CHAPTER 8 - ARGUMENTS AND DECISIONS

After a few days, Snape was getting stronger. He still couldn't walk to the bathroom unassisted, but he needed Harry's help and support less and less every day, and he was gaining in confidence. Harry was sure to remind Snape of his improvement, to encourage him and so that he would remember it.

His frustration sometimes got the better of him, and he sometimes reverted to his bitter, sharp-tongued self. Harry, however, chose not to pay too much attention to Snape's jabs and sarcastic remarks, he knew the reason behind them. He couldn't deny, though, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that the remarks that would've made him angry months ago now made him… hurt.

Harry still had difficulty processing and understanding his own reactions.

Why did he feel hurt at Snape's words, when normally he felt anger and hatred? He had spent enough hours lying on the couch in the common room, analysing everything Snape had said to him, and now he felt uncomfortably in pain.

Why did he care what Snape said? He never did before, or so he thought.

But that wasn't true.

He had cared. Snape had known from the beginning what buttons to push to rile him up, and he always managed to get a reaction from Harry. The difference was that his reactions before were of anger and rage. Now, he was hurt.

That particular morning Snape was definitely not in the mood. His expression was tense and his scowl more pronounced, and Harry didn't know what was worse: his sarcastic remarks or his silence.

"Do you want me to read the news?" Harry asked once the trip to the bathroom was done and the bandages were changed.

Snape didn't reply, he didn't even acknowledge Harry's question. Feeling as if he was bothering him, and for some reason feeling upset by that, Harry sighed and got up from the bed.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, then," he said before leaving the room.

Harry tried to pretend he didn't care when he drew the curtains, and Snape hadn't even looked at him once.

He focused on cleaning.

He had finished with the Gryffindor Tower, and he was now helping Professor Flitwick with some classrooms on the first floor. They were the ones that were needed the earliest, as they would be used if they were unable to finish the rest of the refurbishment work on time. Harry scrubbed the floors by hand, kneeling on the stone floor; the physical activity a welcome distraction to his jumbled and troubled mind.

Why, why had he insisted on helping Snape?

For days now, Snape had almost reverted to his cruel, sarcastic self. Harry had to admit that it wasn't to the extreme it had been, but that could've been perhaps because Harry had promised himself he wouldn't take Snape's bait.

No matter what Snape said about him, his father, his friends… he would not reply to his comments, because that was what he was looking for. He was looking for an excuse to explode, to let go of all the pent-up frustration and anger he held inside. With no magic and no way to move, he could only resort to his words.

Harry shook his head and scrubbed harder at a particularly dark stain on the floor that Merlin only knew how many years it had been there.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of magic inside of him.

He instantly recognized the same type of magic that he felt that day, just a few weeks back, when he'd noticed the same kind of magic. That day, it came as soon as it had left, and there were no traces of that magic.

This time, it was powerful. Incredibly powerful, and it was calling insistently to Harry. He jumped to his feet and threw the brush to the floor, alert, looking around for the source of the magic. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he looked around, wand in hand.

"Who's there?" he asked, but nobody replied.

For some reason he couldn't comprehend, that magic didn't feel threatening. He had felt Voldemort's magic in his mind for almost as long as he'd been alive. So, he was intrinsically familiar with the uncomfortable feeling of having a part of him rebel against himself. It always felt like something wasn't right; like something was out of place.

Now, this magic felt familiar, welcoming and warm. But it was insistent, it was as if something, or someone, needed him.

And it needed him now.

He let the magic pull him, a bit wary but also fascinated by this strange pull he felt, until his feet took him to the Hospital Wing. Once he was close, he heard a feminine voice, which he recognized as McGonagall's. She seemed to be engaged in an argument, the voice was raised, but the only occupant of the room was Snape himself.

Harry worried, remembering what McGonagall had tried to do when Snape was in a coma. This was obviously a private conversation, but Harry was unable to ignore the urgency of the magic screaming inside his head. So, against his rational judgement and following his instincts, he pushed open the wooden door.

McGonagall was standing at the foot of the bed, her expression stern and tense, her eyes angry. Snape was sitting on his bed, propped with some pillows on his back and he had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face looking away, through the window. But when both heard the door pushed open Snape looked at him.

Snape's gaze fell onto him, and for one second, just one split second, something flickered in his expression. It was so fast Harry had to convince himself he hadn't imagined it. Snape's features softened; his eyebrows lifted slightly, and his eyes seemed to widen. When their gazes locked, there was something in those dark depths.

A plea.

"Potter? Is something the matter?" McGonagall asked, looking at him through her small glasses.

"No, Professor," Harry said, clearing his throat and thinking desperately of a white lie. "I was just coming to visit Sn-Professor Snape, as I've been doing every day to change his bandages…"

"I thought they were changed morning and evening," said McGonagall, raising an eyebrow, suspicion arising in her expression.

Harry swallowed.

"Well, yes, but they need to be changed often. Now that he is moving more, we don't want to risk any infections or the wound re-opening itself," Harry said.

He knew McGonagall hadn't believed him, it was the worst lie he'd ever told, and she was looking at him as if scrutinizing him. He fought against the instinct to swallow and he consciously kept his hands to his sides, relaxed.

"Right, well, as you can see, Professor Snape is a bit busy at the moment…"

"Leave him be, Minerva," Snape interrupted, his voice brittle and throaty still, "we can finish this another time."

"Oh yes, we will. Don't you think you'll run away this time," McGonagall grumbled, "I'll come by later, and make sure this time we are not interrupted."

With a nod of her head to Harry, her eyes hard, McGonagall left the room visibly annoyed and displeased.

They were alone.

As she left, Harry walked towards Snape, who had turned his head away and was looking through the window once again.

Harry was puzzled. He was now convinced that what he'd felt had something to do with Snape. But what?

Before he sat on his chair, Harry conjured a teapot and two cups. He served tea to Snape's liking as he'd done countless times in the last few weeks, adding a splash of milk and no sugar. And then he served tea for himself, adding two lumps of sugar but no milk.

"The amount of sugar you ingest must be killing your insides, Potter," Snape mentioned as he took the cup with a nod of his head.

"What can I say? I'm making up for lost time during my childhood," Harry replied with a silly smile, which made Snape snort and hide his expression behind his cup. But Harry could see his eyes.

Harry took a sip of his own, scalding tea, and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweetness of the drink.

"Why are you here, Potter? Really. Your daily visits are never at this time," Snape asked, one of his eyebrows raising in suspicion.

Harry swallowed and hid his confusion behind his cuppa.

"I was just… bored. I've been scrubbing the floors and cleaning the empty classrooms on the first floor. There's so many chewing gum and disgusting stains one can handle," Harry told him, "I didn't realize McGonagall would be here."

"Professor McGonagall, Potter. Yes, well. She's quite angry with me still," Snape said as his shoulders slumped.

"Were you… friends?"

"I want to believe we were. We were a good team, the three of us, Minerva, me and the… Headmaster," Snape said, swallowing with difficulty at the mention of the latter.

He took a breath, almost about to say something, but then he closed his mouth.

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

He lowered his gaze, focusing on the cup of tea in his hands. Harry hated to see Snape so dejected, his shoulders slumped, his expression blank.

He shook his head.

Harry sighed, he already knew the answer before he asked. But of course, Snape would never tell him anything, even if he did ask, even if he gave him the chance to speak up and rant. Even if he just listened.

When the tea was finished, Harry got up, ready to eat his lunch.

"I'll be back this evening," he said.

"Don't bother," he seemed to hear before he closed the door of the Hospital Wing.

It was all very strange.

Very, very strange.

Harry had left the Hospital Wing with his head full of thoughts and questions, but nothing seemed to make sense.

Snape and McGonagall had argued, that much was clear. And it was something that irritated McGonagall, judging from her tense and annoyed expression when Harry entered the room.

And Snape… he'd looked deflated. Once McGonagall had left the room, his expression was dejected, vacant. As if he'd lost something he had no way of recovering.

And then, there was the strange bit of magic.

The first time it had happened Harry had no idea where it had come from or what it was, but this time, he was sure it was somehow connected to Snape. The magical source was incredibly powerful this time, it had been screaming for him. And when he let it guide him to where he needed to go, it took him straight to the Hospital Wing.

Snape's expression… Harry couldn't forget his eyes. Pleading with him. He had never seen such a need in Snape's eyes before. Those eyes held so many emotions that Harry couldn't understand how he'd ever thought they held nothing but loathing and contempt.

That's not what he saw this time.

Harry wandered around the Hogwarts grounds, not having a destination in mind, just walking. He walked around the lake, looking at the dark green of the Scottish highlands. It was a drastic and welcome change to the usually humid and hot summers of Surrey. The gentle breeze was cool against his skin, and his eyes swept across the lake and its surrounding mountains.

From where he was he could see the castle in all its glory. The towers that had been half in ruin and on fire only a few weeks ago were returning to their original state. There were still traces of the battle, but the Professors were all working to repair the school so it would be in perfect condition when the students arrived in a few weeks.

Harry came to a clearing beside the lake full of rocks and trees. He sat down on the ground, his back resting against the tree, looking out at the lake. The water was shallow in this part, the gentle waves of the water coming very near him, but they never touched him.

His thoughts were still focused on Snape and what was going on with him. A part of him chastised him for thinking so much about the Potions Master and former Headmaster. But he counter-argued it by thinking that it was only normal: he was alone in the castle, and his only jobs were the reparations of the school and Snape. Was it really so odd?

Harry felt that strange pull again, this time not as sudden or insistent as before. It was more of an undercurrent of his thoughts, an instinctual desire to just rush to the Hospital Wing and stay with Snape, to comfort him.

Comfort.

Was that really what Snape wanted from him?

His pleading eyes had seemingly asked for it, but it had lasted only a second, and then his expression had returned to his usual neutrality. And then, the last words Snape had said… there was something else at play here, something that Harry had yet to uncover.

An owl appeared in the distance, flying straight to him. He recognized it as the owl he'd sent to the Weasley family, and he assumed was coming with Hermione's reply, as the owl left the package on his lap.

He barely had time to thank the animal before it flew back to the owlery, probably to eat and rest. Harry held the letter and opened it, immediately recognising Hermione's handwriting.

Dear Harry,

I'm so glad he's awake! And I'm even more surprised he hasn't hexed you yet. Ron says it's only a matter of time, and reminds you to be careful.

I've also got good news! I managed to reverse my parents' Memory Charm. It took a visit to St Mungo's, but by that time I had already managed to reverse some of it and at least they knew who and what I was.

I'm sure it'll come as no surprise to you, but I've decided to return to Hogwarts for our last year and take our NEWTs. Ron's still thinking about it, but what about you? Have you decided?

Let's meet up at Diagon Alley once the Hogwarts letters are sent, shall we? Ginny also is coming back for a redo of her final year. She sends you love, by the way.

Take care of yourself, and him,

Hermione

Harry smiled, pocketing Hermione's letter for later. Her words had sparked memories of the stolen moments with Ginny here, at the Hogwarts grounds, that were running through his mind.

"Hey, 'Arry, what are ye doin' 'ere?" said a voice behind him, and Harry didn't have to turn around to know that it was Hagrid.

"Hey, Hagrid," he said turning around to face his friend, "nothing, just thinking. I've got a lot of time on my hands now."

"Are ye not with Snape?" Hagrid asked.

Harry felt heat rushing to his cheeks, and he looked down.

"I don't spend every minute with him, you know," he said, his voice a bit embarrassed.

Hagrid only laughed.

"Really? No one would say that, from the looks of it," Hagrid said, a big smile showing beneath the beard, "wanna 'elp me with them thestrals?"

Harry then realized that Hagrid was carrying a huge leather bag on his back, and it was dripping something red. Upon coming closer he realized was blood.

"Sure," he said, welcoming the distraction.

They walked together through the woods, Hagrid puffing and panting as he carried the huge bag full of raw meat.

Harry grabbed his wand and without moving his lips, he conjured an incantation. Hagrid noticed the change immediately.

"Oh, thanks 'Arry, that thing was 'eavier than a full-grown Kneazle!" he exclaimed, now carrying the bag better on his back.

Harry only smiled.

He heard the thestrals' cries and noises before he saw them, and Harry let Hagrid approach them first. It was a family of seven members, and one of them was a baby, it must've been born not many weeks before. The mother must've been heavily pregnant when the battle happened, and Harry marvelled at how it had survived.

"Were many killed?" Harry asked Hagrid.

Hagrid nodded.

"A few," he replied, "thankfully, they went deep within the forest and avoided a massacre, but a few encountered Death Eaters and were killed on sight. I managed to save this baby's mother before I was captured…"

Hagrid smiled as the baby came to him, smelling his big and rough hands, which were dirty with dried blood. The baby thestral began to lap at Hagrid's hands, licking off the blood.

"Oh, 'ere, eat this," Hagrid said as he took a small piece of meat and gave it to the baby.

Harry observed the rest of the herd. They were all observing at a prudent distance, except for one, who had come much closer than the others and was now smelling Harry from a short distance.

"That's the mother," Hagrid said as he gestured to the bigger thestral coming closer to Harry, "she just wants to make sure you're safe."

Harry smiled as he let the mother come and smell him. He reached for the bag and his movement made the mother jump away, scared, but Harry shushed.

"It's alright, it's just food," he told her as he leaned forward, his knees touching the ground, "come on, come here…"

The mother kept smelling a bit longer. But the smell of the meat must've been irresistible, and she soon treaded towards Harry and began to eat the meat Harry had left in front of him.

He didn't dare to touch her, not wanting to bother her eating, and then he noticed the baby jumping around. He laughed as the baby made more and more silly jumps, trying to catch his tail and opening and flapping his dark wings.

The mother kept eating, her eyes darting towards her foal every once in a while, but she seemed quite calm.

Suddenly, Harry felt something wet on his arm. He looked to his left and saw that the baby had lay down beside him, his snout touching and smelling his arm.

"Oh, hey you," Harry said. His hands started to pat the baby on the snout and the upper part of his nose, and the foal neighed in delight, his tongue coming up to lick at Harry's hand.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the silliness of the little foal. He kept stroking its snout and head, until finally it fell asleep, its head resting on Harry's lap.

"You may laugh, but I do think ye 'ave a keen eye for animals," Hagrid said, having taken the time to feed all the rest of the individuals of the herd.

He then sat down on a rock close to Harry, finding it hard to sit down on the ground. Harry turned towards him and smiled, the foal still sleeping on his lap.

"If they aren't as disgusting as flobberworms, I can get by," Harry replied with a smile.

They stayed for a while longer in the clearing, and when Hagrid told him it was time to go and let the animals be, he felt sad he had to go.

The foal was also sad, and he neighed at Harry, running and jumping around him while they walked away, until his mother stopped him. Then he neighed and screeched, his sounds quite unpleasant.

Harry turned around, observing the foal. He then stopped Hagrid and retraced his steps, going back to the baby, who ran towards him in delight. Harry knelt on the ground, letting the baby jump and run around him until he stopped in front of him.

"I'll be back," he said, touching the animal's snout and letting it lick his hand. Harry smiled at the tickles, and this time when he got up and began to walk, the foal stayed silent.

Once they were in clear view of the castle, Hagrid took the path to his Hut.

"Be sure to clean those hands of saliva, it isn't toxic but it can dry your skin pretty bad," Hagrid told him before Harry began to walk towards the castle.

Inside, Harry went straight to the Gryffindor tower and had a shower. Now that he was alone again, he was feeling a bit better, with a clearer head. He decided, for once, to eat dinner at the Great Hall.

Once he got inside he was surprised. The wooden tables had all been repaired and they looked as they always did, even better, but that wasn't what surprised Harry. The tables had been moved a bit to the centre but still left a big space in the middle, where a smaller, rectangular table was. The staff table was empty, Harry looked at the now clean and repaired sand clocks of the four Houses, the counter set to zero. Everything was getting ready for a new start of the course, and it would signify much more than just a regular start of a Hogwarts school year.

"Good evening, Professor Sinistra," Harry said as he sat down beside the only Professor present at the table. "I hope the reparations of the Astronomy tower are underway."

"Hello, Potter," she said, nodding her head, "yes, they are, thank you."

She couldn't say more, as they could hear chatter coming from outside. McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick entered the Great Hall, seemingly discussing something among themselves.

"Ah, Potter, haven't seen you in a while," Flitwick said as he jumped to a seat.

"No, I've been taking my meals at the Gryffindor tower since I'd been eating here alone anyway. But this is much better," Harry said as he saw the other Professors sitting on the empty chairs.

"Pomona's idea. She thought it was silly to have the student tables in use when the only student was you," McGonagall replied, "and this way we can also talk to each other much more comfortably."

At that moment Madame Pomfrey entered the Hall, puffing a bit.

"Excuse me, I'm late," she said, "Severus is a bit uncooperative today. Have you visited him, Potter?"

Harry nodded and was suddenly afraid that the white lie he'd told McGonagall would be exposed, as he never visited Snape at lunchtime.

"Yes, I did," Harry said and decided to own it. "In fact, I think I interrupted a conversation with the Headmistress," he turned towards McGonagall, "I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't know I was intruding."

McGonagall bowed a bit her head, acknowledging his apology.

"It's alright, Potter, Severus and I have a lot to discuss still. Strangely enough, he seemed to be relieved at your arrival," McGonagall said with a lopsided smirk.

"Snape and Potter in the same room without shouting insults at each other? I can hardly believe it," Flitwick commented as he almost snorted.

But nobody said anything else and Harry was saved from responding. He focused on his food until he could feel his cheeks were not burning with embarrassment, and then he looked up.

By the time he did so, the conversation had derived from Snape to the reparations, the books and what seemed most urgent: finding replacements for this year's Professors. Harry listened intently and learned that McGonagall was having trouble trying to find a replacement for a DADA teacher. Slughorn had agreed to return for one more year if it was needed, which would be of help.

Then, Harry paid keen attention as he learnt what was probably the topic of the argument between Snape and McGonagall.

"Severus is not telling me anything, he says he hasn't decided yet," she said, frustration evident on her face. "But I cannot send the letters or compose the list of materials and books until he gives me an answer."

"Will he return to the Headmaster post?" Sprout asked.

McGonagall shrugged, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

"I do not know, Pomona. For now, he says he's in recovery and doesn't want to talk about it, and he's being quite hostile about it," she replied.

Harry only listened, without interrupting or getting into the conversation, though he had thoughts of his own.

And his thoughts were, unsurprisingly perhaps, on Snape's side.

Didn't the Professors understand that Snape's life had taken a complete upheaval? That it must've been hard to recover, not only from his physical wounds but also his mental and emotional wounds?

Harry couldn't blame him for not having decided what to do yet. He could understand the urgency in wanting to have an answer as soon as possible, but really, nobody could blame him for taking longer to decide. For the first time ever, he was able to decide whether he wanted to stay or not. And that was something huge.

Harry finished his dinner quickly, suddenly desirous to see Snape. He got up from the table when the Professors were still finishing their dessert.

"Have a good evening, Professors," Harry said to the table in general, and then he left for the Hospital Wing.

He knocked on the door before entering, a bit apprehensive at being there. Snape had told him not to bother, but Harry had spent the entire afternoon worried about him. And now, after hearing the conversation among the Professors, he knew this was definitely bothering Snape.

And he couldn't forget that something. He didn't know what, but that little something told him that Snape had been upset at lunchtime by the conversation with McGonagall.

When he entered the room, after receiving no reply, he saw the bed empty.

Harry's heart stopped beating for a second, and he looked around frantically, trying to locate the man.

"Snape? Where are you?!" he shouted, taking his wand off his pocket immediately, his stance on alert.

Nobody could enter Hogwarts, the wards were strong again, but where was Snape?

And then, the bathroom door opened and Snape emerged. He held onto the threshold for support, and his face was pale-white, with beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Snape? What are you doing out of bed?" Harry asked in alarm.

He felt he could breathe again, and he sighed with relief as he pocketed his wand.

"You should ask Pomfrey or myself to help you, that's what we're here for…" Harry said, walking up towards him.

However, as he came closer, Snape shoved him away, weakly.

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help," Snape hissed, "and much less from a damned Potter!"

Harry stood there, in shock at Snape's words.

He blinked, taken aback by the absolute loathing and hatred in his expression. Snape's eyes were open wide, his nose flared, and his lips curled into a hateful snarl.

"I said go! Get the fuck out!" Snape shouted, taking one step further as he shoved Harry again.

However, his knees gave out the moment he shoved Harry away, and he fell to the floor. When he did, he curled against himself, using the little hospital gown to cover as much of himself as he could, refusing to look at Harry or meet his gaze.

Harry was in shock and hurt. He closed his hands in fists, willing the anger that threatened to bubble to calm down, and he took a deep breath.

Snape had curled up on the floor, using his gown to cover his long, pale legs. But he was too lanky and the gown was too small. He looked almost pitiful, hiding his face in his arms, avoiding Harry's gaze.

He was obviously hurting. And he needed help getting back to bed.

So, Harry slowly walked towards him. He knelt in front of him and placed one hand on Snape's arm. He could feel him jump at the contact, the entire body tense as a ramrod.

"Hate my father all you want," Harry said, his voice strained, "but I think I've proved to you time and time again that I'm Not. Fucking. James."

Clenching his jaw and trying to control his own emotions, Harry picked Snape up in his arms. Despite the tone of his words, he truly didn't want to harm Snape, so he tried to be as gentle as he'd been all the times before. This time, though, he could feel how Snape's body was straight, tense and rigid. Harry breathed hard, trying to slow down his heart and the thousand thoughts running in his head.

Once on the bed, he covered Snape's legs with the bedsheets and spent some time moving the pillows under his back and head so he could be comfortable.

"I told you to leave," Snape said, his voice tense, brittle, "why did you have to come back?"

"And I told you. I made a promise to McGonagall and myself that I'd help you heal," Harry replied, his voice equally tense.

"Playing the hero again, Potter? I don't need your help," Snape snarled, "just like your father, you're…"

"Shut it with my father, will you?!" Harry shouted at him.

He clenched his jaw, his teeth rattling under the pressure and he clenched his hands into fists, so hard he was sure he would draw blood.

"If you want to hate me, do it for myself, Snape. I'm sick and tired of your attitude towards me," Harry said, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "I have helped you all these months not to play hero, not for any sick and morbid personal satisfaction. Not even for you to feel indebted to me. But because I wanted to help, and because I felt I owed you."

He stopped, biting the inside of his cheek as he breathed hard. Snape looked away, even at Harry's insistent gaze.

"I know you hate me and hate me seeing you like this, but I've tried to make you as comfortable as I could, even if it was me. And I told you I won't hurt you or use any of this against you. So, will you fucking drop it?"

Snape smirked, his lips drawing a cruel smile.

"You have his attitude, he too did whatever he wanted, disregarding-"

"Oh, really? And tell me, am I as stubborn as my mother? Do I have her temper?" Harry asked.

At the mention of Harry's mother, Snape's eyes widened, his mouth slacked open, and didn't reply.

Harry sighed, realising what he'd said in anger. His shoulders deflated and ran a hand through his hair. He had let his temper get the best of him.

"Sorry. Shouldn't have said that," Harry said, looking down.

He then sat on the chair and took a few deep breaths to calm down before he spoke. When he did, his voice sounded more like himself.

"Look… I know my father was awful to you, and believe me, I would change the past if I could. He and his friends were bullies and there's no way I can ever justify what they did to you," Harry said.

"I don't want your pity, Potter. You can take it and shove it-"

"It's not pity, aren't you bloody listening?" Harry said, his voice raising, and he got aware of it. He clenched his fists again, "you've seen enough of my memories to know that I was bullied too. I know what it is to be assaulted by people bigger than you, by people who outnumber you, that's how they feel braver."

"Are you saying we have something in common?"

"I am," Harry said, firmly, "you know I'm telling the truth, Snape, you know we're more alike than you want to admit. Forget about that Potter of your school days, that wasn't me. We couldn't be more different! If you want to hate me, if you want to shove me and call me names, do it to me. Don't do it for my dad or my mum."

Harry was breathing hard after he spoke, so he sat back down, his eyes focusing on the flickering candle close to Snape's head. The light was flickering, the flame undulating and creating a beautiful light that warmed Snape's expression.

"I could never hate your mother," Snape's voice came in a raspy whisper.

Harry breathed out and swallowed.

"I'm sorry, I won't mention her again if you don't want me to," Harry said in a softer voice. "But... even if I look like him, even if I have her eyes... I'm not them. I'm me. And I promise, I'm not here to hurt or make fun of you."

Snape didn't say anything, he didn't even look at Harry, looking away through the window. Dusk was still a bit away, but the light had begun to wind down, giving the sky a beautiful streak of pink, purple and orange colours.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry summoned the salve and clean bandages.

"Will you let me change your bandages, or would you rather do it yourself?" Harry asked.

Snape seemed to think about it for a second, but then, surprising Harry, he moved his head away to give Harry space to work.

Harry washed his hands and began to unwrap the bandage around Snape's neck. The air was tense, even tenser than it had been that same morning when Snape had been in a bad mood and uncooperative. This time, Snape was silent, letting Harry work as his eyes were focused on some point behind Harry's back.

Harry didn't even know what he was feeling, finding it difficult to tell his own emotions apart. He couldn't deny, though, that he was disappointed.

Over the last few weeks, Snape had managed to fool him. He'd made him believe he was capable of seeing Harry now, not the son of James Poter and not even the son of Lily Evans. Just Harry. They laughed together, shared a lot of time, and even had difficult conversations with each other.

Did that mean that everything he and Snape had been building over the last weeks had just been a ploy? A lie? Had Snape just been civil because he was helping him? Now it seemed that not even needing his help could prevent his sharp tongue from coming out.

"Did Minerva... say anything about me?" came Snape's brittle voice after a while.

Harry stopped, his fingers halting the massage they were providing to the wound, and he looked at Snape in the eyes.

They were shining. There were no tears to speak of, but they looked misty.

"Yes, she said you were uncooperative and didn't want to tell her whether you wanted to continue this term or not. She's quite annoyed. Is that what you were arguing about when I came?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded.

"She… hasn't forgiven me for my betrayal," Snape admitted.

Harry blinked.

"But… she knows it was all a plot, right? She knows you agreed with Dumbledore, that you weren't truly the Dark Lord's servant… you didn't betray us."

"And yet, I hid the truth from her. To her eyes, that's one and the same."

Now Harry understood why Snape looked so despondent and upset.

"But that isn't true, is it?" Harry said.

Snape only looked away, his shoulders hunching, his eyes soft and sad.

"Hey, now," Harry whispered in a low, rumbling voice, placing a finger under Snape's chin, "she will come round, you'll see. She knows the truth. Maybe she just needs a bit more time…"

Harry gently raised Snape's face, locking eyes with him, and something tugged at him when he saw Snape's lower lip quivering. He fought the movement quickly and bit his lip, hiding the trembling.

"She's pushing me to decide and give her an answer, but I cannot... I cannot handle her gaze..." Snape's voice broke, and the words died in his mouth.

"Shh, you're forcing your throat. Rest your voice," Harry whispered.

Harry let the salve jar gravitate towards the cupboard as he wrapped the clean bandages around Snape, being very gentle this time. His warm hand cupped Snape's cheek as he held the head in place while the other hand wrapped the bandage around. While he did this, his thumb stroked Snape's jawline, enjoying the whirring sound of his stubble.

"Just give her time. If you are still friends, she'll come round eventually," Harry said as he finished wrapping the bandages.

He took his wand to make the rest of the bandages disappear.

But when he was about to pull back, a cold, bony hand stopped him. He looked down, Snape's hand had grabbed his forearm, preventing him from moving. He raised his gaze, Snape was looking away, his hair covering almost his entire face. But his grip on Harry's forearm, the slight trembling of his hand, spoke volumes.

Foregoing the chair Harry sat on the mattress, facing Snape. His hand hadn't let go of his arm, and Harry smiled as he placed his hand on top of Snape's, and began rubbing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.

With his other hand, Harry conjured a cup of tea for him and some herbal tea for Snape. But when the teacup levitated towards Snape, a small whine escaped Snape's lips as he gripped Harry's forearm more strongly.

Harry leaned forward so he could be at Snape's eye level and their faces were really, really close. Snape was breathing hard, and his eyes bore into Harry's, wide and pleading.

"Shhh it's alright. I'm here still," Harry said, his voice rumbling.

Harry said nothing else but stayed in that same position, with his eyes locked onto Snape's. He stayed, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand, and gently murmuring words of encouragement.

Finally, it seemed that Snape's grip was loosening and his breathing was evening out. Harry didn't move until Snape let go of his arm, noticing how strong he'd clutched at him as soon as he let go, feeling the sweat.

Snape cleared his throat and blinked repeatedly, and then he breathed out. Harry then grabbed the cup of tea, still waiting beside Snape, and handed it to him. He then did the same with his own teacup and took a sip.

"I met a young thestral foal today," Harry said with a smile, "and he was the cutest thing I've ever seen…"

Not knowing why, Harry began to ramble and talk to him about his adventure with the thestral. As Harry explained how the foal had played with him, and how he'd finally fallen asleep on his lap, Snape's expression lost its edge and became more and more relaxed.

Harry didn't stop rambling until Severus was sitting a bit more straight on the bed, had drunk his herbal tea and his eyes were as clear as before.

He took a sip of his tea, the conversation with the Professors at dinnertime fresh in his mind still.

"So, I know you haven't told McGonagall yet. But do you want to discuss your options for this year, have you decided on anything?" Harry asked with caution.

Snape shook his head.

"I… don't want to be Headmaster, I'm sure of that," he replied, "but… I am unsure of whether to teach DADA, go back to Potions or stop teaching altogether…"

Harry nodded.

"Minerva thinks I'm being unreasonably stubborn just to spite her, but… I find I cannot decide," Snape continued.

"I understand. For the first time ever, you actually have a choice," Harry said, "it's okay to take your time. If McGonagall is pressuring you too much, you could always take a sabbatical and see if you'd like to return next year."

Snape then looked away, his hair coming to cover part of his face.

"I find… the idea of teaching for the mere pleasure of it, without playing any role, strangely appealing," he admitted in a low voice.

"You have part of your answer, then," Harry said, "I'd suggest teaching something that wouldn't require a lot of extra work. Remember you're still in recovery. Maybe Potions instead of Defense? You know the curriculum better and have been teaching it for years."

Snape nodded, accepting his advice, and took a sip of his herbal tea.

"Are your friends returning as well?" he asked.

"I just received a letter from Hermione, she definitely is," Harry said with a wide smile, "she would never miss her NEWTs. Ron, I'm not so sure, but he just might."

Snape then groaned, complaining about having to deal with "stubborn Gryffindors", but Harry only laughed. He could see behind Snape's grimace, the way his eyes looked at him, the way he had shifted in bed, and scooted just a tiny bit closer to him.

He was glad to be staying one more year. And Snape was too, though he would never admit it.

Notes:

Poor Severus, he doesn't know how to deal with so many emotions!
What did you think, did you find it was believable?
Anything you'd like to read in the coming chapters, any insights or predictions?
Let me know in the comments below!