Harry's scar was beginning to burn, a sure sign that Voldemort was now in
the vicinity. He squinted, trying to locate him before it was too late.
Harry was sweating profusely, the intense pain and nerves taking a toll.
The icy persona must be maintained, he couldn't afford any slips. Should
he have made a mistake, the person he cared most for was going to have a
very ugly, very painful death.
Almost, almost he retreated from his purpose. His fear for Severus was tangible in the copper taste in his mouth – or was that blood? He probed the link, again seeking reassurance that for this moment, at least, Sev was not in danger.
Suddenly, he felt the equivalent of a jaguar set loose in his mind. Something, no, he realized, someone crashed through his thoughts, as confused and disoriented as he. And there was only one person it could possibly have been.
Merlin dammit, Sev, get the fuck out of my head! Harry was trying to maintain control. He couldn't afford this right now. He felt the brush of black velvet, and the dazed struggle as Sev fought to gain his bearings.
Potter? Sev was frozen at his worktable, the medallion gripped tightly in his hand, a small cut oozing blood onto the once brown jewel, now obsidian black. He'd been studying some of Potter's recovered magical items. Most of the items while fairly uncommon, hadn't been all that difficult to identify. The medallion, however, had been nagging at him for quite some time. He didn't know why, precisely, but he'd taken to wearing it most days. Certainly not out of any morbid desire to remember Lily or James, but because it seemed.....lonely. Severus knew he was guilty of anthropomorphizing a number of his possessions. Living alone would do that to the most didactic of personalities, but so long as no one was aware of it, he didn't particularly care. The medallion, though, there was something, if only he could remember.....when suddenly it pulsed, and he'd reflexively grabbed it. Too tightly, as it turned out. He'd felt the bite of the edge of one of the crystals, and then all manner of strangeness broke loose.
Harry fought to keep his attention centered on Voldemort, who he suspected was that rather large blot of red moving towards him. He scrambled to shut Sev off, hurriedly piling barrier after barrier between his mind and the velvet blackness of his ally. Harry knew what was coming, and had no intention of allowing Voldemort to take Severus down with him.
Severus quickly adjusted, his years of spying paying dividends as he sorted out what had happened in a matter of seconds. As he oriented himself, he felt the connection between them thin down to almost nothing. He knew it was the Potter brat he'd connected to; the flash of emerald and the brush of silk was unmistakable. He had been dazed by the desperation and pain flowing toward him before being abruptly shut off. Swiftly deciding on a course of action, he tried to force the link back open, determined to find out what was going on. He knew Harry had plans during this convocation of Voldemort supporters, and if things were going badly he was one of the few who might be of assistance.
Harry felt the renewed pulsing against the warding. Dammit Sev, no! He grimly abandoned tracking Voldemort to brace against his mental barriers. He could not let Sev in. Not now, when the danger was so great. If Sev was linked to him and Voldemort started torturing him, there was every danger that Severus would be affected. I will never again allow another friend to be hurt because of me! And should he die, there was a good chance that it would endanger Severus's sanity. Please, Sev, please no! His fear, anxiety, and physical pain were sapping his determination, and he could feel the barriers start to give way.
Severus could fee the emotional link slowly, very slowly start spreading to it's previous depth. Forcing the issue had not been easy, but he knew, somehow, that it was absolutely necessary that the link stay open, now that it had been activated. There was something he had to remember about that accursed medallion.
Potter, drop the damn barrier, and tell me what is going on! Severus had the sense of impending doom that always indicated Voldemort was nearby. Imbecile! So sure you're right, and no one else can assist, how typically, arrogantly Potter!
Harry knew he was losing, he simply didn't have the reserves to keep fighting on two fronts. It was either focus on Voldemort, or keep Severus safe. There wasn't any reason at all to debate, he knew he'd never allow Severus so much as a hangnail if he could prevent it.
There was only one thing he could think of to do. Voldermort wouldn't kill him immediately, he wanted his "fun" first. Harry had the power to end this, he just wasn't able to effectively use it without opening Sev up to secondhand danger. So he gathered his remaining strength, and pulled his magic, ripping and tearing at his psyche with abandon, and forcing the magic down the connection to Severus, ramming it home with desperate intensity. And then, he let the madness he'd kept so tightly locked away take him, knowing it would seal his mind from both Severus and Voldemort.
The great, gaping chasms where his magic once lived pulsed slowly, insanity welling thickly forth like blood, creating a river that slowly engulfed him. Occasional fragments of lucid thought that drifted in the current were filled with relief, knowing that the one person he trusted above all others was now in possession of everything he could give him, and that he'd be able to use that gift to put a stop to Voldemort. Occasionally he remembered that he was somewhere he didn't want to be, and that he should probably do something about it, but the thought would drift away, and the nothingness would take it's place.
Sometimes he would become aware of his body, and know that blood wasn't supposed to be seen in large amounts on the outside of it, but the river he floated in would pull at him, and he'd drift further away from reality.
A hard shove once pushed him to the edge of the river, and for a moment he caught the roots of a memory, holding himself in place. "Severus?" he murmured trying to remember why he wasn't supposed to say that name. For the briefest of moments, he though he felt a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him against a scorched and smoky shoulder. "Severus? Is this a hug?" But then the river pulled him back, the memories slipping through his fingers.
He didn't feel the arms clutch tighter for a moment, or see the fierce and unwavering black gaze trying to penetrate his overcast eyes.
How long he drifted aimlessly, he had no way of knowing. Sometimes he'd drift close enough to shore to see a familiar place or person, but an eddy would whisk him around, and the sight would be gone.
His river wasn't peaceful enough for that often. Most times it raged and thundered around him, full of thoughts torn in half, and voices chopped off in the middle. The worst were the pieces of bodies that drifted by, and sometimes a name would drift with them. At those times, Harry nearly let the river take him under for good. He didn't know why he fought to stay afloat, he was tired, and swimming always took so much energy. Once, he thought he'd heard a voice, and swam for shore harder than he'd ever done, feeling somehow he had to reach it, but when he got there, it had faded away. He grasped the memory reeds lining the river, and saw the dungeons of his home, Hogwarts, but then the river turned stormy, and yanked him from his small harbor. "Severus -" he whispered, "- come back." But the river had interceded before he saw the tall form in the corner whip around and stride across the room, robes flaring, as the man searched the eyes once again gone sunless as a wave pulled him under.
And then appeared a rock in the middle of his river. Just a tiny one, barely enough to cause a ripple as the current flowed past it. Rather than the river wearing away at it though, it seemed to grow larger. Sometimes, if the river let him close enough, as Harry drifted past it, he'd reach out and brush a hand over it, and for one small instant, wonder how it felt to hold so still.
And he'd drift, and the rock grew, and the river went on.
Another hard shove – this one pushing him at the rock, slamming him against it, and the river grew angry, pulling and tugging. But the rock held him, and grew larger, and the river couldn't reach him where he clung, not understanding, but finally able to rest.
Time passed, but Harry never gave up holding onto his rock. With the same unreasoning will that he'd fought the river he held fast to the stone. Not knowing why he did so, only that he should.
Sometimes he'd reach out and stroke the precious stone, marveling at how rock could still feel so warm and comfortable. "Soft" he tentatively said aloud. The river had made speaking nigh impossible, threatening to drown him when he tried, or punishing him with storms when he did.
But the rock only held him closer, keeping him safe, and the chill of the river receded further.
And soon other rocks began appearing in the river. None so strong as his own, but they stayed, and grew. Some grew close enough to his own rock that debris would be caught between them; and sometimes he'd look, and see a face he thought he might know. But the faces frightened him, and he'd turn his face back to his rock, and shut his eyes until he didn't remember any more.
He focused all the concentration allowed to him on his rock. He knew how it would change colors in the daytime, looking impossibly dark and black. He knew that when the lights went away, it wore a blanket of snow, though it was never cold. In fact, when the lights were gone, it always seemed warmer, as if his rock pulled him closer still.
The other rocks continued to creep nearer yet, and lately, sometimes he couldn't escape the faces. Some he could simply look at, and feel nothing, but others made him hurt with their noise, and when they got too close, the fear they brought with them would have him trembling.
At those times, he'd curl into the smallest ball possible, his hands shakily holding onto his rock, trying to comfort himself. "Not me, Egypt, my rock, where's Severus, what's a hug...soft!" attempting to bury himself in the stone he clung to. And the stone would gather him up, and make the faces go away, and the other rocks grew smaller for a time.
And then...it ended. His rock flickered, and faded, and the river vanished, and the nothingness around him turned to fog, and burned itself off as the light slowly leached it away.
Harry came back to himself sitting in a room he didn't recognize, in an oversized and overstuffed armchair. He looked around, feeling stiff and full of aches. A fire burned cheerfully in front of him, keeping him warm, and a soft black robe was tucked around his legs like a lap rug. His hands were in his lap, clutching a fold of the robe so hard the knuckles were white.
Harry gazed at his hands with an odd sort of detachment. Slowly letting the robe go, he saw how they trembled, and the little finger on his left hand was missing. Unfamiliar scars ran along his forearms, but the most surreal aspect of it was that the scars were so faded. As if they were old.
Harry didn't know what had happened, but suspected he'd been lost in his madness for a very long time. Mirror, he thought. He slowly got to his feet, shaky and uncertain, and faltered for a time, holding the back of the chair as he fought to stay erect. Letting go of the chair, he staggered toward what was most likely the bathroom.
Fortune favoring him, it was. And he looked at the image looking back at him. "Well, that's not very pretty", he said hoarsely, regarding the three parallel scars that went from his right temple to the left jaw. The streaks of silver that began where the scars started didn't terribly surprise him. The lines around his eyes were deep, as were the brackets from nose to mouth, but he didn't know if they were from stress or age. His teeth were clean, and he showed no sign of a beard, so someone had obviously been taking very good care of him. He didn't have his glasses on, but supposed he hadn't really been in need of them.
Looking further, he saw he was dressed in a simple but warm robe, gathered at the waist with a loose belt. His feet were covered in thick woolen socks and slippers.
He wondered again where he was, and if he was up to dealing with the answers. Leaving the bathroom, he headed back to his chair by the fire. He didn't think he could stand much longer. The trembling of his hands had spread to his muscles, and that chair was looking like an oasis in the desert.
He caught his foot on the edge of a rug, and lurched forward. He threw a quick softening charm, knowing it wouldn't work completely, as he didn't have his wand, but hoping it would keep him from breaking anything important.
But it did work. And felt very odd indeed. His magic hadn't come from inside him, there was no itch at the back of his head as he cast the charm. Instead there was a pulse from his chest, and a stronger softening charm than he would have expected kept him from the hard floor.
Harry lay there for a moment, before wearily collecting himself and attempting to rise.
Before he managed it however, there was a reverberating slam as the door burst open, and what appeared to Harry's sluggish senses as a tornado of deepest black headed straight for him.
"Dear Merlin, he fell." Swiftly and competently, Severus Snape gathered up Harry, holding him cradled in his arms, and, still holding Harry close, sat in the chair, arranging Harry against him so he sat sideways against him. He brushed Harry's hair out of his face, smoothing it down with a gesture that bespoke great familiarity, and pressed his cheek to the top of Harry's head, wrapping his arms around him. As if they sat this way often.
"You know, for a moment, I thought I could feel you. Five years, Harry. Five years it's been since I last felt you. But I know that someday you'll come back to me. You have to, Harry Potter. I have your magic, and if you want it back, you'll have to return to me. For every day of the past five years your magic has kept me warm, and every day I remember that when you gave it to me, you were giving me yourself as well. I didn't know it at the time, of course. I didn't know you. All I understood was that somehow you'd ripped out your magic, and sent it to me. And so I had to find you, not knowing where you were, not knowing how I could. I hope wherever you are, you don't remember that part of the story, my Harry. How I found you weeks later, how hurt you were, how terribly, terribly hurt. But I hope you do know that Voldemort is gone. It's safe to come back, now. With your magic and mine, we made sure he's gone forever.
"I don't know how to reach you, Harry. I don't know what to say. When Albus comes, we talk about you, and how you managed to do the things you did that day. And sometimes we talk about how you seem to be doing better lately. Of course, we've been saying that every Sunday at tea time for the last five years. And sometimes we both know it's not true.
"But it's when Arthur comes that I hope. I hope that someday you can forgive me for being so blind to who you are. And I hope that someday you'll realize that we love you, and never, ever meant to hurt you so, Harry. He told me what happened so many years ago. And I understand, love. I understand how it hurts inside when you have to turn away from those you love most.
"When the medallion established the link between us, I didn't know it could only happen where there was love. You loved me, and all that time, I didn't recognize it. Arthur tries so hard to let you know how sorry he is for what you've had to endure. After he let the reality of your situation be known, and that flock of reporters stormed the gates of Hogwarts, I half expected your friends to beat down the doors to my chambers.
"And I'm sorry they didn't. I'm sorry it took them so many years to forgive, and I'm sorry they frighten you so when they come. But we'll keep trying, my Harry. Because you have to come back. Because you love me. Because I love you, Harry. Because that damn medallion stays warm. Because you call me Rock, and won't ever let go of my robe...that...is...on the floor."
Severus stiffened, a fine tremor running through him. Slowly, muscles still aching, but heart filled with warmth, Harry sat up, holding Severus's arms in place. And the slowly, the bond began pulsing, keeping time with two hearts beating as one.
"Sev'rus....is this a hug?"
the end
Almost, almost he retreated from his purpose. His fear for Severus was tangible in the copper taste in his mouth – or was that blood? He probed the link, again seeking reassurance that for this moment, at least, Sev was not in danger.
Suddenly, he felt the equivalent of a jaguar set loose in his mind. Something, no, he realized, someone crashed through his thoughts, as confused and disoriented as he. And there was only one person it could possibly have been.
Merlin dammit, Sev, get the fuck out of my head! Harry was trying to maintain control. He couldn't afford this right now. He felt the brush of black velvet, and the dazed struggle as Sev fought to gain his bearings.
Potter? Sev was frozen at his worktable, the medallion gripped tightly in his hand, a small cut oozing blood onto the once brown jewel, now obsidian black. He'd been studying some of Potter's recovered magical items. Most of the items while fairly uncommon, hadn't been all that difficult to identify. The medallion, however, had been nagging at him for quite some time. He didn't know why, precisely, but he'd taken to wearing it most days. Certainly not out of any morbid desire to remember Lily or James, but because it seemed.....lonely. Severus knew he was guilty of anthropomorphizing a number of his possessions. Living alone would do that to the most didactic of personalities, but so long as no one was aware of it, he didn't particularly care. The medallion, though, there was something, if only he could remember.....when suddenly it pulsed, and he'd reflexively grabbed it. Too tightly, as it turned out. He'd felt the bite of the edge of one of the crystals, and then all manner of strangeness broke loose.
Harry fought to keep his attention centered on Voldemort, who he suspected was that rather large blot of red moving towards him. He scrambled to shut Sev off, hurriedly piling barrier after barrier between his mind and the velvet blackness of his ally. Harry knew what was coming, and had no intention of allowing Voldemort to take Severus down with him.
Severus quickly adjusted, his years of spying paying dividends as he sorted out what had happened in a matter of seconds. As he oriented himself, he felt the connection between them thin down to almost nothing. He knew it was the Potter brat he'd connected to; the flash of emerald and the brush of silk was unmistakable. He had been dazed by the desperation and pain flowing toward him before being abruptly shut off. Swiftly deciding on a course of action, he tried to force the link back open, determined to find out what was going on. He knew Harry had plans during this convocation of Voldemort supporters, and if things were going badly he was one of the few who might be of assistance.
Harry felt the renewed pulsing against the warding. Dammit Sev, no! He grimly abandoned tracking Voldemort to brace against his mental barriers. He could not let Sev in. Not now, when the danger was so great. If Sev was linked to him and Voldemort started torturing him, there was every danger that Severus would be affected. I will never again allow another friend to be hurt because of me! And should he die, there was a good chance that it would endanger Severus's sanity. Please, Sev, please no! His fear, anxiety, and physical pain were sapping his determination, and he could feel the barriers start to give way.
Severus could fee the emotional link slowly, very slowly start spreading to it's previous depth. Forcing the issue had not been easy, but he knew, somehow, that it was absolutely necessary that the link stay open, now that it had been activated. There was something he had to remember about that accursed medallion.
Potter, drop the damn barrier, and tell me what is going on! Severus had the sense of impending doom that always indicated Voldemort was nearby. Imbecile! So sure you're right, and no one else can assist, how typically, arrogantly Potter!
Harry knew he was losing, he simply didn't have the reserves to keep fighting on two fronts. It was either focus on Voldemort, or keep Severus safe. There wasn't any reason at all to debate, he knew he'd never allow Severus so much as a hangnail if he could prevent it.
There was only one thing he could think of to do. Voldermort wouldn't kill him immediately, he wanted his "fun" first. Harry had the power to end this, he just wasn't able to effectively use it without opening Sev up to secondhand danger. So he gathered his remaining strength, and pulled his magic, ripping and tearing at his psyche with abandon, and forcing the magic down the connection to Severus, ramming it home with desperate intensity. And then, he let the madness he'd kept so tightly locked away take him, knowing it would seal his mind from both Severus and Voldemort.
The great, gaping chasms where his magic once lived pulsed slowly, insanity welling thickly forth like blood, creating a river that slowly engulfed him. Occasional fragments of lucid thought that drifted in the current were filled with relief, knowing that the one person he trusted above all others was now in possession of everything he could give him, and that he'd be able to use that gift to put a stop to Voldemort. Occasionally he remembered that he was somewhere he didn't want to be, and that he should probably do something about it, but the thought would drift away, and the nothingness would take it's place.
Sometimes he would become aware of his body, and know that blood wasn't supposed to be seen in large amounts on the outside of it, but the river he floated in would pull at him, and he'd drift further away from reality.
A hard shove once pushed him to the edge of the river, and for a moment he caught the roots of a memory, holding himself in place. "Severus?" he murmured trying to remember why he wasn't supposed to say that name. For the briefest of moments, he though he felt a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him against a scorched and smoky shoulder. "Severus? Is this a hug?" But then the river pulled him back, the memories slipping through his fingers.
He didn't feel the arms clutch tighter for a moment, or see the fierce and unwavering black gaze trying to penetrate his overcast eyes.
How long he drifted aimlessly, he had no way of knowing. Sometimes he'd drift close enough to shore to see a familiar place or person, but an eddy would whisk him around, and the sight would be gone.
His river wasn't peaceful enough for that often. Most times it raged and thundered around him, full of thoughts torn in half, and voices chopped off in the middle. The worst were the pieces of bodies that drifted by, and sometimes a name would drift with them. At those times, Harry nearly let the river take him under for good. He didn't know why he fought to stay afloat, he was tired, and swimming always took so much energy. Once, he thought he'd heard a voice, and swam for shore harder than he'd ever done, feeling somehow he had to reach it, but when he got there, it had faded away. He grasped the memory reeds lining the river, and saw the dungeons of his home, Hogwarts, but then the river turned stormy, and yanked him from his small harbor. "Severus -" he whispered, "- come back." But the river had interceded before he saw the tall form in the corner whip around and stride across the room, robes flaring, as the man searched the eyes once again gone sunless as a wave pulled him under.
And then appeared a rock in the middle of his river. Just a tiny one, barely enough to cause a ripple as the current flowed past it. Rather than the river wearing away at it though, it seemed to grow larger. Sometimes, if the river let him close enough, as Harry drifted past it, he'd reach out and brush a hand over it, and for one small instant, wonder how it felt to hold so still.
And he'd drift, and the rock grew, and the river went on.
Another hard shove – this one pushing him at the rock, slamming him against it, and the river grew angry, pulling and tugging. But the rock held him, and grew larger, and the river couldn't reach him where he clung, not understanding, but finally able to rest.
Time passed, but Harry never gave up holding onto his rock. With the same unreasoning will that he'd fought the river he held fast to the stone. Not knowing why he did so, only that he should.
Sometimes he'd reach out and stroke the precious stone, marveling at how rock could still feel so warm and comfortable. "Soft" he tentatively said aloud. The river had made speaking nigh impossible, threatening to drown him when he tried, or punishing him with storms when he did.
But the rock only held him closer, keeping him safe, and the chill of the river receded further.
And soon other rocks began appearing in the river. None so strong as his own, but they stayed, and grew. Some grew close enough to his own rock that debris would be caught between them; and sometimes he'd look, and see a face he thought he might know. But the faces frightened him, and he'd turn his face back to his rock, and shut his eyes until he didn't remember any more.
He focused all the concentration allowed to him on his rock. He knew how it would change colors in the daytime, looking impossibly dark and black. He knew that when the lights went away, it wore a blanket of snow, though it was never cold. In fact, when the lights were gone, it always seemed warmer, as if his rock pulled him closer still.
The other rocks continued to creep nearer yet, and lately, sometimes he couldn't escape the faces. Some he could simply look at, and feel nothing, but others made him hurt with their noise, and when they got too close, the fear they brought with them would have him trembling.
At those times, he'd curl into the smallest ball possible, his hands shakily holding onto his rock, trying to comfort himself. "Not me, Egypt, my rock, where's Severus, what's a hug...soft!" attempting to bury himself in the stone he clung to. And the stone would gather him up, and make the faces go away, and the other rocks grew smaller for a time.
And then...it ended. His rock flickered, and faded, and the river vanished, and the nothingness around him turned to fog, and burned itself off as the light slowly leached it away.
Harry came back to himself sitting in a room he didn't recognize, in an oversized and overstuffed armchair. He looked around, feeling stiff and full of aches. A fire burned cheerfully in front of him, keeping him warm, and a soft black robe was tucked around his legs like a lap rug. His hands were in his lap, clutching a fold of the robe so hard the knuckles were white.
Harry gazed at his hands with an odd sort of detachment. Slowly letting the robe go, he saw how they trembled, and the little finger on his left hand was missing. Unfamiliar scars ran along his forearms, but the most surreal aspect of it was that the scars were so faded. As if they were old.
Harry didn't know what had happened, but suspected he'd been lost in his madness for a very long time. Mirror, he thought. He slowly got to his feet, shaky and uncertain, and faltered for a time, holding the back of the chair as he fought to stay erect. Letting go of the chair, he staggered toward what was most likely the bathroom.
Fortune favoring him, it was. And he looked at the image looking back at him. "Well, that's not very pretty", he said hoarsely, regarding the three parallel scars that went from his right temple to the left jaw. The streaks of silver that began where the scars started didn't terribly surprise him. The lines around his eyes were deep, as were the brackets from nose to mouth, but he didn't know if they were from stress or age. His teeth were clean, and he showed no sign of a beard, so someone had obviously been taking very good care of him. He didn't have his glasses on, but supposed he hadn't really been in need of them.
Looking further, he saw he was dressed in a simple but warm robe, gathered at the waist with a loose belt. His feet were covered in thick woolen socks and slippers.
He wondered again where he was, and if he was up to dealing with the answers. Leaving the bathroom, he headed back to his chair by the fire. He didn't think he could stand much longer. The trembling of his hands had spread to his muscles, and that chair was looking like an oasis in the desert.
He caught his foot on the edge of a rug, and lurched forward. He threw a quick softening charm, knowing it wouldn't work completely, as he didn't have his wand, but hoping it would keep him from breaking anything important.
But it did work. And felt very odd indeed. His magic hadn't come from inside him, there was no itch at the back of his head as he cast the charm. Instead there was a pulse from his chest, and a stronger softening charm than he would have expected kept him from the hard floor.
Harry lay there for a moment, before wearily collecting himself and attempting to rise.
Before he managed it however, there was a reverberating slam as the door burst open, and what appeared to Harry's sluggish senses as a tornado of deepest black headed straight for him.
"Dear Merlin, he fell." Swiftly and competently, Severus Snape gathered up Harry, holding him cradled in his arms, and, still holding Harry close, sat in the chair, arranging Harry against him so he sat sideways against him. He brushed Harry's hair out of his face, smoothing it down with a gesture that bespoke great familiarity, and pressed his cheek to the top of Harry's head, wrapping his arms around him. As if they sat this way often.
"You know, for a moment, I thought I could feel you. Five years, Harry. Five years it's been since I last felt you. But I know that someday you'll come back to me. You have to, Harry Potter. I have your magic, and if you want it back, you'll have to return to me. For every day of the past five years your magic has kept me warm, and every day I remember that when you gave it to me, you were giving me yourself as well. I didn't know it at the time, of course. I didn't know you. All I understood was that somehow you'd ripped out your magic, and sent it to me. And so I had to find you, not knowing where you were, not knowing how I could. I hope wherever you are, you don't remember that part of the story, my Harry. How I found you weeks later, how hurt you were, how terribly, terribly hurt. But I hope you do know that Voldemort is gone. It's safe to come back, now. With your magic and mine, we made sure he's gone forever.
"I don't know how to reach you, Harry. I don't know what to say. When Albus comes, we talk about you, and how you managed to do the things you did that day. And sometimes we talk about how you seem to be doing better lately. Of course, we've been saying that every Sunday at tea time for the last five years. And sometimes we both know it's not true.
"But it's when Arthur comes that I hope. I hope that someday you can forgive me for being so blind to who you are. And I hope that someday you'll realize that we love you, and never, ever meant to hurt you so, Harry. He told me what happened so many years ago. And I understand, love. I understand how it hurts inside when you have to turn away from those you love most.
"When the medallion established the link between us, I didn't know it could only happen where there was love. You loved me, and all that time, I didn't recognize it. Arthur tries so hard to let you know how sorry he is for what you've had to endure. After he let the reality of your situation be known, and that flock of reporters stormed the gates of Hogwarts, I half expected your friends to beat down the doors to my chambers.
"And I'm sorry they didn't. I'm sorry it took them so many years to forgive, and I'm sorry they frighten you so when they come. But we'll keep trying, my Harry. Because you have to come back. Because you love me. Because I love you, Harry. Because that damn medallion stays warm. Because you call me Rock, and won't ever let go of my robe...that...is...on the floor."
Severus stiffened, a fine tremor running through him. Slowly, muscles still aching, but heart filled with warmth, Harry sat up, holding Severus's arms in place. And the slowly, the bond began pulsing, keeping time with two hearts beating as one.
"Sev'rus....is this a hug?"
the end