The Iridescent Conclusion

“He’s quiet now,” a voice advised. Madam Pomfrey, Harry guessed. “I’ve healed his burns, restored his physical health. The rest however…” her voice trailed off uncertainly.

“I still don’t understand how Voldemort could have possessed him,” murmured another. That, Harry thought vaguely, was Sirius.

“Well,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice dropped in volume, “Albus said something about Harry’s state of mind. The loneliness, the desolation…”

She was answered by a low growl before Sirius evidently regained control of himself and asked, “Can we see him?”

Not sure that he wanted to be seen, Harry turned his face into the pillow with a discontented sound and only then gathered just where he was.

‘The Gryffindor dormitory,’ Draco told him softly and sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘They thought that familiar surroundings might…well, anyway, they brought you here after…’

After he lost it. After he read Severus’ letter and ran out of the hospital wing. After he thundered on the Potion master’s door and begged, screamed for him to open it, to come outside, to take it all back. He’d cast magic; the bitter burnt-sugar taste of it lingered in his throat still but he recalled vividly that it hadn’t had any effect. And all the time he’d been aware of Voldemort in his head, guiding his hands, working his voice…

‘We almost lost you,’ Draco said very softly. He touched Harry’s shoulder beneath the blankets and shivered. ‘Gods, Harry, were you aware of what he was doing?’

‘Some,’ Harry replied silently, his eyes distant. ‘He wouldn’t let me talk with Sev in the hospital wing – thought Sev would guess…” At this, Draco closed his eyes in grief and guilt. ‘No,’ Harry rolled over to take Draco’s hand, ‘you couldn’t have known. It isn’t your fault.’

‘Madam Pomfrey tried to resign,’ Draco stated matter-of-factly. ‘After she stabilised you, got you breathing on your own again, she offered to leave Hogwarts.’ She’d been crying, sobbing, he recalled and Sirius had taken her tiny body into his arms and rocked her, looking just as heartbroken.

‘But Dumbledore wouldn’t let her?’ Harry said softly, sharing Draco’s thoughts.

Draco shook his head and gazed down at his best friend with sad, grey eyes. ‘Are you all right now?’ he asked. The echo in Harry’s telepathic voice had gone now but it had left a hollow, haunted look in Harry’s eyes.

‘I’m -’ Harry began, about to state that he was okay but was he? His world had been turned upside-down, his lover had broken up with him and Voldemort had once again almost destroyed him. No, he thought, perhaps he wasn’t really okay. ‘I want to see Sev.’ He said instead.

Draco moved to respond but the door opened behind him and Harry looked up into the anxious eyes of his godfather. Sirius checked on the doorstep, hesitated and then glanced behind him.

“Severus,” Harry said aloud with a rough, dusty voice, drawing Sirius’ attention.

“That’s not…such a good idea…” he replied, glancing once more at Madam Pomfrey’s face. He started to say something further but the School Nurse interrupted him.

“I think,” she said carefully, “that you should just rest and take it easy for a while. I’ve healed your body, Harry, but you…” she paused and looked uncertainly down at her shoes.

“Let me see him,” Harry requested calmly, “or I’ll go looking for him myself.” He sat up with some difficulty and felt Draco’s eyes trained solely on his features.

“Harry, please,” Sirius begged, stepping into the room. “Don’t do this.”

‘SEV!’ Harry sent out the desperate, silent cry; ignoring Draco’s wince as if the shout could hurt his ears. ‘Severus, where are you?’

There was a momentary flutter along the connection and a moment later, he heard his lover’s words within his head. ‘By all that’s magical, boy, don’t shout!’ and then, gentler, ‘Are you -?’

‘Sev,’ Harry interrupted, shaking his head and ignoring Sirius as he tried to make him see the error in wanting the ‘greasy’ Potions master. ‘Sev, I don’t want apologies. I don’t want to hear you tell me you didn’t mean to hurt me. Please. Just get in here.’

Silence came back for a moment but then he and Draco caught a sense of the Potions master making up his mind.

“Sod it all to hell, Harry; come on! You don’t want him. You’re worth a hundred Snapes.” Sirius hissed urgently.

However, as Severus appeared in the doorway, Harry simply looked at his godfather and said in a deathly cold voice, “You will never understand me. You think I’m a carbon copy of my father but I’m not. I’m not James Potter, I’m not even the Harry Potter of last year. They’re both dead, Sirius; gone.” He lifted his chin then in the face of his godfather’s stunned expression and said firmly, “Look at me. Know that this is just me talking and understand: I don’t want to see you anymore.”

In a second, Sirius turned horribly pale and tried to draw himself up, perhaps about to argue. But then he appeared to give up and instead turned and walked out, past Madam Pomfrey and past Severus.

Madam Pomfrey looked unnerved and disconcerted. She glanced at Severus and opened her mouth. When no words came out, she turned on her heel and left. Severus closed the door behind her and sighed, looking at Draco and Harry.

“How are you?” he asked in a subdued voice.

Harry shrugged. “Peachy.”

Draco rolled his eyes and then stood. ‘I’ll be outside.’

“Draco, wait,” Harry caught his hand.

But Draco shook his head, ‘You need to talk and you don’t need an audience. I’ll be here for you when…’ he shook his head, ‘I’ll be back in a little while.’ And he slipped out of the dormitory and Harry listened to his footsteps going down to the common room.

“Harry,” Severus said then and the timbre, the heartfelt yearning in his voice brought tears to Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I was a fool...”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered, even though it wasn’t. His heart would always remember the pain but he couldn’t let it consume him; not now, not when it seemed that Severus might have changed his mind. “With Sirius out of my life, we can go back to the way we were. Everyone will think that Draco and I are back together and you and I can -”

“Harry,” Severus cut across him. Despite the fact that he’d just seen his old rival put down by the man’s own godson, it did nothing but disturb him. And now Harry was talking of using Draco to reach his own goals? He shook his head and looked long and deep into Harry’s eyes – but only Harry looked back at him.

Harry meanwhile, was looking less and less certain. His confidence that Snape would fall on him with a shout of ecstasy was quickly fading.

“Harry, I was wrong to write you that letter,” Severus said quietly, keeping his eyes locked with Harry’s. “I believed that your condition was minor – although that is no excuse for my cowardice. Know, however, that nothing has changed for us.”

“No,” it came out as a whisper.

“Everything I wrote must stand,” Severus finished, standing ramrod straight and refusing to buckle.

For a long moment, Harry stared at him and then he dropped his gaze to the bed and finally he closed his eyes altogether.

‘Harry, we can’t continue. We couldn’t – even if Black hadn’t found out – we were bound to get caught eventually.’ Severus shook his head, speaking silently for fear someone might overhear.

‘You don’t want me?’ Harry whispered, his silent voice strangled by pain.

‘Harry, don’t.’

‘Are you tired of me? Bored? Would you prefer someone older? You want someone better? You never gave me a chance! You insisted that I was a child – is that what you really think? Is that why you wouldn’t…wouldn’t...’

‘Harry, stop. You did nothing wrong and in another time, another place, I wouldn’t change a thing.’

‘No!” Harry’s exclaimed within Severus’ head, ‘We can make this work – we can wait!’

‘Harry –‘

‘Sev, don’t give up on this. I’ll grow up, I promise. Just let me -’

“Enough, Harry! Stop this now!” The words came as a shout and sliced through Harry’s stream of words and thoughts like an axe.

He sat, staring at the Potions master in shocked silence.

“It’s over,” Severus said very quietly. “It ends here and we move on.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Your belongings have been moved in already, Draco will sleep up here until the rest of the students return and you will only see me for Potions and Dark Arts.” If Dumbledore allowed that, which seemed highly doubtful all things considered.

And suddenly Harry’s eyes were flat and dull. All of the fight, the fire and tenacity that had burned within him since moving in with Snape and Draco – all of it had simply collapsed in on itself. There was no more screaming or begging or crying; of that, Severus was grateful. But it seemed so wrong that Harry should simply roll over and give up.

“You don’t need to worry about me; you can go.” Harry murmured and his voice sounded thick and choked with tears.

Feeling both his own pain and Harry’s, Severus reached out with one hand. He wanted to caress his face, stroke the flawless skin and maybe draw those glorious eyes up to his one last time. But before his hand made contact, he found himself recoiling from a bolt of sharp magical energy and he caught a glimpse of the quiet sense of betrayal that seethed under the surface.

“Get out.”

He left.

*~*~*

Almost a week later, Severus sat in his favourite armchair feeling pretty bloody irritated with the world in general. The empty bottle of Oban dropped from his fingers and thudded as it hit the hearth rug.

The same hearth rug that Draco used to occupy. The same hearth rug where he’d held Harry in his arms and kissed him with a lover’s touch. So recent and yet it seemed a lifetime ago.

He sneered at himself and brought the glass of whisky to his lips again. His lips had gone numb some time ago; the alcohol taking all sensation and almost all pain. Almost all.

“So maudlin,” he slurred, closing his eyes in utter contempt. His alcoholic stupor led him down into oblivion until -

“Severus,” the voice cut through the layers of shadowy, alcohol-induced fog. He opened his eyes with difficulty and found Dumbledore standing before him wearing a sorrowful frown. “You didn’t hear me knocking?”

“Albus,” he greeted the Headmaster with forced cordiality, “come in, pull up a chair. Tea?” he asked with biting sarcasm and then winced when Dumbledore sighed and sat down opposite.

In Harry’s chair.

“I’ve been worried about you.” Dumbledore began, sounding reproachful. Although, some element of Snape thought, he probably intended to sound caring. Caring Dumbledore. Compassionate Dumbledore. Sensitive Dumbledore.

His lip curled and he took another mouthful of whisky.

“I believe you’ve had enough of that, my old friend,” Dumbledore suggested firmly and the liquid abruptly changed to water. Snape scowled and moved to set the glass down on the little table. He missed, dropped the glass and groaned with indescribable pain and loss as the liquid seeped into the rug.

“Gone.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore murmured, “but you’re going to have a very sore head tomorrow as it is. Any more whisky and you may not even wake up.”

Severus frowned, “No. Harry... gone.” He dragged his aching, heavy-lidded eyes up to the Headmaster’s face and saw an expression of puzzlement there.

“Severus, I thought we agreed that it would be best? That Harry should come to realise that what he feels is nothing more than a crush? Are you telling me that there is more to this?”

“He hates me.” Severus announced, lifting his chin. “They say that love and hate are exact opposites, do they not?”

Dumbledore sat in stunned silence for a few minutes and then asked quietly, “Severus, do you love him?”

In response, Snape pulled himself unsteadily to his feet and stumbled towards the cabinet.

“Severus, you don’t want anything more to drink other than large quantities of water.” Dumbledore said sharply, sounding nothing like the gentle old man of before. “And I ask you again: are you in love with Harry Potter?”

Severus stopped in the middle of the room and turned slowly. Beneath the fog, beneath the alcoholic haze, the little element of himself which seemed to have remained more or less sober was taking the moment to observe that he should be extremely careful from now on.

“I miss him.” He said finally, “Harry and Draco. They became my…”

“Friends?”

“Family.” He finished. “And I’m ashamed to say that I hurt Harry very badly. I am a fool sometimes.” His slurred words strung themselves together but it seemed that the other man understood him well enough.

“Harry will forgive you, I’m sure.” Dumbledore said, “He’s a bright young man and no doubt realises already that such a relationship couldn’t develop.”

Severus said nothing to that. Instead, he drew a deep breath and said, “Headmaster, forgive me for my current state. I believe I should probably go to bed before I fall over.”

“Indeed. I’ll expect you to be fit and able to take your class, first thing Monday morning.”

*~*~*

“You wanted to see me?” Harry asked, having knocked and entered Dumbledore’s office.

After refusing to eat much of anything for Sunday lunch, he’d received word from Nearly Headless Nick that he was to report immediately to the Headmaster’s office. He went alone, because the summons hadn’t included Draco, but his friend was very firmly linked and Harry suspected that, at the first hint of trouble, Draco would be pounding on the door in a matter of seconds.

“Yes, Harry. Thank you,” Dumbledore greeted him with a tight little smile and gestured to where a gentleman sat before his desk, with a pinstripe cloak draped over the back of the chair. “You know Cornelius Fudge, of course.” It wasn’t a question. Of course Harry knew Fudge; knew him for the pathetic, narrow-minded moron that had suspected him of conjuring tall tales about Voldemort, had hauled him into a farcical hearing for defending himself with underage magic and no doubt wanted to see if the Boy Who Lived had suffered any lasting damage at Voldemort’s hand last year.

With all of these thoughts rampaging about his head, it was a wonder that Harry was able to incline his head politely and murmur “Good afternoon,” for the Minister of Magic.

“Ah, yes,” Fudge said, standing up and extending a hand towards Harry. “I’ve been meaning to come and see you for a while now, Harry. Wanted to see how you’ve been doing after our rescue last September.”

Harry gave a thin little smile; he wasn’t aware of the Ministry’s involvement in his rescue. From all that he’d heard and understood, the Order of the Phoenix had orchestrated the rescue and Severus had been the one to actually come and get him out. But he couldn’t think about Severus... not now... not...

“And then I heard about this…” Fudge hesitated and glanced at Dumbledore, “That is to say, I heard that you were taken unwell following another near miss with You Know Who.”

Harry frowned and glanced too at Dumbledore. Then, stalling for time, he moved forward and took the other available chair, opposite the Headmaster’s desk.

“Really, Harry,” Fudge chided gently, obviously trying to sound like somebody’s grandfather, “we can’t have you vanishing and risking life and limb against He Who Shall Not Be Named, can we?”

“Sir,” he began, biting off each word as he went, “I really didn’t go in search of fighting Voldemort. I’m not an idiot, I know I’m not ready to face him yet -”

“And yet you cast Dark magic!” Fudge retorted, dropping the sweet façade at once. “You put yourself and others at risk and, as I understand it, it was all because of some unrequited crush with a member of staff!”

Feeling his blood start to pound through his skull, wanting nothing but to put this sanctimonious ass in his place, Harry clenched his hands together and stared into the middle distance.

“Cornelius,” Dumbledore began, with a strong hint of warning in his voice, “Harry has been extremely ill and I don’t believe you’re helping,”

“I’m not trying to help, Dumbledore,” Fudge shook his head. “This boy has to realise that there is more at stake here. When he charged off to engage You Know Who in a wizard’s duel, he was not only putting himself at risk but risking the lives of all those that would have to go and rescue him again! We nearly lost two aurors in September because of Harry Potter and no doubt you and everyone else would want me to send men into the field to save his skin once again if he got caught!”

“I didn’t choose to be kidnapped, you know!” Harry stormed, unable to hear any more. He turned to fix the Minister of Magic with blazing green eyes and fought hard to keep from summoning Caramon. “My aunt and uncle’s car was destroyed; my aunt, uncle and cousin were killed and Lucius-Sodding-Malfoy abducted me off the street! What – exactly – would you have had me do? Considering, Minister, that I couldn’t cast magic out of school? And even if I could, there was nothing I could do. NOTHING!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore attempted to soothe him.

“NO! This imbecile wants to blame me for my own abduction and now he wants to slap my hand for nearly losing my mind to fucking Voldemort – AND DON’T YOU TELL ME TO SHUSH!” He bellowed as Fudge made useless flapping gestures at the Dark Lord’s name.

“I might suggest,” Fudge began in a mild tone a minute later, “that perhaps you’re not entirely yourself after your recent struggle with You Know Who.”

“Cornelius, that’s enough. Harry is justifiably upset -” Dumbledore began but Harry shouted over him.

“How dare you? What right do you have to come here and accuse me of losing my marbles? If anyone’s mad it’s you! How long did you spend with your head up your arse, Fudge? How long did you deny that Voldemort was back?”

“How long have you been having an illegal affair with Severus Snape?” Fudge countered suddenly.

Harry blinked in sudden and utter shock. He shook his head a little and looked to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Thank you, Cornelius,” he said wearily, “I thought we were going to let me handle this?”

“He needs to be taken down a peg or two,” the Minister fumed, gesturing at Harry. He’d gone slightly red though. “And it’s a valid question.”

“And one that I’ve already answered,” Harry responded. Within his head, Draco was speaking very quickly, urging him to be careful, to not speak out of turn anymore and to please, please hold his temper. It seemed that the blond Slytherin was currently trying to get past the gargoyle to Dumbledore’s stairs.

“The thing is, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sounding vaguely apologetic, “even with Lord Voldemort possessing you, your reaction to Professor Snape’s letter was rather more extreme than I would have expected. And I understand from Dr Litworth, that you refused to talk about it – or about anything else for that matter.”

“She’s discussed my case with you?” Harry asked doubtfully. He had no difficulty in recalling his session with Jenna on Friday. After two hours of gentle, soothing psychobabble, Harry suspected that the good doctor had been ready to throttle him for his constant stonewalling and passive aggression.

“No,” the Headmaster shook his head with some regret, “that is – ah – personal.”

It was all personal, Harry fumed silently. What right did Dumbledore have to disclose certain details to the Minister of Magic?

“A great shame,” Fudge lamented, “as I’m sure the good doctor could sort out this matter in no time.”

“No.” Harry stated firmly, shaking his head. “Snape’s done nothing wrong. He hasn’t – hasn’t done anything to me. He’s innocent.” And it occurred to him that he was still determined to protect the Potions master.

As the back of his mind, along the telepathic link that had been blocked for a week, came a short stirring as if Snape was suddenly tuning in. Harry ignored it and continued to gaze at the Headmaster.

“My reaction to the letter was extreme,” he lowered his eyes for a moment, “but, as you know, my accidental confrontation with Voldemort led to…” Harry swallowed and shot a swift, sideways glance at Fudge. “Voldemort drew out all the very worst feelings, sir.”

“I see,” Dumbledore replied softly. The look he gave Harry then was very sad and very old. “My boy, I think we are continually failing to understand you. From the moment of your rescue, we appear to have failed you.”

“Should have sent him to St Mungo’s,” Fudge interjected and to Harry’s horror, Dumbledore nodded sadly.

“Clearly, keeping you here and forcing you to continue as normal was a mistake.”

“No,” Harry shook his head and glanced briefly over at the Minister. “No, sir, you’re wrong. I didn’t need a padded cell – I don’t need a psychoanalyst. I just need people to give me a bit of space and stop demanding that I jump through hoops!”

“Perhaps.” The Headmaster nodded once. “However, I feel that we need to assert a few new boundaries for your own welfare.”

Harry sat up straighter, suddenly wary. He was aware of Fudge almost rubbing his hands in glee.

“I have altered the wards and restrictions on the castle, Harry.” Dumbledore advised carefully. “You will no longer be able to cast Dark magic of any sort and nor will anyone else.”

“Quite right too,” Fudge nodded. “Can’t have students casting Merlin knows what around the place. Imagine if, instead of casting the magic upon himself, Harry here had decided to set light to the people around him.”

“I wouldn’t.” Harry vowed, although he couldn’t vouch for Voldemort he realised.

“Secondly,” Dumbledore continued, before the Minister and Harry could start another argument, “there will of course be no further Dart Arts lessons for you or Mr Malfoy. You will have no contact with Professor Snape, other than Potions lessons.”

“And be thankful you’re still allowed to attend those,” Fudge added pompously.

Harry just stared at the Headmaster in shock.

“Is that it?” he asked eventually in a numb little voice.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Fudge.

“Actually, no, that’s not all. There are one or two things that you should be aware of,” he said with a slight frown. “Given your condition – the question of your mental state – it has been strongly suggested that you be placed within Ministry custody at St Mungo’s. However,” he interrupted Harry’s immediate vociferous response, “Dumbledore has argued your case and so I will permit you to stay at Hogwarts and continue your studies. For now. You will recommence weekly sessions with Dr Litworth, however – I trust that you’ll be more forthcoming in future.

“And should you wish to leave Hogwarts – before your final year – you will immediately be placed within Ministry custody until such time as a healer declares you fit. Is that understood?”

Harry stared at the man, opening and closing his mouth. He looked then at Dumbledore, pleading silently for the Headmaster to intervene. But Dumbledore wasn’t looking at him; he was staring instead at his desk.

“I understand.” Harry said. Really, he thought, there wasn’t much else he could say.