That night, by unspoken agreement, they shared a goodnight kiss and retired to their separate rooms.
Snape considered taking Dream-filled Sleep only for a moment before he decided against it. He could not face the nightmares again, not alone.
He was agitated at the thought that Harry had become so important to him so quickly. Considering that he already felt more comfortable around Harry than he had ever felt in his life, even alone, that he wanted—needed?—Harry there to comfort him, that he felt as if this man whom he had barely spared a second thought for a month ago had become a part of him…yes, considering all this he was glad he had demanded they take things slowly.
He paced for a while to release his frustration, but it was only somewhat effective. What he really wanted was to throw things, to hit someone, to run the entire width of Britain in the rain.
These disconsolate thoughts were useless. He took a dose of Wake-Me-Not and collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The next day, they practiced blocking nonverbal spells again. After an hour, Snape could tell Harry was improving, but they were both tiring. It would be neither useful nor safe to practice something so new when both of them were fatigued.
"Very well, Mr. Potter, that is enough for today. Let us take tea, then I believe a Potions lesson is in order," Snape said. It had been days since he'd brewed anything, and it was making him feel somewhat on edge.
After tea, Harry followed Snape to his room. "How would you like to learn to brew the Wolfsbane Potion?"
Harry's eyes widened. "Well, it would be great if I could, sir. Isn't it really complicated though?" he asked apprehensively.
"It is indeed. No need to fret, we will start with the basics. You will only be attempting the base today," Snape answered and retrieved a worn, leather-bound notebook—his personal potion journal. He flipped to the correct page and set it on the worktable in front of Harry.
"These are the instructions for the base. Do what you can on your own, but ask if you are uncertain about something, as even the base is highly volatile."
Harry looked from the notebook to Snape and back again a few times.
"What is it, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked impatiently.
"Nothing, sir. It's just, I was expecting a textbook or something."
"You would find the version of this potion invented by Mr. Belby in Advanced Potion-Making: A Course for Master's Studies, but as it is almost entirely ineffective, I see no reason to attempt it."
"Then what's this version?"
"It is my version," Snape answered matter-of-factly.
"Well, why isn't it in a textbook somewhere?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed.
Snape almost sighed. He met Harry's eyes before he spoke softly, "Who would publish a recipe authored by Severus Snape?"
"What, just because you used to have a mark on your arm? That's ridiculous!"
Snape was shocked at Harry's anger. To his recollection, no one had ever defended him before. And, as it aroused a warm, tight feeling in his chest, he thought he'd remember if someone had.
"That is not for us to decide. My only regret is that, as a result, the potion is not available to all those who need it." He reverted to his usual lecture voice before he added, "Get started, Mr. Potter."
The base took about two hours to make. Snape had to stop Harry a few times to thoroughly explain the differences between chopping, slicing, cubing, dicing, and mincing, as he seemed to think they all meant the same thing.
There was also a tense moment when Harry almost added eight ounces of powdered aconite instead of 0.8, and Snape had grabbed his wrist to stop him and yelled, "Are you trying to kill us both, Potter? Is it that difficult for you to read simple instructions?"
Harry's face had reddened and he bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry, Professor."
He said it with such self-loathing that Snape had almost apologized for berating him. He did, however, try to change the tone of his voice when he said, "You must be more careful. Potions are fantastic, but dangerous things, and you could easily hurt yourself with the simplest mistake."
Harry had looked into his eyes for a long moment before he replied. "I understand, Professor. I'll try to be more careful from now on."
The base was completed without any further mishaps. "That will need to simmer for three days before we can proceed," Snape instructed.
"So it turned out okay? I didn't muck it up?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised.
"It will suffice," Snape answered.
They returned to the sitting room and settled into their respective sofas. After a moment of silence, Snape said, "It is your turn, I believe."
"Oh, right. Um, what's your middle name?" Harry asked.
"Tobias," Snape answered, shuddering almost imperceptibly. Harry quirked an eyebrow, and Snape elaborated, "After my father."
"Well," Harry said, "regardless of where it came from, I think it's a lovely name."
Lovely? It was not a term that had ever been applied to any aspect of himself, let alone his name. The warm, tight feeling was back and it made him uneasy.
"Yes, well," Snape paused to clear his throat before continuing, "Is Harry short for something…Harold, Henry?"
"I don't think so. I've never seen my birth certificate or anything, but any official mail has always been addressed to 'Harry Potter'." A brief look of worry clouded Harry's countenance before he continued, "You said you inherited your father's house—how did he die?"
"It was no secret that I hated my father. Shortly before I graduated from Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had him killed as a reward for my loyalty." He took a breath and lowered his voice. "I did not ask for it. I could not help feeling that he deserved to die, but it weighed on my conscience nevertheless."
Harry had been catching him off-guard at every turn, and the look, not of revulsion or fear, but of compassion he saw on Harry's face was no exception.
"Tell me something you want, some object. Something attainable, but that you would not obtain for yourself. Something you wish someone would give you." He chastised himself for not having thought before he spoke. He abhorred sounding like a fool.
Harry contemplated for a while before answering. "This is going to sound stupid, okay? But I'm just trying to be honest. What I would want someone to give me is something important to that person, a piece of himself. I don't care if it's something useful, or anything like that. And I would never, never, ask for it. I guess most of all, I just want someone to want to give me that. To…to share that with me." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, this doesn't make any sense. Like I said, it's stupid."
Snape could do nothing but look at him. He had expected him to say a Firebolt B-36 or self-warming snow boots, not anything so deep, so mature, so profound—even if it was awkwardly worded, which really just added to its charm. "It is anything but stupid," he said finally, and filed the information away to contemplate later.
"What's your favorite thing about yourself? Personality-wise or physically or whatever," Harry asked.
Snape blinked at him. What sort of question was that? Did he not know by now that there was nothing to him worth liking, that there was nothing good to him? Was he having a laugh? He searched Harry's face for a brief moment before averting his eyes. He did not see any mirth there, but he still felt as if he were being mocked.
"It is after five, we should eat," he said and swept out of the room.
They ate in silence. After dinner, Snape gave Harry another book to read—Non-Darke Curses: Defeating your Enemy without Darke Magick by Dominick Ditterwick, published 1798—and opened his own book, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
After over four hours of uncomfortable silence, Snape gave up trying to concentrate on his book and stood to go to his room. A soft touch at his elbow stopped him.
"Please, let me come with you, Severus."
"Why?" he asked, turning slightly so he could see Harry's face.
"Is wanting to be with you not enough?" Snape gave no response and Harry sighed. "Fine, if you need another reason, I can't take any Dreamless Sleep tonight and I don't seem to have nightmares when you're with me."
"Just to sleep? I am too…" he stopped himself from saying 'emotionally drained', "exhausted for anything else."
Harry nodded. "Yes. I just want to hold you."
The simple statement was the exact opposite of what he had been expecting, but after all the surprises of the day he could not bring himself to be shocked.