Lachrymose Part Three
A Higher Up Than Heaven and a Harder Down Than Stone

I.

McGonagall meets me in the great hall. At first I'm surprised that Dumbledore hasn't come to greet me, but she explains quickly that the headmaster has been slightly ill and asked that she come to welcome me and show me to my rooms. She thanks me curtly for the added protection and asks how long this will all be necessary. I sense a distance to her that was never there before. She's holding parts of herself back, and it's wearing her down. Frazzled is the word to describe her, I think.

"We're hoping to capture Snape soon," I say, noting how she flinches at the sound of his name. "The Aurors are just a precaution, and I have every hope that he will be caught and taken in before the week is out." If we're to conduct ourselves with formal lies she'll find that I am well trained. "Thank you for your hospitality in complying with the Ministry's wishes. I hope that I will be able to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore at some point?"

She pales. "I'm afraid that's not possible Mister Potter. The Headmaster is quite under the weather and will not be able to meet with you."

"I see…well, if he feels any better, please call for me at once. It is imperative that I meet with him as early as possible."

Our conversation is interrupted as Sirius comes skidding into the room, a grin lighting up his face as he sees me. I'm in his arms in a second, smiling awkwardly against his warm shoulder. Sirius and I haven't had the opportunity to see much of each other in the past few years, which is a nice way of saying we've been too busy to do more than send a few letters now and then. I hadn't realized I missed him so much.

"Harry! Wow! You look great!" He ruffles my hair as if I'm still a child, and I almost wish I were, if I could have him as my dad. I imagine he would be the sort of parent other kids would want to have. "How've you been?"

"Wonderful," I lie, smiling. "How about you?"

"Amazing!" He gives me another squeeze.

McGonagall is smiling tightly at us. "Sirius, why don't you show Harry his rooms? I'm sure he's tired after the ride here and would like to get some rest before beginning work."

Sirius nods. "You're not far from Remus and I. I'll take you there now. Did the house elves get everything?"

"Yes," I tell him, remembering how incredibly nonplussed Galatea had been when I entrusted her into Dobby's dubious care. I grin. "Lead the way."

* * *

As Sirius opens the door my breath catches in my throat. There's a small fire, because castles are cold, no matter what the weather is like outside, and two armchairs facing one another, both upholstered in red velvet. There's a red velvet sofa, a bookshelf, a few tapestries…and it's so completely Hogwarts that it takes my breath away. I hadn't realized until this moment how good it had always felt, being here.

"You got one of the nice rooms," Sirius says, smiling. "They've got Moony and I lodging in the draftiest room in the entire castle, bar none."

Galatea is sitting by the fire, but she jumps up at my arrival and winds herself about my feet, meowing. I bend over and pick her up. "I didn't know you and Professor Lupin were…"

"Lovers?" I stare. I was going to say 'living together' but that's what I'd meant, so I nod. "We're not. Not really anyway. What we are…I don't think it's really…I mean, it's purely platonic." He runs a hand through his dark hair and smiles uncertainly at me. "Remus is a very strong Catholic, so we don't do anything that might offend his morals." He winks at me, trying to look flippant.

"But you live together."

"Pretty fucked up, isn't it?" He flashes me a smile, and I'm starting to wonder if that's the only expression he owns. Gallant grin; perfected by Sirius Black. I try to smile back.

"Well, I'll just let you get settled then," he says, moving toward the door. "Remus and I are just three doors down to the left if you need anything or want to chat. I know he'd love to see you. We've both missed you terribly." And then he's gone, the imprint of his artificial merriment hanging lachrymosely over the room.

* * *

The rest of my day is spent touring the grounds with Sirius and Remus, catching up with old friends, and checking in every few hours with the Aurors I've had placed around the castle. No one has seen anything unusual. I eat at the head table at dinner, talking with Sirius over recent Quidditch events, and laughing as he and Remus recount absolute horror stories about teaching. It feels strange to be on this end of things, and it makes me wonder what exactly Snape must have felt, knowing his every move was watched by students, reported in hallways gossiped about in dorm rooms. What must it have been like to be a miniature celebrity like that, where your every action is picked up on and discussed? I shiver, realising I really don't have to imagine. Maybe we had more in common than I realised.

Dumbledore, I notice, is conspicuously lacking from dinner. His seat remains empty, and I get the feeling it has for some time.

After dinner Sirius and Remus invite me back to their rooms for a chat before bed. We sit before the fire, me in an armchair, them on the couch, Remus reclining in Sirius' arms, the picture of domestic bliss if I didn't know better.

"How's work coming along Harry," Remus asks me, snuggling back into my godfather's embrace. "Not up to anything too dangerous are you?"

"I'm not involved in dark magic anymore. I'm on the homicide unit, and this case is the most dangerous I've had in a while."

He nods. "Snape has always been dangerous." Sirius' eyes darken at Remus' words, and he tightens his hold on the man's thin body. "You'll catch him though, I've every confidence."

"Let's talk about something pleasant," Sirius beams. "Found any special someone, Harry?"

"No," I say. "I'm too busy for that. Ron and Seamus and I used to go clubbing now and then, but not lately."

"Oh well, you're still so young," Remus smiles warmly at me. "How are Ron and Seamus? Still the same as always?"

"Not quite," I tell him. Who among us is the same as always? Who among us lived through that war, the private war here at Hogwarts before the Ministry caught on and joined in the fight, one day before Voldemort collapsed, and remained unchanged by it? The adults who lived through it already had their own scars, from battles long since passed, too broken to scar a second time. But us, we were easy black boards for destruction.

"Harry, why don't you come back to Hogwarts?" Sirius grins hopefully at me. "You seem absolutely miserable being an Auror, and we could use a new flying coach."

I force a smile. "It sounds nice Sirius, but I'm really very happy with what I do. We're just all under a lot of stress right now I suppose, but it'll wear off soon enough. This whole matter will be in the past before too long."

There's a comfortable moment of silence, with us all sitting there, forcing our smiles, before Remus remarks, "Oh my, would you look at the time? It's almost ten thirty and I have an early class tomorrow." He stands, extracting himself from Sirius like he's cutting parts of himself off with a paring knife. "It was so good talking to you Harry. I hope you stay for a very long time," he smiles and moves towards the bedroom.

Sirius stands as well, clapping me on the back with that grin still painted on his face. "Remus is doing really well, don't you think?"

"He seems quite well," I answer. "Who's been making the, er…"

"Oh, we've got a new potions master. Great woman, absolutely the nicest person you can imagine. The exact opposite of Snape," he laughs. "She's been doing some research and there've been vast improvements in the potion. I think it's really helping Remus. He's so happy lately," Sirius sighs.

"Yes," I agree, even though I've no idea what I'm talking about. "That's wonderful."

"I'll see you tomorrow? Great. Sleep well," Sirius says, opening the door for me. As the door shuts again I can see him walking after Remus, his broad shoulders slumping for just a moment before he picks himself up again. And a part of me wants to reach out and bring him back, wants to fix everything in his fucked up life for him, and take off that plastic mask he's hiding behind. How much must he feel? How much must be hidden behind that perfect shining smile? Or has it hidden so long it's completely gone now?

In my mind, for the rest of his life, I know at this moment, he will forever walk after Remus.

* * *

My rooms feel too big. I want to talk to Dumbledore, and I want to talk to him now. It feel just like old times as I got to my luggage, removing those items I prized above all else in my youth; my invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map. Dumbledore's dot shows up in his personal rooms, just off his office. That seems usual.

I put the cloak on hurriedly and open the door, glancing both ways before I step into the hall and begin walking. I pass Sirius and Remus' room, pause for a second. There's no noise from within, but I don't know what I was expecting. I linger a moment before moving on.

The halls are familiar; the shifting staircases like something painfully recognised. Being here feels like having a piece of myself restored. Maybe I should think about Sirius' suggestion that I stay. I'll mention it to Dumbledore. I used to be so happy here; maybe after this case I can return, ever the prodigal son.

The gargoyle at the base of Dumbledore's staircase proves an obstacle. I begin listing candies in a low voice and it smirks, unresponsive. Somewhere between lemon drops and chocolate frogs I must hit the right word though, or else the gargoyle just has pity on me, for the door is opened to me at last. And the winding stairwell waits before me, with the one person who could possibly solve all these riddles just a few minutes away.

II.

"Headmaster?" The door opens under the slight bit of pressure I exert, and I peek my head round to look into his office, as cluttered with bric-a-brac and magical nonsense as it ever was in the past. It seems even messier now, if possible. Candy wrappers and broken tea cups lie here and there, like the remains of a very good childhood.

"Professor Dumbledore?" I can't see him, and there's no answer, but I do detect a slight murmuring further in the room. Steeling myself, I walk forward. "I know you're ill, sir, but I need to talk to you. It's about Snape."

Suddenly, the room is illuminated with bright colored lights like a circus. I wince as my eyes adjust to it, and look up, shading my eyes, to see Dumbledore, his face all twisted with a mad grin, standing right across from me in a tattered velvet robe. His eyes twinkle crazily, like the lights around the room, and, as I watch, he starts to laugh.

"Dear Christ," I murmur, dropping my hand. He's completely mad. "Oh, sir, what's happened to you?"

"Harry, Harry my boy!" He chortles in a high and cracking voice. It feels like being electrocuted to listen to him. "Do sit down! Do sit down! Could I offer you some candy? Tea? No? Well then! How's life been treating you, my dear boy?"

I sit gingerly on the edge of a chair, ready to bolt at any minute. "Life is fine…" I try. "How are things with you?"

"Oh, quite lovely! I wake up every morning just after six and spend the day steeped in paper work." He grabs a handful of candy wrappers and throws them towards me. "I make important decisions. I always have! It's quite the easiest job in the world, controlling the universe."

I can feel myself shrinking away from this sugar fed mad man. His eyes blink and sparkle like orbs of malice in his wrinkled face. "So glad you've come home. They always do come back. Always do forgive me in the end."

"Forgive you for what?" I ask, almost dreading the answer.

"Oh all the things I chose for them to be of course! You almost didn't come back, but Professor Snape saw to it you would," he muttered. "Disobeying orders, so very unlike him."

My brain screams at me to ask about Snape, his name dangling between us like a baited hook, but there's a voice in my head saying, "You never ask the right questions."

"What do you mean I almost didn't come back? Come back to the school? Come back when?"

Dumbledore grins. "Why, from your last mission. It never happened, of course. Snape saw to that. Oh, but it would have been marvelous. Arabella had it all planned out, I could tell. She was just about to make her move, and I'd been coaxing her on all year, making her feel just so comfortable, just so trusted. They always fall for that."

My breath escapes in the hiss of one word. "What?"

"Oh, they all believed they were clever. Quirrell and Crouch. They all thought they were so very tricky. As if I didn't know all along, hand pick them for the task of training you. And she was to be the last one ever…"

"Harry!" I whirl around, staring into McGonagall's frightened eyes. I jump up to the sound of Dumbledore's laughter.

"Professor McGonagall! I…I…"

"Sit down Harry," she looks heartbroken. "You've a right to this information. But not like this! Oh Merlin, not like this." She turns her eyes on Dumbledore and mutters few words. He rises at what must have been her command and, still chuckling, exits into an adjoining room. She shakes her head, strands of hair falling out of that tight bun.

"If I may ask," I begin. "What the hell is going on?"

She sighs. "You've no doubt noticed that the Headmaster has gone mad?"

"Yes, that was a rather difficult detail to miss," I snap. I don't sound like myself.

"The pressure in the last days of the war…it touched so many of us! He took it the hardest though, when Snape…and he seemed to be holding up alright. I guess he just got too old for himself," she sighs. "One morning I came up to find him and he was just as you saw him. Every bit a lunatic."

"Fascinating. Why did he say those things? About me? That was more than madness."

"Yes," she nods. "But I wish it wasn't.

"Dumbledore confided in me early in your life his intent to shape you. He has always been a masterful manipulator. He can…could…bend people to his whim, not through magic, but through conditioning, through what Muggle's call psychology. His first step was leaving you with those Muggle relations of yours. I told him from the start I was against it, but that just made him more determined. He wanted you to know what it was to overcome adversity," she sneers. "He wanted you to understand the kind of prejudice the world was riddled with, and he wanted you to understand from day one. So it was off to the Muggles with you, and there was nothing I could say to change his mind.

"After that everything was a lesson. Every year was another lesson. Every fucking day was a lesson!" I wince. I've never heard her swear, and her voice shakes like it's about to break or like she's never talked before. "Oh he thought it was the cleverest thing in the world. He'd come up here chuckling and clucking his tongue and telling me about his plans. I was the only one he told, the only one he'd trust with it."

"What about Snape?" I ask, on impulse. "He trusted Snape."

"Trusted him, yes, that's what got him in the end. He'd never been betrayed before. He always knew which side everyone was on, and if they lashed out at him after pretending to be on his side, he'd known all along and it was all according to plan. But Snape got him good. Snape, he trusted. And Snape trusted him. Dumbledore couldn't tell Snape, because Snape wouldn't have stood for it. He knew what it was to be used and bent into impossible poses, and he would have put a stop to it. I should have put a stop to it."

I'm overcome with the urge to comfort her, but maybe this is just another manipulation. She looks so old. "What about Arabella Figg then? What was that about?"

"She was working for Voldemort. She hadn't been made a Death Eater yet, so there were no marks on her, but she was sent in to find you. Find you and…" She covers her mouth and her next words are too muffled to hear. They sound like a prayer or a hex, and she removed her hand slowly. "I told Dumbledore, I told him he couldn't. I said it wouldn't be right, that you had a right to be here, and it was his duty to keep the children safe. That was his job, not controlling the whole world. But the ministry…they wouldn't declare war. If they joined we could crush Voldemort in a day, but they didn't see a reason to join yet.

"So Dumbledore had it all planned out. Figg was going to use a trap, kidnap a few students and wait until you came to save them. Then snap," she snapped her fingers. "She was more powerful than anyone you'd faced so far, and she was more cunning than Voldemort because she was unhampered by pride or showmanship. She'd have killed you all before you could raise your wands.

"I stood against it. Oh, I tried so hard to make him change his mind but he…and I'd been in it too long to stop him now. He had it all set up. Everything. If you died, he said, the ministry would have to declare war. And with their power…he said it was your destiny to win the war in any way you could, and this was the only way. I didn't know how to stop him." She sobs. "I'm sorry."

"He was going to have me killed?"

She nods. "Yes," she whispers. "But the night Arabella Figg took those children was the same night Snape went crazy. He killed them, all of them, before anyone knew what was happening. And Dumbledore and I kept quiet about it. He was a murderer, after all. The children…and then that killing spree on the Muggles near where she had taken them. And the dark wizards..." She wrings her hands distractedly, as if she's kneading air. "They called him a monster, but I think he was saving your life. I think he trusted Dumbledore, and when he realised how betrayed he'd been, how betrayed you'd been, I think he just lost it."

A heavy silence descends between us. There are crashing, banging noises from Dumbledore's room. "He's totally mad," she whispers. "We cover it up, for his sake. I run the school now, but he's still the headmaster. I just couldn't bare the thought of him wasting away in St. Mungo's, and Merlin knows what he might say to anyone there."

I nod. We wouldn't want him spilling secrets, would we? "You're his jailor."

"I'm his liberator as well," her eyes flash. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to get to bed. It's been a long day, and tomorrow probably won't prove much better."

* * *

I sneak back to my room, passing those familiar paintings and tracing my invisible footprints down the hallways of my childhood. Outside Sirius and Remus' door again, I pause, and this time I could swear there's a noise like someone crying from inside. A screaming sort of, shrieking kind of, heart broken sound that drives me on, kills my curiosity. I've had enough for one night.

III.

The week proceeds without further success. I drift through the halls aimlessly, feeling betrayed and strange. The Aurors I've had stationed about the school report nothing out of the ordinary. Classes proceed as usual, and the school, suddenly just another bitter location, has lost all mystery for me. There are no answers here. None I want to hear.

It is Friday when I find myself out on the Quidditch pitch, alone. The sky is a fierce grey, the signal of a coming storm. Spring storms for summer flowers. I sigh and wrap my arms around myself. I almost miss the slender figure making its way towards me.

"Hello Remus," I say without looking at him. "Out for a walk?"

"I was looking for you, actually," he says, standing beside me and following the path of my eyes out into the sky. "You seem troubled."

"So do you," I tell him, because I don't want to have this conversation. "Something on your mind?"

"I'm worried about you," he continues, as if he hasn't heard me. "You walk about like you're still asleep. You drink about twenty cups of coffee a day. You treat Sirius and I as if we're ghosts. What on earth is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just…feel like I'm in the wrong place."

"Then where should you be?"

"I don't know. I came here looking for Snape, but I've found out more than suits me. I want…I need to find him. Talk to him. Somehow." I shiver. "I don't know what's happening to me."

"You're growing up," he replies calmly.

I almost laugh. "I thought I'd finished that by now."

"No one really ever does," he shrugs. "I know I haven't. I still don't know what I want out of life. Or else…" he shakes his head and smiles at me. "I don't think we ever figure everything out. I think we have to live with what we get, and accept the things that we never understand."

This time I do laugh, because the image of Remus as this wise little Buddha of a werewolf is too much. "That's very Zen," I snicker.

He shrugs again, and looks back toward the castle. "I'm going in now, but if you'd like to join Sirius and I for tea later I know we'd both love to have you."

"Thanks," I grin. "I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

Curled up in one of the armchairs in my room, I read Snape's last letter for the millionth time. I've discovered a lot about myself, which sucks, and I've filled in a motive for what started his crimes, sort of, but I still haven't found him. Of course, it's completely likely that he never meant for me to find him, that he only wanted to dangle himself before my eyes and watch me learn all the crushing truths of my life.

And that brings up another point. He must be watching me. How else would he know everything he claims to? How else could he have saved my life on Orcas Island, or known I'd kept Galatea, who is curled in a tight ball in front of the fire as if she belongs there and will never move again? He's been watching me since I started this case, maybe even a little before.

It stands to reason, therefore, that he is still watching me. Somehow he's managed to outwit my Aurors. Well, that's no surprise. He's tricky, as everyone has conceded. I've hooked up a system with the Aurors though. One magic word is all it will take and, should I need them, they would be at my side. It took a lot of loopholes and magical trickery to get around the 'no apparition' rules, but we managed it. Some of the wards around the school are failing anyway, perhaps because of Dumbledore's madness, perhaps because the energy is just used up. Either way, there's no way I'm going to be stuck at Snape's mercy like I was last time. He may act like he's no threat to me, but I'm not about to fool myself that mocking charm is sincere.

I have to make him interested in me again, I think, I have to draw his eye. He's watching, so I just need to force a reaction. The how is where this gets difficult. His letter should tell me! But I've gone through every sentence, every word, and I'm still stumped.

The happiest place…where was I most at peace? My mind throws up images of Quidditch, of wizarding Chess in front of the fire, of Care of Magical Creatures and Halloween Feasts. I've searched these places, dismantled these events. They hold no clue. And, itching at the back of my mind is an image I've been trying hard to suppress.

It wasn't the happiest moment of my life. It wasn't what brought me the greatest peace. But it was my last real moment of peace, I suppose, since it was followed by days filled with blood and pain and betrayal. So I go out on a limb, swallow my doubt, and break into the potions classroom after hours.

It's about the same as I remember it. Dark, damp, clammy and gross. The new teacher must not be one for redecorating, anyway. My fingers brush across the jars and vials, seeking out memories I've been trying to forget. In my mind there's something crawling across the floor, there's damp fingers and cold snapping like tendons over bones. I step away from the shelves.

"Hello, hello," I try, and get no answer. No matter. This was just a prelude. Leaving, I walk down the hall towards his room. Snape's room, or what was once Snape's room. I've been told it stands empty now, untouched, a tribute to a wanted man. The wards are down, and I push the door open and stand in the past.

He's sitting in a high backed armchair, coolly gazing into the fire. "Shut the door," he remarks, "if you're coming in."

The door clicks shut behind me, and I take a shaky step in. "What do you want?"

"Did you talk to Dumbledore? Ah, I can tell that you did. Isn't he just remarkable? Heralded as one of the greatest wizards of ours times, and look at him now! Maybe all those good intentions are finally catching up with him. If you get my drift," he raises an eyebrow. Yeah, I think, I get it.

"So here we are again," he smirks, his young, young, terribly young face shimmering in fire light as he stands up to face me, run one long finger down the curve of shadow on my cheek. And it feels like his nail is a knife. And it feels like I ought to just jump out of my skin. And it feels like all my dreams, because his lips are on mine and I'm sinking into a memory and a dream, and he's not quite the same as I thought he would be.

Elegant is the way he kisses me. No tongue, no passion. We're like movie stars, I think, like actors. His mouth feels full and soft, gently sucking on my lower lip. He tastes like something sweet and clean. Everything about him is screaming that he's too young and too pretty. I just shove that into the back of my head and shove my hands into his (clean, soft) hair.

When he breaks away from me I gasp, and catch myself. His hands are resting lightly on my shoulders, his full mouth a little open and his eyes heavy lidded. "You're not calling your Aurors," he points out.

"You're not holding a wand," I reply.

"I didn't need a wand for some of them," he says, and kisses my neck with slightly less elegance, slightly more passion.

"Stop it," I push him away. "You're a murderer."

"I know that," he says, and leans in for another kiss, breathing his words against my lips. "Which of us are you reminding?"

"You caught me off my guard," I protest, still pushing at him. "You're not the same person. You're a murderer. This is not happening between us."

His eyes go dark and [at?] the conviction of my tone. "We don't have to be enemies," he tells me as he steps back. "You can come with me. I'm leaving for real. I'm not going to keep following you around."

"What kind of life would we have?" I laugh. "I'd clean the house while you went out and murdered us a nice big supper?"

"I've never eaten my victims," he protests flippantly. "Well, maybe a bite or two…" He snaps his white teeth at me, and grins. "Come on Harry; you know you want to."

"I hate you," I seethe. "I hate you for everything you've done. You ruined my life."

"Ah, but I saved your life," he answers me, and then he's kissing me again and I don't have the strength to shrug him off. It might go on and on like that, but he pulls away, sadly, pressing a finger to my lips to silence me as he gives me a funny little half smile. "I'll see you again," he murmurs, "if you come to Godric's Hollow tonight at twelve," and then he's gone. I am, apparently, not the only one able to outsmart the school's crumbling defences.

IV.

At first it's just the feeling that I want to break something. Anything. My hands ache to throw, smash, hurt, destroy. I want to translate the chaos inside of me into something tangible, something anyone can see. I imagine it's the way Sirius feels all the time, but has hidden behind that cocksure grin of his. I feel like tearing out my hair.

But instead I sit calmly, waiting, in Snape's sitting room where I've been since he blinked out nearly two hours ago. It's twelve minutes to midnight.

This is the end between us, I know. Whatever happens, part of what we were will die. Either I'll go to him, and we'll leave together and never look back, and that hunter/prey relationship that started and reversed itself so very long ago will finally end; or else I'll stay here, and he'll leave, and whatever lingering emotions there are holding us in place will break and crumble. One way or another, this has to end.

It's seven minutes till now, and I have to make my choice. Stay or go? I've been betrayed, but do I want to betray my past? Do I want to betray Sirius, and Remus, and McGonagall and even Dumbledore? Or Hermione, and the memory of her girlish good looks and the light of her smile? Do I want to walk away from all that? What would it give me? Revenge? Power? Love?

So that's the clincher. What is it I'm feeling right now? Down, past all the anxiety and hurt and guilt and fear, what is it I feel? Is it love that's driven me here, so far back into my past that I can hardly see my way back out? Is it love that's put me through this test? And if so, love for whom? For the friends and family I don't keep in touch with? For the man that ripped away parts of my life in an attempt to save me from the people who cared too much? What is it that's brought me back here tonight?

Two minutes to go. I make up my mind. Standing, I raise my wand, and, with incredible effort to see through the wards, apparate to Godric's Hollow.