Chapter 10
Thank you thank you thank you to all of you who took the time to review….I really appreciate it and I love reading them.
As requested, I'm trying to explore Harry and his world a little more deeply in this chapter- I hope this highlights what kind of person he's become, and how he relates to those around him. Because of this it's a bit of a filler chapter, but necessary for development.
In the last chapter, Harry apologised for the awkward Christmas kiss, and invited himself along on a trip to a freezing beach. Harry's in denial somewhat, and this chapter explores that a little more.
I hope you enjoy, and, as ever, please let me know what you think! :)
"Everybody has a secret world inside of them. Everybody." – Neil Gaiman
"…The last of these," Harry could be found reciting to his attentive sixth year class on a bleak and blustery February afternoon "is the killing curse, the destructive force of which is absolute and irrefutable, almost always causing sudden and irreversible cell and soul death to those who are on the receiving end of it." He paused for breath, placing his hands on the leather chair behind his desk, watching the pupils before him carefully. The silence was thick, expectant and anxious, the faces in front of him a mixture of fear, barely-contained horror and morbid curiosity.
He had been labouring over how best to approach these sessions with his classes for the past few weeks, often accessing Snape's input upon how best to deliver the difficult subject material to a group of teenagers who had survived a brutal war, culminating in the very building in which they currently sat. He had no idea how difficult it would be, or how the pupils would react.
"The incantation to bring this curse in to being, Avada Kedavra-" Harry continued, clearly and with a brusque, business-like tone "is based upon the Aramaic Avda Kedavra which literally translates to 'what has said has been done' and clearly highlights the finality of the spell." He finished his sentence with a grim smile, sweeping his eyes through his audience, on the alert for distress or upset. Though pale, the students appeared to be coping well. Or hiding it well, Harry couldn't tell.
To break the tension, he split the class in to groups, giving him the opportunity to air their thoughts on the subject as well as focus on the group activity Harry had set them (planning for their essay 'The 'unforgiveable' killing curse, Avada Kedavra, can be blocked, avoided or counteracted in certain circumstances. Discuss').
It had been Snape's idea to cover the killing curse over two sessions rather than overwhelming them in one, and to allow them to explore the issue using a lengthy homework essay. Snape had been rather keen on that one, unsurprisingly. Harry felt it had worked well, but couldn't help musing over how many references to himself he would find in his students' essays, and how he would handle that or any other curious questions on how he'd defied the textbooks. He wasn't overly sure himself, sometimes, that it wasn't just an elaborate fairy tale. So surreal did his own story of survival seem.
His meetings with Snape no longer seemed like such a chore, merely a part of his working life. Though there were moments of discomfort, he rather found he enjoyed Snape's company, and though his connection with Snape was somewhat confusing, and caused his chest to constrict almost painfully whenever he was within arm's reach of the man, he tried not to dwell on it too much, throwing himself instead in to his flourishing teaching capabilities.
To his pleasure and no small amount of surprise, Snape had proved himself a worthy mentor now that they had seemingly overcome the initial barrier of mutual dislike. He guided Harry's choices effectively and constructively, and though he was always brutally honest, his criticisms lacked the spiteful bite they had held in successive years. Snape was nothing if not authentic, and Harry could tell that his dour former Professor no longer regarded teaching Harry as a burden he'd do anything to be relieved of. At the moment, that was enough for Harry.
He comforted himself with the explanation that his odd feelings towards his mentor were a blooming revelation of a degree of peace and respect between them. Given their past antagonistic animosity toward one another, Harry reasoned, it made sense that this change would cause him to feel a little uneasy for a time.
Harry had mused over this as he began to tidy his desk following the lesson, the subdued class leaving quietly in the wake of the arduous subject. A pale girl appeared to be lagging behind, and Harry caught her in the periphery of his vision. Not wanting to cause her to feel more awkward than necessary, Harry sat silently and waited for her approach.
Harry had wondered how Letitia Morgad, a fifteen year old orphan who had watched Death Eaters torture her Mother and Sister as a punishment for her Father, who had angered them in his quiet yet courageous opposition of the Ministry infiltration early in the war, was going to handle such in depth discussions of dark wizards and curses.
"Letitia," Harry acknowledged, quietly "what can I do for you?"
"Tish…you can call me Tish, Professor" she muttered, flushing as she spoke, her fingers twisting awkwardly in her Gryffindor robes.
Harry nodded in confirmation, gesturing to the seats in front of his desk. Harry rested his arms on the desk, clasping his fingers together as he surveyed the pupil in front of him, who had now slid awkwardly in to a wooden chair. She had long, chestnut hair pulled up in to a loose, sweeping ponytail that trailed down her back. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, though she had a pale pink hue that highlighted her striking, high cheekbones. She was darting furtive glances at the Professor before her. None of this struck Harry, however, as he waited patiently for the student to discuss whatever it was she had made great efforts to stay behind for. It was her eyes. They startled him; they were a vivid shade of celadon green, and they were bitterly sad. Harry's heart ached as it gave a sympathetic lurch at the recognised look of deep and enduring grief. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but stopped himself, disguising his movement by reaching for his quill instead.
"I…" she began, not quite meeting his eyes "I'm sorry if I'm wasting your time, Professor, I just…"
She lapsed in to silence, taking a deep breath and staring at her twisting fingers.
"You are not wasting my time, Tish. If you feel you need to be here, then that's reason enough," Harry smiled reassuringly.
"Is it the subjects we were covering today?" Harry questioned, softly, when an explanation was not forthcoming.
Tish nodded mutely in reply, still gazing dejectedly in to her lap.
"Just, hearing it all. It's just…brought it back, I suppose," Tish mumbled, giving a small shrug as she glanced at Harry, her eyes pained and hollow.
"Yes," Harry agreed, feeling himself soften with understanding "I can see how it would have done."
"Everyone expects me to have moved on," Tish continued, swallowing thickly. Harry could tell she was fighting hard against a wave of emotion. Harry almost wanted to sigh at the familiar sight; so many times had it been necessary for him to speak of such tragic events.
"I can't, though. I know it's been four years, since Mum and Dad, and Alice, and I have so much ahead of me, and I have lots of family and friends, and I love it here. But…" she paused to suck in a deep, shuddering breath, and Harry could see the liquid shimmering in the light green depths of her eyes as she met his gaze "The pain. It never seems to get any less, and it hurts so much, sometimes I can hardly…I can hardly breathe." Tish's voice broke, and her eyes overflowed, her grief tracking down her face.
Harry suddenly felt a little awkward at being put in this position, remembering again just how young he really was. How young they all were, to have seen what they had seen. He was frightened of saying or doing anything that might lengthen her distress.
"Tish?" Harry asked, causing her to look up and meet his gaze "You are excused from the next in this series of classes, if you feel it will be too much for you."
"But…" Tish replied, wiping her eyes on her sleeve "Won't they be in the exams? I'm worried I'll miss something important and I don't want to f…fail." She hiccupped as fresh tears slid down her cheeks.
"You may use one of your classmate's notes, and approach me with any queries you may have or if something is unclear. I recommend attempting to complete the essay assignment, however, as that is a question that often appears on the N.E.W.T paper. If you need an extension, please let me know." He tried to be as kind as possible, but he got the feeling it was not enough, and cursed himself for his inability to say the right thing.
"Remember, Tish, that you are not what has happened to you, you are what you choose to become," She looked at him, small, involuntary sobs now shaking her form "and grief never completely goes away, you just learn to live with it," He gave her another encouraging, but sad, smile "but the pain will lessen, Tish, I promise. Hang in there."
He had stood to walk around his desk and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance.
"Now," He smiled "a calming draught and an afternoon off is probably a good idea, yes?"
Tish nodded, seeming a little less broken. Harry summoned a small phial whilst simultaneously instructing his quill to write a lesson pass. He handed both to her. She gave him a small, watery smile as she left.
0000
Harry sighed as he sank heavily on to Snape's deep, green sofa that evening, rubbing a tired hand through his ruffled hair.
Snape was quietly scribbling on parchment, a pile of assignments stacked to his right. He had on his usual white, button down shirt and dark trousers, his overcoat and robes draped across the back of his chair. He had barely looked up when Harry entered, merely nodding in acknowledgement and pointing in the direction of the sofa. Harry was rather exhausted, feeling the stress of the day settling on his aching shoulders. He was content to gaze at the flickering fire and wait.
"Potter, do you have your lesson evaluations to submit?" Snape asked eventually, sounding brusque and burdened as he continued to write.
"Um," Harry muttered, feeling irritated and guilty in equal measures "I don't."
"Potter! We had this discussion last week. You are required to submit evaluations on sessions covering difficult subject matter. Did you assume I told you this as a joke? Or have you simply chosen to ignore my instructions?"
"Neither!" Harry replied, grumpily. He had hoped Snape might have made him feel better about everything, not worse "I've simply not had time. Can I not just give you the report verbally instead?" Harry gave him a small, hopeful smile.
Snape's eyes narrowed but he did not reply.
A short while later and a small tumbler of Firewhiskey floated in to his vision. He reached out to take it, murmuring a "Thanks" as Snape took the armchair opposite.
Harry had been too preoccupied earlier, but now the heightened awareness he seemed to develop whenever Snape was within a few feet of him returned with a sudden, alarming clarity. He saw that Snape also seemed exhausted, shadows framing his dark and wary eyes above sallow, pale cheeks. He was glaring sightlessly in to the glass he held.
"Are you alright, Snape?" Harry asked, suddenly concerned.
Snape lifted a warning eyebrow in response "Tell me about the class." He diverted in a commanding tone, leaving Harry no room to question him further.
Harry gave him a searching look, but sighed when it brought him nothing. Snape was at his closed-off best tonight. Instead, he launched in to an explanation of his fifth and sixth year classes that week, introducing and expanding upon the curses modules for the two different year groups.
Though Snape gazed at Harry for only small snatches of time, he could tell he was listening intently.
"I'm fried," Harry yawned at the end of the discussion "I've discussed Letitia with Madame Pomfrey, who is helping. Weeping girls have never been my strong point."
Snape raised another eyebrow, a brief flicker of amusement sliding across his gaze "Nor mine."
Harry flashed him a grin, rising to take his leave before Snape asked him to analyse his actions any further. He turned as he pulled on his robes, pausing to watch Snape rubbing his eyes distractedly with one hand.
"Are you sure you're ok, Professor? Is there anything I can help with?"
"Potter do cease your fussing!" He snapped, though it lacked his usual sharpness "I am perfectly fine. Goodnight." Harry was sure Snape had meant both comments to come out much harsher than they had done, but somehow his sharp tongue failed to overcome the weariness in his voice.
Harry recognised the shuttered, faraway look in Snape's eyes. The look that meant Harry would get nowhere, and that pushing things would end in more distance between them, rather than less.
0000
The next couple of weeks slipped by unbelievably fast. Snape had been more distant than ever, and he'd seen him only at meal times, looking similarly enervated, his shoulders drooped in fatigue. He was even more surly and waspish than usual, using his acid tongue to cut anyone who dare utter more than a 'good morning' in his general direction. Harry shuddered to think just how much his classes were suffering.
Harry was becoming more than a little concerned at the length of time this particular mood had been lasting, but was at a loss as to what to do. The few times he'd attempted to speak to Snape had been brushed off with cold impassiveness.
It was this conundrum that Harry was devoting to some serious contemplation to one lunchtime, as he tucked in to his beef stew at a lonely end of the staff table. He barely noticed Minerva sliding in to the seat next to him. He gave her a brief smile before turning back to his food.
"Good afternoon Harry," she began "I trust you are well?"
"Fine thanks," Harry replied, shrugging "busy, you know."
Minerva nodded in acknowledgement "Yes, a full class timetable does take some getting used to. You are being guided and supported sufficiently by Severus, I hope?" she questioned, pointedly.
"You mean is it my fault that he's storming around the castle terrifying staff and students alike? Sorry Professor," Harry gave her a small, rueful smile "I can't claim ownership over that one."
Minerva lifted a stern brow, though Harry could tell she was concerned.
"When is your next meeting with him?" She asked.
"We haven't arranged one," Harry replied, shaking his head "I'm hard-pushed to get him to listen long enough for me to even bring the subject up. It's alright though, I feel pretty confident about where I'm going with my classes…" Harry trailed off, realising Minerva had a pinched, concentrated sort of look on her face. And that she probably was not focusing on what Harry was saying at all.
"Minerva?" Harry inquired, bringing her out of her reverie "Do you know what's wrong with him?"
"I have my suspicions," She replied, cryptically "though I dare say it's nothing a listening ear and a bit of peppermint shortbread won't solve." She gave him a knowing smile before leaving and sweeping out of the Great Hall.
Harry had to try hard to resist the urge to snort. Sympathy and biscuits? Were they talking about the same person?
After getting through a frustrating third year class that afternoon in which, despite his best efforts, had resulted in eight separate repairs to a very tired-looking classroom chandelier and necessitated the sending of three students to the hospital wing, Harry hurried to finish his paperwork to ensure he was on time for dinner at Hermione and Ron's. Ron was away on a training exercise for the next two weeks and Harry knew she'd enjoy the company.
Harry stepped over the living room grate in to the cosy Surrey cottage, taking care not to drop soot on to Hermione's thick, cream rug warming the floorboards beneath. His two best friends had lived here for the best part of a year after Hermione's parents had given her permission to renovate and extend the former farm out-house building on a small patch of land they owned. Hermione, as ever, had done a brilliant job, creating a homey yet functional dwelling as a base for herself and Ron.
Harry could smell the scent of an enticing dinner wafting through from the small galley kitchen.
"Hey Hermione." Harry greeted, holding up the wine he'd brought before spelling it to chill in the metal bucket on the work surface.
"Harry!" She beamed, tearing her eyes from the self-stirring sauce on the stove. She gave him a warm embrace, and Harry smiled in return, glad to see her.
They chatted as they demolished Hermione's excellent cooking, catching up on the previous few weeks. Hermione was working on some difficult cases, particularly those relating to orphaned, traumatised children who existed in large numbers, still, due to the far-reaching consequences of the war.
"…It's so frustrating!" Hermione vociferated passionately "There's just next to no resources for these children and the Ministry keep turning a blind eye. I understand that they're still rebounding from the political nightmare of the war but surely they can't keep ignoring it for ever!? These damaged children are going to turn in to damaged adults believing that no one cared enough to acknowledge their story, let alone give them the time and the tools to overcome it!"
Hermione's eyes were looking suspiciously wet. Wanting to avoid another sobbing episode as much as possible, Harry jumped in with a suggestion "Can I help at all?" He asked "I am, after all, technically a 'war orphan…'" he gave her a self-deprecating smile as her face lit up.
"Oh Harry! That'd be great! I know you hate using your notoriety but this would be for a brilliant cause, I'll get on to the events committee and see if we can organise an awareness evening…"
Hermione busied herself writing ideas for the next few minutes as Harry polished off the rest of his spaghetti.
His thoughts strayed to Snape, as they so often did these days. He wondered if he should write to Snape, thinking that perhaps that might be easier for the reserved, controlled Potions Master to deal with than his wayward former pupil asking him outright to spill his concerns. Harry pondered over McGonagall, and their confusing conversation. Had she actually meant that Harry should be turning up at Snape's door ready to provide copious amounts of tea and metaphorical hand-holding?! He Wondered, not for the first time, whether Minerva had simply spent too long around Dumbledore's portrait. She certainly seemed to be channelling his irritating knack of using small amounts of nonsensical information to confuse and confound those around her.
"Hermione?" Harry suddenly asked, a thought popping in to his head "Do you know how to make peppermint shortbread?"
Hermione looked temporarily startled "I could," She replied, slightly bemused "Why? Have you got a sudden craving? I'm not sure I've got all the ingredients to bake tonight…"
Harry flushed, realising he'd spoken without really thinking and would most likely now have a barrage of questions from his sharp-minded, perceptive friend.
"It's ok, Hermione, forget I mentioned it, just a thought…" Harry mumbled.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, giving Harry a shrewd, sweeping gaze.
"Is it for Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, pointedly.
"I…maybe," Harry admitted in defeat "it's a stupid idea, please forget I asked?"
"Fine, Harry, but I think it's a great idea. I doubt he receives many gifts so I'm sure it would be appreciated. Now, do you want to see the bathroom? I had a bit of a grouting disaster last weekend, turns out you need to be ridiculously precise with the wand movements…" Hermione kept up her narrative as she showcased her handy-work. Harry was impressed and exasperated at the same time. Was there no end to her abilities?
0000
February dawned two weeks later, bleak and barren as the snow melted, leaving nothing but an icy, winter-hardened landscape in its wake.
It was on one of these bleak mornings, a quiet Saturday on a Hogsmeade weekend, that Harry could be found on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, helping Hagrid to cut up the large number of logs required to heat the castle. Hagrid used his monstrous strength to uproot the trunks and carry them through to the edge, where Harry efficiently used a simple slicing charm to cut them in to neat pieces. Harry mused that he was much more effective at using magic to split the pieces than he would be with his hands- he wished he could have applied the same method to his potions ingredients as a student; perhaps then he may have been a tad more successful.
Both of them realised that Hagrid didn't really require assistance, as used to this task as he was, but they both enjoyed one another's company and Harry new the use of magic made Hagrid's job a little simpler. It had become a tradition of sorts over the past few weeks, when Harry was not on duty. He enjoyed the fresh air, the break from the goings-on of the castle and the chance to catch-up with his oldest friend. By the way Hagrid's unfailingly kind eyes crinkled at the sight of him, Harry was sure he enjoyed their time together too.
Clutching his chilled fingers gratefully around one of Hagrid's dish-sized mugs of tea and shaking his head at the dubious buns sitting in the offered tin, Harry warmed himself by the fire.
"Yer enjoyin' bein' a teacher then Harry?" Hagrid asked, smiling down at him with pride.
"Mostly," Harry replied, giving him a small grin "it's hard work."
"Aye," Hagrid nodded in agreement "Tha' it is…yer up ter the task though Harry, yer've always done well, and now look at ya! A Professor at Hogwarts an' everythin'!" Hagrid shook his head, emotion welling up in his eyes.
"Thanks Hagrid," Harry patted Hagrid's arm as the large man surreptitiously wiped the moisture from his eyes "I have to make it through the rest of my training first though; something that Snape is having fun making as challenging as possible."
"Ahh," Hagrid began, wisely "righ' unlucky it was tha', getting' stuck with 'im. He knows 'is stuff though Harry. Yer can learn a lot from 'im."
Harry nodded "I know. He's actually much better than he was. I wouldn't say we're friends but…" Harry hesitated. What exactly were they? "…It's definitely easier."
Harry missed the knowing sparkle in Hagrid's soft, black eyes.
"Well, if anyone needs a friend in this world, it's Sev'rus Snape. Yer an unusual candidate for it Harry, but no reason why it can' be you."
Harry gave Hagrid a surprised look "Er, thanks?"
Hagrid laughed an affectionate, throaty laugh in response.
"Oh," Hagrid added, reaching in to his coat suddenly and bringing out a crumpled photograph "almos' forgot ter show yer this…" he slid the photo across the rough table, his cheeks flushing in pleasure.
It held the familiar form of Grawp, Hagrid's giant half-brother, sitting heavily on a large boulder with a second, taller giant, who was indistinguishable from Grawp in form, except that the giant wore a rag from chest to knees, and where Grawp's head was like a large, bristly, rounded egg, the other head held wispy whips of hair down to the ears. This giant appeared to be clutching a large, wrapped potato-shaped sack.
Harry cleared his throat "Um…is that…?"
"Yep!" Hagrid beamed "Grawpy's a Daddy! Can yer believe it?"
Harry realised, with a start, that the bundle the other held was a baby Giant, not a sack of food.
"Er, wow! That's great Hagrid!"
"Took mesself up there soon as I heard, bough' a muggle camera an' everythin'…" Harry tried to shake the mental image of Hagrid walking in to a muggle electronics shop.
"Thas' Grawpy's wife, Cewri," Hagrid's large fingers almost completely covered the second giant in the picture as he pointed to Grawp's companion. "She's gentle just like 'im; they're a good match. Grew a healthy boy she did! Little smaller than yer average giant though, but still a healthy fifty pounds. Bin meaning to send 'em somethin' but I'm a bit stumped ter tell yer the truth."
"Well…" Harry thought "You could always ask Madame Pomfrey for a few sheets from the infirmary, I'm sure Mrs Weasley could whip it in to a baby outfit?" He fought the urge to laugh as Hagrid considered the answer seriously.
"Hey…Tha's not a bad idea Harry, cheers!" He clapped his dish-sized hands affectionately on Harry's shoulder, jarring him rather violently in his seat.
"I'm goin' to get in a spot of game huntin' this afternoon if yer want to come along?" Hagrid asked, nodding towards his enlarged crossbow hanging from the beamed ceiling.
"Oh, thanks Hagrid, but I've got a few lesson plans that I've been putting off…"
"O'course Harry, no problem! I'll see yer at dinner."
"Thanks for the tea, and congratulations Uncle Hagrid!" Harry replied, answering Hagrid's grin with his own as he turned to make his way back to the castle.
Harry slipped off his boots and divested himself of a fair few layers as he let himself in to his quarters, pointing his wand at the dying fire to re-breathe some life in to it. He was planning on devoting his afternoon to reviewing next week's lesson plans so he could enjoy some free time tomorrow.
Carrying a large pile of parchment, Harry noticed the unfamiliar round tin on his desk, a label stuck to the lid. Slightly wary, Harry scanned the tin with a number of curse detection charms before declaring it clean and moving forward to investigate further.
The label bore a very familiar, neat, feminine hand, spelling out two, simple words:
'Be Brave'
"Hermione," Harry whispered, shaking his head, and smiling bemusedly.
Removing the lid, Harry found a decent quantity of freshly-baked golden biscuits, spilling the aroma of butter and peppermint around him. Nibbling on one, groaning slightly at his friend's clearly excellent baking skills, he set to work.
Three hours later, Harry let out a frustrated sigh. He hadn't been as productive as he'd liked, distracted as he was by the tin, Hermione's words, and the conundrum of how he was supposed to combine them all to approach Snape in a way that wouldn't result in him being permanently damaged by a defensive hex.
Finally, admitting to himself that if he sat thinking about it much longer, he would most likely end up doing nothing, he grabbed the tin and threw a pair of casual robes over his jumper and jeans.
According to his map, Snape was not in his office, but was pacing somewhere in the dungeons. Knowing that he was probably in his un-plotted quarters, Harry approached the area where he had felt the wards last, but hesitated. He did not feel the need to breach Snape's privacy again, but with no door to knock, he wondered how he was supposed to contact Snape to ask permission to be let in. Finally, he sent his Patronus through with a message.
The wooden door appeared almost immediately, and Harry realised Snape must have dismantled the wards. He knocked twice before the door swung open of its own accord.
Snape was sat, poring over his desk with a large pile of parchments resting either side of the piece he was currently scrutinising. Snape looked up briefly as Harry entered, and Harry caught sight of his face, which looked haggard and drawn, he looked as if he hadn't slept well in a long time, if the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes were anything to go by. Harry hadn't seen much of him for the past couple of weeks, as busy as he'd been, and Snape seemed, if it were possible, even worse than he had at their last meeting, when Harry had sought him out after the curse class.
"Afternoon, Professor," greeted Harry
"Potter," Snape replied, distractedly, continuing to write "what issue do you have this time, only I've limited time to deal with your whinings today, as you can surely deduce for yourself." Snape's lip curled as he gestured pointedly at the work in front of him. Harry tried not to wince at the rebuke. He'd clearly caught him at a bad time, and Harry tried not to let the comment affect him too personally.
Harry held up the tin "Peace offering?" he questioned.
"I wasn't aware we were fighting." Snape replied, looking irritated.
"Neither was I, but I think you might be looking to start one," Harry levelled a glare at Snape but he remained impassive "I haven't seen you for a while," Harry shrugged in explanation.
"So this is a social call?" Snape was sneering but Harry could detect the hint of incredulity in his voice, too.
"If you like," Harry inclined his head "is there a problem with that?"
"I'm supposed to be your teacher, not someone you irritate when you are insufferably bored at the weekend." Snape snapped.
"Are the two not mutually exclusive?" Harry flashed him a devious grin.
Snape scowled in response, causing Harry to laugh lightly.
"Come on! I've bought bloody shortbread, for goodness' sake, and you look like you could use a cup of tea…" Harry watched him expectantly for a moment, before Snape sighed in defeat, snapping his fingers to summon an elf.
"Tea for two, if you please." He ordered in his rich baritone, his eyes continuing to bore in to Harry, highlighting his displeasure. Harry wasn't completely fooled though. He had a strange suspicion that Snape was reluctantly pleased with his presence.
Their tea popped in to existence a short while later on a metal tray. Harry levitated it to the small coffee table in front of the sofa, which Snape had just sunken in to, his chin resting in his hand as he propped it on the arm of the sofa.
Harry offered him the tin of shortbread, where Snape took one of the pieces with a long-suffering sigh. Harry rolled his eyes internally at the dramatics, handing him a cup of tea.
"You have good sources," Snape commented dryly after biting in to the shortbread.
"Only the best." Harry gave him a grin in reply.
"I will have to thank Minerva for spreading my weaknesses around."
Harry chuckled, pleased that Snape had opened up enough to begin their easy banter again. He was glad he had persevered.
They lapsed in to companionable silence, though Harry began to wonder how he was going to ask Snape about why he appeared so exhausted without being shut down at the first hurdle.
His emotions must have been playing across his face as he struggled with his internal decision making, as Snape eventually asked, a small, wry smile on his lips:
"Potter, I suggest you voice whatever it is that is bothering you, preferably before you give yourself an aneurysm,"
The comment caught him off guard, and he frowned slightly at Snape. If it wasn't for you and your tetchiness, Harry thought, slightly bitterly, I wouldn't feel as if I were walking on eggshells, always struggling to find the right words.
Harry thought briefly about breaking through Snape's occlumency barriers to deliver his thought as he had done so previously, so averse was he to speaking it, but thought better of it, knowing instantly that such deliberate action would cause Snape to feel both vulnerable and defensive.
Harry shook his head internally. Since when had he started to understand this man?
He decided the direct approach would be preferable.
"What's bothering me…" Harry began, faltering at the intense look Snape was giving him "…is that something is bothering you."
Predictably, Snape bristled almost immediately, stiffening at his words and narrowing his eyes at the probe in to his personal life.
Harry bit his lip, waiting for the reply.
"You need not concern yourself Potter with things that are clearly not your business- as I recall that has ended badly on more than one occasion." Snape sneered, though Harry could tell it was simply a defence mechanism.
Trying not to push too hard, but maintain constant eye contact, Harry gently replied with "We are not at war, Professor, as we were then. I am asking not because I am curious, or because I feel I need to know, or because there is some ulterior motive here. I'm asking because you are clearly not that alright at the moment, and I care about the answer."
There was a long pause.
"Why?" Snape asked, quietly in to the space between them. He had averted his gaze, and was now watching the firelight flickering in the hearth, his face as inscrutable as ever.
"Because I…care about you." Harry admitted, swallowing thickly. He was surprised by the truth of it, even as he flushed following the admission. He did care; he cared a whole lot.
"Then you are a fool." Snape continued looking ahead, and though he no doubt intended for his words to bear some bite, they, instead, sounded weary, old; a thousand times older than his thirty-something self.
"Maybe," Harry replied, continuing to watch the man opposite closely for any key to his locked thoughts as he chose his next words carefully "Or perhaps I am just human. Do you think that caring about people in general is foolish, or just that anybody who comes to hold affection for you is wasting their time?"
Snape did not answer for a long time.
"Spending time attempting to befriend me is foolish Potter. You should occupy yourself trying to do something of value; improving your teaching capabilities, for example. Merlin knows it would not suffer for the attention."
Harry ignored the jibe.
"Nicely deflected, but you haven't answered the question, Severus." Harry directed, deliberately using his mentor's first name in the hope he could arouse a response.
Snape suddenly slipped across the sofa, closing the distance between them. He stopped mere inches from Harry's face, his eyes flashing dangerously as he bared his teeth in anger.
"Do. Not. Push. Me. Potter." He bit out.
Harry had slunk back a few inches, much to his own disgust.
"So I'm just supposed to let you push me instead? To criticise and ridicule and push me away whilst you…what?" Harry argued, bitterly "Hermit yourself away down here for the rest of your life? Oh, I know" Harry continued in response to Snape's answering scowl "You didn't plan on being here, and that's all my fault. Well, too bad. You're stuck here, and you're stuck here with me too."
"I am not 'stuck' anywhere with you Potter, I can kick you out at any time." Snape responded through gritted teeth, his fingers turning white as he gripped the sofa.
Harry recognised that Snape was on the edge of losing control. He wondered at Snape's level of tolerance. Not long ago this discussion would no doubt have resulted in shouting and possibly a hex exchange, at least ten minutes ago. Not wanting to push him any further, Harry stood to leave.
"You needn't bother," Harry sighed "I'm going."
He paused, turning back in the doorway. Snape still sat rigidly, resolutely in the same position.
"You are 'something of value', to me at least." Harry aimed at Snape's back, desperately wanting him to understand.
0000
The following morning, Harry received an owl from Hermione. Opening it eagerly, pleased to hear from his friend, he read its contents quickly:
Dear Harry,
I hope this letter finds you well. Ron's returned from exercise but is still very busy, he's constantly complaining about how hard they're working him and how difficult he's finding the written work now I'm not only not able to help him, but I'm also am also not allowed to know what he's working on. I think it's a bit of a shock for him still! I keep reminding him to owl, but he barely has time to eat (you can imagine how much this fact upsets him) so I apologise on his behalf for the lack of contact. Hopefully when things quieten down and Ron's workload isn't so heavy we can all get together. He'll most likely be at the awareness evening too!
Speaking of which, the plans are slowly coming together now the Department is on board. The Minister himself has endorsed the project which I am very excited about, particularly as everything has suddenly become a lot easier to organise.
The Ministry are very interested in your involvement in the project Harry so don't be surprised if they send a reporter out-
Harry groaned aloud at that comment and wondered how he'd managed to overlook this inevitability. Sighing, he returned to the rest of the writing.
-just don't let them get too personal and force them to come back to the topic at hand. I was thinking that you'd provide the opening and closing speeches to begin and end the night with the most important aspects of what we are trying to achieve, which of course, is extra funding and input for those who have suffered the most during the war.
I'm so grateful that you've offered to be involved Harry, I can't tell you how much it means to myself and my colleagues that you're helping us out with this cause.
I'll let you know in the next couple of weeks- we'll need to meet to discuss the details of your appearance that night. The provisional date is set for the 25th of March. I know you usually attend and speak at the War Memorial Day in May too Harry- I know this is a lot to ask, but I believe you're the best one to help us get the best results!
I will owl soon,
With love,
Hermione
P.s I hope our favourite Potions Master enjoyed the shortbread.
Harry sighed after reading her long letter. What had he gotten himself in to? He shifted uncomfortably as he realised he was expected to open and close the evening- Hermione had only just stopped short of requesting he host the entire thing. He cursed himself for wanting to alleviate his own discomfort the last time he'd been at Hermione's so much that he hadn't given a thought to what he might be inadvertently involving himself in.
Two speeches? Harry cringed. He wasn't great at remaining coherent at the best of times, and now he'd have to face a room of people waiting expectantly for him to say something profound. Being expected to thank people for coming every year at a memorial ceremony was not the same. Rising to stand before panic took root, he paced his lounge area before pausing as his eye was caught by a photograph on one of his bookshelves. It held a moving picture of him, Hermione, Ron and George.
It had been taken when none of them were looking at the camera during the Christmas holidays two years previously. They'd been playing doubles chess, himself partnered with Hermione and Ron teamed with George (Harry had insisted, to level the playing field more evenly). Despite Hermione's solid strategy, they had been losing abysmally, and she had been whispering furiously in his ear. Eventually, when he became too muddled by her constant instructions, he'd accidentally put a knight in the wrong place, causing her to flick his ear and call him a 'blithering Skrewt' George had roared with laughter and Harry had turned to give her a good-natured shove of the shoulder as Ginny, who had dropped in for a flying visit to give gifts, had caught them all with her camera.
Afterwards, Ginny had told him, awkwardly as she avoided his eye, that it had been one of the only times since the war she had seen them all appear so carefree. Later, Ginny had given him a framed copy of the photograph, with a small, shy smile.
Harry sighed again as he took in the picture, Hermione scowling playfully at him whilst he returned it with a cheeky grin, George and Ron openly laughing at their antics.
He could only hope that Hermione was a decent speech-writer.
0000
Harry gave Snape an expectant look as the man approached his desk in the Defense classroom. He'd just completed an observed lesson on counter-jinxes with his mixed class of fourth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
"Well?" Harry questioned, feeling a little anxious given past experiences with Snape observing his teaching methods.
Snape smirked at Harry's obvious discomfort "That was not a complete disaster, shockingly. I will produce a written report with an action plan."
Harry nodded. Coming from Snape, that was practically a compliment.
"My quarters, nine o'clock." Snape added, as he swept, bat-like as ever, from the classroom.
That evening, he stalked through the damp dungeons with a feeling of slight trepidation. A feeling he was well acquainted with, and was more than a little exhausted by.
He found Snape in much the same state as he had found him over the previous weeks; grumpy, irritated and scowling.
Snape handed him a piece of written parchment without much more than a grunt of a greeting. He flexed his hands and stretched his wrist distractedly as he regarded the essay before him. As usual, there were piles of assignments littering the desk. Harry noticed a splotch of ink on Snape's cheek, resting beneath the ever-present dark shadows eked out beneath his tired eyes.
Since he had confronted Snape at their last meeting, he had remained closed off and distant, keeping his interactions with Harry to a minimum.
Wordlessly, and permission-less, he approached the cabinet in the corner, bringing out the half-full bottle of Firewhiskey and two tumblers. Pouring generous quantities out, he offered one to Snape, who simply took it with a mildly-raised eyebrow as his attention was quickly captured by the sheet in front of him.
Harry sighed, seating himself on the sofa, prepared to wait. It took Snape a full five minutes to realise Harry had not exited his office.
"Potter," he began, fixing Harry with a glare "I believe I've issued the report; there is nothing else to discuss tonight and therefore no reason for you to be here."
Harry shrugged, giving Snape a brief apologetic grin.
Snape raised an incredulous eyebrow "So, you intend to stay and impose without invitation?"
"Apparently," Harry replied, impudently, gesturing briefly at the sofa he was settling himself comfortably on.
Snape muttered something under his breath that Harry didn't catch and continued to write, the sound of quill-scratching permeating the warm, candle-lit room. Harry was content to wait, and settled himself in to read through Snape's report.
Predictably, Snape had been harsh, but relatively fair, giving Harry reluctant praise for the, in his opinion, inventive way of getting the children to engage in the counter-jinx demonstrations (only those who answered the quiz questions correctly, those who had done the assigned readings, got a free pass against the jinx-testing).
Snape eventually took up his position next to Harry, massaging his temples wearily. He turned his blood-shot eyes on Harry.
"Is there anything you need to discuss, Harry, only I still have rather a large amount of work to complete." Snape, running his hand through his unkempt hair, seemed to miss the slip of Harry's first name in his distraction.
"Professor, why don't you stop for the night? Surely that-" he gestured behind him at the messy desk "-doesn't all need completing by morning?"
Snape was rubbing his temples again, firmly this time, as he tried to angle a withering look at Harry that mostly failed in its bleariness.
"Are you alright?" Harry tried again, genuine concern now blooming. The only time he'd seen Snape anywhere near this battered was after a war.
"A slight headache," Snape admitted reluctantly. A potion appeared in the room and Snape caught it in his outstretched hand, un-corking it and downing its content in a quick swoop. Snape waited a moment, but then frowned as he ran his fingertips firmly up his forehead.
"No better?" Harry asked, quietly, guessing at the cause of his discomfort.
"It loses its effectiveness if taken too frequently." Snape explained, tersely, clearly irritated by Harry's questions.
"Well how often are you taking it?"
"Potter!" he snapped "are you simply here to irritate me, because if you are you've succeeded in your goal. Feel free to leave at any time, certain in the notion you have been successful."
"No," Harry replied, stung "I'm here because you look as rough as toast and you aren't talking to anyone about it!"
"I am not unable to handle it Potter. Your mothering-type behaviour is becoming seriously annoying. Is there not someone else you can rescue? An orphaned child, perhaps?"
Harry rolled his eyes, though Snape, who's head lay propped upon his hand as his other one shielded his eyes from the bright flickering of the firelight, missed it.
He chose to ignore the comment.
"Why do you seem so exhausted? Is your workload heavier than everyone else's?"
Snape snorted derisively, but didn't reply.
"Explain, Severus, please." Harry implored, daring to use his first name in an effort to goad him in to replying.
"Will you leave me in peace if I answer?" he replied, intending to sound sharp and threatening, no doubt, but instead it simply came out tired.
Harry nodded in response.
"Yes, I have a 'heavier workload' than most; I hold my classes to a higher standards than the rest of the staff-" Harry quietly disagreed, Minerva could be a real battle-axe about homework when she wanted to be "-I have a full NEWT class this year for the first time in a decade, and have agreed to take on a mastery class too. As well as this, my house have been particularly trying for the past few weeks, numerous in-house fighting has resulted in myself having to supervise detention almost every night and on part of the weekends, so I'm terribly sorry if I look a little 'rough' Potter, I had not realised I needed to look my best to appease your sensibilities." His tone had begun flat but had culminated in an open sneer.
"And when do you sleep, or eat?" Harry asked, incredulously.
Snape's sneer deepened as he threw Harry a look that left him in no doubt he considered him an idiot for asking, but when he answered Harry, it was with a voice of tired defeat.
"I am used to little sleep Potter. It is no matter."
Harry regarded Snape, his mouth slightly agape. It surprised him that Snape had taken on so much, and yet was still giving time to assist Harry in his apprenticeship.
"It does matter," Harry insisted, stubbornly "you look about ready to collapse. And-" he began to add, watching with disapproval as Snape downed another headache potion "-you should be treating the cause of that headache, not just the symptoms."
"Oh?" Snape replied, sarcasm lacing his tone "Do hypothesise Dr. Potter."
Harry frowned. "It's common sense, not medical knowledge. I think you need some sleep, and you should let me take a look at your neck; tense muscles in that area can cause persistent headaches."
He quickly summoned Emmy, who returned with a soft, white hand towel and the bottle of massage oil he (rather embarrassingly) kept in his bedside drawer. Harry flushed as Emmy had quickly located it and returned within seconds, causing Snape to regard him with open amusement.
"And just what do you presume you are going to be doing with those?" Snape asked, in an attempt at menace.
"What I suggested." Harry replied, impatiently, abandoning his seat on the sofa to stand behind Snape. Gently, he placed a hand on each of Snape's shoulders, feeling him, predictably, stiffening under the touch.
"Will you allow me to, Professor?" Harry asked, quietly, his hands still maintaining a light touch under the tensing muscles "it may help."
Snape nodded, eventually, almost imperceptibly, and Harry gestured gently at the shirt buttons for Snape to undo them. Now having a clearer view of his neck and shoulders, Harry slipped his slightly cool fingers beneath the shirt, feeling Snape recoil slightly from the change in temperature.
"Sorry," Harry apologised "they'll warm up." Harry could already feel the knots clearly beneath his fingers. With practiced movements from the mandatory muggle massage module he'd taken during his incomplete Medi-Wizard training, he coated his hands and set to releasing the muscles free of their tension.
Snape's muscles were tense, and he could tell that Snape found the massage more tender than anything else as he worked the tightness free. Harry found that his heart-rate had accelerated treacherously at the touch, though he told himself it was the mild physical exertion involved more than anything else.
As the minutes passed, he relaxed in to it, and felt Snape do so too.
"I'm surprised you're letting me do this," Harry mused out loud, as he performed his final hand movements over the Trapezius muscle.
"Not as much as myself." Snape murmured, clearly relaxed and drowsy.
Harry chuckled gently, using the towel to catch the excess oil. Before he'd finished, Snape's breathing had evened out, and when he made his way around the sofa, he saw that he'd fallen sound asleep, head resting against the back of the sofa, arms tucked protectively against himself, pale chest peeking out over a white shirt.
Harry smiled quietly to himself as he observed this beautifully complex man, a shadow of tension still remaining, even in his sleep.
A bit of a longer chapter this time- I've worked on this for a fair while so sorry, again, for the delay!
The next chapter is a little more action packed but I felt I had to use this one to get them there first.
Please, please spare a few seconds to review. I'd be super grateful! :)
For those of you interested:
'Cewri' is the name given to Giants in Welsh folklore.