The Last Kiss

Last Kiss

~17~

Snape's face quickly returned to its familiar cold mask. "Potter, this is no concern of yours. Now leave."

Harry didn't move a muscle. Still gripping the edge of the desk, he could feel his knuckles turning white. He was no longer a student, no longer intimidated in the least by the dark man sitting before him. An answer was what he wanted, and by Merlin, he would get one.

"Snape," he hissed, "you will tell me how you came to possess these," he pointed to the box which now sat on the floor by the mahogany desk, "how Sirius came to get them, and what exactly you mean by Renae being 'taken care of', or I will force it out of you." Pulling his wand from his robes, he aimed between his old teacher's eyes and awaited a response.

Snape never broke eye contact with him, but continued to let his own dark eyes bore into Harry's emerald ones. "In that order?" he asked sarcastically, smirking in delight.

"Don't piss me off, I am in no mood," Harry growled. "I've had the truth kept from me long enough... now, start talking."

Releasing a slow, deep breath, the Potions Master leaned back in his chair. "Judging by your rather rash behavior, I see you have used the violet. If you must know, after your little joy ride to the cemetery, Renae fled to London before joining the Order and returning to America. She never gave me the details of her and Black's argument, but I could tell it devastated her. At first I too was furious, refusing to speak to her as well. She had broken her word, and I don't take that lightly." Snape interlocked his hands, propping his elbows on the armrests of his chair. Looking over the edge of his seat, he peered into the box.

"It wasn't until several months later that I took it upon myself to clear out her flat in Hogsmeade. Black only gained possession of these items because I felt he needed a pleasant reminder of what he could have had."

Harry's mouth curled and his eyes glared. Tempted to leap over the large desk and strangle the pitiful excuse for a human being sitting before him, he began breathing heavily in an attempt to control his nerves. "What happened to her? Where is she?" he admonished through gritted teeth.

"You know all you need to know. Now go," Snape snapped, grabbing a scroll from the edge of his desk and opening it to signal the end of the conversation.

Harry wasn't having it. "No!" Harry slammed his free hand down on the scroll, causing his old teacher to glare up at him as he continued to aim his wand between the man's eyes. "Tell me!"

Slowly, Snape stood, gripping the edge of his desk as he leaned in towards his old pupil. "Potter, I will not tell you that which you need not know. If it were necessary for you to know the complete details of Renae Wallis' life, your dear, incompetent godfather would have told you himself!"

"What?" Dropping his wand, Harry could almost hear his heart break. This happened before he died? Sirius could have told me all about this himself?

"Do you need an audio-enhancing potion Potter?" Snape asked with a satisfied sneer. "Didn't realize how little Black shared with you? He probably thought you wouldn't be able to handle it, after all, the infamous Sirius Black couldn't!" Releasing the wooden edge from his grasp, he walked around the large desk to stare Harry down. "Take your little box and get out of my office before you find yourself in the middle of something you will wish you never fell into."

Suddenly, an idea came to him as he turned to stare at the man now opening the office door. With a grin, Harry began, "She meant a lot to you, didn't she?"

Snape's cold exterior dropped for a moment.

"Whatever happened... you're taking care of her because she means so much to you."

"Stop Potter," he whispered, gripping the door so tightly, it looked as if it would bend from the pressure. It was working...

"Renae was the first person to befriend you after Aleanor died..."

"I said stop!" Snape shouted, slamming the office door shut so hard, several bottles fell from the shelves beside him, landing on the floor in a pile of shattered glass and colorful liquids. A thin stream of yellow smoke began to rise from the mix of potions and draughts, but the Potions Master paid them no mind.

Harry continued, unfazed, "...wonder what she'd think, seeing you..."

Snape leapt at Harry, grabbing him firmly by the collar of his robes. "Potter, enough! I will not have you talking to me about Renae and especially not about Aleanor!"

Harry calmly wrapped his hand around his attacker's wrist, slowly pulling the man off him. "Then tell me, Snape, or I'll take every opportunity to speak of them in your presence."

A dark fire radiating from his eyes, Snape stood silent for a few moments. Quietly, he raised a hand to his temple and rubbed his forehead as he returned to his desk. Sitting down, he picked up a blank parchment and his quill. Scrawling a short message, he folded the parchment once and handed it to Harry, not taking his eyes off the mahogany surface of the desk. "Meet me there, at that time...and bring the violet. I'll explain everything to you then."

Snape's voice sounded different. He hadn't hissed at him or snarled, as was his usual tone; instead he sounded defeated and weary. For a moment, it unnerved Harry; he remembered that tone, he had heard it only once before, in Renae's memory of Snape in the dungeons after Aleanor's death.

Slowly, he reached out and took the parchment. As Harry opened it, his old potions teacher turned his chair to look out the window, and turn his back on Harry.

Haverforth Cemetery

Saturday

4 o'clock

It didn't make sense. A cemetery? Harry began to voice his thought. "But why do I have to meet you..."

"Potter," he shouted, not turning to face him, "no more questions. Meet me there, at that time, with the violet, if you wish to learn the whole story." Snape's voice had begun to waver. "Now if you don't mind, I have other business to attend to."

After seeing Snape through Renae's eyes, he found he understood his request completely. The Potions Master wanted Harry to leave so as not to see him lose his composure. Feeling a pang of guilt pluck at his heart, Harry quietly folded the parchment, put it in his robes, and walked to the office door. Opening it, he stopped for a moment and looked over at the back of Snape's chair. For years as a student, he had wished he could reduce the man hidden by that piece of furniture to tears. Now that he possibly had, he felt awful, he felt sick. Solemnly, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

~~~*~~~

For five days Harry had been preoccupied with thoughts of Renae, Perdita, and Sirius. His thoughts were so engrossed in fact; he had failed to sleep but a few hours over the past four nights. Thursday night, he had managed to fall asleep around midnight, only to wake up two hours later, sitting up, his arms out as if supporting something, tears streaming down his face. It took him several moments to realize he was at home, in his bed, not the rubble of the Death Eater attack with Perdita's limp, lifeless body in his arms.

Quickly, Harry shook the memory of that night out of his mind. He had just Apparated to Haverforth Cemetery, and stood waiting outside the gate. Having arrived twenty minutes early, he began pacing in front of the iron gate, his hand fumbling with the tiny wooden box containing the violet in his pocket. The ground was still damp from the previous day's rain, but the muffled squish of his shoes helped calm him. Chuckling lightly, he realized he was anxiously awaiting Snape of all people. Oh what Sirius would think if he saw this.

With a pop, Snape appeared, his usual stony face in place. "Potter," he said with curt nod, opening the gate and leading him into the cemetery.

No words were exchanged as the unlikely pair walked along the cobblestone path winding between headstones and crypts. The cemetery was eerily quiet; even the few birds that sat perched in the tress lining the path were silent, settling on watching the two figures walking below them rather than singing. Several times, Harry wondered if they had gotten lost or were going in circles, but bit his tongue. Voicing his concern would probably set the dark man off, and Harry wanted to know the rest of the story. Snape was his only way to the end of this tale, so he had to stay in the man's somewhat good graces.

Finally, Snape stopped. Before them, stood a small headstone. Seeing his old teacher point to it, Harry stepped closer and read the name chiseled into the gray marble.

Perdita Caron Black

Born of Love, Taken by Hate

An Innocent Angel Forever Lost

Like a stone thrown into a still pond, Harry's heart sank, sending a ripple of pain through every inch of his body. He now stood above the tiny body he had once held in Renae's memory. Closing his eyes, he remembered the sweet girl's face. A hot tear ran down his cheek as a hand suddenly rested on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw Snape beside him, his face fallen and pale.

"Do you have the violet?" he asked in a whisper.

Nodding, Harry reached into his robes producing the wooden box and handed it to Snape. Taking it, the man pulled his wand out of his robes and aimed for the ground in front of Perdita's headstone. Whispering a spell, a small hole appeared in the damp earth.

"A Memory Vessel can only be destroyed by one who filled it. Your godfather is gone, and" he swallowed hard, then stood staring at the box for a moment before continuing, "and Renae is no longer able to do so." Snape held out the box. "Here. Bury it. It was created to contain her memory, it should be left with her."

Harry took the box and paused as he held it over the hole. "But why? What if I want to remember them?"

His voice still uncharacteristically soft, Snape answered, "You will remember them, in your mind. Using the violet will only drive you into madness. You must bury it so no one else will fall victim to it."

Looking at the little carved item, Harry rubbed it with his thumb. He's right. You've already seen the way it's changed you. Placing it in the hole, Harry pulled out his wand and murmured another spell, covering the wooden box under the now grassy earth. I won't forget you, Perdita, he swore in his heart.

Snape again took hold of his shoulder. "Come."

Harry stood and followed Snape out of the cemetery. Closing the gate behind him, Snape said, "Let's go to the Hog's Head. I could use a drink." He Disapparated with a pop. Harry quickly followed.

~~~*~~~

Sitting down across from Snape, Harry found it mildly amusing that a man walked over, setting a bottle of vodka and two glasses in front of the potions teacher as if it were routine. Then again, it may have been. Snape gave a small wave and the man left. Opening the bottle, he poured a good amount in to the glasses. "Here," he said, pushing a glass towards him. Harry eyed the glass wearily; he wasn't particularly fond of vodka, straight. Snape rolled his eyes and threw back his shot.

Figuring he might as well, considering the tone Snape had already set by showing him Perdita's grave, Harry lifted the glass to his lips and let the clear liquid slip down his throat. Feeling the fluid fire burning his throat on its way down, he coughed slightly. Snape chuckled.

Filling their glasses again, the potions teacher sighed. "I suppose I might as well begin and get this over with." He pushed Harry's glass back to him.

"After Renae returned to America, she told me she had created the Vessel and filled it with Sirius, having tricked him into a kiss. I didn't need to ask her why she had done it; I knew she wanted a release from her memories of Perdita's death. When she told me about the violet, I asked her if she told Sirius about 'her' and she had no idea what I was talking about." With one swift motion, he emptied his glass a second time. "Damn thing wiped her of all knowledge of her daughter." Grabbing the bottle, he filled his glass. "Forgetting your own child... And I thought not knowing you had a child was worse." For a moment, he sat, rubbing his temple.

Harry lifted his glass and emptied it while he waited for him to continue.

Letting his hand fall to the table with a dull thud, Snape spoke. "I turned away from her. I was furious. She had given me her word and she broke it. Why I bothered to empty out her flat, I'll never know."

"Perhaps it was guilt." Harry suggested, pushing his glass towards his companion.

Filling the glass, the potions teacher gave a small snort. Sliding the glass back to Harry, he continued, "I gave many of her things to Black, knowing the rift that had formed between them. If he hadn't used the violet by then, I was sure seeing the photograph of Renae and Perdita would spark his curiosity."

Chuckling, he filled his own glass again. "Did it ever! I went to headquarters for a meeting and Black practically leapt over the table at me the moment I appeared. If it weren't for Moody, we would have cursed each other into oblivion. It's a shame really, every time we were prepared to kill each other, someone seemed to always interfere." Saying that, he looked over the rim of his glass at Harry, an amused glint in his dark eyes.

Grinning, Harry lifted his glass in a mock toast before emptying it. "If I didn't stop you two, I probably would have helped Sirius."

The man chuckled lightly as he stared at the small amount of liquid left in his glass. "You're too much like your mother to have done so."

Harry stared at Snape for a moment, surprised to hear him speak of his mother so casually. Then again, the man had been in love with his mother's best friend, so he must have at least known her to some extent.

Slowly swirling the clear beverage in his glass, the Potions Master continued the story. "America. You'd think you'd be safer putting the Atlantic between you and the Dark Lord." He paused for a sip. "Renae worked hard for the Order. Used every possible connection of her father's. Many Death Eaters were identified with her help, as well as informing us of their movements. Voldemort may have only been restored a few months, but he wasted no time in reestablishing his ties over seas. Renae never gave her reports in person, because of Black. He broke her heart, he was so cruel to her; she couldn't bare to face him."

Setting down the glass, Snape began to run his index finger along the rim, a faint low pitch sung as his finger continued its rotation. For a moment, he grinned, apparently lost in his own thoughts before his face paled.

"It was just before you left Hogwarts, before Arthur Weasley was attacked, that we received word that He was having her watched, that her cover had been blown. Despite their differences, Black asked her to join him at headquarters to be safe. She refused; still unable to face him after what she had done."

If Harry didn't know any better, he'd say Snape's eyes were welling up with tears.

Emptying the last sip of his glass, the teacher quickly refilled it and downed the next round just as quickly. "She wouldn't listen to any of us. Not Black, not me, not even Dumbledore." Staring at the empty glass in front of him, he sniffled. "Damn stubborn woman. Lupin went to see her, convince her to return with him." Now a tear did escape the man's eye as he began to tremble slightly. "He was too late."

Sniffling again, he wiped the tear from his cheek, as he cleared his throat and poured the last of the vodka into his glass. Drinking it, he set the glass down and put his head in his hands for a moment. Harry sat silent, afraid to probe his old teacher since he was clearly on the verge of losing all composure, which Harry was sure the vodka hadn't helped.

Pulling himself together, Snape straightened his robes, threw a few Galleons on the table and looked over at Harry. "Come. We have one last stop."

Leaving his half full glass on the table, he quietly followed the man out of the pub.

~~~*~~~

Leaving the Hog's Head, Snape lead him up a familiar staircase and knocked on the door at the top. An old woman in a nurse's uniform answered. "Oh, Mr. Snape. Come in," she said holding the door open for them.

"How is she today, Madame Pryderi?" Snape asked, taking off his cloak and draping it over a chair.

"Not very good, I'm afraid," the old woman answered, "she didn't eat again this afternoon."

Snape gave her a short nod, and the woman quietly left the room. As she did, Harry realized why the staircase had seemed so familiar. He was now standing in Renae's old flat. The décor had changed, but the table by the window was the same. Snape slowly turned to face him. "Come Potter. It's time you saw her."

Quietly he followed his old teacher towards the bedroom. Though in reality it was only a few yards from where they had stood, the journey seemed to stretch for miles. As they reached the door, Snape stopped, his hand on the door handle. Hearing the man take a deep breath as he slowly turned the handle and opened the door, Harry tried to prepare himself for what he would see.

Stepping into the room, Harry found the shades drawn, the fire crackling, and a pale figure lying in the bed.

"Renae?" Harry cried, dashing past Snape to reach her bedside. "Renae?" he said again as he picked her hand up from the bed, wrapping his own around hers protectively.

She made no movement, no sound, nor did she even blink.

Harry stared at her, his eyes only now taking the time to examine the wisp of a woman lying before him. Her eyes were dead, completely void of any life or light behind them. Her skin was pale, so pale it was beginning to appear translucent.

Thin. She was so thin; she looked like she was slowly wasting away, allowing herself to drift into extinction. Tears welled up in his eyes as he brushed some hair out of her mask like face.

"What happened to her?" he managed to whisper as he wiped a single tear away.

Snape pulled a chair up along the other side of the bed and sat down. "Voldemort ordered her to be dealt with, hushed. Like you, he sent the foulest creatures imaginable to do his bidding."

Picking up her other hand, Snape looked upon Renae as tears glistened in the man's eyes. "Lupin arrived at Renae's home in America to find two Dementors had beaten him there. Though he was able to drive them off, he had arrived as one had already pulled her into... into..." Snape released her hand and dropped his face into his hands. For the first time, words had failed the potions teacher, but Harry understood.

Letting hot tears stream down his face, Harry gripped her limp hand tighter as he struggled to speak past the engorged lump that had formed in his throat. Though he knew it, he had to hear those last words; the end to the story that even Snape couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Into a kiss."