Part XXIX

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.

All my gratitude to my beta AmyLouise. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

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Part XXIX

Trying to conceal his alarm at the insolent words with which he had been addressed, Snape curled his lips in a defiant expression. With an arrogant shrug, Harry seemed to reject the challenge, then turned away and faced Finlay.

"The situation is extremely serious," he declared. "I need time to investigate." The man crossed his arms and spoke again with quiet authority. "I think it's best if you leave, Deputy Finlay. This is Auror work."

The old wizard frowned. "In my capacity as delegate, I want to be present," he protested.

Harry shot him a cold glance. "May I remind you that your presence is required elsewhere? The school has been damaged, and the children are frightened. Go see to your students; they need your guidance and support now."

Reminded so firmly of his duty, Finlay looked at the devastated furnishings of the room as if hoping it could offer him a pretext to stay. But Harry was quicker. "Thank you. I'll give you an escort to assist you in the inspection."

He raised a hand. "Graham! Robarts!" he called imperiously, and two tall men dressed in Auror uniforms seemed to materialise in front of him.

"Yes, sir?" they asked respectfully.

"Please escort Deputy Finlay in a thorough check of the castle."

Silenced, the old wizard hesitated, then, with a helpless look, he went away, followed closely by the two towering men. Harry waited, arms crossed and with a grave expression, until the door closed after them. Then he raised his wand, murmured a locking spell and turned to scrutinise the little group under the portrait. Zabini was wary, Bernardi nervous, Longbottom silent. Trapped in his frame, Snape hardened his features, preparing for a battle. And finally, the Head Auror broke the silence.

"Now we can talk," Harry commented soberly, and a smile opened on his face, taking everybody by surprise except Longbottom, who smiled back.

"Thank Merlin, you received my message!" Neville winked at his old friend.

"Not a minute too soon! I was leaving for another mission. From what I've seen, I assume you have been successful."

"Mr. Longbottom!" Snape exploded. "What did you do?"

"I sent a message to Harry while I was looking for Zabini, sir," Neville calmly replied. "I had the uncomfortable sensation that something unpleasant could happen, so I took a little precaution. But please, rest assured ... " He watched the portrait meaningfully, "... I didn't tell him everything."

Snape frowned. "You didn't?"

"I thought it was up to you."

Snape hesitated. For the third time in two days, he was facing the necessity of explaining his actions; even worse, the reasons behind his actions, but Longbottom again came to the rescue.

"The Aurors were alerted immediately after my communication to St. Mungo's, so Harry knows about the epidemic. You only need to tell him how you met Cornelia Hobnook and found a remedy."

The Head Auror smiled. "I'm sure that this is going to be a very interesting tale."

"More than you can imagine, Harry," Neville replied merrily.

Watching the two men talk so cordially and perceiving the wave of comradeship running between them, Snape felt a bitter sense of exclusion. But that was his destiny. Paint, he reminded himself, he was only paint and memories. So why was his heart aching so much? Why?

Again, Neville seemed to perceive that secret anguish and raised his eyes to the portrait.

"Professor, I think its time to reward your dedication," he suggested quietly, indicating the ancient volume resting on Snape's desk.

"Yes, I suppose the explanation can wait a bit longer," Harry agreed. At those words, Bernardi definitely relaxed while Zabini crossed his arms and took on his usual inscrutable expression. Slowly, Snape turned his head to observe the manuscript, the precious diary for which he had fought so desperately. He hadn't dared open it yet, and now he touched it in awe. The situation felt utterly unreal: was he really handling the picture of a book that had been written five centuries earlier? And yet, that book made of paint felt heavy in his hands, just as the weight pressing on Snape's heart was heavy. Though he had found a solution that would probably diminish Draco's guilt in the eyes of the wizarding world, Snape had hoped to be the one...through Zabini...to brew the potion for Lucius, exactly as he had promised to Narcissa. But surely Potter wouldn't allow Blaise to manipulate the formula.

Saddened by those thoughts, the portrait flipped the pages, looking blankly at the many amazing titles that popped out here and there. The handwriting was thin and graceful, typical of the period, and flourished capitals decorated the beginning of every paragraph. Finally, in the reverential silence that had fallen in the room, he saw the name he was looking for, and his heart twisted in emotion. Snape read, in the elegant calligraphy of Horatius Hobnook: 'Azkaban's Disease' or 'Prisoners' Fever', also known as Stonicrucium.

Lost in a trance, Snape deciphered the writing. The first lines were notes describing the horrid situation of the prisoners and the pitiless behaviour of their keepers, chosen amongst the most brutal exemplars of the wizarding low class. In a crescendo of disgust, the portrait finally reached the formula. Without even glancing at the words explaining the precious secret, Snape cast a spell on the page and instantly duplicated it. Carefully, he took the newly formed parchment that was floating in mid-air and inserted it in the fax, then pressed the button. The twin machine in the room reacted with a low buzz and the men brightened in excitement...all except Zabini who, after an initial movement, stopped and sat again, fists clenched in frustration.

Amazed, Harry watched the formula slip out from the machine.

"That's fantastic!" he exclaimed, taking the parchment with something similar to reverence. Then he handed it immediately to Longbottom. "Neville, would you bring it to St. Mungo's?"

"I'll be honoured," the Herbology professor replied. "But this time, I'll clearly indicate to whom the merit belongs."

"Don't!" Snape exclaimed, and the four men under the frame raised their eyes to look at him, with four different shades of perplexity on their faces. The portrait lowered his head. He couldn't order, only pray.

"I... I have my reasons for remaining incognito," he finally declared and exchanged a meaningful look with Longbottom.

Neville seemed saddened by this request, but accepted it without objecting. "As you wish," he said softly. "You know you can trust me." He turned to Harry. "I think it would be better if Mr. Bernardi could come with me."

Harry nodded and said gravely, "Mr. Bernardi, your help has been invaluable. I hope we can count on your discretion now."

"My lips are sealed," the painter replied, and Harry smiled at the unusual concision that revealed the deep emotion of the usually verbose Italian.

"Go, Neville, and take care," he then invited Longbottom, who swiftly rolled the parchment and put it in his sleeve.

"Thank you, Professor." Neville inclined his head in a greeting, promptly followed by Bernardi. "I'll make sure the formula is put to good use."

Snape nodded sombrely, and his fingers tightened around the leather cover of the diary. His allies...his friends?...were leaving, and soon he would be alone to face Potter's interrogation. How to deal with a man who had the power...and perhaps the intention...of hurting or even destroying him? How to fulfill the promise that he had made to Narcissa and Lucius without betraying them? Mouth filled with the bitter taste of defeat, Snape watched Harry unlock the door and Neville and Bernardi disappear along the corridor with the precious document.

The Head Auror raised his wand. "Now we are really alone," he said quietly.

Zabini instantly jerked up his head in alarm, and Harry watched him with his mischievous smile. "Time for a second copy."

Snape opened his mouth but emitted no sound. How could it... Was that a trap? What did damned Potter mean?

"Come on, Professor, let's not waste precious time!" Harry urged. "Send out a new copy so that Zabini can brew the formula. I hope you didn't expect me to do it, did you? Potions never was my forte, as you always remarked."

Zabini jumped on his feet. "What kind of game are you playing, Potter?" he asked. "Hoping to finally put an end to my career? Or simply trying to frame Professor Snape?" he concluded sarcastically.

Harry tilted his head with an innocent expression. "I thought you wanted to try the formula personally," he said with a shrug. "Professor Snape deserves this satisfaction. And then, the bureaucracy in St. Mungo's will take hours before a potioneer is allowed to work on it. Trust me, I am an expert in official procedures."

"Potter!" Snape began, but he didn't know how to continue.

Harry sighed. "Old grudges die hard, I see. Very well, lets speak openly, then. You have a friend in need, Professor, haven't you? A dear friend that you would like to help."

"What the hell are you saying, Potter?" Zabini replied contemptuously. But Snape took a deep breath.

"You know," he said, and that was a statement, not a question.

"Precisely!" Harry replied with an impatient nod. "You won't believe it, but I've become very good at guessing. I thought of Lucius Malfoy as soon as I heard of the Azkaban fever. And guess what? He is the only one amongst the ex-prisoners who hasn't replied to the mediwizards' call... though giving an answer would have been at least polite on his part."

He crossed his arms. "So, will you deny that you are protecting a lawbreaker?"

At that assertion, Snape stared helplessly at the two men under his frame; his plan had crumbled like a castle of cards, and Lucius was definitely lost. The wizard clenched his fists and waited to hear Potter pronounce gloating words of condemnation.

Controlled as always, Zabini was considering the portrait with questioning eyes, and Snape lowered his head under that gaze, expecting a vehement accusation from his former student for having been so disloyally involved in that plot.

But, though evidently wrong-footed, the Slytherin was ready to dissimulate his alarm, and perhaps his anger, recovering his usual impassive expression in a blink.

Quick, but not quick enough for Harry, who shook his head and smiled at Snape. "No need to worry, Professor. I am indebted to you, and I'm willing to pay."

He turned to Zabini. "You, on the contrary, are not obliged to help... but your expertise would be extremely useful."

With a challenging look, Blaise replied, "I've granted my help to Professor Snape, and I'll keep my promise whatever it costs... and whoever is involved."

Snape couldn't but appreciate the loyalty of his assistant, in spite of the risk that the help he had so liberally promised implied. However, though Zabini's voice was firm, his eyes were cold, and Snape felt uncomfortable. That wasn't the way he had planned it. The whole matter had been spoiled by the joint interferences of Finlay before and of Potter after. Despite Zabini's controlled stance, Snape knew him too well not to understand that the man was disguising his resentment for what he was surely interpreting as deception.

And perhaps he was right.

Trust is a thing that must be shared. The words of criticism that the portrait had addressed to Zabini were still hanging in the air, now revealing a sad truth: Severus Snape hadn't learned his lesson yet. He was still behaving as his old life of lies and suspicions had taught him, using people and words as tools for his projects.

Unaware of these thoughts, Harry raised his chin in a clear invitation to hurry. Suppressing a sigh, Snape inserted the formula in the fax once more and pressed the button.

Zabini took the parchment and glanced at the disordered mess of tools and ingredients that the magical storm had scattered throughout the floor. Then, still without expression, he said, "I'll check what's needed, and I'll begin immediately."

"Thank you," Snape murmured.

Zabini lit the fire under a cauldron, then he began to collect and examine the different items, declining Harry's help with a curt nod. Harry didn't insist. Instead, the Head Auror went to sit under the portrait and wrapped his arms around his right leg in a curious imitation of what his son used to do when talking to Snape. Then he raised his head to the picture and considered slowly, "I'd never dared imagine we would speak again."

Still fighting against his bitter thoughts, Snape tightened his lips. "There are many things you'd never have dared imagine, Potter. You have always been affected by a deplorable lack of imagination, except for what concerned your foolhardy exploits."

"You still can't forgive me, Professor?" Harry asked quietly. "Yet you devoted your life to saving mine. How could you be so merciless and, at the same time, so committed?"

"Because it wasn't you...," Snape replied and trailed off. Why renew what was useless to say again?

"I know," Harry sighed. "It was my mother. And my father. Always my mother and my father. Did you ever see me, Professor?"

Snape averted his eyes and pondered that question in his heart. Everything seemed so absurdly remote now. Had he really dedicated the second part of his life to hating a man and venerating a woman through the living embodiment of their son? And had he really offered himself to destruction because of a hopeless love? How many sufferings his choices had produced, like circles in the water... And now his life was enclosed in a piece of canvas and a few ounces of paint. He felt empty.

Harry was still watching him, waiting in silence. Incredible how the once reckless boy had changed! There was no animosity in that gaze and, overwhelmed by memories, Snape lowered his head, experiencing that horrid sensation of helplessness again. Everything was so strange, so difficult, so out of control. So many things he didn't know how to handle.... The portrait sighed deeply, mutely questioning the man before him and, once more, Harry returned his gaze, speaking softly.

"I saw you die almost twenty years ago, looking at my eyes. Was it me that you were seeing, Professor, or again, was it my mother? I always thought that it was better to bury those memories forever, because obviously I wasn't going to receive an answer. But lately I have realised that I knew more about you than I ever dared hope. Your memories had become my memories. And I have decided that I am really deeply grateful for what you gave me."

Snape didn't reply, but Harry, lost in his reflections, didn't seem to notice.

"You see, it hasn't been easy for me to overcome what happened," the man continued quietly. "And now that I see my children in the place that used to be my place, I regret what could have been and was not. Albus Severus says that you are the best teacher he could ever dream of having. He tells me strange, unexpected things: you are patient, you are generous, you are kind."

The man paused, and when he spoke again, his voice revealed disconcertment and a hint of amusement.

"But James has been the biggest surprise. He wrote me that you helped him skip a whole morning of lessons. This, I admit, was hard to believe... yet it was true."

Harry watched Snape as if he saw his old antagonist for the first time.

"Sincerely, Professor, I think you have turned into a much better teacher now."

He hesitated, then his expression opened in a bizarrely timid smile.

"Odd as it may sound, I believe you have become much more human."

Snape felt an acute pang. Weren't those the words that Minerva had addressed to him in that night of desperation? What had she said?

"I believe you are much more human than many of us."

Something cold and heavy slowly detached from his heart, and a painful but incredibly sweet sensation filled his soul.

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Silence fell again as they watched Zabini work. The Slytherin was dosing each ingredient with great care, consulting the parchment at every step. For the first time, Snape lowered his eyes to the book in front of him. It was such a simple potion, though very ingenious, he considered in dismay. He could have found it by himself, if only he had had the time for a proper study.

Surprisingly, once more Harry seemed to guess his thoughts.

"It seems that we are in perpetual debt to you, Professor," he said slowly. "In a way, you have saved the future of the wizarding world...again."

"Yes, your future.... Mine is linked to this frame, whatever happens," Snape replied bitterly.

"Well, yours is a strategic position, don't you think?" Harry considered.

Snape rested his forehead on his fists and sighed. "What is all this about, Potter? What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing, Professor. Just that you live in one frame, and I live in another... or in many different frames, if you prefer. But there is no difference in what we do. I work with what you used to call 'foolish wand waving'; you teach the subtle art of potions to young apprentices. And perhaps your work is more important than mine."

"Potter! How do you dare compare the life of the living with the pale imitation I lead in this frame?!" the portrait reacted furiously. Yet, in spite of his fury, Snape's voice was trembling.

"I'm not comparing, only suggesting a different view" Harry replied quietly. "Imagine the world like a big frame. Think of life as a sequence of pictures. Like the portraits in Hogwarts, we slip from picture to picture while we all live in the bigger canvas of the world."

His voice went grave. "But I tell you, very few of those living in this world can do the things that you are doing from your frame."

The portrait closed his eyes, trembling with emotion, wishing to lose himself in those soothing words. Was the man before him finally giving him an answer? Was that THE answer?

"I never imagined you had such a poetic imagination," Snape finally murmured, breathing painfully.

Harry smiled. "There are a lot of things you never imagined about me, Professor. But then, I was the one supposedly lacking imagination. Perhaps its time to give me a chance."

Silence fell again. Then things began to happen at disconcerting speed.

A voice shouted out of the door. "Let me in! Let me in, I say! I must speak to Professor Snape right now!"

The door opened abruptly and Draco Malfoy entered boldly, followed by a young man...clearly an apprentice Auror...who was uselessly trying to stop him. But there was no need: as soon as he saw the other two men in the room, Draco stopped short, a hopeless look on his face.

"Let him in, Perkins," Harry ordered lazily. "He's a friend."

Draco swallowed in indecision, but the need that was driving him was evidently too pressing to be silenced by the unexpected presence of his old antagonist. He managed a weary smile.

"I didn't know you were here, Potter," he said with an uncharacteristically meek tone. "You must excuse me, but I urgently need to speak to Professor Snape...."

"Don't worry, Draco," Harry replied. "Professor Snape has found a remedy and, as you see, Zabini is concocting it right now."

Draco widened his eyes and, for a moment, forgot his prudence. "I can't believe it! Did you really..."

He stopped in panic, while surprise and joy were immediately cancelled by fear and suspicion.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked sharply and glanced at the portrait in accusation.

Snape didn't say a word, just looked at Harry in resigned expectation. Surely Potter wouldn't miss the occasion!

But Harry didn't answer the question; he only watched Draco calmly. "If you don't mind waiting, you can take the potion back with you as soon as it is ready."

"You mean you don't... I am not...." Incredulous, Draco trailed off before he said too much. Then, giving up the fight, he murmured a strangled "Thank you" and sat in a corner, crumpling his robes in agitation and shooting quick, questioning glances at Zabini.

But his fellow Slytherin obviously couldn't explain, so Zabini shook his head, tightened his lips, and went on determinedly with his preparation. Several moments of silence passed again before the same young Auror came in with a disconcerted air.

"Sorry, sir, there is something strange going on. Looks like an intruder. I mean, I have detected an intruder, but I can't see it."

"An intruder?!" Reacting with the ease of long practice, Harry reached the door and raised his wand, moving it in slow circles while he tested the space before him.

"Don't shoot, Dad! It's me!" a joyful, giggling voice said, and the happy face of Lily Potter appeared in mid-air. The Auror gasped in surprise while Harry exclaimed severely, "Lily! What are you doing here? And coming in disguise! You are in big trouble, young lady!"

Smiling unperturbedly, the girl replied to her dad with that deceptively judicious tone children use when they want to convince their parents: "I went to visit you in the office, and your men told me that you had gone to Hogwarts. So I asked if I could go too, but they didn't let me. It was getting late, and there was no time to advise Mum, so I just took your cloak and went by myself through the Floo."

"Simple and easy, I see," her father said dryly. "Now, didn't I forbid you to use the Floo, let alone take my cloak?" In his effort to be severe, Harry sounded strangely similar to Snape when scolding a student.

"But Da-ad!" the child replied, curling her lips in an offended pout. "I'm perfectly capable of using the Floo! And I didn't mean anything bad. I just wanted to see Uncle Severus again."

"U-Uncle Severus?" In spite of his previous friendly declarations, Harry evidently wasn't ready for a new member...and such a member!...in his family.

"Well," Lily candidly replied, "we already have an Uncle Albus, why not an Uncle Severus? After all, you named Al after him!"

"This is a totally different matter," Harry retorted; yet, though trying to sound stern, he couldn't help a smile. And, finally, he said the words she was expecting to hear, "What to do with you now? Can't send you back unaccompanied."

Bowing to circumstances, Harry turned to the dumbstruck Auror and shrugged. "It's OK, Perkins. I suppose at this point your presence is useless. Go and help your colleagues in checking the school."

Then, with a meaningful expression, he lowered his tone and whispered, "And please, do your best to keep Professor Finlay far from this room as long as possible."

He escorted Lily back into the room, and the girl raised her eyes to the picture.

"Hello, Professor!" she greeted with a joyful smile.

The portrait lowered his head to watch the odd couple.

"Recklessness is evidently a family trait, Potter," Snape commented dryly. "But I find it to be rather incongruous that you blame your children for what you constantly did in six years of school."

Then he nodded to the girl. "Though I wish you had chosen a better moment, I'm glad to see you, Miss Potter."

Lily blushed in pleasure, but she had no time for a proper reply because the door opened again, and a treble voice called, "Dad? Are you here?"

James Potter entered impetuously; then, like Draco before him, he stopped abruptly as soon as he noticed that his father was not alone.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, reddening in embarrassment. "Good morning, Professor Zabini. Good morning, Professor Snape." And, after an uncertain glance at Draco, "Good morning... sir."

His duties done, he rushed to reach his father and sister under the portrait.

"What is Lily doing here?" he asked in irritation, venting his nervousness from that awkward entrance. Then he looked cautiously at Zabini and lowered his tone. "Dad, Professor Finlay says that Professor Snape has committed a crime, and that you are here to burn his portrait."

Lily gasped in horror at those words and looked at her father with an accusing glare. James cast a quick glance at Snape, who was pretending not to listen, then lowered his voice even more.

"I hope... I mean, this is not true, is it? You aren't going to do anything like that, are you?"

Harry smiled. "No, son," he replied. "Professor Snape is going to teach here for many more years, or at least, as long as he wants to."

"Ah!" The boy breathed in relief. "Good! I knew it couldn't be true. I must tell the others, because they were all worried."

Snape stiffened at that surprising affirmation but didn't utter a word. Relaxing at the news, James stretched himself in a very informal way.

Right at that moment, Zabini exclaimed, "The potion is ready!"

Draco got up immediately, then turned in hesitation to watch Harry.

"Take it, Draco, it's all yours," Harry declared gently while the two children looked in curiosity at the tense blond man.

Zabini filled a little flask with the boiling liquid and corked it. Then he looked at Snape. "If you allow me, I'll go with Draco to help him."

"Please do," Snape said with immense dignity, "and let us know as soon as possible."

Seeing that Harry Potter seemed to acknowledge Snape's authority, Draco recovered his pride.

"Are you really going to let me free, Potter?" he challenged his old foe, arrogance and doubt mixing in his voice.

"Follow the corridors that lead to the left wing," Harry replied serenely. "That way, you'll be sure to avoid my men."

With an astonished expression, Draco looked at Harry, Snape and Zabini alternatively.

Zabini had already put his cloak on. With a sad smile, he turned to look at Snape.

"You can trust me, Professor," he said.

Then, followed by a still unbalanced Draco, he reached the door. In a few moments, the two men had left.

"Well, I suppose we will have to wait for news," Harry declared and smiled to his children.