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“I did it.”

Severus started and turned his head. After the epiphanies of the night before, he had nearly forgotten that Barty had gone to Albus’s office to put him under the Imperius Curse.

“So I gathered, when no one came screaming in flames down the corridor,” he said dryly, picking up the newspaper and the cup of tea in front of him.

Barty snorted and leaned back in his own seat, stretching and yawning. A few of the other professors gave them curious glances, but most of them were too involved in their own petty gossip and “discussions” to pay much attention.

“He put up a fight, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure he did.”

Barty eyed him for a moment, and then snorted. “And what has you so cheerful?”

Severus blinked. “Am I cheerful?” He thought about it, and realized that something was moving through him like a river, what used to be a riot, a river in flood, but was now one that he could tame and bridge.

“Yes,” he said slowly, startled. “Perhaps I am cheerful.”

“What happened?”

“I learned something from Harry,” Severus said smoothly. “He had told me a few concerning things about his ambitions for the future. I had worried that he was not properly placing those ambitions within the context of service to our Lord. But last night, he explained to me in such a way that it cleared up my concerns.”

“What did he say?”

“I think he would want to explain that to you himself.”

Barty grumbled a little, but he seemed too well-pleased to have succeeded in his battle with Albus to make a fuss about this now. Severus thought about finding Harry before Barty could and warning him of the questions Barty would ask and the lie Severus had used, but honestly, he believed that Harry could think on his feet quickly enough to come up with convincing but vague statements.

Harry stood. His eyes moved back and forth from Severus to Barty as he did. Severus thought he was probably the only one who saw the darkening and tightening in Harry’s face, that way that he tensed as if ready to hurt Barty.

Severus shook his head minutely.

Harry’s eyebrows tilted upwards, but he turned and left the Great Hall without any fuss. Nott and Malfoy trailed after him, and so did Bulstrode. Severus checked an impatient sigh. Honestly, they would have to do something with the influence that Harry apparently spread unchecked among the younger Slytherins.

“A problem?”

“Only that a few of the candidates Harry has chosen to lead down his own path, I think less than suitable,” Severus replied, and returned to eating.

“You can’t mean Nott. Or Malfoy. His father practically guaranteed that he would be born to it.”

Barty’s voice was low, with a vicious edge. He never had reconciled himself to the Death Eaters who had walked free from prison—except Severus, and his circumstances were different enough that Severus thought Barty placed him in a separate mental category.

Severus shrugged with one shoulder. “Does blood serve our Lord? Or is it willingness, cleverness, loyalty that does?”

“I don’t know.”

Severus turned and stared at Barty. He was looking unhappily at the table, tracing his spoon through his porridge.

“What do you mean?”

“I used to think I knew what the Dark Lord valued.” Barty stared up at him with haunted eyes, the expression coming through clearly despite his Dawlish disguise. “But now? When I spoke out of turn and was tortured and—for something that our Lord used to value? For asking questions?”

Severus nodded slowly. He had thought Barty’s faithfulness went so deep that trying to rock that foundation would be like trying to crack a mountain, but perhaps not.

“We could ask Harry to ask him.”

Severus regretted the offer the instant he made it, but Barty’s eyes widened, and there was a shine in them that was not the shine of tears, but wasn’t too far from it. “Really? Do you think he would?”

Severus sighed, berating himself for the unaccustomed sympathy that had led him astray. “Let me talk to him.”

This is why sympathy is so good to restrict instead of employ.

*

“You want me to reassure Barty that the Dark Lord isn’t too angry with him.”

“Yes.”

“This is hilarious.”

Severus gave Harry a half-hearted glare. It didn’t work. For one thing, Harry was rocking on his stool and cackling, and probably didn’t even see the glare.

For another, Severus couldn’t make himself glare too badly at his ward—at impossible, vicious, wild, magnificent Harry—no matter what he was currently doing.

Harry finished cackling and straightened up, rubbing at his eyes as his chuckles finally died. “What do you intend to do with Barty? I just thought that he would go on worshipping the Dark Lord until the change in his behavior became undeniable, and then he would probably flee or commit suicide or go insane again.”

“You discuss it so coldly. The man has taught you.”

“He hasn’t kept me safe. And I had little choice, once I realized that he was a Death Eater, but to be drawn into the plot, unless I wanted to face even greater threats to my life.”

Severus nodded. He had known that, of course, and he chided himself for forgetting it for even a second. “Very well. I confess that I had not created a plan. I only thought that Barty would probably fight us when he realized, unless we managed to kill the Dark Lord in such a way that he could not connect it to us.”

“That’s not going to happen for the moment. A tame Dark Lord on a leash is too useful.”

“…What do you intend to use him for?”

“I thought you knew.”

“Enlighten me.”

Harry grinned, probably at the sound of the drawl in Severus’s voice, but his eyes were still questioning as he said, “To wring some Galleons and power out of the people who believe in and follow him. To make sure that we are so safe no one can ever challenge us again.”

“Will there be such a thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you ever feel entirely safe, Harry? Or will you be thinking about the people who could attack and challenge us far into the future?”

Harry paused. His eyes were thoughtful instead of the cold and distant ones that Severus had learned to fear, however, so he settled back in his own chair and took a sip of the Firewhisky that for once was celebratory instead of merely soothing.

“I’ll feel a lot safer when Dumbledore is dead,” Harry said at last. “And when the Dark Lord doesn’t retain enough independent will to torture anyone anymore, unless I direct him to do that.”

“But will it be safe enough?”

Another pause.

Harry finally said, softly, “I don’t know.”

Severus nodded. He felt exceptionally calm, not upset about this, because he had anticipated Harry’s answer. The kind of young man who was ready to swear his loyalty to his parents’ killer because he wanted to be safe was not the kind to accept the empty promises of good fortune.

“If you were able to pursue any career that you wanted, would it be spell creation?”

Harry blinked, but answered readily enough, “It would.”

“So you definition of safety would have to include the books and the Galleons to pursue that?”

“Yes.”

“And do you wish to remain at Hogwarts for your next two years? Or do you think that you will be done with it once Albus dies?”

Harry paused again. His eyes traveled all over Severus as though seeking the hidden source of his questions.

“Humor me, please,” Severus said quietly.

Harry nodded, although he still looked as if he’d have liked to have the answers to his questions now. “I really see no purpose in remaining here. I don’t have friends. The main reason that I’ve stayed is that people would have protested if I left. And for you.”

Severus smiled at him. “With Albus dead, there will be little reason for me to remain here, either.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“That we leave the school at the end of this year, and you persuade your godfather to give you as many Galleons and books as you need to feel safe. He’d probably be happy to settle as much money on you as you want. He might even have a house he could give you. We’ll either pay someone to create wards, or we’ll take a house with wards and study until we can create our own. And we can spend the rest of our lives in scholarship if we want.”

By the end of his little speech, Harry was leaning forwards as if he were about to fall off his stool. His eyes were huge, and filled with longing.

Severus concealed a smile. Other people might believe they knew Harry Potter, but Severus was the one who had figured out what was the most important to him.

“Would—I know that you hate Sirius. Would you be able to bring yourself to accept any charity from him?”

Severus laughed aloud. Harry blinked at him. “I would not consider it charity. Rightful repayment for the harm he caused me, if anything. And yes, I would take anything that allowed me to live out my own dreams.”

“What are those, Severus?”

“Brewing. Research. Profiting from the potions that I make by selling them instead of simply turning them over to Madam Pomfrey or the Order of the Phoenix for their own use.” Severus settled a little more firmly back into his chair. “Having a friend who will remain loyal to me to share the research and discussion.”

Harry paused. Severus waited. He had been sure he was right about what Harry’s deepest desires were, but perhaps he had not.

Then a real smile bloomed over Harry’s face. Severus caught his breath. It was so easy, in that moment, to see how young Harry was, how he had done things beyond his years because he had to, instead of because of his growth into them.

“I would like that,” Harry whispered, and the yearning in his voice was audible.

“Then that is what will happen.”