Harry had never stopped loving Severus Snape, try as he might. He dated other men and women, some even long term, but it always ended the same way—these people didn't understand him. Some wanted to be associated with his name. Some wanted to bask in his fame. Some wanted to exploit him. Some were Muggles. But none of them were Severus Snape, and therein lay the problem.

That was not the reason that Harry was returning to Hogwarts, though. He had no illusions about rekindling a relationship with the man who so summarily dismissed him. No, he had other business that he hoped—likely in vain—that Severus might deign to help him with.

Harry shook his head at himself as he laid his hands on the Hogwarts gates. The wards recognized him instantly, the gates swinging wide to permit him entrance. He knew that the gates would not open for just anyone and he was pleased that he hadn't needed to announce his visit beforehand.

The chances of Severus Snape helping him, of all people, were slim. Likely Snape had been overjoyed to be rid of him and would not take kindly to his sudden reappearance after all of these years. Still, Harry had to try. He was a Gryffindor, after all. And if this didn't require an extraordinary amount of bravery, as well as a death wish, he didn't know what did.

He straightened his shoulders, making sure his glamour was firmly in place. Term had let out two days ago, so he didn't need to worry about running into any students. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into any staff, either.

He stopped twice along the way to the dungeons, resting in an alcove and taking a moment to notice the changes that had been made to the castle in the thirteen years he'd been absent. Aside from a few memorial plaques here and there, there was no evidence that a great battle had once been fought and won within its walls.

The dungeons felt familiarly cool and damp as he made his way down the winding staircase and along the corridor to Snape's private rooms. His heart sped up with nerves and a trickle of sweat ran down his back. He leaned his forehead against the wall next to Snape's door, gathering his composure. It wouldn't do to let Snape see him as weak, or catch him babbling like a child.


Snape was sipping his morning coffee and reading the Daily Prophet when there was a knock at his door. He frowned and checked the time. It was only nine in the morning. McGonagall was the only one who ever stopped by this early but, with term out two days ago, he couldn't imagine what she'd need to discuss with him. Shrugging, he made his way to his door and pulled it wide, prepared to offer the woman a cup of tea.

"Potter." The name came out like a benediction. He stared, unable to believe his eyes. Potter the man—no longer a boy at all—stood before him, that shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes alight.

"Professor," Potter said.

It was all Snape could do not to pull the man into his arms, bury his head in the crook of Potter's neck, inhale deeply, and weep for joy. But that was ridiculous. Surely Potter had not returned to confess his undying love.

Scoffing at himself and still unable to form coherent speech, Snape stepped back and held the door open, gesturing Potter inside. Potter seemed taller now, or perhaps he was just more self-possessed. His hair was as dark and wild as ever, though his glasses were much more stylish and mature, and looked good on him. His robes were fitted and accentuated his muscular build.

"Would you like some tea?" Snape asked, his voice sounding shaky to his own ears.

"That would be much appreciated," Potter replied.

Snape shook himself mentally. He needed to get a grip. Potter was here, in his quarters, and he was standing and staring like an idiot.

"Please, have a seat," Snape said, gesturing to his sitting room. "I'll get the tea."

He could have summoned a house-elf to provide the tea service, but he needed the time to steady himself. He felt a mixture of giddiness and regret. He'd driven the boy away all those years ago for the boy's own good. Potter had been young, on the cusp of adulthood. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with a bitter ex-Death Eater whose only purpose in life was to teach idiotic children a craft they didn't appreciate.

As self-serving as Severus was, even he couldn't abide saddling the budding young man with a life such as his. No, he'd done the right thing sending the boy away, even if it had cost Snape everything to do it.

But the boy had returned a man, a man who was sitting in front of his Floo. Snape swallowed and made his way back to the sitting room, gritting his teeth at the tinkling noise the service made due to his trembling hands. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought to himself.

Snape set the tray on the coffee table in front of where Potter sat on the sofa. Then he took a nearby chair. "What brings you to Hogwarts this early in the morning?"

Potter busied himself with the tea things. Something in the man's demeanor spoke of unease. It gave Snape the impression that, whatever his business, Potter was reluctant to disclose it just yet.

"I see the castle has recovered," Potter said instead.

"Indeed," Snape replied. "There wasn't much to be done after…"

"After my injury," Potter filled in, nodding. He finished preparing his tea and added a couple of biscuits to his saucer. "The wards recognized me. Let me right in," Potter added.

"Did they? Clearly we need to strengthen our wards if just anyone can walk in." Snape bit back the familiar jibe about Harry Potter not being just anyone.

Potter laughed, but Snape thought it was a bit stilted.

"How is teaching going?" Harry asked, before correcting himself. "I mean to say, how has it been going? I realize that term just ended."

"It is as dull and frustrating as always," Snape reported.

Harry nodded. "I often wondered why you stayed."

Perhaps Potter was prying, but this wasn't personal enough for him to be offended. "At first it was because Hogwarts offered me protection against the remaining Death Eaters and their fans. After that, I must admit, I lacked the motivation to make a change. I fear it's become a comfortable, if odious, routine."

Harry laughed, and a spark of his youth lit his face. Time spun backwards and Snape saw the young man Potter used to be, all unreserved opinions and brash youthfulness. That easy nature was gone now, as if it had been carefully packed away. Part of Snape hated to see it go, but that was part of growing up, he knew.

"And what has the illustrious Harry Potter been up to?" Snape queried, drinking his tea.

"Oh, this and that," Potter answered noncommittally. "I've traveled a fair bit over the years."

"As irresponsible as ever, I see," Snape said, but his voice lacked his characteristic derision.

"I'm sure you'd think so," Harry said, laughing lightly. He took another sip of tea, and then set his saucer and mug back on the coffee table, his expression turning serious.

Snape set his mug down on the table as well.

"I wasn't sure you'd speak with me," Potter said, leaning forward slightly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"We didn't part on the best of terms," Potter said.

Snape remained silent, not sure how to respond, not sure why Potter was here in the first place.

Potter ran a hand through his hair. "You aren't going to make this easy for me, are you?" he asked, glancing up at Snape through his fringe of black hair, and reminding Snape forcefully of Harry as a Hogwarts student.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Snape replied, reaching for his mug of tea to fill the awkward pause.

Harry sighed. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and shook his head. "Why did you kick me out when you did?" he asked, and Snape had the impression that that was not what Potter had meant to say at all.

"That was many years ago," Snape said, dodging the question.

"Thirteen, to be exact," Potter replied.

Snape raised an eyebrow, surprised Potter remembered so precisely. "So it was," Snape replied.

Potter shook his head. "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea," he said, shifting forward to get to his feet.

"Wait," Snape found himself saying, the word slipping out of his mouth before he could think better of it. Harry paused, though still on the edge of the sofa. "Why did you come here today? Surely it wasn't just a social call."

Harry sank back, a look of defeat crossing his features. "I'm sick," he said simply.

Sick? He didn't look sick. Snape set down his tea and looked closer, picking up the telltale shimmer, the way the light shifted around Potter's features.

"Remove the glamour," Snape demanded.

Potter studied him for a moment before releasing the spell. In so doing, he'd also removed his robes, leaving him in an under-vest and pajama bottoms for Snape's inspection.

Snape gasped, unable to help himself. He set down his mug and leaned forward, equal parts shocked and horrified. "Dear Merlin, what has happened to you?"

Potter shrugged his shoulders. "No one knows."

Snape knew he was staring but couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. Potter was skeletal. His face was sunken in, his limbs looked like sticks hanging off his body, his chest shrunken. Snape ran a hand over his face, hoping the image in front of him would change back into the healthy-looking man who'd walked through his door twenty minutes earlier.

Snape didn't know what to say. "And you came to me because…" he let his voice trail off, hoping Potter would fill in the blanks.

"I'm out of options," Harry said. Glancing up to meet Snape's gaze, he said, "I'm dying, Severus. I doubt you can help me, but I don't know, maybe there's a potion or something?"

Snape closed his eyes against the apparition before him. He swallowed once, twice, three times. He'd dreamed about Potter walking back through his door. He'd fantasized about what he'd do. Beg for forgiveness? Take the man to bed? Push him away again to save himself the heartache?

But here the man sat, and Severus wouldn't be granted the option to do any of those things. Because Harry Potter was dying. Every instinct in him told him so, if the sight before him wasn't clear enough. If he hadn't been so bowled over when he found Potter outside his door, he would have recognized the glamour, as well as the magical drain. Potter's normally strong aura of power that radiated off him in waves was as dim as a candle stub.

Severus shook his head. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

"I didn't really think you could help," Potter said. "But I had to ask." Potter shifted, cringed, bit his lip, and slowly relaxed into the sofa again. "If you wouldn't mind granting me a moment to rest first, I will be on my way."

"Potter," Snape said. And what could he say? Then a truly awful thought occurred to him. "Why waste what little magic you have left on a glamour?"

Potter rested his head on the back of the sofa, eyes closing. He looked ill and weary. "I wanted to see your real reaction to me. I knew you wouldn't turn me away if I looked ill."

Snape felt his stomach drop. If he'd refused to speak with the man, he'd have left without complaint. That thought felt like a knife in Snape's heart. Did Potter truly think him that callous? Then again, after the way Snape had dismissed Potter the boy, what else could Potter the man think.

Snape leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "Potter." He paused, cleared his throat. "May I call you Harry?"

Potter nodded, his face collapsing into a grimace.

"I meant that I am sorry for your obvious illness, not that I wouldn't try to help you."

Harry's eyes opened, the tiniest spark of hope lighting their endless depths.

"I don't know that I can help you, Harry, but I give you my word that I will put my prodigious skills to the task and make every possible effort."

"You would do that for me?" Harry asked, looking surprised.

Snape held his breath, debating. Then, knowing there was nothing more to lose, he admitted, "I would do anything for you, Harry."

"But…" Harry began. "You said… thirteen years ago, you said…"

"I lied," Snape said bluntly. "I can see now what a fool I've been, but I thought I was doing you a favor. You had your whole life in front of you." Snape cringed at the incredulous look on Potter's face. "You deserved so much more than me," he said finally.

"So you didn't hate me after all?" Harry asked.

"Hate you? Merlin, no, Harry. What I felt for you was the farthest thing from hate."

Potter's eyes grew bright and Snape had to look away.

"I wish I'd known," Potter breathed. "I'd have come back sooner." Looking directly at Snape, he said, "I'd have never let you go."

"And I should never have let you go," Snape echoed, feeling all of his long locked-away emotions from all of those years ago surge back into him. He pushed to his feet, stepping up to the fireplace and leaning against the mantel. He jammed his fist into his mouth to hold back the sob that wanted to break free. Instead, he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. After several long moments, he turned back to Harry.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Snape asked.

Potter, who still clearly wore his heart on his sleeve, nodded, unabashed, as tears ran down his face. "Always," he whispered.