"Have you really been able to forgive me for everything, Potter?.."
"Ah... am I your judge?" came an unexpectedly bitter response...
"Who else, if not you?"
He hoped to shock the boy and find out everything at once? Well, dreaming doesn't hurt, but the boy didn't even pause. And then he delivered something completely unexpected:
"You yourself. By the way, it would be good to change the judge—you're too biased and not entirely fair."
"Me? What do you think you're..."
But Harry didn't let him finish, throwing up his hands in protest.
"Since you just gave me that right, sit down and listen."
And, paying no attention to the fact that he'd nearly driven Snape into prostration with his assertiveness, he continued:
"I can see that you don't forgive yourself and that you feel so..." Harry sighed, "bloody awful, so why should I also consider you guilty?.. It seems to me that's too much. Wrong. Let's..." he hesitated and looked into his eyes, "let's just live, Professor. With all of this. I lived before somehow... lived pretty badly, honestly, not like now. So I'll definitely manage going forward. You've been atoning for your mistakes for so many years... Maybe that's enough?"
"Damned Legilimency..." Snape hissed, as if a bandage stuck to a wound was being torn off him. So that's what Potter had read in him then. And the bastard had kept quiet...
Harry took a breath. He really wanted to get through to this person—he felt him so vividly and clearly, as if the weight of his guilt was pressing on Harry himself. And he didn't want that for the Teacher. He just desperately didn't want it! Merlin, what could he say to really get through to him?! Hit him in the head? It would bounce off, and he'd regret it. Stomp his foot, yeah... And then inspiration struck.
"What's past is past, and nothing will change that. Neither you tormenting yourself with guilt—I feel all of it!—nor whoever forgives whom... What difference does it make!" he was almost shouting now. "Maybe it would be better if I'd never been born at all, because if Mum hadn't had to protect me, she would have had a chance? Right?" the boy's voice suddenly dropped to a painfully fragile whisper. "They wouldn't have been attacked at all if I hadn't existed."
"Well, well. Another guilty party found," Severus thought, closing his eyes that were filling with treacherous heat, and clenched his teeth hard.
"You can punish yourself as much as you want, but nothing will change. And most importantly, who needs it? We can only change how we live now. Do everything possible to make life better. More interesting. For both you and me. We've already been doing great at it! Your hand, Professor."
No, he didn't ask and didn't inquire. He demanded. And Snape gave his hand. What choice did he have...
He gave his hand, and finally told and showed all the traces of vows and oaths, encompassing his wrists like shackles invisible to an outsider's eye and like nooses around his neck... Potter didn't pity, didn't sympathize, didn't sigh, but simply listened attentively. Smart Potter. One hundred points to Gryffindor.
They sat facing each other in that same living room-library of the house in Spider's End. Even their poses were almost identical: both leaning with elbows on their knees, only Harry propped his chin with his fists, while Snape simply clasped his fingers together.
"Is that definitely everything, Professor?"
"Yes."
This confession, the last one, because there was nothing left to hide, came surprisingly easily to him—apparently because all the pain points had finally been passed. And he could calmly be silent: it turned out that in this boy's company, even that was possible. Who would have thought.
A fat night moth that had somehow appeared in the industrial district with minimal greenery was methodically beating against the glass illuminated by a dim lamp. Watching it, Severus thought about how many times he'd acted exactly the same way, despite the fact that it definitely would have made sense to look for a door...
Hot boyish palms suddenly lay on his intertwined fingers. He looked up in surprise and met eyes with a focused and concentrated Harry.
"Is there really no way to free yourself? At least from something? I... Maybe..." familiar sparks flashed in the green eyes, and before Snape could open his mouth, the boy was already pronouncing the oath-release formula as heir Potter, and one of the patterns wrapping around his neck disappeared without a trace.
"It worked! Awesome!" the kid broke into a smug smile while Snape opened and closed his mouth, futilely trying to find some words. "That's better. And Dumbledore definitely has no heirs? Nowhere at all? What if we search really hard?"
Severus just bulged his eyes and nearly burst out laughing... Well, what comes into that head!..
"Don't laugh, Professor, I would persuade them!"
"You..." Severus no longer held back his nervous laughter, "you definitely would persuade them... I dare to think you'd even find them if any existed. You'd dig them up from under the ground, even if necromancy, fortunately, isn't your specialty."
"What, really none?" the smile left the boy's face. "Well, sh... shoot. To live so long and not even love anyone!"
Severus sighed. If he now retells the rumors... Though they'll reach the boy anyway, what's the point.
After his brief remark about the content of those very rumors, Harry grimaced:
"Well, what a pi... um, bearded pipsqueak! Why are they all such bastards, eh? And Riddle, was he also... that?"
"Can't say about him. In those times when we were getting our marks, he enjoyed considerable success with the ladies."
"So maybe we should look for heirs among his?..."
"Potter, shall I reveal to you the secret that one can, ahem, love but not lose caution?"
"Ah... Really? Reve-eal..."
"Pot-ter... I... do you suppose that I... that I'll also have to handle your, hmm, sexual education?"
"And who else? And why have your eyes gotten so big? Who else should I ask, Aunt Petunia?"
"Cheeky boy..." Snape snorted, gradually coming to himself. "You still have an uncle."
"And is it the same for wizards? Really? No special features, nuances?"
"Have you examined your, hmm, instrument? Do you differ much from your brother?"
"Well, you understand that's not what I meant," Harry blushed.
Snape sighed resignedly.
And thought that there was still Flitwick. He already had experience, let him handle it.
But this Potter... With him, any drama sooner or later turns into either absurdity or farce, and those, in turn, into some kind of research. Something scratched and jumped in his soul, something warm, strange and... familiar. Was the boy settling in there? He removed the oath of duty... Funny. As if he needed any oath now.
***
When Sirius Black learned about the mentorship agreement and what was connected with it, he felt thoroughly awful...
Told him... Dudley Dursley. With whom Harry, surprisingly enough, had begun to share the most difficult moments of his own life. The cousin turned out to be absolutely not talkative and remarkably practical, someone who couldn't be thrown off balance by either magical or ordinary human antics.
Hugging the dog around the neck, Dudley talked to him like an ordinary dog, not demanding any answers, and for some reason this warmed Sirius's soul. Maybe he really should have been born a dog?..
He once asked Harry this question when the boy visited him in the garage in the evening. The boy shrugged:
"But you're a person, aren't you? So it must be needed for something."
Black spent the whole night pondering and came to disappointing conclusions: he needed to study and, it seemed, also get treatment. But he couldn't burden his godson with his problems, could he? And certainly not Snape. He himself had begun to perceive him more and more not as a former classmate, but as a teacher. Or was it because he'd gotten used to how Harry treated him, and partially adopted it?
He began to remember spells he knew and even asked for textbooks, in which, to his own surprise, he found something new for himself (or well-forgotten old), but he couldn't practice magic here at the Dursleys'. And he didn't have a wand, though Harry would probably give him his own. But he wouldn't put the guy at risk!
It was even more awkward to impose on Snape, except for that time when they'd dragged him there after his first transformation. Though Harry took him along almost every other day anyway, research and all. And his godson had started reminding him about the Black mansion, damn it... but he'd probably be able to practice magic there. And he'd likely be able to pick up a wand—there was a lot of stuff there, as he remembered. Home...
***
"Why don't you want to go to your mansion?" Harry wondered. "Your own room... You had one, didn't you?"
"You see... I never loved that house. Honestly, I couldn't stand it!"
"From birth? Was it really that bad for you there as a child?" Harry seemed so understanding that Sirius couldn't hold back.
"I was the heir, so they always wanted something special from me! I had to grow quickly, I had to eat well, I had to read, write, do magic better than all my peers, and most importantly, worship what they worshipped. Must, must, must! And I didn't want to!"
"And why didn't you want to?" Harry asked, pulling back slightly.
"Well... I think I already said that I couldn't stand them."
"For what?" his godson continued to interrogate.
"They made me... Wanted me to like the same things they did!"
"If anyone had made me..."
"What do you mean?"
Harry threw back his head and closed his eyes, holding back angry tears. Yes, he and Snape had discussed whether to show Black Harry's childhood, and the professor was against it, but... His words seemed to sound now in his head: "This is your life, Harry, which means the decision must be yours and yours alone."
But if he didn't show and didn't explain anything, then Sirius would never be able to understand him, and vice versa—the same. But what would happen if he took the risk?
"Harry, what's wrong with you? Harry!"
It was almost physically painful for Sirius to see incomprehension and... pain in his godson's eyes. But then the boy squinted and took him by the arm, preparing a portal.
"Let's go."
And here they stand, of course, at the door of the house in Spider's End.
Black sighed heavily. He'd long ago realized that he was jealous of Harry and the potions master, though he understood that he had not the slightest right to this jealousy. What, one might ask, could he teach him? And he'd hardly be able to protect him as well as Snape: Snape was in excellent shape, while his strength, undermined by Azkaban, resembled a house eaten through by woodworms. All he could do was die for the boy. But Harry needed more. Snape... was right. Just dying wasn't enough. For starters, he'd have to do it at least on time. And with maximum benefit. So he needed to recover, find a wand, and learn anew.
There was no more hatred for his former enemy—probably the same "woodworms" had eaten it. What remained was a dull, hopeless pain and resentment. After all, this had been his place. Had been.
And here he was dragged here again.
"I'll show you in the Pensieve," Harry explained, opening the door.
"And why did you need my house today?" asked Snape, coming out to meet them—from the laboratory, naturally.
"Excuse me, Professor. I..." Harry hesitated a bit, but then threw up his head and said confidently and firmly, "I decided."
Snape sighed.
"Well, it's your right. A calming draught?"
"Yes, thank you."
Black, who was again cut by the fact that Harry had apparently discussed something concerning him, Sirius, with Snape, barely restrained himself from smashing whatever was at hand, but then he received a vial with familiar liquid along with a handshake and stared at his godson in bewilderment.
"If you really want to understand me, Sirius, I'll let you see my memories. But first you'll give me an Unbreakable Vow not to harm or take revenge on anyone you see. And you'll drink this."
Snape took out his wand, preparing to seal the vow...
***
When Black finally emerged from the silvery mist, he gasped for air and couldn't say anything for a long time. He only croaked his gratitude to Snape for another portion of calming draught. And then... he howled, slowly sinking to the floor. Simply, like a dog, but when this sound was born in a human's throat, it became eerie.
Snape held out another portion of calming draught, but Harry silently shook his head and sat down next to his godfather.
"I call this place home, Sirius. This was my home, all ten years until I got to Hogwarts. For two years I considered the school my home. Well, and now this is my home again, for about two months now. Are you ready to show how bad it was for you in your home and your family?"
"Harry... Forgive me, Harry, forgive me..." Black grabbed him in an embrace and buried his face in his shoulder. He was starting to shake, but Harry didn't immediately realize that the man was crying. He reached his hand up, and another vial with potion immediately landed in his palm.
"Calming and sleeping draught," Snape mouthed silently and quickly left.
***
And a day later, an unusually quiet godfather in the form of the white bulldog familiar to everyone departed for Grimmauld as Snape's dog, promising to invite Harry and anyone he wanted to bring when he got the house in order. For now, the mansion was open only to a narrow circle of visitors: Flitwick and Snape, of course, and the Chief Healer. However, the professors only brought Polyjuice Potion by turns and transported him to the Dursleys and back. Only Smethwyck visited constantly, for long periods and with relish. Incidentally, he also appreciated the quality of the collection wines in the cellars. And he called Flitwick, who masterfully sealed the passages. Smethwyck generally felt better in this house than the owner himself.
"What money, young man! Keep it, you'll need it in Belgium. You're so-so as a patient, of course, but what a guinea pig... We'll repeat it when you return, won't we?.."
"...Oh, Madam Walburga, pleased to greet you! What do you mean, what brings me here? I'm putting your son in order—someone has to continue the Black line, right?"
"...Yes, Chief Healer of St. Mungo's, not the first year now. Thank you, you have no idea how valuable this is to me. What do you say? No, he's not to blame for anything, I checked."
"...It's simply happiness for me that you're here, Lady Black. Listen, you'll need to guide your son on what's needed... What? A dozen years in Azkaban, what do you expect from the boy? Thank goodness he doesn't confuse his hands with his feet and, er, doesn't lick himself."
"...A bride? I'm sorry, but he's not up to that yet. Well, of course, as soon as we get him on his feet, we'll find someone. Me? With all my pleasure, my lady. Just remind Sirius, otherwise he... Oh, my lady has an excellent memory, truly Black, I'm sure!"
"Trapped," thought Sirius, and for once he was absolutely right.
***
Severus had almost gotten used to the fact that with Potter's appearance, his ascetic bachelor's lair had begun to resemble a thoroughfare and started accumulating all sorts of things. A cheerful tablecloth embroidered with flowers and matching napkins from Mrs. Dursley had settled on the kitchen table. He still remembered how he'd frozen when he first saw this on his table, but on top stood a shepherd's pie and cups with excellent coffee.
Then acting house-elf Potter dragged in a mechanical mixer and some container for it, calling this strange thing "light mechanization." Thanks to Smethwyck, he'd gotten considerably more lab equipment, some rare ingredients, and a rocking chair. Dudley had passed along a huge plush blanket for Black that now covered the sofa and armchair together... Snape never understood why they'd given everything to him. Throughout the living room, tea cups and inexplicably appearing round cushions spread across all more or less horizontal surfaces like living creatures.
Besides his own bedroom, two more appeared—Harry's room, of course, and an improved storage closet for Black. It was time to add an additional bathroom... And after he'd given the boy full access to the house, and Flitwick a double portal (just in case, and here there was additional protection for the guy), he'd already woken up multiple times to the smell of coffee and baking. And no, he couldn't get used to it and stop being surprised.
Snape had repeatedly intended to scold Harry for taking on the duties of a house-elf, but the boy always blamed everything on his aunt: she'd sent a pie, or rolls, or something else, so that his brilliant caustic comments would have looked like pure ingratitude. He had to brew and simultaneously modernize one successful lotion from Narcissa's arsenal—to give gifts in return.
"Aunt Pet," who'd tried the lotion, produced such a mind-blowing dessert that Snape, joined by Flitwick, modernized the cream too... Gaining in Potter's guardians not friends yet, of course, but quite loyal and even kind acquaintances.
And then he had to give access not only to the boy. However, contact with the Chief Healer was especially useful. And Black no longer evoked those feelings he had before, which wasn't surprising, considering everything that had become known to them.
***
Today Severus again woke to familiar smells, and approaching the kitchen he heard a conversation. So they had guests! Quite monotonously, as if convincing someone, Smethwyck was droning on about something. His interlocutor was unlikely to be Potter: when they're persuading him, he doesn't stay silent for long...
"What do you mean, what clinic? What Belgium? If my godson is in danger, am I supposed to be relaxing somewhere unknown?!"
The outraged Black, whom they were trying to tear away from Harry, even had his hair standing on end. And this despite the fact that he'd recently been thinking himself about how to recover faster.
"Morning," the master of the house greeted everyone at once, reached for the windowsill with the mail, and unfolded another issue of the Prophet, quickly running his eyes over the page. "The main danger, judging by what they write here—note, not for the first time—is you, Black," Snape tossed the newspaper at Sirius.
Harry, having greeted the teacher, silently watched the oven. Over the past week, these two, despite constant skirmishes, had finally started more or less communicating. He'd even thought that they enjoyed constantly sharpening their sharp tongues on each other. Personally, he listened with pleasure and took notes, even if he didn't have a mustache yet. Watch out, Malfoy...
"In a week Harry will leave for Hogwarts. And you," Smethwyck poked a finger at Black, "will go to be treated on the continent. And I want no arguments!"
"Really, Sirius," Harry finally spoke, "I can't take you to school with me, it's too dangerous!"
"I thought..."
"This is already interesting, continue..."
"Severus..." Smethwyck reproachfully shook his head.
"I could be your familiar," Black blurted out, ignoring the potions master's jab.
"How do you imagine that?"
"As a kitten? Or a combat hamster? So that Harry worries every minute about you being discovered? Believe me, he'll have it hard enough this year as it is."
"Severus, you could be softer..."
"A postal owl," Sirius muttered now completely hopelessly. "Nothing, doctor, I'm not so sick as to be treated like a crystal vase. I'm still a dog, after all."
"I already have Hedwig... But you get treated, and we'll arrange something during the holidays. I'm terribly interested to see what the house of hereditary dark wizards looks like... Will it be possible then? You'll show me... something dark but useful, right? I was reading here, turns out there are many dark protections, and they're very reliable, is that true?"
Sirius started coughing...
"I'd invite you right now, but I'm afraid it's still dangerous. The house is very... oppressive."
"Do I understand correctly that if something happens to you, it becomes your godson's inheritance?"
"Ah..." Sirius froze with his mouth open, staring at Snape. "Right..."
"The work is endless, right? So go quickly recover your strength."
Black nodded with a sigh.
"But at least let me see him off to school?"
"Only as a hamster."
"Even as a toad..."
***
"Hippocrates," Snape held the healer back by the arm. "Look at Harry's forehead."
"What about it? Everything's healing perfectly. By the end of summer nothing will remain, I guarantee it."
"Won't that be too suspicious? The boy lived his whole life with the scar, and suddenly it's gone. It seems to me that something should be done."
"Reopen it?" Harry wrinkled his nose. He already knew perfectly well how short-lived illusions were, and in a magical school where spells fly around more often than flies...
Smethwyck sat back down in his chair, squeezing his lower lip with his fingers. He had this habit when he was thinking.
"We have one spell for when a wound can't be closed quickly so that everything underneath can be cleaned out well. But it has to be repeated daily, it doesn't work for more than a day. Can you manage?"
Snape silently pushed a sheet toward him and levitated a quill. Then they began to discuss the result quite heatedly. Snape didn't like that his ward would have to walk around with an almost open wound again, Smethwyck insisted that it was safe for the surrounding tissues. In the end, both fell out of surrounding reality for almost an hour, which they needed to modify the spell so that it would only affect the epidermis and the closest capillaries, so the picture should look the same, but in reality the skin would remain practically intact.
Harry only had to offer his forehead...
"Doesn't it hurt?" asked Smethwyck as soon as the job was done, examining the "refreshed" scar with special lighting.
"Nonsense, a scratch," Potter reported cheerfully and winked at Sirius.
***
Harry finally decided and picked up the phone, dialing the Grangers' number. He had to complete Snape's assignment. And he wanted to himself, especially after he'd flipped through the filled notebook that started it all. There was about a week left until school, which meant he was still obligated to find out if Hermione knew about proper clothing. Well, then we'll see. Dial tones...
"Hello."
A pleasant male voice was unexpected for him. And why, actually, did he think he'd get through to Hermione right away?
"Good afternoon, sir, I'm Harry Potter, Hermione Granger's classmate. May I speak with her?"
"Daniel Granger, her father," the man introduced himself. "One moment. Dau-ghter! And you said wizards don't know how to use the telephone. Your classmate is asking for you, Harry Potter."