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Severus Snape did not believe in luck.
Every good Slytherin knew in the depth of their ambitious souls that one makes one's own luck. Fate and fortune and other such nonsense were but myths, perpetuated by those who would not take responsibility for their actions, or the inevitable consequences.
Severus Snape believed in potions.
He'd never encountered a potion he couldn't brew. Mistakes had been made over the years, but were duly exploited to gain knowledge and skill. It was with this well-honed skill, and a fair amount of natural talent, that Severus had brewed his own luck.
Admittedly, it was a blow to his professional ego when, despite Felix Felicis and the incredible sense of invincibility that went along with it, the Dark Lord had ordered his serpent to strike. As he lay dying, through the intense pain caused by the venom coursing through his veins, his professional side tried to determine where he'd gone wrong with the potion. Another detached part of him wondered if, given his status as a Death Eater, murderer and all-around despicable man, perhaps death was as lucky as he could hope to get.
A small spark of triumph flared when Potter's face came into his rapidly narrowing field of vision. Despite the foolish boy's floundering, the insufferable know-it-all proved the more resourceful of the two, and produced the phial with which to collect his memories. Thanks to Felix, and years of study and experiment, Severus would exit the world with no loose ends, staring into the stunning regard of the only person to whom he felt he owed anything.
"Look ... at ... me," he whispered, before the world faded to black.
Bright, warm light shone through his eyelids. There was absolute stillness around him. He was naked, and something like grass tickled irritatingly at his naked skin. No sooner had the feeling registered then it disappeared. When Severus opened his eyes, he was robed.
He knew this hill. It was here that the rare moments of happiness from his childhood had been spent, whiling away the hours with the only true friend he'd ever known. He was dead, he realised. And this was heaven. His hand brushed through the grass as he looked out onto 1970s England. In the real world, this hilltop had become a council estate long ago.
"Hiya, Sev."
Severus turned to see Lily climb up to him. She wore her yellow sundress that he always associated with her during this time. It was the colour of summer and stolen moments away from the hellish nightmare that was his family life.
"Lily," he breathed, brushing his hands over his robes, feeling somewhat reluctant to allow this girl to see what he'd become. For while she was her sweet eleven-year-old self, a glance down at his stained hands told him that he remained as he was. He didn’t want her to see what life had made of him.
"Why are you a child?" he asked.
"You tell me," she said with a smile that belied her innocent youth. Her gaze penetrated him, laying bare his soul. It occurred to Severus that here, on this hill, he was to be judged by the girl he’d betrayed.
He dropped his eyes to his hands, folding them in his lap. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly adamant that she should understand how deeply that regret went. "It's not enough, I know," he added. It would never be enough.
She placed a small hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I know," she said. "And you're right."
Severus closed his eyes. It was too much to expect forgiveness, but some part of him must have hoped that the penance he'd done over the last two decades would count for something. "I've done what I could to protect him," he said quietly.
"You were horrible to him, Sev."
And he had been. Every moment spent in conflict with Potter, there had been a voice telling him that his behaviour toward the boy had nothing to do with the role he was maintaining. He took it too far, only to reprimand himself for it once the boy skulked away out of his sight. Too personal. Too far.
He couldn't help it. Whenever he looked upon the boy, he saw the smug, arrogant face of his sworn enemy glaring back defiantly. He'd wanted to crush that look. He saw the boy as Lily's ultimate betrayal of him. She had chosen sides in the end, and Severus had lost.
"I'm sorry," he said again. He meant it, for whatever it was worth.
"You should tell him," the girl said.
"I'm dead."
"He's going to need you when it's over, Sev."
Severus met the girl's eyes, green as the grass he sat on.
Was he supposed to go to the boy after the Dark Lord killed him? "I should think he'd rather be greeted by you when he passes," he told her. He certainly didn't imagine Potter would welcome the sight of him.
"He'll choose whom he sees when he passes. I mean, you have to be there for him, there. In the living world," the girl explained impatiently.
"I'm dead," he reminded her.
"Yeah," the girl sighed. "But you won’t stay that way."
"Have I got a choice?"
She gave a girlish giggle. "Why do you think I'm here, silly?"
"I would prefer to stay here with you."
Her gaze hardened suddenly. He recalled dreading that look when they were kids. It usually meant that she was going to give him a bollocking for doing something terrible to her sister again, despite the fact that the nasty little wench deserved it. "Severus Snape," she began, her voice taking on an ethereal tone that gave Severus gooseflesh. "Because of you, that boy's an orphan. You've kept him safe for me over the years, but it's not enough. You robbed that child of happiness and that is what you must give back to him."
Severus' mouth dropped open in mute disbelief. He tried to come up with a tactful way of telling the girl that he'd just sent the boy to his death, and failed. "He's going to die."
"Neither of you will die unless you want to. Harry will choose to go back."
If the first part were true, Severus had no doubt about the second part. Something like relief filled him to know that Potter would survive his encounter with the Dark Lord. That his years of work hadn't been in vain. Simultaneously, he felt incredibly tired at the thought of living again. Of surviving this only to die another day. Never mind the impossible task his childhood friend had just given him. How was he to make Potter happy? Or anyone else for that matter?
"He hates me."
"You've been horrible to him," she said plainly. "But you'll stop, won't you, Sev?"
Severus nodded like a scolded child. And then he shook his head just as adamantly. "Don't ask me to do this."
"It's the only way I can ever forgive you," she said softly. "It's the only way you'll be able to forgive yourself."
Confronted with that open and caring gaze that made him think of grassy hilltops in July, he knew that he could never refuse her. "I'll try," he said.
A brilliant smile spread across her face. She leant over to wrap her thin arms around him. "You'll do it," she said faithfully. Severus' hand stroked the girl's head. "Maybe he can make you happy, too," she said as she pulled away. "It's time, Severus. Albus has sent a messenger. Be brave."
"Lily!" Severus called, but the hilltop and the girl had disappeared. Severus returned to a world of fiery pain that was fast cooling under the effect of some magic. A weight sat on his chest and Severus could feel a warm wetness sliding down his neck. Blood, he thought. He opened his eyes to see a brilliantly coloured array of feathers and the stretched neck of a phoenix, bending over him.
"Fawkes," Severus croaked, and reached up to stroke the bird. Fawkes gave a low, mournful cry and then took flight as Severus was drowned in a wave of sleep.
He was woken up some time later to the sound of screaming—not a panicked, fearful scream, but one that summoned all the sorrow, desperation, and rage in the world and used it to power a sound so terrible and anguished that it chilled Severus to hear it. Severus cracked open an eye just enough to identify the unlikely source.
The boy sat huddled in a corner of the room, eyes squeezed shut and shouting to the ceiling until his voice cracked under the strain of it. Potter buried his face in his hands and heaved a sob.
Severus felt very awkward to have been witness to this private moment. He was certain that Potter didn't realise he was alive, and equally certain that the vocal lament was not over his presumed death. Severus began to regret his decision to come back at all, and was suddenly taken with another thought.
His luck had clearly run out.
He considered playing dead a little longer, but the boy would learn the truth eventually. As there was no tactful way of announcing his presence, he tried for humour. "If your objective was to wake the dead, allow me to congratulate you on your efforts." The words rasped against his dry throat. Severus swallowed reflexively and opened one eye to gauge the situation. He was met by Potter's gobsmacked expression.
"Professor?" the boy squeaked. Severus watched embarrassment war with stunned disbelief. Embarrassment won out in dazzling colour. Potter hastily wiped his face.
"You were ... dead!"
Severus gingerly sat up, curling his nose at the stiff scratchiness of his robes around his neck. "I was," he said absently. His mind went to the hilltop, to Lily. To his new mission. He glanced over at the boy. Perhaps it was just a hallucination brought on by the dangerous mix of potions and venom – an infinitely more likely scenario.
The boy looked at him curiously. "Did you go to King's Cross?"
"What?"
Potter snorted and shook his head. "Nothing." He knelt up. "Do you ... need anything? Are you ... OK?"
"What's happening?"
"Nothing," Potter said quietly. "He's dead."
"And you're not," Severus confirmed.
"I died, in a way," the boy said.
Severus' mind made connections. "You died and went to King's Cross?" he said incredulously.
Potter laughed and then seemed to remember whom he was addressing. The smile quickly disappeared. "Sort of," he said. "I met Dumbledore there."
Severus nodded. He supposed there was some kind of logic surrounding whom one meets after death. The most important influence in one's life, perhaps. He then remembered that it had been a hallucination. "And the Death Eaters?"
"The ones who were left were arrested," Potter reported and lowered his eyes.
It occurred to Severus that he must have been counted as one of those who were not "left". He would likely be arrested as soon as he made it known that he'd survived. He could only hope that his time, Death Eaters might get a trial. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because the boy said, "I'll tell them what you did for us, Professor."
Severus met Potter's eyes. "It may not make any difference," he said.
Potter shrugged. "I'd better get back to the castle," he said, rising. Severus watched the boy's eyes focus on his neck. He blinked in surprise before meeting Severus' gaze again. "Can you manage on your own?"
Standing proved more difficult than Severus would admit to the boy, but he managed without help. "I'm fine," he grumbled.
"The marks are gone."
"Fawkes," Severus explained.
He watched understanding alight in the boy's eyes. "That's lucky," he said.
Severus frowned at the word, but decided the boy was probably right.
"I won't tell anyone I saw you," Potter offered graciously.
"I'm not a coward, Potter," Severus spat irritably.
"No," the boy said with a strange smile. "You're not that."
--
Severus didn't believe in luck, but he was beginning to believe in the inexhaustible good will of the Boy Who Lived. Without Potter's fierce determination, Severus didn't doubt that he'd have been sentenced to life for murder and had his wand destroyed. Instead, he got a year for using an Unforgiveable. It was a small price to pay for using such a spell, let alone using it to murder the Wizarding World's Most Beloved Lunatic. Even if Severus had been bound by duty and magic to kill the old man.
The year passed relatively quickly, all things considered. As he wasn't a high risk inmate, he was employed to make various minor healing potions for the prison infirmary, albeit under the strict supervision of the most unpleasant witch he'd ever encountered. As he was accustomed to cold stone and windowless rooms, he acclimated easily to the forbidding, impenetrable fortress. Azkaban was no longer the hell it had once been without Dementors spreading misery and fear.
His days kept him occupied, but in the quiet of the nights, his thoughts tended toward Potter. He'd heard echoes over the last few months of the numerous accolades bestowed upon the Wizarding World's saviour and some rumours of a persistent and futile campaign to free Severus. News of the boy's personal welfare, however, was lacking. Severus could only hope the boy had found happiness in the aftermath, without his intervention.
He was deposited back in the real world on a cold and wretched rainy day with his robes, his wand and a "good luck" from his escort. He sneered at the man and looked around to get his bearings. His eyes caught on a figure in the mist watching him. Severus cast an impermeable spell and blinked away the moisture.
"They told me you were getting out today."
"Potter?"
The boy approached. Severus was taken aback by how drawn the boy looked. He wondered if he'd not recently taken ill. "You didn't have to come," he said, by which he meant, "Why did you?"
"They told me you were getting out," he repeated. "I wanted to be sure you had somewhere to go."
"I would have thought you'd grown tired of hero work, Potter," Severus growled out of habit. The irritation that should have accompanied the words was strangely absent.
It was there in Potter's eyes, which reminded Severus suddenly of summer. "If you want me to fuck off, just say so," the boy spat.
Severus nearly called him on his language, but he no longer had that right. He heaved a regretful sigh. "I have a house," Severus said. At least, he thought he still had a house. He'd have left the wards up to stave off any squatters. Barring some natural disaster, it should still be standing.
Potter nodded. "I wasn't sure," he said. He pulled a small, brown box from his pocket. "Here," he said, handing it over. "I thought you might need a few things. It's just tea and a bit of food until you get settled again." A faint blush coloured the boy's pale cheeks, but those eyes glared at him defiantly.
Severus stared down at the box on the boy's palm. He reached forward to pick it up. His instinct was to growl at the boy that he didn't need charity, but that urge was quickly squashed by the far more powerful desire for tea. "Thank you," he muttered.
Potter stepped back. "I won't keep you. I expect you want to get home."
Severus nodded, but he was strangely reluctant to see him go. It surely had something to do with the promise he'd made to a dream. While he denied the veracity of his hallucination, he couldn't help but feel like ignoring the boy would be an additional betrayal to the woman who'd born him. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Potter's eyes widened with surprise. After a moment, a small smile curled onto his lips.
--
Severus' home, for want of a better word, was not in a terrible state, considering he'd not been there in over two years. Without being asked for help, Potter set to opening windows and lighting a fire before going into the dark, gloomy kitchen to begin preparing tea. Meanwhile, Severus made short work of the layer of dust covering everything before joining the boy.
"I don't know what you take in it."
"I don't see why you would," Severus answered dismissively. He poured a drop of milk in the bottom before adding the fragrant black tea. He brought the cup to his lips and blew lightly before taking a sip.
Brewed to perfection. This was freedom. It was nothing like the weak, dirty water of imprisonment. He just managed not to sigh ecstatically. He raised his eyes to see Potter watching him.
"Was it horrible?"
Severus shook his head. "It could have been worse," he responded.
"I thought about writing," the boy said and then gave a small cough of a laugh. "I didn't know what to say."
Understandable, Severus thought. He currently faced the same dilemma.
"Could I ask you a question, sir?"
Severus nodded warily.
Potter took a deep breath before saying quickly, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
He’d prepared himself for a different sort of question, one that would have explained the nervousness with which the question was delivered. "No," he said. "Why?"
"Just curious," Potter answered casually, but he seemed inexplicably pleased by the answer. "And your parents?"
"Dead."
Harry nodded. “Sorry.” He sipped his tea.
Severus fished his brain for other topics of conversation in the silence that followed. "Have you gone back to finish your studies?"
Potter shook his head. "They awarded me full qualifications," he said awkwardly. "I got lucky."
Severus sighed impatiently. "Luck has nothing to do with it," he snapped. "You defeated the Dark Lord. One might argue you earned your qualifications."
"I didn't do it alone," Potter said. "I couldn't have done it without you and Dumbledore, or Ron and Hermione. And an insane amount of luck,” the boy insisted with a grin that Severus hesitated to describe as cheeky. But it wasn't, not quite. It wasn't even sincere. There was something off about the boy, he realised, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.
"Your friends are well?" he asked.
"Good. Yeah. Ron's training to be an Auror and Hermione's got a job at the Ministry, revising regulations for Magical Creatures," he said.
"And you?"
"Me?"
"You're not working?"
The boy shook his head. "Not yet," he said.
"I had understood you wanted to be an Auror."
"I think I've had enough drama to last a lifetime," Potter said with a bleak smile. "And after what happened to you, I'm not interested in working for the Ministry."
"Potter, what happened to me was perfectly fair given the circumstances," Severus said, surprised to find himself in the unlikely position of having to defend what passed for a judicial system in Wizarding Britain.
"I'm not the only one who thinks it was unfair. You'd be surprised at the number of people who were incensed on your behalf." Potter met his eyes momentarily, before averting his gaze to stare at the teapot.
"Apparently not enough to make a difference," Severus pointed out. "I expected worse."
"They had no reason. All evidence showed you were innocent."
"Innocent?" Severus scoffed. "A year in a Dementor-free Azkaban is a small price to pay for everything I did.”
"They didn't know about all that. They had to look hard to find something to get you with. The use of an Unforgiveable? Come on. We were all using Unforgiveables by the end. You did what you had to for the war effort. You did what was expected."
Severus gave an incredulous look that was wholly useless as the boy was still watching the teapot. "I'm touched by your passionate defence," he said dryly. "And completely astonished by it. Potter did you even look at my memories?"
Potter hesitated before sighing, "I saw them. Do you believe in Fate, sir?"
"Fate?" Severus said, confused by the change in topic. "Of course not."
Potter nodded as though he expected that response. "Neither did Dumbledore. But, I've thought about it a lot. I think everything that happened had to happen just as it did so that Voldemort could be defeated. And that includes you overhearing the Prophecy. If just one thing in the chain of events hadn't happened, we wouldn't be here now."
Severus stared at the boy, baffled by what he was hearing. "What a load of rubbish," he scoffed.
A flicker of irritation lit up the boy's eyes for a brief moment. And then it was gone, covered up by a smile and a shrug. "We'll have to agree to disagree."
The man's blasé attitude toward the matter was infuriating. He expected more – anger, accusation. Lily deserved better. She deserved a son who would avenge her; one who would annihilate anyone remotely responsible for her death. She deserved a hell of a lot more than a fatalistic shrug.
Potter stood abruptly. "I'll go," he decided. "I expect you'd like to get settled. I'm at Grimmauld Place if you ...." The boy shook his head. "Need anything."
"Potter," Severus snapped. The boy turned and looked at him warily. "Why are you here?" Severus demanded. "We are not exactly friends." The last word was spit out like a bad taste.
"Why did you come back?" Potter asked suddenly.
"Come back?"
"I assume you were given a choice. Like me. To come back or to stay dead."
"I was never dead," Severus insisted. "As is clearly evidenced by the fact that I'm here now."
Potter laughed incredulously. "I watched you die, Snape. I saw it. And in the shack, you confirmed it."
Severus clenched his jaw. "I was hardly in any state to speak with authority."
Potter looked at him for a long time. Severus shifted uncomfortably. At length, the side of the boy’s mouth quirked up in amusement. "Just because it was in your head, sir, doesn't mean it wasn't real."
It wasn't until after the boy had quietly slipped out that Severus realised Potter hadn’t answered his question.
--
Severus stood before the familiar house, debating the wisdom of this visit. It had been months since he'd seen Potter, but for all that, he couldn't seem to escape the wretched boy.
Potter hadn't been exaggerating the number of people who were outraged on Severus' behalf. Severus had Potter to thank for that, and for his shiny new Order of Merlin that had been presented to him that very evening. Severus would have liked to be the sort of person who could have told the Ministry where they could stick their award, but Slytherin ambition proved stronger than dignity.
He posed compliantly in front of the cameras and shook hands with Shacklebolt, who was only too happy to finally silence the whinging hoards crying out for justice. Neither man on that stage truly believed the award was deserved, but the public would be appeased, and that was politics. As his hand was released, Severus looked out one last time with his most humbled smile. There, far removed from the applauding masses, Severus spied the untidy head of his champion slip out a side door.
Severus approached the door of Number Twelve, dressed in his best robes and trying to decide if he was here to thank the boy for his support, or merely to satisfy his curiosity.
Curiosity, indeed, a distant but persistent part of his conscience chided. He couldn't shake the tenacious feeling that he was forgetting something important. Severus rapped on the door and soon, it was opened by the house elf. Kreacher, his memory provided.
"Master Harry is not in," the elf informed him, not bothering to hide his disdain. Severus stopped the door closing with his booted foot. "Filthy traitor," the elf muttered.
"Good evening, Kreacher," Severus greeted with all the polity that the elf lacked. "When do you expect him?"
The elf narrowed his eyes. "Master doesn't want visitors," he insisted.
"It's all right, Kreacher." Severus raised his eyes to see Potter rounding the door, and was stunned by the boy’s appearance. He looked to have lost a stone since he’d seen him last. Dark shadows resided under the normally bright eyes. Potter placed a calming hand on the elf's shoulder. "Could you go and tidy away the paper in the kitchen, please?"
With one last glare in Severus' direction, the elf disappeared to do his master's bidding.
Pale, dry lips curled into a small smile. "I gave up hoping I'd see you again," Potter said. He stepped back and held the door open for Severus to pass.
The statement called Severus out of his shocked state. "Why would you hope to see me again?" Severus asked, puzzled.
Potter offered nothing but laughter in response. He turned to lead Severus through to the kitchen. Despite Potter’s orders to the elf, the table was littered with scraps of paper. The sink was teeming with unwashed mugs and bowls. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have tidied up," Potter said apologetically. He walked to the table to sweep up the scraps of newspaper with his hands. A rectangular piece fluttered to the floor as Potter moved to put the rest in the dust bin. Severus bent to pick it up.
Severus Snape, it said.
"Adding me to your scrap book?" Severus drawled.
Potter turned, eyes widening as they focussed on the scrap of paper. He looked up awkwardly. "I'd explain, but you'll think I'm crazy," he said, coming over to take the slip from Severus' fingers before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.
Severus narrowed his eyes. "As I'm already leaning toward that conclusion, you have little to lose," he said plainly.
Potter snorted. "Do you want tea? Or I have butterbeer. Or firewhisky?"
"Whisky," he answered.
"That's right. We're celebrating." Potter grinned. The smile lit up his eyes and for a moment the boy became something more than a spectre of himself. "Congratulations, by the way. I would have liked to come to the ceremony, but well ...." The boy shrugged and then turned to get the whisky.
Severus frowned. "I saw you."
Potter twisted around, holding two tumblers. Severus saw his face flush at being caught in the lie. "Oh." He handed over a glass. "Congratulations, anyway."
Severus took the glass with a puzzled stare. "I'm told that I have you to thank," he said.
"I only told the truth." Potter moved to sit at the table. He pulled the scrap out of his pocket and added it to a shoebox on the table. "How have you been?" the boy asked with a polite smile.
"What's in the box, Potter?" Severus said insistently.
The boy stared at him, worrying his lower lip. Eventually, he sighed. "Just after the war, there was something in the paper, about me. About you. Dumbledore. Every day. I got fed up and one day I cut all the names out. It makes me ... feel better." He looked up. "It sounds mad," he said with a small smile.
Severus conceded the point with a nod and an amused smirk. "But relatively harmless," he said. "And you just collect them?"
Potter shrugged. "Sort of," he said, not meeting Severus' eyes.
"Why aren't you with the Weasleys?" Severus asked pointedly. That Potter was alone in a cursed house was doing nothing to improve his state of mind, to say nothing about his physical health. It certainly wasn't going to inspire happiness.
"I was. But it was ... crowded." Potter shrugged. "I'm all right here, actually. It's been quiet since Mrs Black and I came to an understanding." A strange smile crossed his lips. A small shiver ran down Severus’ spine. "I managed to clean most of the rooms and ... well, there are just some rooms I don't go into."
"Still, it's a big house for one."
Potter shrugged. "There's Kreacher, too. Ron and Hermione visit pretty often."
"And you tell your elf to inform them you're not in."
He could tell by the stunned look on the boy's face that he had it right. Potter decided to lie about it anyway. "Of course not," he said.
Severus' patience for pretence had run out. "Do I look like a fool to you?"
"No," the boy said sullenly. "Look, I just wanted to be alone tonight, all right? I needed to think about ... everything."
"But you let me in."
"I had to."
Severus blinked. "Why?"
"I’d explain, sir, but you won't understand and I really don't want to argue with you."
Severus raised an eyebrow and stared silently until he could see the boy's resolve falter. He looked distinctly defeated as he lifted the lid of the box and withdrew a scrap of parchment, spreading it between them.
At first glance it looked like a crossword puzzle comprised of two letter words. Severus looked closer and recognized initials. AD – SS – HP stretched in the centre of the page. JP – LP were stacked on top of HP and RW – HG were written underneath. Above SS, TS and ES were written. The initials were all grouped into threes. There were diagonal lines through all the other letters. Only HP – SS remained.
"Before I start, I want you to know that I know how ridiculous this sounds. I have no proof, but neither can you prove I'm wrong." In other words, Severus thought, he was to keep his comments to himself. He nodded that he understood, but he wouldn't commit to remaining silent.
"So ..." Potter began and then paused to chew thoughtfully on his lower lip. "These represent the significant groups in my life. Groups that influenced my ... fate. My parents first, of course. It's thanks to them that I lived. You and Dumbledore, obviously. And Ron and Hermione. The first are dead. Ron and Hermione are together now. And Dumbledore ... That leaves you and me." Potter, who had addressed his explanation to the parchment, ventured to look toward Severus. "It sounds weird, but I think Fate hasn't finished with us yet."
Before Severus could think of a response, Potter barrelled on with his explanation. "I came back to kill Voldemort," he said. "That was my purpose. After that was done, I was sort of lost. And then it occurred to me that you came back too. And that without me here to explain everything you did, no one would know. That’s what I had to do next. Make sure the world knew you were innocent. Tonight, well, mission accomplished, right? So ... what do I do next? And why did you live? That's what I need to work out. That's why I let you in."
"To work out why I lived," Severus said dully.
Potter nodded. "Every time Fate is finished with a group, they are eliminated. My parents served their purpose.”
Irritation and logic got the better of him. "That's absurd, Potter—"
"I know it sounds harsh. But I don't think Fate cares about callousness, sir."
"You're forgetting that Granger and Weasley are very much alive," Severus growled.
"True. But they've paired off. We're no longer a group, as such. They're my friends, but our ... paths
have diverged."
"And according your logic your path and mine ..."
"I don't know for sure. But I thought I'd done my job. And then ... well, you showed up. That means something."
Severus snorted. "It means I owe you a certain measure of gratitude. Had I known how the visit would be interpreted—"
"But you came," Potter insisted. "Why did you choose to come back, sir?"
Severus hesitated. Telling the boy the truth of his insane vision would only support his ridiculous argument. And saying it out loud would make the whole thing more real. Severus wasn't ready to accept that mission yet. "It was a dream, Potter. I didn't choose to come back."
It wasn't a choice. It was a directive.
Potter dropped his head in his hands and took a calming breath. "OK. It doesn't matter. Time will tell," he said to himself. A sign of madness or that he'd been alone far too long. He'd been thinking far too much.
"You need to find a job," Severus advised. "Or volunteer. Find something to do rather than sit here and dream up this rubbish. You need to get out of this house."
Potter's expression was impassive when he raised his head again. "You're right," he said with a smile. His eyes glittered madly. "Thanks for stopping by, anyway," he said. "It's good to see you."
It was a dismissal, and Severus reluctantly accepted it as such. He nodded and stood, feeling unsettled. He couldn't leave the boy like this. Dream or no dream, he owed this boy too much to abandon him to madness. But his feet led him to the door.
"Sir, do you want to see what I do with the names?"
Severus turned to see the boy staring at him. Severus frowned and nodded warily. Potter brushed past him and led him up the stairs to the landing where the portrait of Walburga Black sat behind the velvet, moth-eaten curtain.
"I read about an art thief who used a spell to allow him to paint over masterpieces without harming the original," he said. "Unfortunately, the protection spell doesn't have a muffling effect." He gave a sideways smile. "I thought about painting over her, but it didn't seem right. And then, I thought of this." Potter pulled back the curtain.
Severus' eyes widened at the sight of the portrait, which had been almost entirely covered over by strips of newsprint. Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter criss-crossed over the canvas. Every now and again, the names Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley would appear. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Double Agent. Former Death Eater. At the top of the portrait, there was a small window for the woman to peer out of. Which she now did.
"Filthy, trait—"
"Walburga," Potter barked sternly. The woman's eyes darted over to him fearfully before she disappeared altogether.
The boy pulled the curtain back. "It worked," he said with a proud smile.
Severus stood, gaping. On the one hand he applauded Potter's initiative and creativity in resolving a problem that none in the Order had been able to resolve. On the other, something about the whole affair horrified him. The change in the boy – both physical and otherwise. Where once he was forever flanked by his trusted sidekicks, he now avoided them. He’d hidden himself away, collecting names, tormenting portraits and entertaining fantasies of Fate. It was too much.
"What?" Potter said.
"Get your things, Potter. You're coming with me."
It was less a decision than a compulsion. Something had to be done, and he was in a position to do it. Potter didn't argue. Apart from looking momentarily stunned, he hardly gave any reaction at all. Within two hours, the boy had settled into Severus' childhood bedroom.
With the goal of keeping the boy occupied, Severus set him the task of doing the weekly shopping. He insisted the boy keep in touch with his friends, and assigned him chores. The boy needed routine and purpose in his life, and Severus was an expert in both. Potter accepted the tasks without complaint, only drawing a line when Severus suggested he try and reconcile with the Weasley girl. “I’m just not interested,” Potter said furiously the last time Severus mentioned it. Severus decided to leave the subject for another day.
At first, living with Potter was like living with a particularly efficient house elf. Severus came home to find his furniture mended, his floors polished to sparkling, and his dinner prepared and waiting for him. The boy, however, was nowhere to be seen. Severus let a week pass before confronting him.
"Is there a reason you’re avoiding me?"
Potter’s eyes widened. "I’m not—" He cut himself off. "I didn’t want to bother you," he admitted.
Severus took the honesty as a small sign of progress. "I brought you here to encourage you out of isolation, Potter. If I’m to live with someone, I expect to see them,” he said firmly. “Daily.”
Amusement played on the boy’s lips when he replied, “All right.”
Over the next few weeks, meal times were awkward. Each man grappled for topics of discussion, quizzing each other on their plans for the day, or half-heartedly reporting the tidbits of information gathered in the time they spent apart. Soon, however, conversation flowed more easily. Dinners began stretching long into the evenings and both men eventually stopped searching for excuses to escape the other’s company.
It was progress, Severus thought. The improvement in Potter was visible. With a regime of purpose, regular eating and social interaction, the boy came alive. Their conversations were animated and the laughter was sincere. Severus couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he grew fond of the boy, but he could recall the moment he realised it.
He had come home one Friday night, after a particularly gruelling day of whoring himself out to those of means, in order to get funding for his research. Various moments of his day were tucked away into a corner of his mind to bring out over dinner for the boy’s amusement. But in Potter’s stead, there was a note.
Dear Severus,
I’m out with Ron and Hermione tonight. Dinner’s in the oven. Sorry for the late notice. See you tomorrow.
Harry
Severus ate his dinner in sullen silence, which stretched on as he retired to the salon to read. He tried to tell himself that it was nice to enjoy a rare moment in his house alone. As the hours wore on, it became increasingly clear that he was no longer accustomed to being alone. Severus had to admit that he far preferred the evenings spent in Potter’s company.
A timid knock at his door the next morning woke him up. “Sev?” Potter said quietly.
“Potter?”
“Are you awake?”
“Is that really a question?”
Potter laughed lightly and padded into his room, bearing the gift of tea. “It’s ten o’clock,” he said, grinning. “Are you planning to get up today?”
“Not if you’re going to bring me tea in bed,” Severus yawned, sat up and accepted the boy’s offer. “How was your night?”
“It was a good laugh, actually,” Harry said. Severus shifted his legs and Harry sat at the end of the bed. “They’re both a bit horrified that I’m staying here,” he said.
“I can relate,” Severus said with a long-suffering sigh. The corner of his mouth quirked up to show that he was joking. “What did you tell them?”
A light flush coloured the boy’s cheeks. “That we’re ... er, friends,” he smiled. “I didn’t know what else to say. I’m not even sure I know why I’m here.” He wore an amused look when he met Severus’ eyes.
“Because that wretched house was slowly killing you. And because you make a fine houseboy,” Severus smirked.
Potter rolled his eyes, but laughed.
After that, tea in bed became a cherished part of their Saturday routine. Harry came, bearing tea and toast and animated conversation. He would relate his ongoing efforts to help Granger to push her equality agendas, or the gossip regarding their neighbours. Severus would complain about his endless quest to find a competent lab assistant. Generally, Potter remained diplomatically silent during Severus’ rants about the stupidity of mankind, until one day Potter entered Severus’ room, poised for their usual Saturday morning discussion, and found Severus up.
“Thank you,” Severus grumbled, taking the proffered cup of tea. “I have to go to the lab this morning,” he growled.
“What happened?” Harry asked, clearly as annoyed by the disruption of routine as Severus.
Severus took a sip from his cup before placing it on the nightstand. “Holmes quit,” he said, avoiding Potter’s eyes.
“Oh, Severus,” Potter sighed.
“So much the better. He was an idiot,” Severus said as he began to fasten his robes.
Potter snorted and shook his head. “Can I help?”
Severus stopped the progress on his robes long enough to offer over an incredulous look.
“I was best in my potions class when Slughorn was teaching,” he said defensively.
Severus laughed. “You and I both know you didn’t do that alone.”
“You’re right. I couldn’t have done it without your help,” he said with a meaningful look. “But with it, I was able to best even Hermione,” he added.
Severus met the boy’s eyes. It was a bad idea, he thought. Wasn’t it?
Was it? Deep down, Severus knew that the lab assistants weren’t the problem. He was an unpleasant man to work for. He had exacting standards that not even the best of Hogwarts graduates could meet. He had little patience for teaching, but perhaps with Potter, that might be different. It was a risk. The two got on well now and Severus didn’t want to endanger that. Perhaps the risk would be mitigated by the desire not to spoil their friendship.
So it was that he found himself working with the boy three times a week. Potter proved to be not as inept at Potions as Severus had always assumed. And Severus discovered that, with the right frame of mind and the right pupil, he was actually capable of teaching.
Although their lives together were not without the occasional argument, they’d managed to forge a functional relationship. Potter had thrived since leaving Grimmauld Place, and while Severus couldn’t really say if Potter was happy or not, he didn’t think the boy was far off. All was well.
Until it wasn’t.
Severus came into the kitchen one Thursday morning to find the boy angrily cutting up the Prophet. It had been a longstanding agreement that Potter couldn’t touch the paper until Severus had read it. Severus raised an eyebrow. "Is that today's?"
Potter started and then hurriedly gathered up the scraps, crushing the evidence into a ball. He gave Severus a wary look.
"We had an agreement," Severus said irritably. He held out his hand expectantly.
Potter shook his head. "They're bastards," he cursed. He waved his wand and banished the scraps.
Severus pursed his lips. “What happened?” he demanded.
Potter shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he grumbled.
“Clearly. Either you tell me what’s upset you, or I go and buy another paper,” Severus said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the boy.
“Severus,” Potter pleaded. When it was clear that Severus wasn’t going to back down, the boy sighed. “They know I’m here,” he said, defeated. He addressed the table when he explained, “They’re saying we’re ... together.”
Severus laughed incredulously. Potter glared at him. Severus put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “I would think you’re used to rumour-mongering by now,” he teased gently.
“You don’t care that everyone thinks you’re a poof?”
The word revived memories of Severus’ father. He sneered and removed his hand. “As it’s an accurate enough description ... No,” he said coldly.
The boy’s face fell in shock. “But I thought ... My mother—“
“Your mother and I were friends. As you and I are friends,” Severus said, irritably. “If you’re concerned that people think you’re queer, I suggest you do as I advised months ago and start dating.” Severus waited to see if Potter would recover from the news. After a moment of enduring the boy’s horrified shock, Severus escaped to work.
Before long, Severus regretted his decision to get out of bed at all. He spent the day denying that there was anything but friendship between him and Potter. That Potter was quite straight. Judging by the look of horror that Severus had left behind, the boy had inherited a wholly Muggle view on the subject.
That, more than anything else, caused his ire. It sickened him to think that the friendship forged over the last six months would be completely destroyed by something so innocuous. Faced with the prospect of losing something he held dear, Severus decided to do what any self-respecting Slytherin would do: he’d destroy it on his own terms.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” he told the boy when he found him that evening, curled up in a chair staring sullenly at the fire.
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”
"There are many things I am ashamed of in my past, Potter. Being gay is not one of them. I’ve never given you any reason to—”
“I don’t care that you’re gay!” he said indignantly.
Severus’ mouth snapped shut as the lengthy tirade he’d prepared was suddenly rendered obsolete. “Then, what?” he shouted, instead. “Is it the article? Potter, that is so easily remedied that there’s no sense in even thinking about it. If you would just date—“
“I told you, I’m not interested!” Harry shouted back.
“How can you not be interested? You’re a teenager, for fuck’s sake!”
Potter shot him a furious look.
Severus fought for calm. “Well, then, I suppose I could start—“
“Dating?” Harry said incredulously.
“I’ve had offers,” Severus said defensively.
Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. “Severus,” he said to his palms. He took a deep breath and raised his head. “It’s something we have in common.”
Severus blinked. “You’ve had offers?”
Potter gave a desperate laugh and shook his head. Severus’ mind caught up with the befuddling conversation and then stuttered to a halt. He stood gaping. Surely, he’d not understood correctly.
“Ginny’s the only one I’ve told,” Harry said.
“I—,” Severus started. He’d had no idea. “You—,” he tried again. Potter should have said something earlier. He might have been able to help.
Harry laughed. “You all right?”
Severus took a deep breath. “Is that why you won't date? I realise these things are frowned upon in the Muggle world, Potter, but it's not the same for us."
The boy closed his eyes. "Will you ever call me Harry?"
"Being gay does not damn you to a life of celibate solitude," Severus said, ignoring the change in topic. "I could introduce you to any number of men who would leap at the chance –"
"You don't get it, do you? You still don't see it. I'm not here to be fixed, Severus. God!" Potter ran his fingers through his hair and stood up.
Severus stood dumbstruck by the outburst. The boy stared at him, his eyes wild with desperation to be understood. And if the boy would just communicate coherent thoughts, Severus was willing to give it a go. "What the hell is your problem?" he snapped.
Potter raised his eyes to the heavens as though appealing for strength. "Good night, Severus."
It wasn’t a good night. Severus couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a more miserable night. He lay in bed analysing his conversation, turning it over in his mind and trying to make sense of it. Trying, above all, to determine what the hell he’d done wrong.
He was no closer to an answer by morning, but he stalked to the kitchen, intent on finding out.
Instead, he found a letter.
Dear Severus,
I’ve gone home. It’s time. It’s been time for awhile now. These past few months were amazing. You’re amazing. That’s the problem. It was easier for me when I thought that you were straight. I’m sorry for leaving you without an assistant. Hopefully, you’ll find the patience to teach the next one, too.
Love, Harry
Realisation struck. Severus dropped into a chair. He stared down at the parchment until the message distilled down to two words. Love. Harry.
Severus prided himself on his powers of observation. There was simply no conceivable way he could have missed something quite so important.
Of course, it was conceivable. It had taken him awhile to stop thinking of Harry as a student, and students were not to be seen in that regard. And while, recently, he’d attributed the title of “friend” to the young man, he was still Harry Potter in his head. And Harry Potter was off limits.
It was for the best, he reasoned. He was far too old for the young man. And he hardly believed that this was what Lily had in mind when she commissioned him to bring happiness to her son. Harry would be happier with someone his own age. Someone else. Anyone else.
But the house felt somehow colder without Potter's presence. Where once he'd come home to a cup of tea and a smile, he now returned to emptiness that stretched into disturbingly quiet evenings. He grew bored, and Severus had never been bored before. Neither his reading nor his research could cure this new restlessness within him.
Any attempt to see Potter was resolutely thwarted by a rabidly loyal house elf. His firecalls went unanswered. Even his correspondence –
Potter,
You're being foolish. Stop avoiding me.
S.
– got him nowhere.
And then one dreadful day, it occurred to him how lucky he'd been to have someone like Harry interested in him. That night, he attempted to drown the realisation, but it only floated to the forefront of his consciousness. Severus concluded it was his unhappy fate to accidentally alienate everyone who ever cared for him. That evening, his masochistic side decided to torture him with visions of what might have been, if he'd not been too dim to see what was on offer. Some self-preservation instinct gave him reprieve and sent him to sleep in his chair.
When he woke up later, he blinked at the sight of Harry, lying on his sofa. Severus rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but Harry remained. As though disturbed by the weight of Severus’ gaze, Harry’s eyes opened to meet his.
He blinked and gave a sheepish smile. "I knocked, but there was no answer."
"I have no house elf to turn away visitors," Severus grumbled.
Harry dropped his gaze and sat up. "Touché.”
“You should have talked to me about it.”
Harry gave a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Hiya, Sev. Chicken for dinner tonight. By the way, I fancy the pants off you. Enjoy! “ Harry shook his head.
Severus’ lips tightened into a thin line. He stared at the fire.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “It must be weird for you.”
"Unexpected," Severus corrected. "I don't know it requires an apology."
"Ugh," Harry said, dropping his head into his hands. "Just don't tell me you're flattered."
Severus laughed. "Flattered, no. Dumbfounded, perhaps." His smile disappeared. “You didn’t have to go.”
Harry snorted. “My first thought when I learnt you were gay was, ‘There’s a chance.’ Your reaction? To set me up with someone else.”
Severus frowned. “I only wanted to help,” he said defensively. “You were upset by that article – “
“I was worried how you’d take it. That you’d make me go. Or that you’d realise ...” He hand over his forehead, rubbing the scar there.
“There was little chance of that,” Severus said. “I would never have thought it possible that you had such wretched taste.” He offered a wry smile.
Harry gave him a look before snorting. “That’s the problem. You’d never think of me like that. I don’t think you’ll ever see me as something more than a kid you need to protect. And if we’re ever to do what we’re supposed to do, I think I need to be more than that.”
Severus frowned. He'd have liked to argue that Harry was already "more", but he didn't know how to define the more. It was true that he still felt obliged to keep him safe. That wasn’t likely to change. He also had the additional task of ensuring his happiness, but apart from obligation ….
He was still composing his thoughts when Potter said, "I'm leaving."
Severus blinked. "Leaving."
"It was pretty lucky, actually. I ran into Bill Weasley. He'd just received an owl from a former colleague who was looking for a new apprentice. In Egypt."
Severus’ felt his stomach drop. "Egypt," he breathed in disbelief.
Potter offered a strained smile. "The apprenticeship lasts a year and then … Who knows? I thought you'd be happy. It's what you wanted, right?"
Egypt? "A curse breaker, Harry?" he exclaimed, anger exploding through his erstwhile shock. "Could you have chosen a more death-defying profession?"
"It's somehow fitting that the first time you call me Harry is to shout at me," he said dully. "You can't protect me forever. I've been curse-breaking since moving into Grimmauld Place. I'm not incompetent!"
"I've never accused you of incompetence," Severus sneered derisively. When his declaration was met with an incredulous look he growled, "Not recently."
"I thought you'd be pleased. You wanted me to get a job," Harry said.
"A job, yes. Killed? No. Egypt? Certainly not."
Harry's confused expression stretched into a broad smile. Severus reviewed his statement for something to smile at.
"I've missed you."
"Fuck off," Severus spat.
"It's the only way, Sev."
Severus' irritation got the better of him. "So, let me see if I understand," he began through clenched teeth. "Through what passes for logic in your world, you've come to the conclusion that the only way you and I can do whatever it is we're fated to do together, you need to change my perception of you. And you're doing that by leaving me."
"Not leaving you," Harry insisted. "Severus, I need to do something. If all I'm ever going to be in this world is The Bloody Boy Who Lived, I may as well have never come back. If I stay here, that's all I'll ever be. To you. To everyone."
"When?"
"In the morning," Harry said apologetically. "It all happened so fast."
Severus clenched his jaw against a plea for Harry to reconsider. It wouldn’t do any good and Severus had his pride. "I suppose you should get to bed, then," he said, defeated.
"I can sleep in Egypt."
"You intend to stay up all night?"
Harry smiled and said, "If you're willing."
"And do what?" The awkward blush rising to colour Harry’s cheeks made Severus regret the question.
"Fancy a game of chess?"
Severus was not quite relieved and not quite disappointed. A surprised laugh burst from his lips. "If you don't mind being beaten."
Harry grinned. "I might get lucky."
Chess, however, was not a game of chance, and Harry's luck was nothing compared to Severus' strategy. He lost the first game, and then the second. When the third proved to be interminable, they agreed to call it stalemate and then settled once more on the sofa, trading tea for scotch.
Harry masterfully guided the discussion away from awkward topics and soon the two were swept off in the naturally winding flow of conversation. As the night wore on, the physical distance between them shrank until they found themselves, shoulder to shoulder. Severus’ left hand and Harry’s right occupied the space on the cushion between them until, in one bold moment, Severus’ hand slid over, covering the other. It felt right, Harry might say. It seemed a natural progression, Severus decided, and so didn't think too much more about it.
At length, their conversation became punctuated with silences that grew longer until Severus looked over to find Harry sleeping against his shoulder. He toyed with the idea of leaving him to the sofa and going to his bed. He quickly abandoned the notion for the comfort of proximity.
He awoke sometime later to find himself wedged into the corner of the sofa, legs stretching out toward the fire. Harry’s head lay on Severus' chest. Severus closed his eyes again and pointedly ignored the realisation that hours had been whittled down to minutes.
He sat, listening to the even rhythm of sleep. His stomach was twisted in knots and ached with dread. He tilted his head forward to bury his nose in Harry’s hair and took a deep breath. Harry stirred and then went rigid with the realisation of where he was. Severus let his head fall back to the sofa and stroked Harry’s arm reassuringly.
"You must be uncomfortable," Harry whispered.
He couldn't recall ever feeling more comfortable. He pushed away the thought. He opened his eyes when he felt Harry raise his head.
"Morning."
"Morning," Severus confirmed.
The quiet peace of the night was thus ended. Harry went to get cleaned up for his trip. Severus prepared a small breakfast of toast and tea. He quickly abandoned the idea of eating in favour of staring silently at his mug. Harry concentrated on his toast as though reading his destiny in the jam.
Time moved relentlessly forward.
"You can come to visit," Harry said quietly.
Severus nodded. "You'll write?"
"Of course."
The moment had come. Harry stood slowly and went to where the plastic bottle sat on the counter, keyed to whisk him away. "Thanks," he whispered and then cleared his throat. "For last night. For everything."
"Take care." Severus took a breath to alleviate the ache in his chest. He held out his hand. Harry gripped it loosely before moving forward to wrap his arms around Severus' neck.
"Don't forget me."
Severus shivered as the words clouded over his neck. He grunted. "I should be so lucky."
Harry pulled back with a smile that Severus imagined tasted like tea and blueberry jam.
"You should go," he said roughly.
"I'll come back."
Severus acknowledged the promise with a nod. Harry blinked out of sight.
He'd come back. With any luck and Fate willing.
But Severus didn't believe in luck. He believed in purpose. He had no intention of waiting for Fate’s winding path to deliver Harry back to him. He’d made a promise and the air still hummed with another sort of promise. The promise of possibility, as yet unshaped.
Harry would come back. Severus would ensure he didn't get lost along the way.