Chapter 23

At the first light of morning, Voldemort began to worry about his snake. It was Nagini's routine to go hunting in the woods at night, but she always returned to her master by dawn. As the day progressed and she failed to appear, he had to conclude that something unfortunate had befallen her. Had Snape poisoned her, in a last act of revenge? To be fair, she had been about to eat him at the time.

Voldemort was more upset by Nagini's loss than he would've expected. She was faithful and she never complained or questioned his orders. Even Bellatrix second-guessed him every now and then, and she was his most trusted Death Eater. Voldemort was sad that he might never see Nagini again, and he supposed that was a sensation similar to love, but he wasn't sure. He was certain, however, that losing a part of his soul was far worse than losing his reptilian friend. That made him very angry indeed.

As night approached, he and Bellatrix flew to Azkaban. It was pathetically easy to coax the Dementors into letting them blow a hole through the wall. All of the freed prisoners accompanied them back to Malfoy Manor, where a filthy, emaciated, and shaken Lucius Malfoy was reunited with his family. They were ecstatic to be together again, even if their home had become a boarding house for Death Eaters.

Snape was in the middle of giving Harry a dueling lesson, when the pain of being summoned seared into his left forearm. He sat on the raised platform and waited it out. Harry crouched down beside him and asked, "Worse than usual, Professor?"

"Three in a row means: we're going to war. He's signaling to those in Azkaban. The breakout must be in progress."

"Rufus Scrimgeour's only been Minister of Magic for two weeks, and all he's done is release propaganda that we're all safe, and that I'm working for them. He'll cover up the escape, for sure. We know from the scroll that Voldemort will proceed to infiltrate the Ministry, and torture him for my location. We should send a warning, even though it'll probably be ignored."

He took a deep breath, trying to quell his agitation. "Are you looking forward to your party tomorrow?" asked Snape.

Harry was surprised by the question. It was so unlike what he was used to from the man. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"May I give you your present now?"

"Okay," he answered, before he'd really processed what Snape had said.

Severus crossed to where he'd placed his folded robe and jacket. They'd been dueling fairly rigorously, and Snape had stripped down to a black, long-sleeved, crew neck shirt that struck Harry as very un-wizardly. He looked much less imposing in Muggle clothes, more like a bloke Harry could relate to. He was in good shape, not muscular but not scrawny either, with a sinewy grace that was more noticeable now that he wasn't hiding under so many layers of heavy fabric. If only he'd wash his hair, he could be handsome, Harry thought.

Snape took a parcel from his jacket pocket and returned to Harry. It was wrapped in green paper, and Snape handed it over nervously. Not wanting to draw out the awkward moment any longer than necessary, Harry gingerly tore off the paper to reveal a shallow black lacquer box. He opened it, realized that it was an antique picture frame, and that his mother was looking back at him. Harry froze, examining every nuance of the photo. Lily was standing in a field, a Herbology greenhouse visible in the distance. She was in a long, loose, white dress, which was moving just slightly in the breeze, along with her masses of fiery hair. She wore a garland of daisies like a crown, and was holding another garland out to the picture taker, smiling a bit mischievously. It was a candid moment, but a magical one: the sky was the moody blue-gray of early evening, and the sun's last light made her green eyes shine like emeralds. "She's sixteen," Snape said quietly.

Harry looked at him, and was again surprised, this time by his fearful expression, as if he were about to be hit by the Killing Curse. Severus knew his social skills were far from well developed, and he wasn't sure if the gift was even vaguely appropriate, but he'd figured that Harry ought to have it. It was something that mattered to him quite a lot…in fact, it was his prize possession, other than the form of his Patronus. He'd taken the photo only weeks before his friendship with Lily had collapsed. "Thank you," said Harry, studying the picture again. Then he quietly added, "She wanted you to wear the other garland."

Snape smiled. "Yeah, she did. Imagine if James and Sirius found me like that."

"You didn't do it?"

He shook his head, still smiling wistfully. "I couldn't."

Harry didn't feel like dueling anymore, so he went for a walk alone, and found himself drawn to the spot where the photo had been taken, where he gazed at the picture once more. When it was unfolded, the frame made a diptych: the right side held his mother's image, the left was blank except for a beautiful painting of a lone white lily, fragile against the black background. He was sure that Snape had painted it himself. Harry noticed a small groove in the panel, and pried at it gently with his bitten thumbnail until it opened, revealing an assortment of papers within. They turned out to be letters, written by his mother to Severus during the summer holidays when he was at Spinner's End. The contents were light-hearted and playful, a bit flirtatious, and a little silly, considering that Lily was spending her summers just across the woods at her family home. One letter began: "So, I know I just saw you five minutes ago, but when I got home my room was infested with Nargles, and you're the only one I trust to get them out." Another stated: "Confunded Petunia and she got nice for a while. Thought you'd like that, but don't get any Ideas." One had a slightly different tone. "Sev. You have to stop being an arsehole to my sister. You're my best friend, but honestly. She's my blood. You may as well have flung those thorns at me. I guess I forgive you though. xoxo, L." There were also a few imaginary maps and some drawings, including a pen-and-ink of a sulking young Snape.

It was odd imagining his mother at sixteen, but it was a good kind of odd, like they might've been friends. Harry realized suddenly that he could go back and hang out with his parents, using the TARDIS. But what would he say? Would he warn them? Would they listen? No…as much as he wanted to see them, he had to focus on Voldemort. If he could help Tom Riddle, everything else would fall into place with a little luck.

As Harry put the letters back into the box, he saw a tiny envelope at the very bottom. Inside was a delicately braided piece of bright red hair, and a note that simply said: "I'm sorry." Had Severus or Lily written this, and when, and for whom? If it was his mum, he wondered what she had to be sorry for. Maybe he'd asked for a lock of her hair and she'd refused, thinking it too romantic or weird or something, and then regretted her decision later. If Snape had written it to Lily back then, or to Harry to be found today, well, he could think of many reasons, but he hoped it was the final apology, because Harry wanted him to feel that he could finally let it go. This item had clearly been important to him, and giving it to Harry was a sign that he didn't need to hold on to grief anymore.

Harry also considered that the braid and the message had nothing to do with each other, despite being in the same envelope: just another mystery that he would never fully understand and didn't really want explained anyway. He put the note back with the others and closed the picture frame, willing to let it rest. He stretched out on his back on the grass and stayed there for a long while, feeling very calm and peaceful, watching dragonflies zigzag across the darkening sky.