Chapter 36: Of lines drawn and choices made

Harry couldn't remember the kitchen at Grimmauld Place ever being this quiet during breakfast time. There was the clinking of cutlery on plates, chewing and swallowing noises, a muttered "Could you pass the milk" and "Thanks" from time to time, but apart from that, tense silence held the room in its grip. It was the most awkward he had ever felt during breakfast and that included many a weird morning at the Dursley's and mornings in the Great Hall when him and Ron hadn't been on speaking terms.

Dumbledore was still wearing Mrs. Weasley's apron and looked even more out of place for it. She had been furious when she'd found him at the stove making tea and Harry presumed it was for many more reasons than just the intrusion on her domain and the donning of her apron. So far, she hadn't spoken a word to him, just set a plate and a cup in front of him with so much force that the cup had broken. A quick swish from Remus' wand and the damage had been repaired. Harry wished everything was so easy. A swish of someone's wand and the world was right again, no cracks, no fractures, nothing to cut and hurt yourself on.

Everybody's head shot up as they heard the front door opening and closing and a few seconds later, Arthur Weasley stepped into the kitchen. He looked a little the worse for wear with his hair in more disarray than usual and dark circles under his eyes. His sweater vest was on backwards and one of his shoes was untied. Molly Weasley quickly stepped forward and pulled her husband into an enormous hug, sighing with relief. Then she took a step back and gazed up at him critically.

"Arthur Weasley, have you been drinking?"

Her husband flinched and nodded.

"Yes, dear. I have. Firewhisky from Minerva's private stock. And please don't shout."

Harry got up, offered Mr. Weasley his chair and pulled another one for himself from the far side of the table. Ginny poured her father a cup of tea, Ron added a splash of milk and Hermione slid it across the table to him. He took the first sip and sighed deeply, eyes closed, leaning his head against his wife's chest who was standing guard behind him. When he opened his eyes again, everybody was staring at him. Everyone apart from Albus Dumbledore whose eyes were still fixed on the wooden table in front of him, hands clinging to his untouched cup of tea. The red-headed wizard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers as though even the air moving around him was too loud.

"Arthur, come on!" yelled Tonks. Mr. Weasley flinched again.

"No shouting. Please."

"Then spill. Is he all right? Does he hate us? Will he leave the order? Will he keep on spying? What happened last night?"

Mr. Weasley set down his tea and looked at Tonks.

"Surprisingly yes. I am not sure. I don't think so. I sure hope so. Too much alcohol. Sorry, the night was short, and I am still not done ordering my thoughts on all this. All I want is a few more hours of sleep – Minerva's armchair is surprisingly inadequate for actually resting in it – and possibly a hangover potion. Can you grant me that much?"

"Sure", Lupin smiled.

"No!" Tonks snapped at the same time.

The werewolf took her hands and looked at her fondly.

"I know you are a problem solver, and you want to get this sorted out as soon as possible. But this is not for you to fix. You will just have to be patient. Can you do that?

"No", she mumbled stubbornly and shot him an angry look. Harry was sure it was just for show.

As Mr. Weasley rose gingerly, straightening his back with a pained expression on his face, Hermione spoke up for the first time this morning.

"Is there anything we can do? Anything to help? I hate feeling like this."

On the one hand, Harry felt that, deeply. On the other hand, … he wasn't keen on facing his professor after last night's events. How would he ever look the man in the eyes again? He wasn't clear on what he felt himself yet. Did he pity Snape? Maybe that was the wrong word. It wasn't pity, but he felt genuinely sorry for what had happened to the boy that had become the man he himself loathed with so much passion. That diluted said passion a great deal. Maybe loathing was not an option anymore.

Severus walked steadily up to Minerva's door, a phial of hangover-potion in his hand. His own dose had been downed twenty minutes ago, and he was eternally grateful for the absence of the splitting headache and the nausea that had greeted him upon waking. There was no clear recollection of how he had ended up in his own bed, in his own quarters, but obviously he must have managed it. Undressing had apparently been too much of a burden, with only his shoes beside the bed in the morning and his coat draped across the foot of the bed. He had looked a right mess. Nothing that a quick shower and the aforementioned potion couldn't fix and a look that he felt was well-earned after everything he had gone through in the last twenty-four hours – in the last twenty-four years, if he was being honest.

His knuckles rapped against his colleague's door in the way that let her know it was him. Over the years they had found a system and a rhythm that made interactions between them more efficient. Minerva opened with a smile.

"Severus! Good to see you. Arthur just left. He looked distinctly more disheveled than you do. Maybe I should have sent him home after all. But he was looking so peaceful, fast asleep in my chair."

Severus snorted.

"Good, because I only brought one of those."

He held out the phial. Minerva's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"A hangover-potion? Dear boy, what do you take me for? A Scot can hold her liquor, otherwise she wouldn't be drinking it."

"I should have known. Pardon my assumption, Minerva."

The phial disappeared inside one of his pockets.

"Then I will leave you to your day. I've already taken up enough of your time. Thank you again for … for last night."

Please don't make me say any more. Please don't make me spell it out. I need some time to think.

Maybe his eyes had conveyed the message. Maybe she was glad to have her space. Maybe she simply knew him well enough.

"Always, Severus. Remember."

With that she closed the door again. Blissful quiet surrounded him as he walked away and down the stairs. A bit of fresh air would help him clear his head. A short detour to his rooms ensured that he had a warm cloak and a pair of gloves. Last night's chill still clung to his bones, and he suspected it would be a while, until he was completely at home in himself again. Even if he felt much better today than he would have imagined yesterday. The flood of memories, long buried feelings and fears, of insecurities and regrets had swept him off his feet and beaten him up badly, yet here he was, still in one piece. There was still anger, but the immense rage had died down. A good measure of control was back in his hands. He hoped to be fully in charge of his mind again by the time he had to confront everyone else involved. Hiding in shame was not an option, neither was vengeance. If you are going through hell, keep going. Wasn't that what that Muggle Prime minister had said during the last big muggle war?

The sun kissed Severus Snape straight on the nose as he stepped outside, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in the feeling. Eyes closed, he held his face up to the sun and breathed. The air smelled of snow, crisp cold, and the nearby trees. Opening his eyes he took the first couple of steps, heading in the direction of Hagrid's hut when he heard a hissing sound from behind him. Mrs. Norris was standing in the open door, bushy tailed, ears flat on her head, growling at a streak of silvery light that shot through the darkness inside the castle.

The elegant snow leopard floated by the feline, completely unimpressed, and came to a halt in front of Severus' feet. Dark eyes look up and he heard Narcissa's voice.

"He doesn't have much time. If they find him before we do, I fear it me be the end. Help me, Severus. Help me keep my family safe. You owe me that."

When Moody had entered Grimmauld place shortly after everyone was done with breakfast and Mr. Weasley had disappeared up the stairs to get some rest, he was ready for action.

"So, anybody find him?"

Tonks and Lupin exchanged a glance, with Tonks shaking her head. Mrs. Weasley, who was directing the load of dirty dishes into the sink with her wand, gave the disfigured auror a stern look.

"Arthur did, yes. Why don't you lower your voice and have a cup of tea, Alastor. There is no need to shout."

Moody would have none of it.

"Arthur! Good man", he boomed. "So, where is the traitor? Did Arthur bring him here?" Both eyes wandered abount the room, albeit in different directions. It was a disturbing sight that always left Harry a bit nauseous.

"Alastor, sit down."

Dumbledore finally rose from his chair and took off the apron. He had been listening rather than talking over the course of the last half hour. He had listened to Tonks, describing her interactions with Severus Snape over the years and how she believed to have misjudged him, knowing what she knew now. He had listened to Remus Lupin talk about regret and shame and explaining to Harry and the other young ones how growing up was so painfully hard in retrospect. He had listened to the young Griffindors talking quietly among themselves, showing empathy, level-headedness and a sense of responsibility that made him proud and feel shamed at the same time.

"I take full responsibility for what happened - not just last night, but for Severus. For the last 20 years."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, …" Lupin started.

"Bollocks", Moody cut him short at the same time. "A man is responsible for his own destiny. There are always choices, and Snape made the wrong ones. He has to live with the consequences, as do we all."

Harry was about to pipe in with a few choice words, but Dumbledore beat him to it.

"Then we have to agree to disagree. Let that be my choice."

With that he left the room without looking anyone in the day. Seconds later the door opened, then closed. The Headmaster was gone.

"Harry, boy. Tell me. Where is he?"

Harry looked at Hermione, Ron and Ginny or rose from the table when he did. Mrs. Weasley turned around to fiddle with the dishes. Lupin and Tonks slowly got up as well.

"I don't know", Harry lied straight into Moody's face. Then they all left the kitchen.