CHAPTER 11
A/N: Yep, it's super-fluffy, nope, it isn't slash.
Mostly fluff for a while now, but rest assured the plot exists and will reassert itself. In the meantime, enjoy!
The first thing Snape did the next morning when Harry reached the dining table was to sweep him into a hug. He had done the same thing the previous night, when Harry had begun to kneel after Snape had dismissed him. "You will not do that again," he had commanded, while still holding Harry. Then he had smirked. "Not even if you have to spend all your time clinging to me." Harry had blushed and tried to mumble something vaguely grateful, he couldn't remember what.
"Good morning, Severus." It came out soft and hesitant. It still felt odd to call Snape by his given name, and probably would for a long time.
A strange smile tugged at Snape's lips. "Good morning, child."
Harry smiled back, feeling oddly nervous. He had the funny feeling Snape's good mood wouldn't last very long. Not with him around, anyway.
Snape's smile froze, and Harry looked away, his heart beating fast. I really wish I could stop my thoughts leaking into Snape's mind. He started as Snape's fingers touched his cheek and ran down his neck. His stomach still filled with butterflies every time Snape did that, and it rarely felt like an annoyance. Snape said nothing, merely looked at Harry, and Harry felt himself beginning to blush. He looked down feeling oddly reassured and annoyed at the way Snape affected him.
"Sit down and have breakfast, Harry."
Harry began to do as he said, and then stared. "What's happened to the table?"
Harry's side of the table was sunken. It was as if half the table had been made for an adult, and the other half just tall enough for a chil, and the two parts were joined by a vertical slab.
"Figure it out."
Harry rolled his eyes at the man's superior tone, and guessed wildly. "You altered the table so I can sit without the Bond punishing me?"
"... For sitting at the same level as your master, yes. Well done, Harry," Snape said in mock surprise.
"Thanks, Sev." Harry grinned cheekily at Snape's stunned reaction. His mother had called Snape that—he'd remembered this little tidbit from his visions about Snape. "For the altered table, I mean."
Snape took a while to recover, Harry observed in amusement as breakfast progressed. This is going to be fun.
But all thoughts of fun were thrown out of his mind as Snape led him to the Strictly Off-Limits Potions Laboratory after breakfast. Oh, no, no, no, Harry thought in panic. He's going to make me work on potions. I thought the whole idea was to keep me out of trouble and in his good books?
Then he saw Snape smirk as he flicked his wand to get a work station ready, and realisation struck. Harry scowled, trying not to blush. Snape knew exactly how much Harry was dreading this—it was Snape's revenge for silently laughing at the man during breakfast. A blackboard popped up nearby, with instructions for a potion whose name Harry couldn't pronounce and didn't want to try.
"To work, brat," Snape said, almost affectionately. Harry took a deep breath, resigning himself to a horror of a morning. He glanced at the instructions. Bobotuber pus. Oh joy.
Not twenty minutes later, he stared at his cauldron in dismay. His potion was a cheerful yellow, while the instructions clearly said it was supposed to be orange at this stage. He pursed his lips into a stubborn line. Enough. I'm not playing his game anymore.
Pain began to creep into his chest at this rebellious thought, but for once it didn't bother Harry. He was suddenly very aware of the potions master working silently behind him. He pictured the man's angry face and cringed at the thought.
The cauldron bubbled merrily.
Harry heard a noise behind him and flinched. Calm down, he told himself, angrily wondering since when the mere idea of displeasing Snape was enough to make him go hot and cold at once.
The pain intensified, and Harry leaned against the table. The Bond was pressing him to call Snape for help, as the man had instructed him to. Something Harry was still annoyed about.
Arms encircled him from behind. Harry held himself taut as the Iain receded, not wanting to look back and see Snape's anger at the botched potion.
"Calm yourself, dunderhead," Snape murmured. "Add another newt eye."
But the instructions say —
"Yes, they do, that was before you decided to let the potion simmer for five minutes longer than needed after adding the slugs." Snape gave him a small push. He still hadn't released his hold on Harry; his hands were on Harry's chest.
Harry did as he was told.
"Now stir." Snape was being gentle. If only he was even a little like this in class, Harry thought absently, he would've surpassed even Hermione by now. "Not so violently, child—" he lifted a hand to slow Harry's own. Harry shivered when Snape's hand touched his—"slowly, twice, anti-clockwise. "
"I hate the stupid shivering," Harry mumbled.
"Is that so?" Snape sounded amused. Harry had to stop himself from pouting. Snape had a way of making him feel very young at times.
The potion turned the correct shade of orange. Harry blew out a breath. His heart was racing faster than ever had before a Quidditch match. He focused on the feeling of Snape's breath on his neck to ground himself as he reached for the coriander seeds.
Snape didn't let go of him until the potion was completed, and Harry had calmed by then. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, making him smile.
Snape suddenly stepped away from him. "No, Harry, I will not teach Longbottom like that." Harry burst into laughter. Snape scowled at him, but that only set him off again.
Then suddenly, the man's demeanor changed. He stood rooted in place, looking at Harry as if he had never seen him before. Even through the fit of giggles, Harry realised Snape was probably watching his eyes.
His mother's eyes.
And, miraculously, Snape's lips curved upwards.
And then Harry's vision swam as he was plunged into another memory. This one was of Harry's very first potions class.
"Potter!" Harry barked at the living replica of his childhood nightmare now inhabiting his classroom. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Lily's eyes stared out at him from under the horrendously messy bangs. Did this child have any of his mother in him?
But no — "I don't know, sir."
Question after question, and the same answer came back; ending in a classic display of Potter disrespect.
Harry sneered to cover the crushing sense of disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. She was gone, then. This child was all Potter.
Harry came out of the vision, breathing hard. He didn't dare look up at Snape; he knew the man must have seen what he had seen. He focused instead on the potion-stained desk before him.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, when the silence became unbearable.
"What?"
Harry did look at him now, determined to get this out. "I should've tried harder... If I had, I'd have answered, and..." You'd have seen long ago that I'm not just my father.
Snape had gone pale, but now the colour returned to his face. "I... rather doubt it." He seemed to be speaking with great difficulty. "I was quite sure you were exactly like... And I was not prepared to be fair, either..."
Harry was too caught up in the revelation of this new perspective of his first potions class to notice that Snape seemed to have forgotten how to use complete sentences. Still… if I just had read... He didn't know why he was taking the blame; that day hadn't been his fault at all. Only he couldn't help but wonder what it could have been like if—
"Harry James Potter, you will cease going down that road at once."
Harry blinked. Snape's hand was cupping his neck. When had Snape come so close? If it had been anyone else in Snape's place, he was quite sure he'd be mortified beyond belief... He blushed, very slightly, and then leaned into the touch.
Snape was a man of few words, he had learnt. Harry was starting to enjoy the way Snape expressed himself through touch rather than words—
Harry jerked before he could stop himself, a truly horrible thought occurring to him. His breathing quickened again, and without realising it he stumbled backwards, away from Snape.
When he looked up, Snape's face had gone an unnatural shade of green. He turned on his heel and practically fled the room. Harry followed him unthinkingly. He found the door to a bathroom open, and heard the sound of violent retching coming from within.
Harry winced, clarity hitting him like a Bludger. He waited until Snape came out of the bathroom, looking a bit unsteady on his feet.
"Sev?" Harry began, moving forward to help him, but Snape held up an imperious hand.
"No." His voice was hoarse. He leant against a wall, still looking ill.
"Severus, I'm sorry..."
"I said, no." Snape slumped against the wall, looking very unlike himself. "That you could even imagine me capable of…taking advantage—" He paused, seeming to wrestle nausea. "Or that I could even think of you like...I am old enough to be your —" He cut himself off again, looking even more mortified, if possible.
"My father," Harry finished softly.
"Leave me," Snape ordered.
Harry stepped closer, ignoring the pain that resulted from disobedience. When he almost reached Snape, he was pushed back.
"Do my wishes mean literally nothing to you?" Snape hissed. "Leave! At once!"
Harry noted that the anger Snape showed didn't make him feel unsafe at all, not anymore. He moved closer again.
The look in Snape's eyes reminded Harry of a hunted animal. "Do not touch me." The words were pleading rather than commanding.
"Sev, I'm sorry— " Harry began, distraught at seeing the man like this, but Snape wasn't listening. He had pulled himself up and squared his shoulders, and from the aggressively blank look on his face, he was Occluding. The moment of vulnerability was over. Harry knew he had to act fast or it would be too late to set this right.
He threw himself at Snape and pinned him to the wall, burying his face in Snape's neck. Snape shuddered and tried to pull away, but Harry was stronger at the moment. "I'm sorry, Sev," Harry said, pulling the man closer. "F-forgive me?" He sounded pathetic, but in this case, felt it was almost deserved.
An idea struck him, and he looked up uncertainly while thinking the word Dad as loudly as he could. Snape looked down at him immediately, his eyes a little wide. Dad, Harry thought, beginning to blush hard and finding it difficult to maintain the penetrating gaze. His heart thudded even louder than it usually did when he was so close to Snape.
Snape relaxed against him. Harry looked away at once when Snape's arms slowly surrounded him. He leaned against the man and closed his eyes.
It was a long while before either of them spoke.
"Well done, you insufferable nuisance, you have succeeded in reducing me to a state of meltdown when even the Dark Lord has not." It looked like Snape was fast regaining composure.
"Um, sorry?"
"You'd better be," Snape growled. He would've sounded a lot more intimidating if he didn't still look ready to topple over, Harry noticed with a pang.
I'll make it up to him, he promised himself.
Five hours later, Harry lay in bed groaning in pain. Well, I think this makes us even. He was thankful Snape wasn't around to hear him. The man tended to get prickly whenever Harry was in pain, and he couldn't handle that on top of his own discomfort. And yet, he knew Snape's presence did make him feel better, and—Harry was in too much pain to blush at this thought—his coddling Harry.
I never thought I'd think the words 'Snape' and 'coddling' in the same sentence. A spasm shot up his arm, and he groaned again, cursing under his breath. I wish Severus was here!
The door to his bedroom opened and Snape stepped in. "Language, Harry." He smirked when Harry glared, and continued, "Wish granted." Now Harry closed his eyes in embarrassment, and then grew serious. "How are you feeling?"
"A lot better than usual, actually," Harry said, smiling a little. "Your potion's working!"
Snape didn't look very pleased. Harry wondered how the meeting with Voldemort had gone, but knew enough not to ask by now. "Not well enough, evidently; if you are still in pain enough to groan."
"I wasn't groaning! And it was just one twinge; I was honestly feeling better before!" Snape studied him, and Harry frowned.
"Anything else to report? Anything that might have been a result of the potion?"
"Um, I felt my nose getting stuffy; like I had a cold coming on, a little earlier." Snape looked shocked. "What?"
"I did have cold this morning, before I treated it; it seems the symptoms were transferred to you…" Snape trailed off, and Harry suddenly found himself being seized by his shoulders.
"Why are you doing this?" Snape said roughly, his eyes a little wild. He shook Harry a little. "Why must you take on my burdens—my pain, my sickness?"
"Why are you being kind to me after what I did to you?" Harry returned.
"That's not…" Snape began, and uncharacteristically, faltered. Harry yelped when he plucked Harry from the bed (he briefly thought it was a good thing he was in his five year old body) and held him to his chest. "Harry," the man said softly, "my burdens are the direct result of my own wrongdoings. Your mistakes are nothing in comparison to my own. You do not need to suffer the consequences for my mistakes!"
Harry rested his cheek on Snape's shoulder, feeling both embarrassed and pleased. "Well, it's not like I can do anything about it, is it?"
"You're wrong." Snape seemed incapable of staying still. He walked towards a chair, sat down and took Harry's face in his hands. Harry squirmed again and looked down. "This is happening is because you believe you need to protect me from my pain." Snape captured Harry's chin and forced him to endure his intent gaze. "The moment you stop believing that, the Bond will stop at least this aspect of your punishment." He was almost pleading, Harry thought, shocked at the man's openness.
"But I don't think of it as punishment, Severus," Harry said quietly. "I think it's the least I can do."
A flash of fury on Snape's face startled Harry, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Snape sighed and leaned into Harry's neck. The hair on Harry's arms rose, but he responded in kind. "It's not your job to be my protector, my child."
Harry smiled at the epithet and boldly nuzzled into Snape. "Just returning the favour, Sev." He ignored the uneasiness he felt at way Snape stiffened under his touch and then seemed to relax by force of will.
I don't care if you feel guilty, Severus, I won't let you destroy this.
A/N: Ta-da! Which of them is correct? Snape, who's plotting to destroy their relationship; or Harry, who's determined not to? Next chapter—Snape shows Harry a few more disadvantages to being a slave. Harry is not impressed.
My exams are done with, so expect updates soon!
Review, please!
