Disclaimer: see chapter one. And pretty much every other chapter if you want to know who these characters belong to. As for the Golden Sickle, when it's not being stashed in crazy trees by Helga Hufflepuff it belongs to Getafix.

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Chapter 34: Possessed Books? Ho Hum

Remus was studying his book again. It was right-way-up this time, but Harry didn't think he was really concentrating on it. Not with the floor show going on in front of him.

Arms folded across his chest, greasy hair straggling over his face, Severus was at his bristliest as he argued with Dumbledore. Harry knew that stubborn expression. Dumbledore was being remarkably patient in the face of it.

"I need to go and get it."

"Mr Snape, I simply cannot allow it. And that is absolutely the end of the matter!"

Or not.

Severus looked up and scowled at Harry, Lily and James, the scowl deepening to intense loathing when it met James. "Lovegood. Or Potter – whatever you want to call yourself. I need to see that Potions book again. You know the one. Now that I know where – when, I mean – you're from, I need to make a couple of additions."

"What, and set a trap to kill him?" James countered, stepping between Harry and Severus.

Harry rolled his eyes. "This doesn't concern you, James," Harry said. "Thank you for the thought, but now stay the hell out of it."

James couldn't have been completely stupid. He stepped out of the way as Harry walked forward. Lily put her hand on his arm and James' shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that the spells I wrote down were for trans-dimensional resonance. So I added in some extras that will be the opposite of helpful when you use them in the future."

"Oh."

"Don't trust him, Harry."

Luckily Lily elbowed James in the ribs and Remus coughed meaningfully before Harry could hex his mouth off. He was impressed by James' love for Lily, but it didn't mean he suddenly liked him personally… or could forgive him for how he'd treated Severus. And you'd think he would have taken something out of that room – like, not making a complete git out of himself when he's around Severus. "I guess some things aren't worth the paper they're written on," Harry whispered to James, who looked down and sighed.

"No, Harry, don't trust me," Severus said, mimicking James to a nicety – and making a mockery of any nobility of purpose. "After all," he continued in his more normal silky sneer, "I might just as easily slip something in that will smear your sorry carcass through twelve dimensions."

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I know I can trust him," Harry said, thinking back to the end of the whole Goblet of Fire fiasco when they confronted Fake Moody. Although the poisonous words Severus spat at him stung like, well, like poison, Harry remembered that time. "I suspect that, other than Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape was the person on staff you trusted most."

"Heartwarming," Severus sneered after the moment when his expression was far too open, "but hardly relevant. Your time is running out and the headmaster is about to Obliviate the lot of us. Badly, I expect. No-one can wipe group memories with the precision you need for this situation. Before anyone turns our brains into scrambled eggs you need me to see to those spells… and you know it."

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow mildly in Harry's direction, not taking umbrage at the slur against his abilities.

Harry nodded. He'd wondered about the spells – at least one of those written in the book in his time had been the dry potion to fix the temporal spell. Severus hadn't written them all yet: he certainly hadn't written the dry potion. Harry had been at the point where he'd considered faking Severus' handwriting and writing the spells and potions himself. "You can write up a temporal dry-spell potion?"

"Oh? It was a dry potion? I guess it would have to be, though."

"Yes. Can you write it in the next seven hours or so before I go back?"

"Seven hours? No."

Harry guessed maybe he'd broken so many laws by now it wouldn't matter if he told Severus how to make the potion… except that, when he tried to remember, he came up short. Sweat prickled around his hairline as he realised he'd done something wrong, and now he'd mucked up things so that Severus wouldn't write the book up properly, because Harry should have told him from the beginning so that –

"It'll take me fifteen minutes," Snape said, smiling that mirthless, triangular smile.

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Reluctantly, Dumbledore allowed Harry and Severus to leave for the library. They replaced Harry's disguise again to the relief of everyone, including Harry. Lily's eyes had gleamed as Severus demonstrated the spell. "You'll forget it in a minute," Severus said spitefully. "The headmaster will see to that."

"Oh, that reminds me," James said. He pulled the note out of his pocket. "Can I keep this?"

Dumbledore's white eyebrows raised as he read the note. "If you can't take your own advice, who can you turn to?"

Severus, trying to read the note over James' shoulder (while pretending he didn't care), scowled as James folded it with a snap and popped it back in his pocket. "Stop being nosy, Sn-ape."

"Now would be a good time to take that note's advice," Lily said sweetly, "and stop being such an arrogant, big-headed bully."

James rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He might have said something nastier to Severus, who was smirking, but caught himself just in time. "What are you looking at, Snape?"

"I could say 'an arrogant, big-headed bully,' but I think I'll hold onto the moral high ground a little longer."

Lily laughed and led James away to sit with Remus, who had said nothing during this. The young werewolf looked even paler. Harry wondered what Dumbledore and Severus had said – actually, he could guess. It had probably run along the lines of: 'Severus, promise not to reveal Remus as a werewolf.' 'No.'

"Don't worry," Harry heard Lily say. "Everyone will have forgotten this in a few hours."

"Huh," snorted Remus. "Do you really think so?"

Severus was staring at the floor again and so missed Remus' mournful look in his direction. "Are you going to make me forget the werewolf?" he asked. He looked up and glared defiantly at Dumbledore. "Because I think I'm going to keep seeing it in nightmares." (Remus winced again, and Lily bent over to ask him about the book in an obvious attempt at distraction.) "And then I'll go and get those nightmares analysed. No Obliviate can be disguised from a trained headologist. And then the real story about it will come out."

("Oh," said Lily. "It's metamorphic. I didn't realise. Fancy that." And Remus gave her the sort of exasperatedly fond look only occasionally given to well-meaning people who try very hard against the odds and deserve more joy than they get, while James was successful in resting his hand on the small of her back without getting it batted off.)

Dumbledore sighed. Severus' threat wasn't particularly well-concealed. "No. Harry said that you will remember. As will I. But some aspects of the event will be altered." He pulled out a small fob-watch. This one had only the one hand. "Hogwarts says that Harry doesn't have that much time left. I suggest the both of you go now. I shall keep these three company until you return. And then we shall call down Mr Black and… deal with matters. Harry – you said it is remembered that James rescued Severus?"

Severus actually bared his teeth at Dumbledore. "Don't even think it!"

Harry grabbed his arm, and was shaken off. "Come on. Time's running out. Severus!"

"Don't talk to me, you… you traitor!"

Severus stalked out, his robes managing a better approximation of the billow they would get with time, tailoring and finer fabric.

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Yes," Harry whispered, feeling like a traitor. "That's what is remembered."

"Of course. Why, young Mr Potter, do we create such complications? Well. There seems little point in worrying about 'what-ifs' when we have a 'what-a-to-do' on our hands. Go on." He raised his voice a fraction so that it would reach Severus, who was hovering just inside the door. "Do what needs to be done. Harry – both of you – you realise how much I am trusting you?"

"Yes. And you know both of us can be trusted."

Severus had that odd look on his face again, the one Harry had only seen briefly when he'd mentioned about how trusted he would be in the future. It was odd seeing him guardedly wistful rather than bitter. Snape had worn bitterness like knights of old wore armour; like James wore his certainty the world owed him for the grace of his existence; like Remus knew that one day he would be alone again and constantly kept himself braced for that day. Then Severus shook his head slightly and lank strands of hair fell over his face.

Harry trailed after Severus all the way to the little storeroom, where they got the book and (after Severus' threatened tantrum) the Sickle, which they kept wrapped in a cloth. Severus closed the door quietly and turned, his face set. Harry knew then that he would never return. Not in this time. And felt even guiltier as he followed Severus on to the library. But by the time they got there he was getting sick of being ignored, even if it was deserved. He hated silent treatments. He'd had them from Ron. And he'd been ashamed of himself in retrospect when he'd given them to Hermione.

Things should have lightened up a little when a book with the dust of decades on it leaped out to the end of its chain and tried to savage Harry. Severus whacked it with his copy of Temporal Dynamics for Dunderheads, which sent the book zooming at him. Harry pulled out the Sickle and slashed at the book. One touch of the gleaming blade sent the book tumbling. Harry leaned down to check the title. "Cerberus Unleashed," he read. "What's that supposed to be about?"

Severus sighed irritably and eyed the hole in the shelf left by the book. "Don't let any more of them get away," he ordered, and slunk away along another aisle.

Harry was left holding the book. Some of the other books on the shelves whispered and hissed at him, rustling their pages in their bindings. It sounded threatening, but when Harry lifted the Sickle, the books sank back. It was like watching a lion, Harry thought, and knowing that as soon as you blinked the lion would charge.

Thankfully, Severus was back quickly. Madam Pince was with him. Harry hid the Sickle in his robes before she could see it.

"…the same old problem," Severus was saying.

"Tsk. I thought we'd exorcised the last of them. Honestly, they don't have the sense to know that if they pulled out the foundations, the walls would pulp them, too. Thank you, boys. I'll take care of this now." The librarian looked around, half-closing her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly.

The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, glided through a shelf and passed through Harry's arm. Harry jumped at the cold, pressing against Severus, who shoved him back as if Harry was a leper.

Harry rubbed his arm where it had banged against a shelf. "What happened?"

Severus ignored him and stalked off back to their table.

"Possessed books," Pince said. "Again. They've got this thing for mischief. Old pixie spirits, or so I'm told. They tend to pull in some of the trickier monsters from mythology for help." She waved Cerberus Unbound as emphasis. "Well done stopping them – I thought they'd been dealt with and haven't been checking on them as often as I should."

Possessed books should have been a fail-safe opening for a discussion. But Severus, who was bent over several open books like a particularly literate vulture, told Harry to get back to his own research. And to kindly shut up so that Severus could concentrate on writing down the spells correctly. Harry went along with that for a while, but it was too uncomfortable to continue with.

"So…"

"I'm working."

Well. That was definite. And if that scowl got any fiercer, the little potions book was going to burst into flames – and paradox the future out of existence.

Harry managed to get a glimpse of what Severus was writing – but only a brief glimpse before Severus ran his fingers along some of the pages and sealed them shut. That was right – Hermione had needed to unseal some of them. But it would have been comforting for Harry to read them first.

That reminded him that he was going to see Hermione soon. And Ron. And Luna. That cheered him up. Oh, and Malfoy. That… didn't stop him from feeling cheered up. And it meant Severus was going to be dead. Harry, feeling like he'd just volunteered someone for a suicide mission (and hadn't he? Hadn't he effectively 'volunteered' many people by not warning them of their futures?) chewed on his lip. "Look. We need to talk. I'm sorry. It's important you know that, because –"

Severus slammed a book on the desk and snarled, "What the frigging use is 'sorry'? All apologies are are useless words! 'Sorry' means nothing. All the good 'sorry' does is to let the apologiser feel like he's actually made things better. Well, he hasn't. And if you're going to wallow in guilt, then good. Because if anyone deserves to get hell from their conscience, then it's you, you ungrateful little get of a syphilitic hound. And if by some infinitely slender chance you actually got your mother's good conscience in the genetic lottery, it sure as your father and his toadying friends deserve to go to Tartarus won't have come from that mangy, pus-ridden sack of writhing maggots which sired you!"

Harry wasn't sure what else he might have said, because Pince threw them out at that point. Even though they were the only ones in the library.

Breathing so heavily though his nose that he sounded like the Hogwarts Express with a full head of steam, Severus swept outside with Harry in his wake. Harry wasn't sure about the wisdom of going out into the open as there mightn't be any teachers or prefects to protect him from an enraged junior Snape (and, should Severus turn really nasty complete with wand, he didn't think defending himself and putting Severus back in hospital would be any more acceptable as apologies went).

Severus sat in a courtyard and scribbled in the potions book. Occasionally he would hiss a question at Harry and sneer if Harry couldn't give a precise enough answer. Harry sat on a low wall getting more and more miserable. Finally Severus snapped the book shut in one hand. "There. And don't you dare say 'sorry' again."

Harry, who'd been considering ways of rephrasing 'sorry', closed his mouth again and waited.

Severus went on, slightly more calmly (not that it reassured Harry, who'd seen Snape calm right before he erupted): "You're going and I'm going to have my memory wiped. So it doesn't matter what you say."

Harry winced. "It matters to me. And I don't want you to forget Harry Lovegood. I want you to remember that he was your friend."

Oops, here came that volcano.

"But he wasn't," Severus hissed, hunched over the book, his black eyes shooting sparks. "And he never even existed. Why, Junior Potter, is it so important for you that I should believe otherwise, hmm?"

"Because I'm tired of having lies pinned to me. All the time I've been at Hogwarts you've believed one thing or another about me. You've always believed I was some carbon-copy of my father. But you've never seen the truth. And now I'll go back and, and I won't be able to say to you, 'Hey, try and remember what happened in the past – what you did for me was really amazing and I'm really grateful and I want you to know what a good friend you were. And that I really wished I could tell you the truth but I was too scared to, because you would have crucified me.' But I can't do that…"

"…Because I'm dead…"

"Yes. Because you're dead, and even if you were still alive, you'd still hate me because, well, because you're you and you stopped needing any excuse to hate me some time in my first year."

"Why would I stop needing an excuse to hate you?"

"Because… because I'm a Gryffindor. I'm James Potter's son. And… and I'm like an allergy to you. And, truth be told, I couldn't stand you either. And if anyone had told me I'd ever incredibly and…and… and deeply regret the fact you were dead, I'd… I'd've told them to go visit the hospital wing for some dried frog pills. And… and right here and right now I've got the chance to tell you the truth."

"That you hate me and I hate you. That I can believe."

Harry buried his face in his hands and moaned in frustration. "Merlin, Severus, you're so set on the idea that hate is the easiest way out of everything… Why is it so hard for you to see that it's possible to actually have people who consider you a friend?"

After a moment's silence, Harry looked up. Severus was staring down at the book. "Because friendship is expensive. And it tends to come at a cost I would rather not pay. And because friendship is only a temporary truce between people who will one day use the weaknesses they discover about each other to find the best place to slip the knife in."

He stood.

"The headmaster is expecting us. The Sickle is an artefact of truth, Potter. You can't move it through time. The headmaster will have to deal with it – and he'll need it to make the best adjustments to our memories."

Harry looked up at him, but Severus didn't meet his eyes. "You're wrong about friendship."

Severus picked a fleck of lint off his robes. "And you're naïve. You'll find out the truth one day." He stalked off.

Harry's lips pressed together as he realised that trying to convince Severus of his sincerity was like bashing his head against a wall – the wall, in this case, being Severus' conviction that the world was incapable of holding any genuine tenderness. It was so frustrating... "At least I'm not a coward," Harry flared.

Severus' back stiffened. "At least I know what courage is," he breathed without turning to face Harry. "As opposed to mindless Gryffindor bravado."

Wisely, Harry decided not to argue.

That in itself might have been a form of courage – knowing when the battle was lost.

Knowing and dreading what was to come, Harry followed Severus back to the hospital wing and Dumbledore and memory spells and time travel and the end of any chance of making it right between himself and someone who had briefly been his friend.

This was absolutely the last time he volunteered for time travel missions.

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