[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.
Author's notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1.
Chapter 26: Correspondence
The remainder of the day, following the ghastly encounter with the switch, turned out decently well for Harry despite the itchy soreness across his skin. Upon entering the house, Draco made a brilliant excuse as to why he couldn't possibly stay another moment more and, despite clearly seeing through it, Snape had permitted him to take his leave. Harry listened closely to the small conversation between the pair as Snape ushered Draco over to the fireplace, directing him to use the floo network home. Apparently, Draco would be accompanying him to Diagon Alley next week to conclude a conversation they must have had on the walk. Harry bid Draco a quiet goodbye, which he stiffly returned, before disappearing into the crackling swirl of emerald green flames.
Snape ushered Harry into the kitchen next with a firm hand to his shoulder, requiring him to give an account of the fight and what had led up to it as they prepared a light lunch together. Carefully navigating the conversation, Harry omitted his threat to Draco about the fire and Draco's nasty taunt about Snape substituting the role of his father. Despite the evasions, he managed to reveal more about the day in a way that seemed to be acceptable.
A deep warmth of appreciation filled Harry's chest when Snape unexpectedly commended him on keeping his temper at bay for as long as he did. They discussed how Harry could have handled the situation differently and the importance of seeking help when needed. The reiteration of that lesson, the same he'd received before his trip over Snape's knee beneath the willow, clung closely to Harry's chest, intensifying his dread over the next few days as he considered stealing the potions for Ron.
Maybe Snape would help out if he asked, maybe he'd talk to Ron's mum and convince her that the sleeping draughts were safe.
What if Snape doesn't though? The thought clawed at Harry, trapping the words in his throat each time he could muster up the courage to ask. What if he simply said no, then Ron would have to suffer.
Suffer like everyone else. All because of me.
It would be his fault, just like the war was. Just like all the innocent lives lost were. Draco was right, he wouldn't have survived without help, and thanks to such selfless sacrifices, so many were long gone. Vibrant lives had been snuffed out with a cold malice because of him. The guilt over Fred's death, Sirius's and Dobby's, everyone's, all came rolling back with a vengeance, bearing down on his shoulders with an unrelenting weight.
Though despite his best efforts to conceal it all, Snape seemed to take note.
The study emanated a soft glow, flickering in warm strokes of amber light across the cedar-lined space. Snape's quill scratched at a metronomic pace, filling the hush of the room with its smooth grating. Every now and then, he'd clink the edge of the inkwell, releasing thick blots of the raven-colored liquid.
He added another period to the page of aged parchment and glanced up briefly at Harry. Sitting across from him in the armchair, his green eyes were barely visible above the worn cover of the leather-bound book.
"I might presume you'd fallen asleep behind that text, though I'd be a bit astonished at your knack for holding it upright. Is this a technique you polished to withstand my invigorating lectures?"
Harry glanced over the book at Snape, dipping it lower to reveal his questioning green eyes.
"What?"
"My mistake, it seems the chapter is so engrossing you didn't even catch my remark." Snape replied in his dry tone, continuing to write with flawless precision.
Harry rolled his eyes, "Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Clearly," Snape said casually, dipping his quill in the inkwell. "Out with it— what's troubling you?"
The faintest little clink rang out in the small room as Snape tapped the quill's tip to the side of the jar, releasing the excess ink. A deep pit grew larger in the center of Harry's stomach, his mouth drying up faster than the cracks of a desert.
Did Snape know? Had he invaded his thoughts moments ago as he considered when he could filch the potions? No, Harry would have felt that— known that. Right? Legilimency was noticeable. He hadn't even looked at Snape's dark eyes.
"What makes you so sure I'm upset?" Harry challenged, trying to sound relaxed though every muscle in his body seemed to contort into knots as he said it.
Snape continued writing, keeping his eyes on the parchment and his hand gliding across it in smooth strokes.
"You have yet to turn to the next page of your book," he noted, lazily. "Considering it's been well over a half hour; I'm astonished your eyes haven't started watering from such prolonged staring."
Harry felt the smallest blush creep up his neck as he peered down at the same paragraph he'd looked at for ages.
"Oh…right. So I have, er, bit lost in thought is all. Nothing is bothering me."
"Is that so?" Snape replied, continuing to write without breaking pace. "Perhaps then, you took another precarious fly around the property that evaded my notice."
Harry furrowed his brows in a tight line and dropped his book to his lap, folding it over in a thick smack.
"Flying? Not since the day before last, no. Why?"
Snape pulled up the parchment paper, giving it a light shake to dry the remaining lines of his correspondence.
"You didn't nosedive your way across the pond again, narrowly missing the side of the home?"
Harry flashed a sheepish smile, "You saw that?"
"Indeed," Snape said, finally looking up as he folded the letter and sealed it. "Did you injure your neck while at it?"
"My neck?" Harry scrunched his brows, perplexed.
Snape gave a slight sigh, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk. Harry could hear the sounds of glass jars and other objects clinking across the room as Snape buried through it.
"You've been rubbing it off and on for the last hour." Snape remarked, pulling a short glass jar of a lilac tinted balm out. He set it on his desk and shut the wooden drawer with a clack.
Harry eyed the jar, wondering just how Snape always seemed to notice the little things he did.
"Oh…" Harry said slowly, "No, I didn't hurt it flying. I guess it's a bit tense."
Snape gave a slow nod. "Hence my question, Harry. If you didn't injure it, I presume one or many of those spiraling thoughts of yours are distressing."
Merlin, Snape was perceptive. It made Harry wonder just exactly how much he'd known at school but never let on.
Harry tried to think of an excuse, something that would make sense, other than the truth: I'm planning to steal from you, and I wish I didn't have to.
"I guess just war stuff," Harry said and swallowed, "Missing Fred and the others, is all."
Snape hummed low and collected the little jar of balm, "Come to me. Bring that chair with you."
Harry eyed Snape cautiously, his heart missed a beat. Was he in trouble? Did Snape know?
As if reading his mind Snape let out a little scoff and rolled his eyes.
"I will apply this to your neck so that you may cease your incessant fidgeting with it every other moment." Snape tapped the jar in his potion-stained palm. "With your perpetual bewilderment at my directives one would think I've grown another head anytime I ask something of you."
Harry let out a little chuckle, feeling relieved. Alright, Snape didn't know. Good.
He turned and set the large book on the shelf behind him with a soft thud then dragged the armchair over in an echoing scrape that seemed to bounce off the silent study's walls.
"It is not all that heavy," Snape noted, raising his brow up at the sound. "Hardly necessary to tear through the floorboards."
Giving a halfhearted smirk Harry offered a hardly sincere apology, turned the chair so the backrest faced Snape, and plopped down into it.
Snape rolled his eyes, picking up his armless study chair and gently disposing it behind Harry's.
"Sit up for me." Snape said, unscrewing the top of the balm jar in a squeaky whirl. "I will not crane around you to accommodate lazy posture."
Harry obeyed with a little smirk, feeling a sense of appreciation come over him at Snape's offer. This was one of those little moments, small gestures that Snape casually did, almost in a feigned annoyance sort of way, that made him feel incredibly comforted. Growing up, Harry wasn't offered much physical comfort. Aunt Petunia saved the cuddles for Dudley, and the only thing Vernon cared to touch was his food. For Harry, any form of contact Snape offered him these days stirred a sense of security in his chest, a feeling of being looked after and cared for following an upbringing devoid of such affection.
Snape dipped his potion-stained fingers into the cool balm and dabbed a bit on Harry's neck.
"Merlin!" Harry jerked forward at the freezing sensation, shooting to the front of the chair.
"Lord in heaven," Snape tsk'd out loud. "Lean back and spare me the unnecessary theatrics, you dramatic child."
Harry huffed, turning slightly to shoot Snape an emerald dagger of a glare. "That's like bloody ice, Snape!"
Snape merely rolled his eyes and motioned for Harry to lean back.
"And I'm hardly a child." Harry grumbled, making Snape smirk. "That's likely to give me a fair bit of frostbite if you're not careful."
Snape scoffed and surveyed him for a moment. Despite Harry legally being an adult, in many aspects, he remained a young boy in his eyes. The wizarding age of 17 had always struck him as to tender an age to label someone as ready to take on the world. In the magical community, many adolescents lingered with their families until their early twenties despite society pushing for them to venture out on their own. Ron Weasley would likely choose a more extended stay in the warmth of the Burrow before embarking on a solo journey. It was good for the youth to spend a bit more time nurtured and looked after by their loved ones, they needed it. Especially those who had survived such a devastating war.
"It truly mystifies me that you never formed an alliance with Draco," Snape replied, earning another small glare from Harry as he slid back into place. "The two of you possess such a similar penchant for dramatic behavior, I can only imagine the liveliness of your conversations if you were to converse without insults."
Harry snorted. "You know I'm not half as bad as Draco."
He nearly shot forward again at the icy sensation of the balm on his neck but forced himself to stay perfectly still. Snape gave a little smirk at the newfound calmness, if there was one way to get Harry to do something it was to make it a challenge, a light jab went a long way.
Snape hummed low, working the balm into Harry's tight neck. He considered the boy's demeanor over the last few days. He had been more withdrawn, pleasant but distracted. It hardly took a legilimens to know something was troubling him.
"Now, regarding the war," Snape began, but paused when he caught the beginning of Harry starting to say something.
"I was wondering…" Harry trailed off, clearly realizing his mistake. He was relieved when Snape didn't stop rubbing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you."
Snape worked his calloused thumbs in slow circles, attempting to relax the knot of tension under Harry's skin. Uncharacteristically, he decided to let the interruption slide without much of a stern reprimand.
"Yes, well, see to it you refrain from doing so in the future," Snape said calmly, without the bite of his typical scolding. "Go ahead with your inquiry."
Harry tried to relax at the firm sensation of Snape's fingers working their way around his neck in calming strokes. For some reason though, the moment of care suddenly made his stomach constrict tighter. He didn't want to break Snape's trust; he didn't want to steal from him. Ugh, he was going to ruin everything if he did. Getting emotionally wrapped up in his downpour of guilt over the war also sounded staunchly unappealing so he decided to switch tactics, focusing on another question that had been eating away at him for days.
"I won't, sir." Harry said, clearing his throat. "Speaking of Draco, I, um, had a question that's been bothering me since he left."
Snape lifted a brow, continuing with the slow strokes across Harry's constricted neck.
"That question would be?"
"Er, well, you know how you painted a 'full picture' of the time he punched you?" Harry asked, trying to keep the discomfort from his tone.
"Indeed." Snape said, reaching to collect a bit more soothing balm.
He sighed internally, noting that when Harry got uncomfortable, he tended to stretch his questions out to an exhausting length.
Harry took a little breath in. "I was just wondering… um, about the 'every other day' part of that punishment."
Snape rolled his dark eyes up to the ceiling and gave a small head shake. He couldn't remember if discussing spankings as a boy ever made him feel quite as embarrassed as it did Harry.
"Harry, I've spoken to you before about being specific. You know my short fuse for drawn out conversations with hidden points."
Harry bounced his knee a little, tapping his shoe in thumps across the wood floor.
"Just, um, smacking him every other day for a week seems like a lot… I, er, just sort of wanted to know why you did that and, um, if you're still a fan of that… method."
Snape couldn't help but give a small smile at the question accompanied by such needless stumbling, at least Harry had gotten it out.
"Do you imagine I was unfair in my dealings with Draco?" He questioned, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles across Harry's warming neck.
"Well…" Harry paused, "I don't know. I mean, one round with your paddle is torture enough, but a whole week of it? That's another level."
Snape actually let out a small chuckle at that, making Harry crane back a bit to look at him.
"Especially for Draco," Harry added, a little smirk of his own forming on his lips. "You punished yourself with those extra smackings unless you cast a muting spell over him."
Snape gave Harry's shoulder a little reprimanding squeeze, prompting him to turn back around.
"Enough of that," Snape said, returning his tone to its typical silky ease. "If you are presuming that I paddled him for those three additional days you're mistaken. Evening reproval as such is different from a typical trip across my knee for a sole infraction."
"How is it different?" Harry asked, wondering if Snape would do the same to him for the planned potions theft. It has been bothering him since Draco left.
"It's more so about self-reflection and reinforcing a memorable lesson," Snape said, moving to rub a bit lower at the base of Harry's neck. "Draco only received my palm, not the paddle, or any other implement for that matter."
"Oh," Harry said, finally feeling a bit more relaxed by the rubbing as he redirected his attention to the conversation and away from his impending theft. "So you don't use implements for those, er, 'follow ups'?"
A wry smile painted Snape's lips at the way Harry phrased the question.
"That depends on the crime and the age of the offender. If the infraction was particularly egregious then a wooden spoon or other light implement may be necessary."
Harry felt his stomach dip low at that, he didn't imagine a wooden spoon would feel great. Or 'light' for that matter.
"Right, well, anyway… when you say self-reflection what do you mean?"
"There is quite a bit more conversation taking place while the offender is being corrected." Snape said in his typical low and slow tone.
"Hmm," Harry hummed, thinking.
"I've observed many of my younger students using the term 'bedtime spankings,' in reference to them as they invariably commence in the evening," Snape remarked, moving to rub Harry's rigid shoulders. "A label I deem rather lacking in the seriousness of the matter, but I supposed it captures the essence of the punishment well."
"Why do you do it in the evening?" Harry asked, relishing the comforting rubs across his tight shoulders. He gave a little smile at the thought of Slytherins having their own nicknames for Snape's discipline.
"I have little desire for a student to embark on their classes with an additional distraction. Your minds are already plagued with enough aimless musings, hindering your concentration on academic pursuits. The evening is a far more suitable time for self reflection."
Harry smiled at that, reeling up with a little sarcasm.
"Yeah, I don't reckon having a sore arse would make your potion's class any more enthralling." Harry stifled a little snicker when Snape squeezed his shoulder a bit harder.
"I hardly imagine your concern over Draco's past welfare contributed to such a horribly stiff neck." Snape said, steering the conversation back. "Don't tell me you're planning a foolish endeavor that puts you at risk of such a punishment."
Harry felt his heart rate pick up and his breath hitch in his chest. Fuck.
"No," He shot out fast, as clear as possible. "Course not."
Oh Merlin, Harry felt his unease growing. Had he just accidentally tipped him off?
"Very well," Snape said, a clear suspicion hanging in his words. "Prior to your little show in the backyard with Draco, I'd say we had quite an acceptable week prior. I don't see why the rest of the summer can't remain the same."
"Right, course. I'm planning to be the pinnacle of fine behavior going forward." Harry said, trying to sound casual. "Honest."
"That would certainly be a welcome change to your usual antics." Snape shot back, his dry wit creeping back to his tone.
Harry let out a little snort. Snape continued with the massage, tracing back up his neck, growing concerned with the unrelenting rigidness in the muscles.
"Now, in terms of the war," Snape said slowly, "you mentioned feeling plagued by grief. Elaborate on that, if you care to."
Shifting his feet in a small scuffle, Harry crossed his arms over his chest and sat up a bit straighter.
"It's not particularly easy knowing they'll never come back," he said quietly after a long pause of contemplation.
Snape nodded, easing up the pressure of his rubs.
"The finality of death is undoubtedly hard to grasp." He replied, matching the quieted tone from Harry.
Harry nodded, suddenly feeling the urge to cry but forcing those emotions down low— crushing them, crumbling them into a ball and burying them down deep in his chest. He'd cried too many times in front of Snape, he wasn't about to start bawling now.
"Are you feeling burdened by guilt?" Snape pushed, rubbing at the base of Harry's head just before the start of his hairline. "At the beginning of the month we discussed your distress over Fred Weasley. Has the responsibility over his fate returned?"
Harry swallowed hard and cleared his throat.
"Yes, a bit."
"Perhaps then it would help to process why you are feeling that way." Snape said, rubbing the base of Harry's head now.
The soothing strokes felt so good—calming— somehow alleviating a bit of the burden in his chest.
"Thanks for doing this," Harry said softly, closing his eyes at the warm sensation of Snape's firm circles. "Feels nice."
Snape nodded, "You're most welcome."
There was a small pause that hung in the room, a more relaxed energy flowing through the comforting air. Harry enjoyed the scent of Snape's study, it held a note of cedar wood, aged parchment and fresh ink. It was comforting—academic in nature, reminding him of better days.
"I suppose I feel guilty that Fred fought for me, well for the Order, and I wasn't able to prevent or stop the explosion that… took him away."
Snape hummed low, it made sense in a way. Though he considered it impractical for Harry to feel so burdened by something he wasn't responsible for.
"Practically speaking, Harry, you may not have been able to prevent Fred's demise but have you considered the survival of the rest of the Weasley family? Your victory over the Dark Lord was instrumental in saving numerous innocent lives – surely that hasn't escaped your mind."
Harry relaxed a bit more into Snape's hands, feeling a swell of complicated feelings. He was crushed by grief, the weight of it all bearing down on him like a rushing wave of water, threatening to tear him apart at the seams. It intermingled with the guilt of betraying Snape's fragile trust, wrapping itself around his legs and pulling him down deeper to the bottom ocean of his sadness.
"I wish I could have done more." Harry whispered, his voice wavered.
Snape's dark gaze lingered on Harry's slumped shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles in the soft silence for a long while. The tightness across Harry's thin frame had finally eased, relieving him. During the past few weeks, Snape came to realize how mistaken he was about the boy's personality over the years. Harry, though often cheeky, carried an overwhelming sense of self-blame and guilt. He took responsibility for his actions and faced consequences with a rare humility, rendering any resemblance to James Potter entirely remote.
After a few moments more, Snape made up his mind. He patted Harry's shoulder, then leaned over to swirl the cap on the balm in a light grating whirl.
"Reposition the chair, then go up to your room and grab a coat." Snape said, standing to move his chair back to its rightful position behind his desk.
Harry stood slowly. "A coat?"
"Yes," Snape replied, snatching the balm from the top of his wooden lacquered desk and placing it back in its rightful drawer. "I'm going to show you something."
Pulling the armchair up this time, so as to keep it from dragging, Harry complied. Confusion blanketed his face as he moved to make his way out of the flickering light of the study and up the creaky stairs to his room.
When he made it to the top floor he glanced outside, the rapid pitter patter of rain coated his circular bedroom window in wet splatters. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself.
Stop being so emotional. Just breathe, it's fine— you're fine.
He snatched his new slicker coat, quickly making his way back down the creaky wooden staircase.
Harry was surprised when he met Snape at the base of the stairs rather than the back door. With quick precision Snape wrapped his dark green cloak over his shoulders in a billowing swish.
"Zip your coat up." Snape directed, moving to open the front door.
Harry furrowed his brow into an inquisitive line but complied. He followed Snape's small wave out the front door and stepped on to the dry porch facing the cold storm. The crooked lantern flickered in an orange hue against the sleek splatters of pelting rain. Strong wind wrapped itself around the pair making Snape's dark hair whirl in black wisps and Harry's jacket rustle.
"Now," Snape said, his tone a bit deeper against the sounds of the storm. "Step out into the rain and catch all the raindrops. Don't allow any to hit the ground."
Harry turned to give Snape an incredulous look.
"What?" Harry said quickly, the sound of the storm permeating his words. "How exactly am I going to manage that, Snape? That's impossible."
"Do you have your wand?" Snape asked, lazily.
"Er," Harry patted his empty pockets, "no."
Snape moved to the fold of his clock and withdrew his own.
"Take mine then. Use whatever spell or charm you can think of to aid you."
Harry gaped up at him, completely at a loss for words.
"Come along," Snape said, giving his wand a little wave. "I don't have all night."
Taking it slowly Harry wracked his brain as his emerald eyes flickered about the vast expanse of Snape's lawn. How the bloody hell could he catch all the raindrops? He twisted the sleek wood in his fingertips, contemplating.
"I'm going to get all soaked," Harry whined, giving Snape an exasperated look.
"Pity," Snape said, low and slow. "If only we were wizards and could cast a drying spell the moment you stepped back on the porch. Too bad we'll have to dry you off the muggle way. I certainly hope I have enough suitable towels for your delicate skin."
Harry let out a scoff and lightly shoved Snape's arm, to which he received a nudge against his back ushering him forward.
"Go, you don't have a choice. Catch all the rain."
Huffing Harry sucked in a sharp breath and charged off the porch into the downpour.
This is ridiculous. What the bloody hell is he thinking- asking me to do something so absurd?
Snape watched with mild amusement as Harry cast spell after ineffective spell. Vibrant colors lit the blackened sky, shimmering in an electrified beauty against the reflective raindrops. To Snape's faint surprise, Harry soon managed to shout out the incantation 'Aguamenti' conjuring a large wave of water to hold back an enormous portion of the rain as it reabsorbed into his conjured pool hovering above the ground.
"Very well," Snape said, his low voice carrying across the sounds of pouring rain smacking down against the side of the home. "You may drop that water and come back to me."
Harry squinted his eyes, staring back at a blurry Snape through droplet covered glasses. The strong wind swept through his dark hair, soaking it with the thick drops of water pouring from the sky. Suddenly he felt a swell of frustration that he hadn't stopped more of the rain, so with the gusto he brought to every challenge, Harry whirled his wand and grew the wave larger.
Snape watched silently as Harry stumbled back, trying to encompass more of the yard. He had nearly caught a fourth of the water pouring down from the blackened clouds when he suddenly lost his footing at the edge of the lawn where the grass met the slippery mud.
Snape sighed but remained impressed when Harry kept the wand upright despite his tumble, holding the large wave of water in place.
"Even in a simple demonstration he has to overdo it." Snape muttered to himself, stepping off gracefully from the porch and into the pouring rain.
He reached Harry quickly, who in the moment was struggling to get back to his feet in the slippery slop of mud. Snape snatched the wand from him first, breaking the spell with a flick of his wrist and scattering the large swell of water into thousands of droplets across the dripping yard.
Snape then leaned down and brought a supportive hand to Harry's bicep, helping him to stand.
"I almost had it!" Harry yelled in the storm as Snape guided him away from the mud and back up to the porch.
Rainwater pelted against their clothes, soaking them quickly from head to toe as the raging storm picked up intensely.
They soon reached the lip of the porch, shielded by the rain.
"Why'd you stop me? It was just slick. I was going to stand back up in a second." Harry said breathlessly as he moved to pull his wet glasses off his dripping wet face. Sticky mud clung to his shoes, splattered across his trousers and sleeves from the tumble.
"Yes, you would've sauntered back up and then what?" Snape asked, gently grabbing Harry's glasses and drying them with the inner fold of his cloak.
He extended them back out and Harry took them gingerly, sliding them onto his face. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Snape's black hair now dripping with rainwater.
Snape sighed and motioned for Harry to continue, "I'm certain the storm hasn't drowned out my question or clogged your ears. What would have happened when you stood back up, Harry Potter."
"I would have stopped more of the rain." Harry said matter-of-factly.
"Indeed, and what of all the droplets you missed when you fell?" Snape asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I was on the ground, I couldn't catch those." Harry said, huffing out a few cold breaths into the frigid night air.
Snape hummed low and crossed his arms.
"Correct. If you had risen back up and invoked a surge of water rivaling the magnitude of a tsunami, would it have been within your capacity to prevent every raindrop from reaching the earth?"
Harry thought for a moment, sniffing as the cold began to permeate his skin. Snape's property was expansive, not to mention the size of the neighborhood covered in the wet storm. It seemed impossible to collect all the rain.
"No..." He said slowly, suddenly realizing where this demonstration was headed.
"No, indeed," Snape said, removing his wand and pointing it up at the swirling storm clouds to gesture out his point. "Tell me, were you the one who conjured this storm? Did you condense the water vapor and combine it to form such ghastly clouds?"
Harry's words felt stuck in his throat, a swell of emotion matching the size of the storm surrounding them grew in his chest, threatening to spill out in hot tears across the expanse of his cold face.
"No? Very well, consider this, was it proper of me to ask you to stop water from hitting the ground, at an alarming rate, from a storm you had no part in creating?"
Harry huffed a few times, his breath trembling out.
"I suppose not," he said so quietly, the rain drowning his words.
"Time and time again I've reiterated to you the lesson that life is not fair, Harry," Snape paused to suck in a slight breath and run his hand down his wet face. "It isn't. However, for the sake of this particular demonstration, let's consider the concept. Is it fair, or rather—sensible of you, to judge your inability to handle such an impossible task? Should you forget about all the rain you collected while doing your damnedest to complete my requirement, only to solely berate yourself for the droplets that eluded your grasp?"
Harry glanced out at the pouring rain, feeling a spiral of understanding sweep its way through his chest.
"Thanks, Snape." He said, his voice soft, holding back the tears threatening to pour from his glistening emerald eyes.
Snape gave a slow nod, eyeing Harry with a look of heartfelt contemplation as the rain poured down in a stream of rhythmic pelts.
"You were presented with storms beyond your control, and you navigated them as well as anyone could with the hand life dealt you. You should be proud of yourself. The rest of our world is… myself most certainly included."
"Merlin," Harry said, his voice cracking as he looked away. He chewed on the inside of his cheek hard, trying to fight away the violent storm of emotions. "What happened to you, Professor Snape? How come… why do you…"
Snape followed Harry's gaze into the gusts of harsh rain yet said nothing, moving his wand out to cast the drying spell over Harry first and then himself. A second cleaning spell removed the mud clinging tight to his clothes. Harry effectively fought off his urge to cry, struggling to ease the swell of affection he felt for Snape. He's proud of me? Professor Snape, proud? It all still mystified him. Nevertheless, in the confusion, the memories from the Pensive came rolling back to the forefront of his mind, ending with the same vision of Snape as a child laying in the grass with his mum.
"Come along." Snape directed, opening the front door and ushering Harry in, "I'd rather we not catch our death in this cold."