Chapter Text
Severus was many things, but negligent, he was not. He’d chosen to spill it all, and so he did; starting from meeting Evans as a child, to the horrific information Albus Dumbledore had confided in him a short while before.
It took everything in him not to step closer and shut the boy’s gobsmacked mouth; it had been forming a circle for at least the last fifteen minutes, it had to be.
Yet, how could he blame him?
Had one come to him as a child with this knowledge, in the dead of night, he’d have stood there with his mouth open as well.
“Even Dumbledore wants me dead?” The whispered, pained question almost didn’t register. “I don’t want to die…” It came as an afterthought, as if it had slipped out for the boy himself to hear and none other. His sharp eyes turned to him, then. “Do you—”
“No, I do not wish you dead. Think, for Merlin’s sake, Harry. Would I be standing here if I wanted that? It is not a ploy.”
“But it is! I can see it on your face—you have a plan! Tell me. Please, Snape. I want to know. It’s my life on the line. I deserve to know!”
Severus listened to the panicked rambling and couldn’t help it, his eyebrow raised of its own. “Are you finished or shall I conjure myself a settee?”
The boy glowered, and Severus was glad of it; preferable to sullen defeatism.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you conjured it anyway, I want to sit. Or can we go to your office? It’s probably warded better than whatever spell you cast over us.”
“You’re a fool if you think the headmaster has no wards that alert him to the presence of a child in any of our private offices. Especially you, I’d wager.” Severus tapped his chin in thought. There had been teachers sacked in the past, without notice, and he could staunchly recall it coinciding with a student being admitted to Poppy’s ward, one even to St Mungo’s. What had transpired was withheld from the faculty members, but rumours spread in the teacher’s lounge either way, and it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots when they shouted thusly.
“With my luck, definitely. I know a place we could go, though; it’s called the Room of Requirement. It’s safe,” Harry whispered in a conspiring manner. A room Severus had never heard of. What other secrets did the boy hold? “It’s where we hid from Umbridge and learned Defence.”
Ah, and there it was, a secret aired. Freely, even.
Mulled by thinking of the events of the school year before, and his failed attempt at warning the mutt to remain in his home, he could not manage anything else but a curt gesture for Harry to lead the way.
He’d tried to save the mutt, in a sense, and it always brought up acid in the back of his throat. Severus cursed the man’s existence, glad to be rid of him, but he had warned him. Had saved him. At least until the mutt left to pick a fight he’d lost as soon as he left the ancient Black wards.
Should he feel a sense of smug vindication for attempting to save someone who’d bullied him relentlessly, sexually assaulted him, and tried to get him murdered via werewolf?
Probably not, but he did.
Would the mutt have tried to warn him if roles were reversed?
Should he blame himself for Sirius Black not staying put?
Useless, really, to consider any other answer than a sound no. He’d done his part, knowing it would not even get him a thanks or a kind glance. He did what he could, when he could, and without losing either madman’s belief he was theirs and solely theirs. That, was his only priority besides trying to keep a troublesome Gryffindor student alive.
Merlin, but how he hated the fact that he had tried to help Black, of all people.
Dragged from his internal self-flagellation, he observed Harry stop in the middle of a corridor, close his eyes and look like thinking hurt him something fierce – either that, or the kid was suffering from extreme constipation – and then proceeded to turn thrice on the spot. Was he losing his mind? So soon?
He turned to Severus then, with a wicked grin and a trickster gleam in his eyes. It took considerable effort to tear away from the sight, having never seen Harry so animated in anything other than pain or anger, and was astonished to find a door where before there had been none.
“Neville found it, you know. Just think of what you need, turn three times, and the Room provides.” Severus raised an eyebrow at Longbottom being its discoverer, and at the capitalisation of the Room being discernible from the way Harry uttered it. “Come on!”
And away he rushed, quick as lightning. Severus sighed before following at a calm pace; he would not be coming out of however long this Keep Harry Alive campaign would take without prematurely sprouting grey hairs, it seemed.
Inside, he found the imp sat on a burgundy red settee, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Awesome, right?” Refusing to rise to the bait, he glanced around and cast a wordless Muffliato.
A rather cramped room with light wooden floors and white walls. Another settee, pitch black. Nothing else. The settees were a jarring contrast to the muted tones of the room. It clashed horribly. If this was Harry’s definition of awesome… Severus closed the door and sat down in his designated seat, his black robes indiscernible from it.
“Alright. Your plan then?”
Impatient as always, though he could understand where the boy came from. But where was this enthusiasm coming from? For Merlin’s sake, he’d just been told a slew of atrocities, and he was grinning. Inconceivable.
“Very well, mister Potter.” Severus held back a smirk at the annoyed expression on Harry’s face. Finally, not a grin. “I propose we take our leave of Hogwarts and its meddlesome headmaster. Tonight would be preferable.” Glorious, if he was honest, to see such bewilderment. “We need to get that horcrux out of you, pronto, as we are already aware Albus will be no help in that, rather the opposite.”
“But…”
Harry fell silent for a long while.
“Yes?”
“I can’t just leave school, now can I? For how long? And what about my friends?”
“We will cross the wards and Apparate before anyone realises. For as long as it takes to get that foul thing out of you and to find and destroy the other pieces, and then to kill the Dark Lord. Your friends will remain here, unaware of any and all. There can be no communication. We will not risk detection like a pair of incompetent dunderheads.”
He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, a frown growing deeper by the second. Severus leaned forward, interested in what would come out.
“You think you can kill him, then?”
Oh, and wasn’t that a question he had hoped for? The boy focused on what mattered most. Prioritising. There was hope yet. “If there remains only the soul inside of him, he is as mortal as the rest of us.”
“Wh— I’m not talking about that. Can you kill him?”
Severus snorted and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “It would be my tremendous pleasure. Yes, Harry. If only to thwart your having to attempt it and carry that with you for however long you shall live.”
“I’m— I know you must think it, but I'm not weak or soft,” he bit out.
“Did I say you were? Nonetheless, I was not aware you were that keen to become a murderer.” Severus observed the boy’s thoughts turn inward. “I will carry it out, and there will be no further debate about it.”
Letting the boy stew in his thoughts, he turned to his own—ruminating on the few kills he had to his name.
His father, Tobias Snape, was his first; even if it was murder via not providing aid after the drunkard had toppled down the stairs. If it’d taken place during the school year, Severus wouldn’t have been home to help anyway. At least, that was how he reasoned it to himself whenever he allowed his thoughts to turn to the sentence that had come out of Tobias’ booze-altered mind. “Go on and get us another pint, then, love.” Revolting, to be mistaken for a barmaid. He’d turned his back, ransacked the money jar hidden inside the toilet’s water tank, and went out to buy the items he needed for his final year at Hogwarts.
When he came home, Tobias was in the same spot he’d first found him; a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up groggily at the ceiling. Except this time, the corners of his mouth were slack, he was no longer breathing, and his skin had turned a rather grey colour.
Then there were the cold-blooded murders he’d had to observe in order to join the Death Eaters’ highest ranks; they only accepted his prowess at potions and spell creation for the lower to medium echelons. The lack of visible emotion on his expression got him far, making them believe he did not care for the lives of others. Even then, he still had to perform with everything he had in him; he predominantly used subterfuge to make it seem he’d killed someone when another's spell had hit the victim, and when he had no other choice with too many eyes upon him, he made the kill swift.
They soon learned he was too methodical in his approach and left him to his potions and his spell-crafting; after all, they had countless others who took pleasure in drawn-out torturing in front of an audience.
He knew others presumed he’d murdered, and then some—that it was as easy as breathing for him.
He knew.
It had taken a lot of effort to make it appear as such.
“It’s not about glory, then, Merlin, but I should've realised, back in third year. Bloody hell. How did I not see it? You moved between us and Remus! Why would you risk being bitten by a werewolf unless you wanted to protect us? Me.” It took all his effort not to assert how many years it took the boy to notice the blatant act that could have blown his cover, but Severus swallowed it all, and simply waited. “I never thanked you, I guess. So. Thank you. And, you know, for the other times I’m not aware of. Or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” he echoed, surprising himself by the amused tone coming forth. Was this all he needed—a simple thank you? An understanding? “You are welcome. Or whatever.”
Harry snorted vociferously and put in visible effort into holding back a smile from erupting; Severus observed the minute twitching of the lips, and wondered if this was how it would be between them. Would they get along for however long it took? Would they be friendly?
“Where are we going, though? After we leave here, I mean.”
“Gluggaveður.” It was quite a strenuous effort to voice the name of a secret he’d kept longer than Harry had been at Hogwarts. “It’s a house near Reykjavik in Iceland. Unplottable, untraceable, and under the Fidelius charm with me as its only Secret Keeper. It was to be my refuge if I ever needed to go into hiding. Not even the headmaster is aware of it.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I guess I’d assumed we’d go on the run, but like actually on the run, you know. Camping and stuff. And in the U.K., I’d think.”
Severus snorted at the bashful admittance. “Why, for Merlin’s sake, would we do that, when I’ve got a perfect solution readily accessible?”
“I didn’t know that, did I?”
“Touché,” he admitted.
“What does it mean, then? Glugga… something.”
“Gluggaveður means window weather.” Harry sounded the Icelandic name out a few times until he got it right. That attitude at least, would be quite welcome. “Henceforth, should we be in public and have to talk about the house, I propose we call it the Window. I obtained it from a muggle eight years ago, with muggle money that never entered Gringotts, and under a fake alias. It cannot trace back to me ergo they cannot ever find us there. Hold out your wand.”
“What? Why?”
“If you do not trust me, I leave. Right now.”
“But, I— You can’t leave; I just want to know why! That’s all!” The panic in his tone and expression underlined his words, but Severus was never an easy man. He was never allowed to be.
“Hold out your wand.”
With tremendous reluctance, and an accompanying sigh, Harry leaned forward in his seat and held out his wand. “I trust you, alright? Bloody hell, with everything you’ve told me, how can I not? But I want to know why.”
Severus produced his wand from the holster on his wrist and held it aloft Harry’s wand. “They cannot trace me or you, but they can trace your wand. Since you’re not yet seventeen, the Trace is still active, and it would take approximately six Ministry drones about two days to perform a summoning ritual on your person via your Trace. Then, you would be, as some of your peers would say, royally fucked.” The kid’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in utter shock. At what part of his explanation, he had no clue. Perhaps it was his stern professor cursing; perhaps it was all of it. “Now, I will perform a spell to obliterate the Trace on your wand. If you had held your wand out from the first time I asked, and had been patient, I would have given you this information as well, before I would cast anything. Do you understand what I mean?”
Harry huffed and looked to the side before turning his gaze back. “You never asked. You commanded. I believe that’s touché, again.” Then, he had the audacity to curl his mouth into a smirk.
Severus leaned back in his seat, wand resting on his thigh. “Perhaps they do not place the Trace on an imp’s wand. Shall we test that theory out?”
“Merlin, but you’re difficult sometimes,” Harry said, yet even Severus could detect a gentle undertone. “My arm’s going numb any minute now. And, oi! I’m not an imp,” he groused. “Go ahead, then. That’s a question, and not a command, just so we’re sure and all.”
Severus held eye contact for a further fifteen seconds; he’d counted, and then raised his wand again. “Causa finita in perpetuum,” he pronounced with great care as his wand circled counterclockwise around Harry’s. The spell was almost never performed these days, unless something had gone wrong, and the Trace hadn’t vanished at the turn into adulthood. He’d read it in an old textbook from the library’s Restricted Section once, and was disappointed to find he could not perform the incantation on his own wand; neither did he trust anyone else to perform it for him, and risk a faulty or snapped wand. “Causa finita in perpetuum,” he reiterated, as he turned the wand clockwise this time.
When the Trace broke, Harry’s wand gleamed a bright, arctic blue, and then the glow dissipated into the air. Exactly as it had on the day Severus turned seventeen.
“Wow,” Harry breathed out, his mouth hanging open as if he were keen to catch flies. Severus almost glared and said something. Almost. Awe of magic was something beautiful, not something to laugh at. He would have to cull his reactions tinted by memories. The kid didn’t deserve it; none of them, not truly.
It was just so bloody hard to let go of what had been done to him.
How could he? It had altered his personality irrevocably and fostered reactions within his being that were so exacting to control.
His first bout of accidental magic had his father take off his belt in a terrifying rage, and Severus not being able to sit in comfort for a week. He’d been a happy, carefree child prior to that.
He’d been only four years old.
The second time was not but a month later, and then, the marks were on his back.
The bastard liked variety.
He swiftly mastered how to sit stoically so none could tell he was in pain. The old man showed immense pleasure when he looked at the effects of his handiwork; Severus refused to indulge, as far as he was capable as a young child, anyway.
“Wow, indeed,” he uttered, pleased there shone no emotions through. With his hand wrapped tight on his wand, Severus belatedly released his death grip and forced a small smile on his lips. “Now, I would like to convey the rest of my plan. If you’re ready.”
Harry placed his wand on the armrest of his red settee and peered back up, a small frown evident. “Yeah, sure. I’ll listen.”
Severus produced a nod. “First, you will get dressed, gather all your belongings in your trunk, shrink it, and place it in your pocket. There can be left nothing behind, not even a comb with your hair. Vanish your bedding as well. In the meantime, I will do the same in my quarters and office. Are you— Harry, I do not mean this in a demeaning way, but I have to ask. Are you capable of carrying this out, or do you need my help? If so, I require a moment to rethink my plans.”
“Yeah, I can do it. I’ll cast a silencing charm and wear my cloak of invisibility in case the other blokes wake up.”
Well, that revelation certainly explained a lot, and already caused him to rethink his plans. No need to have him hiding in an alcove. “Second, you will wait outside the Clock Tower Courtyard while I take on… a task, if you will.”
“Okay, easy. What’s the task?”
“I will go to Gringotts to collect all the gold I have and convert half to muggle money. The goblins do not break client privacy, but should it happen anyway – we do not know the limits Albus or the Dark Lord would go to – it would cause them to divert their search to both the magical and the muggle world. And thus, we thin their focus, as well.” Harry stared at Severus’ shoes with a focus he had never witnessed before, deep in thought, it seemed. Perhaps, lamenting Severus’ fashion choices.
“I want to contribute, too,” Harry whispered into the depths of the night, “but Dumbledore or missus Weasley has got my Gringotts key.”
Severus blinked twice. “They’ve never given you your key? I see his machinations run further than I’d presumed.” And, another divergence of the plan, Harry would have to come along to the bank. “Very well, we cannot allow that to continue. You will come with me, and give the goblins a sample of your blood to take control of the Potter vaults, and you will—”
“I’ll do it.”
Merlin, how he hated being interrupted. Just like the first couple of years he’d taught at Hogwarts, when he’d had to teach those who had known him as a fellow student. He’d not deign to repeat himself, though. “—have to abolish any and all access to your vault by others.”
Harry’s gaze dropped to his ratty trainers, and Severus felt a wave of sympathy squeeze his throat. The boy had a fortune gathering dust in a vault, no doubt having accrued interest, as well, and here he was, wearing ill-fitting garb, ghastly old-fashioned glasses, and worn-down shoes. Severus had often wished he’d had an unfathomably large vault to access, but now, he merely wished to buy the kid some new clothing. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Should’ve done that from the start; if I’d known I could, that is,” Harry sighed at last, sounding older than Severus had ever perceived him.
Were the blinders falling off irrevocably?
Were harsh truths hammering canyon-wide cracks into a young heart?
Albus had always assured everyone the boy was being pampered like a prince at home. Humbling, to reconcile those years he was certain Harry was a spoiled brat with the youth before him. He’d not add further to the traumatic events that had already been forced upon him; not taking into account the current hare-brained event.
“Professor Snape. Sir?”
And wasn’t that a first? The respect he’d always craved, finally given unasked, and now it tasted sour. Foul. “You may call me Severus,” he rattled out, afraid he would otherwise never grant the liberty.
“What? Uh, yeah. Alright.” His eyes strayed to the side before they settled back in front of him. “If we do this, if we go ahead with it, you must know you’ll be a hunted man? Even Dumbledore will want your head.”
“I am well aware of the consequences of my actions.” Wasn’t he always? Ever since he’d tattled on that damned prophecy. Considering all angles, moves, and aftermaths.
It’s what kept him alive this far.
It’s what kept him awake most nights.
“Okay then. Does the bank even open at night?”
“It does not. However, having brewed for them in the past, I’m considered an ally to the goblins. There is a hidden side entrance we’ll have to use.”
Harry nodded absentmindedly, and pulled his legs up to wrap his arms around them, chin resting on top. “How will you get the Horcrux out of me? If it’s at all possible, that is.” Severus yearned to get up and pace before answering but those eyes pinned him to his seat, full of acceptance; he wanted to ask of what: failure or the possibility there were no options at all?
“I remember a book the Dark Lord was holding once when I’d arrived early to a meeting.” Caressing more like, he’d seemed oddly fond of it. Perhaps the most liveliest expression he’d ever observed on the horrid face. “It was days before his snake familiar, Nagini, became inseparable at his side, mere weeks before the start of your fifth year. She was often seen with him in the room before, but I’ve yet to see them apart since then. Thus, my suspicion that it pertains to Horcruxes and that the snake could be one. The title was in what I believe to be Greek.”
“Great, only about a billion Greek books to check, then.”
Severus levelled him with a blank stare as he thought through his options. After all, he didn’t speak one word of Greek, it could’ve been another language. Dark, plum-coloured hardcover, silver letters and silver-gilt edges. That would narrow it down, but if it was about Horcruxes, as he suspected, it wouldn’t be readily available to the masses.
It left him with one option.
“I shall have to steal the Dark Lord’s book,” he said. A certain amount of excitement laced his tone, and for the life of him, he didn’t know where it bubbled up from.
“You’re a bloody madman,” Potter laughed. Snorted, even. “Positively mental, you are.”
“Language, mister Potter. I am not above taking points, still,” he warned.
“Go ahead, then,” the boy said softly as he lifted his chin in defiance. “Take them all, Severus.”
Bloody Gryffindors.
Deciding to ignore the challenge, he continued on with his plan. “I would create a copy of the book, of course. If anything prevents copying, I fear that leaves me with no other option. Which begets the question, are we ready for him to figure out what we wish to attempt, and risk him creating more? If his soul can take more splitting, that is—which I very much doubt.” Severus hummed to himself. “Then again, as soon as word reaches him that the both of us have disappeared without a trace… my chances of slipping in and finding the book are practically nil.”
“Are you asking my opinion, or have you already decided?”
Severus chuckled, then. Clever kid; more so than he’d ever presumed. “I’d be a fool not to make use of this one night.”
“So, before or after Gringotts, then?”
“Before. We may as well employ Hogwarts’ safety measures for a short while longer. Pick a name for us to call the Dark Lord.” Genuine confusion marred the youthful face at the non-sequitur. He’d have to get used to explaining his thought processes, perhaps. “He’s been known to cast spells to track those who use any of his names. I wouldn’t count him out not using that tactic on us.”
“Well, okay. Let me see…” Harry tilted his head to the side as his fingers played with his shoelaces. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, backtracking whichever option had come to mind. Severus found he did not mind waiting. It was quite peaceful, and when an option finally clicked, it was fascinating to observe the triumphal expression turn to him. “Since he thinks these ridiculous names make him more powerful or mystical or whatever, why not give him the blandest name we can come up with? No one will ever know who we’re talking about!”
The humongous, pleased smirk on Harry was quite infectious, and Severus allowed a small smirk of his own to emerge. “Well then, imp, let’s hear your choice.”
“John! As in John Doe. And Dung Beetles for his Death Ea—servants! And hey, stop calling me an imp, will you?”
“I will—as soon as you cease grinning and smirking like one. It’s a good choice. John. He’d have your severed head to toy with, just for that; I’d best not let him, I suppose.”
“I suppose,” he laughed, and it took him a while to sober up, while Severus waited with a pleasant, yet small curl of the lips. In a good mood, he discarded the thought he would be called a Dung Beetle, as well. Incredibly rude of the boy—an apt choice, though. “I haven’t laughed like that since before Sirius died, you know.”
And like that, the good-humoured mood was gone.
Was this the part where blame would be placed at his feet?
“Thank you. I think I needed that,” he sighed, and Severus nearly did a double take as his brain short-circuited. “Look at that; you’re as white as snow. What must you expect of me, huh? Like I told Sirius, I’m not my father. I don’t appreciate being treated like that.”
“Forgive me,” Severus whispered, the words leaving his mouth before he could think them. “I know you’re not him—your father. I was expecting to be blamed for your godfather’s death.”
“You told me what happened, and I believe that. Kreacher had already told us over summer, and Remus double-checked if he was lying. Did you know they were together? Remus and Sirius. I never knew,” he huffed. “They never told me, at least not until one of them was dead. People never tell me anything,” his voice broke on the last sentence. “I’m grateful you told me all of it tonight, truly. The only thing I blame you for is being a total tosser to me for the past five years. Honestly! You singled me out on day one!”
“I did,” he agreed, it was the truth after all. He cast a quick Tempus. Not even midnight yet, still time enough to accomplish everything. “There’s no excuse but my being—whatever you wish to name it, it probably was. Your father and his friends had hurt me immensely for years, and you ripped open those wounds simply by being present, and I took that out on you. A child. It was pathetic and cruel of me.” Severus let out a long sigh. “I had planned to apologise that evening, but the damage was done, and it was a class with Slytherins, so word would have no doubt already spread to a Death—Dung Beetle parent. There was no other option but to maintain my behaviour. Dumbledore agreed. For what it could possibly be worth, I am eminently sorry.”
“You could’ve apologised and told me that you had to keep up an act, you know. I would’ve understood.”
“Would you? Truly?” Severus snorted at the prompt downturn of Harry’s mouth.
“No, I wouldn’t have believed or trusted a kind word that came out of your mouth after that first day. I accept your apology now, though,” he said, eyes appearing to search his for whatever reaction he hoped to elicit. Severus gave him none but a kind nod. “I was taking notes of everything you said in that first lesson. Did you know that?”
“I thought you were doodling,” he admitted. “I should’ve checked before I allowed my temper to ruin it.”
“Severus? I don’t want to talk about our past anymore. Not today. We’re good now, yeah?”
Severus swallowed past the lump in his throat. Was it this easy? “We are good.” Apparently, it was. He stood, then, and waited for Harry to do the same. “Are you ready?”
Harry grabbed his wand and pocketed it. He’d have to get him a wand holster. “Yes.”
“Very well. You will go to your dorm and do as we said, and once you are finished, you will wait at the Clock Tower Courtyard. I have no idea yet when I will be back from my attempt at copying John’s book, but there is no other opti—”
“I know. I listened the first time,” he said and rolled his eyes. “Book. Gringotts. I’ve got it. Don’t get killed, and see you when I see you,” he saluted cheekily and left the Room.
Severus sighed at the predicament he’d thrust himself into with eyes wide open.
After all, he had a lot to accomplish, and in limited time.