It was Friday night. Snape was dressed in his nightshirt and perched on the edge of his bed in a bit of a quandary over whether or not he should take a dose of Dream-filled Sleep. He had not taken any since term had started, but he hadn't seen Harry—really seen him—in several days, and it was getting to him. All the professors were working hard to make up for the month of missed classes, so Harry had been spending almost all his time working on homework with his friends, and Snape thought that if he took the potion maybe—just maybe—he would dream of Harry.
He twirled the vial slowly in his hands, watching the shimmering, viscous liquid roll around inside. He did not look forward to having any more nightmares, but maybe it would be worth it if he could dream of Harry. And he had heard that sometimes people found meaning and clarity in their dreams that their conscious mind could not see. Snape thought he could do with a bit of meaning and clarity.
He took the dose before he could change his mind and slipped under the covers. He was apprehensive about falling asleep, but the soporific in the potion did not allow him to lay awake for long and he succumbed to unconsciousness.
Lucius Malfoy growled and his grey eyes flashed with anger.
"Do not stand without permission! Crucio!" he cried, and the person standing in front of him fell to his knees in pain.
Who was that?
Malfoy ended the curse after a few seconds and the man on the floor whimpered.
"Now now, Potter, do not worry," he cooed in a falsely sweet voice, "I promise to hurt you plenty more before this is over. You shall get what you deserve for killing the greatest wizard of all time and ruining our plans for a perfect world!"
No, it could not be Harry—anyone but him!
Why wasn't Harry doing anything? Why did he not use wandless magic? Snape watched, helpless, as Malfoy cast the Cruciatus again. He held it longer this time and when he finally stopped, Harry was curled in a ball on the ground, shaking.
'Get up, Harry, get up!' Snape wanted to shout. But his voice had deserted him.
This must be my punishment, he thought. This is what I get for abandoning my defenses and letting myself feel. I have to watch the man I love be tortured. I have to watch Harry die.
Then he saw the yellow light of the same strange curse that had been used on him streak from the end of Malfoy's wand toward his Harry.
"Severus!" someone said and shook him by the shoulder, "Severus, wake up!"
Snape snapped his eyes open and found a Harry-shaped silhouette hovering over him and tried to pull himself back to reality.
"What are you doing here? What time is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"It's about three in the morning. Were you having a nightmare?" he asked, running his fingers soothingly through Snape's hair. "You were so upset it woke me up, and I came to check on you."
He had known taking that confounded potion was a bad idea. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I did not mean—"
"No, it's okay. Don't worry about it," Harry said, and crawled into the bed beside him. "Just go back to sleep." He wrapped himself around Snape and brushed his lips across his exposed neck. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across Snape's arm until they both drifted to sleep.
Snape went into the kitchen to get dinner started. He filled a large pot with water and set a Boiling Charm on it, then turned away from it knowing the charm would not boil the water while he watched.
He absently studied the drapes framing the window above the wooden table in the small breakfast nook. They were sky blue, with bright oranges, limes, and lemons scattered randomly. Certainly not what Snape would have chosen himself. But, he thought, if they make him happy, I can have no objection.
He looked out the window to the garden beyond. It was small, but it was densely planted and they had everything they needed. The pixiehouse looked like it might fall off the fence at any moment, but he had strengthened the Sticking Charm on it so many times that he could probably not dislodge it even if he wanted to.
He heard the water begin to boil and forced himself out of his musings to add some penne to the pot. He turned to the pan in which he had been cooking the sauce, decided it was probably done, and countered the Simmering Charm he had set on it. As he stirred the contents, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind.
He quickly spun around to make contact with a pair of bright green eyes. He smiled.
"I'm sorry I'm late. Got held up." The man tightened his grip on Snape for a moment, then raised his hand to Snape's face. "You had some sauce," he explained and licked his finger. He laid his head on Snape's shoulder before continuing.
"It's good to be home. I love you, Severus. Mmm, that smells wonderful."
Something tickled his face. He tried to swat it away, but it kept coming back. Finally, he opened his eyes and saw Harry smiling down at him, brushing his petite fingers over Snape's cheeks.
"Morning," Harry said.
"You stayed all night," was Snape's reply. Normally, he avoided stating the obvious as much as possible, but he had been awake for less than a minute and it was all he could think of to say.
"Yes. I wanted to be here for you if you had another nightmare."
Ah, the nightmare. Snape could not quite recall the details, but he was fairly certain he did not want to. He gave Harry a kiss and said, "I'm going to shower."
"If you must," Harry said and they both got out of bed. "Oh, I came down here in just my pyjamas—can I borrow something?" Harry asked, and started to open a wardrobe-like cabinet, only it was not a wardrobe.
"No! Wait, that's not—"
But Harry already had it open. Snape could see the strings of the harp glinting in the light.
"Your mother's?" Harry asked.
Snape nodded. He usually did not remove it from its hiding place unless he was very, very drunk. It was painful to look at the finely-crafted instrument, but he had trouble tearing his eyes away.
"Play me something?"
Snape wrenched his gaze from the harp to look at Harry. "What, now?"
Harry nodded. "You don't have to—I know it hurts you. But would you? Please?"
He might as well, he supposed. He had already looked at the thing—the pain would not get much worse. At least now he had someone to with whom to share it.
"Very well," he answered, and removed it from the cabinet. He carried it to the sitting room and Harry followed. He caressed the wooden neck, spent a couple of minutes tuning the strings—he had not touched it in many months—then closed his eyes and played.
When he finished, there was a moment of silence. Then Harry said, "Wow. What was that? It sounded so…bright, so colourful. It made me think of having fun and being hopeful."
"It is a tune I made up long ago to accompany one of the songs from Peter Pan—'Never Never Land'. When I was seven, my mother gave me a copy of the script to the Broadway musical. She told me it was okay to pretend sometimes that I was some place else, some place like Neverland."
He'd tried it once, but it had not stopped his father from drinking too much or from taking out his frustration and hopelessness and anger on his family. It had not stopped him from breaking an empty whisky bottle over Snape's head, just because it was empty. No, he could not journey to an island in the stars and he could not be invisible, no matter how hard he pretended.
"I like your version better than the real one—I always thought that song was meant to be happier."
"Why, what was it like in the play?" Snape asked.
"It's sort of sad, really. They showed it on the telly once and I listened from my…from my room. And when Peter sang that song, it sounded so melancholy. It was almost wistful, like he was singing about a dream or something instead of his home. I didn't want it to be a dream."
Snape shook his head. "Nor I."
The following Saturday was a Hogsmeade day. It was the last before Christmas break, so almost everyone was going. Somehow, Snape had been induced to chaperone. He kept his distance from the students, including Harry, letting him spend some time with his friends. So he just walked a bit through the snow-covered streets and let his thoughts wander.
Classes were tiresome—more so than usual. The students were dazed, still figuring out how they were supposed to behave, how they were supposed to live their lives without the threat of the Dark Lord hanging over their heads. Harry, surprisingly enough, seemed to be having no trouble at all adjusting. His only complaint had been that, because he was no longer expected to best any dark wizards, he and Snape could no longer justify having their Defense lessons. Snape missed them too, but now that a few people knew and accepted that there was something between them, Harry could come down to the dungeons periodically for dinner and whatnot without having to lie through his teeth.
Many things had been different since he awoke in the hospital wing. It had only just sunk in, but the Dark Lord was well and truly dead, and ninety percent of his Death Eaters were incarcerated or dead as well.
And while he knew the vast majority of the wizarding world still did not like him—which was fine; he did not much like them either—his innocence was on the record. It was fact, and everyone knew it. He could go out and do anything he pleased, and he would most likely not have to stave off any attempts on his life. As realizations went, this one was rather gratifying, even if he was not yet quite sure what to do with it.
"Severus. Hey, Severus!" Harry called. Snape looked back and saw Harry making his way toward him.
"Come shop with me some. Ron and Hermione ran off together and left me—I think they're buying my Christmas present. So come on, keep me company for a while. As least until they come back."
"Very well," Snape said, and followed Harry to a small general store. He did not realize how cold it was outside until the door closed behind them and a gust of warm air hit his face and made his skin tingle. He trailed behind Harry, who dropped a package of biscuits and a bag of crisps into his basket and stopped in front of the tea.
"What do you think of this one? Sounds good, right?" Harry asked, holding a box out to Snape.
'Crazy Caramel Sensation White Tea'. It did not sound completely atrocious. Snape shrugged his shoulders. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because I want to keep it in your rooms. Yours is too boring."
It was just tea. Tea did not need a clever name to taste good, but Snape was not in the mood to argue about such things. "Very well, if you insist."
Harry smiled and placed the box in his shopping basket.
When they left the general store, Harry stood on the sidewalk looking around, unsure where to go next.
"Have you purchased your Christmas gifts? Perhaps you should use the time away from your friends to do so," Snape suggested.
"I suppose," Harry answered. "You'd better stay here, then," he said, and set off down the sidewalk.
It then occurred to Snape that perhaps he ought to take his own advice. He had never done much Christmas shopping before—the odd gift for Albus now and again was all he had ever needed—but this year was different. Harry had told him to stay here. Was he buying a gift for him?
Snape decided he had better get something for Harry just in case he was—it would not do to have nothing to give in return. But what in the world was he going to get?
By four o'clock, when it was time to escort the students back to the castle, Snape had been in every store in the village—some twice—and had not found anything even close to suitable. He supposed he would just have to make a trip after term was over. Maybe he could find something in Diagon Alley. He put it out of his head for the moment and led his charges back to the gates.