Chapter 180 - Confession and Redemption

"Of course, indeed." Dumbledore said calmly. "When the time comes, someone will 'complete' it in his place."

"In his place?" Praeris lowered her eyes, thinking for a few seconds, then snapped her head up to look at Dumbledore. "You mean—"

Dumbledore's gaze was steady. He nodded slowly.

Praeris braced her hands against the table and shot to her feet, glaring hard at Dumbledore. "You can't do this! Don't you know what your prestige means — what your standing in everyone's eyes means?"

Her voice was trembling, her eyes going red. "Your followers. Every teacher and student in that school. They'll hate him for it. How is he supposed to live through that?"

Dumbledore said evenly, "Severus is the person I trust most."

"I understand, I understand!" A mocking smile spread across Praeris's face. She pushed back her chair and stepped away. "No wonder you told me. I'm part of the plan too, aren't I?"

In the eyes of the teachers closest to Dumbledore, Praeris was Snape's blood relative. In everyone else's eyes, she was the genius student Snape had personally trained.

If Praeris had no knowledge of this plan, she would find the truth without even trying. If Praeris refused to cooperate, no one would ever believe that Snape had truly killed Dumbledore.

"Does he know?" Praeris smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, unable to bear it. "He is willing."

Praeris's voice cracked across the room. "Then does he know you put me in the plan too!"

Dumbledore was silent. Behind him, the portrait headmasters couldn't help but close their eyes as well.

Praeris let out a knowing laugh. "So you did know. The moment this plan includes me — even just to cooperate — Professor would never agree outright, would he?"

Dumbledore knew. Severus Snape had not looked after this girl so that she would suffer.

He had few blood ties and almost no friends. Even his relationship with the Malfoy family was tangled up with interests.

After the war, wanting to improve Snape's mental state and give him something to hold onto, wanting also to secure a safety net for Sylvia's unfortunate child, Dumbledore had persuaded Snape to accept Praeris's presence.

Praeris's excellence had been an unexpected gift. She had also brought something like warmth back into Snape.

At every staff meeting, no matter how short, Snape always brought a handmade mug that read "Potions Master," and he always made sure to turn the text side toward his colleagues.

Faced with their looks, Snape would say lazily, "A gift from a student. Good taste, isn't it?"

Aurora Sinistra rested her chin on her hand and considered this, then brightened. "That's Praeris's handwriting! Can I ask her to make one for an Astronomer?"

The air pressure around Snape dropped immediately. "Though I accepted this gift," he said coldly, "I think she clearly has far too much free time. Otherwise, how would she have the energy for this kind of nonsense!"

Aurora Sinistra shrank back at once, quietly lifting her chair and inching it a few inches toward Professor Sprout.

Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick all bowed their heads, fighting down smiles, leaving the rest of the table utterly baffled.

Dumbledore had never believed that repentance needed to be all bitterness and suffering to be real. He was glad to see Snape like this. Snape was only in his thirties. He was still so young.

But in this war, for the sake of final victory, Dumbledore had no choice but to exploit Snape's guilt, to exploit the love between people, and even to exploit his own life. He never excluded himself from the category of usable things.

When he and Snape had discussed this, Snape hadn't hesitated for long. Compared to the oppression and torment Snape had suffered under Voldemort, this was still just performing in a play.

Snape did not cherish his own soul. But Praeris's first instinct had been to worry about Snape's feelings.

Dumbledore felt glad for Snape. And he felt the pain of having to destroy something like this.

"But you should know," Dumbledore said, almost cruelly, "that even if you don't participate, this plan will not be canceled."

Snape would only remove Praeris from the plan. He would never remove himself. He knew that only he could do this, only he could do it well, and he had no choice but to do it.

Praeris stared at Dumbledore, her dark eyes catching the lamplight. "Sir, the most terrifying thing in the world is not heartbreak. Hearts are meant to break. The most terrifying thing is letting your heart turn to stone."*

Then she grabbed her bag and rushed out, leaving Dumbledore alone to sigh.

In his portrait, Headmaster Dippet murmured behind Dumbledore's back, "This child doesn't seem much like a Slytherin..."

Dilys said gently, "Some things stand above self-interest. She has been loved, and she knows how to love others."

"I think Praeris is every bit a Slytherin." Phineas gave a dismissive huff. "She doesn't even listen to Dumbledore, does she? She has her own ideas!"

Only a Slytherin truly understood Slytherins.

Dumbledore agreed with Phineas. One of the defining traits of Slytherin was a certain contempt for rules, a disobedience that lived in the marrow.

Ambition itself was a form of disobedience against fate.

He thought again about Praeris. Despite everything she had done, despite being a formidable fighter, she had never once faced their enemy directly.

When retrieving the diadem, her opponent had been her own desire. When destroying the cup, she and Dumbledore hadn't needed to fight at all.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Snape frowned. For the life of him, he could not think of who would dare knock on his door with that kind of arrogance.

Before he could ask a question, or even say "come in," the door swung open.

Snape thought, keeping his face flat, that he knew perfectly well.

Who else opened this door like they owned it?

BANG!

Praeris shut it behind her, cast several anti-eavesdropping spells in quick succession, dragged her chair over, and dropped into it.

Her eyes, black as jet, fixed on Snape. "You never told me," she said coldly. "How could you accept something like this? Words can kill just as surely as curses."

Snape had been about to lecture her on manners. He stopped.

Then, calmly, he said, "Too many people already hate me. Too many already curse my name. By your logic, Miss, I would have died a thousand times over."

"Don't you dare say that!" Praeris couldn't bear that word. "You do work you hate for him. You spy for him. You walk through fire for him. You've already given so much. Do you really owe Dumbledore that much? Is your debt so bottomless that you have to keep swallowing humiliation, again and again and again?"

"Forgive me for asking." Snape looked at her steadily and said in a low voice, "Praeris. Are you sympathizing with me? Or pitying me?"

"No, sir." Praeris shook her head slowly. "I love you. Because you love me the same way. Sir, don't look at me like that. It was you — you chose me to be your family, didn't you?"

Snape went still, as if the words had pinned him in place.

Praeris raised two fingers. "Winnie found one for Dumbledore, that was used in exchange for Madam Prewett, and in the end I helped him destroy it. I found one and brought it to him, that was used in exchange for Winnie."

She drew a slow breath. "If he needs more, he can use me like a sniffer dog! Find another one. Replace your debt that way. Isn't that enough? Why does it have to be something that destroys your name!"

Praeris didn't trust Dumbledore blindly, the way a Gryffindor might. She knew, more clearly than most, that Dumbledore could die. She had stopped that from happening once already.

Only the 3 of them knew that. If Dumbledore died out in the field, the charge of murder against Professor Snape would never be lifted. Not in a lifetime.

And if the accused was Snape, who on earth would find Praeris's testimony credible?

Snape's expression hardened. "Are you telling me you made contact with two Horcruxes?"

He knew about the Horcruxes.

When Dumbledore had been cursed by the Gaunt family ring, Snape had been the one to contain the curse's spread.

But Praeris had grown quiet. She looked at Snape and asked, "Sir, if you're angry with me right now, if you're worried because I took risks... why am I not allowed to worry about you?"

Her voice was level. "Sir, that isn't fair."

Snape felt a headache forming. He hadn't anticipated that a grown Praeris would be harder to handle than the younger one.

But there was something in his chest he couldn't name. Strange. Warm. A faint flame, burning.

"I have sins."

He had said the words before he knew he was saying them.

But once the first sentence came out, the rest became less difficult.

"Praeris, I have sins." He looked at the fire in the grate, calm and steady. "In the past, I made errors that can only be called sins. The one person qualified to forgive me can no longer forgive me."

"Praeris, don't sympathize with me. Don't pity me." Half of Snape's face was lit by the firelight; half was lost in shadow. "Best not to love me, either. You don't know what I've done. That's why you think you can carry something of this for me."

But she couldn't. It was not possible.

Repentance could only be completed by the sinner.

Pain was, for Snape, something close to necessary. It let him feel the present world. It told him he was still alive.

Lily was dead. No one could forgive Snape in Lily's place. This made the rest of his life like bathing in a darkroom: as long as he lived, he could never know whether he had washed the sin from his skin.

In that kind of existence, the only threshold he needed to cross was his own soul. Only when he himself believed that his redemption was complete would he have any chance of freeing that soul, of walking out of the darkroom without shame.

But what did completion even look like? Snape had no answer.

He had to turn his repentance and pain into bloodied feathers, one by one. Only then might he carry the wings they wove and fly out of hell when he died. Only then would he have the courage to face Lily's eyes.

"This is my choice." Snape's voice was calm. "My own. And it can only be completed by me."

He had long since grown used to rumors and hatred. A little more made no difference.

Praeris held his gaze for a long moment. Then she slowly lowered her eyes. "If this is truly your wish," she said quietly, "then I understand, sir."

It was the only comfort she could give herself. Perhaps this was something good for Professor Snape, in its own way.

After all this was over, Voldemort might finally be defeated. And after everything Snape had endured, surely even the gravest sins would have been paid for.

In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore fed Fawkes treats and murmured to himself, "Everything is full of hope, isn't it?"

He knew Praeris would come back.

Not because she was still too green to do otherwise, but because of what existed between her and Snape, that bond that looked like family whether or not the word fit.

Dumbledore had said it himself: how great the power that persistent love generates. No matter how clever or powerful a person was, love always guided them down the same road in the end. Nothing else could stand against it.

He fed the last nut into Fawkes's beak, turned slowly, and found Praeris standing in the doorway, her eyes calm again.

"Go ahead," he said. "What did you want to say to me?"

Ron was baffled. He was lying in his hospital bed cobbling together homework when Hermione had appeared out of nowhere with something to tell him.

"Do you still love Lavender?" she asked, getting straight to it.

On the other bed, Harry immediately closed his eyes and lay as rigid as Hogwarts' plumbing.

"Er," Ron shifted. "Honestly, I think we should end it. Ideally she'd be the one to dump me."

"Why? You were practically joined at the hip not long ago." Hermione's voice sharpened. "If you don't love her, you owe it to her to say so, instead of leaving her there not knowing where she stands."

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched upward slightly. He sidestepped the first question. "I've hinted at it! But she still shows up every day even when I pretend to be asleep."

"She thinks that's a symptom of your injury!" Hermione said.

Ron looked pained. "You don't understand. Those words aren't easy to say."

"That's because you don't have the courage, and you haven't been honest about this relationship." Hermione's expression was serious. "If you understand why you liked Lavender, why you started things with her, then you'll understand why you need to end it."

She thought of what Viktor had once told her: "Hermy-own, people always mix up admiration and longing, good feelings, with love."

"If we haven't figured out what our own heart wants, it's better not to ask for someone else's."

Back then, Krum's English had been terrible. His sense of responsibility was another matter entirely.

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