Chapter Two: The Years of Unexpected Grace
"Whatever are you doing, Severus?" Minvera asked with some surprise when she stepped into his study to find the man packing.
"Going away," he offered brusquely, ignoring her in favor of eyeing a rather large book speculatively before setting it aside.
"Clearly," the woman said with some asperity, "but where, and how long should we expect your absence?" She quashed the sudden pain at losing her prickly friend in favor of the hope she felt, that he would flourish away from the castle.
Severus repressed the initial urge to snap that it wasn't anyone's business. He was well aware that even he wasn't certain of anything—where, when, how long…and he readily admitted there was a sort of manic edge, a dangerous feeling, to his urge to leave. The cautious and responsible part of his brain urged him to stay until he at least had a plan, but there was nothing more disgusting to him at this moment than the life he had lived for two long, grueling decades.
It didn't help that—something—had passed between himself and the Boy Who Lived the previous night. Upon waking, he had realized that if it had been anyone else in the world, he would have kissed the flushed and rumpled young man without a second thought. Regardless of what Molly might say about wizarding ages, it was absolutely unacceptable to Severus to consider Harry Potter and sexual interest in the same breath. Clearly, he needed to get out more.
"I don't know, Minerva," he said with an unusual lack of sarcasm or inflection. "I am sorry to leave so abruptly, and I will write you. I simply cannot stand this place another minute." The honesty in his voice seemed to startle her for a moment, after which she smiled at him indulgently. He, on the other hand, had turned back to his packing as though deeply unsettled by his own forthrightness.
"Of course, Severus. Please do write, and I hope you find all the happiness you very much deserve, wherever you end up. I do hope to see you, on occasion, of course." She responded as he straightened, shrinking his trunk and pocketing it.
"I will visit, I am sure, if only to avoid your hounding me," he replied, ignoring the bit about deserving happiness. Whether or not happiness was deserved, he would leave for latter judgment. For now, he intended to take what he could of it.
"Goodbye, Severus," Minerva said a trifle sadly, pulling his stiff and formal figure into a tight hug. While he did not return it, he also did not resist, and that was all she expected.
"Goodbye, Minerva," he said gravely. Extracting himself from the one-sided hug, he gave her a small smile and disapperated, leaving a satisfyingly shocked woman in his wake. After all, not just anyone could apparate from inside Hogwarts.
The next two years saw Severus Snape the happiest he had ever been, though on anyone else it would have merely been called contentment. The lines around his eyes eased and his skin, if not tanned, was a healthier shade of white as opposed to a dungeon-induced pallor. He lived almost exclusively off of his savings, taking potions commissions only when they were significantly challenging—or expensive—enough to be worth his while.
He traveled, and the anonymity he found in the crowds of other wizarding societies eased something in him. While still a very restrained, cynical, and sarcastic man, he found his mind more ready to bend towards humor than bitterness as time wore on, free of the burdens he had left behind.
After a year spent in leisure, Severus finally felt ready to check in on things back home. While he had kept a correspondence with Minerva, it had never touched deeply upon current events. They had discussed Severus's travels, and Minerva's work as Headmistress, but rarely had their discussion turned to what went on in Wizarding Britain as a whole. Therefore, he was both shocked and deeply amused when he bulk-ordered monthly editions of both the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler (while both papers were very loose with facts in opposite ways, a combination of both extremes were useful to determine the truth).
The first few months after he had left were the usual drivel—the incompetent Ministry was still attempting to round up Death Eaters, some type of invisible magical creature was on the loose again—but the most recent months editions held a shock.
The Boy Who Lived—The next Dark Lord?
Severus snorted at that; the boy was incapable of the sort of masterful manipulations needed to organize and rule even a small subset of the population, and he had never been studious. Who in their right mind would believe such drivel? Intrigued despite himself, he read on, and found himself increasingly disturbed.
While the Ministry tracked down the remaining followers of You-Know-Who, Harry Potter had other plans. Using his newfound Inheritance, he was able to summon the remaining followers to his side—and who knows what he will do next?
Useless drivel, completely devoid of facts! Severus harrumphed, and picked up the Quibbler from the same month.
Harry Potter Once Again Saves the Wizarding World!
All by himself? Severus thought sarcastically, but this rendition of events at least had more useful information.
Harry Potter has spoken with this author in a direct interview in order to dispel misinformation on the subject of the remaining Death Eaters. From what he is able to figure out, his connection to Voldemort led him to be able to summon the remaining Death Eaters to him, and remand them unto the tender mercies of the Ministry. As of now, the last known followers of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named have been imprisoned at the newly renovated Azkaban. Harry Potter has also admitted to this author that he performed an obliviate charm on all the Death Eaters he summoned, after the ministry had received full confessions under veritaserum. When questioned, he said that he hoped the memory wipe would give the Death Eaters a 'clean slate', if not with society, then at least with themselves.
Utter rubbish! There was only one way to know for sure what had really happened. He had to talk to Minerva, and not over post. If Harry bloody Potter could summon him with a thought, by Merlin he had the right to know! He made his way to the hearth and firecalled her without preamble. It was nearly eleven in the evening, so he took a rarely-used liberty and called directly into her private sitting room.
"Minerva!" He snapped, spotting her in repose on the settee.
"Severus?" she asked with concern, setting her book aside. "Whatever is the matter?"
"What is this nonsense about Potter?" He demanded, waving the paper through the flames too quickly for her to see it properly.
"I suppose you mean the Death Eater summoning," she said with a sigh, seeming to have expected this discussion.
"What in the blazes is this about? Don't tell me Potter can actually summon Death Eaters to him the way the Dark Lord once did—that is utter rubbish and you know it!"
Minerva fixed him with a steady look. "Why don't you come all the way through and I'll order in some tea; this isn't exactly a conversation to be had without a proper sit down."
Grumbling, Severus complied. Once he was seated with his tea fixed to his satisfaction, Minerva began to speak.
"I am only going to tell you this story once, Severus, so will you please keep the commentary to yourself until I have finished? I doubt Mr. Potter would like anyone telling the truth of the matter beyond the interview he gave for the Quibbler, but considering your unique circumstances and relationship to Harry I think you have a right to know the full of it."
"Relationship—" Severus began, but Minerva spoke over him.
"After you left, Harry discovered his power had grown exponentially. While he was certainly a powerful wizard before, his power once again seemed to double on his twentieth birthday."
"Double?" Severus choked, going white. Potter had been more powerful than the Dark Lord, by the end of the war, rivaling Albus for strength. The idea of such a powerful wizard suddenly having exponentially increased powers turned his stomach to knots, despite the paragon of virtue that Potter seemed to be.
"You can see why he doesn't wish to discuss it," Minerva said ruefully. "He has been hounded left and right by those who'd like to use him, worship him, or condemn him. He's kept a low profile, but the Death Eater summoning caused quite a stir."
"Am I to believe that Potter was truly able to summon the Death Eaters to him?" Severus asked, still trying to wrap his brain around the amount of power she had said Potter possessed. If it had been anyone other than Minerva, he would have doubted it, but as it was, he was hard pressed to imagine it.
"Yes, Severus," she said gently. "Mr. Potter and Miss. Granger believe that his scar gave him the unique ability. While Voldemort is dead, Harry retains his ability to speak Parsletongue, among other things. He says he can feel what he calls an echo of Voldemort through his scar. It's very clear to him, he says, that the man is dead, but the power signature remains. Using that, he was able to summon the Death Eaters, and obliviate them collectively, after their confessions at the Ministry."
"He cannot possibly be as powerful as you say, for I was not summoned even though I was not too far out of Voldemort's previous summoning range at the time." He said, taking a steadying breath. Minerva looked at him with fond asperity.
"Severus, Harry doesn't consider you a Death Eater." She said gently.
"I highly doubt his considerations would be relevant. He's using the magical signature of the Dark Lord to summon the other fragments of that signature—mainly, the dark mark. Potter's personal beliefs about my affiliations would hardly come into play." He retorted with some amount of asperity himself.
"Perhaps you should ask him, then," she suggested, with a look that he couldn't quite decipher.
"If he has dominion over Voldemort's magical signature, including the fragment currently imbedded in my arm, I do not want to be anywhere near Potter! Just thinking of what he could do with such power is revolting." More like terrifying, but he wasn't about to admit that, even to Minerva.
"You know Harry would never use that power over you." Minerva chided gently.
"I do not plan to give him the temptation. Thank you for the tea, Minerva, it was quite enlightening." With that, he left as abruptly as he had come, and she was left to shake her head after him before returning to her book.
Severus Snape's recently found peace of mind had been shattered by the revelations about the remaining Death Eaters, and there was no way to avoid the fact any longer. He stared across the Mediterranean sea with vacant eyes, not seeming to even notice the dazzling view of the harbor at sunset, or the Grecian homes peppering the bay to his left. As he stared, his hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically around one another in his lap. If his grandparents had seen such a thing, he would surely have been smacked for the nervous tick, but as it was there were no witnesses, and the man himself hadn't noticed.
Harry Potter—apparently double the power of the two most powerful men alive, and able to summon him with a thought.
Severus had left Minerva's sitting room and immediately packed his cottage in France, traveling immediately further south and out of what he measured as double the range of the Dark Lords summoning power. Although apparently out of range, he had been unable to focus since their conversation. Unanswered questions still hounded him; he had gone back, again and again, to every moment he had interacted with Potter, the Dark Lord, or Albus.
He had spent weeks wracking his brain for the answers, looking first for any sign of Potter's apparent power, then in an attempt to understand the boy's character. Was it possible he would become the next power-thirsty megalomaniac? Despite what Snape had always said, it had never seemed that Potter cared much for fame, power, or glory. Potter didn't appear to have the thirst for the knowledge and ability to influence others that Albus—Merlin grant him peace—had struggled to control. While not as obviously harmful as the Dark Lords drive for dominion and supremacy, Albus had by necessity needed to be cautious of becoming the very thing he fought against, and had only sometimes succeeded. With as much innate magical power, talent, and charisma as Albus had possessed, the combination of being granted a great deal of authority in their world and his masterful ability to manipulate had occasionally ended in despair. Albus, he knew, had deeply regretted many of his manipulations and machinations, but Severus had still never seen the man look as alive or joyous as when Albus saw a long-planned scheme come to fruition.
As a powerful wizard himself, Severus had often felt similar temptations to exert his will upon those who were weaker, and this had often even manifested itself in petty ways—such as his ill treatment of Potter. He had however never used his power or position of authority to cause what he considered true harm, and had thus never felt much guilt over his occasional lapses in controlling his own bitterness.
Having been a fairly-powerful wizard caught between two devastatingly strong ones for over two decades, he felt confident in assessing both men, as well as Harry Potter; weighing their characters and sifting them through the filament to find what he was looking for. Unfortunately, the knowledge he had of Harry Potter was sorely lacking. When they had not been completely at odds, they had been working to bring down the Dark Lord.
Most of what he knew of Potter was war-related. The young man was clever on his feet, utterly rubbish at long term planning or strategy, incredibly lucky, far too daring, easily manipulated on behalf of those he loved, fiercely loyal, surprisingly cunning in a quicksilver manner, easy to anger, and quick to forgive. He had apparently obliviated Death Eaters to give them a 'clean slate', for heaven's sake! Surely he did not need to worry about Potter becoming the next Dark Lord or Dumbledore.
Even still, Snape could not let things go. Even if he did not need to worry over Potter using his powers for ill, he still had his own skin to think of, and the Death Eater summoning conundrum to worry over. What he had told Minerva was true; if Potter was truly as powerful as she had said, he would have summoned Snape when he summoned the other Death Eaters. To Severus' knowledge, there was no way for the younger man to summon a selection of Death Eaters. Voldemort may have been able to summon people in particular as he pleased, but Potter was working off of a faint power-signature—he wasn't the creator of the curse and he didn't have the knowledge Voldemort had about how it worked.
On top of all of this lay the seething emotions he had thought had been dealt with in the last few years of grace. Shame, guilt, bitterness, rage, and sorrow tugged his mind down different paths, reliving memories he much preferred to avoid. Being a good Occlumancer had always meant he kept much better stock of his emotions than most, and he normally had forced himself to deal with his feelings with brutal rationality and dismissive release. A stray feeling or thought at the wrong time could be his doom, so he had always been a meticulous caretaker of his minds garden.
What he had not and never could have taught Potter about Occlumency was that feelings, unfortunately, had to be felt before they could be dealt with. Since the end of the war, Severus Snape had let his garden go to seed, burying memories he felt no desire to examine, glossing over deep internal paradoxes he had no energy to contemplate. If he was ever going to be able to think clearly enough to begin to answer all of his questions and fears over the news about Harry Potter, he would need to get his mind and his emotions back under control.
Sighing, he stood to head in. He was in for a long and difficult several weeks, but unlike the year directly after the war, he now felt capable of dealing with what he had buried and left behind. Time and distance had done their work, and he was ready to face the man in the mirror, as it were—or so he hoped.
It was now long after the sun had set, and his hands were red and chapped, but Severus Snape was determined to solve—and even a little excited by—the new puzzle that had presented itself.