Thank you to the comment on chapter nine! I've gone back to edit a few extra lines in the place where you made a suggestion, but nothing drastic changed, so ya'll don't need to go back and re-read everything, and stuff. Just a few extra lines, that's all.

PLS READ THIS!: there wil be a bit of swearing in this chapter, but its only a few words.

Also, I realise I've been focusing a lot on Harry's POV and not Sev's, so this chapter is a bit more in-depth about what is going on inside that head of his. I tried my best with writing his internal conflict and feelings, but I'm kinda bad at that, so don't come at me.

Again, all of these chapters that I am uploading are a bit old and had been writen a while back. I mostly just edit them without changing the actual structure.

Also, thank you so much for sticking with this story, and your comments. Pls feel free to make more suggestions, as I am still learning (I'm still in school, lol).

CH.9 - Burning The Past.

Severus Snape sat slumped in an armchair, elbows on knees and head bowed forward, still in the sitting room where Potter had left him a few hours ago. His thoughts felt like a jumbled mess, clouded with conflicted emotions.

For years, and especially this last week, he had solely relied on his Occlumency shields. Seeing the Potter boy every day hadn't helped in the slightest, it would often cause him pain just to meet the emerald green gaze — the eyes he had betrayed all those years ago.

It was with terror that he realised his shields had finally slipped a bit too far.

This last week had been trying for him, and it had taken every last ounce of Severus's mental shields to maintain his emotionless and stoic facade, though they had slipped not once. The time when the boy had come to him with an injured shoulder, and the Patronus incident, were just to name a few.

But today, after seeing the look on the boy's face upon receiving those clothes — it had struck a chord somewhere deep within Severus. Something so familiar… So old, yet familiar.

Being the Death Eater turned spy that he was, he had seen the hope, disbelief, sadness, distress, and joy light up Potter's face as he had clung to that one shirt as if it were a lifeline. This had set off alarm bells for Severus.

Even he, who hadn't had many clothes growing up, hadn't had that sort of reaction upon receiving something as basic as clothing. Yet, Potter's reaction could have fooled anyone into thinking he'd just received a new broom.

He remembered Tuney far too well to look past the signs.

Her resentment towards anything magical, including her own sister…

"Lily, you're a freak!"

He wasn't stupid. He remembered, clear as day, Potter's memories of his relatives mistreating him from those Occlumency lessons in his fifth year. He had simply chosen to ignore it, the bitter truth.

Just how low had he stooped back then? Abuse, neglect at the least, of the boy was as evident as the Dark Mark on his arm.

And then, there was also his own father, Tobias Snape. "Freaky boy, jus' like your mother!"

Severus wondered what experience the boy had with that foul word that Tuney had favoured so.

Potter had stayed most holidays at the castle…

So had Severus. Annually.

Oh, Merlin…

Potter was as thin as a stick.

Severus had been thin, but not to that extent.

"How extraordinarily like your father you are Potter, he too was exceedingly arrogant, strutting about the castle.….A spoiled prince, you are, just like your father… "

Oh, Merlin… Lily…

Severus thought with horror what Lily must think of him.

Since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow seventeen years ago, the same guilt, anguish, and remorse had stuck with him, like an old, stubborn potion to a cauldron. There were few nights where he would sleep peacefully without the beautiful redhead haunting his dreams, whispering to him on a mantra 'you betrayed me, Sev… How could you?', with those green eyes harsh and cold.

Either that, or Nagini and the Dark Lord would visit his slumber, making him relive that night in the Shrieking Shack.

When he would wake, he would find himself drenched in cold sweat, as opposed to his own blood. Still, those nightmares were preferred over the ones of Lily Evans, sneering in his face and reciting all of his sins.

Including those he had committed against her son.

Severus shuddered at the remembrance of Lily Evans. Even still, he couldn't bring himself to refer to her as 'Potter'. Not a day went by that he didn't think of her, about his sins, mistakes, and wrongdoings. Some days, he couldn't even meet himself in the mirror.

And now… He didn't know what would happen now. Hell, he didn't know where this line line of thought was headed — it was all just barreling down on him, piling like a tower of stained cauldrons.

He could only hope that, somewhere above, Lily approved of today.

Severus didn't regret having bought the boy a whole wardrobe. On the contrary, seeing Lily's smile on Potter's face had made it worth it. The boy really did have her smile, and the way he would often scrunch his nose in confusion, though subtle as it was.

But, though he would rather choke on something than to admit it, a minuscule part of him, deep, deep down, had actually been… Well, for the life of him, he couldn't describe the feeling he'd felt when Potter had cradled a shirt to his chest as if his life depended on it. Had it been relief? Satisfaction? Happiness? Pity? Sadness?

Either way, he had done something for Lily though her only son, for whom she'd died to protect. Whom he'd sworn to keep safe.

Severus knew he would never be able to redeem himself, to atone for his mistakes and sins — his record was far too stained beyond the point of either. The least he could do was provide Potter with something his mother would've, had she still been alive.

It came to Severus that this must have been the first time anyone's ever done something like this for Potter, and he felt almost… pleased that he was that first. Spying for the light had been one thing, but doing something for Lily's son was a whole other.

And there was no Dumbledore or a Dark Lord to stop him from doing as he pleased.

Thanks to the boy. This small gift was the least he could do. In truth, Severus owed him so much…

The boy's reaction had been a guilt reminder to Severus of what he'd cost the boy — a normal family, Lily and James Potter. All because of his moronic mouth. Potter knew it all, and Severus couldn't fathom how he still hadn't killed him. Even after his unorthodox treatment of him all those years at Hogwarts…

At that moment, Severus knew he wouldn't even defend himself if Potter tried to kill or torture him. It would be well deserved. Yet, he knew that the boy would never resort to something like that — he was his mother in character, Severus now saw, through and through.

But how could the boy even tolerate him? Lily hadn't bothered with him after that fateful day in their fifth year.

It was both Potter's greatest strength and weakness — his capacity for love and forgiveness.

Damn it, Dumbledore had been right!

For the life of him, Severus had no idea how or why he'd ended up where he was now, knocking on the boy's door. He had missed dinner, and hadn't shown himself all evening.

There was no answer, however. He knocked again — nothing. Strange. Severus slowly opened the door to peer inside the almost-dark room.

On the bed sat Potter, rigid as a statue and still clutching the same blue and white striped shirt, his face, for once, unreadable, and his eyes unfocused. His new clothes lay in a heap beside him on the bed, untouched.

Severus carefully strode over to the bed. What was wrong with the boy? Was he in some sort of trance? Was he even aware of another presence in the room? When Severus got close enough, he was caught off guard by the tear tracks on his face.

"Potter?" he asked, letting go of his snaky and deadpan demeanour for once.

No answer.

"Potter!"

This seemed to have worked, because the boy's gaze became focused and fixed on Severus, widening as realisation dawned on him.

"Potter, what's wrong?"

Potter hastily wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve, looking away. "Sorry, sir," he quickly apologised. "I'm fine."

Severus rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, you are obviously not fine." When Potter didn't reply, Severus took a perch next to him on the bed. This was new territory for him, and he was mentally cursing Black and Remus for dying and leaving this mental mess of a seventeen-year-old wizard with practically no one.

You know he blames you for the mutt's death, whispered a voice. In his eyes, you're at fault once again…

A few long, silent moments later, Potter finally spoke. "No one's ever done this for me," he whispered hoarsely and so quietly that Severus could've easily missed it. His voice was thick with emotion, so thick it felt like a punch in Severus' gut.

He maintained his stoic mask, however.

Severus nodded his head slowly. "I figured as much." He tried keeping his voice gentle and even — he hadn't done the former years.

"Why?" Potter finally looked at him, and his eyes — Lily's eyes — were filled with wet confusion and wonderment.

Severus swallowed. Dropping the whole 'saviour of the wizarding world won't strut around in rags' pretence, he opted for honesty. "Because, Potter, you have been denied this for far too long, and it is long overdue," he explained patiently. "It is also the least that I could do for your mother. It is what she would've done."

Fresh tears started spilling down his face, and Potter quickly turned away again, embarrassed. Severus, who wasn't sure what else to do, pulled out a vial of lavender-coloured potion from one of his inside pockets and nudged the bottle into the boy's hands. Potter took it silently and downed the contents in one go. It was a calming drought.

A breath of relief was expelled from the Gryffindor, but his grip visibly only tightened on the shirt. He handed back the empty vial and stared at the floor. "Thanks," he whispered, clearing his throat as if trying to recompose himself.

Severus took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say.

"Potter… we need to talk."

Potter shook his head. "There is nothing to talk about, sir."

"On the contrary, I disagree."

Silence followed. Then, "Why are you so upset at the prospect of someone providing for you?" Snape asked, keeping his voice low, psychoanalysing the situation and only half-guessing.

Potter shrugged. "I'm not upset in a bad way. The clothes are brilliant — and thank you for them. But you didn't have to pay. I have enough money in my vault, and I can even pay you back, sir, I swear."

Severus sighed. "Potter, do you think your parents would have wanted you to spend their money in such a way? They would be rolling in their graves if they ever knew that no one had provided something as basic as adequate clothing for you all these years. One does not need Legilimency to figure out that clothing isn't the worst of it, as far your relatives go," he spat the last few words.

The boy turned to look at him, surprise written on his face. "Yes, I am aware, Potter. I had known your aunt, do not forget," he said bitterly.

When Potter didn't respond, Severus decided to try a different tactic. For reasons unfathomable, he wanted the boy to open up a bit. Bitterness, neglect, and pent up anger and trauma could have negative consequences, if anyone knew this, it was Severus Snape.

"I can actually empathise with you. I, too, had to wear old rags and oversized clothing, though my situation had been slightly different from yours. My drunken father would spend all of our money on alcohol and cigarettes, leaving almost nothing for my mother and me. We were quite a poor family, if you could even call it that," he sneered. "But, of course, you've seen that in my memories."

Potter looked at him again, the green eyes understanding. "I'm sorry about that, sir."

Severus snorted bitterly. "It is of little importance now." He sighed. "You had always looked rather skinny for your age, not to mention the clothes you would sometimes wear — oh yes, Mr. Potter, I had noticed even back then, but I was a blinded fool who decided to ignore the simplest signs that something wasn't right. For that…" he swallowed, "...I apologise."

The boy gave him a small, sad smile. His fingers were tracing the stripes on the shirt still in his hands. "Thank you, sir. For everything, really; I appreciate it," he said in a quiet voice. "I really like my new clothes. Thank you."

Severus nodded and stood up. "I am glad I have been of help." He helped Potter up by offering his hand. "It is close to dinner; would you prefer to dine with me or up here?"

"Downstairs, please," his answer surprised the older wizard.

When they sat down in their usual seats, Severus noticed that Potter was still clutching the shirt, probably unaware of it. He cleared his throat. "Do you consider that shirt to be your dinner guest, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked dryly, trying to defuse some of the awkwardness in the air. Potter's cheeks flushed as he became aware of the clothing article in his hands.

"Oh. Sorry, sir."

Snape smirked and called, "Nibby!"

With a crack, Nibby appeared right beside Severus. "What can Niby do for Master Severus, sir?" she asked eagerly.

"Take what Potter's holding upstairs and into his room. Just put it with the rest."

Nibby took Potter's now-a-bit-wrinkled shirt and popped away. No sooner had she done that than dishes of mashed potatoes, green salads, roast chicken, and beverages appeared in front of them. Potter looked at the food with a frown, and Severus figured his appetite wasn't voracious after his emotional ordeal.

Silently, Severus Accio-ed a vial of anti-nausea potion, placing it in front of the boy. He seemed to have recognized it immediately and downed it in one gulp, flashing him a grateful look.

They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the clattering of silverware against their plates. As usual, Potter didn't eat a lot, Severus noted.

But what did it matter to him if Lily's son ate enough or not? Or that the boy was thinner than he himself was — and that was saying something.

Severus shook his head. He wasn't in charge of or responsible for Potter. Providing him with a new wardrobe was one thing, but Molly-fussing was a whole other.

After dinner, Severus thought of something that might lift both of their spirits a little. So, standing in front of the boy's door, he knocked and went in when he was granted permission.

Potter was — to his relief and satisfaction — wearing his new pyjamas, which were dark blue with a silver trim. Severus couldn't help but cock an impressed eyebrow at him. "Quite a change, wouldn't you agree?" he said dryly.

The brat rolled his eyes but nodded nevertheless. "Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks again for them, sir." Then his face sobered a bit. "But I'll pay you back as soon as I can, s —"

"For the final time, you will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Potter, lest you wish to go through all that trouble only to have the money sent back to your Gringotts vault," he cut him off, his voice brooking no room for argument. "By now, you should know just how much I hate repeating myself."

Potter gave him a lopsided smile. "Or what, are you going to take points off of Gryffindor?" he replied cheekily.

"Brat."

"Git."

Severus ignored that last comment. "Where are your old clothes, Potter?" he demanded flatly, getting straight to it.

Potter blinked. "Sir?"

"Your old clothes, you daft Gryffindor," he snapped, but without the usual malice in his words.

Potter looked at him as if he'd grown a second head but then reluctantly pointed at his wardrobe. Severus grinned wolfishly and brandished his wand. "Accio Harry Potter's abominable clothing!"

Potter watched in bemusement as all of his old clothes — rags — hovered over to Severus and dropped down onto the floor with a soft THUMP. Severus glanced back over at the boy with amusement. "Shall we split the pleasure, Mr. Potter, or would you prefer to have the satisfaction of lighting these rags on fire all to yourself?"

The boy gaped at him like a fish out of water, at a loss for words. Severus remained patient with him, waiting for the Gryffindor to piece two and two together. Oh, this, they would both enjoy.

After a moment, realisation dawned on the Gryffindor, and he shot towards his bedside table, grabbed his wand, and rushed back over to him, an excited glimmer in his eyes as he looked at his old clothes. "I think it's only fair for us to split it since you're the reason I can do this," answered Potter happily. Severus could almost feel the excitement radiating off of him.

They split the small pile and stood a few feet apart, wands pointed at the rags. "Know any interesting demolishing spells, Potter?" asked Severus, cocking his head at him with a smirk.

"I'll manage," Potter reassured him.

Simultaneously, both sent their spells — or in Severus' case, a curse — at the rags.

"Incendio!"

"Bescorchio Ignis!"

Severus' pile of rags burned with black flames, but soon died down, not even leaving any ashes behind. Potter's share of clothes just burned in red-orange flames and eventually left a small pile of ashes.

"Brilliant," Potter breathed. Then he turned to Severus, a huge grin plastered on his face, making him look like fifteen rather than seventeen.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter; Indeed." Take that, Tuney, you old hag! he thought indignantly.

For the first time in a long while, Harry slept peacefully that night with the memory of his — Dudley's — old clothes burning into nothing but ashes, and with magic, nonetheless. Oh, the irony of that! It was almost as if he had been watching all the mean insults, neglect, and abuse from the Dursleys burn away into nothing but a mere pile of ashes, as if some sort of closure.

All thanks to the man who had bought him a whole new wardrobe and made it possible in the first place.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Snape anymore. It was like one moment they're at each other's throats, arguing, and the next moment the two shared a deep level of understanding. It confused Harry to no measure.

He was still embarrassed over his breakdown from earlier. He had expected Snape to mock or belittle him, but was pleasantly taken aback when the man had offered him a civil conversation and a calming draught.

He had even opened up about his own past, something Harry knew wasn't his forte.

Perhaps he would open up about his mother in the same way? Harry would have to dwell on how best to best bring up his request.