The Secret by Hopeless Wanderer

Potter is walking to his doom.

It’s somewhat an understatement, Severus isn’t prone to understating anything in the slightest, but in this instance, any words used to describe the situation sounds like a grievous understatement, a wrong-doing even.

A call to death.

Now, it sounds too dramatic, but no less true than ‘calling Potter to his office to tell him he’s about to die’. They shouldn’t be the same, but they are, in essence, the one and the same concept.

He’s called Potter, his sixteen-year-old student, a boy barely out of puberty, who probably hasn’t even been kissed once in his life to come to his office because he is going to die and Severus can’t handle the weight of such a secret on his shoulders.

Not just die. About to be sacrificed, slaughtered like a lamb.

Potter should be knocking at his door any moment now. Severus arranges the quills lined on his work desk again. It’s not a compulsive tic, he tries to convince himself, even though the action irritates him. He fists his treacherous hands on his knees before they’re tempted by the stack of essays by the quills.

The knock is almost on cue. It has to be Potter, the possibility of it being anyone else is highly unlikely, It’s three in the morning, and Albus would just use the floo.

“Come in,” he calls to the person knocking, and his voice is stern, not betraying like the state of his mind and his hands.

The dungeon door creaks open, and Severus can’t see anyone as it closes once again. Potter must be under James Potter’s invisibility cloak then, this fact fuels a spark of indignation through his veins, quick and sharp. He’s gotten the short end of that cloak too many times to be fond of it.

“Take off the invisibility cloak, Mr. Potter,” he says, it takes too much effort to smother his sneer or a snap. It’s startling, how his hatred for Potter runs afresh when he knows that the boy is destined to die. Severus is almost ashamed of it.

The cloak, inevitably drops, and Potter is revealed, clad in his school robes, over his pyjamas, the boy’s hair a bird’s nest and his eyes fatigued and encircled by purple bruises behind his glasses. Severus lets the green eyes take on their usual effect: the shock which just fails to dissipate over the years, the ghost of Lily’s eyes projected on the boy’s face, wariness is next, and then finally there’s resentment.

Potter is mildly glaring at him, “You called for me, Professor Snape?” the tone washes away any remnants of Lily’s presence. Even the boy’s voice matches James Potter’s perfectly.
“Take a seat, Mr. Potter,” he gestures at the empty chair, the one used mostly by his Slytherins or penalized students, even Potter himself sometimes over the years.

Potter drags his feet to the chair and slumps back. The phrase ‘fatigued beyond measure’ seems only applicable to him. The invisibility cloak is neatly folded, disappeared in the boy’s school robe. Potter stares at him mutely, his arms crossed, his glasses skewered.

Severus leans forward on his elbows, intertwines his fingers under his chin, “There is a matter that needs to be discussed, Mr. Potter,” he says. Potter raises an eyebrow at him. He looks like a raccoon, with those bruises like that.

He hasn’t been getting much sleep. Visions are likely, ones that Albus wouldn’t divulge with him, nightmares even likelier.

“Matters that couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning? It’s Friday night, sir,” Severus tries very hard not to let his irritation show at the boy’s sassy tone. He’s a boy, Severus thinks, just a child.

“Yes. I couldn’t risk anyone catching you coming here,” he says, frankly, because Albus has no idea that he called Potter to his office, nor does he know that Severus is about to spill the beans.

‘Harry isn’t supposed to know,’ the old man had said, stroking his beard, ‘The sacrifice has to be pure in intent, Severus. Pure intent rarely occurs with prior knowledge,’
Well screw that, Severus thinks with a curled lip. He’s not letting Lily’s child walk into slaughter.

“It couldn’t wait, I’m afraid,” Severus stares the boy right in the eyes, “What I’m about to discuss with you is of utmost delicacy and importance,” Potter’s eyes widen a fraction, “I can provide you with conclusive proof, what I’m about to tell you is based on facts,”

“What is going on, sir? Shouldn’t Professor Dumbledore be here if it’s—.”

“Just let me finish,” Severus snaps, rubbing his forehead. “Afterwards, I will answer your questions,”

Potter isn’t making this easy. Severus didn’t expect it to be, but still. Severus already feels the pressure in his head morphing into a headache.

“Fine,” Potter huffs, looking away with a stifled yawn. Severus resists the urge to roll his eyes. No wonder the boy is failing every other class. Ghosts seem to get more sleep than Potter.

Silence overtakes the two of them, Severus has no idea how to begin, or rather, where to begin.

He has to look his student, one that he openly dislikes, and somehow convince him that his old mentor is about to frog march him to certain death.

“I’m aware that Albus has already told you the contents of a certain Prophesy,” a highly immature move on Dumbledore’s side, not childishly immature, but manipulatively immature. Potter was so vulnerable then, under constant distress, just having watched Black die.

Dumbledore couldn’t have chosen a worse time, to reveal something so important in a moment of maudlin grief with a fifteen-year-old boy. A year has almost passed since then and Potter still seems as if he’s carrying the weight of Black’s dead body on his own. It’s painful to watch, as much as Severus hates admitting it.

He hasn’t really been watching Potter since the start of the term, he can’t be quite certain that any of his colleagues have been. Staring at Potter, looking into his eyes for more than ten seconds is highly uncomfortable because the looks that he might receive back are that of an old man’s.

He holds Potter’s exhausted gaze now, “What about it?” the boy says, there’s no bite or wonder or any other kind of expression his voice. Just a constant drone.

“There’s more that he didn’t tell you,” Severus replies and Potter scoffs.

“You’re acting as if that’s some scandalous revelation, sir,” Potter says, eyes only slightly narrowing, “People in charge usually don’t feel like telling me things that might save my life,”

Well, Severus can’t quite deny that, even though he knows that there’s much more at stake than Potter’s juvenile need to know things that shouldn’t concern him. Including what Severus is about to tell him now because he just as easily could not tell Potter. Leave the child live his life, as short as that might be, in relative bliss, and then watch him perish and humiliated as he sacrifices himself for a goal that might not even be achieved.

Potter’s death is as inevitable as the Dark Lord acquiring new Horcruxes as the others are destroyed. An endless cycle. Severus feels the headache pounding in his temples.

“You can’t tell anyone about this meeting or what I’m about to tell you next,” he says, “You can’t even utter them aloud afterwards, not even to Professor Dumbledore. Do you understand Mr. Potter?”

Potter looks as if he’s still catching up with his words, “Not tell Dumbledore?” he doesn’t sound incredulous, he doesn’t sound like anything, just a constant state of being. Trust Potter to master Occlumency only as a result of his godfather’s death. Either that or the boy just lacks any feelings whatsoever.

“He wouldn’t want you to know this,” Severus says frankly, “What has he told you already? Of the Dark Lord’s…projects?”

Potter lets his arms drop on his lap, “Why do you ask if you know?”

Severus rubs his temples again, it would be so easy not to control himself around the boy, so painfully easy not to and so agonizingly difficult to do so. “Horcruxes, Potter,” he says.

There’s just no point in being subtle with Potter, the boy is as dense as a rock, or too tired to care, Severus can’t be bothered to distinguish the two.

Potter doesn’t jostle, his eyes don’t widen, he just exhales. Severus takes that as a cue to continue.

“I’m sure Albus has already told you of their true nature, I’m sure he has already told you that the dark lord has a few,”

“Yes,” Potter drapes one leg over the other, pushes his skewered glasses up his nose with his middle finger and Severus momentarily can’t decide whether it’s an unconscious impulse or the boy had just flipped him off on purpose.

He sighs, “And I’m sure that Albus has given you a mission regarding this very subject,”

Loosen Slughorn’s tongue, Severus resists a sneer, as if that needs any prompting. That old man would spout and rant about anything and everything if there was something in it for him, all Albus needed to do was give him immunity and the man would start chirping louder than a bird.

But he didn’t, because he’s setting Potter up. Because Potter is destined to die, so he might as well take Horace Slughorn down with him. Severus might be next. They’re the only living people who are aware of the Horcruxes’ existence.

“Which you seem already aware of,” Potter says, the words intonate mild irritation but his face is blank.

“What Albus neglected to tell you at the time, is that Horcruxes, in addition to inanimate objects, can take on a human host,”

Potter’s leg drops, and he leans forward in his chair, “Human hosts,” he reiterates after a moment’s hesitation.

Severus nods, “Yes. The detached soul of the caster latches itself upon the soul already present in the host’s body, interlocking them, in a way,”

Severus fails to mention that Harry Bloody Potter is the only living exhibit of that ritual, unlike Albus, he doesn’t plan on hiding that fact but rather deems the information too complex for Potter’s rudimentary knowledge of the subject.

“So the only way to destroy it is through Basilisk venom and then what?” Potter leans back and tilts his head, “Phoenix tears?”

Severus curls his lip. As if it was as easy as that. It wasn’t. It never is, when it comes to these things.

“You can’t smoke out the parasite with venom, Potter,” He snaps, this time unwillingly, and not even pissed at Potter. It’s so unfair, the world often is, but this is so unfair.

“Then what?” Potter snaps back, it seems that Severus’ agitation has fueled Potter’s as well.

“The only way to detach the parasite is to perish the host soul along with it. The person harbouring the Horcrux will have to die, in a rather painful way I’d imagine,”

He can hear the boy’s breath hitch, and sees his head snap, the first sign of emotion, finally. Shock outdid Potter. The boy has recoiled back in his chair, and he’s staring at Severus with a hint of horror overtaking his eyes. It makes Severus pause. He cannot know, can he?

No. he wouldn’t have guessed it already. It couldn’t be.

Tentatively, Severus lets Potter gather his bearings and then exhales, “Do you know where I’m going with this, Mr. Potter?”

Potter blinks hard, “I didn’t—,” he swallows and his face contorts as if the motion incites agony, “I didn’t know that,”

“Know what?”

Potter’s eyes are glazed but no tears are streaming down his face, Severus is immeasurably relieved by that. He can’t handle a crying Potter.
He must know, he wouldn’t react this way otherwise.

What other conclusion is he supposed to draw? His most hated Professor sends him a secret note, asking him to hide under his invisibility cloak and come over to his office for a visit. It is an easy connection to make.

“Listen, Potter…”

“He told me that it’s a curse, I didn’t know it was this bad,” the boy interrupts, he’s wringing his hands and avoiding Severus’ gaze. Sev straightens his already straight quills once more.

“I know that it seems bad, Potter but—.”

“Bad?” Potter’s head snaps up, “He’s going to die! That’s not bad, it’s catastrophic!”

He. Who?

“What?” Severus asks, he can’t stop the word from escaping his mouth. Has Potter began hallucinating or did he always refer to himself in the third person? That is ridiculous, Severus shakes his head inwardly. Potter, for whatever reason, thinks this subject related to someone else.

“How could you belittle his death? Any death at all? He’s the only person we have leading this war effort, and if he’s a Horcrux himself then we’re all screwed,”

Potter thinks Albus is the host. Of course, he would think of that before thinking of himself. Albus’ blackened hand could be substantiating enough and Potter’s confusing self-less Gryffindor-ish attitudes could allude the boy right down that path.

“Albus Dumbledore isn’t a Horcrux, Potter,” he snaps before Potter can fly completely off the rails, “He’s not about to die,”

Well, he is. But Severus can prevent that if he puts effort into it, and he might as well because Potter is right, Dumbledore as manipulative as he can be, is the only thing keeping their side united.

Potter deflates in his seat and gazes right at Severus, and the potion master can feel the uneasiness creep down his spine again, the boy’s eyes are haunted, Severus shudders to think of what goes through his mind. Sev looks away first.

“He’s not?” Harry asks.

“No. He is not the reason why I called you here tonight. The thing is…”

Here comes the moment of truth, Severus thinks. He opens his mouth, only half-aware of the order in which words are supposed to get out and freezes.

How could he do this? ‘Potter, I’m sorry that you have to hear this from the person who hates your guts, but you’re about to die whether the dark lord lives or not, you’re a weapon, a pulsing powder keg, good night, I will see you in class on Monday,’

Potter is on the edge of his seat, so much so, that Severus wonders if the boy is sitting on the chair at all, rather than hovering on air. “Is it someone I know?” Potter asks meekly, his eyes seek Severus’ but the man can’t bring himself to return his gaze.

“It is not someone you know, it is you,” he doesn’t know how utters those words, but the relief that comes with them is fleeting.

Potter doesn’t recoil or start rocking in his chair. He doesn’t cry or wring his clothes or scream. The only indication that the boy has heard him at all is the subtle tilt of his head.

“Me?” he asks and Severus clears his throat.

“The day the dark lord attacked your parents ‘ home…”

“I know what happened that night,” the boy cuts him off, “I know how the story goes. My dad was wandless, killed in the staircase, my mother was in the nursery with me, shielding my crib with her body. He came and killed her,”

“He didn’t want to kill her,” Severus stifles the umbrage of emotions that threaten to overthrow his stoic expression. He wasn’t going to kill her, Severus knows that he wasn’t, but he also knew Lily. She already knew her husband was dead, she must have known, maybe even heard him scream. She must have looked at her child and thought to herself ‘I won’t let you die,’. She wouldn’t have cared about Severus’ futile attempts at damage control.

Her son shifts in front of him now, alive but cursed to die. Severus gets the impression that Harold James Potter was living on borrowed time if this gets solved somehow-impossibly-there would be something else because of course there would. No deed goes unpunished, and Potter’s just happens to be staying alive.

“How is it possible?” Potter’s voice doesn’t quiver, there are still no tears, but something in his voice makes Severus feel insignificant.

“We’re not sure,” the process of making a Horcrux involved slaughter with intent, but Lily wasn’t taking that for an answer. She jumped between them, the curse rebounded, and a piece of his soul was cut off, and desperate for survival it latched onto the only living thing in that room.

That’s what Albus told him.

“When your mother got in between you and his wand, the killing curse was already cast,” he says, and in Harry’s place, almost sees Lily, sitting in that chair and watching him intently.

Potter exhales, “So I am one, somehow?”

Severus nods, “Yes,”

“And the only way I can destroy it is by killing myself or getting killed?”

Not exactly. Albus said that there was a certain time, the golden optimum, he called it. It only has to happen once Voldemort is at his weakest. Meaning; destroy every other Horcrux somehow-He could just make more and more until his soul had nothing else to give, Severus didn’t think he cared- and after that destroy Potter. Potter was the self-destruct button.

“At the right time…when the right time presents itself, it is vital to the Dark Lord’s demise,”

Potter certainly takes his time responding, Severus doesn’t dare move a muscle.

Why is it so hard to be like this? To sit here so impassively, staring at the son of his most hated enemy and his best friend, and just wonder where did it all go wrong? He’s the cause of this, Severus is the reason why Lily died, he snitched.

Snitcher get stitches, except Severus didn’t atone for his sin back then, he’s paying for it now, sitting here and watching a sixteen-year-old boy, come to terms with the fact, that he must die. If Severus lives a day beyond the end of this war, which he hopes to heavens he doesn’t, the guilt of this will kill him.

Potter’s eyes drop to his lap, “Alright,”

Alright? That’s it?

Severus considers that a bit underwhelming.

“Alright?”

“What do you want me to say?” Potter asks, looks him in the eyes again, he sounds truly curious.

Severus clenches his hands together, “Why does that matter?”

“Did you call me here to see what my reaction was?” Potter’s breath hitches again, “Did you want to be the first person who sees my face after the big reveal?”

Severus sits, stunned. He didn’t think Potter would imagine him capable of this level of cruelty. Dear Merlin, why would he do such a thing? Is Potter being serious or merely ungrateful in the face of Severus’ generosity?

Because he is being generous, to the boy’s soul, to the entire idea of keeping him oblivious. Albus wouldn’t give Potter the same branch of kindness, no one would. Potter has no one around him to dish out such mercies.

Black died, and Lupin is so struck with grief he doesn’t even leave his borrowed bed in Grimmauld place anymore. Severus remembers hearing a similar remark about the man back when Potter and Lily had died. Pathetic.

The boy is alone, just as he was then, and he will remain to be.

“Well?”

Severus is jolted back into the present, “Of course not,” he doesn’t sound harsh in the slightest. He’s too astonished by Potter’s claim to assert any sort of sternness in his tone. “I would never do such a thing, much less to a child,”

Potter doesn’t look phased. “Okay, then what is in this for you? If Dumbledore wanted to tell me, he would have,”

“Nothing. Do you think I’m pleased to deliver such news to you?” Severus isn’t, “Don’t you think I know the repercussions of such a claim? Potter, you’re being asked to sacrifice yourself, I merely saved you from having to make that choice while in battle, with seconds to decide,”

The way Albus wanted it to be.

“How different is it now, that I know? There’s no decision to make, Snape.”

He can’t look into Potter’s eyes. He’s a grown adult, twice this midget’s age and he can’t bear to look into his eyes and apologize. Severus gazes down at his quills.
“You don’t have to die,” he didn’t mean to say that, but he doesn’t generally oppose them either.

“If I don’t die, then apparently, he will never be defeated,”

Such lies. Severus doesn’t think Voldemort CAN be defeated even if Potter died.

“There is always…” he pauses, he needs to be extremely careful about what he should say next. If Albus gets wind of this, Severus is as good as dead. But he can’t just sit here and do nothing, he can’t even be the bearer of bad news. Potter is right, there was no point in telling him such a thing if he couldn’t offer any solutions.

“You could always flee,”

Potter’s silent is tantamount to every deadly silence in Severus’ life. His father’s death, was the freshest on his mind, specifically when Severus found his body, limp with a bottle of whiskey tilted and staining his shirt.

Severus had stood in silence then, silently marvelling the success of his poison, and somewhat grieving the life he lost to this man.

Potter is silent.

“It is in my most humble opinion, that you do so before the end of this term,”’

“Leave them all to die?” Potter’s voice is barely audible.

“They’re willing to let you die,” Severus makes himself stare into Potter’s eyes. “You don’t deserve this, Potter. In fact, no one does.”
It’s such a waste of life.

“Hundreds, thousands will die. My life isn’t any more important than theirs,”

Severus is familiar with that train of thought.

“I won’t force you to flee, I won’t even stop you if you knocked me unconscious right now and delivered to Albus,” he means it because it truly doesn’t matter to him anymore. Severus wasn’t expecting himself to be so on board with the idea of death or imprisonment, but he is.

“The choice isn’t between living or dying. It’s between staying or leaving, Mr. Potter,”

“I’m not a coward,” Potter says, his eyes are hooded, and his nostrils flare in agitation.

“Magnanimous people do not ask other people to sacrifice themselves either,” Severus feels like such a cheater, for saying words like that, as true as they may be, “You will not be judged for this. I would not tell a soul. The choice is yours,”

Potter doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t even look conflicted. Just exhausted. The kind of fatigue that goes beyond the physical. Severus doesn’t want to hypothesize, but deep down he feels as if Potter isn’t too moved by this news, not moved but acting as if he wants it to happen.

The boy sitting in front of him craves death. Not just death as a concept, but more likely a respite.

“I think…” Potter says, “That I’m going back to my dorm, and going to try sleeping.”

Severus isn’t disappointed, he knew it was coming. Potter would never just leave these worthless people here and flee, even if the potion master felt obligated to give the boy the chance in the first place.

“You won’t always have that choice,” he says, as the last warning. He won’t push Potter into anything once this meeting is over. The boy’s presence feels like a Dementor’s anguished wails resonating in the walls. Severus can’t stand it.

“I won’t need it,” Potter says as he stands, hands trailing to his pocket for the invisibility cloak. “I’ve made my choice,”

“How do you feel?” Snape asks as Potter unfolds the cloak with steady hands.

“Wide awake,” Potter’s face vanishes beneath the cloak.

Severus gazes at the place where he stood as the door in his office opens and closes the last time for that night.

He also feels wide awake.