That night, Harry couldn't let it go. He tried relaxing is mind in order to repeat his efforts to heal Snape. He tried to recreate the effortlessness and ease of connection that had caused such a successful effect in the first place. He'd only felt so smug about creating the injury because he thought he could reverse it. And Snape was not a wimp. However, this was a disaster.
He strained for hours, until he talked himself into getting some rest. The harder he pushed his mind, the more resistance he seemed to encounter. He kept it up until it felt like he'd tied himself into a knot of frustration. In bed, lying on his back, he slammed his fist down on the mattress. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't leave things like this. So he counted from one hundred to one, over and over again, until he established a semblance of calm, and began again, to visualize Snape's knee healing.
If nothing else, his magic had to understand his true intention, and that the first was a mistake. If he couldn't control it, then he had something to worry about.
In bed, Snape gritted his teeth against worming magic tickling its way through the bones and tendons of his knee. It felt as if someone were taking their fingernail, filed to a point, and trailing it between the joints. Not painful because of pain, but painful because of irritation and unnatural sensitivity. It was going on three in the morning and he had endured it for hours, certain that Harry would give up and get some rest. He could practically feel the amount of magic that the boy streamed into his efforts, consciously and unconsciously. That alone, could've kept him from sleeping. But it was the act of drifting off that lowered his guard and tuned him into the ever present occlumency connection, however faint, that persisted between them. The spell he'd cast to eaves drop into Harry's mind, with his permission, like a one-way radio, was growing weaker, but didn't want to let go. No doubt, Harry's wayward magic had a lot to do with it.
He had a mind to stagger his way to Harry's room and slam a pillow, full force, into his unguarded head to break his concentration. It was literally like having someone crawl around inside his body, and Harry had already proven that he didn't know what the hell he was doing. But something kept him from getting up. A part of him wanted to see if Harry could repair the damage he'd done. If he could not, then they had a bigger problem on their hands.
At some point, between Harry's struggle and Snape's perception, sensations began to blur and merge. As Harry's frustration deepened, springing liquid stress that pooled in the tear ducts and corners of his eyes, Snape assumed that his own body was now leaking involuntarily from the grazing inside his knee. It wasn't until Harry's entire body rejected his defeat by jerking as he pummeled the bed and screamed, "Goddamn it!" into the dark, that Snape felt his body wrack as he threw breath and magic out of his chest and into the air, practically sobbing. That's when he knew. Those weren't his tears at all. They were Harry's. Not only was he aware Harry's thoughts and visual faculties when he quieted his mind, he could hardly keep them out, but he was feeling Harry's emotions. Deep emotions.
This was even more disturbing than his knee and he quickly compromised his comfort by turning over on his side and blocking that precise state below full wakefulness, that allowed Harry's reality to reach him.
The next morning, Harry couldn't find Snape anywhere. His bed was made and Ash, in his home office, hadn't seen him leave.
"Great, he's apparated with a bum knee," Harry groaned.
"Hang on," Ash never looked up from his computer screen. "He seemed in good spirits. I think he's just gone out for some fresh air. He's not helpless."
Harry made a face. He wasn't about to explain the situation to him. "I'm going to look for him."
After surveying around the perimeter of the house, Harry hiked to the cave Snape inhabited weeks ago. The wards were still active and he had to fight his way past them. But once inside, a glance around told him there was no point in lingering. The place was empty. All of Snape's belongings were cleared. The furniture, shelving, books and paintings that had made it all so civilized and cozy, were no where to be seen. Only bare slabs of rock rose in the dim around him and he needed to use wandlight to see. The waterfall that he remembered, rushed in his ears as it poured from the deeper recesses of the cave. He followed the sound until he stood in the centermost chamber and looked up to see tier after tier of eroded and hollowed out balconies of bedrock. Some of it had occurred naturally, but most of it, he could tell, was done by magic. It had a certain style to it, reminiscent of the elegance at Hogwarts. Snape had liked it here. He must've kept it like this because he hoped to return. But for now, he insisted on putting distance between himself and Harry.
Harry climbed those carved, winding steps all the way to the room he suspected Snape to have slept in. He could've apparated, but hearing his footfalls echo exaggeratedly, poignantly called attention to the disappointment that he felt, and the loneliness that he feared. He'd done this to himself and he was willing to face it. He walked the uneven surface and felt along course walls, where Snape must've felt safe enough to nestle into a bed and rest. Empty. It was just a dark cave.
You fucked up, his conscience whispered.
He drug himself out of the cave, into the light of an overcast sky. No sooner had he lifted his eyes to ponder where Snape was off to, than a dark shadow raced in front of his vision, startling him.
It was Snape. Harry stared in confusion.
Snape's body was in a standing position, at least two meters off of the ground and whipping over the grass in what could only be described as a gliding, surreal motion. He stood on a sloping fabric platform that, as Harry squinted, took on the familiarity of one of Ash's throw rugs. It was going at the moderate speed of a bicycle, but with agility and dexterity of a flexible spacecraft. A magic carpet?
Harry felt a massive grin taking over his face as he watched Snape's cape and trousers flapping in the wind. He was gliding in a figure eight formation, practicing his balance, and tracking himself by his shadow racing over the grass with him. Harry thought he looked magnificent, nose pointed in deep concentration at his line of sight, hair whipping, body tensed in balance, and no sign of pain in sight.
This was too good to be true. Relief flooded Harry's body in a chemical outpouring that made him giddy. He knew Snape would find a way around any setback. But how was he putting pressure on that knee? And why not use a broom?
The rug was no bigger than a door mat and he looked spectacular on it. It made Harry want to apparate to Ash's, grab a broom, and join him. Or better, learn that spell. Just when he thought Snape was ignoring him, the other angled himself in his direction and glided gently to within three meters.
"That's amazing!" Harry shook his head and clapped at the same time. "You did it. Is it all better?"
Why he sounded like he still wasn't used to magic after all these years, he didn't know. Snape's expression said the same thing.
"Nothing has changed. I'm merely resourceful," Snape said. "I have had enough of an invalid's life. Besides, the wards left around Ash's home are not sufficient. I am practicing to remedy that. I must be able to move freely about."
"Nice work around. Too bad you can't use that in front of muggles, or you'd be free to go."
Snape allowed the rug to lower to the ground. "I am free to go, but one does not wish to squander magic on maintaining this spell for long."
He added rather prickly, "And if you really can't fix your mistake, then that is a more serious indication of maladjustment from mind to magic. I might as well try to wait out your little psychosis. If I leave, I'll have to drag this injury around with me for god knows how long. If I stay, there's a good chance, that ego of yours will work tirelessly to set things back aright."
Snape's tone was civil but dry. Harry tilted his head and dared to ask an annoying question. "Why not just use a broom?"
"If you must know the extent of my reasoning, a broom is not the most practical choice to use inside of Ash's home. I chose a vehicle that will allow me to stand comfortably. One tires of remaining seated or supine all the time. I came here to practice maneuvering it."
"And how are you standing on your leg?"
With a quick sweep of his arm, Snape revealed that he had a crutch under his cloak.
"Nice," Harry complimented him on the concealment.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Snape's retreat was polite, but efficient as he left Harry staring after him. Watching him lift into the sky gave Harry an idea.
There were few things that inspired him to spend lavishly, but when he got a wild hair about it, nothing could stop him. His access to the outside world was currently restricted, but his access to online shopping was not. He had never felt the need to use a computer for anything other than organizing his work for the Ministry, so he hadn't sent for the laptop Draco had bought him a few years ago. Instead, he waited for Ash to finish his work and shut down for the day, then asked if he could do some research. His small phone screen wouldn't do, because he planned spending the evening soaking up the most comprehensive information. In Ash's office, in his excitement, he almost missed dinner and only glanced up once in surprise to see that Snape had brought him a plate.
A tiny thrill squeezed his heart as Snape pretended to be indifferent to whatever held his attention at the screen, set down the food, and appraised the situation silently. Before turning, he stated, "From Ash. He missed you at dinner."
"Thanks." Harry stopped himself from launching into a detailed explanation on why he wasn't there.
"And what, may I ask, have you found to occupy yourself?"
"You'll see. It's a surprise," he grinned.
Something behind the glare in his glasses must've given him away, because Snape said, "Oh," rather disappointingly. As in, oh no, this isn't you discovering your own thing, this is you finding another way to obsess over me.
Harry could just hear it, because he was right.
If Snape had lingered another second, he might've caved in and spilled his big reveal, but his former teacher spun on his heals and abandoned the matter all together.
Harry turned back to the screen to narrow down his purchase options. If he ordered what he was looking at, through normal means, he could probably get it pretty fast. It was a muggle device. Sure, he could use his magic to modify something he already had, but there was no point in reinventing the wheel when muggles had already done it. Would Snape even know about such a thing? If he used his connections to order it with a certain secret agency, that might speed things up a bit. Now that he knew what he wanted, waiting would've been torment. He decided to use his new clout to move things along faster. Just how supportive was his new employer going to be? Might as well test them out.
Since waking up in hiding, he'd been setup with decoy accounts, and when he phoned a contact agent for the CIUM to make his request known, the item he wanted showed up on Ash's doorstep the next day. It came in a large box, which he levitated to his room, assembled the thing and spend the evening practicing with it.
It was all he could do to wait on Snape's next venture out. "So when are you going to reinforce the wards around the property? I'd like to join you."
Ash and Snape were at the breakfast table and Harry was the one cooking for once. He was treating them to a version of pancakes and sausages, where the batter was mixed with egg yolk and done up like a cross between French toast and an omelet. Very bready, with chunks of meat and egg cooked in.
"I'm nearly done," Snape informed in crisply.
"Well, don't finish without me. Maybe we could do an extra perimeter and you could teach me more about putting them up."
The request met with an odd expression as Snape paused to consider it. "You have never expressed an interest in wards before."
"Well, this is the second time I've had to live my life in hiding. I'll always need them. I'll always use them. Might as well learn from the best."
He hadn't meant to pour on such fake-sounding flattery, but he really felt that way.
Ash licked the syrup off his lips and looked from Harry to Snape and back again.
"Very well." Snape told him which part of Ash's property he would be working on, and when. "Since you are asking for my knowledge, I expect my time and efforts to be met with punctuality."
"Sure," Harry said with his back to them. He flipped the last batch of pancakes and sneakily enjoyed his anticipation.
At the appointed time, Harry was no where to be found. Snape stood on his floating rug, waiting on one of the green, sloping hills surrounding Ash's home. He could look over his shoulder and spot Ash on his knees in the garden, tending his crops alone, in his whimsical Australian sunhat. Ireland was one of the least sunny places in the world, yet that hat came in handy on this plot of land, as if Ash had found the one location where sunlight broke through the atmosphere in ways that it could not elsewhere. As far as muggles go, he was one of the more peaceful, self-sustaining sort. As far as fawning men go, Snape surmised, he could do worse.
He occupied himself with this observation and found relief from his annoyance with Harry's tardiness. He decided to get on with his work. No sooner had he elevated his rug from the ground, did Harry's leaning frame come into view, zooming by him. Now it was his turn to stare, mouth agape, at the extreme the boy was willing to go to become the center of attention.
Harry rode, not a broom, not a carpet, but a spelled muggle contraption that allowed him to stand upright and pivot his entire body in any direction as he flew rings around Snape.
"What do you think?" he called out.
"I think that you are late."
Harry overlooked that fact as he flew in front of Snape. "It's a cross between a hover board and a Segway. A kind of scooter."
Snape folded his arms, taking in the sleek, streamlined contraption. It appeared comprised of only a foot platform with small wheels attached to either side. No doubt all the digitized mechanics were inside the foot compartment. Harry's stance was rather wide and the narrow board proved of ample width to support his size ten sneakers. It did look smart, and Harry's skill as a seeker gave him the advantage of making it look easy to balance and maneuver.
"Seeing your brilliant rug the other day, gave me the idea." This time his voice came from behind Snape, who didn't bother to turn. "If normal people saw you on this, they might stare, but they wouldn't think it out of place. You'd have the advantage of going public. And you'd use a lot less magic, because it's made to glide over all terrain, already. The only catch is that you can't let them see you go more than a few inches off the ground. This is for you, I'm trying to sell you on it. What do you think?"
Tension pinched the side of Snape's mouth. "As impressive as your concern is, how about you spend your time solving the real problem instead of coming up with ways for me to live with it."
"You know I'm trying," Harry insisted. He elevated himself and attempted a backwards flip, missing the board, but catching it. He hung onto it long enough to pull himself back up into a flying position.
"It's not a broom, but in many ways, it's better. Way more comfortable. I took the support stand off, but you can always put it back on. You can even get one with a seat."
Snape didn't want to be anymore distracted than Harry had already caused him to be. He headed off, to the southernmost part of Ash's property. Harry followed, undeterred. As their magicked vehicles sailed over the grass without touching it, they looked the part of elder and younger sorcerers, one steeped in the ancient mysteries of carpet flying mastery, as his cloak trailed behind him, the other exuberantly youthful and athletic with his trimmed hair and muggle t-shirt showing off his connection to the modern age and the advancements of this new era.
Ash only owned about two acres. They were gliding far outside of that parameter, but the sweeping landscape around them was so beautiful, the day so mild, and their agenda so open to possibilities, that neither questioned the urge to go further than they had planned. They stayed aloft so long, Harry assumed they were sight seeing, or some equivalent of hiking, when he noticed Snape's speed increase. They climbed higher into the sky, looking down on rock and land formations that were even more wondrous when viewed from above. They saw lakes and shadowy fields as they rose to the first layer of clouds, testing how high they could go. They saw moors stretching for kilometers, and Harry realized that Snape wasn't exactly on schedule for teaching him anything. He was enjoying the wind in his hair and whipping his clothes so much, he decided to keep his mouth shut and just go along with it. It took him fifteen minutes to realize that his hover board was being tested and observed. It took another five to realize, they were racing.
Harry calculated speeds of twenty kilometers per hour, at first. But Snape kept increasing his pace until Harry saw it for the challenge it was. They kept the ground in sight, but stayed high enough over farmland and villages, not to get caught in someone's photograph. They whipped over flourishing terrain and Harry happily followed Snape's lead until his blood ignited with adrenaline and he became determined to force Snape to admit that, not only was this a race, but that he was having fun. He zipped past him, his entire body skewed to take on the exertion of the momentum, and flashed an evil grin in provocation. In answer, Snape's eyes narrowed and the next thing Harry knew, he was in front of him and getting smaller as he sped ahead.
It was on. Deep in his veins, Harry possessed the instincts of an alpha predator. No where in society, was this expression allowed to run wild. It could rear its head during a game of quidditch, but even then, he could not give into the wildness of power that could easily abandon all civility. He had speed and natural aggression inside of him, connected to his magic, that was built for a darker, tougher world and a bygone age, in which a young wizard had to grow up fast. This was why he kept falling in line with danger, why he felt so alive when the risks were high and his advantage was strong.
He realized that Lucius had put him in a shell and he hadn't functioned at his full strength since all of that happened. Not out of fear, but out of protection. Like he'd been trying to keep his natural aggression from killing the wrong person all this time, and now he didn't have to be afraid of that anymore. He had intended to give Snape the gift of freedom today. He hadn't realized this windblown chase would be his own gift of realizing and feeling himself to finally be utterly freed. His magic raced ahead of him and took control of their flight. They were going upwards of fifty kilometers an hour and required magic to stay in upright positions. Harry matched Snape's position just long enough to take in the smile that had infected his former teacher. See. Caught you having fun! Then he was off, making Snape catch up to him.
Hours had passed before they settled down by landing on a deserted hilltop, a city away from Ash's home. It had been such a random, spontaneous flight that neither was worried about being discovered. Harry wanted to lay in the grass, but Snape snapped him out of it and began explaining the rudiments of casting and reinforcing wards. Harry accepted that he was back in character and cooperated the best he could, his head filled with flight and ecstasy.
He tried to listen to Snape's recitation of rules when warding to geographical specifications, but he was too exhilarated from the flight and heady with the idea of having come this far in what he considered his friendship with Snape. During his lesson, he found a way to insert distractions and get him to debate about which vehicle, broom, rug, or scooter, was more effective. Snape was on to him and persistently guided them both back to the ward demonstrations. Harry was able to get him to race to the top of a nearby mountain, becoming over confident that they were beyond detection by their enemies, in a secret world that allowed them to exist on equal footing like this.
When Snape was sufficiently distracted by the view of the sky growing dark, and town lights putting on a show as evening descended, Harry drew close to him and stole a kiss. It was little more than a quick tap against his cheek. Snape drew back, shock evident. He touched the spot and glared.
"What on earth possessed you to do that?"
Harry filled his lungs with the cool night air and said breathily, "You let Ash do it, you can't get that upset with me. And even if you do, I know you'll forgive me. It's just appreciation."
"Is Draco aware that you think so little of his place in your life?"
"Nothing and no one can touch Draco in my heart. He knows that. We trust each other so much now, that we're not threatened by ideas like that. My heart is bottomless. Besides, it wasn't a romantic kiss. Haven't you ever felt so good that you just wanted to grab someone and give them a big smooch? It's like, damn all the rules, I just want it to be okay to let my feelings show, without all the drama and misunderstanding that has us living by all these ridiculous rules."
"I see. You are a slut."
"Hey! You have a place in my heart, whether you like it or not. Whether I like it or not. That's how it works. Who am I to hold back the cosmos? I just go with it. When you feel it, you know it's right. It's other people that turn it into something wrong."
"Other people. Keep telling yourself that. Has it ever occurred to you that there is no way for someone on the receiving end of all that spontaneous cosmic love, to comprehend your belief system exactly as you do? When the mood hits you, in theory, you give them a moment of supreme acceptance and then wonder off like nothing ever happened. They are left in a state of inexplicable emotions, for this free-form expression is not the way of the world, it is unique to you. It is more likely that such attention, to one who is unaccustomed to your logic, makes promises that it cannot keep, where matters of the heart are concerned."
Snape had actually put some thought into it, and Harry was delighted to have him participate in such a frivolous discussion.
He replied, "That's the beauty of it. It teaches people to let something exist entirely for the moment that it exists, and not try to stretch it out into something it's not. You get more energy that way. For instance, you wouldn't try to make an orgasm last for days. You just accept that those blissful seconds are exactly what they need to be and it's a better experience for it."
Snape made a distasteful face at this. He hadn't meant to encourage Harry.
"And you're one to talk," Harry added. "Ash didn't just kiss you because there was nothing in it for him. I'm no expert, but you've made those lips believe in you, one way or another."
"I'll have you know, there are some lifeforms that do experience a seventy-two hour duration of post-coital physiological stimuli. Humans are among them. It's simply that most, living hectic survival-driven, beta-dominant brain wave lifestyles, just short of crass observations such as yours, are not aware of their own cellular intelligence and sensitivity. Just as you are not aware, in your cavalier assessments, of your effect on others, I might add."
Instead of shutting Harry up, this only peaked his interest. "Wow. I know you meant for that to be a total downer, but it's having the opposite effect. Since this window of opportunity is open, and we're talking like this, can I as you a personal question?"
Snape drawled, "Those are the only questions you ever seem to ask."
"Do you know what the Indian practice of Sayanna Sansara is?" He looked sideways at Snape, smiling.
"I do not."
"It's the art of climaxing from kissing alone. It was developed because of many taboos against sex outside of marriage and all that outdated crap. When done properly, it's more intimate than penetration."
Snape said impatiently, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Uh, the same reason you just told me that an orgasm can last three days. That's mindblowing, no pun intended."
Snape didn't laugh as Harry did.
"Once again, your puerile brain has interpreted my words in the most inaccurate way. The human body does not sustain the effects of electrical conveyance and seizure-like activity, which you call an orgasm, for the seventy-three hour duration. That passes, yet there is a chemical chain reaction that floods the body and brain with a veritable tonic of opiate transmitters, which can be detected and measured in spinal fluid, three days after one has participated in sexual activity. This means that while one is attending to daily life, they are normally unaware of how their previous actions contributed to their lowered stress levels, feelings of detachment, and an overall calm that they attribute to, to use your words, 'feeling good.'"
"How is this not supposed to be turning me on?" Harry joked.
Snape growled and moved away. He turned his back to Harry and floated on his rug some three meters ahead. Harry called after him, "That Sayanna Sansara technique? I'm really good at it."
Snape's rug picked up speed and left Harry smirking behind him.
It was dark when they made it back to the house.
Ash was speaking with a colleague on the phone, so Harry, feeling elated, decided to jump in the kitchen and surprise everyone with oven-grilled steaks, a cheesy potato casserole, and some of Ash's fresh vegetables whipped into a light salad. The meat wasn't prepared with layered seasoning overnight, as Aunt Petunia might've done, and the potatoes were only sprinkled with salt and pepper, as Harry's taste buds saw no reason to add anything beyond the perfection of cheese. His skills were childish in taste, but sincere in maturity and greeted the other two with a refreshing change of pace. No one complained. Between bites, Ash was full of praise.
"Wow, your pancakes are great, but this… I could get used to this."Ash, himself, had contributed to the meal by making a chocolate cake earlier in the day and whipping up homemade vanilla bean ice cream. Harry reminded him that there was a time when he liked cooking. And now that he had more time on his hand, he rather enjoyed having someone to cook for.
Snape was silent, but Harry took his calm, steady fork to his mouth, as compliment enough.
"Thanks. It may not be as flavorful as it could be, but at least it's not dry." It wasn't, either. One trick he remembered from Aunt Petunia, was starting the grilled meet out in an oven bag, letting it cook through, then finishing with well done texture at the end. The dish was one of the few he could count on his fingers as qualifying his limited cooking skills.
"Nonsense," Ash told him. "Good steak doesn't need a whole lot of seasoning. I have a chef friend in the city. She gets pissed when customers slop sauce all over her brazed craft. When your people give the go ahead, I'll have to take you out to dinner."
"That'd be great."
Snape looked up at this and paused. "Do you spend time with friends?"
This caught Ash off guard. He laughed it off. "Of course. I'm a very social man. One might even say, clingy."
Harry caught the shot. Snape ignored it.
"I have never seen you with anyone other than Reuse, your servant."
"Um, well, I am a doctor. When my workload increased, my social life, family life, and my entire marriage, declined. It's no secret that I've grown apart from my colleagues, but we get together now and then. I have a practice to run, I suppose I value time to myself over the search for ideal friendships. Not to mention, bringing visitors into a home where concealing a dangerous, wanted wizard for the past several years, presents a bit of a challenge. You tend to lose contacts when you make that choice."
Snape sipped his wine and said, devoid of the humor that Ash was using to trivialize his feelings, "Do not blame me for your anti-social preferences. I imagine, just seeing the side of humanity that you do on a daily basis, is reason enough to appreciate solitude."
"At the hospital maybe, but the clinic doesn't get much action. I'm just older, and I know that the best I have to offer, isn't gonna change the shit people get themselves into, or the problems they face."
"But it will help them."
"Yeah, well, human dramas go on forever and my energy has its limits. I've got one life, as far as I know. It's not so much about choosing solitude as it is about choosing someone over others."
Snape answered just as quickly, "As long as one accepts responsibility for one's choices"
Ash swirled his drink and turned to face him directly. "I accept full responsibility for choosing to make a new friend, and leaving the others behind."
Harry watched this exchange, doing his best not to seem like a third wheel as Ash and Snape navigated intimate tones with deceptively normal conversation.
When dinner ended, he waited to see where Snape would settle, on Ash's screened in porch for an after dinner coffee, in the den with an oversize volume of apothecary reference material, or in his room to stew over his escape plan.
He found him in the den, or rather a family room that Ash had installed a wall of bookcases in, but the furniture was a giant sectional sofa situated around an equally large floor TV. Harry recognized the model as a precursor to flat screens, as the thing was practically a towering block that must've been impressive in the late 90's but now took up more space than was practical.
Instead of making a pretense of working his way into polite, after dinner conversation, Harry plopped himself down on the ottoman that Snape's boots currently also occupied. He grinned at the droll annoyance that questioned his audacity.
"Talk to me. Tonight's our night."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"We had such a cool day. You can't beat that with a stick. We raced. We took on the countryside, you and me. No one got killed or maimed. We're doing great together. Now's the perfect time to come clean. I know you're in a good mood, you don't fool me, so stop trying to hide your normal side. Admit it, you had fun with me."
"Today was rather mild, I admit."
"Mild? So when you really have a great time, what do you call it? Extreme? Spicy? Hot?"
Snape removed his propped legs, wincing past the pain, and pulled himself into a straighter position. "If you insist on accosting me with your infantile need for constant attention, I'm going to require a drink. Something stronger than wine."
Harry got it. He left and came back carrying two glasses. Snape took the offering and sipped without asking what it was. His brow furrowed as tart and sweet caused his mouth to pucker, but darker, more acrid tones sent burning vapor through his sinuses.
"What is this?" He choked out.
Harry's shoulders shook as he laughed. "My own potion. Cranberry juice, coffee, and brandy."
"You're quite the gourmet artisan this evening," he winced and put a hand on his chest.
"Five more sips, and you'll wonder how you ever went without it."
"Is that so?" Snape peered over the rim of his glass, taking another sip. This time, he was braced for the range of contrasting flavors and their effect.
This time, Harry sank to his knees beside Snape's chair. His humor smoothed into something more thoughtful. "I'm serious. I need answers now. Maybe it'll help me with this block, or whatever's causing me to not be able to fix your leg."
Snape knew there was no turning Harry away this time. World weariness issued from his sigh and he allowed, "Out with it."
"The trial. Your testimony. Tell me the truth."
Snape groaned inwardly and Harry could hear it from the expression on his face. "If you tell me straight, once and for all, I'll never ask again."
"Harry, some things are better left unknown. Once you know them, you can't go back to your safe little world, with everything the way it was. Your reality changes. You no longer trust in the same way."
"Trust? My world was never safe enough to trust. If I know the truth, then I'm armed with information. I don't have to feel helpless in my ignorance. You admit it, you're hiding stuff from me."
"What, exactly, do you think I'm hiding?"
"It would've made more sense for you to get up there and say that you and my mom had an affair, than what you actually said. I mean, I don't believe that, but you could've lied that way and come out better for it."
"I wouldn't dare slander your mother."
"But instead you told the world what happened to you. Just like Draco, you exposed your whole body, in a manner of speaking. What I know my father did to you, was disgusting, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I don't mean to be insensitive, but if you open up to me… if you're honest with me, once I know, I'll never have to ask you again."
"Why can't you look at your second chance and stay focused on the life you're going to live with Draco? Why do you need to hunt down all those dead things so badly?"
"Because I can't fix it, if I don't know what it is. And I'm the last person Draco wants to see right now. You're in front of me right now. You're what I've got and I'm grateful for it. Now's my chance to focus on you. I hurt you, and I can fix you, but I just need a little more information about what really happened."
"Your arrogance knows no bounds. My knee is the problem. My past isn't your responsibility to fix."
Harry's drink sloshed. He sat it down on the table in front of him. "I'm not trying to fix the past. I'm trying to fix the present. All those things you said in court, what was true and what wasn't?"
"Why must you walk willingly into a quiver of cobras? I have literally given you every answer and every action I have to give, yet you ask me to repeat the most damaging events of my past. This interrogation won't give you the family that you've lost and I refuse to relive my mistakes. I said those things to take the attention off of you. Accept that gift and leave it alone."
Harry persisted. "Be brave, Professor. Tell me what happened after my father and his friends attacked you. How did you get through it?"
"I'm no longer your professor."
"Remember, I suffered it too. I want to know how you survived all of that. I got pregnant and I lost my mind. I even had friends helping me. You had no one. You can't fault me for wanting to know how you dealt with it. If you made up that story about the same thing happening to you, then hats off to you, because I can't see anyone making that up. Did I even hear you right? Did you actually say that my dad got you pregnant and you cursed him? He retaliated by causing you to… to lose it, and used dark magic to force my mum to carry it? If you made that up, you're an evil genius. And if you didn't, then I don't know what to think. If I know the truth, then my mind can at least go one way or the other."
Snape's eyes seemed to narrow as he listened, calculating as Harry recounted what he remembered of the testimony. His recall might be compromised by the medication he was sedated with at the time.
"If my mum had a child under those circumstances… and if it's me, then I need to know that."
Snape suddenly looked fed up and said flatly, "I lied. Don't waste anymore time on it. I made it all up."
"Not even you could make up something that horrific."
"Every word. I betrayed Voldemort to his face, don't underestimate what I'm capable of doing."
Harry studied his face. "But you claimed Iece, affectionately, as your granddaughter. I heard that. Do you not want her, or any of us, in your life?"
"I've looked after you all your life. Of course I have a soft spot for her."
That brought warmth to Harry's heart and quieted him for a moment. "It was all a lie? You were cursed, but you never got pregnant?"
"Correct."
Harry stared at the carpet, a bit forlorn. "Then I should feel better, but I don't."
"Because you are too meddlesome. You don't know when to let things go."
"Every word out of your mouth, doesn't give me any reason to let go. It makes me want to fight to keep you. To convince you that you belong in our lives on a daily basis. You didn't say you hated my daughter, you said you were fond of her. Tell me why I'm supposed to let go again?"
"Are there any other questions I can extinguish from that raging curiosity of yours? I don't want you bringing any of this up again."
Harry had turned from him and sat pensive, staring through his glass on the table.
"Well, since we're not related, and you've come clean with me, you might as well know how much I've always thought of you."
Snape was not in the mood for hero worship. He held his tongue, eager to stop Harry from laying on any heavy gratitude.
"I mean, I was scared of you, but I was obsessed with you. You might even say… in love."
Those unexpected words circumvented an eye roll and sped Snape right to annoyance.
"Noted," he said coolly.
Harry kept staring at the glass, avoiding the reprimand he knew was coming. "You kept me pissed and hating you, but I didn't want to feel that way. Underneath, I wanted to be like you. You walked through the halls so powerful and purposeful. Everybody moved out of your way. You didn't give a damn about what people thought of you. That all looks amazing when you're a teenager, until it turns against you and makes you feel like it hates you. I had a crush on you. It was quite innocent, just some excited feelings that a kid feels, without knowing why. But you acted like you despised me so much. I started reacting to your scorn more and more, until my real feelings were completely eclipsed."
He waited for Snape to insult him, or at least put a stop to him, but heard nothing.
"Draco tells me now, that I was always in love with you. When it comes to you, he doesn't have a jealous bone in his body, he just wishes my brain wasn't such quicksand mush, and that I could actually stand on the solid ground of knowing what I want. Like he does. But my feelings get the better of me. I've lived in a state, too worked up, to see things for what they were back then. I'm a man now, contrary to a certain curse. And I'm mature enough to say what I have to say. If you leave, you should know that beneath all the pain of growing up under your critical, guardian eye at Hogwarts, I really wanted to befriend you."
"I'm well aware of that. That's why I had to put you off and keep you far from liking me."
Harry turned to him. "I'm not a kid anymore. Can we be friends now?"
"No. Friends are reserved for people who are not dependent on me for validation of their very existence."
Harry smirked. "Then what am I to you? A project left over from Hogwarts? My mother's dying wish? What?"
"You are, like it or not, something I wish to see thrive, whether I am there to see it or not."
"Okay, I get it. It would be beneath you to say you care for me. You're repulsed by my affection."
"If that is a hint of self-pity, I will slap it back down your throat. I didn't survive all that I have to listen to you bemoan your pitiful orphan abandonment and rejection monologue. And neither did you. Your affection doesn't bother me, but your disgusting need to force it into my awareness, does. You can simply feel something without tying gas-soaked ribbons around it, setting it on fire, and chasing down the people to whom you want it known."
Snape remained very still as his words quickened and his voice chiseled its way under Harry's skin.
"You want to be like me? Then don't waste two seconds feeling sorry for anything that you've done, or trying to explain yourself to anyone. What you feel, is its own end. If you truly are not demanding anything of another, then you don't need them to understand you. Either they are intelligent enough to appreciate you, or they are aloof. Either way, their life isn't going to change for you, because you say you are asking nothing of them. So go your way in peace and give them the gift of not having to adjust the core of who they are to suit your mood."
This ruffled Harry a bit. "Okay, but that's not how humans work. People are social. They need feedback and closure and connection." He intertwined his fingers for emphasis. "We can't all be like a closed ecosystem, like you, entirely self-sufficient to the point of not needing another person."
Snape talked over him. "This is not about people. It's about you taking responsibility for your life. I can't give you what you want, in any capacity, father-figure, friend, or savior. I thank you for reserving a place for me in your affections. All is forgiven on my end. I require no more contact with you, and it is you who must forgive me for that. I may be human, but I am not committed to the traits that define them."
Harry winced. "Harsh."
"Precisely. Even without the war between us, and our subsequent roles, you and I are water and oil. If I am too harsh for you, then cultivate the art of letting go. For yourself and for your family."
"But you love me. You guarded the whole school. You watched over all of us kids and saved as many as you could, so you're not as greasy and toxic as you think. In fact, that's a goddamn lie. I'm just asking to keep on seeing you and hearing from you. Go be a hermit if you want, just give me visitation rights. Don't leave without promising me that."
"Harry, I'm still here because I am giving you time to come to terms with my disappearance. Not because of this injury. If you knew how honest I am being with you, you would accept that for the gift it is. What if being near you, isn't easy for me? What if, as long as I see you, I'll never be free of my obligation to protect you? What if you are the very face of my failures, and those who were not lucky enough to survive?What if I simply do not wish to be confronted with my past every time I look and speak with you?"
"If anything, you should be happy."
"There are horrors in my past, that make that impossible."
"There are horrors in my past that make it impossible to be happy seeing you disappear again."
"Then we are at an impasse. Is this how you wish to spend your last evening with me?"
Snape was an absolute bastard. "What in the hell have you got against being loved?"
As soon as he asked it, he heard the answer in his soul. He saw it in his memory. In the portrait, he had seen the very moment when Snape turned his back on humanity and any hope of allowing another to connect to his life. He saw a young man with obscenely long, luxurious black hair, by today's standards, tied to a bed as four crazed students hovered over him. Harry tried not to be sick as the word bubbled up from his stomach. He kept his head together, at the vision of his father holding Snape down on the side of the bed.
Trauma.
Trauma.
Trauma.
"I get it," he said. "I'm the face of what my father and his friends did. I saw that much for myself. And it hurts you to know that I know, even more. I'm not clinging to you because I'm needy. I'm begging you to let me find a way to make it up to you, and yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. That's impossible."
Snape coaxed, "I hear you say the words, but do you accept that? Do you accept that it's impossible for any action of yours to change the past in any way?" He needed to hear Harry say it and mean it.
"Yes. I can't change the past, so I won't try."
Snape sighed, "Good. You'll be fine then."
Harry looked up at him. "But I can heal the present. Stay with us another week. If you're still unhappy, I'll let you leave. But give me another week."
"I will not indulge this complex of yours. You must not think that you are the key to righting the wrongs of my life."
"I know how I sound. I sound absurd. But trust me." He stood on his knees and faced Snape's seat. He took off his glasses. "I don't need my glasses anymore. In fact, I use them to block information out. I can see the Wheels of Life without them, and I can see trauma. I actually see what it would take to give you back your trust in your connection to people again. What it would take to let you, let me, into your life. I can see how to heal you, and I'm not just talking about the injury I caused. I'm talking, something very real and very present, that's clung to you since the day my father attacked you. You've been so disgusted and hurt by the vileness of it all, that your own magic makes it seem alive and out there somewhere. Almost as if it could chase you."
"Harry, stop." Snape held up his hand.
"I see the cure. I've practically cured myself with the power of the Elder Wand magnifying my magic. Hear me out, just let me touch on this one thing, and if it doesn't work, I'll let you walk out of here and never look for you again."
"No."
"I know I'm opening old wounds, but as long as you're carrying around the pain that my father caused, those wounds will always be open and tender, and subject to bleeding. It's only when I'm in the room, that you can no longer ignore them. So let's fix that."
"What is it with you and all this fixing? There is no fixing. No curing. One does not cure the past."
"The cause of your isolation isn't in the past. It may have started that way, but running from it, running from me, keeps it present."
Snape leaned forward. "I do not wish to be fixed of whatever malady you perceive in me. The mere fact that you are looking at me in any kind of discernment, is demeaning enough. I don't care what talents you have developed. Don't think you can adequately judge me. Don't think that you have any right to do so."
"I'm not judging you. I'm just trying to tell you that your real problem is a kind of self-loathing on steroids. I know, I've been there. You see it with victims all the time. Their self-esteem plummets. But you didn't have anyone to talk to. You didn't really recover, you just learned to live with the pain. Then you got involved with Voldemort and all of that just got compounded. You became an assassin, for him and for Dumbledore. You were pulled in two different directions until a part of you split."
"You are no therapist. What's more, I did not request one."
"Your seventeen year-old self is still in that room. I've met him. He's still fighting for his life, while you tell yourself you're just fine. You two share one body, but you won't speak to each other. It's like the trauma cut your mind in half, compromising your whole life."
"You are crossing a line."
"You could have so much more than a life without human contact."
"Harry, humans are messy!" Snape spewed hot mouth fulls of air through his teeth.
"Myself included. And I don't just mean the kind of messes that you can clean up like a spill. I mean suffering that stains the soul and doesn't come off. Misery that contaminates everyone it comes into contact with. If you know the wheels, then you also know that once something is burned into them, it never disappears. Mistakes are never erased. I avoid people. It's my way of containing all that motivated my hatred of your father, of Voldemort, and of Dumbledore. The world is safe, precisely because I loath myself, and I dare not attempt to brush shoulders with the populace at large, in sunlit streets."
He stood, his face coloring. "The world is not a carnival. At least not for me. You should be thanking me for pushing you away. You want to talk darkness inside of me? You think I've been saving you all these years out of some love? Certainly, I care for you, but there is no name for the insane feelings that spurn me on. Call it love all you want, if that makes you feel better. It doesn't change the fact that you walk in your father's wake, exhibiting his face and quirks, and all the while demanding that I return some affection that you have for me. All I see is his offspring, and I detest the feelings they inspire. I suffered eleven years with him and nearly twenty with you. When will I get peace from his gaze looking out through your eyes?
This surprised Harry, but he knew that it shouldn't. Snape's insistence grew more heated.
"Why would you ask me to stomach the sight of him in you, any longer? Why wouldn't you be willing to give me the distance from his influence upon this earth that I require? I'll tell you why? I've said it before, because you're just like him. He couldn't leave me alone, either, and you saw what became of it. Now you want to chain me by your side and call me family, as if that would make it all right to deny me the freedom of turning my back on you. Well, it doesn't. Let me go. Yes, I care for you because you represent your mother's light and you are essentially good. You are a force for good, and I redeem myself by my service to that force. But Harry, I despise your face. I despise your beauty. It is your mother's love and your father's arrogance rolled into one, mocking my life's mistakes, and I deserve to be rid of it.
"Do I love you, you ask? Yes, I love you. I even love your child, how could I not? I have watched her grow. But I also hate you. I hate that you look at me with the intention of fixing anything. I hate that you want to aim all your goodness at me, like a laser, and get to work, as if you could restore me to perfection like a rotting shack that's about to fall over. Stop looking at me like you get to decide what needs fixing and what doesn't. As if you alone know what's appropriate for my life. Stop trying to take control of the situation like your father. You were my student. Stay in your place. I hate that James is so much alive in you, that he gave you the boldness to crawl into my portrait and into my soul, that you now know my secrets. I hate that I could do nothing to stop you from invading me like that, in your assertion that you must surely be the light and the way, that no path is off limits to you. No law under heaven is above you, apparently.
"But most of all I simply hate the sight of you. Your existence is a brick to my crushed fingers and I have been kind enough not to tell you until now. But you push and push and insist on fixing that which is not yours to fix. Take yourself from my sight, once and for all. Or I will do it for you. That is the truth that you have wrested from me tonight. I hope you've enjoyed our conversation because you've certainly inspired me to talk."
This onslaught left Harry dazed. He had no retaliation and no way to defend himself against the honesty that stunned him into silence. A part of him wanted to fight back. A part of him wanted to retreat and finally give Snape the space he deserved.
"That actually explains a lot," Harry said quietly. Shame burned his ears. He felt as though he'd been adding to Snape's burdens all along, and experienced the sudden weight of oppressive victimization that Snape had managed to spike into his every word.
Snape glared at him, refusing to take a word of it back. You want to meet me as an equal, those dark eyes challenged him, then stand your ground.
Snape may have told him that he couldn't bear the sight of him before. He may even have used the word 'hate.' But it all hit home now, in a way that it had not before.
Harry tried to steel himself against that glare, but he bowed his head. "I'll go. Thank you for finally being honest with me. I believe you."
His back was already to Snape and he was standing, therefore he missed the agony that swept across the other's grim demeanor. Snape closed his eyes against the reluctance in Harry's voice, and quickly swept his feelings out of sight.
Harry waited until he got to his room. Before he could even enter, he fell against the door and struck it violently. A few heaving sobs choked out of him, before he tightened down against their eruption.
"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" He said it under his breath. In his mind, he was yelling at Snape, but as he did, he knew those words were better suited aimed at himself. Everything Snape had said about his behavior was true, he could see it now. Why had he thought he had any right to get in his face and try to fix anything?
He pushed off the door and wiped his face. His hand was on the knob when hairs stood on the back of his neck and he felt that someone was watching him. He turned. Ash stood in his robe and pajamas just outside the bathroom down the hall. He looked hesitant and worried at the same time.
"Harry, you okay?"
Harry quickly straightened, but couldn't quite recover fast enough to look convincing. He tried to say that he was fine, but what came out was, "Snape is an asshole."
Ash suppressed a smile, visibly relieved. "That, he can be."
"I know that better than anybody, but it still hurts."
Ash didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that Harry idolized that stoic wizard, and that somehow, for different reasons and in different ways, they were both in love with him. He came up to him and tapped Harry's shoulder. Harry's red face reminded him of the saying, 'Never meet your heroes.' No one can live up to whatever pedestal you have them on. His grin became sympathetic.
"We've got leftover dessert and homemade ice cream. I make a mean hot fudge cake. Come on down and get it off your chest."
Before Harry could decline, Ash had winked and started toward the staircase. Harry stared, then followed, not relishing the idea of being alone with his thoughts right then.