Harry felt he was being very mature about the whole thing.

"Counselling?" He blurted. Dumbledore smiled, apologetic.

"I'm afraid so my boy. I wouldn't do this unless it were absolutely necessary." Harry fingered the hem of his robes and looked at his lap.

Counselling. With Snape. It was unthinkable. He imagined them both laying prostate while a variation of Trelawney sang and had them hold hands. He imagined Snape with a flower crown in his hair skipping through the forbidden forest with Harry in his arms. He imagined Snape bashing his skull in with one of his stone pestles and picking out bits of his brain for potions. He certainly knew which was the most likely.

He had no experience of Muggle or magical counselling, but just the word was enough to make him cringe. Snape wasn't a human being with emotions he was- well- Snape. Ugly, cruel and angry like a black stain against the bright colours of Hogwarts. He was the villain Harry plotted against, the division between them and us, and Harry didn't want to see the man in another light. His hatred for Snape was steady and unchanging. Really, he supposed, it was exactly what he needed.

"Are you alright? I understand it is quite a shock." Dumbledore said.

"Yes sir- sorry. It's just- I know you wouldn't do this unless you had no choice but… Well, Snape-"

"Professor Snape Harry."

"Sorry. Professor Snape really er, doesn't like me. Like, at all. You must know that I know, but I really can't see that changing. And I um, saw how my Dad treated him during the Occlumency lessons…"

"Yes, Severus did inform me of that. Try as I might I could not encourage him to continue with them. For that, I failed you Harry. I never truly apologised, but I am sorry. Had I been thinking more clearly I would have ordered Severus to continue your lessons regardless of the personal cost, however I did not, and the loss is insurmountable. I am sorry Harry."

Harry felt immensely grateful Dumbledore hadn't said Sirius's name, but he still had to blink rapidly and stare hard into his hands. Gone Harry's mind helpfully supplied. Counselling with Snape suddenly seemed almost trivial.

Well, almost.

Dumbledore mercifully continued talking as though he hadn't noticed his distress.

"I understand this will be very challenging for the both of you however, we truly have no choice. Severus can be… difficult and I do understand that Harry." Harry brought himself under control and met Dumbledore's kind gaze.

"I also understand that Severus can be blinded by prejudice. However, he is also a great man, and I have the utmost confidence in his ability to deal with this maturely."

Maturely. Harry reckoned trolls might possess more maturity than Snape. Dumbledore sensed his trepidation and his eyes danced with amusement. Harry wrung his hands together and sat up straight. He at least, could be mature. He caught Dumbledore's eyes as the man pushed a tin of lemon sherbets towards him and hesitated.

He hadn't had a chance to speak to Dumbledore since the term begun, and he desperately wanted to ask someone, anyone about his father. The realisation that he wasn't the perfect hero Harry had built in his mind had mellowed him and also made him made him aware of how in his desperation to idolise and live up to his father, he knew next to nothing about his mother. It unsettled him, how an entire life of expectations and fantasies had fallen so short of reality.

Sirius bothered him too. Harry had wanted the promise of family so badly he'd been happy and flattered by Sirius's constant comparisons to James. In Harry's mind his father was brave, kind, handsome and everything Harry wanted. He didn't mind being the shadow of his father, in fact he'd liked it. Even Snape's old comments about their similarity had enthralled him, after all if James had hated Snape they had a common enemy, a shared goal. Now though, Sirius's pride disturbed him, and he wondered if he'd ever seen Harry as he was at all.

Dumbledore watched him carefully.

"You have a question Harry?" He said.

"Yes I um-" He swallowed and met the man's serious gaze.

"When I saw my Dad in the pensive- I mean- is that what he was like? I just, I suppose it's not what I imagined." Dumbledore hummed and sat back slightly.

"Harry," He began, twirling his beard.

"Your father was a great wizard. Powerful and brave, he would give his life to those he loved- as indeed he did. You must understand, my dear boy, that all of our lives are a series of moments. Your father was far more than a single memory and indeed so is Professor Snape. What you saw was not fabricated, I'm afraid, nor was it affected by judgement. Your father was a bully Harry, there is no escaping that. However, he was also extraordinarily brave, intelligent and brilliant at Quidditch." Harry smiled weakly.

"We can believe that people are bad or good. Or we can believe that they are neither, and in my experience, very few are simply one or the other." Dumbledore sipped his tea and Harry watched as Fawkes stretched behind him, fixing her smart gaze on Harry.

"Your father was terrible to Professor Snape, but he loved your mother deeply. And he grew up. As we all do. Albeit some faster than others." He smiled and Harry nodded, looking back at his lap.

He didn't know what to think.

Talking to Snape about that memory seemed out of the realm of reality. He remembered Snape's horrified face when he emerged from the pensive and realised he'd never truly been afraid of Snape until then. He doubted Snape would welcome talking about that.

"How often will I have to do this counselling thing sir?"

"Twice a week. However, rest assured I will endeavour to allow ample time for Quidditch and study."

Twice a week! Harry's stomach dropped.

"And um, do you know how long we'll have to do it for?" Dumbledore looked apologetic.

"Six months. Give or take."

Six. Months

At least now, he thought, facing Voldemort would feel like nothing.

.

The first session was a disaster.

Apparently, due to insufficient resources- it had been discovered that every wizarding school in Britain bullied eleven-year old's relentlessly- the Ministry planned to assign different individuals to lead the counselling every other week or so. To start with Harry thought that was brilliant. No one would bother following through and it would become a simple case of turning up, sitting in stormy silence for an hour and forgetting it all to start a fresh next week. It would be easy. But he'd forgotten one simple problem.

He was Harry Potter. Nothing was easy.

And as soon as Harry touched the chair, Snape was a twat.

He waltzed in, cool as a cat, sat straight upright in one of the armchairs laid out for them, and answered every question with deadly efficiency, painting Harry as some spoilt, spitting child who took delight in maiming and torturing small animals and children. Harry responded furiously in kind, and insisted Snape was a sour, cruel bully who re-joyed in belittling students to stroke his own ego and would happily give each and every one of them up to the dementors were it permitted as punishment.

The counsellor nodded and hummed and gradually turned paler and paler after each question she asked. By the end of the session, by which they'd established nothing except Snape was a truly excellent actor when the time called for it- utterly detached and calculating- and Harry was most definitely not, she'd given up scribbling on her pad in favour of staring blankly ahead as Snape laid out every single one of Harry's misdoings and Harry spluttered and fought tooth and nail to defend himself.

Harry knew it wasn't a game, but by the end, he had the maddening feeling that Snape had won.

Dumbledore had assured Harry that they were both to speak freely when in session, and in fact it was encouraged, so Harry abused this to its limit. Snape had no grounds to punish Harry for anything that arouse while they were 'in session.'

Class however, was a different story.

"Potter! I've seen mandrakes demonstrate greater dexterity than you. Do it again!"

"The wizarding world will fall to Muggles if someone as incompetent as yourself is to be our saviour. Again!"

"Helping Longbottom again Potter? Charity work from our chosen one? Detention."

It was awful.

The only justice was that Harry was in detention with Filch for two months solid due to his previous outburst, which left giving out more rather redundant. Snape had no leverage. But that didn't matter. Snape may not have been able to eat up any more of Harry's free time, but he could still try to make every second of his life more miserable than the last. And try he did.

Insult after insult was hurled at him regardless of his performance. No one was safe, and Hermione and Ron were targeted whenever Snape had run out of steam for Harry. Poor Neville had all but given up and spent most of class staring dumbly at the desk, listening to the abuse pouring out of every pore of Snape's body. Harry was sick of it.

He considered complaining to Dumbledore, but he didn't want the headmaster to think he couldn't handle it, so instead he decided to bring it up with Snape directly. In the counselling session. What better way to do it?

They'd been at it for three weeks now and every session somehow felt worse than the last. The only silver lining was that Snape's cool was starting to drop, much to Harry's delight, and his knee bounced steadily from the moment they sat down, growing increasingly more violent as time passed. Harry felt like it was all building up to something awful.

But they did it. Harry stumbled through confused accusations of favouritism and cruelty, which sounded weak even to his ears, and Snape painfully and coldly rebutted each and every one. Harry insulted, snapped and huffed trying to express how terrible Snape was, and left every session like they'd made steps backwards rather than forward. But they did it.

There was only one rule.

Snape's past was out of bounds. Harry had considered bringing up the memory, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't think of a way that wouldn't cement every negative notion Snape had ever had about him, because he knew as soon as he so much as breathed the word pensive, Snape would assume the worst. That Harry was mocking him. That he was proud of his father's behaviour. That he wanted to see the greasy git suffer. He had to admit, it was tempting, but one look into that haunted, drawn face and his mouth was stapled shut.

"So how are classes running Severus?"

This week's torturer was a tall, willowy woman, with bobbed hair and a severe cupids bow. Snape's leg began it's customary bounce and he looked on at her with what Harry assumed was meant to be neutrality.

"Poorly. Unfortunately, Mr Potter fails to apply himself and spends much of his time dallying with Miss Granger."

Harry just sighed. That was a reach even for Snape. Anyone with eyes could see Hermione was all over Ron this year. Truthfully, it made him feel quite alone. At least Ginny was eyeing him up and really, she was very pretty. Harry felt quite inadequate.

"Harry?" The woman said. Harry shrugged.

"He sees what he wants to see I guess."

"And what would that be?"

My father.

"You'd have to ask him I suppose."

"I see. Severus?" Snape was obviously fighting his signature glare and Harry watched from beside him. Snape never looked at him during these sessions unless it was instructed and then he stared blankly at random spaces on his face. Harry knew it to make him self-conscious; to make him reach up and wipe off some invisible mark. Snape was doing it on purpose.

Eventually, Harry learnt to do the same back.

"I see only what is in front of me. He continues to disrupt the class and seems more interested in drawing caricatures than studying."

Harry groaned. He was talking about Seamus's cartoon again. Trust that paper plane to land on his desk of all places. It had not been flattering. Snape was wearing a bikini with his hair tied into a man-bun behind his head, flicking between three evocative poses with a speech bubble reading 'Bored Mr Potter?'. Snape had not been amused.

"I told you, I didn't do that." Harry said. Snape's miserable mouth curled slightly but as he made to reply Harry coughed a little and sat up straight. The woman gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Actually, I er wanted to mention something." Harry said quickly.

"To Severus?" She said like the other man wasn't there. Harry felt Snape bristle and fought a grin.

"Yeah." Harry turned to look at Snape's face and Snape, not wanting to be outdone, turned to meet him. Harry stared at a spot in his eyebrow and Snape settled on the end of his nose. Harry even tried to create a minuscule expression of concern like there really was something Snape needed to rub off and was rewarded with an almost invisible twitch.

"I want to know why you've gotten so much- um-" Harry trailed off. He felt very silly. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Meaner." Harry blurted. Snape blinked, obviously suppressing a pleased smirk and Harry cursed inwardly.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to Mr Potter."

"Really." Harry snapped. Snape gestured vaguely with his hands. The woman frowned as she looked between them.

"Oh what's the point." Harry muttered, looking down.

"No Harry, explain what you mean. We're listening." Snape's expression screamed 'are we?' Harry kicked his trainers together.

"Well, he's just awful really. As soon as I step into class he starts screaming abuse at me. I could follow the bloody instructions word for word and he'd still be angry. And it's not just me, it's my friends too. Anyone within about five meters of me is basically a bullseye to him." She nodded, then looked at Snape awaiting a reply.

Snape however, was looking straight at Harry. No- not just at Harry, he was staring into his eyes for the first time since this had all began. Harry swallowed silently and met his gaze right back. Snape's eyes were so dark he couldn't see where his pupils ended and his iris's began and he noticed a very faint pattern of stubble leading up his jaw. He almost laughed aloud- it seemed so strange that Snape would do something so human as shave. But that was silly, of course he did. He was a human. Wasn't he? Harry shifted in his seat but refused to break contact first.

"It's as I've said. Mr Potter refuses to apply himself. That's all there is to it." Snape said.

They stared.

Harry would not break first.

The woman coughed.

Harry wondered how Snape didn't seem to blink like normal people. He narrowed his eyes slightly to compete. A mental image of Snape licking his eyes like a lizard popped into his mind, and couldn't help but turn away, uncomfortable. Snape sat back, satisfied and the woman sighed.

The next week was more of the same.

And the week after that.

And then again.

It was bad.

.

"It can't be that bad." Hermione said, buttering up a piece of toast. Harry stared at her. Ron went pale as he always did when Harry's situation came up.

"I'd rather castrate myself and bear Voldemort's love child than endure another hour of it." Harry said. Ron choked and Neville had to hit his back to dislodge a piece of crumpet.

"I'm eating Harry." He moaned. Hermione frowned.

"Isn't it working?" She said.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're exaggerating. Professor Snape can't enjoy it any more than you do."

"I bet he loves it. He sits there all calm and- and tall-" Hermione raised an eyebrow

"and has them dangling off his every word while I flap around like a fish. He's practically drooling by the end of it."

"Eating!" Ron said again, looking paler. Harry sighed and rubbed his head.

His scar hurt almost constantly these days. As did most of him. From the moment he woke up he was on autopilot with the hum of pain in his head, his arms and his back. He was exhausted. More than anything in the world he wanted to curl up in bed, plug his ears and sleep until Voldemort was gone, Sirius was alive and the world was righted as it should be. Or even just for a day. He'd sit through ten hours of counselling with Snape if it promised a single day in bed.

Well, maybe not.

He settled for brutally stabbing another fried egg and watching the yolk pool on his plate.

"Maybe you could talk to Dumbledore?" Hermione said. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe you could change your name, find a sugar daddy and move to Paris." Ron suggested.

The days passed slowly.

Harry found keeping busy was a good substitute for- well, everything that was now missing in life- and found himself obsessing over the potions textbook he'd nabbed in Slughorn's classroom. Property of the Half Blood Prince, and for the first time in his life, Harry found himself genuinely interested in potions. He was fascinated by the spidery letters sprawled down the columns of each page and the occasional exclamation or curse when the writer just couldn't bare the apparent stupidity of its author any longer.

'Wormwood!? Fucking twit.'

'WHY!'

'NO.'

Harry traced these words with the soft pad of his thumb. They were the only clues into the character of the person who's book he possessed and he hoarded them like a dragon with her treasure. When he'd run out of essays to write and chess games to lose, he found himself conjuring up a face behind the words. To start with it was a woman, dark and intelligent. He wasn't overly concerned or surprised when this found its way into his wank fantasies; everything from pastry to Ginny's socks seemed to set him off these days, but gradually his imaginings began to change.

He started to create a different image in his head. A long, clever hand, hard, wiry limbs and a scrape of stubble against his cheek-

That really wouldn't do.

He tried in vain to go back to his previous creation, but try as he might her long delicate frame morphed into thick, unbending muscle and her kind almond eyes narrowed into a deep set stare. He decided Hermione was right: it was unhealthy to be so obsessed with a book (he scoffed at the irony), and he moved it from under his pillow into his bag to only use in the classroom. Unfortunately, his imaginary man was there to stay, and after a very awkward morning which involved Harry bumping into Dean on the way to the bathroom with his towel dangled very obviously over his crotch, he decided it must be the stress.

So, he pushed it down, down, DOWN, and whenever Oliver Wood's (frankly disturbingly attractive) body flickered in his mind he stomped it into its death. Ginny had far nicer hair anyway.

Life went on.

And so did Snape.

The sessions only seemed to get worse and Snape, apparently finally realising they were in for the long haul, seemed to have given up entirely, answering the counsellor's questions with single word or vague sweeping motions that felt so out of character they left Harry feeling unbalanced.

Something had to give.

So really Harry shouldn't have been surprised when Dumbledore informed him of their new plan.

.

"Work with him!?" Harry said loudly. Dumbledore shot him a warning gaze and Harry blushed and sat back down in his seat.

"Indeed. I have been informed that the two of you are making very poor progress. They've suggested, as the traditional route isn't working as well for the two of you, that one session a week might be dedicated to having the two of you partake in some sort of activity together."

"Like detention." Harry muttered. Dumbledore chuckled, and offered him a chocolate.

"No, not like detention Harry. When I approached the subject with Severus I suggested you could assist him in preparing some of the ingredients for the medicinal potions he makes for the Madame Pomfrey. Something along those lines you see."

That sounded an awful lot like detention to Harry.

He tried to imagine Dumbledore having this conversation with Snape and failed. He felt it must have either gone very well or very poorly; they seemed to be the only options with Snape, and Harry thought that Dumbledore might be the only person in the world the man had any amount of respect for. Even so, he couldn't imagine Snape took it lying down. He seemed to hate Harry even more than Harry hated him, having to spend more time together must be tearing him to shreds.

"Snape brews the potions for the hospital wing?" Harry said. Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"Of course my boy, who else would do it? Severus is one of the best potion masters in England and has dedicated his life to working and serving this school, as you'd do well to remember."

Dumbledore gave him that look over his half moon glasses and Harry felt himself flush. Perhaps he had been acting a bit immature about it all. Not as immature as Snape of course. While Harry tried to find a way to explain this to win back Dumbledore's favour, the old man began to speak again.

"I fear I underestimated how challenging you would both find this. While I was aware of your differences, I didn't fully appreciate the scale. I know the pair of you would be far happier pretending the other doesn't exist and usually of course, I would allow that- some things are just not meant to be- however under these circumstances I'm afraid you really have no choice. There must be something you find amenable in Severus Harry?"

Harry felt his eyebrows raise and quickly fixed them back down. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. The bastard's enjoying this!

Something amenable about Snape? Surely there was nothing. Snape was cruel, moody and odd looking at best. He'd hated Harry since he first laid eyes on him at eleven years old for Christ's sake, and bullied Neville so relentlessly he'd become his boggart.

"Um, I don't know sir. He's very… He's not like anyone else I've ever met." At that Dumbeldore laughed aloud and nodded.

"Now that is certainly true. Severus is a unique character to say the least. But he is a powerful wizard Harry, surely you've realised this?"

Of course he had.

Snape's magic crackled around him like static; he positively thrummed with the stuff. Even in potions Harry had grown to appreciate the quick, controlled beats of power and the constant wandless spells he littered up the room with. In DADA the man could cast every spell under the sun non-verbally and then some and it left Harry light-headed just to think about. Snape's magic was tied to him so intrinsically he seemed to swim within it, manipulating his environment masterfully like it was fluid under his hands.

But Voldemort was a powerful wizard, and he wasn't about to attend counselling with him.

Harry sighed.

"He's a better Defence teacher than Potions I think sir." He admitted. Dumbledore nodded and gave Harry an oddly sad smile.

"As impossible as it may sound Harry, I think you and Severus have more in common than you realise- but alas, that's not for me to say." He twinkled and Harry stared confused.

Somehow, he doubted that.

.

The next week in Defence saw Snape approach Harry's desk, give him the ugliest sneer he could manage and slam a scrap of paper in front of him before returning to the front to deliver the lesson.

Potter,

My office, tomorrow at seven. Don't be late.

Seamus saw, giggled and set about drawing another disturbing cartoon of Snape slipping Harry more titillating message. Ron went so pale Harry thought he might be sick and stepped well out of his way just in case. Hermione shot him a weak smile.

Dumbledore's words rang in his ears.

What could they possibly have in common?

.

A/N:

Thankyou to yous who followed and reviewed the last chapter! I'm blushing UwU

I think the pacing feels a bit off at the moment but I haven't written in so long I'm struggling.

The rating may change but I haven't really decided so I'll just see where it goes. As much as I love Snarry I dunno about Harry being like sixteen lol. Kind of makes Snape into a creep but we'll see…