1997

“Does Master Snape wish Schminge to make up the bed in the master suite?”

Severus’ head came up at the intrusion; he had been staring at nothing in particular as he sat in the marble entrance to his parents’ home. His mother’s house-elf was staring up at him with wide, nervous eyes. Master Snape now, instead of Master Severus, as he had been addressed for the past four decades. And he was being offered the master suite, a domain which had been reserved for his parents.

Off-limits to Severus.

But here was Schminge, his mother’s elderly house-elf, waiting expectantly for instructions from his new master. The new head of the Snape line.

As he sat, surrounded by the opulence of the enormous chandelier, Severus felt the crushing weight of his parents’ presence. The weight had been with him since Albus had brought him news of his mother’s imminent death; he just hadn’t recognized it.

It had been eating away at him for days. Straining each interaction with his son, he realized now. Enough that he had seen fear in Harry’s eyes as they’d faced off in Tobias’ study.

How Severus loathed that room.

Even more, now that he’d managed to alienate Harry to the point of such distrust. All of which was unquestionably Severus’ fault. Not that he wasn’t angry with Harry for ignoring him earlier. He was extremely displeased, to say the least. And that had obviously been all too clear to Harry. But even as furious as he’d been, for Harry to believe, even for a second, that Severus would strike him—with that damn piece of red leather, of all things-

Severus shook his head, his teeth grinding together.

“We are not staying,” Severus finally said gruffly in answer to Schminge’s question.

Schminge blinked several times. “But it is the middle of the night, Master Snape,” he protested. He wrung his hands agitatedly. “And Master Harry will be tired. Schminge is happy to serve-”

“We are returning home,” Severus interrupted firmly as he stood up from the carved bench in the entryway—his muscles made him aware of just how long he’d been sitting there. If nothing else, Harry should have cooled down by now.

“Home?” Schminge asked in confusion. “Master Snape does not intend to reside here?”

“No, Master Snape does not,” Severus said impatiently. If given the choice, I would never set foot in this miserable house again.

Ignoring the quiet squeak of surprise from the elf, Severus turned and retraced his steps back to the study. He paused just outside the door, taking the moment to quiet his still-churning emotions. Harry would likely have lost most of the belligerent attitude which he’d begun the night with. Actually, Severus was rather surprised that Harry hadn’t ventured out—perhaps he was still as angry as he’d been earlier.

Severus scowled at the thought. He really did not want to have another row with his son, which was why he’d wanted to explain his most recent sin, but if Harry was determined, there would be little recourse. That realization irritating him even more, Severus turned the knob and pushed the door open. His irritation quickly drained away.

Harry was in the chair closest to the nearly cold fire, curled into a ball. Even in the dim light, Severus could see that the skin around his closed eyes was red and puffy… he’d been crying. Severus’ eyebrows drew together as he crossed the thick carpet.

His chest constricted as guilt settled in.

Harry looked so small, his body scrunched as it was; using his upper arm for a pillow as his shoulder squished into the chair’s corner. Severus swept his dirtied and ragged robes out of the way—a casualty to the search through the dense forests earlier—and sat in the chair opposite.

He leaned forward as he studied his son’s face. If not for the evidence of the recent tears, he would have looked extremely peaceful. Except perhaps for the lip which Ron had bruised so expertly.

Severus settled his hand lightly on Harry’s head and with feathered fingers, brushed the few strands away that had fallen over his eyes. He looked so young, so like the little boy Severus had once held in his arms.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, and Severus found himself smiling slightly at the cloud of confusion in the green eyes.

“You fell asleep,” Severus explained quietly as he pulled his fingers from the untidy bird’s nest his son called hair. Harry blinked several times, and slowly unbent his body from the stiff corners of the chair.

“Sorry…” Harry murmured into his lap, and the smile which was forming on Severus’ lips in response to the lines crisscrossing Harry’s cheek, immediately vanished. So, they had backtracked far enough that Harry was apologizing for falling asleep.

Parchment crinkled as Harry rubbed the back of his hand against his lined cheek. Severus frowned as he noticed the scroll for the first time. It was still neatly secured by the brown ribbon.

“You did not read it?” he asked, the surprised words sharper than he had intended. Harry’s fingers curled around the scroll—in either nervousness or defense, Severus could not be certain.

“No, sir.”

The whispered words nearly unbalanced Severus then and he only just managed to quell the urge to rip the scroll from his son’s hand. He would not allow them to retreat nine months. Especially not when they were sitting in Tobias’ damned study.

“I would prefer Severus over that blasted title,” he snapped. Obviously, he was less in control than he had thought.

Harry’s eyes snapped up, but he looked back down to his lap just as quickly. His fingers were twisting the scroll mercilessly.

Severus drew in a slow breath, and did all he could to banish his father from his thoughts—it was nearly impossible in this dark, wood-paneled study. “Perhaps you should read it,” he finally said, making certain his voice was level this time. “I wanted to explain why I have been irritable the past few days.” He paused. “I should have told you when you first asked.”

Harry looked up again, for which Severus was extremely grateful. “I don’t need to,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have been-”

“Perhaps it would be best to let our recriminations lie,” Severus interrupted. “And,” he continued in an even voice, “I do wish you to know.”

Harry glanced down at the scroll. “Can’t you just tell me…?”

Severus’ impulse was to refuse. But his fears that Harry might be disappointed in him seemed rather ludicrous, now that Harry had all but accused him of being the very bastard he had tried so hard to distance himself from.

“It is a letter from my mother,” Severus said, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his legs, continuing the fiction of nonchalance. “Her last words, in essence.” Severus considered summoning Schminge for a tumbler full of Tobias’ oldest scotch. But since that would serve only to cement his legacy as his father’s son, he dismissed the desire. “She felt it her duty, I suppose, to detail each one of my sins.” Severus smiled wryly as Harry’s eyes widened. “Most of the letter was spent detailing how I’d sullied the esteemed Snape and Prince lines with my marriage to your mother.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed—indignance, Severus supposed. Well, that would be short-lived…

“The last few paragraphs of the letter,” he continued, “were in reference to what I considered just punishment for her actions against your mother and James… and you.”

Harry’s eyebrows drew together. “…punishment?”

“Revenge is a more apt description,” Severus said, his voice soft now. Tired of the pretense of calm, Severus stood and went to stand in front of the fireplace. He stared at the charred and broken strap of red leather. Satisfaction for destroying that which had delivered so much pain surged through him. He attempted to temper it with forced regret for the painful curse he’d inflicted on his mother, but it was in vain.

She had deserved it.

“I cursed her—after you showed me how she threatened your mother,” he said to the faintly glowing embers. He heard Harry’s quiet intake of breath; Severus closed his eyes. No stopping this now. “Semper Desparo… always despair. I forced her to feel every nuance of pain that she and my father ever inflicted upon me.”

“Oh.”

The soft utterance startled Severus. Oh?

He turned around; Harry was watching him with intense green eyes.

“And you’re feeling guilty now… because that’s what killed her?” The question came slowly from Harry’s lips, as if he was trying to understand Severus’ hesitation.

“No,” Severus said tiredly. At least he wouldn’t appear as monstrous as Harry was assuming. “Her healers at St. Mungo’s were able to mask most of the pain she was feeling, but the curse left her weaker than she already was. My mother did have an incurable wizard’s disease, just as I told you several months ago. She would have died even without my revenge, though it happened more swiftly due to my curse.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he pressed his lips together. “Could your mother have been sent to Azkaban for what she did?”

“For conspiring with Death Eaters to murder three innocents, one of them a child—the Savior of the Wizarding World, no less?”

Harry nodded, not reacting to the sneer in Severus’ tone. “So, yes then?”

“If I had brought the information to the proper authorities, yes.”

“And you think what you did was worse than a year spent in Azkaban?” Harry asked. He nodded again at Severus’ silence. “But you thought I would,” he said quietly.

“I assumed you would be disappointed in my cruelty toward my own mother.” The admission finally loosened something in Severus’ chest.

Harry shrugged; his eyes were suspiciously dull. “I think you probably did her a favor. I nearly lost my soul twice to the Dementors, remember? Even someone as foul as Bellatrix suffered more than necessary in Azkaban.” He shifted in the hard chair. “Hermione spouts off all the time about how the legal system needs to be reformed in the wizarding world. I think she’s right.”

Severus surveyed his son, watching as his unusually pale features stayed too still. “Your anger over my choice would be perfectly understandable,” he started to stay.

“I’m not angry,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me… before you told people who are virtual strangers to you.” There was an edge of sullenness in Harry’s tone just then, to which Severus raised an eyebrow.

“I have known Daniel for the better part of three decades.”

“And Margaret too…” Harry murmured.

“She was Eileen’s healer-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I would appreciate it if you allow me to complete my sentences,” Severus said mildly. Harry glanced at him briefly, but said nothing. “My silence on this matter has nothing to do with my level of trust in you,” Severus continued. “I would simply have preferred that you not know.”

Harry was silent for a moment, and Severus had the distinct impression that Harry was ensuring that Severus was finished with his sentence.

“Dumbledore and Remus both knew,” Harry finally said wearily, and Severus remembered that it was not quite dawn. Harry clearly needed sleep, but there was something else going on here, besides Harry being hurt that he wasn’t included in Severus’ supposed inner circle. And neither of them was going to sleep until Severus discovered what that was.

“Albus knows everything,” Severus pointed out. No answering smile. “And Remus knows only because I asked him to come along with me—in case I was unable to restrain myself when I went to cancel the spell two nights past.”

Harry’s eyes flew up again. “You cancelled the curse?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Severus wasn’t certain he could put the reason into words. But for Harry, he would attempt it. “I have held on to my anger toward my parents for far too long. Eileen’s suffering changed nothing.” As explanations went, Severus wasn’t particularly proud of that one, but Harry seemed to understand. “And as for why I did not wish to explain my revenge to you…” Severus smiled a little. “No one else’s opinion is quite as important to me as yours.”

Harry swallowed hard as he nodded. He said nothing, instead turning to face the dead fire once more. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to…”

Severus followed his son’s gaze. “What? Assume that I would beat you with my father’s strap for your refusal to speak with me?”

He watched with regret as Harry flinched at the blunt words. But it was far past time to end this.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Harry said in a strained voice. “Not even if you were really angry.”

“Oh, I assure you, I was quite angry,” Severus said, feeling surer of himself now that Harry was at least looking at him. “Nothing short of the Imperius Curse would have forced me to strike you, however.”

“I know…” Harry whispered. He stood abruptly; the scroll hit the floor and Harry took a few pointless, agitated steps toward Tobias desk. His hand was balled into a fist as it rested on the slick wood; his arm was trembling. Coming toward his son, Severus took Harry’s chin and tilted his face upward. Harry’s lashes were damp; the skin around his eyes and nose was becoming blotchy.

Severus hadn’t seen his son cry since Black’s death. And he had never, not even then, looked as vulnerable and small as he did now. “What is wrong?” Severus probed quietly into the unbroken silence of his father’s dark study.

When Harry’s words emerged, they were barely a croak. “Ginny… broke up with me.”

Dull pain stabbed Severus deep in his abdomen as he stared, dumbfounded, at his son; Harry stared back at him with tears in his eyes.

Harry’s lips were quivering slightly and he was blinking and swallowing in a futile attempt to get his emotions under control. Feeling as numb as Harry must feel, Severus’ hand slid around to squeeze the back of his son’s neck lightly. With that silent invitation, Harry let his head fall so that the top of the black mop was resting lightly against Severus’ chest.

Harry’s attitude since he’d stood in the clearing outside the steps made sense now. His reticence, most especially. The dull ache of pain in Severus’ chest was blossoming into something more consuming as he wove his fingers through the black strands at the base of Harry’s neck. Fury was a part of that. Black anger at Ginny’s parents.

He couldn’t imagine that this had been Ginny’s idea. He’d watched her with his son. And Severus knew without a doubt in his mind that she was the match to Harry’s soul, as much as Lily was to his.

Severus decided then, as he listened to Harry trying to calm his hitching breaths, that he would have a few words with Molly and Arthur as soon as possible. A very unpleasant few words.

--

With his father’s fingers making soothing patterns against his scalp, Harry nearly lost his tenuous grip on his emotions. But he’d already cried enough. He didn’t want to cry again, especially not right now.

“What happened?” Severus asked quietly; the words vibrated against the top of Harry’s head.

Harry sniffed, trying to block his sinuses’ efforts to sneak a few tears through. His dad’s hand imparted comfort again as Harry wiped the majority of the slobber away with his sleeve. “I don’t know,” he mumbled into the fabric. “She said she was afraid…”

A pause long enough for Harry to swallow through the swelling in his throat. “Afraid of what?”

“Ruining things, like Ron and Hermione.”

“Have Ron and Hermione separated?” Severus asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I don’t know… Ginny made it sound that way.”

His father was quiet for what seemed like a long time, before asking, “And Ginny fears that you will pressure her?”

That was the worst part, and Harry could only breathe, “No.”

Severus took that in. “But she is worried about the consequences of a sexual relationship with you.”

“Yeah…” Harry’s throat felt scraped raw. He allowed his father’s hand to stay where it was until he was certain he had his emotions under control. He lifted his head, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he began to see stars. “She said she needed space… or time, or something…” Harry shook his head and let his hands fall. The stars swam slowly as light crawled back. “I didn’t even do anything! I wouldn’t…”

“Did you express these feelings to her?” Severus asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I tried to, but I was surprised as hell. I’ve told her I would never do anything she didn’t want to do. It’s been clear all along. Ginny said it wasn’t her mum’s idea, and that simply makes it worse, doesn’t it?” Losing his small burst of energy, Harry swallowed and shook his head. “Two years…”

Unsurprisingly, his father’s head tilted in confusion.

“She still has two more years at Hogwarts… I don’t know why that should matter.”

“You would be separated for an entire year. She is most likely thinking practically-”

“That’s a whole year away!” Harry ran a hand roughly through his hair as his shoulders slumped.

“It is not unreasonable for Ginny to be thinking of a future with you,” Severus said calmly.

“I don’t care about that.” Harry shook his head as his throat began to burn again. “I don’t care about any of it. I’d rather be with Ginny, with a charm that wouldn’t allow me even to hold her hand, than have things as they are now.”

His father glanced above his head, a faraway look in his black eyes. “Yes,” he murmured, “I believe I understand the sentiment.” He turned his attention slowly back to Harry. “And… I have no doubt that Ginny feelings toward you have not diminished.”

“Then why is she doing this?” Harry made a noise of frustration as he swiped at his eyes for the hundredth time.

“Because,” Severus said with a voice full of surety on the subject, “she has yet to discover what you have already.”

Harry had no idea what his father meant. Severus nodded, as if he understood Harry’s confusion.

“Sex is powerful, have no misconceptions on that point. Love, on the other hand, is in a different league altogether. As Albus once explained to you, I believe…”

Harry understood that immediately. Love had defeated Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries, and again on the wind-swept hill at Riddle Manor.

“Give her time to realize what she has given up,” Severus advised as Harry concentrated on the dark threads in his trousers-clad leg. He didn’t say anything, instead focusing on keeping his eyes from leaking again. How many bloody tears could he have in there anyway?

“I think perhaps we should go home so that you may sleep properly,” Severus suggested after a few more minutes of quiet.

Harry stood reluctantly. He didn’t want to stay here certainly, but somehow, he was in no hurry to go home again either.

“Are you feeling any pain in your lip?” Severus asked; he was gazing at Harry with narrowed eyes.

Harry glanced down automatically through a squint, though of course he couldn’t see where Ron had clocked him. “No,” he answered honestly. It didn’t hurt at all. It was just one more item to add to his list of all the things making this day the worst Harry had had in months. Brilliant.

“Your friend was no doubt in a rather poor frame of mind if he had just ended his relationship with Hermione.”

When you put it that way…

“Well, he still didn’t have to hit me.”

“A momentary lapse which he will most certainly regret,” Severus agreed. Harry sighed as his father turned to lead the way out of Tobias’ office.

“He always regrets them…” he half-mumbled to no one, but his mind was taken quickly from Ron’s sucker punch as he watched his father’s robes trailing along the wide wooden floorboards. They were ragged and caked with a thick layer of mud along the edges. His boots, Harry could see as they strode free of the fabric, looked even worse.

Harry nearly collided with his dad as Severus paused in the entryway so that Harry could fall in step beside him. Harry tried not to look away too quickly as Severus gave him his familiar half-smile, which was probably meant to be encouragement of some sort. He even attempted to return it, but as soon as his dad was looking ahead again, the tingle of dormant guilt overtook most of his thoughts. He couldn’t believe what a prat he’d been. He’d even said he wasn’t sorry for ignoring his dad earlier.

His anger at being excluded had drained away, now that he understood his father’s reticence, leaving a lot of room for remorse for his quick temper. And he hadn’t really needed to know. Harry stifled a sigh of frustration at himself.

“Where are your robes?” Severus had stopped walking, his hand poised to open the door. Harry had to clench his molars together tightly as Ginny’s face popped into his thoughts. With his dress robes around her small shoulders…

“Ginny has them,” he managed to say without starting the entire cycle all over again. “It was cold.”

“Mm,” Severus murmured as he pulled open the door with a sharp tug, “perhaps I will retrieve them this afternoon.” Harry didn’t like the dark tone of the suggestion.

“Dad-”

A loud pop cut off Harry’s protest and he immediately reached for his wad.

“It is only my mother’s house-elf,” Severus said blandly, not even breaking stride, and Harry had to swerve to avoid the knee-high elf in his path.

“Master Snape, sir!” the elf cried tremulously as Severus swept down the stairs to the lawn. Severus ignored him. “Schminge wishes to serve Master Snape!”

“We are returning to Hogwarts,” Snape said impatiently, not even turning around.

There were two more loud pops and the twitchy elf was prostrated in front of the last step, his face pressed into the damp grass.

Severus scowled down at the creature in his path. Before he could step over him though, Harry grabbed his arm. Schminge was mumbling into the earth. Making certain his father didn’t step on the prone elf, Harry crouched beside him.

“Schminge must go with Master Snape. Schminge must not lose his master. Schminge wishes to serve Master Snape.” And over and over the pleading, wretched litany spilled onto the lawn. Harry rose to his feet in one lithe movement.

“He wants to come with us,” he whispered as he leaned toward Severus. Severus made an impatient noise. “He’s begging…”

“We have no need of a house-elf at Hogwarts.”

Harry glanced down at Schminge, who was shaking miserably. “Don’t house-elves feel a bit lost without a master to serve? He’s not a bad one, is he? You know… like Kreacher?”

“He is harmless.”

“Well, then…” Harry shrugged.

“Harry,” Severus said on a sigh, “Schminge will have nothing to do at Hogwarts. And where would he live-”

“He could stay at the cottage,” Harry pointed out. “We’ll be there on holidays—even part of the summer-”

Schminge’s head lifted from the ground; his ears were quivering.

“Schminge wishes to serve Master Snape at his cottage,” he whispered. Severus held Harry’s imploring gaze for several long seconds before peering down his nose at the elf.

“You will need to ensure that the Manor is in good repair as well,” he said resignedly. Harry couldn’t help but smile as Schminge popped to his feet; he was bouncing on his soles.

“Master Snape is most kind to Schminge! Schminge will serve you most happily, Master Snape!”

“Yes, well,” Severus said stiffly as he extracted his hand from the elf’s grip, “you should really thank Harry.”

Schminge beamed at Harry. “Schminge is most grateful to Master Harry!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Schminge will go directly to Master Snape’s cottage!”

Severus nodded dismissively at the elf. To Harry, he said, “Shall we go?”

Schminge was quivering, looking near to bursting as Harry stepped close to his father.

“Dobby will be jealous, you realize,” Severus said.

Harry smiled weakly.

The brief spark of amusement faded from Severus’ eyes. He smiled a little as he put his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He didn’t speak but the smile took some of the tightness from Harry’s chest. Harry pressed his face into his dad’s shoulder again and let himself be whirled home.