"I told you! There's nothing!" Harry yelled in frustration.
"There must be!" Snape shouted back.
They had been practicing charms for hours, and Harry was no closer to being able to control his magic than he had been when they first started. He could only seem to bring up the shield if he was healing first, and it's not like he could just tell Voldemort, "Hold on a tick, just let me do this healing spell first!"
"There isn't!" Harry repeated, deliberately enunciating each word. "How many times do I have to tell you before you listen to me? I'm not speaking in tongues."
Snape paced in frustration. They were getting nowhere, only exhausting one another. He clenched his fists and shot a nasty glare at Harry. "Fine. You can't do it. We're wasting our time. We're as good as dead. Perfect!"
Harry snarled, his lips curling upwards in anger. "It's not like you're helping me! All you do is cut yourself open, demand I heal it, and then try to curse me! I don't know what to look for! I barely have any time to think!"
"Because if I don't slice myself open, when I curse you, you feel it!" Snape returned. "Believe me, Potter, I don't enjoy bleeding all over myself any more than you enjoy fixing it!"
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
"Because nothing else seems to work!" Snape snapped. He rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "God, we're going in circles."
Harry leaned against the wall and hit his head upon it. He stared at the ceiling for a brief moment before looking back over at Snape.
"Why does it only work with a minor healing spell? Is medi-magic different?"
"Not enough to make a difference," Snape replied wearily.
"But how do you know?" Harry queried pensively. "It doesn't work with other low level spells, just that one. We haven't even tried with higher level healing spells."
"Right, because you'll have time to get one of those off in a fight," Snape replied, rolling his eyes.
"Well, I'm sorry," Harry snapped, bristling angrily. "It was just a thought."
"I'm going to check the owl," Snape snorted before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.
Harry slumped backwards, his back connecting with the wall again. Snape confused him; that was all he could think about. The man always wanted him to think for himself and when he finally did and he just completely blew off his idea. But at least he had tried to think about it.
It scared him that he didn't know something about himself. This was becoming worse than discovering he was a Parselmouth. At least then he got a name to his abnormality. Now… now he was just abnormal and Snape yelling at him didn't help at all. There was nothing he could do about it either. He was different, again, and despite Snape's words in the past few days, it still hurt. He was always the different one, 'special' some might call him, but he knew better. He was a freak, he was weird, an abnormality even in the wizarding world.
Time was growing short here. He knew it even without Voldemort's response. Then what? The battle would happen and he would either live or die and life would move on. But what if he lived? He had never let himself think about it before and he didn't want to think about it now. Never having made any solid plans for the future meant he was lost. He knew for a fact he didn't want to become an Auror any more. He never really had. Spending seven years of his life fighting a Dark Lord didn't make him want to continue doing so in the future.
When Snape returned he was holding a piece of parchment and a sealed envelope. "The Prophet was kind enough to forward this," he said, handing Harry the envelope with a sickly smile. "I tried to open it, but it's been spelled, I'm assuming so only you can open it," Snape added.
Harry swallowed nervously, fingering the envelope. Taking a deep breath, he tore it open and pulled out the parchment.
I assume Dumbledore's traitorous lapdog is reading this as well, but no matter. My "sycophants" are just dying to spend some quality time with the miserable cur.
You wish to duel, Harry Potter? Then we shall. However, I am not foolish enough to believe that you would come alone, and therefore, my Death Eaters will be in attendance. They will, of course, be given orders not to interfere with you, only those you're sure to bring with you. When you die, Harry Potter, it will be by my own hand and none other; of this you can be certain.
No such clemency will be shown to dear Severus, however. My loyal followers will kill the coward on sight, after he has been made to suffer for his sins of course.
My father sends his regards, and wishes you to join him, Harry. Tomorrow, at dusk. We will be waiting.
Harry, pale-faced, turned towards Snape. "Well..." He handed the letter over without another sound.
Snape took the letter, reading it carefully. By the time he was done, the parchment was nearly completely crumpled in his hand, his breath coming in angry little pants.
"Are you still going to come with me?" Harry asked, when all he wanted to do was tell Snape to stay. He didn't have to die needlessly.
Snape scowled at Harry. "Of course I am."
Harry nodded. He wouldn't argue. It would be pointless. "All right then."
"Did you honestly think I would leave you to blunder around on your own?" Snape asked, frowning now.
"No," Harry answered quietly, taking the letter back and smoothing it out. He reread the contents a second time, the knot in his stomach tightening painfully.
Snape's hand went to Harry's chin, forcing his head up. "I will not let you die, Potter," he said forcefully.
"It's not me I'm worried about," Harry mumbled, averting his eyes.
"The rest of the wizarding world will have to worry about themselves. You can't save everyone," Snape replied, wondering why Harry wouldn't meet his eyes.
Harry's gaze shot back to Snape's face. "Don't you get it?"
"Obviously not," Snape snapped, stepping backwards, looking at Harry in confusion. "Do enlighten me," he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Harry bowed his head in a mad attempt to recollect himself. "The rest of the wizarding world can go fuck themselves for all I care; it's you who I'm worried about."
Snape blinked stupidly.
"Me? What on Earth for?" Snape asked, truly confused now. "I've known for a long time what my fate would be in this, but I will not let it be yours."
Harry shook his head and took a step backwards. He didn't have the means to explain to Snape why it bothered him so much, because in reality it shouldn't bother him this much. Last Christmas he would have been more than happy to have heard of Snape's untimely demise, but now the very thought scared the piss out of him.
"Come on then," Snape said, sighing. "There's nothing left to be done here today. No reason to drain your magic any more than is necessary." Snape held open the door and waited for Harry to precede him out. He was going to have to come up with something to distract the boy until tomorrow evening, or they would both go mad.
Harry stepped into the hallway; the soft thud of the training room door as Snape stepped out and shut it echoed dully in his mind. Only one more day left now. He glanced over his shoulder once at Snape before heading towards the rarely used sitting room. Neither said one word to each other as Harry sat down on the wooden floor and Snape walked over to the fire grate and lit a fire.
After a long and uncomfortable silence, Snape asked, "Would you like to play chess?"
Harry blinked slowly before a small smile emerged. "All right. You're going to wipe the floor with me though."
"Obviously," Snape replied, as if it were a given. He walked to a small cupboard and pulled out a battered chess set. Looking around the room and finding nothing suitable, he transfigured a throw pillow into a small table. He went about setting up the board, turning the white pieces toward Harry. They were all looking up at him suspiciously.
"They're looking at me," Harry muttered, glaring down at the pieces before him.
"They know I seldom lose," Snape said, smirking. "It's pre-emptive pouting on their part."
"That's not even fair!" Harry whined, poking a knight and earning a very rude gesture for his trouble. "Just because I'm not of a strategic mind doesn't mean they have to sulk."
"This from the Boy Who Lived To Sulk?" Snape asked, amused. "Did I mention they don't like to be poked? I don't know how they became so surly," he said innocently.
"Disuse?" Harry volunteered off-handedly, rolling his eyes at the queen's snotty dismissal. "At least yours aren't charmed to talk."
"Perhaps," Snape agreed. "They were charmed to talk when I got them, but as they never had anything intelligent to say, I removed that charm," he said smugly, ignoring the pieces as they turned as one and gave him a two-finger salute.
Harry laughed, "Snotty little things aren't they. Will they even listen to me?"
"They will. Just be happy they can no longer call you names. They know words I don't think even Hooch would use," he said, nodding at Harry to make a move.
Harry pursed his lips, struggling not to laugh as the queen smacked the king's ear. "Pawn to E4."
The pawn moved sulkily to its spot, and glared daggers at Harry. "Hey, that's a standard opening; you can't glare at me like that!"
The pawn turned its back on him, folding its arms across its chest, ignoring Harry altogether.
"You're wasting your breath, Potter," Snape replied before ordering a pawn to the square directly across from Harry's pawn. The two pieces sneered at one another, and Harry laughed.
"That one learned that from you," he said, pointing to the pawn that looked particularly disgusted.
"I'm almost always black," Snape replied, smirking down at the board. "They feel a bit superior I'm afraid," he said, sighing dramatically.
"That's favoritism, your poor neglected white pieces," he mourned with a sorrowful sigh. "I think you're lucky they can't talk anymore, can you imagine what they'd be saying to you right now?"
"I imagine it would be much like what my students had to say about me," he said, smiling as his knight destroyed Harry's pawn. He leaned back in his chair and studied Harry. "Greasy git. Great bat. Sodding bastard. What am I forgetting?"
"That just about covers it; there might have been some mixing and matching of those names." Harry glared at the chessboard as his queen turned and silently began to castigate him as another pawn went to its inevitable doom. "So are any of the rumors true then?" he asked, smirking across the small table.
"Only the vampire one," Snape said quite seriously. "Though it's rot that we can't go out in the sun," he said, positioning his knight in such a way that Harry would lose either his Rook or his Bishop.
He was startled when Harry began to laugh and couldn't help but grin when the laughing continued. He felt absurdly pleased that he could make Harry laugh. His grin turned into a smile, and for a change, he didn't try to conceal it.
"You're smiling," Harry laughed, ignoring the impatient chess pieces as he tried to regain his breath.
"I am," he agreed, tilting his head and smiling at Harry. Tomorrow the boy might very well die, but for the moment, he was happy. Snape could give him very little, but he could give him this moment.
"You should do it more often."
Harry stared down at the chess board and sighed. He wasn't going to win this game, not that he'd expected to, but he hadn't thought he'd end up losing this badly. "I forfeit," he declared.
Harry's remaining pieces all looked at him with a mixture of relief and incredulity.
"You were checkmated in two moves anyway," Snape said smugly. "Another game perhaps?"
Harry shook his head ruefully. "You'd still win, where's the fun in that?"
Snape shrugged, hoping he didn't look as sheepish as he felt. "I wished to distract you," he said, putting the pieces back in their box.
Harry's smile faded a little, but not completely. "I had realised."
Snape stood, putting the chess set back in the cupboard. He walked to the sofa and sat down, staring into the fire. "That was the extent of my plan," he said, not looking at Harry. "I can give you a book, or a potion to make you sleep if you'd like."
"Can we just... talk?" Harry ventured, hoping that didn't sound as daft out loud as it had in his head.
Snape let his head fall against the back of the couch. "About?" he asked tiredly.
"Anything."
He looked up at Snape from his place on the floor.
Snape thought for a moment, searching for something neutral they could talk about. He could ask about Quidditch, but that would only highlight the fact that Harry was here, and not in school with the rest of his peers, so that was out. If he asked about his friends, that would be just as bad.
"Ah. Tell me about your Muggle relations," he finally said. That Harry wasn't on the best of terms with them was the extent of his knowledge on the subject.
"What do you want to know about them?" He couldn't say he was surprised by the question, and he had wanted to talk. There was also the fun factor of never having told anyone half of the things the Dursleys had done to him as a child if he died tomorrow. And if he did die tomorrow, he wouldn't care that he had told anyone.
"From the way Minerva spoke of them, they were ghastly," Snape prompted, looking at Harry with interest. "Nothing like your mother."
Harry shrugged. "My aunt was hopefully nothing like my mother. I'd like to think my mother wouldn't force me to learn how to cook at the age of five by burning my hands on frying pans, or trap me in a bathroom that I need to clean with ammonia in the cleaning solution."
Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Surely you're exaggerating?" he said, frowning. This is where Dumbledore left the Boy Who Lived?
"I wish," Harry muttered as he drew his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He exhaled slowly, wrapping his arms around his shins. "That isn't even half of what they did to me. But it wasn't really physical abuse; it was more mental, emotional even. Did you know I thought my parents had died in a car crash until Hagrid told me the truth?"
Snape found himself resisting the urge to card his fingers through Harry's hair. It's not as if the boy is a bloody cat! he thought. He had never been a person anyone came to in need of comfort. He was usually the one causing the discomfort.
"No, I wasn't aware of that," he said, clearing his throat and leaning back against the couch, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
"The Sodding-Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die didn't even know his own story. I think the words 'culture shock' don't quite express how I felt to have Hagrid barge into that little shack."
"Hagrid barging into anywhere would be enough to shock anyone," Snape said, smirking at Harry, "culture not withstanding."
Harry smiled. "It would at that. He was my first real friend in the wizarding world, even before Ron."
"Mine too, actually," Snape replied softly.
Harry cocked his head to the side, intrigued. "He was?"
"He tried to be, I wasn't exactly accommodating," Snape said, chuckling. "No matter how awfully I treated him – and I did treat him awfully – he still stuck up for me. When the other children would get particularly mean, he would stop it," Snape said, his voice still holding some small amount of wonder. He was lost in his thoughts for a moment before coming back to himself.
"When I returned to Hogwarts to teach, he was the first person, besides Albus, who didn't look at me with scorn or derision. There were times I hated him for it."
"You could hate him? Is that even possible? Hagrid's like a giant teddy bear."
"I can hate anyone, Potter," Snape replied, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.
Harry snorted. "Good point. This is you we're talking about here."
"Actually, we're talking about you," Snape said, forcing his memories away. "Or rather, your relatives. Would you curse them if you knew that you could do it with no repercussions?" he asked curiously.
Harry frowned and chewed on a thumbnail. Would he, given the opportunity? It was something he hadn't thought about in a long while. So long as he has something to lord over their heads, he was fairly content. But given the opportunity to inflict some of his pain back onto them...would he take that chance? "No."
"Hmm," Snape replied, not at all surprised by his answer. "I hope you don't mind if I do it myself," he said with an evil grin.
"You would?"
"You would let me?" Snape returned.
Harry shook his head. "No, I wouldn't."
"I thought not," Snape replied. "Don't worry, Potter, I find no pleasure in torturing Muggles," he said, rolling his eyes. "Students, however, are another matter."
Harry grinned. "Don't I know that." He stared at Snape for a long moment, before exhaling in a hiss.
"They locked me in a cupboard under the stairs." There, maybe he should have brought it up earlier, but better late than never.
"What?" Snape asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees once again. His father had often locked him in a dark closet when he was very young, but he had quickly learned to magic his way out. That, of course, led to worse punishment, but it was worth it just to beat his father at something.
"They wanted to stomp the magic out of me. I didn't know why they did it at the time but it was my bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs. My Hogwarts letter was addressed to that cupboard. They'd call me a freak and stuff me under there for days on end without much food. The only time I was allowed out was to go to the toilet."
Snape wanted nothing more than to get to his feet and pace, or throw something just to watch it break. Instead he sat, absolutely still, his own childhood memories threatening to overwhelm him.
When he finally felt able to speak, he said darkly, "I take it back. I would find great pleasure in torturing them."
Harry blinked uncomprehendingly. "Why?"
"You have to ask?" Snape snapped in reply. "They locked you in a ruddy cupboard, treated you like a house elf, and still you ask why?"
He knew his anger was on the far end of extreme, but his own memories were clouding his thinking. "I made my father pay for what he did," he hissed, before realizing that he had spoken aloud. He looked at Harry, mortified.
Harry stared at him. There was more information in that one sentence than Harry bet he could have received in a day.
"What did he do to you?"
"He could do what he wanted to me, and usually did, but he never should have laid a hand on my mother," he said angrily, not willing to speak of his own personal demons.
"Oh." Harry stared at him for a long moment, before crawling up onto the couch and settling beside him. Snape glanced at Harry for a moment, stiffening in his seat. Harry, sensing this, scooted away to the other end of the couch and drew his legs up again.
Harry recalled all the things he had learned the year before about Snape's mother and winced. It made his brain hurt to think about it. "I'm sorry."
They sat in awkward silence, both looking into the fire, caught up in their respective pasts. "So, uh, do you like Quidditch?" Harry asked, desperate for anything that would break heavy quiet.
Snape looked at him, and the scowl left his face to be replaced by a bemused expression. "Next you'll be asking me about the weather, won't you?" Snape asked, his lip twitching.
Harry scowled. "If it keeps the silence away."
Snape raised an eyebrow questioningly, before thinking the statement through. The boy had said he wanted to talk; there must have been a reason behind it, one that he was missing.
"Fine," he drawled slowly. "I tolerate it."
Harry grinned at that. "I knew you must have. You are a fair flier. Why else would you have been a referee at one of our games?"
"Flying is different than Quidditch," Snape answered. "I love to fly, and I'm more than fair," he added, smirking. "The only reason I had to referee that game was because the Headmaster was worried for you safety. As usual."
Harry gave a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sure he was. Bet you had loads of fun trailing after me and making sure I didn't lose a limb or my life."
"And I did so more times than you can imagine," Snape said, shaking his head. "The times you walked blindly into danger, thinking your blasted cloak would be enough to protect you. I can't believe you made it through school at all."
"Sometimes I don't believe it either," Harry murmured quietly. His thoughts drifted idly through the past seven years, getting caught up at the end of fifth year. A slight tremor passed through his body and he quickly squashed it. "I'm sorry." He chuckled roughly, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "I seem to be saying that a lot today, aren't I?"
"What is this obsessive need to apologize, Potter?" Snape asked curiously. "Particularly about things that cannot be changed."
Harry raised his eyes to meet Snape's. "Don't know, it just feels like it needs to be said."
Snape met Harry's gaze and nodded briskly. "Then consider it said, and stop apologizing.
Harry couldn't help but feel he was back in class getting a lecture.
"Yes, sir," he replied with mock seriousness.
"Idiot," Snape muttered, resting his head against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"I daresay you can, as you just did," Snape replied, turning his head toward Harry, but not bothering to lift it from the couch.
"Do you think I'm going to die tomorrow?"
Snape sighed. He considered lying, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. "It is possible that you will die, yes," he said, shifting himself so that he was facing Harry. "However, I plan to do everything in my power to assure that doesn't happen." He locked his eyes onto Harry's. "You will live, and you will defeat the Dark Lord." Snape reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Look on the bright side," he said, removing his hand. "If you do die, you won't be alive to regret it."
Harry laughed and offered a weak smile. "Suppose so. Still..." He sighed, already missing the subtle pressure on his shoulder. He shifted closer to Snape and hesitantly rested his head on the man's shoulder. He tensed, waiting to see if he would be shrugged off, but nothing happened. Harry relaxed and let out another soft sigh. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently as well.
Snape had to resist the urge to rest his cheek against the top of Harry's head. The contact felt nice, natural even, which was something he could seldom say. Silence descended once again, but it wasn't oppressive like it had been earlier.
Snape cleared his throat. "May I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, go ahead," Harry murmured, almost afraid to move too much and have Snape brush him off.
"Why did you allow me to kiss you?" he asked softly. And why in the name of Merlin did you kiss me back?
Harry worried his lower lip for a moment, attempting to work out his thoughts. Why had he let Snape kiss him? It seemed an awfully strange thing to do. But, there was no denying he had wanted it, had yearned for it even. He didn't back down from it either.
"I wanted you to," he finally answered, waiting for the fallout from admitting it.
"Yes, you've said that, but why?" Snape repeated. "I can hardly be confused with Ginny Weasley," he said with a snort.
"I don't know. If I did I would give you a new answer, because that's all it comes right down to. I wanted you to kiss me and you did."
"I see," Snape replied, though in truth, he didn't see at all. Though God knew that he had done some strange things during the first war, things he was embarrassed to even think about now. He supposed that was what this whole situation would turn out to be for Potter. Just a memory of a strange and difficult time in his life.
Snape had to admit, at least to himself, that the thought made him sad.
"And I haven't thought of Ginny...like that," he added. "Not since the end of the school year."
Snape finally looked at him, surprised. "Why ever not?"
"After Dumbledore died, I pushed most of my friends away, including her. Even though she helped me pack to come and find you I never felt more towards her than brotherly affection. I just never thought about it until recently."
Snape thought for a moment. "Is it just recently that you thought about kissing another man?"
"Yeah, can't say I thought about it before now." Harry shrugged lightly, tilting his head so he was staring at Snape's cheek. "Course, I also thought kissing was wet as well."
"I think I was just insulted," Snape said, frowning slightly. He'd never been complimented on his kissing prowess, but he'd had no complaints either.
Harry grinned and actually laughed. "Not you. Kissing you was...never mind. I meant my first kiss. She was crying; it was wet. I didn't particularly care for it."
"Your first kiss cried on you?" Snape asked, trying not to chuckle. "Even for you, Potter, that's bizarre." He was silent a moment before asking, "So, kissing me was...what, exactly?"
Harry flushed. The bugger had a one track mind sometimes. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone?
"Nice, very nice."
"I see," Snape replied, feeling just a bit smug. As he tried to find something other than Harry to look at, he realized that the room had grown darker as they talked. It was dusk outside.
"What would you like for dinner?" he asked, deciding it was time to change the subject to a safer topic.
"Do we have any minced beef?" Harry asked.
Snape considered the question, his mind running through the items in the freezer. "I believe so."
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Do we have the ingredients for cottage pie?"
"Yes. Come along then, you can chop the vegetables," Snape replied, getting to his feet and leading Harry to the kitchen.
As far as last meals go, they could do worse than cottage pie.
Harry stared into the flames of the crackling fire with a small frown. His chin rested on one hand as he watched ash leap from the fire and disappear. By this time tomorrow he could be dead. This time the next day he could be another of the numerous tragedies in the war. He cringed choking back the bile that rose up his throat.
There had been a time when he was emotionally ready to die, but in the past few weeks he had been happy. He was happy with his life; he was excited about things again. He hadn't resigned himself to a hopeless fate. But that hopeless fate was staring him down now and he felt faint. His stomach clenched and knotted and he broke out into a cold sweat. He didn't want to die.
"Potter."
Harry blinked and looked up to see Snape staring at him from the doorframe.
"Yes?"
"Would you like something to help you sleep?" he asked, frowning.
He'd been watching Harry from the doorway for quite some time, and he could almost track his thought process by the tension in his body. At the moment, he looked pale and sick.
Harry shook his head, tightly clasping his hands to prevent them from trembling. "Leaves me feeling groggy the next morning."
Snape entered the room and sat down on the couch. He looked down at Harry who was sitting on the floor, his head level with Snape's knees.
"If you plan on vomiting, please refrain from doing so on my shoes," he said with a small smile.
Harry shakily grinned and scooted backwards until his back hit Snape's legs. He was trembling and he had no qualms about letting Snape know it either. He was nervous, scared senseless and if he did vomit it wouldn't be the first time on that floor. He swallowed convulsively, his own saliva getting caught in his throat. There came a point where he thought he might have been crying, but he couldn't get his hands up to his face to find out. He leaned his head sideways and back so it rested against Snape's knees.
Snape could feel Harry's body trembling and felt completely helpless to do anything about it. He wasn't equipped to offer comfort and platitudes. The Slytherins never expected it from their Head of House, and they never got it from him.
Feeling awkward, he reached out and let his hand rest on Harry's head, gently massaging his scalp with his fingers.
Harry leaned into the touch mewling softly. He looked up at Snape beseechingly. He wanted to go and curl up in Snape's lap and hide. It was completely childish, but the world was suddenly way too big. He suddenly felt his size: tiny and weak. Distress ripped through his remaining shields and left him a stranded little boy.
"Bloody hell," Snape muttered, grabbing Harry by the collar and pulling him onto the couch.
Harry didn't make a sound as he cuddled as close to Snape as humanly possible. His entire side was flush against the other man, one of his hands wrapping around Snape's waist. He didn't want to think any more. He wanted to sleep. He needed sleep, rest-filled, real sleep, not a potion induced stupor.
"Read to me?" he pleaded.
With Harry practically molded to his side, Snape couldn't get up to get a book. Looking over his bookshelf, he summoned Magic Runes: A Beginners Guide, opened it to a random page and, putting an arm around Harry, began to read.
Harry closed his eyes, his head resting against Snape's chest. He grinned faintly as he listened to the deep baritone voice reading the passages about ancient runes, another one of those subjects that might have been interesting at any other time, but now only served to pull him under.
Snape's hand was gently, curling at the base of his neck playing with his hair. He doubted the older man even knew he was doing it and Harry wasn't going to draw attention to it.
Snape looked down after twenty minutes of reading. He had felt Harry slacken as sleep finally consumed him. He shut the book softly and set it down on the side table beside him.
With nothing to distract his own mind, he began to think about tomorrow. They still had to discuss how things were going to work, but he didn't think Harry needed anything more to think about tonight.
Snape looked down at Harry, watching as his long fingers carded slowly through the boy's hair. He could understand Harry's fear all to well. He was too young to have the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders.
His hands trailed lightly across the top of Harry's back, mentally measuring the width of his shoulders. They weren't wide, but they were strong. Snape hoped they were strong enough to deal with what was ahead.
"Bloody brilliant plan, Albus," he said softly, wishing not for the first time that Dumbledore was alive and orchestrating all this instead of him. Hell, at the moment he wished he could just curl up in Dumbledore's lap and forget about it for awhile.
He smiled at the absurd image. If only it were that easy.
Time passed slowly around them, going unnoticed by both of the men on the couch. Snape couldn't be sure how much time had passed since Harry had fallen asleep, but he was growing tired of staring into the fire.
"Potter," he muttered, shaking Harry gently back into wakefulness. "Potter, it's time for bed."
"Don't wanna," Harry mumbled, curling into Snape's chest like a small child.
"Potter, I will not carry you. Now wake up."
Harry cracked open an eyelid to glare up at him. He raised an eyebrow in amusement as Harry sat up sullenly, but it faded as he finally got a good look at the boy.
"What is it?" he asked, dreading the answer.
The raven-haired boy's eyes widened minutely. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Harry asked in a rush. And before Snape could even begin to tell him 'no', he continued: "I just don't want to be alone."
"That would be..." inappropriate. Wrong. Indecent, "…fine," he finished lamely.
Harry attempted to smile before heading sluggishly towards Snape's bedroom. He could feel Snape following right behind him. He stood by the dresser as he waited for Snape to yell at him to get out. He hadn't expected the man to give in so easily, but then, maybe he wasn't the only one needing human contact. While it had always been a threat in the back of his mind, since that afternoon it had become painfully clear that Snape's life was in as much, if not more, danger of being terminated than Harry's. It sent an unpleasant jolt through him and the need to just touch Snape became overwhelming.
He couldn't deal with this. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. He squashed down all his feelings until he became numb. Emotion wasn't in the equation, and couldn't be brought into it either. It wouldn't change the outcome of tomorrow; examining his emotions would only make things worse.
Snape was watching him carefully; Harry could feel his dark gaze penetrating his skull as if trying to read his mind without using Legilimency. His dull green eyes flickered up for a brief moment, before he closed them and raised a hand to stifle a yawn.
"Get into bed before you fall over," Snape said, his nervousness coming across as irritability. Harry flinched, and Snape forced his voice to a more normal level. "I'll be there in a moment, I'm just going to lock up the house," he added more gently.
Harry nodded and walked toward the bed and Snape left the room, castigating himself for agreeing to this. He wouldn't back out now; the panic on Harry's face made it evident that if he didn't allow the brat to stay, the boy would not sleep at all and be useless tomorrow.
At least that's what he told himself. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he didn't want to be alone tonight either.
Snape walked through the house, turning off the lights and extinguishing the fire. The doors and windows were already locked tight and warded, but he checked them anyway, needing a few more minutes alone.
He went to the bathroom and went through his normal nightly routine before returning to his room. Harry was in his bed, lying right up to the edge, curled up into a ball as if trying not to take up any space. The covers were pulled up to his neck and clenched tightly in his hands.
Rolling his eyes, Snape moved to the other side of the bed and sat down, toeing off his shoes before lying down on his back on top of the covers.
Harry stayed perfectly still as he felt Snape settle beside him. He pulled the covers up a little tighter to his chin, trying to remove the ever-present chill. Idly, he wondered if maybe he'd made himself sick from stress and nervousness.
Snape idly wondered how in the world he was supposed to sleep with the ball of nervous tension next to him. At this rate, nobody was going to get any sleep tonight.
Snape rolled onto his side and tugged at the back of Harry's shirt. "Come on, Potter," he said tiredly.
Harry scooted backwards soundlessly, before attempting to relax just a little. "Sorry."
"What did I tell you earlier?" Snape groused even as his arm draped across Harry's waist and pulled him even closer.
Harry mumbled something incoherent as his breathing evened out. Snape stared at Harry for a long moment before raising his wand and muttering, "Nox," he drowned the room in darkness.
Snape could still feel the tension coming from Harry, so he hugged him tighter and began to speak. "Aconite, also known as wolfsbane and monkshood..." he began, tucking Harry's head under his chin. His voice droned on, listing potion ingredients and their properties. It was something he normally did in his head to help himself fall asleep, and speaking them aloud was just as soothing.
By the time he had finished the Bs, Harry was breathing slow and steady next to him. By the time he reached the Es, Snape's voice had begun to slur a bit, and he stopped speaking aloud. He got as far as the Ls before he drifted off to sleep.