A/N: A Death Eater raid is described during this chapter. It may be disturbing to some (graphic depictions of violence). If you wish to skip or skim it, it's the large italicised section ~1/2 of the way down. A short summary to explain its significance will be given at the end note.
"WERE YOU TRYING TO GET CAUGHT, OR ARE YOU JUST THAT STUPID?"
There was a throbbing in Severus' left temple. He slammed his fist down on his desk, and it was a reflection of just how angry he was that he felt no guilt at the boy's jump of surprise.
"YOU WERE RECKLESS, IRRESPONSIBLE, AND FOOLHARDY. I DON'T SUPPOSE IT OCCURRED TO YOU THAT YOUR ACTIONS MIGHT HAVE CONSEQUENCES?"
"It's not like I broke into Voldemort's lair! It was just Quidditch!"
As his anger rose impossibly higher, Severus' voice dropped. Harry seemed to realise his mistake, gulping audibly. In a low hiss, Severus said, "That is not a point in your favour. Perhaps, if there were some good cause for your rash impudence, it would be more forgivable than nearly destroying your future over a game. Tell me, would getting expelled and having your wand snapped in front of your face have been worth it for the sake of flying around in the dark for an hour? I was unaware that you had chosen to forgo your NEWTs in favour of a career as a professional Quidditch player. How many years do you think you'll last until a well-aimed bludger puts you out of commission? Four? Five? As lovely as retired by twenty-two sounds, it would be difficult to enjoy the freedom of the next sixty years of your life from a standing ward in St. Mungos. At least you would not be in Ministry custody."
"I didn't-"
"Think? Expect to get caught? Want to get your friends in trouble as well?"
"I didn't mean to disappoint you," Harry said quietly.
Severus stared at him.
"It wasn't about Quidditch, anyway. Not really." He became more animated. "It wasn't fair. She had no right to ban it, or to sack Trelawney, or use blood quills on kids. We couldn't just stand by and do nothing!"
"Yes, you could, and you will! I have already warned you about Umbridge. You must stay out of her way."
"How can I duck my head, making no noise and pretending I don't exist? She's destroying everything that makes Hogwarts Hogwarts! Yeah, Quidditch, but also quirky teachers, and duelling with your friends in the halls and running away when Filch shows up, and- and learning new spells, and being able to just… have opinions, even if other people don't agree. She wants to break it and make it different, make it the way she wants it. Someone has to do something!"
Severus didn't know if he should interrogate Harry more about "quirky teachers" and addressed the more concerning part of the tirade. "That person is not you. Let someone else carry out their little personal rebellion. Duck your head if you have to, if that's what it takes to hide the contempt in your eyes, but never let it shine naked for all to see. That way lies conflict, and know that it is a conflict you cannot win."
"So I just lay down and take it."
"Yes." Severus leaned half over his desk, bringing his face close to Harry's defiant one. "In fact, I expect you to."
Harry crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "Then you don't know me at all."
The moment stretched out, tense and clashing. Harry's hands fisted, as if he were anticipating some kind of attack. Severus abruptly withdrew, even stepped back a pace. His voice, when he next spoke, was cold. "You insist on fighting back, then." His lip curled. "How did yesterday's little escapade do that, precisely? Have you helped someone who has been hurt by her blood quills? Worked to expose her lies about the Dark Lord? Found a way to defend Hagrid, who every day stumbles closer to being removed from his job? No. You pulled a stunt for fun, and spiting Umbridge in the process just made it more of a lark. Do you think getting expelled and humiliated in front of the whole school would have undermined her attempt to 'destroy Hogwarts'? It would have done naught but play into her hands."
Harry's stubborn look had been replaced by a stricken one. "I-"
"Failed to think. I suppose I should not find this unexpected, considering your track record, and indeed I do not. I do find it somewhat insulting that my warnings and advice have been so wholly disregarded. If you would only stop and consider the ramifications that must follow as a result of any poor decision you make, perhaps they would not have been so desperately needed. Alas, my breath and time were wasted."
Harry looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. Severus' glower intensified.
They hadn't had an argument this bad in a long time. Severus almost expected the threads of their new relationship to snap at the tension, unable to hold the weight of such harsh words.
"I won't do it again," Harry finally said sullenly.
"No, you bloody well won't!" Severus snapped.
Harry looked away, jaw set in an angry line. "So what's my punishment?"
Severus exhaled a long, strained breath through his nose. "That is your Head of House's responsibility." He sat down and picked up his quill, not looking at the boy anymore.
"But-"
"Go, Potter. Tonight's Occlumency lesson is cancelled. I am too angry to deal with you right now."
Harry's laboured breathing echoed in the silence. After struggling for words, he eventually said, "So that's it? You brought me here to yell at me, then want to send me away like that when it's convenient for you?"
Severus dropped his quill, fighting with his temper. Anything constructive had been said, and further altercation would be unproductive at best. "If I did not know better, I would think you are requesting further detentions. It is not my duty to punish you beyond what Professor McGonagall, who caught you, deems appropriate."
"That's right," Harry's chest heaved. "Because you're just my teacher. That's all. Nothing more. Just someone saddled with me 'cause it's your job." He stomped across the room. "I won't forget again." He slammed the door shut behind him, causing several jars to rattle on their shelves. Severus glared, unseeing, at the essay in front of him, knuckles white where they gripped the arms of his chair.
His rooms were far less of a comfort than they normally were after a difficult day. Severus paced around the main room, regularly checking on the Sleeping Draught brewing on his stove and stopping once in a while to brood by the fire.
He felt a twinge of pain on his left arm and looked down to realise that he was scratching at it idly. He yanked his sleeve up and stared hatefully at the Mark. The skin around it was red and irritated from repeated clawing, a few scabbed lines echoing fingernails slicing through it. He gritted his teeth and let his sleeve fall back down, forcing his hands to rest at his sides. Ten minutes later, he was scrubbing blood out from under his nails. Again.
He was growing restless, could feel it in his twitchy glances around the room, in the now constant twinges from his left arm. It was as if his subconscious thought he could rip the Dark Mark from his skin if he tried hard enough. It was something he'd struggled with after first taking it, wondering what he'd gotten himself into in the rare moments he stopped Occluding his own deepest thoughts from even himself. The compulsive scratching had ended after he became a spy, after there was a sense of purpose to replace the horrible emptiness that had gaped inside of him after losing Lily's friendship.
He thought the bad habit's resurgence might have come after losing his position as the Order's spy. He'd only been summoned occasionally since the Dark Lord found out about his true loyalties, and Severus had not responded to any of the calls. At first, this had been a relief, but now it was beginning to make him paranoid.
In the village, he'd been able to replace his adrift purposelessness with protecting Harry. Now, even that couldn't serve. As the boy had put it so succinctly during their argument, Severus was only his teacher, now. Of course, he would continue to protect him from the sidelines as before, but the direct responsibility for his care that had temporarily ruled Severus' life was gone. What was left? A few tutoring sessions a week?
Severus was a driven man whose road was no longer clear. (What, was he going to find his purpose in teaching? Please.) His usefulness to the war effort had largely ended. Harry was safe at Hogwarts, and had made it abundantly clear earlier in the day that he had no use for Severus beyond the Occlumency instruction he could provide.
Unsure whether his arm or chest ached more, Severus left the potion to simmer overnight and crawled into bed.
His emotions had overpowered and finally broken through the Occlumency shields Severus kept in place from within. As his exhausted body succumbed to sleep, old memories seeped through that he had rather kept hidden away.
The muggles didn't know what the green skull and snake in the sky meant. One teen pointed up at it and smiled in awe, nudging his friend. No doubt, they thought it was a light trick or firework display. Severus envied their ignorance.
The Dark Lord sent a blasting curse at the nearest building, and- yes, there it was. The screaming. Muggles began running in all directions, panicking. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters walked purposely forward through the street, robes blacker than the night. Several bystanders fled in the opposite direction, seeming to realise what they were, if not who.
Death.
The raid seemed to continue forever, endless and exhaustive. After causing large-scale personal destruction, the Dark Lord sent his followers off with a wave to go find victims for him to individually torment. Severus grabbed the first civilian he could get to, doing his best not to look at them. He couldn't turn his ears away, however, and could hear the terrified pleading of a woman. He silenced her with a spell, grateful when it worked. She thrashed in his arms, but he held her fast. He resented her for not escaping him.
One by one, the Death Eaters returned to their circle around their lord.
"Very good," he hissed, turning slowly. He pointed to Bellatrix, who shoved one of the teen boys into the centre with a cackle. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees at the sight of the dark wizard towering over him.
"Please," he whispered, voice cracking. "I just want to go home."
The Dark Lord looked around expansively, gesturing to the destruction around them. "What home?" he inquired. He shoved his wand under the boy's chin. He cringed back with a sob.
The teen died quickly. Some muggles did. Others clung to life, blubbering and begging and trembling with horror. Severus saw their weakness, saw their fear, and hated them for it. The woman he held gave great shuddering sobs, smearing snot and tears over his robes. He knew from experience that he'd never completely rid them of the stench of pure, unadulterated terror. He was almost glad when the Dark Lord gestured to him and he shoved her away, wishing she were already dead so that he didn't have to watch her shaking anymore. She quickly obliged him.
The last victim, Lucius' choice, was an old man. He was stooped with age, and fell hard to his hands and knees when his captor pushed him roughly forward. The Dark Lord watched, lips quirked in amusement, as he struggled to his feet. In the dancing light of the fires around them, Severus could make out the words WWI Vet on his hat.
Finally upright once more, the man walked slowly to the middle of the circle. He did not plea, he did not cry, and he did not beg. He said nothing at all, staring at the Dark Lord in silence.
The jeering and mocking of the assembled Death Eaters slowed and then quieted. They watched, in a little bubble of absolute still that seemed to supercede the chaos still raging around them.
The Dark Lord looked down at him, wand tilted away in a casual hold.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked softly.
The old man was terrified. Severus could tell. Everyone could tell. Despite that, he looked the darkest wizard of their generation in the eyes. "Just another tyrant, I suspect," he said. His voice shook slightly, but he employed it strongly nonetheless. A tiny bud of respect flared in Severus' heart, paired with a pang of dread that his words would cost him.
"I am your end!" the Dark Lord suddenly roared.
The old man stood his ground. "Hurry it up then."
The ripple of astonishment that anymore, much less some helpless muggle facing their master's wandpoint, could speak that way to the Dark Lord quickly passed from one Death Eater to the next. Severus' dread grew, and he looked to the Dark Lord to see what he would do.
Spittle flying in his rage at the insolence, the blatant contempt, the Dark Lord hurled the killing curse into the old man's face. He crumpled like a marionnette with cut strings. His body lay there, diminished, courage and strength ripped from it so harshly. Severus watched him fall with an unexpected surge of rage, throat dry as everyone around him laughed.
Where was the warrior's code? The honour? His fellows cast spells at the body, defiling it, caring not for the bravery the man had shown through his terror.
This was no war. This was a terrorist campaign.
How could anyone defend against such a thing? To fight against such unethical, such ruleless, such honourless people, would take an opponent without a moral code. Dumbledore, Potter, and the light side would never have the guts to take them out at their level. Unless someone did, this horror would never end.
He stared at the destruction around him, at the dead and dying muggles. He despised them for not being able to fight back, and despised himself more for choosing not to.
Severus Snape surged upright in bed, trembling as hard as any muggle victim of the Dark Lord's ever had, and wept.
He had reopened the gashes on his arm—all of them—during the night. Blood dripped onto the white porcelain sink as he hunched over it, staring at his haggard reflection in the mirror. Sunken and haunted, his eyes were rimmed by dark circles. His arms trembled as they held him upright against the counter.
In his mind, his Occlumency shields were in tatters. He fought to rebuild them, and it took longer than he would have liked.
Enough was enough. He rubbed some balm onto his forearm, purposefully harsh, then wrapped a bandage around it tightly. His morning preparations were mechanical and unenthused. There was no peace in the routine, only a detached impatience at the time it took.
The walk up to the Headmaster's office was a quiet one so early in the morning. He hesitated outside the door, wondering if he ought to be turning to the man or not. His relationship with the Headmaster had been somewhat strained lately, although he knew the unease was entirely on his own end.
"Come in, my boy," came a genial voice through the door, and Severus gave a silent sigh before pushing it open and stepping inside.
Dumbledore was sipping his morning tea, flipping through his daily correspondence. Severus hesitated before sitting down in one of the chairs facing his desk.
"Headmaster," he greeted uneasily.
The ancient wizard set down the letter in his hand—a missive on Ministry paper—and regarded him frankly. "You are troubled."
"How astute."
"What has happened?"
Severus tried to decide which of the many things wrong was most important. The answer surprised him. "Potter and I got into an argument yesterday."
"Alas, the woes of teenage life can often spill into many a young man's unrelated relationships. What was the issue at hand?"
"His Quidditch escapade."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, yes. I assume you were not very forgiving of his indiscretion?"
"Indiscr- Headmaster, he could have-" Severus fought down the rant that rose up in him, seeing a familiar twinkle and knowing that he would not have a sympathetic audience. "No. I was not."
"And what was the issue that actually came to light?"
Severus looked away. "He resented my involvement, I am sure. After all, I am nothing but his professor."
Dumbledore hummed, but it was not a sound of agreement. "That is one perspective, perhaps."
"Surely there is no other?"
"Certainly there is. Even the most simple of scenarios has many facets, and your relationship with Harry is a complex one. Perhaps, before jumping to any conclusions, you should ask him to tell you what he meant. After all, no one else is more qualified to do so. Not I, among them."
If he weren't so tired, perhaps he would be more annoyed with Dumbledore's cryptic answers. "I am no guardian to him. Our only real connection is that of teacher and student, and perhaps members of the same side in the war."
"Not every real connection has a label, Severus."
Regretting bringing up the topic, he gave no reply. This, of course, did not stop the Headmaster.
"I have been thinking about what you said to me last November. Harry's living situation, as you know, involves more factors than his mere happiness. I am not pleased to send him there, but the blood wards may very well prove vital to his survival."
Who knew my mood could drop even lower? "You insist on sending him back, then?"
"No," Dumbledore said slowly. "I will not, however, send him from one bad situation into a worse one. At the Dursleys, no outside threat will harm him."
"And what of those inside?"
"More acceptable than death. Another concern—" he lifted the letter he had been reading when Severus came in, "—is the Ministry. They have been angling for a probationary summer watch on Harry, despite his pardon, and I need not impress upon you what may happen if they get their hands on him. I am working to stop the bureaucratic process before it can start, but anonymity is our best defence. Any summer residence must be private; he cannot draw any kind of public or legal attention to himself until he is of age."
"If a safe enough hideaway should be found?"
"Then I will consider it." He leaned forward. "Believe me, Severus, nothing would make me happier than to see Harry living with those who will care for him as he deserves."
"Sentiment means nothing without action to back it up."
"Have you any suggestions for a housing situation that meets the requirements, then?"
Severus automatically opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated, plagued by his doubts. He warred with himself before finally muttering, "Not at this time."
After a disconcertingly knowing look, Dumbledore finally changed the subject. "Surely, there is more you wish to discuss."
"The Dark Lord had called me only twice since the summons before Christmas. I do not understand what his game is." He stood, pacing the office. "If he has learned of my true loyalties, which you say he has, then why not hunt me down and have done with me? If he has chosen to leave me be for the present, until a suitable revenge may be extracted, then why the occasional summons? If he did not fully believe I had betrayed him, then he must now after my repeated absences. What I understand least, however, is why I was never summoned at all while in hiding."
Dumbledore watched him pace. "Voldemort has accepted your change in loyalties, and will not believe any attempts to persuade him otherwise."
"How do you know?"
"Last October, I had a chat with young Draco."
This was news to Severus. He sank back into a chair. "Oh?"
"He claimed to have come on the behalf of Slytherin house, wondering when their Head would return to them. I assured him of your safety, and he seemed rather disappointed to hear of it. It did not take a long conversation before I came to understand that he had been informed of your true loyalties by his father. No doubt, he was sent to fish for information. He left, I believe, rather frustrated."
Severus leaned back in his chair, anxiety giving way to pensiveness. He traced one lip with his finger, thinking. He had not interacted one-on-one with Draco since returning to Hogwarts, and had suspected that the boy was avoiding him. He would have to find a way to talk to him, find out what he knew. "I see."
"While, of course, it is only a theory, I may have an explanation for Voldemort's erratic behaviour," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. Severus mirrored the movement reflexively. "I suspect that, while accepting that he cannot prioritise your capture at this time, he has used the Dark Mark every so often as a reminder that he has not forgotten about your betrayal." He led the way to his door, one hand resting on Severus' thin shoulder. "As for the village… as hard as it may be for his opponents to remember at times, Voldemort is merely human. In some ways, he is less than. Perhaps he did not call you because he did not know what to do with you."
Severus had lived most of his life perceiving the Dark Lord as a sort of deity: first as a righteous god, then a tyrannical one. The concept of him as "merely human" seemed improbably far-fetched. He met Dumbeldore's piercing blue eyes with doubtful black ones, and did not know whether to laugh or cry at the surety he saw in them.
A/N: italicised section summary- Snape has a nightmare about his Death Eater days, watching muggles getting captured and murdered. He sees their fear and hates them for their weakness (because that's the only way to drown his guilt). Then there's an old war veteran who gets captured and is afraid but stands tall and brave anyways and he feels a tiny bud of respect and then rage that Voldemort kills him anyway. He wonders "where is the warrior's code" and he comes to a realisation that this isn't a war or a fair fight, it's a terrorist campaign. He knows then that to oppose such unethical and ruleless people needs someone who also fights without a moral code, and thus the seeds for a successful spy are planted in his soul. The whole thing distresses him considerably.
