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“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”“That is up to you.”
“I’ve got a choice?”
“Oh yes.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “We are in King’s Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to ... let’s say ... board a train.”
“And where would it take me?”
“On,” said Dumbledore simply.
On. It seemed, quite suddenly, the worst thing to have happened to him in the last few days, to be made to choose–again. He'd already decided, damn it, when he'd walked into the woods prepared to die. He'd done it, he'd been brave, he'd stood there and let Voldemort just kill him and he'd been, for a moment, finally free.
Harry stared unseeing at his feet, at the train tracks beyond. They seemed to stretch on forever, clean straight lines, uncomplicated, unending. "I think.... I think I'm done, sir. If you don't think it cowardly of me--"
"Oh, my boy," Dumbledore said, "you have been the bravest of us all. You've more than earned the right to a rest."
"Then I'd like to sit here awhile, if I may."
"As long as you wish." Dumbledore smiled and his eyes crinkled, but he looked sad at the same time and Harry wondered if he hadn't disappointed him after all. But then Dumbledore was gone, as if he had never been there, and Harry sat alone on the bench. All was quiet but for the soft weeping from wretched creature squirming along the floor.
He half expected regret to bubble up, for the worry and responsibility to come flooding back into the ulcery hollow they had worn inside him, but instead he felt only a vague sense of truancy, and a bit of sadness that he might not see his friends again for a while.
Mostly though, he felt at peace.
He stood and walked to the edge of the platform, beginning to dare believe it was really over, a cautious delight growing in the solitude of the nearly-empty station and the anticipation of new adventure. He glanced down the tracks again and wondered when a train might come. He listened for a tell-tale hum but all he could hear was the feeble wailing of the deformed child beneath the bench. He didn't think it quite decent to leave it there, but at the same time he thought it would not be a good idea to pick it up. He rubbed at his scar absently. Not knowing how long the train would be, he decided he might as well walk down to the other end of the station.
"Maybe there's a schedule posted," he said, and wondered what destinations might be on it. For the first time since he had arrived, excitement fluttered in his middle, and a hint of nervous curiosity. "Next great adventure, Harry," he whispered, and something happened to his face...
He was smiling. He'd forgotten smiling.
Finding he had pockets, he put his hands in them as he strolled along the edge of the platform, smiling in the clean white light. He thought he might whistle, but the quiet was too perfect, too soothing, so he just walked, and the weeping child faded away into the soft echo of his trainers on the stone floor.
There ought to be people, he thought, parents and schoolchildren, tearful goodbyes and hellos, but nothing moved save his own feet. He wasn't concerned at the solitude. His family had promised to always be with him. Maybe, maybe the train will take me....
Up ahead, a dark splotch marred the soothing whiteness. It didn't alarm him, but he squinted at it curiously, and as he drew closer it resolved into a figure.
Sitting on a bench, very stiffly in his buttoned and impeccable robes, was Snape.
All of Harry's good feelings vanished in an instant, and what came rushing in to fill the void was unpleasant, a murky cocktail of guilt and fury and simple heartbreak. This man.... this man and his stupid courage and stubborn pride... Harry wanted to shake him. Or hex him. Or hug him, which would get Harry hexed.
He couldn't do any of those things. He slowed, but still his feet carried him up to the bench.
Snape did not look at him, but his mouth was pinched into an unhappy moue. Harry sat quietly at the opposite end. He curled his hands at his sides and fought the ingrained urge to fidget under the palpable force of disapproval. The silence, so peaceful and soothing before now felt crushingly awkward, and it went on and on.
"I see," said Snape at last, "that for once in your wretched disobedient life you followed instructions."
Harry tilted his head, but Snape was still staring straight ahead with his hands clenched in his lap. "Your memories were pretty clear. I did what was right." Now that they were speaking, Harry felt free to shift about, and stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms behind his head. "I wonder who will kill him. Voldemort I mean."
"Do not say his name."
"Pfft. He can't hear us here."
"Nonetheless."
"He might even be dead already." Harry perked up at the thought. He really did feel like he'd shirked the rest of the fight.
"The loss of the part of his soul you carried likely weakened him a great deal. Perhaps a lucky curse..." Snape did not sound terribly confident in their comrades.
Harry shrugged; the movement made his elbows rise and fall around his ears. "Well. Someone'll get him. Anyway, the snake has to die first. Shan't worry about it; Neville's got it covered."
Snape's head swivelled about at once, independent of his body, owl-like, and he fixed Harry with a black look. "Am I to understand the fate of the wizarding world now rests with Longbottom?"
"Mm-hmm." Harry shut his eyes and slid a little further down in the seat.
"Fucking, fucking hell."
"He's got it, Snape," Harry said without opening his eyes. "We've done enough. Someone else can be the hero now."
"Neville fucking Longbottom."
"Yup."
There was a long busy silence from Snape, the sort Hermione gave off when she was having a good fret, only Snape probably wasn't chewing the ends of his hair. Though that did make an interesting image. Harry sat up and opened his eyes.
"Sir? May I sit with you?"
Snape tossed him a narrow glare, then lifted his nose in the air. "You already are, Potter. It's late to be asking permission, don't you think?"
"I meant on the train, when it comes." Harry smiled. "May I sit with you on the train?"
Snape was still, except the small eye-tic Harry thought was Neville-related. After a moment, in which Snape appeared to hold his breath, he said snidely, "If you must."
"All right then." Harry's smile widened to a grin, and he flopped back again and tipped his face up to the glittering roof panes, letting the bright day warm his skin. "Do you hear that? I think a train is coming now."
"That is the sound of the indigestion you've given me," Snape muttered, but he stood and shook his robes free of creases, and then fussed with his sleeves. Harry wondered if the man was nervous.
The faint rumble grew into the distinct clattering roar of an approaching train, and then with a squeal of brakes and a blast of wind the Hogwarts Express rushed into the station, screeching to a halt at their platform.
Harry stood and joined Snape at the doors.
They opened of their own accord; there was no conductor in sight, no one asking to see their tickets, and no one to clarify the destination. They boarded anyway, and found an empty compartment -- easy enough as they were all empty. Harry had hoped he might find more companions, Lupin or Tonks or Fred, but Dumbledore had seemed to think that this was Harry's own personal show. Snape being there... well, they were two with most incentive to move on, weren't they? No family, no ties. Maybe they had had the same idea, to board a train to somewhere, anywhere else, and never go back.
Harry did not say any of this though, as they hadn't quarrelled yet and he thought a row would start if he speculated aloud about Snape's personal business. It was nice, sort of, just sitting in peace, each of them staring out the window as London slipped by, eerily empty and even more eerily clean. He had some things he wanted to say to Snape, namely that he was sorry he had ever called him a coward, but Snape would not be happy to hear any of it and Harry found he was content to give Snape his way.
If it made the man happy to be let in peace, he had earned that.
The city had faded into a rolling landscape by the time the train began to slow. They were pulling into a little country station, a single building and a long wooden platform with a red roof.
"This is my stop," Snape said. He smoothed the front of his robes, unnecessarily for they were neat as always, and shifted in his seat before standing. "Potter..." He seemed to think better of saying anything further, and nodded curtly and turned away.
"Snape," Harry said. He wasn't quite sure what else to say. "You were... you were very brave. Thank you. For what you did."
Snape slowed but did not stop and in a moment he was gone from the compartment and from the train. Harry turned to look out the window and saw his mother waiting on the platform, wearing a yellow dress. He wasn't concerned; she would meet him at his stop too of course, with the rest of his family. He smiled at her and she smiled back and waved, then turned to face Snape who was approaching, looking more open and unguarded than Harry had ever seen him.
Lily's smile had faded and she looked very serious. Snape was speaking to her, very quickly, but she said nothing in reply only watched until he grew more agitated, words still pouring out. Harry looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something very private for Snape, but he had never had much control of his curiosity.
When he looked back Snape had caught one of Lily's hands and was staring at her with such an expression of raw despair that the last little bit of Harry that hated Snape shrivelled up and crumbled away. But Lily only shook her head and said something that made Snape look as though she had slapped him. Harry bit his lip. He wondered if he should get off the train and speak up for Snape, tell Lily everything he'd done to atone for his mistakes, but he doubted Snape would thank him for it. And it really wasn't his stop...
Snape had stopped speaking and was staring at Lily; she met his look directly, not unkindly but unbudging. After a moment, Snape dropped her hands and walked stiffly back to the train.
Harry touched the windowpane, fingers trailing along the cool glass. Lily looked up at him and her face softened. The whistle sounded, and the train gave a gentle lurch forward, and she blew him a kiss. He watched her until the platform slipped away, then sat back in his seat.
The compartment door slid open. Snape dropped into the seat opposite. Harry wanted to ask but held his tongue. After a moment Snape looked up from his shoes and licked his upper lip. "That wasn't my stop after all."
"Oh," Harry said, and then, because he did feel bad for Snape, added, "I don't mind riding together a little longer."
Snape barked a hoarse laugh that reminded Harry of Sirius, that last Christmas in Grimmauld Place. "Death's made you diplomatic, Potter."
Was he dead? He supposed he'd known that, but the station was far away now and the woods even farther. "I mean it. I'd like some company."
Snape was staring, that same look of loathing he'd been giving Harry for the past seven years, but now his mouth had a bitter twist to it, and his eyes were wide and wild.
"That wasn't very fair of her," Harry said quietly. "You made a mistake - well, a few mistakes - but you've more than paid the price."
"Oh that," Snape said. "She's forgiven me that. I only got her killed after all. No, she's taken exception to..." Another bitter laugh. "Something I should have quite known she would, had I ever envisioned meeting her again."
Nothing Harry said after that would make Snape explain, and they fell into a sort of mutual sulk, Snape scowling out the window and Harry doing the same in between casting him petulant glares.
It was too much energy to stay mad though, and clickety-clack of the Hogwarts Express was too familiar, the sway too soothing. He might have dozed for a bit, and thought Snape did too because when next Harry looked at him he had a red mark on his cheek from where it had pressed against the window.
The train was slowing. Harry looked out at the station as they pulled in, confused. He was certain this was his stop, but it looked like they were back at King's Cross. The real King's Cross, not the quiet peaceful version they had left. It was dirty and noisy, and a large crowd was milling about the platform. Harry stared out over the sea of heads. He supposed he would find his parents and Sirius and Lupin quickly enough. "This is me," he said.
Snape stood when he did. "After you, Potter."
"Are you...?"
"I've nowhere better to be, apparently."
"Oh." Oddly aware of Snape at his back, Harry walked down the corridor to the exit, stepped down and ---
--- blinked up at the train, dizzy and wondering why he had thought he was getting off.
"Hurry up then," said a girl behind him, and he shook off his daze and turned to wave at the nice red-headed woman and her daughter. They waved back, making him feel almost like he had a family to see him off, and he climbed onto the train and walked, looking for a place to sit.
Most of the compartments were full, and of the ones that weren't one had a girl sobbing onto the shoulder of an older boy who looked rather embarrassed, another contained the unpleasant weasel-faced boy Harry had met at Madam Malkin's, and the last was occupied by a grumpy-looking grownup with a sallow face and long limp hair, who sat primly with a little black travelling case on his lap.
Harry looked over his shoulder; the doors were closing, and the whistle blew again.
"Er, excuse me."
The man looked around, and his cold beetle-black gaze almost made Harry turn around and go back to the pointy-faced blond boy's compartment. But something in that thought.... something made him feel like he ought not be such a coward. He squared his shoulders.
"Excuse me, sir, may I sit with you on the train?"
The man blinked at him, then inclined his head. Harry came in and set Hedwig's cage down on the free side and then wrestled his heavy trunk into a corner. He was panting by the time he felt it was secure, but the man did not offer to help and was in fact looking like he very much regretted letting Harry sit with him. Harry sat down beside Hedwig and tried to make himself very small. He put his hands in his lap so he wouldn't fidget - his travelling companion didn't look the type to tolerate much fidgeting. He wished he'd kept a book to read but all his new schoolbooks were packed in his trunk, and he wasn't about to start digging through it now.
The whistle gave one last long blast and a moment later the train lurched. Outside on the platform the red-headed woman was waving at her sons. The girl ran alongside as they pulled out of the station, then dropped behind as they picked up speed. They rounded a corner and the platform was gone.
Soon enough they were clacking through the city, and then the outskirts, and finally the view opened up to fields and sky. For the first time, Harry felt like it might all be really truly true. He was away from the Dursleys. He was going to wizarding school. He tried not to grin too madly.
The strange man kept to himself, yet Harry couldn't shake the prickly feeling of being watched. Every time he snuck a glance though, the man was staring at the same spot out the window. At last Harry chanced to look at the man's reflection and met his gaze directly. Caught spying, the man straightened up and picked imaginary lint off his orderly black robes and then apparently decided to give up the pretense altogether.
"Well, Mr Potter. I imagine you are hoping to be Sorted into Gryffindor house."
Harry started. "How do you know my... oh, right." He flattened his fringe over the scar. He was already starting to dislike the stupid thing. "I suppose I'll get used to everyone knowing everything about me before I even know their names." The man was looking at him curiously and Harry realized he hadn't answered the question. "Er, I reckon any house will do. Just not Slytherin. Well, not if that awful boy is going to be in it."
An odd smile curled the man's mouth, half sneer, half something Harry couldn't name. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Professor Snape. I will be your Potions master at Hogwarts." A slight pause. "Head of Slytherin."
Harry's face grew very hot. "Oh. Er, pleased to meet you, sir. I didn't mean anything against your house, only the only Slytherin I've met was..."
"Awful?" Snape suggested. One of his brows had quirked in a way that did not bode well for Harry's future marks in Potions.
"Well. He was complaining about the school letting in the wrong sort of wizard." He flopped back in his seat, and all of his glum uncertainty over his qualifications to be a wizard came rushing back. "I'm pretty sure I'm exactly the kind of wizard he meant."
"I see." Snape was quiet a moment, watching Harry with hooded eyes. "There are in fact a great many in Slytherin who hold those views. But not all, Mr Potter. Not I."
Harry's face burned hotter. He didn't like to think of himself as the sort of person who lumped people all together, like Uncle Vernon grousing about foreigners at the breakfast table. "I know I shouldn't judge based on one person." Harry chewed his lip. "He was very awful though."
"Potter, you have no fear of Sorting into Slytherin with this 'very awful' boy. I assure you only Gryffindors swallow their own feet whole in the manner you have just displayed."
Harry eyed his new professor warily, but then decided Snape was trying to joke with him and smiled. "Well, I have met a Gryffindor and he was very nice. He brought me a birthday cake. And he turned my cousin into a pig." At Snape's expression he added, "Er, I suppose that wasn't very nice, but then he did have to travel all that way because of the Dursleys hiding my letter...." And somehow Harry found himself reciting the whole tale, the owls, and the piles of letters and Uncle Vernon's frantic attempts to keep Harry from them. Snape listened with an incredulous sneer on his face, but Harry thought for once this disbelief from a grownup was not due to the inexplicable things that always happened around Harry, but at his relatives' behaviour. Of course Snape wasn't surprised about letters spouting out of the fireplace; he taught at a magic school.
"Aunt Petunia always pretended not to believe me," Harry said. "When anything strange happened, she would tell everyone I was lying. She knew all along I was telling the truth. Why do you suppose would she do that?"
"I imagine your aunt must have blamed magic for her sister's death," Snape mused and Harry tilted his head.
"How did you know my aunt was my mother's sister?" he asked, but then of course everyone seemed to know all about him already. For all he knew the details of his life were in a museum exhibit or a programme on the wizarding telly, but Snape looked away, out the window at the countryside speeding past them. "I must confess, Potter, I did not recognize you from your scar." His throat bobbed. "You... you have your mother's eyes."
"You... knew my mother?" Without thinking Harry got up and moved to the seat next to Snape. He was almost trembling with excitement. Half the trip wasted complaining about the Dursleys! "How? When did you meet her? What was she like?"
"I'm not a pleasant man, Potter. But your mother was... she was a friend, once, when I needed one. She wanted.... would have wanted.... me to be one to you."
Snape sounded as though those words had cost him a great deal to say, but Harry could not help but feel they were sincere. And as odd as his new professor was, friendship was a scarce commodity in Harry's world.
"Friends... I'd like that." I have two now, he thought, Hagrid and Snape. He realized he was grinning up at Snape like an idiot, and Snape was staring back at him in wary bemusement.
Then Snape flicked his robes as though the invisible lint there had personally affronted him. "Do not expect this means I will go easy on you in class, Potter. If you're a dunderhead, as most of my students are, your marks will reflect."
"I'm sure I will be," Harry said. "I don't know anything about magic. But I'll work very hard."
"I sincerely doubt that," Snape said, and then paused with his head tilted. "But I hope you prove me wrong."
"Sir? I'm glad we're friends. You looked sad when I came in."
"Did I."
"You don't anymore."
"Imagine that." Snape said this very snidely, but the corner of his mouth had twitched up, and his eyes weren't so cold and beetle-y anymore.
Harry grinned back at him, feeling certain right down to his toes that he was standing on the edge of something grand, that the train hurtling across the countryside was carrying him and Snape to a great adventure. Everything he had dreamed of his whole life lay before him and for the first time ever the path ahead was not a lonely one.
And maybe, just maybe, Snape needed a friend to travel with too.