It was easier than it should have been, but wasn't Harry's life always full of unexpected surprises?
The library was cool and dark; the moon and stars usually visible through the tall windows were blanketed in night time cloud, giving the darkness there an unusual sort of depth. Harry approached the only light source in the room quietly, his footfalls soft over worn flagstones as his invisibility cloak fluttered delicately at his heels. He would have felt trepidation, but he felt nothing but slowly simmering, unfathomable excitement unfurling in his chest.
He was there. With his back facing Harry, a single candle standing in the middle of the heavy set, oaken table he currently sat at. His shoulders were hunched, tension evident in every line of his posture as he appeared to peruse a hefty, ancient looking tome.
Severus Snape muttered something lowly in his throat, agitatedly flipping the book closed with a muffled bang. He hunched even further over the table, the line of his shoulders betraying a fine tremor.
And Harry could think of no other reason to stall any further.
He approached with a misplaced sort of confidence, stopping just to the side of his professor's chair and gently pulling the invisibility cloak off his head. The rustle as it slid away was nothing but a soft sigh amidst the cavernous library. But it was enough.
Snape didn't startle. He slowly turned to look at Harry, his face a deceptive, impenetrable mask as he stared back into a pair of green eyes shining in anticipation.
Harry couldn't help but marvel over it for a moment; there's no wonder this man fooled Voldemort himself.
Then the expression split. The ex-Potions Master let out a huge, exasperated huff of air, his rigid posture melting and his eyes becoming irritated. He turned fully, regarding Harry's floating head with the sort of disdain he only ever imparted when he decided someone was being particularly stupid.
"You never fail to amaze me, Potter…" Snape trailed off, his irritation growing when Harry smirked down at him benignly, pulling a chair out from the table next to the man with a squeak and sitting down with little grace, the invisibility cloak shrugging off his shoulders as he did.
"Why, sir, I'm flattered," Harry gushed good-naturedly, not above needling his professor a bit as his sudden good mood settled warmly under his sternum. Snape looked nothing short of appalled.
"That was by no means a compliment, you ceaseless idiot," he snapped back, but as he said it, something took the wind of his sails and he very suddenly looked exhausted, eyes depth-less in his face. He drew into himself then, and looked back down at the cover of the book in front of him.
"You are out past curfew. To bed with you," Snape droned, flat and resigned. The sound of it made Harry feel a coldness that had nothing to do with the chilled air of the library.
So he refused, shaking his head doggedly at Snape. Something reignited in his professor's face as he looked back in Harry's direction, another twitch of irritation creating a cleft between his brows.
Harry couldn't help but feel smug, if not a little in awe at himself for his refusal.
"No. I think I'll stay right here." Harry taunted, his eyes intent and glittering like emeralds in the candlelight. His tone dared his professor to hold his gaze. But Snape dropped it again, a weariness visibly crawling through his frame and settling on his tired-looking face. He sighed.
"Why are you here, Potter? Ten points from—"
Snape stuttered to a stop and gasped a choked breath. It was loud in the quiet library and Harry felt Snape's quick, shocked exhale against his face as he inched closer without consciously deciding to.
It was rash, admittedly. But Harry hadn't been able to stand the hollow look on his face and did the first thing he'd thought of; their hands were pressed together on the table, and Snape's black irises widened, betraying his surprise. Harry ran his thumb along the back of his professor's hand carefully, and their eyes met again.
He couldn't seem to stop himself touching the man, and Snape never seemed to stop being caught unaware by the whole routine. And so they were again trapped in another one of their peculiar stares. Black and green, dancing indefinably in the low light but simmering with some sort of implication. Harry felt Snape's hand convulse like as if he couldn't decide whether to snatch the appendage away or hold on tighter.
Harry couldn't help it. He didn't know what possessed him, but he was… curious, for reasons he couldn't understand. He leant in a little closer again, and Snape's eyes seemed to stretch wider in abject disbelief. Then he let himself look down to the older man's lips; they were pulled tight against the sharp features of his face.
Nervous. He's nervous.
Harry felt himself considering something, long dormant butterflies fluttering weakly in his stomach, but he couldn't follow his own rationale and frowned at the feeling, before meeting his professor's gaze once more. It all only lasted for a second, but Snape noticed it nonetheless. His lips separated on a shaky exhale, seeming utterly entranced…
Only for the man to rip his hand away violently, and scramble away very quickly, with as much dignity as one could muster when blatantly fleeing...
Harry gaped, his hand hovering over the table where Snape's had been, the candle guttering weakly in the man's wake. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click and then scrambled from the chair, almost tipping it back in his haste.
He couldn't just let him run away. Not after everything, and if it was Harry's fault the man had fled, then he needed to fix it. Turning around, he gathered up his cloak and then set off at a jog out of the library. Skidding over the threshold, Harry whipped his head back and forth in quick succession, blowing out a frustrated huff when he failed to spot his professor.
"Professor Snape…?" Harry called, heedless of the late hour. Striding down the hall, he was just about to turn in the direction of the staircase to check the dungeons, in case Snape had gone back there, when he remembered…
He possessed a magical map that would tell him exactly where the man had gone. Rolling his eyes at himself, he dragged the parchment out of his pocket and murmured the incantation, immediately perusing the yellowed surface until he saw him for the second time that night.
Severus Snape was moving rapidly in the direction of the Astronomy Tower, and Harry suddenly felt as though a stone had dropped into his stomach, rooting him to the spot and making nausea curl up his spine.
Things had to be bad if Snape was seeking solace in a place where he had committed murder.
Swallowing and bolstering up some of his famed Gryffindor bravery, Harry turned in the direction of the Astronomy Tower and walked, willing the anxiety spider-crawling over his skin into submission.
The boy was a problem.
A huge, ridiculous, insufferable, infuriating problem.
Snape mused as sharp, icy wind struck him on opening the door atop the tower, tearing an unhappy groan from the ex-Death Eater and throwing his lank hair behind his head in a twisted, black halo.
Cringing and raising his wand, he raised a shield charm between himself and the gale, while also warming himself with a quick heating charm. He stepped fully onto the deck of the tower then, the wind no longer an issue, and pressed his back up against Hogwarts' stone façade, folding himself into the shadows.
I'd like to see Potter come sniffing up here, he'll never think to –
Snape stopped the thought before it grew to full fruition, grimacing in distaste and rolling his shoulders against the wall.
How preposterously immature of me, hiding from the boy…
He huffed and hung his head dejectedly, his hair hanging to obscure his face in a way that was decidedly defensive, a placating tactic he had always used as a child.
How fitting.
Things hadn't been the same since he had almost died. Severus Snape was not meant to survive. He'd had it all planned out; he would perish, in one way or another, and take his bad decisions and disastrous life to the grave with him. He would fulfil his purpose, and be left to rest and leave a life that had consisted of burden upon burden, hatred, deceit and manipulation.
Of course, things didn't work out as expected when Harry Potter was involved.
Snape titled his head back then and looked at the sky. It was black and heavy like a sucking, empty void, holding none of its usual celestial splendour.
Waxing poetic over the sky. What have you become, Severus Tobias Snape?
He snorted disdainfully into the silence, but found he couldn't help but wonder if the skies tonight were an apt reflection of his life now; devoid of substance, empty of purpose. He was a used up, useless old man now, an ex-Death Eater that people would never grow to abide by.
Not that I ever cared who liked me. Merlin, when did I become so bloody maudlin?
In that moment, Snape decided that he was being foolish, hiding up here, of all places, where he had murdered his mentor and desecrated his name beyond repair. He looked beyond the railings, his stomach roiling sickly at the drop, his mind's eye flashing with images of a man falling backwards, his arms spreading wide in acceptance of his fate…
Then a large BANG shattered the moment, and Snape felt his heart jump into his throat as he whipped around to the source of the noise, wand instantly poised and panic lancing through every fibre of his being. Not that it showed on his face for even a second.
Harry Potter stumbled out of the doorway, looking horrified at himself. He then looked up at Snape, and his expression paled, mouth opening and closing uselessly on vacant words before he seemed to gather himself and began approaching rapidly.
"The door stuck, I didn't know it would… well, I didn't think it was going to be that loud," he exclaimed, stopping a few steps before Snape. "Are you OK? I thought I'd come and… well, check." he finished, looking hopeful as he took another step forward.
And Snape stared. Potter looked out of breath; he was being battered by the harsh winds and wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, bracing against the cold and looking expectantly up at his professor.
Before Snape could even think, anger, welcome and familiar for this boy in particular, began to boil low in his stomach, and he knew the wrath of it must have darkened his face because the boy recoiled then, taking an awkward step backward.
"FIFTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR FOR UTTER INCOMPETENCE AND BLATANT DISREGARD FOR SCHOOL RULES!" the loud, incensed shout tore from Snape's lungs, the heady rush of rage making him feel more alive than he had in weeks.
Potter looked horrified. He began retreating quickly, a hand held up in an attempt to placate and as a shiver visibly rocked its way through his scrawny frame. In fear or because of the cold, Snape couldn't tell.
"That's a bit unfair, it's it?!" the boy had the gall to say, his voice higher pitched than usual and his bright, green eyes betraying his panic.
Snape couldn't help but marvel over that for a moment; how had this boy ever fooled the Dark Lord?
"A bit unfair? How dare you—"
"Snape – I mean, Professor Snape – I didn't mean to piss you off… er…" Potter ended feebly, his back now pressed up against the door, his one hand slowly reaching around his back as if to grab for the handle.
Snape tutted patronisingly, the sound lost in the roar of the wind as he approached his student rapidly, the boy's eyes tracing his journey with shining trepidation.
Potter managed to get hold of the handle then, and he made to turn around to pull it open…
Can't have that now, can we? How the tables have turned…
So Snape took a final fluid couple of steps into the boy's space and gripped the front of his pyjama top, pulling him to the side and then pushing him back into the wall, rushing towards until they were almost nose to nose.
"You're not to leave until I have finished speaking, Potter!"
His student was frozen against the wall for a number of seconds, glancing down to Snape's hands over his chest and then back up into his black, furious gaze. Snape watched his throat bob on a visible, nervous swallow.
"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to make everything worse, I just wanted to check if you were OK after you… well – ack!" Potter exclaimed suddenly, his eyes widening as Snape closed in further again, their eyes level as he stooped slightly to meet the boy's height. He bunched the thin material of the pyjamas in his hands into his fists, and glared for all his worth into the boy's startling green eyes, their depths both comfort and pain to Snape, the memory of them bitter and happy and everything complicated that he didn't care to be reminded of.
"You have pried where you do not belong, you have broken curfew, you have broken several school rules and you have dearly tried my patience, Potter. I've half a mind to take another fifty points from you for sheer, wilful arrogance! In fact, a month's worth of detention wouldn't go amiss either!" Snape growled, his voice low and threatening in the space between them.
The DADA professor felt the boy take a shaky breath with the way they were pressed together, but instead of regret or even a fleck of remorse blossoming in his fathomless eyes, they steeled and became resolute, his brow crinkling with surety.
"So do it. Put me in detention. I don't care, as long as I get to help you."
For a moment, Snape was lost for words. He continued to glare into those haunting eyes, feeling his lip curl at the utter stubbornness the boy exuded; ever his father's son. Harry stared defiantly back, inching closer to his professor in the already limited space between them. A slim-fingered hand rose to grip one of Snape's wrists where it tangled into his t-shirt.
"Because all I've ever done is take from you – you sacrificed so much for me, all you need to do is give me the chance to help you. Whatever you need. Everyone I knew – so many people I cared about are gone. You need help, you're still here, and I can give it to you… it's simple…"
"It is NOT simple, boy…" Snape sneered, refusing to be coerced into this, refusing to be made a fool by the spawn of James Potter.
I owe Harry Potter nothing.
The only thing he wished of his student in return for his sacrifice was to be left well alone.
Those green, green eyes seemed to fracture a little, insecurity seeping through in an almost imperceptible dip of dark lashes. Snape knew these eyes (her eyes). Knew their tells. He had studied them for years. He missed reading them like this; as much as he was loathe to admit it to himself.
It provoked weakness in him, and even as he tried to stomp it away, the more he stared into those beautiful, disheartened eyes, the more his own vulnerabilities showed through the cracks in his perfectly constructed visage.
The hand around his wrist was caressing him again. Potter never ceased petting him... it made his practiced control waver like nothing ever could; not torture nor threat of death. Voldemort had known of his Achilles heel, his weakness for... affection, for Lily. It was the only time Snape was sure the Dark Lord had ever bettered him in their game of deception.
"Potter…" the Defence professor murmured then, quieter, more insecure. This seemed to ignite something in Potter's face, and his other hand came up to grip Snape's shoulder.
"Professor. Let me help. I need this just as much as you do…" the boy admitted quietly, his eyes piercing now, a sea of green hope.
"You mean to assume what I need—"
"No! No, Snape… I… will you just give this a chance?" that hand began to smooth up his shoulder, settling lightly on the high neck of his tunic, the edge of ragged bandages peeking out over the top of the black material. At this, Snape felt his breath rush out through his nose unsteadily, relishing the touch. His dark, steely eyes closed and he allowed himself just to feel.
People rarely touched him. Rarely ever had. Lily was the last person to be so free with her touches in this way…
It was in that moment that Snape found a jarring, not entirely uncomfortable comparison between mother and child arise to confront him; he had spent most of his life comparing the boy to his father, but in fact, Lily seeped out of his every pore…
Snape sighed; he had never liked to say no to his best friend, no matter how damaged and splintered their relationship became over the years, and somehow, in this moment, her son was afforded the same privilege. He opened his black eyes and met the familiar green once again; Harry was there, short and pyjama-clad, his black hair in disarray. The boy seemed to startle as their eyes met, a faint blush colouring his cheeks and a swallow bobbing his Adam's apple.
How curious our situation is becoming…
"You may assist me with day-to-day tasks every Tuesday and Thursday evening for the next month. Consider it detention for the utter incompetence and thoughtless disregard you've shown tonight…" Snape trailed off with a growled threat, making an effort to salvage some of his tattered dignity as he shamefully gave in to Harry, gave in to the weakness that had permeated his entire life.
And Harry Potter quite suddenly enveloped him in a hug in response; arms thrown unceremoniously around his waist and a scruffy head tucked under his chin. Snape could feel the contentment and relief rolling off the boy in waves, and found himself sliding his own arms carefully around his student's slight shoulders, trying not to give the want to do so too much thought as he shifted to press against the smaller body in front of him.
"Thank you," was murmured against the material of his cloak, and the professor took in a large, grounding breath, steadying the emotion and vulnerability that poured through his soul like a deluge. He allowed himself another moment to relish the contact of another living person, before he lightly pushed the young man away by his upper arms.
"Now, it is time you headed back to your dormitory, Potter. You've got away with tonight by the skin of your teeth…"
Potter snorted at this, happiness with a hint of wickedness sliding onto his face. Snape dropped his hold on the boy agitatedly and straightened to his full, imposing height.
"I assure you I am capable of doling out indefinitely worse punishments to inept students such as yourself. Count yourself lucky that I'm feeling merciful, boy. "
"Sir, I know. I've been at the receiving end for long enough," Harry piped up enthusiastically, missing how Snape's eye twitched in irritation as he turned once again to the door leading back into the castle.
"Are you coming, professor?" his student asked as he entered through the doorway, holding the door aloft and gazing over his shoulder. Where he stood, away from Snape's shield charm, the wind battered the boy; a tremble wracked his shoulders as he looked expectantly at his teacher.
Without response and only a small, unsettling glare, the ex-Death Eater followed him out of the door. It shut with a resounding thud against the wind and cold of the outside world, enclosing them together in the dark, circular room at the top of the tower.
"Sir.. why did you come here?" Potter asked then, his voice lilting with wonder and a hint of sadness.
"None of your business; you would do well not to pry," Snape fired back, a seething, threatening sort of irritation tainting his words. As an afterthought, he flicked his wand in a quick Colloportus at the door, the click as it locked echoing dully around the room.
Potter shook again as he turned fully to look at Snape in the gloom; he looked utterly pathetic. Unbidden and unwelcome, the image brought forth a memory; a cold winter's day, a short red-head shivering by his side, his single-minded impulse to help by dropping his charm-warmed cloak around her shoulders…
Before he had time to address his delusions, Snape strode forward without thought, expertly unbuckling the clasp at his neck and shrugging the heavy, winter cloak off with practiced ease. He approached and Potter's eyes widened with anticipatory surprise, gleaming with curiosity…
Snape draped the cloak elegantly around the boy and it swathed him in folds of black too big for his height and frame; he looked utterly ridiculous and the DADA professor couldn't help but smirk at the sight, even as his mind screamed at him for his weakness, his reckless compulsion.
Harry's eyes were wide with unadulterated confusion and pleasure. He looked down at himself, fascination written into his face, before he pulled the cloak more securely around himself and smiled a smile that would have blotted out the sun itself with its brightness.
"Sir… I – thank you..." Potter seemed to gravitate towards him, and the smirk slipped off Snape's face as the full realisation of what he'd done sunk in.
Useless, cursed sentimentality…
"It'd serve you well to actually learn how to perform a simple warming charm, Potter. Once again, I must make concessions for you, and it is an utter waste of my time. Now do come along," Snape snapped cruelly, but the effect was lost on his student; Potter followed after him as he made his way down onto the spiral staircase, the boy following with an irritating bounce in his step.
Snape ground his teeth together in frustration, picking up the pace a little in a bid to put some much-needed distance between him and the source of his nightmares.
The walk from the top of the tower and back down into the castle was a long one; his student followed at heel all the way, and after a while he forgot that the boy was trailing after him and he became lost to thought.
What an utter mess he found himself in. He had denied Potter for days, and despite the bizarre impulse he found himself experiencing to seek out the boy with his eyes (which needed to be explored further, he told himself begrudgingly), he had done a marvellous job at pushing his student away.
He didn't need this. Prolonged contact with Potter always brought out the very worst in him; not that he was entirely pleasant a man in the first place, but Harry Potter always managed to push him over the edge of what one would consider socially acceptable.
They'd have their detentions. He'd put the boy to good use; wear him down with strenuous, repetitive tasks. Then this odd… fascination Potter had with his wellbeing would wither; his misguided hero complex would dry out like a well in the mid-summer sun; he'd take his concerns elsewhere, to more deserving recipients…
Snape found himself in front of the concealed door to his quarters. Blinking away lingering thoughts, he turned to find Potter had followed him all the way down to the dungeons from the Astronomy Tower. He was still swaddled in Snape's black cloak, hugging it around himself contentedly and staring up at his professor with that same bewildered, marvelled expression.
"WHY are you still here?!" Snape snapped, rounding fully on the young man and corralling him backwards, his irritation written plain in his furrowed brows and twisted sneer.
"You didn't send me away, sir…" Potter trailed off, cheekiness lighting his eyes. He didn't move an inch as Snape stepped intimidatingly into his space, his face lighting brighter as his professor came closer.
This tactic was obviously wasted on Potter; it pleased him. Most students were horrified to be this near to Professor Snape.
It again made him falter; he could never maintain a proper composure around the boy, and now wasn't an exception; he defied expectation. He sighed hugely and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger in exasperation.
"Just go to bed, for Merlin's sake Potter, before I deduct more points from you wretched house…"
"You're alright though?" Potter asked then, stepping in a little closer, again having no regard for his professor's sanity.
"Yes – move, Potter!"
"I'm going, I'm going!" the young, tousled-haired man exclaimed happily then, giving the ex-Death Eater a small, muted smile before turning and striding away, the shadows of the dark dungeon corridor rushing in to disguise him as he walked.
"Goodnight, professor," was called back from out of the darkness, and Snape found himself staring at where Potter had vanished, bewildered and oddly bereft as he stood alone… without his cloak.
The growl of frustration as it tore from his throat was nowhere near as menacing as it could have been, in light of everything. Snape turned in a flare of black robes and touched a light finger to the wall, and the bricks slithered away with a quiet rumble as they revealed his front door.
He would have to face the bane of his existence again tomorrow, and the man decided he'd need at least a few tumblers of Firewhiskey and a full, undisturbed night's sleep to even consider stepping out of his bedroom in the morning to tackle the day.
What am I going to do with you, Potter?
The ex-Death Eater reached up to his neck tentatively as he strode through the front door, softly placing his hand to the place where the boy's had touched him not ten minutes ago; his fingers lingering and his eyelids lowering to half mast in private satisfaction.
What am I going to do…
TBC