FIC: Ace of Swords Title: The Edge Author:lotrwariorgodss Type: Fiction Length: 6,800 words Main character or Pairing: Severus Snape; Snape/Harry Cards/Card Interpretation: Ace of Swords Every Sword card in the Tarot bears the duality of good and evil but the Ace is particularly susceptible to it. It is the beginning, the spark of potential that will influence all that lies ahead. The Sword by itself can never be positive or negative. The bearer of the sword determines whether he will wield it with clarity and truth of purpose, or with anger and aggression. The Ace of Swords shows the beginning of a situation whose potential is as double-edged as the blade of a sword. There is great power, even excessive power at times, in both love and hatred. But the Ace does not show either triumph or defeat; it has the potential for both lying within it. It is up to the bearer of the Sword to tap that great potential, and it is his actions that decide what will become of it. The Ace of Swords often represents an insight or a breakthrough in the world of the spirit. You can clear away the fog that has kept you from seeing the inner truth, and you can cut away all the bonds of the past that have held you back. The time to act is now, and if you set your mind to accomplishing your goals, you can achieve anything you desire
Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Anything recognizable isn't mine, it belongs to Jo and WB and whoever else has a legal claim. Warnings: Brief mention of child molestation and animal abuse, mentions of sexual activity, implied torture Summary: We make choices every day. But what really defines us? Is it our choices or how we feel about our choices? Does regret define us more than the choice itself? Harry and Severus discuss (i.e. Severus tries to convince Harry he is unlovable and Harry is a stubborn brat). Author Notes: Thanks to my RL beta ieke85! And thanks to ravenna_c_tan for running this fest again – it's always been one of my favorites!
Severus doesn't remember when he first learned the meaning of the word "mistake", but he does remember when he first realized what his father meant when he called Severus one. He is seven years old, a fresh slap reddening on his cheek, and his mother is crying in the kitchen. His father's heavy boots shake the floorboards before the door is slammed shut, splintering the edge of the frame.
When he runs outside, he sneers at the neighbor children and tries to hide his face. A stray kitten approaches the spot where he chooses to hide, and it squeaks at him questioningly. Rage overtakes him. He does what he has seen his father do a thousand times before, and lashes out at a weaker creature. His kick lands the kitten a few feet away from him, and as he watches the animal struggle to limp away from him as fast as it can, he starts to cry.
*******
Severus is escorted home by his teacher, sporting a split lip and a bruised jaw, and he watches his mother's face. As his teacher tells her how Severus had started a fight with two of his classmates, he watches her face fall. She will not look at him. The teacher goes on to say that though they had not found a knife, one of the boys had got a nasty cut on his arm, and that Severus was to be suspended for a week. He sees fear in his mother's face, and she still will not look at him.
How could he tell his mother he had hit the other boy because he called Severus's mother a whore? How could he tell her that all the work she put into repairing Severus's school clothes was wasted, because they all still laughed at him? How could he tell her how much he hated them, and how good it had felt to win at something for once? He couldn't. Wouldn't.
When his teacher leaves, Severus's mother turns to the kitchen sink.
"Go to your room, Severus," she says quietly. She still will not look at him.
"But, mum –"
"Now!"
Severus lies on his bed until supper has long passed. His reddened eyes and swollen face have more to do with his angry tears than his fight. When he's sure it's past the point in the night when his father will be too drunk to care about much of anything, he makes his way down the stairs to talk to his mother. She's at the kitchen table, head in one hand, telephone in the other. Severus hovers by the door trying to think of something to say.
"I just don't know, Moira. I love my little Severus, I do, but…I'm afraid he's too much of his father in him. I fear he'll never have a good heart."
Severus, small and scared, creeps to the back door and flies through it, running and running…
*******
Severus doesn't exactly decide to hurt Lily's older sister, but when he hears the branch crack over Petunia's head, he doesn't exactly feel sorry either. Only after Lily shouts at him and runs after her sister does he feel the slightest regret. Why did he do something so stupid? Now Lily won't want to be friends, and he'll have to go back to lurking around his house, avoiding his parents and trying to learn real magic. It wasn't even his fault, was it? He remembers his mother's words - Even accidental magic has intent, Severus.
Suddenly he balls his fist, curses, and kicks a clod of dirt up from the ground. Well, what if he did want to hurt her? She's just a simple-minded, irritating Muggle, and she's always wanting to keep Lily away from him. She should know better than to insult him. And what does he care anyway? The world would be better off without Petunia Evans. Maybe next time Severus will blow her up like a balloon; let her explain that to all her normal friends!
*******
Severus is no fool. He's read Hogwarts, A History, he knows the reputation of Slytherin House is less than noble, and for all his big talk to Lily on the train, he knows that Slytherins are more likely to turn bad than any other wizard. But really, where does he expect to end up? He is no brave, puffed-up Gryffindor or intellectual Ravenclaw, and he is far too lazy and horrible at making friends to be Hufflepuff. He feels the Sorting Hat come down snug over his head, and as much as he wants to be in the same House as his best friend, he just doesn't feel like a Gryffindor.
When the Hat shouts "Slytherin!" Severus is not surprised. He glances at Lily, already laughing with her fellow Gryffindors, and hangs his head. Yes, this is exactly where he belongs.
*******
Severus watches Mulciber turn his pet Acromantula on yet another first-year Hufflepuff and laughs with the others as she runs away screaming. Their next victim stands a little taller than the others, but there's no reason she won't be just as easily terrified. They all see the Prefect badge glitter in the candle-light as she stands to face them.
"You lot, clear off! Stop terrorizing the little ones!"
Mulciber cackles and the others follow, only slightly less confident than before. "And who's gonna make me, blondie? You?"
Wand out, she strides down the hall toward them, and this time when Mulicber sets his pet loose, she stuns it.
"Little Mudblood bitch!" he shouts. When he draws his wand on her, Severus can't make out the spell he uses, but its effects are instantaneous. The girl screams briefly and clutches her stomach before her eyes roll back and she collapses.
The small group of boys rushes to where she has fallen, but none make a move to help her. Mulciber spits on the ground next to her outstretched hand. "There. Let's see her try to pollute our world with her dirty offspring after this."
Severus knows he should help her, but he is too stunned. Had Mulciber really made her barren? Where could he have learned such a Dark spell? How could he…
Some of the others are chiming in with their own nervous laughter. Mulciber revives his pet and walks back over to the group. He nudges Severus.
"Well, Snape? Go on."
"Go on what?"
"Obliviate her."
"No." Severus's answer surprises him, but it surprises his classmate even more.
"What?"
"No. Why me?"
"Why not you? You're the best at memory charms anyway." Severus hesitates too long. "What, you want her to run to the Headmaster and get us all expelled once she wakes up?"
Severus feels an old defensiveness rise in his gut. "I don't take orders from you, Mulciber."
The older boy glares and stands up tall and threatening. "You had better. Otherwise I may just find my way to Slytherin Head of House and tell him you used the spell on her. After you raped her, of course."
Severus isn't stupid – Mulciber's plot has dozens of gaps. But even if they were to examine the girl and all their wands and find no fault in anyone except Mulciber, Severus knows the other boy's influence in Slytherin would be able to make his life a living hell if Severus were to cross him. He Obliviates the girl, and nothing ever comes of the incident. Only his memory if it remains. That and a new, secret desire to create his own spells.
*******
"Get your filthy paws off my books, wolf," Severus snarls.
"I was just trying to help, Snape."
Yes, Lupin has tried to be irritatingly, abashedly helpful recently. A month since the incident at the full moon, and the werewolf is looking more haggard and washed-out than ever. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of Severus's books he's picked up off the stone floor. Severus spares no pity for the murderous creature. He grabs his books from the wolf's arms and takes a meaningful step back. Lupin sighs.
"Listen, Snape, I really want to apolo –"
Severus spits at the creature's feet. "I hope you rip your own heart out tomorrow night, wolf."
He watches Lupin shrug off his comrades and walk down the corridor, his head hung low, arms clutching his sides. He does not feel the slightest twinge of guilt.
*******
The girls look young and terrified here in the dim light of their cell. Severus hovers in the shadows and feels exhaustingly old. Logically he knows that at a world-weary nineteen, he is still no more than five years older than the youngest captive here. His hand no longer shakes as he moves from body to body, pouring potions down each throat with clinical disinterest; yet, not for the first time, he wonders what he's doing here.
Almost instinctively, Severus raises his mental shields and shakes the thought from his head. While his position with the Dark Lord is less glamorous and influential than had been promised, his skills are put to good use here, and he is gaining respect. He is also able to follow his ambition of creating his own potions instead of following recipes out of a book. And if the Dark Lord dictates more and more what those potions should be now…well, he did agree to this. He genuinely enjoys the lab work; it's the…practical applications that are starting to wear on him.
It had started when she arrived – the red-head who looked so much like, almost could have been - But wasn't, Severus. It wasn't her. The Squib daughter of an old pureblood line; he doesn't know what the Dark Lord told her family, but he knows they had all but handed her over to "the cause." She lasted nearly two weeks. One of his potions hadn't been quite perfected, and he had watched her convulse in her cell until she slipped away without so much as a moan. Some subjects have had worse reactions since then, but the image that recurs most in his nightmares is that one.
Fuck, Severus, move on. She's married, she doesn't want anything to do with you. Concentrate!
He takes a deep breath and walks into the cell, administering the new potion with his steady hand. He listens to them gag at the taste, followed by Avery screaming expletives at them. God, he wants to get out of here. Finished, he turns to leave. Suddenly a blonde girl – Is that really blonde? So matted with grime, vomit, and – cries out and reaches for him.
"Please…he-help us…"
Severus turns his back to them and walks away. As he flicks his wand behind him to lock the cell door, he can't help but give the smallest glance back. They are huddled in the corner crying quietly. He knows what this experimental potion is supposed to do in theory, but after the last time, he really doesn't want to be here in case something goes wrong. He wonders how long it will be until faces he recognizes from Hogwarts stare at him accusingly from behind the bars.
*******
"Are you kicking me out?"
Severus takes a long, hot drag off his cigarette and gives the man laying next to him a cold glance. "What part of 'I think you should leave' was unclear?"
Regulus frowns. Severus supposes he has a right to be confused. It's not as if he hasn't been nudged out of Severus's bed before, but it's been several months since the last instance. And this time, he means for good. He makes that clear, and Regulus's frown deepens; he looks genuinely hurt. Fuck.
"Don't pull that face. It's pathetic."
This – well, he would hardly call it a relationship, but it is something - is getting too serious. It had started as a way for him to distract his mind from Lily, from his betrayal, but now…Regulus is getting too close. Anyone in Severus's position knows that anyone who comes within arm's length is too close, and they crossed that line long ago. He could lie to himself and say that he's doing it for Regulus's protection, that to be too close to Severus means he would be in danger from both sides; but when he knows he is only doing this to protect his own hide, to prevent himself from letting slip anything about his work for the old man, why should he pretend? He has never been a good person, and cluttering his head with false delusions of selflessness won't do either of them any good. They are both Slytherins after all.
Severus feels the weight of the other body lift off the bed and forces himself not to admire the curves of Regulus's arse as he bends for his clothing. Regulus doesn't look at him as he begins to speak. "Severus…is something wrong? It's just…you've been off lately, and I thought…well, I thought we were –"
"Thought we were what, Regulus? In love?" Severus raises an eyebrow in clear disdain, but…does Regulus love him? Ridiculous. They are Death Eaters. Death Eaters do not do love.
"I wasn't going to say that," Regulus spits back, pulling his trousers up so harshly that Severus almost worries for his bits. Silently he says goodbye to those hipbones that he has lingered over so many times as they disappear beneath the waistband. They have no time for sentimentality now.
"Don't delude yourself. I fucked you for the satisfaction of fucking Black's little brother." Don't look at him, Severus. Push him away. It must be done.
Regulus just laughs, a little sadly. "Please. You could have been finished with me months ago if that's all you wanted."
Severus shrugs. "You were a good fuck. We both enjoyed ourselves. But I can't be bothered anymore; I have more important things to do."
Fully dressed now, Regulus pulls the sleeve of his jumper over his Dark Mark and grabs his wand from the nightstand. "I have never thought you loved me, Severus. Frankly, I don't believe you're capable of love."
Severus watches him walk through the door, he leaves without looking back. Funnily enough, he isn't sure that Regulus is wrong.
Two months later, when Regulus disappears, Severus will have forgotten the feel of Regulus's hipbones beneath his lips, and he will not feel guilty at all.
*******
Severus clutches the summons from his father's barrister in his hand as he makes his way into the tumbledown building. He could have rejected it, of course, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see the bastard weak, pitiful, on death's door. A tired-looking nurse directs him to his father's room, and he makes his way down the hall.
It was easy enough for Albus to let him out from under his thumb for a day; the old man has a weakness for dying family members that Severus doesn't think he will ever understand. It's not like the idiots he teaches would have learned anything even with him there, and with the war over for almost five years now, the old man has given some slack to Severus's leash.
"Hello, father."
Severus hardly recognizes the decrepit creature lying in the bed as his father. He looks closer to an elderly eighty rather than a poisoned alcoholic of fifty-five, and his skin is a sickly yellow. Severus had seen him nearly six years ago at his mother's funeral, and while the man had looked as miserable and nasty as ever, he hadn't looked half this bad. It looks like it takes him a significant effort just to turn his head from the window to the door.
"Eh? That you, boy?"
Severus steps further into the room. He can almost feel the aura of death that hovers in the air here. His father takes in a labored, rattling breath as he attempts to heave himself up in bed. Severus stands in the middle of the room and makes no move to help him. He is not afraid, oh no, it's been many years since he has feared this man. He just doesn't care.
"You wouldn't happen to have a magic potion in that bag of yours? Somethin' to help your old da?"
Severus almost laughs. A magic potion. His father has no idea what he does, of course; must have been a lucky guess. Severus fingers the bottle in his pocket – a powerful, excruciating poison that the Muggles would never be able to detect. He had brought it just in case, but now that he sees how much the man is suffering without it, he decides to leave it in his pocket and let the bastard suffer for a while longer.
"No. Why have you called me here?"
Strangely enough, his father actually looks hurt. "They say I'll be gone soon. Thought you'd like to see your old man one last time before..."
Severus does not share his sentiment. "You killed my mother. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner the world is rid of you, the better."
His father chuckles nastily with lungs that sound wet and sickening. "Y'always were a sour-hearted little fuck." The man breaks into a painful-sounding coughing spell, and Severus suppresses a roll of his eyes.
"If we're through exchanging pleasantries, I'll see myself out."
"Wanted you to know y'won't be gettin' the house. Had to sell it to pay for this shitehole."
Severus would rather drink the poison in his pocket than ever live in their shack on Spinner's End again. "Fine. Anything else?"
His father scowls. "Ah, bugger off."
"Gladly."
Severus walks away without saying goodbye. He wants to hate the man. He wants to feel the rage he felt at his mother's death come flooding back. He wants to feel that little boy inside him gloat in satisfaction. But the truth is he doesn't hate his father, and he feels no joy for his suffering. He feels just as numb as he has felt for the past five years. Numb, and cold, and empty. He's already decided he won't go to the funeral. Maybe his mother was right; maybe he is just like his father. Maybe they will both die alone.
*******
Severus hasn't seen those eyes in person in nearly fifteen years, and they had cut him to the heart today just as deeply as they had so long ago. He curses himself. He should have prepared for this. He has slipped into foolish, sentimental habits, not thinking about the boy's coming because he was what? Afraid? Of course, it wasn't that he didn't know – it's all he's been able to think about for months. The staff had been in quite a state when Minerva had returned from some incident the boy had caused in the Muggle world. Oh, the little dear; he looks just like James! This is already his twentieth incidence of accidental magic, did you know, Severus? So powerful! Just imagine once we teach him…
Until today Severus had only seen the boy once, as an infant, when he had chanced a look at Lily and her new family, before they had gone into hiding. He had only been able to see the shock of dark hair that marked him as Potter's son, and to see him now, it's undeniable. It does bother him, a carbon copy of one of his past tormenters running about, but if he's honest with himself, it's not why he is so disturbed by the boy. It's everything he is reminded of when he looks at the child – that she was disappointed in him, that she believed him no better than cruel Mulciber, that she chose Potter over him, that he had betrayed her, that she had died because of him…
There Severus's chest clenches again. He takes a deep breath, overwhelmed. He hurts. What has the boy done to him?
He feels…
Pain. Heartache, loss, anger, fear, hatred…
But he feels. After ten years he wasn't sure…
Severus is out of practice. He hasn't had emotions to hide in so long he hardly remembers how to suppress them. Leave it to Potter's spawn to bring them back with ten years of force behind them. Fuck, he can hardly breathe! He'll have to keep the boy at arm's length. Protect him, yes – he has his promise, and his guilt – but always from a distance. Always.
*******
Severus sits alone in his rooms. A glass dangles precariously in his hand, held in place by just two fingertips. Because of his father, he rarely drinks, but tonight he has given in. He shivers; the dungeon is just beginning to grow colder as it always does this time of year. But he will not put on his robes or a jumper, or roll down his sleeves. He can't look away.
It was only a matter of time. After the incident with Quirrell, and the Chamber of Secrets, he's actually a little surprised it's taken this long. He knew at the start of the year, the shock on Potter's face as his name was drawn from the Cup, Karkaroff''s paranoid looks…he knew something was going to happen. Severus had never completely believed Albus's warning that the Dark Lord would return, but the evidence is no longer deniable, etched into his own arm, growing darker with each passing moment.
Severus's mind reels. He lets his head fall back as the glass drops to the floor with a thud. Forgotten memories rush back to him – the screams, the fear, the acrid smell of poisons, the lifeless eyes. Can he do that again? If the Dark Lord really does return, he knows Albus will ask him to resume his role as a double-agent. He could run. He had told Albus he wouldn't, but God knows that won't be the first lie he's told. He could…
But why should he? Run to where? He can't run from himself. Lies, abduction, experimentation, torture, murder…it's who he is. Can he do those things again? Live those nightmares again? Of course he can. He will. He is a Death Eater.
*******
"Ungrateful little bastard!" Severus screams as he hurls a jar of snake skins against the dungeon wall. His chest burns with hot fury as the shame that haunted him all through his childhood overwhelms his body and sets his skin on fire. Those days of being too poor, too ugly, too awkward are never as far behind him as he likes to pretend, and he loathes even the small reminders of them. Something like this…
Damn that boy!
Another jar meets its end against the dungeon wall before he feels his rage subside enough to keep his head for a conversation with –
"Albus!" he screams into his fireplace.
Severus rages at the old man, cursing the boy, the Dark Lord, the old man himself. He feels like an angst-ridden, spoilt teenager, but he can't help himself. This is his breaking point.
"And if it isn't enough to have that walking fuchsia monstrosity prowling the corridors, I have to subject myself to an arrogant, selfish, grossly disrespectful child who has absolutely no interest or ability in the skill that could save his life!"
"Severus, the Order needs you, the boy needs –"
"The Dark Lord can scramble the boy's brains into oblivion for all I care! I will not continue his lessons. He has humiliated me for the last time!"
"I doubt Harry's intention was your humiliation. He's just a curious boy; curious about a man who has played such a large role in his young life."
"Don't try to defend that little hellion to me, Albus! He despises me, and I will not hesitate to say the feeling is mutual. He has been a troublemaker from day one, constantly snooping into matters that don't concern him, and putting himself in mortal danger as a result. Mortal danger from which I have saved him multiple times if you'll remember!"
Albus sighs and rubs his spectacles on the sleeve of his outlandish robe. Severus is sure this is where the manipulation will come into play. It always does when matters concern Potter. If he's honest with himself, now that his mind has cleared, he knows that his stubborn refusal is less to do with the boy and more that he wants to get what he wants for a change. To feel like his opinion matters. To feel like he matters.
"Something terrible is going to happen because of this, Severus."
Severus scoffs. "Oh, so you've become a Seer, have you?"
Albus just shakes his head, disappointed. "I can do nothing to persuade you?" Severus shakes his own head in reply. "Very well. On your head be it, Severus."
*******
Severus stares down in horror as Draco's blood covers his hands. He recognizes the curse immediately, surprised to find his wand already in hand, the countercurse spilling from his lips. How many unsuspecting rodents had he done this to in his teenage years? How clever he had thought himself as he scrawled his own perfected spell in his book, imagining Black's ever-smirking face slashed to ribbons. He can't even imagine that feeling now, knowing that, had he not been half-stalking Draco, he would have been responsible for his godson bleeding to death on a filthy bathroom floor. Potter kneels next to him, disgust and guilt written plainly across his face. How blissfully unaware he is that the creator of such a dark spell kneels at his side.
After leaving Draco in Madame Pomfrey's capable hands, Severus returns to the boy who used his spell. He cannot bring himself to scream at Potter; no, he is too furious for that, even when the boy lies through his teeth. When Potter scuttles out of the bathroom to get his books, Severus kneels in the water again. He traces his wand through the red liquid where Draco had fallen, blood swirling in patterns through the water, flowing down the drain as he watches. Albus had told him, with no small amount of disdain, that he could always repent if he was truly sorry for the things he had done. But what use is repentance when all of his old sins come back to haunt him? Better to accept what he is – a Dark wizard, an evil man – and endure whatever that entails. As he questions Potter again, suppressing the urge to slam the boy against a wall and expel him on the spot, he spares a moment to be grateful that his acceptance of his fate does not have to include his enduring Draco's death. At least not today.
*******
The boy is right, he is a coward. He is a far greater coward than Harry knows. He could have chosen long ago, chosen to take his life in his own hands, chosen to leave and start again, chosen to leave this broken, evil man that he has become behind him. But no, here he is once more, killing a friend, betraying the trust of countless others, putting children in danger. Well, he resigned himself to this life long ago. He knows he never really had a choice; this is what he is. Who he is.
Severus grabs Draco's arm and runs.
*******
Severus feels poisoned. His body burns, his stomach rolls with nausea. He has removed every mirror in his quarters for fear of the monster he may see in his reflection. He watches Amycus prowl up and down the rows of the Great Hall, leering at a petite third-year. The girl looks terrified as the Death Eater makes his way over to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, rubbing unsubtly down to her chest. Her friends watch, horrified, yet a look a relief in their eyes – relief that they have not caught the eye of the unscrupulous man, at least for today. Severus aims his wand just so and a pitcher of pumpkin juice overturns on the table. The girls jump up with small shrieks and Amycus also jerks back with a curse, but the molested girl stays as if frozen; Severus can see her hands shaking from the head table. He barks at her to explain the outburst, and she finally turns to him, a dead, cold look in her eyes, but she doesn't speak.
Severus gives her detention for a week – perhaps enough time for Amycus to lose interest – and ignores her sobs as she runs from the Hall. She is only one of many he has failed to protect this year. The older students don't even glare accusations at him anymore; the fight is gone from them. Even so, he meets their eyes, daring them to question his authority. The only one who doesn't look away is Draco, but even he just looks afraid and tired. Severus is breaking their spirits, an entire generation of the Wizarding world's children, and God, how he wishes for death.
Harry pulls himself out of Severus's Pensive with a shuddering sob. He slumps back into the armchair and Severus hands him a glass of cool water. Harry drinks it greedily, his eyes closed - probably too disgusted to look at you - until the glass is empty. Severus has tea ready, and he prepares some for them both. He doesn't really expect Harry to stay long, not now, but if he doesn't keep his hands busy he's liable to break something. When he turns his gaze back to the young man sitting in his chair, Severus notices tears on his face.
"There now. You can't blame me for upsetting you; I tried to tell you." Severus should feel vindicated, he should feel smug in the knowledge that he was right, that Harry has wasted a year of his life pursuing this…disturbing attachment. He should feel satisfied, but, to his own surprise, he feels…disappointed. He watches as Harry rubs the offending marks from his face and grabs for his tea.
"I'm not upset. Well, I am, but not for the reasons you think. Mostly I –" A shy smile comes over the young man's face, and…is that a faint blush? "I'm pleased."
Severus frowns. What? "Pleased?"
Harry turns his body to face him. "Yes. Those were your darkest memories; the worst parts of you. You let me inside that mind you guard like a dragon with a hatchling. I think you trust me. I think…you care about me."
"All I care about is my privacy, which you have ruthlessly abused on this deluded little quest of yours."
"Don't lie to me, Severus. You would never have shared your memories with me if you didn't care."
Severus hums, not an actual affirmation, but not the disdainful denial he should have put forward.
Harry heaves himself out of the chair and comes to sit next to Severus on the sofa. Damn. He should have arranged himself more strategically. In the other single armchair perhaps. Or out of the country entirely. Harry makes himself comfortable, settling in cross-legged, as if he has carte blanche with Severus's furniture, space, and person.
"I don't understand why you're still so resistant. Before, you always claimed I never understood you, that I never knew who you really were, but I don't think you can claim that any more. Just give me a valid reason and I'll leave, like I've always said I would."
Severus has hundreds of reasons, he knows he does. Valid reasons? Well, that's something else entirely, isn't it? They are valid to him, but to his stubborn pursuer he knows their validity may not be as obvious.
"Harry," he begins, unsure of where this is going to go, but he knows he has to try. "I have never had any illusions about who I am. I am hateful and jealous. I have my father's temper and my mother's infuriating stubbornness. I have no patience for stupidity, and I find most everything irritates me." Harry opens his mouth to interrupt, but Severus gives him the vilest look he can muster, and the young man quiets. "It is true I have never known love; I never did anything to deserve it. I have done horrible things, Harry, unforgivable things. Any one I have ever cared for even marginally has been hurt or killed, through my own actions as often as anything else."
Harry is quiet for a moment, probably shocked to hear him speak more than two terse sentences at a time. But this is too important; he has to make Harry understand.
When Harry speaks again, he sounds sad. "The people you have loved hurt you too, Severus. That's what people who love each other do. They don't try to, but they do."
Severus scoffs. "Ridiculous. Even if that were true, you've seen the things I've done, and that was only a partial catalogue. Can you honestly say you would ever trust me?"
"You were forced into most of those things, Severus. If anything, seeing those memories convinces me you are the bravest man I've ever met."
"You did not think so highly of me when you were younger. Remember, I could see into your mind; I know how much you hated me."
"I was an idiot, as you so often reminded me. I was young and I misjudged you." Harry smiles slightly. "I guess war and death changes perspective."
"Perspective is a convenient tool for wicked men to convince themselves that their wickedness is righteous," Severus spits. He has never made excuses for his actions. He is a bad person who has done bad things, and there is no perspective in the world that can make them or him right. Caught in his self-criticism, he almost doesn't notice the warm hand that creeps over his own. He twitches, but doesn't push Harry away, and that tells him quite enough about his state of mind.
Harry lets the silence become awkward between them until he finally speaks his mind. "There is good in you, Severus. Probably more than you know."
Severus scoffs. "No one has ever been able to find good in me, not even my own mother."
"My mother did."
"Yes, and you see where she ended up?"
"What about me?"
"What about you?"
"I love you."
"You love your idealized version of me – a man I can never be."
"I love the man you refuse to let yourself see. The one you shun out of self-hatred, the one that hides underneath the armor you have built up so thick over the years. The –"
"Enough!" It's not quite a scream, but it's enough to silence the rambling. "How can you possibly still claim to have feelings for me?! A man with any sense of morality would have run screaming from here the moment he stepped out of that Pensieve! Your noble, self-sacrificing Half Blood Prince does not exist; all you have is a bitter, spent old man who has spent his entire life bringing misery to others."
Harry sits quiet for a moment, staring at his hands folded in his lap. For that moment, Severus thinks he has won. But when Harry looks up again, and looks into his eyes with more determination than ever, he begins to feel something inside him melt away.
"Just tell me this, Severus. If you had the choice right now to go back and change whatever happened in your past that you hate yourself for, would you? Even if it meant I wouldn't be sitting here, loving you."
It's an easy answer, one he has thought about countless times over the years. That he now has to consider that last factor doesn't change his answer, though it does make it more difficult for him to say.
"Yes."
He expects Harry to take offense at his answer; after all, isn't the true lover's line supposed to run, 'No, my love, I would do anything to be with you'.
Instead, Harry smiles. "I know," he says gently. "All those memories…I could feel what you felt. I know you had some nasty thoughts and perhaps were cruel at times, but nobody's perfect, Severus. Do you think I don't feel terrible for what I did to Malfoy? I've been jealous of my best friends, and I've done things out of petty spite. I've cast Unforgiveables, I've watched people I love die for me. I've wanted to make others suffer, and I've wanted to kill. They aren't moments I'm proud of, but they don't make me a bad person either. It makes us human."
Harry moves again, and Severus is too conflicted to stop him. He sits astride Severus's lap, his weight resting on Severus's knees, and despite his position, it couldn't feel less sexual. Severus is still trying to work out how he feels, trying to drill holes in Harry's logic, trying to find a reason to cling to what he believes is the right decision. It would help if he could decide whether he still believes pushing Harry away is the right decision.
Harry stops his spiraling thought process with a simple touch. He tilts Severus's face up so that they are equal, staring at each other like two hopeless fools. Finally he speaks. "You are a good man, Severus Snape."
"A lifetime of evidence cannot be erased upon your say-so."
Harry places his hand over Severus's heart. "You are a good man, Severus. I will tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me."
Severus wants to throw out a retort about him being blue in the face before that will happen, or that there are more enjoyable ways to get a sore throat, but something sticks in his chest, and all he can do is stare like a brainless child as Harry studies his face.
"You have saved me so many times. Will you let me save you?"
He can't, he can't do this. "I am beyond repair, Harry. I can only offer you heartache and bitterness. Please, let me go."
Severus already sees that he will not. He knows that look, and he feels that hand clench in the fabric on his chest, and when Harry leans in he doesn't even need to hear the whispered, No.
Severus closes his eyes and holds his breath for a kiss…that doesn't come. He blinks his eyes open and stares at the grinning fool inches away from his face. "Well?" He raises an eyebrow. "You finally have your chance. Regrets already?"
Harry smiles. "Tomorrow I don't want you to be able to claim I forced you into this."
"Making me choose, hm?" Severus knows this is a mistake. They are not suited. Harry is embarrassingly younger than he. Their history is comprised mostly of complex loathing, cruel words, and distrust. He is sure Lily would disapprove. He is sure everyone will disapprove. So why is he kissing this headstrong idiot who claims to love him?
Almost instantly, Severus has regrets. He regrets that he didn't give in long ago. He feels Harry's heart beat rapidly, strongly beneath his palm. He feels Harry's skin heat beneath his fingertips. He clutches fine curls when Harry leans into him, and he hears a moan cut off abruptly when he begins to slide the soft cloth of Harry's shirt up his chest. When he goes to lie Harry back on the sofa and lets go prematurely, he regrets that he is so out of practice, but Harry just chuckles, rubs the back of his head, and pulls Severus down to join him. He watches Harry's eyes, so alight with arousal and joy, and he regrets that he's fallen so deeply, so desperately. He is terrified. And from how tightly Harry clutches him as they rock together, he suspects that Harry is a little bit terrified as well.
Apparently, they work well when terrified. Harry falls asleep almost as soon as Severus maneuvers them into a suitable spooning position for lying together on a too-narrow sofa. Severus can't help but smile as he throws a blanket and an arm over the man, and chastises himself half-heartedly for letting someone break through his carefully constructed walls. But he can't deny how contented he feels in knowing that someone cared enough to suffer every rejection, to forgive every cruelty, and believed in him enough to wear down his own doubts.
Harry sees the man that he can be, has faith that his ability to make himself a better man is not lost. Harry sees in him the man he has always wanted to be. When Severus sees his reflection in those perfect green eyes, he begins to believe, as Harry does, that he is already that man. He is still terrified, and he isn't sure he can reconcile his life as easily as Harry has. All he has ever been told, ever believed, is that he is worthless, damaged, heartless. It will take more than sweet words to convince him otherwise; but Harry is offering him a chance, small though it is. And Severus can't help but love him for that.
He has never made a choice based on love before. Maybe that's what he's been missing all these years. Maybe, finally, love will help this choice turn out right.