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Ashborn	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 36151 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-One--Burning

            "Where are you going, Potter?"

            Draco expected several reactions when he called to Potter: anger, dismissal, gentleness if he was in the mood to talk to Draco after not speaking to him for several days. He didn't expect Potter to spin around, holding out his hand, and pull him close, laughing into his face.

            Uneasy, Draco tried to get free. That only caused Potter's grip on his wrists to tighten, and he began to hum under his breath as they danced. Draco looked around for Corners, expecting that Potter would upset the teacup he stayed in, and finally saw the cup hovering near the wall, on a current of Potter's magic. From the way the large blue eyes peered over the rim, Corners wasn't pleased with this, but also knew better than to try and interfere.

            "What is it?" Draco gasped, barely avoiding being slammed into the opposite wall by Potter's enthusiastic dance.

            "I'm going to read Snape's mind!" Potter said, and jigged, and hopped, and then let Draco go and bent over so that he could try and control his laughter. Draco stared at him. Was this what the first stages of going mad looked like? He'd never been able to tell. By the time he saw most mad people, like his aunt, they were already past the first stages and far into the dark lands of it.

            "With his help," Potter added, looking up and perhaps catching the wide, uncertain look in Draco's eyes.

            Draco shook his head and said the first thing that came to mind. "And he didn't protest?" He couldn't believe it had been Severus's idea, not when he had never allowed even Draco beyond his surface thoughts.

            "He would have liked to," Potter said. "But he was watching through Bellatrix when I finally decided what I really want, and he was more willing to have me explore his mind than to just let me go."

            Draco's throat felt thick. He swallowed and asked the next question that bubbled up in the wake of his first. "What do you really want?"

            Potter moved a step closer to him, and Draco froze. He had never seen Potter like this, with a brilliance that certainly shone in his green eyes but also seemed to glow through other parts of Potter's skin. He stared in mute fascination as Potter reached out and laid one hand along Draco's face, cupping the side of his jaw.

            "I want to help people," Potter said. "Just the way I have been, but on my own terms, without having to do it because of Voldemort or because someone is bullying me to." He looked hard at Draco, who swallowed. "And that includes helping the Ashborn. If Snape is smart, and wants me to stay, then I have to know what his intentions are towards me. Hence the reading of his mind."

            "That's a privilege Severus has never allowed me," Draco said, still without engaging his brain much.

            Potter only looked at him, and then moved back. "I wouldn't be jealous of me," he said. "You have a lot more of Snape's heart than I ever will. You were there first, and I can't imagine Snape would let you go. He got jealous of me because he thought we were better friends than you and he were."

            Draco knotted his fingers into his shirt and wondered how to make clear what he was feeling to Potter without being completely pathetic. "Do you think he would grant me access to his thoughts, too?"

            No, I failed. Still pathetic.

            Potter didn't seem to find it so. His expression sharpened as he stared at Draco, and then he said, "Well, the only thing we can do is ask him. Come with me." He started to walk away, not glancing back, as though safe in his utter certainty, without thought, that Draco would come with him.

            Draco dug his heels into the floor and snorted. "And you think that I'll just follow you wherever you go?"

            "When it involves something you really want and that you'll never have the courage to ask for on your own, why not?" Potter replied. He still hadn't glanced back, and that boiled Draco's blood.

            He hurried to catch up with Potter, so he could grab his shoulder and spin him around. Corners hissed from his cup, which kept pace with them, floating near the wall. Potter smiled at him and hissed back a few liquid syllables that made Draco have to bite his lips, hard.

            "He doesn't like you touching me," Potter said, bringing his eyes back to Draco. "And it's no good trying to stop me, because you know it's true. You never would have the courage to ask Snape for what you want, or you would have done it already, before I came and you thought you were happy in your relationship with him."

            "Do you know how odd it is to hear you talking about our relationship?" Draco asked, making another desperate grab for sanity in the tumbling, sliding mess that was the world collapsing like a landslide around him.

            "Why not?" Potter asked, and reached up to close his hand around Draco's. Draco shuddered. The contact ran through him, searing, as though someone had plunged a hot wire into the webbing between his fingers. "You've done everything you could to bring me into your relationship from the beginning."

            Draco shook his head to get rid of the daze that seemed to come along with Potter's touch. "That's not true," he said flatly. "You know it's not."

            "Yes, it is," Potter said, apparently because he had decided it was his day to argue. Draco, watching the flash in his eyes and the way it made the lightning scar seem to stand out on his forehead, could have wished he had decided this earlier. "You asked for help escaping his control. He wanted to know why I was controlling you, because that's the only way he can imagine someone relating to someone else most of the time. He grew more concerned about you when he thought he might lose you to me. You saved my life and my sanity from the vampire, and then he did his part by going into my mind. And you were the one who basically manipulated us into reconciling after that."

            Draco swallowed again, this time to hold back the hot feeling that arose when he thought of that. He had felt strong then, under the impression of weakness, stronger than he had felt since. Well, leaving Potter alone so he could make up his mind about whether he wanted to accept Draco's offer of friendship had apparently worked wonders. It had made Potter decide he did and reach out like this to pull Draco closer to him.

            "Come with me," Potter said, and tugged on his hand again. "I think he would want you there, if only to make sure that I don't go too far. And he'll probably feel a bit powerless after I leave, and he'll need you there to assert his power over."

            Draco scowled. One moment he was swept along by Potter's bright, chattering insistence, the next he was reminded why he hated this man for so long when they were boys. "That's not the way we work, Potter. Not anymore. Not since--"

            He had to close his teeth over the next words, because they would have proved Potter right. Things had changed since he came along. Severus was gentler and more attentive than he had been. Draco had rediscovered some things he wanted and perhaps the courage to try them.

            "Great, then," Potter said. "Then he'll need comfort, and you'll be willing to provide it. Come on." His next yank on Draco's hand nearly took Draco's feet from under him.

            "I'm coming, I'm coming," Draco mumbled, and followed Potter, although he wrung his hand free first. He studied Potter's back, and tried to remember if he had ever seen Potter like this, even following a Quidditch match he'd won, usually the most triumphant times he'd had in school. Draco liked to think of Potter as a braggart, but the plain truth was that he had other emotions painted on his face most of the time. Happiness or pride were rare.

            And the sight of them made Draco's feet weak beneath him for a different reason, and his breath quicken for a different reason, and his fingers close down and dig into his palms for a different reason.

            Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I really didn't need this.

            But apparently he had it, and his mouth ran with water, and he followed Potter to Severus's lab partially because he wanted to and partially because he wanted to see what would happen next.

*

            Severus had wondered what took Potter so long in arriving, but he knew the moment someone knocked on his door. The knock had the quality of hesitancy to it that only Draco was capable of mustering.

            "Come in," he said, and sat up so that he could take a last look around the lab. Yes, the automatons were out of the way and had received their commands to stay quiet, easily breakable vials had shields around them, and invisible Stasis Charms covered the mouths of the cauldrons. If Potter grew angry enough at what he saw in Severus's mind to fling objects about, Severus should lose nothing valuable.

            Draco came in first, followed by Potter. Severus stared at Potter first. The burning brilliancy visible in him through Bellatrix's eyes had not dimmed when Severus could see him with his own.

            And the judgmental snake still floated beside him in its cup, bright gaze never wavering from Severus's face.

            "I brought Draco because he wanted to ask you a question after this," Potter said, and took the chair he'd used when they had their private sessions before this. "Tell me the incantation that will join your talent to my magic." He drew his wand and gave Severus a long-lasting stare.

            I would have sworn he did not know those terms or how the spell worked. But perhaps Potter had acquired such knowledge during the war and simply never seen a need to employ it before now. Severus grimaced and sat up further, staring at Potter as his own knowledge swung into line. Enabling Potter to use his own Legilimency to read his own mind would be debilitating.

            "I ask, first, that you try to put your resentment at me aside," he said. "You will cause me pain because you are inexperienced. Attention to nothing but your own pleasure will increase that pain."

            Potter's grin widened. "Are you instructing me in Legilimency or in sex?"

            Severus choked. But he saw the way Draco's hands shook as he pushed his hair out of his face, and he felt the flash of heat from deep within his own body, the parts of them that he had fought for so many years to conquer and bring under control, nearly as hard as he had fought with his hatred and fear of the Dark Lord. And he saw the bright challenge on Potter's face not change or falter.

            He knows nothing, and I am not alone in my possible perversions. That made it easier for Severus to breathe, and to say, "In certain areas, one is not unlike the other. Keep in mind that you will be, in a sense, penetrating me, crossing a barrier I normally permit no one to cross, and which you were also interested in keeping inviolate when your memories defended you."

            Potter flushed, then closed his eyes and sat still with an expression of concentration furious enough to satisfy. Severus gestured Draco to take a seat, not wanting the distraction of a hovering presence at the corner of his eye.

            Potter stared at him not-quite-glossily when putting his house in order was evidently finished, and his voice was distant thunder. The water snake rose and swayed in its cup, but since that hovered off to the side, Severus was also able to turn his head away so he could focus exclusively on Potter. "This will do?"

            "It should," Severus said. He wanted to add If your effort has been honest, but he knew that Potter was honest most of the time. He leaned forwards and laid his wand against the side of Potter's head.

            The snake swayed faster. Potter's eyelids fluttered, and he said in a breathy voice that made Severus ache in ways he wished he did not, "I can't push all the emotions aside now. These are battle reflexes you're waking up."

            "That will do," Severus said. "Alertness and not resentment." He waited a few more moments to see if Potter would break or back away from his wand, and when he did not, nodded. "Listen to me now. You will need to repeat the incantation at the same time I do. Lift your wand to my temple."

            Potter did so. For a moment, Severus was overwhelmed with visions of what jealousy Draco might be feeling at the moment, and then he put it aside. This was more important than fleeting feelings he must trust Draco to get over. "The incantation is Legilimens bis. Can you say it?"

            Potter murmured to himself for a moment, then nodded. Severus hissed as he readjusted the position of his wand on Potter's temple, and Potter's eyes opened enough to give him a small flash of green. "Sorry," he murmured.

            Just as jealousy and arousal could not overcome him, nor could astonishment at the apology. Severus contented himself with a brief flutter of his own eyelids, so as not to disturb Potter's wand, and then said, "Draco. You will give us a count of three?"

            Draco's voice sounded choked as he pronounced the numbers, but at least it was a way to involve him, and Severus would not regret that. On the sound of three he and Potter spoke together, their voices mingled. "Legilimens bis."

            Potter's wand remained still, as it should, but Severus traced the perfectly round circle he needed to against Potter's temple, the one that would send his power flowing into Potter's attempt rather than starting an attempt of his own.

            And together, they fell into Severus's mind.

*

            Harry opened his eyes. He felt stone beneath his feet and against his sides for long moments before he could see anything; a drifting silvery mist before his eyes held his face captive. No matter which way he turned, the mist was there.

            An image of being buried alive in a narrow stone coffin, filled with mist that would choke him when it solidified, hit him, and he choked. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides, determined not to give in to the impulse to lash out. Snape had brought him here. This was his mind, it must be, there was no way for them to have reached a place like this from the lab with the anti-Apparition wards on the fortress. Harry just had to wait for things to come clear.

            And there was a wind blowing from behind him.

            He remembered what it had said in one book on Legilimency he'd read after the war, in an attempt to understand why his fucked-up memories would prevent someone from accessing his mind. What matters in Legilimency is the form the imagination gives to the concepts around it. One can be killed not by the force of another's mind but the weapons that one's imagination hands it.

            Harry folded his arms and stood still, waiting for the wind--it must be Snape's magic joined to his and permitting him to bypass Snape's Occlumency shields in the first place--to blow away the mist. Sure enough, it did. It whistled past his ears, and then the mist pulled back, and he saw where he stood.

            It was a much larger space than he had thought it would be, a huge stone hall, looking like a carved cavern. He was close to one pale grey wall, but not the others. Harry took a step towards the middle of the room and tilted his head back, wondering for a moment if he would see the sky above him, like the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts.

            No. Instead, he saw immense darkness, probably the black roof of the cavern, and small, gleaming stars. He stared harder, trying to understand, and the stars came clear as lamps of silver and crystal, suspended on long chains let down from the tops of pillars. They filled the darkness with cold, dim light.

            Well, if that's not symbolic of Snape's mind to me, I don't know what is, Harry thought, and lowered his head so he could look at more things in the room. He'd totally missed whether it had anything in it or not.

            It did. Doors, along the sides, all of them made of polished black stone that gleamed slickly, like oil, and all of them sporting immense silver locks. Harry stepped towards the first one, reminding himself again that Snape had agreed to this and so would unlock the doors for him, and pushed it open.

            It opened with a particular dramatic-sounding creak, but noise from beyond it immediately filled the air and overcame that. Harry stuck his head gingerly through, wondering if it would be a Quidditch match.

            It was, but seen from dizzyingly high in the air. Harry clung to the door so he wouldn't spill over the ledge and craned his neck, wondering if he would see himself anywhere, and whether this was a memory of a time Gryffindor had conquered Slytherin and upset Snape in doing it.

            The airy space in front of him filled with reeling brooms, and Harry saw a tiny, thin figure with flyaway black hair clinging to the nearest one. Then a black-clad back intruded between them. It was Snape, hovering on his broom, glaring at the broom Harry was on as if he could make it fall through sheer ill-will alone.

            Harry understood in a moment. This was the second Quidditch game he had played during his first year, the one Snape had insisted on refereeing so that nothing like the curse Quirrell had put on his broom could happen again.

            Snape tilted his head back to watch Harry sweep over him, and his eyes closed for a moment. Harry watched the expression on his face twist, and knew what he was seeing. He had seen it often enough in the mirror when he heard about some other murder Voldemort had committed to try and make him come out of hiding.

            He hated me, but he also hated himself for feeling that.

            The door fell shut, and left Harry blinking as much from the loss of the air and the noise in the memory as the clang of its shutting. Shaking his head, he turned towards the next one, which was smaller and so might contain a memory that Snape thought he didn't need to guard as closely.

            Harry stared when it did open, because it led to a place he recognized--the Astronomy Tower--but not the night Snape had killed Dumbledore, which was what his mind immediately jumped to. He stepped up to the very edge and glanced around, wondering if this was a time he never knew about.

            Well, no, because there he was, leaning over the parapet, his hands clenched on the side. But Ginny wasn't with him, or Ron, or Hermione. And he was a lot bigger than he had been in the first memory, playing Quidditch on the broom.

            Then he turned his face to the side, and Harry saw tears on his own cheeks, and the memory struck him like a blow, mingling with Snape's like smoke from two different fires blending.

            This was a night at the end of fifth year when he had broken away from everyone and come up here because he had thought he might be able to handle his grief over Sirius better when he was alone. He had never meant to worry anyone, although when he came back to the common room he saw that he had anyway. But he had wanted to be away from Hermione's silent questioning looks, the way Ron looked as if he wanted to touch Harry's shoulder, the hugs Ginny had taken to dropping on him for no reason. It was nothing against them. It was everything to do with him.

            He wondered, since Snape had seen him and he hadn't been alone after all, whether the git had thought he would jump. Of course not. Wanting solitude wasn't the same thing as wanting death.

            But Snape must have thought it was, because God forbid that Harry Potter wouldn't be holding court in a circle of his admirers.

            Harry felt fire flow down the connection between them, and for a moment the wind blowing from behind him, the power of Snape's Legilimency joined to his own perceptions, stopped. Then it began to blow again, and tugged on the door, banging it painfully against Harry's shoulder and making him gasp, forcing him to pay attention whether he wanted to or not.

            The perspective through the door flowed backwards, to the point Harry thought it was the end of the memory. And then he could see Snape, lingering on the top step, his hand on his wand and his eyes on Harry.

            Poised to catch me if I jump, because he thinks I'm really that stupid and selfish, Harry thought. I knew it.

            The wind tugged at him again, and Harry sighed and tried to pay more attention to Snape. He looked exactly like he always did, except without the sneer. Well, why sneer if there was no one watching you? He looked at Harry, and Harry expected any second, like when he figured out Harry wasn't about to jump, he would mouth some curse and continue down the stairs back to his own rooms.

            But instead, Snape leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. When he began to speak, Harry had to lean close and even take a step into the memory to understand, because Snape was talking so softly. He had certainly never heard it when he was younger and stood like that on the Tower.

            "So you do mourn for him. Someone can. Lily. I should have known. You tried to tell me, when I thought you would still forgive me. You told me that people can forgive those who hurt them, that people can love idiots. But I was so determined that you acknowledge I hadn't done anything wrong that I ignored you, and then it was too late."

            Snape slipped down the stairs, leaving Harry to stand there in his own time, the present-time of Snape's mind, and puzzle out what had just happened, not easy given the rambling and circuitous nature of Snape's words.

            A moment later, though, he thought he understood it as well as anyone could. His mum had told Snape she could forgive him, and that she could still love him--as a friend, Harry devoutly hoped--even if he was an idiot, but Snape had probably thought she was talking about James. And Snape was still too humiliated by what Harry's dad had done to him. He wanted Harry's mum to say that calling her a Mudblood wasn't wrong.

            Yeah, well. That didn't work out.

            Harry could mourn for Sirius, and that had reminded Snape that some people would care for the people he hated, the ones he saw nothing worthwhile in.

            Harry thought about that, then shrugged his shoulders. Well, it didn't change anything as far as his perception of Snape went. How could it, when the man had spied on him during a private moment? His perceptions had already included that the git might do that.

            Then he scowled. Well, his perceptions had also said that Snape would probably interrupt and mock him. Snape didn't do that. He just went back down the Tower stairs, and Harry knew he had never said anything to anyone else, either, or Harry would have heard mockery about it from Malfoy before the end of the year.

            That door slammed shut, and Harry turned and went onto the next. The lock tingled and glowed and faded before he could touch it, and the door swung open on a night bright with the flares of spells.

            This time, Harry saw what he had expected to see through the last one. This was the night Snape had killed Dumbledore. Snape was running across the grass, away from the Tower, Malfoy a blurred pale shape beside him. Behind came Harry, screaming for all he was worth.

            Snape twisted around to block a spell, and Harry caught a glimpse of his face. It wrung him out, and he moved a step back from the door.

            He was sure his younger self had never seen that expression of hunger, or anything like it, because he wouldn't have been able to forget it.

            Not hunger to kill him, which he would have said Snape was feeling that night if anyone had ever asked him what he thought Snape was feeling. But hunger for the power, for the trading of spells, for the duel and the thrum of blood that it evidently produced in his veins, while it did much the same thing for Harry.

            Harry shuddered and shook his head, taking another step back. He had learned to appreciate that hunger during the war. It kept him alive and alert during battles when he was doing without food and sleep. It meant he had survived Death Eater ambushes by taking the unconscious signals that his senses had relayed to him--a sound he couldn't remember hearing before, a smell of sweat, the feeling of eyes on his back.

            But he had experienced it for enemies. What Snape showed went deeper than that, was more than that.

            Because now, of course, Harry could see how carefully he aimed his spells, how he made sure that none of the permanent and debilitating curses came in contact with Harry's skin while still putting up a show that convinced other Death Eaters, such as Greyback, that he was the most bloodthirsty and loyal of them all.

            So why look like that, if he was putting on an act? If this duel with Harry was only one more means to the end of serving Dumbledore?

            Again Harry stepped back, and again the door shut. He went on to the next one with more hesitant steps, ignoring the wind blowing at his back. Yes, he had Snape's power behind him, helping him. Yes, Snape had agreed to let him read his mind. But Harry had thought that came from having no choice. For some reason, he didn't want Harry to leave, and this was the price Harry had extracted for staying.

            But there was no reason for that to influence his past memories. Only the choice of memories.

            If this weird hunger for Harry's power ran deeper than the desperation of the moment...if he had other reasons for wanting Harry to stay close...

            Harry's hand was shaking as he reached out and laid it on the next door. This one took more pushing to open, and by the time it did, he had steadied his fingers. He was mistaken. He must be. This was his first time reading someone's mind, and Hermione had told him more than once that he was pants at reading expressions, too. He had mistaken what he saw in Snape's eyes in the last memory, that was all. At least in the other memories, he had words and actions to go on.

            This door opened into a darker place, a room brindled with smoke and stink. Harry stared at the torch sconce that burned beyond the one barred window. The silver that made it up had been worked into a long-necked dragon, arching back on itself, its jaws buried in its back.

            He had only ever seen one place where that design was prevalent: Voldemort's dungeons.

            He stepped into the memory and set his back against the barred window, turning towards what he knew he would see.

            Snape sat against the far wall, letting his breath in and out, slow and exhaustive sounds that promptly made Harry want to shake him. Malfoy sat across from him, his head bowed in his hands. His pale hair draped around his face, filthier than Harry had ever seen it. Then again, they wouldn't have their wands for Cleaning Charms.

            "I don't understand," Malfoy whispered, maybe to his hands, maybe to Snape, maybe to the wall. "When is this going to end? When can we finally escape?" He lifted his head and there could be no doubt that he was speaking to Snape, now. "You said you thought it would end soon, but it only continues."

            Snape finished his breathing pattern before he responded. Hearing the tautness in his voice, Harry had to admit that that might be because the breathing was keeping Snape from snapping Malfoy's neck. "It will end when Potter defeats the Dark Lord. That is our best hope, and the best thing to hope for."

            Malfoy stared at him, which might make this the first time Snape had mentioned Harry. Then he snorted and rolled over, kicking his heels childishly up in the air. "Sure. Right. Whatever. If you didn't know how, you could have just said so."

            "I have never lied to you, Draco." Snape stretched with a cracking of joints that sounded surprisingly loud in the stale air of the cell. "I have told you that we cannot escape of our own doing, and have insinuated that it will be Potter's. You cannot accuse me now of pretending to more than I could achieve."

            "But you hate Potter," Malfoy said, still with his back turned. "You can't really be depending on him. You would hate that more than dying here."

            "I hate the thought of nothing more than dying," Snape said, and there was a slight, warning snarl in the back of his voice.

            Malfoy heard it and sat back, though he was still shaking his head as though nothing could be greater than his astonishment. Harry shifted to the side so he could better see Snape's face.

            Snape sat with his arms folded and his face gone as expressive as the stone of the walls. For a long time, Harry thought he wouldn't speak again, and wondered what the point of showing him this memory had been. So Snape didn't think he could defeat Voldemort on his own, and thought they needed Harry's help. That wasn't exactly news.

            Then Snape sighed and said, "You must understand, Draco. I have more reasons than the prophecy I have informed you of to have faith in Potter. More reasons even than the secrets Albus entrusted me with, though they also play their part."

            Malfoy stared at him and swiped a streak of dust off his face with the back of one hand, or tried. It just ended up smearing the dust down the side of his cheek. If he wasn't only an image in the memory, Harry would have told him so. "What are they, then? You never mentioned this."

            Again Snape was silent, but this time Harry watched the flexing of his jaw and thought he was getting himself ready to speak. He waited, and with more patience than Malfoy, who was practically leaning forwards and wriggling in place as much as he could without launching himself towards Snape.

            "Potter is stronger than you think," Snape said. "Than the Dark Lord thinks. Than he thinks. Perhaps only Albus understood him. To face strong enemies as a young child, to kill a basilisk at twelve, to survive experiences that should have destroyed his mind and body and soul, argues for endurance. I do not know what gave him that."

            The Dursleys, Harry thought. Or just knowing that I would disappoint everyone if I couldn't do what they needed me to do. That's the worst part of being a hero, knowing that you might be disappointing people.

            "But he has it," Snape continued. "And he has--other things. I would not call it charisma, not exactly, but he has the ability to bind people to him so that they follow him. He has stubbornness. He has courage. He has the fidelity to never betray an important trust. Not turning in an essay on time--that is the sort of promise-breaking that becomes him." Snape snarled slightly, and Harry wondered what essay he was remembering. "He has agility. He persists. So many others have tried to fight the Dark Lord and failed because they did not have the ability to continue, when it came to it. But Potter does."

            "I didn't know you thought that about him," Malfoy croaked.

            Yeah, me neither, Harry thought in astonishment, his head whirling.

            "I do," Snape said, and leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes. He didn't seem to care about the dirt getting into his hair, but then, Harry thought, he'd had so much grease and muck in his hair already, what were a few more particles of dirt? "If you will be quiet, I will tell you what else I think about him."

            Malfoy opened his mouth, then flushed and bit his lower lip. Snape went on being quiet, and Malfoy went on fidgeting, until he at last seemed to convince himself that it would be better to keep still than to encourage Snape not to speak. Almost the moment he settled back against the wall, Snape began to, his words low and swelling up in power as Harry listened. He might have sensed his future audience after all and wanted to make sure that Harry heard all the sharp edges to the consonants, all the blur of the vowels.

            "He is beautiful, in his own way. Not the hair, not the glasses, not the eyes--well, the eyes, one could make a case for. But with the sort of inner glow that we so rarely have, which draws people."

            "Who's the we?" Malfoy sneered. "Slytherins? I don't believe that. Daphne's pretty enough, and so am I, and my mother, and the Dark Lord was handsome when he was young, you showed me that picture--"

            "No," Snape said. "I meant those in service to someone else, or in rulership, those who must be masters or slaves. The independence of someone who needs neither. Albus had that glow, but tarnished, because in later years he took me as a servant, and used others that way. But at his best, he had need of no one else to stand for him, and no need to serve."

            Harry blinked. It was true that he'd never thought much about having servants, and he'd never wanted to be a Dark Lord. But he'd had to obey rules plenty of times, like when he was a student or living at the Dursleys.

            "Potter is just stubborn and defies the rules, is that what you're saying?" Malfoy asked, echoing Harry's thoughts.

            Snape opened his eyes. Once again, Harry didn't know if he read the light in them correctly, but this time, he had something else he could use to judge--namely, the way Malfoy flinched back from the light in them so fast that he slammed his back into the wall.

            "I am saying more than that," Snape said, and his voice had dropped to a rumble. "Something that perhaps you are too young to understand, something that perhaps I should not have tried to explain, but I will, because I wish to and no one otherwise will have the chance to hear it.

            "Potter does not think himself above others. He allows his friends to relate to him as equals. And he does not desire to be above others. The desire for lordship that runs through the veins of the Dark Lord is foreign to him.

            "Nor does he desire to serve. Chains are comforting, Draco, or your father would never have surrendered to them. They give the limits one walks within, the rules that one can use to cut others with when they disobey them, and inferiors that one can triumph over. But Potter has no need of them. That stubborn self-reliance is a weakness in a situation like Hogwarts, but a strength in much of the rest of his life. He will not go to others for help unless he thinks he can trust them, but in such ways he avoids the poisoned snares that took us in."

            Malfoy closed his eyes and bowed his head. That must be a more personal reference than it sounded like, Harry decided. He didn't think it was specific enough. Then again, he wasn't inside Malfoy's head and didn't know what would make it personal enough for him to react to.

            "I never thought about that," Malfoy whispered. "Where are you getting this? I heard you rant against him as stubborn and arrogant often enough."

            "I did not desire to look closely enough," Snape answered. "And I could justify that desire because of the role I had to play as the Dark Lord's spy. Why bother to understand the Boy-Who-Lived when that understanding might turn to a weapon in the Dark Lord's hands, if I reported too truthfully?

            "But now, I can admit it, and say I admire him for it." Snape settled more firmly against the wall, as though he had to hold it up with his shoulders. Staring at him, Harry thought, even before he heard him say it, that that meant the next thing he was going to say would be more difficult than most for him.

            "And I could wish that he would teach me the trick of it."

            Then the door slammed, and the memory whirled Harry out of there, and he found himself standing in the dark room filled with shining mist again. The wind had ceased to blow, and he understood that. Snape's power was no longer assisting his Legilimency. He would need to leave Snape's mind soon, as remaining here would mean ripping it apart.

            And Harry wasn't sure he would have wanted to remain there, anyway, even if he could do it without hurting Snape and if it meant learning more secrets. He had learned enough right now to involve him in a whirlwind that ripped through his mind, and he wanted time to think about it.

            He closed his eyes, and felt the mist draw him back, and up, and out.

*

            "I haven't yet taught you the trick of it."

            Severus opened his eyes slowly. He had a headache nipping at his temples, a sharp pain that would grow with time, but he did not hurt as badly as he had expected to. Potter had not lashed out in his surprise and ripped the mental shields around him, then. Good.

            He watched Draco from the corner of his eye, starting as he no doubt recognized the phrase and connected it to their time in the dungeons, but what he saw was Potter, leaning forwards and staring at him with emerald eyes.

            "You wanted to be free, neither master nor servant," Potter whispered. "But you set yourself up with the Ashborn and as master over Draco, and you haven't worked yourself out yet. Because freeing them and freeing yourself might mean they would hate you and you couldn't guard yourself from your enemies."

            Severus inclined his head. It seemed Potter had not yet grasped the truth beneath the admiration and Severus's admissions in the dungeons, which--Severus could not help but be relieved about. Yes, he might want the man Potter had become, but he was still not sure how that man would react to the news.

            "I'll try," Potter said. "Not necessarily for you. But because Draco and the Ashborn deserve better."

            Severus nodded once more. Then he sat back and watched Potter as he left the room, his mouth violently twitching at one corner, his eyes almost closed.

            "What did you show him?" Draco whispered as the door of the lab shut behind the man who had been more of a burning beacon to Severus than he had ever acknowledged before this day.

            Severus glanced at him. "The truth."

*

            unneeded: Snape doesn’t actually trust Harry that much. It’ll be what comes after this that is the real test of trust.

            Shadowdog85: Thank you. I think I can promise that a bit more will happen in the chapters now.

            AlterEquis: Thanks. I hope you enjoyed that scene.
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Ashborn