Lily's Charm: The Gift

Chapter 36: Inside Out

1996

"Your attempt at therapy is unnecessary."

"Wasn't it you who told your son last night that it is not a sign of weakness to explore your feelings?"

Severus didn't even bother to ask how Albus had known that. He went back to stirring his elixir. Albus smiled sadly at him.

"Harry will figure out eventually that you are going through your own grieving process," he said, reaching forward as though to touch Severus' arm, but the headmaster's hand veered off at the last moment, and he picked up a small vial of Boomslang juice instead.

Severus plucked it from his fingers and uncorked the stopper. "I am hardly grieving."

"Your enemy gave his life so that your son would not lose his father."

"I know," Severus said tersely.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, his aged voice softening as he leaned forward, "you could not have known that Sirius would die."

Severus narrowed his eyes, the words raising his defenses.

"Harry will not resent you because of Sirius' sacrifice."

Severus' face darkened. He overturned the vial of juice in his fingers more abruptly than he'd meant to. He snarled as the potion immediately began to hiss and roil. Albus waved his wand without a word and the potion stilled just as it touched the rim of the cauldron.

Severus glared as he Vanished the ruined potion; Albus was giving him a knowing look over his ridiculous half-moon spectacles.

"I am concerned about Harry," Severus said stiffly.

"Of course you are, Severus," Albus answered in that overly gentle way of his. "You and Harry are very much alike."

Severus turned away from his cauldrons, ignoring the remark as he returned to the relative safety of the sitting room. Albus followed him.

"If you would like to speak with someone-"

Severus took the little box of Floo powder down from the mantle, a disdainful curl to his lip. "I hardly believe hearing my own feelings on the subject will encourage Harry to accept Black's death."

Albus' sad smile was still in force. "I was speaking of myself," he correctly softly. He ignored the open box of Floo powder which was shoved pointedly toward him. "Though I believe that your confession of gratitude toward Sirius would be an effective way to encourage Harry to admit to his own feelings. Sharing grief with another is often therapeutic," Albus continued sagely.

"Harry rejected Lupin's attempt at shared grief," Severus returned, though the words seemed to come of their own accord. He was certain he had no desire to attempt to unravel his painfully jumbled feelings toward Black.

"Remus' emotions were likely too overwhelming for Harry...it was too soon." Albus rearranged his robes as he seated himself in one of the chairs, studiously ignoring Severus' rather blunt invitation to leave. "Remus is doing better this evening, by the way," Albus informed Severus lightly.

Severus replaced the powder impatiently on the mantel; it clinked against the soft stone. "I had assumed as much."

Albus' blue eyes were slightly reproving. "Remus needs more than Nymphadora to see him through this, Severus."

Severus glanced toward the corridor, hoping that Harry would take his time joining them. "I believe we are beyond insinuations that I would deny Harry whatever measure of comfort he might find with Lupin, or vice versa," he said, letting his words contain just a touch of acerbity, in the hope that it would move the old meddler from his sitting room.

"Oh, we certainly are, dear boy," Albus agreed, paying no attention to his tone. "Are we not also beyond the point where you insist that you are Remus have not established a friendship?"

Severus simply gazed back at the headmaster.

There was triumph in the headmaster's eyes as he smiled. And having made his point, he changed the subject. "There has been quite an uproar in the Ministry regarding Bellatrix' return. It has been confirmed that Dawn Ridley was somehow replaced, and was in fact the one Kissed by Dementors. Lucius will stand trial once more. Both he and Narcissa will be questioned about their knowledge regarding Bellatrix's and Bavister's plans regarding Harry."

Severus had assumed as much, and though some part of him wanted answers--and even revenge for the deadly mistake, he was far too preoccupied to sort out the correct question.

"I have made it clear that Harry is in no condition to testify in either matter," Albus added.

Ah.

Severus nodded, letting the small movement express his gratitude. Albus smiled at him once more.

--

Harry stared at his reflection. Sometimes, he missed his glasses. Somehow, his face didn't seem complete without them. Rather like Ron without his freckles. Or Hermione without a book.

Harry's stomach churned as he thought about the letter he had written earlier to Hermione--and the avoidance of truth.

He knew perfectly well that his father would object. A trip through the Veil would be considered far too dangerous, but he owed Sirius to at least try. And since both his dad and Remus had come back through the Veil in better shape than they'd left, it couldn't be classed as reckless...not exactly.

Harry ran his fingers several times through his hair before he pulled open the door-his gut would settle down once Hermione sent him a response to the letter he'd sent off that morning. He walked slowly down the corridor, and was mildly surprised to find Dumbledore sitting across from his father.

"Good evening, sir," Harry said politely as he came into the room; he returned his father's small smile.

"Good evening, Harry."

Harry looked away from Dumbledore's sad blue eyes. The only distraction was the tea service on the table. And even though Harry didn't usually drink tea, he poured himself a slow cup, closing his eyes as he listened to the soft sizzle of the hot liquid as it cascaded into the china. But even though he was busying his hands with several heaping spoonfuls of sugar, Dumbledore didn't stop talking.

"How are you feeling this morning, Harry?"

"Well, sir," Harry answered as he watched the heap of sugar dissolving into the black brew.

"I would like to offer my condolences."

Even the rapid clinking of the spoon against the cup was not enough to drown out Dumbledore's cloying voice.

"Sirius was very proud of you, my boy. You were always the first topic of any of our conversations-"

"I know," Harry said shortly as he lifted the cup; the tea dribbled over the sides. "You told me the last time he died."

Dumbledore didn't hide his surprise at Harry's blunt response. "Yes..." he murmured, "...I suppose I did."

Harry nodded as he sipped his tea, which was entirely too hot for his liking. He wondered how his father would respond if he asked Dumbledore to get on with whatever he wanted. He glanced at Severus, who seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking.

"Was there anything else, Albus?" Severus asked, his voice not exactly polite, but no one would have been able to call the question boorish either. And Dumbledore didn't even look offended as he nodded. He pulled a thick roll of parchment from his robes.

"Avonlea Barsey from the Hall of Records sent this with me," he said. His voice had dropped an octave, and a little tickle crawled up Harry's spine. "Sirius' will," Dumbledore added softly.

"You are still named as his primary beneficiary," Dumbledore continued in a voice that could only be called cautious. Harry didn't react to the news, save a careless shrug. It wouldn't matter soon. Dumbledore's tone became even gentler as he said, "There are instructions regarding his funeral-"

The teacup slipped from Harry's fingers. The sound of shattering china reverberated in his ears. His father's black robes filled his vision, but Harry could only see the fluttering of the immortal fabric in the Department of Mysteries.

"No." Harry was fairly certain he was the one who had spoken, although his voice didn't sound quite right.

"Albus, I believe it may be best to continue with this discussion another day..." His father's voice quieted, "...perhaps after Christmas has passed."

"Yes, of course, Severus," Dumbledore was murmuring. Harry closed his eyes. Christmas was only a few days away now. Perhaps there would be enough time... If Hermione had any information.

"Reparo."

Harry looked up, suddenly very aware that his father was standing so close.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, a little thickly, indicating the newly repaired teacup with a bob of his head.

His father set the cup back on its saucer as he waved his wand once more; the pooling tea vanished. "It is no matter," he answered simply. Harry nodded; it wasn't really, since magic had fixed it so easily. Magic could fix anything, he mused...even death. It had fixed it more than once, in Harry's life. His own life had been saved twice, his father's once...Sirius...

"...the Weasleys?"

Harry blinked slowly. "Erm...what?" he asked, though he didn't bother trying to figure out what his dad had been saying.

"Molly Weasley invited us to dine with them tonight," Severus said, his voice overly calm and patient. Harry shook his head though. Seeing his friends' pitying eyes was the last thing he wanted to do. Now, if Hermione had been in the country...he'd have an entirely different answer.

"It's almost Christmas Eve. They're probably doing family things," Harry said, trying to make his voice light, even though his mind was spinning with plans.

"You are part of their family," Severus pointed out easily, reiterating what Arthur had said yesterday. "Ginny and Ron, not to mention Molly, are eager to see you."

"Yeah..." Harry murmured distractedly. He glanced toward his room as he realized he might be able to put his invisibility cloak to use--it was certainly lucky that his father had never tried to confiscate it. And actually, Ron would agree to help him if he asked--especially if Hermione was able to figure out the spell that Dumbledore had used when they'd gone through the Veil.

Come to think of it though, he mused, Hermione might need a bit of assistance, since she didn't have access to Hogwarts' Restricted Section in the library like Harry did. Though, how he would get in there...Dobby! Dobby would jump at a chance to help.

Turning his attention back to his father, who was gazing at him with unmasked concern, Harry nodded. "Yeah, all right. I'd like to see the Weasleys."

Severus' brow furrowed as he stared down at Harry. "Are you certain?"

Harry turned back to the tea pot. "Sure," he said as he gripped the handle and poured himself a fresh cup. "Why wouldn't I be?" He turned back to his father with the easiest smile he could muster. "I haven't seen Ginny in a week." He made sure not to mention Ron.

His father was frowning slightly. "If you would prefer to remain here, we may," he said slowly. "Perhaps you would like a rematch-"

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted, and then hastily added, trying assuage at least a little of the worry in his father's eyes, "but we can play chess this evening when we come back. We...uh, don't have to stay long."

Just long enough to speak with Ron...

"Harry..." Severus began, his eyes tumultuous, but then he shook his head very slightly. "When you wish to speak to someone about your godfather, I am here."

Harry nodded quickly, trying to ignore the tiny twinge in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, I know, dad," he added, when his father didn't look any less concerned. "But really..." he shrugged vaguely. "Everything's going to be all right."

And it would be, Harry told himself firmly, just as soon as he had everything ready.

--

Harry had an armful of Ginny as soon as he stepped onto the Weasleys' hearth rug.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she was whispering in his ear before he could draw breath, her voice thick with tears. Ron and Mrs. Weasley were standing just behind Ginny.

Harry gave her a perfunctory squeeze, mumbling, "Thanks." He drew back a little. Ginny turned her face up to look at him; she looked rather misty. "I'm all right," he told her quickly, withdrawing his arms from their loose hold around her waist. Ginny stepped back reluctantly.

"We've been worried about you," she told him quietly. Harry nodded, giving her the same version of a smile he'd given his father earlier.

"Thanks," he repeated. Ginny's ginger brows furrowed.

"Good evening, Severus," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice a bit wobbly as well, making Harry wish he could step back through the Floo. Why did they all have to act as though some terrible tragedy had occurred? Sirius would be back again. But of course, they hadn't realized just how simple it could be.

"The invitation was most appreciated, Molly," Severus returned politely. Mrs. Weasley gave him a watery sort of smile.

"How are you, Harry?" Ron asked tentatively as Ginny moved to Harry's side, her hand wrapped securely in his.

Harry nodded, too caught up in deciding how he was going to broach the subject with Ron to answer properly.

"...we have extra mittens and caps if you would like to join them."

Harry turned his head toward Mrs. Weasleys' voice; he felt a little foggy. "Extra mittens?" he echoed.

"It's snowing," Ron told him quietly. "Everyone else is outside with snowballs. Bill and Charlie are making a castle." He smiled encouragingly.

"Would you like to come?" Ginny asked, squeezing his hand a little.

"Er...yeah, sounds like fun," Harry answered, though it actually sounded anything but.

"You can come as well, Professor," Ron added, who was watching Severus intently.

"Thank you, Ron," Severus murmured. Ron's cheeks pinked a little and he hastily nodded. Ginny gave her brother a little smile. Even Mrs. Weasley was smiling now, though Harry couldn't really tell what had caused their reactions. Ginny tugged on Harry's hand, and Harry's feet moved along with the pressure.

Once Sirius was back--for good this time--maybe he'd like to build a snowman. Harry chuckled. Or maybe a snowdog.

"Harry?"

Ginny and Ron--and his father and Mrs. Weasley, actually, were all staring at him. He held up his hands...when had he put the mittens on? And his jumper and jeans were now covered with a heavy cloak.

"Are...are you all right?" Ginny asked, stepping close to him; she had a wooly cap in her hand.

"Yep," he said, and pulled the proffered cap over his ears. Definitely a snowdog. "Do you know, I've never built a snowman," he said conversationally as he turned to follow Ginny and Ron out the backdoor. Ron gave him a strange look over his shoulder, but then he smiled.

"It's brilliant with magic. Dad makes the best ones," he said.

The sky was dark and cloudy as they stepped outside. Ginny took Harry's hand again, but Harry tugged it a little and Ginny turned, her eyebrows up in question.

"I need to talk to Ron for second, all right?"

"Okay," she told him. She stretched up on her toes and kissed Harry's cheek. She squeezed his hand once before drifting toward her older brothers, who were all clustered around a towering fort made out of slick snow.

Harry could feel his father's eyes on him. He had moved far enough from Harry and Ron that he would not be eavesdropping, but he was nowhere near enough to the rest of the Weasleys to be considered part of the group.

Harry took Ron's arm and twisted around a little so that his back was to his father.

Ron was peering at him. "You all right, mate?"

Harry nodded, waving his hand unconcernedly. "I'm great, Ron," he said, a little too forcefully. "But I need you to do a favor for me."

Ron nodded without hesitation. "Sure, Harry, what is it?"

Harry leaned in as he lowered his voice. "I owled Hermione this morning. I need her to do some research for me-"

"Research?" Ron echoed. "But we're on holiday-"

"I know," Harry interrupted impatiently, his voice a little too sharp. "It's not a school assignment-"

"Harry, you don't look well," Ron interjected again, his voice filled with worry. "Maybe I should get your dad."

"No!" Harry exploded in a loud whisper. Ron took a step back, surprised at the outburst. "Look," Harry said, lowering his voice. "I can't tell you what it's about yet, but I might need your help tonight...or tomorrow. If Hermione can help me, that is. If she has any ideas."

"Harry, you aren't making any sense.

"I know, but it will make sense later," Harry promised. "I'll Floo through if I can...when I need you, but you can't tell anyone about it," he warned, his voice hardening.

Ron glanced over Harry's shoulder, presumably where Severus was still standing. When he turned back to Harry, his face was twisted with confusion.

"Harry-" he started to say.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm, his fingers digging roughly into his thick jumper. "You've got to promise, all right?" he demanded, his voice rising a little as he shook his friend's arm.

Ron stared at him. His blue eyes were wider than usual as he slowly nodded. "Yeah, mate...all right..."

Harry's pent breath whooshed out in relief. He pulled his fingers jerkily from Ron's sleeve, allowing the blood to pulse through them again.

Ron let his arm fall as he stared at Harry with worry. And Harry could see the Weasleys over Ron's right shoulder. They were laughing as Bill caught a face full of snow. The happy sounds squeezed Harry's heart painfully. And their cloaks seemed to be moving in colorful slow motion--their laughter disjointed and heavy.

Harry rounded away. His father was watching him, just as he'd expected. Severus' face stiffened as soon as Harry turned. What his father saw on his face, Harry had no idea, but he had to get away from here.

"Can we go?" he croaked. He tried to clear his throat to push down the emotion he hadn't meant to let slip through. It would be all right, he told himself quickly. Sirius would be back in no time. Harry forced his storm to regain control--to soothe its torrents as his father came toward him.

By the time his dad reached him, Harry had already turned away, keeping his eyes from connecting with Ron's. He fumbled a little with the knob on the backdoor; his thick mittens slipped against the metal. Long, gloved fingers brushed his away and twisted the knob without hesitation.

Those same fingers pressed against his shoulder blades, guiding him into the house.

"Harry, wait!"

It was Ginny's voice alone now, calling for him as he stepped inside the Weasleys' warm kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was tending to a large pot. She looked up and smiled at him. She looked confused though as Ginny scooted around Severus, barely brushing his dark cloak. Harry turned slowly to face Ginny when she grabbed his hand.

"Harry, what happened?" she asked breathlessly. "Did Ron-"

"No," Harry said quickly. "I-I'm just not feeling very hungry," he told her evasively as her eyes narrowed to study his face. Guilt swooped into the pit of his stomach again, but since he wasn't going to ask Ginny to help, he couldn't explain it to her, any more than he could to his father.

"You don't have to eat anything," Ginny told him softly, as she stepped closer. "If you just want to talk, we can."

"Thanks, Ginny, but there's really nothing to talk about," he said with a shrug. And it was absolutely true. Of course there wasn't any need to talk over his feelings about Sirius, if Sirius was going to be back soon. "As I said, I'm perfectly well." There was no tremor in his voice this time.

"Ginny," Mrs. Weasley interjected, coming out from around the long counter, "I think it might be best to allow Harry to return home with his father." She put an arm around Ginny's shoulder as Harry stepped back; Harry turned away from the bewildered look on Ginny's face, with a hasty farewell. He could hear Mrs. Weasley murmuring something to someone, but he blocked out the sounds and hurried into the parlor.

He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, his foot jiggling impatiently as he waited for his father to cross the kitchen. They stepped into the fireplace together silently, mother and daughter thankfully blocked by the adjacent wall. Harry closed his eyes as the green fire swallowed him up.

His heart skipped as he spotted a tightly bound scroll on the table next to their own fireplace, and he stepped toward the otherwise empty table without a word. Harry recognized the precise script as Hermione's immediately, but it was addressed to Severus Snape--not to Harry.

Hermione had written to his father...

Harry's stomach tingled with nervous worry as his fingers closed quickly around the plump roll of parchment. "It's from Hermione," he said, sweeping his cloak out of the way to stuff the scroll in his pocket, leaving the top half sticking out at a scrunched angle. "I should go read it," he said, glancing away toward his bedroom.

"In a moment," his father said quietly; he was still wearing his cloak. "I would like to speak with you."

Harry tried not to let his agitation show on his face. "I don't need to talk. I'm-"

"Harry," Severus said in placating voice, "you are not all right. I am not actively seeking your thoughts out, but I can feel your turmoil, even through your attempt to shield it from me."

"I'm not," Harry insisted. At his father's skeptical look, Harry relented a little. "I just don't want to talk about Sirius. There's just nothing to talk about."

Harry could tell that his father was wrestling with his thoughts as he gazed at Harry. When he finally spoke again, it was in a tone filled with caution. "Harry, you watched your godfather die for the second time two days ago. I know it was painful."

"It was no more painful than it was last spring," Harry said dully.

Severus nodded a little; the pain was sharp on his face. "I want to help you, Harry," he said, his voice rough with emotions he was trying to control. His father's features and voice had been waffling like that all day, Harry realized now. He had mostly watched while his father brewed, helping here and there while re-reading the same passages in one of his Quidditch magazines.

"I cannot explain how grateful I am to your godfather," Severus went on, and Harry abruptly stopped thinking about those long hours spent wondering if Hermione had gotten his letter yet. The words excited him. When he brought Sirius through the Veil again, maybe his father and Sirius would really be able to be--well, not friends, certainly--but something better than enemies. Harry felt warm just thinking about it.

"I know he'd be glad to hear that," Harry told him, but then he remembered Hermione's letter. And his worry exploded in his gut again. "I'm really tired," he said abruptly, which caused his dad's forehead to crease over the sudden mood shift. "I think I'll go lie down for a bit."

"Harry-"

"We can talk later, okay? Bring a chessboard in a my room or something in an hour," he suggested, not meaning it at all this time, and hoping maybe his father would forget.

Severus hesitated, but he nodded. "I will bring some soup as well."

Well, he wouldn't forget, Harry realized, but at least maybe his father would be a little less worried about talking him through his grief now. Really, wouldn't his father be surprised to find Sirius back again! Harry gave his dad a small smile, meant to encourage, and hurried to his room, his hand fisted securely around Hermione's letter.

He unfurled the letter as quickly as he could, his eyes immediately captured by the dark ink.

...I am really worried about Harry, she wrote after describing almost verbatim what Harry had asked for. He has always been very adept at ignoring his emotions, even burying them enough that I do think he actually believes that he is not angry or sad. Ron and I were extremely worried about him last year after Sirius died. And before that, when Harry decided to go to the Department of Mysteries, nothing would stop him. We did try, sir, but he refused to listen; he almost refused our help as well. If Harry has set his mind to bring Sirius back, nothing will be able to stop him, Professor, not even reason. I didn't know what else to do-

Harry crumpled the scroll in his fist, his limbs heavy. He should have known better than to ask Hermione for help. Harry's heartbeat thudded against his eardrums as he tried to slow his breathing; his fingers clenched the wad of paper so tightly that it hurt.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry felt a sudden surge of helplessness. Broken thoughts, disjointed plans, swam through his head, but nothing would fit together--like water-logged puzzle pieces that would never connect.

A hazy image of Sirius' face floated among the mess. Slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. Always grinning.

Harry clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut now against the memories. His stomach began to ache suddenly, and then burn fiercely. Harry shook his head, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks and remain there, pulsing. Leaning over, he pressed his fisted knuckles against his lids, breathing hard again.

Contacting Hermione for help had seemed so natural--so logical. But it had been a mistake; Harry knew that now.

She wasn't going to help him--no one was going to help him. He let his arms hang down over his knees, trying to make himself be still. He could do this, he told himself fiercely. He had to do this. For Sirius.

He'd wait until his father was asleep, and then he'd get his Invisibility cloak and Floo to the Ministry. And since Hermione had turned out to be useless, it seemed he would need Dobby after all.

After casting a silencing charm on his door, Harry called for his old friend. Dobby appeared in front of him with a loud crack.

"Harry Potter, sir!" the little elf said excitedly; his face split in a huge grin. "Dobby has not seen Harry Potter in much too long!"

Harry nodded impatiently, glancing at the door as he slid off the bed and got down onto his knees so that he was eye-level with Dobby. "Dobby, I need your help," he said in a whisper. Dobby nodded eagerly.

"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter!"

"I know," Harry said quickly. "Look, Dobby," he continued in a whisper, "I need you to go to the Restricted Section and see if you can find any books about magic that will let a wizard spend time in the place beyond death--just for a little while. In a place called the Veil..."

Dobby didn't look at all phased by the request. He clapped his hands together eagerly. "Dobby will find it right away, Harry Potter, sir!"

"Thanks, Dobby."

Before Harry had even finished speaking, Dobby was gone again. Harry cast a Tempus Spell as he stood up, pacing along the short rug next to his bed, hoping his father wouldn't decide to come in early. He needed the spell that Dumbledore had used. And if Hermione had already warned Ron, then Harry would just ask Dobby to come along to the Ministry to be whatever anchor his father had told him about-

There was another ear-splitting crack and Dobby was bouncing on his toes in front of Harry.

With a dusty book in his hands--so old it was almost in tatters. Dobby already had it open to a dog-eared page. "The Veil!" he said so excitedly that he almost toppled over into Harry's lap as Harry crouched down again.

Harry scanned the page eagerly. He couldn't be certain that this was the spell that Dumbledore had used, but there was definitely a spell about passing through the Veil "before your time". And though it didn't specifically mention coming back out again, it did say that you would need a partner wizard to incant the spell with you. Harry grinned at Dobby, who beamed.

"Thank you, Dobby!" he breathed.

"Dobby is very happy to help Harry Potter!" he squeaked. Harry hastily wrote the spell down, as well as the instructions on the back of Hermione's letter and shoved the book back into Dobby's wiry hands.

"Can you take it back?" Harry asked. "And I might need you later, so listen for me, all right?"

Dobby nodded happily and disappeared. Harry folded Hermione's letter up neatly and put it back into his pocket. And then he opened his door. There was no way he could play through a game of chess with his father--no more than he could force down a bowl of soup.

He found his father in his room, sitting at his desk, doing nothing.

"Dad?" he asked, and then had to clear his throat when his voice squeaked.

Severus looked up; his eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Harry clamped away his guilt and said in a tone that he hoped was appropriately subdued, "I'm really knackered. Do you mind if I just go to sleep? I really just can't talk about Sirius yet."

"I do understand that is difficult to voice your feelings when you lose someone," Severus said after a moment, his eyes dark now. Harry knew that he was thinking of his mum...and probably James. His guilt spiked. But he had to ignore it. It was for Sirius.

"Could I have a sleeping potion? Just for tonight?"

Severus nodded as he stood. He summoned two vials though and handed them to Harry.

"Dream suppressive," Severus explained.

Harry squeezed his fingers around the small vials a few times.

"You should go to sleep too," Harry told his father, studying the dark circles contrasting with the sallow skin over his cheekbones.

"Perhaps," Severus told him quietly. And then without warning, his father pulled him in for a hug, his arms tight around Harry's back. "Everything will be all right," Severus promised quietly, his voice thick.

Harry nodded wordlessly, letting his arms come up loosely. His father squeezed once more before allowing Harry to step back. He brushed Harry's fringe away from his forehead.

"You may tell me anything, Harry...anything you are feeling," he murmured. Harry nodded again.

"I know," he whispered, the guilt clawing at his chest now. "Thanks," Harry said roughly, not at all certain what he was thanking his father for, but it seemed that somewhere in his swirling thoughts, he owed his father a great deal more than he realized.

Severus gave Harry's shoulder one more squeeze. "Take both vials," he reminded his son.

Harry pulled the vials to his chest. "I will. Night, Dad," he said quietly.

"Good night, Harry."

Harry had to force himself to pull his eyes away from his father's and turn back toward his room. He closed the door so that he could change into his pajamas, Vanishing the contents of the vials after he was done, and then propped the door half-open. His father's door was half-closed as well, and the lights had been dimmed, but he could hear rustling sounds floating across the corridor.

Harry got under his covers, staring at the softly glowing walls and trying to imagine what Sirius' face would like when he saw him again.

--

His door opened after awhile, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear his father's quiet footsteps coming toward the bed; Harry tried to make his breathing as even as it would be in sleep.

His father's hand came to brush Harry's fringe softly aside again, and the guilt returned full force. It almost exploded as his father leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Severus' warm hand pulled away slowly. And with his heart hammering in his chest, Harry listened to his father's footsteps retreating.

And then he waited.

When he thought he would go mad from waiting any longer, Harry twisted out from under his covers. His bare feet hit the floor with only the quietest of splats, the souls icy as he worked them into his trainers. He dropped down briefly to cinch the laces, tugging the strings in jerky movements, his hands trembling.

Standing, his chest tightened with reckless adrenaline. He was more grateful than ever that his father had never thought to take away James' cloak. Opening his school trunk cautiously, Harry lifted the shimmering, slippery fabric up, ignoring his cold, sweaty fingers as he clutched it close to his chest.

He wouldn't let himself think. He couldn't. Hermione was the planner. Harry was, and had always been, the one who acted on impulse. Everything would make sense once he was there. He reminded himself of this repeatedly.

With his heart hammering, Harry carefully leaned out into the corridor and shifted his eyes to his father's half-open door. It was dark inside his father's room. Closing his eyes in relief, Harry quickly rounded his doorframe.

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of the fireplace; the trip had been a blur. Harry grabbed the box of powder, his fingers so slick, he nearly lost his grip. It was well past midnight. Surely his dad would have nodded off by now.

Harry's fist stilled in the box at the unbidden thought of his father; the glittery granules clung to his skin and burrowed into his fingernails as he stared into the powder. His mind was trying to conjure up a memory of Sirius' sly grin, but the image was fuzzy. Harry's throat felt tight as he slowly withdrew a fistful.

He replaced the box, his breaths heavy--too loud to his own ears--as he lowered his eyes to the dimly-glowing coals in the bottom of grate. Harry's stomach clenched; he blinked several times. Like sand slipping through a sieve, the swell of adrenaline began to deflate.

Even dormant, the warmth of his father's flames beside his storm radiated more warmth than those coals. Harry didn't even have to imagine what his father's face would look like when he discovered that he was gone--his face etched with hurt. Harry knew how disappointed he would be...he remembered how horrible it felt to lose his dad's trust.

An unbearable weight settled in Harry's stomach now. The high on which he had been riding came spiraling down, leaving his body suddenly cold and clammy. Harry's eyes stung; he let his forehead fall against the rough stones as he closed them.

Harry wasn't sure how long he stood leaning against the mantle, listening to the thudding of his heart; his muscles felt like they were melting. Floo powder had trickled from his slackened fingers; James' cloak was already on the floor.

He couldn't do it. Harry couldn't betray his father.

Not even for Sirius.

Harry pressed his palm into the rough bricks next to his cheek, screwing his eyes up.

Sirius was dead.

Dead.

And he wasn't coming back. His father and Sirius would not make amends. And there would be no snowdog this Christmas. Or any Christmas. Such a stupid, childish thought.

Harry's throat swelled; raw grief gripped his chest so suddenly that he lost his breath.

Sirius was gone...

Gone.

"Harry..."

He heard the voice, but all Harry could do was shake his head, the brick scraping against his skin. A hand settled on his shoulder, tugging gently, but Harry couldn't move.

He tried to open his mouth, to speak, to tell the intruder to leave him alone, but his lips were paralyzed in a noiseless sob; he couldn't breathe. Harry's face crumpled slowly, his stomach shriveling in agonized sorrow.

The hand became more insistent, and then another hand settled on top of Harry's own, as Harry tried to dig his fingernails into the brick.

Like a wild animal, Harry tossed the larger hand away and began to flail against the grip around his shoulders. His mouth moved on silent words that he couldn't voice; his eyes burned with wetness.

"No," Severus said gently, pulling a stiffened Harry to his chest and holding him tightly. "No more fighting. Let it come."

Harry shook his head against his father's chest, but even as he did so, he could feel his throat begin to sear.

"Yes," Severus continued softly, "I know--"

Choking on a thick sob, Harry pressed his face into the warm, damp fabric of his father's chest.

"Shhh..." his father soothed. "I know it hurts. I am here."

Harry clenched his father's robes in his fists; sobs tore at his throat, but he continued to shake his head more fervently; his whole body ached. Everything felt so heavy.

"It will be all right--"

Harry's wailing was muffled against Severus' chest, as if Harry were trying to tell him that nothing would ever be all right again.

Strong fingers entangled in Harry's hair and held him in place.

"I promise," Severus assured him, gently shushing him once more. But Harry only cried harder.

Severus tightened his arms as the sobs gained volume, and slowly Harry's limbs--his entire body--was flaccid in Severus' arms.

"I am here," Severus soothed again, his voice low and melodic as Harry's weight began to drag against his legs until slowly Severus sank to his knees--Harry's hysterical sobbing was muffled now in Severus' dressing gown. Harry's fingers were wound tightly in the thick fabric as the tears shook both of them.

Severus cradled his son to his chest, holding him as tightly as he could.