Spinner's End was not a nice place, but that had never bothered Severus. However, at the moment Spinner's End was not a comfortable place, and for the first time, that did bother him.

The comforts the house had provided were always minimal, and Severus had been grateful for every amenity. It had running water, at least, and the kitchen had enough pots and pans and dishes and silverware to be getting on with. There was enough room to store all his clothes and shoes, but he had never had an extensive wardrobe. The towels and blankets were a bit worn, but he had purchased new sheets the previous summer while in a funk of self-loathing. (He could live in exile from all his colleagues; he could live with the guilt of murder; he could live with no certainty of the future; but the musty, yellowed, and badly pilled sheets had nearly broken him.)

The major drawback to Spinner's End was the complete and utter lack of potions equipment. For his entire professional career, Severus had access to one of the best-stocked potions labs in Britain, and he had never found himself wanting for anything. But now he was a Potions Master without a cauldron. He didn't even have his standard size 2 pewter cauldron from his student days-that had been an early casualty of his teaching career and he never saw the need to buy another one of his own. Hogwarts had a wide selection of well-kept pewter cauldrons of all sizes, as well as all sizes of brass, silver, copper, stone, and gold cauldrons.

And the potions stores he'd once had access to-containing everything from armadillo bile to zebra hair, from aniseed to zinnia pollen-and now he had nothing. He did find a bit of dried parsley in one of the kitchen cupboards, but parsley wasn't used in any serious potions, and besides, the bit he'd found had been stored in a plastic container and was therefore useless.

He'd spent two months working on greenhouses, but now he'd be hard-pressed to produce a single mint leaf.

He'd always been frugal with his money because he'd never led an extravagant lifestyle. After all, he'd lived almost four decades on the earth and hadn't yet purchased a single albino peacock-which couldn't be said for some of his peers. But even so, all of his savings weren't enough to cover the expense of setting up a full potions lab in Spinner's End-not while he still needed to eat every once in a while. And he refused to borrow money, not without a guaranteed income.

And, more pressing, he was hungry at the moment, and Spinner's End was devoid of anything edible, aside from the parsley and salt and pepper. Resigning himself to his fate, Severus went shopping for groceries. He bought dried beans and a bag of rice because there was a chance he'd cook it, but he also bought cheese and crackers because he knew he'd eat it. He also bought some fresh fruit because he felt he probably should. He would have liked to buy a bag of crisps, but one bag cost £3, and he couldn't bring himself to pay that much.

He went back to his home, unpacked his groceries, and ate the cheese and crackers. He wished he had spent the money and bought the crisps.

But he first needed pewter cauldrons of all sizes. Of course, there wasn't a potion that couldn't be brewed in a pewter cauldron, but potions that one planned to sell needed to be better than the kind brewed by schoolchildren. Different materials brought out different ingredients-made them more potent, or made them last longer, or store better. Dreamless sleep needed to be brewed in a silver cauldron, and bruise balm needed to be brewed in brass. And Wolfsbane, which had a very high profit margin, needed to be brewed in stone. Skelegrow required a copper cauldron.

But perhaps he could make modifications of ingredients and brew passable potions in pewter, at least until he established himself.

He looked for a quill and parchment, but found a pen and paper first. He started to make a list of all the different potions that could be made with each cauldron. He intended to use the list to prioritize which cauldrons he should buy first, but instead he got lost in his thoughts. He didn't realize this until someone knocked on his front door, and he looked down on his list and found it covered in undignified doodles-curlicues and script "S"s, with his own signature scattered throughout.

He crumpled the paper and answered the door.

It was Potter. Severus shouldn't have been surprised about that, but it still caught him off-guard. The young man was carefully holding a hot casserole dish wrapped in a towel, and smiling uncertainly.

"Hey," the young man said.

Severus sighed. "How did you know my address?" he asked.

"Oh. Erm. Kreacher found out for me. Can I come in? He made a pot roast."

Potter's ability to befriend people from all walks of society-including elves and goblins-was probably what made him such a formidable opponent for the Dark Lord. Unfortunately it didn't bode well for Severus, either. But a pot roast didn't sound like a terrible idea, so Severus bowed to the inevitable and invited Potter in.

The pot roast was surprisingly good, and Severus managed Potter's company by limiting his own responses to grunts and shrugs. It was an oddly liberating strategy, and Severus almost grinned at Potter's consternation. Still, Potter had been at Spinner's End for entirely too long by the time he finally stood up and said, "Tonight's probably not the best night to be bothering you. I'll let you get settled in, then."

The words didn't promise a long reprieve for Severus.

He went shopping for potions supplies the next day, and despite buying only the most basic ingredients (plus a few things that were discounted) and two pewter cauldrons (standard sizes 3 and 5) and one brass (standard size 4)-he still spent over seventy galleons. And when he came home, he realized he'd forgotten powdered ginger root and bicorn hair.

He resolved to make a list for his next trip.

He decided to make a simple pain-relief potion, because it had been nearly two years since he had brewed anything, and he ought to be able to make a pain-relief potion in his sleep. He looked for his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, but it wasn't with the books he'd brought from Hogwarts. It didn't take him long to remember that Potter had somehow ended up with his copy. He wasn't too worried; Potter would, no doubt, make another appearance soon. He resolved to ask the boy about his book the next time he saw him. He could make a pain-relief potion without consulting a recipe, anyway-but it would have been nice to have some sort of confirmation.

No matter. He brewed an entirely serviceable potion, which was able to relieve the headache he got from his day's misadventures.

Potter, of course, showed up on his doorstep again that night. He brought a steak-and-kidney pie with him, which had never been one of Severus's favorites, and besides, he rarely ate meat two nights in a row. So as he moved aside to let Potter in, Severus asked, "Do you still have my copy of Advanced Potion-Making?"

Potter looked guilty. "Erm, no. Did you need it?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure I can remember every addendum to every potion in the book-I don't know why I bothered to write any of it down to begin with."

"Oh, Severus, I'm sorry-I hid it in the Room of Requirement." The boy sounded far more contrite than the situation called for, and Severus looked at him blankly.

"Can you not retrieve it from the Room?"

The boy's face fell even further. "N-no. The Fiendfyre, you know. I'm sorry."

Severus froze where he stood. He remembered now-the room had been utterly destroyed, along with everything in it.

Severus had other potions books, of course, but his copy of Advanced Potion-Making was helpful in brewing all sorts of potions. And he'd kept all his best modifications and variations in there.

It was years of research and experimentation. Gone. More than gone-destroyed by Fiendfyre.

He heard the boy's voice, but the words were vague, indistinct.

"Go," Severus said. "Leave me."

And Potter did.


But Potter showed up early the next morning, looking like he hadn't slept at all. When Severus saw what he brought, he realized that the boy probably hadn't.

It was the Pensieve, and hours and hours of memories.

"They're mine-my memories of reading your book. I know it's not as good as the book, but I'm pretty sure you can get a good look at all of the pages, anyway, and that's better than nothing. And look-" Potter pulled out another package from his cloak. "I got you a clean copy of Advanced Potion-Making so you can write all over it."

Severus didn't know what to say. Potter shifted uneasily.

"I'm really, really sorry," the boy said. "And Professor Sprout said you can keep the Pensieve for as long as you need to-she said she'd owl you if she needed it for anything."

Severus nodded. Potter may have said something more, but Severus didn't hear it. He clutched the book and the bowl full of memories, carefully, as if he might break either one, and when he looked up again, Potter was gone.

He set the Pensieve carefully on the table, and slipped in.

He was pleased to find that he could bring the book and a quill along with him to watch the memories. The scenes contained within were certainly thorough. The boy could spend hours reading Severus's old textbook while lying on his stomach on his bed, with his chin propped on his hands, and his feet in the air. Or reading Severus's old textbook while sprawled in an armchair by the Gryffindor fire, one leg hanging over the arm of the chair. Or reading Severus's old textbook while sitting at a table in the library, chewing on his fingernails.

Christ. Potter's life was boring. Severus skipped over large portions of the memories, and six hours later, he'd reclaimed about a third of the text.

He took a short break, and ate some of the steak-and-kidney pie Potter had brought over the night before. Then he went back to the memories.

He'd copied five more pages of notes before it occurred to him that he could slip inside Potter's mind, so he did. But even this was boring: I wonder why Sagittariuses react better to potions brewed in copper cauldrons and I never thought it mattered so much, the difference between chopping and mincing and Why couldn't Snape have just told us this?

Not even worth the effort of eavesdropping, really. Behold: the savior of the Wizarding world. Severus shook his head as Potter spat out another mangled fingernail.

But that night, he dreamed that he was still a student, and was in the Slytherin common room with his friend-and it wasn't an exciting dream, but he and his friend were laughing and talking, and Severus woke up with a feeling of warm acceptance. When he tried to remember what his Slytherin friend looked like, he realized it was James Potter.

He was pretty sure it was James, anyway.

The next day, he was able to finish his annotations to Advanced Potion-Making, with only a few missing pages. (Perhaps Potter's memories were incomplete; or perhaps Potter had simply never looked at those pages; or perhaps he had but Severus had skipped over them in his haste. He wasn't willing to watch them all again to check, so he assumed the fault was Potter's.)

That night-the fourth night of Severus's stay at Spinner's End-Potter showed up again, looking haggard and carrying a bag of egg salad sandwiches.

"Egg salad, Potter?" Severus asked, while Potter still waited on the doorstep.

"It was in case you kicked me back out."

Severus didn't know how egg salad would help in that case, but he decided not to ask. He moved aside for Potter, who entered gratefully. The boy gestured to the Pensieve sitting on the small table in the sitting room.

"I hope the memories were helpful to you," he said.

"Yes-and please take the Pensieve back to Pomona. It belongs at Hogwarts."

"Sure, sure. Hey, can you show me how to put memories back in?"

So Severus did, and with very little mocking. They ate their egg salad sandwiches and drank tea and spoke of potions and had a decent evening.

And then Potter asked if he could sleep on the couch. "I won't be any trouble-I don't need anything. You might not even know I'm here."

"No."

Potter's eyebrows sagged, but he persisted: "I'm not asking for anything, really. You can go to bed, or you can stay up and do whatever you do, and I'll just be here, quietly on your couch."

"Maybe I wanted to sit on my couch."

"Oh," Potter said, as if this were the only reasonable objection to his proposal. "Well, I can sleep in the chair, then."

"Potter, go home."

"I-I can't sleep there, Severus. It's too big, and too empty. And too quiet! I'm going mad there."

"Then go be with the Weasleys."

"I tried that last night. It's...Ginny's there-and suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are Ginny's parents. I mean, that sounds stupid-I know they've always been Ginny's parents, but Gin and I are really careful around each other these days, and being with her parents is a little too-a little too much, really. And it feels like everything I do is an act, and I have to be on my best behavior all the time. And George is there, and Fred is dead, and Hermione's gone to Australia, and the people who aren't there are louder than the people who are."

"None of this is my problem, Potter."

"Please, Severus."

"No."

Somehow, miraculously, Severus won the argument, and Potter left for the night. But he came back the next evening with tomato-basil soup, looking even more haggard than the night before. Severus wondered if the boy had slept in the park.

This time, the boy didn't ask permission. By nine-thirty, he had already curled up on the couch as if it was his birthright. Truthfully, he looked so worn-down that Severus couldn't bring himself to kick the boy out. But he didn't Summon a blanket for the idiot.

Though he may have done so, had the boy requested one.


It was after midnight when Severus was woken by a commotion downstairs. He rolled over, confused, but the sound of breaking glass made him sit up quickly and pull on his dressing gown. He hurried down the steps to find Potter, still in the throes of his nightmare. He'd somehow managed to knock over a lamp with his thrashing.

"Christ," Severus muttered. He didn't know the best way to wake the boy. Why hadn't Potter woken with the sound of the breaking lamp, and saved Severus from this?

He moved in as close as he dared, avoiding the flailing limbs. "POTTER," he said sharply. "WAKE UP."

The boy's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly, almost headbutting Severus, who backed out of the way. Potter tried to get off the couch, stumbled, and fell in a heap on the floor. "I couldn't stop it," he cried, and folded into himself and started rocking back and forth. "I couldn't stop it," he repeated, and clutched the crown of his head.

Severus didn't want to witness this, but it didn't feel right to go back to his own room just yet. He compromised by going into the kitchen. When he reached the door, Potter started keening quietly.

Severus stayed in the kitchen until the keening stopped. He waited a few moments, then took a glass of water and walked back to the sitting room. Potter was still on the floor, but he watched Severus with red-rimmed eyes. Severus handed him the glass of water without a word.

Potter took it and croaked, "It was a dream, wasn't it?"

"I've no idea," Severus said. He hesitated, wondering what else there was to say. "Fix the lamp before you go back to sleep."

And he went back upstairs to his own bedroom.


When Severus woke up the next morning, Potter was still asleep on the couch. Severus made himself tea and toast quietly, and sat at the kitchen table, making notes about how to best brew a Calming Draught without a silver cauldron. He needed to tweak the recipe slightly to make up for the pewter, which dulled the effects of about half the ingredients. He also sent carefully-worded inquiries to apothecaries in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley-as well as to the head Potionologist at St. Mungo's-offering his talents as a Potions Master if they had any interest in purchasing his brews.

Someone knocked on the door at ten o'clock, which finally woke Potter up.

"Wh' time'sit?"

Severus answered him with a glare, and opened the front door.

It was Neville Longbottom. Severus was too dumbfounded to be cross. "How do you know where I live?"

Neville gave him an odd look. "You told me. Hi, Harry."

Severus turned to see Harry standing by the couch, looking awkward and extremely rumpled. "Hi Neville," the boy said thickly, and shifted his feet. "I-er-I slept on the couch, I swear."

"Yeah, I got that," Longbottom said, with a quelling glare.

The exchange made no sense to Severus. He would have understood if Potter had been mortified to be caught sleeping in his former teacher's home-but his tone had been meant to reassure Longbottom. And Longbottom had clearly accepted it as such. Severus put it from his mind.

"Why are you here?" he asked the young man.

"Oh-I brought you a housewarming gift," he said, and held out a brightly-wrapped package.

Severus took the box, and mutely gestured the young man inside his home.

Longbottom said, "This is a nice place you've got," which was a lie.

Severus shrugged. "It's big enough for one person, anyway," he said, and Potter snorted.

They all sat down in the sitting room, and Potter asked, "So, what have you been up to, Neville?"

"Well, Luna and I are still working in the greenhouses, minding all the plants. It's a pretty big job, actually, and we just got a delivery of new seeds the other day, but we'll have to wait to plant them until after the new moon." He smiled and said, "I know it probably sounds boring, but it's rather exciting every time a new plant sprouts up."

"How are you liking your flat?"

"I love it-it's so great to have a space of my own, you know? And my own bathroom!"

"Must be nice," Severus said quietly, and Potter had the good grace to look abashed.

Neville smiled and said, "Go ahead and open your gift, Severus-I can't stand waiting any longer."

Severus looked at the box in his hands. He didn't have much practice at this sort of thing-would he be expected to be grateful for whatever piece of sentimental garbage Longbottom had bought for him? He sighed and tore the paper, and opened the box to find-

A standard size 3 stone cauldron.

He caught his breath. Wolfsbane. Anti-swelling tincture. Veritaserum.

Longbottom started a stream of nervous babbling. "If you don't need it or don't like it, that's okay. It's just-Professor Sprout suggested it when I asked her what you might need-she said a stone cauldron would be a good bet. I mean, it's probably the wrong size-there were so many to choose from, so I just picked one of the middle-sized ones, and-"

"Neville," Severus said, and locked eyes with the young man. "Thank you."

"Oh," he said, turning slightly pink. "You're welcome."

They stared at each other until Potter cleared his throat. "So, Neville, are you still going to Hogwarts in the fall?"

"Erm-yes. I mean-yes."

There was a pause, and Severus recovered himself from whatever had just happened. "You're going back? To living in a dormitory, sharing a bathroom?" Well, perhaps he hadn't recovered quite as well as he'd hoped-he was usually more eloquent than that.

"No-not there-not living there, I mean. I-I talked to Professor Sprout, and she said that returning seventh years could live outside of Hogwarts. I'm keeping my flat."

"Where-where is your flat?" Why was Severus suddenly a stammering fool? At least Longbottom wasn't faring much better.

"Erm, in Hogsmeade. Just across from the library-there's a quiet little tea shop and I live above it. You should come visit. I mean-" the young man turned bright red. "I think you'd like it, I mean."

Potter had watched the entire exchange, and was starting to color slightly, himself. "What classes are you going to take, Neville?"

"Oh. Er. Just Herbology, Charms, and Ancient Runes."

They all nodded. Potter seemed to have run out of inane questions.

Longbottom finally bit his lips and stood up. "I'm sorry, I don't want to impose. I've been here quite long enough. I hope you like the cauldron, Severus."

"I-yes. It was well-done of you," he said, standing up himself. They looked at each other, and then Severus glanced back at Potter, who was still sitting, staring at the floor, and trying to make himself seem very small.

"I-I'll see you around, then," Neville said, and Severus walked him to the door. He stood there and watched as the young man walked down the front steps and down the street. Longbottom turned and caught him still watching. The young man smiled and gave a little wave.

Severus waved back before he could stop himself. Then he cursed himself a fool, and closed the door firmly and turned back to his sitting room.

Potter stood there, looking anywhere but at Severus. "It's time for me to go," Potter mumbled.

"I should think so, yes."

The boy left, but the morning's events did not prevent him from returning later in the evening, and bringing a blanket with him.


That night, Potter had another nightmare, of course. When Severus woke him up, the boy pulled his knees up to his chest and sat on the couch, gasping for breath. Severus stared at him for a long while, as Potter tried and failed to get a hold of himself.

Severus started to talk to him, quietly. "Close your eyes and imagine a lake-much like the Black Lake, but you can't see any buildings nearby. An isolated lake in a mountainous region, and it's a calm day and the water is so still and so clear that you could see right down to the bottom of the lake, if you wished to. Can you see the lake, Harry?" Severus used Potter's given name carefully, but the boy didn't seem to notice. He just nodded and kept his eyes closed.

Severus said, "Good, Harry. Keep focused on the lake. Think of nothing but the sunlight reflecting off the water and the fresh air on your cheeks. The clean smell of the isolated mountains. It is silent, silent. When a troubling thought crosses your mind, put it in the lake. It's still there; you can still see it. But it can't touch you, not when it's under the water."

Harry sniffed. "Is this how you clear your mind?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why couldn't you tell me this fifth year?"

"Because in fifth year, you weren't sleeping on my couch, waking me up at all hours of the night."

Harry got quiet and frowned a little bit. "I'm pushing that under the lake," he decided, eyes still closed.

Severus started to stand, but Harry opened his eyes and stopped him. "Severus, wait."

Severus waited.

"Do you ever take things back out of the lake?"

He tried not to groan. "If I say no, I suppose you'll tell me that I should."

"Well, do you ever wish you could take something out of the lake?"

He wished things could get out of the lake without touching him-but it didn't work like that. He wondered how to answer the question. He knew the boy wanted honesty, and perhaps Severus could give a version of the truth. He tried a few phrases in his head, testing the cost of each, and finally said out loud, "At times, I wish the lake wasn't so full, yes." But as he said it, he remembered the cabinets full of student papers from 1983. Perhaps the lake contained older things; things that didn't matter so much anymore but seemed significant at the time.

Harry, for once, was quiet. Severus looked in his lake, careful to keep his distance, and saw something that might be innocuous enough, even if it escaped into the air.

"Your father..." Severus began, and Harry looked at him with wide eyes. "Your father, and Black, and Pettigrew-they all took to calling me 'Snivellus.' I believe you heard Black using that name on one occasion. 'Severus' was never a great name, and I got teased at Muggle primary for it, but I thought that it maybe wasn't such an odd name for a wizard, and that I would fit in once I got to Hogwarts. But almost immediately, I got on the train and those fools started calling me 'Snivellus,' and-Merlin, I hated it. And I hated them, for giving me that name."

"Was...was that in your lake?"

Severus nodded. "It was."

Potter played with the edge of his blanket, and silence stretched between them until the boy finally spoke. "He was just so...thoughtless. I think that's the worst part, that I don't think he meant anything by it-he was just such a casual arsehole." Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry, Severus. I'd like to think he'd apologize, too, if he were here."

Severus shrugged, too.

"So, wait," Potter said. "That lake business-that's not Occluding, is it? It can't be."

Well, at least the boy wasn't a complete idiot. "No, of course not. It's just a method of accomplishing the first step."

"But...what's the next step?"

Severus had no words for the feeling. There was just...a distancing-a freezing-a wrapping up, very tightly...and then the only things that remained with him were the parts he chose. He didn't feel like explaining a difficult mental process, not in the middle of the night, not when he didn't have the right words and Potter wouldn't understand what words he could provide. So instead, he asked, "Do you intend to spend every night here?"

"Nooooo," Harry said, slowly and solemnly.

Severus took that for what it was worth, and thought about his options. Spinner's End was cramped and grim as fuck, in a grim-as-fuck neighborhood in a grim-as-fuck town. If he were to live with Harry Potter, there were, at least, better places to do it. "I'm sure that Grimmauld Place is more comfortable than my couch," he said carefully.

"It's really not," Harry replied quickly.

Severus rolled his eyes and tried again. "I'm sure Grimmauld Place has more than enough room for two people."

"It has more than enough room for twelve people. It's too big for me to live in alone-I can't do it, Severus."

Gryffindors. "That's not what I was suggesting, you dolt."

"Oh," Harry said. "OOOOHHH! Do you want to go back there now, or-?"

"For Christ's sake, Potter, get back to sleep. We'll discuss this in the morning."

But there was really nothing to discuss the next morning. By the time Harry woke up, Severus had already packed two boxes of books, personal items, and shoes, and his suitcase full of clothes, along with another box, full of all the cauldrons and potions ingredients he'd procured over the course of a week. Harry rolled off the couch, rolled up his blanket, and pronounced himself ready, as well.

And just like that, Severus moved in to Grimmauld Place with Harry Potter.