When Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin arrived at the Dursleys’ to take him away in the second week of his incarceration there, Harry was only marginally surprised. In the past, he would have been overjoyed at the chance to leave the suffocating hatred of his relatives’ home, but so soon after Sirius’ death and all that it implied, Harry had no joy left in his heart.
He listened silently as they told him that Dumbledore had suggested the move and that he was to remain at Grimmauld Place for the remainder of his holiday. Now that Sirius was dead and the general wizarding population had been alerted to his return, Voldemort was keener than ever to put an end to Harry’s life. The Dursleys’ would remain safe, but Dumbledore felt that Harry would be immeasurably safer if he was moved to the unplottable headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Instead of thanking them excitedly, or asking if he would ever have to return to the Dursleys’ again, as he would have done any other time in the past, Harry simply nodded and returned to his room. Lupin stood awkwardly in the front foyer gazing at Mrs Dursley who stared just as awkwardly back. Dudley cringed behind his mother as Moody’s magical eye twirled maniacally in its socket.
Within a few minutes, Harry had returned to the bottom of the stairs with his packed trunk and Hedwig hooting unhappily in her cage. Moody gave them a nod and Lupin laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry stood stoically in place. The two men apparated with a crack.
Moody’s magical eye scanned the room while the grizzled man gave a small, evil-looking smile, then he too disappeared.
Mrs Dursley was glad that her husband was still at work.
After being directed to his room, Harry let Hedwig out of her cage and opened the bedroom window so the owl could stretch her wings with some flying. He sullenly unpacked his possessions and stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling and not making a sound. Soon after, a small knock was heard on the door and Lupin entered.
“Do you mind if I come in for a bit, Harry?” he asked gently. Harry looked at him but did not answer. Lupin took that as an invitation and sat hesitantly on a chair. Harry’s eyes returned to its investigation of the cracks in the ceiling.
“You’re very quiet,” Lupin said. Harry remained still.
Lupin let out a sigh and decided to just spill it all out. “Look Harry, obviously I can tell there’s something wrong with you - and I know“ he added, holding up his palm to stop Harry from interrupting, because the boy had finally shown evidence of paying attention, “I know things have been difficult for you. They’ve been difficult for all of us. But no matter what you think, no one blames you for Sirius’ death, and we’re all worried about you. You’ve got to stop dwelling on this, it’s eating you up inside. You’re not the only one who misses him,” he added tightly.
Harry sat up and leaned back against the wall, not looking Lupin in the face. “I know I’m not the only one who misses him, and I’m not doing this for attention. None of you understand. I didn’t have anyone for myself my whole life, and when I finally did, I messed it up so badly I killed him. He would never have come after me if I hadn’t made that mistake. It’s my fault that he’s dead, and nothing you, or anyone else can say, is going to make me change my mind about that. My parents died to protect me, and Cedric was in the wrong place at the wrong time - but this time, this time, it was my fault. I forgot about the mirrors, I forget everything Dumbledore told me. I didn’t try hard enough in Occu-“ and Harry finally cracked, his words stuttering as he finally gave into the tears he’d been holding back for weeks.
Lupin moved onto the bed and held the sobbing youth in his arms. A few stray tears ran down his tired face as he comforted the boy.
“You did the best you could, Harry, don’t ever doubt that. Sirius was so proud of you. He’d talk about you for hours whenever we were together. He knows you did the best you could. Don’t ever doubt that he loved you Harry, and would’ve gladly died for you without a second’s hesitation to keep you safe. Don’t cheapen what he did by thinking so poorly of yourself.”
Lupin hugged him tightly then pulled away and waited for Harry to look him in the eye.
“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Lupin said steadily, wishing the boy would believe him.
Harry shook his head, his eyes and nose red from his tears. “No one can ever absolve me of this, Remus. I killed him, just as much as he did.”
“Who did, Harry?” Lupin asked, confused.
With hard eyes and the coldest voice Lupin had ever heard come from him, Harry replied, “Snape.”
The next two weeks passed dully. A member of the Order was always present at Grimmauld Place; sometimes Moody, or Tonks, or even Shacklebolt when he could get away from his official duties, but mostly Lupin. Dumbledore had stopped in the day after Harry’s arrival and spent some time with him. They had sat together in the kitchen, mostly silent but occasionally making light conversation. Harry still didn’t know how to act around the wizard; he thought he had forgiven Dumbledore for holding information back, but the wounds of those revelations were too new, too fresh to be completely forgotten. Dumbledore did his best to remain gentle, and after reminding Harry that his door was always open to him, and that he could speak to him about anything he wanted, day or night, he’d finally left the teenager to his own thoughts.
Harry sat alone in the kitchen until the sun went down, then returned to his dark, sterile room.
Owls appeared and delivered messages from Ron and Hermione, to which Harry had dutifully replied, passing his letters to a member of the Order, where they would be shunted from a secure location. Harry kept his letters deliberately bright. He didn’t want to burden his friends with his concerns or his melancholia, and he really did feel happy that they thought of him so often.
Dumbledore had instructed Dobby to stay at Grimmauld Place, so Harry was cared for physically by the house elf as well as watched over by a responsible adult at all times. He knew he should have felt suffocated, but he was glad of the quiet time to gather his thoughts. Generally the adults left him alone with his thoughts, for which Harry was grateful. And, he was allowed to eat as much as he wanted.
The first night the Order of the Phoenix held a meeting while he was in residence, Harry made sure he was in his room. He had no wish to hear the latest news, and did not want to be overwhelmed by the appearance of so many solicitous adults, Mrs Weasley in particular. Merlin knew he didn’t think of himself as a child that needed coddling anymore, but he suspected that Molly Weasley had different ideas. Ron had hinted in his letters that his mum was very worried about him.
And he didn’t want to take the chance that he’d see Snape again.
Snape. That unmitigated, evil, manipulative, lying fucking bastard. He was the reason Sirius had left the protection of Grimmauld Place. He was the reason that Dumbledore hadn’t been alerted in time. Oh yes, Dumbledore had explained that Snape had simply been doing his job, protecting his cover in front of Umbridge and Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin sycophants, but Harry knew that nothing the man did was ever unplanned. The man had the cunning of a snake and the morals of a worm. Harry would never, ever forgive the man for how he’d goaded Sirius at every opportunity, how he’d teased him with cowardice when he knew that Sirius could not defend himself. Harry had once felt sorry for Snape, when he’d seen the contents of his Pensieve, but now he wished with ever fibre of his being that he’d been there the day the Marauders had mocked Snape. What his father had started, Harry wanted to finish. He wanted to crucify the man.
The only time he’d been forced to see him after school had broken up, Harry had been filled with such rage his wand had appeared in his hand without thought, and he held it up to Snape’s face with deadly fury, hand shaking in its need to be unleashed. Snape had entered the front door of Grimmauld Place when Harry had been coming down the stairs.
The Potions Professor stood fast, not a single movement betraying his emotions as his eyes swept over Harry’s form. Harry let out a groan of dismay as his body refused to cooperate. His mind wanted to hurt the man, his heart wanted to kill him, but his mouth wouldn’t say the words to let him accomplish either of those acts.
Snape’s eyebrows creased in thought and, without a word, he swept past Harry and entered the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him. Harry had collapsed onto the stairs, head hanging between his knees as he panted and angry tears filled his eyes. He was so close, and he hadn’t been able to do it. He returned to his room and did not come out until the next day.
Harry knew he was dreaming when he grabbed his wand and pointed it at Peter Pettigrew, who did not even blink in his direction. Wormtail jostled nervously from one foot to another, his real hand absent-mindedly stroking his silver one, and looking eagerly over his shoulder. Harry took a few cautious steps back and looked around.
He appeared to be in a circular clearing; low grass and knee-high shrubs bordered the copse, while tall trees hung forebodingly. A dozen or so people in dark cloaks and masks stood quietly facing his direction.
“Death-Eaters,” Harry said softly, hand still tightly clutching his wand. As one, the assembled Death-Eaters fell to the floor on their knees. Harry swung around and saw him slowly approach.
Voldemort.
Even though his approach was steady, Harry could see that he walked gingerly. The heavy wrap of clothing around his body did not seem to warm him; Harry could see small puffs of air escape his reptilian lips every time he exhaled. Wormtail grovelled at his master’s feet and quickly transfigured a shrub into a solid oak throne. Voldemort’s red eyes scanned the area and did not even pause when they passed over Harry, who let out a sigh of relief and stepped back to the edge of the clearing. Voldemort settled himself into the chair and clutched onto its arms.
“Wormtail,” he hissed.
“Yes my Lord?” the traitor shuddered, leaning forward in trepidation.
“Are all my faithful here? Is he here?”
Pettigrew nodded quickly and stood to his feet. He looked over the silent Death-Eaters and pointed to one who was kneeling to the side.
“Sssseverusss Sssnape,” Voldemort said with delight.
Harry saw the Death-Eater rise to his feet with agility and walk over to the Dark Lord. He knelt at his feet and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robe.
“My Lord,” he said softly.
“Sssseverusss, my loyal one. My faithful one. Come closer.” Voldemort could not keep his eyes off the man at his heels.
Harry stood close to a tree and shivered. Even though he knew he wasn’t actually there, he felt as cold and as fragile as glass. It was never good to share thoughts with Voldemort, and he couldn’t tell if this had already happened, or was actually happening as he watched. So far, his scar had not caused him any pain, but he did not hold hopes of that lasting long.
Snape shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes focussed on the ground. Harry saw that his hands were held open and steady, although he suspected that the man was tense. Voldemort laid a hand to Snape’s head and gently removed the mask. When his face was finally free of the cloth, Snape slowly raised his eyes to meet his master’s.
“What news do you bring me, darling boy?” Voldemort asked, running a skeletal hand down Snape’s cheek. Harry cringed, although Snape did not so much as flinch.
“The Ministry has finally released the bodies of those who fell back to their families. They have spent many days searching for clues, but so far have no idea how you entered the building, nor how you left.”
Snape’s voice was low and steady as he recited these facts, his face its usual pale colour although Harry thought his lips were pressed together more firmly than usual. It gave him a sick pleasure in the base of his stomach to see the proud man at the feet of such a monster. “It has been confirmed that Sirius Black did fall through the curtain, and he will not be recovered.” Harry felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest as his godfather’s name was mentioned.
“And what of the boy, Sssseverusss? Where have they hidden the boy?” Voldemort asked eagerly.
Snape looked down, his hair swinging forward to cover most of his face.
“I don’t know where Potter is, my Lord. Dumbledore removed him from the care of his relatives within a week of our…visit to the Ministry. He is being remarkably tight-lipped about the boy’s location. I have asked him…”
“You do not know,” Voldemort’s voice was flat.
“I…,” Snape’s voice stumbled.
Harry held his breath as he waited to hear what Snape would say. He knew that Snape knew exactly where he was hidden.
“You do not know,” Voldemort repeated, a sliver of anger entering his already harsh voice.
“I beg your pardon, my Lord. I do not know,” Snape said, and hung his head lower. Harry could see a quick shiver run down his spine.
Voldemort moved the hand that had been stroking his face up to Snape’s hair and roughly pulled his head up until his neck was forced back at an uncomfortable angle. Harry stepped further back until his back was pressed into the tree.
“You disappoint me, Sssseverus,” the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes burning a brighter red. “What good are you to me if you cannot bring me information from the inside? Where is Harry Potter?” he screamed.
Snape’s eyes hardened for a split second then went back to their implacable stare. “I do not know where he is,” he lied.
Volemort’s eyes gleamed with white fury and he suddenly released Snape’s hair, causing him to fall backwards. Snape landed harshly on his elbows.
Voldemort rose slowly from his throne while Pettigrew whimpered at his feet. Harry looked around wildly – what was he supposed to do? If this was dream, how could he get out of here? The Death-Eaters had not moved from their positions; no one was looking in his direction. He pinched his thigh hard; even though it hurt, it was not enough to wake him up. He didn’t want to be here. Even if it wasn’t real, he didn’t want to see what was going to happen. And if it was real….
Even though he hated Snape with a passionate fury, he didn’t want to see him tortured or worse. He’d had enough of death, he was sick of it. He didn’t want to watch another person die. Not for him. Never for him.
“Lucius.”
A Death-Eater stood up from the centre of the group and removed his mask. His pony-tailed blonde hair hung with a silken sheen, and his face bore the impassive expression of a person attending a slightly boring dinner party.
“He has failed us again Lucius. What say you?”
Lucius Malfoy strode casually towards the throne and looked at Snape’s prone body with distaste. Snape looked at him with quietly controlled anger.
Malfoy’s mouth twisted in a moue of distaste and he wrinkled his nose. “He has failed to bring you what you require, my Lord. Again.” He sniffed. “Perhaps a demonstration to…..remind Severus of who he is, and who he follows?”
Voldemort smiled and sat back casually in his chair, his arm flung towards the two Death-Eaters locked in a staring competition. “As usual,” Voldemort chuckled, “your understanding of these matters mirrors my own. Let it begin.”
Malfoy bowed slightly to the Dark Lord and, with a small grin, kneed Snape in the face. Snape had been totally unprepared for the movement and took the full force of the hit. Harry heard the crunching of bone from where he was standing.
“Oh no,” Malfoy said with a false sense of distress, “I do believe that Severus has broken his nose again.”
Voldemort chuckled and said, “Rise up, my Death-Eaters. Rise up, my faithful. Show this one what we do to those that disappoint.”
Harry watched as the Death-Eaters rose swiftly to their feet and silently converged around Snape.
They fell on him like a pack of wild animals.
Harry couldn’t see Snape’s body under the thickness of flailing limbs kicking and punching. He could hear, though - his ears were filled with the sounds of pleasure, as the Death-Eaters laughed and joked while they pummelled the fallen man’s body. Snape was silent throughout the attack and Harry looked at Voldemort. The Dark Lord sat comfortably in his throne, observing the carnage with a grin. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were somewhere else. He didn’t want to see what remained of Snape’s body. He didn’t want to know what other tortures Voldemort had in store.
“Please wake up, please wake up,” he pleaded with himself, shaking his head and pressing his fists into his mouth. Harry could see one of Snape’s arms flung out on the ground, a dark patch of blood slowly expanding on the pristine white of his shirtsleeve. His upper torso was still hidden as the Death-Eaters crunched and twisted his bones, jumping and dancing around with murderous glee.
“Please, please, please, please,” Harry chanted, slapping himself in the face and praying to every deity he knew to let him get out of there, to let him leave now. A loud scream arose from within the pack of assailants. Harry had never heard it before, but he knew that it was the sound of Snape screaming in pain.
Harry gasped and sat up on his bed, his eyes trying to find something to focus on in the darkness of his room. His chest was filled with loathing toward the man who he’d just seen abused, hatred at the man’s very existence…but almost instantly, those feelings bled away and he was filled with the need to act. The need to save.
Harry jumped out of his bed and scrambled down the stairs, hands ready to grab the floo powder that would allow him to speak to Dumbledore.
He paced for what seemed like hours in the hallway, until the front door slammed open.
“Upstairs,” Dumbledore’s voice commanded as his eyes flicked over Harry. He gave a small nod and continued on his way to the second floor. “Dobby!”
The house-elf quickly appeared and followed the Headmaster up the stairs. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin passed through the open door, their arms carefully holding up the bloody form of Snape, who hung lifeless between them. His hair was streaked with gore, and Harry could smell the distinct odours of blood, urine and vomit clinging to his frame.
“Move!” Shacklebolt screamed with a worried look on his face, and Harry swiftly pressed himself against the wall, his head accidentally hitting it. He momentarily saw stars from the impact. As Lupin passed Harry, he gave him a small smile of concern, then the two Order members quickly but carefully took their fallen comrade up the stairs.
Madame Pomfey entered and shut the door decisively behind her.
“What can I do to help?” Harry asked.
She pursed her lips and, rolling her voluminous sleeves up said, “Stay out of the way.”
Harry sat at the kitchen table feeling useless, a cup of cold, forgotten tea at his elbow. As the dawn light filtered gently through the windows, he listened to the rapid footsteps that paced relentlessly in the rooms above. Occasionally, he overheard a door open and listened as Madame Pomfrey asked for potions and equipment in a hurried voice, then the door would slam shut and feet would begin to pace again.
The morning silence was rent with a loud scream of pain. Harry started and knocked over his teacup. The liquid ran a steady stream to the floor, then slowed, the sounds of drops falling loud in the silence of the kitchen. Before he had a chance to clean the mess, Dumbledore entered the room, his tread slow and heavy. Harry’s question was unspoken.
“He’s still alive,” Dumbledore said, attempting a smile. “He’s a lot tougher than you’d think.” Dumbledore’s voice cracked and Harry was alarmed to see tears welling in his eyes.
Harry took Dumbledore’s elbow and guided him to a chair, cleaned up the spilt tea, and prepared and served a fresh cup of tea for them both. They sipped their tea in silence, Harry staring at the widening beam of sunlight on the floor as he gave Dumbledore time to compose himself.
A loud honk drew Harry from his thoughts and Dumbledore returned a tartan handkerchief to his pocket.
“I’m sorry dear boy,” he said, patting Harry’s hand absently. “Dear boy, my poor dear boy.” He continued patting, and Harry knew he wasn’t talking about him.
“What’s wrong with Professor Snape, sir?” Harry asked. Having witnessed some of the brutal attack, he knew Snape’s injures to be extensive but was rattled by Dumbledore’s behaviour.
Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye and asked bluntly, “Do you really want to know?”
Harry nodded slowly, saying, “I don’t…want to, but I think it’s important for me to know. So I know,…so I can be aware of what to expect in the future.”
Dumbledore nodded in return and began the litany in an almost matter-of-fact voice.
“All his toes have been broken, and the ligaments from both ankles are torn. His left kneecap has been shattered and his right femur has fractured in three places. He has massive internal bleeding and one of his kidneys has been punctured. Two ruptured discs, five broken ribs. One lung punctured, one grazed. Garrote wounds to the neck. A dislocated jaw, a broken cheekbone, broken nose. He’ll be furious about that,” Dumbledore chuckled sadly. “Two black eyes. Bleeding from the ears, which could signify brain injury. That’s ignoring the damage done to his nervous system caused by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.”
Dumbledore smiled weakly. “It would probably have been quicker if you’d asked what was right with him.”
Harry felt flabbergasted and sick to his stomach. He didn’t understand how someone could be so injured yet still be alive. “He…he’ll be okay, though, won’t he?”
Dumbledore sighed and stared at his cup. “Oh yes Harry, he will live. In time, he will recover. Let us not underestimate the persuasive powers of healing that Madame Pomfrey wields. Nor the power Severus has to heal himself.”
Harry tossed and turned in his bed, tangling himself in the covers and punching the pillow, but he could not get to sleep. After trying for an hour, he quietly got up and wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak. No doubt there would be an adult awake that would want to know why he wasn’t asleep, and he was in no mood for conversation.
As he snuck out of his room, he saw Dumbledore at the end of the passage, letting himself into Snape’s room. Without giving himself time to think, Harry followed him and stood in the open doorway.
Snape’s room was simply furnished. A bed, mirror, chest of drawers and two chairs were the only furniture. Extra pillows and a heavy quilt were piled neatly on one chair, and Dumbledore lowered himself into the other. Harry stepped silently into the room and stood with his back pressed to the wall.
After looking at the sleeping man for some minutes, Dumbledore leaned forward and gently stroked the pale, lifeless hand that rested on top of the covers. The dichotomy of their hands struck Harry; one large and long-fingered but quiescent, the other wrinkled and gnarled but active. Dumbledore stroked softly, slowly, a small smile on his face and a far-away look in his eyes.
Snape’s eyes flickered; he flinched and opened them suddenly. The panic soon dissipated as he saw his employer sitting quietly by his side.
“Albus,” he croaked.
“My dear boy,” Albus said, moving his hand to touch Snape gently on the cheek. “You had us worried there for a while.”
Snape let out a pained snort and closed his eyes. “Find it difficult to replace me, would you?”
Albus chuckled and sat back in his chair, clasped hands relaxing in his lap. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. I always know you’re on the mend when you can insult me.”
“That wasn’t an insult,” Snape murmured, gathering breath. “This is an….”
“Yes, yes, Severus,” Dumbledore chuckled, “I see your point.” The Headmaster looked at the injured man for a few seconds then asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
The pained expression crossed Snape’s face again and he swallowed weakly. A look of dread filled his eyes.
“If you’re not feeling up to it, we can carry on this conversation later,” Dumbledore soothed. With that, Snape’s expression relaxed and he shook his head.
“Might as well get it over and done with,” he said. Dumbledore waited patiently while Snape gathered his thoughts. Harry silently lowered himself to rest on the floor. He was as curious as Dumbledore to know what had happened that night; both before and after his vision.
“I was called just after ten,” Snape began. “I left a message for you in the usual place in my chambers and left the grounds. I apparated to Malfoy’s manor. There were two other Death-Eaters there – Avery and Goyle. All of them seemed to be in a very good mood. They wouldn’t tell me where we were going - Lucius simply said there would be ‘much sport’ that night. We used a portkey, which left us in the middle of a forest somewhere. I’m not sure of the exact location.”
Dumbledore nodded and encouraged him to continue.
“After Pettigrew informed us of the usual, who was doing what and to whom, the Dark Lord appeared. He sat down and called me to him.” Snape paused. “I went to him Albus,” he said softly. “I was the first one he called. I didn’t even have an inkling.”
“Yes, my boy, go on,” Dumbledore murmured, caressing Snape’s hand again.
“He asked me where Potter was. I said he’d been moved from his relatives’ house and I didn’t know his location. I tried to make him believe that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. He didn’t believe me and he asked me again. I couldn’t Albus, I couldn’t let him…” Snape’s voice broke and Dumbledore lifted a glass of water to his lips. Snape took a few sips then moved his head away to show he was finished.
Snape sunk back into the pillows and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t tell him Albus,” he continued, voice low and strong now. “If they’d have found out, Potter wouldn’t have lived to see the dawn. I couldn’t let them; I wouldn’t let them find him. And then he…got angry.”
Snape’s hands clenched and his lips tightened. Dumbledore insinuated one hand into Snape’s and clutched it tightly.
“He called Lucius over. I know now that they had the whole thing planned. They never had any intention of letting me go unpunished. The Dark Lord gave the word, Lucius kicked me, and then,…and then they…”
“Hush my boy,” Dumbledore said, a look of repressed fury on his face, although his voice was as soft as ever. “There’s no need for you to tell me anymore. We know what they did to you.”
“But you don’t!” Snape shouted, as he sat up angrily. He pushed Dumbledore away from him, recoiling into his own skin. “That’s not it! You don’t understand. You won’t ever understand.”
“Severus,” Dumbledore said sternly, trying to quell the man’s hysteria. “Stop this, before you make yourself sicker.”
“They had a vampire, Albus,” Snape roared; anguish wracking his normally stern face. “I tried to stay conscious but one of them hit me in the head. When I woke up, Lucius had his cane in my mouth - he was forcing me to keep it open.”
Dumbledore grabbed Snape’s wrist and held it tightly.
Snape’s voice lowered to a tortured whisper. “I saw him, Albus. He had the Mark. He stood over me and slit his wrist. I could see the blood dripping and I tried to get away, I fought with everything that I had, but Lucius had me pinned and I couldn’t control my muscles because of the Cruciatus and I tried not to breathe, I tried not to swallow, but he was digging into my throat and I didn’t want to, Albus.”
Snape’s face clenched at the memory of the assault and the sound of his erratic breathing filled the room. “I didn’t want to,” he repeated, his voice filled with emotion.
Dumbledore sat on the side of the bed and enfolded the man into his embrace. At first Snape fought him, then his strained body eased and he allowed himself to be held, almost against his will.
“I don’t deserve this, Albus,” he said, quite obviously meaning the display of affection.
“You have sacrificed so much,” Dumbledore said, squeezing him in one convulsive movement and lowering Snape’s shaking body back into the bed.
“I never expected to come out of this unscathed,” Snape said morosely. He looked at Dumbledore, disconcertion showing on his face as he waited for the inevitable barrage of questions.
“Why?”
Snape sighed and looked at his hands. He thought, shook his head minutely, then spoke. “I think his reasoning was that if you knew what I would become, you wouldn’t want me anymore, and I’d have no choice but to turn back to him. Or…take other, more permanent measures.”
Dumbledore contemplated the pattern of his robes while Snape waited, tense with anticipation.
“How much do you know about Muggles, Severus?” Albus asked. Snape narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“Yes, well,” Dumbledore chuckled, “perhaps you’ve been too busy to give them the full attention they deserve. They have a book, a very famous book, from which a lot of their major religions seem to draw heavily.”
“I take it you mean the Bible?” Snape asked in bewilderment.
“Ah yes, my dear boy. Shouldn’t assume anything with you, should I,” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up fondly.
“I’m not a complete moron, Albus,” Snape remarked dryly. Albus’ eyes twinkled.
“There’s a particular story I’ve always enjoyed from their Bible,” Dumbledore continued. “I don’t remember it exactly, but I know enough to get its point across. There was a man, a very wealthy man who had two sons. Now he decided to share his wealth between his two sons while he was still alive, so he could see how they used his bounty. One of his sons remained with him, helping him and being totally devoted to the father and their land. The other son left immediately, taking his wealth and squandering it without thought. When that son’s money ran out, and he was entirely without hope or friend, he decided to return to the father. He believed that, if he must endure suffering for the rest of his days, better to do it in the company of those who had once loved him then amongst strangers. Now when the father realised that his son had returned, he was overwhelmed with happiness, and called the rest of his family and friends to him to celebrate his good fortune. The prodigal son had returned.”
Snape’s breathing had slowed during the story, and his eyes were half-closed with weariness. “Seems rather unfair to the son that remained true.”
“That’s not the point of the story, Severus,” Dumbledore said, “although most people seem to make the same assumption. The point is this - that it didn’t matter what either of the sons had done; the father still loved them. And he was so happy when his lost son returned to him, his heart was so filled with gladness that he couldn’t help but rejoice.”
Dumbledore leaned over and whispered in Snape’s ear. “You have never been prodigal, my dear boy, but I have always thought of you as my son. There is nothing, nothing that you could ever do or ever say that will make me think less of you, or turn me from your side.”
Snape smiled wryly. Dumbledore placed a paternal kiss on his cheek and sat back in his chair.
“Albus?” Snape asked quietly.
“Yes, dear boy?”
“I don’t suppose you have any of those infernal lemon drops on you, do you?”
Dumbledore laughed and Snape’s eyes glinted with amusement.
Harry stood up slowly, the nerves in his feet tingling as blood rushed through his limbs again. He had felt uncomfortable witnessing the display between the two old friends but had been too curious to move. Now he had intruded enough.
As he glanced up one final time before turning away, his eyes caught the mirror hanging above Snape’s bed. Dumbledore stared at his reflection, gave a tiny nod, then looked away, rummaging in his robes for lemon drops.
Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts to oversee the general running of the school, and to make sure that Voldemort’s spies were not alerted to anything unusual. After a day or two, Poppy also left, but checked her patient every evening, much to his annoyance. Dumbledore asked Remus Lupin to stay at Grimmauld Place indefinitely, which he was pleased to do. He enjoyed spending time with Harry and, even though the very walls reminded him of their shared loss, it made his heart easier to know he was doing something that Sirius would have wished to do himself.
That’s not to say that Snape was pleased with the arrangements. The morning after the conversation Harry had witnessed between the Potions Master and Dumbledore, Snape had begun to insist loudly and frequently that he be allowed to return to his quarters at Hogwarts. Harry, laying on his stomach on his bed and trying to do some homework, had snickered when he’d heard Madame Pomfrey speak to Snape in the same tone of voice she used when Harry complained that he wanted to leave the infirmary after his frequent injuries. He was not well, and would remain exactly where he was until she said otherwise. End of story.
While Lupin generally left Harry to himself, for which Harry was grateful, they usually spent some time together after lunch in the library. Now that the house had been thoroughly cleaned, the rooms were comfortable, if not modern. They would sit in the fading afternoon light and read silently, or engage in slow conversation as Lupin attempted to teach Harry the finer points of chess. Even though Harry had not seen his best friend in weeks, he looked forward to the day he would be able to shut Ron up by finally beating him in a game.
The two men raised their heads as they heard the Headmaster’s steady pace coming down the stairs.
“Ah, there you are,” Dumbledore said, and helped himself to a cup of tea.
“And how is our patient?” Lupin asked with a grin.
“Complaining so much you’d think we’d engineered the whole scheme ourselves. He keeps insisting he’s well enough to be moved, while I keep insisting that I have never gone against Poppy’s directions, and am not silly enough to start now.”
Lupin chuckled. “He was saying much the same when I took him lunch. Has a one-track mind when he wants, doesn’t he? Now Harry, watch this move.”
Harry watched his bishop be completely destroyed by one of Lupin’s pawns.
“Damn,” he said lightly. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“It’s all about the art of misdirection,” Lupin said cunningly, and poured himself and Harry another cup of tea.
“How are you getting on these days, Harry?” Dumbledore asked quietly. Harry swallowed and paid a great deal of attention to his chess pieces.
“Good,” he said finally. “I think I’m good.”
Dumbledore smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m very glad to hear it. And you, Remus? How are you and Severus faring?”
Lupin grimaced. “Well, suffice to say I’ll never be his favourite person, but tolerably, tolerably. At least he speaks to me now, when I take him his medicine or meals. He even hinted that he’s slightly put out that he won’t be able to make a batch of Wolfsbane Potion in the near future. Purely because he enjoys making it, of course, not because it would help me.”
He and Dumbledore laughed. Both knew that the last thing Snape would want to be accused of was caring. As their laughter died away, a question that had been playing on Harry’s mind broke through.
“Headmaster, does Professor Snape know how you found him? I don’t even know that, and I was there. Well, for some of it.”
The look that passed between Lupin and Dumbledore showed that Harry’s dream had not been kept entirely secret. Dumbledore nodded at Lupin, who sat back with a sigh and answered Harry.
“We’ve always known that what Severus was doing was dangerous, but once he was in Voldemort’s good graces again, he refused to back away. The Headmaster cast a spell on him, with his full knowledge and consent, of course. It works in a similar way to a Muggle alarm I believe, although it doesn’t make a sound. Its purpose was to immediately apparate Severus as close as possible to Hogwarts’ grounds. It had never gone off before, because it was only triggered to work when the body it possessed was in extreme danger.”
“Extreme danger as in being tortured or extreme danger… “ Harry’s voice trailed off.
“Extreme danger as in close to death,” Dumbledore continued. “It monitors a number of things, including a person’s heart rate, blood pressure, blood loss and build-up of spells. Suffice to say, Professor Snape would not let me cast it upon him until we had it keyed to such a precise degree that only near-fatal injuries would cause it to activate. He didn’t want it going off in ordinary circumstances.”
“Ordinary?” Harry whispered.
“Just the general way that Voldemort shows displeasure to his followers. But I don’t want you to think of that now, Harry. Thanks to your quick-mindedness, we were alert and ready when Severus appeared at the edge of Hogwarts. His injuries were quite severe, and your warning made sure he didn’t die that night, my boy.”
Harry looked at the floor and shook his head. “I wasn’t,…that is, I didn’t do anything brave. I would have done the same for anyone in that situation. I know that Professor Snape and I…don’t get along, but I don’t wish him dead. Not anymore,” he said uncomfortably.
“And have you told him that?” Dumbledore enquired.
“I haven’t spoken to him since before the end of term. Last time he was here I was…still very angry with him. And at myself. I haven’t had the opportunity to make amends. I’m not sure what I’d say to him, or if he’d even see me. I still don’t particularly like him,” he added defiantly.
Lupin laughed. “I can understand that, Harry. Severus is a hard man to take. He certainly doesn’t make it easy to be friends with him.”
“I don’t want to be his friend,” Harry remarked, “only, I guess I should thank him for what he’s done for me, both now and in the past. Does he…does he know that I saw him in my dreams, sir?”
Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, his eyes piercing Harry’s. “Yes, my boy. I felt obliged to tell him of the full situation, even though I knew he wouldn’t look too kindly on you having access to his personal life again.”
Harry heart stopped. “You know about the…that?”
Dumbledore did not move, although Lupin asked curiously, “What do you mean?”
Harry took a deep breath and made the decision to own up to his past actions. “I looked in Professor Snape’s Pensieve, Remus.”
“Harry!” Lupin said, horrified. “How could you do something like that?”
“I didn’t know,” Harry exclaimed. “I mean,…I knew what it was, but I didn’t mean to look into his. I just sort of fell in. I’ve felt really ashamed of what happened that day, but he’s never given me the opportunity to apologise. And I would have, but he refused to keep teaching me Occlumency, and every time I saw him in class he was just so horrible, so Snape to me, that I decided he didn’t deserve my apologies. I really didn’t mean it,” he finished weakly.
“Professor Snape is a very private man,” Dumbledore said remotely. “You could imagine, or perhaps you can’t yet, what it’s like for a man of his nature to know that his most private thoughts, some of his worst memories, are known to a person who has made it quite obvious throughout the years despises him.”
“I never told anyone!” Harry said hotly. “I didn’t, and I won’t. Not even about this. I know how to keep a secret, sir.”
“Has Professor Snape ever used the memories he saw in your mind against you, Harry?” he asked softly.
Harry thought hard. He’d suffered numerous taunts from Snape in his school years, but realised that the memories Snape had tore from his mind during the Occlumency lessons had never been mentioned out of that room.
“No sir,” Harry whispered.
Dumbledore smiled wryly. “It seems that both of you, when it comes down to it, are honourable men.”
Lupin looked like he finally understood something. “So that’s why he…,” and his voice trailed off as he looked at Harry with wide eyes.
“Sir?” Harry looked to Dumbledore.
“Yes, Harry.”
“Do you think it would be alright, that is, if it didn’t make things worse…would I be able to speak to Professor Snape? I…I’ve got some things to say to him.”
Dumbledore’s face softened, and he reached over again to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “I should think that would go very well, my boy.”
