Thanks again for the reviews! This chapter does make a difference in the relationship between Severus and Harry, though not necessarily a nice one.

Chapter 21—Dumbledore's Disappointment

Severus held his head high as he walked towards Albus's office beside the Headmaster. After all, what did he have to be ashamed of? He had done the right thing in all his school terms. He had taught his students as best he knew how. He had been Albus's loyal little spy. He had tried and tried to save Potter's life no matter how much the foolish boy insisted on risking it.

He wove those thoughts into the fabric of his mind, and by the time he settled in front of the desk and refused a cup of tea and a lemon sherbet, he believed in them as much as he believed in most things. His Potions ability, the stupidity of Gryffindors in general and Potters in particular, and his own superiority in most areas of life were more important to him, but of course they would be.

"Miss Granger brought an alarming story to me this morning," Dumbledore began, his voice deep and as lined, in some ways, as his face. He folded his fingers in front of him. "I'm sure that you have reasons for what you did, Severus, but it seems that you forced a suggestion potion unwilling on a student."

"Of course I did, Headmaster." Severus kept his voice bland and his face just slightly offended. "If he had known it was coming, he would have been prepared to resist it. I wanted him unprepared."

"Resist it, Severus?"

"Yes." Severus folded his hands in front of him and studied them, with the air of a patient man condemned to suffer because everyone insisted on misunderstanding his motives. "I wanted to see if he could function and battle me in the most oppressive situations, such as having a suggestion potion interfering with his responses. He may never encounter the analogous situation in a battle with the Dark Lord, but he will surely encounter the influence of obedience spells. The Imperius Curse, for example—"

"Harry can throw off the Imperius Curse," Albus said, quietly.

Severus felt his next lie catch in his throat. Damn it. He might even have known that at one point, but he truly could not remember. There were too many things to know, about Potter and his own occupation, and he would not have remembered one as well that spoke of some unusual talent in Potter.

"If you had gained Harry's trust, he would have told you that," Albus said. "Therefore, I can only think this test was conducted without his knowledge in more ways than one, and without the slightest concern for his welfare."

"I do not want him dead," Severus said, truthfully enough. Dead, he could not serve me. "He has to defeat the Dark Lord."

"He is more important to many of us in more ways than you will ever know," Albus continued steadily. "And—well, Severus. I sent you to try to get close to him, to understand him. I should have remembered how horribly prejudiced you are against the boy. You cannot understand him, because you will not look over your own barriers and past his father's face."

Severus ground his teeth. The worst of it was that he couldn't even say Albus was completely wrong. The brat had effectively hidden all signs of Occlumency, partly of his own accord, but also because Severus was more interested in finding humiliating memories than training him.

"I apologize, Headmaster," he said. "I was making progress in testing the boundaries of his gift, however, and how well he can defend his mind. I will be glad to continue those lessons."

"I do not trust you with him," Albus said.

Severus reared back, his nostrils flaring, before he was able to prevent himself. But then he did not say a word. He had known this day would come, and had half-expected it, in fact, ever since he stopped spying.

"I wonder how far I can trust you with any of them," Albus pursued, his voice sinking to a whisper. "I wonder? If you would let your grudge against a student drive you to give him a suggestion potion and endanger his life and sanity when he climbed onto his broom, what else might you do?"

Severus watched his eyes, and did not rise to the bait. They both knew what this was: Albus's excuse for doing something he must have wanted to do for some time now. The speech, and the worn expression on his face, were for the sake of the Pensieve if one was required, and nothing else. Someone else would watch this scene and see how much Albus grieved at the memory.

"You must remain at Hogwarts, of course," Albus said. "I cannot find another Potions professor at such short notice. And the wards protect you from the Death Eaters hunting you." He said that last as if he had forgotten it and needed to be reminded, shaking his head.

And so it comes.

Severus felt not so much pain as a curious numbness. His affection for Albus had been eroding steadily in the last few years—almost since Harry Potter arrived at the school, in fact, and he saw how little Albus really valued Slytherins compared with Gryffindors, how little he valued teachers' and other students' lives compared with Potter's. Severus could have given the suggestion potion to another student, and he thought he would not have been punished as severely.

Once, such as when he first came to Albus in a panic of conscience and the man gave him sanctuary from the Death Eaters, he would never have thought he could feel this way. But his self at that point could not have seen the future.

He rose to his feet and inclined his head. "I understand, Headmaster. I will strengthen the wards on my home, and prepare to go there as soon as the Christmas holidays end."

Albus sighed. "I am sorry to have to do this to you, my boy. I know that Hogwarts was your first true home."

"Yes." Severus didn't try to enlighten him about that, though, because Albus would never understand why. He thought home had something to do with a sense of comfort and safety, and that wasn't it at all. At school, for the first time, Severus had encountered people who could match wits with him, people unlike his dull Muggle father. His mother might have been able to do it, at least if his inherited intelligence was any indication, but she had spent most of his childhood crying, and hiding her cleverness, as so many Muggle women had had to do down the ages, to avoid offending his father.

There could never have been any House but Slytherin for him. Cleverness must have an outlet, and for him that had been plotting.

"Thank you, my boy." Albus gazed at him musingly for a moment, then shook his head. "I suppose I must try to gain Harry's trust, and hope that he will confess what he knows to me." Severus suppressed laughter manfully, and stood there, since it seemed the Headmaster still had something to say. "There is nothing you observed that might be of use?"

"You have just accused my observations of being worthless," Severus answered, amused in spite of himself.

"But you may have learned something valuable without knowing that you learned it," Albus said, leaning forward and staring at him.

Severus easily batted away the Legilimency probe touching his shields, irritated that the old man would try it. He would have had more respect for Albus if he simply asked, instead of always trying to take.

He did think of telling Albus about the darkness in Potter's eyes, the faint smile when he caught him staring out the corridor window at the moon, the crushing despair associated with memories of his Muggle relatives' home. And then he shrugged. Why should he? Those were memories he himself had won from Potter in their struggle. He did not share his prize potions ingredients, and he saw no need to share this information that might still be of value to him. Granted, it was hard to see how, since he would have to leave Hogwarts without placing Potter under another suggestion potion—Albus would make sure of that—but it still might be.

At least, it was of value in spiting Albus.

"Nothing that would make sense, I'm sure," he said.

"Dismissed then, Severus," Albus said, with the sad sound of disappointed affection in his voice. "And please send Harry to me."

Full of uses for me until the last, Severus thought, and went away. His mind was soon full of plans for strengthening the wards on Bolthole.

He almost looked forward to the end of Christmas holidays. It would mean that he could stop thinking about Albus and Potter and consider his own future in more detail, outside the school.

Harry took his seat in Dumbledore's office with his shields locked tight around his mind. He had no way of knowing what Snape had told the Headmaster, and that meant he would have to be on his guard against anything, even the most innocent remark, which might give him away.

"Harry, my boy!" The Headmaster had offered him both tea and sweets; he'd declined both. Now it seemed there was nothing left but pleasantries. He folded his hands and beamed at Harry. "How are you?"

"Better now that the suggestion potion's worn off, sir," said Harry, and made an effort to lean back in his seat, smile, and seem relaxed and open. He had to fight down his irritation. Either Ron or Hermione watched him all the time now, and he couldn't be sure if that was because they feared another suggestion potion getting to him, as they said, or because they wanted to know his secrets. Why can't people just leave me alone and let me get on with my destiny? "I suppose that you've talked to Professor Snape about that, though, and don't need my testimony."

"Miss Granger has told me the truth." Dumbledore gazed at him keenly. "Have your lessons with Professor Snape been valuable to you, Harry?"

Harry gave a little shrug. "In terms of practical content, yes, sir. But I think he's a bad teacher for me in the sense of making me love the subject."

A surprised chuckle slipped from Dumbledore. At least, it was meant to sound surprised. Harry wouldn't have laid bets as to whether he really was. "Ah, yes. That has always been a deficiency with our dear Severus." For a moment, his hands toyed with his own teacup. Then he leaned forward. "I suppose you should know that Professor Snape will be leaving school at the end of the Christmas holidays, for this and—other things."

The first thought that popped into Harry's head was, Only at the end of the Christmas holidays? Then he could still stop me. I'll have to be very careful about where I go and what I reveal.

Then he reminded himself he didn't want to think about that too closely, as he might show agitation, and his goal was not showing agitation. He had to react as calmly as he could while these eyes were on him—Dumbledore's eyes, Ron and Hermione's eyes, and probably Snape's, since Harry didn't expect the man to give up watching him just because he couldn't teach him anymore. But in a week or so, Dumbledore would look elsewhere, he'd arrange another small argument with Ron and Hermione, and Snape would probably have more to worry about than Harry.

"Thank you for telling me, sir," he said, and bowed his head. "I'd already thought that I didn't want to continue lessons with him. He says—well, things that make me uncomfortable. He seems to delight in inflicting pain on me, even when the pain isn't of use in my learning." He pondered telling Dumbledore about the wave of power with which Snape had threatened to crush his mind, and then decided he couldn't, because he'd have to reveal how he escaped it, and the Pensieve incident was still a secret between him and Snape. "Can you find another Potions Professor, though?"

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore agreed amiably. "Potions masters as skilled as Professor Snape are not common, but wizards with some talent for potions are not rare on the ground. And the position is not cursed as that of Defense Against the Dark Arts is, so I should have no trouble finding someone to fill it." He paused thoughtfully, and then said, "Perhaps you would like to continue your Occlumency training with me, Harry."

No way in hell.

But Harry just smiled at him. "I don't think that would be wise right now, sir," he said. "I've spent too much time training on just Occlumency alone. Now I want to concentrate on some of the spells Professor Moody's been teaching me."

"An excellent idea, my boy." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but then he leaned forward and seemed to grow serious. "Remember, though, how tempting the Dark Arts can be. Never start walking down that path, Harry."

"I won't," Harry said softly. He fought the urge to snort. Even if I wanted to, it's not as though I'd have time to corrupt myself.

Dumbledore nodded and sat back, and he and Harry spent the rest of the visit lightly talking about subjects that no longer much concerned Harry: his marks in Transfiguration, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a possible future career as an Auror. He knew they'd mattered, once, and so he kept up a pretense of interest in them, but they lay on one side of a thick fog, and he was on the other.

The same thing had happened with Ron and Hermione, he thought, after he'd bid Dumbledore good-bye and was riding down the moving staircase. He knew he'd felt pity for them at one time, and last year he couldn't have imagined spending as much time wanting them to go away as he did now, except when he sulked or raged. But it was as though all his pity had gone to Sirius, and he simply had none to spare for anyone else anymore.

Ron waited for him near the gargoyle. Harry sighed inwardly and pasted a cheerful smile on his face. A week, or a week and a day. Then I can fight with them.

"Hi, mate," Ron said, and fell easily into step with him. "What did Dumbledore say?"

Harry shrugged. "He told me that that was the last straw, and Snape's going to be leaving school after the Christmas holidays."

Ron stopped, staring at him. Then he let out a whoop that echoed up and down the halls, and punched a fist into the air.

Harry grabbed his arm. "But I don't think he really wants anyone to know yet," he hissed, "so you'd better keep your voice down."

"Sorry." Ron dropped his arm, looking more than usually sheepish. "It's just—that's great news, Harry! Isn't it? Why don't you look more excited?" he added, in that thoughtful chess-player's tone Harry was growing to dread.

"Just a headache from the suggestion potion," Harry lied.

"Then come and lie down," Ron said briskly, and dragged Harry towards Gryffindor Tower. "You have leave to be out of classes today, remember? Even though Madam Pomfrey didn't say you had to stay in the hospital wing. So you should rest." He shuddered theatrically. "Hermione would—would do some really disgusting things if I didn't make you rest. Seriously, Harry. You didn't hear her."

Harry ground his teeth, but went along as patiently as possible. Only a short time, and he'd be free. And he supposed it comforted Ron to do this for him.

But still. The more reminders he received that other people wanted him to have a future, the angrier he got. He'd chosen his future. It was simply too bad that he couldn't tell anyone else that, for fear they'd disagree, and try to Stun him and send him to St. Mungo's.

As they passed a side-corridor, the sensation of eyes on him made him look up. Ron, still chattering happily and pulling at his arm, didn't notice.

Snape leaned on the wall of the corridor and watched him, arms folded, eyes deeper and more thoughtful than Harry had seen them since he'd returned to Hogwarts. Almost—less clouded by contempt, somehow.

Harry glanced sharply away. It was a wonder, and a bother, to him why Snape persisted in caring about what happened to him.