Indebted (1/2), for sinick and ac1d6urn Title: Indebted Author:elanor Giftee:sinick and ac1d6urn Word Count: 12000 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Snarry Warnings: DH spoilers Disclaimer: All of the characters settings, and etc. of the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. Summary: A trip in time reveals Harry to be unknowingly involved in Snape's past, and inextricably linked to his future. A/N: Thanks to S and M for fabulous beta jobs, and to the other S for additional help. Much love to Sinick and Acid – may your festive season be full of Snarry :-)
*
"And then I need you to finish that report from last week and send it over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Harry sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He forced a smile and tapped his quill on his desk. "Anything else?" he asked, somewhat testily.
"Cup of tea would be nice, too. Not as much sugar as last time, thanks."
Harry kept the forced smile in place until the door clicked closed, then scowled and kicked the leg of his desk. It hurt; he let out an involuntary and most undignified yelp.
"Feel better, mate?"
The blatant amusement in Ron's voice was enough to snap the thin thread that remained of Harry's self-control.
"Tea?!" he raged. "He wants tea!"
"And the report on – what was it? – violation of trade licensing hours in Diagon Alley? Don't forget about the nasty apothecary who stayed open ten minutes past his –"
"Fuck off, Ron."
"Hey." Ron looked taken aback. He looked for a moment as though he was going to say something, but then he scowled, pushed his chair back with undue force and stormed from the office.
Harry stared after him in disbelief. Ron was always so touchy these days; ever since they'd started working at the Ministry together, he had acted as though Harry were being unreasonable.
"You've been blowing a bit hot and cold yourself," Hermione told him over lunch that day, her eyebrows raised in the haughty fashion that recalled her first-year self.
"No I haven't," Harry snapped.
Hermione smiled. "See?"
Harry frowned at his sandwich. He'd been acting completely normally – it was Ron who pitched a fit every time he complained at their pointless assignments or yelled at a superior (albeit when said superior was out of earshot) or –
Oh.
"I s'pose I have been a bit tetchy," he conceded. "But honestly, Hermione, this is the most pointless job imaginable!"
"I thought you always wanted to be an Auror?"
"Well, yeah, but I thought that meant I'd be out chasing Dark wizards. You know, protecting the innocent, fighting for freedom and all that malarkey." Harry made a vague hand-waving motion that he hoped conveyed the utter coolness of the supposed life of an Auror.
"You didn't suppose you'd start off like that, did you? I mean, you don't even have any NEWTs."
Something about Hermione's tone made Harry bristle. "Not all of us could just waltz into the exams without being at school all year," he snapped.
Hermione's cheeks flushed and she looked away. Harry, poised to descend into a lengthy rant, suddenly paused.
"Did you really just turn up to the exams?" he asked.
"Of course," Hermione bristled. "What else would I have done?"
Harry shrugged and let it go.
As he walked back to the office, though, something kept nagging at the back of his mind.
"You think Hermione's been acting weird?" he asked Ron that afternoon.
Ron, though, was still being irritable; he just grunted and didn't look up from his work. Harry was sure that whatever stupid report he'd been assigned couldn't possibly be that interesting. He felt a surge of annoyance at Ron's stubbornness.
"Come on," he persevered. "You live with her."
"So do you," Ron snapped.
"But I mean you live with her. In the same room and everything." Harry preferred not to think about what they got up to in there. Not that he had a problem with his friends being in a relationship, but that didn't mean he needed to lie awake at night wondering whether that knocking sound really was the Doxies or something else he'd prefer not to contemplate.
"So? You're the one who's acting mental," said Ron.
"Fine, forget it." Harry turned his chair to face away from Ron and tried to focus his attention on licensing hours. It was difficult to think of anything less interesting, really – it was even questionable whether Professor Binns' classes had been this dull.
"What you mean by weird?" Ron interrupted Harry's contemplation of a lesson on licensing law taught by Binns, complete with a monstrous textbook and three-foot essays. Hermione would be in heaven.
"Doesn't matter," said Harry. A thought had suddenly occurred to him: there had been one occasion before when they had had cause to believe Hermione possessed superhuman powers in completing her schoolwork.
Harry attacked his report with as much vigour as he could muster, tackling the issue of cauldron sales outside of standard trading hours almost as though it mattered. The day zipped by. In no time, the clock ticked over to five o'clock and the other half-dozen wizards in the office rose simultaneously, all reaching for their cloaks in motions that could have been choreographed.
"You coming?" said Ron, holding the door open.
"Um…. Just want to get this finished. I'll catch up with you at home."
Ron looked as though Harry had suggested dancing naked in Snape's office. "You what?"
"Yeah, I'm nearly done, so…."
Ron shook his head, mumbled, "Effing mental," and left Harry alone.
Harry hadn't exactly thought this plan through, but he had expected to have to remain well into the night in order to move around the Ministry unseen. He had not counted on the obsessive clock-watching of the average Ministry worker, however; less than ten minutes later, he was strolling through empty corridors and past deserted offices, feeling very pleased with himself indeed.
He rarely visited Hermione's office, so he took at least three wrong turns, ran straight into a sarcastic plant and had a lengthy philosophical discussion with an unhelpful door before he eventually found the right place.
It was a large, round office - completely incongruent with the surrounding building, of course, but Harry was used to that by now. The desks were heavy mahogany and the curtains a plush red velvet. Underfoot was a soft rug, embroidered with ornate flowers and butterflies that fluttered between them. Hermione's department certainly received more funding than the Aurors, Harry thought ruefully.
It didn't take long to recognise Hermione's desk: where the others were strewn with parchment and old teacups, hers was bare but for a photograph of Ron. Feeling a little guilty, Harry put the picture face-down before he started rifling through Hermione's desk drawers.
Bloody hell, that girl was neat. Her quills were all nicely lined up in the top drawer with tightly-wound rolls of parchment, making the scrunched-up Gryffindor scarf wedged in the back of the drawer almost painfully conspicuous. Harry rolled his eyes as he tugged it out, wondering whether he should have words with her about how to hide things.
The scarf fell open, and a flash of silver glinted up at him. The distinctive circles and small, delicate hourglass were immediately recognisable: it was, as he had suspected, a Time-Turner.
Harry lifted it up by its long chain and watched as it swung and twisted in mid-air. So it was true: she had cheated. Why had she never told him and Ron? Or perhaps she had told Ron. Perhaps they'd conspired together…. But no, that made no sense. Ron didn't have any NEWTs either, that was why he was stuck in the same dead-end job as Harry.
With a sigh, Harry picked up the scarf to re-wrap the Time-Turner, wondering whether he should take it home to confront Hermione directly or whether it would be best to try to wheedle it out of her. Then, he saw a scrap of parchment flutter to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, and squinted to read it in the half-light.
Use it well.
- Hermione
Harry stared at the note. Two thoughts sprung into his head simultaneously: he felt indignant that she would expect him to go through her belongings, but also curious about what she was expecting him to use it for.
He picked up the Time-Turner again and turned it idly in his hands. What would he do first, given the freedom to manipulate time? Images from the final battle at Hogwarts flickered through his mind, each one offering an opportunity to right a great wrong. He could save Fred or Remus or Tonks – maybe even Dumbledore. Or Snape. Would he, if he could?
He was sure Hermione would chastise him for thinking such things. She'd once given him a long talk about something called the grandfather paradox, which he hadn't really understood, but he knew it was something to do with the dangers of time travel.
Then again, if she didn't want him to change the past, why allow him to find it? She surely knew him well enough to know that his greatest temptation would not be to take his NEWTs. Or perhaps she didn't; considering she was the most brilliant person he knew, she could be remarkably dense about him and Ron at times.
He turned the Time-Turner over and twisted the hourglass absently. He could get an awful lot of work done with this thing; persuade the Ministry that he was worth more than a stupid desk job –
There was a sharp tug behind his navel, similar to that of a Portkey but more sudden and violent. It was nothing like the experience of using the Time-Turner in third year; this felt like falling from a great height, with air whooshing past him and images blurring into merged colours before his eyes.
It seemed to last for an age. Harry felt panic beginning to overcome the nausea. What was going on? Was he supposed to stop it in some way? As his head spun in dizzy spirals, it occurred to Harry that he had no idea how he had set the thing off. Which also meant he had no idea whatsoever how to get back. How far was he going, anyway?
In a panic, Harry called out, "Finite Incantatem," but still he continued to fall. As he was wracking his brains for other options, he landed with a heavy thud upon a cold stone floor.
He stayed there for a moment while his head and insides settled back into some semblance of equilibrium. Idiot, he thought as he hauled himself to his feet. Why had he picked up the blasted thing? Merlin knew where he had ended up. Given the violence and length of his travel, he supposed it was significantly more than the couple of hours he had gone back in his third year. He cringed as he remembered how complicated that had been; how would he manage if it turned out that he had gone back a week, or even more?
As his vision swam into focus, Harry looked around. He wasn't in Hermione's office any more; he wasn't even in the Ministry. In fact, he appeared to be in Dumbledore’s office, though it seemed different somehow. The same portraits were on the walls, all snoring softly, and there was Fawkes asleep in the corner. Yet some nagging doubt pulled at the back of Harry’s mind, though he could not quite put his finger on what was wrong. He hauled himself to his feet and slipped out of the office as quietly as he could manage. The steps were the same, and the gargoyles, and the corridor seemed the same as well. Harry's heart leapt; this really was Hogwarts back in Dumbledore's day. He was being given a chance to save Dumbledore!
There were footsteps from around the corner. Harry quickly ducked behind a suit of armour, his heart hammering in his ears. He paused for a moment, then tentatively peered around the corner. What he saw made his heart stop and his breath catch in his throat. It was Sirius. Not as Harry remembered him, but as he had once seen him in a Pensieve, no more than sixteen.
Was it even possible for Time-Turners to throw people back so far? Harry wracked his brains for everything he knew about them, but that was pitifully little. He hadn't known that they could transport a person through space, either.
Making a snap decision, Harry ducked out from behind the suit of armour and followed Sirius down the corridor. Sirius' gait was purposeful; he pushed aside a group of chattering first or second-years and ignored a girl calling his name.
They descended three flights of stairs and strode down the fourth-floor corridor to the library. Harry stopped in his tracks. Sirius was marching with such determination – ignoring girls, even – to get to the library?
It immediately became apparent that it was not homework on his mind: Sirius strode straight towards a cluster of tables, where James sat surrounded by books. Harry stumbled as he fought the urge to run towards his father. He stood transfixed for a moment, staring at the unruly hair – just like his own – and easy, relaxed smile. James looked up as Sirius approached him, his gaze directed almost at Harry. Catching himself just in time, Harry hid behind one of the bookshelves and tried to look as though he were interested in books about magical ailments while he held his breath and tried to listen.
"C’mon," Sirius was saying in a low voice, "let’s go down to the Shack. Moony will be there by now."
"I told you, I’m not in the mood," hissed James.
"But Prongs," Sirius’ voice was almost a whine, "I’m bored."
"Well, entertain yourself. I have studying to do."
"Yeah, right," Sirius scoffed. "You mean you’re going to sit there with a book and pretend to study to impress Evans."
James shrugged. "Maybe I just want to study."
"I dunno why you bother, mate, she can’t stand you."
"’Course she can," said James. "You’re just jealous."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I’m jealous that the goody-goody redhead doesn’t give a damn about you."
"Don’t call her that," James snapped.
"For Merlin’s sake, mate, just get over it. Come down to the Shack and we can have some fun."
"Maybe next month," said James irritably. "Why don’t you just go on your own?"
"You know I can’t," said Sirius, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it down. "You’re no fun since you started drooling over Miss Priss, you know."
"Oi!" James drew his wand. "I’ve warned you."
"What’re you gonna do, hex me for telling the truth?"
"Oh, screw you, Padfoot," James muttered under his breath and stalked off.
Harry watched his father’s retreating form, his pulse racing, before looking back at Sirius. He ached, seeing his godfather again after so long, but he dared not approach him. He realised that he was staring, and picked up a book at random. It fell open to an especially gruesome picture, so Harry hurriedly stowed it back on the shelf. By the time he had finished fumbling with the book, Sirius was gone. Harry raced for the door, pushing several bemused-looking students aside.
Sirius ambled down the corridor towards the stairs, looking decidedly petulant. Harry allowed himself a rueful smile; a sulky teenage Sirius looked remarkably like the adult Sirius he remembered.
They walked down the stairs, Harry pretending not to notice the strange looks he was receiving from everyone he passed. Sirius, at least, didn't seem to have noticed him. He seemed preoccupied as they headed out over the grounds towards the Whomping Willow.
Suddenly, Sirius stopped in his tracks. Harry immediately saw why.
"Oh, look who it is. What are you doing here, Snivellus?"
Harry ducked behind a tree, desperately trying to resist the urge to get a good look at the young Snape, unsure why he even wanted to. He strained his ears to listen, but Snape made his retort just as a group of girls passed.
"Yeah, actually," Sirius said in response to whatever it was Snape had said. "I am going to see Lupin. If you're really so interested, I'll tell you where he is."
Harry felt his heart sink. Of all the times to which he could have been sent back, the Time-Turner had apparently chosen the day that Sirius had sent Snape to the Shrieking Shack.
Sirius stalked off, apparently quite pleased with himself, leaving Snape alone. Harry took a step towards him, sure that he must warn Snape not to go. That was why he was here, right? Why else would the Time-Turner randomly send him to this exact point – and place – in time?
Then again, it didn't matter, did it? His father would be here any moment to rescue Snape. Harry relaxed somewhat, though he still felt a flutter of nausea as he watched Snape climb into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.
Harry waited. It had been a pleasant evening, but the sun was long set now and there was a bitter chill to the air. He shivered as he crept around the grounds, keeping within the shadows of the castle walls. The urge to run after Snape was strong. Harry fought it, though he could not bring himself to leave. His father would be here soon, Harry told himself. Any minute now, his father would arrive and pull Snape out.
He had been in there for an awfully long time now, though. Harry looked around nervously. What if his presence here had somehow altered something? Frantically, he tried to remember what Hermione had told him about time travel. It shouldn’t be possible to alter the past, she had said, although he was not sure he understood the reasoning behind that. In that case, then, his father should be here by now.
Harry could feel his pulse begin to quicken, and his thoughts became jumbled and incoherent. What should he do? He could not very well stand there and allow Snape to die, but nor could he interfere in any way; Hermione had warned him about that.
Harry’s feet began guiding him towards the Whomping Willow. He would just go inside and make sure Snape was nowhere near the Shack, he told himself. He would be careful not to be seen.
Casting quick glances around, Harry began to creep towards the Willow. Its branches shuddered in warning. He hurriedly picked up a branch and pressed the knot on the tree; its branches stilled instantly. He crept towards it and climbed into the tunnel.
Snape was nowhere to be seen. His heart racing, blood pounding in deafening beats in his ears, Harry tore through the tunnel as fast as he could. Still, there was no sign of Snape. That meant he must be almost at the Shack. Why had he left it so long?
Trembling, Harry raced ahead before reason could stay him. And then he saw Snape; he was hauling himself up to the opening to the Shrieking Shack as though in slow motion.
"Snape!" Harry yelled. "No!"
Snape seemed not to have heard, or not to be listening.
Harry lunged forwards, grabbed him by the waist and threw him aside. He caught a glimpse of Lupin's terrifying form, all teeth and claws, and blind panic gripped him. He pulled on Snape's sleeve, but Snape seemed to be frozen. Harry screamed his name, but was met only with a wide-eyed stare. With only fractions of a second to make his decision, Harry flung Snape over his shoulder and ran.
Behind him, Harry could hear the snarling werewolf. The opening to the passage was too small to allow him through, but Harry was not about to trust that it would hold. He stumbled and tripped more than once; carrying Snape proved more of a burden than Harry had anticipated. At last, his strength failed him and they collapsed in a heap. Harry's head went light; he closed his eyes, and the world began to spin.
There was a thud beside him. Harry opened his eyes and lurched upright. They were outside, beneath the Whomping Willow. Dazed and confused, Harry groped around for Snape and dragged him out from underneath the tree. Wearily, he laid down Snape’s limp form.
"Snape," he whispered. "Snape - er, Severus, can you hear me?"
Snape’s eyes flickered open, then widened in panic; he looked disoriented and frightened. Instinctively, Harry held him close, but Snape pushed him away with vehement force.
"I knew it!" he hissed.
"Look, Severus-" Harry began, but Snape staggered to his feet and ran.
It took some time for Harry to regain his bearings. What had just happened? Why hadn't his father turned up?
He climbed awkwardly to his feet and limped towards the castle. Acting on instinct, he made his way towards the Gryffindor common room, realising only when he reached the portrait that he couldn't go inside. He sat on the steps instead, head in his hands, and allowed himself to drift off.
When he woke, the castle was completely dark and Harry's head felt as though it had been hit with a sledgehammer.
"Are you coming in?" the Fat Lady asked archly. Harry shook his head without looking around.
It was so strange to be in surroundings so familiar and yet to have no one know him. To think that in the tower behind that portrait, his parents were sleeping, unaware that he even existed. Or would exist. Harry winced; thinking about the complications of time travel wasn't helping his headache.
So what was he to do? He had no idea how to get back to his own time, and no one here knew who he was. Chances were he'd already messed things up royally by interfering with Snape. Dammit, he needed Hermione. There had to be someone there who could help, but who would believe him?
He paced the corridor, panic taking increasing hold. What if he never got back? What if his interference so far somehow stopped his parents getting together and he was never born? Was that possible? He tried, again, to remember what Hermione had said on the subject of time travel, but it was all so long ago, and he hadn't really been listening the first time.
He paused. Without thinking, he had somehow ended up back outside Dumbledore's office. He could have sworn the gargoyle was eyeing him suspiciously.
"Er…Sherbet lemons?" Harry tried.
The gargoyle stared impassively at the opposite wall.
Harry gave a heavy sigh. "Come on, I was just up there," he pleaded.
Nothing. Harry slumped down by the wall and waited.
It turned out he did not have too long to wait; after no more than a few minutes, the gargoyle sprung aside. Harry clambered to his feet, only to be bowled over by a scowling Snape who came charging down the stairs.
"Hey," Harry called after him, but Snape did not turn back.
The wall behind the gargoyle was starting to slide closed. Harry leaped through the gap just in time, though when he made to climb the stairs, he realised his cloak was caught. He shrugged it off and charged up the stairs towards Dumbledore's office. He raised his fist to knock, but the door swung open of its own accord.
"Er, Headmaster?"
"Come in, James," called Dumbledore. Hesitantly, Harry stepped inside, and Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. "No," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "not James."
"Harry," Harry filled in. "I’m – er, this is going to sound a little strange."
"Why don’t you come in, my boy, and take a seat." Dumbledore was peering over his glasses and his brow was furrowed.
Harry entered the room and looked around. It was surreal to be back there, in a room he'd visited so many times. He hadn't really looked around when the Time-Turner had unexpectedly dropped him there. The portraits glared down at him, some with disdain and others with suspicion. The peculiar spindly-legged tables were almost as Harry remembered them.
And then there was Dumbledore. A little younger than Harry remembered him, and certainly less careworn. He bore the expression of sad disappointment that Harry had seen so often; Harry could only imagine what the conversation with Snape had entailed.
He took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk, feeling for all the world like an errant schoolboy.
"Um," he began, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.
"Before we go any further, Harry, I must ask how much you know of the problems of time travel."
"What? How do you –"
Dumbledore smiled. "I know much, my boy," he said. "More than even I would like, at times."
Right. Legilimency.
"It's kind of rude to go poking in people's heads without asking," he muttered. Dumbledore's only response was to take a sip of tea. "I know I shouldn’t have interfered," said Harry, "only-"
Dumbledore held up a hand to interrupt him, and Harry stopped. "I must ask," said Dumbledore, "that you tell me nothing of the future. Such knowledge could be dangerous."
"But I have to tell you – he’s a spy. Worm-"
"Harry," said Dumbledore sternly. "I must insist that you tell me nothing."
"Fine. But haven't I messed things up already, by interfering?"
"Oh, I don't know about that. It seems everything worked out as well as it could have done, under the circumstances. Perhaps young Sirius will be more careful with his pranks in future, and Mister Snape will learn to control his curiosity."
"That's it?" said Harry, incredulously. "Snape would have died if I wasn't there."
"Oh, but you were there. Most commendable."
"And that's it? Never mind the fact that Sirius's idea of a prank almost killed someone –"
"You care for Severus a great deal," Dumbledore remarked.
Harry felt his face flush with anger. "Not especially…well yeah, all right, maybe, but that's not the point. You should too. He's…Snape's a good man. Not nice, perhaps, but he's good. He didn't deserve this."
Dumbledore actually had the gall to smile. "Nonetheless, I believe he will learn from it."
"But it's all going to change now, isn't it?" Harry thought aloud, a heavy sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "Now it's some random stranger from the future who-"
"Ah, about that. I believe it would be prudent not to allow your identity to go beyond this room."
"But Snape already knows, surely?"
"Absolutely not. He believes that James rescued him, and I will ensure that James goes along with that story. It might be good for them, in fact; they could do with getting along a little better."
"Er, I really don’t think it will help," said Harry, thinking of what Snape had told him of the incident.
A flicker of curiosity crossed Dumbledore's face, but it passed quickly. "I believe you came here seeking help?" he said instead.
"Well, yeah," said Harry. "I need to get back. Do you know how?"
"Why did you come here?" asked Dumbledore, seemingly ignoring the question.
"I don't know," said Harry, honestly. "I don't even know what I did."
"Curious, then, that you should find yourself at an inauspicious occasion."
"Yeah. I mean, I've always wondered what really happened. I'd heard about it, I mean." Harry shifted in his seat. Did this count as talking about the future?
Dumbledore, however, seemed amused. "A Time-Turner is a very powerful magical device."
Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and didn't ask. "I have it here," he said, pulling the Time-Turner from his pocket. Taking great care not to trigger it – which was tricky when he didn't know how he had triggered it to begin with - he set it upon the desk.
Dumbledore gave it no more than a cursory glance, then said, "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."
"What?!" Harry cried, leaping from his seat.
"Oh, do calm down. Things will work themselves out. I simply don't believe you're quite done here."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Merlin, this man was infuriating. Clearly, death had applied a heavy rose-coloured tint to Harry's memories of him.
"Just keep this with you," said Dumbledore, that exasperating veneer of calm still firmly in place. "I'm sure you will see when the time comes."
"So what do I do now?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "Just follow your instincts."
Harry grabbed the Time-Turner from the desk and shoved it back in his pocket. "Thanks a lot," he mumbled, and he stormed out of the office.
With nowhere to go, Harry wandered down countless flights of stairs and stared listlessly at strange yet familiar portraits. It reminded him of when he had first arrived there, ten years prior. (Or should that be fifteen-odd years into the future? Harry mentally shook himself – if he thought about this too much he was sure his head would explode). Back when the magical world had seemed, well, magical, and he'd been delighted by the temperamental staircases and the doors that needed persuading, and the ones which were just bits of wall pretending. Back when the biggest worry in his life was his homework.
He was lost in thought when a sound brought him back to the present. He crept down a few steps and peered over the banister: there, in a small alcove beneath an old wooden staircase across the hall, was a dark, hunched figure.
Harry didn't need to look any closer to know who it was. He crept towards the staircase and crawled underneath, barely repressing a sneeze as dust flew into his face. He sat with his arms around his knees, his neck bent at an awkward angle against the staircase above him.
Snape looked up, though he did not say a word. His face was swathed in shadow, but Harry could feel the dark glower he knew so well.
"Dumbledore may think I'm stupid," Snape said, his voice hoarse, "but I know you're not Potter."
"Actually, I am, kind of," said Harry with a smile. He caught himself and heard Hermione's voice in his head, berating him. "I mean, I'm…related to him."
"Right." Snape didn't sound convinced.
"Look, I just wanted to check you're okay," said Harry, somewhat lamely.
"No thanks to-"
"Yeah, I know," Harry cut in. Apparently he'd forgotten how annoying Snape could be as well.
They looked at each other for a moment. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the dark, sunken eyes and the sallow face framed by curtains of greasy hair. Harry smiled ruefully; how easy it had been to believe the worst of him for all that time. For years, he had longed for the chance to say something to this man, and now he had the chance, though he could not take it. This Snape knew nothing of the Prophecy or of his time as a spy. He didn't know that the headmaster he hated so steadfastly right now would one day become his friend, nor that he would ultimately have to kill him.
"Severus," said Harry at last. "Dumbledore makes mistakes. So do you, actually."
Snape's brow creased, but he said nothing.
"It's weird," Harry continued. "I wonder if I told you, whether you'd do things any differently."
"Told me what?"
Harry smiled. Snape's curiosity, it seemed, was stronger than his stubbornness.
"Nothing," said Harry, hearing Hermione's angry voice in his head. "Just…will you do something for me?"
"Guess I have to," said Snape. "Life debt, right? What is it you want?"
"Oh, you pay that back. Many times over, in fact. But there is something else I'd ask of you. I know this may sound weird, but…always carry a bezoar, okay? And, uh, maybe a Blood-Replenishing Potion or two."
"You're not all there, are you?"
"Guess not. 'Bye, Severus."
Snape did not respond, but his eyes followed Harry as he climbed out from beneath the staircase and reached into his pocket. How he knew it would work, he had no idea, but no sooner had he touched the silver device than the world faded around him and he started to fall through space and time.