Word Count: 14095
Warnings: Depression, hypothermia, character death (not Harry or Severus)
Obedience
He spun around when he heard the whisper of a spell, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the bright jet of white light aimed towards him, and it encompassed him for a moment before it dissipated to nothing.
A flash of blond hair was the last thing he saw, before the edges of his vision darkened, and he passed out, slumping to the floor as the world around him faded to nothing.
…
Harry woke up slowly, groaning as a pain throbbed through his head. He was sprawled on the cold, stone floor of the dungeons. He forced himself to try and remember how he'd ended up where he was.
He knew that he'd been on his way to detention with Snape. He wasn't far from the classroom, he could tell that much as he looked around him, but he'd… he'd been attacked?
His mind was fuzzy on the details, and trying to force it was just making his head hurt even more, but he trusted his gut. There was no reason for him to just faint, so something external must have caused it.
He pushed himself to his feet and checked his watch, cursing softly when he realised that he was now twenty minutes late for his detention; Snape was going to kill him.
The man certainly wouldn't believe Harry was late because he'd been unconscious on the dungeon floor.
Knocking hesitantly on the door to the office, Harry waited until he was called into the classroom. Snape sneered at him as soon as he opened the door, and then pointedly lifted his arm and shook his robe away from his wrist, to look at his watch.
"Did nobody ever teach you to tell the time, Potter?" He asked, a drawl to his voice that made Harry's jaw clench instinctively. "I know that you prove your mental deficiency fairly often, but really, being on time should be a simple matter, even for one such as yourself."
"Sir, I was—"
"I don't particularly care what you were doing that made you late, Potter," Snape interrupted, scowling. "This does mean, of course, that I'll be forced to endure your company for another evening. I'll expect you here tomorrow, at seven pm. And woe betide you if you are late, again."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it, sighing softly. There was very little point in arguing, or even trying to defend himself; Snape was determined to always see the worst in him.
Even when he hadn't done anything wrong.
"Go and clean the cauldrons in the corner. No magic."
Harry moved immediately, before he'd even consciously decided to. It was almost as though there was something driving him to follow Snape's order. It was strange; it felt like he couldn't fight the impulse to clean, like something in him was eager to do it, even.
He thought about trying to speak to the Professor again, to tell him about the strange impulse, and the fact that he'd woken up on the dungeon floor with the strong gut feeling that he'd been attacked, but he knew that there was no point. Snape would either dismiss him entirely, or wouldn't care, even if he did believe him.
He cleaned the cauldron's dutifully, unable to stop himself, even for a moment's break, until Snape called him to a halt.
"Get back to Gryffindor Tower, and be here promptly tomorrow at seven pm, Potter."
"Yes, sir."
…
The following day was very strange for Harry.
Every time somebody told him to do something, Harry had an unbearable—and undeniable—urge to do it immediately. Hermione told him to eat more at breakfast, and he did. Ron told him to slow his walking down, and he did. Professor McGonagall told him to pay more attention in class, and he found that he was unable to shift his focus to anything else, other than the task at hand.
Later, in the evening during dinner, Hermione made an off the cuff comment that Harry 'really should read Hogwarts; A History', and Harry had abandoned his meal straight away, his legs carrying him to the library, to check the book out.
He was still reading it when his body forced him to start walking back down towards the dungeons at quarter to seven, to make sure that he was on time for his detention.
There was something seriously wrong with him, and Harry was growing more and more concerned as the day went on. He knew that he should go to the Hospital Wing, or even to see Professor McGonagall, or the Headmaster, but how was he even supposed to explain what was happening to him?
'I have to do everything I'm told' sounded stupid, even in his own head.
Harry arrived outside Snape's classroom door at two minutes before seven, but he found that he physically wasn't able to knock on the door until the clock struck seven exactly.
He was called inside, and did so immediately, nodding silently when Snape ordered him to finish the cauldron stack that he'd been working on the night before.
As he had the night before, Harry cleaned without being able to take a break—and until Snape told him to stop—and then left the classroom when he was dismissed back to his dorm.
"You know, Potter," a familiar voice said, from somewhere behind him. "You should really go and throw yourself off the top of the Astronomy Tower. It would save everyone the bother of you being in the way."
Harry tried to deny the order in the words, but his legs were already changing directions to walk up the many stairs towards the tallest tower of the castle.
He could feel eyes on his back until he'd rounded the staircase, but he couldn't even force himself to turn back enough to see the person who'd ordered his death.
Not that he needed to. He'd known the voice as soon as he'd heard it.
Panicking, Harry tried everything he could to stop himself from moving, but it was like someone else was completely controlling his limbs.
It was as though he had been reduced to a literal puppet.
He shouted, screamed, begged for help, as he climbed higher and higher up the stairs. He tried to verbally order himself to stop, but even that didn't work.
Despite the noise he made, nobody came. It was late, and most people in the castle would already be safely tucked away in their quarters, unknowing that almost to the top of the Astronomy Tower stairs, Harry Potter was about to die.
Tears cascaded down Harry's cheeks as he climbed the last of the stairs, and then up onto one of the open window ledges of the Tower. Without hesitation, his body jumped, out into the darkness, to freefall through space.
…
"—made him do it?"
"I'm not certain. It could be that the pressure of being who he is was weighing on him more heavily than anybody knew."
"I just… didn't have any idea that he was feeling bad enough to… do this. Why didn't he speak to anyone?"
"Maybe he didn't think that there was anyone to speak to? We won't know why he did it, until he wakes up."
…
When he woke up, he was groggy and it took him a while to come around. When he blinked his eyes open, the room around him blurred without his glasses, but he could see enough to know that he was in the Hospital Wing.
He lifted a heavy arm to rub his head, and then tried to push himself up enough that he could grope at the dresser beside the bed, where Madam Pomfrey usually put his glasses.
"Harry? Oh, Harry, dear, I wasn't expecting you to wake up so soon."
Harry attempted a smile for the matron as she helped him put his glasses on, but he wasn't sure that he managed it well.
"What happened?" he asked.
"What do you remember?" she asked, with a pained smile of her own.
Harry frowned slightly. He remembered the Astronomy Tower, and a voice. He remembered being scared, and—
"Who saved me?" he asked softly, as the full memory came back to him.
"The Headmaster got there just in time to slow your fall," she murmured softly. "Harry… what drove you to such a desperate action, love?"
"I didn't do it on purpose, Madam Pomfrey, I promise," Harry said, shaking his head. "I… there's something wrong with me. Everything that I get ordered to do, I can't stop myself from doing it. I don't know what's going on."
She blinked. "Are you… let me call the Headmaster, dear. He wanted to be alerted immediately when you woke up."
Harry just nodded his head, and settled back into the pillows to wait. For the first time ever, he was in no rush to leave the Hospital Wing.
He stared up at the ceiling. He tried not to let it build, but he couldn't help the slightly childish hope that the Headmaster would be able to fix it with just a simple wave of his wand.
The rest of him—the more rational, pessimistic side of him—already knew that it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Harry?"
Harry turned his head to see Dumbledore approaching. He looked sad, older than he ever had before, almost like he was sagging into himself as he sat down in the seat beside Harry's bed.
"Hi, sir. Thank you for, uh, catching me."
"My dear boy… Can you tell me what happened? What drove you to such… extremes?"
Harry explained what was going on. He started with finding himself unconscious on the dungeon floor, and then talked about the impulses and urges to follow orders that he'd been having since then. He finished by telling Dumbledore about jumping against his will, and then bit his lip, praying that the Headmaster would have a cure for him.
"Harry… Do you know who it was that told you to jump?"
Harry nodded, and looked away. "It was Draco Malfoy."
"Are you sure?"
"I've been listening to him sneer my name for years, sir. I know his voice when I hear it."
"As you say, Harry. I… must confess that I've only ever heard of Obedience Curses in passing. I don't believe that I've ever actually come across one being put into practice. This is most concerning. I think that, until we've managed to identify the curse at the very least, we're going to have to keep you isolated from your peers."
Harry nodded sadly. While he didn't relish the thought of spending time completely alone, he knew that it would be insanely dangerous for him to be around people—especially in a school. Teenagers could be unendingly cruel, sometimes without even meaning it.
If Harry were to follow the wrong instructions… well, he'd already seen how bad it could get.
And, if Malfoy were to corner him again, Merlin only knew what he would try to make Harry do next.
"You may remain here for the rest of the day, Harry," Dumbledore added softly. "We'll draw the curtains to keep you out of sight of others, and then, later this evening, after curfew, I'll come and collect you and move you to somewhere safer."
Harry nodded his head. "Yes, sir."
"We'll fix this, Harry. I promise you that."
…
True to his word, Dumbledore collected Harry at just after midnight and led him to the same corridor where he kept his own quarters.
"I've set up a room attached to my office, Harry. You'll be safe in there, and if you need anything, there is a door that you may knock on, to get my attention."
"Thank you, sir."
Dumbledore smiled at him softly, and patted his shoulder before allowing him entrance into the room. It was a nice room, decorated in burnt red, and tarnished gold, the colours of Gryffindor softened enough that they weren't overwhelming.
There was a bed, with a small table beside it, and a sitting room area with two armchairs by the fire and a coffee table in front of them.
A bookshelf that was practically spilling over with books stood in the corner, and there was a stack of parchment and quills on a small desk beside it.
"Unfortunately, dear boy, there's only so much that I can offer you in the way of things to do, but if you need anything, either knock for me, or call for Dobby. I've assigned him to this room only for the time being, and he'll be the one to bring you food and drinks, and anything else you need."
Harry managed a small smile at that. He knew that Dobby would never do him any harm intentionally, and it would be nice to see him again. It had been a while since he'd seen the exuberant little elf.
"Where's the bathroom, sir?" he asked, glancing around for a second door.
"Ah, that wall over there, Harry," Dumbledore replied, pointing to a small, almost completely hidden hinge in the door. "Just slide it across."
Harry nodded in understanding.
"I'll leave you to get some more rest, Harry. I'll pop in to see you in the morning, okay? And remember, don't hesitate to knock if you need anything; even if that something is just a little human interaction, understand?"
"Yes, sir, thank you."
Dumbledore smiled a little sadly and nodded his head, before he slipped out of the room, through the door to his office. Harry glanced around again. His trunk had been delivered from the tower, and it stood at the end of the bed, the very same way it did when he was in his usual bed, in Gryffindor Tower.
It just didn't look right without four other beds around it.
Swallowing against the sudden emotion that seemed to block his throat, Harry headed for the bathroom. He wanted a shower, and then, hopefully, sleep.
Perhaps some sort of miracle would happen overnight, and he'd wake up to find himself uncursed, and able to refuse orders again.
…
The miracle that he had been hoping for didn't come to pass. The day ticked by slowly, and Harry tried to fill the time by flipping through the books on the shelves, taking notes occasionally when he came across something interesting. He even did his homework, though when he'd be able to turn it in was anyone's guess.
Dobby popped in and out with food and drinks throughout the day, and his happy demeanour was enough to make Harry smile, if only for a little while. In general though, his mood remained low, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to cheer up.
Dumbledore arrived a little after dinner, and Harry was pleased to see him, until he saw that Snape was walking in behind him. He looked a little pale—even more so than he usually did—as he stared at Harry.
Harry looked down at his hands, which were resting in his lap, rather than meet the dark gaze of the Potions Professor.
Dumbledore sat down in the armchair facing Harry, and Snape seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he perched himself on the edge of the coffee table, closer to Harry.
"Professor Snape needs to run some tests on you, Harry," Dumbledore murmured softly. "Is that okay?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied dutifully, nodding his head slightly.
He remained as still as he possibly could while Snape ran his wand over him, once, twice and then a third time, only looking up when he heard the man cursing quietly.
"Is it as we feared?" Dumbledore asked, though he seemed to know the answer.
Snape nodded silently.
Dumbledore sighed heavily, a look of desperate unhappiness on his face, as he turned his eyes to rest on Harry.
"We've found the curse that has been placed on you, dear boy," he said quietly, as though he could cause less pain by speaking softly. "It's one of ancient times, unused in this day and age until now. It should have been lost centuries ago, but it seems that someone has been searching the old tombs."
"Voldemort?" Harry asked, flatly.
"Don't say the name," Snape snarled, his left arm twitching.
"I can say the name V—" Harry choked on the word, coughing violently, as it turned out that no, he couldn't say the word Voldemort now that he had been ordered otherwise.
"Severus!" Dumbledore snapped, as he reached over to rub Harry's back gently, until the coughing subsided. "Harry, you may say whatever you want, including things that others don't want you to say."
Harry nodded, rubbing at his chest. "Can I have a glass of water, please, sir?"
"Oh, of course."
Dumbledore conjured a glass and filled it with water for him.
"My apologies," Snape murmured, when Dumbledore gave him a hard look.
"As to your original question, Harry," Dumbledore continued, leaning back in his seat. "Yes, we believe that Dravo Malfoy has cast the curse on you, at Lord Voldemort's instruction."
"I thought that he wanted to kill me himself?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly in question.
"I still believe that he does," Dumbledore replied, thoughtfully. "Mr Malfoy likely acted impulsively when he ordered you to go to the top of the Astronomy Tower, Harry. It's unlikely that he was truly thinking about the consequences of his actions—"
"He tried to kill me," Harry snapped. "And he almost succeeded. He's as grown as I am, Headmaster, you can't tell me that he doesn't realise the consequences of his actions. He's not a five year old."
"He did try to kill you," Dumbledore agreed. "And he will be punished for that, Harry, don't mistake me. But sending him back into the clutches of Voldemort right now is not the best thing for anyone."
"Please don't tell me that you believe you'll be able to lure him to your side, sir?"
"Perhaps not," Dumbledore allowed, inclining his head. "But it's one less soldier for Voldemort, and one more soul that can possibly be saved, if he doesn't have the opportunity to take a life."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, and then shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he asked, "If you know the curse that was used, does that mean that it can be undone?"
Dumbledore glanced at Snape.
"From everything that I know, and have been able to determine during my quick research today, it cannot simply be undone," the Potions Master said. "There is a way to tie it to a single person, however. That way, you would only be forced to follow the orders of that one person, rather than anyone who happens to phrase something… badly."
Harry nodded slowly. He supposed that he could live with that, if the curse could be tied to the Headmaster, or even Professor McGonagall. He trusted both of them with his life, and he certainly didn't believe that either one of them would ever try and take advantage of the curse to make him do anything heinous.
"I… can live with that," he said, eventually. He glanced at Dumbledore. "Will it be tied to you, Sir?"
Slowly, the Headmaster shook his head. "The curse will be a burden of energy on the person it gets tied to, Harry, and I'm simply too old for such a thing."
"But… you're the strongest person I know!"
"Ah, that's nice of you to say, Harry, and perhaps, magically, you wouldn't be far wrong," Dumbledore replied with a small smile. "But physically, I do not have the energy to spare these days. Especially not when I'm holding the wards of the school already."
"Oh. Professor McGonagall, then?"
"Actually," Dumbledore started, before he paused in a way that alerted Harry to the fact that he would not like whatever he said next. "I believe that Severus would be the best person to tie your curse to."
"Snape?" Harry asked, aghast, as he glanced at the man in question. "He'll… he'll…" Lost for words, Harry shook his head. "Absolutely not!"
"He's the strongest person that is readily available and trustworthy, Harry. He will keep you safe, as he always has."
"By not allowing me a life, Headmaster! What if he tells me to throw a Quidditch match, or if he gets mad at me for something—which is everything from breathing upwards, by the way—and makes me clean his cauldrons, or do detention with Filch for no reason, or whatever other foul things he can come up with. All in the name of keeping me safe, of course."
"Severus won't take advantage of the curse like that," Dumbledore said, trying to reassure him. "I know that the two of you share some… animosity, but I believe that this could be good for both of you. Perhaps you'll even learn to work together properly."
Harry looked away, disbelieving that Dumbledore could even suggest such a thing.
"I think, for tonight at least, we've said enough about it," Dumbledore decided quietly, when neither of the other two spoke. "Severus, you may go. We can reconvene when everybody has had time to think about the situation."
Snape swept from the room without a word, his robes flowing behind him.
Harry looked back at Dumbledore when the door had closed. "I know that you trust him, sir, and I do too—with my life. I don't trust him at all with my free will."
Dumbledore sighed. "You'll see, Harry. This will all work out in the end."
…
Three days passed by before Dumbledore seemed to believe that enough time had gone by for Harry to have accepted that Severus Snape was to become, for all intents and purposes, his owner. Harry wasn't even remotely ready to accept such a thing.
He was hustled from the private room he'd been staying in, into Dumbledore's office, and he reluctantly listened as the Headmaster explained the spell that they would use to counter the curse on Harry. Or, rather, to manipulate it.
He wasn't particularly interested in the mechanics of it; he didn't want to do it at all.
"Would you really prefer to spend an undetermined amount of time locked in a tiny room with no company, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry sighed. "I don't want to give someone who already hates me the power to force me to do whatever he damn well pleases, sir."
He sat down in one of the plush armchairs in Dumbledore's office.
"If we had any other options," Dumbledore said, as he took his own seat, "then we would absolutely look into them, Harry. Right now, this is the best solution that we can come up with."
Before Harry could reply, a low knock sounded on the door, and Snape entered the office when Dumbledore called out for him to do so. He stalked over to the desk, and sat down in the last remaining seat—the one directly beside Harry.
He didn't look at Harry, not even to sneer, the way he usually did when the two of them crossed paths.
"How is this even going to work?" Harry asked, before either of the two men could speak. "He's a spy! What if Malfoy finds out that Snape is the one you've tied the curse to? Vol—" he glanced at Snape, and then sighed. "The Dark Lord will just demand that he bring me to him, won't he?"
"Severus is no longer a spy," Dumbledore replied softly. "He was found out just a month ago, and was almost killed before he managed to escape. Only his own skill kept him alive."
Harry arched his brow, and turned to look at the Potions Master for a moment. Snape clenched his hand, but he didn't say anything, and he still didn't look at Harry, not even to glare.
Harry tipped his head. "I'm glad you didn't die."
He knew that the words sounded a little awkward, but he meant them. He had absolutely no love for the man, he genuinely didn't want him to die.
"I know that this isn't ideal, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, his tone apologetic. "And we absolutely will keep researching the curse, to try and find another way out of the situation for you, but for right now—"
"This is the best you can do," Harry finished for him, nodding his head, resigned to his fate. "Okay, sir."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Once the bonding spell has been cast, the two of you will need a certain level of physical contact to keep it intact. You'll be moving into a room in Severus' private quarters for the time being, Harry."
Harry blinked. "I… what? We don't have to… I don't have to sleep with him, do I?"
Beside him, Snape snorted.
"No, no, dear boy, nothing as such. Just a few hours in the evening. Perhaps the two of you could hold hands, or even just let your hand rest on Severus' arm. I believe that for this bond, it's two hours, Severus?"
"Ninety minutes per twenty four hours," Snape replied flatly. "Though it's a buildable bond, and measures can be taken for longer periods of separation, once the initial settling has been dealt with."
Dumbledore nodded, and Harry sighed again.
He'd been hoping that, for the most part at least, he would be able to avoid Snape. The less opportunity the man had to order him around, the better. Apparently, not even that was going to be possible.
"As your cover story," Dumbledore continued, "you will tell people that Severus is training you in defensive magic. Given that his true loyalties have been revealed already, it wouldn't matter if it got back to Voldemort's camp, though do try and be circumspect if you can, Harry."
Harry nodded to show that he understood. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hide it from a lot of people—those in his dorm would have already noticed his absence, and would question it when he didn't return.
"Have Ron and Hermione been told what's going on?" he asked.
"Not the whole story," Dumbledore replied. "They asked for your whereabouts multiple times, and were told that you were with me and that you would be back as soon as was possible."
"Okay."
Even if he had to tell people about his new roommate, he certainly wouldn't be telling anyone about the curse, and his need to be obedient to the Potions Master. Not even his best friends, if he could help it.
Though, in all fairness, as caught up as they were in their new relationship, Harry was a little surprised that they'd even noticed he'd been missing.
"Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry pressed his lips together, and then shrugged his shoulders a little. "I guess so, sir."
…
Harry dressed in his uniform and picked up his wand from the bedside table, where he'd left it the night before. Not that he'd slept very well.
His new room—Snape's spare room, which was all kinds of ick—was sparsely decorated, but the bed had been comfortable enough. The room was bereft of house colours entirely, instead it was decorated in muted browns, creams and white. Even the bedspread was a simple cream.
There was a desk, a bedside table, a wardrobe, and his trunk. All of his belongings had already been moved there when he'd arrived the night before.
He did have his own bathroom attached to his room, which was nice. He'd been able to shower and brush his teeth without feeling awkward about being in Snape's bathroom at least.
He doubted that it had made him look any more awake than he currently felt, though.
Despite the comfort of the bed, and the warmth of the blankets, Harry had spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling of the room, ruminating over the situation and cursing his face.
Just… why him? Why was it always him?
He hadn't asked for any of it; not a Dark Lord hellbent on his death, nor a prophecy of powers that Harry didn't even have. He certainly hadn't asked for an Obedience Curse, tied to a man that couldn't hate him more if he tried.
It seemed unfair that one person should suffer so much bad luck, before they'd even finished school.
Picking up his already packed bag, he slung it over his shoulder and left his room.
Snape was in the living room, and Harry paused, unsure if he was supposed to say anything or just leave. In the end, he just nodded awkwardly—which Snape ignored completely—and left the quarters.
Walking up to breakfast from the dungeons was unpleasant. He was so used to coming down from the tower with his friends, that this was just a stark reminder of his new situation.
He was one of the first students in the Great Hall. He hadn't actually realised that it was so early, but he didn't really mind that. He settled himself at the Gryffindor table, and pulled his Defence book from his bag.
He'd missed a full week of classes, and he knew that he should probably try and catch up on the classes that he was weaker in, but he just didn't really have the motivation for it.
He lost himself in his book, until a familiar voice broke through his concentration.
"Harry!"
He looked up from his book to see Ron and Hermione walking quickly towards him. They were holding hands—though, they always were these days, like they were scared they'd break up if they dared walk separately—and they joined him at the table, both of them sitting opposite him.
"Is everything okay?" Hermione asked, as they filled their plates. "Dumbledore said that you were with him for the last week?"
"Fine," Harry replied, his tone quiet.
"Well, what were you doing?" Ron asked, frowning.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing especially exciting. Research."
"Harry?" Hermione tilted her head slightly to the side, eyeing him critically. "Are you sure that you're okay? You look tired, and—"
"I'm fine," Harry replied, interrupting her. "It's just been a long week, that's all."
"Oh. Well. I mean. We've missed you. In the tower, and—"
"I'm not coming back to the tower," Harry said, interrupting her yet again.
As much as he'd missed his friends when he wasn't allowed to see them, he found that now, face to face with them, he didn't actually want to talk to them.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked, through the mouthful of food he was chewing.
Harry grimaced. "I mean that I'm not coming back. I need to train, so Dumbledore moved me to the dungeons. Snape's training me."
"Snape!" Ron exclaimed, loudly.
Hermione shushed him. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Why would Dumbledore trust Snape with training you?" Ron demanded, though he had at least listened to Hermione, and lowered his tone. "I know that everyone says that he's a spy, and blah, blah, blah, but—"
"He's not a spy anymore," Harry muttered, aware of the people sitting around them. "He got found out." He shrugged. "Guess this is the most useful thing he can do now, or something. I don't know."
"That's terrible," Hermione murmured. She cast a quick glance at the teachers table, and then looked back at Harry. "Was he hurt?"
"No idea," Harry replied flatly. "I don't suppose that I can borrow your notes from the classes that I missed? I need to catch up."
"I… of course, Harry. I'll collect them for you at lunch time."
"Thanks," Harry replied, nodding.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and then just nodded her own head. Harry looked back down at his still open book.
He found that he could no longer concentrate on the words.
…
"Be quiet, Potter."
Harry glowered at the Potion's Master. He knew that he couldn't say anything—literally, now, but even if it wasn't—because he didn't want anyone to be aware of the curse, and the tie to Snape.
He slammed out of the Potions classroom as soon as class was over, and then realised his mistake. He needed Snape to rescind his order.
Shaking his head, Harry continued on his way to his next class—Charms—ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him to stop being stubborn.
He wasn't going to beg the bastard to allow him to speak.
Thankfully, Flitwick set them to revising theory, and Harry didn't have to speak during the last class of the day.
Dinner was a different story; Ron and Hermione spent most of the meal trying to engage him in conversation, and then got shirty with him when he didn't acknowledge them, beyond a nod, or a shake of his head.
Instead of going to the library with them after dinner, like he'd originally planned, Harry went straight back down to the dungeons. He entered the quarters quietly, and went straight into his bedroom.
Snape wasn't there. Harry figured that he probably had office hours, or was supervising a detention.
He worked on the notes that Hermione had given him—she took more comprehensive notes than anyone Harry knew, thankfully—until he heard Snape come in. Harry didn't bother going to greet him.
He continued his work until a knock sounded on the bedroom door. He waved his hand at the door, letting it open with the limited wandless magic he would perform, and then turned in his seat so that he was facing Snape.
The man looked angry, but then, he rarely ever looked anything else when Harry was in his line of sight, so it wasn't exactly anything new.
"Too lazy to even get up and open the door, are you, Potter/" Snape sneered, shaking his head. "And have you done anything even remotely productive since dinner, or have you been off misbehaving with your little friends?"
Harry sighed.
"Don't even have an answer? That makes a change, doesn't it? In the living room, now. Bring whatever you're working on with you. We've to do the contact for the bond."
Harry snapped up to his feet and picked up the transfiguration notes that he'd been working on, and then grabbed the Charms ones as well. He knew he would be stuck in the living room for ninety minutes, and he didn't want to end up with nothing to do.
As soon as they were in hand, his legs were moving towards the living room, following behind Snape. They settled on the sofa, side by side, and Snape wrapped his hand loosely around Harry's wrist.
Harry flinched at the first contact, and then remained perfectly still. He turned his attention back to Hermione's notes, and ignored the man beside him.
"We both know that this silent treatment cannot last, Potter. How long do you think that you can keep it up?"
Harry rolled his eyes. He'd keep it up until Snape ordered him to speak, he supposed. It turned out, that wouldn't be long at all.
"Answer me, boy!"
"I wasn't speaking, because you ordered me to be quiet when we were still in Potions this afternoon. Therefore, I've been quiet ever since."
The words came before Harry had even thought them through, and he sighed, chancing a glance at Snape, to see that the man had paled quite significantly.
"You haven't been able to speak since Potions?"
"No."
"I… you should have come and told me."
"I couldn't speak."
"You could have written me a sodding note, Potter."
Harry just shrugged his shoulders slightly. He didn't particularly care about being ordered quiet. Silent or not, he and Snape were never going to get along, so that was little point in saying anything one way or the other.
They were both quiet for a while, and then Snape broke the silence.
"I will try and watch my words in the future, Potter."
Harry glanced at him, and he realised that, as unlikely as it seemed, Snape did truly seem to feel bad about what he'd—apparently unintentionally—done.
"Okay."
…
Harry spent more time alone than not in the following weeks. He'd distanced himself from his friends, ignored the worried looks aimed his way by many of his teachers, and he'd buried himself in studying. He'd caught up with his classes pretty quickly, and then just continued on studying.
Ron and Hermione still sat with him at the Gryffindor table at meal times, and sometimes in the library in the evenings, but they were so wrapped up in each other, that they didn't seem to really notice that Harry wasn't… he wasn't okay.
He still wasn't sleeping well, and he felt nauseous whenever he ate, and anytime that he wasn't actively studying, his thoughts turned darker than they'd ever been before.
He just felt… hopeless.
And despite everything that had happened to him in his relatively short life, he'd never before felt completely hopeless. Not even when he was stuck with the Dursleys, or when Sirius died.
He couldn't really see any point to living, except of course to fulfil the destiny that was laid out in front of him. He had to kill Voldemort—was apparently the only one who could.
That's why he was channelling all of his energy into studying. He didn't know why he'd never thought about it before, really. If he was truly the only one who could do it, why hadn't he taken his classes more seriously?
He pulled more and more books from the library, practising the spells he found in the Room of Requirement, where he could have peace, quiet, and a lack of people watching him.
He stuck with defensive spells, despite knowing that it wouldn't be enough.
Voldemort had an offensive repertoire the likes of which most magical people could only dream of. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that he'd be any match for him with a Protego shield, or Expelliarmus, but he didn't want to try any spells that were… wrong.
Bad.
He didn't want to turn into a monster, in his attempt to beat a monster.
The only thing that wasn't horrible, over those weeks, was surprisingly the time that he spent with Snape. Mostly because he was as quiet as Harry was.
They sat together most evenings, once the Potions Master had finished his duties, with Snape's hand looped around Harry's wrist.
Most of the time, they sat in silence, each of them working on their own things, but it was not… terrible. It was actually relatively companionable, at times.
Snape had managed not to order Harry around since the time in Potions, and he'd even kept his mentions of Harry's father to himself.
Harry wasn't really sure what to make of it, but he decided that he wasn't going to rock the boat when it didn't need rocking.
Only then the boat was rocked for him.
…
"The Headmaster has asked that I begin training you in battle tactics, and battle magic, both offensive and defensive," Snape told him, one evening.
"Oh?" Harry murmured, his interest immediately peaked. "Okay, sir."
Snape stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded his head. "Come with me. I'm going to need to know your current level before I can make any kind of plan going forwards."
Harry followed Snape through the dungeons, to a room that he'd never been in before. He looked around, curious despite himself. It looked a little bit like the hall had, back in second year, when Lockhart had tried to initiate the disaster of a duelling club, with a large platform in the middle of the room.
"Are we going to duel, sir?" he asked, frowning slightly.
Snape nodded silently.
Harry climbed up onto the podium, and then waited for the signal to begin. He spent the first few minutes dodging as he got into the swing of it, but eventually, he managed to put up a decent fight, defensively at least.
In the end, he lasted seventeen minutes before Snape put him on his arse. When Snape brought him round, he looked reluctantly impressed.
"You're better than I expected you to be," he admitted, guiding Harry to sit up slowly. "You've been practising?"
Harry nodded. "Trying, anyway."
"You're too defensive," Snape informed him, which he knew anyway, so he nodded in both acknowledgement and agreement. "We'll focus more on offensive magic, and also how to avoid the dirty tactics that your opponents will undoubtedly be using."
"Yes, sir."
The two of them left the duelling room, and returned to 'their' quarters, sitting down on the sofa. Harry was tired, both from the long day and the duelling, but he knew that he had to stay alert enough that he didn't fall asleep on the sofa while they were having their 'bonding time'.
He could only imagine the disgust the Potions Master would feel if he did.
He tried to focus on the newest book he'd checked out of the library, but the words were swimming in front of his eyes, and he closed it with a sigh, leaning his head back against the sofa.
"The Headmaster is concerned about you, Potter."
Harry startled slightly, and then lifted his head, turning to look at the Potions Master. "Why?"
"You're distancing yourself from your friends, you've always got your head buried in a book, and you spend more time with me than you do with anyone else. Surely you can see why he would be worried about you?"
"I thought that he would be happy to see that I was trying to be prepared," Harry pointed out softly. "And Ron and Hermione have got their own things going on. It's nice for them to not have to be fussed about me for a change."
Snape frowned. "Potter, if you don't think that your friends are worried about you, then I think that you need to see Madam Pomfrey about new glasses."
"What?"
"Of course they're worried about you," Snape replied, apparently taken aback. "You've shut them out of your life—you've shut everyone out. You're barely spending any time with them, and any time that you do spend with them, you're hardly present with your head stuck in a book."
Harry just shrugged. "I'll talk to them about it after."
"After what?"
"Once Vol—" he cut himself off, and sighed. "Once the war is over."
"So sure that you'll win?"
Harry snorted, and then shook his head. "Not even slightly, but if I don't, then I won't need to have a conversation about it, because I'll be dead and the whole thing will be a moot point, won't it?"
Snape stared at him, his eyes wide, seemingly caught unaware by Harry's reply.
They finished the rest of their bonding time in silence, and then Harry got up and went to bed. He was in bed when Snape popped his head around the door.
"You're not sleeping?" he asked. "At all? I know that you've been tired lately."
Harry sighed. "I get a couple of hours of sleep most nights. It's fine."
Snape twisted his lips, and then, the order soft but stern, he said, "Sleep until seven am, Potter."
Harry had no choice but to do as he was ordered.
…
Despite the talk Harry had had with Snape, he continued to distance himself from his friends. He started spending lunch—and some dinner times—in the kitchens, with Dobby, or in his own bedroom when he realised that the quirky little elf had no problem bringing him food.
He was sleeping better—mostly because Snape had taken to ordering him to sleep every night after their bonding time—and that had helped a little bit with his focus, and his mental state.
His studying was certainly going better; he was making Snape work for the victories when the two of them duelled, and the Potions Master was practically an encyclopaedia of nasty—but not actually illegal or dark—offensive spells.
While Harry still didn't think that he was any kind of a real match for Voldemort—truly, he doubted he ever would be—he felt that he would, perhaps, be able to hold his own, should he happen across any of the Death Eaters, at least.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up from the book he was reading and frowned when he saw Ron and Hermione stepping through the portrait hole into the kitchen.
He couldn't help but notice the way that the elves all moved away quickly, when they realised Hermione was there; her determination to see them all freed hadn't exactly made her their favourite person in the castle.
"What are the two of you doing here?" he asked.
"You're here, mate," Ron said, waving his hand at Harry, as though that was enough of an explanation. "You're avoiding us, and… well. It's just not right, is it?"
Harry sighed.
"Harry, we're your best friends," Hermione implored softly. "You can't just shut us out, and expect us not to worry about you. Let us help you."
"You can't," Harry replied, and he was horrified to realise that his eyes were filling with unexpected tears. He looked away from them, trying to force them back, mortified at himself for being so weak.
"Harry, we want to help," Ron said, shuffling a little.
Harry could only imagine how awkward the red head was feeling. He'd never been one to deal with emotions particularly well.
"You can't," Harry repeated, frustrated when the tears fell, despite his best efforts to stop them. "I… I'm screwed."
"Harry?"
"You don't get it," Harry said, shaking his head. He looked at them both, his tears be damned. "Nobody gets it, because nobody else is in my place. Nobody understands what it's like to know that the entire world is waiting for you to murder someone. Nobody gets that I can't do it! I'm not strong enough, I'm not smart enough, I'm not fast enough, I'm not—"
"Harry," Hermione whispered, interrupting him. "Harry, of course you're going to do it! Of course you are! Do you really think that we're just going to stand back and let you die?"
"You can't help me," Harry reiterated, for a third time. "I won't let either of you die for me. I won't. Even if I lose… the two of you can run, you can escape, go abroad and live your lives. I won't—"
"That's never gonna happen," Ron said firmly, shaking his head. "We're in this with you."
"I know that we haven't been the best friends that we could be lately," Hermione admitted, reaching out to touch Harry's hand carefully. "We're sorry, Harry. We'll do better. Just… please, Harry. Don't make us stand by and watch you die."
She reached for him, and he didn't push her away when he wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. A moment later, Ron wrapped his arms around both of them.
"I know that we're, uh, dating now," Ron said, a few moments later. "But we both still need you, mate. It's not an either-or situation. It's… you're still our Harry."
Harry wiped his face on his sleeve when the two of them finally stepped back.
"I'm sorry too," he muttered. "I just want you both to be safe."
Ron scoffed. "She's a Muggleborn, and I'm a Blood-Traitor, mate. We were always going to be targets. And honestly… we'd follow you through the gates of hell at this point. We're in this; we're always going to be in this. Alright?"
"I… alright."
…
Things didn't change overnight. Harry was still more focused on learning than he'd ever been before, except now, Ron was complaining about the amount of time spent in the library, and both he and Hermione were learning the spells in the Room of Requirement right along with him.
If he couldn't make them stay out of it, he'd do his best to make sure they were as armed as they could be.
They didn't spend as much time together as they once had; Harry didn't live in the tower, and he was still having duelling lessons with Snape three or four times throughout the week.
But it got better.
Harry didn't feel quite so alone.
He still hadn't told them about the Obedience Curse. He wasn't sure if Dumbledore had expected him to keep it completely secret anyway, but there was honestly nothing that would make him want to tell his friends about it. He could only imagine their reactions.
Ron, especially, would be absolutely horrified that Harry had no choice but to follow Snape's orders, and Hermione would be full of questions that Harry couldn't answer.
So, he didn't tell them, distracting them with other things when it seemed that they were going to try and push him about what else was going on.
They knew there was something. Neither of them were stupid, and they'd been by his sides for years.
"Are you coming to Hogsmeade this weekend, Harry?" Hermione asked, on Friday morning at breakfast.
Harry shook his head. "Probably not. I've still got to figure out that shield before Sunday night, and I haven't been able to find anything about it in the library. You know that Snape will have my hide if I still can't get it."
Ron rolled his eyes. "I know that he's helping you and all, mate, but if he was a better teacher, maybe you wouldn't be struggling with it so much. He can't be mad at you because you don't get something right the first time."
Pushing away an irrational wish to defend Snape, Harry shrugged. "He's a demanding teacher, but I get blocks sometimes." He glanced at Hermione. "You remember how long it took me to master the summoning charm, in fourth year."
She grinned. "I do. And it happens, Harry. You'll get there. It's a really advanced shield—certainly not one that most people learn about. I think it's only really used by the Aurors and the Hit Wizards. That's probably why we haven't found much information on it."
"Well, given why I'm training, it's no surprise that the magic is more advanced," Harry replied, as he ripped up a piece of toast. "So no, no Hogsmeade for me. I don't really think it's a good idea for me to go anyway, really. Me being around just puts everyone else in more danger."
"You can't put your life on hold, Harry," Hermione said, her tone soft. "You should still be allowed to do things."
"It's fine," he replied, offering her a small smile when she didn't look convinced. "Really, I promise, Hermione. It's fine. Besides, the two of you don't need me cramping your style. Go on a date, have fun. Probably don't put yourselves through the absolute torture of Madam Puddifoots, though."
Ron shuddered theatrically.
Harry grinned at him, and then picked up his bag. "Come on, we should get to class."
…
"Potter, are you even trying?" Snape demanded, scowling.
"Yes," Harry replied, through gritted teeth. "I'm trying. I—"
"Clearly, you're not," Snape interrupted, snapping at him. "I don't know why I'm bothering to waste my time trying to teach you anything when you're clearly too arrogant to even bother studying. Just like your father—"
"Don't—"
"Don't interrupt me, Potter. You are arrogant, lazy, obnoxious, and an utter waste of space," Snape said, shaking his head. "Get out."
Harry's legs moved before he even had a chance to protest, or tell Snape to go to hell. Unfortunately for him, the spell didn't just take Snape's words to mean 'get out of the duelling room'.
Instead, he was forced to walk up the stairs, out of the dungeons, and out of the main doors into the freezing cold night air. He hadn't even had a chance to grab his cloak on his way out; he'd been duelling in just his uniform, without his robes, to give him more manoeuvrability.
Harry sighed. He didn't know how long the curse was going to force him to remain outside for—likely until Snape came to find him and rescinded the order, he supposed.
The weather was utterly abysmal—Scottish winters were rarely anything else—so Harry did his best to find a spot near the doors that was at least somewhat sheltered against the wind.
He couldn't do anything about the rain—he was fuming with himself for never paying attention to basic spells, like the umbrella charms—but the wind was horrendous, and the worst of the two evils.
He made copious use of warming charms, reapplying them every half an hour or so, but they only really managed to keep the edge off.
It didn't take long for his clothes to be absolutely sodden, and he tipped his head back against the stone wall of the castle.
He really needed to learn how to send Patronus messages. It was on his ever expanding list of things to learn, but it had never seemed like such a big priority until now. What he wouldn't give to be able to call for the Headmaster.
Maybe he'd be able to convince Snape to come and get him, and let him back into the shelter of the castle, at least.
A particularly violent shudder ran through him, and he clenched his muscles painfully. Desperation like he'd never known filled him, and he considered leaving the safety of the grounds completely, in order to find real shelter.
Perhaps he could go to Hogsmeade, to the Three Broomsticks, and ask Rosmerta if she had any rooms spare. Just until the morning, when he would be able to send a note to the Headmaster about the situation.
He checked his watch under the light of his wand. Almost midnight. He knew that he and Snape hadn't had any contact that day to fuel the bond, and he didn't know how long the build up of the bond would last.
How long would it be until other people could order Harry around again?
The terror that caused threatened to close his throat, and he forced himself to breathe through the panic.
Curling in on himself, Harry buried his face in his knees. At this rate, Voldemort wouldn't need to kill him; he'd freeze to death before the morning, if the weather didn't ease up a little bit.
He cast another warming charm, but it didn't even seem to touch him this time. Perhaps he was too wet for it. He wasn't sure. His thoughts were getting hazy, hard to hold onto.
The thought occurred to him that he could go to the Shrieking Shack. He tried to make himself move, but his vision was already going hazy, and his limbs felt heavier than the strength he had to move.
As he drifted, a tiny part of him felt relieved. Maybe it was really over.
Maybe he could rest.
…
He was mercifully, blessedly warm when he woke up. Soft sheets surrounded him, and he somehow wasn't surprised to find himself in the Hospital Wing when he blinked his eyes open. It was such a familiar feeling for him these days.
He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, and put them on, letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit Wing.
In the chair beside his bed, Dumbledore sat, his fingers templed in front of his face as he watched Harry with a sad expression on his face.
"I'm so sorry, my boy," he murmured. "I was away from the school for a few hours earlier this evening, or I would have realised that you were outside much sooner."
Harry shook his head, frowning lightly. "It's… not your fault."
He was about to add that he was fine, that it was fine, but it really wasn't okay.
"Am I… did Professor Snape rescind his order?"
"I believe that your being unconscious rather nullified it, Harry," Dumbledore replied softly. "The curse cannot work if you can't make conscious decisions."
Harry nodded to show that he understood. He wasn't really sure what to say about any of it.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"We had a fight," Harry replied dully. "Snape—Professor Snape—was annoyed with me, because I wasn't getting the hang of a shield spell quickly enough. We argued, and he told me to 'get out'. The curse took it to mean 'out of the school', rather than 'out of the duelling room'."
Dumbleodre sighed. "What shield spell were you struggling with?"
"Phoenix shield," Harry replied.
"How long have you been trying to learn it?"
"A few days?" Harry offered. "Maybe a week? I've been trying to find a book with the theory in it, to see if that would help me figure it out, but there isn't any in the library. I asked Madam Pince yesterday, when I couldn't find any mention of it myself."
Anger seemed to burn in Dumbledore's eyes, and he nodded his head solemnly. "I'll return shortly, Harry, with Severus. I assume that the two of you haven't had any physical contact recently?"
"No, sir. Not since, uh, yesterday?"
"Technically, the day before yesterday, dear boy, since it's quite the middle of the night. I'll be back soon. Do rest, if you believe that you can."
Harry nodded, leaning back against the fluffy pillows. He knew that he wouldn't sleep, so he didn't bother taking his glasses off. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, and wondered if Dumbledore would chew the Potions Master out for putting Harry in danger.
Harry realised that he wasn't even particularly angry with the man himself. He felt… numb. About all of it. It was just so easy for Snape to discard him.
After the amount of time the two of them had spent together lately, Harry had thought that, even if Snape still didn't particularly like him, there was a begrudging respect building.
Enough so that he didn't want Harry to die, at least.
But he truly didn't care; that was clear now. He must have known that Harry wasn't in their quarters, and he still hadn't bothered to come and find him, despite knowing they needed the physical contact for the bond.
That hurt in a way that Harry never would have expected it to. Especially not from Snape. The man shouldn't have the ability to surprise or hurt Harry in such a way. You could only be hurt by those you care…
Harry blinked. The memories of the last weeks—months even—played through his mind like a movie, and he came to the sudden realisation that he'd somehow—
But no.
He couldn't.
Snape wasn't exactly…
Harry groaned, and turned over in the bed, curling himself up into a ball on his side. How could he have been so utterly fucking stupid?
What kind of an idiot falls in love with someone that shows them nothing but contempt and annoyance?
Harry was still trying to find an answer for that when Dumbledore returned, Snape a few paces behind him.
"Harry?"
It was said quietly, in case Harry was sleeping. He considered pretending, but sighed. Taking a settling breath, Harry flipped himself back over onto his back and looked at the Headmaster.
He avoided looking at Snape, but the glance of him as he turned had shown that the man was paler than Harry had ever seen him, and he looked… contrite?
Dumbledore retook the seat he'd vacated, and gestured for Snape to sit on the end of Harry's bed. Snape did so without argument, perching himself on the edge. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out for Harry, pressing his fingers around the wrist that Harry had untucked from the blankets.
Harry ignored him, keeping his attention firmly fixed on the Headmaster.
"Severus has assured me that this won't happen again, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "That said, I believe that it should be your choice on whether you want to keep the bond in place, or not. After such abhorrent actions, I wouldn't be surprised if you never wanted to even look at Severus again, let alone trust him in any capacity."
Harry glanced at Snape again, and then back at Dumbledore. "Releasing the bond will give everyone else the ability to order me around as they please. One horror is easier to deal with than infinite horrors."
He felt Snape flinch. Irritatingly, he actually felt guilty for being the cause of it. He cursed his own emotions silently.
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. I believe that, before anything else, I would like to teach you to do Patronus messages, harry. Just in case such a situation would arise again."
Harry agreed immediately. He'd been planning to learn how to do it as soon as he was released from the Hospital Wing anyway, and it would likely be much smoother with Dumbledore teaching him how to do it.
"Come to my office tomorrow evening, Harry. After dinner." He looked at Severus, and his gaze turned glacial. "I trust that you can control yourself if I were to leave you here with him, Severus?"
"Yes."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, and then pushed himself to his feet. He took a moment to ruffle Harry's hair before he left, smiling down at him. Harry returned the smile, and watched him leave. The silence in the Hospital Wing after his departure suddenly seemed deafening.
"If you'd prefer to return to your own bed, Poppy will release you into my care," Snape said, after a moment.
Harry shook his head. "I'm fine here, for tonight. You should go to bed, sir, it's late."
"The bond needs charging."
Harry was about to argue, and then he decided against it. Snape could suit himself. Harry couldn't allow himself to feel such ridiculous things for the man. He would have to…
How did you distance yourself from someone that you were already distant from?
Snape moved from the edge of the bed to the chair, pulling it closer to the bed. Harry shifted his arm, so it was hanging over the side and in easier reach, and then turned his head the other way.
He wouldn't sleep—couldn't—but he didn't have to talk to the man. Or look at him. Or even acknowledge him.
…
Severus watched Potter feign sleep in the hospital bed, and cursed himself for the umpteenth time that hour. How could he have been so stupid?
He genuinely hadn't realised that Potter had been forced outside by the damnable Obedience Curse.
When Severus had calmed down enough to return to their quarters—and when had he started thinking about his quarters as theirs anyway—the door to Potter's room was firmly shut, and Severus had fully believed that the brat was just sulking in there.
While he usually checked on him, he'd rather thought that after the things he'd said, he probably owed Potter the space, if he wanted it. When Potter didn't come out to charge the bond, Severus had thought that that was what was going on.
It had been, admittedly, a mistake on his part. Not one that he would repeat, but the damage had already been done.
Dumbledore had never been so angry, especially not with Severus. Not even when he was on his knees, begging for help to save Lily Potter.
He'd threatened Severus that if Harry was hurt, or put in any more danger by Severus' misuse of the Obedience Curse, he would remove Severus' ability to speak at all.
Severus had absolutely no doubt that the Headmaster would follow through on his threat. The glow of power in his eyes had been practically incandescent.
Sighing, Severus sat back in the chair, his arm outstretched but resting on the arm of the chair, holding onto Potter's wrist. He'd been there for a couple of hours, and he knew that he should probably go and attempt a few hours of sleep himself before the morning, but he couldn't quite bring himself to leave.
…
Three weeks later, Severus was exhausted, angry, and at his absolute wits end, and he only had himself to blame for it. Never did he believe that he would actually miss Harry Potter, and yet, that was the situation that he'd found himself in.
And he couldn't even blame Potter for it, which was galling.
Ever since their argument—and the subsequent stay in the Hospital Wing—Potter had been cold and aloof.
And worse, he'd performed every single spell that Severus asked of him perfectly, flawless at them within twenty four hours of their mention. Severus could see that the boy was working himself to the bone, and again, he'd distanced himself from his friends, though this time at least, it didn't seem like it was intentional.
Regardless of that, Severus had realised just how warm and accepting Potter had been before. He'd never really paid much attention to it, until he no longer had it.
They still spent hours together at a time, either duelling or charging the bond between them, but Potter no longer attempted any kind of conversation. He didn't engage Severus' questions beyond the bare minimum.
He didn't even argue back, the few times that Severus had tried to bait him into it.
He just worked, and worked, and worked, and it was almost like he'd utterly frozen himself off from Severus; like he'd cut off any feelings of camaraderie or warmth that he'd been growing, that Seevrus hadn't even noticed until they were no longer there.
Leaning against his desk, Severus ran a hand through his hair, and he dropped his chin to his chest.
He missed Potter.
And he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do about that.
…
Harry knew that the change in him had been noticed. Even Dumbledore had asked him if he was okay a few times, worry clouding his expression. Harry hadn't known how to explain that he was just trying to not be in love with Snape.
It wouldn't be so bad if there was any kind of degree of separation between them, but Harry had classes with the man, he had private duelling tutoring with him, he had a bond with him that required daily physical contact, and he lived with him.
There was no real escape.
Not only that, but since Harry had been in the Hospital Wing, Snape had been… kind. Calm. He'd even attempted to engage Harry in conversation, when before, it had been like pulling teeth trying to get the man to debate spells with him in the evenings, instead of sitting in silence.
Harry had done his best to ignore it all, he'd tried his hardest to cut his feelings off at the root, but of course, it wasn't working. People had always told Harry that his emotions were his greatest strength, but Harry wasn't sure how that could be true when he seemingly had absolutely no control over them at all.
Running his hand through his hair, Harry considered his plans for the evening. He didn't have any training, and Snape would be supervising detentions until late, so they wouldn't be charging the bond until after curfew.
He had a few hours to kill.
He considered the merits of spending the evening in his bedroom, where he'd have the peace to study at his own leisure, but for a change, he found that he actually wanted company.
Decision made, he gathered his books and left the quarters he shared with Snape and made his way up to the library. Unsurprisingly, he found Ron and Hermione camped out at their usual table towards the back.
Ron grinned at him, the first to see him approaching. He hadn't been studying. He'd been leaning back on his chair, apparently trying to tell out the lean, to see how far he could go without falling.
Hermione was half hidden behind a stack of books, and only realised that he was there when he pulled out a chair at the table.
Harry was about to lay his books out, when Ron wavered on the chair, and then fell back, sprawling on the floor with a shocked expression on his face.
Laughing, Harry shook his head at his best friend, while Hermione reprimanded him about messing around in the library.
They studied in mostly silence for a while, occasionally pausing to ask a question about the material, or in Ron's case, complaining about the sheer amount of studying they'd been doing.
Only when Hermione commented on the time did Harry realise that it was almost curfew, and Snape would be expecting him back any time now.
He sighed, and gathered his books up, sliding them back into his bag. If he wasn't back in time, Snape would be a snarky asshole all night, and honestly, nobody needed that.
He bid his friends goodnight, and made his way down to the dungeons. He'd almost made it past the Great Hall when an alarm sounded through the school, loud enough that Harry clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to try and block out the worst of it.
"The school is under attack. All students return to your houses immediately. The school is under attack. All students return to your houses immediately."
Dumbledore's voice spurred Harry into action, and he practically flew down the stairs to Snape's quarters. He was changing into his battle wear when Snape burst in, looking for him.
"Potter—"
"Don't order me to stay here," Harry said, shaking his head. "This is my job, one way or another."
Snape stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded his head. "I… you're right."
Harry nodded at him, and then tucked his wand into it's holster on his arm.
"Potter?"
"Hmm?"
"Be careful."
Harry felt the order take effect, and his spine straightened slightly. He swallowed hard.
"I know that I can't order you to do anything, but… you too."
…
The school was in ruins. As hard as they had tried to keep the approaching army out on the grounds, they'd spilled into the halls and classrooms.
Harry was exhausted, but he pushed on, engaging whenever he could—or whenever he was forced to—as he made his way back into the school.
He found Voldemort in the Great Hall, fighting Dumbledore. Across the room, he could see Snape entering from the other side, and a wave of fear filled him. Snape was almost as wanted by Voldemort as Harry was himself.
He fought his way closer, downing the Death Eaters as he could. Snape seemed to be doing the same thing, and they met near the middle of the Hall.
"Severus," Voldemort hissed, turning slightly away from Dumbledore, who'd shielded himself for a moment, clearly tiring from the battle.
Harry tried to distract him, but Voldemort shot a spell at him that he didn't recognise, forcing him to fling himself out of the way. You couldn't shield against things you didn't recognise. He'd barely regained his footing when green light shot out of Voldemort's wand, aiming directly at Severus.
"No!" Harry screamed, running to block it.
"Potter, move!" Snape shouted.
Harry stumbled, the order forcing him to skid to a stop, but he pushed past it, ignoring the increasing pain from denying the curse that had ruled him for months, and he managed to intercept the killing curse before it could hit the man he reluctantly loved.
…
Why was he in Kings Cross Station?
Harry looked around, frowning. Everything seemed hazy, as though there was a layer of fog around him, but he was very clearly in the train station. He stood up from the bench he'd found himself sitting on, and took a few steps.
"Harry?"
He spun around and then froze on the spot, staring at the beautiful red-haired woman walking closer to him.
"Mum?"
"Oh, Harry," she murmured, opening her arms as they moved towards each other. Harry practically fell into her embrace, pressing his face against her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
"Did I save him?" Harry asked, after a moment.
"Hmm?" She pulled back enough so that she could look at him.
"Snape?" Harry asked. "Did I save him?"
She smiled at him. "Of course you did, darling. You've saved them all, you know?"
"How?"
"When he attacked you when you were a baby, you know that I managed to protect you with my own death?"
He nodded to show that he understood, and she smiled at him, squeezing his hand.
"Sacrifice and love are magics that Voldemort will never understand. It broke a part of his soul off him, and it latches onto the only living thing in the house." She stroked a hand over his scar. "I don't believe he intended to do it, but that was how he managed to come back to life. There was still a part of his soul in the world, so he couldn't truly die, you see?"
"Is it… is it still in me?"
She shook her head. "No, no. He's just removed it himself, actually."
"Ah. I'm… dead now? And so is he?"
"Not quite, Harry. On either matter."
"I…" Harry frowned. "I don't understand, Mum."
She chuckled lightly. "You can go back, baby. He's still there right now, unconscious, just like you are, but there's nothing tying him to the world now. When he dies… when he dies, it's over. Your life will be yours to live and enjoy."
"Do I still have to be the one to kill him?"
"Have to?" She shook her head. "No, I expect not. But I believe that I know you, my darling. I've watched you grow for so long, and… I believe that you will be the one to rid the world of him."
"I can't… Can I stay here? With you?"
"You can choose, if you'd like, to remain dead," she offered, though he noticed the sadness in her eyes as she said it. "Or you could go back, and live a wonderful life."
"You want me to go back."
"I do," she agreed. "You don't belong with us yet, Harry, but we'll be watching over you. We're happy to wait for you."
"I'm so tired, Mum."
"I know, darling. But… you broke the Obedience Curse. You have so much to gain by going back to the living world, Harry."
"I broke it?"
"You disobeyed Severus," she pointed out. "You saved him even though he ordered you to move. You broke it through will power… and love."
Harry blinked at that, and he thought that, had he been in the real world, he would have blushed all over. "Do Dad and Sirius… know?"
She chuckled lightly, and brushed his hair from his face. "They do. They want you to be happy, Harry. If Severus is your path to happiness…" she pulled him into another hug, and part of Harry just wanted to stay in her arms forever. "Do what you need to do. I love you, Harry."
Reluctantly, he pulled away. He knew where he was going, and who knew how long it was before he would see her again.
"I love you too, Mum."
…
"...stupid, idiotic, saviour-complex-having, moron, wake up, Potter, right now, or I swear to Merlin, I'll—"
Harry shifted slightly, and then opened his eyes. Snape was leaning over him, and when he saw that Harry was awake—was alive—he huffed out a puff of air and seemed to sag in on himself.
"You're never allowed to do that again, Potter," he muttered. "DO you hear me? Never again."
Harry turned his head to see that Voldemort was shifting, and he pushed himself to his feet at the same moment the Dark Lord did.
Across the room, Dumbledore was watching him, pride blazing in his eyes as Harry nodded to him. He would do this.
Gently but firmly, Harry pushed Snape out of the way. "I have a job to do, sir, if you'll excuse me."
He didn't know where he found the energy from, but find it he did. Voldemort was fast, he was ruthless, and he still had a repertoire of spells that Harry could only ever dream of, but there was something different about him.
Almost as if being unconscious had knocked his magic off kilter.
Harry pushed and he pushed, tumbling out of the way of killing curses, and returning fire with an offensive that he didn't even know he was capable of, despite the many duelling sessions.
And then, as it had when Harry had been fourteen, their spells connected mid air. Instead of Priori Incantatum though, Harry's spell—Expelliarmus once again—overpowered Voldemort's killing curse, sending both spells back in the direction of the Dark Lord.
As his wand flew from his hand, his rebounded Avada Kedavra hit Voldemort directly in the chest, and he fell, almost as if in slow motion, to the floor, his body bouncing slightly before it settled, unmoving.
Harry caught the wand that sailed towards him, the brother wand to his own, and Dumbledore checked the corpse of the Dark Lord, as around the Great Hall, Death Eaters were subdued by the Order, and the Aurors.
"You did it, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to look at Harry. "You did it."
Harry, having been waiting for those words, allowed himself to flag, sliding down the wall he was leaning on until he hit the floor, his legs bent in front of him, two wands still clutched in his hands.
He'd done it.
It was finally over.
…
Since Poppy had been satisfied that Harry wasn't going to keel over after the battle with Voldemort—what had taken three days—and had finally released him, Harry had only seen Snape once outside of classes, and the Great Hall.
He'd gone to his quarters to pick up a book that he'd left behind in the living room. Knocking on the door, he'd been surprised when he was still admitted entrance the way that he had when he'd been living there.
He'd found Snape sitting on the sofa, flipping a silver sickle between his fingers, a half drunk bottle of Ogden's Finest on the coffee table, and a tumbler that was almost empty.
"Potter?"
"Professor," Harry replied, nodding his head. "I just came to pick up a book that I, uh, left in here somewhere?"
Snape nodded, and picked up the book in question from the other arm of the sofa.
"Thanks," Harry murmured, when the book was handed over to him. "I… I'll leave you to it."
He'd almost made it to the door when Snape called him back.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Hmm?"
"Jumping in front of the Killing Curse like that? To save me. Why?"
Harry couldn't answer that truthfully—even if he wanted to, he knew that Snape didn't actually want the truth, not about this.
"Instinct, sir."
"It cannot be merely instinct when you disobey an Obedience Curse to do so, Potter. That takes an unprecedented amount of determination."
Harry was impressed that the man could still speak so eloquently when he was very clearly inebriated.
"Then… I suppose it was because… I didn't want you to die," Harry replied softly. "Have a good night, sir."
…
He passed his NEWTs well. Hermione, of course, was the best overall in their year, but surprisingly, Harry was a closer than expected second. Or, perhaps not all that surprising, given he'd spent much of the year with his head buried in a book.
He'd decided to defer the Auror Academy for the time being; Dumbledore had spoken to him about getting a mastery in Defence, in order to return to Hogwarts to teach, and the idea had taken root in Harry's mind and stayed there.
Not only the promise of being able to return home to Hogwarts, but the thought of teaching; he'd enjoyed it when he was in his fifth year, with Dumbledore's Army, and he wanted nothing more in his life than a job that he actually enjoyed, that didn't seem like a chore.
Continuous fighting, which was what his life would be should he join the Aurors, as most people seemed to expect him to do, seemed like a chore, and a life that he would be living for others, rather than for himself.
Despite his plans, their last night in the castle—for now, at least—had arrived before Harry was truly ready for it.
He stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, gazing out over the grounds. It had once been a favourite place of his, but he hadn't been up there since Malfoy had ordered him to throw himself off it.
Still, it seemed fitting to spend his last night as a student up there, as he'd spent many a night before. It felt strange, to know that he was done being a student.
Part of him felt like he'd grown up years ago, but there was a small part of him that still clung to the promise of safety, and home, that the castle had always offered him.
"I should have known that you'd break curfew on your last night here, shouldn't I?"
He turned to see Snape walking towards him.
Harry smiled lightly. "Well, I don't suppose that I have to fear detention anymore, sir."
"I could remove points."
"You could," Harry offered. "But the House Cup has already been awarded, and I very much doubt that Dumbledore will let any house start the year on negative points."
"Unfortunately, you're correct about that," Snape replied, with the air of a man who knew such a thing from experience. Harry didn't doubt that he did. "He told me that you're planning to gain your Mastery in Defence?"
"Yes."
"And that you're also planning to come back here to teach, once you have it?"
"Eventually," Harry replied.
"That's…" he cut himself off, and then nodded his head. "That's good, Potter. I think that you'll be a good teacher."
Harry raised his eyebrow. "Was that a compliment? Wonders will never cease."
"Don't think that I won't assign you an overnight detention, Potter."
Harry laughed, and then said, "I think that I'll travel this summer. See somewhere new. And warm. With a beach."
"You've earned it."
"You, uh, you could come with me?"
Snape's brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"
Harry sighed. "Because… because I think that you've earned it too. And because… Merlin help me, I've missed you. Since I… having my own room wasn't… I missed you."
"Potter…"
"You know why I was able to break the Obedience Curse, don't you?"
"I… it's the only explanation that fits," Snape agreed softly. "I don't understand it, but…" he shook his head. "You should go out into the world on your own, Potter. Find out what you want from life. From people. Find someone young, and… and less damaged than I am."
"You don't have to let me down easily," Harry murmured. "I didn't expect anything to come from it. I hope you know that. I don't expect you to… well. Anything, really. Why would you? But I'm glad that you know."
"Why?"
Harry's lips tilted up in a small smile. "Everyone deserves to know that they're loved, Severus. And you are. Even if you don't actually want it."
"You're seventeen."
"I know."
"You don't know what you want."
"Is that right?"
"Potter—"
"You can tell me that you're not interested, and I'll accept it," Harry replied, interrupting gently. "You can tell me that you don't love me, and I'll accept that. I don't accept you telling me that I don't know what I want. They're my feelings."
The silence was charged, and Harry was about to turn and leave when Snape spoke.
"Where are you going?"
"Hmm?"
"On your summer trip. Where do you plan on going?"
Harry tilted his head, smiling slightly again. "I'm open to suggestions."
"I… wouldn't be averse to a trip to Tunisia. There are a few forests there that are, apparently, a veritable gold mine of potions ingredients."
Harry's smile widened. "Tunisia. We can do that."
A calloused hand slipped into his own, wrapping around Harry's smaller hand, and squeezed.
Harry squeezed back.
…
Epilogue
…
"Do you and Severus have any plans for the summer?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, as the end of year staff meeting concluded, and everyone packed up.
Harry had been sitting beside her, and she'd turned her attention to him as the noise in the room grew, the staff chatting amongst themselves about their summer plans.
He smiled and nodded. "We're going to Tunisia again this year. We'll be back a week before the new term starts though."
"That'll be nice," she replied, smiling softly at him. "I hope that the two of you have a fantastic summer."
Severus wrapped his arms around Harry's waist from behind, and kissed the side of his head. "We will."