Disclaimer: JKR gets credit.

You Could

By Wittchway

Snapes POV

If he touches anything I'll kill him. He stands just inside my office door. Silently looking around as if it's the first time he's seen the room… which it is not. He's been in my office a dozen times over the years between lessons and defense strategy. He's familiar with the items within it…just not the man within.

He moves slowly skirting my office, making himself stay as far away from me as possible. He stands there like a fool faking an interest in my jars of preserved animals and herbs. I would snort if the situation wasn't so ridiculous. I refuse to rise from my desk or even to acknowledge him.

He doesn't make eye contact with me. Doesn't even glance at me. He taps on one of the jars and I grind my teeth. I refuse to speak first. He inches along running his fingers through the dust and cobwebs of the jars that the house elves fear and refuse to dust... jars I refuse to take the time with.

He stares a long time at the head of a house elf in one of the larger jars. He doesn't touch it but moves on.

I rarely saw Potter in the days that followed the day, that day, in Dumbledore's office. Needless to say all tests on the cloak rack failed, if I had been allowed I would have questioned all Weasley's under veritaserum. It was less then a week before graduation, before he was to leave and go off to Aurors training. The few times I did see him was only from a distance, breakfast, dinner, across the great hall. The 7th year students no longer had structured classes, they were to meet with their potential employers or their teachers from the course of study they had chosen, to work out minor details.

I know he only entered my office at Dumbledore's repeated prodding. I know the headmaster would have us bond this very moment if it was his choice. Then have our combined strength mature and kill the Dark Lord once and for all.

Potter has his back to me the entire time. He's grown taller over the years though both of his best friends are still taller then him. His hair is the same. The same as his fathers, the same most likely his children will have. Still wears glasses, still tan from quidditch, still overly thin, still twists the edges of his sleeves when nervous...but there's a hard edge about him. Has been since Black's death. He seems on edge all the time and from what I gather from other teachers that this isn't new, they say he's either too silent or too angry.

He's looking at my collection of dark art books now, running his finger over the spine of one of the books. I half hope it's the one that bites.

Would I bond with him if he asked?

Yes...if nothing else it will end this war. Nothing in the bond states we have to live, love, work together. Sex once a year preferably on one of our birthdays and off we go. Of course when we Bond I'll become headmaster or perhaps him. Though I don't exactly want the job, I certainly don't want the boy as my boss. I would be pleased just teaching the Defense against the dark arts class and continuing to head up Slytherin house.

I've looked at my robe a hundred times over since this happened. I've inspected every symbol, every design, every thread. I have the same symbols, snakes, devilsnare; I had fallen into a patch as a child. A grim in solid black; I had a mother who told me bedtime stories about grim's eating little children to lure my brother and I to sleep. The symbols are all there…all the same as Potters. Opposite colors but all the same. I was always partial to the robe. It has strong qualities about it. Strong holds and values. Though the heart on the cover of the book with the crown on it had confused me at the time I received the robe, I guess my answer is standing before me.

He's sneaking closer to me, I'm getting bored by his presence. I want him to leave so I can continue my thoughts alone and in peace.

He's standing before my desk now. Trying to stop the nervous flutter of his fingers. He picks at the edge of wood that lines my desk. Pokes at the spear of light paperweight,

"Sit down," I snarl. I've had enough of him being in my office.

He sits.

"Dumbledore made me come here," He gushes.

No, you don't say. Twit.

He sits in my hard wood chair across from my desk. He's silent for a moment, picking at invisible fuzz and lint that always appears at these moments.

"He said I had to stay a half-hour…at least."

I smirk. This will be the longest half-hour of my life. I could make idol chat with the boy but I won't. I could but I won't.

He sits there twisting his hands, it makes my own fingers ache. He looks at everything in the room except me.

"I won't bond with you," he says suddenly. I raise an eyebrow, the one sided conversation seems to confuse him.

His knee begins to bounce in that nervous sort of way lesser people let themselves. I wait for him to burst forth with another witty statement. But he doesn't… we simply sit there the remainder of the time in silence until a small bell dings on his watch. He stands automatically at the noise and walks to the door. He turns and looks at me, I know he thinks he should say something but he doesn't, he does look up at me in that final moment making eye contact with me. It's a stony look, hard and tired, angry at the world and everyone in it. It's the same look I had at his age.

And so that was it, he graduated and a week later and moved into the Aurors training hall in London.

But it wouldn't be the last time I saw him… he is Potter after all…

TBC

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