Pressure
Severus hurried down the staircase, withdrawing a vial from his pocket. Hearing a scream from the other end of the hall, he quickened his pace as he approached the hospital wing.
He spotted her as soon as he entered, twisting and writhing, arms thrust out like she was trying to fight off some unseen enemy. Her features contorted, mouth opening to unleash another scream… he barely managed to dodge her flailing fists, pinning her limbs to the mattress with a binding charm.
Still, she resisted, jerking her face away as he attempted to administer the potion. He flicked his wand again, securing her forehead in place before he tipped the vial into her mouth. To his relief, the effects were immediate. Her body went limp, restraints melting away as he searched for the source of her injury.
"There on her hand."
"Yes," he told Poppy, retrieving a jar from his other pocket. "I see it."
The girl was hardly on the brink of death, though that didn't mean the curse wasn't painful. Even with her nerves dulled by the potion, she flinched, whimpering as he covered the wound with ointment.
"Don't move her," he said, "at least for another day or two. She needs time to stabilize before she's transferred to St. Mungo's."
"Of course. Thank you, Severus."
Tucking the vials back in his coat, he left the hospital wing as quickly as he'd arrived. He headed straight to Minerva's office, resisting the urge to tap his foot as she ushered a couple students out of the room.
"Severus," she said. "Please have a seat."
Other than that basic courtesy, she didn't waste time on small talk. She stared out the window instead, her expression grim as she recounted the events of that morning.
"The Three Broomsticks?" he interrupted. "And no one saw it happen?"
"No one."
In the end, her explanation left him with more questions than answers. Oh, he knew very well who was responsible, but how? How, when Draco hadn't even been present in Hogsmeade that day? Did he have an accomplice? That seemed like the most likely theory, but who? Not another Slytherin, surely. Katie Bell was a typical Gryffindor if he'd ever seen one. She would've never trusted…
"According to Mr. Potter, she was behaving strangely."
"Well, that seems obvious. She'd just been exposed to a powerful curse."
Minerva shook her head. "Before she touched the necklace. He said she wasn't herself."
Severus knew he should respond with a snarky remark, dismissing Harry's concerns. He couldn't seem to do it, however, probably because they aligned with his own suspicions. If the girl had been Imperiused…
"He also said…"
"Yes?"
Minerva sighed. "He believes Mr. Malfoy is responsible."
Did Harry believe or did he know? Severus took a deep breath, refusing to dwell on the consequences if the latter were true.
"Does he have proof that Draco was in possession of the necklace?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Did he see him follow Miss Bell into the bathroom?"
"No."
"Of course not," Severus said. "If I recall correctly, Draco was serving detention with you."
"He was."
"Then what basis does Potter have for this… assumption?"
"Only a brief encounter at Borgin and Burkes over the summer. He claims Mr. Malfoy made a purchase that day, though he couldn't say what it was."
"Caught in the act of shopping?" Severus did his best to sound horrified. "Would you like to expel Draco for this heinous crime, or shall I do it?"
"There's no need for sarcasm, Severus."
"No? Forgive me, but I have no patience for baseless accusations. I suggest you inform Mr. Potter…"
"That blaming other students without proof is unacceptable?" Minerva interrupted. "Yes, I've already told him."
"Good, though I wouldn't expect him to listen. He's as stubborn as…"
As stubborn as his mother.
Severus didn't say it aloud, but he couldn't help thinking it. That was often the case these days, finding similarities to Lily or even himself in their son. Why hadn't he noticed these things years ago, long before he'd discovered the truth? They seemed so obvious now, to the point where he wondered why no one else could see it.
Then again, looks were deceiving. Lily had made sure of that, and besides, people saw what they wanted to see. That was certainly true for him. If he hadn't been so bitter, so resentful, so determined to find a scapegoat for his pain…
"Harry will be fine," Minerva said. "For now, I'm much more concerned about the students as a whole. I'd like to think this was an isolated incident, but we can't be sure of that. We'll have to take extra precautions, not to mention…"
"We need to find the real culprit," he finished for her. "Preferably before they strike again."
She nodded. "If you hear anything…"
"You'll be the first to know."
That was a lie, of course, no different than all the others Severus was forced to tell these days. He lied to protect Harry. He lied to protect Draco. That was all well and good, but what was he supposed to do when one contradicted the other? If keeping Draco's secret meant putting Harry at risk…
It very well might, yet what else could he do? That bloody vow had sealed his fate, leaving no room for alternatives.
"And should it prove necessary… if it seems Draco will fail… will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"
To kill a man he respected, brand himself a traitor? Every fiber of his being had shrunk from the idea. Still, he'd had no choice, and so he'd agreed to Narcissa's terms. He'd committed himself body and soul, never realizing what was truly at stake.
Severus sighed, shedding his robes as he entered his quarters. It was early yet, but he'd chosen to skip the evening meal, opting for a pot of tea and his favorite armchair instead.
"Accio, Lily's box."
As usual, it landed squarely in his lap, an integral part of his nightly routine. He shuffled through the letters, choosing one at random as he lifted the cup to his lips.
If anything should happen, he's going to need you. He'll need your protection, but more importantly, he'll need your love. Promise me…
Protection? Well, no one could say he hadn't tried. He'd continue to do so, obviously, but how much longer could that last? If Draco failed… when Draco failed…
"You must kill me."
For all Severus's efforts, it was Dumbledore who stood between Harry and Voldemort. He'd known that all along, haunted by the thought of what might happen when that obstacle was removed. No, not just removed, but eliminated by his own hand. His actions would leave Harry exposed, robbing him of his greatest protector.
And what then? It wasn't as if he could step into Dumbledore shoes, offering himself as a source for help. His son would see him as the enemy and justifiably so – wasn't that the point of this charade?
More importantly, he'll need your love…
Was that true? Maybe, maybe not, though in the end, it didn't matter. He didn't have the option of bonding with his son, wouldn't know where to start even if he did. Too many bridges burned, too many roads closed off long before he'd ever realized they were open. There was nothing to do but proceed with Dumbledore's plan, as flawed as that plan might be.
Still, he wasn't entirely out of options. If he could just speak to Draco…
Severus felt a twinge of pity, remembering Katie Bell's anguished expression. No, he couldn't put an end to all of this, but perhaps he could mitigate the worst of the damage.
"You coming, Harry?"
"Yeah," he said, reluctant though he was to follow his friends. Ron and Hermione had been bickering nonstop, which naturally meant he was caught in the middle. Even now, they were glaring at each other, a muttered insult followed by a huff of indignation.
"Bossy? I wasn't being bossy! How dare you…"
"Not like that," Ron interrupted, his voice high-pitched. "Like this!"
"So it's my fault you were doing it wrong? You know, Ron…"
Harry walked faster, doing his best to tune them out. He only slowed down when he heard his name, glancing at Hermione over his shoulder.
"Sorry," he said, flashing her a sheepish smile. "Did you say something?"
"I asked what you got on your essay."
"Oh, um, I'm not sure. Haven't looked at it yet."
"You haven't?" Hermione shook her head. "You know it's worth 20% of our grade, right?"
"Of course he does. It's all you've bloody talked about since…"
"Shut up, Ron!"
"I'll check it now," he said hastily, rifling through his bag as they entered the Gryffindor common room. He dropped into the closest chair, waiting for the two of them to join him before he unfurled the essay.
"Well?"
He stared at the parchment, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, there it was… a note in Snape's unmistakable handwriting along with a perfect red circle.
"I got an E," he said, tucking it back in his bag.
"That's great, Harry!"
"Yeah, mate. Way better than I did."
"You could've gotten an E, too," Hermione told Ron. "If you'd just spent a little more time studying…"
"Bloody hell, I told you…"
Harry got up to leave, knowing he wouldn't be missed as he headed upstairs to the dormitory. He settled himself on his bed, holding his breath as he took another look at the essay.
Outstanding.
The grade was surprising enough, but the note that followed…
"Well-written, thoroughly researched. A commendable effort."
For the first time, he understood why Hermione was so eager for her teachers' approval. Those few words of praise flowed through him, warming him from the inside like a ray of sunlight. In that moment, he didn't have it in him to question Snape's intentions. It just felt good.
A commendable effort.
He hated lying to his friends, though he couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth either. Whatever had been happening with Snape… it was too weird, too confusing, too private. Besides, he already knew what Ron would say.
"Bet he's trying to trick you into liking him so he can hand you over to You-Know-Who."
Harry had considered that, too. Of course he had. He'd been guarded, suspicious, ready to assume the worst rather than hoping for the best. No matter how hard he tried, though, he always came to the same conclusion: Snape couldn't have been doing this for Voldemort's benefit.
"It seems you are capable of casting an adequate nonverbal."
After that first practice session, Snape had kept him after class at least once a week. He'd learned to cast nonverbals without a second thought, not to mention his use of wandless magic, which had improved tremendously. Occlumency tips, dueling strategies, defensive techniques…
"Another detention, Potter?"
"Not detention, Mr. Malfoy. Remedial lessons. As Mr. Potter struggles to grasp even the most basic concepts, it seems he requires additional tutelage."
Draco had snickered, flashing Harry a triumphant grin. He hadn't noticed the look in Snape's eyes, a momentary flash of… was that guilt?
No. That was ridiculous. To think Snape actually felt bad for the way he treated Harry? Hell, he was probably sorry he hadn't found more ways to be a git.
For the next few days, Harry told himself he'd imagined that look. He'd gone back over his time at Hogwarts, remembering Snape's condescending remarks, his nasty insults, and unfair punishments. All those years, and there'd never been so much as a hint of regret in his eyes. Why should this year be any different?
It shouldn't. Harry knew that, and yet…
"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."
Just the briefest flicker, followed by the slightest hesitation before Snape spoke. It still seemed impossible, but it was almost as if…
"Five points? He was 10 minutes late!"
"I wasn't finished," Snape said, shooting a quick glance at Draco. "Five points… for each minute of tardiness."
"But that's 50 points!" Harry exclaimed. "You can't…"
"Oh, I most certainly can. Now sit down unless you want to lose another 50."
Snape's eyes bored into Harry's, but it hadn't felt like a challenge. It felt…
Please.
His vision wavered, the word echoing so loud through his mind that it startled him. In response, he'd dropped into his chair, struggling to understand what had just happened as the classroom came back into focus.
To tell the truth, he still didn't understand. Yes, he knew Snape had planted that thought in his head, but why? Why try to spare him from further punishment? Why go easy on him in detention? All those extra lessons… why?
"This concealment charm doesn't last long, but it's much more powerful than Disillusionment. Practice until you have it memorized."
Those lessons had strengthened his abilities, making him a better fighter. Why would Snape teach him those things if he wanted Voldemort to win? He wouldn't, unless…
"The headmaster wishes for you to study Occlumency this term."
Dumbledore had ordered Snape to give him extra training last year. Could he have done it this year, too? Harry supposed so, though that still didn't explain the change in Snape's behavior. Well, unless Dumbledore told Snape to go easier on… no, that didn't make sense either. When had Dumbledore ever cared how nasty Snape was? When had he ever tried to stop him from…
"Oi, I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."
Harry looked up, surprised to see Ron standing at the foot of the bed. Hastily, he scooped up the essay along with an armful of clothes, dumping them both in his trunk.
"Packing already? We're not leaving until the end of the week."
Ron didn't wait for a response, muttering to himself as he plopped onto the bed. Harry could barely hear him, though it wasn't hard to guess what he was on about.
"You know," he said, "we could always skip the party."
"And let her win? No bloody way!"
"I'm not at war with Hermione," he pointed out. "You are."
"We're not at war," Ron said. "She's just being…"
"So are you."
"Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"I'm not taking sides." Harry sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "I just wish the two of you would sort it out already."
"Not sorting anything until she apologizes. She's the one who… hey, where are you going?"
Despite everything, Harry did want to go to the party. He hadn't planned on asking Luna, but it turned out to be the right decision. He'd had enough of Ron and Hermione's bickering, not to mention all those girls who'd been trying to slip him love potions. He just wanted to relax and have a good time.
"Harry, m'boy! Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"
Slughorn was clad in velvet and tassels, his mood festive as he escorted Harry around the room. He'd been drinking quite a bit, obviously, though he had nothing on Professor Trelawney. She smelled like she'd taken a bath in sherry, teetering on her feet as she demanded to know why Harry hadn't come back to Divination.
"Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!" Slughorn exclaimed, not seeming to notice Harry's discomfort as he started bragging – no, shouting – about his supposed talent with potions. "I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill! Why, even Severus…"
Where had Snape come from? He seemed to materialize out of thin air, his expression inscrutable. And all the while, Slughorn kept prattling on… why couldn't he just shut up?
"I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion making! Naturally, some credit must go to you, Severus, you taught him for five years!"
Snape's eyes widened, only to narrow in… was that anger or suspicion? Either way, his stare grew more intense, the room starting to shimmer.
No!
The word rang out as a shout in Harry's mind, their connection shattering before it could fully form. Snape's nostrils flared, his jaw tightening…
"Funny," he said, "I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."
Maybe it was because Snape had been less horrible lately, but the comment stung. No guilty look this time either – Snape's eyes were cold and unforgiving.
"Yeah?" Harry shot back. "Well, maybe I would've learned more if you hadn't been such a git."
"What did you call me?"
"A git."
"Harry!" Luna said, looking genuinely distressed. "That's not very nice."
"Two detentions. Say it again and I'll give you a third. I will not tolerate…"
"Ah, Severus, there's no need for that. Harry should be celebrated, not punished!"
"Indeed?" Snape raised an eyebrow, his lip curling into a sneer. "Tell me: is it his arrogance you'd like to reward or his blatant disrespect?"
"His natural talent! Quite like his mother's, you know. As for his sharp tongue… I suppose that could be credited to Lily, too."
"Really?" Harry said.
"Oh, yes." Slughorn smiled. "She was a delightful student, of course, but she never had any trouble letting me know when she disagreed with my teaching methods. Severus didn't either, for that matter."
"Yes, well…" For once, Snape seemed at a loss for words. His expression shifted, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Odd, but he didn't seem angry anymore. He looked like he was in pain.
"Sir?"
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
Harry didn't know where the words had come from. Something about that look… despite everything, he couldn't help feeling bad for Snape. Besides, things had changed over the past few months. Maybe he shouldn't have…
"Very well," Snape said, his voice strained. "See that it doesn't happen again."
"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed. "Now that that's sorted, let's share a toast, shall we? The mead really is superb, and we have so much to…"
The rest of his words were drowned out by a commotion on the other side of the room. Harry whipped his head around, a thrill shooting through him as he saw what was happening.
"That looks like it hurts," Luna whispered.
"Professor Slughorn," Filch said as he approached. "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party…"
Harry barely heard the rest. He was too busy watching Draco, who looked positively livid as he pulled free from Filch's pincer like grip.
"All right, I wasn't invited! I was trying to gate crash, happy?"
"No, I'm not! You're in trouble, you are!"
Unfortunately, Filch wasn't given the chance to punish Draco. Slughorn came to his defense, giving him permission to stay at the party. That wasn't surprising, of course, nor was Filch's obvious disappointment. But why did Draco still look furious?
Harry didn't know, but that wasn't half as odd as Snape's expression. The way he looked at Draco… was that fear in his eyes?
Just like that, the moment was gone, almost as if it had never happened at all. Draco thanked Slughorn, the two of them engaging in polite conversation as Snape's face smoothed out into a bland mask. Had Harry imagined what he'd seen? Maybe…
"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape said abruptly.
"I'll be back in a bit, Luna. Bathroom."
Slipping under the Invisibility Cloak was the easy part. The corridor was deserted, giving him the perfect opportunity to do so without being seen. Eavesdropping on Snape? That wasn't so simple. In the past, he would've done it without hesitation, but now…
For a moment, he just stood there, thinking back over the past few months. Going easy on him in detention? Giving him extra training? Better grades and fewer punishments, accepting his apology…
Snape was trying. Whatever his reasons, he really was trying to be less nasty. Did Harry want to pay that back by spying on him?
No, not really. But Draco…
Draco was another story.
With that thought, he took off down the corridor, pressing his ear against one door after another. He was close to giving up when he heard it – a slight shuffle, followed by the low murmur of voices.
"Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"
"I'm not trying to conceal anything from him. I just don't want you butting in!"
Harry crouched down, pressing his ear against the keyhole. From what he could gather, Draco was working for Voldemort, just as he'd suspected. Snape was trying to get involved… to stop him, maybe? That would explain why Draco was being so defensive, to the point of lashing out at his favorite professor.
"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference?"
For a moment, Harry felt better. Now that Snape was involved…
"Listen to me," Snape hissed. "I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco…"
What did that mean? Why had Snape promised to protect him? Why hadn't he told Dumbledore or at least some of the other professors? If he knew Draco had become a Death Eater, that he was planning something terrible…
"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you…"
Why was he acting like he wanted Draco to get away with it?
"It's an act that is crucial to success, Draco! Where do you think I would've been all these years if I hadn't known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught…"
Harry barely managed to move aside when Draco stormed out, still sitting there stunned as Snape emerged a few minutes later. He stared up at the hook nosed profile, wondering how he could've been so stupid.
This was Snape. Snape, a man he'd despised for years, and for good reason. Snape, who until recently, had never been anything but cold, harsh, and unforgiving. So harsh, in fact, that Harry had interpreted his more neutral behavior as a sincere attempt at improvement.
It wasn't. He knew that now. Snape always had an ulterior motive, which usually came down to making his life miserable. Why should this be any different?
Just like that, his fragile trust was replaced by growing suspicion. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe Snape was planning to hand him over to Voldemort. Or maybe he knew Draco's plan had something to do with Harry and wanted in on the fun? Either way, he was obviously trying to wear him down, catch him off guard so he could…
Harry pushed himself to his feet, sighing heavily as he did so. He trudged down the hall, trying to muster up a sense of anger or hatred, but it didn't work. As pathetic as it was, all he felt was… disappointment. Despite everything, he really had hoped…
Well, it didn't matter now. The point was, he should've known better.
Severus allowed himself a single glass of mead, gulping it down before he excused himself from the party. He headed straight to his office, warding the door as he sank into his chair with a shuddering sigh.
"Yeah? Well, maybe I would've learned more if you hadn't been such a git."
Harry was right. Of course he was, though Severus hadn't been in any position to agree. He'd had no choice but to keep up the act, snarling at his son and threatening him with detention.
It hadn't been easy, made that much harder when Slughorn had drawn comparisons to Lily. Not just Lily, but Severus himself. Sharp tongued? Adept with potions? Was it possible that Harry had inherited the latter, only to be stifled by Severus's own teachings?
"Draught of Living Death – never had a student produce finer on a first attempt!"
And what had Severus felt in that moment? What had he said?
"I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."
He hadn't meant it as an insult, though he could see why Harry had interpreted it that way. The anger in his voice, underscored by disgust? Harry couldn't have known it, but every bit of that had been directed at himself.
Indeed, he was a git. Not only a git, but a failure. If he'd only known…
That thought was a constant in his mind, one that occurred to him whenever he thought back over the first five years of Harry's schooling. So many regrets, countless things he'd do differently if given the chance. But of course, he didn't have that option. Life was cruel that way.
"I'm sorry."
And that was the cruelest part of all. That Harry would feel the need to apologize, as if any of this was his fault? Monstrous.
Then, of course, there was Draco. Severus couldn't help seeing the parallels, prevented from learning the truth when it might actually make a difference. In all likelihood, he'd be left in the dark until it was too late, making countless mistakes along the way. So infuriating, so goddamn bloody futile…
He grabbed a piece of parchment, snatching his quill out of the inkwell. Furiously, he began to write, not stopping until he'd signed his name with a flourish.
Headmaster,
I must speak with you the moment you return. I will not say why, but it is of the utmost importance.
Severus
Three months. Three bloody months, and Dumbledore still hadn't bothered to arrange a meeting. Meanwhile, Severus was furious, not helped by a number of unpleasant developments. Ron Weasley's poisoning? Changes in Harry's behavior?
Frankly, it was the latter he found more disturbing. Before Slughorn's party, Harry had seemed receptive to Severus's attempts at peacemaking. Since he'd returned from winter break? He'd been standoffish, bordering on hostile more often than not. He'd taken to skipping their private lessons, and to make matters worse, he made a point of misbehaving in class.
"20 points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."
Severus had to punish him. What choice did he have? He couldn't afford leniency, particularly when his Slytherins were watching. His only option was to act like his old self, the self he hated, deepening the divide between him and his son.
What happened? It wasn't supposed to be like this. Last fall… the tentative peace, all those little things he'd been able to do without arousing suspicion? He'd come to rely on them. True, it wasn't on the level he might've wanted, but the occasional compliment, treating Harry with respect when no one else was around to question why? Moments like that had soothed his conscience, allowing him some small way to make amends before it was too late to do so.
Try as he might, Severus couldn't figure out what had changed. As usual, he had more questions than answers, made worse by the fact that he was swiftly running out of time.
Headmaster, I need to speak with you. It cannot wait much longer.
Dumbledore was in residence. That was the most infuriating part. He'd had several private meetings with Harry, had even attended the evening meal on more than one occasion. Yet all the while, he had no time for Severus. Just a few quick messages to confirm that nothing was amiss with Voldemort.
Severus had started to suspect that Dumbledore's avoidance was intentional. But then finally…
It seems I'm free this evening. Shall we meet for a walk?
By then, Severus's sense of urgency was unbearable. He left the castle more than an hour early, pacing beside the lake as he waited for the headmaster to arrive.
"Good evening, Severus. Lovely evening, isn't it?"
Somehow, he endured a few minutes of small talk. Mindless chatter about the weather, progress of various students… he gritted his teeth until he could bear it no longer, demanding to know what Dumbledore's private meetings with Harry were all about.
"I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it's too late."
"Information," Severus echoed. "You trust him… You do not trust me."
"It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time."
Yes, Dumbledore's time was limited. But had he ever considered that others were living on borrowed time as well? None of them had the luxury of being cryptic at this late date. If he was going to help his son…
"Why may I not have the same information?"
Maddening. Beyond infuriating. Putting his life on the line at Dumbledore's behest, only to have it implied that he couldn't be trusted? That was really what Dumbledore was saying, whether he admitted it or not. Had it never occurred to him that Severus's impenetrable mind was what kept him alive? Had he been the least bit vulnerable in Voldemort's presence, he would've been dead long ago.
As for the connection between Harry and Voldemort's mind… or souls, according to Dumbledore… he had no idea what to make of that. Just more cryptic nonsense, when what he needed was a straightforward explanation.
"After you have killed me, Severus…"
"You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me! You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!"
Changing his mind wasn't an option. Both of them knew that. Nonetheless, Dumbledore finally seemed to recognize the gravity of the situation. He sighed heavily, as if surrendering at the end of some long fought battle.
"Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you."
Be careful what you wish for.
Severus had wanted the truth. He'd never imagined what knowing that truth would mean. Everything he'd done, all those years of suffering and sacrifice, the agony of never quite knowing if he'd succeed…
"So the boy… the boy must die?"
To know that it had all been for nothing, an exercise in futility? He felt sick, praying to all the gods he'd never believed in that he'd misunderstood.
"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."
Occlumency had never served him so well. He managed to conceal his true feelings, tailoring his reactions to match Dumbledore's expectations. The truth… no, Dumbledore couldn't know. Certainly not like this.
"I thought… all these years… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily."
"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength."
The connection between Harry and Voldemort… a parasitic growth… setting out to meet his death? All of it amounted to the same thing, a deep, gutwrenching betrayal Severus couldn't even begin to process.
"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"
No. No, it wasn't supposed to end like this. It couldn't end like this. Lily's sacrifice, all the things she'd wanted for him… for their son…
"You have used me."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter…"
"But this is touching, Severus. Have you grown to care for the boy after all?"
Occlumency couldn't shield him from that question, a dozen emotions threatening to erupt from him like an exploding cauldron. All the things he hadn't known, a lifetime of regrets… in the end, his only solace had been the thought of Harry's survival. For Lily's sake, yes, but it was more than that now. Protecting Harry, keeping him alive… it was a gift to them both, the only one he had left to give.
To have that taken away…
"Expecto Patronum!"
Dumbledore saw what he wanted to see, which amounted to what Severus was willing to show him. The rest of it… well, Dumbledore wasn't the only one who could keep secrets. He'd go to his grave without ever knowing the truth, never understanding just how deep his betrayal ran. False pretenses, broken promises, all those wasted years… that was terrible enough. For him to know that it was Severus's own son he'd set up to be a sacrifice, that he'd been able to use Severus himself to orchestrate such a plan? Never.
Severus wouldn't remember the rest of their conversation. He didn't know how he made it back downstairs, nor could he recall anyone he might've encountered along the way. The next thing he knew, he was in his own quarters, sitting in his armchair in front of the fire.
"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him…"
His son, Lily's son, was fated to die. Not only that, but it seemed Severus himself would have to tell him so. That would be after he killed Dumbledore, of course, after he destroyed even the most remote possibility that Harry would ever look on him with anything but hatred. Why not just murder the boy himself? That would be no more cruel than what he was obligated to do.
"Gone… dead…"
"Is this remorse, Severus?"
"I wish… I wish I were dead…"
All those years ago… he'd meant what he'd said. Indeed, he might've found a way to end it were it not for those faint tendrils of hope, offered by Dumbledore in his lowest moment. Dumbledore… the very same person who'd stripped that hope away.
Now there was nothing, plunging Severus back into a despair he hadn't felt since the night Lily died. He couldn't even weep this time, couldn't do anything but draw in a breath, another and another and another, wondering why he bothered. What was the point? If he couldn't redeem himself, couldn't even keep Harry alive…
He'd failed. Unintentionally, perhaps, but a failure nonetheless. To go on living meant nothing more than seeing that failure through to its bitter, inevitable conclusion.
"Accio, Lily's box."
He couldn't read the letters. Not this time. All the hopes she'd had for herself, for him and their son, dreams that would never come true? It was too much to bear. All he could do was look at her face, filled with contentment as she cradled their son. It occurred to him then that she'd never given up, never lost hope, not even when facing her own death. That night in Godric's Hollow…
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl…"
Severus had only touched on that memory once, a mistake he'd been careful not to repeat. Now he forced himself to face it, dredging it up from the deepest recesses of his subconscious.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"
Mercifully, it wasn't a visual memory. All he heard was Lily's voice – desperate, pleading, ripping at his heart like a thousand tiny daggers. But there was something else there, too. Certainty. Determination. She hadn't cared whether her death would be futile, nor had it mattered whether Harry would be killed just a few seconds later. She'd still gone through with it, simply because it was the only thing she could do. Yet even at that very last moment… somehow, Severus knew she'd still hoped for Harry's survival.
Was he capable of that kind of faith? Probably not. He was too pessimistic, too cynical, scarred by a lifetime of disappointment. Nonetheless, he had to try. He owed it to her, to Harry, perhaps even to himself. If there was even the slightest chance…
He couldn't give up. It was as simple as that.
