Chapter 10—Speaking Truth
The thought went off inside Harry's head like a firework.
Severus felt a grim enjoyment as he watched Potter's terrified eyes. The brat might have fooled the Headmaster—Albus was not stupid, but he would let love soften his brain when he should be asking hard questions—and he might have used a Memory Charm the other day, but he had no chance now.
Potter opened his mouth, andlaughed.
Severus had thought Potter could not irritate him further. But now his breath was short with rage, and red dimmed the sides of his vision, something that had not happened in years. He didn't care if the laughter was bitter. Potter still found him funny, when he should have been shaking in fear.
"What is so amusing?" he snapped.
"I was just wondering how you'd get away with telling Dumbledore that you used Veritaserum on me," Potter said, his face and eyes both far too bright. Severus tried to persuade himself it was the hectic fever of a cornered animal, not enjoyment. "I kept silence on the lines you forced me to write, after all. I thought cursing you made up the debt. I was willing to let our hatred remain between us. After all, things didn't go so well when the Headmaster intervened last year, did they? But no, you're doing something that will force you to go straight to him." He snorted, and a tremble moved up his face as if he'd tried to shake his head before finding it still frozen. "Brilliant of you, Snape, justbrilliant."
"Be clear on what you are babbling about, Potter, thisinstant." Sparks dripped from Severus's wand to the floor.
"You didn't tell Dumbledore about the detentions you've served me," Potter said. His voice was no calmer, but a bit slower. "You know he wouldn't like it. He might not punish you, but he would have said something to me about it, and he didn't. And I kept quiet, too. I think it's betweenyouandme. I don't want him interfering. I'm not a baby. I can protect myself." He clenched his jaw for a moment, as if hating his immobility. Severus did not speak. "And now you're going to use Veritaserum, which isillegal, mind you, and one of us would tell him that sooner or later. I don't know if he would excuse you. Are you sure of that? So smart of you, Snape, to do something illegal when you're already doing things that would make the Ministry imprison you." He had the nerve to flick his eyes at Severus's left arm.
Severus clenched his teeth, doubt striking him for the first time since he'd decided to use the truth potion on Potter. He had believed that Albus would excuse his forcing Potter to take it if he found evidence of the Dark Lord's possession.
But if Albus was correct, and Potter's grand secret was depression…
He still believed Albus would not turn him in to the Ministry. On the other hand, part of the unspoken trust that kept Severus serving as Potions master in Hogwarts was that he would not harm his students purposefully.
And his usefulness as a spy was ending. Albus might reconsider his options. While he had given him sanctuary, Severus had never been under the illusion that Albus cared for him as he cared for Potter.
The boy was quiet, now, watching him. Severus's eyes narrowed. "Why did you not complain about the detentions?"
"I told you," Potter said, sounding weary now. "I thought I could keep it between us. And the Memory Charm made up for what you'd done, as far as I was concerned. But if you use the Veritaserum—"
"I couldObliviateyou, Potter."
"And you really think I wouldn't notice the memory missing?" Potter snarled at him. "You're even stupider than I thought."
Severus wanted to say that Potter would notice nothing, but the problem was, he couldn't be entirely sure. He'd never seen the effects of a Memory Charm on the boy, to know how he reacted to them. And given that Potterdidhave the strength of will and the magical power to Memory Charmhim, the chances that he might be immune to it were higher than normal.
Severus had not thought it through. He had simply assumed that Potter was possessed by the Dark Lord and lying to hide it, and if he discovered such a thing, Albus would not care whether he procured the information illegally or not. But if he came out with a different truth, the Headmaster would not be nearly so willing to overlook his activities. And Severus knew no sure way to threaten or bribe Potter into keeping quiet. As with the rest of this, hemightwin out, but he would be taking an enormous gamble for an equally enormous potential fall.
He had no one to blame for this but himself and his own lack of foresight. Of course, he had never anticipated that the boy would keep quiet about the detentions. It wasn't something Severus would have done.
He took a step back and placed the vial of Veritaserum on the desk behind him. Potter breathed quietly, watching him, and seemed ready to be released from the Body-Bind.
Severus was not ready. "I still have questions for you, Potter," he said.
The boy stared at him, then gave an aborted movement that might have been a shrug. "All right, sir."
"Why did you seem to have Occlumency on Monday?"
Potter's eyes fell. "The charm," he said in a small voice. "And I—I've been trying to train myself." He cringed.
Severus gave him reason to. A rich laugh rolled up his throat despite himself. "You thought you would make progress that way?" he asked incredulously. "When you couldn't even learn frommelast year?"
"I thought—" The Body-Bind was loosening, and Severus didn't try to renew it. The boy's hands slowly closed into trembling fists. "I thought I should learn it because Sirius would have wanted me to," he whispered.
"And what kind of progress have you made, Potter?" Severus asked, almost willing to forgive the insults the boy had cast at him in the last little while. This was too good. That the brat should have learned the usefulness of his lessons too late, and been left to flounder alone in one of the most difficult arts to tutor oneself in, and one he had no natural aptitude for! It was almost as good as if Potter had set up his own private Potions class to teach himself brewing.
"Not much." Potter's voice was dull. "I don't have the visions any more, but I think that's Voldemort—"
Severus waved a hand sharply to cut the boy off. "Of course it is," he said. "The Dark Lord is amasterLegilimens. He could end the connection to your mind at any time that he wished."
Potter just kept his unhappy eyes on the floor, chewing his lip.
"And why do you want to learn Occlumency now, after disdaining it all last year?" Severus inquired. Grief for Black couldn't be the only reason. If anything, that grief should have made Potter dedicate himself to the death of Bellatrix Lestrange, or to defeating the Dark Lord once and for all.
Potter swallowed, and lifted his eyes. His emotions were all there, burning, at the surface, so clear that Severus needed neither Legilimency nor Veritaserum to read them.
"I wanted to learn it," Potter whispered. "More than that, though, I wanted to die."
Severus would have tried to contain his emotions if one of his Slytherins had made such a melodramatic statement, but with Potter, it was utterly impossible. He laughed again, and Potter gave one massive flinch; the Body-Bind had now loosened so that he could almost move away from the door.
"Of course you did." Severus flicked his fingers. "All adolescents go through that stage, Potter, when they think their griefs the most important troubles in the world, and yearn for what they imagine will be a chance to makeeveryonearound them understand. I suppose you imagined your funeral, with your friends sobbing and all the people in Hogwarts sorry they never understood yourrealworth? I suppose you imagined that I would mourn when I thought of you?"
Potter said nothing, but Severus could make out tears rimming his averted eyes.
"Your thoughts are unutterably selfish and big-headed, as usual." Severus was nearly satisfied now. Many things made sense. The charm had been the reason for Potter's Occlumency, and his grief over Black the reason for the rest, just as Albus had said. That still left uncertain the mystery of who had used the Siren Song in the school, but Severus could search. It might even be Draco, stupid though the boy would have been to turn the technique on himself.
Or cunning, trying to make sure you did not suspect him.
Severus put the possibility aside to investigate later, and leaned forward to focus on Potter. "You cannot die until you kill the Dark Lord," he said, and Potter started. "Yes. I am aware of the circumstances of your ridiculous destiny." Severus grimaced. He did notlikethinking that the whole of their world rested on someone as fragile—in every possible bad sense of that word—and conceited as Potter, but destiny had not consulted him when she made the choice. "Did you really think that killing yourself would be a good idea, when you condemn the rest of the world to darkness?"
"I thought—I thought—"
"You did not think at all, as is usual." Severus sat back, waved his wand, and released the lingering effects of the Body-Bind. "You will scrub cauldrons tonight, Potter. If you use the slightest trace of magic, I will know. And you will return at eight in the morning to do the same thing. Do you understand?"
Potter gave a submissive nod. His face, when Severus could glimpse it, was sufficiently shattered. He made no remarks about Heads of House needing to attend the Quidditch games, but went at once to the stack of cauldrons Severus had placed in one corner. They'd been meant to justify the detention if anyone else looked in, at first, since he intended to question Potter under Veritaserum, but there was no reason to waste them, or the particularly thick purple goo that coated them, residue of the efforts of his fourth-years.
Severus sneered at the boy's back.Everyone strives to see that he's living a good life, or dies to ensure it, and still,still,he dares think such things. James was not a patch on his son for selfishness.
Harry scrubbed at the cauldron in his right hand hard enough that a patch of crusted goo loosened and flew off, hitting the far wall. His breath was too quick. Colors kept dancing at the edges of his eyes, his head pounded, and he felt the strong urge to lie down.
But he'd done it. He'd made Snape back off enough that the man no longer seemed to suspect him of anything. And when he'd lost control while talking about Sirius, and slipped into an open confession of what he planned to do, Snape had thought he was exaggerating, or was stupid and thoughtless.
The idea that Harry might intend to die and take Voldemort with him had never once occurred to the greasy git.
Harry didn't understand the tears that still haunted his eyes. It was probably just suppressed grief, but sometimes, when he swallowed, the lump that he forced down his throat felt like joy.
He was free now. He was really free. His fooling of Ron and Hermione had gone well from the beginning, and now he'd passed the two greatest obstacles, Dumbledore and Snape. Both were satisfied and would leave him alone, one from tenderness, the other from refusal to take him seriously.
There was no one to stand in his way.
Harry felt nameless gratitude as he scrubbed and scrubbed, his hands and his mind moving independently of each other. This was what he had wanted from the beginning. Let other people look away and enjoy their own lives. He'd go on.
Of course, if he thought about it for too long he would probably feel sorry for himself, but he'd had his chance at a happy, normal life, with Sirius. Since he'd been the one to waste and destroy that chance, it was only reasonable that he shouldn't have any others. His death would pay for his mistake, just as Snape's uninterest in him now would pay for the torture he'd forced Harry through earlier in the week.
There was really no reason to mourn. He'd done what he had to. He'd remained dedicated to his purpose in the face of extreme provocation, and passed what he thought was the last test.
He scrubbed cauldrons almost cheerfully until Snape barked at him to go, and then ran up to the abandoned classroom on the sixth floor where he'd placed his ingredients for the Medea's Draught, under strong locking and Disillusionment Charms. He sat down and read the instructions for the potion again, forcing himself to be absolutely calm. This time, he reallyabsorbedthat he needed to stir the potion after he put the belladonna leaves in, not before, and that the potion needed three pinches of moondust, no more, no less. It didn't matter how big the pinches were; the number was the magic, not the amount.
Harry blinked. It felt as if insights were pouring into him. He wondered if that was specific to this potion, if he understood it because he'd taken the time to understand it, or whether he'd be able to brew most potions that had puzzled him now.
Then he laughed. Why would he ever need to brew another potion? This was the last he'd make. Of course he'd get it right, since he'd never have to do it again.
Visions of the future made no sense for him anymore.
He filled the cauldron with water with a flick of his wand, and then set to work, amusing himself the while with what Snape would say if he caught him.Think you can brew a potion, Potter? You'll probably poison yourself!
That's the idea, Snape,his mental self retaliated, and he smiled as he glanced at the instructions.