Harry gaped at the man, stunned. He'd never considered it from that angle before.
He thought of his fifth year students. Snape was right. He had some fantastic students, but there wasn't a single one he'd consider mature enough be trusted with those arts. In retrospect, he realized that his students weren't all that different from the angry, confused teenager he'd been when Snape had taught him those forbidden mental disciplines. He'd always thought that he'd been the one who'd failed, but now, for the first time, he found himself questioning how appropriate it was that they'd tried to teach him those skills at such a tender age. All he'd ever been able to see in the past was how much he and Snape had both hated those lessons, and how horribly he'd betrayed Snape's trust, but now he recognized that something of the sort had been inevitable from the start. He'd simply been too young to appreciate the sensitive nature of the skills he was being taught.
When he could speak again, Harry reminded him. "You didn't teach me Legilimency, only Occlumency. I picked the other up on my own."
"But I made you aware of the possibility of Legilimency. By using it on you, I showed you the path, if not the actual methods to achieve it. You were always precocious. We should have known better."
"Perhaps, but it was a necessary risk," Harry said.
"So, Albus believed at the time."
"I am sorry about how it turned out," Harry repeated.
Snape took another sip of his drink and offered, "You were a fifteen year old child. You could hardly be blamed for behaving your age."
"But you did blame me at the time," Harry reminded him.
"Yes, I did. I believe I also taught you a most important lesson after our last session," Snape said. At his questioning glance, Snape asked, "After the . . . vehemence of my reaction to your snooping in the pensieve, did you ever again casually invade another person's mind or thoughts?"
Harry gave a negative shake of his head and swallowed hard. He knew he'd been lucky to get out of that room alive that day.
"Then you did learn the most important part of the lesson," Snape said.
After a brief pause, Harry said, "But it still wasn't right of me."
"No, it wasn't, but it was predictable. After all, what Slytherin would have been able to resist snooping, if faced with a similar opportunity to spy on my most private thoughts? I dare say, half the staff would be lining up today if they thought they could get away with it," Snape said.
Harry laughed at the image of Flitwick, Minerva, Hagrid, and the others standing in a row awaiting a peek into Snape's pensieve.
"Besides, we were fortunate that the incident you stumbled upon was only of personal embarrassment," Snape said.
"Huh?" Harry reached for more crisps.
"I was actively undercover as a Death Eater, Potter. You don't imagine that the only thing in that pensieve was childhood bullying?"
Harry swallowed his mouthful and said, "I never thought of that, but you're right. There must have been a lot of memories in that pensieve that you didn't want me day tripping through. I guess we just got lucky."
"Yes, lucky," Snape echoed.
Hearing the sarcasm, Harry took a chance, met that inky gaze, gave a mischievous grin, and said, "Well, I know that I got lucky. When you interrupted me, I thought you were going to murder me."
"I should have done," Snape agreed, but his voice lacked its characteristic rancour.
"Guess you missed your golden opportunity," Harry chuckled.
"A much lamented happenstance," Snape said. His serious tone only made Harry laugh all the harder.
Snape didn't seem put off by his merriment. To the contrary, as Snape took another sip of his drink, he appeared almost at ease.
When his laughter calmed, Harry took another swig of his lager and said, "This feels good, doesn't it?"
"What does?" Snape was perhaps a bit more on his guard, but not as armoured as he normally seemed.
"Being able to sit and talk without ripping pieces out of each other."
"I don't know, Potter. There's something eminently satisfying about leaving you a bloodied wreck," Snape drawled.
Harry couldn't help but notice that despite the content of his words, Snape's response wasn't the cutting denial that he knew it would have been yesterday. Something in him would always need to push the envelope, Harry recognized, as he probed the limits of Snape's atypical forbearance with, "When did you ever leave me bloodied, or in danger?"
"I was speaking figuratively, but then the higher thought processes necessary for such subtlety never were your strong point," Snape replied.
"Subtle? You're about as subtle as a howler," Harry chuckled, really pushing it.
But Snape didn't close up and get all snarky with him. Instead, the older man responded with a lazy sounding, utterly self-honest, "And just as welcome, I'd imagine," that had Harry laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
"Damn. Have I been blind all these years? Were you always this funny?" Harry asked, beginning to understand why he so often saw Hagrid convulsed with laughter in the Great Hall whenever the groundskeeper sat near Snape.
"Yes, and no."
"What?" Harry blinked.
"It goes without saying that you have always been blind," Snape answered.
Harry grinned, genuinely enjoying that sharp wit and sharper tongue. "And the 'no'?"
Some of the glittering light left that near-black gaze. "There has been little cause for levity in our association."
Taking a chance, Harry confessed, "I'd like to change that."
Snape didn't immediately rip him to shreds. After another of those long, evaluating searches, Snape softly denied, "It's a little late to be teaching old dogs new tricks, don't you think?"
Don't you think?, not Are you out of your miniscule mind? That was as good as an agreement from this ever-cautious man.
"I always fancied you more a crow than a dog myself, sir," Harry grinned. "Crows are clever creatures, very adaptable."
"Their beaks can sever bones if one gets too close, did you know that about them?" Snape asked.
Harry heard the warning. "I always reckoned they'd pluck out my eyes first."
The breathy snort Snape tried to hold in told him that he'd earned the man's grudging approval, somehow.
"Potter, you fall short of even my astoundingly low estimate of a Gryffindor's capacity to recognize common sense. Have you not even a faint attachment to your eyes and fingers?"
"I'm quite attached to them all, to be honest. But maybe I think it would be worth the risk?" That seemed to shock Snape into silence for a moment. Savouring the unusual pleasure of seeing Severus Snape speechless, Harry added, "You know how a hopeless cause enflames a Gryffindor soul."
"Hopeless is it, then?"
Harry looked into that dour face, unable to tell if the man were offended or amused. "With our history – what else would you call it?"
To his delight, that earned him a dry chuckle. "Touché. Bloody fingers all around, then."
They both started as Rosmerta apparated beside their table. She had a huge tray in her arms and a large grin on her face. "I may take a picture of this and display it over the hearth. History in the making in my very own pub! Severus Snape and a Potter laughing – at the same time!"
"His picture would only be rude to your customers," Harry warned with a laugh.
Snape simply inclined his head in what might have been agreement.
"Now I know you said you only wanted drinks, but it's been nine years since you've been at my table, Severus. You used to enjoy my beef stew. I thought you and Harry might help me finish off the last in the pot?" Before either of them could reply, she'd levitated two steaming bowls, cutlery, an over-flowing bread plate, and new drinks in front of them before disappearing with a cheery, "Enjoy."
"I guess we look hungry," Harry said, eyeing the stew. When he'd arrived, he'd been queasy over everything that had happened today, but now, he felt much better. Picking up a spoon, he took a tentative taste of the savoury broth.
Across from him, Snape did the same.
As the taste exploded across Harry's tongue, their eyes met. "As good as you remember?"
Snape gave a slow nod, and then replied, "Better."
Somehow, Harry got the feeling that he was talking about more than just the stew. Pleased, he dug in, his stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
They made short shrift of their meal.
When they were done, Harry took a deep sip of his lager and said, "About today. Burke's age had you puzzled. How do you think he managed it?"
"You're the DADA instructor. You know how he did it. In fact, Voldemort practiced a form of that black art on you in your fourth year."
"You're suggesting that Burke reversed the aging process by stealing other people's lifeforces," Harry said.
"In all probability," Snape agreed, then added an almost wry, "Unless I am totally unhinged and wrong on all counts – a possibility that is becoming more and more of an increasing concern as this day progresses."
Harry actually smiled at the dry statement. "But Voldemort didn't become younger. He -"
"Used the power he stole from your blood to recreate his body instead of simply restoring its youth. It's a similar process."
Harry considered the idea. After a few moments, he said, "You said Burke was 110 when you met him. That would make him close to 140 now. It would take a tremendous amount of power to cut a wizard's age by two-thirds. He would have had to suck the lifeforce out of . . . ."
"Dozens of victims," Snape completed.
"Wouldn't the Ministry have noticed something like that? I mean if dozens of Wizards suddenly turned up dead?" Harry asked.
"We both know that the Ministry couldn't find its own arse with a map and divining rod," Snape said.
And once again, this man whom he would have sworn grim and utterly humourless this morning at breakfast had him howling with laughter. It was just so true. The Aurors were good at their jobs, but the organization that controlled them was as embarrassing as it had been when Harry was a child.
Once Harry's stopped laughing, Snape continued with, "Besides, it's entirely possible that the victims haven't turned up at all. We wizards are a very eccentric group. So many of us go off on our own to study our powers in the wild that we make easy targets for our own kind. Look at what happened to Quirrell. That's how Voldemort got hold of him."
"Yeah, there's that," Harry agreed. "But still, if dozens of us went missing . . . ."
"There is always the possibility that Burke might by preying upon more than wizards. Muggles would do, but he'd need more of them. With the violence and crime in Muggle society, providing he were cautious in his choice of victims, Burke could prey on them for years before their authorities ever noticed a pattern. As long as the Muggle press regarded the deaths as Muggle crimes, the Ministry wouldn't have any reason to suspect a wizard's involvement. The murders wouldn't be as noticeable to us as, say, a werewolf or vampire attack."
"That makes sense." Harry picked at the last of his stew. Waiting until he'd finished the succulent mouthful, he took a sip of his lager, swallowed, and said, "If what we're discussing is true, this Burke is fully as dangerous as Voldemort."
Snape nodded. "I would say more so."
Harry tried to control his reaction to that simple sentence, but couldn't, although he did manage to refrain from spraying stew all over the table and his companion. "More dangerous than Voldemort?"
"Thomas Riddle was an exhibitionist. He made no secret of his desire to rule. He gathered his minions around him, marked them as his own in a manner that was immediately identifiable to the authorities, and waged his play for power out in the open, announcing his foul deeds for all the world to see with the Dark Mark in the sky. Burke, on the other hand, is a loner, who seems to have managed to surreptitiously murder enough people to reverse his age by close to a century. The man I knew had no weak links to exploit. If Burke is following in Lord Voldemort's footsteps, he will not be as easy to find."
"Do you really think he's doing that – following in Voldemort's footsteps?" Harry asked.
"It's possible," Snape answered.
"And you think he framed you out of revenge?" Harry asked.
"It seems the most likely reason. He could also see me as the sole remaining threat to his becoming the new Dark Lord," Snape said. "We are both assuming that his goal was more than merely molesting young Westfield."
"No, he didn't need to frame you to do that. With his grasp of Legilimency and Occlumency, he could have made poor Carl forget the rape had ever happened if he'd wanted to."
"That's true," Snape agreed.
"You said 'sole remaining threat'?" Harry questioned.
"Well, who else is going to stop him? Can you really see Ronald Weasley or his colleagues defeating a wizard of Voldemort's abilities?" Snape asked.
A chill went through Harry, because he knew that was precisely what this situation might come down to if Snape were correct, and, for all their disagreements, he'd never known Snape to be wrong when it came to the Dark Arts. Ron couldn't take someone of Voldemort's power. Hell, Albus Dumbledore, Snape, and he had barely managed the feat combining all three of their strengths.
"There are perhaps a handful of wizards in the entire world who know enough of the Dark Arts to effectively defend against a threat of Voldemort's level," Snape continued. "The only two in Britain are sitting at this table."
"That's rather an elitist statement, don't you think?" Harry tried to argue.
