Severus Snape growled.

The argument coming from the hospital wing was resonating clearly down the corridor and the sheer existence of the noise was enough to drive him mad.

“What in Merlin’s beard is going on in here?” he spat as he strode into the room. Thankfully Poppy and Minerva had at least the decency to look abashed. Unfortunately they rose to the occasion rather quickly.

“I assume we’re disturbing you, Severus?” If McGonagall wasn't a blasted Gryffindor, Snape would almost have admired the sneer the woman was able to produce. Almost.

“Greatly, so if you would please keep your hysterics to a more acceptable volume….” He trailed off so he wouldn’t have to include any false pleasantries. With that he attempted to leave the room, only to find he was unable to do so. Sighing he turned around, “Colloportus? Is this some sort of a farce?”

Poppy frowned and cast a glance at her gown wardrobe. “Of course not, Professor. We’ve had an – incident. A student was attacked and deposited here on my doorstep.” Her voice became more menacing with each word. “He’s frightened and tried to escape and as such, I had to prevent it.”

“One of the students was attacked inside the school? Has the Headmaster been informed?”

“It was an assault by other students, Severus. No one from the outside has been able to get in. I did not see why it was necessary to involve Albus at this juncture.” McGonagall interrupted.

“Which student?”

“What?”

“Which student?” Snape repeated.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “Mr. Potter.”

“Well surprise, surprise. Someone at Hogwart’s doesn’t care for the school pet?” he smirked. Minerva raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a sarcastic look.

“Yes, isn’t that truly shocking Professor Snape?”

“Are you implying that I would wish physical harm come to the boy, Minerva?” He felt a small sense of amusement at the insertion of “physical”. No one in the school would dare accuse him of that. Nicely played, Severus. McGonagall only snorted.

“You’re in here now, Severus. We can’t risk an unlocked door until we’ve calmed the boy down, and I’ve tried everything.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s hiding in the gown wardrobe.” Madame Pomfrey said miserably, as if a frightened student was some sort of sign of her incompetence.

Turning so that his robe twisted around his ankles, Snape stalked over to the cupboard in question. Wrenching the door open he opened his mouth to throw out a standard insult, but quickly snapped it shut so hard his teeth clicked. This he had not expected. He had imagined the boy to be curled in on himself, face hidden, crying. And while there were tears, Harry was staring straight ahead, rocking slightly, but otherwise quiet. Far, far too quiet. And his face and neck were covered in red marks and bruises.

“Potter?” It came out more quietly and gently than he had intended. He received no answer, not even a small reaction, just continued rocking. Turning back to the two women he couldn’t help but express his shock.

“Who did this? The state of this boy is unacceptable! Even for a child as troublesome as Potter!” he added at the last minute.

“We don’t know. We haven’t been able to get him out of whatever stasis he appears to be in. We've surmised that whoever did this must have gotten frightened at how far they had gone, because they dropped him on Poppy’s doorstep. She found him outside the infirmary. We were able to get a few non-verbal answers out of him before he started hyperventilating and shut himself in the wardrobe.”

He’d seen this sort of behaviour before, though certainly not from the Potter brat. Obviously his precious colleagues were at a loss. Turning back to the cupboard he attempted to get the boy out of his dissociative state by calling his name. When that predictably failed, he grabbed Harry’s hands and began to slap the boy's palms against the bottom and sides of the cupboard.

“Feel that, Potter? You’re in the wardrobe, in the infirmary. Not wherever you believe you are in that thick skull of yours.” Once again on the sides. “You’re at Hogwarts, Potter. You’ve hidden in a cupboard. You can feel it beneath your palms.”

And sure enough the boy began to tap his palms against the bottom of the wardrobe of his own volition, pulling his hands free from the Professor’s grasp. But he did not speak. He simply turned and stared at Snape, blinking, and then opened his mouth, but all that emerged was a painful guttural noise. Harry quickly stopped trying.

“Good. Well, good enough. Remove yourself from the cupboard. You’ve wasted enough of Madame Pomfrey’s time.”

The lady in question spoke up, with more strength in her voice. “Really professor, it’s hardly necessary to make him feel guilty.”

“Fine, handle it yourselves. I have better things to do.” With a final sneer he cast Alohamora at the door and moved towards it.

“Harry, child. Up on the bed with you now. Harry, no!”

With reflexes honed from preventing many a disatrous potions accident, the lanky man snatched Harry by the back of the collar before he could get through the open door of the hospital.

“Where do you think you're going, Potter?” He received no answer from Harry who just continued to rail against him, trying to get away from the nurse and his teachers. For Snape it was anything but a struggle. Potter couldn't have weighed more than 35 kilos soaking wet. All he had to do was stand there holding the boy's collar and Potter would eventually wear himself out. He made a point to look bored.

And that's when he looked down and saw the marks on Potter's back through the gap in the back of his collar.

They were faint, very faint, but they were there, and Severus Snape knew exactly what they were.

Pulling the boy over to where the women stood watching, Snape covered Harry’s ears with his hands. Ignoring the boy’s annoyed look, he spat out the truth of what he had seen.

“Somebody has beaten the child.”

“Well, yes, Severus, that is abundantly clear.” McGonagall was looking at him as if he’d grown another head.

“No you foolish woman, before this! He’s got marks on his back. They’ll need to be looked at when you examine him.” Poppy, her hand at her mouth in shock, just nodded mutely.

“Fine, Professor,” McGonagall interjected, “you can unhand him now. And really, you could have just used the Imperturbable Charm.”

The potions master removed his hands, allowing Harry to hear again, and watched, amused, while the two witches attempted once again to get him up on the examining table.

“Oh for pity’s sake! The boy’s miniscule, even for his age. Just put him on the table yourselves!” He earned a glare from Potter at the ‘miniscule’ comment, which told him that there was still some spirit left in the boy after all. Good, he thought, there’s no joy in insulting someone who hasn’t the wits to care or fight back.

Before Harry even had a chance to brace for it, he found himself hauled up by his underarms and unceremoniously dumped on his behind on the table. While the hands lifting him had taken care not to aggravate his injuries, the action was so abrupt he let out a squeak of surprise, only to force it back when he felt like he was swallowing rocks and razor blades. This was followed far too quickly by a wave of dizziness so strong that Harry reached out instinctively to steady himself.

When his head settled, he opened his eyes to discover he was clutching the robe sleeve of his potions professor. The man was staring at him much like one would a specimen under a microscope. Harry blushed and withdrew his hand, but refused to look away. The man had been picking on him since the first day he arrived at Hogwart’s and after several months Harry was growing (mostly) immune to it.

But still, that doesn’t mean you have to go clinging to him like a baby, he berated himself.

As Snape backed off, Popopy moved forward, waving her wand and muttering something Harry couldn’t decipher. Frowning, she began to poke and prod at his neck. “Does it hurt to speak, Harry?”

He nodded emphatically, perhaps too emphatically, because another wave of dizziness overcame him. He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and he leaned into it until he regained himself.

“Well,” Poppy continued, “it seems his vocal cords are bruised, he likely won't be able to speak for some weeks. No surprise really, seeing the condition of his neck. What on earth they did to cause such damage, I’ll never know…” she ranted. Harry tried to imitate the arm that had wrapped around his neck when he was attacked, but no one was paying attention to him. Well, except for Snape, who appeared to have one eye on the women and one eye on him.

Indeed, Severus kept one eye trained on the Potter boy at all times just in case the insolent child tried to run off for yet a third time. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on the boy's reactions, given the whole wardrobe fiasco. And who knew better what to look for then himself?

Casting a meaningful look at Snape, Poppy turned to Harry and quietly asked him to remove his robes and shirt. The potions master saw the colour drain from the boy’s face, but he began to remove the requested clothing. It took him some time, as his hands were shaking.

Heaving a purposefully weary sigh, Severus piped up, “Would you like Madame Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall to assist you with your buttons, Potter?” Harry only blushed and shook his head, but he managed to steady his hands and finish doffing his shirt.

Once again Poppy began to examine him, making her way to his back slowly, so as not to startle him. Despite her best efforts, the-boy-who-lived still appeared overwhelmed, and only became more tense when she waved her wand over his back.

“Harry, what happened here?”

“It’s not like he can answer you.”

“Right, of course. Harry, did someone…” but she couldn’t finish the thought.

Taking the unicorn by the horn, Snape stepped in. The last thing they needed was anyone getting all weepy while trying to figure out what happened. He stopped in front of Potter but made a point to keep his distance. With a small flick of his wand a chair came flying out of the corner and set itself down directly behind the man, allowing him to sit and maintain eye contact with the boy.

Or so it would be if the boy ever raised his eyes from the ground.

“Potter, look at me.” His voice commanded obedience, and obedience was what he got, much to his surprise. It was difficult to keep a steady lock with those eyes, but he did it, if only because he wasn't about to let a scrawny 11 year old “hero” show him up.

“You have scars -” a small hand went reflexively up to a furrowed brow, “on your back.” Harry did not acknowledge or deny, he just kept looking at the man before him.

“I am going to ask you a question Potter, and I require an answer. A nod in the affirmative or the negative will suffice. Has anyone ever hit you on your back, used something like a belt or a stick to hurt you?”

That had been harder than he thought, and still the blasted brat wasn't answering. No movement of his head whatsoever. He was trembling slightly however, and his eyes had taken a glassy sheen. Brilliant.

“Harry,” McGonagall started, “you can tell us, you have nothing to fear. We have seen this before, and some of us have lived through it.” At this last she threw a significant look at Severus, who chose that moment to explode.

He rose from the chair so quickly that it clattered to the floor. “How DARE you? You have no right to share information about my childhood!”

“We are asking him to share his private information and to trust us with it, but you are not willing to do the same?” she threw back at him. Neither of them noticed the horrified look on Harry's face, or the fact that he now sat stiffly and warily.

“My past is irrelevant to the ---”

“The two of you stop it this instant or I shall cast a body bind on you both!” Madame Pomfrey had withdrawn her wand and now had it pointed at the teachers, as if to prove she was very serious about her threat. Serious or not, it was effective, as both Minerva and Severus backed down. Snape righted the chair and retook his position.

If there was any student in the school he most desired to keep that particular piece of information from it was the one sitting in front of him now. Curse that woman! Meanwhile Harry had begun to relax a little and was gazing at him not with the look of triumph he had expected, but rather a questioning expression.

Snape gripped the arms of the chair – hard.

“It is true.” The words ground their way out of his mouth. “What Professor McGonagall implies is true, and surely you trust your head of house, if not someone who has been there himself?” A small, slightly hesitant nod. “Then I will ask you again. Has anyone ever hurt you like I described earlier?”

Another nod, equally as small, but undeniable. And in that moment, Severus secretly wished to split a bottle of calming draught with the boy. Ignoring the choked sounds eminating from behind him, Snape continued.

“Was it your family? Your Aunt or Uncle?” Another nod.

“How often?” Harry looked confused, and just peered at him. Setting his voice determinedly he instructed, “hold up fingers for how many times it has occurred.” He left the 'if you have enough fingers' part to himself.

Slowly a hand uncurled itself and the boy-who-lived held up four fingers.

And with that, Snape spat out “I've heard enough!” and stormed out of the room, robes billowing dangerously

Harry could hear the voices of Ron and Hermione as soon as he and professor McGonagall were within feet of the Headmaster’s office. They did not sound happy, and he hurried forward to see them.

“Harry my boy, good to see you, although I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances” Dumbledore intoned as soon as Harry arrived. “Miss Granger, Mr.Weasley, as you can see your friend is fine. Now I must ask that you return to your dormitory.”

Harry could hear Ron mumble “He doesn’t look fine to me” while Hermione threw her arms around him. He was grateful she hadn’t aimed for his neck.

“Harry! What on earth happened to you?” she asked, her voice dripping with concern.

“Mr. Potter can’t answer you right now, he has lost his voice. And I believe the headmaster has dismissed you both.” McGonagall levelled a cold eye at the pair, who backed off, but not without quick words of comfort to their friend.

Once they were alone Dumbledore conjured a scroll of parchment and a quill.

“I believe these will be of use to you my boy.” Harry pulled the floating items out of the air with relief. Finally, communication! He began to scribble immediately, and a moment later held it up for Dumbledore to read.

“Professor Snape had personal errands he needed to take care of.” A moment, and then: “Yes, he was angry, but not at you.”

Harry snorted. That would be a first.

“I understand you have some injuries, Harry, and not all of them from today.” The Headmaster could see that the boy didn’t want to broach the subject, but his Gryffindor bravery served him well and he nodded in response the old wizard’s implied question.

“I am sorry to hear that, Harry, very sorry indeed. I wish you had come to me as soon as you could, but I understand your motivations. I give you my solemn word that you will not be returning to your Aunt & Uncle’s.”

A scribbled ‘where will I go?’

“We will find somewhere safe for you before the end of the year.”

They passed the next hour discussing what Harry remembered about his attack, gently probing around his life with the Dursley’s, and finally, discussing how he would learn without being able to say the spells. Everyone agreed that it was important he keep up with his lesions, so Harry would attend classes, voice or no voice. He would simply have to practice the incantations when his throat healed.

“One last thing, Harry,” The Headmaster began as Harry and Professor McGonagall stood. “Professor Snape left this for you.” He dropped a small jar into the boy’s hand. Shocked and curious eyes glanced up at the old man. “It is a healing balm. You are to apply it to your neck and anywhere else you have fresh wounds.”

One quick movement across the tablet: ‘Why would he do that?’

Dumbledore’s face softened. “I believe Professor Snape assumed you would rather not acquire any new scars.”

Harry was quietly grateful. No one had ever done anything to help him without being asked, and Snape would have been the last person he would have asked. Although, if he was being perfectly honest with himself he had to admit that he would never have approached any of the grown-ups for help.

But perhaps he had been going about everything all wrong? Here he was, with his darkest truth laid bare in front of his professors, and not only had Dumbledore promised him he needn’t go back to the Dursley’s, but Snape had told him a secret and given him something of value. Snape!

If he thought the world was spinning earlier in the hospital, he was fairly convinced it was upside-down now.

Professor McGonagall walked him back to the tower and left him in the common room with a look he couldn’t quite decipher and a solemn “Take care of yourself Mr. Potter.” The moment she stepped away, Ron and Hermione ushered him over to one of the tables and began launching questions at him.

“Did you really lose your voice?” “Who did this to you, Harry?” “I bet it was Malfoy and his goons.” “When did it happen?” “It wasn’t you-know-who was it?” “What’s that in your hand?”

Oh. He hadn’t realized he was still clutching the jar of balm in his hand. He was about to begin writing some explanations when Hermione moved to take the jar. She snapped her hand back in surprise when Harry swiftly stepped away from her and released a quick angry noise from his throat. Holding the bottle tightly against himself, he grabbed for his quill and parchment and wrote in tall, swift letters “It’s mine!” The dot on his exclamation point tore through the parchment.

He didn’t miss the significant look that passed between his friends at that moment. He recognized the worry, and knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was being utterly ridiculous, but he couldn’t make himself relax.

“Harry,” Hermione began softly, “I wasn’t trying to steal from you. Why would I want a jar of something if I don’t even know what it is?”

“Yeah, Mate, she just wanted to see what it was. Are you sure you didn’t get knocked around on your head?”

“Harry, really, I was just curious. Why don’t you just tell me what it is, I won’t touch it again, I promise.”

At that he relaxed, though he did slip the jar into his robe pocket. ‘It’s a healing balm from Snape.’

“What, that git! He probably slipped something evil into that jar and that’s why you’re acting all nutty!”

“Shut up, Ron! Now is not the time. Clearly Harry needs some rest. Let’s all just go on up to bed.”

Harry lay on his bed for an hour just trying to clear his mind and explain his reactions, but he couldn’t come up with anything that made sense. Finally he pulled out his parchment and began to write. As soon as he finished he glanced around the room to check and see if his year mates were sleeping, and then slipped out of his bed and out of the tower.

Severus Snape was down in his office, marking the fourth year potions essays for a second time. He had gone too easy on them the first time, and the marks really should have been lower.

So he was marking essays. And he was not thinking about that Potter brat. Or at least that’s what he was trying to do when he heard a scratching noise against his office door. Glancing over he spotted a piece of parchment being stuffed under the gap.

Striding over he picked up the paper and swung the door open. He spotted no one. Unscrolling the parchment he recognized the messy scrawl of pre-teen boys the world over.

Dear Professor Snape, it read,

Dumbledore gave me the healing balm you left with him.

Thank you for giving it to me, you’re right I don’t want

anymore scars. Got enough already.

Thanks again,

Harry Potter

Sighing, he refolded the note and slipped it into the folds of his robe. “I know you’re lurking out here, Potter. Quit wasting my time and yours and go back to bed.” As he turned back towards his office he added “You’re welcome.”

The-boy-who-lived sat in the great hall picking at his lunch. The morning had gone by excruciatingly slowly, and the afternoon didn’t look like it was going to bet any better. Going to classes was rubbish when you couldn’t speak, Harry had decided after several days of experience. You couldn’t do any of the really cool spells, and of course the only class that he could truly function in was potions. And even in potions he was doing worse than usual. For whatever reason, he found it difficult to concentrate on what his teacher was saying, and there were far too many times Snape’s wand came crashing down on the desk in front of him to wake him up.

He wasn’t looking forward to doing it all over again right after lunch.

“Harry? You all right mate?”

“Yeah, Harry, you’ve been awfully quiet today.”

“Hermione, really --”

She blushed at her mistake, “I just meant that he hasn’t really been communicating at all, even by quill and parchment.”

Grabbing said tools he scrawled out ‘I’m sick of writing. It’s tiring and hurts your hands!’

Hermione looked thoughtful for a minute, and then brightened considerably, rising from the table. “I'll meet you two in potions, I have something I have to do.”

Sure enough, potions class was a disaster. Harry had to admit that he brought most of his trouble on himself, but every time he had a class with Snape he couldn't help but drift back to the other day in the hospital. If what everyone said was true, that Snape knew what it was like to be – punished that way. Did that mean he and Snape were the same? Did that mean he was going to end up mean and angry too?

He snapped out of his reverie when Hermione poked him. Sighing, he turned back to his cauldron and attempted to catch up to the rest of the class.

To say that he was relieved when class was over would have been a gross understatement. He couldn't deny that he had made a mess of his potion, but he tried to forget the way his Potions teacher had spat out “absolute rubbish” upon seeing Harry's results. Ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest, he headed out of the classroom only to find himself flat on his face on the stone floor of the corridor.

“Hey, Potter, you blind and deaf now too?” came the voice of Draco Malfoy from behind him.

“Mute and deaf are not the same thing Malfoy, you idiot!” Ron yelled.

Rising to his feet as quickly as he could, Harry whipped out his wand and aimed it at Draco only to hear another voice join the crowd. One which was higher up and much more frightening.

“You will lower your wand this instant, Mr. Potter.”

Shakily, Harry did as he was told, only to stiffen when he saw Snape bend down to pick up something up off the floor. His jar of balm! It must have fallen out of his pocket.

Snape studied the empty vessel quietly for a moment and then slipped it inside his robes. Turning back to the students he sneered,

“That will be 25 points from Gryffindor and a detention for you Mr. Potter. My office, tonight at 7:00.”

He turned back into the classroom leaving Harry to stare after him as the man walked away with the one thing the boy had wanted to keep for himself.

Detention was the last way the potions master wanted to spend his evening. Whoever thought of evening detention as a punishment for students obviously didn't realize that it was also a burden for their teachers.

Snape had been grading papers for the last hour, but found himself continually distracted by the empty healing balm container sitting on his desk, just at the side of his line of sight.

Why he hadn't tossed it into the rubbish bin yet, he couldn't quite understand, but he wasn't allowing himself to dwell on it. Indeed, he had picked the jar up to do just that many times since his first year class that afternoon, but had always been interrupted before he could manage to divest himself of it. He found himself continually frowning at the idea that the boy had been carrying the blasted thing around with him all day. What was he trying to prove?

Picking it up once again, he eyed the container suspiciously. It was slightly sticky, and he grimaced, wiping it on his robe. He fervently hoped it was only remnants of the balm itself, rather than any sort of goo the Potter boy may have encountered. With young boys one could never tell. Just one more disturbing thought to try and dismiss.

A soft knock came then on his office door, and he glanced at his pocket watch. 6:55 p.m. Potter was early. Surprising.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and the boy paused in the entryway.

“Don't hover, boy!”

The boy moved in to the room, but met his eyes with an expression Snape couldn't quite name. He seemed to collect himself, almost as if he was pulling an invisible mask down over his face. With a flourish he pulled a parchment out of his robes and handed it to the professor.

Snape's eyes threatened to roll back into his head, but he unrolled it anyway.

The parchment read: 'This detention isn't fair! Malfoy tripped me!'

“Yes, he did, but you also pulled your wand on him, which is hardly an appropriate response.” Potter moved to grab the paper to write a response, but Snape held it out of reach. “Besides, you idiotic child, what exactly did you intend to do to Malfoy when you can't speak the incantations? You set yourself up to get cursed or hexed with absolutely no defense!”

He hadn't intended to raise his voice, indeed, hadn't even realized he was angry until he spoke. He schooled his expression, but wasn't about to back down now that it was done.

And apparently it wasn't necessary, as Potter looked ashamed, and was writing a response already. 'I hadn't thought of that.'

“Clearly.” he drawled. “Besides, the quality of your work in class has been dismal, unless you think you can learn through osmosis?”

Pure and simple confusion was the only thing that currently played on the boy's face. He translated into smaller words.

“You're drifting off and when you're not staring into space, you're staring at me. Perhaps an hour or two of scrubbing cauldrons will teach you to pay attention to your work!”

While Harry maintained a strong look of defiance, his body language spoke volumes to the potions master, who watched as the boy shrunk back in the chair where he was seated.

The boy is a walking contradiction.

'Maybe I was trying to figure you out' came the words.

“Better people than you have tried and failed at that task.”

'So you know everything about everyone, then?'

“Hardly. Indeed, there's a thing or two I'd like to know about you.”

Harry's eyebrows disappeared under his fringe in invitation, and Snape could see him struggle not to appear curious. And indeed his curiosity vanished when the potions master snapped the empty balm container on the desk in front of the boy and rasped out,

“Like how you managed to waste all this balm!” His anger was apparent, and the small boy in the chair instinctively tried to make himself even smaller. But Snape didn't stop there.

“And carrying around the empty jar! Showing off to your friends, are you? Showing them all how quickly you can lay waste to my work?”

Gaining control of himself, Snape was finally able to focus on his student, who by this point had pulled his knees up against his chest, and was shaking his head back and forth emphatically.

“What then?” The quill and parchment went flying across the desk, where Harry grasped them, white-knuckled and began to write. His teacher's unexpected anger had obviously not disapated as he snatched up the parchment and read the few lines scratched across it. And when the man's face paled and twisted, Harry truly began to feel afraid.

“Do you think you're being funny? 'I liked having it with me. It was a present.'?” Harry tried not to think of the fact that Snape's face twisted like Uncle Vernon's when he was mad. Teachers aren't allowed to hurt students. They're not. He held his breath.

“You think it's okay to mock me to my FACE? GET OUT!” When the shock prevented Harry from moving, Snape came around to the front of the desk and began to pull the boy towards the door by his collar. Unlike in the hospital, Harry managed to escape the man's grip and threw himself towards the desk fast enough to grab his prize once more.

But only for a moment.

Somewhere in the back of Snape's mind he registered the fact that the fingers he pryed off the jar were very, very small. But it didn't stop him from taking it back. No, what stopped him in his tracks was sound of the Potter brat, who by all rights shouldn't be speaking at all, croaking out two little words:

“Pr'f'ser...please.”

And then Harry brought his hands to his throat and slid down the wall, hiding his face against his knees.

With a sigh, Severus dropped down to one knee and tried to lift the boy's face, to no avail.

“Potter, clearly you've hurt yourself. Let me see how badly.”

With a tiny, shudder and a quick swipe of his eyes, Harry lifted his head. He tried not to flinch as Snape ran expert fingers over his throat.

“Still enflamed. You shouldn't have – are you in pain?” A surprisingly wry look came at him in return. “More pain than usual? Yes. Okay, wait here. In the chair.”

The man came back momentarily with a potion. “Swallow this. It will hurt at first, but it will ease in a moment.”

As the boy did as he was told, Severus collapsed into his chair, closing his eyes.

“Did you really think it was a present?”

Harry nodded.

“Well that's pathetic.” He saw the boy look away, and cursed himself not only for getting that reaction but for caring about said reaction. Taking a deep breath he added, “I didn't mean you, Potter. I simply meant that you have pathetically low expectations. Obviously we have the muggles to thank for that.”

Snape leaned across the desk and offered Potter the empty jar. By the way he snatched it from his hand, much like a starving child would snatch a piece of bread, it was plain to see that he didn't understand what his teacher was trying to say.

“Harry, it wasn't a present.” Hurt in those eyes. “No, let me continue. It was merely the assistance that anyone should expect to receive in such a situation.” Even you.

Merlin's beard, would the boy stop looking at him like that? He was barely even blinking. It was unnatural. Finally Severus looked away.

“Well, now that I know why you kept it,” he couldn't stop himself from smirking, “I still don't know why you've managed to go through a week's worth of healing balm in less than 3 days? I'm going to presume you have more injuries than we saw in the hospital wing.”

Harry tried to think of something decent in reply, but gave up when the professor drawled. “Do not lie to me, Potter. Not about this.”

So Harry wrote nothing, and watched as the potions professor made his way around the desk one more time. The next thing Harry knew he was being lifted and swung upwards until he was standing on top of Snape's desk. On top! Of his desk!

Harry made an angry face and quickly scrawled something, shoving it at the professor with as much strength as he could muster, given he'd just been swung around like a ragdoll.

Severus took the paper, reading it aloud.

“Stop doing that! I'm not a baby!”

At that he gave Harry a quick once over and a smile that if anyone was watching they would have said was indulgent. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. “No, of course you aren't. But my way is much more efficient. Roll up the legs of your trousers.”

Harry did as he was told, and waited while Snape once again checked his injuries. Straightening, Snape looked at him and said “You should have told us about this when we were all in the hospital wing. Now you, being the grownup that you are, can remove yourself from my desk and wait another moment.”

He returned with another jar of balm, this time twice the size of the last one. “This should last you at least a week, Potter, if you are not careless with it.”

Harry made another move for his quill.

“Potter, if you make one move to scrawl out 'thank you' in that retched scratch you call penmanship, I shall cast incendio on that parchment faster than you can blink.”

Rather than intimidate the boy wizard, Harry only flashed a grin at the taller man and scampered out of the room.

Harry woke up one morning several days later to a very excited Hermione shouting at him from outside of the boy's dorm.

"Harry! Wake up! I have something to show you."

If he could have, Harry would have groaned. As it stood, he grabbed one his pillows and pressed it over his head, trying to drown her out.

"You should just let her in, mate - she's not going to stop until you do."

Harry cracked an eye from under his pillow to find Ron sitting on his bed reading, clearly having showered and dressed. Why is Ron awake? He never gets up early. Glancing at the clock on Neville's bedside table, Harry discovered that this was still true. He had slept far later than he thought.

Probably because he had been up for several hours in the night, trying to forget the nightmare he had had. He gave a small shudder at the memory.

It was his attack. Much like the real thing, he had been in the bathroom on the second floor corridor. He was alone, or so he thought, when he was hit with a blindfolding hex. Looking back he realized that had to have been hidden in the stalls, because he hadn't seen anyone.

Once the blindfolding hex hit the world went black, and much to Harry's chagrin he began to panic immediately. He had never liked the dark - not the real dark, like in his cupboard, where almost no light got in.

His nightmare had reflected the reality, and as before, someone began to mock him.

"Oh, is the wee one afraid? Some "hero" you turned out to be."

Hero? What on earth were they talking about? He was just Harry.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but never got a chance. He was backhanded across the mouth so hard his head snapped back.

"Shut up Potter! No one told you to speak." A different voice. There was more than one of them. Harry's stomach turned to ice. He had no chance. No chance at all. But he tried to fight them anyway.

The arm that went around his neck to hold and quiet him was very big. These were no lowerclassmen. He felt his wand removed from his robes. How had he gotten it back?

"You'd better be a good boy." In both the dream and real life visions of his Uncle Vernon swam before him. Instinct kicked in and he tried to be obedient and placating, so he nodded. As much as he could, anyway.

"Good." And that's when they started hitting him. From the number of hands hitting him, and the fact that the boy behind him only tightened his grip, Harry finally surmised that there were 3 attackers.

One got in his face. Harry could feel his hot breath on his cheek.

"We don't like you, Potter. You know why? Because you wouldn't die! My parents died in the war, only to be shown up by a blasted baby two weeks later! You were all anyone could talk about, no one remembered them anymore. They made sacrifices! But what did that matter? Now we had The-Boy-Who-Lived!"

A punch to his face again. He barely felt the blows that followed.

"You should have died! He hit you with the bloody Killing Curse. Why didn't you die?

His friend chimed in.

"Maybe we can fix that. One little accident and - Ooops! No more little Potter." A finger ran down his jaw. "You're a cute little thing. Pretty even. It would be a tragedy to let that go to waste before we fix You-Know-Who's mistake."

The implication was not lost on the boy. He began to sob as the fear caused him to lose control of his body. He wasn't even able to feel humiliated when he wet his pants.

As soon as this was noticed he was released from the chokehold and dropped to his knees. He managed to throw his arms over his head before he blacked out.

That was when he woke up from his nightmare. He had been horrified to discover that he had wet his bed. Although he knew it was because the dream had been too real, hhe was surprised. He had never done that before, not even when he was small. Thanking God, Merlin or whoever that he paid some attention to the spells Hermione knew, he casting a cleaning spell on his sheets.

Hermione! He had to let her in, she'd think he'd gone nutters. Opening his eyes he found Ron & Hermione staring at him, half in curiosity, half in concern. Shooting them a smile he grabbed his quill and parchment.

'Sorry, got lost for a second. What did you want 'mione?'

"I got you something that should help you. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!" With that she droppeed a very large book on his bed.

British Sign Language

"It's a book to learn sign language Harry!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and Ron piped in, "He can still read Hermione."

She pursed her lips and continued.

"You said you were getting tired of writing. This will help. You can sign things instead! I mean, obviously you won't be able to learn all of it - it is a whole new language after all - but you can learn some common words, make it a little easier on yourself." Catching herself babbling, the young witch tried to bring it to a close. "I got one for myself too, so that someone could understand you. I figured Ron wouldn't read anything he wasn't forced to, so he can learn from me."

Ron nodded in agreement.

Harry stared at the book for a moment. Another present. His third in as many months. He really liked being a wizard!

He flipped open the book to the word he wanted and studied it for a moment, then looked up at Hermione He brought his hand up to his chin and flicked it away from himself.

Thank you.

She signed back immediately. You're welcome.

This was good. This would help.

He had objected when the Headmaster requested his presence at the meeting.

"I have no desire to get in the middle of this, Albus. It has nothing to do with me."

"I understand that. But you are a witness, and as such, the investigator from the Ministry would like to speak to you."

"Since when do they send ministry investigators to mediate a schoolboy scuffle?"

"It was hardly a schoolboy scuffle, Severus. And they started sending investigators when Harry Potter started attending Hogwart's, obviously."

"All the more reason for my abscence. Bloody coddling..." he trailed off as Dumbledore fixed a stern look at him.

"I'm afraid this is not a request, my boy. Please be at my office at 7:30 this evening. I shall speak to Poppy and Minerva and send a note to Harry."

And so, the potions professor watched as the boy read his note from the Headmaster at breakfast. The boy looked tired, he noted. And his countenance only became worse after a moment. Severus assumed it was because of the meeting. What else could cause him to go so pale?

It appeared the child had no more desire to meet with the investigator than he did.

Thus, he wasn't surprised to find Potter hovering outside the Headmaster's office later that evening, making no move to go inside. In fact, the boy was crouched against the wall, running his fingers along the spine of a large book.

"Potter, I'm sure the headmaster and his investigator are expecting you inside."

The boy made a face to show how he felt about the prospect. It was almost a sneer, Snape noticed, and it was almost amusing.

"Yes, well, sometimes we have to do things we don't like. Quite dawdling and maybe this will be over quickly."

Minerva and Poppy were there, along with Dumbledore and a man that was clearly a ministry lackey. Worn brown suit, balding slightly, with barely a spark of intelligence in his eyes. Severus snorted. This would go well.

"Mr Potter, Harry, if I may?" He received no answer from the boy, but clearly assumed one had been given in the affirmative. "Harry, my name is Yves Fletcher. I'm here to investigate the unfortunate incident that occurred here at Hogwart's last week."

Unfortunate incident? Really? The Ministry continues to take positions of weakness, the Professor thought, conveniently pushing to the back of him mind the fact that he himself had referred to it as "a schoolboy shuffle" just that morning.

Once the introductions were done, they jumped right into the questioning. Harry of course had to write out everything that he remembered, and that took some time. The adults sat in slightly awkward silence, and Snape couldn't help but glare at the investigator. The other man didn't appear to notice, he was too busy staring the boy. Harry apparently could feel the eyes that were trained on him, as he curled to the side and seemed to shrink in on himself. The boy is far too self-conscious.

"Mr. Fletcher - is there something about a child putting quill to parchment that you find fascinating?"

Fletcher stuttered for a moment, but left Harry to write his statement in peace. Severus looked up to find Dumbledore twinkling at him annoyingly. How long was this going to take?

Apparently half the night, as it was a full hour and half later when the investigator asked Potter his final question and then said "I'd like to ask Madame Pomfrey what time she found Harry outside the infirmary?"

Poppy began to speak, but Severus was too caught with the sight of the clearly emotionally drained Potter to pay attention. The boy was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face devoid of any colour save the scar that now stood out angrily on his skin.

"Does the boy really need to be here for this?"

"Certainly not." Dumbledore replied. "Thank you Harry, you may go." Potter cast a grateful look at his potions professor and quietly left the adults to their task.

Given that he had been so grateful to leave, Snape was surprised to find the boy sitting on the stair to Gryffindor reading a book yet another hour later.

"Potter you ought to be in bed, or at least in the tower."

Potter just looked at him wearily, making a shrugging motion. "Can't sleep. Give me a detention if you want, but you can't make me sleep."

Severus chose to read that as Don't Want to Sleep. As for not being able to make him...he smirked knowingly to himself.

"Well you can't just sit here on the steps Potter." With that he walked away. He didn't make it very far before turning back to the boy with a sigh. "Well are you coming or not?" He paused only long enough so the boy could catch up to him and then began walking once again to the dungeons, this time with the boy jogging lightly beside him.

Potter followed him silently down to the dungeons and into his personal sitting rooms. Severus hadn’t planned on any company this evening, and hence had no plans for what to do with the boy. He had not expected, however, for the boy to take a seat on the floor and tuck himself into a corner to read his book.

There’s a perfectly good chair just in front of my work table. And just why is he so obsessed with that bloody book?

Taking a pile of essays, the older wizard attempted to work, but he found himself glancing up every few minutes at the child. Finally, he broke.

“Potter.” The boy’s book clattered to the floor as he jumped to attention, his back to the corner. After a moment he seemed to remember where he was and what was expected of him, and he shot a defensive glare at his teacher.

Snape chose to ignore this, as well as the boy’s more disturbing reaction. They could deal with that later. “The chair is here for a reason. I’d prefer you didn’t sit on the floor.”

Harry trudged over to the chair, book clutched tightly against his chest. He dragged his feet on the way, but did not hesitate to take the offered seat. Snape almost laughed at the sight of him. While he still radiated annoyance and defiance, he sat clutching that book as if it was a life preserver, and was curled in on himself in a clearly defensive state. It was almost sad.

“You can relax, Potter. No one is going to take your book from you.”

Harry looked down at the book in his hands as if he hadn’t given it much thought, and then reached over and set it down on the table in front of him in an effort to show his was not bothered. Severus took this as the offering it was, and made one of his own.

“For mercy’s sake, uncurl yourself! You are not a pretzel!” Harry did as he was told with a knowing smile. He stayed for another hour, flipping through his book before Snape conjured a glass of warm milk and sent him on his way. Harry flipped two signs as him on his way out the door. Thank you, teacher. Snape acknowledged neither.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Despite his teacher’s efforts to help him sleep, Harry spent the next several days feeling like a zombie. Restful sleep was eluding him and it was becoming difficult to concentrate. He struggled through every class, finally losing the battle in the middle of potions class. His eyes had barely shut when Ron poked him, hissing “Harry! Wake up!” But he just couldn’t do it.

Until, that is, he heard Professor Snape's voice low and dangerous, in his ear.

“Are you sleeping in my class, Mr. Potter?”

The boy struggled to open his eyes and at least had the decency to look embarassed. But then his eyes were drifting shut again. Snape's wand came crashing down on the desk with a loud snap.

“Wake up!” he roared.

For a moment he thought he had taken things a step too far. Potter's eyes were certainly open, but now they were fearful and somewhat – wet. But before he could be forced to rectify the situation, the Weasley boy jumped to his friend's defense.

“It's not his fault! He has nightmares. Wakes up hollering every night.”

Any tears were long forgotten as Harry kicked Ron – hard. He hadn't wanted anyone to know, but especially not Snape.

“Is this true, Mr. Potter?” Turning his attention back to the professor, he saw the man staring at him, eyebrow raised in question. He couldn't lie, no matter how much he wanted to. Not to the man's face. So he just nodded and cast his eyes down at his parchment. Or he tried to. A second later the handle end of Snape's wand was under his chin gently tilting his face up.

“Look at me, Potter.” His voice was hard, so Harry obeyed. There was a sneer in place, but when he finally met the Professor's eyes he didn't immediately recognize the look he found there. Snape's eyes raked over his face quickly, as if he was looking for something. Harry hoped he hadn't found it.

“See me after class, Potter.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And so it was that Snape found himself in his personal quarters that evening waiting for The-Overtired-and-Underfed-Boy-Who-Lived. He had given Potter a detention with the instructions to show at his quarters at 8:00 p.m. with a written explanation of his nightmares. They were going to get to the bottom of this.

The boy was maddeningly prompt, as usual. After gesturing towards the chair, Potter took what was quickly becoming his usual spot and handed him a piece of parchment.

'Aren't I supposed to be scrubbing cauldrons?'

“Potter, contrary to popular belief, I did not ask you here as a punishment.” Those damned green eyes widened in surprise.

“You are obviously having trouble sleeping. You need to talk to someone, Harry.”

Perhaps he didn't even recognise his actions, but Snape looked accross the table to find the boy staring at him with a perfect immitation of the potion master's own trademark smirk and eyebrow raise. Clearly they were spending too much time in each other's company.

“It was a figure of speech, Potter.” And with that the boy began to shudder with silent laughter. “Will you calm yourself or are you going to break into undignified giggles every time I say anything about talking?”

Harry placed a hand over his mouth and schooled his face into seriousness, none too successfully.

“Have you written down what your nightmares are about like I asked?” The serious look was far more convincing now. The small wizard reached into his robes with only a slightly shaky hand and passed it to his teacher. He fiddled with his school tie while he waited for the man to finish reading. It seemed like it took years.

“So it's as I thought – about the attack. That's perfectly understandable Mr. Potter. It was a vicious attack, especially against one so young. But the culprits will be caught. Dumbledore is getting closer every day. It should be fairly easy to find them once we check all the student files for someone with the matching personal information that you indicated. And if I have anything to say about it they will all be expelled the minute they are found.”

Harry began to write again. 'It's too hard to sleep not knowing who they are. What if they're in Gryffindor and they get me in the middle of the night?'

Snape closed his eyes and remained still for a moment after reading that. Had what he said angered the man?

“I'm sorry you don't feel safe in your own house, Harry.” A shrug in response. “It's not all right. Hogwart's is your home, and it's important you know that.”

Severus had to get up and move towards his potions stores, slightly embarrassed at his own sentimentality. After a moment he felt a tug on his sleeve, and Potter proffered up yet another piece of parchment.

'Can I stay here and read for a bit before I go back up to the tower? I promise not to be a bother.'

Giving a terse nod in response, the Professor watched as Potter gave a small smile and went back to his chair. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Snape followed to his own chair and set to work marking papers. Soon the only sounds in the room were the scratch of his quill and the swish as Potter turned the pages of his book.

And then, an hour or so later, Severus noted that the swishing had stopped. He looked up and swallowed a rather large curse. The brat had the nerve to fall asleep! How dare he! First he invaded his private space and now there he was – but by then he had run out of steam.

He could wake him up and send him off to Gryffindor tower, but chances were the boy would never get back to sleep. But was that really his problem? The boy looked rather pathetic, sleeping there with his glasses askew and the book still open on his lap. At the very least he had a duty to help as a staff member of Hogwart's.

Taking a deep breath he set the book on the work table and the bent down and scooped the child into his arms. He paused momentarily to see if the boy would wake at the movement, but all that happened was the boy's head lolling against his chest.

He approached the second room and shifted Harry only slightly as opened the door and stepped in. He hadn't used the room in several years, and shifted his body weight yet again so that he could grab his wand and cast a freshening charm on the bed.

Once that was accomplised he was finally able to set his far too light burden down. And then he just stood there. He wasn't actually at a loss – he exactly what needed to be done. But what did he care if the boy slept in his uniform? Or at least that's what he was asking himself as he removed the boy's glasses and then sat him up to remove his tie and shoes. Once he had all the gratuitous extras removed and set aside, Harry was left in just his shirt and pants. Those were easily transfigured into pyjamas.

Pulling the covers loosely up over the boy and moved towards the door.

“Goodnight Mr. Potter.”

Even without the warnings from the old wards he had surrounding the spare room; the screams would have woken him.

Calling them screams, however, was probably being generous. It was more akin to a terrified gargling sound, and just hearing them made Snape’s throat hurt.

He rushed into the room and over to the bed where Harry was thrashing under the blankets. The boy was pale and crying.

“Potter wake up!” He reached out instinctively and held the boy’s face in his hands. “Harry open your eyes, you’re safe, you’re with Professor Snape.” He brushed the boy’s fringe off his forehead, along with some tears. “Come on, Potter. Look at me!”

Harry stopped screaming, but did not fully wake. Instead he screwed his eyes shut and threw his arm up over his face.

“S’ree Unko” he began to croak over and over. It took Severus several minutes to figure out what he was saying, and once he did “Sorry Uncle” felt like the two worst words in the English language.

As fearsome as he wanted to be, he did not want the boy apologizing for having a nightmare. That was too much, even for him. He laid a long, thing finger against the trembling lips.

“That’s enough, Harry. Quiet now. Your uncle’s not here and it’s not necessary to apologize. You’re at Hogwart’s with Professor Snape.” The boy wizard continued to hide behind his arms.

“Come now, Mr. Potter. I know you’re better than this. Don’t let them pull you into your fear. Your Uncle is not here, neither are your attackers.”

That seemed to work, and Harry finally opened his eyes with a sniff. Snape was sure he was aware of his surroundings when the boy coloured, and then turned and buried his face in the pillow. Severus indulged him for roughly half a second and then shook him by the shoulder.

“That’s enough of that. You need to get up so I can clean things up.” At that Harry pulled the blanket over his head. Snape was sure he would have groaned if his throat hadn’t been torn up. “I said enough, Potter” he repeated as he pulled the boy to his feet in the middle of the room. As he cast a quick cleaning spell on the boy he added “If you think having an accident is such a tragedy you desperately need to gain some perspective.”

Blank, sleepy eyes just stared at him as he turned the cleaning spell on the bed and quietly added a warming charm.

“It’s not a big deal” he translated. With a small push he indicated for his student to get back in bed.

Harry did as he was told, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers up almost over his head. He thought his teacher would leave him to his misery, but instead of hearing footsteps he felt a weight settle at the end of the bed.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t move, and after a moment Snape repeated the question. Harry flung the covers back and turned to face the man, though he stayed rather curled up. He finally began to move his hands. One word, repeated.

Immediately Snape reached for his book. Harry was glad he had marked the pages of the signs he had learned. Still, it took the professor a minute to search.

Once he found the page he wanted, he turned and regarded Harry seriously, but not meanly, Harry thought; almost with concern. It was tough to place, not many people had ever looked at him like that before.

He was waiting for something. At a loss Harry made his sign again. Snape’s lips tightened and he sighed.

“Scared. Yes, I know you’re frightened. And with good reason. You were hurt rather brutally. Combine that with the - ” he paused here and swallowed the descriptive he wanted to use “deplorable treatment from your muggle relatives and it’s quite understandable that you would be affected.”

At this the potions master got up and grabbed one of the previously unnoticed stuffed toys that were littered about the room. What is this room? Harry wondered at the discovery. He also noticed a small wardrobe, more toys and many, many books.

By that point Snape had finished transfiguring the toy into a chair, and begun settling the covers around Harry’s shoulders once again. Harry watched as the blurry form seemed to settle in the chair for the long haul.

“Now go back to sleep. I will remain here until you do.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

“You look positively wretched, Severus.”

He only grunted, and began to shut the door in Minerva McGonagall’s face. Unfortunately his reflexes were poor when he was running on too little sleep, and she managed to wedge her foot in the door.

“I need to talk to you. It’s rather urgent.”

“Then by all means,” he ground out and gestured for her to come inside. He refused, however, to make her any tea.

She launched right in. “What time did you release Harry Potter from detention last night? It seems he didn’t show up to his dorm last night. No one seems to know his whereabouts yesterday beyond your detention.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Be that as it may, what time did you release him? Did he mention where he was going?”

“He did not, in fact, go anywhere. He’s sleeping, which I would like to be doing. So if you’ll excuse me.”

“I will do no such thing. What on earth are you talking about ‘asleep’?”

“He. Is. Asleep. As in, in bed, eyes closed, probably snoring.”

“You’ll have to help me out a little bit further, Professor Snape.”

“He was here for detention and fell asleep. He was then put to bed, where he remains.”

At that moment he felt the ward alarm tingle in his pocket. The boy was out of bed and apparently eavesdropping. So for his benefit Severus added “Though hopefully not for long. I do have things to do.” And with a very subtle flick of his wand he shut the door of the spare room.

“And he’s still here?”

“You’re quick in the morning, Minerva. Yes, Potter’s still here.”

“And you did not send him back to his room why?”

“It didn’t seem prudent to wake him up knowing he would never go back to sleep.”

The witch looked taken off guard, but only snorted in disbelief. “I won’t even begin to ask how that came about. Just send him to the Great Hall for breakfast, would you?”

“I will release the boy when I see fit.”

McGonagall just sighed and let herself out of the Dungeons.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Harry woke, taking a moment to remind himself where he was, clearing his head of the fogginess of the night before. He tried not to flush when it all came back to him, but thankfully he was distracted by the voices in the other room.

“What time did you release him? Did he say where he was going?”

Harry shrank back into the bed a little, and persisted in pulling the blankets over his head like he wanted.

McGonagall was here looking for him. Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble for not returning to the tower last night. But mostly he was afraid Snape would tell her what happened. Maybe he should get dressed in case the man wanted him to leave right away?

The muffled voices tempted him, however, and he wandered over and peeked through the bedroom door. He didn’t see much, however, besides Snape sneering at his head of house before his potions teacher gave a small flick of his wand and the bedroom door closed.

Harry almost yelped in surprise, but managed to stop himself. Clearly Snape was pretending he was still asleep. But then why had he told McGonagall he wanted him to leave as soon as possible?

The man was far too confusing. Not knowing what else to do, Harry picked up his BSL book and began to practice.

First a sign for Hermione, and the Ron – their initials forming the sign for friend.

Then:

Teacher,

Thank you

You’re Welcome

I’m sorry

Scared

Happy

Good

Bad

Don’t want to

Please

Help

After several minutes of doing so there was a knock at the door, followed by the professor’s voice.

“Breakfast is ready.”

He was so shocked at the fact that he wasn’t being shoved out the door, that he sat there slack-jawed for a moment, until Snape called out,

“Now, Potter!”

Severus settled in his chair at the table with a sigh. In Harry’s effort to quickly obey (which made for a pleasant change) he was probably knocking over half the items in the room. At least if the clatter coming from within was any indication. Of course if he was being truthful, he had probably surprised Potter with his snappish call.

Despite knowing the smaller wizard had rushed out of the room, by the time he reached the kitchen he hung back in the door and nervously fidgeted with the hem of his pyjamas.

Well, he had indulged the boy enough last night. Pointing to a chair he said simply, “Sit. Eat.”

Potter padded quietly over to the table and took his seat but did not make a move to eat. Snape eyed the boy critically for a moment, watching as Harry seemed to shrink under his gaze.

“Pull up your chair. You are too far from the table and your breakfast will end up in your lap.”

Harry frowned lightly. He wasn’t 5; he could certainly feed himself without incident. But Snape had been so . . . kind to him that he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. So he stood and began to pull the chair across the floor. His feet had barely touched the floor to do so when his teacher huffed,

“Stop!” Mumbling something about pneumonia he pushed Harry’s chair in for him and called out “Accio Luka’s slippers!”

“Going barefoot in the dungeons is never a bright idea. Put these on.”

They were too big, but they were warm and comfortable. Plus he was quite used to clothes that were ill-fitting.

“Do you know the shrinking charm?”

Harry looked up at him and mutely shook his head. Making a decision without much thought, he handed the boy his wand and stated the proper incantation. “Try it.”

Harry just raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Just mouth the words, it will help you at least practice.”

After that, there was no hesitation. It was like the wary, shy Harry disappeared when he was doing magic.

They met each others eyes in surprise when the slippers seemed to shrink about a centimetre without any words being spoken. They remained boatish on his feet, but the tiny change was apparent.

“Not bad, Potter,” Severus murmured, and then finished the job.

Now, Snape prided himself on being a Death Eater who could face anything (and often had). But when that face looked up at him, overwhelmed and basking in one statement of praise from a man the boy wasn’t even supposed to like, he was unmanned.

Severus Snape had to look away.

That night when Harry woke up screaming and frightened once again, his roommates went to fetch their head of house. By the time she arrived he was no longer screaming but had become unresponsive. Until she tried to touch him, at which point he skittered away like a sand crab.

After a few moments he did allow her to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, thinking it may get him what he wanted if he stopped fighting so hard.

Apparently he was wrong. He waited a few moments, half listening to McGonagall’s words of comfort, before he began to sign. McGonagall gave a soft sigh.

“Does anyone here know what he’s saying?”

“Teacher.” Ron piped up.

That didn’t seem to help.

“There are many teachers in this school, Mr. Potter. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

He tried then, but he hadn’t really learned the alphabet; only the letters R & H for his friends. He figured anything he needed to say that was that detailed he could write down. He tried that now, gesturing for his quill and parchment.

“Nonsense, Mr. Potter. All you need right now is sleep.” He didn’t care what she thought he needed, what he needed is to be down in the dungeons where it was safe.

He tried again with his sign for teacher and added something resembling an “S”. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron shifting from foot to foot.

“I think he’s asking for Snape, Professor,” he finally burst out.

“I am aware of that Mr. Weasley. However I am also aware that it is too late to be waking up any of the professors.”

“We woke you up” he heard Ron mumble.

“Yes, and I am your head of house. Last time I checked Mr. Potter has not become a Slytherin.” Ron blushed and then looked at Harry and shrugged as if to say “I tried, Mate”. But Harry was too tired to thank his friend. Instead he flopped over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. He would not cry.

The next night he decided to take matters into his own hands. He did not sleep for long before waking from another dream. Instead of waking any of his dorm mates, he pulled on some socks and a jumper and slipped out of the room.

He wanted to go down to the dungeons, but he couldn’t help remembering what McGonagall had said about waking up his teachers. Snape was crusty enough; he couldn’t imagine what the man was like if you woke him up in the middle of the night.

So instead he took to wandering the corridors. This way he wouldn’t dream, and he certainly wouldn’t bother anyone.

Except for, apparently, Filch and his stupid cat.

Harry was in a part of the castle he had never seen before when he ran into the caretaker’s furry companion and panicked. He could not get caught, he just couldn’t. Filch would turn him into McGonagall, who would probably set guards to make sure he stayed in bed at night.

He could hear Filch’s footsteps at the end of the hall, his lantern giving a soft light. He was still far enough away – Harry began to run down the corridor in the opposite direction.

It was clear that he didn’t know the castle very well yet, as he came to a dead end. He stood there trying to think of what to do, when he spotted a door to his left. Survival instinct drove him into the room to hide.

He waited several minutes behind the door watching for Filch through the keyhole. The man paused outside the very door, as if he knew Harry was in there. He held his breath just in case Filch could hear it.

He watched as Filch began to walk away, letting out his breath in relief. Turning he closed his eyes and slumped against the door. Now he just had to get out of here and back to his dorm.

Which would appear to be easier said than done, given the giant three-headed dog that was currently waking up and peering at him with one set of eyes.

As all three heads lunged at him Harry screamed himself hoarse and threw himself bodily out the door. The dog (dogs?) tried to get through the door, but Harry was well practiced at getting away and managed to slam the heavy door in its faces just in time.

He ran, panting, all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. He desperately wanted to wake up his friends and tell them what he saw, but he knew there was no way to wake Hermione without waking the rest of her dorm, and she would be irritated if he shared this discovery with Ron before her.

It would have to wait until breakfast.

"Three heads!?" Ron exclaimed, his mouth full of toast.

"Really, Ron. Have some table manners."

He swallowed purposefully and then exclaimed again, "Three heads? Are you sure Harry?"

"Yeah, Harry. I've never heard of such a thing and I read Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them earlier this year!"

‘It's there, I swear it. Remember that Dumbledore said no one was to go on the 3rd floor? That's exactly where it is!' He wished his friend didn't ask so many questions; he wouldn't have to write so much.

"Well, that does make sense, given his warning." Hermione acquiesced.

"I'm not sure I want to see a three headed dog, to tell the truth." Ron put in.

"Oh buck up Ron!" Hermione countered. "This could be really interesting. I mean, don't you wonder why it's there?"

"Maybe Snape feeds bad potions students to it."

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't laugh.

As he had promised, as soon as their lunch was finished, Harry led his friends up the moving staircases and down the hall he had found himself trapped in the previous night.

"Do you see Filtch anywhere?" Ron asked, craning his head around to look behind him.

"Well if you keep talking he's sure to find us!" Hermione hissed at him. Harry wished he had the voice to tell them both to shut up. Instead he just grabbed them both by the shoulder and pointed at the door in question.

Walking up towards it he indicated that they should look at the animal through the keyhole.

Despite all the protests he made on the way up here, Ron quickly moved first towards the door.

"Wicked!" was the only thing he could say.

"Move over!" Hermione whispered and pushed him out of the way to look through the keyhole herself. After a moment she pulled away with a quiet "Hmmm." Harry and Ron exchanged a look and followed her back towards the main corridors.

As they walked Ron broke the silence. "What are they thinking having that thing in the school? It's right dangerous!"

"Well clearly Dumbledore wants it there to guard whatever he's hiding."

The boys came to a grinding halt and turned to stare at their friend. Ron voiced Harry's thoughts. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's guarding something. Didn't you see the trap door it was standing on?"

"Obviously not!"

"Well it was, seriously you two, don't you pay attention to anything?" And with that, she left her friends staring at her back as she walked off to potions class.

The trio wasn't able to focus on the dog for very long, because Potions class quickly turned into a disaster.

If it wasn't Neville continually making mistakes without meaning to, it was Harry making mistakes on purpose, throwing things into his cauldron willy-nilly.

The first few times, Hermione tried to gently correct him, but he just shrugged and turned from her.

"Harry you can't put that in there yet!" She hissed.

In reply Harry just wrote ‘I wanna see what colour it turns.'

A harsh tone came from behind him, then. "I suppose that would depend on what colour absolute foolishness is."

Harry felt himself begin to shake slightly, but hoped it didn't show. Instead he just narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, much like he'd seen Snape do many times, before turning to his teacher.

"While you may be muggle-raised and a first year student I expect more even from you Mr. Potter."

Harry, being that he couldn't respond, just stood there, with a carefully placed look of indifference.

Then, in the bravest feat of defiance seen in Snape's class in many years, he simply smirked and turned back to his now overflowing cauldron.

And he started to mop it up with his text book.

The liquid had barely soaked the page before Snape was giving him detention and ordering him from class.

That evening he reported down to the potions classroom and was given a lecture on his arrogance and foolishness and how could he [Snape have been surprised, seeing he was a ‘Potter'.

And then he was set to cleaning cauldrons.

He cleaned them with every ounce of muscle and will that he had, because inside he felt horrible for what he had done.

But, he thought, as he fell asleep in a heap on the floor, it would not stop him from doing it again.

It had been 2 and a half hours the boy had been there. He hadn't noticed how much time had gone by until he heard the distinctive sound of --- silence.

Severus looked up to check on the boy, and upon seeing his fears realized dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

How did this happen again? How can a child fall asleep in the middle of cleaning bloody cauldrons?! It's not bloody right!

Unless, of course, if they were lacking sleep because of nightmares.

Stepping towards the boy he gathered him up, slightly surprised that Harry didn't move or awaken.

He reminded himself to send a message to Minerva once he had put the boy to bed.

And so it went on like that for 2 more days before Snape gave in and confronted Potter when he arrived for his 3rd detention in as many days.

The boy was standing before him, a mix of defiance and shyness.

"I grow weary of this game of yours Mr. Potter."

Harry was genuinely confused. What game did Snape mean?

"You're overwrought and acting out in a way that is extremely transparent to anyone with a modicum of life experience."

He just blinked at the man, expressionless, causing Severus to restate:

"You're an upset little boy who is acting out to get attention. And it is obvious to me what is going on."

Harry looked down at his fingers and scowled. Was he really that obvious?

"Clearly you are acting out in my class in order to get a detention. This way you are assured of being in my quarters at the right time to fall asleep and stay there."

Yes, apparently he was that obvious. He could feel himself blushing. He wanted to run from the room; in fact he almost did, but was frozen to the spot when his teacher continued.

"It is not necessary to go to such -annoying- extremes. If you want to stay here you are . . . able." He couldn't quite bring himself to say ‘welcome'.

Harry almost laughed in relief, until he heard his teacher continued.

"But you have to ask."

The boy stared up at him in shock, and paled. Why did everything seem to send the boy into fits? He calmed himself and tried to regulate his voice.

"You have to be able to ask for what you need, Harry. While your behaviour is somewhat understandable while you are young, as you get older you have to be able to ask for help. It is hard, but it is necessary."

He wrote the request out slowly and deliberately and passed it to his teacher.

"Yes, you may stay here. But there are rules. One: Only two or three nights a week. You have a house for a reason. It would do you no good to isolate yourself from your peers.

Two: no more ridiculous behaviour like that you have been displaying these past few days." His face became stern, and he added: "Am I understood?"

Harry nodded solemnly, made the sign for thank you and then grabbed up his parchment once more.

‘I asked before, you know. To come stay with you, I mean.'

Snape arched a brow. "Do tell. I don't recall being asked such a thing."

‘I didn't ask you. I asked McGonagall last week when I had a nightmare. She said no.' Involuntarily a pout came over his features. ‘She said you weren't to be woken.'

"Really?"

Harry thought it was funny how Snape could manage to sound polite and scary all at the same time.

That night, back in his bed in the tower, he pulled two signs from his small arsenal and created a personal sign for his potions teacher.

“Severus.” She greeted him coolly. “I assume you’re here to inform me that Mr. Potter is staying in the dungeons again?”

Snape feigned curiosity. “Do you not do a bed check Minerva? I assume you do not or you would know that Potter is up in his dorms where he belongs.”

“I’d advise you to mind your own house, Professor Snape. What do you want?”

“I’d like to speak to you and the headmaster for a moment if you don’t mind. It’s rather important.”

“Can it not wait until morning?”

“I’d rather we cleared some things up right away if you please.”

And so they sat down in front of Dumbledore’s several minutes later. The headmaster greeted them cheerfully, although he sensed his youngest staff member had something serious on his mind. Severus, however, was carefully controlling his emotions.

“First I’d like to ask what is going on regarding the search for the boy’s attackers. I believe it might ease his mind to know that we are close to finding them.”

Dumbledore smiled once again. “We are indeed close to finding them. In fact, the ringleader has been identified.”

Snape found himself blinking dumbly at the headmaster.

“What? Well when was he expelled?”

“I have not approached him yet. I am waiting for him to come to me.”

He thought he had been surprised before, but this particular revelation left him momentarily speechless. Finally he managed to push some words through his teeth.

“Waiting for him to come to you? Have you finally gone completely mad old man?”

He heard Minerva struggle to stifle a chuckle, while the headmaster continued as if he hadn’t said a word.

“He was really quite easy to find once we set a quill searching through the student records for the details Harry provided. I’m giving the boy a chance to come to me, a chance to show some remorse.”

“You are giving yourself an excuse to let the boy get away with the attacker.”

Dumbledore’s eyes tightened. “I am doing nothing of the sort. You are letting your prejudices show, Severus.”

Snape said nothing in return, fearing that once he went down that road he would never return. Instead he focused on the attacker.

“Who is it? The attacker?”

“However mad you think I may have gone, Severus, I have enough wits about me to realize that telling you that information would not be wise.”

“Why ever not?”

“I believe you visited the Dursley’s did you not?”

McGonagall turned to look at him then, with a look that he thought was a mixture of surprise and gratitude, perhaps with a hint of envy.

He didn’t even give them the respect of knocking, he just apparated directly into the house. They had obviously not been expecting him, and when the :pop: of his arrival interrupted their dinner, causing their overly large boy to drop his fork, he just chuckled to himself.

When the boy began to whinge about his fork and the interruption in his ability to scarf down food the woman – Petunia, he presumed – moved to get the boy a new one, despite the fact that a strange wizard had just popped into her kitchen.

It was abundantly clear where her priorities lay.

“Do not move.” That’s when the whole family turned to see him, standing in their kitchen doorway.

Vernon Dursley, the pathetic lump, was the first to react.

“Who are you? Get out of my kitchen!”

“I don’t think so, Dursley. I have a few things to discuss with you.” He kept his voice smooth, despite his inner rage. He pointed his wand directly at the man’s chest. “I am your nephew’s teacher at Hogwarts.”

“I do not want any of you freaks in my house! Just because I agreed to let him attend that worthless school doesn’t mean I want your lot visiting. He’s lucky enough that I let him in this house.”

“Oh, very lucky indeed; otherwise he would miss out on all your punishments.”

“The boy is incorrigible, just like his freak parents. All he causes is trouble!”

“Yes,” he drawled, “it’s such trouble to feed a child 3 times a day. Planning on beating such expectations out of him were you?” His eyes settled purposefully on Vernon’s belt.

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

“I have seen the results of your handiwork, Dursley. Lying to me will only make me angrier.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I suggest you send your son from the room.” He replied dangerously.

“Oh dear, what did you do to them Severus?”

“I didn’t do anything to them. The son was dismissed from my sight, and although I had words with Petunia I did not harm her.”

“And dare I ask about Vernon?”

“Vernon got a taste of his own medicine, and we shall leave it at that.”

He smirked with satisfaction at the memory of the magically placed welts on Vernon’s back. He made sure they would remain perpetually unhealed for several months. They were shallow, but they would provide just enough pain over that time to serve as a reminder to the man.

And he had made it abundantly clear that if the man ever went within 50 feet of Harry Potter again, he would be begging for something as merciful as simple welts.

At the time he had acted rashly, not thinking about the potential consequences. That would come later, when he began to wonder why he had not been arrested for harming a muggle.

Now he knew why. Once again, he owed Albus Dumbledore a debt. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

“I also wanted to talk to you both about Mr. Potter himself. There have some – developments.”

“More developments beyond the fact that Mr. Potter has been sleeping in the dungeons for the past three nights?” McGonagall put in.

“That, yes. It seems Mr. Potter was purposefully acting out in my class in order to get a detention, thus placing himself exactly where he wanted to be when he fell asleep at night.

“His behaviour was getting tiresome, so I have remedied the situation.”

“Professor Snape, he is just a child, a little compassion would go a long way…”

He allowed her to go on for a moment before interrupting with “He has asked to stay in the dungeons and I have given him permission to do so 2 or 3 nights a week.”

He smirked in satisfaction as McGonagall’s mouth dropped open slightly, the shock clear on her face. She recovered quite admirably, however.

“That’s an awful lot of time to spend away from his own house. I’m not sure I approve.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I am not seeking your approval.” He paused to let that sink in for a moment and then continued. “I am well aware that Potter needs to keep his ties to his house strong. That is why I made it clear that it will only be 2 or 3 nights a week. But he will come. I fail to see why helping a troubled student should cause anyone concern.”

“Fair enough, Severus, you’ve made your point.” Dumbledore cut in. “Harry needs all the support he can find, wouldn’t you agree, Minerva?”

Her face softened and she met Severus’ look. “Of course, wherever he may find it.”

Having had enough of their hypocritical sentimentality, he turned to leave the office. As he reached the door however, he turned back briefly.

“I’m glad you think so Professor McGonagall, because I expect in the future when the boy is distraught enough to ask for me in the night you will escort him down to my quarters yourself.”

He did not give her a chance to reply as he swept down the stairs and away from the office.

This is it, Severus thought as he strode through the empty corridors, I have finally gone insane. I have absolutely lost my mind. It was the only conclusion he could come to, given the circumstances. What other reason would there be for the fact that he was currently striding towards Gryffindor tower?

Yes, he was purposefully going to visit a student, in Gryffindor, on Christmas morning. He mourned his lost mental faculties, but did not slow his pace.

As he reached the portrait guardian to the tower, the Fat Lady woke grumpily, flicking one eye towards the windows where the light of early morning dawn was streaming in. “Back so soon, professor?” she commented with a false airiness. “I’d be surprised if a full 8 hours have gone between visits. And from the Head of Slytherin house. This must be a new school record.”

“Indeed, twice in 24 hours I have been here. More than enough opportunity to see what conditions you are working under and recommend that you are sent for…cleaning and reframing.”

The implied threat took, and the portrait swung open with nary a further word.

Of course, once he stepped through, Snape was at a loss for what to do. His mind had only gotten no farther than this point. Faced with the reality of striding into the Gryffindor common room while the children were opening gifts, he chose instead to remain in the entry way, well hidden in the shadows, where he could watch the proceedings.

It was only Ronald Weasley in the common room, and he briefly wondered where Harry was when his friend began hollering Harry’s name. Snape winced at the sound, but made none of his own. After a moment the smaller Gryffindor showed at the bottom of the stairs to the dormitories.

“Come on Harry! You’ve got to come open presents.”

Harry stared wide-eyed at the gifts under the tree from his perch, and moved one hand up to point to his own chest in question. Shockingly the Weasley boy understood his friend and replied,

“Yeah mate, you’ve got presents. Come on!”

And with that, Potter came bounding down the stairs.

He was surprised at the care with which the boy opened his gifts. Each one was unwrapped slowly, as if he wanted to savour every minute of the experience. Each one was also met with what could only be considered a whoop of joy. He would have strongly admonished Potter about not caring for his voice if he wasn’t so invested in keeping his presence unknown.

He silently admired the choice of gifts the child’s friends had given him. All seemed well thought out, besides the blasted invisibility cloak. He cursed Dumbledore quite loudly in his head when he had spotted it. What was the man thinking giving such a thing to the boy? It would only prove to make Severus’ life more difficult. And that, he realized, was probably exactly why the man had given it up.

Finally Harry came to his last gift, and Snape stiffened in anticipation. He told himself that he was not anxious as to its reception. He was merely cold.

It was wrapped in simple brown packing paper. If he was going to expose himself by giving a gift to this child, he was not going to give in to the traditional trappings of childish, gaudy paper in which to wrap it.

But this plain brown paper was unwrapped with the same reverence as all the rest. His eyes narrowed as Potter picked up the first of his gifts – a knitted winter cap and matching mittens. Plain black wool – none of the foolishness of house colours – lined with fleece. He had not given a scarf, knowing the boy would never give up wearing the Gryffindor one he had been issued by the school.

He allowed himself the indulgence of wondering if the boy was disappointed. Such practical gifts. So practical, that really they ought not to be considered gifts at all, really. Not anymore than 3 meals a day were gifts. But then, Potter’s wretched history had probably made even regular meals a gift.

Shaking himself out of such thoughts he turned his focus to Potter, and had to swallow hard at the sight. Potter had tried on both sets of clothing, and was currently rubbing the wool of the mittens against his cheek. Severus found himself flushing at the sight of such appreciation.

Ron Weasley was staring openly at his friend, with an expression that was a mix of amusement, surprise, and – anger.

“They’re nice, who’re they from?” Harry set the clothes in his lap and fished out the parchment that came with the gift. Leave it to him to open a gift first and then look for the card.

He seemed to recognize the handwriting – probably from comments on his dismal potions essays – and was stunned. This was a mistake, he thought, I’ve overstepped. Had he really expected such an arrogant child as Potter to be grateful for his gift?

He was just about to turn and leave when Harry’s expression changed. A smile came over his face, and it was so bright and so – happy – that it caused an ache in Severus’ chest. His feet felt nailed to the floor where he stood.

Harry made his sign then, to answer his friend’s question. The look on Ron Weasley’s face was almost worth the whole abasing exercise.

“Snape gave you a Christmas present? Snape? Well mate, that’s, that’s impressive!” Indeed. The boy made a move towards the mittens and Severus narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want the Gryffindor’s grubby paws all over them.

Apparently Harry felt the same, as he dropped the parchment and snatched up the winter gear with a soft growl of warning. The professor leaned forward with concern. What was that?

“Come on Harry. Not this again! It’s just like with Hermione and the balm. You don’t need to be so protective of what people give you. They’re yours, I get it. I’m not going to steal them.” His voice softened compassionately in a way that Severus would have never thought him capable of. “No one’s really given you things, have they mate? And if they did, that ruddy cousin of yours probably stole it or broke it, right? Well I’m not going to do that. I won’t Harry! I just want to see, that’s all.”

With suspiciously wet eyes, Harry handed them over. He almost stepped in then, as the situation seemed to be getting out of control. But then Potter seemed to steel himself – a change coming over him that was so determined it was visible to the eye. He then turned from his friend and picked up the folded parchment and opened it.

This was the biggest part. Severus shut his eyes. His thoughts turned involuntarily to the evening before when he had drafted the words therein.

Dear Mr Potter,

it had started.

I hope this letter finds you spending a satisfactory Christmas morning. The hat and the mittens are yours, given freely for my own benefit. One can not properly stir potions when one’s hands are red and chapped from the cold.

As you have spent some time with me in my quarters I wanted to bestow one last thing – again in the name of practicality. Written below is the password to my quarters. You are free to use it on your visits in place of knocking. I ask only that you do not share it with anyone, and that you give attention to the portrait guarding my door when you arrive. If the doe in the portrait is not there, I am busy or indisposed and you must return to your dormitory. Read the password carefully, as all the ink will disappear in a few minutes.

The password is:

LIVE SANELY

Happy Christmas Harry,

S. Snape

He finally wrenched his eyes open to find Harry moving his lips as he tried to memorize the words. They were nonsense to the boy, but made perfect sense to his teacher, but were not hard to remember once you knew them. Harry finally folded the parchment, and he knew the words must have disappeared.

Weasley handed back the rest of his gift. “Did you know he’s put a self-heating charm in there? That’s pretty useful. I wonder why my mum and dad never thought to do that? What was on the parchment?”

Harry shook his head, gathering up the hat and mittens again. This time his negative response brooked no argument. He watched the two boys; Ronald thumbing through a book on quidditch, and Harry, Harry appeared to be petting the mittens.

He was glad the gift was appreciated, but this was taking it a bit far, and he found the ache in his chest had returned. Surely the boy ought to be obsessing over the invisibility cloak – an artefact from the father he had never known – not some simple mittens from his grouchy teacher.

Apparently Weasley thought so, too. “Really mate, it was good of him, but they’re just mittens.”

Harry looked up, affronted. He was about to turn and leave, Severus could see. He did not wish his gift to cause discord between the friends on Christmas.

Snorting at his own sentimentality, he stepped out of the shadows and into the room. He resisted a chuckle at the matching looks of shock his students wore.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.” He greeted.

Recovering himself, Harry jumped up and ran over to him, and before he had time to be shocked at the familiarity, he found himself taken by the hand and dragged over to the tree.

Bouncing on the balls of his (bare – Severus noted) feet Harry gestured at the tree and the gifts excitedly.

“I think he’s trying to tell you that he got gifts, Professor.” Ron said helpfully.

“So it would appear. I trust you both are having a pleasant Christmas morning?” Both boys nodded eagerly.

“If you don’t mind, I will sit. I’ve been standing for some time.” Harry’s eyes flashed with understanding, although Weasley only looked confused.

As he approached an armchair (a hideously gold and burgundy one, he noted), he saw Harry make the sign for “thank you” over and over.

“You are quite welcome, Potter. Although on one point I do agree with your friend.” Ronald’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Yes. Consider that your holiday gift Mr. Weasley.” Harry looked lost, and somewhat betrayed. Trying to block out the other boy in the room, he took Harry by the chin and pulled his face up.

“I’m glad you appreciate the gift. However it disheartens me to see you so sure that it is transient.”

Ugh, he had done it again. “They are yours, Harry. They were given with good intention. But it is my hope that one day you won’t consider such things a treasure, that you will realize you have the right to simple things like warm hands.”

Harry’s eyes warmed slightly, although shame burned through his face.

“It isn’t your fault, however, and I think Mr. Weasley needs to realize that.” He pulled out his wand and incanted “Accio Potter’s winter gloves!”

They came flying down the stairs to land in his outstretched hand. He examined them dispassionately. Thin wool, too small for the boy’s hands (for a change), and completely threadbare, including holes in many of the fingertips. They were positively Dickensian.

“This is what Mr. Potter has been wearing for – well, far too many years, I would imagine.”

“Oh. Right. I get it.”

“I should hope so.”

With another flick of his wand he cast the incantation “Incendio” and watched as the gloves turned to ash. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

He turned back to Harry when there was a tug on his sleeve. The boy gestured with a finger to wait a moment and then ran off to his dorm.

When he was out of earshot Ron spoke up.

“It’s a little strange to me, Harry being so – strange about gifts. But thank you for giving him one, Professor.”

Severus could not resist rolling his eyes. “Do all Gryffindors have this penchant for thanking people?”

Ron just shrugged. “Dunno. Never noticed.”

Harry returned then, with a card clutched in his hand. He paused only slightly before handing it to his teacher. Snape met his eyes, silently asking for the go-ahead to open it, and when he felt he had such permission he did so.

The card had a simple, crudely drawn Christmas Tree on the front, with animated snow falling all around it. He was surprisingly touched that Harry had drawn the card himself. On the inside it said:

Dear Professor Snape:

I think that you don’t really go for Christmas, but I wanted to get you something anyway. You’ve been very kind to me this past month and a half. I really appreciate it. I hope you have a Happy Christmas, sir. Maybe this one will be your best one ever, like I expect it will be for me.

My gift isn’t much, but I do mean it.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

P.S. Hermione did the charm for the snow on the front of the card. I can’t take credit for it.

Finishing with the inscription he turned to the two rectangular scraps of parchment that were within. He read them over once to himself, and then aloud, for the benefit of his company.

“Coupon, good for one redemption. I, Harry Potter, do promise to instantly and fully obey Professor Severus Snape with no argument upon presentation of this coupon.” There were two enclosed.

He suspected that the wording of the coupon had been helped by Miss Granger as well.

Harry was looking somewhere at his knees, but with an expectant look. He was about to respond when the Weasley child burst out,

“Are you mad, Harry? He’s a teacher!” He said that last with the same tone many used to say ‘Death Eater’. “He could make you drink potions as a test, or be nice to Malfoy, or, or, go to bed early!”

He held up a hand, which surprisingly silenced the boy. “While I would hope you would normally obey me without question, I do understand it does go against your Gryffindor tendencies, Potter. So I accept the gift in the spirit in which it was given. As for your concerns, Mr. Weasley, I do believe Harry intended these to be for those special occasions in which he would likely run off of his own accord without regard for the wishes of his elders.”

“Thank you, Harry. I do intend to use them, you understand?”

A nod of affirmation and then the boy gathered up his parchment and began to write.

‘Ron and I are going to go build a fort! I can test the hat and gloves! Do you want to come watch?’

“I should think not. I have potions simmering. But I shall wait until you’re both ready before taking my leave. Be quick about it!”

Both boys scampered up the stairs. Approximately 15 minutes later they were standing before him in all their winter clothing, ready to battle the snow.

Standing, he attempted to look bored. He turned towards the door, only to turn back and quietly cast impermeable and heating charms on both boys.

Harry made a sign, and Weasley piped up “Thank you Professor.”

Mumbling “Gryffindors and their infernal gratitude!” he headed back towards the dungeons.

This is it, Severus thought as he strode through the empty corridors, I have finally gone insane. I have absolutely lost my mind. It was the only conclusion he could come to, given the circumstances. What other reason would there be for the fact that he was currently striding towards Gryffindor tower?

Yes, he was purposefully going to visit a student, in Gryffindor, on Christmas morning. He mourned his lost mental faculties, but did not slow his pace.

As he reached the portrait guardian to the tower, the Fat Lady woke grumpily, flicking one eye towards the windows where the light of early morning dawn was streaming in. “Back so soon, professor?” she commented with a false airiness. “I’d be surprised if a full 8 hours have gone between visits. And from the Head of Slytherin house. This must be a new school record.”

“Indeed, twice in 24 hours I have been here. More than enough opportunity to see what conditions you are working under and recommend that you are sent for…cleaning and reframing.”

The implied threat took, and the portrait swung open with nary a further word.

Of course, once he stepped through, Snape was at a loss for what to do. His mind had only gotten no farther than this point. Faced with the reality of striding into the Gryffindor common room while the children were opening gifts, he chose instead to remain in the entry way, well hidden in the shadows, where he could watch the proceedings.

It was only Ronald Weasley in the common room, and he briefly wondered where Harry was when his friend began hollering Harry’s name. Snape winced at the sound, but made none of his own. After a moment the smaller Gryffindor showed at the bottom of the stairs to the dormitories.

“Come on Harry! You’ve got to come open presents.”

Harry stared wide-eyed at the gifts under the tree from his perch, and moved one hand up to point to his own chest in question. Shockingly the Weasley boy understood his friend and replied,

“Yeah mate, you’ve got presents. Come on!”

And with that, Potter came bounding down the stairs.

He was surprised at the care with which the boy opened his gifts. Each one was unwrapped slowly, as if he wanted to savour every minute of the experience. Each one was also met with what could only be considered a whoop of joy. He would have strongly admonished Potter about not caring for his voice if he wasn’t so invested in keeping his presence unknown.

He silently admired the choice of gifts the child’s friends had given him. All seemed well thought out, besides the blasted invisibility cloak. He cursed Dumbledore quite loudly in his head when he had spotted it. What was the man thinking giving such a thing to the boy? It would only prove to make Severus’ life more difficult. And that, he realized, was probably exactly why the man had given it up.

Finally Harry came to his last gift, and Snape stiffened in anticipation. He told himself that he was not anxious as to its reception. He was merely cold.

It was wrapped in simple brown packing paper. If he was going to expose himself by giving a gift to this child, he was not going to give in to the traditional trappings of childish, gaudy paper in which to wrap it.

But this plain brown paper was unwrapped with the same reverence as all the rest. His eyes narrowed as Potter picked up the first of his gifts – a knitted winter cap and matching mittens. Plain black wool – none of the foolishness of house colours – lined with fleece. He had not given a scarf, knowing the boy would never give up wearing the Gryffindor one he had been issued by the school.

He allowed himself the indulgence of wondering if the boy was disappointed. Such practical gifts. So practical, that really they ought not to be considered gifts at all, really. Not anymore than 3 meals a day were gifts. But then, Potter’s wretched history had probably made even regular meals a gift.

Shaking himself out of such thoughts he turned his focus to Potter, and had to swallow hard at the sight. Potter had tried on both sets of clothing, and was currently rubbing the wool of the mittens against his cheek. Severus found himself flushing at the sight of such appreciation.

Ron Weasley was staring openly at his friend, with an expression that was a mix of amusement, surprise, and – anger.

“They’re nice, who’re they from?” Harry set the clothes in his lap and fished out the parchment that came with the gift. Leave it to him to open a gift first and then look for the card.

He seemed to recognize the handwriting – probably from comments on his dismal potions essays – and was stunned. This was a mistake, he thought, I’ve overstepped. Had he really expected such an arrogant child as Potter to be grateful for his gift?

He was just about to turn and leave when Harry’s expression changed. A smile came over his face, and it was so bright and so – happy – that it caused an ache in Severus’ chest. His feet felt nailed to the floor where he stood.

Harry made his sign then, to answer his friend’s question. The look on Ron Weasley’s face was almost worth the whole abasing exercise.

“Snape gave you a Christmas present? Snape? Well mate, that’s, that’s impressive!” Indeed. The boy made a move towards the mittens and Severus narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want the Gryffindor’s grubby paws all over them.

Apparently Harry felt the same, as he dropped the parchment and snatched up the winter gear with a soft growl of warning. The professor leaned forward with concern. What was that?

“Come on Harry. Not this again! It’s just like with Hermione and the balm. You don’t need to be so protective of what people give you. They’re yours, I get it. I’m not going to steal them.” His voice softened compassionately in a way that Severus would have never thought him capable of. “No one’s really given you things, have they mate? And if they did, that ruddy cousin of yours probably stole it or broke it, right? Well I’m not going to do that. I won’t Harry! I just want to see, that’s all.”

With suspiciously wet eyes, Harry handed them over. He almost stepped in then, as the situation seemed to be getting out of control. But then Potter seemed to steel himself – a change coming over him that was so determined it was visible to the eye. He then turned from his friend and picked up the folded parchment and opened it.

This was the biggest part. Severus shut his eyes. His thoughts turned involuntarily to the evening before when he had drafted the words therein.

Dear Mr Potter,

it had started.

I hope this letter finds you spending a satisfactory Christmas morning. The hat and the mittens are yours, given freely for my own benefit. One can not properly stir potions when one’s hands are red and chapped from the cold.

As you have spent some time with me in my quarters I wanted to bestow one last thing – again in the name of practicality. Written below is the password to my quarters. You are free to use it on your visits in place of knocking. I ask only that you do not share it with anyone, and that you give attention to the portrait guarding my door when you arrive. If the doe in the portrait is not there, I am busy or indisposed and you must return to your dormitory. Read the password carefully, as all the ink will disappear in a few minutes.

The password is:

LIVE SANELY

Happy Christmas Harry,

S. Snape

He finally wrenched his eyes open to find Harry moving his lips as he tried to memorize the words. They were nonsense to the boy, but made perfect sense to his teacher, but were not hard to remember once you knew them. Harry finally folded the parchment, and he knew the words must have disappeared.

Weasley handed back the rest of his gift. “Did you know he’s put a self-heating charm in there? That’s pretty useful. I wonder why my mum and dad never thought to do that? What was on the parchment?”

Harry shook his head, gathering up the hat and mittens again. This time his negative response brooked no argument. He watched the two boys; Ronald thumbing through a book on quidditch, and Harry, Harry appeared to be petting the mittens.

He was glad the gift was appreciated, but this was taking it a bit far, and he found the ache in his chest had returned. Surely the boy ought to be obsessing over the invisibility cloak – an artefact from the father he had never known – not some simple mittens from his grouchy teacher.

Apparently Weasley thought so, too. “Really mate, it was good of him, but they’re just mittens.”

Harry looked up, affronted. He was about to turn and leave, Severus could see. He did not wish his gift to cause discord between the friends on Christmas.

Snorting at his own sentimentality, he stepped out of the shadows and into the room. He resisted a chuckle at the matching looks of shock his students wore.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.” He greeted.

Recovering himself, Harry jumped up and ran over to him, and before he had time to be shocked at the familiarity, he found himself taken by the hand and dragged over to the tree.

Bouncing on the balls of his (bare – Severus noted) feet Harry gestured at the tree and the gifts excitedly.

“I think he’s trying to tell you that he got gifts, Professor.” Ron said helpfully.

“So it would appear. I trust you both are having a pleasant Christmas morning?” Both boys nodded eagerly.

“If you don’t mind, I will sit. I’ve been standing for some time.” Harry’s eyes flashed with understanding, although Weasley only looked confused.

As he approached an armchair (a hideously gold and burgundy one, he noted), he saw Harry make the sign for “thank you” over and over.

“You are quite welcome, Potter. Although on one point I do agree with your friend.” Ronald’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Yes. Consider that your holiday gift Mr. Weasley.” Harry looked lost, and somewhat betrayed. Trying to block out the other boy in the room, he took Harry by the chin and pulled his face up.

“I’m glad you appreciate the gift. However it disheartens me to see you so sure that it is transient.”

Ugh, he had done it again. “They are yours, Harry. They were given with good intention. But it is my hope that one day you won’t consider such things a treasure, that you will realize you have the right to simple things like warm hands.”

Harry’s eyes warmed slightly, although shame burned through his face.

“It isn’t your fault, however, and I think Mr. Weasley needs to realize that.” He pulled out his wand and incanted “Accio Potter’s winter gloves!”

They came flying down the stairs to land in his outstretched hand. He examined them dispassionately. Thin wool, too small for the boy’s hands (for a change), and completely threadbare, including holes in many of the fingertips. They were positively Dickensian.

“This is what Mr. Potter has been wearing for – well, far too many years, I would imagine.”

“Oh. Right. I get it.”

“I should hope so.”

With another flick of his wand he cast the incantation “Incendio” and watched as the gloves turned to ash. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

He turned back to Harry when there was a tug on his sleeve. The boy gestured with a finger to wait a moment and then ran off to his dorm.

When he was out of earshot Ron spoke up.

“It’s a little strange to me, Harry being so – strange about gifts. But thank you for giving him one, Professor.”

Severus could not resist rolling his eyes. “Do all Gryffindors have this penchant for thanking people?”

Ron just shrugged. “Dunno. Never noticed.”

Harry returned then, with a card clutched in his hand. He paused only slightly before handing it to his teacher. Snape met his eyes, silently asking for the go-ahead to open it, and when he felt he had such permission he did so.

The card had a simple, crudely drawn Christmas Tree on the front, with animated snow falling all around it. He was surprisingly touched that Harry had drawn the card himself. On the inside it said:

Dear Professor Snape:

I think that you don’t really go for Christmas, but I wanted to get you something anyway. You’ve been very kind to me this past month and a half. I really appreciate it. I hope you have a Happy Christmas, sir. Maybe this one will be your best one ever, like I expect it will be for me.

My gift isn’t much, but I do mean it.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

P.S. Hermione did the charm for the snow on the front of the card. I can’t take credit for it.

Finishing with the inscription he turned to the two rectangular scraps of parchment that were within. He read them over once to himself, and then aloud, for the benefit of his company.

“Coupon, good for one redemption. I, Harry Potter, do promise to instantly and fully obey Professor Severus Snape with no argument upon presentation of this coupon.” There were two enclosed.

He suspected that the wording of the coupon had been helped by Miss Granger as well.

Harry was looking somewhere at his knees, but with an expectant look. He was about to respond when the Weasley child burst out,

“Are you mad, Harry? He’s a teacher!” He said that last with the same tone many used to say ‘Death Eater’. “He could make you drink potions as a test, or be nice to Malfoy, or, or, go to bed early!”

He held up a hand, which surprisingly silenced the boy. “While I would hope you would normally obey me without question, I do understand it does go against your Gryffindor tendencies, Potter. So I accept the gift in the spirit in which it was given. As for your concerns, Mr. Weasley, I do believe Harry intended these to be for those special occasions in which he would likely run off of his own accord without regard for the wishes of his elders.”

“Thank you, Harry. I do intend to use them, you understand?”

A nod of affirmation and then the boy gathered up his parchment and began to write.

‘Ron and I are going to go build a fort! I can test the hat and gloves! Do you want to come watch?’

“I should think not. I have potions simmering. But I shall wait until you’re both ready before taking my leave. Be quick about it!”

Both boys scampered up the stairs. Approximately 15 minutes later they were standing before him in all their winter clothing, ready to battle the snow.

Standing, he attempted to look bored. He turned towards the door, only to turn back and quietly cast impermeable and heating charms on both boys.

Harry made a sign, and Weasley piped up “Thank you Professor.”

Mumbling “Gryffindors and their infernal gratitude!” he headed back towards the dungeons.

That very night found Harry in his common room playing a rather miserable game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron. Miserable because he never seemed to get any better at the game. Probably because Ron always tramples me so quickly I never get the chance to practice, he thought sullenly. He had almost suggested Exploding Snap after the last travesty of a game, just to even the playing field, so to speak. But in the end he decided to indulge his friend.

After all, while it had been great for him, Ron was probably used to brilliant Christmases and being with his family. This year he’d had to stay at school, and even Harry knew this probably hadn’t been Ron’s Most Favourite Christmas Ever.

Suddenly he found himself grinning rather manically down at the chess board as he thought back on the morning. The hat and mittens had been wonderful, especially as he and Ron attempted to make a snow-model of Hogwarts. The built-in heating charm had been particularly nice, and he had to admit there was something to be said for warm ears – even if the hat had made his hair even messier than usually. Ron had nearly died laughing. Harry wondered if there was such a thing as an anti-static charm.

But the best part of it had been Professor Snape giving him his password. He suspected that it was something the man kept very private, and wondered if even Dumbledore knew it. He couldn’t resist a moment of smugness – he knew that Malfoy wouldn’t know it. He hugged the privilege to himself for a moment.

And it was literally a moment, for then all his joy broke apart in panic.

It was a joke – Snape had played a joke on him. A cruel, mean, trick. That must be what it was – for how on earth was he supposed to even use password when he couldn’t speak?

Oh it seemed so obvious. The man was probably down in the dungeons laughing at him right now.

Harry began to shake; although whether it was with rage or with sadness he didn’t know. All he knew is that he had to get down there. He had to see, to confront the man. Oh, how could he have been so stupid?

He sprung up from the board, breathing heavily. He flung some signs in Ron’s direction, who had automatically lifted his head when his friend jumped up in the middle of their game.

“Harry you’ve got to slow down, I can’t follow.”

Harry sucked in more air and tried to remain patient. It was only two simple signs. ‘Go’ and ‘Snape’. He wished his friend would focus. He repeated himself a few times as he moved towards the stairs to the dormitories. Thank the gods for that cloak; it would certainly come in handy now.

As he came back down the stairs, Ron was standing frowning down at the chess board. Probably still contemplating moves. Once he spotted Harry though, he moved forward with a quill and parchment. “Humour me mate, explain a bit before you run off.”

Harry sighed with exasperation. He needed to get out of here. He needed to know. However he paused long enough to scratch out an explanation and show it to his friend.

‘I think part of my Christmas present from Snape was a mean trick. I have to go talk to him.’ He couldn’t explain further, Ron wasn’t to know that he had the password.

“Really?! What a git! I'm really sorry, Harry.”

Harry didn’t reply, he just donned his cloak and headed out the door. As he was leaving he heard the heavy sigh of his friend behind him.

xxxxx

He ran most of the way to the dungeons, but found himself screeching to a halt at the beginning of the corridor that led to Snape’s quarters. He felt no need to rush forward to face the reality that he hade been made a fool of. The idea of standing in front of that portrait, of having no way of using the password his teacher had given him, froze his innards.

But the idea of delaying the inevitable spurred him on and he continued to make his approach, heels dragging all the way.

And then he saw it. His heart leapt to his throat and was beating so fast he thought it might jump out his mouth. There, attached to the bottom of the portrait’s frame was a folded piece of parchment with the words “Mr. Potter” written across it.

Oh god. Was he writing to mock him? To call him foolish and arrogant to think that Snape would ever give a freak like him the password? Slipping off his cloak he reached with a shaking hand to take the note, but it wouldn’t budge. It did unfold itself, however, and Harry found himself in awe of the magic despite his gripping anxiety.

Eyesight blurring, he slowly made out the writing.

Potter,

I recognize – perhaps slightly late – that you will not be able to give that password to my quarters verbally. Thus, I have placed charms on this parchment that will aid you.

You simply have to write the password on this parchment. It is charmed to be linked to the portrait. Provided you do not fall prey to your typical atrocious spelling and penmanship, it should allow you entry as if you had spoken.

As with my previous note, once the password is written, all writing will disappear. The parchment, however, will remain until you have regained your vocal facilities.

S. Snape.

It wasn’t a trick. Those very words played over and over in Harry’s brain as he plucked out a quill and began to write the password in question. Itwasn’tatrickitwasn’tatrickitwasn’tatrick. It was like receiving the gift all over again. Not to mention the fact that his professor had had to go out of his way to charm a parchment so that he would have access.

A warm feeling settled in his chest, driving away all the fear. He wished he could bottle it. Heck, he’d be satisfied with being able to name it. He watched, mesmerised, as the ink disappeared, until the click of the door opening broke him out of the spell.

He wanted to run to the man, to thank him again as the relief washed over him. But instinct told the boy that Snape would not like this; that any perceived “gushing” would make him regret his gift. So instead he simply gathered his cloak in his hands and walked through the door.

His teacher was not in the work room. Harry paused, unsure of what to do. Every other time he had been there to let him in. Likely the man was just in the sitting room, but he felt odd wandering through the quarters unaccompanied.

Before he had a chance to talk himself around to moving forward, a distant voice called out.

“Don’t hover like a moth, Potter. Come into the sitting room.”

And so he did.

It was his second night there that week, which meant that Snape would be imposing he “2 nights per week rule” thereafter. Harry found it surprisingly difficult to abide; he would have stayed there every night if he thought he could get away with it. He even gathered the courage a few hours later, to ask the professor to put the rule aside for the holidays.

He almost thought he’d get his way when his teacher set down the parchment and gave him an odd look. A long, odd look.

He only began to feel uncomfortable when the man gestured for him to come sit beside him on the couch. When adults did that it usually meant something serious. So he walked over and sat precariously on the edge of the cushions. Snape arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. At least not on that subject. No, what he said was much, much worse.

“Indulge me. Why is it that you want to stay here so often?”

He shrugged, not meeting the man’s eyes. His avoidance didn’t seem to work, and Snape’s voice only got sterner as he spoke again.

“I have not asked much of you in return for your staying here, Mr. Potter.” Harry winced at the last. Funny how Snape using his last name never bothered him before. Sighing, he took the parchment he teacher was shaking at him.

‘I like staying here because I feel safe here.’

“You do not feel safe elsewhere in the castle? Why is here any different?”

He really didn’t want to do this. Why was Snape asking him to bare his feelings like this? It wasn’t fair! If that was what he wanted in return for staying here, well then maybe Harry wouldn’t stay here at all!

Oh, who was he kidding? With all the nightmares, the flashes of the bathroom, of his cupboard, of Uncle Vernon and the boy who had called him pretty - in that tone – well if he was honest, all he wanted to do was stay down here forever, to fall asleep in his chair every night.

Maybe if he tried, maybe then….

But all he could manage to write at first was ‘Do I have to?’ He blushed as he handed it over, knowing that Snape would hear the whine in it.

But all the man said, to Harry’s great surprise, was “Please.”

It was not really a request, and it was not soft, nor kind. But it was still ‘please’, and Harry still secretly thought of it as ‘the magic word’. Which was funny now that he knew so many real ones. But this had been the first, and he was powerless against it. And so he wrote.

Again. He was slower this time, because it was harder. And truth be told, because his hand was shaking a little bit. But he did it.

‘I feel safest here because you’re here. You’re big, and a little scary, and no one would dare hurt me in front of you. Maybe not even my Uncle.’

He swallowed hard as he handed it over, and watched as Snape’s eyes tracked his words. And saw, with utmost embarrassment, when the man gave a slight chuckle. That was all he needed, to be laughed at! He couldn’t bear it, so he dashed across the room grabbed his cloak and flung it over himself. He needed to hide.

Once he’d settled on the floor, arms around his knees, he chanced a glance over to the other side of the room. His teacher was staring at the spot where he had disappeared with wide eyes. After a moment Snape took his wand and closed and locked all the doors. Harry felt himself tense a bit, but willed his body to relax. He wasn’t in danger; he knew that. He was just deathly humiliated.

He watched as Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He heard him speak very quietly, obviously to himself, saying, “At least I didn’t drive you into the closet this time.”

After a moment where it appeared he was collecting himself he spoke again, but clearly for Harry.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Harry. It was simply the fact that you called me ‘big’. I am hardly a large man, as these things go. Although I will give you ‘scary’.” He said with a smirk of pride.

Squaring his shoulders he stood and moved, very slowly, to the footstool near where Harry was crouched. He sat so close Harry could have reached out and touched his boot.

“I’ve said it before, but perhaps it bears repeating. I am sorry that you don’t feel safe here at Hogwart’s. And, although if you ever repeat this I will only deny it, I am flattered that you find my presence consoling. I do understand why you are asking to increase your stays here.”

“But I still must deny your request.”

Harry bit down on his cheek, hard. He scrunched his eyes closed and held his breath, as if by denying the tears and sobs any way of exiting his body it meant he wasn’t really upset. Thus, he did not notice the thin, pale hand reach out and pull the invisibility cloak away.

“Look at me please.” The magic word again, so undeniable. He looked up to find his freedom, his tool for hiding, bunched in the hands of the man sitting before him. He felt naked.

“Do you want to know why, Harry?” He slammed his eyes shut again and shook his head manically back and forth. He could not bear to face the rejection.

He felt Snape stand and leave the room, and his heart sunk lower than his feet. What was wrong with him? It felt like he was 5 years old again, and Aunt Petunia had just tossed his blanket – the only reminder of his parents - in the rubbish.

Then he saw the familiar boots again, and forced himself to suck in a harsh breath.

“Come.” He was guided to the footstool and handed a vile. Snape must have seen the question in his eyes. “It is not a calming draught. Quite the opposite, in fact. It will cause you to release all the emotions you are clearly trying to hold in. Calming draughts have their purpose, but there is no need for forced calm here.”

Release his emotions?! He didn’t like the sound of that, and made a move to give the vial back. Thin fingers wrapped around his hand, stopping him.

“You are correct, you know. You are safe here.”

With that, he tipped the potion into his mouth. It was mere moments for it to take effect, and he found himself sobbing horribly. Snape made quick work of the situation; he removed Harry’s glasses and handed him a handkerchief. He also removed the empty potions vial, but not, Harry noticed, his own hand, which was still wrapped around Harry’s fingers. He couldn’t help himself, he clutched at the man’s hand as if he could squeeze human compassion from it like an orange.

“You must know, first, that my unwillingness to change the rule is nothing personal. It there for you. You need to be a part of your house and a part of this school above and beyond attending classes. Hogwart’s is structured the way it is to build a community among the students.”

Harry began to calm, and swiped at his eyes. Snape continued, “Even if I was your ---“ his tongue seemed to get caught in his throat, and the small wizard watched in fascination as he restated, “Even if your parents were on staff you would still be required to stay in your house dorms. It is just the way things are.”

He thought about the half truth in those words as he picked up his quill to reply, unconsciously echoing Snape’s earlier words.

‘But it’s the holidays. If you were – if my parents were teachers, surely I’d be able to stay with them over the hols?’

“Yes, that is true, but I’m not – they’re not – it’s just not the same, Potter!”

He replied the only way he knew how. With 3 signs. The first two were his special sign for Snape, the third ‘Please.’

A sigh, and a squeeze to his fingers. “Very well then. But only for the remainder of the holidays. Then you return to your dorm and the old rule applies.

Harry grinned in relief. Apparently the magic word worked on Snape, too.

It was almost like the boy was living there, Snape thought with a dramatic shudder.

They settled into a pattern quite easily. Every time he returned to the dungeons Potter settled himself in the chair facing his work desk with a shy smile. Once, Severus even found himself half-smirking back.

He began to ask the boy questions - mostly about his homework - he refused to care about the social life of an 11 year old. And Harry began helping him with potions. It was mostly bottling ingredients, as he did not trust the boy with actual potions given his borderline ineptitude in the classroom.

He should have seen in coming, then. He hadn't, but he should have. He could read the Dark Lord like a book, but seemingly missed every sign the 11 year old had been throwing at him.

The boy had spent a few nights in the dungeons and so far had made it through without any dreams. Severus had gone in to check on him and found Harry, as usual, half out of the covers. So he had carefully, gently even, tucked the boy back in. Despite Harry's lessening fear he still tended to react badly to being touched unexpectedly. Every time it happened the potions Master wanted to hunt down those damn muggles, or maybe the student attackers, or hell, why not the lot of them? and have a real party.

He pulled the blankets up over the boy and absent-mindedly brushed a few strands of hair off his brow. Harry froze, and so did Snape. But only for a moment, after that the small wizard opened his eyes just enough to recognize his teacher. Then he leant into the touch and closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

For a time Severus did not know what to do. He was not a demonstrative man. There were a few exceptions - Luka being one. But the boy had not occupied these rooms for several years, and after his death Severus' life had been quite devoid of any affection.

And he preferred it that way, as he had no inclination towards such expressions. However his body seemed to function independently of his convictions as he continued to run his thin fingers over the child's fringe. Suddenly he seemed to realize what he was doing and snatched his hand back. Just before he could turn to leave the room Harry roused again without opening his eyes. Snape watched as Harry gave the sign for thank-you.

Now it was the teacher's turn to sigh, as he took hold of the small hand and tucked it back under the blankets.

"Enough with your infernal thanking, child."

Clearly the boy was growing attached to him - proof that the universe had a rather twisted sense of humour.

So yes, he should have seen it coming.

His last night in the dungeons Harry fell asleep in the chair and Severus moved towards him to put him to bed as usual. Why the boy couldn't just take himself to bed when it was appropriate was beyond him.

Rolling his eyes skyward he moved forward to gather up his student. However as soon as he touched him, Harry briefly became aware. He blinked heavily at the pale man, rubbing at his eyes with a fist before reaching up and hooking his small hands around his teacher's neck.
Snape came to a rather quick and frightening realization. Harry didn't want to be carried; rather he wanted to be picked up.

And unless he wanted to remain bent over while the brat had a strangle hold on him, he had to do just that.

As he did he gave silent thanks that Potter was far lighter and smaller than he ought to be. He was slightly surprised that a child who had likely never been held in such a manner settled in his arms so naturally. Knobby legs wrapped around his waist, and his head came to rest on Severus' shoulder.

Reaching up he gently removed the youth's glasses and placed them in a pocket of his robe. "You are far too old for this Harry."

The young wizard in question appeared to have heard him, and he shook his head sleepily and gripped a piece of the professor's robe.

"Go back to sleep, you will not be dislodged. I will carry you to bed in the silly manner you desire."

"Eventually" he added.

As soon as Harry fell back asleep the boy seemed to relax even further, all his weight settling against the man who held him. For the first time since they had met, the child seemed completely unself-conscious. Severus, however, had no idea what to do. But he knew someone who might.

He cast imperturbable, and then crouching very carefully he tossed some powder into the floo and hissed "Albus! I need to speak to you in my quarters please."

Potter began to mewl like a kitten at the heat on his face, and that was all Snape had time to say before stepping back. It figured that Albus would step through the hearth just as he was wiping the boy's brow.

"What have we here, Severus?"

The Professor spun, though not as fast as he would have liked, to greet the headmaster.

"We," he sneered, "have a problem."

"Everything appears quite tranquil to me."

"It would. You don't have the Potter spawn clinging to you like a primate!"

"Interesting choice of description. I dare say that in your place I would be flattered."

"Then you take him!" He did not, however, make a move to pass over his charge.

"It is not me he has chosen, Severus."

Severus laughed a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "He has chosen me, as you put it, because he is desperate."

"He may be somewhat desperate for affection, but have you ever known him to be anything but discriminating with regards to whom he gives his trust?"

"Oh yes, very discriminating by befriending the first wizarding child he encountered."

"And then he turned away Mr. Malfoy's offer of friendship."

"Your powers of persuasion are hardly getting stronger."

"Whether you admit it or not, I believe you know it's true. You are panicking because you don't know what to do with the weight of that trust. You are afraid of it. Besides which, who is it hurting for Harry to reach out to you?"

"Me."

"Really? If memory serves, you are the one who agreed to let him stay here."

"Because he so clearly required the sleep!"

"What he needed was somewhere he felt safe." Dumbledore responded, shaking his head as if he had expected a more truthful response; as if Snape clearly knew what that truth was. "But," the elderly wizard continued, "what I think he needs most right now is to be put to bed."

"Indeed," Severus replied, narrowing his eyes. "I do believe you were leaving."

Albus couldn't help but chuckle. Here in front of him were not only the last two people he expected to form a bond, but two of the most contradictory people he had ever met.

Severus, for example, had spent the last several minutes protesting any sort of affection for the boy, yet his body language spoke to the very opposite. He had Harry in a firm grip with his body turned away slightly, as if to prevent anyone from snatching the boy from his arms.

And Harry, well Harry was remarkable.

"My dear child, you must understand something. I have been watching Harry at a distance for years; perhaps too much of a distance. He has always been a strong boy, keeping himself quiet and steady in the face of his relatives, not to mention trying to live up to everyone's expectations here at Hogwart's.

"And I can tell you with the same degree of certitude that I avow your trustworthiness to the ministry, that Harry has never done anything like this before. He would never allow himself to take such a monumental risk.

"So I strongly suggest that if you find his need and vulnerability so distasteful, that you make it clear to Harry as soon as possible. It will be easier for him in the long run."

And with that, he flooed away, leaving the potions teacher speechless.

Releasing the imperturbable charm, he settled the boy into bed without thinking. He had done it so many times at this point that the actions were almost by rote.

This time was only slightly different in that he had to undo the small hands that gripped the back of his robe. As he loosened Harry's fingers he kept a careful eye on the boy to ensure he didn't wake up. Once he had the fingers free, he brought Harry's arms forward to free his neck.

For a moment he just stood and stared and tried desperately to block what he was thinking. He began to recite potions ingredients in his head.

It didn't work, and the thought burst forward, unwanted.

His two hands fit into one of mine!

It was a rather strange and sudden reminder of the fact that Harry was just a child. He had never really given it much thought. He tended to view the boy as a mini version of his father, or a troublesome student, but never truly as a child - which he was, of course.

Realization seemed to settle in. Harry was, quite literally, just a little boy. Severus felt the world fade slightly as he experienced this paradigm shift. And then he cursed.

He did not want this. He liked his boundaries and solitude, and yes, even his cold demeanour. He did not want to make room in his life for an emotionally needy little boy.

Damn it he had done it again! Why did he keep referring to him that way? He was Potter, or the brat, or even (with an acceptable level of disdain) the boy -- but certainly not a "little boy".

But he couldn't make the thought go away, especially after he settled Harry into bed and transfigured his pyjamas. The small whimper Harry gave when he lost contact with his teacher did not help things, and Snape found himself brushing the boy's hair back off his face.

"Hush, child." And then he dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Clearly he was too far gone to save himself.

He paced the library, overwhelmed at this sudden level of responsibility. He had had bonds with students in the past, even informally mentored a few, but those children had all had families, parents. And none of them, to his knowledge, had been hurt like Potter had.

Why did the brat have to choose me to cling to? I'm hardly appropriate.

The voice in his head said that he was probably the most appropriate person for the boy to turn to, but he ignored that voice. It sounded too much like Albus Dumbledore.

The fact was, he was stuck. He recognized the type of child Potter was; he had made up his mind and would be stubborn about letting go of what he wanted.

And apparently what he wanted was to insert himself into Severus' life.

So he was stuck with the spawn of James Potter and he was in way over his head. He had a sinking feeling that this was a critical time period for Potter. He knew all too well that some young ones turn away from the light if they are continually hurt with no one or nothing for refuge.

Like it or not, Harry had turned to him, and if he wanted to prevent him becoming a Death Eater, or Merlin forbid, another Dark Lord, he had a job to do.

Besides an awkward breakfast the next morning in which Snape tried, unsuccessfully, to draw Potter out of a strange mood, he had not seen the boy in a week and a half. Outside of classes, that is.

Even in classes, Harry kept his head down, finished his work diligently, but never met his teacher’s eyes.

It was the signing that made him finally take action. The boy had stopped using Snape’s sign. It wasn’t that it bothered the man. He couldn’t care less, really. It’s just that it was a very clear signal that something was going on with the child. Harry Potter may be brave, and a little vulnerable, and quick to temper, but he was not subtle. Indeed, he was a walking muggle child psychology textbook in the way he gave off signals with his behaviours. If it weren’t so frustrating it would be almost amusing.

So that afternoon, when Potter had responded to something he’d asked with only [Yes, teacher and a slight blush, he asked Miss Granger to stay after class.

He did not waste any time on small talk.

“I trust you know what’s going on with Mr. Potter?”

“Going on, sir?”

He didn’t resist the eye roll that came in response. “Yes, as in there is something bothering him. I would like to know what that is.”

“Oh. Well. I’m not sure Harry would want me sharing his confidences, sir.”

He couldn’t resist arching a brow in question. Still an adult, still the enemy it would appear. “Miss Granger, I would hope that both you and Mr. Potter would understand that there is a time and a place for maintaining such confidences. As you well know, Harry has a penchant for keeping secrets that are harmful to him. I simply wish to ensure his well-being.”

The girl looked up at him with a small, sad smile. “You called him Harry.”

“So it would appear.”

“Did you do that on purpose to get me to tell you what’s bothering him?”

“That depends. Did it work?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, it worked.” She took a moment to settle herself and then continued. “Simply put sir, he’s embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” He had not expected that. He had expected Harry to be angry about some affront on his part that he hadn’t recognized. Or angry even that he had to go back to the tower. But embarrassed? “Whatever for?”

He told himself to be patient as Hermione squirmed in her seat. “Well, sir, he told me that he asked you, well, not asked precisely, maybe indicated would be a better word, or hinted --”

“Miss. Granger.” He ground out.

“Right. Sorry sir. Well, it’s just that he wanted to be um, picked up. And he was tired, and comfortable, and not really thinking and he didn’t mean to offend you sir! If you only knew how horrified at himself he was when he told me about it.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes. Merlin save him from foolish children.

“And what, exactly, did you say in response?”

“I told him not to worry about it. That if you hadn’t gotten upset by that point you weren’t likely too, and that perhaps he was making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Indeed. Thank you for speaking with me. I will endeavour to divest Mr. Potter of his misconceptions.”

He meant this as a dismissal, but the girl did not leave right away.

”Did you know that he’s got a sign for you professor?

“I am well aware of that Miss Granger.”

“Well, actually, it’s two signs.”

“And your point being?”

“I just thought you might want to know, that’s all.”

“I am well aware, thank you.”

She walked away for a few steps, and he thought for a moment the conversation was over. But then she spun back on her heel and asked,

“Don’t you want to know what they mean?!”

He folded his arms in a sign of calmness that he did not quite feel.

“I have no doubt that Mr. Potter will tell me when he is ready to do so.”

And with that, he was finally left to his own thoughts.

His plan had been to approach Potter in the Great Hall at dinner, tell him to come to the dungeons after his meal. The sooner they dealt with this, the better. How one child could be so simultaneously brave and insecure was beyond him.

However, Potter was not in the Great Hall for his meal. He may not know much about the boy, but he did know this. Even at his most embarrassed, there was no way Harry would let his pride keep him from a meal. He was still operating on survival instinct, and that instinct would have driven him to the Gryffindor table.

The other members of that lamentable trio were present and accounted for, however, which only caused his suspicions to rise. Finishing his own meal he quickly and quietly approached the bench where the two were sitting.

Approaching them from behind, he cleared his throat in an effort to gain their attention. They swivelled towards him almost instantly, the Weasley boy still mid-chew.

“Charming, Mr. Weasley.” He mocked. “Miss Granger. Is Mr. Potter having such a problem it is preventing him from maintaining proper nourishment?”

“Actually sir,” the girl in question broke in, “it’s not that. Professor Dumbledore sent him a note earlier, requesting to meet with Harry.” She dropped her voice. “I think it was something to do with his attack.”

Snape breathed a curse that caused the two students before him to drop their mouths in shock. He shot a glare in their direction just before turning and making his way towards the Headmaster’s office.

Harry had been glad that Dumbledore had called for this meeting over dinner. Once he had read the man’s note he’d known that he wouldn’t be able to eat even if he’d wanted to.

Harry –

I am pleased to be able to tell you

that we have discovered the identities

of your attackers. I will be meeting

with them this evening at 6:00 p.m.

I would like you to be there.

The password to my office is

“Zingy Zaps”.

-- A. Dumbledore

While he was glad they had located the boys who had attacked him, he didn’t understand why the headmaster needed him to be at this meeting. Surely he wouldn’t be asked to give his statement of events again? The very idea was enough to make him want to flee Dumbledore’s office.

He had been waiting in here 10 minutes, alone. He suspected the others were in an adjoining room and would join him shortly, so he simply seated himself on the couch and waited.

He was more than willing to wait as long as it took. Forever even.

Unfortunately that was the precise moment one of the side doors in Dumbledore’s office opened and in paraded three students followed by the man himself.

Harry stood, though mostly in an effort to lock his knees and stop the shaking, rather than out of respect for the headmaster. He certainly had none for his attackers.

“Harry, my boy, good to see you. Please sit down.”

He could only shake his head. His eyes never left Dumbledore’s face, although he didn’t really see the man. He just wanted to avoid the faces of the three boys to his left.

“Harry, I believe you deserve to know the identity of your attackers.” Here his voice hardened, Harry noticed. “Jovan Sirec, Conrad McWhinney and Honoré Leguin.”

Harry gave a very quick, sweeping glance in their direction. It was just enough to notice that they were all wearing Ravenclaw ties. Apparently it wasn’t just Slytherins that hated him. Great. He stood there, staring at his shoes for what seemed like ages. What was Dumbledore expecting from him, a “pleased to meet you”?

“I believe these three have a few things they want to say to you.” Harry was lost for a moment in the stunning realization that Dumbledore could sound so scary. Trying to gather what strength he could from the knowledge that the Headmaster was on his side, Harry finally turned his eyes towards his attackers.

It was a disappointing sight. They didn’t look like monsters. Weren’t they supposed to look like monsters?

One of them stepped forward a bit, causing Harry to instinctively take a similar step back. But he did not look away.

“Harry. I wanted to say I’m sorry. It was inexcusable what we did.” The boy’s voice cracked at that last. “I wish I had stood up to my friends and not done what I did. We deserve what we get for what we did to you.”

He only had time to nod before the other two broke in. Everyone seemed to talk at once and it was hard to understand anything. He did catch a few key phrases, however.

“…getting expelled…”

“…stupid little brat…”

He wouldn’t look away, he couldn’t. He would not give them the satisfaction. His eyes remained level, though unseeing, while his insides felt like they were melting and freezing all at once.

“…should have been you..”

“…pretty boy Potter…”

And then another voice broke through the rest.

“Stupefy!”

As the first boy froze, Harry turned to find Snape standing in the doorway looking darker, more fierce and angrier than he had ever seen the man. The blazing in his eyes stopped only for a millisecond when they settled on Harry. Then, before he knew what was happening, Harry found himself being pulled away and tucked against the man’s side, where he then turned Harry’s face into his robes.

For all the strength he had managed to have in facing the Ravenclaw boys, Harry broke when his teacher’s free hand came to rest against his cheek, as if he was trying to shield him using just the palm of his hand. The simple act brought a whimper to Harry’s lips and his hands seemed to move of their own accord, gripping Snape’s robes in his fists. He did not hear the man cast his second stupefy.

He did, however, hear what he said next, as it was awfully hard to miss.

“Are you completely out of your mind, old man?”

Someone gasped, and Harry realized one of the attackers was still free. Likely the one who had apologized; the one who hadn’t been yelling.

“One sound, one little sound out of you Mr. McWhinney, and you shall join your friends.

And you, Albus. What on earth were you thinking bringing him in here to see these three?” Harry noticed that Snape had somehow managed to make ‘three’ sound like an insult.

“Severus, I merely thought that before they left,” Harry did not miss how Dumbledore emphasized the word, “that these boys should be given once last chance to stay at Hogwart’s by renouncing their deeds. They assured me they planned to do just that.”

Harry could feel Snape’s chest rumbling as he spoke. It was a strange sensation, almost ticklish.

“Why is it that you insist on giving a multitude of chances to students who clearly don’t deserve it? It always seems to come at the expense of others.”

“Are we talking about the present or the past, Severus?”

“Both.” The man snarled. “I accepted it as the way of things as a child. I know better now and I will not allow you to do the same to Harry.”

The tension in the room was becoming too much for Harry, who just wanted everything to go away. He pressed his face further into his protector’s robes, seeking the darkness they provided.

Snape seemed to sense something then, and Harry felt his hands being pulled away from Snape’s robes, and then the man’s hands settled on his shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

Harry paused for a moment, before realizing that he didn’t have it in him to lie about it. So all he did was shake his head. No, no he wasn’t alright. He tried to meet his teacher’s eyes, but everything was a little blurry and he was more than a little wobbly on his feet.

He needed to get out of here, to get away from Dumbledore and the other boys. So he made two signs and hoped to be understood.

‘Home’ and the his sign for Snape. Whether the man understood his exact words he could not tell; but it was clear that he understood enough. For in the next moment Harry felt thin, strong hands lifting him, and he found himself being held against Snape’s chest just like during the holidays. Only this time he hadn’t needed to ask.

As the professor reached up and removed Harry’s glasses he spoke one word. “Good?”

Harry nodded, slipping his arms loosely around the man’s neck. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, he laid his head down on Snape’s shoulder.

He was asleep before they ever reached the dungeons.

Sure enough, the headmaster did not disappoint. An hour later there was a knock on Snape's door. Dumblodore must be feeling quite bad if he had suddenly taken to knocking.

Shifting in his chair, Severus called out "Enter". Not greeting his employer at the door would send a message as well - as he meant it to.

"Severus, my boy."

"Albus."

He saw the Headmaster's eyes land on him; saw the look that passed over the old wizard's face in that millisecond before he managed to pull it back.

"I'm surprised you haven't put him to bed yet."

"Are you really? Well, I have my reasons. One, he fell asleep out of sheer emotional exhaustion, not for any real need of going to bed. It is rather early in the evening, even for his age. Two, I haven't been able to get him to release me long enough to even contemplate it."

Again, a flicker behind those normally wise eyes. He added the third point on just for a tiny bit of maliciousness. He did not feel badly about it.

"Finally, Harry is no longer asleep. He woke when you knocked."

No, he hadn't felt bad before he said it, but seeing the realization pass over Albus' face changed his mind. He should have just kept the pretense up, for now Albus knew that Harry would not look at him, couldn't look his former protector in the eye.

"Hello, again, Harry." The Headmaster said gently.

Harry heard the voice, but did not turn. All he did was lift his eyes to his professor's face and tighten his fingers around the bits of robe he had in his fists, as if in question - Do I have to? The silent response came back with a brush of fingers across the back of his neck, relaxing him - No you do not.

"He's listening."

Dumbledore moved forward then words of apology falling from his lips. "I am very sorry, Harry, for all the mistakes I have made. I have made decisions that have hurt you - in more ways than one," he added sadly. "You may not believe me, but I was trying to protect you. But it seems I managed to foul up that job rather considerably. I'm glad you found someone else who is already much better at in than I was."

If Severus hadn't been a practiced Slytherin and Death Eater he would have flushed.

"Sentimentality may work on the boy, but it will get you nowhere with me."

"Clearly." Albus replied with a smirk. It was a frightening sight, and Snape found himself hoping he would never see it again. "I will leave you two to your evening. Once again, I do apologize Harry." He moved forward to rest a hand on Harry's back, and in that moment seemingly released a tiny, growling, beast.

For Harry had turned and launched himself towards the Headmaster in a wild and unplanned attack. He did not succeed in reaching the man, for Severus had him well grasped about the waist and pinned against his chest. Harry kicked and wriggled and howled, but did not get anywhere.

Both men were briefly taken aback, Dumbledore too stunned to do anything but stare, Snape working solely on reflex and instinct. A moment later he regained enough of himself to cry out "Harry stop it! There is nothing to fear here!" But either Harry did not hear him, or he did not care.

Faced with no other choice, Snape took a deep breath and let loose in his sternest voice possible, "Harold James Potter! That is ENOUGH!"

Almost instantly the boy in his arms stopped moving and hung like a dead weight. Severus was secretly glad he couldn't see the boy's face. He gave both Harry and himself another minute to calm down before he set the boy on his feet and turned him around.

Dropping to one knee, the only thing he could think to say to his student was "What on earth has gotten into you?"

He got no real response, only a shrug.

"Look at me." Harry lifted his eyes, but not his head, so Snape reached over and tilted his chin up. "Properly please, with some respect." The boy coloured, but met his gaze 100 percent.

"I know you don't like being touched, and I gather that the Headmaster now understands that as well. There are very few situations in which 'attack or be attacked' is appropriate, and this is not one of them. No one here --" He was about to say 'No one here is going to hurt you' but that wasn't the truth was it. Potter had been hurt here at Hogwarts. "The Headmaster would never hurt you. You owe him an apology. Go on."

With a slight push Harry moved forward and made his signed apology to Dumbledore. Who was clearly trying not to chuckle at the pathetic sight the boy made in his absolutely honest contrition. He was not able to keep the twinkle from his eye, however.

"I apologize as well, Harry. May we shake on it and call it a truce?"

Snape resisted a strong urge to kick the man himself. One emotion-driven and frankly understandable outburst from a child did not equal the very grave mistakes the ancient wizard had made on Harry's behalf.

Speaking up he said to Dumbledore, "I hope I don't have to call your sanity into question a third time, Albus. Perhaps in the future any decisions about Harry's wellbeing should be given a second opinion by one of the staff members." He knew Dumbledore would read between the lines: Any decision about Harry will now be made with my input.

The headmaster briefly tilted the brim of his cap in concession. You win. Out loud he merely said, "A wonderful idea, my boy." With a sincere smile at his two orphans, he left the dungeons.

Turning back to Harry he knew what had to be done. It would be harsh, and unfair, and neither of them would sleep well tonight, but it was necessary.

Sometimes, to help someone you had to hurt them. He had seen enough of life to know that. He knew where all of Harry's vulnerable spots were and he had enough Slytherin cunning to use that knowledge. Sometimes the ends justified the means.

Pitching his voice just right, he began his lecture.

"I am extremely disappointed in you Mr. Potter." The boy's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. "Yes, you've been grievously wronged. But do you think you're the only person who's ever been hurt? You're not."

He could see the boy shaking, out of anger or fear, he did not know. His arms were wrapped tightly around his mid-section, in a self-protective hug. Severus knew he was getting somewhere.

"You need to vent your emotions in a more appropriate manner." He continued to raise his voice. "You cannot hurt people because you fear being hurt!"

Harry stared up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. But then his eyes narrowed defiantly. That's right my little lion, just one more little step...

The boy raised his hand; his mouth was trapped in a silent snarl, and he pointed his finger accusingly at his teacher. All was quiet, but the message Harry was trying to send him was crystal clear. You do. How dare you tell me not to?

And with that he stalked over to the boy to drive his message home. Dropping to his knees and gripping Harry's shoulders he stated slowly and clearly, "I do not want you to end up like me!"

Two more tears dropped heavily down the boy's cheeks, now flushed red with emotion, and he sucked them in through his lips as if he could hide them.

The boy had probably gotten his message, at least superficially, when Dumbledore was still present, but Snape had to be sure. He would not let Harry turn his anger inward, but neither would he allow it to strike out at others. That was the quickest path to darkness.

"You cannot harm people Harry, not because you hurt. You scream, or you cry or you write it down, or you run until your lungs burst. You come to me, that's what I'm here for!"

Harry broke away from him then, wrenching himself out of his grip so hard he fell to the floor and scrambled back like a sand crab. Frustration was written over every inch of his body. Snape watched as Potter pointed to his throat with a growl, clawing his nails down the skin in aggravation.

"I know that makes it impossible, but you can communicate Harry, you can write it down or sign it."

And with that Harry started hurling signs at him. It took him a few seconds to realize what the child was saying. Three words (please) (help) (bad). He quietly praised himself for studying that blasted sign language book.

"What? What's bad, Harry?"

(Me).

The tightrope that was his emotional state snapped right then, and for a brief moment he found himself back in his childhood home, huddled in the corner. Shaking it off, he moved towards Harry and pulled them both into the armchair nearest the fire.

He settled the boy into his lap easily, as he was as lifeless as a ragdoll. Every flame in him had been snuffed out. He stared ahead through foggy glasses, barely blinking.

Slowly Snape drew his wand and passed it over Harry's throat, healing the scratches there. "When I said you shouldn't hurt anyone, I meant yourself, as well."

Harry did not respond in any way.

He accio'd a quill and parchment and then very, very quietly Snape asked, "Why do you think you're bad, Harry?"

Slowly Harry grasped the quill and wrote 'I must be. Why else would everyone keep hurting me?'

"I don't know Harry, I don't know why they have done what they've done." He paused for a moment and then forced himself onwards. "Have you ever known me to tell lies to spare someone's feelings?"

Harry snorted in a half laugh through his tears and shook his head.

"Well then you will have to believe me when I tell you that these things were not your fault. You may be impatient, and foolhardy, and drive me to madness with your potions work, but you are not bad Harry."

With that Harry turned his face into the man's robes and cried once more. But this time they were not the harsh sobs of anger or fear, but the quiet, resigned ones of a child's grief.

And as he dried the tears of his worst enemy's child, Severus couldn't help but wonder when everything had changed.

“Well personally, I think it’s very exciting. Even if the two of you don’t.” Hermione’s voice carried through the stacks of the library. They had been in there for hours, it seemed, and his friend was not losing any steam.

She and Ron had discovered exactly what Nicholas Flammel was famous for several days ago, during his most recent stay in the dungeons. Harry felt bad that they were doing all the work in his absence, but Hermione had waved his worries away, saying they were “nonsense”, and Ron had replied that it was “every man for himself. If I could get out of this torture I would. Maybe I ought to start visiting Snape in the dungeons. Anything would be better than this!”

Harry suspected that Ron was secretly enjoying it all. He kept these suspicions to himself, however.

“Are we almost done here Hermione? Really, how much more do we need to know about this stone thing anyway? We know who made it, we know what it does…” Ron didn’t get to finish his thought, however, before Hermione cut in with,

“Yes, and now all we need to know is why Dumbledore has it and why does he have it so closely guarded. Obviously he’s trying to protect it, but from what?”

‘More like ‘who’.’ Harry scribbled. ‘If this thing really does make you live forever, anybody would want it!’

“Well it’s not like they’re about to get past that dog, are they?” Ron replied, while Hermione piped in,

“I have to wonder – is Dumbledore just trying to prevent students from causing trouble if they find the stone, or if he suspects one of the professors?”

The question stunned Harry for a moment. He had never even considered a professor. His professors were good people. At least they were supposed to be. Hagrid’s warning that first day in Diagon Alley came back to him in a rush - not all wizards are good.

A cold feeling settled over him, and he glanced up to find Hermione making a list.

“Any good mystery includes everyone as a suspect until they can be eliminated. So we make a list with the names of all the professors and eliminate them one by one.”

“But it’s not enough just to eliminate the good ones,” Ron stated. Hermione stared at him a moment, mouth agape.

“It isn’t?”

“Well no. I mean what if you have 5 people on the list. One of them you know nothing about, so you can’t eliminate them. Two of the others have been witnessed kissing you-know-who’s arse. That’s not really fair, is it?”

“Well nooooo.” Hermione chewed on the end of her quill thoughtfully.

‘Besides,’ Harry added to his own parchment, ‘it’s innocent until proven guilty. Not the other way around.’

“Well why don’t we approach it this way – we’ll add everyone to the list, eliminate them when we can, and add any incriminating information as well.”

Ron agreed and Hermione looked pleased. Harry was saved by having to respond by the appearance of their head of house in the common room.

And that’s how he found himself in the infirmary two hours later, with McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey standing over him.

He didn’t like it, it reminded him far too much of the day of the attack. In fact, it only got worse when he looked up to see Snape walking through the door. Harry found himself filled with apprehension, even though he knew he had no real reason to be. He couldn’t help but flick his eyes at the gown cupboard in remembrance before closing his eyes and trying to calm himself.

“There is no cause for apprehension, Mr. Potter. I understand that this is just a routine checkup regarding your previous injuries.”

The use of his surname, something Snape had dropped unless he was trying to make a strong point, caused Harry to open his eyes in questions and curiosity. What have I done now?

His teacher must have seen the question on his face, as he rolled his eyes and simply stated, “Sometimes a little professional decorum is required. It would do you well to take note.”

Harry could only mimic the man’s eye roll back at him.

“Now let’s check your throat, shall we Mr. Potter?” Harry watched as the mediwitch waved her wand around his throat, murmuring spells while she did so. Finally she lowered her wand and smiled at him. “Everything seems well healed, but let’s just have a look. Open up.”

He opened his mouth and tried not to gag as Madame Pomfrey pressed down on his tongue with a stick. His heart began to race. He was healed? What did that mean? Would everything change now? Snape probably wouldn’t want him around now. He had only been looking out for Harry because he was sick and hurt. And maybe a little because he was scared. But if he was better now and the boys were no longer at Hogwarts, then maybe he was supposed to be over everything.

The thought made him uncomfortable, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. All he knew was that he was healed, and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Well, you’re right as rain Mr. Potter. Time for everyone to hear that voice of yours again. Give it a go.”

With a big gulp, he opened his mouth. It was going to be a simple hello, but no sound came out.

Everyone was staring at him.

“Well, Mr. Potter, don’t keep everyone waiting.”

He tried again, but the only thing achieved was pain in his throat. That was odd – the pain had been gone for several weeks now.

“What’s the problem, Potter?” Snape asked.

All he could do was shake his head and point at his throat. His teacher just heaved a sigh and asked “Madame Pomfrey, would you take another look at the boy’s throat?”

“I don’t see how it would make a difference…” she muttered, but it didn’t stop her from shoving another tongue depressor into his mouth. After a moment she once again declared, “He’s fine. There’s no swelling or redness and the bruising on his vocal cords is gone.”

“Well then why can’t he speak?” Snape growled.

“Because there’s a silencing spell on the boy.”

Everyone’s head snapped over to where Professor McGonagall was leaning casually against one of the infirmary beds.

“What on earth do you mean? No one’s cast a silencing spell.”

McGonagall looked at the other two adults with a mixture of pity and frustration. “Of course someone cast it. Harry did.”

If Harry hadn’t been so utterly and completely bewildered, he would have laughed when Snape and Pomfrey both cried out “Accidental magic!” in unison. Of course once their words registered, he was both bewildered and horrified.

Accidental magic? But that was impossible! He was at Hogwart’s now, accidental magic was supposed to stop! Didn’t accidental magic only happen to little kids? He was well over 11 now. His heart began to speed up, and he had to fight to keep his breath. He was quickly brought back to the moment at hand when Snape drawled,

“Well that explains the how. Now as for the why --” He swiveled to wards Harry, who fought against every instinct in himself and did not scramble back on the bed. He could not, however, stop himself from flinching.

After a long, cool look, Snape finally said, “Go down to the dungeons, get started on your homework.”

He must have spent too long trying to analyze the tone of the man’s voice, because all of the adults were staring at him. Again.

“Go, Harry. I will be down shortly.”

So he went, and along the way he tried to convince himself that his teacher’s statement was not a threat.

Harry did give himself credit. He hadn’t locked himself into the potions supply closet. He had wanted to. It just seemed so automatic…do bad “freaky things” get locked in the cupboard. And while magic wasn’t bad here at school, they were supposed to be doing real magic, not this accidental stuff. The accidental stuff made everything go wrong; he knew that from experience. The whole experience made him incredibly nervous.

So yes, while he hadn’t hidden in a cupboard, he was curled up in a corner of the workroom. The corner furthest from his mentor’s desk.

By the time the man himself arrived in the dungeons, Harry had worked himself into quite a lather. He gripped his arms around his knees, in an effort to both make himself smaller and to stop the shaking. His mind was currently running through his memories of all his accidental magic at the Dursley’s. He hadn’t known that’s what it was at the time, but obviously his uncle had. His head almost hurt from the memory of where Uncle had grabbed him by the hair after the snake incident. That had been number four of the belt incidents he had told Snape about. His uncle liked to save the belt for those times Harry did something freaky – as if he was trying to train it out of him. It might have worked if Harry had known anything about magic; as it was it was worse, because he was being beaten for something he knew nothing about.

The sound of the door shutting pulled him out of his memories.

“What are you doing over there? I thought I told you to get started on your homework?”

Oh boy. I just can’t seem to get anything right these days.

He got to his feet, pulling up the half-filled parchment he had been working on. Or at least trying to. He had, of course, been a little distracted.

He took one step forward, proffering the parchment, only to retreat again when Snape stepped forward to take it. The bigger wizard gave him another of those cool stares he couldn’t decipher, and then raised his wand and incanted, “Accio Harry’s parchment.” As expected, it went flying from his hand.

His teacher’s eyes flicked over it quickly. “This is a rather poor start. You’ll have to start it over.”

Harry’s heart sank into his stomach. ‘I’m sorry’ he signed, staring, unfocused at the man’s eyes. From the corner of his eyes he could see Snape’s shining belt buckle. It was the only thing the man wore that wasn’t black. ‘I’m sorry’ he repeated, this time shifting his full gaze to the dangerous strip of leather around the man’s waist.

“Although perhaps your homework will have to wait until later. We need to have a talk. Come out of that corner please.”

Oh god. This was it. Maybe if he just apologized again. ‘I’m sorry’.

Snape did not move. Resigned, Harry removed his robe, settling it over a chair. Snape’s eyes seemed to track his every move, and Harry couldn’t keep up eye contact; as his fingers grasped the hem of his overly large T-shirt he kept his eyes trained on the floor.

So he did not see Severus’ eyes flare and his hands ball into fists.

“What in the name of all things magical are you doing, Harry?”

His voice was hard, steely even, but it seemed to Harry that Snape was forcing it to be that way. Like it was an effort. The man was clearly thrown off balance, and the very thought of this threw Harry off balance in return. He couldn’t seem to focus, couldn’t push past the fog.

So all he could do was shrug and gestured impotently, indicating the belt.

Snape ran his hand over his face, and Harry thought he heard him mutter “It was a rhetorical question.” After a long moment he looked up at Harry and said, “Do you realize where you are?” Harry nodded hesitantly. “Then why do you think that I would – do that?”

Harry swallowed hard. His parchment was on the desk, and he didn’t particularly want to move any closer. Finally he settled on pointing to himself, signing the word ‘bad’, and making a wand like gesture in the air.

He wasn’t sure if Snape understood, because all he said was “Accio Severus’ belts.”

A pile of roughly ten belts, all black leather, settled at the man’s feet. “Look at me, please.” Harry was compelled to meet his intense gaze. “I was fairly confident that you trusted me, but I see now that it is not so.” Harry wanted to protest, but Snape cut him off. “Not completely, not in the way you ought. This is a rather foolish first gesture, but if it eases your mind…”

The professor approached him then, and Harry stood frozen. It was clear that the man was upset. As much as he ever showed emotion, he was laying it clearly out in front of Harry. So he couldn’t allow himself to run away; that would only make it worse.

“Neither I, nor any other teacher at this school, will ever take a belt to you. Perhaps I should say, no one will ever beat you again, not for accidental magic, nor for anything else. Now watch.”

And with that, Harry watched as, with a flick of his wand, Snape banished every belt he owned.

He had not expected accidental magic. As the boy left the infirmary, the two witches glanced at each other with looks that contained equal parts inquiry and concern. Severus however, found himself glaring at the empty bad where the boy had been and grinding his teeth.

It may have been sudden, but he should have seen accidental magic from a kilometre away. Had he not been spending a patently ridiculous amount of time with Potter? Had he not seen the boy at his most annoyingly vulnerable?

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Snape attempted to release his anger. Or at least dampen it considerably. As he did so, Poppy's voice came into his consciousness.

"Well, the question is not is it accidental magic, but why is it accidental magic?"

Giving in, Severus rolled his eyes and said, "I would presume that it's because he doesn't want to speak yet."

"Why ever not?"

After a moment of being stunned at the complete and utter seriousness of the question, he drawled in response,

"I'd imagine he has his reasons, most of which are psychological, the vast majority of which he probably doesn't even recognize."

"But you do?" Minerva asked, and he could hear both the amusement and doubt that laced the question.

"I have my...suspicions."

This time his colleague didn't speak; she just looked at him expectantly.

"Unlike some others, I prefer to keep other people's personal information private."

Poppy broke in then - "Well we cannot just let him stay silent. If you know how we can help him you need to tell us, Professor Snape."

Just as he was about to respond, McGonagall spoke on his behalf. "I have no doubt that Severus is more than capable of helping Harry, and that he will do so to the best of his abilities."

He was not sure whether that was a statement or an order. All the same, he found himself nodding at her with a grudging respect before he left the infirmary.

For someone who had just been touting his own insight into Potter's psychological state, he was certainly failing miserably at putting that insight to work.

Harry's expectation that he would be punished - no, beaten, Severus corrected - had washed over him like a bucket of ice water. It took him several moments of internal dialogue to realize what was going on inside the child's head.

As he had told the boy, Harry didn't trust him in the way he ought to. Certainly the boy had warmed to him, come to take comfort in his presence, even. And he might even trust that he wouldn't be hurt under normal circumstances.

But accidental magic was not "normal circumstances". Not to Harry, and more importantly, not to the Dursley's.

He had been incredibly, incredibly foolish. Arrogant, even. He had always taught his students that even the most innocuous, innocent looking potions could be dangerous. It could be pink and fizzy and smell like candy floss, but that didn't mean it wasn't poison. Looks could be deceiving. Even first years could understand that.

Clearly he had forgotten his own fundamental lesson. Just because Harry wasn't appearing affected by the Dursley's abuse, didn't mean he wasn't. Just because he'd had a few good cries about it, didn't mean it was dealt with and over.

It wasn't enough to simply let the boy use his robes as tissue when he needed to; it was the underlying responses that had to be dealt with. Like Harry's automatic assumption that accidental magic equaled punishment.

Yes, he would deal with the bigger issue, but first there was the more immediate issue to deal with. So he did the only thing he could think of - he banished all his belts.

After they had disappeared, he turned to Harry, who was gaping openly at the spot where the belts had just been. After several long moments he shifted his gaze upwards, and Severus forced himself into neutrality.

"I will say it again, although I do believe it will be a long time before you truly understand it. Accidental magic is expected at your age. It doesn't disappear completely until you hit puberty. It is perfectly normal for these types of things to happen - particularly when a child has had a troubled past.

However, I would be remiss if I were to tell you it's fine to remain in this state of silence you have imposed on yourself. Why do you not want to speak, child?"

He hadn't realized he'd used the mild endearment; Harry, however, perked up at the word instantly. Severus could see relief pour over the boy muscle by muscle. His student even took a few steps forward, the first positive movements he had made.

With only the briefest of contemplations, Severus moved into a modified crouch. He repeated the single word as a question, knowing it would draw the boy out further. He was using every scrap of instinct he had to break the tension, trying so hard that cunning was practically oozing out his pores. Between his stance and his tone, he felt like he was dealing with one of Hagrid's injured and frightened creatures.

He cursed Lily's muggle relations, and not for the first time. Perhaps Harry would never fully trust; perhaps the damage was too ingrained. It surprised him how deeply he felt sorrow as a result of that possibility. But then, a glimmer of hope.

If his first use of the word "child" had relaxed the boy, the second use had him glowing. While he was not meeting the professor's eyes, Severus could still see the small smile that was playing on his lips. It was if the simple use of the title "child" had given him permission to be one. It could be seen in his body language, in the simple self-soothing acts, like the way Harry was stroking his hands. First left, than right, light touches. Almost in the way a mother would pat the back of a hand in reassurance and comfort.

The thought caused his throat to hurt.

Talking himself into being patient, he reached out a hand to beckon Harry closer and repeated his question.

"Why don't you want to talk?"

A few more steps forward. So close, but not quite close enough. A shrug was the only response he received. He admitted to himself that he had been hoping to release a torrent of words. In time, he supposed.

Seeing that he wasn't angry or disappointed at the lack response, Harry moved closer again, so that he was now within arms length.

"I think you do know, Harry, you just may not realize it. And that's normal as well. We all do things sometimes without knowing why right away."

Slowly. . .slowly. . . he reached a hand out -- just his thumb really -- to stroke the back of Harry's hand. He hoped the gesture would soften his next words. There was a time for reassurance, but he would not coddle the boy. It would aid neither of them.

He was pleased to see Harry respond to his body language, for as he resumed speaking, he was still crouched at Harry's eye level, with the child leaning sideways against his chest.

Moderating his tone just slightly, he moved from gentle to firm. It was not the authority of a teacher he needed to convey, that much he knew.

"While you may not wish to speak, Harry, you can not afford to remain completely silent. You practical spells will suffer if you cannot speak the incantation. If you cannot speak the incantation, you risk failing the year. This accidental magic is under your control. Want to speak, and you will speak."

He shifted Harry to face him, leaving his hands to rest on the boy's shoulders.

"So I am asking two things of you to remedy this situation. First, you will speak the incantations in class. For the moment I will restrict it to that, and ask the other professors to let you write out any responses they ask of you. And you will speak one or two words a day on your own, to me, or to your friends. If you do as I ask in class, I will not push you on the matter when you are at home. Do we understand each other?"

Harry shut his eyes for a moment, swallowed hard, and then replied, "Yes."

So simple, one little word. But it was a start, and Severus could not help but let loose a real smile.

"Well done Harry. Well done."

It was the only word Harry said that night. Not even his two irritating little friends could coax anything out of him once they'd been apprised of the situation. And they had certainly tried. In fact, he had been forced to threaten to return them to the tower if they did not stop pestering Harry.

He was left to relative peace and quiet while the Gryffindors visited, more than enough time to contemplate his now beltless lifestyle. He certainly didn't wear them for their utility; a simple fitting charm would suffice. However he did not relish the idea of using one every morning for the next several years or however long it took Harry to finally trust that he was safe.

It was several minutes of annoyed contemplation of this fact before he realized what had happened. He had automatically assumed that his rapport with Potter would continue unabated, potentially for years. And the thought had not even disturbed him! Not right away, at least. It was certainly disturbing him now.

He thought back, looking for any clues as to when this change had come over him. He could find none beyond the equally disturbing use of the word 'home' in their earlier conversation. Just when he had gotten used to this new...relationship...with the boy, his subconscious had to go and level up.

He needed a nice glass of scotch. Which he automatically knew he wouldn't have while Harry was in the dungeons.

Since when did that matter? What was so important about the presence of one little boy? Wasn't he free to do as he wished in his own quarters?

He glanced at the bottle on his shelf, but did not move. No, it was abundantly clear that while he may no longer be a Death Eater, Severus was not a free man.

Hoisting himself up, he moved towards the bedroom where the three children were being surprisingly quiet. Too quiet, really. Quiet Gryffindors were usually up to something.

He knocked, but paused only for a few seconds before opening the door. Nothing was immediately suspicious, although Weasley was glaring terribly, and Granger had that overly haughty look about her. As for Harry, he looked guilty, but only mildly so. So instead of lecturing, he merely stated,

"Harry, it is time for you to go to bed. Your friends should return to the tower."

"But it's only 9 o'clock! There's still an hour before curfew, even!" Ronald Weasley's face was quickly matching his hair.

"Be that as it may, I do believe I know a little bit more about what's best for Mr. Potter than you do. And he has had yet another long and difficult day. Not to mention whatever you three were plotting about in here. Which, I should add, is not the brightest thing to be doing in a teacher's quarters. In the future I suggest you keep your illicit plans to the Gryffindor common room. No, it is time to say goodnight."

Ron lost his temper then, turning to Harry.

"You don't have to stay here Harry, you can come back to the tower and not have to worry about bedtimes." That last came out with almost an admirable snarl for an 11 year old.

Snape watched for several seconds as Harry was caught in the pressure from his friend. When it became clear that the boy was in no position to be assertive to anyone, he spoke up. Yes, boundaries kept people enclosed, but they also kept them safe, and perhaps it was time someone erected some for Harry.

"Normally Harry does indeed have a choice in when he stays over in the dungeons, but that is not the case tonight. He will be remaining in the dungeons where he can get some much-needed rest. And since I am not about to begin justifying my decisions to children, that is all I have to say on the matter."

Glancing over, he thought it possible that he would be met with defiance; that the boy would stomp out the door with his friends. He certainly had every right to do so, despite Severus' maneuvering. He had no real hold on the boy. But what he saw on Harry's face was unmasked relief. Almost like he was glad.

Clearly then, he had been right about the need for boundaries. Harry was not mature enough to choose between his health and his friends, and was relieved to have the choice taken from him. Plus, this way, no one would give the boy grief, as once again Snape would be the bad guy.

Ignoring the scowl from Weasley, and the disconcertingly knowing look from Granger, he turned to leave the room with a simple "Five minutes, Harry" as his parting words.

The following weeks were incredibly tense for Harry. Ron was still flabbergasted by his behaviour, not really understanding how Harry could obey Snape so easily. Harry knew that his friend envied his situation. No parents meant no one he had to listen to. At least not at Hogwart’s. Ron’s own parents kept a strong presence in their children’s lives, even while they were away at school, something Ron found stifling.

So no, he didn’t understand Harry’s position, and every once in a while Harry would catch him staring. Not meanly, but in a way that made him feel like Ron thought he was some sort of alien. Or a freak. He was always a freak to someone, wasn’t he?

And Hermione, well, Hermione understood Harry a little too well. She’d been on him the minute Snape had said he was to say goodnight, that he’d be staying in the dungeons. He wasn’t sure the man had even got the bedroom door closed before his friend started talking. Harry understood she was concerned for him, but just the memory of it all made him flush with embarrassment and shame.

“Why are you listening to him Harry, I don’t understand!” Ron had protested again. That’s when Hermione shot him an annoyed gaze, followed by something akin to sympathy in her eyes when she looked at Harry.

“Harry, does your willingness to listen to Professor Snape have anything to do with your sign for him?”

His heart somehow dropped into his stomach and leapt into his throat at the same time. If he hadn’t already been mute, he would have been shocked speechless. That was something private, and while he had realized his friend might go looking for the meaning of the sign when he created it, he never thought she’d actually bring it up.

It was a stupid, silly thing to do really, creating that personal sign for the man. It’s not like Snape was a long name. Heck, he likely could have spelled it faster than the time it took now. But he didn’t want that.

He hadn’t put a lot of thought into the two signs that had come to represent the potions master. At the time he had just been so grateful, and so relieved, and just – warm. He didn’t have the word for it then, but now he thought that just maybe that was what being safe and protected felt like. For the first time in his life, a grown up was trying to help him, not hurt him. And suddenly everything was jumbled up in his head.

Because he never thought he’d want that protection. He thought he’d let go of that dream a very long time ago, that he was far too old to rely on anyone that way. Apparently he thought wrong, because not only did he not reject Snape’s efforts, he’d wanted them very, very badly.

He sucked up even the smallest scrape of safety and protection like a sponge, and, truth be told, he was horrified at the extent of his own need. It was embarrassing, and it made him think that maybe Snape was right, that he really was just a “silly little boy”.

But the embarrassment didn’t stop him, and as time crept on the words he chose for the man’s sign were being linked ever stronger to the man himself. He couldn’t look at Snape now without thinking the words, particularly the second. Sometimes, sometimes he even thought the secret version of it, the one he would never, ever be able to say out loud, ever.

He had thought it that night, quietly to himself – the word a whisper even in his mind. As if someone would hear his thoughts if he thought them too loudly. After the accidental magic, the belts, Hermione’s question, and most absurdly, Snape asking him if he had cleaned his teeth, he went to bed with that word in his heart if not on his lips.

His friends calling his name brought him out of his reverie with a hot blush. Once again, Hermione was staring at him as if she knew his thoughts, and he really wished she would stop doing that. With a scowl on his face, he turned to them.

“We’ve got to get to potions” she told him with a look of pity.

Getting up he gathered the parchment they’d been using it to try to work out all the information they knew surrounding the philosopher’s stone. They had been obsessing over their list of ‘suspects’ all week, and despite all his arguments, he couldn’t get them to take Snape off the list. The incident at his first quidditch game was enough for his friends to keep considering the man a suspect. Harry, however, was convinced that there was more to it than they realized. It was just one more thing to add to his frustration these days.

Even though he was arguing with his friends in the professor’s defense, Harry found himself wanting to shout at the man half the time he was down in the dungeons. He laughed bitterly to himself at the irony. Shouting probably would be welcomed the way Snape was going on and on about him not talking. And to make matters worse, earlier in the week the man had recanted his statement about not answering questions in class.

Harry had been angry, and upset. He’d taken the man at his and word and done what he’d asked by incanting in class, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

“I had thought that given a bit of time to get used to speaking in class again that you would voluntarily begin to speak up further, but it appears that is not the case. Perhaps Gryffindors ought to be noted for their stubbornness and not their bravery.”

As if he's one to talk! Harry seethed.

“And just to make sure we both understand each other…” Snape trailed off, pulling something out of his pocket. He laid it out flat on the desk and Harry paled when he recognized it. The pledge of obedience he had given the man at Christmas. Oh no!

The anger and fear threatened to overwhelm him. Snatching up the paper and his things he moved towards the door to leave, but not before his teacher got the final blow in.

“I believe you owe me a word or two, Mr. Potter.”

Argh, damn him! Twirling, he threw the two words accusingly at Snape, his voice cracking far more than he would have liked.

“Greasy git!” he cried out, and then left the dungeons at such a run that he did not hear the older man break out into rueful chuckling.

Snape had found him moments later, sicking up in the third floor boy’s toilets. Harry didn’t notice him until he heard muttering about “foolish little boys” and felt a cool hand brush his hair from his face. Snape handed him a vial.

“Drink that, it’s a stomach calming draught.” He did as he was told, even though it tasted of chalk. Another vial was pressed into his hand. “A freshening potion, for your mouth.”

Harry had to give it to Snape, he thought of everything. This one tasted of mint and snow. Feeling remarkably better, he slumped back against the man without thinking. He was still angry at him, but if he was being honest with himself, he also wanted to fall asleep right where he was. To curl up against his teacher's wall of a chest and be carried to bed.

The confusion and contradiction made him release a noise of frustration, and he moved his arm up to wipe his face of the general grossness he felt. Before he could do so, however, Snape stopped him, and began mopping at his face with a handkerchief.

“It’s no wonder you’re making yourself sick. But the sooner you begin to talk again, the less anxiety you will experience.”

Harry doubted that. He doubted that very much.

Snape had walked him back to Gryffinfor tower, and that was the last he had seen the man.

Until now. Potions class was mere minutes away, and while no other teacher had required him to answer any questions yet, he knew Snape would not be as kind.

And so Harry found himself staring at the board 15 minutes later while Snape described the potion they were about to make. A stomach calming draught. And people thought the man didn’t have a sense of humour.

“Mr. Potter. Can you tell me what this potion does?”

That was his question? Was he serious? He took a deep breath. “It, it calms the stomach, sir.” That was far too much of a whisper for Harry’s liking.

“And is it slow or fast acting?”

“F-f-fast, sir.”

“And if brewed properly what colour should it be?”

“Greyish white.” Much like the colour of his face, no doubt.

“Correct, Mr. Potter.”

And that was it.The beginning of the end, Harry thought.

He stewed in his resentment all through dinner that night, and then went stomping down to the dungeons. He didn’t even get to his chair before Snape deflated him.

“You would not presume to barge in on any other professor to throw a tantrum about class, so do not take advantage of our circumstances by doing so now.”

He didn’t even look up when he said it, so Harry threw himself into the chair in front of the man with. . .zeal. As it slid back several inches with a screech he thought he had the man’s attention, but still his teacher did not look up.

“If you wish to get my attention, maybe you should say something.”

Oh for bloody…!

“No talking.” That was two words, maybe Snape would leave him alone.

The man sighed in almost a sad way, and Harry’s heart clenched. He didn’t like disappointing him. But then Snape started nagging him again and he didn’t feel so bad about it anymore.

“You did well today, Harry. One more word perhaps?”

“No.”

This time it was Snape’s turn to be annoyed. “I need to stop falling into that trap,” he muttered to himself.

Harry snatched up his parchment. ‘You said you wouldn’t bother me about talking at home!’ he wrote, unconsciously echoing the man’s words from weeks before.

For some reason Snape coloured at his words, and then looked…chagrined. Or so Harry guessed. He’d never seen the man look remorseful before, so he could only guess.

“You’re right. So I did. And if it were up to me I would leave you to your own devices, as long as you were keeping up in your classes. But the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall are growing concerned. People don’t normally stop talking, or even cast accidental silencing spells on themselves unless there’s something wrong.”

Once again, the tornado of Harry’s emotions began whirling within him. His teacher sounded sad and worried. Harry was both touched and irritated. Of course something was wrong!

Taking his parchment in hand he began to write so quickly, and with such emotion that the ink ran. But his words were clear.

‘What’s the point in talking? Where has it ever gotten me? Nobody ever listens. Not my Aunt when I begged her to stop my Uncle, not the teachers when I told them my relatives were hurting me, not my friends when I defended you, and not even you when I first got to Hogwart’s! Tell me – why should I bother?!’

He watched as Snape read the words and then run his fingers through the long greasy locks. He closed his eyes and whispered into his palms “It’s true. We have all failed you.”

After a few moments, Harry grew uncomfortable. He tugged at Severus’ robes and passed him the parchment, which read ‘May I go to the other room?’

“You don’t have to ask permission, child.” Snape replied, and gave his fingers a quick squeeze.

As he reached the spare room, he sat down on the bed and tried to get a leash on all the emotions he was feeling. The sound of the parchment from this morning crinkling in his pocket brought more immediate issues to his attention.

He may not be able to bring himself to talk, or even trust himself with the real reason he didn’t want to. But he could do something about this particular frustration.

Taking out the parchment he set it on the desk, and then took out his wand. Aiming at the paper, he repeated the word he heard from Snape at Christmas.

“Incendio!” he croaked. The paper went up in flames, but it did not die within seconds as it had with his gloves. Instead it caught onto his textbooks and they began to smoke. Panic washed over him, and he tried to yell for Snape, but nothing came out. The smoke grew heavier and he reached for the flaming book, when he heard the command.

“Step away from there! Aguamenti!”

Harry watched, wide-eyed, as the water doused the flames. And then all he could see was Snapes eyes, and they were angry.

“What did you do?!”

Oh, he was in trouble now.

He swept into the spare room just in time to see Harry reach for one of textbooks that was sitting on the desk. A textbook that just happened to be on fire! Idiot child! Why on earth was he aiming to put his bare flesh into an open flame? Clearly his sense of self-preservation was worse than Severus had previously thought.

“Step away from there! Aguamenti!”

He watched the water cascade over the small fire, and when he was satisfied it was out, he turned towards his pupil. Leaning over to meet Harry’s eyes, he asked through gritted teeth, “What did you do?!”

Big green eyes stared back at him for a brief moment, and Harry tried to speak, with no result. The boy’s gaze left his face then, but not before Severus noticed the glassy sheen creeping over them.

“Try again.”But instead of trying to speak, Harry raised his wand and motioned. “You cast a spell?” A nod in affirmation, but nothing else. “Incendio, I presume?” Another nod. Anger came crashing through him again, and he tightened his grip on his wand in reflex. “Follow me.” And then, as a second thought, he added, “We are going to the dining area. I need a cup of tea before we talk about this.”

He knew, before he had even cast the water charm, that the child would react badly to his anger. It could not be helped. Severus had no intention of letting Potter go through life undisciplined just because of his history. The boy needed to learn the difference between justified punishment and the abuse the muggles had heaped on him.

Sure enough, Harry did not sit at the table when they reached the room in question. He stayed hovering in the doorway until Severus growled out “Sit!” Silence prevailed as Severus busied himself with calling the kitchens for tea. As he set down a cup of tea in front of himself and Harry he demanded, “Where did you learn that spell?” Harry didn’t move. “Look at me when I am speaking to you!” Those damned green eyes peered up at him through the fringe. Calming himself once again, he said, “Properly please. Contrary to what you may think, eye contact does not denote disrespect. In fact, just the opposite.”

The boy brought his eyes up fully then, but Snape could tell that they were resting somewhere just south of his own eyes. It would have to be good enough. He accio’d Harry’s quill and parchment and repeated his question. But instead of using them Harry simply raised his arm and pointed across the table. “Me? Where – ah. Christmas. Well. There is a great deal of difference between you and I, Mr. Potter. I sincerely hope you do not go about repeating every spell you see a professor use!”

He saw Harry’s black hair go flying as the boy attempted a denial, and Severus made a note to teach him the meaning of “rhetorical question” in the near future. It would likely save him many headaches.

“You are an untrained 11 year old who has been raised by Muggles. You have no business playing with spells that dangerous. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?!” He found his voice rising again in spite of himself. Harry flinched, and Severus could only take a deep breath and a long drink of tea. After a moment he added, “There is a reason that spell is not taught until the senior levels. You could have been gravely injured.”

The softer, more resigned tone of voice seems to affect the boy even more than yelling, Severus noted curiously, as he watched Harry turning circles with the spoon in his teacup.

His point had not truly been made, and certainly hadn’t been taken in fully by the child, but that can wait till morning, he supposed. Harry looksedready to fall over into his drink, although he was trying to fight it. Heaving a sigh, Severus peered over the rim of his own cup and said dryly,

“If you’re only going to play with your tea and not drink it, perhaps you should begin to get ready for bed.” They both know it is not a suggestion.

He turns back to his thoughts, so caught up in planning a thorough and appropriate response to the evening’s incident that he does not see the insecure look that Harry flicks his way as he leaves the room.

Thus, it is nearly an hour and half, 3 warming charms on his tea and one floo-call later before he steps into the boy’s room to check on him. The room is dark; he can see a Harry-shaped lump under the bedclothes. Brandishing his wand, Snape cast a spell to remove the smell of burnt paper from the room and banished the ashes that are scattered across the desk.

As he turns to his regular task of refolding the boy’s clothes (Harry does try, he knows, but he is rather hopeless at the task), he notices gleaming green eyes tracking him around the room. He says nothing at first, tucking Harry’s trainers under the edge of the bed so he doesn’t trip over them in the morning.

Finally, he moves to the bed and perches himself on the edge, trying not to chuckle as he sees that Harry’s eyes are now closed, that he has gone back to pretending to be asleep. As he pulls the covers up over the child’s shoulders, he wonders if his own fears and insecurities were this transparent when he was small. Instead of pushing the thought aside instantly, as he typically would, he follows it to its logical conclusion.

If he had been as needy as Potter, so desperate for attention, well, why hadn’t anyone given it to him?

Pulling himself back to the present he takes a familiar toy off the shelf and transfigures it into an armchair. Pulling a potions article from a hidden pocket in his robe he says, quietly, as if he was playing along with the boy’s game, “Go to sleep, Harry.”

It is later than he imagined when he finally retires to his own chambers.

“We’re leaving the castle for a while today, do you have your outdoor cloak?” was the first thing Severus said to Harry at breakfast the next morning. The sleepy boy looked puzzled and shook his head.

“I’ll have to shrink down one of mine then, there’s no time to waste, we have a schedule to keep. Eat quickly now and then get dressed. We’ll be leaving in 45 minutes.”

As Harry finished his breakfast he had an irrational thought – were they sending him home because of what he had done? Surely they would give him a second chance? All his things were still up in the tower.

Grabbing his ever-present quill and parchment he scratched out a question, ‘Should I go get my things from the tower?’

“I don’t need you dawdling and wasting time while you chat with your friends. You can simply use mine as I suggested.”

Well, that didn’t tell him anything at all. He tried another tactic. ‘When will we be back? I told Ron and Hermione I’d study with them later.’

Snape raised an eyebrow at the words. “Study? I’m sure,” he drawled. “I cannot say precisely how long we’ll be gone, but I am fairly confident you’ll be reunited with your friends by supper time.”

Harry had never been so relieved in his life.

“Have you ever seen anyone disapparate, Harry?” the professor asked as they walked swiftly away from the castle towards Hogsmeade.

Harry shook his head as Severus moderated his stride so that the boy could keep up more easily.

“Disapparition and Apparition allow wizards and witches to travel very quickly, almost instantly, between two points. It is, however, a privileged form of travel that only of-age wizards can use. I can take you side-along, but you will have to be holding on to me.”

There was a moment of awkwardness, where neither of them knew exactly what to do, and then Severus held out his hand. Harry took it, staring at the sight of their two hands intertwined as if he was trying to memorize the moment. Severus could not resist giving a small squeeze, just before they disappeared.

They would have arrived outside St. Mungo’s hospital with nary a sound if Harry hadn’t stumbled to his knees. Severus winced in sympathy, and admonished himself for not keeping a tighter hold on his charge.

He helped Harry up with little fuss, asking “Are you hurt?” Harry shook his head, blushing the whole time, and wiped the dirt of the front of his cloak. Before he could move towards the entrance of the building however, his teacher stopped him, and pulled his wand. He did not point it, though. He just held it in his right hand and incanted softly, while passing his fingers over Harry’s scar.

“This is between you and I. No one needs to know that you’re here,” he offered by way of explanation.

Harry liked that Snape took his hand again as they walked into the hospital. And they weren’t even traveling magically.

As they entered the bustling hospital the boy seemed to shrink and press into his side. It was not a wholly uncomfortable feeling, although it did make it difficult to walk. Reaching the reception desk he pulled out his most authoritative voice and said, “Hello, I need access for two to the Magical Accidents ward.”

“Name of patient.”

“None.”

The receptionist finally looked up, slightly confused and definitely weary. “I need the name of the patient you are visiting, sir.”

“We are not visiting any specific patient. I would like to tour the ward.” Cutting her off before she could protest further, he added, “Someone decided to do unsupervised experimentation with the Incendio spell.”

She studied Harry for a moment, who, Severus noticed with a touch of admiration, managed to look defiant, embarrassed, contrite and annoyed all at once. Glancing back to him she raised an eyebrow and looked slightly amused before replying, “Through the doors, 3rd floor.” More seriously, she added, not quite as an afterthought, “Burn victims are housed in the right hand corridor.”

He nodded his thanks, took the visitors passes and moved through.

Harry was all eyes as they got off the lift, and clearly didn’t quite understand what they were doing here. That would become frighteningly clear to him momentarily, Severus was sure.

The first was a young girl. Younger than Harry, he thought, though it was hard to tell for certain, as she was heavily bandaged. A woman rested uneasily in a chair beside her bed. They did not enter the room – there was no need to intrude to make his point. Instead he flipped surreptitiously through the medical file outside her door.

“She’s been here for a week. 3rd degree burns to her face and chest. She will survive, although she will be heavily scarred.”

A small hand went instinctively to a furrowed brow, and Harry looked up at his teacher, making a wand waving gesture.

“Magic cannot fix everything, Harry.” He said quietly, meeting the boy’s eyes. He only looked away when he added, “No matter how much we wish it were so.”

They moved on through the ward, gazing into the patient’s rooms as if at a horrible, tragic zoo. Severus made note of every one of them, from the tiny toddler, wailing in pain, to the boy who was preparing to the leave the hospital. Having the pre-knowledge that most incendio victims were children – those too young and unskilled to handle the spell – did not make the macabre tour any easier on the man, and Harry appeared to grow greener with each patient’s story.

Finally they came to one room where the burn victim was a grown woman. She was horribly burned, they both could tell, her bandages dirty from blood and pus. She was unconscious, mercifully. Her only other companion was a man who was bent over the empty, mussed bed beside her, weeping. Snape moved to turn them both away quickly – this was over the line, and obviously a private hurt – when a voice sounded behind them.

It was the reception nurse.

“They came in just last night. The woman, her husband and a child of 7 or 8. Their son. He’d set the house alight and they were unable to control the fire in time. She got her burns trying to save the boy, rescue him from his bedroom. She did get him out, but he succumbed to his injuries early this morning.”

Reflexively Severus found himself reaching out for Harry. His hands did not have far to go, as the boy was trembling against his side. Had he pushed the child too far in his attempt to make a point?

Glancing down he saw that Harry was staring transfixed at the woman on the bed. A small squeeze of his shoulder, and those green eyes unclouded and looked up at the teacher in shock.

“I don’t suspect he’ll be playing with Incendio again.” The statement from the nurse broke the moment, and Severus replied, “No, I don’t imagine he will. Thank you for your assistance.”

They walked back to the entrance in somber silence, each caught in their own thoughts. As he handed the access passes back to the nurse and stepped outside he gave another glance to Harry.

As soon as they stepped out of the hospital the boy’s defenses crumbled. Severus could see his mouth twisting, and could only assume he was trying not to cry. After a moment Harry took in a shuddering breath and made two signs. [[Home please

He moved to draw Harry closer to him, to secure him for Disapparition, and noticed just how heavily the boy was shaking. Making a lightening-quick decision he pulled the boy up into his arms and settled him on a bony hip. “Hang on to me tightly, Harry,” he said.

He needn’t have bothered though, as the child had his face buried against his neck, and had grabbed onto his robes like a lifeline.

It was not over though. He had to be sure. With a sharp movement he pulled a chair over to a corner and Accio’d a book off his worktable. Leading Harry to the chair, he asked, “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

Harry shook his head, but Severus pulled at his trouser legs to reveal heavily bruised knees. He sighed a cast a quick healing spell, feeling more relieved than he ought when the skin on those knobby knees returned to normal.

“Do not do that again. If you are hurt I want you to tell me so so that I can fix it.” He pulled the boy’s chin up and continued, “You are not to punish yourself that way, am I clear?”

Satisfied with the nod of affirmation he received, the professor stood and turned the chair - and the boy in it – to face the corner. He set the book in Harry’s hands and instructed, “You will remain in that chair, reading that book and thinking of the consequences of your actions, until I tell you that you are through.”

He sat down to his own marking, although he was not very productive. He glanced up every few minutes to ensure Harry was moving through the book. It was one from Hogwart’s own library on magical safety. It was age appropriate, and thus not too traumatizing, although Severus knew it contained more than one ‘cautionary tale’.

Not quite 20 minutes had gone by when he heard the first sob from the corner. He did not say anything right away, and only moved from his chair when the crying became more intense – the boy was weeping loudly and messily in the way that only children seem to do.

It was too much, even for him. He tried not to think of all the times Potter had been reduced to tears in this room.

“Harry, turn around please.” The boy wiped his face on his sleeve and Snape couldn’t help but grimace. Now wasn’t the time for petty etiquette lessons, however.

“Do you understand why what you did was wrong?”

A nod.

“You could have been gravely hurt, or killed. Dumbledore, your friends and classmates, it would hurt them terribly if something happened to you.”

Another sob, and then Harry pointed towards him with a pitiful face and a question. Snape knew what he was asking.

“You want to know what I would feel if something happened to you?”

Another nod. He wondered, for a moment, just how honest he should be. And then he mind jumped back to his thoughts of the night before, his wonderings on why he had never received the adult attention that he had so clearly needed. No, he would have to be honest with the boy.

“Me, I would feel nothing.” Harry’s face crumpled impossibly. Severus took several meaningful steps forward, but could not quite get all the way to the chair before he looked across the room and added, “I would feel nothing, Harry, because if something happened to you I do not think I would survive it.”

With that heavy admission Harry was out of the chair and across the room, flinging himself into Severus’ arms. The emotions of the day overwhelmed him, and it took the professor several moments to realize that Harry was signing [[I’m sorry over and over again.

But instead of making the fisted sign against his own chest, as was the standard, Harry was moving his hand against his teacher’s chest, as if he was trying somehow to make his apology more.

It was too much for Severus, and all he could think to say was, “It’s all right, child. It’s over now.”

Harry spent several hours in the common room that evening trying to make sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours. He knew he had been foolish to try the incendio spell. Well, he knew that now. The day had wiped him out, with the hospital and the scene in Snape’s quarters. He had been sure he had no more tears to cry; in fact, he was getting quite tired of himself sniveling all the time, truth be told.

But Snape always seemed to know what to do and what to say to wring the last tears out of him. Harry didn’t think the man did it on purpose, but he managed to accomplish it all the same. If it hadn’t been for the past several months and all the things the professor had done for him he would have suspected that he got some enjoyment out of making Harry cry.

They’d both been emotionally exhausted after their day at the hospital. He’d apologized to his caretaker the only way he could think of, circling his fist against Snape’s chest. They’d remained like that for some time, until dinner was brought in and Harry was ushered off to the loo to wash his face of the tears that had dried there.

The silence that reigned between them over supper had been calm; peaceful even. Harry suspected that Snape had meant what he said; that it was all over, that the teacher was no longer angry with him. His relief was tangible. He wasn’t off the hook completely, however. As they had tucked into their pudding, Snape had given him one of those long, appraising looks that Harry was getting used to, but still didn’t know the meaning of.

“Despite everything that we’ve done today, one thing is clearly obvious. Your moods and the swings thereof recently have been thoroughly tiring. I suspect something is bothering you, or weighing on your mind. I suggest,” and he said this last in such a way that Harry knew that it was anything but a suggestion, “that you spend some time ruminating on your state of mind. These extremes cannot continue.”

Harry could only stare at his plate. He knew the man was right; he had been behaving in ways that were frustrating, even to himself. It wasn’t as if he was doing it on purpose – it just seemed that so many different thoughts and feelings were coursing through him, and all of them seemed to be so . . . extreme. He was never just sad, he was miserable. He wasn’t just apprehensive - he was anxious and insecure. And when he was happy, it was if all he could do was laugh and grin and bounce around the castle.

And then there was Snape. It wasn’t simple appreciation for he’d done for Harry. There was another feeling, and it made him hopeful and sad all at the same time, twisting in his stomach and causing his heart to beat in his throat half the time he was in the dungeons. Or it left him warm and sleepy, as if he was wrapped in a blanket in front of a fire.

And somehow Snape wanted him to suss all this out? It seemed like an impossible task. Thankfully he had Ron and Hermione to distract him.

His friends had tried to pull him back into a discussion of the philosopher’s stone almost immediately upon his arrival in the dorms, but that quickly came to a halt when he explained that was no longer in possession of the list of “suspects”.

“Why not, what happened to it? Oh no! Snape didn’t find it, did he?”

Harry shook his head, and hoping to distract them from going any further into the story, he pointed to himself, mimicked a wand movement, and then decided to write it down after all. ‘I kind of ruined it with a spell.’ They didn’t need to know he had done it one purpose.

“What spell did you do?”

Sighing, he wrote it down.

“Icendio! Cool! Did it work? Was it slow or fast to burn? What was it like?”

“Ronald!” Hermione admonished, “It is not cool! Harry could have been hurt. It’s not even a spell we’ve learned yet.”

“Hasn’t stopped you yet, has it?”

She coloured and scowled before curiosity got the best of her, too. “Well, how did it go?”

Reluctantly, Harry sat down and started writing down the whole saga for his friends, from the moment he recited the spell, to their arrival back in the dungeons. He passed it over to them to read with some trepidation. Who knew how Ron would react this time?

Strangely, it was Hermione who seemed upset by the whole thing.

“Harry that’s awful! He shouldn’t have done that, it sounds like it was terribly harsh!”

Before he could register this, however, Ron piped up, causing Harry to sit there with his mouth hanging open.

“I don’t know ‘Mione. It sounds like something my Mum would do.” His best friend said. Then he leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “I always try to put on my most pathetic, apologetic face, even if I’m not all that sorry. It always works! You should try that.”

Hermione broke out in giggles, and he wasn’t quite sure whether it was at Ron’s remark or at the stunned look he was sure he was wearing. Ron had the grace to blush.

“My Dad talked to me about it. Explained a few things. Told me I ‘take things for granted’. Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re a bit nutters – I mean, it is Snape – but I kind of get it now.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he hugged his friend.

The previously uncomfortable subject dealt with, the trio went on to pass several hours poring over the list of suspects (Hermione had a backup copy, of course). They were no closer to figuring out who might want the stone. After all, anyone might. Who wouldn’t want to live forever?

“I think we ought to talk to Hagrid.” Hermione suggested, after the fifth round of asking the same questions over and over again.

“Hagrid? Why?” Ron asked, voicing Harry’s thoughts as usual.

“Well, Hagrid has a passion for animals. Don’t you think he might know something about the dog? And if we can find out a little more about the dog, well, at least it’s something. Every little bit of information helps.”

“Well, I suppose…”

Truthfully, Harry didn’t see how information about the dog would help them at all. But he understood that Hermione was getting frustrated at their lack of progress, and that knowing more would make her feel better. Even if it was about the dog. Plus, it would be nice to see Hagrid, Harry thought. He hadn’t been to see his large friend in quite some time, and he was coming to realize now just how much of his regular life he’d neglected, now that things were settling down.

Well, mostly settling down, he still had to – what had Snape called it? ‘Ruminate on his state of mind.’

Yeah, right.

Easy.

He resisted the urge to groan in frustration.

It took him a week of sneaking off to the astronomy tower every night, before he could bring himself to face the truth of what was occupying his thoughts. He would let his mind wander, hoping that if he didn’t censor his thoughts everything would become clear. When the epiphanies did come, he would sit and stare at the stars, or draw. He’d become quite handy with a quill and parchment during these last several months of silence.

And thus he was occupied on his fifth visit to the tower -- thinking and drawing. He knew Ron and Hermione thought his distraction was due to the Philosopher’s Stone, but that wasn’t it at all. It was his fear of loss, his brittle need for what was missing. And he was angry in a way, at his parents for dying, at Dumbledore for leaving him with the Dursley’s and even at himself for looking for something he’d always been able to survive without before.

Glancing down at his parchment he saw what he had drawn and the simple, unalienable truth flooded through him.

He wanted somebody to take care of him. He wanted a parent.

All of a sudden he was very, very tired.

Finishing up with his drawing he tucked it into his robes. He had done what Snape had asked. And even if it wasn’t the relief he thought it would be, he could head down to the dungeons with a clear conscience.

As Harry inched into the the professor’s quarters, Snape looked up at him with one brow arched and, well, it wasn’t a smile exactly. More like less of a frown. A small burst of happiness coursed through Harry at the sight of the man, who was sitting at the desk in his workroom as usual.

“So you’ve chosen to reappear, have you?” Snape commented.

Harry settled into his regular chair with confidence, and passed a quick scribble across the desk.

‘I think you missed me!’

Snape only snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yes, the cleanliness and peace and quiet was far too much to bear.”

Harry laughed at the sarcasm and began fishing through his bag for his homework. As he we doing so, the potion’s professor took the opportunity to add, “While I trust your return means you have done some thinking, I did not mean to suggest that you stay away while doing so. Yes, you needed to figure out what was bothering you, but you don’t need to be perfect to be down here, Harry. If you did, I certainly wouldn’t be living here.”

The warmth of that reassurance stayed with Harry as he finished his homework and readied himself for bed. Throwing his robe haphazardly across the end of the bed, he smiled to himself as he changed into his pyjamas. I don’t have to be perfect. It was a sad revelation, and Harry was so taken with it that he didn’t notice his rolled up parchment, the one with his drawing, had fallen out of his pocket and rolled under the bed.

He was avoiding marking at all costs. Otherwise he would never be in the Harry’s room [When did it become ‘Harry’s room’? he vaguely wondered going through the remnants of Luka’s things.

His need to procrastinate had driven him to going through his godson’s possessions, packing away the things that were clearly too young for Harry. He had been putting the task off for too long now, afraid of facing the reality of the boy’s death. But the room was occupied by a different boy now, and it was about time it reflected that.

Plus, he really had no desire to mark the first year essays that were piled on his workroom desk.

He pulled out one carton various toys and other odds and ends that had interested his godson. He tried not to look too closely at them; instead he concentrated on analysing their potential interest to Harry.

Finally pushing the first carton aside to fish out another, he noticed a rolled up piece of parchment. As he pulled it from its hiding place he noticed it was covered in children’s drawing ink.

His heart stopped, hoping he had not just stumbled across a drawing from his dead godson. He wasn’t sure he could take it.

What he found was not much easier to deal with.

There on the parchment was a frighteningly accurate child’s drawing of himself. He was smiling down at a boy. A boy with glasses and a lightening bolt shaped scar. Above them in the far corner, were ghostly-light sketches of James and Lily Potter, also smiling.

That was bad enough, but there at the bottom underneath the drawing-Severus, Harry had written in shaky, childish printing:

‘I wish he was my Dad’.

Severus stared at the drawing in shock. He could practically feel the emotion radiating off of it. Suddenly a previous conversation came rearing to the front of his consciousness. That Granger girl, poking her nose into things that don’t involve her. As always.

”He’s got a sign for you professor.”

“I am well aware of that Miss Granger.”

“Well, actually, it’s two signs.”

“And your point being?”

“I just thought you might want to know, that’s all.”

“I am more than aware, thank you.”

She walked away for a few steps, and he thought for a moment the conversation was over. But then she spun back on her heel and asked

“Don’t you want to know what they mean?!”

He folded his arms in a sign of calmness that he did not quite feel.

“I have no doubt that Mr. Potter will tell me when he is ready to do so.”

Perhaps finding this drawing was the only sign he would ever get from the boy. He suddenly needed to find out what those signs were. With any luck he’ll have found the sign language equivalents for ‘Greasy Git’.

The first sign was easy to find. He had seen it before, marked down in the Ts – ‘teacher’. That made sense. In fact it made so much sense that he immediately wondered what Harry could have added to it. Then again, perhaps he didn’t want to know. He paused before turning back to the book once again.

It didn’t take long to find it. There, under the Fs. He stared for a few moments, his brain not really comprehending the words his eyes were seeing.

There, on the page, was the following description of the sign that had followed ‘teacher’ for the last several months.

Father, Dad, Daddy.

The last one knocked the breath out of his body. A thought flitted briefly through his mind. I wonder what version he was trying to use? However it did not have time to settle.

He sat down, hard, on Harry’s bed.

Obviously he had to talk to the child. At the very least, about the drawing. As for the other, well, that would have to be left for another time. He had the distinct idea that a conversation about the drawing would be hard enough on the boy. Bringing up the sign would be a disaster. Potter probably figured he would never find out what it meant. He almost wished he hadn’t.

The professor took his time walking to Gryffindor tower. He tried to come up with something professional and unemotional to say to the boy, but he failed at every turn.

Eventually he accepted that there was only one way to approach this: as a grown man who needed to lend some emotional guidance to a child.

He sneered to himself at the irony. Severus Snape had to teach Harry Potter not to be ashamed of his emotions.

He wondered briefly if the apocalypse was upon them.

The boy came bounding out of the tower a few minutes after the fat lady had gone to fetch him. He grinned up at his teacher and greeted the man with his personal sign. Snape resisted the frown that began to creep over his face at the dual implications of that sign. Potter would talk when he was ready. And if he knew the boy at all, not one minute before.

Pushing the thought out of his head he greeted Potter with a sharp nod.

“Gather your things, you will be staying overnight in the dungeons.”

Another few minutes later they were headed for his rooms, Snape striding down the hall at his regular pace, Harry beside him trying to keep up with a half jog, half skip. Every so often Snape would see this and moderate his speed only to find he had sped up again.

Oh well, a little exercise wouldn’t hurt the boy.

Upon reaching his rooms he found himself at a loss as to how to approach the subject. He paced back and forth behind his desk for a few minutes, stopping only when he spotted Harry shrink back in his chair.

“Relax silly child. I just thought we should talk.”

Expectant big green eyes stared back at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Harry, I understand that things have been confusing, emotionally, for you lately. You understand that you’re not going back to the Dursley’s at the end of the year?”

Harry nodded, although it was far too hesitant for Snape’s taste.

“The Dursley’s were terrible guardians. They did not behave in any way properly towards you. They didn’t provide any support or guidance that any normal child needs. Children are not meant to raise themselves. When they are left to do so,” his fingers moved unconsciously to his left forearm, “bad things can happen.”

“It’s understandable and completely normal to want to have an adult in your life to fill the role your parents would have, had they lived.”

He knew what he was about to say was likely to be huge for the boy, thus he moved from behind his desk and stood in front of Harry. He even dropped to one knee so they were at equal eye level.

Harry’s eyes got impossibly wider at the unusual action. His teacher had only done that before when there were Big and Important Things going on. As for Snape, he could see the boy grow tense, moving into fight or flight mode as soon as his personal space was breached. The potions master he slowed, keeping his movements deliberate.

“Child,” he began, pausing briefly when Lily’s eyes blinked at him solemnly.

“When I was your age I was alone too. And I desperately wanted a father – one who didn’t beat me for every little infraction.” He could see the compassion on the little one’s face, and a hand came up to lay atop his in what he could only assume was an attempt to comfort. He almost couldn’t continue.

“I never really found one, but I can certainly understand the desire.”

Harry felt his heart start thudding faster in his chest. Was the professor reading his mind? What did he know? He took a huge breath and tried to shove his fears down under his feet. Grabbing his ever-present quill and parchment he scrawled out

‘I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?’

Severus had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that he wouldn’t need to confront the boy with what he had found. He had no desire to deal with more tears and questions, but what must be done, must be done, and Severus Snape was never one to shirk his duty. He pulled out the drawing from his robe and began to unroll it.

“I found this in your room, Harry.”

He could almost physically see the panic settle over his student.

The only thing Harry could think was Nonononononono. The word resounded at an incredible volume in his head. He had only seen the flash of colour on the parchment before he slammed his eyes shut.

He did not need to see the picture to know what it contained. He had drawn it last week in what he now considered a fit of childishness and sentimentality. He was horrified and embarrassed that his teacher had found it.

And if his teacher didn’t already think he was a stupid baby, he would now, because Harry could feel hot tears running down his cheeks. He scrubbed at them, hoping vainly to get rid of the evidence.

He needed to get out of here before he managed to do any permanent damage. If he left now, maybe Snape wouldn’t hate him forever for the liberties he had taken.

But Harry had barely pushed the chair back an inch when thin, icy fingers re-gripped his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair.

“Don’t take me for a fool.” And then, more softly, “I knew this would be difficult for you and that you would try to leave. I can’t allow you to do that. I’m not trying to be cruel, Harry, but it’s important that we talk about this.”

The boy still wouldn’t look at him, but he circled a fist against his chest. Severus recognized that sign all too well.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I am not upset by this. In fact, your feelings flatter me. I find our new relationship. . .” he struggled, “. . . satisfying.” It was all he could bring himself to say.

He took another deep breath. He could say this; that was the easy part. It was the follow-up that would be difficult.

“I know you already have a father, Harry. And this drawing wasn’t a slight towards him. But unfortunately he isn’t here, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to form a similar relationship with someone who is. I am willing to play that role.”

That got Harry to look at him. It was clear he was trying to quash his hope. His shaking hands managed to write one word.

‘Really?’

“Yes, really.”

Harry’s whole body began to shake. Rather violently, Severus thought with mild worry. Merely a moment had passed when Harry ran from the room and threw himself onto his bed.

He gave into his panic, although he bit his fist to keep from making noise.

He wasn’t even sure why he was crying in the first place. Snape had just offered to take care of him. Like a parent. That was a good thing wasn’t it?

He felt a familiar weight settle on the edge of his bed, and a hand come to rest on his back. It felt nice.

“Come now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were rejecting my offer.”

Severus had meant it to lighten the mood. He’d even managed to put a non-sneer-like lilt in his voice. Apparently Harry hadn’t noticed, because he turned, horror and worry on his face.

“No!” came the shout as he threw himself at Severus, arms encircling his neck. The man was so stunned at the action that he almost didn’t notice the next muffled sound from the boy, whose face was now buried against his shoulder.

“Please. I want that. I do!”

A rather shell-shocked potions master returned the embrace.

Harry had spoken of his own free will. Finally.

As he let himself into the Headmaster’s office, he was greeted by the standard offer of a lemon drop. One day I may take one, he thought sarcastically; just to give the old man a thrill. Perhaps as a retirement gift.

“I imagine you’ve surmised why we are here, Severus.”

“Feel free to shock me by telling me this isn’t about Potter.”

“Ah. I have become predictable, it seems.”

Snape rolled his eyes. Become?

“How is young Harry doing?”

“He is well. As I believe I mentioned, there is no need to worry. Not to the excessive degree you and Minerva McGonagall seem to be.”

“He is not talking yet.”

“Is he answering in class? Incanting when he is required?”

“Yes, of course. But he is not speaking otherwise.”

“On the contrary. He speaks to me.” He could see the momentary look of surprise on Dumbledore’s face, and Severus could not deny the spark of pride that lighted within him. True the boy was hardly giving rousing monologues, but he was speaking.

“Is he speaking to his friends?”

“I would hardly know. I do not sit in on Gryffindor chat sessions.”

“While I certainly can appreciate the improvements he has made in opening up to you, it concerns me that he isn’t the same boy who arrived here in September.”

“And perhaps he never will be. A lot has happened to the boy this year, and I think everyone is expecting too much of a first year student. Perhaps he never really was that boy to begin with,” Severus surmised softly.

Albus seemed sad at the thought, but continued on. “There is still a discussion to be had about summer arrangements for Harry. Since you insinuated that you would like to be involved in any major decisions involving young Mr. Potter...”

“If you think that I am about to stand by as a bit player in this conversion...”

“I would hardly presume.”

“And yet you presume there is still a decision to be made about where Mr. Potter will be staying this summer.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to stop playing Slytherin word games, my boy.” The rebuke was mild, but Snape still felt colour rising to his cheeks.

“I see no reason to increase the amounts of upheaval in his life. The current situation is satisfactory, so I would suggest we retain it.”

“You are suggesting Harry stay with you for the summer?”

“I am.” He decided it wouldn’t hurt to be diplomatic. “Provided you have no objections?”

“None. Only that you of course get Harry’s agreement to your proposition.”

“Of course,” he murmured.

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

They weren't with Hagrid long before the giant let slip what had happened.

He hadn't been all that forthcoming at first, but soon he was mumbling curiously about how many people seemed to be interested in "Fluffy" these days, and it wasn't long before he divulged the key points of his card game and the mysterious stranger he'd played it with.

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked back to their common room in silent concern.

"Hagrid really needs to be more careful," Hermione finally sighed as they stepped through the portrait hole.

"Tell me about it!" Ron exclaimed. "I mean, sure he wanted the dragon egg, but why go yapping on about his dog?"

'It wasn't a coincidence.' Harry wrote as soon as he was able.

He couldn't help but notice his friends’ matching looks of disappointment, but he just wasn't ready yet. While he could finally admit that his fear of speaking had been based on the idea that his -- teacher -- would abandon him thereafter, even though he was now speaking to the man in question, he found himself reluctant and shy with everyone else. Especially after all this time.

Shaking the guilt off, he continued writing. 'How likely is it that a man walks into the village with a dragon egg, just the thing Hagrid wants, and he just happens to ask questions about how to get past a dog that's clearly guarding something?'

"So you think someone talked to Hagrid on purpose?"

Harry nodded emphatically.

"Well in that case we really ought to tell Professor McGonagall!" Hermione exclaimed.

They ran down the empty corridors towards the transfiguration classroom and slid to a halt in front of the desk where their Head of House was currently seated.

"Professor we need to talk to you!" Hermione began, slightly out of breath.

She raised an eyebrow at them, looking suspiciously like Snape, Harry thought. He wondered vaguely if the ability to arch a brow was part of the requirements for teaching staff at Hogwarts.

"The lot of you ought to be in your dorms, it's late." She looked back down to her papers, as if to dismiss them, when Ron broke in.

"We think someone's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone!"

Their professor paled slightly and then demanded, “How do you know about the Stone?”

“It was simple really, we just put together all the pieces of the puzzle, like the dog and the vault and -- ” Hermione started in, using her best student voice.

“Enough Miss Granger. The three of you listen to me, and listen well. You are not to concern yourself with the stone. It is well protected, you can trust me on that.”

“But --”

“No buts, off with the three of you, surely you have something better to do than this nonsense.”

With that they were summarily dismissed, and Harry couldn’t help but think See, talking never gets you anywhere. No one ever listens.

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

They had barely stepped out of the portrait hole later that night when a lamp flared to their left. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat at the thought that they’d been caught out by Filch, and then proceeded to plummet into his stomach at the sight of Professor Snape.

“The last time I checked, portraits didn’t open and close themselves. Reveal yourself immediately Mr. Potter, or I will gladly Accio your cloak and do the revealing for you.”

Oh God. Snape hadn’t spoken to him in that tone in ages. Harry took a brief moment to ensure his face looked calmer than he felt before flinging the invisibility cloak back.

Severus paused only long enough to meet Harry’s eyes with a look of disappointment before commenting, “Well, all three of you heading off into trouble. How shocking.”

“Sir,” Hermione popped up, “we were just --”

“Spare me the excuses. At the very least you are out wandering the castle well past your bedtime.” Harry flushed hotly at the use of the childish phrase. He could have at least said ‘curfew’. “Not to mention the fact that the use of the cloak implies you are up to something you know is prohibited. The three of you will march yourselves straight down to my quarters. I believe Mr. Potter knows the way.”

Harry sighed and turned to lead the way down to the man’s workrooms, but before he could even take a step he was stopped by the sound of Snape clearing his throat rather pointedly. With a glare that he couldn’t prevent, he bunched up his cloak and handed it over.

He wasn’t sure why their teacher didn’t follow directly behind them, but by the time he strode into the room Harry, Ron and Hermione had been there for several minutes, staring at each other in worry.

That worry only increased when Snape shut the door behind him with a rather thunderous slam.

“What were you doing?”

“Just what you saw, sir, walking around the castle.” Ron offered.

“Do not presume to play games with me Mr. Weasley. You will lose. You know exactly what I meant. What were you going to do?”

“Well, professor, there’s this book in the restricted section --”

Severus wasn’t paying any attention to the Granger girl’s weak attempt at an excuse. His eyes were on Harry, who was clearly uncomfortable with the tales his friends were telling. The boy’s lips were pressed together so hard they’d turned white, and the sleeves of his jumper was clutched in his fists. He met Harry’s eyes, hoping the message was clear.

Do not lie to me. Gather that Gryffindor bravery and speak your mind.

“We were going after the Philosopher’s Stone! We think someone’s trying to steal it,” Harry finally burst out.

“I know.”

All three children gaped at him. It would have been gratifying if it weren’t for their utter recklessness.

“Your Head of House informed me of the conversation she had with you earlier this evening.”

“You knew this whole time?! Then why bother with all of that just now?”

“Mr. Weasley, I suggest you use your talent for strategy on something other than chess and learn when to keep your mouth shut!”

Severus did allow himself to smirk then, as he watched the youngest Weasley struggle between anger at the admonition and shock at the implied compliment. Shaking himself out of it, he focused once more on The-Boy-Who-Managed-to-Sneak-Into-His-Life.

“You are not to go anywhere near that stone. It is hidden for a reason, and there are precautions in place to guard it that three first years should not be mucking about with. You are to stay out of danger, do I make myself clear?”

“But what about someone stealing it? There was this man with Hagrid wondering about the dog and --” Harry began to argue, but as he suspected, he didn’t get to finish his thought.

“I share your concerns, believe me. If it will ease all our minds I will go check on the stone tonight myself.”

“What?! You just said it was dangerous and that we couldn’t go! Why would you go instead?” Harry yelled.

“Because I am the adult and you are the child!” The anger and frustration must have been evident in his tone and volume, because all three gryffindors cowered slightly.

That only increased his frustration. If the stone truly was in danger he didn’t have time to coddle children. However it was clear that despite Harry’s desire for a parent, he had no idea how such a relationship was supposed to work.

Growling he turned back towards his student – his son – and crouched down at the boy’s eye level. This was important.

“You told me the other day that you wanted a father, did you not?” Harry swallowed and nodded slightly. They both ignored the gasps from his friends. “Well Harry, this is what fathers --” he was cut off by his own vivid memory of Lily, and the sacrifice she had made. “This is what parents do. They protect their children.”

He could see the understanding, or at least an attempt to grasp the idea alight in Harry’s eyes. He was about to stand again when a small hand clutched at the sleeve of his robes.

Harry leaned in towards him and whispered into his ear, as if sharing a precious secret. “I’m scared.”

Severus suddenly found it difficult to swallow. He could hear what Harry didn’t say. Never one for empty promises he simply stated,

“A brave man is not one who does not feel afraid, but one that goes on in spite of that fear.(1) Remember that Harry.”

With that he stood, “If I am not back here in three hours go fetch your head of house.”

Fishing something out of the pocket of his robes, he handed it to Harry, who scowled down at it, recognizing his second coupon of obedience – the last of his Christmas gift to Snape.

“You don’t need to use this. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

“Consider it my insurance. Three hours.” And with that, he strode purposefully out the door.

(1) NOTE: This quote has been attributed to various people, including Nelson Mandela, Bruce Lee and Ambrose Redmoon. It is not mine.

For a few moments Harry allowed himself the luxury of not worrying about the potions professor’s fate, and instead he worried about the reaction of his friends to the conversation that had just happened. A lot had been revealed – perhaps too much. Harry liked to believe that had they not been overwhelmed by the situation, both he and Snape would have been more careful about what they said. Neither one of them were prone to sharing their thoughts and feelings with an audience. Even if it was just Ron and Hermione.

Or perhaps it was even worse because it was Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t really sure his friends would understand how his relationship with Snape had changed, or why. He wasn’t even sure of those things himself. Sure he had dropped a few unintentional hints, and they had picked up on a few clues, but generally he had kept the fact that Snape was being so kind to him – looking after him – to himself. It was his private treasure, and he hadn’t wanted to share it for fear it would tarnish.

He flushed at the fact that his own neediness was now so apparent, and turned to his friends, bracing himself for their reaction.

He was surprised to find them both looking rather undisturbed.

Ron was the first to break the silence. “Harry! You’re talking mate! That’s great.”

“Um, yeah…about Professor Snape…and what he said….”

“Harry, really,” Hermione interrupted him, “you don’t need to explain anything. We understand. Don’t we Ron?” Harry didn’t miss the fact that she had elbowed their friend pretty roughly in the side, but he appreciated the nod Ron gave in agreement regardless.

More softly and sympathetically she added, “Everyone needs parents, Harry.”

“Even you?” Harry couldn’t help but tease Ron.

“Sure. Just don’t tell them I said that!” his friend replied with a grin.

“Maybe we should go after him…” Harry said suddenly, his thoughts back to their teacher.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Harry. Professor Snape made it pretty clear that he wanted you to stay here.”

“I know that Hermione, but what if he can’t get past the dog? I never got the chance to tell him about music putting it to sleep.”

“He’s got a point ‘mione.” Ron stated agreeably.

“He does not!” She exclaimed. Turning to Harry she added, “I’m sorry Harry, but if you go after him I swear I’ll go to Professor McGonagall right this minute!”

“Fine!” he muttered, with a glare to his more obedient friend. He allowed himself to sulk for a moment, and then suggested, “Exploding Snap?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He tried to keep himself together, he really did. He was grateful for the presence of his friends, because without them he might have given into his more childish instincts and hid in the potions supply cupboard. Or worse, he might have given into his more Gryffindor instincts and gone after the man.

As it were, as they approached the two and a half hour mark with no return of Snape, Harry found himself retreating into silence. Ron was trying to play chess with Hermione, who had no aptitude for the game and therefore no real interest in it, and he watched them from the big leather armchair Snape usually read in after dinner.

“Harry, I know you’re worried, but I swear if you drop that jar one more time I’m going to go ballistic!”

He stared at Ron for a moment, and then down at his hands. He hadn’t even realized he’d been fidgeting with anything, let alone the empty jar of healing balm from when he was first attacked. The memory made him feel both wary and safe at the same time.

“It’s been too long” he finally said. “I have to do something.”

“It hasn’t been three hours yet.”

“I don’t care!” he yelled, and then immediately felt bad about it. His friends were only just getting used to him speaking again, and here he was hollering at them. “Please, can we just go to McGonagall at least?”

And so they went, with Harry leading the way at a run.

Their head of house barely looked up from her papers as they came into the room, and did so only long enough to register their presence and frown.

“This had better not be about the stone. I told the three of you to leave that to Dumbledore.”

“It is about the stone, but Professor Snape --”

“Professor Snape’s involvement with the stone is also none of your concern. Now return to the tower before I’m forced to take points from my own house.”

“Please, professor. You’ve got to listen to us!” Harry exclaimed in frustration. When she looked at him in surprise, Harry couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with himself. He thought that might get her attention.

The woman seemed to gather herself after a moment and then slowly replied, “By all means, then, Mr. Potter. Do continue.”

An unspoken challenge if ever he heard one.

“Well you told him we knew about the stone and he confronted us, and now he’s gone after it himself. He told us to come get you if he wasn’t back in three hours. It’s only been 2 and a half, but I’m worried.”

It was the most he’d said to her in months, perhaps all year, and it certainly seemed to have an impact.

“I’ll gather some of the staff and take care of it. You’re to wait in the tower.”

Great, just what he needed. More waiting.

However much to Harry’s surprise, he wasn’t waiting long. In fact merely half an hour had passed before McGonagall strode into the common room looking grave.

Taking Harry, Ron and Hermione aside she quietly told them, “We have recovered Professor Snape. He is in the infirmary. It seems your suspicions about theft were correct, and there was an – altercation. You are not to breathe a word of this situation to anyone, do I make myself clear?”

Harry felt his vision tunnelling in, and leaned heavily against the wall to keep himself from falling.

He hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt, he really hadn’t. And now Snape was in the hospital, and what if he –

He didn’t have time to finish the thought, however. McGonagall was clearly speaking to him, and he shook his head to try and focus.

“I’m to accompany you to the hospital wing, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster has requested your presence.”

Harry could only nod. Clearly his worst fears had come true.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus heard frantic voices all around him, but couldn’t quite bring himself to open his eyes. There was very little pain, but there was a healthy amount of exhaustion, so he could only assume that he was being treated in the infirmary. He was about to slip back into sleep when he heard a frantic, high-pitched voice.

Harry.

Still too far gone to open his eyes, he tried to focus on what the boy was saying.

“Wake up, please wake up! You promised. You said you’d take care of me.”

He had not, of course, made any such promise. Not technically, anyway. But he knew that there was no difference to a child. Nor, truthfully, was there much difference to him. The intent was the same. Harry sounded desperate, like he was on the edge of panic. Snape tried to open his eyes, but no one noticed in their efforts to hush Potter.

He could hear Albus talking to the boy softly, and he tried to shift towards the voices, to no avail.

“Harry, he’ll be fine.”

“But he won’t wake up! He should never gone down there, I should never have told him.”

“I don’t think Severus would want to hear you say that.”

Damn right. The boy had enough emotional issues to begin with. He didn’t need guilt as well. Not any more guilt anyway.

“But it’s true! If I hadn’t told him what I suspected about the stone he’d be okay right now.”

“Harry, why do you think Professor Snape went after the stone?”

“To protect it.”

“Yes. And?”

There was a long pause here, and once again Severus almost fell back asleep. But just as he found himself drifting Harry’s quiet response came through.

“To protect me, so I wouldn’t go after it. He said . . . he said that’s what parents do.”

“Exactly so.” He could almost hear the old man smiling in delight at this proof of his sentimentality. With such a peaceful, confirming response from the Headmaster he did not expect Harry’s outburst.

“Well he LIED! He lied! That’s not what parents do. Apparently what parents do is die!” Harry’s voice broke at the end of his horrible ‘truth’. It was motivation Severus needed to finally bring himself to full consciousness.

“I assure you, that by no means am I dead. Unless, of course, this school actually is hell, and I am doomed to an eternity with a throbbing migraine.”

There was a hush of silence, and he spotted Harry across the room, being gently restrained by Dumbledore.

Poppy immediately began to inundate him with questions about the state of his health, and he was so distracted that he almost missed the broken, whispered question from the boy.

“Daddy?”

Harry hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud, anyway. Sure he had thought it to himself in moments of weakness and silliness, but he would never, ever have said it. He was so scared and so relieved and so tired and so shocked, well, it had just slipped out. He couldn’t even entertain the hope that no one had heard him, because the instant the word had passed his lips, the faces of all the adults whipped towards him, eyes wide. Including Snape’s.

The man had heard him. Oh how could he have been so incredibly stupid? He’d ruined everything, just like he always knew he would.

Yanking himself free of Dumbledore, Harry fled the room.

Severus stared at the boy’s retreating back as Dumbledore quietly followed him out the door. Snape found himself sighing into his hands.

“Sometimes I swear that boy is 11 going on 35, going on 8.”

“Well of course.” Poppy said from the other side of the room. Her voice betrayed enough confidence that he cast a glance at her in question.

“The abuses the Dursley’s have subjected him to have both effects. Of course he seems older than his years, and that’s what everyone expects. However it is quite common for abused children to temporarily regress in certain behaviours once they’ve found a secure environment. They don’t typically even realize they’re doing it, but they try to get the experiences they missed out on. Like being carried to bed,” Poppy relayed, and gave a pointed look along with her example.

He couldn’t deny that some of that certainly applied to Harry, but the very idea seemed bathed in sentimentality and silliness. Perhaps the mediwitch was just being fanciful. So he asked, “And you come by this knowledge how?”

She gave him a look that made him feel like just got caught with his hand in the biscuit jar before dinner.

“Really, Severus. You didn’t think I’d take a nursing post at a school without being familiar with child psychology?”

He’d certainly never given the subject much thought, so he chose not to answer that particular inquiry. He assumedit was rhetorical. “So how am I supposed to know how to respond to him if he keeps fluctuating back and forth?”

“He’ll make it very clear where he’s at and what he needs from you. He just did, did he not?”

If that is her definition of ‘clear’, Severus thought, Potter and I are both doomed.

"Whatever for?"

"I need to see to the boy." He said, speaking as if to a very young, very stupid child.

"You've got worse head injuries than I imagined if you think I"m letting you leave this room, you"ve been hit by what I can only assume is the cruciatus, not to mention the various other wounds you seem to have acquired."

You should see Quirrell, he couldn't help but think to himself with a smirk. Or at least, what"s left of him. Out loud he replied, "I suppose it is rather fortuitous then that I am not asking your permission. I will go whether you bring me the potions or not, that much is a fact."

"Don't be ridiculous, the Headmaster can see to Harry. He's likely found him by now."

Severus began to move off the bed. Slowly. He winced in exaggerated pain, hoping the sight would move Pomfrey to get the pain reliever potion. No such luck. "The Headmaster's efforts will be inadequate, I assure you. Now will you assist me or not?"

"I will not! You are absolutely in no condition to be leaving the hospital. I do not understand why you are being so incredibly stubborn about this, even for you. Harry will be fine, he always pulls through."

"And are we all satisfied with "fine"? Because I assure you, "fine" is not good enough for me when it come to my chi---"

"I would suggest that you stop right there, Severus."

He had to admit that up until that very moment he had forgotten that Minerva McGonagall was even in the room. The only reaction he could manage to muster up at her interruption was to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

She took it for what it was and responded. "There's been a lot of surprising language thrown about here today both by you and Mr. Potter, and about you and Mr. Potter. I understand that the relationship between the two of you has changed, and while Harry's reactions are understandable, I take issue with you referring to him as your child. He deserves better than that!"

As her words registered, rage surged within him. Despite his usual ability to mask his emotions, he was unable to prevent his temper from showing. How dare she?! And yet surely he should have expected as much - no one would think a former Death Eater was an appropriate parental figure for Harry Potter The Golden Boy of The Wizarding World.

"I beg your pardon?" The dangerous tone of his response was impossible to miss.

"Answer me this, Severus, have you made any legal arrangements to adopt the boy, or even to arrange for simple guardianship?"

Well. That he had not expected.

"I cannot say I have. And I fail to see how legalities should matter."

"They wouldn't to you, as I'm sure a piece of paper doesn't change any responsibility you feel towards the boy. And it's quite possible that the "legalities" don't matter to Harry -- right now. But one day he will question whatever understanding the two of you have. He will wonder why, if you truly care for him, you did not make the effort to ensure his remaining in your care."

He found himself staring at her in disbelief, in an unfunny imitation of any of the first year students. He . . . hadn't thought of that. The idea of formalizing the situation between himself and Harry had very simply never occurred to him; he had barely had time to adjust to the sheer amount of simpering emotion that passed between him and the boy.

If he was honest, he had to admit that the boy's use of that particular paternal appellation made him . . . uncomfortable. A frightening number of reactions had passed through him upon hearing the word "Daddy", from the habitual and therefore automatic sneering -- Grow up, Potter, you're behaving like an infant -- to panic and fear of a strength he had not know since he heard that the Dark Lord was targeting Lily, and then to a warmer feeling that he was disinclined to examine any closer.

Shaking off this new and infuriating tendency towards self-reflection, he realized that his colleague was waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

"You have made your point, Minerva."

Thankfully that seemed to satisfy her.

He headed towards the door, intent on his task, and paused only long enough to take the vials of potion offered by an irritated-looking Poppy.

xxxxxxxxxx

When he found Dumbledore and Harry in the old man's office he was rather surprised at how calm the boy appeared to be. Obviously that was just for show. From where he stood, unseen, Severus was surprised to recognize that familiar mask back in place on the young wizard, the one he had seen first at the welcoming feast back in September. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

He could only imagine what it must feel like for a child. Another sliver of clarity regarding the verbal slip in the infirmary fell into place.

"I don't think you are giving Professor Snape nearly enough credit, Harry. I have it on good authority that he does not scare easily. Especially not as a result of a simple word."

"I don't think it's that simple of a word, Professor." Harry muttered, looking briefly down at his hands.

Snape resisted a snort of amusement. He had to agree with the boy on that one. If there was any word in the English language that was fraught with complexities of emotion and meaning, "Daddy" was it. Particularly from the mouth a heavily mistreated child who had absolutely no reason to give that word away to anyone, least of all him. Leave it to Albus to call it "simple".

Harry continued, "I was stupid to be so childish. I got along just fine before him and I just let down my guard. It won't happen again. I shouldn't have let it happen in the first place. Besides, it's the end of the school year soon and I'll be gone and all this --" he gestured vaguely with one hand, "will end anyway."

Severus set his face into stony neutrality and stepped forward, making his presence known.

"Well, I suppose if that's the way you feel, I do not have to extend the offer I was about to make." He made sure his tone betrayed nothing - if Harry wanted to pretend that everything was back to the way it had been before his assault, then that's what they would do. Until the boy cracked, that is, and he was fairly certain it wouldn't take long.

As he expected, Potter glanced up at him with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and of course, embarrassment before he quickly managed to school his features.

"Pr-professor," Harry stammered out with a blush. "Are you okay?" The anxiety in his voice was apparent, even to himself, and he clenched his hands into fists.

"I will be soon enough. Do not concern yourself."

Harry couldn't tell whether that was meant to be a dismissal or a comfort, and he frowned. He could not, however, completely stifle his earlier curiosity.

"What offer sir?"

Severus almost smiled. He had been counting on this. Instead he replied, with a forced casualness to his voice, "I was going to see you would be amenable to coming to stay with me for the summer. I had assumed that you would agree however apparently you prefer to regain some of your previous independence." With that, he took a sip of the tea Albus had conjured for him, playing out his role.

Albus for his part, seemed like he couldn't decided between turning that infuriating twinkle on the Potion's Master or rolling his eyes. Clearly the headmaster found Severus" little act to be highly transparent. Ah well, he wasn't inclined to waste his talents for sophisticated manipulation on a child. He knew all too well that they seldom required it.

"You were - you were going to do what?" Ah, how easily a hastily built wall is breached!

"I was going to see if you wanted to stay with me for the summer."

"You were going to take me home with you?"

"Yes." He wouldn't have worded it that way himself. It made Potter sound too much like a puppy. Then again, such a description wouldn't have been inappropriate at certain times over the past school year.

"And you were going to ask me about it when you came up here?"

"Yes, but as you stated, you believe all this was a waste of time, so I will not bother you with such things."

Harry felt rage surge inside him. He had been so close! If only he hadn't said that horrible word; if only Snape hadn't heard what he'd said to Dumbledore! "Of all the bloody stupid things to do. Now I"ve ruined my one chance" he muttered to himself.

Severus could tell the boy was caught. It was so easy to spot in the clenching of his fists and the working of his jaw. Not to mention the way he was muttering to himself. Snape only managed to catch a few words, but they were telling.

"You are angry."

"Yes! How could you think --" Harry hollered, and then remembered himself and the fact that his companions were teachers. "Sorry. So, Professor, I mean, you were going to ask me even after -- after what happened downstairs? After what I did?" How could that possibly be true?

"What is it that you think you did, Harry?"

The child looked surprised at the question, as if it was completely daft to ask him such a thing.

"I overstepped boundaries, I took liberties. I must have freaked you out. I swear I wasn"t trying to ingratiate myself to you sir!"

Severus noticed how he carefully pronounced the word - in-gray-shee-ate - it was clearly not a part of his vocabulary, although there was no doubt he had heard all of these phrases many times. From the lips of Vernon and Petunia Dursley no doubt. And perhaps even from his own, he had to admit, thinking back on his early interactions with the boy.

Pulling himself back to the Headmaster's office, he met Harry's eyes.

"You did nothing of the sort. If we have to repeat our conversation about needing and wanting parents, we will do so; I meant what I said when I offered to fill that role for you Harry. How could I then fault you for putting words to it?"

He could see that Harry was simply befuddled. He sighed and knew he had to bring it down a level for the boy. It was always difficult to do so; he learned early on that longer, fancier language did a good job of hiding sentimentality. Emotional bluntness made him wildly uncomfortable. But if he wished Harry to understand what he was trying to say it had to be done.

"While I admit to some surprise at the wording you chose, I was not surprised to hear you refer to me as father. You did not, as you say, 'freak me out'."

"Why not?"

"I do believe you've been referring to me in such a way for some time, have you not?"

For the second time in the space of an hour, Harry felt all the blood drain out of his face. He couldn"t possibly...

"I don't know what you mean."

His patience faltering, Severus rolled his eyes. "What is your sign for me, Harry?"

"It doesn't matter, it's not important --" Panic was beginning to set in, that much was obvious.

"It doesn't matter if you show me now or not Harry. The point is the words themselves." He paused meaningfully there, giving the boy a chance to catch his breath. "I've created a sign for you as well, Harry. Would you like to see it?"

He got nothing in response beyond the widening of the green eyes that were staring at him. So he signed two words, and stated them verbally for everyone's benefit.

[[Student "Student." [[Son "Son."

Harry was literally backed up against a wall now, wonder written all over his face. It did not stay there for long, for he hid it away as soon as he found his voice.

"You didn't have to do that. Make a sign for me. You don't have to do any of this."

It hadn't been enough; he hadn't gotten through to the child.

"Come here Harry." He waited as he made his way over slowly, as if under the Imperius curse, unable to resist.

"You seem to be labouring under a false impression. You believe that I have done all these things, offered all these things purely out of compassion and sympathy and pity. You think that all of this is one-sided. That is simply not so. I did not create that sign only to show you that I knew the meaning of yours."

Harry was listening with such rapt attention that he didn't even notice the man's hands come up to cup his face. He just knew that something big was coming.

"You are like a son to me, Harry."

He couldn't believe it -- he just couldn't.

"I am?"

"No, I give ridiculously saccharine speeches about family to all my students."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that. The man had a point.

"So I will ask then, Harry, would you like to spend the summer at my home?"

"I would love to!"

And for the first time Harry had ever seen, Snape smiled fully and freely.

"Then I do believe we have an acceptable arrangement."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Not long after the Headmaster sent Harry off to Gryffindor tower. It had been a long day, and all Severus wanted was to get to his bed as well. But he knew Albus would want to know what happened in the chamber.

He did not wait for the man to ask.

"It is as you feared it would be. The Dark Lord was after the Stone for himself."

Tension hung thickly in the air while he waited for his mentor to process this. What this meant for the wizarding world at large, what it meant for Harry in particular.

"So Voldermort is back, then."

Severus could not contain the flinch, but he tried to ignore the name.

"In a manner of speaking. He is not fully corporeal. All his deeds were done via Quirrell, through some type of pseudo possession that I have never seen before. He was . . ." Snape found himself at a loss for words. How did one even begin to describe the intertwining of the two men? He supposed sometimes the only way was the blunt way. "He was looking out of the back of Quirrell's head. Hence the turban."

Even Dumbledore was slightly bewildered at this; he could tell by the slight raise in eyebrows, but that was the only sign the man gave away.

"Did he see you then? Does he know?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"I believe that when I retrieved the Stone and yet refused to hand it over he sussed out that I was a traitor, yes." He replied dryly. He reached into his pocket and proceeded to place the Philosopher's Stone on Dumbledore's desk. He was relieved to be rid of the thing, to tell the truth.

"I suppose it could not be helped. It is unfortunate that we will be losing our inside information into Voldemort's activities."

I'd say it's more unfortunate that Voldemort has returned, Severus thought. "I would not have been able to continue my role as a spy regardless Albus."

"May I ask why?"

"I intend to seek full guardianship of Harry. Provided you have no objections?"

At this Dumbledore chuckled. "Would it truly stop you if I did?"

"Not in the least." Snape stood to leave, believing the conversation over, but as he reached the door the Headmaster had one more question.

"You will protect him and take care of him, won't you Severus?"

"With my last ounce of strength and until the last breath leaves my body."

And then he did leave. He had legal procedures to begin, after all.

FIN

Author’s commentary

I loved writing this story, and I hope that is obvious. It was my first foray into Harry Potter fic, and I chose my favourite section of the fandom in which to write – the Snape and Harry gen fic fandom. I love these stories because while they can be full of clichés (my own included), they speak to a very basic aspect of Harry Potter that the books don’t touch on – Harry is a child without anyone to really play the role of parent. And we all want to give him one.

The idea for this story came to me randomly one day, and it came to me backwards. I had the idea of Harry signing first, because this would allow him to “say” things without people necessarily knowing what they mean. The big one being naming Snape, in a roundabout way, “father”. The inevitable climax is the discovery of the truth of Harry’s sign – both to Snape, and later when Harry finds out that Snape knows. So I had that. And it was such a compelling scene in my head that I knew I had to get them there. Oh, and right up behind that was a very vivid mental picture of the scene after Harry’s punishment at the hospital where he signs “I’m sorry” against Snape’s chest. The beginnings. So really I was working backwards.

Chapter 1:

You can definitely tell that this is the first chapter. It’s the shortest by far, and the shakiest. But everything’s got to start somewhere.

My favourite bit, and the point of this chapter (often these two things collide, you’ll discover) is the scene with Harry in the wardrobe. Yes, it’s incredibly unoriginal – but I really do think that for a child in Harry’s position, brought up in a cupboard – it would be very natural for him to hide in small spaces. It’s a place of safety. Plus this provides the opportunity for Snape to pull him out of his dissociation. It may not be 100% obvious to the reader, but as the author I know that Harry is sitting in that wardrobe, completely convinced in his mind that he is in his cupboard after some rough handling from Vernon. This is, sadly, easier for him to deal with than the attack. Vernon’s abuses are familiar. The cupboard is familiar. The idea that he could be hurt at Hogwart’s, the place he thought his haven, well that’s too much for him. So back to the familiar it is.

But Snape knows how to bring him out of it. I’m not a psychologist, but I do have a bit of familiarity with Snape and Harry’s pasts, and I think a lot of abused children probably dissociate to a degree. I think Snape is the kind of person who would have recognized it in himself eventually (and stopped as soon as he did), but he’s also the kind of person who would have read up on the phenomenon and know the most likely way to bring someone out of it.

Chapter 2:

Wherein both Snape and Harry are outed. To speak to a bit of criticism – yes, it’s rather incredibly rude and horrible of McGonagall to reveal Severus’ past like that, and probably wholly out of character. I hope you can forgive me, but it was necessary for Harry to find out about their common childhood troubles very quickly because in his child’s mind he is The Only One. And knowing that Snape must understand him to some degree goes a long way to getting Harry to warm to his teacher. Because we both know Snape isn’t going to tell him, and he isn’t going to warm to Harry first. No, he’s going to be worn down! :)

As for why Harry had “only” been hurt with the belt four times – I didn’t want to go overboard. The abused!Harry is already enough of a cliché, if I was going to step away from the canon of emotional abuse and neglect I didn’t want it to be a huge step. Plus, with a small number you can easily tie these incidents to Harry showing accidental magic.

Favourite bit: Snape depositing Harry on the hospital bed like a sack of potatoes. Totally unnecessary to the plot, but I like the tiny moments that show Harry is a *child* and a physically small one at that. Harry and Snape need to be reminded of this too. But ultimately they’re there because I think they’re adorable scenes :)

Chapter 3:

“Professor Snape had personal errands he needed to take care of.”

Heh. You all guessed very quickly what these “errands” were. Yes, this is when Snape goes to visit the Dursleys (whose name I always misspell!).

Oh, and the introduction of quill and parchment as a communication means for Harry. Many have asked why the wizarding world couldn’t find a more magical way for Harry to communicate, or at least have the quill read his thoughts or something, but a) where’s the fun in that? B) would you want a pen that wrote down all your thoughts for anyone to read?

Favourite bit: Harry’s reaction to Hermione trying to take his balm. Another peak at Harry’s mental state. My Harry is significantly less well-adjusted than the Harry of the books, obviously. He’s a bit feral yet, operating on instinct. He’s been living with Dudley all his life, his own example of interaction with other children until Hogwart’s. And he’s never ever had anything of his own before until Hogwart’s, and the balm, he feels, is uniquely his – unlike a Gryffindor scarf or even an owl.

Chapter 4:

It can’t go instantly smoothly, can it? Which is why I had Snape get so incredibly pissed off at the discovery of the empty balm jar. And of course he’s totally looking for an excuse to get angry with Harry so he doesn’t have to feel anything positive towards him.

“Pr'f'ser...please.”

I had Harry speak here because it was such an important moment. Plus it would totally get Snape to give him back the jar :)

Chapter 5:

Oh Chapter 5, my worst chapter. Because of The Big Mistake. Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we?

Thanking God, Merlin or whoever that he paid some attention to the spells Hermione knew, he cast a cleaning spell on his sheets.

Yes, that’s right. Harry, who cannot speak at the moment, somehow cast a cleaning charm. I have no idea how. Obviously I didn’t catch this HUGE continuity problem until someone pointed it out to me in a review. Ooops. I ought to fix it, and I will. Just as soon as I figure out how.

Moving right along...

"You're a cute little thing. Pretty even. It would be a tragedy to let that go to waste before we fix You-Know-Who's mistake."

Yes, there is definitely a sexual insinuation there. Just to up the creepy factor.

And of course Chapter 5 brings the introduction of signing.

Chapter 6:

He had not expected, however, for the boy to take a seat on the floor and tuck himself into a corner to read his book.

Harry sits on the floor here because he’s not allowed on the furniture at home. Or so I decided.

Once again an entire chapter written solely to get to the part where Snape carries Harry to bed. I am so transparent, lol.

Chapter 7:

Here Snape sees Harry at his most vulnerable and tries to help. It’s a bit of a revelation for both of them. And of course a major turning point.

He laid a long, thin finger against the trembling lips.

“That’s enough, Harry. Quiet now. Your uncle’s not here and it’s not necessary to apologize.”

Notice he’s a bit rubbish at comforting. But he tries. I believe this is the first time he calls him “Harry”.

Once he found the page he wanted, he turned and regarded Harry seriously, but not meanly, Harry thought; almost with concern. It was tough to place, not many people had ever looked at him like that before.

A little moment, but I’d say at this stage in Harry’s life, probably a true statement.

Chapter 8:

he pushed Harry’s chair in for him

I’m a big fan of the moments that show the very distinct adult/child relationship.

It was like the wary, shy Harry disappeared when he was doing magic.

This was my lame attempt at trying to reconcile my version of Harry and the canon version.

Chapter 9:

You're an upset little boy who is acting out to get attention.

Harry is not subtle. At *all*. This seemed like a perfectly logical way for a kid to try and get attention without really realizing he’s doing it.

Harry thought it was funny how Snape could manage to sound polite and scary all at the same time.

I really wish I had this talent.

And this is the chapter where Harry creates his sign for Snape. The impetus is Snape allowing him to stay a few nights, and teaching him a little lesson about asking for help.

Chapter 10:

I had a really hard time trying to figure out what Snape should do to the Dursleys. It was a tough call. I’m actually a little disappointed in what I ended up doing with that scene. Severus couldn’t go overboard, because that would get him into trouble, but I think I could have been more creative.

“I’m glad you think so Professor McGonagall, because I expect in the future when the boy is distraught enough to ask for me in the night you will escort him down to my quarters yourself.”

Severus cannot resist having the last word. And of course he has to make it really good.

Chapter 11:

“But why Harry? I mean, you’re in such a good mood, I thought you only needed to go there when you’re sc—upset.”

Hermione is playing the voice of the audience here. I didn’t want it to seem that the only time Harry and Snape interacted was when Harry was upset. Children go to their parents when they are giddy and excited about things and I wanted Harry to do that.

‘Sir whose room is it I stay in? I mean, it looks like it was someone’s once.’

And now Harry gets to be the voice of the audience. I created Luka as Snape’s godson because a) I wanted a bit of mystery, and clearly it worked from all the questions I got about who Luka was b) I wanted to give Snape a history with another child, a good relationship with a child.

If I’m going to force every adult around me to treat me like a 5 year old, why can’t I get . . . No! He wasn’t going to sthe tart missing something he had never had.

If he’s going to force everyone to treat him like a 5 year old why can’t he get the good parts? Why can’t he get the cuddles and hugs and protection? This thought pattern leads to him wanting to be picked up.

“Slippers next time, Harry.”

He can be mean and nasty; he was a death eater; he did not like children. But he pays attention to the fact that a child’s feet are bare and going to be cold. A little insight into the Real Snape, as I imagine him.

Chapter 12:

The Christmas chapter, important because it showed the passage of time. Plus it allows the set up of Harry’s gift of unquestioning obedience. That would be important later. It also allowed some interaction between Ron and Snape. It was important to me that they not be antagonistic.

I like that Snape is a little nervous here. I didn’t realize that he would be until I wrote it.

LIVE SANELY

An anagram of Lily Evans (with one extra E).

They were positively Dickensian.

I’ve always wanted to use that descriptive, and I’m glad I got the chance :)

Chapter 13:

Ah, the chapter that filled a plot hole. In Chapter 12 Snape gave Harry his password to his quarters. But Harry can’t speak the words can he? That thought woke me up at 2 am, and I started writing Chapter 13 the next day.

It turned out for the best, because I think there’s some good development in this chapter.

I had Harry hide under the Invisibility Cloak because it seemed very natural for him to do so. He was embarrassed and reacted much in the way a younger child does – trying to hide. He’s starting to get very attached to Snape, although he doesn’t recognize it.

He felt Snape stand and leave the room, and his heart sunk lower than his feet. What was wrong with him? It felt like he was 5 years old again, and Aunt Petunia had just tossed his blanket – the only reminder of his parents - in the rubbish.

And this is one of the little hints I’ve dropped at Harry acting younger than his actual age. He’s going through a separation anxiety of sorts here, panicking the way a toddler might when his mother leaves the room.

“Yes, that is true, but I’m not – they’re not – it’s just not the same, Potter!”

Mostly trying to convince himself of this fact. That there are huuuuuuuuuuuuge differences between his role in Harry’s life and how it would be if James and Lily were alive. Except for the fact that he’s wrong, of course. It’s very much the same.

Chapter 14:

Ah yes, the chapter where Snape carries Harry to bed in a new manner. I’ll admit that it’s somewhat cheesy, but I had the scene in my head from day one and I just couldn’t not include it. I did feel a bit weird about it though, and you can tell, because once again, Snape voices the doubt as well:

"You are far too old for this Harry."

It’s also a very obvious sign of their changing relationship, hence the little freak out Severus has about it.

It was a rather strange and sudden reminder of the fact that Harry was just a child.

Snape’s revelation/epiphany about Harry truly being just a little boy is both a catalyst for him to truly allow himself to take care of the boy, and a teeeeny note from myself as the author, reminding anyone reading who may take issue Harry behaving too young that he is still very young. I always felt he seemed a bit too old for his age in the earlier books.

Like it or not, Harry had turned to him, and if he wanted to prevent him becoming a Death Eater, or Merlin forbid, another Dark Lord, he had a job to do.

This is, of course, just a pathetic attempt to rationalize and excuse his behaviour to himself.

Chapter 15:

Ah, Dumbledore always has the best intentions, but they don’t often get the results he’s aiming for. But it’s a rather convenient excuse for Snape to play saviour, and to pick up Harry of his own accord, thus easing Harry’s embarrassment.

So he made two signs and hoped to be understood.

Harry is very much at the end of his tether here, and in his head he is thinking ‘Please can we just go home Daddy?’ But he would never ever admit it, even to himself.

Chapter 16:

I have to admit, probably my favourite chapter, and it was completely out of nowhere. None of this was anyway in my outline. I had Harry awake by the time Dumbledore got there because I liked the idea of Snape sitting on the sofa, still holding Harry and not saying anything, just offering comfort without making a big To-Do about it.

"Harold James Potter! That is ENOUGH!"

No there’s no basis in reality for the idea that Harry’s name is Harold, but it just comes across much better as a stern rebuke than ‘Harry’ would. So Harold it is.

Chapter 17:

With a big gulp, he opened his mouth. It was going to be a simple hello, but no sound came out.

It comes down to the basic fact that I needed for Harry to still be mute, and clearly his injury should be more than healed at this juncture in the story. So how could I keep him silent? Why accidental magic, of course! Which conveniently adds another emotional layer because of the Dursley’s previous reactions to Harry’s accidental magic.

How will Severus hold up his pants now that he’s banished all his belts (awww)? A fitting charm of course!

Chapter 18:

Moderating his tone just slightly, he moved from gentle to firm. It was not the authority of a teacher he needed to convey, that much he knew.

What I left unsaid here is that he was going for the tone of a father.

But what he saw on Harry's face was unmasked relief. Almost like he was glad.

And he was. Because it was one more way that Snape was acting as a parent, and Harry so desperately wants that, even if it means bedtimes.

Chapter 19:

He hadn’t put a lot of thought into the two signs that had come to represent the potions master. At the time he had just been so grateful, and so relieved, and just – warm. He didn’t have the word for it then, but now he thought that just maybe that was what being safe and protected felt like. For the first time in his life, a grown up was trying to help him, not hurt him. And suddenly everything was jumbled up in his head.

Because he never thought he’d want that protection. He thought he’d let go of that dream a very long time ago, that he was far too old to rely on anyone that way. Apparently he thought wrong, because not only did he not reject Snape’s efforts, he’d wanted them very, very badly.

Not to get too personal, but Harry’s thoughts here pretty much echo ones I was having at 12 and 13 myself. I very much wanted a father as a child (can you tell by the underlying theme of all my fanfic?), and my mother was great but I always felt something was missing. By 13 I had convinced myself (much in the way Harry has here) that I was too old for any of the things a father could give me – comfort, love, hugs, someone to go to when I was scared at night – I was too old for all of those things, so hey, obviously I wasn’t really missing out at all. And that’s the place Harry’s coming from.

But like me, Harry can only manage to convince himself of this when such things are absent. Once he has a father figure he laps up every bit of it. It’s a constant struggle inside him because he’s acting against everything he’s tried to be -- strong, independent, decidedly *not* needy.

He couldn’t look at Snape now without thinking the words, particularly the second.

“father”

Sometimes, sometimes he even thought the secret version of it

“Daddy”

Chapter 20:

The infamous hospital tour. I got many comments that the punishment Snape gives Harry was way too harsh. Perhaps. But remember, this is Snape we’re talking about. He’s not going to turn into a teddy bear suddenly. Plus he’s totally freaked out. Harry has scared him. What he says about not being able to survive it if something happened to Harry is completely true, and the Incendio incident revealed that.

This is also the chapter where I totally weirdly deviate from consistent verb tenses. Oops. Again, one of many things I may correct one day.

Chapter 21:

Oh man did I ever struggle with this one. What should the drawing be of? What should it say on the parchment? ARGH. I’m still not happy with it really, but it gets the point across.

Chapter 22:

Poor Severus, totally shocked, although he shouldn’t be. And I bet you all knew by this point that one of the signs for Snape would be ‘father’! Sometimes subtlety is over rated, lol.

Once again, Harry’s horror at the picture being found is a mirror to something that happened to me. A very very similar situation. Trust me, it’s mortifying! All this work to keep Harry mute has been to build up to the pay off at the end of this chapter when Harry speaks on his own.

Chapter 23:

“Well Harry, this is what fathers --” he was cut off by his own vivid memory of Lily, and the sacrifice she had made. “This is what parents do. They protect their children.”

Favourite part of the entire story, right there.

Chapter 24:

Up until the very last minute I couldn’t decide if Harry was going to go after Snape or not. But then I realized that this Harry would not be able to bring himself to disregard that little coupon, so he stayed where he was.

he was so distracted that he almost missed the broken, whispered question from the boy.

“Daddy?”

Oh this was hard. I was embarrassed *for* Harry when he said it, and i must have erased it and rewritten it a million times before finally deciding to keep it in. Because it wouldn’t be the right story if Harry didn’t say that one big word.

However it is quite common for abused children to temporarily regress in certain behaviours once they’ve found a secure environment. They don’t typically even realize they’re doing it, but they try to get the experiences they missed out on. Like being carried to bed,” Poppy relayed, and gave a pointed look along with her example.

Chapter 25:

To clarify, Severus is seeking out guardianship. Not adoption. One step at a time.

The final chapter. It was weird to finally reach the end of this story. I’ve grown very attached to it, and don’t quite feel ready to let go. Likely why I decided to write this “commentary”.

Thank you all again for reading. And yes, there will be a sequel. Eventually.