Chapter Text
As soon as Harry stepped though the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Kreacher appeared.
"Master Harry!" he said with a low bow. "It's good to have you back!"
"Kreacher!" Harry couldn't resist; he sank to his knees and pulled Kreacher into a tight hug. "Where have you been?"
Kreacher immediately Apparated to the other side of the room, fixing Harry with a glare. Brushing his dirty tunic as if Harry had somehow messed it up, he said, "Waiting, just as Master Harry ordered."
Had he ordered Kreacher to do that? "Why didn't you come when I called?"
Kreacher gave him a look as if he'd just stripped off his clothing and done cartwheels through the hallway. "Master Harry told Kreacher to come only when he had permission."
Harry scratched the back of his neck. Had permission? It made no sense at all. "They took away some of my memories. Can you explain what's happened since I last saw you in this house?"
Kreacher nodded. "When Master Harry left, Kreacher stayed here until he was Summoned. Master Harry told Kreacher that you were safe and that Kreacher should tell Granger and Weasley the same. In the future, Kreacher was to check with Headmaster Phineas before answering any Summons. If Headmaster Phineas agreed that Master Harry had called Kreacher, he went to you, otherwise, he remained at Hogwarts - watching and protecting the students, just as my Master asked. Master Harry Summoned Kreacher for various tasks, the likes of which you asked him to not repeat to anyone - even you. A week ago, Master Harry Summoned Kreacher and told him to remain here for two weeks unless you returned before that. If Master Harry didn't return at the end of those two weeks, Kreacher should try to find you. If you weren't alive, he was to carry on your mission on your behalf."
Snape. It had to be Snape. There was no way he would've set up all that himself. He'd been in prison a week ago. "Are you sure it was me?" he asked.
Kreacher gave him a withering glare. "I know my Master."
"Was Snape around?"
"Headmaster Snape was not in the room to which Master Harry Summoned me, but it is possible he was nearby."
Excited, Harry asked, "Can you take me to where you last saw me?"
"Yes." Kreacher held out his hand. Harry took it, only to find himself Apparated into blackness. Pulling out his wand, he cast, "Lumos." Light shone from the end of his wand, illuminating a small, crammed room full of boxes. A door in one wall was the only exit.
His heart pounding, Harry opened it, and stepped into a cupboard with another door before him. He knew what lay beyond that door, even with only the light from his wand. His mouth dry, he said, "Go on home, Kreacher. I'll be there shortly."
When he heard the crack of house-elf Apparition, he placed his hand on the doorknob. His heart pounded in his ears and a tremor ran through him. For a moment, he thought that maybe some doors shouldn't be opened. That thought lasted just for a second; then, eagerly, he opened the door and stepped into the room he'd know anywhere.
Snape's bedroom.
He was back in the prison.
Harry ran to the Potions Lab, slamming open the doors with a spell as he ran so he wouldn't waste a single second. He pounded down the steps, jumping the last few, and took a glimpse around the lab, only to find the room empty.
Turning around, Harry ran back to the house. "SNAPE!" He ran into the kitchen. "SNAPE!" The practice room. "SNAPE!" The throne room. "SNAPE!" Even the laundry room. "SNAAAAPE!"
Grabbing the door of the laundry room for support, Harry panted. Where could Snape be?
Inside his cell, with every single place explored, Harry collapsed on his bed, his mind racing through possible scenarios. What had happened? Snape had known Voldemort was trying to kill him. He wouldn't have been so foolish as to actually get himself killed. But why had he left? Why did he vanish from sight? Was he worried that Harry wouldn’t be able to protect him? Had Tom been lying about his affections, only telling Harry what he thought Harry wanted to hear? Maybe Snape hadn't loved him after all. Maybe it had all been some trick designed to keep Harry loyal to him until the end. Maybe Snape had been Tom all along.
Not knowing what else to do, Harry slid off the bed and lifted the mattress to find his books. All the books had been removed and only one remained - Frankenstein, with a parchment tucked inside the front cover. Next to Frankenstein sat his parents’ photo album, the missing half of Lily's letter to Sirius as well as the photo of Lily that had been torn from a bigger photo, and the Marauder's Map.
So. This was it. This was the end.
Snape held his secrets so tightly, the fact that he’d relinquished them could only mean either he had died, or he never intended to come back.
Snape was gone.
Forever.
Snape would never talk to him again. Never again would he see Snape moving around the kitchen, his long, elegant fingers dicing and preparing ingredients. He'd never arch a lofty eyebrow at Harry and call him 'stupid' again when he said or did something dumb. Snape would never tease him, never read to him again, never bark at him to move faster or think. There'd be no more training sessions and, no matter what happened, Snape wouldn't be there with potions and words to repair the damage and set Harry right again.
That fucking bastard!
How could he leave? Why did he leave? Was Harry supposed to have taken the potion? Why did Snape have to keep all those secrets? Was he afraid of being put into Azkaban? Had he just been playing with Harry's affections? That selfish, cowardly prick. He hated Snape. He deserved to die for what he’d done to him. If Snape had wanted things to end differently, he should've been open and honest from the start. If he was dead, it was his own damn fault, that stupid arsehole.
Grabbing all the items but Frankenstein, Harry shoved them into his robes. He kicked the bed, which did nothing but hurt his toe. Glancing around the room, he could see nothing but Snape. Snape sitting in his chair. Snape standing in front of the sink, replacing the toiletries. Snape on the bed, kissing him, stroking him, holding him-
Shoving the mattress onto the floor, Harry retrieved Frankenstein with a shaking hand. Clutching it to his chest, he marched upstairs, back to Snape's bedroom. Lying on the bed, breathing in the smell of Snape, he opened the book to remove the note. There, on the page with the note was an inscription drawn in a script Harry would recognise anywhere because of how similar it was to his own.
Happy Birthday Sev! Be careful that you don't end up like Victor.
With love, Lily
Tom hadn't been lying. Snape had loved her. Harry's heart sank to his stomach. Maybe Snape had never loved him at all.
His fingers barely moving, Harry unfolded the note.
Harry,
I will use small words so that even a dunderhead like you will be able to understand me.
Harry couldn't help but laugh. Trust Snape to find a way to insult him even after he'd gone. There was no bite in the words, just a strange sort of affection, and that affection was enough to break through the wall of ice that had built around Harry's heart since the day of the battle.
Carefully, Harry laid the letter to the side so that it wouldn't get wet, then turned his head into Snape's pillow and wept. He wept for Snape - for how he'd suffered. He wept for Fred, for Remus, for Tonks, and for everyone else - those dead and, even more, those left living and attempting to put the pieces of their lives back together even after all that had happened. Finally, at the end, after he had gone through everyone else, he cried for himself. For those three months of pain, loneliness, and fear. For everything that had happened to him and everything and everyone he'd lost.
After an unknown amount of time, when his tears had dried and his sinuses and head hurt, he sat up and retrieved the letter. As he opened the letter, a piece of parchment fell out. Ignoring it for the moment, he read the letter:
There is no point to digging up the past, but if you do, everything I did, I did for my own reasons. You bear no responsibility for any of it and, if you insist on taking some, you deserve every ounce of misery you get. Likewise, I expect you to live the life you want to live. If you let yourself stand in your own way, you're every bit the fool I always thought you were.
Refolding the letter, he picked up the bit of parchment, only to see a few recipes, including one for the bread that he'd made with Snape. The words were jotted in Snape's familiar, bold script, but there was something odd about them, about how they didn't fit the parchment exactly when Snape was such a precise man. Brushing his hand over the parchment, Harry said, "Reveal your secrets," as he cast all the revelation spells he knew.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, "Severus Snape. Harry Potter. Frankenstein. Billy Budd. Mangoes."
What could it be? What was something that he and Snape shared that no one else would ever think of saying around a bit of parchment with recipes? Something that was only understood between the two of them?
Then, he realised. Taking a breath, he whispered, "Lily Evans."
Before his eyes, swirls of letters coalesced on the edges of the parchment, then slowly formed into words, overlapping the recipes. Harry couldn't believe what he saw. He found a list of memories of Lily. Blown away, he skimmed through them, amazed at the detail and length of recollection. Everything from how Snape had met his mother, to her food likes and dislikes, to how she brewed. Lily and Snape had been mates before and during Hogwarts? How had he never known? Why hadn't Remus or Sirius ever said anything? Why hadn't Snape?
At the bottom of the list was another note.
Your mother was just as strong-willed and stubborn as you. You carry a lot of guilt in your life, but don't ever have a moment of guilt over her death. She died for you because she loved you, and if she hadn't loved you like that, she wouldn't have been Lily. To wish to change that would be to wish to change her.
"And you?" Harry asked the parchment. Slipping it into the refolded letter, he tucked it back into Frankenstein and carefully enclosed the book in his robes. After searching through the house one last time, Harry left through the front door, stepping into bright sunshine.
A soft hoot and a flurry of feathers announced the presence of Mephistopheles, who came to rest on Harry's shoulder.
Harry reached up and stroked the soft feathers. "Ready to leave here?" he asked the owl.
The huge eyes blinked, then closed.
With one hand holding onto the owl, Harry Apparated back to the UK, heading towards Hogwarts. Mephistopheles remained perched on his shoulder as he sought out the one person who could give him at least some of the answers he needed.
Although it had been some time since the battle, Hogwarts was still in a state of disarray. No one questioned his arrival, but then, it seemed there were few places barred to him in the Wizarding world. After shaking hands with far too many people who wanted to speak to their hero, Harry made his way to the Headmaster's Office.
Standing before the gargoyle at the only place in Hogwarts that was still well-guarded, Harry simply said, "Dumbledore!" because that's who he most wanted to see. Surprisingly, it worked and, when he stepped into the office, a near deafening, thunderous round of applause greeted him. All the old Headmasters were standing in their portraits and clapping. A few were cheering and dancing, most were singing his praises.
But, even with the ones who were jumping on their chairs, or running through other portraits, there was only one who held Harry's gaze. Dumbledore stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster's chair, a grin on his face even as tears flowed down his cheeks.
For the first time since the battle, Harry couldn't help but grin.
When the noise died down, Dumbledore called out, "Congratulations! You brave, brave man."
Hurrying over to the portrait, Harry said, "There's so much I need to ask you." Although it never would have occurred to him before to guard his conversations from portraits, Harry waved his wand, setting up privacy wards. Snape would've been proud.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, gravely, his bright blue eyes watching Harry's wand strokes. "I'm afraid that my plans were not what I had hoped. Fortunately, Severus picked up the pieces."
Hope flared in Harry's chest. "He was on our side all along?"
Dumbledore gave a non-committal shrug and said, "As much as Severus can be on anyone's side."
Dropping into a chair, frustration getting the better of him, Harry couldn't help but say, "He's gone! He's gone and I don't know if he's dead or just hiding! I don't even know what to think about him! I talked to Tom - the Horcrux inside of me - and-"
His blue eyes widening behind his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore asked, "You did?"
Harry nodded. "That's why I escaped the prison. Once he revealed himself, I knew I had to die. Tom said that Snape loved me because he was in love with my mum. Is that true? Did Snape love her?"
He had a mountain of evidence, but as he'd travelled to Hogwarts, he realised he couldn't accept it as fact. Not when it was said by Tom who had twisted truths until they were unrecognisable. They had been friends, that Harry believed, but he hoped that was the extent of it.
"I'm afraid I'm sworn to silence on that account" said Dumbledore, apologetically, taking a seat himself.
Sworn to silence? That didn't sound good. His stomach churning, Harry held out Frankenstein. "He gave me this. It's a book my mum gave to him. He gave me this note." Harry pulled it out from the book. "It's full of memories of her. Tom said that Snape sent Voldemort to kill me and my father-"
"Tom lied."
Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sagged against the chair in relief. "He didn't cause the death of my parents out of revenge?"
"No," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort didn't single out your mother until after he'd heard the prophecy. Although I cannot say for certain, it's possible Severus never knew your mother was pregnant when he first overheard the prophecy."
"He was loyal to you then?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, not then."
Harry chewed his thumbnail. The only person who could have wanted that information kept secret was Snape. Snape had made Dumbledore promise not to tell anyone about his love for Lily. Snape had loved Lily. Her death had spurred him to fight Voldemort.
It was both what he wanted to hear and never wanted to hear. He'd hoped that Snape had been Dumbledore's man all along, but to know that Snape had loved him only because he resembled his dead mother....
Bile rising in his throat, Harry asked, "He only cared for her then?" It was sick how much he hated Snape for that. Sick how much he hated her for that, even though she was dead.
Dumbledore thoughtfully laced his fingers. "I don't believe so. His Patronus - the doe - was a reflection that Lily always remained in his thoughts, but-"
"That was him?" Harry gaped at Dumbledore.
His brilliant blue eyes sparkling, Dumbledore nodded. "He never wavered in his determination to protect you - even as he complained to me about you."
"He had your portrait," said Harry, the pieces falling into place. "He put it by the bed when I was catatonic after Voldemort tortured me. I thought I was dreaming, but I was talking to you, wasn't I?"
"Yes, he placed my frame beside your bed and coordinated with me to protect your friends, the students of Hogwarts, and arranged to do what needed to be done." The twinkle fading from his eyes, Dumbledore suddenly looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen before. "Can you forgive a foolish old man his mistakes? If I had known-"
"Don't talk like that," said Harry, cutting Dumbledore off with a wave of his hand. "I know things could've been better, but they could've been worse. Loads worse." And then, to change the subject, he said, "What I don't understand is how I lived. I didn't take the potion! I let Voldemort kill me!"
"And that," said Dumbledore, "made all the difference."
Confused, Harry said, "Was I never supposed to take the second potion?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. What Severus intended with that potion I cannot say. You lived in that moment because of a mistake Lord Voldemort made - one that proved very costly for him."
Although he didn't quite understand all the details, Harry said after a pause, "He took my blood."
"Precisely!"
"He took my blood and my mum's protection," said Harry as he sat up straighter. "And I've got all three of the Deathly Hallows."
The words 'Deathly Hallows' were enough to make Dumbledore look briefly like a small child caught in an act of mischief.
"If only I'd had the faith in you that Severus did! Can you forgive me for not trusting you?" Moisture filled Dumbledore's eyes. "I feared you would make the same mistakes that I had."
"What mistakes?" asked Harry, startled by the sudden tears in the Headmaster's eyes. "Even if I had had them sooner - it wouldn't have helped me."
"You've always been the better man! I sought a way to conquer death."
"You tried to use the Resurrection Stone," guessed Harry.
"I was a fool," said Dumbledore. "I wasn't worthy to unite the Hallows like you."
"If I thought it could bring him back," admitted Harry, shooting a glance back at Snape's empty portrait frame, "I might've done the same. He's with you, isn't he?"
"I'm afraid I can't say," said Dumbledore. "I'm simply a painting. His frame did appear on that fateful day-" He waved his hand and Harry turned around to stare at the black canvas. "-but I've never seen him in the portrait. I'm afraid the frame only appears if the subject dies. However, that doesn't mean he remained dead."
Snape was alive, he was sure of it. Harry stood, a surge of determination coursing through him. "I'm going to find him," he promised.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes troubled. "I think it would be best if you didn’t."
Startled, Harry could only ask, "Why? He saved my life."
"No," Dumbledore said. "You saved your life. I appreciate what he did to help you, but I feel it is best if you two remain parted. If nothing else, remember that if he wanted to stay close to you, he would've chosen to do so."
"Don't worry," Harry assured him. "I'm not going to take off to chase after him, at least not yet. There's too much I need to do here. For one, we need to get Hogwarts repaired and ready before school starts. Mostly though, I want to take a little break. Maybe I'll even go on Holiday. There's so much I need to catch up on." He looked at Dumbledore meaningfully. "So much I want to learn about people. I plan on coming back later with questions I'd like answered."
Dumbledore nodded, then waved him away with a little shoo of his hand. "Go attend to the living. I'll always be here, waiting and ready to speak."
Harry stood, and then remembered to say, "I got rid of what was inside the Snitch. As to the Elder Wand, I'll be giving that up soon. Draco gave me my - Snape's - wand back and I much prefer that."
"A wise choice," said Dumbledore.
"I'll see you later," said Harry, giving a little wave to Dumbledore as he removed the wards.
As he passed by Snape's portrait, he let his fingers trail over the frame. Leaning forward, he whispered, "You can't hide from me forever. I'll find you."
Straightening up and filled with a new confidence, Harry decided to head straight to the Burrow. It was time he told Ginny everything - starting from the very beginning.
The End
...of Nights of Gethsemane, but not the series. Invictus [Snape's POV] continues the story!
There's also a third part to the series: Release of Sisyphus, but that isn't yet on ao3 as I'm in the process of rewriting it.
Here is an unfinished music video I made that you might want to watch between the two.
I want to thank you for reading this far and helping me through my first fic. I feel as though I've learned a lot from writing this and I can't wait to keep writing more!