Disclaimer: All JR's –as always, she deserved the credit, not me. ^^

Rating: Pffft, no idea. It's slash-ish. I'm just gonna say mature, just in case!

A.N: My loyal readers are going to hate me for posting this instead of updating, sorry! I am meant to be writing Snape as a dark-ish character write now, but since watching Sense & Sensibilities I can't stop seeing him as all gooey inside! So I wrote this, to get it out of my system. –Of course, it was supposed to be a one-shot.

-New note: This is going to be quite a long fic now, I don't mind (:

Warnings: Slash. Depression. Un-betaed work, haha! Just, generally not for easily offended eyes.

Beta: Recently beta-ed by the wonderful moonlight—kiss (tumblr name) Thank you!

1.

Potter was never supposed to go to Azkaban. It was in that moment that Severus finally redefined Harry. Before then, Severus had learned to tolerate, converse and even aid the boy... But never, ever quite allowed himself to relinquish his past thoughts.

It wasn't when Potter sacrificed his final year of schooling to be trained. It wasn't the hours and the pain he put in. It wasn't the grief that hit the boy as his friends died around him. It wasn't the victory over the tyrant Voldemort... It wasn't even the way Harry refused to acknowledge himself as the saviour... It was all… It was all just ingrained behaviour... It wasn't really Potter, it was his father. His godfather. It was Dumbledore's attention and the wizarding world's admiration... Not that Severus could see it that way anymore.

The moment when it happened, Harry was sentenced, and the boy – and yes he really was just a boy – turned to Severus, the only person this boy had left and said, "But it was all for them". And it was then Severus realized that Harry Potter was worth Lily's sacrifice... Because he had sacrificed himself. Sacrificed himself for every other mother's child…

Many protested, but it didn't stop him getting a sentence. Severus was forced to go home, and stare at the room Harry had stayed in between the end of the war and the trial... What, had it even been three weeks? Harry had been writing an account of what had happened during the war, something Severus had suggested. The boy wanted to put it all away before he left. Ever the teacher, Severus had told him he was being ridiculous, that the trial was just a formality. A point the new minister was making that no more crimes would be committed, and that "Potter, as always, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to the rules you have broken."

They committed him for murder, committed him for involvement and an instigator of war… And that under Harry's liege, the wizarding world had been dragged into a dark hole of war... Severus had never understood the term "a watershed moment." But he did then, because he saw that Harry only ever had good intentions... He'd only ever lied, stolen or broke a rule because it was the only thing he could do to protect others. That the only reason he was the 'saviour' was because Voldemort had marked him so. And so forth everyone else had molded him to be so; even Severus himself had trained Harry... There was not a selfish bone in the boy's body... Never lone an evil one.

Staring at the shabbily made bed – Severus did not permit house elves in bedroom – he knew that the sole good thing in the entire wizarding world was currently in the darkest place in existence.

He went every day. He knew his own health and wellbeing was suffering, but all that did was remind him that Harry was there. He wasn't permitted to bring anything in with him but his wand, and spells did not work inside the cells. All he could do was conjure himself a chair and talk to Harry through the bars. Harry stopped speaking after the first week, but one of the last things he said was that he liked the sound of Severus' voice. Unable to bring the books he'd like to, Severus recited every poem, sonnet, play and even potions manual he knew. Struggling to just keep speaking, keep attempting to engage Harry…

Each time he left, he conjured his patronus to stand guard. It would last a good six hours at least… And hopefully Harry would have a peaceful sleep in that time.

Three months it took, but finally after all the campaigning, Harry was free. His power was placed under a monitoring spell, much a like those in his school years, and was placed back in Severus's care.

Severus side apparated the boy straight to his house, landing firmly in the apparition room. Harry was still standing, but as soon as Severus allowed the boy down, he retched. Marring the white floors, although the ex-potions master found himself struggling to be angry at all.

He lifted the small boy – who was really a man; a strong toned man, but Azkaban had already stolen that from him – and carried him to the bathroom. Severus was surprised by his ability to care. He bathed Potter, always ensuring that the ex-Gryffindor didn't slip under the water, and slowly healed the physical damage. There wasn't really much; it was the mental affliction that had locked the boy in silence.

He clothed their saviour and placed him in a warm bed; the lights dimmed softly but kept on. Severus had known Azkaban prisoners; he knew that darkness was not welcome. He conjured a soft chair beside the bed and picked a book. Something complex, which Severus had never managed to commit to memory or perhaps just Wordsworth tonight.

Harry was silent, impassive, and Severus was scared to leave. Scared to what he'd return to, or what leaving the boy by himself right now would mean. In the end he fell asleep, and when he awoke Harry had hardly moved. It was the fits; the fits and the nightmares that pushed Severus to join their rooms. He moved his bedroom next to Harry's and created a grand arch in the wall between.

Making Harry eat was the hardest. He constantly worried that if he placed food in the boy's mouth he'd just choke. It was getting better though; Harry would sometimes open his mouth to food. A few bites and then Severus had to implement the mechanics. But it was a start. A few weeks in and Harry was actually listening to the words Severus said. His eyes would open if Severus stopped for an unknown reason or if he said something unusual. Now and again Severus was sure he saw a small, albeit, sad smile.

It was Byron that provoked the first words. Severus had started reading the man's work the day before, but today Harry had smiled when Severus said he was going to read him again. When Severus had finished, he wanted to be sure, so he asked a question. Something he rarely did, as the lack of response terrified him. It was easier to pretend that, like before. In Hogwarts, he didn't need to hear Harry's voice, instead, he'd lectured him. Or at least, read to him. But today, curiosity and hope got to him.

"Should I carry on with Byron's work tomorrow?"

"Yes." Severus felt his heart glow; there was hope yet.

"Then of course, I shall oblige you."

Healing was slow; painfully slow. There were times were Severus was resigned to the fact that Harry would never heal. But there were sweets moments where Harry unfurled. Words were few and far between, but they were there. A tiny 'yes' to a question, a 'please' if Severus was sacrificing his dignity particularly well. Because yes, it took a lot of patience and kind words to help Harry.

When Severus tried to apologize for those years; for the bitter relationship between them, he failed miserably. Who'd have thought that talking to a silent person would be harder than an inanely chattering child...? Not that Harry really ever was one. But those few times Severus had attempted; had stumbled over his words and almost given up, a whispered 'please' urged him on. He knew why Harry needed to hear it. He needed to hear that something good had come from all his sacrifice. Something good had happened for him after everything he'd been through.

Nods were becoming more common, consuming food was a great improvement. Severus had created every dish he could imagine. He was determined to find a dish that Harry would fall in love with; a dish that Harry would be eager to eat. He wanted the boy to relish in the fact he was sustaining himself… Although Severus had noticed that in his more flamboyant dishes; the ones that looked impressive and perfected, Harry would give a small smile to. It wasn't a smile for Severus, it was a smile for himself, and that's what made it wonderful.

Byron was all he read these days. He always checked first, but it was all Harry wanted. When Severus was feeling optimistic, he'd ask Harry if he was sure. He'd normally get a nod, but a 'yes' was murmured now and again.

There was a pivotal moment; a milestone that promised things were getting better. Severus would never forget it. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, Lord Byron's work still in his hands, and felt himself waking from the touch of a small hand shaking his leg. Harry, in all his beautiful glory, was sitting up and shaking his leg gently. When Severus' eyes blinked open, the boy almost looked guilty, but all the potions profession could do was smile the most admiring smile of his life. Harry himself retracted his arm and smiled his small smile. Severus couldn't help but bend forward and kiss the boy on the head. He was elated. Hope and pure joy ran through his veins.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, trying to keep his voice steady and sincere. "It'll be much more comfortable to sleep in my own bed."

Harry, still yet to break eye contact, nodded, before lowering himself back under the covers. Severus smiled again and said goodnight before walking to through the arch to his bed. When he lay in bed, he was sure he heard a very small 'Goodnight'. Severus didn't mind though, even if he'd only imagined it. Harry was returning.

Severus woke earlier, rejuvenated. Today things were going to get better; he just needed to keep the ball running. Keep Harry there with him and away from those thoughts. From the nightmare that was the cursed place. Away from the betrayal of… No, not today. Today Harry would feel better.

He woke the boy softly, smiling as the emerald eyes opened and met his own. They were still dulled, but not quiet, they still held life. Good. It was a good sign that Harry was even giving him eye contact; proving that he was here.

Severus lifted the boy gently; it had been a while since he had prompted Harry to leave the bed.

"I think a bath is in order."

He retracted most care, attempting to allow Harry to hold himself above the water, but holding him steady all the same. The boy seemed too cold… So frail… Though what had been promising, if not a little amusing, was Harry's slight blush as Severus undressed him. Over the past month he had bathed Harry a few times, but this was the first time Harry had blushed. As if the first time he had really been there when it happened.

Severus kept a straight face, chatting freely to Harry about Byron's life. The muggle writer had been prolific to say the least! He lifted Harry back out the water and wrapped him in a heavy towel, hugging it close to the boy's thin form and rubbing his limbs to instill some warmth. Harry was shivering slightly, but then again, he always seemed to be.

Casting a soft spell he dried and warmed Harry, before helping him into some shorts (he was blessed with another blush there) and pulling him into a thick robe. Harry was not very stable on his feet, so Severus carried him back through to the bedroom. Harry's eyes widened slightly when Severus didn't stop and carried on walking out of the room. They were leaving the boundaries of Harry's stay so far… Severus walked purposefully down the staircase and into the kitchen.

Casting a light warming charm on the counters, he placed Harry's frail form on top of one, before casting Incendio on the fire place. Warmth filled the room properly, and Severus began work on breakfast.

"French pancakes Harry?"

Harry didn't say anything, but his eyes stayed on Severus's form… Watching him wander around the kitchen, collecting ingredients, getting out muggle pans and turning on the muggle stove. Severus kept 100 jars or so along his windowsill, each of them containing some different herb, flour, or potions ingredient. No one would dare cook in Severus's kitchen; he kept everything in his own categorized order. You never knew if you were picking up salt or crystal poison. Harry smiled faintly. He liked knowing this. A little insignificant detail about Severus; it was something slightly warm in his head. The first warm thought he'd had in such a long time. He watched Severus pick up a jar. Harry counted it as eleventh from the left – that was either sugar or Severus was planning on poisoning. He threw a critical glance at Severus, and watched as a little sprinkled over the back of the potion master's hand. The man nonchalantly licked it off. Definitely sugar, Harry decided, before closing his eyes and allowing the sounds and smells of Severus's cooking to ebb away at him.

A.N: I really enjoy writing this fiction.