"It's an elite group, Potter. Welcome to its ranks. Thirty years ago, Lord Voldemort would have been courting you to join him or actively attempting to destroy you."
"Like my dad," Harry whispered.
Snape's gaze sharpened. "Whatever makes you say that?"
Harry shrugged. "Voldemort was hunting my parents so ruthlessly that they needed a secret keeper. No one ever said anything about my mom being a powerful witch."
"And the only thing most ever said about your father was that he had a flare for hopeless Gryffindor heroics and attracting trouble. Lord Voldemort was not hunting or courting James Potter because he feared his power," Snape snapped with his usual ire. He sounded almost offended by the very thought.
Harry tried not to take issue with the implied insult to his father, because for Snape that had been a pretty lightweight barb, so he asked instead, "Then why'd they have to go into hiding?"
"The Prophesy had much to do with it. You were one of the two children born that year who fit the description. And your parents were among Albus' staunchest supporters. Voldemort was picking Albus' people off one by one while the Ministry wrung its collective hands and refused to acknowledge what was really happening. Those were dark times, Potter."
Harry nodded. "Today certainly gave them a run for their money."
"Yes," Snape agreed. After a quiet time in which they drank and watched the scraps of their stew start to congeal, Snape said, "What you did for me today – defending me and taking those memories into yourself to prove my innocence – that took great strength of character. I . . . am in your debt."
Harry could see how hard those words came to Snape.
"No, you're not. You don't owe me anything. We were . . . comrades in arms. It was just another battle," Harry tried to dismiss the idea of any obligation existing between them.
Snape insisted, "Nevertheless, I owe you. If there is anything I can do to repay your -"
"If you really feel you owe me, then take me out to dinner again some time," Harry suggested, almost squirming with discomfort.
"Is that all my life is worth to you?" Snape snapped.
"Oh, for . . . don't put words into my mouth, all right? It's more important to me that we try to get along than for you to owe me any kind of debt. I'm not Albus Dumbledore," Harry snapped back. "I don't want to own your soul."
"What do you want then?" Snape sounded nervous..
"A chance to get my eyes poked out and my fingers ripped off?" Harry gave a weak smile as he reprised their earlier teasing.
"So you want me to modify my behaviour to your specifications? Greet you with a grin and a cheerful good morning at the breakfast table every day?" Snape demanded.
"If you ever greeted me with a grin and cheerful good morning, I'd be checking my coffee for poison," Harry replied. "I don't want you to change. That's not what I'm asking. Can't we just have a state of détente? When we were talking before, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Snape gave a shake of his head and a cautious, "No, but . . . ."
"But?" Harry encouraged.
"Many men would like nothing more than to have me in their debt. Why wouldn't you capitalize upon this opportunity? There has to be something in it for you, something of meaning."
"Don't you think having you treat me like something other than an enemy is something of meaning? You've despised me since I was eleven because of my face and name. Can't you just look at today as . . . proof positive that I'm not my dad?"
"He'd have defended me, too, out of hypocritical, misguided Gryffindor honour." Snape answered, "Only . . . ."
"Only?" Harry encouraged, though his hopes for there ever being peace between them were fading with every passing second.
"Only, he would have pressed every advantage when I was vulnerable this afternoon, then made sure I knew I was in his debt afterwards, and reminded me of it at every opportunity." Snape was quiet for a moment before adding, "In some ways, that was easier."
"Because you could still hate him," Harry said.
Snape nodded. "Nobody helps me without ulterior motives."
That was one of the saddest things he'd ever heard, but Harry was bright enough to keep the thought to himself. He felt like there was an invisible roulette wheel spinning here, upon which his entire Gringotts account was riding.
Harry stared at this proud man, wishing that things could have been different, that this stupid feud with his father had never happened, that he and Snape could just be colleagues like he was with most of the other Hogwarts teachers. But he was beginning to understand how impossible that might be for Snape. He'd seen a bit of what his father had done to Snape in that pensieve memory he'd spied upon in fifth year. God knew what else had transpired between them. Maybe the hate simply ran too deep for Snape to be able to look beyond his superficial resemblance to his father.
"Therefore, I must have them, too?" Harry asked, referring to the ulterior motives Snape suspected everyone of possessing.
"Experience would suggest that is the case," Snape was honest enough to admit.
Harry gave a disappointed sigh. "Well, I guess there's nothing I can do to change your mind about things, then. I'm sorry about that. This has been . . . good."
"This?" Snape questioned.
Recognizing that Snape might find very little good about this day on which he'd been accused of molesting one of their students and threatened with Azkaban, Harry quickly specified, "Talking to you instead of fighting."
"Cessation of hostilities really matters that much to you?" Snape asked.
Harry shrugged and forced a smile. "I've always had a thing for hopeless causes. But don't worry about it. I've survived fifteen years of your barbed tongue. I can take fifteen more. It's no big deal."
"Potter?"
"Yes?" Harry braced himself, unsure if he could stand an attack just yet.
"Your actions today have proven that you are not your father; however much you might resemble him. Despite what you said, I do owe you. I'm . . . willing to be convinced," Snape haltingly offered.
Everything Harry knew about his former teacher told him that Snape thought he was making a grave error. A startling warmth rushed through him, the kind of nervous charge he sometimes got when an attractive, unknown wizard responded positively to his first overture. His smile this time wasn't forced. "That's great. Thank you."
"Actually, I believe that is my line. Thank you – for your help today and for this evening. It's getting late now. We should probably start back," Snape suggested, his uneasiness nearly palpable.
"You're welcome, and you're right. I'm beat. Another hour and I'll be too tired to apparate," Harry said.
"There's always the floo," Snape pointed out.
"Three times in one day is my limit," Harry denied with a laugh.
"That is a bit much," Snape agreed.
"If you wait here, I'll find Rosmerta and settle up. Then we can apparate back to the gates together," Harry said.
"I should be the one -"
"No, you're taking me out next time, remember? We already had this argument. I won," Harry tried the kind of grin that he'd usually get over with Hermione or Ron by using.
Snape stared at him as though he were a slug on a Potions lab chopping board. "I suppose that's your idea of charm, is it?"
"Yes."
"That would explain your bachelor status," Snape drolly replied.
"I had a good teacher," Harry shot back, and was up from the table and moving into the common room before Snape could come up with another rejoinder.
The wizard behind the bar was so busy that Harry knew it would be a good five minutes before he could fight his way through the throng to pay. The other waitresses were equally occupied, rushing by with trays and pitchers to satisfy the thriving pub's Saturday night thirsts. Finally, he caught sight of Rosmerta's wild, golden curls. She was laughing in the middle of at least six hopelessly smitten wizards over by the guitar and pennywhistle. When she saw him standing in the doorway, she touched the arm of the blond wizard with whom she was speaking and quickly came over to join him.
"You off now, luv?" Rosmerta asked, stepping up close to him to be heard over the din.
Her perfume played over him like a breeze through a rose garden. Wishing his life were simpler, that he could find peace in someone like this kind-hearted woman whose eyes always offered so much, Harry gave a slow nod. "Yes. Thank you for everything. Should I settle with Mark or have you the time to handle it?"
"Ah, be gone with you. Settle with Mark? When you've given me the joy of seeing Severus Snape's glowering face in my pub again?" Rosmerta laughed. "I never thought I'd see him here again, Harry. You'll bring him back, won't you?"
"I'll try. I've never seen anyone react so . . . positively to Professor Snape," Harry confessed, wondering if she'd take offence. It really wasn't any of his business what kind of relationship Snape might have had with the lovely pub keeper. But he couldn't hide his fascination, improper as it might be.
"And you're the first person I've seen since Albus Dumbledore with the sense not to judge a book by its cover – or its bad press. He's a good man, Harry, despite the snarls. Don't let him fool you."
"And you'd know this because?" Harry softly questioned, truly intrigued.
"The same way I know it about you. I watched you both grow up. He's had a hard life, and a hard deal."
Hearing the protective note in her tone, he asked almost in wonder, "You really do like him, don't you?"
"Always did. I wouldn't have a pub today if it weren't for him," Rosmerta said.
"How so?"
"In his fifth year, we were infested with Cask Skags. You know how wretched those creatures are, and how insidious," she said in a lowered voice. The very mention of those vermin were enough to ruin a pub.
Cask Skags were invisible, magical insects that lived in dead wood. Normally, they weren't much of a problem, unless the wood came in contact with a liquid, then the Cask Skags would produce an odourless excretion that was virtually undetectable until mixed with human saliva – at which point the tainted liquid, in this case beer and ale, acquired the taste of excrement.
"Yes. Once they get into a pub, they usually end up having to burn the building to the ground to get rid of them," Harry replied. "How'd Snape get them out?"
"I'm not sure what he used, but he created a potion that killed the Cask Skags without having to burn all the wood in the building. I think it was Severus' first patent." She sounded proud of Snape.
"He did that at fifteen?" Harry marvelled.
"Oh, yes. He was always precocious."
"What was he like?" Harry asked. The only people who'd ever spoken to him about Snape as a boy were Sirius and Remus, who were often too bitter to have anything like perspective when it came to Snape.
"Severus was always . . . quiet, never a problem. He'd come in here alone for a butterbeer every Hogsmeade Saturday and spend the entire time with his nose stuck in a book. Only time there was ever a problem was if your dad and his friends came in at the same time," she said.
Harry had already figured that last part out. So, he questioned the important portion of the information. "He was always alone?"
"Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. The first year he was allowed to visit Hogsmeade, Severus used to trail after that Malfoy boy and his group, but they finished school when Severus started his fourth year and he was pretty much a loner after that. He was a good lad, if a bit too quiet."
"A mistake no one would make these days, to be sure," a familiar, droll voice spoke from behind them. They both swirled like sixth years caught in the Astronomy Tower at midnight to stare up at Snape's intimidating height. "Really, Rosmerta, telling tales out of school? I thought my secrets were safe with you."
To Harry's surprise, she didn't back down or act the least bit upset or embarrassed at being caught. "They are safe with me. He's not that Potter. You said so yourself."
"Nevertheless, I would prefer not to have my private life bandied about in a pub." Snape's glare was hard as unpolished diamonds, but it was totally wasted on Rosmerta.
She giggled in Snape's face. "Your 'private life' could do with a little bandying about, if you don't mind my saying."
"And if I did?" Snape stiffly demanded.
"Well, I'd say it anyway, of course." She laughed and reached out to pat Snape's arm. "Harry's promised to bring you back. I'm holding him to it."
Harry expected Snape to carve her to pieces for her temerity, but instead all he said was, "We shall see."
"Mind you do." She grinned and then stopped Harry's heart by standing on tiptoes to brush a chaste kiss onto Snape's left cheek.
Harry could see the people seated at the table around them taking notice of her action. She turned to Harry as soon as she released Snape and gave him a brief hug.
"Good night, Rosmerta," Harry laughed as she stepped back.
"Remember your promise," she said and waved as they started for the door.
"Meet you at Hogwarts Gates?" Harry asked as they stepped out into the chilly October night. It was always better to apparate from an empty area than from a crowded room where someone could bump into you at an inopportune moment and end up apparating or splinching with you.
The sky above was clear and filled with stars. The wind had picked up and bit Harry's skin, whispering of winter as it flung dry leaves at their booted feet.
Snape nodded and disappeared without a sound. Harry followed, half-expecting the Potions master to be gone when he arrived. But Snape was waiting in front of the towering iron gates.
