As promised, here's the next chapter! I quite like this uploading schedule of twice a week, so it will probably stay like this. I will PROBABLY post the next chapter on Tuesday, as I have a big test to study for on Thursday (Bleh, it's history.) Also, like, it's so ironic that I know pretty much everything about the HP fandom, including hundreds of characters and events and stuff, but I can't seem to memorise three chapters about real facts and events...

Anyways, that's enough of my complaining. Thank you, by the way, for over 7k views! This chapter is pretty long, and I struggled with it a bit. I hope you like it, and tell me what you think! As always, enjoy!

Ch. 23 - I Can't Promise You That.

The sitting room was bathed in the receding rays of golden sunlight, giving the room a cosy and welcoming atmosphere. Two wizards sat there, sipping hot tea and nibbling on bite-sized sandwiches that Nibby had brought them. Although it was dinner time, neither of them had much of an appetite for more than a snack and some tea.

There was a mutual, tense silence between them, making even the cackling of the flames in the fireplace and swallowing sound sonorous. Both were pondering deeply over their conversation a mere ten minutes ago.

Severus had learned that The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Defeated-The-Darkest-Lord-Of-The-Century was an emotional mess, wracked with guilt and grief over things that weren't even his fault, put bluntly. It was unjust, he thought ruefully, that since the tender age of fifteen months old, the boy's life wasn't an easy one. But, as Severus had known all his life, life wasn't fair; he and Po— Harry were prime examples of the saying.

During their conversation with Minerva and Kingsley, Potter hadn't so much as acknowledged his presence. Normally, Severus wouldn't have cared less, but he hadn't been able to deny the slight tinge of hurt he'd felt. His fear of P— Harry having given up on him had increased tenfold back then, and when Kinglsey and Minerva had finally left, Severus had been desperate.

Thankfully, he had managed to get the boy to hear him out, and things hadn't gone as badly as he had expected them to. He had apologised, in spite of his words being stiff and formal. He had never been good at apologies. Fortunately, they seemed to have left the matter behind them. Potter wasn't even 'Potter' anymore, was he? He was 'Harry'.

The name sounded foreign and untainted to Severus, the name of not James Potter, his childhood nemesis, and not even Lily's son; but of a boy of his own persona.

Severus had yet to make the foolish Gryffindor acknowledge the stupidity of his escapade the previous night, though. His apology had taken significantly longer than he had originally anticipated, but he wasn't a man to leave a matter half-finished. The conversation had been inevitable, and the boy had to realise that he could trust adults.

Though, said boy had never trusted them – that much was obvious. But who could blame him, really? From Severus's childhood years of knowing Tuney, she had never been one to show much love or compassion. So, clearly, P– Harry hadn't ever trusted them. And now, with the recent deaths of Potter's godfather, the werewolf, and even Dumbledore, whom Severus knew had cared deeply for the boy, it felt as though the universe was conspiring to make life unnecessarily difficult for someone whose destiny had been marked from the day he was born.

Oh, not to mention that the DADA professors had tried to kill him every year.

Adults kept leaving Po–Harry, so it only made sense that Harry didn't trust them.

And now, Severus was faced with a task he'd never anticipated to be placed with — offer Potter guidance. What other alternative was there? Yes, he wasn't a saint — far from it, really. But who else could understand Potter the way he did? Severus could definitely empathise with regards to guilt, grief, contrite, and remorse, but would never lie or sugarcoat anything, which is what the boy needed; the blunt truth in order to face reality.

Though, was he really suitable to give advice and guidance to the boy, whose parents he had all but murdered? The boy, whom he had belittled and tortured those years at Hogwarts? Severus Snape was not a good man. He had lied, and killed, and tortured — under the Dark Lord's orders, of course, but that did little to atone for these sins.

Still, the boy had little whom he could trust. Yes, he had the Weasleys and Granger, perhaps even Minerva… But it was just as P– Harry had said; they always sugar-coated the truth for the sake of consolation. No, the boy needed someone to hear him, listen to him… someone who could empathise… he needed harsh truths and acceptance, and this was something Severus could provide.

Still, that bout of doubt continued to mingle on his conscience.

And if this was a way of making it up to Lily, and upkeeping his vow in full, it was up to him to shake some sense of self-preservation into the thick Gryffindor skull; lest he wanted to experience the pre-heart attack feeling again when the boy would run off in the middle of the night again.

But was this even about Lily's son, anymore? Or was it about Harry?

And how would he actually get it through said thick skull? Reflecting on their argument that morning, it was evident that shouting, insulting, shaking him by the shoulders, or even snarling would only worsen the situation.

Over the past few weeks, he had learned that Potter responded best to civil yet firm language. Severus recalled how impactful Dumbledore's words were when spoken calmly and softly, with his piercing blue eyes penetrating his own gaze. He had learned from his mentor that a calm and controlled voice was often more powerful than a raised one.

Severus looked over the rim of his cup to see that Potter had finished with his sandwich, and was cradling his own cup close to his chest. He was slumped sideways on the couch, knees drawn up and back reclining against an armrest. Severus himself was back in his armchair.

Feeling they have been procrastinating enough, Severus softly cleared his throat to get Potter's attention. The green eyes — Harry's eyes, not Lily's — snapped up to meet his obsidian ones, and Severus's throat tightened a little from seeing them a little duller than usual.

"Firstly, I hope you realise exactly how irrational your little stake-out escapade was," he began, keeping his tone firm but calm. "Not only had you put the Weasleys and Miss Granger in danger, but you had also foolishly and thoughtlessly risked yourself as well."

P—Harry frowned and averted his gaze, remaining silent. Severus went on. "I understand your Gryffindor tendencies to rush headlong into danger but, by Merlin, have you no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?" His voice sounded almost exasperated towards the end. "Care to indulge me with the brilliant motives that had almost led you to having been an iota away from being driven into insanity from the Cruciatus?" He inquired coldly, the remembrance only making him angrier.

The Gryffindor looked up at him from his cup, an incredulous look upon him. "Haven't already answered that? You already know," he said dodgingly.

"Ah, but it was the lack of context which I found rather curious," answered Severus knowingly.

The Gryffindor fidgeted with his cup, swishing the tea around absentmindedly and frowning back into it. He was silent for a while. "I couldn't let them lounge around in Sirius' childhood house, and the Order's headquarters," Harry began sourly. "It would have been an insult to his and the Order's memory. Besides, they had Kreacher, and we thought he might have been tortured for information."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, but condemned himself to remain level-headed. You will get it through that thick skull of his through civil terms, he encouraged himself.

"Potter. There is more to that, and do not even think about lying to me. Yes, your reasons have merit but, surely, had things really been that simple, you would have confided in the Minister, or Professor McGonagall, if not in myself?"

But Harry shook his head relentlessly. "I— I can't tell you. Not yet, at least…"

Severus had just opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Begrudgingly, if he wished to earn the boy's trust, he had to respect his wishes and privacy. Oh, he would find out, one way or another, but it would take time. Instead, the man set down his empty teacup and steepled his fingers. He allowed for a change of topic.

"It seems to have slipped your mind that you could have summoned that pathetic excuse of a House Elf to check in on him."

Potter's eyes widened as realisation dawned in them. He suddenly stiffened. "We didn't think of that," he admitted, scowling to himself. The boy groaned in frustration, sliding a hand down his face.

"Yes, well, forethought isn't exactly something Minerva's cubs are renowned for, now is it?" he remarked dryly. "Just so, it is of no importance any longer." Severus made a dismissive gesture. "What matters now is that there won't be a repeat of such foolishness in the future, I presume?" he inferred testily, silently priding himself for the amount of patience he was having with the boy.

But when he was expecting Potter to nod, or, Merlin, even shrug his shoulders, the boy shook his head definitively.

"I can't promise you that, sir."

"And, pray tell, why the hell not?" demanded Severus somewhat frustratingly.

But Harry shook his head again. "You wouldn't understand, for sure."

"I understood the previous time, did I not?" Severus pointed out calmly in his resonating voice.

Potter made a soft noise in his throat that was reminiscent of a shrug. "This is different," he argued.

The air around them felt stuffy, and neither wizard said anything for a time. Severus contemplated his next, strategically and carefully-chosen words, whilst Potter twirled his cup in his hands, frowning into it with narrowed eyes as if in deep thought.

Merlin help me, if the boy is trying to read tea leaves, then his mental state is past the stage of no return.

Sighing to himself, Severus tried again, but with a slightly different approach. "Why do you feel the need to play the hero, P– Harry?" He prodded carefully. "And do not lie to me," he warned. 'I have my ways of knowing' hung in the tense air between them.

"I don't 'play the hero'," Harry objected, tightening his grip around his small cup. "It's just…" He pressed his lips together in thought, staring down at the floor. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle with himself for a while, as if wagering between a rock and a hard place.

Finally, he said haltingly, "It's just that I can't stand by and do nothing," he admitted quietly. "No matter how I look at it, all of these deaths feel like it is my fault — like I am the cause of all this, and am just sitting back and doing nothing about it."

He added quietly after a moment, "Like I'm the one who started all of this." The boy leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, and his head hung low, the small cup held with both hands. Severus could empathise with that completely, the same feeling of fault and grief; the feeling of helplessness whilst innocent people are suffering. Like he was responsible for the war.

"...Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?..."

"...Lately, only those whom I could not save!..."

Yes, he remembered that conversation with Albus well. The shock he'd experienced then, he'd thought he was going to experience his first ever heart attack. Severus had watched so many men and women die in his life, and he had always felt responsible for them, starting with his mother taking her own life. Severus had only been thirteen at the time, and Tobias Snape had enjoyed telling him how his mother had been fed up with him.

Of course, the feeling of responsibility and contrite had increased within him at his joining the ranks of the Dark Lord. As his trial, he had been ordered to do horrendous things to innocent victims, the memories still giving him no reprieve to this day.

Then, there had been Lily, and how he had relayed the overheard prophecy to his master. He was sure he would never live down that shame and remorse.

But was it really the way Harry felt about himself?

Severus then carefully asked, "And why do you consider it to be your fault?"

Harry shrugged, shifting a little in his seat, but continued to look down at the laminated wooden floor. "Well, for one, he'd marked me as his equal," he began matter-of-factly. "Later, he'd used my blood to come back to corporeal form, and killed people just to get to me– people had died because he was trying to get to me! And I could do nothing about it!" He ground out, knuckles turning white from his grip on his tea cup.

Severus was about to say something, when Potter's head snapped up and he burst out.

"He took my parents, my godfather, Remus, Dumbledore, and so many others from me, either himself or through other people!"

Severus felt his throat tighten when he heard Harry's voice slightly break.

"Even though he's gone — for good, this time — I can't consider this bloody war over until people stop dying or getting hurt from the remains of his army."

"…"

"I have to end what was started," Harry concluded after a long moment, speaking more to himself than to Severus, a determined glimmer in his emerald eyes. "I want to see every last remaint of Voldemort gone or put away in Azkaban. And it has to be me that does it. And before you argue, my mind is set, and I will do it regardless of whether you let me or not. I'm not a kid, and this is something that I have to do."

The words struck Severus with horror, though he wasn't sure why exactly. Perhaps because his younger self had once thought along those lines? He understood how Harry felt about the aftermath of the war being his responsibility. And if Severus hadn't been able to stop himself from joining the ranks of the Dark Lord, who was he to stop Harry from going through with this suicide mission, therefore putting himself into constant danger? The Gryffindor was too, well, Gryffindorish to not run headlong into danger, driven by grief and courage — two very deadly ingredients, the combination prohibited.

Courage often got people killed, and Severus shuddered yet again at the failed stunt Harry had pulled off recently. Yes, he was no longer a kid, but a grown wizard — by law, at least — and Severus had no control or authority over the boy's actions, so the best and only thing he could offer is his guidance.

But, in truth, wasn't it also the way Severus felt about things? He wished nothing more than to see every Death Eater — down to the last — put into Azkaban or dead. He had regretted joining the Dark Lord's ranks from the very beginning, and the thought of the vile remains of his memory roaming about repulsed him.

If he hadn't relayed the damned prophecy to the Dark Lord, countless people could have been saved, and he and Harry wouldn't be in the predicament they currently found themselves in. If one were to squint at things, it was he, who had started all of this. Had he not relayed the prophecy, the Dark Lord would never have targeted the Potters, which then essentially led to the rest.

So, wasn't it also his duty to end what he himself had started? Maybe this would be a way for him to redeem himself of his past sins and mistakes?

He could still protect Lily's son if Harry agreed to his help and guidance, which would technically be killing two birds with one stone. He would be in on the Gryffindor's reckless plans, and Severus would have more grounds on which he could intervene.

Severus knew that this was a dangerous path to tread, but he also knew that it was necessary. He could not let Harry face this alone, not when the boy was so set on seeing this through to the end.

Though, getting Harry to agree would be the hard part, really. Did the bot trust him enough?

Severus steepled his fingers neatly and fixed Harry with a most intinent look, one he would have normally given to his colleagues when he had something important to say. A look, which made clear he was not to be interrupted.

"Harry." He began, minding not to stumble over Harry's name, and continued in an even voice. "I can empathise with you completely, and am able to see matters from your perspective quite well, as well as understand them…" His words sounded very stiff and hollow to his own ears, and he inwardly cringed. "Allow me to accompany and assist you."

"What?" Harry appeared caught off guard, having probably not been expecting the ma to be so forthcoming. Severus held up his hand, silencing the boy.

"Indeed. I can be of valuable help and asset to you. Additionally, I know the way the Death Eaters operate. However," he said, his voice stern and unyielding. "We must cooperate. Under no circumstances are you to run headlong into danger without a proper plan or discussing it with me. I do not care how old you are; if we are to do this, then we are going to do this properly." A pause. "Are you amenable?"

"Yeah, but, why?" Harry asked confusedly with incredibility. "Why would you help me? Why would you even agree to this in the first place?"

Severus considered his answer for a long moment. If the boy were to trust him, there would have to be honesty between them. Of course, lying wasn't an option. Yet, he didn't wish to get into his reasons as to why. Instead he replied softly, "because your aren't the only one with the need to end what was started, Harry."

Understanding dawned in the boy's green eyes, and he nodded, a mutual, empathetic silence ensuing between them.

Harry suddenly sat upright, hands clasped in his lap, looking at Severus in a considerate way. The boy was clearly mulling over his offer, and, for a moment, Severus toyed with the possibility that Potter might burst out or throw a fit.

"I– Do I have to give you an answer now?" The younger wizard asked slowly.

Severus shook his head. "Certainly not. You may take as much time as you need," he reassured him.

"I'll think about it…Thanks for the offer, sir."

When Severus nodded his head in acknowledgement, Potter stood and moved towards him. "Can– May I have my wand back now?" The boy held out his palm to Severus.

Severus gave him a look that said 'don't make me regret it', and reached into his inner robe pocket. As soon as he presented the wand, Harry snatched it from Severus' hand. But Severus was most curious when the boy carefully twirled the wand in his hands as if it were made of glass, gazing at it fondly, before stowing it in his invisible wrist holster.

Severus just barely managed to contain a small smile from appearing on his face at the sight of his gift being used. It nostalgically reminded him of the time he and Lily would exchange Christmas gifts when they were little.

"And for Merlin's sake, Harry, there exist other spells aside from Expeliarmus," chided Severus exasperatedly.

Harry blushed, but shrugged, and then smirked at "You know, sir… It's kind of ironic how you taught me my signature spell."

Severus inwardly did a double take. His confusion must've been showing, for he elaborated.

"In my second year, remember? You were duelling Lockhart, and used Expeliarmus on him. We all thought you were, like, the most powerful professor in the school after that," he replied with a light chuckle.

Severus scowled, reminded of that blonde, fake bimbo, his lip curling. Of all the different professors over the last seven years, Lockhart was second on his list of most-hated — yes, Lockhart even surpassed Lupin, who was tied in first place with Moody. Delores, of course, was first and foremost on that list.

But, in all fairness, he had hated them all.

Ironic, how he was still standing after having taken up that jinxed position of DADA.

But the fact that Harry had learned his signature spell from him… He couldn't place his finger on what he felt at that moment… It was something akin to what he felt towards himself when he'd been elected as the world's youngest Potions Master. Pride?

Severus smirked. "Yes, and I also seem to recall feeling that particular spell used against me a year later," hedrawled, remembering the incident in the Shrieking Shack.

Shaking his head, Severus cleared his throat to regain Harry's attention. The boy's head snapped up, and he looked at Severus with a questioning expression.

"Sir?"

Severus stood from the couch, now towering over the younger wizard. He adopted his stern, cruel Bat of the Dungeons look and crossed his arms. To his slight disappointment, Potter looked unfazed by his menacing demeanour. Since when had the brat ceased being scared of me?

"Whilst I am flattered, it has also occurred to me that over your years at Hogwarts, you had scarcely faced any forms of consequences for your foolish actions and stunts. This stretches from the Troll incident in your first year, up until your escapade to the Ministry."

Harry glared at Severus defiantly, but stayed silent. "The Headmaster had always dismissed your putting yourself and others in danger and awarded points and his bloody lemon drops," Severus continued, half sneering. His voice then dropped to barely above a whisper. "That. Ends. Here."

"Excuse me?" The boy remarked, affronted.

"You heard me correctly, Mr. Potter." Severus confirmed. "Had I been your head of house, you would have been in detention until your graduation day, scrubbing cauldrons and cutting up Flobberworms, since expulsion had secretly never been an option in your case."

Harry scoffed indignantly. "I'm not your student anymore, Snape." He pointed out scatthingly. "We're both adults– I'm old enough to be in the Order."

"True, but consider it compensation for six years of consequence-free behaviour," Severus replied.

The Gryffindor scoffed and arched a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? And what are you gonna make me do, Professor? Scrub cauldrons?" The Gryffindor unknowingly sealed his own fate, and Severus smirked nastily.

"Ah, that sounds adequate, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked gobsmacked, and seemed too stunned for argument. With another pointed glare at Severus, he squared his scrawny shoulders and lifted his chin, arms still crossed. "Fine; have it your way." He acquiesced, muttering "Slimy git," under his breath.

Severus dismissed the comment good naturedly and smirked triumphantly. "Tomorrow, my lab, 10:00 AM," he announced. Then, in a taunting tone, he added, "You might want to wear something expendable, lest you enjoy Flobberworm mucus on your favourite clothes."