Chapter Text
"The greatest victory is that which requires no battle."
―Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Chapter 1
Outside of the Dursley's themselves, there is only a handful of people Harry would ever expect to be in his room at Privet Drive. Really, the only ones that come to mind would maybe be Ron or Hermione, but even for them there would need to be extenuating circumstances. For certain though, one of the absolute last people that Harry would expect to be there is Severus Snape, yet that's exactly who he sees when he first opens his eyes.
"Potter! Get up!"
Snape has Harry's shoulders between his hands as he shakes him awake. True to form, he's not at all gentle. For Snape to be in his dorm at Hogwarts would be strange, but at Privet Drive? Not even in his wildest daydreams. Harry's on instant alert. He nearly headbutts the Potions Professor as he snaps to attention, sitting up and looking around the room with cloudy, sleep-filled eyes.
Where the hell is my wand? And of course it's on top of his suitcase on the other side of the room. One of the only nights he doesn't have it sitting securely on the dresser next to his bed is one of the only times he might ever actually need it. His brain works overtime, still fogged by too little sleep while the rest of his half-awake brain tries to figure out why the hell Snape would be in his bedroom, of all places.
"Snape?" Harry slurs, rubbing at his eyes before reaching for his glasses and sliding them over his nose. "What the hell are you doing here?"
On a normal day that would warrant at least a minor chiding from the potions master, but right now the man doesn't so much as scowl. He simply stands upright, lifting his pale, sallow features from where he'd been leaning over Harry. If anything, he looks impatient, almost uncharacteristically twitchy. He turns his face back towards the door, his eyes shifting side to side as though looking for another possible intruder.
"Get dressed and pack your things," Snape orders firmly, spitting out words far more rapidly than his usual laborious drawl.
Harry rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up slowly, unable to help the confusion and suspicion from crossing his face. "What are you talking about? Dumbledore said—"
Snape lets out a huff. "Will you just listen to me? For once in your worthless life can you just follow simple instructions? Time is of the essence."
Harry continues, unperturbed by the insult. Frankly, it'd be more unusual if Snape wasn't telling him he's worthless. At least this probably disqualifies him as disguised by Polyjuice. "Is it Voldemort? Has something happened—"
Snape cuts Harry off with a snarl, his face contorting at the mere mention of the name. With a swish of his robes he turns and reaches for the clothes heaped on the floor at the end of Harry's bed. He tosses them at Harry. "Just pack your things and try not to wake your relatives. This will go far easier if they do not see you leave."
Even if it weren't for Snape's odd behavior, and for the fact that it's Snape, that statement alone would have Harry suspicious. Logically he knows that the blood wards on the Dursley's house will keep out anyone who wants to do him harm, at least until he's seventeen, but none of this is usual.
I need my wand.
Harry throws the blankets off himself, ignoring the lack of privacy Snape gives him. It's the same outfit he was wearing the day before, but right now that hardly matters. He just needs to act casual and make it to his wand. Then he can get answers.
"You are slower than a flobberworm dosed with Drowsiness Draught," Snape mutters. "I told you time is of the essence!"
With a frustrated huff, Harry slides out of bed and makes his way towards his suitcase, lunging for his wand when he gets close enough. He turns it on Snape before—
"Petrificus Totalus."
Harry's entire body stiffens and his arms glue themselves to his sides. He's off balance, but before he falls backwards to crash into the wall Snape grabs the front of his shirt and moves the helpless, dangling Harry towards the end of the bed before unceremoniously letting go. Harry flops backwards onto the mattress like a lifeless block of ice.
"If I was going to harm you, I'd have done it while you were still asleep, fool child!"
Harry does his best to shout a retort, but all that comes out is a muffled whine. Still, he does his best to glare holes into Snape's face, for all the good it does. The fact that Snape has a point burns him up all the more.
"If I release you, will you follow instructions? Keep in mind that if you reach for your wand again or question me, I will force on you potions that will force your compliance. It will not be comfortable," Snape promises with a tone that leaves no doubt he'd do exactly that.
Dumbledore trusts him. He's in the order. Harry begins mentally listing the reasons he should be able to trust Snape. Those are the only two he can come up with. The reasons not to trust him however come to him in droves. He pushes them aside to let out a single, affirmative grunt. It's not like trying to attack the man will do him any good anyway. Loathe as he is to admit it, Snape is a wizard of unique skill. Snape flourishes his wand and Harry slowly sits back up, glaring the whole time. He stuffs his wand into his the pocket of his jeans, tempted though he is to use it and curse the potions professor into oblivion.
Snape lifts an eyebrow in expectation, spurring Harry into packing his messy suitcase with an annoyed huff. "Can you at least tell me where we're meant to be going? You can't just show up here and drag me away without telling me what's going on. Remember how not telling me what the Order was doing in the Department of Mysteries worked out?" Harry asks bitterly, making sure his voice sounds accusatory.
Sirius died is what happened, you ass.
"I'm not here on Order business," Snape says simply, as if that explains why he's at Privet Drive in the middle of the night in Summer Holidays. "But we have somewhere to be, and like I said before, time is of the essence." Snape flicks his wand again, and the clothes strewn about the suitcase fold themselves and float inside.
"Is that everything?" Snape asks snappishly. Even that is unusual. Insults and constant berating, absolutely, but snapping and rushing? Potions is often a study of patience, and rushing is very out of character for the man. Fortunately, Snape's spell had managed to pack all of Harry's belongings. Living out of his suitcase for the summer holidays makes everything much easier in that regard. Harry nods.
"Then get that cloak of yours and follow me with your trunk and owl," Snape demands.
This time, Harry doesn't argue, despite about a hundred arguments to make sitting on the end of his tongue. He follows Snape down the stairs and into the kitchen, with Snape levitating his trunk and Hedwig's behind them. Evidently, even waking his Aunt and Uncle is out of the question.
"Where are we going?" Harry whispers impatiently. After everything he'd gone through with Dumbledore last year, the idea of not getting the answers to his questions is more infuriating than ever.
"Diagon Alley," Snape answers simply. "Now be silent."
A million more questions spring to mind, the most pertinent of course being 'why,' but no doubt Snape isn't going to deem it necessary to answer. Still, he can't help himself from arguing. Five years of an incredible contrary teacher student relationship isn't easy to combat, after all.
"It's two o'clock in the morning!" he shout whispers. "Nobody will even be there!"
Snape pinches the bridge of his nose, and it seems to take all his mental energy not to snap back at Harry with his usual vehemence. "That's exactly why we're going now. Gringotts is open twenty-four hours a day, and it is best we not be seen." Without another word, Snape opens the back door and heads into the backyard.
Harry follows him, shaking his head and frowning. "Why aren't we using the front door?"
Snape whirls on him, black robes billowing like the wings of a giant bat. "Must you ask so many incessant questions?" he hisses. "How do I get this through your thick skull. I want to make sure we are not seen, not even by that squib across the road."
So Dumbledore doesn't know he's here. The realization makes Harry want to reach for his wand again, but he swallows the urge. Dumbledore has been lying to Harry since he was eleven years old, and his trust in the old headmaster is at an all time low. Besides, some instinctive part of Harry realizes that attacking Snape is the wrong move to make. Like he'd said, if Snape wanted to hurt him, then this is the strangest, most roundabout way of doing so.
Harry swallows his doubts and nods again. He follows Snape to the fence at the end of the backyard, which backs onto the neighboring property. It's also where Harry knows the blood wards that protect him end. Snape spells a hole in the fence with a flick of his wand and urges Harry to climb through.
Knowing that it might end up being a huge mistake, Harry nevertheless steps through. Snape comes through after him and spells the hole closed, no sign that there was ever any damage to it at all.
He holds out an elbow to Harry. "Take it," he orders simply.
Harry grabs a hold of his floating trunk, making sure that Snape has his free hand on Hedwig's cage. With an uncertain frown, Harry grabs the outstretched arm.
And then they're spinning.
The whole world is still spinning even as Diagon Alley appears around him. Harry staggers away from Snape and promptly vomits onto the stone pavement under his feet.
"Most people vomit on first apparition," Snape informs, completely unsympathetic. "But pull yourself together. We should move quickly."
Harry groans and wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. "You could've warned me."
Snape says nothing, simply glares at Harry with his usual pinched expression.
Harry rolls his eyes and looks pointedly away. Bastard. He looks around Diagon Alley. As expected at two in the morning, it's completely deserted, only dimly lit by the old fashioned lampposts dotted around the street. Across from them is the newly opened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The light is on inside, and Harry itches to go inside and find a more familiar and friendly face.
"You need to follow my instructions very carefully," Snape says, oblivious or uncaring, Harry doesn't know which. "Take your cloak, and wear it all the way up to Gringotts. It is important that you not be seen."
Harry wants to argue that the Alley is completely deserted and the cloak is a waste of time, but a man like Snape isn't someone who likes to take chances. In the end it's easier to just wear the cloak and not argue.
"Be careful not to wear it inside the bank. The goblins won't take kindly to it. Go to your vault and take out enough to transfer to about fifteen to twenty thousand muggle pounds."
More than arriving in his room in the middle of the night, more than hiding things from Dumbledore, Snape wanting Harry to get muggle money is truly confusing. Snape is as pureblood wizard as they come. He's never been shy about his disdain of muggles and muggleborns.
"You want me to transfer galleons to muggle pounds?"
Snape lifts a hand to silence him. "We don't have time for more questions. The danger of discovery increases the longer we are here."
Harry sighs again. He throws the cloak over his head and makes his way towards Gringotts, still totally unconvinced if he's doing the right thing. A part of him wants to run off and contact Dumbledore, but once again he's struck by the amount of distrust he has for the headmaster. Not that he trusts Snape either, but its clear by now that Snape isn't trying to hurt him. If he wants to find out what the hell is going on, he's got no choice but to do what Snape wants.
"Really? A muggle hotel?"
"What part of the concept of not wanting to be seen eludes you, Potter?" Snape's voice is icy as ever. "Nobody is going to be searching for you in muggle London."
"Well you still haven't told me why we can't be seen!" On the abandoned streets of muggle London, Harry doesn't mind being a little louder.
Snape's eyes widen and he looks around the street for anyone who could be listening in. He turns on Harry with rage in his dark eyes. "Use your head, boy! If I don't want us to be seen, then obviously I don't want to be overheard, either!"
Harry opens his mouth to argue again, the impatient rage building in him like molten lava, but Snape lets out a breath and points towards the hotel he's brought them to.
"Just go and book in to a room for the night, and I will explain everything."
That's enough for Harry. He's more irritable with every second spent with the greasy-haired potions master, but if answers are the reward for his compliance, then then it's an easy choice.
The hotel isn't the least bit flashy or expensive, but that's probably the idea. If Snape doesn't want even a single person to know where they are, then a random muggle hotel of no singular importance to anyone is as good a place as any to hide. If the bored looking clerk is at all surprised to see a sixteen year old booking a hotel room in the middle of the night, he doesn't show it, simply taking Harry's money and shoving a key across the counter. "Third floor, turn right," he says, not even looking at Harry.
Snape follows him up the stairs when he gestures, even going so far as to drag Harry's trunk for him while Harry carries Hedwig's cage. Hedwig glares at Harry from the cage, upset about her sleep being interrupted. Harry mumbles a soft, "sorry girl," into the cage as they reach the room.
The room itself isn't much, just a mounted TV on the wall and a double bed. There's a window on the far side and a door likely leading to the bathroom near to the entrance. Harry places Hedwig's cage on the floor near the bed and turns on Snape with a determined expression.
"Explain," he says, unwilling to wait even a second more. "Explain or I'm going back to Privet Drive." It's clear that Snape isn't trying to harm him in any way, but this need for secrecy, even from the Order of the Phoenix and especially from Dumbledore, has his guts churning with nervous suspicion.
Snape places Harry's trunk softly at the end of the bed. He gestures for Harry to sit down. He stares at Harry in expectation, raising an eyebrow when Harry stares back in impatient defiance. After a few silent, tense moments, Harry throws his hands in the air in surrender and drops to the bed.
"Do not interrupt me until I'm finished. There is much to say, and it will be difficult enough without you asking incessant questions the entire time," Snape says.
Harry nods and shrugs for him to continue.
"Yesterday evening I had a conversation with the headmaster," Snape begins. "A conversation about you, and about the Dark Lord."
Harry screws up his face in distaste at the term used to describe his greatest enemy. "If this is about the prophecy, then Dumbledore already told me everything."
"I told you not to interrupt!" Snape barks angrily. "And if you believe for a moment that Albus told you everything, then you're an even bigger fool than I believed you to be."
That grabs Harry's attention, though he eyes Snape warily. He'd not even considered the idea that Dumbledore might have still be withholding information, though now he absolutely considers himself foolish for not doing so. If Dumbledore had been happy to lie about the prophecy for the entire five years he'd known Harry, then why would he not continue to lie even afterwards?
Still, hearing a teacher speak that way about the headmaster is disarming. Even Snape, as temperamental and hostile as he is, has never uttered a word against him—at least not in front of students. As far as Harry has been able to tell, all of the teachers at Hogwarts believe the man to be completely infallible. Before the end of term and Sirius' death, Harry absolutely thought the same.
"Understand, I respect the headmaster a great deal. He is a brilliant wizard, but that does not mean I agree with all of his decisions. There is one in particular that he revealed to me that I cannot abide."
Harry shifts on the bed, a sickly pit beginning to form in his stomach. Finding out about the prophecy was one of the worst moments of his life, amplified of course by Sirius' death. He gets the distinctive feeling that whatever Snape has to tell him is going to be worse.
"On the night that the Dark Lord cast the killing curse, and it rebounded, a part of himself lingered behind," Snape says slowly, almost uncertainly. "To survive, it clung to the only living thing it could find."
Bile rises in Harry's throat.
No …
"A part of the Dark Lord lives inside you, Potter."
Harry chokes. He doesn't want to believe it, but it just makes too much sense. It's like finding the last part of a puzzle that was incomplete. The reason he can speak parseltongue… the reason he can see into Voldemort's mind—everything becomes abundantly clear. Not just that, but the revelation that Dumbledore has been aware of it the entire time, had even alluded to it when he spoke to Harry after what happened in the Chamber of Secrets.
How did I not put this together?
"I think I'm gonna be sick," he says, cupping his hands over his mouth and rushing towards the bathroom. He vomits for the second time that night. He rolls to the side from where he was kneeling in front of the toilet until his back is pressed against the wall. He puts his face into his knees.
When he lifts it several moments later, Snape is standing in the doorway.
Harry's mind is reeling, but he still has more questions. He doesn't truly want the answers to them. He'd love to pretend that none of this is true, but Snape is not the kind to lie about this.
"That's why he survived that night, isn't it?" Harry asks quietly. "I'm the reason he's still alive?"
When Snape answers, it's not in his usual voice. He speaks quietly and soft, almost sympathetic. Still, it's a long way from being warm and comforting. "I don't think that's a fair assessment to make," he says simply.
Harry shakes his head with closed eyes. "Isn't it? If I was dead, the part of Voldemort that lives in me would die as well, wouldn't it? Could he have come back without me? Is that why he needed my blood in that potion that brought him back?"
Snape lets out a long, steady breath. It's a side of Snape Harry's never seen before, uncertain and less hostile. But instead of seeming sympathetic, it comes across as pity, and that's the last thing Harry wants from Severus Snape. "I am not going to pretend I understand everything about this. I do not. But I will say that I do not believe that the part of the Dark Lord that lives inside you is the only piece of him out there."
"But," Harry says, "If I were to die, then the piece of Voldemort in me would die as well?"
Snape's mood change is so sudden it has Harry leaning back against the wall, ready to stand at a moments notice. There's a fierceness in his eyes, and the glare he shoots Harry is more intense than he's ever given him before, even in their disastrous Occlumency lessons.
"Do all of you Gryffindors have rotted brains? Not every situation requires a ridiculous 'noble' self sacrifice!" He's not shouting at Harry, but his tone is clipped and short, almost like anger compressed. "I just told you that it is highly unlikely that the piece of his soul inside you is the only piece out there, so even if you were to die, the Dark Lord would still live!"
Harry is still shaking his head, but after Snape's angry outburst, he's back to being argumentative. Again, it's a hard dynamic to shake between the two of them.
"But eventually I'll have to die right? If we're ever going to beat him?"
Snape steps inside and reaches for Harry. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him to his feet with surprising strength. "Why do you think I'm here. You think I'm here to tell you to kill yourself? That I brought you here in secrecy to murder you so that I could go and defeat the Dark Lord myself?"
Harry smacks Snape's hands away from him. "It's not like it would be out of character!" He matches Snape's glare, one hand on his wand tucked into the back of his jeans.
Snape clenches his teeth. "I'm here to try to save your foolish life, Potter! Instead of trying to throw yourself to your doom, have some self preservation and let's consider ridding you of it."
Harry is so taken aback by the confession that his mouth drops open. Snape is still glaring at him—so obviously hates him, and it's nothing new, but somehow Harry knows he's telling the truth. It makes absolutely no sense. Of all people, why would Snape be the one trying to save his life?
"Is that even possible? If it were, wouldn't Dumbledore have tried?"
All the heat is gone from Snape's voice when he answers. "Professor Dumbledore has accepted what he thinks must be—that you must die for the Dark Lord to be defeated."
Harry keenly feels the sting of that betrayal, but he can't deny the logic of that decision, either. After all, hadn't he just jumped to the same conclusion? If a piece of Voldemort exists out there, it needs to be destroyed. If one of those pieces lives in Harry, then it's an unfortunate fact that Harry too, by extension, also needs to be destroyed.
"Then you know a way to get it out?" Harry asks, eyebrow raised in clear scepticism.
"I do not," Snape admits casually. "But I've yet to see any evidence that it cannot be done. In fact, I believe that it can."
"But Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard—"
Snape cuts him off. "He is not perfect, Potter! No matter how much people may wish it to be, he makes mistakes like anybody else. Despite what everybody believes, Albus Dumbledore does not know everything about magic."
Harry drops his head back against the wall. His head is spinning trying to process everything Snape is saying, but it all just sounds so ridiculous. He knows every bit of it is true, but that doesn't make it any less crazy. He begins to laugh, though there's no real joy in it at all.
"So Dumbledore wants me dead, while you're trying to save my life. What a world."
"He doesn't want you dead," Snape clarifies. "But he has come to the conclusion that for the Dark Lord to be fully vanquished, your eventual death is of paramount importance."
Harry gives him a blank stare. "You'll forgive me if I'm struggling to see the difference."
"Like I said before, I respect the headmaster, but I do not agree with all of his decisions. I would have you live."
Harry's had enough. Even sitting he feels dizzy, and he feels hollow and stretched out. It's still not enough to squash his anger.
"Why? After all these years am I supposed to believe that you don't hate me?"
Snape stares him down, entirely unrepentant. "No, I do hate you. My reasons for wanting you to live are my own."
"That's not good enough. I want to speak to Dumbledore." He's the only person in the universe who might have the answers Harry wants.
"Are you truly so dense?" Snape spits.
"It's not like he would hurt me," Harry argues. "Even if I have to die for Voldemort to die, Dumbledore won't be the one to do it. He's still Dumbledore."
"You little idiot," Snape hisses. He looks as though he wants to backhand Harry. "Of course he won't hurt you. He is dangerous in an altogether different way. His machinations have led you to this point, and rest assured, they will lead to your death if they are let continue unimpeded."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" As much as he tries to stop it, Harry's voice cracks with emotion. Snape is the last person in the world he would want to have an emotional breakdown in front of, but it's too much. He feels the sting of tears in his eyes. "Should I avoid him forever? Not return to Hogwarts?"
He's being absolutely sarcastic, but the firm look on Snape's face at the mention of it tells Harry that it's exactly Snape's plan.
"You must be kidding," Harry snaps. "Hogwarts is my home."
"Between the Dark Lord and the Headmaster, it might as well be your tomb. The Dark Lord will not rest until you are dead, and Professor Dumbledore will not rest until the Dark Lord is defeated, and he is convinced that you must die for that to become a reality. Tell me, Potter, how do you expect to escape the fate that two of the most powerful and influential wizards in the world have set out for you?"
The words hit him as hard as a confundus charm. He's been through more emotions in the past ten minutes than in the past week, and the thoughts bouncing around in his head feel like enough to crack straight through his skull.
"This is insane," Harry says, pushing past Snape in the doorway and back into the main room. He drops himself back on the bed to stare at the roof. He feels Snape's eyes on him.
"You have but one sane choice, Potter. You have to leave."
He doesn't sit up. He feels drained, like there's not even enough emotion left in him to come up with a proper response. "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"
"Somewhere that neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord can find you, obviously."
Harry sits up. "You don't know me very well if you think that I'm going to cut and run. I'm not a coward. I'm not going to run away and let my friends fight my war for me."
Snape storms across the room until they're nearly nose to nose. "For you? You think people are fighting this war for you?" Snape's magic billows around him like an invisible barrier, a pressure that Harry can feel pressing down on his skin. "Are you so arrogant that you believe you are the only reason people stand against the Dark Lord? Does your infantile mind even comprehend that this is bigger than you? We are all at risk, and that is true whether you are here or not."
"All the more reason for me to stay and fight!" Harry yells. They're both red in the face and splotchy from unbridled rage.
Snape is the first to back down, turning his back on Harry to take several steps away before one of them strikes the other. "This is not helping," he decides, though the anger is still in his voice. "I am not asking you to stay out of this war forever. I am asking you to leave and find a way to rid yourself of the piece of the Dark Lord living inside of you. I am asking you to study, to prepare, and to become powerful enough to finally end the Dark Lord. The Prophecy names you as the one Chosen to defeat him? Become worthy of it!"
Snape is rude, obnoxious and just a terrible human being in Harry's eyes. But a fool he is not. It's hard to not see the logic in what he says. After all, it's something Harry was intending to do anyway. He's been able to think of little else since the end of term. The prophecy states that neither can live while the other survives, but Harry had seen the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore. He knows better than anyone that he doesn't have the skill or the power to defeat Voldemort. Whatever else needs to be done, Harry needs to become stronger.
"Is that why you're helping me?" Harry asks. "You're relying on word of a prophecy that I'll come and defeat Voldemort for you?"
Snape looks as though he's got a foul taste in his mouth. "Your arrogance truly astounds. I've told you, my reasons for helping you are my own."
"If you want me to believe you, then you're going to have to give me a proper reason," Harry says. It's a bluff. There's no way that Snape is lying, not with how much sense it makes. Still, Snape isn't doing this for Harry, and he can't come up with a single logical reason why the man would want to help him, of all people.
Snape presses his lips together tight as he looks into Harry's eyes. When he meets them, however, his look softens, and for a moment Harry could swear he almost looks sad. "I help you because of your mother," he says.
Before Harry even gets a chance to process that, let alone ask another question, Snape is on his feet. "I am tired of this conversation. I have done all I can to persuade you. Ultimately, the decision is yours. If you decide that I am right, still be here in the morning when I return."
Harry reaches out to stop him, but Snape turns on his heels and is out the door, despite Harry calling after him.
Harry doesn't get a wink of sleep. He knows it's all in his head and that nothing has really changed, but it's almost like he can feel the piece of Voldemort in his head, like it's clawing to get out and take him over. His scar looks exactly the same, but it feels so much fouler. To his eyes it's like a pus-filled sore, and at it's center, a piece of Voldemort's toxic soul.
He's been more or less arguing with himself for hours. Somehow he's reached the point where it seems both selfish to leave, and selfish to stay. On the one hand, if he leaves it's like hes running away, leaving his duty to kill Voldemort to his friends and his family.
On the other hand, if he stays he knows logically that there's very little he can actually do. Sure, he's talented at defensive magic, but not so much that he'd pose at all a challenge to Voldemort, who is perhaps the most powerful, skilled user at dark magic that there's ever been. How in the hell is Harry supposed to compete with that? At least by leaving it would give him the chance to study, to find a way to get Voldemort out of his head and kill him without sacrificing his life in the process.
Snape doesn't return until nearly nine in the morning. He too has heavy bags under his eyes, and his movements are slow and sluggish. "You're still here," he says, trying unsuccessfully to hide his relief at the fact.
"You made a compelling argument," Harry answers.
"Good. Then you should move quickly, before your absence is noted."
Before Harry can answer, movement behind Snape catches his eye. The first thing he sees is platinum hair, followed by thin, aristocratic features and then the rest of his slim body. He's pulling a black trunk behind him, marked with his initials.
Harry's hand is on his wand before he can even speak.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Harry growls.
Draco Malfoy smiles, but it's cold and sarcastic. He waves. "Morning, Potter. Fancy a roadtrip?"