4.

Harry was genuinely surprised by Snape’s reaction. In reality, he had been waiting for the other man to yell at him, to call him names, perhaps even to hit him, but that careful retreat and those two words of understanding had been quite unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwelcomed. They were like the white flag of truce between them, and Harry accepted the silently offered opportunity. Seeing the man crying also helped. Seeing that Snape was after all human, like everybody else. A terrible mannered human, but human nevertheless.

He still didn’t like the man, but that boiling hatred had somehow disappeared from his chest. It was a real relief: Harry had literally felt the hatred eating him from inside, it hurt him probably more than it hurt Snape anyway.

Feeling a little bit safer with the man now, he took a nap after their conversation, and he woke just after 8 p.m. feeling relaxed and a little bit less tense. Snape, on the other hand, didn’t allow himself to even stop for a moment, just drove, his eyes fixed to the road. From time to time, Harry shot a glance in the other man’s direction wondering when Snape would confess that he was dead on his feet (or bum in this case): the man’s blinks were longer and longer and he couldn’t stop yawning. Harry knew better than suggest a stop, he didn’t want to provoke another argument over the dangers of driving while tired. But he was on alert to wake Snape in the moment the man fell asleep.

They stopped only twice during the day, and when the first stars began to appear in the deep blue sky, the older man finally gave in.

‘We have to stop. I can’t keep my eyes open,’ he said unceremoniously and turned into the petrol station in front of them. ‘At least we left those mountains behind us,’ he muttered and got out of the car.

Harry followed him and they both stretched themselves.

‘I’ll go pick up some drinks,’ Harry said, the man merely nodded. He bought a tea for Snape, but for himself, he chose a strong coffee knowing that one of them had to watch during the night. Not as if they had too many chances – watching or not – if the Death Eaters found them, but it didn’t really matter. Harry wanted to watch, to be a little bit alone and think.

Snape seemed oddly touched when Harry brought him the tea.

‘You shouldn’t have to-’ he muttered, but his eyes were barely open. A few moments later, Harry smiled and pulled the half-full cup out of his ex-professor’s weakening grasp.

‘Better if you don’t pour it on yourself,’ he said and leaned the man’s seat back to render his position more comfortable. ‘It’s too hot.’

‘Thks,’ came the short reaction, and Harry smiled again.

Snape fell asleep almost the moment his head touched the seat, and soon, he curled up dragging his knees to his chest. It showed him so different from the angry and snappy man Harry had known for years that his thoughts returned to him and to their relationship again and again. Even a day ago it was such a simple relationship: they hated each other and that was that. This hatred had its firm foundation in Snape’s schooldays and it had been only an added bonus that after a while Harry had answered the man’s hatred with similar loathing and resentment. The situation had worsened after Harry’s fifth year, when Dumbledore had forced them back together to learn Occlumency and Potions. And while Harry – out of fear of losing more people around him – had soon excelled in Occlumency, those Potions lessons had rendered his life a hell: Advanced Potions three times a week, and Snape had never forgot to mention that Harry’s presence in the class was resented and tolerated only because of the Headmaster. Harry remembered his burning face and the tears of humiliation and impotence, and many times it had only been Hermione’s soothing hand, which had stopped him from doing something unforgivable (or Unforgivable) to the man.

And then Hermione was gone, and he had felt exposed and defenceless in those classes, the single Gryffindor and Snape’s taunting hadn’t even lessened – or more so, he had taunted Harry with Hermione’s case too, which was killing the young man so much that he finally had fled from a Potions class and gone to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore had stopped Snape’s verbal taunts, but couldn’t stop the other kinds of cruelty, which had lead to Gryffindor earning the last position by the end of the year.

But by that time, Harry hadn’t cared. They had had a fight, and after that, Snape had always been more cautious around him.

Their relationship over the last days hadn’t been simple either. But surprisingly, Harry finally felt somehow reconciled with him. Snape had really been helpful, even after Harry’s onslaught in the pub doing his best (even if it was like somebody’s worst) to avoid conflicts with Harry. Harry, however, couldn’t help but provoke the Potions Master. All this had changed when he had seen the man cry. Snape had trusted him enough to cry in his presence, Harry thought and this thought was somehow comforting. And Snape had seemed to understand Harry’s complaint against Dumbledore too. Or even more, Harry could feel guilt coming from the man. It had been surprising. Snape and guilt. Snape – accepting his retort and belittling the man’s Death Eater experiences. Oh yes, Harry could perfectly understand what Snape had been talking about. But he had never been given the chance to choose freely.

Though he had made a decision: it had happened only once, and he had kept secret from the Headmaster and the Order – and it had ended so tragically with so many deaths.

Dumbledore – oh, how he hated the man.

He opened Yeats searching for his favourite.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

By the end of the poem he was curled up, like Snape, shaking heavily with the sobs.

Dreams – nothing else remained of his beautiful loveling just dust and dreams. And nothing would bring her back ever. Her lack seemed like a void in Harry’s chest. Gripping the book strongly, he didn’t realise when he slipped into a nightmare-filled slumber.

***

Snape woke up to a quiet groaning from behind, and when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with a pain-faced Harry Potter, who clutched the familiar Yeats book in his hand. In his sleep, Potter was nothing like the arrogant, little sod he had known for ages; he was just a fragile young man with deep scars and fears going to meet his fate in a few days, and this knowledge suddenly shook Snape.

So young… Slightly older than his father had been when he had died protecting his family… He didn’t know why, but he reached his hand out and touched the young man’s shoulders in a soothing manner.

‘Just dreams…’ Potter muttered and his tears began to run down his cheeks. ‘Tread softly… Loveling, loveling open your eyes, please, please don’t leave me alone… We’ll call him Solidus, Solidus…’ A strange, half-sob, half-laugh shook Potter’s body. ‘Don’t tread on my dreams, darling, it hurts…’

Snape froze in terror. The implications of this dream were just too obvious. The next moment, Potter grasped his hand and pulled him closer still crying.

‘I’m cold…’ he whispered. ‘I need the heavens’ cloth, she’s there…’

Snape couldn’t help it any more. He yielded and leaned closer to the young man, slipping his hand around his back and rubbing calming circles.

‘Heavens’ door… she’s there… let me go…’

Snape had to clench his jaws tightly if he didn’t want to cry himself.

‘Shhh…’ he whispered struggling with the bubbling sorrow in his throat.

‘I’m poor, I have no clothes… she left,’ Potter seemed to be in a half-dream. ‘She left me, Ron, she left me… She swore she would never…’

Snape took a few deep breaths before speaking up.

‘Wake up,’ he said a little louder. ‘You’re having a nightmare.’

The first sign of Potter regaining his consciousness was that the body stiffened in his half-embrace. Cautiously, Snape pulled his hand back and slowly withdrew giving Potter space to regain his composure too, and fished for a handkerchief in his pocket. When he found it, he pushed it into Potter’s hand and got out of the car.

The fresh, summer morning was beautiful and still not too warm, and Snape gave himself time to stretch his numb limbs and do some gymnastics to restart his blood circulation. Potter was still curled up, so he headed to the shop in the petrol station for some breakfast and tea for the both of them. By the time he arrived back, Potter looked like he had gathered himself together, though he averted his face when Snape sat back in the car.

Purposefully not mentioning the waking minutes, Snape offered tea and a sandwich to Potter, who accepted the tea, but didn’t even look at the food. Snape decided to divert their attention from the embarrassing events, so he asked, ‘How did you know yesterday that they would come after us?’

Potter looked at him taken aback.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked furrowing his brows.

‘You woke me up in the middle of the night before the attack… How did you know about it?’

‘Oh, that,’ Potter released a sigh. ‘Voldemort can feel my magical signature if I use magic.’

Snape stared at him expectantly. ‘It’s something new for me.’

‘It’s since… he… er… possessed me in my fifth year in the Ministry of Magic. I began to feel his things… and I always knew where he was and what he was doing. I tried to tell the Headmaster and that was when he forced me back to learning Occlumency with you. As you know, I somewhat mastered it, but those feelings never ceased. I told Hermione then, and she and I did some research in the library – and we found that it’s mutual. I began to give tips to the Headmaster about Voldemort’s whereabouts, but he soon realised the same, so we began not to use our magic… not to be detectable.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Snape nodded. ‘This was the reason the Headmaster never let you fight or do magic unless if it was absolutely necessary.’

‘I didn’t understand why. I wanted him to find me, to finish our business once and for all. But Dumbledore always disagreed saying that I was not ready. Ultimately, his resistance killed Ron and… and other people. Then, I quit.’

Snape nodded again and turned his attention to the car. ‘Can we go?’

‘Were you waiting for me?’ Potter looked at him as if he grew another limb.

‘You should go to the toilet before departing,’ the man suggested with a short sigh. ‘Move yourself a little. Then, we’ll leave.’

‘Uh… okay,’ Potter cracked a weak half-smile and got out of the car, but leaned back. ‘Thanks.’

Snape fixed his seat into a comfortable position for driving and scratched his stubble. He hated it, but he had neither shaving kit nor wand to remove it with a quick spell, so he scratched himself thinking of what he had learned about the young man, and found that he had some kind of… understanding towards him. And a strange kind of sympathy or whatever. Potter was different than he had imagined him to be. He was much softer, more human, carrying many more scars than the others – so unlike his celebrity of a father or the moron of a godfather, and so unlike that emotionally driven teenager he had been in Hogwarts!

Or had it been simply he who had never paid attention?

***

Harry didn’t know what to think about Snape any more.

He acted just… creepily. What had changed him overnight? All right, he understood why Snape hadn’t mocked him about crying – the man too had cried the day before, so they were even now. But that… comforting touch was so unlike the cruel man. He couldn’t understand, and it scared him more than a little.

‘So, what about the war? What happened since I left?’ he asked as soon as he returned to the creepy man to avoid any possibly embarrassing topic. Snape apparently was eager to accept the silent offer to change topics, because he answered without his usual scowling or sneering.

‘Shacklebolt died three months ago in an attack against the Ministry. Charlie Weasley is in hospital, because he was severely injured – they were together. Fudge is still the Minister.’ He stopped for a moment and Harry looked at him seriously. ‘The Wizengamot sentenced Draco Malfoy to the Dementor’s kiss for murdering the Creevey family. His mother committed suicide soon after her son’s death. There are no more Malfoys. Are you happy now?’

Harry was shaken by the news and by the bitter and sad tone in which Snape told him. He lowered his head.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I hated Malfoy, but I never wanted him to… to become a murderer and to die.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘I’m sorry.’

Harry’s soft tone must surprise the Potions Master, because he cast an inquiring look at him. Harry didn’t lift his head, just repeated, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘He was my last family,’ the man added. When Harry didn’t speak, he continued. ‘His mother and I were cousins.’

‘I see,’ Harry pressed out. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘There are quite a lot of things we don’t know about each other.’

Snape’s reaction surprised Harry.

‘Don’t tell me you actually want to know things about me?’ Snape just shrugged at the sarcastic tone. ‘But… Why?’

‘Why not?’ the cold reply silenced Harry.

The landscape around them began to change. The mountains were far behind them, but the cultivated fields became rarer as they advanced towards the west. After another stop Snape suddenly continued on with their previous conversation.

‘Oh, other news: Fletcher was sentenced to two months in Azkaban. He was caught in some illegal business in Knockturn Alley. He wanted to earn money with some brooms, but it came out that those brooms he believed – or he says so – to be simple brooms were the newest Firebolts.’ Harry snickered and even Snape smirked. ‘Serves him right. At least, the Headmaster has a spy in Azkaban too.’

‘Well, it’s not so unbearable now that the Dementors are gone,’ Harry said in thought.

‘Oh, and professor Sprout’s son is betrothed to Miss Tonks.’

Harry laughed. ‘Just in time! I thought he would never dare…’

Snape’s smirk widened. ‘Mr Longbottom is dating Miss Weasley.’

‘Oh, no,’ Harry felt at ease and a little happy.

‘I think both were turned down by their previous partners, and they came to the Headquarters one night to kill their heartbreak with some alcohol, and since then, they’re together.’

‘What about Moody’s love life?’ Harry asked playfully.

‘Still platonic with that Ministry witch from the department of Muggle Artefacts. Though I don’t think it was his decision. To be platonic I mean.’ Both snickered. ‘Oh, and Gilderoy was released from St Mungo’s last week. They say he will work for Madam Malkin as a model or something like that.’

‘Though I think the Defence job is still open,’ Harry noted maliciously.

‘Potter!’ Snape cried out in mock anger. ‘You’re saying that-’

‘Why not?’ Harry shrugged. ‘He fits the job perfectly. I think that after Aberforth in my seventh year… you can simply put anybody in to teach that class.’

‘Well, Albus was not too lucky with his decisions.’

Harry suddenly sobered up. ‘He should have given that job to you long ago.’

His remark must have surprised the dark man, because his jaw fell and he almost released the wheel.

‘What? Potter…?’

Harry’s mood lifted even more. ‘Perhaps we wouldn’t have had to put up with you for seven years. Imagine, one year in that cursed job and we wouldn’t have had to suffer your presence in the school anymore.’

To his astonishment, Snape laughed harshly. ‘For a moment, Potter, I thought you were serious.’

‘I also,’ Harry added smirking.

‘Albus wanted to give you that job last year,’ Snape’s tone turned solemn dispelling Harry’s good mood.

‘Yeah, I know. He told me, but I refused.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Think about it: three out of my seven teachers ended up in St Mungo’s. Two were killed and Remus was a werewolf… Should I go on?’

Snape took a deep breath before speaking. ‘You didn’t trust Albus.’

Harry’s face fell. ‘You’re wrong, Snape. I trusted him.’ He lifted his head and stared out of the windscreen, his previous sorrow returned with multiplied force. ‘I trusted him more than I should have. And he betrayed my trust.’

Harry could see Snape’s face turning white in understanding.

‘You… he…’ his ex-professor muttered. ‘Don’t tell me that he… he was your…’ The older man simply wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Harry did it for him.

‘Yes, he was the person I trusted with my beloveds’ security.’

‘No…’ The whisper was faint and barely audible.

‘But yes.’

By this time, Snape’s face was grey, almost green.

‘It couldn’t be…’ He stopped the car to face Harry. ‘Tell me straight to my eyes, what happened.’

Harry looked calmly at the man in the eyes and slowly and clearly he spoke.

‘Albus Dumbledore was my secret keeper. And he gave out my secret to my worst enemy. In the name of a greater good.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘I couldn’t remain in the wizarding world any more.’

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