Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms

Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.

In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.

Chapter 13

He shouldn't have kept them. He'd known that from the start.

He'd read and reread them over and over during the school term – especially so after each torturous trip into the pensieve.

He'd told himself that they were his reward, but the thought had made him feel abhorrent as soon as it had crossed his mind.

Severus should have never kept the letters. Knowing that it was right to give them away didn't prevent him from feeling like losing Lily all over again.

Harry started to actively avoid Snape. He was the last to enter his classroom and the first to hurry out as soon as the lessons were over.

Snape never called him back. He didn't give him detention or the date of his next dementor lesson, even though Harry still wasn't any closer to conjuring a corporeal Patronus.

He refused to talk about it with his friends. He didn't need them to confirm what he already knew.

The teacher he'd learned to hate less over the summer was responsible for his parents' death – and nobody had thought it necessary to tell him. Nobody, except Snape himself.

In a way, Harry thought bitterly, this made him the most dependable adult currently in his life.

It's been a while since I've last written. I'm still hoping to hear back from you, but I'm sure you're very busy.

I tried my hand at baking again. Don't! I know what you're going to say. Remember the one grandpa used to make? The one with raspberries? I found the recipe in an old box (it's been standing around unopened since we moved) and just couldn't resist.

The less said about it the better.

Harry's been growing like crazy. I swear he's trying to kick his way out already – though he never stirs when someone's trying to feel him. It's driving James insane. Imagine that – Harry's not even born, and his dad is already convinced he hates him!

The words blurred in front of Harry's eyes.

He'd found them in his room – dropped off by a house-elf, according to Dean. He held them in shaky hands, yellowed paper covered top to bottom in a tiny, neat script. Dozens of them. A whole stack of letters signed with Love, Lily.

Where had they come from?

Remember the one grandpa used to make?

Harry traced the sentence and paused on the word 'grandpa'. All those relatives he'd never gotten to meet. He wondered if any of them were still alive.

It's driving James insane.

James. His father. Somewhere along the way, Lily's name had stopped feeling like that of a stranger to him, but it was different for James. Maybe it was the memories he'd gotten to see in Snape's pensiev–

Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

All the letters were addressed to his aunt Petunia. There wasn't anyone who could have gotten them from the Dursleys – nobody other than the person who'd paid them a visit over half a year ago, back when he'd fetched Harry's belongings and told him he'd never have to go back to them.

Harry clenched his hands, rage surging through him.

The letter was still in his hands. "No... Oh no..."

He'd torn it. Snape had kept one of his only connections to his mother from him for months, and now that he had them back he'd already torn one of them.

Harry stared down at the crinkled paper, his sight blurry. He was too upset to keep reading.

Why would Snape give them back now? Because of the stupid promise he'd made about not keeping secrets?

Harry scoffed, wiping furiously at his eyes. He gathered up the letters hastily, not trusting himself not to damage them further.

He would, later. He'd read them one by one, over and over, memorizing every word.

Snape hadn't had the right.

Harry snatched up the stack of letters and stormed past a startled Neville on his way out of the dormitories.

Snape wasn't in his office, his classroom, or anywhere near the dungeons. Harry checked the staff room, the Great Hall, and was on his way back through the entrance hall when he stumbled across Sprout, who said she'd last seen him when he'd asked her permission to cut down some of her mugwort for an upcoming Potions lesson.

Could any thought make it past the whirlwind in his head, Harry might have realized just how bad of an idea it was to storm in on Snape on a rage-induced whim.

"What are these?" Harry cradled the letters to his chest. Thank Merlin there was nothing in the greenhouse to slam them down on to make a point.

Snape knelt in front of a patch of earth, large garden shears in his hands. The sight reminded him so much of the greenhouse at Spinner's End that Harry could barely stand to look.

"I sincerely doubt you need me to answer that."

Harry was shaking. "Did you have these the entire time?"

Snape's refusal to look up ought to have been answer enough.

But Harry wanted to hear him say it. "Did you?"

Snape sat back on his heels. The posture might have looked calm, had it not been for his white-knuckled grip around the shears. "Yes."

The bottled-up rage in Harry's chest billowed into an inferno. "You kept them. This entire school year. You showed me memories of her, and all this time..."

Harry had to break off. A jagged ball of hurt choked off his throat.

"They were mine," he said, his voice trembling. "Why did you keep them? Why give them back now?"

"I felt an apology was in order."

"This isn't an apology!" Harry startled himself with his outburst. The tiny part of himself that registered that he was yelling was quickly smothered by the ballooning rage inside of him. "This– It's– Did you really think this would make things better?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Snape's throat moved soundlessly. "You might call it tying up loose ends."

Were Harry not still drunk on his anger, he would have laughed out loud. "You don't get to do that," he said. "After all this... After telling me everything you did, now you're gonna take it all back? Pretend like nothing's ever happened?"

Irritation flashed through Snape's eyes. "That is not–"

"Why did you keep them?" Harry interrupted. "You told me you used to be friends with my mom. But that doesn't explain– Just... How could you keep them?"

Only when Snape answered did Harry realize he hadn't actually expected him to. It felt like proof that they were reaching the end of something. A conclusion of sorts. Tying up loose ends, Snape had called it.

Harry wondered if Snape was only doing this so he could put the matter to rest. One last revelation, then Snape would get to wash his hands off of him for good and they'd never be anything other than a teacher and one of his students.

"I was foolish in my youth," Snape said curtly. "Foolish and misguided. I've made too many mistakes to make up for."

Harry didn't dare interrupt, the moment too fragile to risk breaking it with the wrong words.

"Your mother was the only reason I've ever attempted to atone for my sins. She... Her memory was all I had – have – left."

"She's not here," Harry said tonelessly. He clenched his hand briefly – a short, furious gesture before he forced himself to stay calm. "She's my mom. You had no right."

Snape said nothing. It was worse than anything he might have said.

"You're the reason he came after her. You had no right." Distantly, Harry became aware of the wetness on his cheeks. He took heavy breaths that slowly started to turn ragged.

"I regret what I did every day," Snape said.

"I don't care!" Harry snapped. "You keep saying stuff like this. That you miss her, and that she's so important to you. But you don't change!"

Snape rose to his feet sharply. "I've put my life on the line–"

"I'm not talking about that!" Harry's voice broke. He tore himself away and stomped towards the other end of the greenhouse.

He couldn't believe how incredibly unfair it was that he'd never gotten to know his mother while Snape had spent years obsessing over a long gone version of her.

Something in Harry settled. The calm felt deceitful, but he embraced it. "Mom's gone," he said tonelessly. "There's no point worrying about disappointing a dead woman."

Snape's clenched fists trembled. Wordless fury was carved onto his face, and Harry felt vicious satisfaction at having brought it there.

"I guess you just don't care about anybody who's still here."

Harry stalked out before Snape could tear himself out of his stupor. He tried to hold onto the vindication, but by the time he arrived at Gryffindor tower he only felt numb.

Something between them felt irreparably severed. Harry didn't know whether to be more upset about it being gone, or about there having been something worth severing in the first place.

If he'd thought the rest of the school year would be a miserable blur of resentment, he was mistaken. Potions once again morphed into his least favorite time of the week, but other than that things almost went back to normal.

They won the Quidditch cup. Harry's black mood lifted amidst cheering housemates, a crying Oliver and a haze of dizzying triumph.

He carefully didn't look at the teachers' stand. He'd spent days ignoring Snape's presence even in his own class, and he wouldn't let him ruin one of the happiest moments of his life.

There wasn't much time to celebrate. The end of the term exams came about them like a tidal wave.

"–and because transfiguration works best if the object you wish to transform is similar in matter and density as what you want to transform it into, you're best off with a target of a similar size, like a salamander, or a cat."

"Does it have to be alive, or can I just use a decently sized rock?"

"Show me the wand movement again."

"Ron, we've gone over this three times!"

"No, I've got it, I've got it. Just remind me, was it more of a flick or more of a swerve?"

"Did we even learn this?"

"They can't possibly put that on the exam!"

Harry's brain felt like a wrung-out sponge. He and Ron trudged out of the Great Hall alongside all the other drained third-years, just barely managing to set one foot in front of the other without collapsing.

Miraculously, the exam had left him with just enough brain-capacity to realize that someone was missing.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron blinked, scanning the entrance hall bleary-eyed. He gave the barest twitch of his shoulders. "Must have left before us."

"Not Hermione. You know she always stays behind to recheck her answers."

"Who cares," Ron groaned. "She's been disappearing all school year. Maybe she secretly learned how to apparate. How to disappear and reappear somewhere else," he added, catching Harry's confusion.

"I think she'd tell us if– There she is."

Hermione skipped down the stairs into the entrance hall, out-of-breath and with dark bags underneath her eyes, but not nearly as dead-eyed as most of their housemates.

"If we asked where you've been," Ron said once she was close enough, "would you give us an answer?"

"What did you think of Professor McGonagall's exam?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's question. "To be honest, I thought it'd be harder. But oh, I'm worried I misunderstood some of her questions..."

"Seriously. Where'd you come from?"

"Arithmancy exam."

"Really." Ron shot Harry an exasperated look. "Because last I checked, the Charms exam hasn't been done for five minutes yet."

"What did you write on the Animagus registry?" asked Hermione, undeterred. "I'm worried I went too deep into the technicalities... Do you think two rolls of parchment is too much?"

Arguing with Hermione when she was like this took too much effort, so Ron and Harry let it go. They trailed behind her as she dissected each of their exams (Harry tried not to feel queasy about just how few of the things she mentioned he'd actually written), pursuing vague plans of spending the rest of the day at the lake.

Later that day, they got a letter from Hagrid, asking them to meet him in the entrance hall.

He'd found Scabbers.

"Where'd he come from?" Ron held onto a squirming Scabbers, his expression tilting between gleeful and thunderstruck.

According to Hagrid, he'd found the rat hiding in his hut. How he'd gotten there so long after he'd been supposedly eaten by Hermione's cat, none of them could say.

"Maybe he's been hiding there this entire time." Even though Hermione had insisted on her cat's innocence, she seemed no less taken aback.

"Maybe..."

They were on their way to Gryffindor tower, but Ron kept pausing. Scabbers tried frantically to escape and Ron was barely managing to hold onto him.

"Scabbers," he forced out, "you stupid– What's... gotten... into you..."

"Harry?" Professor Lupin and who Harry vaguely recognized as Hermione's Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector, had rounded a corner.

Vector took in Ron's odd little dance with bemusement. "What are you three doing–"

Ron gasped. "He's trying to–" He cut himself off in a pained grunt.

Scabbers broke free and took off, running down the corridor with a speed Harry would have never thought possible for Ron's lazy pet rat.

"Scabbers! Get back here!"

"Wait– Ron!"

Ron chased after Scabbers, Hermione not far behind. Harry – not having much of a choice – followed, leaving behind Vector and an ashen-faced Lupin.

They sped through abandoned corridors, flew down spindly spiral staircases, stumbled over Professor Flitwick and almost ran into Snape in their haste not to lose sight of the madly running rat.

They almost lost him behind a false tapestry – how could a rat know it was fake? – and chased him down the shortcut until it led them out of the castle.

"Ron! Ron, wait!"

The sun was beginning to set, casting shadows and throwing the grounds into sharp, bright orange contrast.

Ron didn't listen. The castle fell back further and further. In the distance, the hulking shape of a huge willow grew closer.

Close to it, a black dog the size of a wolf lay in wait.

Harry and Hermione followed Ron and the dog – Black – through the tunnel and into the Howling Shack.

Lupin soon followed.

With him Snape.

Harry circled through emotions so rapidly, he forgot that fear ought to be one of them.

Harry's thoughts were swirling.

Not only had Lupin been a werewolf this entire time (he couldn't believe Hermione had kept it from them), but he was friends with Black. Black and his father – and a man named Peter Pettigrew, if their mad ramblings could be believed – had become animagi because of their friendship to Lupin.

Harry had no idea how this story was supposed to lead towards Black being innocent, but if Snape got his way, it would never come to that.

"Severus, please," Lupin urged. "You must let us finish."

"You're lucky I haven't already stunned you, Lupin." Snape didn't take his eyes off of Black. "Time and time again I've told the headmaster. I've told him you were not to be trusted. Though I suppose I should thank you. Delivering proof of your wrongdoings and Black's capture in one night..."

"You haven't changed at all." Black's lips curled in a sneer. The hate in his eyes matched Snape's. "So eager to take your petty, childish revenge."

"Please." Snape's lips curved into a nasty little smile. "Keep talking. Give me a reason."

"Severus–"

"Be quiet!" Snape bellowed, cutting Lupin off.

Madness glinted in Snape's eyes. Harry had the strong urge to step away from him, but pushed it down to call out, "Wait!"

Snape whipped his head around, his eyes glinting furiously.

Harry's breath stuttered in his throat. His earlier rage and the desire to hurt his parents' (alleged?) murderer had dimmed to a manageable degree.

"Don't waste your breath on old Snivellus." Black smiled joylessly. "He's been waiting for this moment all his life."

Hatred flared up in Snape's eyes, but only for a second. Something in his expression shifted. Slowly, painstakingly, he reined in his temper.

"Don't presume to know me," he hissed, still looking at Harry.

Ever since the letters, Harry hadn't so much as looked at Snape, and Snape had returned the favor. Everything that had happened – the summer at Spinner's End and everything afterwards – had felt so meaningless. Like it had never happened. Like it had left no mark.

But Snape no longer looked mad beyond reason. He looked angry still, but it seemed like he was waiting. For Harry to speak. Willing to listen.

"We haven't heard everything," Harry said quickly, tearing himself out of the incredulous stupor the realization sent him into.

"What more is there to learn from the ramblings of a murderer?" Snape drawled.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't y–"

Lupin silenced Black with a firm grip around his shoulder.

Harry willed him to shut up. He understood the primal fury Snape was able to invoke like no other, but if it weren't for Harry and Lupin, the two would have torn each other to shreds by now.

"It won't hurt to listen to the rest," Harry insisted.

"You cannot seriously consider believing their outrageous stories."

"I'm not saying I do," Harry said. "But we're armed, and they're not."

"Professor, if I may." Hermione took a step out of the shadows, her voice small. She withered underneath Snape's gaze, but pressed on. "Harry's right. They can't do anything without their wands. If they're lying, we can always take them to the castle afterwards."

Snape gritted his teeth and said nothing.

While Lupin's expression was unreadable, Black looked like somebody had repeatedly slapped him into his face.

Snape tore his eyes away with a growl. "Talk," he hissed, watching Lupin with a fresh wave of resentment.

If Lupin was taken aback by the turn of events, he didn't let it stop him. He talked.

A man who'd framed Black for thirteen murders and lived as a rat for over a decade to avoid detection. Harry may have heard and seen many impossible things since discovering the magical world, but this story might have all of them beat.

"Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."

Though Harry found it hard not to agree with Snape, they'd promised to see this through to the end. "Can you check?"

Snape looked like he'd prefer running off into the Forbidden Forest to live with the centaurs.

For the first time that night, Black had gone completely silent. Something new shimmered behind his eyes, something indefinitely more fragile than the hatred that had sustained him thus far.

Snape set his jaw, looking like he kept himself from rolling his eyes through sheer willpower. "Keep your wands on them," he said shortly.

Harry barely registered the command before Snape's wand panned around to a violently flinching Ron – no. To Scabbers.

"The rat," Snape demanded.

"But–"

"It's okay, Ron," Harry said quickly.

The tension in the small shack was explosive. Harry thought of the days of stilted silence and avoidance since their last argument. All the months before it felt so surreal in comparison. For a good while, Harry had thought that Snape could do better. He'd thought that they could be okay.

He hadn't known about his past, then. But if he thought about that, now...

If Harry couldn't soothe over the air of aggression, then nobody could. If he didn't, this day would end with blood shed.

If he didn't, they might never learn the truth.

Harry caught Snape's gaze, and lied. "I trust him."

Snape's stoic expression slipped. Something other than irritation flickered over his face.

"He's not gonna hurt Scabbers," Harry continued, hoping desperately not to be wrong.

If anything, Snape's expression was even more closed off than before. Just when Harry wondered whether he'd prove him wrong, Snape gave a miniscule jerk of his head.

Ron pressed his lips together, but – at Harry's urging nod – reluctantly let go of Scabbers.

The rat sped away as soon as he was free, but he wasn't fast enough to flee Snape's spell. He froze mid-air, squeaking loudly (Harry's stomach lurched at the thought of Snape breaking his promise) and, in a bright flash of light, he was gone.

Snape's eyes went wide with shock. His face turned a sickly pale color.

A grown man clad in shabby, dirtied robes crouched in the rat's place, his throat bulging wordlessly as if he'd forgotten how to make sound with a human body.

"Hello, Peter," Lupin said almost casually. "It's been a while."

"No way." Ron looked thunderstruck. "No way."

Harry's shock quickly morphed into disgust. If ever there was a man willing to live as a rat to save his own skin, this was definitely him. He started groveling for mercy as soon as he figured out how to make his heaving throat produce words – first Lupin, then Black.

Then, something nasty glimmering in his eyes, he turned towards Snape.

"Severus, please," he whispered frantically. "All these years I've spent waiting... holding out for the right moment... Just like you."

Harry realized that he was talking about Snape's past as a Death Eater at the same time that Black did.

"Bet that's something you didn't know about dear Snivellus. Huh, Harry? He doesn't even have the excuse of being a coward."

"I know," Harry said shortly. "He already told me."

"We've heard enough." Only the tight line around Snape's mouth betrayed his nonchalance. With a whip of his wand, the remains of a broken chair transformed into a barely rat-sized, wooden cage.

Pettigrew eyed the cage out of watery eyes, his entire frame shivering. He seemed almost as afraid of Snape as he was of Black. "S-Severus... Severus, please..."

"Transform." Snape made the barest motion with his wand. "Unless you would like me to assist."

Pettigrew transformed with a terrified squeak and immediately took off for the door. By the time Harry managed to raise his wand, Snape had already sent him sprawling into the cage with a well-aimed spell.

Pettigrew stopped struggling as soon as the door to the cage slammed shut. He went boneless in utter defeat.

Neither Snape nor Black seemed to know what to do with the fact that they were both incidentally (and reluctantly) on the same side for once.

"Let's bring him to the castle."

As if Lupin's words had broken some sort of spell, they all jerked into motion. Lupin crouched down next to Pettigrew's cage while Harry and Hermione stumbled over their own feet in their haste to check up on Ron.

"How does it feel?" Hermione's hands hovered above Ron's leg.

Harry tried not to look at it too closely. A human leg definitely wasn't supposed to bend that way.

"Definitely broken," Ron forced out through his teeth. He made pained noises at the back of his throat with every movement.

"Look on the bright side," Harry said. "You've still got all your bones."

"Starting to wish I didn't," Ron groaned. "I'd take the Lockhart treatment at this point."

Soon, they were all ready to go. Ron – equipped with a hastily conjured splint for his broken leg – leaned heavily on Harry and Hermione, while Snape had taken hold of Pettigrew's cage. Black kept glancing at it possessively, but didn't try to argue.

They were almost through the door when Snape stopped Lupin in his tracks. "You're staying."

Lupin frowned. "I thought we'd settled–"

"Unless you had the ingenious foresight of stealing a dose of Wolfsbane from the dungeons prior to chasing after Black, you will stay here," Snape said coldly.

Lupin blanched. Ron reeled backwards, forcing Harry and Hermione to stumble with him.

"Go." Lupin's voice sounded strangled. "Quickly."

Black made no move to leave. "But without the potion... All on your own–"

"I'll be fine," Lupin cut him off. "Clear your name. Make sure Peter is arrested. I'll catch up tomorrow."

Harry didn't like leaving Lupin behind any more than Black seemed to. But unless they wanted to find themselves in the company of a grown werewolf as soon as the sun had set completely, they had no choice.

With Harry and Hermione helping Ron through the tunnel and Snape refusing to leave Black out of his sight, Black was left to take a very reluctant lead. He kept looking over his shoulder and seeking Harry's gaze, almost like he wanted to pull him aside and have a private word.

Harry didn't know if he wanted the same. He flip-flopped wildly between wanting to get to know this person who'd been so close to his parents and clutching Ron's arm over his shoulders more tightly, glad that it gave him an excuse not to hurry ahead.

"Almost there," Hermione panted as they heaved Ron towards the castle, out of breath after their trip through the tunnel.

Harry was starting to feel the strain. Too much had been happening to feel exhausted then, but now that the excitement was wearing off, his body painfully let him know that it wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and not worry about anything for a few hours.

The castle loomed over them. Harry shivered in the biting evening air, drawing his cloak closer with one hand.

How odd. It was the beginning of summer.

Hermione gasped just as Black let out a strangled moan. Harry turned and saw what they did: large, veiled figures – more than Harry had ever seen in one place – drawing nearer and nearer like bloodhounds circling in on their prey.

Harry's blood turned to ice.

"No!" he called, trying to grab his wand without losing hold of Ron. "He's innocent!"

Snape had already changed his aim from Black to the dementors. "Let us through," he demanded. "In Dumbledore's name."

But if they were listening, they didn't seem to care.

"No." Black – wandless and defenseless – crumbled over buckling knees in a hoarse whisper. "No! Stay back!"

The air turned icy. A thick blanket of despair fell over them, smothering everything underneath. They'd kill him. If they did nothing to stop them, they'd kill Black.

Snape dropped Pettigrew's cage, drew his wand and bellowed, "Expecto Patronum!" A large, white-shimmering animal burst from his wand, sending the dementors reeling back.

But it wasn't enough. Either Snape wasn't feeling particularly happy that moment, or there were simply too many. They shied away from the Patronus, but didn't flee.

They drew their circle closer. One of them reached out for Black.

"No!" Harry stumbled in front of him. "Don't–"

Strong hands gripped him by the throat, yanking up his jaw. The dementor's fingers were long and wrinkled, like the branches of a spindly tree. They dug into the skin of his face, pried open his mouth...

Harry's knees hit the ground. Three shapes were already slumped in the grass beside him, unconscious.

Something brushed past him – something large and bright and warm. Some of the fog cleared from Harry's mind. He pushed back the despair, stumbled to his feet and locked eyes with Snape, his ghostly face illuminated by the being. Snape's Patronus.

Harry then felt something other than despair. It wasn't happiness. It wasn't something the dementors could suck out of him. It was the fierce, violent need to protect his friends.

"Expecto Patronum," he muttered, numb lips forming the words.

Nothing happened.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Thin, foggy wisps of light emerged from his wand. They hovered in front of him and made one of the dementors pause in its tracks.

Harry clenched his teeth. If he didn't do this, his friends would die. They'd die. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!"

Something large burst from his wand. Something corporeal. It joined Snape's Patronus – this time, the dementors shied away as though their light was burning them – but they just kept coming.

Harry felt his energy draining. He wavered on his feet, sinking to his knees besides the slumped forms of Ron and Hermione. Darkness crept into his field of vision.

The last thing he heard were his mother's screams lulling him to sleep.

A/N:

Harry, making eye-contact while lying: I trust you

Snape, known Legilimens:

Snape: This Is Fine

Many thanks to To Mockingbird, Igornerd, JustAnotherOutcast and flyingcat!

~Gwen