Never, ever in his life had Harry thought he'd find himself in Snape's living room, a mug of tea in his hand and a sandwich in front of him. Moreover, that wasn't even the surprise of the morning.
What took the cherry was the moment he'd woken up. It felt like an eternity since he last slept throughout the night undisturbed. When his hand patted around for his glasses with eyes closed, he realized his nightstand wasn't where it should have been. His palm was running on a smooth surface of silky sheets.
Why is my bed so big? The bedding does not feel right either…
He forced his eyes to open, not wincing from the usual bright light that penetrated the dorm in the Gryffindor Tower. The room was dim, not dark, but no sunshine came through the windows.
His eyelids blinked once, twice.
It took Harry a full minute until his brain powered up and began to panic. He had no idea where he was. The stone walls suggested he was still within the castle, as Voldemort would probably not provide such a cosy cell, and there were distinguished interior features characteristic of Hogwarts. There was also an abundance of green colour…
Memories of the previous night flooded back, and he remembered his hand, lots of blood, lots of red, so much red, and then Snape… Snape.
The name of his hated Professor had made him spring up, pushing Harry into a sitting position. He would have jumped to his feet if he hadn't become dizzy from moving his upper body. His vision blurred further, if that was possible, urging him to locate his glasses. He did so quickly, finding them on a desk next to the bed.
Once his surroundings came into focus, Harry forced his breathing to even out. More memories rushed in, Snape helping him, bringing him to his office, treating him.
Suddenly, the question about his whereabouts had an answer.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry came to the realization that he was in Snape's bedroom. His wild conclusion was supported further when the man opened the door and let himself in.
"I see you've woken up," Snape said conversationally as a greeting. He was dressed in plain black clothes, missing his cloak, and his hands were holding a tray.
"Err… yes," Harry nodded, feeling utterly out of place. The scene could not have been more bizarre. He would have laughed heartily if he hadn't been so miserably bewildered.
Because while Harry might have slept well, he did not feel well. His whole body was aching, his head pounded, a dull persistent pain behind his forehead. In a futile attempt to soothe it, he gently massaged his temples.
It was as if the Knight Bus ran him over, then reversed and ran over him again, just for better measure. A groan formed on his lips as the full weight of discomfort settled on his shoulders. His throat was awfully dry.
"How are you feeling?" Snape, ever the mind reader, asked promptly. He made two long strides and was by Harry's side, pulling a chair to sit on while balancing the tray with one hand.
"Could've been better," Harry admitted, knowing his misery must have been written all over his face. He wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to go out, get a shovel and dig himself a grave of shame. There was no way, no way he was ever going to live down yesterday's events.
He could not look at the man who had become his saviour. Oh, how bitter that word tasted in Harry's mind; the mere thought of Snape saving him made him grimace. He briefly mourned the life he had had before he subjected himself to the everlasting display of utter humiliation with Snape as a front-seat spectator.
Meanwhile, the Potions Master in question sat down and offered Harry a glass of water, who gladly accepted it and drowned the liquid in one gulp. Then, he made him drink two odd-coloured potions. One tasted like rotten carrots while the other had a not-so-subtle undertone of spoiled milk. Harry almost threw up, but sheer determination kept the contents down. Snape regarded him with an unimpressed stare.
Harry felt like a senior on his deathbed, Snape being his personal pessimistic nurse who was about to announce the date of his funeral.
"You were lucky," the man remarked at last and took the empty vials back, pocketing them.
He then got out his wand and aimed it right at Harry. He stiffened – a movement that did not escape Snape's trained eyes.
"A bit late to be cautious of me, isn't it?" Snape sneered.
The implied "after you slept in my chambers, drank potions I gave you and let me treat your wound," was left unspoken, yet echoing in Harry's ears.
He shivered, embarrassment coating his body in goosebumps.
After a set of wand-waving and chanting what Harry presumed were diagnostic spells, Snape stopped with a frown on his face.
"You're a complete mess, Potter." He said almost accusingly.
Immediately, Harry puffed his chest in defence, ready to speak in his favour, but Snape did not let him.
"Sleep deprived. Malnourished. Severely underweight! What are you running on? Air?" The blazing dark eyes bored into Harry, adding unspoken words of berating.
Harry's mind helpfully filled the blanks.
How come you're so pathetic? Can't even take care of yourself? Is this what others died for? So you could end up like this?
It stung.
It stung so much. He did his best not to show it, but the hateful sentences ringing in his skull were deafening. He gritted his teeth to keep his emotions in check.
It wasn't wise to be so unstable early in the morning, in Snape's bedroom with the man breathing down his back.
"Is this another form of self-destruction?" The Professor asked when Harry's only reply was silence.
At that question, Harry's brows creased. He had never thought about it in such a way. The previous self-hate faded into the background, allowing him to ponder on it. After a pause, he shook his head.
"Now, let's try a verbal answer," Snape chastised as if Harry was five. It earned him a glare.
"No," he enunciated. "I'm not… it's not on purpose."
Snape regarded him for a second or two and then he stood up.
"If that's the case, get up, get dressed, and then join me for breakfast," he all but ordered in his typical Professor voice. A set of clothes Harry did not recognize floated onto the bed.
Snape was almost at the door when he halted and turned around. "You're free to use the bathroom, there are towels on the top shelf," he said evenly, nodding towards the door on an opposite wall. "Don't touch anything unlabelled, nor my toothbrush," With that, he was gone.
Harry sat there, stunned. Every other emotion he had was overruled by the sheer weirdness of it all. The almost domestic situation gave Harry the ick. Snape just implied for him to take a shower. Harry now knew where the Professor kept his towels. Snape knew what a toothbrush was. Of course, that itself wasn't weird, everybody brushed their teeth, even wizards, but the image of Snape doing it was just…
Harry shook his head resolutely and got up. His dizzy spell passed, probably a favour of one of the dour potions Snape made him drink. His limbs also did not tremble anymore, legs capable of supporting his weight.
Despite better judgment, he decided to take the shower. It was quick and cold, just like at Dursleys. Harry felt less of a burden that way. And a burden he was, to Snape, when he recounted the last two days. He could not even muster the usual and long-harboured disdain for the man. Right then, he simply felt numb and confused. It was eerie. His feelings mixed with the view of Snape's bathroom, his shower and all the weird bottles and flasks that were scattered around the cramped space, making him almost convinced that he was dreaming. But the cold water spraying down his body kept him rooted to reality.
Fresh and dressed in clothes of unknown origin, clothes that fit Harry's size and lacked holes, he marched out of the bathroom with steady strides. He wished for nothing more but to avoid Snape, crawl back into the bed and hide. But considering it was Snape's bed in his quarters, that would be quite contraproductive, and frankly, ridiculous.
Even more ridiculous than having breakfast with Snape in his living room. Harry no longer felt shocked, just put out as the Professor scrutinized him with his black eyes. The sandwich in Harry's mouth became dry and unappetizing - barely three bites down, he could not swallow any more.
"No wonder you are malnourished," he noted, watching as Harry carefully put the plate with half-eaten bread on the table. "It appears I have severely underestimated the length of your predicament, Mr. Potter."
Harry tensed but couldn't bring himself to eat anymore. Sipping his hot tea, he chanced a look at Snape, only to be met with an unreadable expression.
"I was under the impression you were simply struggling with self-harm that did not exceed your wrists," he went on, his voice toneless and clinically professional. "An oversight on my part."
Harry vaguely realized that Snape was apologizing. Or trying to, anyway. Maybe he didn't even try. What did it matter?
Except it did.
"No, sir, it's nothing like…" Harry attempted to correct this wild conclusion Snape had reached.
"Do not interrupt me," he pressed, impatience bleeding into his mask of stillness. Harry closed his lips shut. It was unwise to fight the man in his own domain - his living room. He just waited for a chance to leave.
"Given your status, contacting St Mungo's wasn't a decision I could make in haste, and I believed Headmaster should take over this ordeal after his return," Snape continued, making Harry progressively more and more uncomfortable.
Everything sounded so… serious. Tiny needles of anxiety pierced his skin as he feared where the monologue was headed.
"But as I have become aware of your overall deteriorating condition just now, combined with the fact you almost caused your early demise yesterday…"
"I did not!" Harry cried out, unable to keep his tongue motionless any longer.
"…it is imperative that I inform your guardians about the events which have transpired in the last two days," Snape finished with a pointed look and a deadly serious expression.
Harry stared. And stared. And stared. And then stared some more. Seconds ticked, matching his heartbeat. His gaze never strayed from the other man, who fell silent.
Was he being… serious?
Snape was clearly expecting a reaction from him, a string of complaints or even a full-out argument. A reaction that didn't come. Instead, Harry took a deep breath after what felt like a century of stillness, and then he laughed.
The sound came like an uninvited guest, one who refused to leave. Harry's teeth met the light of day, his lips stretched in a smile so wide that his cheeks began to ache immediately. He thought he had forgotten how to laugh, how to truly laugh; but then the image of Petunia and Vernon hosting Snape in their living room over a cup of tea while the man explained Harry's troubles entered his mind.
He lost it.
He laughed and laughed until he hiccupped and couldn't breathe. Every time he managed to inhale and attempt to calm down, his eyes met Snape's scowling excision and it began all over again. The Professor was murdering him with his gaze, fuming with anger.
It was so damn hilarious.
"Unless your desire is to be hexed, stop this at once!" Snape finally hissed when Harry went mute from the laughter, doubled over on the chair, elbows on his thighs. "There's nothing remotely humorous about what I said, Potter! You've always been childish and disgraceful, but this is even below you."
Harry barely listened as his lungs fought for another sip of air. He shook his head to signal he couldn't stop.
Snape looked like he was moments away from vanishing him into another dimension.
"You are ridiculing me, my efforts to help you, and your aunt and uncle, who will surely wheel you into the nearest psychiatric ward if you keep this up! Do you truly not value the people who care about you?!" Snape spat, his voice escalating into a yell.
Strangled exhales left Harry's throat as he finally, finally got a grip. Then, Snape insinuated that Petunia and Vernon cared about him and it almost set him off again.
"You… hah— You think t-they care?" he choked out.
The Professor's grimace changed to one of incredulity.
"I have no reason to believe otherwise," he stated firmly. It came out as an accusation - an accusation aimed at Harry and his ungrateful behaviour.
"Of course, you don't… arrogant, spoiled…" Harry murmured to himself, the last thermos of his laughing fit dying down; taking along remains of life within him. His light was extinguished.
He sat there like an empty seashell.
Nobody cared. Snape could pester him all he wanted, but the truth would remain the same. Nobody cared about him. He didn't have a home to return to, he didn't have guardians who were concerned. None of his friends spoke to him. None of the adults approached him. Slowly, he faded away, like cheap paint on a sunny day. His presence was one of a ghost, distant and estranged.
"What just happened will also be a subject of today's discussion," Snape spoke into the silence with a measured temper.
Harry shrugged. He didn't bother to look at Snape anymore, unfocused gaze plastered on his intertwined hands. Underneath the long sleeves rested his meddled skin. Healed wounds, memories of them imprinted on the scarred bones. Yet, Harry had bled dry long ago, long ago at the ministry.
Snape stood up. The unexpected movement made Harry flinch, a dark shadow creeping at the edge of his vision.
"I shall be back within an hour, an hour and a half at the latest. Have your necessities packed and wait for me in the classroom. I'll deliver you back home once I take care of the affair. Your Aunt and Uncle will demand your return sooner than later."
More orders, more assumptions. Harry didn't find it funny anymore but felt no need to burst Snape's bubble of delusion. He just nodded and got on his feet as well, finally free to leave the man's quarters.
"A verbal response, if you will," the man stopped him.
A mumble came back. "Yes."
"Yes, sir." Sharp order.
A heavy sigh. "Yes, sir."
Snape then snatched his hand, wand pressed to Harry's exposed wrist. He murmured a chant, and by the time Harry realized what was going on, his skin was marked with a lily again. The tattoo had disappeared after yesterday's incident. Until now.
Harry recoiled from Snape's touch, from his wand, he wanted to recoil from the tattoo itself, to scrub it until his skin paled red, to crave the mark out of him with a knife, any knife, just to get it off. But it was too late. Snape was there, forbidding those actions with his presence alone, so the next best course of action was to shout at him, to yell and scream, to demand and blame, to crawl at his chest and rip it apart the same way Harry's last bits of closure, of his own privacy were torn, and it would be ugly and delightful, because how dared he?! Again! Wasn't yesterday enough? He had no right (he had every right) to continue caging Harry like a dangerous animal, he was only a danger to himself, and that wasn't a crime, that was allowed, everybody made him believe so anyway, and it was so damn maddening (relieving) that Snape pretended to care, so sickening (soothing), that Harry wished to turn himself inside out just to desert the emotion, and where in the twelve Hells did his numbness go—
No sooner had he drawn in a breath, about to unleash the inferno within at the Professor; who clearly anticipated an outburst, becoming more and more familiar (against his wish) with the mood swings, Harry was steered to the door, forcefully vacating Snape's quarters.
"Don't be late," the last stern warning echoed in the corridor, and then Harry was left to complain to the closed door, whose ears had long been cut off
Who could have guessed – Snape was back an hour later, his expression made out of stone. Harry, for his part, could read the man like an open book for the first time ever. The visit to the Dursleys wasn't a pleasant one. Truly, who could have guessed.
However, as soon as the man spoke, maintaining the mask of a relative attending a funeral, Harry's smugness vanished. Even he didn't anticipate what was said next.
"There's been a situation, Mr. Potter. From now on, you shall stay in my quarters, under my care."
I know, I'm back with a short chapter and a cliffhanger. I also know not many read the story on this platform, I'm uploading it here purely out of habit. Anyway, shorter chapters mean a shortened uploading schedule, I'm carefully optimistic about the next update coming soon. Hooray.