Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Hey there, and thank you all so much for the reviews. I'm glad you are still enjoying the story.
For the reviewer, Yellow 14, whose family has Covid and you are now self-isolating, I am so incredibly sorry. I really, really hope that your family gets better soon, and that you don't get this terrible virus. You are in my thoughts.
As for one of my guests that reviewed, I feel awful for everything you have been through. I'm blind myself, but I was lucky enough to be born in an era where people with disabilities had a lot more rights. I was born in 1986, and I was also extremely fortunate to attend Overbrook School for the Blind, which is located in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania for much of my education. I'm really sorry that people didn't believe in you, and that your dreams of being an attorney were laughed at. That's incredibly disheartening and it makes me extremely angry. You didn't deserve that.
As far as redeeming Draco is concerned, I hope very much to not make the same mistakes as other writers do by causing the shift in character to happen too fast. When you say I am falling into the same traps as some other writers, could you please explain what you mean? I have nothing to work with if I don't have some context. I can reassure you, though, that any change in behavior won't happen in a fast fashion. I've read a lot of stories like that myself, and real life doesn't work that way. Of course, this is fiction, not real life, but I think even fiction can have its limits as far as characters' behavior is concerned. Draco's grown up with parents who are immersed in pureblood ideology, and Lucius has done some incredibly horrible, criminal, unforgivable things as a Death Eater. Draco will need to have lots of different influences in his life in order to see any other paths.
Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this chapter.
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Severus Snape was a man who prided himself on staying in control of his emotions. Unfortunately, he was aware enough to know that much of the time, he failed to achieve that goal. Many things could trigger him, and he would react without even thinking about what he was doing. There were times when he honestly wasn't sure how he had managed to come out of the war still alive. He had been more than prepared for the Dark Lord to execute him for treason to his cause. Every time he faced the man he had, as a foolish child, idolized, it took all his stoicism just to get through a meeting where he had to bow, scrape, and constantly show his loyalty. When he'd been initiated at eighteen, he'd worn his heart on his sleeve and let himself be manipulated. The Dark Lord had used his anger, his hatred, his grievances, his thirst for revenge, and he had molded it to his liking.
As a young Death Eater, Severus committed acts that he knew he could never be forgiven for, even when he'd practically thrown himself on Dumbledore's mercy. In all honesty, he'd expected to be thrown into Azkaban without a second thought. After all, why would the Headmaster care about him? Him, whose life hadn't mattered to the old man when he was sixteen years old? It was obviously more important for Lupin to finish his education than for Severus not to be triggered every single day just by the damned sight of those bloody Marauders. His trust in the man had been obliterated completely after that incident, but after Lily's life was put in danger because he'd informed the Dark Lord of that thrice-damned prophecy, he had no other choice than to go to him.
And now, all these years later, after he'd failed to protect the one person who'd ever given half a damn about him, Severus was still hit with triggers that rendered him unable to control himself. And last year had been one of the absolute worst years of his life. Lupin was teaching at Hogwarts, Black was at large, and he had to constantly be in contact with the living embodiment of everything he had lost. And, to add insult to injury, Lupin and Potter had a very good relationship. Albus had divulged the fact that the boy was taking Patronus lessons from the wolf. The way the Headmaster was always feeling the need to bring tidbits like this up was thoroughly galling. How many times had he told Dumbledore that Lupin was not to be trusted, especially in a boarding school full of children?
And, after the events of the end of the year, Severus didn't feel even a smidgeon of guilt about telling the Slytherins about Lupin's condition. He and the Headmaster had exchanged some pretty cold words after that; Dumbledore had not appreciated Severus's actions in the slightest. It was plain to see that he cared so much more for his sainted crop of Gryffindors than he ever had for him.
And Snape knew with certainty that Black's escape had something to do with both the Headmaster and Potter. Shame swarmed him when he remembered how he'd lost control in front of the Minister of Magic himself. Fudge thought him unhinged, and he was sure the Headmaster did as well. Even though he was ashamed of losing control in front of not only the Minister and the Headmaster, but Potter himself, he still couldn't help the anger that erupted inside him when he thought of Black still being out there. It didn't matter whether the story about pathetic Pettigrew was true or not - Sirius Black was still capable of murder. He'd shown his true colors at the age of sixteen by using one of his best friends as nothing more than a weapon to be wielded against his enemies. How the wolf had deigned to talk to him again after that murder attempt still floored Severus. Was Lupin really that weak, that needy, that desperate to have friends? It was truly revolting.
Focus on the present, Severus, the man thought to himself, and the venomous thoughts came to a standstill as he employed every ounce of his Occlumency in order to stop his mind from racing through the constant barrage of images and thoughts that suffused it. He only allowed one thought to come to his mind now: the face of Harry Potter, those green eyes expressing something he never thought he'd see from the boy. That same disillusionment, that same mistrust of adults, that same jaded, cynical look he had seen in the mirror an extraordinary amount of times.
He honestly couldn't make sense of any of the past twelve or so hours. It all had gone by in one strange, surreal blur. What in Merlin's name had he been thinking? Bringing Potter to his quarters had been a stroke of madness, he was sure. And why had he actually been civil to him? Had he truly forgotten the disrespect, the cheek, the pure arrogance of the boy? Had he forgotten that Potions class of only several days ago, when Potter had had the gall to show himself up in front of the entire class, spitting insults at a teacher he should show respect to?
Severus Snape had honestly never been so confused or conflicted in his entire life. He was having a hard time thinking of the boy from last night and this morning as the same person who always forced the man's hatred and ire to rise to the surface like bile. Even this morning, when the child had displayed his usual tendency of throwing insults, there was something different about it. For just an instant, Severus had seen the unshed tears in Potter's emerald eyes before he'd blinked them back. He recognized that cornered, trapped expression in those eyes, as if he was a wild animal looking for escape, using teeth and claws to defend himself.
Severus thought wildly of how Crouch had pretended to be Moody using Polyjuice Potion. Had someone pulled the same stunt with Potter? Was the boy who stayed with him last night really Harry Potter? Was it even possible?
But the instant he thought this, his instincts told him that he was clearly losing his mind. The boy was clearly Harry Potter, but a Harry Potter whose open wounds were suddenly laid bare for him to finally see. But his mind, as it was wont to do, clearly did not like seeing this, because it once again reverted to the bitterness and spite that he so often felt towards the child. How was he expected to handle this on top of everything else? He was already cursing himself to Hell and back for missing that Moody was not Moody. All the justifications in the world couldn't take away the knowledge that he hadn't seen something so important.
At that moment, his Floo flared to life, and Albus Dumbledore stepped through it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Snape immediately scowled; he loathed how the Headmaster constantly did this - he thought it was perfectly all right to barge into his quarters without asking permission.
"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said, and Snape noticed that for once, his blue eyes were not twinkling, and he didn't retain his normal, cheerful demeanor. "I was curious to check on things after last night's events." He made himself comfortable on Snape's couch, which was located next to the armchair that the Potions Master was currently sitting in. Directly after Potter had departed, Severus had transfigured it back from the bed it had become, as if wanting to instantly erase any evidence that Harry Potter had set foot, let alone slept, in this room.
"What would you like me to say, Headmaster?" Snape said, his defensive walls erecting themselves around him, refusing to let this man past them.
"I would like you to say nothing," Dumbledore said, his tone gentling. Snape despised how this always had an effect on him - something about that kind look in the man's eyes now stirred up something in him that he desperately tried to tamp down. Why did he feel the need to show this foe compassion and kindness? He needs you as his spy, Severus reminded himself, because he knew with every inch of his soul that even though the Dark Lord had been thwarted for now, he would eventually find a way to return.
"I daresay, it was a difficult night for all of us," Dumbledore continued, still in that gentle voice. "But for young Harry especially."
Snape's hackles rose further. "Do not play games with me, Headmaster," he warned. "Your attempt at subtlety is failing miserably. Just say what you have to say, and be finished with it."
Dumbledore wasn't the slightest bit phased by Snape's tone. Instead he said, "Severus, I am aware that the child slept in your quarters last night. I commend you for taking it upon yourself to care for the boy."
Snape was instantly flooded with anger. He knew what would come when Dumbledore opened his mouth, but the confirmation of it still sent waves of hot lava through his body. "What are you implying?" he whispered, his voice barely controlled.
"I am implying nothing, my boy," Dumbledore said, and it took every ounce of Snape's willpower not to snarl at the term of endearment. "Only that you were able to put your animosity aside and make sure the poor child was all right."
"Potter is not all right, Dumbledore," Snape spat. The words came out of nowhere, and he immediately cursed himself for revealing such a thing. It would, after all, only allow the Headmaster's insane ideas about Snape's feelings to bear more fruit.
"I daresay he isn't," Dumbledore agreed, taking the news in stride. "But he is with his friends now."
Snape didn't ask how the old man knew this, nor how he knew where the boy had slept the night before. It was no surprise that the Prophecy Child needed to be monitored, after all. Snape thought of the mishmash of instruments in Dumbledore's office, and he wondered how many of them saw to the health of the boy he was molding to be a weapon in this war that would inevitably come upon the wizarding world.
"They will see to the brat's well-being, then." Snape tried to sound dismissive, his face morphing into his familiar sneer. "I imagine they will coddle him and convince him that all is right in his little world."
"Severus, do not do this." Dumbledore's voice adopted a stern tone now, a tone that always made Snape cringe. Whenever Dumbledore spoke to him like this, he couldn't help but feel like a small child who was being chastized for wrongdoing. It always made what was left of his conscience churn. "You cannot fool me."
In order to counteract the shame that welled up within him, Snape glowered at the Headmaster. "What do you want, Dumbledore?" he snarled. "What is your purpose in coming to my quarters this morning?"
Dumbledore's response was to gracefully get up off of the couch. "Only to tell you, Severus, that you should follow your instincts," he said quietly. "Talk to the child. Get to know the real Harry. Look past the bitterness that you have always worn whenever looking at that child. Remove the shield, and let yourself actually see beneath his looks."
"I do not need your lectures or your suggestions, old man," Snape hissed, his black eyes flashing. "Please leave my quarters."
"Very well," Dumbledore said, not sounding offended at all. "I will do so. Just remember what I have told you." And, without giving Severus a chance to respond, he threw some Floo powder into the fire and said, "Headmaster's office." Moments later, he was gone.
Snape got up out of the armchair, and began to pace the room. The nerve, the unmitigated gall of that old fool! How dare he ... how dare he tell him what to do! How dare he imply that he wanted anything more to do with the bloody Boy Who Lived! Last night had been a one-time occurrence. It would never happen again, never. He would not allow it.
But as the following hours passed and eight o'clock in the evening drew closer, Snape knew it wasn't that simple. The boy was coming for detention tonight, after all. What was going to happen when he walked in through Snape's office door?
Sighing, the Potions Master called a house-elf to bring him some dinner. As he sat and ate, watching the clock tick closer to eight, he knew one thing for sure - he did not want to find out. Because if he did, he had a feeling that his life would only get more complicated.
And that ... that, he couldn't afford.