The whole matter had rather spun into a terrible affair. Dumbledore had so far kept things quiet outside of Hogwarts but the students’ whispers, their talks, the looks and overall the frigid and painful atmosphere in every classroom meant that the Headmaster's efforts would soon be in vain.

Of course the source of the matter had to be Harry Potter. Severus Snape thought the universe would be appalled if some other acne covered teen took such drastic steps to gain even a little, and most certainly negative, attention. Bloody Potter was of course the source.

However, despite the age old sensation of seeing Potter once again make a desperate grab for whatever kind of fame he could, the matter was of a serious nature, he could at least tell that much from the way Pomona's eyes were red with crying, Filius’ usually perfect posture slumped, McGonagall’s lips pursed so tightly that they were a mere slash of pale flesh across her face. Every teacher who knew of the matter looked aged, one would think a student had died, but no, surely not. That, Severus would have known of.

The rest of the staff were in attendance, either curious or somber or even a few being bored.

“I'm afraid the matter at hand has drawn everyone away from the few minutes of respite you have during the day,” Albus started the meeting, voice low with grief.

Severus watched him intently. Surely a student hadn't died. No one said anything, even Sinistra didn’t grumble out a sarcastic comment as she was often wont to do.

Albus’ garb was a midnight blue with small silver pinpricks scattered across the fabric, for some reason it had a melancholy feel. Standing before staff, sequestered away from the students and grandeur of the great hall, Albus looked very old.

“I'm afraid an incident has occurred of a very grave nature, I wish to assure before speaking further on it that little is known aside from the words of a student, our priorities will be to settle the matter as discreetly as possible. I hope you will all stay focused on the important thing in the matter, a discovery of the truth.”

Albus paused again and Severus withheld a derisive sneer. The man was dragging it out, if he would just get on with it.

“One of our sixth years, Mr. Potter, has come under a very serious allegation. Mr. Zabini has accused Mr. Potter of making unwanted sexual advances on a first year student.”

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. It was deathly silent. Severus realized why exactly Albus was so intent on discretion.

Potter had not amounted to what anyone had expected, from the first year he had been quiet and tremulous, as time went by he grew into a loner with poor social skills and held in derision by many of his classmates. He was initially appalling at all spell casting despite being a studious child, and it was only since the third year that the boy had started to do well at wand work.
Bullied, poorly dressed and seemingly perpetually distressed, by his sixth year the boy had no friends apart from another odd student by the name of Lovegood. Severus blamed the child, he was just like his father with the key difference being that the students of this generation no longer lauded the traits that had gotten the elder Potter friendship and school glory. The younger Potter was merely reaping the seeds he'd sown.

It didn't explain his stutter when yelled at, or his apparent meekness, it didn't explain his fear of teachers and the lack of social skills. Severus however was too prejudiced to see past the weak facade he'd conjured to obscure the boy’s true nature.

“We will be conducting an internal investigation until something conclusive can be determined.”

There was silence another moment.

“The ministry should be informed,” Slughorn stated, his sleepy morality roused but only enough for him to wish to sweep the problem away for someone else to answer to.

No one else supported the suggestion. Last year's imbroglio with the ministry and the eventual fall out had soured nearly every staff members’ desire to convene or draw aid from the ministry, last year though was precluded by frequent events where government meddling at the school had caused heartache and misery, from using it as a safety deposit box for the philosopher’s stone to posting dementors as watchguards, the ministry had indeed only created or aggravated problems.

“Mr. Zabini isn’t a first year though, and what evidence does he have?” Professor Burbage spoke up.

“I’m afraid the matter is too serious for us to disclaim his statement, also, I believe Mr. Zabini has proved himself an intelligent boy and one who has no past behavior of making such claims out of possible enmity.”

No, no indeed, Severus knew Blaise Zabini well enough to know that the boy would never say something of this nature unless it were true or if he were under great duress of emotion. Albus was quite right in his statement.

“Potter is a, strange, boy,” Filius said, hesitating on the word ‘strange’.

Strange was a good description, especially since the boy’s fourth year when Barty Crouch Jr., under the guise of Alastor Moody and with the distraction of the Triwizard tournament had fostered a relationship with the boy before ultimately torturing him extensively and handing him over to the Dark Lord. The boy had been changed from the event, and became even more withdrawn. No one was sure about how he escaped the graveyard where the event took place and it had taken a bottle of veritaserum to drag the truth from his lips.

Luckily little had been said, Viktor Krum had won the Triwizard tournament and Harry, unwilling to come forward in any way, had left the wizarding world in the dark. Few had been aware of Voldemort’s return until he’d made a decisive and devastating attack on the Ministry of Magic the year prior. Hundreds were killed and a statement of intent given. For being a Gryffindor, the Potter boy seemed to ultimately be a coward.

“That’s not fair, Filius,” Pomona broke in, one of the few teachers who continually tried to reach out to the boy.

“Yes, Professor Sprout is correct, strange is in no way a condemning trait,” Albus said.

A murmur grew among the staff members, but it died as Albus spoke again.

“I must ask Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey to aid me in the investigation. I would ask you all to help me keep this from becoming another tragedy. We’ve had far too many in these few years at Hogwarts and subject matter such as this can quickly become poisonous on a level unequal to the truth. Please remember, the most important thing is to determine the truth and provide aid to any who have been victims in this matter.”

Albus dismissed them after that, those he mentioned lingered.

“Ah, thank you so for your cooperation and help, this is not a trivial matter. I’m sure I don’t have to emphasize the importance of the task, if the events should take a certain turn all of you may be called as witnesses in a formal trial. I greatly hope that that is not the case.”

“Of course, Professor,” Poppy replied.

McGonagall dipped her head while Severus said nothing.

“I must ask you Poppy to conduct a physical and magical exam on Ms. Jemima Bell, the event is purported to have occurred yesterday and the sooner an exam is conducted the sooner we can come to a better understanding of the events. Ms. Bell will be waiting for you in the infirmary, she’ll be accompanied by her older sister Katie.”

Poppy gave a nod and left. There remained Severus and Minerva.

“Minerva, Mr. Potter is your student, and I was hoping you could keep an eye on him. He will need to be interviewed, a task I leave to Severus, but I wish you to be particularly vigilant.”

“Headmaster, this business, do you think there is any truth in Mr. Zabini’s claim?” Minerva’s voice was tight and struggling.

“I do not believe Harry capable of this, but every precaution must be taken and every possibility considered.”

Minerva managed a rough nod before turning and leaving.

“Severus,” Albus said, a great sigh issuing forth and the man looking sorely grieved.

“I will have you question all three students, consecutively, Mr. Zabini is available now. Mr. Potter right after and Ms. Bell as soon as Poppy has finished with her.”

Albus grew quiet, eyes wandering. Severus could feel though that his presence was still desired. He waited as patiently as he could in silence. Finally Albus turned to look at him. Severus was shocked to see the tears on the man’s face.

“I have neglected the boy, I’m afraid,” Albus grew silent, gaze more distant than ever, “I’ve let him suffer long enough that this might not be a mere trifle.”

Severus wondered, Albus was confessing in some small way. What had he let the boy suffer? It also shocked Severus that Albus actually thought that Potter could be capable of such a deed. Maybe the cruciatus under Crouch’s hand for so many hours had truly addled the boy’s mind. Severus grit his teeth and allowed a curt nod.

“I will interview Mr. Zabini,” he said.

Another moment passed.

“If Mr. Potter has done anything, I’m afraid I will not be able to speak for my reactions. Ms. Bell is my student,” Severus let the warning into his voice.

If Mr. Potter had done anything to Ms. Bell, Severus would more than kill the teenager.

“Severus,” Albus said half-heartedly, his remonstration useless as Severus was already leaving.


XxX


Blaise Zabini was fidgeting. Severus knew the boy as being poised and graceful, he rarely fidgeted. Good, the sixteen year old was uncomfortable.

“Mr. Zabini, this interview will be as long as necessary. I expect you to tell the whole truth and, because you are nearly of age and certain laws allow it, if you are willing to consent to the use of veritaserum I have it on hand. The use of veritaserum will be noted in the interview and it will help to strengthen the veracity of your statement.”

Severus of course omitted that it was not a foolproof potion and that though it might add some legitimacy to the boy’s formal statement, it wasn’t much. In truth Severus wished to ease his own mind, there was little chance that the boy had any natural resistance to the potion, it would clear a few things up while also adding pressure on the child. If he was lying he might hesitate to continue and might even possibly retract his statement.

“Of course professor, if it’s necessary, I’ll do it.”

Severus blinked. Blaise was very sure, the nervousness clarifying slightly so Snape saw it as an overwhelming resolve. Whatever the boy told him, it would be the truth.

“Then let us begin,” Severus said, flourishing his wand.

A paper appeared, a formal tool of documentation which would ensure Severus was unable to tamper with it, alongside it was a quill and a small curious device. All floated in midair to the left of the two.

“I will refrain from asking too many questions to avoid the possibility of biasing the witness’ statement, I will give little prompting in order to remain as unbiased as possible. The only thing I ask is that you give as detailed an account as possible. Do you swear that all statements you will make are in no way influenced by anything other than your desire to give witness?”

“Yes professor,” Blaise replied.

The quill was scratching away, recording.

“And you are here of your own free will, uninfluenced by any spell or other magical influence, and are you willing to submit yourself to testing to insure this is true?”

“Yes,” Blaise rubbed his hands anxiously on his pants.

Severus raised his wand to the device and it whirred before letting out a bright flash. Blaise blinked to regain his sight.

“I, Severus Snape, acting as overseer of this interview submit to all the entailed responsibilities of this position and acknowledge that I will be held in contempt of the law should I breach any conduct.”

The device let out another whir before continuing to hover sedately.

“And do you, Mr. Zabini, submit to the use of veritaserum for the whole of the interview?”

Blaise nodded, “yes.”

Severus summoned the small bottle before conjuring a small glass of water. He added three drops to it and handed it to the teenager. The boy drank it quickly and Severus vanished the cup.

“Please begin, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise adjusted his position in the chair, took in a breath and began.

“I was on my way from Divination to Charms, this was yesterday October 3rd, maybe about two o’clock in the afternoon. Professor Trelawney let us out a little later than usual and we were holding class on the grounds so I took a shortcut so I wouldn’t be late.”

Blaise readjusted himself again, looking uncomfortable.

“I was on the second floor, passing the closed bathroom, you know, Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I heard crying and at first I thought it was just the ghost, crying like she usually does, but it sounded different. I-I went in and I saw Potter, with Bell, and I couldn’t see them very well but she was sitting down and he was crouched over her. She was crying, saying she didn’t want to do it and he was saying something but I couldn’t hear.”

Blaise fell silent, gaze dropping with shame from his professor’s.

“I-I would’ve done something, but I wasn’t sure. And then Bell got up after a little bit, Potter helped her and she was pulling her tights back up and when Potter saw me he got real pale and Bell blushed and, and,” Blaise stopped short.

“Bell left and I followed her, to make sure she was alright, but she didn’t want to talk to me and Potter looked so scared and worried.”

Blaise was finished.

Severus felt enraged, a cold fury circumventing his usual calm.

“Thank you, Mr. Zabini, you are free to go.”

Blaise stood up, rubbed his palms one final time on his pants and then stepped out of the room. Severus said nothing, fists clenched. He knew Potter was lazy, idle, useless, so many things, but he had never thought the boy so depraved.

Severus waved his wand, stilling the quill which was taking time as well. He did not banish it though since Mr. Potter would be entering soon enough.

Several minutes later there was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” Severus managed to spit out, still feeling as if he would explode.

Potter entered, bumbling, hands trembling and his eyes, as they ever were, wide with fear. The boy approached but he stopped a few feet away and said nothing.

“Sit,” Severus said, voice a low hiss.

The boy flinched, before nodding vigorously in assent and scrambling to the chair. He sat there, fingers clinging to the chair sides and the balls of his feet on the floor. The boy was hunched over like a frightened animal. The scene disgusted Severus.

“This is an interview, you will tell the complete and absolute truth, Mr. Potter, and you will omit no detail.”

The boy quivered under the oppressive tone. He was not a particularly tall boy, but he was painstakingly thin, hair unkempt and at times oily and unclean. His dress was always ragged unless he was in school uniform, clothing ill fitting, worn, and generally too big. He was always clutching his bag or his books to his chest, and if nothing was there to clutch, he kept his arms wrapped around his middle. The boy had a round face, but his skin seemed stretched tight over the bones and it gave him garish lines of contour which made him look hauntingly sick. Cowering like a dog he made a rather unimpressive figure.

“I have veritaserum which you may consent to using to help validate your statement.”

Severus levelled Potter with a condescending glare, one filled with malice and anger.

“Do you consent, Potter?” Severus bit out impatiently.

The boy startled, then shook his head ‘no’, looking afraid that his refusal would incite Severus to violence.

It nearly did. The refusal to use the veritaserum was surely a sign of the boy’s guilt. Severus’ stomach turned and he felt his hate for the boy, for the first time in six years, validated by a real crime.

“Very well,” Severus said, voice soft and deadly.

He proceeded to ask the necessary questions, waving his wand to start the interview process. Potter answered the questions, stuttering as he did. Finally the bulk of the interview started.

“You may begin your account, Potter,” Severus said.

Potter nodded.

“I w-was visiting, going to see, she ge-gets so lonely sometimes, I just,” Potter was floundering, fingers growing ever tighter on the chair.

He brought them up and began wrenching at them in agitation.

“She gets lonely, Myrtle, I just visit, sometimes, it’s not bad, is it? But she wasn’t there, there was a girl, a little one, she was crying and I was going to leave, I really was, I wouldn’t have bothered her if I’d known, but she was crying and I didn’t want her to,” Potter was blabbering.

“Potter,” Severus snapped, “continue.”

Potter’s mouth shut, he winced in pain as if he’d bit his tongue before moving from the abuse of his fingers to twisting at his robes. The boy was guilty, Severus knew that without a shadow of a doubt.

“She’d fallen and her hands, they were all ragged like when you trip and scuff them, and her knees were as well, and I felt so bad, there was a little blood and she was crying, I didn’t want her to cry. So, so I asked if she’d let me fix her knees and her hands, but she cried about her stockings being ripped so I said I could fix them and she didn’t believe me, that’s okay though, and I showed her I could, so she let me fix her stockings. And-and I fixed her hands and knees then, a boy was there but he left and I did too, I didn’t hurt her, I promise, I wouldn’t’ve, I wouldn’t,” Harry was once again blabbering and Severus saw no reason to continue to listen to this outrageous lie.

“That is all, Potter,” he said.

Waving his wand, he stopped the quill and then dispersed of them.

“I know you’re lying Potter, and I swear, I will not let you get away with what you’ve done to that girl,” Severus all but hissed.

Potter grew very pale, a look of confusion passing his face. Severus stood, towering over the teenager and relishing the apparent terror the boy was exuding.

“I’ve always known you were an inept, lazy being, incapable of most things, but this is the act of a monster, a depraved creature blighting the world. You are a worthless excuse of a wizard, Mr. Potter. Know that you will suffer.”

With that, Severus drew back. The boy scrambled from the seat in absolute fear, fleeing the room. Severus only felt a small bit of satisfaction as the door shut. He still needed to interview Ms. Bell and it was not something he believed he would be able to stomach.


XxX


Severus went to the Hospital Wing intent on speaking with Ms. Bell and finishing his duty in all of this to Albus. When it was over he had every intention of making sure that Potter saw the inside of Azkaban, that or he would be disposed of, to hell with You-Know-Who and the prophecy. If Potter was capable of a crime such as this than he was no good as a savior.

He entered to find Madame Pomfrey spelling one of the beds clean.

“Professor Snape,” she said in greeting.

Severus nodded to her.

“Where is Ms. Bell? I needed to conduct my interview with her.”

“I’ve sent her back to class, there isn’t much time left in the day. I told her to be back tomorrow to have the interview with you.”

Severus gave a nod, anger still bubbling in him.

“And the results?” He asked, already resigned to what they would say.

“Nothing, she is a healthy little girl and there were no signs of anything,” Poppy answered, adjusting a small flower pot next to the bedside.

In the wizarding world sexual abuse had a very adverse effect on a person’s magical core, research had been conducted by a Mrs. Kinneman Coor which showed that even cases of lesser severity had a serious and traceable impact. Poppy’s response that Ms. Bell had no change in her magical core took Severus by surprise.

“No binding spells, nothing?” Severus asked, a tad too intensely.

Poppy eyed him with a strange look.

“No, nothing at all. The only magic that had been done on her around that time was a healing spell on her hands and knees.”

Severus felt his anger knocked into by a terrible sense of confusion and self doubt. He dispelled it. Most likely Potter had beguiled the child, tricked her and somehow covered it up. Sweeping from the hospital wing he ignored Poppy’s parting words.


XxX


He heard the commotion before he saw it. There was screaming, students letting out small cries and the sound of what was inevitably a duel. He could also hear a girl’s voice spitting venom.

“I’ll kill you!”

Severus couldn’t place the voice but the girl’s conviction was so readily heard that he stormed forward with greater energy.

The scene he came upon was a gruesome one. A ring of students had gathered around two figures, but one figure was on the ground, too much blood staining them and the floor. The other figure was being held back by three other students. Severus’ recognized them both.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” The girl screamed, thrashing against her friends who were holding her back.

It was the elder Ms. Bell, a Gryffindor quidditch player in her seventh year and sister to Ms. Jemima Bell. Tears were coursing down her face and her wand was still in her hand.

It was Potter on the floor, adorned with blood and curled into a ball. His wand was not out and Ms. Bell had not been injured. Severus hesitated a moment too long and Katie had thrown her friends off, storming towards Potter. The cruciatus curse slipped from her lips and Severus responded just a moment too late.

Potter screamed, the curse lasting even as Severus violently disarmed the girl with a spell and quickly stunned her. It was McGonagall who arrived next, Potter’s screams piercing the air and so haunting and terrifying that some of the students paled or fled the scene.

Severus waved his wand, countering the curse which had been spoken with so much vehemence and emotion that it had lasted after the caster had been stunned.

“Severus,” McGonagall breathed, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

“If you would, Minerva,” Severus grit out gesturing at Katie Bell before brushing past her to see to Potter.

The boy was convulsing, overexposure to the cruciatus during his fourth year made him susceptible to worse symptoms. There was a deep gash across his chest and another across his thighs. He’d lost a lot of blood already and Severus feared for the boy’s life. Not if he had anything to say about it. The boy would answer for his crimes, but not like this.

Severus stopped the blood flow and cast the spell levicorpus. Potter’s body was suspended in air, arms askew and eyes blown wide. He was shaking, but seemed to be lost in his mind. It was a gruesome and shocking sight which affected everyone. One student, a second year, threw up.

Severus ignored the gawks and whispers as he swiftly headed for the Hospital Wing. Poppy had Ms. Bell there and was chatting amiably with the child. Both looked up at Severus. Poppy, as soon as she saw the body, stood up and flourished her wand. The curtains around the bed Ms. Bell was sitting on closed.

“Set him down here,” she said, escorting Severus to a private ward.

“Cruciatus and malignant, but non specific magic. Ms. Bell was intent,” Severus said as explanation.

A flash of sorrow and horror came over Poppy but it was quickly gone.

“Jemima is on the bed, if you'd be so kind to conduct your interview and escort her out. I've to see to Harry.”

Severus gave a nod of his head and left.

He approached the bed to find Jemima kicking her feet back and forth looking a bit anxious.

“Did someone get hurt in quidditch, it wasn't Katie was it?” She asked, looking worried.

“It was not your sister,” Severus assured.

Severus took a seat across from the girl.

“I need to ask you a few questions Ms. Bell.”

Jemima, reassured that her sister was safe from quidditch, smiled and gave a nod. She was a bright little first year, ambitious to no end as a Slytherin was likely to be, but her aspirations were noble, she was to be minister of magic someday and she wanted to save all the unicorns.

“It's about Mr. Potter,” Severus said, carefully watching Jemima.

She cocked her head, innocently expressing ignorance.

“Who's that?” She asked.

“The boy, Harry Potter, the one you met in the bathroom,” Severus prompted.

Jemima frowned in thought before her face lit up with remembrance.

“Oh! You mean Batty, that's what everyone calls him, Batty boy, or nutso, or weirdo, why do you want to know about him?” Jemima said, frowning.

“I just need to know what happened in the bathroom,” Severus said, trying to keep his tone even and not let the impatience he was feeling show.

“Oh, I was in there,” Jemima ducked her head, “hiding from Clara, she was chasing me and I'd fallen but then I remembered that no one uses that bathroom because of the weird ghost.”

Already Jemima was back to kicking her feet as if nothing was amiss.

“But Potter, why was he in there, what did he do?” Severus couldn't help the slight frustration which entered his tone.

“He fixed my hands and knees, and he fixed my favorite stockings, I had to take them off though, I didn't want him messing it up.”

Severus blinked, disbelieving. This couldn't be so. Thinking quickly, Severus considered a way to know for sure, a method which Potter most definitely wouldn't have the means of tampering with.

“Ms. Bell, would you do something for me?”

“Yes, Professor Snape?” Jemima said, a bright smile on her face.

“Think hard of that memory, right now, and think only of it. I'll do something with my wand but all I need you to do is think about that memory in the bathroom. Can you do that?” Severus put as much kindness and patience into his tone as he possibly could.

“Of course Professor!” Jemima agreed.

Severus watched the girl clench her eyes shut and apparently start to think of the memory. Drawing his wand, Severus placed his wand against her temple. A clear substance was pulled out, wispy and like liquid. Severus held it suspended with his wand until he was able to pull a vial from his coat. Setting the memory carefully inside he stoppered it.

“That will be all, Ms. Bell,” Severus said, “you should make your way to lunch now.”

Jemima nodded emphatically, jumping from the bed and skipping from the Hospital Wing. Staring at the little bottle, Severus felt his curiosity baying within him. Mind settled, he headed to his own private chambers.

XxX

It had been a long time since Severus had used the shallow, much less extravagant, pensieve in his office. It was an expensive item and had been procured second hand from an artefacts shop.

Opening the bottle, he emptied the contents of Ms. Bell’s memory into the pensieve. Without hesitation he plunged into the bowl.



He was in the second floor bathroom, water scattered on the floor in puddles from the ever wailing ghost who saw fit to make a mess in the bathroom every day crying over her death. It was empty as of right now.

A second later the door burst open and a crying Jemima Bell came flying into the room. She reached the center, and in a melodramatic huff, sank to the floor, knees to her chest and face buried in her hands. She was facing away from the door.

Then she proceeded to start howling fiercely with sobs. Severus’ lip curled in disgust.

Jemima cried a few minutes. The bathroom door opened and Jemima, not noticing kept crying. Potter peeped through, his demeanor for the first time in Severus’ recollection not fearful or cowering. He was frowning just a bit and when he saw Jemima a look of empathy and worry crossed it. Quietly entering, Potter softly approached the child. His manner was exceedingly gentle and considering.

“Are you alright?” Potter’s voice was kind.

Jemima jumped looking frightened until she saw Potter.

“You’re that Batty boy,” Jemima said, sounding surprised and intrigued.

Potter cringed at the name as if she’d dealt him a blow, but he pushed it to the side rather quickly, resuming his kind manner.

“Are you alright?” Potter again gently asked.

Jemima seemed to consider herself, a little pout forming and tears returning.

“I fell and ruined my favorite stockings,” she bemoaned.

Potter’s face scrunched up with genuine dismay, as if her pain was his.

“I’m sorry, I could fix them if you’d like?”

Jemima blinked as if she hadn’t thought of that.

“Would you?” She asked.

Potter gave a nod, smiling sweetly. He walked towards her and crouched down.

“Here, let me see,” he said softly.

Jemima pointed at her knee torn stockings.

“See?” She said.

“Can you fix it?”

Potter gave a warm nod.

“Of course,” he reassured.

Looking a little closer, he let out a small gasp.

“Your hands,” he said, brow once again scrunching up empathetically.

Jemima gave a courageous nod, enjoying the commiseration.

“Let me fix them,” Potter said, taking her little hands with the utmost care.

With a soft murmur and the wave of his wand her raw little hands were fixed.

“Oh lovely!” Jemima cried, inspecting her now unblemished palms.

Potter smiled with joy at the girl’s joy.

“Now my stocking,” Jemima demanded.

Potter nodded, waving his wand again and this time fixing her skinned knees, just as he finished Jemima threw a hand up.

“Wait! Wait! Let me take them off, that way you don’t make a mistake. My sister Katie once accidently stuck my cousin Marcie’s socks to her feet, we had to wait for mum to get back so she could fix it. She couldn’t take her socks off for hours.”

Potter frowned.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve fixed little cuts when my shirt is over me,” Harry smiled reassuringly.

“No, I don’t want to,” Jemima huffed, tears once again threatening.

“But it’ll be alright, it wouldn’t hurt at all and I promise I wouldn’t stick your stockings to your legs,” Potter tried to keep the floodworks at bay, voice still tender and gentle but now worried.

“No, I don’t want to,” Jemima repeated, a few tears escaping.

“Okay, we can do it your way,” Potter softly conceded.

Jemima had her stockings off in moments. Potter waved his wand and the holes were gone. It was at this point that Blaise Zabini stormed in. Severus had nearly forgotten the boy had been witness to all of this.

Potter’s demeanor reverted to the one Severus was familiar with, that of a kicked dog afraid of its master. Jemima, guileless and absolutely oblivious to the implications of the situation, pulled on her stockings, ears pink with shame at having been caught talking to the Batty boy.


The memory was over, Severus back in his office. He stood stunned. Potter was innocent, only guilty of being too kind and patient. He’d been nearly killed today over a misunderstanding. Severus recalled the words he’d thrown at the boy and some sense of guilt washed over him.

Severus bottled the memory, knowing it would be the final and conclusive piece of evidence, Ms. Bell’s statement notwithstanding. Some internal moral compass, battered though it was, stirred. He’d said horrible things to the boy. Without much contemplating it, Severus proceeded to the Hospital Wing.

Poppy was with Potter in the private room. Severus entered.

“Severus?” Poppy said in surprise, looking at Severus in confusion.

Potter flinched from where he was sitting up on his bed, eyes meeting Severus’ for a moment before skittering away.

“Don’t move your legs, Potter, you’ll undo all our hard work,” Poppy reprimanded the boy who was attempting to draw his legs up to his chest in a defensive position.

Potter immediately obeyed, shrinking back. Severus waited patiently for Poppy to finish and leave. Once she had, Potter, who was already shaking from the after effects of the cruciatus, seemed to be practically vibrating with fear.

“I’ve come to speak with you about Ms. Bell,” Severus said gravely.

Severus intended on apologizing, something he rarely did.

“I-I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t know,” Potter softly spoke, a pleading quality to his voice.

“You did not injure Ms. Bell,” Severus spoke sharply, the little patience he’d summoned breaking under the boy’s words.

Potter looked up appearing relieved.

“She’s okay?” He said, absolutely incredulous.

“Yes, why wouldn’t she be?” Severus snapped.

Potter shrank again, shoulders hunching.

“You said I’d hurt her,” Potter replied, “I do that, Professor Moody, he said-”

Severus was silent, as was Potter.

“I apologize, I acted under incorrect knowledge.”

Potter stared at him, eyes round with disbelief. A spasm caused the boy’s hand to jerk. Severus knew it to be damage from the cruciatus. Once again the foreign feeling of remorse toward the Potter boy filled him.

Standing, he left the Hospital Wing.

Severus had to re-interview Ms. Bell, to have a formal recording. It went well enough, the girl for once seeming to understand that something larger was at play. She seemed nervous and had asked what was wrong. Severus was done with patience and kindness, he told her, in kinder words, to mind her own business. Technically she was the center of it all and it was more her business than nearly anyone else's.

Albus seemed pleased at the easy pardoning of Potter, but Katie Bell’s actions had him even more worried. Try avoiding one publicity catastrophe and you bump into another. Luckily, Potter, meek and somehow very forgiving, had insisted that no charges be brought against the girl. She was still sixteen, three weeks shy of coming of age and certain privacy laws allowed her to be exempt from the immediate investigation which generally occurred after an unforgivable curse had been used.

Somehow, through continued misunderstanding and the nature of the events, the stories about Potter still circulated. Severus could see it, where the boy was usually ignored or bullied for amusement, there was now a dark malignancy. Bruises appeared with greater frequency on him and in class people grew more bold in speaking against the boy. Severus kept feeling tinges of guilt and moral prompting. It was easy to see the adverse effect this all had on the boy. Severus did nothing, he maintained his treatment of the boy in the classroom --quick and vituperative criticism-- and watched the adolescent grow ever more withdrawn.

Katie Bell had left school by the work of Madame Pomfrey, claiming that therapy was greatly needed and that her parents could afford a different form of schooling. This request was obliged. However, it made things all the worse for Potter as Katie, who now felt deep remorse, was unavailable to contend the stories made up about Potter.

Severus, still resolutely blinded by carefully tendered hatred, turned his head to the proceedings.


XxX


A month after the terrible event, Severus was on his way to visit Poppy and discuss the medical supplies. Opening the Hospital Wing door silently, Severus proceeded to Poppy’s office, but halted as he heard voices and saw that the door was open.

“Please, headmaster, this isn’t a case of wanting, this is a case of absolute need,” Poppy was imploring, she sounded desperate.

“Madame Pomfrey, I admire your dedication to the students, but you must trust my judgement on this matter,” Albus always managed to sound politely condescending, as if he were humoring those speaking to him.

Severus heard Poppy’s snort of indignation.

“Potter has nerve damage, nerve damage Albus,” Poppy cried, “he has uncontrolled spasmodic events and now, eleven recorded seizures, Merlin knows how many he’s had which he hasn’t admitted to. That boy needs help far beyond what I can offer him. St. Mungo’s is the only option and you have the gall to-”

Severus could only imagine Albus’ raised hand, his quiet yet severe expression.

“Please, Poppy, I am quite aware of Harry’s suffering, I know it better than many, but you must trust me when I say that if Mr. Potter were to be placed in St. Mungo’s he would suffer much worse.”

Poppy let out another huff, this one a little wet with emotion.

“Albus, how could a hospital filled with capable and highly trained personnel possibly be worse than a place where he is actively injured and verbally attacked by other students? He’s being crushed, Albus. I’ve had to stand by for the last two years, allowing him to go untreated, but Ms. Bell’s attack has reneged all the progress I had made with him, Potter needs help,” Poppy’s anger was gone by this point and in its place was pure solicitude.

“Please,” Albus sounded no less desperate and genuine, “trust me Poppy, there are unforeseen dangers which would mean more than a few trifling batteries against the boy. I speak of his death.”

“I speak of his death!” Poppy snapped back.

“How long do you think a child can bear what he has?” Poppy asked.

“Harry is nearly an adult,” Albus chided, a weak and silly point of the argument.

It was silent.

“Please, Poppy, trust me,” Albus’ voice was near a whisper and Severus, even from his position, could feel the magic in it.

It was again silent.

“I can’t be held accountable for what happens to that boy.”

Those were Poppy’s last statements and she soon appeared outside of the office. Severus had quickly moved himself to the front of the room so it now looked like he had just entered the Hospital Wing.

Poppy greeted him with a weak smile, bitterness spilling over. Severus did not make eye contact with Dumbledore as the man stepped out of the office.


XxX


No more was said on Severus’ end of the matter. Potter continued to exist in the periphery of Severus’ daily life as he had the last six years, quiet, subdued, scared, stuttering as he tried to perform spells. The only thing that changed was that Potter, usually the best brewer --though Severus never credited the boy his ability-- was an adequate Defense Against the Dark Arts student. He struggled with spells initially but was familiar with all the theory. Severus made the boy suffer for his every failing.

Finally, one evening, things came to a sudden change.

A knock sounded against Severus’ office door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and there was Draco Malfoy. Not uncommon, the boy would often seek him out, or Severus would call the boy to his office. His attempt on the Headmaster’s life had been unsuccessful and his next plans quite weak. The boy spent half his time screeching at Severus to leave him alone or crying as he begged for help. Severus didn’t care much for the boy, but he saw himself there, a fresh and unwitting Death Eater who had entered a society he little understood and which offered only grave dangers. There was also the matter of his vow to Narcissa.

“Draco,” Severus said by way of greeting, using the boy’s given name as a way to appear more amenable.

Draco was pale, he looked more worried than usual.

“I’m not here for help,” Draco bit out, before tucking his head in, emotionally scattered.

“Merlin forbid you ask a man best gifted and allied to perform your task for help,” Severus sneered sarcastically.

“Don’t mock me,” Draco nearly shouted.

Severus was used to this particular phrase, but today it seemed to be less vehement than usual. Not that he made light of the situation, but there was an apathy bred in him from his many years of serving in perpetual danger. He already knew death was around the corner and instead of fearing the day he lived with quick and exacting forethought. No end left loose.

“I came to you, I thought you should know,” Draco started, shuffling uncomfortably.

Severus raised a brow.

“It’s Potter,” Draco spit out.

Severus was surprised.

“What of him?”

Draco looked up and there was a peculiar look on his face, one of confusion and something else, possibly pity? Severus couldn’t place it.

“He-he asked me to kill him,” Draco said faintly.

Severus blinked. He kept his mouth shut and forewent his immediate desire to ask the boy to repeat what he’d said. Severus had heard it clearly, repetition wouldn’t change it.

“He said it would make You-Know-Who happy, he knows I’m a Death Eater,” Draco was explaining, but he sounded as if he didn’t understand.

Severus was silent, allowing the boy to finish his thought.

“He’s in the Owlery, he said to meet him there, that he wouldn’t fight, that it would be better this way,” Draco turned his head away, eyes unable to meet Severus’.

A few moments passed.

“Thank you for bringing my attention to this matter, return to your dormitory, I will deal with this,” Severus stood up, moving in a fast pace toward the door.

“Wait!” Draco cried.

Severus turned, eyeing the boy. Draco cringed back at the look and the energy he had shouted with wilted.

“Are you going to kill him?” Draco asked quietly, staring at the floor.

“Why? Do you wish to do it yourself?” Severus asked, words cruel.

Draco recoiled.

“No,” he whispered.

“Then do you wish the Dark Lord’s enemy to live?” Severus asked incredulously.

Draco recoiled even more, fear lighting up his face.

“No! Of course not, I just,” the boy fell silent.

“Leave, forget what Potter told you and speak of this to no one,” Severus demanded.

Without glancing back at the boy he set off toward the Owlery.


XxX


It didn’t take too long to get to the Owlery. Potter was there, stroking the head of a snowy white owl and looking ethereal in the moonlight that was pouring through the open windows of the owlery. The image was made all the more haunting under the context. Potter was waiting for death, and like those who committed to it, looked happier and lighter than Severus had ever seen him.

“Potter,” Severus said, announcing his presence.

Potter didn’t jump, instead turning to look at Severus with wide eyes.

“Professor,” Potter said, eyes lowering to the ground.

Severus considered how to approach the subject. He couldn’t cast the boy from the tower, it wasn’t past sixth year curfew and the owlery had no restrictions, that and Severus feared what the boy might do. Severus strode over to the one, paneless, floor to ceiling window in the building, it was a slender square, just wide enough for a person to stand at it. Severus placed himself between it and Potter. No need for unnecessary temptations to the boy.

“Are you posting a letter, Professor?” Potter’s voice was polite and soft, apparently his approaching death had relieved him of some of his fear of Severus.

Severus didn’t respond at first, trying to gather his words. He knew what Albus wanted, the old wizard had plans for Potter, according to him the boy was needed to defeat the Dark Lord. His death was not advisable.

“Tell me Mr. Potter, how did you think Mr. Malfoy would have killed you?” Severus’ voice was level and calm, silken tone mockingly casual.

Potter stiffened, the owl let out a soft hoot and abandoned the boy, flying up to the rafters.

“What?” Potter whispered.

“I can’t imagine what could possibly incite you to such an action? Star crossed love is it? Some sort of romantic immolation, a desperate course of affection?” Severus was being intentionally cruel.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about Professor,” Potter spoke, a quaver in his voice.

“Then tell me Potter, why do you wish to die?” Severus was peering intently at the boy.

Potter flushed red before paling.

“Wouldn’t you know best though, Professor?” Potter replied, voice faint.

Severus nearly flinched at the question, mind spinning at the implications of the question.

“What do you mean?” Severus snapped.

“Me, Potter, I’m rude, and idle, and ignorant, and a bad student. I’m useless and stupid, your worst student, and I make trouble, I make people suffer. You-Know-Who, he’s back because of me. A hundred people dead, and me the cause. I’d think you’d understand,” Potter sounded so matter of fact, as if Severus were merely pretending not to understand.

“Don’t be so vain, Potter, you’re too pathetic to take full blame for any of those events,” Severus sneered.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“See? You understand, I am pathetic, Professor Dumbledore thinks I’m going to vanquish the Dark Lord, but I can’t, but I know that I’m supposed to die, and maybe I can do it now so he can figure out how to have someone else save the world,” Potter spoke so earnestly.

“What do you mean?” Severus said, already knowing the answer.

He recalled the conversation with Albus about the Horcruxes, about how Tom Riddle had inadvertently attached a part of himself to Potter. Had Potter somehow learned of this?

“Please, you know best, you know how worthless I am, how I ruin things, this way I can get out of the way before I ruin everything.”

Potter was pleading reason to him, thinking that Severus wanted him dead as much as he wanted to die. Severus felt sick. The boy truly thought Severus would be happier to see him dead. How was he supposed to convince him otherwise? He’d spent the last six years daily reminding the boy of how little he thought of him, of abusing his power as a teacher just to make the boy suffer.

In a sick sort of way, like putting down a suffering animal, Severus nearly conceded in granting the boy's wish. He was meant to die, and any events between now and that fated moment were no doubt to be a hardship to the boy.

He held no lost love for the child.

Severus held Potter's gaze and felt grief. Those were Lily's eyes, haunted and suffering, absolutely hopeless. They didn't look so much like Lily when they were like that.

The boy couldn't die, not yet.

“You're melodramatic performance is pathetic, Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for wasting both Malfoy and I’s time. You will accompany me to the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey will punish you as necessary.”

Potter's hopeful look died and he looked crushed.

“Yes, professor,” he whispered.

Severus escorted the boy to the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey smiled benevolently at them, betraying no extreme or excited emotion.

Severus had sent a small message ahead explaining that Potter had had a relapse in health, something to do with his tremors and convulsions, Severus had advised her to keep him twenty four hours.

Severus left with only a curt word to Poppy. He trusted Potter to not speak of his suicidal intentions to the woman and go along with whatever she said while he knew Poppy would not let the boy alone for the next while.

Now was a time to speak to the Headmaster.


XxX


Albus looked more tired and frail by the day. Severus felt frustrated, they didn't have much time left. Since placing the ring on his finger in an extremely rare display of mental lapse, Albus had deteriorated quickly. Severus had done all he could, had done all anyone could.

The Dark Lord was plotting and already striking, their greatest asset --Dumbledore-- dying, and the boy, meant to defeat an indescribably powerful wizard, weak, cowardly, and on the brink of suicide. This left Severus, an ex-traitor whom no one trusted except said megalomaniac and dying asset. The situation was far from ideal.

“We have little time Severus,” Albus said, raising his hand and peering at it mournfully.

“It seems mortality beckons all of us,” Severus spat out, feeling far from benevolent at this time.

Albus eyed him.

“You've come to speak to me, is it of Voldemort?”

Severus cringed at the name as it caused his dark mark to twitch unpleasantly.

“Worse, it is Potter,” Severus had not seated himself, still standing.

Albus however was seated in his chair.

“He's tried to get Mr. Malfoy to kill him,” Severus eyed the man as he spit out the words in his caustic manner.

Albus did not seem surprised. He let out a weary sigh.

“Severus, things have gotten out of hand,” Albus spoke with a serious tone but he raised his blackened hand and a twinkle of morbid humor entered his eye.

The attempt at levity, Albus’ seeming resignation to his death and the utter lack of options set Severus off.

“How are we to have the pathetic snivelling mess that is Potter conquer the dark lord?! He can't even face his classmates let alone wield his wand with intent. He duels with half hearted attempts, claiming in all my classes that he is afraid to injure. Now he has a death wish?! The boy will die before his use is through and he, Potter, is the best plan you have!” Severus was roaring by the end of the diatribe, chest heaving and dark eyes shining with emotion.

Albus was quiet, eyes calm and melancholy.

“I had hoped the boy's gentle nature would be what kept him good, but I ignored far too many things. You are right, Severus.”

Severus stared, indignation rising. Years of being condescended, of exploding in fury and frustration and Albus had always had an answer, had always calmly reminded him of hope. It seemed the headmaster was just as hopeless as the rest of them.

All the air and pomp fled Severus and he collapsed in a chair feeling the weight of the world upon him. The Ministry would fail, the Order would be decimated, everything they'd fought for, everything he'd sacrificed, worthless.

“There is a way we can still triumph, Severus, but it may not succeed and it would be dangerous,” Albus offered.

Severus snorted. Dangerous, Albus was saying dangerous now, and lack of success, he lived off the idea that he wouldn't succeed. Each meeting with the dark lord, each additional vow of secrecy, of aid, it all was dangerous.

“Pray tell me, Albus, what could possibly save us now?” Severus said harshly.

“Harry is still the key in this, he just needs guidance,” Albus was eyeing him significantly, but with an air of desperation and hope.

This was the last plan, the most desperate ploy Albus had reserved for the end game.

“Guidance? From whom? No one knows of the horcruxes aside from us and the dark lord himself, you are dying and I hate the boy,” Severus sneered.

Albus said nothing, merely continuing to look at Severus.

“No, no,” Severus started, “I was to be the spy, to stay close to the dark lord until the final moments, if I give up that position all will be lost.”

“And if Harry dies before the time is right, all will be lost anyways, he needs a confidant and someone to guide him, I am dying, but the boy does not trust me anyways.”

Severus shook his head.

“And you think he trusts me any more?” He said incredulously.

“Severus, you are the only one with both the loyalty and the knowledge to complete this task.”

It was silent.

“What? Shall I ask him to tea? Talk to him of quidditch and wizarding chess? Poppy has claimed he is a mess, physically and mentally, and you would ask me, someone who hates the boy, to ‘guide’ him to defeating the dark lord?” Severus was staring in disbelief at the Headmaster.

“If it takes tea and quidditch and wizarding chess, then so be it, but you must foster a relationship, a positive one, with the boy. The horcruxes must be destroyed to defeat the Dark Lord and Harry must be involved.”

Severus stared, eyes glazing over. This was ridiculous.

“You’d die, and leave me --Severus Snape, traitor, spy, death eater, right hand of the Dark Lord-- the sole key to defeating the Dark Lord?” Severus’ voice was soft with disbelief.

Severus began laughing, a small chuckle which grew into a loud catharsis of harsh laughter. Albus watched him with a reserved gaze.

“Truly, Headmaster, you are something else,” Severus said, stomach still twitching with the release.

“You assume I think little of you Severus,” Albus said sadly, “but I suppose it is too late to reconcile myself to my mistakes. No matter how you may see it, you must guide Harry.”

Severus grew serious once again. Albus was not kidding, he wasn’t making light and he wasn’t asking because it would “please” him to see Severus form a relationship with the boy. Last ditch, end of the line, only hope. That’s what this was.

“You bind my hands Headmaster, and I bow to it every time, but you may find that I am not so magnanimous as yourself. Know that you are leaving fate to something which may not be possible.”

Severus rose, he’d acquiesced, just as Albus had wanted. No need to stay and play the loser. He was nearly to the door when Albus spoke.

“You’ll find neither Lily nor James in the boy, he is his own person,” Albus said softly.

Severus paused, turning to meet the Headmaster’s pensive and aged gaze, blue eyes piercing him so, that without a great amount of self-control, he would have flinched back.

“In fact, Harry Potter may be more akin to you than you would wish to admit.”

Severus left.


XxX


Severus kept his word, he’d sworn on Lily so he planned on keeping his word. Potter had stayed the night in the Hospital Wing, he’d made sure of it by speaking with Poppy. Today the boy would be in class, Defense Against the Dark Arts was held at nine in the morning for the sixth years. Severus would take the necessary steps there.

The class went well, Hermione Granger again presenting top marks alongside Michael Corner. Potter stayed as quiet and small as possible, avoiding Severus more than usual. Class was near an end and he saw that the boy planned on sneaking out as soon as possible.

“Potter,” he called, making everyone look at the boy.

Potter shrunk, glancing about fearfully at the curious looks of the students.

“Stay after class, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Potter nodded his head and the class continued. Severus dismissed class and watched as Potter stood stock still, eyes on the ground and wide with terror. His fellow classmates said nothing to him and soon the room was empty except for Severus and Potter.

“If you’d follow me, Potter,” Severus said, making an effort to be at least civil.

Potter jerked into motion, fingers clenched around his books so tightly that they were turning white.

Severus now worked in the DADA classroom which meant that his office had been moved as well. It felt more spacious because of the high ceilings but actually had less floor space. It was also more welcoming than his last space, a large arched window on one wall allowing light to filter in and warm the office.

Severus sat down at his desk and waved a hand indicating Potter was to do the same. The boy sat, he acted as though he were about to be tortured. Severus threw the thought away as he remembered that the last time a Professor had shown any interest in Potter, the boy had been tortured.

“If I recall, Mr. Potter, you are a skilled brewer, are you not?”

Potter’s head jerked up so fast Severus wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had whiplash.

“Professor?” Potter said, looking absolutely shocked.

“You received the best marks in all my classes and according to Slughorn you have continued to show this aptitude. Am I incorrect?”

Potter dumbly shook his head. Severus bit his tongue to keep from spewing out an unpleasant comment. This was war, premeditated, planned out warfare of a far more treacherous kind. If he could fool the Dark Lord into believing he was a trusted follower he was more than capable of pretending to befriend the boy. The duplicity was bitterly close to the last time Potter had trusted a teacher, the end nearly the same since Severus would ensure Potter died when it was needed. No emotion, just pure objective skill. He didn’t have to like the boy, just fool the child into thinking he did.

“Please speak up Potter,” Severus said, tone impartial.

Potter still jerked at the command, and Severus felt a bit of annoyance as the boy’s shoulders hunched.

“I do like the class, sir, but, I didn’t think--you never told me-” the boy again bit his tongue, eyes flickering to Severus’ before lowering once again.

“Yes, well,” Severus struggled, he’d six years to make up for, and he couldn’t just sweep it under the rug without coming across as insincere.

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to assess skill at the early stage of learning, you’ve succeeded even under difficulty and I believe that your abilities need to be fostered.”

Potter was staring. Severus didn’t enjoy the look.

“Say something, Potter,” Severus snapped.

Potter’s eyes skittered away again and he clutched his bag closer. Severus cussed rather inelegantly in his mind. He needed to get his temper under control, he was a better actor than this.

“I-Is this, is it because of yesterday? Is, is the headmaster, is he making you?” Potter wouldn’t look up as he asked the questions.

Severus was disturbed by how easily the boy had guessed at the truth.

“The Headmaster does not have the wherewithal to make me take on a private student, that is completely of my own choice,” good, he could still lie.

“As for yesterday’s events,” Severus intentionally paused, wanting to make it sound like he had a heart, “I believe there are better ways for you to use your life, Potter, and throwing yourself on the sword is not one of them.”

It was quiet. Potter was looking at him, judging the validity of his statement. Severus felt his stomach turn as he realized the significance this held for the boy, Severus’ sincerity would make or break the boy and Severus was knowingly deceiving him.

“Y-you mean that?”

Severus could not meet Lily’s eyes, Harry’s eyes, and answer the question honestly, not knowing what it meant to the boy. So instead he averted them, fixing something on his desk.

“I do not say things I do not mean,” Severus replied, a tone of hauteur in his voice.

Lies, lies, lies, and Lily’s eyes looking at him so hopefully.

“Of course, sir,” Potter hastily amended.

“So, Potter, I have examined your schedule and seen that Thursday afternoons are quite free for you, we will meet then. Two o’clock should give you plenty of time to finish your study hall.”

Potter was still gaping and Severus again stopped himself from saying something cruel to the boy.

When the boy didn’t speak, Severus took it upon himself to be once again “kind”.

“Is the time unsatisfactory, I can arrange it for another?”

Potter shook his head vigorously.

“It works wonderful, Professor, I just,” the boy was at a loss for words.

Potter abruptly stood.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, bowing a little.

Severus again felt the acid in his stomach turn against him. The earnest gratitude; for some reason he felt guilty knowing he was gulling the child.

“You’re welcome,” Severus said blankly, but Potter was already rushing from the room.


XxX


Thursday was fast approaching and Severus had no desire for it to come. It had been difficult enough dealing with Potter for the few short minutes he had. An hour personally tutoring the boy would be a nightmare. To have to watch his every word, to have to pretend to care about the boy.

Swiftly marching down the hall, Severus came upon a scene, which, if he’d happened upon a few weeks ago, he would’ve ignored.

Potter was nursing a bloody nose, sprawled on the ground as three other Gryffindors scattered the contents of his book bag over the ground. They were saying some unpleasant things.

“You’re disgusting, Potter,” one boy bit out, one of the younger Weasley boys, honestly, Severus could never remember any of their names.

“Doing that to little kids,” one of the others spit out.

Potter said nothing in his defense, gaze distant and obviously tuning out of the experience.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas.”

Just Severus’ tone had all three boys turning around. He watched the Weasley boy grit his teeth but neither of the three said anything. It occurred to Severus that the boy shared his dorm with these three. If they felt comfortable beating the boy out in the open who knew what they did in the privacy of their chambers.

“Ten points for fighting, unless of course you want to argue that both parties agreed to this?”

“But, that’s not fair, you heard what Potter did to Bell!” The Weasley was speaking up.

Severus was unimpressed by the misinformed bravery.

“I have heard that Potter is unequivocally innocent, proven so by all involved in the matter. Though how you think the the affair is any of your business confounds me.”

The boy blinked, looking surprised. He glanced down at Potter and Severus saw the self-doubt and then regret. Potter just looked like he’d been hit with an immobility curse.

“Get to class, before I take more points for sheer ignorance,” Severus bit out.

Potter was staring at him, eyes wide with confusion. Severus had walked by scenes similar to this for years, never saying anything and even going so far as to take points from Potter and assign him detention if Slytherins were involved.

The boys nodded, but the Weasley boy seemed to be thinking. Severus turned on his heel. He’d shown enough mercy for now. He did see out of the corner of his eye the Weasley helping Potter up and offering a pathetic apology.


XxX


Thursday evening arrived and Potter was prompt in arriving at the Severus’ office. Severus instructed the boy to place his bags to the side before escorting Harry to his back room. Though he wasn’t the Potions professor any longer, Severus was still a skilled brewer and he kept his own storeroom.

“We’ll begin with Krzycki’s Consane,” Severus said.

The boy perked up. So Potter was familiar with this particular potion. It was an old healing potion that was one of first potent topical potions. It was noted for having a pleasant smell.

“This is an assessment, I will not aid you and will merely watch you work as a means to evaluate your work.”

Potter gave a nod, already beginning work. Severus stood back, not hovering as he often did. He knew by now that Potter struggled when anyone was near to him.

He was surprised. Severus knew that Potter was a good brewer, but as the boy worked a smile came to his face and a sort of grace took over his actions. The boy had an intuitive treatment of the potion and did not follow the instructions exactly. It was interesting to watch him work. Severus recalled a few interactions with other skilled brewers, but they were far and few between and he had never seen them work.

Potter was a natural, had been since day one, and the fact that Severus had made the classroom environment so toxic for the child pointed to his skill. The potion was difficult because of precision and skill, otherwise it was a short brew, in fact, the brevity of certain stages was part of what made it so difficult.

The time passed quietly. When it was done, Potter bottled one portion and placed the cauldron on stasis.

“Very good,” Severus murmured, for once acknowledging to himself that Potter had talent.

Potter hesitantly approached, offering up his potion. Severus examined it. Just looking at it he could tell it was near perfect, a more thorough analysis could be made, but at this point that would just be semantics.

“It seems you do indeed have some talent,” Severus said, allowing the compliment to slip out as if meant grudgingly.

He needed to be particular about how he tendered his relationship with the boy, open enough not to chase him away but too shocking of a character change would frighten the boy more.

A small satisfied smile came onto the boy’s face.

“We will have to continue our lessons. I’m afraid our time is up, you have astronomy soon do you not?”

Potter nodded.

“I will see you next Thursday, Potter,” Severus said as a dismissal.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter said quietly before heading out.

Severus watched him go. He let out a long sigh when the door closed.

It was January and Severus knew that his progress with Potter was not what it should be. The boy seemed to enjoy the private lessons, but the level of rapport that was necessary wasn’t there. Albus was deteriorating further and plans were being formed, however all of them rested on Severus’ relationship with Potter.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d come to enjoy his afternoons with Potter. The boy was actually very bright. Potter had some unconventional methods for brewing which Severus had never considered or seen and the boy had left some wonderful notes on some of the potions they’d worked on.

A working relationship had been bred, however it was not a trusting relationship. Potter needed to be able to speak to him and ultimately to trust him.

So one afternoon, Severus decided that a further step needed to be taken. The boy had free time after DADA, Severus merely needed to act on it.

As class ended, Severus called Potter over. The boy did seem more relaxed around him he noted with satisfaction. He didn’t quite meet Severus’ eyes but he didn’t seem to be absolutely terrified. Severus had been making attempts to be civil and even kind to the boy outside of the private Potions lessons.

“Professor?” Potter said, looking a little anxious.

“I was wondering if you’d mind staying for tea, I wished to talk to you about your work.”

Potter hesitated, and Severus watched the extreme indecision in the boy. Finally Potter nodded his head.

“Of course, Professor,” Potter said.

Severus managed a small smile and was again pleased to see the boy smile in response. It seemed that he was making progress. Severus had to reassure himself that this self-torture was worthwhile. Though the Potions lessons had not been unbearable, Severus still loathed having to pretend his interest and care.

They settled comfortably, Severus transfiguring his desk into a low table before summoning tea and scones. Potter adjusted himself in the chair, looking unsure. Severus had never really sat down to talk to the boy, and he was hoping to create an environment which would lend to the boy taking Severus, in whatever capacity, into his confidence.

“You seem to be having difficulty with the advanced stunning spell,” Severus said casually, hoping this would be an easy option for easing the boy into expressing his vulnerabilities verbally, an important step in trusting someone.

Potter gave a nod, hunching. It seemed like an instinctive response to whenever the boy felt fearful. Severus anticipated this.

“Why do you think that is?” Severus asked, portraying a genuine, well-intentioned teacher trying to coax out an answer without giving it.

“I’m not-not studying, or trying, or-or-” Potter stuttered, fumbling about for an answer he obviously thought would please Severus.

It was a left over knee-jerk response which Severus had instilled in the boy from constant belittlement and rhetoric questions he demanded an answer for but for which he had not desired an honest answer, rather a self-demeaning one. Severus bit his tongue to keep from snapping. His mood soured as he realized that this was all his own fault, but with waspish annoyance threw that thought to the side. It was what it was.

“You try hard, and you obviously are quite studious with the text, you’ve proved you know the theory. What is holding you back?”

Potter stared. It had been two months and still the boy seemed surprised every time Severus actually attempted constructive criticism. The boy accepted it and his eyes fell to his lap, he licked his lips nervously.

“It’s the, hurting people, sir,” Potter said softly.

Severus blinked. Hurting people, Potter was concerned with hurting people.

Severus was not a kind man, he’d been raised in a chaotic and unforgiving household, had gone through Hogwarts with little lenience given and when he’d committed a crime he had been punished lastingly and thoroughly. Life had always shown that it would be a give and take, a tit for tat, sharp immediate demand that always, always extricated emolument. A cry of worry over hurting people came across to him as pathetic and weak, cowardly even. However, it also made him think of Lily, the only part of his life which had ever extended patience and kindness, unconditional regard.

Severus wanted to lecture the child on the cruelty of the world, but he held his tongue. Lies, he thought, lies are what mattered here, not cold hard truths. He needed to blindfold the lamb for the slaughter, not let it see its surrounding misery.

“You don’t like hurting people, do you?” Severus said softly.

Potter met his gaze and Severus was taken aback at the depth of understanding in the boy’s eyes.

“No sir,” Potter replied.

Severus was silent.

“Not many people are that way,” Severus said, being honest.

Potter looked ashamed.

“I-I know it’s cowardly,” he whispered, eyes lowered.

“Only when you are unwilling to stand by the principle,” Severus said.

He considered the boy.

“The stunning spell does not truly damage individuals, it can be the means of protection, of keeping many people from harm. Maybe instead of demonstrating in class on other students we can have you practice with me, I am more than capable of blocking all spells you cast.”

Potter looked up, again appearing shocked.

“You’d do that, sir, for me?”

“You must learn to defend yourself, and others, from harm.”

Potter gave a small smile and Severus pretended like it didn’t make him think of Lily, that it didn’t please him.

He then asked Potter about his other classes, the boy spoke about them in a faltering way, unused to anyone asking and even more uncomfortable with answering to Severus. Severus kept it going only a few minutes, knowing it would take more of these little “chats” to get the boy comfortable talking with him. He moved onto the topic of Potions and the conversation eased into a pleasant and even energetic discussion. Severus was surprised when he looked at the time and realized that he’d spent over an hour with Potter having actually greatly enjoyed himself.

The boy left looking less subdued than usual.


XxX


“It’s been going well?”

Draco said nothing, mouth dipped down in a sour expression. Severus felt his impatience flare. The boy was being impossible as usual. Why did the child not see that he was trying to help?

“You didn’t kill Potter,” the boy said, glaring.

Severus’ lip curled. He hated children, but he hated young adults even more. So sure, so determined and so obstinately idiotic.

“And you have failed to kill the Headmaster, something you’ve actually been charged with doing,” Severus snapped back, a much more impressive glare than Draco’s being summoned.

The boy was nearly pouting, his emotions a mess from both the circumstances and the unfortunate existence of hormones.

“Why?” Draco asked.

Severus narrowed his eyes.

“If you cannot already understand my position and actions to sustain it, than I doubt explaining it to you will help you comprehend, you obdurate and impotent child.”

“I thought you said he was the enemy, that the Dark Lord wants him dead,” Draco argued.

“Yet the Dark Lord values the confidence the Headmaster places in me above even the death of a negligibly competent sixth year. I know my position very well, but I am afraid that you do not.”

Severus watched the light of understanding dawn in the boy’s eyes and withheld his desire to smack intelligence into the boy.

“Now, you will tell me what your plans are, and we will see if they are as foolhardy as the rest.”


XxX


Severus was lecturing, pacing the front of the room as the chalk magically smacked against the board to produce his curved yet practical handwriting. The students were taking notes and for the most part there was peace.

He ordered them to read a portion of the text and to then summarize it. Moving about the room, his mouth was drawn in a thin line as he lost himself in thought, eyes barely taking in the scratching quills and the open textbooks.

Draco Malfoy’s plan wasn’t terrible, in fact, if the boy was successful it could present a deadly success. Severus was vaguely familiar with the cabinets in question which the boy was trying to fix. Such a from of transportation which pervaded all wards, no matter the strength, was extremely dangerous. He could imagine Death Eaters storming the castle from within, Draco an unwitting accomplice in what Severus could only presume would be many casualties.

He’d informed Albus and the man had told Severus to do nothing. Severus knew the man was plotting and planning, but if he didn’t let Severus know what exactly those plans were, there wasn’t much way to make sure they happened. Foolish, self-important, secretive-

Severus’ internal tirade came to a sudden halt as there was the sound of a chair crashing to the floor. Severus spun on his heel, face twisting with displeasure and intending on making the student who had dared to interrupt his class suffer his complete wrath.

It faded though as he saw who it was and why it had happened.

It was Potter, he’d fallen to the floor and was twitching and jerking. Granger, one of the few to hesitantly pair up with Potter from time to time was staring in shock at the scene. Severus knew exactly what it was.

“Out,” he snapped, moving to Potter’s side.

The boy’s eyes were rolled back and only the whites could be seen. Severus eased the boy into the recovery position and with his wand marked the time it had started. There wasn’t much else he could do except wait out the seizure.

The students were gawking, only a few having made it as far as placing a book into their bag.

“Out!” Severus roared.

Everyone stumbled to their feet and the scrape of chairs against flagstone screeched through the room. Severus would deal with the missed class time at a later point.

When Potter’s body finally settled, collapsing limp against the floor, Severus saw that he was unconscious. Severus transfigured one of the desks into a settee and with a flick of his wand raised the boy onto it. Casting a quick charm, he sent a small message to Poppy.

Meanwhile, Severus sat back. There wasn’t much to be done. He’d heard of the boy’s seizures and Professor Septima Vector had spoken of one occurring during her Arithmancy class the previous year, yet he had never seen it. He had seen the symptom though, it was caused by overexposure to the cruciatus curse, something altered in the brain which could not be fixed but could be helped. Lord knows how many people he’d seen suffer through it if they weren’t killed by the Dark Lord immediately after torture.

Several minutes later, Poppy appeared. She looked fiercely worried, brow dark and nearly thunderous. Severus had no doubt the woman was cursing the Headmaster.

“How is he?” She asked, brushing Severus to the side and procuring her wand and several potions.

“It was a minute three seconds,” Severus informed her, knowing that was the only useful information.

Poppy gave a nod.

“Well, he’s-” Poppy didn’t get to finish as Potter awoke and immediately threw up.

Severus banished the mess while Poppy spoke soothingly to the pale, shocky boy. The boy was mumbling, looking absolutely confused and terrified.

“Severus, a hand if you will,” Poppy said, busy with preparing a potion which needed to be mixed with another.

Severus was reluctant to be close to the boy. He knelt though and gripped Potter’s forearm to keep the boy upright. Potter was trembling minutely and he looked very pale and sweaty.

“Here you are,” Poppy said, holding up the potion and pressing it into the boy’s hand.

Potter’s hand and fingers were trembling too much to keep his grip and Poppy helped him guide the potion to his mouth. Severus kept his grip on the boy’s forearm and felt the boy’s fingers weakly clutching back.

“We’ll get the next ones done nice and fast, then you’ll have a lie down in the Hospital Wing,” Poppy said, summoning a smile for the boy’s benefit.

Potter managed a small nod.

“Severus, would you help me bring him up?” Poppy asked.

Severus hesitated, he’d had no forewarning and usually he mentally prepared himself before his interactions with Potter. He was afraid that he would be unable to stay in character.

He glanced at the boy’s confused, glazed over eyes and realized that it would not be difficult to act.

“Of course,” Severus assented with a murmur.

Poppy had him supporting the boy on one side while she gathered the items she’d brought with her. She cast a quick lightening spell on the boy making Severus’ only task to keep him upright and moving.

“I’m going ahead to prepare, don’t floo with him, he’s too unstable.”

Severus gave a nod. He’d rather not be caught practically carrying the blighted child through the castle, however, he would need to bite his pride, for the sake of the wizarding world.

They made it to the Hospital Ward with no gawking thanks to a notice-me-not charm Severus had cast. Poppy was waiting, a bed ready and a push tray filled with items by the bedside.

“Thank you, Severus,” Poppy said, taking Potter from him and laying him down.

Severus watched the proceedings for a few minutes before turning on his heel. Potter would be fine and him lingering would do nothing to aid the boy’s recovery. It would do well though to speak with Poppy about the condition and learn all he could.


XxX


Potter looked unsure, shifting from foot to foot as he stood in front of Severus’ desk.

“Please, sit,” Severus said, waving a gracious hand at the chair.

Potter sat down, clutching his bag to his chest anxiously.

“You missed the end part of my lecture, I wanted to make sure you were able to get the notes.”

Potter looked confused, painfully so. Even after so long, the boy still took every kindness from Severus with a great amount of confusion and apprehension.

“Granger shared her notes with me, sir,” Potter replied.

Severus gave a nod and an awkward silence fell, Potter twisting his fingers in nervous habit. Severus needed to make a little headway with the boy, he’d planned on sharing the information from the class and had underestimated Granger’s willingness to interact with the boy, maybe his interference with the bullying and so to speak, “setting the story straight”, had made a bigger impact on how the students treated the boy.

“Madame Pomfrey told me you’ve had eleven, now twelve, seizures in the last two years,” Severus stated.

Potter gave an indifferent nod and it was silent again.

“I’ve spoken with her and a colleague who is knowledgeable about your, condition,” Severus said, studying the boy.

It was easy enough to do as Potter’s gaze was steadfastly fixed to the floor. The boy held himself like a wounded animal and he was so afraid. If Severus recalled correctly, this behavior had always existed but had become more extreme following the boy’s fourth year. If Severus had to guess, Crouch had exacerbated an already existing fear and condition. Dumbledore had said he regretted many things, Severus had assumed he meant this in reference to the incident with Crouch, maybe it was something else.

“It seems that I have the skills and means to help you with a form of recovery, and to help you better manage the symptoms.”

Potter looked up, a wary hope in his gaze.

“Sir?” He said, sounding confused.

Severus withheld himself from snapping.

“I’m offering to help you Potter,” Severus clarified.

“I know, sir, but I meant, how, Madame Pomfrey said it was incurable,” Potter’s tone was still meek, but the words were a little more bold than usual and Severus could see the fruit of at least some of his labours.

“Matters of the mind are very difficult to understand, we can often create conditions while having no comprehension of what it is we are doing. Occlumency and legilimency are two arts which are highly complex and involve two parties: one, performing legilimency, and entering the other’s mind while the other, performing occlumency, attempts to shield themselves from those efforts. However, it can also give the few witches and wizards capable of either or both arts, the skills to protect and strengthen their mind.”

Potter was paying fast attention to Severus, countenance serious.

“In this case, I can attempt to teach you how to shield your mind from itself.”

Potter gave a small nod.

“It is a difficult subject, very difficult, and having one enter your mind, as I would have to do, would leave you very vulnerable.”

Severus waited, watching the boy. He wanted to seem like he was giving him options, but ultimately his goal was for the boy to agree. Anything to strengthen the child’s belief in Severus before the Headmaster’s inevitable passing and his own actions, premeditated though they were by both him and the Headmaster, frightened the child from going along with him.

“I appreciate the offer, Professor, I really do, but, I-” the boy broke off, as if his throat were closing up and he stared in terrified trepidation at Severus.

Severus did not let his frustration show.

“Of course, it is a lot to agree to and shouldn’t be taken lightly. The offer stands for as long as you are willing to consider it,” Severus replied kindly instead of shouting at the boy that this was for his own good and forcing him into it.

Potter weakly smiled, obviously reassured by Severus’ response but still fearful.

“Thank you, Professor,” the boy rose hastily and left the room.

Severus noted that the boy’s hands had been shaking.


XxX


Thursday came and went, the hour dedicated to potions making going by much too fast for Severus’ taste. He would claim it was because he was running out of time, but in truth he greatly enjoyed the time and was starting to look forward to it. It cast a sense of unease in him. He’d always hated Potter, the boy stood for everything he’d lost and represented everything he’d suffered. He slipped from time to time during the potion making, used the first name of the boy or snipped out some piece of sarcastic humor, unexpectedly receiving a quiet, yet dryly humorous response in turn. Harry seemed to forget as well, the boy completely relaxing and the small smile on his face reaching his eyes and lighting them up in a way that was uniquely his own.

For a short time every week, Severus forgot Lily and he forgot Potter, instead seeing only Harry. He chided himself for those moments, forgetting oneself lead to mistakes, it left you with your guard down and could mean death. There was also a terrible vein of self-castigation, one Severus did not often recognize for if he did it would draw up the roots of his deepest regrets, his ugliest actions, and to allow himself those minutes of repose with the boy, forgetting who he was, what he’d done, what he needed to do and be, it was unacceptable.

Severus shook his head, glancing about his office. He’d often wished to sit here, have this position. Now it felt oppressive, gained by only the barest whit and at the greatest need. Albus had granted him the position as DADA teacher because it was his only option. Bitterness rose and Severus felt himself stir with the need to be elsewhere.

Standing, he set his quill down and sent a disdainful glance to the pile of essays he was grading. Stepping from his office he began strolling down the hallways.

It was late, a waning moon shining weakly through the windows and reflecting gloomily off of the lake. Severus felt the stone walls around him as a bulwark to his senses, the smell of the ancient corridors was earthy and faintly musky, one so familiar that it nearly brought back a multitude of memories. In this instant all these things eased the tension in his breast. Hogwarts was his home.

He’d often been faulted by many students for stalking the halls in pursuit of meting out punishment and destroying every child’s happiness. More often than not he took to the halls to ease his mind and happening upon a student in the middle of doing something they shouldn’t obliterated any sense of peace he gained from his walking.

Tonight his legs took him up, mounting the stairs and headed to the astronomy tower. Professor Sinistra did not hold class tonight and it would be empty.

It was empty and Severus slowed his pace, gaze lingering over the dark, shadowy figures of the orbital rings which descended from the floor to the ceiling. Stepping further into the room he halted suddenly as he realized he was not alone.

There stood Potter, at one of the palladian arches, leaned against the brick and toes right up against the open air. Severus’ jaw tightened. The boy looked like he was contemplating jumping. Severus waited and watched, unwilling to make his presence known yet. He quickly cast a obfuscation charm on himself and stepped silently back into the shadows.

After quite some time, Potter moved away from the opening and turned. Severus saw the green eyes weighed with sorrow and pain, nearly empty and hollow. The boy glanced back at the opening with an intense look of yearning and Severus tensed, readying his wand. Potter turned away though and headed down the steps.

Severus waited till it was completely quiet and Potter was definitely gone.

He moved to the opening Potter had stood at and looked out for a few moments, as if he could recapture what the boy had seen which he so greatly desired.

The peace he’d been hoping to gain had been resolutely lost.


XxX


Severus met a few more times for tea with Potter, the boy growing more comfortable with talking of his other classes and his other interests. Severus learned that Potter held an avid interest in Herbology, and that, something he’d not known, Professor Sprout had allowed the boy complete access to all of the greenhouses. In fact, one of the boy’s greatest joys was being able to help care for the plants during his off hours and then help prepare them for use in potions.

Severus was again impressed by the boy, he would have made a very fine Potions Master.

Severus also learned that Potter struggled greatly in Charms --if still getting stellar marks in the class constituted struggling-- and that he struggled less so in Transfiguration. The boy didn’t talk much and it took a lot for Severus to pry much more than cursory responses from the boy.

They were meeting again today in a few minutes. Severus was in a better mood than usual and he felt that ground would be broken in this meeting.

A soft knock came at the door and a moment later the door opened. Potter was standing there, a red mark, which was quickly forming into a bruise, on his face; it encompassed all of his right cheek. Blood was drying and flaking on his lip and chin, but Severus would guess there had been a lot more because the front of Potter’s robes were wet and rumpled from what was obviously an extempore cleaning in the bathroom.

“Potter,” Severus said as way of greeting.

Potter gave a nod and sat down in a rush. Severus could see that the boy was shaking. Severus saw an opportunity, one which, if handled carefully, would give Severus the advancement he’d been hoping for. Potter was vulnerable, and that left an opening for Severus. Albeit a very small and very precarious opening.

Severus was silent, watching Potter as he summoned a bruise balm and a small towel.

The boy was hunched in on himself, gaze distant and to the floor, and his books were held to his chest but with lax fingers.

“Here,” Severus said quietly, extending a small pain relieving potion he kept in stasis at his desk for the migraines he got correcting papers.

Potter startled, looked up at Severus with a haunted stare and blinked in confusion at the bottle. Severus said nothing, merely keeping it held out to the boy.

Potter took it and hesitated.

“It will relieve the pain,” Severus explained.

Potter gave a nod and opened his mouth, as if he were to ask something, and then shut it. Severus did not watch him as he took the potion, instead wetting the cloth. He waited until Potter had finished taking the potion before extending a hand. Potter returned the vial to Severus and took the wet cloth that was proffered to him. Then Severus opened the bruise balm.

Potter handed the cloth back and met Severus’ gaze as he took the bruise balm. Potter’s eyes were wide and grateful, an openness Severus had yet to see in all of his interactions with the boy.

When Potter had finished applying the bruise balm he handed it back to Severus, eyes downcast.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter spoke softly.

It was quiet and Severus pondered the next move. Intuition guided him to a choice he wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt with making. Severus however had long learned that his intuition was what had kept him alive for so long and what had enabled him to excel.

“I never did learn how to completely alleviate the pain. Reduce the swelling, hide the discoloration, accelerate the healing, all those were doable. I could even dispel the physical pain, however, being beaten by fellow students for no reason, the injustice was a pain I never relieved.”

Severus had his attention diverted as he spoke, taking his time putting away the bruise balm in his desk. When he looked up he saw Potter staring at him in complete and utter surprise.

“Sir?” Potter whispered.

Severus shrugged, breaking eye contact with the boy to look at his desk. He pretended to busy with the potion bottle.

“Do you feel up to tea?” Severus said, smiling faintly and intentionally changing the topic.

Potter gave a small nod but he could see that the boy was hooked by the subject. He just needed to let it ruminate in the boy for a little bit. Potter seemed to have a great deal of sympathy and empathy, such a connection with his professor on so personal a level would not be easily passed up by the boy.

Severus transfigured his desk into the low table with all the regular accoutrements. Tea and scones were delivered from the kitchen and Severus poured himself a cup.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Severus appearing relaxed and comfortable. Potter, however, he could see was struggling in thought and in reaching a decision.

“Sir?” Potter asked, looking up at Severus.

“Yes,” Severus replied, meeting Potter’s gaze with as sincere a look as he could muster.

“What if they have a reason?”

Severus froze. He had not been expecting that. His lack of immediate response was unintentional but it prompted Potter to continue.

“I-I wonder, because, ever since, I don’t remember, but always, always, and I’ve always tried. But do they have a reason? They must, don’t they? To do it so, and always. I don’t mean to do anything bad, I’ve always tried to be good, but always,” Potter’s voice was pleading, a cry in it which choked off at the end.

Severus felt his own emotions turnover in him at the tone. Pity did not escape, it didn’t, but a small tiny part of him screamed with kinship to the feeling. He’d been that desperate before, so crushed under events, wondering what he’d done to deserve this, why he couldn’t be different, how he could be different. Now, twenty years later, he’d realized that his father had just been a drunk bastard, his mother a weak prideful and ultimately impussiant women, that no matter who or what he’d been the circumstances and events would have crushed him despite.

“Sometimes,” Severus croaked, not having expected this emotion, so heavy and real, to come, “sometimes cruelty finds us, to no fault of our own. There are some who cannot forgive others their happiness.”

Potter was shaking still, and the boy gave a nod, lips trembling.

“But why?” Potter plead.

Severus shook his head, anger rearing at the punitive and unfair nature of life. Bitterness was drawn up from a well that had been dug by every event which had turned Severus with its pain. Life was unfair and there was nothing in the world which would remedy that. You lived and you died or lived to suffer.

He managed to draw this back in before he said something damaging, Potter did not need to hear that. The boy needed some pitiful credence which would reassure him. Severus however still needed to be genuine. Suddenly his mind turned to Lily. She had been kind, good, for no other reason than that she just was. Severus shuddered with grief.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly, “but we choose who we are and what we will do.”

Potter gave another nod and Severus saw that the boy had tears on his face.

Severus let the boy cry. Minutes passed with the soft and quiet sounds filling the office. Severus let his mind wander to his own past, to his present which was shaped by it. He had chosen to hate, to be angry in response to all the anger and hate beaten into him. He was still bitter, still broken and a mutilated figure limping forward with his weak good intentions.

Lily was so good and he aspired to be like her, but for every criticism he threw at his students, he doubled those he speared himself with. He’d long ago resigned himself to what he was. Yet ever he pursued the weak light of goodness that had marked him so many years ago.

When Potter finished, Severus offered him a small kerchief and a sincere look of empathy, the first he’d yet given. The boy wiped his nose and kept his eyes down. Severus handed him a warmed cup of milk he’d summoned from the kitchens.

The boy drank it, the silence in the office appropriate and not uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter said softly.

“It is nothing,” Severus replied, still feeling emotionally strained himself.

Potter smiled sweetly, a smile reminiscent of Lily’s yet holding an understanding which Lily had never had. Severus found it oddly fulfilling.

Potter stood and hefted his bag up, gratitude in his gaze.

Severus saw the door shut and felt a little unsettled. He’d been far more forthcoming than he’d ever intentioned. It left him feeling rumpled and strange.

Harry Potter was not accustomed to kindness. Life had never offered him any and when it had, it had been hiding a poisonous consequence. He tried to find joy where he could, tried to find meaning in his living where he was able. Sometimes it took him forgetting that he was Harry Potter, and that happened when he brewed, when he gardened, and when he read or was studying. He buried himself in the work.

Harry Potter was also not accustomed to people worrying over him. At eleven years old, coming to Hogwarts, he’d had a small hope, but it had been crushed pretty quickly. He was awkward, very, very bad with a wand and not socially competent. The few people who had tried to reach out to him had stopped because he’d been so shy that they’d mistaken his nervousness for pride. Not that he’d minded, maybe a few people called him names, but no one had really bothered him all that much, and he got to enjoy reading, learning about magic, and not being around the Dursleys.

Of course, second year had happened with parseltongue, the cases of petrified students and the final straw of Ginny Weasley’s death, and from then on the bullying became pretty much a part of his daily schedule. He just got better at brewing healing potions and avoiding people, he learned to spend more time in the green house and that telling anyone about his treatment lead to worse treatment.

By third year he had sort of figured out how to use charms, but he was still awful at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most of his Professors were kind enough, but they made no effort to know him and for Harry, an extremely shy and awkward child, that made a large difference. Pomona Sprout had always been kind, but she was pretty busy as head of her house and Harry was given allowance to the greenhouses but not much more.

Fourth year had marked the end of all his hope at Hogwarts. Professor Moody had been so kind, so interested, Harry had never had an adult care about him like that and he had fallen for it. The betrayal, and the intensity of it, had shattered him. The world did not care one smidge about Harry Potter, something Harry had always secretly wondered and now knew to be true.

Sixth year had been even harder than last year. Then everything with Jemima Bell happened. Life just didn’t seem worth it. He’d thought hard about some way he could die which would be useful. Dying in general would be useful. After the experience of foreign anger and otherwise, along with the events of his years at Hogwarts, Harry had spent his fifth year researching and discovering his position of being a horcrux. Harry literally helped keep alive a murderer.

A pathetic and shambled sense of self-worth had collapsed then. Jemima Bell had been the straw which broke the camel’s back, Atlas was going to shrug because the job he’d been doing had been pretty shoddy to start with.

Professor Snape had stopped him, even going so far as to be civil to him. Harry knew it was too good to be true, he’d admired his professor for a long time, being one of the youngest masters of potions made Severus Snape an ideal teacher in Harry’s favorite class. Of course, the man hated him. Harry didn’t hope, not anymore, but he would enjoy the kindness of his professor, no matter the intents, as long as he could. He didn’t see his time in this world being too much longer.



XxX


“Severus,” Albus greeted him with a croaking voice.

The wizard looked old and shrunk, the curse was taking its toll.

“What is young Draco’s progress?”

Severus seated himself in the plump armchair opposite of Albus’ desk.

“He is showing remarkable resourcefulness, the cabinet may be working very soon.”

Albus nodded impartially and Severus felt strangely dissatisfied with the man's lack of emotional response.

“And Harry, does he trust you?”

Severus hesitated. He wouldn’t say trust, but there was something there, a mutual kinship he had not intended on growing, specifically the mutual part. His emotional tete-a-tete with the boy came to mind and the unsettled feeling returned.

“It will be a matter of time,” Severus equivocated.

Albus said nothing for a moment and the soft plop of his peculiar clock in the corner, a round bowl with water dripping in multitudes of color, sounded in solitude. It was Severus who picked the conversation back up.

“What was it, Albus?” He said, half musing, his words coming out in a sharp murmur.

Albus cocked his head, peering at Severus in slight confusion.

“You will have to explain, Severus,” he prompted.

Severus turned his black eyes on Albus, dark with thought and a morbid curiosity.

“The boy, what is it you regret exactly?”

Another silence fell and Severus keenly watched the old wizard, eyes like a predator waiting to strike at whatever Albus betrayed. Albus did not do anything, eyes on his desk and veiled by a cold process of thought. Severus waited impatiently, he wanted to know, he felt an avaricious need bubbling in him. Albus had sinned, and after so many years of the old man holding Severus’ trespasses over his head, Severus would gleefully take what he could.

“When Harry trusts you, and when you trust him,” Albus finally spoke.

Albus lifted his gaze and Severus did flinch back at the cold aura of power and finality. It felt as though those blue eyes were piercing his soul and reading his petty motivations. Severus cast his eyes to the floor, and tried to fight the sudden surge of embarrassment along with his anger at the riddle.

Severus felt that the meeting was at an end and stood.

“If you’ll excuse me, Headmaster,” he said softly, practically running from the room.


XxX


Severus had taken to watching Potter. It was partially from his efforts to win over the boy's trust, but there was a secondary motivation, less understood and far more worrisome to Severus. He wanted to understand Potter, curiosity bubbled in him and he found himself cataloging the boy's actions and characteristics. Something evaded him, something out of reach, it left him with a dull pang in his chest which he didn't understand. Not that the boy was an anomaly, or even particularly complex, he argued. But there was something he was missing.

At this moment he was watching Potter kindly tie a first year's shoe and fix their robes up. The foolish eleven year old Hufflepuff had garnered the attention of their resident squib and was now crying after a severe dressing down.

Potter smiled softly and was calm and kind and patient. The child stopped crying and Potter procured a small enchanted paper elephant, handing it to the child and sending them on their way with some verbal warning or encouragement. For some reason it irked Severus, an itching and unrelenting annoyance which burrowed under his skin.

Why? Potter was reviled by most of the school, ignored by the rest, and yet he smiled and stooped to comforting children. Severus, a man keen on dissecting every piece of information in his life, was a poor examiner of his personal emotions. He acknowledged for a moment that Potter's actions made him feel guilty. The boy was choosing to be good, despite all he'd suffered. Severus had not been capable of that.

He sneered at the thought and crammed it away, furious indignation surfacing and clouding what he knew to be a frank truth which pierced him too much.

Enough Potter watching, he wasted enough time on the boy at the Headmaster's insistence.


XxX


Severus had finally drawn out from the ever reticent Headmaster his plans. A mercy killing used to further their cause, it would of course be called murder. Severus clenched his jaw, glaring at the book he had open in front of him on curse marks. ‘Spare the boy’, Albus had said in reference to Draco Malfoy, ‘spare his innocence’. Severus wanted to spit from fury, spare him, when had Albus ever desired to spare someone? He’d certainly played no kindly guiding hand in Severus’ life after he’d attained the dark mark. Yet Severus knew that his own morality had prompted him to the foolhardy oath with Narcissa.

Severus found that the book was not improving his mood either. Nothing short of removing the afflicted appendage would release someone from the bondage which the dark mark placed over them, that or release by the master. Severus slammed the book shut with a snarl of frustration.

A knock came at his office door. Severus turned his head to the door and scowled. He assumed it was Draco and at this moment he had little patience for the boy.

“Come in,” Severus barked.

The door opened and there was Potter. Severus attempted to school his features into something less unpleasant than the fierce scowl he was currently sporting.

It didn't work very well as Potter, who had come in with a smile on his face, let the corners of his lips fall.

“Potter,” Severus tried to keep his voice somewhat civil.

He wanted to scream at the boy to leave, annoyed by his sudden presence.

“Professor, I’m, is this a bad time?” Potter stuttered, looking anxious.

Severus grit his teeth withholding his desire to tell the boy exactly how he felt about it being a bad time.

“No,” Severus said, sounding wholly unconvincing.

Potter was already starting to back out, hands wrenching at each other.

“I didn't mean, just, Professor Sprout, the actaea arizonica,” Potter stopped his rambling and stared at Severus for a moment before ducking his head and starting to shut the door.

“Wait,” Severus snapped.

The boy flinched to a stop.

“I said 'come in’, did I not?” Severus managed to keep his tone even.

His anger and frustration had eased somewhat at hearing the words ‘actaea arizonica’. He needed that particular plant and Pomona had been struggling to grow them, her green thumb seemingly outdone by the plant’s difficult nature. Potter had entered with a smile, he had been pleased about something, and if Severus was correct, Potter had come to tell Severus of the plant’s successful growth.

Potter falteringly re-entered the room and stood apprehensively in front of Severus’ desk without taking a seat.

“What is it you came for?” Severus spoke bluntly.

Potter swallowed nervously, opened his mouth and then shut it. He took his bag from off his shoulder and started to rummage in it. Procuring a bundle wrapped in brown paper, Potter offered it to Severus.

Severus grabbed it with a raised brow.

“What is this?” He asked, tone still severe from the after effects of his study and his thoughts.

“Actaea arizonica,” Potter replied, head ducked down.

Severus felt pleasantly surprised. His assumption had been correct and his long needed potions ingredient was now available. It was one small load off of his mind.

“How?” Severus asked, tone easing into a more amicable state.

Potter seemed to read Severus’ softening mood and pleasure at the procured potions ingredient.

“Professor Sprout let me take it up, since she wasn't managing it. I wanted to,” Potter explained

Severus blinked, carefully opening the parcel. There was a small quantity of dried and prepared banesberry, the specific species necessary for his work. Severus looked up at Potter.

“There's more, if you need it,” Potter added.

Severus slowly realized that the boy had done this to please him. Had he made that much of a difference to the boy, made that much progress that Potter was jumping to tasks just to satisfy Severus? Severus liked that answer, it bode well for his mission, but a small nagging part of him told him that this was only part of the truth.

“Thank you,” Severus said slowly, eyeing Potter with a small bit of perplexion.

Potter didn't flush with joy at the middling gratitude, wasn't acting as if this action was merely to gain Severus’ favor. Instead he smiled softly and Severus was struck by memories of that same smile, one given when a good deed was done for the sake of doing a good deed. Potter would have done this whether or not Severus thanked him, merely because it was a good, right thing.

Only Lily had ever made him feel humble in a way that didn't make him feel worthless, those moments when she was good for the plain reason that she just was. He had never had that, had always been at the core perpetually selfish, even now. He felt disconcerted to experience that same emotion that had graced him so many years ago. Ducking his head for once, he didn't watch as Potter left the room.

When the door was shut, Severus abruptly stood, the banesberry in hand, and stared at it feeling inexplicably old while youthfully ignorant. He looked to the door and felt the need to walk.


XxX


Potter had another convulsion. Severus wasn't present for it, but Poppy had alerted him, as he'd asked her to if the event were to happen again. Apparently the boy had experienced the episode in his dorms and the Weasley boy, seeing his dorm mate, had brought him to the hospital wing.

Severus was standing to the side of the boy's bed, eyeing the red headed sixth year that was awkwardly explaining the event to Poppy. Severus tried to recall the child's name. He couldn't, but he knew he was the youngest surviving Weasley and was an abysmal brewer.

Finally the boy finished, his details hardly useful to the situation, and left. Poppy had already settled Potter and treated him, yet, as Severus looked at him, he saw small tremors running through the boy.

“He's getting worse,” Poppy sounded furious.

She met Severus’ eyes before casting them away in bitter resignation.

“I've reported it, but Dumbledore has dismissed it, my word means nothing to the Ministry. How am I supposed to help the students?” Poppy shook her head and looked at Severus again.

Her lips pursed and Severus saw that she regretted her free speech. She knew Severus supported the Headmaster's choices and opinions. Severus watched her walk away and felt a small bit of guilt which he swept away with practiced ease.

Poppy now gone, Severus turned to Potter. The boy was unconscious and Severus could smell the lingering scent of vomit mixed with the sharp odours of topical potions. He noted the slight tremble that lingered in the boy’s limbs and the sickly complexion. Poppy said it was getting worse.

Severus let out a sigh and settled into a chair, eyes stuck fast to the boy’s supine figure. Dumbledore never seemed to make any realistic plans when it came to Potter: determining that the boy is going to be an instrument in an unbelievably powerful wizard’s demise, yet not even offering special tutelage or overseeing the child’s studies; asking a man who had some of the worst possible relations with the boy to become his mentor; setting up some ridiculously strenuous and dangerous escapade to destroy horcruxes yet completely ignoring the boy’s health. Potter might not even have healthy enough of a constitution to pursue and eliminate the Dark Lord’s seven lives.

This was without even considering Potter’s mental health, the boy was most assuredly suicidal and extremely timid. How would Potter fare under intense mental and physical duress? Severus had no faith that the boy would fare well and he would be the one stuck having to babysit the child.

It was no time for bitterness, the events spinning by too fast and the Dark Lord ever gaining steady momentum in his campaign, yet Severus felt the descent of the emotion, swift and unforgiving. Abstractly, the boy, if just a boy and considered merely by age and bare circumstance, did not deserve this. Life however never saw fit to heed the ideas of deserving and undeserving.

The boy jerked awake and Severus was met by frantic green eyes which spun around the room before settling on Severus.

“Pr’fess’r?” Potter whispered in confusion.

“Hospital Wing, Potter, you had a seizure,” Severus explained succinctly.

Potter gave a tiny nod.

“Safe?” He asked.

Severus gave a curt nod and Potter’s half delirious gaze turned to the ceiling. He stared at it for a few moments before his eyes shut. Severus watched him fall back asleep before rising. He hesitated, considering his assurance to the boy that it was indeed safe. He was not a liar. Severus sat down and stayed, remaining there until Poppy returned.


XxX


Severus was watching his sixth year class practice a shield spell, currently Potter was facing Ms. Granger, the girl seemingly having warmed to the boy once Severus’ acerbity in the class had waned. It seemed even the brave and courageous Gryffindors had a sense of self-preservation.

Severus was lazily pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back as he watched. Today though, he found that he was keeping a keen eye on Potter. The boy’s attack had been yesterday.

“Potter,” he said.

The boy stiffened and Severus saw the instinctual curl of his shoulders. The rest of the class sort of paused, but at Severus’ biting glare which he shot at them, they continued practicing. Granger stood with her wand in hand appearing anxious and unsure. Severus ignored her and approached Potter.

“Strengthen your stance,” Severus instructed, moving Potter’s forearm up a little and making his arm bend more.

Potter flinched under his touch but Severus ignored it.

“Bend in the knees, feet a little farther apart,” Severus said.

Potter looked at Severus, appearing very apprehensive. Severus leaned in and in a quieter voice added,

“This protects, Potter, it keeps people from harm, remember that and use it.”

Potter gave a nod and Severus stepped back. He watched Potter reattempt the spell, Granger casting a weak rictumsempra. Potter responded with more confidence and the spell was admirable in its effect, causing Granger’s own to rebound and her to hastily dispel it.

Potter glanced at Severus, a small victorious smile filled with gratitude on his face. Severus did not respond, instead turning his head to the rest of his class and continuing his pacing.

The class continued and at its close, Severus summoned Potter. The boy came forward, no longer anxious and fearful. They made their way to Severus’ office, a place which had now become quite familiar to the two. Severus transfigured the chair and desk, and the two settled routinely into their places.

The expected scones and tea arrived and Severus allowed them to sit in a relatively comfortable silence. When they’d both partaken of some tea, he spoke.

“I know I’ve spoken of this before, but I wished to reiterate it so you understand that I have not forgotten nor rescinded it,” Severus said, setting his cup down and looking to Potter.

The boy’s face was inscrutable.

“Occlumency is a difficult art, but it would go far in helping you manage your seizures and other symptoms.”

He waited for Potter’s response.

“Sir, I-” Potter broke off and Severus could see that he was enduring a severe struggle in thought.

“As I had said, the offer has and will continue to stand.”

There were a few moments of silence.

“Yes,” Potter said, “if-if you would.”

Severus inclined his head, not allowing his triumph to show.

“Very well, we should start as soon as possible.”

Potter’s head snapped up, as if he thought Severus meant now.

“I will see when you have time in your schedule, evenings may be best, it is well to rest after exercising your mind so.”

Potter gave another nod looking relieved.

The meeting ended.


XxX


Severus sent an owl to the boy with a time given for the occlumency lesson before glancing anxiously out across the snow laden land which stretched in all directions around the castle. It was early Saturday morning in mid February. The school year was drawing closer and closer to an end, as was his time. Draco was now capable of moving inanimate objects, Albus had had a fainting spell this Wednesday, everything was passing by much too quickly. And still, still, Potter’s trust in him was not yet strong enough for what was to come.

Glancing at the daybreak, the sun’s rays stretching like fingers over the horizon to peep out in timid light, Severus thought of the time. His plans, barely formulated, needed to be laid and developed. Albus had given him leave for the day and he needed to make a visit.

Stepping quickly away from the window where nature seemed to be in a still frame of peace, Severus hurried down the steps. With a few concealment charms, meant to dissuade any curious students, he made his way out and across the grounds. He would be going far enough to aparate. An easy weightless charm had him gliding across the snow leaving only the faintest of imprints upon the fresh layer of powder. He met no one.

Cleared of the wards, Severus drew his wand and apparated.

There was a sudden throng of noise, muted by a closed door. Severus glanced around the little closed shop he’d appeared in before stepping toward the door. He transfigured his clothing to that of a muggle and exited the shop by way of discreet magic.

Outside was a crowd of people milling up and down a grey bricked street. It was surprisingly busy considering the early hour. Severus moved in haste towards a cafe. Stepping inside he barely registered the faint tinkling of the bell as his eyes spotted two familiar figures.

Striding forward he seated himself at the table.

“Narcissa, Lucius,” he greeted.

Both were haggard looking, Narcissa’s face a sickly pale rather than an aristocratic fair coloring she so prized. Both had sunken eyes, disheveled hair and eyes lost to despair.

“Severus, how is our boy, Draco?” Narcissa rasped out, eyes already filling with tears.

“He is advancing well, but I have no faith as to the end of this. I have researched your options, you know of them and they remain unchanged.”

Lucius’ jaw tightened and Severus swore he heard a faint whimper escape the man. Narcissa in turn ducked her head, mouth quibbling.

“Is that the only way?” She whispered desperately.

Severus remained implacably neutral, unable to so overtly betray so much emotion as they did.

“Yes,” he replied honestly.

She gasped and turned into Lucius, tears escaping. The cafe continued on in its quiet murmur of morning jubilation. Muggles poured in and out, coffee and tea along with all kinds of baked confections passing hands in exchange for quid. They were a bubble, by magic, and remained an unseeable scene of pensive desperation.

“Are you willing?” Severus said, addressing Lucius.

The man paled, but for once Severus saw his eyes glisten with determination as he gave a small, stiff nod. For all of Lucius’ many, many shortcomings of moral character no one would ever be able to argue his love of his family.

“Speak it, and then you will swear it,” Severus said, voice sharp.

Lucius flinched but he again nodded his head.

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely, “yes, anything to keep them safe.”

Severus gave a nod. Lucius’ eyes fell and his jaw worked and Severus saw the glisten of tears, Narcissa still softly sobbing on her husband’s chest. With that same fierce determination Lucius looked up at Severus.

“You will keep them safe?” He asked firmly.

Severus gave a nod.

“By my life,” he answered, wholly serious.

Lucius gave another nod, a tiny form of relief flitting across his face. An absent hand raised to stroke Narcissa’s head and he gave another unaware nod, eyes distant as he stared at the table.

“So long as they’re safe,” Lucius whispered absently.


XxX


Severus had moved or transfigured most of his items in the office to make way for the coming occlumency lesson. Potter should arrive in a few minutes. Unfortunately this office was turning out to be much smaller than his last, no added space allowed for private brewing and definitely not extra space given to potions ingredients. Still, for now it would do.

Looking to the door, Severus stood absently biding the few minutes remaining. Occlumency truly was a difficult art and he greatly wondered if the boy would have any success, even if by the rare chance he had any propensity for the subject.

Last year Albus had voiced concerns over Potter and his connection to the Dark Lord. Albus had thought that the Dark Lord would use this connection, however the boy never showed any signs of this possibility nor did he show any indication that the connection existed. No startling personality changes, no strange dreams --as far as they were aware--, no issues whatsoever. Potter’s fifth year had passed with little excitement, the only devastating blow being toward the end of the year when the attack on the ministry had occurred and students had been devastated by family loss and feelings of insecurity and fear propagated by the return of the Dark Lord.

Severus’ mind wandered to the idea of the repercussions of teaching Potter this particular skill. He hoped it would cement his relationship with the boy, however it was a delicate matter and if he handled it poorly --or even with the smallest misstep in care-- he could destroy what little trust he’d already built.

Lost in thought, Severus almost didn’t hear the soft knock at the door. He invited them in and a moment later the door opened and Potter meekly appeared from around it. The door shut and Severus immediately pointed to the chair opposite of the one he intended on using. Potter sat.

“Good evening,” the boy said quietly, a pleasant smile on his face.

Severus felt a small smile tug irrationally at the corner of his mouth. Potter’s voice was a gentle sound and he was glad to hear that the boy had not been agitated recently by bullying or elsewise. The strange sensation of actually caring about the boy and feeling positively about the boy’s well being disturbed Severus and he nearly shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs of emotion.

“We haven’t much time and I believe it would be a waste to both of us to dally, so I shall commence immediately.”

Severus waited for Potter to nod in understanding. Severus considered staying standing for his short introduction but decided against it; the action would only serve to heighten the boy’s anxiety.

“If at any time you feel sick, like you will experience a seizure, or any other reasoning you think applicable, inform me and we will stop at once. The point of these lessons are to help mitigate the effects of your condition, not aggravate them. I wish you to be as frank and verbal about your condition as possible.”

Potter gave a nod.

Severus adjusted himself in his seat, drawing his wand.

“I will be using my wand to aid me in entering your mind. It will be uncomfortable, however I will first be just entering, nothing else. We will first start with helping you become aware of the space within your mind, then we will work towards your ability to control this space.”

Severus leaned forward, wand raised.

“Are you ready?” Severus asked, meeting Potter’s green eyes.

The boy looked unsure, but he gave a firm ‘yes’ in reply. Severus adjusted his grip on his wand and waved it.

Severus entered something he could only describe as chaos. The world of Potter’s mind was a flashing, colored mess; lights strobing and no memories to be seen. Severus had never experienced this and he wasn’t sure what to make of it, however he was feeling too discombobulated to even think much on it.

When he’d almost gotten himself adjusted to the strange, fluid feel of mass discord, a feeling of despair crashed over him. It was so deep and so horrible and permeating that he felt his bones vibrating from the emotion. It was replaced by fear just as stark and wholly consuming as the despair. A slew of emotions followed, quick and incredibly violent. All were distinctly foreign

Severus struggled to escape, feeling as though he were drowning. There was no easy exit. Severus’ own desperation swelled within him, nearly reaching panic before he felt his ties cut.

He threw himself from Potter’s mind with all his strength and in the resulting act of magic was sent flying back, toppling back over his chair. Half dazed, Severus quickly gathered his senses.

Rising to his feet, wand clutched in his hand, Severus stared at Potter. The boy was asleep, entire body relaxed and slumped against the chair. He looked relaxed and peaceful. Severus still felt tense, body bristling and nearly on fire from the experience and the lingering sensation of the God-awful emotions. His hands were shaking.

What in Merlin’s name was that? Severus tried to gather his mind, his wits having escaped him. A string of thought, memory from his personal studies, tugged at his struggling mind. Empath, Potter was an empath and the boy had just transferred some very pent up emotions onto Severus. It would explain the boy’s slumped position and Severus’ sudden inability to instantaneously regain emotional control.

Severus stared, ruffled mind readjusting and preening itself back to a semblance of calm. This definitely changed the course of the occlumency lessons and it made Severus reconsider his approach with the boy. As an empath, knowing or unknowing, the boy could feel intent, unless well hidden. Severus had never been so careful around the boy and it made him wonder how many times in the last few months Severus had done something or said something while feeling the complete opposite. It destroyed any false sincerity he’d tried to sell to the boy.

Yet Harry had never acted like he was aware of Severus’ hatred. This was another puzzle, one of now too many which Severus would have to figure out about Potter. Now however wasn’t the time.

Flourishing his wand, Severus transfigured the chair into a bed, the movement barely disturbing Potter. The boy was deeply asleep, no tremor in his limbs and his face clear of all hardship. Severus felt a tug of satisfaction at seeing the boy so peaceful. Once again he batted it to the side. Fixing his desk back to place and everything else aside from the bed, Severus settled himself at his desk. He would wake Potter in a while, for now the boy could rest.

Steepling his fingers, Severus proceeded to assimilate this new knowledge.

Severus allowed Potter three hours to sleep before he realized the time was far past what it should be. Stepping over, he gently shook the boy’s shoulder. Potter woke from sleep slowly and with a calm Severus could never recall seeing the boy have.

Withdrawing, Severus went back to his desk where notes had been accumulated over the past three hours. The session had left him shaken, frayed at the seams and trying to get a grip of himself. Empaths were considered extremely rare, however that was attributed to the fact that they often went undiscovered, and in most cases magical communities viewed it as a malady. Empaths generally had less control over their magic, due to a sensitivity to their environment, which made them less capable as witches and wizards.

It was only spoken of as a beneficial trait on a few occasions, Merlin himself was one, and his ability was used quite artfully in King Arthur’s court. Bayfield the Ravenous was also known to have employed an empath in his judgements at althings during the early third century B.C.E.

As Potter roused, Severus organized the instructions he had outlined for the boy. Hopefully they would help, because legilimency and occlumency had a different set of laws with empaths. It might explain the lack of nightmares or visions, all of which had most likely only been experienced as emotions. In some ways it made Potter safer, and yet it exposed more vulnerabilities.

“Professor?” the boy queried softly.

Severus looked up. It was past eleven at night, he was exhausted, and the remnants of Potter’s transference of emotions still lingered in him.

“Wh-what happened?” Potter’s brow was crinkled in concern.

“I attempted legilimency on you, however, you are an empath so the situation required a very different approach,” clear, concise, his tone even; he could manage that much at least at the moment.

Potter’s confusion grew.

“Empath, sir?”

“One capable of apprehending the emotions and feelings of other beings. It also means the way your mind works is a little different than most others. Emotions are the chief composition, rather than memories, at least to a purveyor such as myself.”

Severus steepled his fingers, not in the mood to humor Potter. However, his mood was not to be taken into consideration, no matter how exhausted he was. For now he was going to build on what he could do with Potter’s difference, and that had to do with helping to control the boy’s seizures.

“It also means you have easier access to dumping ‘memories’ and ‘emotions’ as it were. This is key to your recuperation. I’ve drawn up some instructions for you to follow.”

Severus neatly stacked the parchment papers and held them out to Potter. The boy’s mouth was slack, still sleepy eyed and relaxed. The sheen of wonder, surprise, and earnest gratitude that was slowly settling on the boy’s face tugged at a part of Severus that was kept locked up. He did not make anyone grateful, he was not kind or helpful.

“I would suggest you head to your quarters now, I’ve included a note which will excuse your presence out of your dormitory so late at night.”

“Sir-I,” Potter fell short, a small, brilliant smile coming onto his face, “thank you.”

Severus waved his hand tiredly, not watching as the boy turned and walked away. He didn’t look up until the door had shut. Closing his eyes he tried to will away everything, all emotion and thought. The Potter puzzle would have to wait indefinitely, tomorrow he had his meeting with Dumbledore.



____________________________________________________________



Severus’ eyes carefully traced back over the words he had already read on numerous accounts. Dumbledore was peering at him, patiently waiting. They were in Severus’ rooms. The joy, excitement, and extreme apprehension warring in Severus were not helping him, and the soft silence in the carpeted sitting room seemed to press insistently at him.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, raising his head and referring to Dumbledore as if he were fourteen again and looking for the reassurance of an adult.

“It is mainly your own design, Severus, I’m afraid you would know better than I.”

Severus gave a small, tight nod. Of course Albus was completely right, and looking over the theory, the experiment notes and then the final product, Severus knew that it was perfect. All those years ago he had not stopped his experimentation with spell making when he was sixteen, it being one of the many talents the Dark Lord took advantage of, and Severus was intimately familiar with failure and what it looked like. That helped his current project immensely.

Of course this particular spell was stabilized by an illegal and forbidden element practiced only in the dark arts. Severus knew it would work, elsewise he wouldn’t have approached Lucius a month ago asking the unthinkable. However this did not alleviate his misgivings, and his own personal anxieties and insecurities.

“Severus, do we have another choice?” Albus’ tone indicated that this was not a genuine question, rather a prompting. The man had taken his silence as moral unwillingness.

The man wasn’t entirely wrong, Severus did not, on principle founded by Lily and smelted through her death, wish to do what was required. However he knew that it wasn’t a question of wanting, it was necessity.

“No,” Severus softly replied, steeling himself and sweeping his emotions neatly away, “it will do. The date is set, for both things.”

Albus leaned back, a sigh of relief at Severus’ capitulation issuing forth, and he seemed to relax. His frailty showed starkly, the curse proving its potency. Albus had months left. Or, in light of their plan, he had a mere month left. The man was taking it much too easily. It angered Severus, an emotion much easier to handle and hide away than the grief which also grew in him as the time approached.

He had many complaints against Albus, but the wizard was a man and flawed, and he had been kind to Severus at some point, almost paternal. Despite that though, Severus’ allegiance would always lie with Lily.

“You say that Draco has completed the cabinet, I always knew he was a bright young man,” Albus had a small, wry smile on his lips as he spoke.

Severus said nothing, it was macabre listening to the man talk about his death so lightly. Though maybe it helped ease his thoughts on his own passing.

“Yes, Draco was not raised a fool, and anyone pressed upon in time of great duress can rise to the occasion.”

Albus eyed Severus, then his gaze wandered. Severus looked back over his notes again, his meticulous testing and retesting of the spell they had created together. His brain tumbled over the plans for the coming year, the precarious position he would be taking. It was much like the muggle saying of going from the frying pan to the fire. Potter was probably the most dangerous unknown variable. They had no way of knowing how he would react to what would happen, and Severus, with some slight confusion, did not want the boy to see him kill the headmaster, however it was an absolute necessity.

“We must speak with Potter soon,” Severus said sharply.

Albus frowned, letting out a disgruntled humm.

“I’m not sure that is the best idea, Severus, Harry is still so young, and fragile. I don’t want to make him suffer through the coming weeks.”

Severus’ face flushed a little, fingers trembling for a second before he managed to control his emotions. The statement was utter nonsense, the boy had endured more in his state of ignorance at Hogwarts than was quite fathomable. Even Severus could admit that the boy’s life had been an unending nightmare since he had started at Hogwarts.

“And let him suffer through the shock of me murdering you? That is better?” Severus said incredulously, “Knowing nothing, and expected to trust his teacher, who will be a fugitive from the law?”

Albus dipped his head, gazing at Severus solemnly.

“You are, of course, correct.”

Severus felt his stomach churn. Albus conceding was necessary, but it grated at Severus. He didn’t want to be right about this. The boy was starting to trust him, and to destroy his efforts in the last months frustrated him.

“Then you will tell him?”

“We, we will tell him,” Albus replied, blue, usually magnanimous eyes weighing Severus.

“Fine,” Severus spat out, knowing that it would be better for him to be there to answer the inane questions that Potter was undoubtedly going to ask.

Albus let out a soft sigh and Severus raised his head to look at the man. The old wizard did not speak for a moment.

“You’ve been very good to me, Severus, and I’m sorry the world cannot know about your sacrifices. If the Dark Lord is to be stopped, it will be mainly due to you.”

Severus said nothing, they’d had this conversation too many times.

“I’ll make the arrangements with Lucius,” he said, standing up, wishing to escape the man’s mawkish speech.

“Thank you, Severus.”

Severus did not glance back at the headmaster and instead left the room.

Sitting at his own personal desk merely twenty minutes later, Severus was thinking. Fingers steepled and his chin resting atop them, he could feel the burn of exhaustion in his body. It wouldn’t do to be so burned out before the penultimate act of service to the Dark Lord, Albus’ last request, or truly second to last. The whole future lay with Potter, with the destruction of the Horcruxes, with the boy’s death. He felt a soft pang at the thought; injust, unfair, cruel. The world demanded everything.

A soft pop drew him from his musing, a small roll of parchment now sitting on the corner of his desk. Severus reached out, recognizing the wax seal as Dumbledore’s, in both mark and by the fact of extravagant flourishes, and he opened it. It was an invitation to his office, this Sunday, along with Potter.

Severus took in a deep breath, dropping the scroll and massaging his head. In less than a week all his hard work with the boy would be destroyed, and his true intent revealed. Making Potter privy to the plan though would be more efficient, despite Dumbledore’s reluctance. They were deciding the fate of the wizarding world.


____________________________________________________________


As the week inched by, Severus tried to retrace his planning, perfect it, still thinking that maybe some alternative to Malfoy’s sacrifice would suddenly appear. It did not. Today was Friday and he had tea with Potter in the afternoon. Tomorrow would be the execution of his spell, and the day after the revelation to Potter. Then, two weeks until the deed.

He sludged through his third year class of Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were at the tail end of Nocturnal Creatures, and happily ended it a couple minutes early. As he waited for the fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to arrive, he cleared the chalkboard and began writing notes on it.

The door opened. He did not look over, though he was surprised that a student had made it so quickly from Professor Binns classroom. Whoever they were, approached.

“Professor?”

It was Draco. Severus paused, turning to look at the boy. The boy appeared ragged, bags under his eyes, hair disheveled, and his clothing crumpled and unwashed.

“I-I wanted to ask a question,” the boy would not look at him.

Severus’ eyes quickly darted around the room, but no other student had entered as of yet and they were alone.

“Yes, Draco?”

The boy’s lip trembled, “my dad? With this thing, mother she told me just-”

Severus waited for him to continue.

“Will he die?”

Draco Malfoy was undoubtedly a youth, brash and stupid, arrogant and unthinking. But it had been a while since he had seen the boy look so young, gaze turned to Severus begging for reassurance and safety.

“No,” Severus replied, “he will not die.”

The boy let out a choked breath, one which was almost a sob, shoulders heaving. He gave a nod. It was a promise Severus hoped could be kept; for this reassurance would break the child if it were to be false.

“Thank you, professor,” Draco whispered.

Severus felt like he should reach out, offer comfort to the boy. His hand only made it a few inches when the door opened and a small group of Hufflepuffs entered. Draco flinched, turning heel and fleeing the classroom.

Severus shook away the regret, knowing he could not afford to indulge in caring.


By afternoon the grounds outside were being ravished by an angry sky. A thunderstorm was over Hogwarts, and every so many minutes lightning would flash in Severus’ periphery of the window followed by a low, angry grumble.

Potter arrived right on time, as usual, and as he walked through the door Severus couldn’t help but notice that even now the boy appeared to be more relaxed. He felt a sense of satisfaction and happiness he knew wasn’t entirely attributed to his own success, but instead because some small part of him had genuinely started to care about the boy. It worried him.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Harry said softly.

Severus gave a nod, summoning the normal spread of tea and snacks. Harry, so thin and usually without much appetite, grabbed a biscuit and began nibbling on it. The boy looked relatively, well, happy. Severus felt another pang, this would most likely be their last afternoon together. For some reason it made him sad.

“Have you found much use in the notes I gave you?” he asked, trying to turn his mind from his emotions.

Harry smiled, “yes, sir, they’ve helped, a lot. I’m not so,” he paused, in thought, “tired.”

Severus almost smiled in return. He cleared his throat, shaking off the deceitful emotions once more. He closed his mind, detaching and forcing himself to focus on what his goal was: to ensure Potter was as prepared as possible for the upcoming months.

“Good, continue with it, I believe it will be crucial in helping you recover from your episodes.”

Harry gave a small nod before turning bright, curious eyes on him, “sir, how did you know, just on entering my mind, that I was an empath?”

Severus set his teacup down.

“I’ve spent many years studying the mind, and the magics which involve it. Though I have not met an empath until now, I am aware of it and have studied it.”

“Why don’t they teach such magic at school?”

The question gave Severus pause. It was a good question, because he could see where such a topic would benefit a great many students.

“It is complex, and not many can use or understand it. There are very few competent witches or wizards who can, and even then their ability is very limited.”

“You’re quite special, professor,” Harry said, the words meantly kindly and said with a bit of awe.

“I’ve dedicated years to it, as with most subjects it is time and determination which lends themselves to mastery. Something you’d do well to remember in your studies.”

Harry gave a nod. He’d finished his biscuit and was now starting on another.

“Will we meet for another potions session this coming week?”

The question was innocent enough, but Severus knew that after this meeting with Dumbledore they would not meet again.

“Yes,” he lied, without missing a beat.

“I was hoping we could look at this potion I found during my reading. It is from the potions master Jacoby, in the 15th century.”

“Ah, yes, the obruo medeis, it is quite famous.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and as the conversation continued Severus forgot his worries.


___________________________________________________________



Saturday came quickly as well, and in the early morning, the storm having passed and the grounds slick with the freshly fallen rain, Severus made his way out and to a point where he could apparate. Draco Malfoy accompanied him. The boy was extraordinarily quiet, not having said a word since he had met the man in his office that morning.

Standing just outside the boundaries of Hogwarts, and its magical wards, Severus met Draco’s eyes for the first time that morning. The boy looked unsure and scared. Severus said nothing, offering his hand out. As soon as the boy had placed his hand on Severus’ arm, he flourished his wand and they disappeared.

They reappeared in a small country lane. It was overcast, and fields rolled out around them in soft hills. A small house was in front of them, plain and painted a faded white.

Severus began walking forward, Draco following.

As they approached the door opened revealing Narcissa. Her gaze was somber, hair loose and falling about her shoulders. She moved to the side to allow Severus to enter and then swept Draco into a tight hug.

The small house was empty of furniture and everything had a worn, abandoned look to it. Lucius stood in the center of what was both the front room and the living room. Once upon a time this had been the house Narcissa and Lucius had eloped to. The many complex spells that had once caused this house to occupy much more space were gone, and it was once again an abandoned muggle home.

Severus watched Narcissa, an arm gripping her son, step over to her husband, the family together.

Draco was shaking, fingers unable to stay still, even when held between his mother’s hands. The Malfoy family looked like refugees, all pride gone, Lucius’ hair had been cut short, in a demeaning occurrence with Voldemort where failure had been rewarded with humiliation. It had been a long fall for them, and yet, unlike the many people who had been affected by the Dark Lord, they were still alive. If they could move on they would be more fortunate than most.

“Arrangements have been made, completely?” Severus queried.

Lucius gave a small, short nod, lips drawn tight.

If things were not set up, if the Malfoy family did not follow through totally with what they had promised, then all would be for naught and Severus would live out the short remainder of his life hunted, tortured and then killed upon the Dark Lord finding out.

Severus drew out his notes for the spell, despite the fact he had them memorized.

Everything was ready, his notes poured over so many times he had needed to cast a protection spell on the pages, and all that was left was the deed. His eyes moved over to Narcissa and Draco, both looking on fearfully.

“You do not need to be here for this,” Severus said, feeling a strain of pity for Narcissa.

She could wait outside, or least in another room.

“No, I want to be here,” Narcissa argued, eyes going wide.

Severus inclined his head in acquiescence.

“Very well,” he said softly.

Her eyes quivered with unshed tears, and the red rimming them showed she had already shed many.

Severus moved to Lucius. From his pocket he drew a thimble, one he carried for the purpose of transfiguration. He gestured to Narcissa.

“It would be best to find something for him to sit on, this is a painful and draining process.”

She nodded her head, moving to the other room to look for something to transfigure. Severus meanwhile changed his thimble to a small table, on which he spread his many notes and papers. Lucius’ face was stoic, pale and drawn.

“For this to be successful, I need your complete willingness, do you understand?”

Lucius gave a jerky nod.

Draco was staring on, eyes filled with apprehension and fear.

“Let us begin.”

Severus drew his wand, examining his papers one last time. Narcissa returned with a yellowed bottle in hand which she changed to a chair. Lucius looked to Severus who gave a nod. He sat down.

Severus grabbed Draco’s arm, the one which held the mark, and began the incantation. Lucius immediately let out a cry of pain. Narcissa’s hand reached for his. Severus continued, watching in fascination as the dark mark on the boy’s arm began to fade, in conjunction he could feel Lucius’ magical core being destroyed, burned as fuel for the spell.

Lucius screamed, Draco let out a whimper, eyes clenched shut. Narcissa clutched at her husband, tears streaming down her face.

Lucius’ screams grew louder, and then, Severus was done. The man fell quiet, slumped against the chair and breath coming in heavy gasps. Narcissa was crying, staring at her husband helplessly. Draco stood there, eyes still shut.

“Narcissa,” Severus said, stepping forward and grasping her arm, “quickly.”

She gave a shaky nod to show she was listening.

“Draco will not return, he is to be sick, grievously. Do not leave until Lucius has finished the task, he will need you for that. Keep Draco hidden.”

She gave a nod of understanding.

Severus gathered his papers, stowing them in his robes. He transfigured the table back to a thimble. He did not spare the family a final look, instead striding out of the house. Outside the overcast sky had grown darker, rain threatening. The wind whipped around him, a faint scent of ozone tickling his nostrils. He raised his wand and apparated away.


___________________________________________________________



Dumbledore had arranged his office so that three chairs were centered around a small table. On it were small cakes, some tea, and various candies the man fancied. The chairs were large comfortable things, and Severus had already taken it upon himself to change his own to something which offered more back support.

He knew this was the man’s way of trying to break the news more easily, or, perhaps Severus was wrong, and the Grim standing over him leaving merely weeks had him attempting to enjoy what he could of the life he had left.

All the same, Severus believed it to be inappropriate given the occasion, but, in any case, he couldn’t think of what setting would make telling a child they were, essentially, a sacrificial lamb, appropriate. The whole thing bothered him, although it had been his idea to begin with. Telling Potter was the only option though, they could not just disenthrall the boy from the grasp of Fate, no matter his promise to Lily.

“You’ve sighed again.”

Severus raised his head from where it rested on his fist and tried not to glare too much at the headmaster. The man was nonplussed, a lemon drop making a small bulge in his left cheek as he sucked on it.

“I’m merely observing,” Albus said contritely.

Severus turned his gaze back to his cooling cup of tea. He held back a sigh and let his mind wander through topics more suited for this upcoming meeting. The exact details of the coming months, the reasonings, the ideas for what the horcruxes were. The boy needed to know so much.

A soft rap sounded on the oak door and a moment later it opened. Albus smiled benevolently and Severus sat upright.

Potter entered.

“Harry m’boy, sit!” Albus invited, voice cheery.

“Hello Professor,” Harry said, settling in the one empty chair.

His eyes roved over the table, pausing at Severus for a moment before he was looking back at Albus.

“Now, I’m sure you’re curious about why I’ve brought you here tonight. I will start by warning you that this may well be a very long meeting, so feel free to eat and relax.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Potter did not take anything though.

“I know you’re aware of how you lost your parents, and of how you got your scar.”

Potter gave a nod.

“There are implications though which go beyond that, one’s which are why Tom Riddle was able to return, and why you are so important to him, though I do not think he knows it.”

“Tell me, Potter, have you heard of something called a Horcrux?”

Severus' question had the boy turning to him and Albus sending him a probing glance.

“No sir,” the boy replied, voice soft.

“They are a part of the soul which has been ripped away to be used as a mechanism for furthering one’s life. It is a dark magic, and to create one you must commit murder.”

Severus paused, waiting for questions, for even a physical reaction. Harry sat there though, still and unchanging. Albus waited, watching.

“The Dark Lord throughout his time, and in search for an answer to immortality, created six. He has, however, seven. This last one he is unaware of, he made it the night he tried to kill you. You are that last horcrux.”

“Oh.”

Severus watched, waited. Potter should be terrified, devastated. He merely sat there. Albus stepped in.

“To save the wizarding world, Harry, we must destroy all of them. You’re a brave boy, we know you understand what that means.”

Harry gave a short nod, “yes, sir.”

Severus felt his chest twist with anger and pain.

“I have tried to track them down, and I found one, but I made a grave mistake and I am dying,” Albus said.

“In two weeks time many things will change. Severus will kill me, this will solidify his position with the Dark Lord. We merely need you to wait, and to trust him.”

It was quiet as they waited. Harry seemed to have no response.

“Yes sir, I understand.”

Irritation rose in Severus, the fact that the boy was so patiently accepting of all of this, that he wasn’t angry or confused or upset. He should be devastated, hurt, angry with the fact that his entire life had suffered from and was to be decided by his connection to the Dark Lord.

“That is it? You understand, Potter?” Severus said this with a sneer, voice vituperative and cruel.

Potter looked away.

Severus felt his anger rise and something in him snap.

“Don’t you get it, you fool! My job is to defeat the Dark Lord! That means I will kill you! I am not here to be your friend, and my only interest in you is the fact that the defeat of the man cannot be done without your involvement! Believe me, I have little faith in your abilities, you’ve mental and physical handicaps which I have been striving to ameliorate, but it does not change the fact that you will simply be a burden! The wizarding world is at stake, there is no affording to have friends, merely tools or enemies! At the end of this you will be dead!”

Severus’ tirade came to a sudden end and he was left in the unpleasant quiet. The boy’s face was blank, Albus for his matter looked very tired and very old.

“You know, so when the time comes, be prepared. If we are to succeed, all must go right,” he said more quietly, voice still tight and full of venom.

Severus then turned, storming from the room.


__________________________________________________________


The rest of the two weeks passed very quickly, Severus did not see Potter beyond classes. It hurt, in a strange way. The knife which had sunk into his heart after parting ways with Lily seemed to be twisted anew at him having ruined yet another relationship. He could argue that it hadn’t been real, it had been pretend for the sake of greater things, but it did not change the fact that Severus had started to value the boy’s company in a way he could not claim for the many other people in his life.

In some bitter way it felt right, Severus had been born into an unforgiving world, one which loathed him, and he did not feel that he deserved anything, certainly not friends nor family. Still, it did not ease the small burning sense of loss.

The night before the event, before Albus’ death and the start of the beginning, Severus sat in his office, a stack of essays sitting in front of him despite the fact that by the end of tomorrow it would not matter. Severus Snape would not be a potions teacher ever again. Next to the essays was a glass half filled with fire whiskey. It had been full at the start of this evening.

Raising his quill, Severus took the next essay and began to draw angry red marks on it. Despite reading about what a second year believed were the properties of griffon blood, he was thinking about the morrow.

He did not want to kill Albus, no matter that it was a mercy killing. He did not want to go to the Dark Lord and pretend to be honored to serve him. He did not want to make Lucius Malfoy into a squib. He did not want to guide Harry Potter to his death. Ultimately, he wished he did not have to fight in this war. However, many years ago he had put himself in moral debt, and he was responsible to repay it. Lily waited in the afterlife, and he could not forget her, nor the harm he had done to her.

In anger, he drew a large X over the entire paper. Even now, he missed her.

A knock came at his door. Blinking, he frowned as he glanced at the time. It was just before ten, when curfew for sixth and seventh years was. He rarely had students ask for help at this time, unless it was to beg a grade change, or some other ludicrous exception.

With a sigh, he called out for them to enter. He did not hide his glass, by tomorrow people would be shocked by something much more serious than him partaking in alcohol on a weeknight.

The door opened and it was Potter who entered. Severus felt out of his depth, emotionally unprepared, especially after he had been thinking of Lily.

The boy was nervous, and he hesitantly approached. He had something in his hand.

“This is for you, professor.”

Potter set the object, wrapped in brown paper, on the table. The boy’s emerald green eyes, so like Lily’s, were impossible to read. He gave a soft nod before turning and hurrying out of the room. Severus was left feeling dumbstruck.

After a few minutes, he gathered himself enough to reach forward and grab the object. It wasn’t large, and it was in a box. He frowned, carefully peeling back the brown paper. The box which lay beneath the wrapping was that used for potion shipping, in this case, a single vial. Severus’ curiosity was piqued.

He opened it, pulling out a potion that was cloudy and luminescent. There was a small note.

“Fortudinem meam,” Severus read aloud.

It was a tricky and fickle potion, with ingredients difficult to obtain. It strengthened the magical core, and depending on the skill with which it had been made, it could last for nearly forty eight hours. This potion looked nearly perfect, no easy feat. It would have taken months to brew. As a potions master Severus felt pleased and surprised, everything else he was feeling was too complicated to pay heed to.

He read the rest of the note:

Dear Professor,
For help in the task at hand. And to thank you.
Harry

Severus swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat. He set the potion down, overwhelmed. In his half sober, half drunk state of mind he could only think of Lily, of all he had deprived her of, a son like this, of a life where joy and happiness were deserved. Severus felt so low, so undeserving. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let himself cry, for Lily, and the world he had stolen from her.