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The ravens remained at the Tower of London.
Other things had changed over the years. As was the custom centuries ago, the bodies of traitors hung from the old gates of the city. For hygienic reasons, they were actually plastic replicas, real bodies having an unpleasant tendency to rot and bring disease. Nonetheless, they stayed there as a warning. England would not tolerate traitors to the state, nor any confessed wizard who refused treatment.
The staff, students, and former students of Hogwarts had scattered to the winds, died, or (willingly or not) submitted to treatment. The Malfoys, proud of their familial greatness to the end, died on their own terms. Other Slytherins, more adaptable or experienced, followed their House symbol's example and slid into obscurity. Ravenclaws submitted, or found ways to hide and use their innate intelligence with or without magic. Hufflepuffs sighed and worked their way into Muggle society. Gryffindors, true to their House character, died with dogged, suicidal bravery.
All save one. The Boy Who Lived, lived still. Sometimes he wondered whether it were worth the effort.
It was not easy for him to blend seamlessly into the Muggle world. Old habits had to be relearned, references to the wizarding world censored before they left his mouth. It was a world of euphemisms: "enhanced" for anyone with magical gifts, "treatment" for the process that tore those magical gifts from a former witch or wizard, "detention" for those who spent their lives forcibly locked away from decent, non-magical folk. Hogwarts was never mentioned. Harry had gone to St Brutus's; that was his story and that was the one that the surviving Dursleys stuck to. He had the papers to prove it.
The world had changed, shaken to its magical foundation. But London still survived, as did its ravens. Harry loved to watch them on his days off, when he could be spared to make the drive from Surrey to the city. London was grey as ever, its atmosphere suffused with rain water, diesel, and the smell of the Thames. The Tower still stood, protected by its avian guardians, as it had for a thousand years.
Harry wandered around the White Tower, dodging ravens. They bounced around, their slick-shiny black wings half opened for balance, and squabbled like Slytherins and Gryffindors at a Quidditch match. One cocked its head at him, opened its beak and hopped forward a few steps, then lost interest, realising that food was not forthcoming.
"You're not a pigeon at Trafalgar Square," Harry told the bird. "Bugger off."
The raven croaked indignantly and fluttered awkwardly back to the flock. Its wings were clipped, of course. Harry sighed and smoothed his bangs over his forehead automatically, trying not to smear the makeup.
His steps quickened as he heard crowd voices and muffled chants at Tower Green. He slipped round the corner and blinked his dark-contact lensed eyes. Oh God, how had he forgotten? Today was the servant's auction, for those wizards who had undergone treatment and had been judged suitable for hire. They worked cheaply (for nothing) and were judged tame (broken) enough to enter their place (at the bottom of) Muggle society. Technically speaking, one made a bid on the contract for the indentured servant, to be signed and ended at the appropriate term. In reality, you bought a lifetime slave. Harry knew that, everyone knew that, and it was a prospect he feared horribly for himself. His life was not what he would consider ideal, certainly not compared to former days, but it was not forced servitude to an unknown master of unknown kindness.
Harry squirmed inwardly, but some vestige of Gryffindor foolhardiness remained, and he pressed his way around the back of the gathering to get a better look. And halted, blood ringing in his ears.
The man currently on the block appeared to be forty or so, tall, almost scarecrow-thin, black hair just salting with grey. His hands were manacled behind him, his face set and impassive. Any emotions the servant might have felt were locked securely away, unreachable to the casual glance.
Oh, Mer...God...please let it be someone else, some other poor bastard who couldn't get away in time.
He heard a faint, low hissing sound, some murmurs. "Not that one again," someone said close by Harry. "They've got to know he won't find a buyer for love or money."
Harry glanced over to see a ginger-haired youth scrutinising the potential servant, and was reminded, with a momentary, wrenching pang, of Ron. Though Ron's expression had never held that cold, cynical look. "How's that?" Harry asked as casually as he could.
"Well, it's his fourth time back, isn't it?" the boy said. "He always gets snapped up right away then gets brought back in a few weeks. Looks all right, but they say he's a trouble-maker. He's probably been dosed up with his own medications--they say he's tried to kill his previous masters with poison, but they couldn't prove anything on him, just sent him back to get re-educated."
"Who says?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the freezing pit in his stomach. Anyone could be watching him to report his reactions to the authorities.
The boy shrugged. "Watch enough of the servant's auctions, you hear things. You know all of those ex-wizards are trouble. I wouldn't buy one if you paid me to take 'em off your hands. Oh...they're starting." He smirked. "Wonder what marvellous things they'll have to say about him this time."
"And, Lot 51," said the auctioneer in his best Christie's voice, pitched to be heard over the outdoor sounds, "male, 45 years, expert chemist, suitable for hospital and laboratory work; also would make an excellent body servant for a gentleman, or a tutor for home-schooled children. Strong scholastic skills, reads aloud well, plays cello and viola da gamba..." muffled laughter from the crowd "...extremely hard worker around the house, kitchen, garden, or..." slight, deliberate pause, "...anywhere else he might be needed." Louder, more knowing laughter. "Guaranteed not to talk back." Wait. This couldn't be who Harry had thought. And Snape had played cello and what?
"Do I hear twenty-five pounds?"
Harry had successfully converted much of his parents' inheritance into Muggle currency, although most of it went immediately into back taxes. The rest was in his account at the Muggle bank, or stashed away in the proverbial sock under the mattress in gold coins, awaiting its turn to be melted down or chipped away.
He raised his hand. The boy next to him whipped his head around and stared at Harry incredulously. "Are you mad?"
Harry narrowed his eyes and ignored him. He focused on the call of the auctioneer.
"Twenty-five...do I hear thirty? Thirty for an expert chemist and hard worker?"
He held his breath. Someone in the back called out, and Harry raised the bid to thirty-five. He mentally shook his head. This was deranged. Not only were they selling off fellow humans, the price was insultingly low, and everyone had to know it. Still, even at forty, there was only one other taker besides Harry. At this point, he hardly cared who he was preparing to purchase, or why. But to leave that once-proud man alone on the block, someone who was or had been one of his own kind, a wizard...no. That was not to be thought of.
"Do I hear forty-five?"
Harry's hand shot in the air. Dead silence from the crowd, and no one else made a move.
"Going once..."
No response.
"Twice..."
Harry's hand remained alone in the air.
"And SOLD to the black-haired gentleman, for forty-five pounds!"
Listless applause. He heard a snort and turned to see the red-haired boy shaking his head in disbelief and possibly repressed glee. "You've no bargain there," the young man said in Harry's ear. "That one's bound to be nothing but trouble. Just don't eat his cooking, eh?"
"I'll chance it," Harry said curtly, and pushed his way over to where his new servant (Snape?) was held with the other newly-purchased former wizards.
"I'm afraid I haven't a cello for you to play," Harry said inanely. The servant inclined his head in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes lowered. Harry wrote out the cheque, signed the contract (one year's probational hire, extension to be made on request after first year, servant refundable if too much trouble--never can tell with wizards, can you now?), and was given the key to the manacles. He promptly unlocked them and slipped the handcuffs and key into his back pocket--throwing them down in disgust would be a mistake in public, although his skin crawled at touching them.
Snape(?) rubbed his fingers mechanically over the reddened wrist marks, but said nothing. Harry stiffened in sudden horror at the thought that they might have deprived him of his voice. No, of course not, the auctioneer had specifically mentioned "reads aloud well" as part of his new servant's range of accomplishments.
Harry cleared his throat. "Come with me," he said awkwardly.
Again, a nod. Harry peered at him. The man didn't look particularly drugged, from what Harry could tell in his admittedly limited knowledge of such things, but he was eerily still and quiet. They walked back around the Tower and down the street to the carpark.
"What's your name?" Harry asked abruptly.
The response was prompt enough, but mechanical, and so soft that Harry had trouble hearing him above the traffic. "Severus Snape, sir."
Harry squeezed his eyes closed in sudden pain. "Do...do you know who I am?"
"My new master. Sir." Any sarcasm was completely masked in the colourless tone of voice.
This was horrible. "I live with my cousin. You...we have an attic room." He couldn't put him there. Better than the cupboard, though. "Er. We're here." Harry motioned the man to his car. "Go ahead and get in. I'll drive."
Again, the polite inclination. "Very good, sir."
Harry wanted to scream. They drove back to Surrey instead in silence. He could not tell which of them was more afraid of the other.
--
Dudley jerked the front door open as Harry fumbled with the housekeys, and stared at the man in shabby, dark clothes looming behind Harry. "Who's this?"
"Severus Snape."
Dudley arched a pale eyebrow. "And who's he when he's at home?"
"He is at home. Our..." Harry swallowed involuntarily. "Our new servant."
"Oh. We've got a servant now. Well, la dee fucking da. You can put him in your old room, there's space there." His cousin turned and shuffled back to his own room, once that of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, no doubt to click away at his software programming some more.
Harry flushed. "Er, that's my cousin, Dudley. Dudley Dursley. We live together. Saves rent."
"Indeed."
The door slammed shut upstairs; Dudley was officially now lost to the outside world. Harry almost dragged Snape over to the sofa and made him sit down. "Um. Sir. Please, I'm so sorry about this. You can take my room; I'll use the one in the attic, I've slept there before. It's no trouble, please."
"It would scarcely be fitting, sir."
Harry nearly did scream. Instead, he ran to the bathroom, scrubbed the concealer from his forehead so hard that his scar turned red, removed the contacts from his stinging eyes, and fumbled around in the drawer for his oldest pair of glasses, never mind that the prescription had changed since his school days. He flew back to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. His hands shook as he got the tea things ready.
He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, and returned to the parlour. "Tea should be ready soon, sir," Harry told Snape. He felt vaguely like a house-elf, but didn't care. "Professor? You do know me, don't you? From...from school?" Even here, long self-conditioning made him guard his words. "From before?"
Snape gazed at him, nodded. "Yes. Of course. Mr Potter." Again, his rich, dark voice was totally impassive.
Harry sat down across from him. "Actually, I, er, go by Dursley now." Even after all this time, the name still tasted bad in his mouth. "Harry Dursley."
"Wise of you."
"Blood's thicker than water," Harry tried to explain, aware he was babbling. "Stickier, anyway."
"Indubitably."
MERLIN. Fortunately, at that moment, the kettle whistled. Harry started to excuse himself, but Snape was quicker and got to the kitchen before he could. He deftly arranged tea, sugar, and milk, and hunted around a bit for the lemon. "How do you take your tea, Mr Dursley?"
"Er, doesn't really matter. However you like it is fine."
Snape arched one fine, dark eyebrow, and proceeded to brew up the strongest, blackest tea Harry had ever choked down in his life. Damned if he'd reach for the milk and have Snape pour it for him, though. His "servant" didn't bat an eye at the bitter taste, drinking the tea as though he'd been starved for it. Come to think of it, Snape probably had--"luxuries" like a decent cup of hot tea were probably off-limits to him previously. Harry watched him close his eyes briefly, clearly savouring the drink.
"More tea, Professor?" He poured out before Snape could get to the teapot. The older man thanked him with a brief nod, then suddenly riveted Harry with the old, fathomless stare.
"Mr Dursley." The unfamiliar name rang with the same sarcastic overtones as "Mr Potter" had in former days. "You must not do this."
Harry blinked.
"I will tell you this one time, and one time only must suffice. You cannot play two roles, one your private and one your public self with me. You must, at all times, be Mr Dursley, employer of one Snape, a servant. The past is irrelevant at best, and deadly at worst." He fixed Harry with an implacable gaze. "And we know the worst is always certain."
He shivered, feeling like a mouse speared by a cobra.
"I don't know why you took what I must consider an unbelievably foolhardy risk in buying me at auction; nevertheless, I shall endeavour to fill whatever post it is you expect me to fill to the best of my ability."
Harry thought of ominous prophecies of death by poisoning, and of various and sundry cauldron contents in the past. He wondered if the ginger-haired boy was any better at prophecy than Trelawney had generally been, and his long-dormant mischievous streak woke up.
"Er...can you cook?" He actually rather enjoyed cooking, but he needed some sort of excuse to justify Snape's presence and reconcile Dudley to having a stranger in the house.
"Cookery and my previous employment are not unknown to bear some small resemblance. I believe, Mr Dursley, you shall find me at least adequate in that regard."
Harry let out a slow breath. "Very well, then," he said, trying to steel himself to his new persona. "We generally have dinner at half-past six."
"Very good, sir." Snape stood and bowed as Harry's stomach twisted within him. He scrambled to his feet, still feeling dwarfed by his old nemesis.
"We should get you settled in first," Harry said awkwardly, and led him upstairs, past Dudley's master bedroom and to Harry's current and Dudley's old room as a boy. "We'll, um, put you in here."
Snape turned his head, scanning the room thoroughly. "Indeed not. This is your room, surely. Unless you propose to share?" A hint of the old bite there. Harry flushed deeply.
"No, no. It's just...I thought you could use the space. For whatever. I was thinking of moving out anyway," he added with an airiness he didn't feel. "Upstairs, where I'd have more privacy." Back to that horrid little room with the bars...he winced inwardly. He hated the thought of going back there, but he couldn't put Snape in that little cell. He owed him that much.
Black and green eyes met in a battle of wills. Black eyes lowered first, thin lips twisted. "Very well, sir. As you wish."
"And we'll have to, um, buy you some new clothes." God, did the man have nothing but what he wore on his back?
"I propose first, sir, we set about moving you upstairs."
Snape was a swift and efficient packer, although he sometimes made an involuntary, abortive gesture of reaching for his wand to expedite the job. Harry's heart wrenched every time he caught the small movements. He grabbed the heavy items before Snape could reach for them--"servant" or not, Snape was probably not in the physical shape to haul things up and down flights of steps. How he wished they could simply levitate things--but that was clearly out of the question. The punishment for use of unlicenced magic was enforced far more draconianly now than it ever had been for students during Harry's school holidays.
"You have quite a little aerie, Mr Dursley." Accent on the little. Harry viewed the cramped, dusty, detested room with a stranger's eyes. Musty, bars on the window, the smell of hopelessness still miasmic despite the changed years. Hedwig's cage still hung in the window, long since vacated. He had released her many years ago, praying she would find the freedom he could not. She had flown back and tapped at his window, night after night, and Harry had had to slam it shut in her face. Finally, she gave him one last, unreadable look out of her huge, yellow eyes, and he had never seen her again. He had not slept well for a long time after that.
Harry's wand lay hidden under the floorboards along with what remained of his other Hogwarts gear. The Firebolt was locked in the closet, scratched up and desperately mutilated by Harry in a frantic attempt to make it appear an ordinary broom for sweeping--as though anyone could ever confuse a world-class Quidditch broomstick for anything else.
"There has been little happiness in this room, I think," Snape said with unexpected sadness. His eyes were closed. Harry made a choked-off sound of assent. The older man reopened his eyes after a moment, and walked with small steps over to the window, reaching out to touch the pane. "Bars." His voice held a ghost of the old bite.
"I couldn't put you in here," Harry said softly.
"Who lived here before?"
"I did. During summer holidays from...school." He'd almost said "Hogwarts", the forbidden name. "I attended St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys," he added hastily. The old lie tripped off his tongue with startling ease.
"Indeed. I confess little surprise there."
To his own surprise, Harry's lips curved up in a spontaneous smile. He hadn't done that for so long that the muscle movements felt strange. He looked up, and his expression faded as he saw the look in Snape's eyes, unguarded for once.
"You were kept in here. In a barred room barely large enough for you to walk ten paces."
He shrugged. "My aunt and uncle didn't much care for...eccentric behaviour."
"Ahead of their time, I see. They must have done well for themselves."
"Actually, no. They died."
"I'm sorry for your loss." Yes, clearly sarcastic there.
"They were trying to protect me." Blood had proven thicker in the end, after all. Harry was their wizard to torment, and mass bonfires on the front lawn would certainly alert the neighbours to anything untoward. "Dudley and I worked out an agreement." The two would cover up Harry's past in return for Harry's labour around the house, and both would leave each other strictly alone as much as possible. Dudley, having channelled his energies into combating computer viruses, and heartbroken by his parents' deaths, had become something of a recluse, and wanted as little as possible to do with the outside world, apart from take-away pizza and Chinese. Harry paid the bills and worked both inside and outside the home. The arrangement worked well enough. Hard work helped him not remember things.
"Because thou wast a spirit too delicate/To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands/She did confine thee...into a cloven pine...."
"What?" Snape's voice had sounded so softly that Harry could barely follow the words.
"Nothing to concern yourself with, Mr Dursley. Only a passing thought." The mask was back, in the impassive face and calm tones. "I should help you get set up in here. Your room could use a proper airing out."
Nothing was likely to help that particular room, save a bulldozer and exorcism. "No, thanks. I'll do it." He slipped back into "Mr Dursley" persona. "Hadn't you better see to dinner, Snape?" Yes, adopt the proper Malfoy tones. Not that their Luciferian pride had done them much good at the end.
Snape bowed, coolly, correctly. "Very good, sir. And, if you'll pardon the impertinence, sir..."
God. Nothing like Method Acting, apparently. "Yes, Snape?'
"I should see to a crowbar directly, if you'd rather not have those restraints on your window. And a good dusting." He turned on his heel and went down the steps with the smooth grace of a Potions professor who has just terrorized his class with the appropriate bon mot.
Harry bit back the impulse to laugh aloud, and went to fetch the cleaning supplies.
--
Harry smacked the intercom button impatiently. "Dudley!" he called. "Dinner!"
He heard the screek of Dudley's chair and a heavy sigh. "Sure. Yeah. Bring it up, will you?"
Harry smiled wickedly. "I think you want to come down for this." Dudley rarely left his quarters for any reason short of an emergency. He'd been amazed to see his cousin bestir himself enough to open the door for him earlier, but Harry's hands had been shaking so hard that he could barely get the keys in.
The stairs creaked. "Honestly," Dudley said crankily, "I'm this close to debugging the latest application they're after me for. You could at least send a tray up." He shuffled into the kitchen, then stopped, mouth open.
"Snape's good, isn't he?" Harry asked nonchalantly. "I think he's quite a treasure."
Candles lit on the linen tablecloth, all of Aunt Petunia's best china and silverware cleaned and polished to a shine, a tureen of soup on the table.
"If a task is worth doing, surely it is worth doing well." Snape's deep tones held just a trace of malicious pleasure.
"There's also overkill," Harry said under his breath, to his old professor. Snape smirked.
Dudley sat down heavily at the table as Snape discreetly retired. "So. You've hired us a butler. We're in the lap of luxury we can scarcely afford." His eyes raked Harry's. "What's the game..." he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper "...'Potter'?"
Harry gazed back coolly. "I work a full day in the office, take care of the house and garden, and do all the cooking. Snape came at a very reasonable price, and I was assured of his capability." He wanted to gag.
"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd hire one of them."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Dudley cut him off. "No. I don't want to know why or how or anything. He's your responsibility, not mine." He shoveled in a mouthful of soup. "Oxtail...mmm! Harry, this is really good! Mum was never..." He cut off abruptly and wiped his face with the serviette. "Just eat it before it ices over, will you? You're making me nervous, hovering like that."
Harry shrugged, sat down, and started eating. God, it was good. He rather hoped Snape hadn't reverted to form and whipped up something that would turn their skins green, just to keep his hand in. Oxtail soup like this was worth the worry, though. Bring on the copper poisoning.
Later, Dudley lay back in the armchair in a strikingly Uncle Vernon-esque pose, apparently in no great hurry to return to his computer upstairs. Considering that Dudley felt about his computer the way Harry had felt about his Firebolt, that was no mean feat. Snape had really made an impression on him.
Harry automatically opened the door to his room, then started to close it again with a hasty apology. He'd forgotten his old professor had set up quarters there. Snape sat on the bed, his head buried in his hands. He glanced up wearily and straightened himself. "You might as well come in if you wish, Mr Dursley."
He tiptoed in and shut the door behind him. Already the atmosphere of his old room felt different. The look of a young, middle-class Englishman's bedroom couldn't be any more different to a stone dungeon cell decorated in Slytherin green and silver and set about with miscellaneous bottles and dead things, but Snape's strong personality had somehow begun to permeate the room subtly. The drapes were firmly drawn, and the room arranged in Spartan order.
"Professor?"
"Mmm."
"I don't think I can do this after all. Not properly."
"You propose to send me back?" Was that a hint of fear underneath the modulated voice?
"No! It's just...I don't think I can hold to being 'Mr Dursley, employer of one Snape' all the time." He twisted his hands. "How do you do it?" he asked suddenly.
"Act my role of perfect servant? As I would any persona I am enforced to take on. Do sit down," he added, waving Harry to the swivel chair by the window. Harry sat down and scooted himself closer to Snape. He noticed the other man absently touching his fingers to a spot on his lower left arm, an old nervous gesture. "You haven't had much experience with this sort of thing after all, have you?"
"I thought I had." Harry swallowed. He'd cut himself off from the wizarding world, after all, gone undercover and out of sight when so many had failed to do so. Even most of the Muggle-born had eventually been exposed, although Harry, with his arcane luck, was still hanging on.
"Feel a bit of a traitor, do you?"
He jumped in his seat guiltily, making the chair slide.
"Well, get used to it, 'Gryffindor Who Lived'." Ouch. "One either survives and adapts to new conditions, or one does not. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, as your godfather found to his sorrow."
Sirius. Remus. Gone with so many others.
"What happened to you?" Harry asked softly. Might as well spread the guilt around a bit.
"Internment. 'Treatment'. Re-education. Released into the outside world with a gold star and a pat on the back. I have my certificate, should you need to see it." He rummaged around his inner pockets and pulled out a folded paper, handing it to Harry. "For that matter, it should probably go in with your personal papers, if you've had the intelligence to keep your records organised and filed away in a secure spot." He glanced around the room disparagingly. "From the appalling state of your room when I found it, I shouldn't think you have done so, however."
"I have a lockbox," Harry said through his tightened throat. "I'll put it in directly."
"Good. Do so." Snape looked up suddenly, eyes unexpectedly wistful. "And you...do you still possess your..." he only mouthed the last word "...magic?"
He nodded painfully. Snape shut his eyes. "I should have known you would at least come through this intact," he said.
"It wasn't by choice, really. I mean, I didn't want them to take...that...away. But I got legally adopted as a Dursley and all the records said I'd gone to St Brutus's." Having a cousin who actively enjoyed computer hacking helped.
"Goodness. They were bound and determined to make you a proper Muggle, weren't they?"
"Beat it into me, yes."
"I would never have guessed." Snape's posture seemed more relaxed now, almost as though he were enjoying himself. "After all the time you spent roaming the halls, you wretched boy, always poking your nose where it didn't belong, the shining star of Witch...of The Weekly," he hastily corrected himself, "I had thought you incapable of any common sense or ability to lie low whatsoever." He sighed. "You took years off my life, you know. Did you never, once, simply stay in your own bed and out of trouble?"
"I never looked for trouble," Harry argued, trying not to remember how he'd once told Ron and Hermione the same thing. "Trouble always found me."
"Mmm. You never seemed to discourage it, however. A true chaos vortex you were, and apparently are still, since you bought me." He fixed Harry with his dark eyes. "Tell me, 'Mr Dursley', whatever possessed you to do such a thing, since we are exchanging confessions?"
Harry bit his lip and glanced down. He hadn't bothered to change back into contacts, and his eyes hurt from the unaccustomed prescription. He removed his glasses and rubbed absently at his scar. "Well. I had the day off, and I was in the neighbourhood. I like to watch the ravens."
"I see. You drove out to London to watch the ravens. Most idiosyncratic of you. Do go on."
"I forgot about the auction. And then I saw you on the block. I didn't know for sure it was you or not, but the description sounded about right. I don't know. Your price was affordable."
Snape gave a dry laugh.
"And if I could save...if at least one person I knew could...be sort of safe. Then maybe, I...." He broke off, his hands clenched in his lap.
"'One retired Potions professor, free to good home.' You thought perhaps you could redeem yourself? One righteous man out of Sodom?"
Sodom. Good grief. "Um...sort of. I suppose." He didn't think he'd been thinking out his reasons as clearly as that. He rubbed at his scar again, feeling the dull ache in his temples. "I dunno. I have a headache," Harry mumbled, truthfully enough, but feeling like a student making excuses for a late essay.
Snape looked at him sharply for a moment, then stood up. "Let's find you something for that, Mr Dursley."
"Medicine chest," Harry said. "In the bathroom. In a mirrored cabinet." He got up in turn and led the way down the hall to the correct room, Snape trailing him like a shadow.
"Have you got a mortar and pestle?" Snape asked matter of factly.
Harry chuckled and Snape glared at him. "Sorry. It's just most Mu...modern chemist's products are pre-made. In tablet form."
"Indeed." Snape sounded unimpressed. They'd got to the bathroom and now Snape jerked the cabinet door open, taking down bottles, opening them, sniffing them clinically. "What have we here...hmm. Paracetamol, that'll destroy your liver. Willowbark extract, that'll do your bloodstream a world of good, won't it. 'Ibuprofen', whatever that is...good God, do you want your stomach lining to dissolve in agony?" He shook his head. "If this is the best the 'modern world' has to offer," he said scathingly, "I'm amazed anyone survived to see this century."
"I'll take the paracetamol," Harry said, brushing past Snape impatiently. "Takes longer for the side-effects to kick in."
He started to dry-swallow and then gagged a bit. Snape hastily got him a glass of water and made him drink it, eyeing Harry watchfully. "For heaven's sake, Mr Dursley," he said as Harry coughed a bit. "Growing older hasn't taught you any patience, has it?"
Harry swallowed. "I'm all right, thanks."
"I should prepare you something that will work better than that."
"And taste horrible?"
"Precisely." Snape gave his old, familiar nasty smile. "Half of proper medication is psychological, after all," he said, turning to go back to his room as Harry followed. "Your body fights back harder against the perceived enemy beating against its taste buds."
Harry blinked. "I see." Weird. Made sense though, in a twisted fashion. He paused at the doorway to his former room. "I reckon I should let you get some rest."
"That would be much appreciated, Mr Dursley." Harry could see how Snape's shoulders slumped, straining against fatigue. "When would you like breakfast?"
"I usually get up at six and start it."
"Take an extra half-hour to sleep, then. I'll take care of it."
"Er, thanks."
"Think nothing of it, Mr Dursley. It is why you hired me as your servant." He gave Harry a piercing look. "Isn't it, Mr Dursley?"
"Of course, Snape," Harry said, smiling tightly. "Good night."
As he went upstairs to his childhood room, he wondered why his legs were shaking.
--
He jerked awake at the smell of frying food. Oh hell. He must have overslept. Dudley would be throwing a fit at having to prepare his own breakfast. He sat up, disoriented by the strange layout and atmosphere of the room--were there bars on his window? Then the previous day's events hit him.
Ravens.
Auction.
Snape. Snape?
Dear God!
He dressed hurriedly, with shaking fingers, combed his messy hair, put in his contacts and made up his forehead mechanically, and almost ran down the stairs. Dudley was already down--unusual, that--and chatting with Snape who was efficiently folding eggs in Aunt Petunia's old omelette pan.
"...and a most ill-mannered, careless excuse for a student he was, Mr Dursley," Snape was saying. "Would you care for some mushrooms in your omelette?"
"Yeah." Dudley chuckled suddenly. "I didn't know St Brutus's was so...exciting." He glanced up to see Harry's nasty glare, and gave his younger cousin a malign, egg-filled grin.
Harry put on his most Malfoyean attitude and swept past Dudley to the kitchen table. "Telling tales out of school, Snape?" he asked haughtily.
"One might say that, Mr Dursley. Ham, cheese, or mushroom for you?"
"Gosh, they all sound good. Whatever's handy." He winced as the words left his mouth. Whatever was handy might well include drain cleaner.
Snape, however, calmly diced all three and folded them into the new batch of eggs. "Very good, Mr Dursley."
"Look," Dudley said, leaning forward, "isn't it too confusing to call us both Dursley?"
"I can scarcely refer to the other gentleman by his school name," Snape said, not looking up from his task. "I believe, when two or more people share the same surname in a household, the traditional form is to refer to the younger ones by their given names while the eldest keeps the family name."
"I'm the younger one," Harry said uneasily. "You don't have to call me 'Mr Harry' though, unless you want to."
"It's all the same to me," Snape said, and slid the eggs on Harry's plate.
--
"An interesting young man, your cousin is," Snape said to Harry as they washed up after dinner. "He reminds me a bit of my old House students." Dudley was safely ensconced upstairs.
Harry shuddered. "I always thought he'd fit right in with that crowd." He handed Snape another pan. "Spoiled rotten and always looking for the main chance."
"A survivor, Mr Dursley," Snape corrected with deadly gentleness. "Much like yourself." He scoured the metal with brittle force.
"And you." Harry picked up a dishtowel and started wiping off the dishes stacked in the drainer.
"No."
"No?"
"I wound up in a detention centre for the, ah, 'enhanced', and received the appropriate treatment. Does this sound like a survivor to you?"
"Of course it does," Harry said, surprised. "You're here, aren't you?"
Snape snorted. "'Here.' Yes. Quite."
"Was it that degrading to be purchased by me?" Harry asked disbelievingly.
"I scarcely had a choice in the matter, had I?"
"Fine. I'll release you from your contract. Sorry to be such a burden on you after all these years."
Chill silence. Then:
"I must apologise, Mr Dursley," Snape said.
"Apologising to me? Who are you, and what have you done with Snape?"
"I can hardly behave like the man you knew in the past, can I?"
"You weren't exactly servantly, no," Harry said. "But..." He didn't want to be treated by Snape in the same way they'd related to each other in the past. But servile Snape was just...creepy. "Dudley likes you, though," he said, trying to change the subject. "I've never seen him respond to anyone the way he has with you since his parents were alive."
"As I said, a young man with whom I can relate." Snape bent down to replace the cookware in the proper drawers, wincing slightly. "I suspect it was not the easiest thing for him, growing up with you."
"With me? Oh, for heaven's sake. His mum and dad spoiled him rotten. He's a horrible little git. Hey, I can say that," Harry added hastily, seeing the look in Snape's eyes. "I'm supporting him. It's not like he does any practical work around here." Except for keeping them financially secure and Harry out of harm's way, of course.
"Being 'spoiled rotten' and having a difficult time growing up are not mutually exclusive, you know," Snape said. "I suspect you intimidated him somewhat."
"He's the one who bullied me when we were kids," Harry said hotly. "I didn't do a damn thing to him except exist."
"Precisely. You're a very galling young man, Mr Potter."
Harry's head jerked up at the use of his old name. "Snape, you..."
Snape went on as though nothing unusual had happened. "You're physically in far better shape than he is--"
Harry snorted, sidetracked. "That's not difficult."
"Your cousin is not at all stupid, despite appearances. Do you really think he doesn't know you overshadow him at every turn? You have the superficial looks and glibness of tongue which he himself does not possess."
"I can't tell if you're insulting me or complimenting me," Harry muttered, slapping a glass down in the drainer with unnecessary force.
"Stop that, you'll break it," Snape said, whisking the glass away. "Rest assured, I am doing neither, merely stating matters as I see them. There's no need to take matters personally."
This from the man who had always seemed to take Harry's presence as a personal insult himself. "For someone intent on maintaining his role as my servant, you slip back into your old ways a lot."
Snape sighed and set the glass carefully in the cupboard. "I confess, Mr Dursley, I have a harder time maintaining my role than I had thought I would. Your presence is a remarkably troubling one for me, though I will admit its necessity."
"You called me 'Mr Potter' just now. Was that deliberate or a slip?"
"A slip, I think. A moment of foolish indulgence on my part." He frowned. "Perhaps, after all, it is difficult for me to bring myself to refer to you as 'Dursley'. It was wiser for you to eclipse yourself behind your cousin's name, no doubt, but it is...unnerving for me to look at you, to remember the infuriating boy that you were once, and to see how in some ways you haven't changed much."
"Still infuriating, you mean?"
"That, and other things. You still, I see, cannot properly dry a simple kitchen implement. Give me that," he snapped, reaching for the colander Harry had been wiping. Harry gripped it tightly and glared right back at his servant.
"I can't see you talking to any other of your masters like that."
Snape's eyes shadowed. "They were not ones to allow their underlings to take liberties."
"Doesn't stop you trying to take them with me," Harry muttered. "What'd they have you do, anyway?"
"I worked for the government for a while, helping to devise various serums. They were less than pleased to discover they did not always work as they had anticipated." His smile was grim.
"Snape..."
"I promised to work for the good of 'my people'. The official ideas of what was in the best interest of former wizards and my own thoughts on the subject did not necessarily coincide. In addition, while there are similarities to potion-making in what I was doing, there are also great differences. I can prepare a non-magical remedy; I can no longer create potions."
"But potions were your life!" Harry gasped. His heart felt as though it had suddenly seized up.
"Were. Yes." His old professor's voice assumed the sourly didactic tones Harry remembered from school. "When you put together, say, asphodel and wormwood without the appropriate mental and spiritual charge, do you really think you would get anything but a highly toxic sludge? No. It is the magical force and intent that the potion artist puts into his work that provides the final catalyst for the Draught of Living Death. Without that essential gift of magic, the potion ingredients are wasted and the preparation will be worthless." Snape stared down at the floor. "I have the knowledge still, but the ability is gone." He smiled mirthlessly and continued, "A pity. I've never found a proper Muggle remedy that works for insomnia."
Harry dropped the colander in the drawer and savagely slammed the cabinet door shut with a bang and clatter of metal. "The bastards."
"What?" Snape stared at Harry, clearly surprised and a bit shocked.
"The bastards". Harry felt himself shaking with fury. "They took that away from you! How DARE they?"
Snape calmly put the rest of the dried utensils away. "Wizardry is not to be trusted. I was not to be trusted with my gifts, though my body and mind were sound enough to work. So...." He shrugged.
"I can't believe you're so reasonable about it! Don't you want to kill them?"
"Of course. But enough of us have died battering ourselves against an immovable force. Not all of us are inclined to a suitably heroic death. Are we, young Gryffindor?"
Harry bit his lip and did not answer.
--
It was so hard to sleep in this room. Harry stared out blankly at the moonlight streaming through the bars that criss-crossed his window, into Hedwig's cage, along the locked closet door that held the remnants of his Firebolt. He curled up in a ball under the sheets. For so long, he had made himself forget. Forget his wizarding instincts, his old training, his childhood fears and resentments. In this room it was as though all the tragedies of the recent past were eclipsed by the more distant events that had shaped his grown-up self.
Shivering, he fumbled for his dressing gown and went downstairs. Maybe he could get some warm milk and sleeping tablets. Dudley, who enjoyed staying up until the wee hours doing only he knew what with his computer, sardonically referred to the two of them as "the house that never sleeps".
He got his preferred remedy from the medicine chest and started for the kitchen. He froze as he saw Snape meditatively polishing Aunt Petunia's silver set, the one she kept strictly for important company. Harry could only imagine what Snape would say to the Muggle remedy.
"Mr Dursley." The calm, dark voice, acknowledging him.
"Um. Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you. I was just getting some milk." He poured some into a saucepan, waiting for it to heat up.
"This is your house. You can hardly disturb me."
"Your house, too," Harry pointed out, concentrating on stirring his milk. "Why're you up? You couldn't sleep either?"
"No. As I remember, you were a regular little insomniac as a child, so I shouldn't be terribly surprised to find you are one now." He shook his head. "Always wandering the halls, coming up with new and further mischief. He should have never given you that damned cloak." Snape caught himself. "Quite like old times, I must say."
"Quite." Calm, clockwise stirs, just like Potions class...oh, damn. Harry bit his lip, hard.
He focused on the sounds of the house around him, the dull tick of the clock on the wall, the soft, scratchy shushings of rag against silver and spoon scraping the sides of the pan. He wrinkled his nose as the smells of polish and heating milk combined, and heard Snape sneeze behind him. Harry giggled.
"Something amusing, Mr Potter?" Potter again.
"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling eleven again. "Not really. I'm sorry about the smell."
"It does clash, rather. Never mind, I was just finishing up."
"Want some milk too?"
Snape hesitated visibly, then nodded. "I see no harm in it." He sniffed. "You're scalding your milk."
"Ack!" Harry hastily switched off the burner. Snape stared at him impassively. "Thanks."
"I find it difficult to imagine how you managed to feed the two of you if this is a sample of your cooking skills." He got up and poured the warm milk into two glasses with a steady hand.
"Hey! I didn't do that poor a job of keeping us fed, I'll have you know," Harry said.
Snape washed his hands and cleared off the table as Harry carefully brought their milk over. "I notice your cousin is not precisely in the pink of nutritional health. For heaven's sake, what were you feeding him? Deep-fried Mars Bars?"
"Dudley's always been like that," Harry said, exasperated. He downed two sleeping tablets with his drink, under Snape's withering stare. "Yes, it's a Muggle sleep-aid, no, it's not as good as what you used to brew I'm sure, yes, it's the best I can do right now, no, it doesn't always work. That answer your questions?"
"Most succinctly, Mr Dursley." He sniffed carefully at his glass and took an experimental sip. An eyebrow lifted. "Palatable," he said, with obvious reluctance.
"Hah! See? I can cook."
Snape merely snorted. "Microwaved and frozen foods, if you care to call them that. And Chinese take-away if you're feeling flush. No wonder your cousin's obese."
Harry dug his fingers into the tablecloth. "Would you stop harping on that? Dudley is perfectly capable of leaving the house and preparing his own food if he wants. He just doesn't want to."
"Why not?"
"Lazy, I guess." Harry focused on the flowered tablecloth pattern, tracing the line of a rose leaf with one finger. "It's not like he's crippled, or anything."
"No?"
"Not physically. Not yet, anyway."
"Crippled in other ways?" Snape's voice was unexpectedly soft. Harry didn't meet his eyes.
"Maybe. I don't know." He did know, he was lying, both to Snape and to himself. "I don't think the outside world holds much appeal to him. He loved his mum and dad, even if I didn't much."
"Stop that." Snape put a long-fingered hand on Harry's. "You'll scratch the cloth."
He hadn't realised he'd started to claw. Harry firmly wrapped his hands around his milk glass and focused on drinking that. When he emerged, wiping his mouth, he found Snape's eyes upon his, the black depths surprisingly gentle.
"I'm not a trained mediwizard or a psychologist," Snape said, speaking so softly that Harry had to lean in to hear him properly. "But from what I know of my own experience, I'd hazard a guess that Mr Dursley is agoraphobic."
Harry swallowed deeply. "So he is afraid to go outside. But it's not just him...being Dudley."
"Imprecisely put, but I believe you understand me. Also, I suspect he might have some long-running nutritional problems stemming from his less than admirable diet and exercise habits. Possible incipient diabetes, for that matter, though of course a specialist should diagnose that, not an amateur such as myself."
"My God." Harry sat back in his chair, milk forgotten until Snape took the glass from his hand and put it firmly in the center of the table. "I don't want...I mean, I don't like him, but...Jesus." He cleared his throat. "Is there any way to help him?" He lowered his eyes, fixing them on his hands in his lap.
"An improved diet should be a start, if not a substitute for medical care," Snape said. "Of course, much of the difficulty would lie in getting him to a physician in the first place, given his disinclination to leave the house. But I believe we can work through at least the more crippling manifestations of his fear, even if we cannot treat it entirely. I've done similar work before."
Harry looked up. "How do you know all this stuff anyway?"
Snape gazed back for a long moment, his expression distant. Finally he said, "I believe we should continue this conversation where we might have more privacy."
Yes, if they were going to touch on the past, they wouldn't want to do so downstairs. Aunt Petunia had always been hyper-aware of the prying eyes and ears of neighbours, whether they existed or not, and there was more reason than ever in these days to be paranoid. Harry picked up his milk and stood up. "All right, then."
For the second time, Harry and Snape went into the attic bedroom. With the harsh electric lights on, it seemed dingier and more cramped than ever. Harry sat uneasily on the bed while Snape took the chair by the scuffed-up student desk. He absently played with a pen held in his fingers. A long, painful silence followed.
"As you know, I was Head of my House for many years," Snape began in a quiet, steady voice. "My students were often treated poorly by the other students at the school. They were considered anti-social, treacherous, automatically the villain in any conflict, no matter what the true state of affairs might be. Many came from families where they were treated poorly, viewed as tools for their parents in their ever-present drive for power. Others had never had families to care. It fell upon me to be a parental figure for them."
Harry frowned. As far as he was concerned, the Slytherins had been "anti-social, treacherous," and "automatically the villain". Though if he and the other Gryffindors hadn't automatically behaved as though they were.... It seemed like one of those chicken and egg things. The Slytherins were bastards because they felt they were treated badly by the Gryffindors, and the Gryffindors treated the Slytherins badly because they felt the Slytherins were bastards. Or possibly the other way around.
"I came to understand them," Snape continued. "My own home life was not...dissimilar to what some of my students had experienced, and we had many of the same drives and outlook on life, not surprisingly. I could counsel them more easily than any of the other staff members. Though I may have been seen as too partial, I still believe it was my responsibility to support my House to the utmost of my ability. Few, if any, of my colleagues had the necessary empathy to deal well with my Slytherins."
Harry almost flinched. There. Snape had said it. "Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Gryffindor." The proud House names seemed to ring in the still air of the small room, even in Snape's hushed speech. "All of these were beloved by the staff and students of our school. But not Slytherin. Someone had to look out for them. My snakelets were my children. The children I never had of my body.
"Some had health problems. Many had emotional difficulties. Some had learning disabilities, like Crabbe and Goyle."
"What about Longbottom?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself. Surprisingly, Snape didn't glare. Much.
"Mr Longbottom was a case unto himself. He was sorted into Gryffindor for a purpose. He was perfectly capable of tapping into that Gryffindor courage and standing up for himself, if he wished. And he was free to turn to his own Head of House, should he need to. If she did not do for her students what I would have freely done for mine, that was her decision and her style of instruction."
Still, Harry wanted to argue, it hardly seemed fair. He tried to keep silence though, unwilling to break the spell of Snape's narration.
But something seemed to take over for him, despite himself. "And Hermione?" Oh, God. Hermione. It hurt even to think of her. He'd tried not to for so long. "You always harassed her for helping the rest of us." His voice grew stronger, harsher. After all these years, Snape's unfair treatment still infuriated him. "She always knew the right way to mix her potion, always knew the answers to every question you threw at her." He must be out of his mind, Harry thought, listening to his own words spill out as though of their own accord. Talking this way to Snape, talking this way to anyone about...that.
"Miss Granger," Snape said stiffly, "again was perfectly capable of holding her own, and I believe did so on a number of occasions. The world does not look kindly on those who are blessed with brains and are unwary enough to reveal they have them, and the sooner she learned that fact the better for her. Had she been Slytherin, there are many things I might have taught her about channelling that dazzling intelligence and memory. As it was, she was quite enough of a handful on her own."
"She died fighting," Harry said, his voice barely audible. "She said she'd leave. Get to safety. I...I know she left. And then she came back again, when she didn't have to. Came back to get more people. And they...." Harry broke off suddenly, clutching his pillow to his chest. "Her whole family," he whispered. "No one cared they were Muggles."
"The fortunes of war," Snape said remotely. "But that is little consolation to those left behind, no matter to which House they may have belonged. As I was saying, I learned a little more each year from my students as to their needs. Gradually, I learned how I might help them. It couldn't be done overtly with some, as they needed to keep some sense of pride that had been damaged or that had been too heavily inculcated. Others needed more open caring. Many had deeply hidden fears and terrors that only came out on certain occasions, and it was my responsibility to be on the watch for them. Draco was a very frightened child," he added absently, staring down with apparent fascination at the chewed pen he twiddled in his fingers. "With his father, it's no wonder." Snape sighed, apparently caught in memories, then came out of it almost visibly.
"As to Mr Dursley, his case is sadly similar to others I have known. But because of that similarity and my experiences, even though he is, fortunately for him, not 'enhanced', I hope to be able to be of some use." Once again, Snape was his practical, formal self. "Though again, I must caution you that I am in no way a medical professional, nor trained in any fashion that the conventional world would understand."
Harry nodded. "I do." It surprised him that he should find it so hard to speak. "Um, Snape. Thank you."
Snape rose and bowed. "It is my obligation to serve you and your family in any way I can. Do not thank me until I have accomplished something. If I can do so at all."
"Yeah. Okay. I understand."
The older man walked over to the door, his steps even in Muggle clothing eerily familiar, graceful and flowing like a dancer's. "Are you feeling more inclined to sleep now, Mr Dursley?"
Feeling oddly like a child, Harry lay down, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. "Yeah. I'm gonna try to sleep now. See you in the morning."
Something that might have almost been a flicker of smile showed on Snape's face. "Good night, Mr Dursley. Sleep well."
He did.
--
It became a regular ritual. Harry and Snape were cool and polite to one another downstairs, in the daytime. From what Harry heard from both Dudley and Snape, they had their own rituals while Harry was at work, of elevenses and afternoon tea, discussing Muggle technology and blithely character-assassinating Harry. He didn't mind. Dudley looked slimmer and healthier than he had for a long time, as Snape was in the habit of purchasing the higher-quality farmer's market produce that he preferred over "that supermarket rubbish", and, more to the point, had actually convinced Dudley to eat it on a regular basis. Harry had simply never had the time nor the inclination to spend on that amount of care. More importantly, Dudley had a confidant with whom he could open up properly, without fear of condemnation or ridicule. The two cousins were on far better terms now than they had been in their childhoods, but the tensions of the past and present still kept them unwilling to have much to do with one another.
But at night, not every night, but at the times when both Harry and Snape were struck by their chronic insomnia, the two men would quietly prepare their warm milk and head upstairs to Harry's room. There they would talk, however uneasily, and for the first time in years, Harry could bring himself to speak a little of the wizarding world and of their shared past at Hogwarts. It was an indulgence, and most likely a dangerous one, to let the Muggle world slip away and to talk more or less freely about proscribed topics. Either could turn the other one in at any time. Perhaps that was why Harry could talk with Snape so easily.
--
Snape looked around the room, clearly noticing all the junk and debris that had been stacked up into corners and lay scattered around the room. "This more resembles a bin for discarded objects than a bedroom. Have you never cleaned it up?"
Harry flushed. "This is where Dudley kept all his used and broken stuff when he was a kid, that he didn't want any more but didn't want to throw out, either. No one thinks to look here for anything. So it can be useful," he finished guardedly.
Snape's voice dropped. "Not just Muggle artifacts?"
Harry nodded. He looked at Snape for a long time, then took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He dropped to his knees and levered up the old floorboard over the space that had once contained his wizarding supplies safe from the Dursleys. After some rummaging, he found what he was looking for.
The wand felt as it always had in his hands. Quivering, brimful of gifts and secrets. More of a natural extension of his arm than a foreign object. He didn't wave or gesture with it, simply balanced it in the palm of his hands, then held it out to Snape.
Snape visibly shuddered, reminding Harry incongruously of a Hammer cinema vampire's revulsion to a brandished cross. "For the love of God, Potter," he growled, "put that away!"
Harry protectively hugged his wand to him, then slowly, reluctantly, replaced the wand in its hiding place and closed the gap. He felt hurt by Snape's anger. "So," he said. "Are you going to turn me in now?"
"No!" Snape's sudden outburst surprised them both. More quietly, he continued, "No, Mr Potter. It is so fresh, that is all. Too strong a reminder for me of the past. That you have your wand still is a miracle. Hide it well. You should not have trusted even me with that knowledge."
"If I'd had any sense, I would have destroyed it," Harry said in a low voice. "Almost everything I had was incredibly dangerous. They were going house to house and searching for wizarding items, and everything they found they burned. I kept only the most important items and destroyed the rest. It almost killed me to do that," he added with a grim smile, "but keeping them around would have got me killed, and risked everyone else's lives too."
"I suppose that broomstick you loved so dearly was a sacrifice to the bonfires," Snape said.
Harry shook his head. He slowly walked to the closet and pulled out his desecrated Firebolt. "I couldn't let them have it." He ran his hand lovingly, sorrowfully along the scarred handle, the scratched-out scuff where the "Firebolt" stamp had once been. The bristles were torn and sticking out every which way, but the overall proud line of the broom told those with perception that this sad husk had once swept the skies of England, without peer.
"Broken like so much else," Snape said softly. "What we have lost...."
Harry swallowed. "But it's not gone. I couldn't let it burn. Never."
Snape nodded, his fathomless eyes sad.
He could still feel the thrum of the Firebolt's magical energies under his hand. The broom quivered, longing to fly. "I have to hide it from myself," he said. "If I don't, I'll just jump on it and fly away."
"It is not dead. Well. There is some mercy in that, I suppose, crippled though you've made it."
Harry nodded. "Can you feel it's alive, Professor?" He extended the splintering broom handle to Snape, who recoiled.
"Professor! What's wrong?"
"Mr Dursley," Snape said through tightened lips, "even you should not be so crass. Have you forgotten already what I allowed to be done to myself?"
He had. For just a moment, Harry had made himself forget that his austere and terrifying Potions master was now less than a Squib. He lowered the broom to his lap, cradling it gently in his hands, ashamed of himself.
"What it is it like...being without your magic?"
"So...." Snape took in a long, hissing breath, his eyes far off and unfocused. "Imagine yourself a great cellist in the Muggle world, a Pablo Casals, perhaps. You have been robbed of your instrument, and the deprivation is an almost physical pain. Then, you are taken to a room and strapped to a pillar. Your hands are confined in thick boxing gloves, devoid of fine motor movement.
"There before you is your cello, or one finer, a Stradivarius crafted from heaven. And you cannot touch it, you cannot reach it, any movements you make are stifled and confined before they leave your brain. Your fingers shift within the clumsy gloves. You know what you are capable of, every muscle within you screams at the pain of trying to accomplish what you are not allowed to complete, the fulfillment is so close but so far away beyond reach, no matter how you strain and struggle against your bonds. And you cannot move, you are lost. Paralyzed forever."
Harry thought of whistling through the skies above the Quidditch pitch, eyes scanning the sky for the Snitch, every nerve taut and quivering. Then of the sickening jolt of the broom veering out of control, the frozen terror of plummeting fifty feet to the hard ground, and, worst of all, the knowledge that you could not save yourself, would never save yourself from the inexorable force of the ground rushing up to hit you. Then thought of living and reliving that moment for the rest of an unknown lifespan.
Snape suddenly leaned forward, the full force of his intensity brought to bear on the man before him. He dropped his voice to a growling whisper. "Harry, never let them reduce you to this. NEVER. Kill them all first, with no mercy. Or, if you are at the final resort, kill yourself. Better that than living death."
"Oh, God, Professor. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He hadn't known. Hadn't allowed himself to know how deeply such a loss would cut.
And Snape had called him "Harry".
"What I don't understand," said Harry slowly, "is the utter hatred of the Muggle world now. I mean, my aunt and uncle hated magic. Hated me. But even Aunt Petunia said how proud her own parents were of my Mum when she got her Hogwarts invitation. And...and the Grangers," it hurt to think of them even now, "they always supported Hermione." He said her name with an effort through his clenching throat. "But everyone's turned against us, and against our supporters." He lowered his head in his hands. "I'm afraid for Dudley sometimes. I mean, I don't like him. But he's family, dammit."
"We choose our own family," Snape said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle.
"I guess maybe it's just as well he's always hiding upstairs in that damn room, never coming out. If the outside world ever got a whiff of how he's helped people like me, he'd be so dead." He found himself trembling and wrapped his arms around his body. "I've always been able to pass. 'Sheer dumb luck,' I guess. But Dudley's not...he doesn't have that...." Harry's voice trailed off. "So I'm always trying to protect him. And we hated each other as kids."
He felt a surprisingly delicate touch on his bowed head. Snape stroked his hair quietly. For a moment, Harry could scarcely breathe. No one had touched him with such gentleness since Sirius had been torn away from him. When his godfather had held him in his arms for as long as he possibly could before the guard took him away forever, and told Harry he loved him.
Startled, he lifted his head and caught a glimpse of Snape's hand retreating as though it had been burnt. Harry tried to get his scattered thoughts on track, swallowing what he barely recognized as a feeling of loss. "But then we have all these regular Muggle people," he continued. "They never had bad experiences with wizards, but now they're all banding together calling for our blood. They don't even know us. We never hurt them. But they want us dead. You, me...even those who went through treatment and are 'respectable'. I mean," he added, his voice starting to rise, "what do they WANT of us? Should we all just drop dead and save them the trouble, maybe?"
"The madness of humankind," said Snape. "Every so often, the majority will turn on a scapegoat and disembowel it." Harry blinked. "In fifty or one hundred years, the Muggles will stare at the wreckage and wonder how their forefathers could have blinded themselves to the truth. Oh, how very sorry they will be. It will be too late for us, of course. If you remember your History of Magic--which I well doubt," he added, fixing his cold, dark eyes on Harry. Harry blushed. He'd always slept through that class. "Then you might recall Professor Binns's lecture on the cycle of Muggle and wizarding relations.
"'The world of wizards and Muggles is akin to a great clockwork device,'" he quoted. "Of course Binns was always ridiculously partial to Muggle metaphors," he added, with a slight curl of lip. Snape leaned his head back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, and continued from memory. "'Our own society is a little wheel which turns within the larger one of the outside world of the mundane. We are nested within that world, yet we give it power and guide its principles, all unknown to the unthinking Muggle masses. Yet, every few centuries, the mechanism seizes up. The Muggle world wakes up to the presence, or perceived presence, of the wizarding world, and is thrown into a panic. We are imprisoned, executed without trial, hanged, drowned, burned--or at least the attempt to burn is made, but how many innocent Muggles have been caught up in their madness? Then the insanity fades, the Muggles shake their heads and return to their normal pursuits, and we wizards return to ours, perhaps diminished in number but unbroken in spirit, the great mechanism of the world slowly repairing itself. Yet there may come a time--though no true historian speculates unadvisedly--when the sheer overwhelming number of Muggles may damage this device irreparably. We must all be on our guard for such eventualities.' And of course even Muggles have been known to scapegoat their own subgroups on occasion, though you perhaps would know that history better than I."
Harry closed his jaw. "Binns said all that?" If only Hermione had been here. His fingers tightened around his milk glass, whitening with tension and memory.
"Speaking of Muggle history, here's something I've never entirely resolved to my satisfaction," said Snape, abruptly changing the subject. "I know you said you were at the auction that day because, and I quote, you 'like to visit the ravens.' But what on earth would cause you to drive all the way out to London for no good reason, simply to maunder about a spot primarily visited by tourists and bored Muggle school children?"
Harry shrugged, accepting the new topic with relief. "I was pretty much stuck here all my life," he said. "Because of the danger to me, I had to stay with the Dursleys." He made a face, out of reflex. "And they weren't keen on taking me places. I'd tag along with them sometimes, because they couldn't find a minder for me and it was less trouble to have me there than to drop me off somewhere else. And Dudley liked to have someone to beat up on, so I was useful for a Dursley emotional punching bag when we were on the road."
"I'm amazed, given your spotty history with the Dursley family, that you ended up throwing your lot in with them." Snape's voice was unexpectedly hard, for what reason, Harry didn't know.
He shrugged again. "It was all a long time ago. Things changed."
Snape seemed about to say something, but then gestured to Harry to continue speaking.
"Anyway. The ravens. I didn't get much chance as a kid to go about and see all the prime tourist trap things that most people get glutted on early. And then there was Hogwarts, so that was different--but back for summer holidays, it was the same old prison."
"This room. With the Dursleys."
Harry nodded.
"And yet you are here. Either you are an extraordinary glutton for punishment, or you have succeeding in rising above your youthful traumas in a way given to very few."
"Probably the former," Harry said.
"No doubt," Snape agreed coolly.
"Anyway, when I was finally an adult, and everything changed, one way or another...all these places were still there. That I'd never got a chance to see properly before. And when everything else was utterly insane and horrible, there were still these oases. I mean, we humans are cruel and hateful to each other, but it's like...we know better. When birds do the whole pecking order thing, it's just them. It's not personal. And they're beautiful. Glossy and elegant-shaped, and they look at you. Hagrid...Hagrid would have loved them. There was one I even named Hagrid. And another was 'Norbert,' because he had a terrible temper, and looked like he wanted to spit fire at you."
"'Norbert'?"
"Er, that was kind of an in-joke for the three of us." Even long after Hagrid's passing, Harry was unwilling to spill the gentle-hearted groundskeeper's secrets. Wherever he was, Harry hoped Hagrid had lots of ghastly monsters to look after and lavish love upon.
"It's interesting it should be the Tower ravens you focused on. You remember them from Binns's lessons, of course," he said, giving Harry a hard look.
Harry squirmed. "I do?"
Snape snorted. "Really, it's a wonder you passed any classes at all, given your lack of attention. Now. The ravens were established by Norman wizards who came over with William the Conqueror, and were intended to safeguard the White Tower, which was the primary symbol in London of the new regime, the first stone tower in England. The area has always been a focal point of protective magic, which makes it doubly ironic that the servant's auctions are held there. I got to know the area quite well," he added wryly.
"And when they leave, London falls?"
"So it's prophesied, quite possibly by an ancestor of Sybil Trelawney."
"So, if that's true, Muggle London is protected by the same forces they're trying to legislate out of existence. Do they even know that?"
Snape shrugged. "They've always been quite good at keeping bits and pieces of wizarding lore and adapting it to Muggle beliefs, while simultaneously denying the truth behind that folklore."
Harry leaned back and rested his head against the wall. "Wonder what would happen if someone drove the ravens away. If they decided not to come back."
"Immediate arrest and termination of the idiot in question, I should think," Snape said. "The blasted things
peck, too. They're rather attracted to shiny metallic objects, such as shackles. It was quite a task to suppress the urge to wring their feathered necks. Mr Potter, are you feeling quite well? You look pale."
"I was just thinking, I thought I liked ravens. I'm beginning to change my mind." He sighed. "It wouldn't work anyway, I know their wings are kept clipped. I wonder...."
"Yes?"
"If they had the choice, if they'd stay around where there's free food or if they'd just leave. It's not like anyone ever bothered to check." Harry grinned suddenly and added, "Wonder if anyone's tried the equivalent of Parseltongue on them."
"I've never heard of a 'Corvidmouth'."
Harry snort-laughed as Snape glared disdainfully at him. "Heir to Ravenclaw?"
"I doubt it. I'm sure Rowena Ravenclaw had far different thoughts as to what she felt was essential for the perfect disciple."
"Hmm. Like..." Harry thought for a moment, green eyes sparkling.
He heard a soft, rusty murmur from Snape. It took him a moment to realise that the man was singing, in a faint but tuneful baritone.
"You may fly high in your search for knowledge
And seek out what treasures lie hid before you.
But take care, little eaglet, that in your quest
You do not singe your wings or peck another's...."
He broke off abruptly, flushing slightly under the shadowing black fall of hair.
"That's...is that a Ravenclaw song?" Harry asked disbelievingly.
Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Do you think I spent all my life in Slytherin? I do have some small experience with other Houses, even if I did not find the experience a terribly rewarding one."
"YOU?"
He ran a hand through his hair wearily. "That stunned expression doesn't suit you, Mr Potter. You'll catch flies with your jaw hanging like that."
Harry hastily closed his mouth. "Did you become Head of House of Slytherin after spending your student years in a different house?" He still had difficulty envisioning Snape as anything but a green-dyed-in-the-wool Slytherin.
He nodded. "I was initially Sorted into Ravenclaw. The Hat took a great deal of trouble deciding whether it should put me there or in Slytherin. I told it, most foolishly, to put me wherever it thought best. After the first week or so, I knew I should have pressed the argument for Slytherin."
"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin at first," Harry said. "I had to beg it to choose a different House."
"And put you in Gryffindor. How interesting. Of course, Slytherin was out of the question for you," he added sarcastically. "How early you learned your little prejudices. You always were precocious in your trouble-making abilities."
"As though you would have wanted me in Slytherin," Harry retorted, his face flushing. "The half-Mudblood son of James Potter? I know just how long I would have lasted in your House."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps we could have learned more easily from one another. Perhaps you and Mr Malfoy could have put aside your petty bickering long enough to become a force with which truly to be reckoned. Ah," he added with sudden sadness, "you should have been with us in Slytherin. What we could have become."
"What was wrong with Ravenclaw that you couldn't stand it?"
"Wrong? Nothing. Everything. Ravenclaw...chafed. I was at least among peers who understood my drive to perfect my academic skills, but none who understood the other impulses which I found just as powerful. My family raised me to push myself as far as I could, a trait not noted among Ravenclaws. A good Ravenclaw may drive himself to complete an important paper before deadline, but the need to excell at all costs above his peers is discouraged." He added much more softly, almost shyly, "And Lucius was not there."
"Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked, disbelieving. After all these years, Snape's voice still held longing in it.
"Oh yes." Snape sighed. "He was older than I, of course, and I thought he carried the sun with him. Everything else was cast in shadow, including my lowly self." His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smirk. "Oh, Lucius had beauty to make the angels weep in those days." He stared into his milk glass. "I suppose Draco had those looks as well. Did you think so?"
Harry made a face. "I never noticed."
"Draco never had that intense charisma his father possessed, however," Snape said musingly. "Nor that flaunting sense of self. He mimicked it flawlessly, of course, but it was as much manufactured as natural. But Lucius...he had only to enter a room to draw all eyes and attention. He had such presence. He and Narcissa were the Golden Couple of their year, much as Potter and Evans were of theirs. I would have died for him, or thought I would have." Snape snorted. "Almost did more than a few times, of course."
"Did you love him?" Harry tried to take back the words as soon as they'd been spoken. They hung in the air.
Oddly, Snape didn't seem as upset by the audacity as Harry would have thought. "Did I love him?" He shrugged his shoulders. "In a way, I suppose I did, though probably not in any way that would make sense to you. He radiated power, something that appealed to a Slytherin manque such as myself. Our families were distantly linked by marriage, though that was something common to almost all the old wizarding families of any standing. And he had that tremendous gift of being able to focus that intense presence on you, so that you felt the sole recipient of his attention. He drew a number of us into his orbit, all of us madly smitten. Of course, I was young and foolish enough to fancy that said attention meant something to him, as it did to me. He was very good at letting me trick myself into believing his interaction with me held far more than it truly did. Yes," he said softly, "you would probably say I loved him. We are all young once." He compressed his lips. "But the past is a different country, and dead. Much like the Malfoys. And in all my life, I have only seen one other to rival, and indeed to excell, Lucius."
"Oh? Anyone I know...knew?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "You are arrogant, Potter, to try to sniff out all my secrets from me. Have you no sense of courtesy?"
"As much as you had when I was your student," Harry shot back.
"Mannerless then and mannerless now, I see. Mannerless to keep me up all hours of the night, as you did as a child. I must say, I would never have expected to end up a child-minder for Harry Potter as an adult, but that seems to be my fate throughout life."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Did I ever ask you to be my 'child-minder'?"
"Of course not. No one did. But it was sheer madness to let you traipse about into the restricted section of the library and into the Forbidden Forest and down dungeons and wherever your serious lack of judgement bade you wander. Rules," Snape said, fixing Harry with a black-eyed glare, "are meant to be enforced. Particularly when they are intended for the benefit of those who are too immature and ignorant to understand their purpose."
"I loved that cloak." Harry smiled and rested his chin on his knees. "I could get away with a ridiculous amount of stuff that way. And the map, of course."
"Map?" Snape quirked an eyebrow.
Oops. "Long gone now," Harry said hastily, and tried to change the subject. "Talk about you being upset about my wandering the halls. You practically frightened me into fits any number of times." He chuckled. "I'd be cowering under Dad's cloak, holding my breath, practically turning blue, and you'd turn right to me and snarl 'Potter!' It was like you knew," he said wonderingly. "I could hide from just about everyone but you and Mrs Norris. And Professor Dumbledore, of course."
Snape nodded. "The Headmaster was the sort of great soul who only appears once every century or so, who sees all, knows all, and acts for the greatest good with unyielding high principles and infuriatingly good luck. The enigma of Mrs Norris is one even I am unable to fathom. And as for me...." Snape lowered his head and stared at the floor for some time. Harry waited patiently for him to channel his thoughts.
"I always knew," Snape said, barely above a whisper. "I could always feel you, no matter what happened. And it was an infuriating experience, because it was never anything good. When you were in the halls at night, it was like a beacon flashing in my mind. You seemed to consistently home in on me, at times when I least wanted your interfering presence in my way. Like a fly that buzzes constantly around the room, that you just can't find to swat. But it was so hard to go that extra step and prove you had been causing trouble by your sheer presence, as was your wont. There were always extenuating circumstances. One of your irritating friends had what passed for a cast-iron alibi, or a teacher supported you over me even though I was a fellow colleague trying to enforce discipline over an unruly student as was my right. Or Dumbledore would simply declare by fiat that you had done what was right and there was no room to argue otherwise.
"But I always knew when you were near. The air seemed to vibrate, charged with your presence. Something about you seemed to burn into my soul, a wound that never healed. Even the cloak, good as it was, seemed only to mute and not destroy that flame. Can you blame me for trying to tame it, seal it away, drive it somewhere where it could exist without threatening me?"
"Sorry," Harry said inadequately.
"And even to this day," said Snape meditatively, "I can feel your spirit fluttering within you. At night, when you prowl the house, I can still sense your presence as much or more as I can hear you walking down the stairs or use my reason to know that you are a concrete reality of this house. The strange thing is that now it's a comfort, not a burden," he said, apparently more to himself than to Harry. Snape swirled the milk in his glass, watching it as though it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
Harry sat quietly. The room seemed oddly warm, almost vibrating, after the weight of all the unexpected talking and shared confidences. He felt ashamed of himself, that during all those years at Hogwarts and after, he had rarely stopped to think about Snape's own feelings. Snape was an obsessive tyrant, who delighted in shaming Gryffindors in front of Slytherins, who showed no mercy to weakness and spared no pity for his foes. That was how Harry had seen Snape for much of his childhood and teen years. He had never seen a reason to change his mind.
They had all changed so much, over the hard times. But perhaps Snape had not changed so much as Harry's willingness to see him in a fuller light.
"When you were on the auction block," Harry finally said, "did you know it was me, then? I thought..." Snape had seemed so distant and blank in London, as though everything that was Snape had withdrawn for protection into a little room and barred the door behind itself.
"Oh," Snape murmured, "I knew. Perhaps not right away. When you are on the block, all you can do is turn inward and focus on what will keep you stable and sane. If you think of all your fears for the future, of your unknown master or masters, of the jeers and insults of the crowds, you will never last. You must take every moment as it arrives and accept it with calmness, never showing your true emotions. That was what I learned early in my life. It served me well under the Dark Lord, both when I served him and when I worked against him." He glanced up and looked piercingly at Harry. "But, you, you little fiend, have always disturbed my equilibrium."
"'Who will it be this time?' I thought," Snape continued. "I knew what my fate would likely be, of someone with high expectations for what use he could wring out of me, who would suck me dry, or try to, and return me to the auction block in disgust when I would not fulfill whatever wishes he had for me. How could I have expected you? How could I have expected the sheer folly of a wizard who retained his full powers to lurk around the auction, expect one who hated me so direly throughout his school days to ransom his old, worn-out teacher? When I sensed the tendril of your presence, I knew I had lost my mind for good this time. Or that you were there to spring a trap, or to have one sprung on yourself that I was the innocent bait for."
"I never even thought of that," said Harry.
"Why would you bid on me? For pity? To humiliate me? For curiosity's sake? As a charitable indulgence? Not, I should have thought, for compassion's sake. Certainly not for love--you never bore that for me."
"Probably not," Harry said, fighting back a certain sense of affront. "But respect, maybe. Feeling you deserved better than to be a laughing stock and sold as chattel," he spat.
"And who are you to make such a decision from on high, Potter?" Snape snarled back with sudden venom.
"A human being, maybe? Look, I know you probably think I'm some awful coward--and you're probably right," he added, with a sudden spurt of self-loathing. "Maybe I tried to forget everything and live like a Muggle, but it doesn't mean I'm a total unfeeling bastard. Even if you don't like my motives."
"You understand nothing, Potter. Nothing."
Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I didn't get dragged into detention and treated, all right?" he said through a suddenly tightened throat. "I know I lived when other people died who didn't deserve it. I know I got away with a hell of a lot, more than I deserved. But DAMMIT! I lost things too!" He almost shouted the last words, his body shaking with fury.
Snape stood up and walked over to him, dark eyes burning. "Oh, you...." he hissed. "You have so much, and you don't even know it."
"I never wanted it," Harry said slowly, clenching his fists.
Snape went on, not heeding. "There are those in this world who hold the sun in their hands, while the rest of us can only be scorched and withered." He spun on Harry. "How did you do it? Survived the attack by the Dark Lord when you were a baby, when everyone else died. Survived your upbringing. Survived to be the toast of Hogwarts and the wizarding world. Survived when all that died. When we died. And you still..." His voice died out, and it was only then that Harry was aware how Snape had grabbed his shoulders and bitten into them with his fingers. No doubt there would be bruises later.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, his voice a thread of sound. He stood still under the bruising grip. Snape's breath came and went harshly.
"You still survive," Snape continued, in a tone of wonder. "Survive intact, where your friends died." Harry winced. "You still..." his hand lifted to trace Harry's scar delicately, "have your magic."
Harry stiffened, but didn't tear himself away. "Do you think I WANTED to live when they didn't? To be left behind again?" His parents had been torn away from him, leaving him alone. That hadn't been so bad, since they were near-strangers. But everyone else, friends, rivals, and enemies from before, had blended into the frightened, struggling huddle that was left of the wizarding world. Houses, old alliances and background from before, hadn't seemed to matter any more.
But no matter how they fought, all of it went away.
Snape had him by the shoulders again. "It doesn't matter what you want. It never matters." His lips twisted in the familiar sneer. "What matters is what did happen. And you succeeded where your elders and betters failed, once again."
"I didn't make it through in order to snub you personally," Harry declared.
Snape snorted. "Oh, it's never meant personally. Nevertheless, it happened, as it always does. You infuriating child. Given nothing, you succeed in everything. You have everything, and you don't even know."
Harry gazed steadily at him. "I swear to you. If I could channel all my power to you, and leave myself with none, I would do it."
Snape laughed harshly.
"I mean it."
"No," Snape said. "Idealistic Gryffindor, no doubt you would. But even I could never damn you to such a fate. Only you would be foolish enough to even suggest it. Impractical as always."
"I'd just be living the life I've been pretending to live all this time. And I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder constantly. You'd be happy; you'd have finally won out over me and you'd have your magic back again. Everyone dreams."
Snape cuffed Harry lightly. "Dreams of an illusion, perhaps. Don't you know it hurts more to hold out an offer of healing that can never be accepted?"
"I do," Harry whispered. Green eyes blazed. "How can you imagine otherwise, Snape?" he asked, his voice suddenly louder and defiant. "Why is it that everything I've ever done to you, from my childhood on, is taken as a personal insult to you? What is it that I have that you want so badly?"
"Everything," Snape whispered in his turn. "Everything. You were so protected at that school--it didn't matter what you did, how illegal or suicidal it was, you always turned it to your advantage. It seemed you would never learn the consequences of your actions. How badly you could have hurt yourself, or others. And against all odds, every single time, you walked away unscathed. You're not outstandingly intelligent nor physically strong; you tended to waste what gifts you had in trivialities. But I have never known anyone with your inner strength. No matter what was thrown at you, you survived it. Survive it now. More Slytherin than a Slytherin, you live when my little snakelets died or were crushed under the Muggle world's heel." Snape's hand lifted to Harry's face to touch his cheek and then his forehead softly, almost reverentially. "And your God-cursed beauty, marred by that scar. Your mother's love gave you that--you even turn your wounds into a manifestation of life." Snape's head sank until it almost touched Harry's. "Damn you," Snape whispered. "Damn you."
"Even if I told you I was sorry," Harry said, "you still wouldn't accept it."
"How can I? You burn me," Snape whispered. "You burn me like Lucius."
Harry reached up in his turn to put a hand in his former master's hair. "I'm not Lucius. I swear."
"Oh, you'll swear your oath," Snape said softly, but distinctly, in Harry's ear. "Swear your oath and then break it, not even thinking of the consequences. Isn't that what you always do?"
"I may have in the past," Harry said, "but I'd be dead now, no matter what you think, if I didn't pay attention to reality. I didn't buy you at auction just to betray you at the earliest convenience."
Snape stiffened. "Buy me." His voice dripped contempt, but whether aimed at Snape or Harry, Harry couldn't tell.
"I could release you from your contract at any time," Harry said steadily. "Set you free."
"Yes, free to be bought and sold by another master, and who knows what my fate would be then? The world is not kind to aging former wizards, as you may find out someday. Though, with your luck, you probably won't. Too late for the rest of us, of course."
"So your hands are tied. Indebted to me or enslaved to another."
"Precisely. Damn you," Snape said again. He sighed heavily, a sound that seemed to come up from the roots of his soul. "Why is it I can never be free of you? Potters, father and son.... James saved my life, through my own folly. That was one link. Then the debt owed to you. I kept you from falling during the Quidditch match, when Quirrell would have killed you. That was repaid. But with every payment, a reciprocal link is forged." He turned away, shoulders slumped. "I don't want to be bound to you. But no matter how I struggle, this...."
Harry nodded. It was a strange and deeply disturbing thing, this intergenerational lifebond between the two. Harry had felt it, often damned it, but was always aware of it, both as a child and now as an adult.
"I don't want to be tied to you," Snape whispered. "I don't want to be bound to you anymore. But the world is a cage, no matter what I do."
Harry reached out to Snape, his throat tight. "Release yourself," he said.
"How?" His former professor turned back to him, eyes bright.
Harry shrugged. "There must be something. Forgive yourself. Forgive me."
Snape laughed, sadly this time. "You ask for the hardest chain to break of all." He cupped Harry's chin with long, slender fingers. "Have I ever struck you as the forgiving sort?"
Harry had to smile a bit. "Frankly, no. You've always been a hostile bastard."
Snape jumped as though struck, then laughed again, this time with something approaching genuine humour. "Perceptive, Potter. For once."
"That's probably the closest you've ever come to complimenting me."
"Enjoy it. I doubt you'll get many more."
"Maybe I don't want compliments from you. You've always spoken your mind. Maybe that's better than pretty words." They still stood close together, and Harry took Snape's hand in his own, feeling the slip of skin and bone and muscle as if for the first time.
"Will you bind me again, against my will?" Snape's voice sounded with aching plaintiveness.
"What do you want?" Harry asked.
Snape shook his head, seeming honestly lost. "Never to see you again. To stay with you forever. To curse you and the Dursleys to hell everlasting, then turn Avada Kedavra upon myself, if I still had the power. To end the shame of this world in holy fire. To submit to it and never think for myself again. To prepare one last potion and end it all forever. To kneel at your feet and swear allegiance. To hold you...." He inhaled sharply. "You. Why do you torture me still? Were all those years at Hogwarts not enough?"
"Oh God, Snape. You're torturing yourself." Harry wanted to cry.
Snape shook his head. "Too much, too much to reconcile. You, the fulcrum of the world, can make or mar me with a word or a look. I'll never be free of you," he whispered. "Never. Never."
"Oh God," Harry whispered in turn. "It doesn't have to be like this." His eyes stung, burned. "I'm not your master. I never was. If you want to leave, I'll forfeit the contract. I'll tell them...I'll tell them there was nothing wrong, it was a mutual decision. Or...or you can stay. Help Dudley." He swallowed, felt hot tears fall down his cheeks. "Help me. I...I don't want to lose you. But if I must...then it's your choice. Your free choice. I swear it."
Snape stood frozen, desire and loneliness warring with intense pride and long-held bitterness. Harry shut his eyes and nodded. He slowly got up from the bed and walked over to the door, giving Snape time to recover and make his choice. "Then go," Harry said softly, almost tenderly. He felt strangely light, almost as though he were floating. Whatever Snape's final choice was, Harry had cast his die and nothing more was hidden. "Walk away," he said. "I'll never hold you back." Harry took the last few steps to the door and put his hand on the doorknob. "Take your freedom," he whispered.
Arms encircled him from behind and held him in a fierce, gripping hug. He started to turn, but felt Snape hold him back. "Don't move," Snape whispered. "Say nothing."
Harry could only be aware of his own short, rapid breaths, of Snape's heart pounding behind him. Even if he had wanted to speak, he would have been silent under the pulse of that steady rhythm and his own answering heartbeat. He felt Snape lean in closer and rest his face against Harry's hair, lifted his own head until it fell against Snape's collarbone. They breathed in tense, quick synchronicity.
"You," Snape murmured in Harry's ear. "You."
Harry reached up and backwards to put his hand on Snape's cheek, feeling the rough, familiar, sandpapery sensation of faint beard stubble under his palm. "Yes."
"Hush." The arms around him held him tighter.
Harry smiled and slid his hand over so his fingertips covered Snape's mouth. He felt a tongue flick almost imperceptibly over them, and the faintest pressure of teeth. Then the encircling hands gently turned Harry around to face Snape.
Snape simply held Harry lightly by the shoulders and stared searchingly at him. The great, dark eyes had a strangely questioning light in them, as though Harry were an old and faded manuscript which held the answer to an enigma which had always eluded him before. Harry met and held the gaze, unblinking.
It felt like a wizard's duel, the moment just before the wands were raised, that suspension of time before action, or the moment before downing a potion that might or might not have been brewed properly. Again, Snape's hand lifted to caress Harry's face, along his cheek and then, once again, tracing the zigzagging line of his scar.
"What do you see?" Harry whispered.
"Everything," Snape replied, just as softly.
"What is it you want of me, then?"
"Let your indulgence set me free." He dropped his hand back on Harry's shoulder.
"It's not indulgence." His own hands lifted of their own accord and ran across the lines of Snape's face, sensing the jut of bone and curl of muscle beneath. The older man shut his eyes.
"Compassion, then."
"I can try to give you that," Harry whispered. "If you'll take it from me." He stretched up slightly to kiss Snape gently on the lips. He felt Snape's breath tremble over his own mouth, then the light touch of the return kiss.
He hadn't really expected it until it happened, and his knees almost gave way with relief. Snape noticed Harry falter slightly, and grasped the younger man firmly by the waist and back until he regained his equilibrium. Snape drew them both over to the bed and they sat down next to each other. Harry turned his head away, feeling suddenly as shy as a virgin. In a way, he thought, it almost was the same thing, that mixture of trepidation, curiosity, and longing.
"Compassion," Snape said, his voice low and resonant in the small, cramped room. "Not pity."
"Never that." Snape defied pity, refused anything that smacked of condescension or badly-placed sympathy.
"How can you offer me this?"
"Because I know what it's like to lose everything," Harry said suddenly, fiercely, and swooped in to kiss Snape on the mouth.
This time, their kisses battled, mouths warred against each other, teeth meeting and biting as their hands scrabbled along each other's body. It was a tricky thing, Harry thought remotely, as he moaned into Snape's mouth and pulled back to gasp a breath, then dove back in to deliver a wicked tongue thrust. Snape needed to know he was an equal, not a commodity for his master, yet he still felt that eerie rivalry which had always existed between the two men since the day they met. To help Snape find the healing that he--that they both--so desperately needed, yet not appear to be handing it to him on a silver platter...his thoughts blurred as Snape wrestled him down on the bed, and pinned Harry on his back, arms outstretched and flattened under Snape's hands.
Dominance. And sometimes the greatest mark of power was to freely surrender it.
"Take it," Harry said between gritted teeth. "Avenge yourself on me."
Snape's own teeth pulled back in a grimace as he loomed over Harry. "Don't tempt me, little Gryffindor. Offering yourself up as a sacrifice, heroic still after all the heroes are dead." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "You," he said again. The word held both wonder and pain. "You still shine.... Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why have you chosen me?"
"Because I couldn't do anything else," Harry said, reaching up to take Snape's face in his hands. All the years they had faced each other across the Great Hall, all the times they had thought themselves on opposite sides but always, unwillingly, pulled together by some greater force. Perhaps that intense force, neither entirely hatred nor, quite, love, had brought them together for this, a culmination of something that was not entirely sex and not entirely the sating of rage and ancient bitternesses.
Or not. At this point, it scarcely mattered.
"How can I hate you?" Snape asked softly, wonderingly. "You, whom I have always loathed. You, who burn me...."
Harry squirmed out from under Snape's grip and put the other man's hand on his chest as Snape fell awkwardly over and down on his side. "Does this burn you, then? Funny," he said, lifting the hand off and inspecting the palm, "doesn't look damaged to me."
Snape made a sound that was part laugh, part scoff. "The damage is all on the inside, don't worry about that. I know I'm no prize..."
"That's because you're not a prize to be won," Harry said firmly. "You're YOU, you prejudiced, acid-tongued, tough-minded bastard."
"You deserve better, Harry Potter."
"At this point, I really don't think it comes down to 'deserving' or 'not deserving'." He fixed Snape with a steely eye. "Now, do you want to shag or not?"
Snape buried his face in Harry's shoulder, laughing hysterically. Harry held him tightly as the spasms of laughter racked his body, then tighter still as he felt moisture seep through the weave of his shirt and onto his skin. Snape was sobbing now, his whole body shaking uncontrollably, his fingers digging into Harry's arm and sides as he clung to the younger man. They rode out the rocking waves of emotion together until Snape's anguished cries subsided to deep gasps and Harry loosened his grip, kissing Snape's wet face and running his hands through the lush, dark hair.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Harry said, as Snape fought for breath and to bring himself back under some sort of emotional control.
Snape swallowed, swiping at his face. "I'm parched. Merlin," he croaked.
"Would you like some water?"
Snape nodded gratefully. Harry carefully disentangled himself from the other man, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and headed down to the bathroom. He downed a couple of paracetamol as he filled the glass for Snape, since the bruising marks on his shoulders were beginning to ache. They'd be around for awhile.
He stepped out in the hall to see Dudley directly in front of him, and jumped guiltily. Dudley was in pyjamas and had an oddly worried expression.
"I'm done with the lav," Harry said. "Go ahead."
"Harry...what the hell's going on? I heard Snape all the way on the other end of the house." He glared at his cousin. "Are you torturing him or something? God, you're a sick bastard."
"No!" Harry said, outraged but trying to keep his voice down. "He's...he got upset." Harry sighed. "I hope he's gonna be okay. I think so. We were, um, discussing some old stuff and things got a bit wild."
Dudley peered at him in the half-light of the hall, his pupils enlarged and dark. "Y'sure?" His voice seemed strangely distressed, child-like.
"I would never hurt him on purpose," Harry said firmly. "Never." He winced a little. "Save some sympathy for me, I'm the one who got half-throttled."
"Jesus. You're both mad, you know."
"Tell me about it."
Dudley shook his head. "You two nancies. Don't kill each other, okay? Snape's too damn good a cook to waste."
Harry stared at him. "How'd you know?"
"How'd I know what?" Dudley smirked. "I'm not blind, you know. Hey." He lightly punched Harry's arm. "Have fun, but keep it down, eh? Someone's gotta get some sleep in this madhouse, even if it's not you."
"Right." He started to push his way past Dudley, but the other man stopped him.
"You forgot something." He handed Harry a tube from the medicine cabinet.
"Oh." Harry blinked and felt himself blush massively. "Er. Thanks. Don't know if we'll need it, but, um..."
"I don't need to know the details, okay? Just thought, well..." Dudley shrugged, embarrassed. "Couldn't hurt, y'know?"
"Yeah, thanks." Harry smiled shyly. "I should go back, or Snape'll think I ran off to the next county."
"Night, then."
"Night." Huh. Harry shook his head as Dudley locked the bathroom door. He never knew what Dudley would do. He was such a surprise these days.
Rather nice.
When he got back, Snape was sitting with his knees drawn up against his chest, arms wrapped around them in an oddly youthful posture. He greeted Harry with a nod and accepted the water. Then he pulled back, grimacing as Harry leaned forward to kiss him.
"What, you changed your mind already?" Harry said, a bit hurt. He surreptitiously leaned over and slipped the lubricant tube under the bed. Snape glared at him as he sat back up and settled himself comfortably close.
"I don't believe I ever stated my opinion on the question," Snape said. "Damn it, Potter, you've been taking that paracetamol rubbish again! I can smell it on your breath."
"You're daft. You can't smell paracetamol, for God's sake. It's not like assafoetida or something like that, it's a manufactured powder."
Snape stared at Harry as though he were the insane one. "That muggle garbage has a very distinct odour, and it's turning your liver to mush as we speak. Anyone can smell it, they'd have to have permanently clogged nasal passages not to notice."
"Snape," Harry said carefully, "most people, wizard or Muggle, can't smell these fine subtleties. The fact that you, apparently, can, might explain why you gave so many of us terrible marks in Potions. What was glaringly obvious to you wasn't to about 99 percent of the world's population." A thought struck him. "An inborn gift...look, are you sure they took everything away from you?"
"Damn you, Potter, of course they did!" Snape snarled.
Harry drew a finger down Snape's proud nose as its owner snorted and jerked his head away. "They'd want you to think that, of course, and they might well believe it themselves. I don't know, I can't prove anything one way or the other." He kissed Snape again, gently, and this time Snape permitted it. "I won't badger you about it, we've dragged out enough things tonight. But I'm not giving up on it either." He brushed a wing of hair away from the other man's face.
"You don't give up on much, do you?"
"Well." Harry smirked. "Might help with that insomnia, you know. C'mon," he added softly. "What do you think?"
"I think you're an extraordinarily stubborn, irritating young man. Who talks far, far, too much." He drew Harry closer to him. "Come here, then."
--
Again Snape pressed Harry to the bed. This time, he did it in a calm, almost meditative, fashion, never breaking eye contact as he did so. Harry was quiet. He'd said all he needed to say. It was his partner's turn to decide how far he wanted to take things, and how.
He shut his eyes, felt cool hands caress him. "So warm, Potter," Snape breathed in his ear, sounding faintly surprised.
"Not burning?" He probably shouldn't say anything, Harry thought, but he couldn't resist.
Snape snorted, but only gently. "No." He kissed Harry's scar, very softly. "Never burning."
Harry's breath came faster. A lock of Snape's hair swung forward, tickling him, and he swept it back and over Snape's shoulder, caressing the graceful line of his neck and shoulder. He sighed at the touch, and Harry smiled.
Snape unbuttoned Harry's shirt methodically, one button at a time, and slipped the fabric off his shoulders. He traced the deep red marks on Harry's collarbone and shoulder. "What...?"
"From earlier, I think. You weren't what I'd call gentle when you were telling me exactly what you thought of me."
Snape bent his dark head and tenderly kissed one particularly angry mark. Harry pressed his fingers into Snape's hair, bringing them closer still. Snape methodically worked his way down Harry's chest, pausing to mouth a nipple as Harry moaned and squirmed underneath him. He stopped to tug at the belt and push Harry's pants down his hips. He sat back on his haunches, regarding his younger partner with an almost clinical eye.
"I need to see you," he said. "All of you."
Harry nodded, and together they divested him of the rest of his clothing, tossing it in a corner. He lay back, leaving himself entirely exposed to Snape.
"Harry James Potter, also known as Harry Dursley," Snape murmured. "Also The Boy Who Lived. Heir of Gryffindor. Insufferable brat and pint-sized celebrity. Seeker and Quidditch champion. Appalling potions maker, insubordinate student. Watcher of ravens. Buyer of 'treated' wizards." He ran a hand down Harry's torso, who jumped.
"That tickles. And it was only one wizard."
"Ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting." Snape leaned over Harry, teeth bared. His voice harshened. "Chaos vortex and inveterate trouble-maker," he spat. "Marauder's child. Hero of Gryffindor, bane of Slytherin. Burner of Snapes, surpasser of Lucius. Incomparable, beautiful one." His deep voice now trembled, and he took a long breath. "You. Lying before me."
"Yes. And is that all you see?"
Snape looked up, eyes widened, appearing to see the sad room for the first time. "Abused child." He dropped his gaze back to Harry. "Abused by too many, for far too long."
Harry quirked a smile. "Seem to have turned out all right, though."
"And survivor. Always survivor. Thank Merlin for that."
Harry ran his fingers through his own hair, further tangling what was already an unruly mess. "And...?"
"And." Snape took another shuddering breath. "If you are indeed offering yourself to me, I want to take that offering. Even though it's another link binding us."
Harry nodded slowly. "I want that. And in exchange..."
"Yes?'
His voice hardened abruptly. "Help me exorcise this room!" He rolled over and tucked his arm over his face. "There are too many bad memories here already," he said, voice muffled. "I don't want to just forget them. I want them annihilated. Put better ones in their place." His voice cracked. "We both want the same thing, dammit. We can help each other."
"Balance the scales." Snape nodded. "Yes. And after...?"
"We'll deal with 'after' when it arrives." He managed a laugh. "Honestly. And you complain I talk too much." He sat up crosslegged, directly in front of Snape. "Do I get to name you now?"
"Yes."
"I need to see you, first."
Snape nodded, swallowing. Together, they removed the formal Muggle clothing, the societal straitjacket from the former wizard. They sat together on the bed, facing each other.
Harry's breath came faster, looking at the man. He had always been thin, and the privations he had experienced had not helped. A pulse beat in Snape's neck, where his hair had been pushed back, exposing the pale flesh. His body was marred by old damage--after-effects of curses wielded by Voldemort, of the more mundane brutalities of Muggle enforcers and camp guards, seamed and mottled bruisings and scars. Despite this, the innate beauty of the man shone through, his grace, the contrast of light skin and dark hair, the fine ripple of his mouth under Harry's scrutiny. Of his eyes, clever, cunning, sometimes cruel, but now only showing a radiant tenderness and awe that made Harry's heart stutter and his chest tighten with something that was not pain.
Harry stared into those black eyes. Eyes that had held loathing for so many years, for reasons Harry was only just beginning to understand after so long. Loathing that had not been simply directed at him. Harry had been the channel for so much of Snape's emotions, but not necessarily the cause. He closed his own eyes for a moment, meditating in his turn.
"Severus Snape," he began, mouth suddenly dry. "Professor of Potions. Head of Slytherin." How had Snape done this? Harry let himself free associate, not worrying about what came up. "Torturer of Gryffindors. Potions artist, chastiser of dunderheads." He saw Snape's mouth twitch briefly in what might have been a repressed smile. "Death Eater. Spy. Lover of Lucius Malfoy, protector of Draco Malfoy, father of Slytherins." Their gazes did not waver. "Political prisoner. Player of both sides. Internee. 'Treated' former wizard. Four-time victim of the auction block." Harry's voice cracked, but he didn't let himself stop. "Friend to Dudley Dursley. Fantastic cook. Vindictive snake. Greasy git. Werewolf tormenter and healer, Marauder victim and persecutor. Foe and rival of James Potter. Foe, rival, protector, servant, teacher, friend, and lover of Harry James Potter." He inhaled deeply. "Survivor."
"Am I all that?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"Can we get under the covers now?" Harry shivered. "I'm cold."
"Merlin, yes. Get in there before you catch your death or I do."
They snuggled up together. "God, my voice is going," Harry muttered. "Hell of a time for us to decide to do a naming ritual."
"Can you forgive me?"
"For making me court pneumonia and lose my voice? Sure."
"For...for everything."
Harry felt for Snape's hand under the covers. "Yeah. I probably wasn't the easiest student to get along with. But I didn't steal your boomslang skin," he said suddenly, remembering. "That was Hermione."
"Granger? Whatever for?"
"Polyjuice potion."
"Polyjuice potion. Of course."
"We had to impersonate Crabbe and Goyle. Long story."
"Of course it is. One I should greatly like to hear someday. But not, I think," he said, kissing Harry soundly, "at this moment."
"Oh my god, do we finally get to shag?"
Snape reached down and made Harry yelp suddenly. "Less than elegantly put." Harry squirmed and gave a little gasp. "But an excellent idea."
Harry put his finger to his lover's lips. "Shh. Or put that mouth to better use."
Snape proceeded to do just that.
--
Harry stretched out his arm and cursed, then squirmed impatiently closer to the edge of the bed. He made an irritated noise as Snape grabbed him firmly around the waist. "What're you doing, dammit? I almost got it."
"You almost pitched headfirst out of the bed, stupid boy! What are you doing?"
Harry flushed, not entirely from being in a head-down position hanging off a bed. "I was trying to get the um, lube."
"'Lube'? How foresighted of you. Do this often?"
"No!" Harry scrabbled around with his fingertips by feel, until he caught the flattened end of the tube. "Wasn't my idea in the first place."
"No? Prefer it rough, do you?" He could hear the smirk in Snape's infuriating voice. Harry snarled and popped back up, his hair more disheveled than ever.
"Got it!"
"Bully for you, Mr Potter. Let's see that first." Cool and sardonic as always, of course. Harry rolled his eyes.
Snape flipped the cap off and sniffed cautiously. An eyebrow raised. He pressed a careful drop on his forefinger, rubbed it between finger and thumb, sniffed again, then, very cautiously, flicked the tip of his tongue to it. Harry wriggled restlessly. This was better than foreplay. Damn the man.
The eyebrow went up for a second time. "Hmm." A frustratingly long pause. "Acceptable," he grunted.
Harry's own eyebrows flew up. "Wow. You think so?"
"I know so, Mr Potter. I must say, I didn't expect you to be so knowledgeable in your choice of lubrication."
He felt his face flame. "Um." God, this was embarrassing. "Actually, it's, er, Dudley's."
Snape nodded, surprisingly unsurprised. "Good. He's got a fine nose and palate hidden under all that gourmandising. He would have had the makings of a fine potions artist himself, had he the magical ability."
"Really? Dudley? Huh." He shook his head, then put the thought firmly away for later. "So...when do I get to try it for myself?"
Snape's voice softened. "Whenever you please..." He broke off, obviously struggling with himself. "Harry."
Harry leaned forward and kissed him soundly, eyes sparkling. "Thank you." Next, he butterfly kissed his lover's hawklike nose and paper-thin eyelids, moved around to nibble Snape's ear as the man rumbled in pleasure, slurped mock-vampirically at his neck, and then began tongueing promiscuously around Snape's body as the older man began to gasp and shiver uncontrollably.
"Harry...!"
"Do I get to call you 'Severus' now?"
Snape rolled on top of Harry, kissing him ferociously. "Of course you do, you imbecilic boy. Can't think why you haven't done so hours before."
Any response Harry might have had was lost as they moved against each other, kissing in a frenzy, arms and legs tangling and writhing.
"I want to feel you," Snape said abruptly, winding himself even more tightly around Harry. He was almost panting, and swallowed with an effort. "Inside."
Harry pulled back, surprised. "But I thought...."
Severus looked alarmed. "You don't like that?"
"No, it's not that! It's just...I thought that...because of everything. You know. You'd want to be on top."
Severus took Harry's face in his hands. "Harry. If this is my choice"--he emphasised the word clearly--"then my choice is to have you within me. Feeling every sensation. Feeling alive. Feeling..." he took a deep breath "...whole."
"Severus...." He felt as though his heart would burst.
"And because it is my choice, not because of coercion," his voice shook now, "I don't have to be the dominant one. For this. With you."
"Oh, God. Severus. Severus."
The serious face split with an evil grin. "But don't think this is a permanent arrangement."
Caught between laughter and tears, Harry nodded.
Holding each other, inhaling the other's scent, tasting skin and sweat and semen, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of physical release and the even greater uncaging of their spirits, Harry and Severus made love, and learned how to heal each other and themselves.
--
Their breaths shuddered hard in their chests, and Harry could feel the sweat trickling between their bodies. Eventually, with some reluctance, they let go and began to peel themselves apart. Harry rolled onto his back, loosely holding onto Severus's hand. "How do you feel?" Harry asked softly.
"Free." His voice was no more than a breath against Harry's ear.
"Fly away, if you need to," Harry whispered. "I'll never clip your wings."
"Yes. As long as I can find shelter here. If you'll open your door to me."
"Always," Harry said. His eyes prickled. "Always."
"I couldn't tell you before," Severus whispered in Harry's ear. "But I'm so glad you never fell victim to them. So glad. So glad."
Harry kissed Severus's forehead as the other man rolled over and put his head on Harry's shoulder, like a child seeking comfort. He rested one hand in his lover's dark hair and cradled him close. A wave of deep tenderness washed over him as they both drifted to sleep.
They woke up stuck, of course, but that was all right.
--
"You could have made an effort to get up and shower before you fell asleep, Potter," Snape mock-growled in Harry's ear.
"You're not exactly helpless yourself, Snape," Harry responded, and winced as he detached himself carefully from his lover. He kissed Severus quickly on the mouth. "It's not like we haven't survived worse."
"True," Snape grudgingly admitted. He rolled over and gazed at the ceiling, arms over his head.
"Something wrong?"
Severus bit his lip. "I just hope I haven't acted like a fool."
"What, in proving you're human?"
"In binding myself further to you." His voice was low, sounding troubled. "First I assented to your purchase of me. Then I exposed my soul to you, and now we've done this. Wizards have tied themselves inextricably to others in life-long debts for doing a quarter of what you and I have done tonight."
Harry lay back down next to Severus and took his hand. "It's not a bond. You can't think of it that way. It's human...people help each other."
"They do." Sardonically.
"They should, anyway, I reckon." Harry stroked Severus's face until the lines of worry and confusion slowly faded away. "Look. Tonight...tonight we start clean, all right? You don't owe me anything. Stop it," he said firmly, as Severus took a breath to object. "I bought you at auction. Okay, that's legal. But it's not...us. I owed you anyway, if you want to think of it like that."
"Balanced scales."
"Yes. But I don't think we even need the scales. I think they've been standing in our way for too long. I don't think Mum and Dad ever wanted you to think they did, wizarding bond or not. You didn't have to save my life. I was a new factor in the Potter-Snape equation, I wasn't part of the original sum."
"What a nicely-turned metaphor, Mr Potter." The familiar dry tones.
Harry had to smile at that. "Thank you." He took a breath. "There are so few of us left. We've only got each other, and anyone else who's out there hiding. The survivors." His breath shuddered out. "We can't be alone and dying on the inside anymore. Or we will die."
"I don't want you to die," Severus said suddenly. His hand tightened on Harry's. "It may be foolish of me, but I don't want to die either."
Harry snuggled up to Severus and rested his head on his lover's shoulder. "I've been so scared," he said. "Hiding so long."
"No one would question your judgement, Harry. The world is a frightening place, now more than ever."
"You're a rock, Severus." Harry turned and nuzzled his face into the other man's shoulder, and felt Severus quake with laughter. Giggling, almost, incongruous though it was. "Not just like that," he mock-scolded, and sensed Snape's infuriating little smirk as he bent down to kiss Harry's hair. "Evil bastard though you are."
Severus touched Harry's cheek lightly. "You trust me?" He sounded amazed.
"Yes. And I think..."
"Yes?"
"I think," Harry said slowly, "we can start to bring it back. Together. If we try."
"High-flying plans, Mr Potter," Severus said, but not mockingly. "Tell me...have we succeeded in exorcising this room to your satisfaction, yet?"
Harry looked around the room, sensing the atmosphere. "It's so much better now," he said, surprised. He really could feel a difference now. The room smelled of sex, of course, as well as the usual dust. Underneath though, it lacked the usual deep sadness. "It feels like...hope?"
"That's a good starting place," Severus said, kissing Harry. "Anything else?"
Harry sat up, eyes narrowed, as Severus made a sound of protest. "I think I know just the thing," he said, smiling devilishly. "Got a crowbar?"
"Have a heart, Potter, your cousin needs his sleep."
"Yes, he does," Harry said. "But I need this more. Sorry, Dudley."
Severus shook his head in mock sorrow. "You really are an irritating child." He grinned, a surprisingly open and spontaneous smile. "I think you'll find a crowbar in the basement."
--
"One night of shagging's not going to change everything, Potter," Snape said.
"Mmph." Harry turned luxuriously over, curling his back against Severus, and felt the other man's arms come around to encircle him.
They went downstairs to find Dudley placing the toast in the toast racks and sitting down to porridge. He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "My God," he said, "what were you two nancies up to last night? Thought the house was about to collapse."
"Conflict resolution," Harry said serenely, and poured Severus a cup of tea.
--
"Look, I've been thinking," Harry said.
"That must be a first. Congratulations."
"Ha ha. You know, your contract's still good for the year, unless you want me to break it." Snape tensed, and Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying. The contract'll keep you safe from the government for a while longer, and meanwhile, we can get you adjusted to life outside a bit better. And, if you wanted..." he squirmed a bit and concentrated on putting marmalade on his cooling toast, "...you could stick around afterwards."
Dudley nodded, his face serious. "Honestly, Snape, it wouldn't be the same without you. Making nasty comments about everything and rearranging the kitchen so no one else knows where anything is."
Severus massaged his temples. "I am doomed to be surrounded by Potters."
"Hey!"
"And Dursleys, evidently. Very well. There's little I can do until the end of the year's term in any event." He looked up to confront twin grins. "There's no need to look as pleased as all that."
Harry got up to stand behind Severus, putting his mouth close to Snape's ear. "Hmm. Think we could make a go of it?"
Snape shrugged. "Perhaps. There seems little point in not making the effort, as things stand right now."
Dudley shook his head. "You two nancies. Kitchen's yours," he said and headed upstairs, leaving the porridge bowl behind. Harry made a disgusted face and put it to soak under the tap.
He sat back down next to Severus and took his hand, which, after only a slight flinch, Severus allowed. "I don't think it's entirely dead," he said very quietly. "Or at least we don't know that. If it's only blocked...."
Severus squirmed away. "Please. Please don't raise false hopes."
"I won't then. But if I still have mine--and if I am the most powerful wizard in the world, which I might well be--I won't rest until I can find some way to bring back your magic, or at least allow you to tap into mine. It's been done before, you know," he said seriously. "And I didn't even consciously will it, then."
"Catalyst. Chaos vortex. Insufferable little brat who thinks the rules don't apply to him."
"Exactly." Harry's eyes gleamed. "We've nothing to lose by trying."
"Lost everything already."
"Exactly." Harry kissed Snape's cheek. "Survivor."
Severus turned to meet his gaze, black eyes to green. "Perhaps you're right."
--
"I just wish you weren't going by yourself, that's all," Snape said firmly. "I feel I should be at your side for this. You never could keep out of trouble."
"You're more reckless than I am! Honestly, you should have been in Gryffindor."
"There's no need to be insulting."
Dawn was breaking over Surrey. They stood together, Severus's arm wrapped loosely around Harry's waist, Harry's head resting on Snape's shoulder, and watched the sunrise from the barless attic window.
"So, you've decided?" Snape asked.
Harry nodded and turned in Severus's embrace. Snape placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and held him off a little distance, his black eyes searching. "It's a grand, dramatic gesture you plan to make," he told his young lover. "With considerable repercussions."
"I'll risk it. Though I don't want to risk you and Dudley." He put his head on Severus's chest, feeling the strong, reassuring heartbeat under his ear, and shut his eyes.
"We're Slytherin, foolish Gryffindor. We know how to find our hiding places, if we must. And I suspect Dumbledore's wards held up better than even he knew." He stroked Harry's rumpled, dark hair. "If the Muggle world has indeed chosen to reject us, perhaps it is time after all to reciprocate."
Harry smiled, and Severus's finger ran down to trace the sweet line of his lips. "We're Slytherin, we're Gryffindor, we're Ravenclaw," Harry said proudly. "What can't we do together?"
"We're only missing Hufflepuff."
Harry's brows drew together in a frown. "And what good has fair play ever been to us?"
"Yet the time may come, my Harry, when we will need it."
His heart soared at the 'my Harry'. "You're right. I just don't know if that time is now, is all."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Just don't let your Gryffindor courage get the better of Slytherin caution."
He nodded. "Wise advice. From a biased source." He grinned mischievously as Snape gave him a withering glare. "But I reckon it's good anyway."
Severus drew Harry close and kissed him lingeringly, their bodies pressing together, then released him. "You'd better go, if you wish to succeed in your mad endeavour."
"Yeah." Their hands clasped, fingers entwined, then Harry left the room.
Dudley regarded Harry anxiously as he reached the front door. "You won't do anything stupid, now, will you? I expect you will, of course."
"Most likely." He had his hand on the doorknob when Dudley stopped him.
"If you don't come back at a decent hour, I'm going after you, you hear?" His cousin's voice shook despite himself.
"Dudley?"
"Yeah?"
"You shouldn't need to. But thanks."
The two cousins reached out for each other's hands simultaneously, and clung. Snape stood protectively behind Dudley, watching Harry, one hand on Dudley's shoulder. Harry thought Dudley would break his fingers if they weren't careful.
But not, as it would have been once, from hostility.
They let go, and all three of them smiled a little awkwardly.
"I'd better go, then," Harry said, waved one last time, and walked out to the car.
--
London was as it had always been. Smell of diesel and river water, grey stone below, grey skies above. Although today had dawned clear, without a cloud in the sky. Hardly anyone was about at this hour, early on a Sunday morning in June. Only Harry and the ravens.
Harry loved to watch the ravens. They hopped about and squabbled, fluttering their wings, pecking at anything that moved. Guardians of the Tower, protectors of London. Established a thousand years ago by the wizarding world to protect the Muggles under its care.
Muggle society had turned its back on its fellow humans. Perhaps it was time for them to fend for themselves.
Warm sun touched Harry's dark hair, bringing out soft amber highlights, and reflected off his round-wire glasses. He walked over to the deserted Green and its auction block, once the site of executions and now the site of slavery. Black-feathered birds hopped around the platform, pecking at the shackles on the ground which glittered so temptingly in the new sunlight.
He reached inside his coat, took a deep breath, and took out his wand. "Avis Plumae," he murmured.
Around him, wings beat vigorously, releasing a torrent of black feathers. Ravens, obeying the ancient instinct, flapped awkwardly, pushed off from the ground, and began to fly for the first time in a thousand years.
Harry's free, beautiful smile flashed in the open air for the first time in years, as clouds of feathers pinwheeled around his face, making him sneeze. He sheathed his wand and started walking. Best not to linger. He'd drive to a neutral location until any fuss died down, to shield his family. Snape and Dudley would hold down the fort until he returned.
He threw his head back, watching the ravens' wings beating more steadily as they gained height and acceleration, their bodies understanding what their instincts had been driving them to do all their lives. They would no doubt return to their old home once they had stretched their cramped wings, and life would be as it always had.
Perhaps, and perhaps not.
Harry smiled, a free, gentle curve of lips, his green eyes serene behind glasses.
Beside him, around him, overhead, black ravens soared into the cloudless sky until they vanished.
--
Theresa Ann Wymer
November 28, 2002, Thanksgiving.
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