This Spiral Dance

Chapter 1: Reasons

"Severus, if you have a moment, could we discuss the treatment you'll be starting on Harry Potter?"

Severus Snape, current Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts, made a calculated and particularly intense effort to keep his gaze running along the lines on the parchments he was grading. "I would ask what you're talking about, Headmaster, but then it would become painfully obvious that we both know I'm not planning anything of the sort."

"Oh, but this is exactly what I meant, my dear boy!" the old, silver-bearded man replied with a casual, silly merriness that didn't fool the younger man for a moment. "It can't have escaped your notice how long it's been since Hogwarts was mentioned in journals of magical research as a facility of independent study."

Sighing, Severus resignedly raised his gaze to meet the Headmaster's twinkling cerulean orbs. Entwining his fingers above the essays, he leaned back in his seat and feigned an air of unconcerned relaxation, while in fact he was anticipating that this discussion was about to take an excessively unpleasant direction. He hated few things more than being forced into acting against his better judgement, especially where a certain redhead was concerned, but Albus Dumbledore was developing a habit of disregarding that, especially where this matter, so frequently broached of late, was concerned.

"I believe," Severus drawled, "Filius Flitwick published an article on the greater success of human Transfiguration with youths less than four months ago."

Too bad it took more than that to faze the Headmaster.

"All more the reason, isn't it? I've just realized how dreadfully lazy it was of me disregard this school's tradition of encouraging experimentation with brews and potions. Unforgivable, one would say, when I have among my staff an accomplished Potions Master whose major subject of research is reparation of neurological damage."

"You didn't appear anywhere this eager to advertise my activities when we were testing the treatment on Regulus Black."

"Severus, I seem to recall this was almost a year ago. Mr Black would hardly have taken it well if he had seen his adventures displayed in the Daily Prophet."

The subtle undercurrent of reproach that flowed through his words grated on Severus' nerves like sandpaper on an open wound, yet the Slytherin wasn't one to let his irritation show. It would be humiliating (and self-damaging, in the long run), to let the scheming (if occasionally amusing) old coot know he could be agitated so easily.

Thus his voice was even calmer and silkier as he underlined his point. "Whereas Lily Potter would react so well if she were given false hope."

It was certainly the wrong thing to say, Severus understood when he saw those damned azure twinkles grow a little brighter. The mistake had been in referring to his childhood friend formally, using her full name and so indicating he was already on the defensive...pretending Dumbledore did not know that everything good Severus had done in his life had been for her. Even if she would never know.

"Poppy tells me Regulus Black is making excellent progress."

Severus inhaled deeply and, making a mental note to never again collaborate with a Hufflepuff in any of his future experimentation, regardless of how expert she might be in the healing arts, counted quickly from to three before announcing slowly, "Regulus Black had an entirely different problem: the left half of his body was physically and magically inept -"

"- as a result of brain damage," the other man interrupted with his usual placid, eerie tone, "resulting from a curse whose basic workings are not so different from the ones related to the Cruciatus, as you well know."

Tension made Snape's shoulders rigid and almost painfully heavy, but it was only that state of forced immobility that prevented him from feeling almost close to panicking.

"There's no proof the damage suffered by Harry Potter shares any similarities to the case of Regulus Black."

"Obviously," Dumbledore nodded, his slender fingers playing with tendrils with his long beard as if this was the most basic point of their argument. "Don't you see, Severus? You can test your theories on every patient in Saint Mungo's, but the only way you'll come close to understanding Harry's problem is by testing the treatment on the child himself and monitoring how he reacts to different treatments."

Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, Severus Snape knew this; but it didn't mean he appreciated the Headmaster's shoving the fact in his face. Quite the contrary.

To be reminded so artlessly of the transparency of his intentions in this regard felt so humiliating that he was growing incensed.

"Perhaps," he bit out, tasting the bitterness of it in his mouth, "you assume too much."

"Do I, Severus? I ask you because I can't imagine why you would miss the opportunity of a scholar's lifetime, other than an honorable fondness for an old friend and a understandable wish to not offend her or hurt yourselves with reminders of the past."

The empathy shining shamelessly through the other man's expression was something Severus would have given anything for when he was younger and the closest thing to innocent he had ever been, but at the present time it was simply another hateful reminder of his longing for the impossible. Forgiveness and trust weren't benefits he deserved or could afford to reach out for - and Severus Snape wasn't a man to ask for what he knew he wouldn't get.

"You see what you expect to see, Headmaster," he asserted with a firmness he didn't feel. "I merely think Harry Potter is not an ideal subject for any kind of experimentation, considering the difficulty I would have interpreting his subtler responses."

Something in Dumbledore's visage shifted to mirror that steadfast determination.

"Then you might find it difficult to explain to his mother your reasons for excluding him, since I've already written to her about our current activities and she expressed considerable interest in learning about them in geater detail."

"You - what? You had no right!" Severus sputtered, his control threatening to desert him.

The eyes which met his were no longer twinkling but somewhat steely, although it didn't alter the welcoming placidity of that wrinkled face. "I'm still the Headmaster here. I'd like to believe this gives me some right to decisions about the projects that take place within Hogwarts' walls."

However his mind raced for a reasoned reply to that, Severus couldn't come up with one. His hands were tied on this particular point; and even if they hadn't been, there was little chance of getting around Albus Dumbledore when he was hatching plots within plots, unless you were prepared. Dumbledore was that good, Severus had to admit in reluctant admiration.

Damn him for having sneaked Lily and the Potter spawn into his life without his noticing.

"Fine, then. Far be it from me to disregard your authority."

"I trust you will soon realize it was the right thing to do, Severus. You are too brilliant not to."

But Severus could only hide his raging thoughts behind the impenetrable, meticulously erected walls of his Occlumency.

To hold a real conversation with Lily again....

Only under the recognized protection of those barricades built on the remembered, placating whispers of a familiar river and mental images of its frigid, invigorating waters could he admit how dangerous and yet tempting this new prospective was.

He could sense her subtle presence in his Occlumens shield: the waters were the living memory of the river by which they used to spend hours when they were children, the magnification of the only place where he had felt untouchable and strong.

Even after years, Lily was still everything to him...he had been a fool to think it would ever be any different.

Dear Lily,

I'm exceedingly pleased to inform you that Hogwarts is conducting a research project on neurological damage derived from Dark Magic, which has obtained brilliant results from its therapy. With regard to those results, I can't ignore the difficulty your family is living through by neglecting to ask you if you'd like to have Harry included among the beneficiaries of our studies.

I know you will be able to very easily guess the man whose intellect hides behind this study, and I trust you more than anyone would recognize his capabilities.

Lily stopped reading and folded the letter back up with the same meticulous care she already had at least forty-three times during the previous two days, in other words, since the Dumbledore missive had arrived, completely unannounced and unsettling. She had been carrying the letter around like a sort of talisman but, in spite of her immediate reply to Albus (of course she was interested in knowing more, she was so grateful he had thought of her, blah blah blah), she still had not taken any definite steps toward receiving further information.

The idea of going to the school, talking directly to Poppy and to him made her nervous and reluctant for a whole series of contrasting reasons. Her protectiveness of her four-year-old son played a large role in holding her back, but it wasn't the only one or even the most important one.

There was the memory of all those endless visits and doctors, both Healers and Muggle psychiatrists, that she and James had faced almost a year after the fall of Voldemort (ah, how sour was the satisfaction she experienced in articulating the cursed name which had ruined her life!), when they had been forced to admit that Harry's inability to talk was sadly extending into an inability to interact with the outside world.

It had been terrible, searching and searching for any possible answer, without any idea of which direction to look in, seeing their faith build and then be dashed each time.

In a fairytale world, the tragedy would have made her marriage stronger, because she and James would have clung to each other and found there the resilience to go on. At first, maybe, it had been so...but then their demons had blinded them to everything else. Maybe they had been too young; maybe they had already lost too much with both of their own parents gone, Tuney who had became a hateful stranger, and Remus who never quite forgave Sirius and James for believing he was more susceptible than Peter to the Dark side's allure.

For a while, Lily was certain she and James had hated each other as much as they had loved each other, but Harry - their love for him, their shared guilt at not having protected him better, their anguish for his uncertain future - had held them together until the storm passed.

But the long silences following were hardly better. Lily focused on Harry ever more desperately, too blind to see how James, who had been raised to be surrounded by beautiful, unbroken things, was at a loss for how to approach a child whose mind was an opaque slate.

There had been sporadic occasions when Lily had wished intensely for her husband came back home even drunk or smelling like another woman. But James never gave her the reason she needed to be able to truly loathe him; he stood by her and Harry all the ways he knew or was capable of, but the blatant awareness that it wasn't ever enough tore apart both his pride and her compassion.

It would have been so much simpler if she had not understood, with all the clarity with which a wife eventually learns to see her husband. But she did see him: this young man born rich and handsome, spoilt son of two adoring parents who had a perfect child after they had already given up the dream of having one and promised to hang the moon for him; a boy who matured into a man too fast because of a war that had disrupted and upset everything.

Perhaps James didn't have enough energy left to change any more, or maybe it was she who was too tired to guide him, but understanding him made everything so much more painful because the truth was, Lily realized at some point, that falling for someone was much simpler than to just...love someone, fully and beyond the rosy illusions of first love.

It was possible, if not probable, that she would never have fallen in love with James if she had really understood him; the thought hurt, as if she had fooled herself into seeing a fortress where there stood only a glass house.

Now she lived in Godric's Hollow with a child she would give anything for, although he exhausted her with his lifeless glances and empty giggles. She didn't know if she could tolerate further disillusionment, not with James and Sirius involved in some secretive quest for the Ministry in Albania.

James would probably have said no to Harry's participation in the study anyway; he didn't trust Severus Snape and he had been respectfully silent in his diffidence when she had tried approaching her old friend after his trial as Death Eater.

Remus would probably accompany her if she asked, but the werewolf was visiting an old aunt on the Caucasus and she would not write and ruin his vacation with her anxious concerns, especially knowing how aggravated he was by his recent difficulties in finding employment.

Deep in her heart she could not believe Severus would crush her hopes; she remembered well his genius, the Machiavellian inventiveness that had amazed her continuously in their shared youth. She could even gain some faith from his past experience with the Dark Arts, but she didn't understand him (why he would not write to her in person about this if he wanted her involved?) and this made her uncomfortable.

Lily knelt down, her fingers combing a tousled head of messy black hair. The child at her feet continued to gnaw on the ear of his stuffed bear, seemingly unaware of her caress.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, unable to understand why she could never get used to this pain.

She turned his chin upward, unsure of what she wanted to say to her son or what drove her to hurt herself again and again. She realized now, looking into his wide, blank green eyes, that her desperate need to reach him wouldn't be silenced or suppressed by bland resignation. There was no choice, not really: she had to try, even if it meant leaving herself open to deeper scarring.

Living without hope was like dying by slow dehydration; if the price of her survival was facing Severus Snape again, she would pay it, even if it meant Lily Evans wasn't above coercion where her son was concerned.