Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms

Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.

In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.

Chapter 30

Severus forgot all about the tournament the instant his mark started to burn. It had been aching for weeks and months, on and off like a chronic disease. Now it was ablaze, and Severus knew what it meant. Called like starving moths to a deadly flame, every Death Eater knew. They all knew what they were expected to do. Months ago Severus would not have questioned his role in this elaborate game Dumbledore and the Dark Lord had spun between them.

With his mark up in flames, his part in the mission blurred before his eyes, smudging his past and his duty and the expectations placed upon him. He knew what was expected of him—different things from different masters, actions he'd long lost the ability to lose sleep over.

Though he'd been dreading it for years, the burn on his arm barely registered in the grand scheme of things. Severus thought of Harry, and he had never felt more afraid in all his years of deceiving the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was returning right in front of his eyes, and yet Harry's thoughts kept circling back to Ron.

Ron had lied to him. Harry didn't know why, but he did know that Ron would have never done that out of his own free will. Something must have happened to him. Somebody must have made him trick Harry. Voldemort must have, him or whoever was working for him, whoever had killed Mr. Crouch—Harry's stomach cramped, pushing the thought of what they might have done to Ron far, far away.

Voldemort was returning, and Harry didn't know what to do. He was no longer at Hogwarts, and nobody else knew. He was trapped, tied to a grave and surrounded by Death Eaters, watching the masks that had haunted his nightmares for a year draw their circle closer.

Voldemort was returning, and there was nothing Harry could do.

One Death Eater joined late. Harry hoped that Voldemort was too focused on the newcomer to notice his stuttering heartbeat switching gears from panic to tense anticipation.

"I was certain you were lost to me." Voldemort drew a prowling, stalking circle around the kneeling figure.

All the other Death Eaters had fallen silent with his arrival. Nobody had said his name. All of them either knew who he was or didn't dare interrupt their master by asking.

"Never," whispered the cloaked figure. He knelt, but he did not waver under Voldemort's gaze. He didn't beg. He didn't cower.

"Explain why you haven't come with the others."

"I bided my time," he said, his voice barely audible. "I waited so as to not arouse Dumbledore's suspicion."

A hush fell over the graveyard at the mention of Dumbledore's name.

Voldemort slowed to a halt just out of the figure's line of sight. "And you have been loyal all this time. Is that right?"

"Loyal, but misguided. Like the others, I feared the worst. I should have had faith."

Voldemort towered over the still kneeling figure. Anticipation radiated from the cloaked spectators, like they couldn't decide whether to cheer on or dread what was about to happen.

"Lower your mask."

The figure did as he was told. He'd known who it was from the start, but still Harry's breath caught in his throat as Snape's face became visible—the only unmasked person other than Harry, Voldemort and a still whimpering Pettigrew.

Snape never looked away from Voldemort. It was like Harry wasn't there at all.

"You assure me you have not betrayed me," Voldemort said. "Yet you've spent more time as Dumbledore's servant than you have serving as mine."

"Time that will prove most useful to you in the future."

"As I'm sure you've foreseen all those years ago." Voldemort's voice was mocking, sharp as a knife. "You've always known I would one day return, have you not?"

"I had not." Snape lowered his head further. "I hoped. But I did not know."

"Look at me," Voldemort demanded.

Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. The Dark Lord himself is known to be a quite skilled Legilimens, Snape had told him months ago. It is all but impossible to lie to him.

But Snape didn't hesitate in meeting Voldemort's gaze.

Whatever passed between them was invisible to Harry and the Death Eaters. Harry could tell, because two of the cloaked figures shared a glance as neither Snape nor Voldemort moved nor talked. Snape had only ever told him that Voldemort was one of the greatest living Legilimens. Harry hadn't thought to ask if Snape could compete with him.

Some of the Death Eaters were beginning to become restless when Voldemort finally turned away from Snape.

"You have been valuable in the past," he decided. "Though born from your cowardice, your place at Dumbledore's side will be useful in the future."

Snape put his mask and hood back into place. He rose slowly, but didn't join the circle of Death Eaters.

"Crucio," Voldemort called out almost as an after-thought, pointing his wand at Snape.

No sound escaped Snape other than a sharp intake of breath, but he hunched over, body convulsing. Some half-formed, meaningless sound built up in Harry's throat, but he choked it back.

Finally, half an eternity later, Voldemort dropped the spell. Snape—hooded once more—pushed himself up on shaky feet and joined the silent circle of Voldemort's servants.

"Nothing to say, Harry?"

Harry jolted, the chains binding him to Tom Riddle Senior's grave digging into his limbs. One of them was placed right over his throat. He had to fight not to work himself into a panic and risk suffocating.

"He doesn't seem surprised," Voldemort went on. "Do you see, Severus? You've fooled the old man, but Harry here knew better."

The Death Eaters laughed—cruel jeers and high-pitched shrieking, like they'd finally been given permission to have a good laugh at Harry's expense. He wouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him react. He doubted he could get his voice to work, even if he wanted to.

Voldemort filled the silence, taunting Harry and Dumbledore and making his followers cheer him on. Harry was hardly listening. His eyes kept darting to the hooded figure that had joined last.

Snape was here. He'd help him. Snape would—

But they were outnumbered, hopelessly. Voldemort was right there. What could Snape possibly do? If he'd been able to get Harry out quickly, he'd have already done it. Voldemort had already hurt him, tortured him for a betrayal far milder than the one Snape had actually committed.

A horrible thought struck Harry. What if all this time, Snape had been playing the long game? But as soon as it occurred to him, he already felt ashamed.

"It's not polite to ignore your elders, Harry."

Harry wished Voldemort would stop using his name. The way he said it made goosebumps break out on his skin.

"Bored already? That won't do."

The chains binding him to the grave fell apart. Harry barely spared himself the indignity of falling to his knees.

"Why not offer us a demonstration of everything the old man has taught you?" Voldemort gestured for Pettigrew to give Harry back his wand. "How about it, Harry? Now is your chance. Prove to us that you make a worthy adversary."

Harry didn't want to accept anything from Pettigrew, but he grabbed for his wand like a lifeline. Not that it would do him much good. He knew perfectly well that he was being toyed with, but what choice did he have but to play along?

He'd barely uttered more than a syllable before Voldemort struck. "Expell—"

"Crucio!"

Harry's vision whited out. His lungs seized and convulsed, straining for breaths that wouldn't come. Harry had no idea how Snape had kept himself from screaming.

"What are you doing down there? You can't fight a duel lying down."

The Death Eaters' jeering laughter blended in with the ringing in Harry's ears. He pushed himself up on shaky arms that barely carried his weight.

"That's it. Go on, pick yourself up. Try again… Crucio!"

Again and again Voldemort cast the spell, sending Harry hurtling to the ground each time he picked himself back up. But Harry refused to stay down. He might have been outnumbered and overpowered and completely helpless, but he hadn't quite lost his pride.

"At least he's taught you to have some spine." Voldemort sounded highly amused. "Or is that all you? No matter… I wonder if the old man has prepared you for the likes of this. Imperio!"

Harry had no time to brace himself. Familiar, soothing calmness flooded his brain, encouraging him to go along with whatever he was being told. As soon as the thought struck him, Harry fought back. Mad-Eye's lessons served him well—though then again, maybe being humiliated would have been better than being hurt.

"Very well." Voldemort did not sound terribly upset. "Have it your way."

"Wait—"

But before Harry could even catch his breath, the next Crucio sent him crashing back to the ground.

It went on like that—and on, and on. A particularly violent jinx hurled him out of the circle of Voldemort's followers, and for a brief, exhilarating second, Harry saw a path out of the graveyard that wasn't blocked by Death Eaters. Adrenaline pumped jolts of jittery energy through his body, but Harry had barely managed to climb to his feet before a curse slammed into his ankle and shattered the bone, prompting Harry's loudest scream yet.

He had no choice but to stay on the ground. Every breath sent throbbing waves of agony through his body, though his leg was the worst. His throat ached. He wondered how much longer this was supposed to continue—except he knew that Voldemort was going to draw it out. There'd be no end to this, not until Voldemort grew tired of seeing him suffer. Not unless somebody stepped in. Not unless...

"Please," Harry whispered, knowing it wouldn't do him any good, but unable to keep quiet.

All he earned in response was Voldemort's cruel smile. "Who are you asking, child? Do you see somebody here who would help you?"

The Death Eaters laughed.

Harry exhaled shakily. Even knowing he risked giving them away, he couldn't stop his eyes from darting around, looking for—for—

Terror surged through his chest. He could no longer tell which of the robed figures was Snape. Harry pushed at the panic to no avail, felt it rising up behind his sternum, clogging up his throat, making it hard to breathe.

Why wasn't Snape doing anything? What if there was nothing he could do? What if he really was loyal to Voldemort?

What if Harry was all alone?

"How disappointing." Voldemort's smooth, cold voice cut through the silence and over the graveyard. "Is this how Dumbledore prepared his champion? Utterly underwhelming."

He pointed his wand back at Harry.

Next thing Harry knew, he was wrenched back into consciousness by a harsh "Rennervate." Energy flooded his body that didn't belong to him, forcing him wide awake and making him gasp with deep, jittery breaths. Every heartbeat pumped hot, throbbing waves through his ankle. Harry wondered if that was what had finally made him black out.

One of the Death Eaters cackled, and Harry realized that Voldemort wasn't the only one holding his wand at the ready. He must have opened the floor to let his followers join in on the fun.

"He's getting bored," taunted one of them.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and bit his tongue. Furious, pained tears spilled over.

"Sectumsempra!"

The jolt of recognition was worse than the pain of deep cuts opening up in Harry's shoulder—but he almost instantly realized that the Death Eater who had cast it sounded nothing like Snape. It had never occurred to him that Snape might have taught his spell to others, much less them.

"Do you see?" Voldemort's voice forced itself through the thick sludge in Harry's head, higher and more piercing than those of his servants. "This is the best Dumbledore has to offer. This is the so-called Boy-Who-Lived. Does he look worthy of that title? Does he look capable of defeating me?"

Harry listlessly wondered if they were nearing the end. Ragged breaths escaped his lungs. He'd dropped his wand long ago. Something must have been wrong with his eyes, because everything was blurry. He had no way of telling where his wand had fallen.

"Does he look like the hero he was made out to be?"

Harry mustered every last shred of his energy and dragged his fingers through the dirt, trying to crawl away without moving his broken leg. Even now—even beaten, and wandless, and injured—he couldn't bear the thought of facing his end without even trying to fight back.

Damp soil clung to his fingers. Tiny, sharp stones poked his skin. Something brushed the palm of his hand, silken and soft. It felt like a feather.

"Is this truly the best you can give me?" Voldemort's voice swam in and out of focus. "At least try to make your death worthwhile."

Harry clenched his hands to fists. One of them closed around the feather. He couldn't remember if he'd brought any with him that could have fallen out of his pocket, or whether he was holding an ordinary owl's feather from the graveyard.

Harry could wait for Voldemort to get bored of him and end it, or... He pushed himself to shaky knees even though his ankle made him want to collapse back to the ground.

Voldemort didn't bother to stop him. All around, rustling robes suggested that the Death Eaters were closing their ranks. "That's it, Harry. Prove to us your bravery. Don't make me regret spending effort on you..."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. Unable to see properly, he stood no chance of finding his wand even if it was within reach. Voldemort didn't bother to stop him, thinking him unarmed.

He raised the hand holding what he hoped was a griffin feather, held it up in Voldemort's general direction and thought Levicorpus.

Chaos broke loose as the feather burned up. Harry must have hit something, because he heard a loud shriek (sadly, it didn't sound like Voldemort), several people shouting in surprise, and rapid thuds like many people moving frantically.

Harry lurched forward blindly, hoping to somehow get closer to Snape. It felt like a curse narrowly zipped past his ear, somebody shouted in rage, something crashed into Harry and almost sent him sprawling onto the ground—all the air was sucked from his lungs.

Harry was suffocating. Somebody had grabbed him, a vice-like grip pinning his arms to his body. He struggled, panic flooding back tenfold. The grip tightened. He tried to shake himself free but—but—

A portkey, Harry thought distantly. They were traveling by portkey.

Harry was already hurt and hanging onto consciousness by a single thread. He couldn't feel his broken leg anymore, he was fresh out of feathers to replace his wand, and now he couldn't even breathe—whoever had taken him had free reign to do whatever they wanted.

But he'd been right where Voldemort had wanted him. Who but one person could have possibly taken him away?

Harry surrendered in equal parts relief and defeat and utter exhaustion. He clutched onto rough fabric, gave up on trying to open his useless eyes and tried not to suffocate.

Severus felt all fight leaving Harry's body as he realized what was happening. At least Severus hoped that was the case. He wasn't... No. Harry hadn't quite lost consciousness yet. He was safe, though not alright.

Severus pulled him closer, felt the tremors rocking his body, felt the blood soaking into his own robes from Harry's wounds, and tried not to fall apart alongside him. He tried to focus on Harry being safe rather than on how long it had taken them to get out.

The suffocating sensation of the portkey dissipated. Severus—unable to keep both of them on their feet when Harry was essentially a dead-weight—hit the ground hard while making sure that Harry would not.

He had no time to regain his bearings before clamors of shock and fear replaced the confounded silence of the crowd. The portkey had transported them—Severus in full Death Eater attire, Harry in his tattered and bloody robes, curled into Severus—back onto Hogwarts grounds, in plain view of the thunderstruck audience.

Severus tore off his mask, making the split-second decision that his chances of being attacked were just a tiny bit lower that way. A part of him recoiled at revealing his cover so openly. The rest of him knew that the time for regrets had come and passed.

Several people cried out as his face became visible. The hand that wasn't still clutching Harry tightened around his wand. Severus didn't dare raise it. But tension was rising rapidly as more and more people tore themselves out of their stupor, aggressive clamors and shouts welling up like a tidal wave—

The crowd parted for Dumbledore. Severus relaxed marginally as wands were lowered, confusion replacing the fear as Dumbledore crouched down in the grass next to them. Deep furrows marred his usually kind face.

"Knife-wound on his arm," Severus said curtly without waiting for the question. "Cruciatus. A number of them. A broken ankle. Possibly chafe-marks and mild strangulation. Likely shock." He paused and almost choked on the next word. "Sectumsempra. Professor, he—The Dark Lord—"

"Come now," Dumbledore muttered, rising to his feet and helping Severus to pull Harry upright with a startlingly strong grip.

Severus needed a moment to follow his lead and convince himself to move. He felt that given the choice, he would have kept sitting on the grass with Harry's reassuring weight in his arms for hours.

But Harry was hurt. Severus had watched while he was being hurt over and over and done nothing to stop it. He needed help that Severus could not give him.

So, ignoring the people talking over each other in an agitated jumble and trusting Dumbledore's presence to keep them at bay, Severus changed his grip around the kid into a more secure hold. He faltered, struggling to pick him up. Severus realized his hands were shaking.

But he would be damned if he couldn't at least do this for Harry when he'd already failed him so horribly. He muttered a Weightless charm and heaved Harry into his arms much more successfully.

Despite his attempts at causing him no more pain, Harry choked out a muffled gasp at the movement. Severus had no idea if the boy even knew what was going on. He was sure that if it weren't for the Rennervate cast on him during his ordeal, he would have long slipped into unconsciousness.

"We're at the castle," Severus said quietly. "Professor Dumbledore is there."

"You're safe." Dumbledore sounded much more reassuring, seeing as his voice wasn't trembling.

Harry's fingers dug into Severus' robes. It made him look younger than he was, but he appeared too exhausted or too hurt to feel self-conscious.

Though a part of him was grateful for the excuse not to let go, it concerned Severus deeply to see him act so unlike himself. Though he felt he had no right to it, his hold around Harry tightened.

"Ron," Harry muttered as he let himself be carried towards the castle. His words slurred together, but Severus could still understand him. "Where?"

Were Severus not so relieved to hear him talking at all, he might have snapped at him for—once again—prioritizing somebody else without wasting a single thought on his own wellbeing.

"I would assume he has been watching the task with Miss Granger."

"Gave me th' portkey," Harry mumbled. His expression contorted as Severus' agitated strides jostled his leg. "Couldn't 've been him. He wouldn't."

Severus shared a grim look with Dumbledore. Minerva and Pomona had both followed them from the Quidditch pitch, but they reluctantly slowed their hurried steps as Dumbledore gestured for them to wait.

Severus, trusting them to make the necessary arrangements, kept steering towards the hospital wing with a single-minded focus. "We will look for him," he promised, though privately he couldn't have cared less about the whereabouts of the Weasley brat.

Moody crossed their path in the entrance hall, his natural eye widening as he caught sight of them. His gaze flickered towards the blood dripping from Harry's robes, his half-conscious state and the obvious Death Eater's hood adorning Severus' robes in rapid succession.

Severus grit his teeth, realizing that Dumbledore had not caught up with them. Luckily he'd never put away his wand.

"Let go of the boy," Moody growled, taking clunking steps towards them without letting his own wand waver.

But Severus had just spent an eternity watching Harry's torture. He prepared to block whatever spells might come flying his way and kept Moody in his line of sight with a terse "If you stand between me and this boy receiving medical attention, so Merlin help me."

Perhaps Moody wasn't willing to risk hurting Harry, or perhaps he was more wary of an armed Severus than he might have expected, but by some miracle Severus made it through the entrance hall without having to block a single jinx.

"Medical attention, eh?" Moody growled. "Smartest thing you could have said. I'll take him."

Severus pretended to ignore him, but kept track of him from the corner of his eye.

"Hand him over, Snape."

"Out of our way."

"Listen here, you traitorous rat," Moody's magical eye swirled madly in its socket.

But whatever he meant to say was cut off as the entrance doors swung open. "That will be plenty. Thank you, Alastor, for looking out for Harry." Dumbledore crossed the hall in wide strides. "I will take over from here."

"Those robes—"

"I am perfectly aware of the situation. Thank you, Alastor." Steel underlined the politeness in Dumbledore's voice. "Severus has brought Harry straight to Hogwarts, rather than any other place he could have apparated to. Does that sound like the action of a loyal Death Eater?"

An expression of loathing twitched over Moody's face, so vicious that Severus was sure he would argue. Instead he forced out a curt, "Whatever you say," and hovered, refusing to let them out of his sight.

Severus didn't care who went with them as long as he finally got somebody to look Harry over. He'd been worryingly silent since he'd told them about Weasley.

Madam Pomfrey was all over them as soon as they stepped foot into the hospital wing. Severus set Harry down into the nearest bed and answered her questions tersely, seeing as the boy didn't seem likely to open his mouth any time soon.

Dumbledore wasn't there for long. It would take even him much effort to soothe the audience after having watched a Death Eater transport onto Hogwarts grounds, and Severus spared a moment to feel grateful that somebody was keeping the hospital wing empty. Empty apart from themselves, Madam Pomfrey and Moody. The old auror was still glaring at Severus with his unnerving, mismatched gaze.

"You've brought him here," Moody said quietly in that gravely voice of his. "Any reason you're hovering?"

"Let me be perfectly clear with you." Severus' patience felt like a piece of yarn strung up past its limits. "Nobody could make me leave his side. Not you, not Dumbledore, not the Dark Lord with his entire entourage himself."

Moody did not seem to like this answer at all. His natural eye tracked the wand held at the ready in Severus' hand, while the magical one never strayed from Severus' face.

The next time somebody—Pomona—came to check on them, he brushed past her through the door and did not return.

As soon as the danger had passed, Severus joined Madam Pomfrey's side. She'd finished healing the enormous cut down Harry's arm, but she had less success with the cuts covering his upper arms and shoulders.

"They won't close," she said, grim-faced at finding them still bleeding sluggishly.

Severus' gut clenched painfully. "I'll take care of them." Before she could protest, he began the song-like counter-curse that was the only effective cure for Sectumsempra.

Madam Pomfrey set her jaw and moved onto Harry's ankle.

They were lucky that Avery was as incompetent at casting curses as he was at most other magical feats. Had somebody cast the Sectumsempra properly, Harry might have lost limbs—or he might never have made it back to Hogwarts before the blood loss would have been too severe. Until now, he'd never had the confirmation that anybody on the dark side remembered the spell.

It was a long, tedious affair. Harry's wounds closed slowly as Severus repeated the incantation a second, then a third time, though he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was far too late to keep them from scarring. He repeated the healing spell again and again for each cut, until his voice was hoarse and exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. In the meantime, Madam Pomfrey took care of all the other major and minor injuries riddling the boy's body.

"He'll be fine," she said quietly after she'd finished bringing down the swelling in Harry's face and cleaned the blood from his eyes. "There's no lasting damage."

None other than the scars he would carry and whatever damage the ordeal had done to his mind.

Harry hadn't stirred throughout any of it. Severus suspected he'd checked out at some point after having entered the hospital wing. Severus stubbornly refused to meet Madam Pomfrey's gaze, so with one last, long glance at both of them, she left them be.

It took several minutes until Harry stirred. He didn't groan in pain (Madam Pomfrey had done her job well), but his breathing picked up even as he opened his eyes. His entire body tensed up.

"All is well," Severus said before he could do something foolish in his disorientation. "We are in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey has left not long ago."

"Oh," Harry whispered, the wild look in his eyes fading. A minute passed while he took stock of his injuries. Or perhaps he was fighting the urge to drift back into proper sleep.

Harry's glasses had been left behind in the graveyard. Severus made a note to conjure up a new pair as replacement.

"I'm sorry."

The words felt so out of place following the events of the evening, Severus needed a moment to assure himself that he'd heard correctly. "As so often, the intricate workings of your mind elude me."

Usually such a comment would have earned him an annoyed look or an amused huff of laughter, depending on the tone of the conversation. This time, there was only silence.

Severus pushed at the dull sensation in his chest and asked, "What are you apologizing for?"

"Everything." Harry took in a shuddering breath. "Voldemort's back. 'Cause of me. If I'd—"

"Done what?" Severus couldn't suppress the sarcastic tilt to his voice. "Bested a dark wizard countless people have lost their lives trying to stop?"

"You don't understand!" Harry's voice rose in volume as he pushed himself up on shaky arms. "It was me. He used my blood. Without it, he wouldn't have—He, he wouldn't be—"

"He would have found a way," Severus said quietly. "That was never up for debate."

Severus had only a second to recognize the wet gleam in Harry's eyes before the boy dropped his gaze. "In the g-graveyard, you—When you got me out, what—What did you—"

Bile rose up in Severus' throat. "I did what I had to."

Harry's breath stuttered. "He'll come after you. He'll want—"

"Revenge? Without a doubt."

"If you hadn't revealed yourself—"

"You would have died."

"You wouldn't be in danger!"

"And you believe at that point it would have mattered?"

Harry's breaths were heavy and ragged. "I should have done better."

"It should have never been your battle to fight."

Harry's tears spilled over as his face crumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut, but didn't try to wipe them away.

"If anybody owes an apology, it is me," Severus continued quietly. "You should not have needed to find a way out of the graveyard by yourself."

Harry shuddered as though the mere mention of the graveyard caused him physical pain. His hands were clenched so tightly that his nails threatened to draw blood.

Severus didn't know what to do. He had no experience offering comfort to anybody. He hadn't had somebody to offer comfort to since he'd been a child—and even then, he wouldn't have known how to go about it. This was so far beyond him, it didn't bear thinking about. Harry had been through something incomprehensible, and Severus felt so very, very inadequate.

Slowly, following some deeply burrowed shred of instinct he hadn't thought he possessed, Severus rose from his chair.

The sound of his chair scrapping on the floor had Harry's eyes shoot open. "Where are you going?"

The sound of his voice made something in Severus' chest stir. Such a foreign sensation... It occurred to him that around this time almost a year ago, he'd fought Black's efforts to take Harry away from him while pretending like he'd had no personal stakes in doing so.

"Nowhere," he said quietly.

Harry scooted to the side as soon as he realized what Severus meant to do, making space for him to sit down next to him. Doubt crept in almost immediately. Severus didn't know how to go on.

As always, Harry ended up doing half the work for him. In many ways, the boy had always been braver than Severus would ever be. It was much easier to open his arms and welcome Harry's weight against his chest when it was Harry taking that first step by leaning towards him.

"Is this okay?" Harry whispered.

Severus' arms tightened, some unprecedented notion urging him to do more. To offer reassurance, and support, and comfort—all things that Severus couldn't begin to know how to provide. "Yes," he said instead, trying not to feel horribly out of his depth.

He hadn't thought he had the capability of feeling something even remotely like this. He hadn't thought he'd find another person he wanted so desperately to protect from the world. It was just his luck that it was the one person who seemed almost impossible to shield from harm.

Severus realized then that if he'd failed this day—if he'd let Harry die in front of his eyes—he would not have been able to go on. What he felt was nothing like what he'd felt for Lily, but it was just as strong. Different, but just as likely to become his undoing. He had let it get so much further than he'd meant to.

Severus would rather die than to take it back.

He was always so slow to recognize these things. Too slow to stop himself from driving away his childhood friend, too slow to keep Lily and James Potter from dying, almost too slow to prevent the same from happening to Harry.

Severus' back ached in the unnatural bow his position was forcing him into, so he scooted backwards without letting go of Harry and leaned against the headboard. It felt different than the almost-hug they'd shared at Spinner's End. Harry lay against him bonelessly, Severus' arms closed around his body. It felt more meaningful, somehow. Foreign. It felt... more.

Severus closed his eyes. For once in his life, he couldn't care less about what anybody might think of him were they to step through the doors of the hospital wing now. He focused on the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest, on that undeniable proof of his survival. He tried to forget how close he'd come to losing him.

Severus hugged his kid closer and breathed.

A/N:

Harry, for a split second: what if Snape is actually a traitor

Snape: suffering a completely silent 2.5k words panic attack

xxx

In which it takes us 30 chapters, 110k words and some shared trauma to make the switch from Potter to Harry… and to get a proper hug. Told you we'd get there.

xxx

Huge thanks to my wonderful betas To Mockingbird, Igornerd, flyingcat, fishbake, Gasmeros and ethirielalways!

~Gwen