CHAPTER 6 - FIRST WORDS

Over the following days, Harry and Snape found a new routine.

Every morning Harry went to the Hospital Wing, applied the salve and changed Snape's bandages. After that, Snape usually stayed up reading while Harry returned to the Gryffindor Tower and worked on the refurbishment. He also used the afternoons to relax. He hadn't been able to read for pleasure in a very long time and was finding the collection of books Hermione had gifted him over the years quite interesting.

In the evening after dinner, Harry went back to Snape's side and stayed until it was time to go to sleep.

A few weeks afterwards, Harry was visiting the kitchens one day, to see Kreacher, Winky and the other elves he knew. Winky told him Snape liked to read the Daily Prophet with his morning coffee, which he usually asked to be brought to his office before breakfast.

And so it was, that Harry made sure to have a copy of the Daily Prophet the following morning to take it to the Hospital Wing.

Snape arched an eyebrow when Harry appeared with the paper in his hand. And his eyebrow rose even higher when, after cleaning and changing the bandages, Harry claimed the beside the bed and opened the newspaper.

He sipped on his cup of morning coffee while he read out loud to Snape. He flickered through the pages, reading aloud the headlines and adding his own comments to them, which seemed to amuse Snape. He'd read articles about stupid, trivial stuff, or about Potions, ignoring all the news about the war and the reparations. Snape probably had noticed it, Harry thought it was impossible not to, being as he was a master of observation. But he chose not to comment on it.

This particular morning Harry flickered through the Daily Prophet, searching for something interesting. His eyes stopped with one big headline.

"Listen to this. Witch claims pumpkin juice cured her cat's hiccups - expert healers stunned," Harry read out loud. He smirked, "I guess we've all been underestimating the power of pumpkin juice. Next time I'll try it on Ron's owl if he starts hiccuping."

Snape snorted. When Harry raised his eyebrows Snape was looking away through the window, but he most definitely was fighting a smile.

Harry smirked and chuckled.

"Yeah I know, that's ridiculous, I don't know how they publish this drivel. Oh, here's another one you'll like. 'Wizard claims to have invented self-stirring cauldron - stirring spoons declared obsolete'. I think someone's been spending too much time in a Potions lab. If I didn't know better I'd say it was you that invented it... you haven't been sneaking to your lab, have you?"

Another noise, and this time Snape was definitely avoiding Harry's eyes, his lips tensed into a thin line. And Harry recognized it as a smirk wanting to come out.

Harry smiled, glad to be able to make Snape relax.

He flickered over some pages, most of the news was still about the fallout after the battle and the war, and he didn't want to read those.

However, Snape realized he was skipping through entire pages. He stopped Harry, signalling the paper with his finger.

"Do you want to know?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded, steeling himself, his expression turned serious.

"Okay," Harry said, "did McGonagall tell you how everything… went down?"

Snape made a so-so gesture with his head. Harry nodded and steeled himself.

"I don't even completely understand what happened after Vold-He threw the Avada at me. My best guess is that the part of himself that was inside me died at his hands, he was the only one who could destroy it. That's why I could return, I wasn't dead. Not really."

Harry tilted his head, searching Snape's eyes.

"Which reminds me... with what's happened I never thanked you... for everything really."

Snape shifted his gaze, making a gesture with his hand.

"You did it for her, not for me... yes, I know. Still, you were a better man than I was. Even though hating me, you saved me. And you almost died believing you were sending me to my death, even after spending years trying to keep me alive."

Harry stopped and looked at Snape, who was definitely avoiding his gaze, his eyes fixed on the window to his left. He understood Snape's silent request.

"Anyway... He died, obviously. Along with Bellatrix and some other Death Eaters," Harry explained, "we took some of the worst, but they took… Fred Weasley. And Tonks. And Remus. And several dozens of students and staff as well… fifty in total."

Harry shuddered, remembering Fenrir Greyback feasting on Lavender Brown, a disgusting sensation at the pit of his stomach.

Snape was immobile, his gaze having shifted from the window and now focused on a fixed spot on the wall in front of him.

"Remus and Tonks had a son, Teddy. They named me his Godfather. None of us knew the story would get repeated, and this child would grow up without his parents..."

At his words, Snape growled, closing his hands in fists and punching his lap.

When Snape finally locked gaze with Harry, he shook his head.

"It wasn't your fault, Snape. In any case, it was mine, for taking so long to destroy the Horrocruxes. And that night you had a lot on your plate."

But Snape shook his head in anger. Nothing could convince him, so Harry didn't try, he knew of his stubbornness.

So he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts towards Ron and his entire family, of Molly and Arthur mourning a son, of George mourning his other half. Harry was sure nobody could understand the pain George was going through. It wasn't just a brother, for George it was... his entire world.

"Malfoy made it," Harry commented. That got a reaction from Snape, he looked back at him, "all three, actually. After the battle, they were alive and well. In fact, it was thanks to Narcissa that I could continue with my plan."

Snape arched an eyebrow, willing him to continue.

"Once Voldemort had killed me, and I returned, she was in charge of checking if I was truly dead. She noticed I wasn't, asked me whether Draco was alive, and when I said yes, she announced I was dead. So, giving me the element of surprise and to wait until it was the perfect moment to kill him."

"I had to tell him, you know. I told him about your true allegiance," Harry continued, "he… was boasting, of course he was, and I explained what had happened, about you and my mother. Everyone was listening, so they all knew about who you truly worked with. That's also why I didn't want you to get taken to St Mungo's, who knows who might try something against you while you were unconscious."

Snape nodded.

"I'm sorry, I know that's not something you wanted to make public," Harry admitted. "But I didn't think you'd be alive, and… well, now that you are, surely it's a backup against the Ministry."

Snape's eyes shot up, narrowing. His eyes darted to the door of the Hospital Wing as if suddenly concerned someone would come.

"It's okay Snape, I don't think you have to worry. Nobody outside the castle except for Ron and Hermione knows you're alive. And even if they did, I don't think anyone will dare prosecute you."

At Snape's daring and hard look, Harry gave him a small smile.

"Well, for starters, Shackebolt is the new Minister for Magic now, and I trust him. And second, the good thing about me telling everyone is that now everyone knows you did what you had to do because you were playing a role. That's it."

Harry then leaned a bit closer, his voice lowering a bit.

"I know this can be worrying, but you're safe in the castle. I don't think Shackebolt or any of the Aurors would antagonize me right now, and I wouldn't let them do anything or take you anywhere."

Harry left implicit the word Azkaban, he knew Snape would understand. And he did; if his blinking rapidly and the glistening in his eyes was any indication.

But something didn't sit well with Harry. He'd thought long and hard about this and always reached the same conclusion. He sighed, looking at Snape in the eye.

"I have to apologise, too... even if now that everyone knows it makes things easier... I'm sorry. You don't deserve your secrets to be known, and I would've never divulged anything if I'd known..."

Snape was looking away, but Harry was surprised by a cold, bony hand on his forearm. The thin fingers tentatively stroked the skin, travelling up his arm. Slow and timid, they moved, until they stopped and grabbed his forearm.

When he locked fingers with him, Snape only blinked and nodded once.

And Harry felt a sudden relief; as if he'd taken a weight off his shoulders.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Thank you, sir."

Harry blinked.

And blinked again.

For a second he thought he'd been imagining things. But no, Snape's tensed lips, which were fighting a smirk, and his intense gaze didn't lie.

"Snape... you can speak!"

Harry beamed at him, leaning, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and squeeze. He laughed, hard, and smiled.

His voice had emerged as a fragile whisper, rough and hesitant, the words coming out in a croaky, hoarse tone. It was a stark contrast to the commanding, velvety voice that had once echoed through the Hogwarts halls.

And yet, Harry couldn't hide his happiness and relief, overjoyed.

Then, he stopped in his tracks and locked eyes with Snape.

"Wait a second... what did you say just now?"

"I said... Thank you, sir," Snape said, and a bit of his old smirk returned to his lips.

Harry returned the smirk as he took the bait.

"There's no need to call me sir, Professor."

Harry stood there looking at Snape for a few seconds, holding his gaze, fighting against his instincts. But then he couldn't hold it, and he burst into laughter.

"Merlin's beard, I can't believe you remember that, it was epic!"

"An epic lack of respect, you mean," Snape said, but his voice came out creaky.

"Okay don't overexert yourself," Harry said when he heard Snape's voice breaking, "you rest your throat. But this is great, great news!"

Snape only nodded and leaned back onto the cushions. Harry grabbed the discarded newspaper, trying to find another amusing and stupid article.

Then, as his fingers flicked through the pages, he realised something that made his cheeks burn.

"You're... not offended I've been calling you by your surname all along, are you?"

Snape held his piercing dark gaze, and Harry swallowed, only recently realising that he'd been talking to him as an equal. It probably was due to his weeks of coming to talk to him while Snape was in a coma, he'd forgotten who he truly was. But he was still his Professor!

"No," Snape finally rasped, "but only when we have no company."

At his words, Harry sagged onto his chair, relieved.

"Thank you, Snape," he said, and it rolled even better on his tongue.

Then he got up from the chair, leaving the Daily Prophet on Snape's bedside table.

"I should be off, the Gryffindor tower awaits for me," Harry said, "I'll be back this evening, okay? You rest your voice."

As Harry was rearranging Snape's pillows behind his back, Snape's hand found his wrist. They locked gazes, and Snape's was intense, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Thank you, Potter," he murmured.

"No problem," he said as he smiled, "wait until Pomfrey hears the good news!"

But then Snape stopped him, shaking his head no.

"No? You don't want me to tell her?"

But then, a malicious gleam crossed his eyes that had Harry chuckling.

"Oh, you really do like to be dramatic. I bet you can't wait until you can start walking again so you can billow your cloak behind you as you used to," Harry joked. Snape shrugged, a smirk dancing on his lips, "Alright, well, I'll let you tell her yourself. I'll be back this evening, then."

Leaving Snape lying on his bed, Harry walked out of the Hospital Wing, elated.

In the following days after Snape had started to recover his voice, he improved day by day. It still sounded raspy and couldn't speak for long periods, getting tired easily. But he could at least communicate more effectively than only with hand gestures.

Harry noticed, quite taken aback by it, that Snape still used his hands and touch for a lot of their communication.

It was shocking because, well, they had never been close for starters. And two, Snape had never given the impression that he was a man prone to physical contact. True that these touches were not emotional, they were more on the practical side, but still. It was... surprising when Snape initiated contact and touched Harry's hand, arm or forearm, grabbed his sleeve or touched his head.

It was like something had broken after the battle. A clean slate, so to speak.

It wasn't a clean slate per se, as they both remembered things they'd said and done to one another, but Harry had the feeling Snape wanted to leave it all behind. And he couldn't say he didn't want the same.

And with so much touch involved in healing Snape, including but not limited to the wound on his throat and the blisters, touch was very much involved in their current relationship.

Harry hadn't noticed at first just how much Snape relied on their touch, having grown used to Snape using it to communicate with him.

The first time he realized was when Harry had visited him one evening after having gone outside to fly one of the school's brooms, and he'd taken a bad turn. He'd end up sprawled on the floor with one fractured arm and numerous bruises and contusions.

"I was too reckless. My old Firebolt responded to my movements much faster… I didn't have time to slow down the broom on time," Harry had said that evening, as Pomfrey healed his badly bruised arm and head.

He was sat on the bed right next to Snape, the curtains drawn open, and Snape was observing how Pomfrey was tending to Harry's bruise on the side of his head. His arm was already mended, Pomfrey had placed a sling on it to help with the pain, and he had a couple of cuts Pomfrey had healed.

"School brooms are slower for a reason, Potter," Snape admonished.

"I know, I know… it was reckless. I'm sorry…" Harry said; and hissed when Pomfrey added a bit of essence of Murtlap to the cut.

"I'll check on Severus myself today, Potter. Go to bed and rest," Pomfrey said, leaving the admonishment for Snape.

But Harry shook his head. These moments with Snape had become… part of his routine. He didn't want to give them up.

"No, it's alright, Ma'am… I can do it," Harry said, "it's fine, I can manage. You go and have dinner."

Pomfrey arched an eyebrow, and at Harry's insistence, she finally agreed.

"But off to bed as soon as you're finished, do you hear me? Mediwitch's orders," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said.

After she was done, Pomfrey left.

Harry jumped from the bed and claimed the chair that he now considered his, beside Snape's bed.

He now realized that Snape's expression was tense, his nostrils flaring, his expression hard.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, wondering if he was perhaps in pain.

If looks could kill, Harry realized that split second that he would be dead a second time. Snape's look was murderous.

"You are an irresponsible idiot, Potter," Snape said, "you… how could you?!"

Snape's voice came out shaky and brittle, they both knew he was getting to the limit of his voice.

Harry sighed.

"I know, I'm sorry," Harry said, "I didn't do it on purpose, you know I'm a fair flyer. I just… wasn't expecting the broom to be so slow in comparison to my old one."

Snape shook his head, refusing to meet Harry's gaze, his expression still tense.

"Are you mad at me?" Harry asked, and he couldn't believe he had asked that.

But he hadn't seen that expression directed at himself in over two months, and he'd got used to not being at the receiving end of it.

Snape then sighed, his expression serious. He seemed to want to say several things to him, probably an earful worthy of Mrs Weasley's best days.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'll be more careful next time, yeah?"

Snape nodded.

"You'd better be. I won't be there forever to save your sorry ass, Potter," Snape whispered.

"Oh, I thought you'd always be," Harry said with a smile.

But Snape didn't chuckle, he didn't even smirk at his joke.

"Snape," he said in a bit more serious tone, calling his attention, "you don't have a duty to protect me anymore, you already did. If I'd been seriously injured, it would've been entirely on me. Not on you."

But then Snape snarled, almost jumping from the bed and grabbing Harry's uninjured forearm. He said nothing, but the way he was clutching at Harry was self-evident.

He growled, furious, and clutched at Harry's arm with almost animalistic strength. He didn't let go.

Harry's thoughts raced as Snape's fingers clutched his forearm, a surprising mixture of anger and desperation coursing through those bony digits. The grip was firm, almost painful, and Harry could feel the tension radiating from Snape. He wanted to understand, to bridge this unspoken chasm between them.

As seconds passed, the anger in Snape's grip seemed to melt into something else. The initial fury gave way to a gentler touch, his fingers lightly brushing the hairs on Harry's arm. The tingling sensation of those feather-light caresses sent shivers down Harry's spine.

It was right then that it dawned on Harry that their tentative relationship, whatever it was, was affecting Snape too.

That this time Snape wasn't angry because he couldn't have saved him even if he wanted to, but that he was angry because he'd scared him. He was furious at Harry's recklessness, terrified that Harry would get hurt and this time, he could do nothing.

"Hey," Harry ventured, leaning over, "I'm fine, I'm okay. It's just a few bruises. Nothing to worry about."

Snape's long fingers still stroked his arm, drawing delicate soothing circles. It seemed that he was trying to calm himself down as much as Harry. As if he was trying to convince himself through touch that Harry was alive, and okay.

"I'm fine, I'm right here. I won't die on you, Snape," Harry said, "I didn't do it with that madman chasing me, I won't do it now."

"Who knows what you're capable of, Potter," Snape rasped, his voice to the limit now.

Harry only smiled, leaning closer so he could look at him in the eyes. Their faces were inches away.

"I'll try and be more careful. Okay?"

Snape finally nodded, seemingly satisfied with Harry's answer. Harry waited until he was calm enough and his fingers stopped stroking the skin, to suggest changing Snape's bandages around his throat.

However, the tingling sensation lingered long after that.