, into an undignified heap, though just narrowly avoiding a purple jet of light soaring skyward and latching itself onto the invisible domed wards. He observed with horror as It began spreading out its vine-like tendrils, as if slowly eating up the protective shields. The ancient magic tried to counterattack it, a blue glow warring against it, but to no avail.
Severus' heart sank to the bottom of his stomach and he swore colorfully.
Not wasting another moment, the wizard brought his attention back to Harry. He was further alarmed to find the boy's body slack against his own chest. One side of his sheet-white face was covered in blood, trickling down from his temple. Something warm and wet was soaking the bottom of his trousers, and when he adjusted the boy a bit to look, he couldn't suppress the strangled gasp that escaped his lips.
Blood. Everything was covered in blood, including the cobbled pavement beneath them. He quickly located the source — a gruesome chunk of leg missing. Without a second thought, Severus savagely tore off a part of his own leg pant and tied it tightly around the boy's calf, applying as much pleasure as possible. He scrambled to his feet, though extremely careful with the limp body in his hold. Upright, Harry's arm was gingerly maneuvered to sling over his shoulder.
Seveus dragged the limp body of the child he'd sworn to protect and watch over down the main road leading to Prince Manor, fear gripping at his heart and his internal organs clenching whenever he would glance back at the abnormal amount of blood in their wake, though barely visible in the dark hour. Were it not for his adrenaline and mastery of the Mind Arts, he wouldn't be able to think so straight and coherently. Getting discovered by the Aurors had been considered their 'worst case scenario', but even Severus hadn’t imagined events unfolding as badly as they just had.
Their failsafe had entailed Severus drinking the Anti-Depellerum Potion to regain his magic so that he may fight back in the case of them being discovered. Of course, that had gone to hell when he'd accidentally fallen over and the vial crushed in his pocket. Seeing as they had been defenseless and sheerly outnumbered, he'd done the only thing he could think of — run.
He had grabbed Harry and sprinted as fast as he could, the boy firing spells, jinxs, and hexes over his shoulder. He had truly done brilliantly, and were it not for the current, dire situation, Severus would have paid closer mind to the feeling of pride swelling in his chest.
Then, they had managed to escape outside, and their only goal had been to get to the barrier, break it, and aparate out. However, even that plan had gone to hell when Harry had started to sway on his feet, his face pale as a sheet. It had only been then when Severus noticed the blood pouring down the boy’s face from his temple.
The sight had made the Slytherin’s stomach do a summersault, but what was more was when Harry's knees buckled and he had sunken to the ground. It had truly been a terrifying sight, watching it unfold before him.
Severus had helped him up, guiding the skinny arms to lean on him in support. The Aurors had been closing in on them (he and Harry had somehow lost them in the maze-like hedges momentarily), and Severus had known that time was a limited privilege.
There had been no other alternative than to push the boy to perform the failsafe. Miraculously, however, the Gryffindor had somehow cast the complicated spell correctly, bringing down the wards, and aparated them out. Unfortunately, Severus had known full-well that the risk of getting splinched was a very high possibility.
But to only worsen matters, there was also the question of when the Aurors/Death Eaters would inevitably penetrate the manor soon. Severus wasn't aware of the foreign spell currently eating up at the manor's wards; it had apparently traveled with them through apparition. But by the looks of it, he knew the manor wasn't safe any more, and without his magic, they would stand no chance.
Thus, their options were limited. They couldn’t remain long at Prince Manor, but he couldn’t afford to apparate Harry in such a delicate condition either. Once more, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
He was as good as carrying the boy in a one-armed embrace, racing for the manor but also trying to be gentle with his cargo. The smell of iron was heavy in his sinuses… Harry was unconscious and his blood was slowly seeping through the dark suit. Fear clogged Severus' throat, making it hard to breathe. The immeasurable guilt squirming in his gut was canceled out by the adrenaline and fear, the two sole emotions that drove him on.
It had been him who had instructed the boy to destroy the ceiling in hopes of blocking the Aurors in their wake, but he'd also expected Harry to erect a strong shield around themselves. Unfortunately, Severus's reflexes hadn’t been quick enough to shield the young man from an oncoming chunk of stone.
Why had he even agreed to allow this whole endeavor? He, a Slytherin, should have known better — he HAD known better. But he couldn’t have just let the boy go and let him do everything on his own. Merlin knew he held no authority over Harry.
Severus quickly summoned Nibby to help him and ordered her to open the front doors to the Manor. The house elf had looked frightened at the no-doubt terrifying sight, but promptly obeyed. The entire way down to his lab, Severus' protective hold on the boy only tightened, and it occurred to him belatedly that he was incoherently repeating Harry's name on a mantra.
Severus carefully deposited the unconscious wizard onto a stool, positioned conveniently in a corner created by a table and a wall, ensuring that his head and neck were stabilized. The boy stirred slightly, moaning something incoherent.
"Hold on, Harry," encouraged Severus in a low voice, quickly patting his shoulder reassuringly. He then hurried over to his potions cabinets and storeroom. Multitasking, he yelled for Nibby to block off the floo network.
The fact that his magic core was still depleted complicated matters significantly. He wouldn't be able to use any of his healing spells, which meant he would have to tend to the wound with potions and muggle remedies. Fortunately, Severus was adept even in the muggle ways of medicine and first-aid, rudimentary knowledge that should be taught at Hogwarts. Having been a spy had its pros, after all. It had taught him to improvise, and that all knowledge was advantageous.
He returned to the boy’s side within seconds, depositing all the supplies he would need, including fresh gauze, potions/salves, a bowl of warm water, and many clean cloths and rags. Severus first fed a Blood Replenisher to Harry, having to pour it down his throat and coax him to swallow. He would have to wait a short time before administering the Pain Reliever, however, for that particular Blood Replenisher had very concentrated ingredients, ones that wouldn’t mix well with others. Harry would have to endure for a bit, though at least he was unconscious.
Next, Severus assessed the boy’s injuries. His calf was still wrapped tightly in the torn fabric, the blood flow reduced by the pressure. He had to tend to it first before Renervating Harry back to consciousness. Not wasting a moment, he carefully elevated the leg onto a nearby stool to minimize further bleeding.
Severus moved quickly and precisely as he concocted a solution of antiseptic potion and essence of dittany in the bowl of water. Having dipped the rag into the liquid and wrung it out, he set it aside and diligently unwrapped the calf. The sight of it was truly gruesome, a small chunk missing, and had it not been for his iron will and extensive experience with injuries from his spying years…
Severus began to clean the wound, his moves extremely gentle and cautious. It took some minutes, and by now, the boy’s face was a ghostly shade of white. Alarm bells rang in Severus’ head; the colour was a stark contrast to the other half of his face, which was covered in deep red. But the head injury didn’t look as severe, so he continued working on the primal concern.
Harry groaned and shifted, his face drawn in pain. Without thinking, Severus reached out and squeezed Harry's smaller hand in his own. This seemed to calm the young man as much as it calmed him, so he proceeded with the task at hand.
"It's alright. You're safe, Harry. I'm here."
Fortunately, his mental clock went off at that time, deeming it safe to give Harry the Pain Reliever. Severus took the vial and began feeding it down Harry's throat, coaxing him to swallow. That done, he turned his attention back to his leg. To his relief, the missing flesh was slowly starting to reform and grow back together. It wasn't enough, though, so Severus carefully smeared on more Dittany in generous amounts.
After a moment, he cleaned the area around the wound before quickly wrapping the leg in clean gauze. Feeding Harry another blood replenisher, Severus was posed with bringing Harry to consciousness. If he were to tend to his head injury, the boy would need to be awake.
He carefully shook the small shoulders. "Harry? Harry, wake up." No coherent answer, only a slight moan and shift. Severus continued shaking him by the shoulders, fearing prolonging the procedure. He was growing desperate, and his voice showed it. "Harry, wake up, please. Harry!... POTTER!"
At a final shake (slightly rougher than Severus had intended), Harry slowly opened his heavy lids, wild emerald-green eyes frantically blinking their way to comprehension. Severus promptly put a firm but gentle hand on the wizard's chest, prompting him to recline back against the wall behind and table beside him. He had never felt as relieved to see green as he was in that moment.
"Harry, it's alright. You're safe; we're at Prince manor. Stay awake. you're alright…" he was rambling a repetition of incoherent nonsense at this point, deliberately overusing his given name, but anything to keep the other's awareness. He knew it would take Harry a few minutes to regain his hearing, but he ranted on regardless. Harry's lids kept drooping; Severus knew he was trying, but he was immensely relieved when recognition flashed in the emerald-green orbs.
Working quickly and clinically, the Slytherin began the process of cleaning the blood off Harry's face, minding not to cause the other any discomfort. Harry hissed as he got close to the epicenter, Severus mumbling a distracted apology.
"...You were supposed to keep him safe…"
Those guilt-ridden words in a shiveringly-familiar feminine voice briefly penetrated his thoughts, but his mouth continued to spew out all kinds of senseless things to keep Harry's attention. The boy was slowly becoming more aware of what was happening, and another hiss escaped his lips, which he then bit down into, shutting his eyes tightly. Severus gently cupped his chin with a firm but gentle grip to keep his head from moving as he finished up the task, knowing it wasn't the head wound causing him discomfort. The pain reliever he'd fed Harry had been strong, but with his leg injury's unfortunate placement, not even the potion could fully numb the pain. So, Harry would just have to deal with it.
"Stay still, I'm almost done." Having applied the Dittany, Severus began to wrap the boy's head with gauze.
"Wha– What happened?" asked Harry, still disoriented but clearly fully-awake. Their eyes locked for a moment just as Severus had finished.
"What is the last thing you can remember?" He leaned back on his heels, carefully observing Harry, who was silent for a moment. His gaze traveled down to his leg, the pant torn off and exposing the white wrappings. His fingers curiously grazed it, a look of realization and horror dawning in his eyes.
"The Aurors— Severus, the Aurors know— there were Death Eaters! We were running outside, but after that, everything's just a blur… How did we get out?" he asked incredulously.
Severus nodded grimly, having been expecting as much. "You had been about to cast the failsafe when you began to lose consciousness, no doubt from your head injury…" he finished somewhat ashamedly. Harry's hand flew up to his wrapped head, but Severus' quick reflexes batted it away.
"You just barely managed to apparate us out, but not without consequence," he finished, gesturing with his eyes at the leg. Forcing his dark eyes to meet the green, he allowed himself to drop the stoicism of his voice, saying, "I'm proud of you, Harry. You had truly done the impossible."
The Gryffindor's eyes widened with surprise and warmth, and he slumped back against the wall again, his face more pensieve, closing his eyes and taking a breath that sounded more like a chuckle. "Gryffindor sheer, dumb luck, remember, professor?" The older wizard just shook his head. "But Th– thanks… " His eyes snapped open. "Severeus, your magic… is it…?”
The young man had just lost a literal chunk of his heg and had a bleeding wound in his head… and he was concerned about the Death-Eater’s magic?
“Unfortunately, the counter potion was destroyed during our flight. If my calculations are correct, my magic should be completely restored within an hour. I was unable to heal you magically for such a reason. But that is of little consequence at the moment, Harry. We haven’t much time."
"What do you m—?"
"How do you feel?” Severus next inquired, his concern for the boy returning almost full-force. “And I swear by Merlin’s wand, Harry, if you so much as utter the word ‘fine’...” he trailed off menacingly, his warning tone implying the consequences.
Harry wrinkled his nose in thought — Lily’s old habit, he noted — and then a cheeky grin spread about his face. “Adequate, sir.” Exasperated, the Slytherin shook his head. He had half a mind to reprimand the brat, but he spoke again. “But in all seriousness, I feel f— OK. Really. My head hurts and feels woozy, and my leg stings a bit, but it's pretty manageable.” He wrapped his arms around himself, a small shiver wracking his body.
Severus had almost kicked himself for his lack of foresight and briskly ordered a blanket from Nibby, asking her to linger. He shook it out and draped it around Harry's shoulders, who smiled at him gratefully. Severus stared at him for a second with what he was sure was an incredulous look. The boy had a very low standard of 'OK'... But he knew by the emerald-green eyes that the boy wasn’t lying, and that sufficed.
“That is expected, given the profuse amount of blood you've lost. That being said, I expect you to report any developments to me immediately." The Slytherin then turned to his House Elf, who was casting curious and concerned glances between the two wizards. "Nibby, report the status on the wards."
With a stricken expression, Nibby wrung her hands in her lapm shaking her head. "Tis nothing like Nibby's ever seen before, Master Severus. The wards is completely being falling apart. Even Nibby couldn't do anything to stop it."
Nothing that came as a surprise to Severus. "How much time do we have before the wards fail completely?"
The House Elf looked frightful, wringing her hands even more feverently. "Nibby is not sure, Master Severus. She can feel the wards are very badly damaged already…"
"Have you blocked off the Floo?"
"Y— Yes."
"Severus, What—?"
" — Keep trying to bolster the wards, no matter the cost. At the slightest indication of other presences, inform us immediately," he ordered her. Nibby bowed and disappeared with a pop and a determined face. Severus turned back to Harry, still leaning against the corner and wrapped in the blanket, his brows knitted in a mix of confusion and irritation.
"Severus, what's going on!?" snapped the younger wizard, attempting to get up. An irrational move, as he swayed terribly and ungracefully slumped back on the stool, cradling his head in his hands. Severus was at his side within seconds.
"What's wrong?” Though he already knew.
“Head. Hurts. Vertigo,” bit out Harry.
He thinned his lips. “You shouldn’t tax yourself, and should minimize your movement and rest. I shall need to re-apply the dittany every couple hours. Here, drink this…” He reached over to his supply of potions and selected a mauve-coloured one. He unstoppered it and Harry drank. This gave Severus pause. In all the sentimental drama, their predicament with the impending danger had slipped his mind.
“We cannot remain here. A foreign spell had traveled with us through apparition. It is eating the wards away around the manor as we speak. I suspect it will only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters will attempt to breach Prince Manor.”
“Wait, what?" Harry lifted his head as quickly as he dared, alarm in his eyes. "Bloody—! But how would they even know where—?”
“Another aspect of the spell," he answered shortly. "The wards around Prince Manor are incredibly strong, do not doubt it for a second. However, from my observations, the spell is of cancerous design and will continue to weaken the wards until they fall. It is unlike any I've ever seen. We must relocate at once. Do you feel up for apparition?”
Harry tried to nod, but stopped wisely. “What about Kingsley? Shouldn’t we contact him? And where would we even go? Hogwarts?”
Severus internally sighed gravely, dreading what he was about to propose. No, Hogwarts wasn't an option. They had no guarantee it was desolate of other professors or Ministry officials. In fact, he'd already established a location — their only option. His only solace was that it would only be very temporary.
"...My home in Cokeworth,” he answered distastefully, lip curling. “The location is known to Death Eaters, however, the catch is that I have wards set around the property, and thus far they have not been breached. If they haven't been there thus far, I doubt they would think to go there now, supposedly thinking I wouldn't return there. We can take advantage of this and sojourn there."
Harry shifted his eyes to the floor, thinning his lips into a tight line in thought. Severus didn't interrupt, but he knew Harry knew they had little other choice. There really wasn't much to consider. It was blunt and simple: they had to flee before it was too late. And Cokeworth was, regrettably, their best option. "Alright," the boy finally agreed.Suddenly, his eyes widened and his hand flew to his left wrist, eyes brimmed with alarm.
"Don't fret, I have your wand," consoled Severus as he retrieved it from his inner pocket. "As well as your Cloak." Harry exhaled with relief and accepted the piece of wood, thanking him.
Severus straightened up and nodded, primely to reaffirm himself of his decision.. "Now, stay here while I pack. With your permission, I will pack your things for you.” Severus looked around briefly for a parchment and quill. Having found both, he instructed Harry to compose a list of things he wished to take with him. The boy did so with only a bout of uncertainty.
Within the next twenty minutes, Severus managed to pack two seperate travel bags — one his, one Harry’s — with everything they would need. Since he was still magic-less, Harry had to cast the Extension Charm on them both. Severus had packed warm clothing, Potions Ingredients, supplies, first aid, and everything else along those lines. Harry didn't have much in his possession, merely his worse-for-wear rucksack and some articles of his new wardrobe.
With their individual bags Shrunken by Harry and in their respective pockets, they set out of the manor. Before leaving, Severus ordered Nibby to apparate to Hogwarts with a note for particularly Minerva and Kingsley, letting them know where they were and that imposters were amongst the Aurors stationed at Malfoy Manor… The House Elf was to remain at Hogwarts indefinitely.
Severus still had to support Harry as they stumbled their ascent up the several flights of stairs. They half-walked, half-limped across the dark lawn to the front gates. A glance overhead revealed the purple spell, its tendrils crawling and spreading along the wards, their ashes singing out of existence as they floated rockingly to the ground. It looked just like when the wards had been destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts.
With a final glance at Prince Manor, expecting to feel a sort of loss, but curiously finding no particular emotion attached to it, Severus fed Harry the precise location of the dreaded destination and what to envision. He tightened his hold around him in an almost protective vice grip, and the two were whisked away.
It was only then when he realized that the memories he'd made at the manor — by far, his relatively-best ones in two decades — weren't limited to the building itself, but to the person with whom he'd made them. Harry. And as long as he was with him, Severus was losing nothing.
Notes:
This question is for future reference: would you guys be okay with longer chapters, like ones with over 5k words? Or should I break them up to make it a bit more organized?
Also, I'm no medic, so don't come at me if my approach (I mean, Sev's approach, hem-hem) to Harry's injuries was a bit nonfactual. I tried asking my mom about it (she's studying medicine), and she shared a bit of insight. Still, if something's not right, don't come at me. I tried.
I feel like I'm forgetting to mention smth… Eh. So, as per usual, let me know your thoughts! Next post coming Sat., Dec. 2nd!
Chapter 40: Cokeworth
Summary:
The word was hissed with putrid hatred. He watched in satisfaction as the small piece of paper curled in on itself and burned in magnificent flames on the termite-eaten laminate. Of course, before it could spread into a full-fledged house fire, Severus put it out.
Notes:
OMG it's happened! Over 10k HITS!!!! 🥳I still cannot wrap my head around such a number🤯 I love you all, thank you for your huge support!!! No but really, so many of you r enjoying my writing??? This is insane...
Alright, here we go! A new chapter:D Literally had to edit this on the bus to & from school and before bed. I have like three huge tests upcoming from two history subjects, geography, and literature - WHY!? Why can't society just leave me be with my drawing and fanfic writing???? The last few weeks of school are always hell, put frankly.
This chapter is one of my longest to date (5600 words)... yeah, that's my therapy right there, he-he. More notes at the end! Again, thank you so much for all of your support!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry staggered forward as his feet made sharp contact with the pavement. If it wasn't for the two strong hands supporting his weight, he was sure he would have fallen face-flat. A sharp, shooting pain seared though his injured leg, sending stars to his vision. He had to close his eyes to recompose himself, slightly disoriented.
“Are you quite alright?” asked a deep voice beside him. Harry nodded, reopening his eyes. Looking around for the first time, he noted the deserted, weathered cobble street. It was pitch-dark, a lone street light flickering not far from them. Ugly, run-down, red brick houses stretched the length of the pavement, some of their windows covered in cobwebs or boarded-up. No sound could be heard, save for the eerie whistling of the wind.
Despite himself, Harry felt a shiver run through him. Of all places he’d ever been to and things he'd seen, this neighborhood by far reminded him of the graveyard from Fourth Year the most.
“Come. It is unwise to linger,” urged Severus quietly. “Don your cloak.”
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the silky item. He gracefully swung it over his shoulders, and the two moved out.
Severus guided them through rows of brick houses, occasionally pausing behind corners in caution. Harry would often stumble over the uneven cobblestone; it was hard not to when he was keeping pressure off his injured leg and was half-hopping, even with the older man supporting him. Not to mention, the apparition had aggravated his headache.
Eventually, they seemed to have arrived. This house was no different than the rest: flat roof, two-storey, and exposed ugly, red brick. It looked quite unkempt, actually, the window panes frosted in a sheet of grime. Severus extracted himself from Harry inconspicuously and strode up to the front door. He raised his wand, and Harry knew he, too, was holding his breath.
Had it already been an hour? Had his magic been depleted completely, or had it returned?
Severus hesitated only slightly as he whispered, "Praesentia Revelario!"
Nothing happened.
Harry's heartbeat quickened as dread built up in his stomach.
But then, Severus raised his wand a second time. "Reprehendo Custodiarum!"
Again, nothing happened. Confusion filled him when he heard a soft sigh. Severus turned to him, the corners of his lips ever so slightly twitching in obvious relief.
"It's alright. I've checked the wards. They haven't been breached."
Harry expelled the breath he'd been holding. "So then, everything's alright? You've got your magic back?"
Severus nodded, giving him a wry look. "I am ever so grateful for your unwavering confidence in my brewing skills, Mr. Potter," he commented dryly as he Alohomora-ed the door open and quickly ushered the younger wizard in.
The door closed behind them with a thud and they were enveloped in a blanket of darkness. Harry jumped when a deep voice murmured, "Lumos!" beside him.
They found themselves standing in a small, old-fashioned sitting room done in murky tones, consisting of a fireplace, a couch, and two armchairs. The walls were completely covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, dusty and weathered, as if no-one had touched them in ages. Harry felt a sudden urge to sneeze-cough at the musty air. On their left-hand side was a narrow stairwell leading up to the second storey, and ahead of them was a small kitchen alcove.
An unsettlingly-nostalgic feeling suddenly filled Harry as he took everything in. He remembered parts of this place from the man's memories, none of them savory. This was Severus' childhood home, where his drunken father had lashed out on and abused him. That he was in the Potion’s Master’s house, one ridden with so many memories, made him swallow uncomfortably. It was almost as if there was something in the walls, dark and despondent…
Those memories brought up Harry's own of the Dursleys. Whilst they had never hit him(if you don't count Aunt Petunia's frying pan attempts), they had never abused him. Having had a broken childhood was probably one of the most significant things he and Severus shared in common, though at least the Slytherin hadn't had to live in a cupboard for a decade.
Then again, everyone's standards of what was worse and better were subjective.
The faded, moth-eaten curtains suddenly drew closed at Severus' flick of the wrist, with Harry leaning on him again. His uninjured leg was slowly starting to protest in pain from putting all of his pressure on it. Luckily, Severus deposited him in one of the seats, elevating his injured foot onto the coffee table, and leaving instructions not to move a muscle. Robes swishing at his ankles, he left.
Harry took this time to better observe his surroundings. The mantelpiece in front of him was void of any embellishments, matching the theme of the rest of the room. There hung no paintings on the walls, nor was there a framed picture in sight. The space was simply-furnished, with a few end tables with lamps and books here and there, and a lonely grandfather clock in the corner. The room itself was done in murky colors of grays and cool tones.
If Harry was being honest with himself, he didn't really know what he'd been expecting. Actually, he thought the aesthetic suited the man perfectly: quiet, essential, and modest.
The front door opened and shut again, and with it returned Severus, holstering his wand. The ex-Death Eater began pacing the length of the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back, an unnerved look on his usually-stoic face. He would sometimes flash Harry quick glances out of the corner of his eye, as though out of uncertainty or internal conflict. Harry remained quiet, however, allowing the man to compose himself and wondering what was going on in the Slytherin's head.
On the other hand, Harry couldn’t really blame him. If they were back at Privet Drive instead, he probably would have felt conflicted too. After all, a single place could hold thousands of memories, both bad and good.
The man halted so abruptly that his billowing cloak swung forward in the momentum. He fixed his gaze on Harry, face impassive again.
“We shall sojourn the night here,” he intoned, rather unhelpfully, “and contact Kinglsey come morning; I expect by that time he will have dealt with what's transpired. I have just erected the strongest wards to my knowledge, meaning that it would take a monumental effort to penetrate, even for Ministry officials.” His sentences were brief, straight, and wooden, as if he were an automaton of sorts. Though his gaze was on Harry's face, their eyes just couldn't seem to meet. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but was holding back his tongue. This unnerved the younger wizard.
“Our main focus now is rest," he continued choppingly. "As in terms of food…” Here, Severus paused, his lips thinning. “Suffice to say, our dinner will consist of nutritive potions. There is a small corner shop not far from here, but it is advisable to limit our outings. Now, come — we both require rest; I will show you to your accommodation."
He moved to assist Harry up, but the Gryffindor held up a hand. "Wait." Severus halted promptly, brows slightly raised. Now, Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. Something just wasn't right… shouldn't they discuss what they've discovered, or at least what they would tell Kingsley? They would have a lot of explaining to do… And what would happen to the manor now? Had the Death Eaters already breached the wards there? To add to all these buzzing questions, Harry could tell something was off with Severus — it was much too evident.
"Out with it, Harry."
Or was Severus thinking of backing out? Had he finally realized his helping Harry with this whole endeavor was a mistake? Was he being so hedgy because he wasn't sure how to tell it to Harry because they'd already gotten this far?
This gave Harry thought for pause. He'd long since established with Severus that the man wouldn't forfeit trying to… but to do what, exactly? Yes, he wished to see to it that every follower of Voldemort, down to the last, was either put behind Azkaban bars or gone for good, but looking at things objectively, how exactly would he accomplish that?
As of now, he and Severus knew that the Death Eaters had plans relating to the dementors, and quite possibly the Tenebris Orb. But how would Harry do anything about it on his own, without Severus? The two of them had just narrowly avoided catastrophe at the Manor… He needed his mentor to help and guide him, begrudging as Harry was to admit that. He'd never liked the feeling of being dependent on anyone, but things felt different with Severus. And if the man was backing out… well, he wasn't sure what he would do.
But Harry also couldn't give things up just like that if Severus did. He'd already gotten too far to admit defeat just like that, and leave things to the hands of the Death-Eater-infested Ministry.
"If this is your way of backing out," stated Harry more confidently than he felt, "then go ahead. I'm not."
Severus's hardened with confusion. "What in Merlin’s name are you babbling about?"
"You— you don't want to be part of this anymore, and I can understand why. I'm sorry for having dragged you into this in the first place…" Harry was scrutinizing the other's face closely. The man opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, pressing his lips together tightly. "And I won’t force you into either, so just be honest with me and don't… don't lie for the sake of… the vow and…" Your claim that you care.
Severus's lips parted, crease between his brows deepening. "Contrary to your misconception, that is not what I was implying. I apologize if I had elicited your misinterpretation of my intentions," he said tensely, shifting his weight slightly. To an anyone else, such tiny quirks would be unnoticeable, but Harry had learned to notice and interpret them.
"Then what is it?" pressed Harry, sitting forward. " What are we going to tell kingsley — we need to discuss this! What will happen to the manor? What's the plan ? And clearly something's wrong with you—"
A mirthless cross between a bark and a snort cut him off. "
'Something's wrong'
?" Severus drawled sarcastically, a near-snear crossing his features. "Let me see: we had just infiltrated a heavily-guarded facility, potentially uncovered the Dark Lord's army's plans for our
bright futures
, barely secured escape — though not without getting discovered or sustaining injury — and we currently find ourselves at a location known to Death Eaters!" he ranted scathingly, pivoting on his heel to pace.
Harry frowned darkly at him, unperturbed. He wanted to point out that they were still alive and relatively safe, but thought that would be innefectual. "And your conclusion to all this? You're hinting at something. You think this is stupid, dangerous, and pointless, well I don't!" he said firmly, hitting his fist against the armrest. He hated sitting in the stupid chair. "You can't change my mind in things, sir, but you can back out. There's nothing holding you back—"
But that, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say.
The dark-haired man crossed the distance between them in two strides, gripping either armrest and leaning in so close to the younger's face that their noses were nearly touching.
“ Nothing holding me back ?" parroted the Slytherin slowly in a dangerous whisper, something livid and impotent in his eyes. Harry drew back, willing for the back cushion to swallow him. "Perhaps you are correct: after all, I had merely taken the vow to see your neck get wrung by the remains of the Dark Lord's numbers. I have subjected myself to such lengths and risks to protect you only to slack off like some coward— " he spat the word — " and to read of your foolish Gryffindor-ish death in the headline of the Daily Prophet over a cup of morning tea," he hissed, voice barely a decibel above inaudible. Harry kept his gaze locked with the obsidian one, temporarily rendered speechless.
"But I can't just sit back and do nothing—!"
"You needn't do anything! It is no longer your responsibility— has never truly been—!"
"But it is!" argued Harry, gesturing with his hands. "Why can’t you understand that I have to do this!?” he demanded desperately, voice rising. They had already been over this, hadn't they? “I have to finish this — alone! Me! Everything that was started by Voldemort, the half-told prophecy, me… people have died because of me! Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“BECAUSE I CANNOT LOSE YOU!” Severus snarled viciously, spittle flying in Harry's face. “Today’s endeavor was far too close for comfort; we managed to escape by s heer, dumb luck, though not unscathed,” he spat. “It is foolish to even dream that a filthy Death Eater and a hormone-driven Gryffindor can put an end to the Dark Lord’s remaining numbers.”
"...Sir— you're not—!"
But looking deeper into Severus’s eyes, Harry felt a shiver run down his pine at an emotion he'd never thought he'd live to witness on the man's stoic face: fear. It was so clear and plain, with hits of desperation behind it.
"I'm frightened, Harry," he confessed barely-audibly, so softly and desperately. It astounded and concerned Harry to hear the wizard utter those words… His heart nearly shattered into a milion pieces when the man's face twisted with anguish. "I'm frightened of losing you." Harry had to strain his ears to hear him, barely daring to breathe, as he continued in a choked voice and with conviction, “I made a vow to your mother that night, Harry, because I lost her. I will not lose her again. I. Will. Not . Lose. You . Too ,” he whispered, and with that said, retracted a few steps back.
Harry was rendered speechless for several long moments, something clogging his windpipe. "So then, where are you leading all this?" he dared to ask softly, more confused than angry at this point. He almost regretted saying his previous sentence. Severus had said that he cared for Harry (and vice versa), but it was still often hard to fully comprehend that. It was hard to comprehend that anyone could care for him in such a way.
Severus dragged his hand through his greasy locks and cupped his face with it, before letting it drop to his side in defeat. He began to pace again. It took him a while to formulate an answer. His voice took a pained turn, and there was something raw and pained as he looked at Harry. Guilt…
"Harry, I— I… don't know," he confessed defeatedly, voice drawn. "just look at what happened to you; how close to irrevocable consequences, to lethal danger, we'd come today. I should never have allowed… you could have… "
Severus couldn't continue, the image far too horrifying in his head. Just how close had he come to losing Harry? To failing Lily all over again? To failing Harry? How had he even agreed to this prone-to-be debacle in the first place? It was a suicide mission, dangerous and Gryffindor-ish. It was his job to look after the boy, but instead, he’d only put him in more danger…
He felt torn.
He'd spied for the Dark Lord, had played double-agent, had taken the Dark Mark at the foolish age of 17… his entire life, he'd never had trouble making decisions — his way forward had always been clear. And yet, because of this one boy, he couldn't decide on what he wanted, what point he was trying to drive home, what he was implying…
He just wanted Harry safe.
But 'Harry' and 'safe' just didn't coincide.
Severus should forfeit on his promise to help Harry. He should put a monitoring charm on him that was used on toddlers by anxious mothers. He should lock him up somewhere safe, so that no harm would ever befall him… All to keep Lily's son, Harry, safe…
But Severus also knew that he couldn’t do that. And he couldn't withdraw from this suicidal mision they were on. It was selfless and foolish — purely Harry's character — but Severus had to make sure that the boy was safe. He'd initially thought of trying to convince Harry — try to make him see reason — that this was dangerous and ridiculous — but Harry seemed set. So, that didn't leave Severus with much choice.
But it wasn't even for the sake of the vow, and he regretted his poor phrasing of making it sound like precisely that. He and Harry had managed to establish deep trust and respect over these past few weeks, and forfeiting on his promise would be the Slytherin’s one-way ticket to destroying the already-fragile tower of cards they had built, not to mention, Harry would surely rush head-long into danger like some idiotic knight without his helmet. He knew that, just like with his being a Death Eater, a spy, and a double-agent, Severus Snape was in too deep to withdraw. He had sworn to protect this boy, whom he cared for like he'dnever cared for Lily, and he would uphold his oath until his dying breath.
But he realized it was long since he had agreed to help Harry that it wasn't just for the sake of the vow or Lily, but for the boy himself. The boy he had, somehow, grown to care for, perhaps even more than he had cared for Lily… This one Gryffindor was his only anchor to this world, where he was neither needed nor wanted by anyone. Without protecting/watching over Harry, he held no purpose.
Harry swallowed, emotion surfacing to eyes. His voice broke the dense silence. “No, Severus, don't blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault. If I hadn’t aparated us out, the Aurors would have gotten you… well, and me, but you would have been chucked into Azkaban, and that's to say if you exclude the Death Eaters from the picture. And I don’t want that,” he said firmly. “Besides, I knew what I had signed up for. And I’ve been through far worse, but that’s just life.”
Severus sighed. "Harry—"
“Also, what about the orb?” Harry argued, not backing down. “The Death Eaters might be after the orb. For all we know, Malfoy could have also read that book and he and the Death Eaters are looking for it. You said it yourself that the curse is too dangerous for them to use, so what would be stopping them from going after the object that's even more powerful than the curse?”
Severus sighed deeply again and leaned back against a bookshelf, rubbing his eyelids tiredly with his fingertips. He said nothing, however.
“I can’t let anyone else get hurt, Severus," he added softly. "You know, when we — Ron, Hermione, and I —, when we were hunting those horcruxes, I often didn’t think I’d survive past the war. My only thoughts were that I wanted for my friends, the Weasleys… everyone, to have a normal life, one without a constant danger looming over their heads. I guess it’s what I’ve always wanted, too… But in the end, a month after the war, it's clear that having killed Voldemort obviously wasn't enough... as you can see, sir." He chuckled bitterly with a lights shake of his head at the mere audacity of things.
"Death Eaters are still terrorizing both the mugle and wizarding population… And it all comes down to me — it always has," he concluded. "Look at it any way you want, but I’m the reason Voldemort had murdered and destroyed left and right, just to get to me. I’m the reason we’re even here in the first place. So, you see? I have to do this. I want to do this — at least contribute greatly to the army's downfall. I can’t just sit back and do nothing while other people are getting hurt. And even despite what you've just said, you don’t have to help me, Severus, honest. But I will end what was started, regardless.”
Severus had lifted his head in Harry’s direction. His face was unreadable, but he knew it was a deliberate mask to conceal his emotions — any signs of vulnerability. But Harry had managed to learn some of the barely-noticeable details that would often betray the man's stoic facade. And the boy didn't need to be a Legilimens to deduce what was swimming in the older's head.
Guilt, regret, and remorse. Harry could distinguish and decipher them well-enough by now.
And he knew that those feelings could almost never pass — in fact, he knew this quite well himself, for it was one of his primal drives in this mission. No matter how many reassurances one would receive, it would never be enough. It was something that one had to resolve on their own… if that was even possible.
Some scars just never faded.
But when Harry looked closer, he couldn't begin to describe the feeling of warmth spreading through him at the look of pride in the dark eyes. But the look faded just as quickly… At last, Severus said softly, shaking his head, “ You have greatly misinterpreted things, I'm afraid. In truth, it is I who started all of this. You were just a victim of circumstance." he sighed, looking away. " However… I suppose I can understand that, Harry. Your reasons aren't dissimilar to my own. And you must know that I will not abandon either you or this mission. Never. However, You must face facts: we will not be able to do this alone. A confrontation with the Minister is inevitable. Acquiring help and advice from Kingsley will clear many things up, something we will establish come morning. It is unreasonable to discuss anything at all in our exhausted states.”
Harry rubbed his arm and sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. And… look, I guess I understand why you're worried, but I promise to be careful — we will be careful. Obviously, this whole thing is dangerous, don't think I don't realize that. But I can promise that we'll do this together, without 'running headlong into danger'," he promised as a sort of conclusion of the topic.
Severus quirked an eyebrow at him, a mockingly-disbelieving look on his face. "You, the Boy-Who-Lived, Gryffindor's Golden Boy, and Saviour of the bloody Wizarding World… promising such feats and commitment?" he drawled sarcastically. Harry rolled his eyes. "It is advisable not to make promises you cannot keep, especially to a Slythein such as I."
The younger wizard reclined back in his chair, a shrug accompanied by a nonchalant smirk. "You'll just have to see for yourself then, Sir. Should've thought better than making such commitments to me ," he replied cheekily.
"Well, life's taken quite a turn, hasn't it?" retorted Severus dryly. An involuntary chuckle escaped Harry, blamed on his exhaustion. He couldn't resist.
“Life isn’t fair, remember, Professor Snape ?”
His ex-professor approached him and lightly swatted his uninjured side of the head, still bandaged. “Moronic Gryffindor,” he growled, though with undeniable affection in his voice, shaking his head.
“Stuck-up Slytherin.”
“Dunderhead.”
“Git.”
Harry snorted out a laugh, but went log-still when the world spun in his vision. He shut his eyes tightly, presuming this was his lack of sleep, sustenance, and his recent injuries finally catching up to him like an avalanche. Suddenly, a warm, long-fingered hand fell on his shoulder, the gesture welcomed. Harry slowly squinted his eyes open, finding the older wizard leaning over him with deep concern etched in his features.
"Bed. Now." He then frowned as his eyes traveled to Harry's leg. “We shall have to monitor your leg. A new application of Dittany is due, and you should keep your leg elevated. Come; I shall see you to your room. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”
Harry's lips parted in surprise. "I'm sleeping in a room?" Okay, that came out worse than it had sounded in his head. He thought he would just spend the night on the couch right there, and definitely didn't consider the luxury of getting a room to himself.
Severus raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Of course. Did you seriously think you would be sleeping here?"
“Oh— uh, yeah, no,” Harry hastily assured, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck, heat slowly rising to his ears. Severus' expression remained impassive for a moment, but the boy knew it was a deliberate visage. “So, uh, yeah. Let's go,” he quickly decided before Severus could pursue the topic further.
The trip up the narrow stairs was interesting, put eloquently. Harry kept stumbling with every hop on his good foot as Severus kept his arm linked with his in support. The young man had never had the Feather-Light Charm cast on himself, but because he now weighed close to nothing to the man, their sense of weight lacked balance.
The upper storey was also a small, narrow corridor; on the right-hand-side were two doors, and only one on the left. The wallpaper here looked much more tattered and old, peeling off the drywall in some places, and the ceiling corners were decorated in spiderwebs.
“My room is the one on the right. The bathroom is the one furthest down. You shall stay here,” informed Severus, pointing out the doors before finally opening to one closest to them.
It was around the size of Dudley's second bedroom, except it was adequately furnished and tidy, though lacked much color. A single dirty window peaked between the small gap left by old, brown curtains, the wall corner beside it appearing suspiciously-weathered… there was almost some sort of negative energy emanating from it… A small four-poster bed stood in the middle with a bedside table, made and tidy. Other than that, there was a plain wardrobe and a writing desk.
Harry stood dumbstruck for several, silent moments. There were many things he never thought he'd see in his life, like Voldemort emerging out of a cauldron, naked, in the middle of a graveyard, or like a ginormous acromantula in his Second-Year… but to see the childhood bedroom of Severus Snape just felt… surreal.
Come to think of it, he was probably the only person alive to have ever seen it, excluding the man himself.
Giving himself a quick mental shake, Harry raised his eyes to judge Severus' reaction. But what he was met with instantly sobered his amused thoughts. The man's posture was stiff as a log, as though he'd been incapacitated. His dark eyes were transfixed on the weathered-down corner, his face an unreadable mask still. But the array of emotions radiating off the man were almost palpable. Then, his gaze traveled down to Harry, as if connecting the two somehow, and the pain became clear as day in his glazed-over eyes.
This unsettled Harry to no end, and he suddenly felt like he were intruding on something very private. He wasn't sure what he should do; he had a forbidding feeling that this room perhaps held more unpleasant memories for the man than the rest of the house.
“Sir?”
The man kept staring.
“Sir?” Harry tapped his shoulder. This seemed to have done the trick, for the older wizard blinked a few times and met Harry's gaze. He cleared his throat.
“You may use the toiletries already in the bathroom. Don't forget to waterproof your wrappings. Here are your things and the essence of Dittany. Seeing as I had applied a more potent version, your leg injury should be half-way healed. Regarding your head wound, I believe it is adequate. I entrust you with applying an adequate amount.”
Severus quickly re-sized a miniature bag and handed both articles to Harry. “Furthermore, here is the improved Dreamless Sleep, should you require it. Your belongings are in this rucjsack.” He conjured a small vial of the pretty, midnight-blue potion.
“My room is off limits — not that you should be traversing about the house at night. But should you have need of me, do not hesitate to knock.” No sooner had he said that, the Slytherin turned briskly to leave.
Harry, his hands full of items, was slightly at a loss of words at Severus' sudden mood shift. He was curious to ask what was wrong or what happened (maybe he'd done something to upset the wizard?), but firmly held back his tongue. Both were beyond exhausted, and another emotionaly-heavy conversation would surely do them in.
It had taken weeks to get them to develop the mutual respect-found relationship and trust, and one wrong move could easily collapse that fragile tower of cards. So, he called out the only thing he could think of.
“Good night, Severus.”
Severus paused ever-so-briefly as he was passing the threshold. Without turning around, he gave Harry the tiniest nod before softly shutting the door behind him.
An invisible force was suffocating him.
His lungs felt as if they had the Dementors' stick-like hands constricting them, refusing them to cooperate to the brain signals he was attempting to send them
Several failed attempts and counting.
Several failed attempts at Occluding. Several failed attempts at reigning in his emotions. Several failed attempts at disciplining the mind.
Was this what losing one's mind felt like?
It was the walls, the man decided, perched on the very edge of the bed, with the disgusting, khaki-green floral wallpaper. It was threatening to peel off all the way and choke him; finish the job Nagini hadn't abled.
Or perhaps it was the bed, where his drunken father and poor, desperate mother had—
His reaction was abrupt. He shot off the bed as if burned. The look with which he turned to glare at the offensive object baffled him how the furniture hadn't yet been singed into a pile of ashes.
Severus began to pace the length of his room…back and forth, back and forth. We're it not for Harry, he would stop at nothing to destroy this house down to the last brick; to the last vile, revolting memory that continued to haunt at his soul and plague his mind since early childhood.
What have I done?
Prior to the war, Severus had mostly resided at Hogwarts — the closest thing to home he'd ever known. During the summer, he would retreat back to this inherited hellhole. He'd considered selling the place more times than he could count, but in the end always decided he didn't wish to bother with something so tedious, and as the war had drawn nearer, pointless.
He'd also never considered his life after the war. He hadn't made any retirement plans, or where he would live, what he would do, and so on. In full truth, he'd long since accepted his deathly fate. Life of a spy was a tightrope game.
He had no-one. He was a mere asset; a mere pawn in this life. He would die alone, and no-one would be the wiser. He was a pile of despicable mold, which would rot away at some point and leave nothing in its place… most likely in Azkaban.
But then, he'd survived Nagini.
When Kingsley had come to see him for the first time, the matter of his Cokeworth residence came up. Severus had told Kingsley in full confidence he would never step foot there again. It had been a sort of vow he made to himself.
But then, there he was, pacing along the ugly threadbare rug on which his parents had, too, stepped foot.
The threadbare rug, onto which seven-year-old Severus had watched his drunken father shove his mother, a powerful yet helpless witch.
Or perhaps the door, which had been reinstated magically by Eileen after it had been broken brutally off it's hinges when Tobias had—
"ENOUGH!" snarled Severus viciously to no-one in particular. His anxiety was getting the best of him. He tried to Occlude one more, stopping in his tracks to try to gather his thoughts…
But one face, so innocent and young, kept reappearing in his head.
What have I done ?
Up until tonight, Severus hadn't been inside his childhood bedroom in decades. Perhaps this made him a coward, but the painful memories the place held were too much of a burden as it was. So, he'd simply locked it up, the action having felt like he was shutting down a garage door on his traumatic memories of the past.
…a scrawny, greasy-black-haired figure huddled in the corner…
… A small, bespectacled boy, hugging himself for comfort in a narrow, confined, dark space…
He'd brought Harry here. Lily's son.
What have I done?
Harry, who had also had a similar, unsavory childhood, if one could even call it that.
Harry, who had been neglected and abused.
Harry, who had already spent sixteen years in an abusive home… had been brought to a new one, and by none other than Severus himself.
What must Lily think? Oh, Lily…
When he'd shown Harry into his childhood bedroom, one so filled with those bitter memories, he couldn't help seeing the uncanny resemblance between jim and tge young man. It had felt as though someone had added salt to a deep, still-raw wound.
Severus had brought Lily's only child, the child he'd sworn to protect, to this hellhole, a place tainted so much vulgar and filth that he could practically hear the quarrels, fights, and yelling trapped within the wallpaper.
The tainted wallpaper… so innocently peeling off the dry plaster.
"Incendio!"
The word was hissed with putrid hatred. He watched in satisfaction as the small piece of paper curled in on itself and burned in magnificent flames on the termite-eaten laminate. Of course, before it could spread into a full-fledged house fire, Severus put it out.
He loathed this place with a burning passion and couldn't wait to leave it.
Notes:
QUESTION: should I include that last paragraph or two from the previous chapter at the beginnings of future chapters to serve as a sort of recap?
As always, tell me what you guys think! I tried really hard with this chapter and like how it turned out. School's been so hectic lately, and I'm awfully stuck on chapter 47 right now cuz there's this one scene where... ah, no spoilers. Can't wait to write either the end of that chapter or the beginning of the following one! Gonna be super angsty.
Again, please review (all thoughts and suggestions are welcome) and I really hope you've enjoyed today's conent! Next chapter - 9th Dec. Happy holiday season❄️🎄
12.06 update: I just realised how many typos there are in this chapter, and some of them made me cringe so bad🫠 Guess I really shouldn't trust my dumb fingers on a shaking bus to edit work before uploading, huh(as I currently am on one)? Ugh, I'll try to patch this chapter up over the weekend🙌
Chapter 41: Morning Brings News
Summary:
"Morning, sir," greeted Harry from the entrance. Severus nodded at him in polite acknowledgement and gestured vaguely for him to have a seat. Wordlessly, the man stood and started busying himself at the small kitchen. Harry chose a chair opposite Severus' vacated one at the round table, sparing a glance at the clock as he did so, which informed him of thirty past nine.
Notes:
Ah, yes. Finally. Chapter 41:D Oh, man... this chapter - THis CHAPTER - took me (fr) like six hours to edit! Ugh, I honestly thought it would be the death of me! Had to trash a lot of content to coincide with the previous and future chapters.
So, I actually had to go back a few chapters for context, and I am NOT PROUD to say that I found so. many. grammatical and wording. mistakes! Not only that, but I have a bad habit of editing content on the shaky bus on my small phone in google docs which keeps CRASHING -! *cough. Ahem. Yes, so, umm... personally embarrased, considering I'm a native English speaker🫣... can we just blame it on the tress of 'exam month'? Like I swear, those people who say 'English is not my first language' writ ebetter than me, LOL.
Also, isn't it just lovely how I happen to be an artist with dislexia? Yeah, got tested and everything... how jolly.
But I DO have plans to revisit every chapter and edit it, now that my tests are pretty much over😊. Fret not, for the context won't change at all, just the grammar and wording.
I hope you enjoy this chapter and share your opinions, and TYSM for all of your support!🤗
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
recap:
Severus had brought Lily's only child, the child he'd sworn to protect, to this hellhole, a place tainted so much vulgar and filth that he could practically hear the quarrels, fights, and yelling trapped within the wallpaper.
The tainted wallpaper… so innocently peeling off the dry plaster.
"Incendio!"
The word was hissed with putrid hatred. He watched in satisfaction as the small piece of paper curled in on itself and burned in magnificent flames on the termite-eaten laminate. Of course, before it could spread into a full-fledged house fire, Severus put it out.
He loathed this place with a burning passion and couldn't wait to leave it.
No shafts of harsh sunlight greeted his closed lids when he awoke, but the room was full of overcast daylight. Even though he was just gaining consciousness, the boy could already tell the depressing mood the weather had set.
Rolling over to the other side, Harry groaned and stretched as far as his sore limbs would allow him… his back and neck were positively killing him from having slept in a shrimp posture. Notwithstanding, his every fiber of being was screaming at him to savor the feeling of the soft fabric beneath him after a rare, uninterrupted night's rest. So, for a while, the wizard lay there, daydreaming about nothing in particular… but this didn't last long, as memories of the previous night's ordeal flooded back in. Still, it took him several moments to discern if they were real or just some part of his sleep-induced fascination.
Grumbling some incoherent nonsense, Harry groggily propped himself up on his elbows and scratched the small stubble that had formed over a few days of neglect with a grossed-out frown. Severus' childhood bed — blurred in his glass-less vision — was still the exact way it'd been last night, save for the faded duvet, which was wrinkled and pressed in the shape of a scrawny figure. He couldn't even recall his head hitting the soft fabric before he had been out of it, though he could distinctly remember something feeling wrong in those last few moments of consciousness.
This entire room, come to think of it, still felt wrong.
It was almost as if something dark and depressing was wallowing around in it, lurking in the corner by the window… the shadow of the wardrobe… under the desk… something oppressive and uncannily-familiar that sent unwarranted goosebumps down his arms. Perhaps it was due to the context he was privy to regarding Severus' childhood that the atmosphere felt so unsettling to Harry, given his own less-than-savory memories of the Dursleys.
The Gryffindor quickly shook his head. He really was in no position to complain, given that, surprisingly enough, he'd slept better last night than he had in ages! And despite the less-than-convenient position in which he'd slept, and the creeps the room emitted, Harry actually felt well-rested. His eyes strayed to the small bedside table, where the familiar bottle of deep midnight-blue lay, still stoppered and undrunk. Since Severus' invention of it, Harry had still yet to try the improved Dreamless Sleep formula. How ironic it was, that now that he had the cure to his insomnia at his disposal, he was managing without it.
Rubbing the sleep out of his gritty eyes, Harry gropped around blindly for his round frames, finding them undamaged on the bed. His vision cleared, and the boy took a moment to peer around the room. Nothing had changed with the new sharpness and detail, of course, but he felt weirdly drawn to the old wardrobe in the corner. He was, after all, in the mysterious Potions Master's childhood bedroom, and his toes were positively tingling with inane curiosity.
Harry quickly donned his sneakers and carefully tested his injured foot. He was pleased to no longer feel the sharp, shooting pain in his calf, though it still ached a bit. He had applied the salve that Severus had prescribed him before bed, and while he had been expecting a gruesome sight to meet him upon unraveling the gauze on his leg, he had been surprised to find the skin severely scarred, but almost completely healed.
Severus hadn't given him any gauze either, much to his surprise, so Harry had deemed it safe to leave it unwrapped. Besides, he already knew the importance of allowing the injured flesh to breathe (from those times when Madame Pomfrey would pester him in the Hospital Wing). His head was still wrapped though, as Severus had hinted it was alright to leave it untoucunt, so he'd done as such.
Slowly, Harry half-limped over to the mysterious piece of furniture. One of its dark oak doors hung crooked on its hinges, so he warily pulled the other open. In the back of his mind, he knew he probably shouldn't be prying about in the man's old bedroom, but curiosity had always had a knack for getting the best of him.
To his disappointment, however, the wardrobe's shelves were bare, a ripped spider web hanging loosely in an upper corner. There were, however, a few closed drawers at the bottom. He tried them, but they were locked. Harry brandished his wand from his holster and Alohomora -ed the three of them… there were several satisfying clicks.
The treasure in the first compartment were several black socks with holes in them (thankfully odorless), and a worn-out Slytherin House scarf. Neither fascinated him.
The middle compartment seemed to offer something promising: the Gryffindor pulled out several sheets of average wizarding parchment and muggle printer paper. He chose the top one, this one muggle, and gasped softly upon turning it over.
It was a coloured-pencil drawing of a scrawny-looking boy with black hair standing next to a girl with vibrant-green eyes and long, red hair. The two were holding hands, their setting what appeared to be a playpark. At the bottom, two names were signed next to a date of the 3rd of August, 1971. It was drawn in a rather child-like style. The artwork caught and held Harry's breath, rendering him almost afraid to breathe on the priceless historical artifact. This was drawn the summer Severus and his mum had met!
Carefully moving the paper to the back of the stack, Harry pursued the other parchments eagerly. One was a rather skillful ink sketch of a fox, and a few other were of different plants and herbs (Harry recognised several of which they'd gone over in Herbology in his earlier Hogwarts years). What endeared him the most was the same feminine signature on each one of them; the four flowy letters brought a wobbly smile to his face.
At last, he stopped at what he supposed was supposed to be a realistic portrait of Severus. He'd barely managed to stifle a laugh at how elaborately his mum had sketched his nose. The man he knew today looked to be around fourteen-ish in this masterpiece, if Harry had to wager a guess.
He'd never known much about his parents, let alone his mother's, except for the obvious things. He knew of his father's achievements in Quidditch and of his mother's knack for Charms and Potions… but no-one had ever told Harry his mum had enjoyed drawing. What confused Harry, most, though, was the sudden rush of jealousy and envy he felt toward Severus. The man had actually known Lily, even if their friendship had lasted until the 'mudblood' incident. He, however, hadn't even had that luxury — of having actually known her.
Again, the realization that Severus Snape was his last link to Lily Potter hit him with a pang. The topic of Lily, whenever it came up, was always awkward and painful for them both to discuss, but Harry always subconsciously kept his ears wide-open in case Severus let slip something — anything — about her. Severus wasn't the talkative type, especially when it came to opening up to mutually-painful things like that.
Briefly, Harry wondered if he had inherited his mother's artistic talent. Not likely though: he'd enjoyed drawing when he was little, but he'd never been exceptionally good at it… His and Ron's competitions of who could draw an uglier Snape briefly flitted to mind… yeah, he definitely hadn't inherited his mother's talent, much to his dismay.
Smiling bittersweetly, Harry neatly rearranged the drawings, placing them back in their resting place with a promise to ask his host about them later. There was one drawer left to be searched, after all, and Harry reached for it eagerly.
Alas, upon opening it, he was met with the corpse of a dead spider, its legs curled in on itself. With a disappointed huff, the boy made to close it, but furrowed his brows when something wouldn't let him. Said something rattled when he tried wobbling the drawer. With reinstated excitement, Harry removed the wooden box and started groping around blindly with his hand… before pulling out a tied, colorful thread with childish beads and a flower charm attached to its end — a lily. It was a pitiful-looking thing, the ends frayed, but at the same time, it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever laid eyes on.
With a tender touch, he brushed his thumb over the metal flower. He could feel his hands begin to tremble slightly as the weight of the realization of what he was holding hit him full-force. This was something his mother had once held; had probably made with her bare hands! It felt surreal to Harry, the feeling of being so close to, yet so far from, the woman who had sacrificed herself for her son, whom she'd loved unconditionally.
Harry was alarmed to find his eyes growing moist. Clumsily rubbing his face with his sleeve, he gave his head a firm shake and steeled himself. The charm still clutched in his hand, Harry pocketed the small find, and wobbled off to take a long-overdue shower.
The limp downstairs was slow, but progressive.
The cold shower and wand-shave had done Harry well, leaving him feeling like an entirely new person. He added 'pay respects to the founder of the Refreshening Charm for clothes' grave' to his bucket list. Same went for waterproof charms, which he'd used on his head and leg. The things made him feel both like an imbecile and some invalid. Overall, he wouldn't say he felt overly chipper, but definitely better than he had in days . His leg was all-but healed, but he'd left the bandage around his head untouched, though as much as he craved to remove the ridiculous-looking atrocity. On another account of his appearance, he was dressed in whatever clothes he'd found first in the bag Severus had packed him: plain jeans and a red, checkered flannel shirt.
Upon finding no soul in the sitting room, Harry trudged through the alcove entrance that led to the kitchen. There sat Severus, a mug of hot beverage cradled in his hands and two vials laying upon the small, round table. He had been gazing out the window overlooking an overgrown backyard, but his head had since turned to his guest, face impassive.
"Morning, sir," greeted Harry from the entrance. Severus nodded at him in polite acknowledgement and gestured vaguely for him to have a seat. Wordlessly, the man stood and started busying himself at the small kitchen. Harry chose a chair opposite Severus' vacated one at the round table, sparing a glance at the clock as he did so, which informed him of thirty past nine.
"Preference of beverage?"
"Huh?"
"Tea of coffee?"
"Oh. Coffee, please. Thanks."
Soft sounds of clicking china filled the room, but Harry noted that the man was doing everything manually, rather than by wand. Harry could deduce why, of course. Physical labor was an infallible stress-reliever.
Why did the man need one now?
Ah. Yes, well, looking back on last night, it went without saying, he supposed.
The silence reigned for several long moments. Harry contented himself with studying the kitchen, his hand having found their way inside of his pocket where the lily charm lay, wondering how best to bring up the matter… At last, a chipped mug was slid in front of him, the heavenly smell of the caffeinated drink savory to his sinuses.
"Drink the potion prior," the Potions Master instructed, indicating towards one of the orange-ish vials. Harry picked one up, studying its orange contents.
"What is it?"
"Rat poison."
Harry rolled his eyes and unstoppered the vial. He smelled it… fruity. Deducing it was the aforementioned nutrition potion, he downed it in a few gulps. He hadn't even realized how empty his stomach had felt until it no longer ached.
"I had thought you would recognise it from the previous night… lest you forwent the potion I had prescribed you?" asked Severus with a raised eyebrow, rapping his fingers on the table.
Harry shrugged. "Guess I was just tired; don't even remember falling asleep. I rubbed the Dittany on, though."
Severus' brows furrowed. "How is your leg? Head?"
Another shrug. "Fi—"
" —Potter, I swear —!"
"Okay, okay!" He held up his hands defensively. "My leg hurts when I walk, but it's more of a dull ache. I deemed it alright to take the bandages off last night, since it's almost healed. My head… it doesn't feel like anything, to be honest, but it would be nice to finally be rid of this stupi thing… But really, I've been through far worse," he finished lightly, specifically remembering Gildroy Lockhart 'fixing' his arm in Second Year. That had certainly been fun .
The man nodded in approval and slumped back in his chair, downing his own potion and taking a sip of his tea. Harry tried his coffee, tasting the black bittersweetness. Hmm, how old was this?
"I will need to assess both your injuries, but I trust your discretion. I trust the Improved Dreamless Sleep proved efficacious?"
Harry looked up, meeting the man's obsidian eyes. Only then did he notice the dark circle beneath them. Had he slept at all? "Oh, uh… sorry, Severus, I didn't take it. Like I said, I guess I was more tired than I thought," he said awkwardly, eyes downcast. "But thank you… really," he added reverently. "You— you have no idea how much I appreciate it, sir."
Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, re-entwining his fingers. "You needn't apologize. I am actually rather pleased that you didn't require its use. Despite the improved formula, every potion is still addictive, and one cannot always rely on it," was his stiff reply. Apparently having reached the end of that topic, he finished off his tea and stood to leave. "Now, we have a fairly busy day looming overhead. Finish your coffee and join me in the sitting room; I shall fill you in on —"
" — My mother was a good drawer."
The words had sprung out of his mouth so suddenly, Harry almost choked on his own saliva. Severus turned sharply in the doorway, looking just as caught-off-guard. He hadn't meant to say it, but it just slipped out. This remark was followed by dead silence. Harry stared down into his coffee, feeling the man's gaze on him.
"Pardon?" he intoned in his low, baritone voice.
"I— I know I probably shouldn't have, but I found a few sketches signed by my mother. She… I never — no-one's ever told me she could draw so well," he stumbled over his words, belatedly noticing the slight hint of accusation that had slipped into his tone.
More silence ensued, and Harry wondered briefly if he'd overstepped some line. It's not like the man was obliged to divulge every little detail to him about his late mother… And, still, the fact that the precious information was so close, yet so far from him, all within the man before him, hurt. It was hard to explain…
There was a sigh; soft footfalls made their way back over to the recently-vacated chair. Severus sat, interlocking his long fingers in front of him. Harry tentatively gazed up; he wasn't surprised to find the man observing him, face imperceptible.
"She was… exceptionally gifted in various areas," said Severus finally in a halting voice. "Your mother often enjoyed 'capturing the moment', as she would put it, though she'd never strived to hone her artistic abilities in particular. The sketches you've happened upon — in the old wardrobe, I presume — are the only ones I've managed to salvage."
Harry wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he settled for a nod, commiting the precious nugget of information to memory. Severus' answer wasn't one that elicited many follow-up questions. It was but a statement of fact, like hay fed to cattle. Just information. Precious information, at that, but… it was hard to explain. He still held conflicted with his earlier envy, as irrational as he knew it to be, but he couldn't help it. While Severus had lived those sentences, Harry could only picture them in his head, and the unfairness of it felt… beyond verbal expression.
"They are yours to keep."
Harry's head snapped up in surprise at the gentle tone. He felt his hardened expression soften, not even having realized it before. Meeting Severus' gaze, he only saw sincerity in them, and despite his warring feelings, he felt a smile crossing his face. But it only lasted all of a second before he sobered at a thought.
"I– I couldn't. They're your's, Severus. But, thank you." He was sure the man also didn't have much left of his best friend. And, as badly as he wanted to, he couldn't strip Severus of such precious memories.
A warm hand suddenly laid down to rest atop his own, tentatively squeezing it. Harry looked up again to meet the black eyes. "I insist. They are rightfully yours, Harry. I've already had my share of them. Besides, It's not like I would never see them again; those are just the magical copies I had created. I can certainly hand you the original ones, however."
Harry smiled at the man warmly. He almost thought he could sense something deeper, more depressing behind his words, but didn't delve far into it. "I guess… umm… but yeah, I would really like that. Thank you, Severus." A pause as he bit his lip, looking at Severus' carefully-impassive face tentatively. "Any word from Kingsley? When are we contacting him?"
Severus set down his cup. "He and I had exchanged Patroni messages earlier. The minister shall Floo to us at 11:00, his earliest convenience. There was quite an ordeal last night, and he is entangled in its aftermath," he explained.
A knot in Harry's stomach suddenly formed. "What do you mean? Something other than what happened at Malfoy Manor? Is it Prince Manor? Did the Death Eaters really break though the wards?" he rambled frantically.
"Calm yourself, you foolish boy!" chided Severus, albeit without much heat. He sighed heavily, and began in a clinical, low tone. "Unfortunately, yes, and more… There was a large-scale Azkaban breakout shortly after our escapade, and most of its prisoners are now at large. The Ministry is in disarray, with everyone questioning the other's identity… and Prince manor is currently in shambles."
"What!?" Harry's heart sank like a heavy anchor. A million thoughts swirled around in his head, unsure of what information to try to wrap his head around first. A breakout? The Death Eaters they had captured in Grimmauld Place, like Lucius, the Carrows, and Dolohov… they were all at large. And the manor? Harry felt close to heartbroken at the news of the place he'd all but begun to consider 'home' was now in ruin… How was Severus so calm about it!? His entire encerstral manor was just destroyed, and he'd shared the news as though was talking about the bloody weather!
But then again…
“...I felt ashamed of the Princes. It revolted me to accept their inheritance — their filthy gold and this manor along with it. I wanted nothing to do with either my mother’s or father’s parentage…"
What if it were the Dursley's home that had been destroyed? Would Harry be feeling the same level of indifference?
Still, harry couldn't help the feeling of loss. The manor had been the first place he'd somehow come to call 'home'. He'd always considered Hogwarts his home, but the context of it's meaning was a little different.
"What— how?" was the young man's most articulate reply, his voice a little thinner than usual. He cleared his throat.
Severu still wore that same mask of stoicism, and Harry was growing fed up with it. " In the context of Azkaban, my knowledge is limited to yours. I suspect the Death Eaters had been planning to orchestrate this for a while, as the Aurors positioned there were outnumbered ten-to-one… I am unaware of any casualties. Concerning the manor, it was singed and demolished by the Death Eaters, the numbers/identities unknown. There is nothing more, nothing less, to it," he finished blandly, running a long finger along the rim of his cup.
"And you're… OK with this?" hedged Harry, twirling his mug by its handle between his fingers, catching the small chipped dent. He looked up just in time to see something dark flash in Severus' eyes, a sneer forming on his face as he turned toward the window.
"The residence has never held any sentimental value to me," he replied shortly. "As I've already told you, I wished nothing to do with it in the first place. Besides this point, it is unwise to grown attached to anything, either material or moral, like some fools tend to."
The unsaid 'or anyone' lingered in the air between them, and Harry's heart constricted a bit. No-one deserved to be alone and forbidden to form attachments. He supposed it hurt more when the thing or person was ripped away from you, but what was a life without something or someone to love? How could a person live in such solitude and isolation? It was inhumane, and Severus was a prime example of it.
Harry shook his head. "I… that's wrong, Severus. I don't agree. Everyone needs to be attached to something or someone… otherwise, what's there to anchor you?" he said wisely. "You know, Dumbledore once said, 'Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love'..."
Severus said nothing at this, but did turn his head back toward Harry. His expression was hard, but not with malice… remorse, perhaps? Some dissonant emotion, that much was clear, as he stared at Harry. The younger wizard felt uncomfortable under the intense gaze, and shifted in his high-backed chair. Perhaps that hadn't been the right thing to say?
"Sorry, if…" he started to say, but was silenced by Severus' hand.
"You've nothing to apologize for," interjected Severus briskly. "You are fully entitled to voice your thoughts and opinions. Wisely, let us abandon this topic. What matters is that we are relatively safe — fret not, Nibby is currently at Hogwarts. Now, if you've no further inquiries, I believe we should resume last night's postponed matter."
Harry sat up a little straighter in his chair at this, folding his hands in front of him and agreeing whole-heartedly. Right, there was still the question of what they would tell Kingsley about… well, everything.
"Right, so," began Harry thoughtfully, hands toying with the hem of his shirt in his lap, "Exactly how much are we going to tell Kingsley? And what exactly did you tell him earlier?" he posed the question.
"You will do well to remember that Patronus messages aren't letters, Harry," he reminded pointedly, quirking an eyebrow at him. "As I had aforementioned, very minimal information was exchanged between us. As of now, the Minister is only aware of our location and safety, and that my Floo network will open at promptly 11:00."
Harry pursed his lips. "So, I'm guessing we should just come out with the whole truth?" he inferred. "If he's going to help us, it wouldn't do for him to know half the story… of how we infiltrated Malfoy Manor and what we've discovered, I mean. Not of our, I guess you could call them, motives," he elaborated quickly. Severus nodded his agreement.
"Quite obviously, yes. We are in agreement here."
Harry reclined back in his chair, glad they got through that matter without a hitch. "Okay, well, what about the Tenebris Orb? We obviously have to find and destroy it, Severus," stated Harry resolutely. "If they're gathering a whole army and plan on using that thing to make the Dementors attack…"
"Yes, we have already established as much," Severus cut across. "If I recall correctly, we had discussed the idea of a possible Auror infiltration of Slieve League Cliffs, allegedly their stronghold. The idea holds merit still, and is probably the wisest. As of now, it is currently our best lead."
"And that's what we'll propose to Kingsley, then," concluded Harry. "But do you think the Ministry could take on all of them?" he inquired, folding his arms and looking at Severus in skepticism.
The man quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you possess any other brilliant ideas, Harry?" he countered dryly. "Despite the imposter situation at the Ministry, the Aurors are well-trained and competent. Furthermore, it is one of the Auror requirements to be capable of casting a corporeal Patronus Charm, thus they should far more than manage. Not only that, but such a stronghold infiltration would draw out the imposters… I assume the numbers would be about tied."
Harry considered this for a moment longer. He really didn't have any better ideas, and this plan seemed like the best they would get. "Right, then," he conceded. "Let's go tell Kingsley."
Notes:
So? What did you think? I really hope I didn't miss to add anything crucial to the plot, heh😅 Concerning the stringed charm Harry found - yes, it is going to play a rather important role later on. I actually added it last-minute, so now I need to stick it into the other chapters. But OH - OH! I literally just realized where I can implement it! Epiphany, lol. Ah, yes, the drama scene... yay, I love my free therapy😅(don't worry, I'm just as sane as you are).
IMPORTANT!: for future refrence (just as a precaution, idk): In case of any uploading schedule changes or anything along those lines, the info will be available the end notes of the latest chapter.
Tysm again, and don't forget to share your thoughts! Next chapter - Dec. 16th!
Chapter 42: Grounding Plans
Summary:
"Severus. Mr. Potter. I sorely hope you both have plausible explanations for this…" A rolled-up Daily Prophet suddenly appeared in his hand. He unfurled it, displaying the headline…s, all of them pushing the other out of their way from lack of room on the front page.
Notes:
More notes at the end:) BTW: from now on, if you see '***', that means there's a change of POV. It's NOT a scene jump. Okay, enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap: "And that's what we'll propose to Kingsley, then," concluded Harry. "But do you think the Ministry could take on all of them?" he inquired, folding his arms and looking at Severus in skepticism.
The man quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you possess any other brilliant ideas, Harry?" he countered dryly. "Despite the imposter situation at the Ministry, the Aurors are well-trained and competent. Furthermore, it is one of the Auror requirements to be capable of casting a corporeal Patronus Charm, thus they should far more than manage. Not only that, but such a stronghold infiltration would draw out the imposters… I assume the numbers would be about tied."
Harry considered this for a moment longer. He really didn't have any better ideas, and this plan seemed like the best they would get. "Right, then," he conceded. "Let's go tell Kingsley."
At not a minute past 11:00, the coals in the unlit grate pulsated in a vibrant green. Harry stood from the couch, joining Severus, who had been slowly wearing a hole in the threadbare rug with his pacing. The man flicked his wand. Promptly following this, a dark-skinned man with elaborate turquoise robes and a hoop earring stepped through. But instead of a light smile, his deep-chocolate eyes had circles beneath them, and his frown wasn't too much of a welcoming sight.
"Severus. Mr. Potter. I sorely hope you both have plausible explanations for this…" A rolled-up Daily Prophet suddenly appeared in his hand. He unfurled it, displaying the headline…s, all of them pushing the other out of their way from lack of room on the front page.
'Mayhem at the Ministry'...
'Massive Azkaban Breakout, Death Eaters and Dementors At Large'...
'Malfoy Manor Infiltration'...
'Minister's competence questioned'...
'Ancient and once-forgotten Prince Manor Demolished'...
There was a heavy sigh to his left. "Indeed we do. Let us sit," invited Severus bleakly after several moments of silence. He and Harry sat upon the couch while Kingsley took up an armchair. Severus took to acknowledge the Minister's equanimity. He appreciated the man deeply, his levelheadedness and composure, even in such serious situations as this.
"You were spotted at Malfoy Manor last evening. Now you are here. How, and more importantly, why?" he inquired without preamble. “Also, am I correct to presume your state is a consequence of last night, Mr. Potter?” he inferred knowingly, gesturing at Harry's still-bandaged head with his chin. “Dear Merlin,” he breathed disapprovingly.
Harry answered, "Yeah — I mean, yes, Kingsley. But I'm fine. Als, it's a long story. Se— Professor Snape said there's this secret library in Malfoy Manor where we thought we would find something on the dementors and the Tenebris Cogitando Curse. So, he brewed a potion that depleted his magic for a short time, so that his Dark Mark and signature wouldn't be detected. Then we just took down the wards and sneaked in under my Invisibility Cloak. On our way back, we were somehow discovered, and all hell broke loose. " Harry paused at Kingsley's look of confusion. It had just hit him that the Minister wasn't aware of anything he and Severus had recently discovered.
"Tenebris Cogitando…" the wizard tested the words. "It does not ring any bells."
“Oh right.”
For the next few minutes, Severus and Harry filled the Minister in on everything they knew of the curse, legend, and what they had discovered at Malfoy Manor. It took a while, and the admonishing look on Kingsley's face wasn't too rewarding, but Harry kept knew that that was the least of their problems.
"...I apparated us to Prince Manor, but a curse traveled with us. That's why the wards failed and the building was infiltrated by Death Eaters," finished Harry. Kingsley nodded in understanding, long since pacing the length of the room, a contemplative look on his face. He nodded finally.
"But tell us about the Azkaban breakout — what happened?" asked Harry, leaning forward on the edge of his seat.
Evidently begrudgingly, Kingsley then filled them in briskly, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he paced the length of the room. "Shortly after your conundrum at Malfoy Manor, a massive attack on Azkaban was executed. Multiple casualties on our side, and nearly all prisoners missing, including Malfoy, the Carrows, Greyback, Yaxley, and Dolohov. The Death Eaters who had been posed under Polyjuice were, presumably, the ones to have initiated the breakout. As of now, we are encouraging the population — wizarding and muggle — to heed caution."
Kinglsye frowned. "On that note, let us return to the more pressing matter. I have never heard of such an object, this Orb you speak of, though I hold no doubt that it exists — I have always trusted your judgment and discretion, Potter, Severus. We need to discuss our next course of action." Here, his face hardened, and he pierced them both with his gaze.
"Notwithstanding the crucial information you have procured, I do not condone your running off into danger without having informed anyone. We had isolated you in Prince Manor for protection, not for you to indulge yourselves in such counter-effective endeavors. I wish you had trusted me more rather than disregard the safety measures we had provided you."
"So we are aware, Minister," replied Severus sincerely, taking the reins. "However, Mr. Potter and I are not some incompetent cowards observing from the safety of the sidelines. For reasons we cannot divulge, Potter and I had to involve ourselves. Do not perceive me as an imbecile; I am fully aware of the risks and responsibilities, as is Mr. Potter. Our hypothesis is rather plausible, and we have already discussed a possible plan, which we believe will bring an end to the Dark Lord's remaining army, should it be put into action. "
The Minister finally took perch on the nearest armchair, twining his thumbs together in his lap. His deep-chocolate eyes roamed from Harry to Severus, as if weighing the risks. Finally, he sighed. "Very well. What is it you propose?"
For the next several minutes, Severus filled Kingsley in on how they had linked the Orb to the Slieve League Cliffs, and of their idea of an Auror infiltration of the place. Severus' abridged retelling was short but informative, and Harry found that it helped even him to sort of reorganize everything in his head.
"Hmm. I see… And I supposed you have conducted a suggestion to all this?" inferred Kingsley, toying with his hoop earring. "Unfortunately, the Ministry is in more of a disarray than ever. We cannot trust even our anonymous Auror circle anymore, especially after yesterday's ordeal. We suspect a bare minimum of twenty imposters in our midst. In essence, I'm afraid I cannot, as Minister, provide you with much help, especially considering Severus is still a wanted Death Eater. And I couldn't send out possible Death Eaters to try to locate a Death Eater stronghold either."
"We know, Kingsley," answered Harry. "And that's why we think we should go and locate the stronghold ourselves." He spared a quick glance in some sort of reassurance at the dark-haired man sitting beside him, before turning back to Kingsley with shoulders squared. "Severus and I will go to Slieve League and try to locate the stronghold and the Tenebris Orb. From there, we will send you a signal to send all of the Aurors to the location. Hopefully, this will flesh out the imposters," he explained.
The wizard looked indecisive for a while, gazing deeply into the unlit grate, brows furrowed. Eventually, he sighed. “...Dumbledore was right, you see: you both severely lack a sense of self-preservation. Alas, I see there is no point in prompting two stubborn mules. Against my better judgment, I condone your plan," he said in his rich, baritone voice. "Objectively speaking, I can see how this plan can work. Of course, this doesn't mitigate the fact that your safety would be compromised without the protection of wards, but I haven't any sufficient safehouses to put you in either, so I suppose it is indifferent…” A small pause on consideration. “And you are correct: should their main base of operations fall, the Death Eaters will have no choice but to surrender. Without a big number or leaders, they will be easier to flesh out."
"And how would the Aurors travel to the location when you guys get our signal?" inquired Harry. Severus realized they hadn't really discussed that small nuance. "I guess a simple portkey probably wouldn't cut it?"
Kingsley thought for a short moment before holding up a hand. "Let that not concern you. Suffice to say, a group of Unspeakables is working on an ambitious project. Your job would be to merely send the signal." This was followed by a chorus of corroborative nods. ”On that matter, it would be wise to provide you each with your own portkey, should you find yourselves in a dire situation… yes, the concept of a failsafe portkey does appeal to me. I will endeavor to procure you two. A necessary precaution, I would say. And while we're on the subject, I suggest you use strong concealment charms,” he continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Polyjuice would only get you so far.”
“Kingsley,” began Harry, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. Severus resisted the urge to reach out and squeeze them reassuringly. “No matter what, the Weasleys and my friends can't know, alright?” he asked imploringly with concern. “They would be worried, and they have enough on their plates as is…”
To the boy's evident relief, Kingsley nodded in assent. "Of course. Any information shared between us will remain confidential. I will have to inform Minerva, however," he added seriously. "Now, I presume you will travel the muggle way?" he inferred briskly.
"Hold on," stopped Harry. "Why can't we portkey? or apparate?" Why use muggle transport when you're a wizard?
Severus turned slightly to face Harry. "Potter, traveling so far, especially overseas, can be dangerous and exetring, not to mention that aparating to an unknown location, especially one so far away, is inadvisable. Portkeys are more reliable in these terms, but you can imagine they are highly unsafe at the moment. No, we shall travel the muggle way."
The Minister retook his seat and nodded his head in approval. "Concerning travel, Severus is right, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid Muggle transport is your only option."
Harry deflated a bit. "So, how would we get there? We don't exactly have any maps on us, unless you could get us one?"
"And we require none." answered Severus matter-of-factly. "We shall take a train from London to Hollyhead, a widely-known Wales-Ireland service point. From Dublin, we shall take the train. I don't doubt that means of transport won't be a problem."
Harry stared. "Wh– how do you know all this? What are you, secretly a Geography professor?" he chuckled lightly.
Severus rolled his eyes at him, though allowed his eyes to show amusement. "Your proficiency in the familiarity with the country you live astounds me, Mr. Potter," he drawled. Harry cocked his head at him, offering a shrewd smile.
***
"So, when do we leave?” asked Harry, presuming the answer would be as soon as possible. And what will the signal be? We should have some form of contact… Patronuses are great, but they aren't exactly private if you get a message in the middle of a Ministry meeting."
"Come early morning is advisable — you should get an early start. And your concern has merit, Mr. Potter," greed Kingsley. "I believe two-way mirrors should suffice. I can easily procure some; it will not be a problem…"
A sudden ringing filled Harry's ears, the Minister's voice dying out. A sudden image of his godfather appeared in his head, his mirthful smile and taunting laughter, right before he… right before the dark witch had…
The two-way mirror shard still laid in his rucksack, a namesake and bitter reminder of his stupidity and how Sirius' death could have been avoided. Though it's been three years, a concept still hard for him to wrap his head, Harry would still be painfully reminded of the loss of his godfather. Though he tried to conceal it, the pain was still there. He hadn't even had a funeral to attend, to grieve properly. There hadn't been a body to bury, like with the Lupins. The mirror shard was the only keepsake of Sirius that Harry had. If it weren't for the magical piece of glass, Harry would surely think that having had a godfather had been all but a dream.
Thus, the thought of using the two-way mirrors made his stomach clench uncomfortably.
"...as early as tomorrow morning," Kingsley was still saying, the voice finally registering within Harry's head. He gave himself a mental shake, thankful that no-one semed to have noticed. What were they talking about, again?
"Take the rest of today to pack, rest, and prepare. I shall send over the mirrors shortly. We will keep in touch. Be sure to inform me whenever you reach a checkpoint in your journey."
Severus turned to look at him, Harry noticed, with something inquisitive in his eyes, almost curious and concerned. Harry ignored him, though, and attempted to pull a face of indifference. "We'll do that, Kingsey. Thanks," he commented, not entirely aware of the context he'd zoned out of.
Kingsley nodded and moved for the fireplace. Harry and Severus stood simultaneously.
"Oh. And before I leave, Mr. Potter, " he turned around, "I had received a very anxious call from the Burrow, I believe from Ginerva Weasley. Something about a bracelet going warm as a sign you were in danger? You caused quite a commotion there, but I'll be sure to reassure everyone that you are alive."
Harry's stomach plummeted with guilt, He'd completely forgotten about the silver bands he'd got for himself and his girlfriend. How could he have? How could he have just forgotten about Ginny, Ron, Hermione, the entire Burrow…? He'd definitely been busy, and tried reasoning internally that he hadn't really had many opportunities for visits and letters, but the sudden longing for them was heavy in his chest. They probably knew something was going on, and Harry had reassured his friends that he wouldn't do anything dangerous… He felt awful.
"Kingsley? Would you mind giving them a letter from me? I would just write that I'm OK," asked Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. To his relief, the man nodded.
“That would be acceptable, Mr. Potter.”
Harry quickly found some old, spare parchment and a self-inking quill. He hastily scribbled down a few lines on a nearby coffee table, mostly word-vomiting, and neatly rolled it up. Returning to the fireplace, he surrendered the scroll, hesitating only slightly.
He and Severus took turns shaking the Minister's hand, exchanged a few words of finality and goodbye, and watched as the green flames swallowed him.
Just as Harry breathed a small sigh of relief through his nose, a tentative, warm hand settled on his shoulder, slowly spinning him around to face Severus. "Harry? What just happened?" he inquired quietly, concern and confusion in his eyes. Harry mentally cursed. Was he really that obvious?
“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.
“You had acted strangely just a few minutes ago,” he clarified, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Something had unsettled you,” he stated.
"Nothing, sir," he lied automatically. "I guess I'm just tired. But we've grounded our plan, and I'm glad we contacted Kingsley." As if to emphasize, he vaguely gesturing with his hands in a shrug and let them drop, forcing a small, reassuring smile at the older wizard.
"Hmm. Insufficient answer; try again," deadpanned Severus, towering over him intimidatingly. "The Minister mentioned the mirrors and it clearly bothered you. Why?"
But Harry shook his head, clenching his fists. In his trousers pocket, he felt the lily charm he'd found earlier. "It's nothing, Severus. I don't want to talk about it. It's fine —"
“You will desist using that word,” he intoned firmly.
“But it' true — everything really is fi—”
" —Harry!"
"WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY!?" he suddenly exploded, flinging his arms in exasperation. He had even surprised himself. "Yes, the mirrors bother me, but I'm not some sodding toddler to go whining about it!" He couldn't possibly begin to explain how it all connected to Sirius. Severus had despised Sirius — still did —, and vice versa. Just bringing up the subject would be awkward and pointless. Besides that, Harry was still trying to deal with his conflicted feelings towards the man and the information he'd hidden from Harry about Severus in Lily's letter… all the more why he wasn’t telling Severus.
"That is far from what I was implying. Though, from your less-than-dignified reaction, I am inclined to think otherwise." Harry had been about to open his mouth again when Severus sighed. He removed his hand, and more gently said, "I apologize. I was merely concerned. If you don't wish to confide in me, that is acceptable. However, talking about it might help."
Harry told himself to stop, take a deep breath… and he let it out… His hand clenched around the metal in his pocket. He was too wound up and tired from the busy morning, and the painful memories of Sirius that had surfaced certainly weren't helping matters. Severus was only looking out for him — it warmed Harry’s chest, truly… but there were just some topics that were best left untouched.
"Thanks, but I'm good… at least for now," Harry replied more calmly, leveling his gaze with the black one. He thought something in Severus's stoic visage had sunken a bit, but blamed it on the shadows dramatic shadow the small ray of sunshine had suddenly made through a slit in the curtains. The man nodded in understanding, tentatively raising his hand and squeezing his shoulder.
"As you wish. However, my offer always stands, should you wish to take up on it."
And somehow, Harry didn’t doubt his words. "I know."
Dear everyone,
I'm sorry I haven't been in contact much recently, I know you must be worried. There is so much I want to say, but it's best not to. I'm sorry if I'm not making much sense of things, but really, don't worry about me. I'm safe. I can't put into words how much I miss all of you, especially you, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Please don't worry about me; I'm safe with Severus, and I trust him. Burn this letter upon reading just to be safe. I promise not to die. I love you all!
— Harry.
Notes:
This chapter wasn't my favourite to write, as there were a lot of things to carefully consider and make sure every matter was mentioned and discussed. It might not seem like it, but this is a very important chapter to the overall plot, and I had dificulties with balancing dialogue with information and dynamics (so that the characters weren't all just sitting and talking like some automatons, if that makes sense???) Ugh, I'm word-vommiting. Anyway...
1. I am close to finishing my oneshot now, although it keeps growing in word count and I'm gonna have to seperate it into a few chapters when I go to upload it, lol. Should be soon though, hopefully by Christmas;) I'll keep you guys posted.
2. Just finished writing capter 48 for this fic, and have started on 49. A lot of Severus & Harry interraction, and super angsty👍Turns out, listening to really emotional music while writing is quite amazing and inspiring (I just play the sad HP&DH P2 theme songs on loop😅)
3. I'm going to revisit all my chapters now and edit them, so wish me luck!
4. Please share our thoughts in the comments bellow, I really appreciate all of them (positive and negative). They help me improve the content I upload, too, so keep that in mind. I don't bite, and am open to constructive criticism.
Ok, hope you've enjoyed. Next Chapter: Dec. 23rd!
Chapter 43: Weak and Pathetic
Summary:
Weak. Weak and pathetic, voices whispered in his head, those of his friends, dead parents, Sirius, and Severus. So helpless… a helpless orphan… can't even fend for himself against a few muggles… some savior…
Notes:
Wooo-hooo, a 6k-word chapter! Enjoy, and Happy hols!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
recap:
Harry told himself to stop, take a deep breath… and he let it out… His hand clenched around the metal in his pocket. He was too wound up and tired from the busy morning, and the painful memories of Sirius that had surfaced certainly weren't helping matters. Severus was only looking out for him — it warmed Harry’s chest, truly… but there were just some topics that were best left untouched.
"Thanks, but I'm good… at least for now," Harry replied more calmly, leveling his gaze with the black one. He thought something in Severus's stoic visage had sunken a bit, but blamed it on the shadows dramatic shadow the small ray of sunshine had suddenly made through a slit in the curtains. The man nodded in understanding, tentatively raising his hand and squeezing his shoulder.
"As you wish. However, my offer always stands, should you wish to take up on it."
And somehow, Harry didn’t doubt his words. "I know."
Before they had left Cokeworth that morning, they were visited by Kingsely, who, as promised, had procured the portkeys (disguised as two outdated hotel cards) and the two-way mirrors, which the two wizards currently had safely pocketed. The Minister had also overseen that the special Concealment Charm proved potent on both of them. Luckily, the application had gone without a hitch, and according to the man, Harry (under the alias of Daniel Radcliffe) had sandy hair, freckled olive skin, and looked a few years younger than his true age. As for Severus (under the alias of Alan Rickman), he was a brown-haired man with soft features and was somewhere in his late-twenties.
The main aspect of this Concealment Charm, however, was that to each other, Harry and Severus looked like their normal-selves, while to any passers-by they appeared as Kingsley had described them. Harry liked that, and thought the charm was quite neat in its unusuality. It had to be reapplied every twelve hours, though.
Kingsley had explained that regular Concealment Charms were fallible and easily broken. This Charm was more complex though, as well as convenient in that the two wizards would recognise the other easier if seperated. Polyjuice potion also hadn't been an option either, since Severus hadn't any with him, and even his improved formula was time-and-ingredient-consuming to brew.
As for provisions, he and Severus had packed the essentials, such as potions, first-aid, warm clothes, and anything else they would need. Not to mention, Kingsley had also provided them both with a hefty pack of muggle Pounds… All of that was now safely stowed away in their individual satchels, complete with Expandable Charms on them, which were currently slung over their shoulders. Harry had also packed his valuables, such as the Invisibility Cloak, Sirius' mirror shard, his photo album, and the Marauders Map, with which he'd refused to part.
Now, Harry was following Severus closely behind as the two navigated their way through the overcrowded sea of muggles bustling about King's Cross train station. It was somewhere around 6 in the morning, and yet the sheer number of people surprised the boy. At that moment, he thanked Merlin that concealment charms were a thing, as it was a relief not to have anyone gape or stare at him, for once; like a breath of fresh air.
Ahead of him, Severus was clearly growing more frustrated with trying to locate their platform in the dense crowds. Harry also had his suspicions that the man had never been to Kings Cross other than to board the Hogwarts Express, as even that had been several decades ago, and was therefore struggling to navigate them.
“Sir! Called Harry over the noise. ”I think we may have passed—”
But the rest of his sentence was cut off when Severus halted suddenly, Harry nearly bumping into him. There was an audible crash and someone swore colorfully. Peering around the tall figure, he saw a small group of teen boys screaming furiously at his mentor with wild gestures at shattered nintendo on the marble floor. It had only lasted a moment, because Severus merely sneered at them, profaned them with “Complete dunderheads”, and reached for Harry's wrist to lead him away, fuming and muttering under his breath about stupid children not minding their surroundings.
After several more minutes of more endless wandering, Harry had enough and literally shouted into the older man's ear that their platform was in the polar opposite direction of where they were currently headed. Thankfully, Severus chose to hold back his tongue and relented. And that was how they finally managed to locate their platform and validate their tickets.
Harry followed Severus aboard their train. It gave him nostalgia, a reminder of the first and last time he'd ridden the Hogwarts Express with his friends. Now, he would do anything just to relive those moments of happiness and bliss.
It wasn't hard to find an empty compartment, as the train to Holyhead was all but desolate of people, surprising as that was. Apparently, this was the fastest direct line to the small town and didn't offer any en route checkpoints. Clearly, the race wasn't very popular, hence why it was run only three times a day.
Their compartment was an adequate size, with nothing negative to point out: two parallel seats and a small table in between, with baggage storage overhead. Harry took one side beside the window, while Severus took the other. The man brandished his wand, simultaneously flicking his wrist to wandlessly draw the curtains closed, and began chanting spells in a foreign, ancient-sounding language for a few minutes.
As he waited, Harry mentally reviewed their planned-out route. It sounded more simple than Harry knew it would be: train to Holyhead, ferry to Dublin, and train Northwest From Dublin to an undetermined location, from where they would have to improvise a way to Slieve League Cliffs, potentially by train or other means of transport.
"I have warded our compartment," Severus finally stated, stowing his ebony stick back into his sleeve. "Now, our signatures cannot be traced, and anyone with vile intentions toward us will be denied access."
“Wait, I thought using magic only makes us easier to track. It's a bit of a paradox if we're casting spells to make us less tractable but doing so makes us even more traceable,” he pointed out confusingly. Kingsley had urged them to limit their wand usage. The Ministry had many ways of tracking wands and magic signatures, as did the Death Eaters.
Severus took his seat opposite Harry, peeking out the window through a small gap in the curtain. “In essence, you are correct. However, it is paramount that our signatures disappear for the duration of our journey to Holyhead. It will serve to throw the Death Eaters off our scent. Besides, we have no way of knowing if we were just followed, and London is the epicenter of Death Eater activity. Furthermore, there exist certain spells that give off less detectable magic aura, thus making it harder to track. I have just cast them.”
"Brilliant. Do you think you could teach me some of those spells, Severus?" asked Harry curiously. Severus nodded.
"All in due time, Harry…" He trailed off, drumming his fingers on his arm in thought. "I am aware of the wards you were utilizing while on the run with Weasley and Granger. Sufficient, but not infallible. Knowing many versatile warding spells is a great asset. And knowing their specs is an even greater one."
Harry silently agreed, reflecting on the night Severus' doe had guided him to the Sword. "You know, we had a very close call once, when we were on the run that summer. The Snatchers were hunting in our area, and Hermione's perfume almost gave us away. They couldn't see or hear us, but one of them said he could smell something."
Severus hummed. "It is never advisable to wear perfumes or to have a distinct scent to oneself. You become far easier to recognize. I am truly appalled by Granger's lack of forethought," he lectured disapprovingly. "On that note, where is your wand, mirror, and portkey?" he inquired testily.
Harry confidently reached into his invisible wand holster and held up his holy and phoenix feather wand, then reached into his inner shirt pocket for the communication device, and lastly the hotel card. "Honestly, sir, I'm not a First-Year, and even then, I doubt I would have forgotten something like this ."
But Severus looked unamused. "This is no light matter, Harry. These are your weapons; your second resort coming after common sense. Remember, use your wand only only in life-death circumstances — are we clear?"
"Noooo, because I had plans to throw a bloody fireworks display upon arrival," drawled Harry sarcastically. The ex-Death Eater glared, clearly unamused by the younger's antics. "Yes, yes, I got it," he surrendered placatingly.
Thankfully, at precisely that moment, the train started moving. Harry shut his eyes and leaned back against the cushions, trying to imagine himself on the Hogwarts Express. This trip would take them only three hours, as opposed to the exhausting nine-or-so to the school of magic all the way in Scotland, and Harry was almost saddened by this. He almost expected there to be a knock on the door with an old lady going, 'Anything from the trolly, dears?'
Oh, how he missed his friends. A sudden pang of guilt settled in his gut. He'd just disappeared on them, and they were probably wondering if he was alright. He missed Hermione's wit and Ron's humor, not to mention Ginny, with her cocky smirk and understanding. Did this make him a bad boyfriend? Why did she even bother with him still? He had pretty much been absent in her life since the end of the Battle, and those few moments of solitude they'd had together since… Well, that wasn't nearly enough to call a relationship healthy, was it?
He was jostled out of his mussings by the rustle of paper and Severus' deep voice. "Upon arrival in Holyhead, we board a ferry to Dublin. Before boarding, I believe we will be able to stop to eat and rest. According to this map," he said, drawing an invisible line between two points on the tourist map they had procured earlier, “the pier is across town from Holyhead Train Station, so we will be crossing through Town Center. We can make our pit stop there.”
Harry bent his head forward to peer at the muggle map spread out on the small table, holding no objections. "Sounds good to me, sir."
For the next half-hour, or so, Harry simply leaned his head against the cool glass pane, the jostling of the train tracks hypnotizing. His hand toyed with the metal lily charm in his pocket, something he had refused to part with when they had been packing. It had a calming presence to it, probably because his mother had once held it. It prompted him to mentally recite everything he had ever been told about her. Like this, Harry had nearly fallen asleep when a sudden urge hit him. His feet half-asleep, he stood from his seat and made to reach for the door handle.
"Where are you going?" Inquired Severus sharply.
"Umm, I'll be right back," assured Harry, caught off-guard by the question. "Err, the loo…?" It came out more like an awkward question.
Severus sighed. "Very well. Stay vigilant, and certainly do not dawdle."
Harry nodded just as he was closing the compartment door behind him. He glanced both left and right in hopes of figuring out where his destination was. Sadly, there weren't any signs. Arbitrarily, Harry started down the left corridor.
As he walked, his mind was plagued with the Weasleys and his friends… were they worried? Had news of his and Severus's disappearance reached them yet? Ginny would probably have the most level-headed reaction of the group, Harry mused. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling guilty churning in his gut. Even though he'd asked insgley to deliver that short letter, he knew it was extremely vague. Heck, he knew if the roles were reversed, he would be worried.
THUD —!
Harry suddenly stumbled backwards at the sudden impact, nearly losing his footing. His glasses were knocked askew, and when he rightened them his eyes met the livid, chubby, familiar face.
"Oi, watch where—! What a minute… it's you again!" the boy cried accusingly. It was the same teen Severus had bumped into earlier. He looked to be sixteen, give or take, but was like Dudley times two in size. Behind him were two of his friends, the very same one that had screamed at Severus over their broken nintendo.
"Sorry," Harry muttered distractedly, not in the mood to associate himself with the delinquents. He made to leave, but the first boy blocked him easily.
"Whoa—woah—woah. Where d'ya think you're going, mate? And what kind of apology was that?" demanded the chubby boy. "Hey, guys— over here!" He suddenly waved over Harry's shoulder.
"Who's that?" asked a new boy with a Russian accent.
"The kid's dad or whatever bumped into me earlier, that's who. Don'cha remember?" he replied. “My nintendo broke — and it was brand new! Called us dunderheads!'”
Harry had to play it cool and leave. He didn't have neither the energy, patience, nor desire to stick around, and he really couldn't care less about something as stupid as a nintendo, something so insignificant and pointless. He had way better things to worry about.
"Look, guys, I'm really sorry about my da… what happened to your nintendo. It was an accident, and we were in a hurry. Now, can I go?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. The Gryffindor quickly shimmied past the small gang, but was suddenly stopped.
Well, shit.
“Ay-ay-ay, looks like someone's mum didn't teach 'im his manners,” drawled a third boy, much more obese and standing in Harry's path. “Tell you what, freedom's gonna cost ya. That Nintendo was about two-hundred Pounds. Pay up. ”
Harry's blood boiled at the mention of his mother in such an offensive manner, his fists clenched. “Yeah, well, I haven't any money on me, so sod off,” he finished calmly, his right hand itching for his wand.
Oh. Except he couldn't use his wand. Life-threatening situations only. And their journey had only begun, so it wouldn't do to expose their location just because of a stupid altercation with a bunch of boys younger than him, he reminded himself.
Suddenly, two chubby hands latched onto his wrists. Harry's reaction was immediate: as hard as he could, he stepped on the big teen's foot. The boy cried out indignantly, and in the brief moment that his grip loosened, Harry wrenched free.
Unfortunately, a different pair of hands suddenly latched around his waist from behind. He'd nearly yelled out, but his mouth was being covered by another unrelenting hand. He desperately tried to kick, bite, and scratch, but his body build equated to a ten-year-old's in comparison with the three plump teens.
The four of them struggled for a bit, and Harry cursed the passengers on the train for not having much reason to step out. He was slowly dragged into an empty compartment, the door shutting closed behind them. Harry managed to free a hand and throw a wild punch. He scored, for someone grunted. Seizing the opportunity, he maneuvered his head so he could bite a finger of the hand still latched over his mouth. Its owner cried out in pain, relenting his hold.
"Oh, now you're gonna get it," growled the most obese of the three. Harry could feel his wand confined within his sleeve — it was begging to be used. But the thought of the consequences made him refrain. Besides, the concept of not being able to defend himself in a stupid brawl with guys a few years younger than him was humiliating. It reminded him too much of his uncle. While he'd never been outright struck, he'd come close on numerous occasions, and he'd never been in a position to defend himself much. Then, there had also been 'Harry Hunting', Dudley's favorite form of entertainment.
Harry continued to struggle against the three pairs of hands working against his thin limbs. His legs weren't much help, either, as they were being held down by the first boy. The next thing Harry knew, he was pinned down on the floor, face up. Before his eyes could register anything clearly, he took a blow to his face. A crack. Tiny stars danced in his vision as his face throbbed painfully.
But the punches didn't stop there. Soon enough, it felt like there wasn't a single unblemished spot on his face. He could taste iron in his mouth, and his glasses were lopsided and cracked.
Harry was growing desperate. The situation had escalated so quickkly, and was humiliating: a grown wizard, unable to defend himself against a few teenagers. Muggle, not to mention, while he held the bloody tittle of the Wizarding World's saviour.
Before the next punch could make contact with him, he managed to wrench one hand free and grab the other's wrist. Smoke began issuing from the hold, and soon enough, the boy was crying out in pain, staring at his blistered hand.
"Oi, he burned me!"
“Check if he has a lighter!”
But no sooner had the other boy touched him, he was suddenly flying across the compartment. The rotund shape collided with the wall and slid sideways onto the bench, disoriented. Amidst the others' confusion, Harry threw a surprise punch in the nearest face he saw. The skinnier boy tipped over backwards, cradling his nose. Harry then kicked the third boy in the shins. He doubled over and Harry seized him by the collar — which began smoking slightly — and used it to push himself off the floor, finally showing the boy away.
The others were stirring, yelling, and slowly getting to their feet, but Hary was already thrusting open the door and making a wild dash for the nearest room he could access. Ironically, it was the bathroom. He skidded in, latched the door behind him, and slid against it to the cool, tiled floor of the small space.
What had just happened?
The gryffindor's breathing was erratic, but he remembered that time Severu had helped him through his nightmare. Just breathe… in…out…in…out.
Harry made to cradle his pounding head in his hand, but hissed when he made contact with his throbbing face. Groggily, he hoisted himself off the floor and stumbled over to the bathroom mirror. Despite himself and the stuff he'd in his life, he let out a small gasp.
His entire face was bruised and turning either a red or purple, depending on the place. His glasses were cracked quite badly, but miraculously hadn't injured his face. His left eye was swollen and shutting itself of its own accord though, making him look like some kind of panda. To finish off the picture, a bit of blood was oozing out of the corner of his mouth and one of his nostrils.
How did this happen? What would he do now? What was he going to tell Severus?
Why couldn't he protect himself against a bunch of stupid muggles? His entire life, he hadn't been able to stand up against his uncle, and those few times he had, things had ended rather badly for him. But he was a grown wizard — almost eighteen, for Merlin's sake! Yes, the Concealment Charm made him appear to be around sixteen or so, but he already looked like that even without the stupid charm! He'd always been a weak, scrawny, thin thing.
Pfft. Some savior of the Wizarding World, he thought abhorrently at himself in the mirror. He couldn't even properly fend off a few muggle teens. Just some pathetic weakling, for whom countless people had died and sacrificed themselves. He'd defeated Voldemort, the darkest and most powerful wizard of the century. And yet, here he was, locked in a bathroom like some pathetic excuse for a wizard that he was. He had only managed to escape thanks to his accidental magic kicking in, like in First Year when he'd incinerated Quirrell's face.
But it wasn't even his fault he hadn't been able to use his wand! Severus had strictly ordered him to use his wand in life-threatening situations… But that hadn't been life-threatening, had it? He had used his wand during the summer before Fifth-Year to fend off the dementors — that had been life-threatening. Besides, Dudley had played 'Harry Hunting' for years with his gang of fooligans, had often used him as a punching bag, and Harry had been fine! A couple of bruises here and there but fine ! And he was still fine ! He was Fine . This was fine. Everything was FINE!
Oblivious to the pain, Harry turned on the tap and began scrubbing at his face with the coldest water the pipes could offer. He scrubbed, and he scrubbed, and he scrubbed, as if hoping to wash away the embarrassment and patheticness on his face. His gasses had slid up to his forehead, stuck in his his wet hair, but he didn't care. He just continued to scrub.
Weak. Weak and pathetic , Voices whispered in his head, those of his friends, dead parents, Sirius, and Severus. So helpless… a helpless orphan… can't even fend for himself against a few muggles… some savior…
Scrub... Scrub... Scrub…
He'd been through worse. He'd sustained graver maladies and injuries. He'd survived all three Unforgivables, for Merlin's sake! In his sleeve holser was a tool he could use to torture, kill, exact revenge, blow up those cronies just as he had Aunt Marge…
But he couldn't and wouldn't do that. How could he? It was monstrous to even imagine.
Finally straightening up, Harry dared another glance in the mirror. He looked almost insane, with his bangs wet, the cursed scar clearly visible, mocking him, and his face raw and red and purple from the intense contact. Unfortunately, the bruises could not be washed away, and thus remained ever still. Snarling at himself, he quickly rinsed out his mouth and did his business.
Before leaving, the boy pressed his ear against the door, listening. He let out a breath after a moment of silence and peeked out. The corridors were surprisingly as desolate as they were before. As inconspicuously as possible, face ducked, he hurried his way back to his and Severus' compartment.
His short journey was uneventful, fortunately. He took a deep breath and hesitated slightly before knocking. But no sooner had he rapped his knuckles once against the wood, the door was thrusted open, and a hand reached for his collar, roughly pulling him in.
"Just where have you—!?" the man snarled harshly, but stopped abruptly upon seeing Harry's face. The Slytherin's visage instantly morphed to one of confusion and deep concern. "Good Merlin, did you indulge yourself in a brawl with hippogryphs!?" he breathed. He raised his hand up to Harry's face, as if to better observe it, but retracted it.
Harry folded his arms over his chest and looked away, trying to put up a strong front in spite of the red creeping up to his ears. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just give me some bruise salve, if you have any. If not, that's not a big deal either." He went to sit back down in his previous seat, only to be stopped by Severus' hand on his arm.
The man considered him carefully. "What happened?" he asked in a slightly softer tone. Harry shrugged his shoulders, but Severus shot him a warning look. "Don't even think about sugarcoating, Harry, I know you better than the back of my wand," he drawled. Harry opened his mouth, but Severus added, “Don't. Lie. To. Me.” In a dangerously-low and silky tone, he asked, ”Who?”
Harry sighed, fidgeting his hands in his pockets. "Just some idiots. There were three of them, so I was outnumbered."
"And you didn't think to use your wand?" asked Severus incredulously. Harry felt gobsmacked with indignation. ”Were you not blessed with common sense upon birth?”
"Magic? On a train? In a narrow corridor or compartment? Against muggles?" he deadpanned. "Yeah, that certainly would have panned out well."
Severus sighed, a hard-to-read look on his face with the crease between his brows deepened. His hand holding onto Harry's arm moved up, resting atop his shoulder gently. "In life-threatening situations, I fully expect you to utilize all and any means necessary —"
" —But that wasn't life-threatening," countered Harry, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. "They just wanted a punching bag and I received the blows. They wouldn't have killed me or anything."
Severus' gaze softened, becoming almost pained. "How little you must think of yourself," he murmured sadly, catching Harry off-guard. "No, Harry, the situation was perfectly appropriate for you to have defended yourself. Your state of well-being is far more paramount than a few muggle sightings of magic, or even the exposing of our whereabouts."
Harry wasn't sure how to reply, so he just shrugged, darting his eyes away.
“What I fail to understand, however, is why they attacked you to begin with. ”
Oh. “Err, well… it was that kid you bumped into, earlier. Remember, the one with the broken gadget? He… thought you were my, err…" well, it's not like he'd said it, "father, and told me to 'pay up'.” Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. “So, uh, are you gonna 'pay up'?” he asked a bit sarcastically.
Severus sneered, gently grabbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger to lift his head, and gave him a dry look. “Would a father pay a child who had beaten up his son?”
For an unfathomable reason, Harry's breath got caught in his throat. “No. I guess not,” he answered, ducking his head to peer out the window at the flashing countryside. He heard Severus sigh.
“The magnetic force of attraction between you and trouble is inexplicable, Harry James Potter.”
Harry shrugged again, this time out of amusement. “Guilty, Professor. Although it's not like I ask for it.”
Severus silently began rummaging in his black satchel, his arm buried shoulder-deep. He pulled out a small, round container with a minty-green substance inside. Unscrewing the lid, the Potions Master displayed it for Harry to see. “Sit,” he gestured with his finger.
“Oh, uh, I can manage, sir…”
“Of course, you can. Without a mirror too, might I add. Sit.”
"There are the two-way m—"
" Sit. "
Resigned, Harry plopped down onto his seat, twisting his thumbs in his lap. The man sat beside him. Two strong fingers grabbed his chin again, turning it slightly to the side. Severus' black eyes were narrowed as he scrutinized the damage, rotating his head slowly this way and that. Pure anger glimmered in his obsidian depths, his lips pinched into a straight line, but Harry quickly realized it wasn't directed at him. It felt nice, he thought, to have someone angry for him, nit at him, for once.
Severus gathered a generous amount of the salve with his two fingers and carefully began smearing the goo on Harry's face. The touch was very ginger, and despite his tender, painful bruises, Harry caught himself leaning into the comforting touch. He silently admonished himself for acting like a needy child.
Severus recapped the slave and withdrew himself a bit as if to take in the results. A smirk played across his face, something about it which unsettled Harry. “What? Is it really that bad ?”
The man huffed out something between a snort and a chuckle, clearly amused. “Fret not, the skin will absorb the salve in a matter of a few minutes. Your bruises have already improved.”
Great. So, to reiterate, I must look like Aunt Petunia with one of those ridiculous green face masks on one of her 'spa days'.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Um, thanks.”
Severus shook his head in exasperation. “You needn't thank me, Harry. Providing basic medical care isn't a privilege. Now, have you any other maladies?”
Harry ducked his head again, face burning red. This is humiliating… What must he think of me? "No, sir. I mean, I don't have any other injuries. Uh, how's my face?”
The man considered him for a moment. “Suffice to say, you should be back to normal by noon.”
That didn't allay Harry's concerns by much.
Right at that moment, something vibrated in Severus' black jacket. He reached into his pocket and procured a palm-sized, oval mirror. A pang of pain hit Harry in the chest at the sight, but he tried his best not to let anything show.
A familiar face appeared in the mirror. "Severus, Potter. Where are you…?" Kingsley's baritone voice died off when his eyes widened at the sight of Harry.
"Train. We should reach Holyhead within an hour," answered Severus immediately before Kingsley could pose the question. Harry sighed with relief when this seemed to have diverted the other's attention.
"Keep vigilance. Cokeworth's just been searched. I had no say in the matter, for it would have appeared suspicious to deny the Head Auror access. They found your magic signatures and are determined to track you. The Aurors believe you've kidnapped Potter," he finished with a hint of irony.
Harry couldn't suppress the dry snort that flew out his nose at the last part. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Severus' lips twitch slightly before turning serious again.
Severus nodded, his brows furrowing in a frown. “Understood. We will contact you from Holyhead, Minister. Thank you."
Kingsley nodded, and the connection was severed.
But Severus made no move to hide the mirror.
Instead, he sat in his seat, facing Harry, and held the object up for display. Harry saw his reflection in it, and nearly dragged his hand down his face. The coloring had receded significantly, but not all of the green salve had been absorbed into his skin.
"It bothers you."
What the… "Huh?"
"The mirror. It clearly bothers you, Harry."
Fuck. Not this again! Why is he so insistent about this?
The Slytherin's voice was leveled and neutral, but also calm and soft. He sat completely still, the mirror now hidden in his pocket again and his hands folded mannerly in his lap. It seemed as though he had all the time in the world, just patiently waiting for Harry's answer. For Harry to confide in him.
And really, when was the last time someone had done that for Harry? Let alone an adult? The fact that Harry was an adult felt a little weird for him, and yet, perhaps it was some overdue psychological need?
But no. He couldn't tell Severus. He hated Sirius, especially since the hidden letter from Lily incident. He almost wanted to tell Severus; experience that elating feeling of a burden rolling off his shoulders… he wished he could, but wishing did nothing. Severus wouldn't understand, nor sympathize. Right?
"Harry, whatever it may be, I promise I will try to understand—"
"Get out of my head!" snapped Harry automatically, irritated and feeling betrayed. Surely, Severus was Legilimenising him!
"I assure you, I was never there in the first place," replied Severus just as calmly. He sighed. "Harry, you are fully entitled to withhold whatever information you wish from others. However, we will be compelled to use the mirrors regularly. If they elicit discomfort in you, it may evolve itself into a real problem."
Harry leaned back in the corner of his seat and drew his knees close. There was a loose thread in the cuff of his plaid shirt… he began playing with it. "It's… complicated. I think you would have a conflict of interest," he half-laughed.
That seemed to have invested the man even more, for his eyebrow rose inquiringly. "Contrary to our… past, I assure you that will not be the case."
Harry pursed his lips, skepticism for thought. "It's just… Really, sir, I can handle it. You don't have to burden yourself with it," he tried protesting weakly. A part of him longed for that release though.
"It is no burden to me," he countered firmly. "And you are correct; I don't have to do anything, just like you. But I want to; of my own volition."
Harry sighed and looked down at his knees. What was the point in refusing at this point? Worse case scenario, Severus will sneer at the mention of Sirius, shower his name with profanities, and call it a day. So, Harry took the plunge.
"In Fifth-year, Sirius got us two-way mirrors," he mumbled so quietly he was sure Severus couldn't hear him. Harry held his breath…but in this downcast periphery, the man just nodded in understanding. Again, he listened, and Harry spoke, just like before.
"When I had that vision… of Sirius being tortured… I could've used my mirror. I didn't. And then Sirius…" And that was all the explanation he was willing to give. It was self-explanatory; it was blunt; it was the truth. It was what Severus had wanted to hear. Now, he waited for his reaction.
…
"I see."
Silence, the rumble of the train suddenly non-existent in their ears. Confusion and dread reigned in Harry's mind. He should've just kept his mouth shut—!
"You were in a state of panic. It is not your fault, Harry," said Severus softly. Harry's head snapped up, emerald meeting obsidian. "Several contributing factors had led up to your godfather's death. We can recite them, for all the worth. But the blame isn't yours to carry."
"Please, sir, that's just sugarcoating it," shot back Harry snarkily.
"Had I not assured you before that I do not sugarcoat nor lie?" he countered inquiringly.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking out the window at the flashing moors. "That's what it sounded like just now. Just admit it — I fucked up. Sirius's death could have easily been avoided, but I didn't listen. I didn't listen to Ron, nor Hermione. I just went in, full-headed Gryffindor style, just like you always say," he said with contrition, his heart clenching painfully at the barrage of memories.
No answer came from Severus for several minutes. Harry hugged his knees, leaning his cheek against the cool glass. Now what?
"I could have avoided her death, too."
His eyes snapped back to the man at the unexpected reply. He had been about to ask, but then understanding dawned on him.
"No. That's different. You didn't know—"
"Is it, Harry? Pray tell, how does your situation differ from mine?" he countered a bit more cooly. It was a rhetorical question, of course. "I never wished for her demise. I didn't know whom the prophecy was referring to, yet I relayed it to the Dark Lord, the main contributing factor which led to her death. I have lived in guilt, blame, and remorse since…"
Harry understood where the man was going with this, but shook his head. "That wasn't the main contributor. It was Pettigrew!" He corrected firmly. "If he hadn't betrayed my parents, they wouldn't be dead. And you couldn't have known whom the prophecy was referring to, that's the thing. Plus, you've been trying to make up for it ever since."
"Ah, see? Just as Bellatrix LeStrange is responsible for your godfather's death. And you, Harry?"
"And I what?" he asked irritably.
"Are you willing to go down the same path as I? Aren't you aware of the vengeful, cold man I've become? Remorse warps us. It evolves into scars, and if we do not let go, these scars will corrupt us."
Harry thought on those words. Perhaps Severus was right? But about what, exactly? That it wasn't his fault? They've had this conversation before, and yet, here they were again.
"Guess some scars never really heal," he commented quietly, unconsciously running his fingers over the carved words 'I must not tell lies'.
The older wizard sighed heavily with sorrow. He knew. Harry knew he knew, and vice versa.
"In that, you are correct. That is the blunt reality of it. Thus, one must adapt to them."
"Does it… does it make me weak?" Asked the Gryffindor softly, the words out before he could process them. He ducked his head.
"Harry… look at me."
Slowly, he raised his eyes. Severus' gaze was unguarded, a rare occurrence, but in it, Harry saw understanding and concern… sincerity.
"It certainly does not. If anything, it only makes you stronger. You are stubbornly resilient, foolish at times, but brave and a true Gryffindor at heart. You must cease with this self-blame. You are not at fault for what happened. Black was an adult..." His unvoiced 'however much his actions belied the fact' lingered in the air. "If utilizing the mirrors elitics unsavory memories to surface, the matter can certainly be rectified.
Harry shook his head again. "'Cease with the self-blame'? Guess that makes you a hypocrite, huh? And, no. That's fine. It… that's just childish. The mirrors won't be a problem, Severus. Really," he assured. Besides, just how exactly would Severus 'rectify' it?
The man observed him calculatively. Harry avoided eye contact. Thankfully, at that exact moment, a loud speaker announced their arrival at Holyhead.
Notes:
What did you think? I tried really hard with this chapter, and upon editting it the word count just multiplied, lol. Insanely excited about the upcoming chapters (which are just a pure angst train)👍 Again, thank you so much for reading, and do share your thoughts (even negative ones. I accept constructive criticism).
PS: As a Xmas gift of sorts (I guess?) I'm uploading that one-shot I had mentioned earlier tomorrow... though, with it's current word count, i doubt 'one-shot' is the appropriate term, heh. *Cough* it's 30k words *cough*. I will probably upload it tomorrow. It will be called 'Crucible'. It's a DH AU, but that's all I'm gonna say. *And that it's super angsty and I combined scenes from the movie and the book*. So, yeah, be sure to check that out!
Also, congratulations everyone🥳 First Semester's finally over and done with, YAY! Hope everyone has a great holiday. Again, don't forget to comment your thoughts below. Next update: 30th Dec. Merry Christmas!
Chapter 44: Holyhead
Summary:
He still couldn't shake the feeling of loss at something that hadn't even happened yet. At a mere possibility. It would mean he was truly alone and family-less. Sure, he was a grown wizard, self-sufficient, and hero of the bloody Wizarding World, but everyone needed a family. Blood relatives of some sort… overwise, who needed him?
Chapter Text
Recap: The man observed him calculatively. Harry avoided eye contact. Thankfully, at that exact moment, a loud speaker announced their arrival at Holyhead.
Crisp, salty sea breeze, a smell he hadn't known since childhood, expanded his lungs. Seagulls squaked and squealed overhead, illuminated white specks from the small shafts of sunlight peeking through the blue-gray storm clouds hanging over them. This unsettled the man as his eyes focused on the horizon, creasing in frown. The color of the foreboding sky and sea nearly blended into one another in color.
Bloody brilliant , cursed Severus inwardly. "I fear any water transport will be canceled," he told Harry, who was walking in-step with him. They were in the center of town, a quite picturesque site indeed. Small bakeries, shops, and flats flanked the uneven cobbled streets, connected by stringed colorful flags that swayed more and more reverently in the picking up wind.
Harry glanced skywards, frowning. "We should still check. Maybe it's just going to rain a bit? Even if there's a storm or something, I doubt they would cancel the ferries… unless it's a blow-you-off-your-rocker kind of storm."
A chilly gust of wind ruffled their hair. Severus silently praised himself for his forethought of changing into warmer clothes at the station. He was now sporting a navy green windbreaker with a scarf, and Harry wore a warm, orange hoodie he had bought him those few weeks ago with the other clothing articles.
"Judging by those clouds, I would wager on the latter," he drawled in reply. His eyes spied people rushing about, some busy shutting their windows and taking their bicycles and potted plants inside. The wind was definitely picking up.
They took another turn as they headed down the hilly road, slowly descending. They had received vague directions on how to get down to the docks from the train station, and had been following their intuition from there, guessing their way and keeping their heads down. Severus didn't think it wise to familiarize the locals with their faces, even though they were under that Concealment Charm.
If the ferries really were canceled, that would subject him and Harry to sojourn the night. The idea was frowned upon by Severus. Prolonging their stay in one location was far from advisable, given the Aurors/Death Eaters had many tracking and locating tricks up their sleeves, and Severus really didn't wish to test the fates. It seemed as though luck really wasn't on their side thus far, what with Harry's unfortunate encounter, for which Severus was wracked with guilt for having given the goons a reason to attack the boy, and the untimely impending storm.
Some odd fifteen minutes later, the two wizards arrived at the docks. The sea had become more restless, strong waves crashing against the steel beams and rocky shore aggressively. They were further dismayed to see many people busy covering some of the smaller, private boats with protective foil, preparing them for the worst.
“Excuse me,” said Harry suddenly to a passing old man with a battered sailor cap and beard. “When's the earliest Holyhead-Dublin ferry?”
The man scratched at his beard as he eyed the boy and the older man, making Severus internally scowl. Maybe it was something psychological, but after almost two decades of having been manipulated by an old codger, he felt a surge of adherence at the sight of the grayed man.
“Ay, lads, don't ya see Marina's sister's almost upon us?”
“I beg your pardon?” inquired Severus dryly. If this old coot was anything like Albus Dumbledore, senile and deluded, they were wasting their time and breath.
“Ya know, Hurricane Marina? She hit us in March. Pretty big ruckus she caused, ya hear. Now, we s'pect this'er sister comin'. All ferries and water vehicles 're grounded. Sorry, lads,” he said apologetically with a heavy northern accent.
“When will they reopen?” Severus inquired briskly, suppressing his lip from curling.
He shrugged. “Come mornin', I s'pect. Listen, yar obviously tourists. There's a jolly-fine inn just fifteen minutes from 'ere. I suggest ya treat yarself and yar son to some fish 'n chips and a hot cuppa.”
Severus felt Harry stiffen and himself blanch at what the blundering idiot had just referred to them as, but didn't get a chance to interject.
”I run that beauty over there— ” he pointed his wrinkled, crooked finger at a small, covered fishing ferry — “ She's mine, see? I'm takin' 'er to Dublin at eight in the mornin' — earliest service yar gonna find ‘ere. Gotta be there for a fisherman's weekly,” he stated proudly, patting his chest. “Yar more 'an welcome to join me.”
Severus withheld a sigh and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. They were left with little choice, and this appeared to be their best and only option. He dreaded the blasted sea voyage as it was, and this didn't help to improve his mood.
“Very well,” he clipped curtly. “Thank you for your assistance. Come.” Severus spun on his heel, suddenly missing the billow of his long, dark cloak, and beckoned Harry to follow. The boy bid the old coot goodbye and quickly fell into step with him as they started off the docks, down the pier, and back into town.
An uncomfortable silence reigned momentarily between them, but Harry was the first to break it.
“So, uh, now what, sir?”
Thankful for the neutral question, Severus answered matter-of-factly. “It appears it is quite evident we have no other choice but to wait the storm out. Just as well, for we must report to the Minister and rest.”
Harry buried his hands deeper into his pockets, just barely keeping up with his long strides. “You think it's wise to stay here that long? We're supposed to be on a constant move; the Aurors could catch up,” he argued.
“In essence, you are correct. Have you ever heard of the Appere Vestigium Spell?” he asked rhetorically. “It is a widely-known spell used to reveal and illuminate traces of recent magical activity and show magical footprints and track marks in an area. Since our pursuers have both our magical signatures, they can, and will, compare them with any traces they find along their way, therefore making us easier to expose.” He paused to see if Harry was following along.
“However, a magical signature only lingers behind enough to be tracked if the witch or wizard had stayed in an area for over twelve hours. Hence why I believe we should be relatively fine. And seeing as we are all but stranded here without active boat service, we have no other choice than to sojourn. Apparating overseas, especially during storms, is inadvisable. Furthermore, we both require sustenance and proper rest.”
Harry bobbed his head in assent, not seeming to have any arguments. “In that case, I guess you're right. Let's see what Kingsley says though. Maybe he has a way of keeping tabs on where the Aurors are?” he suggested.
“That is probable, although it also depends on the relayer of said information. I've no doubt there is a battalion of Aurors after us, amongst which are surely imposters. In this case, any information the Minister receives from them is most definitely deceptive.”
To his slight irritation, Harry shrugged his shoulders beside him. Merlin, he hated the gesture. “Well, I mean, it's not like it's anything new. Hermione, Ron, and I were on the run like that for nine months straight with nothing and no one but our wands and Dumbledore's Snitch.”
They entered town once more and were keeping an eye out for inn signs. The streets were nearly desolate. Harry had suggested they consult someone for directions, but Severus still sorely wished to avoid any sort of interaction with the locals. One could never know if the other was magical or muggle. They had to avoid detection at all costs, even though their appearance looked different to passersby.
Beside him, Harry shivered as a particularly strong and cold gust of sea wind blew over them. It was unfortunate they couldn't use a Heating Charm. Unthinkingly, Severus reached out to pull the young man's hoodie over his mop of windswept hair.
Honestly, has he zero sense of self-preservation?
He then took the smaller hand out of its pocket and felt it against his own: it was ice cold. At this rate, he was going to develop pneumonia, the last thing they needed. Severus draped his hand around Harry's shoulders and pulled him slightly closer, rubbing his other shoulder for warmth. Harry seemed to understand; he blushed and mumbled a thanks.
It seemed so unusual to Severus, but welcoming all the same. With Harry, there was almost something familial . He was the first person he'd come to care for since Lily, and the boy — young man — was growing on him. He had dedicated the better half of his life to protecting and keeping him safe in Lily's legacy, but he'd never expected to come to care for the spawn of James Potter. And whatever Severus cherished, he stood by it till his dying breath, much like he would with Harry. He would do right by him in however much time he had left before his inevitable fate in Azkaban.
The impotent rage he'd felt when Harry told him what happened to him on the train had made his blood boil. Oh, he'd known he couldn't do anything about it, lest he wished to cause an unnecessary ruckus, but there had been torture on his mind. And when Harry had asked if he was going to 'pay up' for the damaged Nitendedo (or whatever the rubbish was called), something possessive and protective surged through him.
Small water droplets began to descend down on them. It started as a soft drizzle but rapidly intensified. Severus pulled his own hood over his head and the two sped up their trek through the deserted town. They could've stopped to wait the rain out, but it was obvious it wouldn't cease any time sooner and would only worsen.
Five minutes in, and they were completely soaked. Luckily, they spotted a sign reading 'Marie's Inn' just up ahead, with an arrow pointing down the puddled road. They followed the sign's vague instructions for a while longer before finally reaching the building — a Georgian, multi-storey hotel that overlooked the raging sea on a small cliffside. They quickly clambered inside and found themselves enveloped by the warm, toasty atmosphere.
The lounge of the lobby was pretty old-fashioned, featuring many modern-Victorian accents. There was a bar near the patio exit and several soft, inviting armchairs before fireplaces. A few people were there, but not enough to call it crowded (mostly seniors playing table pool).
Severus shrugged off his hood and led them both to the receptionist. He spared a glance at Harry, who's bangs were as soaked as his own long hair and his round frames were blotted with water droplets. Unfortunate genetics, he thought sympathetically. Bloody James Potter …
When was the last time Harry even had his eyes checked? Those frames look worse for wear…
“Hello!” greeted the woman at the counter cheerily. She clucked her tongue at them, chewing gum briefly peeking out from between her teeth. “What a storm, huh? They're saying it' Marina's sister. Ah, but it should be gone by morning.” Her eyes found Harry's, wrinkling in smile at him. “With your father here, I see? Hmm, probably inherited the mum's looks, though. So, how can I help you two?”
The inferial woman's sweetness and innocent tone seemed almost mocking to Severus. Why did everyone keep referring to Harry as his bloody… that !? They hardly even looked alike under the Concealment Charm! “Overnight accommodation,” he clipped briskly. “With a view of the main street, if possible,” he added. At least then they would have some way of monitoring if someone suspicious-looking showed up.
The lady looked at them confusedly. “Wouldn't you prefer a seaside view? A beautiful—” Severus shot her a withering glare, which promptly shut her up. He felt himself being nudged in the ribs lightly, but chose to ignore it. The woman reached over to the wall behind her, where a few keys hung with corresponding room numbers below. “Ah, you are quite lucky! Here you are: a two-bedroom suite with your preferred view.”
Severus just barely restrained himself from snatching the key from her manicured hand. “How much?”
After providing their aliases and insisting they would find their own way, he and Harry ascended the rickety, wooden stairs in search of their room. After several flights, they finally reached the topmost floor, five stories above. Harry was just behind him, finding his footing on the last few stairs and looking drained and out of breath. Severus' brow crease deepened.
The young man had evident dark circles under his eyes and his whole face was sagged with exhaustion, green eyes the color of a lush swamp rather than emeralds. Though, at least the bruising from the quarrel had receded. Severus understood that the last week must have taken its toll on him. Emotional breakdowns, suicidal endeavours, near-death injury, relocation, and the journey to Holyhead… What else could be expected than sheer exertion?
When was the last time he's slept adequately? Eaten? Is he cold? He's still shivering slightly… These thoughts flitted through his head as he unknowingly studied the confused-looking Gryffindor standing in front of him. After a moment, the man snapped himself back to the present and gave himself a small mental shake.
Harry just needed rest. They both did. Severus had been initially planning on keeping watch at night, but he too was worn out himself. He supposed wards would have to do.
Severus unlocked their room and allowed Harry entry first, following right after. It was an adequate size, furnished with two beds, some basic storage, and had another door, which presumably led to a bathroom. There was a single window on the other side to which the older wizard hastily strode over and peered out of. Just as promised, they had a clear view of the main street below. Sighing at the night ahead, he pulled the curtains closed on the howling winds and shower outside.
Turning back around, Harry was sitting on a bed with his eyes shut, leaning back on his palms. His face was drawn, but otherwise impassive, slightly tilted back. As Severus observed him carefully, the young man must have realized it had grown too quiet, for his lids suddenly fluttered open. His gaze found Severus', a bit of a confused expression in it.
"What?" he inquired, plucking off his cracked, round rims and rubbing the bridge between his brows with his thumb and forefinger. The older wizard would fix them, were it not for the risk of attracting even more attention to themselves by using magic.
Severus considered him for a moment. "We shall contact Kingsely and then acquire sustenance," he decided, already reaching for his ebony wand. It took several minutes to erect all the protective wards around the room, leaving him more drained than he would have liked. "We should both rest the best we can. Tomorrow, I predict we will have reached Dublin by mid-afternoon and be en-route to Slieve League."
Harry didn't reply to that, only nodded in agreement. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something, but clamped his mouth shut and lightly shook his head. Severus knew he must be too exerted to even argue him on anything and found it easier to just nod along.
"Furthermore,” he felt nedd to remind, “Heed caution at all times. The Concealment Charm wears off every twelve hours, and while it isn't to wear off until tomorrow, keep this in mind. Speak to no-one unless absolutely necessary, in which case you—"
"I'm not obtuse, you know!" Harry suddenly snapped, irritation lacing his voice. "I know not to bloody talk to strangers, I'm not some sodding toddler!" he added hotly. Severus let it slide, knowing the temper was exhaustion-induced.
"A basic overview is always advisable. I was certainly not implying anything by it," he said calmly, watching as Harry visibly deflated slightly.
The Gryffindor sighed and briefly cradled his head in his hands. "Sorry. I'm just… Let's contact Kingsley," he decided, suddenly jumping off the bed and strolling over to the window to peek through the moth-eaten fabric. "Do you think the Aurors know where we are? What's the failsafe if they somehow locate us?" he asked, back facing the older wizard.
"Both questions the Minister should be present for," Severus answered, retrieving his shard of the two-way mirror. He spoke the name and, moments later, the familiar head of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared.
"Severus, Potter," he greeted in his baritone voice. "I trust you are alright?" The Minister was sitting in his office, in his high-backed chair behind a huge mahogany desk, with parchments and quills scattered around in an organized mess. His eyes looked bloodshot from lack of sleep and the lines on his face belied his real age.
Harry approached Severus, arms still crossed across his chest. "Everything's fine, except that there's a storm and we're stuck in Holyhead till morning," he answered informatively, sounding older than he was. "Is there any news on the Aurors?"
Kingsley frowned deeply, a worried look coloring his usually-composed features. "I'm afraid not. A battalion has been sent after you two, but we've recently lost contact with the Aurors. It's been over an hour, but we remain hopeful."
Severus felt his stomach drop, his fears confirmed. Death Eaters were on their trail. This wasn't good… They must have rid themselves of the real Aurors, most likely out of lack of further need.
"Do you suspect they are still under Polyjuice?" he inquired.
"We have no means of knowing,” said Kingsley regretfully, “But we suspect the Death Eaters are re-grouping after the recent Azkaban breakout. It is inevitable that you will cross paths, either accidentally or because they will find you, in which case you are to flee and come into contact as soon as possible. Should the situation escalate to desperate measures, do not hesitate to use your portkeys."
He and Harry nodded in assent. Kingsley spoke again, looking at Harry with a somewhat more worried gaze. “Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I must implore relocating your relatives” he informed, sounding troubled. Harry's eyes furrowed with what Severus could only discern as anxiety.
“The Dursleys? Why? T— They moved last summer… even I don't know where they are,” he confessed bemusedly.
Kingsley nodded knowingly. “There has been an increase in muggle-born attacks recently. We've tried our best to hush the information from the public so as to not arouse too much panic, but we — apologies, Minerva and I, and a select-few others — believe your relatives are in danger of being targeted. They are, after all, your relatives, thus deeming them worthy of being on the enemy's hit list.”
Harry chewed his upper lip, clearly perturbed and concerned. It baffled Severus how the boy still had it in him to care about the welfare of his so-called relatives after everything they'd put him through. He wanted nothing more than to retort scathingly 'let them be tortured to death, for all they're worth', but held his tongue. This was Harry's say, not his, and it wouldn't be received well..
“I— I guess we should move them, then,” the Gryffindor decided finally, absentmindedly fumbling with the hem of his jacket. “If they're willing, that is. They might not like the idea of a bunch of wizards showing up at their new doorstep just to tell them to move again.”
Kingsley glanced sideways scornfully. “Hmm, yes, I remember them now, I think. Not to worry, perhaps I shall pay them a visit myself,” he thought aloud.”I find that I can be quite persuasive, after all,” he added with an amused gleam in his dark eyes.
“Thanks, Kingsley,” Harry nodded gratefully.
“Very well, I'm afraid I must get going. Heed caution and report back at any checkpoint you make. Or if there is any development or reason for suspicion. I wish you well.”
“Thank you, Minister.”
Just like that, the connection was severed.
By the time they were seated at a dining table in the lounge, Harry felt like a sleep-deprived inferi, though his lids had been drooping when they had first reached their room upon arrival.
Shortly after the conversation with Kingsley, he and Severus had gone down to the lobby to have lunch (upon Severus' persistent insistence that he eat something sustainable). Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had actual sustenance in his stomach, but at the same time the thought of food made him feel sick. The news about the increase in muggle-born fatalities had shaken him, like a fresh bucket of freezing water had been dumped on him, and the thought of losing the Dursleys…
It had been on his mind since he'd found out about it.
They were his last blood relatives alive, and though Harry had known for a while now that blood didn't always mean everything, the thought of losing even them made it feel like there was a gaping hole in his chest. His entire life, they had treated him with resentment, given him the cold shoulder, and… okay, perhaps neglected him. Harry still didn't like that word, but it was better than what Severus had once referred to it. The 'o' word. It felt heavy and settled uncomfortably in his stomach.
But it had never been ob… obuse. No. They'd never hit him… if just barely missing his head didn't count. But that wasn't the point. He couldn't lose his last-living relatives. Nothing could change the fact they were biologically family. If he lost them, he would truly be alone then, with no-one to… well, he didn't know. He just wouldn't have anyone tying his existence, if that made sense…
But Harry didn't know anymore. His feelings on the matter felt jumbled and heavy, and he could feel a ruddy awful headache coming on too.
Severus had been giving him concerned sideway glances all day, and it both warmed and irritated him. He'd never had anyone be genuinely concerned over his wellbeing, but then again he wasn't some toddler. So what if he felt exhausted and starved? HE'd managed his entire life, so why should anything change now?
Harry also felt guilty about not having been able to function properly. Several times, Severus had tried to engage him in conversation about their trip and planning, but Harry had simply nodded and 'mhm -ed' along. In the end, they had just barely avoided a full-blown argument when Severus had had enough and ordered Harry to sleep for a few hours until lunch was served at two…
The young man was unaware that he'd been staring blankly at the menu in his hands for over ten minutes, and that a certain pair of dark, concerned eyes had been carefully observing him for the last five… until a long-fingered hand wrapped around his wrist. He jumped, knocking over his glass of ice water. The cold liquid darkened the white tablecloth in gray, the water soaking a big perimeter and dripping down into Harry's lap. The tall glass was rolling across the table. Harry frantically lunged after it, suddenly intensely self-conscious, but only managed to brush the cool surface with his fingers. It would have crashed to the floor had Severus not caught it at the last second. Startled green eyes found comforting black ones, filled with bemused concern for the umpteenth time that day.
“Are you quite alright?” Severus mumbled softly, retracting his hand, apparently unperturbed by the accident. Harry felt an embarrassed blush creep up his cheeks. He hastily put the menu aside (only then noticing the crumpled creases his fingers had left) and reached for the stand of napkins in the middle of the table. His movements were jerky and distracted, and he wasn't even aware that he wasn't dabbing away the wet mess but instead was just filling his hands with them and simply piling all the napkins into a small heep atop it.
The same hand suddenly curled around his wrist again and gave it a little nudge, not rough but not too gentle either. He looked up again to find the same exact gaze, only this time Severus' face was twisted in both disbelief and deep anxiety. Harry swallowed.
“Stop. Harry, you're clearly on the verge of collapse—”
“I'm fine—”
“Harry!” he hissed. Harry ducked his head, admittedly too tired to argue. Thankfully, a waitress joined them at that exact moment, scowling openly at the mess.
“Have you made up your mind?” she asked noncommittally.
“Err…” He clumsily fumbled for the menu, scanning feverishly for… anything. “Fish and chips and a…double espresso, please,” Harry decided arbitrarily. They were listed under 'special offer!' The woman nodded, jotting everything down on a clipboard, and snapped her fingers over her shoulder to call more of her colleagues over to replace their tablecloth.
Through all this, Harry was staring down at his lap, his thoughts having bungee jumped back on the Dursleys. Were he still living with them, they would have long since made him clean the mess and thrown him into the cupboard without a second's thought.
But they are blood and flesh… Lily's sister and her family…
He still could shake the feeling of loss at something that hadn't even happened yet. At a mere possibility. It would mean he was truly alone and family-less. Sure, he was a grown wizard, self-sufficient, and hero of the bloody Wizarding World, but everyone needed a family. Blood relatives of some sort… overwise, who needed him ?
Not that the Dursleys needed him. Far from it. Still, the thought that he had at least some blood connections to his parents somehow made him calmer.
But now Harry realized his thoughts were just contradicting each other.
And then he thought of Severus, whom he looked up to as a father-figure now. It was so bizarre how he had loathed the man just a mere few months ago. How had things changed so drastically? He often found himself asking this question.
But Severus, too, had no living blood relatives left. Well, he'd once said that he hadn't seen his father since graduation, but did he count? Severus despised his father, Harry knew that.
In hindsight, both their situations were rather similar.
A sudden smell of seafood and potatoes tickled his sinuses. He snapped his head up to see a steaming plate of his order being placed in front of him, alongside that double espresso. Harry mumbled a thanks to the waitress and glanced over at Severus' order. The man had ordered some kind of simple stew with toast and tea. He hadn't started on his meal yet however, instead eyeing Harry cryptically. To avoid any awkward excuses and unnecessary exchanges of 'I'm fine' and 'no, you're not', he grabbed the nearest utensil — a butter knife, and began cutting up his fish.
But after several bites, he felt sick of the seafood taste. The potatoes were very heavy and oily, and after a few days of going without food and today's events, he knew another bite would make his stomach rebel.
So he indulged himself in drinking his espresso. The dark coffee was bitter and helped to ease some of the nausea, at least. It also gave him that boost of energy… Or was that just his wistful thought?
"Harry."
"Sir?"
"Perhaps you should head up to bed?" suggested Severus, leaning forward a bit. "You're clearly not alright. Your body and mind require rest. Upstairs, now."
"I'm eating—"
"Ah, yes, that mush of fish and chips certainly does look delectable," he drawled dryly. Harry glanced down to find a disgusting porridge-like mess that was once his meal.
“It's not even three in the afternoon,” Harry argued. “What would I do there all day?”
“Is the term 'rest' somehow foreign to you, Potter!?” hissed Severus, his patience clearly running thin.
Harry heard himself growl. He bunched up a napkin, wiping nonexistent grease off his hands, and threw it down into his plate. Sighing in irritation at himself and everything around, Harry downed the rest of his caffeinated drink and clumsily stood from the table. Surprising him, Severus also abandoned his meal, used a serviette, left a few pounds, and grabbed Harry's elbow to guide him. The Seventeen-year-old tried severing the contact, but Severus nudged him warningly to abide. Together, they slowly but steadily made their way upstairs.
Back in their room, Harry made a beeline for the bathroom and stayed there for a good three hours under the hot water, just slumped against the wall and doing nothing. He would have emerged sooner had he not forgotten his satchel with all of his clothes in it. And before his last two brain cells connected to remind him he was a wizard, he used his wand to Summon it, completely forgetting they weren't supposed to perform wand magic unless absolutely necessary.
When he finally emerged, Severus was using a dresser as a table, hunched over what looked to be a tourist map. For once, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Though he loathed to admit it, the man was right about him needing rest. Because the moment Harry perched on the soft — heavenly-soft mattress, his lids closed of their own volition and he could feel himself slowly losing consciousness. He vaguely remembered Severus's soothing voice saying something about Dreamless Sleep, and then his round frames being gently plucked off his face. Someone mumbled "goodnight", and a long finger flicked a stray hair strand out of his face.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! I would like to say that I'm not overly happy with this chapter, mainly because everything felt very jumbled in my head and I felt like I was projecting it onto my writing. Otherwise, I am very excited about the upcoming chapter. It'll be a bit smaller than normal, but I think it's very sweet and a big step in S' and H' relationship.
Also, what did ya'll think of the old fisherman? OMG I absolutely had a blast writing him. You'll be seeing him in the next two chapters but he's not going to be a major part of the story.
Sadly, holiday break is nearly over but I wanted to let you guys know that I've successfully written chapters 49-51!!! I am obsessed with how they turned out. They also turned out very long (5-6k words each, lol.) So, yeah, got a lot of work done.
Like can you believe it's 2024 in two days? Where did 2023 go??? Like was there an irl scene jump or smth?
regarding my recent one shot Crucibe, I now quite a few ppl have asked for an epilogue and I'm happy to say that it's well underway. Might not be out for a few weeks because school's starting and I'm also still working on TEWWS. Rest assured there will be one. I have even consulted some of my old discarded drafts and chapters and implemented those ingredients into my potion (get it? Cuz the potion is Crucible? Okay, sorry. I'll stop).
Hmm… For those of you who have read Crucible, what would you like to see in the epilogue? I'm curious to hear your thoughts and ideas. I will add this question to the A/N section in the end notes of the last chapter of Crucible too, so you can tell me either here or there.
One last thing: as always, I try to hunt out any typos in my writing before I post it, but I use Docs and if there are any writers here I think you will know what I mean when I say the autocorrect thing is such a pain in the a$$! E.g. if a word is underlined in blue and I click on it the entire sentence structure can change and then I miss it. Absolutely fed up with it. Is there any way around it? Because I use the app version since I write on my tablet and if I use the website version it just keeps crashing, The internet wasn't of any help either. Not to mention all the docs now open in Print Layout automatically and I have to manually switch it off ever darn time:[
Well, that's all. Thanks again for reading and feel free to write your feedback! Happy New Year! Next chaper - 6 Jan.
Chapter 45: Blood
Summary:
"...might not be mine by blood, but she's as good as… Love 'er as though she were ma own…"
Chapter Text
Recap: When he finally emerged, Severus was using a dresser as a table, hunched over what looked to be a tourist map. For once, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Though he loathed to admit it, the man was right about him needing rest. Because the moment Harry perched on the soft — heavenly-soft mattress, his lids closed of their own volition and he could feel himself slowly losing consciousness. He vaguely remembered Severus's soothing voice saying something about Dreamless Sleep, and then his round frames being gently plucked off his face. Someone mumbled "goodnight", and a long finger flicked a stray hair strand out of his face.
Harry twisted his body and rolled over on his side, outstretching his arm to grope for the small vial of midnight-blue on his bedside table. It was a pretty little thing, with tiny specs swirling around and shimmering in the shaft of moonlight that hit it. Severus' improved Dreamless Sleep. It was halfway-empty, and the young man frowned down at it in confusion.
He had woken up abruptly, not too long ago, from a mild nightmare, and sleep had been eluding him since. He had taken a mouthful of Severus' improved Dreamless Sleep — which he'd conveniently found on his bedside table upon waking —, the exact same dose he had that one other night. So what had he done differently this time? Why couldn't he sleep? Had the potion lost its potency? Had it expired?
Harry set it back on the table and glanced up at the clock. It was just past 3 A.M. The Hurricane was still raging outside, rain thundering against the glass like nails against steel. He craned his head to make out Severus' form, which was prone in the other bed. Well, at least one of them didn't seem to have morbid thoughts plaguing their mind.
Since their latest conversation with Kingsley, Harry hadn't been able to take his mind off of the Dursleys. He just didn't understand the sudden tightness in his chest at the thought of discovering their deaths. It frightened him. He had no-one else, and they were his last living blood relatives. Who was he without them? Of course, his concern was quite unrequited, of that he had no doubt.
He'd tried to reassure himself that he had his friends, the Weasleys… even Severus. But then, why was he still even thinking about this?
Harry sighed lowly and carded a hand through his hair. What was the point of continuing to lie in bed with his tiresome thoughts for company? He didn't want to risk waking Severus, Merlin knew the man needed decent sleep after the last few days' conundrum. Harry contemplated just locking himself in the bathroom, but what on earth would he do there? There weren't any books to read or spells for him to practice either...
The main door caught his eyes. He cocked his head at it. Should he step out? He nostalgically remembered strolling the Hogwarts corridors at night whenever he couldn't sleep or awoke from a troublesome nightmare. Perhaps repeating such endeavors wasn't the brightest of ideas, but he would have his wand on him. It wasn't like he was a defenseless child. Plus, he doubted he would run into danger now.
Mind made up, Harry slipped his trainers on and padded for the door. Every rare instance that a board would creak, Severus would shift within his sheets. He held his breath, until finally letting the door handle go… The corridor was dimly-lit, only a few wall-mounted lamps lighting it, and Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. Severus was just a paranoid person, and it was rubbing off on him.
Wrapping his arms across his chest, the young man shivered slightly as he descended the rickety stairs. On the ground floor, he nearly tripped on the last few steps when his eyes took in the lobby. It was desolate of people. The slowly-dying embers in the firegrate crackled merily, a spark or two popping out occasionally. The fireplace was the primal source of light in the room, and though he remembered the cushioned armchairs that flanked it being a sea-green, they now appeared a deep burgundy color. The other lights in the room were the same shade as the ones in Gryffindor Tower, and Harry allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, breath in deeply, and imagine himself back at Hogwarts.
The armchairs were quite huge, and engulfed Harry almost completely. He drew his knees close to his chest, rubbing his arms to gather warmth. He wasn't aware of another presence in the seat beside him before a gruff cough startled him out of his skin.
"Ar, sorry there, lad," the man apologized as Harry promptly choked on his own gasp, wand already in hand. "Ooh. Got yarself a fishin' rod? Gotta say, I doubt yar gonna catch anythin' with that." It was the same old man he and Severus had consulted at the docks earlier. His turquoise flannel pajamas hung loosely around his lank form, and he held a small tumbler of golden drink Harry knew wasn't apple juice.
Deeming he wasn't in any danger, Harry quickly stuffed the wood inside his invisible sleeve holster. "Uh, hi. Sorry, you just caught me off-guard, sir," apologized Harry. "What are you doing here?"
"Narg, none of this 'sir' business from ya now, kid! The name's Edie." He reached out and shook the younger's hand. "An' my friend runs the place, so I decided to crash the night; wait the storm out… What's yar name? I never got a chance to ask."
"Uh… Daniel. It's a pleasure to re-meet you, Edie," said Harry with a chuckle.
"Likewise, ma'boy! So, couldn't sleep? Marina's sister keepin' ya up?"
Harry shrugged. "Something like that," he mumbled quietly. "You, si— Eddie?"
The old man took a sip and smacked his lips tastefully. "Ay, I'm gonna see ma granddaughter tomorrow at the Fisherman's Weekly. Don't really see her that often anymore. Devastated the both o' us when Debra passed a few months ago, so we try to support each other the best we can."
"...Was Debra your wife?" Harry asked slowly, unsure of what else to say but fearing the question might be a bit personal.
"Oh yeah. Well, ma second wife. When she and Amy came into ma life, it was like the sun rays shone through ma murky waters."
Assuming Amy was the daughter, he inferred "So, she's your stepdaughter?"
Eddie held up a finger. "Nuh-uh. She might not be mine by blood, but she's as good as," he corrected firmly and proudly. "Love 'er as though she were ma own."
"Really?" The question had escaped his lips before he could censor it. "Sorry—! I didn't mean…"
"No, no, no, Dan, it's a valid question," he mollified, shifting in his seat so he was leaning forward on his elbows and facing Harry. "What does blood matter? I got maself a biological father, but he'd never been a part of ma life. Slept, drank, slept, mugged. Died in some bar — got into a fight or s'mthin'," he grumbled bitterly, striking blue eyes shifting to the grate. "We were never close, and I only spat on his grave when his time came."
The wrinkles around his eyes softened significantly as a smile formed on his face. "But Amy, ma dear Amy… She's the daughter I never had with ma first wife. It was slightly rocky at first, when Debra and I first met and she wasn't too accepting of me, but we grew to love one another. Now we're all we've got, and blood be damned," he spat. "Family is measured by love 'n' care, not by ruddy biology and blood — it dosen't mean anythin'."
Harry listened in silent awe, blaming the smarting in his eyes on the non-existent smoke from the fire. For a few moments, he couldn't seem to get words out of his mouth. "But… doesn't it make you feel lonely sometimes?" he asked quietly, just a decibel above a whisper. "I mean, not having any blood relations?" He had no way of knowing if Eddie still had any left, but his question was secretly aimed more at himself.
Eddie pursed his lips, thought for a moment, and shook his head. "Never really thought about it," he confessed gruffly, "but I think that just goes to prove that no, I don't. I've got good friends, a daughter I love, and the barman who always has me covered in case I lose ma wallet," he chuckled heartily.
Harry nodded, gazing blankly into the fire. He knew the Weasleys considered him as good as their own, but it wasn't… it didn't feel that official. He had always felt like a sore thumb at their meals or gatherings... But Eddie's words really did give him something to ponder over.
"But that's not really yar father, is it now?" inquired Eddie, leaning forward with an arched but knowing eyebrow. "Ya don't look like 'im. Ya got similar chin structure, but that's about it."
Harry had almost forgotten that he and Severus were still under those Concealment Charms. "Oh, uh, he's… my adoptive father." Wow, those words felt heavy and guilt-ridden in his chest.
The man hiccuped. "Atta boy! So why such questions? Ya seemed surprised how I spoke of ma Amy. Ya doubt his care?"
Harry bit his lip hard, wondering how much was safe to divulge to Edie. He was certain he was no Death Eater in disguise, and he would probably forget half of the night come morning.
"It's… complicated. I used to live with my blood relatives, but we didn’t see eye to eye…” put lightly. ” A lot of things happened, and now Se— Alan and I are traveling somewhere. He said he cares about me… but… "
"There's no blood to prove it?"
"Something like that, I guess… Almost like… no feeling of insurance, " answered Harry unsurely, wondering if that was the right word to use. “A… safety net.”
Eddie sighed. “Cruel world we live in, ey? Well, ‘s just like I said, blood don' matter. It ain’t no indicator of anythin'—”
But the old man suddenly shut up when a long-fingered hand clamped down on Harry's shoulder. Harry's heart panged a startled jolt, but he'd realized who it was immediately and restrained himself from an impulsive cry. Instead, he slowly craned his neck back around to meet obsidian-black orbs, the manic craze and emotion in them belying the stoic mask he wore.
"Oh! Good night, sir!" greeted Eddie, downing the rest of his drink. "Or is it 'good early-morning'? Heh-he. Ay, I never got yar name, good sir. Only know yar son, Daniel. Good lad. Or wait… did ya son mention ya? S'mthn' on A… Alaska? Acropolis? Alina?" He squinted at the glowering figure. "Yah, ya seem like an Alina to me."
Harry wanted to face-palm himself in the forehead with so much force that it would knock him out… But he refrained.
Arms crossed over his chest, Severus flashed him a dangerous look, one that Harry remembered having been on the receiving end of too many times to count. The man held rigidly-still, donned in his day clothes still, only his dark turtleneck wasn't covered by the jacket.
"Hmm. Not too much of a talkative fella, aren't ya?" he continued to ramble. "Ya should take example from yar son — much more outgoin'. I s'pose he took after the mother… Are, wait, noooo I got it all wrong! ‘e said ya adopted ‘im!" The man slurred horribly, swaying a bit as he stood. Harry felt his face catch fire and silently prayed for the old drunk to stuff a sock in it. If the ground were to suddenly swallow him whole, he would welcome it — hell, he would pay it.
But Severus continued to ignore him, simply glaring as though Edie were an unsavory potion he'd just tasted.
"'lright, 'lright. 'm goin'. Ya be good to yar son, there, 'lright? AN' GO EASY ON'IM! Marina's sister was keepin' 'im awake… Night, Dan! Night, Alina!"
Twisted in his chair (the hand on his shoulder keeping firm), Harry watched the old man stumbled ungracefully up the stairs. Were it not for the small pause in between his clumsy, loud footing, Harry would have missed Severus whisper a Cushioning Charm at the disoriented man. Once they were alone, he rounded Harry's seat and took the recently-vacated one, planting both hands on either armrest and pinning Harry with a hard look.
"Just what in Salazar's name were you thinking?" he hissed, the sound mixing with the sizzle in the grate. "It is currently three in the morning, not a soul awake aside from ourselves and that drunken old fool who could have been a Polyjuiced Death Eater, for all you knew!"
Harry shifted slightly under the laser-like glare, but felt himself growing defensive. "I had my wand on me," he justified. "I just couldn't sleep. Sometimes a stroll does me good." He kept his tone light and impassive, not in the mood for a lecture or a rant. He was a full-grown wizard and completely entitled to step out to clear his head for a while. It wasn't like he'd taken a huge risk.
Severus sighed and dragged a hand through his long hair, continuing it down his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He suddenly looked exhausted, the dramatic, warm light deepening his shallow features. Had he been worried? Had Harry scared him by just disappearing like that? He recalled the nearly-crazed look in Severus' eyes when he'd first found him…
"...might not be mine by blood, but she's as good as… Love 'er as though she were ma own…"
"Sorry… I guess maybe I should've left a note or something… I— I didn't mean to worry you…?" he apologized sheepishly, his tone uncertain and questioning toward the end.
This caught the Slytherin's attention, for he peeked through his fingers at the boy before him. "Of course I was worried, you foolish dunderhead! Is it really that hard of a concept for you to grasp?" he answered exasperatedly. Harry ducked his head, and the other sighed again. "Nightmare?"
"...No."
" Harry ."
"Fine. A mild one."
"Did you take the potion?"
"Yes. Didn't work."
Severus traced a finger over his bottom lip in thought, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "I believe you had caffeine at dinner?"
Harry paused to recall, then bobbed his head once.
"Caffeine is a very strong stimulant. There is supposed to be a time window of at least four hours before you can consume any relaxant potion, like Dreamless Sleep. I apologize for my oversight to inform you."
"Oh. It's alright, I guess." Harry started to get up, sensing this was his cue to head back up, but Severus made no move. Severus looked him up-down, the crease in the bridge of his nose deepening. He made a vague gesture toward Harry's recently-vacated chair with his hand.
"Please sit."
Harry swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach. "Actually, I'm kinda tire—"
" Please ."
And the only thing that made Harry's feet comply of their own volition was the genuine, pleading tone of his ex-professor. Severus Snape was never one to plead. And there was something… something unnamed lacing the simple word… Concern?
Harry watched Severus carefully lace his fingers together, never once straying from the young man. Just when Harry was starting to feel the urge to squirm, he spoke.
"You are concerned for the Dursleys."
Harry shut his eyes, out of either weariness, annoyance, or the fact Severus had hit the nail on the head. "This is bloody ridiculous…" he muttered under his breath.
"It most certainly is not," asserted the man, his gaze hardening briefly before softening again.
"Harry."
"What?" the boy snapped irritably.
His eyes were soft and his posture seemed relaxed, except for a hand rapping the armrest gently. Severus' lips were pursed slightly in calculative thought, and his obsidian orbs roamed over Harry's face as though he were an incomprehensible potion. "The man — Eddie — was right, you know," he finally spoke, voice low and velvety, "Blood doesn't mean anything."
The boy swallowed, his cheeks turning pink. But before he could reply with an automatic 'I know', Severus continued.
"But you don't believe that." It was a statement, not a question. "I did not overhear the entire conversation, but judging by the last words you two exchanged I can wager a guess you believe that blood is an indicator of insurance, something you are on the verge of losing…"
Harry ducked his head, staring intently into the fire. He didn't say anything, for he didn't know what.
"Harry. We cannot change the fate of your relatives, whatever it is that has been written for them. But should something happen, you will not be alone. Had we not established some week ago that blood doesn't always mean everything? It does not define us; it is but merely something we share with a select-few people. If you think about it, even you and I are related, if you were to trace back a few generations."
Despite himself, Harry chuckled and finally looked at Severus. "The way you said that you and I are related so calmly, sir… I bet you would have denied it until your last breath just a year ago."
Severus tightened his lips with something akin ro disdain, but had a thoughtful look in his eyes. "But it is the truth. The Potters were a pureblood family, as were the Princes. As you may well already be aware…"
"All pureblood families are related," finished Harry. He made a vague uncertain gesture. "I know that. Still, it's just not really the same…"
"I understand. The Dursleys — Petunia, at least — is your last living blood relation. Hence the thought of losing her has you worried… because you think you will be alone….Is that correct?"
Harry slowly nodded — what was the point of denying it? And suddenly, without warning, Severus stood, approached his chair in one stride, and swatted the back of his head. Harry stiffened and half-gaped at him. The man retook his seat as though nothing had happened.
"Wha—!?"
"Harry, you will never be alone!” asserted the man. “The mere notion of this thought… You have the entire Weasley clan, your friends, me… All of us would go to the ends of the earth for you —"
"I—I know," replied Harry quickly, feeling warm inside. "And I get that it must be really stupid of me to think this… But it's… If Aunt Petunia dies, I just feel like I'll be utterly alone… But it's hard to explain. Whenever I think about it, it's like I exist, but I'm alone… in some wasteland." What kind of rambled rubbish is tumbling out of my mouth right now?
Severus nodded, genuine understanding on his face. "Yes, I do understand what you are trying to say. And I suppose this is similar to what I had felt when my mother passed… By that time, I loathed my father with a burning passion, and the feeling was rather mutual. I did not know of the existence of any grandparents, so you can imagine the abandonment I felt when I was left in Tobias' care. But despite everything, Lily was the closest person I considered family… until our falling out," he turned to the flames with regret.
"But see here, Harry, I had chosen to distance myself from everyone. Were it during my last Hogwarts Years, were it during my teaching career, it was my choice not to grow attachments to anyone, hence why I have grown so bitter and alone. Perhaps for the best… But you, Harry," he looked him dead in the eyes, "you have so many people willing to put their life before yours. They love you, Harry, either familialy or romantically, but they love you. Do not forget this. And do not neglect this gift."
For some unfathomable reason, Harry felt the back of his eyes sting. He pretended to rub his eyes from sleepiness to cover them up. "Yeah. Yes, I mean. You're right, Severus. Thank you… " he whispered.
He nodded. "And Harry. Whatever may happen to your relatives, you will not face it alone. I will be there. You will be alright. And trust me when I say that the Dursleys are too vile to die — unfortunately, that is the irony of life. All the good ones leave us, the bad ones often stay."
Harry tightened his lips in a feeble smile. "Sir?" he said slowly. "Do— Is there anyone you consider— I mean as close to it as you can get… But do you consider anyone your family?" he asked awkwardly, but then realizing the question might be too personal for Severus, who clearly tensed a bit in his seat. He looked back at the grate, considering something.
"Put it this way, Harry," he replied slowly, meeting his eyes. "I do not trust easily. And not even Albus Dumbledore knew me to the extent that you do… For that matter, you are the first and only person who has ever known so much about my personal life, even including my own mother and Lily."
Harry tried to smother the grin forming on his face with a cough, but it was futile. The warmth in his chest was too strong for that. The words slowly sinking in, he could feel an annoying scratching in his throat, making it hard to swallow. There were almost unspoken words left to linger in the air between them, but he could have sworn he could hear them anyway… Severus was looking at him with something foreign… Fondness? Affection? Very few people in his life had ever looked at Harry like that.
"You could say the same for me, sir," he replied, smiling openly at the man now. And in answer, the corners of his lips curved up in a genuine smile.
Notes:
Thanks for all of your lovely comments on my previous chapter! Now that school's back in cession, my heart's just not really been in it lately, but I'm trying. I'm gonna have two weeks of holiday after this coming week, so hopefully I'm gonna finish this fic then. After TEWWS I'm gonna start writing a new fic which I am just SO EXCITED for! With TEWWS, I feel like my plotting's pretty bad and the whole plot is kinda eh. Don't worry's I AM gonna finish this fic first, but just saying that I want to get it off my shoulders. I'm not going to abandon it, though, cuz I know some of you are really enjoying this fic. Anyway, that's all. Don't foget to comment and tell me what you think! Oh, and Happy New Year!
Next chapter: 13th Jan.
Chapter 46: Dublin
Summary:
“Mr. Potter,” addressed Kingsley. Severus saw and felt Harry tense. “I… We were too late…” He sighed deeply, and he was sure he'd never seen Kingsley Shacklebolt look so at a loss for words. “You're relatives were kidnapped.”
Notes:
Hello!!!! OOf, hope ya'll are ready for an 8k word chapter🫠 Innitially, it was around 6k words, but things got out of hand when I started editing it. I really like how it turned out though. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap: "Put it this way, Harry," he replied slowly, meeting his eyes. "I do not trust easily. And not even Albus Dumbledore knew me to the extent that you do… For that matter, you are the first and only person who has ever known so much about my personal life, even including my own mother and Lily."
Harry tried to smother the grin forming on his face with a cough, but it was futile. The warmth in his chest was too strong for that. The words slowly sinking in, he could feel an annoying scratching in his throat, making it hard to swallow. There were almost unspoken words left to linger in the air between them, but he could have sworn he could hear them anyway… Severus was looking at him with something foreign… Fondness? Affection? Very few people in his life had ever looked at Harry like that.
"You could say the same for me, sir," he replied, smiling openly at the man now. And in answer, the corners of his lips curved up in a genuine smile.
The calls of seagulls were drowned out by the gurgling and crashing of unforgiving waves in the aftermath of last night’s hurricane, rocking the weathered fishing ferry as though it were an unstable cradle. The Irish sea was a murky gray-green, the water turning a pale turquoise whenever a small shaft of sunlight would peek through the slowly-parting early-morning clouds.
When Severus was a student at Hogwarts, one of the primal reasons for his passionate dislike of Quidditch was his motion sickness. The bloody brooms would sverve this way and that, causing his head to bob and spin as though it were a precariously-attached puppet head. How Harry could play that sport was beyond him.
The Hogwarts Express rides had never been fun for Severus either: the consistent jostling would make him feel ill to the stomach, and one time he’d even sicked up the pumpkin pastries he and Lily had bought from the trolley.
With age, his condition seemed to improve, if when they had ridden the London-Holyhead train was anything to go by. However, it seemed one could never truly rid themselves of their haunting demons, and a rocking boat at sea appeared to be the closest thing to flying.
There weren’t enough words in the entire English dialect to describe the irony-infused absurdity of the ituation: Europe’s youngest and finest Potions Master, ex-Professor at Hogwarts (Potions and DADA), ex-headmaster, ex-Death Eater and right-hand man to the late darkest wizard of the century, ex-spy/double-agent, powerful Occlumens and Legilimens, accomplished wizard, survivor of a bloody poisonous snake bite and two Wizarding Wars…
And he was vulnerable to motion sickness. The mere thought of it was enough to wound his pride.
Severus Snape felt dreadful. And considering he’d always been a morning person, that was saying something. The mixture of the previous day’s journey, last night’s anxiety-fueled fright at Harry's empty bed, the morning sea teeth-chattering chill, and the current squid in his stomach all comprised a should-be-forbidden concoction. The little breakfast he had managed before leaving the Inn was doing unpleasant acrobatics in him… The wizard tried his best to appear composed and Occlude, but he knew he was failing miserably.
Of all the potions, salves, and elixirs he’d brought with him, a simple Anti-Nausea had somehow omitted that list.
He and Harry had taken the old fisherman — Eddie — up on his courteous offer to ferry them to Dublin. Severus currently sat in the rusty cabin, bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees and head bowed in between. The interior of the boat was small and marine-stenched, but at least it provided protection from the sea salt spray and raging winds.
Harry sat some length away beside him, fidgeting with the silver band he'd bought in Witchgary Square for himself and Ginerva Weasley, and the old man was busy at the wheel. Last night's conversation was still rather fresh on both their minds, and Severus knew Harry hadn't slept any better than he had following it. Harry was still brooding about his relatives, one needn't be a Legilimens to discern something so blatant as that. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve, whether he was aware of it or not, and there was little the older wizard could do about it. He would offer Harry Occlumency lessons, as he knew it would help him immensely in his rampaging thoughts, but the historic events of Fifth Year held his tongue back. Additionally, he figured Harry would cope best with things with a different approach. Severus had since learned that with him, civil conversation brought about best results.
The boat crashed down from a particularly strong wave, making everyone jump at least a few inches and jostling Severus’ internal organs. He was starting to despise the water as much as—
“Ay, not much o’ a sea lad, are ya?” asked Eddie humorously in a throaty voice. Severus turned his head to glare daggers at the man’s back. If looks could kill, the old coger would be nothing but a pile of ash now.
Harry leaned in to whisper in Severus' ear. “Severus, are you sure—?”
“I’m fine, Ha— Daniel,” he cut the boy off sharply, blindly holding up a hand in the voice's general direction.
A snort. “How the tables have turned, professor.”
“What?”
“When I say I'm fine, it's unacceptable. When you say it…”
Insolent brat. This was both humiliating and unbecoming.
“Should be seein’ land in a few hours,” added the captain matter-of-factly. “Have’ya ever been on a boat, Dan, ma boy?” he called.
“What—? Oh, er, no, not really. Well, once, actually, but it was...”
“How old were ya?” Eddie helped out, back still turned to them.
Though Severus couldn’t really see the young man with his head bent forward, he felt him shift so that he was sitting sideways and facing the old man more. “It was on my 11th birthday… Well, sort of. My… relatives,” he said this somewhat haltingly, “rented out a small boat to get to a small island. It was actually at night during a storm, but it was a short distance. But that night… my whole life pretty much changed.”
Severus’ inquisitiveness piqued at this, subconsciously thankful for the distraction from his sickness. What was Harry talking about? Why in Merlin’s name would anyone sail out to sea with a child — or children — in tow in such conditions? And to a small island? He suddenly remembered Rubeus Hagrid blabbering at the Welcoming Feast of 1991 how he had found the Boy-Who-Lived with his relatives in an old fishing shack out at sea, when he’d gone to personally deliver the boy the letter. Of course, Severus had only half-listened, dismissing it as an exaggeration. Now, given everything Harry had shared about his relatives, he felt an inane urge to know the entire story.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask Harry with the old coger right there.
“Well, ya gotta be exceedingly-dumb to do that, I’ll tell ya, boy,” replied Eddie gruffly. “Where drunks or sm'th'?”
Harry snorted at that. "Not really. Just paranoid, I guess."
"Paranoid?" parroted the man bemusedly. "'Bout ruddy what?"
"Er… It's a long story, but they thought someone was after them, so they blew the circumstances out of proportion."
Severus snorted internally. Yes, that certainly did sound like dear old Tuney. She'd always hated magic, and if Severus was piecing the right information together, it would seem she and her husband had tried to prevent Harry from attending Hogwarts. He could feel his cold hands warm as anger-fueled blood rushed through his body at. Yes, life was unfair, and cruel, but the mere thought that Lily's vile sister was alive and Lily wasn't…
And all because of him.
Harry and Edie continued conversing about inconsequential things, the boy always being vague in whatever he divulged. Severus let him. It was obvious the old fisherman (now scratching behind his ear with one hand) was no evil Death Eater mastermind. Harry hadn't had many people to converse in the last month or so, and despite Severus' conventional paranoia, he supposed it would do no harm for this one man to be let in on some things currently on Harry's mind. Especially after their conversation in the Inn's lobby.
Some time passed, and the cabin had since grown quiet. Severus had somehow got used to the motion sickness by now, so he was able to finally recline back against the tattered couched-bench. The nausea was still present, but managable… Harry had miraculously dozed off, though the Slytherin was far from surprised. Given last night (or early morning), it had only been a matter of when his insomnia would catch up to him.
The boat continued to jostle and sway with creaks in the rampaging water. And at a particularly-unfortunate yank, a warm body slid down the seat and pressed into Severus’s side. The wizard had had half a mind to move Harry away, but something prevented him from proceeding. He could’ve sworn that the contact was somehow ebbing his nausea away.
So, for selfish reasons or not, he carefully readjusted Harry so that he was leaning more comfortably against his side, his mop of hair resting on his shoulder. Severus gently circled his arm around Harry’s back, holding him protectively against himself to counter the boat’s turbulence. He noticed his round frames were painfully digging into the bridge of his nose so he plucked them off, observing the cracked glass with a disdainful scowl.
"Gonna get 'im new glasses, I s'spect?"
Severus's head snapped up to see the old codger's reflection in the windshield glass, piercing-blue eyes much like Dumbledore's staring into his. Given his undercover role as the father, but not limited by it, Severus gave a curt nod. The wizard was surprised to find the body melting into his side, and battled a small smile. These small moments of comfort were rare, and he savored every one of them. Severus had gone his entire life without them, regretfully having grown bitter and resentful. With Harry, he felt needed; he had someone to care for. He had a purpose.
Severus was again painfully reminded of the way he’d lost Lily’s friendship in Fifth Year, and how he’d betrayed her just six years later. And now, here he was, some odd month after the war and offering comfort to her son, or however little of it he could. The ex-Death Eater wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Hell, he wasn’t even sure where this train of thought was going.
Yes, he cared deeply for Harry. There was almost a familial connection between them now. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they had been isolated together for a month, or perhaps it was the universe’s way of fate…. but Harry was a beacon of hope for Severus. Sarcasm aside, he truly was the Boy-Who-Lived, and the fact that Severus had been a contributing factor to the boy’s persistent survivals, despite the challenges and hardships, made his chest swell with insurmountable pride. Harry was a sort of symbol of hope, and the comfort of knowing Lily’s legacy continued to live on.
Eddie’s words from last night flitted into his head at that moment.
“...blood doesn't matter…”
It really didn’t.
Unconsciously tightening his hand around the young man’s small shoulder, Severus peered down to inspect his face. The seventeen-year-old, soon to be eighteen, had a peaceful expression about him, and something about that brought about a tender feeling to him. Severus smirked down at the small stubble he had developed over the last few days — the ridiculous thing made the boy's face look much older than his real age. Carefully, he rested his chin atop Harry’s head. Through hooded eyes, he gazed out a port window, feeling content. Whatever awaited them both on this mission, they would pull through. It didn’t matter if Severus was destined to life-imprisonment in Azkaban, he would cherish whatever time he had left.
True it was that he'd spent a bit more time pondering his future lately (however bleek it seemed). One way or another, the mission would soon be over. And unless death would somehow claim his life, he only saw the entire ordeal ending in one way: his impending trial.
Severus was no coward. He would not run and hide for the rest of his life from the Aurors and the entire Wizarding World… Not that that would even be considered a life. No, he would rather face the Wizengamot of imbeciles and accept whatever fate was bestowed upon him. In all honesty, the ex-Death Eater knew he deserved Azkaban, perhaps even worse, for all the sins he'd committed. He was a Death Eater, the mark on his left forearm proved it, no matter that he'd dedicated his life to the Light.
Severus didn't see a point in even gathering proof for his trial. What use would it be? The point? And precisely WHAT evidence? There was scarcely anything to help him plead his case. Severus wouldn't even retaliate or defend himself much, but would accept his fate. His entire life he'd fought to survive. There was a stark difference between living and surviving, and the latter option was exhausting and pitiful.
Of course, this left a guilt-ridden pit in his gut, tightening as he felt the body in his arms shift to bury his face deeper into his shoulder. What would it do to Harry? This was exactly what Severus had been frightened of happening from the very beginning: attachment. Notwithstanding the mutual respect and care they had developed for one another, Harry needed a stable parental figure in his life. Yes, Severus had promised not to leave Harry, but he'd mostly been referring to emotionally leaving him and giving up on this foolish mision.
Once the mission was over, there would be no potential threats to Harry's life. He would no doubt go on to marry and form a family. Where would Severus come in? He would probably be living somewhere isolated and alone, sneered at by the Wizarding Community and lacking purpose (in the hypothetical scenario that he hadn't been sentenced to Azkaban). And what was the point of leading a life without anyone in it? After all, witches and wizards did have a longer life expectancy than muggles. And would he really be willing to endure the next sixty or more years in his own grief, guilt, and remorse? With his own thoughts for sanity?
No, he clearly held no purpose. And Harry would be alright without him. Severus would only be a distraction in the young man's life. Besides, what kind of influence was he? Well, obviously far from a good one. Perhaps Harry would be hurt or upset by him surrendering himself so, but in the long run, he would be fine…
He hoped.
"Ya really care about 'im, don'cha?"
Severus was startled out of his thoughts by Eddie's knowing voice. But with Harry asleep next to him, the sarcastic remark had died on his lips. Merely a muggle or not, he wasn't about to spill his feelings about Harry to the old man, so he settled for the safest option: silence.
"Now, you ain't heard this from me, but he worries you might not," he added disapprovingly, back still turned to him, hands busy at the wheel. "Look, I don't know much about ya two, but I can easily tell ya care, and vice versa. But sometimes, that just ain't enough. Ya need to show it more."
There was a small pause, in which Severus mulled the words over, before Eddie spoke again.
"By the way, I never got yar name. Heh, funny how I'm giving two strangers a lift without even knowing their names," he chuckled, making the wizard actually question his wit.
"Alan," he answered begrudgingly. Severus wished to sneer at the old, wrinkled meddler, but something held him back, almost like a sort of weight in his chest at the man’s observations. How could he be capable of displaying care? He'd never known what care, let alone parental, felt like… but what was he even thinking? He was no parent (thank Merlin) to Harry.
Or was he?
Of course not.
Harry simply saw him as a father-figure because he was his only option left, as if he were an old, faulty racing broom, and all the good ones had been sold, deeming him his last option.
But that broom would still serve Harry till its end of time — however much that was.
Severus mentally shook his head. Only Merlin knew how he had come to racing broom metaphors.
When Eddie had mentioned a Fisherman's Weekly, Severus hadn't really delved deep into the matter. But whatever he might have pictured, it wasn’t this.
The trio had just disembarked the old fishing boat at Dublin Port. Ironically, the weather had cleared up by now; it was somewhere around noon. Hundreds of outdoor-market booths and stalls were spread about the area (offering a wide range of fishing goods and seafood), an array of different colors matching the many boats docked as far as the eye could see. The place absolutely reeked of marine waste and dead fish guts; the odor was strong enough to make his sinuses smart.
Beside them, Eddie stretched his sore limbs with a satisfying groan, expanding his lungs with a deep inhale and causing a few bones to crack. "Ahhhh. Yep. Always worth the journey," he concluded happily. "So, where're ya fellas headed to?"
It was Severus who answered, standing beside Harry. "Dublin. We thank you for your… service. How much for the trip?" he asked deftly, reaching into an inside pocket of his windbreaker for his wallet.
"Ah, don't worry 'bout it! it's on the house. Didn’t cost me anything, now did it? Besides, yar company was worth it—"
"PAP!"
All three heads suddenly turned to the unexpected feminine shout. A young woman with a dark ponytail and pink sweater was pushing apologetically through the busy crowd, waving at the small group excitedly. Once she'd managed to break free, she flung herself at Eddie, arms wide and circling around him in a tight embrace.
"AMY! Ayyy, there she is! Ah, I've missed ya!" greeted Eddie joyfully, his voice muffled. "How long's it been?"
"Definitely too long," Amy replied, pulling back. Harry and Severus just stood there awkwardly, feeling like sore thumbs.
"Well, let me introduce you to the lovely father and son I've just had the pleasure of giving a lift 'ere, then!" he said, turning to the two men. "Meet Daniel and Alan."
The young woman reached out to shake hands with Harry, and then Severus, offering pleasant greetings. "It's a pleasure to meet you! Are you here on vacation? This year's summer isn't as warm as the last one."
"Uh, yeah. Something like that," replied Harry through a smile, looking uncomfortable; Severus could tell it was strained. "And you?"
"Oh, I've come for my pap's Fisherman's Weekly, but I live just outside Dublin," said Amy brightly. "Would you like us to give you a tour? They offer free samples, neat sea finds, and the farmer's market isn't far away either—"
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid we'd best be going," answered Severus as politely as he could. They had already wasted enough time as it was, and he and Harry needed to report to the Minister. Not only that, but he was sure it was due time to re-apply the Concealment Charm. "I'm afraid we've fallen behind schedule," he added. "We would be appreciative for directions to Dublin center, however."
Amy's smile fell a bit, but she nodded understandingly. "Well, there's a direct bus to City Centre past the market in that direction," she pointed with her finger.
"Ah, but c'mon, lads!" insisted Eddie poutingly, grating Severus' nerves. "When's the next time Ya're gonna get an opportunity like this? Ya can count this as part of yar holiday."
"I'm afraid I must insist," replied Severus shortly, his tone bordering on danger and warning, specifically the one he had often reserved for his Gryffindor students. "If you would just inform me of the total amount I am required to pay, we would be on our way."
"Eddie, really, thanks for everything," stepped in Harry, clearly trying to mitigate the older's curtness. "But we really do need to go. But you've seriously helped us out a lot, so thank you."
Eddie batted his hand. "Aw, shucks, yar making me blush!" He turned back to Severus with an incredulous expression. "And are ya deaf? Ya don't owe me nothin'! Go an' have fun, ya two! Stay safe. And, Daniel, remember what I told ya, yeah?"
Having bid goodbye to their two new acquaintances, Severus and Harry set off through the rows of stalls and booths. The Potions Master, having developed an impenetrable immunity for putrid smells, tastes, and odors, was amused to spy the younger's face from time to time as his nose — Lily's nose — would scrunch up in disgust — another trait he'd inherited from his mother.
But all light musings aside, Severus simultaneously contemplated their next move. They had to contact Kingsley, for which they would require a secluded place away from prying eyes, but they also had to keep on a constant move and find a way to Slieve League. The idea in itself seemed simple, but considering they also needed rest and sustenance, things were easier said than done.
But then, Severus gave himself a small mental shake. He had to break his bad habit of reviewing the plan and their doing-abouts all on his own. He and Harry needed to work together, and another dispute with the stubborn Gryffindor was preferable to be avoided. Furthermore, the young man wasn't a poor advisor either. So, Severus asked Harry about his take on their situation.
"Well, we need contact Kinglsey first," said Harry decisively as they continued to traverse down the main road of the outdoor market. "We need an alley or something. Or, heck, even the lavatory?"
Severus considered this for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. We would need to cast a Silencing Charm for the latter, and it is inadvisable to utilize such spellwork, especially since a re-application of the Concealment Charm is inevitably required."
"So, an alley then?"
"Perhaps, though with the amount of people here, I doubt it will be most convenient."
The crowd was slowly starting to disperse around the pair they neared the end of the lively event. Severus was considering perhaps sneaking onto or behind one of the many docked ships, when Harry halted mid-stride, tugging the older's sleeve. The boy was pointing with his finger, and Seveus followed its general direction to a small port full of shipping containers.
"Wh—? Ah."
Luckily, the area was desolate of people and all the metal containers were rust-covered and quite large. The wizard wasn't surprised to find the one they picked out locked — a red one that had clearly seen better days — but being the accomplished wizard he was, a wandless and non-verbal Alohomora was no feat for him. The two climbed inside, leaving a tiny gap in the entrance behind them to let a bit of the blinding sunlight light the pitch-dark space.
"Severus, Mr. Potter, where are you?" inquired the baritone voice immediately in the mirror Severus had activated. Before either of the reseptants could reply, however, Minerva McGonagall appeared beside the Minister.
"Oh, thank heavens you're alright!" she exclaimed, a hand splayed over her chest. The deep burgundy robes and hat she wore, neat, elegant, and pristine, belied her aged, wise face, covered in wrinkles and dark circles under her blue eyes.
"Professor!" greeted Harry in surprise. Severus could agree that it had been long since they'd last seen the witch.
"Mr. Potter, Severus, it's good to see you, but let us keep the pleasantries to a minimum. What's your update? I can see your Concealment Charms are fading. Where— Where are you?" the woman asked, eyes roaming in every direction in an attempt to decipher the setting.
"We are at Dublin Port; the specifics are inconsequential, "answered Severus deftly. "We hope to reach Dublin center and figure out a way to Sligo, as previously devised."
Kinglsey and Minerva nodded. Harry asked, "Any news on the Death Eaters, Kingsley?"
"Only a hypothesis: we suspect they are moving West," the dark man replied grimmly. "Have you utilized any wand magic besides the necessities?"
Severus shook his head in negative. "Only to re-apply the Charms and erect the usual wards, as we had discussed."
"Hold up— But if they have our magic signatures," began Harry, "how can they implement them? Does it work like an underage magic trace or something?"
This time, Minerva replied. "Every witch and wizard's wand has their respective signature, Mr. Potter. With enough expertise, these signatures can be used to trace their respective wands. Such methods are rarely practiced these days, as a magic signature is quite difficult to actually apply them to use."
The younger wizard nodded understandingly, fixing his glasses and running a hand through his mop of hair. "Right… Have you figured out how the Aurors are going to get to the stronghold when we send our signal?"
Kingsley and Minerva shared a look before the man answered. "Indeed we have. You must remember the Veil from the Battle of the Ministry?" he asked carefully, as if judging Harry's reaction carefully. Severus immediately glanced at Harry's side profile, seeing his expression darken slightly at the memory of the ordeal. "We've had Unspeakables conducting a plethora of tests and examinations since my coming to Office, and I am pleased to announce that we have uncovered its nature."
Severus' interests immediately piqued at this, as did Harry's. He'd known of the Veil since the Fifth Year incident, but had never given it much thought. The object wasn't known to many, and had been kept hidden deep within the Ministry for centuries. No-one had ever known of its nature.
"The Veil is a complex formation, and is essentially reserved for transportation. In Sirius Black's case, he'd simply fallen in and the Veil had swallowed him. Unfortunately, we haven't the time for an extensive backstory, but in essence, the Veil is capable of large-scale transportation. But unlike Portkeys of Floo transportation, it does not require a mirrored gateway to operate. What this means is that a non-existent gateway can be summoned at any time, any place. All that is needed are the coordinates of the location you wish to travel to."
"I see…" acknowledged Severus, deep in thought.
"I'm sure I needn't stress the importance of keeping vigilance," said McGonagall. "The minister and I have decided on placing the Aurors at Veil to await our word to travel to an unknown-yet location — the coordinates soon to be provided by you."
"And what of the Tenebris Orb, Minister?" inquired Severus drawingly. "It does not take Merlin to deduce that an object of such concentrated dark magic can be lethal if fallen into the wrong hands, or, Merlin forbid, is destroyed. This operation will require extensive care and diligence. The Death Eaters could potentially go as far as using it as a ploy," he finished darkly, tracing a long finger along his bottom lip.
The Minister sighed understandingly. "Unfortunately, not much is known to us about this Orb, but your points have merit, Severus… This matter will require further consideration. Minerva and I shall see to it if we can dig up any other information on it. Until then, we must stick to the initial plan," he concluded. Then, his face turned more grimm, and Severus almost immediately knew they were about to hear some unsavory news. Even Minerva's face fell at that moment, a knowing yet regretful look crossing her wise features.
“Mr. Potter,” addressed Kingsley. Severus saw and felt Harry tense. “I… We were too late…” He sighed deeply, and he was sure he'd never seen Kingsley Shacklebolt look so at a loss for words. “You're relatives were kidnapped.”
***
Everything in him froze. Blood, muscles, thoughts… Harry couldn't breathe. Something was restricting the movement of his lungs. He thought he could hear someone calling his name, but the voice was distant and drowned out by the pounding in his ears. His whole body was screaming in denial, and he was barely aware he was shaking his head in synchronization to the single word playing in his head on a mantra.
No.
No. No. No.
NO!
“ —tter! Potter! Harry!”
“NO!” he suddenly cried out, and time seemed to accelerate again. Severus was grasping both his shoulders, the mirror no longer in his hand. There was deep concern in his black eyes, his eyes furrowed with a crease. Harry felt as though he couldn't breathe.
“No. No, it can't be,” he shook his head in denial.
“Harry, breathe!”
“Why the Dursleys!? Why them!? Why the fu—”
“Harry, breathe, damn it!”
“They could be DEAD!” he heard himself roar, rage, denial, and fury all slithering through his veins. He was trembling, his fists clenched so tightly he wondered if his nails would break his skin.
“Shut up. Breathe,” persisted Severus firmly. “In… Ou— Potter, I swear, if you do not comply…!” he trailed off menacingly. “In… Out. In…Out.”
“No— stop, this is ridiculous!”
“It is not. Close your eyes. Listen to the sound of my voice. In… Out…”
“They— They could be getting tortured,” spat Harry out pathetically, feeling bile rising to his throat and weakly trying to pry himself away from the older's grasp.
“And what good will working yourself into hyperventilation do?”
“But they never wanted any of this!" he cried desperately. "They just wanted a normal life, but they were burdened with me, and—”
Suddenly, Severus was holding him close. Harry's nostrils inhaled the lingering scent of herbs and potion ingredients, and something about that made him go limp in the strong arms circling him. He felt drained and he despised it, and it took every last ounce of energy to force back the sting behind his eyes.
His last living blood relatives had , despite everything, taken him in and provided him with a roof over his head, no matter how many figurative leaks and holes said roof had. And this was their repayment? They had always feared something like this happening, and now it had and Harry could do nothing about it.
They could already be dead…
“This is not your fault,” a deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Remember what we discussed last night? Harry, you are far from a burden, and your relatives are a sounder of swine. You are not at fault for what happened or whatever may happen. You will never be alone. Now breathe.”
Very slowly but surely, Harry willed himself to comply, letting Severus' chanting guide him. Eventually, he felt relatively calm again and extricated himself from the embrace. His hand flew up to the back of his neck, a sudden blush scorching his face.
Godric Gryffindor, what is wrong with me?
“Th— Thanks,” he stuttered out, trying to avoid the tall figure's gaze. He was suddenly very much aware that their conversation with the Minister and Headmistress had been severed because of his bloody fit.
As if the situation couldn't get any worse.
“Harry. Look at me.” And the tone of his voice brooked no room for argument. Begrudgingly, Harry dragged his eyes up.
“Let us reconnect with Shacklebolt. Whatever further news he may have on the matter, we need to hear it. You will be alright. You've already experienced the initial wave of shock. Are you amenable?” he asked impassively.
Harry automatically nodded, almost against his will. He felt like a child awaiting an impending needle. “Yeah. Yes, let's do that. You're right. Sorry.”
A hand briefly squeezed his shoulder. “You will be alright.”
But the thing was, Severus hadn't said 'everything will be alright'. Because he did not lie nor sugarcoat. But for once, for just this, Harry almost childishly wished he would.
Severus reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the mirror piece. Without a further glance in Harry’s direction, he called the Minister’s name. But Harry knew Severus only did this because he knew Harry would stall. It was like that bandaid thing — the quicker you ripped it off, the less it hurt.
“Apologies, Minister, Minerva. I’m afraid the mirror malfunctioned. You were saying?”
Whether they had bought it or not, Harry wasn’t sure, but he felt a sudden wave of relief and gratitude wash over him for the Slytherin's wit.
“Hmm. Rather expected, as I had procured them secondhand. They do tend to become quite unreliable as they age.”
"Yes, clearly," agreed Sevesus curtly. "Now, I believe you were saying something?"
Kinglsey sighed. "Yes. The Dursleys' new property — in Manchester, for your information, Mr. Potter — was completely destroyed when they arrived there. No bodies were found, and we presume they have been taken as for bait."
And the bandaid was torn off his skin, leaving raw, pink flesh exposed to the cold air that was reality.
Severus nodded. "And I'm assuming you will not be sending Aurors after them?"
"Of course not," replied Kinglsey without hesitation. "That would be a fruitless endeavor. No. Our best hope is to locate the stronghold and infiltrate it. Mind you, there have been many more kidnappings recently, mainly of half bloods and muggleborns, so I've no doubt the Dursley are also there." His and McGonagall's eyes fell on Harry, shining in sympathy, but thankfully not pity.
Pity was always the worst.
"Mr. Potter," said Kinglsey. "Were it not for their ulterior motives, the Death Eaters would have long since murdered your relatives. They are keeping them alive purely to lure you in. In situations like this, one must keep his head leveled and objective," he intoned with something like assurance in his voice. Harry could only nod dumbly, unsure of how to reply to that.
"Very well, then," corroborated Severus. "Stay in touch."
"WAIT!" suddenly cried Harry. Three sets of expectant eyes fell on him. "Sorry… Professor McGonagall, how are the Weasleys?" Out of the Minister and Headmistress, he was sure the latter of the two would have his answer. And he needed to hear that his family — his real family — were alright.
Thoughts of Ginny and his friends had been plaguing his mind since that train ride to Holyhead. He needed to know, needed reassurance that they were alright. He knew he was being rather unreasonable — McGonagall and Kingsley would have long since informed him. Still…
The aged witch locked her blue eyes with Harry's green, a strange expression which conveyed to say 'I think you can guess the obvious'. "In terms of health, they are quite alright. Though everyone is sick with worry about you—" She then locked eyes with Severus, "Both of you. Especially Miss Weasley," she added, looking back to Harry. "Miss Granger is still at the Burrow with everyone else."
Harry swallowed guiltily at that. He felt absolutely horrible for having left even without a proper goodbye. He wasn't trying to sound like some tragic hero going to battle… Well, at least not in an overly-literal sense. But the fact remained that he had pretty much abandoned the closest people he'd ever known to a family… well, excluding Severus — the man was perhaps at the top of that list.
The young wizard closed his eyes for a moment, nodding. "And they saw my letter?" he asked Kingsley. To his relief, the Minister nodded. That was good enough for him, he supposed.
"Thank you — both of you," he said solemnly, biting down on his lip. "Keep them safe, alright?"
Both his ex-professor's and good friend's eyes softened. "You have our word, Mr. Potter. You too, Severus," answered Kinglsey. "Good luck; don't die."
***
Easier said than done, mused the dour man just as the connection broke.
Dublin city was quite a picturesque town. River Liffey ran through its center, a pier park lining either side. Parallel to and ahead of them, the streets were adorned with neat rows of elegant townhouses with colorful doors, adorned with brass knockers and intricate fanlights. It was a medieval-georgian mix, bright colors of turquoise, brick-red, and terracotta white.
Harry was unimpressed by the sight.
Since their conversation with Kinglsey and McGonagall, he had scarcely uttered a word. Severus would often try to engage him in conversation, even if the topic was as insignificant as "Do you still have your wand on you?". Harry knew Seveus was probably out of his comfort zone, and didn't know how he could help Harry, but even the fact that the man was trying warmed his chest.
But his mind was plagued with thoughts of the obese man, horse-faced woman, and their offspring Killer Whale of a son.
Severus was walking beside him in his usual purposeful strides. It was quite a change, really, not seeing the man donned in his usual ebony robes, and instead in a dark-blue turtleneck and black jeans. Harry was dressed in a long, plaid shirt and khaki trousers. Both of them had shrugged off their jumpers/jackets due to the afternoon's warmth, which were draped over their respective satchels slung over their shoulders.
They had already decided on their route to Slieve League — a direct, several-hour train ride from Connolly Train Station to Sligo, from where it would take several more hours of travel to the Cliffs. Their train had been delayed a few hours due to some railroad incident, thus Severus had suggested they eat and rest. This was also mainly because it was inadvisable to stay in one spot for longer than necessary, and waiting at the train station would have been just that.
Most of the small, aesthetic cafés they passed were ridiculously filled, same with restaurants and bars. Severus would often roll his eyes, clearly growing more irate. At long last, they came up at some Italian place. Miraculously, there was a canceled reservation, so the two wizards quickly snatvhed the offer. They got a window table.
Harry wasn't too picky about what he got — food was food. On instinct, he tried to order the cheapest thing on the menu, but Severus was having none of it, insistent on him eating well. One thing led to another, and Harry ultimately ordered a middle-priced pasta, barely avoiding an argument. Severus quickly chose something too.
"Severus?" asked Harry softly as he watched the waitresses leave with their orders. "What do you think of all… this?" The way he accented it made it clear he was referring to the . Severus lifted his dark gaze from the menu he'd been absentmindedly browsing through, frowning and turning to peer out the window. His eyes narrowed, like he was waiting to spot something inordinate.
"That question is… broad," he said slowly, exhaling through his nose and skeptically shifting his gaze back at the younger wizard. "In terms of the 'plan', I have several doubts, though it appears to be our best and only option. We are still privy to close to no hard evidence that we are even on the right track, and for all we know, could come up empty-handed," he put bluntly. Harry twirled his fork on the white tablecloth.
"Do… Do you think the Aurors will actually able to do it?"
"... Suffice to say, the Ministry certainly has a fair amount in numbers," he answered slowly, disdain lining his voice. "However, this infiltration would serve to flush out the imposter Death Eaters. The remaining at the Ministry will see no choice but to flee or surrender, and they will shortly be caught."
Harry nodded. "And do you think we would somehow be able to use this for your case?" he asked carefully. Severus' impending trial hadn't slipped Harry's, and Merlin knew what turn things could take when the Aurors infiltrated the stronghold. Come to think of it, they hadn't really discussed the topic much, and this unsettled Harry, like an itch he was longing to scratch.
Severus narrowed his eyes again, a sour look crossing his features. "I doubt it. Your and the Minister's words would have little sway over the Wizengamot. Veritaserum wouldn't be trusted, seeing as I am an Occllumens, " he answered blandly, sounding unkeen to pursue the topic.
"Well, we've got to try something!" implored Harry, gesturing vaguely with his hand for emphasis. "What are we even going to do once the Aurors show up? They're going to round up the Death Eaters, and here you are." Harry hadn't noticed his voice rising until he realized he was on the edge of his seat, feeling several foreign shrewd gazes lingering on him. Severus shot him a glare of his own.
"This is neither the time nor place, Harry," he whispered rebukingly. " Moreover, this discussion is a moot—"
" —One pasta with marinara sauce and one cesar salad with bread rolls."
Their conversation was cut off by the waitress, unloading her tray of dishes. She left, and Harry turned to glare at the man across him, pushing his lunch away. "What do you mean 'it's a moot point'?" he growled, arms crossed. "Doesn't it concern you one bit how you're going to avoid Azkaban?"
"Eat, Harry, we can't know when our next chance at sustenance will arise."
"No," he refused defiantly, pushing away even his utensils for emphasis. "Why are you so ignorant of this? Are you really going to just let yourself be carted off to Azkaban?" he demanded.
"This is not a discussion for here and now, Harry," warned Severus more forebodingly. "Now, if you would cease acting like an insufferable child and eat?" Harry stubbornly opened his mouth again, a gobsmacked look on his face, when Severus assured, "We shall consult the Minister on the matter at a later convenience — is that sufficient for you? Good. Eat."
With that final word, the man speared on some lettuce and gave his salad his full attention. Harry sat with his arms crossed for a while longer, more in thought than displaying defiance, before he begrudgingly caved and reached for his own plate. He wasn't going to let this slide. The matter of the Dursleys was already out of his hands, but he would be damned if he wouldn't be able to do anything about Severus' future.
Harry's stomach felt empty and heavy. He'd barely eaten much, and yet whatever he'd managed to nibble made him feel like he'd just emerged from the Welcoming Feast.
He and Severus were en-route to the train station, but Harry was letting his subconsciousness lead his feet after the older wizard. His earlier conversation with the man had been unsettling, at the very least, and had his thoughts preoccupied.
Severus had been way too dodgy of the subject. His final answer — to consult Kingsley about it later — wasn't enough to satisfy Harry. What could possibly explain man's disinterest in his future?
It was almost as if he'd given up on it…?
But no. That was a ridiculous thought. So ridiculous, in fact, that Harry had to give himself a mental shake. Severus wouldn't give up on his life. Not after everything the two of them had been through. And Severus Snape was no coward, because giving up — fleeing from your problems — was considered cowardice in Harry's books. He had once accused the man of being a coward, that night of Dumbledore's death… How wrong he'd been.
To this day, Severus Snape remained perhaps the bravest man Harry had ever known.
Harry hadn't even noticed that they had arrived until Severus took a sharp turn and stopped, causing the younger wizard to nearly bump into him. Startled, Harry mentally shook off his thoughts and lifted his gaze off the pavement.
They were standing in front of a small store, the sign above reading: 'LensFrame Haven'. Harry did a double take, looking confusedly between Severus and the sign. The man graced him with no reaction, however, and proceeded to push the door open.
"Severus, what—?"
"Do refrain from stalling us, Harry, we really haven't all day," he said evenly, proceeding inside without so much as another word nor glance back. Harry stared at his retreating back with disbelief and confusion, but finally made his feet comply to catch up.
Inside were few people, browsing through the selection of eyewear on display lining the walls. Severus was already at the front counter, speaking to an assistant… Harry's fears were confirmed.
"... See what you can prescribe him," Severus was saying just as Harry joined him. The blonde woman nodded and turned to Harry, smiling slightly. He wanted to pull Severus aside and hiss at him 'What are you doing?', but realized it would look pretty undignified, so he shot the tall man a side-eye glare. Severus glared right back, silently daring him to utter a single word and stall them further.
The woman — Gabby, as her name tag read — presented her hand palm-up, "May I?" she inquired politely, reminding Harry they were still cracked from the train quarrel incident. Harry hesitated, but feeling the situation was out of his hands, surrendered his round frames.
Harry didn't know how he felt about the situation. On one hand, he was warmed that Severus cared to the extent of buying him new glasses. On the other hand, he felt the gesture was unnecessary. The man wasn't obliged, in any way, to buy him things, like his new wardrobe back at Prince Manor (or what was left of it). In a way, he supposed he still had a 'living with the Dursleys' mindset, where he didn't need new glasses because they were too expensive, and he didn't deserve anything.
And now, here Severus was: looking to get him a new pair.
"What's your prescription?"
His prescription?
Harry stared blankly at her, feeling his cheeks redden. Not only was he undermining his 'father' and making his look neglectful, but the whole situation was embarrassing. Aunt Petunia had never taken him to see an eye specialist (he didn't even know what they were called). She'd just found them in the Lost and Found in his school when he was around five, when she'd had enough of Harry accidentally bumping into walls and furniture, inflicting damage worth more than he would ever amount to be, as she'd put it.
Luckily, Severus seemed to have understood Harry's stupor. "He doesn't have one," he answered simply. Gabby stared at him in confusion and disapproval.
"But that cannot be… the young man is, how old, fifteen-sixteen? How—?"
"Is there a way to acquire one now?" asked Severus bluntly, cutting her off. The assistant's lips thinned, and she told them to give her a minute while she consulted her colleague. Moments later, she returned with a clipboard and paper in hand, saying a specialist was currently available and that Harry could get tested.
After twenty minutes of numerous tests and questions, Harry discovered that his eyesight was bloody awful. So helpful . Though the optician (so that's what they're called!) told him that his current frames, which were the wrong prescription, were also a huge contributing factor in his vision's deterioration. This furried Harry, knowing his aunts' and uncle's neglect was behind it. Severus looked furious too, if his tightly-clenched fists and tense jaw were of any indication.
And thus, he and Severus were left to browse through the vast selection of glasses, Harry feeling suddenly lost and conflicted.
"Sir, you really don't have to—"
"Another word out of your mouth, Daniel , and I swear to Merlin, I will spell your trap shut," growled Severus warningly. He fixed Harry with a stern glare, and shifted his gaze down to a handsome pair of simple black, round frames decorated with gold hinges. They matched the prescription given, but before Harry could peer at their price, Severus snatched them and pushed them onto Harry's face. The world suddenly became crystal-sharp, and Harry felt his jaw drop. He could make out almost every greasy hair strand on the man's head, and every small wrinkle on his amused face, either at his caught-off-guard look or his appearance.
He was then spun around by the shoulder to face a mirror. The frames were a perfect match for him. Harry's hand moved up to read the price tag, but Severus promptly caught it mid-journey and swatted it away.
"Are these to your liking?"
"I— I mean, they're nice, but they must cos—"
"Perhaps you additionally require hearing aids?" he asked sarcastically, his eyebrow arching. "It's a simple yes or no question."
"I…" Ah, what was the point anymore? "Yes."
Harry never did find out the price of his new glasses, but judging by the papernotes Severus had payed, he could only guess. Once outside again, Severus acted as though nothing consequential had happened, but Harry suddenly snatched his sleeve, halting him, and moved him aside so they weren't in the middle of the busy street.
"Severus, I… I don't know what to say…" breathed Harry, twirling the round frames in his hand delicately. "Thank you. Like, this is…"
Severus grasped both his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze in understanding. Harry smiled up at him. "Proper eyewear is not a privilege, Harry. I loathe the fact that those roaches had inclined your thoughts otherwise," he said in a low voice, lined with impotent frustration. "Do not consider this a gift," he went on, "as it is a necessity. Now, we really mustn't linger much longer," he concluded, turning his head this way and that. "We must move. Once we've put adequate distance between us and Dublin, I shall cast unbreakable charms on your glasses. The small bit of magic shouldn't hurt, especially given the train's speed."
The sun was slowly setting now, And Harry couldn't help grinning childishly at how clearly he could see everything. He felt like he'd been reborn, in a way, and this feeling reminded him of when he died in the Forbidden Forest and ended up at the midpoint between life and death.
Severus truly did care for him. Perhaps he wasn't a man of emotional display, but his actions showed it. And perhaps getting his vision tested and buying new glasses wasn't a huge deal to Severus, but to Harry, it meant something far beyond verbal expression.
However, as well as the day had been going, there was always a balance. One couldn't have good without bad, and vice versa. Harry realized this when screams erupted somewhere from behind, accompanied by several louds cracks resounding through the air. Glancing over their shoulders, both wizards' pupils dilated at the sight of black smoke clouds flying overhead, and black-robed figures with white skull masks roaming the ground, wands held aloft.
Notes:
What did you think? Please review and share your thoughts. I tried SO HARD this time not to miss any typos, so I hope that's alright. Oh, man... things are getting goood! I've started writing chapter 54 now, so yay! Also, tysm for 14k hits! Next chapter: 20th Jan.
PS: should I start a Tumblr??? Cuz I have many more fics planned for the future and I also draw fanart of scenes from them so yeah. Let me know!
Chapter 47: Drive
Summary:
Harry had no idea what he was fucking doing.
Notes:
Alright, enjoy! A little heads up abt a bit of incoming cursing, but some situations just call for it, wouldn't you guys agree?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap : However, as well as the day had been going, there was always a balance. One couldn't have good without bad, and vice versa. Harry realized this when screams erupted somewhere from behind, accompanied by several louds cracks resounding through the air. Glancing over their shoulders, both wizards' pupils dilated at the sight of black smoke clouds flying overhead, and black-robed figures with white skull masks.
Severus swore under his breath, wand in-hand in seconds; Harry had already done the same. Crowds stampeded for their lives, screaming and crying for help. A flash of light, and a vehicle exploded in a burst of smoke and fumes. The black smoke figures glided overhead, the same way as they had that night on the day of Harry’s relocating from his relatives on his seventeenth.
On reflex, Severus erected a shield just in time to block the flying automobile parts. Without thinking twice, he latched onto Harry's wrist and ran for all he was worth. A million thoughts buzzed through his head as he tried to carefully annalise the situation.
The Death Eagers had found them by their magic signatures, but that didn't mean they knew precisely who he and Harry were. To anyone else, their appearances were still of two completely different people. There was no way of knowing to what extent the Death Eaters knew, however, but his and Harry’s main objective now was to blend in with the crowd and get as far away from here as possible.
They continued running with the horde of people, some abandoning their vehicles. Sirens blared somewhere in the distance… Jets of light, including the dreaded green, rained down from the sky. Severus feverently turned to glance at Harry over his shoulder, and saw that the boy was also struggling with the crowd bumping into and showing him. His wand raised, Harry aimed overhead at an airborne Death Eater, but Severus savagely swatted his hand away.
"Don't— it's what they are hoping you'll do!" he warned in nearly a yell. If they began using wand magic left and right, they would effortlessly expose themselves. Their best bet was to apparate somewhere – anywhere. But they couldn't do that here .
"SEVERUS! We need to tell Kingsley!" yelled Harry, stumbling discoordinately as the man continued to drag him by the hand. Severus ignored him and frantically scanned for a secluded alley. Luckily, his sharp eyes quickly spotted one sandwiched between two cafés, and separated himself and the Gryffindor from the current of people.
Harry was panting, his green eyes wild as he pressed himself against the brick wall. "Bloody hell — Seveus, we've got to warn Kingsley!"
Severus silently agreed and raised his wand to his temple. "We must refrain from using magic unless absolutely necessary," he commented, conjouring a Patronus message. They watched the silver doe fly away in seconds.
"Then what the bloody hell was that for!?" cried Harry. "We could have used the mirrors—"
"—It may have slipped your mind, but we haven't exactly the time for chit-chat!" he snapped. "Grab onto me me; we must apparate," he ordered, extending his hand to Harry. The younger wizard complied. Seveus spun on his heel, concentrating on Dublin Port…
But the sensation of being compressed through a tube never came. When Severus reopened his eyes, he found the same brick walls and rubbish bins before him.
"Blast it all! They must have put up Anti-Apparition wa—" But the rest of his sentence was interrupted by another loud blast beyond the alley. Screams, yells… jeers. They needed to get away, but magic was off-limits. They wouldn't get very far on foot either.
"We have to fight back!" implored Harry firmly, a fire, alike Lily’s, in his green eyes. "Even if the Aurors arrive, it'll be mayhem with all the Polyjuiced Death Eaters there— "
"Potter, will you cease playing the hero for one damn minute—!"
"THIS ISN’T ABOUT PLAYING SOME STUPID HERO!" bristled Harry, taking a threatening step forward. "Those people there are innocent! How can we just leave them?"
Severus couldn’t decide if the determination in the stupid Gryffindor's voice angered or unnerved him more. "You are being a fool, Potter! We are outnumbered ten to one!" he snapped harshly. He also took a step closer, towering menacingly over the smaller wizard. "Those people are unfortunate victims of circumstance and cannot be helped. It is not your duty to save everyone — you cannot save everyone !"
Harry continued to stare at him defiantly, but the Slytherin could tell the realization of reason dawning on him.
Another blast, this one significantly louder, boomed close by. Instinctively, Severus pulled Harry close and turned away from the mouth of the alley, shielding him. The debris settled, and Severus spoke, drawing him back at arm's length, "We must get away unnoticed. We are their sole targets. They are able to track us through our magic signatures, however, they become significantly weaker in remote locations,” he spoke quickly. “Furthermore, it is indefinite whether they are aware of our new appearances, though I highly doubt that. We mustn’t utilise our wands. Stay close; keep your head down."
Without warning, Severus grabbed Harry's hand and started for the street. He’d be damned if he let any harm befall him. The rampaging crowds were still running and screaming amok, but much had dispersed. There were abandoned cars, doors swung wide open.
Roles suddenly reversed, it was Severus who was being pulled by the Gryffindor. They ducked behind a rubbish bin, just as bright jets of light hit the pavement not far from them. Harry, crouching, peeked out and dragged Severus behind after a moment. Assuming the younger wizard had thought of something plausible, Severus complied, himself holding no bright ideas. They were out on the road now, full of abandoned cars. Harry led them to the nearest one.
“Get in!” he yelled at Severus, who looked at him like he had just grown a second head.
“Harry, what are you—”
“Get IN!” Harry yelled again, this time not waiting for a reply. He grabbed Severus’s wrist and pulled him towards the car, motioning for him to get in the second seat at the front. “Trust me, now get IN!”
"You are completely out of your mind Potter—!"
"GET IN!"
Severus had over a million objections to voice, but wisely held his tongue back. Had the situation not been so dire, he would never have complied.
But he did.
He hastily clambered into the front seat.
Truth be told, he'd never been inside a car before. His family had been too poor, with barely enough to get by… Severus, of course, knew what a car was , and the basics of its mechanisms weren’t alien to him either, but he'd never really pursued the topic.
Harry was already in the driver’s seat, seatbelt fastened and door shut. He glanced over at Severus, clear anxiety and skepticism on his face. He then turned his attention to all the buttons and dials on the dashboard. Initially, Severus had had the notion that Harry wished to use the vehicle as a cover, but when Harry reached for the small key jotting out of the wheel, everything clinched.
"Potter, what the fuck are you—?"
His heart nearly gave out from the sudden jerk of the car forward, then back, and finally forward again.
“HARRY JAMES POTTER YOU ARE GOING TO GET US KILLED!” he bellowed, remembering full well Harry and the Weasley’s car experience in his second year. Just the memory of it was enough to make his stomach do backflips. His hands automatically found the safety handle to latch onto.
“No, I won’t! Look, It’s our only chance — and I’ve driven a car before…well Ron did that one time, but I watched!”
"YOU COMPLETE DUNDERHEAD, this is LUDICROUS—!"
Another explosion behind interrupted his rant. Severus twisted his neck around to peer out the back window, and spied flashes of light and dark-robed figures.
The car suddenly gave another stomach-wrenching jolt, and before Seveus could squeeze in another word, the automobile was fully moving. Harry's face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his pupils dilated and eyes the size of tennis balls and he tried to maneuver them through the abandoned vehicles sprinkled out on the road. They hit, bumped, and scraped against only Merlin-knew-what. It was clear to Severus the boy had no idea what he was doing, but they didn't have many other bright ideas, did they? A muggle car would be perfect 'in plain sight' disguise.
Severus felt livid as he tried to hold on to anything he could. His stomach's violent lurches and protests were somehow drowned out by the feeling of his heart jumpstarting every few seconds. He had faced the darkest wizard the Wizarding World had ever seen, along with Death Eaters, and even a werewolf in his childhood AND Harry’s third year. But somehow, none of that seemed as frightening as a Potter, with zero experience, attempting to drive a car while trying to escape from a bunch of Death Eaters.
Before he could voice anything, however, the car gave a final jerk forward and they started driving down the road at a normal speed, Harry avoiding all the other cars as best he could while Severus just stared ahead, too shocked to even yell or say anything. They could still hear all the jeers from the Death Eaters behind them, along with the screams from the very confused and frightened muggles in the area, as spells and curses continued to hail down on them.
The first minute of the ride was bumpy, to say the least. Severus’s heart would skip several beats everytime Harry would try to drive past the cars ahead of them, and it slowed them significantly. Eventually, Severus finally managed to snap back to reality from his shocked state, brandished his wand, and frantically waved it, yelling, “Comprimento deceptionem!”.
***
Harry had no idea what he was fucking doing.
In his defense, there had clearly been no other brilliant way for them to escape the Death Eaters. Restriction of wand usage, Anti-Apparition wards, curses being shot left and right… Put frankly, the only driving experience he’d ever had was that time he and Ron had driven the Ford Anglia, and a spare few occasions when he’d ridden in the Dursleys’ car. Perhaps even all of those car racing video games of Dudley were a contributing factor, when Harry had been forced to slave off as the baby killer whale attacked his controller.
Notwithstanding, it mattered little how he was currently at the wheel and was somehow still alive. There were about what seemed like a hundred different buttons and switches spread out before him. The car had already been in drive mode, so Harry's biggest concern had been figuring out the difference between the gas pedal and the breaks. The wheel was self-explanatory. Put honestly, never in a million years would he have imagined himself in this current debacle, but if this was what it took to escape the Death Eaters, so be it.
But controlling the vehicle wasn't as hard as he would have imagined it to be, Harry found. In the end, it all came down to feeling the car and pressing the gas and brake pedals. It wasn't too dissimilar to maneuvering a broom, either. And after the initial shock had worn off, Harry felt himself in a lot more control than before.
There were many abandoned cars parsed out on the road, so avoiding them was a brainkiller. Harry was trying intensely not to cave in under the pressure of his mentor’s life literally in his hands. The spell which Severus had incanted was foreign to Harry, but it had served to throw him off-guard. The distraction made him turn to Severus, but when his head snapped back, to his horror, he saw that they were about to crash between two cars in front of them. Harry yelled as his foot frantically searched for the brakes, but they were already too close.
Ah, what a lame way to die…
But just as they were about to crash, Harry felt a very familiar feeling of being squished, almost as if he was on the Knight Bus again, as it magically squeezed itself between vehicles. Before they knew it, they had passed the two cars — squeezed between them, more like — and were on a broad highway. Harry could barely focus on steering the car steadily –- more or less –- after his shock, and Severus looked as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. If this were not such a serious situation, Harry might have even laughed at the look on his mentor’s face, but refrained from it, feeling much the same.
“You absolute moron! Keep your eyes on the road!”
Harry wisely ignored him, but heeded his advice. They had reached
As they drove on, Harry got more and more accustomed to steering the car, but he still kept getting numerous honks from vehicles all around them. Harry assumed that the only reason the police weren't yet chasing them was because they needed all hands-on-deck at the scene of havoc caused by the Death Eaters.
"Are they tailing us?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Severus glancing back, pale as a sheet. "No, not to my awareness. Fall under no false misconceptions, we are not out of danger yet. They still have our signatures, and to lose them, our only hope would be to leave the city completely. Magic in general is significantly harder to track in places with big tree coverage or in uncivilized areas."
"Right. Er, sir, do you know how to drive?" asked Harry timidly. He wasn't sure he would be able to drive them for so long without either getting them killed or stopped by the police. Then again, it was a pretty dumb question — how would Severus know how to drive?
"Obviously not , otherwise I would have volunteered by now," he gritted out.
“But-”
“But nothi— KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD, YOU MORON!” Severus yelled, as Harry momentarily turned his head to face him.
Another loud honk in their direction, followed by a yell from Harry, and they barely avoided the car in front of them. During the commotion, Harry was sure he heard a very creative curse word from Severus, but didn’t quite catch it. “Sorry…” Harry mumbled weakly, his voice shaking.
Once Severus had managed to recompose himself a little, still clinging to the safety handle above him as if his life depended on it, he said, “It's safe to assume we are past the Anti-Apparition wards now, though we haven't a safe location to Apparate to . Our main objective is to get from the epicenter as far away as possible.
“Yeah, and then wha—? AHHHHH—!”
Purely letting his instincts take over, Harry slammed his foot on the brakes, feeling as if his insides would escape through his mouth. He hadn’t realized that the cars in front of them had stopped due to a traffic light. The honks around them sounded like an orchestra of trumpets blaring from every direction… A rude gesture waved at him in his wing mirror. Breathing hard, Harry turned to look at Severus, who was holding onto the safety handle with a death grip, and with the other, clutching at his heart. His face was vampire-like, chest heaving, looking as if he had just witnessed Voldemort being resurrected again.
Neither dared to say a thing until the cars started moving again. In all honesty, Harry didn’t know where they were going; He just knew they had to get away from the center of Dublin. He feared the Death Eaters had spotted them out and were on their trail. Their only solace was that they were disguised as regular muggles driving a car… okay, perhaps drunk muggles with the grace of Hermione's cat. But unless the dark wizards were interested in torturing them specifically, he and Severus were relatively safe. They just needed to focus on not dying and get as far from civilization as possible.
They had been driving for almost two hours now, and the sun was slowly starting to dip into the horizon. Severus had pointed out at some point that Sligo was in this direction, quite ironically. The journey had been more or less smooth, but as more time had passed, Severus seemed to have grown relatively accustomed to the occasional yank and jolt of the car, though his face was now more green than pale, and his gaze was fixated on the road ahead. Harry had tried several times to ask if he was alright, but the dour man just waved him off irritably with a chastisement on keeping his eyes on the road.
They were currently driving through a village of sorts, but by the increasing sparseness of residences and properties, he could tell they were leaving civilization behind them. On the horizon, a black treeline stood out in the setting sun of orange and pink.
For almost the whole duration of their drive, neither barely spoke a word, fearing getting distracted from the road and having a repeat of the 'traffic light' incident. Luckily, and almost suspiciously, they had yet to be stopped by the muggle authorities, or see any signs of Death Eaters.
The descending darkness got deeper, and Harry eventually started fumbling for the button that would switch on the headlights. Severus noticed, and almost frantically offered, “Allow me — what are you searching for, Harry?”
“Erm…The button for the headlights. I don't know what it looks like, or where it is, but I’m assuming somewhere within the driver’ reach…” Harry didn’t even dare to take his eyes off the road, so he said it almost as a detached afterthought. "We probably shouldn't switch the inside light on, right?" He thought it would be unwise to be so exposed to their foreign surroundings.
Severus affirmed this and started examining all of the different buttons, switches, and even a small screen in the middle of the dashboard, surrounded by various buttons. It took him a while because of the dark, but Harry thought it was rather amusing, despite the dire situation. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spectated as Severus tested several switches and dials, until finally, the road before them lit up.
"Why haven't we contacted Kingsley yet? What do you think happened to the Death Eaters?" asked Harry dubiously.
Severus' voice took on a sarcastic, dry tone. "Excuse me for my misconception that engaging in such a paramount conversation would endanger both our lives while at the wheel, O' ever-the-wise Gryffindor—"
"Alright, fine. You don't have to be so sardonic about it," snapped Harry irritably. Both were quiet for a long moment, in which he sighed, knowing he had to keep a cool head. His Uncle would often break into angry rants or arguments about either the radio or some other matter while at the wheel, and Harry would never forget how genuinely frightened he was when he and the Dursleys had driven out to that seaside before to avoid the Hogwarts incessant letters.
But then, Harry thought he knew the reason behind Severus' mood. Of course, Harry had far from expected for the man to be all cheery with mirth — ridiculous to even consider the thought. He had, after all, all but dragged him into a stranger's car, hit the pedals, and started driving them away with pretty much zero driving experience. They had come close to disaster several times in the last two hours, and considering they were pretty much stranded in a car that was almost out of gas, didn't help their overall predicament.
"Then why hasn't Kingsley contacted us yet? Do you think something's wrong?" asked Harry much more calmly. It really was rather peculiar that neither the Minister nor McGonagall had contacted the yet via the two-way mirrors. Had something happened at the Ministry? What had become of the Death Eater attack in Dublin? Harry's thoughts began to snowball from one thing to another. It seemed as though time had slowed; he was worrying about their two correspondents, the Weasleys, Ginny, his friends… The attack on Dublin had come so unexpectedly… What guarantee did Harry have that everyone he loved and held dear were safe and alright still? Any moment could be anyone's last—
"To conduct a counterattack costs a much more monumental effort than you can imagine," answered Severus matter-of-factly, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "The Minister has limited few whom he can trust, so most responsibility for any Ministry endeavors is left to him. I've no doubt that he will contact us at his earliest convenience."
"So, do you think the Aurors succeeded in capturing the Death Eaters?"
Severus considered this for a moment, unsettling Harry's stomach with the tense suspense. "...It is indefinite to say. Their primal reason for the attack was due to the concentration of both our magic signatures in that area. I assume their aim was to draw us out by engaging with us in battle or provoking our utilization of wand magic. Once they had no longer sensed our presence there, I doubt they had lingered. We were — are — their sole interest."
Harry drew his own conclusion from that answer. "So, in other words, they could have fled before Ministry officials could have even arrived." In his periphery, Severus nodded in corroboration.
They continued to drive for another good ten minutes, their surroundings having turned into dence spruce forestation by now. This was what Severus meant when he'd said they needed to seek refuge in uncivilized areas such as dense woods. Harry felt like this whole ordeal was very knotted, but knew they had no other choice than to adapt to the situation.
"So what's the plan?" he inquired, sparing another nervous glance at the gauge. "We're gonna run out of gas any minute now — Oh." As though on command, the car started beeping, the gas meter flashing. Harry knew it meant they had another few miles to go. From beside him, Severus made a sound of annoyance.
"Is there no way to switch off that infernal sound?" he snapped, frustration aimed at the mechanism and not Harry, thankfully.
"Er, no… I'm pretty sure you can't, sir," answered Harry, remembering something similar happening to his Uncle once. "We'll just have to endure it, I guess."
The Slythering expelled a low, annoyed growl. He could practically feel the man's ire growing as he glared daggers at the gauge. Although, Harry couldn't blame him — the sound really was annoying. The man grumbled something about muggles and their audacity under his breath, and Harry just barely covered his snort with a cough.
"Do you require a throat-soothing elixir, Mr. Potter?" drawled the deep voice sarcastically. "Or do you find something about our situation highly amusing?"
Harry smartly pressed his lips tightly together, shaking his head and keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
They drove for the next few miles, the woods flanking them growing denser and eerier. The car's incessant beeping would surely be embedded into Harry's skull by the time they would have reached their disembarkation point. The inside of the car was still as dark as ever, the only source of light coming from the switches and dials on the dashboard. Beside him, Severus's posture was rigid and straight, his profile at a perfect angle to Harry as he resolutely stared ahead. It reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia, how she would also often do that whenever they went somewhere… what had she called it? Motion sickness?
Fortunately — or not — they began slowing down. Harry half-heartedly kept re-trying the gas pedal, but knew it was quite fruitless. Taking advantage of the remaining velocity, Harry steered them off to the side of the road, a few twigs and bushes scraping the windows and metal.
And just like that, they were stranded.
Notes:
Soooo, I realize a car chase scene may be a bit OOC, but this was literally my first piece of writing, and I've been dying to stuff it into this fic for ages now! Besides, It needed to happen to pave way for the upcoming angsttttt. Oh, you guys are in for a ride in the next two chapters! (no pun intended). Also, I'm almost done writing this fic (about to write ch. 56) so once I have finished, I'll probs start uploading chapters twice a week. I've also just written the first chapter of my next fic and I am so happy with the way it turned out! It won't be out for a while longer, at least not until this story is complete, but I'll keep you guys informed:)
Ps: I've started a Tumblr!! It's darcreates - I'll post updates aboout my fics there. Also, feel free to message me and tell me your thoughts/ideas:)
Next chapter: 27th Jan (wow, where did the month go???)
Chapter 48: Irreversible Mistake
Summary:
Severus couldn't move. It was as though everything around them had stopped living and breathing, even the chilling breeze nonexistent. His chest was still heaving, and his brain was in a state of temporary shock as the horrifying realization of what he'd just done dawned on him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Where are you?"
Those were the first words that sprang out of the Minister's mouth in the mirror's reflection.
The surroundings were pitch-dark, cold, and every sound of the woods around them seemed magnified. Nocturnal animals hooted and chirped in the inky shadows, accompanied by the rustle of leaves, and twigs swayed in the slight, crisp breeze. Ireland at night was no joke.
Harry and Severus were outside the black car (even in the darkness, one could easily make out the hundreds of scratches and dents on the poor, stolen vehicle). Severus held his two-way mirror in his hand, Harry standing beside him as he leaned back slightly against the hood of the car, arms wrapped around his torso for warmth.
They had since relayed the entire debacle to Kingsley, who in turn had informed them that the Aurors had arrived to nothing but the aftermath of the attack, desolate of the tell-tale Death Eaters. A few muggles had been killed, and many wounded, not to mention the infrastructural damage inflicted. Even as they currently spoke, Ministry Officials were busy altering the muggles' memories of the alien-like event.
"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" muttered Harry sarcastically in answer. "We were driving due North the entire time; other than that, your guess is as good as ours."
The Minister's brows furrowed in deep thought. "This deeply worsens the situation. You have no appropriate place to apparate to, and means of magic are limited…" Kingsley sighed and reached with his hand to rub his forehead, leaning on his mahogany office desk. "What are your thoughts?"
Severus answered matter-of-factly, "We cover ground. It shouldn't take long to reach a town or village of sorts and seek other modes of transport — Sligo remains our current destination still, and waiting until morning would be unwise."
"We could follow the road," suggested Harry, knowing it would be the most efficient way of finding civilization. Severus, apparently, had other thoughts.
"No. The Death Eaters are no doubt attempting to track us. Our primal reason for driving to the middle of nowhere was to omit civilization in order to lose the trace—"
"Wait, are you seriously suggesting we go into the forest?" inferred Harry incredulously. From his years at Hogwarts, a valuable lesson he'd learned was that nothing good ever happened in forests, especially at night, muggle or magical.
Severus turned his head to look at Harry, cocking a sardonic eyebrow. "Given your experience with such an endeavor, I find your surprise quite shocking," he drawled. "However, yes, in essence, it is our best and,objectively, safest option."
A deep voice cleared its throat, drawing both wizards' attention back to the small reflective surface. "I'm afraid I must agree with Severus, Mr. Potter. Bigger tree coverage will endeavor to better mask your signatures. And given this is no Forbidden Forest, you should be relatively safe."
Harry sighed, and with tightly-pressed lips bobbed his head to concede.
"Severus," addressed the deep voice again, "Regardless of my own convenience, do not hesitate to contact Minerva or myself — I have also procured a mirror for her." A small pause as the other two nodded in acknowledgement. "I trust you still have the portkeys?"
Harry automatically reached into his jeans pocket to retrieve his hotel card, displaying it in answer. Satisfied, the Minister nodded in approval.
"Kingsley, how are things at the Ministry?" inquired Severus, wrapping his free arm tighter around himself from the chill. Harry unconsciously edged closer to the man for warmth, under the appearance that he was trying to see the mirror better … Severus didn't shide away from him.
Kingsley looked tired and weary, dragging a hand over his smooth head and face. "Without progress, I'm afraid. Minerva is busy with getting Hogwarts in shape for the upcoming school year, meanwhile the Ministry is becoming more discordant and in disarray," he confessed heavily. "After the recent Dublin fiasco, members of the Wizengamot are pointing fingers left and right, including at myself. No-one knows whom to trust. Occasional Death Eater attacks have not ceased either, and it goes without saying that the Wizarding Community is growing increasingly distrustful towards us."
Harry frowned deeply, concerned. "That sounds like exactly what the Death Eaters would want: cause internal chaos, undermine all reliable sources," he said. Kingsley nodded, and then cast a glance at the large, ornate clock behind him. His eyes widened.
"I'm afraid I must go. Keep in contact, and remember what we've discussed. Constant vigilance," the baritone-voiced man concluded. "Mr. Potter. Severus," he nodded his goodbye, and the connection ceased.
Severus expelled a small huff and pocketed the two-way mirror. He craned his head as if to peer at their surroundings, his eyes narrowing momentarily before then finally settling on Harry.
"What is it?" whispered Harry barely audibly, automatically poising his left, wand-holstered forearm. Severus was silent for a moment, but then shook his head.
"Wildlife at night is most dangerous primarily because it is so misleading and deceptive," he said softly, but with a wary edge. "This is not, however, an excuse to let our guard down." He threw the car behind Harry a disgusted glare, and, even in the dark, the boy had just then noticed that the Slytherin's face had regained some of its fleshy color, no longer the sickly-green it had been before. He didn't comment on this, though.
Severus spun sharply on his heel and started deeper into the woods. Harry quickly followed to catch up. It was positively pitch-dark around them, a few occasional branches brushing and creeping along his thin shirt… An eerie fog was settling in the distance around them.
The rush of nostalgia that suddenly enveloped him was nearing overwhelming. From his First Year at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to his and his friends' being on the run for nine months just last year, there was a sheer amount of memories. There had been werewolves, hippogriffs, giants, acromantulas, a ford anglia, thestrals, centaurs, Quirrelmort sucking on unicorn blood…
It wasn't anything foreign to him, of course. This was just a normal forest in the Irish countryside — no magical, potentially-dangerous creatures; no witches or wizards or snatchers (well, that part was debatable)... But things felt… different this time. Every other time he'd been in the forest, be it with his friends or on his own, Harry had always felt anxious and jumpy… not scared, but vigilant and wary and distrustful of his surroundings.
So what differentiated this time from the others?
It was a strange feeling, and probably not such a wise one at that. But almost like he knew that even if he let his guard down, no harm would befall him. He was safe… This feeling of safety — of a safety net, of sorts —, of grounded stability which the man walking beside him seemed to emit. This was the man who had watched over Harry since his first day at Hogwarts, in spite of his own prejudices. Yes, he had been a right git to him, and no, there wasn't much excuse for the way Severus had maltreated Harry, but that was beyond the point. It was behind them now, all but history.
By the time they had covered a fair bit of ground, Harry's eyes started to smart, growing heavy. He sacrificed his warmth-preserving self-hug to rub at them with his ice-cold fingers. Even with the brief snooze he'd secured on the ferry, the past few days were really starting to take their toll on him. He hadn't had any adequate sleep or rest since Cokeworth, not to mention he was still searching for an explanation as to how his body was still operating on only a few semi-solid meals — potions could only get you so far. But his exhaustion was really starting to creep up on him, and the emotional drama of the latest events served to only bolster it.
He wondered How Severus was farring.
Harry nearly bumped into the Slytherin's back when the man came to an abrupt halt. With curious eyes, he studied Severus as he drew his wand and gave it a tiny flick, lighting a Lumos.
"What are you doing!?" hissed Harry indignantly. "What happened to 'no magic'?"
In the soft blue-white light, Severus's face was void of any emotion, though he did quirk an eyebrow at Harry. "Low-rate spells are acceptable, Harry," he said rather obviously. "I only waited this long to cast one to not take any chances of leaving ANY kind of magic trail."
"Low-rate spells?" parroted the boy, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. The term sounded semi self-explanatory, but he'd rather it was clarified.
Severus resumed walking, jerking with his head at him to follow. He donned his lecture tone, as though this was another of his lessons. "Spells, curses, charms, etc. can be categorized by the energy — which can be tracked — they emit upon being cast. For instance, Lumos and Wingardium leviosa are low-rate spells — thus why they are one of the first to be taught to First-Years. Mid-range spells can go along the likes of Accio, Diffindo, and your signature, Expelliarmus." He glanced at Harry expectedly. "I trust you can cite examples of high-rate spells?" he tested.
Harry nodded. "That's kinda obvious, isn't it? The Unforgivables," he answered, eyes following his small puff of his breath in the chilly air. It felt strange to him, for it had only occurred just then to him, full force, that he'd cast two, and had survived all three, of those curses. Did that make him a bad person? No… Though, they weren't unforgivable for nothing, were they now? Casting a single one was already considered an irredeemable sin… But casting two…?
Seveus had also cast them, Harry pointed out to himself, casting a quick side-glance at his mentor’s drawn face. And yet, he didn't think him a monster or a bad person.
"A rudimentary example, but in essence, yes. To elaborate, any form of dark magic, even if it is not a curse, is high-rate," confirmed the man.
"And… What about Protego?"
"Mid-rate," replied Seveus shortly. "Anything remotely beyond low-rate emits too much energy, enough to be traced, like Reparo. A spell such as Lumos is limited to the wand, as it is only a mere light and does not change the shape, form, or matter of its surroundings. A shrinking/unshrinking spell, for example, however, changes the form of the cast-upon object."
Harry bit his lip. "But what about Wingardium Leviosa? That's the first spell we were ever taught," pointed out Harry curiously. "It makes things float."
In his periphery, Sverus nodded. "These rules do not apply to all spells. Or forms of magic, for that matter. For instance, wandless and non-verbal magic emits almost zero energy, thus why it is safer to use than wands. "
This confused Harry. "Hold on. So Wingardium Leviosa is taught to First-Years because it's a low-rate spell, but it's also not a low-rate spell because it 'changes' the object by making it float?" He couldn't really tell if his conjecture was even coherent.
Something akin to an amused snort was expelled. "Spell ratings are not limited by their effort to be performed. They can be facile to cast, but in the end, it is the energy which they emit that is accounted."
"Oh…" Well, now it made sense. Why had they never been taught these things at Hogwarts? It seemed like there was almost like a gap in the curriculum for Theory of Magic. And who would be better to fill the post than severus? The man was obviously highly educated and knowledgeable in not only Potions and Defense, but many areas. And yes, perhaps he wouldn't win 'Teacher of the Year', but it would only be because of his caustic, snarky demeanor, not the quality of his teaching material.
"You know, sir," began Harry affably, watching his footing as they stepped over a fallen log. "You make a good teacher when you don't snap or snarl at your students."
The ex-professor hummed. "Your accolades truly flatter me, Harry," he drawled sarcastically. "Needless to say, I have never particularly enjoyed the position of having to put up with you incorrigible dunderheads. How I have maintained my sanity throughout the last two decades is an enigma I have yet to solve."
Harry snorted, but then his face sobered. "I… I guess it’s safe to say you've always hated teaching; never wanted to be one… Who did you initially want to be?" he asked, suddenly very curious. He could imagine how depressing it must have been to be compelled to do something you despised so much out of guilt and loyalty to a vow.
Severus's lips warped into a disdainful grimace, brows furrowing. "You happen to be under a false misconception," he refuted evenly. "Whilst teaching had never been my life ambition, I did happen to enjoy certain aspects of it. Specifically, Fifth-Years and higher, those who had shown aptitude for Potions in their OWLs."
"Oh… I never thought you… well, I don’t know, I guess you… I mean, you never exactly led us to belive you enjoyed your job… Understandable, of course," replied Harry with a shrug. There was a small silence, broken only by the soft snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves, where Harry considered his next question.
"You're gonna return to teach, right? McGonagall might very well give you the Defense post, since Sluggorn's already doing Potions, and since the curse on the job has been lifted..."
Severus stopped abruptly. "I beg your pardon?"
caught off-guard, Harry fidgeted with his inactive wand. "I mean, once this whole mission's over, you'll be exonerated. And then what?" he elaborated obviously. He himself had plans to attend his missed Seventh Year, this time without a Dark Lord obsessing over him. He wanted to get a semblance of a normal life, something he knew Severus wouldn't object to either.
Seveus looked at him strangely, though something dark in his obsidian orbs, lips slightly parted in dissonance. "I will not be returning." And the man turned to continue walking… Harry quickly caught up, falling into step.
"Oh. You're… You're not?" he asked, disappointed. But then, considering the man's guilt over his reign as headmaster there, it didn't come as much of a surprise… just sort of slipped his mind, really. The sudden feeling of loss felt… strange to him. He'd secretly been hoping his mentor would be there for him back at Hogwarts, just as a sort of safety net, or symbol of insurance.
"Then, what are you going to do?" persisted the Gryffindor. The distasteful frown that deepened on Severus’s face didn't escape Harry's notice.
"I suggest you desist with such moot questions. They will not bring any fruitful results."
"How is it a 'moot' question? Once this mission's over, you're going to have your trial — Kingsley's on our side, and I won't give up until you've been exonerated."
Severus sneered in reply, sparing him a quick, condescending glare. "It is naive to assume that the Wizengamot will pardon me. I haven't any plans for my tell-tale future simply because it is unrealistic to consider something which does not exist. I do not wish to waste breath trying to convince a room full of imbeciles that I am innocent, when, in fact, I am not," he clipped.
Harry mulled these words over, gradually feeling a bit indignant at the ex-professor's uncaring answer, but also saddened by the fact that Severus thought like that. This was hinting at their forsaken conversation at that restaurant in Dublin "So… So you, what, don't care if you get carted off to Azkaban, or if you die?" The question was laced with sarcasm, but to his horror, Severus only confirmed this with an irksome jerk of his head.
Astute observation,” he remarked dryly, seemingly at the end of his reply.
“How can you not care?” demanded Harry angrily, splaying his arms. “This is your life, you can't just throw it all away. You have a future ahead — Fawkes gave you a second chance in the Shrieking Shack—"
The man rounded on him. "And precisely what life or future is it that you speak of?" he hissed acerbically. "Of a life that is filled with murder, sin, and lies, one that is desolate and pathetic? My life record is forever stained. You, of all people, know the furthest extent of it, Harry. "
"You're right, I do," growled Harry back, "Which is exactly why I think you're being an idiot about this!" Severus's face morphed with indignation, but Harry plowed on, already in too deep. "Stop blowing things so much out of proportion! You're only human, and humans make mistakes. Humans, goblins, Snakes, Lions — whatever. You're alway blaming yourself for things that were out of your hands— you're a hypocrite, d'you know that—?"
"How DARE you, Potter!? Know your place, for it seems to have slipped your mind," seethed the man smoothly, towering over him. Harry didn't back down.
"Well, apparently, you don't know yours either. You know, after everything we've been through, I thought that maybe you wouldn't have the mindset of some depressed teenager who thinks that his life is horrible and pointless— "
"You have the audacity—!?"
"Yes, I do! Because it's true and someone has to say it!"
Severus' nostrils flared, impotent anger in his eyes. "For your information, Mr. Potter," he began in a menacing growl, "A life is not worth living when you have nothing to live FOR! A purpose! I have lost EVERYTHING, and have gained NOTHING over the last twenty years, let alone in this War— there is nothing left for me —!"
" — Everyone has a purpose—!"
"And I have served to the best of my abilities," replied Severus icily. "I have been used and played, a mere pawn in this damned War — that was my purpose. I have kept you alive, through spite and guilt for the majority of it, but I have. And I am now assisting you with this mission. Afterwards, my services will be rendered useless."
Harry took an involuntary step back. He would be a fool to deny the hurt Severus' words had instilled in him. Was he actually being serious? Was that what he actually thought, that he had gained nothing? What was Harry to him, some everyday potion ingredient? For the boy, he had gained the trust, respect, and care of Severus. For the man… did he not consider his friendship with Harry a gain?
This hurt Harry. It hurt him deeply, to the very heart. Just when he thought he had gained a stable adult figure, a father-figure, even, it was all being flipped over. Severus, his mentor and beacon of stability, was leaving him… Did he simply not care?
Severus sighed and withdrew by a few steps, seeking recomposure. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wand slack in his grasp. It took several long moments for him to formulate his next words.
"Harry," he began warily, a hint of irritation lacing his voice. "I… did not intend for you to take this the wrong way. I would not be leaving you, but merely the will to continue leading such a fruitless life. I simply don't possess the patience nor the will to bother myself with attempting to exonerate myself before the Wizengamot, to have my name dragged through such unyielding quicksand, only then to be treated like the scum of the earth I am by the Wizarding Community. Now, let us wisely leave this conv—"
"But that's just wrong!" argued Harry persistently. "If it hadn't been for you, we would never have won the War! You had spied and put your life on the line for everyone else's sake! You have to defend yourself, sir. You've more than redeemed yourself for your sins and mistakes."
The man sneered again and continued walking. "It would be nothing more than I deserve, Harry. These are simply-put facts: there is no redemption for the atrocities I have commited. Perceive it as you wish with your foolish heart, which you continue to wear proudly on your sleeve, but I will not bother to present non-existent evidence of my so-called innocence. It is simply not worth its trouble," he said dismissively.
"So you're just going to run away from your problems!?" bristled Harry, unbelieving of his own conclusions. "You're just going to avoid and leave things like you some — like some coward?”
Severus stilled at this, resembling a statue. He turned hisbjeaf ever so slowly at Harry, something aflame in his eyes. Harry took an involuntary step back.
“A coward?” he asked softly. Too softly. Harry almost preferred for him to have bellowed the two words. The man took another step toward him, towering. “A coward, you say, Potter?”
Oh, but the use of his last name, the way he'd spat it, only riled Harry up more. “Yes. A coward,” he enunciated clearly, belatedly noticing the twigs and branches around them begin to sway and twitch, though there was no wind. Severus' nostrils flared.
“You're a coward if you just want to give up so easily. It's the easy way out, saying 'fuck everything, I don't deserve to live'. No one is a saint — not you, not me, not Dumbledore, not the Weasleys — no one! Hell, I have cast two Unforgivables!" he sputtered, gesticulating with his hands. Severus' eyes widened to the size of tennis balls, incredulous. "Oh, what, you didn’t know?" asked Harry sarcastically. "Yeah, that's right: Imperio and Crucio — and I enjoyed the last one! How's that for 'Saint Potter'?" he sneered.
"And have you ever cast all three?" Severus snarled with self-disgust, teeth bared. Have you ever cast the Killing Curse, Potter? Have you ever committed murder? Have you ever tortured someone for endless hours? Have you ever betrayed the person you loved most, resulting in their death? Humankind is far from saint-like, but there is a line for sin, one which I have over-exceeded."
With that said, Sevrus regarded Harry with a fierce, settling glare, and spun to continue onward, his footsteps more forceful.
But Harry quickly caught up, yanking the man's jacket sleeve before he could censor his actions. Severus whirled around, lips thinned and pupils dilated. "You know, I can't believe you!" he cried. "Even after everything that's happened, after everything we've discussed and been through, after how far we've come — you actually don't care about what happens to you!? Are you seriously willing to just throw your life away because you think you deserve to spend the rest of your life rotting away in Azkaban!? You're not even going to try to defend yourself in court, but just let them cart you off?" Harry shook his head. "I can't believe you," he mumbled, taking a step back in disbelief. "You're a coward. You're a coward…"
Severus' face turned tumultuous. "DON'T CALL ME A COWARD!"
"I'LL CALL YOU WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT!" retorted Harry, operating on his hurting ache. “I thought I could trust you! I thought you had more fight in you, and that you wouldn't just give up on yourself the way my mother had given up on you! But maybe she was right in her decision. Maybe you really ARE a coward! Do you know just how many fucking times I wanted to fling myself off Astronomy Tower!? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me when I found out about the full prophecy? Do you know how hard it was to never have experienced a normal life, and instead HAVE MADMEN TRY TO MURDER ME EVERY DAMN YEAR? NOT TO MENTION BEING FAMOUS FOR BEING AN ORPHAN WITH PEOPLE GAWKING AT MY SCAR!?”
Harry was screeching his head off at this point, uncaring of the wilderness surrounding them. Sev— Snape's face had since turned a ghostly-white, his lips thinned and impotent shock and anger behind his eyes. Harry was beyond caring at this point; he felt beyond betrayed, hurt, and angry.
“Potter, lower your voice—!”
“That night when my father saved your hide in the Shrieking Shack?” Harry plowed on with spite, taking another menacing step forward. “He showed true bravery. HE saved you not out of fear, but out of what was right! Because that's what brave people do — they do what is right despite the fears and the troubles they may face. He KNEW there was a fucking werewolf in there and yet he ran in there to save YOU! That doesn't make him a coward, it makes YOU a coward! You're too scared to face the trial, so you're just looking for the easy way out!” he accused, pointing a finger at Snape, who looked beyond indignant, torn between seething anger and incredulity.
“POTTER—!”
“SHUT UP!” he roared, too far gone to censor what was spewing out of his mouth. “You only did what you had to do because of the vow and out of guilt and remorse for the woman you were obsessed with! You didn't care about how many people were hurt in the process, if you bullied students for their parents' pasts, and YOUR prejudices! That's not what makes a person BRAVE, it's what makes that person a pathetic COWARD to come to terms with reality! I thought I could rely on you — I thought you would strive for a better future for yourself with this second chance Fawkes gave you FOR SOME REASON. I thought you trusted me not to give up on you — I thought YOU WOULDN'T JUST LEAVE ME! I THOUGHT YOU MEANT WHAT YOU SAID — THAT YOU CARED FOR ME, AND THAT YOU WOULDN'T LEAVE ME, AND NOW YOU'RE SAYING YOU DON'T CARE IF YOU GET SENTENCED TO AZKABAN!?”
Snape suddenly grasped both his shoulders in a painful grip, shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. “Your father was a SWINE, POTTER! You are still under false misconceptions about him — how would you know of his true intentions? You've never known him!" he seethed through gritted teeth, but Harry forcefully pried him away in disgust.
" —Don't say a word against my father! He was a better man than you could ever be! I never knew him BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU COWARD!” He spat hatefully. “A pathetic coward, that's all you are! Go ahead and rot in Azkaban, for all I care, you SNIVELING cowar—!”
SLAP!
Everything stilled.
Harry staggered back a few steps from the sudden blow, feeling the right side of his face sear. His head shot up, realizing what had happened… Snape's hand was still half-raised; his eyes were wide and diluted, not with anger, but with fear and dawning realization, something akin to horror.
***
Severus couldn't move. It was as though everything around them had stopped living and breathing, even the chilling breeze nonexistent. His chest was still heaving, and his brain was in a state of temporary shock as the horrifying realization of what he'd just done dawned on him. He gaped down at his still-raised hand as if it were decaying right before him; his palm was still stinging… And then, his dark gaze traveled to the seventeen-year-old not a few meters away from him, his breaths also labored, and emerald-green eyes staring back at him, filled with pain and betrayal that shattered the Death Eater's heart into a million shards.
What have I done…? He thought, aghast and feeling numb with dread.
Burning acid that was insurmountable revulsion and self-loathing scorched his stomach, bile rising to his throat. How did it come to this? How had their argument escalated so quickly and so far? What had he DONE!? Severus had seen how Harry had staggered back from the intensity of his blow, and only then had his brain censored his actions.
His fear had finally been realized — he really had become Tobias Snape.
Nothing mattered anymore. Not the hurtful things Harry had screamed at him, not the argument, and certainly not his pride.
Severus parted his lips — I'm sorry!... I didn't mean it!... It was a grievous mistake— Say it, you imbecile! —, but the words were lodged in his windpipe. The two of them stood there like that for a long moment in suffocating silence, just staring wide-eyed and chests still heaving… until Harry pivoted on his heel and started walking onward into the inky darkness, perhaps faster than was necessary, though not quite running.
When Severus' legs finally caught up to his brain, he made a frantic haste to fall into step with Harry. He did, and the boy gave him no acknowledgement. Now what? How was he to fix things between them? Had he been wrong in their argument? Harry had pushed all his wrong buttons, but he should have maintained his temper and control, something which he had always prided himself on. Exhaustion and over-exertion from their perilous journey were no valid excuses for his actions just now.
But was Harry right? Was he really a coward? He'd never thought of it that way, and the way Harry had presented it had thrown Severus off-guard. Did he truly deserve the title of Coward? Was he really running away from his problems, taking the easy way out?
There was no denying that Harry's words had wounded him deeply… But the young wizard probably couldn't trust him anymore, and that felt like a punch to the gut.
The boy continued walking at a slightly faster pace, giving him a wide berth. Even Severus' long strides weren't proving sufficient anymore. Out of pure desperation, he reached out and grabbed Harry's elbow. To his hurt, his reaction was immediate: Harry snatched his limb out of reach, as if burned, and sped up even more, bordering on jogging.
Severus did not press, heart constricting in pain. After all, what else had he been expecting? Harry was wounded by his drastic action, perhaps even beyond forgiveness. Severus was — had been — his mentor, the closest thing to a father-figure that he knew the boy had always craved… And he had demolished the trust the two of them had built not for the umpteenth time. He had betrayed him.
And then, a spine chilling thought drenched him in horor… He'd made the same irreversible mistake with Lily, when he'd called her a mu— that abysmal word. And she'd left him. That had been the final straw. Had history just repeated itself?
This was what Severus meant when he'd said he wasn't fit to be a father-figure to Harry. And how ironic the situation was, he thought morbidly, that for seven years, he had been accusing Harry of being a carbon copy of James potter, when in reality, Severus had always been Tobias Snape through and through. He'd always strived to be as different from his father as possible, had sworn to himself to never raise a hand on a child…
How could he have raised a hand on Lily’s son? On Harry? On the only person alive who claimed to care for him? How could he have hurt him in such a way he'd vowed to himself he never would?
"...I won't give up on you…"
Maybe that had changed now, though Severus with a heavy heart as he followed Harry at a safe distance. There was no good in him. Nothing to salvage. He was a waste of breath, of space, of magic… He really did deserve nothing less than Azkaban for life, to rot there and pass away, undisturbing anyone.
The entire mission was draining, exerting them physically and emotionally. Had it finally taken its heavy toll? Had both of them overreacted due to recent events and pressure?
But neither of those questions mattered. To Severus, in precedence, the mission came after making amends with Harry. Nothing mattered. Death Eaters could swarm them at any moment and murder them with merely two words. And if things came to worst, Severus would rather die with a clean slate, knowing he had exposed his remorse to Lily's son. To Harry.
He only needed to know how to do it correctly.
Notes:
Woo! What a ride! Bet you guys didn’t see that coming, huh? Super excited to post the next chapter!!!!! Thank you for all your lovely reviews, you guys are amazing. Do tell me your thoughts on this chapter, I'd love to hear them.
By the way, I accidentally gave you guys my incorrect Tumblr (whoops). Yeah, so, it's actually: darsfanfics7
ALSO! I’ve officially finished this fic! 57 chapters, and I have yet to write an epilogue. It will be a short one, but very nice. I'll be very busy this week, but maybe next Saturday I'll upload even two or more chapters. We'll see;D
Also also, tysm for 15k hits!!!!!
Next update: 3rd Feb.
Chapter 49
Summary:
Harry hadn't felt so vulnerable and alone in a long time. Probably since when he and Hermione had visited his parents' graves in Godric's Hollow.
Notes:
Hi! A little heads up: not sure why, but bold and itacized and bold text fsr refused to show up in the text. Unfortunate, but should still be alright without. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap:
The entire mission was draining, exerting them physically and emotionally. Had it finally taken its heavy toll? Had both of them overreacted due to recent events and pressure?
But neither of those questions mattered. To Severus, in precedence, the mission came after making amends with Harry. Nothing mattered. Death Eaters could swarm them at any moment and murder them with merely two words. And if things came to worst, Severus would rather die with a clean slate, knowing he had exposed his remorse to Lily's son. To Harry.
He only needed to know how to do it correctly.
They had been trudging through the dense spruce woods for what felt like hours. The eerie fog that had settled earlier was now so thick that neither man could see farther than past five yards. Severus' Lumos was still illuminating their surroundings, coloring the mist a shade of pale blue. His steps were carefully measured and thought-out, keeping enough distance between himself and the young man ahead to be within close reach of him, but also to avoid discomfort. Despite the forestation around them, the air felt inordinately stuffy…
Perhaps it was the guilt.
Severus couldn't deny to himself that he felt exhausted. With the limited sustenance, rest, and the recent quarrel, he supposed he couldn't be surprised. What was more, the self-hatred still felt like burning acid in his stomach. He had no idea how to approach the matter. Should he give the Gryffindor his space, or should he just apologize? Expressing remorse, or feeling of any kind, was not Severus' forté. And even Harry had so much forgiveness in him before it ran out.
Above all, the fear of rejection was crippling to Severus.
Only this time, it would be a hundred-fold worse than when he'd begged for Lily's forgiveness. This time, he would be rejected by the young man he as good as considered his son. Harry was the only person to have genuinely given a damn about him in decades, and Severus had probably driven even that shaft of light from his life.
Nevertheless, his dignity and pride forsaken, he would have to try.
The pair continued walking onward, but Severus had since begun to notice Harry's once-deliberate strides slowly morphing into dragging of feet. He empathized, as he himself felt nearly on the verge of collapse. The older wizard knew they couldn't keep on in this manner for indefinitely (Merlin knew when they would reach the nearest town.) So, Severus steeled himself to break the stifling silence.
“We should rest for the night,” he intoned, catching up to Harry. “Both of us are exhausted. Continuing in this manner wouldn't —”
“Sure.”
The young man's reply was short and clipped; dismissive. Its coldness struck Severus deeply. Then again, he hadn't been expecting anything less.
Harry stopped walking and twisted his head to consider their surroundings — for once, Severus almost bumped into him. He waited, allowing for Harry's discretion. After a moment, the young wizard dropped down against a thick tree to sit against it. He shut his eyes and took off his round frames, folding and resting them on the pine needle mulch beside him. Severus watched the boy closely as he brought his knees up and rested his forehead against them.
Silence…
Severus repressed a sigh and considered his idea to light a small fire. In the wandlight, his sharp eyes spotted a bit of oozing pine sap. He wouldn't be Europe's most renowned Potions Master if he didn't know how to be resourceful, and that included knowing basic tea recipes with limited resources.
“I will refrain from warding the area, as doing so will only attract more attention to our location. In essence, we should be fine. I will be in the vicinity,” he informed passively. Harry gave no inclination of acknowledgement, but Severus knew the boy had heard him well.
Severus quickly collected a small pile of dry twigs and straw, and lit a small fire with wandless magic, a mere two snaps of his fingers over the campfire. The warm light that bathed the area was a heartening sight. He had deliberately positioned it closer to where Harry was sitting, knowing he was poorer dressed and no doubt cold.
To his reward, Harry lifted his head in quriosity. Severus caught a glimpse of the emerald-green eyes, but quickly looked away. Without another word, he turned and began exploring the nearby shrubbery.
It hadn't escaped his notice that to make tea, he would need water and something to boil the tea in , not to mention cups. He could attempt transfiguring those items, but that branch of magic had been Lily's forté, not his. Still, the closer an object's form was to what you wanted it turned into, the easier the task was to perform.
Wandless magic was a rather forgotten art these days, and few were adept in it to the extent of even Minerva McGonagall. But just like with Legilimency and Occlumency, Severus had pursued the art in his early days nevertheless, one of the many reasons why the Dark Lord had valued him so much. Competency and adeptness, something many of the bastard's followers had always seemed to lack. Perhaps when the Dark Lord had ordered Nagini to slaughter him, he knew that he was losing one of, if not the, best of his followers? Well, it mattered little now.
It didn't take long to collect a few big leaves and roll them into cone-like shapes, securing them with pine needles. On only his second attempt, Severus abled to transfigure the organic items into three tin cups, one slightly bigger than the other two to act as a pot. He then started walking around, harvesting the sticky sap from the spruce trees nearby. He'd even managed to scrounge up some bilberies nearby, all the better.
Upon return to their makeshift campsite, Severus was surprised to find Harry still awake, gaze unfixed on the small fire. To Seveus' deepening guilt, his very own pink handprint was clearly visible on his cheek, appearing almost a neon red in the warm light. Severus internally sighed. He had to make things right. He only hoped that the right opportunity would present itself.
He might have imagined Harry's eyes straying up at him through his fringe for just a millisecond, but when he turned his head to look, Harry ducked his to the side. Thus, Severus indulged himself in preparing the tea. It was a very typical setup, consisting of a thick Y-shaped stick on either side of the fire, supporting the one on top. He tied the small tin container to it with a chord he'd also transfigured earlier. The final task was to cast an Aguamenti . Given they were in a forest, procuring it from the ground wouldn't be a problem, except that it would take a much more monumental effort. Crouching down, the wizard positioned his fingertips on the ground, and concentrated on the nonverbal, wandless magic act.
It took several moments, and by the time the larger container was full of water, he was short on breath. Still, he'd accomplished the task. Somewhat satisfied, Severus took a perch beside the fire and started mixing in the sap, which dripped into the 'cauldron' bit by bit, and then the bilberries, which he squished with his fingers before popping them in. It didn't take long for the tea to come to a boil, and the aroma wafting from it was far from unappetizing. The Potions Master separated the beverage into the two tin cups, and reached out to offer one to Harry.
***
Harry felt hollow.
He didn't know what to think, he didn't know how to react, he didn't know what would come next. Every train of thought took him down a dark path, until it grew so depressing that he had to blink several times to clear the images. Fierce betrayal scorched his chest, and it felt like he'd hit a dead end of a tunnel that had promised him light. He felt cold, though not entirely from the chill. That fire that the older wizard had lit close to him kept him relatively warm, though an occasional chill would still run the track of his spine. He hadn't felt this way since the time he'd had to walk to his death in the Forbidden Forest some month or two ago.
Harry still wasn't entirely sure how things had escalated so quickly between him and Snape. The man's confession that he was willing to surrender his own life so easily had made Harry's blood boil. Fawkes had gifted him with a second chance, a chance at a better life. The phoenix could have gifted that chance to Remus or Tonks, or even Dobby or Fred! But it had bestowed the honor upon Severus Snape, and it would all be for naught in the end.
And apparently, Snape claimed that he had no worth living for, that he was leading a solitary life. What of Harry? Hadn't he said that he cared for him? Hadn't Harry assured him multiple times that he wouldn't give up on the Slytherin? Snape was like a father to him, and to suddenly find out that that person was willing to leave him so easily… Well, it stung like shit.
Snape had bought him clothes, tended to his injuries — no matter how big or insignificant—, he'd preached to him about self-preservation and self-worth, helped him after nightmares, bought him new glasses, and had even asserted to him that blood doesn't mean anything…
Apparently, the ex-Death-Eater's masks were more convincing than he'd let on. What a hypocrite.
Harry had never been hit like that. Though it sounded quite ridiculous (what, a grown man — slayer of dark lords, no less — couldn't endure a slap to the face?), Snape's drastic reaction had wounded Harry's already low self-esteem colossally. It had been an indicator of him being unwanted; an annoying burden and punch bag.
Did Snape even regret it?
When Snape had delivered the blow, Harry was so overcome with shock that he was at a loss for words. He'd also known that there was nothing that could be said, not after that . So, he'd done the most sensible thing he could think of: turn and walk away without another word.
Harry hadn't felt so vulnerable and alone in a long time. Probably since when he and Hermione had visited his parents' graves in Godric's Hollow.
He hadn't even realized that something sharp was digging into his skin until it hurt so bad that he'd barely suppressed a flinch. Harry quickly pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket to find the beaded string with the metal lily charm. He didn't get a chance to carefully observe it though, for something shifted in his periphery.
It was an offering of a tin cup of steaming drink. Harry considered continuing giving Snape a wide berth, but thought it would be quite petty and childish. So, not meeting the man's tunnel-like eyes, he moved to accept the drink.
"Careful. Hold it by the brim, lest you wish to burn yourself."
Harry did as he was instructed, keeping his gaze carefully trained on the cup. Were things still normal between them, he would have been warmed by the small gesture of care that actually spoke volumes.
He brought it up to his nose to smell the tea, and was quite surprised by the sweet, berry-like aroma wafting from it. Like sap and something fruity, sweet but with a touch of Bitterness. It was too hot to drink at the moment though, so he set it aside to let it cool.
Before Harry had accepted the tea, he had stowed the charm back in his pocket before Snape could recognize it. He was glad for his foresight, for in front of him Snape sighed softly — a sure sign that the impending conversation had come.
"Harry… We need to talk," said Snape softly. Though his tone was far from demanding, it certainly didn't seem like a request, per se. Harry didn't know how to reply, so he gave no reaction. He had nothing to say to the man… but that didn't mean he wouldn't hear him out.
Snape must have taken this as not a 'no', for he shifted from his crouched position to lean against a nearby log beside Harry, leaving just enough space between not not make either of them feel more overwhelmed. Harry continued gazing down at his drawn-up knees, giving into the fire with glass-less eyes.
"Harry, I… I cannot begin to express how much I regret…" He seemed unable to bring himself to voice it. "I am so sorry, Harry. You must realize that I did not mean to strike you, it was purely on reflex. I… I am not trying to justify myself; in fact, I take full responsibility for my actions. You did not deserve such an offense in the slightest."
Harry wasn't sure if he was surprised to find genuine remorse and penitence in his deep voice, slightly choked, but he wasn't about to forgive him so easily. He didn't know if he could trust him again… yet.
There was another soft sigh, and the man continued. "I should not have reacted so severely. I realize that you were only trying to defend me, and my antagonism was unwarranted. My reaction was unforgivable; deplorable, and I do not expect your forgiveness. I am ashamed of my actions…" Snape hesitated here for a moment. “Years ago… I had made a personal vow to never become like my father. He would regularly resort to physical violence, usually in his drunken stupors. He revolted me, and I wished to have nothing to do with him, let alone follow in his footsteps. Yes, perhaps I was a cruel and vindictive man in my maltreatment of students, but I had never raised a hand on one… Until now.”
“And now, Harry, do you see what I meant when I told you I cannot be the person you wish me to be?” he whispered remorsefully. Harry saw his eyes start to gloss over. “This crave you have for a paternal figure in your life, this psychological need… is understandable. But that is why you need a role-model who's consciousness is clean, who can actually provide you stability and certainty, who would not make such a grievous mistake as I just had. This intimacy we have developed is merely a result of circumstance. Psychological facts. What would have happened if you had been isolated with Arthur Weasley in my stead, for instance?”
At this, Harry bit his bottom lip, the words heavy on his mind. Was Snape right? Had they developed such a familial relationship only due to isolation? Was it all just psychological facts? After all, before the Battle, the two had only known resentment towards one another. So what was Snape implying by this?
After a moment, as if reading his thoughts, Snape answered the unvoiced question. “Such psychological needs are temporary. When the mission is over — provided all goes well — you will have your friends, the Weasleys… eventually your own family. I will no longer serve you any purpose. You will have other people in your life, people who are innocent and are a good influence. As for me, I do not see a future other than in Azkaban. It only seems like the contrary to you now, Harry,” he said softly, looking down at his head, “because I have earned your trust and have been confined with you for two months. But trust me, you do not need me to anchor you down.”
Harry shook his head, refusing to accept the man's words. They weren't true — none of what he was saying was true! He needed Sn— Severus; truly needed him. He didn't care if the Slytherin had been a contributing factor to his parents' death, nor did the impending trial matter. Severus was the first person who had genuinely cared for and helped Harry. Yes, he'd had Sirius for a while, but his godfather had been emotionally unfit and physically incapable of providing for Harry. And the two had never discussed even half the things he and Severus had. Severus was a symbol of stability and grounding, someone whom Harry could actually rely on.
And Harry knew for a fact that even when he would have a family, he wouldn't just discard Severus away. Because Severus was family.
Harry lifted his head slightly and swallowed. When he spoke for the first time in over two hours, his voice was rusty. “Sir, that's not true at all,” he said, meeting the obsidian eyes for the first time. “Truth is, I need you. I will always need you. You're not some kind of… broomstick,” he arbitrarily chose, “that gets thrown away after a match. What about the other matches? What if that broomstick holds sentimental value?” Harry knew he was rambling out some random rubbish. He was struggling, but he had to make Severus see reason.
“It's like when you told Dumbledore he has been 'raising me like a pig for slaughter'. You defended me because you knew there was more to my life than playing the rook in the war. Well, the same goes for you, sir. You're not a piece of meat or some chess piece. And what, you think I'm really not gonna need you after this mission?” he said hoarsely with disbelief. Severus' eyes had a suspicious sheen to them.
“You deserve better, Harry,” he whispered thickly. “I have committed too many wrongs—”
“And who hasn't?” he snapped. “No-one's a saint; I've already told you that. Yes, you made mistakes, and will in the future, but so has and will everyone. My mother… Lily wouldn't want you to suffer like this. Maybe you and her never spoke after the… incident, but I'm sure she forgave you. You've been watching over me and keeping me safe since First Year, and you're the only reason I hadn't splattered my brains all over the Quidditch Pitch not a few months into my first school year.”
Before Harry could censor his actions, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the beaded string with the small lily charm. He displayed it in the palm of his hand for Severus to see, who's face showed recognition and disbelief. He wasn't sure why he'd done this, but it felt somehow relevant.
“Ho— Where did you—?”
“Spinner's end. I found this under one of the shelves in the old wardrobe.” Harry shifted awkwardly. “I… I'm sorry I hadn't told you sooner. It's yours; my mother made it for you, not me.”
Severus scooted closer to Harry to better look at the charm. Gingerly, he accepted the old gift and Harry watched a lone tear slide down his cheek. The vulnerability contaminated Harry, and he felt his own eyes welling with wet. He drew his knees closer, re-wrapping his arms around them but searching out the other's gaze.
"I—I'm scared, Severus," he confessed with difficulty in a bare whisper. "Almost everyone I had is dead. Sirius, Moody, Tonks, Remus, my Parents, Fred… Even the Dursleys… And then there's Tedy—" he couldn't continue, his throat having closed up at the thought of his orphaned godson. "I'm Teddy's godfather and I know shit about being one. How am I supposed to care and be there for him when his parents were killed in a war because of me? I— I just don't know how—" He ran a distraught hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “Everything is because of me…”
"Harry…"
“Please, Severus,” pleaded Harry barely audibly, jaw trembling. “I forgive you. Don't… Don't leave me. I— I…” feel so alone. Merlin, this is so bloody pathetic, but—
And the next thing Harry knew, another warm body was beside him. One strong arm snuck behind his shoulders and the other locked him in an embrace across the chest. The young man wrapped his own arms around his mentor's neck, resting his face sideways on the strong chest, and squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to reign in his breathing. He tried to match it to the man's heartbeat, which was going inordinately faster. A familiar scent filled Harry's sinuses, one of herbs and potions ingredients, but also not quite… It was his signature smell, and its effect on Harry was that of calming.
Severus' breathing was also haggard, like he was fighting for composure and with his emotions. His hold was tight and protective; possessive, almost. And his face was buried in Harry's dark-chestnut hair. “Alright,” he choked out. “I won't— leave you — Harry. I swear it. Forgive me, child.”
And Harry couldn't suppress the tears of exhaustion and relief that followed this vow.
They sat in each other's embrace for a while, both just seeking comfort and solace. Their teas had since grown cold and unappetizing, but the matter was of little significance. Neither spoke, both content with just sitting in the comfortable silence. Eventually though, they broke apart a bit so that they were sitting against the same tree shoulder-to-shoulder. Harry freely rested his weary head on the other's shoulder, and both gazed into the softly-glowing embers.
“Severus?” said Harry quietly, breaking the silence.
“Hmm?”
“I'm sorry. I also said some things to you I shouldn't have. You're not a cowa—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Harry,” interrupted Severus gently, his deep voice vibrating in his chest. “Perhaps I really am one, if I was willing to just give up on everything so easily. Your words gave me much to consider, and I find them quite plausible. Taking the 'easy way out' is an act of cowardice indeed, and if said coward attempts to justify himself, it only makes him a bigger one.”
“And an idiot,” added Harry cheekily. He felt a hand squeeze the back of his neck in what he knew was supposed to be a reprimand, but came out rather affectionate. Harry smiled, but then turned more serious.
“But, Severus, I promise you'll have a life after this mission. I won't let you go to Azkaban. Ever,” he pronounced with conviction. “I'll vouch for you at the trial, and so will Kingsley and McGonagall. Even the Weasleys, I'm sure. And even when I'll have a family of my own, you won't become anything less of one to me. I promised I won't give up on you, remember?”
Long fingers began carding gently through his unruly locks; he leaned into the touch. “Yes, Harry, I remember.” Then, Severus shifted slightly and held out the lily charm in the palm of his hand for them both to see. “Lily had an identical one. She made these bracelets for us the Summer after First Year.” He chuckled in his baritone voice, nostalgia lining it. “I simply didn't have it in me to tell her they were rather childish. I had always kept mine with me though, and she had worn her's proudly…” He trailed off, and Harry sensed he knew where the story was headed. “Until everything fell apart in Fifth Year. We had that falling out. I lost the bracelet and hadn't seen it until now.”
“Well, you finally have it back,” said Harry, still leaning against him. He heard Severus sigh softly, the small exhale ruffling his bangs slightly.
“You keep it. I realize you may not possess many keepsakes of her. After all, heirlooms are meant to be passed down…” Severus took Harry's hand and dropped the charm in it. “After all, It's not like I plan on losing you any time soon, so it will also be accessible to me.”
Harry smiled wobbly. “Are— Are you sure? Thank you, Severus. I'll take good care of it.” For a while, Harry was content with gingerly toying with the charm, enraptured by the craftsmanship of his late mother. His lids were starting to grow heavier and he felt so warm and comfortable beside his mentor…
“Say, Severus? Humor me: what do you plan to do after this whole mission-thing?” he inquired drowsily, leaning into the comfort a bit more. He himself had plans to return to Hogwarts to finish his studies with Hermione and Ginny.
No answer was forthcoming from Severus for a while, and Harry wondered if he'd maybe crossed some personal boundary again. He thought the man's grip around his shoulder tightened briefly, and Harry knew the Slytherin was skeptical about his answer. Until finally, he spoke.
“Hmm. Perhaps apply to be Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures assistant, pursue my life-long ambition of Divination, and dye my hair in Gryffindor colors,” he drawled dryly.
“Oh, c'mon. Totally hypothetically,” poked Harry in a playful pout. Those amusing images were now forever-engraved in his brain.
“Harry, it is not something—”
“Just humor me!”
Another sigh, this one more exasperated.
“I… am unsure,” he admitted uneasily. “Perhaps I could help compose new textbooks for Potions, or apply myself to my Potions research… A life away from people of any kind sounds inviting.”
Harry quite liked the sound of that. He thought it suited Severus well. “Would you permit me to burden you with my presence over the holidays?” he asked in a chuckle, though internally both anticipating and dreading the answer.
Then, he felt Severus squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Perhaps… so long as you swear on Merlin's Grave to refrain from blowing up my lab and getting into trouble, I will endeavor to consider it,” he agreed dryly. Harry shrugged. While he knew the man was teasing him, he'd been hoping for something… more. He reminded himself he wasn't some sodding, needy toddler, and that he was returning to Hogwarts for a year… still, he feared maybe his presence was starting to wear on Severus…
“Harry.” His chin was suddenly grasped between two fingers, forcing him to look up. “Whatever concoction of rubbish is brewing in that head of yours — stop it. The future is uncertain, but my door will always be open to you. I am in no position to promise or offer much, but I will never find your presence burdensome…” He hesitated. “And I would hold no objections to housing you indefinitely, should you wish it. After your graduation, that is, should such a need arise. I… have grown quite fond of your presence.”
Harry grinned. “Really?”
“Really. Though I doubt you would enjoy it,” he said in all seriousness. “You would be enslaved to scrubbing cauldrons and pickling frog organs on a daily basis as compensation.”
Harry relaxed his head back on the Potions Master's shoulder, the raven hair tickling his nose. “Of course, Professor. Wouldn't have it any other way.” This was followed by a deep, reverberating chuckle.
“I'm afraid we're stuck like this for the night to preserve heat,” he informed, shifting his sitting a bit to draw the boy closer. In reply, Harry murmured something incoherent, eyes drooping closed. Such a pity , he thought. Someone gently plucked off his new round frames, and Harry felt Severus rest his head atop his own.
“Rest, Harry. We both need it.”
And the seventeen-year-old slept better than he had since the start of their voyage.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's def one of my favorites out of all I've written. Super happy with the way it turned out:))) Let me know your thoughts, as always I love to hear them. I will either post the next chapter later today or tomorow (Feb. 4th). Hope I'm not forgetting to mention anything...? Okay, that's everything.
Next update: either later today or 4 Feb.
Chapter 50: Onward
Summary:
Severus' eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed, but his gaze wasn't on Harry's face… Without warning, long fingers reached out and grasped Harry's left hand. The young man, suddenly realizing his blurted-out mistake, felt horror dawn on him, and watched as Severus' face paled to a color of a paper sheet.
Notes:
Alright, here's chapter 50. Woo-Hoo! Just seven more to go:) Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it:D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap:“I'm afraid we're stuck like this for the night to preserve heat,” he informed, shifting his sitting a bit to draw the boy closer. In reply, Harry murmured something incoherent, eyes drooping closed. Such a pity , he thought. Someone gently plucked off his new round frames, and Harry felt Severus rest his head atop his own.
“Rest, Harry. We both need it.”
And the seventeen-year-old slept better than he had since the start of their voyage.
A new morning dawned.
No longer were the towering spruce trees so eerie and foreboding, but a rather beautiful sight of gentle sunlight streaming through the pine needle branches, the morning dew twinkling like a sea of stars. Moist mulch and detritus squelched under the two wizards' feet as they trudged Northwest through the unfamiliar woods.
Harry was keeping just behind Severus, his cold-fingered hands stowed in his pockets for warmth. Ireland was no joke even in the middle of Summer, and he almost shivered at the thought of what Winter must be like. Although, the air was crisp and sweet, unlike anything he'd ever filled his lungs with, smelling of wet soil and sap.
It was somewhere just past seven, according to the position of the sun. He and Severus had continued their journey since about fifteen minutes ago, intent on locating the nearest town, eating something, and boarding whatever transport to Sligo. The walk so far had been quiet, last night's ordeal still fresh in both their memories. They had awoken with Harry literally using the man's chest as a pillow, and since that small moment of embarrassment, both had kept to minimal verbal exchange. It was already enough that Severus's face had turned crestfallen with penitence when his dark eyes had fallen on Harry's face, on the mark reminding him of the damage he'd inflicted. This hadn't escaped the younger wizard's notice, but he'd wisely chosen not to comment on it, not even when the man had offered to apply some of the anti-bruising salve from earlier.
Harry thought this awkwardness between them was also due to the fact that both were somewhat afraid that any attempt at conversation might lead to another emotionally-draining conversation or, Merlin forbid, another full-blown falling out.
As they plowed onward, Harry trusting his subconsciousness to lead his feet in the man's wake, his thoughts kept straying back to the conversation he'd had with Severus last night. The entire ordeal had been emotionally draining, yet Harry couldn't seem to shake off the lingering feeling of warmth he still felt…
“...Alright… I won't leave you. I swear it… Forgive me, child…”
Those words kept replaying in his head on a mantra, their significance insurmountable.
A vow. Severus had sworn to never leave him… No-one in his life had ever sworn such commitment to Harry; to never leave him. And after having known the man for two months, as little an amount of time as that may seem, he didn't doubt the integrity of his words. After all, Severus had yet to break his vow to watch over Harry and keep him safe. Perhaps it was for the better that no-one else had ever vowed such a thing to him, mulled Harry. Had Sirius made such a vow, Harry would have felt beyond betrayed upon his death. As with everyone else whom he'd lost in the damned War…
Something blurry and black appeared in his vision, but Severus was still walking some meters ahead of him, which immediately ruled that possibility out. The enigmatic shape was moving and tickling the top of his nose, and then crawled up and across his lenses. Caught completely off-guard, Harry unthinkingly face-palmed himself in one swift motion. His glasses were tipped askew, and he felt the small crawl of eight rather thick legs against his skin. He started randomly trying to brush it off himself, and in the end resorted to bending his head forward and dischivelling his hair.
Bloody ridiculous, illusive little—!
He felt his frames slowly sliding off his face. But before they could fall and hit the ground, a long-fingered hand caught them. Harry straightened up to come face to face with Severus, eyebrows cocked inquiringly but his face showing exasperation and amusement.
“Hmm. Bested the Dark Lord indeed.”
Harry felt himself blush madly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oi, Shut up! How would you have reacted to something suddenly crawling over your face?” he challenged, crossing his arms.
Severus gave him a dry look and his eyes moved slightly upward. Without warning, he swatted the top of Harry's head.
“Hey, what was that for!?” he demanded, retreating a few steps back. For a moment, his mind reeled back to last night's blow, but he then followed his ex-professor's line of sight. Scurrying away on the ground was a small but bulbous arachnid with a bright yellow stripe crossing its abdomen.
Oh.
“A rather fine specimen you have found, Mr. Potter. Commonly referred to as 'Honeycomb Creep', its venom is deadly useful in numerous poisons as well as healing potions,” deadpanned the Potions Master in his baritone, caustic voice, sounding just like he was lecturing another class of 'dunderheads'.
Harry glared at the thing and brushed past the wizard, feeling rather fortunate death had omitted him yet again, and yet mortified by his reaction. “For you information, Professor,” he stressed the title as Severus fell into step with him, “Ron, Hermione, and I faced a whole coven of giant acromantulas in Second Year.”
“Ah, yes; I remember Dumbledore had mentioned something along those lines. The event had a rather traumatizing effect on you, as I can see,” he drawled, but his tone was light and teasing.
At this, Harry suddenly spun on his heel to glare at Severus. “For the first and last time, I'm not scared of bloody spiders. The thing just caught me off-guard. It's Ron who's got a phobia!” He shook his head in exasperation and continued trudging his way through the small patch of fern they currently found themselves in, muttering, “Scared of bloody spiders, for Merlin's—” under his breath.
“...Bested the Dark Lord, indeed…”
“...Dark Lord…”
Dark Lord.
Harry eventually slowed down a bit, enough so that the other could catch up and once again fall into step with him. “Severus, why do you still call Voldemort 'Dark Lord'? He's gone. And the name's no longer tabooed,” he asked carefully, observing at his side profile. The small flinch of the man's shoulder's hadn't escaped his notice.
“You know, Dumbledore's always said 'fear of a name increases—”
“ —Fear of the thing itself',” finished Severus smoothly. The wizard's mouth was a thinned frown. “... It is merely a force of habit. You learn rather quickly to address such a madman properly after several rounds of torture at even a near slip-up. Furthermore, the Dark Mark would always burn if anyone used that name around it.”
Harry suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the spy as he was reminded of viewing his memories that night in May… Dumbledore had always seemed perfectly unbothered with using 'Voldemort' around Severus, and Harry was sure he'd know it was causing the Death Eater pain. It was quite barbaric.
“But it doesn't burn anymore, right?” he asked with sudden concern and urgency, all too aware that he himself had been doing the exact same as Dumbledore, using Voldemort’s name without a care.
“No, it does not. But after something has been drilled into your head with retribution as consequence, it is hard to overcome it,” he replied neutrally, but Harry noticed his left hand twitch.
“But perhaps you are right,” he considered after a moment. “Perhaps it is high time I started calling him V— Voldemort,” Severus spat the name out, his pupils suddenly slightly dilated with something close to fear, and unconsciously tugging at his long turtleneck sleeve over his left forearm. Harry knew it was an involuntary reaction after almost two decades of fear of the combination of nine simple letters, and for what it was worth, he nodded up at him with a small, approving smile.
The pair continued walking in silence. The trees and shrubbery around them were starting to gradually thin out, and soon enough, they came up at a small river separating the forest from a vast moor stretching into the distance. They crossed somewhat clumsily, there not being many protruding rocks or pebbles, and started across the grassy plane. After some time of walking, Harry's feet were starting to grown seriously tired, and the embarrassingly-loud gurgling of his empty stomach reminded him of the last time he'd eaten.
To pass the time, Harry decided to strike up a conversation with Severus again, asking to expand on low, medium, and high-rate spells. One thing led to another, and Harry wasn't sure how they ended up discussing his career path after Hogwarts.
"I had assumed it was your life's ambition to pursue the Auror corps?" said Severus inquisitively.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, making an unsure gesture with his mouth. "Honestly…. I dont even know anymore," he admitted. "I just think I've had quite enough of chasing dark wizards for a lifetimes, you know? Even Hermione doesn't want to associate herself with the Ministry too much, last time I heard. But Ron's already signed up for Auror training."
Severus hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the overcast skies on the horizon. "I'm sure you will figure it out in due time. No one is pressuring you, Harry, and while I don't particularly condone lounging off instead of acquiring a job, I daresay you have probably inherited a very sufficient amount of gold from your parents to live comfortably for quite a few years."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his icicle-like touch sending a shiver down his spine. "Actually, McGonagall advised I be a DADA professor."
Severus turned to inspect him with his meticulous dark eyes, considering… "...Yes. I do believe that would be more fitting," he said, surprising Harry by his lack of sarcasm and quips. “Though you would need to take a year of apprenticeship under a professor's wing. Not to mention, the job is quite cumbersome and not all unicorn dust as it may seem,” he finished sarcastically.
Aaaaand there it is. The sarcasm.
Harry shrugged dismissively. ”I think it just depends on whether you like your job or not. And you weren't exactly sunshine on a rainy day for us, you know.”
“Oh?” the ex-professor lofted an eyebrow. “Well, certainly. After you have spent twenty minutes trying to decipher the deplorable chicken scratch those dunderheads consider penmanship — for nearly every student's essay—, revised next week's and month's lectures, and have your sanity tested by two opposite House quarrels over some girl in an entirely other House, I'm positive you will not be driven to a tumbler or four of Ogden's finest Firewhiskey at the end of the day… if it is not your rotation to be hall monitor.”
Harry fell silent after that for a while.
Well…
“I mean, I enjoyed teaching Dumbledore's Army…” he argued weakly. “And, let's be honest, you weren't exactly on anyone's 'professor of the month' list. If the teacher doesn't like his job, the students don't like the lessons.”
“Those miscreants were quite fortunate poisoning students as punishment was banned in 1845,” growled Severus.
The boy snorted. “You just casually keep that information in your head?”
The man turned his head to him with a wry look. “Knowledge is priceless ammunition.”
“Right… Well, getting back to the point, maybe I could somehow take on the older Years…”
“Ah, yes. Because Dumbledore had permitted me that privilege when I became professor, as you can clearly see,” drawled the Slytherin sourly. "Believe me, Harry, I had all but begged not to teach sodding First-Fourth Years.
“McGonagall's headmistress now.”
“Mmm. In which case I wish you the best of luck.” Though his tone was rather dry.
Harry shook his head at this, and the two continued onward, apparently having reached the end of that conversation. Fortunately, after another fifteen minutes of nothing but grass, trees and townhouses swam into view on the horizon.
“We will stop to obtain sustenance and get directions, but we shouldn't prolong our stay,” advised Severus, his long hair swaying about his face in the wind. “We should also endeavor to contact the Minister soon.”
“Should we recast the Concealment Charm?” asked Harry, just now realizing the Charm had worn off them. “There could be witches and wizards living there, and I'm pretty sure they also keep tabs on the Daily Prophet. We could easily be recognised.”
Severus shook his head after a moment's thought. "It would require a sheer amount of magic to recast. I do not think it is wise to use any sort of magic yet, as it will only draw the Death Eaters closer and we are no longer in such an isolated area. So long as we keep our heads down, we should be fine."
"Right," agreed Harry. "Then, we'll have to ask the locals around for transport."
“Indeed. I doubt there is much transportation in such a small town as this,” Severus said slowly, a crease between his brows. “But given the circumstances, we are open to all and any means.”
The outskirts of town were mostly private territories and land sparsed out here and there, but they had no trouble locating and following a main road leading deeper into civilization. Ten minutes of walking later, a sign met them that informed them they were entering Goodwillow Town. More cars started appearing, some parked on the curbs and some driving past them, as the streets became more full of people and life. Dogs barked from behind fences and a church bell echoed somewhere in the distance… The townhouses and flats here were made of basic weathered brick, though they were more kempt toward the center, where a huge marketplace was located.
“Keep close, Harry,” mumbled Severus beside him. “Perhaps we should look for a more secluded area… Especially if we intend to contact the Minister later.”
Slightly disappointed, Harry gave him a quick nod in understanding. He could smell mouth-watering baked goods and coffee wafting through the air alluringly, and his stomach started protesting even more.
He and Severus weaved through the crowds with their heads down, crossing a low bridge over a small stream along the way. Both kept an eye out for a potentially-desolated shop, prefferably a cafe. Luckily, it was Harry who spotted a small corner bakery that looked weathered and had overgrown flower beds, but with a sign above the door reading 'open'. No people seemed to be inside
Inside was rather dark and musty. Small, round coffee tables were scattered here and there with their shairs resting upside-down on them, and at the back was a counter with a window displaying all kinds of baked goods. An old lady sat there, her honey-blond hair in a curly perm and outfit covered with a colorful apron.
“Welcome, my dears! What would you…” she greeted sheerily in a sweet, grandmotherly voice, her wrinkled eyes lighting up. She wore rectangular rims, and after squinting between the Slytherin and Harry for a moment longer, recognition and something akin to fear and bewilderment dawned on her face.
Harry felt his palms grow moist and Severus stiffen beside him. His first instinct was to fix his bangs to better conceal his damned scar, but refrained for the last moment. Before either could process what was happening, the lady rounded the counter and made a beeline for the seventeen-year-old, her aged hand armed with a wand. Harry instinctively took a step back, drawing his own weapon, at the same time as Severus' tall, lean figure appeared protectively between them, his own piece of ebony wood out and trained precisely at her head.
“Move another inch,” he warned silkily in his deep voice, “And it'll be the last thing you ever do.”
“I can easily say the same for you. Step away from Harry Potter, Death Eater!” she hissed with a heavy Irish accent, her wand also trained at him.
“Ma'am, this is a misunderstanding,” Harry tried placating, walking around Severus. “Severus Snape isn't—”
“Oh, and he's been Imperio-ed, too!” she exclaimed angrily, glaring straight into the Death Eater's cold, dark eyes. “Filthy scumbag! Killed Albus Dumbledore, kidnapped the Wizarding World's savior, and thought you would get away with it, did ya? I can see you're not even above physical violence, you sadist!”
Harry realized she was referring to the handprint still on his face. The salve had only done so much.
“Well, not to worry, the Aurors will soon be here enough. Stupefy!”
Severus easily blocked the incoming spell with a shield and sent a non-verbal spell at her. The witch just barely sidestepped, moving rather agiley for an aged lady. Harry knew Severus's intentions were only to disarm, not harm, so Harry fired an Expeliarmus. The red jet of light collided with her quick shield, but another jet of light shot from Severus's wand and bound her in tight ropes. She clumsily slid to the floor against the wall, wand still in hand. Before she could counterattack, Harry cast another Expelliarmus, and was rewarded with the woman's short, thick wand.
"Murderer! You just wait, I bet the Aurors will love to see you here with Harry Potter, of all things! Enjoyed terrorizing Brundylow with your Death Eater friends, did ya—!? Mm. Mmmmpf!" She struggled against a black, shimmering mist covering her mouth, rendering her mute.
"I strongly suggest you shut up, woman," hissed Severus, nearing an intimidating step closer and stopping just a meter away from her. "Then again, not all had been blessed with brains over brawn upon birth," he drawled, lip curling and twirling his wand in his fingers. The woman looked outrageous.
"Lock the doors," he ordered brusquely. Harry obeyed and swiftly latched the front door closed, also lowering the blinds on it and the windows. It suddenly grew very dark, so he fumbled for the light switch.
"We should probably leave, but we also can't leave her like this," said Harry quietly beside his mentor. The Death Eaters could have already picked up on their location, and time was limited.
"Yes," he nodded curtly. "Seeing as we require directions, or at least af a vague orientation of our wareabouts..." His judging gaze fell on the glaring woman still tightly bound on the wooden floor, and Harry immediately understood what he was implying.
"Ma'am, whats you name?" the Gryffindor asked politely.
The muting spell was suddenly removed, and the old lady sucked in a breath, chest heaving. "Why should I tell you? Y— you could be one of 'em!"
"Them?" parroted Harry.
"Why, the Death Eaters, of course! she cried, sounding hysterical. "Attacked Brundylow Village just last night! My sister lives there; told me two of her friends were killed!"
Harry felt as if a cold stone had been dropped into his stomach. He glanced up at Severus, and the two shared a knowing look.
"Y— you're really not going to attack me, are you?" she asked, addressing Harry but mostly referring to the tall man towering above her.
"No, ma'am. Professor Snape has always been on our side, and he killed Dumbledore on his orders. Without him, we never would have won the War," answered Harry, something akin to pride in his voice.
"What!? B— But that's impossible—!"
"Enough! Potter, we are merely wasting time. The Death Eaters could be en route to our location as we speak—"
"What!? What do ya mean?" asked the woman frantically. "Why would they be? I have some of the best wards set around this place!"
"Are you actually saying this place is warded?"
She nodded vehemently, fear in her eyes. Harry sighed with relief and turned to Severus, who was busy elegantly waving his ebony wand, checking for something.
"She’s not fibbing. The wards here are indeed strong; they were successful in blocking our spells' energy from being transmitted." He holstered his wand. "We are safe."
The old lady sighed, still tied up. "Name's Glenda," she said begrudgingly. "But I can't believe it — ya're actually Harry Potter! What in Merlin’s skort's name are ya doing 'er with him?"
"It's a long story…" said Harry, not sure how much to disclose to this stranger witch who'd been hostile not five minutes ago. He sighed. "Look, we're in a bit of a hurry. We have a few questions too; maybe you can help us?"
Glenda considered, then blew out a harsh breath. "Perhaps I should bitch us a pot and fetch some biscuits. If—" she struggled against the ropes, “you would be so kind?”
The two wizards exchanged a brief glance before Severus rotated his hand in a smove motion, making the binds disappear. Harry offered the Glenda a hand. Her agility bellying her old age, she climbed to her feet with minimum effort, brushing off her apron. Severus kept eyeing her rather shrewdly, and she shot him a mild glare, but then looked back to Harry.
“You may choose any table. I'll be a moment,” she said, already hurrying to the small kitchen through a door behind the counter.
As soon as she dissapeared, Severus stepped closer and mumbled in a low tone, “Our strategy here is less talking, more listening. We musn't divulge our reasons or anything that would give her amunition to use against us.”
“Right. You think I don't know that?” whsipered Harry somewhat sharply. “Look, I don't think she's a threat. Obviously, we can't know that for certain, but we can't be so hostile to her either, so cool it a bit.”
Harry was already walking over to the nearest table, one in the nook at the bottom of the wooden staircase. He took down the three chairs and took a seat. At the same time as the man joined him, the back door swung open to reveal Glenda with a floating tea set and a plate of biscuits in her wake.
“Help yarselves, ya two look like ye haven't eaten in weeks,” she offered as she took her seat. The three teacups started filling themselves with hot drink. Hungry as anything, Harry chose a butterscotch biscuit.
“Right. Now, why don't we start from the beginning,” began the witch in a more serious tone. “Mr. Potter, can I just please say that we are all so grateful to ye. Perhaps words cannot even begin to describe how fortunate we are to have ye. I mean, to finally rid us of You-Know-Who…” She shook her head. “Terrible losses, though,” she smacked her lips in disapproval.
Harry suddenly felt his appetite diminish as quickly as it had appeared. Merlin, couldn't he meet any Witch or Wizard without being thanked? The gratitude and praise made his stomach feel acidic, the painful reminder of the ramifications of the war suddenly relit. It was utterly revolting. But the young man did his best to conceal his personal feelings on the matter. In situations like this, he'd quickly learned, the key was to accept the compliments and change the topic.
“Yeah, um, thanks… Mrs. Glenda—”
“Just Glenda, dear.”
“Right, Glenda,” repeated Harry, “we can't exactly say why, but we need to know where we are. Snape and I need to get to Slieve League Cliffs… do you know where that is?”
Glenda nodded, taking an elegant sip of her tea. “Why, yes, I do. And ye're in Goodwillow, a town situated Northwest of Dublin, about a three hours' drive. Slieve League Cliffs are about nine hours from here, but ain't no transport can take ye there. Yerr best bet would be Sligo, and perhaps a cab from there.”
“Yes, that was our initial route,” said Severus, twirling his spoon noncommittedly in his cup.
She pursed her lips in thought. “Quite curious, lads. I have relatives livin' there — wizards—, and they tell me there's been a lot o' fog there recently. The whole place is depressing, and they haven't seen a ray of sun for weeks now… Now, folk there are used to such weather, mind you, but my Frank over there tells me he's not buying any of that rubbish. Says it's somethin' more…”
And this just about confirmed Harry and Severus' theory. Dementors. Breeding, if anything. But Slieve League Cliffs were a distance away from Sligo, so he could only imagine the sheer power and number of the rotten creatures.
Her sharp eyes behind her spectacles narrowed at him speculatively. “Now, what's this whole rubbish about killing the greatest wizard of the century 'on his orders'?” she inquired suspiciously, taking a sip of tea, though her frames didn't fog over. Harry realized they must be charmed.
“Last time I checked, ye were a traitor and took over Hogwarts as Headmaster. Then there was that Daily prophet about ye awaiting trial…” she trailed off, glancing between them. ”Why are ye with Harry Potter? Here, of all places?”
“Our reasons are that of our own,” began Severus tightly and dismissively. “Suffice to say, I worked as a spy for Albus Dumbledore since the First Wizarding War.”
“But ye bear the mark,” she pointed out, almost accusingly, her sharp eyes locked at his left arm. The wizard promptly rested it in his lap.
“I switched sides due to a… personal turning point for me,” he filled in carefully.
The witch seemed to be considering the integrity of his words, nodding to herself while leaning back in her chair. But then, to Harry's surprise, her eyes became slightly unfocused, and she and Severus were having a stare off. Before Harry could react, she blinked her eyes quickly as if to clear them.
“Ah. An Occlumens, then. Quite a competent one too,” she acknowledged with a small smirk. Severus's face was stoic. All for his eyes, which were narrowed at her in a glare.
“Likewise,” he replied after a moment, though there was a hint of warning lacing that one word.
“And ye're not inclined to tell me what's going on or why ye are here?”
“Correct.”
There was a small stretch of silence, after which Glenda played her hands in a 'well, what's for it it' gesture. “Alright. I presume ye want directions to Sligo?” she inferred in a briskier tone, straightening up.
“Please, Glenda,” nodded Harry.
“Eat, young man, ye look scrawnier than in the papers,” she admonished. “Ye two are in luck; there's a train line that passes this town just some thirty minutes on foot from here. It's a beeline Northwest and will take you directly to Sligo. From there to the Cliffs, yer guess is as good as mine.”
Harry smiled and nodded at her reverently. “Thank you, Glenda. You've no idea how much you've helped us. And, please, don't trust any Aurors you may see. They're—”
“Death Eaters, I know, Mr. Potter,” she finished. “And where do ye think you're going!? Ye've scarcely had a crumb to eat!” she exclaimed suddenly. “You too, I suppose,” she added blandly at the older wizard.
Harry, who had since started to get up, awkwardly lowered himself back into his seat. Glenda ordered them to stay put while she bustled off into the kitchen to prepare them a hot meal.
Meanwhile, to Harry's pleasant surprise, Severus hadn't forgotten about his earlier promise.
“Hand me your glasses, Harry.”
Harry did so and watched his mentor murmur a bit Latin over them with his wand. Their frames glowed briefly with a soft golden light, an he was handed them back.
“I've cast the best unbreakable charms and spells to my knowledge. A giant wouldn't be able to crush them if he sat on them, though I do not advise you to test that theory,” he finished lightly. “Are they proving sufficient for you?” he asked in a more serious, almost hesitant voice. Harry grinned at him.
“They're brilliant, Severus. Thank you. Really. I…” Harry bit his bottom lip, tracing the wooden pattern on the table with his finger. “Y'know. the Dursleys have never spent this much money on me in the sixteen years I lived with them,” he chuckled bitterly, gaze averted. He felt someone tap his hand lightly, prompting him to look up and meet Severus' eyes. What he found in the obsidian depths was a rare concoction of emotions: anger, sorrow, and understanding. Perhaps even fondness.
No pity.
Right at that moment, they heard the back door fling open and saw Glenda Levitating a big tray of mashed potatoes, salad, and some kind of fried fish. In her wake was a round glass jug of something that looked suspiciously familiar as Firewhiskey.
“Well, eat up, ye two. Not like I get many customers often anyway. It's on the house; consider this an apology for earlier.”
They each served themselves to generous helpings, and Glenda poured three fancy tumblers of Firewhiskey.
“To the Dark Lord's defeat and the end of the Second Wizarding War!” she toasted, raising her glass. “Merlin, if my friend Amanda knew I'm toasting with Harry Potter and a Death Eater over some mashed potatoes in my lonely little cafe.”
Severus shot her a mild glare, which she pointedly ignored. Harry choked on a chuckle.
Not over just yet though, thought Harry in his head. But when this was all over, he vowed to himself that he and Severus would toast their victory and the Death Eater's exoneration in the Three Broomsticks. Come what may.
Glasses clinked; the warming drink was downed.
Soft rain tapped against the glass that mixed with the rumbling of the train tracks. A finger followed the wakes left by the droplets, clearing a path on the condensated window. Despite the early noon hour, it was dark, and the compartment's only light source was an old, feeble lamp. The cushions were worn and torn in some places, a rather old-fashioned shade of burghundy, upon which the two wizards sat.
They had been on the road for over two hours now, having already contacted Kingsley and McGonagall and reported their location status, plan, and what Glenda had told them about the Slieve League Cliffs and the recent attack on that nearby village. Kingsley had already known about the sudden attack, but had said he hadn't sent out any Aurors to the location. And this was what had led them to the matter of the infiltration on the Death Eater stronghold.
The four of them had successfully devised a fairly solid plan. When Severus would send his Patronus with the precise coordinates and a report, the prepared 'army' of Aurors would travel through the Veil and execute the attack, the same time as Harry and Severus were to get out and flee.
Concerning the Tenebris Orb, it would be a hit or miss. The two wizards were to discover as much as possible about the adversary numbers, powers, and advantages, and the Orb. There was a big possibility that the Death Eaters could use the powerful object as an ultimatum, in which case Kingsley had assured the Aurors would even resort to more drastic measures to avoid catastrophe.
Thus it was settled.
But one question remained on Harry's mind, and it had been occupying his head for the past hour.
“Severus?” he asked from the corner on the seat, knees comfortably drawn up. “It doesn't really make sense…”
“What doesn't make sense, Harry?” replied Severus from exactly across Harry, removing his elbow from the narrow windowsill.
“If the Death Eaters are breeding an army of Dementors, in a secluded stronghold no less, how come they're not affected by them? I've always assumed Death Eaters couldn't cast the Patronus.”
Severus gave him a bemused look. “Should I examine you for a concussion, or has the fact of my existence slipped your mind?”
Exasperated, “But that's exactly my point. It's hard to put into words,” the Gryffindor sputtered. “Expecto Patronum is pure energy, right? And you're able to cast it because of your love for my mother,” he said hastily to omit an awkward moment. “But I read somewhere that if a person is too consumed by darkness, with things like murder, dark magic, and the Unforgivables, their soul becomes too corrupt to be able to produce such pure energy. You're different because your love was stronger than the Dark Mark you took. So, if I'm correct that the Death Eaters can't produce the Patronus, let alone a corporeal one, how can they stand to be in such close proximity with the dementors?” he finished, driving his point home.
A grimace twisted the man's gaunt features. “I have never quite looked into the matter. I actually learned to cast a corporeal patronus a year prior to joining the Da— Voldemort's ranks in fear of being affected by the dementors. At the time I was close friends with Lucius Malfoy, and he'd warned me of his growing interest in the creatures. Even then I didn't trust him completely, thus I endeavored myself in learning to cast it. In the views of Voldemort, such an ability was seen as a weakness, and upon taking the Mark, your body would become so contaminated with Dark Magic that it would render you irrevocably unable to cast a Patronus.”
“But you kept that ability,” pointed out Harry quietly, matching the other's low tone.
“So I did. And perhaps it was due to the fact that I had already learned to do it before I was branded.” he snorted lightly. “I suppose you could plug in the old 'love conquers evil' formula.”
“I don't think that's anything to laught at,” objected Harry, rather offended. Was he saying that loving Lily Evans was stupid or something?
Realisation dawned in the dark eyes. “That is not what I meant, Harry. I apologize. I only meant that it is very stereotypical.”
“Because it's true,” said Harry as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
After a moment, Severus nodded his head, gaze evened with the green-eyed boy's. “That it is… Concerning your initial question, the Death Eaters are practically immune to the dementors because their souls are already corrupted by sin and the Dark Mark. That isn't to say I am of any exception, but seeing as I am able to produce the Patronus, I suppose my soul has not yet been contaminated to such an extent. To this day, I have yet to encounter a single Death Eater capable of the feat.”
“And… are you immune? To the dementors, I mean” asked Harry carefully.
When Severus answered the question, he had a disdainful expression on his face. “Yes, I am. Though I wish I weren't.”
Harry suddenly remembered Severus' words to Dumbledore when they had been discussing the old wizard's impending murder. When Dumbledore had asked Severus to kill him.
“...And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?...”
“...That's why you were so averse to killing Dumbledore, wasn't it?” he inferred softly. The other's head jerked slightly, staring out the blurred window. “Because you were afraid of contaminating your soul even more… you were afraid of losing the ability to cast the Patronus.” Harry's eyes went slightly wide at the realization, but Severus' were even wider, an unnamed emotion swirling in them. Apparently, Harry had rendered him speechless, having hit the nail on the head.
And then, Severus nodded.
“I had already lost your mother, Harry,” he whispered in a raspy voice. “It would devastate me to lose this last piece of her I have… And you.”
Harry smiled wobbly, and the two looked at each other in mutual understanding and comfort. It still shocked Harry to hear how big of a capacity to love the snarky, dour man had, and everytime he did, a small shiver would run down his spine. At that moment, he felt inexplicable warmth swell in his chest, and drew his knees even closer.
But upon doing this, his fingers brushed over something thin and rough on his left hand. He glanced down and grimmaced at the scars left by the Blood Quill. That's when another thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Umbridge can cast a Patronus, did you know that?”
Severus' eyebrows shot to his hairline. “That bi— toad?”
“The very same,” nodded Harry, amused by his ex-professor's surprise. “When Ron, Hermione, and I Polyjuiced ourselves to sneak into the Ministry last summer — we had discovered that Umbridge had Slytherin's locket —, we found her overseeing a trial for the muggleborn thing. There were dementors there, and her patronus was a… Wait, no. You guess!”
The man made a weird sound in his throat. “It is either one of her beloved infernal cats or a toad.”
“The first one,” grinned Harry. Then his mirth faded a bit. “It's hard to imagine that… well, not to sound childish, but the woman's evil. I mean, you cast a Patronus with a very powerful and happy thought. But if you consider all the evil she's done — I mean, she even used a sodding Blood Quill on students! If those kinds of things make her happy, can you imagine how twisted she actually is?”
Severus' eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed, but his gaze wasn't on Harry's face… Without warning, long fingers reached out and grasped Harry's left hand. The young man, suddenly realizing his blurted-out mistake, felt horror dawn on him, and watched as Severus' face paled to a color of a paper sheet.
“No…” he mumbled in a low, soft, horror-stricken voice. Their eyes met, and concern in the black ones suddenly warped into anger. He thrusted Harry's hand away, as if burned, and drew back, getting up to pace about the small compartment.
“You complete fool!” he snarled, dragging a hand through his greasy locks. “You didn't think to tell anyone!? Merlin, what is wrong with you— have you zero sense of self-preservation, or had your last brain cells been sucked out by the dementors that summer?”
“Hey, it's not like I enjoyed torturing myself!” Harry refuted, letting down his knees to sit up properly. “Umbridge had too much power back then, and all of you professors, AKA secret Order Members, were walking a tightrope. I could have easily told McGonall or Dumbledrore, but it only would have put their positions at risk and caused unnecessary conflict. Besides,” he said in a cooler tone, “McGonagall told me 'It's about keeping my head down and my temper under control'.”
Severus was pinching the bridge of his nose, supporting his elbow with his other hand, appearing a statue. Harry could hear his breathing in the deathening silence between them that seemed to drown out even the rumbling of the train.
“l— Iook,” began Harry after drawing a breath. “It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Can we please just… move on from this?”
Without raising his head, the wizard asked, “You said students, as in plural. I take it there were many victims?”
A nod. “Yeah. A few,” he whispered.
Severus sighed and retook his seat opposite Harry, muttering profanities that would have earned even a Slytherin a full semester of scrubbing cauldrons with his own toothbrush. There was a brief stretch of silence.
“Blood Quills were strictly forbidden in 1845, that same year many other forms of punishment were illegalized. The scars they leave are Irremediable, though I know of a special salve recipe that can fade the damage,” he finally spoke clinically. “If all goes according to your utopian envisionment of the future, I will endeavor to brew and distribute it amongst the victims, yourself included.”
“Wow, that's… Well, that's brilliant, sir!” said Harry. “Thank you, I'm sure everyone would appreciate that a lot.”
Severus' lip curled slightly, hands clasped as he leaned forward in his seat. “I do not seek praise nor recognition, Harry. It is simply what is right. And though I no longer hold the position of your professor, I still feel it some obligation of mine to remedy… After all, the matter had also omitted my so-called watch. Despite my position, I would not have turned a blind eye on this.”
Harry twisted his hands in his lap. “You shouldn't feel guilty about it. I mean, it also escaped all the other professors' notices,” he tried to reason.
“Perhaps…” mused the ex-professor, and his eyes suddenly became distant and unfocused, as if lost in memory. Unpleasant memory.
But there was little Harry could do about that. He knew Severus was also still struggling with his own guilt, and he had said his part — the objective truth. Now, the man would need to come to a conclusion on his own. And if that conclusion was a negative one… Well, Harry had already promised he wouldn't give up on him.
And he wouldn't.
Notes:
OK. What do u think abt my theory on why Severus had been so averse to the idea of killing Dumbledore? I always thought there was more reasoning behind it when he'd said 'And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?' I think it just fits that he was afraid that something would enable him to cast Lily's patronus: `(
Anyway, share your thoughts!
Also, I've posted a fanart piece for this chapter on my Tumblr(darsfanfics7), if any of you are interested. Do go easy on it cause I'm still a young artist🫠😅
Next chapter: 10th Feb.
Chapter 51: Demented Fears
Summary:
“I will not sugarcoat reality, you well know this. Fortunately, we are not bloody seers and cannot 'prophesy' the future. No one knows the outcome of this mission, but it is too late to turn back now. Sometimes, you just have to take the plunge.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap: But there was little Harry could do about that. He knew Severus was also still struggling with his own guilt, and he had said his part — the objective truth. Now, the man would need to come to a conclusion on his own. And if that conclusion was a negative one… Well, Harry had already promised he wouldn't give up on him.
And he wouldn't.
Their lengthy conversation had made time fly, and before they knew it, their train was slowing to a stop with loud brake screeches at Sligo Train Station. True to Glenda's words, the weather here felt inordinately depressing, with intensely dark clouds looming above an eerie, dense fog. It was palpably chillier here than in Goodwilllow, but this cold didn't feel natural. There was no mistaking this was the cause of the accumulation of dementors some 100 km from them, breeding and spreading, drawing energy from the Tenebris Orb.
Walking beside him along the road, Severus watched Harry zip his fleece jacket all the way up to his chin. He huffed with exasperation. What did it take to find an irresponsible driver that would be willing to risk driving to the Cliffs, for Salazar's mother's sake!?
Time was of the essence, and they had already wasted enough of it as it was. Since disembarking the train, he and Harry had merely stopped to refuel their energy with a few sandwiches and coffee, and were now in search of a cab service that would take them to Slieve League Cliffs.
Easier said than done, however, as many of the drivers they had approached were unwilling to brave the slippery road along the coastline right after such a heavy storm. But they really couldn't waste another day for nought, and it was nearing evening. They had established with Shacklebolt that the Aurors would infiltrate under the cover of darkness, but he and Harry would need ample time to locate it and gather enough intel.
As he and Harry continued deeper into town center, the buildings slowly turned from slightly weathered to colorful and new ones, neatly lining the twin roads flanking the winding river between them. If Severus weren't so high-strung, he would have actually acknowledged the aesthetic town properly. But there was something off about… everything — everyone, for that matter. It was difficult to express, but there were few passersby, even for such a small populated town. Severus had taken to carefully observing the citizens, and it was evident that the accumulation of dementors nearby had taken its toll on the muggles… perhaps even wizards too. Their near-haunted expressions and lack of flesh tones in the skin would often send a chill down the Slytherin's spine, who realized with concern that the atmosphere was evidently starting to affect Harry too.
Severus could have punched himself right then and there. Of all things, they had neglected the small nuance that Harry wasn't immune to the dementors; Severus cursed his lack of foresight. But to counter the effects would mean casting the Patronus, and doing so would mean exposing themselves and all but flunking their mission.
“Harry,” he leaned in to mumble quietly. The boy turned to look at him, his emerald-green eyes slightly dulled… or was he just seeing things? “We cannot cast the Patronus now. You must try bringing up positive thoughts and memories and keeping them at the forefront of your mind,” he said. Harry nodded at him, his hands stuffed in his trousers pockets.
“I can hea— feel them, Severus. Can you feel them?”
His lips thinned. What had he just said? “I do, but I am immune to their effects, as aforementioned,” he answered grimly.
“H— Have they ever had an effect on you before you had learned the Patronus?”
“I suppose if you mean the conventional effects that everyone experiences, then yes. I had a single encounter with a dementor in Sixth Year during a special training program — a one-time occurance permitted by the Headmaster… If that is what you are implying?”
The gears in his head were turning as he put the wording slip and question together. Something wasn't right. Still observing Harry attentively, he noticed the way his eyes would almost twitch and his head would slightly jerk, as though an irksome fly was pestering him. The longer Harry didn't respond, the more his concern grew, blooming into worry. He was further alarmed when the boy's breaths became more shallow, and a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. Harry continued walking alongside him indifferently, but Severus realized he might not even be fully aware of it.
Blast it all—!
His head going into autopilot, the man scanned their surroundings. They were still continuing along the river, and their right-hand side was lined with shops and townhouses. His eyes fixated on a promising alley opening wedged between two buildings ahead.
Without a second thought, Severus grasped Harry's shoulder firmly and led them to it. Upon reaching the entryway, the narrow alley was closed off with a heavy iron fence door. Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, Severus wordlessly Alohomora 'ed the latch. The door screeched as it swung open at an odd angle, and Severus closed it back up carelessly. The alley was dark from the buildings shadowing it, but that's what made it all the better. They rounded a corner where they were perfectly concealed, and the man spun the young wizard around to fully face him.
“Harry? Harry!” He tried giving him a little shake by the shoulders, but instently regretted it when he keeled over and started retching. Heart thumping with worry, Severus kneeled down with him, steadying the Gryffindor with a hand on his shoudler. When Harry seemed finished, he slumped against the ugly brick behind and bowed his head, resting it on his knees, just breathing haggardly.
Severus's hand immediately flew to his satchel for an Anti-Nausea Potion, but then remembered he hadn't any. Withholding several colorful expletives, he rubbed the scrawny shoulders, at a loss for what to do but suspecting the culprit. “Breathe deeply. Follow my voice. In…hold… out… hold…in…” He continued this mantra for a few minutes, paying close attention to Harry's breathing pattern. Once his chest calmed to a moderate state, Harry raised his head, and Severus could have gasped at the haunted look in them.
“I'm— I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—” he stuttered, climbing to his feet. Severus held him down.
“Sit down, you dunderhead!” he hissed, though without bite. Harry's cheeks tinted over. Risks be damned, Severus conjured a goblet of water. Harry's hands were a shaking mess, so he did most of the holding of it as the boy drank in slow sips.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.
“Yeah, thanks. I didn't mean to—”
Severus promptly silenced him with a hand. “Explain. You were having a panic attack, most likely caused by the demented atmosphere. I had never even heard of such a severe reaction until now.” He took a moment to compose his next words carefully. “You had let slip that you could hear the dementors…?”
Harry pressed his lips together, averting his gaze to the side, indecisive. Severus' concern was mounting and the gut urge to use Legilimency on him was tempting. But he wouldn't, not only because it would be a health risk to intrude his mind in such a state but because he and Harry had come farther than that.
“I— When the dementors are near,” finally said the young man, drawing a shaky breath, “I hear my mother, screaming, right before she died.”
Severus felt himself blanch both internally and outwardly. A wave of shock washed over him, loosening his grip on Harry. “What?” he breathed. “I— Impossible. No…”
But Harry's eyes showed nothing but integrity.
“But n— now,” he whispered, trembling. “This t— time was different. I could hear everyone. D— Dying… Screaming… The Battle. A— And S— Sirius. Right before he—” Harry clamped his eyes and mouth shut, drawing another shaky breath and wrapping his arms around himself. The Slytherin regarded him with shock-wide eyes, heart breaking at the vulnerable sight.
How was it possible that the boy could hear those things? Dementors conventionally didn't have such profound impacts on one's memories. But then again, this was Harry bloody Potter, for whom the universe refused to follow convention and everything was but an exception.
Put frankly, this was bad. If they were at least 100 km from the dementors now, who's to say how Harry would react upon locating it. It it weren't for the haunted sheen in those emerald-green eyes, Severus would be hollering at the dunderhead for not mentioning this slight nuance before they had devised this entire suicide mission!
“How long…?”
“S— Since third year. But it was only… Her . Not… them . It's bloody horrible.”
Severus exhaled through his nose, still in a crouched position before the younger wizard. He could think of only one way to remedy the situation, at least only for a few hours, but they didn't have the luxury of many choices.
“Harry, look at me,” he instructed, tone gentle but firm. Harry did; their eyes met. “I can try to help you, but you may not like it…” he said carefully. Harry immediately started bobbing his head up and down in assent. The wizard braced himself. “Legilimency. I can push your most emotion-invocative memories to the back of your mind and erect a wall around them. Resultantly, the dementers will not affect you so."
Harry was still for a few moments, the gears clearly turning in his head. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, and Severus knew without a doubt he was looking back at their catastrophic Occlumency lessons. Honestly, the Legilimens couldn't blame him.
“I can assure you, it will be nothing like last time. The procedure is quick and painless, if only slightly unpleasant, but only if you are in full cooperation and willing. Do you trust me?”
And though he'd heard it before, he needed to hear it again.
He was quiet for a moment. “...Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I do trust you,” asserted Harry, making his chest swell with insurmountable warmth.
“Then let us proceed.” The wizard shifted himself to sit on his knees, facing Harry. He brandished his wand, seeing no way around its usage; Harry's almond-shaped eyes followed it, a hard swallow making his Adam's apple bob. Severus tried giving him a reassuring look… Harry nodded.
“Relax. You will feel my presence. You may also start to feel a disconnection of sorts — that is fine. Do not try to fight me, this is perhaps the most crucial element. Are you ready, Harry?”
Harry nodded.
“Legi—!”
“Wait!”
The wand halted mid-wave.
“I just… Are you going to see my memories?” he blurted out uneasily.
Severus sighed. “I'm afraid so. But whatever I may see I swear will remain confidential. I will not be at liberty to choose which memories to pull forth; my job will only be to push them to the back of your mind. Are you in assent?”
Feeling his lips rather dry, Harry bobbed his head. Trust, he remembered. Trust.
“Legilimens!”
***
The first thing Harry was aware of was as promised, a foreign presence, an enigma he couldn't quite locate yet at the same time recognized. All was quiet and dark for several moments, and Harry was just starting to panic from the lack of sight when he felt a pressure, like someone was prodding his mind with a giant finger. He permitted it. The pressure kept building, and on the third prob he was suddenly plunged into a memory sequence.
A horrible high-pitched voice… A green light, and a woman's soul-splitting scream…
He was seven, running down a street under the scorching sun while voices called his name. Dudley and his goons were closing in…
Sealed envelopes rained down from the sky. His Aunt and Uncle were screeching their heads off…
"Bombarda!" shouted Hermione, and the wrought-iron door was blasted open. They mounted Buckbeak and took off with Sirius in rear…
The probing intensified.
"Just like your father… Lazy. Arrogant."
"Don't say a word against my father—!"...
A cemetery with an eerie fog enveloping the surroundings, then suddenly illuminated by a bright flash.
“Kill the spare!”
“Avada Kedavra!...”
Umbridge's nauseatingly-pink office adorned with decorative kitten plates on the pink wallpaper. Everything was so pink. A giggle. The scratch of the forbidden Quill.
'I must not tell lies…'
The grounds of Hogwarts; shouts and screaming in the background. "Fight back! Fight back, you coward!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs after the retreating dark figure. Hagrid's hut suddenly burst alright, Bellatrix's delighted squeal in the distance…
The shrieking Shack, where he was kneeling beside the dying man, trying to staunch his bleeding neck.
"Look…At…Me…" he pleaded.
"You have…your mother's eyes."
And the man's grip on his scruff slackened, his hand thudding to the dusty floorboards…
Harry's head was pulsating almost painfully now, but he gnashed his teeth shut, remembering to trust… Slightly unpleasant his arse!
"I won't give up on you like my mother did…"
"BECAUSE I CANT LOOSE YOU TOO!..."
They were sitting at a round dining table. "They are yours to keep…"
"Would a father pay a child who had beaten up his son?..."
"Blood doesn't mean anything …"
An unexpected blow to his face.
"I won't— leave you — Harry. I swear it. Forgive me, child…”
And he was suddenly falling, his stomach plummeting as though he'd missed a step of the stairs. His palms touched something hard and rough… Asphalt, he realized. Squinting his eyes open, the world was spinning drunkenly. Strong hands were gripping his upper arms, steadying him, and Harry leaned into them, willing the vertigo to cease. He realized his head was resting on Severus's chest.
When he finally reopened his eyes, it was to find black, concerned ones inspecting him.
"How do you feel?"
The younger wizard swallowed back the nausea. "Did it work?" he asked, and suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, his cheeks color slightly, realizing Severus must have also witnessed the cinematics. “How… How much of that did you see…?”
“Yes, it did work. Your mental shields were all but nonexistent, Harry. I was able to maneuver your memories with absurd ease,” the Legilimens criticized. “And I'm sure you already know the answer to your second question,” he added, sounding a bit uncomfortable. Harry knew, without a doubt, what the man was thinking. Those were Harry's most emotion-evoking memories, and Severus was their focal point. Suddenly, Harry felt like he'd just been humiliated before the Great Hall and all of its 300 students and staff.
But he also felt… lighter. As if a heavy fog had surrendered its dark embrace on him. The world suddenly appeared so much brighter, even if there wasn't much to look at in the rubbish-filled alley. His head also felt much clearer and grounded.
“Woah… I didn't even realize how much the atmosphere was affecting me,” he breathed, turning his head this way and that.
Severus expelled a sigh of relief. “Good. I take it the procedure went successfully, then.”
Harry smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you, Severus. Really, you can't begin to imagine—”
“I require no gratitude, Harry,” he hastily interrupted, pushing himself off the ground and helping Harry up in the process. “We must move. We've all but sent out a significant giveaway of our presence. Do you feel up for walking?”
No, cause why not have you carry me like some toddler? thought Harry sarcastically, but outwardly nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Then come. Quickly now.”
“Bloody taxes these days… There's nothin' good about the economy. Me wife n' kids barely have enough to eat fer dinner these days. I got meself this job about a month ago… supposed to pay 'lright, though I haven't received any paycheck yet. But I reckon it ain't gonna be enough… Ah, but what's the point of life, anyway?...”
The past hour had been hell.
The two passengers had been subjected to listening to the depressing drones of the driver, topics ranging from politics to deeply-personal matters. Severus could tell the blabbering man was only half-aware of it though, under the demented fog's effect. There was that blank look on his face he recognized so well. And the further North they drove, the more profound the impact became.
Severus was sitting at the front of the worse-for-wear car beside the nearly-toothless, scrawny, middle-aged man. He could have sat with Harry at the back, but the moment he'd seen the man he had refrained. By sitting at the front, he would be able to intervene more quickly and proficiently in case worst came to worst, and also because Harry's safety was a first priority. He hated it, the uneven road with potholes galore, which made the journey even worse for his intolerance to sudden jerks and movements. He supposed this was better than the time Harry was at the wheel the other day though.
But who was he to complain? He and Harry were fortunate they had even managed to bride this man into driving them, even if the cost was rather absurd… And even though said man partially looked like a dunk and smelled putridly of cigarettes, it was better than nothing at all.
Honestly, the way muggles resorted to relieving stress and then having the audacity to complain about their fatal illnesses. Such things were often frowned upon in the Wizarding World. Severus himself had never smoked either, only tried it once when he was still in Hogwarts… It was revolting.
Despite the still-early evening hour, it was very dark. The further on they drove, the denser the fog and the darker the clouds grew. They were nearing Slieve League, and it was only a matter of another hour before they reached them. Shifting his gaze up, he spied Harry through the rear driver's mirror.
The young man looked exhausted and had dark circles under his briliant-green eyes; his arms were wrapped around his torso and he was slumped sideways, leaning against the door and watching the flashing scenery of endless moors. Apparently, he was caught up in his thoughts, but Severus was relieved to note the absence of blankness in his eyes.
The rest of the journey passed in silence, fortunately without incident.
“Well, this is as far as I can take ya,” announced the driver as he pulled into a temporary parking position. They had reached a small pit stop/sightseeing area halfway up the Slieve League Cliffs, not far from a small pine forest. The sky was a forbidding blue-gray and the fog allowed barely half of a mile's view ahead. And though he was immune, the accumulated presence of dementors was so concentrated here it was palpable. Scarce were the chirpings of crickets and calls of nocturnal animals. The wind was frosty, making Severus' face seer with the unnatural cold. Then again, nothing felt natural about this place, for everything seemed dead.
Severus paid the driver with a rather insanely-thick wad of cash, and he and Harry were soon the only souls left in the deserted area. Harry reached into his pocket to pull out his two-way mirror. After a moment, their reflections were replaced with Kingsley's.
“Kingsley, we're here. Slieve League,” reported Harry. “We're going to try to locate the stronghold; it's definitely here. Or the dementors are, more like.”
“Potter, Severus, that is good to hear. Take caution. McGonagall and I have been doing more extensive research, but it was Miss Granger who—”
“Wait WHAT!?” cried Harry at the same time as Severus snarled, “I beg your fucking pardon?”
“Kingsley, they weren't supposed to know!” Harry grit out, concern lacing his bite.
The Minister's mouth opened to answer, but just then called new voices.
“Is that Harry?”
“It is— Come!”
In the next moment, Kingsley, sitting in his office, was surrounded by the entire Weasley clan and Granger, each trying to squeeze in to get a better look.
Bloody h—!
“HARRY!”
“We've been so wor—!”
“You daft dimbo—!”
“Silence!” Kingsley's deep and powerful voice suddenly sliced the air. Everyone stilled, and the Minister turned back to address Harry, who appeared frozen with shock.
“Mr. Potter, I sincerely apologize. It is a long story, but I assure you I was overruled in every say on the matter. Now, as I was saying, Miss Granger was the one who found an old, abandoned tourist cave entrance in the Cliffs in a muggle book. We have worked out a map of the area — all we need not are your coordinates to instruct you where to go.”
Severus sighed internally, silently fuming over Harry's little fan club getting involved in the mission, but wisely withheld his tongue. “I shall require a moment to cast the Geolocomotor spell,” he informed, and then stepped away. Drawing his wand, Severus pointed to each of the four directions on an imaginary compass and incanted the spell. A small piece of paper suddenly puffed out of thin air; Severus caught it and reapproached Harry. Out loud, he read the coordinates.
In the mirror, Severus and Harry watched as Hermione, wielding a ruler and quill, began marking a map laid out on the Minister's large desk. It occured to Severus only then that the mirror was hovering mid-air.
“Found them! Or found you, I guess,” she announced. “You're at a small car park and the road ahead is fenced off, right? Well, if you continue down that road, you'll eventually make it to the summit, where there's another car park/tourist area but slightly bigger. From there, if you continue due North you should see perhaps a closed-off sightseeing platform overlooking the sea. According to the pictures in my book, I've gathered there's a closed-off path leading down to the lower levels of this viewing platform. If you follow it, the entrance to the caves should be there…” the young woman said, her brows suddenly furrowing. “At least, that's as accurate as I could get,” she said apologetically.
Apparently, she wasn't finished.
“There are two seperate cave systems under the Cliffs but they are renowned for not being connected. This abandoned cave system was closed off due to 'unexplainable tourist and spelunker disappearances'. I bet you anything that's where the Death Eater stronghold is, and where the Tenebris Orb is hidden.”
Everyone was rendered momentarily speeechles for a moment when Hermione finished saying all that in two breaths.
“Hermione, that's briliant! You're briliant!” suddenly cried Harry, voicing even Severus' shock in his stead. The girl blushed, trying to smother her delighted grin.
“Yeah, mate. Like what would we do without her?” added Ronald Weasley, “Mione's been at it since we found out what you and Sna— Professor Snape were up to. But, bloody hell, do you realize how dangerous this will be?”
Kingsley interrupted. “Which is precisely why their job will be only — and only — to gather intel and send us the coordinates. The Aurors are gathered in the Department of Mysteries and awaiting my command as we speak.”
A little more forcefully, he intoned, “Under no circumstances are you two to engage in battle. Things will be pandamonic as is, and the last thing we need is for either of you to get killed or taken hostage as ultimatums. Additionally, if Severus is seen, neither side will stop to consider his loyalties. As soon as you have sent your Patronus, use your portkeys to go home; they will take us to McGonagall's office, where she is already awaiting you.” He drew a breath. “Are we clear?”
“Perfectly, Minister,” answered Severus. He'd be damned if something went wrong. “We should get moving, then.”
Kingsley nodded, but before he could put in a word of good luck, Harry's friends suddenly occupied the entire mirror, speaking all at once.
“Oh, Harry, please be careful!” said Granger.
“When I get my hands on you, Harry James Potter!” warned Ginnerva Weasley, sounding uncannily like her mother.
“I can't believe I'm saying this, Harry,” said Ronald Weasley, “but stick with Professor Snape, alright?”
Severus stepped away to give the Gryffindors some privacy. He could hear Harry's thick voice thanking and reassuring them with promises and returning greetings. When the last words of farewell were exchanged, Severus rejoined the boy just in time to hear the Minister saying, “Best of luck to you, Severus, Mr. Potter. We are awaiting your Patronus and presence back at Hogwarts. Stay safe.”
Slieve League Cliffs were bare and vast, a grassy dune desert. Ancient stone remains were dotted across them in the low, dead grass, and a few bare bushes could be made out in the darkness, but that just about composed the sight.
The conditions were beyond horrible: the cold was quickly seeping through their layers, the wind whistling in their ears felt like thousands of tiny needles blistering their faces, and the deadly crashing sea waves over 1500 feet below thundered in their ears.
They were foreign wanderers in the darkness, unwilling to light their wands with Lumos for fear of being exposed and easier to spot. To blindly trust Hermione was all they could do, and trust her Harry did — the brightest witch of her age.
They had since passed the car park and first viewing platform Hermione — bloody brilliant Hermione — had mentioned, and were now braving the winding hiking path along the high cliffs. Both their satchels, once slung over their shoulders, were now shrunken and safely stowed away in their pockets, save for their two-way mirrors, wands, (the Invisibility Cloak, in Harry's case), and portkeys.
Harry felt himself involuntary shudder violently again, but not from the harsh elements or the demented atmosphere (thankfully, Severus' Legilimency thing was working). The whole setting — seaside cliffs, at dark, raging winds and turbulent sea,… their destination a cave… It was too similar. It felt like he'd been here before. Two years ago. Same setting just different location.
It's just like that night…
The seventeen-year-old found himself almost frantically searching out things that would somehow help to differentiate then from now, but was failing miserably. Everything was uncannily the same. That and the fact that he was with his mentor, someone he looked up to with respect and for whom he cared, and vice versa. The only difference Harry knew of was he was almost two years older now.
Or was he just being paranoid?
But Dumbledore's begging… Like a man dying a painful death, pleading with someone to end his suffering, somehow drowned out the thunderous wind in his ears.
“...Just one more swallow, Professor. Please—...”
“...No. No, please, no! I'm sorry; I'll do anything!...”
No, Harry told himself firmly. He was not going down that lane. And history wasn't going to repeat itself either. Things were different now in that he wasn't a student any longer and wasn't under obligation to promise to obey.
"...You must obey every command I give you without question… Should I tell you to hide, you hide. Should I tell you to run, you run. Should I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you must do so…"
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Severus' deep voice called to him over the raging winds, sounding like a deep voice calling to him from somewhere afar.
“Stay close; wand out. I see the viewing platform just up ahead!”
Try as he might, Harry just couldn't make out their destination in the dark distance. Even with his new glases, everything was a dark blur. But Severus' presence was beside him, a firm, reassuring presence. He knew he could — and did — trust this man with his life. So he continued walking with confidence, staying close but never letting the grip on his wand slacken.
But the next thing he knew, a cold hand was being clamped around his wrist so hard he could almost feel the other's bones digging into his skin, and roughly pulling him back. The world spun for a moment, and he was suddenly pinned flat aginst a wide boulder. He turned to Severus for answers, but his look told him more than he needed to know..
“Figures headed for the platform. Cloaked,” Severus leaned close to inform.
“Figured as much. Reckon they saw us?” asked Harry, feeling his heart drumming in anticipation.
“No. It is difficult to spot anything in the dark, and I doubt they are expecting us as much as we were expecting them. We have the advantage of surprise. Careful,” he warned as he slowly rounded him to peak out from behind the boulder. Neither moved for several moments.
“Alright, I think it is safe to move,” he deemed after several moments. “Keep low; we will use the boulders for cover to access the platform.”
"Wait, why not use my Cloak?" asked Harry.
Severus shook his head. "It will not be able to cover us both and will get blown away in the wind," he explained shortly, shooting that idea down.
Oh.
“And what's plan A if things go South?” he needed to know.
If things go South… the question sent a chill creep up his spine.
“We Portkey. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you will obey. And if you dare disregard this order, Harry James Potter, may Merlin and all that is holy have mercy on you because I most certainly will not . ”
Harry felt himself drain of color, his heart drumming in his ears and eyes widening in horror. No. No, this couldn't be… that's what Dumbledore had made him swear that night . The night he'd lost him. The night when things had gone as far South as they could have.
No. No, he was not making that promise again. After all, he was of age and was at liberty of his own choices. He couldn't, and wouldn't, lose Severus. There wouldn't be a repeat.
“I— I can't promise you that, Severus,” said Harry finally, bunching the fabric of his trousers in his hands..
“Potter—!”
“That's exactly what he said before we left to find the locket!”
The man looked bemused. “He? Who?”
“D— Dumbledore. We apparated to this cave where he thought was the horcrux, but to get to it he had to drink a potion. It weakened him a big deal. That's the night you— when he died,” he rambled out.
Severus took a step back, clearly piecing two and two together if the astonishment on his face was anything to go by. Harry's face and stance was firm, determined, and defiant, but he knew the bit of fear and worry in his face belied it.
After a moment of verbal silence, Severus moved closer and gripped both Harry's shoulders. “Harry,” he said firmly, looking dead into his eyes, “I will never forgive myself if something happens to you. But if worst comes to worst, your future is much more promising and fruitful than mine. And these are just safety precautions, not prophecies.”
But these were the same precautions Dumbledore had made…
“Harry. Look at me.”
Harry did, suddenly feeling younger than his age.
“Now is neither the time nor place to have this discussion.”
And Harry knew with shame the man was right and he was stalling them.
“I will not sugarcoat reality, you well know this. Fortunately, we are not bloody seers and cannot 'prophesy' the future. No one knows the outcome of this mission, but it is too late to turn back now. Sometimes, you just have to take the plunge.
And that was the blunt truth of reality.
Harry squared his shoulders then, nodding as he looked straight into his eyes. “Alright,” he agreed, hiding one hand behind his back, one finger bent around the other. “Let's go, then.”
Notes:
I also really like how this chapter turned out. Ooo, they're taking the plunge:D Share your thoughts, predictions, and opinions, I always love to hear them!
Next chapter: Feb.11
Chapter 52: The Plunge
Summary:
Finally, Kingsley shook is head and nodded. “Very well. I trust you. Do not forget to send the coordinates. We'll be ready. Good luck and be careful.”
"We will see you on the other side, Minister," bid Severus.
Hopefully…
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap :
“I will not sugarcoat reality, you well know this. Fortunately, we are not bloody seers and cannot 'prophesy' the future. No one knows the outcome of this mission, but it is too late to turn back now. Sometimes, you just have to take the plunge.
And that was the blunt truth of reality.
Harry squared his shoulders then, nodding as he looked straight into his eyes. “Alright,” he agreed, hiding one hand behind his back, one finger bent around the other. “Let's go, then.”
The cliffside viewing platform was completely wooden; rotten and termite-eaten. The boards creaked and groaned horribly beneath their feet, the cracks and crevices revealing the lower platforms. Height had never been a problem for Harry, and neither were storms. But knowing that below them was a steep, rocky drop where unforgiving waves sundered against the cliffs was definitely something beyond his comfort zone. As he and Severus soon found out, the boards were more unstable on the outer edge of the walkways than on the inner, where they were connected to the side of the cliff. Thus, they were subjected to shimmying along the rocky wall.
Top level braved, now the lower ones.
The wind was definitely stronger here than it had been on that hiking trail. The support beams swooned and swayd, the groaning barely audible over the storm raging below, and Harry briefly wondered if the only reason the platform was still holding up was some stabilizing spells.
As he and Severus approached the descending stairs, the older man took charge and carefully tested the first step. Harry watched with bated breath when his mentor grabbed the handrail on the right, his left hand pressed against the wall. The wood instantly started to sway, causing Severus to retract his hand as if burned. With a look back at Harry, he took the second step down, body pressed flat against the rock. The younger wizard slowly followed behind, both moving at a sloth's pace. After what felt like fifteen minutes, their feet finally reached the lower level platform.
In a similar fashion, they descended two more levels. At the bottom-most, they finally found their prize. There was a small indent in the cliffside, revealing a very slim tunnel behind the many wooden boards that were nailed across it to prevent entry. The pair stopped before it, exchanging a quick glance at one another before Severus brandished his wand and started chanting complex lines in Latin. When he was finished, the Slytherin approached the boarded up mouth of the cave and pressed his left hand — no, his left forearm — against it. There was a low rumble, and the wood shifted aside to reveal the dark cave tunnel.
“H— How did you—?”
“The imbeciles!” hissed Severus in answer. “Their warding system is set up to comply only to those bearing the Dark Mark. Either they are expecting us or suffering from a lack of brain cells.”
“Which one do you think is more likely?” asked Harry, trying to make out anything in the inky darkness of the narrow opening.
“You're guess is as good as mine,” he answered gruffly. “As precaution, take out your Cloak. The both of us won't fit under it, but at least you will be concealed. If I am discovered, flee and report to the Minister. Am I perfectly understood, Harry Potter?”
Harry swallowed, his throat feeling clogged and stuffy. “I— I promise.” …To judge the situation and either act or intervene according to the circumstances. And though Harry had never grasped the Art, he gathered all his limited knowledge of what he'd been taught and tried to Occlude his mind as Severus' searching, obsidian eyes pierced his green one.
“Very well,” he finally said softly, clearly relieved to some measure. “The Cloak, then.”
The Gryffindor hadn't donned his cloak in what felt like ages, but he swung it over his head deftly, his body remembering the action he'd done so many times in the past. Severus lit his wand with Lumos, and took the lead. Harry followed him through the mouth of the dark, narrow space, leaving behind the turbulent storm.
There was room only for one person to walk at a time, though the deeper they descended the wider and taller the tunnel grew. A strong draft whistled, sounding like the wailing of Moaning Myrtle. Severus' wand was barely lit, Harry guessed so it wouldn't expose them so much. But it was barely enough to light the bumpy path ahead, and on several occasions the invisible boy nearly bumped into Severus or tripped on a protruding rock.
After about ten minutes of silent walking, the tunnel split up. Severus navigated his wand to shine on the ground leading in both directions, trying to make out any footprints. Nothing, though. Both paths bore no traces of having been taken.
“Appere Vestigium!” Severus whispered. The tip of his wand glowed lime-green and footprints of the same color were illuminated prominently on the ground. They snaked under their feet and eventually followed the left tunnel, before slowly diminishing.
“Keep close, wand at the ready. The color indicates they are not much farther.”
It was at that moment that a heart-jolting realization dawned on Harry. "Severus," he whispered. "Won't us using magic alert them of our presence? We're pretty much giving ourselves away."
Severus shook his head immedietly. "No, I do not believe so. Can you not feel how much concentrated dark magic is here? Our spell-casting, in comparison, is rendered lost and too weak to pick up; the energy gets drowned, you could say. Now, keep quiet," he cautioned.
The tunnel continued to slope down the rest of the way in the fifteen or so minutes it took them to reach a cavern the size of a small classroom. The ceiling was rather low and decorated with imposing-looking stalagmites… or were they stalactites? Either way, they were there, with tiny water droplets trickling onto the stone below, echoing in a twinkle. It appeared to be a dead end, with no further tunnels visible. But Harry could sense… something. It was as if he could smell fear, anxiety, dread, depresion… death. An empty void. It sent a shiver down his spine.
The older wizard was just finishing his perimeter around the enclosed space, carefully tracing his long-fingered hand along the eroded wall. Suddenly, he stopped, retracting a step or two back. Harry slowly approached him, scuffing his feet a bit to ensure he wouldn't spook the professor.
“You find something?” he asked, even his whisper echoing in the cavern.
Severus nodded, not turning his head. “I believe so. This entire chamber is heavily warded — enough to withstand a battle or even an explosion, and this part of the wall here is warded particularly with Lucius' signature.”
“Malfoy!?”
“Are you surprised? As far as we know, he all but orchestrated all of this. In the Death Eater hierarchy, Lucius Malfoy was ranked tied with Bellatrix LeStrange in the power department. I've no doubt that he is viewed as leader even now.”
“Right,” nodded Harry, though the other couldn't see it. “And you were ranked…?”
The ex-Death-Eater's lip curled. “First.”
Oh.
Right.
“Step back, Harry. Light your wand.”
Hesitating only slightly, Harry obliged, making sure there was at least fifteen meters between them before casting a non-verbal Lumos . He watched Severus press one palm against the wall, fingers spread out and his ebony wand still lit in the other. He Nox ed it, the cavern suddenly dimmer, and began chanting a string of incantations in Latin.
“Liceat mihi ingressum… Finibus tuis tenebris tenentur… Si mors illinc… Ego sum et fideli servo… ” He repeated this chant thrice, not once stumbling over his wording or changing the decibel of his deep, monotone voice.
After the third chant, there was a rumble. The entire cavern trembled, though barely noticeably. More like light vibrations. Harry grew alarmed and already had a shielding charm on the tip of his tongue… But then, a strange shape, big enough to pass through, was illuminated on the wall, surrounded by ancient runes. It glowed vibrantly, bathing the cave in blue light, until diminishing away. Severus approached the place and, tentatively, tried to touch the rock…
His hand went through. More confidently now, he stepped through and disappeared completely.
“Follow,” his voice called, prompting Harry's feet to move.
On the other side was another tunnel, this one as narrow as the previous one. Harry could see no end to it, its inky darkness seeming to stretch forever. Severus relit his wand, and the two continued their trek.
“Sir,” said Harry in a whisper. Severus didn't startle. “What was that spell you just used? How did you know it would work?”
The man kept his eyes ahead, replying in a low voice of the same decibel as Harry's. “The Dar— Voldemort invented the spell and entrusted it only to a select few of his Death Eaters, myself included, to know this place of stay. The spell is of similar nature to the Fidelous Charm, only that it works as a passkey to enter a powerfully-concealed location.”
“Like where Voldemort had been hiding?” inferred Harry.
“Precisely. Back when he had only just returned after the Tournament, he trusted almost no one except Malfoy and LeStrange. I was still on probation at the time, so he entrusted it to me only after the Department of Mysteries incident, when his trust in me solidified. And even now, Lucius Malfoy had always been rather predictable — a fatal flaw, objectively speaking —, and thus it did not require many brain cells to guess his standard for security.”
At that point, the passageway started bending and turning, like a winding river or a slithering snake. And finally, there were voices, mere distant echoes, but voices nonetheless. There appeared a light at the end of the tunnel. They stopped within ten feet of the end of it, Severus pressing himself flat against the wall behind a protruding part of the wall and Nox ing his wand, and peeked his head out. Harry did so beside him, still under his Cloak, and the sight that met him made him gasp.
The cavern was enormous, around the size of a Quidditch field, the ceiling as tall as the tallest Quaffle hoops, stalactites hanging from it, some meeting the stalagmites on the ground. In the very center stood a stone formation that looked like an Aztec pyramid, composed of five platforms. Though they were far, there was enough light to make out a black orb floating mid air over the topmost level. Some dark matter seemed to surround it, revolving around it like thousands of starved, tiny flies circling a piece of food. What made the sight most terrifying, however, were the hundreds of dementors continuously flying, circling a wide perimeter around the orb in an accumulated cloud so dense they were barely distinguishable from one another, their black, tattered cloaks billowing around them.
Below all this, Death Eaters, perhaps around seventy, roamed the grounds. There were iron-wrought cages scattered about that looked like they would be found only in zoos. In them sat people, ranging from small children to old seniors. Judging by the nearest cage to them, the occupants had been tortured and starved.
What made Harry's heart skip, however, was the unmistakable plump form of his uncle in one of the cages. Harry could just barely make out his face from afar, but it was undeniably him. Vernon's hair had grayed slightly and looked thinner, and his obese figure had definitely lost enough weight to just call him plump, but Harry could recognize that mustache anywhere. He looked absolutely miserable, far beyond anything the boy had even seen.
But his aunt and nephew weren't there.
Just as Harry felt his stomach plummet uncomfortably, he started frantically looking around, trying to make out the other occupants in the other cages. Alas, those were two far away, blurred and indistinguishable.
Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't—
Harry felt Severus' hand catching his shoulder awkwardly, as if trying to make out where he was. Harry took a step closer and whispered, “Sir?”
“Let us see if we can get closer to what the Death Eaters are saying. We must also scout out an adequate location for the Aurors to infiltrate from. Have you spotted your relatives?”
“Uh, just my uncle. I can't see much farther,” he replied apologetically.
Severus' brows furrowed. “Describe their appearances. Your Aunt's and nephew's.”
“W— Well, Petunia's tall, slim… and looks like she's chewing a lemon. Short perm. Dudley's fat and… has one of those bowl cuts.”
Severus was already scanning the cavern meticulously with his dark eyes. A few moments passed… Harry held his breath.
“... I believe I have located them. They are in a shared space with a few other muggles.”
Harry exhaled softly, relief washing over him. “Do they appear okay?”
This time, Severus turned to look at him with bemusement, silently asking dryly 'seriously?', But ultimately answered, “I suppose. Even I cannot see so much from so afar.”
“Right,” he nodded curtly. “Sir, I think you should stay behind. I have the Cloak, so it'll be easier for me to eavesdrop.”
“Absolutely not, Potter!” Severus hissed, looking outraged. “In that case, hand me your Cloak. If anything, I am in a more competent position to defend myself. You will await me here—”
“You can't be serious! I'm just going to stand here and wait for some Death Eater to spot me? I didn't come all the way here just to sit on the bloody sidelines!”
At this, the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We do not have time for this,” he argued, but Harry cut him off.
“Exactly! Look, the Cloak is barely big enough to cover me when I'm hunched over. You're a head taller. Can't you just cast some Concealment Charm over yourself?”
He watched Severus' lips thin into a tight line. “Fine,” he spat out. We shall do recon and meet back here in twenty minutes. Am I clear, Potter?”
“Perfectly, Snape.”
And with that, Harry spun on his heel. But before he could move so much as one step, Severus grasped his wrist. He turned back around to find concern mixed with an unnamed emotion in his eyes.
“Harry…" He swallowed visibly. "Be careful.”
And he felt his features softly, the three simple words enough to warm his chest. Harry squeezed the colder hand in answer. “You too, Severus.”
***
Severus moved from shadow to shadow, wand in hand and at the ready. He ducked and hid behind protruding rock formations and stalagmites, scanning the area before daring to place another foot before the other. He had cast a strong Camouflage Charm on himself, Cameo miscere, which allowed him to blend in with his surroundings. The only con of this Charm was that it would break upon wand use or someone touching him, be it purposely or accidentally.
The cavern was vast and dimly lit by the small Lumos Maxima orbs hovering overhead, permitting just enough light to see where he was going but also to take advantage of the shadows. He had already passed by several cages guarded by individual Death Eaters, the occupants of which were huddled in the corners and holding one another for comfort, clearly starved and tortured. But Severus had had no choice but to move on, unable to help in any way. His main objective was trying to overhear a conversation between two or more Death Eaters.
Crouched behind a shadowed stalagmite, Severus' ears perked up at the sound of low voices. A quiver of disgust and fury ran down his body when he recognized one as Lucius Malfoy's, and the other Dolohov's. Peeking out as slowly as he dared, he was met with two dark, cloaked figures. Some of Lucius' platinum-blond hair had turned silver, and his face was more lined, presumably from his time spent in Azkaban. Dolohov looked the very same, with his long, cruel, twisted face and dark hair. The two people were moving in his direction at a lazy pace.
“ —much longer, Lucius? We sensed foreign signatures in Sligo earlier. For all we know, the Ministry could be approaching our doorstep as we speak—”
“Antoni,” said Lucious in a low, silky hiss, gesturing with his decorative walking stick at the dementors swirling around the orb in the distance. “Do share what concerns you have. Nearly half their Aurors are either dead, here, or comprise their so-called army. And we are almost ready. Adams and York reported to me earlier that the Ministry's numbers are on standby, an ambiguous preparation for a possible attack… They will sonner be crushed to death before even reaching the antechamber.”
“But it is possible they know,” argued Dolohov strongly. “You seem overly confident in our chances of prevail, yet I say you are deluding yourself. It was us who picked up traces of Snape's and Potter's signatures in Holyhead and Dublin — The Ministry is onto us!” he implored.
Lucius casually turned to face him, face twisting as though he'd just swallowed an insect. “It matters not!” he rasped out. “The dementors are nearly ready. It is merely a matter of an hour. Soon, the Ministry will fall and the Dark Lord's legacy shall be realized, and the vile blood traitor and his precious Potter will be but mere memories—”
“You know, father ,” a new voice sneered, sending a chill down Severus' spine, ”for someone who's already visited Azkaban several times, you sure are fucking full of yourself!”
“Draco, no!” hushed a female's voice.
Just behind the two Death Eaters was another cage, though too shadowed to make out the prisoners. Lucius turned around slowly so that Severus couldn't see his face.
“Ah, Draco, awake already?” he drawled, then his voiced turned ugly. “And I am no father of yours. I have no son.” The word was hissed with adhorence.
“Lucius, think what you are saying— doing!” pleaded Narcissa's voice, a quiver in it. Severus had always known Narcissa had married the man for his wealth and status, not love. But the desperation in her voice almost made him think otherwise.
“Silencio!” Malfoy hissed, flicking his wand. “I had sacraficed and lost too much for you, and this is my repayment? Consider yourselves lucky I have spared you,” Lucius finished coldly, making Severus' lip curl and blood boil.
“Antoni, come. Let us gather the others. We are nearly ready.” And the two figures spun on their heels and left, passing right by Severus and missing him by mearly inches. The man waited long enough to hear their footsteps disappear, and then moved to the cage with the younger Malfoys.
“Narcissa, Draco, it is I, Severus,” he whispered. There were other people there as well, but they appeared knocked out cold. Surprisingly, he spotted a frail-looking woman who he thought fit Harry's earlier description of his aunt perfectly. The last time he'd seen her was during the summer after Fourth Year, so he wasn't quite sure of her appearance now.
Narcissa gasped softly, face still in shadow. “Severus!? But it is impossible—!”
“Wait, SNAPE!?”
“Pleasentries and introductions later,” Severus silenced them both crisply. “Narcissa, what is going on?”
“My father's gone off his fucking rocker, that's what!” hissed draco's voice in her stead. “See that orb? Some kind of sodding Teneb-something weapon. The dementors are feeding on it, or something like that, and the Death Eaters can completely control them. Apparently, the thing helps them breed faster.”
“What else do you know about it?” asked Severus immedietly.
“Nothing,” answered Narcissa. “We've been here for Merlin knows how long, and the Orb has only been growing bigger and bigger since. But we did overhear once that it is very fragile… Lucius is often worried for it, reminding the people guarding it to be extremely careful.”
“Snape, what the fuck are you doing here!? Who else is with you? Are you going to sodding help us or not!?” demanded Draco. “Where even are you? Are you in our fucking heads, you telepath?”
“I am under a Concealment Charm that will break if I utter a single incantation, you blithering dunderhead!” Severus retorted, appalled by the brat's audacity. “It is in your best interests to keep quiet. Potter and I—”
“Of course. Harry bloody Potter's here too. When isn't he!?”
Severus felt beyond indignation at that point. How dense could this boy get? “Just keep quiet and out of the way, if you know what is good for you. When the Aurors arrive, they will have orders to free everyone. Your job will be to flee, not fight, lest you wish to be used as ultimatums.” The wizard stood from his crouched position, glancing around. “I must go now.”
Severus' mind was reeling. His earlier suspicions about the Orb were correct. If it's considered fragile and was approached with such care, the amount of energy its destruction could release would be enough to bring down this entire cavern.
He needed to find Harry.
As if on cue, just as he was almost to a large rock protruding out of the ground, something crashed into him, the impact sending him to the ground before he could react.
“Severus!”
Harry! Thank Merlin!
“It is I,” confirmed Severus, climbing to his feet and wincing at his sore side. There was gasp, and he immedietly realized it was directed at him — his visible self. Severus cursed and blindly reached out with his jand to grasp Harry's whatever Cloak-concealed limb and dragged them both behind the rock.
“You're visible again!” whispered the Gryffindor, his head appearing mid-air as he adjusted his Cloak.
“What an astute observation, Harry,” drawled Severus. “What have you learned?”
Harry shook his head, an anxious look on his face. “We have to destroy that Orb. Or at least steal it. Severus, I managed to get close enough to a group of Death Eaters patroling around that pyramid thing. The dementors are drawing energy off that thing, and they're almost at this 'final stage'. Yaxely was there — he said he 'wouldn't want to cross paths with one of them once they attack'.”
“Absolutely not!” said Severus. “I happened upon Draco and Narcissa, they informed me that the Orb is extremely fragile. Destroying it would be catastrophic.”
“Wha— They're here too?” exclaimed Harry, clearly surprised. but then shook his head asif to brush the fact aside. “But, okay. Sure. Look, in that case, we need to steal it,” asserted Harry. “If the Aurors barge in here now, the Death Eaters will surely use the Orb to manipulate us. If we steal the Orb, not only will it prevent the dementors from reaching the 'final stage', but it will also deny the Death Eaters from exploiting it!”
“Ah, yes, such a prominent plan you've got there,” Severus said snarkily. “Steal the Orb… I believe an appropriate saying in this case is 'easier said than done.' We would be swarmed by the Dementors the moment we approached it, not to mention the Death Eaters guarding it—”
“No. You don't get it. There's a sort of… connection tying the dementors to the Orb's energy. I overheard Yaxley talking about it. H— He was growing impatient… Was joking about 'severing the connection to speed up the process', but a different Death Eater said it would ruin everything… I think this means the dementors somehow know they can't abandon the Orb until they've reached the final stage, so they wouldn't be interested in us.”
“Harry, we cannot just approach and casually steal the Orb—”
“Yes, we can,” Harry asserted. “We have to. Otherwise, I doubt even the Ministry will stand a chance. We— We can create a distraction on the other side of the cavern.”
Severus looked bewildeered, his eyes wide. “And what, in your brilliant mind, will we do once we get a hold of it? The dementors will be released and will chase after us…” Here, he paused, face drawn in deep thought. “Unless we summon the Aurors as a diversion to steal the Orb. All attention will be drawn to them and the Orb will be ours for the taking. We will portkey out as soon as we get ahold of it.”
“Wait, what about the prisoners?” asked Harry.
Severus cursed internally. “Yes, that does rather pose a problem… Suppose we can sneak up on the guards and take them out incognito. I can cast a complex duplication spell on our portkeys. We can hand them out and the prisoners will be safely transported to Hogwarts… We cannot rely on the Aurors, Malfoy mentioned about half of them are Polyjuiced in the Ministry army.”
The boy's brows furrowed, an uncertain look on his face. ”Duplication Spells work on portkeys?”
“No, Potter, it was merely a wistful idea of mine,” drawled Severus sarcastically. “Yes, in esence.”
Harry's eyes widened and he noded confidently. “Well then, I think that sounds like a good plan, sir.”
Severus snorted. “It is perhaps the most ludicrous thing I have ever done… One of .”
To his astonishment, Harry smiled just barely at him. “Let's tell Kingsley. Quickly, before someone comes.”
They were rather well concealed behind the big rock within its deep shadow. It was Harry who brandished his two-way mirror. Severus cast the coordinates spell again just as the Minister appeared in the reflection view.
“Kingsley, we don't have a lot of time, so just listen,” whispered Harry. “The stronghold is a huge cavern. The Tenebris Orb is here, and dementors are feeding off it. Apparently, they've almost reached the 'final stage'. There are Death Eaters and prisoners here. A lot. We'll try to take out the guards one by one and send the prisoners over by portkey to McGonagall's office. When you get one of our Patroni with the coordinates, send the Aurors over. They'll create a distraction and Severus and I will steal the Orb and portkey away—"
"Mr. Potter—"
"No. Listen. Be careful, we overheard Lucius say about a quarter of them are Death Eaters. Tell all of them to prepare for battle but don't give out too many details… I realize that's not much for them to go off on, but we don't want the Death Eaters to retaliate before they can go through the Veil.”
The wizard's face bore astonishement and uncertainity for several moments, Severus himself taken aback at how Harry had managed all that so concisely and under one breath. Finally, Kingsley shook is head and nodded. “Very well. I trust you. Do not forget to send the coordinates. We'll be ready. Good luck and be careful.”
"We will see you on the other side, Minister," bid Severus.
Hopefully…
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed this chapter:) I have a busy day today, so I had to edit this very quickly. ..The next chapter is going to be brutal, but I think you can all tell. I'll give you a small spoiler: the chapter will be called 'The Slytherin's Lament'. You can go ahead and make wild guesses;P
As always, let me know your thoughts! Next update: 17 Feb.
Chapter 53: The Slytherin's Lament
Summary:
Severus will slaughter me for this if we make it out alive…
Notes:
Gee, sure hope nothing goes wrong here… *cough, cough.* Ahem. Can't believe what I'm about to put them through… Also thank you so much for over 17k hits!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap:
The wizard's face bore astonishement and uncertainity for several moments, Severus himself taken aback at how Harry had managed all that so concisely and under one breath. Finally, Kingsley shook is head and nodded. “Very well. I trust you. Do not forget to send the coordinates. We'll be ready. Good luck and be careful.”
"We will see you on the other side, Minister," bid Severus.
Something dangerous was looming ahead, perhaps just on the other side. The mysterious object's wispy, silk-like waves rippled alluringly in their stone frame. The atmosphere was tense with anticipation; the Aurors knew they had been gathered here for battle. They stood in neat rows in formation, armed with wands, potions, and their loyalty to the Light.
Or, at least a portion of them.
There were wolves in sheep's clothing here. Who exactly? That was precisely the problem… No-one could trust anyone, as it had been for several months now. But the Aurors — whose loyalties lay with the Ministry — were ready. They would march into battle, wands drawn and roaring battle cries.
To end the Death Eaters once and for all. To end what was started decades ago.
The door at the back of the room squeaked open; footsteps echoed through the cavernous room where there had been a battle merely a few years ago. But the soldiers were disciplined to perfection, and their heads did not waver in any way to follow the Minister of Magic, flanked by a few other wizards, as he walked to stand before the huge pedestal leading up to it.
Time was slipping through their fingers like quicksand. The shouts and orders of Death Eaters in the echoed in the distance. They were gathering. Preparing. They were nearly ready…
But as were they.
Severus's pockets — charmed expandable — rattled softly with the dozens of hotel cards. And were the situation not so serious and the circumstances dire, he felt he could have laughed at the absurdity of it.
Be that as it may, these portkeys were the prisoners' only chance of making it out alive.
Harry had also received his share of portkeys, and was now also moving through the shadows somewhere on the opposite side of the cavern, his task much the same as Severus'.
The ex-Death-Eater paused, concealed behind a stalagmite.
Stupefy! he incantated silently. The guard — a Snatcher, he presumed—, was caught by surprise and went down. But before he could make the loud impact with the stone, Severus sent a silencing charm his way. Finishing off, he cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm over the body. Elegant and clean, as was the dark wizard's style.
Affirming that the coast was clear and re-applying the camouflage charm on himself, he reproached the cage holding the set of prisoners with the Malfoys.
"Narcissa!" he hissed. The woman lifted her head in the shadows. Severus brandished a sufficient amount of portkeys and carefully tossed them in her general direction.
"Severus, what—?"
"Hush. These are portkeys. The activation word is 'Reverto'. Once you hear a commotion — that'll be the Aurors —, use them. Everyone will be portkeyed to Hogwarts. The Headmistress is expecting you."
Severus didn't have time to stick around for an answer. He stood from his crouched position and moved to the other few cages left in the same fashion. Once, he even caught a glimpse of a prisoner in one of the other cages, Petunia Dursley, hiss "Potter!?" at something — someone — invisible. Fortunately, that marked the last cage checked off as the hotel cards were slipped through the bars with whispered instructions.
"Severus?" whispered Harry's voice not far from him. Severus picked up a tiny pebble and tossed it beside him. Barely-audible footsteps crunched, nearing him.
"How did you know I was here?" inquired the older with urgency.
"Wasn't that hard to tell when those people were suddenly looking in the same direction and nodding their heads," said Harry as though it were obvious. "Did you get everyone?"
"Yes. I believe we are ready. Let us reach the West side of the cavern for the coordinates, it seems it is farthest from the Orb and has a more open area."
Taking Harry's soft humm for assent, the two wizards silently moved from shadow to shadow, boulder to stalagmite, across the cavern, managing to avoid some odd ten Death Eaters/ Snatchers that had nearly intercepted them. They all appeared more alert, their wands drawn in an almost battle-ready stance. It was challenging not to trip over the other's invisible feet, and ensuring that Harry didn't touch Severus was even more so…
At last, the two reached an alcove of sorts. Severus had merely spotted this part of the cavern from afar earlier, but now that they were here he had to admit that it would surely give the Aurors an advantage. Not wasting any time, Severus drew his wand forth and quickly cast the spell for the coordinates. As before, a small piece of parchment appeared with writing on it. Severus tucked it into a pocket of his robes and nodded in Harry's general direction, then recast his camouflage charm. The whole process was long and time-consuming, not to mention the exertion it caused, but they would do what was necessary.
Their final step was to reach the pyramid structure with the Orb. Keeping to routine, they treked
to the middle of the cavern. But the closer they got, the more Death Eaters and Snatchers they encountered, and the harder it was to avoid them. There was panic and vigilance written all over their unmasked faces. Some were shouting orders at the others, some were straight up running.
“ —found Johnson out cold—!”
“Dolohov too. Search for the imposters!”
Lucius' snarl sounded as he rounded a cage, rattling his walking cane against the bars. The prisoners startled and huddled away. “Is it Potter?” he asked them silkily, though his tone sounded mutinous. “Who's here? You must know— Or would you blood traitors like a round of torture to loosen your tongues?”
“Leave them alone!” cried a new voice. Everyone's heads swiveled in its direction, coming from a nearby cage.
Draco, you bumbling imbecile, be quiet for once in your life and NOT 'tell your father about it'!
“Silence!” hissed Lucius. “You will respect your father!”
“Yeah,” the boy spat, “Like hell—!”
“Crucio!”
The jet of red light covered the five meters in under a second and hit the boy squarely in the chest. The blond collapsed and writhed on the stone ground, Narcissa crying out pleadingly at her husband… The sight was one Severus knew Draco had been subjected to several times, even prior to the war, but mostly for show in front of the Dark Lord. This was new, and it was cruel and vile. Severus' wand hand twitched, begging to interfere, but common sense restrained him. The best thing they could do at that moment was initiate the attack.
“Come,” he leaned his head in Harry's direction, the word barely audible. He could feel Harry's hesitancy, but in the end it seemed the boy steeled himself to continue on…
And finally, they had reached the base of the pyramid. The structure was roughly thirty meters tall, and overhead loomed the hurricane-like mass of dementors. Up close, Severus noted there was something different about them, perhaps in their size… but he wasn't sure… The dark Orb was inside of a protective sphere, and Severus recognised it to be the exact same spell Voldemort had utilized on that wretched snake of his. Severus knew the counter-spell for it, but it was very energy and time-consuming.
“First, we reach the summit of the pyramid. When you send your patronus, we await for chaos to ensue. I will require a minute to dis-erect any warding spells around the Orb, but it will also make me visible again. I'm hoping the attack will be diversion enough to buy us this time. Once the Orb is in my posession, you activate your Portkey and take us to Hogwarts.”
“Copy,” replied Harry, and Severus thought he could hear more determination in Harry's voice than he himself felt. The wizard could feel his pulse rise for what they were about to do… This was it; they were going to end what was started.
Harry and Severus easily slipped past the two Death Eaters standing vigil at the base of the stone steps, and hastened their way to the top. From there, they could clearly see the entirety of the vast cavern and the cages, and just some ten meters above them were the dementors, but their attention wasn't on them.
It was now or never.
“Go ahead, Harry,” he permitted, handing the boy with a slightly-shaky hand the coordinates. A hand appeared mid-air and accepted the paper.
“Let's end this thing, Severus,” replied Harry, still invisible. “Expecto Patronum!”
And the majestic stag bounded off, across the cavern, and disappeared.
“ —A Patronus!” bellowed voices from below.
“ —That's Potter's!”
“YOU IMBECILES, FIND THEM! WE'RE ABOUT TO GET SWARMED!”
“PREPARE FOR ATTACK!”
“GET THE DEMENTORS—!”
“NO, NOT YET!” THEY ARE NOT READY! ABOUT THREE MORE MINUTES—!”
Their voices were suddenly drowned out by a deafening rumble coming from the West. The cavern was soon illuminated by multicolored spells and curses whizzing by, and all chaos ensued below. The cages were emptying at a rapid pace, the prisoners portkeying away. The dark-cloaked figures were rushing due West, having taken the bait, and that left him and Harry to fulfill their task.
Severus brandished his wand and racked his brain. No sooner had he started chanting the ancient Latin counter-spell than he felt his camouflage charm wear off. It didn't matter, no-one seemed to have noticed.
"Obice reverti, inexsuperabilis incantator, per artes obscuras… Obice reverti, inexsuperabilis incantator, per artes obscuras… Obice reverti, inexsuperabilis incantator, per artes obscuras…"
Harry stood back and watched his mentor chant Latin on loop, never once stumbling in his words or averting his eyes from the Orb, which continued to hover mid-air some three meters above their heads. He could feel his chest growing tighter and tighter as he kept alternating between observing the pandemonium below and the dementors above, and the small hotel card portkey dug more painfully into the tender palm of his hand. He had the activation word on the tip of his tongue…
One minute… counted Harry… The protective cage surrounding the Orb, once the same shimmering blue-ish color as the sphere around Nagini had been, was now slowly fading to a dull gray, becoming increasingly transparent.
For a moment, he thought he saw a set of eyes looking in his direction. As soon as he turned his head, he saw a Death Eater getting struck in the head and being propelled backward, finally hitting a protruding stone spike.
Two minutes…
The yells and shouts were amplifying… Harry couldn't make out who was winning.
Two minutes, thirty seconds…
"HEY, WHO'S THAT UP THERE!?"
"LOOK, IT'S SNAPE!"
Harry's reaction was immediate. "CONFUNDUS! IMMOBULUS!"
The two wizards, caught off guard by their invisible attacker, hit the solid ground.
Two minutes, forty-five seconds… Harry watched Severus with concern. The wizard looked weary, exhausted even. There was a small sheen of sweat forming on his forehead and his wand hand was trembling, as though he were lifting something heavy. His jaw was tense, and he was more gritting out the words now rather than saying them…
And at last, the connection broke. The Orb was unprotected… Breathing heavily, Severus flicked his ebony wand, and the Orb slowly started to descend… but something changed. Something was different. Overhead…. As Harry looked up, he realized that the dementors were growing more restless, like they could sense something was wrong…
And finally, Severus gave his wand another flick, which encased the glassy Orb in a shimmering green sphere. The Slytherin then tentatively reached out to grab it. Knowing they were about to portkey, Harry pocketed his Invisibility Cloak in his jacket. And no sooner had Severus done that — touched the dark, magical object — than the swirling ring of dementors disassembled. The dark cloaked beings were repelled backward by a dark force, by some few meters. And then — despite the fact their heads were hooded —, Harry was sure that if the rotten beings had eyes, hundreds of pairs would be staring at him and Severus right now.
"Harry, the portkey!" urged Severus.
But just as Harry raised the keycard… Just as the older wizard grabbed onto his forearm, Orb cradled in the crook of his free arm… Just as the activation words were about to roll off his tongue… The portkey was hit with a jet of black and orange and disintegrated right before their eyes.
Below were dark-cloaked figures — about five—, all racing up the stairs, wands drawn and eyes locked on the two intruders. Oncoming spells were being hurtled at them, but Harry and Severus were faster: both their counter-spells merged mid-flight and collided with the enemies'. This sent a powerful shockwave that sent the five Death Eaters rolling down the stairs like bowling pins, and Severus and Harry backward. Just as Harry was scrambling to his feet, Severus grasped his wrist — like those so many other times before, like he could feel the risk of losing him was looming overhead —, and together they bounded off down the stairs on the opposite side of the pyramid.
Harry didn't know where Severus was leading them both, but he obeyed. He trusted his mentor like no-one before… Their chests were heaving, a painful stitch in his side, but the adrenaline was what made Harry's feet comply. As they weaved between rock formations, cages, and through shadows, spells and curses were flung at them from all directions, narrowly missing the two escapees. Without warning, Severus roughly pulled Harry behind a tall stalagmite and shoved the Orb into his arms.
"Do not drop it!" he hissed, and re-adjusted his grip on his wand. Peering out, he deftly sent two spells in counterattack, only successfully hitting one target out of the many. Then he latched onto Harry once more, and they were off.
As they ran, Severus kept alternating between firing back at their pursuers and leading him and Harry in a snaking path to make them lose their trail. To Harry's horror, even the dementors were catching up to them, and though he'd merely managed a glimpse, he knew their gaping mouths were wide open and ready to suck out the souls of their prey… Clutched in a death grip in the crook of his arm, Harry could feel the Orb's dark energy almost vibrating through his body in waves. It felt there was enough energy in the small object to blow up an entire house. And though he didn't indulge himself in looking much into it, he knew for a fact this was what the effect of the dementors felt like: dark, cold, draining, lifeless, consuming…
Miraculously, just up ahead, Harry could make out the small tunnel opening he and Severus had come out of. Severus seemed to be headed straight for it, and Harry trusted him… Twenty meters away… Severus threw a shield charm over his shoulder… Ten meters… The wizard deflected two curses, rebounding them… Five meters… And… They were in!
The tunnel was still as tall and narrow as Harry remembered it, barely two meters wide. But being chased by dementors, Snatches, and Death Eaters alike made it feel all the more suffocating. Their pursuers were gaining on him and Severus, and were it not for the sudden twists and turns of the tunnel and Severus' impeccable spell timing, they would have long since been incapacitated, if not worse. If it weren’t for the sheer amount of jets of light being fired their way, the tunnel would be pitch dark. But the spells and curses sent at them were merely stunners and curses, nothing like Bombarda or the like. Harry knew they knew that too much of an impact could cause a cave-in, and they would all be crushed to death.
In a matter of a few seconds, Harry's thoughts whirled like a hurricane, and time seemed to slow for him… He and Severus clearly weren't going to make it out of the cave system alive, and they wouldn't be able to take on the horde of Death eaters, Snatchers, and dementors chasing at their heels…
His intuitive memory informed Harry that they were almost to that entrance chamber… Severus had said that it was warded by magic and protection spells… What if the small cave chamber was immune to destruction? Ah, but that was exactly what Severus had said! An idea was brewing up in Harry's Gryffindor head, the Orb still tucked safely in his arms as inspiration.
But it was a ludicrous idea…
But what were their other options? This would be like killing two birds with one stone, after all: the dementors Snatchers, and Death Eaters would be… gone for good, lightly put, and the Orb would be destroyed, what with the little good it brought to the world.
He would just have to erect an immensely powerful shield charm… His timing would have to be flawless, too. He just had to wait until they reached the chamber…
Severus will slaughter me for this if we make it out alive…
Just some twenty meters ahead, Harry could make out the opening into the cave chamber… Severus was running just a few steps ahead of him, and he would reach the chamber first. Good. In this situation, if worse came to worst, it would come down to either Harry or Severus, and call it foolish Gryffindor stupidity, but Harry would not let another person die for or because of him.
This was it, he thought as he shifted the Orb in his arms, merely tripping and falling on a loose pebble as he continued running after the Slytherin, chest heaving. He was falling back, legs aren't as long as the other's
This is for everything you've done, thought Harry with finality at Voldemort's remnants. This is to end what was started seventeen years ago. Perhaps even before then.
And no sooner had Severus stepped foot into the chamber, Harry coming up some two meters short of the mouth, than he suddenly twisted his body and hurled the Orb with all his might as far as it would soar. At this moment, time seemed to have slowed… Harry immediately drew his wand, the shielding charm Severus had taught him during their first week at the manor on the tip of his tongue… But he wasn't quick enough.
The last thing he knew was there was a deafening explosion, such as he'd never heard before; people screamed and cried; rocks crumbled to the floor…
And everything went blissfully dark, his world enveloped in a velvety curtain of comforting black.
There was a distinct ringing in his ears as he slowly came more to, and Severus realized he was lying on something hard, cold, and uncomfortable. He tried to shift his body, but every nerve ending and limb felt sore and painful, as though he'd been run over by a herd of hippogriffs. His surroundings were pitch dark and there was nothing but eerie silence, which only amplified the high pitch in his head.
It took some time, but he eventually managed to prop himself up by his elbows. Intuitively, his one hand groped blindly in the dark for his ebony wand… Fortunately, his fingers closed around something thin and long, the power coursing through it unmistakable.
"Lu— Lumos! he choked out, his throat scratchy. The air was immensely stuffy here, wherever here was.
The wandlight was feeble, but he found himself in a cave of sorts… smaller than the… A chamber, warded… The cavern; Orb… The mission…
Harry.
As though he'd been induced with a stimulant potion, Severus shot up into a straighter sitting position as the events of what had happened pieced themselves back together in his head one by one. They had been running from the Death Eaters, Snatchers, and dementors… Harry had had the Orb. And then there was an explosion…
Severus felt himself blanch at the realization of what happened.
Harry had been just slightly behind him…
No. No no no no no no no…
Looking feverishly around, Severus spotted what looked to have been the mouth of a tunnel, except for that it was completely obstructed by large rocks and debris. And drawing his wand higher to light a bigger area, he was met with a sight that was enough to invoke a sound that one would have thought could only come from a dying, wounded animal.
Just barely visible, sticking out from under a large boulder and sandwiched between another, was a hand. But Severus knew that hand. It was the same hand that had the disgusting inscription 'I must not tell lies' on it. It was Harry's hand. HARRY'S! IT was HARRY!
"NO!" he snarled in denial, his every fiber of being screaming in just the same manner. No, all was not lost yet…
Like a madman, Severus began tearing at the rubble, his mind reeling. Only after his fifth futile attempt at moving the rocks did his brain remind him that he was a wizard. Severus snatched his wand from where it lay on the floor and began carefully but hastily shifting and moving aside the stone. It was a painstaking process, and every second felt to him like an hour that would never end.
At long last, he could make out a body, thin and battered, bloodied in some places. His skin was paler than even Severus' had ever been.
"HARRY! No— NO!"
As gently as he could, feeling himself wet with sweat and his whole body shaking, Severus dragged Harry out completely and laid his head on his lap. To the touch, the boy's skin was ice-cold, like a metal pipe in winter. His right side of the face was colored red, his glasses nowhere to be found, and his bottom lip was split. Not to mention, some of his limbs stuck out at odd angles, making his stomach do a summersault. Feeling bile rising to his throat, Severus took two fingers and pressed them to Harry's neck…
But it was useless because his own pulse felt like a tribal drum. So, Severus pressed his ear against Harry's chest… And he felt as though someone had dumped a large bucket of ice on him. Like his soul had been ripped to shreds.
No. NO! NOO! NO— ABSOLUTELY NOT! "NO! HARRY! HARRY, PLEASE, I BEG YOU, NO! CHILD, PLEASE!" the man begged and pleaded, shaking his frail shoulders as harshly as he dared. No. It couldn't be. No, he must have been mistaken…
Severus tried a different method: he leaned his face just an inch from Harry's mouth and nose, waiting with anxiety for something, anything… A feeble puff, just one single…
But nothing was forthcoming. And suddenly, the full weight of the truth, the harsh reality, caught up with Sevrus Snape. He himself had been unconscious for Merlin knows how long, so it only made sense that Harry… Harry was…
"...Don't! Gone… Dead…"
A sound so raw and heartbroken emerged from the bottom of Severus' lungs, the sensation feeling as though it might tear his vocal chords to shreds. He gathered the battered body of Harry into his arms and buried his face into his debris-filled hair. Sobs so loud and pained tore from him, but the man wasn't even aware of it. The pain scorched through his chest, the same pain he'd felt seventeen years ago, only multiplied tenfold.
And thus the Slytherin lamented. He sobbed and weeped and howled like no man had ever. He grieved for the child that should have been his from the very beginning, for the child of Lily Evans Potter, whom he'd held and grieved over in the same way all those years ago, for the child he'd been supposed to keep safe and alive…
For the child he'd come to care for… To love as though he were his own. Harry should have been HIS! No, he WAS HIS! It was Severus who should have died, not Lily's child; not Harry!
Merlin, he loved Harry like his own son and he'd never told him. He'd always hidden it away, buried it deep within out of shame for such an audacious emotion… But he loved Harry, perhaps more so than he had loved Lily. This was the first person who had accepted him for who he was, the first person who had forgiven him for all his sins and wrongdoings, and who had never pitied him. The person who had also clearly cared for him and saw him as a f—father-figure. And that only person was gone.
"H— HAR—RY!" he choked out between sobs and gasps of breath.
But no response was forthcoming from the deceased body. The tears rolled harder down his gaunt face as he cradled the young man closer to himself, bunching up his torn jumper fabric.
"All—m—my f—f—fault!" he howled, "L—Lily, I' s—so sorry! I didn't— I tried–!
His head was screaming denial and refusal at him, that this was all a heartbreaking dream, but the cold body against his slightly warmer one felt all too real. His cries and woes and sobs echoed through the chamber, but he was deaf to them.
Never again would he see those breathtaking emerald-green eyes, and at this though, the bile lodged in his throat gathered up and expelled itself through acidic vomit.
Time seemed to have become nonexistent. Severus didn't know for how long he'd sat there like that with Harry, but he felt numb. No longer was he crying, but his body seemed to have turned to a state of shock. He only knew he was mindlessly rocking back and forth with Harry still held securely in his arms. He never wanted to let him go, even though the boy could never again hold on to him.
Severus was not aware of other voices suddenly appearing. Severus was not aware of the loud shifting of rocks and boulders, or the voices growing louder and louder… Severus was not aware of the Aurors crying out in horror, outrage, and realization at the scene that met them. Severus put up no fight, nor was he aware, when Harry was roughly ripped out of his embrace and he was pinned mercilessly to the floor, his wrists and ankles bound and a powerful Stunner cast over him for good measure… The heel of a foot collided with his nose, but he was oblivious to the searing pain and the hot wet dripping down his face. Severus was not aware of being moved… Severus was not aware of the morning sunlight — the first rays Slieve League had seen in weeks — that met him with the sea breeze…
He was not aware when he was roughly chucked into a dark cell, cold, damp and small, and the heavy iron-wrought door was rattled shut.
Notes:
Oof. Harry, what have you done, you dumb, dumb Gryffindor???
What did you think???? Anxious to hear all your thoughts and predictions, so dont be shy and let me knoe what you all think:D Next chapter coming 17 Feb!
Chapter 54: Crossroads Again
Summary:
Harry smiled at her again. "I guess I really should go back then, huh?" he inferred. The trio had stopped walking and now stood facing each other. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to stay with you and Sirius and Remus… But…"
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Recap: Severus was not aware of other voices suddenly appearing. Severus was not aware of the loud shifting of rocks and boulders, or the voices growing louder and louder… Severus was not aware of the Aurors crying out in horror, outrage, and realization at the scene that met them. Severus put up no fight, nor was he aware, when Harry was roughly ripped out of his embrace and he was pinned mercilessly to the floor, his wrists and ankles bound and a powerful Stunner cast over him for good measure… The heel of a foot collided with his nose, but he was oblivious to the searing pain and the hot wet dripping down his face. Severus was not aware of being moved… Severus was not aware of the morning sunlight — the first rays Slieve League had seen in weeks — that met him with the sea breeze…
He was not aware when he was roughly chucked into a dark cell, cold, damp and small, and the heavy iron-wrought door was rattled shut.
His ears pounded from the deafening silence, making the distinct ringing in his ears more prominent and high-pitched, and his head felt like it was about to explode from it. Disregarding that small factor for a moment, there was something solid beneath him. It wasn't cold, nor was it warm; it wasn't hard but it wasn't soft either. It was like a perfect balance, something you would expect to find in a dream-like state.
As he slowly came more to, the young wizard slowly peeled one eye open, lifting his head from where it lay in the nest of his arms. Everything around him was familiarly white and blurry, though there was not much to behold, really.
Consusion-ridden, Harry slowly prompted himself up on his elbows. He got a first good look at his body, clad in a simple shirt and trousers, and he felt his face for his non-existent glasses… Memories of the entire ordeal flitted back into his mind, replaying like an old CD, and Harry realized he was dead.
For real this time.
Or at least so he thought…
Looking around, the place looked just like it did when he had died at the hand of Voldemort and was transported to that crossroads of sorts. Dumbledore had met him there, a warm smile that reached up to his eyes plastered over his face…
But there was no Dumbledore now.
Is this heaven? thought Harry, the first logical question that had come to mind. He thought he should be more distressed, or at least unsettled, about the fact that he'd died… But he wasn't. It was strange, as though something was preventing these morbid emotions to surface within him.
"Harry."
The voice sent a shiver down the young man's spine, and his head snapped in the other direction so fast that it was a miracle nothing had snapped. Harry's emerald-green eyes widened suddenly to the size of a House-Elf's at the two people that stood not a few yards from him.
It took a moment from Harry's brain to start up again, and within a moment's notice, he was sprinting. He thew himself into Lily and James Potter's warm embrace, willing back the stinging behind his eyes. There were so many things he wanted to say — too many —, but his throat was constricted with what felt like lumps of clay.
"Oh, Harry, you foolish child," chided his mother's voice, though ridden with fondness. "Sometimes I do almost regret you were born a Gryffindor."
"Oh, come now, Lily," said James placatingly, "It's us who are to blame for genetics."
Harry finally gathered up enough strength to pull away, quickly wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.
"H—Hi," he said sheepishly. Harry was surprised to see he was nearly his mother's height, though his father was still a head taller than him… His mother must have been thinking along the same lines.
"My Harry, how much you've grown," she mused, her long, fiery-red hair swaying with her as she shook her head. The witch wore a sap-green sweater and jeans, same as the day she was murdered, as Harry had witnessed in Severus' memories…
Severus.
"Mum, dad," he said shakily. "It's brilliant to see you, but, umm… A— Am I dead? For real, this time? "
The couple shook their heads, small and sad smiles on their faces.
"No, son. This is the crossroads, the same place you and Albus Dumbledore met that night," answered James, coming to place a hand on his shoulder. Harry leaned in to the touch.
"But… How? The only reason I didn't die that time was because I had Voldemort's soul fragment in me…" he trailed off.
"Yes, dear," spoke Lily. "But you see, it would apear the higher ones have deemed you worthy of a choice, a rare honor."
"W—What do you mean?"
James and Lily started to amble away, and Harry quickly joined them in between.
"It means, my dear child, that you are at liberty to choose between life and death. You can return to living and continue your life, something that would make me infinitely happy… Or you can choose to remain, go with us on to the afterlife. You would be reunited with Remus, Sirius, Fred Weasley, and so on."
Harry thought on this, and somehow, he wasn't sure. The offer to remain here was tempting because he would get to see all his lost loved ones… But how would he not go back to his friends, his family, Ginny, Ron, Hermione? Severus?
Severus.
"Mum, Dad, what happened to Severus?" he asked suddenly with worry. As soon as the words left his life, Lily's beautiful face sank with sorrow, and Harry felt his heart plummet.
"Oh, poor Sev… Harry, he was beyond heartbroken when he found you dead. I have never seen him so distraught, devastated, not even when he was grieving over me…"
Harry swallowed around a painful lump in his throat, feeling his chest tiggten with guilt. "I guess I shouldn't have done that… Throw the Orb, I mean. That was a bit… Gryffindor-ish of me," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yes, it was," growled James, his hand clamping down on Harry's unruly mop of hair and dishiveling it ruthlessly. He then sighed. "Severus… Well, despite our differences, and everything he's done, He's a good man. A taaaad misguided, sure. But ultimately, he's a man worthy of respect in my books. He… He cares for you, Harry — and coming from me, that means something.
"That's not what he thinks," said Harry sadly. "He's been trying to redeem himself nearly all his life and he still thinks he hasn't done enough."
It was Lily's turn to sigh. "Yes, Severus can be quite the hypocrite when it comes to talk of self-worth. But I've long since forgiven him, Harry, and this is also why you must go back to the living. Sev deserves a chance at a better life, and I think that you are the key to it. You also need Severus to guide you, to support you… He's a loyal and honest friend, and when he care for someone, he is loathe to let go of that person."
Harry smiled to himself at the last words, but then a frown stole his face. "You shouldn't have given up on him, mum. I know he hurt you, but you were his best friend, and his only true friend," he said angrily.
Lily's face saddened even more with deep guilt and regret. "I know, Harry. Sadly, I saw that Severus was distancing further and further away from me, and I did likewise. He was associating himself too much with those Slytherin friends of his and the Dark Arts… I was scared, and I had made excuses for him all those years… I knew his home life was far from ideal, and I realize I should have tried to help him more, instead of distancing myself." She shook her head. "There were many other contributing factors, and they all led to me snapping. I know he was heartbroken when I ended our friendship, and if you choose to go back to life, I hope you'll also give him my apology."
Harry smiled at her again. "I guess I really should go back then, huh?" he inferred. The trio had stopped walking and now stood facing each other. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to stay with you and Sirius and Remus… But…"
"You have beautiful, fruitful, promising life ahead of you," finished Lily for him. "Go back, Harry. Your father and I will await you for when it will truly be your time. But that isn't to come for a while now — or at least I'm counting on Severus to ensure that, what with your Gryffindor head." She smiled warmly at his again. "We love you Harry, don't you ever forget it. And you have a plethora of people who love you just as much, and Severus is at the top of that list."
Harry nodded, not trusting him vocal chords. His father approached him grasped both his shoulders tightly. "You've done us immensely proud, son. Not just for the war stuff, but how far you've come, grown, and achieved. It's our biggest regret that your mother and I couldn’t be a part of your life, but you have found Sn— Severus for that…" He shifted awkwardly, as though his nest words were going to hurt his pride.
"I am… truly forever grateful and indebted to Snape. He may have treated you poorly in the past, and there was never any lost love between us, but he clearly cares for you, something I approve of. Promise to tell him that, yeah? Tell him I apologize for everything. I… I never told this to anyone," he admitted hesitantly, "But I was always jealous of his and Lily's intimate friendship. I loved you mother from the day I laid eyes on her, and when she wouldn’t so much as look my way, no matter how hard I tried, I'm not proud to say I resorted to rather petty methods of vengeance.
The young wizard could only gape softly at the confession. Truly, no one was a saint, and there was always more to the book than met the eye.
"Right. Yeah, um, I'll tell him," promised Harry, knowing he wouldn't have it any other way.
Lily joined them at that moment, pulling them both into a tight embrace. "And tell Severus I love him. I always have, even after he called me that word. He was always like a brother to me, and though I have never loved him romantically, I have always loved him familialy, much like you love Ron and Hermione."
Harry nodded, knowing this was it. He took in the sight of his parents one last time, committing their happy, smiling faces to memory, and said his parting words.
"We'll see each other again one day, mum, dad. And thanks for everything. Goodbye."
And with that, following intuition, Harry closed his eyes and felt himself relax. He was suddenly weightless, and was enveloped in a velvety feeling of comfort and safety…
The first thing Harry was aware of was the throbbing ache in his limbs, from his head down to his legs. The discomfort provoked him to shift uneasily, but the slightest movement made that pain flare from a dull to an intense ache, and despite the soft surface that was below him… Wait… soft?
The next thing Harry registered were hushed voices around him, and that there was a bright light penetrating his closed lids, the smarting causing his eyes to tear up. He tried to move his hand, but failed when he felt it held down. A bout of panic suddenly overtook him as he tried harder, but stopped abruptly when a feminine voice gasped beside him.
"Harry!"
At last, the boy fluttered his eyes open; they took several moments to adjust to the light, but the sight that met him was worth it. Three familiar faces of Ron, Ginny, and Hermione loomed over where he lay, their expressions tearful, relieved, and worried.
"R—Ron, Ginny, Mione!" he rasped out, his throat feeling scratchy. The relief surging through him, the happiness at finally being with them in full, was enough to spring wetness to his eyes.
"Oh, thank Merlin!" breathed Hermione and Ginny at the same time as Ron muttered, "Bloody hell, mate…" Catching him completely off-guard, Ginny leaned in to place a firm kiss on his lips, and then just as quickly swatted his thankfully-uninjured shoulder. It took Harry a moment to recover from his little phase of shock, and he felt himself beam at the sight of their faces, warmth flooding his chest.
It was then when he looked down at his body. His arms and chest were bandaged here and there, though it looked as if they were covering wounds that were almost healed, not something he had sustained a day ago… His head was also bandaged, mostly his right temple side, but other than that he appeared suspiciously alright… Save for the dull throbbing of all his limbs.
"Ron, go call the Mediwitch," Ginny instructed her brother quickly. Ron didn't look too eager at the thought, but eventually took off in a haste sprint.
"Oh, Harry!" began Hermione, her eyes glossy. Her bushy hair looked quite disheveled, and she was wearing a simple jean jacket. Ginny appeared along the same lines. "W— We were worried sick! What happened? All we know is that the tunnel collapsed and you were found by— "
But at that precise moment, Ron's red hair returned in his periphery, followed closely by the promised Mediwitch swathed in white-green Healer robes with the St. Mungos crest pinned on her chest.
"Out of my way, now," she commanded, and Ginny and Hermione stepped away from his bed obediently. Ron muttered "Kingsley and McGonagall are on their way, I sent them a patronus" quietly to them. Before Harry could open his mouth, the Mediwitch was upon him.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," said the mediwitch in greeting, "never a moment of solace for the world's savior, is there?" Harry openly frowned at her, but said nothing. The woman raised her wand and waved it gracefully in a complicated arc over Harry's head, which the boy realized just then was heavily bandaged… A glance downward told him pretty much the rest of his body was bandaged in white, and he was suddenly reminded of the ache in it.
"Well," smiled the witch satisfactorily, "I'm glad to announce you are well underway to recovery. Now that you've regained consciousness, I can finally administer the level 8 pain reliever. I've no doubt you are experiencing some pain…" The Mediwitch flicked her wand again, and a bright yellow potion appeared in her other hand. Harry made to reach for it, but was surprised when he felt a cold sensation in his stomach. He realized that the potion had been magically administered inside his system. Almost immediately, he felt the pain subside to a barely perceptable, dull ache, and he sighed in relief.
"Very well, I assume you would like to hear your full diagnosis?" inferred the medowitch, tapping her quill against the clipboard in her hand as he spoke. "Let's see… You sustained a nasty concussion, broke over five bones in your left arm, right leg, and ribcage…
Honestly, Mr. Potter, you are fortunate you took only five days to return to conscious—"
Harry shot himself upright on the bed, his breath hitching in his chest. Five days!? He'd been out of it for… It'd been five days since…?
"Where's Severus?" he demanded, looking wildly between his friends. At their confused, and slightly sad looks, he felt his heart rate increase. He remembered everything: what happened in the cave tunnel, his parents at the crossroads… Where was Severus? What happened to him? Harry could only think of one annswer to that question, and the mere concept of it made him feel sick.
"Harry…" began Hermione gently, but was interrupted by two figures suddenly walking in throught the door.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" huffed the Mediwitch irritably. "No more than three visitors at a time—"
"Mafalda, I must insist," said Kingsley, holding up a gentle hand. The witch huffed a bit, reminding Harry of Madame Pomfrey.
"If Mr. Potter is quite alright, we would appreciate a moment of privacy," said McGonagall crisply, but evident concern lined her voice. She looked immensley relived, switching her gaze from the Mediwitch to Harry every few seconds. When Mafalda nodded and left, McGonagal approached Harry's bed.
"Mr. Potter, how are you feeling? You had us all scared to death! Oh, thank heavens you're alright! I knew the entire idea was ludicrous — I had warned Shacklebolt!"
“Minerva, we were all in assent on the matter. Now is not the time — Mr. Potter is no doubt plagued with his questions.”
The Headmistress sighed, nodding. “Yes, very well.” She turned bck to Harry, who didn't hesitate to pose his burning question.
“What happened? The Orb, the attack, the cavern… What became of the Death Eaters? And the captives?”
“Worrry not, Mr. Potter, all is well,” placated Kingsley with pride in his baritone voice. “The mision was succesful. The captives were all safetly portkeyed to Hogwarts, and all Death Eaters and Snatchers were either captured or killed. Unfortunately, our side sustained cassualties, but that is a given price to pay, I'm afraid. The polyjuiced Death Eaters were, as predicted, in a dissaray, and were easily spotted out. In total, we have captured over one hundred Death Eaters and Snatchers, who are either awaiting trial or are in Azkaban.”
Harry blew out a breath of relief. “And the Dementors?” he asked with fear.
Everyone smiled. “Extinct.”
“What?” he said with widened eyes. Surely, he'd heard wrong…
“Actually, Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall, “We need your part of the tale to confirm our theory. What happened when you and Severus acquired the Tenebris Orb?”
Anticipation bobbing in his chest, Harry hastened to retell the events. "When we got the Orb we tried to portkey away, but someone sent a spell at it before we could activate it. Then we were were getting chased by the Death Eaters and dementors… We entered the tunnel we had come out of, and I threw the Orb at them. I thought I was going to make it to the chamber…"
Through this, his friends had gasped and covered their mouths with their hands. McGonagall looked stricken with fury and disbelief.
“When we found you with Severus, Mr. Potter, you were dead,” informed the witch in a thin voice. “Only when you were brought to St. Mungos were the Healers able to detect signs of life from you. They were almost certain you weren't going to make it…” She couldn't continue and turned away to dab at her face with a red-gold handkerchief. Harry swallowed a guilty lump in his throat, unsure how to respond.
Fortunately, Kingsley cleared his throat and coninued. “As it would appear, the dementors simply vanished without a trace shortly after an explosion rocketed the cavern. Many Aurors claim they saw the dementors just vanish before their eyes. We do believe their life source was somehow tied to the Tenebris Orb, hence why it would make sense for them to have perished upon its destruction.”
His head reeling, Harry wasn't sure whether to rejoice or not. He couldn't belive it — they did it! They got rid of Voldemort's remaining army! The prisoners were safe at Hogwarts, or wherever they were now, and—
“That's briliant, Kingsley!” said Harry, smiling. “But what Happened to the Dursleys?” he was almost afraid to ask.
McGonagall's lips thinned into a tight line, irritation flashing in her sharp eyes. “Hmmf! Those muggles — Oh, I always said they were the worst kind! That fat oaf — no offense, Potter — had the audacity to throw a tantrum at the sight of the moving portraits mounting my office — he lost his mind and began running around my office, hurling objects left and right like some delusional bumbling baboon! His wife joined in shortly, shrieking her head off about 'freaks'!”
The seventeen-year-old could only gape with shock. He had to blink a few times to fully comprehend what the witch was telling him. Was he supposed to apologise for them? Should he?
“I'm sorry, professor. They don't take well to magic,” he said sheepishly.
McGonagall scoffed. “It is hardly your fault, Mr. Potter.” She sighed heavily. “Well, it certainly was a relief when they were deemed in perfect condition to be returned to muggle London — they are currently staying with a relative. A Marge, I believe.”
Harry shut his eyes and leaned back on his pillow. His heart felt at peace at the knowledge that everyone was safe and everything turned out alright…
Except for one thing…
One person…
Shooting upright again with a frantic look in his eyes, Harry cursed himself for forgetting. "What happened to Severus?" he demanded, growing increasingly anxious.
Kingsley and McGonagall's faces fell, and Harry' knot tightened. "I'm afraid Severus was taken into custody," said Kingsley seriously. "The Aurors found him and you together and had the impression that he had hurt you. They sent him to Azkaban along with all the other Death Eaters and Snatchers they had caught."
"NO!" Harry couldn't believe it. After everything he'd promised Severus, after everything they'd been through… "Kinglsey, Professor, there's got to be some way we can—"
"Fortunate as we are, Mr. Potter, there is," said McGonagall placatingly. "The Minister was able to haggle out a trial for Severus. The other Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, weren't privileged with such an opportunity."
Harry's eyes were still wide with shock. What must Severus be going through right now? This wasn't right, he didn't belong behind bars any more than Harry did. Harry had promised him he wouldn't end up behind bars, he'd given him hope…
He must feel so betrayed…
And that was over five days ago.
"Have you talked to him?" asked Harry quickly. He could feel exertion quickly overcoming him, but he fought against it.
Kingsley pursed his lips reluctantly, and McGonagall's eyes were filled with sorrow as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I have," he answered slowly, as if looking for the right words. "He is… not coping well. Well, to be honest, he's not coping in any way…"
"What do you mean?"
"He appears to be in some kind of shock, Mr. Potter. A trance. He remained unresponsive when I tried to talk to him. The Aurors found him already in such a state in the cave chamber… We presume he believes you dead, hence his state."
Harry swallowed hard. This was horrible, and it was all his fault! Again, he had caused someone he cared for misery. "B— But is he hurt in some way? Did he receive any medical attention?" he had to know.
"I'm afraid not, though from what I could tell he seemed physically adequate." Kingsley sighed, clasping his hands neatly in front of him on his turquoise robes. "Listen, Mr. Potter, do not lose hope. Severus Snape's trial is scheduled for Friday. Today is Monday. We have until then to gather as much evidence to support his case as possible. I realize there is not much of it, however," he finished dissapointedly.
"We've tried talking to Dumbledore's portrait," said Hermione, a frown on her face, "But he wasn't able to help us, Harry. I'm sorry."
Harry shook his head at her. "No, don't apologize. Thanks for trying." He let out a shaky breath, feeling ridiculous to be lying in bed so usesly. "Kinglsey, will the Wizengamot take Veritaserum and memories as evidence? And who even is in charge there?"
Kingsley summoned a few chairs with a flick of his wand, gesturing for everyone to take a seat. Harry readjusted himself within the mess of blankets he hadn't even noticed he'd made in all his anxiety, propping himself on his palms to lean back. His friends now sat to his left, and Kinglsey and Minerva at the end of the bed.
"Now, you see, this is where it gets complicated," began Kingsley, steepling his fingers. "It goes without saying that the Wizengamot is prejudiced and will most certainly try to deny any evidence of Snape's innocence. I myself am in a very tight position: as Minister, I cannot favor sides. The head of the Law Department is Lucy Hawkins, she was hired upon my ascend to Office. She is a reasonable and level-headed person, and she and I have already spoken on Snape's account. Hawkins has promised to lead the questioning appropriately and professionally."
Harry nodded, feeling slightly more at-ease at that knowledge. "Well, briliant then. But will she take the word of Veritaserum or memories?"
"Perhaps she will," said McGonagall, "But the rest of the Wizengamot remains debatable. Ultimately, it is the number of votes that are taken into account of the final verdict. And with Severus' complicated history," she swallowed somewhat guiltily, "I daresay that will prove to be a challenge."
Harry punched his palm with his fist determinedly. "We need to gather evidence, as much of it as possible. We can all testify, but I don't think that will be enough…"
"What if you talk to Dumbledore's portrait?" suggested Ron suddenly, speaking for the first time. "Sure, we've done it, but maybe there is something he want to tell Harry, not us?"
McGonagall sighed tiredly, touching her forehead with the tips of her fingers. "I have tried several times to talk with him, but Albus is almost never found in his portrait these days, and he seemes to be avoiding me. Oh, that infuriating, old—!"
"What!?" exclaimed Harry, eyes wide. After everything Dumbledore had done, he (or, his portrait, more like) had the audacity to blatanly ignore a matter of such importance? Well, he had another thing coming.
"Well, if he was the one who orchestrated Snape's whole spying thing, he must have some ideas for proof We can use for him. The bloke's supposed to be all knowing, after all. I say Harry should try talking to him," Added Ron.
"I think Ron's right, Harry," agreed Hermione. "If anyone can help us, it's Dumbledore. Maybe he's been ignoring professor McGonagall because he wants to talk to you?"
Harry considered this idea. In truth, he did not fancy seeing Dumbledore's portrait any time soon, but he would anxiously do whatever it took to gather evidence for Severus' trial. Oh, he still harbored the same anger toward the man who had used both him and Severus like mere spare pawns in the war. Harry wasn't sure if he would be able to face the old man without going off at him.
"Yeah, I agree with you, Mione," said Harry, nodding at her. "I just hope he actually knows something…" Harry turned to Kingsley suddenly. "But I want to speak with Severus first."
"Mr. Potter—"
"— I know, he's in Azkaban. But surely I can visit him? I need to know he's alright. Besides, maybe he also knows of something we can use to defend his case."
"I understand you perfectly well, Mr. Potter, "said Kingsley. "But you must realize he is unresponsive… I have already gone to see him twice, to tell him you are alive and recuperating, but to no avail… Now that I think about it, he would be in no fit state like this at his trial. Someone needs to shake him from this trance he's in." He sighed heavily. "Mr. Potter, because Azkaban had been home to the dementors for so many centuries, the place is still contaminated with their auras, despite there not being any left. Severus … Well, I believe the demented environment has had quite an impact on him. That, and the shock of your 'death'."
Harry took a few silent moments to process everything in his head, which by now felt heavy and clogged. It pained him to hear of the state Severus was currently in, and he knew he had to go talk to him. He couldn't help but worry that leaving him to his own devices right now would be wise. After all, the man had told him before that he saw no purpose to himself and that he wouldn't fight imprisonment… But with thinking Harry was dead, would he be willing to end his own life?
The thought made Harry's stomach twist and heart clench.
They had merely a few says before the trial. First, Harry knew he had to talk with Severus, then Dumbledore's portrait. He wasn't even sure of what evidence they would be able to present for Severus' case, if there was any…
"I need to go see him. Today," decided Harry resolutely. This was followed by cries of outrage from all around.
"Harry, you can't, you're still injured!"
"Bloody hell, mate, you woke up just fifteen minutes ago!"
"Mr. Potter, please be reasonable—"
"I dont care," asserted Harry. "I'm fine — completley. Just give me a few potions and I'll be fine."
"Harry," said McGonagall, throwing Harry off-guard at using his first name. Her tone was gentle and understanding, though there was still that firmness to it. The witch approached him, rounding the bed to stand on his right. "I myself would wish nothing more than to get Severus out of Azkaban. However, you must be reasonable. You're body has just finished recovering, and you have just woken up from a five-day coma."
Harry slumped back against the pillows in defeat. He'd never felt so angry with himself. And for what? For being injured? Weak? Severus needed him, and the entire trial depended on not only the tell-tale evidence they had yet to gather, but also Severus's compliance and willingness.
"Fine," he acquiesced, dragging a hand down his face. "Alright. I'll take a few days to recover, and then I'll see him. Happy?"
"Harry," approached Hermione, placing a hand on his knee, "It's for your own good. Ginny, Ron, and I will keep you company, and we'll discuss the trial. Don't worry."
"Besides," added Ginny, "Mum and the others have been dying to see you, mate. Mum nearly burst down your door when we heard what happened to you."
Harry swallowed hard, averting his gaze momentarily, and then nodded.
"Kingsley, what happened to the Malfoys?" he asked suddenly, remembering. "Draco and Narcissa are innocent, you know."
Kingsley nodded. "Worry not, Mr. Potter. The Wizengamot has cleared them of all and any charges and they have been set free. The Ministry is currently devising an Auror team to do a sweep of Malfoy Manor. I do trust they will manage."
Harry sighed. "Well, good."
They talked for a while longer, mostly about Ministry affairs and everything that had happened while Harry was comatose. They decided on that they would need as many people to testify for Severus as possible, which included even the Professors at Hogwarts and some of his friends from the DA, like Nevile and Luna from that time they and Ginny were caught by Severus stealing the Sword of Gryffindor. But instead of sending them to the mercy of the Carrows, he'd sent them off to serve detention with Hagrid.
Such instances were exactly what they needed, proof of how Severus had tried to protect the students during his reign as Headmaster, and more.
Eventually, Kingsley and McGonagall left, and were quickly replaced with a sobbing Mrs. Weasley and the other stricken Weasleys. There were tears, cries, and weeping of joy, and Harry couldn't suppress a few treacherous tears of relief himself… They talked, and Harry filled them all in on everything that had happened. Of course, everyone agreed to testify for Severus' trial. Eventually, after much insistence from the Mediwitch, they left, which left Harry with Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. He was definitely exerted from the morning he was having so far, but his friends' company was only welcome to him.
“Harry,” said Hermione, patting his hand, “What happened between you and professor Snape?”
“What do you mean?” he asked blankly.
“Well, it's just that…” she began hesitantly, but was cut off by her boyfriend.
“Just over a month ago, you and Snape hated each other's guts, mate,” said Ron bluntly. “Now you act like you care about him and—” Ginny punched his shoulder sharply— “Ow! Hey, what was that for?”
“Honestly, Ronald Weasley, have some tact and decency!” chided his sister, her tone much like Molly's. Harry chuckled.
“It's a long story, guys…” he said slowly, playing with the hem of his covers. “Severus and I—”
“SEVERUS!?” Ron and Hermione exclaimed in surprise. Harry leveled them with a glare. "Merlin, and we thought you called him that earlier because you were still a bit out of it, Harry."
“Yes. Severus and I have moved past our differences. He's not a git, Ron. And frankly, I trust him with my life. We've both been through a lot, and he understands me really well, and vice versa. More than anyone ever has, actually.”
“Well, what about us, mate? We've been through thick and thin, haven't we?” said Ron, sounding slightly hurt and offended.
“No, of course we have! And I love you guys — you're family to me,” he hastened to explain, struggling with his words. “It's just… Severus and I have a lot in common — I'm not going to get into detail because that's between us —, and he's the last link to my mum. Besides, he's saved my life more times than I can count, both during Hogwarts and on this mission.” A soft smile tugged at his lips. “He cares for me, and I care for him.”
“Harry, that's wonderful,” said Hermione, a small smile of her own lighting up her face. “You see? I always told you there's more to professor Snape than meets the eye.”
Harry scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”
“Well, I'm also glad you've finally found someone, Har,” said Ginny, taking a perch on his bed beside him. “Mum and dad have all but adopted you into our family, you know that, but that's just not enough sometimes.” She laughed. “Imagine yourself from a few years ago hearing you now,” she mused. Harry shook his head at the thought.
“Yeah, I would probably think I've lost my marbles,” he agreed.
"We just wish you had told us sooner, Harry," admitted Ginny sadly. "We would have helped you with this whole mission…"
"I know," replied Harry honestly and firmly. "But it was something he and I had to do alone. Together. And we did."
Ron sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Well, as surreal as it is to believe, as long as you're happy, mate, I guess there's not much to say about it. You know, when you were placed with Snape at the beginning of summer, I thought for sure he would murder you within the first week… Especially after Grimmauld Place.”
Harry shook his head. Of all people in the world who would kill him, Severus would lay down his life before Harry's. It was mind boggling to him now that he'd once thought otherwise. Severus had always been there for Harry, just concealed by the shadows and his dark armor. But at the end of it all, past all the jibes and sneers, there was a sentimental person who was still hurting from the mistakes he made years ago. He was a protector; a dark night. One that Harry was fortunate to have as a mentor and father-figure.
“Harry? You alright?” Ginny's voice finally registered in his head. The seventeen-year-old gave himself a mental shake,
“Yeah, sorry, I'm alright. Zoned out a bit there.”
Hermione tsk-tsked. “You're exhausted, Harry. Your body needs rest,” she admonished. “Go to sleep. We'll talk later.”
Harry hesitated, internally at war with himself, but allowed Ginny's hand to push his chest to lay down on the huge pillow behind him. She then took his hand into her own, caressing it with her thumb. “You idiotic hero, rest. I'll be here when you wake,” she promised, and Harry smiled at her before letting his eyes droop shut. He vaguely heard his girlfriend telling Ron and Hermione to tell the Weasleys, but he did manage to mumble an incoherent “Bye” to his two best friends as they were leaving.
As he slipped away into an uneasy sleep, his thoughts and dreams were plagued with the thought of an innocent protector behind bars, and what he would see when he visited the unresponsive Slytherin who thought him dead.
Notes:
Alright, you guys are in for an angsty chapter next week>:D Let me know your thoughts and all that! You know the drill. Your comments always make my day!!!!!! Also, Ive been real busy with working on my next fic, so I am very anxious to finish posting this one so that it doesnt divert my attention any more. Next chapter: 24th Feb.
Chapter 55: Delusional Hope
Summary:
Harry shook his head. No-one could know, if some hadn't already guessed it.
They continued searching for another good twenty minutes, and Harry was a hair away from kicking a nearby stump with his foot when Hermione's voice rang through the air.
"I FOUND IT!"
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The triangular prison was even darker and more depressing in reality than in the pictures Harry had seen in the Daily Prophet.
The corridors were pitch dark, damp, cold, and every other word that could describe a rotting hole such as this. There was no life here; no hope or happiness. It didn't help much that the dementors no longer guarded Azkaban — the atmosphere they had tainted lingered in the air… How anyone or anything could survive here was beyond the young man as he willed one foot to step in front of the other. He had ascended the seven floors as Kingsley had instructed him to, and he could feel his exertion slowing him down. His feet ached and his breaths came short, but he knew he had to get to Severus. Every thought about the man's concerning state prompted him to ignore his own discomfort and move forth.
It had been over a week since Severus had erected that mental barrier in Harry's mind to prevent him from being affected by the dementors, and if the cold threatening to seep through him now was of any indication, then they had certainly fallen since. He only had his Lumos-lit wand to guide him through the darkness, feeling himself too weak to cast the Patronus yet.
Finally rounding the second turn of the corridor, Harry slowed a bit, remembering Kingsley's earlier directions on how to find Severus' cell… No. No, just a cell, not Severus'. The man had no place there.
Since waking, Harry had spent a few days recovering in St. Mungos, always in the company of either his friends, the Weasleys, or the Minister and Headmistress, often discussing Severus' trial. Harry's injuries had healed nicely, and he was now rid of all bandages and casts except the ones covering his chest and his head. Fortunately, his limp was almost non-existent at this point.
At last, his feet halted. Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of a dark figure sitting in a corner of the small cell, knees drawn up and his dark eyes staring at the parallel wall. He was still donned in the same dark turtleneck, but his hair looked a disheveled mess, significantly more greasy. The sight of the person Harry knew to be so strong-willed and powerful felt almost surreal to him, like his entire world was being flipped over.
Never had Harry seen those eyes so vacant before…
Feeling his heart quickening, Harry lowered himself to the cold stone floor, peering through the iron bars, and softly cleared his throat…
No reaction.
"Severus?" he tried softly. "Severus, it's me. Harry, Harry Potter."
Still no reaction.
What the hell, Severus!?
Harry didn't like this one bit. He had been so sure that Severus would respond to him , of all people… Was the man truly so far-gone that he was beyond the point of—?
No. No, that couldn't be. Harry shook his head. His next thought was to cast his Patronus, but then remembered he didn't have enough strength for a spell so powerful and draining as that.
Harry slumped himself against the cool bars, feeling their chill seeping through his plaid shirt and making itself known in his back.
"Severus… I'm sorry for what I did back there in the cave. I know it was utterly stupid, but we wouldn't have made it out if I hadn't thrown the Orb. I'm sorry for what you had to go through, but I'm alive. WE'RE alive… Please, say something?"
And Harry waited with bated breath, waited for a miracle to happen; to once again hear the silky, drawing voice of his mentor, of the person he looked up to as a… as a father.
But he was met with deafening silence.
What was he to do? He needed something that would, sort of, 'jump-start' Severus. Harry knew it had to be a memory, or something emotionally powerful and evocative. Something positive, definitely. But what?
Or rather, who?
The epiphany jumped to Harry's brain so quickly that he let out a tiny gasp.
Voices could be heard through the dense woods, as well as their footsteps and the sounds of shrubbery being rustled and pushed aside. Twigs snapped under everyone's feet with loud crunches. The evening was chilly in the Forbidden Forest that summer night, but Harry was adamant. It mattered not that he and his friends had been at the task for over five hours now; they had to keep looking.
Harry would spend the night if he had to, but he was not leaving until—
Someone bumped into him. Startled out of his thoughts and skin, Harry turned sharply to find Ginny, her wand illuminated as well and a sheepish expression on her face.
"Sorry, Harry… We'll find it, I'm sure," she tried to encourage him, but bit her lip. "Are you sure this is the place? You could have dropped it anywhere…"
Harry sighed and shook his head. "Yes, I'm certain of it. Keep looking… And Ginny…" he smiled tightly at her, "Thanks for helping me."
She smiled at him gently, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as she didn. "Everything will be alright, Harry. You'll see…" She bit her lip. “And you're sure you're not telling us what you plan on using it for…?”
Harry shook his head. No-one could know, if some hadn't already guessed it.
They continued searching for another good twenty minutes, and Harry was a hair away from kicking a nearby stump with his foot when Hermione's voice rang through the air.
"I FOUND IT!"
The Resurrection Stone felt heavy in Harry's clenched fist, perhaps heavier than a stack of textbooks. His hand trembled; Harry knew the huge responsibility behind what he was about to do, but he saw it as the only way. Using the Stone was an idea Harry had forsaken since that night in the Forest. No good would come from it, and the temptation to use it would have only been more alluring had he not dropped it blindly to the forest ground.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
Although it had only been what felt like a few hours since he'd spoken to Lily Potter at the Crossroads place, he couldn't help the nervous pit forming in his stomach. And what would Severus' reaction be? Would he snap out of his trance, or would he remain unresponsive?
Or would his state worsen?
Approaching the same dark cell once more, Harry was disappointed when he saw that Severus hadn't moved an inch since he'd left him. Had he even eaten anything? Had he slept? Was he even aware of where he was?
Drawing a long, deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, focused on the smiling face of his mother, and turned the Stone thrice in his hand.
Almost instantly, a ghostly figure of a woman with long, red hair and dazzling green eyes appeared. She took a moment to look around her, confused, and then her gaze settled on Harry.
“Harry? What's going on?”
Harry folded his arms over his middle, trying to draw comfort from himself. “Hi mum. Again,” he smiled slightly, but then it faded. “Mum, don't you know what's happened? Why we're here?”
Lily shook her head sadly. “Unfortunately, no, we cannot see everything that goes on, Harry. Only snippets of very significant events.” She sighed. “Are you alright, dear? What are you doing in Azkaban, of all places?”
The boy slowly averted his gaze toward the figure behind his mother. She followed his line of sight, looking over her shoulder, and then turned around completely with a gasp of realization. She put a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, no… Severus?” she breathed softly, stricken. Then she turned back toward Harry for answers.
“When he and I were found in the cave, Severus was taken here. Kingsley said he's been in an unresponsive state since, and even I can't get him to wake up from it…” He wrung the hem of his shirt nervously. “I just thought that maybe you will be able to help him?”
Lily nodded sadly, grief in her emerald eyes. She said nothing, only started to walk toward the cell. She passed right through the solid bars, and then knelt down in front of Severus. Harry felt a bit out of place, feeling like he was intruding on a very private and personal moment, but found himself glued to the spot… Severus' eyes seemed to be looking right through her, still blank and empty-looking.
“Sev? Sev, It's me, Lily. Lils, remember?” she made a move as if to touch his shoulder, but then abstained, remembering she couldn't. “Sev, please respond. You're so strong, I know you are. Please. Harry is here, as am I…”
And Harry watched a million things happen at the same time with shock. The man's eyes suddenly glimmered with recognition. At first, his face betrayed his confusion, which then turned into shock as he drew back a little… and finally, it crumpled with grief and such sadness that Harry's own heart ached at the sight. He thought he heard Severus' hoarse voice whisper Lily's name, and when the woman nodded with a sad smile, Severus buried his face in his hands and wept.
Harry's chest constricted as he watched his mentor in such a vulnerable state, grief and remorse pouring out of him in waves. His heartbroken sobs echoed through the dark corridors, mixed with occasional hitched breaths. Lily remained crouched down in front of him, sometimes offering small reassurances and words of comfort. Harry had since slid down against the bars to the ground, unable to pry his eyes away from the scene and feeling his own face wet.
After what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes, Severus' sobs died down, only his labored, uneven breathing audible. He slowly raised his head to take in Lily in full; in the feeble ight of his wand, Harry could see clearly his shallow, gaunt, and pale face, wet glistening on his cheeks and around his eyes.
“L— Lily, how?” he rasped out, outstretching his hand as if to touch her. He frowned and his brows creased when his long fingers passed right through her. He was yet to realize Harry's presence.
Lily shook her head sadly. “I'm not real, Severus. I am still dead. I've only been brought back temporarily by the Resurrection Stone…”
“Lily, I am so sorry,” whispered Severus, looking straight into her eyes. “I'm sorry for betraying you, I'm sorry for calling you that deplorable word, I'm sorry for all the sins I've committed…” He closed his eyes tightly, and his features twisted with pain. “Harry… I'm so sorry about Harry, for the way I had treated him all those years, and for that he's up there with you now… I tried to keep him safe, Lily, I swear it! I tried, but I failed you and him yet again…” In a barely audible whisper, his lips barely even twitched when he said, “I love him like a son, Lily. A son I've never had. I was a fool blinded by hatred and prejudice against J— James, but I've since realized how utterly wrong I was. I was jealous, jealous that he wasn't my son. I k— know it was wrong, and there are no excuses to make up for all the pain I've caused him...”
Harry thought his thundering heart might burst his eardrums. Had he heard his words correctly? Was he truly like a s— son to Severus? The wizard felt his eyes sting again, which he shut tightly as he leaned his heavy head against the cool metal rods.
“Sev,” said Lily gently. “I forgave you a long time ago, you must know this. Yes, you hurt me by calling me that name, but I never stopped loving you as a friend. I was saddened by the path you were setting yourself onto, and I'm sorry I gave up on you like that.” Harry couldn't see the pair, but he imagined his mother smiling at Severus again.
“And Sev… Harry's not dead.”
Harry's heart rate accelerated.
“No, Lily, he is,” refuted the man brokenly. “I held him, and he wasn't breathing. He— He was dead.”
“Yes, Severus, he was dead. But he's very much alive now.”
“Wha— How?” he breathed, frightened hope in his voice.
“Turn around, Sev.”
Harry and Severus turned at precisely the exact time. The man's eyes widened, glossed over, and in the next moment, he was across the cell, falling down onto his knees, and reaching through the bars to hold Harry's hands, squeezing them hard as if to reassure himself of reality.
“H— Harry! You're— HOW!?” he demanded as new tears streaked down his cheeks. Harry also felt his face inordinately hot compared to the rest of him. Relief flooded through him, and the Seventeen-year-old wished longingly he could embrace the man.
“Severus… I— it's a long story. I'm sorry for what happened; that you had to go through all this. But we did it. The cavern caved in and the Death Eaters were either caught in it or taken by the Aurors. And then the Tenebris Orb…” Here, Harry suddenly felt very sheepish. “Well, I think you know what happened.”
Severus' face, which once showed relief, now hardened into anger and disbelief. “You ABSOLUTE imbecilic DUNDERHEAD!” he thundered, voice ridden with emotion, his jaw trembling. “Throwing that Orb was by far the dumbest thing you could have done! What were you thinking — if you were thinking AT ALL!? Do you have ANY idea what you have put me through!?”
“Severus, I know—”
“Silence!” he hissed, his face millimeters away from the bars separating them. “You are lucky I am confined here because for the first time in years, I have murder on my mind!”
Feeling suicidal, Harry tried cheekily, “But then I would die again. Surely, you wouldn't want that, Severus?”
The man looked like he'd been punched in the face, gobsmacked. “Oh, I needn't worry about that, Harry Potter,” he growled. “After all, it would appear you are too damn resilient to die! Death must cower at hearing your name!”
“Sev,” spoke Lily's soft voice. She knelt down beside him, looking into his eyes, then Harry's. “I'm afraid I must go, but do not give up, Sev. Do you promise me? You deserve to live another life, a happy one. Surviving Nagini was Fawke's gift to you — do not let it be for nought.” Then, she addressed Harry. “My son, I am so proud of you. You are strong — both of you are. Take care, my boys.” And with that, she disappeared.
Harry and Severus stared at each other for a long moment, and then the man turned around and slumped against the bars, cradling his head in his hands. Harry did the same, so they were sitting back to back.
“I thought I h— had lost you…” whispered Severus shakily, pain and fear evident in his words. Guilt settled in Harry's stomach again, lodged firmly in place.
“I know, S—”
“No, you don't!” he refuted angrily. “You haven't the slightest idea— Losing you— I couldn't bear—” His voice choked up again, and he remained quiet.
Harry blew out a breath. “I'm sorry,” he tried weakly, knowing 'sorry' wouldn't quell Severus' grief. He thought back to the night he'd lost Sirius, and Dumbledore's apologies that had meant nothing to Harry.
“Severus. Your trial is in a few days. We need to—”
“Harry, it is a futile endeavor. Do not waste your time or breath — they must surely think I killed you. You were already… dead when they found us.”
Harry shook his head. “Sir, please let's not fight on this again? I've talked with McGonagall and Kingsley on this, and everyone's going to vouch for you. There's a new head of the Magic Law Enforcement — Lucy Hawkins. Kingsley approves of her; says that she's fair and nothing like Umbridge. You don't belong here in Azkaban. I refuse to believe that.”
Severus said nothing for a while… “You are so set on the thought I deserve something… more… Happiness?” He snorted. “I haven't truly known the feeling since childhood. You expect something as monumental as that of me, but I have nothing to live for… except you, Harry,” he spoke gently. “You are the only thing anchoring me. Otherwise, my life has no purpose. But I'm afraid that I will only let you down. I am not a good influence, not with my past.”
“Sir,” said Harry resolutely. “You are the bravest man I have ever known. You did something most men and women would never have abled to. You fought for the Light, and despite everything, you did what is right. I'm sorry you feel that way, but even my mother said that you deserve to live a full and happy life.”
Severus snorted. “This is beyond mortifying… Your mother… Does it not make me a pathetic person for loving someone whose love was never reciprocated? Does it not make me a pathetic excuse of a man that she'd moved on, but I never have? I had dedicated my life to redeeming myself for someone who is dead, Harry.”
Silence followed this for a moment, and in it, Harry let instinct take over. He brandished his wand and, mustering up all his energy, muttered, “Expecto Patronum!” Instantaneously, a silver stag burst out of it. It pranced through the cell and corridor, warming the atmosphere significantly. Severus seemed to stiffen when it stopped before him and lowered its head. Harry, his head twisted to see, watched a the man tentatively pat the creature, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harry was warmed to realize that Severus didn't associate the stag with James Potter, but with him, Harry. Just Harry.
Harry then reached into his pocket to retrieve something, and then pushed it into Severus' hand through the bars. The lily charm. “Love isn't pathetic, sir,” asserted Harry. “And my mother has always loved you. Maybe not romantically, but the same way as I love Ron and Hermione… Like I love you, sir. I love you as a mentor, a friend, and…” Harry swallowed, “a father.”
The silence that followed this bold declaration was stifling, and Harry held his breath, still sitting back to back with Severus… Suddenly, he felt a cold hand grab his own, squeezing it tightly.
“I love you as well, Harry.”
The boy sniffled, much to his own chagrin. “Y— You meant what you said earlier, and me…?”
“Yes, Harry,” admitted Severus haltingly, as if worried. “Never have I cared more for someone than you. You are the first person who hasn't given up on me, the first person to have shown understanding and accepted me for who I am. Thank you,” he finished in a coarse whisper.
Harry smiled. “You know, you're quite the hypocrite when it comes to talk of self worth — my mum even said so when I 'died'.”
Severus' eyes widened at the mention. “Yes, how exactly did you die and manage to come back?” he inquired bemusedly.
“Oh, uh… Well, when I ended up at that Crossroads place between life and death,” he explained easily. “There, I talked with mum and dad… ”
Severus closed his eyes, like the memory pained him, which in turn pained Harry. “Harry, words cannot begin to express how deeply sorry I am about your parents—”
“No. Stop,” said the boy firmly. “None of that, alright? Remember, it was Peter Pettigrew's fault, not yours. And you had no way of knowing. Let's just let bygones be bygones, yeah? Remember that conversation?”
“Hmm. It does seem like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?” mused the man.
“Yeah. And besides, I have you now, and you have me.”
Severus gave his hand a firm yet gentle squeeze, and Harry returned the comfort with a smile, willing the gesture to speak more words than he ever could. “So… You won't fight me on the topic of your trial?”
He heard a sigh. “Do I have a bloody choice? You Gryffindors are more stubborn than a herd of mules.”
“Well, too bad. Cause you're stuck with me, Sev, and there's no way I'm leaving you.”
“Sev?” parroted Severus. Harry flushed; he'd used the nickname unintentionally.
“Er, sor—”
“That equates to me calling you Har .”
Harry laughed. “Hardly. Severus is much longer than Harry .”
“It is still three letters.” Severus chuckled just slightly. “If you so wish to call me that, you may,” he permitted warmly. “It is actually… rather nice.”
Harry reclined back against the bars, feeling his head touching Severus'. Both were drawing comfort from the other's presence, for both needed it.
"You'll see, Sev. Everything will be alright. We'll pull through."
Severus squeezed his hand again. "Hmm. Always the optimist, Potter."
This time, Harry chuckled, and shrugged. After a moment, he decided it was time to turn to more urgent matters. “I want to talk to Dumbledore.”
The air around them tensed. “Why?” came the cold answer.
“Because he might be our key to winning your trial. If anyone would know where to look for evidence, it's got to be him,” said Harry. Severus made a disapproving grunt in his throat.
“You will only needlessly waste your time, Harry. Dumbledore and I had made certain that there was no proof of my true loyalties. Whatever letters were exchanged were always charmed to disintegrate upon being read. Aside from that, I doubt there is anything that could be useful to us.”
Harry sighed, feeling a bit discouraged. “So… I guess we can only rely on the good words of others, veritaserum, and your memories.”
Severus suddenly shifted, sitting up and turning his body to face Harry. The stag was still present, never once leaving the man's side. “My memories?” he drawled distastefully. “You wish to bare my past to a room full of imbecilic Ministry officials and news reporters? You've gone senile, Harry,” he sniffed.
“No, that's not what Imeant! Just… Only the memories of you talking to Dumbledore about your spying duties," Harry quickly reiterated.
Severus frowned. "Harry, we shouldn't rely on my word. Given the Occlumens and Legilimens that I am, I am fully capable of altering my memories. Same goes for Veritaserum, as Occlumency can easily be exploited to counteract the effects."
"Well, what else is there that we can do?"
His mentor frowned deeply, and for a flicker of a second, something akin to resignation crossed his drawn features. “Hope, Harry. As delusional as it may seem, hope. Much like the kind you have given me.”
Harry smiled tightly, reaching out to squeeze Severus' cold hand again, providing as well as drawing warmth. “We'll pull through, Severus,” promised Harry resolutely again, as if trying to reassure himself. “And after all this, you can pursue your Potions research, rewrite the Hogwarts curriculum…” Harry smirked devilishly. “Or take up that job as Hagrid's assistant?”
Severus chuckled deeply, the sound warming Harry. He said nothing for a little while, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
“Harry? How did you acquire the Resurrection stone?” inquired Severus seriously. “I assumed you had dropped it in the Forbidden Forest that night.”
The boy shifted. “Well, we went looking for it,” he answered sheepishly. Severus' eyes widened with horor, and Harry hastened to alleviate his worries, “I didn't tell anyone why I needed it, only that it was important. You needn't worry, sir, no-one knows.”
Severus seemed to deflate with relief, and he suddenly looked drained. “You shouldn't have seeked it out again, Harry, even for my cause.” Harry could hear a strain in his voice, laced with something akin to anger.
“I'm not going to use it again, you know,” said Harry matter-of-factly, then bit his lip as he felt an epiphany incoming… he gasped softly and twisted his body toward Severus. “What if we get Dumbledore to testify?”
Severus seemed to pale several shades, an ugly sneer overcoming him. “Harry, don't you DARE!” he growled. “I need not his help. I refuse to accept it! And to face him again…” he shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“But, sir—”
“I said NO, Harry!”
Harry sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. If they had Dumbledore testify, that just might be their trump card. But really, what else did they have? Severus was stubborn, Harry knew this well, but if worse came to worst…
“Alright… How about this,” he negotiated carefully, “We'll use Dumbledore as our LAST resort. Deal?”
Severus shut his eyes, clearly trying to keep his composure and mull the idea over in his head. Even if the man wouldn't agree, Harry knew he would do it anyway. It would be for his own good.
“Fine,” he spat. And Harry relaxed his shoulders. The Gryffindor flashed the Slytherin an encouraging smile, and their eyes remained locked for a good few minutes, both seeking comfort and reassurance in the other. And all at once, an epiphany struck Harry.
“Sir! Do you still have Fawkes' feather?” he asked excitedly. Severus' eyes flashed with realization.
“Indeed I do, but it is kept in my satchel, which I can tell was confiscated by the Aurors. That is, if they haven't done anything to it,” he grumbled bitterly.
Harry nodded. “I'll ask Kingsley — I'm sure he'll be able to procure it for us. Severus, don't you see? This will be perfect proof of your innocence! Why else would Fawkes have saved you if he didn't deem you worthy of another life?”
Severus looked hesitant. “I suppose you are right, Harry. Though, knowing the imbeciles that work at the Ministry, all and any evidence could be rendered useless in a matter of seconds. Denial, I believe is what they are living.”
Harry shook his head. “We won't fail, Severus. You'll see. In a few days, you will be a free man. Kingsley has already found our defense council representative. And while they're not letting her near you—” Severus scoffed— “she does seem to know what she's doing.” Harry nudged the older's hand for his attention, and putting as much meaning into his next words as he could, asserted, “We will pull through, Severus. Don't worry. I promised not to give up on you. and I never will. Not until you're free. You've suffered too much to spend the rest of your life here, and no, this is NOT pity.”
It nearly broke his heart to see a lone tear glide down the man's gaunt cheek, but Harry smiled at him reassuringly.
They would pull through.
Notes:
Thank you everyone for all of your comments on the last two chapters, it's always such a treat and reward to read them<:D
I hope this chapter was alright, as I wasn't too motivated to edit it. Big apologies, I know some scenes might seem a bit rushed in this chapters. I'm just going through a very rough time right now (family matters + school's suffocating pressure).Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Only a few chapters left to go! I honestly can't wait to finish posting this story and dedicate my entire attention to the new one I'm currently working on. I really love how its turning out:DDDD. Unfortunately, with everything going on, I won't be able to upload the next chapter tomorrow. So...
Next chapter coming 2nd March!
Chapter 56: The Trial and the Verdict
Summary:
“I see. The Wizegamot will take your statement into consideration. Now, we shall vote,” she announced. Harry's whole body tensed and he felt like he was going to be sick from anxiety. He was barely aware of Ginny clasping his one hand, and Hermione patting his other, Ron's hand on his shoulder.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The tall, circular room' benches were quickly filling with witches and wizards, some wearing plum-coloured robes, some wearing normal ones. Chatter echoed as more figures arrived, a few disputes and arguments breaking out here and there. It had been like this for the past half-hour, ever since the courtroom had opened, and half-hour since Harry had been the first to be let in.
He found it rather ironic, really, for this was courtroom 10, the same one his Underage Magic incident trial was held in 1995…
That time seemed a lifetime ago now.
Wiping his gross, moist hands on his dark trousers, Harry took another glance around. He could see most of his friends had arrived, including the whole Weasley clan, Hermione, the Longbottoms… Even Hagrid and a few Hogwarts professors, like Slughorn and Flitwick.
McGonagall and Kingsley were a given.
What had really surprised him was the fact that Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had offered to testify as well, once word of Severus' trial had spread like wildfire through the Daily Prophet. They and Harry had exchanged few words. Draco was only interested because he felt indebted to Severus as his godson and because he had saved them all in the cavern. It had been quite the interesting interaction, and Harry was glad it was executed in a nice and professional manner.
Finally, the representative of the defense council was an old friend of Kingsley's, Amelia Grace. She, Harry, Kingsley, and Minerva had drilled through every defense they would use to their advantage and had held many mock trials. In tuth, Harry found the middle-aged witch quite competent — she clearly knew what she was doing. Harry just hoped it would be enough.
Harry was warmed by the sheer amount of people that had agreed to show up. Though some people here had scarcely even heard word of Severus Snape since the end of the War, Harry had taken the time yesterday to talk to each of them privately and ask if they could testify. It was common knowledge between the professors of Severus's innocence and role in the war, and they had unconditionally agreed to help exonerate the man.
Harry had also spoken to Kingsley and McGonagall about the matter of using the Resurrection Stone as their last resort. Both had agreed that it would certainly be worth a try. But other than them, no-one knew of their plan B.
Harry glanced down at the wrist watch he'd received from Molly Weasley on his seventeenth. It read just seven to noon. Just seven minutes till that tall chair in the middle of the room would be occupied by the accused…
"Hey," said a voice from his left, a fist gently nudging his shoulder. Ginny was sat beside him, dressed in formal black robes and her fiery hair in a half updo. Harry wore a handsome dark-blue suit Molly Weasley had had the courtesy of procuring for him earlier, for which he was eternally grateful to her.
"Stop worrying," she placated, placing a hand on his knee, which was bouncing up and down. Harry planted his feet firmly on the ground to keep them still, and nodded at his girlfriend.
"Hey," she said again, more firmly than before. "We have the truth on our side, yeah? I'm sure with Hawkins as Head of the Law Enforcement and Kingsley as Minister, not to mention the sheer amount of people that have shown up in support, Professor Snape will be walking out of here a free man."
Harry blew out a shaky breath, meeting her calming gaze. "I know," he said, more reassuring himself as he ran a hand through his hair and down his neck. "It's just hard not to worry…"
Ginny patted his knee. "I know, Harry. Well, Alright, maybe I don't know the fullest extent of it, but I can tell you care for Snape deeply, and I also know that you're not going to give up on him. Well, neither are we.”
Harry could only nod, and at that precise moment caught McGonagall's eye as she, Amelia Grace, and Kingsley were engrossed in what looked like a heated conversation with a stout man in elaborate black robes who was somewhere in his sixties, rectangular glasses decorating his deep-set, aristocratic face.
Harry leaned over to his right-hand side where Ron and Hermione sat beside Ginny. “Hey, who do you reckon that is?” he asked in a low voice.
Ron squinted. “Don't recognize the bloke. But he certainly doesn't look happy.”
“Oh, honestly!” breathed Hermione in exasperation. “Don't you ever read the prophet? That's Auror Stephans — Head of the Auror Department. He did a whole interview on the cavern attack just hours after it happened.”
Harry frowned when he saw the man start jabbing his finger in the air to prove some point, his voice rising, barely loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the room. “... Something tells me he's not in favor of Severus,” he muttered darkly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
They sat for another few minutes, observing the scene as the Ministry officials began to settle down. He was worried to see professor McGonagall, donned in formal mahogany robes and an elaborate hat, hasting her way up the benches in their direction, a grim expression on her face.
“I'm afraid I have some bad news,” she began, leaning in. “The Minister and I have just spoken with the Head of the Auror Department. He is, unfortunately, one of the main spokesmen in the Wizengamot, and he is set against Severus' favor.”
“Brilliant,” growled Harry. ”Well, I guess we should have seen this coming.”
“Mr. Potter, rest assured that the Minister will do everything in his power to sway the jury in Severus' favor. However, he cannot show favoritism. I'm afraid using you-know-what has just become more inevitable.”
“ALL RISE! ORDER! COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!” bellowed a woman's deep voice through the room, a heavy mallet booming against wood. As McGonagall hurried away to her seat, Harry turned to the podium behind which sat Stephans, Kingsley, and a round witch with brunette locks and the silver Ministry 'M' badge on her chest. She and Stephans sat on either side of Kingsley.
The crowd quickly settled, and only when complete silence ensued did the witch canceled the Sonorous Spell and spoke in her normal, authoritative voice.
“On this day, the twelfth of July, 1998, the Wizengamot has gathered for the trial of Death Eater Severus Tobias Snape, who is being charged with the crimes as follows: second and third degree murder, deception, treason, usage of all three Unforgivable Curses, involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in both Wizarding Wars and the Death Eaters, use of Dark Magic, and assault and attempted murder. His main defendant is Harry James Potter, First Class of Merlin, and the witnesses are as follows.”
A parchment appeared in front of her from which she read, “Harry James Potter, Minerva Robert McGonagall. Ginerva Molly Wealsey, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Hermione Jean Granger, Molly Prevett Wealsey, Arthur Wiliam Wealsey, George Fabian Wealsey, Percival Ignatius Weasley, Charles Weasley, William Arthur Weasley…” She continued to cite the names of the rest of the Weasleys, Hogwarts professors, the Lovegoods, and the Longbottoms. The entire procedure took a while, and by the time she'd finished, Harry's knee was bouncing up and down uncontrollably with anxiety.
“I am Lucy Amanda Hawkins, Head of Magical Law Enforcement and prosecutor of this trial, as well as head interrogator. Beside me is Auror Edward Thomas Stephans, Head of the Auror Office, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, chief warlock and Minister of Magic. The representative of the defense council is Amelia Marie Grace. With that said, please bring in the accused,” she finally announced.
The large oak doors were swung open and a battalion of ten-or-so Aurors entered, surrounding Severus as they led him in. His hands were manacled but he kept his head and posture straight, unlike a coward. From where he sat, Harry noticed Severus' blank expression, void of any emotion. For the tiniest moment, black orbs found the reassuring gaze of the emerald-green, and Harry wasn't sure if Severus missed or caught his small, supportive smile before he was ordered into the tall, high-backed chair set in the middle of the room on a small podium, unfortunately facing away from Harry and toward the main jury. His hands were released from their shackles, only to be manacled to either armrest of the chair.
“Thank you, you may all be seated.” A pause, and Harry held his breath as he clumsily plopped back down, toying with the small, cool stone in his pocket. “Please state your full name, age, and date of birth,” she addressed the man evenly.
The Slytherin's drawing, smooth, and baritone voice filled the room. “Severus Tobias Snape. Thirty-eight. 9th January, 1960.”
“Severus Tobias Snape, do you swear on your soul and magic that you will tell the truth and nothing but the truth?”
“I do.”
“And are you willingly amenable to consuming Veritaserum for the duration of your questioning?”
“I am.”
“Then let the potion be administered, myself and the Wizengamot as witnesses.”
In his periphery, Harry saw a Ministry Official move from the sideline with a potion in hand, but what truly infuriated him was the sight of bloody Rita Skeeter, with her acid-green Quick-Notes quill scratching away as she observed the scene with her eyes aglow in interest… The potion was administered, the procedure silent, except for the part when the Wizard waved his wand over his head. Harry figured it was to verify the potion's potency.
“Representative of the Defense Council, you may rise,” Hawkins announced. All eyes were then trained on a tall witch with a fawn pixie cut and smart, gray robes as she approached the center of the room.
“Your Honor, esteemed members of the Wizengamot, Severus Tobias Snape is being unfairly accused of crimes he was forced to commit under direct orders from You-Know-Who while his loyalties lay with the Light side, led by Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore. He has dedicated his entire life to redemption and the Light, and his commitment played a crucial role in our victory in the Second Wizarding War. I would now like to call in the witnesses to testify to demonstrate this.”
Hawkins nodded her assent. “Very well, I shall first call to witness… Harry James Potter.”
Feeling his legs noodle-like, if feeling them at all, Harry rose from his seat, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on him, and dutifully plowed his way down to the center of the room. A second chair was conjured for him beside where Severus sat. The two locked eyes for a minute, and what seemed like a hundred emotions flickered in Severus' obsidian eyes, the vulnerability showing ephemerally before turning statuesque once more.
Veritaserum was administered to Harry, who took it without complaint.
“Harry James Potter, I would like to start by asking how you know Severus Snape?” inquired Hawkins.
“Severus Snape was my Potions professor at Hogwarts from 1991 to 1995, and Defense against the Dark Arts Professor in 1996,” he answered evenly.
She hummed. “And how would you describe your relationship with him up until the current day?”
Harry knew he was about to internally wince at what he was about to say. Stupid Veritaserum. “Professor Snape and I had never got on well, to say the least during my school years. He often verbally and emotionally harassed me, and the hatred was mutual.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He glanced apologetically at Severus, and his heart nearly shattered when he detected a flicker of hurt crossing his face as he shut his eyes. “But things changed after the war between us. Due to information that came to light, he and I have since grown to respect and care for one another.”
A wave of murmurs washed over the room.
“I see. There is a claim that he has saved your life on multiple occasions. Care to elaborate?”
“Yes, Ma'am,” nodded Harry, looking at her. “Starting in my First Year at Hogwarts, Severus Snape saved me from many potential deaths, be it during a Quidditch match when Professor Quirrell Jinxed my broom, to following my friends and I into the Shrieking Shack in Third year, where we discovered Sirius Black.”
Harry had zero control over his words. They just kept rolling off his tongue like water off an oiled pan. He hated the fact he had no control over what tumbled out of his mouth, but was powerless against doing anything about it.
“And do you know why he has protected you for all those years, Mr. Potter?”
Harry prayed the Veritaserum wouldn't let too much spill. “Because of a vow he took to Albus Dumbledore and my late mother, Lily Evans, in hopes of redemption.”
Fortunately, the woman didn't ask him to expand on that. “And this information that came to light during the war, what did it entail, precisely? Please recount everything you can from that event. The night of the battle, perhaps?”
Harry sighed, still keeping his eyes locked with Hawkins'. “The night of the battle, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and I went to the Shrieking Shack in hopes of finding Voldemort and his Snake, Nagini, who was a Horrcrux — an object in which a wizard has concealed a part of their soul through magic, rendering them immortal until the object is irreparably damaged or destroyed… Anyway, there, Snape and Voldemort were talking. Voldemort was telling Snape about the Elder Wand, and how while he lives, it cannot truly be his because Snape killed Dumbledore. Then, Voldemort ordered Nagini to kill him. Before he 'died', Snape gave me his memories and told them to take me to the pensieve. In those memories, I learned of his true loyalties, past, and how I was an unintended horcrux created by Voldemort.”
More murmurs around the room…
“Now hold on just a moment here,” said Stephans. “Everyone here is aware that Snape's a powerful Occlumens and Legilimens. Whether he had lied to Dumbledore or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he'd still accomplished it impeccably. Witches and wizard of the Wizengamot,” he stood, “is it not more than possible that Snape had fabricated his memories and given them to Mr. Potter to earn his sympathy?”
Harry bristled, outraged. “How would that make any sense if he knew he was about to die? He did it out of desperation — you can't make this stuff up!”
The mallet banged. “Order!” ordered Hawkins. “Mr. Potter, how did Severus Snape survive such injuries? Even I must admit, the circumstances do seem suspicious.”
“Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, healed him. We have proof of it, even.”
This visibly piqued her interest. “Proof you are willing to present now?”
Silently, Harry proceeded to retrieve the majestic red-gold feather Kinsgley had managed to retrieve from Severus' confiscated satchel earlier. A few gasps sounded as he held it up high to present.
“Ah, yes. Dumbledore's songbird, isn't it?” scoffed Stephans. “Need I remind you all that this is the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore!?” his voice hushed the room.
“He did it on Dumbledore's orders!” refuted Harry, not missing a beat. “He never wanted to, but Dumbledore and Snape had planned his death when it came to light that Voldemort was ordering Draco Malfoy to do it. Dumbledore didn't want Malfoy to become a murderer, so he told Snape to do it.”
“Interesting indeed,” mused Hawkins, her eyes scanning the room before landing on someone. “In that case, I call Draco Lucius Malfoy to come forth,” she announced. “Mr. Potter, you may be seated.”
Harry hesitantly rose, feeling his hands moist. He glanced at Severus apologetically, feeling he hadn't done enough, and left. As he ascended the stairs back to his bench,he passed the blond and could have sworn he saw the boy nod at him ever so slightly.
“Mr. Malfoy,” drawled the woman. “Can you recall the events of the night of Albus Dumbledore's murder, and the events that led up to it? I believe Snape is your godfather, is that correct? Elaborate on your relationship with him.”
“Certainly,” said the boy, his face stoic, and began once his dosage of Veritaserum was administered and verified. “At the beginning of summer, 1996, The Dark Lord tasked me with killing Albus Dumbledore. I didn't want to do it, but the sadist threatened he would kill my family and I, so I had no choice.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Later, I learned that he'd made the Unbreakable Vow to protect me and help me in my task. I kept refusing Snape's help, of course. Just because he's my godfather doesn't mean we were close, mind you.” He spoke without so much as a glance at Severus. “That night, I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill Dumbledore,” he spat, “and then Snape appeared. I remember the old man pleading with him, but I realize now it wasn't for his life, it was for death… And then he killed him, and we fled.”
“Hmm, yes. I certainly remember overseeing your trial, Mr. Malfoy. These claims were, in fact, proven true… And did you ever doubt Snape's loyalty to the Dark Lord?”
Malfoy bit his lip slightly. “A few times, maybe the thought had crossed my mind… But his game was good. It was hard to be certain of anything, but he solidified everyone's trust when he killed Dumbledore.”
“Thank you for your assessm—”
“You see?” cried an unfamiliar voice from the audience. “Snape's always been a true Death Eater if he'd deceived even someone like Albus Dumbledore until his dying breath!”
“He's a murderer at heart!” yelled another.
“Filthy Death Eater!”
“ORDER! ORDER IN COURT!” The woman sighed and pinched her nose. “Mr. Malfoy, you may resume your seat. I call Mr. Potter to stand once more.”
Anger coursing through his clenched fists, Harry descended the stairs and retook the chair Malfoy had just vacated.
“Mr. Potter, tell us about this massive Death Eater attack a week ago. You and Severus Snape were found there, but information on that is limited. What was yours and Snape's involvement in this mission?”
Drawing a deep breath, Harry dove into a lengthy explanation of the whole Tenebris Orb discovery and how he and Severus had embarked on a mission to locate the Death Eater stronghold where it had allegedly been held. Then Harry explained how they, Kingsley, and McGonagall had devised a plan and orchestrated the whole thing. Finally, he closed his tale off with his and Severus' escapade with the Orb, and how Harry had thrown it. The entire time, only the end goal and Severus' presence beside him bolstered his courage and strength not to ramble anything.
“...You see? If it weren't for Snape, all those prisoners would never have survived, and the Aurors probably never would have found the stronghold in time to stop the dementor infiltration,” he concluded. “Again, he's save countless lives—”
“ — He's still a Death Eater!” yelled an outraged voice. “The mark on his forearm is a testament!”
“ —What of his reign as Headmaster of Hogwarts!?” burst out another. “My son and daughter, Fifth and First Years, were tortured under the Cruciatus Curse! One of them was in Slytherin House, for Merlin's sake!”
“ —Lock him up!”
“ —He's Imperio-ed Harry Potter!”
“ORDER! OOOORDER!”
“QUIET!” beloved Harry at the top of his lungs. The crowd settled from shock. “I am NOT making anything up, and I ost certainly am NOT under any spell or curse. Under the influence of Veritaserum, I cannot lie. Severus Snape dedicated his entire life to protecting me and fighting for the Light. He's saved countless lives, and regrets not having been able to save more. He's done more for this war, and AFTER, than all of you combined!” He turned sharply toward Severus, pointing a finger at him. “This is the bravest man I have ever known, and I won't accept such lies about him!”
“Mr. Potter, you will either calm yourself or you will be escorted out of the room!” warned Hawkins. Harry gritted his teeth and retook his seat, just now realizing he had jumped from it at some point through his rant. But as his eyes caught Severus', they saw them ridden with pride, respect, and fondness, and Harry felt himself calm and his chest swell with warmth.
“Mr. Potter,” laughed Stephans mirthlessly, “No offense, but you had shown quite a lack of judgment in the last person you had defended so honorably. We are all aware of your status and your revolutionary defeat of the Dark Lord. However, we must also take into account that you had vouched for one Lucius Malfoy's pardon back in early May. And how had that panned out, might I inquire?”
Despite himself, Harry felt a tinge of pink creep up his cheeks. Admittedly, vouching for Lucius Malfoy had been a mistake, and he was owning up to it. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had always been innocent, though… He cleared his throat, though wasn't sure how to respond. Luckily, Amelia came to his rescue at that moment.
“Be that as it may, Mr. Stephans,” she said, her heels clanking on the marble as she paced to the front of the room, “Mr. Potter had been claiming for over a year that Voldemort—” half the room flinched again, to Harry's disgust — “had returned to power, back in 1995. The Ministry had denied those claims until, and please excuse my language here, the truth bit them — you — in the arse.”
Hushed whispers stole the room once more, and Stephans leaned in to mutter something in Hawkins' ear. Then, the woman nodded and pounded her mallet again for silence.
“I would like to now call Minerva Roberts McGonagall to stand!”
Harry vacated the chair for McGonagall, and retook his initial seat on the benches... The aged witch was asked to share her relationship with Severus and go into detail about the year the man was Headmaster.
”Severus Snape and I have always been good colleagues,” she said easily, her sharp voice crisp and clear. “While he wasn't someone I would call a socialite, he was an exceptional advisor and rather pleasant company. I taught him back when he still attended Hogwarts as a pupil, and he was always a curious boy. It wasn't until his fifth year that I noticed a deterioration in his demeanor… Past this, during his reign as headmaster, I can recall several occasions on which Severus had made me doubt his true loyalties to the Dark. I recall when he'd caught Ginnerva Wealsey, Nevile Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood attempting theft of the sword of Gryffindor, he had merely assigned them detention with Rubeus Hagrid as opposed to surrendering them to the mercy of the Carrows…” She paused. “Now that I think about it, he was almost never seen outside his office. It is understandable why to me now.”
"Headmistress McGonagall, do you blame Seveeus Snape for the Murder of Albus Dumbledore?" inquired Kinsgely, speaking for the first time. Minerva's blue eyes flashed with pain, perhaps at the memory of her loss.
"No, I do not. Albus Dumbledore was already dying, and not only did Severus kill him on his orders, but he also spared him of a slow and painful death.”
Hawkins nodded. "Thank you, Headmistress, the Wizengamot will take this testimony into account as well. Now…" She glanced down at a stack of parchment on her desk. "What I would like to clarify are the events of 1980 to 1981. According to your first trial back then, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledroes personally vouched for your freedom as a Death Eater turned spy. The jury was swayed in your favor, and all charges were dropped... She paused, mulling something in her head over. "What was your involvement with the Potters? Why the prejudice against Harry Potter, and why did you vow to protect him? What was it precisely that made you switch sides?
Harry's muscles tensed at these questions, as he knew Severus' ones had as well. Merlin knew how this was going to pan out. Harry knew it must be mortifying for the man to have to practically relive his entire sinful life, in front of the entire Wizengamot and everyone he knew, no less.
Severus cleared his throat, his voice slightly raspy. "My involvement with the Potters is irrelevant, your honor." More cries of outrage erupted, but were quickly silenced by a look from Kingsley. Hawkins frowned deeply.
"Seveus Snape, I asked you a direct question. Several, even. I can assure you, you are in no position to deem what is and what isn't relevant. I do not wish to prolong this trial or reconvene it on another day. Either you comply or face the consequences.”
Severus nodded stiffly, his greasy hair framing his face. He was silent for several long moments, clearly hesitating… "Lily Evans Potter and I were good friends in our Hogwarts years, though James Potter and I never saw eye to eye. During my time as a fully-fledged Death Eater, I had relayed half of an overheard prophecy about a son born at the end of July... The Dark Lord assumed it was the Potters' son, and set out to hunt them down, which ultimately led to their downfall. I, however, went to warn Dumbledore of this when it became clear to me who the prophecy targeted."
"Ah-Ha!" shouted the Head Auror. "So you see, not only for his recent crimes, but he is also mainly responsible for the deaths of James and Lily Potter! What filth! He cared only about his self-interests, not whether a family died of his cause or not," he spat, literally, at Severus. A wave of anguish coursed through Harry he saw Severus' shoulders slump in defeat, his head dropping slightly… The boy couldn't take it anymore.
"You're Honor, It was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed my parents," he announced to the room, standing and uncaring. "The Potters were under the Fidelius Charm when they were in hiding, and Peter Pettigrew was their Secret keeper. He went and told the location to Voldemort. Yes, Snape had relayed that half prophecy to Voldemort, but he'd done it unknowingly. He'd never intended it to be my family—"
"Scum of the earth!" cried Stephans. "What kind of human being would knowingly endanger a family, with an INFANT, No less! He may not have known who the prophecy was targeting, but he was fully aware that he was all hut MURDERING a whole family!"
The room erupted into a heated debate, with people shouting and arguing and some chucking insults and slurs at the defeated-looking man seated in the center of it all. Harry couldn't believe the debacle this was quickly shaping out to be.
"ORDER! ORDER IN MY COURT! WITCHES AND WIZARDS, I WISH TO CLOSE THIS MATTER BY THE END OF THIS HOUR, LET US CALM DOWN AND CONVENE!" boomed Hawkins, her wand held at her throat to amplify her volume. The witch turned to Kingsley; they exchanged a few words, and she began leafing through papers on her desk. She seemed to have found the right one, and took a moment to read it.
“Ah, yes. Here I can see… Yes, It checks out in my records that Peter Pettigrew was, indeed, charged guilty for deceit, murder, and betrayal…I admit, during your trial back in 1991, such information of your betrayal hadn't come to light… Severus Snape," she addressed him sternly, "do you deny anything that has been said regarding you here today?"
Sevrus shook his head silently.
“Tell me of your reign as Headmaster, then,” she said. “The claims are that you had done everything in your power to protect the students. How, exactly?”
“... My influence was limited, given my position. I could not outright order the Carrows to desist from torturing students, for it would have been suspicious and my position as spy would have come known.” Severus' tone was even and deep, the picture of composure, but Harry knew well that sharing these dark times, with the entire Wizengamot no less, must be agony for him. “I was compelled to keep up appearances, both in the presence of Death Eaters and students and staff, but I myself never willingly took part in torturing them. I would often be generous with handing out detentions with Rubeus Hagrid or Minerva McGonagall in hopes of sparing them of the Carrows.”
Stephans crossed his arms over his chest, and he and Hawkins exchanged glances. At that moment, Amelia offered, “We have witnesses here today, your honor — Ginnerva Weasley, Nevile Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. They were the ones caught by Severus Snape when trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor for Mr. Potter.”
Hawkins caught her eyes and nodded. “Very well, I call all three of them to the front.”
The mentioned trio rose and made their way to the center of the room. Nevile was twisting the hem of his blazer nervously, Luna looked as though she had just been invited to a tea party, and Ginny had a brave and determined look on her face. .. The same procedure of administering the Veritaserum, verifying its potency, and making them swear to tell the truth was repeated.
“I ask you three to elect a spokesperson and relay your experience during that detention.”
To Harry's pride, it was Ginny who spoke. “When we were caught by Professor Snape, we were certain he would torture us, if not worse. However, we were all surprised when all he did was yell at us and personally escorted us down to Hagrid's hut. He assigned us to him, telling him not to go easy on us, and left… Well, and the detention, of course, wasn't anything bad. We explained to Hagrid what happened, and he treated us well.”
Hawkins rapped her fingers against the wood. “Very well, thank you. Let us take a ten-minute break. Meanwhile, Severus Snape is to be escorted back to the holding cells,” she announced, collecting her papers and tapping them on the desk to even out the stack.
Harry stood almost immediately along with everyone else and hastened his way over to Kingsley, where the turquoise-robed wizard was already gathering with McGonagall, Hawkins, and Stephans. As Harry crossed to the other side of the room, he saw Severus being led out not all too gently by a team of Aurors, though the man put up no fight. He looked defeated when their eyes met, and Harry swallowed hard.
“ —Don't care what the evidence shows, Hawkins, Snape is a Death Eater!” Stephans was staying hotly. “He's a Legilimens and Occlumens, and if serving seventeen years as spy, either for this side or that, isn't a testament of that he's bluffing, then I don't know what is! The whole point of this Slieve League mission was to eradicate all Death Eaters and remaining army of You-Know-Who—”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Stephans,” huffed McGonagall indignantly, “AT LEAST say his name! Voldemort. And Severus Snape took part in orchestrating this mission—”
“Where's the evidence, Minerva?” he came back smugly, then his eyes fell on Harry. “Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Well, since he's the savior of the Wizarding World, I suppose all of us far more experienced adults should assent!”
“Stephans, you are out of line,” asserted Kingsley authoritatively before Harry could retort. “Severus Snape played a significant and vital role in both wars, relaying invaluable information to the Order. Furthermore, you've already had several witnesses testify, all claiming Snape's true loyalties have always laid with us.”
“We also have memories,” cut in Harry firmly. “If you would let us present a pensieve—”
“Buffoonery! The memories could easily have been tainted,” spat the man, taking his folded square frames and pointing them at Severus' recently-vacated chair. “This mision isn't truly over until every Death Eater, down to the last, is either dead or locked up in Azkaban. And Severus Snape will walk out of here a free man over my dead body!”
“Stephans, control yourself!” demanded Hawkins. “The evidence presented is…”
The pair continued to argue, and Harry locked eyes with McGonagall and Kingsley. About a thousand words seemed to be exchanged between them, and Harry felt his stomach drop several floors down when he realized they had to take desperate measures to sway the Wizengamot… So, Harry gave the two an understanding nod.
The break passed quickly, and before Harry knew it, Severus was back in the high-backed chair. Their gazes had not met this time, much to Harry's disappointment, and he felt rather sick at the thought that the next time he might see it was in Azkaban.
“Order! Court is now in session!” called Hawkins again. “If there is no more evidence to present or witnesses to testify—”
“Your honor!” called Harry, standing tall, shoulders squared, and his right hand twitching slightly at his side. “I would like to present one more witness, if I may?” Everyone seemed to hold their breath, except for Stephans, who merely scoffed. Hawkins considered this, and then gestured with her hand for him to proceed.
“Very well, Mr. Potter. You may announce the witness.”
And many things happened simultaneously in the next moment… Harry turned the Stone in his hand thrice as he said loudly and clearly, “Albus Dumbledore.” His announcement was followed by gasps and murmurs, and even Severus twisted around in his chair to glare at Harry, as if questioning his audacity. The Gryffindor, along with the other hundred or so people, watched as a ghostly form of the late greatest wizard of the century formed.
He looked just like Harry remembered from the Crossroads, wearing periwinkle robes, looking a few years younger than when died, and his long beard was tied at the bottom with a decorative beaded twine. His eyes sparkled and twinkled like never before, and he stood calmly with his hands folded neatly in front of him.
“ —IMPOSSIBLE!”
“ —Dark magic!”
“ —Are you seeing this!?”
“ — Albus Dumbledore— HOW!?”
This time, even Lucy Hawkins seemed too shocked to call for order as she just stared, wide-eyed, at the deceased old man. Harry didn't dare lock eyes with Severus, whom he knew to also be staring wide-eyed at the mentor he'd murdered.
“Evening, members of the Wizengamot,” greeted Dumbledore with a smile on his face. The room quietened instantly. “Forgive me for the rather unexpected arrival. I must admit, I was rather hopeful that the trial of an innocent man wouldn't come to this…”
“ —Albus Dumbledore?” asked Hawkins finally, struggling for words. “H— How?”
“Dear Lucinda, my time here is limited. Suffice to say, I am most certainly still dead,” assured Dumbledore pleasantly. Harry couldn't decide whether it was rage mixed with fury or relief and grief that dominated his feelings at the sight of his late mentor. “However, I have returned to testify for Severus Snape, whom I can assure you has been speaking nothing but the solemn truth.”
“This is SNAPE'S DOING!” seethed Stephans, pointing an accusing finger at Severus. “He— He—!”
“ —Has been in the eyes of hundreds of witnesses this entire time, lieutenant,” refuted Albus calmly. “Now, let us cut to the chase, shall we? Or has the Wizengamot not passed any reforms since the corrupted era of Lord Voldemort?” This bold statement was followed by murmurs around the room.
“Now,” continued the man just as composedly. “I can confirm that my death was, in fact, pre-planned between myself and professor Snape back in the summer of 1996. Though I am not proud of it, I had no other choice but to burden his shoulders with the soul-tainting task of murder, for I did not wish to corrupt Draco Malfoy's soul. That night in the tower, I had, in fact, pleaded with Severus Snape not for my life, but to take it… Later, Severus Snape was compelled to take orders from my portrait in the Headmaster's office. It was I who had ordered him to take the sword of Gryffindor to Harry Potter incognito.” Much louder and firmer, the old wizard raised his hands high into the air. “Severus Snape is a hero and an innocent man, and if you all continue to live in denial with the truth, well then the Ministry has not changed much since the fall of Tom Marvolo Riddle, whom Severus Snape faced and fed careful lies to, all the while gathering invaluable information for the Order of the Phoenix.”
The courtroom, again, broke out into hundreds of disputes, arguments, and shoutings — a zoo-like pandemonium, if Harry had ever seen one. He watched nervously as Dumbledore approached Severus, who had his head bent to look down, and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. A visible shudder quaked the man's rigid body, and Harry chose then to send the old man back to the dead. He turned the Stone in his hand thrice once more, and his ghostly figure vanished.
It took a while for the Wizengamot to quiet down, longer than the other times, and Harry kept his eyes trained on the jury, who were deeply engrossed in a heated debate.
This was it… thought Harry. He knew the verdict was coming. He could feel it. But no matter if Severus was sentenced to Azkaban: Harry would find a way to break him out and they would be on the run.
Just like Sirius had been…
“Order!” The mallet pounded deafeningly. “I said ORDER!” At last, the crowd settled. Hawkins turned to address the accused. “Severus Snape, do you feel remorse over your mistakes and actions? Do you take full responsibility for all you've done, both Light and Dark? What, in your opinion, would be a fitting verdict?"
Harry's heart accelerated.
"... I have held remorse since the day I took the Dark Mark. I do not deny any of the crimes aforementioned. If I could go back in time to redo everything, I would, this I swear. Joining the Dark Lord was my gravest mistake, amongst many other, and I believe my actions were despicable and unforgivable… Whatever verdict will be deemed fitting, I will accept it.
Oh, Severus…
“I see. The Wizegamot will take your statement into consideration. Now, we shall vote,” she announced. Harry's whole body tensed and he felt like he was going to be sick from anxiety. He was barely aware of Ginny clasping his one hand, and Hermione patting his other, Ron's hand on his shoulder.
“All those in favor of conviction of Severus Tobias Snape?”
One hand… Five hands… Twenty hands… Thirty-five… Stephans' own hand raised…
The votes were recorded.
“And all those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?”
His heart pounding like a tribal drum in his ears, Harry counted, his own hand raised first. One hand… Ten hands… Twenty-two… Forty five… Sixty… Hawkins, Kingsley, the Weasleys, his friends and the professors…
C'mon, Cmon. Please, Harry silently begged, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.
Hawkins raised her mallet high. “The votes are as follows: fifty-seven against sixty. Severus Snape is cleared of all charges, earning a pardon from the Ministry of Magic, and may collect his wand.” Her mallet fell for the final time. “Thank you all, meeting adjourned!”
The audience erupted in a mix of protests and cheers, but all sound seemed to be drowned out in Harry's head. He was on his feet in an instant, barely aware of his feet racing him down to his mentor. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, just in time to see Severus standing from the chair, his hands released from the manacles. Their eyes met, both ridden with shock and relief, and Harry ran. Uncaring of the watching audience, he threw his arms around Severus' neck, tightening them in a tight lock, and felt Severus' own strong ones return the embrace. Both their forms were trembling and shaking, and both would later deny the tears of joy and relief that fell. Severus clung to Harry tighter, as though afraid of losing him, but Harry didn't mind. The relief and happiness coursing through him made him feel giddy.
They stood there like that for a while, both just drawing comfort from the other. The astonished crowd had since dispersed, and only the Weasleys, his friends, Kingsley, and Amelia remained behind… Eventually, with a pat on the back from Severus, they parted their embrace, and Harry's breath caught in his throat at the warmth in the black eyes that were locked with his own green ones. The man was smiling openly at him, and Harry returned it with a grin.
They'd done it.
For the next half hour, the two lingered to converse with everyone. For the majority, Severus talked with Kingsley and McGonagall, and then a bit with the other professors and the Weasley parents. Harry spoke with everyone, accepting their congratulations and shaking their hands. His friends and girlfriend enveloped him in a tight embrace, and Ginny even pecked him proudly on the cheek. Harry and Severus then both took a minute to talk to Amelia to thank her for representing them.
Severus briefly mentioned wondering where the Malfoys had gone, and Harry knew the man wished to see them, but they seemed to have fled as soon as the trial had ended.
The Weasleys tried insistently to invite Severus and Harry for dinner at the Burrow, but Severus politely refused (or, as politely as the word went for the man). Once everyone started to leave for their respectives homes, Harry and Severus took a trip to collect the man's ebony wand from the Law Department welcoming front counter, and surprisingly, took the elevator up to muggle London. When they emerged, they were greeted with summer sunlight and fresh air.
“I would like to take you somewhere, if you are amenable?” he offered hesitantly, extending his arm to Harry. Curious, Harry accepted it, and the next thing he knew, they were aparating away to a location unknown.
Notes:
Alriiiiiight. So. SO. Ummmm... Always with the excuses, I know, I know, but I feel like I really half-assed this chapter, but my fam and I are moving to a new home and we ave this weekend to pack EVERYTHING, so I didn't really have much time to edit this. I literally had to do it on my phone, lol, so if there were any grammar, punctuation, or spelling mistakes.. Well, you know. Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed. One more chapter and an epilogue left - whoo-hoo! Honestly, cannot wait for this story to end cuz I'm just kinda tired of it. It really was a huge project to take on. I'll try my best with the last chapter and the epilogue though, so stay tuned.
Little update on my next story, I absolutely love the way it's turning out! It's a slice of life kind of fic, takes place in the summer before Harry's Sixth Year, and he's isolated with Snape (ofc) in Cokeworth for two weeks. I'm going to let you guys know more about it in the End Notes of the epilogue. Let me know if any of you are interested:D
PS: I I promise I'm not going to half ass anything there;P
As always, comment and let me know your thoughts, I always love to hear them. TYSM for all the support you've given me in the last chapter! This week is going to be hecka hectic for me, sooooo....
Next chapter: 9th March!
Chapter Text
The first thing Harry took in was the breathtaking scenery of a green park and lake; he immediately recognised the willow tree from Severus’s memories of where he and his mum had lain down on the soft grass, right beside the bank, and felt his breath get caught in his throat. The hot summer sun beat down on them, but it was welcome after the cold chill of the Ministry courtrooms.
Harry gasped softly. “Sir, isn't this the park where—?”
“The one and only,” replied Severus, his voice soft and ridden with an unnamed emotion. Harry smiled up at him, but Severus turned away when the harsh sunlight reflected off his round frames into his eyes. The Gryffindor sniggered, earning a dry look from the man… Severus then began sauntering away, and Harry followed, taking everything in.
Eventually, they came up at a small hilly bank beneath a large willow tree, and Harry realized this was the very same spot where Severus and Lily had lain when they were little… Beside him, Severus stood and gazed out at the magnificent lake, the water glittering in the sun as the soft summer breeze formed ripples.
Harry lowered himself to the ground without a second thought, laying on his back and resting his hands under his head. He closed his eyes, imagining his mentor and his mum here as kids, so innocent, young, and sinless… It was truly amazing to imagine that just a week ago he and Severus had been on a perilous mission to locate the Death Eater stronghold. And not an hour ago they were sitting in the courtroom. Now they were in this historic place.
Peeking an eye open, Harry saw Severus looking at him strangely, with a soft gleam in his dark eyes that was fondness-ridden. Then, surprising the seventeen-year-old, he too lowered himself onto the grass. laying beside him, though visibly stiffly and uncomfortably. He appeared uncertain of what to do with his hands, so he settled on neatly clasping them over his chest.
“Harry,” he said in a gentle voice, one ridden with fondness. “Thank you.”
At that moment, Harry turned his head towards him, a few leaves and twigs in his messy mop of hair, smiling melancholically. Severus felt his throat tighten as the sight of the emerald green eyes.
“Told you we would pull through, sir.”
This whole scene felt surreal to Severus, as though he had gone back in time and it was Lily beside him. The weather, the lake, even their positions on the ground… And, of course, someone he cared for deeply.
Three decades ago those eyes had belonged to Lily Evans, but now they belonged to her son, a fine, young man whom Severus couldn’t be prouder of. Who would have thought that they would ever end up where they were now?
Indeed, the boy had somehow weaseled his way into Severus’s heart, and he had grown to care for him probably more than he should have. It brought on a pang of hurt in his chest when he remembered that the boy was James Potter’s, not his… But Harry was the first person in decades whom Severus claimed to be his family, and he couldn't deny that he thought of Harry as his own. He was done with prejudice. Harry was his own individual, not only James' and Lily's son.
Harry was the son the fates had decided wasn’t meant to be his, a once bitter reminder of all he'd caused and lost. Now, though, the boy’s parents were dead, and he still needed guidance, a parental figure… and Severus deeply wished to be that someone. Oh, he was sure he'd been that person to the boy for a while now, and their relationship was familial and mutual, but somehow it didn't feel enough. Like HE wasn't enough.
During their mission, Severus had faced a rollercoaster of emotions, feeling, anxiety, pride, tranquility… He'd felt immeasurable fear for Harry, afraid that something might have happened at any second and he would lose him. Even though he had been there, wand trained and at the ready, it still hadn't felt enough.
But Harry had reassured him that he WAS enough, hadn't he? And who was Severus to judge anyway? He'd never had much of a family growing up. Harry hadn't either. So perhaps both would learn along the way. And the trial had made him realize that, no matter what, he would always have Harry. His chest had swelled with insurmountable pride when Harry had stood up for him so fiercely in court.
Now, a familiar feeling threatened to overwhelm Severus. He dreaded Harry leaving him. He knew it was childish and ridiculous, but for the first time in his life, Severus didn't want to be alone. He would miss Harry's occasional cheeky remarks and his unfathomable wisdom that was more suitable for a 70 year old… He would miss Harry.
But he knew he was being selfish by even thinking of this and it disgusted him. He couldn't watch over Harry forever. One day, soon, he was sure that Harry and Miss. Weasley (Or someone else) would settle down and have their own family, a real one. Harry would be happy, and what did it matter if some ex-Death Eater was left forgotten, cast aside?
He would finally dedicate his time to Potions Research, perhaps even invent and sell potions and brews…
He sighed, unknowingly catching Harry’s attention.
"Sev? What are you going to do now?” asked Harry. “I mean, Prince Manor's destroyed, and I know you're not exactly fond of Cokeworth… Do you think you might come back to teaching at Hogwarts?”
Severus immediately shook his head, a deep frown on his face. “I will not be returning to resume my post at Hogwarts. It would be highly inappropriate.” His tone was firm and set, just as his mind. Harry frowned a bit, but didn't argue. Severus then gazed skyward in thought. “As to my residence, I am… unsure. I will most definitely return to Cokeworth, but I have every intention of selling the place. Perhaps I'll buy a residence somewhere in the countryside…” he mused, for once indulging himself in such fascinations.
Yes, the demons of his mistakes and sins continued to haunt him still, perhaps forever would. That was something Severus would perhaps never rid himself of. But he was now a free man. He had not cowered away, nor was he currently on the run from the Ministry. Those few days spent in Azkaban after he'd come out of his stupor, the only thought keeping Severus sane in that dingy and cold cell had been that Harry would fight for him, that Lily had forgiven him, and that he now had the closest thing to a son he had ever had. Harry considered him a father, and Severus considered him a son, and that was perfect. After decades, he'd found family. Yes, Harry was his family, whom he loved dearly.
And the fact that Lily approved…
“That sounds nice,” mused Harry. “I almost envy you for it… I mean, you'll be a recluse from all the press, Daily Prophets, and fame. Me…”
Severus thinned his lips amusedly. “Hmm… Tough luck, Mr. Potter.”
Harry scoffed at the name.Severus chuckled.
"Gone are the days I could address you with 'Mr. Potter' without a second's thought."
“No kidding. It's strange… but nice. Hey, just so you know, Sev,” began Harry hesitantly again, shredding a few grass blades with his fingers, “You're always more than welcome at Grimmauld Place.”
Severus quirked an eyebrow at him. “You're planning to take up residence there?”
Harry shrugged. “Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to go. I s'pose Kreacher will be bored,” he tried humorously, though it came out awkward. Severus realized what was plaguing the Gryffindor's mind.
“Should you wish it… you may sojourn with me until the start of the school year — lest you already have plans with the Weasleys?” he quickly said, feeling nervous.
To his surprise, a wide grin overcame Harry, and the sight warmed him. “Really? I— I mean, I wouldn't want to 'burden you with my annoying presence'… Y'know, I would probably blow up your lab within a day too,” he drawled cheekily. Severus promptly reached over to swat his head playfully. “Hey!”
“That was well-deserved, wouldn't you agree, Harry?”
“Pfft. Well, alright then. But you've just dug your own grave, professor.”
He hummed. “I believe I'd begun that process when I took the Dark Mark,” replied Severus darkly, and then the thought of why exactly he'd chosen to come here sprang back to him. Expression serious, he sat up and brandished his ebony wand. It felt good to be reunited with the piece of wood — a week had felt like an eternity without it.
“Sir?”
Unresponsive, the wizard waved his wand in a circle over his free palm, and in it appeared a sight that made his face twist in revulsion.
The Death Eater mask.
“I do believe it is high time I disintegrated this, wouldn't you quite agree?”
The boy rose to his feet with him and joined the older wizard at his side, watching him expectantly with an agreeing smile. Severus indignantly spat on the offending artifact and threw it to the grass.
“Final parting words of, professor?”
Severus thought for a moment. Indeed, the occasion called for some words of parting.
And what was he to say to the symbol of some of his biggest mistakes in his life? What was he to say to the mask behind which he'd watched, unwillingly, as muggles and wizards alike were torture? Behind which he had tortured and killed? He had received this mask the day he'd been branded with the Dark Mark, a day he would forever regret till his dying breath… The Mask that he'd been manipulated by an old coot to wear for nearly seventeen years…
“It is not even worthy of my breath ,” he spat with venom. “Bescorchio Ignis!”
And the pair watched with satisfied faces as the Mask disintegrated before their eyes. The fire didn't spread, only stuck to the silver Mask, which first shriveled up and then melted like butter over fire.
“The same spell you used to burn my clothes,” murmured Harry with a grin. “How poetic, professor.”
Severus smirked, watching as the breeze blew away the ashes that remained and carrying them over to the lake. When he breathed in, it felt like he hadn't truly smelled the air since childhood. He felt free, and with Harry standing beside him, the feeling was enough to pull a grin on his face.
“You know, Harry,” he said as he draped an arm around the boy's shoulders. They were looking over the lake. “I may not say it enough, but I am proud of you. You have grown into a wonderful young man, and I've no doubt that both your parents are proud.”
Harry's face brightened, his emerald-green eyes sparkling like gemstones in the sunlight. They smiled at one another warmly, and Harry rested his head on Severus' shoulder.
“Thanks. You know, I'm proud of you too, Severus.”
They had pulled through.
Notes:
THANK YOU SO MUCH for 20k hits!!!! This is the last chapter-chapter, but the epilogue will be like chapter 58, ig? Yeah. There's so many things I want to say but let's wait until the epillogue tomorrow(9th March);D Thank you for reading and please review🤗😁
Chapter 58: Epilogue: 19 Years Later
Summary:
All was well.
Notes:
WARNING: incoming text directly borrowed from JK's book. I just edited some stuff in. Just so we're all clear on that:)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air.
Two large cages tattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and the redheaded girl trailed fearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father's arm.
"It won't be long, and you'll be going too," Harry told her.
"Two years," sniffed Lily. "I want to go now!"
The commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Albus's voice drifted back to Harry over the surrounding clamor; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car.
"I won't! I won't be a Slytherin!"
"James, give it a rest!" said Ginny.
"I only said he might be," said James, grinning at his younger brother. "There's nothing wrong with that. He might be in Slytherin."
But James caught his mother's eye and fell silent. The five Potters approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run. A moment later, he had vanished.
"You'll write to me, won't you?" Albus asked his parents immediately, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his brother.
"Every day, if you want us to," said Ginny.
"Not every day," said Albus quickly, "James says most people only get letters from home about once a month."
"We wrote to James three times a week last year," said Ginny.
"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Harry put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."
Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Albus winced, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James had already disappeared.
"Where are they?" asked Albus anxiously, peering at the hazy forms they passed as they made their way down the platform.
"We'll find them," said Ginny reassuringly. Harry was also craning his head this way and that over the hundreds of heads for a particular one…
But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud, Harry thought he heard Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello. . . .
"I think that's them, Al," said Ginny suddenly.
A group of four people emerged from the mist, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Harry, Ginny, Lily, and Albus had drawn right up to them.
"Hi," said Albus, sounding immensely relieved.
Rose, who was already wearing her brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him.
"Parked all right, then?" Ron asked Harry. "I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confound the examiner."
"No, I didn't," said Hermione, "I had complete faith in you."
"As a matter of fact, I did Confund him," Ron whispered to Harry, as together they lifted Albus's trunk and owl onto the train. "I only forgot to look in the wing mirror, and let's face it, I can use a Supersensory Charm for that."
Back on the platform, they found Lily and Hugo, Rose's younger brother, having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts.
"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," said Ron, "but no pressure."
"Ron!"
But at that precise moment, a familiar silky voice drawled, “Preaching your stereotypical Gryffindor propaganda again, Mr. Weasley?”
Lily and Hugo laughed, but Albus and Rose looked spooked. Harry turned around to find Severus, clad in his usual dark suit and robes. He beamed at him broadly and rushed over to embrace him briefly. Severus did likewise and patted him on the back.
"He doesn't mean it," placated Hermione and Ginny. Ron was rubbing his neck nervously, trying to laugh it off. Harry knew he didn't mean it.
“You made it!” Harry told Severus, half disbelieving. “I thought you really wouldn't make it when you said you were being held up in Germany.”
The Slytherin smirked. “So did I. Fortunately, I managed to finish the order early by altering the amount of powdered thornfish spines.”
“Well, I'm glad you could make it,” asserted Harry, frowning a bit sadly. “You've been so busy with all those brewing orders… I mean, Germany? That's pretty cool.”
Ginny, Ron, and Hermione approached to greet him and exchange a few pleasant words. The kids did likewise, but as always Sevverus' eyes fell particularly on Albus, softening. The boy smiled sheepishly at him and waved.
“Have you finished reading the book I gave you, Mr. Potter?” inquired the Potions Master, the title thrown in a playful tone.
“Yes, Uncle Sev, ”Albus nodded, mumbling the affirmative answer. He was still a bit intimidated by the dark-clad wizard, despite their past familial interactions. Harry's youngest son was an aspiring Potions Master, and Severus had a soft spot for him.
He and Albus continued to converse, but Ron caught Harry's eye as he nodded covertly to a point some fifty yards away. The steam had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist.
"Look who it is."
Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was receding somewhat, which emphasized the pointed chin. The new boy resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry.
Draco caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly, and turned away again.
"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath, ensuring Severus couldn't hear him this time. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."
"Ron, for heaven's sake," said Hermione, half stern, half amused. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"
"You're right, sorry," said Ron, but unable to help himself, he added, "Don't get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood." For a moment, Draco Malfoy caught their eyes, and then his gray ones fell on something that made his face screw up. Ron's eyes suddenly widened as he glanced between one of Harry's children's caged familiars. “Har— Did you deliberately get James a ferret to give Malfoy trauma?”
Harry didn't get a chance to reply (not that he was going to).
"Hey!"
James had reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley, and was evidently bursting with news. He caught Severus' eye though, and the two nodded pleasantly at one another.
"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam.
"Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging
Victoire!"
He gazed up at the adults, evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction.
"Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked teddy
what he was doing –"
"You interrupted them?" said Ginny. "You are so like Ron –"
" – and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's snogging her!" James added as though worried he had not made himself clear.
"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!" whispered Lily ecstatically. "Teddy would really be part of the family then!"
"He already comes round for dinner about four times a week," said Harry "Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?"
"Yeah!" said James enthusiastically. "I don't mind sharing with Al– Teddy could have my room!"
Severus' eyebrows shot comically to his hairline at the idea at the same time as Harry firmly said, "No. You and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished."
He checked the battered old watch that had once been Fabian Prewett's.
"It's nearly eleven, you'd better get on board."
"Don't forget to give Neville our love!" Ginny told James as she hugged him.
"Mum! I can't give a professor love!"
"But you know Neville –"
James rolled his eyes.
"Outside, yeah, but at school he's Professor Longbottom, isn't he? I can't walk into Herbology and give him love. . . ."
Shaking his head at his mother's foolishness, he vented his feelings by aiming a kick at Albus, but Severus promptly gripped the younger's shoulders and moved his aside for the blow to miss. Instead, the wizard swatted the older boy's head, giving him one of his protective 'touch him again, I dare you' looks. James simply sniggered, shugged, and ran away.
"See you later, Al. Watch out for the thestrals."
"I thought they were invisible? You said they were invisible!"
but James merely laughed, permitted his mother to kiss him, gave his father a fleeting hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. They saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.
"Thestrals are nothing to worry about," Harry told Albus. "They're gentle things, there's nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won't be going up to school in the carriages, you'll be going in the boats."
Ginny pulled Albus out of his uncle's grip and kissed her son good-bye.
"See you at Christmas."
"Bye, Al," said Harry as his son hugged him. "Don't forget Hagrid's invited you to tea next Friday. Don't mess with Peeves. Don't duel anyone till you've learned how. And don't let James wind you up."
"What if I'm in Slytherin?"
The whisper was for his father alone, and Harry knew that only the moment of departure could have forced Albus to reveal how great and sincere that fear was. Harry crouched down so that Albus's face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry's three children, Albus had inherited Lily's eyes.
"Ablus Severus," Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was busy trying to invite Severus over for lunch and dinner as they watched Rose waving at them from the train window, "you were named after two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them is a Slytherin and he is the bravest man I have ever known."
"But just say--"
" –then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."
"Really?"
"It did for me," said Harry.
He had never told any of his children that before, and he saw the wonder in Albus's face when he said it. But how the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents swarming forward for final kisses, last-minute reminders. Albus nodded, but before he could flee for the train he quickly rushed over to embrace Severus tightly, wrapping his arms around his waist. The Slytherin looked caught off-guard, but his eyes warmed considerably and he returned the gesture. He ruffled the boy's unruly locks, and Albus then jumped into the carriage. Ginny closed the door behind him. Students were hanging from the windows nearest them. A great number of faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned toward Harry.
"Why are they all staring?" demanded Albus as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students.
"Don't let it worry you," said Ron. "It's me, I'm extremely famous."
Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry and Severus walked alongside it, Ginny behind them, watching his son's thin face already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him. . . .
The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry's hand was still raised in farewell.
"He'll be alright," murmured his mentor, resting a hand on his shoulder.
As Harry looked at him, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.
"I know he will."
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
Notes:
YESSSS!!!! We did it!!!!! last chapter POSTED! I AM SOOO HAPPY! 🥳🥳🥳This was such a long journey but I'm really glad I saw it through to the end! Can't believe I wrote this many words..... TYSM to all of you for sticking with this story and reading it through to the end, I really hope you've all enjoyed it😇 I've greatly improved my writing skills (drastically, even).Thank you for all of your amazing comments and feedback and such, not to mention all the support. You guys are simply amazing, fantastic, splendifurous(if that's a word?)! AND 20K HITS!? TYSM!!!
In the first few chapters someone had suggested this epilogue idea with the whole 'Harry naming his youngest son after Severus' thing. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find that comment but YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Also I was really considering naming him 'Severus Albus' not 'Albus Severus' cuz it would be more fitting, but canon is canon and I thought it would be weird if there were two Severuses.
FR though I can't belive this fic has come to an end.
ANYWAY. You may be wondering 'what's next?' (if not then why u hurt me like dat?). Well, I'll answer that! My next fic (Severitus, ofc) is in the making and I have been obsessing over it. To put things in perspective, whenever I go to write that shit I put on somber HP songs and I WRITE ONLY AT NIGHT. Which, if you're a writer, you'll know THAT'S the BEST time to write.
OK OK. What's it about? Taking place in the summer after Harry's fifth year, that Gryffindor is ridden with guilt, remorse, and is depressed as F. The Dursleys aren't helping things either. Suddenly, the wards around Number 4, Privet Drive fall and Harry isn't safe anymore. Dumbledore orchestrates for Harry to stay with Snape in Cokeworth. In isolation. For two weeks. Snape hates Harry, the feeling is very much mutual, and the Gryffindor is a ticking sleep-deprived bomb that just can't get a break from nightmares. I'm sure you can tell that right there is a dangerous concoction>:D Angst, hurt/comfort/juicy drama. This fic is a slice-of-life story and explores themes such as depression, panic attacks, phsychology, and so on. The fic will be called 'Two Weeks' and every chapter = one day. And the chapters are LONG. Another fun fact is that I'm writing it entirely on paper first and then I'll digitalize it (I dread that cumbersome endeavor). I'm really trying to focus on the build up to H's and S' ultimate overcoming of their mutual dislike for one another. Because in many Severitus stories (at least for me) their bond just developes too quickly and unfoundedly. This story is also in third person omniscient, so Harry's and Snape's POVs change irregularly. I'm also trying not to stray too far from canon, as well as keeping the characters in-character.
When is it coming out? Not sure. I'll probably start uploading at the end of March(but I really can't be certain). If you guys are interested in it then I suggest subscribing to my account (idk if that's even an option?) and you'll be informed when I next upload smth. I'm already halfway through ch.9 btw.
With that being said, TYSM again for sticking with me though this journey, I hope you've all enjoyed. AS ALWAYS comment your thoughts and stuff, I love reading them!!! And I guess this is goodbye for now<:D
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