Too much brandy. Severus could feel that with every throb of his temple. Far too much, and far too little water, and fool of him not to take a hangover cure, what had he been thinking….
And then the details began to swim back to him, along with physical awareness of things beyond the sharp hammering behind his eyes. He was on his couch, not in his bed. Fully clothed still, for he could feel the heaviness of his robes draped around him.
And it was over. Everything. He'd managed to dull the bone-deep pain the previous night, but now it all came rushing back, pinching his throat closed, seizing his lungs tight like a crushing fist. Ruined, ruined, ruined. What in the hell had he been thinking, tormenting Potter like that?
She would never speak to him again. Not him, Severus, her friend, her lover, her… her husband. Perhaps to Professor Snape, or Potions Master Snape if she were really in a bind and in need of a delicate brew. Yes, she might eventually bring herself to address him in a professional capacity, and she certainly would be staring coolly at him in the Headmaster's office for their inevitable meeting the next week. But all the lines of contact that mattered had been cut—burned, even, to ash.
It was unfathomable, the way that Severus felt so very unanchored. As if the sun had imploded, leaving the entire solar system adrift in a cold dark vacuum. Unfathomable, the way the numbness played over the pain like roiling waves. Alternately, he seemed to feel all too much, and all too little.
He pried one eye open. Well. Nothing for it, he thought bitterly. It wouldn't do for Albus to pop by and find him in this state. Not that he gave a damn about shame, but the old codger's response—sympathy mixed with disapproval and disappointment—would likely be enough to drive him into a froth, possibly a homicidal rage. And he would not have the murder of Albus Dumbledore on his hands, not at a time like this.
So it was with a great deal of reluctance that Severus steeled himself and mustered up the energy to force himself up into a sitting position. He muttered the appropriate accio, just barely managing to catch the Headache Draught that came flying at him from his bathroom. He tore the cork out with his teeth and downed the glass vial in one go, sighing in slight relief as the cool sensation poured through his temples, eliminating at least his physical pain.
He rubbed his eyes, wincing at the crustiness there. How long had he slept? When, precisely, had he reached his limits last night and slumped into unconsciousness? The charmed windows along the walls of his dungeon quarters were of no use; they were spelled to display pleasant landscapes during the daytime, not necessarily ones that corresponded to their location in Scotland.
Severus decided to steal a glance at his watch, though he knew almost immediately that it would be of no real use. Stupid wizarding contraption. Time for a shower, indeed. He should have exchanged it for a reliable timepiece all those Christmases ago, Albus' feelings be damned.
He ran a hand through his hair, an instinctive gesture. Oily, he thought. Oilier than he preferred these days. Maybe that shower….
Oh, what was the point? The despair came crashing back over him, stealing the air from his lungs, leaving him scarcely able to draw breath. What was the point of anything? What did he have before him now, anyway? A lonely stretch of years, hundreds upon hundreds of days like this, dragging himself from his bed, or up from the couch, only to lose himself to the pain of knowing that everything he'd built with Lily, everything he'd hoped for, every dream he'd secreted away since childhood, was gone now.
And he was squarely to blame. Yes, he'd sabotaged himself yet again. The Dark Mark hadn't been enough of a terrible mistake, oh no, he had to go and drive every last bit of light out of his life with his own failings.
Severus buried his face in his hands. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go on knowing what he'd had. Had it been just yesterday that he'd woken up beside Lily, her body nestled against his? Yesterday only that he'd stolen a kiss before breakfast, tasted the honeyed Lady Earl Grey blend she preferred lingering on her lips?
And Potter. Why couldn't Severus have reached his resolution sooner? Why had he waited so long, allowed himself to get so carried away? If only he'd realized sooner how pointless it was to be so cruel and unapproachable. If only he'd appreciated the boy's efforts right away, if only he'd understood that Lily's son hadn't been trying to drive him off. Too late, though. Potter still hated him, would likely always hate him.
And even Potter couldn't soften Lily's heart, couldn't change her resolve. He'd seen it blazing in the depths of those stunning green eyes. She was as angry at herself as she was at Severus. Guilt and wrath, a potent combination. She would distrust Severus too deeply to ever allow him another chance to wound her, and even if that were not true, she would distrust herself and her own judgment too much to ever bring herself to give someone that chance. Likely even to a perfect stranger.
No, he'd seen to it that Lily would shut herself off so that she could not make so grievous an error again, so that her son could never be tormented or ridiculed by someone she held dear.
Ha. His memories were blurry, but Severus was certain he'd written the boy some kind of drunken, rambling apology the night before. One that would never see the light of day. Oh, but it would be amusing to see what he'd scrawled out in his maudlin brooding. He was certain the phrase your fucking father made an appearance somewhere, along with a few more creative epithets for the late James.
Yes, burning that mess was at the top of the day's to-do list.
Severus gave his temples one final rub before forcing himself to his feet. Water, he decided, then he would brush his teeth. Then perhaps some plain toast, if he could stomach that, and a cup of weak tea. Hopefully he would be in some sort of shape to face his students on Monday. If not, well, the little cretins already knew not to cross him. Once he snapped hard enough to reduce one of them to tears, the rest would fall into line. That he knew from experience.
He glanced cursorily around his quarters, trying to assess whether or not he'd made a true mess the night before. He could only vaguely recall his state of mind, and he knew that it was not unthinkable for him to have smashed a few things. Hopefully nothing too valuable.
No, everything seemed to be relatively sorted. Good. At least he'd retained some semblance of control.
Then he spied it. The envelope lying on the ground before the hearth, as if it had been Flooed through. Tricky business, as the magical currents of the Floo normally destroyed anything as delicate as parchment. It would take a strong wizard or witch to cast the necessary charms….
His breath hitched as his brain finally made the leap. Yes, very few witches or wizards were capable of such Charm work. Fewer still who would have any reason to send him personal correspondence.
Lily. So this was it, then, the official unraveling of every last good thing in his life. Likely a frostily-worded, curt letter informing him of her intentions to start divorce proceedings, advice to engage the services of a solicitor, etc. Oh, how that swift decision cut him.
Because he'd been nursing deep within his subconscious the secret hope that this still might be salvaged. It would have been ugly and difficult, an uphill battle—much like his attempts to crawl back into her life ever since their grand falling-out after Hogwarts. But still, he'd thought that it could be done, even if it took years and years, as it had the last time. Even if he had to write her letters every week that he knew damned well she wouldn't read. Eventually, he'd thought, her forgiving nature would win out….
But for this letter to come so swiftly, this blank letter with no name on the envelope, no personal touch. She'd cut him from her life, and she'd done so thoroughly.
Severus ignored it. He couldn't bring himself to pick it up, not yet. So he bumbled about, conjuring himself some water, then shambling into the bathroom for a long shower. Afterwards he called an elf for his light breakfast and picked his way through it slowly, even though every bite tasted like ash against his tongue.
Finally he could stand it no longer. Straightening his spine, as if that could somehow prepare him for this blow, he made his way over to the hearth and scooped the envelope up. Heavy parchment, he thought. Yes, perfect for serious legal proceedings. He closed his eyes, but that only dredged up the image of Lily removing her rings and laying them down on the table, a scene that had been branded indelibly into his mind's eye.
Nothing for it, he told himself. And ignoring it would not make it go away. He would only come across as petulant or delusional if he delayed, or refused to respond.
He drew in a deep breath and carefully ran a finger along the edge of the flap, breaking the seal, then slipped the single folded piece of parchment out. Hands trembling, he unfolded the letter and began reading.
Severus,
We need to talk. My flat, 4pm. Don't expect to stay for dinner.
No signature, and the words were so very curt. But she would see him again. Even if it was only to discuss the beginning of divorce proceedings, it was far better than he'd hoped for, because she could at least stomach his presence. There was a hope. Slim, so very slim, but a hope nonetheless.
Merlin, what was the time? Severus fumbled for his wand and cast a quick Tempus. Quarter 'til… no, that couldn't possibly be—had he really slept so long? Hell and damnation, Lily was expecting him in a matter of minutes and here he was, lounging about in a dressing gown.
He hurried to his dresser and began flipping through hangers. Teaching robes, dress robes…. No, best to wear something casual, but respectable. Something that would make his posture of contrition very obvious. Nothing that would afford him any kind of distance. He had to dress down, to deliberately place himself in a vulnerable position.
What was he going to say? He needed more time to plan this, to think things through and decide what might convince Lily that he was truly repentant. And he was, that was certain. Oh, he'd kiss Potter's feet if it would undo yesterday's ill-fated coincidences. He might still have to prostrate himself before the boy—metaphorically, at least—before all was said and done.
But he would do it.
How could he excuse himself? No, he corrected himself hastily as he drew a button-down dress shirt out. Charcoal grey. Yes, that would do. Something less austere than his usual colors. Dress slacks to match, a slightly darker grey to provide contrast.
No, he could not excuse himself. He would not. He'd been a weak man prior to this, but no longer. He would own up to his faults and vow to correct them. He would show her that he did genuinely regret the pain he'd caused her son.
Potter. He'd borne everything so stoically. And what had Severus done in response? He'd pushed, prodded, picked at the boy, pressed him almost to a breaking point. And to what end? To make Severus feel like the bigger man, nothing more. To reassure himself that Potter, James' spitting image or no, had no power over him. To keep the boy in disgrace so that he could not be a rival for Lily's affections. He'd deliberately and vindictively targeted a thirteen-year-old. Shameful, reprehensible behavior.
Worse still, Potter obviously loved his mother very much. Severus was certain now that he'd only kept silent so that his mother wouldn't worry, so that she could continue blissfully in her new relationship. Contrary to Severus' initial impressions, the boy was anything but selfish.
Potter's devotion to Lily was moving in a way. Now that he was not deliberately blinding himself to it, Severus felt—well, not affection for his stepson, but respect. Approval. Because how could he fault anyone for such commitment to Lily's happiness and wellbeing?
If Lily proved intractable—likely that she would, considering the magnitude of Severus' betrayal—perhaps he could make an ally of her son. And they were already allies, were they not? In every sense of the word, regardless of the nature of their personal relationship. Potter was too young to truly be a part of the coming war, but eventually he would join the ranks. He was, after all, marked by Fate herself, and Severus was set—body, mind, and soul—in his determination to bring down his former master at any cost. Surely their love for Lily could bind them together beyond that, their bond as fellow soldiers.
After all, Potter had told him just the previous morning that he approved of their union. Regardless of his personal feelings for Severus, the boy would surely be able to work with him. And with Potter insisting to his mother how changed Severus was….
Severus finished buttoning his cuffs. He'd best hurry, he knew, if he intended to make it on time. He paused before the vanity, summoned the brush, and ran it a few times through his still-damp hair.
He studied himself for a moment. He was not a man given to bouts of narcissism, and so had little practice evaluating his overall appearance like this. But now it seemed necessary. Lily would judge him with her eyes first, even if she didn't mean to, and he would not have that all-important first impression be unfavorable.
He looked… undone. There was no other word for it. His skin was sallower, carved more noticeably with lines, especially beneath his eyes. And his posture. Oh, normally he held himself stiff as a plank. Not his natural bearing—well, it had been for as long as he could remember. He'd developed that posture young, a subtle way to mask his lower-class upbringing. It had gone hand in hand with the process of expunging his working class accent and every last piece of atrocious slang from his vocabulary.
But he could see none of that confidence now, none of that haughtiness that he'd so carefully cultivated. His shoulders slumped, slack, his arms hung awkwardly at his sides…. He relied on a sense of superiority and self-assurance to maintain his bearing, neither of which he had now. He felt very much like a man sucked dry and left to shrivel in the sun.
Perhaps Lily would take pity on him.
Well, nothing for it, he decided. It was time to reap what he'd sown. He forced his leaden limbs to make the trudge over to the hearth. Time to beg for Lily's forgiveness.
And he still did not know what to say.
XXXXX
Harry leaned against the door, ear pressed to the slight crack. He hoped his mother wouldn't notice. Though he figured that he was fairly entitled to listen in on this, however private it might be.
It wasn't as if he could sit on his bed, reading a book, while this was taking place, now, was it? His heart was already hammering in his chest, his palms sweaty from the single fear darting restlessly through his every thought.
Snape had better not screw this up. Harry had worked too hard to buy him this last chance. And too much was riding on the man learning to act like a decent human being. If he blew this, if Lily opened her heart and mind one final time to hear him out only to have him disappoint her, it would devastate her. And Harry couldn't bear that thought.
Snape had come through the Floo just minutes ago, and he'd yet to speak a word. His mother had been silent too. The tension in the air was so thick, so choking, that even Harry felt as though he were suffocating.
It was Lily who broke the silence first. "You look like hell, Severus."
Harry fought the urge to crack the door open to get a good look himself.
"I didn't think you'd want to see me today." Merlin, the man's voice was hoarse.
"I didn't," Lily replied frigidly. "Fortunately for you, I was convinced otherwise."
A long pause. Then Snape spoke again, his words even softer than before. Harry had to strain to catch them all. "I can offer no excuses, only apologies and promises to do better by you."
Lily snorted in disbelief. "Only by me," she hissed. "When Harry—"
"Better by you both. Especially Harry."
Harry flinched as he always did whenever his given name came out of that mouth. At least this time it wasn't warped with contempt.
There was no immediate response to that, only the sound of footsteps—light, likely Lily's—pacing across the wooden floor.
"Why?" Lily whipped the question out forcefully, angrily. "Why did you… how could you? He's a child, Severus! Not perfect, I know, but he's a good boy."
"He is." Soft words again.
Harry scoffed to himself. Oh, Snape was laying it on thick, pulling out all the stops for this dramatic performance. The man was probably fighting down the bile now, having spoken such vile words about James' spawn. Well, at least the man knew how to act.
"I was weak. Caught up in past hurts and insecurities. I… I saw only what I wanted to see. I saw James, ready to turn you away from me again—"
"You turned me away from you," Lily interjected coolly, not an ounce of pity in those words. "You, and your own actions and choices. I let you back into my life because you swore to me, up and down, that you'd changed. That you'd grown up. You told me you'd left your bitterness behind you. But how can that be, Severus? You deliberately taunted and ridiculed my child. Bad enough that it was any child, but you chose to inflict that enmity on my own boy, your own son by marriage. I cannot fathom…." Lily's voice grew rough, fading away with the strain of her last words.
"I was weak and cruel and vindictive. As I said, I have no excuses." Here Snape pretended to get a hitch in his voice, and paused before continuing. The man was masterful at this, Harry thought. Excellent dramatic timing. "I swore to be better for you, and I was not. You have every right to hate me, I know, every right to erase me from your life and your heart. I deserve it."
Harry hoped the man was on his knees. If he was going to churn out such pathetic lines, the least he could do was make himself equally pathetic.
"But I'm begging you, give me another chance."
Silence again as that plea rang out in the room. Harry rolled his eyes to himself. Snape was not making a very good case for himself. Not that there was one to be made, after all that had passed, but still….
"Why?" Lily snapped at last. "Why on earth should you get yet another chance?"
"Because I've learned. Because I… I won't hurt you. Not again."
Harry grimaced. Wrong choice, he thought. What a flimsy reason.
"You told me that last time. You swore to me that you would never betray me. I asked you then if you could love me, even though I had a son by James; I asked you what that child meant to you. And you looked me straight in the eye and told me that you would treat him as your own. And have you, Severus? Is this how you would treat your own flesh and blood?"
No answer. Not for a long time. Harry leaned even harder against the door, trying to slow the thudding of his heart. No, this could not be it. The man couldn't give up now. Harry hadn't suffered through the Potions Master's vitriol and general nastiness for so many years, only to have it come to this.
If he had to salvage this himself, if he had to be the one to go in there and beg for his mother's clemency—again—he would do his damnedest to make Snape's life after this a living hell in retaliation.
At last the man seemed to find words to answer Lily's stinging accusations. "Again, I offer no excuses. And you have no reason to… to take me back. What I've done, how I've acted… not only is it inexcusable, it is unforgivable. And I have known that, Lily, I swear that I have, even if I lacked the courage to act on those convictions, even if I lacked the integrity to change my behavior.
"I know I was lying to myself, justifying every petty act somehow. I told myself your son was a poor student, that my actions in class wouldn't matter, wouldn't affect his marks. I told myself that he disrespected me and resented me, and that everything I did was only to keep him in line and teach him that his actions and attitudes had consequences. I know I deluded myself. I've caused him great pain and suffering for no reason, and he has turned the other cheek at every opportunity. It pains me to admit that your son is… he is a great deal more mature than I."
Well, Harry thought, I am. But of course Snape was just stringing words together. Anything involving Harry was a crock of lies—pretty lies, but lies nonetheless. But at least these lies sounded good, at least they were persuasive and rang with what sounded like true conviction.
"And you tell me that you are sorry." Lily whispered the words, her tone dripping with skepticism. "But I ask you again, are you sorry that Harry has suffered? Or are you sorry that I learned of it, and that his suffering hurts me?"
"Both," Snape answered. "Though more so that Harry suffered than anything. I… I cannot imagine that he will ever forgive me."
Well, not when you're not sorry in the first place.
"He was the one who argued that I shouldn't give up on you."
Harry's stomach tightened painfully. Why did his mum have to say that? Why couldn't she leave him out of it? Harry didn't want Snape knowing how much he'd done to sway Lily. Hell, the man would probably only see a threat in that, the sheer influence that Harry held with his mother. Snape would read it as Harry flaunting that, perhaps preparing to blackmail his Professor or some other such ridiculous conclusion.
"That… does not surprise me."
Great. Snape's already plotting revenge.
"He has been more than forbearing ever since… ever since we began seeing each other. He is miraculously self-sacrificing."
Code for 'a manipulative little brat who will get his'.
Lily hummed in response. "Even after everything you put him through, he still found it in himself to speak charitably of you. I want you to remember that, Severus. You complain about seeing James in him, and I know—better than most, maybe—that the man had his faults. But if you think Harry shares even a handful of them…."
Harry heard Lily pacing slightly.
"He doesn't," Snape replied softly. "I have been willfully blind, I know. And I vow to you that it won't go on a moment longer."
"Even if I tell you to get out now and never speak to me again?" Lily inquired coolly.
Harry's heart leapt into his chest, even as his hand tightened painfully around the doorknob. No, it wasn't fair. He'd fought for the man! He'd done everything he could to convince his mum, and she'd seemed… well, reluctant, but open enough to the idea. Hadn't she? So where was this coming from?
He was nearly ready to burst through the door, but he restrained himself. Jumping into the middle of things would only make this worse. Who knew how Snape might react? If he lost himself and started yelling at Harry, all was lost. No, best to let this blow over, and then he could make a second attempt with his mother once Snape had left.
Harry could practically hear Snape swallowing. "Then I will go. And I will still do everything, Lily, everything in my power, to make this right. I will go over every essay, let him redo every practical. And I will speak to him with the respect he deserves. But words are cheap, I know." The shuffle of footsteps over the wooden floor.
"Sev, wait."
"I'm not… Lily, I know you must need time and space. I'll give it to you, whatever you need. And in the meantime I'll prove to you that I mean what I say, every word. That this time my promise to be better isn't empty."
Good, Harry thought. Very good. That sounded sincere, and Snape wasn't pushing too much. This might work. And if Lily decided to take him up on his offer, and let him do his penance from afar while he proved his worthiness, well, Harry wouldn't mind a few Snape-free weeks. Especially if the man meant to behave himself while at Hogwarts.
"Sev." The man's name came out as an exasperated sigh. "Stop. I… I understand why you acted as you did. That doesn't mean," Lily continued more sharply, "that I in any way excuse or condone it. But"—here her voice softened once more—"I understand. And we all make mistakes, as someone has pointed out to me." A pregnant pause stretched between them. Harry pressed himself even harder against the door, painfully so, afraid that he might miss something. "It would be pretty awful of me to forgive certain now-deceased parties multiple times, for multiple things, and not do the same for you."
When Snape spoke, his voice was far from calm and composed, the furthest Harry had ever heard it. It was rough and shook pathetically, and Harry almost believed it was from genuine emotion. Almost.
But he knew that Severus Snape was not entirely human, so he dismissed that notion immediately.
"Lily, I—I would not ask that of you. I would not expect… after everything I've done…." The man's voice died off a little. "I know that I have no right to ask you for that mercy. You both deserve better. Let me—let me prove that deserve that consideration, and if I do, then grant me forgiveness, but—"
Lily cut off the man's well-rehearsed self-recriminations. "You will prove it to me. I know you will." Her voice was hard, but not as hard as it had been previously.
Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She wasn't rejecting him. Good.
He should have been happier. But this victory tasted bitter on his tongue, even though he'd fought so hard for it. Because even if Snape reined himself in sufficiently, that utter loathing would still be there, simmering beneath the surface. He had sentenced himself to sharing his life—all of his private moments, his only living parent, the sanctuary that was their home—with someone who felt nothing for him but utter contempt. The man would likely still subtly—and perhaps unconsciously, Harry granted—exert a negative influence on Lily's opinion of him. And undoubtedly there would still be conflicts, large and small, and in the end Harry would be forced to cede to Snape and bite his tongue, because Merlin forbid the man to admit he was wrong to anyone but Lily.
Harry sighed and retreated from the door. He paced aimlessly in the crowded space of his room for a few moments before slumping down on the bed. He'd wanted this, he reminded himself. Fervently. And his wish had been granted, so now he would have to suffer through the repercussions.
XXXXX
Lily hadn't put the rings back on. It was the first thing Severus had looked for. He could not help it; his eyes strayed directly to that elegant left hand, sliding down over the knuckles and to that place where the ornate bands should have been. Bare. He tried not to let his heart sink too far.
He'd been a mess, he knew. There was no hiding his distress, no doctoring his misery so that she could not guess how destroyed he was. He hated the vulnerability of it, but he knew that there was nothing for it. Not only because he could not hope to offer a true apology while maintaining any shred of dignity, but because he was utterly incapable of pulling himself together.
It had been a trial, getting through that conversation. He felt so inadequate, so utterly at a loss for anything he could offer her. When she had asked if he was sorry for hurting Harry, he had nearly offered to fetch the butchered mess of a letter he'd tried to compose the night before. Certainly it was proof that he was an utter ass in more ways than one, but at least it would have been tangible evidence that he had thought about the boy, that he was not merely considering treating Harry better to placate Lily.
Thankfully his common sense had stopped him from blurting out that asinine offer. There was only one proof that would matter to Lily, he knew. He'd worked that out at some point during his drunken stupor the day prior. Actions—tangible, concrete actions—would be his only apology. He'd hoped to lay the groundwork with Lily, to get her to deliver an ultimatum before throwing him out today after their chat. To stop her from signing the divorce papers outright, at least. That was all he dared aspire to.
And then… then she'd said that she was not giving up on him. That Harry, blessed boy, had convinced her not to. How, Severus did not know, because he'd been certain that he'd cast himself far beyond any hope of redemption. But the boy had worked a miracle for him. And that had been enough, he'd thought. Even if Lily sent him away now, even if she said that she couldn't bear to see him for a week, or a month, it would have been fine, because she'd said that she hadn't given up on him, and that meant that there was still hope.
He'd expected to be dismissed then. But no, that was not all. Because Lily had told him that she understood. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant, because it was—what? A modicum of sympathy, when he deserved none? Kind words when he'd expected never to hear any from her lips again? He'd been hard-pressed not to start weeping at her feet then.
And then she'd gone further. Implied that she'd forgiven him. Even… even as much as acknowledged that she'd forgiven James certain faults and behaviors. She'd offered him forgiveness and implied that her deceased husband was not perfect in the same breath.
Severus could not help but briefly wonder if he'd never actually emerged from his drunken state, because this—all of this—seemed to be too perfect, too… too easy. Still, the world around him remained too sharp for him to believe that he'd fallen into a beautiful delusion.
So Potter had worked a miracle with his mother for Severus' sake. After everything, he thought, after the torment and humiliation, the boy had still chosen to pull him back from the brink. And that thought alone was enough to set the guilt boiling within him.
He would make it right with Potter—with Harry. No more excuses, no more half-hearted convictions. He would do everything in his power to erase all the damage he'd done and then some. Even if it took him years, he would one day have a relationship of mutual respect with the boy.
He'd vowed to prove himself to Lily. And her clear, brilliant green eyes had stared back at him in challenge.
Severus swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly gone dry. "I—I'd like to apologize to Harry. And then… I should take my leave, yes?" Merlin, he felt so weak and uncertain. One harsh word from her now would shatter him.
"I think that would be best." Lily spoke neutrally.
Severus dipped his head once in acknowledgment. Yes, she'd told him that she did not want him to stay. As well as things had gone, he knew that it would take time before things returned to normal. If they ever did.
"Severus." Lily reached into the folds of her robe and drew out a thin vial. Silver strands stretched and undulated within. A memory. She offered it out to him.
He took it clumsily, trying desperately to hide the trembling of his hand. "This is…?"
"My memory of what Harry said to me. About you. I think you should view it so that you understand… so that you can see for yourself how compassionate he can be." Lily cast her eyes aside. "I want you to get along for your own sake, Severus. Not for mine."
Severus clutched the vial tightly, feeling the smooth, cool glass as it pressed into his palm. He nodded once, jerkily. What Harry had said about him…. He shuddered to think what the boy might have unleashed.
No. He'd convinced Lily to give Severus another chance. There had to be at least some kind of… of absolution. Some degree of sympathy from him. Anything less and he would not be standing here now. No, he would be drowning in his drink again, more than likely, having convinced himself in his misery that the only cure for such a terrible hangover was hair of the dog.
In some remote corner of his mind, he noted that not so long ago he would have been irked by this, knowing that this memory could only reveal Potter's presumed "understanding" of his misanthropic Potions professor. Severus would have written it off as hubris of the worst kind, that of a thirteen-year-old boy presuming to understand the darkness and pain in his stepfather's soul. He would have scoffed at the mere thought of any kind of sympathy from Potter.
Now, there was a strange sort of relief mixed in with the dread that crept through him. Dread, because he knew that Harry had every right to judge him, and he was afraid of that judgment. Merlin, he craved the boy's respect now. Not grudgingly given, not the respect of honorifics ground out on the pain of point loss. No, he craved the boy's genuine regard. And here, in the palm of his hand, he had the truth—what Potter truly thought of him, spoken to his mother in the privacy of their own home.
But relief was there too, an undercurrent, because he knew there had to be some argument for forgiveness in that slender vial. And that meant more to him than he ever thought could be possible. Because, he realized, he needed the boy's forgiveness as well as Lily's. Not hers would not truly come before her son's, but because, in all simplicity, he wanted Harry's forgiveness.
Perhaps Albus had slipped something into that brandy. Because it seemed to Severus that imbibing it had transformed him in ways he was still trying to understand.
Maybe it was not so much the brandy as having genuinely hit rock-bottom. Well, hit it again.
"Severus?"
Severus glanced up, startled out of the chaotic vortex his thoughts had become by Lily's gentle question. She was expecting some sort of response. Of course.
"I will view it carefully," he replied quietly. "I…." He was at an utter loss for what to say. But he bumbled forward anyway. "Did you still wish to set up a meeting with me? As—as Harry's professor? I thought—to save you an owl, perhaps—"
"Friday," Lily replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "In the early evening, I should think. If that is agreeable?"
Severus nodded. "Yes, that will be… yes. I will make note of it. I usually hold office hours after four, when my last class finishes. Any time after that will be fine. Dinner is at six—though I am certain you remember—"
"Severus. You're babbling."
Severus felt a fierce blush scorch his cheeks. He was. Idiot, he scolded himself. "I… apologize." His voice came out faint and strangled. Certainly she thought he was a complete fool. He couldn't even bear to meet her eyes.
"I believe I once told you that I found it charming," Lily murmured, her voice a touch warmer than before. "That hasn't changed."
Those words made Severus' gut twist, albeit more pleasantly than before. He longed to take her hand and squeeze it, just to feel it tighten around his in response, in reassurance. He couldn't, of course; he knew that. Lily would not welcome his touch just yet. But eventually, maybe….
"Friday, then," Lily declared, her voice gaining back its professional tone. "And… perhaps, if all is well, I might join you and Harry for dinner in the Great Hall."
Severus' heart stuttered in his chest. It was not an invitation to an intimate dinner here in the flat, but considering that Lily was considering voluntarily sharing his company at all, he was not about to complain. It was nothing short of a miracle—yes, that was how he would refer to this series of events in his mind, for it was the only appropriate term—that she was the one suggesting such a thing. A miracle that he was not begging her for such a dinner—or much less, even—on bended knee.
"That would be… I would…. I mean, I should like that very much, if—if you—"
"Babbling, Severus," Lily chided lightly. A ghost of playfulness animated those words, though it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Go speak to Harry, if you will. He still has to pack and return to the Tower sometime this evening."
Severus nodded. "I will try to be succinct."
"I suspect you'll have more to say to him after you view that." Lily dipped her head at the vial still clutched in Severus' hand.
"Yes," Severus murmured. He slipped the vial into a pocket.
And now… he turned himself toward the boy's room. The veritable lion's den.
I have faced down the Dark Lord, Severus mused, and an angry Albus Dumbledore, and still the thought of confronting a volatile teenage boy has me quaking in my boots. He longed for a fortifying snifter of brandy, but knew that this was a conversation that needed to be had sober, painful though it would be.
Well. Nothing for it. Severus squared his shoulders, made his way to the light oak door, and rapped three times.
"Mum?" came the muffled inquiry from within.
Severus cleared his throat. He turned to steal a glance at Lily, hoping for some kind of encouragement, but she'd slipped off.
At least she trusted him alone with her son. That was almost unbelievable, actually. What on earth had Potter said to her?
"No," he responded softly.
The scuffle of footsteps from within, and then the door cracked slightly, revealing a scowling Potter. The boy's nose was wrinkled with disgust. "You. What do you want?"
Once again, Severus found himself at an utter loss for words.
A/N: Sorry for the long delay! This story is not abandoned (nor are my others, I swear to Merlin!). Yes, I know, we've all encountered the half-complete work with author's notes swearing up and down that it would be finished, only to find ourselves hanging and frustrated. I have absolutely NO intention of inflicting that on anyone. I will note, however, that I've been splitting my time between fics (I work best this way, unfortunately) and for the most part have been trying to concentrate on pleasing the most people. Snape's Promise, my other fic, has more followers, so I've been striving to churn out content for that. But I haven't forgotten about this little project, I swear! So I beg for your patience and understanding. I'd rather wait a while and churn out a good chapter for you than update like clockwork with sub-par fluff.
As always, thank you for your reviews. They are wonderful and deeply appreciated. It makes my heart happy to see that my scribbles are enjoyable. And thank you for the follows and favorites as well. Cheers, and à la prochaine!
To Acrylamide: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I know Harry comes across as super mature, but my reasoning is that Lily's depression left him in the position of caretaker when he was very young for a short time (more on that later!), and that has caused him to grow up super fast. Also, he's shouldering the legacy of his father, who died a hero protecting him and his mother. I think that, on some level, he emulates James' extreme self-sacrifice, and that is why he is so willing to put up with Severus' general awfulness.
As for your question on nature vs. nurture and inherent goodness... well, that's a lot to unpack. But I'll try to be brief. I believe that moral goodness is a construct that only has meaning in the context of society, so it cannot be innate. I question, even, the notion that pure "goodness" can exist. Altruism, for example, can be construed as self-serving, in that being seen to be self-sacrificing and generous can engender greater social acceptance and praise. Thus the altruistic individual is merely enacting a trade-off, personal pain and suffering for acceptance, approval, a sense of righteousness, etc. Applied in the context of this story, Harry isn't simply "doing the right thing" when he keeps quiet about Severus. He is choosing to protect his mother so that she stays happy, which in turn ensures that he doesn't suffer because of her depression/despondency. Or, if we want to take a more optimistic view of things, Harry cares about his mother and chooses to suffer rather than to see her suffer without hoping to gain anything from this trade-off. So, in short, I fall more on the nurture side of the debate (though I do still believe that we have an innate nature that shapes us). We're social creatures; we crave acceptance and approval, and thus our actions and thinking are shaped and influenced by our need to belong. Harry accepts suffering for the sake of others because he's had this example-that of his father-held up to him, and he's heard others be praised for it. He believes it is "good" and "right" (though I maintain there is no absolute "good", only that which is constructed by society).
Whew. Sorry for another mini-essay.