Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Severus doesn't think he's ever seen this before. Maybe in the depths of his despair had he momentarily wished to see this, but he has never actually seen this before. 

Death was standing above him, looking over his crumpled, dying figure with a certain, unnatural... distaste.

"Do tell, Severus, what happened here? This is not what I and Destiny had in mind."

Death's lips turned into a snarl. Their face was shadowed by the hood overtop their head, the only thing visible being their mouth, still currently showing their, quite frankly, nasty snarl. There were unnatural eyes glowing from the shadow made by the hood, clear by the shape that any eyebrows Death possessed were deeply furrowed. Severus couldn't help but shiver at the look; he wasn't scared, no, not really (If Death wanted to hurt him they would've done so already, there was no doubt in his mind about that), it was just... unnerving seeing such a deity as Death themself so upset.

"Well?"

Sirius didn't know how long he'd been dead. He'd been too content with James and Lily. 

He had no idea what this place was- the after life, yes, but nothing past that- the best thing he could describe it as was an endless void. He had appeared in the place after he had died, and was immediately greeted with the sight of Lily and James contently talking to one another, seemingly unphased by the fact that they were in the complete abyss. 

They had all been surprised to see each other, an extremely emotional sob session immediately taking place. After that, though, James and Lily explained how they had been in the place since they had died. 

And so, Sirius started his stay in the abyss as well. He'd thought he would go stir crazy and bored after about a week, however time went in this place, but oddly enough, boredom wasn't an emotion in this place. He never felt bored with the scenery, or bored with James and Lily, always content. 

It wasn't the best, of course, he missed Remus and Harry, he missed being in his animagus form, he missed living, but he felt, again, oddly content to live like this -in the eternal abyss- for, well, forever. 

But then one day, that all changed. 

Snivellous- of all people- Snivellous appeared. 

That bastard. 

After Severus had explained all that had happened and answered all of the deity's questions, Death looked positively furious. Specifically with Dumbledore, oddly enough. Severus personally felt the man was a bit of a meddler and was more wicked than most could see, but Severus still felt he was a respectable man. Even with that dastardly ploy to raise Harry as lamb to slaughter. A man could only have so many perfect morals, after all, Severus knew that well. 

After the full explanation- during which he noticed time was apparently frozen, judging by the lack of blood flowing from his neck and the fly that was frozen flying midair, wings mid-beat- Death waved a bony hand in his general direction and Severus felt time start again, a feeling he could only describe as jarring as the blood that started flow again. Before he could continue dying, Death waved their hand again, and the wound on Severus's neck was nowhere to be found- instantly healed without so much as a scar. 

Severus couldn't help but be surprised- surely Death wasn't supposed to keep people alive who were meant to be dead, were they? Though he supposed that since that was Death's rule, Death could it break if they felt it necessary. But what could Death want from him to need him alive? 

Before he could ponder further, he felt his body shut down and he knew he was dying- it was odd feeling his heart stop in his chest. But for some odd reason, he knew that he would come back soon enough. So he closed his eyes peacefully. 

The first sight he was greeted with was himself, Sirius Black, Lily Evans, and James Potter all floating in what he deemed a true abyss. They all seemed to be a mix of surprised and upset at his appearance, which he supposed wasn't entirely that surprising in of itself. 

"What's Snivellous doing here?" Black barked out, though he might reserve the descriptor of 'bark' for Padfoot, when he was the mutt. 

"I died. I figured someone who has been here for a few years might know that much, but I suppose people cannot help being dense, Black." Severus sneered out the last part, a disgusted frown making itself apparent. 

Black appeared disgruntled at Severus's presence, crossing his arms petulantly and frowning just as hard as Severus was. Potter and Lily were a lot less angered by his presence, but still seemed quite tense at his arrival. Seeing Lily made his heart ache, but his years of spying- acting- weren't for nothing. 

They decided to just ignore each other and avoid conflict. No more than a few hours later, Remus Lupin arrived. 

Severus would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little surprised. "Ah. Lupin." He drawled the words like they disgusted him: because they did. 

Lupin seemed more surprised at where he was than the fact that he was dead. Especially surprised at the people there. Cue a sob session between Black, Lupin, Potter, and Lily. 

Severus couldn't be bothered to shed a tear. 

Harry was going to kill this motherfucker. 

Remus was dead. Fred Weasley was dead. Professor Snape was dead. Dumbledore was dead. The list goes on, really. Cedric, Sirius... his parents... 

He was going to finally take responsibility for once in his pathetic, miserable life while also ending it. Two birds with one stone, really. He didn't want to admit how tired he was of, well, everything, but it couldn't be denied any longer. He was going to meet Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, and Voldemort, not knowing Harry was the last horcrux of his, would kill him, and in doing so, kill himself. 

The first five horcruxes had been bitches and a half to get and destroy, but oddly enough, Nagini just up and died. Harry couldn't help but find it odd, and extremely suspicious, but all evidence pointed to Nagini being actually being a destroyed horcrux. The last one; Harry himself. Then that bitch would finally stop killing everyone he loves. 

As Harry trudged through the forest, he finally came to a clearing where Voldemort and his annoying ass posse of Death Eaters behind him were stood. Harry planted his feet in the ground as Hagrid protested to Harry actually coming. Harry winced at the sight of Hagrid tied up like that, but kept it hidden behind a steeled expression. 

After exchanging some words (mostly just some rant that Voldemort went on while Harry faked listening), Voldemort raised his hand and leveled it towards Harry, before screaming out the killing curse. The last thing Harry saw before he died (finally) was a flash of green headed straight towards his chest. 

When Harry blinked his eyes open, he was greeted with the sight of his parents, his godfather, Remus, and his professor, Snape. They seemed more appalled than shocked at Harry's arrival. Harry wondered why they weren't freaking out over the abyss they were in, but found it eerily easy to brush off how actually fucking terrifying it was in retrospective. 

Before he- or anyone, for that matter- could say a word, Voldemort appeared as well, blinking his eyes open to the abyss. Harry grinned knowing that he successfully killed Voldemort. 

"How's it going, Tom?"

Voldemort growled- damn, he actually growled- and took two extremely pissed off strides towards Harry, immediately yanking his shirt collar and lifting him off the ground to meet Voldemort at eye level. Before he could do anything, though, Snape gripped Voldemort's wrist, dull nails digging into the sickly gray flesh. 

Damn, he hadn't even seen Snape approach. He had to admit that was a little cool. 

Voldemort tossed him onto the ground, which felt oddly glassy. He was only half sure he would feel pain when he was tossed, which he unfortunately did. 

His parents immediately rushed over to help him, Remus and his godfather going over to help Snape pin down Voldemort. Harry felt a small trickle of blood from the back of head, which had unfortunately (again; man his luck was the worst) hit the ground the hardest and took most of the impact.

But even as his head aches where small droplets of blood were starting to drip down onto the oddly glassy surface of the ground, he can't help but feel a bit giddy. He had killed Voldemort! Finally- he could just be Harry, not The-Boy-Who-Lived or whatever the fuck. And this clearly showed- Harry didn't think he could hold back this grin this giddy. 

Which subsequently widened even more when he realized he was with his parents. 

He doesn't think he's ever seen his parents look so real before, but now it was like they were right there, right next to him. 

"Hi mom. Hi dad." Harry's grin subsided into a sad sort of smile, but it was still wide and brimming with emotion. 

It seemed to click in their mind too that their son was here, with them, actually in the flesh, but that didn't make them happy. In fact, deep frowns overtook their faces. 

"You... died?" His father seemed surprised by this fact, but Harry thinks he just wasn't ready to accept something like it yet, "How?"

The three of them stood up, and Harry opened his mouth to explain. But before he could explain anything at all, Death themself appeared in the room, clearly disgruntled by... something. Harry peeked over his father's shoulder, standing on the balls of his feet (he wished he was nearly as tall as his father, but he assumes he got his height from his mother, not his father- not to mention the years of malnutrition at the Dursleys), the cloaked figure staring straight at Harry, a grimace apparent on the part he could see on their face. Death, within the blink of an eye, was gone, before reappearing next to Harry, startling the poor boy a little. 

And then... Death hugged him. Not one of those awkward shoulder hugs that an uncle gives a nephew a football family gathering (ironic considering Harry's relationship with his uncle)- no, a comforting embrace. A skin and bones hand finding its way to the back of Harry's head. The embrace felt oddly warm, despite Death's chilled figure against him. 

He felt a tingle at the back of his head, where the bony hand rested, and then the distant throb at the back of his head faded, washing a comfortable warmth over Harry. Death pulled back, cupping his cheeks gently, and for the first time since they saw Death, they had a gentle smile on their face. Harry couldn't help but reciprocate it on his own features.

Death stepped away from Harry and turned to address everyone in the abyss, frustration starting to appear on their face. 

"I'm sure you all know Dumbledore, yes?"

There were murmurs of acknowledgement, all knowing the old, powerful wizard. 

"Yes. Well, I've got reason to believe Dumbledore meddled with fate. Because all this-" Death gestured to everyone being dead with a bony hand, "-was not how everything was supposed to end up. Not at all." 

Frowns appeared on the faces of everyone there, a mixture of confusion and mixed feelings towards the powerful wizard. Snape was actually the most believing of the deity's words- it seemed like something the old coot would do in his eyes. 

But the others... not so much. Especially Harry- this was the man, the only adult, that had truly cared about him! He was a kind, respected, powerful man who liked sweets and saving others! He wouldn't- couldn't- have done something like making everyone die, defying fate and spitting on the shoes of Destiny themself..! 

Clearly this flurry of thoughts had been quite obvious on his features, as Death immediately frowned, lips tight and tense against their face. But they seemed to want to move onto a different topic- at least for now. 

Death took in a breath that they likely didn't even need, and began speaking, "You all will be, well, revived," Death raised a hand, stopping any possible interruptions at the bomb just dropped, "You weren't meant to die- any of you. Harry was supposed to defeat Riddle with a loving home and alive friends backing him up. Others will be revived too- even if they were meant to die."

Death paused, head turning to look at Harry. "Destiny and I have decided you deserve it, even if it goes against our original plan. You've suffered far too much for a young child."

Harry felt hot tears prick at his eyes, and he quickly shoved them back, "I- thank you, Death. You and Destiny are...awfully kind to me."

Death smiled. "You remember Cedric, correct? I'm sure his father would love to see his boy again. And that Fred boy."

Harry's eyes widened- he was bringing Cedric and Fred back? Lost children, killed in a gruesome war that they should've never been apart of, brought back to their parents and friends? Harry didn't think anything could be better. 

Death cleared their throat, beginning to speak, "Now, now, let's not dawdle," Death looked a little nervous for a second, before continuing. "I, unfortunately, cannot control where you end up exactly, but I can ensure you will all be within England and in a safe, inconspicuous location. However, I don't know where this location is, and people will separated. You'll be lucky if you appear with someone else. 

"Now, James, Lily, I must warn you. You too Sirius, although it may not affect you as much. You will appear as if normal, average years had passed and you hadn't have died. So, James and Lily, you should be in the body of a 38 year old when you appear- as will Sirius. Now, are we ready to go? Please keep in mind that you may not see these people for a little while should you be far away from them."

Harry spared a glance to his parents, before turning to fully speak to them. "Hope I appear with you. If not, well, hope I see you soon, then." Harry grinned, and with no other interruptions, Death revived them. 

Harry blinked his eyes open. He was on the mulch ground of an old, run down playground. The swings were old with use and age, clearly well loved. It looked as if sitting on it would make it snap in an instant. He couldn't help but smile- he remembered the playground near Privet Drive, and it had always been a place of solace and confidence for him; an escape, really. 

The thought of Privet Drive sank his stomach, but he quickly brushed that off and stood up, brushing himself off. Luckily there was no one around him as he was revived, and he quickly started walking to figure out where in the hell he was. 

Much to Severus's surprise, and relief, he must add, he appeared right in his house. The place was dusty from being left alone the entirety of the school year, and he quickly cast a cleaning charm he always used over the entirety of the run down house when he got back to it. Within seconds, the place was spotless- not a single particle of dust. 

Severus decided to get right to work on finding people. He would send out a charm to sense magical presences, and then would find them based off of it. Severus hoped that being revived didn't change a person's magical signature, as that would be an absolute pain in the ass. 

And so, he stepped outside, hid his wand under his cloak, and quietly cast the spell. He would much prefer to cast it wandless or at least nonverbally, but this spell had to be strong.

His mind sifted through the signatures he felt, and much to his dismay, Potter Jr's was annoyingly close. In fact, if Severus had to guess where it was... 

That blasted playground. Did fate hate him? 

He immediately slipped his wand back into its arm holster, setting off towards the playground at a brisk speed-walk. He made it there relatively quickly- quicker than he remembers being able to get there, and it's oddly jarring. The cursed boy is gone, but he can't have gone far. Severus inconspicuously casts the spell again, his mind almost immediately feeling his signature nearby. 

He heads in that direction, before seeing a messy mop of raven-colored hair turning a corner a few feet ahead. 

"Potter!"

The boy immediately stops in his tracks, taking a step back and seeing Severus approaching him. He looks a little relieved to see him, a casual expression worn on his face. Those wonderfully green eyes, surprisingly light and casual for the situation. 

Lily's wonderfully green eyes, surprisingly light and casual for the situation. His heart felt like it stopped for a fraction of a second, before he forced the thought down and his heart started up again. 

"Ah, Snape. Glad you were nearby, huh?" The idiot child walks towards him, meeting him halfway. 

"I suppose. Anyhow, come with me," Severus demands the boy, before setting a brisk pace back to the house. 

The idiot child- that was the boy's permanent nickname for getting himself killed, by the Dark Lord, no less- quickly hurried to follow, falling into step behind him. 

"Where are we going, sir?" The idiot child asked, annoyingly curious. 

"I was hoping you would take the hint of me not wanting small talk, but I suppose you must have lost at least half of your brain cells- whatever few were there- and now are unable to pick up on body language."

The idiot boy shut up, his mouth audibly clamping shut. He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but did nothing past that. 

In tense, awkward silence, the pair made it back to Severus's abode, the idiot boy stepping in after him and gazing around the room. 

"I suppose you can stay with me in my abode until we are able to contact the others. Hopefully, that shouldn't be too long," Severus announced, the idiot boy a little miffed at staying with him, but nevertheless, didn't complain and just nodded in acquiescence. 

Death's mouth curved into a frown. They didn't enjoy Riddle's company at all, especially not after what he did to their (young) old friend. Riddle seemed to replicate this. Death was ever-so-slightly tempted to revive him just to get him out of their hair, but they quickly shot that down. 

There was one reason and one reason alone that Death hadn't obliterated Riddle's soul yet. Harry was his horcrux, and if they destroyed Riddle's soul, Harry would be destroyed as well. They needed to remove Riddle's soul from Harry before they did anything. 

They had absolutely no idea how to achieve that, however. Not a wink of a clue. 

Death sighed- they clearly would need help with something like this. All the other deities had not an idea; something so delicate yet secure as souls rarely made itself a problem, it had been mostly perfected in dealing with itself up until now. None of them had any idea on how to approach something so unknown as merged souls or human horcruxes. Death needed to find an incredibly talented and smart experimentalist close enough to Harry to know what was going on with the whole horcrux thing... 

And then it hit them- in a way akin to a pickup-truck speeding on a highway. Who had previous connection to Harry and was well informed on the horcruxes? Who was an incredibly smart and analytical person? Who knew how to conduct safe tests in controlled environments? Who knew how to properly analyze and drive connections from results that may seem benign or unimportant? Who had been forced to be extremely detail-oriented and notice every last thing? 

Severus Snape. 

...Death now had a favor to ask. 

Severus had seen and even expected many... unusual things in his lifetime, especially in his career. 

This had to 'take the cake,' as that weird muggle saying goes. 

Death, a deity of infinite power and prowess, was asking him to help them remove the Dark Lord's soul from that idiot child. And Severus, being the absolute fool he was, was actually considering it. He'd be able to save a teenager's life, even if it was one he quite loathed. Save Lily's son. 

And so, he agreed. To try his best in helping Death remove the Dark Lord's soul from that idiot child. 

Merlin knows he was going to have a head full of silvery hair by the end of the week if things continued on like this. But Merlin also knows he would do it anyway, for Lily. To atone.

Chapter Text

"Death."

Death was about to dissapear when Severus had said their name. 

"Tell the other revived people along with Minerva McGonagall, all easily available members of the Weasley family, and Cedric Diggory's father to meet at Grimmauld Place as soon as possible. It would be most desirable for you to attend as well."

Death nodded, and disappeared, presumably to go tell the requested people. 

Severus turned to face that idiot child, "That includes you, boy. Are you ready to floo?"

The idiot boy shrugged and said, "Sure."

Severus grabbed floo powder, throwing it into the floo before clearly stating Grimmauld Place, Number 12. He appeared in the old room, taking a seat at the table. A few moments after, the idiot child appeared and took a seat a few seats away. 

Soon, the others began to trickle in, some flooing, some apparating, and soon enough, most everyone who was requested had shown. This consisted of the idiot child and Severus, who were first there, Potter and Lily- obviously sat next to their son, who was giddy at their presence-, Black, Lupin, Minerva, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Percy Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Cedric and Amos Diggory, and Death. 

Soon, they were all seated, and a meeting began. 

"So," Severus began, "I've called this meeting for multiple reasons. First of all, Harry Potter. I'll elaborate on that after I've stated my reasons. Secondly, we need to figure out some living situations amount us, as we all know numerous properties have been obliterated in the war; that'll happen after we reach a conclusion for the idiot child. Third, I'm sure we all have questions that we can answer for each other here, so now shall be the time to ask them. 

"Now, to elaborate on what we need to talk about when it comes to Harry Potter- we need to remove part of the Dark Lord's soul from him. He's still a horcrux. Death needs to destroy the Dark Lord's soul, but if they do so with part of the Dark Lord's soul merged with the boy's, the boy's soul will be destroyed as well." 

Murmurs and mumbles could be heard between people in the room, before the idiot child spoke up, "Well... I get that this is serious and all, that much is obvious, but... well, Voldemort is dead, isn't he? Why make it sound so urgent if he can just stay dead rather than be fully destroyed? Would it make a difference for those living or those dead?"

More murmurs and mumbles echoed through the room, before Death cleared their throat and raised a hand, ceasing all noise. 

"While that is a valid point, Harry, and would be true about anyone else... Riddle is a special case. Because part of his soul is conjoined with yours, the both of you are meant to be on the same plane of existence- dead or alive. But because you are alive while Riddle is dead, the part of his soul attached to you is siphoning your magical core, not only weakening it, but also trying to make him strong enough to revive himself. 

"If we don't seperate yours and Riddle's souls, he will soon be able to come back to the world of the living no matter what I do, and he will be stronger than ever before. Not only that, your magical core will be severely weakened and just about unusable."

After Death finished their explanation, people began all talking amongst themselves, distressed, despaired, and angry all filling their voices. The idiot child looked especially distressed, along with his parents. 

"Well how do we even fix that? That's messing with souls, which is notorious for being underdeveloped in our knowledge of it. Not even wizards as great as Merlin himself were confident nor stupid enough to mess with something like souls," Minerva asked, clearly nervous about the complications of something of this nature and magnitude. 

"I brought all this attention to ask if anyone had any... advice, I suppose, on how to find leads to answers. Anything helps- don't be hesitant, as there's no such thing as useless information," Severus stated, watching as not a soul in that room gave anything. Well, except Death. 

"I have quite a bit of information on how souls are made, destroyed, and some others details about them, but that'll, admittedly, take some time to explain."

Severus nodded in appreciation, he wasn't lying when he said any information could, and likely would, be useful. 

The meeting had ended soon after that, the topics other than Harry having ended rather quickly, as most people had other properties they could resort to, or could easily obtain said property. No one had any specific topics to bring up, so that ended rather quickly as well. 

Harry was tired. From not getting good sleep the days before this one, to being revived, to going to that meeting while everyone talked as if he wasn't in the room, to Voldemort, to life in general- Harry was tired. 

He had wanted to rest, to finally die, after he defeated Voldemort- but no, Harry Potter doesn't deserve rest. Harry was half-wanting to offer just dying again when they were talking about Voldemort siphoning his power and all that bullshit. But he didn't, since he would most definitely be deemed a total basket case if he did, and a psychiatric ward definitely wasn't his ideal vacation home. 

Well, he didn't even want to die anyways, cause he's not suicidal and he's not a basket case. He just wanted to rest, and death was the easiest way for that, not that he wanted to die. He just wanted to not be so tired all the time, and death was a good solution to that. 

Maybe he could just... subtly die. Like, accidentally get ran over by a car or something, but not on accident. Not wake up in the morning, maybe. It wasn't like he killed himself, it was just a freak accident that just so happened to let him rest. There, he gets to rest while decidedly not being a basket case: win-win. Plus, it would literally solve the whole problem of Voldemort. 

Ok, fixed that problem. If they didn't find a solution to his whole horcrux ordeal before Voldemort started getting too powerful, he would just... accidentally fall off a building, or something. He'd figure it out in the moment. Yep, mhm. 

Harry turned his attention to the scarring on his arm- from Umbridge and her quill- he'd been subconsciously picking at. He sighed- this always happened whenever he got lost in thoughts about dying or his dead friends and family. Sometimes he did it on purpose to distract himself. Luckily it hadn't started bleeding yet, so he stopped picking at it, and stood. 

He was staying at Snape's house for the night, and then in the morning him and Snape would floo to Grimmauld Place. He was going to be staying there with Sirius, Remus, and his parents, and Harry couldn't help the bubbling excitement in his gut at being able to actually have parents. 

He could actually have people who cared about him, something he doesn't think anyone besides Hermione and Ron had ever done. He'd have people who liked Harry for being, well, Harry, and not their savior or something. 

He went up to the small guest room Snape was letting him stay in, slipping off his battered shoes. Snape, oddly enough, lended him some of his old clothes to wear, since Harry's were still in Hogwarts and it would take an unnecessary amount of time to get all the way there and back. So Harry slipped out of his battered, slightly ripped, dirty jeans and shirt, and slipped on the T-shirt that was too big for him and the annoyingly soft sweatpants that he had to tie the drawstring of to keep from falling off him. The cloth of the pants pooled a little at his feet, and the sleeves of the T-shirt reached his elbows, but he enjoyed the fresh pair of clothes nonetheless. 

It was a little weird how nice the gesture was, considering it was Snape who did it, but Harry just decided he was too proud of himself not to be an accommodating host. Which was also a little odd, but Harry brushed it off. 

He switched off the lights, before slipping under the covers, and falling into an uneasy, restless sleep. 

He woke up with the sun, unable to fall back asleep despite his lingering exhaustion and the early time- his body knew better than to sleep longer than the sunrise, Aunt Petunia had beaten that fact into him. So, he got up despite the protest to his very bones, and gently opened the door to the guest bedroom and walked silently to the bathroom. He'd perfected being able to sneak to the bathroom over the years, unnoticed by his relatives all the while. 

He quickly used the restroom, before washing his hands and heading down stairs. It was obvious that Snape wasn't up yet, and Harry silented sat at the dining table, surveying the room around him. 

Just barely, through the open door to the kitchen, he could see the sink, a few dirty dishes in the sink, and he got the sudden urge to go wash them- like right now, please. 

And so, rationalizing that he was just doing Snape a favor and repaying him for letting him stay here, he stood up and went to the kitchen. He picked up a dirty dish, before putting a little water and dish soap on it, grabbing the sponge, and he got to work cleaning the dishes. 

An odd sense of calm washed over him as he cleaned the dishes, his body going into a more auto-pilot state as he cleaned each dish. He couldn't help but feel proud as each dish was shiny and perfectly porcelain white after he finished scrubbing them. He almost felt a little disappointed when he finished cleaning the dishes. He wiped off the area around the sink, drying it off of any water or soap and suddenly that sense of calm faded again. 

So he started wiping down the counters, too. He was just bored, he had nothing to do, excuse him if he wanted to clean. But then the counters were spotless too, and that calm faded again. Harry frowned, about to look for something else to clean, when he heard footsteps and then Snape walked into the kitchen. He went over to the sink, presumably to clean the dishes, before noticing that they were spotless and drying on the drying rack. 

He paused, before slowly turning around to face Harry. It seemed odd how jarring this was for Snape, and his brow furrowed a bit when he saw the spotless counters as well. He looked at Harry indescribably for a moment, before brushing off whatever was on his mind. 

"We are to floo to Grimmauld Place in about 30 minutes. Bring your dirty clothes and I'll perform a cleaning spell on them. You can keep the clothes you're wearing, they're much too small for me."

Snape finished talking and shoo'd Harry away to go get his old clothes. Harry returned quickly with the dirty jeans, shirt, and shoes in tow, and Snape quickly cast the charm, the jeans and shirt looking right out of the wash and his shoes looking at least a year younger than they were. Harry slipped on his shoes, tying them before carrying his now clean clothes, waiting patiently for the time to floo. 

Snape went back upstairs to his room, leaving Harry on his own, sitting in the dining room. The sun was fully up now, painting the dining room in an array of oranges and golds, a sight Harry thought he would never tire of no matter how many times he saw it. The spring sun warmed up his back, and Harry rested his head on the table. His mind drifted off, focusing solely on the warmth coating him like a soft blanket. He let his eyes drift closed at the sun's warmth, his body relaxing for what felt like the first time in forever. 

He was so relaxed he didn't notice when Snape walked in. 

For just a few moments, he felt a small, feather-light tingle in his mind, before it disappeared and a rough hand had clasped his shoulder, startling him out of his serenity. 

His head shot to look at Snape, who looked positively furious. Well, no, not really, he didn't- to anyone else he looked coldly emotionless, at most a bit miffed. But Harry had grown accustomed to his fury, and could spot it from a mile away now. 

The man all but dragged Harry to the fireplace, letting him go to throw in floo powder and loudly state, "Grimmauld Place, Number 12." Harry soon mimicked this, stepping out of the fireplace and into Grimmauld Place, Number 12.

Snape still looked positively furious, even as his parents came to meet them. Harry's heart fluttered at the sight of them, a grin taking over his face at their appearance. 

"If you're ready, you may have the boy," Snape spat out, clearly still miffed. His mother seemed to sense his anger as well, but said nothing. 

"That'd be great. Thank you for caring for him, " his mother spoke, an appreciative smile on her face. His father nodded in agreement, and with that, Snape got up and floo'd back to his house, a sneer on his face. 

How the boy- how dare he! That arrogant little shit! 

Severus was practically shaking with anger as he entered his house after flooing, immediately sitting down on the couch. 

That little brat had known how to do the first step of Occluding just fine all this time! He just chose to ignore his Occluding lessons, chose to hand his mind over to the Dark Lord on a silver platter! After all he's done for that arrogant little bitch- and he just ignores and lies to him, claiming some bullshit of 'I don't know how to clear my mind!' 

He had been doing the first step to Occluding right in his dining room! Focusing on the sun, the little brat was. Severus couldn't believe it, so he had cast a weak, very weak Legillimens to see if he really was Occluding. The brat could clear his head just fine, he just couldn't help but disobey Severus! Like all Severus had ever done to him was hurt him! He saved his life multiple times, for Merlin's sake, and the arrogant brat just ignored his countless attempts to teach him! 

Severus clenched his fists, controlling his anger. If he hadn't been so good at controlling his emotions at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if he had strangled the boy. That blasted child was just like his blasted father- arrogant, and in desperate need to be put in their place. The two Potters put Lily to shame, deep shame. 

For Merlin's sake, he could be an amazing Occluder by now! If only he had taken his lessons seriously! Severus's blood boiled, and he wanted nothing more than to yell at the boy and shake him by the shoulders until he understood just how ungrateful and arrogant and, quite honestly, selfish he was being. 

Harry was content living with his parents, Sirius, and Remus in Grimmauld Place. He didn't feel tense around any of them, they didn't yell at him, and Remus had even went with him to grab his stuff from Hogwarts! 

The five of them were eating and chatting over dinner when his mother, in a bout of curiousity about his life, turned to him and had asked who he was staying with before this if it wasn't Sirius or Remus. 

"Ah. Well, I was staying with your sister, my Aunt Petunia."

His mother had choked on the pasta she was eating at that, coughing a few times before staring at him uneasy. The others in the room had sensed her change in demeanor, and grew tense as well. 

"Harry, my baby, please tell me you're joking," his mother pleaded, her voice unnaturally sad.

"I'm not joking, Mom?" Harry didn't understand why that would make her so sad, of all things.

And at that, tears began to well up in her beautifully green eyes. His father instantly leaned over to comfort her and the others got up to comfort her as well. Harry was unsure what to do, so he hesitantly asked, "What's wrong, Mom?"

She didn't answer, instead murmuring "my poor, poor angel... " over and over, covering her mouth in her hands as she held back her tears. Soon enough, however, her eyes had dried, leaving them a little red in the process. 

"Harry, angel dear, can we... talk after dinner? With your father, too?" his mother had asked warily, before adding, "don't worry, you're not in trouble," at Harry's worried expression. 

Harry didn't know what to think,  nor what to feel. Why was him living with Aunt Petunia such a bad thing? Sure, she was a little mean and could dole out a mean backhand slap, and had maybe perhaps swung a frying pan at him a few times- which, to be fair, only gave him a concussion once- but that was barely worth tearing up over. Maybe there was something else? Maybe she just really didn't like her sister, like at all, and was so sad that Aunt Petunia 'replaced' her or something? 

Dinner had finished much too quickly for Harry's liking, and Sirius left with Remus to give the three some privacy. 

"Harry, angel dear, are you... okay?" his mother had asked, once again, warily. 

"Yeah, of course I am, Mom," Harry had answered, confused on why his mother was asking. 

"Were... how did the Dursleys treat you? Were they nice to you?" 

"Uh... " Harry wasn't sure he could answer that with a happy face, so he just gave some toned down half-truths. "Well, y'know they fed me, took care of me, all the basic things. We never really were, well- family, but I think that's just because you guys and Aunt Petunia never got along, not 'cause they were like- mean, or anything."

His parents seemed satisfied- at least for now- at that answer, but his father added in, "Just know, son, if you ever want to tell us anything, we will always be available to listen. We're here for you now. Or if you feel more comfortable, you could even go to Sirius or Remus, I'm sure they'd listen as well."

With that, his father cupped his cheeks and placed a loving kiss to his lightning bolt scar, before comfortably hugging him. Harry almost felt tears prick in his eyes at the embrace and he quickly hugged his father back, burying his face in his father's chest. He felt as his mother came up behind him, hugging him as well, and Harry couldn't stop when he started crying. 

Chapter Text

Things were going great. Harry had just retrieved his stuff from Hogwarts, he was forming a real relationship with his parents and godfather, and he had a comfortable room on the second floor. (A/N: for British users, it would be the first floor) 

Until one day, in the middle of the night, a change started. 

He had been sleeping relatively peacefully when around 5a.m., he was awoken by a burning sensation on his scar. Imagine his surprise when his scar was glowing bright enough to light up the whole room in a dim glow. His scar also felt incredibly hot. 

And then his scar started growing hotter, and hotter, and hotter. And brighter, and brighter, and brighter it started to glow. Then, he felt searing hot pain start to extend from the ends of his scar. 

The bottom of his scar extended down his face in a straight line continuing in the direction of the bottom line. It went over his eyebrow, continuing past and over his eyelids (luckily sparing his actual eye), going over cheek before narrowly missing the edge of his mouth and ending at his jaw. The top did something similar, extending in a straight line in the same direction, though a lot less than the bottom end of his scar. It extend upwards, going about an inch onto his scalp. 

Blood was covering the right half of his face now, the new cut up area bleeding profusely. He got out of bed, running to the bathroom connected to his room to see himself in the mirror. He didn't have to turn on a light, as the entire area of his scar, including the new parts, was glowing as bright as a yellow lamp. He stared into the mirror, one eye shut due to the blood and wound on it. The scar still did hurt, but it was more because it was glowing so bright and burning rather than it was further scarring or hurting his face. 

He heard the light yet urgent pad of Remus's footsteps, before the man stopped in the bathroom thresh hold, stunned at the glow emitting from Harry's now much larger scar. After a moment of freezing up, Remus immediately went towards Harry, cupping his face, though carefully avoiding his new wound. 

"Harry! Harry what happened!? Here, sit down on the toilet, I'll get you healed up."

Remus hurriedly left to go grab his wand from his room, while Harry sat down on the toilet. Blood was now dripping from the right side of his face onto his shirt and lap, leaving dark spots on the fabric. The pain had mostly subsided by now, and the glow was less prominent, but the wound on his face was still uncomfortably hot. 

Remus returned quickly, wand in hand. He had half a mind to turn on the lights, casting a spell Harry recognized the Weasleys using when he stayed at the Burrow, before gently tilting Harry's face up.

"Episkey."

Harry felt a cool sensation as the healing spell began to work on his wound, and he could feel the wound close up and turn into a scar. There was still a faint glow beneath his skin, tracing the new scar tissue. Remus grabbed a rag, dampening it in the sink before gently wiping off Harry's face. After he was done, he asked in that soothingly calm voice of his for Harry to try opening his eye. 

Harry opened his eye, wincing at the sudden intrusive light to his eye. He blinked a few times, clearing the blurriness from his right eye, before looking up at Remus. 

"Phew. Your eye is undamaged. Are you having any vision problems or any weird sensations?"

Harry focused on the feeling in his right eye, feeling a bit of fuzzy tingle behind his eye. In fact, he had that same fuzzy tingle under the scar tissue that made up his newly enlarged scar. 

"Well, where the scar tissue is of the scar, there's like this almost... warm, fuzzy feeling. I feel that behind my eye," Harry explained. 

Remus thought for a moment, before deciding to think on it later, probably bring Harry to a doctor. Remus waved his wand, non-verbally casting the spell from earlier, turning the lights off. 

"I'll go make breakfast, how about that, Harry?"

Harry stood up, following Remus to the kitchen. The sun was just starting to rise, a soft magenta hue coating the kitchen through the window near the ceiling of the basement floor. When Harry first heard that the kitchen of all things was in the basement, he had almost shuddered. But from the looks of it, the kitchen looked just as it would on any floor, except for the fact that the windows were much closer to the ceiling than any of the other windows to the house. It let the sun cast a gentle light over the kitchen, a calming embrace more so. 

He sat at the table, resting his head in his arms comfortably. He wanted to go back to sleep, but his body had been conditioned to not sleep after the sun rose up, so he just let his body relax against the table. He'd always loved basking in the warmth of the sun. One of the only chores he actually enjoyed at the Dursleys was caring for the flowers, especially in spring or summer, when it was warm out and the sun would keep him company as he worked, always giving his skin a nice olive tan. Or when he would do the dishes, and the sun was out on a nice, warm day, and the sun would comfort him as he did the the dishes, casting yellow and orange glows across the kitchen. 

It was the same now- he would prefer to be cooking to make up for staying here, but Remus insisted he was usually the one to cook- the sun was gently warming him, it's soft red and orange hue now, slowly turning yellow as it fully rose up, leaving the night in its wake. The soft smell of eggs along with the sizzle of bacon comforted him, and Harry had to blink away tears at how at home he felt. 

"Harry."

Remus gently shook him out of his thoughts, before saying "Breakfast is ready. Come make your plate."

Remus ruffled his hair before going upstairs, presumably to wake the others up for breakfast. Harry stood up, going over and grabbing a plate. All of sudden a chill went down his spine, and the smell of the food was no longer a comfort, but now a nauseating creep. Harry gulped, forcing down his discomfort, before grabbing a plate, putting some eggs and a piece of bacon on his plate. It looked like too much- he didn't deserve this much. He hadn't even done any chores! Harry decided to just force down the food and make up for it by cleaning up around the place later. 

He sat down at the table, putting his plate down on the table while Remus returned with his parents and Sirius. Sirius was very obviously not ready to get up this early, pouting the whole time he got his food, making the others chuckle. His mother clearly wasn't an early bird either- but she most certainly wasn't as whiny as Sirius. His father was the most energetic he thinks he's ever seen him, clearly at his peak in the early, early morning. 

His father turned to greet him- and Harry was surprised it took his parents and Sirius so long to notice- and yelped at Harry's new scar. The others immediately turned to him as he did so, Sirius stopping his whining about how it was inhumane to wake up this early and his mother almost dropping her plate. 

"H-harry- what happened! Good Merlin-"

Sirius and his mother turned to look at him, and this time, Lily did drop her plate, the porcelain shattering on the ground- luckily without any food on it just yet. Sirius immediately ran over to him, cupping his face and threatening everyone and anyone he could think of that could've caused this. 

It was, quite frankly, overwhelming, something that Remus saw.

"Sirius!"

Sirius turned to look back at Remus, giving him a confused look. 

"Listen, I healed up the wound this morning, Harry's perfectly fine as far as I'm aware. Now stop bombarding the poor boy."

Sirius mumbled an apology before asking, "How did this happen, Harry? Who did this to you, pup?"

Harry and Sirius both flushed at the nickname that slipped out, but Sirius quickly brushed it off, so Harry did too. 

"Well, I just woke up 'cause my scar was burning and glowing pretty bright, and then my scar started... expanding, I think would be a good word for it. It was like I got the scar all over again, just much bigger. It's still glowing a little, I believe. Remus came and healed it, so it's good now."

Harry turned to Remus, a question forming in his mind at the circumstance. "How did you know that I was injured? If I had made any noise loud enough you all would've woken up, so why did you know specifically?"

Remus flushed a little before admitting, "Well... I just smelled a lot of blood coming from your room and got worried, so I went to check up on you. Ah, werewolf senses."

Harry blinked, processing the information. He supposed it made sense; wolves did have good senses of smell. 

"Mhm... and you're okay?" His mother asked, a little concerned. 

Harry nodded, and his mother breathed out a sigh. She then went upstairs a floor to grab the broom from the broom closet. The others seated themselves at the table, and his father made another plate for his mother, setting it in front of the seat next to him. While his father and Remus chatted, Sirius inconspicuously slid a piece of bacon onto Harry's plate, and before Harry could offer any sort of protest, Sirius gave him one of those pointed 'I'm your crazy godfather, listen to me on this' looks, shutting down any argument Harry could've made. 

His mother returned, quickly cleaning up the broken plate, before going to put away the broom again. She quickly returned downstairs, smiling as she saw that his father had made a plate for her. 

"Thank you, love, for making me a plate," and that, his mother planted a chaste kiss to his father's lips. 

"Ugh, in front of the kid? Really?" Sirius complained, putting hand over Harry's eyes, making all of them chuckle. 

They soon retreated into a comfortable silence as they ate, the only speaking being the, quite frequent, compliments towards Remus, making the man look like a tomato after each one. 

Harry felt uneasy the whole time, the only one who seemed to notice being his godfather, but he didn't comment. After Harry finished eating with the others, he grabbed everyone's dishes, taking them to the sink to start washing them- he had to make up for eating so much somehow.

So, he began cleaning, and that familiar feeling of safety, of belonging returned. He was doing the right thing, he couldn't make mistakes with something as easy as washing dishes. So, he kept cleaning dishes, each one perfectly shiny and porcelain after he cleaned them, a sense of pride rising in his chest. At least he could do something right. 

He was almost sad when he finished, the sense of calm now muted into his normal mood. He got the urge to keep cleaning, so he started to wipe down the counters. Then those were clean- spotless- so he moved onto the floors. Then those were clean-

Three hours later, Harry had cleaned the entire basement, then the first floor, and was now working on the second floor. He didn't feel time anymore- didn't hear anything past the sound of cleaning. His focus was completely zeroed in on cleaning, his mind blank.

Remus, for the first time in a while, didn't know what to think. He had stepped out of the living room because he had heard this monotonous scrubbing in the hallway, and found Harry, eyes glazed over and blank, relentlessly cleaning the floor. Remys doesn't think that even the house elves were this... thorough, when he occasionally saw them. 

"Harry?"

The boy didn't respond, still cleaning the floor. 

"Harry?"

The boy still didn't respond to his louder voice. 

"Harry!"

No response. 

Remus softly padded over to him, and gently put a hand on his shoul-

A harsh flinch wracked the boy's body, and Harry stared at him wide eyed from where he had scrambled a few feet away, as if he didn't even know where he was. 

"...Harry?"

"Uh, what is it, Remus? Did- did you need something?"

Remus couldn't believe Harry was just... brushing that reaction off like that. Did this kind of thing happen often? Was he just taught to ignore things? This certainly raised questions about his home life, something he already was rather worried about. 

"Harry- I'm not going to let you brush that kind of reaction off."

"Oh! No- I'm fine, really. No need to worry."

Harry flashed a smile- a disgustingly fake smile (that irked Remus even further when he realized it was familiar too)- in an attempt to appease Remus. It made Remus's heart squeeze in his chest, the fact that he felt the need to cover this up. That just solidified Remus's worry... 

...How good were the Dursleys really? 

Draco was, for the first time in what felt like forever, excited for something. He was going to his godfather's house, like every summer, to further learn about mostly potions, but the two of them always dabbled in a few other subjects during Draco's stay. But past that, he loved seeing his godfather each summer; the man always had an interesting stories that only Draco had ever wanted to listen to, and Draco always felt truly cared for in that place, truly at ease. 

"Are you ready to floo, precious?" his mother asked, her voice just as sweet and pretty as always. 

Draco nodded, and thus, with his luggage shrunk in his pocket, he threw floo powder into the floo and clearly said 'Spinner's End, Cokeworth', before flooing away to his godfather's house. 

He stepped out of the floo, met with the secretly caring face of Severus, his godfather. 

"Go set your luggage in the guest room. Be back here in 10 minutes while I make dinner," Draco opened his mouth to tell Severus that he should get a house elf, "No, I will not get a house elf, I can care for myself."

Draco mumbled something about poor people before heading up to the annoyingly small guest room and placing his shrunken luggage on the floor. He took out his wand, unshrinking the luggage with a spell, before putting his wand up. He slipped off his shoes, placing them next to the foot of his bed. The worst thing about not having house elves was having to stay tidy, something Draco had eventually learned to do over the years at Hogwarts and his godfather's house over summers. Luckily Severus was a cook that could make at least edible food, so Draco wasn't starving. 

He made his way down to the kitchen, already smelling what Severus was making. It was the same food he always made on the first day Draco arrived: chicken cooked in sliced apples. Draco always liked eating the apples after, and the chicken always had a bit of an apple aftertaste when Severus cooked it like that. 

Draco sat down at the table as Severus was finishing up cooking. He made two plates, one for himself and one for Draco; he wouldn't make a plate for anyone else, but he knew Draco well enough to always know how much he wanted. Plus, if Draco was still hungry he could just go for seconds. Severus slid the plates onto the table as he sat down, before handing a fork and knife to Draco. 

The two of them ate in comfortable silence, Draco occasionally praising Severus for his cooking as he ate, but still remaining relatively quiet. They simply had no need for small talk or ice breakers, they were comfortable just in each other's presence. 

Severus finished before Draco (as the man always did, he had always been a swift eater), taking his plate to the sink and quickly washing it, putting it to dry. The two of them always had a rule of washing their own dishes after they ate just to minimize any dishes in the sink and because Severus had refused to be 'Draco's maid' as he called it. Draco had complained at first, not to mention that he had had no idea how to wash a fish at that point, saying that Severus should just get a house elf. Severus, per usual, vehemently (at least vehemently for Severus's usual show of emotion, that of which was a net zero) refused and taught Draco how to wash a dish that night. 

Draco soon finished up, cleaning his dish as well and setting it to dry, before he headed up to the guest room (though it was basically Draco's every summer). He picked up the Advanced Potions book he had brought with him, and began to silently read. He had always had an interest in potions, liking how complicated yet simple it could be at the same time. 

It was now later, almost the evening, when Remus and Harry were talking about what had happened that morning. 

"Harry. You deep cleaned the entirety of the basement and first floor, and were halfway through the second floor. That's not normal to do."

Harry flushed a little at the call out. He figured they'd be happy at him cleaning, but apparently not. Why were people so confusing sometimes? 

"Well, y'know, I just like cleaning... " Harry trailed off at Remus's annoyingly soft and gentle stare, boring into his soul. 

"Harry, you do not like cleaning that much, I'd know if you did. Not to mention how hard you startled when I did something as simple as touching you."

Harry wanted to retort that Remus actually would'nt know, that he was just his teacher who never bothered to reach out and happened to be friends with his father and godfather. He wanted to snap back, to do the bark half of bite, to hurt Remus's feelings, but he was in a good enough headspace to know Remus didn't really deserve that. 

Harry frowned a little, just deciding on a half truth (more like a 10 percent truth, but Harry didn't dwell on that fact). "Well, I do like cleaning that much and... I just happen to, ah, scare or startle easily, y'know? Especially when I'm really focused. Uh, yeah."

Remus stared at him. Like, really stared at him. Like, if Remus didn't stop staring at him, he thought the man might burn a hole right between his eyes. But, it was obvious that Remus wanted to see what was going on in Harry's mind, so Harry did what he does best; hiding. He schooled his expression into one of slight nervousness from the staring, but nonetheless was completely neutral and truthful. It was one he had mastered after years at the Dursleys, and even though he knew he could fool just about anyone with his poker face, he still felt incredibly anxious that people would notice, would hate him for lying. 

I must not tell lies. 

Hey- what? Where'd that come from? That was over, like, two years ago, something like that. Why'd that decide to reappear? He'd gotten over the blood quill, and stopped hearing that in his head shortly after. Made it was just because he was thinking about lying so much. 

Anyhow, it made the scarring on his hand and arm itch, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, letting other thoughts drift in front of it. 

Remus seemed satisfied with what he observed, leaning back on the couch and letting his gaze calm down; though it was still trained on Harry, it wasn't observing him so to speak, just seeing him. The gentleness of the man reappeared on his now much softer features, and Harry felt himself instinctively relax, just a smidge. 

"Just get a real hobby, Harry. It's alright if you like cleaning, but even you have to admit this was excessive."

Harry pondered on that- cleaning wasn't something he actually enjoyed that much, it was more like a sense of satisfaction at the end result, so he honestly did need a hobby. But Harry had no idea how to just... find a hobby. How did people even get hobbies? 

Harry decided to let that occupy his mind rather than cleaning- how to get a hobby. It was odd how much impact a comment from Remus could get him thinking sometimes. Guess the man was a teacher type after all, despite never really planning to be one. 

He stepped outside onto the balcony, the cold flooring hard, sobering, and wet against his feet. It was comfortable, and he quickly climbed onto the railing, his legs dangling from up high. Now with comfortable place to sit and stare at the setting sky,- an array of rose reds fading slowly into rich magentas, comforting to his eyes- he let out a sigh of relief. 

He let his mind drift to what Remus had said- an odd thing to think about, he figured, but Harry had never been the most normal. How gaining a hobby happened was something he'd never thought about before, it was something that most never questioned. Harry thought his own hobby might be Quidditch, as that was the only thing he had ever done for fun in his life, yet how had that happened? He was introduced to it, but there was no one to introduce him to a hobby now, so he was stuck on how hobbies really appeared for those who weren't introduced to them. 

So how would he find a hobby? He couldn't just fly forever, even that got boring eventually. Would he just have to luck his way into finding one? 

Harry let his mind drift back to the now dark sky, and he couldn't help but be mesmerized by the stars out. He'd always liked stars; they were able to stay as far away from life as possible and they were objectively pretty. Harry had heard of a few constellations, and he wondered distantly if he would see any out. He knew not a wink about constellations, so he didn't know how to spot them or if there were a specific time or day for different constellations. 

He tried to wrap his mind around the stars, tried to see any patterns within the dots. He saw nothing, unfortunately, but he a knew fascination with the stars had bloomed that night. 

Wasn't that what a 'hobby' was? A fascination, an infatuation, with something? Harry had, in the past, had these odd, almost obsessive fascinations from time to time, like a wizard author he couldn't even remember one time a few years back, or he had gotten really interested in corvids before once. He figured that he had just blossomed one of these oddly obsessive interests. 

Huh. Staring out at the stars had given him a hobby. He got the urge to go scour the endless library of Grimmauld Place, Number 12; to stay up until he was passing out after researching all the constellations he could to their fullest extent. When he started to get restless just thinking about it, he got off the railing of the balcony and headed to the endless library. 

Chapter Text

Harry was tired rather quickly that evening- only 9 p.m.- due to not getting good sleep the previous night, a constant new reminder of his lack of sleep now going from his scalp to his jaw. He found himself subconsciously running a finger over the new scarring, occasionally picking at it when he was bored. 

Harry slipped into bed, hoping that waking up at an ungodly hour with a burning and bloody new scar was just a one-time occurrence. Later that night, Harry was sure he jinxed it. 

Because what was it that happened at 2 a.m. that night? 

Harry awoke, more-than-miffed and in horrible pain. 

It felt like the headache of a lifetime, and he distantly realized that his scar was glowing once more. He thought it may have been one the worst pains he'd experienced, second only to the Cruciatus curse. He felt a similar pain start to blossom on his back, and he had to chomp down on his wrist to stop from screaming. 

He thrashed in bed, his instincts desperately attempting to alleviate the pain, when he felt the pain on his back tenfold suddenly before mellowing out along with his major headache. It still throbbed and ached, though it was starting to recede. He let his wrist of his mouth, catching his breath after thrashing so much. He noticed distantly that his blanket had been kicked to the floor, and his back and face were soaked in something that he didn't quite think was sweat. 

He heard panicked footsteps heading to his room, before Remus burst open his door. The man hurried over to him, immediately looking at his face, horrified at what he saw. Harry realized it must be blood, judging off the faint iron smell he could discern and the thickness of the liquid. His scar was bleeding again- heavily. 

Remus helped him sit up, and he heard an audible gasp from the man at his back, which he figured was soaked in blood. Couldn't really blame the man, honestly. 

Harry got up, his legs- and body in general- tired out from thrashing so much, and he slowly walked to the bathroom, Remus following close behind him. Remus gently had him sit down on the toilet again, starting to take off Harry's shirt. Harry didn't really want to take off his shirt when Remus tried, but he was too tired to fight the man on it, so he let the man slip it over his head and off his arms. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily (getting blood on his hand, annoyingly enough), distantly aware of the fact that Remus had gasped, probably at all the scars on his torso. Harry turned around to let Remus look at whatever was bleeding on his back.

He heard Remus's breath hitch at what he saw on Harry's back- two vertical-line-wounds parallel to one another, on the top half of his back. Remus slipped his wand out of his pocket, presumably smart enough to grab it this time, and cast the same healing spell he had last time, though it didn't do much to the surprisingly, while also horrifyingly, deep wounds on Harry's back. 

The man stood for a second, thinking over his options, before grabbing some bandages and disinfectant from the cabinet beneath the sink. He gingerly cleaned the wounds on Harry's back, wiping up all the excess blood, before wrapping bandages around Harry's torso, covering the wounds. Surprisingly, Harry didn't feel much of what he was doing. 

He then turned his attention to the boy's face, that of which was covered in blood and the scar was faintly glowing- not all too different from last night. He was able to heal the glowing wound with the spell this time, wiping off all the excess blood. 

"So, unfortunately, Episkey won't work on the wounds on your back, but they don't seem to be too bad nonetheless. This... is seeming to become a reoccurring thing. Questioning Death may be our next course of action about this issue."

Remus ruffled Harry's hair affectionately, before sighing tiredly. 

"Come now, Harry. I'll perform a cleaning charm on the bloody sheets so you can go right to sleep, I can tell you're awfully tired." 

Remus helped Harry to his room, clear worry etched onto the man's face as he performed a quick cleaning charm to rid of the blood on the sheets- that of which there was a surprising amount. Harry climbed into bed, yawning as he did so- he hadn't had good sleep in two days. He passed out almost immediately, and Remus soon returned to bed as well. 

"... that's about it. That's what's been happening at night for the last two nights, " Harry finished off his explanation, watching Death's expression carefully. 

Death looked a mix of nervous excitement, clearly having some sort of idea of what was happening. 

Remus caught onto that as well, "Well, do you know what's going on? You seem to know something. 

Death stepped closer to Harry, tilting his chin up and tracing a bony finger along his scar. Harry could feel a tingle of magic from Death finger as they did so, but before they could question anything, Death gasped. 

"W-what is it?" Harry asked worriedly- if this was something that surprised even Death, then.... 

"... Death's Angel."

Harry made a confused sound in response, and Remus's, nose scrunched up in confusion. 

"Harry is Death's Angel. That's why this is happening."

"What... what does that even mean?"

Death cleared their throat, and Harry could already tell that Death's Angel was certainly a title to have. 

"Death's Angel is what happens when the master of Death is exceptionally powerful on their own, while still being a good person- hence why they're an angel. Most who become masters of Death are power hungry tyrants and/or are weak wizards in general. Harry is not only a kind soul with a heart of empathy, but he's an exceptionally powerful wizard. I've... never met a Death's Angel before."

Harry felt a surge of pride at being considered a powerful wizard, but the title felt easy to get. Other than the becoming a master of Death part, he supposed, but wouldn't the other parts be easy once someone became master of Death? It felt like he was getting an award for being slightly above average. 

"Being a kind yet powerful soul is a rare feat, Death's Angel. Be proud of this title," Death seemed to think for a moment before beginning again, "As Death's Angel, you will be just like a normal master of Death, however you will undergo... changes."

"Changes? Like... like what?"

"The reason you've been waking up wounded and hurting is because you are undergoing a change. Due to being Death's Angel, your power will start to gradually grow stronger and stronger as time progresses for a few months. You will also undergo physical changes, in which you grow black wings and a halo- this is also the reason you are called Death's Angel."

Harry's face dropped. He would grow... wings? A halo? 

He'd be the freak he always was? 

No- no, no, no. Not a freak, magic was good. He... he'd be something, that's for sure. 

Remus seemed to find his voice again, and spoke up, "So... do you know what exactly will happen during these changes? How long it may last?"

"The physical transformation lasts about 3-7 days, depending on the person. Harry will continue waking up to these pains in his head and back until one night, he will fully grow the wings and halo, and the pain won't reappear after that."

Harry and Remus both catalogued this information in their head as important, before nodding in acknowledgement. 

"Now, is that all you intended to inquire about?"

Remus nodded and within seconds, Death had wisped away. 

Remus ruffled Harry's hair affectionately, the worry about the days to come seeping into his movements. 

"You're something, kiddo. I don't know what, but you're something," his father said, grinning, startling Harry and moving to ruffle the boy's hair as well. 

Harry grinned back at his father; that bubbly feeling of excitement never quite went away after he realized he'd be living with his parents. 

"I'll take that as a compliment."

In the darkness of night, when the moon decides to rise and give the world its soft yet harrowing hue for a dozen hours, and the flower of sleep blooms for those who live under the moon's current path, was it too much to ask for peace? For tranquility? Perhaps contentment?

Something that Harry had noticed about himself over the years of sleepless nights plagued by insomnia was that he got oddly poetic in his sleep deprived state. He wasn't sure what caused it, or how it was even possible, but that was the truth. What was really ironic was the juxtaposing fact that Harry was just about unintelligible when he tried to talk, everything came out not only slightly slurred as if he were drunk, but it made him feel like Sisyphus when he attempted to string out a coherent sentence of words. 

And Harry was tired. For the past four days, Harry had gotten a total of 12 hours of sleep, thanks to this little transformation he was undergoing. 6 of those were on the first night when his scar had 'expanded' (as he felt was easiest to explain it), and 5 were on the second night. Over the past two nights, he had a combined sleep total of fucking 1 hour. So yes, excuse him if he was tired. Excuse him if he was exhausted. Excuse him if he was cranky.

Harry was tempted to go find a thesaurus to keep whining to himself about how tired he was in increasingly hard to enunciate words, when Sirius stepped in the room. Which made him freeze. 

Now here was the problem with Sirius in that moment; the man was blackout drunk. 

This was not only jarring, but worrying as well. Sirius was not allowed to be drinking, as he had problems with alcoholism and drinking his problems away in the past, and he got irritable when he drank. Like, the smallest thing could make him want to do very violent things, kind of irritable. Harry had never seen it himself, but Sirius was the one to say all that (begrudgingly) so Harry would know. 

Now, issue number two, Harry was the only other person in the house other than Sirius. Harry was alone in the house with an extremely traumatized and blackout drunk man who had a drinking problem in the past and got really irritable when he drank. So excuse him if he was a little nervous, out of his league, and/or kind of scared for both Sirius and himself. He'd never dealt with drunk people before! Not to mention how sleep deprived Harry was. 

Sirius walked over to him- stumbled, really- and just about collapsed on the bed next to him. He didn't seem angry at anything, so that was good. 

"Uh...Sirius?"

Sirius whipped his head to look at Harry, and Harry couldn't tell if the man was glaring at Harry or mad at the fact that moving his head so fast made him dizzy. 

Sirius sat up on Harry's bed, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and his legs criss crossed. Suddenly, he gripped Harry by the arm and yanked him over to his side. Harry let out a surprised tell as Sirius hugged him tightly, slowly rocking back and forth.

Soon it got uncomfortable and Sirius knee was digging into his ribs, so Harry tried to free himself, to which Sirius made a sound akin to refusal. Harry still tried, and Sirius shoved him away with a grumble. Harry felt a little stunned, but took the advantage to crack his back. 

Sirius opened his eyes to glare at him, his face in a deep scowl. He grabbed Harry by the arm and started dragging him to God-knows-where. Harry couldn't help but fight against the man on instinct, and Sirius only gripped harder, much to his dismay. Soon, the two arrived at Sirius and Remus's room, and Sirius just about threw him on the bed. Jeez, this man was stronger than he looked. 

Harry felt at his arm where Sirius had been gripping it and could already tell that it would bruise, meanwhile Sirius had grabbed his wand off the nightstand (which was next to a near empty bottle of liquor; certainly explained some things) and was getting on the bed. Sirius sat himself against some pillows and the headboard, and grabbed at the sore spot on Harry's arm again. He yanked the poor boy (again) towards himself and next to him. 

He waved his wand, performing a few nonverbal spells before a... movie started playing. It was clearly old, based off the language and slang used, but Sirius just put his wand down and tugged Harry closer to him, putting a much gentler arm around the boy's shoulders, leaning against the wall behind the headboard.

The two watched the movie in silence, Harry still tense and waiting for when Sirius would grip him again, or yank him, or something. It kept him awake even as Sirius began to drift off. 

Soon enough, when the movie was ending and Sirius was drowsily mumbling something to himself, he heard the front door open, and he heard the voices of Remus and his parents announce that they were home. Harry just about breathed a sigh of relief, but Sirius had woken up and was not happy about the yelling. 

He grumbled something unintelligible, before gripping Harry's bruised arm and tugging him off the bed with him. Sirius dragged Harry along to meet the voices, grabbing the bottle of liquor and carrying it with him in his other hand. Harry couldn't help the slight trembling he was doing as he was dragged down 4 flights of stairs by an angry, drunken man, soon meeting the surprised faces of the other residents within Grimmauld Place, Number 12.

Sirius looked back and forth between Harry and his father a few times, very, very confused. 

"Why's there... uh, two James...?" Sirius asked, his words slurred and barely understandable. 

Remus's immediately caught onto Sirius's drunken state, and he quickly walked over to the man, taking Sirius's liquor before the drunken man could react and putting it down on the floor a few feet away. 

"Sirius, let go of Harry."

Sirius growled at him- actually growled- and gripped Harry tighter, clearly upset about Remus's taking his liquor. 

"Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes, mocking Remus's as he began dragging Harry back towards the staircase. Remus immediately grabbed Sirius's shoulder to stop him. 

Sirius shook off the man's hand aggressively, gripping Harry's arm impossibly tighter. He growled- again- and started walking towards the staircase again. 

Remus walked in front of Sirius, clearly dead-set on stopping the man. 

Something in Sirius snapped because he just about threw Harry against the wall to take his anger out, and- jeez this man was strong- shoved Remus out of his way as he started towards the stairs again. 

Harry's back got the brunt of the impact, and Harry could tell it was going to bruise. His father hurried over to him as his mother helped Remus in stopping the man, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded without really thinking, watching as his mother and Remus calmed Sirius down. 

"Remus! Should I go get him a potion to sober him up?

Remus nodded at his father before turning his attention back to Sirius. 

"C'mon, Harry. Let's go get Sirius a potion to sober his ass up."

Harry followed his father to front door, slipping on his tennis shoes quickly, before they exited the house. His father gently hugged him, which confused Harry until the man asked, "Have you ever apparated before, my boy?"

Harry shook his head. 

"Hold onto me until you feel well enough to stand on your own. Do not, no matter what, let go of me during apparating. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

And that was all it took for Harry to feel the ground slip from underneath him and- within seconds, moments, even- he appeared in the Leaky Cauldron. His stomach was doing flips and his legs were more akin to a fawn's in that moment. Soon, he regained his senses and pulled away from his father, and the two of them walked over to Tom. 

Tom stared at the two of them, completely stunned. Apparently he hadn't believed the headlines in the Prophet about the revival of so many of the dead. 

"Hello, Tom. Do you have any sobering potions?" His father asked politely. 

"Ah, er, uhm, Mr. Potter! And Harry Potter, too. Both Potters, alive and revived... yes, yes, I have a sobering potion. Ah, one galleon and 10 sickles."

His father handed over the money from his pocket, and in return got a small portion, that of which he slipped into his pocket. 

"Thank you, Tom. Pleasure doing business."

The two Potters walked over to the floo, and they quickly returned to Grimmauld Place, Number 12. Remus and his mother had calmed Sirius down, and the three of them were softly talking while sitting on the ground. 

His father brought over the sobering potion, and Remus helped Sirius drink it. Within an instant of Sirius drinking it, the man sat up fully, eyes wide and panicked. Clearly, the man remembered everything he did while he was drunk if he sobered up with a potion. 

Sirius immediately scrambled to his feet, guilty eyes meeting Harry's. The man rushed forward to hug Harry, and Harry tensed for a moment, before accepting the embrace. Sure, Sirius had been mean and scary, and Harry had a new bruises, but... Sirius clearly hadn't meant it. He felt sad about what he had done, so it was ok. Harry still tensed whenever he was around Sirius for the rest of the day, and he could feel the ache on his arm and back, but Harry had dealt with worse. Others had it way worse; why should he mope over Sirius making a mistake? 

Ugh, Harry could be so stupid sometimes. Sirius was obviously struggling- Azakaban and literally dying could do that to a guy- so, why was Harry blaming him? He certainly needed to put himself in others' shoes more. 

Severus was getting stressed. He had chose to ignore the fact that the idiot child had completely brushed off his Occlumency lessons for no other reason than he was just like his blasted father, and instead focused on the fact that he needed to find information on souls and specifically needed to find out how to seperate souls. 

But he couldn't find a single thing on the topic of souls at all. He'd checked through the Malfoy library and even had the werewolf check through the library at Grimmauld Place, Number 12 for anything, but still nothing. He supposed it made sense since even the Dark Lord hadn't wanted to try messing with souls too much, only doing what he knew for sure would work. Souls were an extremely delicate matter, and even Death them self's were stumped on how to seperate souls. Not to mention that the Dark Lord was growing stronger by the day through usurping the idiot child magical core. Death predicted if it continues at the rate it was, the Dark Lord would be free of Death's shackles by the end of the summer and would be stronger than ever. 

Which was not nearly enough time to find a solution to something like this, even if Severus searched across the globe for knowledge on souls. He had asked Lucius and Narcissa to send people out to find information on something like souls- any information at all- but still nothing. 

At this rate he'd likely have to be the one to discover everything about souls for the first by experiments. 

Hah. Him. Doing experiments on the boy's soul, like that would ever happen... 

Well. It was a good idea, when he thought about it... he already had a few questions he wanted to answer about souls, like how they were composed and how connected souls were to magical cores... 

No. Absolutely not. He was not going to experiment on a human. 

But it would get him answers, and he could do it very carefully.

But there's no way in hell the idiot child would agree. 

But he also might agree. 

Damn it. Fucking piece of shit souls. 

God. Fucking. Damn it. 

He'd swallow his worries, go up to that idiot boy, and ask him if he'd let Severus do experiments on him. Explain it to him in full and pray he would let him. And if he agreed, he'd do completely humane and safe experiments. But how would keep an eye on the boy? He didn't trust the others to properly see if anything was wrong, not when they didn't have Severus's watchful eye, so he'd probably have to either live at Grimmauld Place, Number 12, or he'd have to let the boy live with him. 

He hated both options. So he figured he'd let the idiot-yet-smart child, Draco, choose. 

"Draco. We need to talk."

Draco snapped his head up at his godfather's serious-yet-not-angry tone. The last time he'd heard that tone was when he got the Dark Mark. (That of which had disappeared when the Dark Lord died for a second time.) 

He immediately followed Severus down to the dining room, and the two of them sat together in tense silence. 

Then, his godfather spoke. "I have something to ask you, Draco, but you will night quite a bit of context before I do so. I expect you to not worry too much about what I shall inform you of, for worrying will do neither of us any value.

"First, I must establish that Harry Potter's soul is tainted by part of the Dark Lord's. This is because Potter is his last horcrux of 7. I assume you know what a horcux is?" He paused, and Draco nodded. "Good, good, not many do. When the Dark Lord died that night, his soul attached to the boy's to stay alive as it was the closest living thing. This is how the Dark Lord survived his 6 horcruxes getting destroyed- because Potter was his 7th. Are you following so far?"

Draco nodded- he understood it....enough... 

Severus hummed and continued. "Now, I've told you about how Death gave me and others who died due to the Dark Lord a second chance. Now, the Dark Lord died, but Potter is alive. Due to Potter being his horcrux, the Dark Lord's soul is siphoning magical power from Potter's magical core, and if this continues, he will grow powerful enough to escape death and he will revive himself, coming back stronger than ever. I have agreed to research Potter along with Death to help try and find a way to seperate the Dark Lord's soul from Potter's, but it has not been successful. 

"Due to this, I've come to the conclusion that I shall get much more data and information if I were to do my own- humane and consensual, of course- experiments on the boy to study the results and find the solution myself. I have not asked Potter yet if he is alright with this, but that's because I wanted to ask if you were alright with something else first. If I were to perform experiments on the boy, I would need to constantly monitor him, meaning we would have to live together. It is unlikely that I will be allowed to stay at Grimmauld Place, Number 12 with the boy, so I figured my best bet was having the boy stay here if he agreed."

If I were to ask Potter and he agreed to the experiments, would you be okay with Potter living here as well? You won't be sharing a room and won't be forced to interact, but I do expect you two to at least be somewhat civil. I will not have constant bickering in my house."

Draco blinked, taking in everything Severus just said. 

"I don't need an answer now, but please do come to a decision quickly. Time is of the essence, but do ponder this well before deciding."

With this, his godfather stood up and left the room, leaving Draco to think about his decision. Draco... wasn't sure what to think. Sure, he didn't like Potter and he was annoying but... the Dark Lord might be revived if he doesn't agree. He didn't want to think about this aspect but... Potter did save his life when he tried to take Potter's. Not to mention that his parents were now on the side of Potter's and the light, so it wasn't like anyone would be mad at him for agreeing. Except for Pansy, he theorized, but the two of them were falling out anyways. 

The only thing he was really worried about was Potter picking fights because he was an ex-Death Eater. He'd lose his temper way too quick and he wouldn't be surprised if he broke Potter's nose either. That would certainly get him in trouble with Severus. But... if they did fight, he trusted Severus would just find an alternative, so it wouldn't really matter. Would probably seperate him and his godfather, certainly. And if he was civil with Potter, Potter would, hopefully, be civil too. Draco knew how to be civil with people he didn't like. He just hoped Potter knew how to as well. 

So, he took a gamble, and later that evening, he went and let Severus know he would be alright with Potter living with him and Severus. 

Chapter Text

Ever since that incident where Sirius had gotten wasted and manhandled Harry around (the bruises and aching that had occurred afterwards, Harry was pointedly ignoring), Remus and Harry had talked with him and came upon an agreement. During which, Harry learned that Sirius had apparently never really been in much of a sober state, though he wasn't blasted, had just always been a little tipsy, and was doing a Notice-Me-Not charm on his alcohol breath. 

The agreement was that Sirius wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol until he was deemed mentally well enough for it. And even then, it'd be monitored and in small amounts. He was also going to a mind healer for all his past traumas, and if Sirius had alcohol before allowed, he would be sent off to rehab. 

Sirius had agreed, and later that evening had vehemently apologized to Harry, hugging the boy until Harry had phantom sensations of the man's arms around him for a few minutes after. 

Then, Harry awoke that night, and like clockwork, his scar was glowing brighter than the other two times and bleeding, while the vertical scars on his back that Death had healed had reopened and decided to spill as much of Harry's blood as possible. He thrashed around, the pain even worse than last time. He couldn't help the helps of pain he let out occasionally, and it was clear he was being loud because not only had Remus arrived this time, but his father had, too. 

He couldn't see it in his panicked, pain-riddled state, but his father was clearly also panicking a little. Remus was calmer as this had begun to feel like routine for the man, but the man could tell Harry was in more pain than before each night and it was clearly upsetting him. 

His father took out his wand hastily, quietly casting a spell to turn on the lights, as Remus slipped out his wand as well and padded over to Harry quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed, clearly wanting to reach out and comfort Harry through the pain, but also knowing, logically, it would only worsen things. 

The two men were forced to watch as Harry thrashed and bled, silent and grim, had to watch as Harry yelped out in pain through his wrist- that of which he was biting so hard it was bleeding- and do nothing. 

The pain, like last time, tenfolded, before simmering down into a dull ache. Harry collapsed on the bed, aching, bleeding, and exhausted. 

"Bring me the first aid kit, James."

Even through his exhausted state, Harry tensed up at the use of 'James' from Remus. Remus, Sirius, and his father had taken to calling each other their old nicknames; Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot- for old times sake. Hearing just felt jarring and unnerving. 

Remus healed his bleeding scar on his face, which was minor enough for Episkey to work, before having Harry take off his shirt and sit up for Remus to bandage his torso, the vertical wounds on his back too deep and large to be healed by a spell for minor injuries. His father was anxiously waiting for Remus to finish up with the bandaging, a foot or two away, his gaze occasionally flickering over to Harry's (admittedly) scarred up torso. 

Remus finished, preforming a cleaning charm on a the bloodied sheets and shirt, before the two men left the room, whispering goodnights, and Harry passed out, exhausted out of his mind after days of lost sleep. 

Harry had been reading a book on constellations- still pointedly ignoring the dull ache on his arm and back and the growing feeling of sleep deprivation weighing him down (he was allowed, and even encouraged, to stay in bed most of the time, but his time living with aunt Petunia made that more stressful than anything else)- and how they formed when his father sat down beside him on the couch in the living room, gently moving Harry's fingers off the title on the cover page. 

"Constellations, hm? You know, Sirius is named after a constellation."

Harry perked up at that, clearly wanting to see. His father chuckled and quickly got up, promising to return with a book on the Canis Major "Dog" constellation, and he went to the library, returning only a few minutes later. 

He flipped to a memorized page and showed Harry the book. It was a diagram of Sirius B, and after it was a few pages on the white dwarf, how far away it was, it's size, how it was so faint and small, what it's symbolism was, etc. Harry was immediately enthralled, and soon his father had gotten him a stack of books, each one about a different constellation.

What amazed him was how all of them were just about textbook length in size, though the font was quite large. It took way too many trips to bring them all to the coffee table, but when the two of them finished (Harry joined in when he saw a pattern of his father only able to bring about 4 books each time, and he knew there were 88 books to match the constellation number), there were the 88 books on the coffee table, practically a halo around them in Harry's eyes (He ignored how Ron would call him an absolute nerd for fawning over books). 

Harry was having a field day over this. 88 thick books, all on different constellations. Harry grinned brightly and it just about lit up the room. He felt like a nerd, decidedly, but nerds weren't a bad thing. If only he could get this interested in things that mattered, like school... oh dear, he sounded like Hermione. 

"I'll leave you to that, then. See you whenever you're ready to stop nerding out." His father chuckled, and left Harry with his holy grail of literature to delve into. 

So... he may or may not have spent the rest of the day reading one of those books. Now that doesn't sound that bad, right? 

It wouldn't be if it hadn't been the early morning when Harry had gotten those books. He had to be practically dragged away from them when his mother made him go to dinner, despite his protests of 'one more page'.

It surprised him how fast time had ticked by. He had managed to finish half of the book on Hydra, the biggest constellation- he was reading the constellation books in order of size- and what he could tell from checking a few of the book's table of contents, (which were all by the same author) was that each book had included chapters about each star in the constellation, and then a chapter at the end about the constellation as a whole. 

Something Hermione had always told him was that if Harry got interested in something like he was now, he could probably become smarter than Hermione on that subject. It had surprised him then, but at that point he saw what she meant. He could probably become a walking encyclopedia for the constellations he read about because he was so interested in them. 

If he wasn't interested in something though.... 'denser than a brick' as Hermione had put it. 

His mother was currently staring daggers into his father for bringing Harry all those books on constellations and him hooked on them so much. 

"You're lucky I'm not making you sleep on the floor for that. I had to drag Harry here because he was so invested in those books you got him."

"I didn't know that our son was such a Moony-reincarnate! How was I supposed to know he would get addicted to books of all things!" His father turned to him, "Prongslet, I'd rather you get addicted to crack cocaine than books. I'll even hook you up with a dealer."

Remus whacked the back of his father's head for that. 

"Prongs! First off, he's not a mini-me, I was never addicted to books and neither is he! Second, don't try to get your son addicted to harmful drugs! I should not have to say that!"

His father just grinned brightly, laughing at the situation and the scolding. 

"I cannot believe we had a kid together..."

"I dunno, you seemed to like making a kid-"

Remus and his mother whacked his father's head at the same time, and his father started wheezing laughing. 

"Really? In front of your own son?" Sirius covered Harry's ears, scowling at his father and shaking his head disappointedly. But they could all tell Sirius was just about dying laughing inside. 

Harry was going up to his room to promptly pass out on his bed when he faintly heard the floo activate and Remus start talking to someone. Only a few words were exchanged before Remus called Harry's name, and Harry was forced to trudge back down the stairs. 

Everything felt annoying, and Harry was finding everyday harder and harder to get through. The mixing of his inability to sleep past sunrise and before sundown had not helped his shitty, painful sleep, and it was getting to him. His vision had gotten that weird motion blur to it and every movement felt like a chore. His mother had even suggested getting some sort of potion that would force him to sleep, but Harry had- on instinct, really, which he found sort of odd but was too sleep deprived to care (he was past even the 'old poet' stage of sleep deprivation)- said he was fine without and he didn't need anything. 

He arrived at the basement, he was greeted with a familiar face that he probably owed a 'thank you' to- Snape. He also felt a lead chunk drop in his stomach because the last time he had been with the man he was pissed at... something Harry couldn't remember right now, but it still made him nervous. 

He was wide awake now. 

"Oh- uh- Snape, er- hi, I guess, why are you here?" Harry grinned stupidly at the man, and it was obviously nervous and sleep deprived. 

The man looked like he was going to insult Harry on his stumbled words, but after a look-over of Harry, he focused on something else. "You look like Death warmed over, boy. Are you having any ailments related to being revived or the Dark Lord's soul being attached to yours?"

Jeez, did Harry just scream 'I'm having issues and it's due to an unnatural cause that happens to start with 'R', end in 'l', and have 'eviva' in between' or something? How did this guy know that? 

"Well, yes, we've recently found out quite a bit about Harry- we can delve into that later. Though I am curious; what does bring you here, Snape? And how does it relate to Harry?" Remus answered for him, clearly a bit off put by the man's sudden appearance as well.

It related to Harry? Had Snape been the one who needed him? Harry had a feeling he wouldn't like whatever the old bat was here for very much. 

"I'm going to ask you not to interrupt when I explain this, as it is imperative that you understand me. Now, I must give some context. I have searched high and low for some sort of information onsouls or anything that could help the boy, but my efforts have been fruitless. So, I've come to a decision of what to do. Now, I need you to listen to me carefully when I say this. 

"What I want to do is have the boy stay with me in my abode for an indefinite amount of time in order to properly monitor him as I do... I suppose experiments on him. Please keep in mind that I will ensure all of these experiments are incredibly safe and humane before I do them, and I will do my best to warn you of any after affects that may occur due to it. I will ensure you are safe at all times, but due to the lack of information on souls I would need to do these experiments to figure out how to seperate the Dark Lord's soul from the boy. 

"I must warn you, I am living with Draco at the moment. Now, if you don't think you can get along with him, do not agree to this. I will not have constant conflict in my house. I don't expect you to be friends, but I do expect basic respect to one another. You won't share a room, you'll each have your own seperate room, so you won't have to interact. Draco has agreed to be civil, but this cannot work if you both aren't civil. Now that I have laid out all the facts, I ask you to make a decision within a few days and relay it to me so I can be prepared. These experiments must start soon if we are to have ample time to seperate the souls. Floo to my abode when you have made a decision or have any questions."

"So, let me get this straight, if I were to agree I'd be living with you and Malfoy for an indefinite amount of time, while you performed... experiments on me? Which, yeah, I get that they would be safe and I trust you enough not to like, kill me on purpose or whatever, but is that it? Like, nothing else?"

"We don't have a house elf, if that's what you're wondering. We do our own chores."

What was odd was that Snape, at that moment, was looking like some chores might be some sort of deal breaker for Harry or something. Probably something to do with how the man wrongly assumed that Harry was spoiled or something. He hated that, but all the guidelines the old bat had set were, honestly, not that bad. 

"Oh ok. Uh, sure, yeah. I'll do it."

Snape stared at him for a moment, and it reminded Harry of that odd look the man had given him on the morning when he had stayed at Snape's place- when he cleaned the dishes and the counter. 

"...And you're sure? No doubts, nothing you need to think over?"

Harry nodded: he had hunted for the horcruxes over the course of, what- like, nine months? What was staying with an old bat for a little while? The man wouldn't hurt him, that much he could trust, and Malfoy had promised to be civil (Harry didn't know how much he trusted that, but oh well, he could set his pride aside for a while- Malfoy would get bored if he didn't react), so that wasn't an issue either. He'd be fine, and he'd keep in touch with the others. He had a duty to get rid of Voldemort, and if this would not make him have to kill himself to keep Voldemort dead like he had thought; he'd do it. 

"If you're sure. Have your things packed within a day from now, that's when I'll be arriving to collect you. Do not keep me waiting." With that, Snape turned to leave, flooing away. 

...Ok. So. Harry probably should've thought about that decision more. But! It was helping getting rid of Voldemort for good this time, so could he really complain? For now, he'd just go pack. It wouldn't take long as Harry didn't have many things, but might as well get it over with. 

Severus walked out of the floo while a chant ringer out in his head: 'irresponsible, irresponsible, irresponsible'. 

He should not have, absolutely, without a doubt should not have let a foolish teenager make a decision about something as possibly life-changing, slightly inhumane, and probably extremely dangerous as the experiments with Snape within what the man had counted to be around a total of 25 seconds. 

...But it got him the chance to finally answer some questions on souls that he needed answering. 

...But it was also incredibly inhumane to be performing experiments on a human teenager. 

...But-

"Severus?"

Severus snapped his head to face Draco, who was staring at him as he stood, watching the man's conflicted form in front of the floo. 

"I'm afraid to ask, based off how you're seething, but... how did asking Potter go? What did he answer?" Draco didn't seem nervous to know, mostly a mild curiosity, but Severus saw through that. It was clear to him that the boy was worried about what might happen should the idiot child refuse. 

Severus forced himself to calm down immediately, before turning to fully face Draco.

"He agreed to stay here and to be civil. Now, I have to make some preparations for his arrival. I ask that I be left alone to attend to that, so only if you need something should you come to me." Severus really wanted to tell Draco to go sleep, but he knew the nervousness of a new guest in the abode would keep the boy up. He never cared well with others in what he considered a safe space for him, other than those already within it. Luckily, the boy would adjust rather quickly and be his normal self. 

Draco nodded politely, before heading up the stairs to his summer room; Severus had work to do. 

Harry had decided to pack his things in the morning, seeing as it was late in the evening and he was tired. Well, he was always tired nowadays, but still. It was the earliest time his poor (probably traumatized) body clock would let him rest. So he should sleep. 

But now, after a few days of consistently waking up in worsening and worsening pain, he was dreading sleep. Some fucked up part of his brain had started associating the sleep itself with the pain, even though he knew it wasn't that simple. The sleep gave an easier 'gateway' (as Death had put it on their second meeting) to what would happen, but it would happen either way if Harry never slept. 

But leave it to his little monkey brain to make him fear sleep while craving it every waking moment of his life. 

He was throwing a party of some kind after this shit was over. Or maybe he'd do something similar to what he did the first eleven birthdays, with the dust on the floor and whatnot. 

He climbed into bed, ignoring the dread tying his stomach in knots, and buried himself under the covers. He had finally figured out what spell it was to turn on and off lights, and he used that to shroud the room in a complete lack of light. 

But soon enough (too soon for Harry's liking), the sleep deprivation won over and Harry was fast asleep. 

Until, like clockwork, he awoke with a pained gasp a few hours later, and thrashed and yelped and fuck- actually cried in pain as the vertical lines on his back and the scar on his forehead glowed and bled. 

Definitely more painful than a Crucio now. 

And, also like clockwork, Remus soon padded into his room, wand and first aid kit in hand (the man had given up on getting Harry to the bathroom each time, instead just bringing the first aid kit to Harry), and spelled on the lights as Harry thrashed. He didn't notice it then, but Remus  was obviously in (emotional, he must note) pain watching Harry like this. 

And then, like clockwork once again, it subsided, leaving an ache and bleeding wounds staining his shirt and the bandages used to stop the bleeding on his back from previous nights. 

Harry panted, exhausted to the bone and sporting a tear-and-blood soaked face. 

Like usual, Remus healed the wound on his forehead and wiped the blood of his face with a damp rag, before having Harry remove his blood soaked shirt, removing the bloody bandages, wiping off the blood, and then replacing the bandages. 

It felt a bit humiliating each time Remus helped him, and he got the urge to tell the man to fuck off and that he'd deal with it himself, but most of him now just accepted the help- it was Remus after all. When he was there, he was reliable. How reliable to be there at all? Eh.... 

Harry shoved that thought down as Remus finished bandaging up his torso. The man pulled him in for a hug, which was actually not usual, and gently stroked his hair. Remus hugs were always nice, and Harry felt Remus cast an all-too-familiar cleaning charm over his shirt and sheets, before Harry slid his shirt back on and passed out sleeping before Remus could even spell the lights off.

Chapter Text

Severus had finally finished his work. 

It had taken him half a day, not to mention the part he got done the night before, but it was done. Originally, the door to the attic (which was just big enough to be livable for Potter Jr., he figured, but he knew the idiot boy would chew his ear off about how it wasn't livable at all) was in the ceiling of his bedroom, but he vehemently despised the idea of the boy having to regularly go into his room to get to the attic, so he had patched up that entrance and moved it to the bit of empty space in front of the bathroom and two bedroom doors. 

Then, with a more properly located attic entrance, he had unfolded the ladder and immediately had to change out the wooden steps, as they were very clearly rotten and frail. Now a foldable metal ladder extended down from the hatch. 

Having finally entered the room (which had a slanted roof, the smallest wall being about two feet tall and the tallest wall about 6 feet, with slanted walls on the sides), he immediately did a few cleaning and organizing spells. Before, it was an extremely dusty and dirty area, the only thing in there stacks on stacks of books and boxes... and a piano, in the middle of the room, but after, it was a relatively cleaned area with everything having been pushed to a wall, put out of the way for his new renovation project (though the things did almost take up a fourth of the room, they left a good amount of room to make the living space). 

He spared one last glance to the piano before focusing back on the renovation project in front of him, pushing g down all the memories of his mother that had rushed to his mind. 

Next, he unshrunk all the furniture he had owl ordered and arranged it in the room. It was a twin size bed, a wardrobe spelled to have more space than physically possible with the size, a nightstand with a small drawer, a desk and chair, and a small lamp. 

He put the bed in the corner next to the window, the nightstand against the head of the bed and the tallest wall, and the lamp (magically powered, luckiliy) on the nightstand. He put the wardrobe against the tallest wall a foot or two from the nightstand, and the desk and chair next to it. 

After he finished this, he made sure there was nothing else the boy would need that he had forgotten, and thus, he had actually renovated a third room into his house. 

A few hours after that, when he had taken a two hour nap (to the advice of Draco), he flooded to Grimmauld Place, Number 12 and saw as the boy was sent off by Remus to his abode, his shrunken luggage in his pocket. 

He had unshrunken the trunk in the boy's guest room (the idiot child didn't even need to ask for Severus to know he needed to do it), and left him to his own devices. What had been decidedly odd, however, was there was a rather large (and from what he deducted, heavy, too) second trunk that Severus unshrunk for the boy. He had no idea what was in it, though it was curious as he knew that that was Potter Sr.'s old school trunk, and the boy had never had it before that point. 

The boy had not complained about the room (a blessing for Severus's ears) when he saw it- though a curious glance was shot at the piano was spared- and he actually seemed rather happy about the placement. Curious, considering he knew the boy had always been quite spoiled with who ever he was with- there's no way the boy would still be the insufferable brat he was otherwise. Just like his father, not to mention the failed Occlumency lessons that rubbed salt in Severus's annoyed and pissed off wound. 

Soon enough, Severus had started on preparing dinner, Draco was intermittently chatting with him about inviting Zabini and Parkinson over for an evening, and Potter Jr. was doing whatever he was doing in the attic. 

Severus knew that Draco would have to, inevitably, interact with the idiot boy. Whenever they were in the same room, it was awkward and tense- clearly unresolved conflict. Otherwise it'd be like a house party of anti-socials, and no matter how much Severus could ignore, he would honestly rather bickering than tense awkwardness. 

So, they would at least be eating together. Severus had decided that. And, when he could, he'd at least make situations where the two had to interact at least a little. Like how Severus had just requested Draco to bring the idiot boy down for dinner. If those two weren't at least less tense soon, Severus feared his scraps of sanity that remained would be incinerated. 

"Go tell Potter dinner is ready, will you?" Severus asked plainly. 

Draco grimaced at the thought of seeing Potter, let alone having to actually speak to him. Everything was, for lack of a better word, awkward between the two of them. Between Potter saving his life, Draco being an ex-death eater, and their accumulated feuds over the years, they were certainly not on the best terms. At least he wasn't starting anything, so that was something, he supposed. 

Draco was tempted to refute, but Severus had done that thing where he asks someone to do something without giving them a real chance to refute it. It was disgustingly effective. Even against Draco who was a master at the art himself.  

So, rather begrudgingly, he stood up and headed upstairs. Once he was below the hatch to the attic (where Potter was living apparently, that raised some questions for Draco, but neither others had seemed bothered by it), he knocked on the hatch a few times, trying to get Potter's attention in case he was asleep or something (Severus always made dinner a bit late- around where others may have gone to sleep, though it would be odd to go to sleep without even asking for dinner). 

Unfortunately for Draco- nothing. He figured his sleeping theory had been correct and he would have go up there and wake Potter up. It'd be rude to miss the first dinner he was here, after all, and Severus deserved better than that. 

He undid the hatch, before unfolding the metal ladder connected to it. He'd never had an attic before, but Severus had shown him how to open it a year or two ago and Draco had retained that information. He stepped onto each step carefully, before climbing into the room, illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. 

He looked up and- oh, had Potter just been ignoring him? His face was buried in a book, one about Virgo, the constellation, oddly enough. Awfully rude to ignore him, however. He felt a pang of anger- Potter was just ignoring him? Really? On the first night here, no less? He had the urge to bite out an insult, but he knew Severus would be livid if he started something. 

"Potter," Draco bit out, harsher than he intended. 

Nothing- didn't react a single bit. Now that he looked closer, the guy was probably spacing out (which Draco had to admit- the glazed over look in Potter's eyes was kinda creepy, not to mention that he didn't look like he usually did when he spaced out in class). He stepped closer and snapped at him, trying to get his attention. 

Again: nothing. Draco felt a pang of frustration at Potter in that moment. He walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder-

Draco almost squealed (which would have been incredibly embarrassing) at how violently Potter flinched, hitting his head on the wall behind him and yelping. Draco couldn't help but skid back at the harsh reaction, his heart racing at the jumpscare. 

"Dinner... dinner's ready..."

Ok, so, he was just going to... forget about that. For now at least. Though curiosity was burning through him at what that was. He climbed down the steps of the ladder to the attic, leaving it open for Potter to follow. He headed down the stairs, hearing the light pad of Potter's steps follow him. He didn't even realize that his anger was utterly replaced by confusion and curiosity for whatever that was. Potter was definitely hiding something. 

Dinner with Snape and Malfoy was going surprisingly well, no issue other than the awkwardness. It was even worse due to how he'd dazed while reading about Virgo and then proceeded to scare the shit out of Malfoy. 

Well, until Malfoy brought up what happened suddenly. 

"You looked dead for a second, too. What the hell was that?"

Snape seemed to be ignoring the two of them for now, but was listening in subtly, both for the start of fight to break up and some answers. 

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing, let it go."

Malfoy scowled. Persistent motherfucker. 

"It clearly wasn't. Why won't you tell me, hm?" Malfoy grinned darkly, "Got something to hide, Potter?"

A snarl had begun forming on Harry's face too, now.

"I'm not hiding anything! What are you getting at?"

Malfoy scowled once more and stood up, leaning over the table to glare down at Harry. 

"I know you're up to something! I don't what it is yet but that 'zoning out' wasn't that at all, was it?" Geez, was Malfoy fucking paranoid or what? "I won't let you get away with that in this house!"

More bickering ensued between them, straying farther from the original point and derailing into petty insults and jabs- most of Harry's being about Malfoy being paranoid, nonetheless. Snape was getting positively annoyed. 

"Boys. Quit it."

They kept arguing, despite this, the words lost in the stream of insults. 

"Boys," Snape ground out once more, his eyebrow twitching a little as he held off from exploding on them. It wasn't very effective for when his words were blown off once more by the 2, Harry now standing as well.

"BOYS!" Snape's voice thundered through the room. 

Both of them flinched (though Harry's flinch was twice as harsh in comparison to Malfoy's), and Harry knew they both fucked up royally. Fighting was an emphasized no, how did he fuck up this badly? On the first day too? Ugh. 

Snape cleaned up his dishes quickly, setting them on the drying rack and turning to face them. They were both seated now, awaiting whatever lecture was to come. 

"I warned you both about this, and what do you do? Clean up and go to your rooms or shower. If this becomes a habit there will be consequences." 

Snape had a dangerous glint in his eyes as he said those last words, a clear warning for them both to behave from that point on. Luckily, Harry planned on doing just that. 

Back at the Dursleys, he had learned how to be good, shut up, be a doll in the sense over the years. Of course, he wasn't perfect and he fucked up, but he dealt with that too. So, he would just have to revert to that. He'd done it before all those years and then summers. 

He wouldn't fuck up again- he needed to do this to help defeat Voldemort, no matter how much he hated it. That's fine. He could do things he didn't like. Though, he may have to add in one of his old tools for keeping hinself in check if this was Snape and Malfoy he was talking about...

That was also fine. He could do that. 

Harry cleaned up his plate after Malfoy, both of them sending glares each other's ways but not doing anything else. He then headed upstairs and when Malfoy hadn't decided to take a shower just yet, Harry gathered some clothes and headed to the bathroom. 

He set up his personal toiletries (hair products, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, shaver, etc.) and set his clothes on the counter before starting up the shower and peeling off his own clothes. 

Luckily, the water here was magically sourced (as Remus had off-handedly mentioned when talking about the place- Harry couldn't remember how that happened but it didn't really matter) so he assumed he could take longer showers than at the Dursleys. Though, he would still be careful not to spend too much time in the shower. 

He stepped into the scalding water, feeling it run over his body. It felt odd on his wings, and he wasn't sure how to take care of his wings (maybe they needed the kind of things Hedwig needed?) but he resigned that to trial and error. For now he'd just wash it with bar soap. 

He got washed up rather quickly, and, due to his bad mood and still being in what he considered an ok amount of time in the shower, he sat down on the floor with his shaver. He hadn't cut himself in years, not needing to keep himself in check much or just not thinking about it. 

But he really needed to keep himself in check. That fight was strike 1, and he was lucky enough to have more chances. He hesitated- not that he didn't want to, because, in all honesty, ever since the idea had came in his mind, he'd been pouring over how exactly he'd do it, how it'd feel. He'd even sat in his bed for a minute, dragging his finger over his thigh as if he were already slicing it up. 

He slowly dragged the blade over his upper thigh, watching the thin cut bleed over old white scars and mix with water. It ached. 

Most people he's heard describe self harm made it sound like the pain was enjoyable, some morbid sense of good (and maybe it was for some people, who knows)- but not for Harry. It didn't suck necessarily, but it was more so neutral. The fact that he didn't enjoy the pain all that much was why it was effective- kept him in check or distracted him, depending on the scenario. 

He added a few more for good measure, taking his time on each. Soon, there were six thin red bleeding lines on his upper thigh, and he had to wash red off his shaver, before putting it up. He never made his cuts big because they wouldn't close up fast enough, even though some lessons really needed deeper lines to be properly set in. 

It time to sleep. Harry was exhausted, and part of him was eager because all this would be over at least after tomorrow night, but the majority of him was dreading the pain that would come this night. 

But, Harry is, decidedly, also a Gryffindor, so he climbed into bed anyway, and fell asleep.

When he awoke, like clockwork, he was in pain and- OH FUCKING GOD IT'S LIKE TEN TIMES WORSE THEN LAST NIGHT WHAT HAPPENED.

The pain was on the same locations as before, sure, but it was about ten times worse and left Harry thrashing and crying out in pain more than usual, fat tears rolling down his face, despite his best efforts to stay quiet (which were particularly piss poor this night, due to Harry's lack of mental power on account of the worse-than-a-Crucio levels of pain coursing through him). 

He heard someone frantically open the hatch to the attic, unfold the ladder and scamper up, clearly caught off guard by the glowing of Harry's scar and all the fucking blood.

They ran over to him, switching on his lamp as he thrashed and oh god the pain is worsening- 

He felt something start to form in his head, and unlike usual, it was not a thought but something he guessed may be a whole lot more tangible. The glow of his scar increased, increased, increased until he felt something flow from his head to, more-so, above it? The pain in his scar and had lessoned to a low thrum, a dull ache after that. 

And then the pain in his back increased even further, leaving him crying out as a second figure went up the ladder saying god knows what, before he felt something push out of his back and tear the bandages on before, and then his shirt, and when it finally extended, it felt like a new, blood soaked pair of limbs on his back. He collapsed back on the bed, blood and tears soaking the sheets as the pain finally receded, in its entirety, to a subsiding ache. His ears were ringing, and when the ringing was gone, his ears felt stuffed with cotton, and he couldn't understand anything the second figure was saying. 

He probably would've passed out if he had not heard a faint, muffled "Potter" from an annoyingly familiar voice trying to keep him awake. Harry squinted his eyes at the man, and he saw as the second figure instructed the first figure to do something Harry couldn't decipher much of. The first figure quickly went over to the hatch and down the ladder, probably retrieving something if Harry had to guess, before returning with a wand and handing it to the second figure. 

The second figure- no, Snape- cast several cleaning charms over his bloody form- the blood covering his back, forehead, and the sheets no where to be found- and then a small healing charm on the scar on his forehead. He carefully took the torn shirt and bandages off of Harry's torso, placing them to the side. 

"Potter? Are... able... underst... me?"

Harry weakly gave one of those so-so hand gestures, every fiber of his being protesting the miniscule movement. Snape, luckily enough, seemed to get it- a small mercy for Harry. 

"Can... flip over on... your stom...?"

Harry took that as Snape wanting him to move onto his stomach, so he carefully readjusted so his back was up. It felt like way more effort than it should've been. Snape, with surprisingly gentle hands, extended one of the limbs on his back- wait, there are limbs on his back? ...Oh, shit, he had wings now. Just like Death said. 

Snape inspected it, looking for any injuries and gently sifting through the charcoal colored feathers, before putting that wing down, extending the other, and doing the same thing. It felt soothing, which was weird on its own, but it also felt like it could be... more soothing, in a sense? Odd. 

"Draco, could you grab me a pair of scissors from the kitchen?"

Malfoy nodded and went down the ladder, and Snape turned to him. 

"Are you able to sit up?" Harry, surprisingly, could actually sit up. Not, however, without great effort and strained muscles. "Good. Now go grab a shirt."

Harry stood up on shaky legs and retrieved a shirt from the wardrobe Snape provided him with- an oversized band tee from one of the only good bands Dudley listened to- before returning to the bed which Snape sat on the end of and putting it on. It felt distinctly weird now that he had two more limbs under the shirt, but Harry could manage. Malfoy returned with a black pair of old looking scissors, handing them to Snape, before standing off to the side, not sure what to do from there. 

"Turn around, boy."

Harry's gut churned at the use of 'boy', but he listened anyways, facing his back to Snape. Snape then proceeded to cut two medium-sized holes on the back of his shirt, much to Harry's surprise. 

"Try to put your wings through those holes."

Harry tried- and failed- a few times to get a wing through a hole in the shirt, but on the third try, he managed to slip the edge of the wing in, and then he pushed the rest through, barely able to fit the largest part of the wing through it, but it was loose around the part connected to his back. The other one was easier to get through after that. 

"Draco, Potter- go to sleep. It's late."

Harry didn't protest, and neither did Malfoy. Snape and Malfoy exited the attic, leaving Harry to turn off the lamp, drifting to sleep instantly and barely noticing the fact that a dim glow remained even after the light was off. 

Chapter Text

Harry awoke (at the crack of dawn, despite how exhausted he was) to an... odd sensation, ignoring the tiredness, of course. First off, he was sleeping on his stomach, which he doesn't usually do, and second, it felt like something heavy was on his back. Really, 2 heavy things. But when Harry turned onto his side... they were still on his back. Harry looked to see what it was and- HOLY SHIT HE HAS WINGS NOW. 

Suddenly, last night hit his memories like a freight train- the thrashing and crying, Snape and Malfoy, the pain- and the giddy realization that he wouldn't wake up again to intense pain and blood anymore. It made happiness bubble in chest at finally being able to a get a good night of rest, to not be perpetually exhausted. It almost distracted him from the fact that he was even more freakish than before. 

Though, today, he was particularly exhausted, but that would disappear after a nice night of sleep, he figured. Just get through today, and it'll be better tomorrow. He looked to grab his glasses off the nightstand, before noticing there was a note place under them. He slid his glasses on (which barely helped his vision anymore, honestly- it only made things a little less blurry) and picked up the note, reading it. 

Potter, 

 

Come downstairs once you wake, we shall chat about last night and future tests and we will come to some conclusions. If you're reading this and it's rather late, come find me in my potions lab. (where even was that room..?) 

 

                                                            -Snape

Hm. Alright, he should go down. 

Harry slipped out of bed, stretching, before carelessly fixing the blanket on the bed and opening the hatch, going down. He refolded the ladder, closing the hatch, before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stepped into the bathroom, before realizing there was this yellow glow coming from... above him? He looked up, but he saw nothing.

He then looked into the mirror, realizing he now had a softly glowing halo a few inches above his head. He reached a hesitant hand up to feel it, and it felt like a light bulb after it had been on for a few minutes and was that comforting level of warm, but hadn't become too hot yet. 

Ok. That's certainly new. He turned on the light, also examining the black wings sticking out of holes in his band tee while was at it. They looked messy, like his hair, feathers ruffled up and almost- fluffy, in a sense? There were a few feathers sticking out here and there, and he also noticed that a feather or two had gotten in his hair while he was sleeping.

He plucked those out, along with some other loose ones hidden in his wings, and dropped them in the small trash can. It felt nice to get loose feathers out of his wings- and it was similar to how he felt when Snape had been sifting through his feathers last night, with being soothing but the potential to be more soothing, in an odd way. 

Harry quickly brushed his teeth, running his fingers through his hair a few times in a futile attempt to tame that bird's nest he calls 'hair', before heading downstairs like asked of him. 

He arrived in the kitchen, surprised to find Snape cooking breakfast and humming to himself. It was oddly... domestic. 

" 'Morning."

Snape stifled a startle as Harry bid him good morning (probably because he had certainly not expected him to bid the old bat good morning, but it was necessary to at least show him that Harry could be pleasant and also maybe shouldn't be kicked out), immediately stopping his humming and swirling to face Harry. 

"...Good morning."

Harry sat at the table, in a seat he had seen neither Snape nor Malfoy sit in at dinner last night, and had been deemed a safe chair. It was also the one he sat in at dinner last night, and they hadn't complained then. 

Snape continued cooking while Harry sat at the table, fidgeting his legs boredly, the two of them encompassed with an awkward silence. Soon enough, Malfoy padded down to join them, seating himself at the table as well after bidding his 'good morning's (though only to Snape).

He glared at Harry as he sat down at the table, but didn't say anything to him, crossing his arms and instead watching Snape cook. Harry wanted to say something mean, sarcastic, to get a rise out of Malfoy on instinct, but he instead reminded himself of why exactly he couldn't do that by digging his nails into one of the cuts on his thigh. 

The cut ached a little after, but he was thoroughly reminded. He started pushing his emotions down like he would always do at the Dursleys, and he felt himself be in that odd disconnected mode that worked wonders. He barely felt mad at Malfoy or Snape anymore, focused on just analyzing Snape to see what he wanted, how he wanted it. That would keep him here, help him complete his goals. 

It felt more natural than it should've. 

He sat up a little straighter, knowing that Snape didn't like people who looked or acted lazy. He crossed his legs, making himself look a little politer, knowing Snape hated people who looked too casual at any given moment. It felt odd bending to Snape's will, as he would usually do the opposite in class just to piss the man off, but he needed Snape right now and would do just about anything to get rid of Voldemort for good. And so, he held his straight posture, kept his legs crossed. 

He's done this before, he'd do it again. 

A plate was sat down in front of him, the porcelain clanking against the worn wooden table. One was sat down in front of Malfoy and Snape finally sat down with his own. He waited until the others had started eating to begin eating himself. At least Snape had the decency to give him actual meals. He felt a pang of guilt for acting out at last night's dinner- even though Malfoy had started it, he should've been the bigger person and not engaged. 

He suddenly felt the urge to make another cut on his thigh. He instead just dug a finger into a preexisting one. He then continued eating, ignoring the familiar guilt gnawing at him for eating. Hopefully he'd be given chores after breakfast. Not only would it soothe the guilt gnawing at him, but he could hopefully prove to be good at chores and Snape would be more inclined to forgive last night's offence. Snape had always liked a good worker, he knew that. 

Snape and Malfoy finished up breakfast, Harry soon following after, and they all went through the routine of cleaning their dishes and leaving them to dry. Snape then proceeded to hand a paper to Malfoy and then one to Harry. 

Harry looked down to see a list of chores on the paper, and Harry assumed those were his chores for the day. It was actually rather small, especially considering he had acted up last night. 

-Clean the Bathroom

-Clean Kitchen Floor and Counters

-Wipe Down Greenhouse

-Pull Weeds in the Garden

They were chores that would take a long time though, he supposed. But nonetheless, he knew how to do these sorts of things and do them to Pentunia's standards. He could do this, could prove to Snape he was more a help than a burden and shouldn't be kicked out. Snape seemed to be gracious enough to give him a second chance after last night, and he would take advantage of that. He had to. Voldemort was his responsibility, and he would do anything to be rid of the barely-man. 

So, he got to work, as did Malfoy, surprisingly. He'd expected the boy to whine about having to do chores. Whatever- it wasn't his business. 

He went up to the bathroom after getting some cleaning supplies from a broom closet, getting to work. He wiped down the counter, which was barely dirty, and then wiped down the toilet, which was also barely dirty, luckily. He then also wiped down the shower, which was a little dirty but was fine. 

What was a real doozy was the floor. He tried wiping it down, but some of the grime just wouldn't budge. He sprayed more, scrubbing incessantly, and the grime slowly started to lift; eventually, the floors looked about 3 decades newer. Harry's arm ached, but he ignored it, wiping off any residue from the cleaning product in the bathroom before stepping back to make sure he did a good job. 

The floor was a few shades lighter, and the other surfaces in the bathroom shined brightly. Harry flicked off the light, closed the door, and headed to the kitchen. It had only taken him about half an hour to clean the bathroom, but it was already pretty clean and was small. 

The kitchen, not so much. He brushed it off and got to work, scrubbing the counters harshly. He got off stains and grime rather quickly from the smooth surface, luckily, and soon it was as shiny as the toilet and counter of the bathroom. The floor... was certainly going to be a challenge, to say the least. There was grime and what he assumed to be smoke residue on the floor, along with other miscellaneous stains. 

He got on his hands and knees, working each square foot at a time. He would spray and scrub, so hard that his hand was numb, and keep on until the floor was shiny. He did this for an hour and a half straight, until the floors were shiny and new looking. He was finishing up the floor and had stood up when Snape walked in, freezing and watching Harry stretch. 

Harry silently walked past Snape with his cleaning supplies, about to head outside. 

"Potter."

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning around to face Snape. 

"Yes sir?"

Harry made sure to use formalities, as Snape hated impoliteness. 

"I asked you to clean the kitchen counters and floor, not to sterilize it."

Harry just blinked at him. Why would he be upset by that? And he didn't sterilize it, he didn't have the right products to sterilize it. 

"I didn't sterilize it, sir. I don't have the products for that."

Snape stared at Harry incredulously at that (for what reason, Harry had no idea) and sighed. 

"Just finish up your chores."

Then, Snape headed upstairs, seemingly to check something, and continued outside, rather confused at Snape's reaction but ready to brush it off.

He enjoyed the warm, summer heat of the day as he set his cleaning supplies down in the greenhouse. It was full of magical plants, but none of them seemed very harmful, and Harry could name quite a few of them or at least recognized them. He got to work wiping down the greenhouse, and he was done in about ten minutes. 

He took a quick trip inside to put back the cleaning supplies, before going back out to pull the weeds. He enjoyed the warm sun on his skin as he pulled the weeds, making sure to get the roots as well. 

Pulling weeds had always been his favorite chore at the Dursleys, as it was usually warm and sunny out, and they didn't make him pull weeds when it was raining as he would track mud and water into the house. It was just about the only time he was allowed outside. 

So, he enjoyed it. Snape had a surprisingly nice garden. He'd never thought of the man as having a garden- though he never really did think of the man's life in general- and it hadn't occurred to him that the man likely had these sorts of things. It was like how when kids were little and would think of their teachers as living at the school or something, before they had a concept of lives outside their own. 

Soon enough, Harry had cleared nearly half of the weeds in the garden, and his skin had taken a bit of a red hue due to sunburns, and he was rather dehydrated, but he didn't think he'd be allowed water until he finished up his last task. 

So he kept going. Until he heard an unfamiliar voice beside him. 

"Stupid hatchling... burning their scales..."

Harry turned to see small snake a foot or two from him, clearly talking about his sunburns. 

"Hello there, little snake."

He didn't think it was possible, but the snake almost looked offended at that. 

"You are a speaker? And I am not little..."

"Yes, I'm a speaker. Sorry for calling you little."

"I am the biggest, meanest snake there is!"

Harry chuckled. This snake was a real funny one. He held out his hand, and the snake slithered onto it, wrapping around his forearm, and he got to work as he talked to the snake. It was nice having him as a friend. He had quite a few stories about hunting for mice or almost being stepped on, and Harry shared with him knowledge about how humans lived and behaved, answering the snake's questions, including the ones about his odd features for a human. 

"Humans don't tend to eat mice, actually. They hate mice."

"Mice are so delicious though. Humans are missing out."

"Maybe. Tell that to them though. I think I prefer human food over dead mice."

The snake was going to reply- and it might've, actually, he just couldn't hear it over the door to the backyard opening. Harry had actually finished up pulling weeds about half an hour ago, and had just been talking with the snake in the yard. Snape seemed to pause at the fact that he was talking to a small garden snake after finishing his chores, but quickly brushed it off. 

"Lunch is ready," Snape's gaze drifted to get a good look at his skin, "and stay after lunch, I have something for that sunburnt skin."

Harry got up, brushing himself off, before parting with the snake, letting it slither off his hand and hissing goodbyes. He walked inside, brushing his bare feet off on the mat before walking in, much to Snape's displeasure. 

"Are you above wearing shoes?"

Harry almost forgot he was supposed to be appealing to Snape as much as possible, but he doubted not wearing shoes when he went outside would be a deal breaker, so he brushed it off, just going to the dining table and seating himself in the same seat as before. He did remember to have polite posture and all that like at breakfast, however, as he knew that would bug Snape more than any bare feet would. 

Malfoy was already sat down at the table, and seemed a little annoyed at Harry's existence, but paid him little mind as he waited for lunch to be served as usual. It was a little surprising that Snape was always serving them, rather than leaving them to just make their own food, but he figured they just weren't trusted in the kitchen just yet and the man was a good host. 

A plate was sat in front of Malfoy, then one in front of Harry, and lastly Snape sat down with his own plate. The trio began eating, Harry glad for the water he was allowed, and soon enough they were all finished eating. Snape told Harry to sit in a chair and wait for the man to return, and when he came back, he had some sort of balm in a jar. He set it down on the table in front of Harry. 

"Apply it to the sunburnt areas."

Harry immediately got to work with it, unscrewing it and taking some into his hand, spreading it out, and starting to apply it. He covered his arms and calves, before spreading it on his face and neck. 

"Thanks."

Snape scowled at him, before gripping his chin with one hand and smoothing out the balm with the other hand on his face, that of which he probably hadn't applied well, unable to see it. Harry flinched harshly from the touch on instinct, before stilling himself. Snape seemed to pay no mind to it. 

"See me in the evening. I have a potion brewing right now that I need to see the effects of."

Harry was a little nervous about that- but the one thing he could trust with Snape was that he knew his potions. So it... probably wouldn't kill him. 

He headed off to his room after Snape went back to what Harry assumed to be the potions lab, going upstairs and into the attic. He had some free time to finish his book on Virgo, after all. 

He had finished the book on Virgo just as the sun was setting, and Harry decided now would probably be an accurate time to to go to Snape. The man hadn't specified a time and it made Harry rather nervous, trying to gleam what time exactly the man wanted him there, but the man couldn't fault him if he came at sunset right? That was like, the definition of evening. Probably. 

He decided to quit dawdling (he was a Gryffindor, for God's sake..!) and just head down, hoping that Snape wouldn't make a total fool of Harry with the side effects of the potion and/or just decide to kill him. 

He opened the hatch, stepping down, and promptly went downstairs, padding lightly to the room he assumed was the potions lab. Luckily, he was right about that assumption, and when he knocked, the man opened the door. 

"Come in. The brewing is nearly done."

Harry stepped inside the potions lab, taking a wide look around. There was a small cauldron Snape was making a potion in, but Harry could see in the corner a much, much larger cauldron, stationed on wheels. Ingredients lined the walls, along with a few potions books laying on a counter. There was a sink with not 1, not 2, but 6 levers, all color coded. One wall, hidden behind a visible ward, had potions on potions inside it, some familiar potions, most not. An emergency shower stood lone in a corner, a drain beneath it-Harry got deja vu to those showers in the labs that they we're warned about not messing with. There was a wooden chair at a desk that Snape gestured to, and Harry assumed the man wanted him to sit, to which he obliged. 

He took a curious glance at what the desk had on it- one open book on the effects of gillyweed on souls, and a few closed books on the complexities of souls, all by a wizard with an overly long name; seriously, was 1 middle name not enough? 

There was also a small, purple vial laying on the desk. Harry couldn't recognize the color at all, and it looked like it'd extra carefully handled: a metal twist seal on the vial rather than the usual cork shoved in. Finally, there was... a glass of water. Not drunken from, obviously, so it was odd the man had it, but just... water. 

He heard the familiar sound of a potion being poured, and he turned his attention from the man's desk to his current potion. He was pouring a rich teal liquid into a potion bottle, and when he finished, he grabbed a dropper before walking towards Harry. 

"Open your mouth."

Harry listened, opening his mouth. He didn't see much reason to fight the man on this, and he was curious himself on what the potion would do. It tasted llikegillyweed, but watered down and weaker. 

Snape picked up the glass of water right as Harry felt the familiar sensation of his fingers and toes becoming webbed, gills forming on his neck. Snape pressed the top of the glass of water against his gills just as he felt his breathing stop. That explained the water, he supposed. 

He also, curiously, felt that his wings were gone, and the usual glow of his halo was missing. Snape seemed to notice this to- maybe that was what the experiment was about. 

"Hold the glass. I have notes to take."

Harry replaced Snape's hand on holding the glass to his gills, as Snape pulled a notebook from a shelf and began hastily writing notes in it, looking up from his notebook at Harry back and forth rapidly as he wrote, clearly detailing everything. 

"Do you feel anything significantly different? Fatigue? Odd sensations? Anything."

Harry thought for a moment- he was oddly... tired, now. And he felt tingly all over, but only barely noticeable when he was searching for it. And, scariest of all, his scar felt hot. He reached up a hand to feel at it on instinct, only for his finger to be burned a little. He relayed this to Snape, who promptly did his own evaluation. The man pressed a surprisingly cool hand to his forehead, then the back of his neck. 

Wait. Was he getting... hotter? 

His fingertips started burning, all too similar to the way his scar burned, and then the tips of his toes. It seemed to be never ending, Harry's temperature continuing to skyrocket. The once lukewarm water now felt icy against his skin, there was blood seeping from his scar, like when the scar had first lengthened itself. Snape's hands jerked away from him as he was subsequently burnt from Harry increasing temperature. He was hyperventilating, his body desperately trying to cool itself off. 

Snape quickly took the glass from Harry's hand, ignoring how it splashed water onto him as he ripped it away, and set it on the counter, before practically dragging Harry over to the emergency shower and plopping him on the floor of it, turning it on to the coldest setting. 

Steam came off of Harry as it hit his skin, instantly evaporating from Harry's burning hot skin. Blood mixed with the water on his face. His clothes were soaked, but he couldn't find himself to care. The burning sensation was less prevalent now, as Harry was too overwhelmed with the feeling of icy water hitting his burning skin, and for that he was grateful.

After a minute or 2, the effects of the gillyweed started to retreat, and with it, so did the burning sensation. He was now undoubtedly freezing, shivers wracking his body. He felt even colder than he should've, even considering the fact that he was being drenched in icy water. He stood on shaky legs as Snape turned off the water. 

He was handed a towel from a drawer beneath the sink, but when Snape hand made brief contact with Harry's, the man jerked back like he'd been burned a second time. Snape seemed to glance at him, before scowling in a way that could only be described as nervous- unsure. 

He followed Snape's gaze and- oh. The water that was still on Harry was freezing. There were small pieces of ice sliding down his arms, legs, and reformed wings where there was once water droplets. Snape felt at Harry's forehead and neck once more, and this time, the man's hand felt nearly burning hot against his skin, though not necessarily in a bad way, as he was still shivering. 

Snape slipped his wand from a holster beneath his sleeve, before casting a nonverbal cleaning charm, drying the water off him in an instant. It was a little, he supposed. Now he was dry and freezing instead of wet and practically an ice cube. 

The man jotted something down in his notebook, before leaving it on the desk as he quickly led Harry upstairs to the bathroom, passing a confused Malfoy reading at the table. 

"I trust you can take a hot shower yourself right now? Do that and if you haven't gotten to a normal temperature within the hour, come back and I'll have a potion for you. Now shoo, before I have an ice block in my house."

Harry quickly padded up the stairs, though on shaky,  tired legs from all the violent shivering and how exhausted he suddenly was. 

"What the fuck was that? Why was Potter so cold? It's the perfect temperature in here."

Draco was flabbergasted. Taken aback. Stunned. Why, on Merlin's magical Earth, did Potter just come out shivering like he took an ice bath, and get told by a stressed Snape to take a hot shower like that? 

"I told you we would be doing... experiments. That was an unfortunate side effect, though it gave quite a bit of insight."

Wow. What an amazing and totally-not-vague explanation. Clearly, it was something Draco didn't want nor need to know. 

"I give up. I'm not even going to question it. I'd rather keep my sanity."

Snape dragged a hand over his face, sighing, before standing up to go back to his potions lab. 

Chapter Text

Harry sat in the hot steam of the shower, uncaring of the water flowing over his face- which was resting on his pulled-up knees- as his hair was drenched. He was still rather cold, surprisingly, but not in the near-hypothermic way of 10 minutes ago. Definitely an improvement. 

His eyes glided over to the 6 thin red lines on his thighs, and he ran a finger over them, feeling the raised scabs over each. He had the urge to pick at them, to make them bleed again- so he did just that. He scraped at the scabs with dull, bitten nails until there was clotted blood beneath his finger nails and the 6 old cuts were stinging and bleeding once more. Suddenly, he didn't feel the overwhelming cold anymore, or the sinking dread of the next experiment (if this was the baseline), or his headache. 

All he felt was his stinging thigh. 

He hated it. But liked it at the same time. Didn't love it, though. Never loved it. He hated what it meant, how fucked up and crazy he was for taking a blade to his own skin, spilling his own blood, no matter how little that may be. Hated the pain, but in a way of how he was supposed to hate the pain. But he liked it- mostly in the moment- for the distraction and the reminder. That was its 2 purposes: keep him in line or make his brain stop, slow down for once. It always felt like his brain was moving a mile-a-minute until he brought the blade to his thigh, then everything slowed down. It was... 

...tranquil. Yeah, it was tranquil. 

He could use some tranquility right now. Like, he could really use some tranquility. His body felt like shit, he had a headache, and his thoughts were racing. Just a few cuts, to to chill out. He grabbed his shaver, positioning it over his thigh and- without hesitation this time- slid it across his skin and making a 7th, slightly larger, cut. Then another. And another. He went quicker each time, each less organized, less prepared than the last. 

When he was done, he was only half-surprised to find he hadn't counted each one as he made them, before going back and doing just that. 14. That's how many there were now. Over double. Cuts. On his skin. By himself. 

He was a nutjob. A crazy person. The typical mental asylum patient. 

Oddly enough, he couldn't find himself to care all too much. 

Oh hey, he wasn't cold anymore. The shower was now suffocatingly hot on both him and his cuts, and he found the steam hard to breathe through. He got washed up, before turning off the shower. Luckily, his cuts had stopped bleeding in the shower, though the skin on his cut thigh was tender and pink. 

He realized he had forgotten to retrieve clothes before showering, and embarrassingly hurried up to his guest room in the attic to get dressed with only a towel, thankful for the fact that Malfoy was still talking to Snape in the dining room. He got dressed into a shirt which he had to cut holes into, along with baggy sweatpants that were too-high waisted on him, being Dudley's and all. 

He was honestly just tired, so he put up his Virgo book, which was lazily on his pillow, and retrieved the next one for him to read- Ursa Major. He sat it on his nightstand, before snuggling under the blanket on the bed that felt sleep than comfortable in that moment, and drifting off to sleep, not a worry in his mind about waking up to excruciating pain this time. 

The only thing he really felt right now was his stinging, aching thigh. 

Severus had started making dinner, when he realized he had no idea what had happened to Potter Jr. Sure, he could assume he was alright based on how he never came to get him, but that could also mean he had after-effects that occurred post-shower. It was a very real possibility. So, in a moment that sparked a deep sense of deja-vu within the man, he told Draco to go retrieve the idiot boy for dinner.

With how usurping of energy messing with the soul could be, the boy needed to eat more than usual to stay healthy, anyway. The boy would always only eat part of the portion Severus gave him before being done, and there was no way he was getting the calorie intake he needed. It was rather odd. 

Draco obviously wanted to protest- and had even started to do just that- but Severus shot him a death glare after just one word spilled out and the boy grumbled, before begrudgingly obliging, sulking as he went go get Potter Jr. Teenagers. 

Draco gave a harsh rap to the hatch, but alas- no reply. He grumbled, feeling a sense of deja-vu as he opened the hatch and climbed up. It was dark in the room this time, except for a soft glow emanating from Potter's halo. It only lit up Potter and his bed, and Draco couldn't help but take in his details for a moment. He looked- tranquil, at peace, for once. He hadn't noticed until it was gone, but Potter always looked stressed, his shoulders tense and brows furrowed. But now... he looked younger in a sense. Before, he almost looked 30 with how stressed he would always look. 

He looked his age when he was sleeping. 

All anger seeped out of Draco- any annoyance at having to get Potter, the suspicion that he was up to something, everything there was- when he saw those wings peeking out of the blanket, softly lit by Potter's halo. 

Before he could stop himself, he walked over to the bed, reaching a hesitant hand out and brushing his hand against one of the wings, running his fingertips over it. He immediately jerked his hand back, cheeks burning with embarrassment at what he was just doing. But it was so nice to feel... 

Draco was selfish. He was self-serving. It was part of being a Slytherin. So, he let his fingers return to the wing, gently feeling around on it, careful not to wake Potter up. The feathers were smoother and longer closer to the edges and shorter and rougher near the base. When he smoothed his thumb over the very base of the wing, which could barely be considered feathers, small goosebumps rose near the base of the wing on Potter's back. He really liked touching his wings. 

Draco realized he was taking a while (and getting dangerously close to being addicted to feeling at the wings), and reluctantly removed his hand, shaking Potter awake in a much more 'Draco' fashion. 

The boy stirred and then sat up, his hair hilariously messy and sticking up in odd places. Draco had the urge to smooth it out even slightly, though he knew that wouldn't go over well. Potter rubbed his eyes, before blinking at Draco, who was just standing there. 

"Dinner's ready," Draco said with a snarl, once again, much more typical to their interactions. 

He then turned around, going over the hatch and down the ladder, eventually hearing soft footsteps follow. He sat down at the table, Potter soon following, sitting down across from Draco like usual. 

Draco was still painfully curious of what had transpired in Severus's lab earlier, but the man hadn't told him and he had too much pride to ask stupid Potter. Probably wouldn't tell him anyway if he did set aside his pride. He was tempted to go snooping if he didn't get answers, but he wouldn't take such a risk with Severus finding out. The man hated nosy people, and it wasn't technically Draco's business. 

Severus slid plates in front of them, and Draco noticed Potter's wings flutter slightly at what was made that evening- chicken Alfredo with broccoli and carrots. Basic, but he assumed Potter liked it enough. The boy started eating his food, and he could see his wings flutter again. He ate his food in silence, but was secretly eyeing Potter's wings from his peripherals. They shifted a lot and weren't too special in nature, but Draco noticed the small things about them. The way they tucked under his arms a little rather than spreading out, the way they fluttered when he took a bite of Alfredo, the way they shone in the dingy kitchen light- not a bright shine though, a duller one that made the feathers all look softer. 

He really liked those wings. He had to hold his fork tighter to stop himself from dropping it carelessly to caress those beautiful-

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Back up. Pause. Did he just call Potter's wings beautiful? Had he just been swooning over Potter's wings? Nope. Absolutely not. For his own sake, sanity, and pride, he would never admire those inky wings again. 

He immediately hated that idea, so he shot it down. 

He... could just admit that some things were just, well, beautiful. Like wings. It didn't matter if they were on Potter. Plus, it didn't matter how much he loved Potter's wings if nobody but him knew how much he liked Potter's wings. There, problem solved. 

He would just forever hide his love for those wings. 

Harry had doing his daily chores the next day, thoroughly excited to be in the garden again. Snape had clearly liked the job he did in the garden, as he had been assigned to tend to the outside once more that day. Snape had even handed him a bottle of spray-on sunscreen with a pointed look when he was given the list of chores. 

He had finished up as quick as he could, hoping the whole time that the snake would reappear that day, and much to his luck, he immediately spotted the snake when he walked outside. He quickly got the little snake's attention, and the snake decided it would be good to wrap around his wrist, chatting as he tended outside once more. 

"It's rather warm out during this time, as I'm sure you've noticed. You should spend more time out here."

"I would but the bat-looking man might not like that. I don't want to risk it, as I really need to keep him content right now."

It was hard to read expression on the snake's rather tiny face, not to mention the fact that even a big snake would be hard to read. Due to this, snake language was rather passionate with tone and inflection to convey emotion well. 

The snake's voice was very, very concerned when it spoke. 

"That sounds like a poisonous relationship."

"No, it's not like that! It's just a more... transactional relationship is all."

The little snake didn't seem very satisfied, but let it go, letting Harry continue watering the plants after changing the subject. Harry soon after finished up his chore, deciding to lay under a tree in the corner of the garden, talking to the little snake absentmindedly. He'd decided, ultimately, that Snape wouldn't complain about him spending more time outside, as it meant Harry was out of his hair for a while.

The little snake seemed to like being wrapped around his wrist, curled up on his chest, or even wrapped around his halo, indignantly saying something about the warmth everytime Harry commented on it. Soon, Harry had dozed off in the comfortable summer heat, the small snake curled on his chest, and grass in his already unruly hair and feathers. 

Draco opened the door to the backyard, ready to call Potter inside for lunch, when he noticed he was, in fact, laying down under a tree, asleep, with a snake on him. A snake! He wasn't sure if he adored the snake or Potter's wings more. 

Draco personally loved snakes, and he was honestly pretty envious when Potter was revealed as a Parselmouth. It had pissed him off that someone who loved snakes so much, was a Slytherin for Merlin's sake- didn't get to speak to snakes, while some dumb Gryffindor did. It made him hate Potter even more than he already had at the time. 

He walked over, his eyes snagging on the fluffy wings on Potter's back once before he shook his head and then promptly shook Potter awake, consequently waking the snake as well. Potter awoke with a start, startling the snake a little, to which he looked rather sorry and gently pet the snake with one finger. 

Potter's hair was, once again, sticking up in multiple random places, and there was an annoying amount of grass in his hair (the same was true for those fluffy wings of his). Draco wanted to pick out the grass, to flatten down the other's hair, but clasped his hands together instead when he lost hand had moved to act on that. Luckily, Potter was too dense to notice the mistake, softly speaking to his snake.

Potter turned to Draco, a bit of contempt in both his gaze and words as he said, "What do you need, Malfoy?" His words and gaze were biting in nature, yes, but he clearly didn't want a repeat of Severus's rage (which was surprising, as Potter almost never held back in class, despite the consequences), so he didn't start anything. 

Draco's words always held a similar bite, but he too restrained, not wanting upset his godfather, but more so out of respect than what he could not imagine Potter's reason to restrain. 

Potter stood up, letting the snake slither off his hand and onto the ground, before he brushed some of the grass out of his hair (though there was still quite a bit lingering, and there was even more in his wings still). 

Draco didn't bother waiting longer than to see that, and walked inside, Potter silently following. 

The two entered, and they sat in their usual spot at the table, before Severus served them their food, sitting down himself. The man scowled at the grass in Harry's hair and wings, but didn't comment. 

What was odd was that, since Draco had started really liking Potter's wings, Draco found himself really analyzing him. He'd noticed a lot. For starters, he played with his food more than actually eating it, as if he was hesitant to eat. Then, how Potter would always get up around 5 a.m., but wouldn't leave his room until called down for. Not to mention how on edge Potter always looked around them, or how he absolutely overdid all his chores. Last but not least, and honestly the weirdest of them all: Potter, seemingly subconsciously, would dig his nails into his thigh. One time, Draco had even seen a tiny spot of blood on Potter's shorts after, even though Potter hadn't seemed to be digging in deep enough to do that. 

But what both scared him and weirded him put about this was that... he was worried. About Potter. It was preposterous. Bewildering. Horrible. Any negative adjective: that's what it was. 

Why, on Earth, would Draco care about Potter?

Dinner had gone as many did- silent and awkward. Not necessarily bad considering alternatives. 

Harry had returned up to his attic room, but he couldn't seem to focus on his book. So, he put it down, laying down boredly on his bed, letting his thoughts wander. At first it was fine, he was just listening to the ambient noise of Malfoy's shower and the soft crickets chirping about in the garden. 

This, in hindsight, was not a good idea if he planned on thinking for more than a minute. 

Within a few minutes, his thoughts had turned dark, that of his failures, his flaws, his freak nature. 

Y'know those wings aren't normal at all. What kind of freak has wings? Not even Remus is that freaky, there are others like him. 

Stop! Remus isn't a freak! 

We both know he is. And yet you're even worse now. What would he think? Do you think even he would love you still after finding out you're a freak? 

Yes..! Remus loves me..! 

You don't believe that. I know that well. Nobody could love you. You're too much of a burden! Not even Ron or Hermione could stand you in 4th year. 

It was a hard time... 

No. They just don't like you. They haven't even sent a letter: radio silence from them. They're enjoying this break from you. 

Not to mention Sirius. You killed him, no wonder he drinks all the time. And then you have the audacity to be upset when something happens because of it. If you were just a better godson, he wouldn't have ever died, and he wouldn't be an alcoholic. 

Then your parents. They're like strangers. I bet your dad is so disappointed that you're not more like him. And I bet your mom regrets losing 17 years of her life for a no-good kid like you. The Dursleys all saw what you were, and they just told you it straight. And yet you sob to the Weasleys and Hermione about their abuse. Can't handle the truth, kiddo? 

He needed silence. He needed silence. Without thinking, he got up, grabbing the extra shaver from his trunk that Remus had insisted he'd need. He rolled up his shorts, uncaring of the blood as he slashed at his thighs over and over and over-

He continued on, solely focused on the ache, the burn, the blood. Harry was crazy, a deranged freak for it, but it silenced the voice in his head. The only thing he could hear now was the beat of his heart and the near silent motion of slicing his skin. 

He didn't even hear the hatch open to the attic until he heard a shocked- no, not just shocked, horrified- gasp. 

He turned instantly to face who had entered- Malfoy. 

He saw Harry's deepest, darkest secret, laid bare. Harry froze, as did Malfoy, each staring at the other with wide eyes. The only thing Harry could think to say was-

"Don't tell Snape. Please."

Malfoy was a little taken aback, but after seeing Harry's desperation, had nodded, though he didn't seem to really be processing what Harry had said to him. Malfoy seemed to finally register what he was seeing, and he backed up a step suddenly, freezing once more, then darting down the ladder before any words could be uttered, and Harry heard the door to Malfoy's room shut. 

Harry laid on his back, staring up at the slightly dusty ceiling, the bloodied shaver still in his hand and the cuts on his thighs still gushing his blood. It- it felt like a nightmare. A real nightmare- the only thing convincing Harry that this was really was happening was the very tangible pain he could feel on his thighs at that moment and the rolling nausea pooling in his gut. No way Malfoy wouldn't tell Snape immediately. No fucking way. He just nodded to be able to leave. 

Harry acted before he could think, angrily taking the shaver to his thigh once more, the cuts deeper and less linear. He wanted to punch something. That fucking asshole. Coming in here all of a sudden, seeing Harry like this? 

But Harry knew very well, even with simmering rage starting to gather within him, that he wasn't mad at Malfoy. He never really had been, most of the time. But he was just so god damn perfect at everything- he was liked, he got top grades beneath only Hermione, he was witty. It pissed Harry off so bad. Why was he perpetually a failure? Couldn't even get being normal right. 

He cut deeper into his thigh, more blood gushing out. 

Not to mention what just happened. He had been good for once- he did his chores with no complaint from Snape on his work, he didn't bother anyone, and he was cooperating for once. And then Malfoy just had to come see Harry for whatever reason, had to see first-hand how much he was right whenever he called Harry freakish or dumb or cowardly. 

He cut one large cut, filled with rage, along his thigh, going a bit slower though definitely deeper than all the other cuts. 

Now, Malfoy would go tell Snape of all people that Harry was an attention-seeking schizoid with a fun habit of slicing his own skin. He'd be kicked out- Snape didn't have the patience for freaks. Then Snape wouldn't be able to seperate Harry and Voldemort's souls, and Voldemort would return. Looks like Harry would have to kill himself after all to keep Voldemort dead.

He found that thought less scary than it should be, just as he made another deep, enraged cut on his thigh. 

Chapter Text

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

How the fuck was he was supposed to react to that!?

Harry Fucking Potter was just- cutting his thighs- with a shaver- what does he say in that situation!? Should he have stayed? Should he go tell Severus? Should he forget anything ever happened? What the fuck was he supposed to do about this??? 

Would Potter try to kill himself? Should Draco be worried he would try to kill himself all the time, or just when he has a bad day or something? Did Potter cutting himself mean he was suicidal? Would Draco make it worse if he interfered? 

His parents and Severus had prepared him just about any situation he could be in. This? This was so out of his fucking field. Should he tell Severus? But he really didn't want to upset Potter when he was, well, cutting himself. Should he go in there a give him a hug? No, Potter would never accept it. What should he do..? 

Draco flopped onto his back on his bed, his hands covering his face as he let out an annoyed groan. He had never been so stuck as what to do and also didn't want to tell Severus. Maybe he could figure something out..? What if he took all of Potter's sharp things so he can't cut himself? Should he go confront Potter? Maybe help him bandage himself? 

Should he leave him alone or interfere? 

Ugh... decisions, decisions... Draco officially hated decision making. 

So... if he leaves Potter to his own thing and hope it solves itself out, that'd be great for Draco. He wouldn't have to do anything, probably just have to avoid ever looking Potter in the eye. And he probably would do just that if he hadn't developed some odd worry for Potter over the last day or so. He was noticing more things about him that he never did before, and this was just the cherry on top. 

So, while he probably should just ignore Potter... for the first time in his life, he really didn't want to. He wanted to help Potter. He hated seeing Potter like that more than he thought he would. So should he go up there? Should he wait or go now? 

He really wanted to go up there now because- what if Potter was hurting himself even more? Was Draco seeing that enough to make Potter stop? No, probably not. From what he'd heard, self-harm wasn't just self-harm: it was an addiction. Was Potter addicted to cutting himself? It was hard to see with all the blood if he had scars from previous cutting. 

Back to the question (focus, Draco!). So, he should probably go up there now, because Potter might be hurting himself again. In hindsight, he probably really was.

What if he cut too deep? 

Don't think about that. Just go up there. 

Draco sat up in bed, running an anxious hand through his hair, before standing up, working up the courage to go back up there. He hesitated when his hand touched the doorknob, but he ultimately did it- he opened the door. He felt paranoid- not in the usual way, but it felt like every bad thing ever was going to happen all at once.Maybe that was just anxiety. 

He reached for the hatch, but, in knowing he wanted to help Potter, he knew he'd probably need the first aid kit. He quickly grabbed it from the bathroom, before pulling the hatch down, unfolding the ladder (he would bring his wand, but it was common fact that self-harm couldn't be healed by any healing spell- the magic found it disrespectful and wouldn't heal anything.) 

Draco climbed up the steps, before being met with the heartbreaking shocking sight of Potter, tears threatening to fall, with much, much deeper cuts than before on his thigh.

"Fuck do you want, Malfoy?"

Potter had an angry, no- sad, no- tired scowl on his face, the now even bloodier shaver clutched in his hand. 

"I- I wanted to help you bandage up your thigh. If you leave it like that it'll get infected."

Potter scowled even deeper. 

"Just fuck off Malfoy, I'm fine."

Malfoy felt a pang of anger- he knew, realistically, that Potter probably wouldn't want his help, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be a little annoyed by that. 

He ignored Potter's protests and came closer after refolding the ladder and shutting the hatch, the first aid kit in hand. Draco sat down next to Potter, opening up the kit and taking out a wipe. 

He gently took Potter's knee in one place to steady him, tentatively wiping off the cuts of the blood. He heard Potter hiss at it, but luckily he didn't pull away from Draco. He continued to wipe up the blood, which was especially flowing from the deeper cuts. Once there was only a little bit of blood coming from the deeper cuts, he wrapped some bandages around Potter's thigh, watching as a bit of the blood miscolored the off-white. He did the same for the other thigh, wiping it down before bandaging it up. 

Potter had seemed to calm down while Draco bandaged his thighs, staying silent and still as Draco did so. Tears were still threatening to flow, but Draco didn't mention it- Potter didn't need that right now.

Draco finished bandaging Potter's thighs, smoothing a hand over the bandages. Right when he was going to pull his hand away, a tear dropped onto the back of his hand, causing him to look up. Potter looked away, his free hand coming up to wipe the tears that had started falling, and Draco could see an embarrassed flush taking over his cheeks. 

Merlin, why was it so hard to hate Potter recently? It felt like everyday he just wanted to befriend this boy.

Right now, he wanted to wipe away Potter's tears: he even reached forward to do so, but stopped halfway, realizing what he was doing. He decided to keep going, but just to gently slide the shaver from Potter's hand, pocketing it. Potter seemed too out of it at that moment to really care what Draco took. 

Draco really, truly wanted to stay and comfort Potter- he did!- but he decided to leave the poor boy alone at this point, standing up with the first aid kit and going down the ladder after opening the hatch, arriving to the bathroom. Once there, he slid the first aid kit back under the sink and took out the shaver that he pocketed. 

There was dried blood over the top, specifically on the razor part. Draco shuddered and dropped he shaver in the trash. 

...That might've been the nicest way Harry has ever been treated by Malfoy. He bandaged up his thigh. But what could he gain from doing that? Maybe he wanted Harry's trust? No way a Slytherin would do something out of the good of their heart. No way! 

But he desperately wanted to believe it. That Malfoy had did it because he wanted to help. 

But there was no way! Literally who helped people out of just kindness after hating them for years? Nobody, and especially not Malfoy.

Harry's tears had dried up at this point, and he was standing in the bathroom, rinsing his face with water, getting the tear streaks off. His face looked mostly normal, his eyes were barely bloodshot anymore and could probably just be written off as dust or irritating his eye mildly. 

He heard a sudden knock at the door, making him jump a little as he heard a deep, gruff voice drawl on beyond the bathroom door. 

"Potter. Meet me in my potions office in 10 minutes."

Harry then heard footsteps going down the stairs, and Harry rinsed his face one more time, before turning off the sink, wiping his face off, and stepping out of the bathroom. 

As he walked to Snape's potions office, he briefly remembered the past experiment: specifically the adverse affects of it. He then felt a knot of dread tie in his stomach, wondering if that would happen again. 

Snape had never explained what he was doing either, which pissed him off. He was already in a shitty mood from what happened with Malfoy, and dwelling on this wasn't helping. He felt like he wanted to punch someone or something in that moment. 

So, he took a deep breath, shoved down his simmering frustration, and opened the door to Snape's potions office. Once again, Snape instructed him to sit in the chair, and he complied, as Snape, oddly enough, took a Polaroid picture of a potion, taping it into a page of the notebook labeled: Experiment 2; Feathers' Connection to the Soul. 

"Potter, hand me one of your feathers," Snape said, his hand outstretched towards Harry. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he wanted to yell at him and deny giving him anything for literally no reason. 

Harry reached over at his wings, looking for a loose feather to give him as he sifted through the feathers. When he couldn't find one in a few seconds, he just plucked a feather, wincing at the ache it left behind on his wings, before handing it over to Snape. Snape eyed him curiously because of that, and like many things Snape did, Harry was confused on why Snape at all found that noteworthy. But, also as he did with many things Snape-related, he brushed it off, not dwelling much on it. 

Snape took it, holding it surprisingly gently as he dropped it into the potion. It sizzled and popped, instantly disintegrating into the bright orange potion, turning it a little darker. Snape immediately jotted this down, before snapping a picture of the new potion, taping it into the notebook next to the other one before it could even develop. Snape jotted down more notes on this, before he perked up. 

In a sudden motion, Snape was at the bookshelf, running a finger over the spines before sliding a thick, old book out of the shelf, slamming it down on the desk as he almost frantically flipped through pages. He stopped on one with unnecessarily small writing, running his finger down to a specific paragraph, glancing back at Harry a few times, before turning his attention fully to Harry. 

"You shed feathers, correct?"

Harry nodded, wondering where Snape was going with this. The man stood up straight, before crouching down to grab a small plastic bag that almost looked like one for holding evidence from a crime. 

"Everytime you shed feathers, put it in this bag. Bring it to me every night after dinner. If I'm not there, sit it down in front of the potions office door." 

Little odd to request, but Harry figured that reaction in the potion meant something. But he wasn't sure why any of this mattered still. His feather disintegrated in a potion, so what? Would Snape just explain this to him already? 

Harry felt his anger start to rise, and he dug his nail into his thigh. It hurt worse than usual, but that was probably a good thing seeing as it helped him be distracted from his anger. He could feel the bandages Malfoy applied to his thigh under his shorts. 

Snape's gaze turned fully on Harry, and Harry quickly stopped digging his nails into his thigh, instead just resting his hand on it. Snape, luckily, didn't seem to notice. 

"You are dismissed, boy, get out."

Snape shooed him away as he walked out of the potions office, and Harry walked back up to his room, refolding the ladder and closing the hatch shut. He immediately went over to the bed, pulling out his book on Ursa Major. He'd only gotten through a bit of it so far, and he was looking forward to reading it in its entirety. 

Draco found himself obsessing over Potter. It was horrifying. 

It was four and all that was on his mind was Potter. Potter this, Potter that. He was worried, he was pissed, he was everything. Hell, what was the most confusing was that he didn't feel much spite towards Potter anymore. Draco kind of wanted to be his friend.

It was terrible.

They both hated each other, why would Draco want to be this Potter's friend? Why did he want to hang out with Potter, learn what he liked and hated? Why did he want to listen to what Potter had to say, why did he want to make Potter laugh? 

Why did he want to call him Harry instead of Potter? 

Draco physically slapped himself at that thought, sitting up and turning on his lamp. He ran his hand over the stinging skin after, sighing. The last time he'd wanted to be Potter's friend was years ago, back on that first day. Potter, who looked annoyingly scrawny at the time, declined his hand for a no-good, red-head weasel. That stupid ginger. 

Not to mention girl weasel. Potter and her were such good friends- Draco hated the fact that he wanted to Potter's friend now. And he hated the weasels even more for getting what he couldn't. How come a weasel, a poor blood-traitor ginger, was Potter's friend and not him? He was smarter, he had money, he was a pure-blood, and he was much more well-mannered. What did Potter see in those weasels? 

Hold on- was Draco jealous of weasels right now? Weasels? Who was Draco kidding- if Potter was genuine friends with weasels, clearly he was not someone Draco wanted to be around. Not to mention his father- father would be pissed if he made friends with Potter.

It had started to drive a wedge between his parents; the fact that his mother had apparently, when Draco was still in Hogwarts and Potter had fallen with the Dark Lord in that terrible forest, ran off with Potter in tow, keeping him safe from the other Death Eaters. Draco (and his father, surprisingly) didn't know how, but his mother knew something in Potter was still alive. But why would his mother try and save Potter from anything? 

Draco was thrown from his thoughts by a thump above him- from the attic. 

Potter. 

Draco then heard near silent shuffling, followed by the creak of the hatch being opened, and the soft unfolding of the ladder. He heard quiet steps down, before he heard more shuffling downstairs. He couldn't hear exactly where Potter had went after that, but he did hear the familiar squeaky sound of the backyard door opening. 

Draco creeped out of bed, softly opening his door, steeping out of his room. He softly walked down the stairs, wincing at the creaking of the steps. How did Potter maneuver these stairs so quietly when Draco himself couldn't after spending multiple summers here? 

He stalked through the house, coming to the window viewing the backyard. There, he was met with the sight of Potter, sitting out there with that garden snake. He was leaning against a tree, the snake lazily wrapped around his wrist, his inky wings draped around his body, keeping him warm. He was saying something softly in parselmouth, rubbing at his tired eyes with one hand. 

Draco stood at the window, watching Potter for a while, his hand grazing the doorknob, begging to go out there and join Potter, to talk to him. He hesitated, his hand pulling away from the knob, fully intending to just go back to his room, but his caught on those fluffy wings once more and he couldn't stop himself when he opened the back door. 

Draco stepped out, met with the shocked gaze of Potter. He had stopped leaning against the tree, and the snake had stopped hissing, instead turning its head to stare at Draco with its small, beady eyes. Draco confidently strode over to Potter (despite how his gut was churning) and just... sat down next to Potter. He could practically hear his father telling him not to get dirty in the grass, but he pushed that voice down. He knew a cleaning charm anyway. 

Potter and him stared at each for a while, and just when Draco had begun to contemplate leaving, Potter leaned back against the tree again, reelaxing a little, as if he could tell Draco wasn't out here to torment him or anything. Draco scooted a little closer, making Potter tense up again (seemingly on instinct) before, once more, he relaxed against the tree. It made something flutter in Draco's chest, knowing that Potter was able to relax at all around him. 

"Why are you here?" Came the soft question from Potter.

He sounded tired, and Draco was caught off guard by the pang of worry in his gut. Though, in all honesty, it made sense. He had been- no matter how much he hated or denied it- starting to care about Potter. 

"Why are you?" Came the equally soft question from Draco. 

Potter turned his gaze from Draco to his lap, his thumb caressing the head of the garden snake gently. He didn't seem to have an answer to that which he was he willing to share. Draco wasn't sure what that fact meant, but he knew he shouldn't pry in that case. 

So, Draco took some initiative with, "I couldn't sleep, and I heard you walk downstairs. Mostly I was curious."

Potter seemed fine with this answer, Draco let his eyes snag on Potter's thumb, which was still gently rubbing the snake's head. 

"Do you like snakes?" Potter asked suddenly. 

Draco didn't move his eyes from the little snake as he nodded, watching it lick at Potter's hand absentmindedly. Draco would be grossed out if a snake that size could produce a substantial amount of saliva, but it was but a garden snake, and it such bothered him none. It was honestly still adorable. 

Potter hesitated, before saying, "...W-would you like to pet him?"

Draco's eyes immediately shot up to Potter, wondering if he was joking or not, and judging by his facial expression, it would reasonable to say he was not joking. Potter hissed something to the snake in Parselmouth, before extending the hand with the snake wrapped around it. 

Draco gently began to pet the little snake, feeling its scales beaneath his fingertips. The snake seemed to like it, leaning into the touch, and Draco relaxed a little. It was his favorite animal after all, how could he not? 

When he did relax, however, the side of his hand pressed against Potter's palm, and he almost jerked his hand back. The touch, however simple and insignificant, sent shivers down his spine, yet he found himself craving the touch. He was torn between pulling his hand back from the touch versus pressing more of his hand against Potter's.

Draco wanted to feel, touch Potter, sure, but they weren't close enough for even a hug. It was an unspoken dilemma that Draco, due to not knowing what to do, simply left as is. He didn't pull back, but he didn't lean into the touch either. It was a perfect balance right now, as Potter didn't even seem to notice the touch. 

Draco continued gently stroking the snake's head, feeling sparks from Potter's hand. Was this what really wanting something felt like?

Draco did some self-psychoanalyzing from time to time- kept him sane- and one thing he knew is that he didn't want for much of anything that he couldn't have instantly. All it took was a few words and it'd be handed to him on a silver platter. He always felt this innate (yet completely isolated to him and him alone) feeling of thrill when he had to work for something. When he could prove that he wasn't just rich or pure blooded; he was better.

It was euphoric, and he got that exact feeling even with this simple moment with Potter- Draco had, in some capacity, earned this unspoken truce for the moment. He didn't know if his heart could handle losing it.

Potter's wings fluttered softly when Draco's hand relaxed a bit more against his, the soft fluffy feathers brushing against the old, rough bark of the tree. Clearly he could feel something too. But, entirely like Draco, a silent consensus was came to of sweeping it under the rug, and neither dwelled on it for now. 

The sun, in its glorious way of every day, began to rise, a magenta hue starting to form on the horizon behind Potter's head. From how the two were aligned, Potter almost looked like a piece of art; the sun was rising right behind his head, mimicking his softly-glowing halo, his charcoal wings spreading just a hint as the world around them seemed to start warming up.

Draco could feel the soft warmth of the early summer already, making him feel energetic yet cozy at the same time. His parents didn't want him going outside much- it wasn't typical of the rich and elite to be outside, as it was unnecessary. Needing to be outside (along with tanned complexions- poor Blaise, he was always teased for that in rich pureblood circles. Maybe that was why Mrs. Zabini was not the most fond of it) was a sign of lower class. As a result, Draco cherished any time allowed outside, and made sure to apply a charm over himself every time to ensure he didn't tan. He didn't have a charm on right now, and he couldn't remember the last time he saw a sunrise. 

The sun was just on the horizon, the magenta color having faded into a lighter orange, the actual sun peeking out just behind Potter's messy locks. His halo blended in now, as if he was part of the sun, the sun he adored so much, his wings a beautiful shadow over the sun, almost like a partial eclipse. Draco's hand stilled where it was petting the snake, his eyes trained fully on Potter at this moment. He looked ethereal, despite how messy he looked. It added to the charm, in all honesty: that messy hair of his.

An angel. 

Then, finally, his eyes met Potter's, and his heart stopped. He'd never noticed how positively green Potter's eyes were, a beautiful emerald, the same shade as the Slytherin color, funnily enough, considering how much he was painfully Gryffindor. It fit in perfectly with the grass, now shone down on by the beauty of the risen sun, but even that color could not compare. 

When had Potter become a masterpiece? Had he always been like that, and Draco was just blinded until now? It felt like a paradigm shift, seeing him this way: like the two of them had just reached this silent, earth-shattering consensus. 

An understanding, a change, a shift. 

Chapter Text

Sparks. Sparks? 

Why had he felt sparks when Malfoy had just... brushed against him? Why had he wanted to be with Malfoy that night? It made no sense. 

Harry was sat outside now, Malfoy still sat next to him, when he felt something brush against his wing. He startled a little, turning to face where Malfoy had scooted closer just an inch, his sleeved arm against the edge of his wings. Harry had to look down and stare at his now very interesting lap to avoid freaking out. Those sparks again... why? It was just Malfoy, yet every touch that morning had felt electrically charged. 

Malfoy, however, didn't comment on it, and so Harry kept quiet too. 

Harry stretched out his wing a little, letting it catch the sunlight, as the other stayed where it was, the tip pressed to Malfoy's arm. He was hyper-aware of Malfoy now, seeing every shift of his sitting position, every rise and fall of his chest, every shape boredly traced on his own knee. 

It felt special to Harry now, for some reason. He also felt, well, not comfortable, per se, but almost...less tense? He still didn't trust Malfoy as far as he could throw him (and Harry's muscles had shrunk a little with his distinct lack of any exercise as of late) but he didn't think the other would attack him either. 

It was unusual, but he actually found himself enjoying Malfoy a little now. 

Severus placed the feather on the counter, before pulling out his wand, and quickly casting the killing curse on it. 

He watched the thing shrivel up into thin air within milliseconds- not a trace left behind. That was certainly curious; it meant that those feathers were completely made of soul matter, nothing else. The killing curse completely destroyed soul matter (and subsequently souls) after all, so that meant that these feathers were definitely the key to understanding how to seperate souls. 

Severus got out the thick book that had led him to this hypothesis in the first place, opening to that same page. The plastic covering had been ripped off at some point, leaving the hard, brown cover underneath, so he had to search for it for a moment. 

"...in ancient mythology, specifically relating to that of Death and the Deathly Hallows. Feathers and halos are said to connect back to the soul and magical core of an angel, however this is simply hypothesized in many of the literature surrounding the Deathly Hallows, as it's stressed that a Death's Angel will likely never exist due to the need of a powerful yet humble soul..."

Who knew this dumb mythology he had barely believed even as a kid had actual grounds in reality? This book may have some other useful nuggets of information in it... 

Severus flipped back to the table of contents, and his eyes caught on a fable retold in the book of conjoined twins with a conjoined soul. That might have something. He flipped to the specified page, and began reading the fable to try and grasp if there was anything on the conjoined soul. 

"Martha and Mary were sisters- twins, even, joined quite literally at the hip. However they were complete opposites. Martha was horrid, arrogant, and deranged, and perhaps her biggest flaw- she could never take responsibility. Mary, however, was kind, humble, and smart..."

This wasn't important. Did it talk about their soul? Severus skipped ahead a few paragraphs of description of the sisters, landing on one that finally said the word soul. 

"Despite these clear differences, the two shared a soul. They were raised the same, thought the same, and yet acted so different..."

Severus skipped ahead some more, before the fable had ended and the original author began elaborating on the different things found in the fable. 

"...mentions how the souls are conjoined together. This is not a very explored topic within the Deathly Hallows mythology, however it is theorized that the souls, despite looking and acting as one, were still separate, with each choosing how they wish to live with their own soul, explaining how they could be so different. There was an outer barrier holding the two souls together within their shared body."

Severus thought this was useful information, until he realized that, well, their bodies weren't conjoined. Potter just had a part of The Dark Lord's soul latched onto his. And there wasn't even a lead on how those souls were separated. It never explained how the 'outer barrier' mentioned could ever be broken. Useless. 

Severus slammed the book closed, turning back to the bag of feathers Potter had brought him. At least those could be of some use. The only problem was the Dark Lord, he needed something connected to the Dark Lord's soul. But what could he get that would be connected to the Dark Lord's soul? 

Suddenly, his memory decided to aid him, and he was hit with the memory of Lucius informing him of the Dark Lord's return. Snape already knew of course, but something had stuck out to him then- and he now knew what it was. They had used Potter's blood in that cauldron. Anything in that cauldron, should, in theory, be a part of the Dark Lord's soul. 

...Was he actually going to have to harvest blood? From Potter? 

Yes. Yes he was. Fuck. Well, he wouldn't be doing anything unless Potter let him, so. This evening. He already had another idea anyway. 

This was much too morally gray for his liking. 

"Snape!? Are you serious!?"

"I mean, I am Sirius but that's not the point," said Sirius in an attempt to calm James down. He was pissed too, but James was livid. James did not laugh. 

Remus ignored the failed joke and looked at the two nervously, before scowling, "look, he's not the bad man he was back then. He's changed! I worked with him for 9 months, I think I would know. He won't hurt Harry."

Lily walked out, rubbing her eyes, a cranky expression on her face. 

"It is 3 in the goddamn morning, what the fuck are you guys yelling about?" Lily was just about tired of their bickering- Remus had sent Harry off somewhere without consulting any of them, and while she was a bit miffed at that, she trusted Remus to not put the boy in harm's way. James and Sirius, not so much. And she thought they were his best friends. 

James spoke up, speaking as if telling his mom that his sibling had stolen his cookie, "he decided to send Harry over to Snape."

Lily raised a brow- was that really such a bad thing? Sure, they all had a bit of issues with him, but from what she had heard he was a changed man, working for the Order as a spy. That seemed pretty safe for Harry. 

Sirius, at seeing her expression, elaborated, "Snape will totally do some vindictive shit to Harry. They hate each other!"

Remus shook his head, interjecting. "No, he won't, Siri. He's vindictive, yes, but think Slytherin for a moment. He wants to change, wants to be better, why, on Earth, would he then turn around and hurt Harry? Even if he wants revenge, Severus is a smart man, he'll know better than to hurt Harry."

"He'll just find a way to keep Harry quiet or something!" James argued. For a Gryffindor, the man was actually a little paranoid. 

The bickering was giving Lily a headache. How could this be solved to appease everyone..? Hm... 

Well, Sirius and James were just worried about Harry. Lily could tell that Remus was too, but not about Severus hurting Harry. Well, Lily agreed with Remus- Severus would not hurt Harry. But how could she convince Sirius and James of that? 

"Well how about I go pay dear old Snivellous a visit and take Harry back myself?" James spat out at Remus, making the other man scowl. 

That's it! If someone were to verify that Harry was okay, then all would be solved. But who to send... 

Sirius and James probably wouldn't trust Remus to do it, but if they went themselves then they'd probably point out every thing as a red flag and use that as cause to take Harry back here. The other members of the Order are busy rebuilding magic England, and she didn't know anyone who wasn't in the Order that she had the resources to contact... 

What if Lily went herself? James and Sirius trusted her, and Severus likely wouldn't bar her from entry- he was, as she had heard, no longer a Death Eater after all, and probably regretted calling her that slur. Okay, problem solved. 

"Shut up!" Lily very suddenly yelled, getting everyone to stop bickering and turn their attention to her. 

"What if I go check up on Harry? Tell you if he's doing okay or not?"

Not a single one of them could argue that- well, James looked like he wanted to, but Lily already shut that down with a glare. The man was annoyingly paranoid about losing her, and while she didn't exactly blame him for it, it was a bit overbearing sometimes. 

"Well, if you're offering, that would certainly help settle this. I'll send an owl to let him know that Harry's mother wants to visit," Remus said, before going off to write a letter. 

Harry was sick of this shit. 

Why, on Earth, did Snape need three different forms of his DNA? 

First, he wanted the feathers, which, sure, fair, that's an easy form of DNA, he shed plenty each day. 

Then, he had called him to the potions office and had requested to both draw his blood and collect some of his hair. 

What the fuck was this man doing? 

But, nevertheless, Harry agreed, and was now sat with a tube in his arm, getting his blood drawn into a clear bag, while Snape had been brushing out his hair with the specific purpose of collecting said hair. He would have to do this every week, likely, according to Snape. Snape was not gentle either- the man had no mercy for his hair and had brushed it roughly. Harry felt like the manhad been pulling out more hair than collecting the ones that shed naturally. 

Snape then was scurrying about with fervor unique to him (it had become quite the norm and would likely continue to be in this office), swapping from open book to open book. It had gotten to the point where the bat-turned-man didn't have enough desk space for more books, so there were more than plenty floating, flipping to pages before he even turned to face the book. Harry's blood was still being drawn, but at least the man had stopped brushing out his hair, satisfied with the small bag of black hairs. 

Harry was getting restless, just sitting in this chair. His legs had started doing this thing where they moved in and out, and he had to consciously stop them anytime he noticed it. The room just felt stuffy, and the air was just wrong. Everything in this room felt like it was times 10. The tube in his arm, the just barely too-cold temperature, his restless legs, the dingy yet too-bright lighting, the turning of pages, Snape's footsteps, his rapidly forming headache- he just wanted to go up to his room in the attic and plug his ears. Wanted to focus on nothing, let himself drift off. Maybe do a chore or something, wipe down a table, wash a dish. Part of him wanted to yank the tube out of his arm and storm out. 

Instead, he dug his nails into his thigh, focusing on the pain. Everything faded into the background- all the little noises were gone. Silence. Snape stayed in his book-frenzy as Harry's blood was drawn, so Harry just let himself relax in the pain. It was so peaceful. 

This had happened before- where, seemingly out of nowhere, his brain was flooded with all this white noise, where he couldn't focus on anything, and the near-silence was deafening to his senses. Then, he would dig his nails into his thigh, and it'd all go quiet. 

Voldemort was getting harder to contain by the day. That was what Death had told him. Originally, they thought they had a few months or so until he was a problem. Now that was reduced to a few weeks. Specifically 3, Death had said. 

Severus literally had gray hairs coming in each morning now, and he studied his books and wrote theories religiously each day, from dawn to late into the night. The only thing that kept him going was the near consatnt supply of Pepper-up potions he was on and the 2 hours of sleep he got on average. Even then, time felt too fast, and his brain was starting to draw blanks. 

Both of the boys had clearly noticed, and Draco had brought it up once, and Severus snapped at Draco that it wasn't his business. Neither had mentioned it since, just eyeing him warily. They still got their business around the house done, though, so at least they were sparing him some mercy. 

Severus then heard a thump followed by a yelp that he assumed came from the Potter idiot, and he simply ignored it. Until he heard more thumping. And more yelping.

What was that little bastard up to? Severus got up from his chair, wincing at the audible creak his hips gave when he stood up straight. He needed to stretch out anyways, might as well do it after figuring out what exactly that idiot was up to. 

The thumping and yelping just got louder as he approached, and it seemed to be... against the ceiling? He opened the hatch, pulling down the ladder. At this point, Draco had opened his door, watching Severus with mostly confused eyes. 

In the attic, the Potter boy's wings were flapping wildly as he subsequently thrown around by the incessant movement of his wings. Oh, and he was flying. Flying, fucking flying. Merlin, why did his life always have to be this stupid? 

It explains the thumping against the ceiling at least. 

"Get down from there, quit flying, you idiot boy!" Severus called out over the yelps that erupted with each faceplant against a wall. 

"I can't! It's like my wings have got a life of their own!"

Thud. Yelp. 

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The Potter boy went still and fell to the floor, this time without a yelp. Because he was paralyzed. Severus then undid the spell, and while Potter's wings were still gently twitching and flapping, he wasn't flying, at least. 

"Hello? What's going on up there, Severus?"

Severus ignored Draco in favor of sending a scalding glare at Potter, enjoying the way he shrunk a little under his gaze, now holding his wings against himself to keep them from flapping and twitching. 

"Merlin help me, if something like this happens again, I will kick you out so fast- just keep quiet in here, or you'll regret it."

The Potter boy sneered, immediately arguing, "It's not like I could control it."

Severus sneered right back. He was too busy for this shit. "Find a way how to control it then."

Severus went down the hatch, closing it as he left. He wouldn't actually kick the boy out, and he knew the Potter boy knew that too, he just wanted to get across how pissed he was. 

"Go to bed, Draco, it's getting late. You too, Potter!"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck- Snape was going to kick him out if his wings went all haywire again! How could he fix this... how could he fix this... how could he control his wings? They were still twitching, and he could tell the same thing would happen sooner or later... ugh, he wished he could just bind up his wings so they could never move again..! 

...That's it! 

Harry grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom, returning to his attic room, taking out the bandages. There was definitely not enough to bind up his wings. Luckily, Harry knew just the charm to elongate bandages. It came in handy a lot back at the Durselys. 

Harry shivered and quickly cast the charm with his wand, elongting the bandages to be much longer. He slipped off his shirt, avoiding looking at his scrawny build.

He held the wings as tightly as he could to himself, before starting to wrap the bandages around his torso, binding his wings to his back. He had to elongate the bandaging a few more times, but eventually, he had successfully bound his wings to his back. When he tried to move his wings, he felt a sharp pain, and so he just let them stay limp in the bandaging.

Mission: accomplished.

Harry slipped on a shirt, surprised when his wings were barely noticeable even under a thinner shirt such as the one he'd put on. If nobody were to be staring, they wouldn't notice a thing. And he doubted either Snape or Malfoy would care if his wings were just in his shirt. 

He slipped into bed, turning off the lamp, and proceeded to doze off. 

Why were Potter's wings in his shirt? He had never kept them in his shirt before. And they looked a bit flat under there, now that he was really closely looking. Like they were constantly pulled tight against his back. 

Draco very quickly averted his gaze when he saw Potter start to turn around, turning his eyes back to his book. He had been on the same page for 10 minutes now, and he couldn't tell you the first word on the page. 

Draco missed Potter's wings. Those charcoal feathers, the way they don't shine, but instead are duller, softer looking. To anyone else that might be an insult, but he preferred the soft, coal look over any shiny jet black any day. The just... looked like they'd be amazing to touch, to run his hands through soft fluffy feathers, feel the soft heat they have under his fingertips, hear Harry let out content sighs as he massaged the skin beneath the feathers- wait. Hold on. 

Draco shot up from his spot to the couch, storming up to his room and closing the door behind him, locking it. He leaned against the wooden surface, sliding down it as his entire world came crashing down with one little mistake. 

Because he clearly had a big fat stupid inconvenient crush on Harry fucking Potter. 

Merlin save him, because it was quite obvious to him now thouse sparks from earlier was his brain trying to tell him something. Something detrimental. 

Chapter Text

Severus was onto something. Potter's blood almost... partially evaporated under the killing curse. And his hair did nothing. It was odd, because the soul was completely seperate from the blood and hair, meaning that there was some form soul matter within his blood stream. Not to mention that the hair and his blood should be connected, no? So they should have the same result. However, if the Dark Lord had only taken the boy's blood, only the boy's blood would've been affected. So if his hair was unaffected, that meant that his blood was the only things affected, nothing else. Well, his core too, but that was through his blood. In order to free Potter from the Dark Lord's soul matter, he would just have to get it from his core, and his blood would eventually clean itself out. 

Severus felt a little proud. Until, that is, he realized he was back to square 1. Cleanse Potter's core.

How? No idea.

No idea at all.

Dammit. 

Harry sprinkled the water over the plants just like he did everyday now. It was nice, honestly. He'd found himself almost enjoying his stay, even if it was with the old bat-professor. He hadn't been able to really send any sort of letter, as there was no owl for him to use (he didn't even know is Snape had one, from what he saw), so he was going a little crazy just reading his constellation books and doing chores. But, still, it was nice here, surprisingly enough. He enjoyed the way the sun beat on his skin when he was outside or how the house had started smelling a bit more like lemons ever since he got here. 

And, most of all, he enjoyed Noodle. Noodle being the little garden snake he'd been hanging out with every time he was outside. He always did his outside chore last (which was usually just tending to the plants and/or pulling weeds) so he could spend the rest of the day outside with the little snake. 

The only thing he didn't like was how hot and sweaty his wings got beneath the bandages and stuck to his back, and he constantly feels the need to fan his shirt to cool them off a little when he's outside. But, that was fine. Harry had done plenty of things like this at the Dursleys where he'd did his nails into his thigh whenever he needed to not perform accidental magic or when he would make sure to walk quietly around the house at to not annoy his relatives, especially late at night. This was no different. A small inconvenience in order to keep himself safe. Right now, safe meant at this house, letting Snape do his little experiments. 

But he felt his anger rising. Boiling under the surface constantly. Every little thing made his accidental magic want to burst, despite his old age, and he found himself digging his nails into his thighs near constantly. He didn't know what it was, he just felt the need to scream to throw things. He had gotten this way before, but that was when Voldemort was affecting him...

Was Voldemort affecting him again? 

Oh dear- that would explain a lot. The anger, the need to lash out, his boiling anger, his depressing thoughts- it was totally Voldemort! Shit, shit, shit- and his wings going haywire, that was probably also Voldemort- everything was going to shit! How could only now notice? Should he tell Snape? He was the one who was leading the whole 'remove Voldemort from Harry' thing. But Snape wouldn't believe him, would just call it him being dramatic. Nobody would get it, he was totally being pseudo-possessed by Voldemort again. Dammit, if only he had been better at those Occlumency lessons, if only he hadn't been such a screw up- 

He felt a small pinch on his wrist, yanking him from his spiralling thoughts. Noodle had gently bitten him, clearly sensing his growing distress. No wonder, Harry's lungs felt worn out, like he had run a mile, and he had to focus to untense his shoulders. He must have been doing that thing where he breathes too fast again 'cause he's spiralling. Hermione had called it a panic attack. As if panic could attack someone. He usually trusted Hermione, but a panic attack sounded like a load of shit, quite honestly. 

He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs painfully expand (not even to their full size, as the bandages were so tight around his chest) before letting out that breath as a wheeze. He felt a bit dizzy, and he was glad he was sitting down and he allowed his body to quit being dramatic. He yawned a few times as his body attempted to regulate his oxygen intake, before he went back to watering the plants. He patted down the dirt of a plant he had accidentally bumped in his panic, standing it back up straight and whispering a quick apology to it. 

Harry continued his chore with Noodle calmly wrapped around his wrist. The little snake was probably tired as it hadn't been saying much of anything today, just lazily licking his finger every now and then or sliding around on him. The snake had taken a liking to being Harry's bracelet, but would occasionally slide up and relax around his neck like a choker. 

The sound of the back door squeaking open and shuddering closed caught Harry's attention, and he stood as he turned to face whoever was there. Malfoy, as it so happened, was standing tensely at the doorway, and Harry watched as Malfoy approached him, seemingly with some sort of goal.

"Why are your wings tucked away, Potter?" He asked, seeming all to entitled to the answer. 

Harry suddenly felt pissed off. How dare Malfoy feel so entitled to information that had nothing to do with him? What a stuck up pureblood. How could Harry have been so stupid enough to ever want to be around this guy? 

"None of your business, Malfoy."

Malfoy sneered, crossing his arms and looking all too similar to his stuck-up father. 

"'M just curious, no need to bite."

Harry scowled even further. Each word this guy said made Harry want to clock him in the nose. He felt his nails dig into his palms, and he distantly noticed how his jaw was clenched hard enough to make his teeth hurt. Malfoy seemed to notice how tense he was getting. 

"Got something to hide, Potter?"

Not this nonsense again. Paranoid little motherfucker... 

All the anger from the previous fight filled him, from the warning by Snape (both of them, actually), from the fact that it was his responsibility to end Voldemort, from the fact that he had to stay with Snape and Malfoy, from the fact that Malfoy knew he was freak who cut himself, from the fact that Snape wouldn't tell him anything, from the fact that he was even more of a freak that had to bind his wings just to control them, from the fact that the Dursleys were right and he was a terrible, lying, thieving, no-good trouble-causing kid, from the fact that he was unlovable boiled up inside him, and he felt magic, no- power surge through his veins and burst from him. 

His wings broke through the bandages and his shirt, spreading as far out as they could, and the grass around him was blown away, along with Malfoy, who was sent flying back, narrowly missing crashing against the wall of the house. A surge of energy could be felt throughout the entire neighborhood, and he had no idea where Noodle was after the fact. He could feel hot blood gushing down his face, and his wings were twitching again. 

Snape burst open the back door just a few moments later, his hair greasier than usual and his eyes accompanied with dark circles. Harry didn't even register the fact that he was shirtless, and that all his scars were on display, until he realized Snape was practically gawking at him. He'd never seen the man so shocked. Harry felt a distant feeling of relief when he felt Noodle slide around his neck, resting there, glad his snake was still on him. 

All Harry could think to say was, "I think something happened," before everything went dark around him, and he collapsed to the floor. 

Dear Merlin help him. He now had two unconscious teenagers in his backyard. 

Severus flicked his wrist, watching the two teens levitate a few inches above the ground, before he opened the door wider and floated them in. He sent each to their respective bed, before climbing the ladder into the Potter boy's room. Sorry Draco, but the boy actively bleeding had to go first. Severus summoned the first aid kit from the bathroom in case there was anything a quick heal couldn't fix as he approached the boy on his bed. There didn't seem to be anything broken or majorly injured, so he just healed the lightning scar on his face and wiped away the blood. 

His eyes drifted back down to Potter's torso. Lacerations that crudely healed, scratches, and claw marks on his too-thin torso (since when was Potter so skinny?)- likely from the second task in the boy's 4th year. But one thing that his eye snagged on was the words scarred on the back of his hand. 'I must not tell lies'... what the hell? Why would he have words scarred on the back of his hand like that? They looked jagged too, like they had healed and reopened multiple times. 

His heart froze when his brain decided to recognize it.

Don't say it... was that the work of a blood quill? It usually showed up on the back of the hand, and it was clearly done with a quill. But why? Why would he use a blood quill on himself? Was he forced to? If so, by who? And when? Why? 

This made absolutely no sense at all. None. 

And why were there bandage fragments on his wings? The shirt rags, he understood- his shirt had been ripped when his wings emerged from under his shirt (Severus had no idea why the boy had his wings under his shirt, and he didn't really care). But why bandages? Were his wings injured? They didn't seem to be. He did a quick once-over of his wings and concluded they looked fine enough. Severus peeled away the bandage fragments and ripped shirt pieces, incinerating them easily. The shirt was one of the more raggedy looking ones the boy owned anyways, the boy wouldn't miss it. 

Severus was about to leave when something red caught his eye- and he had to do a double take. Bloodied bandages were wrapped around both Potter's upper thighs, and they looked rather messy, and pretty old, too. At least a few days. The only reason Severus had noticed them was because the boy's shorts had ridden up when he was placed on the bed. 

Were his thighs also injured? Ugh, of course the idiot wouldn't know how to bandage things properly. Severus could probably heal it anyway. 

He unwrapped the bandages, freezing in place. 

Cuts.

Very bloody and, more importantly, very deliberate cuts.

Tons of them. 

There's no way they could be accidental. He'd seen this in students a few times before. 

It took a moment for it to really sink in. Potter Jr... cuts himself. He felt something disgustingly close to apprehension. Did he just... leave it be? It wasn't affecting his work, clearly, as he hadn't noticed. No he couldn't just... not help Potter. No matter how much the boy was a thorn in his side. His pride wouldn't allow for that. 

And what if the boy were to off himself, or even attempt to?

If he hadn't known about the cutting, it was possible the boy had even deeper issues. The boy had gone through a lot, but he was still reeling from the fact that the boy likely was mentally ill. 

Should he send him back to Grimmauld Place, Number 12? No, he still needed to prevent the return of the Dark Lord, and desperately. Not just for everyone else's sake, but for his own, too. That also meant that he couldn't tell either of the boy's parents as that would mostly certainly warrant someone taking Potter back and halting his progress. 

A therapist, perhaps? That's what Lily would've wanted. That's what Lily would want. He could try and stop the problem while still doing his work. Maybe Potter would even become less of the little arrogant prick he was. 

Therapist... he'd force the boy to see a therapist. Clearly the boy needed some help. Serious help. 

Severus's heart was still racing as he healed the cuts, and it had only calmed down a bit as he left this teenager to go check on the other. 

Severus was sat in his office, researching different forms of therapists. Should he send Potter to a psychiatrist or a psychologist? Would the boy need medication? Should he send him to a child doctor or a normal one? The boy was 17 going on 18, so he was definitely not 11, but he wasn't 18 just yet either, still technically a child. How long would the boy be in therapy? Should it be a wizard one, a muggle one, or a squib one? Was there any difference? 

Why did this have to be so complicated? 

As if to worsen his forming headache, a certain owl he wanted to strangle sometimes rapped on the backyard door. He couldn't remember the last time he got mail. Severus stood up, walking out of his office and to the door, opening it as the bird dropped the paper to his feet. 

He picked it up, opening it, only to see the familiar scrawl of Remus Lupin's handwriting. 

Dear Severus, 

 

Lily has been missing Harry quite a bit. They haven't been able to meet as of yet, as you are well aware. She has requested I owl you this letter in order to visit Harry at some point of time. Please owl back a date in which will be acceptable for Lily to visit Harry. 

 

                                                                                     -Sincerely, R. J. Lupin

Dear Merlin. This is possibly the worst time for Lily to want to see her child. Not only was Harry unconscious, the boy was likely mentally ill. Not to mention the boy had wings that were particularly unusual, and he wouldn't be surprised if Lily though he had mutated her son. No- no, Lily was smarter than that. Lily had always belonged in Slytherin, in his opinion, and she would see past the stupid assumptions most would make. 

Oh, and of course James Potter doesn't want to see his kid. Probably was too busy laughing his ass off with the mutt or getting drunk to care. Though he was a bit surprised that Black hadn't wanted to see Potter Jr. 

Whatever. 

He just needed the Potter boy to be in good enough condition for Lily to allow him to stay. But the boy would no doubt blabber about how horrible it was doing chores rather than being pampered like a prince. Lily would have at least a bit of sense with that, right? 

Harry awoke to his head pounding and the world spinning above him. He was shirtless, and his wings were out beneath him (though they weren't twitching any longer, at least). He felt oddly... empty? Or lightweight? Like something that had always been there was just... gone. It was unsettling, to say the least. But he didn't pay mind to it for now. 

Harry slowly sat up, one hand over his eyes as his room spun around him and the other braced against the headboard of the bed, the only thing weakly keeping him from falling back down. The lamp in his room made his eyes ache, not to mention the sun outside shining directly into his eyes. He stood up, his legs shaky as stretched out his suddenly sore limbs. His wings felt weak, and his halo almost looked to be flickering if he focused on it. 

In fact, it almost felt like his wings were heavier, and when he tried to move them, they weakly fluttered. His halo flickered even more when he did so, even completely going dark for a moment. Something was up, and he felt anxiety start to curl up in his gut like a not-so-cute cat. Could this mean Voldemort was returning soon? 

Would Harry really have to resort to... killing himself? 

He didn't want to. Nobody wanted to kill themselves. 

Well. Ok, that wasn't completely true. Harry was self-aware enough to know that he had definitely... thought about it before. Considered it. Thought about how and when, and mostly why- but that wasn't the point here. Harry might actually have to kill himself.

If he did want need to, he should probably have a will and a note, right?

He knew that wills were a lot easier among wizards because it could easily be proved who wrote it, but was there a specific format he needed to use? Could he just write it down on parchment? What happened if he forgot something? Wasn't he heir of quite a few pure blood lines, like his father's and the Black line from Sirius? Would they name new heirs or would that be Harry's job? 

Harry supposed he should probably figure that out... just in case. 

But how? Where would he even go to learn this? A library, he supposed, but he wasn't even sure he was allowed out of the house by Snape. 

Well... Snape had never said he couldn't go out. Harry had just assumed that. He'll just... leave a note and go. Surely there had to be a library nearby, and if Harry had to, he'd just come back when it got dark. Snape probably wanted him out of the house, honestly. 

Harry then paused. His halo. He could hide his wings fine with bandages and a shirt, but... his halo was a over his head. Pretty far above his head too. 

As far as he was aware, he could move around his halo only a few inches. He tugged on it just in case, and it moved way more than a few inches. He stretched out his arm with the halo in hand, and felt barely and resistance. The hell happened? 

Wait. He could just tuck it in his shirt, honestly. Under some bandages. It would stick out a little, but with a baggy shirt, it'd be fine. He quickly retrieved the bandages from the first aid kit, and started to bind his wing down. It took a bit of trying, but with his wings holding his halo in place, he managed to bind them both down. 

He then got dressed properly, tying his baggy shirt at the bottom to help it be a bit shorter while still being baggy. He cuffed the hem of his jeans as they were getting caught under his shoes, and then set off, a note on his pillow in case either of them needed to know where he was.