Chapter Fifty-Two

They never told him.

Remus and Snape.

They never told Harry what they were going to do to his sister.

When Snape had left him that day in St Mungo's - still a mess, sure – there was the flicker of hope, of comfort even, that he had left behind in the wake of their conversation. A resolved reassurance that Snape would protect them, him and Grace, and he'd bring Grace back to him and he would save his mum, and the colossal mistake that Harry had made wouldn't have had quite as colossal consequences as he had been tearing himself up about.

And – foolishly, obviously – Harry had wondered, for a second, if the three of them were going to be a family for a little while. And how would that have even worked? Harry had pictured awkward breakfasts, tentative smiles, uneasy truces; he and Snape brought together by this mutual love for his little sister. Which all seemed so ridiculous, now – although, really, they always were – and Harry was glad that he had never spoken the words out loud to anyone.

No, instead, Snape's great plan was to take himself out of the picture completely.

And Harry was torn, then, because, frankly, that was everything that he could have ever wanted – aside from his mum waking up – and, if anything, Snape should have done it sooner.

They were better off without him.

They were better off without him.

Harry kept repeating it, over and over again in his mind, since that night he'd gone to his Uncle Remus' chambers – his old chambers, now – and the situation had been explained to him. By Remus, obviously, for Snape had long since washed his hands of them, and it was up to Remus, again, to cover up his mess.

And Harry was mad, so mad and offended and outraged on Remus and Grace's behalf, even if Remus didn't seem to be, and how did he even come up with this stuff, Snape, anyway?

But Harry was glad, too, for himself that Snape was finally gone. But rather than feel any sort of triumph in that, he just felt awful and guilty and selfish for thinking it. Because…well…that was Grace's dad.

Harry mashed it down, the guilt, the cold-hard reality that he had basically orphaned his baby sister, telling himself he could be everything she needed. He and Remus, they could protect her, make her happy, bring her up, and she'd never have to know what an arse of a father she had.

And why, why did it have to be Snape?

But Harry mashed that thought down, too, because he knew, now, how important it was that he get a handle on himself, on those thoughts, and focus on the real problems that they faced. And, to do that, he needed occlumency.

And Snape to teach it to him.

So, he kept coming to these lessons and kept doing as Snape instructed and kept his mouth shut – even if he was, he couldn't help it, desperate to say something about it – and just focused. And, with Snape being so Snape, he was quite happy to just get on with it and teach with nothing personal – much less Grace – even coming up, other than Harry's enquiry at the start of every session into what progress has been made helping his mum.

And it was working. He was learning and Grace was happy and Snape was just his teacher, nothing more, and when his mum woke up she would finally see just how fine everything was, how much better, even, their lives could be without him.

Finally, things were settling down.

And then Grace started talking about Professor Snape.

"You're distracted tonight, Potter."

"I'm fine."

Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm and drew upon what he'd learned from the meditation exercises Snape had been assigning to him; tried to focus on the quiet, the stillness – that did not exist – and then drew in a breath, two, three times, focusing on that.

And when he felt suitably calm he opened his eyes only to find himself looking directly into Snape's – even from a distance that was unnerving enough – but what actually unnerved him, this time, was that little slither of concern present. It was there and then gone in a second, but the second was enough because he looked like Grace in that moment, and Harry released an exasperated breath, turning away.

"I beg to differ."

"Okay. Okay fine. I'm not fine. We're not fine. This isn't fine. Everything that's going on with my mum, with Grace; not fine."

"Potter."

It was more concern than agitation in Snape's voice when he said it – another reminder that Snape wasn't just his teacher – but that, that was not at all welcome. Not now. Not when things were beginning to unravel all over again and Harry had to put a stop to that now, before it was too late, and weeks and weeks of suppressing the thought finally burst forth.

"We don't need you, you know."

Snape only stared back at him. Emotionless, as ever.

"Mum," Harry went on; "When she comes back, she won't need you."

"I won't contest that. Your mother is the strongest person I know."

"Then why are you with her?"

"That is not a matter that is up for discussion."

"Why did you do it? You and Mum? It's crazy. A relationship with no chance of it ever going anywhere and then bringing an unwanted child into the world."

Snape's eyes flashed, unexpectedly, and Harry found himself unconsciously bracing himself for what came next.

"Let me assure you, Mr. Potter," Snape's voice was quiet, but it was clipped and short and left no room for argument; "that my daughter is not now, nor has she even been, unwanted. And I caution you against ever referring to her again as such, in the future."

That damned picture Grace had given him was burning a hole in his pocket, a reminder of her ever-lingering attachment to this man – her father – in front of him, and that only ignited Harry's furiousness over what had been done to her, further.

"Then what are you doing? Now. What are you doing to Grace?"

"Potter."

"Because that's what she's going to think. When she finds out what you did to her, she's going to wonder why and how you could have done this to her."

Snape said nothing. He was just as silent and infuriating as he always was, giving nothing away, and refusing to admit any wrongdoing, any culpability in what was happening.

"You can't go around, messing with people's heads – with our heads – just because us knowing things is inconvenient to you. You can't. And I'm not going to do to Grace what you made my Uncle Remus do to me. I won't."

That did it, it seemed; Snape's stoicism finally giving way to impatience and leading him to finally saying something, other than the polite back and forth that had been going on since what had happened at New Year.

"Potter, you spent the better half of last year insisting that this knowledge was something that you were not only willing to have, but that you were entirely capable of comprehending and protecting in these times of – and this is no exaggeration – mortal peril. And now, knowing it, you have decided otherwise?" there was the slightest, humourless upturn of the lips – of expected disappointment – before he went on; "Well. I assure you; I will not stand for that. You will not prove my reservations from last year right, you will not bow under this pressure and you will not throw everything that has been done and sacrificed to the wind."

Harry finally snapped.

"I'm not the one throwing everything to the wind."

He reached into his robes, grasping for and yanking out the picture Grace has given to him the day before, and stepped towards the desk to shove it in Snape's direction.

Snape eyed it for a second, before taking it.

"What is this?"

"It's from your daughter. She wanted you to have it."

Harry couldn't have kept the bitterness from his voice if he tried. And, maybe, he was angrier than he'd thought about all of this than he'd allowed himself to believe. And maybe he didn't really think they'd all be better off without him.

Maybe he was angry and bitter and disappointed, that the – seeming – promises made while they were in St Mungo's were broken, the words misleading and empty, and that Snape hadn't meant that they'd make this work. That he'd be there for Grace. That he'd be there for him – and where did that thought come from – but Snape didn't seem bothered by his tone.

His attention was all for the drawing in his hand.

"You told her your name," Harry said, as if that was the stupidest thing the man had ever done.

Snape met his eyes, before he placed the item atop of his desk, resuming his stubbornly stoic stance; "To not have told her would have only piqued her curiosity."

"You shouldn't have spoken to her at all. Isn't that the whole point? Now she won't shut up about you. And, what, I'm just supposed to lie to her about it? No."

"Potter –"

"Lying to Grace was never the plan. Taking away her memories was never the plan."

It was outrageous. After everything Harry had told him about his own father, after he had all but begged him to give him some relief and restore a memory – just a single memory – he had the nerve to rob his sister of hers.

"You just expect me to accept everything that you do and you say. As if I should be grateful, or something, to know the truth," Harry finally erupted; "So, what, now you and me – and mum, when she wakes up – we get to work together –" work together, not be a family, his treacherous mind added; " – and Grace gets to be shoved to the side – like I was – and you thought I'd be okay with that?"

Snape's expression softened, slightly, in understanding but not enough to placate him, so Harry went on, unable to stop himself now that he was finally able to say what it was that he'd mashed down all these weeks.

"Grace won't ever feel the way you made me feel, never. I won't do it. So you make up your mind and you stop screwing up – because it's not always me doing it – because it's not fair on Grace for you to make her feel something for you when you can't be there for her. It's not. It wasn't fair on her before when you knew you could never be what she needed and it's not fair now, now when she finally had a chance to just forget about you."

Snape's nod was slight, so much so that Harry almost missed it, but it was the first sign – ever – that the man was actually listening to what he had to say about this. About Grace and his mum and this whole mess.

"You keep acting like the war and you being a spy is the only thing that matters. Well, it's not. We matter. Me and Grace we matter, alright? And what you do and how you treat us, that matters, too."

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, it is not my intention to cause suffering to either of you."

Harry shook his head; "I don't think you want us to suffer. I just don't think you care that we are."

Snape's lips pursed together at that and he held his look for barely a second before his eyes lowered to the ground. After a moment, he drew in a breath and spoke, calmly, not engaging with the accusation.

"You are overwrought, Mr Potter. We will get no further with the lesson tonight."

A blunt dismissal it was then.

Snape stepped away from his desk, rolling up the picture Harry had given to him and tucking it into the inside pocket of his robe, as he began to prepare to leave.

"He's not going to give me a free pass if he notices I'm overwrought."

Snape met his eyes at that.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Harry wasn't sure if he was going to entertain it. If he'd just take it as snark and head on his way. But after a moment, with the slightest tilt of his chin, Snape indicated he go back to the centre of the room.

Severus hadn't been called to the Dark Lord's side in weeks, the last encounter just a few days into the New Year. He had managed to hold it together, then. But only just.

And he was beginning to doubt whether he would be able to do so, indefinitely, particularly in light of recent events and, so, it was with relief that Severus had accepted the instruction that he was to remain at Hogwarts, undisturbed, until Easter, entirely within Dumbledore's sights, so as not to arouse any suspicion from the Headmaster as to his loyalties.

With the war weighing heavily, and Lily's condition and Grace being so close and, yet, untouchable, Severus' grasp of his own self-control was beginning to wear thin. At a time when he needed it most.

And, it was for that reason, that Harry – who had so suitably rattled him earlier that lesson with his accusations – was able to turn the tide against him and reverse the legilliemency spell cast upon the boy some twenty minutes later.

It could have been any memory. There were many of them, in recent weeks, from those days long past. Days when even their worst imaginations could not have conjured up the scenario they had actually found themselves in now: memories full of smiles and whispers and tender touches and foolish promises.

Those and, of course, the arguments that came beforehand.

"And what could I give you, Lily? Nothing. A life of lies and deceit."

"What do you think I want?"

"I think you want a family…Something that I could never have."

Both Severus and Harry were startled at the one the boy managed to break into.

It was one from long, long ago; another lifetime, it seemed, when Severus had been adamant that nothing could ever come of the two of them. That nothing ever should.

A life of lies and deceit. Of course, that would be the one that Harry would see.

When Harry just stood before him, dumbfounded, Severus brushed it off; "Very good, Mr Potter."

Severus turned away, making a show of tidying up his desk. That would be the end of it now, the lesson, for he had had more than enough for one night.

"Why'd you show me that?"

Harry's tone was accusatory, which should not have been surprising considering how he had come to the lesson so eager to pick a fight, but, by this point, Severus was out of patience. So much so that the tone finally led his resolve – carefully maintained for weeks – to snap.

"I showed you nothing."

"What, so it's just a coincidence that that's the memory I manage to break into, right after talking to you about Grace?"

"A coincidence that such a memory may be evoked in light of our recent conversation? Certainly not. Which only serves as a prime example of the benefits of being able to control ones emotions, should circumstances arise which may provoke them."

Harry could only stare at him, in a way that belied his scepticism that Severus was capable of even having emotions.

Severus sighed, shaking his head, and walked around him to stand behind the desk. A physical barrier needed, for what was to come next.

They had skirted around the subject long enough. And if it had come to the point that Harry's – that his – occlumency was becoming compromised then it was something that had to be addressed. The consequences of not doing so, too high of a risk.

"I am at a loss, Mr Potter, as to what it is that you expect of me," Severus began, his voice belying a calmness even if he was, inwardly, just as overwrought as the boy in front of him; "In one instance you claim that if I cared for my daughter I would forgo all reason and abandon my post in order to be by her side; in the other, you claim that to do anything other than maintain my distance is a cruelty. So, what is it to be? If I were willing to bend myself to the will of her brother, what is it that you would have me do?"

Harry seemed entirely flummoxed by the question. And no wonder, for it was unthinkable that Severus would not only ask, but actually take his direction, and any answer he could give was unacceptable. No solution would ever live up to what Harry – to what Severus – believed his sister deserved.

When the silence stretched, Severus went on; "To be ruled by ones emotions, it is a foolish man's weakness. You, Mr Potter, are entirely ruled by your emotions."

Harry glowered at him, but he still said nothing. Not denying the statement and still unable to come up with an acceptable response – to him – to the question that Severus asked.

"But no man is immune to weakness," Severus conceded; "Only once, have I defied concrete logic in favour of following one's desires, and, while I would not go so far as to call it a mistake – I'm sure you know from what you witnessed, to what I'm referring – I am willing to admit the consequences of that decision has led all involved to circumstances which have been…trying."

Harry no longer looked furious. Instead, he seemed to struggle to process what Severus had said.

"Trying."

"Indeed. And you demonstrate one of your rare moments of rationality in your assertions that, in actuality, my daughter would, indeed, be far better off without my presence in her life."

Harry's shook his head, immediately launching a denial. For that was no good answer, no. Not good enough.

"That's not what I said."

"No?"

"I only meant that if you can't be there for her, the way that she needs –"

"Which I can't. You know I cannot. That is the reason you are unable to give me a straight answer to my question; your frustrations are bourne out of a response to a decision that I made years ago. A decision that cannot be undone."

What's done is done. And what had they done?

It was the first time that Severus had really, truly, allowed himself to think it. To regret it. Not Lily, not them, no. How could he? But everything else that had crumbled in the aftermath; ultimately leading to this. Lily gone, for goodness knows how much longer, and Grace, his little girl, left the bear the brunt of his mistakes. And Harry. Even Severus, in all of his certainty that he and Lily would have been a disaster back then, had underestimated just how severely affected this boy would be by that one night. That one choice.

"There is no good solution to our current circumstances, that is why you cannot find one. There are two options, one driven by emotion, the other driven by reason; and I have gone against reason once before," it was the closest Severus would ever come to admitting it, out loud, since he had chosen it; "And that is not a course that I would choose again, especially not now, with the cards stacked so highly against us, and the costs of choosing wrongly too high to possibly bear."

Harry simply stared back at him and Severus wasn't sure if he understood – he supposed he must, to have been rendered speechless – but he wasn't done.

"I cannot cast reason aside and do as I should wish to, now," Severus stated, making his own feelings, his own wishes clear – though, surely, they must have been, for he was a father, despite what else Harry thought of him – "But do not stand there, Harry, and accuse me of not caring for my own child."

A heavy silence fell upon the both of them.

"Consider that your dismissal," Severus finally said; "We have had quite enough revelations, this night."

He did not wait for Harry before he simply strode from the room.