Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Snape, Harry, and Their Issues

"Sir?"

Snape looked up sharply. Harry was peering at him around the corner of his office door, his face set politely but implacably, as if he were going to drag Snape off and make him reconcile with the werewolf. He carefully put down the Potions text he'd been reviewing to remind him of the uses of dragon's blood and turned around to stare at his ward.

"What do you have in your head this time?" he asked bluntly. When I know that he's going to have me doing something mad anyway, I should know what it is as soon as possible, so that I can protect both of us from the consequences of his stupidity.

"That I'm really fucking tired of not being able to trust you," said Harry cheerfully, and stepped into the office, pulling the door shut behind him. Snape experienced a spasm of alarm for the volatile Potions ingredients around the walls, but Harry didn't pay any attention to them, instead staring intently at Snape's face. "That I'm really fucking tired of you not being able to trust me, even to do something as basic as take care of myself or test my own magic without a guard sitting by just in case I light something on fire."

"You did light yourself on fire last time," said Snape darkly. He was not about to let Harry forget that.

"Yes, but I didn't mean to," Harry said, and then paused and shook his head before resuming the same slightly manic cheerfulness. "And I didn't come here to talk to you about this, not yet. I wanted to ask if you would go to Vera, the Seer, and let her look at our souls as she speaks to us."

Snape choked. Then he said, "The werewolf has hexed you. It can't be Imperio, because you can throw that off. Hold eye contact, Harry, so that I can make sure it isn't something else that affects the mind. Perhaps it only affects the mouth, and you are silently berating yourself for saying such a ridiculous thing. There are potions that turn all one's words to nonsense—"

"Is it really that ridiculous a suggestion?" Harry sounded both exasperated and offended. "This is why we need her. You still think that no one else would want to see your soul."

"I know what my soul looks like." Snape scowled at Harry, a scowl he knew was truly horrible; it had frightened Lupin this morning, when he met the werewolf coming out of the Headmistress's office. McGonagall had apparently told Lupin that he must leave the school, that she would not trust him to act as Head of Gryffindor House any more. Lupin had been angry enough that his eyes were glowing amber, and yet he had shrunk when he saw Snape. "I see no reason to have anyone else poking and prying about in it. Imagine a swamp of pitch at high midnight, Harry, and you will have my soul."

"You know that's not true," said Harry patiently, "or you would never care about anyone else but yourself. You've changed, and I think it's time to see how much. Will you come with me to Vera or not?"

Snape snarled between his teeth. "Not willingly."

Harry eyed him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. Come and talk to me in your quarters, then." He glanced at the Potions ingredients on the walls for the first time. "I wouldn't want to corrupt any of your experiments, or damage future ones, with the amounts of magic I'll probably be leaking."

"What will we talk about?" Snape asked. He became aware that he was clutching the Potions text like a shield as he stood, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Harry knew this would make him vulnerable. Harry had seen him more vulnerable, when the pain in his leg was a screaming thing and not a gnawing, persistent ache.

"Why we can't trust each other," said Harry, looking fully into his eyes. "Why I'm still upset at you for taking the information about my parents and Dumbledore to the Ministry. Why you don't trust me to stay by myself for an hour without bursting into flame. That kind of thing."

Snape looked steadily at him. Harry showed no sign of backing down or glancing away. Snape was not sure what had brought this on—the conversation with the werewolf, which Harry hadn't sketched to him in more than details, should not have—but it was apparent that they were going to have this conversation now or later. And putting it off until later might result in Harry showing up at his door with the Seer next time, and letting her look at Snape's soul before Snape could stop it.

"Very well," said Snape, hoping his voice sounded ungracious and neither hopeful nor angry. "My rooms." He swept out of the office, letting Harry have a full-on view of his set back, and not his pale face or tightly clutching hands.

Harry let Snape choose his seat when they entered his rooms. Harry had been the one to abruptly show up and demand that they do this. It was only fair that he should choose the ground.

Snape decided to sit on the couch in front of the fire, perhaps so he could feel the comforting warmth at his back, perhaps so that Harry would have to sit in the smaller and more vulnerable chair. Harry didn't really mind. What mattered to him most was that they were finally going to talk about this, and, Vera or no Vera, they weren't leaving until they'd built up a new foundation of trust or repaired the damaged one.

"Sir," said Harry, when he was seated. "What do you want to talk about first?"

Snape stared at him in silence for a long time. Then he said, "Why don't you tell me the major reason that you still don't trust me? I had thought you did, Harry, after the Chamber."

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "I thought it at least repaired enough that we didn't need to do this," he admitted. "Then I realized, yesterday, that I assumed automatically that you'd used Legilimency on Remus because you hate him, not because you thought it would help or protect me."

"That is wrong." Snape's voice had gone flat.

"I know." Harry lowered his hand to his lap and gave Snape an apologetic look. "But it's one of those things you need to talk about. Is there anyone else whose mind you would have read so willingly, sir? That's alive, I mean? I could see you reading Sirius's mind, or Dumbledore's, if you could get past his own Legilimency. But would you read the Headmistress, or Flitwick, on the off-chance that they were hiding something unpleasant in their thoughts?"

"This was more than an off-chance."

Harry waited, but Snape didn't elaborate. It seemed that he would have to do all the work, at least for this part of the conversation. Well, he had expected no less. He wanted his guardian back, and his guardian was quite content to squat in the hole he'd dug for himself like a toad. Harry would pull the toad out.

"Would you have asked permission from the Headmistress, first, before you read her thoughts?" he asked. "From Professor Flitwick? From Professor Sprout?"

Snape stared straight at him, this time without a scowl, without any expression at all. Harry waited. Snape often used silence to unnerve students and make them confess their crimes before they were ready. But it could be used on him, too, and Harry knew his conviction—at this point—to be greater than Snape's. He waited, and Snape cracked.

"There is no one else who would be so dangerous!" he snarled at last. "There is no one else who has a curse that he can spread to anyone in the school with a single bite! And Minerva agrees with me, Harry. She dismissed Lupin this morning, and told me that she could not have a Head of Gryffindor who was dedicated to something else more than he was dedicated to the safety of the school."

Harry winced. He had known that McGonagall would do something like that, but he had not expected it so soon. He drew in a deep breath, and reminded himself that Remus would be all right. He'd set that Gringotts account up for him, after all, and Remus could live out of it.

But it's more than that. It's the symbolism of things. McGonagall just dismissed the one werewolf who's ever been welcome at Hogwarts. He now has no job. Even if he wasn't being paid in anything other than food and clothes and Wolfsbane Potion, the fact that he could live around and with other wizards is an important signal that some of us are accepting of werewolves.

Harry told himself that that wasn't the issue right now; his conversation with Snape was, and Snape had likely only brought this up at all to distract him. Harry recognized the gambit. He'd used it himself countless times, especially when he wanted Narcissa Malfoy to stop worrying about him; he had only to bring up Draco, and she was involved in considering what her beloved baby boy wanted and needed, with fewer concerns about Harry himself. Harry kept a determinedly pleasant expression on his face. "So you admit that you would not have mind-read anyone else except Remus without at least asking first."

"It has nothing to do with him being a Marauder," said Snape quickly, his face gone dark. "It has everything to do with him being a danger to you. You forget, I treated Dumbledore the same way."

"And Dumbledore was a Gryffindor and a friend of the Marauders," said Harry, with a nod, "the one who kept them in school when they should have been expelled for hurting you."

Snape started to answer, and then paused, staring at him.

Harry figured out the cause of that stare a moment later. "Of course I don't think that what they did to you was right!" he snapped. "Honestly, sir, you've grown so used to being alone with your grievances that I think you've forgotten other people can sympathize with them. I would have done what I could to make sure that Sirius and James paid for that. There's only the little matter of my not having been born at the time, you see."

Snape recovered himself at the sarcasm. "Dumbledore was a menace," he said, "at least where Slytherin students were concerned. And, in the last years, he was a menace to you. And so was Lupin."

"Then you could have gone to the Headmistress, and told her what you knew without benefit of Legilimency," said Harry. "Besides, I think we were discussing something else, sir. Do you really think that no one would ever agree that your almost dying or becoming infected by a werewolf was wrong?"

"Precious few people have ever been in sympathy with it." Snape stared down his nose at him as if Harry were Connor instead of himself. "Dumbledore and Minerva both refused to even consider expulsion for Black or Potter. Minerva took House points and gave detention, and that is all. And Dumbledore told me that I should try to understand what would have led them to play that prank, that I should try to make more friends and be kinder." Bitterness choked his voices like ashes in a chimney.

"Then I understand why you hated them so much," said Harry. "But do you really think the Headmistress hasn't changed in the twenty years since, sir?"

"It is not her I am concerned about." Snape flicked a hand in dismissal. "I am concerned with the fact that Lupin was a danger to you."

"Because he was a Marauder."

"Because he was a danger to you." Snape stared at him pointedly. "Have you forgotten, Harry, that he suspected what was happening to you for a long time before he tried to do something about it? And even then, what he did was attack Black the moment he was free, not comfort you or apologize to you. The beast inside him wanted flesh. If he understands human emotions such as compassion, there is precious little evidence of it. Simply because he was mild, everyone assumed he was kind. I think that is false."

"You go too far," said Harry softly, narrowing his eyes. He almost wished he could have brought Snape to his conversation with Remus yesterday after all, even though he would have had to put Snape under a Silencing Charm to get anything productive said. "Remus was genuinely upset about having to betray me yesterday—"

"He did not have to betray you, Harry." Snape's voice now sounded like rain pounding on gravel. "He is weak, and always has been. He has only decided that he should give in to the beast now, instead of hiding from it. That is the only difference—"

"He chose," said Harry. "I hate what he chose. I disagree with it. I hate that he thinks biting other people is all right. But you—you're making it sound as if he was compelled to pick the path of rage and murder because he isn't human."

"He is not!"

Harry blinked a few times. The only sound for the next few moments was Snape's harsh breath, rasping in and out of his lungs as if he had run a race. Harry sat, and thought, as best as he could in front of a prejudice he hadn't even been suspecting he'd dig up.

"Well," he said at last. "That explains a lot."

Snape turned away from him, moving one hand absently through his hair. His bad leg trembled, and Harry felt a momentary twinge of sadness, that that wound would probably indicate Snape's vulnerability for a long time—and not just by limiting his movement, the way it did now.

"Sir—"

"It is true," said Snape lowly, never looking up. "Werewolves are not human, Harry. They are slaves of the beasts inside." Harry might have believed him if not for the tremor underlying his voice. Snape wasn't saying this in an effort to convince Harry about Remus. He was saying this because—

"Merlin," Harry breathed. "You're afraid of him. You're afraid of all of them, and you haven't wanted anyone to know."

Snape's gaze snapped to him. Harry saw anger and terror mixing there like crunching shards of glass. Snape's façade had been utterly destroyed. Harry shook his head in silence, and asked his next question before he could think better of it.

"How in the world did you survive spying? You would have had to work beside Fenrir Greyback."

Snape rebuilt his mask in a few places, though his voice still shook when he spoke. "Greyback followed Voldemort's orders and did not bite fellow Death Eaters in human form. I trusted him to be terrified of the Dark Lord. If he'd touched me, he would have been deprived of the pleasure of future kills. And I could easily request to hunt elsewhere on full moon nights. The Dark Lord was—aware of what had happened to me because of Lupin. He even approved of my beliefs, because while he used werewolves, he considered them tainted. They are beasts to him. He may use Muggleborns, too, but that does not mean he will not kill and enslave them in the end."

Harry nodded, understanding his mentor better than he had now. Snape hated feeling helpless. If he had a true and genuine fear, it would not be surprising that he concealed it for his life and never acknowledged that it was terror driving him. And, of course, while Dumbledore was alive, he would have had to hide his distaste if he wanted to work under a Headmaster who didn't think werewolves were monsters.

But McGonagall's already shown she's different. Now, it's a belief that's going to cause him problems if he works with me.

"It must have cost you much to go into the Woodhouse battle on a full moon night," he said.

Snape shook his head slightly. "The werewolves were in a different part of the valley, and under Wolfsbane. And by the time we realized it was an ambush and that we could actually be facing werewolves there, I believe that Greyback and his consort were already dead." He sat silent for a moment, and then added, "And with you there, Harry, I could turn my terror into rage for your safety. I've always been good at transmuting fear into anger, in any case."

"I know." Harry took a deep breath. "But, sir, now you'll have to find a different set of tactics. I'm going to be working beside werewolves often as I try to find a solution for their problems, and that means you'll be brought into contact with people you fear and hate often. I want you to know that I do sympathize with what happened to you because of James and Sirius, but I think that your prejudice against werewolves is wrong, stupid, and counterproductive."

"They are beasts," said Snape. "I say nothing, Harry, about it being their fault that they were bitten. The werewolves like Greyback are rare. I know that. But it changes them, the bite. Just as someone under the Imperius Curse may cause a great deal of damage that is not directly their fault, they will bring blood and ruin down if you work with them."

Harry sighed. "You don't think you can overcome this?"

Snape stared at him haughtily. "I don't see why I should have to. My attitude is the more reasonable and sensible one."

"You will have to because of me," Harry told him. "I can assign you elsewhere, the way Voldemort did, but I know you won't always want that, because of your desire to be at my side protecting me. Sooner or later, you'll have to deal with a situation where you're fighting beside me and werewolves are fighting beside me, in wolf form, even. Can you take that?"

Snape shut his eyes and said nothing for a long moment. Then he said, "I will try."

"Thank you," said Harry softly. He was still a bit shaken in the wake of Snape's deep hatred and deep fear. He had not sensed a trace of that in Snape for so long. Of course, Snape was a master Occlumens, skilled at feeling only those emotions he wanted to feel—and it was possible that he had shown signs of it, and Harry had dismissed them as merely hatred for a Marauder, a companion of James Potter. Harry was desperately glad to have discovered this weakness now, rather than in the middle of battle.

Of course, he thought, as Snape opened his eyes and turned to face him, that means that he's going to strike back, try to equalize the secrets that are shared and spread around today.

"I have answered your questions," Snape said, voice almost normal. "And I want you to answer one of mine."

Harry inclined his head.

"Why are you still so angry at me for filing child abuse charges against your parents and Dumbledore?" Snape asked quietly.

Harry felt himself freeze up for a moment. But Snape had shown incredible courage in admitting his own fear; could he show less? He lifted his head and said, "I don't entirely disagree with what you did, now that I've had some months to think about it. I can see factors that I couldn't when I was closer to the situation. I agree that Dumbledore should have gone to trial for what happened to Peter, at the least. And Connor could have filed charges against Lily for quiet abuse. That's one of the few regrets I have in killing Dumbledore, you know?" he added. "That he did not come to trial. I think Peter did deserve to have everyone know he was cleared directly, instead of indirectly through his testimony in my trial."

"And James?" Snape kept his voice neutral on the name, which Harry was sure must have taken a deal of effort.

Harry winced. Then he plunged forward, and said, "I—I tend to think that the child abuse charges you filed against him were still mostly a means of revenge, sir. I know you said that they weren't. But without those charges of neglect, there was really nothing to arrest him for. You could have secured Dumbledore and Lily from doing any more damage to me, or anyone else, by telling the Minister of the crimes they'd committed against other people. You chose that route instead, and I often think it was merely to include James in the smearing."

He looked up to see Snape watching him in silence. It seemed to be puzzled silence. Harry was vaguely surprised. He would have expected his guardian to at once begin denying that he'd done anything against James in the name of revenge; he'd said so before.

Then Snape said, "You still don't think your child abuse should ever have been exposed, do you?" His voice was soft and amazed.

Harry bit his lip. Then he said, "I know you did it to protect me. And I agree that they deserved justice for their crimes. But I would have preferred if we could have done something in private that would have protected me and given them justice for their crimes. I agree that you would have had to take charge of it. I really wasn't thinking straight at that point." He produced a smile, hoping Snape would smile back. He didn't. Harry pushed forward. "I didn't want anyone to know I had been abused. I agree everything else had to happen, now, though, as I said, I'm still suspicious about your motives for including James. But the exposure of that particular crime didn't need to happen."

"Why not, Harry?"

"I just—I didn't want it to."

"Why not, Harry?"

Harry sat back and closed his eyes. He was concentrating on holding his magic so that it wouldn't make his chair explode. "Because."

"Why not, Harry?"

"Because WHO CARES?"

Harry shouted that last, and then dropped back into his chair, panting. Snape said nothing at all, and whether it was to fill up the silence or for some other reason, Harry found himself pouring out words.

"I just—I could have healed in private. The people who needed to know about it, Draco and you and Connor and the Malfoys, knew about it. We could have done something with my parents and Dumbledore to punish them for that crime in private, and then dragged them up before the public for everything else. Then there wouldn't be newspaper articles about me, and stupid, stupid interrogations with Madam Shiverwood, and people trying to use my gift for sacrifice against me. Everyone who needed to know already knew. And I can accept concern from you and Draco on that score—you love me, you know me personally—and I can accept Connor's anger, since he didn't know about it for a long time and I was trying to pretend, at that point, that at least James wasn't guilty. But everyone else—I want them to go away. It's all going to go smash in the end if they don't look away. They have to see the principles I'm pushing forward, not me. They have to be willing to fight this war because of the idea that magical creatures deserve to be free and because they want to struggle against Voldemort, not because I'm the one leading them. It's like the difference between this—" he waved his severed left wrist "—as a symbol and as a source of concern for them. It's all right if they care about it because they think that Voldemort or his Death Eaters might inflict such horrible crimes on them. It's not all right if they think of it as something I suffered and want me to get another hand because of that.

"And it's the same thing with the trial. They could know that Dumbledore and Lily and James did evil things. They didn't have to know that those things were abuse of me. I don't want them to care too much. I can tolerate them looking at me as a symbol, as a leader, as a speaker, as a political player. Not as a victim."

He stopped speaking, and sat, empty and drained, for a long moment. Snape's voice flowed into the silence like water.

"Is that the reason you refuse to get another hand, Harry?"

Harry lifted his head and blinked at his guardian. "Yes," he said quietly. "Getting another one would be an admission that I think of myself as crippled, or that I deserve to be pitied. I don't want that."

"You think you have to be strong enough to bear any adversity?"

Harry frowned. "In public, yes." Isn't that obvious? "In private, I can relax around you and Draco, and admit things I wouldn't admit otherwise. But show me one leader who limps into battle with wounds bleeding all over him and asks for pity, and I'll show you someone who's going to die on the morrow—or in three seconds, if Voldemort is involved."

"I think you would find that not many people share your opinion," said Snape softly. "Wanting to be two-handed is not a pitiable thing, Harry, only a normal one."

"And one that makes me too human to them," Harry countered. "I'm only practicing politics, sir, and you said Friday that you were happy to see my political instincts growing. Isn't this another instance of it? Presenting a strong front in public, no matter what I feel like in private?"

Snape controlled his exasperation and his fondness, both. Harry wouldn't respond well to either right now.

And at least it explains a good deal about him. I wonder, though, if he will want to hear that there will always be some people who follow him because of who he is, not what he preaches, and that his moments of weakness can be inspiring, because of how he bears up under them?

It didn't matter if he liked it or not. Snape would be remiss to keep it from him while they were being honest. "If someone chooses to admire you for yourself, Harry," he said, "that is something you cannot force him out of."

"Who said anything about forcing?" Harry tossed his head like a nervous horse, a gesture Snape thought he might have picked up from Regulus. "I'm only trying to make sure that it doesn't become a plague."

Affection leaked into Snape's voice before he could stop himself. "You are allowed to think about yourself, Harry. If you want a second hand, you are allowed to try to break the spells Bellatrix may have left on your wrist and replace it, rather than refuse it because you think all your attention has to go into the war and how you appear to other people."

"I don't think that," Harry countered immediately. "After all, sir, I'm talking to you for a personal reason. I want to be able to trust you again."

"So that I can also trust you," said Snape. "So that you can also have someone who backs you in the war."

Harry scowled at him.

"Will you think about getting yourself another hand?" Snape asked. "Not because of how it might look to others, but because you want one? If nothing else, it would be good practice for your courting ritual," he added delicately, wondering why Draco had not told Harry this. Perhaps he had assumed Harry knew, or wanted it to be a surprise. "You are supposed to be thinking of your partner and yourself then, not the wider world."

"I had guessed that," said Harry. "And what makes you think that I want another hand?"

Snape raised his eyebrow.

Harry sighed. "Yes, all right, fine," he said, in a voice that was not quite a snap. "But I don't miss it as much as I would have expected. The pain has caused me more trouble, since Voldemort likes to use the memory of it to taunt me, and it was the one that Dumbledore used to capture me in Capto Horrifer."

"Will you think about it?" Snape asked. He was perfectly aware that Harry had agreed only that he might want his left hand back, not to thinking about getting his left hand back. Harry could use conversational tricks like that in his sleep, but could rarely get past him.

Harry gave him a single glance like broken glass. "Yes, I will," he said. "And if we're into thinking about sensitive subjects, will you think about never using compulsion on Draco again?"

Masterfully turned, Harry, Snape had to admit, as he found himself once more on the defensive. "I did it in the first place because I wished Draco to have some interests independent of you," he said carefully. "I knew the book would put a compulsion on him. I did not think it would be as damaging as it turned out to be, and certainly I did not think he would be able to brew that potion as fast as he did and summon his ancestor's ghost on Halloween. I underestimated Draco's skill in Potions."

"None of that excuses you lying directly to me," said Harry, eyes furious. At least they didn't hold the same blank, dead rage that Snape had seen last Midsummer night, when Harry tried to choke him to death with magic. "And you can't claim that you were protecting me this time. Why did you do it?"

"I think you know the answer to that one," said Snape quietly. It would involve admitting to fear again if he said it, and he thought he had done enough of that in this conversation.

"I want to hear you say it again."

"I feared that you would not trust me if you heard that I had used compulsion, no matter what the purpose," said Snape. The words stung his lips as they slid across them, but at least, this time, Snape had had the choice to say them, and hadn't had the confession forced from him the way his terror of werewolves had been. "And you needed an adult to trust at that point, Harry. It does come back to protecting you, no matter what you think."

Harry raised his head and studied him in silence for a moment. Then he said, "You need to trust me more, sir. I hated you for the compulsion, of course I did, but more for the lie. If you'd just told me from the beginning that you wanted Draco to concentrate on something besides me and that the instrument you chose was ultimately too risky, I could have accepted that, because it would have been a mistake, not a calculated deception. You think I'm going to turn away from loving you at any moment, and that's not true."

Snape closed his eyes. He didn't think that, of course he didn't think that, it was too soppy to be a thing he would think—

But it was true. Why else hadn't he told Harry about his Death Eater days, or shared how he knew so many of the wizards and witches who had been part of that first, failed meeting? Because he was afraid of Harry flinching away from him in disgust once he discovered some of the things Snape had done, both before and after he turned spy for the Light.

"Can you trust me that much?" Harry asked softly.

"I will try," said Snape. He knew it would be hard. He would be struggling against his own nature, after all, and the bitter lessons he'd learned so young that they never stuck him as cynical any more, simply the truth of the world. Everything he loved was snatched away. Everything he knew as good turned out to be an empty mask stretched over corruption. It had happened with his expectations about Hogwarts as a child, and the Death Eaters, and Dumbledore as the embodiment of Light. Someday, Snape knew, he would wake and find that Harry had gone, too, estranged from him forever by his own corruption.

A hand touched him, tilting his chin up and opening his eyes. Snape found himself looking directly into Harry's face.

And Harry had dropped the Occlumency barriers behind his eyes that usually contained his emotions, and opened the quicksilver pools.

Snape found himself swept into a mass of affection and love and admiration as strong as a riptide. Trust was a lesser current in it; as Harry had said, his ability to trust Snape had rather diminished since he brought the Potters and Dumbledore to trial. But it was still there, and Harry went on determinedly showing him the truth, strung between memories from the Chamber of Secrets all the way back to first year, that he loved Snape, valued him, and could trust him again fully, even if he did not now. He wouldn't let Snape throw that away just because of his own insecurities.

It was intolerable that he not respond to that, and with a gesture of equal respect and honor. So Snape opened his own Occlumency pools. Harry had time for a startled gasp before he tumbled into the emotions that swam there.

Fear. That was everywhere, Harry saw. Snape was afraid of losing him, afraid of finding out that he had driven Harry away forever, afraid that an enemy would catch and kill Harry one of these days when one of them wasn't quick enough, afraid that Harry would let threats get close to him because he loved people and forgave them too much. Fear, bordering on terror.

Rage. That danced past as a curtain of fire, not blue and gold like phoenix fire, but a red so deep it was almost black, and thus, Harry thought, almost the deep green of the Slytherin colors. Snape hated most of the world that would threaten Harry. Oh, he might have valued Harry at first because of vengeance on James Potter and Dumbledore, there was no doubt of that, but it had changed since then. Now he hated Remus as a threat, Voldemort as a threat, the political players in the Ministry as a threat, and was quite prepared to hate Lucius Malfoy as a threat if he showed himself so. That mingled with the fear, and explained, Harry thought dazedly, why Snape was apparently incapable of letting him investigate his own phoenix fire alone.

Love. That drove Snape, too, but it wove through the rage and the terror in sparkling threads, and so Snape could easily pretend it was something else. The world took away love, butchered it and slit its throat. He saw it happen with Harry as well as everyone else. Why should he believe that he would be safe if he showed it?

Harry found himself laughing helplessly as he fell back into his body. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Snape's neck for a moment, embracing him, as he carefully rearranged his own Occlumency pools. He was sure that Snape was doing the same thing. It would have hurt for him to keep them open as long as he had.

"You can't put me in an egg, you know," Harry whispered. "You can't keep me safe from every danger."

"I know," Snape said, voice muffled. "But you understand why I want to?"

"Better than I have." Harry was a little dazed, but he could feel an edge of emotion skimming across his mind. Merlin. Is that what it's like, having a parent? Is that what a parent is?

Then maybe I can be a son.

He was not entirely sure yet; the emotion was still tentative, darting and diving and dodging and playing games with him. But he was hopeful, now. If Snape's emotions were some of what a parent might feel, then Harry thought his own emotions, which complemented them, might be what a son would feel.

Maybe. Oh, maybe.

He sat back at last, and opened his eyes, staring directly into Snape's, but not opening himself to Legilimency this time. The moment for that was past. He had given Snape reason to trust him. Time to see if it would work. "Can you trust me?" he asked quietly. "Not to abandon you because of some imagined sin, and to protect myself as well as you try to?"

Snape inclined his head just a hair. "I can," he said. "I know that you could not—would not wish to back away, or harm me, because of—what I saw."

Harry nodded, satisfied.

"And you?" Snape tilted his head in challenge, an old sneer flickering around the corners of his mouth. "Will you trust me not to worry unreasonably, and to do what I think is in the best interests of your safety, not out of old grudges or malice?"

"I think so," said Harry. "Yes. I can." He stared at Snape a moment more. He had to admit, he'd been humbled by the extent of Snape's fear for his life. He knew Draco felt much the same way, but Draco was in love with him, and Harry could accept that because he experienced the same extremes of rage and distress when Draco got threatened. He also wanted to protect Snape, but his fear wasn't exactly corresponding, because he trusted Snape to (mostly) protect himself. "Sir—you care more for me, and better for me, then my parents ever did," he said.

Snape's arms slid around him so abruptly, and squeezed so tightly, that Harry lost his breath. He leaned his head against Snape's chest for a moment, though, and accepted the embrace, then returned it.

"That," Snape whispered, directly into his ear, "is a precious gift."

Harry closed his eyes and said nothing. Another tentative emotion had come to skim across his mind, stronger than hope and more uplifting than humility: exaltation.

Oh, Merlin, I've got one person I can trust no matter what. I have someone to go to if everything, the werewolves and Draco and the battle on Midsummer and the revolution after it, gets to be too much. This is brilliant.