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Chapter Text

Harry sat there, at the kitchen table of his dead godfather’s house, itching to pace, to scream, to hex people. To do something. Then Remus joined his voice to the many already shouting and it was suddenly all too much.

“SHUT UP! Just bloody fucking shut up –ALL OF YOU!” Harry was on his feet, roaring with an accidental sonorous charm, his allies and friends silent and staring, frozen, around him,
“Why are you fighting? Dumbledore’s dead and we’re in the middle of a war. We have no fucking time to breathe, let alone greave. So get on with it already: pick a new leader. Vote, nominate, whatever. Just don’t waste time arguing over stupid, stupid, stupid things when we’ve got a bloody war to win. Do you hear me? ‘Cause Voldemort’s never going to die at this rate. Nor will any Death Eaters. But Muggles and children and adults alike will. So get on with everything that needs to be done, nothing more, and certainly nothing less,” the final word was spat, prompting him to take a deep calming breath; forcing down the cynical vitriol searing its way like bile up his throat.

"Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to train. Send me a Patronus if you actually decide anything.” And with those curt parting words, the Boy-Who-Lived swept out of the room, headed Merlin knew where.

Without anyone else even noticing – shocked as they were – a certain Severus Snape followed him.

“Potter. Mr. Potter- Harry. Wait a moment if you please.”

“What is it Snape?” Already a floor above the dining room, the young man turned to the Potions Master, no longer visibly angry or hostile, but rather tired. No, exhausted. That was the only word for the haunted eyes, deep black bags and general air of world-weariness.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” A single, cynical eyebrow was raised. But there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes. The older man hadn’t realised Harry was capable of such a … Slytherin expression.

“Indeed. May we speak privately in the library?”

“Sure,” the teen replied easily, gesturing up the stairs. With a nod of acquiescence, Severus began to follow his retreating figure.

“So,” Harry began once they’d settled themselves in plush leather chesterfield armchairs,
“What’s this proposition then?”

“I should… like to train you.” An eyebrow yet again rose, but the teen made no move to interrupt.

“Primarily in Defence, Occlumency and strategy, amongst other things. And at least rudimentary field Healing."

“Po- Harry, you are not strong enough,” and here he held up a hand in both apology and warning, forestalling the angry outburst,

“Not due to any particular fault of your own, I will admit, but rather that you have rarely – if ever – been sufficiently trained in Defence. And we have already discussed and progressed in Occlumency-” This last fact was true. Within a month of starting his Sixth Year, Potter had ambushed Snape, apologising for invading his privacy and for the behaviour of his father, godfather and their friends. The boy had been sincere, and they’d talked for a short time over the matter. Then initiated a re-do in his training.

“Do you see my point?” There were a few moments thoughtful silence before he nodded slowly in reply.

“Thank you sir. I do have one condition though-”

“Potter! You’re in no position-!”

“Call me Harry please. Not Potter, not Mr. Potter, not Boy. Just Harry.” Severus sighed deeply, relaxing into his seat once more,
“Fine. I suppose I could suffer through the indignity and manage to call you by your given appellation.”

“I suppose you could.” A cheeky grin accompanied the light teasing, but the Potions Master could only bring himself to scowl half—heartedly. The damn brat could tell.

“C’mon Sir, let’s go and start training now! It’s what I said I’d be doing after all.”

Smirking, Severus stood up but gestured for the younger man to stay as he was. Within a few moments, he had gathered five appropriate texts and dropped them on the side-table next to Harry.

“Read these. I’ll be here tomorrow to discuss their contents with you and - provided you understand them sufficiently - practice some of what you’ve learnt.” The teenager opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again. Severus resisted the urge to laugh or sneer. Likely the latter.

“Yes Sir.” And with the confirmation, the man strode from the room. Time to see if those imbeciles had managed to piece together anything like a sensible idea.

Ah. No, evidently still imbecilic. Beyond it in fact.

“Mr. Potter managed to get us to discuss things realistically, he’s clearly capable of banding us together. Of leading us. And we can advise him as needs be on matters of strategy and such.”

“Well, yes. And he’s the perfect figurehead to be seen-”

“What nonsense are you idiots spouting?! A teenage boy taking Dumbledore’s place?!” Snape interrupted, storming towards the table.

“Severu-”

“NO!” he thundered,
“That boy has too much responsibility already. And does he know enough to lead the Order? Truly? Because he’s already been left a task by Dumbledore. Between that and a prophecy, isn’t that enough for one child? Even one as mature as he can be?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were complimenting me Sir.” Somehow, Potter had snuck into the room without the notice of any of its inhabitants. A book was held lightly at his side, resting against his thigh.

“Don’t read too much into things Po- Harry. Though what I said was true.”

“And I agree,” he turned his focus to the room as a whole,

“I find it difficult to believe I’m the best choice available. I’m 16. I might have the most experience with Voldemort himself, but I’m definitely not the best dueller or the most seasoned. My strategy is terrible. I’m not the most rational when it comes to protecting my friends. And with my… task, plus training, I don’t even really have all that much time spare.” A compelling, well-thought out, comprehensive argument. The Potions Master couldn’t help but be impressed; he secretly rather thought Harry would make a good leader. Albeit in a year or two. In addition to intensive training. Possibly.

“All of that might be true Harry, but it doesn’t mean you’re not the best candidate.”

“Mr. Weasley, that means a lot. But surely you or Moody or someone would be a better leader. I’d suggest McGonagall, Snape or Kingsley, but they obviously all have… prior engagements. And Remus has his furry little problem, so…” And again, a strong case. Maybe the teenager really was growing more mature.

“I’m a fighter, boy. Not a leader. Politics and debate and all that nonsense aren’t for me,” Moody interjected, a grimace pulling at his scars. Mr. Weasley’s expression wasn’t all that dissimilar,

“I wouldn’t be able to order my children into battle. And no proper leader can’t direct his… troops.”

“I can accept that. But it hardly means I should take the role, does it?” And there was an almost petulant, whiny tinge to the last words, but they didn’t detract from the overall sentiment. The Boy-Who-Lived did not want to lead the Order.

“This is getting nowhere any time soon. Why don’t we leave that for a later time? For now, what are we doing about Hogwarts? We need new Transfiguration and DADA professors. Any recommendations?” Minerva interjected, cutting off any full arguments before they could begin. And as the conversation switched to topics he didn’t really care for, Harry retreated to the library once more. With a sigh, Severus resigned himself and sat down at the end of the table. He couldn’t escape this one. A pity.

Chapter Text

It was half past six in the morning when Severus flooed into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. To his surprise, Harry was already seated – well, slumped – at the table, all five books he’d been given the previous evening piled haphazardly beside him. Strewn across the table were various pieces of parchment and Muggle note paper, all written on in ball point. Several other tomes – namely sequels to the original five – lay open amongst the papers. One was beneath the teen’s cheek, glasses indenting slightly on both flesh and parchment. Harry was breathing heavily, rapidly, unevenly, in his sleep. Unseen green eyes roved under their lids. Fingers twitched in panic, clutching at an imaginary wand perhaps.

The sight was somewhat frightening.

“Potter? Potter?” The word, though softly spoken, seemed to distress the sleeping teen further as his eyes screwed up further and he began to mutter unintelligible syllables.

“…Harry then. Harry, you need to wake up now. Harry.” His tone melted into something coaxing and cajoling both. A brand of Snape fondness even – caring yet mocking. Why was hiding his emotions so difficult around this one brat?

Approaching him, Severus reached out so as to shake Harry’s shoulder. But as soon as he was within a metre, the younger man abruptly jumped away, eyes flying open, brandishing empty air. And toppled off his chair.

“Harry, it’s okay. Harry, it was a dream. Harry. Can you hear me? Are you listening?” There was no reply as the teenager stumbled to his feet, swaying as though on a storm-ridden ship, swiping a violently shaking hand down his face, heedless of the glasses knocked to the floor with the movement.

“Harry?” Severus tried again, allowing a distinct note of concern to escape. Glassy green eyes rose to meet his. Fighting the rushing torrent of images and - darkness closing in as the small door slammed shut - emotions from the boy, the man - “Kill the spare!” “No! Not Harry!” cold, cold laughter - stepped forward and shepherded – such grief, such loss, such anger, such hopelessness - him back to his chair. And sat himself down in the next one. Even as their eye contact was broken, the nightmares- No, the memories, played themselves over again and again. If Har- Potter had managed to keep the majority of these hidden during their many Occlumency lessons across the last two years, he had been quite accomplished already. If only by natural instinct.

“Harry, are you well?”

“Yes- I- No-” The young wizard paused, sucked in a deep breath. He opened clear, though shadowed, eyes.

“I’m fine, thank you. What time is it?”

“Nearly seven.”

“Ah. I’d better clean up a bit. Molly will be down soon.” With narrowed eyes, Severus scrutinised the teen. Clearly, he was still shaken-up – his trembling told of that – but overall, a vast improvement from only moments ago.

“Indeed,” the man paused for a moment, thin lips pursing, “May I assist?”

“Thanks.”

During the following silence, Severus scanned over the scribbled notes as he stacked them into piles. As a general rule, they were actually insightful observations and intelligent questions; accompanied by a few rather mad ideas that might somehow work. It reminded Severus of his own experiments into charm-creation.

“Where would you like them all?”

“Oh, just put them in that,” the teenager replied, gesturing to a leather book bag by his side, not unlike the standard Hogwarts satchel. Carefully dropping them in, the man couldn’t escape noticing how, allowed by the extending charms, there were pyramids of tomes inside the deceptive bag, littered with scraps of muggle and magical stationary alike. It was a veritable library.

“Is this yours?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I was under the impression that Granger was the know-it-all of your group,” the man sneered.

“Think about it. In comparison to Hermione, it’s near impossible to appear interested in books, let alone a bookworm. Particularly if you’re simultaneously trying to maintain a façade and keep your projects secret, or at least private.”

“Ah… I suppose I can see your difficulty there.” The teenager snorted at that and swept the last book on top of a pile, prompting the entire lot to tumble.

“Oops. Oh well.” This time the Potions Master was the one to snort and smirk.

“I assume that’s not the first time that’s happened?”

“You know what they say Sir, to assume makes an ass out of you and me. Though in this case you’d be right.” For a moment they both froze, realising that the younger had just sworn and casually teased the professor simultaneously. Then they began moving about once more. Severus dumped – admittedly somewhat carefully – the satchel against the wall and Harry began to set up for breakfast. And yet again shocked the man.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Hm? Oh,” Harry looked up from where he was simultaneously frying eggs and placing multiple trays of sausages, bacon and bread under the grill. Movements could now be heard from upstairs.

“I cooked at the Dursleys. Have done for y-” He caught himself, sighed, and rubbed a hand across bloodshot eyes. Severus ignored his evident lapse. Although he did file the half-statement away for later pondering as he placed several heaps of crockery and jars of condiments on the table.

Just as the first eggs, bacon and toast were plattered up on the table and Harry returned to the stove, Molly bustled into the kitchen, closely followed by Lupin, Granger and the youngest Weasley boy. Severus restrained an irritated sigh and took a seat as far from them as possible.

“Thank you, Harry dear, but you really needn’t have-”

“It’s fine Mrs. Weasley-”

“Molly please.”

“-I was up anyway.” Five people frowned at his words. And Ronald glared at the professor as though it was somehow all his fault. The green-eyed teenager merely kept his attention on the food he was still cooking. Apparently unaware.

Not even ten minutes on all but two places at the long kitchen table were occupied and breakfast was being consumed at worryingly fast paces. Several amiable conversations were being held. Little was spoken of serious matters, with the Order apparently in cheerful moods that morning. And whilst Severus observed Ha- Potter interacting with his friends, the boy seemed distant, only speaking enough for it to seem as though he was a natural part of the conversation, rather than distracted as he obviously was to the well-trained eye. Because the spy could see the slight tremor to Harry’s arms. How his eyes were glassy and dull behind the lenses. Apparently he was over-tired, not to mention in some kind of pain. It gave Severus further worri- theories as to the boy’s life.

Severus settled himself into a library armchair with a long sigh, fighting the urge to pinch his nose. A house full of teenagers and foolhardy Order members. What was a man to do? Well, get a headache was the most obvious – and evidenced – answer. However, the slight creak of another chair stopped him from showing quite so much of his internal process.

“Sir…?”

“Po- Harry. Get your-“ He paused, taking in a calming breath with a soft whoosh of air, “Would you care to get your books and notes back out?”

“My notes?”

“Yes, boy, your notes.” Another thing to file away: Harry flinched at the appellation ‘boy’. Or had it been his harsh tone? Regardless, the teenager fished out a dozen books and three full handfuls of notes. Spreading them out on the coffee table between them, Severus again scrutinised the titles and scrawled scenarios. Then one thing in particular prodded the man’s interest.

“You’ve mentioned banishing the soul, in all its parts, and defying blood connections. How does that correlate to the Unforgivables?”

“If I’m Vold-”

“Don’t use that name in my presence!” The Potions Master thundered, left arm twitching.

“There’s no point fearing- Oh.” Harry suddenly seemed to realise what the slight flinch had meant, return anger immediately dissipating, “I… sorry. Right, anyway. I think – no, I know it, the evidence is overwhelming – that Vol- His soul is separated into several sealed pieces. And as His supposed equal, it isn’t unfeasible that He too can undermine the Killing Curse’s power now, particularly as He has my blood.”

“To my understanding, it was your mother’s sacrifice and love that allowed-”

“How can an emotion defy something so total? Some ancient magic perhaps, but not pure love. And my mother wasn’t the only witch to ever feel enough love to sacrifice herself. No matter how much I wish I could believe that; that it was true. Dumbledore was a wise man, but some of his ideas…”

Resisting the urge to comment on the clinical tone of the younger man, Severus agreed, “He was a fool. A most intelligent fool.” At this they both cracked weary half-smiles. Which quickly became shock at the realisation of what the elder had just done. Then Harry just shook his head and started back on track.

“The point is, as He now shares my blood, I fear that any protection against the Killing Curse I have He also shares. It’s not a chance I can take. This is war and I won’t, can’t, risk losing it.” Fighting back his shock – at the maturity, at the determination, at the resignation – Severus nodded and moved the conversation on.

“Alright. And what’s this potion?” he inquired, pulling several sheets of paper detailing alternative theories for a brew that seemed to target the nervous system and mental faculties.

“A long-term Anti-Cruciatus. For people like Neville’s parents. I’m not sure how effective it would be in terms of their… well, you know, being kinda insane. But if I finished it then it should mitigate the lasting physical effects at the very least.” And it took all of Severus’ willpower not to simply gape at that. A sixteen-year-old had come up with a potion that could restore people from such prolonged Cruciatus? Admittedly, it was an incomplete theory and it might not even work, but… Taking several long minutes, the Potions Master scrutinised every detail of the suggested brew – the theory and base concept; the rough ingredients list, made almost illegible by the sheer number of corrections and additions and side-by-side possibilities. It was fascinating and looked sound.

“This looks like it should actually work. Harry, it’s…” He trailed off, not quite certain of what to say.

“You think so?” The teenager’s tone was near-ecstatic regardless. Bright, shining eyes locked onto the elder’s, sending a rush of hope through Severus that wasn’t his own. Fighting away the foreign feelings, he nodded.

“The foundation seems correct. I’d discount one or two of your variations almost immediately… but there’s promise here. Definitely something to develop further.” And dammit if that wasn’t worryingly close to a compliment. Severus would have to watch himself.

Chapter Text

Attempting to beat down his bewildered but flattered flush, Harry cleared his throat and moved the conversation away from things he’d done. Compliments were… bizarre at best. Mortifying at worst.

“Yeh, well, it’s only an idea. Might not work.”

“Maybe not,” Severus conceded, “But considering the general standard of your classwork, I would not have expected such theoretical prowess from yourself.” And Merlin-damned, another back-handed compliment. Not that the young man saw it as such this time.

“It’s not my fault that Malfoy and his stupid sidekicks keep dropping random stuff into my potions!” Harry burst out, rocketing to his feet. After the pleasantness of their recent interactions, the dig at his classwork was shocking. Hurtful even.

“They do what?!” At the angry shout, Harry shrunk back a little, green eyes wide, frustration draining away in an instant. Now they were both on their feet.

“N-nothing Sir. Sorry Sir,” came the too-quick reply. But, caught up in righteous indignation, the elder scarcely registered the fact.

“That’s unacceptable! How dare they?! The idiots perhaps, but I had thought the Malfoy boy to know better.” Again, he failed to notice Harry’s reaction as the teenager visibly flinched at the word ‘boy’ and even retreated a few steps during the short tirade. He was just out of arm’s reach now.

It wasn’t until Severus stopped muttering to himself, cursing moronic students, that he glanced at Harry and registered the distance that had been placed between them. Furthermore, the resignation and apprehension that could be found in the tension of his figure, the tightness of his jaw and the crinkle between his brows. Harry was… scared. But how to deal with that?

“I… I apologise for the rant. I am simply irritated by the foolishness of my Slytherins. Shall we return to what you looked at last night?” Severus gracefully lowered himself back into his seat with the words, now below Harry.

“O-okay. I- I’m j-just gonna go to the l-loo quickly.” And the boy rushed out before receiving a reply. Slumping back into his seat, Severus sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. At least the situation hadn’t escalated any further.

Meanwhile, Harry had scarpered into the bathroom, shutting the door as softly as possible before sagging against the wood. The subtle grains provided a welcome grounding against his fingertips. God, why did it take so little to send his mind back to being a scrawny five year old at his relatives’ mercy? Cursing himself, Harry wobbled over to the basin and, discarding his glasses carelessly on the countertop, splashed icy rivulets down his face, struggling to tamp down on his emotions. He needed… He needed to focus on his training. On the war and on Voldemort. He didn’t have the time or headspace for stupid, stupid hangovers from his childhood. A mere two weeks or so would see Harry seventeen and free of those disgusting pigs forever. Until then, he just had to prioritise. Right. Training was first. And to learn more magic, to master it, he had to get back to Snape and get on with it.

Having patted his face down with a hand-towel and relocated his glasses, Harry made his way back down the corridor into the library. They had work to do.

“Moving on from Potions, how did you find the books I gave you?”

“They- I’m fairly sure I understood most of it…” The pair spent the next two hours debating the theoretical spells and their possible applications. Despite everything, they rapidly found themselves utterly enraptured by the conversation. And as they talked, Harry found that his insecurities, whilst they didn’t magically disappear, did become incredibly insignificant. His mind was not filled with regrets and fears and self-recriminations but rather with nothing but the man beside him and the words that flowed between them. It was a curious phenomenon. Because truthfully? Harry hadn’t felt this at ease… ever. Not in his memory at least.

It wasn’t until deep into that night when Harry dared to ponder upon such matters. Nearly an hour of Occlumentic meditation had calmed him, tamed the beasts of doubt, fear and anger, affording Harry a clarity that he typically lacked by evening. So now was the best time to think about difficult things. Case in point: how did he view Severus?

Well, his respect for the man was nothing less than exponential. Across the last year or so, ever since their Occlumency re-do in his Sixth Year, Harry had gained an appreciation for the great lengths and pains the Potions Master went to in aid of the war effort. And, of course, Harry’s own continued survival. It had taken a massive blow-up between them, wherein the elder named every single time that he’d saved Harry’s life, and the younger listed a variety of Severus’ harshest insults and actions, for them to truly reach a truce. An alliance. They’d both been ignorant fools: cruel and judgemental, rash and acerbic. Drawing a line beneath that hadn’t been easy, but they seemed to be managing it up to now.

And that led neatly onto Harry’s gratitude, of a sort, for those many times his life had been saved. For every lie Severus told that protected the Order, or truth that fed them information. He couldn’t even begin to fully comprehend the dangers of Severus’ life, yet the man continued to act in the most altruistic manner for such a misanthrope. Spending years of his life safeguarding and saving the child of his bully and pseudo-sister. Working for the Light side who held little trust for him whilst playing the Dark side who tortured him. It wasn’t even a balancing act, it was a fucking merry-go-round of pain and lies, guilt and curses, and never a moment’s peace. No wonder the man was so very sour.

And what terrified Harry was what might happen when Severus was finally found out. It was inevitable, surely. No matter how good the man was at what he did, nothing went on forever. Particularly not something so delicately balanced as his position. What if the Dark Lord found out and led Severus into a trap? He would undoubtedly be tortured first – Cruciatus, blood-boiling, cutting curses, Merlin knew what else – then killed. And likely not with the quick relief of an Avada Kedavra. Oh no, Harry knew Voldemort better than that. It would be a slow thing, Severus’ death, drawn-out beyond all reason, unflinching and unending in the agony it wrought. Then the body. Merlin, the body – what would happen to it? Would it be sent back to them perhaps, bloody and unrecognisable? Or would it be sent somewhere public – the Ministry, or Hogwarts – to be flaunted? Or maybe just left to rot somewhere, no proper burial or recognition, just a lump of decomposing flesh laid to rot, not to rest.
Harry wasn’t sure which option was worse.

He wanted Severus to survive, he realised. He didn’t want the man to die. No matter how inevitable it seemed right now, Harry didn’t want Severus to die. He wanted this brave, harsh, horrible man to live.
He wanted to keep on talking about Defence strategies. He wanted to start Duelling practice until neither of them could win. Hell, he wanted to continue discussing experimental potions ideas.

Harry wanted.

And with that odd realisation, he allowed himself to fall into sleep.

Chapter Text

Harry’s daily routine was finally beginning to settle now, around two weeks into the summer holiday. He would wake up early, somewhere between five and half-six, and immediately drag himself from the warm covers. He knew from bitter experience that allowing himself to wallow nary did any good and that if he left himself the chance to do so then he would regret it for the rest of the day. No, instead he would rush through his ablutions and having successfully ignored his scars, head downstairs to begin breakfast. Nobody else was up yet. Thus it was all the easier for him to eat the minimum of some toast and either sausages or mushrooms before casting stasis charms on the platters for everyone else and retracing his earlier path but instead to the library.

His mornings were spent in theoretical research. He devoured tome after tome, many Dark in the truest sense of the word, hoping to understand what he was fighting. To understand Voldemort. How Tom Riddle, far from innocent but human all the same, could become such a twisted abomination. And ways to combat that. The Black library was the forbidden fruit for less-than-Light Magicks and Harry dedicated many an hour to drowning himself in the sweet juices of Grey spells. Hexes and curses and even rituals that were immoral, dangerous, but not so much so as to be illegal. He merely remembered the worst, the ones that could drain little pieces of magic and life force from those around him, but the spells that fed off himself or the victim? Those, he learned. With a bibliophilic voracity that others would’ve thought odd for the young man, Harry learned.

Because if it saved even a single life, Harry would use these spells.

And in the afternoon, he often practiced doing so. The attic of Grimmauld Place was a cavernous, airy space, impossibly gloomy considering the skylights and sufficient, if not quite ideal, for individual duelling practice. On the two or three days a week Severus could not come to train with the boy, Harry instead transfigured dummies and destroyed them. Again and again and again.

But, in comparison, when Severus was at Grimmauld Place, their time was inevitably spent together. Occlumentic meditation, scouring books, debating tactics. The occasional spat did occur though and their blow-ups were phenomenal. Phenomenally catastrophic.

When Severus sneered over Harry’s Gryffindor tendencies after the younger had gone through a rough night, his already-short temper went up in sparks and scorch marks.

“At least I’m not some Death Eater!” Fuck, why did he say that?

“Didn’t stop you getting your parents killed-!” Shit. Severus hadn’t meant that.

“Oh, that was my fault was it? I forget, who told Voldemort about the prophecy again? It wasn’t a baby, that’s for sure. But it might have been a twisted, bitter coward.” They were both too far gone to stop. And now the books of the library were rattling in their places, shivering with eerie sounds of shuffling paper.

“How dare yo-” Severus was stopped by some magical vice, clamping his jaw shut so abruptly that he bit on his own tongue. Bitter-iron blood filled his mouth.

₰ SSSSIIILEEENNCCCCCCEEEE ₰ The hiss echoed through the house. Parseltongue was well-suited to malice and fury, dripping with venom as though spoken with true fangs, harsh in its violent sibilance, contemptuous and nothing short of lethal in the first unknown syllable. Petrifying. The gaze of a righteous basilisk given audial form.

Without Harry or Severus’ knowledge, the backlash of their conflict swept through the house, freezing people in their places. Only able to hear the furious voices and feel the vibrations of unadulterated magic. Raw, Grey-White with splashes of oily midnight-Black. Every candle guttered and dimmed, a sort of fog inexplicably pervading the house. And no matter how they struggled, Grimmauld’s other inhabitants couldn’t move. They could only remain, suspended, and listen to the sparse words they could hear, shuddering under the suffocating blanket of furious Magicks.

“You will listen to me, and listen well. I suffered because of your actions. And the actions of many others. I suffered, not them. I ₰SSSSSUUUFFFFFEEEEEEEERREDD ₰

Harry had slipped into Parseltongue once again, vitriol thick in the swirling magic. And Severus halted for a moment. Because there was a raw, pure intensity and pain – such pain – behind the slick hissing. That was the kind of pain that came from long-endured suffering of the cruellest kinds. Severus should know.

“Harry-” he choked out, forcing his way past the wild magic previously holding him mute,

“Did they- You- I- My father-”

Everything stopped.

Bodies fell to the ground, the force of Harry’s will fluctuating, the fog cleared in an instant, bright candle-light burning away the greasy darkness that had overtaken the house. Severus himself stumbled, alarmed at the sudden emptiness of the room.

Everything exploded.

With a single anguished cry, wordless in fury and helplessness, Harry’s magic rebounded back into the house with all the force of a meteor. Objects and people were carelessly thrown into the walls surrounding them, which in turn shuddered and creaked, threatening to give way under the aimless onslaught. And Harry collapsed. 

It was later that evening that Severus roused to find himself in a bedroom, tucked into covers a little carelessly. A gentle snoring pervaded the room. Ah, it was only Potter...
Harry!

Pushing himself into a sitting position, heedless of the vague aches that the movement brought to life, the man turned towards the sleeping teenager. He had- Surely not- No. Harry Potter had been abused. That was undeniable. Nobody could fake that level of dejection and resignation, all wrapped up in a pretty little package of hurt rage. Few situations would concoct that particular mix of emotions, and long-term, systematic abuse was one of them. Severus should know.

Falling back onto his pillow, Severus allowed himself to sink into his thoughts. If Harry had been abused, then that meant that Albus had either been oblivious – unlikely – careless – also unlikely – or had known and dismissed it. Now that was possible, as much as the Potions Master hated to acknowledge it. Abuse would, in the majority of cases, make a victim more vulnerable, more malleable. If shown the tiniest shred of kindness and trust, they would often follow the giver to the ends of the world. And what had Dumbledore shown Harry but grandfatherly care, sage, cryptic wisdom and miles of faith? He’d wanted the Boy Wonder to follow him blindly, to be the perfect Saviour for the sake of the Wizarding World.

Now, Severus was no fool. He had lived through the first war, even if partially as an uninvolved teenager. He knew what war did. He knew that there was little chance, little hope, of Harry surviving this war. Not with the way a target had been painted upon his back in neon lights and foghorns. But dammit, the boy deserved a chance.

Severus would give Harry that chance, even if it killed him.

Chapter Text

“We shall be covering rudimentary Healing for at least the next week. I trust you have no issues with this?”

“I mean- No? But weren’t we half way through the rituals and Voldie-theories?” Harry’s confusion was more than evident. Understandable if irrelevant, dismissed Severus.

“Yes, but we need to ensure you’ll survive. It’s far more important right now.”

“That’s not that imp- Oh, yeah, the prophecy.”

“Indeed.” Severus paused for a moment then: Harry had phrased that very peculiarly.

“Wait. Harry, brat, look at me a moment,” the man paused until he had the young man’s gaze locked with his own, “You do understand that you have your own significance, yes? One beyond the farce of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and the prophecy.” His voice was forceful, trying to hide the delicate, almost fragile undertone to his thoughts and words.

“Of- of course I do.”

“No. You don’t.” It was a simple statement, flat with disbelief. Even horror.

“I do! I- I’m just not as important as-” Harry stopped himself abruptly, flushing a little, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Harry-”

“No! …No. If we have to, we can-” he took a deep, shaky breath, “We can talk about this some other time, okay?” Severus hesitated, unable to simply accept this.

“Okay?” The younger was glaring with too much fear in his eyes to be convincing. Dammit.

“Very well. But we shall be discussing this Harry. It’s important; you are important.”

“Yeah, yeah. What are we starting with?” This casual dismissal of, well, himself, grated on the elder even more than the bravado, but he would leave it be. At least for now.

“So, wait a second… This spell doesn’t work in less you give the patient a… corresponding potion just before casting?”

“Yes. Essentially, the spell activates the ‘dormant’ potion and allows it to take on an exaggerated effect. As such, this methodology of healing is, whilst also taking longer to have an impact, more effective long-term. Additionally, it aids in triggering the body’s natural healing factor.”

“Then why does, say, Madame Pomfrey, normally just cast a bunch of spells? Is this only for longer-term illnesses?”

“Sometimes. In the majority of cases, utilising the ‘double trigger’ is for severe cases, often illnesses, yes. I’m sure you can understand that to choose this method for a patient who is, for example, rapidly bleeding out, or vomiting constantly, isn’t entirely practical, at least initially. However, once the potion is unlikely to be thrown up, and/or the patient shouldn’t be dying within the next half-hour, this is a highly useful treatment.”

“Does Pomfrey ever use it then?”

“Rather. In fact, I believe she’s done this for you a number of times. In your First Year, certainly. And undoubtedly other instances too.”

“Huh.” Harry slumped back in his seat.

“Alright Potter?”

“Harry,” the brat corrected thoughtlessly.

“Harry,” was repeated, sarcasm dripping from the single word. The teenager just sniggered. Impertinent brat.

“D’you r- Would you mind if we took a break please?”

“As it’s-” the elder checked the grandfather clock, “half eleven, I see no reason not to take an early lunch.”

“Thanks.” As they stood and left the library, Severus was struck by the realisation that Harry had summarily distracted him. Hm.

“Harry!”

“Hey,” came the reply from the teen as Ron bounded over to him, swinging an arm around his shoulders. Only Severus took note of the flinch it caused.

“So mate, wanna make us some lunch?”

“Sure, anything in particular?” Interesting, there wasn’t any hesitance about that, despite the skill’s origins.

“Something with meat in it!” Hermione and Harry laughed at the ginger’s enthusiasm.

“Would you mind it being something warm Harry?” the girl interjected, rubbing her arms, “It’s particularly chilly here today.”

“Course Mione. Might take a little longer though. Unless…” And now Harry drifted away from them to stick his head into the tall cupboard that was charmed to act like a Muggle refrigerator.

“Would you be willing to put up with some quizzing whilst you cook?”

“Oi! Leave hi- OW!” Severus and Harry both ignored the redhead being hissed at by Granger, continuing their conversation.

“Only if you would dice some carrots, onions and butternut squash for me. About a centimetre cubed please. And onions first.” A chopping board was being brandished in the elder’s face, a knife and veg already on the side next to him.

“Very well,” Severus smirked. Trust Potter to avoid what work he could, he teased in his head.

As the two settled into cooking and cutting respectively, Harry pre-frying some chicken with a little garlic, butter and herbs, soon adding in Severus’ immaculately chopped onions, the Potions Master began to ask him about the material they’d just discussed. Neither really registered how much attention they’d garnered from the other two in the room.
“… the three principles of a ‘double trigger’ treatment?”

“Preparation: having the correct materials, potion pre-brewed and intonation fully correct. Then Performance: dosing the patient with said potion and casting the spell. Third is Patience: observing the patient, checking that the potion and spell have interacted at all, let alone correctly. And the fourth, which you didn’t mention, is Post-care: following up with check-ups regularly, the possibility of second doses, any other spells or potions necessary being administered.”

“Fully correct. On every question. Who’d have thought it?” Harry snorted in return,

“’s not like you didn’t try to trip me up.”

“What kind of Slytherin would I be if I let you have it easy?”

“True, true. Pass over those veg? Thanks.” And now there was a large pot of chicken broth bubbling away on the stove.

“Give it about twenty minutes and those carrots should be cooked through, so the lot’ll be ready to eat, ‘kay guys?”

“Yeah… Mate?”

“Hm?” Harry glanced over at Ron from where he was washing utensils, up to his elbows in suds.

“When did you learn all that stuff?”

“Eh, just this morning. Why?”

“Dunno,” the redhead shrugged, hesitating, “Just surprised me is all. You were acting like Mione!”

“Ronald!” the girl in question admonished, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking an interest in your studies, even if they’re extra-curricular. Personally, I’m very proud of Harry for the obvious effort he’s expending into this-” Severus observed Harry snicker near-silently at that “-and hope that he maintains this for the next school year. Although I must ask,” and here she turned definitively to Harry, “I’ve never noticed you take up a book about Healing before. Is it a recent interest?”

Oddly carefully, feigning carelessness, Harry shrugged his shoulders in return, “Se- Professor Snape offered to tutor me a little on the subject and it seemed useful, so, uh, yeh.” Merlin, no wonder Severus had always dismissed the brat as incompetent, he didn’t half lower himself and his intellect around his peers.

As the delicious scent of the broth wafted through the room, Harry stood once more, grabbing down bowls from a nearby cupboard, beginning to ladle out portions, bread and condiments already on the table.

“Here you three go, say if we’re gonna run out of butter, I’m gonna shout everyone else down,” and with that Harry left, deliberately ignoring the awkward silence that immediately descended, broken only by the,

“LUNCH IS READY!” that echoed in through the open kitchen door. Severus simply dug into the delicious meal in front of him. Of course, his manners were impeccable, unlike the unbecoming rake of redhead chewing with his mouth open. Disgusting. Harry was far preferable, even if the damn boy needed to start eating thrice his current amount.

Chapter Text

“There’s an Order meeting today, isn’t there?” was the first thing to greet Severus upon Flooing into Grimmauld Place the next morning.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sorry, sorry. Good morning, hope you slept well, there is a meeting, right?”

“Yes, there is. Brat. It’s at one o’clock, I believe.”

“Thanks. So, theory or practical today?”

“Something in between, I think.”

“…okay?” Severus resisted the urge to snort at the suspicious look on the teen’s face.

“Indeed. Come along now.”

“Thank you all, again, for meeting as requested. We have a few things on the agenda, so first of all: has there been any progress with recruiting further members? We cannot induct any of the remainder ‘in the know’, as it were. But, others?” McGonagall left the question hanging, clearly giving the floor to whomever were to take it.

“Well, there are definitely a few more Aurors we should consider. Nathaniel Brown, Tenko Kurasuma and Daniella Whitechurch have all been outspoken about wanting to do more towards getting rid of Him. Plus, they’re all good, strong people. Dani’s a whiz at human Transfiguration, very useful for disabling perps without damage.”

“Tonks is right with those three. They’re alright. Better than most at least, and probably the closest to safe to bring in,” Moody concurred, tone somewhat begrudging.

“Sounds excellent, though we’ll want to do our own background checks on top of the Auror’s. Anybody else?” Flitwick prompted.

“Well, Bill and Fleur – I’m sure you all remember her from The Tournament – are returning to Britain in two weeks and have said they’ll be helping with everything they can. Charlie is also coming back, we confirmed it with him last night, but it’ll have to wait until after breeding season, so that’s upwards of two or three months.”

“Well, that will be another five, hopefully, within the next month,” followed Mr Weasley’s words, McGonagall taking over once more, “Perhaps we may turn our attention to this year’s graduates? There’s some potential there, I believe.”

As the Order, or the teachers of them, really, began to talk over prospective members out of the sixty or so Hogwarts students who had just passed their NEWTs, Harry tuned out, thinking. Surely there were some more prominent figures, politically, who would at least ally themselves with the Order? Obviously not Scrimgeour, but there were other significant people…
“What about Madame Bones? She’s in charge of the DMLE, isn’t she?”

“Well, yes. Why?” Tonks answered his sudden question.

“She would at least give her support, wouldn’t she? I remember her from my trial, I think. She was fair at the very least. And the Aurors have been more proactive than most departments regarding Voldemort, surely that must be at least a bit because of her?”

“You know, the boy’s actually making a good point,” Harry tried not to bristle at the ‘actually’, even as Moody supported him, “Amelia’s a good leader, good fighter. Made of stern stuff. ‘d be worth talking to the woman.”

“Very well. Mad-eye, would you mind being the one to approach her?” The gruff man simply grunted an affirmative, and conversation went on.

It wasn’t until late into that night, hours post-meeting, that Harry tentatively spoke up to Severus, green eyes glowing preternaturally in the candlelight,
“Would any of the Slytherins be interested in spying for us? Like you do?” The Potions Master stiffened, a tension that now typically leached away whilst alone with Harry returning to his frame with whip-cord strength. Harry couldn’t help but flinch.

“Why do you ask?” The tone was careful, reserved. Not yet angry. And of course Harry grasped the deeper question behind that.

“You mean ‘who’, don’t you? I’m not too sure, but I reckon Malfoy – Draco that is – and probably some of the others would be willing to join us, in a sense, if we helped to get their families out and safe. We could do with other spies, in other layers of the ranks. People that genuinely want and need help. I know not all of them joined Voldey out of personal choice.”

“That is… true.” Still with that measured pace that just screamed reluctance; anger might have been preferable at this point. Almost.

“Well, um, don’t worry about it now. Just, maybe keep it in mind? Please?”

“Very well.”

Harry didn’t broach the topic again.

Loudly clearing his throat, Severus switched topics to something far more comfortable,
“So may we review your ‘Constantiam animi corporisque’ potion? I believe I may have procured some more research that will benefit us.”

“Yeah… yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Harry muttered, almost to himself, the burning of his ears beginning to fade. His bag flapped open at the other end of the library, several pages of familiar notes floating their way out. Yet, as Harry stood, seemingly unaware, they drifted naturally to the floor, whatever hold the teen’s magic had wrought falling away as his attention came to them. How peculiar.

“Wha-?” Harry mused.

“Did you not mean to summon them? Your magic was bringing them over to you.”

“I- what? Really?” And now the younger turned his disbelief to Severus.

“Well, yes. I presume you had not intended as such then?”

“No. I mean, my magic did feel kinda active, but it does that a lot, so…”

“Wandless, wordless magic. Accidental magic, even,” Severus raised a finger to his chin, thinking,

“And you said that your magic is frequently that active?”

“Yeah, if- If I’m emotional, or really deeply thinking, I guess. But I’ve never noticed it actually do something for me. Not like that at least.”

“Like what then?” An eyebrow was raised, more in curiosity than impatience.

“Oh, nothing- nothing much. Hardly worth mentioning, really.” Harry tittered a little, nerves and discomfort blatant. Now Severus was truly curious.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is,” the note of finality was exactly that: final. So the Potions Master let it go.

“Regardless, the potion?” At his prompting, Harry scrambled to collect up the scattered notes and Severus allowed himself to snort quietly, brushing his theories – not concerns, but theories – to one side. They could be considered another time.

--------------------------------

‘Constantiam animi corporisque’ - Stability of mind and body – the anti-Cruciatus potion – meant to help counteract the trembling and fits, as well as ease the detrimental mental impacts, of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. Via combining ingredients with nerve regeneration, muscle strengthening, wit sharpening and sedative properties, this potion should aid in the recovery of patients from wards such as the Janus Thickey (see, St Mungos).

It would most likely be brewed in either a silver cauldron, or perhaps one of a gold-tin alloy, utilising a pure Tiger's Eye or Topaz stirring rod (the former alongside the alloy; the latter alongside the silver cauldron) . All paraphernalia should be aimed towards promoting mental and physical steadiness. In keeping with this, it must be primarily undisturbed, with long resting periods between ingredients. Brewing large batches is inadvisable, until the brewing process is finalised and practiced.

 Potential Ingredients: ginseng, dandelion roots, minimum of three passion flowers, leopard's bane leaves, willow bark, intestines of rosemary chaffinch, arctic fox whiskers, cured crow's eye, barn-owl's liver stomach...

Chapter Text

Peering into the gloom of the basement staircase was only giving Severus a headache.

“Lumos,” he murmured, squinting for a moment.

The soft white-gold light pulsated into life, breathing shadows into what had been an utter abyss. Cracked, mould-ridden walls of mismatched stone, mirrored in both the floor and ceiling; the scent of decay and stale air pervading into the kitchen above. Good thing it was well-past breakfast time. Snorting internally at the somewhat questionable humour, Severus began his descent into the basement. Beneath his booted feet, oak steps creaked in complaint, not unlike the eerie sound of the Whomping Willow in the wind, wood almost grinding against itself. Rather unhappily so. Understandable really, considering how long it had undoubtedly been since any creature larger than a spider or rat had dared to traverse this part of the grim house. And what was Severus himself doing here? The fortunate man was attempting to find an appropriate place for duelling practice with the Brat-Who-Lived. Such fun.

“Well?” Speaking of the obnoxious, if surprisingly-un-aggravating, creature.

“I imagine it should suffice, so long as the floor is smoothed a little. And, of course, the worst of the dust cleared. It would not do to be sneezing our way through spells. Particularly not curses of this calibre.” The teen had the nerve laugh at that. Honestly. As though sneezing half-way through casting a blood-boiler would actually be funny. A colour-changer however…

Shaking off such meandering thoughts, Severus continued into the dank space, taking in every detail that his initial examination had skimmed. The cobwebs were more than lace in corners, but rather draperies joining the walls and ceiling to the floor, gravity-defying despite their massive size. And upon those webs scuttled midnight masses as large as a hand. Surely the spiders themselves. And, hidden behind layers of moon-cloud gauze, was something dark and gleaming. Something that glimmered, circular, a giant eye, green-black.

“What’s that?” Harry exclaimed at Severus’ back, sidling around him to get a better glimpse.

“Stay back, idiot brat! Have you learnt noth-!”

“I wasn’t going to touch it!” the indignation was tempered by the teen’s fascination for the… thing, “It’s hard to see it though, with the cobwebs in the way. Want me to cast a removal spell?”

Severus hesitated a moment, then nodded, “Very well.”

“Apage!”

In an instant, a flash of green lashed out in return, headed for the pair. Just as quickly, two shield spells were cast. A violent explosion, like ink yet visibly sharp, splashed across the barriers, smashing the first but slowed enough to barely crack the second.

“Wha-” Now that the webs that had hidden the object were gone, the thing was fully revealed, in all of its debatable glory.

An oval of… glass, or perhaps even metal, burnished a green reminiscent of the Forbidden Forest, blinked at them. Blinked. For every second that they stood, wands ready, the concentric patterns of the object were shuttered, just for a fraction of a moment, before seeming to glow stronger yet again. Then the wall beneath the… eye was textured. Flaking and visibly dry, a burgundy-brown, blood that had been aged and never refreshed. Perhaps literally.

“Bombarda maxima!” the hex spat out towards the object, providing an ethereal glow to the dim room.

Yet nothing exploded.

Then Severus and Harry were throwing themselves to the side, dodging a burst of returning white lights. And again and again and again. Shields were thrown up: shattered. Flagstones chipped and cracked. Bruises gained from harsh falls and slips. Blood spattered from scratches and gashes. Wide killing-curse eyes fell to Severus for a moment as they both hopelessly cast hexes and curses, jinxes and enchantments at the eye-thing.

“A spell-mirror?” came the breathless question, following the gaze, before both were yanked away to combat a particularly potent pale-purple hex.

“Most likely-” Severus conjured a shield, bones rattling with the force of whatever spell promptly hit it

“- On three, strongest disabling charm. One- Two- Three!”

A spiralling beam of neon pink shot towards the mirror, accompanied by a straight dash of crimson, dousing the room in a peculiar, ugly, too-bright mauve.

Silence reigned with darkness at its side.

“Is- Has it stopped?” panted Harry, sounding highly sceptical. Severus could relate.

“It would appear so.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” the teen grunted, before summoning his own wand-tip light. In the strong, revealing glow, Severus could see the sweat that gleamed along the younger’s forehead, and that reflected that which beaded his own brow.

“Rather.”

“…Well, what should we do with the thing then? I guess we can’t just chuck it out?”

“Most certainly not. No, we shall have to perform the specific spells for dealing with such artefacts. Then it can be discarded somewhere discreet. At least it doesn’t appear to bare the Black Family crest. That would have been more difficult.”

“Wait, couldn’t we just Vanish it?” Startled at the idiocy, Severus sneered at the boy,

“What on earth would possess you to think such a thing? Vanishing only works on non-enchanted material objects with a limited size, such as a glass of water or a sock. Certainly not a large, magic-infused mirror.”

“Huh,” came the initial unintelligent reply.

“So I could Vanish Dudley’s old clothes, but not my broom, or somebody else’s wand?”

“Precisely. Although you could Banish either of the latter. Did you not cover this with Filius in Charms?”

“If we did it in Fifth Year, which I think we did, then yes, but I hardly remember anything from that year. I was… a little preoccupied.”

“Ah yes. Your… ‘Defence Club’.”

“Not just that, thank you! Funnily enough, between a Blood Quill, Occlumency, and Voldie digging around my head, I had rather a lot going on, and retaining anything was a problem, even of my own research.”

“What, couldn’t think beyond three things at a time?”

“Shut it Snape! I was in constant pain, running on about four hours of sleep a night, if I was lucky, and had a little voice in the back of my head telling me to flip out and start killing people! Forgive me,” and his voice here dripped with something harsher than sarcasm, darker than fury, “if I did not remember every spell we covered in any classes.”

“I-” Severus forced himself to pause, to rein in his temper, to assess the bone-chilling tension that had pervaded the room.

“I apologise Harry. I spoke… too harshly.”

“Yeh. You did.” But with that, Harry too seemed to take a moment, grip on his wand loosening near-imperceptibly,

“Look, I jumped at you too, yeh? So sorry. Shall we sort out this bloody mirror?”

“…Indeed.”

For quite a while, until there were calls of lunch being ready in fact, the two worked in the basement: Severus casting a delicate series of disenchantments upon the artefact; Harry fixing and lighting the various torches around the room, before moving on to removing the layers of dust and evening out the floor somewhat. Having darted and twisted across its jagged excuse for smoothness once was more than enough. It had to change.

But renovating the rest of the room could wait until after they’d eaten something. Duelling – even if it was with some random cursed object – was tiring.

“Woah, what have you been up to mate?! Rolling in dust?” Ron laughed as he spotted his best friend coming up the stairs into the kitchen.

“Yeh, yeh. Laugh it up,” came the rudely muttered reply, even as the teen waved his wand to get rid of the white and grey particles caking his clothes and hair. Before fully entering the light of the ground floor, Severus preformed much the same spells on himself. No need for others to see that he had been in much the same state, if anything exacerbated by the severe contrast of his sullen black robes and hair. Yes, better to avoid giving the idiot-Weasley-brats too much ammunition. Far better.

“Oh Harry, Severus, whatever have you two been doing? You’re covered in scrapes!” Glancing at each other, they suddenly processed the fact that, yes, they were rather banged up. Really, you’d think they might have noticed previously.

“Nothing serious I believe. Simply the results of dealing with a spell-mirror,” Severus countered, hoping to avoid any potential coddling and admonishments.

“Still! You must-”

“Episkey,” the elder cut her off, waving his wand in repeated motions at Harry, then at himself, hardly bothering with re-encanting, instead keeping the flow of appropriate magic steady and focused. Thus, within the space of thirty or so seconds, all of their minor cuts and abrasions were gone, leaving only a few smears of red behind.

“Well, I suppose that should do,” sniffed Molly. Severus ignored her flustering and sat down at the lunch table, Harry soon following beside him. Silly woman. Even if Harry cared for her, it did not give her the right to act as his only carer. As though the brat needed one at this point; coddling the young man was more detrimental than anything else, truthfully. Severus should know.

-------------------------------

Apage! - lit. be gone /away /get out! - the minor removal spell. Accidentally discovered by a wizard upon trying to rid himself of an Acromantula nest, whom proceeded to banish all the webs but none of the spiders, this spell is proficient in removing all manner of small, tedious remains from pests (e.g. faeces, webs, crumbs). Accordingly, intone 'Ah-pah-gey' at the offending waste, and twirl your wand in a counter-clockwise half-circle. The last syllable ('gey') should be pronounced as the caster jabs their wand directly forward two inches, aimed at the target. This spell may require multiple castings if the targets are numerous.

(This spell will only affect larger matter if the caster possesses sufficient willpower and magical reserves, though attempts are not recommended unless one is highly certain of their personal experience and prowess.)

Spell Mirror - [spɛl ˈmɪrə] - an enchanted mirror, made originally of Goblin- or Dwarf-forged glass, though its ultimate physical properties are altered by the specific enchantments layered upon the individual piece. Typically, they are placed in entrance halls or conference rooms as a means of passive defence, being imbued with an absorption-and-return enchantment combination, often with a form of protective tether to the room or owner, wherein any perceived hostile spells will be taken in by the mirror and returned towards the initial caster. Dependent upon the quality of enchantment permeation, this return-fire may be of equal or greater volume and/or strength on comparison to the original curse. Within the last decade, spell mirrors have become licensed items, with only antique pieces remaining unregistered, despite some of the nasty additional charms that were traditionally included but are now excluded due to legality issues.

Chapter Text

“Hey Harry, wanna come play some chess or something?” Harry visibly startled at Ron’s question, turning away from Severus.

“Uh, sorry mate. Gotta do some training.” At the half-annoyed, half-dejected expression on the redhead’s face, he hastily added,
“Maybe tonight, yeh? Around dinner time?” Grumbling under his breath, the other teenager just nodded before stomping away, flanked by Hermione and Ginny. In contrast, the twins simply ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately as they bounded out of the room, snickering at his offended squawk.

“Have fun Harrikins!” “Don’t work too hard!”

Trying hopelessly to flatten his unruly locks, Harry turned back towards Severus,
“Sorry about that. They’re…” He trailed off, wincing, before shrugging apologetically and heading down the basement stairs once more. Severus followed, unsure whether to snicker or sneer at the immature antics of Harry’s friends. The twins at least, whilst menaces, did seem to comprehend the gravity of Harry’s daily position. Ronald however- well, the less said the better, for now.

“Hm, where to start? I suppose, Harry, you should tell me what you believe to be your most advanced defensive spells. It’s as good a place as any,” Severus nodded to himself. Yes, there was no point to allowing the brat to duel if he couldn’t keep himself alive first.

“Light, Grey or Dark?”

For a long moment, Severus stood, frozen.

“Dark?” he finally asked, the word a slow, disbelieving drawl. At the lurking fury, Harry shifted back a little, ducking his head. Yet his eyes gleamed a dark Avada Kedavra from beneath raven-midnight-tar bangs.

“Yes, Dark. I haven’t cast many, and only those without severe drains or addictive detriments. I know more than just that dozen or so though, theoretically.”

“And may I ask why?” Harry began to visibly bristle a little, but didn’t lash out,
“ ‘Know thy enemy’, primarily. And, honestly Snape, I’m not above dirty tactics, dangerous tactics, if it keeps the innocent and the good alive. If it kills Him. Why should I be? I’m not some bloody Light paragon. The Boy-Who-Lived is, sure, but I’m more than that. I’m the Freak, the Saviour, the friend, the enemy, the idiot, the one to blame. But I’ll still kill Voldemort, mark my words, by magic and blood and soul, I’ll kill him, if it’s all I ever achieve.” With his words, a deep, sonorous note rang out, like the clanging of a death knell, shaking the foundations of the house they were stood beneath, dust falling and swirling around Harry, sparking with green and gold.

“Harry-” But it was no use. With his wild magic and steadfast convictions, the idiot brat had entered into an unintentional magical oath, with Severus as witness and, it would appear, Magick herself as the bonder. Wonderful.

Swaying on the spot, Harry was breathing heavily. Seeing him about to fall, Severus rushed the few steps forward to catch the dunderhead.

“What were you thinking?!” But he received no reply as the young man instead sagged further into his too-tight grip, eyelids fluttering in vain.

“Stay awake you idiot brat! Potter!” Moaning softly, Harry forced his eyes wide with great effort.

“Mph. Sev’rus Snape,” the teen had the gall to giggle deliriously, grinning as though stumbling over a single name was some massive achievement,
“Ssssev’rus. Soun’s li’e Parsselton’ue. ‘s niccce.”

“I’m glad you think so,” the Potions Master replied stiffly, turning the brat, then scooting him back a few metres, the skinny thing left leaning against a damp but relatively clean wall.

“I shall be back momentarily Harry, do try not to fall asleep before I return.” The brat simply murmured incoherently, causing Severus to sigh heavily before striding – no, he was not hurrying – back to the kitchen, only taking the steps two at a time due to his long legs of course.

Having gathered a damp cloth, a glass of cold pumpkin juice and some chocolate, along with informing the Weasley Matriarch of Harry’s potential absence from dinner, the man hastened to Harry’s side once more.

“Here,” he passed the teen the glass, forcefully curling the shaking hand around it,
“Slowly now. Easy, easy,” he admonished, trying to stop the brat from spilling half the juice down his front. As the cup gradually emptied, Harry’s eyes began to focus more and more, eventually zeroing in on Severus’ own.

“Than’s,” he said, still a little slurred.

“Hn. Next time, I recommend you don’t try taking magically-binding oaths for fun, idiot brat.”

“Sorry. Didn’ mean to. My magi’s a li’l… wired. High-stru’. Does wha’ i’ li’es.”

“Rather like its wizard then.” The dry words elicited a snigger, green eyes crinkling adorably. Or not, thank you.

“Regardless, eat this.” Nudging the chocolate bar into Harry’s hand, Severus laid the damp cloth across the back of his neck, resisting the twitch of his own lips at the young man’s contented hum at the pleasantly cool sensation. Upon confirming to himself that the younger had the strength and mental capacity to actually eat the sugary treat, Severus settled back on his haunches, within a metre opposite Harry. At least he shouldn’t be falling asleep now, with that much sweet stuff flooding his system.  

However, at dinner that evening, Harry was obviously drifting off. Once or twice a minute, his head would start to sink, hair swaying, eyes drooping. Then, the twins or Ronald would shout or laugh raucously and Harry’s head would shoot up once more, eyes too-wide and startled.

“Harry, why don’t you go to bed? You’re obviously very tired.”

“I’m fine ‘Mione,” he brushed off, dismissively if lazily waving his hand. The girl’s frown only deepened.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeh. I'm fine, really.” She sighed deeply, but nodded and returned to her own meal. Unfortunately, she’d already attracted Ron’s attention to his mate’s debatable wellbeing.

“What’s up with you?”

“Hm?”

“You’re all tired and crap-”

“Ronald! Language!”

“-sorry Mum – what’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing much,” Harry deflected, eyes briefly meeting Severus’ with a warning hidden in their depths, a ship-wreck acting as a lighthouse,
“Just did some duelling. But I slept badly so I guess it’s all just adding up or something.”

“Eh. Fair enough.” Honestly, that was enough to satisfy the boy? Harry’s ‘best-friend’ was hardly the most observant, or considerate, was he?

“Really Ron, is that it?” Oh Merlin, and here came the concerned mother hen, barging in once more. Severus knew that Harry appreciated her taking any thought or kindness towards him, but she wasn’t half over-bearing.

“Harry dear, you must go to bed early tonight.” She then continued on, steam-rolling over any attempts he might have made at protesting,
“And don’t you worry about breakfast tomorrow. I’m more than happy to come down and cook. It’s not like I’m not used to it!” Smiling awkwardly at her, Harry simply nodded in acquiescence. He had no way of weaselling out of that one, he could tell. Still, he could simply read in his room.

Or perhaps not. Within an hour of Harry being practically sent off to bed, Ron came into the room, muttering to himself and slamming the door. In an instant, Harry’s book was under his pillow, hidden from sight, and he was on his side, breathing deeply. Merlin's rainbow stockings, if Ron had seen what he was reading and told Molly. Her reaction to ‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’… It didn’t bear thinking about. Well, he’d gotten away with it for now. Really, Severus’ reaction had been bad enough.

“Harry, you still awake mate? Harry?” He certainly couldn’t pretend to be asleep now.

“Yeh?” he slurred. Huh, maybe he wasn’t actually as awake as he’d thought he was.

“You actually alright?”

“Yeh.” Harry hesitated for a moment, pushing himself to sit on the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“Dunno. You’ve just been a bit… off. Don’t tell me the slimy git’s been cursing you!”

“Oh shut up Ron. Nah, he’s fine. Treats me pretty decently.” Ron guffawed at that, even though it hadn’t been a joke. Ah, right.

“Like that bastard would treat you well! He’s a Slytherin Harry, he hates us all. You most of course. Fucking git.”

Harry really needed to get Ron and Severus to get along, didn’t he?

“Just leave it, hey Ron? He’s been helping me you know. Not many people do.”

“Eh, whatever. Most people’d give an arm an’ a leg to be the Boy-Who-Lived, or even just help him. You don’t need the bloke. Not really.”

“Oh yes, because everybody knows how to spy or fight a pitched battle or how to figure out Voldemort’s plans.” Okay, sarcasm was better than fury. Just keep it calm.

“Why does he know that though? ‘Cause he’s evil Harry, he’s evil. Have you forgotten all the times he’s hurt you? Insulted you?” There went keeping calm:

“No Ron! Just no! He’s saved me, over and over and over again! He’s been hurt, nearly killed, because of Voldemort – just like me! If he’s evil, then so am I! Okay?!”

Before he could give in to the temptation of punching the redhead, or worse, hexing him with something less than pleasant, Harry stormed out. Behind him, a small procession of his trunk, random books, and his broom clattered along, scraping against the wooden flooring.

“Wha-? Harry!” But the young man was already gone, heading down the stairs. His belongings continued to follow him, all the way into the guest room-cum-infirmary on the ground floor. The two twin beds were long-unused, but at least they were clean. And away from Ron. Hopefully his friend had been too gob-smacked to notice the titles of his books. Though really, that was probably the least of Harry’s worries.

Regardless, he’d hardly slumped onto the bed, eyes closed in defeat, before he couldn’t open them again. He really was tired.

-------------------------------

‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’ – Hedgarius Black III

I welcome thee to a world of words wherein one such as thee may peruse the ‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’. These enchantments are thus: hexes, curses, jinxes. Thine intrigue behoves thou and I shall endeavour to educate thou as such. Make thine enemies afeared! Tear families asunder! Be the bane of every baseborn, beldam and blackguard. One shall require more than an apothecary to recover from thy curses.

Chapter Text

That night was a rough one. Not considering how exhausted Harry was, or perhaps actually due to it, when Harry dropped right off into sleep, he also dropped straight into Voldemort’s head. Fucking hell.

A maniacal, sadistic chuckle, the sound horrifically casual if not for the dark undertone, rang through the air from their throat. How delightful were the screams of these puny Muggles, these little mice scampering back and forth, searching for an escape from the blaze. There was no escape, fools! Ah, the sunset flames were beautiful in their destruction. So elegant yet so catastrophic. Perhaps t(he)y would teach anything that survived a little culture. Yes, a little appreciation for the finer things far above their comprehension.

“Crucio!”

For hours it seemed, Harry watched on silently from Voldemort’s mind. It had been a long time since he had bothered screaming and shouting at him to stop, to just fucking die already you bastard! Instead he merely lingered, incapable both morally and physically of wrenching his attention away from the dying innocents and laughing Death Eaters. He couldn’t control a single god-damn thing.

When could he ever, really?

“Potter? Potter!” Please, yes, someone wake him up.

“Harry! Merlin’s sake, I’m coming in brat.” There was a pause where Harry struggled to grasp what was going on. In one ear, screams still echoed, Dark Magic was twisting around their skin, molten and oh so powerful yet in the other there were rapid footsteps.

“Harry? Oi, brat! What’s wrong with you?” Yet he could only twitch in reply, unable to see what sounded like Severus past the saturated image of bloody tortured and torturers.

“Harry!” A hand shaking his shoulder, burning, grounding, and his eyes finally focused beyond his own mind.

“Sev’rus-” he gasped out, desperate, spasming inside and out.

“Hush now. Calm down. You’re safe. I’m going to summon Poppy now. Hush.” Harry wanted to protest but the warm, heavy hand on his shoulder stayed and he couldn’t form words and something silver, something beautiful, was glowing in his vision before it danced away, pranced away, so pretty but now it was gone and-

“Harry! Breathe. Harry! Now, you idiot brat, in. One, two, three…”

It seemed an age before Severus stopped counting his breaths with him, and certainly not before Madame Pomfrey arrived, loitering just within the thankfully-closed door.

“Right then Mr. Potter,” she bustled forwards as he sat up, lungs not quite heaving anymore,
“Shall we have a look at you? What-” She paused for a second, shooting a questioning glance at the Potions Master beside her, who had no explanation to give,
“You seem to have been exposed to the Cruciatus dear. Do you know how?”

“It- a vision. Wh-when he casts a spell they… they kinda hit me too. Dunno. Sorry.”

Nodding brusquely, Pomfrey simply began pulling potions from her carry case. Handing them to Severus to administer, she held her wand steadily and cast a number of diagnostics, gradually building up a half-rainbow halo above his chest.

“Well dear, you’ve certainly been through the wringer. Minor magical exhaustion, over-exposure to the Cruciatus, moderate-if-not-dangerous swelling of the parietal cortex and brain stem respectively, muscle fatigue, a not-inconsiderable burn on your left shoulder plus a nasty cut to the thigh. And of course the lesser ramifications of a panic attack. I should hope you remain in bed for the rest of the day at least, young man. Ideally, two to three dependent upon your recovery rate. Am I understood?”

“Yes Madame Pomfrey,” Harry replied, a little dazed after her listing.

“Very good. Severus, I expect you to keep him in check. Ensure he stays in bed and relatively undisturbed, yes?”

“If I must.” But the words didn’t possess their typical drawling vitriol and were instead wry, droll. Well, better than resentful.

It didn’t take another thirty seconds for Madame Pomfrey to leave, her doctor’s bag floating beside her through the door-way. Turning his heavy head towards the elder, Harry began with hoarse gratitude, voice grating and unwilling,
“Thanks Seve- Sir. For waking me up, I mean. Else…”

“You would have been stuck there for even longer?”

“Yes,” the teen flushed in shame, “I can’t get out of his head by myself. My magic doesn’t really respond. It’s like it’s… too far away. Hate it. Bad enough that I’m there in the first place. Then I can’t help and- Merlin Se- Sir. I just can’t-” And Harry’s body shuddered violently with something close to sobs, eyes screwing shut and fists clenching feebly.

“Hush now brat. There’s nothing to be done. We both know this. Hush now.”

Once more a Potions-stained hand reached out, unwavering, to grip Harry’s shoulder. The touch was grounding, reassuring. Needed.

“Thank you. ‘m sorry, Seve- Sir, I really am. For everything.”

“Be quiet, you idiot brat. You have done nothing of significant damage towards my person. Nor any others,” the man seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding,
“And call me Severus, at least in private. I’m not currently your teacher after all,” and here a touch of dry, not-quite-bitter amusement crossed his face,
“And somehow I doubt I ever will be again, don’t you think?”

“Probably not,” Harry sighed, gathering together the remaining vestiges of his clarity.

“Very well.” The words were brusque, almost harsh, and pulled Harry right out of the funk he was already beginning to fall into.

“You’re obviously exhausted in more ways than one, so might I recommend you try to sleep once more? I shall awaken you should the need arise.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course brat.” Thus, the younger’s eyelids hung heavier and lower until he was gone altogether. Resisting the urge to stroke the black, unruly hair back from the calm face, Severus instead conjured a comfortable armchair with a murmured word and half-twisted wave of his wand and sunk into the forgiving leather. Hopefully the young man would sleep peacefully this time.

The following morning was heralded by a hesitant but heavy-handed knock upon the door. Grumbling incoherently, the Potions Master rose from his seat to open it, movements slow with sleep and stiff joints.

“Oi, Harry, mate! You in there?!” Grumbling more distinctly now, the door was yanked open in a bad-tempered jerk,
“We’d thank you, Weasley the sixth, to be considerably quieter. The brat needs to rest and you are hardly helping matters.”

“Whaddya mean- Weasly the- Harry-”

“If your coherency is this poor, might I recommend you return post-education?” The words were snide, trickling black with poisonous wit. A half-groan, half-snort from behind the room halted any indignant reply.

“Why are you here?” Harry sounded tired, resigned, but there was no forgiving lilt to his voice. Good, Severus thought viciously. He might not know why Harry had vacated his shared room, nor exactly what his vision had entailed, but seeing Weasley only more gobsmacked was always an amusement.

“’Cause- It’s breakfast time mate. And, uh…”

“And?” The man butted in, unable to resist a sneer.

“Uh, well, I wanted to, you know, apologise, or whatever. So, yeh, uh, sorry mate.”

“Indeed. Do send up Ganger or the infernal twins with two breakfasts. Now get out.” Again, Severus took a certain glee in interrupting. Harry could forgive him later, but the brat needed his rest for now. Not rowdy, insecure children.

Flushing an ugly red, Ron stomped away, already beginning to mutter angrily.

“Well, you were both rude.” Severus merely tsked in reply, a sneer still painted on his face like an old oil painting, flaking when his eyes met the startling green of the younger’s. Then he spoke once more,
“And how are you this fine, peaceful morning?” A weary smile met his words.
“Alright,” he flinched under the weight of the elder’s stare, “…Sore. Trembly. Is that even a word?”

“I believe it is, if not an overly sophisticated one.”

“Right, well. Not too bad, I guess. Thanks.”

Before Severus could formulate a reply, a loud, single knock came from the door.

“Breakfast anyone?” came the twin voices, half-laughing.

“Do come in.”

“Why thank you-” “kind Sir. Don’t mind-” “if we do!”

The next five minutes were a whirlwind of the twin’s manic energy, vivacious despite the relatively early time.

“Good one Harrikins!” “It’s not often someone manages” “to shut our little idiot” “up, yet here we are.” “It’s quite brilliant really.” And:

“We’ve got a few new” “ideas in the works at” “the moment, you’ll have to” “make some time to test” “them with us! It’ll be” “fun, we promise! Might even” “get some dodging practice!” Then, as abruptly as they arrived, the two were leaving, calling over last jokes over their shoulders and down the corridor.

“How has Hogwarts survived those two for the last seven years?” Severus groaned, “How have I?” he continued to lament under his breath.

“I like them,” came the sniggered, unwarranted response.

“You would, wouldn’t you? You little hellion.”

“Oi!”

“Oi nothing. Eat your breakfast.”

“Fine,” then Harry’s tone lowered to something virtually unintelligible, “Still weird eating three meals during the summer.” Severus filed that away, but failed to comment, instead tucking into his porridge. It wasn’t as good as Harry’s, he couldn't help but notice.

Chapter Text

Later on that day, close to noon, surely, Harry and Severus are each sat on a bed, trekking their way through the many books from the Black library that now surround them thanks to Harry’s satchel. Their reading was rarely interrupted, if not for the occasional interested noise or brief debate over some particular snippet. This, however, was undeniably the most significant discovery yet:

“Sir- Severus! I’ve found something.”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember us talking about Him separating and sealing away his soul; I think I’ve found a reference to it- them. Here, in Darke Artes Moste Arcane, it mentions ‘Horcruxes’. The description fits and the rituals detailed would be easy enough for something like Him to have accomplished multiple times over-” Harry’s rambling was cut off by Severus practically snatching the aforementioned tome out of his hands, poring over the spidery text.

“Merlin’s… I do believe you’re right Harry. It would explain a good many things. Too many.”

“Yeh,” and here the younger visibly shuddered, despite the comfortable warmth of the room, “But it’s nasty magic, incredibly Dark Magicks, worse than anything else I’ve found. It’s fucking disgusting!” He suddenly spits, his previously soft, horrified tone becoming vitriolic.

“The worst part?” is murmured into the following silence, hesitant and hollow. It grates to hear Harry, bright and brash Harry, talk with such melancholy resignation.

“Do I truly want to know?” The almost-sarcastic words had no hope of lightening the mood.

“No, you don’t, fuck, almost wish I didn’t. Not sure what’s worse honestly…”

Severus interrupts the recurring silence by leaning forward to poke the younger in the shoulder, gaze surprisingly soft despite the meaner gesture.

“I think I’m a Horcrux too.”

The words are whispered, hoarse, hushed like a prayer or, perhaps more accurately, a curse made on one’s death bed. They ring out quietly, almost gently, despite the brutal truth that resonates within them.

 And they leave Severus breathless.

“No!” he abruptly yells, refusing to believe such a thing, hands clenched to a deathly white pallor. Surely not even Fate or Voldemort himself was so cruel-!

“This cannot be true. You’re wrong Harry, you’re wrong. You must be! Albus- You- Not even He could have-” But Harry simply sat there, silent, letting the elder’s denial and anger run its course, washing over him in its tempest of indignation and terror. Harry looked too small and too sad for this to be the truth of such matters. Not this idiot brat who was worming his way-

“How…?” came his choked question.

“It’d have to be that first Halloween, I suppose. He must have performed the rituals beforehand. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting our location to be leaked then, and he rushed off carelessly. Mum’s death would have completed any-” he stumbled for a second, “any unmade sacrifices and that, combined with the Vow he took to you, unintentional though it may have been, to protect her, all ensured my survival, if only as his Horcrux. It’s quite ironic really, isn’t it?”

“It’s… There aren’t words, Harry, for just how vile, horrific- how bloody typical this is,” the laugh is beyond bitter,   “First Lily, then Albus, now this. Is there nothing even slightly untainted by His presence?” Despair laces every single syllable, dripping thick like honey but caustic and deadly as poison. Any sweetness in the mention of his beloved ones is not just marred by that poison but corroded by it, utterly eradicated and replaced with something dark in all the wrong ways.

In lieu of truly answering, they both know the harsh realities of their lives after all, Harry instead stands and crosses the mere two paces between them. Kneeling before Severus’ hunched figure, he telegraphs his every motion and pulls the elder close to his chest, cradling him in reassurance and need. Half-slotted between Severus’ legs, one hand holding a head of long, dark hair against his shoulder, Harry acts as a pillar of strength even whilst subtly leaning against the stability of the older man’s seated position. It is at moments such as these that they most rely upon each other. And it is in a way that nobody else seems to understand.

How could they? Nobody else has lost everything to Voldemort, not in such a total way as they. Any single glimpse at happiness or safety is torn away from them and has been for years. Any respite is darkened by some other agony. Not to mention the horrors of witnessing Voldemort’s insanity firsthand, from the position of the wrong side, as it were.

Nobody else seems to even comprehend that pretty words only provide shallow redemption at best.

No, it is the physical things that ground them. Things more real than the monsters of memories. Actions, whilst speaking louder, also mean more. Having someone you trust hold you close, not giving you empty platitudes but instead providing what little kind reality they can, was worth the weight of the world in gold, every scrap and gem in Gringotts. And Duelling or brewing potions or reading books might allow for a placebo, a temporary aid, but having that touch was a pathway to stability like nothing else.

It took far too long for both of their hands to stop trembling quite so violently, or their shoulders to hitch in some odd combination of panic, pain and resignation. But once both had effectively gathered themselves, Harry stood up once more. And, still keeping his movements obvious, took a seat next to Severus, their shoulders brushing. The warmth of the shared space allowed the comfort of their previous position to continue reassuring them. They needed it. After a long moment’s silent hesitation, the elder raised his arm and draped it across the younger’s shoulders, drawing him in just that little bit closer. With something nearing a whimper, Harry curled into the gesture, laying his head against the proffered shoulder and slipping his own arm around Severus’ waist.

They stayed as such until a shout of ‘LUNCH IS READY’ rang through the gloomy house. Even then, they paused for a precious few extra seconds before untangling themselves and stretching. Still, neither spoke a word. They didn’t need to, not really, not now. It didn't matter if they were as pale as fresh parchment and twice as fragile, or if their eyes were feverishly bright. Nor did it matter if the memories of trembling limbs and earth-shattering truths still lingered at the corners of their awareness. It didn't matter because they'd had another's strength to bolster their own and together they were invincible, even if they didn't know fully that yet.

Chapter Text

Lunch, for Harry and Severus at least, was a nigh-on silent affair. Even the younger, who normally made an effort to interact with his friends, had no qualms about utterly ignoring them in favour of simply sitting and eating. They were far too emotionally drained, and physically drained at that, to be presenting any facades.

Luckily, it appeared that Hermione and the twins had caught onto this, and they, along with Lupin, provided a buffer of sorts. Their attempts at diverting attention were a tad clumsy and understandably confused for the most part, but no less appreciated. Because there was no way to suddenly engage in normal conversation right now. Not after the last, disastrous twelve-hour period. Between visions and revelations like fucking Horcruxes, Harry and Severus were thoroughly worn out to say the least. It was almost too much just to deal with all the hubbub and ruckus around them, the clattering of cutlery and immediate echoes of boisterous voices. Harry just wanted to sleep, honestly. --and what a fuckin mood--

As soon as polite, or perhaps a little before, honestly, the two pushed away from the table, nodded to Molly in thanks, and made their way back up the one floor to Harry’s new room, plain as it still was.

“D'you mind if I just have a nap? I- I know we should be trying to deal with this, but, Merlin, Severus… I just need a break…” And here the elder took the chance to really examine Harry: the trembling that had died down had returned viciously as they came back into the room; his complexion, whilst always a little pale, was alarmingly ashen. Then there were his eyes. Harry’s eyes were typically a vivid green, somewhere between the Killing Curse and Lily’s favourite emerald hair clasp. But right now they were clouded over in exhaustion and something darker, something subtle and insidious.

“Certainly. That might be a very good idea. I shall read in here, if that shan’t bother you.”

“No, please do.” And was there a note of desperation there, or was it only courtesy that Severus heard? No matter. He’d watch over the brat regardless.

With that, Harry unashamedly and seemingly unthinkingly discarded his shirt, revealing a good number of scars, before slipping unto his bed and immediately closing his eyes. Leaving Severus almost gobsmacked.

How had the young man collected such a volume of scars? He hadn‘t seen all of them just then, he could tell, as he had seen only a glimpse, but still… What looked like belt marks layered his back, along with a few long gouges of knotted flesh. The meat of one shoulder had a visibly missing chunk! By Merlin’s rainbow tie-die y-fronts! Severus might have assumed that Harry’s relatives were abusive, but surely not to this extent? And how had it never been picked up before? What had Albus been doing?

That gave Severus pause. For all of his wisdom and kindness, Albus had been a manipulative old coot all the same. And those machinations most often came into play when Harry was involved. Would it really have been beyond the wizard to leave the brat in a less-than-ideal home if it furthered his own goals? No, Severus had gone down this rabbit hole before: the previous Headmaster had undoubtedly known an had twisted it to his own advantage. And as despicable as that fact was, Harry was here now, and was soon seventeen, soon free of those Muggle clutches. Harry was safe. Instead, Severus needed to focus on the looming threats ahead of them all.

With this in mind, the man buried himself in ancient tomes once more. They would finish studying the Field Healing, interspersed with Duelling to keep the brat from getting too restless, then turn fully to battling. Tactics would have to be introduced, allowing Harry’s natural instincts to be enhanced and applied to other fighters. Yes, this should work.

First though, they would have to finish assessing what Harry already knew. Including those Dark spells that the idiot brat had mentioned.

Heaving a great sigh, Severus allowed his gaze to roam to the sleeping teenager. Yet, looking upon the lined face, tension lining the angry scar and deep eye-bags, the Potions Master couldn’t truly see a child. No, this scarred, weary veteran was a man, no matter how young, not a mere teenager. And as irrational and immature as he could still be, that would hold true. Nobody could go through the fraction of experiences that Severus was aware of and remain innocent and ignorant. A pity perhaps, but one that could save the Wizarding World. What a position the brat had been placed in.

Thanks to Albus, Severus snorted, because didn’t it always loop back to that old goat? Yes, didn’t it just?

Grumbling to himself under his breath, some part of his mind registering that Harry needed quiet to remain asleep, Severus firmly turned himself back to the books. Dealing with the immediate problems was something he could do. Now, to find some parchment…

Severus had covered over a foot of parchment in his spindly, jagged writing, jotting down what Harry needed to know, what the elder himself needed to revise and affirm his knowledge in. And it wasn’t just an information bank that needed to be built up, actual physical practice was going to be essential. For that he’d need to talk to Poppy at tomorrow’s Order meeting, get her to track down a dummy for them, preferably one of St. Mungos’ higher-quality ones. One should suffice, but they would need it sooner rather than later, not to mention have to then keep it somewhere. Maybe they could drag one of the various protected cabinets from the bedrooms upstairs into the basement, leave it in a corner? Hmm, yes, that should…

“Sev’rus?” came a slurred murmur.

“Indeed,” came the reply, oddly soft despite its brusqueness. As he spoke, his eyes tracked Harry pushing himself up awkwardly, movements stiff and eyes still at half-mast.

“You stayed?” It was quiet, perhaps not intended to be heard, but Severus continued the conversation all the same,

“I did. Are… Are you more collected now?”

“Yeh thanks.” And he really did seem it: his eyes were calm and bright, albeit marred by sleep-dust, no longer feverish or dazed; his lips weren’t twisted in a moue of discomfort but were relaxed in a slight smile; his hands neither twitched nor trembled, easily supporting the young man as he sat up then reached to the floor for his discarded shirt.

“So what do you have there?”

“Notes on what we shall be learning next. We shouldn’t need much longer on the theoretical Healing and I shall endeavour to procure us a training dummy via Poppy – Madame Pomfrey – during tomorrow’s Order meeting. Then we can practice before moving on fully to Duelling and strategy. Is that agreeable?”

“Sounds good to me, thanks.”

“Very well.” With that they fell into comfortable silence, Harry pulling one of his own books into his lap. The elder couldn’t help but note that it wasn’t ‘The Darke Artes Moste Arcane’. Not that he could blame the brat. Some time to process would do them good, rather than obsessing over something that right now they had no power to change.

But one day they would, of that Severus would guarantee.

Chapter Text

After a full day of revisiting the theoretical aspects of their crash course in Field Healing, Harry and Severus were finally making their way back downstairs for the Order meeting. Encountering the infernal twins on the stairs, the Potions Master took a moment to interject upon their conversation.

“-why at nine? I’m brain-dead after today-”

“You certainly are if the answer isn’t blatant.”

“Severus,” Harry hissed. At the warning, the elder merely turned his smirk towards the brat. And, upon seeing the mischievous glint in those dark eyes, Harry had to stifle a snort. Meanwhile their two favourite redheads were gaping. Taking pity on them, the youngest took the opportunity to elaborate on Severus’ earlier point,
“Look, you were busy all day, right?” receiving nods, he went on,
“Well you were busy then, think about it. Everyone was: teaching, investigating, catching Dark Wizards, politics, training, selling stuff and experimenting in you two’s case. At least this late, we’re still functioning and aren’t normally occupied. Makes sense, right?” Harry’s voice had, oddly, quietened and become hesitant by the end, prompting a curious gaze from Severus. Luckily, the young men both made typically exuberant noises of agreement and understanding, prompting Harry to stand tall once more.

“Come now, idiot brat, infernal twins, I do believe we have a meeting to attend.”

Accordingly, Severus ushered them forwards and they entered the kitchen to find everyone else already gathered. Taking their places between Remus and Poppy, Harry and Severus took a moment to take in the three additional faces.

“As we have everyone now, I will take a moment to introduce the new faces,” McGonagall began, her voice clear but not with quite the same lecturing tone she would take with her classes,
“Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, though most of you are familiar with her. Thank you for joining us Amelia.” The elegant blonde inclined her head, stern face relaxing into a sharp smile for a moment.

“Glad to be here,” she returned, tone perfectly even, eyes examining every other person leisurely and closely. She had no outward reaction to Harry, nor Severus, to which both were grateful.

“We also have Tenko Kurasuma and Daniella Whitechurch, Aurors.” The former was a man of obvious oriental descent, Japanese, Severus thought to himself, and was a sturdy figure, broad shouldered despite obviously being a little below average height. Still, the man’s eyes were keen and his demeanour collected. Promising. In contrast to her companion’s calm, Daniella was clearly energetic in a way that reflected Tonks, who was sat at her side.
“Dani, please. Less of a mouthful!” Her tone was bright, spritely. At least she didn’t seem thick, if her observation of the room was any indication. Sufficient.

With the new members introduced, talks turned to Voldemort’s current tactics:

“So, Severus, what have you heard of him?”

“Personally, very little. He has been asking for only generic potions for promoting magical stability and others for interrogation, such as truth serums and inhibition weakeners. The only such thing of note is that his magic is somewhat unstable, should we be afforded a situation with which to take advantage of it.”

Harry suddenly tapped his finger almost imperceptibly against the table between them, and Severus met his gaze. It only took a few seconds of silent conversation before the elder continued,
“However I have become aware of an attack on a Muggle village, somewhere rural, that took place three nights ago. I doubt that it will be the only of its kind. Do the Aurors have anything in place to detect such things?”

“Not currently, no, although the Department of Mysteries is, apparently, close to completing an appropriate system of enchanted devices that will be implemented within the next two months, ideally one,” Madame Bones was to-the-point and clear, something that Severus greatly appreciated.

“Very well. If I learn of any prior to the event, I shall alert you all.”

“Thank you,” was accompanied by another gracious nod from the blonde. It took a brief moment, but then the woman continued,
“Would that village perhaps have been Shurdon? An Obliviation team was sent out in the early morning of last Wednesday, but all possible culprits were gone and many of the locals had died. There was nothing for my men to do.”

Severus hesitated only long enough for Harry to silently tap his third finger against the table,
“Perhaps. I have no knowledge as to the exact location, only that there were no Aurors present and that many died in a fire.”

“Yes, Shurdon was heavily afflicted by a blaze initially lit by Fiendfyre. It would appear that it is the same place.”
“Very well. I have reason to believe that the Dark Lord himself was there. Was there any evidence to the contrary?”

“No.”

“I see.” As both Severus and Madame Bones devolved into silence, McGonagall took over once more.

“Is there any other news as to Voldemort’s movements?”

“I believe he has begun to contact the werewolf packs. Of course, Greyback was always allied with him, but the others have to be approached. I… I’m not sure how much support he’ll gather, but it’ll probably be quite a lot, judging by what little I currently know.”
An immediate murmur stirred up the silence of the room, quickly gaining volume. After a minute of this, Harry clearly lost patience and raised his wand with a softly spoken,

“Signum ignesco.”

The instant tolling of a great, deep bell reverberated through the room, just masking the faint hissing of many snakes, all accompanying a deep green and purple light, too rich in tone to be a Killing Curse, but alarming all the same, which shot to the ceiling and formed a giant writhing serpent, intertwined with a snarling lion.

The spectacular sight instantaneously silenced the unruly crowd. One by one, then all at once, they turned to Harry as he gradually dispersed his magic.
“Thank you,” the brat huffed, tucking his wand away,
“Were you done Remus?”

“No, thank you Harry, I wasn’t quite. I was going to suggest that I go and talk to any packs I could; get a proper idea of the general leanings, see if many are sympathetic towards us.”

“Sounds brilliant. Any objections?” As one of the twins went to speak, a mischievous grin gracing his face, Severus quickly stifled him with a glare. It wouldn’t do to have him unintentionally undermine Harry.

The Order meeting continued on for another two hours, ending at a time hardly before midnight. The control of the group bandied between McGonagall, Madame Bones and Harry, most curiously. With their direction, a plan to deal with the werewolves was concocted. Harry proposed offering aid in brewing Wolfsbane, should any packs ally with them. Between the twins, Severus, Hermione and, apparently, Kurasuma, they should have enough advanced Potioneers that production would be possible. Once this had all been settled, and initial details ironed out, as well as the other matters addressed, the Meeting was disbanded for the week. Severus couldn't help but be grateful that it was over. Damned social interaction.

Allowing the brat half an hour to settle post-Meeting, Severus finally lifted his gaze from the book in his lap, amber-onyx eyes focusing diagonally across the room on the younger, also reading. There was no hint of his more unpleasant emotions.

“What was that earlier?”  Harry's gaze cut to Severus, hesitation evident,

“What was what?”

“Brat. You know what I’m talking about.” As the resulting silence stretched onwards, Severus dared to stand from his armchair and take a seat next to Harry instead, just close enough that his warmth could be felt, could be reassuring. He wasn’t trying to intimidate the brat into answering after all; he wanted an honest answer. Judging by Harry's now-resigned posture, the young man might actually comply.

“I guess I’m just… not used to being listened to? Or to correcting people or being right or whatever. It’s not my place.”

“You don’t suffer that problem around me. Nor with the Order during meetings.” Severus carefully observed. He needed to tread cautiously, lest Harry clam up.

“The Order need to be- to be corrected. To be led. That’s the Boy-Who-Lived anyway, not me. And you- you’re- you don’t count!” The indignancy did nothing to mask the blush staining the younger’s cheeks.

“Oh?”

“No, you don’t,” he reiterated, voice lowering into a whisper, “You know me. You- dammit Severus! People don’t understand: I’m not clever, I’m not important, I’m just- just a worthless little freak. The Boy-Who-Lived is important. He’s strong and brave and he’s going to fucking save everyone and kill a monster. But people look at me and see him and it’s suffocating because being him would make me worthy, but I still don’t want to be him. There’s no place for me, but you still understand me, still accept me. So, no- no, you don’t count.” Harry was shaking, chest heaving despite only having whispered, eyes wide and frightened, the bags beneath them somehow casting shadows over his entire face.

“Harry… Harry, look at me, breathe for me, there you go, just take a minute, keep breathing…”

And whilst it did take those few minutes, Harry was visibly calmer and Severus allowed himself to refocus on the true problem,

“I think I know where this attitude has come from, and I’m not going to press that right now because we’re tired and I don’t believe pushing you will truly help, but listen carefully to me Harry,” Severus paused, tapping the younger under the chin until their eyes met,

“You are important. You matter to people, and not just as the blasted ‘Saviour’. You are not a freak; you are intelligent and quick-witted and strong and cunning, you are everything you need to be and more. Do you hear me, my brat, do you understand?” Meeting those dull green eyes and seeing the sparks of life and determination shine through the doubts and insecurities gave Severus pause. His words had done that. His words.

“You- thanks Severus,” came the wrung-out reply, before the young man was leaning helplessly into the elder’s shoulder, crying the silent sobs of someone who had long-since learnt that crying earned them nothing but rejection and punishment.

This time, Harry was given comfort and warm arms that held him close until they both fell asleep. No nightmares would invade their shared space that night.

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Signum ignesco – lit. signal aflame/ signal glow/ signal ignite – the Flare Signal Spell. Typically used as a distress signal, or to draw attention to a particular place or person, this spell was originally created for sailors and adventurers who became lost or caught in dangerous conditions.
The colour, shape and possible sound of the flare represents the caster, alike but a lesser version of a Patronus or Animagus form.

Example; Harry J. Potter:

Colour: Green - Purple 

Colour Significance: renewal, misfortune, luck, eternity, family, peace - royalty, mourning, integrity, ambition, authority, justice, creativity

Sound: Tolling bell - Hissing of snakes

Sound Significance: death knoll, voice of God, beginnings, endings, warnings, herald of supernatural - diplomacy, threats, warnings, articulacy, amicability, quietness

Imagery: Snake - Lion

Imagery Significance: rebirth, patience, intellect, eternity, protection, enigma, duality, ambitious, cunning, shrewdness - wisdom, vitality, ferocity, aggression, courage, royalty, patience, influence, nobility, leadership, protection

Chapter Text

The next evening, Severus had been Summoned and thus Harry found himself in Grimmauld library with his friends, he was reading and sorting through texts whilst Ron and the twins played Gobstones. It had been a fun few hours, even if a portion of Harry's attention was worrying over Severus instead of the library's organisation or his friends games and jokes.

And it had all been fine until an abrupt, blinding flash of agonising rage gripped Harry, bending him double as he reached to replace a book, the tome tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud drowned out by his self-muffled scream.

“Harry!” cried more than one voice. Yet, encompassed by pain that throbbed and writhed throughout his body as though alive, the teenager didn’t notice, let alone reply. Something was- something was happening. Something important-

₰ Sssseveruss. Myy dear littttle ssssnake. You havvve betraaayed mee ₰  Ron flinched back viciously, even as the twins remained staunchly at Harry’s side, holding down his flailing arms.

“Harry, mate” "snap out of it!”  “Ron, go and get”  “Mum! Now!” The younger redhead stumbled as he turned around, headed to the door, before regaining his footing in time to sprint into the hallway and begin yelling for his mother. Meanwhile, Fred was leaning heavily across Harry’s chest and arms with his entire body weight; the teen was thrashing viciously. George straddled his hips and thighs, clutching at his ankles and trying desperately not to get bucked off. The two were sweating. Although whether due to effort or terrified concern couldn’t be said.

₰ You ssshhhaaaall dieee, traaaitorrr. Diee aaa paainfulll deaatttthhhh ₰

Abruptly Harry froze. Muscles seized into one aching position, unmoving but for a fine tremble.

“Sssseveruss,” came the hissed English, sounding desperate and hopeless. Horrified.

“What’s all this kerfuffle? Is Harry- oh dear. Harry, dear, can you hear me?” Madame Pomfrey had stridden into the room, a tad ruffled, but she now rushed to the teenager’s side, dropping to her knees upon a thoughtlessly cast cushioning charm, a hand coming to cup a tear-stained young cheek.

“Harry? What is happening, Potter?” But her gentle words did no good, not even seeming to reach the silently weeping boy.

“He was hissing in Parseltongue, then called out for Professor Snape,” came the simultaneous explanation from the twins. The medical woman’s face impossibly gravened further.

“Severus is currently at a Meeting… It is all too possible…” The four Weasleys now occupying the room could only watch, helpless, as Pomfrey appeared lost for a split second, then met her eyes with Harry’s. Clear azure clashed with clouded emerald. Three, four, five too-long seconds later, eyelids slid closed over the pale blue and a quiet string of Latin streamed forth from thin lips.

A bloody body in black robes materialised next to Harry.

Jumping away in shock, four wands were raised by the redheads, only to be hesitantly lowered as the mediwitch moved with a speed defying her age to crouch instead by the new prone form. Brandishing her own wand, the woman began to cast spell after spell. Their colourful shades layered atop one another, forming a three-dimensional rainbow spectrum that provided a frightening contrast to the sallow skin, sickly bruising and stark robes. She was healing Severus.

Nearly a full minute into this, Molly visibly shook herself aware and hurried out of the room in search of medical potions. Upon returning, she placed the satchel beside Madame Pomfrey and turned her own attention to Harry.

“Ronald, help me with Harry. Fred, George, wait beside Poppy. Do whatever she asks of you.” As the youngest Weasley carefully propped his friend up on his lap, head cradled in a gentle freckled arm, Molly rifled through the bag, selecting a small number of potions.

“Tilt his head back a little. Yes, like that. If he starts to choke, turn him to the side. Be careful of that blood- Oh well. It can be cleaned.” With that, she began to feed the teenager phial after phial: Vulneratis Rasalae, Ramuan Coagulare, Dreamless Sleep, plus a low-grade Relevio Dolor. Finally, she moved onto spells, incanting a pain relieving spell,

“Indolere!”, complete with its circle and flick, which was quickly followed by another spell to ensure that Harry would not have lost too much blood,

“Esse completum sanguinum!” the more minor enchantment being sufficient for his sluggishly bleeding scar.

“Mum…”

“Yes Ron?” She spared a second glance for him. His hands trembled, even as one carded unconsciously through his friend’s hair.

“Do you… do you think this is going to start happening all the time again?” Sensing the vulnerability in her boy, Molly was quick to try and reassure him. Despite the little reassurance she had available.

“He’ll be fine. You know our Harry, he’s a strong young man. Don’t you worry yourself now. Why don’t you pick him up – carefully mind – and get him onto that sofa there? I’ll see if I can’t help Poppy with Severus."

It took over twelve hours for Harry’s eyes to flutter open, flinching away from the light, and his hand to subconsciously twitch away from his body, towards that of the Potions Master. A slurred hiss escaped his lips, forming something incoherent, if urgent-sounding.

“Harry!” Ron immediately quietened at his friend’s wince.

“Sorry mate. How are you feeling?” His tone was far more subdued this time round. Seeing Harry in pain was… disconcerting. Ron hated it.

“A-alright. But S-s-severus?” Once again, he half-hissed the man’s name, sliding jaggedly over the syllables.

“Snape’s pretty much fine. Pomfrey reckons he just needs to sleep or whatever. But what about you mate? Does it still hurt much? What about your scar?”

“’m fine.” And now a hint of indignation coloured the younger teen’s tone; his disregard for his own health was greater than ever.

Particularly as Harry started to lever himself up onto his elbows, turning his head to the still-sleeping form of Severus. The man was deathly pale, tucked under several layers of quilted blankets, his dark hair a welcome smudge, a halo almost, amongst the stark white of the pillow. His eyelids twitched faintly, lashes and under-eye bags another example of black-purple ink smeared onto parchment.

But he was breathing.

“Thank Merlin.” And with that sigh of relief, Harry slumped back into his own blankets and promptly passed out.

The strong smell of onions was what roused both men the next day.

“Wha…?” Harry groaned, groggy and stiff.

“Such eloquence Harry. Truly stunning,” came the snide croak.

“Severus!” the younger yelped, turning his entire attention to said man. As their gazes caught, any awareness of Hermione and Ginny, the only other occupants of the room, faded.

“Yes, Potter?” The arch words, laced with traces of teasing humour, caused the teen to collapse onto his back, trembling with giggles, half-hysterical, all-relieved. Severus was okay if he was this snarky.

“Um- Harry-” Ginny started, before faltering and turning pleading eyes to Hermione.

“You two! You need to eat, so hush and take these,” with the forceful words, the older girl shoved a potion at each of their faces, then a second, finally followed by bowls of onion soup and bread. Light enough not to rebel against them, hopefully. As they devoured their meal, Harry and Severus listened to Hermione’s part-lecture, part-scolding:

“- very foolish! If you suspected that something was wrong, then you shouldn’t have gone along with proceedings. Honestly! And you, Harry, you should’ve blocked the connection the instant you began to feel pain. The Dark Lord partially possessed you for several instances! You’re both very lucky that Madame Pomfrey was here to summon you back, Professor, else you likely would have died and you, Harry, might well have joined him! You're not even seventeen yet! You’d better be thanking Mrs. Weasley too, mind! And Ron and the twins! Without the five of them, I dread to think what might have happened!” For the first time in nearly five minutes, the witch took a noticeable breath. Her hands still didn’t leave their staunch position on her hips however. Harry resisted the urge to sigh.

“Regardless, the two of you have been in here for nearly two days now, and there shouldn’t be anything but lingering pains, tremors and fatigue, according to Madame Pomfrey. That means strictly bedrest for at least another day, possibly two. No magic, two books each today, another two tomorrow and light meals. In addition to a few potions. Is that clear?”

Severus, never having received a full-blown ‘I might as well be your mother because I’m in charge and everything I say is imperative, not to mention fully correct’ Hermione lecture, was speechless, if outwardly composed and aloof. So Harry took over.

“Yes Hermione, we understand. It wasn’t the… most advisable route to have taken, but it turned out alright in the end. We’re here and we’re safe. Alive. Severus’ status as a spy may be known, but we can protect him. And of course we’ll be thanking everyone.” Seemingly mollified, the girl nodded resolutely. Then she and Ginny, who had been oddly quiet the whole time, collected the phials and crockery before leaving with a final instruction to rest.

Within ten minutes, Harry had swung himself out of his bed and, primarily using the momentum from that, stumbled to Severus’ bedside to flop into the armchair at its head.

“Hey.”

“Good day Mr. Potter.” The elder’s tone was light though.

“Are you alright? Really? How bad’s the pain?” Severus visibly hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes in contemplation,

“I’m fine, thank you. The potions have dealt with any… discomfort.”

“Same.” With Harry’s casual, instantaneous reply, Severus found himself relaxing once more, drawn out of his shell yet for once comfortable with it.

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you. I should’ve-” Idiot brat.

“Don’t be absurd," the words were cutting, yet behind the sting was a soft warmth. But Harry still couldn’t bring himself to look at the other wizard.

“Harry. Harry, listen to me. What happened was not your fault, nor should you have done anything beyond that which you did. You allowed Poppy to bring me back here, and that is all I would’ve asked of you. More perhaps. So, Harry? I thank you for that.”

Swallowing his pride was well worth it when a trembling body shot off its seat to embrace Severus clumsily, shoulders jumping as though with tears, even as Harry’s eyes stayed dry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the litany of distraught apologies continued, even as Harry clutched desperately at the elder’s bedclothes. Severus could only hold him tightly in return, hoping the fit of dry crying would end sooner rather than later. For one, the sight of Harry so emotional was discomforting to say the least. Holding an upset young man together was not his forte. And, whilst it did take far longer than Severus wanted to contemplate, the sobbing eased off as Harry tumbled back into unconsciousness.

But, even as he clumsily dragged the Chosen One back to his own bed, the echo of Harry’s apologies did stop haunting his mind.

------------------------------------

 Vulneratis Fomenta - the wound soothing potion, lit. soothing of wounds, side effects include lethargy and possible hallucinations if the patient remains conscious due to opium-rich content. This potion promotes healing and rest whilst acting as a painkiller. Ingredients include 6x poppy seeds; 5x lavender sprigs; 2x sloth claws; 20x peppermint leaves; 5x mistletoe berries; 100g Valerian root; 16x Sopophorus beans; 3x shrivelfigs.

Ramuan coagulare – coagulant potion, lit. concoction to coagulate, side effects include lethargy and drowsiness.  Primarily used for patients with serious bleeding, both internal and external, to slow the flow of blood and aid any blood replenishers given. Ingredients include bat saliva; slugs; sap of a mountain ash; Valerian root; leaches' suckers; leaches' blood; fennel; lavender roots; lavender flowers.

Relevio dolor – basic pain reliever, lit. relieving pain, side effects include drowsiness and confusion. Used for a range of more minor injuries, from scraped knees, stomach aches to shallow lacerations, or when many potions are being prescribed thanks to its unreactivity. Ingredients include poppy seeds; willow bark; dock roots; mistletoe berries; bubotuber pus; robin's feathers; red clover; rabbit whiskers.

Indolore – basic pain relieving spell, lit. be painless, preformed via circle motion, followed by a sharp flick away from patient. This spell is used to best effect when in conjunction with the basic pain relieving potion.

Esse completum sanguinum – blood replenishing spell, lit. be complete of blood, a wave with even peaks and troughs started above the patient’s heart.

Chapter Text

After a handful of minimally-active, nightmare-riddled days and nights, Harry and Severus were once again returning to their standard routine.

But they were a little different to before.
It was in the mutual things: a casual attitude to each other’s personal space; a growing ability to understand the subtleties of each other’s tone and body language; the tacit understanding of each other and their experiences. These somewhat grander notions manifested themselves in the less noticeable habits: leaning slightly towards each other when sat side-by-side; the demanding distractions of some fictional training from an escalating situation; the familiarity of silent companionship replacing the useless platitudes of outside parties. They shielded each other from prying eyes and ears and tongues; provided each other with respite and empathy from memories-turned-nightmares.

Most of the other household members, well most of the Order, noticed none of this. However, it was undeniable that the two had shared a room for the better part of a week without a murder or maiming, a feat that wouldn’t have been possible even months ago. It was also rather blatant that the pair were rarely noted apart. After all, Severus was, like Harry, marooned in Grimmauld Place and apparently there was a certain solidarity in that.

What nobody knew was that their true solidarity was the horror of Voldemort. And having to deal with that.

“Harry, Harry. You need to wake up. You’re in Grimmauld Place, with me, with Severus. Harry? Harry!” Finally, the teenager jolted awake. Severus instantly grabbed the wrist of a brandished wand-hand, stopping it mere inches from his own throat. The man’s other hand came to rest against the younger’s cheek, cupping the clammy skin with a gentle kind of pressure that spoke volumes that neither man could or would verbally articulate.

“Can you hear me?” There was no response for a few too many seconds, so Severus prompted him,

“Harry? Come on brat, focus on me. Do you know where we are? Tell me.” At the more demanding tone, the last of the glaze left Harry’s eyes and abyssal pupils, wide in fear and darkness, found the elder’s.

“Sev’rus,” he rasped, before coughing lightly, unfortunately dislodging the comforting palm,

“S-sorry. Nightmare.”

“I would never have guessed,” came the dry reply. Harry could only smile faintly, trembling, as Severus perched on the edge of his bed, still ensnaring his wrist with a potion-stained hand. So Harry poked the other's thigh once in retaliation, before relaxing back into bed again.

“Will ten minutes suffice?”

“If you don’t mind.” Neither found any awkwardness or shame in the blatant comfort. It was equivalent exchange of sorts. One instance, Harry would have a nightmare and Severus would drag him away from it. The next, it may well be vice versa. The situation was not one that anybody else was really aware of, beyond perhaps that the two of them rarely had a full night’s sleep. But, truthfully, it was quite inconsequential to most of their fellow Order members, moreso for Severus. The man could profess few true allies, Harry being the staunchest, albeit discretely. Poppy, certainly. Minerva and Flitwick were always willing to talk to him. Lupin, curiously, was distinctly amicable and Molly Weasley insisted on mothering him. Although the latter was perhaps due to Harry’s company. Most of the children, or indeed the adults, that he’d taught were courteous out of only respect for his position and for Harry. Severus was acutely aware of how many, a certain redhead in particular, were scornful of him. Who hated and spurned him. It didn’t hurt though, not after so many years of being the outcast, the oddity, the freak. The few that did remain by his side were all the more treasured for this. Lily, Albus, Harry. There was nobody more important.

Dragging himself from such thoughts, Severus refocused on Harry. At least the young man seemed to be drifting back to sleep now. The dark bags beneath the other wizard’s eyes continued to worry Severus, even as he understood their existence. He himself sported similar marks. This war was taking its toll on everyone, and few so much as they. Particularly Harry.

Dammit, he kept on getting distracted. At least Harry was asleep again now. With any luck, they’d both sleep the rest of the night through. Gently releasing the bony wrist to lay, tucked by its owner’s hip, back on the bed, Severus slowly rose from the bed to shuffle quietly to his own. The blankets had a chill to them by now, so he cast a quick warming charm before slipping under them and, whispering a ‘Nox’, falling back into his own dreams. Unknown to them both, it took only a few minutes for their soft, deep breathing to synchronise, sounding as one.

The next morning, the two rushed through breakfast before returning to the basement to train. Duelling practice was one of their favourite activities, despite the grave undertone, as it afforded a true release of energy and a strong representation of how far Harry had already progressed. For example:

“Speculus densus!” A pearlescent dome shimmered into existence, wrapping a few metres in front of the young man, followed in a breath by two red beams of light, ‘Expelliarmus’ no doubt, and a sky blue crackle of energy. Hm… lightning ropes perhaps? As the hex splashed against the battered walls, it did indeed transform into a sparking web of thin ropes, curling uselessly around the flat surface. Clever boy. But not clever enough.

Dancing further to the side, Severus shot out a quick volley of ‘Bombarda’s. Striking the shield at an angle, they successfully fractured its surface, unbeknown to Harry. Then it took the elder a single well-placed,
“Frango!” for the shield to go flying back towards Harry in potentially-lethal shards. But it was not to be as the younger wizard slashed his wand desperately and caused a gust of wind, almost visible in its sheer strength, that knocked the shrapnel off course, ricocheting away from the resultant crossfire. For nearly three full minutes, the two exchanged hexes in a blur of colour and magical energy. Tripping, blinding, blood-boiling, tickling and frost curses all made their way through the room, bandied about instantaneously, deflected or dodged, blocked or cancelled. It was as much a game as a fight, a mockery of true combat yet just as fast-paced and destructive.

Neither noticed a red-haired figure begin to descend the basement stairs, before it stopped near the base and stood, gaping, before retreating upstairs once more without a word. Ron returned to the other residents of Grimmauld Place, pale and near-speechless.

“I- I don’t think they’d appreciate being interrupted right now. Maybe… Maybe we should just save them some food?” And despite receiving a number of odd glances from around the table and a few questions from Hermione, Ron simply shook his head and began eating. Whatever that duel was it was… intense, insane. Just gaining their attention would have been difficult. And in doing so, he’d probably get attacked by hexes! No thank you, he’d leave the two be. Let them get hungry enough to come up by themselves. He had a lunch to enjoy.

It wasn’t until the lunch dishes were being stacked by the sink pre-washing that Harry and Severus stumbled back up to the ground floor, bruised and limping, stomachs growling.

“The leftovers?” Severus immediately asked, converse to Harry’s resigned expression at the apparent lack of food left. Funnily enough, only Severus and the twins picked up on his faint regret. Although the young man instantly perked up as Molly indicated a covered serving plate,

“There, you two. Sorry you have to share a plate, but Kingsley dropped in unexpectedly. Roast beef sandwiches, some salad and two blueberry muffins. Be sure to eat up now, the pair of you are far too skinny!” And with that admonishment, the woman bustled out of the room, ushering most of the teenagers with her, plus the twins. From their groans and moans, they were going to be cleaning. Harry didn’t envy them.

Levitating the plate over to the table where they’d slumped side-by-side, they each took a sandwich and dug in. Devouring their food, the two were probably eating too quickly, both leaning silently over their shared plate, shoulder to shoulder, but were too tired and hungry to particularly care. It had been an exhausting duel, and all the more fun for it. Despite the gravity of their reasons, the training was fun. Spending time together was… calming and challenging all at once. Their personalities simultaneously clashed and complimented. Sore subjects caused arguments, but ultimately the other’s company was soothing, alleviating the aches of past and worries of future. Neither were bright but the present was light and comfortable. So they spent every moment they could spare together and were grateful for the distraction is provided. Right now they needed nothing more.

------------------------------------------

Speculus densus  - Mirror shield, lit. thick/crowded mirror, conjures an opaque, reflective shield that bounces spells back away whilst allowing the caster’s spells to pass through

Telae fulmen - Lightning ropes, lit. lightning web, materialises into a web of thin ropes that crackle with weak electricity, it automatically curls around the target fully, preventing movement of arms and/or legs.

Frango – shatter, lit. shatter/fracture/break up, a powerful blow, designed primarily for quasi-physical shields, which can create shrapnel that flies back towards the shield’s caster.

Chapter Text

Severus gaped at the teen, although his mouth did not hang open, he was not some gormless child,
“What…” for once speechless. Of all the foolish, irrevocable, genius things to do. So typical of Harry.

“I know it was dangerous, but it wasn’t stupid,” Harry began to babble,
“I need more power. Or at least to be able to concentrate what I have. And if-”

“It’s fine Harry, it’s fine. I understand and it does make a degree of sense,” as the younger man’s expression went from confusion to relief, he added a note of warning to his tone,
“However, before making such decisions in the future, I’d ask that you discuss them with me first. As equals. I shan’t be lecturing you.” He was scrutinised with a critical green eye for a few moments,
“I know Severus. I know. But most everyone treats me as a child or their saviour. It’s hard to expect or accept anything else sometimes.” At the profound sadness, tempered by resignation, in that statement, Severus spontaneously pulled him into an embrace. An embrace which Harry immediately melted into, gripping into the fabric over the elder’s shoulder blades, his face buried against a collarbone, glasses digging in with a pain that both ignored. Somehow, no tears splashed onto the lenses.

“Harry! Severus! We need you both!” At the unexpected shout, echoing through the dingy house, the two jerked apart. Neither could look directly at the other.

“Thanks Severus. Sorry,” came the murmur as the teen turned towards the door, head lowered to the ground.

“Harry…” the Potions Master couldn’t resist reaching for his shoulder, gently turning him back towards the man. Harry licked his lips nervously as Severus’ other hand came up to raise his chin, tilting his face towards the elder. He could feel the man’s gaze burning into him, smouldering. Vaguely, he recognised that the eyes were not black as he’d always assumed, but rather a deep amber; warm and aged like a fine bourbon whiskey, with rings of ebony. And then those same eyes were growing larger, getting closer, as their two bodies moved towards each other, one stooping, the other rising onto tiptoes. Five inches, four, three- Harry closed his own eyes in anticipation, fear. In hope. He could feel breaths ghosting across his nose and cheeks.

And then dry, chapped lips were resting lightly upon his temple, barely there but sending a fiery wave through his skin all the same. Neither of them dared breathe, frozen in an intimate tableau.

It took a few moments, but by tacit agreement they stepped away from each other.

“Harry? Severus?”

“Coming!” called Harry in reply. The entire journey down to the dining room, he could feel the Potions Master’s gaze upon his back.

“What took you so long mate?” Ron asked as Harry stepped into the room.

“Put a few books back in place first. And finished our conversation.”

“Oh, right. Forgot you still talk to Snape,” the redhead huffed, a distinct spark of anger to the words. His best-friend merely rolled his eyes.

“Ron, there’s no point in petty rivalries anymore. We’re all on the same side of this war.”

“Still. Doesn’t change that he’s a Slytherin. Or a slimy git.”

“Leave it Ron. We’re here for a reason right now anyway, so save it. Okay?” The older teen stared in something between horror, indignation and bemusement, “Alright, alright, whatever.” Although it didn’t prevent him glaring daggers when the Potions Master took the seat to Harry’s other side.

Not even a minute later, everyone was seated around the long kitchen table and being called to order -- ha ha --by McGonagall.

“If I may have all your attention? Thank you. Now, Remus, what have you to report o-” Her gaze had been wandering around the group even as she addressed the werewolf, ensuring that everyone was listening. She’d frozen upon noticing Harry. Or more specifically, the tattoos adorning his knuckles.

“Mr. Potter! What have you done?!” And now everyone’s gazes snapped to him. Several more outcries joined the headmistress’, but the teen quelled them all with a venomous glare,
“If we’re relying on me to defeat Voldemort, then I need to be more powerful.”

“But this-!”

“It’s not Dark Arts, and I haven’t sold my soul.” There was an unspoken ‘yet’ weighing on the words, dragging at his audience, clawing at their nerves and hearts alike. They were all too aware that Harry would willingly tear himself apart for this war. And they’d let him; encourage him.

“Potter, how many did you get?”

“Seventeen,” came the calm reply, no hint of indignation or defensiveness.

“Seventeen?! Where?” Moody demanded, almost hysterical – a sight that shocked the inhabitants of the room, even if not all of them showed it.

“Knuckles, as you can see. One per ankle, per hipbone and per collarbone. Plus one at the base of my sternum.”

“Boy,” the veteran growled, “Do you even-”

“With all respect Moody, I knew exactly what I was doing. They’re nothing if not a double-edged sword, and I was prepared for that when I decided to get them. And I am no boy, even if it is still - what? - two days until I'm technically of age.”

“But what are these tattoos?” Hermione burst out, curiosity and worry warring in her eyes,
“I understand some of the basic principles of pentacles-“

“They’re dangerous grey magic, is what they are girly. They allow a foolhardy wizard to use his body as a conduit for his magic, rather than his wand. But it burns him up from the inside out. Oh, it won’t kill him directly, it’ll leave him an empty shell. Nothing.” At the Auror’s explanation, the young woman turned to her best-friend, understanding replacing most of the curiosity, all blanketed by smothering concern.

“Oh Harry-”

“Don’t Mione. There’s no point. What’s done is done, and I don’t regret it. I can’t. So can we focus now? Remus, the werewolves?” 

“Ah, yes,” the weary, ragged man cleared his throat before continuing on.

As the werewolf launched into his report, Severus could not resist giving Harry’s knee a brief tap of approval and support. The teen’s expression lightened a little at the reassuring contact. Nobody noticed the exchange, intent upon the war effort as they were, but it was just what the younger man needed. And Severus simply had to show his appreciation for so Slytherin a move: simultaneously guilt tripping and changing the subject? No mean feat – at least, not when it worked. And, well, it was Harry, who seemed to possess an allure that the Potions Master could not deny recently.

Throwing off such thoughts, both Harry and Severus fully turned their attention to the meeting.

“Several of the packs are willing to agree to neutrality – namely those who are strongly opposed to Greyback. But the majority won’t even consent to discussions, let alone alliances or even just a promise of non-participation. The overall sway is undeniably towards You-Kno-”

“Could we use my name to get audiences with them? Because surely if we could get them to talk, we could get them realise how Voldemort’s side is just going to betray them,” Harry interrupted. The words were confident, if questioning, and he didn’t shrink back at the confused and almost accusing looks turned his way.

“What to do you mean Harry?”

“I understand that the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ may not have as much sway amongst the werewolves as amongst wizards, but it’s got to count for-”

“No, no, not that. But what did you mean that the Dark’s going to betray them?” And several others around the room nodded, seeming to share the same bewilderment as Lupin.

“Isn’t it obvious? Voldemort’s going to call them all to the frontline, get them all killed, then ensure his Ministry policies are even harsher on ‘Dark Creatures’ so that the remains can’t rise back up against him.”

“…What?” Near enough the entire table looked gobsmacked and Severus sneered at them. Harry was right of course. And were they really still so naïve so as to believe that the Dark Lord rewarded his loyal followers? Not even Dumbledore had truly defended and rewarded all of his pawns. Look at Black after all.

“But Mr. Potter, surely not?” McGonagall appeared almost terrified by the realisation.

“Of course! Who do you think we’ve been dealing with all these years? Voldemort’s a heartless bastard: he manipulates and uses people then throws them away like the useless trash he sees them as. He’s hardly a fairy princess, all unicorns and rainbows, now is he? What do you fucking expect?” He hissed, clearly angered by the blatant lack of awareness and realism present in the room.

And yet again, the room was shocked into silence by the teen.

“I- We- I never thought-” The Headmistress stumbled over her words once again, no less gobsmacked than her peers.

“No Minerva, you didn’t think, did you? None of you did. It’s a bloody miracle when you do,” the young man sneered in return, “And I’m fucking sick of it! Stop acting like a bunch of Firsties and grow up – the lot of you! This is war, and you know it, so act like it is dammit! Or I’ll just go and defeat Voldemort and the Death Eaters by myself! Fuck you all!”

In a burst of violent movement that had several people flinching back, the Boy-Who-Lived shot onto his feet, chair nearly toppling over, before turning away from the group to pace with measured, calculated, reigned-in-fury steps, blatantly ignoring them all. A constant explosion of white-hot sparks spat from his fingertips and his furious footsteps left faint scorch marks on the slate. Still nobody spoke. Severus wondered if they understood how lucky they were that Harry had not simply stormed out, as he would have only months ago. Or set the room on fire, judging from the wild magic. Ah, well.

“I think, perhaps, that Harry’s idea has some merit. Between Lupin and himself, the creatures should be willing to at least hear them out. And even that little is better than nothing.” The teen’s steps nearly – nearly – faltered at the Potion Master’s words, but apparently the amount of rage abated wasn’t sufficient just yet.

“I think… I think that would work. Any further ideas on that?” Remus asked, almost hesitantly directing the words towards his honorary godson.

“We take a third person. A proper fighter – but someone the werewolves won’t immediately distrust. And someone who by going could be seen as placing themselves in a precarious position. Of course, it will be one we can safeguard in such a case that the information is abused, but it will be a gesture of… goodwill either way, to risk one of our own so. And they’ll see that.”

“I… Okay. Any volunteers?”

"I should fit all the criteria, should I not?” Severus found himself saying. His own surprise at the offer was easily masked, though he got the feeling that the damn brat still sensed it.

“You’re correct Severus. So then, the three of us, emergency portkeys – and I mean emergency, like about to die, else it’ll give off the entirely wrong message – and an agenda to achieve sworn neutrality from at least half the packs. Have I missed anything? Excepting that it will have to wait until August.”

Harry had stopped pacing now, halted to face the group, subtly cataloguing all of their reactions: who was the first to make the same connections he had; who seemed to contest the role of command he had temporarily adopted; who was simply inclined to nod along.

“Mr. Potter, do you not think we should aim to bring as many of them over to our side as possible?”

“Not at all,” he replied, nonchalant and self-assured in contradicting the powerful witch yet again,
“Oh, of course we’ll appear to try for that but by offering an extreme that they won’t be expecting, because that's a stupid idea, we’ll throw them off balance and make it far easier to manipulate them to agree to our true objectives. Because, unless I’ve interpreted Remus’ reports wrong, then at best we’d have the support of one or two, maybe three packs. That’s hardly enough to make a true difference.”

And dammit all if the boy wasn’t a natural Slytherin with that kind of reasoning. And Minerva seem to be realising it, along with the rest of the assembled Order. About time.

Chapter Text

Later that evening, Severus was just gathering some books in preparation to leave for the night when five sets of footsteps came into the library and sat themselves around the fireplace. He was about to sweep out regardless when they began to talk. And, well, instinct dictated he at least ensure the conversation was of no significance or other interest. Good thing too, as it was rather.

“Tell us more about these tattoos Harry. Now.” Four others made noises of curiosity and agreement. Odd. He’d only heard five people enter. Or not, considering that Harry was rather good at sneaking around. Being silent was a part of that. Severus could almost feel the eyebrow the younger surely raised in return to Granger’s bossiness and the entire group’s insistence. Just to be on the safe side, Severus cast a wordless Disillusionment charm over himself. And settled down to listen in.

“They’re just a power-boost really Hermione. And a better conduit for wandless magic. They’ll allow me more concentration.”

“But why are they so dangerous? Moody made them sound borderline Dark Arts- ”

“That’s because they are!” Burst a Weasley – Ronald from the sound of it.

“And what Moody described…” Hermione trailed off.

“Firstly: don’t be stupid Ron. Most things that boost your power at the detriment of something else are classified as Dark or at least Shade magic - Grey magic, sorry. So these are Grey, yes, but I weighed the risks up and got them anyway.”

“But at how serious a ‘detriment’ Harry?”

“It’s nothing too important.” And now he could picture the airy wave of the ma- of the boy’s hand, all casual confidence. A mask, even with his friends.

“Harry!” All five voices of said friends cried out, and Severus wasn’t half tempted to add his own to the mix, despite the fact that he was eavesdropping.

“Yes?” came the arch reply.

“What will it affect? Your mind? Your magic? Your body? All of them? What?” Typical Granger with her incessant questions. Albeit decent ones this time.

“There’s really no need to worry.”

“That’s exactly why we-”
“need to worry!” Hm, credit to the twins, they at least knew Harry well enough to understand that much about him. Self-sacrificing Gryffindor fool that he was.

“Okay – stop! I get it, you’re worried and I appreciate that. But I have to be more powerful. If this is what it takes, then so be it.” And apparently that was the end of that argument as all his friends released long, resigned sighs of exasperation. Then Granger spoke up once more,
“So why seventeen? And why those locations?”

There were several seconds pause as Harry gathered his thoughts. When it came, the answer astounded Severus. He really should be used to this by now.

“Do you guys know the magical and spiritual properties of the number seventeen?” Even Granger and Ginevra – who’d both taken Arithmancy – shook their heads.

“Well, there are a few. The primary is that seventeen is considered a junction between the material or terrestrial world and the celestial. That makes it perfect for channelling magic. But beyond that, it is also thought to represent the evolution of the Cosmos and its tendency towards karmic liberation. Similarly, in the Book of Balance, it is used as the base for all balance – those two properties make it ideal for targeting an imbalance like Voldemort. There are less relevant factors, like some ancients separating the sky into seventeen layers – making it a heavenly number – and in the Bible the Pentecost was comprised of seventeen peoples and nations, making it a union number. So, overall, it’s ideal for wandless magic.”

“That’s… really well-thought-out.” Severus privately agreed. How could he not?

“Eh. It's a thing,” the teen replied, obviously a little hesitant to acknowledge any sort of skill or hidden prowess.

“So… their placements?”

“Well… originally I was going to base it off of the meridians in the body – those are focussed in the wrong areas though, mainly the torso. So I looked deeper into similar systems of the body. An interesting one was Chakra points. That’s why I got the one on my torso – in between the Naval and Solar Plexus Chakras. With this, there should be a focus on will, emotions and my shadow self. It’ll respect life, power and growth. Exactly what I need. The skin is thin at the knuckles and ankle bones, which will allow me easier access and use of my magic. Having pentacles at my collarbones is similar, but they also ground the magic and connect it to my body, my skeleton – to both death and protection. And it’s a link between the main flow of magic and my mind – like the hip ones draw the magic down from my torso to spread through my entire body.”
And yet again the entire room gaped at Harry. Where had he gotten all this information? When? He must have been planning for months, if not years…

“You sound like ‘Mione mate,” Ron complained. Only Severus noticed how fake the replying laugh was.

“Yeh, well... I'm tired, so I’m gonna head up to bed. See you guys.” And with that Harry left, carefully sweeping the door open so that it took just a few extra seconds to shut behind him. Allowing Severus to follow him out and up to the brat's room.

“Come in Severus,” he murmured as the door knob twisted. So Severus did.

“I know you heard all of that. So what did you think?”

“That your friends are utter dunderheads who shouldn’t have passed their examinations. How are they so blind?” Harry sent a long, considering look at his older friend as they both settled down, Harry perched on top of his desk, bony hands clasping the edge of the mahogany between his knees whilst Severus delicately lowering himself onto the bed, his black curtain swept by deft fingers back into a tie, out of his eyes. All the better to observe Harry with.

“They see only what I let them, I suppose. I’ve never shared my secrets with anyone, why would I have started at eleven? Or now?” Severus’ temper was fanned in understanding.

“Because, idiot brat, whilst many are not worth trusting, there are a number who are. Those that care for you and would use their very lives to keep your secrets as exactly that.” An evergreen blaze flared instantly into life, pupils dilating as though to swallow it up.

“No there isn’t! Not when I was a kid, and not now! I am alone! I- I always have been and I always will be. I don’t need to change that; I’ve managed well enough-”

But Severus had heard enough.

“Be quiet, you idiot brat!” He hissed, all venom and vitriol. As he surged to his feet and strode towards Harry, he went on,

“Even I, who for so long misunderstood and thus hated you, can truthfully say I would both kill and die for you. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, not the 'Chosen One', but Harry Potter. I would tear worlds apart and never let another word past my lips if that was what it took. Do you understand Harry? Do you?” And here Severus pushed the young man's knees further apart, nearly dislodging him from the desk, and placed himself between them, faces scant inches apart

“You are not alone,” Severus murmured against his lips. Before crushing their mouths together in a kiss. It was not long, but it enveloped Harry’s face in a flush, his eyes glazed over and his breath shortened. Severus was kissing him. And yes, it was far from a fairy-tale moment: all temper and melancholy, spittle-flecked cheeks from furiously-spoken words, yet the taste was bitter dark coffee intermingled with the sugar from the pudding Molly had forced upon them and oh-so-wonderful. Two calloused hands gripped too hard at the base of his neck and tugged almost painfully at his hair.

It was a passion, protective and poisonous, that Harry had never known.

Only a few too-short seconds later, Severus tore himself several steps back. Half-shocked and half-trying-to-follow, Harry fought not to fall flat on his face. Speechless, the two could only stare at each other: all saliva and red marks and wide eyes; tousled locks, Severus’ hair tie lost somewhere on the panelled floor.

“I… apologise Ha- Potter. I should not have done that. I… I bid you goodnight and will see you upon the usual time in the morning.”
Harry couldn’t move as the older man, the older man who had just kissed him so fiercely, visibly chilled and closed off within a sentence, then left the room.

He was almost shell-shocked enough to miss the quiet words from behind the closing door.

“I meant what I said though. Do not forget it.”

It was a restless, melancholy night for them both.

---------------------------------------------------

And, to distract you from the angst-fluff of that kiss, here's the explanation of Dark, Shade and Light Magicks:

[excerpt from 'Magickal Theorie Fore The Discerning Wizarde, re-published and annotated by Lucretia Wells in 1990]

'Magicks' is a generalised, if now somewhat archaic term, for magic itself, as an entity and individual power, not merely as a tool to be utilised by its conductors. They fall naturally into three alignments, or categories: Light Magicks, Grey (previously: Shade) Magicks and Dark Magicks. Within the last century however, these classifications have become twisted by politics and (il)legalities.

Despite prevalent twentieth-century perception, a great deal of Grey and Dark Magicks are not truly 'evil' or 'malicious'. Of course, any spell can be utilised in a way that would be as such, but that is the choice of the wizard or witch, not the predilection of the spell itself. But a spell that can create a vaporising shield could be utilised for both 'good' and 'bad' purposes, dependent upon one's intentions, morals and biases. As such, it is the author's belief that one should not limit oneself to any one magical alignment, but instead one should endeavor to learn all legal spells, regardless of categorisation.

Chapter Text

The next morning was, despite its stilted awkwardness, still very much productive.

Fuelled by another breakfast that Harry himself prepared for the entire household, he and Severus sequestered themselves in the basement, fresh cobwebs casting eerie shadows upon the cracked walls, layer upon layer of contrasting fractures, the candle-cast illusions yet more menacing than the true patterns. Yet the two were ignorant of such details, pushed to the back of their minds in preference of their training. The events of the previous evening joined the creepiness of their surroundings in hidden mental recesses.

“Again!” Once more, Harry summoned a shield. And with a single hex it was shattered by Severus.

“Protego optimo!” Unprompted this time, he conjured the silvery-blue spell. Only to have it destroyed with a cool word and dismissive flick. Frustration building despite his well-earned Occlumency proficiency, Harry let his magic guide him,

“Protimo!” A dazzling latticework of thin metallic strands sprang into being and retaliated Severus’ automatic spell directly back at the man, only giving a small bounce in its own structure. Yet the burst of red light that the elder dodged didn’t merely splash against the wall. Oh no. Instead it burst into shards, forming a small crater in the process. Its strength had over trebled.

For a solid second, flabbergasted silence reigned.

“Harry James Potter, you should not have attempted that! Spell mutations are highly advanced magics beyond even your abilities! Are you so foolish as to-”

“Is that what I did?” The angry flush rushed from Severus’ skin dramatically as he took in the guileless words.

“You- you were not aware of what you just tried – successfully at that?”

“No? I just followed my magic’s intent.”

“Your magic’s… intent.” The tone was neither contemptuous nor disbelieving… more thoroughly bewildered. And Severus’ evident confusion only added to Harry’s.

“But an individual’s magic having such as degree of sentience is nigh-on mythical. A rumour from Merlin’s time at best. Are you sure you haven’t read mention of spell mutating or amalgamation before?”

“I guess; the term once or twice? But I’ve never had the chance to find out about it beyond that, no.”

“How remarkable. Utterly unheard of… I’d dismiss it in anyone else…But he can rarely lie to me…” And here Severus devolved into too-low muttering as he paced the flagstones in front of the reflected spell’s point of impact, kicking up small puffs of new dust with every step. Harry just watched on, rather shocked. Was his magic really that weird?

Abruptly Severus stilled, spinning to face Harry. The teen was jolted out of his own thoughts with the sudden stillness.

“Come Harry, we must consult the library.” With that the Potions Master swept to the stairs and up them, out of sight.

“…Okay?” came the baffled murmur in reply. It was the first time that day that Severus had called him by his given name, and the combination of all the seemingly random changes and revelations in the last few minutes were confounding at best. But unable to deny his thirst for answers, Harry swiftly trailed after the elder.

Two hours later, Severus rose to his feet and stretched, cat-like, the long lines and gentle arcs of his body attracting Harry’s gaze. But as soon as the man turned to face him, the young man roused himself and darted his attention back to the books open in front of him.

“I believe that you are cooking dinner tonight, and there seems to be little progress to be made here right now. Perhaps we should head downstairs?” Allowing his eyes to fall upon the Potions Master once more, Harry nodded in agreement. He admittedly felt a little ashamed of… checking out the older man, despite their odd relationship. Severus didn’t deserve his twisted affections: Harry didn’t know how to love somebody. And certainly not someone who deserved happiness as much as Severus did. Harry himself on the other hand…

Shaking off his gloomy thoughts, Harry too stood, stretched to ease the twinges and stiffness along his limbs, then led the way towards the stairs.

What Harry didn’t know, too caught up in his own self-deprecation, then ponderings of what dinner he’d cook, was that Severus was subtly roaming his gaze along the planes of the younger's figure. Not overly tall, but with lithe muscles that curved enticingly, naturally fair skin contrasted by dark hair, floating and wild like ink drops in water. A teenager who had long since began maturing into fully-fledged adulthood. Yet even just kissing him added to Severus’ already lengthy list of sins. The brat wasn't yet seventeen for Salazar's sake!

Arriving in the kitchen, the two were still alone. So Severus settled into one of the dining chairs, a small stack of books at his side, one open in front of him. Meanwhile, Harry was stood at the sideboard, knife rapidly slicing and peeling vegetables, with a finesse and exactness borne of practice. As the rhythmic sound beat a gentle pattern in the backs of their minds, the two men were able to focus on their individual tasks. The atmosphere was of tacit content. Sometimes communicating by only shared space was far more effective, more soothing, than any solace provided by words. Harry and Severus were acutely aware of that.

It wasn’t long before dinner was to be served up when Severus let out a soft, satisfied,
“Ah-hah.”

“Hm?” Harry hummed, glancing up from the potatoes that were boiling away to look at the smirking man.

“I do believe I’ve found our answer.”

“Really?” Movements buoyant, the younger man twirled his wand at the various food items and, stasis charms snapping into place, slid into the seat beside Severus, subconsciously leaning close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

“Indeed. Read this passage here.” Drawing the indicated book closer to himself, Harry scanned the passage, trying to apply the information to what had happened earlier.

“So… We both know that my magic has always been a little on the… wild side. And according to this, that gave it a certain degree of sentience. And, presumably, this ‘change in internal or external conditions’ needed is… Oh! The pentagrams! They’ve increased my connection to my magic, and it’s probably melded with my conscious or something, increasing its independence. So it can guide me, up to a point.”

“Exactly.” And Harry’s grin widened even further at Severus’ smirk and raised eyebrow. This was one of pride and smugness.

“Not too bad, brat. Now then, dinner? We can theorise further after food.” Not even bothering to reply, Harry jumped to his feet and, dispelling the charms he’d placed, attended to the new potatoes once more. As Severus began to stack up his books and deposit them at the very end of the kitchen counter, out of the way, Harry asked,

“Could you call everyone down? I’ll dish up.” Rolling his eyes but nodding, the elder left the room to enjoy a good shout. The lack of trembling first-years to terrify was taking its toll. Harry simply snickered, depositing platters of vegetables in the centre of the table. He outright laughed when Severus returned, quickly trailed by pouting and annoyed teenagers. The twins though were sniggering. Remus, Molly and Arthur appeared quite amused by their attitudes too. Judging by Ron’s furious flush, he’d probably fallen over or dropped something in shock at Severus’ shouting. That’d explain a lot.

“Oh, it smells wonderful, Harry dear! Lamb?”

“You called it, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied, just finishing with the carving,
“Sit down guys, start eating. I’ll just bring this over.” Somehow, Harry ended up sat at the head of the table, Severus to his left, Fred (or was it George, no, definitely Fred) to his right. Plates of food got handed around as everybody took their portions and dug in. The atmosphere was delightfully warm, everybody discussing neutral matters, no tension in sight. It made him feel… complete. These people were his friends, his family even. And there was nowhere Harry would rather be.

All the more reason to protect them.

 -----------------------------------------------

Protego optimo - lit. the best shield - a variation of the standard 'protego' shield spell, and the most powerful invariant of said original spell. Its sheer power is countered by its inflexibility: it can only cover the immediate area in front of the caster, and can only protect from spells, not debris or other physical attacks. It requires immense focus and magical power to cast, and even more to maintain for any length of time. The manifestation of the spell will glow blue;the weaker the shield the darker the shade. Being hit at a certain angle, where any weaknesses may be found, will increase the likelihood of the shield simply shattering.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke on July 31^st in a very normal way: a nightmare, but not a vision. Not a bad start, in all honesty. However it was three o’clock in the morning, according to his exhaustion-dim tempus, so he was quick to get up and head down to the basement. There were few better ways to come to full awareness post-nightmare than Duelling, even if it was only against a partially enchanted room. Plus it would rid him of the adrenaline that was pumping through him but going absolutely nowhere.

Accordingly, for the next two hours Harry obsessively trained. Casting hexes, dodging curses, manipulating charms; he was sweating, slipping in blood and perspiration and debris, bare feet soon covered in scrapes and gouges, panting out the occasional spell, the rest being non-verbal, some wandless to boot, utilising his right hand.  —isn’t h right handed tho? Eh, can change canon who cares—

And he kept this up until a shield swirled into being around him, simultaneous to the paralysis curse that hit his unprotected back.

“If you are quite done?” The sneer wasn’t particularly mocking, not to Harry’s ears, for he heard the undertones of concern and curiosity. But still.

“No actually, but I assume you’re here to tell me differently?” The weary sass was merely met by a raised eyebrow. See if Harry didn’t shave those one day-!

“Indeed I am. Nightmare?”

“No shit.”

“My, my Mr Potter, such shocking vocabulary from such a distinguished young man. I believe a punishment shall have to be administered: you will accompany me to the library, wherein we shall read quietly. Do follow,” Severus finished, finally removing his spells.

Grumbling quietly, though not truly meaning his complaints, Harry did follow. He always would.

“I’m sorry this was the start to your birthday,” came the soft voice only for Harry’s attention, as they delicately trod the creaky staircase.

“Meh. I’m not surprised.”

“Nor am I. Hence why I should have offered you some dreamless sleep.”

“You didn’t though because you know I hate that stuff. Weakens my Occlumency and traps me in any consequent visions. So I’m glad you knew not to because it may well have been too tempting and then I would’ve regretted it.”

“Still. You should have come to wake me. I would have been- content to accompany you for a few hours. Regardless of the early start.”

“…Thanks Severus. Next time, yeh?”

“Yes, next time.” Both of them knew that Harry, whilst not lying, exactly, likely wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Idiot brat was still virtually incapable of asking for help.

Before Severus could linger on such thoughts, the two reached the library and entered, immediately headed for their usual armchairs in front of one of the two secondary fires. Set in the corner of the cavernous yet gloomy room, there was a boarded up window right next to them, leading on to the overgrown garden and the only usual entrance to the room was in easy sight. Plus the angle of the chairs allowed them to watch each other’s backs and, in combination, see the entire room. It was both a strategic and comfortable place to sit, hence their occupation of the spot. Finally, they had cast a few wards at certain proximities to the corner, affording them forewarning of anybody approaching. It was a safe, private space, despite the technically public setting. So that’s where they settled.

Severus reached for his current pile of tomes, Harry mirroring the movement. And whilst they began to read as per usual, Severus did extend one foot slightly to the side of its own normality, just resting it against Harry’s ankle. Neither commented. There was no need to, after all, both of them found a measure of reassurance in the contact, minimal though it was. It was enough to convey that they had company, that they were awake and safe; it was enough to ground them both. And if Harry fell into a doze within twenty minutes, well, he deserved the rest.

It wasn’t until around nine that Granger hurried into the room, clearly casting about in search of the birthday Boy-Who-Lived.

“Harry-!”

“Do be quiet, he’s asleep. Merlin knows he needs it.”

“…okay, thank you Sir. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Merely tired. I shall awaken him, if you would precede us to the kitchen?” A frown marred the girl’s face, but she nodded in acquiescence all the same. With a final concerned glance towards her friend, Granger left. Not bothering to hold in his sigh, Severus moved his deadened foot away from Harry’s ankle and watched the brat immediately jump to awareness.

“Severus-!”

“Hush now. All’s well Harry, but it’s time we get up and have breakfast.”

“Oh- okay. What’s the time?” he asked, still a little sleep-slurred.

“I said: time for breakfast.” The teasing was met by a half-lidded reproachful stare. 

“Just past nine.” Harry only hummed in reply, eyes already closed again. Severus smiled a little viciously, sending a minor stinging hex at the young man’s thigh.

“Come on birthday brat. They’ll be missing you; no dawdling now.”

“Fine, fine.”

When the two made it downstairs, Harry leading this time, despite his bleary eyes, there was an immediate if disjointed round of,

“Happy birthday!” as people noticed him. Harry just stood, blinking at them.

“Oh yeh, I’d forgotten again already.”

“I only reminded you not two minutes ago,” Severus smirked.

“Meh. Two minutes, two hours, two days. It’s all the same.”

“Hardly. But if you insist…” Again, there was a teasing lilt, incredibly subtle though it was, to Severus’ tone.

“I do insist! By royal decree of the bloody Bastard-Who-Lives, two minutes is now synonymous with two days!” The sarcastic declaration was accompanied by an elaborate bow, facing Severus, that shocked an amused snort out of the man.

Meanwhile, the ignored crowd gaped at the two’s banter and exuberance, bitter though the latter might be. It was rare to see Harry act out in any way other than anger, defiance or leadership. And to see Snape laugh, even if minimally, was utterly unheard of. So this display was shocking to say the least.

Abruptly, both of those in question stiffened, the group able to watch Snape’s face close off completely. No doubt Harry’s did the same,

“Sorry about that everyone. I’m a little tired. And thank you for the well-wishes.” Ron and Ginny visibly blanched at the overly formal words that Harry provided as he turned to smile awkwardly at them all.

“It’s fine Harry, dear, it’s nice to see you enjoying yourself. Now, eat up! I made all your favourites.” For once, Severus had more than a cursory distaste for Molly Weasley’s overbearing ways. This particular steamroll was actually helpful.

"So, 'arry, whaddya wanna do 'oday?" Ron garbled through a mouthful of eggs,

"Quidditch? Gobstones? Or summat else?" Harry looked over at his best mate, shrugging awkwardly,

"I was gonna train this morning. And most of this afternoon, then spend this evening with you guys."

"Wha-? But-!"

"Harry dear, surely not! It's your birthday, you simply must take the day off. You do too much as it is, you're only just seventeen!"

"Mrs. Weasley, with all due respect, it's my birthday and I'll spend it however I want. And if I don't train at least some, then I'll be wasting time. The war effort is far more important than any stupid birthday. I can celebrate next year, or the year after. Unless, of course, we don't win. And the more I train, the higher chance I have of still being here to do so."

"Ah- But- I see what you mean but-"

"But nothing. Thank you for breakfast, it was lovely. I'll handle lunch as per usual." And with the polite but dismissive words, Harry stood, thoughtlessly levitated his plate and cutlery into the sink and left, tossing,

"I'll be in the attic Severus," over his shoulder.

"Oh, honestly, that boy! He doesn't take care of himself, does he? I do worry! But really, it's his birthday, how could he be training, it's ridiculous. He still so young-" As the matriarch began ranting, half in worry, half in admonishment, Severus silently took his last few mouthfuls, left his crockery where it was in a vague bout of pettiness, and headed up to join Harry. The brat wasn't having the best start to the day.

Chapter Text

Severus and Harry did indeed spend their morning training, including a long few hours of Harry Conjuring and almost simultaneously demolishing dummies, clearly venting. Determining to let the young man get on with said venting, Severus had summoned a few books from their shared room downstairs and settled onto the single chair by the door of the attic, hardly moving until Harry turned to him, announcing,
"Okay, I'm sorted now. Sorry. Wanna do something more productive?"

"Of course. Whenever you're ready," came the snide reply. Harry merely rolled his eyes, digging just-shaking fingers into the elder's ribs on his way past. At least the brat could still take a joke- some teasing even. Severus Snape did not joke, refrain from such absurdities.

To give the brat's magic a little time to recover from its already extensive use, despite not having quite reached noon yet, Severus led Harry to their corner of the library, where he produced specific notes and tomes.

"Let us refine our possible options for the Anti-Cruciatus potion. We may experiment in the coming week, time permitting."

"Sure," came the younger's easy agreement, already reaching for the first list of potential ingredients. Severus carefully catalogued how the trembling had now completely died down and, despite the heavy bags resting beneath the brat's eyes, he appeared clear and coherent. Sufficient.

Unfortunately, Harry's minor shaking returned not long into lunch. As more and more people had filed into the kitchen-diner, and the noise level had increased with that, his uneasiness also rose. Severus observed all of this with his typical frown.

"So you gonna come and have some fun now or what?" The damn redhead was being too pushy. What a surprise.

"Sorry Ron, but I really gotta train more. I can't not." And of course Harry was dampening his intellect and articulacy as always.

"C'mon mate. It's only a couple'a hours. Spend some time away from that greasy bat! Time with your friends instead!"

"But he is my friend!" 

"Clearly a more important one than us."

"That's not how this works- I didn't mean- look, can we just not do this now? I'll be done by four, okay? We can all- I dunno, have cake or something then. So please, just leave it Ron. For today at least."

"But-"

"Mate, it's my birthday, yeh; drop it?"

"Fine. Whatever. Better be down here at four though," Weasley the Sixth grumbled bad-naturedly, obviously failing to clock the utter relief flooding Harry's posture. Well, that argument had been postponed once more then. All the better really, at least for today.

True to his word, Harry ascended the basement staircase just before four o'clock that afternoon, relishing the delicious scents of vanilla and raspberry, sweet and tart smells combining into something tantalising that set his stomach rumbling.

"Ah, Harry dear, I hope you enjoy this, Hermione said it was your favourite, or it seemed so at least. You really should tell me these things!"

"It does smell lovely, thank you."

"Of course! Everyone will be down in a minute, take a seat, there you go, head of the table, it's your birthday after all..." As Harry took said seat and Molly rambled on, distracted, the young man caught Severus' eye and nigh-on pouted at him. After all, the elder was making his way to the door, doubtlessly fleeing to the library or their room. Rolling his eyes, the Potions Master returned to his side.

"You don't really want me to stay," he murmured, leaning in close, hair swinging to mask both their expressions from anybody else.

"Yes, I do. So long as you're alright with it. I mean, you don't have to. But, I'd prefer it if you were here. And later on too. You don't have to of course, no pressure, just-" Cutting of the gibberish before the brat could really get going, Severus pulled out a chair at Harry's right,
"Very well brat. At least it's not chocolate cake, blasted stuff's always too sickly."

"Thanks Severus." Now, he only grunted in reply. Harry grinned at him all the same.

It didn't take another five minutes for Hermione, Ginny, Ron, the twins and Remus to join them all in the kitchen. And whilst Hermione and Ron settled to Harry's left, Remus happily took the chair to the other side of Severus, with the twins, Ginny and Molly all occupying the next four places. It wasn't a very large group, but Harry was still obviously happy, eyes wide and bright, smile just the same. Severus fought down the urge to present a soft little smile of his own at the sight. It was... good, to see the young man who was normally forced to be so very mature acting more innocently, more child-like. Quite charming in fact, much to Severus' own chagrin. Still, he refused to put on an overly sour face and instead donned a mask of neutrality, smoothed though it was around the edges. Harry just grinned broadly at him, before leaning towards the cake and its candles.

"I wish..." the young man whispered, expression suddenly a little pained, before closing his verdant eyes and blowing gently. The candles sputtered out in an instant, yet Harry remained frozen for a long moment more. Then cheers rang out from the majority of the room, and he was startled back to normality. Well, almost. Nobody chose to comment on the glassiness of his gaze, nor how he took a few deep, calming breaths. Instead, they clamoured after him, demanding cake and teasing him with tidbits about his presents, or telling him how very proud his parents would be of him. Severus himself remained silent. The brat knew what he thought of him, knew that Severus... cared, without the need for paltry words in a public setting. So he stayed quiet. It would be enough to give Harry his present in front of these Gryffindors later.

And indeed, once all but two slices of cake had been devoured, one for Arthur and an extra for the birthday boy, the group migrated to a sitting room, opposite the library, which was one of the few cleared spaces that would comfortably fit all nine of them. And on the main coffee table there was a pile of presents, most well-wrapped but a few disgustingly messy. Harry would undoubtedly be delighted regardless.

"Are these all for me?"

"Yeah! This one's from me, and that's Mione's, and Neville's-!" As the Sixth droned on about who'd given each present, Severus settled himself in an armchair in the corner, content to simply watch on. Harry was similarly sat silently, but he was clearly enraptured with the little haphazard pile, and of course on an ottoman in the centre of all his friends.

"Here, start with" "ours - go on Harry!" "It won't" "explode, promise!" Harry snickered at the twin's antics and reached for the purple and orange box a tad warily all the same.

"Thanks you two," he began, before even opening the box. And he did so reverently, placing the lid next to him and laughing as he pulled out an extendable ear, a small sparkly pouch and then another, smaller box, this time one labelled 'Peruvian Instant Darkness - One pinch works wonders - Quick get-aways and distractions galore! '

"We figured those could" "be both fun and practical!" As Harry grinned at them, they took the box out his hands, packed it all back up and set it in the beginning of a new pile at Harry's feet.

"Next present!"

And so it went on. Neville had sent Harry a somewhat questionable book on plant-based poisons and detecting them, along with a note saying: 'Hey Harry, happy birthday! Hopefully this book won't come in handy, but you never know, and I thought it was interesting either way. Gran let me take it from the family vault - don't worry, we have another two copies for some reason. Look after yourself and enjoy your day!' Harry read it over fondly, carefully tucking the note into the front of the tome. Good old Neville.

Luna's present was a charmed bracelet. A leather band, dyed a deep, almost black, red, was woven in between a silver chain, around half of the links displaying a little charm, most being silver. A broom, an evil eye, a snitch, a potions phial, a lily, a ball of flame, a snowflake and three small emerald pentacles. A short explanation was attached as well as a catalogue for charmed bracelets and their attachments. 'Hello Harry, happy birth anniversary. I know that this will find you well, so I won't bother with all of that. This bracelet will help to protect you. I was going to give you a Nargle-repellant necklace, but this was more important. The charms all do different things, they're very useful, you know. The broom charm gives you a space to store your Firebolt; the snitch asks Lady Luck to smile upon you; the fire absorbs baby burns; the snowflake absorbs the worst of Jack Frost's ire; the evil eye prevents spell-spying, but be warned it cannot bolster your mind shields; the phial vibrates when it comes near most poisons and potions, but not those brewed for good and intended for bad; the emerald pentacles can hold a little magic, if only one is inclined to give a little when safe; the lily is sentimental and can be removed if it is too personal and my apology would be implicit, but she passed for protection and that is what this bracelet is for. Enjoy your day Harry.' Harry couldn't help but laugh a little, his smile kind and eyes warm. Trust Luna to be so whimsical yet so bloody brilliant at the same time. Accordingly, he immediately slipped on the bracelet and placed the book, again with note tucked inside, on the floor and accepted the next gift with a yet-brighter smile.

Ron had messily wrapped up two chocolate frogs and a photo frame in Chudley Cannon-orange paper, Harry sniggering at the sight before sobering. The simple wooden frame he revealed paled in comparison to the precious photo inside.

"Colin took it. No surprises there, hey mate?"

"No surprise at all," Harry agreed, tears blurring his vision but not permitted to fall. The photo was of the Gryffindor common room, late at night judging by the general lack of people and the moonlight flooding in from the windows, improving the clarity of the fire-light illumination of three sleeping figures. Ron and Hermione took up the two halves of the loveseat, Ron's long arm curled around her shoulders, the two clearly having slumped further into each other as they slept. And across their laps, his head pillowed on worn Muggle jeans and his legs slung over Ron's and then the arm of the sofa, was Harry himself. A Quidditch magazine was still open across his lap from where Ron had been reading it, Hermione's hand still buried in black curls from where she had been loosely braiding them. It was a very sweet picture, one detailing their happiest times together. No wonder he was nigh-on crying over it.

"Thanks Ron. It- it's brilliant."

"'Course. Reckoned you'd like it. Mione agreed when I showed her it."

"I do. I really, really do." Everyone tactfully ignored how tightly Harry hugged Ron, even the twins refraining from cooing at them.

Hermione had immaculately stacked three tomes and encased them in beautiful golden paper, something that looked like it was from The Card Factory. It was cool, all shimmery and glinting in the strong candlelight. And the books inside were cool too, actually, two of them about using physical measures against curses, from Transfiguration to dodging techniques. The third was about Quidditch, apparently detailing different types of manoeuvres. Following Hermione, there was a few Defense books from Remus, plus a new set of quills and ink from Molly and Arthur. Their daughter handed over a bag containing a cheesy 'I'm a keeper, and I'm not talking about Quidditch' mug that earned a round of laughter. Lastly, Severus stood from his broody spot in the corner, one hand tucked behind his back. 

-----------------------------------------------

Just for clarification on Luna's note:

Broomstick - can be used to magically store one broomstick;

Potions phial - will vibrate if the wearer is about to eat/drink any potions that are naturally harmful, can't detect maliciously intended 'healing' or neutral potions;

Flame - absorbs the damage of minor burns;

Snowflake  - takes in the worst of extremely cold temperatures;

Golden snitch - provides the wearer with a little extra luck;

Evil eye - prevents the use of scrying spells, or other closely-related charms with the same genus, being cast upon the wearer;

Pentacles (carved of emerald rather than shaped of silver) - can be used as a store for magic, so long as the wearer takes the time to replenish its reserves when they have excess energy, useful both as a last resort and as a sedative of sorts for wild, excessive magic;

Lily flower - primarily symbolic, though it is imbued with the 'connection charm', thus acting as the keystone for the bracelet (this function could be shifted to another charm, so long as said replacement did not yet possess any properties of its own).

Chapter Text

Harry reached for the proffered parcel, admiring its metallic green, blue and grey stripes. The silver ribbon was thick and luxurious, far more expensive than the young man liked to consider.
“Severus…”
“Well then brat? Don’t keep us waiting.” After a moment more’s hesitation, Harry grasped the present more firmly and, carefully, centimetre by centimetre, untied and set aside the lovely ribbon and oh-so-delicately peeled away the wrapping paper. Near-still and silent, he reverently raised the revealed object.

Gleaming the muted effervescence of burnished, beautiful gold, a pocket watch laid in his hand. The case was engraved with an Ouroboros, the detailing of its minute scales immaculate, surrounding a lion’s head, calm and docile. But what halted Harry was a sense that the snake was… protecting the lion, watching over it, accompanying it. And he couldn’t help but liken it to himself and Severus, or perhaps even his own two sides.

At the loudening murmurs of those around him and those fierce eyes burning onto the crown of his bent head, Harry dared to flip back the case and promptly froze once more.

His mother’s face smiled up at him. Surrounded by trees and sunlight, she was flushed and clearly laughing exuberantly, red hair dancing in an unseen breeze, green eyes bright and alight with mirth and fire and life.
“I thought you might like it. She was just barely nineteen; you were a year old and, I think, being babysat by your father and Black- Sirius. It was the February before that Halloween and the weather was unusually warm. We were celebrating my birthday, a month late as it was, and hers along with it.”
“Fuck…” came the heartfelt reply, Harry not even seeming to realise that rare tears were trickling down his pale cheeks. The concerned questions were ignored as he instead brushed his fingers carefully across the edge of the Wizarding photo, then tore his attention to the clock face itself.

An emerald backing was embellished with black-bordered digits in white, Gothic print, tracked by golden hands. But inside the ring of numbers was another system: this one similar to the Weasley’s family clock. One black hand, quite short, with ‘Severus’ etched in gold upon its face, was indicating ‘Home’. As was Remus’. Ron, Fred, George and Hermione’s all simply pointed to ‘Safe’. Other segments were labelled ‘Battle’, ‘Work’, ‘Travelling’, ‘Hospital’ and ‘Mortal Danger’.

“I- Sev’rus, it’s beautiful-“ Harry gasped out, choking and tumbling over the syllables. Conflict bloomed in his watery eyes as he fought the desire to leap up and hug the man. Merlin’s balls, this was too much. The pocket watch was elegant and practical and sentimental and perfect. So perfect.
“You’re most welcome,” came the slightly stiff reply, the elder awkward with how to comfort Harry in front of so many people. Sensing this past his own emotions, Harry made quick work in tamping down his feelings; his mini- break-down could wait until they had more privacy.

“Thank you everyone. You’ve given me far more than you needed to,” he provided. During the expected outcry of reassurances, Harry nodded discretely to Severus, just a single incline of the head. They would talk later.

Unfortunately, ‘later’ took nearly four hours. Between eating and then spending time with his friends, Harry was kept busy. He lost a good number of chess games but won a few of exploding snap. All the while, Severus had retired, escaping the hubbub by retreating to Harry’s room to read and wait out the younger’s activities. When Harry finally entered the room, visibly tired but grinning happily, he immediately walked over to the Potion Master’s bed and, no hesitations, plopped himself down beside the elder, only having to wait a few seconds before being graced by Severus closing the scant few inches between their sides, allowing their arms and legs to brush.

Grin softening and widening into a content smile, Harry drifted there for a while, warm and safe and happy. His small pile of presents was stacked at the foot of his own bed, but for the charmed bracelet and the pocket watch.

“Were you truly so pleased with my gift? It didn’t upset you?” Severus finally spoke, sounding both gratified and a little hesitant beneath the veneer of neutrality and passive indifference.
“How could I not be pleased? Severus, it is beautiful and practical and, beyond all that, means a lot to me. It has parts of my mum, of you, of my friends, of myself. It- Dammit Sev, it’s quite possibly the best present I’ve ever been given. Truly.” And whilst Harry stopped there, both understood the tacit continuation: it was a physical epitome of Severus’ care for Harry, an epitome of the thought and time and resources he was willing to dedicate to the younger. And that meant impossibly more than the object itself.

“Hm. Well perhaps you have a little taste.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Harry grinned in return.

“Only a little, mind. You still spend far too much time with a dungeons bat, I’ve heard.”

“Well maybe I happen to like said dungeons bat,” came the mock-offended reply, the trace of indignation genuine but failing to hamper his bright grin and soft snigger.

“Maybe… maybe I made two birthday wishes…” Watching Harry trail off, the younger’s mirth and confidence sapping quickly, Severus spoke up,
“And…?” The word was gentle, with only the faintest of sneers, knowing that Harry would see it for what it truly was.

“Maybe one of my wishes was for-“ his voice wavered but didn’t yet crack,
“For a kiss.”

Severus looked down upon Harry’s figure, slightly hunched as it now was, green eyes hauntingly bright, averted yet practically glowing with inner fire, half-laying there beside him, so comfortable even in Severus’ direct presence.

What was such a beautiful young man doing?

Why would Harry desire such a sour, dour old man as himself? When there were younger, more balanced and more attractive men and women that would murder to have a chance with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ah, there was the answer. The ‘Boy-Who-Lived’.

Harry wanted somebody to see him for what he truly was, somebody he could rely-

Severus’ thoughts were interrupted by the faintest keening, just one short whimper, Harry’s eyes still averted but no longer quite so bright.

“Hush now, hush,” he comforted, allowing his arm to shift and his fingers to card through wild hair. The younger was quick to lean into the touch, even as his hands began to tremble slightly in his lap.

“Keep on breathing Harry, that’s it, keep that up, come on…”

Gradually, as they stayed like that, leaning heavily against each other, the pair unwittingly fell into sleep.

Perhaps it was better that way.

The next morning, Harry woke up first. And was promptly mortified. Why did he think it was a good idea to tell Severus that he wanted to kiss him? Just because the man was coming to care about him didn’t mean there was anything romantic in their- their codependency. And, well, there didn’t have to be, but Harry definitely liked the idea of it. Harry wanted Severus like he wanted Voldemort dead and Cedric alive: wholly, viscerally, eternally. With his entire being. Maybe it was selfish, and Harry would make do with the man’s friendship and be done with it if that was what Severus allowed, and he would still be endlessly grateful for that much, but Harry wanted. And he couldn’t stand the thought of being totally rejected, of being denied even the man’s very presence. So of course Severus had to talk him down from the beginnings of a panic attack. Of course Harry was so fucking useless, such a-

Forcing himself away from that train of thought, Harry pushed himself up from where he had been slumped with Severus, quickly moving to stand and just do something. Anything to hide his embarrassment and distress.

This was what the Potions Master woke up to, in turn. The bedsheets beside him were already cool; his neck, back and shoulders were complaining and Harry was silently stacking and organising some of his books, cross-legged upon his own bed. Not as far away from Severus as he could get, but obviously putting a barrier in between them. Silly brat. It wasn’t that Severus didn’t want Harry; it was that he shouldn’t want Harry. Keeping his sigh internal, Severus levered himself up and began to stretch a little, working the stiffness out of his muscles. Honestly, no part of growing older was fun, regardless of how young he might be by general Wizarding standards. He was only a fifth of the way through his life, assuming he survived this blasted war that is, and Harry only a tenth, but he felt centuries older.

“Morning,” Harry’s tone was flat, almost uncertain, but failed to betray his true lack of confidence. Idiot brat.

“And to you. Is it time for breakfast?” He in turn kept his voice light and cordial, watching Harry’s tempus light up in crimson.

“Yeh. Let’s go,” Harry quickly extracted himself from the stacks of tomes and spare parchment, invisible yet shimmering ribbons of magic holding them stable, before leading the way to leave. As he passed Severus, door now half-open in front of them, the elder took the chance to swoop down and plant a kiss, brief but warm, upon his lips, quickly straightening again and smirking wickedly before billowing out of the room and downstairs to breakfast. He could smell the hash-browns and bacon already. He would undoubtedly debate his own actions later. But for now he could revel in how his lips were ablaze with sensation. He’d kissed Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry himself had frozen. Severus had just- He’d- Why- What even-

Hearing the other man’s footsteps echoing down the staircase brought Harry back to reality. Severus had just kissed him, so maybe he hadn’t been rejected after all. Or maybe he had and that was just… just a pity-kiss. That was probably a thing, right? But Severus didn’t do pity so that couldn’t be it. An apology-kiss then? But Severus didn’t do that either… Thinking was hurting his head, almost overwhelming the way his face was burning and his lips were… Merlin, they were tingling like he was one of the dumb heroines out of Aunt Petunia’s secret stash of bodice-rippers. Okay, Harry needed to focus. Get his priorities straight. Right now: go downstairs and eat breakfast; finish making a plan to tackle the werewolf issue with Remus and Severus. Then train for the rest of the day. Yep, that would work. Not like one of his two birthday wishes had just come true or anything. Nor that there was actually a chance the first would too.

Maybe there was a chance that they’d actually win this war.

Chapter Text

That night, now that the seventh month had truly died, been dead and gone for nearly a day in fact, Severus was plagued with a vicious nightmare. 

Green fire curled in the air, against the walls of the cottage, burning fingers reaching for him, promising pain and loss. Promising death.

"Severus! Help me, Severus, please!" That voice was achingly familiar. 

"Lily!" He ran forwards, heedless of the heat and smoke, all backlit by Avada Kedavra green. The stecnh of roasting flesh met his nostrils, stung his nose and tongue.

"No! Please, Severus!"

"Lily! Where are you? I'm coming! Lily!" But the voice didn't echo back. Instead, a faint litany of whimpers reached him, twisting in between the roar and crackle of fire, almost sibilant and almost broken.

"Sev'rus!" The voice was fractured, the 's' dragged out, pulling Severus even closer, pushing him to run even faster towards Li- No! No, no, no - Harry! That was Harry's voice! He ran even faster, ignorant of his own limbs being caught by licks of fire and flame.The idiot brat was in danger again, Lily wasn't here at all, how could she be, she was dead, but Harry was here, Harry needed help, needed him-

"Severus!" With an aborted shout, Severus shot up in bed, scrambling for his wand, smashing his forehead against Harry's shoulder.

"You're alright Sev, I promise. Careful now. Everything's fine, we're safe at Grimmauld Place. Slow your breathing down, please Sev," a pleading note accompanied the concern and comforting velvet of the younger's tone, "Come on now, with me, that's it. We're safe here. You're not there, everything's fine, nobody's in danger." The young man shut up at that point, opting instead to gently guide Severus' head against his chest, one hand automatically stroking through the fine hair, the other arm curled around the elder's torso, supporting them both in the slightly awkward position, Harry half-kneeling on, half-hovering over the bed, holding Severus close but not restraining him.

It took some time, but Harry's steady, slightly too fast heartbeat worked together with the warmth of the other's body to ground Severus. Eventually, Severus simply resorted to unclenching his hands from his wand and the younger's shirt to instead tug the brat onto the bed with him, sitting perpendicular to each other.

"Better now?" came the hesitant question. Surely Harry knew he wouldn't lash out at him by now? After all, it was far from the first time that Severus had been the one to have the nightmare that he needed bringing out of, even if his long-term Occlumency did dampen a good number of them.

"Much, thank you Harry." They shared a few seconds of companionship before Harry glanced away, flushing a little,
"Would you mind- Could I- Maybe- We-"

"Of course," he cut him off. Heaving a sigh of relief and gratitude, Harry stood and slipped beneath the covers when Severus raised them for him.

"Only because it's easier to wake each other up."

"Indeed." They both knew that was largely a lie after all. 

When the two awoke the next morning, they luckily hadn't intertwined themselves (for once, though neither knew that the other was aware of the fact). Instead, one of Harry's legs crossed over one of Severus at the calf, but they were laying, half-curled, on their sides, facing one another, Severus having stolen most of the blanket during the night. Managing not to giggle at that little snippet, Harry slid out of bed to stretch, the elder sitting up to do the same. Neither spoke a word. And, despite Harry's fears, the silence was not an awkward one. It wasn't exactly completely comfortable either, but it was content, so he'd take what he could get.

"Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," the young man concurred, revelling in how he could cast 'verto vestimentum' legally. Being at Grimmauld Place had given him freedom to cast anything, thanks to its wards, but knowing that if he walked outside right now he could legally defend himself was brilliant. Hopefully, there was less chance of him getting into trouble with the Ministry this way. Well, hopefully anyway. Knowing his luck, and his reputation at that, something would probably still happen to get him arrested or questioned at the very least. Oh well.

Coming into the kitchen, the pair found only Remus, who was sat, cradling some herbal tea that made Harry scrunch his nose up in protest. It seemed like something Petunia would have drunk, just to try and seem sophisticated. Still, Remus liked them.

"Morning."

"And to you two." Severus merely grunted at their exchange, immediately headed to the coffee pot.

"Harry?"

"Yes, thanks. No m-"

"Milk or sugar, I'm fully aware." With a crooked grin, Harry pulled out the chair opposite Remus, nudged out the one to his own right and took a moment to examine the man. He was looking alright, all things considered. The regular doses of Wolfsbane were clearly helping, thank Merlin, although that didn't prevent the violet bags from breaking up the pale of his face.

"You managing to sleep much Remus?"

"Enough Harry, don't worry. I'm still getting over the last moon."

"That was only a few nights ago, wasn't it? The W- thanks Severus, perfect - the Wolfsbane is still helping, yeh? No problems there?" Remus hesitated, wide eyes darting to Severus for the inevitable indignation and fury at the insinuation. When no such reaction came, he spoke up,
"No, it's been quite excellent, thank you. And you both? Are you sleeping enough?" Harry resisted the urge to flinch, or to turn to Severus, gathering himself in a split-second,
"As well as can be expected, I suppose. We're fine. No visions for a while." Remus narrowed his eyes, but nodded graciously, willing to leave the two their privacy. If they couldn't do anything about it, then Merlin knew that he couldn't either.

"So, what do you think about the Plinski-Geiger Duelling tactics? Personally, I've always found them a little aggressive, but-" 

As Remus drew them into conversation on various defence tactics and spells, he watched both Severus and Harry relax infinitesimally, contributing and almost-smiling, debating and half-heartedly glaring when they disagreed. It was good to see them getting along, after so long of the Potters and this particular Potions Master being at such strong odds.

 When a good portion of the resident Weasleys, along with Hermione, entered the kitchen at around nine, no breakfast was ready. Instead, they entered to find the three deep in conversation , various notes and books strewed around them, along with three steaming mugs, Harry animatedly gesturing at a specific page for the other two to read, exclaiming,

"See! Yes, Rubin's elucidation was sufficient, but only for Firsties! McAuliffe's treatise surrounding quasi-physical shielding was far more detailed and, look here, does so in a way that is comprehensible but still advanced. It lends itself to further thought, plus it inspired the simpler works like Rubin's, because McAuliffe portrayed the subject as such a fundamental of Defensive magic. And he was right! Most wizards forget completely about somatic attacks, even the offensive uses of Transfiguration, and so when you do come across a more flexible opponent who will use corporeal magics, it is essential to be able to guard against both those and the metaphysical normative spells. Hence quasi-physical shields! Yes, they can be shattered, but that typically requires more specialised curses or simply a massive amount of magical power, which the average wizard doesn't possess! Hence, McAuliffe's work being the definitive material for the topic."

"I will concede that, but-"

"What are you three doing?"

"Hermione!" Harry yelped, turning suddenly in his seat, and he would have toppled it if Severus hadn't grabbed onto his arm. Patting the man's knee in silent thanks, the young man rushed to gather the multitude of tomes and parchment into a pile, nearly knocking over his coffee in the process, yet another falling thing caught by Severus.

"Harry, that was-"

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"No it wasn't! Harry James Potter, that was brilliant, and you will take responsibility for it!" Her words were blunt and met with a round of agreement.

"It doesn't matter 'Mione. Leave it. Sorry everyone, breakfast's going to be a bit late, but sit down. I'll be as quick as I can with it." With that, Harry shoved his stack of books at Severus, muttering a low,
"Don't let them see some of the titles," before hurrying over to the cold cupboard and proceeding to make a rushed meal. Not wanting to deal with the fall-out of the few Dark books in the pile being revealed, the Potions Master simply chose to summon Harry's bookbag from their room, bypassing its wards thanks to the in-cast recognition system, and place their debates' materials inside on one of the many precarious stacks. Buckling the flap back down, he ensured the wards had fully re-engaged. Hopefully everyone would think it was his, might stop them from trying to go through it. Well, he thought to himself as he rose to put the bag on the spare chairs in the corner of the room, that was a worthy conversation. Perhaps it would be worth involving Lupin more often. Harry does need to practice Duelling against other people with differing styles after all...

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[excerpt from Page 110, The Arcane Art of Occlumency for the Advanced, by Tacitus Brown, published 1981.]

Occlumentic shields and organisation can, when fully in place for some time, typically over a decade or more, be used to influence one's own dreams. Whilst it is dangerous to the brain functions to fully repress all dreams, it is considered fairly safe practice to dampen nightmares or erotic dreams. However, even deadening a small portion of one's dreams can be inadvisable, and the situation is highly dependent upon the individual. As such, one must carefully monitor oneself and any symptoms of over-repression, including insomnia, excessive day-dreaming, memory loss, difficulty distinguishing between reality and imagination or hallucinations. Further symptoms can be found on Page 114.

Verto vestimentum - lit, 'I swap garments', the changing spell. Typically used upon waking, going to bed or when clothes become dirtied, this spell allows the caster to change their own clothes to any other garment recognised as being under their own possession so long as they know its appearance and current location, e.g. swapping stained school robes with clean ones from a specific trunk. It cannot be used on someone else, but the 'vertas vestimentum tuam' derivative of this spell can affect another person, under the same conditions, albeit the clothes being under the target's possession.

Chapter Text

Hearing Severus entering the library, Harry was quick to shuffle his notes into his bag, along with his current reference material, the words 'Sworn, Taken Or Given' disappearing into the pit of other books just as the Potions Master rounded the last bookcase to their corner. The younger was suddenly glad for the other work he had laid out on the table previously for this exact purpose.

"Hey Severus."

"Brat," the elder returned as he bent over to deposit two cups of coffee, one black, one laced with honey, before settling into his own armchair and scanning over the table's contents.

"So, werewolves?"

"Yep! Now the Trace is gone, I figured we should finalise our plans for tackling the packs. Obviously, I was going to discuss it with you and Remus but I figured I should have a couple of ideas in mind first."

"Very well. And what have you got so far?" Harry didn't reply, instead allowing Severus to gather together the information from his research.

"So... Portkeys, as you mentioned at the Meeting. Sensible, hopefully won't be necessary. Try to negotiate for neutrality, utilise a Vow or Pledge... a Vow, for definite, a Pledge would probably be too weak a deterrent. Talk to the more amenable packs first, try and gain a sort of reputation. Hm." At this point, Severus raised his gaze to scrutinise Harry, looking for uncertainty,
"It could backfire, allow word to get back to Voldemort," he challenged, mind already made up. Harry didn't have to know that yet though.

"It could, but he'll be predicting that we do something of the sort anyway. That's another reason that I want to lead with the 'join us' negotiation, it'll make Voldemort think we're far more desperate than we actually are. And if we begin with the hostile packs, we're just inviting trouble. If we have to fight our way out, then all of the werewolves will distrust us. Better to get as many neutral as possible to begin with."

"I quite agree. I'm glad you could justify it."

"Gah!" Harry glared at him, flailing a hand, 
"Don't do that! You git!" Severus just smirked at the brat. Pushing Harry, guiding him, accompanying him was Severus' responsibility, his choice. And he'd be damned, both literally and figuratively, if he didn't do a good job of it. Besides, they both enjoyed these interactions and Harry knew it.

"Very well. Are you still sticking to the three of us?"

"Yep. Strategically, it's sound. Don't want to appear combative, but we need to be able to defend ourselves. I know you and I are capable, and from his knowledge, both of werewolves and Defence, Remus should be. We can Duel some with him in the next couple of days whilst we finalise everything. Sound okay?" And when his tone became a little hesitant with the question, Severus was quick to shove him out of an unfortunate mindset.

"Sounds positively terrible." Harry snickered at the drawl, eyes already bright again as they met the elder's. Severus smirked in reply. Nudging the other's mug towards him, Harry took up his own coffee and inhaled some steam, glasses fogging up in an instant.

"Nothing better than a good cup of coffee."

"Indeed." And so they sat in silence for a time, sipping from their drinks.

"Could- Would you tell me some more about Mum? The pocket watch got me thinking."

"I-" Severus hesitated, trying to navigate the rawness in his chest that remained, even after all this time. ---ha ha ha---

"Your mother was... she was a beautiful person, inside and out," catching the semi-alarmed look, he hastened to add,
"She was a sister to me. We grew up in the same town, only two streets down from each other. We met when we were six, although we didn't really begin to spend time together and become friends until we were eight, when I saw her levitating off of a swing in our park. Merlin, she must have levitated a good ten metres up before she just floated down. At that point I realised she was magical like me, but when I told her she was a witch she punched me. Hard, in the stomach. She was strong, even with skinny little arms. But I started to explain and she listened. We were friends until our Fifth Year, when I said something I should never have, then eventually I earned her forgiveness and we were siblings again, just like that. I had her back for less than a year," Severus trailed off, attention caught on the dregs of dark coffee, refusing to admit that the itching of his eyes was from anything except long-gone steam.

"...I'm sorry Severus, I shouldn't've asked."

"It's... fine. Just not something I care to dwell upon often."

"So she was- like a sister to you?"

"Yes. The very best sister anyone could ask for." Dammit, too sentimental Severus, he mentally chided, too sentimental by far. You are a fool, as always. You cannot deny him, even when you should.

"I'm glad." Both of them knew the double meaning behind those words; only Harry considered himself selfish for such thoughts. Abruptly, the young man sat forward and placed his cup down a tad too heavily, movements jerky.

"So, let's finish hashing this thing out, then we can talk to Remus after lunch."

"Very well," Severus concurred, setting aside his own empty mug. A distraction would do them both good.

"You want to Duel with me? Are you sure-?"

"I Duel with Severus most days. I've Duelled against Him. I think we should manage," came the short reply, Harry's shoulders tense.

"I wasn't doubting your abilities Harry, more the situation in general," Remus placated.

"It's alright," then Harry visibly softened a tad, 
"If you're uncomfortable, Severus and I can Duel first, then swap partners."

"...Sure." The younger turned on his heel, stalking towards the basement steps before visibly pausing and calming himself and proceeding at a more usual pace. Severus resisted the urge to sneer as he passed the werewolf. Honestly, imagine underestimating Harry when he knew so many of the brat's exploits and had debated Defence with him. The theoretical knowledge alone should have indicated that Harry's skill level far exceeded his peers and many of their own. Although, to be fair, it had taken time for Severus' own opinion of the brat to become quite so... elevated. Severus snorted quietly at his own thought process. Honestly.

"Usual rules?"

"Usual rules," the elder confirmed. And with that they began. Harry dived forwards into a roll, casting a pearlescent shield even as he came towards Severus, falling beneath the path of the violet shards of the elder's detonation curse. Startled but reacting calmly, Severus took several long paces, increasing their distance again already, even as Harry was popping up from his roll, casting a silent Telae Fulmen and spoken Voco Grando in rapid succession, the trap hidden amongst the barrage of sharp hail. As such, despite an immediate heating charm to melt most of the ice and bodily dancing to the side, the edge of the lightning web curled around one of Severus' legs and he grunted in pain, quickly incanting the counter-charm. Harry grinned viciously and pressed his advantage, renewing his shield and whispering,

"Visus mihi; Nox." Immediately, Harry was the only one able to see and he used the opportunity to take a few silent steps aside of where he had been and cast multiple Transfigurations on the walls around Severus, boxing him in and-

"Lumos separatum." Harry hissed as the sudden light at the middle of the ceiling caused his vision to flicker and waver for a vital moment, pain shooting through his head. Severus recovered before he did, silently sending a flash of burgundy and a spiral of silver, the former directly headed for Harry's face, the latter towards his feet. Ducking the red left him vulnerable to the silver, and vines grew from the ground instantaneously, wrapping around his legs and hips, tugging him towards the ground and causing his knees to buckle, wand clattering to the side. Desperate, he slammed his hands to the floor and allowed his magic to take over for a second, sending a clump of Severus' own vines to block the next attack, then sending a mini-earthquake towards the elder, watching him stumble even as Harry regained his own footing and wand.

"Frango! Frango, Frango, Frango!" Severus' shield shattered, sending the shards of his own spell rocketing back into the Potions Master, though he eradicated most of them with a magic-draining spell, its area-of-effect causing Harry to sag a little where he stood. He needed to end this, and quickly-

"Motum inimicus." And Severus was paralysed. Harry had won their Duel.

"Harry, Severus! Are you okay? Where are you hurt? That was-"

"What's happening? Is everything okay?!" was accompanied by the clattering of several people rushing down the basement steps. Within a minute, five people, Remus included, were crowding the two, all chattering loudly and waving hands around, demanding explanations.

"Everything's fine," Harry cut in, lifting the paralysis curse from Severus and subtly helping the man to stay stable for a few seconds,
"We were just Duelling like normal. Don't know what all this fussing is about, really."

"The whole house was shaking-"

"The room is ruined-"

"You could have killed each other-"

"Just SHUT UP!" Harry roared, fed up with the amount of noise, and far more concerned about treating Severus' wounds,
"Sorry for yelling, but we're fine, that was a standard Duel, the room is charmed to slow blood loss, we have rules and wards in place to prevent anything immediately fatal. We take the necessary precautions and we stop if we become too fatigued. It's training so we have to keep it as realistic as possible. That means fighting with full force. Better to do so now, in a non-urgent scenario where we have full control rather than on a battlefield. Understood? Good, thank you." With that, Harry turned to Severus, a clear dismissal, yet Remus, Molly, Ron, Ginny and Hermione remained where they stood. Electing to simply ignore them, Harry continued.

"Sorry about the hailstorm, but I needed to hide the Telae. Else I'd never have even caught you with it." When that didn't prompt the elder to raise his tattered trouser leg, Harry scowled,
"Lemme see, you stubborn git. You know the drill."

"Yes, yes. But I'm looking at your back next."

"Sure...?" Harry acquiesced, confused because his back hadn't been hit, but focusing on the electrical burn regardless.

"Integro caro et sanguis," he intoned, flicking his wand in the four directions of the compass, then drawing a tight corkscrew through the air, mimicking the motion of stitching a wound back together. And, as a rush of magic left him, he observed the burnt flesh seemingly revert to raw muscle, before stitching back together to form whole, unharmed flash with a slightly pink patch of skin. Well, at least it was healed and shouldn't scar.

"Idiot brat. You could have used a lesser healing spell than a flesh reversion."

"Didn't want to leave a scar."

"Hm." Severus' disapproval was obvious but only mild, so Harry grinned cheekily. The man only tapped his shoulder to get to him turn around. And now, moving, without the adrenaline flooding his system, Harry was abruptly very aware of the immense pain in his lower-back, radiating up his spine.

"Merlin!"   "Bloody hell!"   "Fuck!"   When Severus lifted the bloody mess of Harry's t-shirt, a collection of curses rang out from throughout the room.

"The detonation curse caught you, from the looks of things."

"It's fi- Fucking hell Sev'rus!" Harry hissed at the sudden uptick in pain as the elder cast his own flash reversion. The itching, squirmy sensation was overwhelmed by the agony, before all of it faded into a dull ache.

"Hypocrite," he sniped, even as he felt the weight of Severus' hand upon his back increase. They'd both tired themselves out.

"Brat."

"Git." Even as he retorted, Harry healed the last of the elder's minor wounds.

"Imp."

"Basta-"

"This is how you always train?!" Molly suddenly shrieked, worried hands wringing in the skirt of her dress,
"This cannot be safe! How can you learn when you're bleeding to death! I-"

"Mrs. Weasley, please. Our training can't be completely safe, else I'll never learn anything."

"Severus, honestly, you cannot condone endangering-!" she implored.

"No, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interjected,
"I'm sorry, but I asked for this training and by Godric and Salazar I'll go through with it."

"But-"

"I'm seventeen, I have a Dark Lord hanging over my head. I think I can handle a few Duels. If you'll excuse us?" At his pointed words, everybody left, although Remus only retreated to his seat and Transfigured his empty mug of chamomile tea into two tall glasses of fresh water,

"Here."

"Thanks Remus. Think we could leave the Duelling for a few hours?"

"Only a few hours?"

"Yeh. My magic recovers quite quickly, and I'm not that magically exhausted as it is. A bit drained at worst," the younger reassured, wilfully ignoring Severus' cutting glance. 

"...Alright, if you're sure."

"Of course." 

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Voco Grando - lit. I call/I demand ice/hail/hailstorm, the hailstorm spell. This curse Conjures a hailstorm, although the volume, density and sharpness depends upon the amount of magic expended by the caster. Thus, the more powerful, the greater the number of sharper, more impactful hailstones which better match the heavy, shattering strength of natural ice.

Visus Mihi - lit. give me sight, the night-vision spell. Allows the caster to see in the dark, much like a cat or even Muggle night-vision goggles. Colours aren't visible, but outlines are visible in a silver-green tone. Clarification and distance are dependent upon both the control and magical input for the spell.

Integro Caro Et Sanguis - lit. repair/recreate flesh and blood, the flesh reversion spell. This spell is typically used upon burn wounds where the flesh has become damaged and often cauterised which would impact the normal healing if a laceration-healing charm was used. Instead, the flesh reversion spell allows the caster to undo this cauterisation and initiate more standard healing, wherein the flesh is regrown and knitted back together. Its 'complete-heal' nature results in a high magical toll. Additionally, as the spell deals with healing down to a cellular level, the caster must have excellent control to prevent mutations or incomplete healing.

Lumos separatum - lit. separate light, the light orb spell. Another derivative of the standard light-creating 'lumos', this charm forms a ball of light a little ways in front and above the caster, unless directed to a particular place. This spell's light is a little softer than most, but is more far-reaching and will last until the caster stops feeding it magical energy.

Frango; Telae Fulmen - see chapter 14 (I think? I hope so!)

Chapter Text

"So you're comfortable with the usual rules?"

"I do believe so." And with that, Harry began , immediately shooting off an Expelliarmus, trying to gauge the werewolf's abilities. Remus easily shielded against the spell, causing Harry to grin,

"Going to make this fun for me then?"

"I will certainly attempt to," Remus replied, then intoned,

"Hastam autem speculo." Harry grinned even wider as the large spear of clear, sharp glass rocketed towards him, side-stepping a few paces and muttering,

"Edigere; scandali." In an instant, the projectile was curving back around towards the man, who tripped over nothing, landing backwards on his arse. For a moment, the panic was clear on his face, before he cancelled his own spell, the spear collapsing back into nothing. Then his wand was gone and in Harry's hand thanks to another Expelliarmus.

"That incantation was far too long," the young man chided as he stepped forward to help Remus to his feet.

"Yes, it rather was. I'm out of practice."

"You don't say," Severus sneered, joining the two.

"Severus." Harry jabbed the Potions Master in the ribs,

"Look, why don't we head up to the attic? Remus can use the Duelling dummies."

"Very well. So long as you utilise the opportunity to revisit your Field Healing." Harry simply nodded in acquiescence, gesturing for Remus to lead the way.

"Remus will be fine once he's gotten back into the rhythm of it. It'll be fine. It has to be." And hearing the desperate note to those last words, and seeing the tremulousness in the smile, Severus resisted the urge to curl an arm around the younger's shoulders, to tuck him in close to his side. Instead, he made do with poking the brat in the shoulder.

"Indeed; it will all be fine. We'll make sure of it, will we not?"

After dinner that evening, Harry and Severus had beaten a hasty retreat to their room, craving a little solitude. Or, well, peace and quiet.

"Hey, Severus, think you could cover for me tomorrow evening?" The elder merely raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Oh come on, pleeeease," the brat whined, rolling over so that his head hung upside down off of the edge of his bed, green eyes wide and hopeful, face pale yet content, but for the whining. 

"That would depend on why and where."

"I want to go to a Muggle tattooist, the one in London where I got my pentacles done. It's fairly safe, I managed it easily last time. And it should only take a few hours."

"Hm." That face had already made his mind up for him, but Harry didn't need to know that yet.

"Please Severus? I'll have my Portkey from last time, and I can legally defend myself now. I'll be careful."

"Very well, so long as you provide me with the address in case of emergency." The brat shot up, sending his glasses flying, excitement evident,

"Of course! Thanks Sev!" 

"Sev?"

"Uh- sorry- I- uhm- I didn't- you-" As the brat spluttered and blushed, Severus merely hummed in amusement and returned his attention to his book. Idiot brat.

Laying in the tattooist's chair, the low buzz of the gun and slight, constant sting of the fresh ink soothing him, Harry allowed himself some time to simply relax and reflect. Remus, despite the abysmal performance the previous day, had done far better today, still not beating Harry, but he did get a few decent shots in. Plus this time the Duel lasted long enough for Harry to get a feel for the werewolf's Duelling style. Himself and Severus were both agile, quick Duellers. They thought fast, spoke fast, moved fast and typically went for the instant kill, if they could get it. Remus, on the other hand, was a steadier fighter, who stayed within the same two-metre box but manipulated his surroundings brilliantly. In fact, he'd given himself the literal high ground, making it harder for harry to utilise his own standard strategy. The improvements that he'd already made paid homage to his capabilities. It really had just been a matter of being out of practice. And they should still have around a week until the three of them began to ring around the werewolf packs, which should be easily enough time to make sure that they all knew each other's battling styles well enough to protect each other, to work together, if they were attacked.

Sneaking back into he and Severus' room, Harry missed how the elder silently sighed in something close to relief.

"I'm back!"

"I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, don't be a grump," the young man retorted, grinning all the while. Severus merely snorted in reply, eyes trailing over Harry, cataloguing the minor differences in his stance.

"Hurts?"

"Only a little. If I take - where is it? - ah, here we go. If I take this, I can take the bandage straight off." A scrutinising eye cast over the potion Harry was brandishing,

"Basic preventative potion."

"Yep. It'll keep any infections out, and I already took a little Communis Curatio."

"Very well. May I ask what this tattoo looks like then, considering I have helped you to get it."

"I would've showed you without you bargaining your case."

"You mean arguing my case."

"No, I mean bargaining. Slytherin."

"Well, that's rather a given."

"Shut up, you git."

"Only if you get on with it."

"Yeh, yeh," Harry grumbled good-naturedly, beaming at the man for a moment before tugging his shirt over his head.

"Those are sakura, correct?"

"Correct," Harry confirmed. The tattoo began at the ball of his right shoulder, elegant swirls and long lines of black trailed down the outside of his arm to form a long branch, each of its offshoots decorated with clusters of red. Whilst the branch itself ended a an inch or so down from his elbow, the blossoms themselves continued to trail down to his wrist, the last of them smack-bam on his wrist bone.

“It is quite stunning. May I ask the of their significance?” Harry glanced over at the elder searchingly, before seemingly finding an appropriate emotion or motive.

“The sakura, primarily, represents patriotism and the fleeting if beautiful nature of life. They’re so pretty and didn’t have any… personal connotations that were too painful. Plus, I like the idea of ‘hanami’ which is a sort of festival in Japan where families and friends gather to watch the falling flowers. It just sounds so… peaceful and happy. Mellow. I thought I could do with some of that kind of positivity, you know? A hope for better things to come, even if nothing lasts forever.”

“That’s very sweet,” Severus’ tone was somewhere in between teasing, fond and snide.

“Oh hush, you old cynic. Allow a guy some optimism.”

“Very well. Tomorrow, all the walls of this house shall be green or blue, deep but not oppressive. The entire building will be spotless, no riff-raff shall clutter its rooms, every possible book and potions ingredient shall be available for our use and we shall be undisturbed for the rest of our lives. That infernal abomination of a portrait shall have been utterly decimated. How’s that for optimism?” Severus challenged. But Harry did not rise to it, oh no. Instead, he was gaping at the elder.

“That- that sounds like some sort of dream…”

“Definitely optimism then,” Severus said, a little forcefully. At his strong tone, the young man shook himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

“True. Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Severus confirmed, and once they were beneath covers, lights off, he went on, “No nightmares.”

“No nightmares.” And so the two drifted off.

-------------------------------

Hastam autem speculo - lit, spear of glass, the glass spear spell.  This spell Conjures a spear made of a sharp, translucent and brittle material much like glass. The larger, heavier and faster this spear, the more magical power was put into the spell. The caster has a measure of control over the movement of this projectile, but only in vague terms of direction. As such, the spear can target a specific person or point. However, as it is made of glass, the spear can be somewhat fragile and will typically shatter upon contact, or if it is pushed to travel too quickly, resulting in shrapnel that can do significant damage. This latter fact can be used to the caster's advantage or disadvantage, so one must be considerate of the situation upon casting and controlling this spell.

Ego redigere - lit, I redirect you, the redirection spell. Allows the caster to change the direction of a moving object or even organism. However, this spell can require massive amounts of willpower and magical power, as one must overcome any previous control over the target object first, else the target will be unaffected or possibly implode.

Edigere - Harry's amalgamation of the redirection spell. This abbreviation afforded him extra time that can often be essential in a Duel. Even a single mili-second can change the tides of a fight, assuring triumph of loss. Spending a long time on an incantation gives one's opponent more time to cast a counter-curse, dodge or retaliate more directly. Albeit, amalgamations are wilder, as losing some of the syllables loses some of the inherent control over the spell.

Scandali  - lit, trip over, the tripping jinx. Typically used as a prank, this spell causes any standing target to trip, even if they're stationary. Whilst not immediately applicable to a Duel, this spell can provide a necessary advantage if used with good timing.

Communis Curatio - lit, general/universal/common healing/treatment/care, the general healing potion. Speeds up the body's natural healing, and helps wounds to close more quickly.

Chapter Text

Perhaps wearing a t-shirt the very next day wasn't the best idea. Although, by the same token, he couldn't avoid short-sleeves forever. At least he and Severus had eaten breakfast ridiculously early, and thus alone, that morning. Even if the elder had needed to go and brew some potions, leaving Harry to his own devices for the day. Hence coming into the library to be with 'Mione and Ginny.

"Harry, is that a tattoo?"

"Why yes Ginny, I do believe you're right," he replied, winking, totally not trying to play it off.

"Wha- How- When did you get it?"

"Last night," Harry answered, nonchalant.

"But how?" interjected Hermione.

"Well I snuck out of course. It was quite safe."

"Harry!" she scolded, "That was terribly irresponsible! Did anyone even know where you'd gone? What if you'd been attacked? Didn't you-"

"Mione, I had my wand, Invisibility cloak and a Portkey. Plus, I got it done in Muggle London, in an area I'm familiar with. I was going crazy cooped up in here all the time. And I left a note that was charmed to find Severus if I didn't return within four hours." And, okay, the last point was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth that it shouldn't matter. It was better than incriminating Severus too, at any rate.

"Still, Harry..."

"Leave it 'Mione, please?" he pouted at her.

"Oh, fine. At least it's a pretty one, not some ugly skull or something."

"Oi!" The two girls began giggling and, after a moment of half-hearted glaring, Harry joined in.

"So, where is Ron this fine morning?" he asked, standing to fetch a few books.

"He's sulking in your- well, in his room."

"Okay... dare I ask why?"

"Because he's angry that you're spending all your time with Snape." Harry was shocked, and a little offended, to hear that. Ron was actually sulking over it? He'd known that the other was unhappy about his and Severus' friendship, but really. This was getting ridiculous.

"Ginny-" Mione began, but was quickly cut off,

"There's no point lying, Hermione, he'd have figured it out pretty quick anyway I reckon." 

"Why's it such a big deal to him? It's not like I suddenly don't care about you guys." Harry derailed the argument before it could truly begin.

"But that's how he feels. And we've always been dead-set against the Professor, even if you said he wasn't quite so bad last year. And the fact that he's saved your life quite a few times now."

"Exactly! Yeh, he can be a git, an absolute bastard really, but so can I- we all can! He-" Okay, he could do with not divulging Severus' secrets, so maybe he should shut up now,
"Look. Severus is helping me. He's been supporting me far more than he needs to and- and- I don't know! We keep an eye out for each other. And this isn't me saying that nobody else helps me or matters to me, because you all do, but it's just different. " Both of the girls were wide-eyed at his mini-rant, but Hermione had a warm smile on her face.

"That's good Harry. I'm happy for you."

"Y-yeh," Ginny tacked on, clearly a little unsure, but the sentiment was there.

"Thanks you two. Look after Ron for me?" Receiving affirmatives, Harry returned to the bookshelves once more. What had he been looking for?

"Harry James Potter, is that a new tattoo?!" And here came the deja vu.

"Yes," he replied carefully, keeping his tone light and trying to keep out any inflection.

"How did you get it? If you snuck out-!"

"I did. It was fine. I've done it before, once or twice. It's safe."

"Safe?!" Molly screeched, positively enraged with protective ire.

"Yes. My location - which was in Muggle London - would've been sent to Severus if I didn't return within the expected four hours. I had my wand, cloak and a Portkey. I was absolutely fine. And how do you think I got my pentacles? I went out then, same place, same precautions. I've been absolutely fine both times. I'm not going to be kidnapped by a Death Eater on the Underground, trust me."

"Oh but Harry, that's terribly dangerous," she had obviously softened now, sounding more despairing than angry.

"What isn't though?" came the wry reply. A little misty-eyed, and clearly still unhappy, Molly simply nodded.

"But please take somebody with you next time. Tonks, or Severus or somebody else who's more... experienced." Fighting the urge to take offence, she was only trying look after him, Harry agreed. There was little chance of him risking Severus like that, but he'd consider it. And Tonks might be fun, at least she'd probably be able to blend in, unlike most of the Order members. Shuddering at the thought of dragging Arthur through the London Underground, Harry finally took his seat at the table. Thank Merlin for the distraction of food.

It was another two days of Duelling with Remus and Severus, plotting the order of packs and debating negotiation tactics before there was an Order Meeting.

"Good evening everyone, if I may have your attention?" McGonagall began, silencing the few quiet conversations around the table.

"Thank you. Firstly, does anybody have anything pressing to discuss?" Harry immediately sat forward in his seat, meeting the witch's gaze,

"Very well. Mr. Potter?"

"I'm sure you all remember that Remus, Severus and I have been planning to approach the various werewolf packs with the view to obtaining Vows of neutrality?" Seeing a number of nods and murmured assents, Harry went on,
"We intend to negotiate with all nine of the packs over the next two weeks, assuming things stay fairly close to schedule. We will begin with the Warner, Lux and York packs, as they will likely be the most open to making a Vow. Then the Phelon, McCain, Wren and Teller's. We will try to get a meeting with the Mallor's and Kinnon's, but they might not even agree to discussions. As previously mentioned, we will be aiming for neutrality over actual allegiance. It's a far more reasonable expectation, and not one that can get them killed unless He deliberately hunts them down. Any objections? No? Good." And with that he was done. No fighting, no arguments, no complaints. It was a far-cry from any typical decisions to be made by the Order. Severus couldn't help but smirk at the fact. 

"Very well," and McGonagall took over once more,
"If that's settled, is there anything else immediate?"

"Bill and Fleur should be here in just over a week. The sixteenth, to be exact." A low murmur, distinctly positive to hear, made its rounds through the room, gradually devolving into several small conversations. After a few minutes, McGonagall pulled everyone's attention back to the task at hand. Luckily, this particular Meeting wasn't overly involved or aggravating, finishing up at ten, and leaving the residents of Grimmauld Place to traipse their ways upstairs to their respective rooms. Harry and Severus, not having to remain and talk to Poppy as with the last few occasions, peeled off first, heading to their shared bedroom.

"It may not be our current priority, but have you given any thought to the other Horcruxes that surely exist?" The two had settled in their room, though not so much so that their books had yet been opened. And with an opening question like that, they likely wouldn't be for a good while.

"Not particularly, beyond that they probably exist, and that there might be one or two at Hogwarts." The elder contemplated for a few moments,

"That would be logical. He is a...  not an emotional creature, but something like it. I expect that He, like ourselves, considered Hogwarts as a precious, safe space. And what better 'fuck you' to Albus?" Harry snorted in reply. Trust Severus to swear during this discussion,

"Pretty much my thoughts, yeh."

"Hm. We shall have to go looking there sometimes soon. And figure out a way to locate any that are doubtlessly further afield."

"Sounds like a plan. Werewolves first though?"

"Werewolves first."

For nearly a minute, neither moved. They should have been researching, or rehearsing plans, or predicting negotiations, but instead they sat a measly few metres opposite each other, staring at the same patch of wooden flooring, dark and well-worn, faintly stained with something too old and scrubbed-at to determine.

"There's so much to do, to deal with, isn't there?" The younger finally murmured, sounding every inch of the Atlas he was forced to be, bearing the weight of thousands upon his bony shoulders, too helpless despite all the fiery will and wiry muscles and magical prowess he possessed.

"Indeed. But we are not alone."

"No, I suppose we're not..." Both flushed a little at the reminder of weaker moments.

"We have each other anyway, right?" And Harry's voice was strong, for all that Severus could see the tense lines of his shoulder, and the slight trembling in his hands,

"That we do," he reassured. What else could he do? What was to be done except support the brat, try to keep Harry alive, and provide him with any morsel of happiness and comfort available? Merlin knew that the young man had suffered enough already. He deserved everything good and then some more. And Severus would grab whatever he could for his brat, even if it meant scrabbling at glass; nails breaking and bending, skin tearing and scraping. He would do everything he could, if only for Harry.

Chapter Text

The three had spent the morning doing final run-throughs of their plans and procedures; they had double-checked their Portkeys and were now digging into lunch. They'd need the energy, that was for sure. After all, in a few hours they would be headed out to meet with the Warner pack. And Harry had to admit, he was a little jittery. To say the least. After all, the last expedition, of sorts, that he’d led had been to the Ministry. And look how that had turned out. Still, he reassured himself, he had Remus and Severus with him, he was meeting specific people at a specific place for a specific purpose. All three of them had Portkeys and their wands, should they need them. They would be fine. They had to be.

“Harry?” Severus’ voice was no different to normal, on the surface. Only Harry caught the softer undertone, telling of uncertainty, bordering on concern.

“Yep?” he returned, offering a grin that he only half felt.

“Ready?”

“I reckon. You two?”

“Certainly,” Severus’ reply was immediate, leaving Remus to answer. And, after a few seconds of patting down his pockets, the werewolf nodded confidently.

“Right. Shall we go then?”

“Indeed.” Thirty seconds later, they had walked out of the door and Apparated away.

Appearing in the Lincolnshire Wolds, in the depths of a particularly wooded area, only a few metres from a bubbling chalk stream, the three stood shoulder to shoulder, Remus and Severus just a step behind the youngest, showing deference. Werewolves, much like their smaller, less human counterparts, respected hierarchy within a group. Adhering to that should only win them points. It was a far better impression than a lone wolf for sure.

“Greetings, Alpha Warner,” Harry bowed to the figure that melted out of the shadows, carefully cataloguing the other five still stood in amongst the trees.

“And to you, Potter cub.”

“I am no cub, but I thank you all the same,” Harry sniped, his civility not quite curbing the vicious tone. The alpha in front of him only smiled, all teeth, yellow eyes flashing in some kind of half-feral delight, her coarse hair swinging as she cocked her head,

“Very good Potter, very good.”

“I should hope so,” accompanied by his own wolfish grin,
“Care to introduce your entourage?”

“I suppose I should. Brown, Warner, Oust, Petherk and Cross,” as she gave each name, another person stepped into the clearing, and prowled to her side. Harry nor his companions missed how Brown and Warner – the latter looking to be her son – were the two to take the immediate positions just behind her. The left-hand and the heir then.

“Snape, Lupin, though I’m aware you know the latter. Shall we begin?”

“We shall. State your terms.” Right into it then. For the better, really.

“Your allegiance.”

“Absolutely not. Neutrality perhaps.”

“Unfortunate. Very well.” Harry resisted the urge to smirk already. Not until they’d gotten what they wanted,
“A Vow of Neutrality. It would be unfair to expect a Oath. But, respectively,  a Pledge simply isn’t acceptable on our end.”

“And what would be the wording of this Vow?”

“I, as Alpha of the Warner Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be.”

“A minute.”

Keeping the six carefully in his peripheral, Harry half-turned to Severus, a single eyebrow raised.

“Unfortunate, as you said,” the man reported, tapping his finger once upon his thigh. Good, Severus didn’t see any problems so far either. Harry hadn’t trodden wrong and their tactics were working so far. Hopefully it’d stay that way. Facing forward once more, but still not directly staring at the werewolves, not wanting to appear overly rude or insistent, the three were left to stand in silence for an interminable stretch of time that felt far too long for how little the sun moved above the canopy. Finally, the alpha recovered the distance that had been made between the two envoys.

“We would agree to the Vow, should we receive a Vow in return guaranteeing our safety from your side.” Taking a moment, but sensing no dissent from either of his companions, Harry nodded.

“That’s fine. I’m sure you understand that I ask you take your Vow first?”

“I am amenable. I, as Alpha of the Warner Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be.” A bright flash of silver-blue illuminated the clearing, blinding where it reflected off of the stream, a chorus of howls heard, way off in the distance.

“Thank you. I, Harry James Potter, as a representative of the Order, Vow that none of mine shall seek to harm the Warner Pack unless in self-defence, upon our offensive magic, so mote it be.” Once the light passed, the alpha leered at him for a moment,

“You are a tricky one, Potter, but that is my own mistake.” There was no anger in those citrus eyes, only amusement.

“Understand, it is no insult to you.”

“No, it is not. You are only doing as an Alpha should. It is pleasing.”

“Alpha?” he questioned, voice a little weak.

“Indeed. Even if it is not yet realised.”

“…Thank you. Good day Alpha Warner, and company of course.”

“Good day Potter, Lupin, Snape. Good luck in your endeavours.”

“And to you in yours.” Stepping back, slotting in between his two companions, the three of the Apparated back into London.

“That went well. Weirdly, but well.”

“Indeed it did. Well done, brat.”

“Yes, very well handled Harry. And that return Vow-!”

“I couldn’t leave us defenceless, could I? But we need to tell everyone that the Warners are off-limits, just in case.”

“True. Still, a few Patroni should be sufficient. As long as we intend for them to be private ones, that'll do.”

“Yeh. We’re gonna need to bring in something better soon though. I wonder…” Abruptly, Harry returned down the hallway and headed up the stairs instead. Shaking his head dismissively, Severus simply continued into the kitchen. Merlin, he needed a coffee. And Harry would doubtless demand one as soon as he came back down.

As predicted, entering the room silently only ten minutes later, grin bright across his face, the young man immediately slumped into the seat next to the Potions Master and inhaled half of his cup at once.

“Ah, I needed that. Thanks Severus.” He only grunted in reply.

“When’s the next Meeting again?”

“I’m not your calendar, brat: four days time. We’ll be seeing the Lux pack first, on ----- afternoon. And we need to plan around the- well, I’m sure you know that much.” Ignoring Remus’ curious looks, Harry nodded miserably. Then brightened.

“At least that’s one pack down, only eight to go.”

“Only eight to go. Shall we send off those Patroni now?”

“Ugh, give me a minute first. I could do with another cup of coffee first.”

“Merlin, you’re such a brat.”

“It’s incurable.”

“It certainly is.” But Severus stood all the same, gathered their two mugs and headed over to the kettle, boiling it with a second’s worth of magic.

“How did it go you three?” Molly asked, bustling into the room, with Ron, Ginny and Hermione at her heels.

“Quite well, thank you Molly. Harry handled it beautifully.”

“Good, good,” she answered, managing to only sound a little forced at the mention of Harry’s leading role. They all knew how difficult she was finding it, having any of her children on the front-lines, as it were.

“Did you get to fight anyone?” Ron asked eagerly, apparently forgetting about his mood at the mention of any kind of action.

“No, thank Merlin. Don’t know what I would’ve done if it had been another Ministry,” Harry offered, voice not quite acerbic, but the flippancy was enough for Ron to subside instantly. Hermione was quick to interject,

“I’d glad there weren’t any problems. What was the pack like? Their alpha?” Happy to indulge nay curiosity not focused around himself, particularly in his current good mood, Harry began explaining about the obvious power behind the female alpha, about her second and her left-hand, how the pack members that they met all seemed to meld into the same space, natural with each other and themselves.

Half an hour later, once the stream of questions had died down and they’d had a chance to get over the situation, Harry, Severus and Remus headed down into the basement to send off their Patroni messengers.

“Expecto Patronum,” the two intoned simultaneously, both shocked to see matching jaguars, melanistic judging by the depth of their silver and the little variation in tone for their spots, spring forth, instantly moving to brush shoulders with each other. Glancing at each other, both Harry and Severus were quick to dismiss their shock-turned-resignation, and began speaking to their respective Patroni, Harry’s a little smaller and stockier than Severus’. As the ethereal creatures melt through the wall, Harry dares to brush his hand against the elder’s arm.

“It’s alright, idiot brat.”

“I should hope so!” he teases in return, beginning to intone the spell once more. Withholding a sigh, Severus did the same. They had to tell the whole Order that the Warner pack were practically untouchable. Well, only technically. And even if they did go after the werewolves, they would retain their defensive magic, thanks to Harry’s little word-play. For all that the younger could be dense, and certainly acted it often, he was actually quite razor-minded and silver-tongued, should he be so inclined. Little Slytherin.

“That’s everyone, yes?”

“Yes,” as they began to ascend the stairs once more, Severus went on,
“I assume it was those infernal twins you went to speak to earlier?”

“You know what I said about assuming.” Snorting, Severus jabbed the brat in the side, who simply pouted for a moment before continuing,

“But, yeh, I figured we were a bit too busy to actually be inventing stuff that doesn’t directly contribute to our current projects.”

“You were right. Though might I suggest we devote some of this afternoon to a little side-research?”

“Patronus forms?”

“Patronus forms,” he confirmed. Harry huffed, not really meaning it. He was undeniably curious as well.

For a good hour so, the two volleyed little snippets of information about their supposed spirit animal.

“Highly artistic and intuitive. A generous description, in your case.”  "Shut up Severus."

“Aggressive at times. Who was it that destroyed Albus’ office again?”  "What did I say earlier?"  "Nothing I haven't heard before."  "That's for sure."

“Capable of possessing great power, but they are often solitary people.”  "No shit."

“Cloaks its true identity in the shadows. You don’t say.”

“Independent from a young age.”  "I suppose it doesn't specify a choice in the matter."

“Great courage – I’m not some bloody Gryffindor, thank you.”   “Associated with clear sigh, instinct and calculated movement – I’m not some bloody Slytherin.”  "Well played, brat."

“Beyond all that, there’s the fact that we share the Patronus form.” The two stilled for a long moment, hardly daring to look at each other, lest they do something they shouldn’t. Again.

“Yes… It’s a representation of… dedication, shall we say?”

“I think we’d better,” Harry agreed, flushing and unsure, yet resolute all the same.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t…”

“I know. I’m the same.”

“Good.”

“Yeh,” Harry croaked, voice cracking even worse than the elder’s had been. There wasn’t much more to say, really. The war came first. It always would.

----------------------------------------

Each pack has an alpha, a second and a left-hand. There may be a second alpha within a pack only in the case of mated couples who share the power equally.

The second is the heir to the pack, often the direct blood descendent of the current alpha. Thus, the alphas of a single pack often follow the same bloodline. Regardless, the second, as the name implies, holds the second-most rank in the pack, only below the alpha and equal to the left-hand. As such, they are to be deferred to and can act as interim alpha in the case of illness or the deliberate division of the pack (e.g. for battle, scouting or hunting).

Left-hands are the enforcers of the pack. They carry out the alpha’s will. Stereotyped as ruthless and powerful, they are equal to the second and are the primary protector of the pack as they take out enemies, often lead attacks and ensure the integrity of their territory’s borders.

[excerpt from Page 1, Chapter 1: A Brief Induction; Sworn, Taken Or Given, by Valer Robards, published 1972]

To categorise and summarise them in simple terms, Oaths, Vows and Pledges are as follows:

An Oath is a guarantee of a celestial or emotional kind, or possibly both, as one takes an oath of fealty or love. It is Taken.

A Vow is an insurance of adherence to pre-agreed terms, typically wirh specific conditions and goals. It is Sworn.

A Pledge is a promise, typically of a service or action, such as promising troops or to act as a messenger. It is Given.

[excerpt from Page 56, Chapter 4: Repercussions And Warnings; Sworn, Taken Or Given]

Pledges are the most flexible option and have the kindest repercussions, by typical standards in a normative situation. An Oath's severity can vary wildly dependent upon wording and intent, whilst Vows are very harsh unless any consequences for failure are specifically lessened during the Swearing.

Chapter Text

Their meeting with the Lux pack went much the same as that with the Warner pack, though they weren't so cautious as to demand a counter Vow for amnesty, despite their distinctly chillier attitude. Still, the neutrality was all they needed, and it was all the better for the Order if they could avoid Vowing anything, no matter of how relevant it may or may not be. The less beholden they were to others the better.

And speaking of the Order, they were about to start a Meeting.

"Good evening everyone. I believe we were to start with the werewolves. Remus?"

"Harry, it's your venture." Nodding to the werewolf, Harry began, pitching his voice low but carrying, refusing to accept any inattention,

"As you're aware, we've spoken with the Warner pack, who have agreed to no participance, so long as no Order member seeks to harm any of them. However, if you do for any reason, such as the Aurors among us with arrests, need to 'attack' them, then you will only lose your offensive magic if you intend harm. So stick to binding and disarming with neutral werewolves. It is better than risking the loss of all your magic." He refused to phrase that as a question. It was better and they should be grateful that there was any leniency at all.

"Last night, we negotiated with the Lux pack. Lux didn't ask for any return Vows, so there are no stipulations affecting us all there. Tomorrow night, we will approach the York pack, which will hopefully go much the same. And onwards from there. Any questions?" Receiving none, Harry sat back a little, allowing a small smile to slip in when a gentle finger tapped thrice just above his knee. 

Negotiations with the York pack did indeed proceed much the same, again with no additional Vow to be made by Harry. And the Phelon and McCain packs, as with Alpha Warner, demanded a return Vow. Phelon did insist upon more specific wording, but acquiesced when Harry pushed, citing the potential future need for his own betas relying on protection from the Order and Aurors. And thus five packs had Sworn neutrality, if in three cases with the added insurance of no possible attacks from the Order. Harry was both suspicious and pleasantly surprised that it had been going so well. So of course then it all went wrong.

Apparating into their sixth forest clearing in ten days, Harry, Severus and Remus found themselves a few metres away from, again, five werewolves. All of the entourages had been five to seven so far.

"Greetings Alpha Wren."

"Potter. Who's with you?" Ooh, one of the blunter ones. These were always fun. 

"Snape and Lupin. And with you?"  The man sneered, eyes fixating on Severus,

"A Death Eater? Or is he reformed?" Knowing that the 'wolf would likely sense any lie, Harry simply dodged the question,

"He's loyal to me, and I to him. We are both Order members. Is that sufficient?" His words were simultaneously sharp and dismissive, like the glancing sting of a papercut, yet never so fragile as paper,
"Now. Who's with you?"

"Holde, White, Tyrell and Garth." And judging from their positioning, Holde was the enforcer. The second wasn't here, instead presumably with the rest of the pack. Understandable.

"What are your terms, Potter?"

"I can not expect you to join us?" There was no point to even holding up that farce with Wren. He was a brash, independent man of distinctly Grey persuasions, but still. They both knew it.

"Then neutrality from your pack."

"Wording?"

"I, as Alpha of the Wren Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be. Acceptable?"

"Only if you return a Vow not to hurt my wolves."

"Very well. If you would go first-"

"No. Your wording?" Surprise, surprise. After all, blunt often didn't mean dumb.

"That as a representative of the Order I would swear that none of mine shall seek to harm the Wren Pack unless in self-defence, upon our offensive magic."

"Wait there." Way to be polite. 

The five returned a way towards the treeline, a slapdash privacy ward erected, and entered discussions. Slashing their own into place, Harry immediately turned to Severus.

"Can we risk losing defensive magic too?"

"Not really. But keeping-"  *

"Yeh, I suppose. But-"

"I know. Still-"

"True. Alright then, we'll go with that."

"It'll have to do."  Remus simply stood next to them, trying not to show his bewilderment. Did the two even realise that what they'd half-said made no sense? Well, to him at least.

A good ten minutes later, long after Harry had taken down his own ward, the pack delegation stepped back towards the trio.

"It needs a bit of changing. Not upon your offensive magic, but upon your magic."

"Unthinkable. Upon our offensive and defensive magic. Leave us Healing magic. I will not allow my people to die if I can in any way prevent it."

"Commendable, if annoying. Very well, upon your non-Healing magics."

"Agreed. So long as you Swear first."

"I, as Alpha of the Wren Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be."

"I, Harry James Potter, as a representative of the Order, Vow that none of mine shall seek to harm the Warner Pack unless in self-defence, upon our non-Healing magics, so mote it be."

Just as the second light filled the clearing, an urgent howl echoed through the forest. Instantaneously, the delegation was gone, running due north. With nary a second's hesitation, Harry followed, Severus at his side, Remus half a pace behind them. Flashes of light, too much of it red and green for comfort, burst in shattering brilliance just beyond the trees. Erecting a shield, Harry didn't slow, bursting into another, larger clearing. Blood, bodies and hexes met him.

"Telae Fulmen! Scandali! Cancio!" he chanted, bouncing his aim from black-robe and white-mask to another. His right hand stayed at his hip, maintaining the Mirror-Shield that protected the three of them. At his side, he could hear the two elder men intoning their own attacks. Then his attention snapped to a child - no more than four or five - in the path of an unfamiliar indigo light. Without thinking, he turned his magic to a,
"Protimo!" throwing out the shield to protect the little girl. The indigo light rammed against it, dissipating for a moment before being reflected back at some Death Eater. But then Harry screamed, refuting the yrge to drop his wand and clutch at his shoulder, instead re-erecting the shield covering he, Severus and Remus.

"Harry-!"

"I'm fine. Focus!" He urged, casting a blurred,
"Et steterunt cruentis," and mentally declaring that good enough, went back to sending out curses.

At some point of other, Remus and Severus were pulled away from him, engaging in small scale duels with their more capable opponents, Harry himself dealing with two Death Eaters. When his shield was shattered, he took on a few more cuts, and a violent tripping curse cracked something in his leg. Just as he took out one enemy with a muttered Expelliarmus, an unfamiliar werewolf, clearly delirious in pain and fury, came blundering towards him, arms swinging. Dodging the first swipe, Harry promptly got caught by the second, stumbling over his damaged leg and trying to bring back a shield to stop the main enemy from killing either of them.

"Stupefy!" The werewolf would hopefully be fine - would have to be - because if Harry hadn't got him out of the way they both would've died there and then. Panting, bleeding seriously yet again, Harry whirled on uncertain footing to take out the Death Eater. A volley of spells later, he was struggling to stay on his feet, but his opponent was down and, looking around, there were only crumpled bodies, Remus, Severus and what looked to be Wren and White to be seen stood.

Wavering on the spot, but determined to start healing people, Harry was quick to halt the worst of his own bleeding and turn to the werewolf he'd stunned.

"Ferula. Cruentis ad finem. Cruentis ad-" Suddenly Harry was blown forward by a shockwave of pure magic. Clattering half to the ground, half on top of something lukewarm and slightly squishy, Harry tried to brandish his wand behind of him. To summon a shield. Anything.

"Cursed boy! My Lord will be pleased-"

"Sistere! Incarcerous! Stupefy! Caecum ad eos!" Severus' voice rang out acorss the clearing, distinct over the silence of death and cries of the injured. Harry couldn't move, could hardly breathe. Death Eaters had attacked the Wren pack. They'd chosen to attack when Harry was there. They must have known. They attacked because of him. People got hurt - got killed because of him. Again!

Lost in a spiral of panic, Harry didn't register as Severus raced to his side, casually kicking the heavily bound Fenrir further away from them, and began to talk to him.

-------------------

*

"Can we risk losing defensive magic too?"

"Not really. But keeping-" Healing magic might have to do.

"Yeh, I suppose. But-" a fatal spell...

"I know. Still-" a fatal spell is a fatal spell. And we well know that defensive magic can't protect against them all.

"True. Alright then, we'll go with that."

"It'll have to do."  Remus simply stood next to them, trying not to show his bewilderment. Did the two even realise that what they'd half-said made no sense? Well, to him at least.

Candens Facio - lit. to make red-hot, the Burn Spell. This causes the surface of the target, whether animate or inanimate, to burn, funny enough, red-hot. The physical effect varies dependent upon the target's properties, but it is known to cause severe burns. Wood, paper or fabric, for example, will often ignite, provided it is dry and not imbued with magic. As such, it is unlikely that a wand would go up in flames, though it may well begin to char. More flame-retardant materials such as stone will simply become hot, scalding anything in contact with them, but not melting without extreme power and intent from the caster.

Cancio - Harry's almagamation of Candens Facio, this allows him to cause a more severe burn in a shorter time period, thus lessening the duration of his concentration and power that must be devoted to the spell whilst still providing a worthwhile effect. Albeit, within this short time frame, the focus and magical output must be immense.

Et steterunt cruentis - lit. to halt bleeding, the Bleed Spell. This healing spell acts as a pause button, effectively, as it temporarily halts the flow of blood from a wound. It takes far less magic and attention than a genuine healing does, so is often used in battle or if the caster is at risk of magical exhaustion and needs to conserve energy.

Cruentis ad finem - to end bleeding, the Flesh Closing Spell. Whilst this spell doesn't completely heal a wound, it does prevent severe bleeding by knitting back together most of the flesh, leaving only a light surface wound that will bleed very little. As it's not a complete healing, this spell, much like et steterunt cruentis doesn't require massive amounts of magical energy, although it is still more demanding than the Bleed Spell.

Sistere - lit, to stop. The Stopping Spell halts all physical movements of an inanimate target, and all those voluntary of an animate target, including speech, but excluding bodily functions such as breathing and their heart. The quick incantation is most useful in an urgent situation, such as a rescue or during a battle. Whilst only intended for a single target, a powerful wizard can cast this as an area-of-effect spell, affecting multiple targets in the same place at once.

Caecum ad eos - lit. to blind them, the Sight-blocking Spell. This causes the target to only see blackness upon opening their eyes. It is notoriously difficult to remove for anybody, even the caster, and is thus a legally questionable spell, only just counting as legal so long as used in evidenced self-defence.

Chapter Text

The young man curled in on himself, entire body shaking violently, eyes and fists clenched shut, finally finding his voice, broken as it was,

"Fucking hell I'm sorry fuck it's my fault shit fuck no I'm sorry I-"

"Hush now Harry. Breathe, we're fine. Let's have our injuries - no, you were breathing fine a moment ago, thank you, keep with that rhythm - have our injuries treated then return to Grimmauld Place. Come along now, that's it." As Severus coaxed Harry into a standing position, and then over to a tree stump to sit down, he cast a diagnostic spell over the younger. The scroll that popped into being wasn't overly long, thank Merlin.

"Remus," he called over his shoulder, "Are you capable of tending to yourself?" Receiving an affirmative response, Severus dismissed all thoughts of the werewolf from his mind and focused on the brat instead. Hm. A deep laceration to the shoulder, two broken fingers, a fractured tibia, three long claw marks across his hip and lower back, a nasty little head wound and a sprained ankle. Nothing too terrible, but it definitely needed attending to.

"Keep breathing for me, yes? I need to start healing you."

"M- mhm," came Harry's shuddering hum, eyes clenched closed as Severus began casting. Not having to cast a shield for the first half of the battle had saved him quite a bit of magic, at least when compared to Harry's heavy depletion, so he could easily deal with healing the worst of the younger's injuries to an acceptable level. He'd definitely need bed rest, pain potions and some extra healing sessions, but this would more than suffice for now. Harry dealt with, Severus did the same for himself, then glanced around the clearing. 

The grass was a metallic brown, matted and drowned with mud and blood. Black-robed bodies lay next to a luckily small number unmoving werewolves. Two of whom were clearly children, another with hair even more ashen than her face. Amongst those healing others was Wren himself.

"Wren! Do you need us or can we return?" he called. The other stood straight from where he'd been talking to his second and loped over.

"We'll manage without you. Go home, but return in three days. Deal?"

"Of course. Can you cast a Patronus?"

"No. Holde can."

"Good enough. If there's anything urgent, get him to send one to me. Would you like me to send Aurors here?"

"Suppose you'd better. S'long as they aren't bigoted fuckers."

"Those we send won't be. Tend to your pack, we'll go. I'll send them within quarter of an hour."

"Alright." The werewolf turned back towards his pack, then hesitated, "Tell the boy thanks. He did a decent job."

"I will." The two separated, Severus instead beckoning over Remus back over. 

"We're going home, I've talked to Wren. Use your Portkey." As soon as the werewolf blinked away, Severus encircled Harry's shoulders tightly, tucking the younger firmly into his side, and spoke, "Where the heart is." 

He opened his eyes a moment later to see the kitchen. Dismissing his own nausea, he dragged Harry to the table and, more significantly, an empty chair. Remus was already head-first in the Floo. Hopefully the man was summoning Poppy here. All of them needed to be checked back over, administered potions and provided with more healing. After all, field healing was good enough to keep you alive, but it didn't mean that you wouldn't scar or ultimately heal incorrectly. Ushering Harry into the nearest chair, Severus was quick to send a spell at the kettle. Some hot chocolate and potions would do them the world good, then straight to bed. And indeed, just under an hour later, Poppy had been and gone, giving them each a list of potions and a demand for bed rest. Accordingly, Remus had trudged up three floors and they'd made their way to their, luckily, far closer bedroom. As Poppy was with Harry, the Potions Master had taken the chance to send the Order Aurors to deal with the aftermath. Fortunately, four of their five Aurors were on-shift and had all volunteered to go as part of the official seven deployed by the Ministry. Wren shouldn't need to worry about anybody blaming his pack or refusing to treat them or the like. And with that organised, Severus had been free to return to Harry so that the two could go to bed.

It took a four-hour nap for Harry to wake up again, far more present than he had been beforehand.  Seeing Severus was still asleep and unable to resist the lure of warmth, of knowing somebody was there, the younger slipped out of his own bed and curled up just under the elder's blanket, back to the rest of the room, settling his toes against flannel-clad calves and just hooking his fingertips in the elder’s top. It wasn’t quite the first time he’d done this, though he was hesitant all the same. But dammit- he needed something, anything. And Severus was by far the best thing he had. So here he was.

The two were lucky that nobody dared to check on them that night. If somebody, even Remus or Hermione, had found them sleeping in the same bed, regardless that they were fully clothed… well, it wouldn’t have been fun, to say the least. Still, they both began to rouse at the same time, Harry groaning at the persistent aches pooling through his body, shifting to lay on his back, keeping one hand tangled in the elder’s shirt, and his foot pressed up against the other’s leg. Severus didn’t even react, simply allowing the contact and instead focusing on brushing his wayward hair away from his face, annoyed to find no hairband on his wrist.

“Hey, brat, got a hair tie?”

“No. Here,” without thinking, Harry raised his spare hand and a Muggle elastic hair tie, for some reason in neon green, materialised in his hand. Grunting some kind of unintelligible thanks, Severus took it and, after a moment, brought his hair into a little bun at the crown of his head, as far back as he could reach without actually sitting up.

“We should probably go and get some food.”

“Indeed.” With that, they dragged themselves out of bed, still bleary-eyed, almost forgetting to cast Changing charms before they left for the kitchen. Coming into the room, everyone was obviously halfway through breakfast, platters close to empty, though Severus did notice two covered plates on the counter, doubtlessly theirs.

“You alright Remus?” Harry inquired, going to take his normal seat, luckily left open. Severus continued on to retrieve their portions.

“Yes, thanks. Just tired and achy now. Are you? You were quite… out of it.”

“Fine, fine. Tired. Thanks Severus,” turning to him, Harry suddenly snorted, tried to hold it in, then burst out laughing.

“Brat…” the elder warned, confused and, admittedly, a little worried. There was a hysterical edge to the cackling that he didn’t like.

“S-sorry, but-” he dissolved into giggles again, “-hair!” Cursing internally, the Potions Master was abruptly reminded of the vibrant hair tie keeping up a fucking messy bun, of all things. Reaching to take it out, refusing to flush in embarrassment at all the eyes now on him, he was stopped by a deceptively gentle hand on his arm. The brat was veritably pouting.

“It’ll only get in the way, right.” It was both a statement and a request, yet still not a question.

“Fine. Idiot brat,” and he finally took his own seat, nudging Harry’s plate closer to him. Merlin knew they were both starving, but whether or not the young man would actually have an appetite was another question altogether.

“Thanks.” And whilst on the surface, that seemed to be for the food, Severus heard the truth. He hadn’t intentionally made Harry laugh, but he was grateful all the same. Silly Gryffindor. Not bothering to reply, Severus simply began to eat. Harry quickly followed suit. At least nobody had- Ah. Too late.

“So what happened? Was there an attack? Did anybody die?”

“Ah, yes. Death Eaters attacked the pack just as we were finishing negotiations-”

“Had they already Sworn their Vow?” Hermione interjected, curiosity gleaming through her features.

“Yes, and so had we. Then we joined the battle. I believe some did die, many were injured, including us. We’re largely fine though.”

“We’re going to need to let everybody know about the stipulations-”

“Don’t worry Harry, our Aurors know, at the very least. And there’s an Order Meeting tonight. We can let everyone else know then. And Wren has yet to send us a Patronus asking for aid.”

“Good,” Harry breathed, meeting Severus’ eyes with gratitude and lingering worry. The elder simply nodded in recognition,

“I do believe you can all wait until the Meeting later to hear the rest of the details.” He noticed the Weasley girl about to speak up, but her mother was quick to shush her. Goootd.

Fortunately, both Harry and he finished their meals fairly quickly and were able to retreat to their room once more, very glad for the privacy it afforded. It would be stressful enough for the brat to tell everyone of the events tonight, let alone having to recount it multiple times to immature fools.

And indeed, despite a full day of napping and reading, Harry did seem incredibly uncomfortable upon entering the kitchen and finding it already half full, although the brat hid it easily and without a second thought. Still, he was quick to find a seat near the head of the table, with only McGonagall and Mad Eye further up than him, he took a seat, beckoning Severus to bracket him in. Even as they sat down, another two members Flooed in with a swirl of emerald ash. Soon enough, every chair was full and the Headmistress began,

"I believe you needed to speak, Severus, Harry?"

"Harry does, yes." Nodding to him, Harry shifted his attention from person to person before settling on the table and speaking,

"As some of you are aware, negotiations with the Wren pack last night went rather- awry. A group of around twenty Death Eaters attacked the pack whilst their alpha and four others were in a nearby clearing. Luckily, Vows on both sides had just been made before the howl went up and with that, we cannot seek to harm any member of the Wren pack for the duration of this war without losing all bar our Healing magic. It's obvious, but Wren was a little more particular about our return terms, hence the increased harshness. We managed what he would allow, ad a little more to be frank. Regardless, we Swore our Vows and then the Death Eaters attacked. When we reached the battle, I kept up a shield for the three of us and we began to take down His followers. We ended up separated, all three of us sustained some degree of injuries, but the Death Eaters were taken down, including Fenrir and Avery. At that point the Aurors should know more?" He added, inviting one of the aforementioned Ministry workers to speak up.

"Yes," Kingsley began, his deep voice cutting through any chatter that had sprung up in the lull, "Two squads of us were sent out to bring the Death Eaters into custody, catalogue any fatalities and ensure the safe arrival of the Mediwizards. There were two DE casualties and six from the werewolf pack. Another two of the pack are in serious condition, and four of the Death Eaters. The rest of the Dark wizards are in custody and set for trial within the month. So not a terrible outcome overall, if still unfortunate for the werewolves."

"Unfortunate?" Harry's voice was suspiciously light, particularly considering the undeniable glow of Avada Kedavra green in his eyes. Kingsley gaped, stuttered a few syllables, before clearly subsiding. Yet Harry only grew more vicious.

"Two children dying is unfortunate, sure. Discrimination against people, little kids and dads and sisters, because they're werewolves is unfortunate. A fucking war over blood supremacy is UNFORTUNATE! " 

Like the he was a puppet with its strings severed, Harry slumped back into his seat, eyes still menacing, but his expression vaguely apologetic. Not regretful, but apologetic all the same.

"Sorry Kingsley. Didn't mean to snap." And if those words weren't just as snide as they were sincere, Severus didn't hate teaching imbeciles. 

"Ah- it's alright." Nobody spoke for a few long moments, before Remus dared to clear his throat and speak up,

"So, beyond all that, is there anything else to report?" And on with the Meeting they went. Although, not without several wary and awed glances towards Harry, or so Severus couldn't help but notice.

Chapter Text

Settling in for the night, Harry and Severus were companionably silent, until something occurred to the elder.

"It's the sixteenth today. The school year starts back up on the first."

"Yeh. I'm glad I'm not going, really. Last year was the best one yet, but it was still a nightmare."

"Hm. Occlumency lessons with the greasy bat of the dungeons, the 'best' school year indeed."

"Oh hush. You were alright last year, outside of lessons at least. It's the only reason I dared train with you this summer. Well, that and the minor detail of you saving my life a few times. But, meh."

"You hush, brat. And you're not intending to go back this year?"

"No!" Harry snorted incredulously, looking conflicted as to whether he should laugh or check Severus' brain was still in his skull, "I'm just as embroiled in this war effort as anyone. More, to be honest, bar a few people, including you. How could I go back to school with everything like this?"

"Like what?" Okay, that was a fruitless question. Still, he wanted to understand Harry's thought process.

"War-y!" With an even dumber answer, "There's battles and politics and people dying, Severus! Look at the Wren pack! I can't walk away from this just for some education shit. That's not important. Not like the war is." And what Harry didn't say, but both of them knew all the same, was that Harry still wasn't expecting to survive Voldemort's defeat. Or if he did, to soon succumb to injuries or the like. And what good did an education do a dead person?

"Idiot brat," Severus chided, but didn't bother expanding on it. Merlin knew that trying to change Harry's mind was difficult at any time, let alone about this. And he could understand the brat's point. He'd already advised Minerva to look for another Potions professor, personally. Although he had still offered his capabilities for the Hospital Wing brewing. He didn't want to trust any of the children's health to another, even if they were annoying imbeciles for the most part. Magical children were still magical children.

“So what are you planning, if you’re not returning to Hogwarts?”

“To continue this, obvi…” The young man suddenly trailed off, eyes wide, pale face turned to Severus.

“Very well, I could accommodate that.” It wasn’t a reassurance, but it was close enough.

“You’re not going to have anything else to do!” The attempt at humour fell flat and the two descended into a silence more uncomfortable than it had truly been in a month.

Unable to truly stand the painful atmosphere, Severus considered then sat up against the wall, legs still covered by his blanket, and raised one arm to his side. Harry’s eyes darted along his figure, to the door and floor and back again before he left his own bed, dragging his covers with him and gestured for the elder to sit forward. Complying, he was rewarded with two blankets half-wrapped around his shoulders, lots of loose fabric to his left. Harry himself then discarded his glasses and slipped into the little huddle, under his arm, leaning against him, tucking the edges of the Potions Master’s blanket over his legs too and then his own blankets around their little huddle. Nodding in satisfaction, Severus thusly Summoned a book and, spreading it out across their laps, began to read aloud. Sleep wouldn’t come easy either way, they both knew, and if words were failing them, then physical comfort would be everything they needed, as it so often was.

Harry opened his eyes to blackness, soft and silken. And it took a moment, but then he registered it was fabric and, beyond that, a firm body that exuded warmth. Severus. Slowly cataloguing his own limbs, he clocked that Severus was flat on his back and he was curled in a foetal position, but a long arm was stretched out across the arc of his shoulder and back, fingertips caressing his hip; his face was pressed into the elder’s side, his knees against the sharpness of the other’s hipbone. It was heaven at its truest.

Gradually, Severus' breathing changed, becoming shallower and a little faster, yet Harry still couldn't bring himself to move away, regardless of the blush that was already working its way across his face and doubtlessly down the back of his neck and ears too.
"Mornin'," the elder rasped, voice deliciously thick and rough with sleep. Even more delightfully, his arm tightened along the length of Harry's spine, fingers stroking a gentle, deliberate back and forth, just tracing the arch of Harry's hip, delving against the edge of the dips where the bone gave way to hollow, still sunken stomach.
"Morning," Harry breathed, hardly daring to utter that much, just in case it somehow caused Severus to realise their position, as though he wasn't already aware, and to suddenly leap up and leave. Never mind that they'd settled in far worse, far more compromising, positions before, both in sleep and, once or twice, not.
"I assume the alarm has yet to go off?"
"I think so."
"Then...?"
"Happily." And so neither of them moved.

The comfort of their position didn't stop Harry's thoughts from spiralling though. Minute after minute, another self-recrimination would trickle in. 

Fenrir and a band of Death Eaters… It couldn’t be a coincidence that they’d targeted the Wren pack, not when they were there as well. Had their route been too obvious? But they’d wanted Voldemort to pick up on their actions, hadn’t they? Well, deliberately planning to mislead Him was as good as. And that had been Harry’s plan. So it was Harry that had as good as slaughtered those people. It was his fault that the pack had been attacked. That Severus had been hurt. And Remus too for that matter. And maybe they’d gotten the Vows first. And maybe it meant there were more Death Eaters out of the picture. But still! People had died. And they’d died because of Ha-

“Brat. Stop trying to think. You’ll do yourself an injury.” That beautiful voice was still rough from sleep and Harry sputtered indignantly under his breath in reply, incoherent. The immediate thought of ‘I already have’ didn’t dare cross his lips. Severus didn’t need all of Harry’s negativity heaped upon his shoulders. Bad enough tha-

“Brat,” there was a warning there. One that he tried to listen to, instead burying his head further into the elder’s side, allowing the warmth to swamp and silence his mind. It wouldn’t last forever, probably another ten minutes in fact, but he would cherish it regardless.

Finally, twelve minutes later, their alarm did indeed go off and they lay there through it, eyes open but staring at nothing in particular. If they were ten minutes later than usual to breakfast, nobody was there to notice yet, and a slightly rushed meal was soon on the table. No questions asked.

“Oh yes!” Molly exclaimed, half-way through breakfast, “Children, Minerva gave me your Hogwarts letters last night. Just let me…” She stood, completely forgetting her remaining food, and bustled over to the counter. Rooting around a little in a miscellaneous drawer, she produced four thick parchment envelopes.

“Don’t know how they- anyway! Here you go dearies!” She was quick to hand them around. All of them tore them open, even Ron, and scanned over the missives. Harry excluded. Rather, he set his aside, where it shouldn’t get any food on it, and continued to pick at his mushrooms on toast.

“You should at least read it, brat.”

“No, I should inform McGonagall that it wasn’t necessary.”

“Harry-“

“What does that mean?” demanded two voices. Seeing similar expressions of matronly concern on Molly and Hermione’s faces, Harry sat up straight, all steel and soft flames.

“I’m not returning to Hogwarts.”

A chorus of dissent and confusion rang around the table. Harry didn’t flinch.

“It’ll do me no good. I’ll go mad, in classes and being in the dorms and not training.” Despite him visibly shuddering a little, a vaguely uncomfortable expression marring his otherwise blank features, the others still continued to question him. One voice was far louder than the rest,

“WHAT? But, mate, all you do here is learn! And you share with that greas-“

“Yes, but I’m learning for the war. It’s completely different. So is rooming with Severus. “

“Yeh, it’s different! It’s worse! It HAS to be!”

“It’s not, Ron. I’ve never been completely comfortable sharing a room with so many people at once. It’s too much. And learning how to make pineapples dance isn’t going to defeat Vol- Him. Which, might I remind you all, is my fucking job! That’s more important than any year at school!”

“Harry James Potter-” Hermione went to interject, but was quickly steam-rolled over,

“No. Mione, I’m not expecting to survive this. What will it matter-“

“Brat. Shut the fuck up.” Everyone also quietened at the man swearing. Not to mention sounding bloody furious.

“But Seve-!”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“Yes. So? It’s stil-“

“NO IT ISN’T! I will ensure it isn’t.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Harry-“ suddenly seeming to recognise the others all hanging on his every word, the man paused, “You remember what I said last time,” he leaned in, painfully close, his breaths like explosions against his burning ears, hair feather-soft against his pale cheeks, not quite tangling in the rims of his glasses, “What I did last time.” Abruptly, he stood up fully, towering over the younger, “ ‘I meant every word’.” Only the two of them understood his final reference, but all of them could see how Harry shuddered in place, melancholy eyes dropping closed, mouth slightly parted yet barely breathing.

“I… sorry, everyone. I’m a little het up today. Of course we’ll all survive and win this war. Every one of us. And I can retake my Seventh year then.” And if there was still a waver of uncertainty to the words, they were all kind enough to mention it.

Retaking their seats, for most of them had stood up at some point during the argument, the meal was finished in a largely awkward silence that not even the twins could bring themselves to break.

“Harry, Severus, may we speak this afternoon?”

“Sure,” came Harry’s terse reply, softened only by the strained smile he also offered, “After lunch?”

“Of course,” Remus replied, smiled, and departed. Severus and Harry were quick to leave too, settling in their corner of the library. Bedrest didn’t have to actually be in bed, right? They were both in denial, sue them.

For several hours, the two simply researched spells and rituals, potions and hexes. Harry had discovered a stash of Necromancy books somewhere and was scanning through them, looking for mentions of Horcruxes or the like. At several points he would pull disgusted faces, whining under his breath of going so far as to put the book down, face down mind, and pace the room a little, movements jerky. Merlin knew Necromancy wasn’t exactly light reading, particularly when one was already attempting to recover from a major battle only two days prior. Still, Severus left him to it. If this was how Harry chose to deal with said attack, then at least it wasn’t too self-destructive. And was genuinely productive. After all, they had been planning to go Horcrux hunting once the werewolves were dealt with. And to do so, extra information certainly wouldn’t be remiss. Even if it left the brat pale and shaken in equal measure. At least his eyes were still alight with determination, despite the darkening tint of nausea and pervading exhaustion. Severus was observing him, he would be fine. If it looked to be truly too much, he would intervene. Until then, he would keep on spelling fresh coffee into their mugs and allowing his socked feet to rest against the younger’s. They needed both the energy and the comfort.

Eventually of course, their tranquility was interrupted by the cry for lunch. Grumbling under his breath, Severus levered himself up, pried the book from Harry’s hands, and ushered them both downstairs to the kitchen. They needed more than coffee after all, as delicious as it was.

Munching stolidly through sandwiches and a packet of Muggle crisps, Harry didn't speak a word unprompted. And hardly any prompted either. For now, Severus would leave him to it. They were meant to be talking to Remus within the hour anyway. That should loosen the brat's tongue.

Chapter Text

“Come to the library? Or does it need to be more private than that?”

“More private really. Though it shouldn’t take overly long.”

“Our room then. Severus?”

“Very well.” And he led the way, holding their door open for the other two and closing it firmly behind them, thus engaging the privacy charms they’d carved into the wood.

Gesturing Remus into the only armchair, situated near the foot of Severus’ bed, Harry perched on the closest corner of his own, Severus settling comfortably on his own. Better to keep an appropriate distance between them this case.

“Harry…” Remus seemed to struggle for words, three long seconds drawing out, before he cleared his throat and began again, “I’ve enjoyed working with you Harry. And you too Severus, even if it did go to pot. You’re a good man, Harry, beyond being the Saviour I mean. And maybe it’s a good thing that you’re not entirely Gryffindor through and through. It certainly helped to be a little more Slytherin when it came to negotiations.” Yet again, silence fell, this time even more stagnant, sharp with unsaid words and acrid with a combination of guilt and lingering fear. Harry, surprisingly, was the first to speak up,

“Thank you Remus, that means a lot,” curious how a werewolf’s senses couldn’t pick up the lie that Severus’ could, “Don’t worry about the rest of the packs. Severus and I will approach them a little more randomly, I think. After one fairly successful attack, at least in terms of scaring us, in terms of showing off his own power and intelligence, He should be fairly complacent. He’ll know that I’m spear-heading this endeavour and will think that I’ve been scared off – my first venture failing, resulting in over a dozen deaths. Yes, He’ll most likely back off for a few weeks at least. We can be more discrete this time, and we’ll probably have to skip the last two, more Dark-aligned packs, but between the two of us we should be able to secure another Vow or two safely. So rest up, yeh? Look after yourself instead.”

“If you say so,” Remus began hesitantly, only to receive a confident nod from Harry and a gesture of acquiescence from Severus.

“Was there anything else?” The dismissal wasn’t harsh, but Remus clearly got the hint.

“Ah, no. I’ll be going then. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you.”   “Indeed.”

As soon as the door closed behind the werewolf , Severus was up and wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, drawing the younger forward to lean against his chest. The younger’s breaths were juddering, jarring, but he wasn’t crying, nor was he falling into a panic attack. Worse things had happened than this.

A few minutes later, Severus stood back. Neither mentioned how Harry leaned forwards, following him, for a few moments before shaking out of it, rubbing a hand through his hair, and stood up himself. He had Necromancy books to read after all.

“Is that our plan then?”

“Hm?” Harry looked up at Severus, vague confusion twisting his mouth prettily.

“For you and I to approach the last two packs, not including the more Dark-aligned, at a different time to the original plan and negotiate a Vow as per usual.”

“Yeh… I don’t know really. It seems like the most sensible option. Taking Remus is fine, but it’s just one more person to get hurt. Taking more people is even less feasible. And I can’t imagine simply following through with the original schedule now; it was obviously even more predictable than we thought, and He is obviously more brazen, if He decided it was worth mounting an attack.”

“Rather. Very well. Perhaps give it a few more days though, yes?”

“Sure. He’ll be more likely to think we’ve given up then.”

“Any other changes?”

“I was thinking of bringing my Invisibility Cloak. Might give us a better chance of dodging or stopping an attack.”

“You have an Invisibility Cloak?” And despite the casual tone, Harry didn’t miss the underlying incredulity and aggravation.

“Yes. It- it was my Dad’s.”

“That thing?! And Albus let you have it in the school, I’m sure. No wonder I couldn’t always find you! Blasted brat.” Severus oscillated from furious, to bitter, to annoyed to resigned all in two breaths, the sudden swings threatening to give Harry whiplash.

“Um… Yeh.” The anger of only moments ago had shaken him. It wasn’t the same as the elder's protective ire, but rather a genuine fury that, only a year or so previous, would have sent Harry either to detention, into an internal panic, or both. Perhaps even only two months previous. How things had changed.

“I apologise, brat. I wasn’t particularly angry with you.”

“I know.” The short reply was enough apparently, as Severus inclined his head and deliberately forced himself to relax in his seat and soften his features a little. At least Harry hadn’t run off this time.

“Pause a moment,” the elder suddenly spoke up, gaze intent but not harsh, smouldering as embers, fixated on the other wizard, “Your Invisibility Cloak hasn’t degraded, despite being decades old?”

“Hm. Why- Oh shit!”

“Indeed.”

“It was mentioned in one of these Necromancy grimoires as well. Which one was…” He trailed off, hurrying to pull several crumbling tomes out of the pile on their table.

“Necromancy?”

“Yes, what were you thinking of?” The words were distracted, much as the younger himself in fact, only half-listening, leafing through pages at a ridiculous rate. He hardly seemed to note the elder's shock,

“Of the Deathly Hallows from the-“

“That was it!”

“-children’s tales.” Harry stopped turning pages, turning his full attention to Severus. The Potions Master noted his obvious bewilderment.

“But I distinctly remember mentions of the Master Of Death, and it was a Dark, Dark book. Not bloody fairytales!”

“Likely another case of true events being told and twisted until they’re barely recognisable fables. Keep looking. I’ll find you the children’s book.”

Within five minutes, the two were reading, or in Severus’ case re-reading, the story of the Peverell brothers.

“Okay. So that lines up with what I remember reading. It was definitely a wand, a ring and a cloak. Presumably, my cloak. Merlin, why didn’t I notice this sooner?”

“Don’t start that Harry. We’ve realised now. Be grateful for that much.” He only received a noncommittal hum in reply. It would have to do.

“So. In one of these?”

“Yeh,” Harry began as they both took another from his stack and began flicking through, “It was something to do with the Master Of Death… maybe Modi Immortalia… or it could be Tutum Iter Tenebricosum. Look in this one instead,” he added, handing the latter to Severus.

“Immortality tomes?”

“What else would you expect from Him?”

“Very true,” the elder conceded, as they both returned their attentions to the dense prints of the ancient books.

“Here! Sev, read this.”  Neither noted the nickname, too caught up in their research.

“Right… So, whomever possesses all three Trinkets of Death – ‘trinkets’, honestly – is hailed the Master Of Death and can control Them?”

“Supposedly. And thus becoming immortal, being able to summon spirits and gaining powers ‘beyond Life’s comprehension’. Sounds like-“

“Bullshit. Rather. But perhaps there is something true to it. Your Cloak appears to be legitimate at least.”

“I guess so. Not sure we want to become the Masters Of Death though. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make sure that Vold- He doesn’t get his scales on them though.”

“Point. Well, we have one already. As for the Elder wand… Hm,” he flipped a page, “There is a description for it here: Of wood white as foam and bleach'd liketh sun-leech'd bark, six knots, did carve by death and f'rg'd in the blood of its mast'rs . Wonderful,” he sneered, looking unconvinced.

“Okay… Anything on the Stone?”

“No description at least. Seems like Louth and de Alne knew far more about the Wand, or cared more about it. Regardless, two is better than one, provided we can find the Wand.”

“Yeh… Something’s bothering me though. It sounds familiar.”

“You have read this before, no?”

“True. Meh."

“Articulate.”

“Hush, you git.”

“Brat.”

“Bat.”

“That’s practically the same word, you idiot brat,” Severus countered, purring the ‘r’ in emphasis. Neither acknowledged the visible shiver it sent down Harry’s spine, eyes wide and dark for a few moments.

“Bastard,” he muttered, a flush rising over his cheeks like the sakura of his tattoo,  falling in a reverse flurry.

“So… ignoring how familiar that sounds, the Deathly Hallows are a thing. Should we be doing something to protect my- the Cloak?” They sat in silent thought for a few minutes before Severus reached up and began to tie his hair back, simultaneously speaking,

“As inclined as I am to immediately say yes, having the Cloak at our disposal may be invaluable. Not to mention that nobody else should be aware of the truth of the matter, no? Who even knows you possess an Invisibility Cloak in the first place?”

“Ron, Hermione, Remus, the twins. I suppose Luna, Neville and Ginny probably know. Hagrid… Malfoy – junior, that is – definitely knows, and probably Crabbe and Goyle too. Anybody he whined to. Anybody that Dumbledore told. But only about five people know that I inherited it, not that it was just something I happened to buy.”

“Alright. More people than I’m entirely comfortable with, but not as bad as I’d thought.” Harry hummed noncommittally in reply, clearly thinking,

“Can the Fidelius be cast on an object? And if it was, would the Cloak actually work still, no interference?”

“An intriguing idea,” the elder paused, eyebrows furrowed and leaning forwards in his seat just that little bit, the way he so often did when internally debating with himself, “One that may well work. We shall have to research it, I believe. Perhaps tomorrow though.”

“Isn’t something happening tomorrow?”

“Ah, yes, we were going to visit on the Wren pack, ensure they were sufficiently recovered.” Harry didn’t reply, the shadows in his eyes creeping further forward, clouds over toxin-tinged sunlight.

"Brat." The single word dragged him from his reverie, clouds clearing to reveal luminescent Paris green, currently sans the poisonous touch the shade was famed for, instead soft as a worn woollen blanket.

"Git." 

"Indubitably."

"Incurably?"

"Why, that too." And finally, finally, Harry laughed, an almost-giggle that bordered on exhausted but still worked to light up that pale skin like moonlight and set that beautiful mouth curving like a snake striking, capable of slashing venom but instead gentle, amused.

“Thank you, Severus.” Not acknowledging the words, Severus returned his attention to Modi Immortalia. After all, it would take more than Horcruxes and Duelling to defeat Voldemort. Foreknowledge and preventative measures were essential to all endeavours; wars even more so.

It was far later that evening when the two were once again safely ensconced in their room, Harry having slipped beneath Severus’ covers by tacit invitation, craving whatever comfort was being offered, from both sides of the bed; their proximity had them drowning in mercury, a beautiful bane oh-so-sweet. Pervasive and corroding and precious. As all-encompassing as such things, when true, always are. Neither would breathe a word of it, would broach a subject as sensitive and delicate as a Muggle landmine, but just like the resultant explosions, nor could the prerequisite silence be ignored. They were both sine qua non to each other after all, indubitably and incurably so.

--------------------------------------

Modi Immortalia – Methods for Immortality – 1615- Matthew Louth & Agnes de Alne (née Louth)

Written by siblings who were embroiled in the Dark Arts from an age, largely due to their Ritualist father, who was fond of conducting experiments, fortunately with permission, on terminally ill witches and wizards in an attempt to manipulate Time, the Magicks or Death. Or of course, some combination of the three. He was, up to a point, reasonably successful, and his research was continued and published by his two children.

Tutum Iter Tenebricosum – Dark Paths to Safety – 1792 – Adolphus Haasler

The four times great-grandfather of the Muggle aryan supremacist Hitler; his only daughter was a squib, likely due to the stunting of his own magic through extensive and reckless use of the more pervasive and damaging Dark Arts, with little balance from rest or usage of Lights or Shade Magicks. The bitterness of his daughter, or rather the entire branch of his family, and his ever-loosening grip on reality tainted their bloodline in many ways. The choices of the by-then Muggle Adolf Hitler only further degraded the line. 

Trêowen îsig samðe in phrase samðsamð fâmgian ðêah−hwæðere wederblác lîcian sol forsuncen rinde, siex lufesn, graeft fullan forðfôr sôðlic besmiðaþ m¯æst heolfor orgilde sîn hêahleornere.    

Without looking it up in a translator, can anybody guess what language this is and/or what it means? You'll get... uhm, a shout-out? A virtual hug? A side-story? I don't know. (although, on that note, if there is anyhting anybody wants clearing up, or has a prompt for a side-story for me, then please feel free to comment it! I'd love to hear them!)

Chapter Text

Not long after lunch, Harry and Severus set out for the Wren Pack, materialising in the clearing that they’d had their negotiations in. Holde, then enforcer, met them there.

“Greetings.”

“And to you. I trust recovery has been made, as you have not contacted us?” The overly formal opening was indicative of just how uncertain the brat was.

“’t has. We lost six: two older, two kids, two others. But otherwise we’re mostly alright, s’pose. Danny and Mel are fixed up and back home.” A mile of tension left the younger's shoulders. Severus felt some leave his own at the sight. 

“Thank Merlin; I’m glad.” The genuine care and relief in Harry’s tone attracted an evaluative stare from the werewolf, before the man nodded, seemingly to himself, and lengthened his stride a little. Within the minute, the three had entered the larger clearing, the humans immediately needing to dispel images of death and blood and bone, to put aside the echoes of screams and cries. And they managed to do so without slowing their steps.

“Alpha!” The familiar head of dark head was already turned towards them, yellow-green eyes piercing but not hostile.

“Potter. Snape.”

“Wren.” For a moment they stood in stony silence, the very air frigid. Then the werewolf surged forwards to clasp Harry’s wrist in a firm shake. Nobody missed how Severus’ wand was instantaneously in his hand, then tucked back away again, whilst the younger simply returned the wizard’s greeting of respect with a grim, tight little smile.

“You have my gratitude and respect, Alpha Potter. My pack and I thank you for standing beside us.”

“You are most welcome, Alpha Wren,” Harry returned the honorific, “I can only regret that it was necessary.”

“Bollocks.” They shared a feral grin, all teeth and wild promises.

For the next hour, Harry and Severus met the majority of the Wren pack, accepting thank yous and recognitions, offering help and condolences in reply. Yet upon returning to Grimmauld Place, there was a noticeable drop in Harry’s mood. Unsurprising really. He always did tend to keep up an idealistic front, particularly in a more public setting.

“Come on brat,” the elder nudged, matching the words with a sneaky poke to the ribs, “Let’s go to the library, if it is vacant; see if we can’t find any useful spells for the Order or the Hunt.”

“Sure.” Hm, very subdued. He should have to keep his eye on the brat, if he could do so even more than he currently was.

“Well then?” At his further prompting, the young man headed up the stairs. Approaching the wide open door to the library, laughter and chatter echoed along the hallway. Harry hesitated, then threw a pleading look at Severus over his shoulder. Oh, very well.

“Perhaps our room instead?” He offered.

“Thanks,” the younger sighed, some of the tension leaving his figure. Severus merely grunted.

"Hey, Severus." Those green eyes had focused on him, blazing yet wavering, intense regardless.

"Hn."

"I know you said to leave it, but what about inducting some of my Year mates to act as spies? Or any others you would trust. I know that some of them would be willing and we could protect their-"

"Harry. Brat, stop. I... I know it is well-intentioned, but we cannot."

"But why-"

"No. Categorically, no."

"...Okay. Sorry." Severus didn't say anything. Harry resisted the urge to flinch, instead leaning further into the warm arm draped across his shoulders. A potion-stained thumb swept across his arm in comfort and apology. For once, it wasn't enough.

Deep into that night, Harry lay awake and painfully alone in his own bed, listening to the rhythmic sounds of Severus' breathing and trying to talk himself out of what he knew was a bad idea. A really, truly bad idea. The kind of reckless Gryffindor idiocy that would have lost him two hundred points and won him three months detention with Filch. Yet here he was, seriously contemplating letting down his Occlumentic shields.

Merlin, this could go so wrong. But it could go so right. And that was the problem.

Without his Occlumency in place, Harry would be able to access Voldemort's mind, up to a point. The information he could glean from that: attack plans; the identities of new initiates and most trusted Inner Circle members; where he was hiding himself and his Horcruxes; what he intended to attack or obtain next; how he intended to do so; what he thought the Order was doing; if he knew any of their members and had a chance to target them. So much intelligence that could - would - help them exponentially. They didn't have any spies at the moment. Severus had been discovered and whilst Harry certainly didn't blame the other man for that, it was still a major detriment to their information regarding the enemy. Plus, with little chance of them gaining new spies from those already in or about to join Voldemort's ranks, their actual options were incredibly and dangerously limited. Beyond Harry himself that was. And Merlin knew that Harry would take almost any risks if it meant the slightest chance at tipping the balance of this war in their favour. It didn't matter if the visions hurt him, if it meant they could protect others, right?

Right. And with that, Harry had made his decision. Now he'd just have to keep it hidden from Severus. The man would kill him. Assuming Voldemort didn't manage it first of course.

Down came his shields.

Unsurprisingly, Harry woke up only four hours later, chased by images of fire swirling above tiled roofs, screams rending the close air, pleas and cries echoing in the gaps between the crackle of burning buildings and hope; Dark magic lacing the air with the acrid taste of blood and metal and victory. The young man shot up, sweat-soaked and holding in his own cries, stumbling out of bed, trying to stay silent so as to leave Severus asleep, hurrying to the bathroom across the hall, headed for the mirror even as he magically locked the door. Hissing in pain, Harry set to healing himself, Conjuring more mirrors that bobbed around him to let him see the nasty burns that bloomed across his back in raw shades of red and pink, bubbling up grotesquely, although oddly tight and puckered across any previous scars, of which there were many. This was going to take some time. Biting back another cry of pain, he brandished his wand awkwardly over his shoulder. Yes, quite some time.

Indeed, after healing himself for far longer than he had intended or wanted, Harry was finally stepping under the cool spray of the shower. He'd originally set it to scalding as per usual, then been unable to even stand in the steam - thick choking smoke, so deliciously dead and stale, coiling like a snake about to strike, roughing throats and choking children - so had quickly turned the knob back to a temperature of something lukewarm at best. Regardless, he basked in the constant, grounding pressure of the water pouring down onto his healed body, normally wavy black locks plastered across his forehead, neck and ears, tips tangling with his eyelashes irritatingly, but he couldn't bring himself to truly care. He had just witnessed dozens of people dying - innocent children and men and women - at his own hand. Oh, it was Voldemort casting the spells and revelling in the fear and pain and death, but it was Harry too. And that scared him. Always had and always would. The more time he spent in Voldemort's head, the more time he spent Duelling directly against Death Eaters, the more he could feel himself slipping from freak to monster. Abomination. He wasn't sure which was worse- No. Actually, he knew exactly what was worse. And it was what he believed himself to be becoming. Oh, today he might throw up at what he had witnessed, might shake and hesitate and hurt deep inside his chest, but what about next time? The time after that? Sooner or later Voldemort's sadism was going to bleed through into Harry - through the Horcrux, through the mind link - and leave him utterly desensitised, completely callous and cruel. It was inevitable and Harry knew it. But if he didn't allow their minds to touch, didn't keep his Occlumentic shields disabled, then how was he supposed to help anybody? How could he protect people, defeat Voldemort, if he didn't know what he was doing?

The simple answer that came to mind was that he couldn't. So he had no choice. If they didn't have any spies, then Harry would have to be one. And so he would. Whatever it took, for however long as was necessary.

Severus entered the kitchen at their usual time to find Harry already half way through cooking pancakes, of which a large stack was already sat under a stasis charm, small curls of steam misting up the transparent bubble of magic.

"Good morning brat."

"Oh!" The younger spun on the spot, pan catching on the edge of the hob and nearly sending the half-cooked pancake flying.

"Morning Severus," he was quick to go on, turning back around and focusing his attention on the food once more. Severus surveyed his tense form as it slowly relaxed again. Although, not completely... Hm. Something wasn't sitting right. But, if he couldn't discern it from staring at the brat's back, then he would have to leave it for now; he could question him later after all. Instead, he walked over to the cold cupboard and began pulling out the few punnets of fruit - strawberries, blueberries, raspberries. Shame they didn't have any gooseberries really; both he and Harry adored those. Still, he began to halve the fruits and dish them into bowls. And, well, if he snuck a few bites in between handfuls then who was to scold him? Particularly when he passed a few raspberries over to Harry too, who took them with a cheeky grin that was quickly red-stained with tart juices. And when those green eyes, so often dark with ghosts and doubts and melancholy, flared with simple enjoyment, Severus had to push down the urge to smile at the younger, that crippled beating thing in his chest going ten to the dozen, swelling and squeezing in a way he had never felt before. But that wasn't something to ponder on, oh no. It was to be revelled in, then ignored in favour of his own plans and worries. Such as what Harry was hiding from him, because that apprehension that had turned the brat's spine to flexing steel had only worsened since the previous evening. And such a fact was unforgiveable. Harry was not to suffer unnecessarily under his watch. And if that meant wheedling the truth out of the wizard then that was exactly what Severus would do, by Merlin and Morgana.

Unknowing of his companion's convictions, Harry simply kept on cooking, glad for his own foresight in cooking pancakes over any variation of a full English. He honestly didn't think he could stomach the scent of sausages or bacon right now. Well, not without having to make a highly undignified run for the bathroom that would have Severus even more concerned than he already was. And he could really do with minimising the man's suspicions, as much as the fact that Severus noticed in the first place, and then on top of that also cared enough to act meant an incredible  amount to Harry. Ron and Hermione, as much as they cared about him, just didn't have the ability to read him like Severus did. Nor did they have the experiences to truly relate to him. They might have been through several of his adventures with him, but there was something so intrinsically different to facing Voldemort and knowing that he had the full intention of killing you, in comparison to normal but still horrific mortal danger. And Harry was honestly glad that his friends couldn't comprehend everything; they were lucky to not be able to, and Harry wanted it to stay that way. He didn't want them to ever be in danger.

It was only a shame that Harry couldn't comprehend that nobody else wanted to see him in danger either. 

Chapter Text

Over the next three days, Harry and Severus successfully approached the Teller and Cole packs, gaining the final carefully worded Vows of neutrality from both groups. Luckily, neither Voldemort nor his forces attacked either time, as per Harry's predictions, which was a massive relief for everyone involved. Yet, despite having confirmed that the Wren pack were alright and having managed a positive outcome with the other two packs, Severus was watching Harry become worse and worse by the day.

Deep black bags marred his parchment-white face, stark as though he'd been punched. Somehow none of the brat's indubitable nightmares were waking Severus up, which by itself was disturbing because he was a light sleeper. Very light. Not only that, but the two were so attuned to each other that it had long-since become second nature to wake up when the other was particularly distressed. The fact that Severus wasn't... Well, it bewildered him. And the Potions Master hated not knowing something. Furthermore, the idiot brat wasn't talking to him. Oh, they debated tactics and lamented being stuck in Grimmauld Place and asked if the other would pass the salt, but Harry didn't truly talk to him and it was- Honestly, it was hurtful. Somewhere along the line, the two had transformed into something of a single unit, with an easy familiarity that, whilst it occasionally dissolved into arguments, was rather co-dependent and essential to their daily routine. So having Harry constantly so vacant, not quite dissociative, but similar to it, was disconcerting in the least.

Beyond the vacancy, Harry was also jumpy. Both of them were somewhat paranoid, understandably so, but Harry would flinch from odd things that he hadn't before. Hot water, steam or smoke, flames. If somebody's laughter echoed along a hallway, the brat would freeze for a long moment, before visibly shaking himself and continuing on. The one time the twins had taken out a window with a splintering crack and tinkling of glass, Harry had backed up a pace, wand instantly raised, eyes wide and hand shaking imperceptibly. The latter could perhaps be attributed to the Dursleys, as Severus hadn't observed Harry's reaction to breaking glass previously, but it was a concerning instinctual response all the same. 

Thirdly, lastly,  Harry hadn't met Severus' gaze for more than a fleeting second in the entire four days. This, as far as Severus could tell, was completely random and pointless. Except for how it made the younger appear even more shifty than his general actions were. Harry's almost-fugue state was disturbing enough but not being able to meet his eyes, to not truly have a chance at judging how the brat was feeling frustrated Severus to no end. Those green eyes were the most expressive part of the man and not being able to communicate with them left a chasm yawning wide through the elder's chest, like a giant cat opening its maw with fetid breath, ready to swallow something - something good, pure, necessary, unknown - whole. And that pervading sensation set him on edge. 

Truly, it was curious how the absence of a few small, simple things could completely off-set their dynamic.

And as though it wasn't bad enough that Severus was having to deal with a struggling Harry, but it hadn't escaped anybody's notice that something was seriously wrong with the young man. The twitchiness, lack of appetite, clumsiness, obvious lack of sleep, obsessively training, even more so than normal; there were so many things that were piling up on each other within only a few days. It was alarming. The constant worry and over-thinking was rapidly pushing Severus over the edge of reason and well into furious frustration.

"Why are you not talking to me?" he had demanded, despairing, at the end of his tether and fighting to hold the threads together. He hadn't managed to meet Harry's gaze all day, and the one time he'd reached out a hand the younger had flinched so badly that he hadn't dared to try again.

"But I am talking to you." The quiet words were all wrong. There was no sarcasm or indignation. Where was the 'I am right now, or did you not notice?' or the exasperated eye roll? Where was Harry? 

"No, brat, you're not! You say words, but there's nothing behind them! Where are you?" At the audible confusion and hurt, because never let it be said that Severus' dignity was ultimately more important than the idiot in front of him, Harry barely blinked.

"In the library?" came the bewildered reply, Harry squinting a little at the elder but still not reacting how he should be. Dammit!

"No Harry, you're not! Your head's off in bloody la-la land and it's not right!"

"I'm still here Severus. We're all still here." And with that vague, cryptic remark, the younger returned his attention to the tome in his lap. Severus resisted the urge to gape. There was something ever so wrong with Harry. And fuck it all he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Harry himself was peripherally aware that he wasn't reacting correctly. But there was too much cotton and cloud in his head, damp and misty and cloying, to bother thinking past it. His entire body ached viscerally, despite healing himself after all three of the visions he'd had so far, and he couldn't bring himself to truly care. Why did it matter? Everyone was safer now that he knew what Voldemort was doing. It didn't matter that he wasn't - couldn't - relay information before hand. It was enough to be aware that Voldemort wasn't planning to directly confront or draw them out yet. They were safe. And that was everything. 

That evening, when a familiar flash of painful anger blasted its way through his mind, Harry tried not to flinch. He tried; he really, truly tried hard not to because this couldn’t happen in the middle of dinner, it couldn't, not when everyone-

'Tell me, my servants, why have I called you here today?' They received no reply but it did not matter. They hadn't expected one after all.

'It is, you shall find, to inform you that one of your number has failed in their duties. MacNair, step forward and bow before your Lord.' A trembling figure, clad in a ubiquitous black robe came forward, prostrating himself but silent. Ah, he knew he was in true trouble. Delightful. Almost as much so as his screams would be.

"Crucio!" And their maniacal laugh echoed and poured against the walls of the grand chamber, dissonantly resonating with his minion's screams. How beautiful-

“-rry! HARRY!”

“Huh, yeh?” They- he snapped to attention. Focusing his eyes on the man in front of him, Harry desperately pushed down tremors and pain, willing the Potions Master to please, Merlin, somehow just not notice.

“What just happened?” Severus’ tone was low and deadly, cutting through the room. It had already fallen silent, every pair of eyes turned to Harry.

“Nothing, I spaced out. Why?”

“You spaced out?”  Fucking hell, the elder sounded ready to strangle him on the spot.

“Yes…” he trailed off deliberately, forcing himself to raise a challenging eyebrow. Severus only sneered.

“So would you care to explain, idiot brat, why you were whimpering in pain, why your hands – correction, your entire body is trembling and why, for all of Merlin’s bloody conquests, your Occlumency shields are barely in place?” Okay, Severus was furious, beyond it, and Harry was fucked.

“I-”

“You what, Harry? Because as far as I can tell, you’re intentionally allowing Voldemort access to your mind.”

“I- I mean, yes, I, maybe, but He’s not-“

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE HARRY! You’re determined to put yourself into danger, aren’t you? Determined to get yourself killed before you turn eighteen! This is not the way to protect yourself. If that doesn’t help, it isn’t the way to protect us, either! Have you forgotten what happened last time he gained access to your mind? Have you truly forgotten the pain you suffered then? Every time before?” The man was towering, all darkness and righteous, incandescent fury, wand sparking and eyes flashing. Then suddenly Severus sagged, dulled, as though all the light and fight had been drained from him, swaying on the spot like a drunkard,

“You have, haven’t you? Or rather, you’ve disregarded it. With your twisted logic, this is helping. Causing yourself pain, risking yourself, is helping. Please Harry, please, tell me I’m wrong.” And there was something so intrinsically wrong with this defeated man in front of him, who had only seconds ago been so full of anger, so full of life, now begging, pleading. Harry flinched at the sight.

“I- I’m sorry Severus, I can’t. I just needed to know. After Fenrir- I- Severus-“

“Save it. You’re rebuilding all of your shields right now.” They were statements, not questions. Harry still visually hesitated, eyes bright and haunted with unshed tears.

“DO IT!”  Severus screamed, dignity gone, spittle flying and wand only an inch from the younger’s face. Now Harry did as he was told, closing his eyes for nearly a full minute, during which nobody spoke or even particularly dared to breathe, not wanting to attract the Potions Master’s attention, who remained stood where he was, shaking.

“I- Sev- He… They’re in place,” Harry finally murmured, posture uncertain and just a tad defensive. He felt so small with the looming figure of Severus above him, but he knew exactly why he truly felt so small, and it wasn't that.

“Drink these,” came the next order, two potions bottles coming flying into the room and smacking against the elder’s open palm. The young man took them gingerly, his shaking becoming ever more pronounced. The empty phials were soon placed next to his half-cleared plate.

“Bed. Now. You’re sleeping those off.” With that terse final remark, Severus himself swept out of the room, uncaring of the stunned silence he’d left behind. And, after a few long seconds, a very much subdued Harry followed after him.

It only took half an hour of lying in their respective beds, silent and wide-awake, both shell-shocked, before Harry slowly clambered out from beneath his covers.

“May I-”

“Get in, idiot brat, before I change my mind.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.” And that single word made Severus’ remaining fury blatant, but Harry still curled close to his warmth anyway,

“I’m sorry Sev'rus.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted – needed – to know. To have some kind of control.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to get hurt, but it didn’t seem relevant.”

“I know.”

As they slowly relaxed, a little of the tension leaving both their bodies and the room, Harry dared to shift a little closer and Severus finally, finally, wrapped long arms around the ball of young man.

“It… scared me. You scared me, Harry. I lost you.”

“I know.”

And they slipped into restless sleep.

Somehow, Severus pondered to himself as he lay awake the next morning, Harry breathing soft and deep against his collar bone, getting to the bottom of his brat's odd state wasn't satisfying in the slightest. It wasn't even particularly relieving. How could it be? So what if the younger had replaced his shields now. It didn't change the brat's mentality of 'everyone else first' and 'I deserve to hurt'. And the worst part, the nasty bit that struck somewhere soft in Severus' chest and stayed there with claws and teeth and spine, was that he knew nothing would cure that but time and care. And oh, how little time they might have. How little of their care they could afford to demonstrate. It didn't bare thinking about; none of it did. So, he tried not to. Instead, he zeroed in on the slow, steady rise and fall of the slim chest, held close to him, ribs discernible against his arms even through two layers of thin fabric, albeit with lithe muscles there too. Harry was curled up in a tight ball, defensive in nature but leaning into Severus enough to know that it was only against outside forces, not him. Harry felt safer in his arms, and he felt content when the younger was so blatantly better, secure, calmer. Sleeping peacefully. The brat's knees were pressed against the elder's sternum in a way that shouldn't be comfortable for either of them, but Severus for one was more than willing to put up with it if it meant being close together in a way they hadn't been for four days. In a way that he hadn't entirely realised he was so desperate for until now. Soft locks tumbled against his jaw and neck, interlacing thoughtlessly with his own, so similar at first glance yet truly so different. And the regular little puffs of warm air against his clavicle were a precious reassurance that Harry was here, was safe and alive and breathing. He permitted himself the urge of running his thumbs against the dip and curve of the younger's hip bones, tracing the warm skin of his back as though strumming a beloved instrument, gentle and reverent. It was the false hope that Severus could protect him from everything and everyone, even Voldemort or the very brat himself, so long as he stayed here in his arms. 

Chapter Text

Harry came to awareness slowly, consciousness wading through molasses, all too-sweet and cloying, fake and impermanent. The warmth enveloping him was sure to be gone soon too, the very instant Severus realised he was awake.

“I’m not letting go, but you’re still in trouble, brat.”

“I know. I’m so-"

“Don’t. We did that last night. Now you face the consequences.”

“Which are?” Harry inquired, tone hesitant, but feeling brave enough, or perhaps repentant enough, to wriggle a little, lean further back into the elder’s arms and squint up at him through bangs and a lack of glasses.

“A fair question to which I don’t yet have an answer. It could be argued that the visions themselves were punishment enough, I assume?”

“Merlin, yes. They were- I-“

Something in the blurry face of the Potions Master softened, melted, yet hardened along the set of his jaw and brow.

“How many?” And his voice was a caress as much as his hands were.

“Four.”

“Including at dinner?” Harry could only hum in reply, refusing to bury his head in the other’s chest but wanting to oh-so-desperately.

“I’m sorry,” Severus went on. Wait, what?

“Are you really?” The words were flat and blunt, but their solidity fractured around the edges.

“For your pain? Always.” And now he did give in to his own shuddering breaths and crushed himself into an even tighter ball, uncaring of oxygen, just trying to draw every ounce of comfort from Severus as possible.

“There were so many- the fires- children- Merlin, Sev- I-“

“Hush Harry, hush. It’s all been and gone now, hush. Breathe for me, yes, in, one, two, three…” But it did little good as Harry choked on thin air and smoke, limbs twitching but unmoving in death, feeling the phantom burns of fire and flame and unheard acidic cackling that poured down his spine in a fury of pain and mockery.

“Harry-” But the younger didn’t register any of his words, instead gasping his way into darkness.

“Fucking hell,” Severus groaned, clutching the brat close but knowing it made no difference at this point. He’d already passed out. That was one of the worst panic attacks he’d seen him have and it was… terrifying, honestly. He’d come so very close to losing Harry in the last few days and hadn’t even known it. Oh, he’d known something was wrong, but he’d never even contemplated a disaster of this scale. He should’ve known, with Harry. He really should have.

Looking down the bed, to the curled up and shivering form of his brat, Severus couldn’t help but wonder what they should do know. If Harry was willing to go to such great lengths to have any kind of glimpse into the Dark Lord’s activities, then they would need to find an alternative of some description to abate his recklessness. Perhaps they would need to conscript some spies after all…

Severus desperately wanted to keep his Slytherins out of the war entirely. He did not want to see anybody else in the position he himself had been stuck in. But, perhaps Harry had a point. If they took in some spies, offered them political immunity, protection for their families… but how to achieve that? They’d need far more resources than they currently had available. As a Professor at Hogwarts, Severus had been paid reasonably, although not handsomely, but certainly not enough to fund more than perhaps one person beyond himself for any length of time. And with Spinner’s End likely ransacked already, he had nothing to speak of in terms of property either. The Weasleys, Lupin, Harry, none of them had much by way of fina-

Wait. No. Harry! He was the bloody Potter Heir, the chances of him only having a little money were ridiculously small. And he was seventeen now, so he must have access to all of the vaults. And Black’s things too – the brat’s dogfather doubtlessly left him as the main inheritor, he was his Heir after all. Harry would have money and probably properties, so they most likely could afford to put a small number of families into protection. And a small number of spies, even if they weren’t member of the Inner Circle, was moons better than none at all, intelligence wise. And Severus himself could train them, ensure that their Occlumency was up to snuff, let them know how to balance truth, lie and half-truth, when to bluff and when to fold, how to avoid suspicion, how to report back to the Order without moving a muscle or uttering a single spell. With his tutelage, some of his snakes could become spies, could protect their families, could be guaranteed safety after the war, at least from the legal system. And those were better chances than they would have had by themselves, forced into slavery to a lunatic by peers and parents and expectations.

Maybe Severus could help Harry and some of his Slytherins at the same time. He'd certainly do his damndest to make it work at least.

It was a solid hour later that Harry began to stir, hands clenching in soft black flannel, grazing flesh with light, trembling warmth.

"Hello brat." Severus kept his tone carefully neutral, determined to keep Harry in as good a headspace as possible.

"Sev'rus," he rasped, sounding disconnected, vaguely discontent.

“Hm?” He didn’t dare prompt the brat too much.

“I-” A loud growling interrupted the younger, causing them both to startle a little, staring at the Harry’s stomach. How rude.

“Perhaps we should eat before anything else?”

“I guess so.”

“Certainly,” Severus stated. Merlin knew the brat would need to eat anyway, even if his stomach hadn’t alerted them to the issue

“Wait. What time is it?” The elder allowed a non-verbal answer Harry by itself. Ten past eleven. At least the kitchen should be empty for an hour or so yet. As such, the Potions Master began to gently prod a finger into the younger’s shoulder,

“Come on then brat. No time for lollygagging. Once we’ve eaten, I wish to share a few ideas with you.” Knowing that Harry’s insatiable curiosity would now be sufficiently bated, the elder completely removed his arms from around the wizard, mourning the rush of cold air and the loss of content warmth in his chest. Apparently feeling the same melancholy, Harry took a moment to lean further forwards, resting his forehead against the elder’s chest. Then he began to draw back and painstakingly stood up and fumbled for his wand, changing his clothes. Severus couldn’t help but watch the younger, eyes following every movement, every breath and twitch.

“Well then? Don’t tell me the old man can’t get out of bed.” It was a poor attempt at teasing, but it was an attempt and Severus would value it for that much, even as he rolled his eyes and huffed at the brat, beginning to lever himself up.

“Don’t call me old, I’m only thirty-two.”

“My point exactly.” Oh, that manipulative little imp. Clever, clever boy. He knew that Severus was… insecure, for lack of a better word, about his own age. Gryffindor indeed. And to hide it so well.

Allowing himself to only half-sneer his smile, Severus ushered Harry out into the corridor, both of them immediately on alert for others. They could really do with talking things out between themselves before they started involving third parties in the mix, that was for sure. It was bound to be a mess as-is.

Fortunately, they didn’t encounter anyone in their travels and were quick to gather some cold meats and butter some bread, plus nab a bowl of the remaining raspberries to share, and settle at the far end of the table, where they wouldn’t be visible from the hallway. And so they ate. For now, they didn’t speak, allowing themselves to bask in the peace and quiet of simply existing together for a little while longer. Such a shame it couldn’t last forever.

Accordingly, once they’d eaten their fill, neither quite with a full appetite despite their bodies’ demands, the two descended further to the basement by tacit agreement. Once privacy wards were erected and a small sofa Conjured, they settled down together, Harry tucked into the elder’s side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, a hand of his own placed gently atop Severus’ leg.

“So, putting aside the issue of your voluntary… self-sacrifice-” Harry winced at the sneer, although neither drew away, “-I have a proposal for you.”

“That’s a familiar statement.”

“Indeed. Hopefully this will be as fruitful as the previous.” Harry hummed in reply, curious, if a little hesitant.

“I am willing to initiate a spying network, focusing on Slytherins from your year group and their families.”

There was silence for a long few seconds, then a grin broke up the dark lines of Harry’s face and the brat twisted in his seat to fling his arms around the elder’s neck.

“Thank you Severus! Thank you, thank Merlin, thank you.” He babbled, the words muffled into the Potions Master’s shoulder.

“I…” But he could say nothing in the face of the younger’s relief and gratitude. He’d denied this in favour of his own fears and worries. And he could do nothing but curse himself now. Even more so as a damp patch began to soak into the collar of his robes and his brat’s shoulders shook and heaved, his breaths hitching but not quite gasping as in the beginning of a panic attack, thank Merlin.

“Hush now brat. Hush now Harry, come on brat, I’m sorry, it’s all fine, I’m sorry, hush.” And gradually, amongst the platitudes and nearly-silent apologies, Harry calmed down and his tears stopped. Neither mentioned how Severus’ eyes were a little blurry in their own right, even if his cheeks had remained dry.

“Thank you Severus, truly. I can’t stand- we can’t- The Light needs an intelligence network. We’ll lose without it.”

“Indeed.” And only Harry was there to hear all the regrets in his voice, but then again, Harry was the only one who needed to hear, who he would allow to hear, so perhaps the matter was inconsequential.

“I… I’ve had a few ideas for it. Communications, members etcetera. Can we talk about them later?”

“Certainly, brat. Perhaps after lunch we can approach the logistics? Work out the majority of it, then present the general idea to the Order next Meeting?”

“Sounds like a plan. What about the Horcruxes? We should check Hogwarts.”

“Likely so. Although we shall require a suitable method of destruction. Fiendfyre would work-“

“No worries there, I have the ideal way.”

“Oh?” Severus challenged, an eyebrow arching high.

“Indeed,” Harry teased in return, “Basilisk venom ringing any bells there, Mr Potions Master?”

“Basilisk?” And all of his masks came crashing for a flabbergasted moment. Harry could only revel in the openness on that proud face, at the slightly parted lips, beautiful in the way of crushed, twisted petals, and widened whiskey eyes, brooding and smoky as aged bourbon, just as burning, searing down his throat as welcomed acid, and as enrapturing as amber ensnaring an innocent lion. Or a snake even.

“Basilisk,” he confirmed, a devious smirk pulling at his features in a way he so rarely allowed them to.

“Wha…” The elder trailed off, and Harry couldn’t help but preen at the continued shock.

“Where on Earth did you gain access to Basilisk venom? It’s incredibly scarce, not to mention virtually priceless.”

“In the Chamber of Secrets.”

“From your second year? But Albus assured us… Ah, I see.”

“He lied to you, probably. Ginny was possessed; Ron and I went down with Lockhart to try and save her; I ended up fighting the Basilisk thanks to one of Voldie’s Horcruxes – the diary – and got bitten whilst killing it. Fawkes cried on the wound, although it left a scar, and I used that fang to stab the diary. I didn’t know it then, but it killed the Horcrux. And the Basilisk’s corpse is still down there, preserved. I checked last year; used the place as a bolthole for a while.”

“Merlin’s rainbow garter… Harry… Albus told us not to worry, when we came forward with concerns of a Basilisk attacking the students, that it was all in hand. We should- I should have known-!”

“There’s no point ranting over it now, Sev’rus. Been and done and all that.”

“It’s the principal of the matter, idiot brat. Now where is this scar?”

“Severus!” the younger yelped, as demanding, yet deceptively gentle, hands reached for his wrists. Despite instantly settling at the elder’s touch, Harry tugged his arms back and pushed up his sleeve, glamours flickering and fading. And indeed, just below his elbow, was a perfectly circular, if still slightly jagged, mass of scar tissue, raised almost a full centimetre at the edges, where the flesh was oddly marred, as though corroded rather than stabbed. The venom, most likely. And, taking a second to truly take in the younger’s arm as a whole, Severus couldn’t help but notice the long rope of scar tissue stretching at a shallow diagonal across Harry’s wrist, the top starting a few millimetres from the scar he was actually meant to be looking at.

“This isn’t from you…”

“What? Oh, Merlin, no!” Harry rushed to refute the suggestion, “No, I haven’t- No! It was Pettigrew, fourth year, at the gr- at the graveyard.” And Severus couldn’t miss the significance of that. Nor disregard his own wave of absolute relief.

“Good. Back to the point-”

“You were the one who went off on a tangent-!”

“This is from the Basilisk biting you?” Harry simply nodded, too focused on how Severus had began to trace a careful fingertip around the edge of the circular scar repetitively, a trail of tingling following the thoughtless movement.

“Hm. A nasty reminder.” He didn’t miss how Harry tensed at that, making to pull away. Ah, of course.

“I did not mean that it was unsightly Harry, merely that the circumstances under which you gained it were unfortunate. Understand?” The way the younger melted back into his touch was answer enough.

“Very well. We have a reliable method for dealing with any Horcruxes we find. Now we shall simply have to find them.” And if he delighted in the way Harry snickered and snorted at his blasé tone, well, nobody else was to know.

Chapter Text

Lunch was, fortunately, not an awkward affair in the least, as the two simply didn't attend it. Instead, they spent a little time expending some excess magical energy with a playful Duel, more prank spells than practice spells, turning hair bright pink and eyebrows into spiders, or the ground into slime and thumbs into leeks, before removing or undoing all the effects and deciding that at around half two it should be late enough to avoid everyone and heading up to get some food, eating, then proceeding to their corner of the library, privacy spells and wards in full force. Nobody should disturb them this way.

"Right then, your ideas for the spy network?" Severus would forever deny being startled by the rush of notes and stack of books that hurtled out of Harry's book bag in lieu of a verbal reply to his question.

“So, here is a preliminary list of members. As for protecting their families, I wasn’t sure yet. How to, that is.”

“You’re seventeen now Harry. You can access all of the Potter vaults, and most likely those of the Blacks too. There will be properties, deeds and monies there for your use, however you should wish,” Severus commented rather idly, scanning over the names that comprised the list that had been gestured to. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode. Yes, those five were all from Death Eater or Supporter families, three of whom were likely to be marked. They could probably add one or two older Slytherins to that same list. Neither Goyle nor Crabbe were likely to sway from the cause. The Greengrasses were as neutral as they could get; which, in all fairness, was neutral enough to pass under the radar, to coin a Muggle phrase. Tracey Davies was a halfblood and thus highly unlikely to be recruited, a clever girl but not an exceptional one, ensuring her relative non-participance. Yes, Harry had chosen well. Although, it would take quite some further consideration as to who within the families they would be willing to extend protection to. It would do no good allowing Lucius, for example, to enter any of their admittedly not-yet-existent safe houses. But Severus did know that none of his Slytherins from the list were truly eager to become Death Eaters. So there was hope.

"This list certainly seems sensible. Have you considered any of the students from a year or two before you? Take, for example..." And so they devolved into debates over character and family and safety. 

Nearly an hour later, Harry heaved a sigh and stood from his chair, taking a few moments to stretch in place, whilst Severus leant further back into the embrace of his own seat. Seeing this, and unable to resist, the younger traversed the single full step between them and came to perch upon an arm of Severus' chair, resting slightly against the elder, face buried against long, silky hair.

“Are we doing the right thing?”

“I should hope so.” But feeling the tension pervading Harry’s form and how his wilder magic began to writhe through the air, Severus was quick to go on,
“In all seriousness Harry, I do believe we are. No matter how reluctant I may be to admit it is so. We need information. And if we can protect those who would otherwise be forced fully into the Dark… Well, it will be worth it. It will.” Neither spoke after that, but Severus did raise a hand to cradle against the younger’s neck, relishing in the heartbeat that pulsed with heady life beneath the contact of their skin.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t being honest with you. That I wasn’t there for you.”

“You didn’t need to ‘be there for me’, arrogant brat.”

“But I did. If only because I wasn’t,” the younger stated bluntly, as though his circular nonsense was actually logical.

“How ridiculous.” But he couldn’t hide much from Harry anymore.

“I was out of it. I was giving you half-truths at best. I was keeping my problems from you and that’s not what we do now. I wasn’t thinking or feeling properly and you suffered for it, Severus, and for that I should be sorry. I am sorry.” Accepting that, because the brat was right, up to a point, Severus murmured a quiet acknowledgement and stroked his thumb along the length of the other’s throat for a few seconds before stilling once more.

They stayed there, settled together, leaning against one another, until approaching footsteps could be heard and their furthest proximity ward was triggered. With a soft groan of annoyance, Harry stood up and backed away, heading for the nearest bookshelf. Severus simply returned his attention to the open book in his lap, subtly dismissing the majority of their privacy wards.

“Harry, Severus. Mind if I join you?” Resisting the rather unfair urge to snarl bitterly at the werewolf, Harry grinned at the man and nodded. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that all Harry wanted was to read, pressed up against Severus, otherwise blissfully alone. So he’d be nice. It would be unreasonable to act otherwise. Or so he told himself, fighting the temptation of just asking the other man to leave. And judging from the tautness in Severus’ shoulders, and the way he untucked his hair from behind his ear, he was no less irritated.

As Remus Conjured an armchair of his own, Harry returned to his own seat, a semi-random book in his hands to add to one of the piles on the table.

“So what brings you to our corner of the library?” Good, he’d managed to sound more curious than accusing.

“Nothing much. I simply wanted to enquire after you, Harry. Dinner yesterday… well, it was a tad concerning in the least, I’m sure you understand.”

“Remus…” Struggling to find an excuse, an explanation – anything, really, to avoid the truth of the matter, or any of the more embarrassing aspects, Harry looked to Severus, then cut his gaze back to the werewolf’s hand, pale against the maroon of his Conjured chair. It was safer to look at than the man’s face.

“I think you will find that Harry did make an… inadvisable choice, but that it has been suitably dealt with and an alternative intelligence network is being thought out. Is that sufficient?”

“I suppose,” Remus visibly hesitated, and Harry dreaded whatever was to follow. “But may I ask, what exactly was Harry doing? Obviously, he was experiencing visions, and he’d taken down his Occlumency shields, but what was actually happening?”

“I have some kind of mental connection with Voldie, thanks to the whole trying to kill me thing, plus the prophecy, the brother wands… Fate just has it out for me, I guess.”

“But what is that mental connection based on? Clearly, you had a degree of access to it?”

“Yeh…" he tried to keep his frantic thinking hidden,
"Our magic is… bonded is too intimate a term, but you get the idea.”

“Merlin. No wonder…”

“Indeed. Now, if you would, we have plans to concoct.” Fortunately, Remus did stand up, even as Harry sniggered quietly,

“Must you make it sound so evil, Severus?”

“Of course, brat. I am a Slytherin after all.” The Potions Master returned their privacy wards to their correct state, prompting Harry to reach over and brush a casual hand down the elder's forearm, albeit staying in his own seat this time.

“You are quite.”

“I am very. And I’d thank you to remember it.” Harry allowed himself to sink into the comfort of his plush armchair, snorting then dissolving into full-on laughter. If it was a little hysterical, neither of them were going to call him out on it.

Regardless, once Harry’s little bout of mirth subsided, the two settled back into research. And when Harry first stumbled across the spell, he knew it was ideal. Not perfect, no, but it would definitely help matters.

“Hey, Severus, fancy performing this, once we get the Order to agree?” And at the certainty and determination in Harry’s tone, Severus knew he would likely agree to any ritual,

“Well, give me the book then, silly brat.”

Harry resisted the urge to fidget whilst the elder examined the two pages dedicated to the ritual-based spell, instead turning over the idea in his head. It really was-

“A good idea here, Harry. Any concerns?”

“Yes. We can’t bind it to my wand, to me, because of the ‘twin wand’ situation. I’m unwilling to risk compromising everyone just because of some kind of bloody hierarchy. We can bind it to your wand instead, that way I will always have access to it, albeit not quite directly.”

Severus didn’t miss how Harry had slipped into his ‘leader persona’, more making orders than asking questions, but in this case he was hardly going to care. It was necessary for the war after all. And he definitely didn’t mind how Harry had insinuated that they would always be in close enough proximity for him to always have access to the spell. Not at all.

“Very well, we can present this to them tomorrow, then perform the ritual next week, yes?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” With that decided, the appropriate pages of the tome were copied a few times and set aside for the others to read, and the pair resumed their perusing of their individual books.

“Hey, Severus, do you think we should propose the spies too?”

“To the Order?”

“Yeh.”

“Hm. Perhaps not tomorrow. It’s enough to bring in the scrying spell, I expect. No need to overwhelm the dunderheads. And before we establish the network, it might be best to stay subtle about it. Allude to it, but not give overt information. No names until we have the families safe and Oaths or Vows secured.”

“Okay, that sounds sensible-”

“What did you expect?”

“-to me,” Harry finished, sending a half-hearted glare at the elder,

“Don’t be facetious, you git.”

“Then don’t be obtuse, you brat.”

“Bastard.”

“Imp.”

“Grump.”

“That was pathetic.”

“So are you.”

“And that was even more so.”

“Oh, shut up Severus.” The elder merely sneered, eyes glinting and tying his hair up. Harry didn’t miss the playfulness beneath the derision. Yes, both were there, but one was far more felt than the other. And Harry knew it.

“Regarding scrying spells, or rather locating spells, which of these do you believe appears more useful?” With his words, Severus proffered two open books, and nudged a third closer to Harry’s half of the table. And, after giving Harry enough time to read and assimilate the information, he went on,

“Well? I know which I’m inclined towards, but I’m interested to see if you would agree.”

“Hm. The ‘Iubeo Invenire’ would probably be the most useful. We don’t have easy access to any other Horcruxes – or, well, I don’t get how we’d use my scar for it – so the ‘Kin Of A Kind’ ritual would probably turn out wonky. And ‘Itaque me ducere istum’ is overly convoluted, at least in comparison. Getting access to all of these ingredients before the beginning of term… So what if ‘Iubeo Invenire’ is a bit Darker, but it isn’t all the way over there, and I’m not sure I’d really care when it comes to finding the Horcruxes.”

“Rather my thoughts too. Good; ‘Iubeo Invenire’ it is.” Green eyes met Severus’ and there was an intensity there, a rawness overlaid by focus, as though the shades of his irises were an entire mountain range, indomitable and oh-so-infinite compared to their own human mortality, so beautiful yet with deadly potential. They were stunning.

It was curious, Severus mused to himself, gaze still ensnared, how Harry, who used to remind him so much of both Lily and Potter, was now neither of them in the slightest. Oh, he might have dark hair and green eyes and glasses and a button nose. But the lines of his jaw and cheekbone were his own; his eyebrows weren’t as coarse or thick as Potter; his hair was curlier than Potter’s but completely different to Lily’s; his eyes were deep and bagged, haunted yet flashed verdantly, clear in the way of a deep lake: crystal sharp, still, yet quick to darken and always concealing the ship wrecked far below. The brat – his brat – was far separate from everybody else, dead or alive, related or not. And a guilty, lonely child somewhere in Severus’ gut was possessive over Harry – only he knew so many of the young man’s layers, and no matter how unpleasant, how damaged, they could be, he was indescribably glad for each one. But Harry didn’t need to know that – couldn’t know that. One day… perhaps. But until then.

“So, we’ll speak to Minerva at the next Meeting, inform her that we wish to check for anything the Dark Lord may have left during his tenure as a student. Head down to the Chamber of Secrets, ensure we have sufficient Basilisk venom, then perhaps cast the locator there first. We can re-cast later if need be. Additions?” Harry thought for a minute, one foot thoughtlessly tapping against Severus’ ankle,

“I don’t think so. Although we’ll need something to carry them in, because I don’t think we should destroy them in Hogwarts; it doesn’t need more Dark Magic. But they can’t make this place any worse. And, actually, we might be better off casting the locator more centrally.”

“A fair assessment. And I believe that I may have a bag that would suit. Remind me this evening and I’ll look to see if I still have it.”

“Okay. The next Meeting’s tomorrow, isn’t it? No, it is, we’ve already said it is.” Severus merely grunted a vague affirmative.

“Well, we have, what, eight days until the first, so that should be fine. We can double-check our sources on the locator spell. And Duel?” The last question was clearly a hopeful one, and thus one Severus could hardly deny,

“I suppose.” The answering grin was worth it.

Heading down to dinner that evening had Harry visibly tense.

“Brat, if you don’t like a question then just deflect it. You’re good at that.” The compliment was lost in the face of Harry’s nerves.

“I-” He sighed heavily, “I know. But I don’t like doing it. I’ve done it enough. My whole bloody life!”

“Indeed you have: out of varying degrees of necessity, most severe.”

“So? I’ve still-”    *

“No Harry. You-”

“I have! It’s-”

“You should! It’s how you-”

“Fine. Sure. Let’s just eat and get gone.”

“Very well,” Severus conceded, knowing it would be a matter for another time. As though there weren’t enough of those already.

Entering the kitchen to find it thankfully half-empty, Harry and Severus were quick to isolate themselves at one end of the table, allowing Remus to help box them in. Hopefully, and Severus would never admit that he wished for their presence, but hopefully the twins would do the rest of the blockading. They, whilst impertinent menaces, were always good at understanding when Harry needed space. Such as now.

His hopes were for once granted, as the imps were next to bounce into the room, immediately settling opposite Severus and Remus, thus completely surrounding Harry. Very good.

“So Harrikins, is it” “safe to assume that” “the esteemed Professor here has managed” “to hex you back on the” “proverbial broomstick?”  ** 

“Ah, yeh. We’re coming up with an alternative, so it’s fine now.” And the two did scrutinise him carefully during this, but upon finding nothing untoward, glancing over at Severus to receive a nod, and then exchanging a meaningful silence of their own, the two leant back into their chairs, relaxing.

“Good, good. So” “on a brighter note, what do” “you think of some of” “these ideas?” And off they went, rambling at the younger man in a pleasant, if arguably hazardous, distraction.

When everybody had gathered in the room they began to serve themselves up their meal, thankfully not directing any probing questions at the brat. Then, a few minutes into actually eating, Hermione was the one to speak up,

“Harry, are you alright now? Have you put your Occlumency back into place?” Despite seeming to want to say more, she visibly restrained herself, mouth twisted in a mixture of concern and earnestness. Noticing all of this, along with how much attention the majority of the table was paying, Harry paused for a long moment, eyes travelling from person to person,

“Yes, it’s all fine now. I’m sorry for the disturbance of it; Severus and I have sorted it all out. We’re all safe, I promise.”

“And when you say ‘we’, you are including yourself, right?”

“You think I would neglect to ensure that?” Severus interjected, trying to temper his audible indignation.

“You-!” Ron was instantaneously cut off by his mother,

“I’d hope you would! If you are alright now Harry, then that is good enough. But please be more careful in the future!” Molly was being delightfully moderate, and Harry grinned at her in thanks, nodding and adding,

“Of course. Don’t worry, Severus had already lectured me half-to-death. We’ve got a plan in the works now.”

And, despite a few mutinous and enquiring glances, the rest of dinner passed quite peacefully. Severus wouldn’t even bother denying his own relief. The easier things were for Harry, the easier they were for the elder as well.

------------------------------------------

*  “Indeed you have: out of varying degrees of necessity, most being severe.”

“So? I’ve still-” lied to them.

“No Harry. You-” have protected yourself, if-

“I have! It’s-” wrong. I’m wrong. I shouldn’t-

“You should! It’s how you-” were raised - and that’s nobody’s fault but those bastards!

“Fine. Sure. Let’s just eat and get gone.”

“Very well,” Severus conceded.

**  Instead of ‘set you back on the straight and narrow’, there is a common Wizarding equivalent of 'hexed you back on your broomstick’, implying that someone has shown you, likely forcefully, back onto your original path, typically one leading to success.

Iubeo Invenire – I demand to find - a Shade Ritual known for its accurate descriptions of objects and their locations. Whilst in this it is very useful, the ritual itself can be an issue. Firstly, the caster must have great magical power and an even greater amount of willpower. It backfires spectacularly if they cannot sufficiently concentrate on the perimeters of where they want to search. Failure to set mental limits on the search area will overwhelm the caster and the runes will not form in the smoke, but will instead brand themselves directly in the caster's brain - resulting in either a number of psychological and physical issues or, more commonly, death. Then, should the caster be sufficiently capable, they will then need a companion who is intelligent and quick-witted enough to scribe all of the runes that form. Missing even only one or two could lead to a heavily incorrect translation. 

Itaque me ducere ad istum  -  accordingly, lead me to this – the bound locator spell - a very accurate locator spell that can, should the caster be within a certain proximity to the object in question (the stronger the caster, the greater this distance can be), temporarily 'bind' the object to the caster's wand, thus allowing them to sense where the object is or even directly Summon said object. However, the spell first requires a ritual which rather convoluted and archaic, requiring at least a few weeks of preparation which would, at the time of the spell's creation, been months' worth.

Chapter Text

Once all of the Order members had sat down, Harry was quick to speak,

“Glad to see everybody’s here and safe. If there’s nothing urgent,” he paused for a few seconds, but nobody was forthcoming,
“Then I have something to discuss with you all. This ritual,” and here he flicked his fingers and the stack of parchment beside him shot out, separating, two sheets to every three people,
“Would allow me to, essentially, scry you. It would, of course, only be used when necessary, though perhaps once a day at an allotted time also, primarily so that I know you are safe, even if you’re on a mission or in a position wherein you cannot access communications. Additionally, were any of you to be captured or the like, it may afford us an insight into your location and overall situation. It is your choice, but I would like to undergo this ritual with all of you.”

Seeing the various nods and determined looks around the room, Harry decided to take the plunge,

“It won’t be bound to my wand though-” and continued to speak through the resultant outcry of confusion at that, “-but instead to Severus’. After all, The Dark Lord and I share twin wands. And I refuse to risk you all by binding this spell to myself when it might compromise your privacy, your routines, your locations and your allies to Him!” Harry was practically spitting the final words, a feral cat normally tame, righteous anger twining with fear to create a heady outrage that caused his eyes to glow and the candles in the room to gutter just a little too obviously.

Whilst Harry’s passionate tone had initially halted all of the protests, after a few seconds they returned in full force. Cries of ‘Death Eater!’ and ‘How can we trust him?’ and ‘What if he betrays us?!’ rang around the room, and though he wouldn’t flinch outwardly, a small part of Severus did cringe back, offended and not-quite hurt. Then Harry’s foot tapped against his own and the younger stood up, movements abrupt and magic visibly crackling around him, green-gold and purple-black,

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Everything, everyone, went still and silent.

“Very obnoxious of you Harry. How Gryffindor,” the words were said in an undertone, but nobody missed them in the silent room. They were certainly louder than a pin dropping. The younger man simply rolled his eyes and half-heartedly kicked at the elder with a cheeky glint to his eyes.

“Thank you,” whether the slightly sarcastic words were directed at Severus, the Order or both was unclear.

“Firstly, Severus would not even be in here if I didn’t trust him. Secondly, he has done more, sacrificed more, for this cause than you know. Thirdly, if you can trust me, then you can trust him. Is that understood?” A series of hesitant nods followed his words, small waves in the wake of a tsunami. Harry retook his seat, his smile as sharp as a dagger, and none too kind for it.

“Very well. Do you all consent to this ritual? No, you do not have to, but I for one hope you would. It would improve the safety of all of us, and I shall be the one in charge of when it is cast. Provided the situation allows it, I will only use it when you are aware it will be cast.” When nobody spoke up in protest, Harry finally bestowed them all with a brilliant smile, deceptively soft around the edges.

“Thank you. We will perform the ritual next week. Ideally, we need you all there at once. Would…” As the meeting temporarily devolved into logistics, Severus took a moment to marvel at the young man’s influence over them. With a little showy magic and some choice words, he’d manipulated them into something they had previously been reluctant to do. Perhaps the younger would flinch at such a description of events, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Yet beyond that, it also demonstrated how the Order had genuine faith in Harry, in his power and allies and convictions, and even indicated just how desperate the war was rapidly becoming, for them to consent so quickly to an ex-Death Eater having free access to their lives. At least in this case that desperation was working in their favour, not against them.

Regardless, with that matter settled, the Order Meeting continued. Harry reported the Vows agreed with the Teller and Cole packs. Bill and Fleur spoke of her Healer training and how she would be able to help Pomfrey whenever needed, so long as she wasn’t on shift. Unfortunately, Bill’s position with the neutral Goblins would have far fewer benefits, but at least he was another capable fighter. And if they needed more places warding – which, if Harry and Severus’ plans went well, they most likely would – then at least they’d be able to more directly access Gringotts’s services without going out into public. Thank Merlin for that. It would be bad enough going there via a direct Floo, let alone if they had to Apparate into Diagon Alley first. Yes, they would definitely be taking advantage of that. A few more potential initiates were discussed, but all were put off to a later date. Although it was also agreed that the DA of Hogwarts would be continued by Ron and Hermione over the coming year, to help ensure that the students would be able to protect themselves should there be an attack at any stage. Because if Voldemort did target the school, then it would take a lot to protect the large number of children and if they could watch their own backs, and the older students were capable enough to protect the younger during an evacuation, then it would be a massive help to the Order and any Aurors that were called. And, well, some skill in Duelling would never be a bad thing.

The Meeting itself had been quite a calm one, with a surprising amount of progress and agreements. Even better, Severus flagged Minerva down as everything began to finish up, a few people leaving immediately.

“Severus, Potter, what can I do for you?”

“We’d like access to Hogwarts tomorrow. We have reason to believe that the Dark Lord may have left a number of incredibly Dark artefacts there, of a similar nature to the Diary from Harry’s second year.”

“I thought that was insinuated by Malfoy senior?”

“It was, but he was originally entrusted it by the Dark Lord. Hence the ‘of a similar nature’.”

“No need to be snide,” she admonished, but inclined her head,
“Very well. I will ensure the castle is empty, barring the elves, from eleven to four. I assume that will be sufficient?” Severus glanced at Harry, noting the single tap of his finger against his thigh, and nodded in turn,

“Perfectly, thank you. We will be gone by three thirty.”

“Excellent. Good evening gentlemen,” she offered before sweeping over to the Floo and disappearing in a flare of green flames.

Accordingly, just after eleven the next day, Harry and Severus came through the Headmistress' Floo into an empty castle. 

“After you.”

“Sure; second floor, girls’ bathroom it is.” Even as they set off, Severus shot a sceptical look at the younger man,

“Myrtle’s bathroom? Truly?”

“Yeh,” Harry’s face was the picture of resignation,

“I assume it’s because there wasn’t plumbing when Hogwarts was founded, and then the castle readjusted herself around the remodelling when it was installed. Hence the weird entrance. Bloody annoying, trust me.”

“Oh?” Never let it be said that Severus would miss the chance to gain blackmail material; nor would he fail to sniff it out like a bloodhound.

“She offered to let me stay in her toilet with her if I died.” And for all the seriousness of their endeavour, that statement deserved the laugh that it earned.

Entering the aforementioned bathroom, it was blissfully and unusually quiet. Perhaps Myrtle was actually somewhere else for once. Taking advantage of the fact whilst they still could, Harry was quick to head towards the bank of sinks and hiss,

₰ Open ₰ Severus raised his wand, startled, as the sink began to detract. Harry resisted the urge to snicker at him. Battle instincts honestly shouldn’t be scoffed at, but it was still amusing when smeone as typically unflappable as Severus was anywhere close to surprised.

“Are there no stairs?” Of course that was his first comment on the chute, slimy and stinking as it was.

“No- Actually, I’m not sure. ₰ Stairs ₰ " And it worked, with a grinding of ancient granite, the slide extended to be higher, with fairly even steps. At least now they would be able to walk without hunching over terribly.

“Age before beauty,” Harry offered, gesturing grandly with a wide smirk. Severus returned the snide expression,

“And pearl before swine.”

“Pearl? You’re literally dressed in all black. How is that like a ‘pearl’?” Harry demanded, teasing. But he was only talking to the top of the elder’s head. With a sigh, because he had definitely lost that verbal bout, dammit, Harry headed in after him, trying not to slip on the admittedly still-slimy surface.

Having passed through the ante-chambers, Harry now led as they came into the Chamber proper. And thus didn’t realise that Severus had frozen upon seeing the Basilisk.

“Harry…”

“Hm…” But looking back to Severus shocked him; the man was utterly horrified.

“You cannot- Albus- You were twelve.” Not quite grasping what had the man so distressed, Harry shrugged,

“And?”

“And you could have died! Should have died! That must be 60 feet long at least – how didn’t it kill you?!”

“I was lucky and I had Fawkes.” Harry wasn’t quite so flippant now, seeing just how worked-up Severus was, how pale and enraged and somehow sad the elder was.

“Oh yes, reliable luck and a fucking bird! Truly brilliant! So likely to keep you alive and safe and sane. Is it any wonder you’re so fucking self-sacrificing when he’s been manipulating you so all this time? I never thought I’d say it but thank Merlin the fool is dead, if only for this!” And the young man could only watch on as the Potions Master began pacing, ranting and raving, nigh-on frothing at the mouth.

“Uhm, Severus, not to interrupt, but we need to start collecting fangs.”

“Fangs! Bloody fangs, like the one you got in the arm, oh yes…” As he dissolved into furious mutterings once more, Harry simply shook his head in exasperation and turned to start pulling fangs free. They only had so long to get this done after all.

"Up to the Entrance Hall?" After Severus had calmed down and they had collected everything they needed, the two had headed back up to Myrtle’s bathroom. Hence the imminent change in location.

"Indeed." And the two headed off, enjoying the quietness of the warm stone walls. Knowing Hogwarts herself would keep any portraits quiet about their presence, they didn't worry about Disillusionments or Harry's Invisibility Cloak, although the latter was tucked into a satchel.

“Shall we begin?”

“Let’s.” And so they did.

Starting the chant in a low, carrying tone, Harry held out his hands at chest-height, palms-up and open.

“Qui proximus esset ostende concubia nocte -” Severus placed sprigs of Black Limba, Cherry  and Beech in his hands, coating them in a layer of crushed Snallygaster talons,

“-dona mihi, et Scientia, et quid ibi non inveniam – ego abs te postulo, et veneficiis est usa ab animabus stellarum, et .” The sprigs burst into purple flames, as hot and vibrant as a city aflame, even though they didn’t scorch his skin. The violet fire danced and spiralled, the edges curling into transient runes. Beyond the haze of heat and magic, Harry could just make out Severus furiously recording each symbol in turn. If he missed a single one, or Harry’s magic gave in, the spell would be incomplete and would likely lead them nowhere.

It took a full minute of this before the violet flame paled, bleaching to a mauve, a lavender and then ivory, proceeding to dwindle away into smoke. That should be everything now.

“A-” His voice cracked and fractured. Taking the proffered glass of water and draining it, Harry coughed a little then tried again,

“Alright? Got everything?”

“I do believe so. Yourself?”

“Fine, just scratchy. Wouldn’t want to cast it more than two or three times in any period of time though.”

“Rather. We shall have to make it count then, won’t we?” And they shared a vicious smirk.

“Right. So: runes. It was in Elder Futhark, thank Merlin, so what we’ve got is this.” Looking over it for a good few minutes together, debating and ascertaining, they finally had a complete manuscript.

chamb'r of cometh and wend - strength of c'rrupt soul in a piece silv'r-wrought

- strength of passage boundary-past

- strength of curs'd metal and stone-star

- strength of mirr'r yond's abs'rb'd ev'ry drop of sorrow

chamb'r of the eldest eld'r - strength of c'rrupt soul in a stone of death's art

- fad'd strength of c'rrupt soul in a tome of hath passed spirit's living

chamb'r of dungeons deepest, longeth unus'd - strength of accurs'd phial

half-height of the tallest toweth'r - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains

Fortunately, most of these were fairly easy to decipher. And knowing which were Horcruxes was even easier. After all ‘corrupt soul’ was fairly self-explanatory. Hence their conclusion that there were only three, one in the ‘Come And Go’ room, which Harry knew was the elves’ name for the Room of Requirement, and the other two in the Headmistress’ chambers – likely a hangover from Dumbledore. Well, definitely so, considering that they knew the Diary was still in there and that had undoubtedly been a Horcrux. They hardly needed the spell’s confirmation for that.

“Well then, shall we continue?” Harry nodded resolutely,

“Room of Requirement first?”

“Sounds sensible.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Qui proximus esset ostende concubia nocte - dona mihi, et Scientia, et quid ibi non inveniam – ego abs te postulo, et veneficiis est usa ab animabus stellarum, et

Show me those that would be closest to the depth of night - and grant me the knowledge of where and what I would find - I deman of you by the magicks and souls and stars

(The incantation for the Iubeo Invenire ritual/ locator spell)

Snallygasters are an XXXX-rated creature known for possessing a highly curious nature.

Black Limba Wood - good for scrying, able to journey between light energy and darker, helps a user become aligned with their darker nature and Magicks, highly intuitive

Cherry Wood - used in rituals to strengthen and stabilise, good for divination, detection and deduction, used in hunting magic and for amplifying spellwork

Beech Wood - used in magic of divination, encourages aspiration, desire and victory, often used with old wisdom and magical research, associated with Nordic runes such as Elder Futhark 

Cᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᚲᛟᛗᛖᛏᚺ ᚨᚾᛞ ᚹᛖᚾᛞ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛈᛁᛖᚲᛖ ᛋᛁᛚᚹᚱ-ᚹᚱᛟᚢᚷᚺᛏ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛈᚨᛋᛋᚨᚷᛖ ᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞᚨᚱᛃ-ᛈᚨᛋᛏ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛞ ᛗᛖᛏᚨᛚ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛋᛏᛟᚾᛖ-ᛋᛏᚨᚱ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛗᛁᚱᚱᚱ ᛃᛟᚾᛞᛋ ᚨᛒᛋᚱᛒᛞ ᛖᚹᚱᛃ ᛞᚱᛟᛈ ᛟᚠ ᛋᛟᚱᚱᛟᚹ

ᚲᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛖᛚᛞᛖᛋᛏ ᛖᛚᛞᚱ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛋᛏᛟᚾᛖ ᛟᚠ ᛞᛖᚨᛏᚺᛋ ᚨᚱᛏ

                                           - ᚠᚨᛞᛞ ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛏᛟᛗᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚺᚨᛏᚺ ᛈᚨᛋᛋᛖᛞ ᛋᛈᛁᚱᛁᛏᛋ ᛚᛁᚹᛁᚾᚷ

ᚲᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛞᚢᚾᚷᛖᛟᚾᛋ ᛞᛖᛖᛈᛖᛋᛏ, ᛚᛟᚾᚷᛖᛏᚺ ᚢᚾᚢᛋᛞ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚨᚲᚲᚢᚱᛋᛞ ᛈᚺᛁᚨᛚ

ᚺᚨᛚᚠ-ᚺᛖᛁᚷᚺᛏ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛏᚨᛚᛚᛖᛋᛏ ᛏᛟᚹᛖᛏᚺ'ᚱ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛒᚨᛋᛏᚨᚱᛞ ᚲᚱᛖᚨᛏᚢᚱᛖ'ᛋ ᛈᚨᚱᛏ-ᚲᚨᛋᛏ ᚱᛖᛗᚨᛁᚾᛋ

chamb'r of cometh and wend - strength of c'rrupt soul in a piece silv'r-wrought

                                         - strength of passage boundary-past

                                         - strength of curs'd metal and stone-star

                                         - strength of mirr'r yond's abs'rb'd ev'ry drop of sorrow

chamb'r of the eldest eld'r - strength of c'rrupt soul in a stone of death's art

                                           - fad'd strength of c'rrupt soul in a tome of hath passed spirit's living

chamb'r of dungeons deepest, longeth unus'd - strength of accurs'd phial

half-height of the tallest toweth'r - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains

The Come and Go Room - strength of corrupt soul in a piece silver-wrought

                                         - strength of passage boundary-past

                                         - strength of cursed metal and stone-star

                                         - strength of mirror that's absorbed every tear

The Highest Teacher's room - strength of corrupt soul in a stone of Death's art

An abandoned classroom in the deepest part of the dungeons - strength of accursed phial

A room half-way up the Astronomy Tower - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains

Chapter Text

Pacing opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, Harry rolled his wand between his fingertips, caressing the wood and learning the groove and polish as though he’d never touched it before. It was undeniably a developing nervous tick. But then the familiar large double doors materialised and he had no more time to contemplate or distract himself, as both of them stepped forward to grasp a door handle each by tacit agreement. And they threw them open to reveal-

A tonne of junk. Piles and stacks and haphazard towers of everything imaginable. From furniture, broken or luxurious, and every combination of in-between possible, to stationary: shattered ink pots, snapped quills and reams of parchments. From memorabilia, Quidditch team posters or gloves and Muggle snow globes; to accessories: barrettes and bracelets and even bone-carved piercings, oddly enough. The cavernous room was stuffed to the brim with stuff. Where were they supposed to start?

Asking as much, Harry turned to Severus.

“Well, if it the Horcrux is meant to be ‘silver-wrought’, then it should be made of silver, and ‘wrought’ suggests something fine and detailed, so probably jewellery or even an engraving, particularly considering that silver is quite a soft metal and rarely used for weaponry or the like.”

“Except in the case of werewolves,” Harry warned. The Potions Master inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“So, any useful spells on your end?”

“Not overly. They will be enchanted against Summoning or Scrying, for the most part. Our locator spell only worked thanks to the sheer volume of Dark magic it possesses. So I’m not overly certain.”

“What about focusing on the silver then? Worst ways, we could probably use a Point-Me for the material itself, couldn’t we?”

“We may have to.” And with that, Harry held his wand in the palm of his hand and incanted,

“Point Me Cursed Silver.”

Immediately, his wand began to spin wildly, settling on a series of different positions.  Eyes narrowed, he tried to manipulate the magic a little, twisting and knotting it, bending it to his will. Come on, just-

“Give me some parchment.” Understanding the order was a thoughtless one borne of concentration, Severus was quick to comply, Summoning the first blank roll he could and passing it wordlessly into Harry’s waiting hand. As his fingers closed around the scroll, clutching tightly, Severus watched in something approaching awe as stark lines began to etch across the surface that he could see between the younger’s grasp. It took well over a minute or two, but eventually Harry’s wand stopped oscillating and he slumped a little where he stood, sagging into the elder when he stepped closer in support.

“Ah, thanks. Now, to see if that worked.”

Judging by the map they now possessed it certainly had.

Studying the simplistic rendering of their surroundings, little irregular shapes making up the various piles, no borders given for the room itself – was it infinite or simply unnecessary? Severus wondered – and half a dozen brightly coloured dots illustrating what were doubtlessly the examples of the so-called ‘cursed silver’.

“Very good Harry. Do you need anything or shall we begin?”

“Let’s get on with it,” Harry replied as they began making their way towards the closest dot,
“Hopefully those in Dumbeledore’s office - or McGonnagall’s, whatever - should be easier to grab.”

“I’m sure they will be, what with the far smaller search area.”

“True,” the younger wizard replied as they began to approach the pile supposedly containing the first item of ‘cursed silver’. Curiously, there was a faint green glow emanating from behind a large mirror.

“Want to bet that my magic is doing something weird again?”

“That would be a fool’s bet Harry.”

“Fair enough. Got those gloves?” Wordlessly, Severus pulled two pairs of Dragonhide gloves from his satchel, giving one set to Harry. Tugging them on, they took a side of the mirror each and levered it forward, tilting it just enough to be able to see whatever was glowing. Okay…

“Want to make another bet?”

“Another fool’s bet is no better than the first, brat.” Heaving a sigh, Harry nodded and they let the mirror settle back into its place. The Dark Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin and psychotic mass murderer, would not be using a ghastly red and silver heart ornament, about thirty centimetres tall upon its stand, as a Horcrux, that was for sure. The man, monster, was far too proud for that. And honestly, who could blame him?

“Next one?”

“Indeed.” Tracing his finger in a cross over that particular green dot, the pervading shine faded out, both in reality and on their map, and they continued on their travels, headed deeper and deeper in amongst the trash and treasure. At least the second was fairly obvious, as it was a decadent quill set atop a pile of normal feathers, split down the shaft, its green aura sickly against the elegant vanes and barbs of the long feather, moulded so beautifully, tragically stunning thanks to its ruined shaft.

“I suppose it could be, but…”

“It doesn’t have the sense of a Horcrux, no.”

“Definitely not. Oh…” Harry suddenly groaned, a curious mixture of annoyed and glad,
“And thinking about it, my scar always hurts around Voldie and his Horcruxes! And as it doesn’t really hurt right now, then this isn’t one.”

“Can you say so for sure?” Severus inquired sharply. The younger only nodded emphatically. Trusting this, the Potions Master simply began to walk off in the direction of the next dot. If Harry couldn’t sense anything from this one, then he would believe him. No questions or assurances needed. They would merely have to find the one that did make his scar react. And indeed, after the fourth object had been located and found lacking, Harry and Severus were hunting down the fifth. And the pain had begun.

It was a throbbing resonance that echoed throughout Harry's entire being, harsh and deeper than bone, both in tone and pain, an agonising bass stronger, more all-encompassing than war drums, all centred around the blasted scar. His connection to Voldemort and the rest of his Horcruxes. How lovely. And it bloody hurt.

Unable to stop himself from hunching over a little, one hand pressed to his forehead in a vain attempt to block out the pervading sensation, Harry felt more than saw Severus come to stand before him, crouching a little and settling steady hands upon his shoulders, trying to meet his gaze.

“Alright? Brat?”

“Yeh,” he breathed, feeling the intensity of the pain ebbing somewhat and consequently straightening some,
“Wasn’t expecting it, really.”

“We were looking for, waiting for, the trigger.”

“Oh hush.” And the attempt at their usual banter was enough to drag his focus back to the task at hand.

“Hey, Severus, want to make a-”

“Fool’s bets, Harry. Now hush whilst I retrieve this,” he began, traversing the final fifteen or so metres to the glowing tiara,

“Hopefully once it’s within the wards of the bag, it should stop affecting you so.”

And indeed, as he carefully took ahold of the silver diadem, refusing to gasp in shock at either the apparent identity of the object – Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem, such arrogance – nor the almost visible aura of Darkest magic, corrosive and sickening, a metaphysical stench that clung to its surroundings like smoke and smog and fumes, all toxic and death-sick. It was truly horrifying, truly vile. And he shuddered, almost gagging, as he picked the greasy metal thing up and deposited it carefully in his satchel, already open on the floor beside him. As soon as he’d buckled the flap, he heard Harry exhale deeply in relief, apparently free from the pain that it had been causing him. Accordingly, upon turning to face the younger once more, he was stood up straight and waiting for Severus, a weary but still-victorious smile splitting up the harsher lines of his face into something softer, more his age. Severus allowed his lips to quirk in response.

Leaving the Room of Requirement, the two began making their way to the Headmistress’ office. With any degree of good luck, it would be their last stop.

“I wonder why that one seemed so much stronger.”

“Hm?”

“That Horcrux, the tiara-”

“Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

“-the tiara, seemed so much more potent. It was stronger somehow.”

“Oh? Perhaps it took a larger section of His soul.”

“Maybe.” Neither of them truly had an explanation, but that was as good as any. And it shouldn’t matter soon anyway, once they were all destroyed. After all, with these three gone, and Harry’s, fingers crossed, soon to follow, that would be four Horcruxes gone. And Voldemort couldn’t have all that many more. According to their research and theorising, Voldemort would likely have created either four, seven or thirteen of the damnable things. Any more than thirteen was utterly unfeasible, even for somebody of the Dark Lord’s power and ambition; they’d read enough about the creation process to well know the long list of requirements and implications. And splitting your soul, separating it, too many times would only lead to death, the individual pieces becoming too small to be sustained, ironically enough. Honestly, even thirteen was probably stretching it too far. But this was Voldemort, so they didn’t dare underestimate Him. That had been done before, to great loss. They wouldn’t allow the repetition of old mistakes, not if they could help it.

“McGonagall gave you the password, didn’t she?” Harry suddenly thought to ask as they approached the grand gargoyle, grim as ever, guarding the familiar staircase.

“Indeed. Amaryllis.”

“A flower, right? Can’t say I expected that.”

“I imagine it’s more about the symbolism than anything else,” Severus replied, as the staircase began to shift them upwards.

“I guess. Flower language.” It was more a statement than a question, despite the clear inquiry behind it.

“Presumably. Let’s see, Amaryllis… Yes: strength, pride, determination. It would be in-keeping.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered, taking a moment to lean against Severus’ back. He was tired.

“Only these two, then we’re done,” Severus reassured, clearly aware of the exhaustion washing through the shorter.

“Yep. Not long now.”

And it wasn’t. They were busy opening the drawers of a cabinet over at the back of the office, clearly one dedicated to Dumbledore’s more significant trinkets, judging by the concentration of them, in contrast to the otherwise simple but comfortable room, more inclined towards bookshelves and Chesterfield armchairs. Or in the case of those seats awaiting miscreants and possibly their parents, plain wooden chairs that nigh-on gave Harry splinters just to look at. Regardless, it took only a few minutes to liberate the drawers of one old diary, with a distinct circular tear straight through its centre, corroded at the edges like Harry’s own Basilisk scar and a chunky ring, triggering that same pain to start coursing through him again-

“Of course, I should have realised,” Severus breathed, gaze simultaneously horrified and something almost reverent, staring upon the Gaunt ring. The younger man forced his attention off of his own hurts and instead to the elder.

“What? Wait, wasn’t Dumbledore wearing this-”

“He was. It’s what truly killed the old coot. The fool! I- He-” Seeing that Severus was reaching apoplectic proportions of anger, Harry was quick to lay a restraining hand upon his bicep,

“We’ll have it destroyed tomorrow. So hurry up and grab it, okay? It’s triggering my scar-”

“Merlin, of course. My apologies,” Severus exhaled, abruptly moving to grab the putrid thing. Having deposited it in the satchel with the other two, he was quick to secure it shut and with that engage its dampening wards, feeling Harry sag in relief just behind him.

“All done. Shall we return home?”

“Please.” And so they did.

After dinner that evening, the two were quick to hide away in their room, huddling close together in amongst their blankets, Severus’ arm looped around the younger’s shoulders and the brat leaning heavily into him, half-asleep within seconds, a large book spread across their laps, anchoring the covers in place.

“Severus,” Harry smiled it more than he said it and it sent a jolt of something soft yet electric through his chest to hear his name said like that. Like it was sweet chocolate, to be savoured and coveted jealously; he said it with wide-open affection that was a hug in its own right, their shared warmth epitomised and given voice.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal hum, turning a little to half-hide his face in amongst the wild strands of Harry’s hair, inhaling deeply and silently once he had nestled in a little, barely even realising that he was basically nuzzling the younger.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Brat.” And it wasn’t an answer, not on the surface, but it was an acknowledgement and a dismissal all in one. Harry didn’t need to be grateful. He wasn’t indebted to Severus. After all, he was the one who had chosen to devote himself to Harry and his survival. And their cause of course, but only because it was their cause. Severus was a selfish man, ultimately, and he wasn’t ashamed of the fact. He was selfish to want Harry, to take every scrap he was offered, to be making himself so essential to the wizard. But he couldn’t help himself. Not now, if he truly ever could.

------------------------------------

Four – the number that connects the mind/body/spirit with the terrestrial world; symbolises safety and the need for stability and strength with a basic foundation of core personal values and beliefs; calls for a sacred space and sanctuary; the number can also signify ‘planting oneself’; a highly cerebral number; capacity for focused will; a lack of convention; the inability to adapt; constructive, realistic, traditional and cautious.

Seven – a holy number; a magical number; a place between the worlds of life and death; refers to completeness; a scared number referring to wisdom; there are seven capital sins, seven Catholic Sacraments, seven chakras; associated with divine perfection; the sum of four (terrestrial world) and three (equilibrium, particularly spiritual); seven circles form the symbol ‘The Seed Of Life’;

Thirteen – symbolic of darkness, death and betrayal; death but followed by a rebirth; an omen of misfortune; ascension and awakening; Zeus was the thirteenth and most powerful of the original Greek Gods; associated with accomplishment; facilitates avid worship; a precursor to total completion; there are thirteen steps to the Ancient Egyptian ‘ladder of eternity’, of which the last represents the spiritual completion of the soul.

Dumbledore left nothing to Harry and Severus regarding the Horcruxes - or if he did, it wasn't anything that was realised, making it a rather moot point. Hence them gradually discovering and theorising all of this information. They don't know how many Horcruxes there are, nor what they are, where they all are, what kind of protections there are and so on. However, they do have so very accurate guesses that are only awaiting confirmation - don't tell them!

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry and Severus awoke with weighted chests. And no, that isn’t a reference to how they were laying together, Severus flat on his back, one arm hanging off the bed, the other latched around a skinny waist, holding Harry in place from where he was draped chest to chest with the elder, head tucked into the crook of Severus’ neck, softly snoring against the warm skin there. But rather, it was a reference to the knowledge of today’s task.

They had two Horcruxes to destroy.

Regardless, they awoke to the intrusive racket of their alarm, both jolting in place, Harry flailing one arm until he smacked against his wand and shut off the blaring noise. Without much thought, he then proceeded to bury his face even further into Severus’ neck, grumbling under his breath, lips brushing against a pulse point.

“Come on brat. We’ve things to do today.” His grumbling only became louder and more comprehensible, but Harry still rolled himself to the edge of the bed, standing on sleep-weak legs. As soon as he’d stepped away, Severus dragged himself out as well, reaching to grab that horrific hair tie off of the bedside table and to get his hair out of his face, at least until they got near other people. He hated not having a dark curtain to hide behind when he might need it.

It was Harry’s turn to make breakfast and he’d set the Potions Master to chopping spring onions, mushrooms and the leftover gammon from two nights previous. In a frying pan, beaten eggs were already beginning to bake, becoming yet more fragrant with the addition of cheese and ham. The two worked in silent companionship, neither needing to speak, nor particularly wanting to. They weren’t dreading the day ahead of them per se, but anticipation in and of itself could hold just as much of a chokehold around their hearts and lungs. Hence their silence. Still, the atmosphere was comfortable for the time being, laced with contentment and a sleepy sort of energy, tranquil. Like a lake before a ship set sail; anticipatory but calm. Well, until Remus and Molly entered, chatting casually.

“Morning,” Harry called, carefully stepping to Severus’ right and attracting their attention so that he could take his hair down mostly unnoticed. Huh, he hadn’t realised the brat was quite so aware of that. Regardless.

“Remus, Molly.”

“Severus, Harry – the food smells wonderful as always!” As Harry set to brushing off the werewolf’s compliment and Molly moved to begin pulling out the crockery and cutlery, sending it flying into place with a few well-practiced charms, Severus slipped the hairband onto his wrist, tucked beneath his long sleeves, and promptly washed his hands once more before returning to dissecting – chopping, these weren't intended for a potion – the last of the ingredients. This done, he moved onto drinks. Very few people could make his coffee quite right after all, and neither of the room’s new occupants could. Not to mention that working was a safe way to avoid most conversational attempts. And right now there was little more desirable than not having to contribute to some inane endeavour to include him and be friendly. He had more important things to brood over this morning. Such as if there were any more precautions Harry and he could afford to take for tackling the Horcruxes. Honestly, it didn’t seem like there would be. Most of the strongest protections would interfere with the destruction itself and even risk actually trapping the escaping shard of dying soul. He couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of that. Being stuck with a half-spyrit of the Dark Lord… there were certainly preferable ways of spending his morning and that was far from one of them. For example, he could be drinking his coffee. Ah, he should probably pour some for Harry too. No milk, no sugar, as per usual.

“Brat,” he intoned, carefully sliding it along the counter to come to a stop beside the hob. The younger flashed him a grin, drained the entire thing, steaming hot, bitter and all, and sent it right back. Sighing in exasperation, he filled the mug yet again and this time carried it over, on his way to sit at the table.

“I’m not healing that.” Harry merely laughed, the impudent brat. Of course, his ridiculous magic had probably taken care of that for him.  Neither noticed Remus eyeing their interaction. Even if they had, there’s every chance they wouldn’t have cared. They were rather too distracted after all.

“So what do you two plan to do today? If you’re Duelling, I would be more than willing to participate as well. Keep up my skills.”

“Ah,” Harry glanced over at Severus, twisting a little in place to look over his shoulder, promptly flicking his eyes to Remus before returning to the food, “We’re going to be destroying some artefacts that the Dark Lord left at Hogwarts – they’re what we were collecting yesterday. On that note, the basement is strictly off-limits for today. No matter what you might hear. We’ll have some serious wards up, but still. Interrupting would be more dangerous, even if you think you’re going to help. And that’s a point; Severus, we must tell McGonagall that she needs to get some of the members to go after the things we didn’t grab. For that matter, they should probably go through the Room of Requirement to make sure there’s nothing else like that Vanishing Cabinet in there. I’d like to think Hogwarts would block their use, but even She isn’t infallible.”

“Very well. Perhaps next Meeting?”

“Too-”

“Good point. I shall-”

“Alright. Wait until after-”

“Indeed.” And with that everything was settled. Not to mention that Harry had easily diverted attention away from their dire warnings of trespassing into the basement today.

Within a minute of the ensuing silence, all bar the twins came clamouring into the room, laughing loudly, disrupting the oddly stagnant air.

“Who died?” Ginny asks, noticing the edge to the room.

“Nobody. This time,” Harry returns, a laugh in his voice. Only Severus notices the odd tension lining his form that simultaneously tells of relief and fear, even as Granger begins to half-heartedly scold him, despite the giggling that interrupted her own words. He suspects that she’s just glad to see Harry with some humour, even if it is morbid. And whilst he understands that, shares it even, it doesn’t prevent the little bubble of concern from rising through his chest.

Within a minute, everyone had settled at the table and begun to eat. Severus inhaled his own omelette, lush with ham, cheese and shallots, watching Harry to ensure the brat also ate properly. He’d need it. They had Horcruxes to destroy.

Accordingly, once breakfast had been devoured, Severus went to collect the heavily warded satchel of fangs and Horcruxes, Harry already headed down into the basement to begin putting away the few dummies that were out and ensuring that they were warded to the nines to keep them safe and separate from proceedings. They would put the additional protections in place once they were both in there and ready to set up. So, collecting the bag first, Severus was quick to make his way back down to the basement, shooting the twins a rather distracted glare upon passing. They simply grinned mischievously, which he carefully ignored. So long as they didn’t interfere. Then… Well, there’d be hell to pay at the very least.

“Brat. Is everything ready for the warding?” he demanded, surveying the bare room with a critical gaze. The only break from plain stone were the single chair and cabinet in the corner, the expanded inside of the latter doubtless holding their two medical dummies hostage.

“Yes. Shall we begin?” In lieu of answering, Severus set down the satchel in the centre of the room and drew his wand, already beginning to chant. To his credit, it only took Harry a split-second to follow suit, his voice and magic weaving into Severus’, combining and twisting and dancing unseen through the air. The individual strands of their power were no longer individual, instead blooming into one thick rope, eternal as an ouroboros, permeating the room coil by coil until the very air they breathed and the stone beneath their feet felt to be boiling and writhing, the energy ricocheting higher and higher, stronger and stronger with each word they incanted, the sheer pressure almost pushing them to their knees, immense and immeasurable and

then

it

snapped.

Within a fraction of a second, the heady magic was gone, leaving them to half-collapse against each other. Or rather, it snapped like a Muggle elastic band, stretched thin and vibrating with the pure energy, to the point where it breaks, flinging itself into place. And so the wards did, their combined magic compressing itself instantaneously into a barrier around the room, cutting off the stairs and digging into the walls around them, sinking into the floor like water through gravel, percolating through it, drowning it in pure magic. They both sighed in relief. Well, that was as good a start as any.

Taking a moment to collect themselves, Harry and Severus finally fully regained their feet, no longer leaning against each other for mutual support.  Eyeing the younger, Severus took in how he was somewhat out of breath but did not yet look overly tired per se. Good. Then he looked up and realised Harry was looking him over too, their eyes suddenly meeting. The green was stunning: so effervescent and dark and deep and clear, all at once. Oh, the paradox that was his brat.

"All's well?"

"Yep. Just gotta do the actual killing now." 

"Indeed," he snorted, amused by the slightly odd yet entirely accurate choice of phrasing. Harry quirked a half-smile at him in return, already reaching for the bag.

"Shall we destroy the ring or the tiara-"

"Diadem."

"-first?"

"Does it truly matter? They're both Horcruxes after a-" Severus was interrupted by a sudden pop as Kreacher appeared before them, cowering yet with a sneer.

"What-"

"Filthy muddy-blood masters be's destroys Voldie's Porky-cruxes? Be destroying Master Reggie's locket too-sies? Killing what Master Reggie can not, could not? Master Reggie's precious destruction of not beings detroyeds. What poor, poor Kreacher cans not?"

"Kreacher..." Harry's voice was low and shockingly dangerous, as black and insidious as charcoal smoke.

"Oh yes, the muddy-blood master speaks to poor Kreacher."

"You tried to destroy a Horcrux? Your master Regulus had one?" Harry's tone still held that macabre note, but it had gentled around the edges, the caress of a killer before dealing their final blow.

"Yes-ns, yes-yes. Poor, poor Kreacher. Master Reggie's locket be being like Missy Bella's gobbinlet from great, terrible, wonderful, bad Voldie. Being like your Porky-cruxes."

"Where are they now?"

"Kreacher being having Master Reggie's locket. Gobby-gobby-goblins being having Missy Bella's. Filthy muddy-blood master being having otherings."

"The goblins?"

"In marble and bone and blood is being hiding Porky-crux, indeed, indeed."

"Marble, must be Gringotts. We'll definitely need to be going there then, even more than before..." Harry muttered, seemingly to himself, becoming lost in thought.

"Harry," Severus prompted,
"The locket." The brat visibly startled, then his eyes sharpened, their vicious point aimed straight at the house elf.

"Kreacher, fetch the locket. Leave it next to this bag. Now; we'll be destroying it." Without even replying, Kreacher popped away again, returning within all of ten seconds or so.

"Muddy-blood masters being destroyings?"

"We will." And he was gone again, muddy brown eyes gleaming with a sheen of tears. Peculiar, mad thing. 

"So. There's another in the vault of 'Missy Bella'. Bellatrix?"

"It would seem so. And yes, we shall definitely be paying the goblins a visit within the week, if it was even in question to begin with." Harry hummed, eyeing up the chunky locket that had been deposited a metre or so from the satchel by Kreacher.

"He said it was a 'gobbinlet'. What the hell even is that?"

"I'm unsure. But he was hardly... eloquent or even overly coherent. It is possible that he twisted or changed the word."

"True. 'Gobbinlet'. It couldn't be one of the actual goblins. A goblet then? Although I'm pretty sure a bobbinet's a thing..." He fell silent and they both stood in thought for a short while, until Severus straightened, tapping one finger against his thigh in satisfied conclusion,

"A goblet. To be precise, Helga Hufflepuff's. The diadem is Rowena Ravenclaw's and, judging purely by appearance, that locket was once Salazar Slytherin's. And thus, Hufflepuff's goblet. Do you not agree?"

"Merlin... I do agree. How could I not? The arrogant prick."

"Quite."

They stood in rather stunned silence for a few minutes, neither overly aware of much but their own racing thoughts, swarming and agitated as a nest of wasps.

"We should get back on track."

"We should." And so they stepped forwards, donning their dragonhide gloves. Harry had yet to flinch at the pain of even a single Horcrux's presence, but the Potions Master had still observed how his lips were pursed, a few beads of sweat were beginning to jewel his brow and there was a slight narrow tension to his eyes that told of pain. His brat wasn't alright.

"If you would retrieve a fang. Make sure to open the correct part of the satchel." And it was indicative of that pain when Harry didn't protest his insinuated idiocy. The younger wasn't typically one to meekly comply in any situation. Still though, Severus couldn't entirely begrudge how that meant Harry was quick to pass him a fang, jagged and bloody at the base, smooth and lethally sharp coming down to its point. 

"Step back. Take the bag with you." His voice was deep and smooth, no inflection to make it a question or an order. Harry obeyed all the same; good. Hopefully this way, should any vengeful soul shards manifest, they'd be less likely to go after the brat, but instead after their direct assailant. In other words, Severus himself.

Tightening his grip on the icy links of ancient metal, he pressed his thumb carefully against the casing of the pendant itself, preventing it from opening. And as his own intentions solidified, sharpened, his blood-lust rising through his chest in a heady crest of wrathful heat, the locket began to writhe and twist, the chain began to snap in place, the free sections gouging into the floor and attempting to lacerate his hand through the enchanted gloves. The greasiness of its aura, its oily feel, began to thicken and smoulder and coalesce, bubbling up from the metal as though it was melting. And Severus stabbed. Stabbed it once, twice, thrice. And again.

"Severus-!"

"Hush." But the locket made no more sound, no more movement, only bled a spreading pool of viscous oil, like ink and blood and tar. It had made no sound, barring the nasty scraping of its chain against the stone floor, though now its stillness prevented even that. It certainly seemed dead.

"It's fine Severus. It's gone, it's not resonating any more."

"Good." He sat back on his haunches, allowing himself to relax for a moment, sighing,

"Very good."

"One down," Harry offered, stepping forward and setting an ungloved hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him to lean back a little, against the younger's legs, head settling against the side of Harry's thigh. Severus did so, both basking in the shared sensation. Only two more to go for now.

Chapter Text

After a short time of leaning contentedly against each other, Severus pushed himself back to his feet.

“Right, let’s get on with it. I’ll get this out of the way. Get me another fang?”

“I could-”

“Harry, brat, if we can minimise your pain we shall.” The younger froze with an unusually gormless expression, something unknown swimming through his eyes, fists flexing in something that clearly wasn’t anger.

“A- alright,” he eventually replied, voice hoarse and cracking. Allowing him some dignity, the Potions Master simply nodded and turned away to collect the damaged locket. It truly was a shame that such interesting artefacts needed to be destroyed, but there wasn’t a question as to whether or not they would.

Once he’d abandoned the locket in the furthest corner of the room, Severus returned to Harry and the satchel, nodding at the former in thanks for the Basilisk fang that rested a mere metre from the bag and, with that, the other two Horcruxes.

“Go on, I shall be fine.”  Only slightly belligerent, Harry strode towards the nearest wall, leaning against it with mannerisms that would be casual if not for the tension that riddled every inch of his body. Well, there would be no better way to reassure him but to get on with it. And as such, with no further ado, Severus opened the secondary compartment of his satchel and took out the first piece he touched: the diadem. As soon as it left the confines of the bag, Harry hissed in pain, hunching over a little to clutch at his forehead. Fighting the instinct to rush over and check him over – it was only the resonance, that was all, just the resonance – Severus instead hastened to tuck the flap of his bag back into place and then hold the diadem firmly to the floor. At his side, he reached for the Basilisk fang, refusing to scrabble due to his internal haste. Better to be swift and precise, he idly acknowledged as his gloved fingers closed around the cool ivory and began to raise it then slash it down, again and again, until the Merlin-damned screeching of metal and soul and darkness ceased, its echoes ringing through his ears, unaware of when the noise had started up yet immeasurably glad for its cessation.

Another piece of mangled silver lay twisted and torn beneath his grip. Another Horcrux dead and gone. Another step closer to the Dark Lord’s mortality.

“Harry?” he called, all of four questions in one word.

“I’m fine Severus, it’s stopped, it’s dead. You needn’t worry.”

“It’s cute that you believe I would stop,” he teases, dead-pan.

“You think I’m ‘cute’? Oh, Severus, you should have said earlier!” The brat wasn't meant to tease him in return, honestly.

“Don’t be facetious. Cute is certainly not the word I would call you.” And that was true. Unfortunately, ‘charming’ or ‘stunning’ were not so far out of the realm of possibilities, if only in the privacy of his own head. Regardless.

“Aw, don’t say that. So cruel, so mean-”

“Hush brat, our job for the day is yet to be finished,” he interjected. Yet there was no trace of annoyance or frustration in his voice. And judging by Harry’s cheeky smile, he could tell. Damn imp.

However, only five minutes later, their job for the day was done. And it felt very anti-climactic. The ring, much as the other two, had been greasy and nasty, vile to the senses and it gleamed like a black hole with its suppressed magic, sucking in the light like a metal void, but unable to actually attack them. Stabbing it was a vindictive pleasure that Severus couldn’t help but revel in, once he fought past the pure revulsion of proximity to the thing. Whilst many Dark magic artefacts and spells were glorious things, or at least not overly offensive, the Horcruxes were truly repellent. But they were destroyed now. And he and Harry had a lead on a fourth.

As soon as the ring was dead, Harry stepped forwards and took the fang from Severus’ lax hand, depositing it in a smaller, third section of the satchel with the other two that they’d already used. Then he went to grab the ring, yet he stuttered to a stop.

“Harry?” Severus asked, finally coming out of the half-daze he’d slipped into. At the sound of his voice, Harry seemed to shake himself, yet he still didn’t come closer to actually picking up the ruined jewellery.

“Harry?” he prompted again, becoming a little concerned now. Was it not truly dead? What if-

“S-s-sev’rus,” Harry managed, syllables slipping and sliding, confused. At the panicked tone, Severus immediately shed one of his gloves and went to place a supporting hand on the younger’s shoulder.

“Brat, what-” But he was interrupted by a loud gasp, the inhalation urgent and involuntary, as his touch had caused Harry to jolt and traverse that extra bit of space before touching the ring. Even through the dragonhide, Harry had contact with the stone that somehow looked completely unaffected by the three stabs that the ring as a whole had received.

Frankly unsure of what to do, Severus grabbed at Harry’s arm and yanked him away from the object, forcing the younger half-behind him, his gaze and now-drawn wand focused on the ring. After a good minute of this silent stand-off, Harry’s trembling had died down and Severus’ daze had begun to return despite his best intentions.

“Severus, it’s fine. It just surprised me.”

“Harry…” His tone held an undeniable warning. He would not tolerate lying.

“Truly Severus. I’m fine. I- I think it might be the Stone.” It took the elder a long few seconds to kick his brain into gear and process Harry’s minimal information. To register the capitalisation.

“The Resurrection Stone?”

Harry actually looked close to laughing at his disbelief, but the brat refrained, and instead nodded, reaching cautiously towards the ring once more. The base for the stone was warped and he easily pulled it away from said setting. And thus there, glimmering in the candlelight, was a very odd stone indeed. Despite its irregular shape, it was smooth and worn, yet far from a perfect jewel. In fact, it looked very much like a pebble that you could find in a stream or at a beach, if it was then covered in a liquid layer of crystalline black so that it shimmered in the light, somehow akin to the dark depths of a night sky, of many layers yet flat to mere human perception. It was entrancing and it was only upon his focus being interrupted by the engraving upon its surface that Harry came back to himself. After all, the engraving interrupted the infinite feeling with its harsh lines: a triangle, a circle, a line. The mark of the Deathly Hallows. Death’s Trinkets.

“We… we should put it away somewhere. Somewhere safe.”

“Indeed.” And whilst they had both spoken coherently, neither could deny how the stone continued to pull at them. It reminded him, Harry suddenly realised, of the Veil at the Department of Mysteries. It constantly tugged at you, called to you. And whilst no, he couldn’t hear the whispers of the dead from it, there was a pervading sense of other that was just as intrinsically alluring. One that he was determined to ignore.

Accordingly, he forced himself to tuck it in his pocket, knowing they didn’t yet have a better place for it as all the compartments of Severus’ satchel were taken up, and set to depositing the Horcrux carcass back into the pocket it came from,  then chucking the other two pieces of mangled jewellery in too. They’d have to dispose of them somewhere, but that could wait. At least they were dead, as it were. Now, to return to their room.

“Severus?” he called, realising the man hadn’t followed him towards the stairs. Turning to wait for the elder, he noticed how the Potions Master had barely moved a pace forward and still didn’t look very aware. Oh.

“Severus,” he coaxed, stepping back towards the wizard, “Come on Severus, we can go and rest now. Yes? We could do with it, couldn’t we? Come on now Severus.” And fortunately that did seem to shake him out of the worst of his unaware state. Taking advantage of that fact, Harry was quick to latch a hand around his forearm and began to carefully tug him up the stairs, half directing and half forcing him to move. The elder’s silent compliancy was highly unnerving.

Still, Harry managed to get them both to their room with minimum fuss. Hopefully, what with their blatant warnings to be left undisturbed in the basement, nobody would think it odd that they weren’t about nor notice them missing from where they should be. He really didn’t like being interrupted to begin with, let alone when Severus appeared close to dissociating.

Dumping the satchel carelessly on the floor by Severus’ armchair, exactly the same as the one in the library, Harry focused on seating the Potions Master on his bed, settling his hands carefully upon the elder, one curled around his bicep, the other cautiously placed against the side of his neck. When Severus didn’t flinch away, he allowed his touch to become firmer, more insistent, brushing his thumb gently, reverently, across the base of his throat, trying to ground him as best he could.

“Severus? Severus, come back to me. There you go, come on love, can you hear me? Come on Severus, come back to me…” And slowly, oh so slowly, those eyes lightened a little, brightened, some kind of focus and awareness forming, sunlight suddenly shining through the amber.

“That’s it…”

“Harry,” he managed, confusion still lingering, “What…?”

“We killed the Horcruxes, remember? But it was very tiring, very draining, and you’ve been a little out of it. Think we could take a nap?”

“During the day?” came the reply, some of the usual sarcasm bleeding through, but he went on,
“I suppose we might.” And Harry allowed himself to smile at the man, standing up and grabbing the blanket off of his own bed, pleased to see that Severus had enough state of mind to settle himself, albeit still atop his own covers. Accordingly, Harry spread his blanket over the elder, leaving enough excess to the aisle side for himself to slip under, before discarding his glasses on the bedside table, changing magically out of his jeans, and sliding into bed next to Severus. After a moment of contemplation, he wriggled a little further up than usual, the top of his head pressing quite uncomfortably against the headboard. Ignoring that, the younger wizard gently guided Severus’ head to lay against his neck, unusually heavy breaths puffing against his collar bones, encouraging the man to roll over and lay half on top of Harry for once, cradling the other close, holding him together. It was Harry supporting Severus for a change. And he certainly didn’t begrudge it, as much as it saddened him to need to do so. If Severus was the one of them doing worse today, then so be it.

Yes, he would do whatever was needed to keep Severus going, to keep his as happy as possible. He wanted to after all.

Looking down at the elder, Harry couldn’t help but smile softly in a way he rarely did. Oh he might grin and smirk and offer melancholy quirks of the lip, but a truly vulnerable, loving smile was a thing in scarce supply. One he barely even let Severus see, let alone anyone else. But how could he not, when looking upon this man, veritably curled up against him, sleeping peacefully? This man, this brave, harsh, troubled man, was so willingly open with him. He allowed himself to be cradled and- and- and cherished. He allowed Harry to look after him when he needed it, to see him like this: hair half tied up, his bangs pulled back, though now ready to fall out of their lairy green band; eyes closed and face slack in repose; fingers twitching slightly, adorably clinging to Harry’s shirt, just shy of tickling him unintentionally; chest to chest with the younger, breathing steadily and fully, not shallow and silent as he did around others; his warmth pressed against him comfortingly; mouth slightly parted and the tiniest amount of drool occasionally slipping onto Harry’s neck, cooling it rapidly. He wasn’t going to complain though, it was actually quite endearing. A fair cry from the greasy git of the dungeons, cruel and callous and cold, that was for sure.

Abruptly realising that he’d been staring at the sleeping man, Harry fought the urge to groan aloud at himself and instead settled for closing his eyes. Talk about being a bloody creep. Fighting to change the direction of his own thoughts, Harry returned to matters simultaneously darker and brighter. Their spy scheme. Or their Ravens, as he’d begun to internally dub them. A raven: a symbol of both the sun and darkness, of wisdom and destruction. Associated with omens of war, of creators and tricksters, with prophecies. There was little that could surely be more appropriate for their intelligence network. Yes, their Ravens certainly had a good ring to it.

Focusing on plans and plots, Harry ended up lost amongst ponderings of their impending Gringotts visit, hopefully in a day or two. The immediate priority was putting in place everything they needed for the spies, primarily safe houses. Existing properties already warded, at least partially, would be ideal, but if they were in too great a state of disrepair, it should be easy enough to buy Muggle places that were rural, farms or the like, and have those warded. It would probably take a little longer on the surface, but would surely be more expedient than dealing with old manors and villas that may well be falling apart and/or infested with various flora and fauna that would stubbornly refuse to be removed in any reasonable length of time. So, any decent inheritance properties plus some Muggle ones. All fine there. And they’d figured that they shouldn’t need more than a dozen – that way they could house any families necessary, in addition to establishing a few extra safe houses for the Order itself.

It was also an idea to move to a new Headquarters where they had overseen all of the warding and other security measures. Call Harry paranoid all you like, but he didn’t entirely trust what Albus and generations of Dark wizards had put in place. Particularly when some of those Dark wizards were the parents of their current enemies. There was just too great a chance of a Black ancestral home being compromisable. And Harry refused to risk that any longer than strictly needed. Hence the desire for another headquarters.

They certainly had a lot to do. But, together, with moments like this to keep them sane, he and Severus would manage it. Harry was sure of it.

Chapter Text

“Harry, mate? It’s lunch time!” Ron shouted from outside the door, Hermione and Ginny lingering behind him. Receiving no reply, he shrugged and, exchanging a glance with his sister, simply opened the door. And stared in shock. Harry and the git were… they were sleeping together!

“What the FUCK?!” he yelled.

“Wha-?” Harry cried, startling awake instantly, hands flying from where they had been cradling Severus close, one reaching for his wand, the other out-stretched defensively. At his side, still half-lying on him, the older wizard had sat straight up, attempting to cover most of Harry with his own body. Instinctively protecting each other.

“Harry-!” exclaimed three different voices, all in various states of disbelief and horror.

“What the hell are you doing in here?!” Harry demanded. His wide eyes were dark, yet seemed to finally register who had come into the room.

“It’s time for lunch,” Hermione replied, voice unsteady and noticeably faint.

“Time for lunch?” Severus growled, eyes flashing, an unfortunate red colouring the line of his cheekbones. A far more pervading flush dyed the entirety of Harry’s face, but they held unrepentant expressions as they moved a little away from each other, the younger moving to stand up as the weight of the Potions Master left his side. Of course, he didn’t account for the numbness pervading his right side and immediately stumbled, his friends watching on as Severus latched one hand onto his waist to tug him to a softer landing on the bed.

“Thanks Severus,” he murmured, shaking his leg out some before getting up once more. The elder didn’t reply, simply following his movements until they were both standing and facing the intruding trio.

“Look, Ron-”

“What the fuck were you doing Harry? Were you fucking him? Is that what you were doing down in that basement of yours? Whoring yourself out?”

“Ron-”

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!” Hermione interjected, rounding on the redhead, “That was out of order! However Harry, we would very much like an explana-”

“Upon what rights?” Severus sneered, lips twisting cruelly, hand twitching around his wand, looming at Harry’s shoulder.

“Our rights as concerned friends-” Hermione began, only to be interrupted:

“Harry’s our mate, not yours! Bugger off you fucking sna-"

“STOP!” Harry abruptly yelled, looking absolutely bloody furious. The room was swirling with chill, a burning frostbite, his magic visibly sparking from his skin, eyes bright in Avada Kedavra fury. Everyone paused.

“Severus is my friend. So are you three. If you can’t accept tha-”

“What?! You can’t be serious right now Harry! That isn’t funny!” Ron’s face was a dark red all too reminiscent of one of Uncle Vernon’s worse shades, Harry idly noted, trying to tune out the thought, fighting back his own anger as it snapped and snarled inside him.

“Why would you-”

It came in all at once, abruptly. Pain; crushing, overwhelming agony. Unadultered and stronger than a tsunami, tearing straight through his flickering barriers, fire to paper, leaving behind only choking ashes and sheer pain.

Harry screamed. Collapsed. Writhed.

At once, Severus was kneeling on the ground at the younger’s side, rapidly Conjuring soft, strong ropes that bound Harry’s seizing form to the floor so that he couldn’t hurt himself over much.

“Harry? Harry! Brat, open your eyes!” But no, the teenager’s eyes were clenched closed, blood already beginning to trickle from his scar. Shit.

“HARRY!” Severus finally thundered. Desperation coloured his tone for everyone in the house to hear and for a single sliver of a second, the thrashing partially halted and those green, green eyes flashed open. Then closed again. But it was enough; Severus was in.

Finding himself in the midst of burning blue-white flames, Severus yelled out in pain, before he cast aside any such thoughts of the distant, half-felt agony and looked around. Where were the borders of Harry’s mindscape? Without that knowledge, he had no chance of reconstructing any kind of Occlumentic barrier. Dammit! He needed to hurry. The muted torture that he himself could feel was only a fraction of what Harry was going through. Not to mention that any level of pain or injury was second to even the younger man’s most minor discomforts.

A little desperately, Severus sent his consciousness out, small feelers of awareness cataloguing his surroundings. What was normally a circular room, half Gryffindor common-room, half Grimmauld library, was now fractured. A chair on its side on the cracked flagstones. A small pile of burning fabrics were presumably the rugs, once laid out to beautifully display their Persian patterns and patchworks of colour. Instead they smouldered amongst their brothers’ ashes. Kindling littered the area, originally a dark, hardwood set of coffee- and side-tables. Random pages swayed through the air, ominous black-smudged snowflakes, alluring yet haunting. The room, normally homely and warm, was utterly destroyed.

But most significantly, the walls of the room had been blasted away. Harry’s mental limits had been annihilated, leaving him open to every single thought of every single person within a massive radius, on top of the direct torture of Voldemort’s attention and, of course, the actual dismemberment of his barriers, a painful process in and of itself.

Stretching his consciousness further and further, Severus tried to find the ending of Harry’s awareness. Miles and miles and miles he travelled. Finally, somewhere closer to Cardiff to the West and a ways into the Channel to the East, Severus could find no more. He’d reached the limits of Harry’s mind. All the while, Harry was screaming. His voice was already strained, impossibly hoarse. And behind all that, a maniacal laugh, deep and echoing, sibilant in a way that none could replicate. The Dark Lord. Cursing vehemently, Severus attempted to find a solution. He couldn’t guide Harry in making new- Hexes wouldn’t- Summoning- No- He needed barriers, now. If only- Wait. Severus should be able to share his own shields! So long as Harry’s subconscious trusted him enough…

Smirking in triumph, though with a tremble to his mental hands, Severus began to forge a more… physical link between his mind and Harry’s. To his vague surprise, the connection formed easily, snapping into place with a time-freezing crack of thunder and lightning. Yet still the overpowering influx of outside thoughts and Voldemort’s influence continued. The agony remained. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He needed to work faster! Picturing his own mindscape, a library with elements of Hogwarts, Prince Manor and Grimmauld Place all combined into something unique, Severus began to lay down the stones and timbers, reinforced with mortar and thick wooden pins, the magically manifested walls building up at inhuman speeds. Planks of warm oak, overlaid with a small number of large, tasteful rugs, adhered themselves to the previously inexistent floor. And with every splinter and fragment, the voices of the outsiders quietened just a little, the fractional pain Severus could feel lessened into discomfort then faded entirely.

“Harry…?” he called out mentally, wincing at the obviously tentative tone, once he was done.

“S-Sev?” came the broken reply.

“Harry, it’s alright. I’m here, he’s shut out again. Can- can you join me? Just focus on me. Come on Harry, it’s alright.” Maybe the platitudes were unnecessary, but even Severus found some amount of comfort in them.

“O-o-okay,” whimpered a materialising ball on the floor. Dropping to his knees beside the younger man, Severus reached out to card an incredibly gentle hand through messy, blood-clumped black locks.

“Very well done, Harry. You survived. Come here now, let me check you over.”

As the huddled figure pulled itself into a sitting position with some support, Severus resisted the urge to flinch in response. Partially dried, thick trails of blood fell from Harry’s ears, eyes, nose and mouth. His neck was crusted with the stuff, visibly flaking every time the young man shivered.

“S-sorry S-s-s-Sev'rus, didn’t m-mean, don’t kn-kn-know how-”

“Hush you brat. It’s fine. You’ve only been an Occlumens for however long and you only recently re-established your shields, you could not be infallible yet. Give these things time.” For once, Harry didn’t argue that ‘he had no time’ and instead just closed his eyes, allowing Severus to wipe away at the brown-red stains with a damp Conjured cloth. The reticence worried Severus deeply, but he simply continued his ministrations. Perhaps physical reassurances were of the most use.

In accordance, once the blood was acceptably wiped away, Severus carefully tugged Harry to his unsteady feet, leading them both to a three-seater sofa.

“Come on brat, I believe we could both do with this.” With that, the wizard settled himself lengthwise on the sofa, feet at one end, head propped up by a cushion at the other, before pulling an unresisting Harry to lay alongside, half-on him, chest to chest, where Harry could rest his ear over Severus’ heartbeat, and the elder’s arms could comfortably encircle the younger’s waist. For a time, the pair simply rested there, before both slipping into sleep.

Meanwhile, outside the shared mindscape, the resident Order members were slowly coming down from their own panic.

It had been nearly an hour since Harry first began seizing. It had taken only ten or so minutes after Severus passed out for Harry to begin bleeding alarmingly from all too many places, his eyes and ears and mouth and nose, and there was the strong worry of keeping him from choking as he screamed himself mute whilst gushing blood. And as the one hour mark neared, the bleeding began to ease off and finally stopped, along with the seizing fits. Severus had remained stock-still, if limp, throughout, despite the halo of silver-white light surrounded first his own head, then both his and the younger wizard's. Finally, the two lay still and calm.

It took several hours for the two to wake up again. Within seconds of Severus’ eyes opening, so too did Harry’s and they both shifted in their beds, gravitating towards each other. Turning their heads to look at each other, Severus smirked.

‘Hello again Potter.’

‘Severus? Why isn’t your mouth moving?’

‘This is telepathy, silly brat. Our minds are connected right now, until your shields are reconstructed…’ Severus suddenly stopped, glancing uncomfortable away from the young man.

‘It’s fine you know; I don’t mind. Severus… Severus, listen to me. Look at me!’ The elder finally redirected his gaze to Harry, only a metre or two away. The green eyes were alight with fire, burning brightly and sending wave after wave of warmth between their minds.

‘Thank you Severus, thank you. You shut out Voldemort for me; you saved me. I couldn’t have rebuilt my own barriers at that point. And I doubt I could have thrown him out. So thank you Severus.’ A grin split the pale face,

‘And I reckon I can put up with being connected to you, insufferable git though you are.’

‘Insufferable git? At least I’m not an impertinent brat.’ And, abruptly, they both snorted, as much relief as amusement. The sound apparently woke up Lupin, who neither of them had noticed was sleeping in an armchair set in the corner of the room.

“Harry! Severus too. Oh, thank Merlin! How are you two feeling? What happened? Are you okay?”

“I believe we are fine, albeit tired. The Dark Lord has been deterred for the time being. It’s safe to assume that Harry didn’t lose too much blood?”

“He did really, but a few Blood Replenishers have dealt with the worst of it. Harry?”

“I’m fine Remus. Tired, a bit achy. I’ll live, no worries.”

‘That’s an understatement, judging by the headache I can sense,’ Severus sneered.

‘Fine, fine.’  “I could do with a Pain Reliever though.”

“Of course, of course!” Remus hastened to his feet and began digging about in the seemingly Muggle’s doctor bag at his side,

“And Severus?”

“No, thank you.”

‘Hypocrite.’

‘Indeed.’  Harry simply snickered.

When Severus and Harry made their way down for dinner only a little while later, Ron was sat down next to Hermione and visibly blanched upon seeing Harry.

‘Severus, chill out. There’s no point blowing up at-’ The elder’s ire was vibrating through their connection, black clouds rolling and once-bright fires dampening.

‘Yes there is! Maybe then he’ll give you – us - a bloody break! He’s-’

‘He can be dumb, I know. But he’s my friend all the same. Just wait until you manage to catch him in one of his mature moments, he’s genuinely quite remarkable then. Strategically, he can be absolutely brilliant.’ Severus physically snorted at that, disbelief obvious, attracting more than a few curious looks.

‘Bloody idiots, the lot of them.’

‘Yes, yes. Now eat.’

Nudging the man next to him in the ribs, Harry promptly slid into a seat and kicked out the one to his left. Shaking his head, hair swinging gently, Severus seated himself where provided. Might as well acquiesce. As the meal was placed along the length of the table and everyone began serving themselves, several of them noticed Harry and Severus placing food on each other’s plates wordlessly without any repercussions. But only Ron dared muttering under his breath about it. And, judging by his subtle twitching, Severus had heard the words.

‘How bad?’

‘ “How dare he consort with that slimy Slytherin? After everything he’s done. What an idiot! Bastard’s probably still a Death Eater, just waiting to take Harry to You-Know-Who. And they were fucking sleeping together! Gross! How can he bear to be near the man? It’s disgusting!” At that point he stopped.’

‘Like I said: he can be a bigoted imbecile. It’s not the first time he-’ Harry cut himself off, instead stuffing his face with a mouthful of pasta. As if that would prevent their telepathy. ‘Harry? Brat. Answer me.’ Nothing.

“Harry.” There was a slight demand to the low tone. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Severus,” his tone was slightly mocking in return, though still rather quiet.

“Brat, don’t be facetious.”

“Don’t be demanding then.”

“Give me answers and I won’t have to be.”

“Don’t ask difficult questions and I won’t refuse to answer them.”

“You two?” In their fledgling argument, the pair hadn’t noticed the attention they’d garnered.

“Severus never asked a question,” Lupin went on.

“He did,” Harry contradicted.              

“No? We” “certainly didn’t” “hear one,” the twins interjected.

“What, never heard of telepathy?” came the sarcastic reply.

“Telepathy?!” came the room-wide outcry.

“Ah,” a sheepish half-smile, half-frown marred the tired, pretty features.

“Idiot brat,” Severus chided, no particular heat behind the words.

“Insufferable git.”

During this exchange, one voice in particular was rising in volume.

“Telepathy with him?! What the hell, Harry? You’ve gone bloody mad mate, the papers’re right! Dumbledore was stark raving bonkers and so are you!” Severus had sensed more than one flash of hurt since the first sentence and his fury was fanned by every one.

“He’s a Slytherin and who’s to say that he’s really our spy? You spend so much time with him, so close to him, you might as well be a Death Eater yourself! What would Sirius say? You think he’d like you-”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Severus yelled, volume deafening, spittle flying and wand jumping into his hand.

“Think upon your words, child. Do not speak of what you do not know. You say Harry is your friend, yet you seem to do nothing but hurt him. He flinches and shrinks away and doesn’t contradict you. He has been afraid and pained, yet you do not realise. And even if you did, would you have done anything? I doubt it. You are a vile facsimile of a human being, let alone friend, and I lament those whom must associate with you. Moreso, I pity you yourself. You appear to waste every opportunity to change, to better yourself, and so to the detriment of everyone. You are not worthy of being Harry’s friend. He is a thousand times better – no, more – than you. And yet here you are, assuaging your petty jealousies with cruelty. If you are so adamant that I am evil, then consider that I would repent for my actions. That I have done and continue to do so.” His voice had descended into a hiss, venomous and dripping in loathing vitriol. His eyes were black, face shadowed, wand sparking.

“S-Seve-”

“No Harry,” and here his tone melted into something even darker, even as it sweetened and softened. Enrapturing and lethal. His wand continued to spark but the flashes of magic lightened to green, jumping towards Harry as though dancing.

“You deserve better than he treats you. You accept all of this pain, thinking of all the times you have spent as friends. But it isn’t enough. You are better Harry. Even if you don’t believe it yet. You truly do deserve better than that.”

Looking something akin to horrified, Ron was stood, frozen.

“Harry, I…” But the young man could only shake his head at the ginger, tears falling haphazardly with the movement. He didn’t even seem aware of them.

“I-I need to be al-lone.” And with that, Harry fled from the room. As Hermione went to follow him, Severus shot a spell at the space in front of her. The girl spun to face him, face pale.

“He meant it. Leave him be Granger.”

“No! I- He- Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Fine,” she retorted, clearly disgruntled.

Harry was long gone.

Chapter Text

Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Severus sighed gustily. He’d rather be closer to Harry, ready to help, but this needed dealing with now rather than later.

“All of you sit down. I’ll explain about the telepathy.” And despite the somewhat redundant instructions, the residents all shuffled in their seats, clearly paying attention.

“When Harry’s Occlumentic barriers fell on Thursday, Voldemort forced his way into Harry’s mind. It was… horrific. Harry’s mindscape was literally burning up and he had no way to stop it. So when I entered the mindscape, I was forced to connect us and share my own Occlumentic shields with Harry, to thus force Voldemort out. It worked, obviously. However, our minds will remain bonded until Harry’s barriers are fully rebuilt, stronger again than previously. Hence the telepathy. Satisfied?”

“Could Harry… consent to this?” The rest of the room’s attention snapped back into place at Remus’ question. The Potions Master hesitated for along moment, parsing out his own thought process, only rising the tension in the stuffy kitchen.

“In a sense. I wouldn’t have been able to establish a connection at all if he didn’t fully trust me,” Severus said. Without betraying it outwardly, he was tensed for an outcry. The room was largely filled with protective, righteous Gryffindors after all. Yet suddenly the confrontational, fearful edge to the atmosphere had evaporated. The Weasleys, with only glances exchanged amongst themselves, had apparently deemed Severus’ explanation sufficient; Hermione and Remus took a moment longer, scrutinising the man himself before relaxing too. What a wonder, truly; such magnanimous trust from the dunderheaded lions, really. He was so grateful. Despite his snide mental commentary, a small part of Severus was not warmed but… thawed by this apparent trust. These people were the closest he had to allies and the closest Harry had to family. No need to alienate them more than previously necessary.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I shall locate our boy wonder.” And the man swept out, headed straight to their room.

“Harry?” he called softly at the door, not wanting to invade with telepathy at that particular moment.

‘Come- Come in Severus,’ came the reply, hesitant in a way Harry rarely was. Yet when he entered their room, he could see no trace of the young man. Although Severus’ own blanket was gone from his bed.

“Harry?” he repeated.

‘Sorry, Severus, sorry. But the- the shouting. And how-how can he h-h-hate you so much? ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry,’ the litany of mental apologies did not cease, even as Severus began to hear muffled sobs.

“Ssh Harry, it’s okay. Ssh.” Crouching down on the floor, the elder finally spotted Harry: curled up, deep in the shadows beneath his bed, the teen was shaking and crying, his back to the room.

“Can you come out? Hm?” Receiving no response, the man laid himself upon the hardwood planks and shuffled awkwardly under the bed to join the distraught younger. He moved slowly, stretching out an arm to wrap gently around Harry’s waist, slotting between his torso and legs. The boy’s ball-form loosened a little at the careful, caring hold. Just as gradually, the elder brought the rest of his body to almost-lean against Harry’s shivering back.

“S-sev’rus,” he gasped out. The word was muffled by Severus’ own blanket, but he recognised the plea in it all the same.

“Hush now. It’s all fine Harry. I need you to breathe deeply for me. Come on, hush now, breathe in time with me. Can you do that? There you go brat, that’s better. Keep on breathing now. Deep in, deep out, that’s it…”

For a good quarter of an hour, the two remained as such, one gradually calming the other down until the tears and erratic breathing had stopped.

“Are you better now?”

“Mm. Than’s Sev’rus,” came the exhausted murmur. Burrowing back further into the man’s warmth, Harry fell into sleep. With a sigh, half-fond, half-exasperated, said man simply tightened his hold and finally muttered a cushioning charm, hoping to alleviate the inevitable future aches and pains from napping on the floor.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d dozed, but Severus eventually shoved himself out of sleep. Now, how to get Harry into an actual bed without waking him? After a few moments, he simply levitated the bed that they were curled under, allowing Severus to gather Harry into his arms and stand up, stumbling somewhat on largely numb limbs as he headed to his own bed to set Harry down. The boy’s bed was still floating after all. Ensuring that the young man was comfortable and warm, Severus strode silently out of the room. He had a certain ginger to find.

Intent upon his prey, Severus stormed through the house, looking the very definition of avenging fury. His eyes were truly black now, darkened with frustration, fury and, hidden beneath those, concern. Harry’s supposed best-friend had caused this! When he was already fragile mentally and emotionally thanks to an attack from the fucking Dark Lord! The young man had to be coaxed through a panic attack because of this infantile redhead and his continual idiocy! Honestly! And, okay, some part of Severus recognised that his own explosion had hardly helped, but it needed to be said, didn’t it? Harry simply had to realise his own worth. Not as Dumbledore’s Boy Wonder but rather as Harry Potter himself. Merlin knew that Ronald wasn’t helping with that.

Finally, Severus stomped into the library to find two gingers and a brunette. Harry’s so-called friends. Good job they were doing of late.

Before Ronald could even speak, Severus had whirled in front of him with swirling robes, looming with his not-inconsiderable height, one hand extended, tensed like talons, latching around Weasley the Sixth's neck.

“You have a lot to answer for.”

“I- I know-” The child’s voice wavered, eyes attempting to fixate on the hand flexing around his throat.

“No you don’t. Have you ever brought Harry through a panic attack? Hm? Have you ever had to set him to bed, knowing that he’s too emotionally and mentally exhausted to have nightmares, and be unable to decide whether that’s a blessing or a curse? Have you ever noticed the little tics to tell you that he’s uncomfortable and anxious, needing to leave the conversation but unable to because how would he explain it? Because I don’t think you have, Weasley the Sixth. I think you need to grow the fuck up and sort your priorities out before you lose your friend more than you already have. Before you alienate him further. I think you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, need to learn to deserve Harry. Because right now? You’re nowhere close.”

Severus finally stepped back, out of the disgusting child’s space. Ronald was trembling, fingertips resting on the red mark from where Severus had been half-strangling him. The two girls had stood up from their seats but done nothing. Good. Perhaps they could see the man’s point then.

“Harry will be furious with me for this, because he’s too soft on his friends, but just know that I’ll protect him beyond even my dying breath, and that includes from imbeciles that are too dense to appreciate him.” And Severus left.

“Where were you?” The accusing question was issued from beneath a thick blanket on Severus’ own bed. Harry was awake then.

“You’re not going to like the answer, so may we leave it to tomorrow?” Harry glared balefully at the man for that answer as the door closed on their room.

“Fine. Could we talk about something neutral then? I- I’m done with emotional bullshit for today. It’s tiring.” Severus snorted in reply. Although he was already moving to grab the book off of his own bedside table and, shooing at the boy, overtook the space that the younger’s legs had quickly vacated.

“How about the uses of Transfiguration in order to shield oneself? Truly riveting, and no emotional backlash, I promise.” The teen gave Severus a weary smile at his words and leant in closer.

And if the two fell asleep to Severus’ baritone voice rumbling out theories and spells from said book, well, nobody checked up on them to tell, not this time.

Post breakfast the next day, Severus and Harry were quick to retreat to their room, wanting to check up on the blasted Horcruxes and begin plotting in regards to approaching the goblins. That would be a job for within the week at least, hopefully in a day or two. Although first...

"What did you do yesterday?" The tone was accusatory and for some reason, Severus already felt bad. Not repentant, but more like a child being scolded. 

"Nothing undeserved." And now he sounded petulant. Wonderful.

"So Ron deserved to have a sore throat this morning? Don't think I didn't notice."

"Perhaps he di-"

"No Severus, just no. You shouldn't be punishing people on my behalf. You're a fucking adult, you should know this!" And now Harry seemed less angry and more teary. Dammit.

"I shan't do it again. But, brat, you deserve to have somebody to support you and 'fight your corner', as it were." And if his tone had softened, well, Harry melted at the words, nodding resignedly, simply muttering a,

"Just don't do that again, please," and leaving it at that.

Thus, after a few moments of contemplative silence, Severus started a slightly more productive conversation:

“Beyond the matter of our Gringotts visit, have you also thought further on the spy network?” Harry hummed in intermediate reply, collecting his thoughts, before beginning,

“Yep. For a start: our Ravens.”

“For a name?” Severus clarified.

“You don’t agree?” Harry challenged, a cheeky grin brightening his face and voice. It was only half-forced.

“No, rather I find it quite fitting. So, any plans for our Ravens?”

“Well obviously we need to get them some safe houses. I was mainly thinking of any up-to-date ancestral properties, plus then buying some isolated Muggle places that could be warded afresh. And then another headquarters for us. I don’t like the thought of relying on the Fidelius, particularly when some of the Death Eaters grew up here. Plus we could build up and manipulate the wards to our liking, which I’m sure you’d appreciate just as much as I would.”

“A fair assessment,” Severus conceded, going to tie his hair up,

“I, of course, would be willing to train them. Ensure their Occlumency and such is up to scratch. Not to mention that it would do you some good to face more varied opponents in Duelling.”

“Okay, so there’s that too. We’ll have to make sure that our house has enough space for Duelling. And potions too?” Harry added, casting the elder a questioning glance.

“It wouldn’t go amiss.” Harry snickered, then sobered once more.

“Going back to the safe houses; how many do you think? I’d thought maybe around eight, give or take. A good six or seven for any of the Ravens’ families, then one or two spare for emergencies and anything for the Order or even prisoners, if truly necessary. Though perhaps we’d be better off keeping here for that…” He trailed off into thought, muttering, completely unaware of Severus watching him.

Meanwhile, the elder was contemplating how far Harry had come in a few short weeks. To think, only, what, a month and a half ago, they had been distantly cordial at best. And now, well… And beyond all that, the brat’s magical and maturity development. The younger wizard had always been quite… grown-up. Forced to be old before his years. Those wretched Dursleys had instilled such a lack of self-confidence but such a misplaced sense of responsibility in his brat… Alas, there was no point contemplating it now, he thought, cursing himself for falling into the pitfall of such an inevitable downward spiral. Instead, Severus turned his attention to Harry’s progression and permitted himself to marvel. It truly was remarkable after all. The brat could easily take on Death Eaters – had taken on Death Eaters – despite being half their average age, or even a third. And that wasn’t even considering the various times he’d survived direct confrontations with the Dark Lord himself. Then that Basilisk! The creature had easily been a good sixty feet long, all bone and scales and muscle, not in the slightest bit decayed and thus boasting every iota of danger that Harry, so scrawny at twelve, had to face. He was incredibly lucky to have only been bitten once and to have killed it simultaneously. The sheer level of luck necessary made it obvious that there was also some measure of skill there too, even if it was desperation-fuelled instinct and adrenaline. At least the brat got over whatever fear he must have had, managed to act through worry and shock. Excluding physical ability, there was also the brat’s admittedly brilliant mind. Never before the last year or so would Severus had confessed that Harry possessed even a modicum of sense or intelligence. Nor really been aware of it. Their more successful Occlumency sessions in his Sixth Year had indicated that he was at least partially capable. Yet the unveiling of his intellect, gradually blossoming into a brazen silver tongue and sharp wit over the last month, had been a massive shock. One that Severus had quickly learnt to accept graciously. Harry was clever and what he couldn’t understand he had the sheer grit and pig-headedness to research until he did. Severus could certainly respect that, if nothing else. A good portion of that intelligence was now being reflected in his interactions with the Order and it showed. They all treated him with an amount of respect and much of the awe, hero worship and alternate dismissal had faded into something approaching deference. Harry being more than willing to admonish and guide them certainly helped. Plus, of course, how overt his desire to protect them all and win this war was. It commanded him a position of respect and leadership that he was already starting to grow naturally into.

His brat had come far. And it was finally getting recognised.

Going to bed that night was a slightly awkward affair. Oh, Harry desperately wanted to settle in next to Severus as had become their custom. He ached with it. But a part of his mind was rejecting the idea vehemently. It hadn't been right, surely, to be sleeping next to another man, and it had only led to falling-outs and disgust... Yet it was Severus. And that thought alone pushed away the voices in the back of his head that sounded like Vernon and Petunia and every other bigot he'd ever heard, for there were many, and lit a gentle warmth in his chest that kept them gone. Still though, Harry hesitated. After standing, unmoving, in between their beds for several long minutes, he was eventually interrupted by Severus returning from his night-time ablutions.

"Brat?" There was little to no inflection to the single word. No doubt, the elder could sense the whirling turmoil in his mind and was giving him the opportunity to talk about it. But Harry didn't feel up to talking.

"I'll be alright," he offered, not willing to outright lie, yet needing to somehow reassure the Potions Master all the same.

"No, you're not now, but I shall let it slide," and here Severus paused for a long moment, a blur of his own internal conflict edging around Harry's awareness, before the elder seemed to come to a realisation, or perhaps a decision, and went on,
"Go to bed, Harry. I am here should you need me."

And oh. Thank Merlin for Severus' perceptiveness, because he'd just given Harry a completely open-ended solution. One that he'd desperately needed.

"Thank you," he murmurs, too overwhelmed to do much else and, for the first time in what must be at least a week or two, moves to sleep in his own bed. It hurt. But right now, sleeping in Severus' arms and warmth would hurt even more.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn't move. He was stuck, floating above a blurry scene that made no sense... Suddenly though, it does. He's high amongst the clouds of the Great Hall, staring down as Death Eaters swarmed into a Hogwarts dinner, the screams of children overwhelming their jubilant laughter. The teachers were rushing down, trying to get through the aisles clogged with fleeing students, Severus amongst them in his flowing teacher's robes. And spells were already starting to fly, too man of them a toxic green that left crumpled bodies still on the floor. No, no, please Merlin no...

"Harry! Brat, you need to wa-" But no, he couldn't do anything, he was trapped by the clouds that had always looked so idyllic but now seemed to keep him from helping when it was most needed. He-

"Harry!"

And there were cold hands clasped around his shoulders, pulling him up and forwards against a far warmer chest, pressing his ear to the heartbeat there. Oh, it had been a dream. A nightmare.

"Alright there brat?" And Merlin, no, he wasn't alright. Because all he wanted to do was lean impossibly further into Severus' embrace and stay there forever. But he couldn't do that. It was wron-

"No. I need to- can we- I-" he paused, took a deep breath, tried to muster some kind of coherency, and started again,

"No. I need a distraction. I... I'm gonna go down to the basement. You can go ba-"

"I shall come with you. We can Duel once or twice then come back to bed."

"I- That's not- Yes, please." And as such, unable to resist the allure of at least interacting with Severus, Harry found himself leading their way down to the basement at some ungodly hour, probably around two in the morning, maybe three, to go and do some Duelling.

"Ready?" Severus asked once they were stood opposite each other, wands drawn. The younger nodded once, short and sharp, and then he was moving. Forcing his sleep-slow limbs to move as they normally would, not allowing his feet to drag, Harry shot off three,

"Artus glaciei!" in rapid succession, glad to see two of them catch the elder, covering both his left arm and leg in thick frost. But Severus was already returning fire, quite literally, using an

"Incendio!" to simultaneously attack Harry and hasten the melting of the frost. Still, Harry simply dodged the flames, rolling low on the ground to pop back up.

"Venide! Derelime!" And Severus spun comically around. One shoe tugged him abruptly towards the younger, the other backwards, forcing him to twist awkwardly whilst furiously muttering a counter. But now he was shooting towards Harry directly, forcing him to dive harshly to the side. And ow, there was a wall there. Still, Harry scrambled back to his feet to avoid the unfamiliar pastel yellow curse that shot past him, then kept on moving as a volley of bronze and black-green spells were all aimed at him. He dodged three, then another two. One bronze one caught his arm, sending a bolt of pain through it that almost instantly faded into numbness, the arm flopping uselessly at his side. Gritting his teeth, Harry simply responded by sending off a few Bombardas, trying to crowd Severus into a corner. But the elder was having none of it, raising a shield and moving forward through the spells, returning fire with a collection of restraining charms. Harry jumped over a Telae Fulmen and deflected two Ligare Funibus, only to be caught by an Incarcerous that he just didn't spot in time, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Do you yield?" Severus had his wand aimed at him and he'd hit his head in the fall. So Harry murmured an acquiescence, not noticing the elder's frown at the relatively easy win.

"Did you hit your head?" was the immediate question as the Potions Master knelt to check him over, already cancelling the Incarcerous spell.

"N- Uhm, maybe?" Harry hedged.

"That is a 'yes' then. Let me see." Harry gave in to the elder, leaning forward so that Severus can poke at the back of his head until he winces away.

"Hm, just a nasty bump. Here, accensisque animis crescere me autem minui." The simple healing chant was quick to reduce the swelling and, with that, the pain, and Harry sagged against Severus' shoulder in both relief and thanks. Then hastily straightened again. Severus' frown only deepened in return, but he took Harry's hands to lift him to his feet and says nothing when the younger is quick to withdraw. That didn't stop Harry from noticing the flash of hurt all the same, merely worsening the guilt pulsing in his own chest. They did not speak as they headed back up to bed. Hopefully the younger man would be more settled once he'd had a few more hours' worth of sleep.

The next morning, or rather later that morning, a sheepish Ron approached Harry before breakfast.

“Harry, can I talk privately to you for a minute? I swear it’s nothing bad or anything. Please?”

“Why should I?” Ron struggled not to flinch at that.

“You don’t have to, but I wanted to apologise. Again. And talk to you properly. And, yeah…”

“Fine,” sending a meaningful glance at Severus that Ron couldn’t decipher in the slightest, Harry diverted and led Ron to the nearest empty room.

“Well?”

“Look, Harry, mate, I really am sorry. I know you’ve heard it before, but I genuinely don’t think you’re gonna need to hear it again. I mean it this time. I get it, I think. Snape, he’s…” fighting for words, Ron ran through a hand through his hand in frustration, “He’s there for you, in a way Mione and I haven’t been. I- I don’t like it, but I don’t think we ever could be. All our experience is from the side-lines, or second-hand, not- not like him. And I don’t gotta like it to see it. Not now that I can. So, well, I can’t promise I’m gonna be able to keep my trap shut all the time, but I’ll try, mate. I really will. If- If Snape makes you happy, keeps you safe, or whatever, then I’ll put up with him. Even if you're sleeping next to him. ‘Cause we can’t lose you Harry, you hear?” And he’d never admit it, but Ron could feel his eyes growing a little damp, “You are our best friend, even if I’ve fucked up, and we- we love you, okay? You’re my brother, one I chose to have, and- fuck it! Harry, you belong with us, okay? And if that means that you drag a snake along with you, then maybe I’ll just have to learn to deal with that.” And before he could begin crying for real, Ron tacked on,

“But I reserve the right to hex him if he calls me ‘Weasley the Sixth’ again!” Harry took the joke well, thank Merlin, and pulled Ron in for a quick, awkward hug.

“Thanks Ron. And you’re forgiven.”

Coughing self-consciously, the two soon separated, Harry instantly turning for the door.

“But if you go against Severus even once more, Ron, that’s it, okay? No last chances.” And the words were a promise that the redhead found no doubt in.

‘All’s well?’ Harry glanced over at the man he’d sat down next to,

‘Yeah. Forgiven the idiot again. I think he really meant it this time though.’

‘Wonderful: the re-establishment of the darling Golden Trio.’ There was a pause, then Harry was laughing raucously, uncaring of all the other diners watching him, bemused as to the apparently random guffawing. Severus simply smirked, turning back to his own meal. Silly brat. Well, at least he could still laugh so truly, even if it was slightly tinged by something bordering on hysteria. Better than depression and panic attacks. Or the weird stilted nature of their interactions earlier that morning, which now seemed to have been completely forgotten. Yes, Severus frowned to himself, far preferable.

‘Hey, you alright?’ was accompanied by a gentle but bony elbow to the ribs. Severus couldn’t bring himself to look away from the genuine care and concern, coupled with curiosity, in those green eyes. They weren’t quite the colour of the Killing Curse today, and Severus wasn’t sure whether or not he was grateful for that. The vivacity only came forth when Harry’s magic was wild, his emotions high, but it was so often due to protective rage that there began to be positive connotations there for Severus. Who would have thought: positive associations with Avada Kedavra?

“Severus?” Harry prompted aloud, concern having multiplied.

“Yes, merely a little lost in thought.”

“As long as you come back,” came the cheeky reply.

‘To you? Always.’ Both of them flushed a little at the serious tone behind the teasing. Without another word, they began eating once more. Dammit Severus, why did you say that? At least nobody else could have possibly heard, what with the bloody telepathy. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

--------------------

Artus Glaciei - lit. limbs of ice - the frozen arm spell, although it also works on legs. This encases the target's limb (whichever is nearest to the spell's point of contact) in a thick layer of frost. Whilst not overly effective in and of itself, with it's slowing effect as it temporarily hampers the targets movements and then the pervading chill that afflicts the affected, particularly if hit multiple times by the spell over a short period of time, this spell can be extraordinarily useful. No counter has been developed as it is a rare spell with limited effects, although there are many spells that could be used to indirectly counter it, such as a heating spell.

Venide - Veni Ad Me - the slingshot spell - lit. come to me - a variation of a Summoning spell which calls the target, usually a relatively small object, to come hurtling towards the caster as though slingshotted. Harry's amalgamation of the spell makes it more powerful, unsurprisingly, and thus more easily able to affect larger and heavier objects, or perhaps even multiple objects, should they be close to one another.

Derelime - Derelinquas Me - lit. leave me - the catapult spell - this spell has the direct opposite effect of the slingshot spell as instead it catapults a small, light object away from the caster. Harry's amalgamation for this spell is a more extreme one, thus making the spell more unstable than the slingshot spell, but sufficient concentration keeps it relatively safe to use. When used as Harry did, to directly counteract a slingshot spell, this generally causes a target to spin in place, trying to follow the path of both spells but ultimately unable to do either, unless one spell is cancelled or counteracted, as Severus did.

Ligare Funibus - lit. bind this with ropes - the rope-binding spell. Originally created to bind prisoners or even animal carcasses (think deer hunting, Medieval ages), this spell has retained use for Duelling and those more adventurously inclined. It is essentially a stronger version of Incarcerous.

accensisque animis crescere me autem minui - lit. become less inflamed - the anti-inflammation spell, which is something of a misnomer as it does not prevent inflammation, only reduces any swelling and irritation that is already present. It is a relatively small healing spell and thus requires little thought or power. Mother witches often use it for the bumps and scrapes gathered by younger children.

------------------

Meanwhile, what happened behind the scenes:   (Ron POV)

Seeing Harry in tears, even if he was holding them back, had really hit Ron where it hurt. He’d only seen Harry cry- well, never actually. He’d seen his best mate depressed, angry, happy, tired, but never in tears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d really messed up this time, hadn’t he?

But when he’d seen Harry so comfortable with the git, in a way he’d never been with Ron or Hermione, sleeping wrapped around each other, it just made his blood boil. Harry had been his first friend, his best friend. Sure, there was Hermione now too, and she meant so much to them both, but Ron knew that Harry and he had been each other’s first friends and that was such a big deal. Like, a massive deal. And now here came this grown-ass man, a Death Eater (ex or not) to boot and suddenly Harry was bloody attached at the hip with the bastard.

The bastard who argued with him, but not like when Ron and Harry argued. No, it was different, most of the time at least. Their arguments seemed more like teasing really. Like they trusted each other, understood other. Like they didn’t hate each other. And that just made no sense. Snape had been horrible to Harry from day one, horrible to all of them, and, well. Maybe Harry could forget that in a few weeks, but Ron couldn’t. And he hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t really, but, maybe he’d have to?

Okay, so he’d been muttering some pretty rough things himself, but seeing the bastard twitch as he fought not to react had been so satisfying. Particularly when Harry was obviously annoyed with the bloke already. But then of course they’d made up instantly and it kind of threw Ron over the edge. So, yeah, he started yelling at his best mate. And maybe it was some harsh stuff but still. He hadn’t meant it really. Nor had he expected the Slytherin bastard to jump to Harry’s defence. To be so bloody furious.

Then what had surprised Ron most of all was the almost-kind way that Snape had told Harry he deserved better. Which, yeah, okay, sometimes maybe, but Ron had been getting better. Or trying to at least. So he tries to apologise, because fuck his pride he has messed this all up, he knows that, only for his best mate to run off basically crying. And for Snape to not let at least Mione go after him.

After hearing the explanation for the telepathy, Ron’d cooled down a bit again. When he’d seen Harry in so much pain during that vision-attack-thing it had been genuinely terrifying. And, thinking back on it, things might’ve turned out much worse without the bastard there to help. So he could accept the whole telepathy deal, even if everything about it still grated on his nerves.

Once Snape had left to find Harry, Hermione and Mum rounded on Ron. Interestingly, Professor Lupin and the twins joined in, protective ire filling their voices. And, yes, he’d fucked up. He understood that now. Obviously he was gonna apologise, even promise Harry that he’d give the git the benefit of the doubt if he had t- Fine, he definitely would. Yes, he knew that the more people supporting and teaching Harry the better. Yes, yes, he would be better, yes…

Eventually, after nearly half an hour of being lectured, Ron was released and quietly followed Mione and Ginny to the library. Where he sat in silence, trying not to think too much. At least the other two left him alone.

Just to make everything worse, an hour or two later saw the gi- Snape storming into the library and basically throttling him. And- Merlin, okay. Ron hadn’t known Harry got panic attacks. Nightmares, yeah, their whole dorm knew, but apart from sometimes sitting up with him, Ron hadn’t done much to help. What could he have done, really? And trying to avoid certain topics? Well, everybody had tiptoed around things like Sirius’ death, and mentioning the Dursleys was a definite way to end a conversation, but Ron’d never realised that there were many other things that Harry didn’t like talking about. Not like Snape was suggesting there was. The bast- bloke finally left, and Ron was sure his throat was going to bruise, but he was too deep in thought to take much notice.

Fuck it all, he’d been a crap mate. He’d just have to figure out how to fix it.

“Hey, Mione, what can I do to say sorry to Harry?”

(The next morning, before breakfast, a rather sheepish Ron approached Harry.

…"I wanted to apologise"...  )

---------------------------------------------------

So, to sum up Ron's POV and character development so far:

Ron is, essentially, a very caring kid. However, he is also hot-headed and hormonal, not to mention naturally a bit jealous and rash. This can manifest itself in what is basically a tantrum, hence chapters 38 and 39. However, once he calms down, the other side of his Gryffindorship turns up: his loyalty. He is, ultimately, devoted to Harry. Harry is the brother he chose, his first friend that was his, the one he chooses to follow into danger again and again. He and Harry are brothers. Nothing will change that.

Yes, they will fight. Case in point, the last few chapters. But also, they will love. They love each other purely, truly, in a deep and unconditional way. He loves Harry just as much as he does Bill and Charlie and Fred and George and Percy and Ginny. He loves them all so, so much. Admittedly, it doesn't stop him getting jealous, because sometimes will always be smarter or stronger or braver or more famous or richer than he is, but he's growing up, remember? Right now, Ron is seventeen. And as a fellow seventeen year-old, albeit one generally considered very mature, I'd say I'm fairly qualified to say that the average teenager is fairly unstable at best. So, give Ron a chance. He's got a lot of making up to do, but he's determined to do so.

After all, he loves his brother.

Chapter Text

Awakening the next day, Severus and Harry were both hyper-aware of the barrenness of their beds. Sleeping alone so suddenly after spending nigh-on every night in the same bed was disconcerting at best. Both of them had slept fitfully, often ending up talking to each other in the darkness, pondering houses: wards and décor and rooms. It went unacknowledged yet tacitly understood that they would be looking to share a room. Albeit one larger than in Grimmauld, with a double bed more appropriately sized than the singles they currently occupied. Neither had particularly comfortable childhoods and the idea of getting to choose their own home, even with it half being the Order Headquarters, was a genuinely exciting prospect. Not that they would ever admit such a fact aloud, even between each other; they both knew that it was a delightfully novel experience and that was more than enough really. At least talking about it into the void of the night kept it a secret, the type of comforting private discussion that warmed them to the bones, even with the cold space surrounding them with the somatic lack of the other. It didn’t keep the nightmares at bay, but it did bring a little glow of hope into the darkness.

Still, their alarm eventually rang through the room and they both dragged themselves out of bed, took turns using the bathroom across the way, then headed down to make breakfast. As per usual, Severus took to the chopping boards, letting the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk of the knife still his light trembling, whilst Harry hummed along to some unheard tune to chase the screams out of his ears. They easily moved around each other, fetching ingredients, grabbing pans, swaying out of the way for a drawer to open, hip-checking a door shut behind for the other wizard. It was a dance borne of familiarity and routine. In the hours spent together they had learnt how the other moved and thought and processed, knew what they wanted by the movement of their hands, knew what they needed by the look in their eyes. Harry and Severus knew each other, and it was that sight that Hermione walked into. Not saying a word, lingering by the door, she stood and watched. Heard Harry humming an old Muggle tune, Severus chopping in time to the beat. Saw the way that they moved around each other, gravitating, two planets in orbit, never colliding but always close. Felt the gentle susurrations of their magic as it twined through the room, interlinked yet not quite mixing, ink in water, silk to her skin. Hermione was sensible enough to know that it could turn to cold, hard steel in a second though. It had before after all. Taking a few steps back, out of sight, she made sure to make her footfalls a little heavier this time. Within a moment, the humming stopped and, when she entered the room this time, she noted how Snape’s hair was down once more, Harry had stilled in front of the hob, silently frying potatoes. It was a stark contrast to the energy, the warmth, of only seconds previous. The professor really was good for Harry; and vice versa, it would seem.

“Morning you two!” she called softly, placing her book on the table and heading over to the kettle. Grabbing three mugs down from the cupboard, she set the water to boiling with a simple spell,

“Want a drink?”

“Plain black coffee please Mione.”

“The same, thank you,” Severus replied a little hesitantly, almost begrudging. Harry flashed him a knowing smile. Severus merely sneered at him. He far preferred it with a good drizzle of honey, but Granger didn’t need to know that. He would make do.

“Sure,” came her cheerful response. It wasn’t even seven in the morning yet, but she’d woken up early and was definitely glad for it now. It was obvious why Harry had been looking less tired, less weary, more bright, of late. And why the Professor appeared less dour and more teasing, if only around Harry.

Taking her own cup of tea to the table with her, Hermione settled in to read her book. She had been restless after a poor night’s sleep, so being around people, even silent ones, was a far cry better than her empty room. And they were silent. Neither Harry nor the Professor made a sound when they walked, only the soft clattering and sizzling of crockery and food cooking interlaced the atmosphere of the room. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were actually talking in their minds. Honestly, the wonders of the magical world never ceased to amaze her.

And indeed, Harry and Severus had adopted a telepathic conversation.

‘Must she be down here so early?’

‘Look at her Severus, then tell me,’ Harry admonished. It took a moment before Severus sent a little stream of understanding to him,

‘I see what you mean. At least she is unobtrusive.’

‘True…’ he trailed off for a moment before adding, seemingly to himself,
‘But I hope she’s alright.’

‘I’m sure she is. Or at least will be with some time and food. You needn’t worry, my brat.’ Harry sent a tired smile his way, neither of them commenting or even thinking over much of the possessive appellation. It wasn’t the first time after all, nor would it be the last, and Harry internally basked in the feeling of belonging, of being wanted and needed and held close in every way. His quiet, soft brand of joy wormed its way into Severus’ mind too and he resisted the urge to smile himself. They were in public after all. Or, well, as close as they tended to get nowadays. It wouldn’t do to be overly vulnerable and open here, even around the least aggravating of Harry’s friends and both of them facing away from each other. Instead, he hid any impending grin in his mug of coffee, instantly scowling fiercely at the bitter taste. It was a shame that he couldn’t Conjure honey into it without ruining the whole mug. He’d tried that before; the taste had been… unpleasant to say the least. Sniggering quietly, Harry grabbed honey out of the cupboard and drizzled the perfect amount into his own coffee, then reached over and stole Severus’ mug, abandoning his own on the side just within the elder’s reach. Huffing in something approaching amusement, the Potions Master took the cup, lifting it to his lips and quickly realising that it was only two-thirds full. That cheeky brat! Still, he enjoyed the long draft of beautiful, beautiful, life-giving coffee that he next took. Bless Merlin for the delightful substance.

Within the hour, more people began to migrate into the kitchen, rubbing at sleep-blurred eyes and yawning, automatically headed for the platters of food already laid out. A few people in, Hermione had put her book to the side and began chatting with Ginny, the low hubbub of noise swelling by the minute at the number of people multiplied and they all became more energetic. Severus and Harry made an effort to talk verbally, if in their usual subtle tones, trying to keep attention away from the telepathy. Even if it had been accepted the night previous, there was no reason to risk aggravating matters, nor the other residents of Grimmauld.

“Oh, that’s a point,” Harry abruptly spoke, raising his voice a little,

“Molly, it was tonight that Bill and Fleur were coming over for dinner, right? I could do with talking to him.”

“Yes it was. Can I ask what about, Harry dear?” The Potions Master found himself pleasantly surprised at her mild, open-ended question. She had deliberately left Harry an out, should he want it.

“It’s nothing much. I could do with meeting with the goblins, is all, as I’ve reached my majority.” He left it at that, not mentioning the Ravens or the Horcrux.

“Of course. Now, you sit down and eat! I’ll finish off this last bit. Go on, eat, eat – you too Severus!” And as she shooed them to take a seat, warm smile gracing her face, which was returned by Harry, Severus was quick to snatch up two more mugs of coffee on the way. They’d certainly be appreciated. And hopefully Harry would do that silly little switching trick again. He really couldn’t stand plain black coffee.

Headed down to the basement, Harry and Severus immediately set to dismantling the ward they’d put in place for destroying the Horcruxes. In the blur of that day and the consequent ones, they’d completely forgotten about it. But it would do them no good for practicing their Duelling, that was for sure. And so, the two settled opposite each other, watching the minute movements and subtle eye-flicks that would indicate the other's-

"Serpensortia!" Harry called, already hissing in Parseltongue the instant it popped into existence. And for a fraction of a second, Severus flinched back, eyes wild before the giant constrictor, but then he was already casting three successive aquamarine spells and with each one, the snake shrunk and shrunk, until it is only a few inches long. Harry was flabbergasted for a moment, peeved, before he smirked. Fine. If Severus wanted to go tit-for-tat, then he'll do just the same.

"Duplibra!" And now there were two of him, each running in the opposite direction, curling around Severus, and the elder man snarled a little, playful yet mocking, beginning to shoot spells. But what Harry didn't notice was the other charm that Severus slipped in. Well, not until he's aware of how the elder narrowed in on the real him, completely ignoring the duplicate. And then they're exchanging curses again, spell for spell, everything else fading away in the blur of light and movement, until one of Severus' spells crashed through Harry's current shield, sending him smashing down into the floor with a cut-off cry. At the same time, one of the younger's spells made the floor bulge and wallow beneath the Potions Master's feet, forcing him to stumble and fall as well. On their backs, out of breath, they both stopped. Then they started to laugh. Staring at the stone ceiling above them, Harry full-on belly laughing, Severus sniggering under his breath.

“Hey, you two busy this afternoon? It’d be good to spend some ti-” He was actually quite nervous, sat before his two friends at lunch. Things had been rocky recently, but-

“Oh Harry, of course we have! You don’t need to ask. We’ll always have time for you, I promise.”

“Thanks Mione,” Harry replied, tone subdued, gaze cutting over to Ron, uncertainty obvious. But the redhead merely nodded, mouth full, in Hermione’s direction, eyes crinkling at the corners. So he agreed then.

Settling into the library with his best friends - because they were still best friends, despite some distinctly rocky patches of late – Harry smiled at seeing that Hermione had been dragged into a chess match with Ron that they looked to still be halfway through. He would find a book then, something he could read whilst talking. What about…? Settling on some charms, he took a seat on the same sofa as Ron, curled up and daring to tuck his toes against the ginger’s legs in a very familiar position. After a moment, Ron patted his ankle once, before returning most of his focus to the chessboard. And so they all spent the next hour in quiet chatter and a familiar closeness that had been missing for a month or so now. It was a relief to have it back.

“So, do you reckon you could actually tell us about him? Like, I dunno, how you see him or whatever? 'Cause there's gotta be more to it than what we've seen.” came Ron’s sudden question. For a long moment, Harry froze, tucking further into his ball, feet moving away from against the redhead, then he began to smile a little, relaxing somewhat. Ron was trying, and that alone meant the world.

“Okay… ” Harry hesitated for several long moments, thinking, “Well, it sounds dumb as fuck, but Severus is like coffee. He’s dark and bitter and ridiculously hot-tempered at times, but then he’s laced with something sweeter, like honey, that you can only tell is there if you actually spend some time with him properly. He keeps you awake and grounded and sends a rush through you like nothing else and by Merlin is he addictive.” Another long silence, and Harry didn’t dare lower his book to face his friends and their judgeme-

“You’re right, that is dumb as fuck,” Ron snorted, then sobered, “But I guess he’s alright then. Not sure where you got the ‘hot’ from though.”

“Oh shut up Ron. I said hot-tempered.” They all burst out laughing. His joy felt more like relief, but Harry would take either right now.

“But seriously mate, he’s treating you alright with whatever the fuck you two are?” Ron began once they’d all calmed down again.

“Yeh, no, he does. He… he gets me. Like, you guys have gone through so much with me and you’re still here, which is insane and I still don’t get why, but he’s suffered in ways that are so similar to me, he knows what being exposed to Voldemort is like, the sheer helplessness and terror of that, the scars it leaves and I’ve yet to meet anybody else that understands that in such a similar context. I- As much as I love you guys, it’s just not something you’ve been through and I’m glad you haven’t because nobody should have to, nobody, but the fact that he has- it- it’s just-”

“Just…?”

“It stops me feeling like such a freak,” Harry muttered, eyes closed, flinching at his own words.

“And how many times have I told you, idiot brat, that you are far from anything they labelled you as?” The tone was deceptively snide, showing only the sharp edge of the silk, coming from the doorway.

“Severus!” the younger yelped, scrambling to his feet, book falling to the side.

“Why hello Harry. What’s this I hear about you being a supposed ‘freak’? You know-”

As the two stepped away and devolved into an apparently familiar bicker, Ron and Hermione took a moment to simply observe them interact, even when they could no longer hear the words, the two presumably making use of their telepathy:

Despite Severus’ posture looming with insistence, pushy, his eyes remained trained upon Harry’s, showing no direct anger or aggravation, instead being kind of… soft? Sad? Understanding? And when one of the younger’s hands flailed in the air between them, it took only a light touch to his wrist for Severus to calm him. But when Severus’ face darkened, Harry’s also did, and he laid a reassuring hand upon the elder’s arm. His grip tightened as he leant forward, clearly struggling with his words, mental though they may be, but the older man simply nodded and they approached Ron and Hermione once more.

“Sorry about that guys, but, um, it’s a bit of a sort of sore subject, so…”

“Don’t worry about it Harry. Now, I believe I have some research to do, you can come and help me Ron. We’ll leave you two to it again.” And with smiles on their faces, the two left the room. When the door closed behind them, Harry sagged into Severus’ side, a giddy chuckle echoing through the room. Quirking his own lips, Severus tucked the brat further into his grasp, then guided them both towards their corner. Might as well make the most of the time left before dinner.

------------------

Duplibra - Duplici umbra - lit. shadow double - the shadow double spell - the caster creates a 'shadow clone' (no, I definitely don't like Naruto) of themselves to act like a decoy. The stronger and more focused the user, the more clarified and realistic the illusion will be.

Chapter Text

Stepping into the Floo, Harry found himself immensely glad that Severus had volunteered to travel through it with him. What with his disastrous record with anything but Apparition, and when getting caught somewhere like Knockturn Alley was such a great risk, he did not want to push his luck. So instead, the two swirled through the flames and ash together, the younger clutching at the Potions Master's arm in an attempt to both stay together and hopefully not fall over once they were spat back out. Miraculously, it worked, and he only stumbled a little upon finding himself surrounded by marble.

‘Alright brat?’ He simply sent a sense of reassurance in return, focusing on the goblin that had appeared before them. He was alright, actually.

“If you would both follow me. We will begin introductions once in private.” Easily acquiescing to the gruff words, Harry and Severus fell into step behind the short creature, headed deeper into grand halls of marble and gold. Then they stepped through an archway and were met instead with smooth grey stone, hewn carefully and intricately carved with depictions of what looked like great battles. Somehow the simpler stone – basalt, perhaps? – with its stunning murals was far more beautiful and fitting to the figure in front of them than any precious jewel and expensive ore. Soon however, they halted at a door. It too was made from the very rock of the flat-floored tunnel and stood with only a seam around its edge to denote its existence, no handle or hinges in sight. A small letterbox opening was dug out to the left of it, fairly low by human standards, with runes depicted above it. The equivalent of a pigeonhole perhaps? 

Before Harry could think to ask, their escort was reaching forward and pressing his gnarled hand to the panel of stone. With the slightest taint of deep silver light and the grinding sound of stone on stone, the door swung open, revealing an office. The first thing Harry noticed was the large desk, looking to be made of mahogany or the like, simple and robust. It looked weighty enough to withstand a dragon standing on it. Entering the room, Harry began to catalogue everything else: the incredible tapestries adorning the walls which glimmered in the candlelight as though made of threads of precious metals – they probably were; the two wooden chairs sat on their side of the desk, upholstered with velvet that was a shade suspiciously similar to dried blood; the two pillars embedded into the far corners of the room upon which half-spirals of intricate runes were trailed, elegant and uniform yet somehow blurry to the eye – perhaps they were enchanted so they wouldn’t be able to tell exactly what they were for?

Harry broke out of his own thoughts as Severus’,

‘Do make haste Harry,’ interrupted them. Hastening to follow the elder, they took their seats, Harry to the left as per usual, and waited for a few moments as the goblin sat down, his weight suddenly causing the chair’s legs to extend almost comically until the bank manager was face-to-face with them, at the perfect height for his own desk.

“Good day Lord Potter, Lord Prince. I am Grinluk, the bank manager for the Potter vaults, in addition to any other you might open for yourself.”

“Hello Manager Grinluk. Would it be possible for you to call me Harry?” The goblin’s scowl begun to lighten with Harry’s reply,

“It would, so long as you return the informality. Very well then, Harry, what is your purpose for visiting today? Your… intermediary did not specify.” Taking a second to collect and order his thoughts, Harry leaned a little forward.

“Your wards are appropriately strong?” he began, hoping that Grinluk wouldn’t take offense.

“Most certainly so,” was accompanied by a vicious grin, all teeth and terror,
“It isn’t often a wizard dares nor thinks to ask. Go on.” Bewildered, but quite happy to take advantage of whatever favour he appeared to have garnered, Harry went on,

“There’s a number of things. The primary is to affirm my inheritances and what those entail,” he hesitated a moment before pressing on, feeling no dissent from Severus either,
“Particularly in regards to properties and one potential artefact.”

“An artefact?” the creature purred, eyes alight, but he let the matter go within a second, instead tapping a claw upon the surface of his desk to a specific rhythm. A parchment, vial, bowl and dagger all immediately materialised, clustered at the centre of the tabletop.

“If you would, Harry, draw seven drops of blood from your wand hand, and let them fall into here,” he instructed, shunting the dagger and bowl towards the young man. Harry did so, glad for the cut closing upon the right amount of blood dripping into the gold bowl. Drawing it back towards him, the goblin swirled the potion thrice in its bottle, agitating it and examining it with a critical eye, before unstoppering the vial and decanting it into the bowl. The previously silver-grey potion paled to a milky white, then coloured again, becoming a galaxy of purple, gold and green, glittering faintly. Starting up a quiet chant in Gobbledegook that rang through the room like the first pebbles of an avalanche, subtle yet with immense power, ancient and earthen, Grinluk took up the bowl and gradually poured the potion onto the parchment, Harry and Severus watching on in fascination as its mass formed strands of glimmering ink, fading into blacks and reds, as though the parchment was soaking it up, its volume decreasing further and further until it formed distinct words.

Harry James Potter (31-07-1980 / - )

Blood inheritances  : Lord Potter

                              : Lord Black

                              : Heir Peverell

Conquest Inheritances: Heir Slytherin

                                  : Heir Gaunt

                                 : Heir Avery

(for list of material inheritances, see relevant bank managers)

Harry sat, honestly in shock. Heir Peverell, Slytherin, Gaunt and Avery? How?

“Not to be ignorant, but what exactly are conquest inheritances?”

“If a wizard kills the head of a house in a one-on-one Duel, they can claim the lordship through right of conquest. Being listed as an heir indicates that you have not chosen to claim that lordship as of yet.”

“Ah…” He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. Objectively, he knew that he’d killed more than one of the Death Eaters that had attacked the Wren pack. That was probably where the Avery came from and then any others probably didn’t have titles. And he’d killed Voldemort’s body as a baby, arguably, and one of his soul shards since. That must be the Slytherin and Gaunt. But then the Peverell…?

“With those, what would he have to do to claim the lordships?” Severus interjected, undoubtedly sensing his confusion and aiming to ground him.

“It would require him to announce his attentions to any other heirs, whom, if they should choose to protest his claim he would then Duel. Should he win, upon whatever terms decided, then he could claim the lordship. Should he lose, he would lose all claim to the title.” Severus hummed in thought, giving Harry time to collect himself.

“For now, I would like to focus on the immediate lordships. You were the manager of the Potter accounts, weren’t you Grinluk?”

“Indeed I am. Is it safe to presume you wish for a portfolio of all properties, monies and artefacts?”

“Please. That would be great. And who would I need to talk to for the Black vaults?”

“I can summon Manager Botlug here.”

“Brilliant, thanks. Whilst they're coming, do you know anything about the Peverell heirship?”

“I do; it is common Goblin knowledge. Any of direct Peverell blood who comes to possess one of Death’s Trinkets becomes an heir. If one gains the title of Master of Death, which can only be attained through possession of the three Trinkets and the blood of the brothers, then one becomes the lord. As such, as the heir, you are descended from one of the three brothers and own one of the artefacts.”

“Okay…” Harry closed his eyes, flopping back into his seat. Beside him, Severus tutted but took the effort to poke him in the shoulder, the closest to reassuring he was willing to be in public. Harry was glad for it all the same. Particularly when a warm mental nudge accompanied it.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before a single rap came at the door and it immediately admitted another goblin, this one’s suit cut slightly different and in slate grey – very flattering to the pale green of her skin – instead of the navy blue of Grinluk's three piece.

“Good day Fellow Grinluk, Lords Potter and Prince.”

“And to you Manager Botlug,” Harry returned, the end upturned into a question.

“That is I. Am I to believe that you are here to claim your Black lordship?”

“I am. Could I ask you to call me Harry, please?”

“That is fine, Harry. In return, you may disregard my title too.”

“Thanks Botlug,” the younger replied as she rounded the disk and, with a snap of her fingers, another chair to match Grinluk’s appeared upon which she sat, repeating the interesting process of it raising itself.

“Now that we are all here, would you wish to discuss your ‘further matters’? And assuredly obtain the Black portfolio too?”

“That would be best, yeh- yes.” With his acquiescence, the two managers patted the desk twice with their left hands, movements eerily in sync. And, much as the inheritance potion had, two thick folders bound in tooled leather appeared, one bound in a royal purple and embossed in gold, the other’s leather a deep black and its embossing an odd sort of silver-bronze.

Upon Grinluk’s, the gold formed a crest. A hippocampus – half horse, half fish, though in this case the latter looked more draconic – reared above a knight’s helm. Below that, the shield bore three flowers, all a little like lilies, Harry couldn’t help but notice, with five petals a piece, and a central band of patterning. Blossoming from either side of the shield were a total of four long fleur de lis, somewhat resembling feathers, albeit with two closed flower buds, one each side. Calligraphed above the crest was the Latin: qui fortiter creare germinabunt. ‘Those who bravely create will flourish.’ Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips to read those words. Certainly an improvement upon the toujours pur of the Black family, he mused, glancing over at the darker folder. Its embossment formed a shield with three… Crows? Ravens? A star, eight-pointed, studded the centre of the shield and cresting it was a crown. The surrounding fleur de lis were more intricate than the Potter’s, but were no less elegant for it. Actually, he contemplated, he almost preferred the Black Crest. The crows reminded him of their Ravens and perhaps it was a little… pretentious at first glance, but he liked it all the same. Maybe he shouldn’t be appreciating the chosen aesthetics of a very Dark family, but did it really matter? No, he decided, it didn’t. And it was that kind of prejudice that was causing this entire bloody War in the first place-

His rising ire was interrupted by a wave of questioning warmth from Severus. Shaking himself, he instead leant forwards and dragged the two portfolios across the desk, taking the purple for himself, leaving the other to his companion without a second thought. After a moment’s hesitation, Severus took the Black’s. And Harry allowed himself to focus on what he held in his lightly-trembling hands. Smoothing fingertips across the cover, he finally opened the folder and began to scan down the index. Properties, properties, properties… Turning to the first appropriate page, he immediately found himself drowning in shock. There were seven properties. He owned seven entire buildings! Even if some were in disrepair or uninhabitable, that was still a good number of places he could have lived without the Dursleys. Seven was a lot to own, particular when the largest space he had ever owned before was Dudley’s second bedroom or, arguably, his and Severus’ room in Grimmauld Place. But all this time, there’d been entire buidlings that he could have lived in. House elves or nannies could have looked after him – Remus could have lived with him! He could have had an actual childhood…!

‘Brat? What is wrong?’ Severus, once again, brought him back from the brink of uncontrollable emotions.

‘I… it is nothing. A matter for later, if we must.’

‘Very well,’ the elder acquiesced, allowing his concern-turning-faith to pool into the mental bond between them. Harry smiled wanly in return. Then refocused his attention to the page before him. Two manors, two townhouses, one cottage and a further two detached homes. One mansion, the cottage and a detached house had a little note of ‘state of disrepair’; the rest were labelled as ‘house-elf maintained’. Did he have elves as well then? He must. That would mean- Then something caught his attention. Mansions? Even if one was currently in a bad state… A manor. That would be massive. The grounds alone… they must have greenhouses and a garden that he and Severus could use to grow potions ingredients? The elder had been bemoaning the inconvenience and issues with having to purchase them through third parties. Growing their own would undoubtedly solve that. And surely the manor itself would be big enough to act as a safe house for the Ravens’ families? They would all be safe and well-accommodated in surroundings that shouldn’t be too painfully unfamiliar or familiar. Or, thinking of the sheer size of many manors – they could probably use it as an evacuation centre for the children should Hogwarts be attacked. Even if only for the lower years – it was bound to be safer than sending them to the Ministry or the Chamber or something. And far easier to manage than trying to get them all to their homes. Of course, there was also the possibility of the Order utilising it to plan and prepare for larger battles, or to recuperate post-incident. And that was only considering one, or both, manors. The thought of being able to protect those he needed to set a little trickle of hope springing forth in his chest. They could do this.

Unable to deny his curiosity for the Black properties, Harry shifted in his seat and leant over to peer half-over Severus’ shoulder. One manor, three townhouses, a farm and a plot of land greeted him.

“Botlug, how much is 27 acres in, say, Quidditch pitches?”

“Well, 27 acres is 109,265 metres squared, to use a common Muggle measurement. A Quidditch pitch typically has a full boundary of 3,686.8608 metres square. Thus, just under 30 Quidditch pitches, or, to be exact, 29.6363236713 pitches. Does that answer your question Harry?” Resisting the urge to whistle, he simply nodded, thanking her. 27 acres was apparently a hell of a lot of land. They could build an entire complex on that if they wanted.

“Okay, this is all brilliant. What about purchasing Muggle properties? And then warding those, as well as some of these.”

“If you were to write us a list of your preferences, we would be willing to compile a selection to deliver for your perusal? It can be done by tomorrow. The wardings could wait until you had a complete portfolio of properties and what they would individually need.” Not sensing any immediate dissent from Severus, Harry nodded, taking a moment to think through is next request,

“Botlug, what would the price be for retrieving an artefact from the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange? She is a Black daughter after all."

“Why Harry, it would depend greatly upon what said artefact is. And what price you would be willing to pay.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Harry James Potter (31-07-1980 / - )

James Charlus Potter (27-03-1962 / 31-10-1981)                  Lily Potter nee Evans (30-01-1962 / 31-10-1981)

It was briefly mentioned previously, but I changed the birthdates of the MArauders/Severus a little - they were all born two years later so, when Harry was born, Lily and James were eighteen, not twenty (or was it nineteen?) as in canon. It's just to shave a few more years off of the age gap, to be honest.

I based the Potter crest off of one I found on the website ‘familycrestuk’ – it is gold, black and white, featuring a hippocampus, a knight’s helm, something resembling flowers, fleur de lis with unopened blossoms and a pattern that reminds of club (the card suit, that is).

‘qui fortiter creare germinabunt’ – ‘those who bravely create will flourish’

The Potter family motto – represents their numerous inventions over the generations, including potions like Skele-gro and Sleak-eazy, to artefacts such as the Marauders’ Map. As a family, they are famed for their innovation and determination, for being dedicated and adventurous in all aspects of life and magic.

The Potter crest meaning:

Hippocampus – used as a heraldic charge, granted to those with maritime associations – thought to be secretive and peaceful – extremely loyal, graceful and agile creatures – associated with strength and creativity – a good omen for sailors – connected to Poseidon, the Earth Shaker, Dark-Haired, the God of the Sea

Knight’s Helm – a great helm, often used for jousting, with excellent protection but limiting on the wearer’s peripheral vision (could be seen to represent that the Potters are strong and noble, but often lack forethought), typically worn by knights, esquires or nobility.

Fleur de lis – often used in crests, they represent purity and divine approval, heavily associated with French heraldry in particular, often associated with lilies (which I found out whilst researching but will happily take advantage of), also with irises, a symbol of royalty and nobility.

Lilies – when white, these represent devotion, humility, chastity, sympathy and virtue. Additionally, they are a funeral flower, symbolising the soul of the departed (and their regained innocence). In Victorian flower language, white lilies are associated with return of happiness, humility, sweetness, purity and wealth.

Black Family Crest:

Crows – can be seen to represent bad luck and death, or magic, life and mysteries. A harbinger that guides human souls to the afterlife. An animal of choice, related to those who wish to control the universe, whom are fearless. Also associated with witchcraft. Rich in knowledge and experience.

Eight-pointed Star – eight symbolises infinity, material wealth, money, success and pleasures – even to the negative point of excessive vices, thus resembling those whose power has corrupted them with greed, pride and envy. Represents perfectionism, durability and inner strength. Associated with the colours of grey, black, blue and purple. – the star represents their connection to the celestial and greater. Associated with angels, both fallen and not, and aspiration, wonder, pursuits, Magic, great energy and ambition. A star can also signify the eternal, the cycle of life and true guidance.

Crown – represents royalty, righteousness, power, legitimacy, material wealth, victory, triumph, authority, honour, glory, immortality, duty and nobility. It could also be reflective of a halo, thus associating with righteousness and higher powers. Genius and the right to rule.

Fleur de lis – often used in crests, they represent purity and divine approval, heavily associated with French heraldry in particular, often associated with lilies and irises, a symbol of royalty and nobility,

To those who have put thought to it, it is obvious that Goblins must have incredibly mental arithmetic, just as proficient as a Muggle calculator. Plus they must memorise a massive number of conversion charts, both Muggle and Magickal, financial and otherwise.

Chapter Text

[“Why Harry, it would depend greatly upon what said artefact is. And what price you would be willing to pay.”]

“It is… a relic of the Dark Lord himself. A piece of him, if you would,” he returned, hoping against hope that they would understand the insinuation without him having to say it directly. Judging from the fearsome scowls that plagued their faces, they did. Or at least the gist of it.

“Soul Magic? In our vaults?” Much like during his chant earlier, Grinluk’s voice rang with primordial power, all magma carving through stone, boiling and vicious, unstoppable, omnipotent, ancient.

“Yes. Helga Hufflepuff’s Goblet, at that.” The oppressive aura of the room did not let up, leaving Harry with tight lungs and a pounding heart; at his side, he could feel how tense Severus had become, almost trembling with the force of it. Facing a Goblin’s wrath, even indirectly, was not comfortable in the least.

“Is it safe to assume that you possess a methodology for destroying such an accursed thing?”

“We have Basilisk fangs. No risk of losing control like with Fiendfyre.” As he spoke, the atmosphere lessened and lightened, giving the sense of a repressed rage. It was there, at the edges of their awareness, but had been largely beaten back for now. Thank Merlin.

“Very well. We shall send a team to extract the artefact and bring it to a ritual room. If you would retrieve these fangs and return immediately, then we shall deal with the matter. If you are amenable?”

“If I return whilst Harry compiles a list of requirements for the Muggle properties?” Severus offered. The Goblins nodded, Botlug lowering her chair to escort him and, presumably, lead a team into Bellatrix’s vault, and as he stood to leave, Severus took a moment to meet Harry’s gaze, scrutinising the green beauty he found there, finding only assent there, and squeezed the brat’s shoulder tightly, comfortingly, on his way past, falling into step with the female Goblin.

“Do you have some stationary on hand?” Harry inquired, vaguely registering the little tug at his mind as Severus’ travelled further away. Luckily, there was no pain, only a slight discomfort. Accepting the parchment and self-inking quill Grinluk passed to him, he began to contemplate what would be necessary. Noting down a few basics, a large basement among them, he suddenly remembered his late night fantasy of a possible new Order Headquarters. One for him and Severus. With space for Duelling and potions and growing ingredients. A kitchen big enough to cook in together. A spacious master bedroom with an ensuite. A large living space to hold Order Meetings. Wards that would keep them safer than houses. Somewhere they could make theirs in a way that there had never been anywhere before. A home.

‘I would like that too Harry.’

‘Severus!’ he internally yelped, his sudden jerk attracting Grinluk’s temporary attention, though he was just as quickly dismissed.

‘You heard me, brat. I’ll trust your judgement on the matter. For now at least.’ Harry snorted at him in return. That was hardly a threat.

Regardless, Harry returned to writing his little list. About halfway down the page, he added a little subtitle of ‘at least one that meets all of the following’. Then he recorded his dreams in words that seemed far too paltry. Syllables that he had never dared utter aloud. His chicken scratch and hesitant bullet-pointing didn’t do justice to the pure hope and anticipation that lanced through his body like an electric current, his magic threatening to spark at his zeal. This simple list of desires, should they be fulfilled, would find him and Severus a home. And there was nothing he wanted more.

By the time Severus returned, Botlug once more beside him, Harry had compiled his thoughts in something comprehensible, albeit with a small number of amendments here and there. He had instead taken to looking through the ancestral property details more carefully, taking in their individual pages to consider their different merits and how useful, or not, they would be in the immediate future. It looked promising, overall. Two of the Potter properties – one manor, one cottage - sounded like they needed massive renovation, so they didn’t fit in for now. Two of the Black townhouses sounded like they were even worse than Grimmauld Place had been when Sirius first moved in and so probably weren’t going to work. The manor and farm however, were all fine already. So that put them at two manors, a farm and three townhouses. Oh, plus some land. That was already four smaller houses for the Ravens’ families, one manor to be kept as a safe house stroke evacuation centre and the second for whatever was needed – probably an emergency safe house, honestly. It would be good to keep one in reserve. Maybe they could create single-use Portkeys to it? Ones that only activated when the wearer was in danger of dying… That could work.

Pulled from his ponderings by the door of Grinluk’s office opening, Harry half-turned in his seat to see Severus stood at Botlug’s side, face impassive as ever, leather satchel firmly hooked over his shoulder, non-wand hand clutching it, knuckles not quite white, albeit not far off.

‘Did you put-’

‘Of course I did, brat. Don’t insult me.’ The terse words were betrayed by the playful indignation to his mental tone. Harry just transmitted a wave of mirth at the man in return, subtly tinged by relief. At least if Severus had stored some of their Basilisk fangs somewhere safe, then it wouldn’t matter what happened with the Goblins, they would still have an easy means of destroying the other Horcruxes. They could hardly risk losing that.

“Harry, if you and and your companion would follow us,” she began, stepping back a little to afford him a view of the five other Goblins, all in armour rather than suits, one toting a foot-by-foot lead chest,
“We can go ahead with destroying this particular artefact.”

“Brilliant. Are you accompanying us, Grinluk?” he inquired, even as he stood to go.

“Certainly,” the other Manager intoned, already rounding his desk. The group, now consisting of seven Goblins and two humans, headed further into the maze of stone halls in silence, anticipation thick in the air, not yet stifling.

‘Will you be alright when they open the chest? We don’t want to alert them to your Horcrux if we can truly help it.’

‘I… I think I’ll be alright. It can’t be as bad as the tiara-’

‘Diadem.’

‘-was. And I’ll be expecting it. Plus, with any luck, the room will be big enough to not have to stand too close. It’ll be better that way.’

‘Hm. Very well.’ His tone was somewhat reluctant, but there was faith beyond his resignation. Harry could only draw strength from that.

Reaching yet another door seam, Botlug and one of the unnamed guard Goblins stepped forward together, each laying a hand on the door, prompting it to rumble its way down into the floor. The room it revealed was, quite simply, stunning. The dark grey stone was replaced by quartz crystal, carved into an immaculate domed room, every surface perfectly smooth and uniform. The only interruption in the sleek crystal was the perpendicular join between wall and floor, and then a raised dais in the centre of the room, two steps allowing it to be a good foot higher than the rest of the room.

“Would you be amenable to allowing Squadron Head Papelyn to destroy the artefact?” With a wordless nod of assent, Severus fished in his satchel, hands gloved, and passed a Basilisk fang to the Goblin who had stepped forward, a ring upon his hand glimmering and instantly forming a second-skin protective forcefield over the green skin as he reached to receive the venomous thing.

Prompted to stand by the wall closest to the door they’d just entered through, Severus and Harry stood shoulder to shoulder, the elder just half a step in front of the other, posture subtly protective. Grinluk, Botlug and two of the warrior Goblins were to either side, only three of the squadron stepping up onto the dais, two now sharing the burden of the chest, Papelyn only a pace behind them. Halting in the centre of the platform, the Goblins, upon receiving a nod from their leader, knelt to open the chest.

The instant the lid was raised, Harry flinched a little, a grimace flashing across his face, before he concealed it behind a mild scowl. Sensing the pulsing pain the other was suffering, Severus blindly reached across the inch between their hands, wrapping his long, thin fingers tightly around the younger’s suddenly clammy hand. His breath almost hitching, fighting off the need to double over at the agony resonating from his scar, Harry clutched back desperately, drawing unimaginable strength and comfort from that single point of contact, his tight grip indubitably cutting off a measure of Severus’ circulation but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he hyper-focused on the warmth and sparks that shot through his body, starting at his very fingertips, like licks of flame swamping through his body, all coming straight from the elder, all distracting him from the thudding agony as he focused his gaze on Papelyn, rising the fang high in the air and bringing it down once, twice, upon a golden goblet.

The pain was gone. He didn’t let go of Severus’ hand. Not yet.

“It is done,” rang out the unfamiliar voice of Papelyn, just as gruff as Grinluk’s, if not more so. And as the Goblin began to turn around, Harry quickly squeezed Severus’ hand once and let go, pushing aside the pang of loss that came with doing so. The Potions Master returned the brief assurance before too letting go. Both took a moment to wallow in the mutual loss before returning their full attention to those around them.

“We thank you then, Grinluk, Botlug, Squadron Head Papelyn, everyone. It is a good job done,” Harry offered, bowing a little to them all, a dazzling smile overtaking his expression, words formal but not stiff for it. And their companions appreciated them, judging by the series of toothy grins offered in return.

“Grinluk, you have our list of property requirements and we have the portfolios. Is there anything else that needs addressing today?” Harry went on, a little restlessness bleeding through to Severus' mind.

“I do believe that everything is hand. We will pass a selection of possible properties on to Breaker Weasley this eve, if that is acceptable?”

“Of course. That would be great. Thank you for everything today Grinluk, Botlug. You’ve both been most helpful.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Botlug assured, her feral grin actually softening a little, a steel sword left just a little close to a forge fire,

“I will accompany you to our internal Floos once more,” Grinluk offered, tacitly herding them out of the door. Exchanging a glance, Severus and Harry decided that leaving the Horcrux husk to the Goblins was no great sacrifice. It was dead after all.

Flopping onto his bed in Grimmauld with all the grace and dignity of a three-legged elephant, Harry couldn’t help but let out a long, heavy breath.

“That’s another one gone. We’ve killed five of them now. Five! And if we’re right, there’s likely only one more, excepting- well, you know.”

“Indeed. We have done well, my Harry.”

“We have, my Severus,” the younger returned playfully, smiling wearily up at the drab ceiling of their room. He was exhausted, but that didn’t stop the throb of triumph from echoing through his limbs, through his link to Severus, through his very core. A moment later, he was surprised to feel the bed dip at his side and a slightly chilled hand come to rest against the side of his neck. Severus was sat beside his prone form, touching him, back curved with how he leant forwards, deep into Harry’s space, hair just shy of pooling like ink on Harry’s chest.

“Is the-” Severus stopped, face twisting a little at the incredible intimacy, then began again,

‘Is the pain gone? You are alright?’ The silence of the room seemed to gape, ready to swallow them whole with something untold: tension, care, intimacy, anticipation. All of that and more.

‘I am. And you? Are you okay with- with everything?’

‘I am glad to be finding a home with you, Harry, yes.’ And in the somatic silence of the room, their words only spoken in the privacy of their own minds, they could both deny that such a thing had ever taken place. They couldn’t deny that Severus’ lips brushed deliberately against the corner of Harry’s, nor that they both revelled in the fleeting, precious contact. Except maybe, with how neither of them verbally acknowledged the action, they could deny it. To any other, they certainly would. But in their shared internality, they didn’t need to. So they didn’t. Nor did they acknowledge how Severus’ thumb began to trace a caressing back and forth along the column of Harry’s neck, eliciting a shiver; nor how Harry, still prone, partially trapped beneath the elder, brought one arm up, trailing fingertips up the length of Severus’ leg, then latching on gently, reverently, to his waist, holding him close but not restricting him. Never that.

“We should begin to make firmer plans for the properties.”

“We should,” Severus agreed. Neither moved for a good while after.

Just before dinner that evening, a certain redhead came through the kitchen Floo, hand pressed to his robes.

“Mum- Oh, Harry, Professor, you’re already down here. Excellent,” he began, striding towards the younger,

“Manager Grinluk asked me to pass this on to you.” He proffered a sealed envelope, the ink gleaming a dark golden in the kitchen light, addressed to Harry.

“Thanks Bill, could you pop it down next to Severus? I’ll open it once I’m done with this,” he added, gesturing his spatula at the stir-fry he had going on the hob. With a smile, the curse breaker did just that, then took a step back to lean against the table.

“They’ve taken a liking to you, you know, the Goblins; not an easy thing to achieve. What did you do to impress them?”

“Good question. Treated them with respect, I guess. Like human beings. Plus, I told them about an artefact that the Dark Lord had Bellatrix keeping in her vault, then provided them the means to destroy it.” The young man’s tone was deceptively casual, even careless. He didn’t seem to register the shock adorning Bill’s freckled face.

“Really? What kind of artefact?”

“A cursed one,” Harry replied, any shortness made obsolete with his nonchalance. Bill whistled in reply, leaving him to his secrets.

“Good on you, mate. No wonder they approve of you.”

“Hm,” came the noncommittal dismissal. Flashing a smile over his shoulder, he went on,
“Still, thanks for dropping that off Bill. I was hoping to look it over this evening. Are you and Fleur coming over for dinner again tonight?”

“Nah, thanks mate. Although it does smell delicious. You guys enjoy. Oh, and say hi to everyone for me.”

“Will do,” was all he heard before he Flooed home for the evening. Sending an incomprehensible glance over to the Potions Master Harry spoke up again,

“Mind tucking that into your pocket for me? I’d rather look it over properly together later.” Without a word, Severus did so, resolutely ignoring the warmth that made itself in his chest at the implication. Harry wanted them to look at the properties together. Alone.

Only five minutes after Bill left, Molly and Remus came into the kitchen, amicably discussing something about household charms and stitching.

“Ah, Mrs Weasley- Molly, sorry. Bill stopped over briefly, sends his love.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she beamed, then it dampened a little,
“Was there a reason though? Is everything alright? Oh, I hope-”

“Don’t worry, it was just to pass something on from my bank Manager. Nothing’s wrong.” His tone was reassuring, clearly indulging in how she worried for her children, delighting in the motherly care, even if indirectly.

‘Sentimental brat,’ Severus teased.

‘Maybe. But I’m your brat.’ And there was no retort to that.

Chapter Text

Settling on Severus’ bed that evening, Harry was quick to lever off the wax seal of the Gringotts envelope but, reaching to pull out the letter itself, he stopped. His hands were shaking.

“I meant what I said earlier Harry,” Severus reassured, wrapping a careful hand around a thin wrist, brushing his thumb against the protrusion of bone to be found there. The younger let out a shuddering breath then abruptly began to tug the parchment free, ensuring that Severus’ grip wasn’t dislodged. As he went to lower the envelope, he deftly twisted his arm, breaking the older man’s grip but then interlacing their fingers, holding on tightly to anchor himself, to anchor Severus. And, shaking out the parchment, they both began to read.

Falling asleep that night was a task even more tremendous than usual. There was an undercurrent between them, one laced with anticipation of every kind. Harry burrowed his head even closer into the crook of Severus’ neck, feeling the other shift a little to accommodate him better, and resisted the urge to sigh. The potent mixture of nerves, excitement and expectation swirled in his gut, sending alternating tendrils of searing heat and blistering cold through his chest. He oh-so-wanted to have a home of his very own, to share said home with Severus, but that little voice in the back of his head was no longer quite so little. The two of them might be able to share space now, be quiet and content in each other’s company, in each other’s arms, but surely it was only a matter of time until the elder grew frustrated with him, tired of him. After all, Harry wasn’t actually worth much, was he? Not beyond the war at least. Oh, Severus and his friends might have told him that he was clever or handsome or a good flier or a good person, but Harry knew better. All of his good attributes were fronts, meticulously developed to hide a freakish boy who was lonely and useless.

‘You are mine, brat. And nothing of mine is useless. Nothing of mine will ever be lonely again.’ Harry could only let out a choked sob in return. How could Severus mean that?! How couldn’t Severus - good, intelligent, damaged Severus - see what Harry really was? See that Harry was just a-

‘Hush now, calm down. I need you to breathe for me, Harry. Come on brat, we know better than this. You’re not a freak; you’re not useless; you will never be alone again. Harry. Listen to me. I will follow you for a long as you permit it, understand? Answer me, brat.’

“I- Y-yes Sev’rus. B-but-”

‘No buts. Not tonight, hm? Just trust in me.’ And that was something Harry could do. He trusted Severus with every fibre of his being, no problems, no questions asked. With a sigh of his own, the Potions Master drew his arms even tighter around the brat, trying to convey in that touch everything that he didn’t dare to say, not even telepathically. He wanted to hold Harry together so that even if he shook apart into tiny pieces, fractured and broken, tore himself apart from the inside and out, he would be whole so long as he had Severus at his side. For Severus would never abandon him. No matter what it took, whether he had to kill or torture or even create his own Horcrux, Severus would be there for Harry as long as the younger wished it. And even if he was pushed away, he would keep an eye on the younger from the shadows, do everything possible to ease his burden.

But for now, he merely needed to hold Harry close. And so he did.

Indeed, as Harry’s weeping died away, Severus still didn’t let go of him. No, he kept his grip solid across the younger’s spine, one hand reaching back up to cover a shoulder blade, the other dipping lower to clasp a hip, trying to envelop his brat entirely in his grasp, to keep him secure and serene and sleepy. He didn’t move to dry the last of the tear tracks that had wetted his shirt and Harry’s face. Such trivialities could be dealt with in the morning.

“Let us sleep now,” he murmured, knowing that the timbre and rumble of his voice helped to urge the younger further towards dreams. Hopefully peaceful ones. Barely moving, Severus dared to loosen his hold just a little, relaxing, glad for the soft snores that began to emanate from that perfect mouth.

“Sweet dreams my brat,” the elder added, finally allowing himself to succumb to his own drowsiness.

Flooing into Gringotts the next morning, Harry and Severus were met with Grinluk.

“Come,” he began, curt as ever. Grinning at the Potions Master, Harry fell into step just behind the Goblin, realising he was already finding their route somewhat familiar. Having looked over the property list the night previous, he and Severus had agreed on a selection of eight properties they wanted to visit in person, with the view to buying around five, ultimately. Of course, as they were all Muggle properties, they would all need Warding to the teeth, or, hmm, chimneys, but the point being.

“Have the two of you made any decisions overnight?” began Grinluk, once they were all settled in his office.

“We have. Would it be possible to view these eight? Today, if that's an option.”

“It would be acceptable as we have arranged viewings with all of them for various times today and a few tomorrow, although… yes, these are all scheduled for today. The first is in just over an hour.” Severus and Harry nodded in acknowledgment, their bond thrumming with warmth and excitement.

But now, two hours later, looking around houses that could potentially be theirs, Severus was struck by a sudden bolt of unease. Unease comprised of pride and uncertainty and shame. He was eighteen years Harry’s senior; he’d been employed for almost two decades. Could he truly, in good conscience, allow Harry to buy a home for the both of them? He should be contributing. He should be helping. He shouldn’t be burdening Harry.

‘Severus, stop. If I’m not a useless freak, if I’m not allowed to be lonely, then it is true for you too, okay? I want you, need you, and it doesn’t matter whose money buys what, within reason. Understood, my Sev?'  The elder merely took a moment to lean heavily against Harry’s side in response. His worries weren’t dealt with, per se, but with those words he could push them aside and that was enough for now. He wanted to enjoy this experience. They had both been looking forward to it so much. It wouldn’t do to waste it now.

Portkeying into an alley just down the road from the fourth house, Harry and Severus immediately exchanged glances. This cottage looked… Well, from the outside it looked perfect. High hedgerows surrounded the plot, a little alley just wide enough to park a car to each side. Judging by where the ‘for sale’ sign was, the one to the left was theirs. Could be theirs, rather. Interrupting the wall of shrubbery was a pretty, wrought-iron gate, little curlicues of metal decorating the top of it, painted a funny shade of teal that, whilst unusual, wasn’t unappealing in the least. Grinluk, a glamour shimmering around him, took the lead and opened the gate for them. Stepping into the garden, both wizards were pleased to note how spacious the outside area was, affording two raised vegetable beds, a little paved corner and a long berth of flowers, the entire plot bisected by the pathway they were currently walking down. Ahead of them, the door was, again, that dusky teal shade and was quickly unlocked by Grinluk. Taking one last glance around the garden, a little rundown but still lush as it was. Verdant. Much like Harry’s eyes, Severus mused, switching his attention back towards the house itself. The windows were irregular things, one large and one small at the ground floor, two larger on the first. To the front of the house at least. The walls were stone, jumbled together shades of brown and grey, held together with mortar, the lack of pattern or regularity charming in a way that would typically irritate the Potions Master to no end, but, in this case, was far from it. Calling it ‘character’ felt like a disservice, an excuse for something ugly, when this cottage was certainly not. It was quite… cute.

Sneering at his own thought process, Severus refocused on the room beyond the blue door. First thing was a table, six chairs included, then to the right was a decently-sized kitchen island with the same marble, black veins on ivory, as the countertops ringing most of the two adjacent walls, cupboards below panelled with oak. It wasn’t a massive kitchen, but it was light and homely, with enough space to be practical. Severus certainly didn’t dislike it, that was for sure. In the far corner of the room, there was a double set of stairs, one going down and the other up. No cupboard, as requested. Yes, the less to remind them of their previous ‘homes’ the better, in Severus’ opinion.

On the other two walls, there were two doorways. One straight to the left of where they were, opened to reveal a small bathroom, albeit one with a shower. The far wall had open double doors, panelled with glass instead of wood and looked, immediately, upon a children’s toybox set beneath a window, the primary colours clashing horribly with the soft green of the walls. Comparing that pastel green, just pale enough to be unobtrusive, to the kitchen and bathroom, he found that the dove grey of the latter two was more appealing; albeit he rather liked both shades.

‘It’s… lovely, isn’t it Severus?’

‘Hold your horses brat, we haven’t seen all of it yet.’ His words failed to hide his rising hope, perfectly matching the same swell of warmth in Harry’s mind.

‘Very true,’ Harry returned, turning away from the counter tops to snigger at him. Sighing in return, Severus began to snoop further around the downstairs, glad that Grinluk had seated himself at the Muggle’s table and was leaving them to it. Judging Harry the better assessor of the kitchen, Severus moved into the green-walled room. To the entire right side was a glorified playroom, quite frankly. The hardwood floor was covered in soft foam mats, offensively bright, with various Muggle toys scattered across the surface. Still, the windows were large and let in a good amount of light and the space was wide enough to accommodate some bookshelves. Yes, he could envision them now. And perhaps where the large toy box was they could put their desks. Two sturdy wooden ones, mahogany most likely, set next to each other so that it would be easy to work together when need be. And then, the other half of the room…

Ah, the room was an L-shape, curving back on itself to the left of the entrance. The leg of said ‘L’ would work well as a further library space. Then the corner itself could feature soft furnishings. Oh, they could have a small sofa, perfectly in the corner, instead of their current armchairs. Yes, that would be far preferable. They had no need for a Muggle television as there currently was. Well, unless Harry wanted one, but somehow Severus doubted that, to be honest. A radio perhaps, he mused, thinking upon the random tunes that his brat would hum or quietly sing when cooking or performing some idle task or other.

‘You wanna go upstairs, Mr. Daydream?’

‘I’m hardly a daydream, Harry.’

‘You were daydreaming though. And who said I don’t dream of you?’

‘You dream of me?’ Severus teased, hearing Harry’s embarrassed groan of misery from the other room. He could picture the flush spreading up Harry’s cheeks.

“Not like that!” Harry finally yelled at him. Smirking viciously, Severus returned to the kitchen-diner. Upon seeing Harry’s face, he was gratified to see the exact blush he’d imagined: rosy and prominent high on his cheekbones, still staining most of his face with colour.

“Alright there brat?”

“Shut up, you absolute git. Come upstairs with me?” As soon as the elder raised a scandalous eyebrow in return, Harry groaned again, hands whipping up to cover his face.

“Just- Just shut up,” he murmured, heading towards the stairs. Resisting the urge to laugh at his silly brat, Severus followed silently.

Upstairs was, much like downstairs, a surprisingly airy space. The landing that the staircase came up to was a large one with five open doors in addition to what looked to be an airing cupboard. Nudging Harry towards the closest door, the two entered what was presumably the master bedroom, judging by the sheer size of it, easily big enough for two double beds if they wanted. Although Severus doubted that the two of them would be sleeping separately in their own home. The two large windows filtered through plenty of sunlight and there was enough extra space for a bookshelf or two, plus a chest of drawers. They could stack their two main trunks in the corner next to the ensuite’s door, he decided, making his way into said bathroom. Not a massive space, but comfortably sized for the double shower, toilet and sink. Abruptly, Severus stopped. In the bathroom mirror, he could see himself, with Harry in the background. His brat was snooping around the shower, a small grin on his face. One to match the one on Severus’ own. His expression was a light one, more excited than he’d seen himself in years, maybe even since his first or second year at Hogwarts as a student.

Something he’d accidentally projected across the bond, be it thought or emotion, had apparently caught Harry’s attention as a second later he was coming up behind Severus, leaning forwards slightly against his back, head just hooked over the elder’s shoulder.

‘You alright?’ he inquired across the link. In lieu of answering, Severus merely gestured to the mirror they were both looking at. The bathroom door swung gently shut as Harry gestured towards it. They were completely alone now. Taking deliberate advantage of the fact, the younger man slowly wrapped his arms around Severus’ waist, holding him close, shifting a little to press his forehead to the back of Severus’ neck, shaking his head carefully until the strands of hair were pushed aside. The Potions Master had yet to move.

‘Severus?’ He couldn’t bring himself to reply. There were too many stray emotions and thoughts warring inside of him. And he could sense a similar maelstrom within Harry’s mind. Yet here he was, trying to comfort Severus. Snorting quietly, primarily in self-recrimination, Severus reached for Harry’s hands. The instant he went to actually pry them from his waist, the younger went slack, going to draw away, to give him space. But Severus didn’t want space. Instead, he maintained his hold on Harry’s hands, touch light but undeniable, and kept them tucked close to him, only letting go once he’d almost completely turned around so that they were chest to chest, slotting Harry close to him and revelling in the moment when his brat’s embrace returned to his waist, just a little tighter than before, delightfully so, the elder bringing his arms around Harry’s shoulders in return, cradling him close, inhaling deeply of that intrinsic scent of Harry, all pine and earth and something light, trying to be worthy of the man in his arms. This precious, precious man who did so much for him, meant so much to him. Who he was buying a home with…

Severus might have turned away from the mirror, but it didn’t erase the truth of their shared happiness, blatant to anybody who would have witnessed it. Nor did it erase the feelings thrumming through their bond.

Chapter Text

Returning to Grimmauld Place that evening, Harry and Severus immediately headed into the kitchen, knowing it was already around dinner time, slumping into their chairs, neither able to hold in their sheer exhaustion. Nor the faint smiles that graced their faces.

“Why hello you two, did everything go alright? You look- you look awfully tired,” Molly said. Neither noticed her hesitation.

“Yeh, no, it went brilliantly thanks Mrs.We- Molly. We definitely got a lot of things sorted out.” And indeed they had. Harry was now the proud owner of an additional four properties. They would have liked one or two more, but all of the others had a few too many detriments to honestly be worth the money, time and effort.

Yes, their cottage was included in the ‘purchased’ list. Now the current inhabitants merely needed to move out which, in the case of the cottage at least, should only take a few days. Three at most.

“Oh? That’s good to hear,” she replied, a motherly warmth softening her expression further, continuing in playful admonishment,

“You’ll have to tell us about it all sooner than later, young man!”

“We will, we will!” Harry laughed, flapping a hand at her. Just as his chuckle rang through the room, a crowd of the teenage inhabitants all came bustling in. The twins were first to sit down, plonking in front of Harry and Severus, with Ron then Ginny taking the next seats down whilst Hermione came to sit next to Harry, opposite Ron.

“Harry! Tell Ron that chess is a useful skill!” Hermione cried as she jerked a finger to point at the latter, her hair seeming to stand on end, strands breaking free of the braid she had it in. Grinning indulgently, Harry began to do exactly that,

“’Mione’s right. It’s good for strategy, for forethought and for battle tactics. It also helps you to learn decision-making skills, I bet. Knowing what can be sacrificed and what can’t be.”

“I guess. But still-”

“No ‘but’s Ronald! You have a valid skill and-” Harry listened with only half a mind as Hermione returning to a debate that clearly been raging for a good hour or two, judging by Ginny’s eyeroll. The other fifty percent of his attention was listening in on the twins questioning Severus about a potion he didn’t recognise the name of, although Severus seemed to, unsurprisingly. Something related to the Invisible Ink Potion, from the sounds of it. Still, the elder wizard seemed quite content to humour them, whether due to his prior good mood or their intelligent potions-related questions, he couldn’t say. Both, probably.

Sitting back in his seat, Harry let the atmosphere wash over him. His friends, his family, all talking happily to each other; Remus and Molly bustling around the room to finish up dinner; the delicious warmth of Severus only a tantalising centimetre from his side. He would miss a lot about Grimmauld Place, about this summer. Not all of it joyous, but all of it vital, precious. A lot had changed and a lot more was going to over the next few days too. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were returning to Hogwarts. The twins were going to be living at their Shop. Molly and Arthur would be returning to the Burrow. Remus, if he agreed, would hopefully be moving into one of the manors to oversee its progress in becoming a central safehouse for the Ravens’ families. And then of course, Harry and Severus would be moving into their own home.

Merlin, their own home.

Suddenly that thought was overwhelming and, without even thinking, Harry turned slightly and buried his face in Severus’ shoulder, thoughtlessly Banishing his glasses onto the table, eyes screwed shut against the soft wool of Severus’ outer robe. He didn’t notice the split-second hitch in conversations, before everyone simultaneously decided to ignore it. Only Severus reacted at all by leaning a little into him.

Barely five minutes later, Harry straightened in his seat once more, a grin once more overtaking his face, and quickly shoved his glasses back on his face.

“Hey Fred, you say that, but what about using Snoot Grass instead? That should encourage those loyalty elements without impacting too much on the acidity.”

“George, we are idiots of the highest order! We-” “-bow to our superior! Professor? What would-” “-you think of…” And on all the chatterings went. Nobody commented on Harry’s odd little moment. He genuinely seemed fine, both before and after. Not to mention that Severus could sense a general portion of his mental state. There was very little negative to be found tonight. A touch of melancholy and resignation, but all of it interlaced with anticipation and hope. Presumably, it all culminated into anticipation for the changes to come.

Later that evening, they were all reconvening in the kitchen for a Meeting. Without a thought, Harry sat at the head of the table, Severus naturally falling to his right. None of the half a dozen or so members contested the automatic action. Nor did any of the others as they all arrived. Ron and Hermione had been joined by Neville, further down the table. Neville’s gran, Augusta, was seated closer to the head of the table, her eyes fierce and posture immaculate, regardless of her age. She reminded Harry distinctly of Professor McGonagall. Speaking of the older woman, she had just Flooed in, nodding tersely to both he and Severus as she took a seat to his left. If Harry was their leader now, it was more than obvious who his deputies were.

Gradually, every seat filled. Amelia Bones sat between McGonagall and Dowager Longbottom, the three women together threatening to send a thrill of fear down Harry’s spine. There might be over forty years separating their ages, but he pitied anyone who got in their way, that was for sure.

“Is everyone settled?” Harry began, his tone brokering no dissent. He might be young, but they had ‘Chosen’ him, so they could put up with him taking charge and learn to be fucking grateful, thank you very much. And he had good advisers around him anyway.

“Good. Is there anything urgent?” Pausing a moment, he then went on,
“Then our first order of business is the final logistics for the Scrying Spell. We had agreed on Sunday the third of September, two in the afternoon. Are there any problems with that? And Lady Longbottom, Neville, someone has informed you of this ritual, yes? Brilliant. Did you have any concerns?”

“Yes, Potter. Is it truly necessary?” Her voice was austere and her tone proper. Still, Harry could see the gleam of challenge in her eyes. Of a test. Very well, he would just have to pass it.

“It is. This war has already claimed a number of Wizarding lives. Not to mention the few hundred Muggles who have now died, in the last six months alone. We have already had one Order Member tortured for information and, were another to be captured, it is unlikely that we would currently be able to save them. I’ll be honest with you, Lady Longbottom, that the risk to further members wouldn’t be viable were we to walk in blind. Strategically, sensibly, we would have no choice but to leave them at His mercy. He has none. They – one of you, one of us – would die. This Scrying Spell would give us the foreknowledge we would need in that situation to be able to protect ourselves, to save each other. Is that not, therefore, necessary?”

The room was silent. A good number of the members, the softer, younger ones, looked pale and sick. Mundungus looked ready to throw up. Molly had a white-knuckled hand pressed to her mouth. Hermione was trembling, eyes bright with fire and fear. Ron’s freckles were more prominent than ever, his lips a grim slash through his face. Neville was ashen, but his wand was clutched in his hand, posture determined. Others were a mixture of resigned, horrified and resolute. Overall, not a bad combination at all. They needed that fear, that humanity, to keep them sharp. But still, there was a difference between wary and petrified. To win, to fight, they would have to toe that line. Harry could only pray they didn’t tip over it and into failure. Into casualties. 

“I understand. This ritual is an excellent idea, Potter.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

“Augusta here, Potter; it is far easier.” The young man couldn’t resist grinning, all teeth, at her. She raised a scathing eyebrow in return and he let out a single bark of laughter. He had passed her test with flying colours it seemed. Most of the surrounding members just looked bewildered, quite frankly. Meh, it didn’t matter.

“So, this coming Sunday, yes? We will convene here, as per usual, and Severus and I will have expanded and set up the basement as necessary. The ritual should take us around an hour, give or take. And we’ll all be home in time for dinner,” he offered, smiling around at them. He had to give them hope too, after all. What was that Muggle methodology? The carrot and the stick? Yes, that. The war was depressing enough by itself, particularly to those members exposed to the daily realities of it. Their Aurors, for example. The teachers, who had to comfort a few students who had lost family members already. And of course those who had lived through the truth of the first war. Severus tapping a single finger against the table top dragged Harry’s attention away from his thoughts. He merely tilted his head slightly in reply. The elder leaned forward a little, looking down the length of the table, and cleared his throat,

“And you are all certain that you permit for my wand to be the bonder?”

“Seve-”                                                                                        

“I wish to know Harry.” And the steel in his eyes and spine convinced the younger man in an instant. He subsided with a firm nod. It would be interesting to know, after all.

“I, for one, have no qualms,” McGonagall was the first to interrupt the ensuing silence. The Potions Master had yet to react. Nor did he when Remus, Flitwick and the adult Weasleys chimed in with similar replies. It was Ron who had the first complicated answer,

“I don’t like you. I think- Ow! Whatever, I don’t like you. But Harry trusts you and he’s a good judge of people. I’ll take that.” From Ron, that was glowing praise. Particularly when aimed at Severus, supposed ‘greasy git of the dungeons’ and ‘Slytherin bastard’.

‘See? He can be alright.’

‘Hmm,’ came the disbelieving reply. Harry merely quirked his lips at the elder. He scowled half-heartedly in return. The brat had the nerve to laugh at that; how impertinent! Huffing, Severus folded his arms over his chest, waiting for more of the Order members to speak up.

“I suppose, if Potter is with you so much, then it’d probably be alright.”

“You have saved enough lives to be trustworthy.”

“I don’t like it, but I guess.”

“I’m fine with it. And, Potter, you said that it would primarily be a regular check-in?” Harry nodded firmly at that,

“Indeed. I was thinking every day at, say, six in the evening. Would anybody object to that? I was considering also having a morning assurance at eight, most likely.”

“I don’t want a morning one too!” Mundungus immediately piped up,
“Isn’t it enough that you invade our privacy once a day?” His indignation was quick to take on a whingey, reedy tone that reminded Harry all too much of Pettigrew. He resisted the urge to shudder. Or snarl at the man, for that matter.

“It is for your own safety.”

“But I still want a life! Privacy!” A few murmurs began to circulate the room, both in favour and against. Severus frowned heavily at the warring emotions within Harry’s mind and within the room as a whole. At the chill of strong magic begging to be unleashed.

“Brat,” he hissed, voice barely audible. The younger wizard tensed further for a long few moments, his magic starting to whip around him noticeably, attracting worried gazes from around the table, before he visibly sagged and reigned it all in. He seemed paler for the effort.

“If you don’t want us to check-in twice a day, we won’t. We will only scry you without your explicit consent in emergencies. Such as if someone has been attacked and captured. So, if you truly are too concerned over your privacy, then we will keep it to at six in the evening. Happy?” And that was a little too pointed to be anything but reluctant, begrudging. Mundungus nodded in satisfaction all the same. Most members looked more concerned and uncertain than anything else. Particularly when looking at the blatant hesitance on Harry’s face.

“Very well.” Severus took up the slack that had fallen, inert in the room,
“Harry and I will cast the spell every day at six in the evening, only deviating in exceptional circumstances, post performing the ritual this coming Sunday here, in the basement, at two in the afternoon. There are no complaints with this?” And a round of agreements answered him. Good, that was sorted then. He could feel the pulses of discomfort from Harry’s side of the telepathy though.

‘Is it the morning checks?’

‘Yes,’ came the reply, half way between frustrated and exhausted,
‘It’s for their safety! But why would they want to be safe when they could avoid an extra regular check-in! I- Oh, Sev’rus…’ And now it was all defeat and the elder had to resist the instinct to wrap a comforting arm around the younger’s shoulders and draw him in close to his side. If they were alone, he most certainly would have. Instead he had to make do with sending a wave of reassurance through the bond and, sending a glare at Moody to keep his trap shut, sent a few tendrils of his magic to wrap around Harry’s wrist below the table. The energy was invisible, insidious, winding its way around the brat’s skin with an assuredly heady familiarity, and no doubt Moody could see it. Fortunately, he offered nought but a scrutinising glance for the Potions Master. He sneered a little at the scarred man; he neither wanted nor needed his judgement, thank you very much. And there was a reason Severus had stuck to Harry’s wrist over his hand or waist as he was so tempted. He was no fool. Of course, the slight calming to his brat’s tumultuous mental landscape was certainly no mistake and the grateful flash of a smile that was turned his way made it all the more worth it.

“Is there anything else to share?” Harry prompted, bringing the Order back to task once more. A few hands were raised and the young man gestured at McGonagall, as she was closest.

“It is more of an idle update, frankly, but I thought it prudent to inform you all that the next Hogwarts year is going ahead as expected with, so far, minimal issues. Thanks to Ms. Kipperl offering her expertise - an Auror on our potential member list - we should have a reliable Defence teacher in addition to that little ‘club’ of yours, Potter. I would like to discuss practicalities of it continuing this year at a point,” she added, with a raised eyebrow, eyes cutting between Harry and his friends, further down the table. When Hermione sent a questioning glance his way as well, he nodded at her with a smile.

“I’m going to be leading this year, Professor. With Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna, that is. Harry won’t be at school-” and she managed to keep her disapproval out of her tone for that, Severus was pleased to note “-so we’re taking over for him. We’ll still be talking to him about it, but it’s easier for all of us this way. We would be more than happy to talk to you and arrange anything necessary,” Hermione reassured. The headmistress offered her a nod and stern thank you in reply, promising to talk to them at the end of the meeting. Seeing that conversation had finished, Remus now spoke up, telling of how most of the werewolf packs were still content with the Vows made and had been quite happy to talk to him when he was checking up on them. Then Arthur mentioned that Charlie should be back in around seven weeks, given nothing delayed him. Finally, Amelia and Kingsley spoke up to tell of how the Aurors and the ministry as a whole was trying to handle the obvious return of Voldemort. Apparently, the Department of Mysteries was nearly done with their device to detect large active areas of Dark Magic, in the hope of being able to locate Death Eater attacks even sooner. Then, perhaps, there would be an actual chance of combatting them rather than merely cleaning-up and ensuring the Statute of Secrecy as they currently were. So, there was some hope there, even if Severus and Harry’s Raven scheme ultimately failed. And if it didn’t, well, that was even better.

Nearly two hours later, the pair was settling into Severus’ bed as usual, pressed together in the best way, taking and giving comfort until their emotions and limbs were practically one.

“Think Severus, in only a night or three, we will be sleeping in our own home.”

“Indeed we will be, my brat.” And with that thought kindling warmth in their chests, burning brighter and steadier than it had in some time, they slipped into dreams.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Harry’s dreams didn’t stay as sweet as his drowsy thoughts. In fact, he was soon embroiled in a vicious nightmare. One where he was running, running, running. Stumbling over roots that reached for his ankles like the skeletal limbs of the damned, fighting to breathe through the burn of exhaustion and the weight of choking Dark magic and the heady scent of sap and bark and soil. Cackling rang out behind him, echoing jaggedly off of trees, somehow next to him even as it was miles away. He tripped. The rough ground provided an unkindly cushion as he toppled forward, gasping in pain, scrambling to regain his footing and keep. On. Running. He needed to get away. He needed to get home, be safe. Find Severus.

‘Harry…’ The sibilant English was far too close for comfort, and Harry began to sprint away once more. His legs pounded at the earth, the beat of a war drum, somehow overtaken by the thudding of his heart, ringing in his ears like the march of a thousand soldiers.

‘Come here little Potter. Or do you want your friends to die?’ And abruptly, the trees were gone. No, not gone; he was in a clearing and frozen in place, his back only a precious few metres from the treeline that he couldn’t simply retreat to. After all, bound on their knees in front of him were his friends. His family. One after another, Hermione, Ron, Remus, Fred, George, Se-

“Severus!” Because Severus was not only restrained, kneeling, but also sporting gruesome wounds. Lacerations, not too dissimilar to belt marks, latticed his unclothed chest, one specific cut cruelly lashing across his throat. And looped around his shoulders, visibly dragging him towards the ground with its sheer weight, was a snake. Nagini. Her half-open maw rested gently against the wizard’s throat, pulse fluttering against her partially-bared fangs.

“Ah, Potter. So good to see you. Do you like your surprise? I prepared it especially with you in mind-“

“Harry!” But Voldemort was still speaking, still holding his wand loosely, pointed towards-

“Wake up you foolish brat! Harry!” And he needed to save them, protect them-

“Harry!”

The scene before his eyes vanished, replaced with a split-second of darkness and then a gentle brightness and a figure.

“Sev’rus…”

“Hush now, I’m here. I’m safe. Slow down your breathing for me, yes, that’s it. Keep that up brat. There you go, hush, we’re safe. Alright?” Unable to open his mouth and speak, Harry instead leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of the older wizard’s neck, trying to drown himself in the safe scent of sandalwood and bitter ingredients and Severus, wanting it to encompass him totally, not caring if his throat was raw from crying out or if his eyes were itchy with yet-unshed tears. And to Severus’ credit, he barely hesitated for a fraction of a second before he was bringing reverent arms around the younger wizard, cradling him close, rocking their bodies gently, slowly, side to side in comfort.

“He had you Sev’rus, he had you and- Nagini- you were hurt- everyone was-“

“It’s alright Harry. I’m right here, yes? So I’m with you and I’m safe. If I’m safe then we all are. Yes? Are you following?” Something about the logic, spoken softly and in that measured, unhurried drawl that was so very Severus, began to ease the panicked train of thoughts spiralling through Harry’s mind.

“Y-yeh,” he breathed, hot air puffing against an exposed collarbone. The older wizard was fine: no wounds, no Nagini, only Harry draped against him. Severus was safe. Everyone was.

Collecting himself further, Harry relaxed into the elder’s hold. No words were spoken, no apologies or ‘thank you’s offered. This certainly wasn’t the first nightmare between the two of them. Still, finally bringing himself to lean back, breaking the comforting embrace, Harry did feather a brief kiss against Severus’ cheek, enjoying the slight flush and infinitesimally wider eyes that the action garnered. It was almost like his lips acted as a painter’s brush, staining, changing, the landscape of the elder’s face. Finding a smile at the whimsical thought, Harry tugged at one of Severus’ bony wrists to drag him back into a laying position beside him.

“Back to sleep?” he murmured into the scant space between them.

“Indeed,” Severus returned, dark eyes practically aglow in the warm light of his wand, set on the bedside table. Reaching across Severus, Harry touched the older wizard’s wand and at his fingertips, the light went out. Heaving a sigh, he leant further into the Potions Master. They’d need as much rest as they could get.

Later that morning, at a far more reasonable time, Harry and Severus were coming down into the kitchen, encouraged by the scent of Molly’s bacon, sausages and mushrooms on toast. Finding a surprising half of the usual seats already full, despite the relatively early hour of seven, Harry and Severus exchanged curious glances, but said nothing. What had they missed? Ah, this would be it:

“You can’t have lost your booklist already Ron! We’ve only had it a few days!” The redhead in question just shrugged, mouth full.

“Honestly Ronald!” Hermione exclaimed, hair frizzing around her head, threatening to get in her food,
“We’re leaving in an hour! And if we can’t get the right books then, it’ll be very difficult to get them in time for classes at all! Well, at least we should know some of them based off of my list…” she went on, devolving into muttering.

‘Well, that explains that.’

‘So it does,’ Severus replied, already tucking into his own meal.

‘I’m gonna miss them.’ The addition is an abrupt one several moments later. Severus had to fight off a surprised jerk at the sudden melancholy words, focusing on continuing to eat his bacon.

‘You can still attend Hogwarts this year if you wish,’ Severus assured, masking his reluctance with neutrality and thoughts of food.

‘No, I can’t… And I don’t even truly want to. But the security and my friends I will definitely miss. It was my first home.’

‘…It was my own too,’ Severus admits, his mental voice oddly quiet and soft. Vulnerable. Harry immediately wished they weren’t in the kitchen, that they weren’t around others, because all he wanted in that moment was to lean into the older wizard and wrap his arms around him. For now, he made do with sending as much care and warmth and lo-. No, he wasn’t going there. But he sends as much warmth as possible towards Severus and is glad when the elder returns that comforting blanket of soft flames that don’t burn or bite but rather dance through his mind, enveloping everything in a gentle heat that heals and soothes and cares. If they are distinctly quiet for the rest of breakfast, it goes un-noted in the general hubbub of excitement and anticipation.

Within the hour, everyone had left. And this left Harry and Severus free to start drawing up plans for Warding their new properties, or at least some of the more immediately necessary ones. Their cottage in particular. Armed with blueprints and floorplans, not to mention the copious collection of Warding tomes in the Black library, they were well set to start drafting initial ideas. And then, between those drafts and a consultancy meeting with some of the primary Goblin Warders, they would make definitive Warding schemes. And at least this way, they should end up with a unique Warding system that would stymie any potential intruders. Not only that, but as they weren’t going through the Ministry, they wouldn’t necessarily have to obey the laws to the letter, thus allowing them to create more concrete protections with few, if any, fail-safes wherein they could be overridden. There would be nothing worse than feeling unsafe in their own home, nor than being constantly concerned over the safety of whoever they ended up housing at various point of time. So, comprehensive and individualised Warding systems. And, if you ask Harry, they were doing a damn good job so far. Well, he hoped so.

Breaking for lunch, the two made their way back downstairs, relishing in the quiet emptiness of the house. It was odd, but not uncomfortable. And it gave Harry’s hope some solidity for their cottage. Not feeling like cooking anything elaborate, the younger simply rummaged through the cold cupboard for some tasty odds and ends that wouldn’t require much thought or assembly, dumping pork pie, some ham, various salad ingredients and the last of a wheel of cheddar on the side, allowing a soft smile to slip out at seeing Severus, already with a chopping board in hand, reaching immediately for the lettuce. It was comforting to have such easy roles, working around and with each other, no thought or hesitance necessary.

“Mind cutting it a bit bigger than usual? I wasn’t going to bother with anything complicated.”

“Of course,” came the simple reply, the seemingly terse words belied by the gentle curve of his mouth and the smoothed wrinkles of his brow. Harry’s own smile widened a little at the charming sight. Seeing Severus so relaxed and casual, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his Dark Mark, hair tied back in that neon green elastic once more, was a blessing in more way than one. Something to be appreciated. Worshiped even, in a kind of way.

“What are you worshiping?” The elder suddenly asked. Whoops, apparently Harry had projected that a little.

“Ah, nothing…?” The answer was meant to be certain, firm, nonchalant. Instead, it came out a little stuttered and definitely ruined by the questioning lilt that turned it into a question. Dammit, where was his supposed bravery or cunning when he needed it?

“Nothing indeed, if it makes you blush and stutter like that. Come on now brat, don’t say you’re scared of telling me?” And now Severus was teasing him. Great.

“Hush you!” Harry exclaims, face flushing further, feeling just how ridiculously amused Severus was, even as his lips twitched and his dark eyes filled with mirth.

“Bastard,” he muttered, grabbing up a tomato slice and, as the man went to reply, shoving it into Severus’ open mouth with a grin of his own, before turning away to close the cupboard door.

He shouldn’t have left his back open.

Next thing he knew, there was something cold and slippery sliding down the back of his shirt. Crying out, he whirled around, glaring at the smirk of the elder.

“You absolute git!” He yelled, half-grinning, half-pouting, and flicked his wrist. Immediately, three more chunks of cucumber shot at Severus, worming their way up his sleeves and down his collar. Visibly shuddering at the sensation but now smiling wickedly, the other brandished his wand and began casting. A bag of flour was yanked out of the cupboard and instantly upended over Harry, who barely had enough time to deflect half back at the Potions Master. He quickly followed that with a jinx to bring Severus’ hair tie flying to his own wrist, laughing at the flurry of white engulfing the black strands that were now falling around the elder’s face. Then they both dissolved into coughing and hacking for a few seconds as the flour clogged their throats. As their coughing died away, Harry looked up to meet Severus’ eyes. He found only amusement and something close to delight there, in those beautiful amber eyes, still stunning even when framed by powdered hair in absolute disarray.

“You brat…” Severus purred, voice positively dripping malignance. The younger nearly took a nervous step back, before straightening and grinning impishly.

“Get me if you can.” And they were off.

Darting around the room, aiming hexes and jinxes at each other over the table, at times vaulting straight over it to escape the other’s grasp, sending sticks of cucumber like missiles and tomatoes like little bombs, splattering against the dark wood walls, seeds and juice going positively everywhere but neither of them cared, caught up in the childish thrill of the chase, the game. And Harry was laughing, cackling really, around the incantations that spilled together over his lips, when he turned a corner around the table and was suddenly flying. Well, not flying, but skidding decidedly into the wall, socked feet damp, cringing internally at the wetness even as he fought to regain control and momentum in a direction other than the wall. Casting a last-second cushioning charm, he managed to avoid garnering any bruises and keep his balance. However, Severus was already there, ready to catch him. Not in the sweet, gentlemanly way, but rather to win their game of cat and mouse. So Harry was moving again instantly, trying to dash off, but a strong hand whipped forward to grasp his wrist and a strong arm tugged him backwards, twisting a little awkwardly as he comes to a stop, half-facing the elder.

“Hello there brat.” And dammit, Severus had that purr back in his voice, the one that sends a delighted shiver down Harry’s spine, reverberating through his chest, and it’s only their harsh breathing that dared to detract from it.

“Severus,” he returned, his own voice a little deeper and rumbling than usual,

“I guess you caught me.”

“That I did.” And for a few short moments the elder’s mental laughter peals out through reality, cutting and stark in its physical presence, yet in and of itself a balm, a boon, a blessing.

Not all that different from the man himself, then. At least for Harry.

And he can’t help but lean into, upwards towards, that brief laugh, that lingering smile, a flower growing to meet its precious sun. Both so bright and bold and beautiful, but only when one can see it.

“Sev’rus…” he murmured, fixated on the sight of a true, light-hearted smile on that typically-worn face. And their lips are only an inch apart now, breaths calming down but oh-so-obvious when taken from the same air, the same space. And now Harry dared to change his focus, to look away from those lips and find the eyes above them, surrounded by white-black eyelashes, so full of life and laughter and lo-

“WE’RE BACK! Oh, sorry, I didn’t- What has happened to the kitchen?!”   At the sound of the Floo, the two had immediately taken a step back from the other, glad for the flour and smears of salad ingredients that kept the blushes tainting their faces from being too obvious. At least she hadn't seen that they were about to- Then, upon Molly’s shrieked question, they finally begin to register the room around them. Ah, well, they hadn’t really thought about the consequences of their mad dash around and around the kitchen during said dash. Hence its state. This was going to be a nightmare to justify. And even worse to clean up...

Chapter Text

After sheepishly sitting through Mrs Weasley’s exasperated lecture, featuring lots of ‘I’d expect this from the twins, but not you two!’, and them - well, Harry - offering half-hearted explanations of 'uhm, it was evasive manoeuvre training?' with a sheepish grin, sharing secret pulses of amusement between them, Harry and Severus were eventually left to clear up their mess, all of the ginger teenagers sniggering as they walked past, whilst Hermione and Remus looked somewhere between bewildered and scolding. All in all, Harry burst out laughing as soon as the door was pushed to behind the group. Still, Severus didn’t miss the thrill of relief that spiked through his younger companion.

“What has you so relieved?” he inquired, a single eyebrow raised. He had a vague idea, but it would be far more interesting to see how Harry tried to deflect.

“I’d imagine you know,” Harry shot back. And well, Severus hadn’t expected that. Harry had always diverted and deflected and ducked around questions like that previously, avoiding any mention of the Dursleys like the plague. So why now…?

“How many times? It’s you.” And that made even less sense. Saying as much, Severus only received an eye-roll in reply.

“I’ll let you figure that out yourself,” the brat dismissed, prompting the elder to scowl fiercely at him. Figure out what? He wasn’t so special, so wh- Oh. Oh, of course. Harry had said it before after all: Severus was different. He understood, had gone through similar things in his own past. And now, no doubt sensing the wash of understanding emanating from Severus’ side of the bond, Harry grinned at him, the toothiness of the smile belying the brittle hurt behind it. And knowing that, the elder took a moment to direct a tendril of his magic to the brat, curling it around his waist, before turning his own attention to actually cleaning up the mess they’d made of the kitchen. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long.

Turns out, even with Summoning spells, getting all of the flour out of various nooks and crannies was no short or easy task. Indeed, it took them a solid half an hour, plus getting all of the tomato and cucumber chunks into the bin. And, by the time they were done, their stomachs were growling noisily. They’d never actually gotten round to eating any of the food after all.

“You finish with the mess, I’ll make some sandwiches?”

“Very well.” And, thankfully, it was only ten minutes later that they were sat at a now-clean table, ravenously starting on some Muggle crisps and said sandwiches.

“Do you believe you’re ready to fully re-establish your Occlumency shields this afternoon?” Harry froze for a long moment, chewing stolidly and staring into nothing. Then, he swallowed, closing his eyes and Severus could vaguely feel him poking at the shields within their shared mindscape, the foundations they’d been laying down to return Harry’s mindscape to his singular jurisdiction. It was a peculiar sensation and not an overly pleasant one, like a spider crawling against the inside of his skull. Regardless, he focused his attention on what remained of his lunch, letting Harry do whatever he needed to.

“I think so, yeh,” came the eventual reply, a good few minutes later. Severus had finished his meal and was instead reading a Summoned book, knowing that else he would end up simply watching his brat.

“Very good. Shall we try and fully establish them this afternoon then? And perhaps we should begin to more thoroughly prepare for moving in? Furniture and such; I doubt either of us much wish to take a lot from here.” As he spoke, a grin blossomed into life on Harry’s face, delight glimmering in those verdant eyes.

“Sounds good to me.” In lieu of replying, Severus allowed himself to direct a flash of a smile at the younger, before returning to his reading whilst the brat polished off the last of his lunch.

“Shopping first?”

“If we will return before four, certainly.”

“Let’s go then!” Harry exclaimed, looking more open than ever, gleeful and exuberant. Admittedly, he toned it down the instant that they approached the kitchen door, but still. It was… pleasant, to see Harry genuinely happy. And to know he’d gone someway to contributing to that happiness set Severus’ shrivelled heart pumping anew.

Headed up to their room, the Potions Master began to mentally catalogue what they would need most. First on the list, a bed, followed closely by a good dining set for once the Order meetings moved to the cottage. After that, bookshelves and some soft furnishings for the lounge space, then finally all the random fixtures – lights, wardrobes, pots, crockery and so on. That would do for now. Later, once they had initially settled in, they could search for additional long-term necessities, such as stock for the infirmary and potions lab, as well as furnishings for both, that they could do without for the time being. Making it their home was the priority.

“It is, isn’t it?” Harry, stood on the threshold of their room, had stopped to face him, a rare shy smile adorning his pretty features. He must have heard Severus’ thoughts.

“Indeed.” And perhaps his reply was too simple, too terse, but Harry was more than aware of how warm his eyes were, and how one potions-stained hand rose to cradle against his waist, gripping with a soft sort of solidity. For a long few moments they stood like that, unable to look away from each other, to draw away from the light touch that sent their skin sparking, even through the barrier of Harry’s top. Then there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs above them and they both mentally startled, even as they still didn’t move. Finally, with agonising slowness, decidedly silent, they did drag themselves apart, both quick to head into their room and close the door.

“I believe we shall be fine without a physical shopping list? Or will your Gryffindor tendencies deviate us too far?” The snark was a return to normalcy. Not unwelcome, but not quite the same. Still, they did rather enjoy teasing and jabbing at each other, so long as it didn’t get too personal, but even then there was coming back from it, which had never seemed an option even just a year ago. Things had truly changed.

“I’m sure, so long as you don’t distract me, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’m the distraction, am I? What would that make you then, brat?”

“A fucking delight.” And Severus was too busy snorting to reply.

Upon collecting money pouches and the un-annotated blue prints of the cottage, measurements included, the two set off downstairs. Fortunately, they easily found Remus in the kitchen, pouring himself out a mug of tea. Chamomile perhaps.

“Ah, hello you two. Can I make either of you anything?”

“No thanks Remus. Just thought we’d let someone know we’re running an errand in Muggle London. If we aren’t back by around four, you can start worrying. Oh, and if you send a Patronus, make sure it has a notice-me-not charm on it.” As Remus replied to the brat, Severus couldn’t help but wonder whether Harry was aware of just how naturally he had been giving orders and tasks out recently. How naturally he led the Order.

“There’s so much stuff!” Severus smirked at his brat’s wonder. It was so very unlike day-to-day Harry, but Severus had no doubt where it came from. Fucking Dursleys.

“There does tend to be, brat. It is a rather large outlet after all.” They were at IKEA. Once, many years ago now, Severus had visited this particular shop in the Greenwich area and knew that it would have most everything they needed.

“Still!”

“Yes, yes, let’s just start.” Now you see, one thing Severus hadn’t counted on was the sheer size of an IKEA. Nor how it was a trap, luring you through every single section in order to make you buy as much as possible. Nor had he realised that Harry would be enamoured with it.

It was dangerously close to four o'clock by the time they had dragged themselves out of IKEA. Or rather, Severus had dragged himself and Harry had veritably skipped out of the massive doors, grinning like a loon, each pushing a trolley absolutely loaded with boxes and boxes of furniture. It was the work of only a few seconds' wandless magic to allow them to round the corner of the massive building and glitch out the cameras for long enough to shrink all their shopping, tuck it into Harry's rucksack, and then Apparate back to Grimmauld Place.

"Remus! We're back!" Harry immediately hollers, grin still wide and bright. Severus can only huff, half-amused and half-exasperated. The brat was being, well, a brat. But it was nice to see him acting more his age; or at least not like a veteran soldier. Shaking off such melancholy thoughts, the Potions Master tugged at the strap of the young man's bag, until he finally got the message and shrugged it off for the elder to take to their room, artfully avoiding the potential conversation from the werewolf who was coming out of the kitchen.

"Basement, once you're done. Do be quick," he drawled. Harry, the little imp, only rolled his eyes, smile still sitting firm. Severus poked his shoulder in retaliation, even as he turned to go up the stairs. He couldn't find it in himself to begrudge the cheery tone of the conversation that had begun in the hallway. Dammit, he was getting too soft. (Or, if you had asked Harry, just soft enough.)

Fortunately for Severus' patience, and thus Harry's sanity, his conversation with Remus was brief, and he wasted no real time in coming down to the basement, where Severus had slipped past them to set up. Or, rather, Conjure a few comfortable navy cushions for the floor and sit himself down cross-legged, already beginning to probe at their still-shared Occlumentic barriers and Harry's new ones, established just within those, testing last-minute for any faults or cracks that they had missed previously. Coming down the stairs, Harry didn't speak, simply settling himself opposite Severus and mirroring his position, slipping into their shared mindscape. 

"Any problems so far?" he asked. Even as he internally spoke, he began to inspect his barriers for himself.

"Not as of yet, no."

"Cool."

"Cool?"  Severus mocked, tone beyond sardonic.

"Oh hush. I can say whatever I want, you know. Even I can't be the height of sophistication all the time."

"Try any of the time."

"Shut it." They smirked at each other, the very room of their shared mindscape pulsing with soft, warm golden light, oddly in the rhythm of Harry's usual chuckle.

"So, can we get on with this do you think?"

"I should imagine so, yes. Would you like me to help, or do it by yourself?"

"I..." Seeing how Harry was hesitating, suddenly unsure of himself again, Severus was quick to intervene,

"Neither option shall be judged, brat."

"Then together." The Potions Master simply inclined his head in return, quite willing to comply. Technically, there was a good chance that doing so would strengthen the shields anyway. Well, so long as their Magicks were compatible, which the two knew they were. In fact, Harry's magic that was imbued within his shields would be intertwined with and supported by tendrils of Severus', acting almost like steel mesh in concrete walls; it would add further stability and structure to something already individually very strong. And, as Severus' Occlumency was generally stronger, half due to experience, half due to natural inclination, that effect would only be heightened.

And accordingly, once Harry began to create stones and mortar, all filing in together, piling up into walls, as though placed there by workmen, aligning perfectly, Severus added his own magic to it, as though he were the sand in the mortar, contributing only a little but integral all the same. And so the younger's shields began to develop. About halfway through, pieces of furniture began to disappear or morph, gradually returning the room to something less theirs and more Harry's. The young man would be lying if he said that he didn't miss the little pieces of the elder that had been scattered throughout the space. Still though, it was surprisingly pleasant to feel a weight that had been clunking around in the back of his head start to lighten. Their connection was weakening.

"Ready?" Severus eventually asked, once Harry's Occlumentic barriers were fully raised and fortified. The two had been staring in silence at the stone walls, shoulder to shoulder. At some point, their hands had intertwined like their magic. Harry was idly delighted to feel those callouses against his skin, little nicks on the fingers, no doubt from childhood potions endeavours, nails not necessarily manicured but neat and orderly all the same, somewhat grey from fumes and ingredients. Harry could hold Severus' hand forever.

But, not right then he couldn't. They had a job to finish.

Without a word, Harry raised his spare hand, and, with a careful tug of his magic, set beams and stone to dissolving. Severus joined in, their shared Occlumentic shields fading into nothing, still visible through the oddly translucent yet solid inner barriers. And, as the final foundations of their shared mindscape disappeared, said inner barriers began to almost condense, their full colour pooling through them like ink, until they looked just as formidable as they felt. Harry's mind should be safe once more. It's just that they wouldn't have a telepathy bond through which to talk. Perhaps they should look into developing some kind of code...

"Brat?" At Severus' voice, Harry came back out of his ponderings, offering the man in question a smile. And if said smile was a little melancholy, twisted slightly downwards at the corners in the way no expression so soft and content should be, then it was fairly obvious to the elder why it was so.

"All done, huh?"

"Indeed." And, all too aware of the unsettled edge to Harry's posture, Severus turned to face him, pulling the young man into the circle of his arms with the hold he still had on Harry's hand, although he soon released that to truly hold the other close.

"You know, brat, telepathy is but one method of communication. There's owl post, smoke signals, Muggle plane messages. Oh, not to mention that other one, what was it again? You open your mouth and sounds come out, which the other party miraculously comprehends..." Harry snorted into the elder's shoulder, taking in that bitter-sandalwood-Severus scent, before replying, his tone similarly sarcastic,

"Talking, by any chance?"

"I do believe so, yes," Severus offered, deliberately drawling it out thoughtfully. Harry finally laughed fully at that, muffling the beautiful noise in thick fabric, but Severus could feel it reverberating through his very bones, in the shuddering it triggered through his arms where they were wrapped around the brat, how sweet-smelling strands of hair whispered against his cheek and neck. He was glad for it. Revelled in it, even. They stood in their mindscape - Harry's mindscape, now -  like that for an age, simply glad to be able to hold each other close and comfortable. It was a blessing and they both knew it.

Chapter Text

It was finally September the first, and everything was hectic. Molly was busy cooking and putting together sandwiches. Breakfast - a full English to send her children off with, both pseudo and by blood - was happily sizzling and toasting in various pans and trays. The teens were all clattering downstairs, adding every minute or so to the haphazard pile of luggage and odds-and-ends in the hallway. Amidst the chaos, Harry and Severus sat in near-silence at one end of the dining table, watching on to the havoc in something between amusement, annoyance and bewilderment. Sat with them were Remus and Hermione, the former not needing to be ready and the latter fully organised well ahead of time as usual. Arthur had been with the four, but then Ginny had lost her pet Pygmy Puff from the twins, so he had gone to help her look for it. Meanwhile, the twins were busy 'helping'. In other words, deliberately misleading Ron from where he was looking for various bits and pieces that he still hadn't packed, Summoning things he was missing, then Summoning other things back out of his trunk again.

"Everyone, breakfast is ready!" And within a minute, everyone had careened into chairs around the table and were beginning to tuck into their meal. Harry and Severus, even without their telepathy, were quite content to serve each other. They had developed a decent idea of what the other liked, and it would only take a quick glance to confirm what either would prefer that day. And, fortunately for their sanity and patience, their fellow diners had long since stopped staring when they silently shared their dishing-up duties, quite content to eat whatever the other had given them. It was certainly a privilege borne of familiarity.

"Right, we're to leave in an hour. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, are you three ready to go once breakfast is all done?"

"Of course," Hermione offered with a smile. Ginny simply nodded, mouth full of food. Then she promptly elbowed Ron hard in the ribs as he went to speak, even without having swallowed his food yet.

"Ronald, don't be disgusting!" Mione chided, even before Molly could. The mother sent a warm, approving smile in her direction for it.

"I'm sure you'll all be fine this year. Do look after yourselves though. And don't be getting in too much trouble! I do understand that things might be a little... difficult, but you all must be safe and sensible. And don't forget to have fun!" She added, already getting a tad teary-eyed. The teens all smiled and nodded along, trying to reassure her. With the war gradually escalating, it was far from a good time to be sending your kids off for the next three months minimum, so Molly's worry was understandable. A bit overwhelming at times, but understandable all the same. Still, everyone finished up their meals and went to conduct last-minute checks of their rooms. The twins had already said goodbye to everyone and had Flooed to their shop, which had at least calmed down the chaos of everything. Well, up to a point.  

"Ron, do you have everything? And you two too? Oh, and Ginny dear, you mustn't forget to Owl me about how the McLaren's daughter is. And Hermione, love, if I find that book I'll post it to you. Ronald, remember your manners. And to study hard! This is your final year, you mustn't slack off now-"

"Slack off more, she means."

"-at such - Ginevra, no snide comments thank you. Now, go and say goodbye to Harry. And Remus and Severus too of course. Go on, off you go," she flapped her hands at the three, ushering them into the kitchen where Harry was sat with a fresh cup of coffee, chatting and laughing softly with the two older men. She didn't particularly ponder it then, too caught up in the rush of not missing the train, but it was then that it really, truly registered with Hermione just how different their friend was. How much he had outwardly changed over the summer. Harry had always been soft-spoken but strong-willed, fiery yet compassionate, all wrapped up in an awkward little boy. Yet, in the last month or two, he seemed to have moved past that awkwardness and fallen into a more natural disposition. One where he was confident, albeit humble, and commanding, even as he spoke from a place of blatant care and attention. He was passionate about magic and the war and everybody's safety; he was careful to keep secrets and share vital information and plan for every eventuality, then some. He was clever and quick. He had Duelled with Death Eaters, saved lives and forged alliances. He was as much a leader as a friend, although she couldn't begrudge him the fact. Harry had always been 'too' mature and taken too much responsibility and guilt upon himself. That had never changed and appeared to have yet to. All the same, he had clearly grown into himself over this summer, and Hermione was happy to see that; she was even happier to know that he still had time and love for herself and Ron, regardless of how they had failed him at times. She had vowed to herself to never let that happen again. And hopefully, by taking over the DA for him, they could help Harry rather than hinder him. Allow him to take his attention off of Hogwarts and protecting the children, the future, and focus on actually winning the war, rather than simply defending against Voldemort's offensives.

Hermione was shaken out of her thoughts when Ron brushed past her to embrace Harry. They leant heavily into each other, regardless of recent tensions, and thumped each other's backs in that way that the men around her always seemed to when they were emotionally overwhelmed. Honestly, her boys. They were silly, and she loved them all the more for it.

"Oi, don't hog him Ron. I want a hug too." The two laughed as they pulled away from each other, and Ron moved aside to let her clutch Harry close, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling deeply. This summer, the smell of him had changed some - he still had that tinge of ozone and electricity - his magic - interlaced with petrichor and sweet soap but now there was the slightest tinge of sage and something still herby but also... not metallic, but close to it. Bitter. Potions ingredients. The scent of Severus Snape, no doubt. Well, the two had been sleeping in the same bed, it shouldn't come as a surprise. And, quite frankly, the new combined smell wasn't a bad one. Unusual, unconventional, but not bad.

"We love you Harry. We always will. You'd better look after yourself, or at least let him do so."

"I'll try Mione, I'll try. And I love you two too." At those words, Ron abruptly came forwards again to wrap his longer arms around them both and hold them tight.

"I'll see you for every other Order meeting or so, you know."

"We know, but it won't be the same," Hermione informs him, voice muffled by his top.

"Yeh. Still though. Just make sure everyone else can protect themselves and each other, yeh?"

"We will, so you worry about yourself and the war, got it?"

"Got it." And they all held each other tighter for a minute, Hermione telling herself that she doesn't need to cry and fighting back tears accordingly, before Molly finally called for the two of them because they were leaving now, they couldn't be late. And so, squeezing tighter for a long moment, the three friends finally separated. As Ron and Hermione left, they didn't miss how Severus' arm came to tuck Harry into his side, voice a low, comforting murmur. Harry would be fine without them. He had Snape. And they had the DA and their NEWTS to worry about for the time being; that would keep them more than occupied enough. Still though, they would miss their best friend fiercely. How could they not?

In the wake of the morning rush, Severus and Harry made the tacit decision to head up to the library for some quiet reading. Everything had been very fast-paced of late, even though little had truly occurred in the grand scheme of things, and they were reaching a point of emotional exhaustion. So, they elected not to head down to the basement, or have a long conversation with Remus regarding his potential overviewing of their primary safe house. Well, for that they would have to explain their plans for the Ravens and the protections they were enacting within that first. In other words, that was going to take some time, effort and thought that, at that precise moment, the two simply didn't have the mental reserves to be dealing with.

Instead, they found themselves settling into their usual armchairs in the library, privacy shields erected and books stacked dangerously high upon their coffee table. For once, they were not all Warding theory, necromancy research and Duelling tactics. No, this time, it was distinctly lighter reading. Admittedly, illusionary magic had some very practical applications, particularly in a fight or for long-term deceptions, but regardless, it wasn't directly war-related and it was a branch of magic that was rather singular in approach and results, which made it refreshing to read about. So that was what they did. For several hours, they allowed themselves a break. To take a breather and simply spend some time together with no other commitments or problems intruding upon the tranquility. Harry found a soft sort of delight in sitting beside Severus, neither speaking all that much, purely keeping the other company, with Harry's feet resting against Severus' ankles where they were propped up on the coffee table, allowing them to touch without crowding. The Potions Master had tied his lovely hair up in a low ponytail, just centred at the base of his skull. Seeing that always warmed Harry's heart and sent a little thrill down his spine, like ice water had trickled down his back yet immeasurably more pleasurable. Severus trusted Harry. He felt safe, comfortable, beside him, was willing to be far more open and vulnerable than the younger once would have ever believed him to be capable of with anyone, let alone the Gryffindor 'Golden Boy' himself. He couldn't be more grateful for it.

And meanwhile, Severus was thinking much along the same lines. How Harry, once the genuine bane of his existence, had become his nearest and dearest, someone he would lay his life down for not because he was Lily's son or the so-called Chosen One, but simply because he lov- he cared so deeply about him. And the most bewildering part of it all was knowing, knowing with a certainty more utter than death itself, that Harry would do exactly the same and more in return. All for Severus.

Still though, they eventually had to interrupt their little sanctuary in search of lunch, meeting Remus in the kitchen.

"Hello you two, all alright?"

"Yeh thanks. You?"

"As well as could be, considering that the full moon is tomorrow night." Harry hummed in understanding, headed over to the kettle,

"Would you like some of that special tea then?"

"Please, that would be lovely." And so Harry popped a bag of ginger and chamomile tea into one mug, then coffee into two others. Once the water was in, he ensured that Remus couldn't see which mug received a good dose of honey, then adding the same to Remus' tea, along with a little milk. Then he floated the two elder men's beverages over to them, silently accepting their thanks, and moved on to re-heating the leftover soup from earlier that week. There was just about enough that, along with bread, it should tide the three of them over until supper. Once everything is set up, he turns to lean against the counter, cup in hand, and meets Severus' gaze. It takes a long silent conversation, primarily spoken in eyebrows and twitches of the lip, but then the younger speaks up once more,

"Hey, Remus. How would you feel about looking over a safe house? It'll be one of the old Potter manors." The werewolf looked up from his book, a little startled, and took a moment to register what Harry had said.

"Who's the safe house for? Surely the Order don't need one just yet?"

"Ah, no, it would be for the families of the spies that we're hoping to initiate."

"Spies?!" Remus choked out, eyes wide as his focus darted between the two men. There was something beyond usual confusion there, more something bordering on incredulity.

"Well yes. We could do with some form of reliable, direct intelligence, to say the least. And there are several younger Death Eaters whom we know were reluctant to join. Peer pressure, familial expectations, lack of other options, etcetera etcetera. We want to give them an out, in the long-term, and a safe place for their at-risk family members to flee to. Hence the safe house."

"Right... Okay..." Remus sat back in his chair, looking rather more grounded now, and certainly less surprised. Well, Harry could work with contemplative.

"After some decent training with Severus, along with rigorous Oaths and Vows, they should be plenty safe enough-" or so they hoped  "-and will be able to look after themselves. Then be in a position to report back to us as needed. We'll cover up their existence with some other spying method, hopefully a real one that we can utilise in conjunction with the Ravens themselves- ah, sorry, that's what we're calling them. The Ravens."

"The Ravens..." The werewolf immediately trailed off, seemingly deep in thought, and Harry and Severus tacitly decided to leave him to it. To be fair to the man, it had been a rather abrupt introduction to what would be a major operation, and should it be anywhere near successful, something that would make a massive difference in their ability to keep up with the snake-faced bastard. 

Once the soup had heated through, Harry dished out three portions and set them down on the table, along with the bread and butter already laid out. The soft clack of the bowl landing on his placemat seemed to tug Remus far enough out of his thoughts to begin eating at least, so they continued to leave him to it, simply enjoying the quiet and good food. For now, this would do. So long as the idea was floating through the werewolf's mind, he should be prepared for actually making a decision about the safe house. So, for the time being, that would be one more thing that they could cross off of their immediate to-do list. Now to get around to the other dozen or so items. First? Finish up their meal. Then they could worry about wards and scrying spells once more.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after spending the previous afternoon finalising their plans for several of the Warding schemes they were looking to establish at different properties, Harry and Severus found themselves Flooing into Gringotts once again. As per usual, they were wordlessly escorted to Grinluk's office, wherein several Goblins that they had yet to meet awaited them.

"Good day, Masters Potter and Prince," one greeted. Harry didn't hesitate before bowing a little and returning with a smile,

"Please, call us by our first names. Is it safe to assume that you are the Master Warders that Grinluk made mention of?" 

"Indeed it is, Harry. I am Boarlet, Head of the Warders here at Gringotts. Accompanying me are Tulkern, my apprentice," he offered, prompting the tallest of the group to nod in greeting,
"Skacun, Master Warder, and Pameir, Master Warder. We are here to consult yourselves regarding the Warding of several properties, yes?"

"We are," Harry confirmed, as all of them then took seats around Grinluk's desk, forming a large circle. And, even as he spoke, Harry was pulling out their blueprints so far, annotated with everything he and Severus had decided they wanted for the Warding schemes, and how they thought it would most likely be placed and function.

"This is our primary focus, a cottage in Kent. These are the floor plans, including the exterior, and here are our plans so far. Whilst they are preliminary, we have considered and researched them thoroughly. Some points are non-negotiable, such as the need for only ourselves to be keyed in unrestrictedly, and as you can see here, we've included a small number of failsafes. Of course, Ministry regulations are no point of concern for us; safety and practicality are our first priority, so..."

It took almost an hour to work through, but the Goblins, Harry and Severus all impressed each other with their knowledge and ingenuity as the proposed protections were refined and re-balanced, potential loopholes covered or fixed, until everyone was happy with the plans in front of them.  They then proceeded to go through the same exacting process for three of the other properties, including the primary safe house intended for the Ravens' families, and a farm that had been designated by Harry and Severus for a future training complex of sorts. Somewhere they could bring Ravens to without fear of their identities being compromised, or if their training became some kind of common knowledge, either amongst Hogwarts students, Death Eaters or even the Order themselves. It was essential that the majority of the operation remained as need-to-know as possible, at least until the Ravens themselves were fully initiated and aware of every risk and potential outcome. And that they could protect the knowledge of the Order itself they would be likely to gain, if only through having to attend occasional Meetings, although Harry and Severus were determined to keep that to something of a minimum, if they could. Whilst they would eventually need to breed trust and camaraderie between the current Order members and their spies, the independent safety of both parties had to be a top priority. So, for now, they needed a safe haven or three. And, hopefully with both themselves and the Goblins, they would get exactly that.

By the time that they had ironed out the last of the details for the four properties, Harry's stomach was beginning to protest in hunger, fortunately silently so, and he was sure that Severus' must be as well. Accordingly, he began to wrap up their meeting.

"Is this a good point to leave these plans to all of you, with the intentions of the two of us returning when needed to tie the wards to us and our Magicks?" He was met with several toothy grins.

"Indeed it is. We shall brief our Warding teams and gather the necessary materials this undermel and will call upon you tomorrow morn, if that is agreeable?" Boarlet offered.

"Sounds good to me. Thank you all for your aid and wisdom. May your coffers never empty of preciousness."

"And may rivers run with the blood of your enemies." Greetings - or rather, farewells - exchanged, Harry and Severus again offered half-bows, the formality returned by the beings, and they are escorted out by Apprentice Tulkern.

Sat down with a lunch of leftover pasta, Harry and Severus once more found themselves conferring over the plans that they had settled on with the Goblins, ensuring that neither had any last minute qualms or suggestions. Each property was to be Warded slightly differently; partially to protect against successive invasions, and partially to help trial, effectively, which systems would work best. And then of course they had needed to consider the actual specifics of each property - what were the grounds like, what purpose was it serving, did the protections need to be absolute and intimidating, or subtle and insidious, how many people would need to be keyed in to them? There were, to say the least, a myriad of factors at play, and they had to take every single one into account, lest they leave a chink in their literal armour. They couldn't put anybody at risk. They simply couldn't. And so, between themselves and the team of Goblin Warders, they hoped to have covered every metaphorical and somatic angle available, to provide themselves with impenetrable fortresses with which to protect themselves and their people. It was a momentous task and incredibly intense for it, but Harry knew that it would be fine. He knew that. And yet his heart still pounded at the thought of even slightly slipping up. If they messed up, if they left an exploitable loophole, it could lead to the deaths of several people. Casualties in a war. And even worse, impossibly worse, was the knowledge that a decent portion of said possible victims would be in hiding - would be solely under Harry's protection - and that their deaths would thus lie solely on his shoulders. He was the one who chose to take up the leadership position and as much as Severus and Minerva acted as his lieutenants, of sorts, it was still him that was directing everything. He was the one who came up with the Raven scheme. He was the one who suggested offering to harbour the runaway families. He was the one responsible. And if it all went to hell and somebody, or Merlin forbid, multiple someones died-

"Brat, I suggest you shut your brain up. Preferably now." At the harsh tone, Harry froze, then his eyes darted up to meet Severus' and he lost most of the tension that had abruptly straightened his shoulders.

"Severus..." But the words wouldn't come and so he trailed off, staring hopelessly at the man sat perpendicularly to him.

"Harry. All will be fine. And if it is not, then we shall deal with whatever the issue is when it crops up. No sooner, no later. There is precisely no point in working yourself up pre-emptively for eventualities that may never occur. Understood?" And how was it that with so few words spoken in that measured drawl, Harry's heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out; his hands steadied and his mind centred; he was calm once more.

"Thanks," he murmurs, offering the elder a bashful smile, soft and small and unfamiliar on his own face, yet so easy to let out in front of this man. When Severus merely inclined his head in reply, the younger frowned a little. Then kicked the Potion Master's ankle viciously. 

"Oi, I mean it. Thank you." He wouldn't permit Severus to think him ungrateful or unaware, not after so many ludicrously angsty years of misunderstanding each other in ignorance and presumptions.

"I did little," the elder countered, a foul scowl marring his face from Harry's kick.

"Maybe," Harry allowed, with a placating gaze,
"But it means a lot all the same, and more so every time you do it." That alleviated the scowl.

"Sentimental Gryffindor," Severus teased, but he didn't move away from where Harry has left his feet crossed across his own ankles beneath the table. And the brat still grinned at him. Honestly, the nerve of the imp.

Soon their talk turned to the Scrying Spell. After all, the ritual was not long to take place and as they were to be busy with Warding the next day, and likely the entirety of it, they would be better off at least starting with the preparations this afternoon whilst they had a few free hours guaranteed. It was currently Friday already, and they were to be performing the aforementioned ritual this Sunday. If they were busy all Saturday... Well, neither of them was particularly eager to have to stay up late tomorrow night. Even less so when considering that they would have a considerable bit of magic to undergo early afternoon. Not to mention that after a day of contributing to Wards, they were already going to be tired. No, they didn't need to be doing everything in a rush. Better to at least get the expansion of the basement and the placing of the runes all done today, before they were too drained. And so, once they had finished up their meal, the pair Summoned the necessary books and headed down to the basement. First job: expand the space. 

"The work-space spell, three times over?"

"It is what we agreed, is it not?" Severus returned and Harry merely rolled his eyes at that. Then with a smirk, he gripped his wand and began the chant, challenging the elder to instantly remember and join in on time:

"Magicae, dona mihi re vera in quibus opus; Magicae, dona mihi re vera in quibus opus; Magicae, dona mihi re vera in quibus opus." Of course, Severus caught up with no issue as they directed their combined magic to expand the room. And it did begin to extend, stone grumbling and grinding with low-toned squeals, the stench of mould almost overpowering the ozone of their Magicks swirling through the air, permeating into the walls gradually, first gathering like silver droplets of dew along their surfaces, then percolating away, each drop of pure magic giving the room another little shock as it expands that little bit more. And within two minutes of beginning the spell, the room is several metres bigger - enough to reasonably fit in all of the Order members for the Scrying Spell Ritual at least.

With that done, the two settled by the stairs upon a Conjured sofa and began to double-check their Runic patterns for the ritual. They intended to use what the book detailed, but they were still intent upon triple-checking everything. Call them paranoid, but the two had survived this far by constantly looking over their shoulders, so forgive them if they were to continue doing exactly that.

"I think I'm happy with them. Any problems?"

"Hm, I don't believe so. We confirmed the measurements and placings, so I am willing to proceed."

"Let's get on with it then." And with his own words, Harru got to his feet and turned to tug Severus up after him,
"I'll help you up, old man"

"I'm only thir- You damn brat!" Severus growled. He had already fallen for that exact verbal trap once before; he wouldn't do so again! Bloody imp.

"Nearly got you!" Harry taunted, before sauntering away to begin setting up the runes. They had agreed, after considerable research, to carve the runic circles directly into the floor. At first they were simply going to use chalk, as was generally suggested, however it was easily scuffed and magically disturbed which, when conducting such a large-scale ritual, was far from ideal and could risk compromising the whole thing. So, although it had taken some debate, they had landed upon utilising pure magic to engrave the symbols and lines into the very floor. It was a far more involved, tiring process, but it would be worth it to so greatly increase their chances of an easy, complete ritual casting.

Accordingly, Harry knelt upon the flagstones and, taking one last glance at the rune he was to start with, began to pool magic into his index finger, allowing the warmth of it to flood through the digit, concentrating his power to the very tip, watching in awe as his own magic began to spark and flare into visible, tangible life. Then, refocusing upon his task, the young man began to carefully draw his finger along the floor, painstakingly tracing the deceptively simple 'X' of Gebo. It may have only been a cross, an ex, but to get the angles wrong or have a distinct wobble in the lines would interfere with the magic. Power and intent were not enough alone. The runes had to be perfect. Every single one of them needed to be drawn correctly, placed accurately relative to each other and at large enough intervals to accommodate the entire Order standing around the circle, infused with both his and Severus' magic. This was going to take a while.

That night, Harry and Severus tucked themselves in under the same covers, exhausted, easily slotting around each other as felt natural. Tonight, Severus lay on his side, back against the wall, legs slightly pulled up, with Harry held in the cradle of his arms, both facing out into the room. And the elder couldn't help but bury his face into the black curls that smelled of ozone and sweet soap, enjoying how Harry gave a pleased little shudder at the older man's arms tightening around his waist possessively, protectively, and how he leant back into that grip, curving his neck perfectly to allow Severus to nuzzle at the soft skin there.

"Lo- No nightmares," Harry offered, fighting down a blush. Seeing this, even in the darkness of their room, Severus couldn't help but grin against the brat's neck. Then, succumbing to his own whims, the elder nipped just once, short and sharp, at the flesh, before soothing it again with his lips, delighting in the little yelp Harry let out.

"No nightmares, my brat," he returned, mouthing the words against that same patch of skin. The younger wizard harrumphed at him, but a hand reached down to clasp Severus' own all the same. And so, they fell asleep, content in each other's grip. They would have no nightmares that night.

---------------------------------

Magicae, dona mihi re vera in quibus opus - lit. magic, grant me more reality with which to work - a 'wizard-space' spell - this one is a short-term spell used to create, typically, a work space of sorts, often for a Potions Lab or Ritual Room, by expanding a room already in existence. It works best with stone rooms as wood will splinter and crack more easily when being expanded and added to. As it is short-term but unusually potent, this spell creates a very stable space with little potential of collapsing, assuming that the casters are sufficiently powerful and skilled, hence its common use for potions and rituals. The more repetitions of the chant, the longer the growth will be sustained and thus the larger the room shall ultimately end up (walls expand directly at a millimetre per millisecond; one chant enacts the magical process for 20,000 milliseconds, or 20 seconds, and thus the walls move back a total of twenty metres - but that is across the entirety of the wall space, so if you're expanding two walls, that would be ten metres spread across each of them (if they were ten metres long, they've each moved back a metre)).

Runes used and their meanings:

Thurisaz - this rune represents the ability we have to resist unwanted conflicts in a passive manner. It is a rune of protection and can tell us of a possible change that would have otherwise come without warning. You can use the protection aspect of Thurisaz as a defence against adversaries   -   reactive force, defence, catharsis

Sowulo - with the help of this rune we tend to be able to see things more clearly. Like the sun sheds light on dark times, with Sowulo we too can find the light during dark times   -   honour, realisation of goals, the sun

Gebo - represents the honour and connection that is created between people when they exchange gifts. The connection and honour is similar to the connection and honour that a person has with the gods for giving them life   -   relationships, exchanges and contracts, sacrifice

(The theme for the primary  runes is clarity, foresight and connection - Sowulo and Thurisaz are for the light and protection, for knowledge and vision, whilst Gebo is what ties those casting the spell to those who are being casted upon.)

The secondary runes are:

Ansuz - a rune that symbolizes stability and shows us order. It is also a rune that indicates intellectual activities and directly represents the divine breath of all life and creation   -   insight, inspiration, communication

Kenaz - a rune of knowledge, understanding, learning and teaching. It allows us to view situations with more clarity than we normally would   -   vision, revelation, creativity

Wunjo - this rune shows us the balance between all things even when in a chaotic world. It is also a rune of fellowship, common goals and well being to all things. If you come across this rune in a reading you can expect good news to come your way   -   joy, comfort, peace

 (The theme for the secondary runes is more intellectual and spiritual - it is less focused on the intention of the ritual, and more upon stabilising and grounding it, giving the foundations for the intent to build upon, without contradicting the primary runes.)

Chapter Text

Harry and Severus woke before their alarm the next morning. The younger was the first to blink open bleary green eyes, barely half-conscious, simply luxuriating in the comforting grip Severus had around his waist, potions-stained fingers gently caressing his stomach where they had crept up beneath his shirt. It was utterly delightful to have this level of familiarity and skinship with another person. He had long since grown comfortable with Ron and Hermione, but hugs and lounging your legs across somebody's lap weren't quite the same as sharing a bed, as knowing a person so truly that their every breath felt like your own. Severus felt like an extension of himself, a part of Harry's own being, and it was fucking terrifying yet it made his very magic warm inside him, buzzing happily. He could admit to himself that he... he probably loved Severus, as best as he could guess. He didn't get butterflies in his stomach and seeing the man didn't make his heart flip. But standing next to him felt like coming home. Talking to him felt like every single word Harry said was important; was valued and heard and cherished. Touching Severus set his magic and pulse racing at first, but now it instead leisurely stirred inside him, registering safety and comfort and understanding, stretching languorously like a cat in the sun, basking in the elder's very presence alone. These feelings were so unfamiliar, yet with Severus they felt so very natural. 

And yet Harry couldn't say it. Last night, in the warmth of Severus' arms and the security of the darkness, he had nearly said those words. Two little words: love you. Something he had said perhaps once or twice in his life, only ever for his best friends. With Severus, it was completely different; so utterly what he wanted. But then he had backed out. Everybody that Harry loved died. It was as simple as that; Harry was as much a curse as the scar on his forehead, and he knew it. Logically, he knew that all of his friends - his family - would deny that vehemently, and perhaps they would be right, but the young wizard simply couldn't believe it. Couldn't risk believing it. So he had wimped out, and resorted to simply wishing the elder a good sleep. Which, well, wasn't a false hope, but it wasn't what he wanted to say, not really. But when could he ever have what he most truly wanted? Not the little freak. He didn't deserve Severus anyway, in all honesty; the man was practically a god amongst men - not because he was invincible or omniscient, or even perfect, but purely because he was a true, formidable man. He was the best thing in Harry's life. The younger man was very much aware of the fact and all the more scared because of it; he relied upon Severus, he needed Severus more than he needed air, at this point, and to lose him... It would break Harry, he knew that. Oh, he would still soldier on. He would keep on fighting, keep on pushing the Order, keep on living. But after the war? Well, there was a good chance he would die during it anyway, and his desire to survive would be- severely compromised, to say the least. So-

"Harry?" The single word, murmured softly against the back of his neck, has all of Harry's limbs relaxing at once.

"Morning," he returned, just as gentle-toned. Okay, he was one-hundred percent compartmentalising too, but sue him. It's got him this far.

"Shame," Severus grunted, arm tightening where it is latched around the younger's waist. Harry snorted and shuffled back that impossible inch further into the elder's embrace, pressing them as close together as he could. Severus didn't even complain, only leaning forward a little to fully plaster himself along the younger's back.

All too soon, their alarm went off, blaring through their tranquil silence of soft breathing and steady heartbeats, and Harry grumbled as he patted at the bedside table until he grasped Severus' wand and, thank Merlin, the atrocious ringing stopped.

"It's Remus' turn for breakfast, isn't it?"

"True." The two immediately sagged back against each other. They could afford to wait a little longer. After another minute of comfortable silence, Harry half-turned his head until he could see the blurry edges of Severus' head and shoulders behind him,

"We're at Gringotts for nine, aren't we?"

"Indeed." The reply came with the elder heaving himself up onto one elbow, half-hovering over Harry, who still lay on his side, head facing upwards. Severus' hair draped around them, pitch-black curtains, ravens' wings, shrouding their faces in their own little bubble of space, erasing all but each other from existence. For a second, for an eternity, all Harry could do was stare into those eyes. Dark with emotion, bright with hope and care; so close up, he could make out every single star in those amber eyes, could count the orbiting lights and shadows of a mind so complex and conflicting yet of a man so noble and true, could list each little ember of hope and desire and happiness and every single atom of this man's being, all knowing that Severus can do exactly the same as he looks into the younger's own verdant eyes, unobstructed by glasses. It is scary, knowing so much of someone, but it was so worth it for moments like this. Severus would always be worth it.

"We should go down for breakfast."

"We should." 

"It would be rude to keep Remus waiting."

"It would."

"We don't want to end up late."

"We don't." And yet neither of them moved. They scarcely breathed, even as Severus' still-sleepy limbs threatened to give out with how they was supporting his weight, keeping him above Harry, so very close and so ridiculously comforting.

"We should go," Harry reiterated, never looking away from the elder as he started to push himself up. But before Severus could back up, out of his way, Harry darted forwards a little to press a gentle, if clumsy, kiss to Severus' lips. At the flush that instantaneously coloured over the older man's high cheekbones, Harry grinned impishly and began to slide out from under him. But then the Potions Master was smirking and brought a hand, quick as an all-too-fitting snake, to cradle the younger's cheek, halting him. Harry gaped a little and Severus took full advantage, swooping down to take that sinful mouth, entangling their tongues, savouring the taste of Harry even as it was slightly musty from a night's sleep, and kissed him solidly for a long, delightful minute. When he pulled away, keeping his hand on the younger's cheek, he was pleased to see that now it was Harry who was thoroughly blushing, breaths too heavy, lips a stunning red, just enough evidence of their kissing to satisfy the elder but to ensure it would fade before they would get downstairs. Beautiful.

"We should go," he reminded, tone a tad mocking, yet with a caress in it all the same. Harry gaped yet again, painting quite the tempting picture, but Severus resisted his urges - as he should have done to begin with, even if he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions - and instead moved over Harry to get out of bed and cast some quick freshening and clothes-changing charms. They would shower tonight, in their own cottage. And wasn't that a thought. Tonight, they would be in their own home, just for the two of them, able to decorate and furnish it however they wished, protected by Wards of their own design, able to sleep easy knowing that they were safe, alone and together.

Coming down into the kitchen, Harry immediately headed for the kettle, offering a greeting for the werewolf who stood at the stove, overseeing a pan of sausages and another of mushrooms.

"Morning to you too Harry. Severus," the man returned, a soft smile in place for the pair.

"Want a refill on your tea?"

"That would be lovely thank you Harry. You two sleep well?"

"Well enough, yeh. You?"

"I may have read a little later than intended," Remus offered with a self-deprecating chuckle,
"But yes thank you."

"And have you had a chance to consider our proposal?" Harry inquired, placing a mug of chamomile tea on the side beside the hob, easily within the werewolf's reach, and took a seat beside Severus, offering him a coffee that had already been sipped from. Honestly, the brat. At least he put the right proportion of honey in, regardless of if he always seemed to steal a sip or two - ostensibly, it was to keep Severus' coffee preferences a secret, as he wanted, but the elder was no fool. Harry was extracting payment. Brat.

"Ah-"

"Oh sorry, probably a bit early in the morning for that yet, isn't it? Forget I said anything for now. Breakfast smells good!" Severus resisted the urge to smirk as Remus seemingly went through whiplash from the rapidly changing conversation topic, but then the sandy-haired man slumped somewhat at the stove, apparently giving up on fully keeping up with Harry. Severus frankly didn't blame him.

"Well, it'll be ready momentarily."

"Brilliant. How long 'til our meeting Severus?" Casting a quick tempus, the elder replied,

"Just over an hour. Including getting to the office."

"Mmkay thanks. So Remus, what were you reading to keep you up? Anything Severus or I might like?"

"I'd imagine you might, it was an old Defence tome. Discussed the theories of the time - many of which have admittedly been debunked by now - and their conflicts, then went on to discuss their practical evidences and applications..." The three easily devolved into a conversation over Defence and various Dark Arts. And whilst Harry and Remus did carry the majority of the talking, Severus still interjected with trivia and scathing scepticisms, making for a genuinely enjoyable breakfast.

But soon Harry and Severus were Flooing into Gringotts and, accompanied as usual, were quickly seated in Grinluk's office, along with both the Goblin himself and three of the Warding Squadron that they had met the previous day - Boarlet, his apprentice Tulkern and a second fully-fledged Master Warder in Pameir.

"Good day everyone," Harry began, nodding to the Goblins,
"Are we good to start with the Wardings immediately?"

"We are. I have a Portkey for Downsel Cottage here, if we shall depart?" Grinluk explained, taking a solid grip on a metallic braided rope laid out on his desk.

"Brilliant," Harry replied with a small grin as both he and Severus stepped forwards to hold one end of the proffered rope. Alongside them, the Warders did the same and between one blink and the next, the six were gone.

For once, Harry did not stumble upon landing from the nauseous vortex of Portkey travel, finding himself steady against Severus. The two exchange little twitches of the lip - one teasing, replied to with a combination of exasperation and gratitude - but almost instantly focused their full attention on the cottage in front of them. Having landed in the garden, they were afforded the full sight of the building that they had viewed and bought together and there was not a milligram of regret to be found between them. It was a perfect home, for all of its little idiosyncracies, and best of all it was theirs. The previous owners had fully moved out the day before and now it was ready to be Warded, furnished and slightly redecorated. To be made into their home. Their safe haven, their sanctuary, their shared space to plan and relax and research in. To live in together. 

"If we shall begin?"

"Of course." And so they did. Harry, Severus and Grinluk settled on Conjured chairs in the kitchen, allowing the Master Warders to do their jobs uninterrupted. After all, Grinluk was only an overseer of sorts, a supervisor, whilst Harry and Severus were to be keyed into the Wards during their casting. Goblin ritual Warding differed somewhat from standard Wizarding Warding and thus their potential help would be limited. Still though, once Tulkern came over to the three, reporting that the runic grouding patterns had been set down, the two humans stood and took a walk-through with Boarlet. If they wanted to ensure the quality and correctness of the set-up, it was perfectly understandable. And the Goblins, rather than taking offence, seemed to delight in dealing with fore-thinking, self-sufficient wizards who were knowledgeable enough to be able to pick up potential mistakes. Regardless, there were none - they were paying a hefty sum for a reason - and the group ended their checks in the centre of the basement. There, Harry and Severus stood inside a wax circle, having carefully avoided stepping on the intricate runes that spiralled out from where they were placed, that took up a locus several metres wide on the floor. The wax was a deep red-purple, a rich colour that reminded of many things - blood and bruises; magic and royalty - and should conduct the Goblin Magicks in a way that chalk simply couldn't, and frankly shouldn't. It would be an affront. Taking deep breaths, staring into each other's eyes as the three Warders bustled around them, Harry and Severus both found themselves genuinely and unusually excited. This house was to become protected for them alone and with that it would become their home. Severus did not miss how the green eyes before him were bright like starfire, gleaming like moonlit water, constellations whirling, evanescent, through their depths with what must be every shift of emotion and thought; nor could Harry miss how the amber eyes before him held a glow like sunlight through gauze, subtly pulsing like a sleeping chest, sakura petals of mentality dancing and falling and rising through those deep brown shades. And by Merlin, the urge to simply blurt out those three words was too strong, almost completely overwhelming him, yet he couldn't. He knew he was a curse and with every day he could feel  himself coming closer to dooming this stunning man before him, as though he hadn't already. And yet he selfishly still wanted to say those accursed, blessed, words.

"We shall start the chant. All is well?"

"It is," Harry assured Boarlet, not allowing his voice to waver in anticipation and interrupted angst as it so clearly wanted to. Instead he stood there, wand in hand, before the man he loved, silent, and let the building power of Goblin Warding wash over him. The guttural words rumbled through the air and walls, floor, ceiling, like the beginning of an earthquake, so very entrenched in the world as they were. And second by second, their presence amplified, ascended, cresting into a great crushing crescendo of harsh syllables and a reek of deep earth and the very pulse of Magicks echoing through the room, through the house, surrounding the wizards' every inch of being, both physical and beyond. Then something gave way and in came the flood of pure power, raw energy, as the Wards bound themselves to the men, lashing themselves down to their very souls, wands sparking with every shade of colour imaginable, and some beyond. It was transcendent and terrifying all at once. Before them lay a great abyss, and into it poured unspeakable emotions of desire and longing and needwantcravesafetywarmthtogetherhome and something that was half Wizard magic and half Goblin and all protection and it gave itself into the emptiness and that emptiness gave back, allowing itself to be filled and wrapping its layers around two humans, sinking itself into their skin even as it did the same to walls, stairs and fixtures; to cupboards, flowerbeds and roof tiles.

Then, with an abrupt, acrid burning away of the wax runes, the ritual was over. Harry and Severus were left panting, leaning heavily into each other, barely gathering the strength to remain stood. Distantly, Harry registered Grinluk lowering his personal shield in one corner of the room and how the three Warders were composing themselves again after such an epic feat of magic. After a long minute of silence, of exploring the tug in his chest connecting him to the house - to their home - and to, vaguely, Severus, Harry straightened fully, standing under his own power, glad to see Severus easily able to do the same. 

"That was the most powerful Warding I have seen in many years, Harry Potter, Severus Snape. I comment you both."

"Thank you Master Boarlet. And for the Warding itself of course, all of you." The younger man bowed with his words, genuinely quite shaken and very grateful. That magic, that ritual, had been one of the most spectacular pieces of magic he had ever come across. It was humbling. And the feeling of belonging it was now granting...

"T'was but out job. We had a further meeting scheduled for the fifth, yes?"

"We do, thank you. I look forward to seeing you then."

"And I you, Harry Potter," Boarlet offered with a too-wide, too-toothy grin that Harry couldn't help but return. By Merlin, he loved the Goblins.

"May your coffers never empty of preciousness," he bade the four.

"And may your enemies fall to your might," they returned, perfectly in sync with each other. Oh, apparently he had risen in their estimation. He would take that.

And, with their farewells made, the Goblins left once more, leaving Harry and Severus alone to their new home.

Chapter Text

After seeing the Goblins out, the two returned to the kitchen. Their kitchen. Merlin, Harry was never going to get tired of that.

"This is it," Harry breathed, tone so incredibly overawed that Severus couldn't help but want to tease him,

"No need to be quite so dramatic, brat." But Harry knew just as well as he did that Severus' eyes were warm and he was suppressing a crooked smile.

"It's ours," he went on, ignoring Severus' teasing, instead stepping close into the man's space and smiling up at him unreservedly. Severus, for a long moment, merely stared down at him. Unbeknownst to Harry, the elder couldn't look away, could barely even breathe, because never before had he seen Harry with such a full, true smile. It was a wide, toothy grin, pink lips pulled up and cheeks puffing to push against the rims of his glasses. The loose collar of his too-large shirt revealed tantalising collar bones, each one punctuated with a stark pentacle. His dark, curly hair had been growing longer, despite the younger's complaints, and was falling back, away from his upturned face. But it was the eyes within that lovely face that attracted all of Severus' attention. The smile had scrunched Harry's eyes up at the edges but the blatant joy radiating from them did weird things to the shrivelled thing that beat wildly against the elder's ribs, as though trying to break free, somehow desperate to be held in the hand of this incredible man before him. Harry was beautiful, utterly stunning in a way nobody should have the right to be, and Severus couldn't have moved away if he'd wanted to.

"Ours indeed," he reaffirmed, reaching up with a nigh-on trembling hand to carefully, gently, reverently, cup one of those rounded cheeks that were slightly flustered with such intense attention.

"I don't understand how I've gotten this lucky... This isn't how my life works. I don't really deserve..." Harry murmured, almost too quiet to be audible, nuzzling his face into Severus' hand, every word breathed against the callused palm, lips brushing skin to skin.

"And I can scarcely believe that I have you here, in my arms. It is far from my own usual fortunes," Severus returned, making the younger jump for a moment. Had he not meant to be heard? Drawing Harry closer with a hold around his waist and leaning down a little, he rested his forehead atop Harry's, closing his eyes against the onslaught of green, so bright he could barely withstand it. It was a perfect pain.

"I guess we're both lucky."

"Indeed." And in that single moment, holding each other close, alone in their own home, nothing else existed. The war, their pasts, their future. It was all gone, lost to the sheer joy of being safe with each other. To the shared love. Neither of them would say it, could say it, but it was undeniable in the same way that the sky was blue and the earth was steady; told in the way that their magic sparked and swirled like static between them, all purple and green and silver and red. Perhaps... perhaps they didn't need words. That was sure to jinx it. But instead they could do this - they could cradle each other, hold tight and close and careful, and have that be enough, be so much more than anything that either of them had ever possessed before.

Of course, it couldn't last for long. After a far too short a time, Harry's wand began to buzz with an alarm. It was already noon.

"Back to Grimmauld I guess." Severus frowned at both the forlorn tone and the truth of it, drawing Harry even closer into his chest and resting his chin atop the soft curls, tucking the younger's face against the crook of his neck, both heedless of the glasses digging into their skin. They hardly even noticed it.

"True. But that also means that we will be sooner to return and begin truly settling in." Harry hummed at that, and by the way he finally sagged into the elder's embrace, he was glad to have been reminded as such. Silly brat.

"It's as you said," Severus went on,
"This is ours now. We shall always have a home to come back to." Perhaps it was the giddiness of the thought that had him so blunt, so open, but the Potions Master couldn't bring himself to be subdued. Instead, he stepped half a pace back, sliding his grip from an embrace to instead hold both of Harry's hands. Then, with the beginnings of a smile creeping across his face, he began to dance. It was a slow, unpractised waltz of sorts, half-formal, half-instinctual, simply taking elegant, rhythmic steps and tugging the younger man along with him.

"Severus?" Harry questioned. He was caught somewhere between confusion and delight. But then, a few steps in, he began to laugh, the sound clear and bright as it rang through the room, losing all hesitance after only a few seconds, and tried to follow along. He fumbled and stumbled as many steps as he managed, too busy staring at the elder to really care, as they slowly spun and swayed their way around the wooden floor, no music but the beating of their hearts and the quiet laughs that they would let escape, no company but each other and glad for it. It was... blissful. A peace, a solidarity, a comfort that neither had ever truly possessed before. Hogwarts had long since been a home to them both, but it was still filled with unknowns and antagonists. It had never been a place that they could call their own. And technically both of them owned other properties, but inheritances weren't places chosen with yourself and a certain other in mind. This cottage? This was all theirs and they were in love with it. And bringing down their own emotional walls demonstrated that; allowing themselves a silly, quiet moment to take each other by the hand and enjoy their space, to dance as though under the stars, to revel in each other... It was a novel experience, a first, and all the more wonderful for it. Nothing could be better.

Still though, they eventually wound down, slowing their steps, laughter draining away in favour of silent awe as they sunk into each other yet again, pressed together, heartbeats resonating, breaths in sync, simply swaying side to side. Unfortunately, their second alarm went off, cutting through the intimate atmosphere.

"Sooner to return," Severus reminded, tone a tad mocking, but still largely warm. Harry only snorted in reply, pulling back enough to press a chaste kiss to the elder's cheek even as he began to fade into invisibility and then, with a quiet scuffing noise, he Apparated away, leaving Severus blinking at the empty space.

"You brat," he chided to the room, before casting his own Disillusionment charm and turning on his heel. The door to Grimmauld had been left open for him. How was this the man that he had come to care so much for? And despite that thought, Severus still wrapped a tendril of magic around said brat's waist the moment he was in sight.

"Any preferences for lunch?"

"Something quick," Severus huffed, already turning to the kettle. Just because he was civil with Remus - got on well with him, perhaps, though he wouldn't say as such aloud - didn't mean that he didn't need coffee to deal with the werewolf.

"But of course," Harry snarked, rolling his eyes but releasing a few strands of his own magic to curl around Severus' metaphysical hold on his waist all the same. 

"Coffee?"

"Do you even need to ask?" The younger threw him a smile along with the words, warming straight up to their familiar back-and-forth. Severus merely boiled the kettle, mugs set up,

"Do you even need to answer?"

"That doesn't work when you started it, you know."

"Ah, but it does when I'm the one to finish it."

"Who said you were finishing it?" Harry's tone is offended but his posture is light-hearted.

"I'm the one with the coffee." And shit, he's right.

"Oh, fuck off."

"I suppose I could go home alone, pick up some food on the way..."

"Fine. Don't fuck off. Just give me my coffee, honey and all."  At the blatant mockery, Severus simply growled, but acquiesced all the same, depositing a large mug of black liquid life on the counter before turning curtly to sit at the table, quite content to simply watch Harry at work. 

Mood undoubtedly a little dampened by the confines of Grimmauld Place, the younger man wasn't quite so carefree, as open, as he had been at their cottage, but still. It was a simple pleasure to watch on as Harry bustled around, grabbing odds and ends from the cold cupboard and the bread bin, and then an above-head cupboard. Within a few minutes of this, a soft humming began, quiet and scarcely there, yet a pleasant undertone to the white noise of sandwich making and a fairly accurate match to the tempo of their dancing earlier, the slight swaying of his lithe body clearly harking back to it, even subconsciously. Severus suppressed a smile. But then the sound of footsteps came from the corridor and that suppression became far easier. Regardless, Severus left his magic free and curled around Harry's waist, instead burying his half-smile in his coffee, scolding himself for being so Merlin-damned soppy.

"Hey Remus!" Harry chirped, putting the finishing touches to three plates of ham and cheese sandwiches, half-turning to greet the werewolf. With a soft smile, the man nods to him, then to Severus, offering,

"Do you want anything doing?"

"No thanks. Pretty much done. What flavour of crisps do you two want?"

"Salt and vinegar," Severus replied, tone curt, already prepared for - resigned to - the instant jab of,

"Heh, salty like you!" Merely sighing with a shaken head in exasperation. At least Remus had the humour to snort at their interaction.

"I'll take prawn cocktail if there's any left, thank you." And so the packets come floating onto the table, accompanied by their plates of sandwiches as Harry joined them, sat at the head of the table, a man to either side, falling into another easy conversation surrounding magical theory. The werewolf enquires about the Scrying Spell. After all, the ritual is the coming Sunday.

"It's fine. We've got the basement sorted for the ritual itself. Runic circle's down. So at this point it's just a matter of casting the thing with everybody in tow."

"Did you follow the basis?"

"More or less. There were three different accounts of the ritual. Incantations all the same, set-up all the same, just with one of them switched two of the runes around. But going through them, it seemed pretty obvious which would follow our intentions better, so we stuck with that. We're focusing on using it as a defensive and preventative measure more than a monitoring device, so..."

"Hm, sounds reasonable to me." 

"But of course. We do take this seriously," Severus grumbled, taking a bite of food to shut himself up before he got too harsh. There was nothing he hated more than his and Harry's capabilities being questioned. And okay, maybe the werewolf wasn't actually doubting them, but still. It was the principal of the matter.

"Oh honestly Sev," Harry chided, albeit with a slight ring of amusement to his tone. Remus, to his credit, only smiled indulgently,

"I wouldn't dare think otherwise Severus. Your dedication - both of your dedication - is quite blatant, so long as you bother to look."

"A good thing you aren't blind then."

"I suppose it is." And the Potions Master could only grumble through another mouthful at the offensively jolly smile that the werewolf focused on him. Bloody Gryffindors.

Lunch was soon over and, before they left, they needed to inform Remus that they would be staying out overnight. Permanently so. And quite frankly, Harry wasn't looking forward to it. He knew that Remus probably wouldn't mind, but the idea of telling anybody that he and Severus were moving into another house together was nerve-wracking to say the least. Thank Merlin for the warm tendrils of magic that held his waist and wrist, as though the elder man was cradling him as he had earlier, in their home. It kept his own magic settled at least.

"Oh, Remus, before you go, we needed to let you know that we're not going to be about much anymore, nor staying here overnight. We'll mainly just pop over for the library and for Meetings."

"May I ask why?"

"You may," Severus sneered, although not with quite as much malice as one might expect.

"And would I receive an answer?"

"We, uhm, are moving into another property. We're looking at making it our new headquarters, although only once we've got some other stuff set up. We don't entirely trust Grimmauld Place." There was so much that went unsaid in that. How thinking of Sirius was painful. How they wanted privacy and freedom and space. How they wanted a home to call their own. But for now, what they'd said was more than enough to assure Remus that there was sense behind their move, that there was fore-thought and consideration and planning.

"Well that's fine with me. Thank you for letting me know. Would you like any help with anything?"

"No thank you, we're fine," Harry replied with a small, relieved smile, cutting Severus off before he could growl out a dismissal. Brat.

"Alright then. I'll let you two get on with things. A Patronus will still reach you, yes?"

"Of course. And we'll definitely be around occasionally for books, beyond the ritual and Meetings as such. We'll let everyone else know on Sunday, but please keep quiet on the matter until we've explained. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." And Severus is impressed at how subtly yet indubitably Harry had just threatened Remus. And judging by the faint blanch, followed by a slight smile, the werewolf didn't miss it either.

"Certainly. It is your life, Harry, as much as you are pushed onto a pedestal."

"Thank you Remus," the younger returned, a genuine smile, albeit one small and hesitant, crossing his face as he carefully leans forwards and falls into a hug with his pseudo-godfather. The werewolf had become more of a friend than an uncle of late and whilst that could be seen as a shame, Harry was far more comfortable with it. Family wasn't a good topic for Harry, but friendship was doable. It wasn't long before the two pulled away and Harry silently followed Severus up the stairs to their room. Their old room, now. Piled atop their trunks was Severus' messenger bag, Harry's bookbag and the rucksack of furniture, and along with the very few odds and ends around the room, that was everything they wanted to bring with them.

Perhaps they weren't starting out with a lot; perhaps they only had each other and some paltry bits and pieces. But perhaps that was all they needed. It was doing them well so far. Just having each other, knowing the depth of their emotions, was more than enough. Just being able to hold each other, to have moments like earlier that morning, swaying side to side in their shared embrace, was more than enough. Being together was enough. And now they knew it.

Chapter Text

Returning to the cottage that afternoon felt like taking a deep breath of fresh air. Or, perhaps more accurately, like turning over the pillow in the dead of night, gaining those few poignant moments of cool, soothing relaxation. It felt like coming home, and there was such truth in the thought that it almost hurt and Harry couldn't help but stop Severus, now in front of him, in place with a gentle hand to the wrist, then he simply rested his head against the back of the elder's neck, careful not to trap any hair. The Potions Master only offered a soft huff in return.

"Really brat?"

"Really," he murmured in return, unashamed. Severus doesn't deign to continue the conversation, instead only freeing his wrist from the younger's grip and, in a single smooth movement, managed to interlace their fingers before Harry could pull away. For a minute they stood there, barely in the door of the cottage, before Harry has pretty much gathered himself and Severus, apparently sensing this, moves away, further into the house, although he was yet to release his grip on Harry's hands.

"Shall we start with our room, then the kitchen and lounge space?"

"Sounds good to me. It would be better not to leave the books shrunken down for too long."

"Indeed."

The two were quick to head upstairs, every step a novel one, as though they had never seen the cottage before, the atmosphere utterly different now that the previous owner's belongings were gone and the place was bare, ready for them to furnish it and fill it with themselves: their hobbies, their interests, their silly little knick-knacks. Admittedly, a lot of said knick-knacks were books or random bits of magical paraphernalia, but still. Nudging their bedroom door open, Severus glanced over his shoulder at the younger as they entered. If Harry was going to back out of sharing, now would be the time... And yet, despite what the elder was half-expecting, Harry said not a word, instead only offering a smirk at the elder as they deposited their trunks against the wall and, after a quick round of in-depth cleaning charms, started Summoning the various bits of shrunken furniture - much of it still unassembled in their boxes - and laying them out on the floor. Bed, check. Bedside tables, check, check. Smaller bookcases, check, check. Wardrobe, check. Linens, lamps, bathroom paraphernalia, check. Brilliant.

"You want to start on the wardrobe and bookshelves? I'll get the bed and stuff sorted."

"Brat, you're taking the easy job." Well, he wasn't entirely wrong...

"You only have to use magic Severus!" Harry laughed, already re-sizing the double bed taken from Grimmauld Place (one they were sure had no curses or enchantments laid upon it, beyond the standard anti-wear and tear and anti-ageing) and the mattress from IKEA. Cutting away the plastic packaging with a Conjured pocket knife, not entirely trusting a severing charm, or rather his own aim with it, and discarding it to the side to be Vanished collectively later. Then he stood and grabbed a corner of said matress and spends a long second trying to drag the thing more than a few inches. Then he froze.

"You, my precious brat, are a dunderhead of the highest order."

"Oh, hush you," Harry admonished, trying to ignore how his face was flaming and his ears burning. In the name of distraction, he took his wand back up and began to levitate the mattress. Determinedly, he tuned out Severus' mocking murmurs of gleeful 'you little hypocrite!' and focused on settling the mattress in place and digging a bed sheet out of the pile of new linens, shaking out the charcoal jersey sheet and, sending a challenging glare Severus' way, stretched it into place on the mattress himself. Honestly, the magical effort to tuck it in around the corners and such would have been an unnecessary hassle. And he could admit that he was very much accustomed to making beds. Doing it for his own home wasn't the same though; it was far from it in fact, more like dusting away musty old cobwebs to leave somewhere bright and clean and ready for new life. Weird analogy, he chastised himself, then started sorting out pillows and blankets. He and Severus had unanimously and tacitly decided that they did not want a proper duvet, no matter what tog it was - the things were far too restrictive and heavy in a way that was less comforting and more crushing. Blankets however were adjustable, could be added and taken away from and separated so they had some each. And they had one or two fluffy ones that were like nothing Harry had ever had before, nor Severus, he was sure, and he considered heavenly already, without having even slept with them yet. And it didn't take long for Harry to have laid three of the blankets out - one fluffy white one atop grey fleece and a monochrome striped one, thicker and more wool-like in texture - and tucked them in, folding the tops back to reveal the simple grey pillows, one for him, two for Severus. As though they wouldn't end up shifting and sharing during the night.

"Looks comfortable." The sudden words made Harry jump a little, particularly when accompanied by the hot hand that brands itself so very pleasently, albeit suddenly, on his hip, Severus breathing against his neck, ducking to speak against his skin,
"We shall sleep well tonight." The younger shivered in delight, so very aware of every touch, and leant back against the elder's chest, one hand coming up to interlace with Severus',

"We will. How are the bookcases doing?" He couldn't bring himself to move away from Severus to actually look. And the elder was clearly willing to indulge him, judging by how he answered without moving an inch,

"All put together. My Muggle novels are in there, along with your fictions - did you want any of your non-fiction too?"

"I don't think so thanks. I'll just leave whatever I'm reading on my desk or bedside table or something." Severus merely hummed. For a solid minute or three, they stayed like that, admiring the half the room in front of them, even as it is still somewhat bare. The bed was a heavy wooden thing, dark-stained mahogany, with a plain headboard and footboard, carved with simple strands of ivy down the sides. It wasn't a four-poster, neither of them keen on having the canopies to deal with, particularly in the case of potential emergencies. Not to mention it was a bit of a reminder of Hogwarts which whilst not necessarily bad, wasn't really the atmosphere they want for their bedroom as partners of a sort either... The bedside tables matched, from the same room in Grimmauld, and each had a single shelf and two drawers, enough to keep bits and bobs in.

"We do seem very fond of standing around this afternoon, considering the volume of things that need sorting."

"You're not wrong," Harry snorted, still not moving regardless,
"But does it really matter?"

"No, it doesn't. We'll be able to sleep tonight and can always get takeaway if we fail to organise something in the kitchen."

"True. All the same..." Harry trailed off, not quite willing to actually dismiss Severus. Still, the elder clearly understood, as he brushed one more kiss to Harry's neck before moving away once again, returning his attention to the bookshelves. Conversely, Harry gathered up some of the smaller things and began to put them away. Toiletries went away in the cupboard beneath the sink, along with spare toilet rolls and some cleaning products that Harry had insisted on buying, regardless of proficiency in household cleaning charms. Plain lamps with black fabric shades went on the bedside tables. Two cups were placed by the sink. One tube of toothpaste went between them, and each gained a new toothbrush. Towels went on the radiator rail and in the cupboard respectively.

"Hey, Severus, do you think we should have gotten a rug?" Harry asked, voice cutting through the comfortable silence as he stared down at his feet. Or rather the hardwood floor beneath them.

"I suppose we might have, but it's surely fine for now."

"True." And Harry sent him another grin before returning to puttering around, tucking away odds and ends.

Several minutes later, it is Severus' turn to break the quiet,
"Perhaps we can go looking for a Persian rug at some point."

"That would be nice, wouldn't it? Both shopping and actually having one. Colour?"

"Monochrome with blue?"

"What, no Gryffindor red?" Harry teased, eyes glinting. Severus rolled his own, but almost instantaneously sobered,

"If it were what you truly wanted, then I would consider it. But as a joke, most certainly not." Harry stuttered to a stop, almost dropping the clothes he was sorting through. Observing the younger man who had frozen in place, Severus refused to be concerned,
"Brat?"

"Ah," came the choked acknowledgement and after another few moments of aborted noises, Harry finally placed down the clothes, even as he remained facing away from Severus,
"You really mean that?"

"Of course. Would I say it if I hadn't?"

"No, no you wouldn't," Harry laughed, tone blatantly disbelieving despite the words.

"Then don't worry your foolish little head over it. You'll do yourself an injury." The resultant chuckle was far more true, lighter and clearer, and Severus nodded to himself, glad that whatever miniature crisis Harry had just undergone was averted so easily. Better change the subject.

"Do you want me to get anything out of your bookbag for in here?"

"Ugh," Harry grumbled, hesitating,
"Just try Summoning them? The fictions that is. The stacks will collapse, even though there's not many of them, but the charms will stop anything getting damaged and it would honestly just be easier to Summon them out by category to organise them later... Just go for it," he concluded. Severus snorted once - far too much time taken for a simple conclusion, honestly - but does exactly that. Behind him, against the opposite wall, he can hear Harry hanging up various articles of their clothing. It will be quite odd to actually physically change in the mornings once more, in lieu of the charm that they've both been using for the last month or so. Neither of them had unpacked at Grimmauld after all and rather than Summoning or searching through their trunks, it had been far simpler to just cast the clothes-swapping charm. Heavens forbid they actually have to dress themselves again. Resisting the urge to laugh outright at his own thought process, Severus turned his attention to shelving the books from Harry's bag - one section of Muggle books, in alphabetical order in one case, the second case with the same set up, albeit of Wizarding novels instead. A few shelves had been left clear. Doubtless some sentimental pieces would find their ways there, such as his mother's jewellery chest, retrieved from his Hogwarts quarters, or that photo album he knew Harry kept of Lily and James, once they were further through the unpacking process.

"How are the clothes coming along?" He inquired, standing up straight once more and crossing the few metres to where Harry was stood, some of Severus' robes in hand.

"Alright. I've gone your Muggle, your Wizarding, my Wizarding, my Muggle. I assumed pyjamas and underwear and stuff would go in the drawers?"

"But of course," Severus confirmed, already reaching for a hanger himself. Many hands make light work and all. Several items through, he can't justify not asking,
"Why do you keep these ratty things? They were your pig-cousins, were they not?" He made an effort to keep any judgement or anger out of his voice, for even though all of it was aimed at those blasted Dursleys, it wouldn't be a comfort for Harry, he knew.

"I... Good question, I guess," came the reply. A heavy sigh followed it and Severus abandoned his work to instead sling a telegraphed arm around Harry's shoulders, drawing him into his side, maintaining his silence to give Harry a chance to work his way through his own thoughts.

"I always thought of them as mine. Something, no matter how small - or large, I suppose - or shitty or insignificant, that they wouldn't take from me. I never had a lot, so shoddy hand-me-downs were better than nothing at all. And I never had a reason to care, anybody that I wanted to look good for, so I never really bothered. I did pick up some decent stuff last year though, a whole wardrobe really, hence not actually looking like a tramp this summer."

"Indeed." The single word was enough. It spoke of understanding, of comfort and relief of a sort, of being able to relate, in some way or another. Their childhoods held too many parallels after all. With that, the two turned into each other, yet again holding each other close. Perhaps the quiet wonder of being able to do so anywhere, anytime, would fade sooner or later, but the elder genuinely couldn't believe it ever would. Not when an action as basic, as natural, as wrapping his arms around his brat and feeling that heartbeat echoing just beneath his own, those wild curls tucked under his chin, sent his shrivelled heart ablaze like it had never been before; urged him to simply close his eyes, lay down all his walls and sag against the younger's delightful warmth, knowing full well, even without words, that Harry felt exactly the same and revelling in every single millisecond of it.

Sooner or later, after who knew how long, the two stood apart once more, and Severus proffered some of the cast-offs to Harry.

"This is a new beginning, no?"

"It is..."

"Then shall we make it truly so?" Hesitation, followed by determination, lit Harry's eyes, and he took the threadbare clothing from Severus and, in his hands, they burst into vibrant emerald flames, no heat reaching the pair of them, nor ash, but the clothes charring into nothing all the same. As they did so, the Potions Master collected together the rest of the hand-me-downs and passed them over to Harry to be burnt into nothing. This home was theirs and they were both bound and determined not to allow it to be tainted by their pasts. Their futures might be unavoidable, the war most definitely so, but the past could be pushed aside, could be burned and perhaps not fully healed, but it could start to be so, and that was so much better than not at all. It was a start, one they both desperately needed.

The fire burned itself out once the scraps of fabric were obliterated and Harry laughed, cackled almost, eyes bright through the film of unshed tears, hands cupping empty air. And this time it was the younger who reached out, using those same hands to grasp onto the elder's,

"We're home now Sev'rus."

"That we are, my Harry, that we are." And so on they went with unpacking, settling into their home, as it was always meant to be.

Chapter Text

"Ready?" Severus nodded, in time with the various affirmative calls and gestures from around the circle of Order members. With something too toothy, too gritted, to be a smile, Harry raised his wand, in perfect tandem with the older man at his side, and they began to chant.

Ten minutes previously, Harry had led the assembled Order members down into the basement. He and Severus had briefly explained the set-up in the room, emphasising the absolute need for not stepping on any of the runes or interrupting any of the magic that was to be cast. The adults had all nodded and given acknowledgements, but it didn't prevent both Harry and Severus from watching them all with eagle eyes, scrutinising their every step to ensure that nothing was messed up.  Rituals like this had the tendency to be delicate and, regardless of the relative security of physically branding the floor with pure magic, the chance of somebody somehow messing up felt far too great; perhaps they were paranoid, but judging by how their lives usually panned out, it was probably more than justified. Soon though, everyone had settled to stand in a circle, caught in between the two rounds of runes, evenly spaced, hands interlinked. Harry and Severus stood in the centre of the room - the centre of the runic patterns - facing each other, wands held loosely at their sides, staring intently into the other's eyes, ascertaining that yes they were both ready, both sure that they were doing this right. And, having taken those few seconds to reassure themselves, they began.

"Arborum viribus astra terris speculum nobis quaerimus. Salix ligabis rudem et hebeninos commutaverunt circumstantes nos ligare imagines vestrae speculum visu faciendo inde da nobis auxilium implorarent. Arborum viribus astra terris speculum nobis quaerimus. Salix ligabis rudem et hebeninos commutaverunt circumstantes nos ligare imagines vestrae speculum visu faciendo inde da nobis auxilium implorarent..." And so on they chanted, once for every member of the Order, revelling in the echoing crescendo of magic that built and built, rumbling through the floor, an earthquake, bringing dust dancing down from the ceiling and sending hearts beating wildly, hair rising and falling with the rhythm of the chant, one pair of amber and emerald eyes respectively practically aglow with power. It was a potent ritual for a strong spell and it showed. And, as Harry and Severus continued in tandem, quiet voices almost out of place with the clamouring, both physical and celestial, of the magic pervading the room, they finally intoned the last round and, with one final pulse of magic that had the runes sparking and smoking in their carvings, they fell silent. Before anybody could speak up, or leave their places, the sound of cracking of glass shot out, several Order members flinching, and a great golden mirror materialised into existence beside Harry and Severus, floating at the perfect height, showing upon its face an image of the room, every person clearly visible, distinct and moving as the figures shifted and grumbled in real life, those who could see peering at the mirror in fascination. 

It had worked; the ritual was a perfect success.

For a long few moments, not one person moved nor spoke. They stared, some in awe, some in curiosity, some in disbelief, at the mirror. But then, in between one blink and the next, it dissipated into nothing. Only empty air was left.

"I think we can call that done, don't you?" Harry broke the silence with a distinctly cheery tone and there was a round of light laughter in response, even a smattering of applause. But Severus could only register those verdant eyes that met his own, only for a fraction of a second in the abruptly bustling room, yet that managed to convey a menagerie of emotion all the same. Most prominent, unsurprisingly, was relief, closely followed by exhilaration and warmth, tinged with weariness and a forced joy. Harry was happy, the Potions Master could tell, but the exuberance he put forth to the other members, already clamouring closer, was more of an act built off of pleased relief than something genuine. Still, that was practically a given at this point. And Severus knew that, as a whole, Harry had been doing a lot better, both mentally and physically, of late, generally improving by the week, with regular meals of a decent size and, thank Merlin, less nightmares on both of their parts. No doubt the ever-improving Occlumency helped. But, if Severus were to flatter himself in a way that he rarely indulged, he could also believe that their growing affection and comfort played a solid role too. It certainly did for himself. He could admit that much.

"Coming Severus? I'll make you a coffee." That wonderful, familiar voice pulled the elder from his thoughts and he acquiesced with a single curt nod, turning on his heel to follow the tidal wave of chattering Order members, Harry at his side.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Severus was disappointed but hardly surprised to find the gathered Order members settling around the fully-expanded kitchen table, several already nursing various steaming cups and mugs of various teas and coffees. Shooting Severus a somewhat teasing glance, Harry headed over to the kettle himself, resorting to Conjuring a mug for both himself and Severus respectively, ensuring that they were identical. Made it easier to be subtle about the whole honey thing that way. Honestly, it amused him that the elder was so insistent upon nobody knowing how he took his drinks; it hardly mattered that he preferred something to sweeten and, arguably, enrich, the taste of the bitter coffee. Regardless, Harry was more than willing to accommodate the little idiosyncrasy and, accordingly, added a decent drizzle of honey to one of the mugs, taking his regular sip from that cup - his payment for the whole thing, or so he claimed - before discretely ensuring that the correct mug ended up at Severus' place beside him, once he had joined the table. And yet again, Harry found himself sat at the head of the long table, Severus and then Remus to his right, Minerva, Moody and Kingsley to his left, and so on down the entire length of the kitchen. Nobody sat at the opposite head. Somehow, unofficially, and despite his protests only a month or so previous, he had become a leader. The leader. In a way, he was glad for it; he trusted himself to do whatever necessary to win the war, ultimately. And it was better than going stir-crazy in classes at Hogwarts. Yet he often felt so woefully under-prepared for such responsibilities, for they kept on piling up, often shoved upon his shoulders by others far older than himself, though never more personally experienced with Voldemort of course, for how could they be? Barring Severus himself, for obvious reasons. And so now here Harry was, holding a conversation with those he considered his closest allies, albeit Ron and Hermione weren't present, still with only unofficial Order status, about some of the potential candidates still being vetted. Two-thirds of the way down the table were some of the newer inductees, Daniella "Dani" Whitechurch and Tenko Kurasuma, the former happily chatting away with Tonks. The two bubbly Auror women were quite similar in attitude and mannerism. Made a pleasant change from the larger number of stuffier Old Crowd members, as Harry thought of them, who had been part of the original Order and were more Dumbledore's people than the Light's, in several cases, such as Doge's. Still, there weren't bad people. Nor were they likely to defect or even retreat, they had followed Dumbledore for a reason to begin with. And Harry, for all that his opinions on the dead man were conflicted by that point, could hardly begrudge them the fact.

Focusing back on the topics at hand, Harry was glad to note that he hadn't seemed to have missed anything much, and knew that, regardless, he and Severus would end up discussing anything pertinent or interesting later anyway. When they were home. And wasn't that a charming thought? Mentally shaking himself - he really must stay on track - Harry took the time to offer a flash of a smile in return to the scrutinising glance sent to him by the elder man. It was a split-second exchange, unnoticed by even Moody, and yet it helped to ground the younger immensely.

"Arthur," he asked, letting his voice carry the half a dozen seats away,
"When was Charlie due home?"

"Only a month or so now, probably. Unless there are any problems with the Dragons, and perhaps even then."

"Good to know, thank you," he smiled again, properly this time, then turned to Minerva,
"Do you know of the DA yet? I think 'Mione said they were going to try to meet up this morning, before they left."

"They did. She sent me a list of the attendees, with a note that the list would likely change a little over the next few weeks, whilst people settled in and such. She was using a different contract this time, I believe. Something about less damning consequences?"

"Ah yeh," Harry snorted, realising that nobody here would likely know anything about it,
"Because of Umbi- Umbridge, we, well, Hermione really, put together a sign-up sheet that equated to a magical contract. Upon breaking the oath that was signed to, a curse would give them a nasty set of boils or warts across their forehead spelling 'sneak'. Pretty compelling for most teenagers." There was a little round of muffled laughter from Minerva, Kingsley and Remus, Moody merely grunting out,

"Should have been harsher." Harry offered yet another grin in return, although it was undoubtedly a tad distracted and likely more of a smirk. He'd have to remember to write to his friends at some point, for all that they were each busy with their own aspects of studying and war preparation.

Abruptly realising that they had yet to set a date for the next Order meeting, Harry raised his voice above the general hubbub,

"Sorry to interrupt everyone, but I think we might like to organise our next Meeting now, before anyone needs to leave." A little chorus of assent went round, and the young man forced himself to provide them with a smile. At least they listened to him. Well, most of the time anyway.

"As it is the third today, what about next Sunday? We will have a few more lengthy matters to discuss, so a weekend would be better, allow us the several hours that I expect we will need." Those blazing green eyes swept the room, not missing a single person, wordlessly intense in a way so few people ever managed to be. Half of it was raw magic; half again was something akin to charisma, certainly a brother of determination, yet quite in a league of its own. It sent shudders - albeit not entirely fearful ones - down several spines. Seeing Harry Potter, their proclaimed Saviour, in such control when mere weeks ago he had been raging, spitting insults and wisdom alike, sparks literally flying, never failed to catch some of them off guard. It was quite peculiar. Yet it was clearly to the betterment of the Order and the Light side as a whole, so nobody would ever wonder too much upon the matter, simply grateful for such blatant improvements.

Fortunately, none of the members objected to a Meeting on the tenth, nor to the somewhat earlier-than-usual time of seven, in contrast to what was usually nine or ten at night. But Harry and Severus were all too aware of the need to, at the very least, broach the subjects of the developing safe houses and pending shift in headquarters. Knowledge of the Ravens could wait until the pair were certain that the spying scheme was thoroughly underway. Until then, they already had plenty to talk about. And Harry had expressed a desire to check back in with some of the werewolf packs, if only to ensure their continued safety, so being able to inform the Order of that would no doubt also be a matter for next week.

Finally, a good half an hour later, once the informal, impromptu mini-Meeting had adjourned, Harry and Severus stepped out of Grimmauld Place, quick Disillusionments in place, and Apparated back to Kent, appearing directly in the kitchen of their cottage, Wards bending to allow them in, just as intended. 

"We can nap, right?" Harry asked, already headed for the stairs. With merely a fond sigh, Severus followed. The ritual had been rather tiring, to be fair, and very magically taxing, so perhaps an hour or so of sleep would do them some good. Not to mention that lying together in their large bed, in the master room of their own home, had lost none of its wonder for having already spent one night sleeping in it, curled up together, limbs entangled and breathing slowing into one and the same. Indeed, a nap would be quite lovely.

The Scrying Spell Ritual - the chant translates back to: 'By the powers of the stars and trees and earth, grant us the reflection that we seek. Bind the wand of ebony and willow to those who stand around us, bind their images to a mirror of your making and grant us sight and from that their protection.'  It initiates the working of the Scrying Spell, which can then be cast by whomever's wand it was bound to. The caster is determined by the identifying phrase within the chant - in this case, a wand of 'ebony and willow' to reference Sev. Later, upon casting the actual Scrying Spell (in contrast to performing the ritual that initiates the spell), a mirror will materialise beside the caster and will, one by one (or in groups if relevant to their locations) show each of the targets of the spell. This ritual can only be performed with consensual parties, theoretically limiting the uses, but for Harry and Severus, such a matter is no issue. Despite reluctance and the occasional complaint, not one of the Order is against the spell nor the much-needed safety it provides.

Admittedly, I only put Sev's wand-woods together on a whim, but having now researched some symbolism and such, I'm more than happy with my choices:

Willow - gives hope, stability and safety - the ability to let go of pain and suffering and find new hope, happiness and purpose - graceful, lithe and flexible - a symbol of the moon, water, grief, healing and everlasting life - the capability to withstand and adapt to the greatest of challenges -  used for those seeking to enhance their psychic abilities - for those of inspired imagination - capable of growing strong and reliable from even the most unsteady of inhospitable beginnings

Ebony - a symbol of power, purity, balance and protection - dark yet beautiful - clarity - reminds one to be current and clear-headed to make wise decisions 

- can be polished until as unyielding as metal - channels all types of magic easily and able to bond with a wizard regardless of their path - heart-wood - draws from deeper levels of the mind - good for defensive magic

Also, I'm pretty sure that we generally, as a fandom, conclude that his wand would be ebony or the like, but I adore the idea of it having an 'inner wood' of something traditionally seen as lighter, even kinder and softer, to represent that he too is capable of vulnerability, care and devotion, or at least some positive things beyond the limited portrayal as such in canon.

Chapter Text

At six o'clock that evening, only ten minutes before their dinner was to be done, Severus and Harry stood in the open space of their kitchen and resisted the urge to hold their breath as the elder held up his wand and chanted,

"Amicos corpique animi spectare." And, with a few metallic sparks flying from the tip of his wand - neither bronze nor gold nor silver, but something else entirely - a mirror faded into existence beside them, golden gilt edges clearly heavy, yet it hung delicately in the air as a cloud, and upon its surface one Order member after another shimmered into existence, namely eating, working or relaxing, before melting into the next person. Eventually, after five minutes or so, it had run its cycle, showing everyone to be safe and sound. The mirror promptly dissolved away into a golden-white mist, then into thin air, and for a few moments, the two stared blankly at the gap it left. Then, with a noise caught somewhere painful between a laugh and a choke, Harry turned on his heel to bury his face in Severus' shoulder, glasses being Banished elsewhere, the kitchen counter most likely, without a thought. The young man didn't bring his arms up to hold the Potions Master, nor did he truly lean against him, merely hiding his face in the deep blue knit of Severus' jumper, emotions a complicated whirl that hung heavy from his wrists, wallowing in the pit of his stomach, and left him feeling vulnerable and raw. They had protections in place. Legitimate, useful protections. They would actually have a chance to save their allies if the worst happened, to plot and execute a rescue plan, or to at least know what had happened to them, if they were too late. With a single ritual, they had been afforded a way to safeguard friends and colleagues who otherwise could have gone missing for days unnoticed only to turn up dead. Thank Merlin.

Harry, finding himself spiralling further into some twisted, antsy version of relief, physically jolted in place when careful arms came to envelope him, to gently pull him into the elder until they were chest to chest, a single entity that simply breathed, thoughtless, existing. It was wonderful. And a needed reprieve from the maelstrom of his own mind.

"The food," he eventually murmured, words muffled by fabric, after what must have been several minutes. With a subtle sigh, probably the closest Severus would ever getting to pouting, the elder released the embrace and stepped away to pull down two of the arguably meagre four plates from some of the kitchen shelves, setting them down at their places on the bar table, following it up with a fork and spoon each as Harry took the pasta off of the hob and drained it in the sink, not bothering with a colander, simply keeping the pasta in with the saucepan lid in a clearly practiced manner, barely even bothering to look at what he was doing, focus on the pasta sauce and meatballs still on the hob, assessing that they were indeed ready. And within a few short minutes, the two were seated at the breakfast bar, elbows deliberately bumping with every few mouthfuls, eliciting more than one snort and tut respectively, both amused. Meal times here were calm, close. It had taken surprisingly little time to feel familiar with their home, even with well over half still undecorated and under-furnished, only the kitchen and their bedroom truly settled into and organised. And it was only said kitchen and bedroom that they had really spent much time in, between sleeping, eating and Order Meetings. 

"Shall we finish sorting out the living room this evening? It would be good to have it set up for research."

"Indeed."  Harry rolled his eyes at the short reply, but hooked his foot around the elder's ankle all the same, smirking when the man jumped and promptly sent a glare his way, before they both returned to their meal. Still though, their legs remained linked. Once he had finished, a deal faster than Severus, Harry spoke again, almost more to himself rather than starting a conversation,

"I wonder how we should approach the Ravens candidates? Presumably, one at a time would be best. And we'll need privacy, not to mention some kind of secrecy bond to be established. Taking them off of Hogwarts grounds would be inadvisable, although a Hogsmeade weekend is technically an option, for all that there are more possible external factors to interfere there which puts me off... So: pulling them aside somehow at the school. Getting them alone will be the main problem. Presumably we'd have to rely on the teachers; a Patronus or Owl would be foolish, far too many chances of interception, eavesdropping or someone, out of fear or loyalty, would simply report such a message to Voldemort, particularly if your name is mentioned. And Ron or Hermione would only attract more attention. So definitely teachers. Well, actually, kidnapping them is technically an option, but probably not the best way to start a conversation about betraying the psycho they're bound to..."

"Harry, brat, might I recommend that you pause for a moment and carefully consider your own words?" Severus advised, a teasing lilt to the words as he finished up his final few mouthfuls, struggling with the indignity of potentially snorting into his pasta. Honestly, his idiot brat.

"Wha-? Oh, yeh, I guess it's unethical as well, but still. I'm not above that if necessary."

"Quite frankly, I'm unsure as for how to react to that. You're an absurd thing."

"Thanks!" Harry chirped, clearly half-sarcastic, but too genuine-sounding to entirely convince Severus. Absurd indeed.

"But I rather concur, overall. Asking Minerva, Filius and such to aid us would likely be the least unobtrusive method and thus the most prudent. The last thing we want is to implicate a single person in any suspicions of betrayal and spying. We know what He does for such audacity." And they both shudder inwardly at the reminder of that awful day, over a month ago now, when Severus had successfully been recovered to Grimmauld Place after having his true loyalties revealed, if barely in one piece. It had been terrifying for them both, for varying reasons, but terrifying all the same, not to mention doubtlessly the beginning of what they were now becoming, the strongest basis for the true depth of feeling and understanding that they now possessed for each other.

Before he could get too lost in reminiscence, Harry stood and gathered their crockery, depositing it in the kitchen sink and, with an impish grin, he drew his wand and set the dishes to washing themselves. Household charms were brilliant things and only helped to bring their home further away from his previous so-called residence, and thus were all the more valued for it. He still enjoyed cooking though. After all-

"Thank you for dinner Harry, it was excellent."  -he knew it was always appreciated here.

"Of course Severus. Living room?"

"Living room," the elder concurred, already heading into the next room, even as he called over his shoulder,
"Although arguably it should really be referred to as a library. It is blatantly the primary function, even with only the books stacked in here."  Harry, following Severus into the room, couldn't help but agree. The L-shaped floorplan of the room had allowed them to plan out a good many bookshelves and, honestly, not much else. One corner was destined for a sofa and two armchairs, with a small accompanying coffee table, and two desks were soon to be settled between the two larger windows of one wall, but otherwise it was indeed a veritable library.

"I mean, you're not exactly wrong. But having a library but no lounge seems incongruous."

"Your vocabulary is expanding brat, consider me impressed."

"Miserable bastard. You know that I can be perfectly eloquent when I want to!"

"Can you though?" Severus challenged with a distinct smirk and a hip check that sent the younger stumbling half a pace. Harry huffed, poking the man hard in the ribs, delighting in how he squirmed away, before they tacitly turned their attention to the copious stacks of books that they had pretty much abandoned in the room the night previous, out of time and energy to organise and shelve them, but not wanting to keep them shrunk for too long. It would compromise the integrity of their preservation charms. So now, from the rucksack of furniture, Harry summoned a series of bookshelves. They were all of dark wood, mahogany in fact, and were understated, but that suited the pair quite well. It was preferable, actually.

With the bookshelves out, Harry took to settling them around the edges of the room as Severus shifted the book piles towards the centre of the room, so that they would be out of the way for now. Once he had the space, Harry reverted the cases, confirming that they were all a good size for the room. Fortunately, their measurements seemed to match up, and the wooden furniture now plated several walls, floor to ceiling, although the corners were a little awkward. Taking a moment to mentally recite the appropriate spell, Harry raised his wand once more,

"Quod etsi una crescere expressam," and the incantation buzzed through the room as the wooden cases began to creak and groan, shivering as their ends unravelled and instead interlaced, forming corner shelves that perfectly fitted the angles of the room, natural as you please. Grinning now, Harry did the same for the opposite corner, then began to place the centrally protruding cases as well, each use of the spell another step closer to immaculate bookshelves lining a solid portion of the room. It really was akin to a library. Although, it still boasted a distinct lack of books.

"Are we organising by genre, then alphabetical author?"

"I would expect so. With a miscellaneous section for those that fit poorly into select categories, or if there are only a few books regarding a topic?"

"Sounds good to me," Harry replied, promptly turning his attention to the stacks of books. Now then, he could Summon them by genre, or he could twist the magic some and categorise them before placing them all himself... 

"Necromancy," he demanded, wand in hand, but incanting no specific spell, simply directing strands of magic by pure willpower and focus, ignorant of Severus' impressed glance as glimmering bands of green-gold began to pick up and shuffle books through the air, fetching a series of tomes until Harry had three neat stacks at his feet, the irrelevant tomes carefully placed back in the piles from which the Necromancy titles had been extracted. It was a pretty little piece of magic. Not to mention immensely useful, Harry mused, turning on his heel with one of the new, shorter towers in arm, and began to shelve them in the furthermost corner of the area, the one least likely to be ventured into by any visitors. Or rather, by gathered Order members. Whilst Harry had no qualms about owning Necromancy books, nor about Severus also having some, he knew that some of their Light allies would find it highly questionable at best, and utterly damning at worst. They saw a world of greyscale in recalcitrant black and white, stark, a fruitless view that Harry had been disillusioned of long before learning that he was a wizard. Shaking his head to rid himself of such bleak thoughts, Harry carefully deposits the stack and begins to shelve them. A few books in, he finds himself smiling. Necromancy books can be a bit... alarming, to say the least, bound in bloody leathers that feel just a little like papery human skin, or ancient dragonhide, one even in some kind of enchanted cloth that appears to belong in one of those Muggle spiritual shops, but in truth is heavily embroidered with imbued threads and tie-dyed in Elven blood. Lovely book, that one. Very informative.

"What are you laughing about, brat?" Severus called, tone belying his own mirth, and Harry abruptly realised that he must have been snickering to himself. Whoops.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Why yes, I would," and suddenly there was a figure looming behind him, but Harry didn't even flinch, confident in both their Wards and the familiarity of Severus' body as it easily slotted against his back, one of the elder's arms curled around his waist, possessive but gentle, a large, fine-fingered hand spreading its heat over his hipbone, the other coming up to pluck the book out of Harry's grip, who huffed good-naturedly. And, upon craning his head back a bit, resting it upon the Potion Master's shoulder, he could see the faint smile upon Severus' face. It was a good smile, as subtle as shadows and dust, but never so unpleasant to find, instead a charming, warm quirk to those lips that Harry knew felt so good against his own. Yes, a very good smile. Accordingly, the younger wizard raised himself upon his tip-toes, easily relying on Severus to keep him balanced, that branding brace around his waist shifting to accommodate the movement, and Harry placed a few chaste kisses along the strong jawline and dipped cheeks of the elder, finishing with one pressed to the corner of that smile that he adores, before he stood flat-footed once more and turned to actually embrace the older man, hiding his flustered blush, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding at the sight of blood rising to the pale cheeks of the other before he had even given his second little kiss. Merlin, how had he come to deserve such a simple delight...? How, indeed.

Quod etsi una crescere expressam - lit. grow together as though carved - the wood-binding spell. Allows the caster to join pieces of wooden objects, typically furniture or toys, together. It can be used to create entirely new things (such as Harry using it to meld the bookcases together into a specific shape) or to fix broken things, often children's trinkets or various pieces of furniture (e.g. chair legs or stair banisters). The conjoined wood is often stronger than it originally would have been, thus being far more effective than a simple Reparo, albeit it only works on wooden objects.

Occassionally, a caster might lose control of this spell, in which cases it has been documented that the target object has sprouted new route systems and tried to grow, as though reverted back to a status of a tree. One particular example reported a table also growing leafed branches.

Chapter Text

Waking up beside Severus was, as always, more of a dream than those that actually came to him whilst asleep.

"Mornin'," a gravelly voice spoke, a scant inch from his ear. And yet Harry didn't flinch or startle, only tilting his head back to rest more firmly against Severus, encouraging the arm slung around his waist to tighten with an affectionate squeeze of the elder's wrist.

"T'you too," Harry breathed. The shared scent of ozone, sandalwood, bitter herbs and something HarryandSeverus laced the air, seeped into their pillows, even from only a few nights' sleep, and the soft blankets pulled over them were that perfect balance between grounding and unrestrictive. It was warm and safe. What better way to wake up could there be?

"'m glad we moved in here." The 'together' went unspoken, but certainly not unheard as the younger felt a smile being pressed into his hair, relishing in just how close Severus was, in how their legs were intertwined and the elder cradled him like some priceless treasure, like something precious.

"As am I, my Harry." And such possessiveness, coming from anyone, partner of sorts or not, would once have irked Harry to the point of a magical outburst, but here, now, it only fanned the comfortable flames in his chest, bringing a slight blush to his face, but he couldn't find a reason to feel embarrassed. It seemed pretty paltry in the scheme of things.

"Dare I ask what time it is?" He sighs, not wanting to break up their lovely cuddle (not that Severus would probably call it something so very cute, like Harry wouldn't call it whatever he wanted, thank you) but knowing that they needed to make a solid start on establishing the Ravens, and today was as good a day as any; better actually, because the sooner they started the better chance they would have to help, to save, both the Order and others beyond it. So they should really get up...

"Already half-seven I'm afraid. So perhaps a few minutes yet?"

"I reckon so," Harry concurred, grinning. They could definitely wait just a little longer to get up.

Still though, they only gave themselves another ten minutes before dragging themselves out of bed, Harry lingering in the warm sheets as Severus went to shower first, then showering himself once the elder departed for the kitchen.

"Should we contact Minerva first? Or do we want to get a bit further through sorting out our Vows first?"

"I suppose we might as well send her a Patronus beforehand; it would give her more time to ensure that she is available, or be able to give us a different time if necessary, and we will have all day, most likely, to compile some of the highly relevant details prior to the physical meeting."

"True," Harry concurred, coming to stand behind Severus at the stove, lacing his arms around the elder's waist, draping himself along the man's back, both an opposition and partner to how they had laid in bed only half an hour earlier. And it was almost as nice.

"Hello Potter, I wonder what you are doing there," the Potions Master sneered, but there was exactly zero bite to the words, all mellowed and rounded out by fond contentment.

"Good day to you, Mr Snape; and I think you'll find that I'm sharing physical affection with someone I care for very much. I believe you have a measure of experience with the phenomenon?"

"My, how sophisticated you are today."

"Every day, I assure you."

"And I would assure you the exact opposite."

"Hush you." But the words lost their strength when muffled into a wool-clad back. And Severus let out a harsh exhale that could almost be called a laugh at the younger's lacking retort. Neither of them moved away. Well, not until the first omelette was ready and the elder ushered Harry away, plate in hand, to start eating.

"Should I send it, or you?"

"Minerva's Patronus?" Severus clarified, receiving a distracted nod in return,
"I think you, most likely. Your voice is less distinctive at Hogwarts, and few people know that your Patronus has changed."

"Fair point. It's nine, so breakfast should have finished, right?" How come only a few months away from the school, busy or not, allowed him to forget things so integral to his school days as meal times? And judging by Severus' smirk, he thought it all too amusing. Smug bastard.

"Just about. Perhaps wait another five minutes."

"Sure," Harry concurred, moving to shelve some of the last books left over from the night previous. And soon, he was drawing his wand, the still-novel image of his silver jaguar coalescing into stunning existence before him. Harry couldn't help but be rather fond of his Patronus, both for its symbolism and for its shared nature with Severus'. They had agreed at the time that it was a symbol of dedication, for all that they tacitly acknowledged, even then, that there was more to them. But still, they remained as they were, caught somewhere indefinable in between allies and partners, undeniably more than one yet never quite willing to be the other.

Brushing off such thoughts, Harry focused himself once again, and spoke to his silver jaguar,

"Please take the following message to Minerva McGonagall: Minerva, would it be possible to speak to you privately this evening at, say, nine? The usual place of course. Send a return if not."

"No please, you impertinent brat?"

"Nope. I am the lea- Huh. That's... weird."

"If you're referring to how you consider yourself the Order's leader now, I believe you would find it an accurate statement that would not go protested or questioned by, I would suspect, any of the Order Members, least of all those who know you better. You have become the leader."

"You needn't make it sound so grand," Harry went on, retreating a little into himself, shoulders hunching and a lip being bitten. Severus frowned at that.

"Oi, brat. Don't be an idiot; what's wrong?"

"I... I guess I'm just not used to being- you know, respected. Trusted. Whatever, just that kind of thing."

"Well you should get used to it, dunderhead. You're fully capable, both mentally and physically, not to mention magically, so I dare say it would be a given that you should be respected. And I'm not the only one who can see how you've matured and grown confident, particularly over the last few months." The way that Severus stepped forwards, one hand clasping Harry's wrist in a gesture that both grounded and freed him, wasn't unfamiliar, yet it was still miraculous. Merlin, how did this man know him so well?

"Thanks," he muttered, slumping forwards into ready arms, nuzzling in close, utterly uncaring of how his glasses dug into his nose, simply relishing in how the elder tucked him in against to his chest. 

But eventually the moment passed. The arrival of a silver cat had the two jerking apart, Harry offering the elder a slightly sheepish smile as they turned their attention to the Patronus.

"I am available, and shall see you then," Minerva's voice rang out, stern but not disgruntled in the least. Thank Merlin.

"Brilliant."

"Indeed. Shall we finalise the Oath details and such then?"

"Sounds like a plan to me." 

And so the two settled on their sofa, pulled close to their coffee table, books and notes spread out in, for now, orderly piles.

"We agreed on the Oath of Fealty, so that's already sorted. I know we haven't discussed it previously, but I think we should bind them to you, instead of me."

"Again? Upon the same reasoning as the Scrying Spell then?" Severus questioned, genuinely confused. He had taken it as a given that their Ravens would be taking their Oaths towards Harry, not to himself. 

"As a secondary point, yes. I don't want to risk compromising them in any way, although that shouldn't be too high a risk with my Occlumency in place and no connection to my wand directly for the Oaths. It's really a show of trust towards you, and thus them."

"Even though they might interpret it as you making it easy to disconnect them from the Order, to abandon them and myself?" Harry stuttered in place for a second, before his suddenly clouded eyes cleared again, and he straightened to face Severus head-on, expression deadly serious. Sincere.

"Severus, I shouldn't need to say this, but that will never happen. And I was thinking of taking an Oath of my own to assure them that I have an obligation towards them as much as they will towards me. I won't have them feeling hard done-by, or as though they are simply a means to an end. Because yes, we need intelligence. We need it desperately, and that need will only increase as things begin to heat up. But I do want to safeguard them and their families. Honestly, I wish we could consider taking more of the Slytherins on, but it's just too much of a risk. The current eight is already pushing it. Well, assuming they all accept our proposal and we don't have to manipulate their memories." For a period, who knew how long, the two simply stared at each other, Severus blatantly scrutinising the younger, seeming to scour every inch of his being, both soul and mind, with a piercing amber gaze, the dark eyes shadowed with the kind of hesitant wariness that he hadn't exhibited towards Harry in weeks. Yet apparently whatever he found, or failed to find, was more than satisfactory, as his lips quirked up in a little crooked half-smile, and he nodded,

"Very well. I see no problem with that. What did you have in mind for your 'return Oath'? It can't be too restrictive, particularly considering the likelihood of having to face them on a battlefield at some point. And whilst we will likely eventually pull them over to our side publicly, I doubt that will be happening any time soon. And once one goes, the risk for the others would heighten exponentially."

"You said it," came the glum agreement, a thoughtful frown marring pretty features,
"I'm hoping that when it comes down to it, we'll be able to pull them all at once."

"Indeed? I suppose it would be preferable. Still though, for now, your Oath?" And so the pair fell into familiar discussion, debating points, volleying reasonings and information back and forth until they could come to a conclusion on a matter.

Soon though, Harry began to grow antsy and restless. And though he didn't say a word, wanting to continue hashing out their Ravens plans, it was Severus who spoke up, offering a Duel in the basement. It took only a fraction of a second for Harry to rise to his feet, retorting,

"If you think you can handle it, old man." Ah, this verbal trick once again. 

"I know your traps, brat. But all the same: I am far from old. You're the one who should be wary, I'm not above using dirty tricks to win."

"Slytherin bastard."

"Gryffindor imbecile," came the retort, to which Harry promptly snorted. It was far from the Potions Master's most imaginative comeback, and all the more amusing for it. Plus, judging by the grumbling from behind him, Severus was completely aware of the fact. Utterly priceless.

"Git. C'mon, we can eat once we've expended some energy."

"An acceptable proposal." The elder's tone was droll and unamused, but the words were sincere all the same.

"It was your idea in the first place," Harry reminded, calling over his shoulder as he descended the stairs to the basement. He was very, very glad that they had ensured that any and all properties they had viewed, let alone purchased, didn't have a cupboard under the stairs. It would have not been very comfortable. 

"Only the Duel itself."

"True, true. Meh."

"Articulate."

"I'm honestly focusing on the- Caecobis!"

Severus, admittedly still somewhat unprepared, swore aloud as his vision abruptly blacked out. Still though, his wand was already slashing an impressive shield into place. Not his preferred tactic, but it would have to do until he could get the counter out of the way. What spell... Ah, the blind man's spell. Setting to chanting the counter, a more tedious one than he would like, Severus kept a careful magical awareness of his shield. For now, it was withstanding the onslaught of Bombardas, Frangas and a single shield-turner. But then, with a second,

"Quod redit ad tuendam!" Severus' shield splintered, shards headed straight for him just as his vision returned. Without even the chance to curse this time, the man ducked low and rolled, popping up in time to deflect a Telae Fulmen and shoot back one of his own. Neither hit their marks, both wizards easily side-stepping them.

"Care to dance?" Harry snarked as their eyes met, flame to fire, wave to current, and neither backed down. For a pregnant pause, they hung in suspense, frozen in a tableau of anticipation. Then it shattered into a flurry of movement and light as they both moved. Spell after curse after charm was shot forth, some vibrant, some darker in every sense of the word, with barely a single one meeting their mark, all being deflected and dodged and defied. Exhilarated grins rose to overtake grim expressions, unbidden. And as they Duelled, spell for spell, Harry and Severus spiralled inwards, their patterns subconscious yet somehow deliberate, until their spells were a haze of colour between them, barely existent for the pure concentration of magic, and then they were chest to chest, wands dug into the soft flesh of throats, breathing hard, neither moving anymore. Harry's head was tilted back, chin raised in defiance, almost welcoming the wand that rested beside his jugular. And above him, Severus's own head was cocked to the side, practically permitting the holly wand to press to the vulnerable underside of his jaw. Neither looked away from the other. Their breathing, heavy with strain both physical and magical, began to even out, to calm, but the intensity never left their eyes, nor did the tension that permeated the atmosphere of the room. Finally, after something indefinable, ineffable, past between them, Harry and Severus stepped smoothly back, wands tucked back into holsters.

"Thank you for the wonderful dance."

"And to you."

Well, they had blown off some steam at least.

[excerpt from Page 132, Chapter 7: Common Oaths;  from Sworn, Taken Or Given, by Valer Robards, published 1972]

An Oath of Fealty, also known as a Loyalty Oath or Allies Oath, has long since been used to pledge oneself into another's allegiances or services. Whilst malleable, depending upon intentions and precise wordings, these Oaths, overarchingly, are seen to create a magical and spiritual bond of loyalty that 'nudges' the taker into obeying, protecting and aiding their liege.

Originally, these Oaths were documented as those taken by vassals to lords or kings by magical servants, knights, squires and such in the early Medieval times. And whilst their use has greatly waned since, admittedly with the occasional spike due to wars, political upheaval or simply changing coastal constructs, a more formal version of the Oath is still regularly taken within those working for certain sectors of the Ministry, such as those in the Department of Mysteries or Magical Law Enforcement, and this seems unlikely to change.

Caecobis - caecum vobis - lit. blind you, known as the blind man's spell - this, as an alternative to a strong light spell, or one that Conjures darkness or a blindfold, directly affects the target's eyesight. It was medically trialled to discover that it prevented light penetrating the eye, thus genuinely blinding the target, rather than merely temporarily over or underwhelming their senses. As such, it is far harder to deal with, unless one knows the exact counter spell and is aware of or able to deduce exactly which spell struck them.

Quod redit ad tuendam - lit. rebound upon that which you protect, the shield-turning spell - causes the target shield to break apart into sharp fragments that will implode and thus are highly likely to hit the shield's original caster. However, the spell can only work on a sufficiently weak, or weakened, shield, else it will simply withstand the spell with little to no effect on it.

Chapter Text

"Good evening Minerva."

"And you Severus, Harry." The three exchanged cordial nods before Harry gestured upstairs,

"Join us in the library? We might want to reference some of the books, and it's only the three of us anyway."

"Very well." Fortunately, it only took a minute to go up to the library and levitate an additional armchair over to their usual corner, their privacy wards automatically clicking into place. Whilst Remus was somewhat aware of circumstances surrounding the Ravens, Harry and Severus were still quite set on keeping everything low-key; as hidden from as many parties as possible, if only for the time being. Safety first and all that, as the younger had commented.

"So might I ask quite why you have dragged me from Hogwarts to have this conversation? Are Albus' office wards - my office wards, pardon - quite so untrustworthy." Sharing a glance, Harry nodded for Severus to lead.

"Of course not Minerva. But the matter we wish to discuss is, frankly, beyond confidential. To the point where we wish to keep even you as... uninformed as we are able. Not in a lack of faith, but rather in a situation of delicacy. Albeit you will most likely figure out certain matters of your own accord, once our requests are known to you, and thus we will ask you to participate in a Fidelius charm that we will be establishing, to be able to give you more information to work with."

"That is a lot of nothing."  Harry snorted at McGonagall's dry reply, both men giving her a clearly needed moment to actually parse out the ambiguous language.
"However," she went on,
"I believe I understand what you are saying. And I am, of course, quite willing to come under a Fidelius charm, should it aid in whatever this matter is."

"We expected no different," Harry grinned, even as Severus was inclining his head.

"And am I the only other person aware of some burgeoning plan?"

"Remus knows a good portion of it, although we haven't introduced the Fidelius yet as he is under no exposure to others whom could potentially glean any information from him, intentionally or not."

"Severus!" Harry chided, even if he only offered a rather half-hearted glare. The last comment had been unnecessary. And when the elder had the audacity to merely roll his eyes and smirk in return, Harry certainly wasn't above stretching over a little to poke him in the shoulder.

Turning his attention back to the Headmistress, Harry was surprised to see a faint smile on her face. At his raised eyebrow, she waved him off, only offering,

"It's always good to see those I'm close to getting along well, particularly considering respective pasts." And the younger had to fight back a slight flush at that, very glad she didn't know the extent of 'getting along well' lest she tease them mercilessly for it. Or judge them. Something he'd rather avoid, regardless.

"Indeed," Severus drawled, although his wand hand twitched, just a little.

"Right! Anyways, Minerva, would you be willing to undergo the Fidelius now? We could avoid it and tell you nothing barring the actual request, but I'm sure I don't need to express the genuine risks of that?"

"No Harry, you do not. And I do believe we can manage to fit it in now, as I am here already."

"Brilliant. Although, it isn't quite the standard Fidelius, so you'll have to forgive us if anything seems particularly off. Perhaps 'trust' would be the better term to use."

"Very well, I expect I can cope." How had Harry forgotten just how... snarky she could be, for a Gryffindor? Perhaps it was a teacher thing. Still, he offered a smile all the same, and stood up, quite unintentionally, in perfect tandem with Severus. Neither of them noticed, although the slight smile on Minerva's face should perhaps have alerted them. But they were too busy levitating their armchairs, books and coffee table further back to create a decently-sized clear space, whereupon they stood opposite each other, if still slightly turned towards Minerva, so as to explain.

"As I said, this isn't quite standard Fidelius practice, partially because both Severus and I will be the Secret Keepers, which isn't unheard of, but the point remains, and partially because we're encompassing quite a broad secret, rather than a single location. Again, not unprecedented, but not standard. Oh, and we twisted it a little to consider us both individuals and as one entity, to combat the whole twin wands bullshit," Harry didn't even wince at the glare he received from the Headmistress,
"Which wasn't the easiest thing to do, mind, so the whole thing has certainly ended up being adapted."

"Hm. I should think so, from the sounds of it. Any prior instructions?"

"Not really? Just follow our promptings, I guess. Severus?"

"Much the same, overall. When we form an arch and pause, you would walk under it, and then once we raise our wands, crossed, towards you, settle yours in the crux of them until we move away. Other than that, no. Assuming you're capable of agreeing to verbal questions?" He sneered, but the tone was clearly more teasing than it was derisive. 

"One would wonder if you were capable of any conversation at all, Severus," she returned, but she nodded all the same.

Locking eyes for a moment, ensuring that they were both ready and prepared, Harry and Severus fully turned to each other and, again in perfect tandem, moved. One step widdershins, tap their wands, another step widdershins, tap their wands, a third, a fourth, a fifth, until they had come full circle. Then, in low tones that rang with power all the same, they spoke.

"Audi nos et providere, ne Magia verbis nostris." Again they touched their wands, this time keeping them in place.

"Cognoscunt mysteria languores nostros arulam." And then they stepped forwards, only half a pace between them.

"Salutem nobis tribue forti silentium Ligatis pedibus nostris absconsa sua ipsi." Their empty hands were raised, palm to palm, fingers flat against each other, left tp right, one shorter and wider, the other slender and potions-stained, both callused and strong,
"Loquamur dicere velimus," even as they stepped back again, they kept their hands pressed together, touch never wavering.

"Sed adhuc conversus labia sua."  Finally, they each raised both arms above their heads, hands and wands still connected, forming an arch that was as steady as the earth itself. Without hesitation, Minerva walked through, shuddering a little at the unexpected sensation of passing through a thin sheet of icy water, for all that there was nothing physical in the air. Still though, she calmly turned on her heel to face the pair again, as they took up their chant once more,

"Qui sumus sub alis, qui cadit circuitu nostro." And here they lowered their arms, even if they were yet to lose the contact.

Harry and Severus' adapted Fidelius charm: takes two casters, or rather secret-keepers, as though they were a single entity with two separate autonomies. The Fidelius considers them a single being, thus bypassing potential risks of Voldemort compromising Harry through his wand or Horcrux, particularly as a Fidelius binds to the soul, mind and magic of its keepers, not simply their wand as with the Scrying Spell. As such, the two can independently introduce new people to the knowledge whilst preventing the exploitation of either of them.

The circling represents both the sacred space of their secret, where it is known and still safe, and how it takes trust to welcome someone into the secret, just as it would into your home, or to your hearth, as it were. The connected wands ground the keepers as together in their secret, with the crossing with the participant's wand (Minerva's) symbolises the faith given to those introduced into said secret. Passing through the arch is, again, related to letting someone in, both physically and metaphorically, alongside requesting Magick itself that the person and the secret be kept safe and always welcome.

Audi nos et providere, ne Magia verbis nostris, Cognoscunt mysteria languores nostros arulam, Salutem nobis tribue forti silentium Ligatis pedibus nostris absconsa sua ipsi, Loquamur dicere velimus, Sed adhuc conversus labia sua     -      Hear us Magic and heed our words, Know our secrets, borne of our hearth, Grant us safety, strength, silence, Bind our secrets to ourself, And let us tell those we wish, But in turn still their lips - the first part of the adapted Fidelius charm

Qui sumus sub alis, qui cadit circuitu nostro, Aeterna fac cum praestatur fides nostra, Fac ab ea lingua duris, nos mentis et relevabor, damnabis eaque illi thyrsos ad alterum, Et exaudi nos et non eis, nos tantum loquimur     -    Those we take under our wing, who our circle step within, Make them guaranteed of our faith, Make them hard of tongue, And bring us ease of mind, Bind them to this spell, these wands, to our being, And have only us hear them, Only us to speak - second part of Fidelius chant

Audi nos Magi et quia hic est ligatus    -    Hear us Magic and know this is bound

Chapter Text

The blond teen stepped through the office door ahead of Professor Flitwick, his focus still on stuffing a book in his bag, a slight frown on his face. But then the door slammed shut behind him, wards hissing into place even as he spun around, wand raised at the slab of wood.

"Hello Draco."

"Severus!" The blond whipped back around, eyes wide and, for a single moment, vulnerable with something akin to hope. But then his expression shuttered and he sneered,
"Why are you here, traitor? And with Potter no less. Be glad you are here in Hogwarts, else I would have-"

"I think it's you who's glad we're still at Hogwarts," Harry interrupted, tone carefully nonchalant as he settled back more comfortably in his seat and gestured for Draco to do the same. He did not.

"You-!"

"Draco, pause for a moment. This room is warded such that anything spoken within it cannot be further conveyed in any way unless all of its current occupants are present or that the wards are superseded by more powerful bindings. With that in mind, may we have a frank discussion?"  For a long minute, Draco stood, still tense, wand ready in hand. Yet he neither insulted nor attempted to curse them, so that wasn't a bad start in Harry's books. And it became an even better start when the blond teen slowly lowered himself into the remaining armchair, sneer lessening into a blank mask. Judging by the way his eyes flicked between the two of them though, he was uncertain. Understandable really.

"Draco- can I call you that? Brilliant. Severus and I have... an offer, if you will. I expect you're aware of the Order of the Phoenix? Yes, well, I have become the de facto leader of it, if you will, and after Severus' reveal, we are in need of intelligence. With that, we wanted to also help those we believed to be reluctant Death Eaters, hence this conversation now. Is that clear so far?"

"I suppose it might be Potter, but I find it... rather hard to believe."

"Do you really?" Harry challenged, eyebrow raised but refusing to sound frustrated. He could understand Draco's caution, he really could, because the blond was by himself, in school, trapped with two people who were both very powerful and very much supposed to be his enemies. And now they were offering him a deal.

"You, seventeen and a leader? It sounds ridiculous."  Neither Harry nor Severus missed his choice of words there: 'sounds'. Perhaps Draco was at least considering it.

"I led the DA. I've fought Him. I'm supposed to be the figurehead of the Light. Not to say that I don't rely on Severus and others for support and advice, because I would be stupid not to, but I am the one leading meetings and several of our recent plans have been mine in at least foundation. Including what we are offering you now. Is that enough Draco?"

"Whatever scarhead." Harry didn't even flinch, although the temptation to roll his eyes was strong, as he let Severus speak.

"Draco, use that brain of yours for a moment, would you? I know that you, amongst a few others in your year, have joined the Dark Lord more through expectation than choice. I was not the same at your age and even still I regret joining; do you understand my point? We are offering you an out of sorts. No, it is not guaranteed to be a flawless solution and we cannot guarantee your survival, just as we cannot our own, but you of all people should understand just how stubborn both Harry and I can be, that we will go to any lengths to achieve our goals. And one of those goals just happens to be allying to you." 

"Why?"

"As Harry said, we need intelligence. But we also want to safeguard those we can. Harry has the resources and desire to comfortably and safely house those who are not loyal the Dark Lord but whom are at risk. Your mother, for example." And that seemed to be a tipping point of sorts for Draco, as he lurched to his feet, face grey and clammy, wand held in a tight fist, barely raised.

"What do you-"

"I am telling the truth Draco. Should she be willing to acquiesce to living in an appropriately warded location with any other individuals under our protection, she would be kept safe for the duration of the war."

"And once the war is over? If the Light wins, what then? Abandon her to the mercies of Ministry trials only to be sentenced to Azkaban?" Sparks began to drip from Draco's wand, all silver-blue but somehow melancholy in how they fell like dew drops instead of flying out with true fury.

"No. I already intend to stand in court for Severus, should it be necessary, and will not hesitate to do the same for others that I know to have been on our side, or at least willing to rely on us in favour of His side. Neither yourself nor your mother would be allowed to go to Azkaban. Worst ways, I would quite happily help people out of the country should any trials be unjust."

"And why should I believe you? What's to say you're not just as manipulative as the Dark Lord?"

"Because Draco, I'm willing to take an Oath."

Draco physically stuttered in place at that, seemingly taking a moment to get over his own shock,
"An Oath?"

"Yes. An Oath for an Oath: you would give fealty to Severus - not to me or the Light, but to Severus - and I would give fealty to our spies as a collective, with consideration for those in their families who would not seek to harm the Light." Draco's frown deepened.

"Oaths, not Vows?"

"Yes."

"And to Severus, not to you?"

"That's what I said."

"Harry," Severus started, but the light grin that the younger offered him let him know all there was to be said. Harry was teasing Draco, not getting impatient. Very well.

"Look, Draco. I want to win this war. No, I need to. Too many people have died already, okay, too many lives wasted because one man is mad enough to gather followers and go around massacring innocents and any who dare stand against him and I can't stand having it happen, I just can't. I need to be over. If it kills me, then so be it. But I refuse to let others die needlessly. Categorically," and here Harry hesitated, drew in a steadying breath, releasing his tight grip on his chair,
"I will protect as many people - Muggle or Wizarding - as possible."

"You really expect me to believe you so benevolent? And even more so, you Severus? Why did you betray the Dark Lord, what did you have to gain?"

"Draco..." Severus sighed heavily, passing a hand over his brow, and it took all of Harry's willpower not to reach over and physically reassure him somehow,
"I am a misanthrope, certainly, but I have long since understood the atrocities of following Him, and his killing of someone I considered a sister only furthered my leanings to the Light. Now, I am loyal to myself and to Harry. That is it. If you cannot believe Harry's words, then believe mine: he is truthful and he is dedicated. His loyalty is not some misguided Gryffindor sentimentality, but something far more similar to what you or I might pledge, and thus something that I, as a Slytherin, can genuinely profess to trust in. Is that sufficient?"

"I... don't know." And now Draco sounded like a child. He sagged into his armchair, pale and boneless, and stared off into the middle distance, vacant and vulnerable. Unsure. And Harry took a moment to fully examine the blond. For someone who always had poise and disdain aplenty, the deep eyebags, un-styled hair and slightly ruffled clothing said a lot, and little of it was good. But much of it might mean that he and Severus' gamble was going to pay off.

Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, but stopped himself, instead looking over to Severus. The elder met his gaze and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Right. Better to let Draco stew for a time. Keeping Severus' attention, Harry lifted a shoulder slightly. The replying twist of a wrist spoke volumes. Allowing himself a soft smile for the Potions Master, subtle but distinct all the same, Harry returned his attention to Draco, waiting for the teen to become aware once again.

And, after some interminable time that had Harry's mind racing in circles, mired in contingencies and back-ups, Draco's eyes cleared and he sat up properly, spine ramrod straight in something between defiance and curiosity.

"If... if I were to accept your offer, what exactly would it entail? What would you be asking of me?"

"That would depend somewhat on you, but most simply, we'd want information. With Severus revealed back in July, we've been lacking intelligence that will allow us to pre-empt or at least better deal with His plans and future intentions. Of course, we would have to balance acting on given information and still being able to maintain your position - and that of other spies - without putting you at unnecessary risk, but with Severus, we have enough experienced wisdom that it shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Right. And what's to keep the Dark Lord from figuring me out in about three seconds and killing me there and then?" Harry gestured to Severus, who didn't hesitate to speak,

"Draco, I lasted years, even without training. Even still, we would not put you in that position. Do you think I could not teach you sufficiently to withstand Legilimency and to be able to lie so masterfully that even He would not pick up on it?"

"But if He were to find out? What then?" 

"Then you'd activate a Portkey to get yourself safe at Order property. Or one of the other spies gets you out. Or, in the right circumstances, we stage an attack and take you back. Also, we do have a cover-up of sorts in the works for our intelligence gathering, which I shan't talk about now, but which will be made common knowledge at some point to give us an excuse, basically, for when we know about raids and such ahead of time," Harry explained, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

"So you say. What if there are anti-Portkey wards?"

"Then we try one of the other routes. If those fail or are unavailable, then we would have to leave you to him, just as we would any other Order member who we would lose more lives saving than leaving. It's- It's shit, honestly. I hate it. But I won't - can't - lose people to save just one, no matter who any of the individuals are. It would be so stupid of me," Harry spat, green eyes darkening into abysses, and staring into them had Draco trapped. It wasn't Legilimency, but he still saw shadows miles wide and demons with gleaming teeth and broad hands there, saw that Harry meant the words, and none of them so much as 'I hate it'. And that glimpse of true darkness tipped something just that little bit further.

"Alright. If the terms of the Oaths are acceptable, I will spy on the Dark Lord."

When Draco stood to leave Flitwick's office nearly an hour later, Harry spoke up once more,

"Oh and Draco, under Fidelius the Order's spies are to be called the Ravens. So be safe, under dark wings." The blond eyed Harry up for a moment, before offering a crooked smile, tense but genuine, and left. Immediately, Severus raised his wand to lock the door again and turned to Harry, arms wide. A warm, shivering body made itself at home against his chest, strong limbs curling around his waist as Harry buried his face into the elder's chest.

"Merlin Sev'rus, we're really doing this..."

"Don't tell me you're having regrets now. It's a tad belated." And for all his intentions for it to sound teasing, even the Potions Master winced at how accusing his words came out. Still though, the two didn't move away from each other.

"I don't. I couldn't. And everything we told him is completely true, so there's no false pretences or anything, and if it gives us an edge and manages to protect more people, it's obviously worth it, but..."  In lieu of verbally replying, Severus simply tightened his embrace for a moment, then shifted his grip to be more solid around Harry's sides rather than looping down over his back and, in one fluid movement, tugged the young man up and stepped himself backwards until he was sat down in one of the vacated armchairs with a lapful of Harry.

"Severus-!"

"Hush, idiot brat. The door's locked, and I dare say we could both do with- this, right now."

That time it was the younger who neglected replying to instead rear back a little. Rather, Harry allowed himself to settle in place, knees pressed against the back of the chair to either side of Severus, his hands laxly holding the elder's sides, mirroring the relaxed way he in turn laced his own long fingers across the nape of Harry's neck. Straddling him like this, Harry was actually a little taller for once, and the thought brought a half-hearted smile to his wan face. Said smile widened, became more meaningful, when a careful hand slid around, delicate fingertips tracing his jaw, his lips, then coming up to cradle his cheek and the younger couldn't help but tilt his face, his entire being, into the reverent touches, utterly enamoured with the feeling.

"We have said it before Harry, but I shall say it again: we're doing the right thing." And they both knew the ending to that sentence, that it was the best they could do in the circumstances and that hindsight might well prove them wrong, but it was the right thing for now and that, quite frankly, would just have to be enough. But knowing that Severus was sparing him the pain of acknowledging that aloud, Harry kept his smile. Through said smile, he leant forwards to press a chaste kiss to the familiar thin lips, uncaring of anything but the fact that this wonderful man, for all his more questionable traits and tendencies, always stood so staunchly at his side. Was somebody that Harry could trust unerringly. 

"Shall we return home?"

"I think we just might." And so they did, spinning away to Grimmauld through the Floo, and then Apparating on to their cottage, set for an afternoon together.

Seven more times, Harry and Severus had another seventh year brought into a teacher's office, the door locked and warded behind them, and they talked. Draco had been the first, but it took just over another two weeks to talk to Blaise, Theodore, Tracey, Daphne and Millicent from Slytherin along with Anthony and Morag from Ravenclaw, making sure to have good reasons for their teachers to pull them aside, and even to have supposed follow-up sessions with the same teachers that would regard the excuse genuinely, to prevent the chances of anyone actually getting caught out. It was well worth it. Even though Tracey Davis, Anthony Goldstein and Morag McDougal resorted only to trying to attack Harry and Severus, utterly unwilling to even contemplate spying, all of whom were Obliviated and then implanted with manipulated memories. Doing that wasn't fun, but it was necessary. Severus and Harry didn't discuss that fact with anyone else, merely letting Minerva and Filius know who had turned down their offer and thus still wasn't to be trusted in any capacity. Honestly, Harry was still a bit surprised just how many of their now-Ravens had been willing to spy. If you ask him, a lot of it was down to Severus being so blatantly involved. 

"It's a relief really." The words came out of nowhere as they lay in bed, only hours earlier having concluded their meeting with Blaise Zabini, the final Raven.

"Indeed?"

"Do you not think that now we've talked to them all it's... not anticlimactic, but something like that?"

"In a sense I suppose. But I always knew that most of them wanted an out, and seeing you as a leader would give them the assurance that they could take that out."

"Me?"

"I do believe that is what I said, idiot brat," Severus scoffed, rolling over to tug said brat close against his front instead of being pressed back to back, curling himself along the younger's back.

"I put it down to you," came the bemused reply, Harry twisting just enough to be able to make out the vague shape of the side of Severus' head, one eye barely included. It was enough.

"Then you must be more of a fool than I thought you were."

"Oh, hush," Harry chided, batting lazily at one of the arms laced around his waist, turning back to the front,
"I'm not wrong Severus, really, I'm not. They know you, they trust your judgement. It swayed them more than my pretty words ever could."

"You offered no pretty words Harry. You weren't manipulative like the old coot was; you gave them the truth and most of them accepted it, accepted your hand."

"Maybe. Or maybe it was both of us, together."

"That might just be right," Severus huffed.

Then, deciding that he was thoroughly bored of conversation, the elder buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck, breathing in that ozone, petrichor, HarryandSeverus scent of the younger and contentedly sagging against him, sniggering a little, almost childish in amusement at how Harry groaned out a barely-meant complaint at the added weight. They both knew how grounding it was, to be ensconced in weight and warmth.

"No nightmares, my Harry."

"No nightmares Sev'rus."

Chapter Text

Harry and Severus were stood opposite each other in the cottage basement. The main room was large enough to handle them Duelling, and had been warded appropriately, but otherwise left alone. The adjoining rooms, which apparently stretched fully beneath the garden, had plenty space enough for a small potions lab, much larger storage room and an entry room of sorts, which suited the two perfectly.

Regardless, they were currently in the Duelling room, similar wards to that which they'd established at Grimmauld Place set up: slowing any blood loss; protecting the walls, floor and ceiling from spell splash-back; dampeners that kept their magical presence from spilling out of the room and so on and so forth, enveloping the space with a thick blanket of latent magic that flared slightly at every new spell cast. It was as ready as it could ever be. And so, exchanging silent nods, Harry already grinning slightly in anticipation, they began.

Severus was a split-second ahead, firing off three Impedimenta in quick succession, even whilst darting to the side to avoid Harry's deliberately overpowered,

"Hastam autem speculo!" That had a wave of five successive spears lancing towards the elder. Two missed. The other three shattered into brittle shards against a hastily-raised,

"Clypeus!" charm, the Conjured shield a burnished bronze that Severus wordlessly Transfigured into daggers that went hurtling towards Harry. Yet even as he was whirling the knives back on their creator, wresting control of the weapons away from the elder with barely a moment of dense magic, Harry also whipped the remains of his spears into a whirlwind of sparkling shards, a phenomenon of diamonds and stars, each too jagged and insidious to be anything but deadly.

Smirking now, revelling in their twirling Magicks, Severus stood in the eye of Harry's hurricane, watching as its walls closed in on him, daggers circling outside it, sharks waiting for the opening of a bloody cage. Harry himself, the elder glimpsed, was stood back, wand at the ready and green eyes hawkish. Intent. Perhaps Severus would show off a little then.

Incanting the familiar Latin in a long, low, languid stream, he pivoted on his heel, in opposition to the whirlwind,

"Inimicus vobis condere," that had the shards of spear flying away, headed to Harry in as though they were a swarm of angry bees, their lack of buzz only giving an air of deadly silence. And it would distract Harry long enough for Severus to conclude his little strategem.

"Conflandum in fluminibus." At once, the bronze daggers, still circling, began to steam and hiss and melt forming a molten band of metal in the air, surrounding Severus above the head, a twisted halo that Harry barely had the chance to see before it slunk down towards the ground and melted straight into it, burrowing beneath and out of view.

"Property damage already Sev'rus?" the younger teased, but his attention was truly on the movements of his own wand, briars sprouting through the flagstones around him, their roots no doubt deep, even as Severus shot off a few Stunners and Incarcerous in an attempt to distract him. Yet Harry merely waved a basic Speculus Densus into place, it's almost entirely opaque, pearlescent surface offering the Potions Master a glimpse of his own reflection and the almost manic grin to be found there. It matched Harry's.

Knowing that the Mirror Shield wouldn't break easily, Severus set to work.

A series of Bombardas, accompanied by the occasional Frango, began to weaken the shield fairly rapidly, but not they couldn't break it before Severus' molten snake met the roots of some of Harry's thorn bushes, the plant wilting and dying with a badly scorched stem in seconds. Instantly, Harry's focus went from his shield and briars to carving open a swathe of floor, revealing the metal-liquid-magic creature. A Transfiguration that powerful, with such long-lasting intent behind it, would be difficult to undo anyway, let alone halfway through a duel. So instead, Harry overwhelmed it with its own nature. A steady stream of what seemed like lava spun forwards from his wand tip, glowing white-gold with heat, and splashed in hissing gushes over Severus' molten snake, flooding it with something so similar to itself that it began to lose its corporeal rigidity, not changing but rather subverting Severus' magic, tricking it, until neither of them had control over the steaming pit of molten metal.

"How very Slytherin of you, brat."

"I do spend my days with a quintessential example," Harry returned, both resorting to circling the room, circling each other, looking for weaknesses in the other's stance or attention. Waiting for a stumble or an eye flicker.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I don't honestly know if it was intended to be one."

"All the same," Severus sneered, even as he raised his wand once again. Without a word, Harry's hair began to lengthen and twist, loose waves and curls turning into something razor sharp and hungry as the hair tried to stab the younger in the chest, the throat, the face, digging for blood. And whilst a few got shallow hits in, Harry was quick to undo the transformation.

But he wasn't quick enough, or rather was too distracted, to fully avoid the sequence of Expelliarmus and Stupefy that followed.

Severus grabbed Harry's wand out of the air as it soared towards him, already moving forwards to check Harry over for knocks to the head, an Ennervate on his lips. Settling on his knees beside the unconscious young man, he first pulled him into his lap, unable to resist the temptation, even as he settled the Holly wand to the side and brought Harry round.

"Mm," came the immediate incomprehensible mumble.

"Try again?" Severus drawled, amused for all that his tone was deadpand.

"'S nice," Harry managed, blinking up at Severus through slightly askew glasses.

"I rather thought so," he concurred, straightening the younger's glasses for him, even as he cast a few Diagnostic charms to ensure the young man hadn't hit anything in the fall. Finding nothing, Severus switched his attention towards vainly attempting to tame the rats nest of gentle curls, in impossibly more disarray than normal thanks to his little hex, threading fine fingers through the soft, sweet-smelling strands repetitively, until Harry was letting out little contented sighs and whimpers, boneless on the stone floor, head and shoulders cradled upon the warm lap of his companion. It was nice. More than.

"Teach me that spell at some point?"

"The hair changing one?"

"Mmyeh..." Harry managed, somehow sagging further into Severus' touches, head lolling to the side some, as though inviting more petting. Honestly, he was probably doing that, if subconsciously.

"It is a good hex. Rather Dark though."

"You know... better than anyone that I'm..." he trailed off for a moment, then seemed to recover his train of thought,
"Not all that bothered. Magic's magic."

"Indeed it is." And now it was Severus' turn to pause, an idea coming to mind that, hopefully, the brat would be quite amenable to.

"Harry, would you like me to brew a potion for your eyesight?"

"My eyes? But they're perfectly fine," the younger protested. Although his tone was distinctly too dreamy to be very adamant.

"Then why do you wear these, if your eyes are 'perfectly fine' as you say?" The older man asked, not quite exasperated as he prodded gently at the bridge of Harry's nose. Those green eyes, clouded over with tiredness and relaxation, crossed, trying to follow his movements. Severus refused to snort at the sight, but he was very sorely tempted.

"Oh... Mm, 's a point. Sure." Oh, well that had been simpler than Severus had expected. After all...

"Even though James Potter also wore glasses?"

"Even though... He's m'Dad, but I only remember him... shouting for Mum to run. And... they're only glasses. They remind... me more of the Dursl's."

"They are most definitely going then," Severus intoned, voice grave. And yet Harry giggled a little.

"So protective. 's weird, but good."

"I," again, it was the Potions Master's turn to pause,
"If you say so, my brat."

"Mm, yeh, I do say so. Nap?"

"If you wish. I can make lunch and then wake you up, alright?" Severus offered, more than willing to indulge Harry after a rough night and when he looked so charming, all sleepy-sweet and pretty-pliant, leaning lazily into even the lightest of touches.

"Mmyeh, thanks." And with that, the young man slipped fully into sleep, a faint smile relaxing his pale face, softening the hard, tense edges that lingered there during the day. It was a lovely sight indeed.

Allowing himself a crooked little smile of his own, Severus carefully scooped the brat up, carrying him through the basement and back up stairs, then laying him down on the sofa in the library. Lounge. It really was more the former than the latter, but Harry insisted. Regardless, with the doors wide open, he would be just about able to see Harry sleeping from the kitchen. The younger man settled comfortably, a grey and navy throw blanket drawn over him, Severus set some left over soup to heat up on the hob and, with that sorted for the time being, headed back down the Duelling room to rectify what he could. Their Duels were often fairly destructive, but the floor had particularly suffered today. Plants, a small tunnel and a pit both filled with still-bubbling lava, shards of glass scattered off to one side where Harry had shunted them, likely with one of his wind spells... Yes, fairly destructive indeed.

Heaving a sigh, Severus started Conjuring chunks of ice that he plunged in the magma which, whilst they did evaporate almost instantly, were certainly, bringing the heat down a bit, the room becoming just a bit less sweltering. Depositing a few more ice blocks, he then turned his attention to the remaining briars. Well, at least they were an easy fix, he thought to himself as he systematically uprooted and then Banished them, proceeding to do the same to the shards of glass along the edge of the room.

Would the magma pit really be alright for now? Deciding that it would, Severus Conjured a final round of ice for it, then ascended back into the kitchen to check on the soup. He would have to wake Harry soon.

Several hours later, Harry and Severus, Disillusionments in place, Apparated in front of Grimmauld Place and let themselves in, headed straight for the kitchen, glad to find Remus already there.

"Hey Remus," Harry greeted, a faint grin creeping across his face, making a beeline for the kettle, already grabbing mugs out of the cupboard above.

"Harry, Severus. I trust the two of you are well?"

"We're doing alright thanks. Say, Remus, do you remember about our offer?"

"I had meant to ask you about that. Why did you want me to go to the Manor again? I'm sure you must have said why, but..." The werewolf trailed off, looking a tad grey from his seat at the kitchen table, half-empty tea cradled in scarred hands. Harry could empathise, in a way.

Exchanging a heavy look with Severus, the younger tapped the kettle with his wand. So the Fidelius had been completely successful and was still working fine now, almost three weeks later. Good. Actually that was more than good, it was bloody brilliant.

"And what if I told you that the Order's intelligence system is called the Ravens?"

"I- Oh!" Something in the room's pressure flipped, the air immediately around Remus changing like a switch as he straightened in his seat, atmosphere brightening yet growing heavier.

"I- I remember now: the spies scheme. Was it under Fidelius?"

"It was," Severus offered, reaching out for the mug of coffee that Harry was offering him,
"We established it with Minerva on the- the fourth, I believe."

"Thereabouts," Harry agreed, taking his usual seat at the head of table, even with only the three of them there for now. Whilst they didn't usually meet on a weekday, Harry and Severus had wanted a chance to talk properly with Remus and the others also in the know, and having finished talking to those on their list the day previous, now seemed like as good a time as any to call everyone together. Not to mention that they wanted an update from Amelia Bones on the Department of Mysteries' efforts towards some kind of detection and tracking device. It was going to be an essential part of their cover for the Ravens after all.

Regardless, the pair now turned their attention to their current conversation with Remus.

"You've had some time to think about it properly now, are you willing to be the main keeper of the Mansion?" And the werewolf did pause, golden eyes glimmering with a myriad of thoughts, before he nodded slowly,

"I believe so. But many potential... residents wouldn't be happy with a 'beast' being their keeper, nor even with simply living with one. And what would happen at the full moon? We can't have them completely unattended for a night or more a month, and I- well, I would be arguably very vulnerable at that time, in a sense."

"All of that is true," Harry acknowledged, sipping his coffee with a very deliberate nod,
"But we would also account for those kinds of problems. You wouldn't be the only one there after all, at least not most of the time, and we would definitely ensure that there was always at least one other Order member there at full moons. And Severus or the twins will keep up with your brews for you."

"And who were you thinking of to stay there the rest of the time?"

"If she was willing, Augusta. She lives alone as is, and she's very powerful but not exactly an active fighter. And her position as a true Pureblood, if a Light one, would only bolster her reputation amongst the planned residents. And she wouldn't flinch at a feral werewolf, let alone you."

"That... is remarkably well thought-out."

"Well, obviously she would have to agr-"

"Brat, accept his compliment with grace or shut up," Severus paused, a single mocking eyebrow raised, daring Harry to protest, before going on,
"But yes Remus, we have put a modicum of thought into this. Any issues or alternatives so far?" The question could be mistaken for being kind if it wasn't such a blatant challenge. Although, to the shorter man's credit, he did take a good few minutes to genuinely fall into thoughts as Harry and Severus exchanged their own silent conversation of lip twitches, eye flashes and tilted hands or twitched fingers. Soon enough though, any and all discussions were interrupted by the flare of the Floo, Minerva, Filius and Poppy stepping out in quick succession. Before anything else could be said though, Remus gave a quick,

"Yes, I agree." 

With that, the man stood to greet his old colleagues and offer them hot drinks and biscuits, even as the two dark-haired men shared a loaded and, admittedly, rather self-satisfied look. Things were starting to pull together.

Hastam Autem Speculo - ref. Chapter 23, the Glass Spear Spell.

Clypeus - the Somatic Shield spell, lit. shield - Conjures a physical shield for protecting easily against physical attacks of both a Muggle or magical nature. Can then be Banished, Transfigured or otherwise repurposed as desired.

Inimicus vobis condere - lit. bury yourself in my enemy, the Embedment Hex - works best on shards, fragments or other small pieces of something that had a previous tie of some sort and thus are easier to direct simultaneously, else pieces are more likely to go veering off course or, if the caster is sufficiently distracted or the objects oppose each other too greatly, some may turn back on the witch or wizard incanting. The aforementioned objects will try to bury themselves under the target's skin, although if the magic is cut off earlier, deliberately or by happenstance, then they might not reach the target or will only pierce the skin rather than burrow beneath it.

Severus was going to deliberately stop the spell once it was cut Harry and before they could truly embed themselves, if necessary.

Conflandum in fluminibus - lit. melt into my rivers, the Molten Metal curse - despite it's broad name, this spell is fairly specific in that it melts down any metal target and holds it at a boiling state, the 'river' of which can then be manipulated by the caster as though it were ribbon - it's exact capabilities do depend somewhat on the base metal used though, some at their boiling points wouldn't be hot enough to melt through stone whereas some might melt through metres-thick walls.  This spell is very difficult to 'undo' as it requires a lot of magic and attention from the caster, and it's fairly volatile and changes the objects at such an elemental level that it's simultaneously very simple and very complex, thus requiring time and energy to directly unravel. Most opponents would try to find a work around, such as Harry choosing to immerse it in, essentially, an overload of itself, thus tugging it out of magical control by destroying its bounds/being.

Frango - ref. Chapter 14, the Shattering Spell.

Chapter Text

"Thank you for accommodating us with this pre-Meeting talk, it's appreciated," Harry began, once all of them had taken their seats, mugs of coffee, tea and hot chocolate in hand, a plate of assorted biscuits in the centre of their table area. Severus and Remus were sat to either side of the young man, who was at his customary place at the head of the table. Besides Severus was Poppy, Minerva opposite the mediwitch and Filius to the left of the Headmistress. Even by this point, Harry was still finding it odd to be taking such definite charge over a group of adults who had, literally mere months ago, been assigning him detentions and awarding him points in equal measure.

Not now though. Now they were far more akin to a counsel of war.

"The four of you are, barring the Ravens themselves, the only people under Severus' and my Fidelius. And all of you are still in a comfortable position over the matter? No problems or second-thoughts?" Maybe it isn't very wise to ask that, to give room for doubt, but Harry would much rather know, to be able to see and counteract any conundrums before they became true issues that would take far more effort and be far more risky to sort out. An intelligence system of any sort was controversial and difficult to manage, let alone one comprised of those who were turning their back on Voldemort. But, Severus had done it. And to protect their precious people, and likely to save their own hides, most of the so-called junior Death Eaters had decided to join them now. All that left was the oh-so minor detail of keeping all of the Order on-board. Or well, those in the know.

"I, for one, am very glad that this is our chosen route. It gives those boys and girls a second chance, and should help preserve as many lives as possible, should it not?"  And for those words, Harry had to bestow Poppy with a little crooked grin.

"That's the idea. A decent portion of our ne... discussions with the Ravens - or our candidates, as they were then - was that Severus and I have been organising a collective safe house, a sanctuary of sorts, that will be heavily Warded inside and out, not to mention also housing an Order member or three, where neutral, immediate relations of the Ravens may live. Mothers, siblings, even cousins, grandparents, uncles or the like, depending on individual situations. Most of them only have one or two people they know is either disloyal or neutral enough that we will be taking them in, so we shouldn't be overwhelmed. And the Wards and Oaths, in combination, should stop any pretenders from being able to act out against us unless in self-defence," Harry paused there, taking in the momentarily twisted expressions of both Filius and Minerva,

"Do either of you have an objection to that? I'd rather hear your reasoning than dismiss you and risk it coming back to bite us later."

"What would count as self-defence?" Minerva immediately asked, tone level but eyes furiously calculating.

"In loose terms, if moderate to severe bodily harm is caused, I believe. Severus?"

The older man nodded, hair swinging with the movement, swallowing his sip of coffee,

"Indeed. The Wards are Goblin constructs, keyed in to the pair of us, and they will know what we would consider necessary for protecting oneself against. It will provide a sense of security for them, and allow us to know that should there be a... bad egg, as it were, or should the Dark Lord somehow manage to find the place, Merlin forbid, that they will have a decent chance of survival. So it is certainly a necessity, in at least some capacity."  After a few moments, Minerva gestured in acquiescence, conceding the point, and Filius squeaked an affirmative of his own.

"Good. Anything else you want to add?" Harry pressed on, very aware that there was little over half an hour left until the rest of the Order would start Flooing and Apparating in.

"When will the- residents be moving in?"

"That's something we're still working out, at least up to a point. The sooner the better, but we do need to take precautions first, and certain elements need to be put into motion to make our planned cover story believable. But, with any luck, in around two weeks time," the young man paused then, meeting the eyes of each person in the room, assessing their stances and expressions, trying to gauge their comfort, understanding and willingness. He didn't find anything worrying. Thank Merlin.
"If that's all, for the most part, then I'd like to ask the four of you, as those already aware of this scheme, to be as supportive as necessary when even just the potential of a spy system is mentioned in either today's Meeting or those in the future. I'd like to assume that there will be little to no issues from the others, but you can never be sure, and if it takes others verbalising their support to sway some, then so be it."  Harry was gratified to receive a small round of nods and verbal agreements at that, nobody hesitating, allowing him the hope that they truly were fully on board with the Ravens. The whole matter was very complicated, both in a moral regard but also in taking a concept and a plan into something concrete and functioning. Even now, less than an hour until the actual Order Meeting was to begin, he and Severus had yet to decide if they wanted to bring the rest of the Order under their Fidelius charm yet. Although, there were a few people who would have to be...

No doubt aware that Harry was falling into his own thoughts and, apparently judging them not to be self-deprecating or the like, Severus set to occupying their company,

"Are Ms. Kipperl and Mr Roderick covering content sufficiently? And I trust, due to lack of mention, that there are no concerns about Roderick, regardless of being a Ministry appointment?"

"No, he's been fairly... ubiquitous, I suppose you might say. Bland, in my personal opinion, but certainly a step up from the monstrosity of fifth year, so I suppose we can't truly complain," came Minerva's first judgement, easily followed by a slightly more complimentary view from Filius.

And even as Severus participated in the prompted conversation, he keeps half his mind and attention on the younger man, who had settled back in his chair, arms loosely folded and holly wand being rolled in between steady fingertips. Calm, considering. Seeing that Harry wasn't trembling, lip relatively unbitten, eyes clear for all that they were half-lidded, was reassuring for the elder. It was a pose of thought, not of particular worry or stress. Which, frankly, for someone under as much constant strain as the young man, was quite a remarkable feat and one that Severus was very grateful for his success in. The war would be in rather more dubious a state if not, and beyond that, to more direct disquiet for Severus himself, Harry being distressed and unable to cope...

Unpleasant thoughts, to say the least.

However, the Potions Master reminded himself, that was not the case today, and so he returned the majority of his attention to the conversation still proceeding, now discussing the dry matter of mark schemes and grading criteria. Well, at least he hadn't missed anything of import.

Another ten minutes had the older man casting a quiet Tempus and huffing internally at the knowledge that yet more people would be arriving soon. With that, he turned towards Harry, yet again taking in the contemplative young man. How to go about this? Well, words could never do any harm. So long as he didn't intend them to of course, and towards Harry, nowadays, that was at most a rarity.

"Brat, we'll be having further company soon," he intoned, voice drawling and rolling, not quite inviting but closer to it than most would believe. And yet Harry didn't react.

"Idiot brat, are you in there?" This time the Potions Master paused for several seconds, studying the younger more closely. Harry wasn't dissociating, not quite, but it was something almost akin to it. Perhaps more worrisome than he had at first thought then.

Apparently his speech had attracted the attention of their table-mates, as Remus was now reaching towards Harry, a gentle hand headed to land on the younger wizard's shoulder. But halfway there, still before Severus could utter more than a syllable, Harry's own hand shot out, wand readied, pushing Remus' arm back with the tip of said wand viciously grinding into the underside of his wrist. Gold eyes flashed, but the werewolf was submitting, not provoking, as he leant back with Harry's silent demand, practically leaning against Minerva.

Harsh breathing filled the otherwise silent room.

It was, of course, Severus who dared to break said silence,

"Brat?" He masked any and all hesitancy or concern with the solid veneer of a nonchalant drone, raising his own empty hand, half in suppliance, half in offered contact. To everyone's surprise but, perhaps, his own, Harry neither flinched away nor attacked, instead seeming to gain back some measure of awareness, even as he bodily leant towards Severus, casually shifting one elbow to be cupped by the elder's outstretched hand.

"Got lost in that empty head, did you?" And it took a beat too long, but still the reply came,

"Oh hush Severus. You of all people should know that my mindscape is far from empty."

"I suppose I should," the Potions Master mused, undeniably teasing but unable to quite help himself, regardless of their captive audience.

"Sorry you lot, got caught up checking some things over. How far off the Meeting are we?"

"Technically ten minutes."

"So more like five minutes then," Harry snorted, adding on a brief smiled,
"Good to know, thanks." And with that, perhaps to detract from his own peculiar moment, or as a simple excuse to move, he rose to his feet and began Conjuring more mugs, as was always necessary for Meetings.

Two hours later, the Meeting is coming to a close, Harry speaking up last-minute,

"Augusta, would you mind waiting behind a minute, I have a question or two I'd like to ask you."

"I have the time, so I might as well."  Severus didn't think he'd ever quite comprehend the odd kind of understanding that his brat and the Longbottom Dowager had come to, for all that its nature seemed rather Slytherin, that feeling only enhanced by the genuine smile that the young wizard was bestowing upon the woman for her seemingly reluctant words. Just because the elder could read the truth in her tone and body language didn't automatically give him the key to her motivations or true meaning. Unlike Harry, apparently.

All the same, within another quarter of an hour the other Order members had all cleared out, Remus lingering uncertainly for a moment before being easily sent off by a lazy, albeit not necessarily dismissive hand wave from Harry, leaving only the younger man, Severus and Augusta in the kitchen.

"Would you like anything more to eat or drink before we really get started?"

"Potter, you well know that I'd rather get on with matters. So what is it?"   Harry, again, only smiled at her brusqueness and, after having shared an affirming glance with Severus, the young wizard simply began with,

"The Order's intended intelligence scheme are called the Ravens." And there was an abrupt snap of loosening tension in something magical, intangible, that seemed to permeate the room, that had Augusta sat back in her seat for a long minute, slightly pale, face set. Her hands were still steady.

"Spies," came her simple comment. And, when Harry nodded mutely in return, she went on,

"You're establishing a spy network. Considering the use of your position previously Snape, it certainly won't hurt, not us at least, unless they spill our secrets. Adults or the new ones? What precautions have been put in place; how are we protecting ourselves and their knowledge?"

On it goes. The Dowager, in Severus' opinion, was astute enough to be a competent sounding board and far from aggravating with her numerous questions. They were at worst reasonable.

Chapter Text

Severus stepped up beside Harry, resting a fine-fingered hand at the small of the younger's back and promptly had to resist the urge to smirk with self-satisfaction with how Harry leant back into his touch, just a little shifting of weight that spoke of deep trust and comfort.

"They'll be here in a minute."

"They will," Harry returned, smiling slightly, and he turns, the elder's hand easily sliding to cradle his waist, surging up on to the balls of his feet to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of Severus' mouth, then he steps away again, checking over the room once more. The Potions Master's hand was left cold. Bereft.

Shaking himself from such sentimentality, the elder also surveyed the room they were in. As per usual, the Room Of Requirement had provided them with ample space, this time with several armchairs gathered around an unusually high coffee table, one each for themselves and the Ravens, then with a large empty area for the intended giving of Oaths. But the warm wood-panelled walls and scattering of plush rugs softened the chamber greatly. It was a comfortable, practical space and knowing it had borne from Harry's thoughts and intentions was far from a surprise to the elder man. Although he suspected that the layout of the armchairs - two almost touching, both at the closest thing to a head that the circle could possess - was far more a subconscious element than a deliberate one.

Severus was pulled from his thoughts by a loud knock on the door to the Room, a scroll beside said door listing a series of five names. Every one of them as expected. Good.

"You can let them in, Room," Harry spoke up, coming to stand beside Severus. And indeed, at his words, the doors swung open of their own accord, revealing Draco, Blaise and Theodore stood together, the air behind them shimmering slightly. Ah, the two girls had Disillusioned themselves to disguise their true whereabouts and time spent relative to each other; a wise move, not that Severus expected any less of his Slytherins, they had always been an intelligent lot, if some more so than others. 

"Hello everyone, please do come and sit down." It was a bland, cordial beginning, but the way Harry eyed the shimmering air up pointedly wouldn't let them think he was a fool, thank Merlin. Severus was very much fed up of seeing Harry shrink himself down around others.

"Potter, Severus," Draco acknowledged with a minute nod, leading the troop of them inside. Even Severus found the slam of the great doors behind the contingent quite ominous.

"Room, would you mind?" Harry inquired, almost in a murmur, as they all took seats, Daphne and Millicent taking away their invisibility charms. Several of the Ravens startled, if subtly, at the silent appearance of a selection of a mugs and glasses, each containing a favourite of the person they appeared in front of, and not one of them reached to take them.

"Your drinks aren't going to be poisoned, but check all you like," Harry commented, clearly refraining from rolling his eyes as he took up his own coffee. A few of the Ravens sneered a little at that, Draco retorting,

"Well of course you wouldn't poison us, you're a virtuous, saintly Gryffindor after all, not like Severus here-"

"I have killed people you know."

Everyone froze at that, several of the Ravens wide-eyed, composure lost in the face of Harry's blunt admission.

"By order or accident, perhaps, but-" Draco's bluff was cut off easily, Harry's cool tone sharper than a dagger. And far more deadly,

"By direct choice, with a spell from my own wand, three Death Eaters. In our First Year, I killed Quirrel with my touch; he disintegrated as I held his head in my hands. I've been the trigger, cause and conduit for at least a dozen other deaths, including those of people I cared for. Don't presume to tell me I know nothing of death, so-called Slytherin tactics or the consequences of my actions. It is foolish."

"And- and you claim to be a better option than the Dark Lord?" someone croaked out, but Harry couldn't even register who, caught between memories and defiance,

"Yes. Every single death haunts me, night and day, and that makes me human. He is a monster. And he has killed dozens, if not hundreds, both magical and Muggle."

"Merlin..."

"I tend to use Harry, but sure, I'll go with that." And with that, the heady tension broke, several people letting out weak chuckles, and several more reaching for their cups, no detection spells in sight. Severus mirrored the action, sending an approving glance to Harry. Just because he hadn't lived in the snake den for the last six years, nor in a supposedly Dark home, didn't mean that the brat didn't have a way with words, or was incapable of subtle manipulations. Or, in this case, more bare-faced ones.

"So we're here to give our Oaths, right?"

"Only if you're still willing participants," Harry started, and kept on talking through the sceptical and alarmed body language,
"This is a massive commitment and one that may, in some views, make your positions in life riskier. Whilst I, Severus and the Order as a whole are going to be working to minimise any and all risks, you, just like ourselves, are going to be in more - or rather, a different type of danger to before. And that warrants giving you a chance to back out before it really is too late to do so. These Oaths will be binding."

"And you're actually willing to let us back out now? When we could compromise the whole thing, and the others involved?" Daphne asked, ignoring a sharp look from Draco.

"You're assuming that Severus and I would ever allow that to happen."

"But how would you stop it?" came the challenge. Harry, in answer, put his coffee back onto the table and tilted his head, chin slightly raised, eyes burning Avada Kedavra green to match the sparks that haloed his fingertips, not quite angry, but something indefinable, more and different and far more intimidating,

"Look, I'm here to do the opposite of threaten you. As far as I'm concerned, you are now our allies, but if you're going to insist on being difficult then I'll remind you that I've Duelled with Voldie, whilst surrounded by fully-fledged Death Eaters-" and isn't that a bit of a barb  "-and come out of it with minimal injuries. Over two years ago, at that. And it's safe to say that I have grown even further since then."

If there was one things most Slytherins could get behind, that they could respect, it was power. They thrived on it, socially. So Severus was far from surprised when Harry's words clearly made a decent impact on their audience. Although it would be far more pleasant if they could be done with all of this posturing and doubt already.

"And you're willing to use that power to protect people? To keep the people who need it safe, even if they're technically from the Dark Lord's side?" And now Harry was approaching anger,

₰ I absolutely refuse to allow a single more death than necessary. Of course I will safeguard those I can! This isn't about Light or Dark, it- ₰ 

"Harry, brat, Parseltongue isn't particularly conducive to a comprehensible conversation," Severus drawled, casual in a very deliberate way.

"Oh." Harry straightened up, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck, fury abruptly fading away into plain old determination, immense and heavy all the same,
"Sorry everyone. What I was saying is that I'm not necessarily on the Light side, I'm simply here to take Voldie down and preserve as much life as possible in the process, so of course I will protect those I can, so long as they don't pose a threat themselves."

"Are they to be defenceless then?" Blaise accused. And this time Harry really did roll his eyes,

"Consider: I said that I want to preserve life. Nobody under my protection will be defenceless unless under their own choice to be. Those that we house, those that we protect, will be under wards that very specifically allow self-defence. Malicious intent on the other hand? Less possible. Well, impossible actually."

With that said, Harry sat back again, the Room topping up his coffee and he drank, casual as you like, barely even bothering to look over the Ravens for their reactions to his little speech. Severus on the other hand, let them all know that he was looking them over, making neither a show nor a secret of it, simply letting his gaze drift over each of the teenagers in return, reading the lines of stress, hope and hurt in their limbs and faces. A small part of him felt bad for adding to the weight upon their shoulders, for he knew better than anyone the strain that being spies would load upon them, but at the same time, he knew now that this was the best option he and Harry could offer them. Having their loved ones safe, or at least a portion of them, would be more freeing than their own comfort. The Potions Master had no doubt of that.

After a few minutes, Harry drained the last of his coffee, deposited it back on the table, and spoke up once more,

"If you are all content with everything so far, then I'd like to ask that you each write down who you want to be protected. I can't guarantee that we'll be able to take every one of them in, but the only basis that anybody would be rejected on would be if we genuinely thought them to be a risk to the others, understood? Age, family and such don't matter. So younger siblings, grandparents, parents, even relatives another degree away will be welcome. It's purely about who can be protected. Alright?" This time, there wasn't much hesitation before there are several affirmatives and nods, and when Harry rapped gently on the table, sheets of parchment, along with ink pots and quills, materialised, even whilst all of the cups and mugs were refilled completely. Severus hid his pleased smirk in a long sip of honey-laced coffee. Frankly, this conversation was going better than he and Harry had been expecting, in many ways. They knew that it was never going to be an easy one, between the previous dichotomy between Harry and themselves and the sheer tenuity of the Ravens' personal positions; all of the tension bred distrust and animosity, resignation festering like poison ivy between the two, but Harry had done a good job of choking said ivy so far, of soothing prides and allaying fears.

Severus had known he would. But to see it in action was quite something else entirely.

Regardless, it only took a minute for several folded sheets of parchment to be passed along to Harry and Severus, the latter of whom, instead of looking through them then, simply pocketed them with a grateful nod, before going on,

"Thank you all for your trust. I will not do wrong by you. And on that point, here are the terms of the Oaths we would like you to give, along with what I, in turn, will be giving to you." As Harry sent the notes to each teen with a flick of his wand, he added on,
"Don't forget that your Oath will be made to Severus - I trust him to be loyal to me, to our joint cause, above all else, and I have no qualms about that trust. Meanwhile, my Oath will be to the Ravens as a whole. If you have an issue with any of it, say."

Perhaps it was only Severus who had picked up on it, knowing Harry and his various minutiae so well, but the lilt that the younger man put to 'our cause'... Harry wasn't referring to the Light, or even necessarily to the Order - he was calling the eradication of Voldemort, in all its parts, their cause. Their cause, their purpose, their shared reason for being.

It was far more unifying than any paltry magical alignments.

The next ten or twenty minutes were spent with the Ravens questioning certain word choices or parts of the Oath giving process.

"This is... very open to interpretation on our part. So long as we believe we're helping the Order- you, ourselves, whatever, the Oath will allow it?"

"In a sense," Harry allowed, and for once he didn't bother to hide the satisfied smirk that crept over his pretty features, much to Severus' inner delight,
"But as you will be binding this - binding yourselves - to Severus, it will work based off of both his intentions and your own. The Magicks are intuitive and independent, they will be more than able to judge what Severus would approve of. So, this way, we can ensure both the safety of yourselves, the Order and ourselves. And anyways, we could hardly prevent you from ever throwing offensive spells at an Order member, it would immediately risk your positions and with that you yourselves, which is absolutely unacceptable."  The Ravens' expressions were largely based off of amazement now. Neither Severus nor Harry doubted that said amazement was as much their faith in the teens as much as the clever wording. For people who largely went mistrusted and ostracized, being shown this kind of faith was quite an unusual occurrence.

"Alright," Draco eventually managed, seeming to break the other teenagers out of their own reveries, and he then pointed at Harry's Oath.
"This is truly what you're giving in return?"

"It is," Harry intoned, perfectly neutral.

"It's too lax and too restrictive, all at the same time."

"No, it's just right. I will be guaranteeing my loyalty to you all: to the Ravens and to Severus. But I will still be able to defend myself and others against you should the need arise, such as in a raid, or that I could not give away all of you to save just one of you. Isn't that about as fair and reasonable as we could make this?"

"It's... acceptable, on my part," Draco finally hedged. And, unprompted, the rest of the Ravens concurred, one by one.

Harry's grin was blinding, for all that his eyes were still shadowed. Severus resisted the urge to reach the scant few inches and grip the younger's tight, interlacing their fingers and brushing his thumb in circles over smooth, callused flesh...

"Right. Any more questions, or can we get on with this?" 

"Might as well get started, Potter."

"You know Draco, if it weren't for bad habits possibly forming, I'd insist on you calling me Harry," the young man half-chided, even as he and the blond both stood and made their way over to the centre of the empty half of the room. Blaise, Daphne, Theodore and Millicent following behind, and Severus after them.

"Just in case I still need to prove myself to all of you - and honestly, I wouldn't blame you if that is the case - I'm willing to take my Oath first."  Some of the tension leached out of robed shoulders, and Harry's face tugged into a sharp smile at that, teeth glinting in what might have been glee, too softened by the room's candlelight to be able to tell, as he flicked his wrist, wand falling easily into his hand.

Then, before any more could be said, Harry took three paces back, until all of the Ravens were easily encompassed in his view, Severus stood slightly apart from behind them, and he closed his eyes and began to chant.

"Dabo iusiurandum, non scientes quod per circumdatus sum," his voice echoed through the room like rain, soft and incessant, the potential of a natural disaster but remaining clean and light and fresh instead,

"Et ut det mihi in fide et fidelitate sum, De Ordine Et corvi ad fidem, ad hoc in socium, dans mihi quia verbum ego opus ut ea defendat," a susurration of wind began to gather, winding between their legs like a draught, picking up power until they all had to brace themselves, stances widening, Harry perfectly calm and unaware in the eye of the storm, 

"Ubi non compromise aliis, iusiurandum erit alligatus, ego do tibi." And with a distant clap of thunder and flash of something akin to silver-gold lightning, the Oath snapped into place.

For a long moment, nary a breath was taken. But then Harry opened his eyes, still glowing Avada Kedavra green with lingering magic and emotion, at odds with the beautific smile that he offered the room at large.

"Well, that was a bit of a rush. Your turn!" He chirped, seemingly utterly unaware of the rather grand phenomenon of his own Oath giving. Severus, however, knew better,

"Brat, give them a chance to at least get into position. You know as well as I that to give their Oath together, they must be interlinked." Was that as much a hint to the Slytherins as it was an admonishment for Harry? Undoubtedly so. Did Severus care? Not in the least. Particularly not when it successfully prompted the five Ravens to form a circle around the Potions Master, hand in hand, each person's wand pressed between their hand and that of the person to their right, binding their Oath to not only themselves but to each other, establishign them as a collective, and Severus as their primary target.

Nobody missed how, even now, Harry stood at Severus' back from his place outside the circle, eyes intent on every person. Alert.

"Dabo iusiurandum, non scientes quod per circumdatus sum, et ut det mihi in fide et fidelitate sum, causa studio in populum meum, De Ordine Et ut Corvi, meos et in conatu dans mihi quia verbum ego Dominus meus suscipere actiones, nisi de voluntate dei auxilio causae, Iusiurandum erit alligatus, ego do tibi." The magic that had gathered this time - a light, swirling like aurora borealis with mint, turquoise, lilac and cream, bands of fluctuating brilliance - dissipated more slowly, a shower of drifting light specks dancing down through the air like snowflakes. It had less raw force than Harry's, but it had no less power behind it. 

And that, in Harry and Severus' books, boded very well indeed.

The Ravens' Oath Of Fealty translates to:

I give an oath, knowing that by it I am bound, and with it I give my faith and fealty, my dedication to the cause, to the Order Of The Ravens, to my allies in our endeavour, giving my word that I will undertake my actions with the intentions only of helping this cause, to be bound by the Oath, I give myself.

(Dabo iusiurandum, non scientes quod per circumdatus sum, et ut det mihi in fide et fidelitate sum, causa studio in populum meum, De Ordine Et ut Corvi, meos et in conatu dans mihi quia verbum ego Dominus meus suscipere actiones, nisi de voluntate dei auxilio causae, iusiurandum erit alligatus, ego do tibi.)

Whilst Harry's Oath translates to:

I give an Oath, knowing that by it I am bound, and with it I give my faith and fealty, my dedication to the Order Of The Ravens, to my partner in all of this, giving my word that I will work to protect them, where it would not compromise others, to be bound by the Oath, I give myself.

(Dabo iusiurandum, non scientes quod per circumdatus sum, et ut det mihi in fide et fidelitate sum, De Ordine Et corvi ad fidem, ad hoc in socium, dans mihi quia verbum ego opus ut ea defendat, ubi non compromise aliis, iusiurandum erit alligatus, ego do tibi.)

Chapter Text

Harry jolted awake to the twitching of too-tight fingers around his bicep. Almost as though the hand was trying to crush the sakura petals that traced down his flesh. Half-awake, it felt like a fleshy hand yanking him towards the spiders and darkness, but it barely took Harry a single moment  to register the familiar calluses and fine bones of his Severus.

"Sev'rus, what is it? Sev'rus?" he murmured, urgency creeping around the edges of his hushed tone. But no words answered him, and he twisted, freeing his legs and ignoring the tight grip on his arm.

"Sev'rus?" he tried again. Nothing. Concerned now, the younger man props himself up on an elbow, bringing his held arm up to brush tendrils of hair out of the elder's face, taking in the sickly pallor, ethereal yet morbid in the pale moonlight, and how tense Severus was, even in sleep, lines of his face harsh, crinkles around his eyes and mouth even deeper than the furrows in his brow. A nightmare, undoubtedly.

"Severus, love, you need to wake up, come on Severus, listen to my voice, feel my touch and come back to me. Hush now love, wake up for me," he urged, insistent but soft, firmly pressing his palm against the elder's cheek, thumb settling at the beginning of a high cheekbone, index fingers shifting a consistent back and forth against the very end of a thin eyebrow. 

Gradually, it began to work. Some of the wrinkles soothed away, and Harry continued to offer muffled reassurances, leaning forwards to offer featherlight kisses on pale skin, tracing a nonsensical pattern down the length of his nose, tracing an eyebrow, brushing the corners of his mouth, returning up to his hairline by the time the man seemed to fully come round.

"Har..."

"I'm here Severus, we're safe," was spoken softly into the elder's hair. And sure that the Potions master was now fully awake, Harry nudged him to lay on his back, then plastered himself across the taller man.

"Wanna talk it through?" It was a simple question, but a heavy one, and for a long minute, it received no answer. Instead, two trembling arms move to wrap around Harry's waist, and Severus turns his head to bury his nose in wild black curls, inhaling deeply. Patient, knowing the awful miasma of a lingering nightmare all too well, Harry merely continued to breathe deliberately, bringing one hand up to card through silky hair, scratching soothingly against the scalp, akin to petting a cat. If he wasn't so focused on Severus, Harry would've laughed at the thought.

"The Ravens... one of them was discovered and broken, then the rest of them, and they took the two of us as well and- Merlin, Harry, my brat- the horrors they put you through. And still- still so defiant. Always defiant, you," the man chided, but the exhaustion leached through, softening his tone into something fond and exasperated and reminiscent of scared. And that lingering fear was utterly abhorrent for Harry, categorically unacceptable, and so he railed against it in the best way he knew how: shifting himself just enough onto his elbows to be able to hover over Severus' face and, finding those molten obsidian eyes, darker than ever in the night and pain of that moment, he leant down, their lips almost touching. It was tantalising, teasing. Inviting. The scant air between them was warm and damp, shared and swapped with every inhale, and then Severus inclined his head the final distance and they were kissing. Or less kissing, and more leaning into each other, connected by their lips but neither giving nor taking, no fighting for dominance or desperate need, only a shared sensation that burned constellations through their chests.

Harry wanted to keep those stars alight forever. Come what may, even if they themselves consumed him, wrought him down into dust, he wanted to keep these stunning constellations alive inside of him, inside of Severus, for all of time.

All the same, they had to move away eventually, and Harry slid to the side a ways, until he was only half on top of Severus, still chest to chest. The hand that had threaded through the elder's hair slips down to lay on Severus' chest beside Harry's head, sharing the heartbeat to be found there. The ambient light from the moon is more than enough to tell that they should go back to sleep, they've got places to be in the morning after all, but actually doing so was another matter all together.

"Do you need to do something Severus?" the younger asked, not truly wanting to get up and Duel or the like, but entirely willing to if that was what the Potions Master needed. Forgive him if he was rather relieved at the rumble of disagreement. And whilst Harry has never believed himself to have a particularly pretty voice, he did begin to hum, fully aware of how him doing so has relaxed Severus in the past and hoping it will do the same now. It was a meaningless tune, wordless, dragged out from the recesses of forgotten memories, but is was soft and slow and sweet, and the affectionate squeeze Severus offered him was all the thanks he needed.

Although, feeling the man beneath him slipping into peaceful sleep wasn't half bad either.

Harry stared up at the building with something approaching awe. Potter manor was... well, big was a bit of an understatement. Grand, definitely. Opulent even, with its great stone walls, smooth and clean, two stubby turrets, all interspersed with Perpendicular Gothic windows, unravaged by weather or time and utterly stunning. Odd to think that this might once have been his home, in another version of events.

"Brat?" Severus' tone was cajoling, and it worked. Taking a deep breath, Harry blindly reached for the elder's hand and led the way to the great double doors, ascending five great steps, with heavy wooden doors, bound by dark iron, almost a full floor in height, that swung open easily at his touch. The hallway was large and open, some kind of chandelier with, unsurprisingly, candles hung from the ceiling a good metre or two above their heads, beckoning them further into the entranceway, looking over the stone double stairway that swept up to the next floor. Above the doors opposite them was the Potter crest, cast in iron and gold, its hippocampus rearing up proudly.

"I- can we check if the bedrooms are habitable, then cast some detection charms? No point combing through every room right now."

"If you're sure," Severus allowed, dark eyes scrutinising the younger. He found the uncomfortable posture, the tension, and he squeezed Harry's hand, just once, and turned his attention to the blueprints they had with them.

"Well, as there are two guest suites and two family bedrooms, we might as well begin with those." And even as he nodded and headed for the stairs, the younger asked,

"There are three family bedrooms though?"

"The master suite isn't to be considered, idiot brat. It will house none other than the master of the house, as suggested by the name."

"But I don't care."

"The Potter Magicks do."  And that seemed to click, as Harry lost some of his frown and turned his attention to the rooms on the first floor. 

The two smaller rooms immediately in front of them, but it was the guest suites that they were truly interested in. And they weren't to be disappointed. Both suites were decently sized, with two bedrooms each and a small seating area by the door. They could comfortably house a family of three of four each, which would be ideal when considering that there were a few children on their Ravens' protection list, and having them stay right next to either their own family or other responsible adults would be ideal. And the rooms themselves were well-furnished and had what Harry would consider fairly tasteful, if distinctly traditional, decoration, with lots of tapestries and rugs and velvet-upholstered furniture to accompany hardwood dressers and bookshelves. The latter, unfortunately, were all empty. Hopefully the actual libraries would still have tomes in.

Harry's wish was granted when they crossed to the western side of that floor to find the so-called public library still had a variety of books. All bar one wall of the octagonal turret room was home to a bookshelf, some admittedly not the entire width, and every one was full. The topics were light ones - children's tales, standard fiction, propriety, household charms and so on, but the selection was impressive all the same.

"We could bring all of these home with us."  His gleeful tone was met with a far flatter one though,

"You might consider leaving these ones here. We'd have much more use of and interest in the family and private selection, or what is still here of them. And we really must remember to take any tomes out of your vaults at some point."

"Oh Merlin, I'd forgotten about that. I'll look forward to it!" And the younger's grin was true and bright, prompting Severus to look away. Sometimes Harry was too much in all the best ways.

It took them another few hours, but they worked their way through most of the manor, shrinking down most of the family and private books to take home. There are still some gaps on their shelves after all. But then, as they were finishing up, Harry noted something on the blueprints that they hadn't really considered yet.

"Isn't it weird that there aren't any house elves around? Surely the Potters would have had some, if only for maintenance? Preservation charms or whatever shouldn't be able to keep everything this clean and free of pests, right?"

"That... is a fair point. Is there a house elf-?"

"Yep, down in the basement floor," Harry interrupted, only smirking at the glare he received for being cheeky. But when he slings an arm around Severus' waist and started guiding him back downstairs, the elder only grumbled a little as he complied. And if he tucked Harry further into his side with his own arm around the younger's shoulders, then it was only for them to know.

"So is it just me, or is it odd that we haven't seen any of these house elves yet? Surely they're aware we're here?"

"Perhaps," Severus offered, turning down the second set of stairs,
"But they might be under a sort of stasis. I'm far from an expert on the matter, but I believe there are certain spells that can, effectively, put a house elf into a magical coma for, say, eleven months of a year for many years in a row. It is the sort of process that the manor's magic might initiate when it goes unoccupied for long periods of time, allowing for its upkeep but preventing the elves from weakening and dying due to lack of ambient magic."

"That's interesting, I guess. Bit freaky. I guess they're probably not very aware of it though?"

"I should suspect not."

"That's not so bad then. Almost enviable," Harry snorted. Severus did not join in, only raising a slightly concerned eyebrow.
"You needn't worry."

"I will be the judge of that, my idiot brat." His words were met with an elbow to his ribs, but the elder barely reacted. Harry, in return, pouted up at him, but was promptly distracted.

"Right, the staircase should be in this stora- Yep, and then the house elf room is in the far corner of the basement." It was easy enough to find as they walk through two storage rooms, one below the other, and then reach a final door, simple wood, with a runic circle inscribed upon it.

"Looks like I was right. Or at least not far off," Severus commented, mentally picking apart the runes and identifying those for longevity, sleep and protection, amongst others. Harry, meanwhile, waited for him to finish his inspection before reaching for the latch handle and swinging the door open.

The room was dim, lit by a single never-ending candle, but it was enough to see the eight cubbies lining two parallel walls, six of them with lumps of blankets and floppy ears nestled comfortably within.

"Hello?" Nothing changed, not until Harry took a step forward, crossing the threshold, and then a series of little groans and whines echoed around, the blanket lumps shifting, stretching and then sitting up, blinking wide green and blue eyes at the two humans in their midst.

"Master Potter?" 

The quiet question was met with silence, before Harry acknowledged it with a simple,

"I suppose I am. Hello." And then the cacophony descended. None of them were quite as excitable as Dobby, but their enthusiasm brought them close as they threw themselves out of bed, several floating thoughtlessly to the floor from the higher cubbies, and clustered around the younger man, one or two clasping themselves around his legs, all muttering and exclaiming their wonder.

"Hello, hey, yeh, it's all okay, quiet down now you lot, it's all fine," Severus vaguely admired the casual, soothing tone that Harry adopted so easily, as though talking to a young child with both respect and amusement, and stayed back as Harry gradually calmed them all down.

"Alright then. First, introductions. I'm Harry, so please stick to that or Master Harry, if you must, and this is my par- yes, this is my partner, Severus Snape. Could you tell me all of your names too?"

"Oh yes Master Harry, we can be doing that indeed! I am being Teni! I am the head elf for the manor, I am."

"Brilliant, thank you Teni. And the rest of you?" So the other five each introduced themselves, offering their usual positions within the household management. It was quite remarkable really. And on the plus side, their current organisation

"Can all of you read and write?" The elves were practically tearing up at this point, although Teni was the one to reply,

"I's being able to Master Harry Sir, and so can Bask, Cata and Lensel!"  The three referenced all nodded along, and Harry smiled indulgently at them,

"That's a good start, thank you. Do you think the four of you could teach Glali and Papp?"

"Oh yes sir, we cans be doing that!"

"Brilliant. Can I summon you guys from wherever?"  Ah, a wise question, to Severus' pride.

"Yes Master Harry! Elfsie magic be getting past Wizardy warding."

"What about Goblin wards?" Harry went on, settling more comfortably on the floor where he's sat. Severus, for his part, was leant back against the door frame, arms neatly folded. 

"If they be Master's wards, then yessing Sir! Other Wizard's wards maybes not."

"Good to know. How would you guys feel if we were to use Potter Manor as a safe house for people needing protection from Voldie? Would that be alright?"

"Oh yes Master Harry Sir! That woulds be lovingley!"

Harry ran threw a short list of further questions, then raised an eyebrow at Severus, who simply shook his head in return, quite happy with what the younger had established so far.

"Right. Do you guys have everything you need?"

"Oh yes Master Harry! We'll be doings as was asked ofs us!" Harry patted Teni on the head, and then allowed them all to pile in and hug him, before bidding them goodbye and leaving them to it.

"Home, Severus?"

"Home, my brat." And so home they went.

Chapter Text

Harry was abruptly woken up by the feel of foreign magic, albeit almost half-remembered, nudging at the edge of their Wards and, apparently, being admitted when a Patronus, an Abraxan horse judging by the wings, trailed through the wall in sparks of starlight.

'P- A letter would've been too slow. Rumours of an attack on a villlage - Great Heck - in Yorkshire tonight. Full troops but not- the man himself as it were. Don't die.'  Severus and Harry stared at each other for a single moment, taking in the words, before they disentangled themselves and scrambled out of bed, wands shifting rapidly as they changed into fight-appropriate clothes and began to send out their own Patroni, one after the other, alerting as many other members as possible that there was a fight to be had, people to be protected, rattling off the co-ordinates that Severus had dragged out of some atlas they, thankfully, kept in their upstairs bookcase.

And, within five minutes, Severus and Harry have paused outside their garden gate. On instinct, they stood shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Clutching tight, not clammy with nerves but tense with determination all the same, drawing strength even greater than their own from each other and, with three breaths, they let go and, with counter turns, they Disapparate.

They arrived to chaos. Their Apparition brought them onto a road, a cat's eye under Harry's feet, that was fortunately empty. Or less fortunately, considering the two cars that have been crashed into the side of a white-washed home, the fire that was raging unable to cover up the sounds of people screaming, children horrifically high-pitched and racked with sobs, and Harry was already moving, unable to even hesitate as he ran forwards, Summoning the husks of the cars towards himself with a loud Accio that rang through the street, attracting the immediate attention of several dark-robed figures. But Harry knew that Severus had his back thus he charged on ahead without fear, focusing all of his attention on stabilising the hole in the house, then cast out,

"Frigescere!" The flames muted a little, now more yellow than red, and Harry easily ran straight through them, unharmed and unhindered, to find a mother prone on the floor, skin charred and red in equal measure, clothes half-gone, and a father stood before his children, eyes wide but stance sure. Admirable, but unnecessary.

"I'm here to help!" Harry called, half-distracted as began to cast a basic diagnostic over the woman, then proceeded to cast the fastest series of healing spells he could, trying to heal some of the damage and stabilise her, two spells and a full-on chant ensuring her survival before he looked back around the room, assessed that thanks to the still-burning, if technically cool and now-harmless fire, the family were unlikely to be attacked further. Right, he had more he needed to do.

"I have to go - she will survive, please look after her though, keep her comfortable."

And with that, Harry left again.

Emerging back out from the flames, he found several Order members engaged with Death Eaters, Severus in their most vindictive midst, and yet again Harry didn't have to pause before ploughing forwards, managing to surprise several people as he blazed out a series of low-energy stunners, enough to take two Death Eaters down without any more struggle, and distract a third in the perfect time for Severus to fell them with a Telae Fulmens, the electrified ropes tangling around the person and sending them to the ground with a deep scream. Harry couldn't resist the grim smile that overcame his face, even as he began to send out more spells of his own. Anything that came to mind, drilled into him with hours of practice with Severus.

Speaking of the older man, he and Harry have been gravitating towards each other, quite subconsciously, circling through allies and enemies alike. Harry, glad for the attention of the Death Eaters being away from the Muggles, found himself side by side with Severus, almost back to back with how they angled themselves, and it was easy then. Natural. Everything dissolved into a blur of spells and shields, robes and light flying. He and Severus alternated their targets and their protections, not needing to speak to be able to keep each other safe and take down enemies.

But then things started to slow. Or change, at least. Several Death Eaters began to Disapparate away, all too often taking their fallen allies with them, and in turn, three Aurors from beyond the Order arrived, and then a fourth. 

"Time to go?" Harry muttered, barely close enough to Severus for it to be heard over the general din. In answer, the Potions Master took one last look around the street and, wordless, grasped a warm, familiar hold on Harry's wrist and then they're gone.

The doorstep of Grimmauld Place is far too familiar a sight as they materialised with a quiet crack.

"Alright to go in?" The words were quiet, but not insincere or derisive. No, they were genuine. And Harry appreciated both them and the man beside him even more for it, even as he nodded, laying a steady hand on Severus' arm, grim smile returning.

"I'm fine. You?"

"Indeed. Let us go in before anyone else arrives on top of us," the elder replied, already opening the front door, pulling away from Harry with well-concealed reluctance.

"After you then, my prince," was the quiet returning tease. Well-practiced in pretending to ignore Harry's wittier moments, Severus merely continued down the hallway and would forever vehemently deny that the soft words were a pleasure to hear, resting warm around his heart like bird wings, light and beautiful and free, yet delicate and surely so breakable.

Such thoughts were quickly erased by entering the kitchen to find it full of complaining Order members. Rather, anything vaguely resembling contentment or happiness twisted into instant frustration. And whilst Severus was frustrated, their grumblings had Harry furious.

"Signum Ignesco!" The deep tolling of bells seemed to shake the very air in the room, the hissing below it actually distinct this time, if more akin to an echo than anything separate, and those, accompanied by the deep, vibrant tones of green and purple, the lion and snake far from placid, writhing around each other in the air, twisting, breathing, with the rhythm of the bells. The room fell silent and still, person after person turning towards the entrance, looking past Severus towards Harry who glowered, arms folded and mouth a firm slash in his pale face.

"If you're all quite done." The members all looked appropriately cowed, or at least attentive, and Harry impatiently gestured at the kitchen table. And so, even as the dozen or so settled themselves, Harry was busy Conjuring extra mugs and a few additional kettles, levitating them to sit along the centre of the table, coffee and two different teas brewing, milk, honey and sugar also finding their places.

"I'm assuming that, judging by your general demeanours, none of you are seriously injured, or have at least already been treated?" There's a hint of genuine concern in Harry's tone, but it's somewhat overwhelmed by the blank aggravation he allowed to overtake it. To their credit, or perhaps due to their stupidity, in Severus' less-than-charitable opinion, many of their companions winced a little, but reached to accept the hospitality offered to them. The least they could do, honestly.

"I believe we're all fine for the most part Harry," Remus assured, prompting several agreeing nods around the table,
"We healed a few Cutting curses and Ennervated a couple more of us, but there was nothing close to a serious risk really. Luckily."

"Good. Right. For tonight, that'll be the most of it. The Aurors and other Ministry employees amongst us will be talking to Severus and I tomorrow and we'll let you all know about it next Meeting - we'll bring it forward to... Thursday, I believe. Pass it on. Now then, thank you all for helping out tonight, I'm sorry to have dragged you from your beds at such an ungodly hour."

Finally, Harry offered them all a smile, sincere and warm, and several Order members relaxed some at the sight. Understandable really.

"Sit for a while if you can. Relax, wind down, ensure there aren't any lingering spell effects and so on. Severus, if you'd accompany me? There's something I wanted your help with - might as well discuss it now. If there's nothing else anyone needs-?" Harry paused for a moment, questioning, then went on,
"I'll be going now. Thanks again everyone; stay safe."

With that, Harry stood once more, swept an analytical gaze over the gathered Order members, reassuring himself that they were all fine and relatively well, before raising an expectant eyebrow at Severus. Somewhat amused by the whole situation, the older man nodded in acquiescence, rising to his own feet and following Harry back out of Grimmauld Place, the younger thoughtlessly interlacing their hands to Apparate them back home. Abruptly feeling utterly exhausted, Harry slumped forwards, finding himself held gently against Severus' chest, the world bathed in moonlight, their slightly overgrown garden almost unfamiliar in the silver-lit darkness, hedges tall above them, flowers still at their feet.

"Shall we sleep again?"

"I dare say we might benefit from it. Although, your eyesight potion will have sat for an hour too long by now, I was meant to put it to simmering again at half three. It's very likely ruined." Harry, in lieu of bothering with words, merely groaned long and low, largely grumpy on Severus' behalf. It was never fun for things to become a waste, whether due to inevitable circumstances or not.

And indeed, a short trip down to the basement revealed a congealed turquoise mass, almost like rubber in how it had settled in the cauldron, dense and somehow squat. Stagnant for sure.

"Well, that's undeniably your Corrective Potion ruined. What a waste of ingredients," Severus commented, tone idle but eyes bright with annoyance. Harry offered a sympathetic noise and a reassuring touch, reaching up to caress the familiar high cheekbone with lightly calloused fingertips.

"It is, but nothing much to be done about it now, hm? Let's get some proper sleep now, and you can restart it after we've eaten in the morning, yeh?" Severus stayed tense for a long moment, then relaxed into Harry's touch with a silent sigh,

"Indeed."

With a soft, sleepy sort of smile, Harry eventually slipped his touch down, tracing over the planes of the pale neck, across the shoulders, trailing the outside length of Severus' arm until he could take the elder's hand and gently tug him up the stairs once, then twice, and head straight into their room. Uncaring of the dirt, dust and blood lodged in their clothing and hair, caking their skin, they shoved back their tangled blankets and tacitly burrowed into their bed, Harry wandlessly and wordlessly levitating their covers back over them, their bubble of being quick to warm up. Thankfully so.

And the way that they curled into and around each other certainly didn't hurt either. Forehead to forehead, Harry's glasses Banished who-knew-where; fingers intertwined in between them, their legs laced atop each other; eyes closed yet the sharing of their air almost more intimate than the possible eye contact. After the adrenaline and fright of a Death Eater raid, the worry over their own people, the calm, safe space of their cottage, of being together, is more than a balm, it is a blessing. One they couldn't be more grateful for.

Frigescere - lit. be chilled - The Cooling Spell - whilst typically used on hot dishes or surfaces, this can be used on an actual fire. However, it's fairly limited and typically weak, only good for basic household tasks. All the same, it's a versatile spell with little to no backlash, thus making it ideal for powerful casters who can deliberately over-charge the spell and use it in far more serious situations, as seen with Harry effectively quenching the house and car fire.

Signum ignesco – ref. chapter 12

                          - lit. signal aflame/ signal glow/ signal ignite – the Flare Signal Spell. Typically used as a distress signal, or to draw attention to a particular place or person, this spell was originally created for sailors and adventurers who became lost or caught in dangerous conditions.
The colour, shape and possible sound of the flare represents the caster, alike but a lesser version of a Patronus or Animagus form.

Example; Harry J. Potter:

Colour: Green - Purple 

Colour Significance: renewal, misfortune, luck, eternity, family, peace - royalty, mourning, integrity, ambition, authority, justice, creativity

Sound: Tolling bell - Hissing of snakes

Sound Significance: death knoll, voice of God, beginnings, endings, warnings, herald of supernatural - diplomacy, threats, warnings, articulacy, amicability, quietness

Imagery: Snake - Lion

Imagery Significance: rebirth, patience, intellect, eternity, protection, enigma, duality, ambitious, cunning, shrewdness - wisdom, vitality, ferocity, aggression, courage, royalty, patience, influence, nobility, leadership, protection

Chapter Text

The pair awoke later that morning, just before ten, Harry blinking bleary eyes open first and, despite his lack of glasses making most things indistinct, he still smiled fondly at Severus' face, slack and soft in repose, as he stretched languidly, shifting a little to practically drape himself across the older man. The warmth of living skin, the solid thumping of a beating heart and the gentle susurrations of steady lungs were more reassuring than they had any right to be, only accentuated by the lingering scent and feel of burning flesh, heady magic and smoke, an acrid combination that was cloying and somehow like rotten ozone, stinging at Harry's nose and eyes. But, when draping himself across Severus, he could almost forget it, hyper-focusing on the stunning man beneath him.

Of course, the moment couldn't last for long. All too soon, Severus too began to rouse, eyes abruptly snapping open with flaring nostrils and clawed hands, but just as quickly he seemed to register that they were together, safe in their bed, no fires or battles or Death Eaters near. For a long few minutes, they silently indulged in the fact.

But then, still wordless, Harry finally rolled up and off of Severs, headed into the bathroom to shower away the grime and memories of the attack on Great Heck. He knew that Severus needed to restart the brewing of the Corrective potion, and he himself needed to determine priorities and information to be shared with the Ministry-employed Order members that they were to be meeting in only a few hours, and then what would be told to the whole Order on Thursday. Not only that, but Harry also wanted to do some research into Parseltongue-based magics and magical brands. Whilst their current Wards, and those they'd added into Grimmauld Place's scheme after Severus' position as a spy had been revealed, were quite accomplished at blocking the magical connection from Severus' Dark Mark to Voldemort, the few attacks they'd seen over this last summer was bringing home the fact that he and Severus were exposing themselves more and more now. And with that, Severus would be more vulnerable to an attack through the Mark, should Voldemort ever become aware of such a fact. For Harry, that was unacceptable.

How could he, knowing what Voldemort was like, knowing both how much he himself cared for Severus and how much the man contributed to the war effort, willingly put the Potions Master in additional danger? Voldemort could send pain or drain magic through the Mark, at the very least, and there could be even more that they were unaware of, for all that it seemed unlikely. It wasn't a tenable position. Not when it had so much direct risk to Severus and indirect to the rest of them.

And, if anyone could do it, it would be Harry who could disable or even banish the Dark Mark, surely?

He had Parseltongue, expansive if not exhaustive knowledge, Severus by his side and some understanding of Voldemort's magic. It was a good basis to at least start some research from. Who knew, it might even end up as simple as commanding the magic to leave the Mark? Whilst unlikely, it truly might be that basic. Voldemort's arrogance knew no limits after all, and pride does so often come before a fall.

Harry's goal in life was to see that fall realised.

But, for right then, he pushed himself out of his thoughts, out of his own head, and focused on simply cleaning up, getting rid of the battle-dirt and danger-scent until he felt refreshed and awake again. And from there, it only took a few more moments to soak in the grounding heat of the pounding water, inhaling steam and no longer finding it as cloying and choking as only weeks ago, before finally turning off the water and stepping out. He forgoes the comparatively unpleasant sensation of a drying charm and towels down, shoving on jeans and a simple t-shirt, this one fitted and a pale green, part of those he'd bought for himself over the last year. Muggle clothes really were so much easier than Wizarding ones.

He came out of the bathroom to find their room empty and Harry heaved a sigh, knowing exactly where Severus would be and what he would be doing. The silly man. He was never very good at relaxing, much like Harry himself, but that didn't stop the younger from wanting the Potions Master to give himself a well-deserved break occasionally, even if it was only an extra twenty minutes.

Accordingly, Harry scuffs down both flights of stairs and pokes his head round the door to the potions lab, utterly unsurprised to find Severus stood at the high counters, knife in hand, several boards of already-prepared ingredients under stasis charms, a small cauldron quarter-filled with water waiting above an unlit fire station.

"Severus?"

"Brat," the elder acknowledged, not even glancing up from his task. Huffing with a tad bit of amusement, but largely with exasperation, Harry strode forwards, not even hesitating before he plastered himself to Severus' back, face tucked sideways against his shoulder blade, deliberately hampering the older man's movements until he grumbled at Harry, shifting a little. Harry refused to move away though, instead sliding one hand up from Severus' stomach, along his front and then down along his arm until he could trail gentle fingers across the back of his arm, threading their fingers together around the knife handle until he fidgeted them for a looser grip, prompting Severus to let go of the tool, immediately tugging the fine-fingered hand to hold against Severus' hip, fingers still intertwined.

"You truly are an infernal brat."

"And don't I know it. I wasn't nearly sorted into Slytherin for no reason after all."

"Pardon?" Severus drawled, shock evident in the tension frissoning down his spine and Harry is quick to soothe it away by nuzzling his nose against the elder's back, offering close-mouthed kisses against the thin fabric of the sleepshirt, humming an old tune under his breath.
"I know I've commented on your more Slytherin tendencies before, brat, but this is blatant manipulation."

"Is it working?" Harry inquired, tone light and humming quick to restart. The lack of reply, coupled with how Severus sags back against him, is more than enough to let him know the precise truth.

After enjoying another minute of the tranquility, Severus finally spoke up once more,

"As pleasant as this may be, I may as well clean up if I'm not to be brewing."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"It was your plan all along, you conniving brat. But I shall acquiesce, provided you're willing to cook some eggs how we both like."  And the way that Severus made that a request, a deal, meant more to Harry than he could ever say.

"And I presume you'll want to dissect my Sorting over breakfast? Well, brunch?" He felt the nod and single huff of laughter he gained from the elder and snickered in return. Then, with a casual wave of his spare hand, Harry erected his own stasis charm over the half-chopped ingredients and smiled as he gently shoved ahead of him up the stairs, shooing him away.

"Go on then, go shower. I'll start making brunch just as we like and then you can grill me all you like," Harry admonished good-naturedly, and with a firm squeeze of Harry's hand, Severus acquiesced. He really did want to question his brat.

It's not even two hours later when Harry and Severus were once again in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, waiting for the arrival of a portion of the Order members to go over what the Ministry knew, or thought they knew, about the night previous.

Once Amelia, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley have arrived, settled around the table, the dive into talks, going through what had actually happened and what the official story was. Another four Death Eaters had gone into custody, three Muggles dead, with the Muggles Obliviated and memory-altered to believe it had been the result of a drunk driver crashing and causing a disastrous series of fires and gas explosions. Then, their conversation moved on to what they wanted people to believe about their own interference,

"Those of us in contact with them, can we move along with recruiting an Unspeakable or two?" Harry asked, focusing his attention on Amelia, Kingsley, Tonks and Moody,
"We could do with having an element of access to them, and that device you mentioned Amelia, for a side project of mine and Severus', or to at least give a solid illusion of access to it."

"The project for detecting or even predicting large pockets of Dark magic?" Amelia clarified.

"That one. It's a necessary cover for our pre-emptive knowledge." 

There was a hesitation then, before Moody spoke up, gruff voice blatantly sceptical,

"And if we asked about that knowledge? Your sources?"

"I'd ask you to trust me, at least until our plan got to the next stage." Harry's tone was perfectly level, almost bland, but the fire in his eyes was all too telling, intrinsic to the ferocious fighter and strategic leader they had all come to know. It had Moody scrutinising him, glass eye whirring with a faint glow, the rest of the table waiting out the interaction, aware of the tension but willing to allow it to play out by itself.

And so it did. Eventually, Moody nodded with a vaguely positive grunt and Severus could tell from the way that Harry's hand settled flat on the table that he was relieved, but unwilling to show it openly. That Slytherin near-sorting truly must have been accurate. 

"Thank you," Harry offered instead, simple and genuine. It earned him nods and an enthusiastic thumbs-up from Tonks, Severus observing the interactions with a cool gaze. This demonstration of trust should at least grant Harry a little more confidence, a little more surety in his own decisions and position. Good. A leader should be just as confident in his troops as they in him, to Severus' mind, and the road that went both ways should be both wide and stable. That was exactly the type of trust that Harry was cultivating with the rest of the Order. The type of trust they would need to see this war through.

"Well, Harry, I've been talking to the Head of the Department of Mysteries and they're looking to put out prototypes of the detection device - the Quad-maid, they're calling it - within the next month, and it wouldn't be difficult to add implications of a fully-fledged device that we've gained access to. And a few of the Unspeakables are... sympathetic during discussions of non-Ministry forces, have talked of you as someone powerful and, I believe the word was 'mature', in your decision to focus on the war in lieu of your schooling," Amelia reported, candid and blunt, yet her eyes were full of embers, burning soft and steady, ready to warm hands or leap into flames. She was a strong woman, a respectable woman. Harry was more than happy to have her on their side, fighting beside them, for all that she currently took on a more political, strategic role.

The war needed all sorts of fighters, all sorts of strategy. It was certainly picking up now, after all, attacks becoming more frequent and more outright.

"Okay, that's good," Harry concurred, not commenting on what, to Severus at least, was blatant discomfort at the mention of his public reputation,
"See what you can do to further encourage them, complete the background checks and so on, you know the drill by now. I'll trust your judgement on when to invite them to join us. The usual secrecy Oaths, but do try to restrict what they know until their first time meeting with us, that probably being Severus and I, properly. All alright?" Severus shot an amused glance to him with the inane wording, but Harry only smirked a little in return, side-eyeing him.

"Of course Harry."

"Brilliant. Is there anything else you want to talk about, bearing in mind we're all to be meeting up properly on Thursday?" There was a round of dismissals, Tonks cheery and already halfway to her feet, the others more dignified but still quick to leave. Much to Harry and Severus' relief, frankly.

There was an Eyesight Corrective Potion awaiting them at home after all.

Quad-Maid - De quadam magica tenebris areas ut instrumentum deprehendere - a "tool to detect areas of intense dark magic" - a magical device that is being developed within the Department Of Mysteries as a Ministry effort to mitigate or even pre-empt the blatant raids by Dark magic users upon Muggles. 

Harry and Severus, aware of its development, are more than willing to take advantage. They need cover-up schemes for both their Ravens (and their intelligence) and the soon-to-be retrieval of various family members of said Ravens. Anything advantage that can be taken in order to safeguard their people will be used, and any chance of implying that their position is strong will also be utilised. Whatever needs to be done to wrong-foot Voldemort.

Chapter Text

Harry and Severus spent the next few days mired in research. Each were looking over individual projects, along with their joint efforts of concocting a solid plan for covering the tracks of the Raven families. Severus had a few stacks on Necromancy and Soul Magicks, along with ancient Rituals and Potions. Harry had dug out the measly three books on Parseltongue they owned. On the first day, he had Owled the Goblins to request any related books from his vaults, and that yielded another two, plus a copy of one they already had, all made necessary by his intense gut feeling that the Dark Mark was intrinsically linked to Parseltongue, that feeling only confirmed by both the make-up of the brand and Severus' somewhat hazy recollection of being marked.

And of course, beyond trying to deactivate the Dark Marks, there was also the matter of being able to fight Voldemort. From all of his research, Harry had quickly realised that much of Parseltongue-cast magic could only be countered with more Parseltongue.

It made Harry very grateful to have the ability, for all the strife it had caused him at times.

Regardless, they spent several days buried in books and theories. The Order Meeting went off without a hitch; the Ravens had reported of no changes; Severus had been able to brew the Eyesight Corrective Potion uninterrupted and Harry was now glasses-free which, albeit undeniably very odd and at first a little uncomfortable, certainly wasn't a bad thing. And the ease of not wearing glasses was immense. He didn't have to take them off to shower or sleep or nuzzle his face into Severus' arm or chest or back, nor did he have to spell them in place for Duelling. Quite convenient, all told.

And tonight, they had successive meetings with two Unspeakables and then the Ravens respectively to look forward to. Lucky them.

Amelia opened the door of the Muggle café for her two companions, very deliberately letting them in ahead of herself. In a booth in the far corner, two nondescript men were sat beside each other, each with a mug already in hand, chatting in low undertones as they periodically glanced up at the door. Upon seeing Amelia, the shorter smiled and made a beckoning gesture. 

The Head of the DMLE had no doubts that, for all that the smile was genuine, Harry's overriding thoughts were linked to the scrutinising gaze he focused on her two companions. Unfortunately, she couldn't see their expressions from behind, but their tense postures spoke volumes. And it matched the trickle of anticipatory ice creeping at the base of her neck. But, upon stepping within a metre of the booth, Harry and Severus regained their true appearances and the woman lost that little bit of unease. Familiar faces really could do wonders.

"Hi, it's Shimna and Bedford, right?" Harry asked, standing long enough to shake their hands. The Potions Master, for his part, merely nodded at the two Unspeakables, wand no doubt at the ready whilst Harry was even slightly more vulnerable. Similarly, Amelia suspected that he had a point of contact with Harry somewhere, just in case of a Portkey or Apparition. The two were practically-minded after all.

"Yes, Potter. Thank you for inviting us to meet with you."

"It's no problem. Any good ally is worth a little effort, and having Amelia vouch for you is definitely a good start. And thank you both for putting up with roundabout way everything has to be organised, I'm sure you understand thought, particularly given your profession..." On the conversation went from there. Drinks were ordered quickly to allow for uninterrupted discussion. Severus lingered in the background of said conversation, bearing the few wary looks without a bat of an eye, and Amelia kept from interjecting as much as possible. This was about inducting new Order members after all, to which her role was mostly over already.

"Now, I can confess that we have a slightly ulterior motive for specifically looking to recruit some Unspeakables," Harry confessed a few minutes in, a sheepish half-smile offering the apology that he didn't speak aloud,
"Beyond that you're doubtless capable people in your own rights, you have access to several facilities, research projects and types of information that most people, Ministry workers or not, don't have." Before either Shimna or Bedford could interject, quoting secrecy laws and legal obligations, Harry raised a steady hand, asking for their patience. They granted it.

"We're- I'm not necessarily asking to be able to access those things. I'm asking for the illusion of being able to do so. Of course, anything useful that you can ever pass on would be appreciated, but I'm aware of your stringent Oaths and Vows and wouldn't ask you to break those, not with the severe consequences and restrictions they place upon you, particularly when every person is another asset in the first place, another person able to protect innocents. But the front of having such access? In some ways, it would be just as valuable."

"Really?" the woman - Kelsey Shimna - asked, genuine surprise lacing her tone, hand clutching tighter at her glass of iced coffee. Harry's expression, in return, was bordering on sombre, his sincerity hardening his jaw but softening his brow and- oh. How peculiar. Amelia somehow hadn't noticed it until just then, but he wasn't wearing his glasses, vivid green eyes all the more luminescent for it. The result of a potion, no doubt. Sensible.

"Yes, really. We want allies, not subordinates or servants to exploit. You'll need to be able to return to your usual lives once this damnable thing is over and done with."

It didn't occur to any of their companions, merely a semantic tic to them, but Severus noted the choice of 'you' in lieu of 'we'. Although he didn't allow himself to frown outwardly at the wording, instead merely shifting his hand a little above Harry's knee and squeezing, just once. A silent comfort and admonishment all at once. 

The slight twitch of Harry's hand towards him was telling enough: message received.

"Honestly, that's the kind of thing I was hoping to hear from you," Shimna went on, offering a genuine smile. Then she turns to Bedford with an expectant eyebrow raised. The man in question pauses, evaluating all of his companions, Harry and Severus for the longest, before speaking up.

"And you trust all of your current allies?" It was just a tad too pointed for Harry's liking, judging by how the slightest stirrings of magic began to toy with the tips of his wild hair,

"Yes, I do. Loyalty has been proven in even the most potentially-suspect of us, and I have faith in all of the Order. We are, by and large, a fairly close-knit group and we go to great lengths to ensure the safety of each other. There are no traitors; I wouldn't allow it." The final words rang with a certain assertion, a particular conviction and pure power that left no room for doubt, no question of the truth being spoken. And the way that Harry's eyes flashed with something even more killing-curse than their usual hue only added to the effect.

The effect was rather ruined by the arrival of a crowd of noisy teenagers at the entrance to the café, but perhaps the break in tension was more a boon than anything else.

"That... That's good enough for me. I want to do something, I need to help, and your Order seems the best way to do that."

"Then we'll welcome you, Bedford," Harry paused, genuine smile in place, and turned to the desi woman,
"Shimna?"

"Same. If we can help, then that's what I want to do." And now Harry truly was grinning, any previous menace gone, leaving behind a bright young man with open posture and gleaming eyes.

"Thank you, both of you. It's much appreciated." With that, they had two more members for the Order.

Meeting with the Ravens wasn't quite actually how it sounded. Rather, it was convening with one of their number in the Room of Requirement. Minimising suspicion was a very high priority and so the less absences that needed lying about the better, and the less people that had to be lying, much the same.

Hence Harry and Severus finding themselves seated on a comfortable two-seater sofa, leaving as much gap as deemed proper between them, but still just about close enough to be able to feel the other's warmth. It wasn't an unhappy medium per se, if not quite what they were used to any more. Being together around people is an odd balancing act of clearly trusting and relying on each other yet not close enough for anything untoward to be suggested, or even suspected. It wouldn't be ideal. Regardless, the point was that they had settled down together, waiting for Draco to arrive.

Fortunately, they didn't have too long to wait, the parchment by the door yet again displaying the name of the intended entrant, Harry easily asking the Room to let Draco in and, within two minutes, greetings had been made and the blond boy had settled down in the armchair opposite them.

"We've got a fairly functional plan for getting the families out, but we wanted to consult with you in person, and hopefully from there you can discuss any snagging points with the rest of the Ravens, and we'll be able to enact it next week. The sooner the better, yes?"

"Definitely," Draco concurred, the slightest of frowns marring his porcelain features, hands fidgeting nervously in his lap before he tucked them around the cup that popped into existence on the coffee table, the faint scent of some herbal tea wafting from it, causing Harry to take a hurried draught of his bitter coffee, enjoying its stronger smell far more. Bloody tea.

"From my memory, several of the mothers were close, yes? Narcissa and Carmela Zabini are still good friends, are they not?"

"They are, yes. And Daphne's mum and aunt."

"Excellent. For them, at least, we're planning on having them write letters to each other, faking an escape to the continent, with them sending messages to you asking you to come with them, to claim new lives on the continent, which you will 'report' to Him, securing your own positions as loyal followers and sending any trackers immediately off course," Severus went on, 

"That... that might work." The tone was somewhere between awe and scepticism, the blond blatantly going through the basics of the plan for any blatant flaws, or any more subtle ones. Draco did bring up a few points, talking them through with Harry and Severus, adjusting a few of their details until all three of them were content with the tactics in place. Then conversation moved onto more immediate matters.

"We're also planning to spread word of having access to the Department of Mysteries. At some point, we could do with one of the Ravens, ideally with one or two the junior Death Eaters, to overhear Ron and Hermione talking about it. Vol- He is bound to already be aware of the magical detection device being created and if He believes that we've got access to it, He should come to the independent conclusion that we're pre-empting attacks, or at least speeding up our response times, through it. It'll help cover for you guys."

"Wonderful." And for all that the blond's tone was sarcastic, there was approval in his steely eyes. Then he paused for a moment, thinking something over.

"They're gearing up to something. The attacks are escalating in frequency and intensity, as I should hope your lot-"

"Our lot," Harry interrupted with a faint smile. Draco ploughed on, offering only a brief eyeroll,

"-would have noticed already. But nothing concrete has been mentioned to us yet. Just that He has a specific goal in mind, one that he's... excited about, for lack of a better term."

"Right," Harry murmured, clearly falling into thought, and Severus easily took over,

"That's still good to know, thank you Draco. Harry and I know him well enough to be able to predict certain things based off of that alone, and of course anything more you will send word about?"

"Of course Severus," Draco replied, not even bothering to sound indignant about it.

"Excellent. Was there anything else before we move onto other matters?" asked Severus, eyeing up how Harry was once again deep in thought. Silly brat.

"No. Just, well, when did you plan to begin giving us more training? Our Occlumency, for the most part, is decent but nothing against Him."

"Ah, of course. I suspect you shall have less to fear from that than you would, but all the same, I've ordered some books to be sent to the Slytherins as a whole for Occlumency and a few related topics, which you will all make an effort to go through. I will attach a separate, potions-hidden box containing more sensitive materials to be distributed within the Ravens. We should avoid most suspicion that way." Severus' plan had Draco grinning a little, tilting on the edge of a smirk and the elder easily returned the expression. A Slytherin strategy always deserved a smirk.

"And I'd ask that, when you have the time and opportunity, at least two of you come up here or find one of the stable abandoned dungeon rooms and practice Duelling. I know you all have a good grasp of curses and hexes, but your practical, intuitive use will be the most problematic issue. Potential issue, I should say."

"I guess that's probably not incorrect," Draco grouched, discontent with the assessment but not arguing against it. Harry, more present again, snickered a little, sobering quickly,

"We're all like that before we start practicing regularly. I had the intuition but my practical knowledge was far weaker, for all that we've rectified that now. It's time and practice."

"As most things are, Potter."

"Fair point," the young man snorted, starting to lean into Severus before forcing himself to straighten up again as naturally as possible, trying to play off the movement. The blond teen, if he noticed, didn't say a word.

From there, it wasn't long before they finished up their conversation and Draco was nodding goodbye to them both before returning to his Prefect patrols. Harry and Severus, for their part, waited another half an hour, Harry tucked under the elder's arm, going back over everything that had been sorted out that day whilst it was fresh on their minds, not leaving until they'd given Draco more than a headstart, Disillusioning themselves to head back up to Minerva's office and Flooing away to Grimmauld Place and Apparating home from there. It had been a long day, a tiring one, but now they could go and sleep in their own bed, holding each other close.

Nothing could've sounded better, honestly.

Chapter Text

In the early morning, dawn not yet broken, eight people gathered in the winter home of Carmela Zabini, each with various trunks and bags, dressed with heavy cloaks, wands held close and tight. Two children clung to their mother's skirts, silent and wide-eyed, a third stood resolutely beside her own mother. Tension rippled like waves through the air. Of course, the knock on the door had them all jumping, usual poise and posture gone in the face of the pervasive sense of danger, of knowing that they were risking their lives and that of their families if this went wrong.

They also knew that this might be the only way to save their families, should this all go well. And, beyond even that, they knew the Dark Lord wouldn't be knocking politely on Carmela's front door.

The woman in question waved a hand, dissolving the first stage of wards around the two people outside, allowing them to step into the large foyer space but no further.

"Good morning everyone. Sorry for the early hour, but I'm sure you can understand the necessity of it." And that is Harry Potter, someone few of them had ever seen in person, only hearing about him second-hand, through children and gossip rags and ranting Death Eaters. He was not what they had expected.

To begin with, Harry Potter stood tall and sure, shoulders having broadened out from the child last featured in the Prophet. There were pentacles across his knuckles, a sure sign of ingenuity and dedication, a symbol of power, if perhaps all to a point of extremes. His hair was wild and dark, akin to a three-dimensional ink splatter more than anything else, its chaos at odds with the steel serenity in the green eyes. And Merlin, they were green eyes indeed, shadowed not by glasses but by thick lashes, crystal clear and barely a shade darker than the liquid jade of an Avada Kedavra, even in the fire-lit room, burning bright as they flickered from person to person, never any hint of suspicion, regret or reluctance to be found there. Rather, there was something ineffable, but close cousins with resolution. Determination. The soft heart and harsh edges to said determination was what truly set many of the gathered at partial ease, allowing them to breathe deeply once more. The sight of Severus Snape, known betrayer of Voldemort, welcome at the young man's side, only furthered that. This was Harry Potter, their protector. Their salvation and refuge.

"Mr Potter," Carmela began, voice carrying and strong, a lilt of accent to even the short words. Harry, for his part, offered her a slight bow and the beginnings of a smile,

"Carmela Zabini, I assume?"

"Indeed." And though she didn't move, that inner barrier of wards gave way with her thoughts alone. Both Harry and Severus noticed. Albeit, they didn't move forwards yet, ensuring that they didn't crowd the family members. 

"I'd ask you all to call me Harry, if only for my own sake. Now, did any of you have issues with your belongings, getting here or anything else that would need immediate attention?" Fortunately, very fortunately, considering the delicacy of the situation, there were none to be reported, and Harry swept his gaze over them all once more.

Apparently satisfied, he nodded once to Severus, who inclined his head in return, their silent conversation obvious only in presence, their gazes inscrutable to their new companions.

"If you would all permit either Severus or myself to cast detection charms over yourselves and your things? Otherwise, only yourselves for the time being and we would retrieve your things later on. This isn't a lack of trust," he was quick to add, raising a quelling hand,
"But merely a reasonable precaution. If you don't wish the safety of yourselves and the children to be put at risk, then this shouldn't be too arduous a task. You're all aware of my Oath." And that reminder was what prompted Narcissa to step forth.

"You may go ahead Mr Po- Harry. I raised my son well enough to trust his judgement."

"Thanks Mrs Malfoy," he replied, a cheer to his tone that didn't go missed. He came forwards to join her without any hesitation, raising his wand slowly, meeting her eyes with a faint smile as he incanted,

"Ut quam sectari detegere." The whispering tendrils of his magic reached forwards, seeking, searching,
"Contineri quod quaereret aut gratiam iudicatis." The glow began to strengthen, tinged purple-red. It pulsed with the rolling syllables, a heartbeat of its own.
"Causa quod non nocere, directe vel indirecte." The spell faded into nothing once again, leaving Narcissa and her belongings quite the same as they had been before.

It wasn't a standard detection spell, firmly in the realm of Shade Spells, tracing for anything Harry would deem harmful. The lack of result showed Narcissa to be clear and safe. Well, that was one down.

As he and Severus accounted for most of the adults, Harry was the first to move onto the children. 

"Hey you two, you holding up alright?" he asked, crouching down before the two twin boys whose black hair and stocky builds made their relation to Millicent all the more obvious. And if the young man happened to settle with his back to a wall, Severus in sight, then that was mere coincidence.

"Y-yes." And damn, they were so young. So vulnerable.

"Good on you. You're being brave, it's impressive. But reckon you could be even braver and let me cast the Assurance Spell on you two as well, like I did your Mum?" And here Harry did look up to Martha, checking that he wasn't doing anything she'd rather he didn't. Judging by her firm stance but lack of glare, he hadn't gone too far too wrong yet.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"The one that's going to protect us from the Dark Lord?" The second went on, their sentences almost running into each other. Huh, cute. Even if the conversation matter was far too serious for two little boys to need to be thinking about.

"Kids, I promise I'm going to do everything I can for that exact goal. You'll be as safe as I can make you. All of you."

"Even Millie?" And damn, families were heart-breaking and heart-warming, all at once. All the same, Harry shoved aside the yawning cavern in his chest in favour of going on.

"Millicent- your sister is really strong, right?" They both nodded furiously and Harry allowed himself to grin a bit at their immediate faith,
"Then trust her to do her best to come back to you three as soon as possible, alright?"

"Alright."

"Cool, that's what I like to hear. So, you both ready for the spell?" This time, the boys nodded without hesitation, and Harry gently waved his wand to encompass them both, keeping his tone low and soothing as he cast the detection charm once more. Luckily, they too came back clear. 

"Severus?" he asked, rising to his feet with a wink for the two boys. The Potions Master offered him the barest of glances, still halfway through casting over Iris Greengrass. Their shared attention was fortunate, as the necklace around her neck began to spit and hiss with orange sparks.

Crying out, the woman reached up to unlatch the pendant, hands grasping, but Harry was faster. The necklace came flying off, away from her throat where it had begun to burn, landing on the floor between the two Order members.

"Quomnin!" Harry cried, a pale silver barrier encircling the necklace, still letting off sparks and now smoke as well. Severus, having quickly finished his detection chant over Iris, turned his attention to the necklace.

"Shall I?"

"Go ahead," the younger replied, focused on maintaining the containment spell and keeping an eye on their companions. He genuinely trusted all of them up to a point, but that point wasn't yet fully. And he refused to risk Severus unnecessarily for them.

Fortunately, within another minute, Severus had weaselled his magic within Harry's barrier and, after two incorrect counter spells, found the right one, the pendant scorching the floor but the magic dissipating from it all the same. Well, that was one crisis averted.

From there, they turned their attention to Iris, who was trembling on her knees, her sister crouched beside her, the burns already wrapped in gauze that had the shimmer of healing magic.

"You were unaware of the binding spell on the necklace?" Severus' tone is severe, his scowl fierce. Harry makes absolutely no attempt to soften the elder, nor temper him; the suspicion is sensible.

"Y-yes, of course- Merlin, I knew he would never let me leave, but I didn't think- What a fool I was!"

"Iris, you were hardly-"

"Mrs Greengrass, quite frankly, shut up. You are here now, so you have already left. Any spells on the necklace are gone, and we are to leave for somewhere well-guarded within the hour. Your girls are both safe at Hogwarts. You are safe." And for all that Harry had also been snappish in tone, his words rang kind and true, and they had the blonde taking a deep breath, then another, staring up at him with wide eyes that quickly cooled, hands steadying.

"You- you're right Mr Po- Harry. Thank you. Yes, thank you both."

"It's our job. Well, as good as anyway," the young man replied, expression caught between a smile and concern. But then he dusted his hands off, straightened up further, squeezing Severus' wrist gently as he walked past the man. A subtle acknowledgement of each other. Almost a reassurance. Their nerves had been high coming into this, wanting everything to go well and to be able to protect people, but knowing that there was every chance something, or someone, could cause problems. At least, so far, it was all minor issues.

"I'm sure you're all tired, but we need to start walking now." Harry's voice carried easily through the room, as though everyone's attention hadn't already been on him, and he was acknowledged by a round of nods and murmured affirmatives. Well, at least they weren't complaining yet. He had little doubt that once they'd walked a mile or two that might change, but they should know to simply accept any discomfort now for the sake of their long-term safety. The further from the Zabini house that they activated the communal Portkey, the better, even with Harry and Severus commissioning a low-output version from the Goblins. Better to be safe than sorry. 

Accordingly, it wasn't all too long before they were gathered around a silver chain, luggage already shrunken into pockets, each of the children gathered close to their parents.

"Are you all ready?" Apprehension was frissoning through the clearing they now stood in, beginning of dawn blocked out by the trees arching high above, shivers visibly wracking even the most composed of the family members. But nobody denied him.

"Very well." And the young man paused for one final moment, sharing a brief affirming glance with Severus, before he spoke once again,
"Metu alis."

With a gut-wrenching whirl, they were gone.

Of course, only a moment later, the group materialised at Potter Manor, stood before the stepped entrance. At the top of said steps, all six of them, was Remus and Augusta, accompanied by Teni, the head Potter elf.

Well, this was going to be fun. 

Harry and Severus, sharing one final heavy glance, sat themselves down at the table in Grimmauld Place, the younger in his customary seat at its head, Severus to his right. Today, Amelia was the one to take that to his left, Minerva beside her, Moody opposite the teacher, for all that he still didn't seem completely alright with being sat so close to Severus. Cantankerous, he was. Well, at least he never spoke against Severus any more, and Harry knew the man would rather take down a current Death Eater than a reformed one, which wasn't great by any stretch, but was certainly something the two of them could handle. It would be their... late arrivals that would need to be kept safe.

Regardless, Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by the few last people filing in. Remus and Augusta were still at Potter Manor, having settled in reasonably well with the family members and, according to reports from the Ravens thus far, their ruses were holding up. Voldemort and his people believed the families to have escaped further onto the continent together, not to be sheltering under Harry Potter's protection. And, even better, by supposedly selling out said family, the Ravens had further consolidated their own positions. Overall, a very positive outcome. Well, if one ignored the promise of more trouble to come, and soon. The Death Eater ranks were stirring more and more, attacks increasing in frequency and intensity in the last month or so, accompanied by rumours of some grand plot. A goal.

A reason for certain people to be joining the Order Meeting that night.

Hence, once the usual pleasantries had been gone through, Shimna and Bedford introduced, then any reports been given, all generally found to be well, or at least managing, Harry subtly cast a shield over half the room, invisible and undetectable until other spells might happen to come into contact with it. A precaution for what was to come.

"Come up you two!"

The Ravens' family members are:

Narcissa Malfoy (canon)

Carmela Zabini (mother) and Bria Zabini (6yo sister, different father, all under mother's maiden name)

Iris Greengass (mother) and Delphin(ium) Heseltine (maternal aunt)   Heseltine is an old surname based off of Hazel, suited the plant theme started by Daphne (which is a poisonous plant, hence Iris and Delphinium)

Martha Bulstrode (mother) and Henry & Eugene Bulstrode (9yo twin boys)

No Nott relatives - mother and grandparents dead, estranged paternal uncle on the Continent largely unknown

Metu alis - safety under dark wings - something that Harry has said to Draco before and has, subconsciously, coined as something of a phrase for the Ravens. It wasn't obvious or casual enough of a statement to be something that might accidentally activate the Portkey early.

Chapter Text

The door to Grimmauld Place’s basement opened, neither with bluster nor caution, to reveal Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini.

Instantly, a good portion of the room was on their feet, spells flying and harsh words echoing, both expletives and spells alike. Yet Harry's shield stood strong, rippling with a dark silver, gleaming like deep starlight with each curse that struck it, utterly unyielding. To their credit, Draco and Blaise also stood strong, not even flinching. Well, that at least proved they had some decent measure of faith in Harry's casting. Severus found that quite the good omen.

It took a long few minutes for the spells to stop flying as people finally clocked how neither Harry nor Severus were attacking; how the shield was still firmly solid and impenetrable and how, of course, Draco and Blaise were simply stood there, looking bored. If not for knowing them well enough to recognise their undoubtedly racing hearts, it would have been utterly believable to Severus too. But Draco was a tad paler than usual. Blaise's eyes a little rounder. Enough, but not much, upon which to divine their emotions.

Regardless, the majority of the curses and hexes began to peter out, most people turning half their attention to Harry and Severus, the other half, quite reasonably, remaining on the two entrants.

"If you're all quite done?" The eyebrow raised by Harry was almost amused, honestly, if perhaps a  bit morbidly so. And his sardonic tone was what truly brought everyone to a stop, something almost fearful in their expressions. The young man saw that hesitance, that bordering-on-fear, and didn't hesitate to allay it.

"They are here with my full confidence and absolutely no less. We have Oaths and further protections in place regardless. And tonight I asked them to come here to give you first-hand accounts of the information we have to relay, to offer it in good faith. Before then, I have something else to tell you all: the spy network for the Order are the Ravens. And," he tacked on, talking through the deep shiver of magic shifting in the air,
"They are of our cause as much as yourselves. We are all here to take Him down, understood?" There is no give or hesitance in Harry's tones, much the same as his shield, now invisible once again.

The Order, for all that they largely appear worried and on-edge, a few outright scowling, did begin to nod and murmur amongst themselves, losing a lot of the hostility. Draco and Blaise, for their parts, didn't shift, not letting on if they were uncomfortable at either the scrutiny or standing still for almost ten minutes already. Severus offered them the most slight of nods, unnoticed by anyone but Harry and the recipients themselves, in recognition of them being so staunch so far. He could relate to being under the intense scrutiny and distrust of the supposed 'good' side, of being demeaned to the acceptable dark one, to the barely good person who had to repent for his sins by putting his life in danger time and time again.

Yet these two were innocents, or as close as. Blaise was the son of a once-supporter, a defectee herself. Draco, the child of a Death Eater and a now-defectee. Both of them raised in the Darker circles, in high society and rigorous expectations, left to navigate the world as best they could. And they were taking the best opportunities they were given. Including this one.

"If I take down my shield, will I regret it?" Harry asked, cutting through the murmurs with soft words and sharp eyes. The gentle tone didn't match the glimmer of teeth and gleam of Avada Kedavra green and yet it worked. Everyone around the table nodded, even the most reluctant grumbling out acquiescences with a few, Minerva and Filius most distinct amongst them, offering genuine welcomes for the two. It released a little of the tension. All for the better, in Harry's opinion; he hardly wanted to have to break up any fights tonight, particularly not when they were first introducing the Ravens. If it had really been sensible at all, he would have taken everyone's wands. But, better not to get their hackles up with it. Because whilst they were more likely to be able to enact violence with their wands in hand, the unease that not having their primary safety net would introduce most definitely wasn't a desirable one either. No, better to avoid that. 

And Harry trusted himself and Severus to be both fast enough and powerful enough to keep everyone unharmed. It would have to be enough.

"Come and sit down then, Draco, Blaise." A little frisson of surprise fell through the room at the first names and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, such stuffy old wizards. Instead, he brandished his wand, other hand settled atop the table, ready to deflect anything that might be sent out, disestablishing his own shield and beckoning the Ravens representatives forwards in one fluid motion. Severus, of course, was Conjuring up two chairs, slotting them easily into the deliberate gap left to either side of Harry, making their end of the table a little tighter than usual but certainly not to a problematic point. Frankly, the closeness felt more like solidarity than entrapment. Thank Merlin, because Harry and Severus were relying on the Ravens to be the coolest and calmest in the room, if only to keep any accusation baseless. The whole evening was about risk-minimising, for the Ravens, the Order and the longer-term war effort.

Speaking of which.

"Do you two want to start, or shall I?" And they both keep their exasperated expressions hidden, Draco nodding to Blaise who huffs, silent and short, before speaking up,

"Blaise Zabini. Harry tells us that you've all noticed the recent escalations in attacks? That trend is set to continue, culminating some time relatively soon. The Dark Lord is... looking forward to something. Some event. There are plans and plots, a lot of strings on the Board of Governors and in several Ministry departments being pulled. Not all of these will be directly related to whatever the event is, but suffice to say if he's eagerly anticipating it, it won't be pretty." For a long few seconds, there was silence, still and contemplative. Then, of course, they all burst out into noise.

"How can you-?"

"They're Dark! They have-!"

"Who are they to-?"

"Death Eaters-!"

"You can't even think of-!"

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"  Harry roared, shooting to his feet, not even needing his wand to send off sparks that skittered against the floor and table, leaving little scorch marks. Although they fizzled to nothing against those around him. And for all that it akes half a moment, everyone does quieten down, glaring mutinously at the two Ravens, or offering Harry himself disbelieving glances.

"You accepted Severus as a spy for years, both in the First War and only two months ago. I refuse to believe that you wouldn't offer our Ravens the same courtesy. Well, I say courtesy, but frankly it's good sense. We need intelligence. We need allies and information and a chance in hell of wining this war. They give us a portion of that chance. A massive portion. Don't fail yourselves now." Sparks slowing, Harry retook his seat, chin held high, arms folded, wand practically abandoned on the table top. He didn't need it to best them, and he knew it. They knew it too.

Their concession was proof.

"With that over with. I can assure you, in full truth, that all of the Ravens are under Oath to act only in our interests. They have the room to be able to fight us, yes, because anything more would sentence them to a torturous death of the type we, might I remind you, are trying to prevent. But doing so is, in broader terms, for the sake of our cause. Hence it being possible. And, before you ask, the benefit of the Order is dictated by the Severus and I's intentions, alright?" And here Harry softened some; still unyielding, but cushioning the metaphorical blow all the same.

And finally, the positive replies seemed less begrudging and belligerent and more genuine, thorough. They had all been given a little time to become accustomed to the idea now, after all, and having the comparison to someone who was rather a staple Order member, albeit a long-controversial one, had clearly smoothed the path to that somewhat. A near-Slytherin indeed. Merlin, his brat was truly an enigma.

"If we may go on, I want to theorise on just what this plan of His might be. We're looking at a timeframe within the next two months, most likely. Of course, Halloween falls within that and we're all aware of his patterns. Or propensity for drama at least..."

When the Order Meeting adjourned that night, Harry and Severus stayed behind, gesturing for Blaise and Draco to do the same.

"Are you both alright? I reckon that had to be pretty shoddy," the young man offered, a sympathetic smile flickering across his face. The two teens both nodded.

"A bloody nightmare honestly, but at least they seemed to get the idea eventually."

"Yes, I think you'll find there's a lot of stubborn people about. Which is great, so long as they still listen."

"You really are their leader, aren't you?" Draco muttered, something almost petulant in his tone. Yet when he met Harry's eyes, relief was the most prominent gleam in the steel grey. Understandable, truly. The Ravens had gambled, throwing their lot in with the enemies, even whilst having to keep a foot in the other camp, as it were. Not an easy thing to live with. Not at all.

"I am. I haven't lied to you, not since that first meeting. Whatever power I've presumed to have is included within that; we wouldn't have initiated the Ravens if we didn't think we could back it up."

"Indeed not," Severus concurred, almost reaching out to grasp Harry's hand, but instantaneously switching the movement to picking up his coffee mug, draining the dregs without another word. Honestly, he must keep his self-control up. He had more important things to be focusing on at the present time than the warmth of Harry's skin and the softness of his touch. Yes, more important things indeed, he admonished himself, focusing back on the conversation at hand.

They arrived home not long later, having first seen to Draco and Blaise safely leaving Grimmauld Place for Hogwarts once again. And even before they got halfway through the kitchen, the elder reached out.

"Some stress relief, perhaps?" Severus enquired, pausing Harry with a gentle touch to the arm. The young man, quite subconsciously, leant into the touch, a flower to sunlight, and smiled up at his companion. He loved contact with Severus, even through clothing. There was something so settling, so reassuring about it that had his heart aglow beneath his ribs. So truly wonderful.

"I don't see why not," Harry smirked, trailing his own fingers across the line of Severus' shoulder, gratified to see the elder also leaning into his touch a little. Turnabout is fair play after all.

From there, they were quick to head down into the Duelling area of their basement, wands in hand and curses running through their minds already.

"On three?"

"Why not? Three, two-" They both moved, Harry charging forwards, Severus to the side. 

"Ut oriri captionem!" the Potions Master spat out, curls of the stone flooring rising up to clutch at Harry's legs. The younger didn't waste time cursing, instead directing a Featherlight Charm at himself and pushing off, flipping neatly off of the ground, managing to ricochet off of the ceiling just in time to deflect a series of Bombardas and Stunners. And if he sent a few Severus' way to keep him occupied then it wasn't a bad idea at all.

Particularly when it gave him the chance to swirl his wand once, twice, thrice, hissing all the while,

₰ Come to me and obey. Surround him, trap his limbs, but do not bite. This I ask of you. ₰  And so, even as he cancelled his Featherweight, landing steadily on his feet and moving once again, four snakes phased into existence, dropping around Severus, quick to slide up and over him, difficult to dislodge all at once. Their bodies were long and thin, akin to rope in both shape and colour, a pale ivory. Of course, the vibrant green and yellow down their backs rather ruined the effect. They were still too reminiscent of Yellow Anacondas for the elder's comfort.

"Resourceful," the man offered, tone cordial even as he erected a shield and began to chant counter-curses. As his legs were being pulled together, one arm trapped to his torso, he finally managed to Banish one of the snakes. Harry, seeing that his advantage was rapidly fading, redoubled his efforts on the shield.

Of course, the splintering of the barrier and the removal of the final snake occurred in perfect tandem.

Harry, more energy remaining, was the first to move again, if only by a split second. That was enough though, as, with a simple,

"Expelliarmus!" Severus' wand went flying into the younger's hand and he took the three paces forwards to set both wands against Severus, one at his gut, the other beneath the edge of his jaw, forcefully tilting the Potion Master's head just far enough sideways to be a surrender.

"I suppose I yield then."

"I think you just might," Harry returned, stepping back with a lazy smirk. That same smirk was soon gone when Severus swooped forwards, arms wide, and spun the young man around, trapping him in a slightly too-tight grip, front to back, Harry's arms trapped within the crossed circle of the elder's, their hands intertwined until they were both holding both of the wands. 

"Might I correct that to a tie?"

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Harry retorted, good-natured for all that his tone was begrudging. Severus merely squeezed him further before releasing him, allowing the shorter man to step away. Of course, Harry turned right back, tucking himself into his partner's chest, arms naturally coming to wrap around a trim waist, taking in a deep breath of the oh-so-delightful scent of ozone and bitter ingredients.

Ut oriri captionem - lit. rise in order to trap - the Floor Bindings Spell, causes strips of whatever the floor is to rise up and curl around the legs/body of the target. Depending on different floor types this will be more difficult to both cast and evade, with earth/dirt being easy to control and destroy or dodge, whereas stone of Muggle concrete is far harder to manipulate but also more likely to keep the target trapped and hurt them, considering the weight and solidity. Wood and fabrics are in between, but do have the addition of possible splinters and friction burns.

Harry utilised a basic Parseltongue rendition of the Serpensortia spell. It summons a small number of snakes (two to five, generally) and inclines them to listen to whatever is asked of them by the Parselmage, in this case Harry. They aren't real beings transported from elsewhere but rather magical constructs, a combination of intention, imagination and prior knowledge of the caster.

Chapter Text

Not even an hour later, Harry lay in their bed, unable to sleep. It was late now, probably after midnight, but his mind wouldn't settle down, his heartrate only slow thanks to the calming influence of Severus' own against his ear.

Biting back a heavy sigh, Harry shifted a little, looking up, ear still pressed to the elder's chest, to be able to watch his sleeping face. Severus was always stunning, but there was a softness, a serenity, to the Potions Master when he was asleep. The arching eyebrows settled some, dark slashes above the vulnerable eyelids, so pale in the faint moonlight, thin enough that the darting of the eyes beneath showed through, giving Harry a sense for if Severus was calmly dreaming or suffering a nightmare. Right now, the elder was calm. A blessing. Knowing the awful sights, sounds, smells, of his own bad dreams, all too often based in memories, gave the younger a stolid appreciation for how Severus' were undoubtedly similarly unpleasant. Not to mention the genuine panic and fear they could elicit in the typically-calm man. Anything that gave Severus chills was something Harry dreaded too.

Regardless, his gaze slipped down from the shadow-framed eyes, bumping over regally high cheekbones, trailing the strong nose, to settle on the thin lips. And oh, how those lips were entrancing. Now that Harry had indulged himself, and been indulged, in a few tastes of those lips, he often found his attention caught by them, a flush rising on his cheeks whenever he realised what he was doing, but he couldn't help himself. Kissing Severus, even less than a handful of times, was simply amazing. Soft, slightly chapped, often a little moist, the warmth behind them, surrounded by their shared scent of bitter-ozone-home, the sensation of sharing air, a moment so intimate and sweet-stolen-satisfying... It culminated into something addictive. Intoxicating.

Yet Harry knew he needed to stop.

Here he was, head pillowed on Severus' chest, one of the elder's arms looped easily around his waist, anchoring them both, the blankets they'd chosen together draped across them for delicious warmth, laying upon the bed they had shared every night for a good few weeks now. They were so close. So attached. And that was where the danger lay, the terrifying reality hitting Harry all over again as he felt the steady rise and fall of the chest beneath him.

They were only mortal. Only human. Harry had a Horcrux, but it wasn't his, it was Voldemort's, and removing it alone might kill him. If he died now, what would happen to Severus? The man was so strong, so fiercely independent, but they were becoming more co-dependent by the day and Harry certainly didn't want to fathom living without the Potions Master. Surely that went both ways. And, with Voldemort building up to some grand event, some major attack or plot, the chances of him targeting those close to Harry were only multiplying by the day. Both he and Severus were going out to assist with raids now and the monster was aware of their involvement, of them fighting together, judging by not only common sense but also intel from the Ravens. That put Severus in even more danger. He was already a traitor to the Dark side, someone who had earned their trust and betrayed them for years. And if that alone wasn't enough of a target, he was now Harry Potter's right-hand man. His daily companion. And if Voldemort ever realised just how much Severus meant to Harry, then that target would increase tenfold again.

Could he really risk Severus like that? The instant, selfish instinct was that yes, he absolutely could, and Severus himself would agree to it. But it only took another few moments' thought to realise that to be the emotional, foolish answer. A gut reaction. Harry didn't deserve to be putting Severus in even more danger than he was already in, let alone when Voldemort was both high and desperate on his increasing destruction; when he was more likely to do something bold and high-risk and potentially lethal than usual. Something like taking Severus. Abducting, torturing, killing him, leaving Harry with nothing but more guilt and responsibility piled upon shoulders already weak with a broken heart.

Because losing Severus? Losing Severus due to his own selfishness and failures at that? It would be more than heart-breaking, it would be soul-shattering.

It was that morbid thought that had Harry slowly, smoothly, rolling over. But contrary to usual, he rolled away from his partn- from Severus, until he was curling into himself, back to the elder, their only point of contact the fine-fingered hand trapped beneath his side, shifted there by Harry's movement. It would have to do for tonight. And, frankly, a part of the younger man, no matter how he attempted to squash it down and shut it up, crowed with the need for that mere touch, selfish fool that he was. Tomorrow, he would do better. But right now, when sleep escaped him and they were safe under the cover of night and their own Wards, he could allow it. Just for tonight.

Come morning, Harry awoke to Severus plastered across his back. Huffing, more angry with himself than at the elder, he wriggled out of the gentle hold, away from the comforting weight, and fought the urge to stomp as he went to shower. He needed to be calm, noncommittal, as though nothing was changing at all. Even if it felt like everything would be changing. It was for the better, it truly was, if it gave Severus even the slightest amount of protection.

Not even half an hour later, Severus too came downstairs, freshly-showered himself, and Harry started moving around. Normally, the kitchen was fair game for hugs from behind, and so the younger began to move, going to fetch ham from the fridge, then going back again for cheese, routing around for the grater in one of the lower cupboards. He had barely even realised how heavily he was closing doors and setting things down until a little cloud of magic softened the cupboard door shutting.

"Someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning." The comment was idle, more observatory than accusing or demanding. It got Harry's hackles up all the same.

"I got out the same side as always, actually." And Merlin-be-damned, that came out far snappier than he'd intended. Of course Severus, being the intelligent bastard of a Slytherin that he was, raised an eyebrow, not missing even a layer of the largely-undirected anger. Still, he left it alone for now, backing off without a word, allowing Harry the space he seemed to need. It made him want to scream, cry and grin all at once. Yet, he recognised his own over-emotional reaction and tamped it down, forced it back, and turned his attention to the omelette he had going on the hob, seeing no point to not making Severus one of his preferred breakfasts. Perhaps it would soften Harry's actions some.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that when Severus figured out what Harry was doing, probably far sooner than desirable, merely 'softening the blow' wouldn't be sufficient. But for now, it appeased some of his own guilt. So it would have to do.

"Here," he offered, plating up the food and setting it down normally. If Severus noticed how the movement was carefully controlled, he refrained from picking Harry up on it, simply inclining his head,

"Thank you Harry."

"Meh, I know you like it." And dammit, his voice had wavered. To keep at least his facial expressions and some of his body language hidden, he turns his attention back to the hob, back to the elder and starting on an omelette for himself as well. It was a little smaller than Severus', but that hardly mattered. Not really.

"Indeed I do," Severus concurred, already bringing a forkful to his mouth. The younger wizard allowed himself a small smile at that. Perhaps he'd managed to divert attention for now...?

Only a few minutes later, he sat down with his own plate, Severus still with half of his meal left, and was immediately faced with a sceptical look.

"Is your portion not a little meagre?"

"What? No, it's fine," Harry brushed him off, starting to eat.

"For a young child, perhaps," the elder sneered, halving his remaining food and casually transferring it to Harry's plate. His deliberately blank expression brooked no argument or protestation, only growing sterner when Harry opened his mouth to do exactly that. When the younger continued to try and talk, Severus didn't even hesitate to shove his own forkful in Harry's face. 

"Eat, idiot brat. Whatever is wrong with you today should not be interfering with your health."  Harry, already giving in, utterly unable to help himself and knowing that Severus wouldn't accept anything less regardless, merely glared, chewing as obnoxiously as possible despite it doing nothing to dampen the Potion Master's self-satisfied smirk. Merlin, he was such a bastard. Such an awful, awful, considerate bastard.

Finishing up his food, keeping his feet to himself even though he would typically hook his ankle with Severus', Harry didn't say a word, nor even looked over at Severus again, quite deliberately focused on his plate. The confusion and slight grumpiness of the elder was almost palpable, adding a sour taste to his mouth. Well, breakfast was thoroughly ruined. Although, frankly, it wasn't entirely a surprise. Today would be an exercise in patience and self-control, to say the least. Wonderful.

"I'm going to do some research. You had some potions to get done, right?"

"I did." And for all that he was agreeing, there was blatant hesitation to the elder's tone, laced over with something akin to conflict, yet more suspicious. Well, at least he wasn't hurt. Harry would far rather deal with scrutiny than with Severus being genuinely offended or upset over this whole thing.

"Right. I'll make lunch for around one?"

"Very well." The words were cool and Severus stood rather abruptly, a simple wand wave setting the crockery and cutlery to washing themselves. For the almost dismissive demeanour, he still laid a brief hand upon Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently, comfortingly. A silent invitation to come to him whenever, for whatever. A reassurance. The knowledge sent another pang of pain through the shorter's chest, emanating around his heart, rising heat against his ribs and white-hot on his lungs, but he ignored it, refusing to flinch; the pain of knowing he was pushing Severus away was his own fault and his own burden. He shouldn't have been so insistent upon becoming closer in the first time.

Not when it was endangering his most precious person.

With that settled, Harry waited until Severus' footsteps had faded out of hearing, the closing of the door to the potions lab barely audible, before he stood up himself. And immediately wobbled. Merlin, he should've slept more last night. Sleep deprivation and emotional upheaval were far from a favourable combination, clearly.

Regardless, he gathered himself, scowling, and headed into the library, collecting his current notes from his desk and ferrying them over to the corner of the room where he could sprawl out on their- on the sofa and skim back through the information and plans, trying to spot any discrepancies and missed mistakes or opportunities. Whilst Severus had been researching, primarily, for a way to deal with Harry's Horcrux, the wizard in question had been largely looking into possible ways to deal with the Dark Mark. Severus, at the very least, needed his gone. And, one day, the Ravens would too. It would be something truly wonderful to be able to grant them; if he could ever figure it out anyway.

"What if it's more simple than I've made it...?" he pondered, looking over some of his more complex theories. The Dark Mark itself was a combination of three different spells, tied together through Parseltongue and willpower, but Harry had no doubt that his own bullheadedness could overwhelm the Mark. He'd just need the right chance to, so to speak. Perhaps if he...

Without a thought or gesture, a quill found its way into his hand and he sat up, hunching over to lean on the coffee table.

"It's three spells, but they're cast as one, so surely a single unlocking mechanism would be better... If I do think of it as unlocking rather than dismantling, then simply dispelling the stain of it would be enough. The tattoo means that it's close to the surface anyway and chances are that will carry through to the metaphysical as well as the somatic..." Again, his magic acted independently, pulling a short series of books to his side, several on Parselmagic and another three on rituals and bindings. Removing something this Dark would require magic of a similar kin, possibly just as Dark, but Harry was more than willing to go there, if that's what it took. For Severus, he would do anything, from dabbling in the Darkest Magicks to killing or dying, without hesitation. And that included hurting their relationship, whatever it could be labelled as. If it kept Severus safe, it would be worth it. It would. 

Several hours later, the two were once again sat in the kitchen, this time with simple sandwiches and crisps, when Harry spoke up,

"I think I've had a bit of a breakthrough on the Dark Mark stuff. Do you think you'd look it over, see if we would go through with it sooner rather than later?"  Severus seemed to lose tension at the almost-excited tone and the faint smile, tinged with hope. Harry ignored his own guilt at the elder's relief and steadfastedly kept the smile.

"I do believe we might."

"Brilliant," Harry offered, cutting the conversation off again with food. Merlin, this was even harder than he'd thought it would be. But for Severus, he would do it.

Severus was... unsettled. He had been all day, ever since waking up to find himself curled around an empty space, the sound of the shower already running. If Harry had a nightmare, he was almost guaranteed to have been woken by it, and whoever woke first usually roused the other of them relatively quickly. Or, well, at least before leaving the room entirely. This wasn't right, frankly.

Feeling oddly chilled, Severus rolled onto his back, taking in the grain of the dark wooden beams keeping the ceiling at bay, and waited for Harry to finish in the bathroom. And yet, even more peculiarly, when the younger did step out of said bathroom, he barely glanced over at Severus, the brief flicker of attention not even enough to register that he was awake. It renewed the chill running down his back. Huffing out a disgruntled sigh, the older man levered himself up and headed in to shower as well, the slightly clammy bathroom smelling distinctly of Harry and that refreshing shampoo of his, sweet and soft. Funny brat.

His arrival downstairs was heralded by the slightly too-loud clatter of cupboard doors and pans, as though Harry was half-asleep or angry which, judging by how vigorously the younger was moving, would be the latter. 

"Someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning," Severus observed, trying not to sound too committal either way, even with the little dampening spell he offered the current victim-cupboard. If the brat took offence to him now his chances of pulling the silly man out of this mood would be far, far lower.

"I got out the same side as always, actually."   Merlin, Harry really was grumpy, wasn't he? And to think he'd bothered to be even close to light-hearted. Hm, better to let him work it out for now, see where Harry got to by himself without Severus interfering and potentially making things worse. Although, if Harry was serving him his favourite omelette, judging by the enticing scent and choice of ingredients laid out, then perhaps it wasn't too bad in the first place.

That hope was immediately crushed upon seeing the younger's own portion. Merlin, it was like backtracking months of progress. Harry had been so good about eating full meals, particularly since they had moved to their cottage together, but this was more akin to what he'd eat at the beginning of the school year after a summer of starvation at the hands of those bloody Muggle relatives. And there was no way that Severus would allow Harry to come even slightly close to starving himself, absolutely not. It would be unacceptable.

Hence giving the brat a decent portion of his own meal and quite unabashedly making the dunderhead eat. Better they both go a little hungry than Harry having a distinctly lacking amount.

Lunch, fortunately, didn't see a repeat of the same stunt, and Severus was far more content digging into his sandwich than he had been his omelette. Although Harry had been almost dismissive of him this morning, there was more energy to him now. It was certainly a relief.

"I think I've had a bit of a breakthrough on the Dark Mark stuff. Do you think you'd look it over, see if we would go through with it sooner rather than later?"  And that was even better; some genuine enthusiasm and life: what Harry should always possess. Severus would rather the younger man be sickeningly lively than quietly grumpy and upset. So what could he do but agree?

"I do believe we might."

Hopefully Harry would only continue to get brighter as the day went on.

Chapter Text

Severus read over Harry's notes, all of the tabbed book passages and the scribbles, plus an occasional diagram, taking in every word and thought process, and came to the conclusion that they were inspired. There were some leaps of logic, of course, but they truly were logical. At least for magic. And the conclusion was certainly a favourable one.

"Have you looked more into the related rituals? Some of them may indicate any pitfalls that we've missed."

"Not much really, so I guess that's this afternoon's job then. You can go back to your potions, thanks."  Severus couldn't help but stutter in place, hand pausing in the process of shifting a small pile of books. He'd intended to research with the younger man, to see what they could find together. To be so casually dismissed was... well, on the surface, quite the insult. But truly, it was more off-putting. Hopefully Harry was simply entrenched in his own head, wanting to get on with it, utilising whatever system he may have developed throughout this course of theories and facts so far, rather than intentionally sending Severus away.

And for all that he hoped so, the elder couldn't help but wonder if there was something deeper to it.

"Very well. If you wish for assistance, do feel free to come down." There, that was neutral enough, surely. An open invitation. And if Severus was a little... disheartened by the mere distracted nod he received in acknowledgement, then he was too busy standing to leave to really admit it.

That evening, having finished up a more complex healing potion for the Order's stocks, Severus headed back up the stairs, anticipating whatever they might have for dinner. There was some pork shoulder, and Harry would usually stew or casserole such a cut, which would be enjoyable, particularly with the fresh seeded bread they had, hopefully already buttered ready for dinner in half an hour...

Entering the kitchen to find it silent and scentless had Severus' hackles rising. Odd. Perhaps Harry was doing something different to anticipated- But no, there was nothing on the hob, oven turned off, counters empty of ingredients, prepared or not, and a blatant lack of use to the dry sink and all-clean crockery. Harry hadn't even started cooking yet. And Severus didn't necessarily mind, didn't require Harry to cook, but they had a system developed, one that they were both quite happy with. Or so he had thought. No, Harry was mostly likely just enveloped in a time-blurred haze of research, unaware that it was getting on into the evening. Accordingly, Severus spun neatly on his heel and walked, soft-footed, through the open double doors to the library. Lounge, whatever. They both thought of it as the library, he was sure.

"Brat?" He tried to keep any accusation or demand out of his tone. Food was all too often a slightly delicate subject with Harry, for good reason, particularly when it came to cooking it, thanks to those bloody Dursleys. Regardless, the young man in question jerked in place at the abruptly louder noise, ink splattering, fortunately on the blank section of his current parchment, wide green eyes a tad glossy and vague. Well, that didn't bode well. 

"Are you quite well, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh, yeh, I'm fine thanks. You?"

"Just fine, thank you." And here Severus paused, weighing his words with care, less hesitating and more considering,
"Did you have particular plans for dinner?"

"I was going to do a casserole. If you're hungry, why don't you have a snack? We bought those seedless grapes you like." There was an odd tone to that, incongruous with the familiar knowledge of the elder, too apathetic to suit. It had little showers of powdered ice fluttering along his spine. Chilling, unpleasant, unsettling. And all too good a match to how his teeth were set on edge. 

Ignoring that, Severus debated how to proceed. He didn't want to risk offending Harry or, even worse, hurting him, reminding him of his poor past, let alone when he's already off-kilter. 

Before he could attempt to say or do anything more, the shorter stood, a dull flash of red light piercing the air between them, Harry's mouth opening soundlessly at the time displayed, before tightening to pursed lips and stiff movements. Ah, time for a plan then.

"I had thought we might order a Muggle takeaway. Would the Indian across from your tattoo shop be open?" And thank Merlin, there was a loss of tension then. Less thankfully, instead of swaying forwards to lean into Severus, the younger instead leant back, to settle, propped up by his desk, the direct opposite. Something in Severus' chest yearned. Gathered loss and darkness around itself in a blanket of negativity, beyond discontent with Harry's actions. He wasn't blaming the younger man. Not now, not yet, unless it became more than justified, but that didn't prevent a part of him cringing back and another lunging forward, one ready to flee, the second to fight, both to protect himself. Yet it was clearly Harry who had some kind of issue. Whether it related directly to Severus himself... The Potions Master could only hope it didn't.

When they were eating, not even an hour later, it still had claws in his guts when there was no warmth and pressure of an ankle hooking around his own, nor subtle brushes of elbows or the more overt leaning into each other. Harry was pulling away, no doubt about it. Now he had to figure out why.

That night, Harry fell asleep quickly, much to Severus' relief. They weren't curled up against each other, now laid out with legs intertwined, but the younger man had slumped into bed such that his arm reached out to latch in Severus' sleepshirt, fingers gripping tightly enough to wrinkle the soft fabric. And for all that he would usually complain, no matter how half-heartedly, at the lack of respect for ironed clothing, the elder wasn't inclined to utter a single word. Particularly not when Harry, more than bleary-eyed even as he had approached their bed, was already breathing deeply and steadily, dead to the world. Ah, a poor choice of words. Sleeping like a log then; it was more apt in every sense.

Laying there, unable to find his own rest just yet, Severus observed as Harry, still thoroughly asleep, gradually reeled himself in. That one hand latched in the older man's shirt became an arm slung over his ribs, fingers casually brushing at the pale crook of his elbow. From there, Harry grumbled, scrunching his nose up periodically, until he had shifted over to be pressed side-to-side with his companion. Next in the progression came the shorter hooking one leg across both of Severus', bending at the knee just enough for his calf to follow the line of the elder's, maximising the skin contact.

By now, Severus himself was half-asleep, absentmindedly shifting fine fingers through wild black waves, petting an ocean of thunderclouds, all soft and roiling and dark, barely moving enough to truly call it petting. It was a gentle affection all the same. A gratitude that if Harry's conscious was distant and disconcerted, his subconscious still reached out to Severus. 

It's that sweeter thought that he finally falls asleep to.

It was the next morning, staring down at Harry's peaceful face, calm in repose, when the most awful thought occurred to Severus. His brat's research was focused around ways to remove the Dark Mark. Severus' Dark Mark. And whilst the younger man had only been perfectly accepting of him, Mark and all, over the last few months, there was a new fear growing in the Potions Master's mind. His Mark was a vile thing, tainted and bloody and a mar practically upon his very soul. It's existence was entrenched in such potent darkness. And doing such in-depth research as Harry was, learning such a vast amount about some of the Darkest magic, all in relation to this blasted brand... It might just have reminded Harry of Severus' past. His ability to hurt and kill and brew in the name of a monster, under a banner of blood and bone and perverting magic and society through force, if nothing else.

Perhaps Harry hated him once again. Saw every single part of him and found him wanting in all the worst ways, found him to be unworthy of the affection and care they had been sharing so freely until only a few days ago. Perhaps Severus disgusted the younger man.

Perhaps he deserved to be pulled away from.

Thinking as such would do no good, he knew. For one, it might not even be the problem and he was merely catastrophising, imagining the worst in some misguided logic. And second, there was little he could do if Harry was re-realising the darkness in Severus. It was something the younger would either have to come to terms with of his own accord, or not. In the mean time, the elder could only be present, try and act as he usually did, being there for Harry, supporting him, talking as equals and offering casual, comfortable contact whenever and for whatever reason. Surely, there was no better way to deal with such an issue. Many supposed solutions would only blow up in his face sooner rather than later, perhaps literally so when considering Harry's rather wild magic. They could both do without the hassle of that.

Before Severus could think on, there was the slight speeding of breath in the chest resting atop his own that told distinctly of Harry beginning to wake up. Yet the elder couldn't bring himself to move. One hand was still buried, if much more loosely, in the unruly hair, his other arm folded just enough to rest a hand at the younger's hip, revelling in the distinct heat beneath the t-shirt, which had ridden up just enough that part of Severus' hand was against bare skin. And that was deliciously supple and warm, so delightful a sensation that he couldn't help but want to bottle it, brew a memory of it to keep forever close. Even more so when the younger was truly rousing, beginning to shift. And for a long, wonderful moment he sagged further against Severus, a long breath being gradually released. The soft exhalation tickled at the elder's collar bone, not irritating but rather welcome, an evidence of life and intimacy that he so dearly needed confirming, if perhaps not consciously on either of their parts. All the same, it was most lovely.

Until the moment when Harry jolted up, one palm jamming itself on Severus' shoulder as the younger wizard abruptly sat himself up, wide-eyed and scowling fiercely.

"Brat?"  For a second time in as many seconds, Harry startled, staring down at the Potions Master with a shadowed gaze. The lines of his face were taut, mouth drawn tight, hands half-curled until the one against Severus' shoulders had the nails digging in. This- He doesn't like this. Not at all; so many things with this picture are wrong, several more out of place, and it's putting them both on edge, clearly.

"Seve- Sorry," he breathed, twisting to settle down, sat a good half a foot from the elder, drawing both of his arms in close. He doesn't seem to notice his own trembling, nor how their blankets have pulled and twisted with his movements, too tight across his knees and gathering only halfway up Severus' torso, causing him to shiver, just once, at the temperature change. Or at the atmosphere change, more accurately.

"Dare I ask what that was?" Severus asked, keeping his tone relatively light as he pulled himself into a sitting position. When Harry failed to answer or even look at him, no acknowledgement to be made, he was already tsking softly under his breath and had stretched out an arm to wrap around the quivering shoulders, to gently pull Harry into the safety of his side. And yet, the moment he touched the younger man, Harry was letting out a near-silent cry, flinching and trembling all the more violently. Practically cowering. And for all that there was nothing akin to a panic attack in his demeanour, the head-haze clouding the green eyes were all too akin to it and he was scrambling back, right to the edge of the bed, barely keeping himself from falling. Those shadowed eyes locked onto Severus with a fever-bright intensity, all reluctance and conflict and Merlin-forsaken fear.

So, despite all of his logic and reasonings to himself only this minutes earlier, something inside Severus' chest snapped, ballooning out with a fury so incandescent that it glowed in the heat waves abruptly encircling his hands, air warping and warring,

"Are you avoiding me because I disgust you?"   

Chapter Text

So, despite all of his logic and reasonings to himself only a few minutes earlier, something inside Severus' chest snapped, ballooning out with a fury so incandescent that it glowed in the heat waves abruptly encircling his hands, air warping and warring,

"Are you avoiding me because I disgust you?"   

There was a stagnant eternity then. The fear-fuelled fury in Severus refused to abate, lapping around his heart in crashing waves as sharp as knives, the heat emanating from his hands flaring to match, hiding the tremor to his fingers. And so he watched on as Harry faltered, froze, shadowed eyes clearing with a single flash of Avada Kedavra green, the vividity swallowed by a fear strong enough to reflect the elder's. And yet the hesitation stayed, the younger man not uncurling from his ball, conflict blatant in his tense limbs and flickering gaze. The Potions Master watched on, waiting, hoping against hope that he was wrong, the tempest whirling inside of him not allowing him to express that hope, feeling so very distant from Harry, for all that there was only a scant metre between them. It was too great a distance to traverse by himself.

Eventually, Harry seemed to regain some type of awareness, eyes briefly meeting with Severus' before darting back down to the bedspread. Then he paused again, hands fisting, before blurting out,

"No! Severus, I swear to you, you don't disgust me, I'm not scared of you. You couldn't, never again. I know you now. I know better-" 

"Then why continue to pull away from me, Harry? All you've done is grow more distant and I'm sick and tired of it, even after only a few days."

"I- I haven't-"

"Don't lie to me Potter!" Severus roared, utterly unable to help himself, but when Harry flinched, regret swarmed him like pixies.
"I- I apologise for shouting Harry, but you need to- I need..."

They both knew full well that Severus rarely admitted his needs and wants, or at least those closest to his heart, and it was those two words, choked off though they were, that had Harry's head snapping up, eyes wide.

"Severus," he croaked, one trembling hand reaching forwards, but retracting before Severus could extend his own out in turn. 

"Harry, my brat, tell me you understand. We're- It's beyond definition, but we are close, yes?"  And Merlin exposing himself like this hurt, but if it got through to Harry, then it would be worth it. Surely it would.

"That's the problem!"

"How by Merlin's beard is that a problem if you're not disgusted by my darkness?"

"Your darkn- Severus, you're not Dark! Not in that way! I trust you, I swear. But us- us being close puts you in so much more danger and I can't lose you, not to Death, yet losing you in a half-way, in a way under my own control, when I have only myself to blame? That- That's bloody awful, but it's bearable. It's only another weight upon my shoulders, but a lighter one than if you died because of me. Do you understand Severus? Can you comprehend that I only want to see you breathing and alive and smiling? I want you to be happy and you- Severus, you can't be happy if you're dead." 

Harry promptly dissolved into himself again, crumpling into an even tighter ball and very nearly toppling off the bed, the most heart-wrenching keening pulled from his throat. Something inside Severus cracked at the sight, the awful sound echoing in his ears. It felt like a death knoll. A vulnerable noise that pierced the air long and low, crackling through the room with the steady presence of blatant anguish. And the older man couldn't stand it.

Severus reached forwards, fingertips barely brushing across the back of Harry's hand. So hesitant, so kind, so- so needed.

Still keening, Harry bowed forwards, curling over their hands but never pulling away, utterly unable to contemplate losing that tiny piece of contact. And, in response, that contact grew, Severus shifting to interlace their fingers. It had Harry close to tears again. Merlin, he had missed Severus, viscerally so, lost and adrift and aching without the grounding touch, that deep voice rumbling away above him, a litany of meaningless words that washed over Harry like a tide, consistent and moonlit, moon-guided. 

"Hush now Harry, I'm here, we're alright, we're safe, together, hush now, hush, it's alright, we're together..." The world, grey-warped, began to glimmer once again,  silver first, colours bleeding in, matching the tempo of his heartbeat, the rhythm of Severus' voice, the cadence of their shared existence. It was such a relief. A reprieve.

"Missed you, Sev'rus, Merlin, I'm so sorry-"  Harry gasped in a breath, loud but useless, only to be shushed by the elder once again.

"Oh Harry, my brat, precious, idiot fool of mine, it's alright now. I understand. I know why you did it, I do. Not your wisest choice, my Harry, but an understandable one."  The younger man shuddered again, almost sobbing, eyelashes dampening but no tears quite falling, collapsing forwards until his head collided with Severus' chest and the elder's free arm came to hold him close, the other hand still clasping Harry's tightly, and they curled into each other, surrounding themselves with the warmth and ozone-ingredients-home scent and overwhelming comfort of just being together. Of holding each other close.

Even so, that contact wasn't enough, and they thoughtlessly migrated, Severus leaning back against the headboard and drawing Harry along with him, the younger easily shifting with him until he was straddling Severus' lap, face tucked into the junction of his partner's neck, wrapping both arms around the elder's chest, worming between the man's back and the headboard. Said elder, for his part, looped his grip around Harry's waist, secure and soft all at once. He shamelessly turned his head just perfectly to hide his face in the wild locks there, sweet-smelling as ever.

Finally, they could both breathe. 

It was an interminable but restorative time before either of them even tried to move again, lost in each other. However, Harry had to eventually shift just enough to be able to speak clearly, Severus now hooking his chin atop the brat's head, staying as close as they could. Craving the contact. Yet even with the comfort, Harry's voice was low and creaky, splintering along the edges,

"I- I just seem to make the same mistakes over and over again, don't I?"

"Ah, the wonders of trauma." And for all of his sarcasm, Severus almost instantaneously sobered again, brows drawing together,
"It's the unfortunate nature of such things, Harry. Your role, if you haven't yet reached a point of healing, a point of change, is to fall back on those who- who will support you unconditionally."

"And I can count on you for that?"  There was no indignation or suspicion in the words; the way Harry moved to peer up at the elder through clinging lashes, cheeks slightly flushed, was far more telling.

"You can, my silly brat."   

No more words were necessary, following that. They would have only wasted time and breath. Instead, Harry sunk further into the open arms offered to him, tucking his face into Severus' shoulder once again with no hesitation, breathing deeply and listening closely. The soothing heartbeat beneath him was a balm, a blessing, so very grounding. Severus was alive and they were together.

"I hardly wish to perpetuate miserable conversations but Harry, it must be said, I do not care if us being like this brings more danger upon me," Severus paused there, let the words sink in. The shorter man kept his face hidden, stayed close, but the abrupt tension lancing through his aching bones must have been more than enough for his partner to be able to tell that he was listening.

"I'm already a target. Consider your own argument, moons ago now, for your friends to be a part of Order Meetings. Their relationship to you isn't the be-all and end-all of their existence, just as ours isn't for my own. It's important, most certainly, integral even. Rather. But there are, I'm afraid to say, many reasons why He will and has targeted me, almost as many as yourself, if none quite as vehement. Harry, we already know we're both at risk. Protecting each other, keeping ourselves functioning like this, won't hurt us. Won't hinder us. But it might hinder Him, should we go on strengthening each other as we have been. And..." His words trailed off, a sun lost behind clouds, and Harry sat up, leaning back just enough to search for that sun, to meet those dark amber eyes and find the man he knew to be there.

"Severus?"  He was offered a flash of a smile in return, the expression wan yet fond,

"And I, quite frankly, wouldn't wish to change our... dynamic for any reason. Not now, nor in the future. Regardless of the war and its happenings."

Those were words that some part of Harry, deep in his chest, resting against his spine, coiling and curling there like a serpent, reared tall at, a half-hiss, half-roar of pride and relief and joy rattling through him and he grinned, utterly unabashed, at Severus. It had his eyes flashing and flaring with a green so pure and vivid, all shadows pushed to the edges, that went beyond any dye or forest or emerald, an aurora of their own, and Severus bathed in that effervescence, lips curling into a languid smile. The man in his lap was surely the most stunning being in existence. He could accept no other explanation for the way that his heart pounded and his cheeks coloured, fixated. Fascinated.

"Harry, my brat, I-"

A burst of silver light had them both whipping around, hands raised only to be faced with the Abraxan of Draco's Patronus.

'Severus, Potter, He's planning a daylight raid of some sort. Ten this morning. I only have the street name, I'm sorry, but it's Privet Drive. Surely there can't be too man- I have to go. They'll be out in force. It's important. I don't know why, but it is and-.'   It cut off there, but there was only urgency to his voice, no panic or fear, so Severus doesn't fear for him. He's rather preoccupied with how Harry is utterly still in his lap, chest frozen, gaze unseeing. What on earth...

The meaning of the street name given abruptly sank in, physically jolting the Potions Master in place. Fuck. Of course the Dark Lord was bound to gain the address of those bloody Muggle relatives sooner or later; they should have moved them, but such thoughts were of no use now. No, Severus needed to mobilise the rest of the Order, those available during the day-time, Merlin, and then do something about the young man who was practically catatonic.

"Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum." And so he had three jaguars circling in the air, two of them rubbing up against Harry to no avail.

"Take messages to Moody, Amelia and... Kingsley should be off-shift. Inform Moody and Kingsley that they should spread the word and head to Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey for ten, in a little over an hour. Those living at number four are the primary targets. Harry and I will be along if possible, but we are currently indisposed. Amelia, please mobilise the Aurors as soon as you judge wise, though the earlier the better - I will trust you to get any Order members out should it be necessary."

With that organised and out of the way, the three jaguars dissolving into the wall, Severus turned his full attention to Harry. To the brat who was shivering in place, still all too blank behind the eyes. 

Keeping his movements slow and telegraphed, Severus grasped the two hands, rubbing warmth into the flesh.

"Harry? Come on, silly imp, come back to me. Come on Harry, I'm here, are you aware of me? Can you feel this touch? No? Come on, foolish brat, return to yourself..."  Yet it was doing no good. Scowl setting in more deeply, Severus released the younger's hands, carefully depositing them together in Harry's lap, fingers trailing over his knees to brush at Severus' own thighs, and instead reached up to cup the too-pale cheeks, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, trying to coax out some kind of reaction. Any reaction.

It didn't work. Or rather, nothing constructive happened, not before Severus noticed Harry beginning to scratch at his own arms subconsciously. Within a few moments, Severus snatched up the younger's hands once more, holding them close to his own chest, pressing them there, allowing Harry to feel his heartbeat. It must have done some good, as some of that awful vacancy cleared from the young man's face, but horror instantaneously replaced it, a low murmur building up,

“God, Merlin, fuck, they might be dead, I hate them- fuck it all. I hated them- Merlin, my fault- no, no, no- not again-”

“Hush Harry. Take a deep breath in for me: in, two, three, four,” he counted up slowly, trying to sound as level-headed as possible, despite the choking and gasping of the Boy Wonder. Despite having to watch this brave, selfless man spiral and fall apart before him.

It took something around half an hour for Harry’s chest to stop heaving completely and his eyes to being to droop, somewhat watery. He was still trembling, but it had died down enough to be less of a concern.

“Sorry Sev’rus. Didn’t mean to freak out. Sorry, thank you, sorry. I- I-”

“Why don’t you go to sleep, yes? I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Lay down now, that’s it. Don’t worry, stay there, you can go beneath the blankets here. That’s it, sleep. I’ll wake you up if need be, don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.” Severus allowed his voice to remain honey-sweet, dark and smooth, trying to keep Harry calm and tired. The brat needed the rest. Fucking Voldemort, had to target the heinous Muggles, didn’t he? Oh no, it’s not like Harry didn’t already have enough on his shoulders, didn’t already take on enough guilt and responsibility that wasn’t his. This was the last thing the young man had needed.

But it was happening. And that meant dealing with the fallout however they could.

Chapter Text

“Sorry Sev’rus. Didn’t mean to freak out. Sorry, thank you, sorry. I- I-”

“Why don’t you go to sleep, yes? I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Lay down now, that’s it. Don’t worry, stay there, you can go beneath the blankets here. That’s it, sleep. I’ll wake you up if need be, don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.” Severus allowed his voice to remain honey-sweet, dark and smooth, trying to keep Harry calm and tired. The brat needed the rest. Fucking Voldemort, had to target the heinous Muggles, didn’t he? Oh no, it’s not like Harry didn’t already have enough on his shoulders, didn’t already take on enough guilt and responsibility that wasn’t his. This was the last thing the young man had needed.

But it was happening. And that meant dealing with the fallout however they could.

Severus leant back against their bedroom door, fingers tracing the wood grain, and huffed to himself, debating just how to approach this situation. He hardly wanted to leave Harry alone in the house, not when he was in such a poor mental state, but Severus also knew that the younger might not forgive him should something happen to the Order when at least one of them could have helped. Could have been there. Part of that was his own selflessness, not seeing himself as worth more than any other person, and too-often even less and yet Severus holds Harry above all others, and only a little from a war perspective. No, so much of that had been swallowed up by his personal views. How Harry was his brat, pure and simple. And that made him Severus' priority, before all else and constant, consistent. They were each other's.

Which is exactly why Severus was now headed downstairs. He's got... just about half an hour, according to a quick Tempus, until he should be going to Grimmauld Place to meet up with those of the Order who were to be there. He would go to Surrey and he would protect those blasted Muggles, whomever of them were actually there on a Friday morning, and then he would return to Harry, to his brat, and know he'd done him proud. Done right by him. 

Regardless, half an hour is comfortably long enough for Severus to spend ten minutes putting together quick ham sandwiches for himself and Harry, eating his even as he makes another for the younger wizard, placing it under a cooling charm on the bar counter ready for whenever the brat woke up, wolfing down the final half of his own even as he descended into the basement to put together a small arsenal of potions. A sturdy dragonhide belt, enchanted to the nines, held a dozen vials, allowing him to bring a few explosives, a poison, a few corrosives and then a good seven healing potions. Only yesterday he had finally finished charming and Warding both the potions and the belt itself so that they couldn't be detached or shattered, nor even cut, without his deliberate influence and it would be nothing short of a godsend, he had no doubt. Any way to conserve magical reserves was. And with up to three people that he had a particular need to protect tonight... Well, Severus was taking no chances.

Harry woke up to heavy limbs and a too-slow heartrate, eyes gritty and burning. What... Had something-

In a jolt of realisation, Harry shot up, ignoring how he still ached to fall right back to sleep and forced himself to think. To remember. Severus had confronted him and they'd talked, and then it had seemed like Severus was going to confess something before they were interrupted by- Shit, by a Patronus from Draco. The fucking Dursleys were being targeted because of course they were and it's all his fault, they might die because of him and the very thought of that has his chest hitching and heaving again already, hands trembling where the clutch into the blankets and he can't bre-

A piece of parchment smacked him in the face. Blinking, Harry sucked in a solid breath, then another as his Quidditch instincts had his eyes following the small circles that the parchment flew in before it thwacked him in the nose again. Sneezing, he reached up to bat at it and, the moment his hand touched the folded piece, it fell onto the bed without a sound, though it continued to flutter occasionally until he finally picked the thing up and opened it up. Oh, a note from Severus. He probably shouldn't be surprised that the man had left him one, although he very much wanted to just rush out of the door that instant.

Harry, I have left for Grimmauld Place and whilst I hope for you to be able to sleep until I return, I suspect you might not. As such, I have left this note along with a small meal downstairs. Please, shower and eat, sleep again if you need, and I shall return home soon. Be safe, my brat.

Harry's first thought, unsurprisingly, was a resounding 'no'. But then he paused, re-read Severus' note, the familiar handwriting, all spiky and scrawling, settling something inside his chest that he hadn't realised to be unsettled in the first place. First, he would check the time. And then he'd decide what to do.

Turned out that it was already eleven. The fight would undoubtedly be over by now and Harry... It felt weak, but he was so very tired. It wasn't physical except it was, it had become so, because his internal anguish had been bleeding through, seeping into his bones, turning his marrow into visceral aches, flooding his bloodstream with something akin to acid, and his head... Heavy was too kind a term. He trusted Severus. Of that, there was no doubt. So perhaps, for once, he could give in to himself? With a long, drawn-out groan, Harry sagged back into their bed, unable to bother pulling the blankets up but his wish for them to cover his slightly-chilled arms had his magic reacting by itself, the covers lifting some and shifting up, settling perfectly across his collar bones and even as he knew he should at least shower or eat, the very thought of it had him groaning again. He had been denying himself so much, surely he could allow this one thing...

Without even being aware of when he fell asleep, Harry woke up again a little later on, dragging himself out of bed and into their bathroom, unthinkingly reaching for Severus' shampoo and shower gel, revelling in the comforting scent that was now enveloping him, something that he truly needed. And felt exactly no compunctions nor hesitations over basking in.

Wobbling his way down the stairs, the steam and heat having made him a little dizzy, Harry couldn't fight the soft little smile that crept across his face at the simple plate of a ham sandwich under the translucent dome of a combined cooling and stasis charm. Severus really did look after him, didn't he?

Only a few bites left, Harry startled a little at the front door opening, a familiar gait slow and trudging. Pushing to his feet, he immediately came forwards to greet the elder, not even flinching at the man's dishevelled state, hands reaching up to cradle pale cheeks, heedless of how one is soot-smeared, the charred dust smudging off onto Harry's thumb where he brushes it back and forth over a high cheekbone. 

"Are you alright Severus? I was this close to coming after you but it was already late and I was... well, I was weak, honestly, and-"

"Harry, idiot brat, you are far from weak."  When he received no immediate reply, Severus went on, hands coming up to settle easily on Harry's hips,
"What would possess you to say that? From my perspective, you are strong to a fault."

They were both silent then, Harry closing his eyes against the onslaught of care in the Potions Master's dark gaze.

"I... I gave in. Gave up. I just slept the morning away because of some stupid emotional weakness and a panic attack and I left you, everyone, to go up against Death Eaters lone and now I can't even bear to ask you what happened and if they- if they..." Harry choked off, eyes still squeezed shut. Beneath his hands, Severus' jaw worked for a moment, hesitating,

"Harry, that isn't giving in. Nor up. That is looking after yourself, something that is most certainly a necessity; you would be even more of a foolish brat if you didn't do so. Or allow others to help. It is much of what we discussed previously Harry. But I shall not preach to you, or at least I'll try not to. But can I say that I am glad you slept? That you took the time to recover and recuperate. It's good to hear. So very, very good." At the tenderness in his voice, Harry could do nothing but open his eyes and offer a shaky smile, drinking in the soft expression on the elder's face, still cradled in his own hands.

"I... Maybe."  And that concession, unsure or not, prompted Severus to lean forward and press a lingering kiss to Harry's forehead, just next to the scar.

Eventually though, he drew away, if only far enough that they could look each other in the eyes again, Harry's hands having settled onto his biceps, both of their touches light but so very present.

"Shall we sit? I'll tell you about the attack whilst you finish your food."  Silently, Harry nodded, a tad jerky, breaking Severus' hold on his hips to interlace their fingers and pull the man the scant few metres to the breakfast bar, sitting down and, allowing himself his instincts, hooking his ankle around Severus' and quietly delighting in the almost boyish grin that brightens his partner's face for a solid few seconds, until it faded and he spoke once more.

"They are all safe. Petunia was the only one at home - and she is still a sour-faced cow, much like she was as a child - and Tonks got her out before anything could directly happen to them. They have been assigned an old safe house of Albus', if perhaps only for the interim as it's not the best of accommodation, as though they deserve anything decent, but they shall be safe and not at too much expense. We only took a few injuries but it was well worth it, if only for the sake of-"

"What kind of injuries?" Harry interrupted, shoulders tense and eyes blazing, turned on Severus with an Avada Kedavra glaze.

"Minimal ones, I assure you, and the Dursleys are safe, so-"

“I want you to be safe! I don’t care about them, not like I do about you. If you had died for their sake, or even just been injured-“

“For your sake Harry. Yours alone.”

“That- I….” He trailed off, something so conflicted glimmering in his gaze, golden fireflies in a green night,
“I never want you to lose you. I… I can’t. And not- Merlin, not for the likes of them.” There was a sob in his voice, but he didn’t give in to it, continued to talk through it,
“I- I don’t want them to die but in comparison to you, my Severus, you stupid, wonderful bastard of a man, they- they’re nothing. Less than.” 

"And yet," the elder countered, considering his words oh-so carefully,
"You would not see them hurt or dead."

"No! Merlin, Severus, of course not-"

"And in that is your strength Harry. You say you're weak? I would say you're the strongest person I have ever known or will ever know, and that I admire you for it even as it pains me. Can you- Whether you like it or not, can you accept that? A morning to look after yourself isn't weak, it's maintaining your strength, from my view."

There was a long hesitation then, logic and ingrained habits warring in tense shoulders and tight fists, looking away from Severus

"...Maybe?"

"Most certainly," Severus returned, half-mocking, but softening it into teasing with a gentle touch to Harry's face, potions-stained fingertips trailing down a soft cheek, having lost some of the hollowness from poor eating, finally brushing over the corner of his mouth once, twice. Harry leant into the touch, the slightest tilt of his head so very telling.

Perhaps, for Harry, this would be the beginning of his healing.