Harry's desire to talk to Severus Snape had been strong, almost overwhelming. He'd been fretting and fussing the whole day long, until Ginny asked him pointedly whether he didn't have to do some Auroring, preferably in a faraway place without a Floo connection.
He'd taken the hint and retreated, grumpy but docile, to his study where he'd spent the time until four p.m. going through all the memories he kept in a well-warded cabinet, all of them bottled and labelled.
The memories seeping from Snape's head when he died hadn't been the silvery wisps Harry had come to know in the years before. They were tar-like, viscous and almost black. The memories of a dying man.
He'd started with those. It had been years since he'd last visited them; upon closer examination, Harry realized that he hadn't looked at them for nary on twenty years. They were still crystal clear in his mind, but then refreshing them wasn't the purpose of this walk down memory lane
Snape was alive now – impossible to predict whether this was a lasting condition, how long he'd be staying at Hermione's house, how long he'd be accessible enough for the kind of talk Harry had in mind. If he was accessible today, that is, but Harry had a feeling as if, unless he got lucky today, there wasn't going to be another occasion anytime soon.
He paused briefly after going though the glutinous, almost-black memories he'd scooped up in the Shrieking Shack and secured in a jar Hermione had conjured. Then, he poured his own recollections into the pensieve, one by one, following himself through childhood and adolescence, dogging his own steps and paying close attention to the hook-nosed, greasy-haired, foul-tempered teacher in black.
He didn't draw any conclusions, not yet; it was too early for that. He merely made sure that his raw data were all in place. Pity, really, he mused, that his future opinion of Severus Snape was likely to be determined by the outcome of one single conversation. They ought to have more time.
Harry was sure that he and Snape were never going to become anything even remotely close to friends. But he had enough friends. He didn't need Severus Snape to be his pal. He needed to understand Severus Snape, because understanding Severus Snape might be the key to a better understanding of himself.
The awareness that there was some hidden likeness, too vague to be called a bond, had been there the moment he'd viewed Snape's memories for the first time. Seeing that awkward boy wearing ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes had given him a jolt, as had child-Snape's general air of neglect. There was a common denominator. Maybe the solution was to be found right where the differences began. They'd chosen such different paths. If he understood Snape's choice, maybe he'd be able to understand his own.
Not an entirely altruistic purpose then, but certainly a worthy one.
Fortunately Snape didn't believe in altruism. Had Jesus offered to work a miracle for him, give him a more pleasant-shaped nose maybe, Snape would've got out his pouch of Galleons and paid the man. Refusal of such payment wouldn't have made Snape believe in the power of love; it would have made him deeply suspicious of that bearded guy with his dusty sandals.
No, there was no need for pretence when you had to deal with Snape.
Harry glanced at his watch – it was almost time for him to leave.
o
The door of the Weasleys' family home in Tinworth was opened by a rather sour-looking Severus Snape.
'Mr Potter. Hermione told me you wanted to talk to me.'
'I'd like to, Professor. If you are willing, of course.'
Severus stepped back to let him in. 'Willing seems a rather strong term.'
With the door closed, the entrance was half-dark. The two men peered at each other.
'I suppose there's more eagerness on my part,' Harry said. 'But I don't like being left with half-truths I then have to puzzle out all by myself.'
'A state of mind common to all of Dumbledore's victims, I believe.'
'You certainly were more of a victim than I was, professor. But that's the gist of it, yes. If there's an explanation to be had, why not go for it? Some people may appreciate mystery, but I certainly don't. '
Severus sighed. 'The problem, I think, arises at the point where your desire for clarification, Mr Potter, collides with my desire for privacy.'
'Couldn't we…' Harry shoved up his glasses. 'Couldn't we discuss this sitting down, maybe, and over a cuppa, like the adults we are?' He wasn't sure whether he was imagining the faint growling noise from Severus's direction. 'I don't mean to pry, professor, really I don't. But what's done can't be undone. You gave me your memories, and you'll have to live with that.'
'That's the beauty of it,' Severus said, preceding him into the kitchen where he started busying himself with the preparation of tea. 'I gave you the memories because I was convinced I would inot /ihave to live with it.'
Harry grinned. 'Yes, that's what I call irony. Would knowing that I never showed them to anybody make you feel better?'
Casting him a withering look over his shoulder, Severus shrugged. 'A little, maybe. But you surely told your friends?'
'I… told them what I thought they needed to know. And I did, of course, give the Ministry an abbreviated account – otherwise they would never have consented to pronounce you innocent.'
'That is, as you say, highly ironic, Mr Potter. I'm not innocent, however generously you choose to interpret the term.'
Harry went to rummage for biscuits, in order to break the heavy silence. When he'd found and arranged them on a platter, the two men went to sit down in the living room.
'I think,' he finally said, when they both had filled their cups and performed the ritual of adding milk and sugar, 'that "innocence" is a very, well, vague term. I certainly don't think of you as an innocent, professor. But you were as much one of Dumbledore's puppets as I was. Impotence and innocence ido /ihave a lot in common, you know?'
'Words,' Severus spat. 'Nothing but words, Potter. They make nice fig leaves for the naked truth, but they're scarcely able to mask it.'
He was beginning to retreat into his shell of defensive self-loathing, Harry could feel it. But he hadn't come here to give up so easily.
'Words are all we have to express our thoughts, professor,' he said calmly. 'And whether you like it or not, that's what I think of you. You've been dead these twenty years, so you maybe think I'm still the Harry I was back then. Which I still am, in many ways. But I've come to realize that there's more to human nature than being a good or bad person. I admit that that's what I used to believe, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did, had I had the slightest doubt about it. What do you think, would it have been possible for me to face Voldemort, if I hadn't viewed him as wholly evil, as a being totally devoid of any humanity?'
He scrutinized Severus's face. His expression was hard to read – impassive, drawn-in, but not as forbidding as it had been some minutes ago.
'You made good use of people's need to categorize,' he pushed on. 'I would even go as far as saying that you manipulated them into believing you were a total and utter bastard. It helped you keep your cover, especially during the year you were head-'
'Don't!' Severus snapped. He looked tense now, hunched and taut, an animal ready for flight. 'Don't blather about things you don't know, Potter! You have no idea-'
'That's exactly the problem,' Harry interrupted him. 'That's what makes you so… so unpalatable, Snape. Your arrogance, your belief that you're the supreme sufferer, some kind of perverted Messiah – nobody can ever fathom the depth of your suffering. Well, I can. Been there, done that. The loneliness, the despair, the helplessness, the feeling of being singled out against my will to perform a task I didn't want to accomplish – but if I hadn't, then who would have? You're going to tell me I'm pathetic, professor, but there are certain tasks which just can't be done by every Tom, Dick or, pardon the pun, Harry. Especially – and that was one of the few things Dumbledore was right about – because Tom, Dick or Harry would volunteer because they want to be heroes, they want the glory and the worshipping, the power…'
He'd spilled tea onto his trousers in his agitation and got rid of the stain with a flick of his wand and a vanishing spell.
'But it's the likes of you and me who have to do it, because we feel it's a chore, not some heroic deed. It's never the knights in shining armour who save the world, professor, it's the boys wearing hand-me-down clothes, who don't expect anything. Did you expect to be thanked for what you did?'
Severus, who'd been staring into his cup, raised his head. 'Did you, Potter?'
Eschewing a question by asking one of his own wasn't exactly the most subtle of methods, but Harry somehow sensed that he'd have to make the first step. Honesty in exchange for honesty? He certainly hoped so.
'Thanked is probably the wrong word. I hoped it was going to be worth it. I hoped that maybe, one day, after all this was over, I might be able to lead a normal life.'
The ghost of a smile briefly curved Severus's lips. 'And now you're going to become Minister for Magic.'
'Yes.' Harry's shoulders slumped. 'I… To say "I hate it" would be ridiculous, and it's not exactly what I'm feeling. It's not the worst of fates, after all. But I wish I'd done things differently back then. I ought to have left England, taken the Elder Wand with me, and gone someplace nobody knew me. But…' His eyes met Severus's, and he felt there might be a chance of this talk closing a chapter that had been sitting unfinished in his mind for far too long. 'I couldn't do it. To be happy somewhere else, I think that you need to know where home is. Otherwise you just… kind of float.'
'Yes,' Severus said slowly, 'I think I know what you mean. I suppose…' He gave Harry a long, hard stare and glanced away, at the fireplace, when he continued, 'I suppose that's why death seemed like the best option at the time. I'd always suspected it would finally come to this – I'd seen too many people being killed by that snake' – he shuddered – 'to delude myself that Voldemort would waste a spell on me. He liked the idea of human vermin, traitors and the like, being devoured and digested. Ending up as excrement, exactly what they were in his eyes. I had the potions in my pocket, but…'
'But you couldn't quite resist,' Harry said pensively, barely aware that he was speaking, not thinking. 'So you gave me your memories. You'd given up on yourself, but you couldn't bear the thought of being nothing but the wizarding world's villain. The Bogey Man – children hiding under the bed because mummy'd told them that Snape would come to get them, unless they behaved. Surely that's worse than just dying?'
Severus didn't comment, but merely leant back, arms crossed and head slightly cocked.
'Was it really all because of my mother?' Harry asked after a prolonged silence.
'You may have turned into something very close to a rational human being, Potter, but your rhetorical skills are in dire need of improvement.' The quip somehow lacked venom, though. 'Do you think you might be able to reformulate that question, so it makes a modicum of sense?'
Harry sighed. 'I'll try. It's all a bit muddled in my head. What I mean was, did you really love her so much, so many years after she died, that you…' He threw up his arms. 'Oh, I don't know. Was she the reason why you became Dumbledore's spy?'
'That much must have become clear to you from my memories, Potter.'
'Yes. Yes and no. What I want to know is, was it guilt or was it love?'
'This would be the point where your nosiness clashes with my privacy.'
'Nosiness? You have a bloody cheek, Snape. If I were merely nosy, I'd have laced your tea with Veritaserum and questioned you to my heart's content.'
'Instead, you're trying the emotional approach. I'm touched, truly touched, Potter.'
'Oh, shut up already,' Harry snapped. 'I understand and respect your desire for privacy. But it's my mother we're talking about. I want to know whether you loved her – is that such a breach of privacy?'
'It's a very personal question.'
'Yes, all right, it's a personal question. But we weren't exactly discussing the weather before. This is a personal conversation, in case you hadn't noticed. It's not as if I'm going to tell anybody about it, if that's what you're afraid of. Besides, being in love with my mum doesn't make you any less of a disagreeable bastard, just in case you fear for your image.'
'You're a prat, Potter,' Severus replied calmly. 'And your head is still too full of Dumbledore's nonsense. It always has to be love, doesn't it?'
'It doesn't ihave /ito be. That was rather the point of my question.'
Severus took a biscuit and ate it with relish. 'Love,' he finally said, 'is habitually believed to be about putting the beloved person's happiness above one's own. The relationship with Lily was about myself.'
'Seeing yourself through her eyes, believing yourself to be a better person because she thinks you are, and all that bullshit?'
'I was a teenager, Potter. Such bullshit is a common misapprehension at that age. The kind one may smile upon later, yes, but most of us seem to be labouring under it at some time or other.'
'I still do.' Harry grinned at his nemesis. 'And it's not all bullshit, you know? It's a bit like believing there's a heaven and a hell – it makes you think about what you're doing, doesn't it?'
Selecting another biscuit, Severus wagged his head. 'A bit far-fetched, Potter. But yes, it was something like that.'
'Reminds me of Othello,' Harry said dreamily. '"But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, where either I must live, or bear no life; the fountain from the which my current runs, or else dries up – to be discarded thence!"'
'Very poetic, I'm sure,' was the dry comment.
But there'd been a flicker of insecurity in Severus's eyes, Harry was sure.
'Yes, very. And not entirely untrue, is it?'
'Maybe. But nothing to do with love.'
'I wouldn't be so sure. Anyway, I think I understand a little better now. The feeling, I mean. The name you choose to give it scarcely matters.'
They'd arrived at a point Harry wasn't sure how to define. Not a closing point, more like a natural halt, where you stopped to breathe before going any further. He decided to let the issue rest for the moment.
'What do you think you're going to do once Hermione has seen this business through?' he asked, grabbing a biscuit – there weren't that many, and Snape seemed to take a wholly uncharacteristic pleasure in gobbling them down.
'What makes you think she can?'
'You must be joking.' Harry refilled their cups. 'Whatever Hermione means to accomplish, she does. There's no such thing as an insurmountable obstacle in Hermione's world.'
'She's pretty tough,' Severus admitted, adding milk to his tea.
'I wouldn't call her tough so much as, erm, determined. She thinks about things long and hard, then decides what she has to do in order to succeed, and goes through with it. For her, it's as simple as that.'
'I'd hardly call that simple.'
'Nor would I. But it's the way she is. For her, it's simple.'
'I wonder,' Severus ventured, 'what it must be like for Mr Weasley.'
'He's used to it. That tends to make things a bit easier.'
Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Since you know them both so well, I don't think I'm being indiscreet, mentioning that they don't do much else besides fighting.'
Harry sighed, both because Severus had successfully appropriated the last biscuit and because of the state of his two best friends' marriage. 'I know. It's been like that for quite some time, and it became worse once Hugo, too, went off to Hogwarts. It must be hard for Ron – he was brought up in a very traditional family, you know, the father goes out hunting while the mother stays home to guard the fire and feed the offspring.'
'A somewhat incongruous metaphor, as far as Arthur Weasley is concerned.'
Harry snorted. 'I know. But that's what Ron would like his life to be like. His and Hermione's life, that is.'
'Molly Weasley,' Severus said, scowling, 'is nowhere near as brilliant as Hermione, but even she was wasted staying home and popping out a sprog a year. But Hermione… The mind boggles at the mere thought.'
'Yes it does, doesn't it? The problem is that Ron's mind boggles even more at the idea of a wife who'd beat him in a duel with both hands bound behind her back. Not to mention that she managed to have a career iand /ichildren – Molly always made dire predictions about Rose and Hugo becoming criminals, or antisocial, or whatever. Only they didn't come true. Rose and Hugo are model children, not the trained-monkey sort, though. Personally, I can't quite fathom how Hermione managed, but somehow she did. Ron…' He pushed up his spectacles. 'I suppose he's in a constant state of awe.'
'Intimidation, you mean.'
'Well, yes. There's more fear than admiration, I think.'
'And?'
'And what? Do I think they're ill-suited? To tell you the truth, yes, I do. That doesn't mean the marriage is doomed, however. Not if they did something about it, anyway. Only…'
'They don't,' Severus finished the sentence, matter-of-factly.
'I wonder,' Harry said slowly, 'whether my parents would have ended up like that, had they lived. I don't know much about my mum, but…' He shrugged. 'You'd probably be a better judge, seeing as how, well, intimately you knew my mother.'
'There is a certain resemblance,' Severus conceded, forcibly reminded of his own thoughts of a few days ago. 'Lily was as strong-headed as they come. And as powerful as they come, though not as driven as Hermione. She didn't have the same urge to constantly prove herself, probably because she was a lot more self-assured. No, that's not quite right. She took the good things of life for granted. Friendship, being a beauty, being admired, that kind of thing – she thought it was nothing more than her due.'
Harry nodded. 'Back in the old times,' he said, 'I would've wanted to hex you for saying such things about my mother. Or my father, for that matter. But I saw that memory, the one where she gave you the slip after you'd called her a Mudblood. That's something Hermione just wouldn't do, isn't it?'
'We had a fight.'
Severus cast a quick glance at the other wizard, who didn't seem to have any intention to start throwing curses, because Severus had had a fight with his precious friend. Maybe he thought Severus was talking about Lily.
'With Hermione,' he added, still on his guard.
Still no reaction. Harry merely looked interested.
'I said the most horrible things to her, but…'
He glanced at the plate of biscuits. It was empty. His plate of biscuits was always empty, to use a somewhat hackneyed metaphor. But it did describe his life quite accurately.
'But you're still here,' Harry said. 'I suppose she matched you word for word. She isn't the kind of woman who'd just break down crying, not any more.'
'I did make her cry. I, erm, do have a certain way of spotting people's weaknesses, and…'
'Her teeth, remember?'
'Heavens, yes. It was worse, though. And still…'
'And still.' Harry nodded. 'If she had a personal motto, that ought to be it.'
o
Hermione marched into the living room, radiating fierce determination.
Harry had left maybe half an hour ago, and Severus was sitting in front of the fireplace, munching biscuits – he'd hidden most of them before his visitor arrived – drinking tea and reading. He looked up, nonplussed, when she stopped right next to his chair, looming over him. Although short, she did loom pretty impressively, he had to give her that.
'Who the fuck brought you back?' she spat.
Severus sighed. 'Look, we've been over this so many times already, I'm beginning to find it a bit annoying.'
'Frankly, I don't give a shit. Be annoyed, I don't care. What I do care about is the Deathly Hallows not becoming public knowledge. By not telling me, you practically force me to go round interviewing suspects, telling them that a) you're back and b) that you didn't come back all by yourself. Are you aware' – she resolutely tucked a lock behind her ear – 'of the consequences this might have? Not only for you, in case you hadn't noticed? This has to stop.'
Of course he was aware of the consequences. He also knew she was right, she'd already talked to Lucius. He preferred not to think what Lucius might do, once he was aware of the existence of the Elder Wand.
'Does Lucius-'
'Malfoy is irrelevant,' she interrupted him.
Severus snorted. 'He'd be inconsolable if he knew you think he's irrelevant.'
'Yes, probably.' Her stance becoming a little more relaxed, she sighed. 'But Malfoy won't – he knows more about the Deathly Hallows than I ever did, although he had no idea that they went by that name… He didn't do it, though, which means I have to question other people.' She sat down on her haunches, looking up at him. 'Please, Severus. You know how important it is.'
He was being too damned noble for his own good. What had Potter called him? A perverted Messiah, oh yes. What business did he have, really, protecting the girl, well, woman rather? She'd meant to bring back Sirius Black, it wasn't as if she'd wasted her misguided efforts on Severus Snape. Besides, he'd done enough for her while he was alive. It wasn't as if he owed her. Rather the contrary, really.
Then again, Hermione had been right – even though he rationally knew that she would never abuse the power she was currently holding over him, he wanted to retain a little power of his own. It was futile, yes. But he couldn't help it. On the other hand, he didn't want to push her away completely.
'All right,' he finally said. 'I'm going to give you two clues: it was a woman, and I wasn't the one she meant to bring back.'
'You weren't – do you know whom she…' Suddenly, Hermione didn't want him to continue. A shred of her conversation with Lily was floating through her mind – I wish I could've brought him back…. Of course he wanted to protect the girl, she looked so much like Lily.
'Sirius Black,' Severus said, 'And that's all I'm going to – what's the matter, Hermione? Are you all right?'
'Oh my god,' she breathed, letting herself fall back on the rug with a thud and landing painfully right on her coccyx. 'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.'
o