Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

This is very nearly the end of 'Freedom and Not Peace.' Currently, I'm planning to have one more Interlude and one more chapter proper in FANP, and then begin the new story, 'Wind That Shakes The Seas and Stars,' on my Thursday (which is Friday in some parts of the world). The plot that begins here only truly explodes in that one. So this is properly a set-up chapter.

I think you can see what's coming, though.

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Trying Again

Snape's world had become a blur of Pensieve memories, of writing so that his fingers were splashed with ink as they usually were with crushed Potions ingredients, of hastily snatched meals and sleep and hasty trips on the sly to look at Harry in the hospital wing. Not even the burning Mark on Midsummer evening had made him as urgent as this. He had the feeling that he was running out of time. He had to finish transcribing Dumbledore's memories of Harry's training from the Pensieve Potion soon. He did not know why, but he must.

"Now, Harry. Sit down on the grass, and we'll tell you a story."

Harry sat down on the grass of the lawn at Godric's Hollow. He was about five or six in this memory, his green eyes permanently wide and taking in information about the world. You wouldn't know that unless you'd known him for a while, though, Snape thought. Already he had learned to hide almost all emotion behind a mask that only truly softened and glowed when his brother was near.

Lily sat down in front of Harry on his right, Dumbledore on the left. Snape moved up to stand between them, and wished impatiently, once more, that this was not a memory. He could take Harry away from this if it were reality. Then Harry might still be this age, and a good deal of the damage that Snape had seen might be reversed.

But it was not to be. Instead, he stood there and watched Lily tell the boy a story, supposedly, her voice soft and hypnotic.

"There was a Slytherin girl who used to torment me, Harry. Charlotte Snoddard was her name, though I used to call her Charlotte Snot-Nose." A fleeting smile played across Lily's face, and then went away, back into the depths of stillness. "She knew that she could get me to cry with just a few words about Mudbloods in the right vicinity.

"But I learned to ignore her. Do you know what I did?"

Harry shook his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. Dumbledore was leaning forward now, as if he wanted to hear Lily's story better—or simply wanted to study Harry's face, and watch him listening to it.

"I learned to turn the conversation back on her," said Lily triumphantly. "I learned to find out about her, where she went and what she did during the day, and then I would ask her about problems I knew she was having, the boys she fancied, the lessons that she missed because she was lazy and often didn't get out of the dungeons until class had already begun. She was suspicious at first, of course, but I never laughed at her, and finally I got her to seek me out and just babble at me about the course of her day. She might open with a taunt, but when I asked her about the things that were important to her, she was more willing to talk about that. Finally, she never used another taunt. I'd moved into another capacity as far as she was concerned, the listening ears. And I was bored, most of the time, but I never cried because of her again."

Lily leaned forward and lightly tilted Harry's chin up. "And that is something that you can do, Harry, if someone asks about you and won't be quiet. You can learn to ask about the things that are important to them, the problems they have and the people they care about. Most people are far more interested in talking than in listening, far more interested in themselves than in you." She paused and smiled. "Especially because you are—"

"Connor's guardian, and guide, and protector," said Harry, with the air of something long rehearsed. "There's no reason for them to be interested in me."

"Very good, Harry." Lily patted his cheek. "So Albus is going to test you and see how well you've learned this particular lesson. When he starts talking about you, turn the conversation back towards him."

Snape had to watch as Dumbledore led Harry through a simple conversation, trying to talk to him about his training, his day, what his favorite colors were, what he liked about the sunlight. Harry was clumsy in return at first, and gave answers that his mother gently scolded him for, but he learned as the afternoon wore on, and managed several smooth transitions that led Dumbledore to talk about his own experiences instead.

Here was the source of much of Harry's evasion, then, Snape thought, trying to keep calm and rational, much of his ability to dodge undetectably around concerns about his health or state of mind. Most people were more interested in themselves than in him, and they were gratified, as well, by the sense that Harry was a sincere and patient listener—something that Charlotte Snoddard could not have been satisfied of with Lily, for all the times Snape had heard her brag about her "pet Mudblood." They would listen, and talk to him, and reveal more and more of themselves, at the same time that they never noticed Harry was receding from them.

Snape slowly finished writing out the last lines of that memory, and then stared at the parchment, followed by a stare at the bottle of silvery Pensieve Potion.

That was done. That was it. He had transcribed all the memories of Harry's training that he had stolen from Dumbledore.

Snape let out a deep breath, and then began muttering copy spells at the reams and reams of parchment, just in case. He was about a quarter of the way through when someone rapped on the door of his quarters. Snape jerked his head up, glaring. Not many students knew where his private rooms, as opposed to his offices, were, and he knew that Harry and Draco would still be in the hospital wing. This was far more likely to be a professor.

"Come in," he called, after a tense moment, and dismissed the wards on the door.

To his surprise, the first person who entered the room was Connor Potter, the Gryffindor brat, with McGonagall right behind him. The brat planted his fists on his hips and gave Snape a harsh stare that reminded him, strongly and unpleasantly, of the original Potter. He felt his lip curl back.

"Potter—"

"Severus," said McGonagall, with a quick nod at him. "A moment, please." She raised her hand, and writhing gold and red lines draped his room in Gryffindor colors, encircling them. Snape stared. He had not thought that she had gained that amount of control over the wards.

A moment later, as he watched the wards work their way into the stone of the walls, he was furious. "How dare you!" he hissed at her, standing and reaching for his wand. "I have only just removed the wards so that Albus could not spy on me, and now—"

"He has been spying on Harry, too," said McGonagall, folding her arms and regarding him sternly. "This is the only way to be sure that we'll get a bit of privacy from him. I'll take these down when I leave, Severus, but for now, you are going to leave them where they are."

Snape blinked, then nodded. "And what did you want to say to me?" He gave the boy a harsh glance. "And why did you bring this brat along?"

The brat's face flushed, but he seemed to realize it would be a good idea not to reveal how irritated he was. He took a deep breath instead, and said, "It's about Harry. I got a letter from James. He told me that Harry was coming home to stay with him for the summer. Him and Lily."

Snape felt the explosion of rage in his chest as though it were happening to someone else. He dimly saw one of the Transfigured chairs go flying across the room and smash into his bookshelves as his wandless magic reacted, but it wasn't until McGonagall said sharply, "Severus!" that he was recalled to himself.

Breathing hard, he sat back in his chair and stared at Potter. "You are not lying?"

Potter shook his head. "I'm not. But when we confronted Harry—Professor McGonagall and Malfoy and I—under this kind of ward so that Dumbledore couldn't hear, he told us the truth. Dumbledore put another compulsion on him when he came back from the graveyard, and he was in such physical and emotional shock that it took hold. Harry had an interview with Lily, and he did think that he wanted to go back to either Godric's Hollow or Lux Aeterna with her. But then he broke free."

"He spoke with his mother." Snape could feel his words slur, mostly because his tongue and lips felt numb.

McGonagall nodded. "He did. And, Severus…I have let Mr. Potter tell this story because he knows more than I do, but I would know more. Why do you fear so much to let Harry go home with his parents?" Her eyes were steady, and her arms had assumed a folded posture that meant she wasn't leaving until she got an answer.

Snape nodded towards the paper he'd been copying. "Read those. They're transcriptions of scenes that I got from a Pensieve full of Albus's memories." He turned back to Potter as she started reading. "Go on."

"He told us that he had no intention of going to back to them for the summer, not now," said Potter, with a slight shake of his head. "But he had to pretend to have it, because that would mean that Dumbledore was fooled into thinking him still under the compulsion. And—well. He made Malfoy promise not to tell you about this, because he seemed to think that you might do something to Lily and James." He looked searchingly into Snape's eyes.

"Not myself," said Snape. He had already decided that. His vengeance hung suspended by such a slender thread now, but he knew that the way to break Harry's trust forever and have no hope of regaining it would be to torture Harry's parents himself. "I am going to hand the information about his childhood over to someone else who will be able to use it as it should be used."

"Harry doesn't want anyone to know," said Potter, so softly that Snape could barely hear him.

"I don't care," said Snape. And he didn't, not anymore. The boy could hate him, but he hated him already. And the knowledge that Harry had been in enough trauma to slip backwards that far, to look for comfort in his parents and even accept and believe another of Albus's compulsions for a time…

No. Wait. There is one thing that does not make sense. If he broke the compulsion, why would Albus still be alive? Harry hates compulsion enough to attack anyone who uses it violently. Snape lifted a hand to touch the fading bruises around his throat. I should know that.

"Why is the Headmaster still alive and sane?" he demanded of Potter.

Potter's face assumed an expression of disgust, and that, of all the possible looks he could wear, made him most like his brother. "Because Harry has this mad plan to redeem them," he said flatly. "Dumbledore and Lily, at least, and probably James, too, though he didn't say that. He's confining Dumbledore's compulsion. He wants to talk to them, apparently, and forgive them."

"They can't be forgiven," said Snape, not caring that he was speaking about Potter's mother in that deep tone. "They have hurt him one too many times, and they represent too great a source of temptation and danger for Harry. I will destroy them."

"I quite agree," said Potter.

Snape shot him a sharp glance. The hazel eyes that met his shone with reckless anger and courage. Gryffindor qualities, both of them, but at this moment, Snape supposed, they would serve.

"Where has Harry decided to stay for the summer?" he made himself ask. "And you?"

"I'll be with the Weasleys," said Connor. "Arthur Weasley has friends in the Ministry who helped him strengthen the wards on the Burrow, so that I can stay there and not have to ask for help or permission from Dumbledore." He grimaced. "I think my father assumed I would be staying with him and Harry, but he didn't really ask me, and now I can just say that I made prior plans.

"I almost asked Harry if he would come with me, but I knew he'd refuse. He doesn't want to be around that many people. He doesn't want to stay with you, either," he added, "or with the Seers in their Sanctuary, even though I know they invited him. He doesn't want to be around people who would make him go backwards, he said. He thinks you focus too much on the past."

A strangled gasp behind Snape interrupted him before he could reply. He turned sharply, and saw McGonagall lifting her head from reading the records of the memories, a shocked look on her face that could not have been deeper if she had looked into the actual Pensieve Potion.

"They trained him like this?" she whispered. "He suffered like this?"

"Yes," said Snape.

McGonagall went on staring at the papers for a moment, as though she expected them to rear up and pull her back in. Then she nodded once, and turned to Snape.

"I trust you to take care of this, Severus," she said. "Harry must never be allowed to return to his parents, and you must make sure that Lily and Albus are punished for their actions." She closed her eyes. "To think that I once thought them the perfect Gryffindors, the epitome of our House," she murmured.

The urge came to Snape to say something ridiculous and sentimental then, something like McGonagall being the epitome of Gryffindor now, but he squashed it. Not with Potter in the room. "I plan to show the evidence to those who can take care of it," he said, and then looked at Potter. "You do realize that word of this will get out and make your life difficult, as well?"

"I would have cared a few days ago," Potter whispered. "But I survived the Tournament whole and healthy, and Harry…didn't." He closed his eyes, and stood there for a long moment, as if debating. Then he sighed, and said, "Harry's already going to be as mad as hell at me for coming here and talking to you. So I might as well reveal this, too. He's lost his left hand."

Snape staggered, and caught himself on the back of his chair. "What?"

"Malfoy told me," said Connor. "Bellatrix cut it off at the wrist, and made it so that he couldn't get a replacement. Harry's wearing a glamour all the time now." He lifted his head and looked at Snape imploringly. "He wants to hide it. He's barely told anyone about it. Even Malfoy only found out on accident."

"I must see him," said Snape, in a voice that he knew didn't sound like his own. He was out the door and striding for the hospital wing before either McGonagall or Potter could react.

Snape paused when he reached the hospital wing, because he had no choice. Madam Pomfrey opened the doors to him with a forbidding expression and a slight shake of her head. And more, Harry was tucked into his bed, thoroughly asleep. He was breathing soundly, too, as though the nightmares and visions had finally ceased to plague him.

"Is it normal for him to sleep so much?" Snape had to ask the matron, without taking his eyes off Harry. He wasn't that short any more, but at the moment, with Snape's knowledge of his past and his missing hand, he looked small. He tended to make himself smaller, too, curling into corners and ducking to escape people's gazes and taking any excuse to diminish his own accomplishments.

"Severus," said Madam Pomfrey, drawing his gaze back to her. "Sleeping curses are difficult to cast or reverse, but they are relatively easy to detect. I've found none on Mr. Potter. He simply needs to rest." Her face softened for a moment. "That's why he's spent most of his time in the hospital wing so far. I've healed him of the bite on his shoulder that You-Know-Who gave him, but that exhausted him further. And he needs so much more rest than that," she mused, shifting her hands on the tray of potions that she held. "He hasn't slept well all year, I know that, and he needs time to recover from what happened to him in the graveyard—time that I know he's not going to allow himself."

Snape nodded curtly and moved forward, sitting down next to Harry's bed. His eyes lingered on Harry's left hand, and he nodded again. He noticed, now, that there was a callus missing on the boy's thumb from gripping his broom that should have been there if his hand was exactly the same as it had been.

He should remove the glamour. He should let Madam Pomfrey make sure the wound isn't infected.

It was difficult for Snape to even think about Bellatrix cutting off Harry's hand. He knew how brutal she was with Muggle and Muggleborn victims, even purebloods who defied their Lord. The thought of what she would do to Harry if she got the chance, and in revenge for removing her right hand as Harry had earlier in the year…

Snape felt a surge of helplessness that was becoming familiar to him. He wanted to snatch Harry up and hold him close against all the wrongs of the world. He wanted to make sure that no one else could ever hurt Harry again. He wanted to force Harry into a set of calm, quiet rooms where he couldn't find anyone else to help or any war to worry himself about, and force him to face his past. He knew that he couldn't do any of those things, and that was coming closer to driving him into madness than anything since his Death Eater days had.

This is what it is like to be a parent, he thought. It's no wonder that I never wanted to be one. But then his eyes went back to Harry's face again, and he shook his head. No, I want to be one now. If Harry will let me.

Harry stirred, just then, and woke. Snape was familiar with that little yawn and the subtle stretching Harry did from this past summer. After seeing the memories in the Pensieve Potion, he knew more about where it came from. Lily had taught Harry to wake slowly and not to let anyone know he had returned from slumber until he was ready, just in case there were enemies lurking nearby. Only after Harry could see no foes in the hospital wing did he relax and roll over.

Of course, he tensed again once he saw Snape.

"Harry," said Snape softly, because there was no way around this. "I know everything." He let his eyes dart to Harry's left hand, and looked up to surprise an expression of sick horror on the boy's face. He tried to tell himself that it came from anyone, not just him, knowing about that particular weakness, but he couldn't help the hammer blow of rejection that slammed into his gut. "You need not pretend. I want to know why you won't forgive me. I want to know why you can see your mother again, and yet you cannot bear to see me."

There. That would not reveal to the Headmaster's listening ears that Snape knew any of the truth about his compulsion, but it would tell Harry what he needed to know. And, of course, Harry was quick enough to figure out who must have told Snape all of this, from the widening and narrowing of his eyes.

He spoke in a low, furious voice that Snape didn't think owed anything to pretense. "Why should I want to see you again? I don't care that you hurt me. That would have been all right, if you'd just lied to me about something that hurt me. But you put a compulsion on Draco." A brief wind ruffled the curtains of the hospital wing before Harry struggled and got his magic back under control. Snape felt relief, and then shame because of the relief. "You hurt other people," Harry went on, his voice deepening even further. Snape thought he could hear what Harry would sound like as an adult in that voice, and shivered. He would not want to be on the wrong end of this man's wand. "I can't forgive that."

"And your mother hurt your brother," Snape said.

"He's made his own decision on that," said Harry. "He's breaking off relations with her and my father. I think he's crazy—" that would be for Dumbledore, Snape knew "—and he thinks I'm crazy. We're even. But I asked you directly about Draco, and you lied to me." He turned his head away, and Snape was startled to realize, from his harsh breathing, that he was near tears.

He needs rest even more than Madam Pomfrey thinks he does.

"Harry?" Snape asked quietly. "I know that I have done worse things than lie to you. Your mother has done worse things than lie to you." Gone without touching you for two months, trained you to despise soft and pleasant things, told you that not passing one of her tests meant that you should feel shame for the rest of your life…"Why is this so unforgivable?"

Harry remained still for a moment. Then he turned back, and his eyes were too bright, and Snape knew he was getting the unvarnished truth.

"Because you mean more to me than she does, goddamn you," Harry whispered. "Of course it hurts more."

Snape stared at him, and hardly cared that Fawkes had just exploded into being over Harry's head, chirping worriedly, or that Harry closed his eyes and went rigid as if his mind were reaching out to some distant target. He was too busy dealing with the knowledge that he had not sacrificed Harry's love and respect.

Not yet.

Harry sat like that, barely breathing, for a few moments, until he opened his eyes, and sighed, and came back to himself. "It's all right," he said. "We turned his suspicions away, changed his memory a bit. He won't be paying attention to this conversation for the next few minutes, so we can talk freely." He leaned forward, and looped his arms around his knees, and stared at Snape. "I've seen, now, what you can do," he said bluntly. "What you would do. And I know what my summer would be like if I stayed with you. You'd try to force me to focus on the past, wouldn't you?"

"I would help you heal, yes." Snape forced his reeling emotions back under control, as well as the idea that he could not possibly do anything else that would push Harry away from him. He might have to. Parents had to do many things that their children didn't like, and so did guardians. "You can alter the future, Harry, but not the past, and that is why it will chain you until you face it and change your feelings about it."

"You sound like one of the Healers at St. Mungo's." Harry shook his head, his hair bouncing. "No. I'm not staying with you."

"But you are not as angry at me as you pretended to be," said Snape.

"Not once my emotions settled down, no." Harry tilted his head to the side. "The sleep helps. But you did endanger Draco's life, and you did lie to me, and I know that you might do the same things again if you really thought it was necessary to protect me."

"There is nothing I would not do to protect you," said Snape, and, with regret, he saw the path they would follow for the rest of their conversation, stretching away before them. He saw where it led, and it was a hard and bitter thing, to know that he would have to walk it after all, to make the sacrifice of Harry's good will that he thought he had already made.

It is a bitter thing, he thought, for a man not to know himself and his own reactions to intense pressure. I believed I would bear this far better than I have borne it.

Harry nodded. "I understand that." He let his breath hiss between his teeth. "But some of those things would interfere with the war, and others would break down this resolve that I've been building. I might find that I hate my mother far more than I do right now, if I dwelt on all that she'd done to me."

"And yet you're determined to ignore it," Snape summed up. No, this is not the Harry I thought I would be dealing with. "You're determined to use this anger of yours at my actions to force yourself away from me and go about the business of the war."

"Yes." Harry tilted his head. "I won't pretend that it doesn't hurt. Of course it does. But I know you now, sir, better than I did. And I can't let someone like you be my guardian. You would…guard me too closely. You would prevent me from forgiving Dumbledore and Lily, which I have to do. You might still let your grudge at James make you react in inappropriate ways."

"Not that last," said Snape. "Never again." I hate this road far more than any I have walked, and yet I will proceed to the end.

Harry examined his face, then shrugged a little. "Maybe not," he agreed. "But we have different priorities. You know me too much and too well. My other allies will follow me because they don't know everything you do. And I'm not going to tell them, either," he added, as Snape opened his mouth. "And you aren't, either, because you know I would never forgive you if something happened to Lily because you, oh, let the wrong bit of information out of your mouth in front of Hawthorn."

Harry. You think your forgiveness matters more to me than seeing you safe, and content, and happy. It does not. On this, you have very, very badly underestimated me.

Or perhaps he was simply relying on what he knew of the past Severus Snape, Snape thought, watching Harry's eyes shine as he steadily laid down the truth he understood. That was perfectly plausible. Snape had only recently acknowledged his own change.

"So this is the way it will be," Harry was saying. "I go where I have to go for the summer—"

"And that is?" Snape cut in.

"I don't know yet," said Harry impatiently. "Someplace where I can still fight the war, and still forgive Dumbledore and Lily. With people who won't press me too much. Someplace where I know that I can do what I have to do." He stared directly into Snape's eyes for a long moment.

"Maybe, someday," he whispered, "we can reconcile. I told you the truth. Because I understand what you did and why you did it, I'm already partly reconciled to you. But I'm not going to forgive you, not now, because then you would feel that you had license to do whatever you wanted. And I can't let you do that." He paused. Then he said, "I think you understand me now. Necessity, not choice, is forcing me into this. So I'll tell you something that would otherwise have come as a surprise. I'm going to write Scrimgeour and ask him to strip you of legal guardianship of me in a few days."

Snape closed his eyes.

"And who will be your legal guardian instead?" he forced himself to ask.

"I don't know yet," Harry repeated. "I'll find someone."

"Why?" Snape heard his own voice say, when he had meant to say something distinctly different. "Why are you doing this?"

He looked at Harry. Harry had his head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes steady and bright and full of regret.

"Because even after everything, even knowing you lied to me, and how much that hurt, and even knowing that you endangered Draco's life, I still don't trust myself," said Harry evenly. "I could still forgive you, and that would mean that I'd give you back power over me. I'd do things like maybe hate Dumbledore and Lily again, because you could persuade me into it. So I'm going to make sure I don't have an excuse for that."

Snape felt a snarling revulsion curl up inside him, and closed his eyes. No one should be that in control of his own emotions, so willing to abandon those he loves. Of course, I know why he is like that.

"I am going to have Draco at my side," said Harry calmly, "from knowing myself, and him. I can't go through this without him—I love him too much—and he wouldn't leave anyway. But he's going to have to be enough, along with my allies. You—" Harry's voice broke for the first time. Snape did not look at him. "You are too much. There's no way I can accept parenting from you. I can't accept the kind of healing that you want to give me, either. It would take too much time. I'm sorry, but I've made my decision, and that's the way it has to be."

They sat in silence for a moment more, and then Snape asked the question that had been haunting him. "Would you really ever go back to Lily?"

"Only to forgive her, and help her heal," said Harry softly. "That is the only reason."

"But as long as she lives, she is a danger to you," said Snape. "At the very least, she might try to gain custody of you again if you have no legal guardian."

"She is not a danger to me anymore," said Harry. "She's small and broken. She only has the power over me that I permit her to have."

You are wrong, very wrong, about that, or you would never have folded under the compulsion for as long as you did, Snape wanted to say, but he did not say it. "And Dumbledore? He is neither small nor broken."

"But I'll forgive him," said Harry, the impatience creeping back into his voice. "I'm handling him. I'll do it—"

Fawkes chirped, and Snape knew Dumbledore was again listening.

"Go away, Professor," said Harry, sounding brisk, but unable to keep out a tone of gentleness. "You know what I'm doing, and why. Go away." From the sound of it, he had rolled back over and burrowed into his blankets.

Snape stood and walked away from the hospital wing, slowly opening his eyes, his mind a torrent of emotions.

He had thought Harry hated him. It seemed he did not. He had thought Harry incapable of forgiving him. It seemed he was not.

And now he would have to damn that love and that forgiveness, because when Harry saw what Snape meant to do with the memories of his past, they would undoubtedly crisp and blacken and burn.

But as long as his mother lives free, she is a danger to him. So long as most of the wizarding world still respects Dumbledore, or thinks him guilty of no worse crime than senility, he still has too much power.

So long as Harry refuses healing, he will be crippled, and in his mind far more so than in his body.

It had been easier to contemplate this when he thought that he already possessed Harry's hatred.

Snape lifted his head. He had thought that it was better for Harry to laugh and hate him than it was for him to love him and be silent, hadn't he? He thought it was better for Harry to live healed, even if that meant that Snape gave up all claims to any thought of reconciliation or forgiveness in the future.

With eyes open, knowing what would happen the moment his plan came to fruition and Harry heard of it, he stepped onto his road.

Neither of us were born for the easy way.