Chapter Seventy-Nine
A harsh breath left him.
It could – almost – have been a sob.
Severus pressed his hands to his face, elbows upon the surface of his desk that he was hunched over, drawing in a breath to steady himself, as much as he could.
He had held it together – only just – long enough to be there for Harry, to give him what he could – which would never be enough, not now – and to hold him as he broke down in his arms over a pain Severus, himself, had inflicted.
Severus could barely stomach it. That the crime Harry had laid at their feet those few months ago – that they had built a life without him – was the very threat that hung over them, now, should he be unable to stop this.
Such bitter irony that sickened him.
And to be reminded of those words – so cold, so cruel – spoken by him and heard by Harry.
The things he had said, so, so far removed from who Harry was and it killed him to only realise it now – now – far too late how wrong he'd gotten it. How wrong he had gotten this boy who should have been his son – who he should have taken as his son from the start – long, long before he had finally admitted and realised he already had in Dumbledore's office.
Harry had a strength and a kindness and an ability to love and forgive that was so foreign to Severus that it floored him.
Severus should have been there for him.
He should have been there for all of them – before all of this – the very first time the Dark Lord had risen back from the dead and there had been the slightest sniff of a threat to them – to Lily and to Harry – he should have just taken them and run.
Why hadn't they run?
Severus' shoulders shook as he drew in a breath, everything of him aching with the intensity of it, the surge of remorse and of hopelessness and of grief. Anticipated grief of what would soon be lost – his son – if he and Regulus failed.
If they couldn't find some way, any way to save him.
This boy who looked at him – eyes so full of hope and desperation and vulnerability and love – could not be lost.
He could not be.
A small sound, a 'ting' broke through his grief, and he lowered his trembling hands, slightly, just to peer above his fingertips at the enchantment upon the dials on the wall, telling him one of his Slytherins was out of the dorms past curfew.
Severus closed his eyes, only realising then that his cheeks were wet, so he swiped at them and attempted to pull himself together.
He was tempted to just leave them, whoever it was, and let Filch deal with it – he would surely catch them, soon enough – but he vaguely remembered it was his night to patrol and if word of the fact he had skipped it got out he'd be hauled before Dumbledore.
And he could not deal with Dumbledore right now.
Severus got to his feet, drawing in a steadying breath, and closed his eyes. To count to ten, as some suggested, seemed rather preposterous – as if doing so would help matters – but he kept his eyes closed and called upon any and all sense of calm that he possibly could.
And, within a few moments, he pushed it all back and away, straightened down his robes, and strode from his office to locate the culprit.
Severus made a half-hearted search throughout the dungeons floor, coming across some prefects who assured him they had seen no one and he carried on, going up a level using Slughorn's staircase – his mind still entirely on Harry and the war and the blasted horcrux within him – while his frustration grew with each minute that passed, each floor of the Castle he checked, until one of the portraits in the corridors suggested he try the uppermost floors and he found himself on the seventh.
Severus passed Flitwick's office, forgoing a search down the Fat Lady's corridor, doubting any Slytherin students of his House would be hanging around the Gryffindor Tower.
The thought gave him pause, a certain Miss Greengrass coming to mind, but he doubted Harry would be feeling in any mood for company – even from the young lady who had taken his fancy – for he had still been visibly shaken when he'd eventually left Severus' office – and Severus carried on, making his way down the Hall of Hexes, until he reached the corridor with the Barnabus the Barmy tapestry.
The corridor of the fabled Room of Requirement.
He was just about to go down it, turning the corner leading through, when he – at last – ran into the person he had been looking for.
Severus lifted his chin.
"Draco."
Of course.
"Why am I not surprised?"
Draco eyed him, looking only slightly cowed to be caught in the corridors after curfew; "Professor."
Severus crossed his arms; "Dare I ask what you are doing roaming the corridors in the dead of night?"
"You know what I'm doing," Draco said, fearlessly, eyes staring defiantly right back at him; "You've been on my back about it all month."
"Ah. Apparently we are not concealing our intents behind pleasantries, this evening," Severus drawled, his heart not entirely in this conversation – his mind and heart still upon the boy who'd broken down in his arms only a few hours prior – but he had been hoping for this opportunity of candidness with Draco for weeks, now; "Perhaps this is something you'd like to discuss in my office?"
"No. I wouldn't."
"Well, we certainly cannot do so here, out in the very open, can we?"
"I'm not interested in any 'help' you try to give me," Draco snapped, glowering at him, saying the word 'help' with all the scepticism in the world; "You think I don't know what you're doing? I'm not a fool."
"Oh? Do enlighten me, Draco. What am I doing?"
"You're trying to make me lose my nerve – pretend you're on my side – so you can swoop in and off the old man yourself," Draco said, voicing the most ludicrous scenario imaginable, before the boy shook his head; "Well I won't fall for it. I'm strong enough. I can do it."
"I quite believe you mistake my motives."
"I don't think I do," Draco lifted his chin, eyeing him insolently; "You're one of the smartest ones there is at this. I've seen you with him you know. Potter. I know what you're doing. You and Potter, almost every night, in your office. All those 'detentions' the two of you have been having."
Severus felt a wave of unease, his blood going cold at the accusation, and called back upon his calm as he raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Draco nodded, smirking, thinking he had him – maybe he did – before he went on; "You're trying to get him close. Trying to make him trust you. Then, when the time is right, once you've got me and him both fooled, you're going to off Dumbledore yourself and Potter along with him. Kill them both and take all the glory."
Severus simply stared back at him.
Not sure if he was more amused or dumfounded at how wrong Draco had it, at the preposterous accusations laid at his feet.
Though he certainly was relieved.
Severus smirked.
"Mr Malfoy –"
"Why wait, huh? Leave the old man to me. And you –" Draco shoved passed him; "- just bloody kill Potter now and put the rest of us out of our misery!"
Severus grasped Draco tightly by the arm, pulling him close, nose to nose, and preventing his escape, suddenly overcome with by a surge of white fury.
Draco shied back from him them – the first sign of alarm he'd given – and Severus lifted his chin, eyeing him down his nose.
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy," he said softly; "Every Friday morning from now until the end of term."
"You can't do that."
"Try me," Severus narrowed his eyes at him, holding the look – the challenge – for a moment before he released his arm and Draco stumbled back; "Return to your dorm room. At once."
Draco glowered back at him – though with far less self-assurance than he had done at the beginning of their encounter – and then he walked by him and made his way to the staircase that led down back down to the dungeons, Severus following closely on his heels.
"Hey sleepy head."
A murmured voice, full of affection, and a gentle shake of his shoulder had Regulus wake with a snort.
It took a moment for him to gather his bearings – to make sense where he was – and when he did, he realised he was still in his office at the Foundation – had fallen asleep at his desk, which was littered with books and parchments and various bits and pieces of old research he'd gathered about horcruxes – and his eyes went to the timepiece.
It was well past midnight.
Regulus met Julia's eyes, blearily sheepish.
"I'm sorry. I … I must of –"
"So, I noticed," Julia said, giving him a smile – no real hint of annoyance in her eyes – as she stepped closer, slid an arm around his shoulders and took a seat on his lap.
Regulus immediately curled his arms around her, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to her cheek, murmuring in her ear; "Feels like I haven't seen you all week."
"Well, that's 'cause you haven't, Scholar –" Julia grinned, touching her forehead to his; " – you expecting an award for this one, or something?"
Regulus got a little smile, shaking his head; "Even if I were up for one, I wouldn't get it for this. It's … a dead end."
Regulus feared – with each passing day – that it actually was.
That this soul fragment within Harry would never be removed. That it would just fester, corrupt him further, until…
Regulus buried his face into Julia's shoulder, hugging her tight, and pushed away the unwelcome thoughts; determined he would not give in to that.
To pessimism and hopelessness.
"Well. Whatever it is, it's not worth killing yourself over, Regulus."
Regulus got a little smile, tightening his grip of her, and pressing a kiss to her neck. Quite content to just sit there and hold his wife for the rest of the night.
"Huh. What's a horcrux?"
Regulus frowned and drew back at Julia's unwelcome question, noticing her eyes upon one of the parchments on his desk, before she reached for and began to lift it.
Regulus placed his hand over hers, stopping her, and reached up, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips to hers. He kissed her, slowly – a vague attempt to distract her, even if he obviously quite enjoyed it – and when he drew back he touched his forehead to hers and touched a hand to his wand, tidying up the mess.
Sending it all out of sight.
"Nothing for you to worry about."
Julia's eyes were upon him, now, and there was obvious concern, then, as well as her affection; "But you're worried about it, right? You look knackered, Regulus."
"Well, you did just wake me from my nap."
Julia got a small smile – humouring his attempt – and she reached up, stroking the hair back from his forehead, tenderly, before she got to her feet.
"Come on –" she held out a hand and he took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet; " – bed. And this lot can forget it if they think you'll be back in here first thing tomorrow."
Regulus chuckled – he had to admit, really quite enjoyed this fussing of hers – as she drew him towards the door, with the clear intention that he was going home, that instant.
"Have I told you, Mrs. Black –" he said, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as they continued to walk – somewhat awkwardly, now – to the door; " – that I am exceedingly enjoying having a wife."
"Oh, is that right?"
"Oh, indeed," he pressed another kiss to her cheek, before he reached to pull open the door, so they could step out; "In fact, just a few weeks in, I've decided that you and I were entirely made for one another –" he shut the door behind them and wrapped an arm around her shoulders once they were in the corridor, drawing her close once more; " – I could get used to this."
Julia got a little grin.
A pretty cheeky one, come to think of it.
"Don't get too comfy yet, Black."
The annual Halloween Feast went ahead as normal, though the Halloween decorations were a bit more extravagant than in previous years – the usual live bats hanging and flying throughout the room – and there was heightened anticipation in the air, this time, for the festivities due to follow once it was over.
It seemed a bit odd, Malachi thought, that neither he nor Harry had eaten with their own dates for the night – for everyone had been sent to their own House tables – but, before long, Dumbledore stood with a smile, urging everyone else to do the same.
Malachi cast Daphne a smile, that she returned, before her eyes glanced across the Hall – obviously seeking Harry – and his best friend caught Malachi's eyes first, giving him a nod, before Harry's expression softened when his eyes turned Daphne's way.
"And now that our bellies are full and our spirits are high –" Dumbledore said, addressing the room, with a wide smile; " – let us all enjoy the rest of this night, shall we?"
The Headmaster lifted his wand and with a swish and not a word, the tables and benches vanished from where they had been – benches now lining the walls as they did for the Duel Club – and the tables were arranged at the front of the room, alongside a stage, adorned with more food and beverages as the candles dimmed.
Four people – the band, Malachi realised – made their way up the middle of the room to the – already set up – musical instruments on the newly-appeared stage.
"If everyone can take their partners for the opening dance –"
There was a scramble and the Hall was filled once more with the sound of excited voices and Harry was upon Malachi and Daphne within a few seconds, his arm wrapping around her without hesitation and drawing her close.
"Where's your date?" Harry grinned at him, before he glanced, pointedly, in the direction of some girls that were looking in Malachi's direction; "Better get her quick, the hawks have got their eye on you, mate."
Malachi smirked, eyes seeking Luna, and he saw her, then, only a few feet away standing with some Ravenclaws.
Malachi went up to her, a little bit nervous at approaching when she was actually with friends; "Hey."
Luna glanced at him, over her shoulder, before she got a smile and turned more to face him; "Malachi."
Malachi swallowed, giving her a smile in turn, and shrugged; "Did you…wanna dance?"
He was pretty sure she didn't want to dance – that she had implied as much, at least that she didn't really care – but Malachi was pretty lost for words, otherwise, and he hadn't really brought any books as he'd suggested they do, because the seemed a bit silly.
And it was expected, wasn't it, that they at least take part in the first dance, so they probably should.
So's the dance lesson wasn't a total waste.
Malachi found his mind racing, only stilling when Luna took his hand and gave him a nod and a smile, and he smiled back, before they headed in the direction of the dancefloor looking for Harry.
" …just a miserable git," Harry was finishing up saying, and Malachi followed his gaze across the Hall – seeing Draco standing in the corner, eyeing the four of them across the room – and Malachi frowned, turning back to Harry and Daphne.
"He's alright," Daphne said, not looking at Draco with nearly as much irritation as Harry was, before she gave Draco a smile and a nod, which only seemed to aggravate his cousin further and he turned away from them, heading from the hall.
"If you say so," Harry said, sounding entirely sceptical, as they watched him leave, before he gave Luna a smile, greeting her; "Hey, Luna."
"Hello –" Luna smiled, glancing between them; "Both of you. You've got a lot of people talking, you know."
Harry and Daphne shared smiling looks and a little chuckle, before casting a look around – as Malachi did, too – and, sure enough, eyes were upon the forbidden coupling, and Harry rolled his eyes, drawing Daphne closer, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
"Places, everyone!" Professor McGonagall's voice called out, and the four of them – and the rest of the students wishing to dance – took their places.
"So –" Dumbledore gave another swish of his wand and the candles dimmed further, going out completely, and little beams of light from the ceiling lit the hall, instead, in time to the music as it began to play.
"Looks like you're enjoying yourself!" Harry had to raise his voice to be heard over the music, where he and Malachi were sitting on one of the benches at the side of the hall, Daphne and Luna having vanished for some girly or another reason a little while before.
"Not as much as you two," Malachi pointed out, with a smirk, eyeing the crowd, pointedly, making reference to the huge stir that Harry and Daphne were making.
Even the professors – who all had knowing looks and smiles for Malachi, these days, ever since he'd started openly writing his articles, Burbage and McGonagall in particular – were not immune to having an opinion. Expressions of surprise on their faces, at the pairing of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Of Harry Potter and a Slytherin, a bit like what he and Malachi had faced when he had first started at school, four years before. Though, of course, the professors leaned far more on the favourable side of it than the students who seemed to take great offence.
Malachi noticed Professor McGonagall giving a little smile of approval, before raising her eyebrows at Severus, who – to Malachi's surprise – also looked amused, if a bit fondly exasperated at the way Harry was deliberately flaunting it, hardly able to keep his hands off Daphne for the entire night.
"I meant, maybe you and Luna might start enjoying yourselves, a bit like how Daphne and me are," Harry suggested, with a grin.
Malachi gave him a little smile back, but it brought on an unexpected feeling of unease, the suggestion, when Emma immediately came to mind. She often did, whenever he hung about in his dorm room, hands on the Walkman he looked forward to using when he went home at Christmas, or when he was writing his articles, or when other girls shot him flirty looks that reminded him of the sparkle in her eyes.
Malachi looked down with a little frown.
He did like Luna, he was realising, but that was odd, surely. He wasn't really sure if he should.
Not yet.
"Oh, she's coming back –" Harry gave him a nudge and a grin – oblivious to Malachi's thoughts – and he got a frown when she arrived, alone; "Where's Daphne?"
"She's a bit upset, Harry," Luna told him, and Harry immediately looked concerned; "I offered to stay with her but I don't think she likes company when she's crying."
Harry quickly got to his feet, "Oh, I – um – I better go, I'll catch you –"
Harry let the sentence taper off, as he hastily headed for the exit of the Hall – obviously intending on going to the girls' bathroom to find her – leaving Malachi alone with Luna.
Malachi met her eyes and she took a seat beside him.
"I'm having a really lovely time, Malachi."
Malachi gave a nod, admitting; "Me too."
"Do you want to dance?" she asked him, her eyes on the dancefloor, that little dreamy look in her eyes; "It was a lot more fun than I was expecting. Dancing with you. I don't think I even really need the books that I brought for us."
Malachi got a smile, then, at that, eyes going down to his hands that hung off the ends of his knees where his arms where rested. And then he gave a nod and reached over, taking one of her hands in his, before he got to his feet, tugging her out to the dancefloor.
Harry lingered around the outside of the girls' bathroom – knowing Daphne was in there, after asking numbers of girls coming and going for confirmation – and it was a good fifteen minutes after he arrived before Daphne emerged, her eyes red and her face blotchy, making it obvious that what Luna had told him – that she'd been crying – was true.
Harry quickly grasped her hand, drawing her aside and away from the ears – but, unfortunately, not the nosey eyes – of the students who lingered in the corridor.
"Hey," he said, softly, feeling his stomach tighten with upset, that she was obviously hurting over something; "Hey, what's wrong?"
He reached up, a hand cupping her cheek.
Daphne just gave him a wry smile, but her eyes were on his shoes.
Harry stepped in closer, so their faces were close, and he spoke more quietly; "Did someone say something? About you and me? Was someone –"
Daphne shook her head, meeting his eyes, and Harry felt a little lurch – a skip of his heartbeat – at the sadness he could see in hers.
"No," she said, her voice barely even a whisper; "It's not us, Harry."
Harry stepped in, drawing her close and hugging her – unable to fight the sudden urge he felt to do so, to protect her and take away whatever it was that was causing her pain – and he murmured against her ear; "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Tori," she murmured, into his shoulder; "She…she loved this sort of stuff. Dancing and fooling around."
Oh.
Harry tightened his hold on her, knowing there was nothing he could say or do about that, to take away the grief she'd obviously been trying to push down at losing her sister.
He didn't know what to say, so he just held her, reaching up to stroke the back of her hair, the two of them standing like that for a little while – while he shot dark looks at any who dared to stare, this time – until she eventually drew back a little so that he could see her face, though he still held her close.
"I thought…I dunno," she shrugged, wiping away another stray tear that escaped and began to run down her cheek; "I thought that, with Mr. Black putting out Malachi's articles by himself now that…I dunno. Maybe they'd let Astoria go."
Harry gave a little nod, hand squeezing her arm.
Daphne rolled her eyes, glancing away; "It's been almost three weeks and still nothing. I keep thinking, what if they can't let her go. What if she's…" her voice caught.
Daphne lowered her chin, her eyes squeezing shut, at the thought that her sister might not even be alive right now. But, even then, if she was, she was still bound to be suffering.
Harry drew her closer, again, so that Daphne could lean on him and she did. Letting him comfort her in the only way he knew how.
People were still staring whenever they passed – obviously the two of them sharing a moment like this was even more intriguing to the masses than their happiness – and so, when Harry was growing tired of glaring and glowering at their passing classmates, he drew back enough to touch his forehead to hers.
"Come on. Let's go somewhere."
"Where?"
"Away from here," he said, with a shrug, and Daphne got a little smile through her tears and nodded, letting him take her hand and draw her away from the nosey eyes at the dance.
This was tedious.
Severus stood in the corner of the Great Hall – the Dance Hall – chaperoning the frolicking students, that danced and sang and laughed and grasped at one another, amorously – entirely inappropriately – throughout the room, and his eyes frequently wandered in the direction of the timepiece, lamenting at the slow passage of time.
His Godson caught his eye once again, drawing Severus' attention to where he was dancing with one of the girls in his year – Luna Lovegood – with a smile and a laugh and a brightening of his expression that, Severus had to admit, was heartening to see after all that Malachi had been through that year.
Severus' eyes went to the exit, where he had seen Harry pass through almost – no, a quick glance at the timepiece corrected him – over an hour beforehand, becoming increasingly concerned that he had not reappeared.
That would not do.
Severus took the opportunity to investigate – to leave – and made his way from the Hall, checking the nearby entrance hall and corridors, down the Tapestry corridor, without much luck.
Eventually, Severus found himself out of doors, walking along the pavement parallel to the courtyard – where other rogue students were scattered, getting much too close by the various beams and behind the bushes – and Severus zapped the ground at their feet with harmless spells, chasing them back into the dance as he passed.
He was some way down, almost at the end of the stretch of the courtyard, where no other students were lingering, when he finally heard Daphne Greengrass' voice on the other side of one of the beams.
"…I mean, parents, that's what they're supposed to do, right?" the girl's voice was quiet with vulnerability, so that Severus could only just make out what she was saying; " – put their kids first, over anything else?"
There was a silence, before Harry's voice answered. Just as quiet. Just as vulnerable.
"Yeah. Yeah…I mean. Well. You would think."
"Sounds like you don't really believe it."
"No. I do. I believe it. Just…my mum."
Severus hesitated then. That Harry was still hurt – that he had not quite made peace with what had happened the year before – was obvious to him, now, in light of what had transpired the evening before.
Nonetheless, it felt wrong – a breach of trust, almost – for him to be eavesdropping like this.
"Did she do something?" Daphne asked him, quietly, while Severus found himself still lingering, unable to help but overhear.
"Last year…I…um. I can't really talk about it."
"Oh."
"No, um –" Harry quickly said, his voice raising slightly above the close murmurs the two had been sharing; "- it's not that I don't want you to know. It's just…it's better for you that you don't. And. Well, it was ages ago now, anyway. I'm trying to forget about it."
"Doesn't sound like it's working."
"No. Not really," Harry said, and there were chuckles on the other side of the beam; "But…I'm not mad about it. Not anymore. Just…"
"Disappointed?"
"I dunno," Harry said, quietly; "Maybe. Just…sometimes I think maybe she'd of been better off if I was never…"
Severus frowned, a twist in his gut, entirely aware of what Harry was going to say.
He started to step out – to reveal himself – without really thinking what on Earth he was doing. And, when he did, he caught sight of the two of them.
Harry and Daphne were curled up together on the grass; one of Harry's hands tucked behind his head while the other gently stroked her hair, where Daphne's head was laid upon his chest.
"I'm sure that isn't true, Harry," Daphne said, lifting her head to meet Harry's eyes; "It couldn't be."
Severus couldn't see Harry's face, hidden from view behind where Daphne had lifted herself, and he immediately averted his eyes when the hand in the girl's hair drew her closer for a kiss.
Severus should stop this behaviour immediately.
To be lying in the grass together, unchaperoned, was questionable enough; never mind to actually be engaging in such…carnal behaviours. Entirely inappropriate for a child of his age.
Severus ignored the whisper in his mind that Harry was fifteen, as the two drew back with a giggle between them.
Severus eyed them, the closeness the two appeared to share, their gazes all for one another, oblivious to his – to anyone else's – presence, before Daphne said, quietly, sharing in Harry's vulnerability.
"I'm still mad. At my dad," Harry's hand came up, stroking her hair, as she went on; "I'll never forgive him. Even when Tori comes home, I think I'll hate him forever for doing this."
Harry used the hand still in her hair to draw her closer, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and holding her there as he murmured, "You don't hate anything."
"I hate him…I think I do, Harry."
Harry pulled her closer, drawing her fully into his arms, and Severus lowered his eyes, and stepped away – against his better judgement – leaving the two of them to it.
Entirely aware that Harry just might actually need this girl – the comfort the two were clearly providing one another – and he knew, well enough, the challenges the two were sure to face from their respective Housemates.
Of course, it was childish and absurd to Severus, now, what he and Lily had had to endure while attempting to maintain a friendship that crossed the great house-divide – particularly in comparison to all they faced presently – but he knew, that things quite possibly might have been different for both of them, had they two shown the same courage or, indeed, the maturity to just rise above it. To not care what their housemates thought of them or one another, rather than allow the influences of others to poison it; to stir doubt and insecurity.
Far easier said than done at fifteen.
It had taken years for Severus to stop seeking the good opinion – the approval and the respect – of people whom he did not even care for, himself.
But Harry was doing it now.
Harry – his child – could see beyond what the world was telling him he ought to see. He knew who he valued, who he cared for, and who he loved, and he would fight for that, above all else, not allowing anyone else to make him feel any different.
Severus felt a swell of pride rise up within him – not that he could take any credit for it, of course – as he made his way back to the Great Hall.
He was halted in his steps – a Patronus sweeping before him – and Dumbledore's shimmering, silvery phoenix remained suspended in the air before him – not a word spoken, for Severus knew what it meant – before it disappeared.
For a moment, Severus considered not answering the summons.
He needn't, anymore.
But he – unexpectedly – found himself growing concerned with each step taken, as he continued on his way towards the ballroom – that, perhaps, the curse in Dumbledore's hand had somehow broken free, and the old man was in sudden, life-threatening need of him – and Severus sighed, making a sharp turn in the direction of Dumbledore's office, when he was unable to push that concern aside.
Severus eyed the bottle of wine in his hand.
At the obvious marks left upon it – quite obviously tampered with – and gave the vapours a small – unnecessary – sniff, confirming both their suspicions.
Poison.
"A somewhat poor attempt at ending my life, wouldn't you say, Severus?" Dumbledore remarked, from where he sat opposite Severus – who had remained standing, upon seeing that Dumbledore was just fine – on the other side of his desk; "It leads me to believe that – perhaps – young Draco Malfoy is not quite so lost to us. Indeed, this may just be the cry for help we were expecting."
"I have already spoken with Draco," Severus said, briskly, placing the bottle on Dumbledore's desk; "I would not be quite so sure of his reluctance."
"He is likely being cautious, knowing what he thinks he does of you. With time – and a little bit more understanding – the liking he previously had of you may just become a trust."
"Not unsimilar to the Boy Who Lived, then," Severus bit out, before going on; "I sincerely doubt that, Albus, Draco's present dislike extends to all the Dark Lord's followers, I imagine, and unless I were to be willing to reveal my own disloyalties he will reveal nothing."
"He needn't reveal anything," Dumbledore said, entirely calmly; "Simply to know he has someone to whom he can turn may just be enough to save him from a very dark path. We must –"
"We, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore's eyes softened, then, with an affection that was entirely unwelcome.
Severus glanced away, darkly, as his bitterness at the man before him rose once more.
"Severus, do please sit."
He shouldn't.
Severus' eyes met Dumbledore's.
But there was still so much he needed to know.
Severus drew in a breath, taking a seat opposite him.
"I think the time has come for us to speak openly. Not only about what you have learned but also, as you rightly stated, what I have known about for quite some time –"
Severus opened his mouth, almost in a snarl, as his fury at the horcrux surged up within him – as if Dumbledore, himself, were responsible for what had happened – but the old man went on, raising a hand.
" – I refer to your relationship with Harry. To your family, Severus. Not to the dreadful truth you have recently been made aware of."
"Now is the time to speak, is it?" Severus' lips twisted, humourlessly; "Unsurprising. Considering you are fearful that your best laid plans are now subject to ruin."
"As I have yet to have Harry's mother breaking down my door, I must presume you haven't seen fit to share the truth with her?"
Severus hesitated, lifting his chin. He had not.
He could not possibly. For how could he expect Lily to be able to bear it, when he could barely do so himself, struggling more and more with the truth, with each passing moment.
His silence was long enough for the fact to be confirmed and Dumbledore nodded.
"That is probably for the best –"
"It is by no means a signification of any obligation or loyalty to you, Albus," Severus ground out, jaw flexing; "I have just …"
His statement trailed off.
"I understand, my boy. Believe me, I do," Dumbledore said, with sympathy in his tone and warmth in his eyes, that Severus refused to soften beneath; "While it is entirely inappropriate for Headmaster to favour any one of his students, Harry, since his first year with us and I have the chance to know him, has always been one of those for whom I care for, deeply, though – of course – not quite so deeply as yourself. And I, too, have struggled with it. Ever since my suspicions first arose of it, upon the opening of the Chamber of Secrets in Harry's second year."
"Three years," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut; "Three years, that is how long you have concealed your suspicions from me."
Severus dropped his hand, looking directly at the old man, now, in a challenge.
"You told me it is essential that Harry face the Dark Lord – that he is killed by him – himself. Why?"
Dumbledore kept his eyes upon him, seeming to think on it, the answer. But then his eyes lowered. Not answering the question.
"Contrary to what you have accused me of, it has never been my intention to use you, Severus, and to force you into the position that you find yourself in now. Certainly not to encourage you to develop a relationship with that family – your own family – to ensure that you would be in their circle of trust," Dumbledore shook his head, his expression almost pained with regret when he went on; "And, Severus, it has never been my intention to cause you pain. You cannot, truly, believe that to be the case? That I do not regret that it has come to this."
"I find it very hard to know what to believe, Albus," Severus returned, unwilling to bend, to concede anything, for Dumbledore's words only confirmed that he had quite obviously given up – had no hope whatsoever – that this was a circumstance that could be amended; "You refuse to reveal all to me – including matters which threaten the very lives of those whom you know I hold most dear – and yet you expect it all of me in return. And I have given you that."
"Discretion in what is revealed is necessary, Severus. You know why that must be. The more people who know of it, the more dangerous the situation becomes. The more likely it is, that things will spiral out of control – you cannot have forgotten the incident at the Department of Mysteries. Though none were to blame, our inability to push aside our own instincts, to do what needed to be done, led to the very events that led to Harry being Marked."
Severus ground his teeth together, at the unwelcome truth; that Lily's instinct to protect Harry, at all costs – as his mother – had, indeed, set about those very chain of events. Or, rather, he had done so, by seeking to clear his own conscience by revealing the prophecy to her in the first place.
Instincts, driven by love, that could not be avoided.
Dumbledore went on, more assertively; "It has never been a matter of trust, Severus. And, in this case, I knew the weight this information would have upon you. I had hoped to spare you – to spare Lily – from that, for as long as I were able."
"So long as it suits your ends, Albus."
"No, Severus," Dumbledore said, softly, shaking his head; "We have come a long way from where we once were. Indeed, you are entirely unrecognisable from the boy who came to me that night, all those years ago, and offered me everything in exchange for the protection of Lily Potter. Together, we have worked towards this common goal, not because it served either of us anything other than to do what we both know is right. What we must. A path you chose long before the events that took place leading to Harry's Marking. You chose to do so, to fight, for Neville Longbottom when we believed it to be him."
Severus lowered his eyes, as Dumbledore went on.
"It is a path that has not always easy. In fact, it rarely ever is, certainly not for you – I have seen what you have sacrificed – but we have done so, you have done so, and I have been…I have been moved by your devotion, Severus. Do not think that after all that you have done for me, for this cause, that I have not become fond of you, my boy. Because I assure you, I have. Just as much as I have for Harry. Even more so, perhaps. And I do wish it were different. If there was any other way, be assured that I would take it."
Dumbledore drew in a breath, drawing Severus' eyes back to his, and Severus could see it then. The remorse. The regret. He could see it, in the way the old man's eyes shimmered in the candlelight.
"But there is nothing else that can be done," Dumbledore said, quietly, before going on, speaking with certainty; "Voldemort will not fall so long as Harry lives and that is something that we cannot allow – how could we live with ourselves, Severus, if we were to allow it. To allow thousands – thousands – of others to suffer – indeed, to die – all to protect one. Even if he is one who we may love."
"One…my own child, Albus. How could I live with myself, otherwise?"
Dumbledore nodded, slowly, before he lifted his hand – the blackened, withered hand of his, that Severus could see had worsened – before he said, reflectively; "Indeed, in some ways I think I may have it far easier."
Dumbledore met his eyes.
"I must ask you again, Severus."
"No."
"Even if you were not to do it for me. To spare me the pain of a most gruesome death that Tom has no doubt planned for me; one, perhaps, I entirely deserve –"
Severus glanced away.
" – you cannot deny that your position within his circle is critical. To both our ends, Severus, you need to be where you are. You need to be his most trusted. Irrevocably so. Even if we cannot agree of what must ultimately be done, I must ask you, do not allow my death to be in vain. Do not allow your anger with me to prevent you from seeing that you and I are both now – and have always been – fighting for the same thing."
"I have been fighting for my family, Albus," Severus got to his feet; "And that does not allow me to send my child to die."
He turned, ignoring Dumbledore's voice when it sounded behind him once more, and headed from the room.