Chapter 30

Down Once More

The cold air of the dungeons did Harry good after all the food he'd had in the Gryffindor common room, and after all the noise and commotion there had been. This time, he wasn't going to delay. He was going to see his father now, right away, and not without a reason – there was something he had to talk to him about, and he was not going to let anything get in the way again like it had on so many occasions before.

The celebrations had been memorable, Ginny having brought along some of her brothers' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, but Harry hadn't been able to focus on what was going on or even to enjoy any of it. His mind had been elsewhere. He had stayed, however, for he didn't want to venture down to the dungeons while there were still hoards of grumpy Slytherins about, nor did he want to leave the party conspicuously early and thus raise suspicion.

Katie Bell had been astounded and overjoyed at his excellent performance, and so had all the others, including Hermione and Ron, who hadn't understood Snape's comment and look back outside the changing room. Harry, on the other hand, had suspected that it was his father and not some impersonator as soon as he had mentioned playing chess, and then, as they had looked at each other, he'd been absolutely certain. Afterwards, during the Quidditch match, all Harry had thought about was his father, and the rest had happened all by itself; Harry had played on autopilot, the nervosity and distraction from earlier games and from practice gone completely.

He was on his way down to the dungeons now, however, and didn't give the match a thought, turning the corner into the corridor where Snape's study was. He paused before he knocked, realising that this time he wasn't nervous about talking to his father, but simply happy that he'd finally get the chance.

Snape was looking up at him from where he sat at his desk as he entered. 'Harry,' he said, 'I was hoping you'd come.'

Harry smiled. 'I wasn't going to let you go on another mission without having talked to you first,' he said, then sat down opposite his father, who was putting away a large stack of what looked like essays.

'How are you? Snape looked at Harry scrutinisingly. 'Have you been all right while I was away?'

Harry hesitated. 'Well, mostly,' he said, then paused. 'There haven't been any major problems ... I'm fine now, anyway.'

'You were great in today's match, Harry – congratulations on your victory.'

'Thanks,' Harry said with a grin, 'too bad your team lost!'

'I daresay I shall be able to live with the shame. How about some tea?'

Harry nodded, glancing at the jars full of obscure, slimy parts of plants and animals on his father's shelves while Snape conjured up tea and frosted pumpkin cake on the now empty desk. He scanned the shelves to see if there was a new jar of cockroaches, but couldn't find one.

'So, did your mission go well?' Harry asked.

'Yes, it did, but as you know it took a lot longer than I hoped it would. There were unexpected delays of various kinds, but no serious problems ...' Snape sighed. 'I can't give you any details, of course.'

'No, of course not,' Harry nodded, taking some cake.

'It may interest you to hear that it looks as if I'll be staying here for a while now,' Snape added, taking a sip of his tea. 'So even though you'll be going away for the holidays soon, you'll know where I am and –' he paused, 'well, and if you like, we could – perhaps – see each other some time.'

'Oh, that'd be great,' said Harry and smiled. Snape wanted to see him – he might... they might meet, and he'd get away from the Dursleys. 'I'd like that,' he added, then took a sip from his own mug, badly burning his tongue on the scalding liquid. How on earth could Snape be sitting there, drinking as if it were pumpkin juice?

'Yes,' said Snape, 'I won't be going away for a good while now.' Harry noticed that his father didn't look displeased at the thought of this at all.

'As long as Lupin doesn't turn into a wolfskin rug again, I suppose,' Harry added with a smile, once his tongue had recovered from the boiling hot tea.

'Yes, that's right,' said Snape laconically, an eyebrow raised.

'So, I've been thinking ... ' Where to begin? There was so much Harry wanted to ask Snape, so much he'd been wondering about. And there was one thing he needed to talk to him about, one thing which was the most important of all – but no, not just yet, better talk about something a little less ... upsetting at first. Harry went on: 'Er ... about your flat in Knockturn Alley. What does it look like?'

'Oh,' Snape looked slightly taken aback. 'Why do you want to know?'

'Er ... well, I had a ... er ... I dreamt about it once, and I was wondering what it really looks like – if it's anything like my dream.'

'I sincerely doubt it' said Snape. 'It's not a very nice flat at all, as a matter of fact. I hardly ever go there – but it can be useful sometimes, and one never knows; it might come in handy one day. In fact, I should say it is in need of redecorating.' The last he muttered distractedly. He gave Harry a hesitant look. 'Do you really want me to describe it?'

'Oh well, it doesn't matter that much – I was only wondering. But if you hardly ever go there ...' he paused. 'Where do you go? When you're not at Hogwarts, I mean.'

'Oh, I remain here most of the time, unless I am on a mission of course,' Snape said evasively. He seemed as if he was about to say something more, but then thought better of it and remained quiet, taking another sip of his scalding hot tea.

'So you don't have any other place to go during the holidays?' Harry asked, wondering where Snape had grown up, where else he had lived, what he had done before he came to Hogwarts ... or no; that, perhaps, belonged to the things he didn't really want to know. Not all of it anyway, and not now. He shivered slightly, an image of the Death Eaters standing in a ring floating past his mind.

Snape hesitated slightly before saying a firm 'No.'

'Where ...' Harry paused, thinking of the memories he had seen during his Occlumency lessons, wondering if it would be wise to ask something like this, but then went on, 'where did you live when you were younger? When you grew up?' He looked at his father apprehensively, trying to interpret the expression in his dark eyes.

Snape sat in silence for a few moments, looking pensively into his cup of tea. 'Harry …' he said hesitantly, and looked up to face him again. 'I would like to tell you more about myself – about my childhood, about … things that I have done, decisions I have made in my past – but not today. Please understand –'

'Of course!' Harry interrupted him, wondering how he could have been so thoughtless. Snape had just returned from a mission, he was tired. The last thing he needed was to be interrogated about his childhood – about all those disturbing things Harry had seen last year. He cast about for something else to say. 'Of course I understand,' he said lamely. An awkward silence followed.

'So tell me –' Snape began.

'I went to see Professor Dumbledore,' Harry broke in again, 'while you were away – a few months back – I wanted to ask him if ... if there was nothing I could do, you know, in the fight. Against ...' he paused, 'You-Know-Who.'

Snape eyed Harry warily. 'Yes ... I can see why you would want to do that … What did Professor Dumbledore say?'

'He won't let me do anything until I'm seventeen.'

'I thought as much,' Snape said calmly. 'I understand that it is frustrating for you, Harry. But why are you so anxious to begin? Don't forget, there are so many others who are fighting him – all of us in the Order are working against the Dark Lord, and although some Order members may seem ...' Snape cleared his throat and apparently thought better of what he had been going to say. 'Yes, well – just because you're The Boy Who Lived, the responsibility does not rest solely on you, Harry.' He paused. 'We're all in this together, you know.'

Harry swallowed. Snape didn't know about the Prophecy. Harry had suspected as much, but he had not been sure. He knew that Dumbledore hadn't told any of the other Order members that he knew the contents of it, but he had thought that he might have made an exception with Snape. Snape was, after all, Harry's father. But, of course, Dumbledore would never tell anyone about something so private, something that Harry had to decide for himself whom to tell. Then again, there were other ways Snape could have found out; not the full contents, perhaps, but part of it.

Harry let out his breath, slowly; apparently he'd been holding it without noticing. 'Well, yes, I know,' he began, 'but there's the Prophecy.' He looked at his father searchingly, hoping to find a sign that he was wrong, that he did know about the Prophecy after all.

Snape gave him a piercing glance. 'What about the Prophecy?'

'Have you – er – have you heard all of it?' Harry's voice shook slightly.

'All of it? But it was lost a year ago ... in the Department of Mysteries.'

'Well, yes –' Harry hesitated. 'It was lost ... but ...' He stopped, unable to explain it all, to tell his father how Dumbledore had known all along and told no one ...

'But what?' Snape said quietly. 'You don't mean to say that Dumbledore …' His eyes widened. 'Of course … Dumbledore knows. I should have realised, of course. Dumbledore has known all along.'

Harry nodded, looking warily at his father across the desk.

'He knows the full contents of the Prophecy?' Snape's voice was suddenly sharp and cold.

'Yes.' Harry was about to go on, but his mouth was dry, and he found it difficult to speak.

Snape rose, and began pacing to and fro behind his desk. 'And he has kept this from you, of course?'

Harry rose as well, but remained standing in front of the desk. 'Yes,' he said shakily. 'Until a year ago. He told me about it after … after it was lost. He showed it to me in his Pensieve. And …'

Snape had stopped pacing and was staring at Harry. 'And you – you got to hear the end of it as well?' His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Harry nodded. 'The end ... in the end it says that I – I have to kill Voldemort or else he'll kill me.' Harry swallowed and looked down, unable to look at his father, afraid of what his expression might be. They both stood there quietly for a good while before Snape spoke.

'You are quite sure of this, Harry?' Snape's voice was steady; if he was upset, Harry couldn't tell.

'Yes.' Harry looked up again. Snape had turned away from him, and was facing the shelves on the wall behind the desk. 'I asked Dumbledore if it meant what I thought it meant, and he ... he said yes. It said, "... and either must die at the hand of the other."'

Snape turned around to face Harry. His eyes were cold and hard. 'I see,' he said. 'Yes.' There was a long pause, and then Snape sat down again. He looked up at Harry, his expression impossible to read, as always. 'Why don't you sit down, Harry?' he said wearily.

Harry remained standing, looking at Snape's stony face. And suddenly relief flooded him, completely unexpectedly. He hadn't known, up until now, how much the knowledge of the Prophecy had weighed him down, made him feel alone. Now he wasn't alone anymore. Obviously, Snape couldn't kill Voldemort for him, but it felt good all the same that he knew. But that was enough for now.

'No thanks, Dad. I think I'd rather go to bed right now, if you don't mind. I wanted to tell you because … well, because I had to tell someone. I couldn't keep it all to myself anymore. And … I guess I felt you had a right to know. But I'd rather not talk about it right now.'

Snape raised his head. He looked tired and pale. 'Are you sure about that, Harry? Because if you do want to talk, I'm here for you now. You know you can come and see me any time.'

'Thanks, Dad.' Harry smiled. 'That's good to know. But not right now. Maybe we can talk about it … later some time.'

'As you wish.'

'You look tired,' Harry said boldly. 'You should probably get some sleep too.'

Snape looked distracted. 'Yes, yes … I will. As soon as you've gone. Good night, Harry.'

Harry sighed with relief, once again realising how glad he was that Snape was back, and not away on some dangerous mission. This meant that he could come here and see him again as long as nobody saw him going down to the dungeons. Snape would remain at Hogwarts for a while, and above all, Harry knew he'd be safe. Everything would be all right.

Well, not everything, of course. As long as Voldemort was still out there, things could never be completely all right. As long as Voldemort was alive, Harry would always have a gnawing fear at the back of his mind, that something would happen to one of the people that were important to him. But at least his father was here, and in safety for the time being. At least they had been given a brief respite.

He would come down here to see Snape again tomorrow, Harry decided. Right now, though, his father really did look as if he needed his sleep, and so did Harry, come to think of it – he was exhausted after all he'd been through lately. And he could come back soon, and he would. 'Good night,' he said, leaving Snape's study swiftly, his robes billowing behind him.

When Harry had left, Snape did not go to bed, however. He remained sitting at his desk unmovingly for what would have seemed, to an onlooker, like a long while. His facial expression would not have told anyone what was going on inside him; he looked perfectly calm. At his temple, however, a muscle was twitching.

Suddenly he rose, turned around, lashed out with his arm, and with one sweeping movement shoved all the glass jars off their shelf behind his desk, so that they fell on the floor with an enormous crash. The jars seemed to fly all over the room: across his desk, below it, toward the fire-place, over to the door, their contents spraying the wall in the process. Snape did not pay any attention to this.

'Damn you, Voldemort!' he hissed under his breath, his black eyes flashing. And then, in a terrible roar, 'Damn you!'