CHAPTER 23 - RECONCILIATION
NOTES:
HELLO READER!
I'm back with another instalment, I hope you enjoy it!
The following morning came early for Severus. Opening his eyes in his old dungeon quarters felt strange, almost unreal. A year ago, he hadn't expected to return—to Hogwarts, or even to life itself.
Being given the chance to return to his old rooms, books, fireplace, cold stone corridors… true, that wasn't his, it was Hogwarts'. But he'd been living here for almost two decades, and in all that time, he'd come to consider it home. A notion that now felt almost indulgent.
But it was impossible to not consider it his home.
And Harry, bless him, understood that. Harry understood what it meant to consider Hogwarts his home.
He understood when, weeks ago, Severus told him he missed the sound of the lake. The gentle rumbling of the water or the hum of it that could only be heard in the dungeons. Or when, once in his quarters, he'd noticed him immediately relax. He understood what it meant to be away for a long while, and then return home.
And he even understood it when he offered him the chance to be added to the door's magical signature.
Severus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. A part of him still felt a bit embarrassed at having offered the chance of adding Harry's magical signature to the door. But another part of him, strong and embarrasingly clingy, wanted him to accept.
But he didn't.
Severus jumped out of bed and went through the motions of grinding coffee beans, as he remembered their conversation. His mind replayed the softness in Harry's eyes, which was present every single time he'd requested something.
Sometimes it felt like Harry knew what he needed even before he did it himself.
It was odd, considering Severus had held the cards so close to his chest all his life that it seemed nobody had truly known him.
Now, of course he could blame it on his inability to use Occlumency yet, as it required mental strength he wasn't sure he had. However, he had an inkling it was more than just Occlumency. He couldn't explain it, he didn't even know if it was only Harry's instincts, but he was so attuned to him he could read him almost to perfection.
Harry's gaze held a quiet insight that often saw past his barriers, a perception that unnerved him as much as it intrigued him. It was as if, somehow, Harry knew him better than he allowed himself to be known.
Perhaps this was simply what it felt like to be understood, Severus reasoned, though he'd never known it before. A friendship with someone so profoundly attuned you could speak without even uttering a single word. He'd wondered if that's what compatibility meant, though he'd thought such notions fanciful until now.
Severus blinked as his entire body halted its movements and his back stiffened, the hand holding the pestle hanging in the air.
Harry wasn't the only one attuned to him.
Something had awoken him when Harry had that nightmare and he'd rushed to his side. Severus didn't wake up when Harry burst through the door, tears rolling down his cheeks and wide open eyes. He'd been awake by then.
Something beyond Harry's cries had disturbed his sleep.
Was this what it meant to have a strange, deep connection to someone? That you could even feel when they were upset or when they needed you?
The thought unsettled him a bit. He could already sense the depth of its power, the way Harry saw him and understood him with just one look.
He didn't have experience with friends, only with Lily. And while his heart had jumped the first few times she'd even looked at him, it was nothing like this. It was nothing like what he felt when Harry's green eyes set on him, nothing like the strong pull that drew him towards the young man he now called friend. Severus couldn't shake the feeling of being seen in a way he'd almost forgotten was possible, not since Lily. But unlike with her, this connection felt… different.
A knock on the door took him out of his musings, and an immediate smile crept on his lips.
"Good morning! Are you still in your nightshirt?" Harry said, looking him up and down, as soon as Severus opened the door for him.
He brought in the smell of parchment and ink that always seemed to cling to him, and a grin that would clear out any cloudy sky.
Severus still didn't understand how he hadn't become a bitter shell of himself, given everything he'd lived through before he reached his 20s. In some ways, Harry seemed like the world's impossible answer to the darkness they'd both endured. But Harry was like that. Full of energy and bravery.
And a heart of gold.
No wonder he was in Gryffindor.
"Good morning to you too. What's the problem with my nightshirt?" He asked with an arched eyebrow as he returned to grinding coffee beans.
He eyed Harry and had to admit, those clothes were working wonders for the former scrawny boy. Severus's gaze lingered a beat too long on the way Harry's jeans fit just right at his waist, the way his T-shirt fell onto his shoulders. A sight that stirred an unfamiliar pang somewhere beneath his ribcage. He forced himself to look away, clearing his mind with a shake of his head.
"I'm sorry if your majesty doesn't think I'm well-dressed enough," Severus said with a mock bow. "You can get started on breakfast then; let me have a quick shower."
"Shall I call Kreacher? Not sure you want him in your quarters," Harry called from the rug in front of the sofa, where he'd sat.
"Yes, you may call him," he replied before, "but don't ask for coffee. The beans are ground, I'll brew it myself."
Harry nodded and Severus went to have a shower, knowing that once he was out, good food and good company were waiting for him. He smiled as he closed the door behind him, ready for a hot shower. Or perhaps a cold one would work better.
.
The afternoon rolled over, and soon it was time to walk up to the Headmistress's office.
"Do you want me to come with you? It's a long way up," Harry suggested, but Severus shook his head.
"No, thank you. I'll take my time walking upstairs, you needn't worry. But I'd rather be alone these moments before I face her, to… gather my thoughts," Severus said as he got up and started putting on his boots.
Harry observed him as he nodded.
"Alright," he said, shifting closer and resting his hand on Severus's back. His palm moved slowly, tracing a calm rhythm up and down. Severus met his gaze, drawn to the softness in his expression and the easy smile on his lips. "I'll be out flying. Come find me if you need me. Okay?"
Severus nodded and accompanied Harry to the door. Before he opened, Harry placed a hand on his forearm, atop his Dark Mark. Severus shuddered, feeling the warmth of Harry's fingers even through the fabric of his shirt.
As Harry's hand lingered on his forearm, his warm hand sending tingles down his spine. Severus almost felt reassured. Almost.
But no amount of support could quite silence the lingering uncertainty twisting inside him.
"Don't worry, Severus. She is still your friend, and she will understand. Just be honest, and it'll all work out," Harry whispered, tilting his head. "It'll be okay."
Severus nodded, thousands of thoughts spinning in his head, but unable to voice a single one. He wasn't sure Harry was right, but he wanted, he so wanted to believe him. He swallowed and placed his hand on top of Harry's, squeezing.
"Thank you," he rasped before Harry nodded and disappeared through the dark corridor of the dungeons.
Severus closed the door after him, taking a deep breath and putting on his cravat and jacket. He buttoned it, one by one, mentally preparing for one of the hardest conversations he would ever have.
When he was ready, he started walking up the stairs towards the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase towards the third floor.
He had to take a turn when the marble staircase moved once and had to stop and rest a few times. But the stairs creaked and shifted as if in silent encouragement, a gesture that felt grounding. Severus gripped the railing, wondering if perhaps Hogwarts, too, understood his trepidation.
With one of those turns the stairs took, he could take a shortcut to the Headmistress' Office.
Severus scoffed a bit and made sure to squeeze the staircase handrail, thankful, before his steps took him to the long corridor. His boots echoed in the otherwise silent stone floor, and he stopped in front of the gargoyle he'd seen so many times in the last year.
He sighed, his eyes intent on the bronze gargoyle. He breathed a few times until he could feel his heartbeat return to a normal pace.
"Albus Dumbledore," he whispered, almost feeling ridiculous for saying it out loud. But the gargoyle nodded its head and stepped aside to reveal the spiral staircase in front of him.
Once up, he knocked on the door.
"Enter," said a feminine voice from inside.
He pushed the door open and instead of finding the almost barren office he'd occupied, it almost felt like he was back at Albus Dumbledore's office. The paintings of former Headmasters were back, as well as Albus's trinkets and knick-knacks. The only thing that was not in place was Fawkes's perch, for obvious reasons.
Severus's gaze swept over the familiar walls, settling on the slumbering portrait of Albus Dumbledore behind the desk. Relieved that Albus was asleep, he approached the chair with a resolve he didn't feel.
Minerva finished scribbling on a piece of parchment, surrounded by precarious stacks of papers, documents, and books that covered the desk. Severus felt a pang of sympathy; he knew the demands of a Headmaster well, though his own year had been drastically different.
"Ah Severus, I trust you didn't have problems coming up here," Minerva said as she raised her gaze and left the quill on top of the papers, "how is your recovery going? Yesterday you seemed a bit winded…"
"I was, it will take me a bit to regain my usual stamina and shape," Severus replied, and as Minerva's gesture with her hand, he sat down on the chair. "But I hope my body will slowly get accustomed to it again."
"I'm sure it will," she replied, "now, as you can see I'm quite busy, what can I do for you?"
At her words, Severus swallowed, and all the words he'd mentally practised in his quarters disappeared into thin air.
She wasn't angry, not exactly.
But this wasn't the Minerva he'd known—the one quick with a sly remark or an indulgent eye-roll. Now, there was a measured reserve, a subtle distance he couldn't ignore, as though recent events had carved out a side of her he'd rarely seen, and even less often been subject to.
He gripped the armrest tighter, willing himself to remain steady. But beneath his composure, there was only the old fear—that all he'd done would be twisted and discarded, just as he had been so many times before.
"I am… sorry, Minerva…"
He lowered his gaze, swallowing as he tried to go past the lump in his throat. He looked down at his lap, trying to form the words he so needed to say.
"I… I don't know what to say, other than I am sorry… for everything," he rasped, each word pulled from him like stones sinking in the Black Lake.
There was a beat of silence between them, Severus resisted the urge to raise his gaze.
"You know," Minerva began, her voice softened, almost hesitant, "I don't know what I expected from you." Her gaze held a mixture of disappointment and something else—was it concern?—before the edge returned to her voice. "But this… what happened last year was not it. And I'm sorry, Severus, but apologies can't undo everything."
He heard her chair shift, and though he didn't look up, he sensed her moving around the desk to sit beside him. Silence fell, heavy and sharp between them, as Minerva's gaze bore into him, unwavering.
"Tell me, then, what exactly are you apologizing for? For lying to me all that time? For making me think I'd lost a friend to Voldemort's influence?"
Her words were firm, though her voice softened briefly before she caught herself, and he could hear the faint, familiar gruffness of her Scottish accent slipping through. His fingers dug into his robes, gripping the fabric to anchor himself against the ache rising in his chest.
"Or," she continued, her tone sharpening again, "for killing someone I cared about deeply, making us all believe you'd done it out of loyalty to Voldemort? For making me mourn him, all the while thinking you'd betrayed us?"
She crossed her arms tightly, her jaw setting as she studied him, bracing herself as though his words might only confirm her worst fears.
Severus felt his heart clench as her words sank in, piercing through his defenses. He couldn't bear to look to his right, couldn't face those eyes that had once held trust but now brimmed with hatred—or worse, disappointment. His throat tightened as he fought to swallow the tears threatening to break free.
"I just don't understand," she murmured, her voice finally cracking under the weight of her grief. "How could you…" She stopped, took a breath, steadying herself. "You've been here for so many years, Severus. Did any of it matter to you? Did we even matter?"
Her voice rose, but this time it trembled, hurt mingling with her anger.
Severus felt his own defenses rise, his heart throbbing with indignation.
"And was it really so easy for you to believe," he replied quietly, the pain in his voice exposed, "that I'd been the Dark Lord's pawn all along? That after everything, I was nothing more than his servant?"
His throat felt as if it were lined with sand, his mouth dry. He took a steadying breath, biting his lower lip before he could speak again. Fixing his gaze on a spot on the rug, he found it easier to continue.
"Everything I did, everything I kept hidden, was for you. For all of you. To keep you safe." His voice tightened. "From the moment I learned of Voldemort's plan against the Potters—before that, even—my loyalties never wavered. But I had a duty to fulfill, one only I could perform. Albus and I discussed it at length, and he insisted it was too dangerous for anyone else to know. The fewer people aware of our plan, the better. Revealing it would have put lives in jeopardy—"
"Protect me? Is that what this was, Severus?" Minerva's voice cut through his, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Don't tell me this was for my protection," she said, a raw intensity breaking through her anger.
"You wanted the truth, and here it is." Severus gestured sharply to the sleeping portrait of Dumbledore above the desk.
A tremor ran through him, his voice cracking as he forced the words out. "Do you think it was easy for me to kill him?" he whispered, his voice barely holding. "Do you think it was easy to walk these halls, to face all of you—colleagues, people who knew me as a child—feeling the weight of your hatred?"
His gaze flicked to Dumbledore's portrait, memories flooding him: every icy glare, every contemptuous look from those he'd once respected. The invisible wounds felt as sharp as any blade.
His vision blurred, hot tears breaking past his restraint and spilling down his cheeks. He pressed his lips together, holding back the sob that caught in his throat.
"It was agony, Minerva."
She remained silent, but he could feel her gaze on him—heavy, unrelenting.
"Every night, I took refuge here, hoping it would end soon, praying that all the sacrifices wouldn't be for nothing." His voice thickened, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Killing him... using the Unforgivable Curse, for the first and only time... it was the hardest thing I've ever done."
He glanced to his right. Minerva leaned forward, studying him intently, her face etched with lines of age, stress, and a pain that seemed to echo his own. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable.
His gaze shifted to the portrait above her, lingering on the twinkle in Albus's robes, the long beard draping down his chest. And that calm, serene expression he'd drawn so much comfort from over the years.
"I still see it," he whispered, his voice cracking. "In my sleep, every night. I hear Harry's scream, the curses and hexes hurled at me, and those blue eyes... looking at me, pleading for it to end. I tried, Minerva. I truly did, but—"
His voice broke, tears tracing hot paths down his cheeks. He bit his lip, struggling to steady his breath, each word scraping painfully against his throat. Harry's scream echoed in his memory, pressing like a weight against his chest, his throat tight as he forced himself to continue.
"I did what I had to do," he finished, his voice barely a whisper, raw with grief. "Even if it nearly destroyed me."
A thick silence settled between them, the tension so sharp he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, each beat a relentless, accusing drum.
"Your relationship with Albus…" Minerva's voice softened, though her gaze remained as sharp as ever. "It was always a mystery to me. There was something there—something beneath the surface I could never quite grasp. But I knew you respected him, even admired him. That… that was the only reason I ever doubted you. I struggled to believe you could kill him, though I forced myself to."
Severus inclined his head, lifting his gaze to meet hers, his vision still blurred by lingering tears. He held her gaze, allowing her to see every shadow of pain etched in his eyes.
"And then," she continued, a trace of bitterness creeping into her voice, "you became Headmaster… and let the Carrows reign over the students. I couldn't forgive killing Albus, but that, Severus, was adding insult to injury."
"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I tried to warn the Dark Lord, to tell him they were too volatile, too dangerous for a school full of children. I told him they'd likely spill pure blood. But he would not listen. So many choices were made for me that year—they were not mine, but I had to bear them."
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then fixed his gaze on Minerva, her green eyes still probing his with guarded intensity.
"Despite it all," he said slowly, "if I were asked again, I would carry out Albus's request exactly as I did. He died by my wand, but I saved him from a fate that would have been far worse. And once it was done, I was in a position to help Harry—to give him the best chance to succeed."
A tear slipped down his cheek, tracing the path of those that had fallen before.
"What I regret," he whispered, his voice raw, "is that it cost me your friendship."
Minerva sat, her posture still rigid, but her gaze shifted, softening just a fraction. Her hand hovered between them, hesitant at first, before it rested on his shoulder. Tentative at first, as if testing whether he would accept the gesture. When he didn't pull away, her grip grew firmer.
A rush of emotions swelled in Severus's chest. He bit his lower lip, feeling the warmth of her touch, and his eyes filled with fresh tears. When he glanced up, he saw Minerva smiling softly, her eyes glistening with understanding and something deeper, a warmth that seemed to dissolve the last of the barriers between them.
"I am sorry, Severus," she murmured. "I was so caught up in my own grief, my feelings of betrayal and distrust, that I failed to see yours. But I can't ignore your pain any longer."
With a swift movement, Minerva pulled her chair closer, her hand shifting from his shoulder to his back. She was now close enough to see every line of strain etched on his face, his eyes glistening with raw vulnerability.
"I'm sorry, too, for all you endured," she said, her voice thick with remorse. "For what I put you through. You had a hard choice to make, and you made it—no matter the cost. I dread to remember that the last thing I did before you left your post was attack you and call you a coward…"
Severus shook his head. "I know you thought I was. And believe me, I would have been—if there had been someone else to do the job."
Minerva shook her head as well, a faint smile tugging at her lips. At the raised brow on his face, her smile grew, her head tilting in gentle disagreement.
"No," she said softly. "You wouldn't. You may be many things, Severus, but cowardly isn't one of them." A single tear slipped down her cheek, and her voice wavered a bit. "Quite the opposite. You are, perhaps, the bravest man I've ever known."
Her words seemed to reach deep inside him, a balm to the wounds he had carried for so long. The weight on his chest finally began to ease, and he offered her a tearful, yet grateful smile.
"Don't ever put me through that again, understand?" she whispered, her hand firm on his back.
Severus glanced at her, one brow arching in mock solemnity, though his sniffling still betrayed his emotions. "I'll endeavor not to make it a habit," he replied dryly, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Minerva chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, boyo, you say that now," she teased with a fond smile, her voice lightening as she gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
She met his gaze, and the faintest flicker of old warmth returned, just enough to hold him there for a heartbeat longer. He let out a quiet chuckle, and she leaned forward, her laughter light and easy, a sound that filled the room and softened the air between them.
With a flick of her wand, Minerva summoned a teapot and two delicate cups. The steam curled invitingly as it filled the room with calming warmth. She poured Severus's tea just the way he liked it, handing him the cup with a small, knowing wink.
Slowly, the tension that had lodged between them—the chasm that had kept them apart for so long—began to dissolve. They sipped their tea, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics, and Severus felt the relentless pounding of his heart gradually ease.
After a while, Minerva took a sip, then leaned back and eyed him with a touch of curiosity.
"I couldn't help but notice yesterday… was Potter helping you walk?"
Severus inclined his head, stretching his legs out and settling back himself. "Yes. He's been… instrumental in this entire process. As you know, even before I woke from the coma, he was there. Every step of my recovery, he's shown a level of commitment I never expected." He hesitated, his gaze softening for a moment. "He's… remarkably different from the boy I once despised. Yet, in many ways, he's exactly the person he always had the potential to be."
Minerva nodded thoughtfully. "We'd been telling you that for years. But perhaps you weren't ready to see past his father and mother back then." Her eyes softened as she studied him. "It's good to see you like this. I haven't seen you so… softened in years. Probably not since before Lily."
A warmth kindled in Severus's chest at the thought of Harry. "I'd never have believed it possible, that we'd become so… compatible. He understands me in ways I never anticipated. In ways I didn't even know I needed."
Minerva smiled knowingly. "You're more alike than you've ever wanted to admit. I'm happy for you, Severus. To have found each other like this is rare indeed."
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, her touch conveying what words could not. They sat together in comfortable quiet, an understanding flowing between them. After a long, contemplative pause, she added, her voice soft but sure, "It seems you've finally found a friend worth every risk."
.
Severus left Minerva's office, the weight of their conversation pressing on his chest. He hesitated, torn between seeking out Harry now and waiting until later. Harry was flying, wasn't he? Should he interrupt his session for this?
But the doubt was fleeting.
He paused for a moment, feeling a tug at the back of his mind, a pull he couldn't quite explain. The feeling settled in his chest, a faint warmth spreading like a spark igniting in the distance. Before he could rationalize it, he knew where he had to go. His feet and mind focused on his path toward the Quidditch pitch.
There was no point in hiding from Harry any longer. He had already shared so much with him, and it had been Harry who had encouraged him to speak to Minerva in the first place. Keeping anything back now seemed pointless. He had already crossed that line of vulnerability—there was no going back.
A fleeting memory of Harry saying he took one step forward and two steps back lingered in his mind. He couldn't afford to repeat that. The doubts weren't real—they were just his mind's old defenses, nothing more.
His feet moved before his thoughts had fully caught up, carrying him forward with a quiet determination, as if his body knew what he needed before his mind had fully decided.
The urge to speak to Harry was undeniable—more than a need, it was something he wanted. For the first time, he realized he had never allowed anyone, not truly, to get as close to him as Harry had. It was terrifying and, oddly, reassuring.
The conversation with Minerva had left him with an unexpected sense of peace. The air between them was clearer now, and a flicker of hope had taken root, suggesting that perhaps the divide could be bridged. In that stillness, it felt as though he had been allowed to shed a part of his past, to leave behind the walls he had constructed around himself. The weight, though small, felt as if it had lifted, leaving space for something he hadn't dared believe in for years.
It was Harry's influence, Severus realized—a steady presence that grounded him in ways he had never allowed anyone else to. The sense of being truly seen, perhaps even more so than he understood himself, was still a shock to his system. But it was more than welcome.
The sun hung low, not yet set, casting a dusky blue over the grounds as if the day itself lingered to listen. The air was still, and it was comforting as he caught sight of Harry at the edge of the Quidditch pitch.
Severus stood still for a moment, the breeze tugging at his robes, before the sight of Harry compelled him to take those final steps.
He thought he'd find him flying around the pitch, doing the tricks and using the skills he was so keen to show off. Severus had to admit, now that he knew Harry, that his Quidditch skills were the only thing he allowed himself to boast about.
But Harry wasn't flying. He was waiting for him at the pitch entrance, resting his back against one of the wooden posts, his broom on his shoulder.
Harry looked up from where he stood, as if he had sensed Severus's approach before he even entered the field. He beamed when he saw Severus, and started to walk towards him.
It was clear that Harry had been exercising.
The simple t-shirt he wore clung to his skin, damp with sweat, outlining the muscles of his arms and chest in the fading light. The sight of him struck Severus unexpectedly, making him blink.
His eyes lingered on Harry longer than he intended. A tightness gripped his chest, an uncomfortable pang that seemed to twist in his gut. His fingers twitched, almost as though they wanted to reach out, but didn't know how. He forced himself to look away, but the sensation remained, his palms now slick with sweat. He took a deep breath just as Harry started walking toward him.
Harry stopped a few paces away, his broom still slung over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and a small smile tugged at Harry's lips. Severus's breath caught in his throat, and he quickly cleared it.
"Well? How did it go?" Harry asked softly, his eyes meeting Severus's with warmth.
"It was…" Severus hesitated, struggling to find the right words. His mind spun with fragments of his conversation with Minerva—the rawness of it, the unsettling truths he'd laid bare. "It went… better than I expected."
Harry nodded, his expression open and patient.
He wasn't pressing Severus to continue, but there was a quiet invitation in his gaze, a willingness to hear whatever Severus needed to share. As Harry stepped a little closer, a subtle tilt of his head conveyed a concern that made Severus's chest tighten. It was as if Harry were offering him a safe space, free of judgment.
Severus took a deep breath, his voice softening. "I was right. She did still consider it a betrayal. She was angry… disappointed. But most of all, she hated that I didn't tell her the truth about Albus, that I let the Dark Lord put the students in danger. All of it, really."
He paused, feeling the familiar sting of guilt. But with Harry's steady presence beside him, it felt… less suffocating.
"And yet…" He swallowed, his voice dropping. "I had to explain everything, lay myself bare, so she could understand the pain I'd been carrying. How… killing him nearly destroyed me." He shook his head, as though trying to dismiss the weight of his own words. "But in the end, she saw that the choices I made, however awful, were never simple."
Harry's gaze softened further. "Of course she understood," he murmured. "How couldn't she, when you did everything you could to protect Hogwarts? To protect us?" He took another step closer, the warmth in his eyes tightening something in Severus's chest, filling it with a now familiar sense of solace.
Severus allowed himself a faint, reluctant smile. "You give me more credit than I deserve."
"I don't," Harry replied, his tone thoughtful yet resolute. "Ever since you woke up, I've told you—you've done enough to atone for your mistakes. And now, you have her forgiveness, her understanding." He paused, letting his words settle. Then, leaning in just slightly, his voice softened, warm and steady. "You are a good man, Severus. You deserve so much more than you think."
The honesty and affection in Harry's words wrapped around Severus like a balm, soothing an ache he hadn't fully acknowledged. He exhaled, feeling the chill of the evening air, yet grounded by the warmth in Harry's gaze.
"Thank you," Severus whispered, the words barely more than a breath. They felt inadequate, yet they carried all the sincerity he could muster.
His fingers twitched, a quiet yearning stirring within him for the closeness between them. He took a small step forward, torn between holding Harry's gaze and looking away. But Harry, ever attuned to him, closed the remaining distance, wrapping an arm gently around Severus's shoulders. The warmth radiating from Harry's embrace enveloped him, bringing a comfort unlike any he had ever known. Severus let out a long, quiet breath, releasing a tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"How did it feel?" Harry murmured, his voice low and gentle. "Talking to her?"
Severus looked up, meeting Harry's steady gaze. He didn't respond right away, just taking in the patience and quiet strength in Harry's eyes.
"At first, it was difficult," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "Like trying to breathe after being submerged for too long. Painful, but… freeing, once I finally managed."
When Severus finally looked up, he met Harry's gaze and found only understanding there. Gently, Harry cupped Severus's cheek, his thumb tracing the faint track where the tears had dried. His other arm wrapped around him, a steady presence grounding him, comforting him.
Severus closed his eyes, leaning into Harry's touch. The warmth of Harry's hand was like an anchor, pulling him back from the dark places his mind often wandered.
"I knew she'd forgive you," Harry murmured. "She was just hurt."
"Indeed. But I wished she saw I was in pain as well," Severus murmured.
Harry nodded, tightening his hold on him a bit. "Yes, she should've seen it. But she didn't, and it was up to you to fix things."
Severus nodded—Harry was right. They stood in silence for a few moments as the evening settled around them, the quiet stretching comfortably between them. There was nothing more that needed to be said.
They began walking toward the castle, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the grass beneath. The air was crisp, the faint breeze carrying a chill as the dusk settled, but Harry's warmth lingered close to Severus.
As they walked, Harry's hand brushed against his own. Severus's heart leapt when Harry's fingers closed around his, warm and steady. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and a warmth rose to his face. He kept his gaze ahead, but his heart beat faster, somehow both lighter and steadier.
When they reached the turn for the dungeons, Harry kept walking, leading Severus without a word. And Severus didn't protest—he simply let himself be guided, knowing neither of them wanted to part just yet.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Severus has had the conversation with Minerva, at last!
I have to say, it made me tear up a bit when I was writing it, it's so easy to get in Severus's head and feel his pain. Poor thing!
What do you think will happen next? Any insights? Predictions? Let me know in the comments!
As always, thanks for reading, commenting and your overall support, I appreciate each and every one of you