Severus woke just as Harry and the Witherspoons were finishing their breakfast. He still felt very weak and sickly, but that was a condition of overextending his magic fighting the dagger’s curse, and it would fade as his reserves built themselves back up. Right then he was only able to walk slowly back and forth to the bathroom. After he had done that, he felt exhausted, as if he had stayed up three nights straight brewing endless batches of potions for St. Mungos. He went and lay down, shivering slightly.

Grace suddenly looked up, as if she had heard someone calling, when in fact she had caught Severus’s thoughts as he woke. She rose and went to fetch a second plate of scrambled eggs and toast and bacon.

“Mummy, where you goin’ with that?” asked Jilly curiously.

“I’m bringing Professor Snape his breakfast,” she answered.

Jilly’s eyes lit up. “ ‘fessor Sevvy is awake? Yay!” she jumped off her chair and ran after her mother.

Harry quickly rose and put his plate in the sink, feeling his heart start to thunder crazily. Severus was awake. And soon he would summon Harry and tell him to pack his things and leave, that he was through with an apprentice who had nearly killed him. His fingers clenched upon the edge of the counter and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

Severus sat up when he heard the soft patter of feet come down the hallway. Jilly scampered into the room, her blond hair flying, her eyes glowing. “Morning, ‘fessor Sevvy!” she shrilled.

“Good morning, little one,” he greeted, and he did something he rarely did. He smiled, for the child was almost impossible to resist. There was a fresh innocence and sweetness that radiated from her and filled the room and then she scrambled up onto the bed and hugged him.

As before, her touch filled him with light and soothed him. He patted her on the back and released her. To his astonishment, she then snuggled up next to him and said, “Mummy’s bringin’ you breakfast.”

At that precise moment, Grace arrived with his breakfast tray hovering before her. “Good morning, Severus. I trust you slept well.”

“Very well, your potions are well made.” He said honestly.

Grace beamed, knowing what a compliment that was from a Potions Master. “Thank you. Potions was always a favorite of mine. Here you go! I hope you like scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.”

“That is fine.” The tray settled down on his lap, and he began to eat. Jilly leaned against him, not saying anything, curled up like a cat, and he did not mind at all.

“Jilly, why don’t you come with me and get dressed and let Professor Snape eat in peace,” her mother suggested.

“Later, Mummy,” was all the child said, her eyes half-mast. She sensed that the professor needed her more right now.

Grace merely nodded, hearing the unspoken thoughts of her child. “Tell me if she becomes a pest,” she said to the Potions Master. “I’ll go and tell Harry you’re awake and coherent enough to speak with him.”

“Thank you,” Severus said, and continued eating. He still felt weak and a bit lightheaded, but not enough that he needed potions yet. The conversation with his apprentice was long overdue and though Severus was not looking forward to it, it was something he had to do.

Grace went back into the kitchen to tell Harry the good news, only to find that Harry was no longer there. “Jace, where is Harry?”

Jace looked up from his apple juice. “He went flying, Mum. Said he’ll be back later.”

Grace pursed her lips. “I do believe that boy is avoiding Professor Snape.”

Jace nodded, he thought so too, but didn’t want to press the issue.

Jace went to fetch the tray a few minutes later and to tell Severus that Harry was currently flying and would be back later.

“I see,” Severus said softly. “You will tell him I wish to speak with him when he returns, Jace?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked at his sister, still snuggled against the professor’s side. “Jilly, leave Professor Snape be.”

She pouted. “But Jace, ‘fessor Sevvy needs me.”

“Yeah, he needs you all right. Like a plague of boils.”

Severus’ mouth twitched. “It’s all right, Jace. She can stay.”

Jace looked at his little sister and said, “Okay, imp. Mind you behave for Professor Snape though.”

“’Kay.” She said agreeably.

Jace left them, going to his room to study some of his summer assignments.

Severus settled down upon his pillows, pondering the behavior of his ward. He’s avoiding me, that is painfully obvious. And that is not like the Harry I know.

Jilly shifted and asked softly, “’fessor, are you mad at Hawwy?”

Am I? he wondered. He was, a bit, but not for the reason Harry thought. He was angry at himself for not seeing that Harry was in trouble sooner and angry at the boy for not telling him about the dreams he’d been having. “I . . .yes, a little, but I am more . . .”

“Upset,” Jilly finished. “I know. I feel it.” She looked up at him earnestly. “Hawwy is sad too. Don’t feel sad.” She cuddled close to him and once again he felt her project feelings of warmth and comfort and love at him, trying to banish the negative feelings.

“Jilly, you don’t need to –”

“Yes, I does. I is helpin’ you,” she insisted, her mouth set in a stubborn line. Then she yawned. “But I is tired now.” And she put her head down on his knee and fell asleep.

“Well, I’ll be damned. First time that’s ever happened,” the Potions Master said, and stared at the sleeping little girl in amazement. Then he tentatively reached out and carded his fingers through her hair. Is this what it would be like, to have a little girl of my own? Too bad you missed your chance, Severus, years ago, the cynical part of his mind sneered. It’s too late now for thinking about what could have been, since the only women you’ve ever loved are either dead or found better prospects somewhere else. Besides, what kind of father would you make, when you can’t even handle one fifteen-year-old boy?

When Grace came by some ten minutes later, she found both the professor and her daughter sound asleep, both of them wearing identical expressions of contentment.

* * * * * *

Freedom soared upon the wind, his feathers caressing the air as delicately as an artist does his chosen canvas. He glided and swooped, playing half-heartedly with the wind currents that swirled all about him. But though he normally gloried in the sheer sensation of flight, this morning he found that flying did not relax him the way it usually did. Today fear and anxiety had taken up residence in his chest and they soured even this most exhilarating of pastimes.

The red-tailed hawk spotted something moving in the grass below and instinct took over, shoving the human emotions into the background. Freedom tracked the small mouse as it scurried to and fro, collecting seeds and bits of flowers, his eyes able to see the slightest ruffling of the mouse’s fur.

He circled, waiting on the mouse as patiently as any hawk trained to a falconer’s lure. Which, of course, he had been, before he had realized he was more than just a bird, back when he only knew Severus as his wizard and friend. Oh, how he wished he could return to those days, when the worst he had to worry about was returning late from flying and facing Snape’s mild scolding and warnings to leave Umbridge alone. Those were the days, he thought wistfully.

He would even take the return of the toad over this awful guilt that stabbed him to the quick and poisoned every happy memory he had of himself and Severus. Hawks don’t cry and they don’t feel guilty. But he was not a true hawk. He was an Animagus, and for the first time he could not take refuge in the simple mind of the raptor, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

He watched the mouse scurry out from behind a tussock of grass and for a single instant it broke cover, and then he closed his wings and stooped, talons curved.

The wind rushed by him as he plummeted towards the prey, and then he struck, his claws capturing the hapless mouse and ending the hunt mercifully. He settled down with his breakfast, he had barely eaten at the Witherspoon’s and now he was hungry. He quickly devoured the mouse, but as soon as he had done so, he felt his guilty conscience prod him and the meal sat like a stone in his crop.

Coward! How far do you think you can fly to escape what you’ve done? Even the ends of the earth wouldn’t be far enough.

He mantled over the remains of the mouse, quivering in every muscle. He was a mess, all of his old insecurities rising to torment him, fearful, guilt-ridden, and terrified that he had done the one thing Severus would not be able to overlook. His heart had been torn open once again and this time he feared there would be no mending it.

Unable to bear being on the ground any longer, he launched himself into the air and flew across the village, over the moor, and through the trees, pushing himself harder and harder until the ache in his wings matched the one in his heart. When he had exhausted himself, he returned to the cottage, his wings felt heavy and unwieldy, as if they were broken beyond repair, like his relationship with Severus.

* * * * * *

HH

When he returned to the house it was the late afternoon and Severus was sleeping. Jilly was awake, however, and came running to him, throwing her arms about his waist and saying, “Where was you, Hawwy? You missed lunch! I missed you!”

“You did?” he gazed down at her, and their eyes, nearly the exact same shade, met.

All of a sudden he felt a wave of warmth and happiness flow into him. “Jilly, what . . .?”

“You needs a special hug too, like ‘fessor Sevvy.”

Harry nearly collapsed on the floor. “Professor Sevvy? You called Severus that?”

“Uh huh. Why? It his name.”

“Nobody ever . . .I mean I’ve never heard anybody ever call him . . .Sevvy.”

“You did. I heared you,” she pointed out.

“When?”

“Before,” she shrugged.

“I did?” he was aghast.

She nodded solemnly.

“I must have been out of my mind,” Harry shook his head. Great, another thing for him to hate me for. Giving him some cutsey nickname.

Jilly cocked her head. “Don’ worry, Hawwy. Sevvy don’ mind.”

“Sure, kid. Whatever you say,” he said doubtfully.

She huffed at him. “I know. I felt it.”

“You can feel Severus too?”

“Yup. I can.” She smiled. Then she grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Hawwy. Mummy has dinner.”

He allowed her to lead him into the kitchen, where Grace had just set dinner upon the table.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he apologized. “I just . . .needed to get out.”

Jasper nodded. “I feel like that sometimes myself. Wash up and come sit down for supper.”

Harry obeyed without saying anything.

All during dinner he waited for them to question him, but they never asked him where he had gone or what he had been doing.

The only one who mentioned Severus to him was Jace, while they were washing the dishes together, because sometimes Grace wanted her son to do things without magic.

“Professor Snape was asking for you this morning, Harry.”

Harry halted in his drying. “Did he . . .say what he wanted?”

“No, just that he wanted to talk to you.” Jace said, then scrubbed a plate and handed it to Harry before adding, “I think . . .maybe you ought to talk to him, Harry.”

Harry went still. After a long moment he said, “You don’t understand. He wouldn’t . . .I can’t . . .”

“Harry, maybe it’s not my place to say this, but I don’t think he’s that angry at you.”

“No? How could he not be?” Harry demanded. “I nearly killed him, Jace!”

“The dagger possessed you,” Jace argued. “It’s not the same thing.”

“I was the last thing he saw before I stabbed him,” Harry snapped. “You don’t know him like I do. He won’t forgive me for being so weak . . .for betraying him. I know it.”

“How? You could at least try talking to him.”

“No. I . . .I’m not ready. Tomorrow.” Harry said swiftly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Jace sighed. He knew Harry was merely prolonging the inevitable. But he could sense the bone deep anguish hovering just below the surface in the other’s mind and he did not want to add to it. A reader was nothing if not respectful of another’s privacy and feelings.

“All right. I’ll tell him you’re asleep or something if he asks me. But I don’t like lying to him, Harry.”

“Then just don’t say anything.” Harry said listlessly.

“Would you like to play Exploding Snap?” Jace asked then.

At first Harry was about to refuse, he was too wound up to relax with a card game. But then he figured he might as well do something to pass the time and he hadn’t spent any time at all with his friend all day. Ron would have been furious and sulky if he’d done that to him. But Jace just accepted Harry’s moods uncomplainingly. That made him feel even worse, oddly enough.

“Okay, let’s play,” he agreed.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Harry disappeared again, this time shifting into Freedom before breakfast and flying out on the moor. He remained flying until midday, when he landed atop Hedwig’s rowan. He tucked his head beneath his wing and fell asleep. But his dreams were full of blood and pain and he woke trembling, to find Hedwig beside him, a wing curled protectively about him.

Fledgling, what troubles you? she hissed softly, nuzzling him gently. Are you still having nightmares? Maybe you ought to ask Severus for a potion.

Freedom shook his head. No.

Something in his tone and posture warned the snowy owl that not all was well, and she tilted her head and peered at him. Have you spoken to him at all, fledgling?

Freedom hunched his shoulders and turned his head away, not meeting her eyes.

Freedom, you really should speak with him, he has been asking for you almost everyday. Hedwig urged.

I can’t. Hedwig, you know why. You know.

Freedom, I think you should give him a chance.

Right, give him a chance to send me packing, Freedom said angrily.

How do you know what he will do or say until you speak with him? The owl asked. You are assuming and it’s unfair to judge him on what he might say and not what he has said.

Oh, sure. Take his side!

Freedom, you are being unreasonable. I am not taking sides, merely making a suggestion. You are miserable and the only way you will get better is to speak with your guardian.

Freedom snapped his beak shut and refused to say anything more, even when Hedwig nudged him.

Stubborn fledgling. You and your guardian both. She gave him a slight peck on the head.

Then she snuggled next to the smaller red-tail and closed her eyes, sleeping away the midafternoon heat.

* * * * * *

Meanwhile, Severus was lying in bed, resting to regain his strength. Jilly was in and out of his room, chattering to him in her sweet voice. Grace brought him breakfast and lunch, and when he asked where Harry was, she answered that he was out flying.

“Ah. I see,” was all Severus said, understanding what she did not say, that he was avoiding his mentor on purpose. Foolish fledgling! If I were able to get out of this bed . . .I am more angry at myself for not noticing something was wrong than at you for falling under the spell of the bloody dagger. He shook his head. “Tell him that I wish to speak with him when you see him again, please.”

“I will.” Grace promised.

“I think that part of his problem and mine is that we both feel . . .tainted from the dagger’s curse. And I do not know what spells I can cast to resolve this.”

“I believe I might be able to help with that,” Jasper said, pausing in the doorway. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you just said, Severus. And I think I may know of a way to help you. There is a tome I have in the library detailing a ritual of purification, an old rite that was handed down for generations in my mother’s family. She came from America and her ancestors centuries past performed this ritual when someone had been touched by dark magic.”

“May I see it?” Severus requested. “Being as I have nothing productive to do except sleep, I would like to study it.”

Jasper nodded, and Summoned the volume with a snap of his fingers. “Here you go,” he handed Severus the book. “I hope it helps. Incidentally, there is a small pond a mile or so into the woods that contains pure spring water.”

“Thank you, Jasper,” said the Potions Master. The title of the small volume was The Ritual of Renewal.

The two Witherspoons left him alone to read, making sure that Jace kept Jilly occupied so Snape could study.

Severus spent almost the entire day reading the book, learning about the special ritual which had its roots in the customs of the Native American tribes of the northwest. It detailed how the ritual should be performed and what he would need to perform it, there were special herbs that needed to be burned and smudged and a place that was secluded and free from any negative influences.

Hmm. That pond Jasper mentioned sounds like it would fit the requirements of the ritual. Now I simply have to get my stubborn reluctant ward to agree to it and to talk to me about what has occurred. I know he has been tearing himself apart with guilt, which is his typical response when something bad happens to someone close to him. And while this time he has a valid reason to feel that way, nevertheless it will destroy him if allowed to continue.

He heaved a sigh and continued perusing the book, which also offered techniques to relieve a person of the burden of guilt and remorse and regret that so often afflicted those who had been the victims of a curse like the Dagger of Discord. Severus read those through very carefully, absorbing everything he could.

When at last he was done with the book, he set it aside, took the Magic Replenisher Grace had left for him, and fell asleep. By tomorrow morning he should be well enough to get out of bed and if Harry still refused to come to him, then he would go and find him.

Harry returned for dinner and then spent the rest of the night reading Jilly a story and then falling asleep early, for all of that flying tired him out. Grace had told him that Severus wished to see him, but Harry pretended he had not heard her and only went to see how his mentor was when he was sure Sev was sleeping.

It was there Grace found him, and did her best to persuade him to speak with Severus. “You know, Harry, running away from a problem never solved anything. It only creates more.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I wasn’t running away, I was just . . .avoiding him.”

“But the end result is the same. You are hurting both yourself and Severus by your refusal to speak with him,” she remonstrated.

“Why would he be hurt?” asked Harry abruptly. “I would think . . .he would be glad to never lay eyes on me again.”

“No, Harry. From what I have seen, Severus cares about you very much.”

“But how can you know for sure? Did you read his mind?”

“No, but you don’t need to be a reader to see his bond with you. It is very strong.”

“Not anymore.”

She cupped his chin in her hand firmly. “You doubt where you should not. If you trust your mentor, you will find that some things have changed while others have not. And one of the constants is his love for you. Let go of your guilt, Harry. It is hurting you far more than you know. There is neither sense nor profit in it. The past is built upon sand, let it be washed away.”

Her words made sense, too much sense, and for a moment he allowed himself to have hope and think that everything would come right in the end. But then the enormity of his crime against his mentor came crashing down upon him and he jerked his chin out of Grace’s fingers and whispered, “I have blood on my hands. The dagger nearly made me into a murderer. How could he forgive that? How?”

“You will never know the answer unless you speak with him.”

But Harry stubbornly maintained his silence, fear nearly strangling him. So long as he did not confront the Potions Master directly, he could feel as if he were still a part of the family and that Snape still wanted him.

“I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused,” he apologized. “Good night, Grace.” Then he headed off to bed in Jace’s room.

* * * * * *

The morning of the third day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect weather for some walking. Harry was up before the sun and decided to walk across the lawn to the rowan tree. Little did he know that a pair of onyx eyes was observing him intently from a small window.

This was the first morning that Severus had felt well enough to get out of bed and remain upon his feet for longer than ten minutes. He felt almost as if he were back to his old self, sneer and all. He carefully dressed himself in a pair of casual slacks and a lightweight shirt and threw his long black cloak, which had been washed clean of bloodstains and mended, over his shoulders.

I have been patient. I have waited, thinking that he would come to me, but he seems determined to wallow in his guilt. As the Muggles are fond of saying, if the mountain will not come to Mohammad, let Mohammad come to the mountain.

He finished dressing and was ready to leave the bedroom and confront his wayward charge once and for all. He had never been a particularly patient man and now his patience was worn thin.

It was time to take the bull by the horns, or the lion by his mane and give him a good shake.

* * * * * *

Harry was sitting beneath the rowan, his knees drawn up to his chest, resting his head upon them. He had closed his eyes and was just beginning to try and meditate when he heard a familiar silky voice say, “You wouldn’t happen to be running away from me, would you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry froze. Then he opened his eyes and saw standing before him a rather pale but fully coherent and functioning Severus Snape.

“Severus! You’re out of bed!” he blurted before he could think better of it.

“Obviously,” said his guardian. “Come, Harry. We have much to talk about.” He placed a hand firmly upon the youngster’s shoulder, urging him to his feet. “Walk with me a ways.”