The Path Chosen

Early November, 1996.

Traversing down the empty corridors, a chill followed Harry’s ankles as his father’s Cloak flapped in his wake. It wasn’t long enough to cover him head-to-toe anymore, but that didn’t seem to be a big problem tonight. It was Slughorn’s shift. The man’s large stomach didn’t exactly give him the agility of an old caretaker with a thirst for catching students.

He’d had no trouble sneaking out — everyone had been fast asleep by half past eleven, knackered out by another day overloaded with work. As far as his predictions went, that must have been the easiest feat of this whole… endeavor.

He didn’t know what to expect of tonight. Going into the Forbidden Forest at such a time could equate to having a death wish. He knew. More than once, he’d come out of it having come within inches of death.

Only difference this time — he would be with Snape. A literal Death Eater. And something about that really helped to allay the trepidation in his stomach. 

The walk to the greenhouses was uneventful. Emerging out into the cold night air, felt like having a warm blanket stripped off. Harry shivered. Puffs of his breath blurred his glasses before clearing again. Pulling his Cloak tighter around himself, he strained his eyes against the frost prikling them, trying to make out where the man was lurking. He wove between the greenhouses for a few minutes like that, not another soul in sight…

Until something peripheral caught his vision. Squinting his eyes against the darkness, he was finally able to discern an unmistakable figure lurking in the shadows, and set out towards it. He and Snape met halfway, the man’s long, dark travelling cloak flaring in the momentum.

“Did you bring your map?”

Harry had been about to nod, but remembered he was still invisible. But just as he’d started to pull off his cloak, a hand grabbed it, stopping him mid-move. 

“Don’t. Not yet... Keep it on until we are beyond the grounds.” 

Snape glanced around them, his brows knitting together, before beckoning with his head to follow. 

Harry trailed after the man, barely keeping up with his wide strides. They passed the greenhouses and were now trekking down along a road curving around the castle. The night was quiet. That usual, unforgiving gale was absent, holding the treetops of the forestline still in the distance. 

Eventually they were nearing Hagrid’s dark hut. That’s when they’d finally reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

They entered without preamble. There was no path beneath their feet to guide them, only the soggy detritus and squelching, decaying leaves. Nocturnals hooted in the distance, so softly that it seemed as if they were afraid to penetrate the dense silence. But their sounds carried, echoed, only to be lost somewhere in the fog set amongst the surrounding, looming trees. 

In the absense of light, Harry was left to rely on the sounds of Snape’s footfalls crunching against the detritus and his own steps, taken in circumspect, in his bid to follow closely behind. The surroundings rewound his memory back to his first ever experience in this god-forsaken forest. There was that uncanny feeling of being watched again, the feeling of exposure — exposure to a cold that had nothing to do with the weather…

Snape, to his dismay, seemed unbothered to use a Lumos charm. 

Until he eventually came to a halt. The act was so abrupt that Harry almost bumped into him. 

“Stay back,” Snape ordered. 

Harry’s heart skidded, thinking the man had spotted something. But the Slytherin, keeping a calm stance, walked a few more steps and outstretched his wand, pointing it at thin air. He drew a pattern of sorts with it… A fragment of a barrier shimmered to life. And in the middle, a hole was forming, like silk being burned. Harry realized it was all the wards surrounding the Hogwarts grounds.

With a beckon of his head at Harry, the older wizard walked through. And only once they were on the other side did a Lumos bulb flare at the end of Snape’s wand. They stood facing each other now, faces illuminated by the cool light.

“We are beyond the barrier now. It was imperative that no one saw us — particularly you,” he informed, looking in Harry’s general direction. “You may take the Cloak off. It would be impractical to have it on you.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, though letting the silky fabric slip off himself and pool into his hands. 

Snape raised a sardonic brow. “I cannot exactly protect what I cannot see. I may be many things, but I am no bloody seer.”

The urge to argue that was almost irresistible — Snape had an unsettling knack for somehow knowing, hearing, and seeing everything —, but Harry wisely bit down on his tongue. 

“ Potter ,” Snape suddenly stressed, speaking in a timbre that drained all of Harry’s amusement, “keep your wand at the ready at all times. You are to obey my every order or command at any given time. At the slightest sign of danger, you are to don your Cloak and remain hidden until I get you. You are to abandon and leave me behind. Am I perfectly understood?”

The wording made something churn in the Gryffindor’s gut. Though he thought that tonight wouldn’t come to that, the idea of ‘saving his own hide’, as Snape had phrased it many times, didn’t much appeal to him.

“What if it’s a werewolf and it can smell me?” Harry asked, slowly, donning a dry undertone. Snape, however, did not look amused. He rolled his eyes skyward and started walking away.

“Given that tonight is a full moon,” he drawled, “you would be wise to approach the matter with a tad more diligence. In the event, you would abandon me and run. Use any means of defense and not do anything reckless.”

“I’m not reckless,” Harry refuted. A branch suddenly slapped him in the face, the one Snape had been holding. Harry rubbed his cheek as the man snorted.

 “Yes, your annual adventures have certainly been solid testaments.”

“I didn’t have a say in many of those, uh, incidents,” he argued still. “‘Reckless’ works sometimes… And in this case, it’s not as if I’d ask the werewolf to tea and biscuits.”

“Certainly not. It would beat you to it. Only difference: you would be the appetizer.”

Harry had no reply to that, and from there the pair lapsed into silence. To Harry’s ears, it felt heavy, dense. Or maybe that was only in his head? He couldn’t know. Snape’s sarcasm had only confused him further — it wasn’t a very reliable indicator of whether the man was angry at Harry or not.

And the longer this silence stretched, the more clogged Harry’s ears felt with the tension. Like a soap bubble that was threatening to burst. It frustrated Harry to no end.

Another branch suddenly chafed his cheek, its needles dragging along his skin like claws on cloth. 

They burst that fragile bubble.

“Are you angry at me, sir?” Harry suddenly blurted out. He was so surprised by those words that he barely restrained himself from clamping a hand over his mouth. He wanted to take it back— but the damage had already been done.

There was a bout of hesitation in Snape’s stride, just briefly. He turned his head slightly to look at Harry, bemusement in his eyes, his brows crinkling together. “I am afraid I do not follow…”

What was that supposed to mean? Was he not angry? 

“Just… I just thought that you—” But the more of that babble he exuded, the redder he felt his face turning. The origin of his question reminded him of a toddler asking their parents if they were in trouble. It was truly ridiculous to ask — especially Snape, of all people.

Harry shook his head. “Sorry. s’nothing.”

“On the contrary, I beg to differ,” Snape drawled smoothly, still walking. “Whatever should have given you such an impression?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry stayed quiet.

“A verbal response, if you would.”

Harry eventually sighed. “It’s just… You hadn’t told me anything since, uh, Halloween,” he said, filtering what was coming out of his mouth this time. “I guess I thought… I know it sounds stupid. But it just felt like you’ve been keeping me in the dark. Like Dumbledore did last year.”

He didn’t chance a glance up at his professor, whilst the Slytherin kept silent. And the longer said silence stretched, the deeper Harry could feel his stomach sinking. 

At one point, Harry was convinced Snape wasn’t going to reply, and that his fears were confirmed…

Until Snape did finally speak. His tone was as frustratingly indecipherable as always.

“I had promised you I would not keep you in the dark in such a way, had I not? Granted, some information must remain confidential… As for my ‘ignoring you’...” 

Snape seemed to hesitate. 

“You have not forgotten that we are to maintain our covers? I cannot risk exposing myself by keeping up interaction with you so frequently. Moreover, there simply hadn’t been anything of discussion until I had decided on tonight’s venture — of which I had informed you.”

Harry nodded, the gesture more automatic than genuine. “Right. That makes sense.” 

They walked a few more paces, but Harry noticed the man holding himself somewhat more tensely now, his head or lips giving a subtle jerk or twitch from time to time — as if he wasn’t finished.  

His suspicions were correct, as it turned out. There was a low exhale beside him a moment later, and in a tone drastically different — lower, softer —, he said, “But no, I am not angry at you.”

His and Harry’s eyes had met briefly then. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell anything, but it almost looked as if some form of guilt was trapped behind the obsidian eyes. Maybe Harry had imagined it… 

But he didn’t hesitate to believe him, almost like a child. He felt like something had melted in relief inside of him at the words.

And it suddenly felt as if a blockade had been abolished in his chest, letting the sweet, crisp night air flow freely through his lungs. Snape wasn’t angry at him. 

And the man’s word was good enough.

The pair continued trudging through the dark shrubbery, but no path was visible still. The woods weren’t very dense in this part of the forest. Harry could still see a few yards ahead of them but overtime noticed the trees growing increasingly denser. Harry would occasionally glimpse the full moon overhead. It would sometimes peak through the canopies above.

His thoughts, accordingly, switched to Remus. He decided to try his luck.

“Professor, do you know where Remus is? Is he still on that mission?”

Snape had stilled in this stride for half of a second. His expression visibly tightened. Harry knew by now that he did particularly enjoy anything relating to the Marauders — that’s when the air would feel as if someone were mixing the air with cement, the density palpable… He was therefore surprised when the man spoke, his tone rather dry and indifferent.

“I do not keep correspondence with him, so I do not know. You would be better informed asking the Headmaster or Moody.”

“But you’re in the Order. I thought you were supposed to know these sorts of things,” pressed Harry in a testing tone.

“What I know or do not know is the Headmaster’s ruling, not my own,” Snape said coolly. “Too much information is dangerous, Potter. A predisposition.”

“I thought you said ‘there’s no excess information’,” Harry replied, vaguely annoyed now at the change of topic. 

“ Knowledge , Potter. Academic Knowledge. The more information you wield, the more control you crave — a condition the Dark Lord suffers from…” He paused, wherein a beat of silence passed. “This is not just any war, Potter. It is an informational war. The information I pass on to the Dark Lord, for instance, is extremely curated and consequential and may change the outcome entirely.”

Still walking, Snape turned to look at Harry, considering him for a moment, weighing his words. Harry looked back, trying to make out if the Professor was still sore about the initial question. He could read nothing, alas, the shadows having fully swallowed his face.

“You will recall how easily the Dark Lord was able to lure you into the Ministry that night. He used information about you against you, which resulted in a loss on our side.”

A sharp knife stabbed Harry’s chest at the bitter reminder. Something was burning in his stomach. It was acidic. It was self-hatred, returned anew. For that one mistake… He’d been so foolish, so naive…

Maybe it was best if he didn’t know anything about Remus’ whereabouts. The mere thought of something happening to him because of Harry made him sick, too horrible to even imagine. Maybe that’s what Snape was implying. After all, if those mental shields of his were a liability and his mind was more susceptible to slipping into Voldemort’s…

He would never forgive himself if something ever happened to Remus. Especially because of him. 

He would not have a repeat of what had happened to Sirius.

Sirius. 

Harry, again, tried to envision Sirius. His face. His warm, mischievous smile… But his heart bobbed in confused disappointment when he saw nothing.

It was happening again .

Why was it so hard to remember Sirius’ face?

Harry had to swallow a wad of fear. He felt it sliding down his throat, until it reached the depths of his stomach. 

He continued following after Snape. They didn’t talk any more, mostly because Harry was deliberately keeping a few paces after the man. His eyes unseeingly tracked the dead forestation below, their crunching and crackling consumed by his thoughts. In such a manner, they traversed for another good fifteen minutes. Until…

They’d reached a trodden-out path. Finally. 

Snape didn’t  comment but did continue down it. The farther they traveled, the more familiar it seemed to Harry, as if he’d already been here before, but he couldn’t recall why or when.

That’s when something made him pause, and his eyes widened slightly at the sight.

“Potter?”

It was a bow. A pink ribbon bow. Torn, muddied, but unmistakably hers . Harry almost couldn’t believe it as realization struck him why this path seemed so familiar to him. 

“Potter, what is it?”

The light from Snape’s wand eclipsed Harry’s form, twigs cracking under his boots as he approached. 

“That’s Umbridge’s,” said Harry. He looked around them, then back at the bow. “This is where she was taken.”

“Taken?”

Harry turned to look at Snape. “Dumbledore never told you what happened?”

Snape raised a curious eyebrow, and slowly set off again. “Not in detail. Though I have wondered what could have possibly happened to a grown and capable Ministry official in the hands of two teenagers…”

“I’ll amuse you, sir. It was Hermione’s idea. Umbridge thought Dumbledore had some sort of secret weapon, and Hermione told her it was hidden deep in the forest. She believed it and made us take her there. But Hermione was actually leading her to Grawp… That’s Hagrid’s half-brother.“

Snape’s brows rose at this, a hint of bewilderment showing on his face. 

“But we’d never expected centaurs to show up,” Harry continued. Umbridge tried to threaten them ‘in the name of the Minister and Ministry of Magic’ and all her decrees. They didn’t like that.”

“Hmm. Then I must rephrase: academic knowledge through proper education is important.”

“No kidding. She sent a rope-binding spell at the Head centaur.”

“Did she, now?” Snape sounded highly amused indeed. Harry felt his face stretch in a grin. 

“It’s a surprise she’s back at the Ministry again. I mean, the fact that she’d even made it out alive… Do you think Umbridge will return to Hogwarts, after everything?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

“I do not think so, and neither does the Headmaster. Especially considering… ” A beat of silence passed between them, a short one, before Snape tilted his head just slightly and spoke again, his tone difficult to decipher.

“In ancient times, centaurs were one of the most feared creatures to encounter. They were well known for dragging victims to perform more… undignified acts on them. A fate worse than death, some may say.” 

It took a moment for the underlying message to sink in. And when it did, Harry felt all the color drain from his face. He turned to stare at Snape’s profile, mouth agape.

“You think that’s what happened to Umbridge?”

Snape clucked his tongue once, thoughtfully. “It is certainly a possibility…”

The vision that suddenly swam to Harry’s head was too horrible to even verbalize in his thoughts… Then again, how far off was it from the torture Umbridge had inflicted on him and the students, forcing them to write with their own blood? Somehow, Harry didn’t feel sorry for the woman. 

A fate worse than death… There were, indeed, things worse than death. Harry knew. He wondered if this was one of them…

The pair lapsed into silence again. This seemed often, when a topic would end and both would be plunged into their own musings. The stillness of the woods around them didn’t help. There wasn’t even a breeze tonight, just the biting, damp chill that made Harry crave the fireplace. 

It was this acute discomfort again, one that made him feel vulnerable and exposed. He hated it. As if a hundred hidden eyes were watching his unguarded back. He folded his arms across his chest for comfort and mindlessly watched the hem of Snape’s dark cloak…

They continued to walk for some time. How long was anyone’s guess. But Harry’s feet had since started to hurt. Snape would sometimes pause in his tracks, travel a few feet in this direction and that to check for something, before returning to Harry and continuing on. They weren’t even following the path anymore, having since strayed off it and once again winding through the sea of towering trees. 

Until at last…

“Potter—”

They had reached another small clearing, where the ground squelched with swamp-like moisture. Everything was overgrown here, somehow soggier than elsewhere, and the air smelled of decaying forestation and detritus. Unlike the other trees in the forest, here their trunks were as twisted as their barren branches. 

On closer inspection, Harry realized mushrooms were growing up and along the alien-like trunks. Their caps looked bumpy and knobby, and Harry immediately recognized them from the illustration he’d seen earlier.

“...How do we— I pick them?” Harry asked. Beside him, Snape gave his wand a soft swish, and the digits ‘02:56’ appeared before them. His eyes widened a fraction, an almost grave expression sculpting his deep-set features, and he began digging in his bag for something… before pulling out a jar. Harry took the proffered item. 

“Pay attention; it may just save your life. The fungi are covered in an extremely acidic slime that is only neutralized at witching hour. This lasts for a minute, you ought to hurry. They may be difficult to separate from the bark… You must gather as many as you can into this jar. The more we have obtained, the better.”

“Don’t s’ppose I get any gloves?” Harry asked dryly. 

“No,” Snape shook his head. “It is crucial that your skin touches the fungi. They will be completely useless to us otherwise. In case you do get burned, I have an antidote.”

“Mm. Brilliant.”

“Indeed,” replied Snape in a tone just as dry as Harry’s. He cast another Tempus. “Thirty seconds.” He glanced skyward, where the moon shone brightly, shedding its light down directly on the small clearing. 

Harry, accordingly, lowered himself to his knees onto the soft moss, close to the mushrooms. They were actually really small, much more than he’d initially envisioned them, and had a slimy surface, gracefully oozing off the caps… 

That’s when he noticed that something was starting to happen. 

At first, he’d thought it was a trick of the light. But now, the mushroom caps were obtaining a faint but vibrant-blue glow, their small knobs, on the other hand, turning a slight gold-yellow. The sight was quite alluring. Harry’s whole periphery was bespeckled with these patches of tiny light bulbs, giving life to the once-dead surroundings. It truly looked like something out of a children’s book. 

“Potter, now!”

Harry was thrust out of his reverie and immediately dove to his task. He somehow grasped the first mushroom, slippery and barely big enough to grip, and made to pluck it out. But on his first tug, it wouldn’t give. He pulled harder and harder — was using both hands now —

The mushroom finally detached itself from the bark, nearly causing Harry to topple back in the momentum. For a bunch of small mushrooms, they sure were latched onto the wood with tooth and nail. But Harry didn’t dare waste a moment. He chucked the first mushroom into the jar and set to pick the rest.

The task was increasingly harder now that his hands were covered in the slime. Each mushroom took roughly a bit of time to pluck. But as the seconds ticked on, Harry started to notice that the slime was starting to prickle his skin. His hands were no longer cold.

But he kept pulling. He didn’t know how much time had passed or remained, but he kept pulling and pulling. His hands were really starting to burn now, the feeling of touching hot prongs, but he still didn’t care. He plowed on, now gritting his teeth against the sting. He hadn’t picked that many of these mushrooms. What if it wouldn’t be enough for the extraction elixir?

The more, the better. So he kept pulling, despite the acidic feel of a thousand tiny needles stabbing his hands. 

“Harry, stop.”

“Just a… few… more,” Harry bit out, putting in all his force to pull out the stubborn, slippery mushroom.

“I said enough! ”

He felt cold hands grasping his wrists and roughly pulling him away. That was the final tug that Harry had needed anyway. The stem was ripped off of the trunk, and he gratefully tossed it into the jar with the rest of the harvest. He slumped onto the damp ground and bent over his knees, panting and staring at his aggressively red and blistered hands. They looked as if he'd been playing with hot coals, but were burning twice as bad. 

In a sudden move, Snape practically dropped to Harry’s side. 

“Foolish child— have you utterly lost your mind ?” he snarled. The man sounded furious and yet, concerned. But Harry didn’t raise his head to look. He could only focus on the pain that was quickly becoming excruciating.

In his periphery, Snape was digging in his satchel. A second later, he was grabbing Harry’s wrists again to tug them closer. The move was somehow gentler than Harry would’ve expected. 

The Gryffindor watched as Snape poured a sap-like solution onto his palms. Whatever it was, it stung, and the cold air only made it worse. Harry gasped out when Snape started massaging the substance into his skin, sucking in air through his gritted teeth. 

“You nearly burned your skin off,” Harry heard Snape growl. “Hold still.”

“It bloody burns .”

Harry didn’t see Snape’s lips thinning apologetically. 

“I realize.”

Trying to distract himself, Harry glanced at the jar beside him. The mushrooms in it were no longer aglow, now just a plain brown in the light of Snape’s lit wand, which lay abandoned on the ground. 

“That was utterly reckless .”

“You said you needed those mushrooms. The more, the better,” Harry bit out. Snape paused and stared at him in bewilderment.

“ Not at such an expense. You’ve nearly developed second-degree burns.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll live.”

But he now sensed rather than saw Snape shaking his head. 

“Your lack of a sense of self-preservation is astonishing . You are not immortal. Did you not agree to obey my every order and command? Why is it that something always happens to you?”

Harry wasn’t sure why, but a heavy anchor dropped in his stomach at these words. Was this how Ron had felt like when Mrs. Weasley had been chastising him for flying that Ford Anglia? 

It didn’t make any sense to him. He’d never felt like this living with the Dursleys — this guilt. Deep guilt with a bottomless abyss down which he could swim down forever in search of the roots.

“...Sorry,” he muttered, looking away. Because it was the best and only thing he could think of. Snape stopped in his movements.

“‘Sorry’?” His tone bore incredulity, as if that one word was an insult to his name.

“Well, what do you want me to say? Why is it even such a big deal to you? I got the bloody mushrooms. And I’m fine , aren’t I?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed into angry slits at him. This time, he sounded genuinely angry. “A ‘ big deal’ ? You are my responsibility. You disobeyed me. Knowingly put yourself in danger. Consequently, you are now injured.”

… responsibility…

“I won’t go running to Dumbledore or McGonagall — or Madam Pomfrey — if that’s what you're concerned about. Professor, ” Harry threw in, as a formality.

Snape huffed sharply. “Of that, I am aware. My concern is your sense of self-preservation, which you inherently lack. ”

“I’ve had worse. I’m not some kid.”

— He was, of course, referring to the time he’d had his arm bones removed and regrown, been bitten by a Basilisk, and had had his arm slashed open by Pettigrew. And the Blood Quill —

“Your actions oftentimes belie that claim.”

Harry bit back a scathing remark, the admittance that that had hurt, and just continued to watch as Snape conjured some gauze out of thin air. The man tore off a long strip, folded it several times, and set to wrapping it over Harry’s hands. It stung, but not unbearably so anymore, probably due to that substance. Snape looked as if he were handling a capricious, delicate potion. His movements were precise, careful, and clinical; and his face was furrowed in concentration, a deep crease having formed between his brows.

Then, he was finished. 

“It will take several days to heal, perhaps a week,” Snape assessed, his voice becoming pensive. He seemed lost in thought as he inspected his work. “Try to minimize using them.”

Harry slowly withdrew his hands into his lap. “Thanks…What— What will I tell Ron and Hermione?” he asked.

Snape climbed to his feet and helped Harry up in the process, grasping him by the elbow. “A plausible excuse for injuring both of your hands overnight? I do not believe you have many options at your disposal.”

No kidding, Harry thought, privately rolling his eyes. Meanwhile, Snape collected the mushroom jar, storing it into his bag.

“Maybe I couldn’t sleep, decided to study, and accidentally burned myself with a candle?”

Snape deadpanned, “How… original .”

“Do you have any suggestions, sir?”

“I might…”

Together, they started walking back the way they’d come. Harry was careful to keep his hands far apart, knowing there would be hell to pay if he tripped.

“Say you were strutting about the castle,” Snape mused after a minute, sounding far more amused than he should have been. “On your way up a staircase, you tripped on your Cloak, fell, and crashed into a suit of armor, injuring both hands — A miracle you didn’t sprain your foolish neck … You were shortly caught by Filch, treated at the Hospital Wing, and earned a week’s worth of detention with me.”

Harry scowled. “...Not sure I like that idea, sir.”

“On a more serious note,” Snape said regardless, “you shall have to join me in brewing, seeing as I cannot touch the fungi. Now that they’ve adapted to your touch—”

“But they burned me!”

Snape gave him an annoyed side-glance. “Yes. But their sap is only acidic during witching hour, at the full moon. It is now neutralized. However, only the ultimate consumer, the one who’d picked them, can touch them, else their potency is nulled.”

“Couldn’t you just use gloves, sir?” Harry asked.

“No. The fungi are extremely sensitive. There is no work-around…” Snape glanced at him, curiosity set in his eyes. “Is there a reason you are so opposed to the idea?”

…Pointless…

“Uh, no.”

…He’s wasting his time…

“No, sir.”

…Lab Rat…

Whether Snape was convinced or not, Harry received no indication. The two continued to walk in silence, following the same path through the woods. The conversation had died there, but it wasn’t such an uncomfortable silence that followed. The crunching of the detritus, dead leaves, and twigs below contributed. Harry could only assume it was nearing somewhere around four in the morning, as the distant fog was growing denser, settling lower amongst the trees.

Eventually, they were passing the approximate spot where Umbridge’s pink bow had lain. Harry’s subconsciousness was seeking it out on the ground, amongst the leaves and dirt. But even when he and Snape were past the turned-over trunk that Harry knew they had passed shortly before seeing the bow, he could see none. His eyes hadn’t once strayed from the side of the path, and yet he could spot no trace of that dirtied pink. 

Something about that didn’t sit right in his stomach. He sped up a bit, closing the short distance between himself and the Slytherin.

“Sir— The bow’s missing.”

Snape looked at him bemusedly. “Whatever are you on about?”

“Umbridge’s bow that we saw earlier. I’m sure we’ve already passed the spot we saw it.”

“I am sure you missed it.”

“I—” If it weren’t for the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Harry probably would have turned red at how absurd he sounded. Maybe some woodland creature had snatched it… “I know I didn’t. It wasn’t by that trunk. What if…?”

He closely watched Snape’s brows furrow in thought, but the man did not halt in his strides. His lips thinned a bit. If there was anything Harry had learned about the professor, it was that that could not be a good sign… But as suddenly as that, Snape’s face relaxed, turning impassive again. 

“I do not believe it is a cause for concern. After all, werewolves typically are not attracted to accessories,” he drawled. ”However… stay close.”

The rest of the journey was somehow uneventful. After another fifteen minutes of footwork — which felt like an hour —, Hogwarts’ turrets could be seen peaking out from beyond the treeline, and Harry recognized that he and Snape were nearing the Care for Magical Creatures enclosure at the edge of the forest.

Then — they reached it. A majestic sight stood before them of the medieval castle. It brought back memories of when he and Sirius had stood together, gazing at the structure with glowing windows from a very similar angle, discussing Harry eventually coming to live with the man….

This time, the castle was pitch dark. And even still, it was quite an impressive sight to behold. 

Apparently, Harry wasn’t the only one enraptured by it. He hadn’t even noticed until now that both he and Snape had halted in their steps, both gazing up at the dark silhouette in the silence. Melancholy silence. Both lost in thoughts, both reminiscing. 

But Harry couldn’t help noting there was something different about the man’s expression. Though difficult as ever to decipher, it was as if he were looking at a long-lost friend… 

Suddenly, dead leaves and twigs crackled behind them. Harry had barely registered the sound before he felt himself being yanked back by Snape, who was now shielding him, wand outstretched, poised. Harry’s heart accelerated. His hand automatically flew to his wand holster — only to retract it sharply when pain flared through it.

The anonymous rustling continued, coming from the bushes at the other end of the clearing. Even the air seemed to be holding its breath… The bushes continued to vigorously shake and rustle, becoming more pronounced as whatever was behind it was coming nearer—

A thestral emerged. It spread out its leathery, skeletal wings to shudder off some twigs and dead leaves. Snape grumbled something in annoyance and holstered his wand in one deft move. Simultaneously, Harry let out a breath.

“Our… culprit,” drawled Snape. He slowly approached the creature. Harry just watched, not quite sure what the man’s intention was. The Slytherin slowly outstretched his hand, slid it along the thestral’s head, and then plucked something out of its mouth. When he turned to Harry again, he was holding up something pink and utterly filthy in a pinch.

A sudden urge to laugh overcame Harry, but he managed to contain it and joined Snape, quite at a loss for words.

“Well,” Harry grinned, “technically I was right. Someone did take it.”

“Some- thing , Potter. So I am afraid not ,” Snape remarked evilly, just without any bite. He discarded the bow carelessly to the ground. His free hand was back on the thestral’s head, where he let it rest. The thestral only leaned into his touch, snorting softly.

Harry could only watch in astonishment. What a stark contrast to what one would have expected from the ‘Dungeon Bat’ or ‘Death Eater’. The man’s tired features appeared more relaxed, as if some deep trouble had receded its shadow. The corners of his lips curved up in the faintest of smiles. His obsidian gaze was fixated on the skeletal horse, an unrecognizable gentleness behind them that Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen before. 

It made him wonder. Harry had never really thought that Snape could also see Thestrals. It was far from surprising, of course — the man was a literal Death Eater.  

And still, something about the fact that both of them could see these creatures was strangely comforting. A sobering fact. Almost like a sort of common ground. Like a battlefield where both had lost everything, neither having gained, and this was concord soil. 

This whole situation was strange, these circumstances. Strange to be standing here with Snape, of all people. Strange that this realization had only now settled in. 

“...Sir,” said Harry softly, “When did you start seeing…?”

He trailed off, conflicted over whether asking such a personal thing wasn’t crossing some invisible line. But even unvoiced, the question hung tacitly. Snape’s brows contracted, the minute smile fading. He redirected his gaze back at Harry to consider him. Or to weigh his words. Either way, he didn’t speak for a long moment — so long, that Harry was starting to think he wouldn’t answer the question at all.

“...It was shortly after I had joined the Dark Lord’s ranks,” he at last intoned, keeping his voice low, as if he were saying something blasphemous . “I do not believe it needs further elaboration.”

“But… was it you who…?”

Snape blanched, appearing slightly sickened. The man immediately shook his head. “No.”

Harry respectively nodded.

“And yourself?” Snape returned the question. “I can only assume after the Third Tasks’ events?”

…”Kill the spare!”...

Something appeared in Harry’s throat, clogging it. 

…A burst of green. A dull thump…

He swallowed. 

…His blank stare, hollow and cold. Skin the color of marble…

“Yeah— Yes, sir. But I didn’t know — about the Thestrals — until the start of school last year. When I saw them pulling the carriages. My friends thought I’d gone mental, but Luna Lovegood, she told me I was still sane.”

“She, too, was part of that conspiratory club of yours, was she not?” Snape asked mildly.

“Who, Luna? Yeah. And it’s called ‘Dumbledore’s Army’” — Snape hummed here — ”... Maybe it wasn’t very smart to call it that. We’ve realized it now. That’s actually why Umbridge had freaked out so badly about it when she found a list of all the members.” Harry couldn’t help laughing a bit at the bitter memory. “She actually thought Dumbledore wanted to take over the Ministry, and that he was building some ‘secret weapon’.”

He glimpsed a smirk stretching Snape’s mouth for a moment.

“All sentiments aside, Dumbledore has always preached that his biggest weapon is you — not you necessarily, but all of Hogwarts. The students. Even the castle itself.”

“That’s similar to what he’d said during his Opening Speech, isn’t it,” recalled Harry. He hadn’t really thought much on the old man’s words from the Feast, though now it all did add up. “‘cept he said that, in the end, we are the dark forces’ biggest weapon.”

“The Dark Forces are… manipulative… deceiving… tempting ,” Snape mused, as if in acknowledgement of the last part, continuing to gently caress the thestral. He quickly changed the topic. 

“I must admit, I find myself impressed at how long you’d managed to keep that organization sub rosa from Umbridge...”

“Well, it wasn’t that hard when more than half the school hated her guts,” Harry shrugged. “Some just weren’t as dense as others and actually wanted to learn defense.”

“And whom better to consult than the Chosen One?”

Harry only scowled sourly at the appellation but did not reply. Tentatively, he raised his one hand to stroke the thesrtal but remembered last-minute that he couldn’t. 

“We, ah, flew on thestrals to the Ministry,” Harry commented, not really sure why. Just a non-sequitur. Perhaps to change the topic a bit again.

“Of that much, I am aware. Six students flooding at least twenty school rules and the Decree for the Restriction of Undearage Wizardry and escaping to London on magical creatures — in one night.”

The corners of Harry’s lips quirked up. It gave him a fleeting question of whether it was something his father and the Marauders would have been likely to do…

He turned his gaze back to the unlit castle. Thoughts of his late godfather surfaced again, causing a hollow ache to appear in his chest. Thoughts of that night — the night Sirius had died.

…Nice one, James!...

All because of him.

…”He’s right there— Please! We can save him!”...

Bitter regret. 

…I killed Sirius Bla—ack, I killed Sirius Bla—ack…

Harry would never forgive himself for that night. No. He’d acted like a bloody imbecilic child, and what irreparable damage had it wrought. 

He should have listened.

He should have… Harry didn’t even know at this point. 

But the faces in those memories, horrible as they were, were a blur. Sirius’ face. Unreadable, unfocused — as if Harry’s glasses had fogged up.

It’s only getting worse , he noted with a sharp jolt of alarm.

A sudden lump appeared in his throat that was begging to burst. For a wild moment, he toyed with the thought of telling Snape, imagined spilling his guts and worries, asking him why this was happening—

But he quickly shooed the idea away. No. For so many reasons, no .

At that moment, he felt something gently nudging him from behind. Another thestral had crept up on him, this one smaller than the other. It started nuzzling its head against Harry’s chest and arms. Harry, hands unusable, was forced to remain still.

This lasted a moment, but then he realized something was wrong. In the moonlight, droplets were glistening on his fleece coat. Tear droplets, he realized. The thestral whined softly, but it sounded heart wrenching. Harry realized it was crying. 

Beside him, there was a sharp inhale. That’s when Harry noticed the haunted look on his professor’s face. It was as if the man had seen death itself in that moment, the color having drained from his face. 

“Professor? Are— Are you alright?”

Snape said nothing for a very long moment. He seemed frozen. The whole time, he was staring at the lamenting thestral, as if Stupefied .

But then, Snape’s eyes tracked Harry’s face. He was looking at him with that look again. The kind that felt like a punch to Harry’s gut for reasons unknown. Worry settled in… 

But eventually, Snape appeared to have recomposed himself and said slowly in a slightly hoarse voice:

“It is late. Early, rather. Past four, I believe. You ought to return to your dormitory.”

Harry fought against the urge to press his questions. He just nodded — in consensus, not will. The thought of returning to his dormitory pulled at his face.

They set out. No words were exchanged following this strange encounter. No words, only an unexpected gesture. Snape tentatively put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

Initially it was as if to steer him away as, together, they made their way back up to the castle. But the hand stayed there for some time. Harry felt its warmth, its uncharacteristic gentleness. Its strange, reassuring comfort. And he relished it.

This warmth, this comfort — they lingered even after he and Snape eventually parted ways, allowing for Harry to sneak inside using one of the secret passageways. 

When the boy finally slipped back under his covers, his mind might have resembled a hive.

Barbaculous fungi… Snape…

The thought of Snape strangely brought up the thought of Sirius. It baffled Harry as to why.

Sirius… A blank, faceless person that appeared in Harry’s memory.

…The blank stare of Cedric…

…”Kill the spare!”...

…Not Harry! Please, I’ll do anything—!”...

A flash of green. Another. Then another. Three bodies. Three deaths. All on his account…

Death… Thestrals… The grave, deathly look on Snape’s sunken face…

Why did thestrals cry?