Chapter 7. Making Tea
"Please, Professor Dumbledore, please. I can't. Please, don't make me go back there, I'll be good. Please! I promise!"
Albus' face was turned away from his. He had refused to look at Harry all summer, as if Harry were something disgusting or tainted…dirty.
"I was wrong to believe I could shield you from this war, Harry. This is for your own good. This training is what you need to win against Voldemort."
Harry's voice cracked as he fell to his knees. He grabbed the old man's dark purple robes. "I'm begging you, Professor Dumbledore. Please."
The man moved away abruptly, leaving Harry to touch his forehead to the floor. Vaguely, he was aware of the floo activating and another presence settling behind him.
"No, Harry. I'm sorry, but I'd rather you lived and hated me, then died and loved me. It is a small sacrifice I am willing to make…for the Greater Good."
A heavy hand descended on Harry's shoulder. A strong, unbreakable grip.
"Come, Mr. Potter. I think, we might finally be making progress."
Harry was none-too-gently forced headfirst into the floo network. "Department of Mysteries!" the gruff voice shouted. The feeling of being sucked through a pipe…Harry gasping for breath as a hand came around his throat and shoved him up against the wall. Moody's magical eye examining him.
"Now, you're going to make this up to me, Potter…"
Harry's eyes snapped open. He catapulted himself off the bed, staggered to the bathroom, and promptly evacuated the contents of his stomach into the toilet. What was that? Had that really been Mad-Eye Moody? He could feel his body shaking even though there wasn't a draft in the room. He flushed and began to rinse his mouth out in the sink.
The feel of Moody's hands on his person. His magical eye, undressing him even when he was fully clothed. Dumbledore, surely, hadn't condoned, hadn't known about…His vision began to darken. No, no, he couldn't have a break down now.
Harry tried to collect himself. It could be a false memory, Harry thought. A construct like the one Voldemort had made to lure him to the ministry…but somehow, he didn't think so. When had this occurred? He thought back to the end of fourth year, when they discovered the real Moody hidden in the trunk, a prisoner of Barty Crouch Jr. It was possible that the Moody in his memory was Crouch in disguise, but there was something so frightfully terrifying about the intensity of Moody's eyes, something that Crouch, for all his madness, never achieved. It was brought about by years of paranoia, PTSD, and likely exacerbated by being locked in a trunk for a year at the mercy of a Death Eater. Now that Harry thought about it, it was strange that Moody has stopped coming around to Order meetings sometime in his fifth year. At the time, he had chalked it up to Moody being busy. Dumbledore certainly hadn't given an explanation, and why should he have? Hadn't they all been busy? But Moody hadn't been at the battle of the Department of Mysteries either…
Breathe…breathe…What was it Snape had always said? Clear your mind? So Harry tried to do just that. He had occlumency shields now, didn't he? Snape had said so. And just like Snape, he could learn to lock painful memories away. Perhaps, this was why he could no longer feel the pains of Bellatrix's knife as she skinned him alive, or the impacts of Goyle's fist against his cracked rib cage…Something told Harry that this was probably unhealthy, but he just couldn't deal with the weight and the pain of it all right now. So he carefully funneled all his agonies deep into his mind and left the room.
-o-o-o-
Severus muttered to himself as he arranged the new shipment of ingredients on his workbench. They were rare, precious—Severus couldn't afford to lose track of them and meticulously labeled each jar and flask. Despite having most of his soul intact, the Dark Lord was still an incredibly unreasonable and impatient master. He had one year. It went without saying that he was unlikely to get an extension.
The wards flared, alerting him that the boy had just entered the basement level.
"You better have finished that translation before bothering me again, P-Harry," Severus threatened as Harry cautiously entered the potions master's domain.
"Um…"
Was it too much to hope for that the boy actually did his homework on time, when he had all the time in the world? Severus looked up then, startled when the saw what the boy was holding.
"Tea?" Harry asked carefully. When Severus didn't respond, he held up the other mug. "Er, coffee? It's…it's not poisoned, Snape," he added as an afterthought, as if it weren't abundantly obvious. If Harry killed him, he'd kill them both. Besides, Snape had already cast a silent detection spell on the two mugs and ascertained that they were safe for consumption.
Snape took the coffee mug, brushing Harry's hand accidently, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. It was clear he suspected something. Even if it wasn't poison, it wasn't like Potter to start serving tea and coffee like he was running a café.
Harry gave a small smile as Severus took the first sip and Snape cast the spell again, frowning into the mug, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Harry took a sip of the tea leftover, averting his eyes as the Aegis settled. Perfect. He had gotten in his millisecond of physical contact and made the man coffee. Maybe this Aegis was more manageable than he thought.
"Who would have ever thought that a Potter would be serving me coffee," Snape remarked snidely, when he was convinced the drink was after all completely innocent. "Perhaps there is an upside to Stockholm Syndrome after all."
Harry took an abrupt step backward. So maybe Snape would find fixing him drinks suspicious. "Molly serves tea to everyone at Order meetings," Harry countered with what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice and a blasé shrug. "It's not a big deal. I just thought, since we'll be living together and all, that you might want a cup…you leave them lying around the house, you know. It's a bit hard not to notice."
Snape studied his face once more before nodding seriously. "Well, in that case, Harry, thank you."
Harry beamed at him, and before he could do let something slip, exited the lab, the Aegis humming approvingly within him.
It seemed that the Aegis was rather active these days, considering Harry must have had one with the headmaster without his knowledge for at least a year. Likely two, if his memories could be trusted. He supposed it had to do with the fact that he was actively in danger now, in his enemy's possession, and the Aegis was always designed to be a protection bond. Perhaps, it was just eager to be completed so close to its binder when the threat of death surrounded him. But, hadn't Harry always felt pressured to please the headmaster? Make him proud or rush headlong into danger to be the perfect weapon? The perfect Gryffindor golden boy? He had fed that potion to the headmaster despite his better judgement, and all for naught, as the locket hadn't even been real…Maybe the Aegis had been at work then, but within the safety of Hogwarts' walls, hadn't had the opportunity to flare up.
Or, more likely, perhaps the headmaster had done something else to complicate his life…
-o-o-o-
Severus had been trying to be more provoking than anything else when he questioned the boy about Stockholm syndrome two weeks ago. Now, he wasn't so sure. Every day, the boy sought out his company to give him a steaming mug of coffee or tea—as the occasion warranted. Which wouldn't have been so terrible, if Harry just put down the mug and left. But instead, the boy's hand would linger over the mug, catching just the barest of hints of Snape's own skin as he accepted it.
Even that in itself wouldn't be cause for alarm, but it wasn't just that. It was the odd little gestures of Harry brushing him when they passed in the halls, or bumping into him by accident more than what could be afforded by chance and myopia. Harry was even insisting on eating with him at the dining room table, bringing down his plate of food from his bedroom, and silently slipping into the chair beside him.
It concerned him.
Tonight was no different, as Harry sat curled on the couch, Salazar's book open in his lap. The boy had worked through the first half of the book quite diligently, the proof, a stack of parchment paper with his slightly messy handwriting on the table before him. There was nothing outwardly different about the boy. His emerald green eyes were the same, maddening, bright…but his pupils weren't dilated. Harry also didn't seem to be indulging in any substance abuse that he was aware of or any self-destructive extracurriculars. He was the same as he'd always been: brash, irresponsible, foolhardy Gryffindor, who had also just been through a few months of torture and abuse, and who also tried to catch snatches of physical contact from his most hated professor and serve him tea…
No, it was very concerning.
Absently, Severus reached out to grab the next page of the translation, when Harry's hand also coincidentally reached for the paper at the same time.
"Oh, I—" Harry stuttered, as if it were an accident—and Severus would have believed him too if it didn't keep happening—and made to pull his hand away. It was always just the briefest moments of contact, he observed, like Harry didn't really want to touch Snape, but did so anyway. This time however, Snape was faster, grabbing Harry's wrist tightly, his hand closing around the cold metal chain that kept his magic at bay. Harry's eyes grew wide as saucers.
It was time to get some answers.
"What is the meaning of this, Harry?" Severus asked, gesturing with his other hand between the two of them. "You've been finding ways to seek contact all week. I'd like to know what little game you've gotten into your head to play before you get us both killed!"
Harry flushed, attempting to wrench his hand free, but not having the will to escape. "I—"
"And don't even try to deny it! You may be able to occlude now, but you're still a terrible liar."
Harry's heart fluttered in his chest from the extended contact. He hadn't thought he was being that smooth, but certainly not that obvious. It wasn't like he had been throwing himself at Snape.
"I…I just need the contact," Harry finally said in a very small voice.
"You—?" Severus asked, bewildered.
"Not especially from you," Harry lied. "It's just been…hard, you know? I'm used to Molly and Hermione's hugs and Ron comforting me after waking me up from my nightmares. I…I miss it. And it's not like you'd bloody give me a hug if I asked!"
"I should think not!"
"So you see…" Harry trailed off, like it was obvious. "I'm sorry it's made you uncomfortable, I—" but what could Harry promise? That he wouldn't do that anymore? Wouldn't try to seek out the contact he so desperately needed? "I just…I feel like I'm losing my mind and I just need something."
Snape had gone very quiet. The boy claimed he needed contact and had obviously needed it badly enough to seek it from him, snatching it quickly, knowing he'd be denied. Not for the first time, Severus wondered if Harry wasn't broken because he was something worse: intact and positively twisted. Who knew the after effects of what Bellatrix or MacNair or Rosier had done to him? Usually, their victims were not left alive…
The boy's head was lowered, and dear Merlin, was that a tear leaking from his eyes? For a second, Severus entertained the thought of actually doing what he promised the Dark Lord he would do. Wouldn't it be better, all things considered, to just mold the boy before he became something else Severus could neither control nor predict? He immediately pushed that thought away. No, he would not break Harry Potter. He could not add that crime to the ever growing list of his sins…
"Please, I…I'm sorry. I just need it," Harry said softly. "It's just the nightmares and the memories and Hermione used to just hold me and…I know I'm the last person on earth you'd want to…comfort, but…"
Severus had never seen anything look so pathetic, except perhaps for a baby bird that had gotten knocked out of the nest during a storm, and couldn't fly back up again…It certainly wasn't pity that stirred his heart, nor kindness, nor the ever present weight of guilt, or the emerald eyes which seemed to beg him to do something, the way they had when the boy lay under him in the snow.
Severus sighed, as he spoke the words he never wanted to say. "Do you…want to talk about it?"
And as Harry spoke of the time Hermione had carded her fingers through his hair while they were still on the run, Harry thought smugly to himself that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't such a terrible liar after all.