Chapter 55

Control

xxx

“How’d it g—” Ron began before faltering mid-sentence, his face reddening as the words caught in his throat. “Oh, Professor Snape…”

Ron spoke his Father’s name like a question, Harry thought, and from his scrunched up expression of bewilderment, he had meant it as exactly that. Standing behind Harry, the Potions Master peered through the door and shook his head. Much to Harry’s surprise, he climbed through the portrait hole with as much grace as possible for a man so ill-fitted to it.

With no small amount of confusion, Hermione and Ron struggled to take in the sight of Severus Snape standing boldly in the middle of the Gryffindor common room.

“You two,” said Severus as he fixed Ron and Hermione with a pointed stare, “should be in bed. Not waiting up for Harry’s status report.”

Sitting on the ground amidst a collection of books that had clearly been gathered on a late night trip to the library, Hermione sat with her mouth parted and her eyes widened dubiously, as though Severus might have been a midnight apparition. Ron, elevated on the couch above her, was determinedly looking around at anything that wasn’t Snape.

“And what do we have here?” Severus asked, walking over to where Hermione sat and lifting a book from the top of the stack.  “Trials of the Wizengamot, hmm? Taken up a sudden interest in the law, have we, Miss Granger?” Severus glanced over his shoulder at Harry; he almost looked amused.

“I just thought there must be some way to beat Malfoy at his own game, Professor,” Hermione explained, wincing slightly at having been caught. Then, in a rush, she added, “As a member of the Wizengamot who was not present, Headmaster Dumbledore might call for a retrial—”

Severus turned the book over in his hands, frowning, and handed it back to her. “I do not want to tell you that your efforts are futile, Miss Granger, but Malfoy’s release was bought and paid for. This is not a case in which the law is on our side.”

Hermione set her quill down and sighed resignedly, as though she had been thinking something similar. “Well, I’ve not finished yet. There’s got to be some way to keep him out of Hogwarts.”

“I keep telling her,” said Ron, shaking his head and mostly addressing Harry. “Best solution’s to catch him in something and get him locked back up in Azkaban. He’s crooked enough-”

“That is the opposite of the best solution, Weasley,” Severus interrupted. “You are not to follow Lucius Malfoy anywhere, as I have just spent the better part of an hour explaining to Harry. I want to make it exceedingly clear that this applies to all three of you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione agreed in a small voice.

“Fine, fine,” said Ron begrudgingly.

Snape’s eyes narrowed at Ron’s flippant response. “This is a serious matter, Weasley-”

“We get it, Dad,” Harry interrupted with a hint of annoyance. As his Father’s glare fell on him, he added more seriously, “I understand how important this is, really.”  

“As do we, Professor,” added Hermione.

Severus paused to evaluate each teenager as though judging the sincerity of their agreement, perhaps because he had expected further argument. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Know that I will hold you to this. Now, get to bed. You all have classes in the morning.”

Slowly, Hermione and Ron began picking up the books and stowing them away in their bags. Satisfied, Severus turned to Harry and bid him goodnight before disappearing out the portrait hole. Harry waited for it to swing closed before turning back to his friends, prepared to follow Ron up to bed. Hermione, however, immediately sat back down on the couch and began unpacking her bag.

Ron stared at her disbelievingly and dropped his own bag to his side. “Wait…we’re not going to bed?”

“Do you want to go to bed?” she asked him incredulously. “Because this is the only time we have the common room to ourselves, and I want to hear what Harry has to say.”

Ron stared at Hermione with a sort of admiration before glancing at Harry, who shrugged and joined them in front of the fireplace. “Alright, then,” said Ron as he joined Hermione on the couch. “Let’s have it, Harry. Tell us everything.”   

xxx

“Three ounces of erumpent tail, chopped—and Lupin, do be careful not to over-portion this time. It is rather expensive to procure.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he began to measure and chop the required ingredient. “Three grams of wasted dragon claw powder a week ago and I will never live it down.”

“Having a Potions assistant was meant to decrease my workload as Potions Master, rather than creating more work for me to correct,” said Severus irritably. “Am I to be blamed for demanding efficiency?”

“I am more than happy to help, Severus, especially in return for the brewing of my Wolfsbane potion, but may I remind you that this job was supposed to be a cover for my real purpose in the castle?”

“Yes, well,” Severus grumbled, “Have you finished chopping, yet?”

“Three ounces, exactly,” said Lupin with a stiff smile, sliding them over to Severus.

The Potions Master added them to the cauldron and observed for a moment as the appropriate reaction occurred.

“That will give us half an hour until we need to do anything else—then it will be stabilized for completion by the seventh years later today.”

Severus removed his gloves and black work apron; Lupin did the same. “If you would care to come to my quarters, I will put on some tea.”

“That would be fine, Severus, thank you.”

Severus murmured an indistinguishable response and led the way to his private rooms. The suggestion of tea was more for his own benefit than out of courtesy, he told himself. His day was only halfway over, and his energy had already waned drastically.

“Your meeting with the Headmaster, yesterday,” Severus said some time later, as he set a steaming cup of hot tea in front of his colleague. “Dumbledore implied to me that Kinnaird was quite forthcoming with information about the Dark Lord. I’ve yet to speak with him… what is your assessment?”

“He certainly was forthcoming,” Lupin admitted with a slight nod of his head, accepting the tea with both hands. “However, I wonder if he is delivering a message according to Voldemort’s instruction… I question whether it is wise to take him at his word.”

Severus glanced up sharply. “You think that Kinnaird has lied?”

“Less that he has lied and more that Voldemort is giving him false information,” said Lupin. “But, of course, it is only a theory.”

“I would not be surprised to find that the Dark Lord has planted a false trail, perhaps as a diversion from something greater,” Severus responded thoughtfully, gazing upward as in contemplation. “Nor would I find it shocking that Kinnaird had not realized his information was false. What did he say?”

“That Voldemort will not make an attempt on Harry until he has left Hogwarts for the year; he is still fearful of moving in the open, and he believes Harry more accessible away from Hogwarts. This is what Kinnaird reported, at any cost.”

“And the Headmaster? What does he think?”  

“Dumbledore, like me, believes that Voldemort may wish to mislead us. That he is more prone to attack soon if he believes Harry is gaining strength too rapidly, and that he will want us as unprepared as possible.”  

“And Kinnaird, did he have anything to say about this?”

Up until now, Lupin’s answers had been quick and straightforward. Now, however, he paused, as though contemplating his response. “Curiously, no,” he responded slowly; then, his tone took on an aspect of intrigue. “At least, not at first.”

Severus lifted an eyebrow when Lupin went quiet; he suspected he was trying for dramatic effect. “Go on,” he prompted.

“Kinnaird has told me that Voldemort is planning to test Harry’s strength soon… and he believes Draco Malfoy will be involved.”

“And he withheld this from me?” Severus questioned at once, rising unconsciously from his chair. He began to pace.

“He has not said it to the Headmaster, either,” Lupin responded. “He said it only to me… over drinks,” he added pointedly.

“You got him drunk?” Severus asked dubiously, stopping abruptly to stare at Lupin. He had not expected such cunning of the marauder.

“After our meeting with the Headmaster,” Lupin confirmed, somewhat self-satisfied, smiling over his cup as he took a long sip of tea. “Kinnaird believes that Voldemort intends to set Draco to the task of provoking a fight with Harry so that he may assess his strength.”

“The Dark Lord told him this, or he has come to this conclusion on his own?”

“He overheard Lucius Malfoy, actually, in a conversation with Lestrange. Said he was near bragging about it, actually.”  

“Did he not think these circumstances significant enough to report to Dumbledore?” Severus’ voice was snide, his expression disbelieving.

“I’m not certain,” Lupin responded as though considering the question himself. “He interestingly only seemed to recall overhearing the conversation after a few pints of mead. At my expense, of course.”  

Halted in front of the fireplace, Severus glared into the dull glow of the embers. “The Headmaster should know that Kinnaird has been withholding such information.”

“I will set a meeting with Dumbledore tomorrow, Severus,” said Lupin, “But I am not hopeful that he will believe this a sign of treachery. There may be several plausible explanations to Kinnaird’s omission.”

Severus’ gaze turned over his shoulder and one skeptical eyebrow arched in Lupin’s direction. “Such as?”

“Well,” started Lupin in an annoyingly careful tone, “It is possible that he was not intended to overhear such a conversation; he would not want the Dark Lord to learn that he had reported something to Dumbledore of which he was supposed to have no knowledge.”

“Yes, well,” Severus replied impatiently, turning fully from the fireplace and moving back towards his chair, “that is the risk one takes when volunteering to spy on the Dark Lord. At some point, he will have to displease one of his masters. If not both.”

“I will speak to Dumbledore tomorrow morning,” Lupin reiterated. “You are correct that he should know. I just wonder if his response will simply infuriate you further.”

Severus contemplated Lupin for a moment, leaning back in his chair and frowning vaguely at a spot on the floor. “Perhaps we ought to wait.”

“I’m not sure, Severus,” said Lupin, frowning. “What purpose would that serve?”

“If you begin questioning Kinnaird, Dumbledore will become suspicious that I have been whispering treachery in your ear. Perhaps you should leave the accusations to me.”

“Oh, Severus, don’t be dramatic,” Lupin said looking as though he wanted to laugh, but sobering at Severus’ dead stare.

“Furthermore,” said Severus, pointedly ignoring Lupin’s interruption, “if what Kinnaird says is true, then I would like to ensure that any altercation between Harry and Draco Malfoy occurs on our terms. I would like to discuss this with Harry before involving the Headmaster.”

“Meaning, Severus?”

“If we can stay the Dark Lord’s hand by convincing him that Harry is not yet a pressing target,” Severus responded, “then it might be beneficial for a duel to come out in Malfoy’s favor.”

“You mean that you want him to throw a fight? Harry would never agree.”

“Well, obviously I don’t think he’ll jump at the opportunity,” Severus snapped. “But if it could prevent an attack from the Dark Lord…”

“That could be dangerous.”

“Not if Mr. Malfoy knows what is good for him,” Severus replied ominously, sipping his tea.

“And you don’t think that the Dark Lord might be angry to learn that Malfoy pulled his punches, so to speak? You know that he will want to witness the match first hand. He will look at the boy’s memories… suppose he sees that Mr. Malfoy went easy on him. How well do you believe the boy will hold up under questioning about that, Severus?”

A nod in Lupin’s direction seemed to indicate Severus’ momentary concession on that point, but a moment later he proposed, “Well, perhaps someone will have to intervene at precisely the right moment.”

“Oh, would that be someone who looks suspiciously like the resident Potions Master of Hogwarts? Yourself, Severus? How will that look to Harry’s peers, when his Father has to step in to save the day? Do you trust Harry’s temper, that he will be able to go along with this plan? Do you trust longtime school rivals to maintain their composure?”

“I expect a certain level of maturity from my son, Lupin—”

“If it were you and James, Severus? Would the success of this plan hinge on maturity, then?”

Severus’ mouth snapped shut and his lips formed a hard line across his pallid face. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man sitting across from him. “This is hardly the same set of circumstances,” he said finally.

“Can’t we accomplish the same thing in a duel between Kinnaird and Harry?” Lupin suggested.

“Harry has been purposely losing to Kinnaird for months. The Dark Lord has clearly become tired of such reports, and if he issues an order to Draco, this will be the only way. I would rather he bruise his ego now than lose his life later. Harry has already escaped the Dark Lord thrice. For good or bad, I feel certain next time will likely be his last. The Dark Lord will make sure of it.”

“Well, perhaps you are correct, Severus,” Lupin admitted rather reluctantly. “But I hope that you won’t be too hard on Harry when he disagrees with you… because Severus, he will disagree.”

“Yes, well,” Severus scoffed, “with Harry, I never expect anything less.”

xxx

It was dinnertime in the Great Hall, and Ron Weasley was not present. Something was certainly amiss, Severus pondered from his place at the head table. In his absence, Harry and Hermione sat across from each other, exchanging little conversation as they hastily worked their way through heaping plates of food. Though he was no expert on girls’ fashion—and he was fairly certain Miss Granger wasn’t, either—he observed that her hair was a disheveled mess on top of her head, and his son’s appearance wasn’t much better.  

A missing Weasley, apparent excess of appetite, and slovenly appearances could only mean one thing, thought Severus. Sleep deprivation. A sure sign that the children had not heeded his warning to get to bed the previous evening.

But Severus did not descend on the Gryffindors as he might have any other day. No, the two children finished their dinner and hurriedly rose to leave the Great Hall; for good measure, Harry gave Severus a small wave and nervous smile before they set off down the aisle way. Severus nodded back to him, knowing that for the coming day he would need all the strength he could preserve.

And though he was by no means a master of Divination, Severus mused the following morning as he sat across from his churlish son in the dark study of his home, his prediction was certainly coming to be true.

Harry glowered darkly at a spot just above Severus’ head, resolutely avoiding eye contact. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, jerking his head back and forth in short, stiff movements. “I’ve wasted months throwing fights with Kinnaird, and now I’ve got to turn around and do the same song and dance with Malfoy?”

“The Dark Lord clearly disbelieves whatever he has learned from Kinnaird about your strength; for what reason, I cannot surmise. If he asks Draco Malfoy to challenge you, then that experience must remain consistent with what Kinnaird has already reported.”

“That I understand,” said Harry, waving his hand dismissively. “But isn’t there another way? One that doesn’t involve me losing to Malfoy, of all people?”

“I’m afraid I can’t see another plausible option, Harry,” said Severus, attempting to remain sympathetic to Harry’s plight but becoming rapidly annoyed with his continual questioning.

“Can’t we explain the plan to Malfoy ahead of time, then? I can’t have that prat thinking he’s simply beaten me—”

“You can, and you will,” Severus commanded definitively, his patience waning now. “If all goes as planned, this may stave off an imminent attack. We must ensure that it does not appear at all contrived, and regretfully, I cannot attest to Draco’s acting skills. It must be genuine.”

Harry threw his head back and released a growl of frustration. Rising from his seat, he anxiously began to pace the cavernous, dimly lit study, seemingly searching for any solution that might help him to avoid humiliation in front of Malfoy. The idea seemed to come to him at once, for he stopped mid-stride and turned to Severus to propose hopefully, “What if I am too strong to hide my abilities?”

“Do you foresee this being a grave danger?” Severus responded dryly, eyebrow half-cocked. Harry’s eyes narrowed at his flippancy.

“The orbs are brighter and brighter with each time I practice,” Harry told him with a sense of urgency, taking a few steps closer to where Severus sat. “But I haven’t learned to direct my magic yet, not without a wand. I could lose control.”

Severus folded his arms and gazed at him skeptically. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry responded, apparently stung at Severus’ lack of faith. Then, bitterly, he added, “It’s not as though you’ve been paying attention, anyways.”

Severus’ mouth drew into a thin line as he contemplated his querulous son; how could he make such an accusation? That he couldn’t see that Harry consumed nearly all of Severus’ attention as of late was infuriating to him, but he maintained an even tone as he responded, “Why don’t you just come out and say whatever it is that you’re hinting toward? Have I not been attentive enough?”

Harry drew himself up and turned towards Severus, but upon glancing his expression seemed to change his mind. He pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head, throwing himself back down into the seat in front of Severus’ desk. A few times, he looked back to Severus as though he would like to speak, but again shook his head and cast his gaze in the opposite direction.

“By all means, Harry, if you have something to say, go ahead,” said Severus quite seriously after a moment.

“It’s just- I just… you just assume I’m not strong enough, like I couldn’t possibly be-” Harry cut himself off again and threw his hands up in frustration before going quiet again.

“I do not think you weak, Harry,” Severus replied, somewhat more gently. “But I feel certain you will be able to control yourself in a duel against Malfoy. And I would caution you against becoming too overconfident about your own abilities, as well. In fact, I think it would perhaps be beneficial if we put those abilities to the test.”

“A test?”

“Against myself, of course,” said Severus smoothly, evaluating Harry’s expression as he spoke. The boy looked defiant.

“Fine,” said Harry shortly. “But I think you’re going to be surprised I’m not as weak as you think.”

“Excellent,” Severus responded evenly. “Then I shall not hold back. And perhaps you might find yourself surprised, as well.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, almost daringly.

“Simply that you may feel powerful now, but you should remember the effects of the environment in which you practice. I would be surprised if after this short amount of time, you had learned to wield the magic that took your Mother- who was quite a talented witch, I might add- years to harness.”

Harry stared unblinkingly ahead; he looked to be on the edge of retort for some time, but the words never came. He knew that Severus was not wrong, but he was inexplicably angry with him for saying it. Finally, as a method of avoiding inevitable capitulation, he silently rose and left the study. He knew that it would not make his Father happy, but he hoped he would simply let him go.

Now, it was Severus’ turn to growl. At once he went after his son, moving swiftly out of the study and down the hallway.

“Harry!” he shouted in way of an order, as the boy began to ascend the stairs at the end of the narrow corridor. “Stop this at once!”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, one foot upon the first step of the flight. Slowly, he turned, and innocently inquired, “Stop what, sir?”

“You know very well, Harry.”

“Can’t I just go? There’s nothing else for either of us to say! You’ve given me my orders.”

Severus watched him for a moment, considering his request. Should he allow the conversation to end here? “No,” Severus said decidedly after a moment. “I’m not done with you yet. Into the living room.”

Harry seemed to deliberate for a moment whether he would acquiesce, but after a moment descended the staircase and followed Severus into the other room, shoulders slumped in defeat.  

“Tell me what exactly you are so damn angry about, Harry,” Severus said a moment later as Harry was flopping down onto the couch. He sat across from him in the high backed chair adjacent to the fireplace. “Please, explain it in detail, so that I can understand your incessant petulance.”

“I don’t want to purposely lose a duel to Malfoy,” Harry said as though it were obvious.

“Yes, Harry, that much I realize. But do you see why it is necessary?”

“I see why you think it is necessary.”

“Do you have another option you’d like to propose?”

“Not now… but maybe I could think of something.”

“Yes, well. When you come up with a plan more plausible than what Lupin and I were able to come up with together, you may let me know. Until then, I think you will need to come to terms with this one.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agreed grudgingly.

Severus stared at Harry with a distressed expression, allowing silence to descend over them as he debated his next move. He could see that for now, at least, Harry was determined to hold on to his anger, yet he couldn’t let him walk away without making him understand.

“Your anger is wasted on me, Harry. I am not your enemy.”

Harry folded his arms and looked away, and Severus continued, “I know that this is difficult for you, but it is nothing that can be helped. It is not my fault, it is not yours. I am simply attempting to bring you to success. Little though you may want to hear it, that may require the sacrifice of your ego… but I would rather you lose some pride than your life.”

“I get it,” said Harry softly, “But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

When Severus did not answer him after a moment, Harry slowly rose back to his feet. “I’m going to practice.” It was not necessarily a request for permission, but he did not move from the spot where he stood until Severus gave him an affirmative nod.

“Practice diligently,” said Severus. “I will evaluate your progress early tomorrow.”

Harry nodded his comprehension and left the room quickly; he reached the top of the stairs in record time. His breathing was labored when he arrived at the door of the white room. He took a moment to steady himself—he knew that it was unwise to enter in an emotionally volatile state. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the dissipation of anger.

In some rational corner of his mind, Harry knew that his Father was correct—it was not the older man that he was angry with, though he felt frustrated after his encounter with him to be sure. But he wondered whether it was Severus’ gruff manner that left his feathers so unbearably ruffled, for logically everything that the man had said was rooted in reason.

It was Harry’s inability to develop a concrete argument against him that left him feeling most helpless. Perhaps his Father’s plan would accomplish what they hoped—that Voldemort would delay an open attack while Harry gained strength—and he could not contest the importance of this goal. However, it was a decision he needed to make for himself, and the idea of purposely losing to Malfoy was too humiliating to accept.  

Harry felt he deserved to make his own choices regarding the war against Voldemort. The complete absence of control over his own life was maddening. In accepting this plan, he would once again be making a concession to his Father and all others involved when he preferred to follow his own intuition.

And what was more, Harry could not shake the idea that if only he could once again peek into Voldemort’s mind—if he could do so while the Dark Lord remained unaware of his presence there—he might gain a better sense of control over his own future. He increasingly felt his enemy’s presence at the walls of his mind as he gained power, and though he had not said so to his Father, he wondered if that might be the reason that Voldemort had taken to the idea that he was becoming stronger. As long as he resisted his efforts to invade his mind, Voldemort would continue to guess at his strength. But if he allowed him access, using Legilimancy to steer the Dark Lord towards the proper thoughts… and in turn gained access to invaluable information, he felt certain that this would be his greatest weapon yet.

Calm in his resolution to maintain some control over his life, Harry opened his eyes and stepped into the room.  

xxx

The crumpled figure in the center of the room might have been a muggle but for the telltale midnight blue of ministry robes adorning it. Sobbing, pleading for a life that surely would not be granted, a pang of disdain ripped through Harry’s chest as he stared down at the bloodied man lying on the stone floor of the cavernous room.

Above him, with his wand extended in the victim’s direction, Draco Malfoy stood with strong posture, his lips curled in an expression that reminded him sharply of Lucius Malfoy. And while the language of his form indicated that he did as he was bidden with pleasure, the faintly grey tinge of his skin indicated otherwise.

Harry rose and moved slowly toward the figure; the heels of his boots echoed ominously with each step he took. A visible shudder shook the spine of the man who was trying in vain to raise his body into an upright position.

“A shame we’ve had to take such measures, truly.” The voice was a high pitched drawl and did not belong to him, Harry realized dimly, but it seemed to be coming from his own lips. “I was certain we had been rather clear about what we expected from a man of your position.”

Extending his leg and placing the toe of his boot under the man’s ribs, Harry rolled him onto his back. He felt himself smile chillingly, and the man squeezed his eyes closed. With little warning, he raised his own wand and unleashed a wordless spell with the full force of his anger behind it. At once, a hollow scream filled the room to bursting, gaining momentum with each painfully long second that passed.

“I—” the man gasped as the spell finally ended, “I couldn’t help it, my Lord—the other governors, they wouldn’t allow— there were no open positions on the board—”

“Yes, well,” Harry hissed coldly, “I think one position has just been vacated. Draco, finish him.”

“No, plea—!”

But the objection came too late. A lightning flash of green, and the figure was no longer a man, but a corpse lying prone before him. And when Harry raised his eyes to Draco, he saw that it was no longer he who had his wand raised, but rather an older version who loomed near.

“Apologies, my Lord,” drawled Lucius Malfoy, stepping forward and examining the body with an expression of most sincere contempt. “But he was mine to repay.”

Harry wrenched his body round to face Lucius and suddenly his balance was thrown. He toppled forward and threw his arms out as a brace, but his legs were tangled in his robes. He tumbled sideways and landed with a shocking umph upon hardwood floor.

All at once, Harry’s eyes sprung open and an unconscious shout issued from his mouth. His vision was all black, and he struggled to unwind his legs from the trap that was binding him. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he stared up at the four poster bed looming above him.

Breathing heavily and heart racing, Harry unwound from the tangled bedclothes and scrambled to his feet. He all but lunged at the wand upon his nightstand, and fumbled to fit his glasses back on his face. Shakily, he lit the oil lamp next to his bed to light his journey to the lavatory.

Harry illuminated the room and moved to the sink, removing his spectacles and splashing cold water onto his face. He stared up at his mirror image and patted his face dry slowly; the normalcy of the act assured him that he was in fact standing in his Father’s house, safe with the man sleeping in the room next door to him.

Sleeping, he hoped. With some trepidation, Harry glanced out into his bedroom. No sign of his Father. He crept to the door of the room and pressed his ear against it. No footsteps. Though he was still shaken, he sighed with relief and crept back to his bed.

He left the oil lamp lit, but rearranged the coverlet on his bed and crawled underneath it.

It had been months since Harry had experienced a nightmare of this magnitude. And it didn’t seem to be merely a nightmare—Harry doubted if his mind could invent such a vivid story.

Harry attempted to clear his mind. Yet as he laid in bed letting the lamp burn low and wishing for sleep, it was the image of Draco’s pale and fearful expression that flashed through his mind every time he closed his eyes. It had not the expression of glee, the swelling of power that Harry had expected. He found himself feeling… was this pity, he felt?

Harry would not have believed it possible to feel any sort of sympathy for Malfoy’s situation. To him, it had seemed inevitable that he would follow in his Father’s footsteps. Had he not brought this on himself? Was this not a climax in the plot of what had seemed to be the very predictable storyline of Draco Malfoy’s life?

But it was pity, Harry knew, though he very much wanted to deny it. It almost made him angry, the thought that he had been somehow coerced into experiencing empathy for someone who was the closest thing to an arch nemesis he had. Other than Lord Voldemort, of course.

And at that thought, it occurred to Harry that perhaps he and Malfoy did have a common enemy. Was there any possibility that he could set aside his contempt for the blonde Slytherin for the sake of at last eliminating Voldemort? He wasn’t certain; however, he realized begrudgingly, he knew he would have to at least try.

xxx

Severus woke to a room dimly lit by the mid-morning sunrise with a stiff neck and a foul mood. Growling, he rolled away from the prying rays of sunshine that were sure to grow progressively brighter and began kneading at the sore base of his skull. In the post-sleep haziness of morning, it took a few moments to remember the reason for the feeling of aggravation that had clung to him even through the night.

Harry had not reemerged after their disagreement the previous evening, and though Severus didn’t find this exactly surprising, he did find it mildly disheartening. He was becoming tired of every conversation becoming a battle and mildly frustrated that he hadn’t been able to avoid yet another one. The war was dominating their lives and the tension of each conversation was a symptom of the continuous pressure they faced. And what was worse, Dumbledore had seen it happening before Severus had even realized it himself.

Furthermore, Severus recalled as he rose from bed and moved toward the lavatory, he had told Harry he would test his dueling skills today, and if there was one thing that Severus felt certain to cause an argument, it was the marrying of combat and criticism that was sure to accompany a training session. Severus winced at the thought and stepped into the shower.

Perhaps, Severus considered, such an event was best saved for a better day. Yet he couldn’t be certain when such a day would arrive; when was the last time that all of the factors had aligned in their favor? Severus could not recall one in recent memory. At what cost would he keep delaying Harry’s training, or saving the grimmest information for days when they would be better received? All of this in the name of preparation, when there was no guarantee that they would ever be prepared enough. But they couldn’t pause the war, so they kept hurtling towards an unknown deadline, hoping they would be ready when it rose unexpectedly to meet them.

Severus growled audibly and blasted the hot water, rotating to let it hit the sorest parts of his back, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. No, he was not looking forward to the coming day, for he felt fairly certain that Harry would face him with equal chagrin.

Severus soon stepped out of the shower and wiped the mirror clean. The image staring back at him wasn’t a pretty one; his shoulders and chest were marked with thin white scars, his skin showing all the signs of having endured years of stress and ill-care. Greying stubble clung to his cheeks. His hair, wet, hung in black drapes around his face, drawing the purple out of the circles beneath his eyes. It occurred to him the physical toll the past several years had taken on his body; he looked much older than his years. He wondered briefly how many years were left in him, then shook the thought from his head.

At one point, Severus had been certain of his rather imminent demise. Spying on the Dark Lord, risking his life daily to atone for his past misdeeds and out of loyalty for the only person who had ever given him a second chance… now he hoped to stay alive for the second person to do so. Yet as Dumbledore had so graciously reminded him, his life was not a guarantee. Make the most of the time you may have left, he had said… Severus sighed wearily and grabbed the nearest towel.

Severus dried his hair and dressed for the day, and by the time he’d bundled himself tightly into his black, repressive robes, he had also put each troublesome thought back into its respective box and had tucked them all neatly into the back of his mind.

After a brief sweep of the lower level, Severus concluded that Harry had not yet emerged from his bedroom. Whether because he was still sleeping or still avoiding him, Severus did not know. Deciding it best to leave Harry to his own devices until he felt inclined to show himself, Severus tucked himself away in the study with a thick stack of papers to correct and a book to read for when he became tired of the substandard work he was likely to have received.

A third of the way through the stack of papers, Severus finally heard footsteps down the hallway; Harry was awake. He set his quill aside and listened, wondering if he should rise and greet his son with a conciliatory offer of breakfast, if only to smooth over the residual tension lingering from their conversation the night before. A moment later, however, it was Harry who had come to him, edging apprehensively into the study. He stood at the door for a moment as though he did not know what to say.

“Good morning,” Severus offered. Then, in an attempt at normality, added, “How did you sleep?”

Harry shrugged, but seemingly more at ease, stepped further into the study. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Certainly,” said Severus, remaining impassive despite the fact he felt quite pleased. “Perhaps over breakfast?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Harry, and Severus suspected that he too had grown tired of having conversations over a desk, where they seemed to inherently assume the role of teacher and student.

They moved to the kitchen where a simple assortment of tea, toast, and jam was spread across the table waiting for them. As the two sat, Severus watched Harry’s expression carefully. The boy seemed subdued- perhaps even abashed? But he could not be sure whether his guarded expression indicated contrition or resentment.

“I thought a lot about what you said, last night,” Harry said after some time, concentrating on spreading jam evenly across his toast as he spoke.

Severus resisted the urge to prompt him on, settling instead for waiting watchfully. Harry took a bite of his breakfast and set it back upon his plate, finally meeting his eyes across the table.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” he admitted, though he looked as though he would rather not have. “But I wish you would have asked my opinion rather than commanding me to do as I’m told.”

Severus frowned and nodded slowly; at once, he could see that he (not for the first time) had gone about their conversation the wrong way. “I… can see that would have been preferable. It was my aim, in speaking with you before Dumbledore, to avoid making the decision for you, but I can understand it may not have seemed that way.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

Severus’ admission seemed to be the opposite of what Harry had expected, for he again went quiet, returning to his breakfast.

“I hope you realize, Harry,” Severus spoke into the silence, not because he wanted to say it, but because it needed to be said, “it is never my intention to fight with you. I simply want what is best for you. Perhaps I push too hard for that, sometimes.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either,” Harry admitted quietly. “But I’m never going to be the kind of person to simply accept everything I’m told. Maybe I need to decide some things for myself.”

“And have you… considered what you would prefer to do? If Malfoy is ordered to test your strength?”

“I have. I think… I do think that your plan is best. I can’t think of another way.”

Severus tried not to appear too relieved. “It may not become an issue for some time, Harry. We can only guess based on the information we have been given, and our sources are subjective at best.”

“Well, I hope that’s the case,” said Harry, but he did not sound hopeful at all.

It was difficult for Severus to quantify just what he felt towards Harry in this moment. The boy was resigned; it seemed so unlike Harry to concede so quickly that Severus wondered for a moment if it was a sign of his normally high spirits breaking under the pressure of Severus’ domineering personality.

“I know that I told you I would test you, today, but if you would prefer to wait-”

“No,” Harry objected at once. “No, I think we should go through with it. I need to know, one way or another, if I’m able to control my magic in a duel. I hated you for saying it, but you’re right. Practicing in that room isn’t going to show me whether I’m ready to use white magic against Voldemort.”

“Very well,” Severus responded, and he reconsidered his former assessment. Perhaps is was not that Harry’s spirits were breaking, but that the weight of the task he was faced with was pushing him to new heights of resolution. “I need to tend to the potion, first, and then outside would be best, I believe.”

“Outside?” asked Harry.

“Well it won’t do to go blowing up the house,” quipped Severus, rising from his seat. “Along with everything in it- namely the potion, which is very near completion.”

“Right,” said Harry, following Severus from the room.

“In the interim, I suggest you prepare,” said Severus pointedly, before turning to ascend the stairs. “As I promised-”

“I know, I know. You won’t be gentle,” Harry grumbled; his Father nodded curtly and resumed his climb. Harry moved to do the same; he hoped to clear his mind, and quickly, for he couldn’t allow Severus to see all of the thoughts that were turning over in his head after last night’s dream.  

xxx

For weeks, Harry had been practicing diligently at every given opportunity. And every time he had done so, he’d felt confident that he was growing exponentially stronger as the days went by. Now, however, as he followed his Father through the winding path of the overgrown garden, looking for an adequate clearing in which to test his skills, he wondered whether he had overestimated the measure of improvement he had made.

Harry’s trepidation was owed in part to the power he knew that Severus Snape possessed. He wondered whether he would be able to contend with him and felt painfully aware of the fact that if he couldn’t, it meant he was that much farther from being able to defeat Voldemort. It was the results of the duel that he feared more than the duel itself.

“This ought to work,” came Severus’ deep voice as they entered into a clearing that had the appearance of an overgrown courtyard. Weeds grew up from the spaces in between the paver stones, many of which were cracked or being swallowed by the ground underneath, and several decrepit statues lined the sides, which Severus began blasting out of the way at once. Harry ducked as a large chunk of stone whizzed towards his head.

Before long, a large space was cleared for them and Severus turned to Harry. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Harry responded in kind, pulling his wand out and attempting to quiet his mind.

“Remember that your wand is only one form of defense, now. Try to focus on your emotion and the environment around you, rather than shouting basic spells.”

Harry nodded resolutely. “I know.”

“Any last words?” asked Severus in jest as he raised his wand, but he felt an instant pang of guilt as Harry winced. “Then on my count.”

Harry closed his eyes and focused his mind, only dimly aware of Severus’ voice counting in the background. On the word three, his eyes sprang open and he raised his wand, barely countering the first spell Severus had cast his way.

“Protego!” A second shield erected, Harry had only seconds to draw strength. As soon as Snape’s next spell hit, he was jolted backwards and his concentration was broken again.

“Protego!” he shouted again, this time holding his wand in one hand and casting his other off to the side as though to draw power from his environment; he felt his fingertips tingling and again closed his eyes for concentration. He extended his hand in Severus’ direction and willed the energy he seemed to absorb to flow from him again, to the avail that his next shield spell blocked three successive blasts from across the courtyard before falling.

With attacks flying his way in rapid succession and with no verbal spells to go off of, Harry’s quickest defence was to continually raise a new shield each time his last one was broken. Severus moved swiftly, fluidly, with an expression of concentration that told Harry he wouldn’t be given a reprieve. It was all happening so quickly he had no time to focus on his emotions in order to wield any sort of power.

Another shield went up; another spell hit, and Harry was blasted backwards, landing in the soft patch of plants that bordered the brick landscape. He jumped up to defend himself again, but quickly was hit with another spell, this time with no charm to buffer the hit. He screamed as he fell, barely having regained himself after the last attack.

“Get up!” Severus shouted at him from across the courtyard, fury in his eyes. “Stop countering and start attacking; are you waiting for a bloody invitation?”

“I can’t!” Harry responded furiously as he scrambled to his feet and marched back towards Severus. “You’re moving too fast!”

“Do you think the Dark Lord will stop to wait for you to get back on your feet? Do you expect he will want to take turns?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“I can’t concentrate when I’m thinking about blocking your next attack!”

“Then you’re not ready!”

“I guess I’m not!” Harry shouted at once, and Severus’ open mouth snapped shut. They stood for a moment, staring at each other from a distance, Harry breathing heavily and Severus looking resigned… or was it disappointed?

“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” Harry said finally, kicking a rock out of his way as he turned to stalk back towards the house. Severus followed at once.

“We’ll try again.”

“Not until I’ve practiced-”

“I can help you, Harry-”

“Every time you try to help, I just feel like I can’t do anything right!” Harry whirled around to face his Father, who looked as taken aback as ever. For once, it seemed that Severus did not know how to respond.

“I told you I would not go easy on you, Harry, I thought I was quite clear.”

“Yeah, you were,” said Harry. “But I just… I thought I was stronger.”

“You are. You never would have been able to block as many of my attacks before.”

“But blocking isn’t good enough.”

“You are correct. But it is a start.”

“I haven’t got time for a ‘start’ at this stage or I’m going to end up finished!”

“Harry,” Severus said, half sighing, as he stepped forward to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You lack focus, not strength. That is something we can work on. You struggled with Occlumency, as well, and now look how long it has been since you’ve had a dream.”

A little too quickly, Harry broke eye contact, and Severus’ brows lowered. “Harry? Have you been having dreams again?” Harry didn’t respond, and Severus grasped his other shoulder and gave him a slight shake. “Tell me! Have you been having dreams again? Look at me!”

“Just one, okay?” Harry admitted, wrenching his shoulders from Severus’ grasp and turning back towards the house.

“Harry!” Severus shouted after him, but Harry walked quickly ahead of him. At a distance, Severus followed him into the house, and by the time they had arrived at the front doors, he had caught up with his son.

“Why would you keep this from me? When did you have the dream?”

“Last night,” Harry said, kicking off his shoes and ducking into the living room. Severus pursued.

“Last night? And you said nothing of it?”

“I didn’t want to tell you-” Harry started, then seemed to think better of it. “I didn’t think it would do anything but make you worry.”

“Well of course it worries me, Harry, but for good reason! I need to know these things. Have you been practicing Occlumency?”

Again silence. “Harry,” said Severus, now at a deadly whisper, when the boy wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Are you letting him in?”

Alarmed, Harry’s eyes flew to Severus’ face; he found that he could not bring himself to lie convincingly, so he simply shrugged and sat down upon the couch, head in his hands as he braced for the coming lecture. Severus, however, merely sank down next to him and sat in silence, seemingly waiting.

“I just thought- maybe if I could direct him to the right thoughts, maybe I could have some control over him, or know what he was planning next… I’m so sick of sitting around, waiting for the next report which may or may not be the truth.”

“Control? That’s what you’re taking such risks for? You cannot be this foolish.”

“I’m not foolish!” Harry snapped. “Desperate… maybe. But not foolish.”

“You can use whichever word you’d like, Harry, but you cannot argue the reckless nature of your actions. When will you learn to talk to me?”

“I can’t talk to you,” said Harry. “You’ll overreact, try to stop me-”

“If you’re about to do something extremely dangerous, of course I’ll stop you! But perhaps if you must hide something from me, you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.”

“I shouldn’t have to live by your rules. You should trust me to make the right decisions. I’m nearly of age.”

“Even adults live by rules, Harry,” said Severus sternly. “It has nothing to do with your age. Even at nearly forty, I still go to Dumbledore for advice when I am unsure of the correct course of action- sometimes we need perspective outside our own. I would of course have cautioned you against letting the Dark Lord into your mind, but for good reasons- reasons you’ve apparently forgotten yourself. And did you gain anything by your endeavor?”

Harry thought of what he had learned of Malfoy, but couldn’t admit to Severus that he had anything resembling sympathy for him. He shrugged.

“Let me help you, Harry. I am trying to give you more independence. But even the wisest of Wizards can still benefit from some guidance. I won’t be your prison guard, any longer, but will you let go of just a little control to let me be your mentor?”

For the fact that Severus Snape was often a callous and unpredictable man, Harry could not help but notice the incredible amount of effort he was putting forth in securing Harry’s trust- in asking, rather than ordering. And while he felt defiant at his line of questioning, and resented being scolded for his actions, he had to admit that he wanted to let himself depend on someone else. Maybe, just possibly, that didn’t mean relinquishing control of his life, but rather regaining control of circumstances that had moved beyond what he alone could handle.

“Yeah, maybe I could do that,” Harry founding himself muttering, with the slightest attempt at a smile as his eyes met his Father’s.

“Good,” said Severus, rising then from the seat of the couch. “Then perhaps you will allow me to recommend that we return to Hogwarts; I’d like to hear about this dream of yours, and as I’m certain the Headmaster will as well, there’s no point to you repeating it twice.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, feeling relieved that Severus was not nearly as angry with him as he had expected. “I’ll get my stuff.” He turned to leave the room, but paused at the door. “And Dad?”

Severus glanced up sharply, as though surprised. “Yes?”

“Thanks,” Harry said in a breath, almost mumbling, as he fixed his eyes on the floor. “You know, for trying. I’m sorry I’ve been a pain.”

“You’re not a pain, Harry,” Severus replied, but at Harry’s dubious look, amended. “Well, yes, you are- but you’re one I don’t mind, at any cost.”

With a chuckle, Harry replied, “Thanks. That means a lot.”

xxx End Chapter xxx