Chapter Text
It was getting worse. Throughout the next three days, Ron was in a foul mood with Harry, which showed no sign of abating. The smallest things could set him off. Studying, even, which Ron had always needed to be persuaded into before, was suddenly a bone of contention. Harry had merely volunteered to accompany Hermione to the library, wanting to get a jump start on his defense homework, and without warning found himself squarely in Ron's crosshairs.
“You can come if you like!” Harry protested. “I'm not stopping you! I'd like you to come.”
Ron glared at him venomously. "Whatever. I've got plans to play snap with Seamus tonight anyway."
Harry shook his head as they walked out of the Great Hall after dinner. No one made plans to play exploding snap. There was always at least one game running in the common room, and it worked better with more players.
"Ron," he began, but Ron raised a hand. "Save it," he snapped. "I'll see you in the common room."
Harry watched in bewilderment as the redhead stormed off.
"I wish he'd just tell me whatever it is I'm doing wrong," he commented.
Hermione looked at him curiously.
"What?" demanded Harry.
"Well, don't you think that's a little like the pot calling the kettle?" Hermione asked, mildly.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Why was everyone being so cryptic today? "What do you mean?"
"Well," she said, slowing their pace, "you've not exactly been forthcoming with your own emotions, have you?"
She met his eyes as she continued, and he could see her earnest expression. "Ron and I have been worried that you might be taking occlumency too far.
Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Last year you were always on at me to take occlumency more seriously. Now I've finally started practicing and suddenly I'm taking it too far?"
Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Harry," she said. "I'm really proud of you for sticking with it and you've made brilliant progress. It's just that I think you've gone far enough now, don't you? You've stopped having visions and dreams, haven't you?"
"I have," Harry admitted, "but I've really only just scratched the surface of occlumency. There's so much it can be used for!"
"Like hiding away unwanted emotions?"
"Exactly!"
Hermione smiled a grim smile of triumph. "I knew it!" she said. "I've been reading up on occlumency, Harry, not that there's much in the library. Excessive use can make it difficult to actually feel emotions. People occlude the uncomfortable emotions and therefore don't face them."
"And what, you think I'm hiding from my feelings? When have I ever been a coward?"
Hermione placed a placating hand on his shoulder. "You're always cheerful, Harry. Unnaturally so, considering the circumstances. I think you're using occlumency to hide from your grief about Sirius. And it wouldn't make you a coward if you were. It's only human. Grief is difficult for everyone."
She paused, as if feeling her way through the conversation one word at a time, trying to avoid setting off an eruption from Harry's volatile temper, before continuing in a quieter voice. "It's Sirius's birthday in a fortnight, isn't it?" At Harry's wordless nod, she continued, "We've been concerned that you're not dealing with it, Harry. You're using occlumency to wall yourself off from your grief and it's not healthy. Eventually you'll be so shut off from your own emotions you won't even be able to feel the good ones."
Harry didn't respond to this, too busy thinking about what had been said. Was Hermione right? Was he abusing occlumency?
As if sensing that no further discussion would be helpful, Hermione simply smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder. "Talk to the professor next time you have an occlumency lesson scheduled," she advised. "See what he has to say."
After a moment, Harry nodded, but internally he felt a sense of unease. It was easier said than done, he thought glumly, to spend time with Snape. His last lesson, three weeks ago, had been a mere half hour during dinner, which Snape had failed to turn up to; a house elf informing Harry at the door to his office that the professor had been called away. Occlumency lessons had become even more sporadic and unpredictable. He could have two or three close together, or go weeks on end without seeing Snape outside of defense lessons.
As luck would have it, however, Harry received his next house-elf delivered summons a mere three days after his conversation with Hermione. Snape often used house elves to communicate with Harry, instructing them to leave notes under his pillow. Harry was used to checking for them now. After his last conversation with Snape, Harry had received a similarly-delivered copy of a textbook page, detailing a spell that could be used to obscure the written word to all but the caster. He had been able to use it to successfully share his book with Hermione, but had been disappointed not to have received his answer personally.
The occlumency lesson was a productive one, but five minutes from the end (sweating and sore but very pleased with his progress), Harry declined the invitation to try one final time to embody his mental shield.
"I actually had a question, sir," he volunteered, "about occlumency."
Snape merely raised an eyebrow slightly, which Harry took as an invitation to continue.
"It's just that Hermione thinks I'm occluding my emotions too much. She's been researching it, apparently, and said something about not being able to feel anything at all if I keep it up."
Snape frowned at this thoughtfully, leaning back slightly against his desk, arms folded.
"It is possible," he drawled, "but generally only with extremely prolonged and frequent usage, which is why I have not mentioned it to you before. It is true, however, that it is not designed to be a long-term coping strategy; more of a stop-gap, until there is a convenient time to deal with the actual emotion and its cause." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What emotion does Miss Granger feel you've been avoiding?"
Harry shrugged, glancing away momentarily. "Grief, I guess."
Severus inclined his head at this. "Never tell her I said this, but your Miss Granger is remarkably perceptive."
Harry fought the urge to smile at the compliment to his friend. "What should I do then, sir, if not occlude the guilt away?"
"Talk to someone, Potter. Tell them about Black, about how you feel regarding his passing. When it is safe to do so, it is better to feel. Even if it hurts. Not that I am an expert, by any means."
Harry nodded, thoughtfully. "Thank you, sir."
Snape merely waved his hand in dismissal.
A week and a half later, at eight o'clock on Tuesday night, Harry checked his map, donned his cloak and made his way down to the dungeons once more. He let himself in, still oddly pleased by his own presence on the wards. Every time the door opened at his touch, it felt like he belonged. He slipped in, but the living area was empty. He headed back into the central entrance lobby and down the passageway that led to Snape's potions lab. He knocked quietly on the closed door, before pushing it open.
Snape was wiping down his workbench, several cauldrons bubbling away in various corners of the room, filling the space with vapours and mists of different colours and consistencies. He looked up at Harry's entrance, but then immediately back down at the bench he was scrubbing.
"Pass me the salt, would you?" he said, and Harry nodded, moving directly to the cupboard, and the shelf where he knew it was kept. He returned it to Snape and they worked side by side, silently scrubbing the counter with the salt to purify before it could be properly washed clean.
When Snape was finished, he returned to a cauldron, one that Harry recognised, as the potion within still black as night, but now with a faint twinkle, like a star-scattered sky. Harry pulled out a stool and set himself down on it to watch.
"It's Sirius's birthday today," he said. "Hermione said I need to let my emotions in."
Snape finished his count and added a carefully measured liquid from a phial. "And what do you think?" he asked, as he lowered the temperature on his burner.
Harry hesitated, steeling himself. "I think I've been occluding a lot today, but I'm… I'm scared to stop. I remember what you said before, about talking. Do you really think it would help? Talking about Sirius, I mean.."
Severus straightened and said, seriously, "I would not have suggested it if I did not." He frowned at the counter in front of Harry. "That can be wiped down now."
Harry nodded, thoughtfully, picked up a sponge, from the bucket of water Snape had brought over. He began to wipe the salt off the counter, dropping handfuls into the bucket.
"He offered to have me come and live with him, you know?"Harry began after a moment, his voice quiet. "Back when we first met. I'd no memory of him, and he'd not spoken to me in twelve years, but he immediately said I could. I never asked whether he suspected what life was like for me with the Dursley's– he'd seen me that summer, when I ran away, but I didn't recognise him then. I think he probably knew. I know his own home growing up wasn't great."
Severus had stopped cleaning and pulled up a stool. He felt the need to give this outpouring his full attention. The boy did not notice; he was still wiping, the counter long since clean of salt.
"He loved flying. On motorcycles, or broomsticks, or hippogriffs. His laugh was infectious and he never seemed phased by any problem. He was on the run but risked coming to Hogsmeade to be nearby during the Triwizard tournament."
Harry talked, and talked, and talked. Sometimes with a tinge of humour, often with a solemn air. And throughout all of it, Snape listened, quietly observing as his young charge laid all he wanted to say about his beloved godfather, Snape's second most hated rival, on the table, until finally the boy lapsed into silence.
"He sounds," Snape ventured once he was sure the boy was finished, "like a very devoted godparent."
"He was the best," Harry returned, a slight smile on his face despite the wobble now evident in his voice. He had stopped wiping the counter now, but his eyes were still fixed upon it.
"Sometimes, something happens and I think to write him a letter about it, but then I remember. And now," the boy gulped a lungful of air, clearly trying to keep a rising tide of emotion at bay." He looked up at Snape then, his eyes full of uncertainty, and Snape met his gaze, nodded once in encouragement. He could sense the moment when the boy's shields fell entirely, and he allowed the grief to fully rise up inside him.
"Now he's gone," Harry continued, his voice growing more unsteady by the word, "and I'll never write him a letter again. He's not there to read it. It's so unfair. And it's…" Here, the boy broke, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he breathed through the emotion, trying to hold back sobs that wanted to pull themselves free, his gasps almost eclipsing the final words, which he finally let out in a whisper, "It's all…my…fault." And then there were tears rolling down his face as he let out muffled sobs, finally overcome by the grief and guilt that had been warring within him since Sirius's death almost six months prior.
Snape had anticipated this and knew what his response must be, much as it galled him. He had seen Potter's response to physical affection over the years, knew he craved it but never initiated it. Teenagers did not usually desire hugs from their teachers, he knew. But he also knew that, in this moment, the boy was grieving, he was in pain and, what's more Snape knew this pain. He lived it. The pain of having lost a loved one through your own stupidity, though their levels of culpability differed widely. He would not insult the boy by trying to absolve him of guilt. It wouldn't work with Severus, and nor would it likely work with the boy. No, he would merely do what he could. This was a child in the throes of agonising torment. So, Snape cast a wordless scourgify on his robes to remove any lingering potion residue, stood up from his stool and crossed to the sobbing boy, pulling him in, wrapping his arms around the quaking shoulders and just holding him while he cried.
"It's OK, Harry," he murmured. "Let it out."
And he rubbed the boy's back soothingly as a pair of arms hesitatingly came around his back and the boy continued to release his sorrow into Severus’s shoulder.
Snape stayed like this, offering a silent show of support, for a few moments while the boy grieved. He mused that he'd only performed this particular function once before, for this boy's mother, when she'd been upset by the loss of her grandfather in their fourth year at Hogwarts.
As the boy's sobs abated and he moved to step back, Snape kept one hand on his shoulder and produced a handkerchief with the other, which he passed to Potter. "Tea, I think," Snape said, decisively.
He then proceeded to steer the boy through to their living quarters, much as he'd done months before, with the horcrux. He deposited the boy on the settee, with instructions to wait, before heading to the kitchen to make the tea, in order to give Harry time to compose himself.
By the time he returned, levitating the tea tray ahead of him, the boy looked more or less himself, albeit with slightly red eyes. Snape sat himself down and began to pour for two.
"I'm sorry, professor," the boy began, a ruddy colour beginning to stain his cheeks, "For…" he gestured vaguely in the direction of the lab.
Snape had known this was coming, but didn't want the boy to hide away out of embarrassment. He'd been where Potter currently was, and had decided to make it easier on the boy, for all it would cost him.
"I will not," he said, slowly and evenly, annunciating each word, "be accepting any apology for what just happened. No apology is due. I am aware that sorrow is often not an easy emotion for young men to handle without embarrassment," he paused, allowing himself to push away his own discomfort at what he was about to disclose, before continuing. "I know, because I have been where you are."
He felt the boy's attention focus more firmly on himself, and took a fortifying sip of tea. "My mother died when I was seventeen."
Potter looked up, seeking the man's gaze, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."
Snape waved it away, "It was a long time ago. At the time, as you may have surmised, your mother and I were no longer friends, after the…. incident, you witnessed in my pensieve." The boy flushed again at the mention of his transgression last year. "However, she saw Slughorn lead me out of the Great Hall one morning and probably noticed that I did not return to classes for two weeks afterwards. I daresay she heard rumours. My mother had been the victim of a violent attack. The attacker was not identified, but I fancied I knew who it was, for they'd done it before, and so I blamed myself; for not being there when it happened, for not sharing my concerns with someone at school or in the community. Having seen some scenes from my childhood, you can probably surmise what I believe occurred."
Harry stared at him in horror, "But, wasn't your mother a witch?" He said, confusion stealing across his face.
"Indeed," came the response, as Snape stared into the fireplace, watching the embers fly. "But her love for my father was her greatest flaw. I believe she'd have sooner raised her wand against me than against him, whatever he did to her. She probably didn't even have her wand with her; he resented it a great deal. But that is not the point of my story.
"When I returned to Hogwarts, I was angry and unfeeling; I had no one to confide in, you understand- she was a blood traitor after all, and it would have been foolish to mourn her passing in front of my fellow Slytherins. I did not yet know how to occlude, but I pushed all emotion down in an effort to cope with the grief. Your mother noticed this, and in spite of the break in our friendship, she took it upon herself to help."
The boy was curious, his body fully turned towards Severus, now. "What did she do?" he almost whispered.
"She pushed me into an unused classroom one day, about a month after I returned to Hogwarts. She had not been fooled by my attempts to look unconcerned by my mother's passing. There was a fireplace in the room. She lit it, and began to talk, in much the same way we began our discussion yesterday. She told me her memories of my mother, limited as they were, and asked me to add to them, which I, at length, did. I admitted to my feelings of guilt and I wept on her shoulder for quite some time. It helped. I have since experienced loss without the catharsis of allowing emotion to well to the surface, and have found it much more difficult to move on from. When I began this conversation with you, I knew where it would likely lead. If you like, you may think of it as my returning a favour that your mother once did me."
Harry thought for a moment, joining Snape in his contemplation of the fire.
"Did you become friends again?"
"No," came the response. "By that point it was rather too late; I had been marked by the Dark Lord, and knew associating with me would be dangerous for Lily. I did not wish to make her more of a target than she already was. I had begun to realise the inherent evil of the Dark Lord and his followers, yet could see no way out, and was not yet willing to admit the gravity of the mistake I had made by joining him."
Harry nodded, still staring forward at the fire, but Severus could see his features soften in pity and was forced to calm his instinct to snap. He did not deserve pity.
"It wasn't your fault, you know," came the boy's voice. "Your mother's death, I mean."
"I would say the same about your godfather," said Snape. "Yet you are unlikely to believe me. I, by the same token, will continue to feel my culpability in my mother's death. I thank you, however, for the thought."
Harry nodded again, then sat back and sipped at his tea. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Harry turned to meet the man's eyes fully and spoke again.
"Thank you, professor," he said, simply, and it was enough. Snape acknowledged him with a tilt of his head, then rose. "I will go and finish with the benches, if you are alright?"
"I'm fine," said Harry, rising likewise. "I should really help."
"You may if you wish," said Snape, carefully, "but there is no need. Outpourings of emotion can be taxing; it may be wiser to return to Gryffindor tower and rest. Baring one's soul is sufficient labour for one evening.”
Harry's mouth twitched up into the beginnings of a smile at this, but it was somewhat hollow. Snape frowned, searching mentally through the exchange in hopes of identifying the problem, but came up empty.
"Thanks, sir," said Harry, with a nod. "I'd better be going, I guess."
Snape felt sure he was missing something. Unless… but surely not. Harry was on the point of leaving when his war with indecision ended, and he called out, almost in spite of himself.
"Harry?" The boy stopped and looked back, but without any real curiosity or interest. "If," Snape began– why was this so difficult? He mentally shook his head at his own foolishness in this, but something kept him speaking. "If you feel the need at any point, your bedroom is always open to you."
Harry's eyes widened a little, as if in disbelief, but then a small but genuine smile spread across his face. He looked more like Lily, when he smiled. "Thank you, sir. That means a… well, it's…" He huffed a small laugh at himself. "Just, thank you."
"You are welcome," said Snape, surprised to find he meant it in every sense of the phrase.
Harry smiled at him once more, before once more donning his cloak. The door opened and shut by an invisible hand, and Severus was alone.