Hi everyone. This chapter is rather longer than usual, I just couldnt' bear to split it up. Also, this authors note is rather long as well. If you simply don't care or haven't reviewed (in which case you definitely won't care,) just skip down to the double lines, that's where the story starts.
Until now I've resisted spending time rationalizing what I've written for everyone to see (rest assured, I spend a great deal of time thinking about it) but some conflicting, yet very reasonable and well though-out responses have convinced me to do just that.
You see, I don't want all of you thinking I'm completely disregarding your input. I most certainly am not. In fact, I've been thinking about what you all wrote to the point you've got me dreaming about this story. (Okay, I can see you all backing away slowly from the crazy person, just bear with me a bit.)
The thing is, I've gotten too many conflicting responses. Some of you don't think we've seen enough of Harry and Snapes rationalizations and thought processes. Some of you think we're seeing too much of both. (I'm interpreting 'Harry's acting too young' and Harry's "too girlified" (a phrase I rather like, BTW) as thinking too much.) So, to paraphrase King, when everyone says something different, feel free to ignore all their advice and contine in your own way.
I do have several scenes I cut from this story for various reasons and, if everyone seems to think they need them to fully understand this story, I might be able to put together a "Missing Moments" set, or something similar. You all have to understand, I did not sit down and write an outline, characterlist, and such for this story. I got an idea one day and just started writing it. This started as a series of scenes that I thought were really neat, written in a random order. After a while I decided they all fit together and started writing hte in-between parts. Now I've got over 40,000 words and counting.
As this chapter is rather long on it's own, I'm not going to continue this A/N much longer. I only want to re-iterate that I love all your responses, positive and negative, and even though I've decided not to act on much that you've said up to this point, that doesn't mean I don't appreciate and think about every word. A great many of your thoughts have affected later scenes and I'm also working on a second story that, believe it or not, your input is helping along greatly. You inspire me, even if you don't see it.
Some review responses:
Arica, Princess of Rivendell: With as much as I have been agonizing over my lovely reviewers responses, this week you are my favourite reader. Have a cookie and enjoy the nice, long chapter.
Imperial Jedi, Lady Mackbeth, Lanfear1, ckat44, lilyseyes, RemusLupinRocks, duj, and Weirdcraz24: I like you almost as much as Arica. You all are so wonderful, and such flatters! (blushes)
juliedecarson: I love your story "The Storms of Desiderium." I've got you on Author Alert (or story alert, I don't remember which and am too lazy to look) under another username. (my other personality's a Star Wars fan and doesn't want people to know) Your story actually inspired the scene that started this story. Sadly, and ironically, it didn't fit and was cut before I even started posting. Is it wrong to use this opportunity to ask when you might update? Sorry, I'll move on...
Kitten-Lass: We must have very similar personalities. I think most of what you mentioned were my sentiments about the previeous chapter. I really wanted more Tonks, but it didn't seem to fit just yet. You will definitely see more Padfoot and the Hari thing was a whim that seemed to work out really nicely. I liked it anyway. I'm glad you agree. It's nice to know what i've gotten right.
Lady Galatea Ravenclaw: How ironic that you asked that... Well, I hope you enjoy it!
t.a.g.0: That is reassuring, but even so... I hate it when others misspell things like names. It seems so... lazy? something like that. I was just horrified to see that I had done it. I'm usually more careful than that. Thanks again for hte help.
Padawan Jan-AQ: You mentioned a lot of things that had already been bothering me, I think you're the primary reason for my authors note, actually. But, I stand by what I've already written. I actually had a rather long chapter that was supposed to go at the beginning of this. It was a 'summer' chapter with Harry at the Dursleys. It built on Petunia's character and her reasons for standing between Harry and Vernon. It also introduced a pet snake (a gift from Hagrid) and spend probably five pages (in word) with Harry's reasoning about Snape and his role as a spy. I'm rather fond of this chapter and have not abandoned it, but it really didn't fit with this story. It didn't fit even when I ignored the fact that the timing didn't work.
I would consider it a great favour if you could elaborate on the term "too girlified" (I grin everytime I read that, I do so love that phrase, you don't mind if I use it do you?) As a girl myself, I'm having a hard time seeing what you are seeing and I think it would help me improve future chapters and stories if you could help me see this.
.
.
Chapter 5
The next day, Harry was back to wandering the corridors, both his visitors gone. Sirius and Remus had gathered the 'old crowd' and now they were apparently working toward some new goal, though no one would tell Harry what that might be.
Harry had enjoyed the previous afternoon so much, and had been so caught up with questions about his father, that it wasn't until he was lying down to sleep that he realized his question about this mysterious 'order' hadn't been answered.
He hated that Dumbledore had brushed him aside like that. What was worse, he'd done it deliberately, Harry was sure.
It was frustrating. Here he was, at Hogwarts, right in the middle of everything, and there was nothing he could do! He didn't even know what was going on. Voldemort was out there, likely getting stronger everyday, and it seemed like nothing was being done about it.
Harry had started having the Daily Prophet delivered at the beginning of the summer, but it hadn't had anything in it worth reading. So far, the ministry was still denying Voldemort's existence and they had even gone so far as to make digs at Dumbledore.
After just a week, Harry began throwing them away after skimming the front page. He, thankfully, hadn't seen anything by Rita Skeeter, so he assumed she was holding up her end of the bargain Hermione had made.
That was something else that bothered him. He wasn't allowed to write to his friends now that he was at Hogwarts. He knew Dumbledore had contacted them, telling them he was safe and not to write him, but Harry couldn't understand why. Surely he was safe at Hogwarts!
They day after he gave his report to the aurors was especially hard for Harry. Dumbledore had a note sent to him at breakfast telling him the Headmaster would not be at the castle for a week and it would be best if Harry stayed indoors during that time.
It was especially irritating because Harry had already planned to go flying that day. It was as if the old man was doing his best to make Harry absolutely miserable.
Harry wanted to talk to someone but he knew there was no one available. Sirius and Moony (he just couldn't bring himself to think of his teacher by his first name) would be gone fore weeks, most likely. Hagrid was gone for the summer, he'd apparently left as soon as the students had. Even Madam Pomfrey was gone. The only people left in the castle were Professor Trelawney (whom Harry knew he would never be bored enough to visit) Filch (who was an even worse choice than Trelawney) and Professor Snape.
The boy shuddered at the thought of talking to Professor Snape. Yes, the man was more tolerable now than he had been, but he still wasn't the sort of person Harry wanted to just go talk to.
So he wandered the halls and corridors of Hogwarts, spelling items at random. It had occurred to him, after casting several spells the day before, that he wasn't supposed to do magic during the summer. But he'd gotten no reprimand and assumed that, even though it was summer, he was technically still at school and therefore allowed to use magic.
Harry chose the ground floor today, knowing that
there was little marked on the map for this level. It stood to
reason, in his opinion, that there would be a nearly equal number of
secrets on each level, which meant there was still much to find on the
ground floor.
He suspected there was a vanishing cabinet on this
floor, as he remembered seeing a cabinet in the left hand corridor, but
couldn't find it now. He jotted down the note, knowing he
couldn't be sure until the cabinet re-appeared and he could check
it. After all, it might have just been moved or it could have
been destroyed by Peeves.
As if thinking of the poltergeist had summoned it, Peeves flew down the corridor over Harry's head, laughing hysterically. Harry frowned, knowing that a happy Peeves meant trouble. Sure enough, just behind the poltergeist was a very angry Filch who was waving a mop uselessly at he ghost.
Harry, not wanting to get in the way of the old
caretaker, ducked into an alcove off the main hall and hunched in the
shadows.
Filch was yelling as he ran past the small alcove
and Harry tensed as the man stopped just out of sight. He sniffed
the air audibly and turned in a tight circle, examining every part of
the hall.
In a moment of clumsiness, Harry fumbled his pen, which clattered to the stone floor. Filch jumped and looked straight at the alcove. Harry flinched and leaned into the wall-
Only to find himself falling into something very soft and very, very dusty. He coughed violently until the dust settled, then shifted slowly and carefully to examine where he was without stirring up too much dust.
He pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled his wand, saying lumos softly into the darkness.
As he said the spell, however, his wand wasn't the
only thing that lit. The small light at the tip of his wand was
drowned as seven huge torches ignited, throwing light across a large
room.
The room itself was the size of a medium classroom. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in cobwebs and dust, as if the space hadn't been used in hundreds of years. Even the Chamber of Secrets had been cleaner!
He wandered around the space slowly, pushing the cobwebs out of the way. The walls of the room were lined with book shelves and a few dusty chairs and tables sat in disarray, tumbled as if they had been thrown by a great force. One leaned against a set of shelves. The wood has splintered here and Harry spotted shimering shards that could only be bits of broken glass.
The mystery of this room was something else. Obviously something huge had happened here and, if the glass shards were any indication, it had happened before the room was emptied. And possibly again afterward...
Hary paced the circuit of the room, only when he was
on the opposite side noticing the stone podium in the centre of the
space.
The construction, which looked less like a podium
than a half of a pillar when Harry approached it, was obscured by the
broken table that was half lying on it. It took some effort to
move the huge slab of wood, but once he did he was able to examine it
more thoroughly.
The half-pillar was almost four feet high and the top was a shallow basin that appeared to have nothing in it. As Harry stepped toward it, however, it seemed to fill with a soft golden light. Hesitantly, he walked closer, until he was standing directly before it.
All at once a fierce wind filled the room, blowing the cobwebs and dust into a furious storm around the boy. His robes were scoured clean of dirt in the wind, the made filthy again by the very same source. The very air seemed to glow and become strangely warm on his exposed skin.
Random images passed through his mind, classes of students, busy hallways, random images of the castle and it's grounds that left him feeling like the room was full of his friends even though it was empty. As quickly as it had started, the wind died down, leaving the dirt swirled in strange patterns on the floor. The battered tables and chairs were lying in different positions and Harry realized with a start that they had been blowing about the room.
The warm, comfortable feeling faded abruptly and
Harry stepped back from the basin, images already fading from his mind.
The door to the room had been hidden behind a sheet
of cobwebs, but he found it now with only a little difficulty. In
a hurry to leave the space, he opened it and peered around, realizing
the other side was a painting.
The subject was a grove of trees, apparently empty of any occupant. Harry recognized this portrait and he'd never yet seen anything in it. The problem was, it was located in the dungeons.
He ducked back into the room and examined it more closely. Sure enough, the ceiling was two stories high. He'd fallen over ten feet into a dusty pile of fabric that looked like it might have once been a stack of mattresses.
Well, if nothing else he'd discovered a shortcut from the first floor to the Dungeons, though he didn't think there was a scourgify strong enough to clean his landing place.
Harry not yet sure how he felt about this strange room, banished the most recent events to the back of his mind. He did, at least, feel better now than he had a while ago, though he was still annoyed with the headmaster.
He left the room by way of the portrait door, thinking that he might as well keep going the from where he was now. He really didn't have a specific plan for his exploration.
He was about to jot down the information about the room, when he realized his pen was still up on the ground floor. With a sigh and a backward glance at the portrait, he trudged up the stairs to retrieve it.
There it was, lying in the corner of the alcove. Harry picked it up and decided, as long as he was here, to take the 'shortcut' back to the dungeons again. That was still as good of a place as any to explore. There was very little about the dungeons on the Map, actually, and Harry knew why. The dungeons were Slytherin territory, and while the other houses might be tolerant of intrusion now and then, the Slytherins were too secretive to allow intruders.
Now, though, Snape was the only one Harry had to avoid and he didn't think that would be much of a problem.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Snape was working in his office, or trying to anyway, when his left arm flashed with pain. He sighed and set his quill down hastily, leaving a blob of crimson ink on the essay he'd been grading. He knew he was the last teacher to finish the previous years grading, but he couldn't bring himself to work faster. It just didn't seem worth the effort at this point.
It wasn't as if he could leave for vacation when he finished anyway.
He rubbed the soreness, knowing it wouldn't do any good. After a moment, the burning intensified, catching him by surprise even though he'd braced himself for it.
Cursing inwardly, he stood and rounded the desk. For whatever reason, walking the halls helped to clear his mind.
Not that a clear mind would help with the pain, but he knew he'd have trouble concentrating on any work in this state.
As he headed for the staircase, he caught sight of Potter disappearing behind a painting. He knew this particular painting was supposed to have a pack of wolves in it, but he'd yet to see the creatures. It was always empty when he'd passed it.
He wondered how Potter had gotten in. Usually, a door sealed with a painting required a password but there was no subject to give the password to.
While he pondered the question, he saw the painting begin to swing open and he ducked back around the corner. Potter scurried out of the doorway and headed purposefully toward the stairs.
Having nothing better to do at the moment, Snape followed him.
The boy hurried up the stairs and into a hallway on the main floor. Snape followed him, careful to stay out of sight. He was just peering around a corner, knowing the boy should be in the centre of the hall now, when he realized the boy was gone.
He set his jaw carefully, trying hard not to become frustrated. The boy must have slipped into a classroom.
One by one he checked the rooms. All four were empty.
Suddenly, the pain in his arm, which he'd mostly managed to ignore while following the boy, flared angrily. He winced and turned smartly on his heels, heading back toward his rooms.
He found a small wooden box in a cabinet and pulled out a cloth sling and a mediums sized jar of white cream.
He pulled off his outer robe and shirt and put a glove on his right hand., With little effort, he smeared the creme over his entire arm, feeling it go numb by degrees at the cream soaked into the skin and nerves. He put on the sling, settling his arm into it gently before taking the glove off.
This was giving in and he knew it. He was giving up, letting the Dark Lord win this round. He'd be useless for the remainder of the day now. The cream stopped the pain, indeed, it stopped him from feeling the whole arm, but it left him dizzy and foggy. By using it, he was admitting that monster still had power over him, could still control his actions and his time.
Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to care. He'd be available in time for Potter's evening examination. That was the only thing of any importance he had to do today.
With a grimace at the dead weight in the sling, he laid himself down on the sofa and let himself drift off.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Deliver to: Lily Evans-Potter
Secondary Delivery: Severus Snape
Alternate Secondary: Harry James Potter
My Dear Boys,
As I write this letter, I keep telling myself that this is only a harsh reminder, for myself, in sixteen years, to finally tell the truth. A reminder to myself, yes, that would be nice. I imagine by that time I won't be nearly as grateful for the thought, but right now it's comforting.
The reason that thought is comforting is because it means I have survived the War. Most likely, both of you have as well and I am simply having a difficult time admitting to my mistakes. The alternative is that I died. Between the two choices, I prefer to be annoyed with myself.
I am going to set delivery of this letter in one of two instances. It will be delivered immediately after midnight on Harry's sixteenth birthday, or when the charms I've set around my baby boy begin to break down. I should think it would be obvious why he would need to know the truth when he reaches adulthood. What requires an explanation is why I have set charms around Harry and why they are important.
Severus, you are about to be annoyed with me for repeating things you already know, but I know what you now do for Dumbledore and I have to continue as if Harry is the one reading this. Therefore, I must begin at the beginning.
Harry, I love James Potter very much, but as I've no doubt you know, I did not like him at all until our seventh year at Hogwarts. He was an arrogant, thoughtless, childish prat for most of his life (as I'm sure Severus will have no trouble telling you as often as you will listen.) As he aged, however, he also grew up.
Before that, though, I loved another man. He was not well liked, but he was terribly intelligent and could be sweet and caring when he was so inclined. We were very much in love and had thought to marry, despite any prejudices his family held and the current, ah, political climate. I was so blinded by my youth and my caring for this man that I allowed myself to make a horrible mistake. Becoming pregnant was not that mistake, however.
You see, my Severus had been hiding me from his family. Their prejudices would not allow him to be with a muggleborn like me. I was so surprised by my current, ah, status, and wanted to share this with him so badly that I risked everything to see him.
What I hadn't realized was that my Severus had been on the verge of a terrible choice. His family had been pressuring him to join with Voldemort for some time now and he had been wiggling out of a decision, stating that his schoolwork was more important, that he would be of more use fully educated. In my haste, ignorance, and fear, I hurried to see him and interrupted a Death Eater gathering.
My Severus had to attack me, verbally at first, but then he threatened me with curses, which were badly enough aimed that I was able to dodge. He had to save face with the Death Eaters or we both would have been killed. I ran and hid, believing he hated me. I hadn't even gotten to tell him about the baby.
I was terrified and ashamed. I knew I had made a terrible mistake and that I would not be the only one to pay for it. At sixteen, I still hadn't finished school, I could not have a child to care for. A child whose father I thought hated me, I might add.
So I searched. I've always been particularly gifted at charms. I searched and eventually found a stasis spell. I practically lived in the library for nearly a month, I told headmaster Dumbledore that I was doing research on Old Magic and Protection spells in an effort to help, that's why he let me stay at Hogwarts. I did not lie to him, I searched through every branch of magic, looking for what both of us wanted. I finally found what I needed and created a way to apply it to my baby. I was almost too late for it to work, but I managed to set my unborn child in a stasis field, to keep him unchanged, un-growing, but alive and waiting until I was ready to care for him. At the same time, I used the information on protection spells to set a series of enchantments.
Originally, It was not supposed to protect my boy from outside forces, it was suppose to save him in the event of my injury. I did not discover that they could be built onto after his birth for nearly a year.
Time passed and I saw my Severus take the Dark Mark. He joined Voldemort and, though I hate to think it, I may have pushed him there. I never even gave him the chance to explain after the day he chased me from his home. I was an emotional wreck my seventh year. I was, essentially pregnant the entire time so my body was giving me mixed signals. Plus, I was heart broken and scared of what would happen to the man I loved.
It was about this time that I fell in love with James. He'd matured over the summer and, he offered me support when I needed it without questioning why I needed it. Barely a year after we graduated, we married. It was about this time that I learned of the other uses my blood-based stasis spell could be turned to.
I have to apologize here, this is most likely turning confusing. You have to understand, most of what I've done has no name. Some of it is so old that the names have been lost. Some of it was created by my own bastardization of other things I had been taught. Other parts of this are unique to myself and my situation. They could not be duplicated.
I believe I mentioned my protection spell, to save my baby should injury befall myself. Nothing short of my own death would harm the child. Shortly after I married James, I found a way to build onto the existing connection between myself and my child. I used my own life force, my personal magic, to create a protection shield around him. Nothing would be able to harm him in my presence, I would be able to help him simply by being in the room.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, who knows what I would have done to my poor child next, my tinkering canceled the stasis spell and I did not dare re-start it. James was tickled to be a father, of course. I did not have the heart to tell him the baby wasn't his.
I hate myself for what I did next. I told myself that if I could find the stasis spells, then anyone could. That my Severus would be in trouble if anyone found out he had a child by a muggleborn, a mudblood. As I still loved him dearly, it was far too easy to convince myself I was doing it for him, for my, our child. I told myself I had to dispel any doubts that the boy was James child. I added another layer of charms to those already set. I was barely two months along when I set these charms, they took easily, as the child was barely forming.
I made sure my child would look like James. I told myself that it would save Severus' life. The truth was, I was still ashamed.
Most mothers knit a blanket for their babies. I wove a protective blanket of spells around my child. I spent every spare moment making it stronger, thicker, more difficult to detect. When I learned of the prophecy, that it might apply to my child, I added more protections to my work. The blanket became a cocoon and I set it for any possible contingency, including the ultimate one.
As I write this, my Harry is only a week old. The ultimate contingency (doesn't that sound like a muggle drama?) Is the reason I write this letter. The only reason I would leave my Harry is if I were to die. Call it a mother's intuition, or even a woman's paranoia. I fear I won't be with you when you read this because I will have died to protect you.
If this is, indeed, the case, know this, my dear Harry. I love you with every fiber of my being. I did not die because you. I lived because of you. Your existence gave me purpose when I otherwise would have had none. I want nothing more than to see you happy.
And, Severus, I fear I know you too well and that you are blaming yourself for all of this. I forgive you anything you may have said or done. I love you and I always will.
I do have a favour to ask of you. I know you have thought of Harry as James' child up until this point, but he is yours. Yours and mine. I will not ask you to be a father to Harry, at sixteen years old he most likely would not appreciate another father figure. But please, try to be his friend.
As difficult as it was to start this letter, I am finding it harder to end. I know, in my heart of hearts, that these will be my final words to the two people I love most in this world. All I have to offer is this advice. Laugh, love, and live. For yourselves, for each other, for the ones you love. Be happy my boys.
Love, Always,
Lily Evans-Potter
P.S. Now that I've shown you this horrid letter, go find James, Sirius, and Remus (for all of them will love to hear how silly and hormonal I am) and make fun of me over tea and biscuits. I deserve it for being so melodramatic. I am going to dig out a frame to hang this letter on the wall so I can laugh at it every day and remind myself how lucky I am to have lived through the war and to have such wonderful people in my life.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
The light-hearted post-script to Lily's letter left a hollow aching inside his chest. Snape settled it on the table in front of him, not trusting himself not to tear it to pieces in frustration. He'd gone through the entire range of emotions since the Headmaster had interupted his nap to bring it to him. The old man had frowned at his state and made him wash off the remaining cream, knowing that would cut short it's effects. Dumbledore had then stayed with him until he was again lucid and left him alone with his mail.
And what a letter it had been. His heart soared when he recognized his Lily's writing, guilt had followed, when he remembered everything that had happened. Fear when she began to speak of a child, disbelief when he found out that child was Harry. Pride at Lily's strength and determination...
And so the circle continued. It was all more than he could handle at the moment. He was just beginning to not hate the boy. It was not fair for her to do this to him now.
He had a son. A child, a little boy. Well, not so little now, of course...
Harry Potter was his son.
Snape winced whenever he remembered how he'd treated the boy. Granted, he could have been worse, but it would have been quite difficult.
It was amazing how a single bit of information, just a few words, could make one regret years of their life. 'He is yours.' Three words, really. Three words that made him regret every moment he'd ever spent with the boy.
The uneasy truce Snape and Harry had made a little over week ago seemed to have set them both on a different path from where they had started. It really wasn't terribly surprising. The truce had been magically binding from the moment they both said the words, something neither had considered before hand, but both had felt afterward. It had forced both of them to see the other in truth, instead of the twisted images they had created in their minds. The question was, was this truce enough to start a real relationship on? Would they ever be able to do more than tolerate each other? Did either of them really care to try?
At least one of them did.
A noise from the doorway made Snape look up from his reverie. Potter had arrived for his evening examination and was standing there, watching him. The expression on the boy's face was one of curiosity. Seeing the boy, standing there, looking at him so calmly, no malice in his eyes, no anger, no hatred, he suddenly had to know.
"Do you hate me?"
Potter seemed surprised. He stepped inside the room and leaned slowly against the doorjamb.
"That's a very good question," he said in a slightly flat tone. "I'll answer it if you answer one for me."
Snape nodded his confirmation.
"Why do you want to know?"
Oops, he hadn't seen that one coming. "You do ask the most difficult questions."
Harry, inexplicably, smirked. "You started it."
Snape looked up suddenly and Potter froze, sure he'd finally broken their un-easy truce.
"I didn't realize it was so hard to tell whether or not you dis-liked someone."
Harry snickered. "That wasn't what I meant."
Snape raised an eyebrow at this odd interaction between them. "What did you mean?"
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood..."
"Drought of living death..." Snape propped his head up with one hand, his long fingers splayed over his eyes. The painkiller had left a headache in it's wake
"A question no first year could ever hope to answer on the spot that way. You do realize that particular potion was barely alluded to in our text books. I would have had to read and fully comprehend the entire book to even find enough information to even research that bloody potion."
"I thought you were an arrogant, selfish, spoiled, brat."
The smirk was back, though Snape couldn't see it, he could hear it.
"That was Malfoy. Still is, in fact."
"I'm very much aware of exactly who Draco Malfoy is. I am also aware of who Lucius Malfoy is. No matter what, I cannot call Draco to task. Lucius and I used to be friends as well as fellow Death Eaters. If I am not careful of his son, the Board of Governors will have me out of Hogwarts, and Dumbledore's protection, faster than you can say 'career suicide.'"
So far, this was the second civil conversation they had ever carried. It had also been the most enlightening, at least, for Harry. He wasn't sure what to do with a civil and informative Snape, however. He tried his best to stay light-hearted and cooperative, though it was difficult not to say something scathing when the opportunity arose.
Snape had not yet looked up, but he felt the table shift subtly as the boy sat down opposite him.
"I'm sorry, that never occurred to me."
The tone was soft, almost comforting, and enough to make Snape jump halfway out of his seat. Potter was apologizing to him? That wasn't right, it certainly wasn't where this conversation was supposed to go...
"Oh gods... don't apologize to me, boy. Whatever you do, don't apologize to me."
Concern filled green eyes and for an instant, all Snape could see was Lily.
"Professor? Is everything alright?"
"No. It's not alright now and it hasn't been for over sixteen years. I don't know if it will ever be alright again."
The answer startled Harry. The next statement brought him back to the conversation, however.
"You still haven't answered my question, Potter."
Harry did not smirk. "You still haven't told me why you want to know."
Snape sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, then, he folded his hands and looked the boy straight in the eyes.
"I've made a horrible mistake. I judged you too soon, when I shouldn't have judged you at all. I've only built on that error over the past few years. I need to know if you hate me because I have to know if there is any chance of redeeming myself and correcting my behaviour."
For a long moment, both of them studied each other, neither sure what was going to happen next. Finally, Harry spoke.
"I don't hate you, Professor. I don't like you much, you're mean, rude, and horribly unfair, though I understand the last part a bit better than I used to; but I don't hate you."
Snape stared at him and Harry was unsure how to take the silence, so he continued.
"Actually, to a certain extent, I'm rather impressed. You're obviously rather intelligent and I can not imagine having to spy on Vol- er You-Know-Who..."
"Wait a minute, Potter," said Snape. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"That is some weird, twisted way I actually respect you? Yes."
Shell-shocked, Snape leaned back in his chair, his gaze unfocused. Harry smirked. He'd gotten the better of the greasy git of a potions master and he hadn't even had to be insulting.
"If it makes you feel any better, I still think you're a git."
Snape came back to his senses at the opportunistic insult and asked, "Do you have any idea what your- er, James Potter would say if he heard you say that?"
"What, that you're a git?"
Was the boy teasing him? With that innocent expression, who could tell? "No, the other comment."
The light-hearted tone left the boy's voice. He became almost frighteningly serious. "If I go by Sirius' interaction with and stories about you, I'm sure he's rolling over in his grave even as we speak. If, however, I go by professor Lupin, then I'd like to think he would have been mature enough to at least respect my opinions, even if he didn't share them."
Harry glanced at the table-top, then back to his Professor's face. "Professor, I don't know all of what my father did to you, but Sirius told me quite a few stories. I want you to know, I think he, they all, actually, were total prats. I hate that they were so cruel and I want you to know I would never be that way with anyone."
"I am so sorry, Lily..." Snape muttered under his breath, barely audibly.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't hear you well..." Harry questioned.
"Potter, what did I tell you about apologizing to me?" The sentence came out much harsher than he intended and both of them winced.
"I'm sorry," Harry began. At the same time, Snape said, "I apologize, I-"
Harry grinned and Snape paled slightly.
"That was just creepy," said Harry.
"Indeed. In order to avoid a repetition, my I speak first?" Snape intoned wryly. Harry smirked as his Professor leaned on the table, as if he could no longer support his own weight.
"Potter– Harry – I owe you so much more than a simple apology. There is no excuse for the way I've treated you. It was ridiculous before, but, now that certain information has come to light..." He shook his head helplessly, his usually sharp wit and quick tongue at a loss for the appropriate words. "You're mother would be appalled. Did you know that we were friends in school?"
Harry shook his head, fascinated and slightly horrified. But for the sincerity in the man's voice, Harry was ready to ask where Professor Snape was and with whom he was currently speaking. Snape, on the other hand, felt much the same way about himself.
Snape smiled slightly but the expression, barely an upturn of the lips, would not hold. "Your mother was one of the few people who was kind to me, who actually liked me in school. I think it was part of the reason she hated your father so much, in their early years."
He picked up the letter which still lay on the table. The pages had fallen closed again and he smoothed them gently.
"I received a letter, from Lily, just a few hours ago. She had it on a altered time delay, set to appear on the headmaster's desk either when you turned sixteen, or the charms and protection spells she set on you began to deteriorate. There were things she wanted both of us to know and she was afraid she wouldn't be here to tell us..."
Harry nodded slowly, solemnly. He forced his voice to be even and light. It still trembled slightly. "So, what did my- my mother have to say?"
Snape passed it over. "You should read it yourself, it's addressed to both of us."
The letter was very long and it rambled quite a bit, but it showed Lily's personality so well that every word was worth more than a thousand stories about her. As he watched, a single tear spilled down Harry's face. He either did not notice it, or didn't care because no hand rose to angrily wipe it away.
When he finished, Harry laid the pages down on the table and smoothed his hands over them. He closed his eyes and did not move at all for a very long time. When he finally opened them, his eyes revealed no emotion, just a rawness that the older man had never seen before.
"What does this mean?" The tears were obviously very close to the surface as he spoke.
"I have no idea."
A second tear fell down the boy's face as he smoothed his fingers down the pages in front of him. A moment later, he stood and bolted for the door before the Professor could even protest.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Harry tore out of the room and down the corridor, not even noticing the tears that ran down his face. He pounded up the stairs wildly, following where ever the moving staircases took him. With no destination in mind, he didn't bother with the alternate routes. He ran out of breath halfway up the spiral stair that led to the astronomy tower. Deciding that was as good a destination as any, he finished the stairs only slightly more slowly and let the heavy door slam behind him.
Out in the fresh air, the tears slowed but did not stop. Adrenalin left him shaking as he cried. He was so keyed up he did not hear the door squeak open or thud shut as a figure slipped through. He did notice, however, when Neville Longbottom sat next to him on the edge of the large balcony.
"What's wrong, Harry?"
Harry didn't look at the other boy, he just broke out laughing. Suddenly, he'd conjured up an image of them in reversed roles and couldn't help himself. He laughed loud and long, knowing he was at least partially hysterical and it not at all funny.
Neville was about to go find Madam Pomfrey when Harry's laugher finally died down to soft giggles. He watched Harry fall backward and lay sprawled next to the railing. "Are you all right Harry? That was kinda scary. I saw you running and followed you up here..."
Harry sighed heavily and stretched his hands up into the air, looking vaguely like he was trying to tough the clouds drifting across the sky. "No, Neville, I'm not all right. I don't know if I'll ever be all right again." He didn't notice that he was unconsciously echoing Snape's earlier words.
"Oh, Harry, that's awful."
Harry giggled hysterically, again, then said, "Oh, if only the adoring masses could see me now. Rita Skeeter would have a fit if she were allowed to write this story. 'Boy-who-bloody-well-wouldn't-die breaks down.'" Harry sat up and dangled his feet over the edge of the balcony. "I hate that title you know."
"Why?" Neville asked kindly. He had decided to ignore the other things Harry had said for the moment. His friend was hurting, and with good reason.
"Everyone puts me on level with the most evil wizard who ever lived because they won't say either of our names. The Dark Lord, and The Boy-Who-Lived. I have too many things in common with Voldemort already."
Neville eyed Harry but said nothing.
"Did you know we even look a bit alike. Well, I look a bit like he did when he was in school. He barely looks human now. He was a bit taller and had better hair." Harry pushed at his own unruly mop, which seemed a bit better behaved than normal, and shook his head. "We're both Parselmouths. Did you know Voldemort grew up in an orphanage? His father abandoned his mother when he found out she was a witch and his mother lived just long enough to name him, or so the story goes. Tom Marvolo Riddle." Harry snickered.
"We both have nicknames instead of 'real' names."
"What was that last one?" Neville asked in surprise.
Harry snickered. "Harry and Tom. Both are considered nicknames but that's what it says on my birth certificate. Harry James Potter. People were always asking me what it was short for when I was younger."
"You're being ridiculous, Harry. You're naming random similarities that could apply to anyone. And your parent's are dead, they didn't abandon you."
Harry laughed again. "My father isn't dead. My mother is dead and James Potter is dead. My father is very much alive."
Neville paused, then scooted closer and leaned against the railing. "This is news to me. How many people know?"
"Three, including you and I."
"Okay, is this good news or bad news? And how long have you known? Have you met him? Do you two get along alright?"
Harry glanced away from the view in front of him long enough to see the serious expression on his friend's face. "Odd, those aren't the questions I expected."
"They seemed like the most important. Obviously I have quite a few more."
Harry smiled. "Thanks for that. Well, Yes, I've met him, he's one of the three who know. I've known he was my father for about," Harry checked his wristwatch, but then remembered he wasn't wearing it. It had broken during the third task. "I've known he was my father for about twenty minutes, I think, though I've known him a lot longer. We didn't used to get along at all, but I think that's getting better and whether this is all good news or not depends on whether I was right about things changing."
"I'm glad for you Harry." When Harry snorted, he asked "What?"
"You wouldn't say that if I told you who he is."
"Yes I would." Nevile said firmly. "Because as long as you two have each other, it doesn't matter who he is or what I think of him. All that matters is that you two are happy with each other." Neville paused, "You don't even have to tell me if you don't want, but if you don't mind me asking, how come you look so much like James Potter if he's not really your father? I've seen pictures, you know."
"My mum cast charms on me even before I was born. They are breaking down now, that's why I found out." Harry stopped. "Wait a minute, what are you doing here, anyway? It's summertime, isn't it?"
Neville laughed. "You must be really upset if it just occurred to you it's summertime. I mean, school's been out for weeks. We have to go back in just a few weeks. Er, come back, I mean."
"Yeah, It's been a really odd summer. First, my aunt dies protecting me, then I find out about my parents and now I'm sitting up here talking to you. You're a really good listener, you know that? How come we don't talk more often? I mean, we've lived in the same room for four years and I feel like I hardly know anything about you."
"I'm not much for talking," Neville admitted. "Like you said, I'm a better listener. And I'm here for a few days because my Gran is sick. She had to go to St. Mungos. Professor Dumbledore said there were enough teachers still here that I could stay for a couple of days until My uncle gets back from vacation."
"Is she going to be okay?" Harry asked.
Neville smiled very faintly. "Thankfully, yes. She's a bit delirious, which is kinda creepy, but the healers say she'll be herself in a few days. She should be better in a week or two. Gran kept thinking I was my father on the way to the hospital."
Harry nodded encouragingly at his friend's words. "That had to be especially hard for you. What with..." Harry trailed off, Neville didn't seem to notice.
"Yeah, it was creepy. At least I know she's going to get better."
Neville studied his friend's face, then said, "You know, don't you? About my parents?"
Harry nodded.
"How come you never said anything?"
"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. When you wanted to talk about it." Their eyes locked. "I know what it's like to have everyone else know everything about you. I'm the only one who knows, I think. Dumbledore told me when I recognized their names in... Well, we were talking about Barty Crouch Jr.'s trial and it came up."
Neville nodded, understanding. "You know some odd things, Harry." He paused for a breath. "You know your life sucks, right?"
Harry laughed. "Sometimes it's alright. It will definitely suck less when- if- I get to know my father. If we can get along. That would be nice. I think things will suck a lot less when Voldemort's dead, too."
"So, life doesn't suck when it has the potential to get better?"
"Yep, that's right," Harry said. He pulled his legs up. "I should probably get back. I probably need to apologize for running out on... on my father."
"You ran out on your father?"
Harry winced. "I was very angry."
"So I noticed." Neville snickered.
Harry winced again. "I'm sorry I dumped all this on you. That wasn't fair."
"It's all right, Harry. In fact, I'm glad I was here for you."
"I don't suppose... I mean, I hate to ask, but... Could you not tell anybody? I"m not sure who should know yet and those that should really should hear it from me first."
"Don't worry, I won't say anything."
Harry smiled teasingly. "I can't believe you still haven't asked who he is."
Neville shrugged, then smiled. "I figure you'll tell me when you're ready. I probably don't know him anyway."
"Oh, you know him, though I may never be ready to tell you," Harry said mournfully. "I mean, I'd have to tell you I'm related to the one thing you fear most. I don't know how you'll ever manage to speak to me again."
Neville had been in the process of standing up but now he fell back against the stone railing. "Professor Snape? No way!" He looked over at his friend, who hadn't moved. "Bloody hell!"
"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before." Harry said with a slight tremor in his voice.
"I don't think I've ever been in a situation that warranted it before." Was the slightly shocked response. He shook his head slowly. "Well, what I said still goes, if you are happy, that's all that matters. I'm assuming he didn't know until you did?"
"He knew a couple of hours before. He got a letter from my mum on a delayed delivery. She wanted to make sure someone knew if she died before she could tell us."
Neville shuddered. "I really don't know what to say. Except... Now I have to wonder about Professor Snape. I mean, your mum must have seen something in him, right? So there must be more to him that he let's his student's see. Do you think he'll go easier on you now?"
Harry snorted. "He might, if we don't kill each other first. He's supposed to be looking after me the next few weeks. I don't know what will happen when one of us needs to leave the school. If he's still looking after me, I might end up at his house or something."
"Professor Snape's house... That's just strange. I never think about our teachers as having homes."
"Some of them don't," Harry said. "Madam Pomfrey stays here year round. Filch never leaves either. Professor Trelawney lives here all the time, too. I'm not sure about anyone else."
"I repeat, you know some odd things, Harry."
Harry smiled and helped his friend stand. "That's what happens when you're stuck at school during the summer. You know I actually heard McGonagal snort? I'm thinking I might even hear her laugh if I stick around long enough..."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
After cooling off, and talking things through with Neville, Harry felt much calmer. The two of them had degenerated into discussion about the most inane things after their brief discussion of their teachers' home lives.
He wandered the upper floors of the castle for a few minutes, watching the sun set through random windows. Night had fallen completely by the time he came to a decision.
Neville's blatant acceptance had helped tremendously. The other boy hated Professor Snape with everything in him and had not only accepted every word Harry had said, he'd accepted the possibility that Harry would truly be the potions master's son.
With some trepidation, Harry descended through the castle, taking the longest route possible to the dungeons. After nearly an hour, however, he could not delay any longer. He arrived outside his teacher's office to find a light peeking around the partially open door. Somehow, Harry new it had been left that way for him.
He pushed on the heavy wooden door and heard it creak open. In the dimly lighted room, Harry saw Professor Snape sitting in his chair, with his head cradled on his arms on the desk. The man was fast asleep.
Harry stepped forward slowly, not sure what was acceptable.
"Sir?" He called out softly. There was no response.
"Professor Snape, sir?"
The man stirred gently, then raised his head, confusion in his eyes. After blinking a couple of times, however, his vision cleared and it was obvious he remembered everything clearly. He looked at Harry curiously, waiting for the boy to speak first.
Harry swallowed visibly, searching the room with his eyes, as if the answer lay nearby somewhere. He spotted the letter lying on the desk still.
"May I?" he asked, reaching for it. Snape nodded acquiescence.
Harry picked it up and glanced at the first page, then looked up to his teacher.
"What does this mean? For you and I, I mean."
"What ever we want it to mean, I suppose. Lily, your mother, she wouldn't want this to hurt us."
Harry nodded numbly, then sat for several minutes more. "I don't think we should tell anyone."
He saw the hurt flash in Snape's, his father's eyes, brief as the expression was, and shook his head quickly. "No, I don't mean it like that. Vol- er, You-Know-Who," knowing the man's preference for not saying Voldemort's name, Harry made the effort to avoid doing so, "is already after you because you turned on him. He would chase you to the ends of the earth if he found out you were related to me. He thinks he's killed my parents and he doesn't know yet who's closest to me. If he thought he could hurt me by killing you, he'd do it in a heartbeat. It's bad enough Ron and Hermione are in danger because of me..."
"I understand," Snape said, breaking into his explanation in relief. "And I agree. I also would not want the Dark Lord to use you against me."
Harry sighed gratefully. "I think I need time to think about this. It really hasn't sunk in, yet."
"That would probably be a good idea. Sleep on it?"
Harry nodded gratefully. He stood and turned away from the table, only to pause and look back.
"Whatever else may come up, I do want to get to know you better. I- I said I didn't like you very much, earlier, but I- I think maybe I don't know you well enough to have made that decision yet."
Snape inclined his head respectfully. "I would rather like the opportunity to change your opinion of me as I have already changed my opinion of you."
Harry smiled faintly, then left the room quickly. Severus looked balefully at the letter before standing. Leaving it lay, he headed for his bedroom, lost in the past and hopeful that sleep would clear his mind.
