What Might Be Done

Chapter 8: The Unforgivable Sin
In which our hero dissembles; Harry vanishes; and Dumbledore waffles


Despair is the price one pays for setting oneself an impossible aim. It is, one is told, the unforgivable sin, but it is a sin the corrupt or evil man never practises. He always has hope. He never reaches the freezing-point of knowing absolute failure. Only the man of goodwill carries always in his heart this capacity for damnation.
-- Graham Greene: The Heart of the Matter

>>>>>>>>>>


Snape paced his private office. Something was off-kilter. He could feel it. Something more than his earlier bad start with Potter. It couldn’t be Albus, he would know by now; Minerva or Poppy would have summoned him. His Slytherins were quiet; mostly outside the castle, on the grounds somewhere. He sensed nothing wrong from that quarter.

He looked longingly at his liquor cabinet. No. It was too early yet, not even midday.

He paced some more, rubbing absently at the Dark Mark on his arm. Not even a twinge.

Maybe it was just Potter. Something had not gone right there, and Snape had no idea what it was. Perhaps it was to be expected; the boy was as close to a mental defective as . . . well, that might not be quite fair.

For what must have been the twentieth time in as many minutes, Snape strode to the window and looked out, not knowing what he hoped, or expected, to have changed. As it had been nineteen times before, there was nothing to see; just the grounds and the forest beyond.

He resumed pacing, trying to think of what might have caused Potter to bolt like a scared rabbit. Snape hadn’t done anything untoward. For God’s sake, it’s not as if he had even touched the boy. Potter was sixteen. Old enough to hear a simple declaration of interest.

Snape walked to the window again and seeing nothing, resumed his pacing, stopping periodically to gaze at his liquor cabinet.

>>>>

Hermione spotted Professor McGonagall in the corridor outside the Transfiguration classroom.

“There she is. C’mon, Ron. Professor!”

Hermione took off running. Ron followed close behind, one hand clutching her arm, looking more as if he were trying to slow her down than keep up with her.

McGonagall turned around at the sound of her name, and peered disapprovingly at the running pair over the top of her glasses.

“Professor,” Hermione panted as she skidded to a halt in front of McGonagall, Ron slamming into her from behind, “Harry’s mis--“
“Hermione!” Ron whispered fiercely, yanking on her arm.

She turned around and glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Ron flicked a glance at Professor McGonagall.

“Hmph,” Hermione said, “I thought not.”

“Except,” Ron said, “he’s really not going to like this.”

“Ron, we’ve been through this several times already. If everything’s fine, he won’t like it, but if something’s wrong, if he’s in trouble . . .”

“For Heaven’s sake,” McGonagall interrupted irritably, “stop arguing and tell me what’s wrong. Who is not going to like what?”

Ron looked at Hermione, squinting crossly, and said again through clenched teeth, “Hermione.”

“Harry’s missing,” Hermione blurted.

Ron groaned.

McGonagall’s eyes widened in alarm. “What do you mean ‘Harry’s missing’? Since when?”

No one’s seen him since before dinner last night.”

“Her-Mi-O-Ne,” Ron whispered, his teeth still clenched.

Hermione swatted his arm. “Enough, Ron. You’re going to get lockjaw and we have to tell somebody. Harry’s been missing for at least eighteen hours.”

“Eighteen hours?” McGonagall was shocked, and very, very angry. “And you’re just now informing me? We have to see the Headmaster. You two, come with me!” She set off at a brisk pace, not bothering to check if Hermione and Ron were following.

At the stone gargoyle she said, “Flounder.”

Hermione turned to Ron and whispered, “Flounder? I thought he always used some kind of sweet.”

“Every Flavour Beans,” Ron said knowledgeably. “It’s really disgusting. You’d think they’d have at least made it taste like cooked--“

“Quickly,” McGonagall ordered as the moving spiral staircase was revealed.

“I hate to disturb Albus,” she muttered under her breath, “but with Potter missing . . .”

The door to Dumbledore’s tower office swung open as they approached. “Wait here,” McGonagall barked. She walked around the Headmaster’s desk and knocked on a door Hermione and Ron hadn’t realised was there. There was no audible response but she entered without waiting. After several minutes and muttered words that Ron and Hermione strained in vain to hear, McGonagall emerged followed by a very slow-moving Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore, are you all right?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. I seem to have caught a bug, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking. Now, what’s this about Harry being missing?”

“I’m afraid isn’t much to tell, Professor; it’s just we haven’t seen Harry since yesterday afternoon.”

“Yesterday afternoon?” McGonagall asked sternly. “You said not since dinner.”

“Minerva, please. I know you’re upset but it hardly matters whether Harry’s been missing for eighteen hours or twenty.” He turned back to Hermione and Ron. “Do you know if something in particular has been bothering him lately? More dreams? Pains from his scar?”

“No, Professor. At least I don’t think so.”

Hermione turned and looked at Ron who reluctantly shook his head.

“He’s been in a funny mood since last Friday, since Snape . . .” Hermione stopped.

“Professor Snape, Miss Granger. Yes, I did hear about that. I had rather been hoping that Harry and Professor Snape could work things out between themselves. Perhaps it was foolish of me. Do you think Harry’s disappearance has anything to do with his suspension from Potions?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, “we’ve barely seen or spoken to him all week, and Ron said he didn’t sleep in his dorm last night.”

Ron grimaced, clearly not wanting to be drawn into the discussion.

“Perhaps we should summon Professor Snape. Minerva, would you be so kind?”

When Snape pushed his way into Dumbledore’s office a few minutes later, he looked annoyed and harried. If she hadn’t known it to be impossible, Hermione would have thought Snape had been drinking. His hair was greasier than usual and pushed away from his forehead as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours; his eyes didn’t look quite right; and she thought she caught a whiff of something vaguely alcoholic and . . . sweet.

“What’s all the uproar? I was just about to resume working on that special potion, Headmaster. I do not appreciate being interrupted.”

“Thank you for joining us, Severus,” Dumbledore began, “Harry Potter seems to be missing.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. If he’s missing, which I doubt, he’s only been gone for a handful of hours.”

“What do you mean, Severus?” Albus asked.

“Headmaster, why are these two here?” Snape looked disdainfully at Hermione and Ron.

“They’re here because they were the ones to realise Harry was missing.”


“I don’t think we should discuss this in front of them. They might be . . . needlessly worried.” Snape made it very clear that worrying them didn’t matter to him in the least, he merely wanted them gone.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed.

McGonagall looked at the students. “Professor Snape is quite right. You should go back to Gryffindor Tower. If there’s any news, I’ll make sure you know about it.”

“But Professor!” Hermione and Ron complained together.

“Good day, and try not to worry.” McGonagall clearly would brook no disobedience.

“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore said as the door closed behind the two students, “why do you say only a handful of hours? Miss Granger and Mr Weasley indicated they hadn’t seen Harry for at least eighteen hours and that he hadn’t slept in his bed last night.”

“I saw him earlier this morning.”

“You did? Where? What time?” McGonagall demanded.

“Minerva, please,” Dumbledore asked.

“Before dawn,” Snape admitted. “I awoke quite early this morning and I saw someone moving around on the grounds in the dark. Naturally, I went to investigate. Of course it was Potter. What other student would have the temerity to break curfew?”

“There’s something you’re leaving out.”

Snape glared at Dumbledore. “Fine. Potter and I seemed to reach an accord for a moment. I took the opportunity to tell him I was interested in pursuing something beyond teacher/student.”

McGonagall put her hand to her forehead and raised her eyes to heaven. “Severus, you didn’t! You ass! He’s sixteen years old; you probably scared him half to death!”

“Surely sixteen is old enough to hear a simple declaration of interest?”

“Possibly, although with young Potter it would be a near thing in any case, but after six years of bitter enmity you can’t think the very first remotely decent thing you’ve ever said to him . . .”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Minerva. It’s not as if I routinely abuse the boy.”

Both McGonagall and Dumbledore looked taken aback. Albus was the first to recover and his eyes shone with mirth.

“Of course not, Severus. Well, if Harry has only been missing four, maybe five hours perhaps we needn’t be too worried just yet.”

“But Headmaster,” Snape contrarily protested, “for the last several hours I’ve had this feeling --”

Minerva turned to Albus and smiled widely before saying to Snape, “You had a feeling about Mr Potter?”

“Shut it, you old . . .!”

“It might be a good idea to get a search party together.” Minerva said, still smiling.

Snape glared at her. “Albus, I might have an idea where Potter’s hiding. Give me one hour before you do whatever it is you, or Minerva, think you should do.”

“I was going to suggest that very thing, Severus. That you go out and look for him.”

Snape reminded himself that Dumbledore was old and slapping him might not be the wisest course of action. He nodded curtly to the Headmaster and his colleague. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

>>>>

Snape wasn’t sure why he thought he could find Potter. He realised he actually knew very little about the boy; not much beyond what could be gleaned from the Daily Prophet. It certainly wasn’t as if they shared a bond. The last time Snape had seen Potter, the ninny had been hurrying away as fast as his short little legs could take him.

Potter had been standing near the Whomping Willow. The Whomping Willow had been planted over the tunnel entrance to the Shrieking Shack. Really, he wondered why Muggles made such a to-do about detective stories. It was elementary, once you simply applied your mind to it.

Snape’s mind was curiously torpid as he left the castle and crossed the grounds to the Whomping Willow. Some small voice, which he was ignoring, told him he should think about what he would do and say if he found Potter. Mostly the refrain, “Potter’s in trouble,” kept repeating in his head. Without breaking step, he swiftly stooped and picked up a long stick lying on the ground; he would need it to push the knot on the Whomping Willow that would allow him entrance to the tunnel mouth.

As Snape approached the guardian tree it began to move as if in a high wind; its branches flailing back and forth wildly, prepared to club anything that came close. Snape leant forward as far as he could and thrust his stick at the knot. Damn! Not quite long enough. He looked at the tree’s violently waving branches, assessing his chances. Waiting until the nearest branch took an upswing, he darted forward and touched stick to knot just as the branch came whistling down and cracked him fiercely across the arse. Snape dropped face down and slithered snakelike into the gap between the roots, his arse throbbing. If Potter was in the Shrieking Shack, Snape was going to kill him. If Potter wasn’t in the Shrieking Shack, Snape was going to kill him.

“Insolent, infuriating, spoiled brat!” Snape snarled as he slid down the slope into the tunnel. “Always getting into trouble. Always expecting someone to rescue him. Well, you can just kiss my arse, Potter.” Which, now that he thought about it, just might make his arse feel better.

Snape held his wand out and muttered, “Lumos!!” through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, the tunnel had got no larger in the three years since he had last entered it. Snape put his wand between his teeth and scrambled forward, almost on hands and knees. Why they couldn’t have dug deeper and made a tunnel an adult could stand up in was beyond his ken.

On and on he crawled until at last he saw the dim light that indicated the Shrieking Shack was just ahead. Hurrying a bit more, desperate to stand up and relieve the crick that threatened to cripple his lower back, Snape pulled himself through the hole at the end of the tunnel and heaved his body into the Shack. His breath caught in his chest. Potter lay in the far corner of the room, sprawled out and unmoving, very pale in the dim blue light from Snape’s wand.

“Dear God, don’t let him be dead,” Snape whispered, and fear-tinged bile rose in his throat. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips, fighting back a wave of nausea.

Cursing himself for his weakness, Snape stood and brightening the glow from his wand, strode over to the corner. “Potter! POTTER, YOU IMBECILE!” Snape’s hand went to his own throat, his voice had come out rather higher pitched than usual. “POTTER!” He roared and almost collapsed in relief when Harry stirred.

“You are the most arrogant, self-centred, melodramatic, over-bearing little monster!” Snape heard a dim echo of McGonagall’s voice, “how often it is what we most despise in other people are those faults we share with them.” He shook his head irritably. As soon as he was done killing Potter, he would tend to McGonagall.

“You’ve had half the school sick with worry, Potter. Does that please you? Does it make you feel important?”

Harry lifted his head wearily from where it rested on his folded arms and peered up at Snape; his green eyes looking more vivid than usual without his glasses. “Snape?”

“O bra-vo, Mr Potter. Your superior intelligence and keen perception once more make themselves apparent. YES, IT’S ME, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!”

“Professor, why are you yelling at me?” Harry asked sleepily.

It was a fair question, but Snape wasn’t about to tell Potter that he had been worried sick. “Because you’ve frightened your friends and got the Headmaster concerned for your safety. Because you disappeared without a word to anybody. Because you --”

“I didn’t disappear!” Harry exclaimed. “And I don’t have to tell everybody my every move. It’s Saturday. I have no classes. I have no plans. I just wanted to be by myself for a bit. WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR EVERYONE TO UNDERSTAND?”

“As much as it pains me to say,” Snape hissed, “you’re extremely important to numerous people. You can’t just indulge in an orgy of self-pity without consideration of anyone else.” Snape looked down at Potter’s silently moving lips. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to count the number of esses in what you were saying.”

Snape looked blankly at Potter for a moment and then, to his utter horror, he laughed. Worse, so did Potter.

“I really wasn’t trying to worry people. Never occurred to me they would. I wasn’t missing. I knew where I was; and it’s early yet,” Harry said quietly.

Without allowing himself to think, Snape put his back against the wall and slid down until he was seated near Potter’s head. “You can’t just do that, you insufferable, unthinking dolt. It’s not acceptable. You at least have to tell someone where you’re going.”

“Why? I’m not a child!”

“If you have to ask why, then you are a child. Like it or not you’re a valuable commodity to both sides of this little war.”

“I’m fucking tired of being a commodity.”

It occurred to Snape to say ‘language’ and take points, but he didn’t. “Yes, I imagine you’d be tired of a great many things.”

Harry’s mouth fell open but he didn’t say anything. For awhile, neither did Snape.

“What’s bothering you, Potter?”

“Other than the fact that you’re being suspiciously nice to me?”

“Was I being nice to you? How appalling. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

Harry grinned very tentatively. Sighing deeply, he sat up and scooted back a little, putting more distance between himself and Snape. “I just needed time by myself,” he repeated.

“Is it Black?” Snape’s muscles tensed, prepared for an outburst that didn’t come.

“It’s Sirius and everybody else who’s died. It’s because I’m expected to kill Voldemort, er sorry, the Dark Lord, and I don’t have any idea how to go about it, and nobody understands what it’s like; there’s no one I can talk to. Everybody expects me to be brave and cheerful, or brave and surly, or brave and whatever else. I’m not brave. I’m scared. And you didn’t exactly help matters.”

“You’re trying to blame this on me?” Typical of the brat.

“I’m not saying you’re responsible for everything, okay? I know Sirius’s death wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. It’s my fault. I know that. It was my fault and I can’t fix it.”

“It’s not your fault, Potter.” Of course it was, and it was about time the harebrained hero admitted it.

“It is my fault. All I do is cause trouble. The wizarding world wants a hero but all they’ve got is a very scared Harry Potter. I’m no good to anyone. I can’t do this. I can’t live with having to kill Voldemort. I can’t live up to everybody’s expectations. I’m nobody’s hero. I’d be better off back at the Dursley’s because I’m just going to fuck everything up.”

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“DAMN RIGHT I’M FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF! I’m in the middle of a hopeless situation. Everybody expects something of me. Everybody expects me to be something I’m not. I can’t do this! I can’t! Dumbledore needs to find somebody else. Why can’t he be the one to assassinate Voldemort? At least he’s had practice!”

“That was extremely ill-said, Potter. The Headmaster is not a murderer.”

“No, but I’m supposed to be one, is that what you’re saying? Well I won’t! I can’t! I haven’t got what it takes!”

“No, you don’t. And hiding away, or running away, won’t give you what it takes. You have to face up to your responsibilities and stop behaving like a spoiled brat!”

“FUCK YOU!”

Now Snape did say it. “Language, Potter.”

Harry snorted in disbelief and Snape couldn’t blame him really. Given the subject matter, given the expectations the world had of the boy, a little profanity was more than reasonable.

“Why did you say what you did this morning?” Harry gave Snape a considering look.

“Why did I say what?”

“Don’t play with me, Professor. I was there too, remember?”

Snape fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “I said I’d like to see if we could become more than teacher and student.”

Harry let out a long, exasperated breath. “I know what you said. I want to know why you said it.”

“I should think why would be apparent, Mr Potter.”

“But you hate me.”

Yes, I do, I really do, or at least I should, Snape thought. “I don’t like you very much, it’s true.”

Harry let out a wounded huff and smiled bitterly. “So then why do you want something more?”

“You’re an attractive boy, Potter.”

“So that’s why? Doesn’t matter if you despise me as long as I’m good looking, which I’m not by the way, so you might want to fix your story. Well, it’s not going to happen, Snape. So find yourself another toy.”

Snape’s laughter snorted out his nose. “Think a lot of yourself, do you? I don’t need a toy. I need a man.”

Harry paled and then his cheeks burned an angry red. “Look, I don’t know what this is about. I’m not sure I want to know. You’re either having me on for reasons I can’t begin to understand, or you’re telling the truth, which is impossible. Ron thinks it’s one of Voldemort’s plots.”

“You’ve discussed this with Weasley Number Six?”

“Yeah, and Hermione too. Why wouldn’t I? You’ve been acting very strange for the last few months. Do you think no one’s noticed? It doesn’t matter. I’m straight. I like girls. I like them a lot, actually. I’m not interested in other boys, or men. Um, so if you’re serious, then it wouldn’t work. And if you’re not serious, well then, to hell with you!”

“Language, Potter.”

“Look, why don’t you do us both a favour and expel me, right now. Say you caught me drinking, or something. I won’t contradict you.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Snape said under his breath. “I am not going to expel you, and as much as I’d love to have this little tete-a-tete with you right now, I promised the Headmaster I’d be back in an hour, else he can loose the dogs of war.”

“Loose the dogs of war?”

“I imagine he’ll have the whole Order here if I’m five minutes late.”

“Looking for me?”

“Mmm.”

“I am special, aren’t I? Oz the Great and Terrible.” Harry grinned tiredly.

Snape rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. If any wizard ever deserved to be sanctified, it was himself. “Get up, you conceited blockhead” he said. “The Headmaster wants to see you.”


>>>>

Snape pushed Harry roughly through the door to Dumbledore’s office. McGonagall jumped to her feet and then put her hand on the arm of her chair to steady herself as she swayed in evident relief. She pressed her other hand to her chest. “Harry!”

Dumbledore came slowly out from behind his desk and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Harry. You gave some of us quite a fright.”

“I’m sorry, Headmaster,” Harry said somewhat sullenly. “I just wanted some time to myself. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“That’s understandable, Harry. I do wish you’d let someone know when you’re going off, and I have to insist once more that you do not leave the castle walls during curfew. We’re doing our best to protect you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Harry said under his breath.

“Minerva, I believe you promised Miss Granger and Mr Weasley that you’d inform them when Harry was found. Perhaps you should go do that now.”

McGonagall didn’t look happy but merely said, “Certainly, Headmaster,” and turned and left the room.

“Severus, you had a potion you were working on?”

“Having been interrupted for this long, it will do no harm to sit awhile longer.”

“I would like to speak to Harry alone.”

“Headmaster, he must be punished! He was out after curfew. He’s caused untold worry and wasted time. Surely you’re not, once again, letting him off without consequences?” Snape was clearly outraged.

“I would like to speak to Harry alone, Severus. This is not a request.”

“Once again the little princeling wreaks havoc and gets off scot free!”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore snapped, “I’ll not ask you again!”

“Very well, Headmaster. But the next time Potter gets in trouble, don’t expect me to do anything about it!”

Only the magical properties of Dumbledore’s office door kept it from slamming in Snape’s wake.

>>>>

Snape was standing by the gargoyle when Harry descended from the Headmaster’s office. The boy darted a quick look at Snape and then just as quickly looked away, cheeks flushing. Before Snape could say anything, Potter darted away and Snape was left staring at his retreating back. Now what was that about?

“Flounder,” Snape said with a moue of disgust. It was a shame that Every Flavour Beans were every flavour. It would be a long time before Albus ran out of this particular batch of stupid passwords.

“Come in, Severus. I had a feeling you’d be joining me again,” Dumbledore said, standing in the open doorway of his office. “Come into my room, will you? It’s been a very taxing day and I need to lie down.” A dry cough rattled in his chest.

Once in Albus’s room, after helping the Headmaster remove his slippers and pull his legs under the covers, Snape paced relentlessly, brow furrowed, and something very like a sneer twisted his lips as he muttered softly. Dumbledore was breathing laboriously, looking very tired and more than a little irate.

“Severus, stop it. Castigating yourself does no one any good.”

Snape whirled, his sneer now firmly fixed. “I am not castigating myself, Headmaster. I am not at fault here. I am not the one with the power to ease Potter’s worries and self-loathing. You are the one best qualified to help him, and you do nothing! I don’t understand why you won’t talk to him.”

“I haven’t had the privilege of being in your head for the last thirty minutes. What would you have me talk to him about that I haven’t?”

“You’re being disingenuous. Although why that should surprise me after all these years --“

“Don’t be insulting, Severus!” Albus snapped. “Just tell me what it is you think I should have said to the boy that I haven’t.”

“Fine, Headmaster. I’ll play your little game one more time. Who else better suited to help Harry deal with his fears about dealing with the Dark Lord? Who better to train him, at least mentally, for what he’ll need to withstand the battle and come out the other side at least alive if not unharmed? Who else has experience of fighting one-to-one with a wizard of the Dark Lord’s stature and skill?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Grindelwald.”

“Of course, Grindelwald! The boy needs reassurance. He needs someone to talk to who will understand his fears. None of the rest of us have the experience you have. No one in our world shares that experience.” Snape continued pacing, gesticulating wildly with his hands and arms as his passion for the subject seemed to increase.

“You claim to love the boy, Albus. To have nothing but his best interests at heart, and yet you won’t help him in the one area where he truly needs help.”

Dumbledore sighed again. “If I believed talking to him about my experience with Grindelwald would actually be of benefit, I would.”

“How can it not be of benefit?” Snape was nearly shouting.

“My experience was very different than Harry’s. I was raised a wizard, knew the full measure of my powers; indeed I was at the height of my powers at the time. If I spoke to Harry about my time of trial, I would make it worse for him, he would feel worse. He would judge his limitations more harshly. It is better to continue as we have been and pray he will not really be tested before he’s ready.”

“I don’t understand how you can think that way!”

“Severus, calm down. You’re agitating yourself needlessly.”

“I will not calm down! It’s beginning to appear I’m the only one who cares for the boy, and isn’t that a shameful thought!”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled maddeningly. “At last you admit you care for him.”

“I admit nothing of the sort! I was speaking ironically.”

“It seems a shame for you to be planning on allying yourself permanently with someone you care nothing for.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“As the subject is Mr Potter, you can hardly accuse me of changing it.”

“The subject is not Potter, per se. Damn it, Albus! You do this to me every time. I won’t stand for it.”

“I find your manner most irritating.”

“Good.”

“Severus.” The warning in Dumbledore’s voice could not have been clearer.

Snape was reminded why it was that he generally did everything the Headmaster asked, no matter what the cost. The reminder didn’t make him happy, but it did keep him silent.

“I’m pleased you’ve begun to care for the lad. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that now you do, no one else does. I have been caring for Mr Potter his whole life.”

“If you care for him, then speak to him, Albus. He’s desperate.”

“These are desperate times.”

“I’m not saying don’t use him; I know you must. I just don’t think you’re being as careful with him as you ought.”

“That’s almost amusing coming from you.”

“Talk to him. Let him know how much you understand.”

“I honestly believe it will do more harm than good.”

Snape sank into a chair by Dumbledore’s bedside and cradled his head in his hands. He did care for Potter. It was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. Albus was wrong and Snape didn’t know how to make him see it.

“Albus, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I wish you were half so kind to Potter. I know you want to see me protected when you’re gone and that means more to me than I could ever begin to tell you, but my pursuit of Potter is just going to make his life more difficult. I can’t continue. Minerva’s right. He’s only sixteen. This isn’t even appropriate, and you know it. I’m his teacher. No matter what the perceived danger to myself, I can’t burden the boy with one more thing.”

“Appropriateness doesn’t enter into, Severus. I would see you safe.”

“How can you even say that? Of course appropriateness enters into it. I’m not a very good man, but even I can see that putting my own selfish interests ahead of Potter’s is not right.”

“As much as you need a protector, Severus, Harry needs someone who will love him and care for him when I’m gone.”

“Perhaps that’s true. It can be accomplished in other ways. I’m no one’s idea of a father-figure, but I will do my best by the boy when the time comes, I always have.”

“Yes, you have, and Harry needs more than a father-figure. He needs a family, a confidant, someone who understands him. That someone is you. I’ve said it before, you have more in common than you think. Don’t throw it away in some misguided attempt to spare him further grief.”

Snape wanted to argue. What Albus was saying was absurd; but the old man’s stertorous breathing and the fluttering of his eyelids, told Snape that their conversation was over for now.

“Sleep, Albus. We can continue this some other time.” Snape said with a magnanimity he was far from feeling.