AN - Thanks for the reviews. :) As we have only really seen the evil spy side of Snape in canon, I have added some quirks to try to make him more human. Not sure if they work, but I enjoy them.
Chapter Two - Another Morning to Wake
As soon as Voldemort had turned, Harry had groped in his pockets for the shrunken potion bottles that he'd carried with him since Christmas day. With silent wand movements he lifted the crate and moved towards Snape. Recognition burned in Snape's eyes as Harry reached him, and Harry wordlessly enlarged the potion bottles. He leant over Snape as Hermione backed away, bottling the memories that Snape had released. With his own hair and back obscuring Hermione's vision, Harry quickly poured three potions down Snape's throat. The anti venom, the blood replenishing potion, and an improved Draught of the Living Death potion that he'd found the recipe for in the Half Blood Prince's book. Hermione started calling Harry's name as Harry silently closed the wounds on Snape's neck. The draught made Snape look dead, but Harry hoped the modified recipe had worked and that Snape was in a fully suspended state. As he went to leave, Harry squeezed Snape's hand once more and whispered, "I'll be back."
It was five hours later when Harry found him again. A whole lifetime, countless deaths, his own life over and started again, and Potter came back for Snape. He'd worked methodically, using Snape's own wand to breach the wards on the potions stores, shrinking and taking as many as he possibly could. He'd have taken the whole storage room if he had been able. He knew that there were probably better potions in Snape's quarters, but he would ask later. Time was of the essence, and his friends thought he'd be sleeping for only a few hours. As a last thought, he grabbed the worn and earmarked potions journal that lay hidden under the third shelf's storage of memory potions, and fled back to the Shrieking Shack. Taking great care to be as gentle as possible, Harry softly sat Snape up in his arms, and taking a deep breath, apparated them both.
May 5th, 1998
There was a cool morning breeze coming through the bedroom window, and somewhere in the distance Snape could hear children shrieking. Potter was still scrunched up in the chair, the blanket only half covering him now. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Snape moved his head a small bit about to take in the room, and was blinded by the pain that wracked his body. He let out a small hiss and gasped at the sound. The snake. He remembered now. He'd been bitten by the bloody snake. He opened his eyes again, and bearing the pain, looked around.
On the dresser beside him lay a small army of potion bottles, lined up in some sort of order, and labeled precisely. He could see the health monitors, charmed to the changes of his body, sitting beside the potion bottles. A potion journal sat next to the bottles.
"Potter." It came out as a rasp, and he was disappointed that his normal demanding tone was missing. It worked nonetheless; as the man in the recliner nearly jumped out of his skin and dropped the blanket from his lap.
"You're awake! Merlin. Thank god." He stood and walked quickly over to Snape, casting a diagnosis spell as he went. Snape watched, glaring hard but not wanting to move enough to cause more pain than necessary.
"Redundant in both Wizard and Muggle speak, how surprising." He'd meant to sound nasty, but couldn't achieve the same malice that had been in his voice before. Potter had the nerve to laugh.
"I'm glad to hear your voice again. I thought I never would."
Was that relief in Potter's voice? He knew that sometime over the year that they'd been away that Potter had forgiven him, but caring and forgiveness were two very different things.
"Never mind that. What day is it, and is that psychopath gone?" There was a demanding tone in Snape's voice that overrode any hint of the confusion he felt regarding his current location.
"It's May fifth. You've been in a coma for three days, and yes, he is gone."
There was a visible sigh of relief from Snape as he seemingly exhaled twenty years of tension in one breath. Harry stood and walked towards the bed, holding his hand up to stop Snape from starting an interrogation.
"I'll answer your questions later, sir, you should probably eat now though."
Snape glared at him, but relented. Information was a powerful bartering chip, and he didn't have much on his side to play with. Then again, if all he needed to do was be patient and eat food, the odds were in his favour to begin with. After the diagnosis spell was done Snape watched as Harry first made notes in his papers, and then left the room, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. A few minutes turned to fifteen, and Snape's curiosity got the better of him.
He'd recognized the journal now; it was his personal potions journal with all of his notes. He'd scathingly lay into Potter later about privacy. For the moment though, the notes were well within reach of the bed, and Snape grabbed them. He was surprised at what he'd found. He'd tested the anti-venom before on animals, but Potter had taken very detailed notes of reactions, timing, and results on Snape's own progress. His pain-induced hazy suspicions were correct; Potter had shoved the antidote down his throat after Snape had been bitten. And from the looks of the parchment, Potter had been steadily monitoring and administering nutrient potions for the past three days in order to help heal him.
A noise sounded as Harry walked through the door, and Snape looked up unashamed from the notes.
"What were you thinking? Why would you save me, Potter?"
Harry sat the tray down on the table, and not thirty seconds later Snape was assaulted with the smell of hot cinnamon and brown sugar combining together with the oatmeal.
"I have my reasons." He looked uneasy, and Snape watched him carefully. It wasn't a mistruth, but Potter was definitely avoiding something. He watched very carefully as Harry passed a bowl of oatmeal onto the side table beside him, and placed a glass of orange juice next to the bowl. When Harry turned around to put his food by his chair, Snape's ears picked up on a whispered "Dumbledore." Harry's hands trembled by his side before he looked back up and regrouped himself.
"You need to sit up to eat. How much does it hurt?"
Snape considered this, and tested his feet. No pain. His arms moved, and there was only a little pain. His head, on the other hand, sent spasms of pain down his body. He begrudgingly told Harry this, in an even and medical tone. Harry reached through jars on the desk and finally opened one that looked familiar.
"It's yours. A numbing and healing salve. I went through your potion stores to get what I thought you'd needed, because…" He trailed off and Snape grunted in agreement. He didn't trust potions of others either, and so decided to disregard Potter's careless plundering of his storeroom for the time being.
"My neck is the worse; you may apply it to the bite." Snape hesitated. "Carefully, Potter." The underlying threat was left unsaid. Snape held very still through the pain and had to admit to himself that Potter had actually been gentle with his hands, as he had carefully applied enough salve that the numbing agent worked quickly. He moved his head again gingerly, and was relieved to find the ache gone. He kept his features carefully blank though, watching to see what the other man would do next.
Potter then moved slowly back toward the bed, and leant in to sit Snape up, informing him as he did so. Snape suddenly got the impression that the entire time he'd been unconscious, Potter had been keeping him informed of everything he'd needed to do. Somehow, the thought relaxed him.
Once sitting up, Snape found that the oatmeal was delicious, and that he was starved. Harry smiled softly in amusement, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Snape noticed how forced the smile was, but chose to bring it up later. For now, he had more questions.
"Where am I?"
"My cottage, Cairn Hollow. Outside of a small town in Wales."
"You own this house? I thought you were only left Grimmauld Place." Snape's tone was as non-accusatory as he could make it, but Harry took offense anyway.
"No. I bought this place, it's mine. Don't sound so damn surprised that the great Harry Potter wants to buy his own things."
Snape gingerly held up a hand, a headache already forming.
"I merely had not considered you wished a different dwelling than the one in London. When did you buy this cottage? And under what name?"
Harry took a calming breath before answering.
"In February. I thought that if I survived, I'd want to start my own life, not one chosen for me. And the first step was to choose my own home. The name... is a business name."
This made an immense amount of sense to Snape, and he looked around the room, taking in more of the details. It was a small room, compared to one of a manor house, but this appeared to be a stone cottage and Harry had made it quite comfortable.
"It's appropriate. The furnishings are fitting." That was as close of a compliment as he was going to give today, and Harry's small snort told Snape that he'd read into it correctly. Snape also knew that the unmentioned business name would remain a secret for the time being.
"Why am I here?"
Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.
"It's not safe for you out there."
"How? How did you do it?" And why did you not die? was the unasked question.
Harry studied him carefully before answering.
"Have you heard of the Deathly Hallows?" he asked, before Snape nodded. Harry took a deep breath and then continued, "It's real. Dumbledore had the wand, and Voldemort tried to kill you, to gain ownership over the wand." His voice had turned to monotone, and Snape listened intently.
"But Malfoy had overtaken Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower, moments before you, er, carried out your duty." There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Anyway, last March I had stolen Draco Malfoy's wand at Malfoy Manor. We all met again in the Great Hall, the war was waging on, and I challenged Voldemort. Told him I had the power of love, told him I knew of the Elder wand."
There was a smile now, but it was anything but real.
"Told him that he never had you. That you were ours. He tried the killing curse on me again." The smile broke. "I used a basic expelliarmus, like you taught us in second year, and it worked- the wand acknowledged me. I didn't send the killing curse."
Snape knew that Harry was looking for redemption, but found himself unable to do anything but nod. This young man, for he'd not been a child in a very long time, had faced the one person who Snape truly loathed and feared.
"I believe you." Snape finally said.
Relief temporarily washed over Harry, but it drained very fast.
"Yeah well. It was Dumbledore's speech, not mine. The whole power of love stuff."
Harry's eyes fell to his bowl, and he continued eating his oatmeal. Ten minutes of silence easily passed, Harry trying not to reply events in his mind, and Snape pondering how to put the images of that night together.
"You met again in the Great Hall?"
Harry looked up, and Snape saw something indefinable in his eyes.
"We first met in the Forbidden Forest. After I saw your memories, I knew what Dumbledore needed done. He played me well."
The flash again, and Snape caught it this time. Anger.
"He knew I would do it. I walked out there to die, and I did."
Harry's voice whispered an excuse as he quickly left the room. Suddenly, it was very quiet, the juice warm, the sun in the windows annoyingly bright and obnoxious. And Snape knew in that moment how much it felt to have his mind shatter.
…..
He had slept on and off during the day, still weak from his body expelling the snake poison. Harry finally entered his room at six thirty in the evening, waking Snape up with the smell of beef broth. He put the tray of food on the dresser and moved over to the bed, looking rather awkward. Apparently his feet were rather interesting.
"What, Potter?"
"Do you need help sitting up?"
Snape studied him, noting that Potter's embarrassment was partially for him, for the fact that he was still weak.
"That would be appreciated." He thought the words would be harder to say. Harry helped him sit up against a stack of pillows, passing one bowl of soup over before sitting back in the chair by the fire with the other bowl.
"So starved for comfort that you're willing to endure my dinner company?" Snape's tone was harsh, but not as hard as it had been at school. Potter merely shrugged.
"It's been a rough three days."
"No golden trio to help babysit the greasy git?" His gaze was over Harry's shoulder, glancing out the window. Wales was a bit warmer than Hogsmeade. He was caught off guard by Potter's laugh.
"You're easier to handle when you're unconscious."
"Hmph."
The soup was good, and eaten in relative silence. Snape noted that there was no sign of a house elf's presence anywhere, and Harry noticed how Snape seemed to have lost a bit of whatever was making his body so tense.
"The quiet is nice." Snape commented blandly, putting his bowl on the table. Harry eyed him, wondering what he was digging at.
"There's no one else here."
"Obviously. And when will Lord Potter be kicking me out of his humble abode?"
"I'm not. This is a safe house."
Arms suddenly crossed and Harry steeled himself.
"And what, Mr. Potter, makes you think I am in need of a safe house?"
"I have my reasons. What makes you think I don't need one?"
Snape scoffed at Harry.
"The Boy Who Destroyed Voldemort needs protection? From what?"
A scowl set across Harry's jaw, and for the first time since he'd awoken, Snape saw pain flash through Harry's eyes. It didn't give him a sense of triumph as it used to, this Potter seemed to be older, less easy to provoke, and rather…wary. Yes, wary was the right word.
Harry's hand then flew up in the air and Snape thought for a fleeting moment that the man was going to strike him. But he merely summoned the Daily Prophet, quite a few of them, and dumped them on Snape's bed.
"Self preservation." Harry grit out between his teeth. "And you have no where else to go. There's an Order meeting tomorrow morning, be ready to leave at nine." He stomped out of the room, leaving Snape to sift through three days of thick morning and evening paper. The dinner dishes lay forgotten.
…..
It had to be the Granger girl. It was late, the room smelt like ink and whiskey, and he was staring out over London in the general direction of the Black ancestral home. If Harry Potter was living in a fidelius protected house, it had to be Hermione Granger that he'd choose to be the secret keeper. The red haired boy may be his best friend, but he didn't appear to be the brightest. No matter. The girl shouldn't be too hard to follow; he'd certainly had to do worse for lesser stories, and with his editor breathing down his neck, he'd better come up with something soon. Tomorrow, he decided, draining his whiskey glass, he'd put a tracking charm on that girl and by the end of the day, Potter and the exclusive story would be his. Perhaps even Snape too, if his theory was correct.
….
They hadn't spoken to each other for the rest of the night. The cottage was as quiet as it always was, but when Snape finally snapped out of his restless sleep, he realized that it was an eerie silence. A magicked one. He felt immediately uneasy, and reached by instinct under his pillow. He had been very surprised to find his wand there, thinking that Potter would have withheld it. One did not house their enemy and arm them, for Merlin's sake. Either the man was as dumb as he appeared all along or… Snape didn't want to think about the or. He refused to think about the forgiveness word. Trust was not in his vocabulary.
Curiosity was, however, and with bare feet he silently made his way to the bedroom door, stopping to listen before entering the hallway. Absolutely no noise, at three thirty in the morning. It was unnerving, that he couldn't even hear sounds of sleep from the room across the hall from his. A quiet Potter, even in sleep, was never a good thing. He slowly pushed the door open, startling a little at the sight. Either Potter was intent on murdering his bed linen, or he had taken the definition of night terror to a whole new level. The silence of it unnerved Snape more than anything, so he quickly cancelled the silencing spell. Flinching at the hoarse yells, Snape strode purposefully over to the side of the bed. He cast the brightest lumos he could, and hesitantly reached over to wake Potter.
"POTTER!"
His brief pondering on whether to shake the man was answered when he lost feeling in his arm due to a well-placed punch. Enough was enough. Pointing his wand, he muttered a quick aguamenti and sprayed Harry in the face with water. Sputtering as he woke, Harry went from terrified to angry when he surmised what had happened. Snape merely smirked, and as an afterthought cast a warming charm.
"Pleasant dreams, Mr. Potter."
He strode out of the room, pretending not to hear the "sod off!" response. It was a full moon, and he climbed back into the warm bed, ignoring the view. The weather was pleasant, warm and calm. The peacefulness around the cottage irritated him, but not as much as the memories in his mind. Morning could not come soon enough.
….
"I'm going to town after the meeting. Make a list of anything you want."
Harry was standing at the stove when Snape arrived, flipping something in a pan that smelled of warm bread, cinnamon, and sugar. It looked delicious, and entirely too childish for Snape's own taste. He moved to the counter instead, setting the kettle to boil and preparing a mug of tea for himself. He paused, and looked over to the stack of French toast by the stove.
"There is enough water for two, I suppose."
Potter nodded thanks towards the tea mugs. They sat and ate breakfast in silence, Snape reading through the Daily Prophet again so Potter couldn't see how much he'd begrudgingly enjoyed the French toast. He couldn't remember the last time breakfast had not been yet another chore. He watched as Potter began writing a short to do list for himself, and a thought occurred to Snape.
"You must be stupid if you think I'm going to ask you for favours, Potter."
To his annoyance, Potter smirked.
"Ah, there's the professor. Not up to par until you've had tea then?"
There was a butter knife within easy reach. Snape could summon it faster than reaching for it, and he was certain he'd read about successful butter knife murders.
"Perhaps had I not been kept awake by someone…"
"No."
Potter's voice was very firm, and there was no mirth in his eyes at all. It surprised Snape for a second, before he schooled his features again into his blank calculating look.
"Fine. Where is the meeting being held?" The change of topic seemed to lighten the air in the room a bit.
"The Burrow." Harry stood and collected the plates, moving back to the sink. "Minerva is expecting you. After the meeting it's Fred's funeral."
Snape took a long sip of tea, ignoring the burning feeling he felt at the back of his throat. Regardless of what he thought of the Weasley menaces, losing one's twin must be devastating. Potter's voice interrupted that thought.
"You don't need to stay for that. You can come back here after the meeting."
"And how do I get back here, Mr. Potter? It seems to be a little protected." Snape's tone was full of sarcasm.
"Second star to the left, and straight on till morning."
"I beg your pardon?"
Potter was grinning, and Snape was confused.
"It's from Peter Pan. Never mind." He handed Snape a heavy iron key that would fit an old 18th century wooden door. "It's the front door key. Hold it, think of the kitchen here, and disapparate. It'll bring you back."
"Hand out your keys to just anyone, Potter?"
"Just the really special ones. I spelled it with your wand while you were out cold. It only works for you." Harry crossed his arms and his eyes flashed mischievously.
"Touched, Potter. A momentary sign of life in that head of yours. Now, I believe we have a meeting to attend."
"Fine. Oh, and Snape? You don't live here, if anyone asks."
Frustratingly, Potter disappeared through the fire before Snape could take proper advantage of that opening.
….
Harry still couldn't land as gracefully in a fireplace as he wanted to, but Mrs. Weasley was understanding and waiting with a brush. Harry hastily swept the ash off his shoulders and stepped aside just in time for Snape to step through. Snape took the pro-offered brush and swiped twice, before following Mrs. Weasley and Harry into the kitchen. When they took their places, an uneasy silence had descended on the room.
It was fuller than the normal Order meetings, as the entire Weasley clan was seated around the table as well. Snape noted that the remaining twin sat very quietly, almost as if he were a machine that had been turned off. He gave a small nod to Minerva McGonagall, and then met the gazes of each other person briefly. He noted that more than half were looking at him with some sort of disdain or contempt.
"This will be a short meeting." Minerva had taken charge, and Snape decided it best to keep quiet for as long as he could.
"From what we can ascertain, fourteen Death Eaters escaped capture. Some, unfortunately, are still students of Hogwarts. The Ministry will be working with aurors to track them down, but they have asked for our help as well, as they are slightly understaffed. Kingsley will stop by later with more information regarding the missions."
She paused here to take a breath, and Snape watched Harry sneak over to the fridge to get some pumpkin juice. He supposed this had been the boy's second home in all his time growing up. He took a seat next to Granger, whom seemed to have become closer to the youngest Weasley male over the past year. Amazingly, both now appeared to be younger than Harry, though Snape could see that it was the lines under Harry's eyes that made him look like life had taken advantage of him.
Oddly, Snape saw the youngest Weasley was sat across from Potter, and that while they didn't seem to be avoiding one another, there definitely was not the same closeness between them as there had briefly been in Potter's sixth year. He wondered who had broken off their little tryst.
"Hogwarts will be closed for the remainder of the summer, opening back up in September for the new year. There will be a summer school available for students to take exams. We're looking for help in restoring the castle, but it shouldn't take more than two months. Mr. Potter,"
At this, Harry looked up with a guilty look on his face.
"There will be some funerals at Hogwarts, and also a monument to be dedicated. We'd like for you to give some speeches."
She glanced around the room without giving Potter a chance to say no, Snape noted. He looked resigned, though by looking at his feet the rest of the Order in the room hadn't noticed.
"Severus." Minerva's voice was soft and it sounded as if she was having difficulty choosing the right words to say. Snape fingered the key in his pocket, wondering how fast the portkey would take to activate. He could feel almost every set of eyes staring at him.
"Due to the death threats leveled against you and some of the Ministry's wishes to arrest you," Mrs. Weasley looked sheepish at this, "we think it best that you continue to stay where you are under fidelius, and use Harry here to communicate with the Order."
She paused, and Snape wondered how much she knew. Potter had only mentioned briefly that they thought he was staying at his own place and that Potter was the secret keeper.
"Harry has shown us the memories of Dumbledore. I can't speak for everyone, but I understand now. All, " she swallowed audibly "is forgiven."
There was silence in the room, and again those damn green eyes were staring at him. Snape nodded, and then cleared his throat. He hated attention, and it was time to divert it.
"Potter. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like my memories back once you're finished broadcasting them."
Minerva shook her head and a flush of red crept up Harry's neck. Snape was pleased he could still get under Potter's skin.
"It was necessary, sir." The sir was bitten out with the least amount of respect manageable. "Would you rather be staying in a cell right now?"
Snape stood and took the key out, holding it tightly in his palm. He gave a small upturn of his lips, narrowing his eyes only at Harry.
"A rose by any other name." His voice was silky and low toned, which his former students recognized as imminent danger.
"Minerva. It's been an experience. I will not be participating in any more hands on Order missions. Good day."
The portkey sounded like a millisecond's howl of wind, and left the kitchen quiet. The silence was broken a minute later by Harry's low growl.
"Bloody ungrateful shit."
There were a few snorts of laughter from Bill and Charlie, and an admonishment from Minerva.
"Language, Mr. Potter." This elicited more laughter and Harry's face flushed further. "I'll never understand why you agreed to be secret keeper for him."
The meeting started back up again, and Ron leaned over close to Harry.
"What's the git's house like anyway? A cave?"
Harry gave a short, nervous laugh.
…..
The meeting went on for another hour after Snape had left, a very quiet and private funeral was held, and then Harry had apparated to Cardiff to do some shopping. Snape took advantage of the time alone. He'd made his own shopping list, but was still unsure of the exact wards around the house. No point in testing those, incase he couldn't get back through. And he refused to think about why he was loath to leave the place. Instead, he wandered around the cottage, investigating Potter's home and trying to remember what the name of his blasted house elf was.
The front door had been an old wooden carved door as he'd suspected, and it opened into a small hallway. Worn wooden stairs led to the second floor, and just off to the right of the staircase was a small study, which Potter had filled with surprisingly decent books. The old teak desk in the room was fully supplied, and there was a small potbelly stove in the corner, that served as a heater.
To the left of the staircase, a little down the narrow hall, was the living room. It had old flagstone floors, a large fireplace that was connected to the Floo network, a small grey chesterfield and two large leather wingback chairs by the fire. There was an unopened chess set on a table near the back of the room, and a small TV beside it. The room was small, however there were large glass French doors that covered the side wall, where the flagstone followed out and led to the garden.
The kitchen covered the whole back of the house, and Snape found the room just as comfortable as the living room. Wooden floors as well, with well designed cupboard space, another large fireplace, and a large wooden table in the center of the room. Potter seemed to have embraced muggle technology, but he had chosen retro fitted furniture to suit the cottage's old charms. A small washroom lead off the front hall.
Snape climbed back up the stairs and found that it was as he had expected. Just the two modest bedrooms that were on either side of the tiny hallway, and a full bathroom at the end of the hall. He went back into his own room and decided to check out the gardens. Outside the sun baked the grass in the garden, earning his deepest scowl from the window. He felt miserable, and he knew exactly why. It was ridiculous, but then, withdrawal had never been easy. Snape thanked whatever gods had prevented an addiction to more serious substances, and waited for the foul creature of shame to settle over him, that he should be addicted to something so juvenile. Creature. Ah.
"KREACHER!"
It was a bellow that could be heard in Scotland, and a second later the little shriveled house elf appeared, a strange locket swinging madly from his neck.
"Kreacher is to be only serving Master Harry, Headmaster Snape." The elf looked defiant, and slightly curious. Snape merely rolled his eyes.
"What house is this, elf?"
"Cairn Hollow, Master Harry's secret house." Snape crossed his arms and nodded.
"And if I am here, Kreacher, then I am in on the secret, no?" His tone lacked the spite that Kreacher would recognize and despise. There was a pregnant pause and the elf eyed him with distrust.
"Kreacher will serve Headmaster, as well."
"Finally." Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes again and handed him the shopping list, and pressed that privacy was very important. The creature vanished with a silent pop, and by the time Harry had returned, he had no idea that more shopping had been done, nor that in the guest room upstairs, Snape sat with a cold glass bottle of root beer beside him, happy for the first time in a week.
…..
On Saturday, their breakfast was disturbed by the World's Most Demented Owl. It was not one Snape recognized, but Harry seemed to know it, by his affectionate greeting. As the little grey menace fluttered about the kitchen, Snape watched Harry's face flitter with emotion as he read the letter. Excitement, dread, and then annoyance.
"News from the adoring fans?" Snape drank his tea slowly, savouring the heavy earthy flavour.
"In a way." Harry sounded distant.
"You're a terrible liar, Potter. Spit it out."
Harry glared at him, but answered anyway.
"They want me to dedicate a memorial at the Ministry atrium today. From the Boy Who Lived to the fallen war heroes."
Snape snorted at this, but Harry stood up from the table and didn't rise to the bait.
"There are three different funerals today they want me to speak at, as well."
He shrugged slowly, and left the table. Snape sat back to enjoy the rest of his tea, filing away Potter's statement for thinking about later. He'd never known Potter to sound so unemotional about something, unless it had been about detention or schoolwork. Even then, Snape had usually managed to get a rise out of the boy. For now, however, he wanted to banish all thoughts of Potter, funerals, demented owls, and life in general while he took a long hot bath, and perhaps read a book. He'd have to remember to put a bottle of root beer in the fridge for later. It was odd to be looking forward to the day; Hogwarts had never been that relaxing.
Potter came back to the kitchen before he left and Snape almost didn't find it annoying that he'd come to say goodbye.
"The wards start at the stone wall, you can go in the garden. And there's a small lab down in the cellar. It's not fully stocked though."
With a sad smile, Harry disappeared. Snape stood with instant curiosity and headed toward the cellar door. Perhaps he'd put two bottles in the fridge today, and save the bath for later.
….
Harry returned home from the Ministry in the early evening and stormed about the kitchen. He slammed the fridge door closed after taking a drink out, and then started pulling bowls out and random ingredients from the cupboards.
Snape stalked down the stairs to curse Potter for making so much noise, and froze at the sight he saw in the kitchen. He'd forgotten to take his second drink out of the fridge, and Harry was now studying the bottle with curiosity. Snape resisted the urge to snatch his root beer away, but Harry just put it back in the fridge and went back to making whatever he'd set out to do when he'd started making such a racket.
"Bee in your bonnet, Potter?"
Harry smashed an egg and added it to the mix, whipping it rather strongly.
"One could say so, Snape."
"I believe I just did. I assume this temper isn't from speaking to war orphans."
Harry pointed to the kitchen chair with his spatula and wordlessly passed him the root beer from the fridge.
"I saw Fudge today. He somehow knows you're still alive, and he cornered me, demanding to know where I hid you. Of course, I can't answer, because I made someone else the secret keeper. "
Snape nodded, opening his bottle and enjoying the small curl of scented carbonated air that escaped.
"So then he says that there will be a trial, and I will be put on the stands. He's a prosecutor now." A splash of vanilla was added to whatever mixture was being made, and the oven was turned on.
"I talked to Kingsley after, and then I ended up breaking the windows in his office."
Snape snorted, and Harry's face blushed slightly.
"They've frozen your assets. Your house has been placed under an imperturbable charm, and Fudge has a warrant out for your arrest."
Snape exhaled slowly. Harry slammed a muffin tray on the counter, and began filling the little cups.
"Well Potter, since you're this annoyed to be stuck with me, I shall find my own place to stay."
The frozen assets would make it difficult, but perhaps Minerva could help him out. Snape wasn't surprised that he'd have to face trial, but Fudge's enthusiasm for persecution was a little disconcerting. He was startled when Harry whirled around and shook the spatula at him again, getting flecks of muffin batter on the table.
"You're staying here, you bloody martyr."
Snape concealed his surprise by crossing his arms.
"Potter, that makes you an accomplice, for your information. If you are as ignorant of the law as you are in other areas of education."
"I don't care, Snape. They're out for blood and I refuse to sacrifice you."
"How very Gryffindor of you, Potter. One might think you enjoy my company."
"Maybe I do."
Harry managed to smirk at this last bit before he shoved the muffins in the oven.
"Imagine that. Your father is surely turning in his grave."
Snape was watching Harry carefully, and noted how white his knuckles got when he clenched his fists.
"Leave him out of this. I am not him."
"Indeed, so you claim. Yet, you antagonize Draco Malfoy for being just like his father, and refuse to see any other side to him."
"I antagonize Malfoy because he's a bloody prat. I met him the first day I went into the Wizarding world, well before I met Lucius Malfoy. He was a childish arsehole, spouting off about purebloods and how only they deserved an education. He only switched sides to save his own skin."
Harry moved to stand beside the table, leaning over a chair towards Snape in an accusatory stance.
"You can't tell me that you didn't like him because of who his father was."
Snape crossed his arms with a menacing look. His response was gritted out.
"Both Malfoys are insolent little socialite twerps and I have never liked them. You, Potter, are also just as arrogant as your father was."
"No, I'm NOT!" Harry's outburst was more out of frustration than anger. "Compare this, Snape! You judge me to be just like my father, in my mannerisms and personality. I have one memory of him, of the night Voldemort killed him. So by your logic, that one memory is enough to make me just as insufferable as he was."
"What are you getting at, Potter?" Snape's glare was fixed solidly on Harry, as if he were about to hex him.
"You! I have known for seven years to be a nasty, vindictive, cunning, and brutal person with very little regard for the well-being and mental state of others. I've seen a minute's memory of Tobias Snape acting the same way, so, by your logic, you're exactly like your father."
Looking back, Harry noted that he had woefully underestimated Snape's reaction. He had not predicted how fast the older man would lunge across the table, nor how much the blow across the face would hurt. But he did remember that it had only taken three seconds before the real brawl had begun.
The kitchen chairs had been flung aside as Harry was slammed to the stone floor, a sickening crack as his head hit the hard surface. He heard a whoosh of air exhaled from Snape as the latter landed, and then it was a rough struggle of fists and kicks that were not well aimed but knocked the wind out of them anyway.
Harry had resorted from yelling insults to uttering mere grunts by the time he realized the metallic taste in his mouth was blood, and Snape's energy was beginning to falter as he punched half heartedly with one arm, the other cradled softly to his side.
Snape figured the wrist had been broken when it was thrown against the table leg, but couldn't have cared at this point. He finally slumped over, breathing heavily and half leaning against Harry, oddly thankful that they had not used wands. Somehow the physical exertion had made him feel less sullied.
"I will never be my father." It was spoken in bitterness and resignation.
"Neither will I." Harry agreed in reply, before taking his wand and healing Snape's wrist.
Snape nodded in acknowledgement, and they both took their separate ways for the night.
