When Harry came to his senses, he transited from unconsciousness to extreme agitation in only a few seconds. He looked at Ron, at Snape and at Mrs Steadfast with widened eyes, pupils dilated to the point of almost hiding the green of his iris, his gaze flickering from side to side.

”I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I know I shouldn’t’ve done that last Relieving on the pregnant witch. But she was in so much pain, in such agony, and she was going to die! She died such a horrible death!” he gasped.

“You did a Relieving on the pregnant witch?” barked Snape. “But young, inexperienced Grief-swallowers must never do that, never - do you hear? You should know by now that you must be able to understand the kind of suffering you lift away. The witch in the cave was subjected to advanced Dark Magic, and on top of it she was pregnant – how do you suppose to understand that?”  

“I’m sorry… Forgive me… She spoke to me and I thought I sort of understood her… I felt so much for her, and I was desperate when she threatened to… to die! And there had been so many tortured people before her… I…”

Harry’s pupils suddenly contracted and went very small, at the same time as he lost the little colour in the face that he had gained and collapsed. Snape jumped up and started spelling Renervates again while Ron poured Firewhiskey in Harry’s mouth from the bottle itself. Harry woke up again, coughing and spitting.

“Tastes awful!” he muttered. “But I guess I need it,” he continued, took the bottle from Ron’s hand and started to swig the Firewhiskey.

“Go easy on that bottle!” Snape snapped and snatched it from Harry. “It’s medicine. You’ll take it in small controlled dosages, repeatedly!”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry looked abashed and recoiled.

“He needs to go to St Mungo’s,” stated Mrs Steadfast. Harry looked horrified at her.

“No, no, please, let me stay! I only need to take the Firewhiskey at regular intervals and it’ll pass, won’t it, Professor? Please!” He fastened his pleading wide eyes at Snape.

“I don’t know. You’re extremely unstable… Your nervous system is in a chaos from overuse… The regulation of basic functions like breathing and blood pressure modulation is severely impaired…“ Snape knitted his eyebrows.

“Not St Mungo’s, please! They’ll recognise me. Some of them know who I am, and it’ll leak to the press. It’ll be all over the Daily Prophet. Please… I did it for you last year, Professor,” Harry pleaded. He was referring to an episode at Hogwarts the previous year when Snape had experienced a similar collapse after having done too many Relievings. Snape deliberated with himself and looked contritely at Harry.

“I don’t like it, but… I’ll watch over you here to start with. You seem to react differently from what I did last year, however. Other than the large amount of Relievings, you’ve done a transfer of unknown magic, of unfamiliar feelings to yourself – I don’t know where it will lead. If you deteriorate, I’ll have to take you to St Mungo’s.” Mrs Steadfast nodded her consent to Snape and went out to finish the briefing with the Aurors.

Although thankful for the respite, Harry continued to be extremely restless and instable: agitated one moment, only to collapse lifeless the next. He wriggled on the stretcher, sitting up and lying down in turns, gripping Ron’s and Snape’s arms while talking. When rambling incoherently about what had happened in the cave, he breathed quickly and irregularly with widened eyes. Several times he was on his way to stand up, before Ron and Snape managed to make him lie down again, and all while Harry talked incessantly.

Harry blamed himself mercilessly for the death of the pregnant witch, in great despair from not having been able to help her and convinced that he had done something wrong.

“I’ve become arrogant, too sure of myself,” he lamented. “At St Mungo’s they use to say that ‘Healer Evans never loses a patient’. It got to my head. But they were wrong. I didn’t think I could fail a Renervation, but now I did, and… and… I should’ve done something else, I should’ve done more... I wasn’t up to it. She died and she died because of me. I should have called someone else at an earlier stage. Someone experienced. Oh, why did nobody come and save her?”

“No one could have saved her, Harry.” Snape tried to explain. “The person who had hurt her with Dark Magic did this to her, not you. She was only a vessel to carry the transformed child. She would have died after the delivery at any rate. That’s how she was conditioned – she was doomed by the dark curse.”

“No, something could have been done. Someone could have helped her. You could, Professor… if you had arrived in time. It was because I made you angry when I spoke to you earlier, wasn’t it? It’s all my fault... since you didn’t want to come because you were angry with me.” Harry fastened his almost black, feverish and anguished eyes on Snape.

“I didn’t even know you had found the cave, Harry. I didn’t refuse to come. And I wasn’t angry at you – I was worried.”

“You got upset when I said… when I said that thing about you not being my father… I’m so sorry, it was out of line. I shouldn’t have said it, I didn’t mean to…” Harry was on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay, don’t mention it…” muttered Snape glancing at Ron with embarrassment written on his face.

Harry continued to apologise, however, again and again until he collapsed anew. When he woke up after yet another Renervation, he was weaker and did not try to rise, but went on in the same anguished tone of voice, stumbling over his words and confessing with ruthless honesty to Snape:

”I’m so sorry I shouted at you! I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it like that at all. It was very rude of me. I do realize you were right. I wasn’t fit to go on the mission. I felt so ashamed…” Harry swallowed and spoke even quieter, but clearly. “You know, I couldn’t stop myself from being jealous when Neville had his mother back… So nasty a feeling it was… I just wanted to get away from it… To flee from myself… Can you imagine: to begrudge him that happy moment! Not being able to rejoice for him… So selfish of me…. I was so ashamed… so ashamed indeed! And his father died, too. What kind of person am I?” Harry’s eyes filled with tears.

Ron looked at him, unsure how to respond, and embarrassed, whereas Snape hummed something not quite distinguishable, but which boiled down to something reassuring. It was clear that he had already understood Harry’s feelings at the awakening of Neville’s parents. Harry looked at Snape for a few seconds with mute gratefulness, before he launched ahead again, unable to stop the torrent of words that wanted to translate the tempest of thoughts in his head and the chaos of feelings cursing his body.

“I really am sorry for what I said to you, Sev… I mean Professor Snape… Sometimes you understand certain things about me better than myself. You hated my father so much and I defended him and thought you were so wrong all those years. But… But… You’re probably a much better person than my father was, anyway… because I… I don’t know him at all, do I?”

Snape lifted his eyebrows high and tried to say something, but Harry rambled on.

“Let me tell you, because I can’t figure him out – James, I mean… I visited some relatives of his… of mine too that is… this summer… You know, Ron, at Le Grand Eclat… Because they reside in France, most of James’ relatives do… They’re quite distant relatives because apparently my grandmother and her sisters were cursed and couldn’t have children of their own and James was the only exception so he didn’t have any siblings, obviously, nor cousins. So the lady I visited was a cousin of James’ mother and some of her children and grand-children who happened to be there when I called, which means they’re second cousins to my father… So quite distant but… but…”

Harry paused to breathe and Snape gestured for Ron to give him a sip of Firewhiskey from the cup, but seemed otherwise resigned to let Harry continue rambling after taking his medicine. The young man seemed unstoppable in his agitation, and maybe there was a glint of curiosity, despite all, in Snape’s eyes.

“I spoke to this guy called Pascal who was a second cousin to my father. I think he wanted to console me because it didn’t go so well with the old lady seeing that she basically threw me out…” Harry went on. Ron lifted his eye-brows.

“Threw you out? A long lost relative?” he said indignantly. Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

“It was probably my own fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have attempted to barge into their lives after so long a silence from their side. I did write to them in advance - at least I did - so that they knew I was in town, and I told them which day I planned to come by. They hadn’t answered my letter, however, but I was so impatient that I decided to take my chances and call by the house anyway -which is probably not done in those circles of wealthy witches and wizards…” Harry drew a deep breath. “Pascal’s mother lives in an enormous residence,” he confided in Ron.  “The thing is that James stayed with them every single summer, so they must have known him pretty well, and liked him.”

“How come she threw you out?” Ron wanted to know. Harry shook his head

“She let me in at first. I got the impression she was curious to see what I looked like for real. It was kind of humiliating, someone not caring to get to know you, but treating you as an exhibit or something. She sort of scrutinized me very haughtily from head to toe, and then she said something about there being no likeness at all, upon which one of her daughters pleaded with her not to ‘bring that story about the will up again’.” Harry shook his head. “What do you make of that, eh?”

Ron wrinkled his nose and shrugged, puzzled. Harry continued.

“At this, the old lady flashed her eyes at me and said ‘out he goes then’, and I found myself escorted out of the room by a servant without even having opened my mouth. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. I know so little of my parents… I only wanted…” Harry’s voice broke, but he straightened up again, driven at this stage by his agitation which took precedence over all other emotions.

“But I was saying about James… This fellow, Pascal, caught up with me in the garden of the residence and proposed to have a talk. He was my father’s age, Pascal, and it turned out that they were always together during the summers. Them and Sirius, apparently, because James started to bring him along already after their first year at Hogwarts, and that tallies with what Sirius himself told me about his close relationship with the Potters. And Pascal told me that James used to be a favourite with the old lady in the house and that everyone agreed that James was the most charming, talented and spirited young man at the time, until…”

“Until…?” prompted Ron.

“Until Pascal made a girl pregnant which caused a scandal in the family, and his mother blamed James for it. It happened the summer before I was born.”

“But…” said Ron.

“They had been partying like wild, that summer, James and Sirius had, leading the way in… in a Baccha… Bacchanalian fashion – that’s the word Pascal used. According to Pascal, he was a lamb in comparison to my father. James and Sirius used to share the ladies between them and made a game of going through as many as they could in one summer, and Pascal only took what was left over – that was his own expression.” Harry pulled a wry face. “I’m not sure I liked Pascal very much – he was all too casual about this, as if not taking it seriously at all, and obviously not wanting to take responsibility for his own actions.”

“I thought James and Sirius were in the Order by that time,” Ron objected, frowning. “They were fighting Voldemort, right? In 1979, that’s when it started to get really bad in Britain, according to what my dad told me.”

“Yeah, I know!” Harry said with emphasis. “Exactly what I thought, too. Going on a vacation to France, partying on the Riviera, doesn’t tally at all with the tale of the courageous and responsible ‘James the Auror’ that I’ve been told about. Moreover… Moreover…” Harry’s voice broke again before he pulled himself together once more and launched, almost aggressively: “James was together with my mother that summer, he must have been, and so he was cheating on her, wasn’t he?”

Ron looked embarrassed. Snape did not look at Harry at all, but had bent his head down. Harry drew a deep breath; his eyes had started to flicker with increasing restlessness.

“I asked Pascal about Lily, but he just mumbled something, said times were different by then, in the seventies, regarding relationships. Said he’d only met my mother once, and that he couldn’t remember whether it was that same summer or the summer before that in which James had invited her to visit them. Said that Lily was a nice girl, nice and tidy, that’s all he said, in an evasive kind of way. Why did James want to be with others, when he had my mother? I don’t understand him at all!” Harry shook his head in high-strung irritation. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this in the summer, Ron, but I think I was really too ashamed of my father, and confused… I didn’t know what to think. He cheated in a big way on my mother… What a git!”

Harry spoke with great emphasis and only paused to draw a shuddering breath before he continued with increasing emotion and agitation.

“And me… me… When Ginny did what she did to me this winter and left me in order to go and live with that… drummer… and literally pushed me to go away and be with others… We were too young to commit ourselves and all that… and I was too serious and complicated, and whatever… So when I tried… because I assure you I’ve done my very best these months to understand what it is she wants from me…” Harry spoke furiously now. “So I tried very hard, but the only thing I managed to achieve so far - the only thing that’s come out from my efforts until now - is to feel a complete fool, and experience anguish beyond anything when I woke up beside someone that I don’t love. I mean, what’s the point?! My father slept with dozens of girls during one single summer while I only slept with two, no three, and then with Simmings, of course…”

“You slept with Simmings!” Ron stared wide-eyed at Harry who was starting to look very pale again, but did not seem in any way inclined to slow down his torrent of confessions.

“Yeah, well, once. So what? I was supposed to try things out, okay? And at least there were real feelings behind it that time – it was certainly the best of those attempts of mine, and yet of course I couldn’t go on seeing him in that way, because I don’t love him like he loves me and I’ll hurt him… Moreover, I guess I do feel more comfortable with women, physically speaking, I mean… although it wasn’t an unpleasant experience, I assure you, Ron...”

“You don’t have to go into detail, Harry, please,” Ron said quickly.

“Well my point is that while my father just passed from one woman to another completely unperturbed - and yet he did have the woman he was supposed to love at hand – while he behaved like that, I’m perfectly incapable of anything remotely similar. It’s incomprehensible to me. Why did he do it? What’s the point? What was he trying to prove? I’ve already after these piteous attempts of mine reached the conclusion that there is no point in trying to be with someone you don’t love, and I’m done with trying, I’m telling you, I’m done with it! I‘ll just have to wait for Ginny to come back to me, whether it takes her one, or two, or twenty years, but I can’t, I just can’t be with someone else. I miss her so much… I’m so miserable without her…” Harry wailed, and suddenly he crumpled up unconscious again.

Snape had bent his head deep down towards the end of this speech, leaning his elbows on his knees, and Ron had to shake him by his shoulder for him to realize that Harry had passed out again and needed to be Renervated.

When recovered, Harry was dizzy and silent for a while. After swallowing some Firewhiskey he was able to lay back with closed eyes, his face grey and drawn. Ron whispered bewildered to Snape:

“What’s happening to him? Why does he talk so much?”

“It’s because of the anxiety – it’s a side effect of the Relievings. They don’t wear off like they should. Although the fact that he has been having a hard time since Christmas contributes to the themes of the anxiety, of course,” Snape muttered back.

“We’ve been trying to speak to him, Hermione and me, but he hasn’t wanted to discuss anything in depth, only pushed us away, silent and dejected. I’ve pretty much guessed how he feels, but it’s kind of crude and overwhelming to hear it gush out of him all at once like this. Can’t we do anything for him? A calming draught?”

“No, he’s too circulatory unstable to tolerate one of those potions right now, and they would be insufficient anyway. We just have to put up with it until it’s over, Mr Weasley, it’s the only thing we can do,” said Snape.

Ron swallowed and turned to Harry who looked back gravely at him.

”You slept with Simmings,” repeated Ron.

”You shouldn’t despise that kind of love, you know Ron,” said Harry, “especially not since George loves Hercules so much - it’ll hurt your brother. I won’t sleep with Simmings again, but in a way, I love him. He’s such a feeling and sensitive person - even more than me, I guess. I’m cynical and ridiculously sensitive at the same time,” Harry said disgusted. ”But Simmings is sort of untarnished and innocent… That’s why I like him so much - he’s a truly kind, caring person. There’s no darkness in him. He’s not like me… I was marked from the beginning, befouled…”

”Don’t say that, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. Harry looked intensely at him.

”But it’s true, Ron. Ginny’s right. Do you really think that I could’ve lived through everything I have done without damage? I’ve been assaulted by Voldemort, I’ve had a piece of him attached to my soul. He marked me…” Harry touched the scar on his forehead. ”I can feel the depths of despair from what I have lived inside me. And there are these bursts of anger, or if they are bursts of evil even, or something close to that, I don’t know. It’s there, though. I’m fighting to keep on the surface, but I know that if I let myself go, I’ll plunge… I don’t know how deep… It’s scary… I don’t dare to let go because I don’t know who I’d become… You’re so naive, Ron… That’s partly why I love you too… Despite everything you’ve been through together with me and Hermione, despite all our adventures and struggles, you’re just this ordinary guy, pure and innocent, clueless even sometimes. You’re really good for me that way you know…” Ron stared at him.

”There’s nothing evil in you, Harry… Don’t let on there is. I know you - you’re my friend. You’re an ordinary guy, you are…” whispered Ron, insisting. Harry turned his head away.

”I don’t know, Ron,” Harry answered in a whisper too. ”The anger and hatred frighten me so much. I fight it - I fight it so hard, but I get so tired - so very, very tired. And if the booze softens these feelings and makes me forget to start with, it makes me meaner and fiercer when I sober up… and disgusted with myself… so disgusted… But it’s so strong, the hatred is… If you only knew… I’ve made stonewalls explode with uncontrolled magic, I’ve made trees fall around me like in a storm at night…”

Harry went on, confessing to Ron and Snape how he had been experimenting with Parsel Magic during the spring.

“It’s Dark Arts, obviously,” said Harry, ruthlessly honest. “But since I know the language, I have defended myself with the argument that it’s only logical for me to explore the power of that language. You know – to look at it just to know what I’m dealing with. There’s such power in the language, you see – it’s amazing how it adds to the magic. That’s what made Voldemort so strong - I’m sure he used it to a maximum. Maybe I’m wrong to explore it, and I’ve had such bad conscience for going along with it. I’ve been scared, too. The strength of the magic frightens me. But… it’s about the only thing that I can do when I feel in a certain way… When the anger gets hold of me… I need to go to the forest and… What am I supposed to do, Ron? The anger won’t go away unless… unless I channel it into the magic. Parsel magic requires those kind of strong feelings. One actually needs them to make it work. But… but I defend myself with thinking that it’s what the magic is used for – what you make of it – that should determine if it’s condemnable or not. The magic shouldn’t be despised on its own, what do you think?”

Ron nodded slowly – he understood roughly what Harry meant and agreed with him, and it seemed to him that Snape did, too – of course he did, with his own history of obsession with the Dark Arts.

“If you use it to achieve important things, it’s acceptable, isn’t it?” Harry went on anxiously. “Like when I tore down the Fidelius charm today: it enabled us to enter the cave more promptly and save those people. Although not Meleonora… Not her… I couldn’t save her…”

Harry paused and gulped. 

“Parsel doesn’t work with healing spells,” he stated regretfully and shook his head. “Maybe I should have tried Ancient Magic on her instead? Ancient Magic, too, is a strong branch of magic which I – which no one – knows very much about. It has occurred to me that we know so little about magic in fact! There is so much to learn! But it’s been impossible for me during the last months to study Ancient Magic - because Ancient Magic is all about protection and love, and all I wanted to do was to destroy and hate… Of course I turned to Parsel Magic instead! But I promise that I’m trying to control it. I haven’t hurt anyone. I only test it to get control over it. I blast it at dead things, I promise…”

Harry looked pleadingly at Ron who did not know how to respond and glanced at Snape instead.

“Do you think I’m turning into a Dark Wizard, Professor?” Harry whispered. Snape had been listening to Harry’s long confession half turned way. Now he jerked his head up and looked at the anguished young wizard.

“You’re not a Dark Wizard, Mr Potter!” he said with emphasis. Both Ron and Harry startled but looked at Snape with relief and doubt at the same time. “It’s what we choose to struggle for that defines us,” Snape muttered, as if trying to convince himself as much as the two young wizards.

After only a few seconds’ respite, Harry started to wail again with heightened anxiety, and to accuse himself of having treated his friends abominably, apologizing for having caused Ron and Hermione to worry about him, for being a bad friend, for being reckless and for drinking too much. He complained about the Daily Prophet and about the press in general putting him under surveillance, about feeling trapped.

“Every step I take is monitored. I can’t do anything without being judged,” Harry said bitterly. “I always need to be careful, never can let myself go. That’s why I used Polyjuice. But it’s a creepy way of going out among people, of getting drunk – in another person’s body…”

Ron lifted his eyebrows and made a grimace.

“It’s such a ridiculous way of buying oneself anonymity, I realise that – but what could I do? I couldn’t stand the attention any more. I couldn’t stand myself any longer…” Harry drew a deep shuddering breath. ”Listen to me,” he went on with a grimace of disgust. “I’m so full of self-pity… I’m sick of myself. People break up all the time, don’t they? They go on with their lives – why can’t I deal with it like normal people do? What’s wrong with me? Taking everything so seriously. Ginny’s right - I’m such a sad, ridiculous figure. I’m so tired of myself, tired of all my strange feelings, of my own anxiety - but I can’t help myself.” Harry reverted to muttering to himself and Ron heard bribes of sentences and single words “…stupid… ridiculous…” until Harry lifted his head and looked him in the eyes, his own shining with remorse: “What should I do with myself? I only plague you, Ron. I’m of no use to any of my friends. Hermione, too. Not to speak of Professor Snape! I’m perfectly loathsome!”

*

Several hours went by before Mrs Steadfast came back and found Snape and Ron exhausted at Harry’s side.

“Ron, you’d better go and get some sleep, I think,” she said.

“I want to stay with him,” Ron replied promptly. “If anyone must see him like this, it should be me.”

“I need to talk to you about your work at the farmhouse” Mrs Steadfast objected calmly. “Savage has written a report and you need to confirm it. After that I order you to go and have some rest- it’s starting to get late. Professor Snape and I will take turns to watch over Harry. We’ll ask Simmings to relay us for the late night shift. Come on now Ron, he’ll be okay.” Mrs Steadfast led Ron out of the room.

When Mrs Steadfast came back the next time, she found Harry asleep on the stretcher, and Snape leaning back in an armchair next to him with closed eyes. As soon as he perceived that someone was in the room, however, Snape jumped up smoothly and came towards her, hushing at her.

“He only went to sleep an instant ago. Don’t wake him up. I gave him a larger dose of Firewhiskey to calm him down. I couldn’t take it anymore! He’s been talking non-stop for five hours now, except for the short interruptions when he threaten to collapse and die. I cannot relax for a second. We really should have taken him to St Mungo’s. I’ve already regretted ten times over not doing so from start. An instable patient like this I would normally have at least two care wizards or care witches by his side and a healer nearby,” said Snape.

“You look done in, Severus. I’ll take your place for a while so that you can have some rest. Has he been hard on you?” Mrs Steadfast looked at Snape with sympathy.

“Oh, worse than that - he’s so repentant, so full of apologies, all driven by his anxiety. He has confessed to everything, confided his innermost secrets and regrets, begged me for forgiveness for what he said this afternoon – ten times as least. Dreadful!” exclaimed Snape, making a wry face.

“My poor friend!” Mrs Steadfast smiled at him. Behind them Harry stirred and started to moan again.

“Oh, no, here he goes again,” whispered Snape. “I thought he’d sleep for a while.”

“I’ll sit with him. I’ll call you if he gets worse. Should I give him more Firewhiskey?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“No, wait a bit,” retorted Snape. “He just had a large dose, it should keep him stable for at least an hour.”

Harry started to speak confusedly and try to sit up on his stretcher. Mrs Steadfast hurried up to him. Snape conjured up another armchair, not unlike the one at Spinner’s End, in a far corner of the room, and slumped down, closing his eyes.

When he spotted Mrs Steadfast, Harry immediately started to apologise to her as well, for his behaviour in the afternoon and for his failure in the cave.

”You were right. I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours the night before. And I had had too much to drink,” he confessed.

“Tell me how you caught those Death Eaters again, Harry,” said Mrs Steadfast and Harry complied at once without objections.

“I don’t think they followed me from the pub where I had spent the evening. I had taken Polyjuice potion - I already told Ron and Snape. I left when I felt the effect wearing off after the third dosage, and when I started to transform back to myself again.” Harry paused to take a breath. “I felt tight, and a bit nauseous, so I started to walk about. For hours I walked in the night. I was thinking… about Ginny… and I was miserable… miserable…. I passed over so many bridges… All the bridges along the Thames… And each time I stopped to look down into the black water, I was afraid of myself… I sort of longed to… So I Disapparated away, out of fear I’d do something stupid, and then I realized I was in Destersbridge… There’s where my mother grew up, you know, and where Professor Snape lives.”

Harry looked at Mrs Steadfast.

“Where is he? Did he leave? He and Ron were here before. Professor Snape can’t stand me, you know. I remind him too much of my mother … and of my father come to that… “

Mrs Steadfast opened her mouth to protest, but Harry went on without paying attention to her, as if he had merely stated a fact.

“Have you been to Professor Snape’s house in Destersbridge? Of course you have, we secured the place this autumn with the Fidelius… I’m sorry… Anyway, I passed by his house last night, and there was actually some lights on, so I guess he must’ve been home. I hesitated to knock on the door, but I realized I still smelled of alcohol and I didn’t dare to… I knew he wouldn’t approve… He’s very sensitive about drinking you know… And of course he’s right, you should be careful… Snape’s kind of always right and that’s why he’s so annoying… Still, could I have some more Firewhiskey now, do you think? I believe I need some more to reverse the effects of all those Relievings… I feel very strange, very strange indeed. My insides are churning…”

“You must wait with the Firewhiskey, Harry. Severus said you’d had enough for a while. You didn’t knock on his door then?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“No, I didn’t. I realized it wasn’t a good idea. I remembered that Snape can’t bear the sight of me. When we first met at Hogwarts I reminded Snape of my father - you knew my father didn’t you, Mrs Steadfast? From the Aurors, when you were younger? Snape hated James so much that he hated me too, although I was only eleven when I met him the first time. But now I suspect that I remind Snape too much of my mother. He still grieves her – I suppose you read about those rumours that he loved my mother? Well, it’s true, I know that much, although I know almost nothing. I know so very little in fact, because Snape doesn’t want to talk to me about her. Anyway, I’m kind of a trigger for that grief, so Snape can’t be near me, especially when I’m like this, all desperate and uncontrolled. It must remind him of when my mother left him. They went out together the summer before sixth year at Hogwarts. Don’t tell him I told you, because I’m not allowed to talk about it.” Harry swallowed. “I only plague people in my vicinity,” he went on sadly, “I really do, especially Professor Snape.”

Mrs Steadfast shot a quick glance over at the other end of the room where Snape sat in his chair. He was absolutely still but had put a hand over his eyes as if shielding them from too strong a light, although he was in the dusk. 

“So I passed Professor Snape’s house and walked about at random, but there’s a river near his house too, and I was drawn to that black water again, and I was afraid… I’m so afraid I’ll do something, you know, Mrs Steadfast… In daytime it’s not that bad. But in the evenings, especially after drinking… First you have that pleasant effect of relaxation, the dizziness and the carelessness, but then when it wears off, the anxiety mounts even stronger, and what’s possible to control during the days become much darker and so much harder to master in the night.” Harry gasped a little. “I’m afraid of being taken by surprise by myself, you know?” He looked Mrs Steadfast in the eyes. “It all becomes so dead serious at night when you sober up. I’m afraid I’ll do something almost by accident… There’s something inside me who longs to put an end to all this… It would be such a relief… But I cannot, can I? It would be perfidy – because of my mother who died for me. I’m not allowed to disregard that. She wanted me to live on and to struggle - but it’s hard, so hard now since Ginny left. I don’t know who I am anymore, or why I must go on… “

Harry wriggled on the stretcher. One moment he riveted his eyes on Mrs Steadfast, the other he turned his gaze away in shame.

“And I saw myself on the bottom of that river and I was so afraid I’d let myself slide into the black water - like unintentionally - and just let go… Let go…” Harry drew a deep breath. “So I Apparated away from there, once again, and I found myself in the play yard where Seve… where my mother played with her sister when they were children… so I sat on a swing… I don’t know what I was thinking about, and I don’t know for how long I sat there… At last I realized it was near dawn and that I needed to get some sleep. I didn’t want to wake Ron and Hermione up, nor Simmings, so I went to this deserted shed in the outskirts of London. And, I told you this morning, that’s how they found me, but I was on my guard and I caught them… Could I have some Firewhiskey, please?”

“Not yet.” Mrs Steadfast had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I never realized just how terrible you felt. Well, of course we all knew after Christmas that you were upset, but lately… You behaved well in class, didn’t you? You do well on the training sessions - a bit overzealous, maybe. But this… I had no idea…”

“I need to keep my thoughts occupied…” Harry trailed off before picking up another thread. “I’m so pathetic, you know. When I’m battling, I fantasize about my own death… or his death, the drummer who I don’t even know… And I’m just being pathetic because I fancy a really violent death this time… It’s very unlike the last time, when I prepared the Draught of Permanent Peace… “

“Last time, Harry?”

Harry ignored Mrs Steadfast question.

“And that’s why Professor Snape was right of course - I shouldn’t take part in the battle against the Shiftings, and you were right to put me with Soundy in the background. I’d have gone into it far too brutally. I’d love to be blown to pieces, you know… or I don’t, I’m not sure. I just want to escape from everything. Last time, I didn’t really want to die, I was only in so much pain… And now, now I don’t know if I really want to die or not – I’d like to die by accident, if you understand what I mean? Without having to take responsibility for my actions. So cowardly. I’m simply so angry… I’m so angry at her… Why, why can’t she feel we belong together? But then I think that I’m being presumptuous… Only because I feel that way doesn’t mean that she does, right? I might be completely wrong… The worst is that I do think that Obliviating treatment she took last year has something to do with it. It gives her attacks of anxiety sometimes. She thinks that I’ll die and she gets all wrought up – that means that she loves me, doesn’t it? But she can’t stand to live with a boyfriend who she thinks is going to die all the time. And it happens especially when we are really close, when we make love… When she loses control of herself… I’m sorry if I embarrass you, Mrs Steadfast. I seem to speak far too much…”

Harry widened his eyes and breathed quickly.

“I don’t know what happens to me - it’s like a black animal inside me. It’s eating me, and my blood goes really fast, and I’m full of regret because I want to love that child but it eats me up and how am I to survive?”

Harry gasped.

“It’s the Relieving – it doesn’t wear off as it should. That poor girl had been so abused. I think the reason I feel like this is because I don’t really understand her feelings… And I don’t understand Ginny, either. You know, she asked me… frankly, I’m embarrassed, but Ginny asked me this autumn – and this made me realise how bad it was, but I couldn’t tell anyone at the time because I didn’t know what to make of it – she asked me to stop making love to her, in exchange for just having some light, ordinary, quick sex - that’s what she called it. She thinks that I’m far too serious, too thorough, too complicated also when it comes to sex, but I’m not! I only want to take the time it takes. I do want it to be fun, but I don’t want to rush it. She used to be proud… she used to boast about it, although it embarrassed me when I realised she did… But it had come to a point where she was desperate to avoid… where she didn’t want to awaken the anxiety that the climax brought on, you see. What’s in it for her now, then, I just wonder? What’s the point if you don’t take your time to… to have fun and enjoy the pleasure?” Harry turned his head away. “Sorry, Mrs Steadfast…” he whispered.

“No, no, don’t you worry,” said Mrs Steadfast, only slightly embarrassed. “You’re being a tad too private, Harry, but that’s your condition affecting you right now. I’m not very shy about these things, and I happen to agree with you - sex should be playful, and you should take your time. But you can’t give up, Harry. Ginny’s so young! She obviously has some issues she needs to sort out, but she’ll come back to you before you know it… I think she’s in love with you deep down…”

“You think so? Then why, why is she doing this to me? I let her have her freedom, I never tried to restrain her… I didn’t want to force her to commit herself or anything…” Harry looked pleadingly at Mrs Steadfast.

Suddenly his eyes widened and he gasped with pain and started to talk again:

“And that witch, she was at a point where she didn’t care at all. She simply gave her body up, her mind left her body, sort of, so that she didn’t feel it at all when they abused her… So sad…. So monstrous… But when she became pregnant, she couldn’t stay indifferent any longer, so she began to hope, to long, and then they destroyed the baby for her… So cruel… My sufferings are nothing in comparison, nothing! And locked up in that cave, with Dementors tapestried on the walls, and no one to care for her.” Tears had started to run down Harry’s cheeks. “I thought I was going insane sometimes when I was shut up for too long periods of time in my cupboard under the stairs at my aunt’s, but it was nothing, nothing to Meleonora’s sufferings… All alone – her companions too afflicted even to speak to her… Although, there was someone who was kind to her… in secret… She told me about it, and I can feel it… but so unreliably, it almost made it worse… One of the perpetrators, I think… When good transforms to evil… What horror… What to think?” Harry sank back on the stretcher with closed eyes. ”Now, Mrs Steadfast, I think that you must call for Professor Snape and ask him to give me some more Firewhiskey, because I can feel my heart is slowing down…. and I’m losing pressure… I’m all dizzy now and…”

“Severus!” Mrs Steadfast shouted as she jumped up and stared appalled at Harry’s lifeless body. Snape was at her side in no time at all. She noticed that his hand shook almost imperceptibly and his voice trembled ever so slightly as he Renervated Harry and forced Firewhiskey between his lips.

When Harry woke up, he transited once again immediately from unconsciousness to agitation. He sat up, drew a shuddering breath and started to wave his arms around. Eventually his gaze cleared up somewhat and he fastened it on Snape.

”Sev… Snape… Professor…” he panted. ”I’m seeing things. Can you give me something to take away the visions? They frighten me and Voldemort is coming, I know he’s coming.” Harry practically whimpered. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his hissing voice… Please remove them… remove these visions.” Harry was gripping Snape’s arm with shaking hands so hard his knuckles whitened.

”I need to go to St Mungo’s and fetch a potion,” said Snape in a strained voice, looking from Harry to Mrs Steadfast.

”No, Severus! I don’t want to be left alone with him. I don’t trust myself to Renervate him on my own,” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast. ”Let me Apparate to St Mungo’s instead. I’ll get what you need, just write it down for me.” Snape pulled a face, but did not protest, and scribbled on a piece of parchment which he conjured up.

”Tell them I sent you and that you want a fresh potion. Don’t accept any of those stale potions they have in stock sometimes,” he told her sternly. Mrs Steadfast nodded and was on her way.

In the meantime, Harry had jumped down from his stretcher and stood on the floor, a bit reeling, and with his wand drawn.

”Give me that,” said Snape. ”There’s only you and me in this room, Harry. You’re safe, I promise.”

”No, no, Voldemort is coming,” Harry was breathing harshly and sweating profusely, his autonomic system still unstable and overreacting. ”Inferi!” he suddenly exclaimed and pointed wide-eyed towards a corner of the room. ”What if they attack?” Every muscle in Harry’s body was taught, and he lifted his wand to be prepared to strike at the invisible creatures. ”They’re waiting. They’re waiting for him!” he panted, and added for Snape’s benefit: ”Be prepared, Sever… Professor. Be prepared. They’re afraid of the light. Dumbledore frightened them off with a sharp, blinding light. In the cave… That other cave we went to just before he… just before you...” Harry grimaced as if in pain. “Voldemort liked caves, didn’t he? Will you help me with the Inferi, Professor?”

“I don’t need to, Harry, because there are no Inferi. It’s a false vision, just like you said yourself just now.” Snape sounded very rational but it had no effect on Harry.

”You must help me, please, I can’t do it on my own. Stop being angry at me, please…. Please…” Harry almost sobbed.

”I’m not angry at you. I want to help you, but there are no Inferi. I’ll give you a potion for the visions, any time now. Please listen to me! Harry! Look at me!” There was something about those imperative words that took Harry off his guard for a moment and Snape managed to remove Harry’s wand from his hand. Harry jumped a little when he realized what had been done, but did not say anything, as if trusting Snape after all. He still seemed to see things in the room, panted and let out stifled plaints. After a while he reverted to trying to hide, crouching and making himself small. He was clearly plagued by his visions. Snape crouched next to him.

“I’m losing it, I’m losing grip of reality, like that time in my cupboard… ” Harry whispered horrified in an instance of relative lucidity. When Snape tried to calm him down, Harry gripped and clenched the fabric of Snape’s arms so hard that his thumbs whitened.

”I’m here, Harry,” said Snape. ”Nothing will happen, I promise. We’re in Mrs Steadfast’s office at the Ministry. Those are only hallucinations created by your overused brain. Look into my eyes. Feel my hands on your arms – that’s what’s real, nothing else.” Snape rubbed Harry’s arms vigorously. Harry mumbled to himself and tried to keep his gaze at Snape who continued to mutter comforting things to him. 

When Mrs Steadfast returned, Snape had to struggle for a while to make Harry understand that he should open his mouth and swallow his potion. Eventually he succeeded and Harry’s mind seemed to clear up from the effect of the draught, although he was still anguished and strung. He got dizzy, probably from a fall in blood pressure, and lied down on Snape’s entreaty. Then, suddenly, his body jerked briefly, in a single convulsion, and he started to speak in a monotonous, gasping voice, as if reciting a premonition:

”The Dark Lord will come back a second time, together with his son. Two must fight them. Two and two must conquer him.” Then Harry collapsed.

When he became conscious after having been Renervated yet again, Harry turned towards Snape and spoke in a weak, panting voice.

“He’s coming back. You must help me fight him when he does. Two – we must be two this time. I need to do it, I can’t get away from it – it’s my destiny to face Voldemort. But I know I’ll need your help. Our powers are well-balanced, you know. We can do the Knight’s move very swiftly because our magic match so well - Soundy told me that’s why. It must be us. You and I have the strongest incentive of all people to fight him, because we’re not as afraid of him as everyone else, and we want to avenge Lily – isn’t that so? Isn’t it? Will you help me, please?”

Affected by Harry’s words, Snape grimaced uneasily and promised again and again that he would help if it was needed, but he did not think it would come to that, but he would help if he could, he promised.

”Voldemort’ll come back… Voldemort’ll come back….” Harry repeated over and over.

“Severus, how long will this go on? Will he make it? Should we go to St Mungo’s?” Mrs Steadfast whispered till Snape.

“Not St Mungo’s!” pleaded Harry, but he had turned paler and had started to look as if in physical pain. He gripped Snape’s arms again, features twisting, and Snape tried to support him. ”Sev… Sever… Professor!” he stuttered. ”I’m sorry… It’s because she calls you Severus all the time, I…. I mean no disrespect, Sir, I’m sorry… Will you help me?”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry - you can call me Severus, I don’t care - should have dropped titles with you long ago - just stupid stiffness on my part… Hang on now, we don’t want to lose you, Harry… Hang on, I promise to help.” Snape actually sounded quite desperate, but Harry collapsed again.

When he regained his senses, he was weak and shivering. Lying with closed eyes, he muttered nonsensically at first, then more and more coherently.

”I lost it once, in the cupboard…” he murmured. ”I lost the sense of reality… It was so scary… Dudley had taken my toy, the only toy that was mine, my tin figure… It wasn’t a tin soldier, but more like an adventurer, or a mountain man… I used to call him the Mountain man… and pretend that he lived inside a volcano… and that he could fly… Dudley had hidden it really well that time… I used to always find it, but this time Dudley had actually given it to one of his friends to hide at their house… I was seven, I think, and when I didn’t find it before bedtime, I panicked and I attacked Dudley… Such a foolish thing to do… Vernon got mad of course and hit me and they locked me up in the cupboard… And I was so scared without my Mountain man! He always kept me company… I talked to him… He made me feel better… But this time… The night was so long… And they didn’t let me out the next day… At one point I started to yell at them and bang at the door and at the walls, but they only went out of the house I think… I don’t know for how long they left me in there… It felt like several days… And I was so lonely… And I lost it… I saw things that didn’t exist… I didn’t know where I was, who I was… When my aunt finally let me out, she couldn’t make me eat or drink… I wouldn’t open my mouth… I had given up, I think… To her vexation, she had to bribe Dudley to bring Mountain man back to me… She put it in my hand, and after a while I woke up from my apathy… I remember the feeling of breathing freely, as if someone had cut some strings restraining my chest, and my mind cleared up strangely… To think of it, I should’ve reaped terrible consequences after that fit, but all of a sudden I was restored… And quite determined never to lose it again… It was my toy which healed me, I’m sure… It had happened several times… It glowed… I’m sure my mother had magicked it in some way to keep me company… It was what happened that summer after Sirius died, as well, I didn’t want to tell you last term, but that’s the last time the toy had to save me.” Snape was looking at Harry intently, nodding slowly, his mouth twitching.

”When you were seven, and the summer after your fifth year, you say?” he asked softly.

”Yes… Both times were in the summer… The summers were always worse… There was no school… They would get irritated by my presence more easily…” 

“I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me.” Snape sounded genuinely compassionate, but looked inscrutable, except that he seemed to ponder upon something. Harry was assailed by aches and restlessness and flung himself back and around on the stretcher.

“What if I’m dying?” he suddenly asked. ”I feel so very strange, as if I can’t rest, as if I will never be able to rest, unless I die. I opened Voldemort’s book last year. It was intended for his son, but I tricked it into opening for me, because I was able to say that I shared the same blood as Voldemort. And I speak Parsel. So the enchantment of the book was probably tricked into believing that I was the son. And the book said that if the son didn’t follow its instructions to make Voldemort resurrect, then a curse would hit him. What if I was cursed that instant I read the book? What if Voldemort cursed me anew?”

Mrs Steadfast looked at him with knitted eyebrows and Snape bent towards Harry to answer him.

”No, Harry, it doesn’t make sense. First, you’re not his son, and second, if I remember correctly from what you told us last spring, the book stipulated a year between the opening and the potential death of this son - whom I personally doubt even exists, because I never heard of it when I was near Voldemort - and it has not yet been a year. My guess - if the case really is that Voldemort had a son, is that he preconditioned his child so that the curse would activate when hearing the voice of the book’s echo. But you had not been preconditioned by any such magic. Voldemort never intended you to read that book. So listen to me: you won’t die now. This is the Relieving acting upon you – the Relieving of the poor witch who was captured, tortured, abused and who carried a cursed child in her belly. You’re having a hard time accepting and understanding the transfer, that’s all.”

Harry’s eyes shone up with gratefulness and relief, but his face was contorted with discomfort.

”If only I could understand her thoughts and feelings,” he said. ”What did she think, what did she feel when she understood something was wrong with the baby? She must have sensed it, right? And it might even have been the father, he who abused her, who did it – that’s the impression I got. It was he who cursed the child, wasn’t it? Because it wasn’t Voldemort himself, he’s been gone too long to actually be the father of this child… It would have tortured Meleonora more than anything to know her baby damaged. Did she start hating it? Imagine having something growing inside you which is evil and which is draining your forces, consuming you… Do you continue to love that child no matter what?”

”If I may, Harry?” Mrs Steadfast broke in and Harry riveted his feverish gaze at her. “If Severus is right, and you need to understand this girl, I might be able to contribute…” She started to tell him about her own pregnancies and the mysteries of a mother’s feelings for her children.

“I’m not easily shaken, you know I’m not, Harry. I’m not called Mrs Steady for nothing,” she said. “But I remember being pregnant… And I was quite young too, not yet twenty… Well, how to explain? You don’t actually see the baby, do you? You only feel it inside your body – those feelings are hard to interpret and mysterious. They easily trigger your fantasies and might scare you. I remember imagining the most ridiculous things… Not to speak of the dreams! Your brain seems to get such a myriad of impressions from your body that it needs to run high speed to process them all, and during the night you have no control whatsoever what it makes of them and it comes up with amazing, and often quite terrifying things!”

Harry focused all his attention on Mrs Steadfast, asked questions and tried to translate his new knowledge into an understanding of those feelings - which were Meleonora’s feelings - that were still cursing through his own body. He could relate to being a prisoner, he could relate to being tortured, but the missing piece of the equation was to understand the young witch’s feelings about being abused and about the child she carried. Harry wanted to know everything about being pregnant; he wanted to understand, and as a result put so many precise and intrusive questions to Mrs Steadfast that she became quite affected. Thinking of her children reminded her of the present state of their halting relationship and she could not help expressing her sadness and regret over their falling out.

“I’m waiting for them to change their minds and to forgive me,” she said. “If they don’t, and things don’t get easier, I need to move back to the US and make a real effort to reach out to them.” Snape looked thoughtfully at her. “My dilemma is Granny. Before she’s gone, it’s difficult for me to leave this island.” Mrs Steadfast drew a heavy breath. “I need to see my children more often,” she said stubbornly. ”I’ll do anything. Not all parents love their children, Harry, don’t imagine that they do automatically, but once the strings of love are there, nothing can remove them. And if you’re the one carrying them in your womb, those strings often start to form already at that early point. I suspect that was the case with Meleonora. She was probably already attached to her child – poor girl, merely a child herself...”

Mrs Steadfast snivelled a little and Harry was immediately alarmed.

“I’m so sorry I upset you,” he said and bolted upright on his stretcher. “I didn’t mean to – I only wanted to understand Meleonora, but I see now that I triggered some difficult feelings of yours, too. I’m so sorry!”

“Merlin, Harry, it’s not your fault! Indeed, you have nothing to do with the problems I have with my children,” Mrs Steadfast replied forcefully. “If anything, it comforts me to have you at hand – you remind me of them in a positive way.”

“But I made you tell me about them. I caused you to stir up memories. It was really thoughtless of me – I only plague people around me. I so blame myself for this!” Harry wrinkled his face with contriteness.

“Really, Harry – I can handle this. I volunteered to speak about my children, in order to make you understand. Stop feeling so guilty all the time!” Mrs Steadfast sounded almost annoyed.

Harry relaxed a little and fell to sleep out of pure exhaustion. Snape and Mrs Steadfast slumbered in their armchairs for a short while until Harry woke them up with speaking in his sleep. The words came out terrified and pleading, devastated.

”No… no… Please! Cederic! Please… don’t, Wormtail, please… My fault… My fault… Sirius… Sirius! No! No… no… It’s all my fault… I lured you there… So reckless… So thoughtless… My fault… It was my fault! Don’t fall, Sirius… Don’t fall… Please!” Harry shouted in his sleep and tossed about. Snape and Mrs Steadfast watched him apprehensively.

”Should we wake him up?” Mrs Steadfast whispered.

”Wait a little, he calms down again, he could use some sleep…” Snape ventured. But only a minute later Harry was moaning again.

”Always my fault… My parents… I’m so sorry… I didn’t want… My fault… Cederic…. Sirius… Snape… Snape!” His agitation mounted. Snape looked at him frowningly. ”Nagini… Get away! Get away! No! Professor! Watch out! Nagini… No… My fault… Snape! The Avada… Through the chest… It’s my fault… Don’t die… Don’t die!” Harry was almost screaming in his sleep now, anguish etched in his face. Snape rose and started to shake him awake.

”I’m here, Harry… I didn’t die, remember? I’m still here… Wake up…” Harry snapped his eyes open and stared at him. A surge of relief reached his face and he gripped the cloth over Snape’s arms with spastic fingers.

”You’re here!” Then the recalling of his nightmare made him sob. ”So many deaths… all my responsibility… my fault…”

”Harry!” Snape growled exasperated. ”You’re not responsible for any of those deaths!”

”My parents… If it wasn’t for me, they would be alive now… It’s true, though… Cederic… If I hadn’t asked him to take the golden cup with me… If I hadn’t been lured away to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve the Prophesy… If I hadn’t been so convinced of the truth of the vision Voldemort was inflicting on me…”

”Stop it Harry, you didn’t kill any of those people… Others did… and you’re not responsible for the circumstances that led to it.” Snape spoke sternly and Harry looked at him with a feverish gaze, body tense.

”Voldemort… and Machiavato… Those killings were mine… No getting away there…” he said in a low strained voice.

”Dark wizards, both of them…” retorted Snape hotly. “They inflicted immense sufferings on people around them… You saved hundreds of people form torture and death by killing them, by Merlin! Get a grip on your oversized conscience, Harry!” Snape’s anger seemed to sober Harry up, and he squinted at Snape and at Mrs Steadfast in a dazed manner.

”I am feeling unduly guilty, am I not?” he said slowly and frowned. ”Or is it her? The witch?” Harry grew livelier and started to gesticulate. ”Am I mixing her guilt with my own? But why should she feel guilty? She was the victim. She was the one being used and abused. She had nothing to feel guilty about? Why’s that? What do you make of it?”

Snape looked nonplussed, but Mrs Steadfast tried to explain to Harry that a victim might very well experience feelings of guilt, even if it’s not rational at all for him or her to do so.

”I can understand feeling guilt for believing you get someone else hurt or killed,” replied Harry. “That’s how I feel about my parents, about Sirius, Fred and all those who died in the battle… Is that what you mean? But Meleonora didn’t get anyone killed, like I have…”

”You didn’t get anyone killed Harry, except Machivato which was perfectly justified…” Snape intervened angrily again, but Harry continued his line of thought without listening.

”Meleonora was herself the explicit victim here. She would be devastated, broken… but why would she feel guilt?” he wondered. Mrs Steadfast sighed.

”It’s a thing about physical abuse… especially sexual abuse…” she said slowly. ”I’ll try to explain to you. I don’t pretend to compare things… What I experienced was just a trifle compared to what the witches in the cave lived, but maybe you’ll understand better if I tell you about my own experience…”

Harry looked at her wide-eyed, but nodded. He really wanted to understand. He needed to understand.

“It was my last year at Hogwarts,” Mrs Steadfast began. “I was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I was quite good-looking and didn’t lack self-confidence and yet what happened managed to really push me off balance… Most people laughed at it…” Mrs Steadfast swallowed. “It was a boy in Slytherin, a couple of years younger than me, which made it all the more humiliating... I didn’t even know him… He put a hex on me… surprised me in the Great Hall one day, after the teachers left. We were surrounded by only a couple of other students. A hex of invisible hands… prodding, you know… my private sensitive parts… I was unpleasantly surprised, almost panicked when I felt them, couldn’t get away, let out a cry… He laughed… They all laughed… It was all the more funny, I guess, since I already had the reputation of ”steady” and ”steel” at that time. I was bold - I shrank from nothing on the Quidditch pitch.” Mrs Steadfast sounded a bit strung.

“What happened?” asked Harry in a low, compassionate voice.

”I got away eventually, huffed and angry, but I didn’t retaliate… more sort of fled, with a scowl that I wanted to be fierce but that probably only revealed my fear. One evening a few days later, when I was on my way back to the Gryffindor tower from the library on my own, he did it again. I didn’t see him, only felt the invisible hands that prodded and squeezed my body. I was petrified, couldn’t get away. I felt so helpless. I struggled in silence, didn’t even yell for help, it was too embarrassing… At last he let me go.” Harry looked intently at her and listened to every word she said.

”And you felt guilt after that?” he asked slowly as if he was beginning to understand.

”Yes, I did. I know it’s irrational. But I felt really bad. Lost my self-confidence, didn’t eat properly, and was afraid to move on my own. Felt shame and didn’t tell anyone,” Mrs Steadfast confided. Harry shook his head.

”Why?”

”Because you want to understand!” Mrs Steadfast said with emphasis. ”I didn’t know this boy. Had hardly ever spoken to him before. There was no rational reason why he should assault me. And that, Harry, is more frightening than anything. Your brain seeks a reason for what happens to you, and even if finding a reason means putting the blame on yourself, it’s better than to believe you have been subject to a random evil. You want to find a chain of logic, to be able to say to yourself that if only I had not done this or if only I had looked like that, or said this or that instead, this would not have happened. It’s a way of making yourself believe you can prevent it from happening again. Because if there was no reason for it to happen, if it was just random, it can happen again anywhere, anytime and anyhow, right? Random’s much more frightening! Makes you believe that even worse things could happen. Makes you insecure, terrified even.” Mrs Steadfast had tears in her eyes again. Snape looked at her with a curious expression on his face through his draping hair.

”I’m sorry Mrs Steadfast. I did it again. Plague you. Make you remember awful things…” mumbled Harry in a low voice.

”It’s okay Harry,” Mrs Steadfast said firmly. ”If it helps you understand why Meleonora felt guilt… She simply tried to find a logic to what happened to her. Guilt is better than random evil… Although it eats you.”

”What happened to you at school?” Harry asked hesitantly.

”Oh, I was quite out of it for a couple of weeks, endeavouring, I think, to behave in an unprovocative way to prevent it from happening again, until I witnessed him do the same thing to another girl in fifth year. Then I was furious, and I stepped forward to her defence and I hexed him there and then. In my anger I’m afraid that I used the same spell on him that he had used on us and that I twisted his… well you get my meaning…” Mrs Steadfast looked grim.

”Good for you!” Harry said forcefully.

”Yeah, and I’ve never let myself be abused after that, only a bit tortured and Crucioed at times, it’s inevitable, it comes with the job… But I’m quite good at defending myself.”

”Good, so you’re okay then?” Harry asked anxiously.

Mrs Steadfast nodded reassuringly. A new wave of physical symptoms seemed to sweep over Harry and he wriggled.

”Yes,” he whispered. “Meleonora felt guilty as she tried to understand… and she wanted to love that baby but he didn’t let her. She was so sad over it, she knew there was something wrong with it… Maybe she knew she was going to die… Thank you for explaining things to me – I’m starting to get the whole picture now…” Harry spoke to Mrs Steadfast because Snape had taken a few steps back.

”I’m sorry I ask all these questions…” Harry sounded calmer, but regretful. “I need to understand, you see, but I guess I’m too intense… so Ginny says anyway… And she’s right, it’s all about life or death with me… Mostly about death, though… And right here, right now, I realise that I plague you and Professor Snape with these cravings of mine to go to the bottom of everything… Maybe it’s better to leave some things be, but I seem to be unable to do so… I’m so sorry… Because I don’t want to hurt either of you - I like you very much, both of you, and I… I miss the work on Ancient Magic with Sev… with Professor Snape. I haven’t been able to concentrate on that kind of work this spring, and he’s been avoiding me, anyhow… But I miss working with him… I don’t mean to be so difficult… I really miss those parts of my life from before Ginny left me… I wish we could go back to how it was before…” Snape stepped forward from behind Mrs Steadfast, taking the opportunity to reply.

“So do I, Harry… so do I… And you’re wrong in assuming that I can’t stand you… On the contrary, I want to spend time with you. I, too, want to work with you… and I haven’t been avoiding you… Maybe I did before Christmas, and I’m sorry about that… But ever since, I’ve tried to reach out to you, all winter, all spring, all these months…” the eagerness was clearly noticeable in Snape’s controlled voice.

“You have?” said Harry.

“Yes, I have,” said Snape firmly. “I’ve tried to speak to you after class at St Mungo’s but you only ran away… I’ve sent owls to you and asked you about the work on Incantations - messages which you only dismissed… I don’t pretend I’m very good at it… Maybe I should’ve gone about it in a completely different way to make you understand… or maybe you’ve been too wrapped up in your unhappiness.” Snape drew a deep breath as if to steel himself. “I recognise those symptoms…” he admitted in a strained voice. “…and it’s painful to see you live through the terrible rage, the sorrow and the confusion when someone you love leaves you…  But …whatever you’ve done in your anguish, Harry… Whatever you’ve done, you can always rest assured that I’ve done worse in comparison, because… you haven’t joined the Death Eaters in your despair have you? So please, Harry, next time don’t hesitate to knock on my door. Regardless the state you’re in, I will help you, I can promise you that much. And I will never use a nudging mind-modifier, or any kind of altering mind magic on you again. I want to help you and I will… It’s a promise, a pledge – do you understand?” Snape sounded very determined. Harry stared at him.

”You’re really set on helping me, you are… I don’t understand, but thank you so much, Se…. Professor!” he stuttered, betraying both wonder and relief.

Sequent to this, Harry calmed down considerably. He asked to have some Firewhiskey in order to try to sleep and Snape accommodated him. At 3 am, Simmings turned up to relay Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“He seems to have stabilised somewhat,” sighed Snape in a hushed voice. “The reaction is finally abating. But I’ll sleep in this room, in the armchair over there. Don’t hesitate to wake me up if he deteriorates. Monitor his heart rate. If it slows down to under thirty-five when he’s asleep, call me. When he’s awake, it should be between sixty and a hundred beats per minute, but if he gets agitated it might well go up to two hundred. If it slows down to below fifty although he’s awake and active, you should wake me up, too. You go home and have some sleep, Audrey. That way, at least one of us will be restored tomorrow. You have amazing capacities of recuperation, I’ve seen it before. We’ll alert you on the security watch if we need you.”

Simmings settled next to Harry who was sleeping quite peacefully. Gently, he stroke a strand of hair from Harry’s forehead. Mrs Steadfast looked at him, a little concerned.

“Is everything all right, Emile?” she asked.

“I’m fine. I’ll take care of Harry,” answered Simmings in a muffled voice. ”He’s been suffering for a long time. This is the final crisis, hopefully. I trust it’ll turn to the better after this, for his sake.”

”Try to get some sleep, Severus,” Mrs Steadfast said as she picked up the floo powder and made to leave. Snape who had followed her to the fireplace looked intently at her.

”It was Mulciber, wasn’t it, who did that to you?” he asked in a low voice. Mrs Steadfast drew her breath.

”Yes, it was… Were you…?”

”I never did anything like it,” Snape hastened to say. ”But I knew about it… and I didn’t condemn it… Played it down in front of Lily… who was incensed, naturally… But I sort of defended him by saying it was just a prank…” He stared down at the floor.

”Well, a lot of people did, including some of the teachers, I believe,” Mrs Steadfast said drily.

”I’m very sorry. I didn’t realise what it did to the girls who were subject to his stunts…”

”Are you apologising on his behalf?” said Mrs Steadfast, incredulous. Snape shrank from her a little.

”No, I can’t, obviously. He became a Death Eater later on and did far worse things. I’m apologising for myself… for having socialised with those kind of persons… For having legitimised such behaviour at one time…” Mrs Steadfast shook her head.

”Apparently there’s not only Harry who’s dealing with guilt… You don’t need to apologise, Severus - you have done nothing to me,” she muttered and turned to throw the floo-powder in the fireplace.