Twenty: Inari (II)

'Ready,' Leeni said from behind him. Her arms hovered level with Harry's waist, ready for catching. So far, she'd caught him every time, and every time he felt a little less worried.

He concentrated on how the grass felt on his bare feet. The tingle of magic was just there, in easy reach; it tasted like frost and the sun, and like the cloudberry pancakes he'd had for breakfast.

He imagined that taste taking shape, becoming a breeze and next a gust, until once again he felt on his chest the touch of dozens of invisible fingers. They pushed, or perhaps it was the ground that tilted beneath his feet, but Harry was falling backward now, straight into Leeni's ready hold.

With an oomph, she set him back to his feet again. 'Half-good,' she said.

'I just don't have enough time,' Harry argued. 'How am I supposed to imagine things and pull on magic and all that, when I'm just thinking about how I'm falling?'

Leeni was able to, of course: she'd showed him yesterday morning. She plucked magic from the ground and she made it push on her and catch her mid-drop, and then finally set her back to her feet—which looked great and Harry did want to learn, only there wasn't a spell or a formula, there was only trying. They'd been trying ever since.

'It's instinct,' Leeni sat in the grass, ankles crossed and hands flat on her knees like a good pre-schooler. Harry didn't think she liked him very much, but she never got impatient with him or raised her voice or anything. It seemed as though it didn't matter to her much whether he succeeded or failed. 'When I'm falling, I want to be caught. And then I know I will be, and I am.'

'I want to be caught too! It's just not working for me.'

Leeni didn't think this was a big deal. 'You're interacting with natural magic. That is what matters.'

Right. They'd been interacting with natural magic for days: sitting in it and smelling it and feeling around to find its hotspots. Well, Harry was sick of it. He wanted to do something.

'I should be learning to fight and stuff,' he said. 'That's when I actually use it, even though I don't really know how, and since my life's pretty weird—I should be learning how to push someone else. Like, fight back but not kill the person, you know?'

Leeni nodded, eyes fixed lazily on the rolling clouds. He'd used that argument before.

'We could do a little,' he tried. 'We don't have to tell him—'

'I don't lie,' she cut in sharply. Harry cringed. 'Don't ask again.'

He didn't. He only kicked at the grass in frustration.

This was all Snape's fault. It was Snape who'd lectured the two of them for ten minutes about what Leeni should and should not be teaching during these lessons, as if he even knew anything about natural magic. Leeni was the expert, not Snape. Snape just had an opinion and assumed the rest of the world cared.

And that wasn't the only topic Snape had an opinion on, either. He'd told Kauko yesterday that Harry wouldn't be getting seconds even though Harry wanted them, and she'd offered, and so what was the need for Snape's involvement? The day before that, he'd told Leeni that Harry wasn't well enough for a lesson and they should skip it, just because Harry hadn't slept well and woken up a little slow. Then, he'd taken away the book Harry was reading at night because he didn't like him reading in the dark, but it hadn't even been that dark: the attic had no lights, but nights were bright in Inari, and the dim glow of the skies was still an improvement on what Harry had managed with in his cupboard back at the Dursleys. And worst of all, instead of learning anything useful, Snape wanted Harry to spend his valuable time with Leeni taking nature walks and talking to flowers. That wasn't even an exaggeration: he'd actually said that.

The house was silent when they returned from the forest. Kauko usually played the radio, signal pattering grain because she hated the local stations. She must have gone out. Leeni liked to ignore Harry's existence out of lessons, so he let her be and climbed up the stairway to Snape's room. The instinct annoyed him: he was tired of Snape these days and he didn't want to see him.

The door stood inched open. Harry pushed it gently with his foot to make it seem like maybe the wind had done it, only to find the room empty.

The springs whined when he dropped himself on the bed. They'd shared rooms before, but they'd been in Inari a week now and Snape had made this one distinctly his own: a shirt was hung off the back of a chair, a book Leeni had lent him sat earmarked with a wisp of pine, a newspaper lay dropped onto the seating chair by the side of the bed—so it felt more dangerous to mess around here in Snape's absence, and plenty more exhilarating.

He nosed around the book first. It was on natural magic and seemed like it would have been interesting, but the language was rich and uncommon, and he tired of it quickly. He picked up the newspaper next. On the back, Snape had sketched lake Inari, likely as he was sitting out on the porch with his morning coffee. It was pretty.

Then, Harry realised which newspaper he was holding, and nearly dropped it.

But this wasn't the issue of the Daily Prophet that he'd read on the train to Warsaw. This one was new, with a different advertisement banner on the front page—ice-cream, not summer fashion—and when he found the date, he recognised it had only been issued two days ago.

He glanced at the door. He would hear it if anyone started up the stairs. Not that he was doing anything wrong: Snape had forbidden him reading that other issue of the Prophet, not this one, and anyway, he didn't see why he should care—he deserved to know what was going on with his own life, didn't he?

Here, news of Harry had been relegated to the second page. Apparently, the editor thought a wizards' duel between Auror partners Quentin Lamotte and Nnene Adeyemi was better front-page material than a custody trial, and Harry had to agree. He considered reading about that first, but Dumbledore's photograph peered out at him from page two, and once he glimpsed his name in the testimony below, he forgot all about duels.

'I will not betray Harry's location, and considering the Ministry's recent actions, I cannot imagine that the jury would fault me this caution. However, I can admit I have seen him very recently. I cannot report back on his magical abilities or plans on how best to use those for combat, though I am sure that is what many would like to hear. But we did not speak of it. We spoke of the places Harry has visited on his holiday, of the cat he has befriended, of him missing home and his friends. Whatever extraordinary talents he might have been born with, Harry Potter is a child—and this is a fact that the Ministry seems to have forgotten. They have sent Aurors after him as if after a criminal—Aurors who, without good cause, have attacked and injured an eleven-year-old in front of dozens of muggle witnesses in an allied nation. I have no doubt that should they gain custody, the Ministry would carefully consider where to place Harry. I only worry it will be the best interest of Harry, the Boy Who Lived, that they will seek, not the best interest of Harry, the child. And that is a measure of cynicism I cannot abide.'

Harry blinked, readjusting his grip on the paper. He thought he understood Dumbledore's angle here; only, half of what he was saying wasn't even the truth. They hadn't talked about cats or places Harry had been, and since Dumbledore had spoken with Snape, he must have known by now that Harry had no reason to miss home. They'd talked plenty about his magic, too.

As his eyes fell on another paragraph, breath stuck in his chest.

In response to allegations against Potter's muggle relatives, Dumbledore said, 'I understand and empathise with these concerns and I can assure you that after reading Miss Skeeter's report, I investigated each claim and found little substance to the implications. I wished for Harry a childhood where his choices of play, of friends and of daily activities could exist separate from the stigma of his traumatic past. His muggle family could provide that. The blood wards on the house [see: A.D.'s deposition, Prophet issue of July 18th] keep Harry safe and will stand strong for as long as he belongs with his family: I believe that he does. Adjustments may need to be made as the boy matures and grows in his power, but I refuse to sever Harry's relationship with his relatives as the Ministry would have liked to do.'

Dumbledore will present witnesses to testify on Potter's family environment on Wednesday.

Harry set the paper back on the armchair. He stood. He straightened the duvet and the sheets. He shut the door behind him.

He ran down the stairs, and out of the house, and then kept running.

There was a thrumming noise in his ears. His heart fumbled in his chest, fallen out of rhythm. He pressed a palm there, as if he could calm it through skin and bone; is this what it felt like to be having a heart attack? You were supposed to cough when you were having a heart attack, Aunt Petunia had read it in the paper once and told Uncle Vernon over breakfast. He coughed once, then again, but now he couldn't stop, throat raw and chest tender, until his stomach seized and he threw up into a bush.

He wiped his mouth with a sleeve. It came away trailing threads of milky saliva and stomach slime. He felt so disgusted with himself he wanted to cry. He didn't.

The run tired him, so now he only walked. The forest had thickened. He wanted to make sure he went far enough that if he looked behind his shoulder, he couldn't so much as glimpse the house.

He'd started to believe it, he realised. Not in any one moment, but gradually, half-aware. He'd started to seriously believe that he wouldn't have to go back, that Snape had believed him and told Dumbledore as promised. Even the fantasy of this new family he might go to flickered on the side-lines of his mind, still too risky to indulge in but a wisp of promise, possibility. And now, he knew the truth.

Had Snape been lying about telling Dumbledore? Had he only said that so Harry would feel better and whinge less? Or had he wanted to tell him at first, but then changed his mind when Harry didn't mention anything else Aunt Petunia had done that was bad, and acted normal and healthy and fine—had he realised it wasn't such a big deal after all, and hadn't wanted to bother Dumbledore about it?

Or had he really told, and Dumbledore was the one who didn't believe it? Maybe Harry should have spoken with him, too, maybe he should have been less of a coward and explained— No. Snape had as good as promised; he'd lied. All this time, he'd been walking around, pretending to be nice to Harry and pretending to care about whether he had enough light to read with, while knowing full well Dumbledore was going to send him back to the Dursleys.

He dropped to the ground at the foot of a tall silver birch. The roots dug into his thighs; his trainers were caked with mud. There was a speck of vomit on the left toe. He always ended up here, didn't he? Unhygienic.

What if Snape was right? Harry had let himself get lost in the fantasy, boosted by Snape's momentary outrage—but bad things happened to children all the time. No one's parents were perfect: some were too strict, or not empathetic enough, or didn't know better or lost control or had other things going on in their lives. The Dursleys weren't great, but neither did they seriously hurt Harry. He'd heard of kids who'd been burnt, beaten, raped and choked and murdered. They were on the TV news all the time. That was real abuse. Harry's uncle had only hit him twice, and both times it hadn't been hard enough to properly bruise; and he'd been extra nice after, so it sort of balanced itself out.

He sat still until his shivers eased, then picked up again, then disappeared. Was he missing dinner, or was the gorge in his stomach just sadness? He didn't know—he didn't care—he wanted to stay in the forest forever.

Soon, voices were cutting through the trees, calling out his name. He didn't move, but he didn't hide. They would find him eventually.

Leeni stumbled upon him first. Her face was blank, her lips pinched over her teeth.

'You're okay?' she asked. Harry nodded.

He was sure she was going to yell. He could normally tell when it was coming, because people's jaws tightened and something changed in their eyes. But Leeni didn't yell. She didn't do anything at all, except send a flutter of red sparks out of her wand and into the sky, and offer her hand to help Harry to his feet.

She didn't touch him again as they walked back to the house, but she hovered a step closer than usual, quiet and unassuming. For once, Harry found it comforting.

On the porch, she sat in the rocking chair, eyes fixed on the forest. Harry idled by her side, wondering if he should apologise for causing her trouble.

A few minutes later, Snape and Kauko emerged from the treeline. Leeni gave them a little wave, which Kauko returned and Snape did not acknowledge. His jaw was tight and his eyes bulging. He was going to yell.

'What in Merlin's name were you thinking?'

'You wanted to go to the sauna tonight,' Leeni said to Kauko.

'Oh, right. Yes, shall we go? You guys can join us later if you like?'

Leeni pulled her into the house before she had the time to push for an answer.

Snape waited until the door closed after them, then rounded on Harry. 'What idiotic idea took hold of you, to go wandering around the forest on you own? That forest stretches for miles and miles, you stupid child—what if we hadn't found you?'

'I wasn't lost,' Harry said under his breath.

'Excuse me?'

'I,' Harry looked up to meet his eye. 'Wasn't. Lost. I was just sick of looking at your face, is that a crime?'

Blood thundered in his ears. Snape was staring at him in silence, and that was so much worse than if he'd yelled—

'I'm going to the sauna with Leeni and Kauko,' he announced shakily. If he stayed in Snape's company a moment longer, he knew he was going to start crying, and he never, ever wanted to cry in front of him again.

'I am not done with you, Potter—'

Harry ran. The door banged shut behind him: he hoped it struck Snape right in the face.

He didn't really want to go the sauna. Kauko had brought him once before and he'd thought it was fairly boring. But he didn't suppose Snape was going to come to the sauna just to yell at him.

He climbed up the stairs into the bathroom, where he snatched the swimming trunks Leeni had transfigured for him. He felt eyes on the back of his head, yet every time he turned, he saw only empty rooms: Snape hadn't given chase.

The sauna sat to the back of the house, the steam room abutted on an extra bathroom with only a shower built right into the wall, and room enough for a mop and bucket. Harry undressed, set his glasses on the sill and wet his face. He could hear Kauko's laughter through the shut door.

In the steam room, the floor hissed under his bare feet. At the first touch, the wooden bench felt too hot to hold him, but he'd found last time this was an illusion, and resolutely climbed higher, onto the topmost berth where the air was thickest. Every breath burnt his nostrils as it went down.

He didn't say anything to Leeni or Kauko, prostrated just below him. He still felt their glances, at him, at each other. When Leeni rose, he stiffened, but she was only going to tip more water on the hot stones in the corner. With a hiss, they expunged a plume of steam that caught and pulled at Harry's lungs. Deep in his stomach, he was still fiercely cold and that couldn't be helped, but his every joint, his shoulders and his knees and his spine, they were all molten with a warmth he'd not felt even in the strongest of suns.

He drifted on the feeling until the door opened again. It was Snape, with a pulled face and an awkward gait. For a moment, Harry was too shocked at the oddness of seeing a teacher in nothing but his swimming trunks to remember his anger—but it flooded back alright.

'Water,' Leeni pointed at the stones.

Snape poured some more, then climbed up the benches until he was just under Harry: since Harry was lying flat on his back, Snape's head now hovered level with his face. He closed his eyes.

Snape was silent. He remained so through two intervals, as they walked back into the bathroom and took turns to stand under the cold spray of the shower. The only sounds were the flapping of their feet on the floor, and the seething of the rising steam.

'Thank you,' Leeni said at last, standing up with an air of finality.

'We go swimming in the lake to finish,' Kauko told them as she rose in turn. 'You should come and try it when you're done.'

Harry pretended not to hear her.

When the door closed behind them, Snape got up to add steam. The stones were so hot, they blistered with a low glow. Harry wondered what it would be like to touch them.

'Can you explain to me why you went into the forest?'

Harry shrugged. It was getting difficult to breathe but moving a level or two down would mean coming closer to Snape.

'Are you aware you're not allowed to go into the forest alone?'

Harry shrugged again. He'd not been thinking about that then, and he didn't much care now.

Snape sighed. 'You're being impossible. I have no desire to row with you, I am seeking an explanation.'

'You lied to me,' Harry said, without at all meaning to.

Snape was silent for a moment. 'I lied?' he finally repeated. 'When?'

'When you said—about the Dursleys,' Harry swung his legs down the berth to better stare at the man. 'You said I wouldn't go back and that you'd tell Professor Dumbledore to find somewhere else for me, but you were lying. I saw what he said about it in his deposition. And that was two days ago, maybe three. You were supposed to tell him and you didn't.'

'I did not lie,' Snape seethed. 'And if you held the same respect for basic trust, Potter, you would not be accusing me of such, because you wouldn't have dared search my room in my absence, and you'd never have read that paper. I also distinctly remember forbidding you from—'

'You told me I couldn't read the one on the train, you didn't say anything about future issues. Or am I not allowed to read the Daily Prophet for the rest of my life?'

'That sounds like a good rule,' Snape snapped. 'You certainly lack now the critical reading skills to comprehend that not everything featured in the paper should be taken as fact. It was pretence, Potter. The Headmaster can't very well tell the Ministry he'd placed you with abusive guardians if he hopes to keep custody. And you may not fully understand yet the symbolic power of what you represent to the wizarding world, but trust me, it is not in your best interest that he airs your trauma as fodder for the Prophet gossip mill.'

'I don't believe you!' Harry stumbled down until his feet were ground level again and the door in easy reach. 'You're just lying to me again, I don't believe anything you say—'

'I am not lying to you, Potter, for heaven's sake! I don't know what infantile fantasy this is, but you will snap out of it and listen to what I am telling you!'

He reached for Harry's shoulder. Harry took a step back, shaking his head like he was trying to shoo away a persistent fly. His brain was a buzz.

'No, don't touch me,' he asked. He couldn't be here anymore, he couldn't do this—he turned and he made to run, but before he took more than a single stride, something caught on his arm—

'You do not run away from me!'

Snape's fingers tightened painfully on Harry's elbow. Harry couldn't run. Even if kicked and flailed, Snape was stronger and Harry was trapped.

His toes tingled, then his ankles. Without thinking, he reached for the wind, for the cloudberry taste, and he imagined it, push, like he had dozens of times before, only now, it wasn't himself he was pushing at.

Snape was flung backwards like a puppet wrenched by its strings. He flew across the room and met the wall with a sickening crunch—the wood cracked—he slid to the floor, eyes shut so loosely that you could still see the whites. His arms and legs were thrown to the sides like rags, lifeless and unthreatening.

Harry dropped to his knees by his side. His hands shook, his legs couldn't support him—his stomach was shaking so bad he'd have sicked up again I he had anything left to give.

'Professor?' he whispered, like maybe if he spoke softly enough, Snape might not hear, and then that would be why he wasn't answering.

He should call for help. He should find Leeni, or he should move Snape's head to check if he was bleeding. But if he saw a cracked skull? If Leeni came and said—he knew what he was afraid of, he understood it perfectly and yet he couldn't put words to it, he couldn't do anything that might prove or disprove or counteract, because that might make it real.

His skin burned. Tears mingled with sweat, so there was no way of knowing how badly he was crying. He couldn't breathe.

Snape's shoulder jerked. His leg followed. He blinked blearily, face spasming in pain, and then felt at the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody.

He stared at Harry, eyes wide, hand still in the air. Harry stared right back even though he hated it, frozen, gaping, the wooden boards digging into his knees.

This couldn't be real, he thought, over and over: please let this not be real.

Snape grabbed him by the chin. 'Look at me,' he ordered, but Harry was already looking. The blood from his fingers itched on Harry's face. 'Oh, damn it,' he drew away, wiped the fingers best he could on his chest, where rivulets of sweat now ran pink-tinged, then grabbed at Harry again. It wasn't real. 'Look at me, Harry. It's alright. I'm fine.'

'No—'

'Yes. I can move, I can see, I can talk. There's a cut on the back of my head, but Leeni can close it. Listen to me. I might have a mild concussion. All that means is I'll have to take it easy for a day or two—that won't be much of a difference from the usual routine we follow around here, will it?'

Harry fisted his hands. This was all so wrong. 'I could have—I could have—I hurt you. They're right, I'm dangerous, I can't—I'm sorry—'

Snape was clambering up to stand, his legs like splinters, precarious on the wet floor. 'Get up. Get up, you're overheated. If we stay here, one of us is bound to pass out.'

He dragged Harry to the shower room, then lowered them both to the cold tile and turned the tap on. Water cascaded onto Harry's head. He remembered standing in the shower in Tallinn, laughing. Now, even the memory of it was ruined.

Snape took him under the arms and slid him back until Harry was leaning against the wall. The tiles were fresh glory on the nape of his neck.

'You've done nothing wrong,' Snape told him. He was catching the water in his hands and running it over his face, then rubbing it into Harry's cheeks, over and over until they felt numb. 'Do you understand?'

'No, I hurt you—'

'Good. You should have hurt me.'

Harry tried to shake his head, but it was hard with Snape's hands in the way.

'Yes,' Snape insisted. 'If an adult grabs you like that when you're trying to get away, you should absolutely be using your magic to push them away, do you understand? You should at the very least ensure they're concussed.'

'I didn't mean to,' Harry sobbed. He could now tell the tears apart: they were a stark warmth against the freezing spray of water.

'No, you acted on instinct. And it was very good instinct. Well done.'

Harry laughed, though he wasn't at all happy. 'You can't say well done when I've just given you—c-concussion.'

'Sometimes, you have to hurt someone to protect yourself: haven't we agreed on that?'

Harry angled his head up and opened his mouth, so the water ran straight down his throat. He choked once and some of it came out through his nose, but he drank greedily through it.

'But you weren't going to hurt me,' he said quietly once he was done. 'You only wanted to stop me leaving.'

He didn't look at Snape. He measured his silence.

'That's true,' Snape said finally. 'But I still shouldn't have grabbed you. Do you not normally hold with the view that your size does not give me the right to pick you up and put you where I please?'

'Yeah,' it was getting difficult to talk through the build-up of snot in his nose. It was running down into Harry's mouth now, salty and slimy. 'But you never listen to me. Uhm, I think I need to go find a tissue.'

Snape chuckled. 'Just blow into your hand and wash it off—heaven knows we're already swimming in bodily fluids.'

Harry was about to complain how disgusting that was, but saw then the trail of watery blood that flowed steadily down Snape's back. Fresh tears came up to his eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he gasped. 'I'm really sorry—'

'I've told you there is nothing to be sorry about. Were you listening?'

Harry nodded meekly. After what he'd just done, he was never going to disagree with Snape again, not ever.

They held themselves against the wall as they stumbled up to stand, feet slipping and catching on the tile. Snape patted Harry dry with his towel, then brushed it over his own skin. Harry had put his glasses back on, so the stain of fresh blood on the fabric seeped clear and sharp, clenching on his heart like a metal vise.

They staggered out to the porch, where Snape fell into the rocking chair. He pretended like he wasn't falling, only sitting down quite controllably, but Harry wasn't fooled.

'Go fetch Leeni,' he directed. He was working hard on not wheezing through the words.

Harry ran across the lawn toward the darkened shape of the lake. The grass was a shiver of cold on his bare feet. A chill hung in the air, but it buffeted against his heated skin and then rode away like a wave crushed on the shore.

He saw their silhouettes, flittering there and back in the sparkling glow of the low moon. He waved, suddenly awkward: everyone only ever called Leeni by her first name and he did the same in his mind, but it seemed disrespectful to holler it. Fortunately, she'd seen him.

She pulled herself up on the landing, pushed the wet hair out of her face, and examined Harry's distress, completely impassive.

'Professor Snape needs your help,' Harry said.

She nodded and went with him.

Moths darted around the orange bollard set into the steps of the porch. As Leeni spelled the wound on his head clean and closed, Harry stood as close to Snape as possible without actually touching him.

'Bring him a glass of water,' Leeni told him. She could have easily summoned the water with magic, which meant she was getting rid of him to speak with Snape unencumbered. Harry didn't mind. The last thing he wanted was to hear again the facts of what he'd done, or to see Leeni's face when she learned them.

He sloshed some of the water onto his wrist and the floor, which was how he realised he was still shaking.

When he got back, Snape and Leeni were quiet. Snape drank his water awkwardly, angling back only the glass and never his neck. A blush of shame crept onto Harry's nape, and then his cheeks and forehead and the tip of his head. He didn't look at Leeni.

'I'm going to go and swim some more,' he heard her saying.

'I don't suppose either of us is up to much swimming,' Snape was answering. 'We might go sit on the landing for a while and watch. Would you like that?'

Harry didn't know what he wanted, besides to erase this whole night and possibly have both of them forget he existed. But Snape sounded like maybe he wanted it, and Harry had no leg to stand on to refuse him now, did he?

'Okay,' he muttered. He couldn't see it, but he felt like they were exchanging glances over his head. It would have made him angry if he could figure out how to feel much of anything.

He was about to follow Snape down the porch steps when Leeni stepped in his way.

'Are you okay staying alone with him?' she asked. At first, Harry wasn't sure who she'd meant.

'Oh, uhm, yeah. Of course.'

She eyed him warily for a beat. Then, she nodded and let him pass.

They sat on the landing. Harry's feet just about breached the surface of the lake, the water a pleasant chill on his ankles. The sky was luminous with that Inari light that never seemed to go off, but it still felt like putting his feet into nothing, into pure darkness, into a gorge in the earth filled with shadows.

Leeni lingered above them, face hidden behind grey. She was thinking.

'Push me in the water,' she said suddenly.

'Push—push you?'

'Yes. Like you pushed him,' she waved a hand at Snape, 'with natural magic. Do it to me but do it gently. On purpose.'

Harry was shaking his head already. He never wanted to do that again.

'You had a bad experience,' Leeni said, unperturbed. 'You need to overwrite it.'

Harry looked up to Snape for help but saw immediately that he wasn't going to get any.

'If you push too hard,' Snape said, 'it won't matter. She's still only falling into the water.'

They waited. A minute passed, then another. He sniffled but found no sympathy. With each passing second, he felt sicker and sicker, but they weren't giving up, which meant he would be stuck here forever unless he gave them what they wanted.

With a shaky breath, he lay his palms flat on the wooden platform. He curled his toes in the water, letting the tingle climb up his ankles and thighs, all the way into his chest. A calm filled him, just for a moment, and then he imagined Leeni tipping backward into the water as if she were simply losing her balance.

Then, he heard a splash.

Leeni's head broke surface again, just a few feet away from the landing. He'd been gentle.

'Good,' she said, and smiled at him for the first time ever.

Snape had brought a blanket from the porch, and threw it now around them both. At this hour, Harry normally pulled on his wool jumper and warmest socks, but now he was half-naked and perfectly warm, like the sauna had lit a furnace in his chest.

'What happened to your stomach?'

'Huh?'

'I noticed earlier you have a bruise. It's mostly faded now.'

He couldn't muster up the energy to lie. He shrugged and said nothing.

'We'll get you some bruise-healing balm when we get back inside.'

'It doesn't even hurt anymore.'

'Alright.'

Harry kicked a little at the water, sending a tiny wave into the night.

'The deposition,' Snape said. 'The Headmaster is very much aware that your relatives have been poor guardians. But he doesn't want it to become public knowledge. That means you are fine talking about it with your friends, but we are going to have to pretend in front of the Ministry and the Prophet. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded. He didn't really want to talk about this anymore.

'Look,' Snape drew in a sharp breath. 'You are not required to like or even understand it. But whether you want to or not, you are part of this war. And this is a war that was waged before you were born and will likely be waged again at some point in the future. Hopefully, you'll be an adult by then and capable of making your own choices about how much you wish to be involved, and how to execute that involvement—but because of what happened to you, because the Dark Lord tried and failed to kill you, you cannot completely escape it. And your life now will be shaped by this. And you will need to do or say certain things you might not have cared to do or say otherwise.'

He ran a hand over his forearm, where the tattoo was. Harry didn't think he was even aware of doing it.

'So, if there's going to be another war,' Harry said, 'someday, if Voldemort returns, then you'll go back to being a spy? You'll pretend to work for him again?'

Snape gave a sharp nod.

'Do you have to?' Harry asked.

Snape snorted. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I—I have made choices in my past that have—predetermined my future. Like you, that is not something I can escape.'

'But you're an adult,' Harry pointed out. 'No, I mean, you said that by the time the war comes back, I might be an adult and I'll be able to decide myself if I want to fight or how I want to fight or whatever. You're saying I'll be a part of it anyway, but I'll get to choose, too. So why can't you choose?'

'You have done nothing to deserve what happened to you,' Snape said firmly. 'I chose to become a Death Eater. I did some truly horrible things. I owe it now to make amends.'

Harry didn't quite understand who it was that Snape owed this to. But he understood wanting to do good deeds to make up for the things you'd done wrong.

'Do you really think that he's going to come back? That there'll be another war?'

Snape mused on this. 'Yes,' he decided finally. 'I know he will not give up, and so eventually, he will find a way to grow into power again. And then, there will be a war. But there is no way of knowing when that will happen.'

It was odd to Harry to try and imagine: this looming thing, this threat that shaped his life even though he didn't understand it. What was war like? He'd seen movies about it; he knew his parents fought and died in one. But wars could go on for years. How did people live through them? Until he understood it, Harry didn't think he could fear this future war; it sounded to his ears like a story, borrowing characters from reality but otherwise purely fantastical.

Maybe he could ask Snape about it one day, what the last war had been like. He had spoken with Harry just now with plenty openness, so he might not even mind as much.

It made him feel doubly horrible: not only had Snape forgiven Harry for hurting him, he was now being honest and trusting him with his musings, and Harry had done nothing except lie. Snape had no idea Harry had known Agata was a witch. If he knew Harry had gone out onto that field in Zakopane, and got himself bit by that adder, and ensured Snape wasn't ready for it when Agata attacked him, and stolen his wand—and lied about it all—he wouldn't be as willing to volunteer this confidence.

He fought desperately not to think about it: he was in that mood that sometimes followed crying when the smallest thing could set him off again. But the guilt pushed through and tears sprung to his eyes again, stinging at the corners and the skin already run raw.

'What's wrong?' Snape asked him.

Harry was sure he was going to drive him to madness with all the shrugging he was doing tonight, so he said instead, 'Nothing,' which was even stupider, since it was very obvious he was crying.

Snape didn't call him out on it. Tentatively, he put his arm around Harry's shoulders.

Harry's face pressed into Snape's chest. He felt the lingering warmth and scent of the steam, and the way Snape's collarbone shifted when he pulled the blanket tighter around them. The cocoon of it hid Harry from the night. It was dark and humid inside, and just like in the steam room, the air was thick and scant and difficult to get through the lungs; but like the steam room, it made every bone in Harry's body lit up warm.

Somehow, even that persistent cold in his stomach, the one that would never budge—even that began to thaw.


Phew, that was a lot! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter :)
And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I've had a bit of a busy week, so I haven't had the chance to respond to all comments - but I've read and appreciated them all.

Has anyone noticed how long we've gone without Severus tortuting himself with memories of a long-dead woman? No? Well, we'll be getting some of those again on Wednesday. See you then.