Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hermione looked up in distress as she realized her best friend had wandered away from their group. It was after their finals, and Harry had begun to behave strangely ever since their Defense exam. She looked around the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, and when she didn’t immediately see him, she almost called for Hagrid. Then she spotted him. Harry had retreated to the edge of the clearing where they’d been studying bowtruckles, and was kneeling in the lush grass under the shadow of a mighty tree. Hermione looked on curiously as Harry held his cupped hands close to his face, appearing to whisper into them.

Was Rita Skeeter back? But no, Harry would never converse with that awful witch. What was he doing? Hermione stood from the group, setting aside the diagram she’d been drawing, and started in his direction. Harry chuckled suddenly, as if his hands had replied, and continued to whisper into his cupped palms.

And then, all of sudden, Harry’s hands parted as if in pain, and he collapsed. Hermione froze. At first her friend convulsed, and then he began to scream. Hermione looked on in horror as he drew in on himself, curling into a tight ball, as he screamed and screamed in agony. The entire class turned to stare, and Hagrid lumbered quickly across the clearing, accidentally knocking aside a Slytherin girl who’d tried to stand. Hermione raced their half-giant teacher to her friend. She tried to roll him onto his back, calling out to him.

“Harry! Harry!”

He couldn’t hear her over his own screams. Hagrid reached them and knelt down beside the Boy Who Lived.

“What happened?” The Care of Magical Creatures professor asked.

Hermione shook her head, tears springing into her eyes. “I-I don’t know. I saw him over here, and then he just started screaming! Do something, Hagrid!”

The half-giant nodded and lifted the screaming sixteen-year-old into his massive arms.

“Class dismissed. Follow me out of the forest!”

The class immediately stood, gathering their things and following Hagrid out of the clearing, back to the path. Hermione realized, just as they saw the clear, open lawn of Hogwarts, that she’d forgotten her books. She turned to go back but stopped when Ron pushed through a group of Slytherins, with her bag and his own. She took the bag gratefully and turned back to following her prone best friend in the arms of their teacher.

Most of the students broke off as soon as they broke free of the Forbidden Forest, but Hermione and Ron followed closely as Hagrid carted their friend to the castle. Four floors up the Grand Staircase, and Hagrid seemed relieved to have finally reached the Hospital Wing. Harry’s screams drew Madame Pomfrey even before Hagrid could lay the Gryffindor on a bed.

“What’s happened?” She demanded, coming down the wing.

Hagrid sniffled, and Hermione realized the half-giant was crying. “Dunno, he jus’ started screamin’ while we were in the Forbidden Forest.”

“He was talking to something,” Hermione said. “I saw him. Just before he collapsed, he was whispering to something in his hands.”

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Well, that could be anything. Hang on,” she said loudly. She turned on the Boy Who Lived and waved her wand in a complex pattern. The screaming stopped, and Harry uncurled, only to begin thrashing wildly. “Oh my.”

“What? What did you do?” Hermione pleaded.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. “I put him in a magical coma.”

Ron gasped beside Hermione, and Hermione rounded on her other friend.

“What?!” She demanded.

Ron rubbed the back of his head, frowning. “Magical comas are powerful, Hermione. Harry should be... well, he should look dead. Whatever’s happened to Harry is very powerful magic, probably dark.”

“Don’t be silly,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Just because magic is powerful, it doesn’t make it dark. You should do something about that prejudice, Mister Weasley.”

“He’s clearly in pain,” Ron argued.

“Which means very little until we know what has happened,” Madame Pomfrey insisted. She turned to go back down the wing. “I am going to summon the other professors. Perhaps they will have some idea of what has happened to Mister Potter. You three may remain, so long as you do not get in the way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione called down the wing, elbowing her red-headed friend.

Hagrid nodded, lowering himself onto a bed which sunk remarkably under his weight.

Hermione found a chair by one of the other beds and drew it over to Harry. She sat down and carded her fingers through his hair as he thrashed inconsolably atop the blanket.

Poppy Pomfrey sighed as she waited for the other professors to arrive. Pomona had been among the first to reach the Hospital Wing but had only been able to say Potter’s pain was not a result of any plant she knew of. Albus had been the first to come, and he was as baffled as she was. They simply didn’t have enough information. Minerva and Filius had both arrived shortly after Pomona, and had verified that it was not some spell, dark or otherwise, which was causing their student so much pain. Horace assured everyone that it wasn’t any potion he’d ever encountered. Nor was it alchemy, or runework.

And then Severus arrived. Poppy had known he’d be the last, with his disdain for the student in question. However, as soon as he entered the Infirmary, Potter stilled. The large group surrounding the bed, most performing tests of one sort or other, paused, looking around at each other in question. Poppy looked from the Gryffindor to the Head of Slytherin.

“Severus,” Poppy breathed. “Could you... go back out for just a moment?”

The Potions Master-turned-Defense professor frowned. “Poppy, I haven’t time for games.”

“Indulge me,” the Matron insisted.

With a growl, Severus turned and stalked out of the Infirmary. As soon as the door had shut on him, Potter began to thrash uncontrollably again.

The gathered professors and two students either gasped or gaped in wonder.

“Oh dear,” Albus murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile.

Severus came back into the Hospital Wing looking annoyed, and again Potter stilled. “Are you satisfied?”

Poppy frowned as Albus covered his mouth to hide a fit of silent laughter. “Severus...  Perhaps you can tell us what has afflicted Mister Potter.”

“Besides an over-inflated ego?” The Potions Master snarled. “Tell me what you know.”

Granger spoke up. “We were in the Forbidden Forest, studying bowtruckles. I looked up and realized that Harry had wandered away. When I found him, he was sitting just outside of the clearing, whispering to something in his hands. After a moment, he seemed to drop whatever it was in pain, and then he collapsed and started screaming.”

“He was brought here,” Poppy continued for the girl. “I put him into a magical coma, but it didn’t stop his pain. He began thrashing, and he hasn’t stopped since.”

Severus looked at the still form of the Boy Who Lived. “He seems to have stopped now.”

Poppy nodded, a light blush tinting her cheeks. “Yes, it would appear he is somehow affected by your presence. It is why I asked you to go out for a moment. He only stopped when you entered the room, and started again as soon as you were gone.”

Severus groaned. “It can’t be.”

Suddenly, Albus guffawed loudly, bent at the waist as he gasped for air past his laughter.

“It isn’t funny, Headmaster!” Severus snarled, rounding on the aged wizard.

Albus continued to laugh heartily as the other professors and Poppy turned to look at the Potions Master expectantly.

Severus sighed, looking at Granger. “You say he was whispering to something in his hands?”

“Yes,” Granger said immediately.

“Did it appear as if the something were speaking back?” Severus inquired further.

Poppy frowned as Granger replied. “Actually, yes, it did.”

Poppy’s frown deepened as Severus hung his head in apparent defeat.

“Damn,” the Potions Master murmured. He looked up. “As Albus has apparently already surmised,” he sent a sharp glance to their esteemed Headmaster, who was still chuckling and trying to hide it. “Potter has been poisoned with a very ancient potion that only one magical creature can create or use. I cannot pronounce it in fairy tongue, but the wizard name for it is ‘Aeternus Veritas’, or ‘Eternal Truth’. A stupid name, really, considering the potion’s purpose is to lead you to your one true love.”

“You can’t mean-” Horace began doubtfully.

“I do,” Severus assured the man with bitter, slightly cruel smile.

Albus again began laughing uncontrollably, and the assembled professors shot him a dark look.

“But then, why is he in pain?” Granger asked astutely.

Severus sighed again, grimacing. “Because he cannot accept who his true love is. It is rare that someone be so set against their true love, but in that case they are faced with excruciating pain whensoever they are separated from this mythical soul mate.”

“So,” Weasley murmured quietly. “You’re Harry’s soul mate? But he refuses to accept it?”

Severus nodded.

“Well, at least we know he hasn’t gone completely nutters,” Weasley said, barking a laugh as he nudged Granger.

Poppy scowled at the young man, as did Granger.

“It isn’t funny, Ron!” Granger seethed. “I know he’s been acting strange, but what is he supposed to do now? He refuses to be around Professor Snape but can’t be without him.”

Poppy frowned along with the others, save Albus, who was still snickering in the corner.

“Acting strange how?” Severus inquired with a growl.

Granger blushed, turning to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. “Well... Ever since your final exam, he’s been acting... weird. Withdrawn, and irritable.”

“He won’t talk to us,” Weasley added. “And he’s been having bad dreams almost every night.”

Poppy frowned as she turned on Severus. “What did you do?” she demanded, the other professors rounding on the Potions Master as well.

“I’ve done nothing,” Severus snarled. “My exam was simple. My questions were no more challenging than any others, and the practical portion was merely a test of skill.”

“He had us prove our silent casting with the Patronus Charm,” Granger supplied. “Harry actually struggled to produce a corporeal Patronus for the first time since Lupin first taught him how. And then...” Granger looked uncertainly at Severus. “Well, then Professor Snape did something out of character. He... encouraged Harry, told him to focus. He was almost kind, and then Harry’s Patronus burst forth. Harry even looked startled by his own Patronus.”

“What happened next?” Albus spoke up, suddenly done laughing.

Granger shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. Harry’s stag pranced around the room and nuzzled everybody with its nose. It nuzzled Professor Snape last, and then Harry verbally canceled the spell. He looked white as a sheet, too. Then he ran out, and Professor Snape went on as if nothing had happened.”

Poppy looked to her employer as Albus hummed thoughtfully.

“Well, I suppose it is safe to say that Severus’ actions were what helped Harry to cast his Patronus,” the aged wizard said. “For some reason, Harry reacted to Severus’ encouragement. Well, I say ‘some reason’. Now I suppose we know it was because, though neither party was aware of it, that moment was the first fracture in the wall that separates them.”

Poppy sighed. “Yes, but what is to be done? Is there a cure?”

Severus shook his head. “This is fairy magic. The only cure were to be if Potter accepted his true love. Beyond that, we must be in the same room together each day for a few hours at the least, or he will be faced with the excruciating pain you witnessed. Even pain potions will have absolutely no effect on the agony he feels, and the fairies never bothered with a cure because they believe only a fool would deny a soul mate.”

“Rotten luck.”

Poppy couldn’t help a small laugh when Granger smacked Weasley upside the head for his comment. Severus snarled, and the other professors looked at the redhead disapprovingly.

“What will we do, Albus?” Minerva asked worriedly. “I’ve no idea how we are going to explain this to the students.”

“We won’t,” Severus assured her.

Poppy frowned at the Potions Master. “But, Severus-”

“He’s right,” Albus said calmly. “If we were to tell the students now, it would create havoc. Were Harry seventeen, it wouldn’t matter, but he is underage right now. An announcement proclaiming Severus as Harry’s true love would cause the parents, at the least, to say there is some impropriety going on. Not to mention how the students would react.”

“Harry won’t care about that,” Granger said. “Not about the students, anyway.”

“Even so,” Albus continued with a nod to the girl. “So few know or care about the intricacies of magic in other creatures, they won’t bother to acknowledge the inherence of the potion, they will simply hear that a teacher and student are involved in some inexplicable romantic entanglement. Severus’ job is at risk if we make what’s happened known. We cannot make such an announcement at this time. If we have not found some solution by next term, then perhaps we will make some announcement then, when there can be no recourse for Severus. For now, we must keep Potter in his magical coma, here in the Infirmary. The year is almost over, in any case, with only a few days remaining before the students leave. Severus can visit for a few hours every evening, to relieve Harry of his pain.”

“Have I no say in this?” The Defense professor balked.

Stern eyes surrounding the lone occupied bed turned on him.

“You would rather see Harry in inescapable, unerring pain?” Albus asked calmly.

Severus frowned, sinking under the dark stares of the room. “As you wish, Headmaster,” the man ground out.

Poppy smiled. “Well, I suppose now that’s settled-”

“But wait,” Weasley interrupted. “What about the summer? How’re we going to explain Snape coming to the Dursleys or my house to spend a few hours with Harry every day?”

It was Severus who answered. “Clearly, Potter will not be retiring to your home or his own, Mister Weasley. He will have to spend the summer at mine.”

Poppy gaped at the Defense professor, as did most of the others, including the two students. Severus scowled but did not continue.

Granger spoke. “Harry’s not going to like that,” she murmured.

“It isn’t exactly how I envisioned my own summer going,” Severus answered with a snarl.

Poppy sighed. “Well, now that everything is settled, I think you should all leave Mister Potter to his rest. Severus, I’ll set up a comfortable chair and, obviously, some privacy curtains. I’ll expect you after the student curfew.”

Severus sighed but nodded. “If there is nothing else, I have a class to prepare for.”

Poppy watched with a sigh of her own as the man stalked out of the Wing, and the other professors all turned to leave as well. Almost as soon as the door closed on the corridor after Severus, Poppy watched with no small amount of distress as Potter began thrashing violently on the bed. The other professors left looking slightly deflated, likely sharing in Poppy’s distress. The matron silently cast a ward on the bed to prevent her patient falling out in his pained movements.

“The two of you should go to your classes. You can return following dinner,” Poppy told the two students who had remained.

“But, Madame Pomfrey, we-”

“No arguments,” Poppy said sharply. “I know you are concerned for your friend, but there is nothing you can do for him. Right now, I need to run some diagnostics and see what I can do.”

Weasley looked ready to argue further, but Granger grabbed his arm. “Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” the girl said quietly. “Thank you for taking care of Harry.”

Poppy nodded and waved towards the door in dismissal. Weasley still looked prepared to argue, but Granger dragged him out. As soon as they were gone, Poppy moved around the lone occupied bed and sat heavily in the chair Granger had been utilizing. She placed her hand soothingly on the tossing forehead of her favorite patient. Potter showed no sign of acknowledging the comfort.

“You poor child,” she commiserated. “You’ve suffered so much, and now this.” Poppy glanced over her shoulder at the door to her Wing. “And you’re both so stubborn. I can’t see how this will end happily for either of you.”

With another sigh, Poppy stood and went about setting up the necessary provisions for her favorite, and most often seen, patient.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke slowly, feeling groggy and well-rested all at once. He snuggled closer to the warmth encompassing him, flexing his fingers against the softest fabric he’d ever felt. His head shifted on the stiff, unyielding pillow. Then he froze, his sleepy smile slipping off his face.

Where was he? More importantly, why did it feel like he was curled up in someone’s arms? The last thing he remembered was talking to that fairy he’d rescued by chance.

Slowly, so slowly, Harry opened his eyes. At first, all he saw was dark fabric, with a row of tiny buttons that glistened in the bright sunlight. His gaze rose, following the line of buttons to a pale neck, hidden mostly by a high collar. Carefully, so as not to wake whomever was wrapped around him, he shifted his head to peer further up. The sight of high cheekbones and a crooked hooked nose had him pushing away. He fell off the side of the Infirmary bed, still backing away, and almost knocked over the privacy curtain. The man in his bed started awake.

“Merlin’s shorts! Ah!” Harry gripped his chest as a sharp pain dug at him, overriding the bruised feel in his hip from falling out of the bed. When he opened his eyes, Snape had sat up, but still looked half-asleep. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Harry demanded.

Snape’s voice came out sleep-roughened and deep. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“In my bed?!” Harry demanded incredulously, still clutching his chest where the pain had yet to subside.

Snape snarled half-heartedly. “Obviously I didn’t start here, nor even intend to wind up in such an undesirable position.”

Harry scoffed. “Well, get out, pervert!”

And just like that, Snape was off the bed like a shot, dragging Harry off the floor by his wrist. Harry noticed immediately that the pain in his chest subsided at Snape’s touch. He paled and stared up into the snarling façade of his Defense professor.

“Oh no,” he murmured.

“Oh, yes,” Snape countered with a deep growl.

He pushed Harry away and the pain immediately returned. Harry grimaced and groaned, clutching his chest again, and failed to stay fully upright. Bent at the waist, he glowered at Snape.

“Explain,” he bit out.

Snape sneered. “After you, Potter.”

Harry seriously considered arguing, or refusing to speak, but knew there was little point. He sighed, still glaring at the Potions Master. “I found a fairy,” he began. “We were supposed to be drawing a diagram of bowtruckles, and how they interact, and I happened to glance up. I saw something, I thought it was a butterfly, that looked to be having trouble, hopping around in the grass at the edge of the clearing like it couldn’t quite fly. I went over, and it turned out to be a fairy with a broken wing. I didn’t honestly think it would work, but I cast reparo on it, and the wing mended. Then the fairy bit me, and I could understand what it was saying. She explained she’d gotten into a fight with a bowtruckle over ownership of the tree I’d found her under. When she offered repayment in the form of helping me find my true love, I sort of laughed it off. Then she stuck me with something sharp, and I collapsed in pain. That’s the last thing I remember. I suppose I can assume she poisoned me with some sort of love potion.”

“Aeternus Veritas,” Snape supplied.

Harry straightened, doing his best to ignore the pain he was in. “So why am I in pain? And why does it stop when you touch me?”

Snape’s lip curled. “I am apparently your true love,” he snarled distastefully. “Since you cannot accept this, you will suffer pain until you do.”

Harry scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

Snape surprised him by smirking. “On the contrary, Potter, I am completely serious. And, as if being your true love weren’t punishment enough, I am apparently stuck with you for the foreseeable future, as ordered by our esteemed Headmaster. You will be spending your summer at my home. And believe you me, it will not be enjoyable. Unlike your other options, I will maintain rules and punishments. You will see what it is to spend a summer unspoiled by your fawning friends and family.”

“That’s not fair!” Harry argued. “You can’t decide my life for me!”

“You’re sixteen, Potter, Dumbledore can do as he sees fit, so long as it is in your best interest!” Snape fired back. “I may be your true love, Potter, but that does not make you mine! I would rather love anyone than you! It’s not as if I want your spoiled, headstrong Gryffindor idiocy infecting my home! You may leave as soon as you are seventeen, and I dearly pray that you will, pain or no!”

“Pain or no, you can bet that I will, you greasy git!” Harry replied hotly.

Snape snarled, grabbing Harry by the front of his hospital pajamas. “You’re treading dangerous waters, Potter. Keep in mind that it is my good will that is stopping you from horrendous, unbearable pain. You should be grateful that I have agreed to open my home to you.”

Harry curled his lip, pulling at Snape’s hand curled into his shirt. “And you should remember, Snape, that I defeated Voldemort. A little pain is nothing compared to what I’ve seen and done. I didn’t ask for your help, and I can guarantee that I will escape your ‘good will’ as soon as possible. I’d rather face Voldemort again than subject myself willingly to your supposed hospitality.”

Snape shoved him away again, and this time Harry managed to keep his spine straight even as the stab in his chest returned. “Get dressed, Potter. You’ll join the students at breakfast and ride the train to King’s Cross.”

Harry glowered. “Won’t that look odd? I take it the student body isn’t aware of what’s happened, or you’d have been lynched by now.”

Snape growled. “Obviously not. Which is why I won’t be collecting you from the station. You will go to your relatives, and I will collect you this evening, after ensuring my home is sufficiently Gryffindor-proof.”

Harry scowled. “Fine. But I’m not getting dressed with you here.”

“As if I’d want to remain,” Snape scoffed. He turned to the privacy curtain. “Get dressed, Potter,” he ordered again.

Harry waited until the man was gone before collapsing on the bed and gripping his chest. This was going to be really hard, not only because it was big-nosed bigot Snape he was stuck with, but because the pain, as promised, was very nearly unbearable. With a sigh, resisting the urge to throw something breakable at a wall, Harry stood and began to dress in the clothes lying at the end of the bed. It didn’t take long for Madame Pomfrey to discover he was awake, and, after a brief examination, she released him with a sympathetic smile. Harry thought he might see a lot of that from those few who would’ve been told about his... illness.

Chapter Text

“I’ll get it!”

Harry groaned over the dishes he was scrubbing clean. It was almost nine at night. He’d begun to wonder if Snape was ever going to show up, inconsiderate bastard. Petunia and Vernon hadn’t believed him when he’d said there was a wizard coming for him. He’d paid dearly for the supposed lie. His black eye, and likely cracked cheekbone, hurt almost as much as the stab in his chest. He easily laid blame with his nefarious cousin, who was even now thundering through the house to greet the very scary wizard at the door. If the prat hadn’t been keen-eyed for the first time in his life and punched him in the chest, he wouldn’t have tried to warn his family not to touch him.

Not that Snape would care. Slimy git would probably thank Vernon and Dudley for ‘putting him in his place’ or some rot like that. And even if there were some sort of decent human being buried deep (very, very deep) inside the former Death Eater, Harry wasn’t about to start telling people about his home life. It was bad enough Ron and Hermione had guessed quite a lot, the last thing he needed was pity from the git who’d contributed to the death of his parents.

Harry smirked, wiping off his hands, as he heard a shout from the front hall.

“Dad!” Dudley cried. “It’s another freak!”

Harry walked into the front hall just as his Uncle appeared in the doorway to the living room with his stick of a wife. He looked to the long-haired wizard, two things Vernon hated, whom his uncle was sizing up with a deep glare.

“Good evening, Professor.”

Snape sneered down at him. “Potter. What happened to you?”

Harry shrugged, pointedly looking the man in the eye. “Tripped on the stairs, hit my face on the banister.”

Snape grunted. “Clumsy Gryffindor.”

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the twinge of pain in his bruised right. He really was a klutz, so at least he had that to make the lie believable. And he hadn’t exactly expected sympathy from the prick who’d made a career out of making his life at school a living hell. He turned towards the stairs.

“I’ll get my things,” he replied instead.

Snape grunted again and Harry moved to the cupboard under the stairs where his things had been put as soon as they’d arrived. He’d released Hedwig already, and had put her cage with his other things, knowing he would be leaving before she would need it again. When he reached the cupboard under the stairs, he frowned when he remembered his idiot uncle had locked the door.

“Uncle Vernon?”

“What, boy?” Vernon growled, not taking his eyes off of Snape.

“I need to get my things, if you want me and Snape to leave anytime soon,” Harry pointed out, speaking slowly.

Vernon turned his scowl on him. “Watch that lip, boy.”

Harry opted into not replying as Vernon pulled the chain and key from around his triple chin. He did, however, accidentally catch Snape’s eye. He looked away before he could begin to comprehend the strange gleam in the man’s midnight-black gaze. It was impossible, the man was as unreadable as a book published only in Gobbledygook. Surely there was someone out there who could read it, but to everyone else it was unintelligible. Instead, he turned back to the cupboard and waited for his Uncle to get the door open. As soon as the large Muggle had cleared out of the way, going back to standing between his wife and Snape, Harry started to jiggle and wiggle his trunk and owl cage out of the tight fit. He froze when his aunt spoke suddenly.

“How have you been, Severus?” Petunia asked, her voice cold as ice.

Harry looked over to see Vernon was as surprised as he was.

“I have been surviving, Tuney,” Snape replied, just as coldly.

“Tuney?” Vernon thundered. “How do you know-?”

“We grew up down the street from one another,” Petunia supplied. “He and Lily were almost inseparable when we were children. Until we were fifteen, and then Lily refused to speak of, or to, him.”

“Petunia-!”

“Oh, lighten up, Severus. You always were a sullen, angry child. It’s a wonder Lily wasted as much time as she did with you.”

“Potter! Hurry up!” Snape barked.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes a second time as he returned his attention to pulling his trunk free from its prison. It was well and truly stuck, and Harry pulled at the leather handle in vain. He started when a gentle hand touched his shoulder. He gasped as the pain he’d already begun to grow used to vanished suddenly. He didn’t look up as a pale hand reached past him and grabbed the leather handle, the man’s other hand still on his shoulder. Together, they managed to pull the trunk free of its confines. Harry still didn’t look up as he pulled reluctantly away and reached back into the cupboard which had once been his home. He drew back with Hedwig’s cage in hand and stared resolutely at Snape’s chest, which was unfortunately eye level.

Snape cleared his throat and turned back towards the front door. “Say your goodbyes, Potter.”

Harry scoffed and looked to his family, still huddled together in the doorway to the sitting room. “Bye,” he told them congenially.

“Good riddance,” Petunia harrumphed.

Dudley, who was still staring, terrified, at Snape, grunted. “Later, freak.”

It was Vernon who spared a moment to really say goodbye. “You remember, boy: soon as you’re seventeen, I don’t want to see you anywhere near my house, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Harry smirked. “Aw, Uncle Vernon, I didn’t realize you cared so much. I’m touched, really.”

Vernon snarled at him. “Get the hell out, boy!”

With an irresistible roll of his eyes, Harry began to lug his trunk and owl cage to the front door, where Snape was waiting silently. As soon as he was near enough, Snape opened the front door and stepped out, disappearing into the night almost flawlessly. Harry followed as quickly as he could, and only stopped beside Snape when the man paused at the street.

“We will take the Knight Bus,” Snape bit out sharply.

“Okay,” Harry replied with a shrug. He set down his trunk and sat atop it as Snape set about using a lighter-type object to put out the lights on the street. The pain was back with a vengeance, and after that brief moment of relief in the house, Harry wondered how he’d survived the day without the man’s touch.

Once they were entirely in the dark, Snape held out his wand arm and in moments the royal purple triple-decker bus was before them. Stan Shunpike stepped off and began his long-winded spiel, still, Harry noted, reading off the card. Snape pushed past the young man with hardly a glance. Harry snickered as Stan looked stunned, Snape pausing behind him to tell the bus driver of their destination. He smiled at Shunpike, ignoring his teacher’s rudeness.

“Hey, Stan,” he said instead.

Shunpike smiled. “Oy, if it isn’t Harry Potter!”

Harry winced, remembering that his face had been plastered across the Daily Prophet a couple times since the summer before Third Year. His hopes of playing the part of Neville again dashed, Harry instead stood from sitting on his trunk and shook the older wizard’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, Stan. I don’t suppose you could get my things for me?”

The slightly older young man started and moved immediately off the bus to wrestle with the unsurprisingly heavy trunk and owl cage. Harry climbed the steps onto the bus, and briefly considered sitting away from the Potions Master. The nagging hope that he might be relieved of his pain for this brief trip, however, decided the matter before his rebelliousness could take hold. He sat beside Snape, who sneered as Stan struggled to lug Harry’s trunk on board. Craving relief, Harry subtly shifted his knee over to touch Snape’s. The relief was immediate, and he slumped as the stab in his chest dissolved. Snape, for whatever reason, chose not to pull back or push him away.

Harry looked over at Snape, who was staring resolutely ahead. He cleared his throat. Hate the man as much as he did, they were going to be stuck together for an entire summer. With a sigh, he glowered down at his own lap. Damn the man. Why did it have to be him? Anyone else would have been preferable. Even Malfoy would have made a better true love than the Dungeon Bat. Annoyed with Fate’s ever evolving cruelty, Harry sighed heavily through his nose.

“So, where are we going?” He asked reluctantly.

“My home,” Snape replied evenly. “Spinner’s End.”

-Break-

Two days after Snape had collected him from the Dursley’s found Harry doing his homework in the kitchen in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. So far, their time together had been almost unbearable. In large part, this was because Harry had yet to find relief from his pain. Granted, this was as much his fault as it was Snape’s, but it was just easier to lay blame with the Greasy Git. It wasn’t as if the prick had made a point of even trying to relieve him of his pain. Hell, the man barely spoke to him, never mind touching him. They weren’t even in the same room together most of the time. Snape spent all his time in his laboratory in the basement, and Harry spent his days in the living room, studying. Snape only made a point of spending a couple hours in the same room with him in the afternoons. The only good so far was that Harry was almost assured of having his homework done, properly, well before the new term.

“Potter.”

Harry started violently, almost upending his homework laid out on the dining room table. He turned to see an evil smirk on Snape’s face and had to turn away again when he realized the man was only wearing black sleep pants and nothing else. He cleared his throat and set about collecting the scrolls of parchment that had gone slightly askew across the table.

“What are you doing awake?” Snape growled, going to the refrigerator.

Harry shrugged as he heard the cooler door open behind him. “Homework. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm,” Snape grunted.

Harry glanced back to see the man bent before the fridge. He withdrew with the milk carton in hand and went next to a cupboard for a glass.

“Nightmares?” Snape asked as he poured a glass of milk and replaced the carton in the cooler.

“No,” Harry answered. Since when did Snape care this much about his well-being?

“The pain?” Snape tried again.

Harry frowned. “Yes, actually. But I’ll get used to it.”

There came the sound of a glass being set down in the empty sink, and then Snape was at his side. Fingers under Harry’s chin forced his gaze up to meet black, and Snape’s eyes flickered over his face. Harry knew he had deep bruises under his eyes beneath the faded yellow coloring of Vernon’s parting gift. He was also pale and a little gaunt. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

“When was the last time you slept, Potter?”

Harry’s frown deepened. “The school,” he answered honestly.

Snape scowled. “You should have come to me.”

“And said what?” Harry scoffed.

Snape released his hold on Harry’s chin. “Never mind,” he growled. “I am too tired to argue. Come.”

Harry looked back up to argue, but when stubborn emeralds met even more stubborn onyx, his resolve crumbled. He was too tired to argue, too.

“Okay,” he said mildly.

Homework forgotten, Harry stood and followed Snape out of the kitchen. Feeling incredibly awkward, he followed closely as Snape led him through the sitting room, and up the stairs hidden behind a bookcase. However, rather than take him to his own room, Snape led Harry further down the hall to the master. He gestured Harry inside without meeting his eye, and Harry went in cautiously. What the hell was Snape up to?

“You’ll sleep here until we find some way of relieving your pain,” Snape said coldly.

Harry gaped, rounding on the man. “You can’t mean- you don’t expect me to sleep here... with you?”

Snape curled his lip. “You have some better idea? Or would you prefer collapsing from exhaustion, along with all of the not-inconsiderable side effects?” He demanded. “I won’t have your magic firing off at random, destroying my home. And I can guarantee it would after a few more days without sleep.”

Harry wanted to argue. He wanted to refuse and tell the man to go fuck himself. But he really was tired. And he knew his magic was already under a tenuous hold. Besides, what other options did he have? His pain was constant. Finally, he sighed.

“Fine,” he bit out distastefully.

“You’ll sleep on the right,” Snape said. “And you’ll keep to your side, or so help me I will expel you violently from my bed without a second’s thought.”

Harry, afraid of what snide comment might slip out if he opened his mouth, nodded reluctantly and moved to the side of the bed he’d been given. Snape followed and slid smoothly under the covers on his side. Harry clambered in on his side and immediately lay down with his back to Snape. The Potions Master grunted and pressed backward until their backs were touching. As it always was, Harry’s relief was immediate. He was asleep even before Snape had turned off the lights.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since they’d reluctantly (very, very reluctantly) begun sharing a bed. Harry still hated it, more than he had when it had first been “suggested”. Not only was it actually helping, with the pain dulled during the day thanks to their shared nights, but he slept free of nightmares. The problem was, neither of these things occurred simply by touch. In fact, he’d woken up every single morning the last two weeks completely ensconced by, and entangled with, the Potions Master’s long, pale limbs. At least Snape had stopped shoving him completely off the bed whenever he woke up first. And it was impossible to say which of them was at fault, since they were almost every time in the precise middle of the bed.

A better man might be willing to admit that they both, perhaps, were contributing to their entangled state. Harry was not that man, and he laid blame solely with Snape. It was among the most unpleasant ways to wake up, in the arms of the man he despised.

“Potter!”

Harry leapt, toppling the card tower he’d been building. He really wished Snape would stop doing that. Or, at the very least, that he’d make some sort of sound in warning whenever he entered a room. Not for the first time, Harry considered using their shared bed space to his advantage and tying a bell around the man.

“I’ve found a solution to your sleep problems,” Snape said, coming into the room.

Harry scowled. “My sleep problem. What about yours?” He mumbled under his breath.

“Here.”

Harry looked up in time to see a flicker of reflected light. He snatched whatever it was out of the air and held it up curiously. It was a gold ring with runic inscriptions. With a scoff, he looked up at Snape, who was as stone-faced as ever.

“You’re proposing?” He asked sarcastically.

Snape sneered. “I would never,” he swore. “It’s not a cure, but I’ve infused that ring with my magical essence. It should allow you to be without me, so long as we continue to spend a few hours together each day.”

Harry frowned and looked again at the ring. Cautiously, not entirely trusting the man not to trick him, or curse him further, he slipped the ring onto his finger. A small stone as black as Snape’s eyes was inset and began to glow a bright crimson. After a minute, the glow vanished and Harry felt a wash of relief as his pain vanished as suddenly as it might if he were in contact with the Potions Master. He looked up and managed a reluctant smile.

“Thank you,” he told the man, completely serious. “I don’t suppose this means I can leave?”

“No,” Snape answered, curling his lip. “If you were listening, I said we must still spend a few hours together each day. As I have no plans of commuting to the Weasley homestead every day, I’m still stuck with you.”

“As if I haven’t been a model house guest,” Harry argued. Snape scoffed and turned to sit down in a comfortable chair. Harry stood angrily from where he’d been kneeling in front of the low coffee table. “You can’t even admit it when the evidence is right in front of you!” He shouted. “I clean, I cook, I rarely argue with you, and it’s still not enough! Nothing will ever make you see me as anything but my bastard father!”

“Potter, calm down,” Snape said.

“I won’t!” Harry shouted, stomping his foot. “You hate me for something I didn’t even do! It isn’t my fault she died! It isn’t my fault that my father was a bully and an idiot!” Tears sprung into his eyes, but Harry swiped them away. “You blame me for everything and you don’t even know me! You’re just like every other hero-worshipping pansy out there! Nothing I ever do will be good enough!”

“Potter!”

“No! You treat me like shit, and then you get pissed when I have the nerve to defend myself! It isn’t fair! You never even gave me a chance! Everything I’ve done, all my accomplishments...  they’re nothing!” Harry collapsed back to his knees, his hands folded in his lap as he bowed his head. Tears flowed freely over his cheeks as he sobbed. “I screwed up, okay? I tried to be something my parents could be proud of, but I cower under the hands of Muggles. I defeated the Dark Lord, but for what? His prejudices live on in people like you and Malfoy. Nothing I do fixes anything. Nothing I do will change the way people see me.”

Snape sighed. “Potter...”

Harry sniffled. “It isn’t fair.” He stiffened when long fingers touched his shoulder, then glided along his back to wrap around his shoulders.

“I do see you, Potter,” Snape murmured, surprisingly soothing.

Harry felt warmth blossom in his chest, but he shoved it away as violently as he shoved Snape away. “Get off me,” he snarled. “You’ll never see anything but a miniature James Potter, and you’ll never be anything but a bully. I hate you.”

Snape looked surprised, and Harry thought he might see hurt buried deep in the black eyes. He didn’t care. He stood up and ran. Instead of going to the bedroom he’d been given, the one he’d never really used, he made for the front door. Once he was outside in the sunlight, he relished in his freedom and took off down the street. He didn’t care where he was going, he just wanted to get away.

After running for what seemed an eternity, he found himself on a barren hill that looked down on the neighborhood. He glanced back as he clambered up the steep grade and saw Snape standing on his front stoop. His voice carried on the wind, and Harry heard the whisper of his name. He scowled and turned back to climbing the hill.

At the top, Harry found a large rock perfect for sitting and soaking up the sun. He sat atop it and looked down on the neighborhood. He could see into most every tiny garden, and he watched as Snape’s neighbors scurried about. He glowered at the dark shape he recognized as his professor at the bottom of the hill, his house set apart from the rest of the neighborhood by a pair of burned out and rotted foundations. After a moment, Snape gave up looking for him and went back into his dilapidated home. Harry saw the house frame rattle with the force with which Snape had slammed his front door.

‘Let the man be angry,’ Harry thought. He hadn’t said anything that wasn’t the truth. He hated Snape for what the man stood for, and for the way he’d treated him from the day they’d met. Nothing in their history suggested Snape was a good man. The bastard had even treated others poorly, just for associating with the Boy Who Lived.

It was impossible to forget the hurt on Hermione’s face when Malfoy had cursed her teeth to grow huge and Snape had dismissed her with a cruel joke. Or the dozen detentions Colin had been forced to serve for defending his little brother from a bunch of Slytherins. Or the poor grading Luna and Ginny had been faced with, despite doing well in Snape’s class. The man was as much a bully as James Potter had ever been, and for what? Because he’d faced a little hardship as a kid? As if he was the only one who’d ever been humiliated or beaten bloody.

Harry threw himself back on his rock and stared at the cloudy sky. It seemed like the sun never shown on Spinner’s End. It was a miserable place, and he hated being trapped here with the one prick who couldn’t make it any better. The only thing was, he wasn’t quite prepared to run away. Something had happened to him. Whether it was some mythical true love potion or, more likely, a fairy curse, whatever it was left him in pain when he wasn’t around Snape. He was only a kilometer or two away from the git, and even with his new ring he could feel the pain dully pricking at the center of his chest. He couldn’t imagine how much pain he’d be in if he took off for the Burrow, which was a lot farther.

Harry sighed as he watched the immovable clouds above him. He missed his friends. He’d written them almost daily, and they had so far replied as frequently, but he didn’t think that would continue much longer. Hermione was already at the Burrow for the summer, since she hadn’t wanted to go to Poland with her parents, and Ron was already asking Harry’s advice on making her his girlfriend by summer’s end. No doubt, once the blessed event finally happened, their letter writing would taper off with other things, namely each other, to occupy their minds and time.

After a few hours, Harry sat up. His back clenched rebelliously and he stretched to try to relieve the cramped muscles near his lower spine. The muscles refused to be relieved, and he breathed shallowly to lessen the pain. If it weren’t for the growing discomfort in his chest, he would take more time to halt the discomfort in his back. However, little tendrils of crimson had begun to leap off the onyx stone in his new ring, and the stab in his chest was growing in pressure with a promise of real pain.

Clenching his teeth, he slid off his rock, gasping in pain when the landing tweaked his back. Carefully so as to not provoke another spasm, he began to pick his way back down the hill that had seemed so much smaller at the bottom. Using the little tufts of long grass as footholds, he half-climbed, half-slid down the hillside, a hand at his back where the worst cramp had formed.

Finally, Harry reached the bottom. Limping along, he moved back in the direction of Snape’s house. And, of course, halfway there the near-constant clouds opened up suddenly in a downpour. By the time he’d made his painful way back to Spinner’s End, he was drenched from head-to-toe. Shivering and soaked, he paused before the peeling front door. Snape was going to be a nightmare.

As suddenly as the rain had started, the door opened. Snape stood looking as surprised as Harry, wearing a long, black trench coat and holding an unopened umbrella. Harry recovered first and frowned. Had Snape been coming to look for him? Then the man recovered, and black eyes wrinkled in an angry scowl.

“Potter!”

Harry managed a shy smile. “Funny thing-”

“Get inside!” Snape interrupted with a deep growl.

A long-fingered hand reached out and dragged Harry into the house.

“Whoa!” Harry exclaimed as he stumbled into the sitting room, his back screaming in pain. “Hey!” He rounded on Snape, who’d slammed the front door and was in the midst of taking off his coat, his umbrella already back in its place in the wrought-iron stand by the door.

“Fire, now,” the Potions Master snapped, pointing sharply towards the couch in the sitting room.

With a scowl of his own, Harry stomped soggily over to the fireplace and grabbed his wand from the coffee table where he’d left it. Man, he was really in for it. Mumbling under his breath about almost being a fully-fledged adult, he poked his wand at the logs in the fireplace. A fire burst to life in the grate, and Harry set his wand aside as he sidled closer to the desperately needed warmth.

“What were you thinking?!” Harry didn’t look away from the dancing flames. “You’re in an unfamiliar neighborhood, you left your wand...! You could’ve been killed, or kidnapped!”

Harry scoffed. “I wish.”

Snape growled loudly, and then Harry felt himself being lifted off the floor by the back of his shirt. He was tossed backward into a chair, which rocked violently, threatening to topple over. He grimaced as his back gave an unwelcome stab of pain.

“You foolish, selfish boy!” Snape snarled, leaning over him angrily.

Harry pushed himself to the edge of the armchair. “You’re just angry because you didn’t want to have to explain to Dumbledore that you’d lost his precious soldier!” He shouted. “Admit it!”

“I was worried about you, you idiot!” Snape fired back.

Harry froze. “What?”

Snape straightened, looking away evasively. “A moment of insanity, to be sure.”

“Whoa, hold up, time out,” Harry said smirking as he crossed his hands. “You were worried? About me? Since when?”

Snape finally looked at him. “Grow up, Potter. The world is not so black and white as you think it is. Get upstairs and take a hot shower. You’re dripping all over my floor.”

Frowning, but happy for a reason to escape, Harry stood and shifted around Snape. He moved to the open secret door and bounded up the stairs to his room. As he gathered together fresh clothes and toiletries and disappeared into the tiny bath across the hall, he did his best not to think about what Snape had said. It was just like a Slytherin to try and play mind games. Hot water, at least, seemed to help his aching back, if not his tumultuous thoughts.

As he warmed up under the hot spray of the shower, he finally acknowledged that he was being unfair towards the man. Yes, he was a git, and yes, he had done horrible things over the years, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of worry, or remorse, whichever the case may be.

After dressing in fresh clothes, Harry headed back downstairs. He found Snape in the sitting room, reading the Daily Prophet in his usual chair. With a sigh, Harry moved into the room and began to gather together the cards he’d scattered a lifetime ago. He paused when he saw a small green phial atop some of the cards on the coffee table. It had a note that merely said, ‘for your back, idiot boy’.

A glance at Snape said the man was paying him no mind. With a shrug that tweaked his back, Harry quaffed the potion. He felt immediately better as not only the cramp, but all of the tension in his muscles dissolved. He turned back to the task of gathering his cards, after setting the empty phial aside. When they were all collected, he turned to the Potions Master. Swallowing his pride, he drew a deep breath.

“I’m... sorry,” he said, trying to hide a grimace. “Thank you for worrying about me.”

Snape didn’t look up from his paper. “Do not mention it, Potter.”

Harry sighed and looked at the cards in his hands. An idea blossomed. “Would- would you like to play Rummy with me?”

Snape glanced over his paper and Harry offered up a shy smile. “I have never played.” The man said with finality.

“Oh,” Harry murmured, deflating as he looked away from the black gaze. “Okay. It was just an idea.”

There was a shuffle of paper, and then a nasal sigh. “However,” Snape said. “I am not opposed to learning.”

Harry looked back up with a wide grin. “Great!”

Snape slowly began to fold his paper, and Harry got up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor. Setting his cards aside for the moment, he began to push the long, wooden coffee table closer to where the older wizard sat. He sat atop the opposite end of the low table and began to shuffle the cards, explaining in detail how the game was played. He glanced up at Snape, who was listening raptly while watching his expert shuffling. It suddenly occurred to him that, just maybe, in the very depths of the man’s character, maybe Snape wasn’t all bad.

Chapter Text

Harry was drunk. But he was also winning. Every night since he’d run away, he and Snape had engaged in a game. Which game varied based on mood and preference, but Liverpool Rummy was by far Harry’s favorite. It still felt odd to play games with the man he despised, but winning made the strange effort worth it. On this particular occasion, Harry’s seventeenth birthday, they’d started playing early. Snape had been surprisingly tolerant of Harry indulging in the liquor that the Weasley twins had sent him. By ten’o’clock, Harry had indulged to the point of full intoxication, and had only half a bottle left of the two he’d received. Snape, ever a stick in the mud, had declined to share in the alcohol consumption.

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed, slurring the word remarkably.

Snape smirked, sitting back in his chair. “You win this hand, Potter. What would you like to know?”

Harry considered. This had been a new incentive to the game that Snape had actually suggested. The winner of each hand got to ask the loser any question they liked. Harry didn’t doubt that Snape had been expecting his abilities to suffer under the influence of alcohol, and he had already been forced to admit that it had been Hermione and Dobby who stole from the man’s private stores in Second and Fourth Year. However, he had still won the majority of the hands, and was quickly running out of questions regarding a man he’d never been very curious about.

Suddenly, his eyes alighted on the dull gold ring on his finger. He had a question, and he looked up sharply, ignoring the swimmy feel in his brain at the sharp movement.

“Do you really believe you’re my true love?” He asked firmly.

Snape smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the knee. “I do,” He admitted. “An unfortunate fact of fairy magic is that it never lies. If the love potion you were poisoned with says that I am your true love, then it must be so. No matter how little the parties involved want it to be.”

Harry frowned from where he sat on the opposite end of the coffee table. “And there’s no way around it?”

“Save that ring,” Snape said, pointing to Harry’s right hand. “No. And that’s two questions.”

Harry shrugged this off as he studied the ring on his finger. An idea, a very drunken and foolish idea, had begun to form in his head. Even knowing he would never consider such a thing sober, he couldn’t shake the sudden desire and curiosity. Shifting his legs underneath him, wavering slightly on the edge of imbalance as he leaned forward over the cards lain out on the dark wood, he began to crawl down the low table towards the Potions Master. Snape instantly began to scowl, his lips pursed. Cards scattered under Harry’s hands and knees, and he finally achieved his goal, moving into the chair in which Snape sat, straddling strong, thin, black-clad thighs.

“What are you doing?” Snape growled, pressing back into his chair, trying and failing to twist away from Harry’s hands as he cupped a stiff jaw.

Harry shrugged again. “It must be so, right?”

“Potter, stop this nonsense,” Snape insisted, his hands going to Harry’s wrists, likely intending to push him away.

Harry didn’t give the man the chance, as he leant forward, his head swirling so violently as he closed his eyes that he more fell forward than anything. Their mouths crashed together violently. It was not a romantic kiss, nor even a good one. It was simply a pressing of mouth to mouth, and Harry regretted it instantly. What the hell had made him want to kiss Snape?

The Potions Master seemed to have a similar thought, because after a frozen moment, he shoved Harry away so violently that Harry fell back, out of the chair. His head collided painfully with the dark wood of the coffee table. Harry looked up, tears of pain, anger, and a touch of fear swimming in his eyes, as a hand went to the growing knot on the back of his head. Snape stood angrily, and Harry watched him with a dark scowl.

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?!” The Potions Master demanded.

Harry shook his head, unable to stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks. “Nothing. It was stupid. Ahhh!”

A sudden, sharp pain stabbed at his chest, a pain like he had never felt. His spine bent reflexively, curling him into a ball as his hands went to his chest. Snape was at his side in an instant, and Harry pushed away the pale hands reaching for him.

“Leave me alone. Ah! What did you do to me?”

“You’re rejecting me,” Snape answered, a hint of panic to his tone. His hands hovered just short of Harry’s body.

Harry scoffed humorlessly. “You started it,” He said defensively.

Snape frowned. “It’s not funny, Potter. Let me help.”

Harry snarled like a wounded animal, and rolled off the coffee table, stumbling to his feet. The combination of pain and inebriation left him to trip slightly over his own feet, and he only just managed to stay mostly upright. He sent a sour look over his shoulder at the Potions Master, who had moved toward him, hands poised as if he’d planned to catch him should he fall.

“I’m not laughing, Snape,” Harry pointed out angrily. “Get the hell away from me. I don’t need, or want, your help.”

He made it only a few lurching steps toward the concealed staircase. Then his world went black.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke with what he could only assume was the world’s worst hangover. His mouth was dry as a desert, his head felt like he’d gotten in a fight with a brick wall and the wall had won, and his stomach rolled threateningly if he so much as moved his eyes. He couldn’t believe how much he’d had to drink the night before. And in front of Snape of all people. It had been fun at the time, and Snape had at least been tolerant.

The last thing Harry remembered was Snape suggesting they make their game more interesting. Everything after that was a blur, with the occasional bright point, like his admission of Hermione and Dobby’s guilt. Unfortunately, as the night progressed, things went from blurry to black. He couldn’t even remember making what he was sure had to have been a heroic effort towards his bed.

He was, however, shirtless under his sheets, so he must’ve made it here on his own. He doubted Snape, ever the world’s biggest prick, would have taken the time to make him even slightly comfortable by half-undressing him before carting him into his bed and tucking him in. The mere idea passed a shudder down Harry’s spine. Sure, Snape had seen him shirtless when they’d been forced to share sleeping quarters, but the thought of the man undressing him was just weird.

Recalling his uncle’s many hangovers over the years, Harry sighed. The only real cure for a hangover was a long shower, a hot breakfast, aspirin, and lots of coffee, followed by lots of water. All of which meant he had to get out of bed, something he was loathe to attempt considering the precarious state of his stomach contents.

Finally, knowing he couldn’t put it off much longer, he rolled carefully out of the bed. A light flickered in his brain, some forgotten moment, perhaps from years previous, of him doing something similar while in the most unimaginable pain. Shaking clear of this sticky cobweb of memory, Harry slowly and deliberately moved around his borrowed bedroom, collecting clothes for his shower. When he’d done, he shot as quickly as he could across the hallway between his room and the bathroom. He wanted to put off Snape’s snide comments about holding his liquor for as long as possible.

The water was heavenly and hot, and Harry could already feel the impossible magic only a hot shower could deliver working at his dehydrated body. He would still need to consume his weight in water and coffee after this, but he felt immensely better just standing under the steamy spray. Only when the water began to cool significantly did Harry leave the glass-enclosed stall and towel off. His joints creaked dryly, another symptom of the severe dehydration and alcohol poisoning he’d earned for one night of “fun”. He already knew, from watching his uncle, that a truly epic hangover could last as many as three or four days. He just hoped he hadn’t gotten that drunk.

Downstairs, Harry was surprised to find Snape wasn’t waiting with a scathing remark at the tip of his tongue. Instead, his worn and torn deck of cards sat innocently atop the coffee table, which had been moved back to its niche by the fireplace. Harry looked at Snape’s chair curiously and felt a whisper of memory slide over his brain like water.

It must be so.

Harry shivered. That’s right. He’d asked Snape about being his true love. And fairy magic didn’t lie. But what had happened after? The Gryffindor shrugged. Obviously, nothing significant had happened, or he’d have found Snape waiting with a sharper tongue than normal. Certainly not what he thought he’d been thinking the night before. What a stupid thing to do that would have been. If he’d done that, Snape probably would have been waiting to tell him to get out of his house and never return.

In spite of its angry churning, Harry felt his stomach rumble hungrily. Surprised, but pleased (hungry meant the chances of vomiting were severely diminished), Harry went into the kitchen. He froze in front of the small, lopsided table that he and Snape typically dined at.

“What the hell?” Harry intoned. The sound of his own voice surprised him, and he jumped a little.

It was enough, at least, to get him moving. He approached the table cautiously, uncertain if he should trust what he saw. He picked up the small note lying between a full plate of food and a steaming mug of coffee, beneath a green, round-bottomed potion phial. Snape’s even, refined handwriting stood out on the sheet of parchment, and Harry’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper in a frown as he read.

Potter,

Eat before you take the potion. The combination will cure what I can only assume is a monstrous hangover. I can only hope you have learned your lesson about over-indulging in alcohol. I will be in my lab for most of the day, so lunch and dinner are in your hands. Always assuming you cannot occupy your own time, I have left your birthday present in your bedroom. It has several names, but you may know it as Chinese Solitaire. There are instructions with it. Do not lose your marbles in my home. I won’t have you tearing my house apart when you go looking for them.

Snape

 The second to last sentence surprised a laugh out of Harry, even as his frown deepened. Snape had to have known the phrase had a double meaning. Had the man made a joke? Either way, Harry still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Not only had Snape apparently provided him the cure to his hangover, as well as a bonus cup of coffee, rather than let him suffer through (as, Harry was sure, was some cruel rite of passage for most), he’d left a note. And on top of that, he’d apparently given Harry a birthday present.

What the hell was that about? So far, their summer had been a matter of just barely tolerating each other. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They had shared a bed for two weeks. And had been playing card games nightly ever since the bed-sharing had been quit. Even so, they weren’t close enough for something like this, and definitely hadn’t warmed to each other enough to be giving gifts. What the hell was Snape playing at?

Shrugging, Harry sat down to his breakfast. He was incredibly curious about the Chinese Solitaire he’d somehow missed while gathering his shower essentials, but he knew it was best to take care of his hangover first. The breakfast was good, and still warm, and the coffee was delightfully black and bitter. The potion was thick, and chalky, but it settled Harry’s warped mind and churning stomach as promised.

After washing his plate, and leaving the potion phial on the table, Harry returned to his room. Atop the dresser he’d been given for the summer sat the strangest game he’d ever seen. It was a thick, round, wooden platform, with 38 shallow grooves carved halfway through to hold the round, colorful stones that numbered 37. Around the edge was a long, shallow trench. The instructions said that the goal was to jump each “marble” (which were really weighty, polished stones) until only one remained. It was very possibly the most challenging, time-consuming game Harry had ever played.

Harry played with his new, wonderful game (which was by no means actually new) straight through lunch. Snape never once appeared, as promised, and by three Harry was slightly bored, but mostly hungry. He went into the kitchen to seek out a light lunch. Instead, he found himself absent-mindedly gathering the things to make beef stew. He had yet to actually use Snape’s kitchen to cook anything more than the most basic meals, nothing in-depth or time-consuming; not because of rules but because the man was such a stickler for scheduling.

Now, however, Harry began to cook as if the kitchen were his own. It took some searching, but he managed to find absolutely everything he would need to make his favorite dish. Beef stew wasn’t necessarily complicated, but it was easily ruined, especially while cooking down the stock enough to make the proper gravy. Harry loved cooking beef stew, loved varying the recipe dependent on his mood. Snape would no doubt find something wrong with it, if not specifically, inherently, but Harry didn’t care. If dinner was in his hands, he would make what he bloody well pleased. It wasn’t as if Snape had ever bothered to ask him what he wanted to eat.

Harry had been cooking for two hours and had begun to contemplate whether or not he should leave out a bowl for Snape, when the man appeared.

“That smells... enticing, Mister Potter.”

Harry leapt most of the way out of his skin, nearly dropping the ladle he’d been using to stir his stew. As Snape’s words penetrated, he felt himself blush and hated himself for it. He didn’t turn, lest Snape see his blush and tease him for it.

“Thanks,” Harry said aloud. “It’s my own recipe.”

He didn’t say “I hope you like it.” The thought, however, touched his mind, sending a queer, trembling snake of nervousness up his spine. He turned now, to see Snape sitting sideways in a chair at the table, reading from a book. Black eyes moved over the page, and never once acknowledged the Gryffindor at the stove. Harry felt a small thrill of relief wash over him. This was odd, of course; he shouldn’t care what Snape thought about anything, but somehow, he did.

He found himself really wanting Snape to like his stew, even though he had never cared before about how his cooking was received. The nearest he’d ever gotten was his relatives, and his hope for favor had more to do with avoiding punishment than anything else. There was no threat of being beaten here, but he still really actually wanted Snape to appreciate the effort that had gone into the meal.

Dishing out two bowls of the stew, Harry carried his hard work to the table. He set one bowl near the Potions Master’s elbow and sat down across the table with the other. He waited on the edge of nervousness as Snape closed his book and turned in his chair. Slowly, as if moving through water, Harry watched as Snape took up a spoonful of the steaming dish, blew on it serenely, and tasted it. Harry waited in an agony of impatience as the man appeared to savor the stew curiously.

“It is... adequate,” Snape said at last.

Harry felt his face fall into a moue of disappointment. Adequate? The hell kind of assessment was that?! Scowling, Harry lowered his eyes to his own food and began to eat only out of habit. His appetite was gone entirely, and he hated himself for ever hoping. He hated himself for expecting more from the former Death Eater. Of course Snape wasn’t going to actually compliment him. He could have fed the man the mythical Ambrosia of the Gods and the man would have found it lacking.

“What happened last night?” Harry asked conversationally. “I sort of blacked out after we made the game more interesting.”

“Not much,” Snape replied coolly. It took a moment for Harry to realize that this was all he would get.

Harry ate in silence, refusing to make any further attempts at conversation. As he scraped up the dregs in his bowl, he felt a monstrous urge to sneeze that he found he could not prevent. Leaning into the crook of his elbow, he choked a stiff sneeze, followed by a heavy coughing fit that left his throat burning. When he looked back up, Snape was staring at him stoically.

“Potter... are you alright?”

If Harry didn’t know better, he’d have almost said Snape sounded concerned. He did know better, however, and he merely shrugged, returning his gaze to his empty bowl, and the task of gathering what little remained at the bottom. He started horribly when fingers like ice pressed against his neck under his chin, and he glared up at the Potions Master. Damn, the man was silent as the grave.

“You look pale, and you’re a little warm. I want you to take some Pepper-Up before you go to bed, and I want you to turn in early tonight, no games.”

Harry scoffed. “A, you aren’t my nurse, and B, I’m fine. Anyone would feel warm compared to those icicles you call fingers, and I’m probably pale because of the dehydration and alcohol poisoning I put myself through. Grateful as I am for the potion you provided, potions can’t make everything all better all at once.”

Snape scowled. “I am aware of that, Potter, however-”

“If you don’t want to lose to me anymore, then just say so,” Harry retorted. “Because I’m not sick. I’ve never been sick in my life.”

Snape continued to scowl for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “This isn’t about games, Potter, it is about your health. However, as you are seventeen, it is your choice. If you insist you are not ill, then I shall bribe you. You wish for our nightly routine to continue as-is. I will only play your silly games if you consent to take a dose of Pepper-Up.”

Harry scowled as well. “Fine. But I’m telling you, I don’t get sick.”

“Fine,” Snape spat. He returned to his side of the table and began to eat again. “Your stew lacks flavor.”

Harry scowled and stood angrily. He took his bowl to the sink, just barely resisted the urge to toss it into the metal basin, and went into the living room. Damn that man!

Chapter Text

Later that night, he and Snape were playing a game called “Go Fish”. Harry had yet to actually speak to him, only shrugging his shoulders and dealing the cards when Snape suggested they play. They’d been at it for about an hour, Harry having held up the cards he was seeking in an attempt to remain mute. Then Snape apparently decided to end the silence.

“I... apologize,” he said with a grimace.

Harry’s head shot up. “What?”

Snape glowered. “It was not my intention to insult your cooking. I had only meant to inform you that there were things you could change.”

Harry frowned down at the cards in his hands. That explanation sucked, but he supposed he should appreciate the man was making an effort. “Oh... okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Snape gave a stiff nod. “How is your summer homework coming along?”

“It’s... okay,” Harry answered suspiciously. “I’ve technically finished, but I’ll probably go over it again before the summer’s out.” He sneezed suddenly into the crook of his elbow, gasping when his entire torso seized for a moment. “Damn, that hurt.”

Snape did nothing to hide his smirk. “You’re catching cold, Potter. Just admit it.”

“I told you; I don’t get colds. If I were going to get one, it’d’ve been when I got caught in the rain. Only, I didn’t, because I don’t get colds,” Harry argued. “Do you have any 7’s?”

“Go fish, Potter.”

Harry picked up a card from the deck and tried and failed not to grin as he laid out his four sevens triumphantly. “You’ve got rotten luck,” he told the man.

Snape grunted. “Have you thought any about what you will do following your graduation?”

Harry shrugged. “Some, but not really. I’m sort of at a loss, to be totally honest. A few brochures and a five-minute meeting with my Head of House in Fifth Year do not a conducive career-deciding environment make. I thought I wanted to be an Auror. But I was naïve. I’m not cut out for following orders, or filing paperwork, no matter how ‘cool’ Ron says being an Auror is. Tonks tried to sell me on it, too, but-” he sneezed again, his eyes watering as he cleared his raw throat. “But I just don’t-” Another sneeze, followed by yet another, and a coughing fit to top it off. “I don’t want to chase bad guys, with my neck on the line, for the rest of my life. Dark Wizards... I’ve got enough nightmares, without seeing even more of the revolting things Dark Wizards can do without hesitation.”

“Is there some other career you’ve considered?” Snape asked. “Fishing for Kings.”

Harry shook his head. “Go fish. And not really. I was so focused on being an Auror; I never left myself time to think of anything besides. I suppose I enjoyed teaching my friends in the DA Fifth Year. And I really enjoyed... never mind.”

Snape frowned, pulling a card from the deck. “Enjoyed what, Potter?”

“Do you have any 9’s?”

Snape handed over the card he’d just pulled from the deck. “Enjoyed what, Potter?” He repeated.

Harry sighed, which broke off into a deep, harsh cough that didn’t seem to want to quit. “Damn, that hurt. I’m going to get some water. Don’t look at my cards.”

The Gryffindor stood and made for the kitchen but was stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist. He turned back.

“What did you enjoy, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, scowling and yanking his arm free. “I said ‘never mind’, so just let it go. I’m not going to have you poking holes in my dreams, no matter how silly even I think them.”

Snape scowled, fluttering his hand in dismissal. “Your fever has gotten worse.”

Harry shook his head again, ignoring the light-headed swoon this caused. Despite the potion he’d taken this morning, he thought perhaps he was still a little hungover. He went to the kitchen and got himself a glass from the cupboard, going to the sink and filling it with delightfully cold water. A shiver raced up his spine, and he realized he was feeling oddly cramped in nearly every muscle. He closed his eyes to drink, and swooned again, barely grabbing onto the sink to keep his balance. Opening his eyes, he shook his head. That was a mistake, as the room suddenly spun violently. He lurched against the sink, emptying his stomach contents.

Snape was at his side in the span of a heartbeat as Harry retched. When he could do no more, he hiccupped and slid to his knees. The room wouldn’t stop spinning, even with his eyes closed, and he was suddenly very, very cold. Snape followed him onto the floor, and his icy hand was very cool against the burning skin of Harry’s brow as he held his head back against his shoulder, swiping gently at his fringe.

Harry frowned up at the man. “Snape... I think I might be sick.”

Snape smirked, but Harry only saw it for a moment before a remarkably violent coughing fit took hold. He tried and failed to draw air between coughs and could see the sparks of light that said he was dangerously low on oxygen. Even so, even when the cough had tapered off, he couldn’t force air into his lungs, which had seized horribly. He gulped at the air, looked over his shoulder at his professor, and managed only one word.

“Help...” He wheezed. For the second time in as many days, his world went black.

-Break-

When Harry came to, he found himself lost amongst a sea of blankets on his bed in Snape’s home. Even with the blankets, sharp shivers raced up and down his spine as if he were freezing from the inside. He snuggled further under the blankets and tried to ignore his spinning vision. He was suddenly sure that every cold he’d never gotten as a child had finally caught up to him, and he closed his eyes against a monstrous headache as fitful coughing wracked his body violently. He looked over when the door to his room opened. Snape entered and came immediately to his side, silent as the grave. He set a glass full of water on the table beside the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“How do you feel?” The man asked stiffly.

Harry shook his head against his pillow. “Like I’m going to cough out a lung. How the hell did I get so sick?”

Snape grunted. “Your rather indulgent alcohol consumption is likely a contributor. Alcohol, especially over-indulgence, tends to weaken the immune system. However, this has likely been sneaking up on you for some time. Some people don’t always show symptoms until the virus has a firm foothold.”

Harry moaned, as his stomach churned horribly, and curled up on his side. His knee touched Snape’s hip, and he realized only when the pain was lessened that his pain had returned on top of everything else. He brought his hand up from between his legs and saw that his protective ring was gone.

“It is here,” Snape said, tapping his bedside table. “You cannot wear it for now. You’ve managed to catch pneumonia and the ring will only worsen your magic lashes as your core tries to fight off the illness.”

Harry chuckled dizzily. “Let me get this straight: Wizards managed to cure the common cold, but pneumonia? That’s beyond magic?”

Snape nodded seriously. “Unfortunately, that is exactly right. I have been working on the cure myself, but it is much more complicated than a cold, because of the way it affects a wizard’s magic.”

“Oh...  that’s really cool of you,” Harry muttered. He felt suddenly more exhausted than he had ever been in his entire life. He yawned and felt his jaw cramp at the joint. A grimace furrowed his brow as he felt himself begin to drift.

“Sleep, Potter. Your fever is worsening.”

Harry nodded and allowed himself to drift further towards sleep. Somehow, he felt unreasonably safe and at peace with the man so nearby. Sleep claimed him before he could analyze this strange new feeling.

Chapter Text

Harry opened his eyes and was immediately awake as terror crept into his heart. He was back at Privet Drive, and back in his cupboard under the stairs. He went to the door and pounded at it hopelessly.

“Uncle, please!” he shouted. It was useless, he knew, as he could sense that the house was empty and dark, but still he pleaded. “Please Uncle, don’t leave me in here! I promise I’ll be good! I’ll take my punishments! Please, Uncle! Don’t leave me in here!”

From somewhere in the house Harry heard cruel laughter, and it scared him more than the idea that the house was empty.

“Aunt Petunia!” he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry! I swear it! Let me out, please! Don’t leave me with him!”

The laughter jeered at him again, closer, and Harry pedaled back from the door in fear.

“No!” he screamed. “It’s my cupboard! You can’t be here! Dumbledore swore!”

“There’s no one to protect you, little boy,” the laughter jeered. “You’re all alone in the world. No one loves you.”

Harry trembled with fear, and his tears flowed harder as the darkness began to consume him.

-Break-

Harry opened his eyes and was instantly grateful to find himself on the couch in Snape’s living room. He’d fallen asleep, that was all. Voldemort hadn’t been on Privet Drive.

Harry turned his head as someone knelt beside the couch. He smiled and reached out.

“Are you alright?” Snape asked gently, a sympathetic smile on his lips.

Harry nodded. “I am now.” He leaned over, and Snape closed the distance as well. Their lips met in a flurry of feeling, and Harry moaned into the kiss. He pulled away. “I love you.”

Snape continued to smile. “I love you, too.”

-Break-

Harry’s eyes fluttered open groggily. His vision was a blur, worse than just the loss of his glasses, and he seemed to feel himself glowing with the heat radiating off his skin. He croaked helplessly, his throat too dry to make much more sound than that. In an instant, there was a hand behind his head, lifting him up slightly. A cool glass touched his lips, and he drank greedily. He moaned when the glass was taken from him before he’d had his fill.

“No more or you’ll just aspirate on your own vomit.”

Harry moaned again, but he was too weak to argue as sleep consumed him once more.

-Break-

Harry gasped and forced himself to swallow the bile that rose in his throat as his uncle kicked him in the stomach.

“I’m sorry!” He sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll take your beatings, boy!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Because you deserve them!”

Harry nodded.

“Say it, boy!”

Harry flinched as his uncle’s fist raised up to strike him. “I deserve it,” he said obediently. “I deserve it because I’m a nasty little freak whom no one will ever love.”

The fist slammed into his nose in approval, and Harry cried out again before he could stop it.

“Say it again, boy! Say it until you believe it!”

“I’m a nasty little freak and no one will ever love me.”

“Again!”

Harry flinched as the fist rose once more. “No more, please, don’t hurt me anymore,” he begged.

“You’ll say it, boy, and you’ll take the punishment you rightfully deserve.”

“I’m sorry!” Harry cried. “I’m a nasty little freak and no one will ever love me! Please, Vernon, no more, please!”

“What did you call me, freak?!”

Harry could not escape the flurry of punches that impacted his body wherever his uncle could get to. He sobbed quietly, tears racing over his cheeks. He couldn’t even gather enough air to apologize again. When a meaty fist connected with his temple, Harry’s world went black.

-Break-

Harry awoke briefly, feeling warm and safe. He curled tighter into the arms around his shoulders as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

­-Break-

“No more, Professor, please,” Harry murmured, half-dreaming.

Loud, childish laughter echoed in his head. “Had enough, Mister Potter?” Umbridge asked delightedly.

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” Harry murmured. “I’ve learned my lesson. I must not tell lies.”

“Yes, and you’ll remember that forever now, won’t you?”

Harry nodded. “Forever.”

-Break-

Harry opened his eyes groggily. His eyes went immediately to the place by his bed, and he smiled with relief to find Snape reading by the light thrown from the lamp on his nightstand. Sleep claimed him once more.

-Break-

“You’ll have to kill them.”

Harry smirked. “With pleasure. Who first? Vernon, perhaps? Or should I save the pig for last, make him suffer as I always have?”

“I leave it in your hands.”

“Thank you, my Lord, for giving me this opportunity to repay them for everything they’ve ever done to me,” Harry said gratefully. He turned back to his relatives, gagged and bound on the floor of Riddle Manor’s drawing room. “Perhaps I should toss Vernon into a cupboard under the stairs to be forgotten, as I so often was.”

Voldemort smirked at his side. “You are my most prized recruit, Harry. Do as you please. Make them suffer.”

Harry grinned evilly at his relatives. “Don’t worry, Master. I will.”

Chapter Text

Harry jolted awake, his vision blurry as he stared around his borrowed room in Spinner’s End. His dreams seemed far and distant, a jumbled mess of Snape and Voldemort and Vernon. A lot of Vernon. Harry shuddered as he tried and failed to recall any detail of his dreams, but they were all gone. His eyelids felt heavy, but not with sleep. He touched his neck and hoped that his fever had finally broken.

“Who is Vernon?”

Harry started violently and looked to see Snape reading in a chair by his bed. “Huh? He’s my uncle. Why?”

“You said his name.”

Harry’s head spun as all of his dreams recurred to him, including the small moments in Snape’s arms. A dark blush suffused his cheeks at first, but he paled suddenly as the final dream grew clear in his mind’s eye. If Snape had heard, even just pieces...

“Did I say anything else?”

“No.”

It was a lie. In that moment, however brief, Harry could read the Potions Master like an open book. There was no change in the man’s tone, no clue on his stoic features, and no gambler’s tell, but still Harry knew. Snape had heard everything. Harry felt suddenly ill, and it had nothing to do with his pneumonia. Snape knew. He knew everything. He knew about the cupboard, the beatings, the mantra that Vernon had beaten into Harry’s head, a mantra Harry still couldn’t escape.

And he knew about Harry’s very deeply hidden desire to have joined the Dark Lord’s ranks for a chance to repay every Muggle in his path for the ‘kindness’ he’d been shown by his relatives; the purposely ignorant adults who should have protected him in the Muggle world. He had hidden these things from even his closest friends, especially the last, and now the last man on Earth that he might have told knew about them all.

Harry moaned and waited for the man to hate him... more than he usually did. But Snape merely closed his book and took up his place on the side of Harry’s bed. Cold fingers touched his forehead and neck gently.

“Your fever has broken,” the man said matter-of-factly. “We must hope the worst has passed. If you’re feeling up to it, we can attempt a trip downstairs, so that you may eat. If you still feel ill, however, I could bring you some broth.”

Harry still felt sick that Snape suddenly knew his darkest secrets but knew this was no reason to lay about in bed and inconvenience the Potions Master further.

“I think I’m okay,” he lied, avoiding the dark, searching gaze. “Fit as a fiddle. Thanks, for, you know, taking care of me.”

Snape nodded stiffly and got off the bed, leaving the room quickly. Harry threw off his blankets and sat up. He looked to his nightstand and picked up his glasses and ring. He slipped both on and stood. It was then he realized that Snape had redressed him at some point. He was in a pair of thick, warm pajamas that were not the thin, worn hand-me-downs from Dudley. They weren’t his at all. And they were stiff with dried sweat. Wrinkling his nose, Harry quickly gathered some of his own clothes and shot across the hall to the bathroom.

It still terrified him, to think that a man that had made a game of making his life a living hell knew things that not even his friends knew. He shuddered as he undressed and tossed Snape’s pajamas into the hamper and started the shower. As far as Ron and Hermione knew, he was a neglected orphan, slightly underfed, but generally ‘okay’. Most people didn’t even know that much.

Harry had carefully hidden the real truth of his home life, save the hint he’d given Dumbledore when he’d asked if he could stay at the school on the summer, back when he’d naively thought any adult gave a shit. Dumbledore had dismissed him as being fanciful, and Harry had decided then that he was done trying to trust the adults around him. No one was going to take care of him except him, and he’d grown to like that fact.

What had anyone ever done to earn his trust, anyway? Ron had abandoned him on several occasions for the stupidest reasons, and constantly used his associative fame to benefit himself. Hermione treated him like a little kid who couldn’t take care of himself. And everyone else either put him on a pedestal or treated him like something gross on the bottom of their shoe, including the man who suddenly knew all his secrets.

Harry was surprised, as he scrubbed away the grime from his body, that he was less concerned about Snape knowing about the darkness in his heart. If anyone could understand, he thought Snape might be the only one. Everyone else thought him perfect, pure Light, and he’d lived in terror of the day his Dark side won through. He’d only ever slipped once, when Umbridge had been carried off by the Centaurs, but only Hermione had witnessed it, and she’d been too busy dealing with Grawp to notice.

As the Gryffindor left the glass shower stall and dried off, he wondered what Snape would do with his new knowledge. He was, after all, the man that had made a habit of picking and prodding at Harry’s every weakness at every opportunity. Don’t understand Potions? Strike for Severus Snape. Trying to improve himself? Strike two. Sabotaged in class? Strike three. Making friends and putting aside the horrible things in his life for just a moment? Well, that was a no-hitter, wasn’t it?

Sighing as he dressed, Harry realized that even his own, hidden darkness balked at the idea of retaliation if Snape brought up anything he’d learned. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to prey on the insecurities of someone else, no matter how much the man might do it to him. He’d seen enough accidental glimpses of Snape’s memories in Fifth Year to know the man was almost as abused as he’d been. But he couldn’t use that against him. He couldn’t even bring himself to use his father’s abuse. Although, the last was likely because he despised that part of his father, the bully that had picked on someone else just because of their House. Even Malfoy wasn’t as mean as his dad had been.

Steeling himself, Harry left the bathroom and went downstairs. He waited on the edge of terror for the man to speak when he entered the kitchen, but Snape merely put a plate of food before him and said nothing as he moved to the sink to begin washing his pans. Harry frowned and looked at his plate, a strange combination of dinner and breakfast items. When he looked up at the clock on the wall, he realized why. It was three in the morning. Why the hell was Snape even awake? Harry looked at the calendar on the wall and realized it was three days since he’d first fallen ill. He’d been in and out of fever dreams for three days, and Snape had never been absent when he came round.

“Did- did you stay with me?”

Snape didn’t turn. “I did,” he answered stiffly.

Harry returned to frowning at his food. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Eat,” Snape commanded lightly, still refusing to turn. “You’re not out of the woods, and you’ll need your strength.”

Harry continued to frown as he picked up his fork and began to eat. What in the hell was happening?

Chapter Text

To Harry’s great surprise and even greater confusion, Snape did not once bring up what he’d learned while Harry was in the throes of nightmare after feverish nightmare. He remained mostly holed up in his bed, under orders to take it extremely easy, for another week. Snape stayed with him for most of it, only disappearing, most likely to his lab, for a few hours every day. He maintained that Harry keep his ring off until they were certain he was in the clear, and instead sat with his legs propped on Harry’s bed near the Gryffindor’s leg, where they could maintain a sort of distant contact. Harry had actually laughed the first time he awoke to see Snape slouched down in his chair but had quickly learned that the man thought himself above being laughed at, as he’d glowered and left as soon as he’d realized what had tickled the Boy Who Lived.

Another surprise was soon to follow, when Snape took him to Diagon Alley to shop for the coming term. For one thing, as they stepped into the Alley, Snape stopped Harry by grabbing his wrist, and very carefully twisted the ring, casting a few spells under his breath. Harry felt a wash of relief as the usual remaining tightness in his chest dissolved.

“What was that?” He asked.

Snape smirked. “A few complex charms. Do not concern yourself. They are only meant to last a few hours, but it should be time enough to purchase what you need, as well as spend time with your friends, who miss you sorely.”

Harry frowned. “My friends? How do you know-?”

“Harry!”

Snape continued to smirk as he side stepped out of the archway between the Alley and the Leaky Cauldron. Harry grinned on seeing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny coming out of the pub. The four friends ran towards each other, and Harry laughed when his three dearest friends wrapped themselves around him. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed them this summer.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked. “It’s earlier in the summer than you usually come. We’re only here because I have an appointment at Gringotts.”

Ron grinned, mussing the Wizarding Savior’s hair. “Snape owled Mum, told her you’d be coming out, and suggested we make a day of it. He even got ahold of our lists and sent them along, so we wouldn’t have to come twice.”

Harry found himself caught between a grin and frown. He turned his head, only to find Snape had disappeared. “Sneaky git never even told me. I can’t believe he set this up.”

“Believe it,” Ginny said. “I know, it’s just too weird for him to do something so nice, and Ron was half-convinced it was a trap from the start.”

Hermione squeezed Harry tighter. “How has your summer been going? Has it been awful? Or is Snape’s letters a sign of his true humanity?”

Harry chuckled. “A bit of both. We’ve been at odds a lot, but we’ve gotten to the point of tolerating one another. And he did take care of me when I had pneumonia.”

Ron hissed. “Ouch, that’s a bummer. I hate to say it, but you’re lucky you had a Potions Master around to take care of you. Charlie spent a week in hospital when he caught pneumonia. Mum and Dad are still paying off the bills.”

The four friends pulled away reluctantly and Harry found he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You can come with to my meeting with the Goblins, and then we’ll all get some ice cream. I still can’t believe Snape did all this.”

“Why are you meeting with the Goblins?” Ginny asked as they started to move down the Alley.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “They just said something about reviewing my inheritance.”

Ron chuckled. “Probably want to talk about boring things like taxes.”

Harry chuckled as well as they drew closer to the large marble bank at the center of the Alley.

-Break-

“I have an estate,” Harry mumbled as they left the bank twenty minutes later. It was the third or fourth time he’d said it, but the shock still had its hold on him.

Ron laughed. “You’re richer than Malfoy,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re the last surviving descendant of Peverell. You should totally take on the mantle.”

Harry stared at his friend. “Mantle?”

Hermione giggled. “The name. Remember, Harry, in the Wizarding World names hold power. The Malfoy’s carry a lot of power, thanks to their ancestry and influence. I’d bet you anything that Peverell comes with a place on the Wizengamot, or something just as powerful, more than the Malfoy’s could even hope for.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not saying I would, but... how do I take on the mantle?”

Ron grew suddenly serious. “You have to petition the Ministry of Magic, in the Ancestry Department. If you like, I could have Dad owl you everything you need to know, and you can decide whenever you like if you want to do it. There’s even a way to take on the name while keeping yours, though that costs a little gold.”

Harry considered this. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to look into it,” he admitted. “Might be nice for everyone to see something besides the scar on my head.”

Ginny smiled sweetly. “You’ve got until you’re twenty-five to decide, so don’t fret over it too much. Percy changed his name to Prewett-Weasley last year.”

Harry forced himself to grin, though he didn’t quite feel it as he considered what it might mean to be something other than ‘Harry James Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World’. “Come on,” he said aloud, walking a little faster. “Let’s go get our ice cream before we start getting our stuff on our lists.”

Hermione sighed whimsically. “It’ll be so nice to shop at Flourish and Blotts without all the other students pushing and shoving.”

Harry and his friends chuckled as they moved towards Florean Fortscue’s delicious ice cream shop.

-Break-

Harry snuck away from his friends as they began arguing about Hermione’s insistence on buying the optional texts at the bottom of the list, all assigned by whoever was their new Defense Professor (Snape had revealed to Harry that he was returning to Potions, and that he was not happy that this meant accepting the students Slughorn’s lower standards had allowed into the class). He moved over to the clerk behind the register at the center of the shop, and blushed when the man turned his full focus to him.

“Hi,” Harry said shyly.

The clerk smiled kindly. “Need help looking for something?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t even know if you can help me, but... Do you have any books on Wizarding genealogy?”

“Of course, Mister Potter. Are you looking for a name in particular?” The clerk asked. He moved around the counter and started leading Harry towards a corner at the back of the shop.

“Er, no chance you have something on the Peverell line?” Harry asked carefully.

The Gryffindor was surprised when the shopkeeper chuckled. “You could say that.” He stopped before a stack that looked like any other. “This shelf is everything we have on the Peverell line.”

Harry gaped as he looked at the books. “These are all about Peverell?” He squeaked.

“Yup,” the clerk said proudly. “I’d guess you’re looking for an in-depth look at your family history. I’d suggest these.”

Harry held out his hands as the shopkeeper pulled three books from the shelf. The first was entitled ‘The Peverell Mythology’, the second, a little run down, proclaimed itself as ‘The Peverell Name’, and the third, the largest by far, was a complete genealogy of the Peverell line, right down to its last surviving heir, self-updating. Harry stared at the books in wonder.

“I had no idea,” he murmured.

“That you were more important than the scar on your head?” The shopkeeper asked softly. He touched Harry’s shoulder. “I think you should take a look at these, Mister Potter. There aren’t many who remember the significance of your ancestry, but there are those who do. I won’t say I’m not hoping these will influence your decision. It’s time the Wizarding World remembered there are more significant names than those of Death Eaters and corrupt politicians.”

Harry managed a weak smile. “Th-thank you. You really think I’d do my family name honor?”

The old wizard gave a slow nod. “Better than even you can imagine,” he said gently. “You are young, but I think that gives you more power and ambition than the old names and old men who have all the power now. You have the drive, and, I think, the acumen to affect real change in our world.”

“Wow, um, thank you, thank you so much,” Harry breathed. He held the books close to his chest. “I guess I’ve got a lot to think about, and I definitely want to buy these books.”

The shopkeeper continued to smile as he walked back to the counter, where Harry’s friends had moved to, still arguing. Harry chuckled lightly when he saw that, despite Ron and Ginny’s arguments, all three of them had the optional texts in their arms. He set his three new books on the counter with the rest of his school texts, and silently paid the clerk for everyone’s books.

This stopped the arguing, and Harry realized too late that Ron and Ginny’s arguing was probably their embarrassment over the cost, and whether they could really afford the extra books. He blushed as his friends hugged him tightly, even Hermione, while the clerk put their books in bags and shrunk them down for them. The group took their books, with many thanks, and left the shop. As they moved down the cobblestone street towards the stationery shop, Harry felt the embarrassment of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, breaking the tense silence. “I-I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t pay for your own books. It… just seemed easier than trying to break the three of you up.”

Ron shook his head grinning. “Nah, I don’t mind at all,” he said. “Means more money for sweets and tricks when we visit Fred and George.”

Harry chuckled as this broke the tension admirably.

Chapter Text

It took less than three days for Harry to finish his books about his family name, and by the third day, he’d finally gotten the information from Mister Weasley about taking on his ancestral name. When the letter arrived, Harry realized why it had taken so long. Peverell required much more than a petition.

Because it was one of the oldest names in the Wizarding World, Harry had to prove he was the true heir, which meant a letter from Gringotts. It only took a week of Snape calling him Potter, with that spitting hatred with which he always said the name, for Harry to realize he was done being ‘Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World’. He wanted to be more than that, and the encouragement from the clerk at Flourish, a complete stranger who truly believed he could do the world some real good, was the icing on the cake. He sent his petition and letter from the bank a week before September 1^st would finally arrive.

In that time, as he waited anxiously each day for word from the Ministry as to whether his application and gold had been accepted, he and Snape made a deal. They wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened to the Gryffindor, but neither would they hide it. They would let the students draw their own conclusions, and Harry would visit the Potions Master’s office every night for a couple hours. Harry thought, perhaps, they would spread little more than mass confusion, when they treated each other as they always had, yet voluntarily spent time together outside of detentions.

“Potter! We are leaving!” Snape shouted from the living room.

Harry sighed, sitting on his packed trunk in his room. It was weird. He had hated his summer, aside from the small moments, but he almost hated to leave. It was like... he’d found a place of peace. Snape left him alone, mostly, and he was free to just be. Spinner’s End had a strange magic about it, a comforting magic, and Harry was sorry to say goodbye. He doubted he’d be returning, even if they didn’t find some solution to his illness.

Harry started as an owl swept in through the window at the same time as he heard Snape coming up the stairs. His heart leapt into his throat as he took the letter from the owl and saw it was stamped with the Ministry seal. This was it; this was the defining moment. He wouldn’t petition again, if he was refused. He didn’t have that much courage. But if it had been accepted... His heart thundered in his throat as he slit open the envelope and pulled the letter out.

“Potter,” Snape growled from the doorway.

Harry paid him no mind.

“Potter, we are leaving!”

Still, Harry stared at his letter.

“Potter!” Snape growled loudly.

Harry swallowed thickly as his green eyes rose to meet scowling onyx. “Peverell,” he breathed.

Snape frowned. “What?”

Harry stood up and held out the letter. “I’m not Harry Potter anymore. I’m Peverell, now. Harry James Potter Peverell.”

Snape took the letter and glanced over it. Onyx swung back up to meet emerald, no change at all to his stern face as he handed the letter back. “Very well, Mister Peverell. I suggest you get your trunk downstairs, or by Merlin I will leave without you and let you find your own way back to Hogwarts.”

Harry grinned upon hearing his new name. He cast his trunk to levitate behind him, and started past the Potions Master, his unwilling host. He smirked as he passed.

“No you wouldn’t,” he challenged.

Snape surprised him by smirking as they moved together downstairs, and into the living room. Harry looked around and realized that Snape had none of his own luggage.

“I spend the majority of my year at the school,” Snape said smoothly, opening the front door. “Everything I need is already there. And, unlike you, if I find I require something for my experiments, I may floo home at any time.”

Harry rolled his eyes as they came to the end of the walk, where Snape summoned the Knight Bus. He hated that the man always seemed to be able to read him like an open book. Still, it wasn’t so bad. Once they’d gotten used to each other, after Harry’s bout of more violent illness than the fairy curse, Snape would always notice if the pain was bothering him, no matter how Harry tried to hide it. Harry was at least grateful for that. It was almost... comforting, no matter how odd it was to associate such a word with the Greasy Git, that someone saw him well enough to see what he was hiding. Not even his friends could do that most of the time.

Harry sighed as they boarded the bus, and was surprised to find seats, rather than beds. He sat by the window as Snape paid for their trip before sitting beside him, and Stan lugged his trunk on board. He sighed again as they sped away from Spinner’s End. He really was sorry to be leaving, even though he was going home to Hogwarts, where he could spend his days with his friends. But that was part of the problem. His friends were always pulling him in different directions, but at Spinner’s End, his direction had been his own. He studied when he liked, cooked, played games... it was a strange sort of freedom, and even the company hadn’t been all bad, after a while.

“You were a model house guest, Peverell,” Snape said quietly.

Harry turned with a confused smile. “Thanks. How are you already so used to calling me that? It hasn’t even fully sunk in for me yet.”

Snape smirked. “Names have power.”

Harry shrugged. “That’s what Hermione said. I guess it’ll just take some getting used to.”

Snape gave a slow nod. Nothing more was said as they raced toward King’s Cross, where Snape would leave him to find his own way onto the Hogwarts Express. Harry sighed again as he looked at the blurs of color they passed. Ever since Snape had found out about his innermost secrets, the man had been behaving oddly. He wasn’t nice, and Harry was sure no force on earth could make him that, but he was different. Gentler, and less insulting. It might have been kindness from anyone else.

-Break-

Hermione and Ron were waiting on the platform when Harry arrived. Ginny had already commandeered a compartment for them, Luna, and Neville, and they all found their seats just moments before the platform began filling up with students and parents.

“How was your summer?” Neville asked as they finished getting their trunks into the overhead.

Harry shrugged, collapsing into his seat. “Spent it with Snape,” he admitted. “Long story, don’t ask.”

Neville paled. “You were in his house?”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah. It was actually... well, not bad. Not good, but not bad, once we got used to each other.”

“But, why?” Neville hissed.

Harry chuckled. “Like I said, it’s a long story. We agreed not to tell anyone, because the explanation is actually weirder than whatever you could come up with.”

“He’s secretly your father?” Ginny asked, smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes, realizing Ron had probably told her everything. “Maybe not that weird. I do have big news, though.”

Luna gasped as her misty eyes studied Harry. “You’ve been fairy bitten!” She exclaimed in awe. “That’s powerful Olde Magick! You’re so lucky.”

“That’s not the news,” Harry said, blushing. “I’m no longer Potter. My name is officially Harry Potter Peverell.”

The compartment gasped as one.

“You actually did it?” Hermione asked. “I looked it up after we talked. That’s a powerful name, Harry. And it comes with a lot of responsibility.”

Harry blushed a little redder. “I know, and I’m still not sure I’m really up to the task, but...  Well, like man at the bookshop said, it’s time the Wizarding World remembered there are powerful names besides Death Eaters and corrupt politicians.”

“That’s so great of you, Harry,” Ginny said, blushing herself. “You’re so brave to want to affect that kind of change in our world.”

Harry grinned but said nothing. It really was a big responsibility. He had no idea how to tell them that, once he’d finished his NEWTs, his new name came with a seat on the Wizengamot and on Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, two powerful positions that not even the Malfoy’s could claim any longer. He was just glad Lucius had lost his right to the Board back in Second Year, the prat. He would use his seat more wisely than threatening and blackmailing the other 11 governors to get whatever he wanted.

“So, how was your summer?” Harry asked the compartment in general.

Ron and Hermione grinned, grabbing each other’s hands. “Well, we started dating,” Ron said proudly.

“Finally!” Harry and Neville exclaimed.

Ginny giggled. “That’s what I said. But, aside from these two driving me nuts, nothing much happened for me.”

“I got to spend the summer at my great aunt’s home,” Neville said excitedly. “She runs a community garden, and she taught me a lot about preserving plants, and growing Muggle plants, something I never even realized I didn’t know much about.”

“My father has taken me on as an apprentice at The Quibbler,” Luna said in her gentle, airy voice. Harry grinned at her and saw that her smile was a bit wider than normal.

“That sounds fantastic, both of you,” he said sincerely. “I guess we all learned something new this summer. Well, except Gin.”

The red-haired girl wrinkled her nose at him playfully as the train started moving.

“What was it like, Harry?” Neville asked carefully. “Was he as horrible as he normally is?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking out the window as the train left the King’s Cross tunnel. “N-no-o,” he said uncertainly. “He was- we were- it was all just so-”

The Wizarding Savior was saved his muddled explanation by the compartment door opening. The group turned as one to find Malfoy and what had to be half the Slytherin Seventh Years. Harry scowled, waiting for the fight that usually ensued. Malfoy sniffed indignantly and crooked his finger at Harry. Harry’s friends exchanged looks of confusion as Harry got up and followed the blonde into the train corridor, closing the compartment behind him.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Po-Peverell,” he greeted with cold discomfort. “We’ve come to extend an olive branch.”

Harry couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up his throat. “Merlin shorts, Malfoy,” he chuckled. “New name and suddenly I’m acceptable to be around?”

Malfoy shifted slightly. “Is that a ‘no’?”

Harry tried to be serious, despite the laughter still filling his chest. “Not outright,” he admitted, smiling. “Them,” he pointed to the other Slytherins. “I have nothing against most of them. You, however... It’ll take a lot more than this faux apology for you to be on my good side. You can start with a real apology, to me and my friends.”

Malfoy sneered. “I don’t grovel, Peverell.”

Harry shrugged. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to. We’ll be here when you and your cronies decide to extend a real olive branch.” He turned and went into his compartment. Even before the door had slid shut, he heard the Slytherins explode into conspiratorial whispers. He leaned against the closed door as his friends stared at him. “Bloody Slytherins,” Harry breathed.

“What was that about?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. “Slytherin ambition. My name carries political weight now, and they all want to associate.”

Harry barely caught himself as he nearly fell backward when the door behind him slid open again. This time it was just Malfoy and his usual goons, including Parkinson and Zabini.

“We’re sorry,” Malfoy said stiffly.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “For what, and to who?”

Malfoy sneered. “To all of you,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “You’ve deserved better than my misguided prejudice and taunting. Are you happy?”

Harry pretended to consider his options. “Well,” he said slowly. “It’s not exactly the most sincere apology...” He grinned at Malfoy’s deepening scowl. “But what the hell! Welcome to the family!”

He held out his arms as if asking for a hug and chuckled when the blonde harrumphed and left down the train corridor. Harry closed the door and resumed his seat by the window, still chuckling as his friends pretended as if they weren’t also laughing. He sighed, grinning, as he smoothed his fringe over his scar.

“Bloody Slytherins,” he repeated exasperatedly.

The compartment burst into laughter.

Chapter Text

Harry entered the Potions Master’s office without knocking. It had been his little rebellion, to do this every night, only Snape never seemed to mind. Setting his bag down, Harry sat on the small couch Snape had set up to one side of the room. Snape silently gathered his marking and moved to sit by his side, spreading out his work on the table he’d also conjured at the start of the year. They both shifted and moved around until Harry was cross-legged on his cushion, touching Snape’s hip the slightest bit. It had been an unfortunate discovery that the ring, while taking on the worst of the pain, was not as strong within the castle, where they spent the majority of the day, their sleeping quarters especially, very much apart.

“How are your classes going?” Snape asked suddenly.

Harry frowned over his Transfiguration essay. “Okay, I guess.” He glanced over with a smirk. “My Potions teacher is less of a ponce than usual, at least.”

Snape surprised him by merely smirking in response. Harry continued in confusion.

“I think Malfoy’s getting suspicious about my time down here,” he said carefully. “He’s trying to stay on my good side, though, so he hasn’t said anything yet. I still haven’t figured out how he heard about my name change within hours of me finding out. I knew his dad was connected, but I guess I never realized how connected.”

Snape grunted. “Have you thought any about what you’ll do with your seats on graduation?”

“A little,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know much about the Wizengamot, but I already know that I’m going to propose to the governors that Dumbledore’s hires have to be approved by a two-thirds majority. It used to be that way, back when Phineas was Headmaster, but changed in the last century. I think it should be reinstated, since the Headmaster has managed to make a joke of the hiring process yet again. This year’s Defense professor might actually be worse than the two servants of the Dark Lord. She doesn’t even know the difference between a Red Cap and a Hinky Punk.”

Snape grimaced at the paper he was grading. “That is... disconcerting.”

Harry nodded. “Very,” he agreed. “I heard something interesting at lunch, today.”

“Regarding Miss Tullet?”

“No, about you,” Harry clarified. “A couple First Years were talking about the potion they had to brew today. One of them said they botched theirs pretty spectacularly, and you didn’t even insult him. You just explained to the class where he’d gone wrong and told him he could make it up after dinner.”

“He did very well on his second attempt,” Snape said mildly.

Harry frowned. “That’s pretty weird for you. Since when do you give Gryffindors make-up work?”

“He does have to write an extra essay to boost his grade for the ruined potion,” Snape offered.

Harry nudged the man with his knee. “You know what I mean,” he said in exasperation. “You’re behaving oddly. I heard one First Year telling his older sister that she’d scared him about you for no reason. You’ve never been this congenial before. What’s up?”

Snape gave a gesture which might have been a shrug. “It was brought to my attention that my classroom environment was not conducive to learning, and it was suggested I shift my anger to more useful pursuits than scaring First Years.”

Harry chuckled. “So, basically, Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore bullied you into being nicer?”

“You could say that,” Snape admitted with a smirk, still staring at his grading.

Harry leaned over the book in his lap to resume his essay, which he was almost finished with. “Well, I dunno what, or who, has gotten into you, but thanks. Even my class is easier to deal with, and Potions are a lot more fun.”

Snape paused in his grading, and Harry ducked his head when those onyx eyes began to scrutinize him. “That’s it, isn’t it?” The man asked cryptically.

Harry pretended he didn’t know what the man was talking about. “What’s what?”

Snape frowned. “Potions, the art and beauty...  that’s the interest you tried so hard to hide from me when you fell ill.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Peverell,” Snape growled warningly.

Harry sighed, looking up from his essay. “Yes, okay, it is. I had a... a tutor, of sorts, last year. Someone had scribbled all over my potions text, and with the Half-Blood Prince’s help I realized how amazing and interesting Potions can be. And you have just reinforced that, by being so weird in class.”

“The Half-Blood Pr-” Snape breathed in sharply through his nose. “I knew you had my book last year.”

“Your-?!” Harry paled. “Oh, Merlin, I should have seen that sooner. You’re the Half-Blood Prince?”

Snape smirked. “And your tutor, it would seem. Where is it?”

Harry shook his head. “This is just too weird. It’s in, well, limbo. I’ll get it back for you.”

“I would... appreciate that,” Snape said stiffly, turning back to his work.

Harry shook his head again. “I can’t believe you’re the Half-Blood Prince,” he murmured. “I spent most of last year reading that book. I was obsessed...” He froze and blushed when Snape looked at him sharply. “Well, I didn’t know it was you!” He excused.

Snape smirked, and they very quietly returned to their own work. Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious about the minor contact between his knee and the Potions Master’s hip. Snape was the Half-Blood Prince. It made sense, now, but the year before... Harry tried desperately not to think about the hours he’d spent going over the margins of his text, the late nights spent reading and snickering at the snarky comments and intriguing thoughts of a teen he’d thought he had no chance of ever meeting.

“How?” Harry asked suddenly.

Snape didn’t look up from marking an essay with red ink. “My mother was a pureblood, Eileen Prince. She married a Muggle, my father. I was a Slytherin, and being a half-blood was my only saving grace from my housemates, who even then looked down on non-purebloods. That, and I hated my father.”

“But you never took on the mantle?” Harry asked curiously.

“I was unable to,” Snape admitted stiffly. “My maternal grandfather disowned my mother for marrying my idiot father and insisted that the Prince line die with him.”

Harry frowned. “Oh... that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It is nothing,” Snape said, scowling.

Harry sighed as he returned to his essay, sucking on his Sugar Quill. It wasn’t fair, but he’d learned enough about namesakes and ancestry to know there was nothing to be done. Once disowned, there was no recourse for a surviving heir to take his ancestral name. Still, he wished there was something he could do for Snape, besides giving back the man’s book. And that was just too weird, wanting to do something nice for a man he was pretty sure he still hated.

Chapter Text

“Harry, look!” Ginny squealed, running over to the Gryffindor as he stepped into the common room a few days later.

Harry grinned at his friend. “Where’s the fire, Gin?”

The redhead grinned as well, so much that Harry thought it must break her porcelain skin.

“I got an O in Potions!” She said excitedly. “Snape passed back our quizzes from last week, and I got an O! Luna did, too! Can you believe he’s finally grading us fairly?! He didn’t even take off points for my few spelling mistakes!”

Harry looked in confusion at his friend’s quiz before she took it away to show her brother, who had come in behind him. What on earth was going on with Snape?

-Break-

It took an entire weekend of searching (summoning had done him no good, as he’d managed to summon about fifty Sixth Year Potions texts), but he finally found Snape’s book. He returned it the same night he found it, and as if compounding on the strangeness the man had adopted, Snape actually sincerely thanked him. Harry couldn’t understand what was happening. The Potions Master was by no means any more personable, but he was...  nice. No more cruel remarks, or unwarranted insults, he actually took the time to teach his students and correct them when they went wrong.

“Colin!” Harry called as he was walking back to Gryffindor from the library.

The younger boy turned. “Hey, Harry!”

“Where have you been all day?” Harry asked. It was Halloween, and Saturday, and the Wizarding Savior had realized upon seeing the young camera fanatic that he’d been gone most of the day.

“Oh, I was in the dungeons,” Colin said, grinning.

Harry scowled. “More detentions? When will that man ever quit?”

Colin waved him off. “Not detentions, I was developing my film. Snape said I could use the Potions classroom, as long as he was in there, and he said he’d be available for supervision this afternoon. Why, did I miss something important?”

“No-o...” Harry said uncertainly. “Are you sure Snape gave you permission to use his classroom?”

“Yeah! Look, he even gave me an improved recipe for the potion I needed to develop my film. It makes the pictures develop even faster, see?”

Harry looked over the photographs and potions recipe Colin held out for his scrutiny. He took the pictures and shuffled through them. “These are really good, Colin.”

“Thanks,” the younger boy said proudly. “Snape said the same thing. Surprised the hell out of me. I swear, that man could sneak up on Death.”

Harry chuckled. “Probably. It’s almost dinner time. You should put these somewhere safe and get ready for the feast.”

Colin grinned, taking back his pictures. “Sure thing, Harry. Are you coming to the common room?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I think I left something in the library. If you run into Ron or Hermione, could you tell them I’ll meet them at the feast?”

“’Course I can, Harry!” The younger boy turned to go but turned back hesitantly. “Do- do you really think they’re good?”

“They’re fantastic,” Harry said, grinning.

Colin blushed. “Do you think Ginny will like them?”

Harry felt a bubble of jealousy suddenly take over his chest, but he forced himself to keep smiling. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t. I’ll see you at the feast.”

The Wizarding Savior turned to go back the way he’d come and wondered about the hurt in his chest. He hadn’t thought about Ginny that way in months, not since he’d found out about his new curse. And it wasn’t like he had any claim on her, after all this. She’d been more than understanding about his lapse in affection, almost relieved, in their letters over the summer. The girl had even gone so far as to say she was glad he’d gotten over his ‘silly crush’. And it really had been just that, so why was he suddenly back to being jealous about her?

“What has you so deep in thought, Peverell, outside of my classroom?”

Harry looked up as he realized he’d gone the entire way to the dungeons on muscle memory alone. He frowned up at the Potions Master. “Existential crisis,” he admitted. “I was coming down here to ask what the hell had gotten into you regarding Colin, but on the way down... I think... I had a huge crush on Ginny last year. And now I don’t know if I’m jealous about Colin’s interest because I still have a crush, or because she’s like a sister and I don’t think anyone else is good enough.”

Snape hummed disinterestedly. “Quite the conundrum for your adolescent mind. I suggest you think on it some more, somewhere besides the corridor outside my classroom.”

Harry scowled. “You’re such an arse,” he said boldly. “Here I am, having a real crisis of the heart, and all you can do is want me to go away?”

Snape smirked as he started to lead Harry out of the dungeons. “Seeing as I am not required to care, nor can I help you, yes. What do you want me to say?” Snape asked candidly. “Every teen goes through some crisis of the heart at some point in their short adolescence, and every teen thinks it’s the biggest problem they’ve ever faced. The truth is, you probably don’t have a crush on your best friend’s sister, and whatever jealousy you feel is a leftover feeling that no one else is good enough. However, as a teen, you will most likely disregard the wisdom of your elders and mull on it until you drive yourself to madness.”

Harry scoffed. “Says you,” he argued. “Since when have I been a normal teen? I actually think you’re probably right. But what do you care? You still look at me and see an average bonehead.”

They arrived in the Great Hall, and Snape sighed. “Peverell...”

“Just forget it,” Harry growled. “You’re never going to see me. I don’t know why I even bother. I’ll see you after dinner, Snape.”

“Peverell...!”

Harry ignored the Potions Master as he moved towards Gryffindor Table, where his friends were already waiting for him.

-Break-

In their first Potions class following this, their most recent fight, Snape complimented Hermione’s work on a difficult potion, and awarded her points for every question she knew the answer to. Harry found this odd, but realized later that these strange moments of kindness towards his friends was Snape’s way of apologizing. Even Ginny’s grades, and his new attitude towards the younger years, were probably his way of trying to make up for the last six years.

The only thing Harry couldn’t figure out was why the man was bothering. What, besides Harry’s fairy curse, had changed? And therein lie the answer. Nothing, nothing besides the fairy curse had changed. Except, what Snape had learned as a result. If Harry had never been cursed, and had never fallen ill in the man’s care, Snape would never have learned of Harry’s dark secrets, secrets even his friends knew nothing about. Which raised a whole new question: was this Snape’s way of showing Harry that he did see him? All of him?

Chapter Text

“How would you feel about being taken on as an apprentice?” Snape asked suddenly.

Harry looked up from his book and hot cocoa. He was back on Snape’s couch, and had wound up spending half the day here, his toes buried cozily under the man’s warm thigh. Christmas Break without his friends had led to an unprecedented amount of time spent in the Potions Master’s office. He frowned as Snape’s question penetrated the fog of fiction his book had aroused.

“An apprentice?” He repeated. “Does Hogwarts do that?”

Snape shifted slightly, closing his own book on his thumb. “It is an old practice, and not one often adopted, but yes. I was offered an apprenticeship under Slughorn, my final year at Hogwarts, but chose instead to pursue my Mastery the hard way, as well as... other, misguided, interests.”

Harry cleared his throat as he realized what those interests might be. Snape very rarely talked about his past, but when he did, Harry felt a stirring of something odd, as if he would fix the man’s history if he had that power. He shifted his bare feet further under the man’s warm cloak and thigh as he considered what he was being asked.

“I suppose,” he said carefully, “That my decision would depend entirely on who I’d be apprenticing under. Are you asking me to be your apprentice?” Harry grinned.

“I am,” Snape said immediately.

Harry’s smiled slipped as he leaned forward over his knees. “Oh, um, wow... I was just joking, but... wow.”

“Is that a ‘no’?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. Can I have the rest of Break to think about it? It’s kind of a big decision to make at moment’s notice.”

Snape raised his book back before his eyes as he relaxed back against the couch. “That is acceptable.”

Harry breathed with relief as he leaned back against the arm rest again and returned to his own book. As expected, it was suddenly very hard to concentrate as his mind gnawed at the idea of an apprenticeship under Severus Snape, all-around not a bad guy anymore. As he sunk further into his book, he realized that he was already planning to say ‘yes’. A chance to apprentice under the Half-Blood Prince was just too good to pass up.

-Break-

“What are you doing, Severus?” Minerva asked, stepping into the Potions Master’s private lab.

Snape grunted as he continued to work on his potion. “To what are you referring?”

Minerva frowned. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re behaving very odd. You’ve awarded my House points, you’ve stopped belittling your students, and you’ve made a complete switch regarding your behavior towards any House not your own. And you’ve decided, apparently on a whim, to take Potter as your apprentice next year. What’s gotten into you?”

Severus sighed, setting down his stirrer as he hung his head. “He’s still in pain, no matter what I do,” he admitted.

“Is that what this is about? What are you going to do?”

“I’m doing it already,” Severus said softly. “I’m making him fall in love with me.”

“Why?” Minerva asked. “You don’t... you don’t love him, do you?”

“Of course not,” Severus snapped, sneering at his colleague and former professor. “But it is not my rejection that pains him.”

“No, that’s an entirely different sort of pain,” Minerva argued disapprovingly.

“What would you have me do?” Severus asked helplessly.

Minerva sniffed. “Perhaps that’s a question you should ask yourself.”

Severus scowled. “Get out. I’ve had my fill of meddling Gryffindors today.”

Minerva said nothing more as she turned to go. She knew, as she left, that there was nothing more to be said.

Chapter Text

Harry groaned as he leaned his head back against the couch in Snape’s office and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“Something the matter?” Snape asked casually.

Harry nodded. “I’m too damn tired to concentrate on my homework. Yesterday was a huge mistake.”

Snape smirked, still reading his book. “Eat that many chocolates?”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the older wizard. “It’s your fault. Where did you even find espresso bean chocolates? And why give them to me?”

“I had... a large stock of them. Ever since my colleagues discovered my affinity for them, they’ve given me a large supply every Valentines. I assume it has been their hope that getting me hopped up on sugar and caffeine would force me to lighten up. I sent some to you in large part because I wanted to torture said colleagues via you and your friends,” Snape explained, giving a light chuckle.

Harry grinned. “Well, you certainly managed to do that,” he said with a sigh. “We all had detentions last night. I got stuck with Professor McGonagall, and she kept me until after curfew writing lines. When I finally got to bed, my friends were waiting up for me, and we wound up going through the insane number of Valentine’s I got yesterday, until the wee hours of the morning.”

Snape hummed. “If you are so tired, you may rest,” he said magnanimously. “I will wake you before curfew.”

Harry frowned, smothering a yawn. “That’s weirdly kind of you. What’s going on with you?”

“Going once, Mister Peverell.”

“But-”

“Going twice.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and in one smooth motion he turned on the couch, his legs over the armrest as his head fell into the cradle of Snape’s folded thighs. Snape moved his book to stare down at him with a blank face, and Harry grinned.

“What?” He said, shifting around until he was comfortable. “We’ve got to maintain contact, and I’d rather not get the crick in my neck, were I to simply lay my head on your shoulder.”

Snape stared at him a moment longer, before giving a single, sharp shrug and returning to his book.

Harry stared at the back of the book for a moment, and sighed a yawn he couldn’t contain. Snape was surprisingly comfortable. It wasn’t long before the Gryffindor began to drift off into a sleep that only the safety and security Snape’s presence created. When Snape did indeed wake him just before curfew, Harry was sorry to abandon the odd comfort he’d found for his cold bed and left more than a little reluctantly.

-Break-

Harry sighed as he walked into the Potions Master’s office. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. His pain had subsided, for the most part, and Harry hated that very much, but it was still a nagging, almost unbearable constant, and he hated that more. How could Snape have turned everything on its head over the course of a year? Their behavior had changed toward one another, but not so much that Harry thought his pain should be vanishing.

But he had to face the truth. He’d done all the research on Aeturnus Veritas, and he knew that he was doomed. He was well and truly falling for the Greasy Git of Hogwarts’ dungeons. One year, that was all it took for him to fall. He still clung desperately to what lingered of his past loathing but knew in time that would also fade. How could he fall for someone he still very much despised? Or at least, someone he still very much wanted to despise.

“What’s wrong?” Snape asked gently from behind his desk.

Harry shifted nervously. “I need to ask you something. I know you’re going to say ‘no’, but if I don’t ask, I’ll just keep kicking myself for not asking.”

Snape frowned. “Then I suggest you ask. The carriages will be leaving soon. Is this in regard to your apprenticeship next term?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed, smoothing his fringe over his scar. “Okay,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “I was wondering... could I... Would it be possible for me to return with you to Spinner’s End?”

Snape’s eyes widened the slightest bit. “I must say, I did not expect that.”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stared at his feet. “I-I still don’t like you,” he said with conviction. “But that just means I’m still in pain. I-I was hoping that, maybe if I spent the summer with you again, we could look for a solution to my curse that doesn’t involve me falling in love with you.”

The Gryffindor started when cold fingers touched his chin, lifting his gaze.

“Perhaps,” Snape said softly.

Harry gasped as the man suddenly descended on him. Cool lips touched his, and his eyes closed as the last of the pain in his chest dissolved. He leaned into the kiss, but before he could do more than that, Snape was pulling away with a smirk.

“Tell me you love me, Harry,” the man murmured.

Harry grinned. “Not likely.”

Snape leaned in again, his lips brushing over Harry’s cheek as he moved to whisper in his ear. “Say it, Harry.”

Harry shivered with desire. “I-” He broke off as realization dawned. This... this wasn’t them. Snape had been a different man all year, and Harry saw now that it had nothing to do with the Potions Master finally seeing him and his classmates. It was the damned curse. The stupid, heart-breaking curse. Harry pulled back in horror. “You didn’t.”

Snape smirked. “What, Harry?”

“Oh my God, you did!” Harry exclaimed, drawing further back, away from that cool touch.

“What, Harry?” Snape repeated calmly.

“Don’t you call me that,” Harry shouted. “You stupid, slimy, snake! How could you?! You... All this! Everything you’ve done this year?! All so you could make me fall in love with you and have the honor of breaking my heart?!” Harry ripped off his ring. His chest hurt, but he ignored it as he threw the small golden loop at the Potions Master. “Better the pain than being trapped with you!”

“Harry!”

The Wizarding Savior ignored the call as he turned and fled the man’s dungeon office. Halfway down the corridor, he sunk to the ground in a dark alcove. His chest was tight, but the pain was not as unbearable as he’d thought it was when he’d come down here. Only, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath as tears threatened. He gasped for air and realized he was close to hyperventilating. How could he have let this happen? He’d let his guard down, just the slightest bit. And why? Because he’d finally believed someone had seen him, all of him, and accepted what they found. He’d been such a fool to think anyone could ever truly see him, love him.

Harry choked off a sob as he buried his face in his knees in his dungeon alcove. Vernon had been right all along. He’d been such a fool.

Chapter Text

Severus opened his door on the incessant knocking and was somewhat surprised to find the youngest Weasley male standing on his doorstep. He scowled at the redhead and was disappointed when the stubborn Gryffindor didn’t cower even the slightest bit.

“Why are you here?” he sneered.

“Because he isn’t in pain,” the younger wizard shrugged. “It took a lot, but I finally figured out why. You worked so hard to make him fall in love with you. You can’t tell me that didn’t affect you somehow.”

Severus frowned. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve done my duty by your friend. Leave me to my peace.”

“Forgive me, but frankly I think that’s bullshit,” Weasley said boldly. “How much peace can you have, knowing you broke the heart of the man you love? How much peace can you have, after breaking your own heart?”

Severus scoffed. “Haven’t you heard? I’m heartless. Nothing there to break.”

“I don’t believe that. And I don’t think you do, either.”

“Leave me be.”

Severus made to close his door, but Weasley stopped it with a surprisingly strong hand.

“He’s going back, you know,” Weasley said softly. “We’ve tried to talk him out of it, but... You did something to him last year. I don’t know if you bewitched him, or if he’s just a glutton for punishment, but he’s going back next year, to be your apprentice.”

Severus scowled. “There’s a special place in hell for liars, Weasley.”

Weasley scowled as well. “Not as special as the place they’ve reserved for you, Snape. I don’t know what Harry sees in you. Personally, I hope you burn in hell for what you’ve done to him, but he finally let someone in, so I’m here on his behalf. You have no idea the torment you’ve wrought on him. Not even Hermione and I have gotten as close to him as you did last year. As far as I know, no one has earned that place you so easily destroyed. So, yeah, I hope you burn in hell for what you did, but before that happens, you should know that you finally won. You finally broke him.”

Severus used all his strength to slam his door in his former student’s face. He leaned his head against the rough wood and realized that there was a terrible tightness in his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath, and as he turned and slid down the door, he buried his head in his hands and wished for death.