Lachrymose Part Four

Golden in the Mercy of His Means

AN: The lyrics are from Bright Eyes, a wonderful band I continually borrow from/rip off. For more on that try listening to Fevers and Mirrors, their latest CD. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. This will be the last part of Lachrymose, but there will probably be spin offs or a sequel at some point in the future. Thanks for reading, ~Armand

I.
He's standing in the middle of the clearing, arms wound tight around his chest, looking up at the sky. If he hears me, he doesn't make a sign of it. Instead, as I slowly approach him, he turns and lifts an eyebrow. "Packed a little light, didn't you?"

"I don't imagine there's anything I need that I can't get later," I tell him, shivering a bit at the chill in the air. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere. I've been almost everywhere in the past five years." He gives a deep sigh. "Where do you want to go?"

I feel like I've swallowed my tongue. I step forward, gulping, and lay a hand on his arm. "I want to go everywhere with you," I say, and he turns with a gentle half smile on his still startling face. I force myself to go on. "But I want to have a little talk first, before we go anywhere."

"Harry," he groans. "Fine. For anyone but you, I would say no. But," his hand rises and traces the edge of my jaw lightly. "What do you need to know?"

"Why did you save my life on Orcas Island?"

"You were going to die. You always get yourself into trouble and I always get you back out. That's just the way it's always been."

"But why? Why has it always been like that between us? You always acted like you hated me, and then you turn around and…and…"

"Make love to you?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. And then you go on this mad bloody quest to save my life and disappear, and the next time I see you it's because you're saving me again. Why do you do that?"

He sighs. "You never had anyone to look out for you. You had fans, and you had Dumbledore, but I knew first hand that you could only trust him so far. I thought, hell, if no one else is going to see to it that you live, I might as well do it myself. I owed your father, so I made sure you lived through your first year and called it even. But saving you is like an addiction. It's second nature to me now. There's just something about you, something broken and weak that begs to be cared for, begs to be saved. And if not me, then who? Maybe I like knowing I have that power in your life, that you wouldn't be standing here except that I willed it. Maybe I liked knowing that you, Harry Potter, needed me." He smiles.

"Then why sleep with me? Did you want me all the time, or was it just spontaneous?"

"Stress," he says, "makes a man do odd things. You'd grown up to be quite the catch, and I was in no condition to think rationally. Perhaps part of me wanted you all along, but I never realised it till that moment."

"And now?"

"Now, you're different. Whatever spark you had in you at seventeen is gone. You remind me of me, when I was your age."

"You quite look my age, you know."

"Believe me, it will make life much easier," he answers, and the hand that's been tracing my cheek makes a detour to outline my lips. "My turn, Harry. Why did you really come here tonight?"

"To see you," I sigh, my eyes falling shut. "I had to see you, to know once and for all why I'd gone to all this trouble finding you in the first place."

"And? What did you find?"

"Love," I say, and my eyes flutter open. He's smiling down at me, that gorgeous, foreign flicker of emotion in his face that lights up the night around us as he leans in and kisses me. I'd like to say the world stops, but it doesn't, and I'd like to say the rustle in the grass and trees around us catches me by surprise, but I can't.

"Petrificus totalus!" Snape freezes, lips still on mine. I let out a deep breath, feeling a teardrop make its way down my cheek, and open my eyes. "I'm sorry," I breathe against his mouth before moving away.

The Aurors are moving in. "Good work Harry," one of them says, clapping me on the back.

"Thanks Jim," I answer numbly, wiping at my face. "You better take him in."

The group is closing in around him, wrapping him with magical binds and then taking the petrifying charm off him so he can walk, but only where they want him. His eyes meet mine, flashing once before the team of Aurors apparate away with him, and I'm left here alone.

* * *

It may seem odd, but I haven't been to Godric's Hollow since I was a baby. My parents died here. I almost died here. It's strangely peaceful.

I'm sitting on the ground, thinking about that, when I hear someone in the trees and look up. I don't go for my wand. I just don't care right now. And, when Sirius steps out of the trees, he might as well be a monster for all the difference it makes to me.

"Hey," he says, sitting down.

"Hey," I answer.

He's lost his grin and his usual swagger. Sitting beside me with starlight all wrapped in his hair, he looks like he knows what it means to be hurt. It makes me think about the crying behind his door, about how he follows after something that's always moving just out of his reach. It makes me think about myself.

"You did the right thing," he says, at last. "But I know how you feel."

"What do you know?" I ask, looking away from him. He doesn't understand this.

"I know that closing a part of your life can be difficult, and that letting go of the past, even a bitter past, isn't always easy. I know that sometimes you choose to commit yourself to something even though it isn't perfect. You just have to be glad with what you get, Harry, and live with all that you've been given."

I can feel the moonlight on us, like some pulsing living sea flower suspended in the sky. I don't want to go home. I don't want to go back to Hogwarts, back to London, back to anywhere. I wish I could just leave. I wish I could just forget about everything and get away from here, away from my routine, and live in a normal little house with a lovely garden and a colour television. But I feel so alone, just now, I know I'm going nowhere.

"If you ever need anything," he says softly, " Remus and I are here for you."

"Thank you," I manage, and we both look up at the stars, and try to forget the sacrifices we've made.

* * *

"You don't have to leave right away, Harry," McGonagall smiles warmly at me over breakfast. "Why don't you stay a few days? The case is finished now, and I know we'd all enjoy having you around a little while longer. We haven't seen much of you these past few years."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but they may need me for the trial arrangements. I really should be there. And I do have to write a full report of what happened." I know right now that I'm not writing anything near a full report. What I hand in will be so carefully edited it will approach fiction. "Thank you for the offer though. I'll try to come by more often." No I won't.

"We'll miss you Harry," Remus smiles. Sirius is sitting between us, and he smiles too, squeezes Remus' hand under the table where he thinks I can't see. "Perhaps you can come visit us during the summer?"

"I'll see," I tell him. Really, the last thing I want is to be tangled up in Sirius and Remus' weird opposite-of-sex-life. Sirius seems to understand, because he smiles softly at me. "I'd better go get packed."

Galatea and I apparate home. McGonagall seems a little regretful that the wards have disintegrated to such a point as to make apparation not only possible, but easy. I promise to send someone to check up on strengthening school security. After all, Hogwarts should always be seen as the safest place on earth, however much of a farce that may be.

My flat seems smaller, somehow. I spend the day walking in and out of rooms, just for the sensation of leaving one place for another. Look at me, pretending to travel. I fear I'm becoming one of those pathetic twenty-somethings with no hope for romance who lives at home alone with a cat. Galatea, as if sensing my traitorous thoughts, meows and jumps into my path from the kitchen to the bedroom.

I flick on the radio because I need to fill the air with some sort of noise. The song has a sort of country sounding twang to it, and the singer's voice is crackling, young and emotional. I sit down to listen. "But please return, return, to the person that you were, and I will do the same. Cause it's too hard to belong to someone who is gone. My compass spins; the wilderness remains."

I'm enjoying the music, in a masochistic sort of way. I feel a bit like getting raging drunk and going to work hung over tomorrow morning. Gods, it's been ages since I was really, truly drunk! Maybe I can get alcohol poisoning and not have to go in tomorrow.

"And he'll make war, old war, on who you were before, and he'll claim all that has spoiled in your heart," sings the radio, and I've just about decided to buy myself a six pack and commence becoming an alcoholic when the phone rings.

"Harry? Oh good, you're home."

"Hello Ron," I say, flicking off the radio. "What's going on?"

"Snape is causing problems," he sighs.

"Already? My but he is efficient."

"Stop it, Harry. You sound just like him, and it gives me the creeps." There's a pause as he sighs again. "The whole place is in a fit. You'd better get down here."

"What'd he do?" Curiosity is getting the best of me. I pour myself a cup of coffee and wait for the answer.

"He's requesting that he not have a trial. He says he's pleading guilty to everything we want to charge him on and he doesn't want the right to a fair trial. He says it'll waste time and he's already admitted."

"What?" I choke. "Why? He could get off on insanity, I'm sure of it! They'll have him exterminated for sure if he does this."

"I know that. He probably knows that. Everyone knows that. That's the problem. Half the ministry is crying for his head on a plate, and the rest are complaining about what a mess it'll make if we execute a man without a trial, especially one acting as nutty as Snape."

"What am I supposed to do about it?"

There's a silence. Then, "Harry, you have to talk to him. He's agreed to take a dose of Veritaserum to prove he's sane and guilty, but he insists on speaking to you after he confesses. You've got to talk him into a regular trial or he'll fuck up the whole system."

"That's probably his intention," I sigh. "I'll be over in a few minutes. And Ron?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you using the phone?"

He laughs. "I'm at a bar. Abernathy went wild on the whole division and a bunch of us have fled in terror to get royally pissed."

"Funny," I mutter. "That's just what I was about to do."

II.

"Harry, thank Merlin you're here! Snape is being a holy terror!" Abernathy leads me briskly into his office and slams the door. "I can't get him to see reason. Everyone is terrified of getting within killing distance of the man! The sooner we have him exterminated the better."

My blood goes icy. "Sir," I say calmly. "Mister Snape is a very unbalanced man. Don't you think it possible that what he needs, more than extermination, is a long stay in St. Mungo's?"

"That's really very sweet of you Harry, but you don't have to stick up for him. You're such a wonderful boy for always trying to see both sides of a thing, but some things have only one side, I'm afraid."

"Well, then what do you need me for? If you're going to kill him, kill him. My job was just to bring him here."

"Of course, I wish it were as easy as all that. But we do need to convince him to allow a trial, or the public will go absolutely mad."

"Fine," I surrender. "I'll talk to him. Where is he?"

* * *

A heavy metal door slams shut behind me. Snape is sitting on the opposite side of a table, and I can tell from the uncomfortable straightness of his back that he's held there magically. His face is old, the way I remember it being before. Lines creasing the space between his eyebrows, and the imprints of a sneer etched into his mouth. It's the familiarity I was expecting all along, and it blows me away.

"Ah, Harry," he sighs, wincing a little at his words. "Alone at last."

"Not so flirty without your face are you?" I say, wearily and without a hint of bitterness as I slide into my chair and set my mug of coffee down between us.

"No one ever is," he smirks. "Why, your cousin was quite the little tart until I…" His smirk widens.

"That was pretty fucked up of you," I tell him and take a gulp of my coffee.

"I thought you'd like it."

"I don't appreciate violence."

"And yet, here we are, and it won't be a week before they've had me…what's the word? Exterminated. Yes. Fascinating process they've come up with, without their Dementors to rely on. Really, the Wizarding world will do anything to pretend to themselves that they are not responsible for the deaths they cause," he smirks again. His expression is somehow very like Sirius' grin, and I shrug off the thought that the two of them might get along. That's completely idiotic.

"You could get out of this," I remind him. "Just tell them you're insane. I'll back you up. I mean, hell, I've known you most of my life and I think you're completely nuts. What other explanation could there be for your actions than that you are insane? They'll buy it; they'll have to. And you won't have to…" I bite my lower lip, look across at him plaintively, trying to make him understand this. "You could get away with murder, if I backed you up."

"Why would you want to help me, after what I did to you? You've pointed out again and again how I fucked up your perfect little life," he sneers. "I'm not going to tell them I'm crazy. You know that."

No, of course he won't. His so-called dignity won't allow him. He may be willing to do his own dirty work, to drag himself through mud and slime, but he won't stand up and publicly denounce himself in order to achieve something so petty as saving his own life.

"You've got the whole place in a whirl," I say after a long silence. "Why not just have a trial?"

"It would be a waste of time," he says carelessly. "They'll find me guilty regardless, so I'll just plead guilty here and now, and get it out of the way."

"All you'd have to do for the trial is be sworn in and then say you plead guilty."

"Yes, and then I'd have to sit through evidence and testimonies and Merlin knows what else, and I'd be terribly bored and in the end it would be exactly the same as if I'd never had the trial at all, except that I'll have wasted some of the last hours of my life."

"It's not avoidable," I tell him slowly. "You'll have to have one."

"I wave my right," he insists. "I don't have to. They can sentence me without one."

"You were always so damned difficult!" I slam my fist down hard, upsetting the table. A little trickle of coffee forms around the bottom of my mug, and I settle back, breathing hard and trying to regain my calm. This is just so typical, so very Snape of him. It's predictable in the worst way. "You were always bent on making my life hell."

"I seem to remember saying something similar to you not so very long ago," he murmurs, looking at the wall above my head.

I sigh. "What has this all been for? Why did you put yourself through this, when you could have gotten away?"

"There you go again," he smirks. "Always prying into other people's personal matters, as though it is your right to know. Really Harry, you should have been a reporter. It would be ironic. You could interview yourself when business was slow; bleed your secrets to the world drop by precious drop until you'd drawn out an autobiography."

"At least I'm asking the right questions," I shoot back.

"Oh? What makes you so certain? If I wanted to, Harry, if I thought it was worth it, I could a tale unfold that would make thy two eyes like stars." Snape smirks and licks his lips slowly, his rich voice rolling out like hypnotic waves. "If I wanted to, of course."

"What'll it take?" I growl.

He leers. "I think you know." I snort, and he narrows his eyes. "You should know better than to expect something for nothing."

"I came here to help you," I remark incredulously. "After everything you did, I came here today to help you, and this is how you treat me? Like a fucking prostitute? Forget it. I don't care why you did any of it. I don't care who Arienette is, or what happened to her. And I sure as hell don't care what happens to you. The sooner they exterminate you the better." I stand up to go.

"You'll find a way to make me tell you," he says. "You will. Go out there and make me proud."

"Fuck you," I say. "You weren't good anyway."

I'm almost to the door when he calls after me. "Oh, and Harry? If you don't want me to treat you like a whore, then stop acting like one."

* * *

It's the same dream I have every night, only it's different tonight. It starts at the end, with that complete silence and the comfort of his body next to mine, the safety of his warmth and strength around me. And there it is, a reflection of the peace I've lost forever, but with one haunting difference, one word written over it all in startling red graffiti; extermination.

When the Dementors joined forces with Voldemort the Ministry needed a new prison system and a new method of execution. The prison was easy enough to rebuild; a few extra wards, some complicated charms courtesy of the world's strongest wizards, and the convicts were definitely not going anywhere. The executions were harder to reconcile.

Previously there had been no executions. The word itself was loathsome to the Ministry, because of its negative connotations. There was the Dementor's Kiss, which was something completely different. It eradicated a soul, not a life, and somehow that passed as merciful with the general population. No one ever raised a commotion about it the way some Muggles do over their death penalties.

The politics of execution now had to be reworked. For a while it seemed like it might be completely done away with, but our wonderfully vengeful Minister of Magic would never let that happen, and it only took a year of haphazard beheadings and killing curses before they discovered The Machine.

The Machine is a real work of art. It's at once a judge and an executioner. Developed by the most brilliant and sadistic minds on the planet, The Machine not only ascertains guilt, but also puts the guilty to death. It was originally intended to replace all court systems.

There are always set backs though, and the obvious one in this case is that The Machine has been known to make mistakes. In theory, the guilty will step into it and be consumed by a flame unlike any other, subjected to a fire so hot their skin melts from their body and their blood congeals after a few brief moments. And in theory, the innocent man may step into The Machine without fear, because he will be seen for his innocence and spared. Only, once or twice in the testing process, things didn't quite go as planned. So we've kept our court systems, in order to insure that no one is accidentally eaten by the flames of vengeance without deserving it first.

And in my dream The Machine is present, the word extermination on the tip of my tongue as I try to burrow back into my lover's arms, as I try to deny the reality of what is happening. The glass of the walls of the dreaded Machine, all fogged with smoke and blood, all sound blocked away, and the fear in that pale face, and the undeniable pain in those onyx black eyes…

I wake up to the radio, and the screams dry up like scabs within my throat.

III.

The papers are running the story.

"Murder Caught After Five Year Killing Spree!"

"Severus Snape Brought In By Boy Hero!"

"End of Death Eater's Reign of Terror!"

The headlines are so inaccurate I don't bother buying one, or even glancing at them twice. Instead I go down to my little bakery, buy myself a cinnamon roll and a latte, and head to work. My co-workers applaud my entrance, clapping me on the back and saying things like, "Good show, old boy!" I smile and nod, grimace and work my way into the safety of my office.

The papers on my desk today need my signature. They need me to say that yes, I caught Severus Snape and no, I did not use unnecessary violence and yes, I do believe that he killed all those poor, sad people. They need me to sign a stack of reports and write up the details of his capture, and then they can tie up his life with twine and wires and shove him in and hit a button and eradicate the issue. They need my approval before they can make his life a moot point.

So I'm up to my neck in paperwork and I skip lunch and work straight through the day without stopping. I even forget coffee until the new girl they've got working as Abernathy's personal assistant, i.e. terrified fuck toy, brings me a mug around one in the afternoon. I tell her thanks and my voice cracks, and she smiles in this half scared kind of way and backs away from me cautiously until she's out the door. Poor little concubine.

When I get home I'm too tired to change or shower, and I just fall onto the bed and I'm asleep in five seconds. It's probably the lack of caffeine, I decide as I slide off into a dream.

* * *

The next morning when I walk into the office Abernathy is waiting for me with a grin on his face. "Good news Harry! We've had Snape sentenced and he'll be exterminated tomorrow. Yes, my boy, by this time next week this whole thing will be behind us and it's all thanks to you! You should be running this division! If I don't watch out you'll have my job by Christmas!" He laughs and claps me on the back. "I smell a raise in store for you, Harry."

I mutter my thank you and fall asleep at my desk. I forgot to get any coffee this morning, and I haven't had any since that mug the girl brought me yesterday. Abernathy wakes me up around ten when he knocks on the door. I shudder into the waking world in time to tell him to come in.

He looks considerably less chipper now than he did this morning, and he flings himself into the chair in front of my desk in a defeated way and runs a hand through his hair. "It's this whole damned thing," he tells me earnestly. "Really, I just can't wait till the extermination. He's insisting on seeing you privately tonight. Insisting! Can you believe it?"

"What does he want," I ask. "And why do we have to listen to him?"

"He won't say what he wants. Probably a chance to curse you into oblivion. We don't have to meet his request, but if we don't it'll look bad. I understand if you say no. I'll tell them you're sick. You look like hell as it is. Have you been sleeping?"

"Rather more than usual. When does he want to see me?"

"He says he wants to meet with you at eight tonight. Privately, he says."

"I'll do it."

Abernathy gives me a slow, calculating look. "You don't have you," he finally says.

"I know. I'll do it anyway."

His eyes close up like periscopes and he smiles his vacant smile. "That's what I like about you; you're always ready to give of yourself! You're a good man Harry, a good man." He stands, still smiling, and walks out of the room. As soon as the door shuts I fall back asleep.

* * *

The dream I'm having is different from anything else. In it, I'm back at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore and Sirius and Remus and Abernathy are all there, sitting at the head table, clapping for me. I'm sitting at Gryffindor's table, and I realise that I've just won the house cup. I feel proud, and elated, and I know that Gryffindor has won thanks to my hard work and intelligence.

Slowly, I begin to realise that I'm the only person in the hall aside from the people at the head table, and they aren't all there themselves. Remus has grown long, sharp teeth, more like a shark's than a wolf's, and he's taking gentle bites out of Sirius cheek. Sirius is grinning down at me, applauding proudly as Remus tears away hunks of his flesh. Dumbledore has rounded up a handful of knives and he's busy sticking his hand to the table with them. Abernathy is busily puncturing holes in his own throat with a spare fork, so that whenever he moves to take a drink the pumpkin juice just slides out the holes he's made.

So I get up and walk out, leaving them to their lunacy and their destruction. I walk into the hallway and I fall through a hole in the floor and into the dungeons, where several students are clamped to the walls in chains. There's the sound of screaming as I walk down the line of bound children, trying not to look at their faces.

And then I'm standing in front of a wall where one person is suspended, clamped to the stone wall with hooks through his hands and shoulders and ribs, stretching his skin and keeping him in place. As I watch his dark eyes open and he smiles down at me.

* * *

I wake up because it's lunch and Ron has come down to see if I'm okay. I tell him no, and go with him to the cafeteria anyway. Seamus looks at me curiously and then gets up and buys me three cups of coffee. I tell him thanks and count that as my lunch. Alarbus looks at me under his dark lashes and tells me I look like hell. I try to grin, but it comes out like a grimace, and I give up and go back to nursing my coffee.

"Harry, what on earth is wrong with you man?" Ron finally asks. "You look like you're dying."

"I'm not feeling well," I confess.

"That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" He crosses his arms and purses his lips, looking so like Hermione that it almost makes me laugh. I nearly tell him, but then remember why that would be a bad idea. "Are you finished with the Snape case?"

"Almost," I say, running a hand back through my messy hair. "I have to see him tonight and then everything will be over."

Alarbus raises an eyebrow at me quizzically. "Do you really think it's wise to meet with him? He's known for his trickery."

"I'll be fine," I snap. "I've dealt with him before, and he will be unarmed. It'll be fine." I glower and brood over my coffee, and no one bothers me for the rest of lunch.

As I get up to return to my office Ron touches my arm. "If you need anything," he begins.

"Thank you," I mutter. "I'll be fine."

"It's not just that," he says. "You seemed alive while you were on this case. You seemed interested in a way you haven't lately. Not since school really. But now…now that he's caught you seem depressed. What happened to you?"

"I just…I'm tired is all," I say. I honestly don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's too much to process so quickly, everything I've seen and learned over the past few weeks. "I just need some time," I tell him, "to sort things out, and then I'm sure everything will go back to normal."

"That's not really a good thing," he mutters, but he lets me go, and I try not to think about what he's said.

I do a remarkably good job of it, in fact.

IV.

At eight o'clock I'm waiting outside his cell. The guards explain standard procedure to me. There are no charms, no way for them to see me if I need help. I'll have my wand and, should anything go wrong, I must bang five times on the door to signal to them. This is also what I should do when I'm ready to leave. I have all night, they say. I swallow and nod, try to look like I'm not scared out of my wits.

"Good luck," one of the guards finally says, and opens the door to let me in. I step in nervously, clutching a mug of coffee to my chest.

The cell is sparsely furnished, grey walls, tile floor, no window. There's a cot in the coroner, and a door, which must be to the bathroom I decide. In the middle of the room is a table with two chairs, one of which has Snape seated in it. He looks up as I come in, and smiles at me as if this is a completely normal situation. "Harry, how nice to see you again."

"Cut the shit, Snape," I growl, wrenching my chair out and sitting down heavily. "I've got a proposition for you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yes really, you arrogant prig. You knew I would, or you wouldn't have set this up." I reach into my coat pocket and extract a minute cut glass bottle. I place it on the table between us. "Veritaserum," I clarify. "Drink it, and tell me everything, and then maybe, if I like your story, we'll see if I can't get you out of here alive."

He smirks and closes his hand around the bottle. "I have to say, Harry, you've done exactly what I hoped you would." I sneer at him, and he uncorks the bottle and downs the small amount. Sighing, he sits back, eyes a little glazed. "Ask whatever you want, then," he urges.

"Start at the beginning," I say. "And work your way till now. I want to know everything."

"I was born on September ninth, to Xerxes and Ramona Snape, in nineteen-"

"Not that beginning," I interrupt, and he smirks. His eyes are saying ask the right questions. I take a deep breath and continue. "Start with the day I had detention, before you killed all those people. Tell me what happened."

"Do you mind if I have a drink of your coffee? I find myself a little more nervous than I would have hoped," he smiles. I push the mug across the table and he takes a gulp, muttering his thanks. "I was in a bad mood that day," he says. "I'd been going back and forth between Voldemort and Dumbledore until I wasn't even sure whom I was working for, and whether I cared. The war seemed a thing outside myself. I felt like I was just another tool for Dumbledore's glorious victory, and it was wearing me down. I owed it to the world though, to your family in particular because of what James had done for me, saving my life when we were boys. I'd never repaid him, you know, except through you.

"So I was beginning to feel rather stretched, and you, as you said, had detention that day." His eyes go all far away and spacey, and his words are low and dreamlike. "You were…young. Pretty. I remember wanting to make sure you never got hurt. I put you to what I felt was a relatively easy task of arranging jars. Of course, you managed to mess it up, per usual, and dropped a particularly rare sample. I believe it was a very carefully preserved cursed mermaid embryo. Naturally, the instant it hit the ground it began reacting with the oxygen in the room, and the preservations and charms on it that were keeping it intact but dormant were made void. The bloody thing made to attack you.

"I stepped in like always to save the day. The curse on this particular piece of magic was deadly. It had been designed by one of the Death Eaters during the first war as an attack mechanism, capable of spreading disease with mere touch. So, despite its obvious value, I was forced to eradicate the creature to save you, while you lay on the floor and looked perfectly ridiculous."

He takes a pause, draws in a deep breath and smiles at me. "Shall I go on?"

"Don't bother," I retort. "What happened afterwards? After I left."

"Ah. Well, I went to go see Dumbledore. I'd had an attack of guilt, and I knew that he'd find out quickly enough; he had his ways back then. I figured that confessing would make it easier, and maybe win me a little sympathy. However, as I neared the room I grew more anxious. After all, I could very well lose my job, and my safety. I lingered outside his door, trying to decide what to do, and it was then that I began to hear voices coming from inside.

"It was Dumbledore and McGonagall, discussing you. McGonagall sounded furious, and Dumbledore was regretful but firm. Gradually I etched out a vague notion of what they were talking about, and it froze me. You know what I allude to?"

"Very well, thank you," I grit.

He nods and continues. "Well, I burst in after a few more minutes, screaming like a madman until Dumbledore cast a silencing charm on me and explained that it was all for the best. I wanted to throttle him. For the best? How could he say it was for the best! He was talking about your life! I knew he'd always used people; Sirius, Remus, McGonagall, me…I hadn't realised how much power he was extending over your life until that moment.

"I was thinking all the while, trying to weigh out my options. Obviously I would get nowhere raging at him. He'd just lock me up somewhere or petrify me for the night, until it was too late. My only hope was to get out and save you before things went too far. When he took the charm off me and my voice was restored I was prepared to play the obedient child, and told him it was regrettable but that I now saw that the situation could not be helped. He beamed and twinkled at me, and McGonagall gave me this sad, suspicious look, and then they sent me on my way.

"I spent the night planning what to do. Figg was already moving, I had no doubt. I kept watch over her rooms, and saw her take the children, all under Imperious, outside the castle walls and into the forest. I followed close behind, waiting. In the forest she was met by a band of Death Eaters, who had with them several bound and gagged Muggles. I listened in on their conversation and learned their plan. Figg would keep the children, and the Death Eaters would release the Muggles, pointing them in the direction of the school. When they got there they would raise the alarm and, while the teachers planned what to do, you would come running in to aid your friends and meet your death.

"They were just getting ready to cut loose the muggles when I dropped down into their midst. I took out Figg first, cracked her spine in half. There were four Death Eaters left, and I knew I wouldn't be able to take them all at once. Luckily, two of them seemed to be busy with the muggles, which they were killing rapidly. I dashed to the children's aid first, leaving the muggles to die."

He sighs and wipes a hand across his forehead. "Those screams will stay with me for the rest of my life, I know. The sounds of those six muggles begging for my help will ring in my ears until the day I die."

I refrain from pointing out that that day is tomorrow if he doesn't get on with his story.

"I killed one of the Death Eaters holding the children, but the other one began throwing killing curses at the children, warning me not to come closer or he'd finish them all off. I stood back, trying to decide what to do as he toyed with them. The muggles were all dead now, and the other two Death Eaters were circling me dangerously.

" 'This just sweetens the deal,' one of them said, I think it was Lucius. 'We'll set one of the children free, and then Potter will come running to save his friends and his professor, and who will be there to save him?' They laughed, and I realised that they had me trapped. I could either attempt to save the lives of the children already there, and lose you, or sacrifice them to the Death Eaters, and assure your safety.

"It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, I think. In the end, I knew I couldn't lose you, and the children were lost in the resulting battle. I won, however, and washed my hands in the blood of the fallen Death Eaters.

"I hadn't counted on the general public believing I had killed them all," he sighed. "I remembered what they'd done to your godfather in the wake of the second war, and I knew they'd be out looking for scapegoats. So I did the logical thing and ran for my life."

"And you traveled the world avoiding capture?" I said. "You were innocent?"

"As innocent as I could be," he replied.

"What about the deaths since then? The others?"

"Every now and then someone senses what it is I'm running from. Either an Auror gets the notion to find me and kill me and bag a reward, or a Dark Wizard remembers the real story and sympathizes with their Death Eater comrades and comes after me, or an intuitive Muggle thinks I might be a threat and becomes an obstacle."

"And what about Dudley?"

"I did him on purpose, I confess. I knew you'd be coming and I wanted to do something nice for you."

"Killing my cousin isn't usually interpreted as a benevolent gesture," I mutter. He shrugs. "Who is Arienette?"

"Ah," he sighs. "Arienette. We met in France in the spring of 1999. It was right after I'd started using a glamour to make myself appear younger. I'd done a lot of thinking on the issue, you see, and come to the conclusion that my youth had been stolen from me; I'd been forced to live my life working for people who didn't care one jot about me, and I wanted a second chance. I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't have it, after all. And it made it easier. Things are always easier when you're young. At least this way no one would recognise me quite so easily.

"Arienette was a Muggle, which suited me fine. I was completely prepared to live the rest of my life as a Muggle, if it would keep me out of trouble. So we traveled together from then on. We bought a house in every country, and went wherever we felt moved to go. She was…amazing. I never met anyone like her."

"So you loved her," I remark, trying not to sound as upset as I'm feeling.

He smiles at me. "Yes and no. In some ways she was perfect for me, everything I'd ever wanted but could never have because of my position as a spy and ex-Death Eater. She was young, and alive, and so intelligent and thoughtful that it blew me away sometimes. But then, she was a Muggle. She believed in what she could see, in what she could hold in her hands. She believed in science and in facts.

"We spent four years together, moving from country to country, and I was perfectly content. We settled in Ireland for the last year, as you discovered."

"Did you kill her?"

"Gods no! I could never hurt her, anymore than I could ever hurt you. No, once we stopped moving she started to notice little things about me, put together incongruities in my actions and words, and realised there was something strange about me. As I said, she was, is, very clever.

"She confronted me with it one night, demanding that I tell her exactly what it was I was hiding from her. What could I do? I confessed everything; my past, my identity, everything. She didn't believe me at first, but I showed her…what I could do." A muscle in his jaw jumps. "I spent the night doing magic tricks, convincing her. And then she just shattered, collapsed like a wrecked ship and screamed herself sick at me. She cursed me till her face turned blue and then she stormed out and I never saw her again."

There's a long silence between us. This is nothing at all what I'd expected. I clear my throat. "Why do you always save my life?"

"It's second nature by now," he shrugs. "I owed your family, your father, the world for my actions. I owed so many people it was easier to repay all my debts onto you."

"Were you…were you in love with me?" I stammer, trying to get the words out before I lose my nerve. This is so stupid.

"Completely," he purrs, and my heart starts pounding itself against my ribs. "I never felt anything like what I felt that night with you. I have to admit, I was disappointed to find that you didn't feel the same."

"What makes you say that?" I ask.

"Well, if you'd felt the same we wouldn't be here right now, would we? You wouldn't have called the Aurors and we'd be half way across the world."

"Don't be so sure," I mutter. "Some of us have responsibilities."

"Of course you do," he says soothingly. "Have you made up your mind about what to do with me yet?"

I chew my lower lip. How many moments of truth can fit into one person's life, I wonder. Finally I nod and meet his eyes. "I'll help you out of here," I say.

He smiles. "Good."

V.

We arrange it as follows. Snape takes my wand and breaks my nose. I bite my lip to keep from screaming bloody murder, and try not to notice the sadistic little gleam in his eyes as he leans in and kisses me through the veil of blood streaming down my face. This is for appearances, you see. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and pounds on the door five times.

When the door opens he stuns both the guards, knocking them out cold but not killing them. I was very insistent about that point. Then he returns my wand and we creep down the hallway, towards the exit.

Half way there I stop and grab his sleeve. "Wait," I whisper. "I want to try something."

I duck into a door and pull him with me, muttering a password and then going through a door. He's following me, a curious, hesitant expression on his face. He stops walking when he sees The Machine looming in front of us.

"I want you to try it," I say innocently. "Since you're not guilty, I want you to try it."

"Harry, don't be insane…"

"I'm not!" I snap and point my wand at him. "Get in the fucking machine or we're going back to your cell right now."

"You know it's faulty. It won't prove anything…Harry I took Veritaserum! I told you the truth." He pleads with me, hands held out but just out of my reach, his eyes plaintive and panicked. "Harry, please…"

I shake my head. "Get in now."

His eyes flash at me, his hands dropping to his sides as he straightens up. I can hear his denial hang between us, as yet unspoken but the only real option left. What will I do then? Why am I doing this now? He's right, I know; this won't prove a thing.

And he surprises me completely then, takes a few delicate steps and then opens The Machine's glittering metal door and moves inside. My breath catches in my throat. "Push the fucking button," he mouths to me.

I let my finger linger over the button, brushing its cool surface not quite hard enough. Will I or won't I? How badly do I want to believe him? I can sense that he's becoming impatient. How much longer do I think it will be before someone discovers us here? Is he guilty? Does it matter in the slightest? There are a thousand things I would change about myself in this moment, if I only could.

Taking a deep breath, I jab at the panel to the left of the button and look up, pretending to act satisfied when nothing happens. My heart is thundering inside me like a beast and I run toward The Machine and fling the door open, his mouth crashing over mine a million times better than any dream has ever been.

"I knew you weren't," I scramble to say, and realise I'm crying, blood and tears running down my face. "I'm so sorry. I knew it, I knew…"

"It's okay," he tells me, running a shaking hand through my hair. "It's okay. I know. I know."

I sob against him, broken in his arms. But this can't last, however much I want it to. I take a few shaky breaths before raising my face to his. "You have to go."

"What about you?" he asks. "Come with me."

"I can't," I tell him. "I'll find you, someday. But I can't go with you now. You know it wouldn't work."

He turns to go, but stops himself and comes back to me, runs his hand down the side of my face in one last caress before he slips out the door and I sink to the floor, sobbing into my hands until someone comes and finds me, picks me up and puts me back together, good as new.

* * *

The paperwork takes on a different note then. I don't pay much attention to what I'm signing, what it is I'm saying happened that night, but I catch snatches of it. I was overpowered by Severus Snape and put under a temporary confundus curse. My nose was broken in a scuffle with him and I managed to save the guards from his wrath. I am a hero yet again.

Abernathy is quieter. He insists on taking me to St. Mungo's and seeing to my nose. There is no more mention of my raise, as if I care.

It's about a week later that something in a paper I'm signing catches my eye. It's a little yellow sticky pad with one sentence on it in perfect red scrawl. His. I grab it up at once, hold it close to my face and try to soak up the knowledge.

"Did you know that caffeine negates the effects of Veritaserum?"

I laugh so hard Abernathy comes running in to make sure I've not lost my mind. I tell him I'm taking a long vacation, shovel a few pens into my desk drawer, put the piece of paper in my pocket, and breeze past him and out the door.

At home I throw myself onto the bed and fall asleep at once. I don't have any dreams. When I wake up Galatea is sitting on my chest and staring at me steadfastly. I blink at her and she meows and jumps down. I reach over to the bedside table and put on my glasses.

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

I freeze, not looking at him. I know where he is; he's sitting right there in my armchair watching me through his intensely black eyes. I don't have to look to know. I don't want to know.

"Ignoring a thing won't make it go away, you know."

"What about cursing a thing?" I mutter, reaching for my wand.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you," he warns. "If you try turning around and looking at me you'll see that I have my wand pointed right at your head."

I lay back and turn slowly to look at him. True to his word, his wand is trained on the spot between my eyes. He smirks. His face is young again; young and irresistible with his flawless white skin and his full vicious mouth.

"Aren't you going to welcome me?" he asks. I say nothing. There's nothing to say, after what he did to me. "No? Well, how about greeting me? Can you manage a simple hello?" Silence. "Not talking to me then? Well, all right. I'll just leave then, shall I?"

"Was it true?" I hear myself demand of him without any conscious thought.

He pauses, between standing and sitting, caught in that space between worlds like sleep and awake, and smiles at me, raises one finger to his lips to signal silence, and shakes his head 'no' before walking away. I let him go.

* * *

It's the same dream I have every night. He's standing like a monolith, his face still carrying the shred of youth like a tattered torn defeated flag. And in a soft voice he asks me, "What about you? Come with me."

I shake my head and grip his biceps, trying to keep him here as long as possible. "I'll find you someday. I'll find you…"

It's the way I'll always try to remember him, the way I want him to be if I ever see him again. Not dressed in glamour and charms, or polished up young and strong. I'd want him the way he used to be, back when he saved my life once a week and gave me detentions to be served in freezing dungeons under his watchful eye.

And in the dream he brushes a hand down the side of my face and the memory of his touch stays with me all night. I know when I wake up it will remain for the rest of my life.

~fin~