AN: Surprise! I couldn't stop writing after finishing the previous chapter. There will be one more before we begin the new year. I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter 29
He's just organizing his new school supplies into his trunk when Snape appears in the doorway.
"Potter. We need to talk." His panic must show on his face, because Snape adds, "You aren't in trouble… unless there's something I don't know about."
He rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, "I'll be down in a minute."
Snape gives him a curt nod before disappearing, and he hears the stairs squeak.
A few minutes later, he joins Snape in the living room. The man has his leather journal in his lap, one hand holding it open and the other perched on the arm of the chair, hand pressed pensively to his mouth. When Harry comes in, he closes the book, but doesn't set it aside. His long fingers twitch slightly on the cover. Harry would have said he was nervous, except that would require having feelings.
Stop, he scolds himself. Obviously he has feelings. You've seen it for yourself.
But Snape isn't usually one to show his feelings, always tightly controlled down to the muscles in his face, which makes him worried about the direction the conversation is going to go. He perches uneasily on the edge of the couch across from Snape, who drawls, "I'm not about to hand you over to the Dark Lord, so you can relax."
He falls back against the sofa, slouching as if he's had all the bones in his spine vanished, just to annoy the other man.
Snape looks up with a long-suffering expression on his face, looking like he's praying for patience. "If you are finished with your melodrama," he says, "we have some things to address before the coming school year."
He sits up again, tucking his hands under his legs before he can start picking at his fingernails in nervous anticipation.
"I believe you were asking me the other day about the… status of our relationship." At these words, he sits up even straighter. "You are desperately in need of a responsible adult in your life, and I have no desire to take that away from you. However, you know that I am… not a free agent. I will not change my behaviour towards you in class."
The hope that was growing in his chest suddenly deflates, leaving a sharp pain in its wake.
"Don't look so crestfallen, Potter, I didn't say I wouldn't… change my behaviour outside of class. I'm sure I can find a reason to assign detention if you desire communication."
And just like that, the hope blooms again. "Maybe I could write to you or something," he suggests tentatively. Later, he'll shake his head at how eager he is to talk to Snape, not about anything in particular, but just to have the potential for conversation.
Snape considers the idea for a moment, then nods his head. "It could work. But use one of the school owls, or every head in the Great Hall will turn."
He smiles slightly. "Did you just say I had a good idea?"
Snape gives Harry his characteristic sneer. "Don't flatter yourself," he says. "I'm sure there are plenty of bad ones still rattling around in that empty skull of yours."
The insult just makes his smile wider. It's comforting to know that Snape is consistent, even while their mutual hatred has died down.
"We also need to discuss the Dursleys."
Any levity brought on by their banter vanishes. "Do we have to?" he asks. Snape just looks at him, and he groans. "Ugh. Fine."
"It turns out it would be difficult to remove their guardianship from you without the Ministry getting wind of it. Professor Dumbledore proposes that we leave the wards up at Privet Drive to give the impression that you are still there, while in fact you live elsewhere during the breaks. This has its drawbacks, mainly that you would be confined to your summer abode lest anyone find out you aren't with the Dursleys, but it seems to be the safest and easiest way to proceed. And they will not receive money for your care, of course."
"I'm okay with anything as long… as long as I don't have to be with them," he admits.
"The blood wards will fall, but there will still be other protections on the house. Is that acceptable to you?"
He frowns. "Why wouldn't it be? If the- Dark Lord thinks that I'm still there, then they'll definitely need those protections."
Snape pauses. "Some people might not feel so charitably in your situation."
"They don't need to suffer just because I couldn't take it," he says vehemently.
"'Couldn't take it?'"
He shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms and looking down at the floor. This conversation is already giving him deja vu, and not in a good way. "I still don't think it's a big deal. Like, I can tolerate… whatever… if I have to."
"But you don't have to."
"Yeah. But I could. I don't need luxuries like, I dunno, a nice mattress or dinner and pudding."
That thunderous look that Snape always gets when they talk about the Dursleys crosses his face, but he says, with remarkable calm, "Those are not luxuries. You know of the prophecy, yes?"
The non-sequitur throws him. "Uh, yeah," he says after a moment.
"You know the prophecy could have referred to Neville Longbottom."
He gives a nod of confirmation.
"Would you say that Neville Longbottom, a boy who was placed in the same situation as you, right down to the loss of his parents, should be deprived of food and comfort?"
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it before Snape can make a comment about catching flies. The comparison leaves him a bit dumbfounded. Of course, the answer to Snape's question is "no," but he just can't wrap his head around what Snape is saying. It makes sense, but it feels like it shouldn't, and it makes him feel guilty to admit that it does.
Snape gives him a pointed look. "Think about it," he says, before moving on to the next item on his agenda. "Finally, I need a wizard's oath from you."
"...Okay?"
"You must understand that this will prevent you from speaking about what I am about to tell you, even with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley."
His burning curiosity and the urge to turn and run from whatever is so heavy that Snape wants him to swear a binding oath never to reveal it war with each other. Finally, he says, "I understand. I'll take the oath."
"This is a modified wizard's oath," says Snape as he takes out his wand and crosses the room. "It will prevent you from discussing the information declared classified, but nothing bad will happen if you forget and try to speak of it. You will simply find yourself tongue-tied. Your hand, please."
He stands and extends his hand. Snape grasps it firmly with his own.
"As a bonus, it doesn't require an external party to cast," Snape murmurs, right before he says an incantation and a pale blue light snakes around their conjoined hands, leaving the appendage feeling a bit tingly.
"So, what's so important?" he asks as they sit down again. Snape sits on the opposite end of the sofa instead of returning to the armchair. He crosses his legs so he can sit sideways and face the other man.
Snape takes a fortifying breath. "You have noticed, I'm sure, the injury to Professor Dumbledore's left hand?"
His stomach lurches. He nods.
"The headmaster-" Snape cuts himself off. For once, he seems lost for words. Even having seen Snape at some of his lowest moments already, Harry is struck by how reassuring it is to see him struggle like anyone else. "To be blunt, the injury is terminal."
"The headmaster is dying?" he asks slowly, the words like lead on his tongue.
"Yes." When he stays silent, Snape continues with the second blow: "Additionally, he has… requested that- that I… he has asked me… save him… from a prolonged and painful death. That is-"
"He asked you to kill him."
"Yes."
He stares at Snape for what feels like an eternity. "What the fuck?"
Snape doesn't even chastise him for his language.
"When?"
"When the time is right," Snape says, lip curling. He gets the impression that Snape is quoting or at least paraphrasing Dumbledore.
"What the fuck?"
The corners of Snape's mouth quirk up in a humourless smile. "Quite," he says.
He rubs at his forehead. He's waiting for Snape to yell Gotcha!, but of course, he doesn't.
"You are not supposed to know, but you have suffered so much loss already that I- well. I suppose I thought it too... cruel not to tell you."
He lets out a sound that is a half-laugh, half-sob. Jesus Christ. He takes off his glasses and presses the heel of his hand into his eyes. There's a tell-tale stinging in his nose and behind his eyelids, but he refuses to cry. He doesn't know which he's more upset about: the realization that the headmaster is as mortal as anyone, or the fact that Dumbledore was just going to leave him to flounder on his own and not even warn him. At the same time, he feels a rush of gratitude towards Snape. He never asked for his fame, and the fact that nobody ever takes his feelings into account is like salt in the wound. It seems ridiculous that it would be Snape of all people to show him that kind of consideration, but here they are.
"Potter?"
The note of concern in Snape's voice is all it takes for him to lose his tenuous control. He folds his legs into his chest and buries his face as he tries and fails to stifle his cries. Everyone he cares about dies, he has a homicidal maniac after his head, and the only person who cares enough to help him with his problems spent the last five years hating him. It's surreal. It's too much to deal with. He's just too fucking tired.
When the swell of emotions finally begins to subside, he becomes aware of a weight on his back that moves in a circular motion, creating a feeling he used to try to imagine when he saw Aunt Petunia comforting Dudley after a nightmare, wishing she would do the same for him. He raises his head, and Snape withdraws his hand. Even without his glasses on, he can tell how discomfited Snape is. Snape produces a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it up silently, not looking at him.
"Thanks," he sniffs. He mops up his face, mortification causing him to flush. He's probably redder than Ron's hair right now. He crushes the tear-stained, snotty handkerchief in his fist. It's almost comical, the way they are both studiously avoiding each other's eyes.
"Sorry," he says when the awkward silence becomes too much to bear.
"We need to do something about your habit of profusely apologizing for absolutely no reason," says Snape. He clears his throat. "Perhaps that will be our task for the fall."
"Are you sure I can bother you during the term?" he asks, biting his lip. "I mean, I already ruined your summer."
Snape still doesn't look at him as he says, "I have found your presence to be… not dreadful."
"Gee, thanks, Professor. I'm flattered."
Snape gives him a half-hearted glare, and he can't suppress the urge to snicker. "You have exceeded my expectations," he says, as if it's a great improvement on his previous statement.
"Maybe we can work on improving your compliments," he dares to tease.
"Don't push your luck," Snape growls, but Harry swears he sees a glimmer of amusement in Snape's dark gaze, and for the first time, he wonders if things might be okay.
