6.

The next day, in spite of Snape’s obvious lack of practise driving, they were at the two-thirds mark of their travel, almost halfway through the Nullarbor Plain. His ex-Potions teacher wasn’t too fast a driver, he scarcely drove faster than sixty miles per hour, sometimes even less, which was quite ridiculous: the road was straight and there was no real traffic either, but Snape just went on with his usual meticulousness, his eyes on the road as they headed towards Laverton.

Harry was a little bit nervous about his previous day’s confession, and so, he didn’t speak, just stared out of the window avoiding any possible eye contact with the dark man next to him. On the other hand, he could feel that Snape wanted to ask him about the things he had told him, but he didn’t feel ready to answer them. Any of them.

And there was something else… Nervousness was radiating from Snape: his fingers tapped the wheel agitatedly and from time to time he sneered to himself as if he was fighting an internal battle. What could have caused this nervousness, Harry mused. Their situation? Shame of being seen crying? Or… was it that guilt he had felt from time to time for two days?

He leaned back in his seat, willing his tension to pass. His hand moved to his pocket involuntarily, and the next moment he was staring at the cover of the poem book – again.

He pressed his lips together and tried to swallow back the emerging pain… As if pain could be swallowed…

I wander by the edge

Of this desolate lake

Where wind cries in the sedge:

Until the axle break

That keeps the stars in their round,

And hands hurl in the deep

The banners of East and West,

And the girdle of light is unbound,

Your breast will not lie by the breast

Of your beloved in sleep.

‘Potter,’ the familiar voice startled him and he turned to his companion.

‘What?’

‘It’d be better if you put that book down. You’re just tormenting yourself.’

He shut the book with a swift motion and swallowed again. ‘How do you know?’

Snape cracked a smirk. ‘Honestly, Potter. I could ask you the same.’

‘The same?’ Harry gratefully concentrated on their conversation. It helped to chase Yeats away from his thoughts. And not only Yeats…

‘Appreciating poems is not too common amongst wizards.’

‘I was raised by muggles. We studied English Literature in school.’

Snape lifted an eyebrow. ‘In primary school?’

Harry shrugged defeated. ‘And how do you know him?’

‘Yeats?’ Harry nodded. ‘My sister loved his poems. She was an old romantic…’

For a moment both sat in silence. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Harry asked tentatively.

Snape nodded tersely, and Harry could see his muscles tense on his jaw. The tapping on the wheel stopped too. After some long, uncomfortable minutes Harry gained all his braveness.

‘It was she you were grieving for?’

They both knew that Harry referred to Snape’s breakdown two days ago.

‘No,’ Snape said another long pause. Later, he added, ‘It was Draco.’

Harry nodded and looked at the man expectantly. He didn’t even think to press the issue, he was waiting to see whether Snape intended to elaborate on his answer or not. When he didn’t speak, Harry returned to his staring out the window, and could hear the poem’s verses echoing in him: “Your breast will not lie by the breast / Of your beloved in sleep.” He felt so miserable that he almost choked out a sob.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled…

Another verse from the poem, and his heart throbbed in a physical pain.

He didn’t want to live.

‘As I told you, Draco was my last family,’ Snape spoke up suddenly. ‘His mother was a cousin of mine, but before you ask: no, I wasn’t related to Black, thank goodness, I was related to her from her mother’s side. We weren’t too close, mostly because my family was too poor for her, but Draco…’ He sighed. ‘He was another topic. I felt him to be my responsibility of sort when he came to Hogwarts, and we became quite close there. I tried to prevent him from joining the Dark Lord, but I failed, mostly because I had to maintain my façade, I couldn’t risk my position…’

Oh, how familiar, Harry thought sarcastically. Malfoy had to die, because Dumbledore needed a spy… He laughed out mirthlessly. When Snape looked at him questioningly, he just shrugged.

‘I just thought of Dumbledore and his plans… If you weren’t forced to be a spy, perhaps Malfoy could have lived.’

Snape’s face darkened, his expression became cold and harsh. ‘It was my decision, Potter.’

‘Oh, it seems I always forget that you had to repent,’ Harry replied bitterly. ‘Even though you insist that you didn’t kill anybody.’

‘Enough!’ Snape cried out angrily. ‘Don’t press me, boy!’

‘I’m not a boy anymore, Snape,’ Harry answered calmly. ‘Why did you go back to spying?’

‘Because that was the right thing to do, Potter. Because I know my responsibilities, unlike you!’

‘Oh.’ Harry smirked. ‘You seem to know my responsibilities too. Then, please, enlighten me, because I feel I don’t have a clue what is expected from me!’

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but after a deep breath, he closed it, much to Harry’s surprise. ‘Sorry, Potter.’

A wave of guilt washed over Harry. It was his fault, he was the one to unnerve Snape, so it was his task to apologise, not the man.

‘No, Severus,’ he said, putting a stress on the man’s first name. ‘I have to apologise. I shouldn’t have mentioned Dumbledore. And please, call me Harry.’

‘I know: not to mix you up with your father-’

‘Yeah. I’m not him. Or more so, I don’t think I’m like him.’

Harry recoiled, when Snape turned his head toward him. His eyes were blazing in an intense, previously unknown fire.

‘No. You are not,’ he said firmly.

Harry’s fright wore off slowly. Snape sometimes behaved quite creepily. A moment ago, Harry had been sure he would meet a punch after his remarks about his father (Snape had always been oversensitive about the James Potter topic), but Snape, again, managed to surprise him.

‘You are creepy,’ he said finally. The man shook his head annoyed.

‘Not any less than you are, Potter.’

‘Harry.’

‘Whatever.’

The next silence wasn’t long, Snape apparently didn’t want Harry to sulk or wallow.

‘When did you move here, by the way?’

Harry did a fast count in his head.

‘Sometimes in July, I guess. I don’t remember the precise date. The funeral was on the 25^th, and I departed for the US the following day… I was there for several days…’

‘To make a diversion I guess,’ Snape interjected and Harry couldn’t help but smirk.

‘Why, of course. And then, I came here.’

‘It wasn’t just a coincidence that you settled down here, was it?’

Harry looked at Snape in thought. He shared so many things with this man in the last days… Much more than he had ever intended, and he was quite sure he wasn’t ready to open-up again. And particularly, not on this topic.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said finally. He was waiting for Snape to press the issue, but to his surprise Snape nodded.

‘You asked me what I had done after you left,’ his tone told Harry that Snape was thinking of some kind of information trade, when he had decided to deal with this personal topic, but he didn’t care. It helped to divert his attention from his grief. He was stupid to open that Yeats book. ‘I continued to hunt for my lost family members. As I’ve already mentioned, I had a sister.’ Harry nodded, when he saw Snape casting a glance at him. ‘My only family member, who didn’t join the Dark Lord, though her husband was a part of the Inner Circle just like me.’

Harry paled and suddenly, he remembered the Death Certificate in the book in his lap. And other things: Snape had opened this book three days ago, so it wasn’t entirely impossible that he had seen it and the whole story he was spilling to Harry was just to find out the truth – but Harry was scared. He had never examined the certificate, he had been all too shocked when the official had pushed it into his hand with a sneer… But that meant… Oh, dear goodness… It just couldn’t be true…

Snape apparently didn’t realise Harry’s discomfort (or at least he pretended not to), and went on with his story.

‘Her name was Heather.’ Now, Harry trembled and struggled to swallow the bitter saliva in his mouth. He felt sick. Sick and… and something else. Trapped. Yes, he felt trapped and he needed some time to think about all this alone, but he just couldn’t jump out of the car and go for a walk… he had to listen to Snape’s monologue, then ask for some minutes to gain his fleeing thoughts. He felt nauseous. It was much worse than a Potions lesson, he decided. Oh, yes. Though, long ago he had believed Potions lessons be the worst thing that could happen to one. ‘She was older than me, ten years older to be precise. We were very different in every way. She was a Ravenclaw, she was beautiful and smart, she had never wanted power: the only thing she wanted was family. She married soon after school to Martius Montague.’

Heather Montague… Dear goodness… that couldn’t be true! Just… couldn’t!

‘She disappeared two years ago, and Martius and I made numerous attempts to find her – without success. She disappeared without a trace. I didn’t know what happened to her. I was frantic. Martius was mad.’ Snape looked at him, but Harry didn’t dare to look back. His stomach churned icily, his heart was racing, and his hands whitened on the book. ‘Do you have something to add to this story, Potter?’

The usual iciness was back, bringing the temperature of the Arctic into the car.

‘I didn’t know,’ he said and leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the smooth cover of the book. ‘I swear I didn’t know. She never told me she was your… your sister…’

Snape released a short, black laughter.

‘Don’t think I’m that daft!’

With a sudden decision, Harry lifted his head and opened the book.

The death certificate.

For the first time in his life, he opened it.

Death Certificate

Name of deceased: Mrs Heather Montague

Previous (maiden) name: Heather Snape

Place of birth: London

Date of birth: 16-01-1950

Date of death: 23-06-2001

Cause of death: poison (confirmed by autopsy)

Place of death: London, St Mungo’s hospital for magical maladies and injuries, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes

The document trembled in his hand, and Harry cursed himself inwardly. Why hadn’t he ever cast a glance at it? There was written, it was clear: Heather Snape.

Snape. Harry felt dizzy. A Snape.

Why? Why hadn’t she told him? Why had nobody told him?

‘You saw the certificate, I assume,’ he breathed in a trembling voice.

‘The first day we met, Potter,’ Snape answered surprisingly calmly.

‘Why didn’t you ask me before, then?’

‘I didn’t know what to think about it. I didn’t understand the whole… situation. You really didn’t know?’

‘That she was your sister?’ Harry shook his head frenetically. ‘She never told me. I thought…’ he interrupted himself, deep in thought. ‘She knew that we, I mean you and I, weren’t on er… too friendly terms. I guess she… tried to be tactful. But-’ suddenly, he hit his tight in rage. ‘She should have told me!’

‘You should have had at least one look into the certificate!’ Snape snapped angrily.

‘Why should I?’ Harry asked, shutting his eyes close. ‘Why should I?’ he muttered pathetically. ‘Her last wish was to bury her without alerting her family…’

‘But why?’ Snape’s voice now wasn’t angry or irritated. It was just sad and desperate. ‘I always loved her! We were once close! Why?’

Harry massaged his throbbing temples in distress.

‘I think she thought you… you were a Death Eater like her husband.’

Snape paled. ‘Do you think…?’

‘I’m not sure. As I told you, she had never told me you were related, so we didn’t mention you.’

‘I see…’ Snape released a short sigh. ‘And yes, she didn’t know I was Albus’s spy. It wasn’t safe. I simply couldn’t risk her life by telling her… His husband was a dedicated Death Eater after all…’

‘Oh, yes, he was,’ Harry laughed bitterly. ‘Faithful and dedicated.’

‘Did you know him?’ Snape looked at him, deadpanned.

‘Indeed.’ Harry sneered murderously. ‘I was the one, who killed him.’

***

When Snape initiated this conversation he was hoping for the obscure things to become clear finally. They, instead, became even more obscure, if it was possible. And Potter behaved absolutely crazily. Or more so: he was unpredictable, like the curves of their conversation.

‘Wait,’ he lifted a hand from the wheel in order to stop the young man’s mad cackle. ‘Let’s start over.’

‘Over?’ Potter’s eyes went round in mock surprise.

‘Why did you kill Martius?’

‘Revenge.’

‘For Heather?’ he was stunned.

‘Yes. And no. Not only for her. For Ron and Luna too.’

The air disappeared from the car. ‘You mean-’

‘I mean what, Snape?’ Potter was angry.

‘Was he… was he who attacked your house?’

‘No need to be so… euphemistic, Snape. It was he, who murdered, slaughtered, killed, executed, slew my family. And apparently, your family too…’

Martius’s handsome face appeared in Snape’s thoughts. So, it was he. The bastard!

But it was he, Severus, who had given the information to the Dark Lord. He was as much a murderer as Martius.

But he hadn’t known!

Ignorance was never a good excuse. He had been really only Albus’s pawn, he had never tried to question the old man’s decisions, and when Albus had ordered him to give this specific information to the Dark Lord, he hadn’t even considered that Potter mightn’t know about this… betrayal.

‘Harry,’ he spoke up with a sudden firmness. ‘It was I, who…’

Potter waved dismissingly. ‘If you want to confess that you gave the information to Voldemort, you can stop. I know that.’

The man wasn’t that stupid after all, Snape thought to himself. ‘Aren’t you mad at me about it?’

Potter’s face was hard like a stone, as he turned his head to him. ‘It’s not as if you had a choice. You were a pawn in this game, just like me.’

This time, Snape didn’t go ballistic at the pawn epithet Potter put on him again.

‘But… surely Albus had a reason for… for acting like that!’ he said instead.

‘Oh, yeah. He told me. My dear boy, I just wanted to protect you…He thought I was more important than anybody else.’

‘But what happened?’ he asked a little more harshly.

‘I think that first of all he wanted to stabilise your position in Voldemort’s circle. Secondly, I lay injured in St Mungo’s and he wanted to divert the attention from me, because there were people on the hospital’s staff who suspected my identity, even if I was there incognito. So, he tricked Ron into…’ Potter gulped audibly, ‘into polyjuicing himself into me and making an appearance at the hospital and going home… He gave Ron an emergency Portkey in case he was caught. Dumbledore thought that… that they wanted just to kidnap him. And he was right, they didn’t want to kill him, I mean kill me… But there were a lot of loopholes in the plan. Ron thought that the house was deserted. He thought I knew about the plan and nobody was there, so he would get caught, brought to Voldemort, activate the Portkey and Portkey to Hogwarts in the end. It was a risky plan, and perhaps it would have worked if Dumbledore had been sincere to me, to Ron. I was conscious, but he didn’t even mention the plan, when he visited me. And Ron trusted him enough not to question the Headmaster’s decisions. He thought we had discussed everything earlier. If the plan had worked, I would have given some suspicion-free days, enough to recuperate, while Voldemort would have thought me to be in Hogwarts, safe. But it didn’t work.’ Potter’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I don’t know what happened precisely, because I wasn’t there. But I think when Ron realised the house wasn’t empty; he panicked. Suddenly, he just couldn’t just let himself be caught; he had to protect two frightened women, who didn’t know about the stupid plan. And they were severely outnumbered. They began to fight. By the time I got there, they were all dead…’

‘How did you get there?’ Snape asked quietly.

‘I had my own emergency Portkey to home. And I felt something was wrong. I stunned the nurse and went home. The first person I saw was Ron. He was dead. I began to search the house in dread, but found only Luna in my bedroom. She wasn’t dead, she was dying. They raped her and cut her throat. I lifted her in my arms. There was blood everywhere. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t. I was too weak to Apparate. Heather was nowhere to be found,’ Potter’s eyes were shut, his face pale as death. ‘I couldn’t save her. She died in my arms, but she… somehow pressed out that it was Montague. Martius Montague. And that he took Heather with him.’

‘So it was Martius, who killed Heather,’ Snape croaked out with difficulty.

Somehow now, he could understand Potter perfectly.

He felt that he too wanted to leave the wizarding world once and for all.

Next part