Chapter Twenty-Eight: I Would Bring You Down the Stars, But That Is Not What You Want, Is It?
Being back at Twelve Grimmauld Place is worse than Harry has ever imagined it would be.
It's one thing that he's been locked in here for months and returning here feels like being caged again, trapped between greying, mouldy walls with a dreary future ahead.
What's even worse, what twists a serrated, rusty knife in his heart, are the memories. Fragments of a dream lived, a faraway universe they existed in once, now haunt him like ghosts of an alternate dimension.
During their daily visits, Ron and Hermione cannot perceive them. No one except Harry can bear witness to the shadowy creatures that move around the house, untouchable, not stirring up dust, not making a sound, yet still there, causing pain.
Harry can watch them all too clearly sitting at the kitchen table, like figures of a different life moving around. He and Severus having tea, reading the Prophet in the morning, and yes, that fateful night as well that started it all, with Harry trying to hide the state of his body with one of Hermione's letters.
The library, he avoids at all costs, does not step in there. The ghosts are in abundance inside. He lingers at the door, though, watching a replay of the past.
There is a dark shadow sitting in an armchair by the window, long fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, a shadow on the couch, a few times alone, more often tangled with another memory. Carnal ghosts are at the desk, leaning against the bookcase, and Harry's cheeks turn pink by a mere glimpse of them.
He lingers at the door and watches them, though, feeling strangely empty as his memories recall the excitement and joy of those moments, the laughter, the greed, the love.
He avoids his own bedroom and Severus' too, attempting to sleep in either would be futile. Furthermore, he cannot bring serenity to his own mind, to his imagination once he's in there. The ghosts, one in particular becomes too real, and now he feels the touches on his skin, the kisses burn his flesh. He smells scents that cannot be there, hears noises, lewd pleas and soft gasps, breathless and wild, and sleep is far from his thoughts.
It's madness; a slow, crawling road to insanity. As much of a torture as the beginning was, always hard, always aching for some release, for a touch of cool fingers, for a stroke of long black hair against his bare shoulder, for a caress of thin lips, gentle but evoking a hunger in him, he didn't realize existed.
He needs to get out, move, leave behind this place and the memories and the ghosts and that whole strange dream.
He needs to figure out the future, fill that vast empty field of opportunities with actual goals, dreams he wishes to achieve, but no matter how much he thinks, nothing materialises there but a tall dark figure with black robes, a cloak wrapped around his legs, and hair like ink flowing past his shoulders.
At times, he wishes he was dead, because it would be easier, but the sensation of pity is fleeting.
He loves life. While the endless possibilities seem daunting at one moment, they are freeing the next.
He got an offer to play Quidditch for the Derby Dragons. The new Head Auror, Robards has scouted him to join the force. Bill offered for him to tag along on his next journey to Ecuador as his assistant, and there was even talk of him becoming a professor at Hogwarts (although according to Albus, for that he must gain a bit more experience).
There are many other options, too, he has never considered. Fred and George need all the help at the shop, as it's booming now more than ever. Luna and her dad need help with the Quibbler and asked if he wanted to work for them (he declined, politely). Ron keeps telling him that he's rich and has no need for work, while Hermione insists they all keep studying.
The options are vast, yet he wants, he craves, he dreams of only one thing: Severus.
Was it true? Was it real? The questions come unbidden. He knows the answer, knows it with all his heart, but that treacherous organ is unreliable nowadays. If he was right, Snape would be here, he would never have left, right?
Could this relationship have bloomed out in the real world too, anywhere else, in any other circumstance? Or only in here, within these walls, were they allowed these precious moments that brought so much joy to Harry.
Because joy it was, happiness perhaps in its truest form. And yet the shadows lurk, little doubts in the depths of his mind, constantly asking him: was it real?
"Oi, mate, where the bloody hell are you?"
Voices from the kitchen draw him back to reality. He steps away from the door of the library and rushes down to greet his friends.
"Ron! Hermione!"
They hug, then settle down around the large table. Harry brews tea, places the cups down in front of his friends, then sits down as well.
"How's your mom?"
"Finally out of St. Mungo's. We're having a bit of a celebration later. There's going to be a bunch of people there. You're coming, too, right?"
Harry hesitates for only a second, but of course, Hermione notices.
"You must, Harry," she says softly.
"I will, I will."
"It's gonna do you a world of good to get out of here, mate." Ron sighs, then summons a box of cookies. "Any news of the git?"
"Don't call him that," Hermione chides him.
"Oh no, do call him that," Harry grunts. "And, no, no news. He's gone. I don't even know where to look for him, but I'm not even sure, he'd talk to me if I did find him."
"I'll never understand why he even left! I thought you two… you know." He ducks his head and takes a sip of his tea.
I thought you two loved each other.
"Yeah, I thought so too…" Harry notes quietly.
"I got the news around. We'll find him." Ron tries to reassure him.
Harry feels the life drain from his cheeks. "What news, Ron?"
"That we're looking for him. There's a gazillion people coming and going through the WWW shop every day, someone ought to have seen him somewhere." Ron shrugs.
Harry's heartbeat quickens. "You told the twins… What did you tell the twins?"
Ron grins. "Scared someone might find out the truth?"
If the Wizarding World learns what happened between them and that gets back to Severus, the man will come forward just to murder Harry.
"YEAH?"
"Why?" Ron asks.
Yes, why indeed? Why does he care what other people think as long as they find Severus for him? What does it matter? He's not ashamed of what happened, he'd gladly tell it to everyone.
Harry takes a deep, calming breath and leans back against the chair.
"He's going to kill you, you know that, right?"
"Well, he needs to come back to do that. Then I'll tell him it was all your idea. Don't worry, I have it all figured out." Ron grins.
"How reassuring," Harry grunts as he finishes his tea.
Hermione stands, takes the empty cups and washes them with a flick of her wand. "Let's go, Mrs. Weasley's waiting. Mr. Weasley said he'll do the cooking, but he wants to do it the Muggle way, whatever that means, so we better hurry." She says with a worried expression.
Harry summons a jacket and puts it on. He has a handful of Floo Powder in his hand as he looks back at Ron and asks, "So, are the twins asking everyone who comes in the shop whether they saw Severus Snape around, or what?"
Ron frowns for a moment, as he says, "Well, pretty much yeah, but I only told them we're looking for him yesterday. They did mention some posters this morning."
Floo Powder suddenly forgotten, Harry twirls around, panicking. "Posters? What posters?"
Before Ron could answer, however, the fire in the hearth flares green and a tall wizard steps out of it.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry smiles at the newcomer. "What brings you here?"
"Alas, a broken promise." He looks around the three of them, all ready to go back out into the late fall afternoon. "May I have a word with you, Harry?"
"Of course," Harry nods. "What's going on?"
"You know, I have lived a long life, and I have been forced to make decisions, decisions I am not too proud of now as time has given me some wisdom along with an aching knee. I have made mistakes, I will admit to that, but never have I broken a promise."
"What promise?"
"Tell me, Harry, have you decided what to do with your life, now that you got it back? I hear death is quite the incentive to live a life to its full potential."
Harry feels a pang in his chest, an empty echo. "No, not really. I'm a bit…"
"Preoccupied," Hermione helps him.
Dumbledore raises an eyebrow at the girl, but his white beard twitches as if he were smiling. "It is indeed hard to make such an important decision even when one's head is empty of doubt and other issues do not keep it occupied, let alone when one is burdened by pain incurable by magic."
Dumbledore picks up a cookie and takes a small bite. He lets out a pleased sound as he brushes a few crumbs off his beard.
"Sir, what –"
"It is hard to step back, to hide in the shadows and allow someone to grow further in the light, to watch it daily, minutely even as they get farther away from us, knowing that they will never need the shadow now. Do you understand me, Harry."
"I can't say I do, sir, no…"
"But I cannot help but wonder, how could we decide what others need, whether it is light or shadow that helps them grow. Too much light and one can burn, but too much darkness is equally deadly for any living being."
Harry chances a look at his friends to see if they understand what the Headmaster is talking about, but Hermione has her eyebrows knotted in confusion, while Ron's staring at the man as if he sprouted another head.
"Once, a long time ago, I had to make a choice between the greater good and the wishes of my own heart and it is a choice I do not wish on my greater enemy, and yet I had to force not one, but two friends to decide between dooming their own heart or the whole world. What I have asked of you, Harry, was a burden very few would have been able to carry, and even less would have come back from it with a heart still pure and a soul still soaring."
"Sir, what –"
"I made a promise, Harry, a promise I will break now. I have many reasons to do it, but even more are against it, and the most important is that I made this promise to a friend, whom I value greatly. But I am old, and old people can be accused of forgetfulness, even if they are as clear in mind as that window." Dumbledore points at one of the smudged windows of the kitchen, then frowns slightly as he adds, "Well, perhaps a bit clearer."
Ron snorts behind them, and the headmaster looks at him. As if he has only noticed their state of readiness, he asks, "Are you heading out?"
"We're going to the Burrow. They let Mrs. Weasley out of St. Mungo's." Hermione smiles.
"Ah, yes indeed, such wonderful news!" Dumbledore beams. "Shall we then?" He holds his arm out for Harry, twinkling blue eyes watching him avidly over half-moon glasses.
Harry shares a strange look with Ron and Hermione, then mumbles, "I can Apparate on my own," but still takes Albus' lifted arm.
The next moment, the hook is in his stomach, dragging him away from his home.
Once his legs touch the ground, Harry opens his eyes.
While he hears the gentle twittering of birds and the rustling of a few dried leaves that are still left on the trees, he instantly realizes they are not at the Burrow at all.
The small stream slithering next to the house like a lazy snake is a dead giveaway to begin with, but the cottage itself that stands before them is vastly different from the Weasley's home.
While neither seems to have a well-kept meticulous garden, like the one Aunt Petunia used to like, this place seems nearly run down by vegetation as if in the last decade no one has dared even come close to those rose bushes and hortensia shrubs with scissors.
While the cold November wind tries its hardest to tear even the last leaf off them, in some patches under sheltered nooks and against the ancient looking stone wall, flowers still bloom in the wild garden.
The chimney is spewing white smoke. Sturdy brick walls are covered in ivy, only the green framed windows are clear of the plant, and the door, the same green colour with the paint tattered and chipped.
Severus stands in the middle of the garden, slightly bent. He's holding some kind of herb in his hand, and he's standing up slowly, as if he, too, would hardly believe his eyes.
For a moment, Harry sees in that surprised gaze the same hurt, the same aching agony he himself feels since a full week now, but then Snape blinks, and stands tall and the emotions are gone from his expression.
They walk closer and Harry nearly trips on the uneven ground as he doesn't dare take his eyes off the man, afraid that he would vanish again.
"Severus, dear boy, so good to see you again."
"Albus," the greeting is cold, but the deep voice softens when Severus looks at him. "Harry."
"Your alstroemeria, I see, is still in bloom, how lovely." Dumbledore smiles warmly, looking at some colourful lilies a few feet away. "Then again, you have always had a knack for plants. It is people," he adds under his nose with a conspiring wink at Harry, "that seems to cause you trouble."
Snape gives the headmaster a nasty look, but Dumbledore doesn't even flinch. Instead, he keeps on smiling warmly. Severus' gaze shifts then, looks for Harry again and once he finds the green eyes, he does not want to let go it seems.
Dumbledore talks, but no one seems to listen to him.
That dark gaze watches Harry as intently as ever, burns him, just as it always did. Harry's skin prickles within seconds, and his insides heat up. A glance is enough to make him feel like he did the first time they kissed.
He wants to look away, he should turn and leave, just like Snape did. Walk away and not even look back, but who is he kidding? More than anything, he just wants to walk up to Severus and touch him, make sure he's actually there, truly existing unlike the ghosts at Grimmauld place, warm, tangible, not a dream, but reality.
Dumbledore clears his throat and Harry feels as if a dragon has whacked against him. His attention is dragged from those black eyes, forced to look at anything else than Snape.
"Well, I ought to leave, now," the Headmaster tells Snape. "I shall convey your best wishes to Molly, although I am certain she would not mind having you over for lunch. I hear Arthur's cooking is… well, not quite edible yet, but at least less lethal."
And with twinkling blue eyes, he pops away, leaving Harry there.
For a moment, they don't talk. Harry watches the house, and Snape the garden.
It's the other man, of course, who breaks the silence eventually. His deep voice rolls over the frozen ground like lumps of soil.
"Harry…"
Harry just blurts out, "You have a house." Then, as if saying it would have made him realize the true meaning of the sentence, he repeats it, but this time it sounds more like a question. "You have a house?"
Snape looks behind at the small building, too, at rusty leaves twining up on old stone walls.
"I just purchased it. I had… I had nowhere to go."
Because you were meant to stay.
Snape's holding the herb in his fist, so firmly the poor plant loses a leaf. It falls to the ground, and with it, Harry's bravery deserts as well.
"I should go."
Snape says nothing.
Harry turns around and makes a couple of steps. He wants to run, but he holds on to the remains of his dignity at least.
"Why did you come here?"
The words are spoken so softly, Harry's not sure if he heard them. He turns back around and Severus is watching him expectantly.
"I didn't know. I didn't know he's taking me here. To you."
"I made him promise," Snape admits painfully as if he'd be confessing to murder. "I made him promise not to tell anyone, especially you."
"Why?" Harry asks and while his tone is calm, inside his anger rises. "Why did you leave?"
"Harry, you know why."
The calmness in Snape's voice, the barely concealed little tremor when he utters the name, enrages Harry more than anything. Snape's hurting too, but then why? Why all this?
"No, no, I don't!" He cries.
"We were meant to die!" Snape shouts, voice shaking. "This," he motions between the two of them, "this was never meant to last! It was a fantasy, thriving within those four walls, but out here it cannot exist!"
Harry staggers in one place, that one sentence crushing not just his hopes, but his heart as well. He stares at Snape and lets the pain show, he almost screams from it anyway.
Snape makes a hesitant step towards him, but then stops.
"And what about France?" Harry asks quietly.
Snape frowns. "What?"
"You promised to take me there. We agreed to run away. That was the only moment where we dared to plan for a future, and you wanted to spend it with me. Or was that a lie then? Something to get me to off myself willingly?"
Snape swallows hard, shakes his head and moves back.
"It was a fantasy…" he nearly whispers, voice faint as if he needed to be convinced as well.
Harry walks up to the man and gently touches his cheek, caresses it softly with his fingertips. The warmth of the skin beneath his makes his palm tingle. "Does this feel like a fantasy, Severus? Because to me, it feels bloody real."
Black eyes widen, and for a moment, Snape looks nearly angry, but then he closes his eyes, and almost sags. His head turns slightly, presses more against Harry's cheeks.
"Don't do this, Harry…" Snape pleads quietly. "I cannot… This is what is best for you, but there is a limit for how long I can do what is right…"
"I missed you, Severus," Harry softly admits. "I missed you so much."
Snape opens his eyes then, and their closeness is suddenly rattling.
"You should not have come here." Snape breathes, but the conviction has long left his voice. It's almost shaking now.
"You never should have left," Harry tells him.
Snape swallows. "What do you want, Harry?" he asks as he covers Harry's hand with his own, then turns his face and kisses the middle of Harry's palm.
Harry frowns, pulls away.
"What do I want? That's not the question here. I want the same thing I wanted from the very beginning: you! I love you, Severus, and if dying didn't change that well, sure as hell living won't change it either. No, the question is, what do you want?" Harry asks heatedly, then takes a deep breath and continues much quieter. "This was all about me, from the very beginning, but there's two of us here, Severus. Stop doing stuff because you think that's what's best for me, and stop trying to figure out what I want. I have a mouth, I will tell you if you ask me. Can you do the same for me?"
Hesitantly, Snape nods.
"Once you said, you'd only wish for me to survive the war. Well," Harry lifts his arms slightly as if presenting himself, then he says, "Here I am, alive. So what about now? If you could wish for anything right now, what would you want, Severus?"
With a quick step, Snape closes the distance between them and the next moment, he's kissing Harry. It's feverish and desperate, makes Harry sway on the spot. He has to hold on to the man not to fall.
Snape pulls away just to press their foreheads together. "This. You. For the rest of my life."
Harry smiles, kisses him again. "It's yours, Severus, all yours."
The rush of air that comes out of Snape sounds almost like a relieved chuckle.
"Your turn, Harry."
Harry laughs happily as he steals another kiss. "The same. You, for the rest of my life."
A rare smile graces Severus' lips. "You have it."