Heart of the Guardian

28. Consent

They apparated directly to James and Lily's home, the place the boy had last been loved and protected by his parents, clasping hands, Snape's heart pounding in his chest. The location was seared on his very soul, his aim as certain as was the boy's, never mind that it had been nearly seventeen years since he had dared set foot in Godric's Hollow. They stood before the house, visible to them and any other wizard, but warded against Muggles. When Potter reached out his hand, a sign rose out of the wild grasses and flowers that grew behind the gate. It was inscribed with a memorial to James and Lily, and to the power of love. Witches and wizards had written in magic all over the sign, around its edges and over the inscription.

Long Live Harry Potter.

If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!

Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.

And more recently, Thank you, Harry! and To the Boy Who Lived – again – thank you.

He could barely make himself look at the blasted second floor, where Lily had died... where he had found her. His heart burned. Were it not for the boy by his side, he would have let himself die of it... would have wanted to nearly as much as he had seventeen years before... maybe more. But the boy was next to him, and he could not do that to him, so he placed his hand on Potter's where it held onto the gate, and allowed the boy to lean against him for a long while.

Together, they turned to the small church and the tiny graveyard next to it, their guard pacing them at a distance, then setting themselves at each of the graveyard's four corners.

A hand touched his elbow and he turned his glittering black eyes to look down into the boy's startlingly green ones, searching the boy's face.

"It'll be okay," the boy said softly.

Black eyes held on green, so much calmer and more at peace than his own. He drew courage from the unflagging acceptance and understanding he saw there. He took a breath, still keeping eye contact, straightened his hunched shoulders, tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat, and gave a sharp nod.

The boy turned to accompany him, but he drew away, shaking his head.

"I have to do this myself," he said, his voice trembling as lightly as the hand he drew across his brow...

He did not know how long he had been standing there, in front of Lily and James' grave, while the boy waited for him to... make his peace... decide... He struggled to pull his mind out of recollection, out of the past, out of even the last few months, stuck in a whirling Pensieve of memory, reliving it. But he did not want to... would not let himself escape, despite the painful constricting of his heart. He had to do this... for the boy... for his boy, maybe. For their future. Whether he lived or died, he had to do this. And if it hurt, if it killed him – well, he deserved that, had earned it, so long ago. He straightened his waistcoat again and continued.

"Lily... I wish you'd been here to see him..." he whispered. "You'd be so proud. He's such a good boy... such a brave..." His throat tightened and tears ran down his face again. Oh Merlin, what the boy had been through!

"He's such a brave soul," he managed to choke out. "I'm so proud of him."

Where had that come from? Not that it wasn't true. The boy had much to be proud of.

But – that wasn't his nature, was it? He'd never been, really, as confident as Lily had been, the moment she'd gotten her letter, the letter that proved it was all true, what nine and ten year old Snape had been telling her. And he'd never assumed as his father had, never took it for granted. Not that James had been wrong for taking it for granted.