CHAPTER 9: THINKING AND DISCUSSING

A few candlelights were flickering all around the Hospital Wing, the dark windows reflecting the light inside. The room was completely silent. Potter had just left a while ago, after spending the evening with him until well into the night. Severus didn't know what time it was, but he was sure it was late already, judging by how tired he felt.

Severus sighed as he stared at the stone ceiling, his mind conjuring the warm smile he had received before he left the Hospital Wing.

Potter.

Why the blasted boy insisted on helping him and staying through, Severus could not say. But there was something different about him.

Severus had already admitted to himself that Potter was not a boy anymore. And the stubble that he insisted on wearing, along with his hair that he hadn't cut and was growing long and wild, was an indication of that. Severus had never looked upon those emerald green eyes more than this month, and he felt like melting every time he did so. Those keen eyes, which before had looked at him with loathing, contempt and badly controlled fury, now were soft. There was not one time that Severus looked and had seen a flicker of anger, or hatred.

But it was more than that. It was his way of walking, of speaking. The confidence with which he gently held his head as he changed his bandages twice a day, the warmth of his hands as he rubbed the salve onto his neck wound. The warmth of his expression, and that blasted stubbornness of his.

I just want you to heal he'd said once, when Severus was feeling frustrated at his slow improvement.

Ever since Poppy had said he should be walking and up and about, Severus had been feeling dread all over him. He knew he wasn't ready, he felt his body weak, and it took him weeks to even be able to hold a cup of tea steady enough not to spill it all over himself.

The tranquillity and peacefulness that had been with him ever since he woke up from a coma had been disrupted by this constant pressure to be able to walk. To return to normalcy. Minerva had contributed to that, pressuring him to decide what he wanted to do, whether he was planning on staying and teaching or not.

And now, in the solitude of the Hospital Wing, Severus saw that he had taken his frustration and anger on Potter, who really just was trying to stay by his side.

Why, why had he even told Potter about Minerva?

About his inability to decide what to do with his future?

And why had he done that when he was on the verge of tears?

Now, he thought with a tremor, he had a future to contend with.

Before, he had only one thing in his future: fight for the cause, redeem his many mistakes and trespasses. And if he was about to die, then at least take some Death Eaters with him to the grave.

When he'd looked at Potter's eyes that last time, after having given him his memories, he knew it was the end. And deep inside he knew. He'd seen Potter grow up, he'd known him enough to know that he would fulfil his role. He knew he would sacrifice himself, that he would go and face the Dark Lord without drawing his wand.

He just hoped his sacrifice, as well as his own, would be enough.

And now, here he was. Two months after the battle, two months of a new world without the Dark Lord, without fear.

And yet, he felt more scared than ever before.

It wasn't that his path was not clear anymore, there was no path. It had disappeared. He felt like he was in the middle of a dark forest, not knowing where to go or what direction to turn.

And Potter, damned Potter, stayed. Stayed through his anger, his loathing, his frustration. And he seemed to understand him better than anyone else had ever done before, including Albus.

Potter must've been looking for something to fill his time. Severus had thought about that very often, at night when he was alone at the Hospital Wing. He used to wonder what Potter's reasoning for staying was.

He'd told him once, Minerva wanted him out. He wanted him gone to St Mungo's, and Potter had been the one preventing him from going, promising that he'd look after him. But that couldn't have been all.

And now, he dared to tell him that they were similar, that he understood what his life had been like. As if that was even possible, as if Harry Potter, the son of James bloody Potter could ever understand… but he did.

Severus had seen his memories when he was attempting to teach the dunderhead Occlumency. He'd seen, though he'd never wanted to admit, that Potter hadn't been coddled or spoiled by Petunia and her pig of a husband.

Potter had said something while he was unconscious. Yes, he remembered bits and pieces of what he'd heard, he spent a long time just wondering why Potter was speaking to him. And one of the things he mentioned was the cupboard under the stairs. He racked his brain until he remembered that the letter from Hogwarts had the address "the cupboard under the stairs". As in, that's where Potter had lived, at least up until he was 11 years old.

Severus had never wanted to admit that Potter could be anything like him. He was a hero that everyone admired, the hero that everyone worshipped. The son of James and Lily Potter, who gave their lives for him and who destroyed the Dark Lord, twice.

But now, Severus was beginning to understand that there was more to Potter than just that. Potter was resourceful, stubborn, funny in his own way, and warm.

Very, very warm.

His hands were never cold, they were never rough. His touch was never threatening. He always asked Severus what he wanted, he never took things for granted. Never forced him, always let him take things at his own pace. When he was unable to reach the bathroom by himself, Potter had only had warm and encouraging words for him.

Why?

Why was Potter suddenly here?

And for how long would he be?

Severus thought of Minerva, of her harsh words. He'd seen her disappointment in her eyes, in her voice. All the years they'd spent in banter, fighting and bickering over house points or who'd win the House Cup. All those bets that turned more and more outlandish every year. All their conversations, huddled over tea at Albus's office, the three of them.

All of that had disappeared the night he killed Albus.

Severus had broached the subject once with Albus, suggesting telling Minerva about the plot. But Albus had refused. He'd said that everyone needed to believe he truly was a trusted follower of Voldemort. If Minerva, who had known him since he was a boy, didn't show that she didn't trust him anymore, it would raise suspicions.

Severus swallowed and bit his lower lip as he remembered her eyes full of tears that night. Once in the safety of Grimmauld Place, where the grief and the pain finally caught up with him, he couldn't forget Minerva's eyes. They were filled to the brim with tears, and full of a pain he never thought he would see in her eyes.

And now, she looked at her with contempt. With disdain. With distrust.

He had truly broken her trust, and nothing could ever repair the chasm that had appeared between them. Not even knowing the truth, not even knowing that he and Albus had agreed on the plan; not even the promise that he hadn't been a Death Eater for seventeen years convinced her.

And all the time Minerva had been in the Hospital Wing, berating him and demanding answers he was unable to give, he just wanted one thing. He wanted Potter. He wanted his quiet company, his understanding. He never pressured him like Minerva did, and like Poppy did as well.

When Potter had entered the room, he'd looked at him with surprise as he'd tried to keep his composure. But he remembered the jolt he'd felt at seeing him; when he'd been wishing for him to come, to stop this conversation that was having and that was breaking him.

And that evening, even after everything he'd said in a fit of anger and frustration, Potter had stayed. He'd talked to him, calmed him, stayed with him. Severus's eyes got misty and he felt a tear escaping his eye and rolling down his temple, disappearing into his hair, as he was jolted by so many emotions.

He'd already given up trying to use Occlumancy to deal with those. His body and mind were exhausted, depleted after so many years of running on adrenaline alone. He found it impossible to occlude his mind. It was nerve-wracking for someone like him, for someone who'd been used to always being in control, never showing what he felt. Except perhaps for contempt or loathing.

Now, he couldn't hide his emotions. But the most shocking realisation of all, was the fact that with Potter, it didn't seem to matter.

He just hoped that Potter would come, tomorrow. And the day after.

He didn't know why, he didn't understand what it was that he was feeling.

He just knew that he was tired and lost, and would be even more tired and more lost if it wasn't for Harry Potter.

He closed his eyes and wished for sleep to come, remembering a pair of warm hands and a beautiful, comforting smile on a face with green eyes.

At the Gryffindor dorm, lying in his too-small bed with his arm behind his head, Harry was looking at the brown wooden panel of his four-poster bed. The curtains weren't drawn, no need to keep the heat inside now that it was summer, and no need to keep privacy when he was alone in the dormitory.

It was late at night; if the darkened sky that he could see from the window was to give him any indication. He'd never been in Scotland during the summer months, but apparently, it was rarely completely dark as it was now, so it must've been quite late.

But even though it was late, sleep didn't come easily to Harry. He had spent a long time with Snape at the Hospital Wing after he'd found him exerting himself and trying to go back to bed from the bathroom.

His hurtful words were something Harry couldn't forget easily, as he couldn't forget how this time, besides angering him, they had caused him pain.

Never in all the years since he'd known Snape, had his words caused him pain. Anger, yes, and resentment and hatred. But not hurt.

This time, Harry was hurt, because he saw that despite trying to be as accommodating as possible and trying to get closer to the man, Snape only saw him as his father's son. No matter how hard he tried.

He had to admit, however, that it wasn't the whole truth. Snape might have reverted back to his old habits and behaviour for a moment, but he wasn't the same man. Harry remembered his pleading eyes when McGonagall was arguing with him. And Severus Snape, the most private man Harry had ever met, had actually told him what was bothering him.

He felt something warm spreading from his chest as he remembered the way Snape had held his forearm, his lower lip quivering. He was asking him not to leave him alone, he was pleading with him to stay.

Snape must've felt so lonely this past year.

He was a solitary man, sort of a lone wolf, but apparently, he and McGonagall and Dumbledore had been friends. Friends as in, spending time together. Harry vaguely remembered George telling him one time that Snape and McGonagall had bets over who would win the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup. And apparently, Dumbledore was a bit annoyed that they kept bickering about it.

At that moment he'd dismissed the thought, but now it came rushing back to his mind. He even remembered when it was; during his third year, after he'd been attacked by the dementors and had fallen off his broom. Snape was joyful that it all seemed lost for Gryffindor that year, and Lee Jordan had heard him teasing McGonagall about it.

Harry chuckled to himself as he remembered that, and he felt so much empathy for Snape. He couldn't forget how for an entire school year he had been Headmaster to his old colleagues. People who'd known him for years and who even had him as a student years before, and who now thought of him as a traitor. How he'd had the courage to lie to their faces, to pretend he was Voldemort's most loyal follower when it was all a ruse. Harry couldn't understand how he'd even manage it without breaking.

But of course, he was breaking now.

Snape had probably survived an entire year as Headmaster telling himself that it would all pass. That if he even survived, the truth would be known, and everyone would know he was actually working for the light, trying to keep Harry alive. That was the only way he could've made it through a year not being able to look at his former colleagues, seeing their angry and disappointed faces.

That's why he was breaking. Now that he was alive, he must've felt more lonely than ever.

Harry also wondered if seeing McGonagall refusing to forgive him was reminding Snape of his own shortcomings and how he lost Lily. Harry wasn't stupid, he'd seen the memories. He'd seen that Snape and Lily's friendship had been over long before Snape ever joined Voldemort and became a Death Eater. That was probably the thing that tipped him over the edge. Losing her and realising that he was completely and utterly alone in the world.

And yet, Snape had held her in his heart for so many years, honouring her memory for so long. Keeping him alive, just because he was her son, even if seeing him transported him back to his traumatic teenage years at Hogwarts.

"I'm so sorry, Snape…" Harry breathed into the night and the silence of the dormitory.

Snape was far away, at the Hospital Wing and couldn't hear him. But Harry wanted to make sure that he would hear him one day, that he would know he was appreciated and valued.

He even wondered if staying in the castle was a good option for Snape, given that it was the place where so many traumatic events had happened to him. But he didn't know if he had a place to go. He'd seen in his memories an old and dingy house where his parents live, Spinner's something Petunia had said. But Harry had no idea if Snape even kept the house, of if his parents were even alive. Judging by what he'd seen in his memories, he at least hoped his father wasn't alive. Snape didn't need more people hurting him.

Harry turned to his side, breathing out and hugging his pillow, looking throw the window at the darkened sky, wondering what he could do to make Snape feel better. At some point, part of his mind wondered why he wanted so badly to comfort Snape, but he had no answer to that. He only knew that the small glimpses he'd seen of Snape's vulnerability through his pleading eyes. Or when Snape grabbed his forearm and breathed hard, had stayed with him for a long time.

Harry didn't want Snape to be alone again when he felt like that.

He then remembered, before his mind was taken to sleep, the surge of magic he'd felt right when Snape had been arguing with Minerva. He was sure it had something to do with Snape. It was too much of a coincidence that he was arguing with Minerva, feeling upset by it, and then Harry felt that magic that told him he was needed.

Could it be his own magic? Snape's magic? It wasn't outlandish, he was aware there were many aspects of magic and how it behaved that he didn't know. But it didn't exactly fit. He had never felt this with anyone, it would've made more sense to feel it with someone he was already close to.

Right before he fell asleep, he thought he should go to the library and investigate. But where to start? That was more Hermione's alley.

A few days had passed after that conversation with Snape, and things seemed to calm down a bit.

That morning, when Harry went to Snape, he found him already awake and sitting on his bed, with a tray in front of him.

"Good morning," Harry said in a chirpy tone as he walked to the bed, the Daily Prophet in his hand, "are you having breakfast?"

"I already had, but was waiting for you," Snape replied, looking down at his tray.

That's when Harry noticed that the tray had a coffee pot and two cups, one unused, that Snape used to pour some coffee. He added two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk and passed it wordlessly to Harry, who accepted it with a gracious smile.

"Thank you," he said, and couldn't help but smile that he had taken notice of how he took his coffee in the morning.

Snape only nodded, and Harry claimed his usual chair by the bed.

"Wanna know what's on today?" he asked, already opening the newspaper.

However, Snape's hand brought the paper down.

"I have something to tell you first," Snape said.

Then he swallowed and Harry seemed to see a twinge of colour in Snape's cheeks.

"I… followed your advice," Snape said. "I told Minerva I'd like to step down from the Headmaster post and return as Potions Master, as long as the board of governors accepted it. Which they did, just this morning."

Harry smiled wide, he didn't know if he was more touched at the fact that Snape had actually listened to him.

"I'm glad you're staying for another year," Harry said. "And you already know the Potions syllabus for every year, it won't be as hard as Defence when you've been doing Potions for the last decade and a half."

"My thoughts exactly," Snape replied. Then his expression turned sombre, and he looked away, his voice a bitter tone. "From what Minerva told me, the board of governors had been pressuring her to take the post. I'm sure they will be delighted to avoid having a former Death Eater as Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head.

"The board of governors, just as the entire Wizarding society, should know what you did for them. And they should actually be grateful to you," Harry said.

"I don't need you defending me, Potter. I'm… accustomed to reactions like this," Snape said, "I know their opinion quite well, same as the students'. I'm afraid a lot of them will remember that I did nothing to keep them safe last year."

Harry had nothing to say, he hadn't been in school to prove it. Neville had said that they hardly ever saw Snape, that it was the Carrows they had to look out for. But Harry refused to believe that Snape would do anything to endanger his students, remembering how he'd endangered his own life to save him and his friends countless of times.

Desperate now to change the tone of the conversation, he remembered something.

"I know you gave me permission to keep your book. But will I… be able to use it in class?" he asked in a low voice.

Snape's eyes returned to him and he arched an eyebrow, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

"We will only use that for the first months, but yes. You may keep it and use it," he replied.

Then his eyes sharpened.

"I heard from Horace what an absolute prodigy you were in making potions. So, now you have absolutely no excuse to not do well in my class," he added.

Harry swallowed, tensing.

"No pressure at all, Snape. Cheers for that," he said, trying to defuse the tension.

Snape's smirk only widened.

"If the only thing keeping you from performing excellently in my class is to follow instructions and understand the process, I can try to explain better," Snape said. "But everyone, including yourself, has seen that you're not as a dunderhead as I once thought you were. So, I expect nothing but the best."

Harry then chuckled.

"Only you would mask praise as an insult," Harry said, but his smile didn't disappear, "I'll try my best. I wasn't that bad in Potions two years ago, and I actually learned to enjoy it."

Snape nodded, satisfied.

"I must admit that if it hadn't been for you breathing down my neck and Malfoy trying to sabotage my Potions, I would probably have learned earlier," Harry said, "but Potions was… just not something to enjoy."

Harry stole a glance at Snape, his lips twitching. A sudden thought occurred to Harry, he didn't want to make Snape angry at his remarks about his teaching. His heart stopped for a moment, worrying about whether he'd crossed a line he didn't know existed.

But Snape only nodded.

"I'll endeavour to be more patient this time," Snape replied, "but I will be as exacting and demanding as usual. You are, after all, in your last year and preparing for your NEWTs. I demand only the best from all my students."

Harry nodded, knowing that would be the only apology he would get from Snape, but satisfied all the same.

"I'll try better this time too," Harry said.

Snape seemed to say everything he wanted to say, and he leaned back onto the pillows, taking a sip of his coffee. Harry did the same and found that the flavour of this particular coffee was different. Stronger and more bitter, even with two lumps of sugar.

"Where did you get this? I'm not too adept at coffee but this is not the regular one, is it?"

Snape's smirk returned.

"Well spotted," he replied, "it's a brand Minerva recommended me years ago, I've been getting it each morning ever since."

Harry moved his tongue around his mouth, tasting the bitter aftertaste of the coffee.

"It's good," he observed, "bitter but not too much."

"Not too much. As if you haven't already masked the bitterness with insane amounts of sugar," Snape said, and Harry seemed to detect a hint of teasing in his tone.

He just chuckled.

"I don't usually like bitter things," Harry said, "although I suppose that can change with age."

"It's an acquired taste," Snape agreed as he took another sip, his tongue coming to lick his upper lip, "you'll learn to like it."

Harry smiled.

"So, have you talked to Minerva about the books, then?" Harry asked, "I know she was a bit tense about sending the Hogwarts letters on time."

Snape nodded his head.

"I have, along with any muggle-born first-year students that need to be told by a member of staff. Usually, that would fall on me, as the Head of Slytherin, but as I am… indisposed, this year Horace has accepted to do it for me."

"Slughorn? Isn't he going back to retirement?" Harry asked, arching his eyebrow.

"He will be, in a few months. But I asked him if it would bother him to stay for a bit longer, to help me, especially at the beginning of the year," Snape said.

Harry realized that Snape had spent the last two days sorting everything out and making sure that there were no loose ends.

"You really thought of everything," Harry said, taking a sip of coffee in contemplation. Snape said nothing, "so, can we expect our Hogwarts letter soon?"

"As soon as Minerva is ready to send them all," Snape replied.

Harry then smiled, the thought of going to Diagon Alley warming his heart.

That had been the first contact he'd ever had with the Wizarding world. No matter how often he visited it, he always felt that little bit of magical innocence of seeing it for the first time.

"This reminds me, I have to reply to Hermione's letter. She suggested meeting at Diagon Alley when we got our letters," Harry said, "do you need anything from there? You can give me a list and I can buy stuff for you if you want."

Snape stared at him for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing.

"I hadn't contemplated it. I was just going to ask it through owl post," Snape replied, "but… if it's not an inconvenience, I would request you bring some of the more delicate items for me."

"It's no problem at all," Harry said with a smile, "happy to help. Just make a list and I'll bring it. We'll deal with the money later."

"I will have to send an owl to Gringotts first, Potter, and I am unsure if it will be instant or-"

"Snape," Harry interrupted, a hand in the air to stop him, "it's okay. Don't worry about the money. I can buy your stuff and whenever you have access to your vault, you can pay me. No need to rush."

Snape nodded, avoiding his eyes, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

"Thank you," he only said. Harry smiled, reaching with his hand.

"No problem," he said, squeezing his shoulder.

It had been just a simple touch, something Harry just did with those he considered close. He hadn't even realized it at first, it had just been an instinct. Not until Snape's eyes shot to his hand did he realize what he was doing. He squeezed again, trying to keep his smile on his lips before he released him.

But he had been aware of it.

Of the gentle, tingling sensation under his fingertips as he touched him.

This sensation came and went, but every time it came it was warm, comforting, soothing.

"Okay. Let's change the bandages, shall we?" Harry said, clapping his hand and taking his wand from his pocket, "Then we'll go to the bathroom."

Snape nodded and he sat on the bed straighter, letting Harry space to work as he washed his hands and summoned the jar with the salve.

Notes:

I know this chapter doesn't seem like it's moving the plot forward, but we have privileged access to both Harry's and Severus's thoughts and feelings!
Next up, Diagon Alley. And there will be surprises and some angst! Any guesses?
Thanks for reading!