Remembering, years later, how Harry Potter rose from the dead, Snape thought that some rather dramatic moments had been wasted.

The boy might, for instance, have woken while Dumbledore stood at his bedside, paralyzed with grief and remorse. He – Harry, that was – could have held out his hand in a silent gesture of forgiveness, causing the old man to burst into tears. (Not that any Slytherin would forgive his own murder for the greater good quite so readily, but that was beside the point.)

Or he could have opened his eyes as the staff paid their respects, teary-eyed and silent except for the occasional quiet sob. It would have been rather dramatic in a sentimental way, more so if some of them passed out with shock. (Snape particularly liked the thought of Quirrel fainting after he’d run screaming out of the infirmary, although that might take away some of the seriousness the occasion warranted).

As with many things, however, most of the drama was created later by people who liked a little excitement in their lives. Snape remembered falling asleep at the boy’s bedside after having endured visits from his exhaustingly emotional colleagues, a sobbing Madam Pomfrey and a Headmaster who seemed unlikely ever to show his twinkly smile again. He remembered wishing they’d all go away, and thought that he might have said as much at some point, if Flitwick’s hurt look and McGonagall’s glare were anything to go by. Finally, they left, and he sat on his chair, refusing to listen to Pomfrey who wanted him to go, too. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but after a while it seemed impossible not to give in to the bone-deep exhaustion and the prospect of oblivion, if only for a short time.

“Pro – professor?”

The voice jarred his sleep, and he felt irritated and annoyed. There was a twinging ache in his neck from falling asleep in an awkward position; it was the first thing he became aware of, and it did nothing to put him in a good mood.

The second thing he noticed, of course, was that the boy on the bed was no longer dead. Or at least, that his eyes were open and that he was talking.

“Professor, my - my leg hurts real bad…”

The tears on the boy’s cheeks were not those of a ghost, nor was the child’s whimpering as he tried to sit a sound a spirit would make. Snape jumped up.

“POPPY!”

Glass shattered somewhere behind him, most likely from a glass bottle Pomfrey had dropped. Snape strode over to the boy’s bed, took two deep breaths to steady his voice and hands, and gently pushed Harry back down.

“Don’t try to sit up. Your leg is broken.”

Harry obeyed, and somehow Snape found his hand clutched in the boy’s, the small fingers digging into his palm. “I… I saw my mum and dad…”

“Shh, child.”

“Tom’s mum… she took him away…”

At that moment, Pomfrey came around the privacy screen, and her gasp was indeed rather dramatic.

“Severus – what -”

“Mr. Potter has suffered a fracture in his left leg,” Snape said in his most forbidding tone, glaring at the medi-witch. “I suggest you begin treating him without further delay.”

“But-”

“It would be in the best interest of your patient, Madam, if he were not further upset,” Snape cut across her. “I believe a Pain Numbing Draught is in order, followed by a bone-knitting charm and no additional excitement, wouldn’t you agree?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, still looking rather pale as she approached the boy. “Let – let me have a look at your leg, Harry, and I’ll give you something for the pain, alright?”

Snape went back to his chair and sat down heavily, and no, his legs didn’t shake at all. Harry’s tears subsided after he’d swallowed the Numbing Draught Pomfrey handed him, and he lay back, watching tiredly as the medi-witch righted the bones in his leg. From time to time, he glanced over at Snape, as if to make sure he had not left. Snape, for his part, knew that he should contact Dumbledore, that if anyone knew what had happened, it would be the Headmaster. But he could not bring himself to get up and leave… not yet.

He watched as Pomfrey applied the bone-knitting charm and bandaged the leg with the ease of long practice. When the newly-mended bone was stabilized, she summoned a bottle of Myrtlap Essence and bowl of cotton swabs.

“This might sting a little, but it’ll help those cuts heal faster.”

She began to dab the essence onto the cuts on Harry’s face and arms. Snape noticed that her hands were shaking slightly, and found it in himself to admire her composure. After all, her patient had been quite dead only a few minutes ago.

When he was quite sure that his legs were steady, Snape got to his feet. Harry turned to him, looking anxious.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to notify the Headmaster,” Snape said, addressing both Pomfrey and the boy. The nurse nodded, pointing her thumb at the fireplace.

“There’s a box of Floo powder on the mantel.”

Grabbing a handful, Snape threw it into the fire and stuck his head into the green flames. “Headmaster’s office.”

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. The flickering of the fire alerted him to Snape’s presence, and he looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, a fact Snape chose to ignore.

“Albus, your presence is needed in the infirmary. Harry Potter is not dead.”

Perhaps not the most tactful way to break the news, but then, Snape had never seen the need for molly-coddling anyone, least of all Albus Dumbledore. Pulling his head back, he got a glimpse of Dumbledore’s face, as white and shocked as he had ever seen it. Which was, in a strange way, rather satisfying. The old man was too omniscient for his own good sometimes.

As he had expected, the fireplace roared to life mere seconds later, and the swirling form of Dumbledore appeared in the flames. Most uncharacteristically, the old man stumbled over the grille, and would have fallen if Snape hadn’t caught him.

“Severus-”

Snape could see that Dumbledore was disgustingly emotional, his beard in disarray and tear tracks on his cheeks.

“He’s back there,” he said, glad when the Headmaster pushed past him and hurried to the back of the room.

Snape waited a minute or two before he followed, but to no avail: He still walked in on the cringeworthy sight of Albus Dumbledore hugging a rather shell-shocked Harry Potter tightly to his chest. Pomfrey was standing to one side of the bed, smiling soppily as she watched the little drama unfolding before her.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore whispered. “I’m so sorry…”

Over the Headmaster’s shoulder, Harry looked at Snape, clearly asking for help. Snape stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Albus… Mr. Potter has just woken up. I believe he is quite exhausted…”

“Yes - yes, of course.” Dumbledore let go of the boy, but stayed where he was sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, looking at him as if he didn’t quite trust his own eyes. “Harry, I apologize. I must admit to being a bit – overwhelmed…”

“Here, Headmaster.” Poppy had come over, and pushed a vial of Calming Draught in Dumbledore’s hand. “I’ll have one myself. Severus?”

Snape shook his head. His eyes were on Harry.

“What do you remember?” he asked the boy, who was fiddling with the hem of his sheets, clearly uncomfortable with the strange way the adults around him were acting.

“I-” Harry began, and broke off, looking up at Snape. “We were in the forest, right? And then – He came.”

Snape nodded.

“He – He told me to get something He wanted – you were burning!” Harry’s eyes widened as he remembered. “He set you on fire! Were you hurt?”

“No,” Snape said. “I am quite unharmed.” Thanks to you, he did not add.

“Good.” Harry slumped into the pillows, clearly relieved. “I don’t really remember what happened then… I was with my mum and dad, and Tom was there, too.”

“Tom?” Snape exchanged a look with Dumbledore.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, he’s just a baby. He was crying and I picked him up…”

Dumbledore held up a hand. “Excuse me, Harry, but I need to be quite sure I understand. You saw Tom Riddle as a child?”

“Is that his last name, Riddle? I found him under a tree… he was crying, and then his mum came. My mum and dad and I talked, and we decided he should stay. He’s just a baby, after all, and I’ve got Draco and Hermione and…” Harry glanced at Snape and blushed for some unfathomable reason. “So his mum took him and left.”

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a moment or two. Then he said, “Tom Riddle’s mother took him away, and you decided to return in his stead.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Only one of us could come back…”

“Of course,” Dumbledore said softly. “Only one of you…”

“This doesn’t make sense, Headmaster,” Snape said. “Why would the Dark Lord be a child?”

“A mere fragment,” Dumbledore whispered, clearly not listening at all. “Yes…”

“Albus,” Snape snapped. “Kindly stop speaking in mysteries and explain whatever you think you’ve understood. What happened to Voldemort? And why is Harry not dead?”

The moment the words had left his mouth, Snape wished he could take them back. Harry’s eyes widened as he looked from Snape to Dumbledore, and back again.

“I was…”

“Dead, yes.” Snape ignored the reproachful look Pomfrey was giving him. The boy needed to know, and he was not going to accept any half-truths. “He – the Dark Lord, that is – attempted to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. He… died in the attempt, and you died with Him.”

Harry frowned. “What’s a Philosopher’s Stone? And why would He want it?”

“It’s a powerful magical artefact that can be used to prolong one’s natural lifespan. That’s why He wanted it.”

“Harry…” Dumbledore reached out and put a wrinkled hand over the boy’s small one. “When Lord Voldemort had the Stone, I had no choice but to stop Him. I am very sorry.”

Harry looked down at their joined hands. “You killed Him?”

Dumbledore nodded. “And you as well.”

“But I’m not dead.”

“And I cannot tell you how happy I am, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said. The truth was there in his face for everyone to see, and after a long moment, Harry nodded.

“Yeah… me too, I guess.”

Dumbledore chuckled, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. “So is Professor Snape, I daresay. You saved his life, you know.”

Snape glared at the Headmaster. Damned old meddler…

“I did?” Harry’s eyes were wide and round.

Dumbledore nodded. “There seem to be traces of Gryffindor in you, after all.”

Harry scowled at that. “Not a Gryffindork,” he muttered. Realizing what he’d said, he snuck a wary look at the Headmaster, and Snape smirked. Serve him right, the meddling old fool.

But Dumbledore merely smiled. “If you say so, my boy. Now, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey is anxious for you to enjoy a well-earned rest,” he inclined his head at the medi-witch, who nodded. “I believe that quite a few people will want to visit you once you’ve recovered.”

Harry looked at Snape. “Professor?”

“Yes?”

“What if He comes back?”

“He will not come back,” Snape said firmly. “He is gone.”

He expected Harry to be skeptic, but the boy just closed his eyes and seemed to listen for something. “Yes,” he said when he opened them again. “I can’t feel Him there anymore.”

Dumbledore briefly rested a hand on Harry’s head. “That is good to hear.”

Harry yawned, and Pomfrey seemed to take this as her cue. “Headmaster, I’m afraid I must insist…”

“Of course.” Dumbledore got up. “Severus…”

But Snape had noticed the boy’s eyes on him. “I will return later,” he said, and pointedly ignored the knowing smile on Dumbledore’s face. Old fool…

Suddenly, there was a movement next to the privacy screen, and they all turned to look at the newcomer. A huge black Kneazle was sitting there, his tail curled around his paws and looking as if he owned the place.

“How did he get in here?” Pomfrey asked, but Marlowe ignored her and the Headmaster completely. Arching his long, sinewy body, he brushed past Snape’s legs and slunk over to the boy’s bed.

“Marlowe!” Harry smiled, and Marlowe jumped onto the bed, settling onto the sheets. It’s alright, he seemed to be saying. I’ll keep watch.

“Well, Severus,” Dumbledore said, still with that annoying smile on his lips. “I believe Harry is well looked after.”

Snape said nothing, but he did turn back once, satisfied to see that Harry had settled back onto the bed, allowing Pomfrey to fuss over him. For once, it seemed, he did not need to worry about the child.

###

Sitting in his usual armchair in Dumbledore’s office, Snape waved away all offers of tea, coffee or elf-made biscuits, determined to get straight to the point.

“Explain,” he said.

Dumbledore poured himself a cup of spiced tea, looking at Snape over the rim of his glasses. “If I’m not mistaken, the intricacies of Dark magic worked in our favor, for once.”

Snape frowned. “I don’t-”

“It begins, I believe, with Tom’s desperate search for a body to possess after his own had been destroyed, that night in Godric’s Hollow ten years ago. He could, of course, have fled the place and maybe there was the impulse to do so, but there was also a human body perfectly ready for his use. A child’s body, granted, but as such, it was even easier to overtake. Weak as he was, he could not gain complete control, and lived the life of a parasite, hidden in a dark corner of Harry’s mind. From time to time, when Harry felt particularly fearful or simply when his own strength allowed it, he managed to get the upper hand and seize control of Harry’s mind and body. That was what we witnessed when we saw Harry being ‘possessed’.”

Snape nodded slowly. It certainly explained what they had seen in the boy’s memories. “He managed to take control long enough to steal the Stone,” he said.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. I am not entirely certain how he came to know of its existence… it is possible that he performed Legilimency on one of us when he possessed Harry, or that he simply overheard some of the staff talking. In any case, it provided enough motivation for him to use Harry to obtain it. He knew the Elixir of Life would strengthen him to a degree where he could not only destroy Harry’s mind and be the sole owner of the body he was using, but also regain his former power.”

The thought disturbed Snape. Harry would have been nothing more than an Inferius, a child’s body inhabited by a spirit who would do anything to instigate a new reign of darkness.

Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking. “It is a terrible idea. When Tom had managed to retrieve the Stone through Harry, I could not think of anything else but to take away his link to the living world.”

“So… do you believe it was Lily’s protection that saved Harry a second time?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “As I said, it is the nature of Dark magic we have to consider. Think of how the Killing Curse works, Severus. You cannot kill anyone by saying the mere words if you do not truly wish for the person to be dead.”

Snape nodded, beginning to understand. “You never intended for Harry to die...”

“The moment I said the words, I wished with all my heart that he could live. So, as it seems, Harry was given a choice.”

“What about the child he saw?” Snape asked. “Was it-”

“Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore finished. “Yes, I believe it was. Voldemort’s soul hasn’t been whole for a long time, Severus, and what Harry saw was… a fragment of innocence, if you will, that survived everything Tom had done to his own soul and those of others.” He smiled slightly and took a sip of his tea. “It appears that Harry has inherited his mother’s ability to see the best in everyone.”

Snape had no wish to discuss Lily with Albus. “So the Dark Lord is truly gone, this time?”

Dumbledore set down his cup, looking somber. “I cannot answer that, Severus. The part that lived in Harry’s mind certainly is, but Tom was seeking immortality long before his visit to Godric’s Hollow. I believe he took… precautions…”

“Horcruxes,” Snape said tonelessly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t suspected it for a long time.

Dumbledore nodded. “There are indications, yes.”

“We shall need to destroy them then,” Snape said, thinking of words he had heard, long ago. Neither can live…

“‘We’, Severus?” There was that damned smile again. Snape nodded curtly.

“Certainly. I am not in the habit of breaking my promises, Albus.”

“No, you’re not.” Dumbledore sobered. “I owe you my thanks, Severus-”

Snape shook his head. He knew perfectly well that Albus Dumbledore owed him nothing, and never would. “Will you tell the boy about all of this?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “One day, certainly. For now, we’ll do what should have been done long ago, and let Harry be a child. He deserves it. But Severus,” he was smiling again as he said it, if slightly sadly, “I do not believe I’m the one Harry will turn to for answers.”

Snape frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious, my boy? Harry doesn’t trust easily; as he pointed out so aptly, he is not a ‘Gryffindork’. But I have watched the two of you, and I know that he trusts you.”

Snape said nothing and merely glared; he hated discussing such matter, as Dumbledore knew perfectly well. And he needed to return to the infirmary, anyway, not sit here and listen to the Headmaster’s sentimental speeches.

“If that will be all, Albus…”

Dumbledore waved a hand. “Certainly, my boy. I’m sure Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger are waiting anxiously for news on their friend.”

As if he had nothing better to do than play messenger for a couple of first years. Snape got up, shaking his head when Dumbledore held up the plate of biscuits. He hated those sweet things.

“Severus?” Dumbledore called when Snape had almost reached the door.

Snape turned around. “Headmaster?”

“Harry is lucky to have you. I just want you to know that.”

Snape said nothing. Was anyone ‘lucky’ to have Severus Snape? But he wasn’t going to get into an argument with the old man; he knew he’d lose, anyway.

Snape left the office and went down the revolving staircase, his steps turning towards the infirmary as if of their own volition.

He was, after all, not in the habit of breaking his promises.