The day that Snape opened his eyes, Harry was there to greet him.

Snape found his leaden arms effortful to move. His whole body felt tethered to the bed, though it was not. The first thing he saw was Harry's eager face, neck stretched, craning over him to watch every detail of the, apparently, momentous event of waking up. Harry could've been watching a baby bird peck its way out of an egg, for all the fascination glossing his stare.

Snapes voice scratched out of his throat. "What are you staring at, Potter?" It was a mouthful after a full week of immobility and silence, but it expressed his perturbance accurately.

That familiar acidity, made Harry smile from ear to ear. "An answered prayer," he replied. It took him a second. He wanted to say, 'One of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.' But that would've been misunderstood and too much to explain. Snape's survival meant that he wasn't responsible for yet another death of a loved one, and that's what made those dark eyes opening and fastening on him so perfectly beautiful.

Before Harry could launch into a litany of gratefulness, Snape held up a hand to stop him.

"Water."

Harry nodded, clamping his mouth shut and pouring the water from a fresh picture that Ash kept on the bedside table. He had noticed Snape stirring in his sleep that morning, a good sign, and right on target for the charms of the medical wizards to wear off. That alerted him to stay by the bed and wait. It took another six hours, but his vigilance paid off.

Now Harry watched him struggle to pull himself up against his pillows. Any help was swatted away.

"How do you fee-"

Snape lifted his hand again, amending the gesture to one finger, the universal sign for 'Not yet.'

"It's okay, you don't have to talk. I'm just glad I was hear to see you wake up. You're perfectly safe, we're at Ash's."

Snape pulled himself away from the liquid he'd been carefully streaming down his throat in as thin a quantity as possible. He snapped hoarsely, "Say nothing to me while I drink. In fact, give me five minutes of complete silence."

Harry clamped down on his lips, nodding and smiling. The last time he'd heard that grimacing tone, both of them were about to die in an underground avalanche of fiery destruction. Snape's thick vocal resonance sounded like the sweetest aria he'd ever heard. It reverberated in his chest cavity, thrilling him slightly.

A round of coughing confirmed that Snape had gotten choked on the newly saturated dryness in his throat. He was dehydrated, and physically strained in spite of the short-term charms meant to take care of his needs while being unconscious. His hair fell forward as he closed his eyes and ran his hand across his forehead.

Please don't ever cut your hair, Harry thought, all while realizing that Snape looked like he had the mother of all hangovers.

Snape looked back up and caught him grinning. He paused before speaking, this time seeming to count as he inhaled and deliberately closed his eyes before addressing Harry like a three year-old.

"Forgive me, Harry. I know you're happy to see me and I'm grateful. But I feel as though I'm having an aneurysm and cannot monitor my behavior without tremendous effort. What day is it? Did we accomplish what we set out to do? Is the child safe? Answer only these questions and give me an hour to clear my head."

With great restraint, Harry told him. Snape looked disheveled and exhausted against the pillows. He listened, but lifted his brow in full expectation that Harry would fulfill his request for an hour to himself.

Harry backed away. "I'll be listening for you if you need anything. Ash put a bell on the table there. I spelled it to ring through the door chime speakers. One of us will come running."

Snape gave a curt nod, his gaze steadily willing Harry out. Rigidity was slowly returning to his thin lips, indicating that he was two seconds from demonstrable annoyance.

"See you in an hour, Professor." Harry regretted his slip the moment he'd spoken it.

Snape lifted his chin as if the slip was an affront.

"Sorry, not sorry. My bad." Harry shrugged himself out the room and closed the door on Snape's quizzical expression.

Snape sat there for a moment, acclimating to the overall disconnection with his body and the room around him. As soon as the question of where was his wand, popped into the sludged pace of his thoughts, he twisted and reached behind him under the pillow. There it was. He was indeed safe and being well cared for. Harry would've been responsible for that. A layer of anxiety relaxed in him. Always alert to any threat to his survival, he willed himself not to fight his predicament just yet.

He recognized the room. It was the same one he'd recovered in when Ash first brought him to this house over two years ago. It's previous owner, a muggle girl of twenty, Ash's daughter, had left it in respectable hues of teal and grey before going off to college. He'd learned that much from Ash as he recovered from Nagini's bite all those months ago. Her graphite and water colors adorned her walls, evidence of a gifted child determined to get her dreams out of her head for all the world to see. She'd won scholastic awards and held a few soccer trophies. Thankfully, there were no doll collections or stuffed animals, only books about art and travel, and that's why he supposed, he tolerated the room well enough to stay in it. The last Ash had spoken of her, Tiffany was now a graphic designer living in Australia. Ash had done well, two wives and two children, and now free to live his best years. These were only transient thoughts as he didn't quite feel awake yet. There was something nagging at him in the back of his mind, something serious and he knew he didn't want to converse with Harry or anyone until he was out of the influence of these medicinal spells.

His vision swung absently to the photographs along the girl's abandoned writing table and chest of drawers. He let the two children there, brother and sister, as blond as the Malfoys, reel him back into focus as the unsettling fog in his mind receded and he gradually returned to himself. Instinct told him that he was too weak to get out of bed, so he'd test the strength of his legs later. After a bladder check, he surmised that he was still under the influence of charms for the comatose.

He tried to remember the last things he'd experienced before being victim to the curses that put him here. It all unfolded in a succession of images and feelings, with nothing out of place. His eyes closed, drifting, searching. He was looking for the source of a signal of uneasiness. Searching, searching himself in a sea of vast, dark buoyancy. Then it hit him.

His eyes flew open. Harry. He was still connected to him. That communication trick that came in so handy behind the backs of the Backaals, was still active. What anyone else would dismiss as dreams, Snape knew to be reality. Alternate reality, but still very real. He saw himself laying here in this bed and it was a familiar sight because he'd been looking through Harry's eyes. He saw repeated visits. He saw his limbs being handled by Harry and Ash cooking over a steaming pot as he told Harry there was no need to perform such exercises. He saw the ceiling of the bedroom where Harry slept, as he lay awake thinking of Snape and Draco and Iece each night. The sequence of thoughts served as the only code allowing him to access any sleep. And even then, Snape recalled Harry's dreams, for the stream of connected consciousness ran in the background of their thoughts, like a faucet left to drip.

Now he knew where the hangover was coming from. It wasn't just the cocktail of medicinal magic, but his mind's attempt to organize Harry's experiences as well as his own. It all had to be sorted through a kind of personality filter as his mind kept track of what was him and what was Harry. It was like perceiving through a kaleidoscopic mirror as Harry's thoughts reflected him and he reflected Harry reflecting him in an infinite loop of who's thinking of whom? What a mess.

He knocked his head against the pillow. How did this happen? Instead of an answer, he was hit with the memory of Harry standing naked in front of his bathroom mirror. That memory instantly expanded into more details than he could make sense of. There were the wheels, the symbols, the curse, and what on earth was Harry playing with himself like that for? He seemed to find amusement in manipulating himself through the symbols. He was playing with dark magic like it was nothing. While it was happening, Snape felt nothing of his own identity, only an observation of what Harry observed. But now, having recalled that reckless venture into darkness, he wanted to draw back and slap Harry back to his senses. Was he mad? Had they saved the child only to lose Harry's sanity in all of this?

He realized he was breathing very hard and made an effort to calm his blood pressure. Harry was so cavalier about the gravest of situations, it infuriated him sometimes. He drank more water and began to work out that whatever connected him to Harry's perception, it wasn't a direct connection. It wasn't strong enough to tell him what Harry was doing at this moment. Was it?

He relaxed a bit and felt for a certain stillness inside himself. Up through that drifting emptiness came the image of Harry sitting in a chair outside the bedroom. His head lay against the frame as he listened for any sign that he should rush back in.

Dammit! The connection was real. Shut it down. Shut it down.

He'd spent so much time invested in Harry's whereabouts, hard-wiring his thoughts to hone in on the boy, that when he finally tethered his mind to Harry's, for the sake of communication, the damned spell took on a strength of its own. It would have to fade with time. It would have to. It was bad enough having him loose in his portrait and psyche, it wouldn't do to have Harry's brand of insanity piped directly into his thoughts. Though he'd never tell him, Harry was as brilliant at times as he was incredibly foolish, but being James's son, and secretly his own magical offspring, and the sum total of all that the wizarding world deemed chosen and brave, he was also a little crazy and one simply doesn't need that influencing day to day decisions.

There was a little flurry in his chest, put there by the feeling of loss of control. Snape overrode it and decided to get out of bed and clean himself up properly. He threw the sheets back and stared down at himself. At first the distasteful sight of muggle pajamas made him squint, as if the light were too bright. Ash's taste in sleepwear was forgiven. After inspecting his body and finding no visible injuries nor sensing any soreness, he decided to stand. Testing his footing, he found his legs to be weak but stable. His room had no adjoining bathroom and the thought of having to pass by Harry to get to a restorative shower, made him want to apparate back to his cave, where he knew he could walk from bed to waterfall, drench himself in a cool downpour of natural spring water and be completely dressed in fresh attire in the next instant. Harry complicated everything.

He didn't quite trust himself to apparate yet, though he suspected he'd be gone in the next few hours. He was simply waiting around to give proper thanks to Ash. That was the least he could do for the man's ungodly sense of kindness. Ash was too kind for his own good, another human flaw that Snape could not subject himself to for very long. He had to leave. But he felt he owed Ash something for taking both him and Harry in again, and so he found his laundered clothes in the wardrobe and freshened up with magic. When Harry was allowed to enter again, he was fully dressed, sitting propped up on the bed in his signature black. His boots rested on a protective bed sash he'd transformed out of his coat. Though he wasn't completely back to himself, he looked the part and even accepted tea when Ash dashed in, breakfast in tow.

About forty minutes ago, Harry had pulled himself away from the door long enough to tell Ash, who rushed to the room, threw the door open and stared open-mouthed as Snape stared back at him.

"Thank God," Ash said, relieved. Ash wore a cork hat, gloves, and a gardener's apron. He visibly restrained whatever emotion constricted his throat and made him ask in a squeaking tone, "How do you feel?" The effort made him sound like metal gears in need of oil. Harry had not expected such emotion and apparently neither had Ash. He seemed embarrassed, but obviously said, fuck it, as he pulled off his dirty gloves and tossed them into the hall behind him.

"Hung. Over." Snape answered him succinctly and helpfully.

Harry thought he'd feel more self-conscious witnessing this, but he got a kick out of the exchange. People were so interesting when they weren't doing what you'd expect them to do. He, himself, must've been a veritable showstopper when he was up on the stand feeling sorry for himself and spewing hatred at everyone. That's what it felt like had happened, anyway. Thank god he was no longer the center of attention and could enjoy other people for once.

Ash, after looking Snape over and checking his vitals, warned him, "The people who left you in my care said to alert them if you weren't awake by Sunday. Should I say anything to them at all now? They left a number as if they were muggles." He laughed, "Listen to me. Muggles."

"No." Harry and Snape both said at the same time.

Ash looked at them, uncertain.

Harry quickly added, "We get to have him all to ourselves before they try to interrogate him."

He looked to Snape. "It's not that bad, I had my turn."

It wasn't. Because of Harry's skill of turning his wand into a pensieve, he easily revealed all that had transpired and doubted that those officials needed Snape to complete the reports the Ministry and CIUM were putting together. Of course, he hadn't known everything and knew they'd have to question Snape eventually, but that prospect no longer held any fear for him.

Snape made no comment and began expressing an interest in toast and tea. Ash hopped into action, producing a tray fifteen minutes later. Harry watched him making fuss with a cloth napkin as he attempted to tuck the edges into Snape's loosened collar. The astonishing thing was, he let Ash do it.

"Okay, sir. I know how you hate messes. There'll be no crumbs in this bed. Are you sure I can't go back to calling you Foster? Look at those high cheek bones and all this thick hair. You look like one hell of a Foster to me."

Snape's mouth curved around the edges as he silently rejected Ash's provocation. "When I'm gone, you may call me whatever you wish," came his delayed reply.

Ash tskd at him and very boldly put his hands on each side of Snape's head. His thumbs stroked the temples. "Don't start with that. We just got you back. It's rude to eat and run, Severus Snape. So help me, if you don't repay my kindness by staying here at least another week, I'll never open my door or my heart to another person in need ever again. Where are your manners, Severus? Can I call you, Severus?"

Instead of pulling away, Snape held his gaze and spoke quite soberly from between his hands. "You may. But I can promise no such thing."

Everyone in the room knew this was his way of warning that he would leave as soon as he could. His tone emphasized, be glad I've given you this much notice.

Harry watched, astonished, as Ash leaned forward. "Then I'll take my payment before you disappear." With that, he kissed him.

Snape neither pulled away nor melted into indulgence. Instead, he let Ash have his way for a few modest seconds before staring at him as if there was no need to explain.
Harry counted the seconds and would've liked an explanation but Ash leapt up and made a pretense of going to the store for a special celebration dinner. "I mean, since it's the last I'll see of you, why not? A celebration and funeral all in one banquet." His sarcasm was more hurt than playful but he kept up a brave smile. Snape, however, visibly winced and Harry drank the sight of it in before it vanished quickly.

When the two of them were alone again, Harry grinned. "So it's like that, is it?"

"No. It's nothing like that," Snape corrected him and sipped his tea.

"I think he'd disagree."

"What you think is irrelevant. Stir your own pot, Mr. Potter."

Harry teased in a singsong voice, "Snape has a boyfriend."

"I am not responsible for those who are drawn to their own doom."

"So dramatic," Harry sighed. "I've missed that about you. Although Draco could give you some competition where that's concerned."

"You're one to talk. Have you spoken to him?"

Now that Ash was gone, Harry sat down and scooted his chair closer to the bed. "Not in person. Not yet. But I got one of my watches back and he signaled to me that he's wearing his."

"How did he do that?" Snape paused, his open mouth poised over the rim of his cup and Harry appreciated how normal and unguarded he was. This was surreal. They could've been having Saturday morning Corn Flakes at the Dursley's kitchen table, for how fantastically out of place this moment was. If he was going to ever witness Snape kissing a man, he supposed this situation was exactly the trifecta-perfect-storm, cosmic alignment, apocalypse that it would take place in. He wasn't about to complain about it. Why would he? It was great that Snape had someone, right?

"We have a color-coded sequence." He held up his wrist and explained the various signals.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

"So what now? Surely, you're not going to leave me here with your friend? You should stay a while."

"You look like you've recovered just fine," Snape pointed out. "Why are you staying at all?"

"CIUM orders. Security measures and all that. They want you to do the same, but they know they can't prevent you from going."

"Harry, you're very powerful. If you want to break the law and apparate yourself off of the Ministry's detection system, I'm sure you could. You're so famous, you could apply for Civil Concealment and legally become untraceable by all except for law enforcement. That's an option."

"Maybe. Maybe it's too much to ask to live openly with my family."

"Perhaps."

"Speaking of family, how soon can you regale me with the delightful truth behind all that stuff you said in court?"

Snape had lifted his tea cup mid way to his mouth. This stopped him. He spoke rather forcefully. "You are free. Do not go near the utter poison that was your trial. Take your life and run. McGonagall always swore that you were secretly intelligent. Do not make a liar out of her."

"That's not fair."

"After being subjected to a trial like that, and everything you've been through, are you still under the childish assumption that life is fair? Think of what Draco went through for you both, and leave that torment behind forever."

Harry leaned forward and appealed to him. "I'm not asking you to open Pandora's Box. I just want to know what was true and what wasn't. You said some pretty creepy things."

"Now is not the time to rehash all of that putrescence. I would've said anything to get you out of that courtroom. What's done is done. Don't look back. What holds your attention has a way of pulling you back in. Eyes forward on your future, Harry."

"Awww… I love you too, Professor."

Snape grimaced.

Harry made a request, "Promise me one thing."

"No."

"Don't leave until we can really talk. I know you just woke up and have to get your strength back, but if you're going to ditch me again, after giving me so much, then please leave me with a great evening of conversation. One where you catch me up on everything you've been doing and where you hope to go now. I have tons of questions. I won't tire you out. You can answer a few a day, even."

"I'll answer nothing pertaining to Dumbledore or Voldemort. I am not as fond of tormenting myself as you are."

"I just want an evening of stimulating conversation with you."

Snape set his cup aside and suddenly yanked his cloth napkin from his front. "Something else has just been stimulated. If you'll excuse me, my bladder and myself, must make our way down the hall."

It seemed to Harry that Snape's every gesture was growing markedly buoyant and stronger by the minute. Every flourish of his wide hands and snap-to demeanor, relegated Harry to the back of his priorities now that Iece was safe. With a sense of growing separation, Harry felt Snape sidestepping his presence, preparing to make an escape. If not today, then soon. Hell, they could wake up tomorrow and find him gone without a trace.

He couldn't let that happen.

He didn't mean to do it, it's just that when he had that thought, he wished that Snape's recovery could keep him bedridden a little longer. It would be so convenient if his leg gave out, proving he wasn't as strong as he thought he was. Harry knew how to do it too. He'd imagine a tendon in Snape's knee. He'd see it damaged, and all the muscles around it swollen and inflamed. Only painful when Snape tried to walk. He'd put that dial from the wheel over that knee, which was now hidden behind trousers, as Snape put all of his weight on his legs and stepped forward. Harry turned the dial forty-five degrees, just as he'd done with his arm, adjusting the optimum state of those internal fibers.

All of this took less than two seconds and when Snape fell, all time stopped as Harry realized his imaginings were so effective and detailed that they had actually worked. He swooped, hoping to spare Snape the indignity of a fall and catching him just in time. It wasn't an easy catch, with Harry being considerably more slight and lighter, but he was so horrified by what he'd done, he would not allow a real injury to happen because of his actions.

Snape, off balanced by a sudden sharp pain in his knee, wore an expression of shock as he fought to stay upright. In the next second, Harry's grip had knocked his trajectory towards the bed rather than the floor and he landed with Harry on the bed. The two shuffled around each other until Snape practically threw him aside and tried to regain his composure by reaffirming that he could stand. However, his teeth clenched against a groan that proved he could not. He sat back down hard next to Harry, shuddering.

Harry watched him closely, wondering if he knew, if he suspected. Snape's pupils darted frantically as he silently searched his mental archives in an attempt to understand why this was happening. He turned to Harry with narrowed eyes. His lips parted on unspoken outrage.

Harry assumed that he was just embarrassed. "Don't worry, you'll get your full strength back. You've only been up a couple of hours. I'm sure it's nothing but a leg cramp or something."

Snape closed his mouth as if he'd just been insulted beyond rational retaliation.

"Don't worry. It's gotta be minor. I'm sure you know all kinds of spells to patch up a bum knee. Try your magic."

Snape sat there, taking in Harry's eager expression.

"Go on. Try." Surely, Snape had an arsenal of remedies that kept him fit enough to keep running for the last two years. He waited, but Snape made no visible attempt to do anything but intensify his glare at Harry.

"Aren't you going to try?" He wanted to see if Snape could undo the dial. It was really very interesting and only temporary, he told himself.

"I can't," Snape said flatly. "It appears that my magic is affected as well."

Harry righted himself and held up his arms to offer his body as a support. "C'mon, I'll walk you down the hall. You haven't used your legs in a week. Let's just see what you can do before we start jumping to conclusions. And Ash has a pretty good collection of walking sticks. He says he's walked almost every hiking trail around here."

Snape sat mysteriously quiet for a few seconds. Poor professor, Harry thought, he's not used to needing help. He hates this more than anything. It might be just what he needs.

Snape was slow to take his arm, but did so and stood anew, bracing against the pain. Rather awkwardly, they made their way down the hall as Harry chattered to thaw Snape's icy resistance to his help.

"You need muggle crutches," Harry suggested. "Should be easy for Ash to get a hold of them, if he doesn't already have them around. He's a doctor, after all."

Just because he's a doctor doesn't mean he keeps medical equipment in his home, Snape wanted to correct him, but kept his thoughts to himself. He let Harry feel proud and sure of himself as they stopped at the door. Snape, leaning on every surface he touched, hurried inside. Harry's face showed threatening signs of offering to come inside with him and he quickly closed the door before another word came from him.

As the door shut in his face, excitement bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. It worked. He hadn't meant to do it, he just wanted it, and it worked. On Snape of all people. The potential with this was staggering. His eyes glazed over with wonder. With a power like this, the curse was nothing at all. Maybe there would never be another real threat again. He didn't know, but he couldn't contain himself and a huge grin spread across his face. Of course this was unfair to Snape but he had big plans for making it up to him. And it wasn't like he was being tortured. As long as he stayed off the leg, he'd feel no pain. Harry just needed to keep him there a while longer.

On the other side of the door, Snape leaned against it and steadied his breathing. He had broken into a sweat, more from a rush of anger than exertion. The trip down the hall had given him time to think this through. He could walk just fine before Harry got involved and now he couldn't. It wasn't like
him to abuse power. This was the boy who had thrown the Elder Wand away. What was Harry up to?

He had given him a chance to admit he was doing this. He'd kept silent all the way down the hall, waiting for the boy to sheepishly give in to his conscience and set things back aright, but Harry said nothing in the way of a confession or apology. How unlike him. For some reason, his dishonesty was more disturbing than an outright attack. He was planning something and Snape couldn't exactly see those details, but he felt them. Apparently, he could only actually see Harry's experiences when all other sensory stimuli was blocked out. He didn't even know if that's how it worked or not, but he had definitely been aware of him in the bathroom, manipulating himself at one point.

How long he was going to allow Harry his little secret, Snape wasn't sure. The thing to do, would be to put a stop to this nonsense at once, but something seemed off about the fact that Harry would go this far. Unstable. It brought to mind James's crazed mentality, and those were feelings Snape was in no hurry to subject himself to. If Harry didn't fix this within twenty-four hours, he would have to make arrangements to leave like a handicapped muggle and work on it himself. Traveling would be inconvenient, but it could be done. That blasted boy should know better than anyone that he was no one's hostage, however kindly deception was used.

He thought of all this and resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't leave. One, no self-respecting wizard would let Harry get away with crippling their body. Two, it didn't make sense why such a brilliant soul would stoop to this madness. In the end, he knew he had to stay to see what the hell was wrong with Harry. And if he stayed, waiting out Harry's confession and explanation, wouldn't he be playing the same game as him? The question now was, how long was he going to let Harry think he had no idea he was responsible for this?