3.

Snape looked at the man with surprise, not even trying to hide it.

‘Potter, look, whatever I said I don’t blame you and the Weasley family doesn’t blame you either, so you don’t need to put the blame on yourself or on another…’

Potter lifted his chin defiantly: it was a gesture, which had always irritated Snape beyond belief. He could feel the annoyance swirling in the back of his mind, however hard he tried to suppress it.

‘You know nothing about that night, Snape,’ the brat said, but suddenly, he changed topics. ‘So what did you babble about those contact lenses and the hair-growth?’

For a moment, Snape was considering going on with the aborted topic, Potter was quite impolite toward Headmaster after all, but after a moment of reconsidering (mostly because the old man wasn’t there) he confessed to himself that Potter had been right about shifting into more peaceful territory. It was not the time for quarrels and arguments, and that blame-topic was very likely to grow into one. So, he surrendered and pulled a small envelope out of his pocket, and sneered, not purely out of habit: Albus’s idea was more hilarious than normal. For a short moment, he clenched his teeth to maintain his normal composure over the disgust he felt, and sighed.

‘Albus gave it to me in case we had to travel using muggle devices, especially airplanes, where we need documents, and he thought it would be dangerous to travel under our own names – even though you lived here under a fake name-’

‘Yeah, James Poulter,’ Potter muttered distractedly. ‘I didn’t want anybody to find me.’

Snape shrugged and ignored the quiet remark. ‘And now, it comes in extremely handy since the local police are after you, and I suspect they even have a photo of you, so we need them. It’s absolute luck that nobody has recognised you yet.’

‘It has something to do with the radio announcements,’ Potter barked under his breath, but Snape again paid no attention to the idiot brat’s whining. In reality, Potter, just like in the good, old days, began to get under his skin – and it had nothing to do with the punch on his nose! It was the man himself, who irritated him: a spoilt, irresponsible, whining, cowardly weakling – and here he was to change his nappies… He hated the situation and he loathed Potter. But he forced himself to go on.

‘Though I don’t think you will be too flattered, if you see these documents-’

‘As if I want to see ANYthing Dumbledore sent,’ Potter murmured, but Snape continued deliberately pretending that he didn’t hear Potter’s babbling. Instead, he pulled out the two IDs, and handed Potter his. The idiot cast a blank look at the ID, then Snape.

‘We will travel as Gabriel and Steven Paddock, father and son: so Albus gave me those contact lenses for you to put in and you can grow your own hair to be like mine without a wand-’

‘What?’ Potter seemed absolutely stupid and Snape sneered.

‘The matter being?’ Snape raised an eyebrow.

‘Slow down. I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.’

Snape scowled so that his teeth reappeared. ‘We will travel as father and-’

‘I understood that part, Snape. I don’t understand the whole. I’m not like you.’

‘This is why you have to put in contacts and make your hair grow.’

‘Make my hair grow.’ Potter smirked sarcastically. ‘Come on, Snape!’

Snape suddenly leaned closer and almost spat in Harry’s face. ‘Have you gone mad, Potter?’ Snape hissed. ‘Are you a wizard or not?’

Potter staggered backwards and paled furiously. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.  He had never believed, not in his wildest dreams, that he still was able to bring such a shock out of Potter!

The younger man suddenly seemed just broken, nothing else.

‘Yes, technically I’m a wizard. And no, I don’t want to behave as one. I quit, Snape.’

‘The Golden Boy just hid away.’ Snape’s lips curled down in disgust.

Potter’s shoulders slumped even more if it was possible.

‘Ron died. Everybody has died I once loved,’ he muttered, his face almost lit in the street’s dark. ‘I don’t belong to that world anymore.’

‘Your responsibilities-’

‘Go to hell, Snape! I don’t give a damn about them! I don’t have responsibilities toward the wizarding world any more! You stole me everything from me that I held dear, don’t come and preach me now about what my responsibilities are!’ By the end of the sentence, Potter’s voice was pitched and so sharp that it hurt Snape’s ears.

‘Hysterical, Potter?’ he asked sarcastically.

Apparently, Potter gave up yelling at him, and turned to leave once again. Snape’s hand grabbed his shoulder forcefully.

‘Oh, no, Mr Potter. We won’t play this game any longer. You have to disguise yourself and we have to disappear as fast as we can. The muggle police are after you. The Death Eaters are after the two of us. You told me we have to go to Perth to meet your contact. I’m willing to go with you. We don’t have time for such scenes! Stop this nonsense NOW!’

For a moment, Snape thought Potter would punch him again as his eyes lit up in fury. But, almost immediately, it was replaced by a dull resignation and the man ran a hand through his messy hair.

‘All right, Snape,’ he breathed. ‘All right.’

***

There were a lot of things, Harry had never believed before. One of them was seeing Snape driving a car. He was unpractised, it was clear, but he could drive nevertheless, and it picked Harry’s curiosity more than anything. When and why had Snape learned to drive a car? It was such a muggle thing to do, wasn’t it? And Snape, as the ultimate Head of the Slytherin House didn’t seem to appreciate even half-bred things and people – how could he stand to do such a pure-mud thing as driving a car? But he had decided he wouldn’t enter into a conversation with the irritating git anymore. They would somehow survive their trip to Perth, where Harry would bid good-bye to the man and go to die by the hands of Voldemort.

Oh, yes, he would die, he didn’t have any doubts about it. He was still inexperienced, even after those years of fighting, but that wasn’t the main reason for his resignation. The main reason was that he still didn’t have anything to fight for. He just didn’t have even an ounce of that power Dumbledore had mentioned to him long years ago.

“There is a room in the Department of Mysteries, that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. (…) It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.”

Yes, he knew now, what Dumbledore had been all about. But he was absolutely incapable of love. And pure vengeance was not enough to destroy the darkness. Not to mention that the mere memory of Sirius’s death gave rise to much more recent and painful thoughts, which stabbed his stomach like a dagger and stopped his breathing.

So many deaths…

So many people he had cared for, loved, cherished – they had vanished into nothingness to never reappear. Nobody was like his friends. His friends… he suddenly remembered Snape’s annoyed hiss: “Have you gone mad, Potter? Are you a wizard or not?” The same question Ron had asked Hermione in the deadly hold of the Devil’s Snare back in their first year – and his heart throbbed in pain. Ron, the victim of Dumbledore’s plans together with Luna and his loveling… Nobody would be like his loveling. He had been stupid when he had thought he could move on with his life.

No, there wasn’t any chance he could move on. He was rooted deeply in his past, he was a slave of it, of those people, of his memories of those people. Perhaps Snape had been right to come for him and drag him back into that meaningless war he could only lose. Whatever would happen, it would be the end even if Voldemort survived. He would go through that veil, which separates life and death and he would finally find that peace he had rarely had – and would never have in this life.

From this point of view his differences with Snape seemed rather childish and absolutely insignificant.

He looked at the man sitting next to him without the usual blinding hatred he was used to and was surprised to see a totally different person sitting in his greasy-haired potions teacher’s place.

This man was still greasy, but he could see the first greyish locks at his temple, which scared him. Snape… Snape wasn’t that old, was he? Forty-two, twenty years older than Harry, not a young man by any standard, but by wizarding standards still in the very beginning of his adulthood. And yet, his eyes were circled by heavy shadows, his face pale and haggard, his hands slightly trembling when weren’t on the wheel – all these things spoke volumes about the man’s current mental and physical state. He was completely exhausted and on the verge of some kind of breakdown, if Harry wasn’t mistaken.

‘I will drive, if you want to have some rest,’ he spoke up tentatively.

Snape lifted an eyebrow without glancing in his direction.

‘You don’t have a driving license,’ he said a little irritated, but without the usual boiling hatred.

Harry wanted to protest, but then it came to his mind that he as Steven Paddock really didn’t have anything but his ID and his new face, and released a sigh.

‘Then we have to stop soon. You need some rest. You look like hell.’

‘I don’t need your concern, Potter,’ the hatred was back. Harry was tempted to answer with the same feeling and vehemence, but he remembered his previous thoughts and swallowed instead.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘But we should stop anyway. I need a bathroom. And you could use some coffee…’

Snape’s head bobbed slightly shoving that he understood Harry’s request and after half an hour they stopped at a petrol station.

When Harry returned from the toilet, he saw Snape standing next to the car in the parking space (apparently finished fuelling), staring numbly at the surrounding mountains and as he went closer, he noticed the lines of deep sorrow on the man’s face mixed with lines of exhaustion and pain.

Snape was crying.

It shocked Harry so much he couldn’t even move.

Snape was crying. Silently and proudly: his back straight, his hands held the car’s door so forcefully that the tendons in his hands were taut like a drawn bow, his lips were forced together, his eyes shut tightly – but slow tears snuck out of the corners of his eyes, betraying him together with the light trembling of his shoulders.

Even being scared of the sight, Harry knew what Snape would say if he caught Harry leering at him, so the young man retreated towards the shopping area to buy some drinks and food while Snape regained his composure. He didn’t hurry back, just when he saw the man releasing the car’s door, stepped out of the small shop and walked to the car. Without a word, he pushed the paper cup into Snape’s hand and circled the car and sat in his seat. The tears’ prints were still visible on the tired face.

***

Snape knew precisely that he was too exhausted. In his normal state, he would have never showed grief or sorrow in front of Potter of all people, but the last days were very hard on him and even before he had found Potter, he had had two sleepless nights in a row after Minerva had owled him of Draco’s death – Dementor’s kiss… and he was torn between grief and self-reproach. He could have done more to save the young man from this fate, he should have been more open and used the power he knew he had over the boy to prevent him from joining the Dark Lord, but he had failed. Draco had finally followed his father’s fate into the fire of Hell killing the Creevey family in his search for Potter, five people in one occasion and getting caught by the Ministry Aurors red-handed on the spot, and Narcissa had killed herself right after her son’s death.

So, he had spent two days sitting in his hotel room and drinking himself into oblivion, but absolutely unable to get drunk or have some sleep.

And then, he had gone to fetch Potter just to find that death certificate in a Yeats anthology of all books, and that had been the final blow. Not to mention Potter’s constant whining and aggressive behaviour on the top of all this.

But the brat now brought some drink to him, and even if Snape was sure Potter had seen him cry, didn’t say a word, just handed him that cup of strong Earl Grey tea and retreated to his seat.

Perhaps the brat had some human features after all.

‘Thanks for the tea,’ he muttered when he finally sat into the car.

‘Not at all,’ Potter said in an even tone. ‘I bought some sandwiches if you’re hungry.’

He nodded, took one of the offered sandwiches and slumped into the seat chewing tiredly.

They sat in a companionable silence eating.

‘What are your plans after we reach Perth?’ Snape asked after swallowing the last bit.

‘I’ll face Voldemort.’

The answer was simple, and was missing that usual something, which had always been present in the younger man’s voice whenever Potter had spoken with him. What could it be? Snape mused, while the car turned back to the road. Cheekiness? Annoyance? Irritation? Stupidity?

It took some time for him to realise that Potter’s tone was missing that always-present hatred and defiance, which was the perfect match of Snape’s similar feelings. Why?

The answer hit him like another strong blow on his nose. He had cried and Potter had seen it. And now, the brat felt somehow compelled to… To what?

Anger flared in him. How did Potter dare to pity him?

But when he turned to the younger man, he didn’t see pity or any similar feeling on the young-old face. He saw fear and tiredness and sorrow, while Potter stared out of the windscreen, his eyes unfocused.

Loosening his grip on the wheel, he turned his attention back to the road.

‘If you want, you can turn the radio on,’ he said quietly.

‘No, thanks,’ Potter answered. ‘I prefer silence.’

Snape nodded.

They sat in silence for long hours after that. It was already late afternoon, when Potter again spoke.

‘Why did Dumbledore send you?’

‘The Dark Lord discovered I was the spy,’ he said. ‘Dumbledore wanted me out of the British Isles all of a sudden,’ he added bitterly.

‘Oh, I see. The old man is still perfectly capable of making decisions about other people’s lives.’

The resentment in Potter’s voice surprised Snape. ‘What do you mean?’

Potter shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think we are just pawns in his game against Voldemort. He doesn’t care about our feelings and decisions; he just uses us: you, me, the Order, and even Fudge and the Ministry, if I’m not entirely mistaken.’

‘Potter,’ Snape growled menacingly, but the brat ignored him.

‘The only difference between him and Voldemort is that we don’t have to bear a mark…’

Snape suddenly slammed on the brakes so forcefully that they almost flew through the windscreen. The next moment, he grabbed the younger man’s collar and shook him.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he whispered deadly. ‘You are whining like a spoiled child, Potter, without knowing the real difference.’ He released Potter and tossed him back to his seat and looked into his eyes, his own blazing with fury. ‘You don’t know what it means to serve the Dark Lord, Potter. You don’t know what it means to kill and torture and to be tortured, you don’t know what it means to give up your entire existence for a madman, who demands your complete submission in everything, do you understand? Everything. Your possessions, your mind, your family, your body are not yours anymore, but his and his alone, and believe me, he does use them, takes them from you, twists them and throws them back when he gets bored of them.’ He leaned closer to the pale brat. ‘You don’t know what you’re babbling about. You don’t know Dumbledore at all, boy. He hates to do this – he hates to manipulate our lives, but he needs to do it if he wants to win this war.’

‘He could treat us as allies, as equals, but no, he doesn’t trust us,’ Potter cried out in frustration. ‘And now, I’m not talking about you, but about me, Snape, me, the final weapon, not a person, a mere thing, something he can use in this war. He never asked my opinion, never, do you understand? He never told me the reasons behind those things he asked from me! He forced me to take those Occlumency lessons from you, he forced me to take Potions from you in my last two years even if my OWLs didn’t meet your expectations, he forced me to do that Auror training even if by my seventh year, I didn’t want to become an Auror any more, he forced me to partake in the Order, but somehow, my missions were always so blurry: if you remember, even you can see that we never talked about my missions in those Order meetings, I was always kept in dark about his motives or my role in the whole shit and in the end, he tipped Voldemort off about my home’s location killing the three people I cared most in my life and later he told me that he just wanted to protect me. “My dear boy”,’ he mimicked the Headmaster voice. ‘“Wouldn’t let you be killed.”’ Potter hit his knees in exasperation.

‘Potter-’ Snape tried a soothing tone, but it apparently didn’t work, because the other man went on.

‘At least, you joined Voldemort and later Dumbledore willingly, but I never had the chance to make my own decisions in my life. And Dumbledore was afraid I wouldn’t choose the way he wanted me to go, so he manipulated me shamelessly, depriving me of everybody I once held dear.’

Potter’s voice was very, very small in the end, and for the first time in his life, Snape didn’t react out of hatred or annoyance. Something in the brat’s voice stopped him from spitting some sharp and hurting remark. Potter’s shoulders were slumped, his head bowed in defeat, and Snape finally could see the person – not the Potter he hated, but a real person with feelings, fears and scars and it hushed him into silence.

‘I see,’ he croaked after a while, started the car’s engine and turned back to the road giving time for the younger man to regain himself.

However he disliked Potter, he had to admit that he was right. His conscience forced him to see things he had ignored before. He had to surrender it, because it weighed heavily on his mind.

And knowing that it was he, who transmitted Dumbledore’s tip-off about Potter’s residence, didn’t really ease that weight.

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