pen!dumonium

Harry/Snape; R/NC-17.
~13,500 words
[xposted to & ]

Other Notes: This had been written for hds_beltane. The request I had focused on by sweetinsanity90 had been “AU, and Beltane themes”. The rest of the request is here.

I have added a deleted scene at the end; the entire fic was actually inspired by a wonderful bit of artwork by lyntek, which is found here: Subjugation; R; HP/SS. I had seen it, flailed over it and told the artist: I’m wondering if this was some sort of role-playing, or deaged!Snape, or some accident with a Time-turner…. Yet, when I was writing the fic for the fest, I couldn’t finish in time to send to the betas. I managed to write that part afterwards, though, and hope you enjoy.

---

August, 1998

The young man, almost completely out of his teenage years, sat under a tree with his book; he was happy to be away from the company of his peers for the evening. Having them constantly surround him was tiring and sometimes annoying. For very many of them, he was all they had.

Yes, this alone-time he had managed to carve out for himself was welcome. A small smile curled his lips as he perused the yellowed pages of his book, the wind lifting his black hair from his brow. He licked his finger thoughtfully, reaching to turn another yellowed page, and heard a furtive rustle in the nearby grass. Instantly, he drew his wand and muttered quickly, twirling his wand in a precise circle. Thin rings of light, equidistant from each other, snapped into existence around him. The soft sound came even closer and the young man smiled grimly; anyone stepping through his wards would have a very large surprise in the form of a debilitating shock.

He frowned as the rustling came closer and his wards were not set off as they should have been. He raised his wand to cast some more rings, lower, higher and more disastrous; he blinked as a small grass-snake slid from behind a clump of withered grass. He chuckled to himself, dismantling his human-specific wards and gave the little reptile a close look.

Clearing this throat, he spoke to it. Hello, little one.

The snake’s rounded pupils regarded him flatly, but its response was surprised. You speak!

Yes, the young man told it, attempting a gentle smile. He hoped he wouldn’t make it panic, grass-snakes were notoriously high strung. It hesitated, and then sidled closer, winding its way to his side.

You speak, the snake repeated, sounding strangely happy. That’s nice.

I’m sure it is, the young man hissed, hoping he was getting it right. Sometimes, the length of the esses felt different on the human tongue, and many a snake had slunk off in a huff when the young man drew a syllable out too short or too long and insulted someone’s nest-mother. You’re far from home. Do you belong to a human up here?

Belong? The snake asked curiously. The young man gazed down at where it was coiled by his side, its head turned so it could look up at him with one black eye. It seemed to be a fairly young snake, very nice-looking with its black collar and markings. Do you belong to a snake?

The young man put his head back and laughed. Cheeky bugger, he said, suddenly feeling fond. What is your nest-name?

Nest-name… the snake mused, still looking up at him while he stared down at it expectantly. Grass-snakes were usually retreating and suspicious. Most would never tell their nest-name to another snake, much less to a ‘two-legs’ that it did not know. You can call me Greenheart.

The young man took a closer look at its olive-green skin, which did seem greener than most grass-snakes. He smiled even more; Greenheart, a proper Slytherin snake. Possibly one of the younger Slytherins had this Greenheart as his or her familiar and it had escaped the stuffy confines of its cage to bask in the sun. He had seen a few of them in the small batch of first-years. Snakes were always popular among Slytherins and his indulgent smile dimmed a little as he remembered the ultimate snake-familiar and what it had been capable of.

Greenheart is a pretty name, he complimented genuinely as he shook himself out of his musings. I’m partial to the colour green.

The snake raised a little and swayed, the reptilian version of preening. Of course it’s a pretty name, it informed him primly. I am a very pretty snake.

You could have waited for me to compliment you, the young man said with a laugh. You’re quite vain.

Sometimes, all a snake like me has is vanity. The snake hesitated, and began to slide away. I must go. Will you be here tomorrow? I like talking to you. Will you be here?

The young man hesitated. He had so much to do, so many people who demanded his attention and called him from corner to corner. Here, arguments needed to be soothed over or someone comforted. He was not used to being so caring for so many, but it was a new role that he was actually relishing. It seemed to reach down into a part of him that he had not known was there, and drag it to live and breathe in the air. He was getting a second chance at living, and he was determined to really live this time, not just exist from year to year with that horrifying black cloud hovering over and in his head. He had even taken up Quidditch again, much to the delight of his closest companions, and he thought it was wonderful.

Yet, his few minutes with the vain little Greenheart had been quite soothing. Unlike his companions, it had created no pressure on his space, on his time. It had spoken to him and made him laugh, something he had not done in a long time, even with his new-found determination to reach for happiness and grasp it with both hands.

I think so, he said with slow, contemplative esses. I have many things to do, but I might have time to come speak to a snake.

Will it be too much trouble? The snake asked, a trace of worry in its tiny, hissing voice. Will your nest-mates follow you and ask many questions?

Oh, no, he told it. I think I’ll do this regularly from now on, take some time for myself. I need it sometimes. It’s very relaxing, and you’ve made it more enjoyable.

Greenheart let out a series of sharp sibilants and the young man realised it was laughing a snaky laugh. Alright, two-legs. There must be a search on now for me, so I will depart. And I will wait for you here, tomorrow, and this same time when the Great Yellow Eye is not so hot.

Alright, Greenheart, the young man said, watching as the snake slid away, quick as a whip. I’ll wait here.

Goodbye!

He smiled, closed his book on his lap and got up, lifting his robes as he made his way out of the small copse he had been hiding in. As he emerged, he saw the sunlight sparkling on the lake, the Giant Squid raising a few tentacles lazily over the rippling surface. The large castle rose beside the lake, dark and imposing, yet very welcoming for all that. He set his shoulders and walked briskly over to the only real home he had ever known.

~o0OO0o~

May, 1998

Mediwitch Twittering was dazed, going back and forth between huddled groups of people in the Great Hall of Hogwarts; a lot of wizards and witches needed her help. She was barely out of proper training, and felt overwhelmed at the amount and intensity of healing spells that needed to be done, but they needed all the hands they could get. The sun was rising on this lovely May morning, and the light bloomed strong through the high decorative glass windows of the Great Hall. It seemed such a balmy, lovely day, one that would have been perfect to take a quick Apparition to the seaside, but all she could concentrate on were the injuries she was seeing to.

“Be careful, woman,” came a hiss as she performed a basic healing charm on someone’s face. Twittering blinked and took a good look at whom she was healing at the moment. Her mouth fell open as she realised that the pointy chin she was holding still in one hand belonged to Lucius Malfoy’s son… Draco, was his name. Both Lord and Lady Malfoy were flanking their pale son as they sat on a long school bench, two Aurors standing guard over them in turn. Lady Malfoy had one thin arm around her son’s shoulders, Lucius Malfoy had his chest puffed out and all three were glaring at the mediwitch with freezing eyes. “Don’t be clumsy. You’ll harm him more than assist him.”

“It didn’t hurt so much,” his son said suddenly. Lucius Malfoy did not look at him at all, but Twittering saw his eyes almost slide towards his son, a reluctant twitch. “It was fine. Carry on, please.”

The son’s voice was just as imperious as his father’s, but less grating on the nerves. She finished the spells, nodded to the Aurors, and moved on.

Twittering wondered where Harry Potter was as she cast a supportive charm around someone’s broken arm and sent them off to have a dose of Skele-Gro from the next available Healer. He was around here somewhere, right? Healer Banton had pointed out a group of fiery-headed people off to one side and had said Harry Potter was in the midst of them, but Twittering had not seen any sign of him at all. Pity; she would have loved to get a signed bit of parchment from him, take it home to her mum, so that she could say her girl had brought back something from the Hero. It would be brilliant, really.

“Excuse me?” A low voice came from her elbow and Twittering turned around wearily; her eyes grew large and round in her face as she recognised the faded scar, half-hidden by a messy black fringe. Oh, but Harry Potter had such striking eyes, one would never know it from those blurry pictures in the Prophet. They were large and slanted, making his narrow face look elfin; and they were so green. He was not as tall as she thought he would have been, yet all Twittering could do was stand there and gape at him. Harry Potter looked back at her carefully and she blinked.

“I wonder if you can help me,” he said to her slowly. “But… we’d have to leave the building, you see.”

“Yes! I mean, um. I’ll have to check with my superior, Mr. Harry Potter, sir, but I’m sure, quite sure that he would not mind!” Twittering blurted; she hated when she did that, but this was Harry Potter standing in front of her, looking like any other normal teenager. Goodness, was he really ten years younger than herself? She pondered this as she dashed off to find Healer Banton, tell him hurriedly just who wanted her assistance outside and then scattered back the bemused Harry Potter. He might be so much younger, but his eyes were old; and tired.

He smiled a little, and tilted his head, eyes growing just a little warmer. “Follow me.”

She trotted after him as he walked quickly towards the large arched doors, exiting out into the large, damaged entry area and making their way quickly out the main doors. Small rocks and splinters of glass assaulted her feet until she cast a cushioning charm on the soles; she wondered if she should offer to cushion Harry Potter’s feet as well, but he simply moved rapidly towards the main gate of the school.

“I’m going to Side-Along you to the Shrieking Shack, alright?” he told her and grasped onto her arm, turning them in that disorienting dance of time and distance. She held onto her chest, adjusting her wimple as they appeared in front of the gloomy old house. He released her arm quickly and looked at the Shrieking Shack, his face pale.

“Do… do you see a lot of dead bodies, often?” he asked and Twittering nodded her head quickly. “Ok. There’s one in here. I’ve only asked you because I don’t want to disturb Ron and Hermione yet, and everyone else is …” he trailed off, then offered her a small smile. “Just help me bring him out. That’s all.”

Twittering nodded and followed him into the creaking old wooden building; it seemed to have been painted grey by time and they stepped carefully, going into a dismal foyer and down a flight of crooked steps. She gasped at the still body laying on the floor in the dank room they descended into; Professor Snape lay still and pale, a pool of blood around his head which seemed to dye his black hair even darker. She made a mournful sound in the back of her throat, for no matter what they said about the Professor, she had paid attention in his classes and learned much. She started forward, spelling the floor clean; before she could move towards the body, Harry Potter’s hand was upon her arm again. He was frowning heavily.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered and Twittering opened her mouth, but he shook his head after a beat. “There’s… I felt something. Like very faint magic, but it wasn’t mine and it wasn’t yours.”

“No, sir,” she whispered back, wondering how magic felt to him and Harry Potter looked crestfallen. She knelt beside the long, lean form, moving his cold arms to rest on his chest, so that they would not flop all over the place when she was levitating him. Harry Potter hung back, clasping his arms around himself as if he was cold.

He’s just a boy, Twittering thought as she moved around and picked up Professor Snape’s other wrist. I keep forgetting he’s just a boy. Right before she placed the Professor’s right hand over his left, there was a single weak throb against her thumb.

“There it is again,” Harry Potter said at the same time. “I wonder if there’s something in the house… what’s the matter?” For Mediwitch Twittering had looked up at him with a pale face.

“He… I felt something. It felt like a pulse.”

He was by her side again in a flash, completely forgetting his prior reticence. He stared down at the Professor and reached out a trembling hand, then pulled it back before he made contact. He gave Mediwitch Twittering a quick look, and then abruptly got to his feet, staring down at the very still body of Professor Snape. He reached into his back-pocket, and pulled out his wand. Mediwitch Twittering drew back little, feeling a sort of superstitious fear engulf her; this hand was the hand that destroyed a Dark Lord. It was surprisingly small, and scarred. He pointed to a spot near the door.

“Expecto Patronum,” he ordered sharply, and a large stag erupted from the end of his wand, cantering around the room before coming close. It was very bright, and the Mediwitch squinted at the brilliance of it as it came close to nuzzle Potter’s arm. “Professor McGonagall, please get her. Quickly.” His voice strived to be firm, yet it shook a little. As the stag bounded off, it leapt right through the wall and left them in the silent, gloomy room.

“Do you feel anything else?” Harry Potter broke the silence with a croaking voice. Twittering pressed her hand onto the pale wrist and frowned; she bit her lip and frowned, casting a spell to pick up any other signs of life. The spell resolved itself into a single yellow line hovering in the air; it was completely still.

“No. I’m so sorry, Mr. Potter, I thought I felt something, but there’s nothing now.” Her throat felt tight; when she got home, she’d definitely have some warm tea with honey and try to relax. More likely, she’d probably spend all night thinking about the stricken look in Harry Potter’s eyes as he gazed down at the Professor.

~o0OO0o~

There were two neat rows of cots in the Great Hall, injured people lying as comfortably as the Healers could have made them. The infirmary was filled to overflowing with the more serious cases that would be carefully moved to St. Mungo’s in a few days, as soon as quick repairs were made to the Wizarding hospital; until then, those with injuries that were not too serious rested in the dimly lit Hall. Harry hovered at the tall entry-doors, watching in a sort of suspended dismay.

He had had this lovely idea, that after defeating Voldemort, everything would settle in a cloud of joyful peace. In his heart, he had been well-aware that this was a very foolish dream, but it had been still nice to hang onto while they had all been traipsing around in the countryside.

Harry was still dressed in Ron’s pajamas, a robe thrown over the too-large clothing to keep away the chill of the night; he had been sent up to the Gryffindor Tower by Madame Pomfrey as he had gotten in the way earlier, trying to help.

“Go on, dear,” she had said, her eyes tired and kind. “Some more Healers will be here soon from St. Mungo’s. They’re still struggling over there, so it’s a lucky thing we’ve got enough students to help. Off you get, Potter. Go rest. You’ve done so much already.”

But…but he defeated Voldemort, Harry had almost said to her, and had bit his lip. Madame Pomfrey simply rested her hands on his shoulders and steered him out firmly. Hermione had given him a tight smile as he had turned back for a last look in the Hall, the tall arched doors closing in his face.

He couldn’t sleep though. Ron’s snores had been the loud, comfortable types that a person had when they’ve found true rest. He had gotten up and padded back downstairs, watching the Healers and mediwizards walk silently among the students. Neville was in a bed near to the door; Harry was glad to see his face wasn’t scarred and bloody anymore.

Good old Neville. Harry would never look at him the same way again. He rested his palm on the cool wall, and felt some of the castle’s magic push back against him, like a cat searching for a petting hand. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the rough surface.

There was a small commotion behind a thick white curtain that had been set up earlier, where the dead had been placed under preservation spells. Voldemort’s body had been removed to the Ministry.

Now, Madame Pomfrey and the young mediwitch that had helped Harry retrieve Snape’s body came from behind the curtain, moving urgently. They went over to the most Senior Healer present… Turner was his name? Turnbull? Harry couldn’t recall, but whatever Pomfrey whispered to him so urgently caused his whiskered face to go slack in shock. Healer Turn-Whatever-His-Name-Was fairly flew behind the white curtain, blue robes billowing; as the curtain flew up in his wake, Harry could see the bodies lying side by side, lines and lines of them, and he felt ill.

Madame Pomfrey walked out swiftly as more Mediwizards dashed behind the curtain. Harry could see the remaining medics look longingly at the source of excitement before returning their attention to the living charges. Harry stepped back to the wall opposite from the entry-doors as Madame Pomfrey stepped out of the Hall.

“Potter?” Her voice was soft and distracted. “Potter. You’re to be in–”

“Is there something wrong? What’s going on?” Harry prepared to dig his heels in; he didn’t want to be sent up again, not when something was happening. Probably he was still running on some sort of a rush, but he could use that, right?

She looked at him without seeing him at all, her eyes far-away. Then they focussed sharply on Harry and she nodded, taking him by the arm.

“To the Headmaster. Come along.”

~o0OO0o~

“Alive,” Dumbledore’s portrait said quietly as Harry stared at Madame Pomfrey in disbelief. Professor McGonagall was up as well, looking owlishly at Pomfrey, her hair a tight bun even this late at night. “Severus is alive. Of course.”

Dumbledore turned in his portrait, and gazed at a very small frame half-hidden in the corner of the room; it showed a straight-backed chair, which was unoccupied.

“Barely.” Madame Pomfrey fussed with her wimple and in a fit of annoyance, pulled it off completely. Harry blinked; he had never seen the school nurse without her head-covering before and was surprised at the length of her thick, grey hair. She kept it in a coil around her head and now it fell in a braid to the middle of her back. Her face looked very different. Very pretty, Harry decided. “But Albus, his magic is severely damaged. In a few hours, it will be gone. All gone.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore’s portrait; he was giving Harry a small, reassuring smile. The other Headmasters were waking up as well, whispering among themselves.

“What is to be done?”

“Can we save him?”

“Should he be saved?”

“Yes!” Harry cried in a loud, incredulous voice and then blushed as they all stared at him. “Snape– Professor Snape, he… you don’t know, but he–”

“Yes, yes, cease your stuttering.” Phineas rolled his eyes, leaning against the side of his frame. “The more time we waste listening to Potter here, the less time one of my own has. Albus, what shall we do?”

“There is nothing much that can be done,” Pomfrey put in, her voice wavering. “That infernal snake leached him with that bite. We’ve managed to staunch the flow of magic, but he won’t be able to regenerate it. Not at this age.”

“Then it’s quite simple, isn’t it?” Professor McGonagall shifted in the high-backed chair, tucking an unruly strand of hair into the tight knot at the back of her head. Harry had a sudden sharp recollection of her screeching at Snape’s retreating form in the night air. Earlier, when he had told the Order and other Aurors about what Snape had done, her face had been a stoic mask, piercing eyes still sharp. “He’ll just have to go back.”

“And it’s the most perfect time now to do so, whilst the veil of the Beltane is still open.” Another headmaster nodded eagerly. “Yes, he can be sent back safely.”

“Back?” Harry said, wrinkling his nose as the Headmasters nodded gravely. “Back where?”

“Not really back, strong-heart, we’re not being clear.” Headmistress Derwent smiled, silver ringlets bouncing as she shifted forward in her chair, painted eyes shining bright from her portrait. Harry gave a wry, answering grin at what she called him. “But earlier, if you understand that better.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Harry said in a low voice, looking at her kind eyes. Headmistress Derwent kept that small smile on her face. “Unless… you can’t mean–”

“Yes, dear. And we’ll have to do it right away.”

~o0OO0o~

“This is terribly exciting, I’m glad you woke me for it,” Hermione whispered right in Harry’s ear as they sat on Neville’s cot. Harry had tried to wake Ron as well, but he had simply muttered something about tents, snuggled down deeper into his covers and snored louder than before. Pomfrey had thrown the two of them a censorious glance, but had said nothing as the Healers came from behind the curtain, Snape’s body hovering between them.

“I wonder who made the potion for the ceremony?” Neville wondered aloud. His voice sounded as if he was speaking through a mouthful of cloth and Hermione patted his leg affectionately. Neville said something else, but Harry was busy watching them place Snape on a raised dais in the middle of the room. He had wondered why they chose to have the Juvenis ceremony here in the Hall, with all the injured and sick still there. The Hall was the centre of the school, Dumbledore explained, the powerful heart of the magic. The castle would help, as much as it could.

“Nicolas Flamel sent some from his personal stores.” Malfoy’s cold voice came from behind them. Harry peered over his shoulder at him. Malfoy was standing there with a baleful look on his face, arms crossed over his chest. “Dumbledore and Headmaster Black asked him to.”

“But the Elixir of Life won’t really help Snape.” Hermione was sitting close to Harry, her hair brushing at his shoulder as she shook her head. She seemed to be ignoring Malfoy’s presence completely. “I mean, he’s practically dead, isn’t he? At least, we thought he was.”

“And you didn’t think to check,” Malfoy commented icily. Neville was looking up at him with a wide, searching gaze and Malfoy sniffed.

Harry frowned uncomfortably and then turned back, biting his lip. McGonagall had a finely-made bottle in one hand, her fingers trembling just a little as they unstoppered it, the ruby-red liquid inside shimmering in the candle-light. A ministry official stood by, scowling heavily, but he reached into the pockets of his robes at McGonagall’s pointed stare, pulling out a small object on a chain.

“A Time-Turner?” Hermione squinted. “Oh. Oh my,” she breathed as the official carefully flipped the Time-Turner on its chain, five, six, seven times and then slipped the little strange clock into the neck of the bottle. The red liquid glowed faintly as the Time-Turner was engulfed by it; the Ministry representative reeled it out and wiped it carefully with a velvet square of cloth.

Harry was wondering how they would get Snape to drink this. The man was still on the dais, the wounds in his neck freshly healed and wrapped in clean white gauze. He was expecting McGonagall to tip his chin back and pour it all down his throat, but she did no such thing. Instead, she accepted a slim golden quill from Madame Pomfrey and took a deep breath, sliding the fluffy tip of it into the red liquid. She bent with surprising grace and speed, using the quill to mark archaic symbols into the stone floor around Snape. As she finished each one, it flashed brightly for a brief moment. At East, West, North and South, a symbol was painted with great care.

Then she began with Snape: at his bony wrists, in that space between his black eyebrows, his ankles, solar plexus and navel, she touched the drenched tip of the quill.

Harry was so entranced that he almost did not notice the low rumbling around them, as if the whole castle was murmuring to itself. The symbols on the floor glowed once more; as McGonagall stepped back, lines of red light seeped out of each one, reaching to the others until they were linked together with fine tendrils, the light rising up out of the floor and arching to cover the Potion’s master’s body in a glowing shroud.

“Now, we wait,” Pomfrey said curtly and shooed them off to bed, even Malfoy, whose glare had no weight at all with her.

~o0OO0o~

“Harry, help me with this, it’s a bit heavy.” Ron and Harry both cast Wingardium Leviosa on a large piece of stone wall, moving it out of the way. “Thanks, mate.”

Harry nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, grimacing at the sweaty grit there. The repairs were going quickly; Harry thought they might finish in time for the new school term. He still felt jittery, on-edge, every muscle in his body tensed for something to happen. Maybe a Death Eater was still at large, biding his time for revenge; or, even easier, one of those sullen Slytherins at work on the huge entry-door. It could happen; these things did happen, had been happening since Harry was a baby and if Harry hadn’t learned anything at all in the past seven years, at least he would never forget Moody’s personal motto in life.

Constant Vigilance: he could almost hear Moody’s irritable croak in his mind. Taking off his glasses and cleaning them quickly, he looked up to see Draco tug on the robes he had cast aside and make his way back inside the school. Harry pursed his lips and then made up his mind, walking quickly over to the entry-steps as he adjusted the glasses on his face.

“Oi, where’re you going?” Ron jogged beside him, throwing a sideways grin. “Leaving me with all the work, I see. Some friend you are.”

“You’re managing!” Harry exclaimed with an amused snort, looking up into Ron’s freckled face, red hair snapping about in the crisp, summer’s-end breeze. Ron had let his hair grow out, hoping to get it as long as Bill’s, much to Molly’s dismay. As a matter of fact, he looked very much like Bill, and Harry felt a sharp wrench low in his stomach. Ron had known all about his massive crush on Bill, and had been torn between aghast and supportive, but Harry thought Ron would probably freak out completely if Harry said he resembled Bill so much that it kind of hurt.

You know, Bill, his mind helpfully enacted. Bill, your big brother that I wanked over a couple of times and you heard me moaning his name.

I’ll just go find a safe corner to curl up in now, his internal Ron replied warily. Be right back.

“You haven’t told me where you’re off to,” the real Ron pestered as his mental-Ron dashed away. “Because… you know, if it’s all the same, Hermione and I–well, we–”

“Go on, have your fun.” Harry tried a leer on for size and Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m going to see Snape.”

Ron blinked. “What for? I mean, he’s still in that… that thing–”

“Stasis,” Harry put in helpfully and Ron flapped one dismissive hand.

“–yeah, stasis. He’s fine. With all those Slytherins moping around him, he’ll be great.”

“You know what he did for our side, Ron. I just want to see if he’s coming around.”

Ron made a face and then moved on to more important thoughts. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but Ginny’s been talking a lot with Neville recently. Maybe you should, you know, take a teensy look into that. Just a small one.”

“Probably,” Harry mused. Probably not, he thought, wondering when he’d tell Ron that he and Ginny had had a long, slightly weepy conversation, ending with her simply ignoring his presence as if that would catch his attention. Hermione had noticed and had taken to giving Harry a questioning eyebrow anytime they were all in a chattering group together. Harry thought Ron had noticed as well, and was just being optimistic.

“We’ll be going to have a wake for Fred later,” Ron said in a low voice as they ran up the steps, his voice suddenly thick. “So if you want to come along…”

“I’ll be there.” Harry clapped him on the upper arm, squeezing a little before shoving him away in the direction of their dorms and making his way to the infirmary. He tried to tiptoe in, but Madame Pomfrey descended upon him with a grim expression.

“I just want to see Snape,” he complained as she tried to head him off. Her eyes widened a bit and then she gave a resigned huff.

“Very well, Mr. Potter. He has had a few visitors already, so do try to be quiet.”

“I will,” Harry promised, setting off down the length of the room to where a bed had been curtained off. White curtains again, but these hid a possibility this time, instead of finality. As he came close, walking with that silent tread he had learned from their escapades in the woods, he heard a low voice behind the curtain. Harry peeked through the slit between two of the curtain panels, breathing carefully.

“Please wake up, sir,” Draco Malfoy was saying in a small voice, his bright head of hair bent close to Snape’s bed. “Let this work. Wake up.”

Harry bit his lip. Draco had always been the biggest prat Harry had ever met but in this moment he looked like a lost little boy, one hand trembling near Snape’s long pale one on the bed. Snape’s hand looked strange; Harry stared at it until he figured out why. It was smoother, the veins not as pronounced as they once were. The most telling difference was the colour, the tips of his fingers untainted by years and years of potions work. Before he could stop himself, Harry had stepped around the curtain, wanting a closer look.

Draco inhaled sharply and sat back in surprise as he caught sight of Harry, staring at him with reddened eyes. He reached for his wand-pocket, but Harry had his own wand out quickly and Draco actually bared his teeth in frustration.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hissed, and Harry tightened his lips. He lowered his wand, and Harry took the chance to look sidelong at Snape.

So young… Snape’s face looked so shockingly young. Harry had known that the de-aging ceremony would have produced this effect, but he had been wholly unprepared to see the results. Snape’s face as a middle-aged wizard had had long lines in his forehead and at the corner of his eyes; now the calm smoothness of his face was astonishing. Harry noted that his eyelashes were surprisingly long and thick, his hair shorter and mussed as he lay still on the bed. At least his nose was its usual large glory; for this, Harry was strangely relieved. And Snape was still tall and lanky, legs almost hanging off the edge of the bed under the covers.

“When will he wake up?” Harry mused, mostly to himself, but Draco huffed in annoyance.

“He’s supposed to be awake already. Bloody McGonagall probably didn’t do the spell correctly.”

“I’m sure she did,” Harry said, curling his mouth around the words in defensive disgust. Draco gave him a hateful grin.

“Would’ve been easy for her to not do it right, don’t you think? Why would she want to help Professor Snape, anyway?” He was still smiling in that nasty way that always made Harry want to punch him in the face. He was just pondering how much trouble he would get into with Madame Pomfrey if he gave in to his impulse right here in the infirmary, when there was a low groan beside them and Draco was up out of his seat in a flash.

“Professor,” he said in a tightly controlled voice as Snape’s head moved a little from side to side. “Professor?”

“Who–?” Snape’s voice, sounding as if he was speaking with a throat full of rusty nails, was not quite the cultured venom that had driven Harry to distraction, but it was close. Very close. Snape’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at Draco hovering over him.

“Lucius?” He cleared his throat and then coughed, a painful rattling sound. “Lucius. What has happened?”

Draco blanched and actually looked at Harry for help. Snape turned his head, following Draco’s glance and those black eyes narrowed as they fell on Harry.

“Potter,” he spat. “Lucius, what is Potter doing here?”

~o0OO0o~

“Have you told him I’m not my father?” Harry trotted alongside the Headmistress as she made her way to the Great Hall. “I mean, I tried telling him, but he kept yelling and then Madame Pomfrey had to give him some sort of sedative so I don’t think–”

“I’ve told him, Potter,” McGonagall said in affectionate exasperation. “He’s been debriefed on all that has happened, fear not. And,” and here she stopped abruptly (Harry had to turn back to face her, much to his chagrin), “I’ve been told that you’ve refused to do any more interviews with the Prophet.”

“I have,” Harry said firmly and then wavered a little. “It’s… it’s too soon. I just want a break.” He probably sounded plaintive, but McGonagall looked pleased at this.

“Refuse them as long as you wish, Potter.” She nodded briskly and then turned her heel to stride off again quite rapidly. Harry rolled his eyes and dashed after her. “You have your education to complete,” she reminded him as he caught up again. “No doubt your victory has catapulted you to the pinnacle of many a pedestal. But, here and at the very least, to me, you will remain just Harry. Or Potter, really, but you get my point.”

“That’s actually pretty brilliant,” Harry muttered and watched McGonagall’s cheek curve in a rare smile.

They swept into the Great Hall, where the students, staff and other volunteers for the reconstruction of Hogwarts were having a quiet dinner before going out again. Ginny was applying a sunblock charm to Neville’s face and neck. She kept her eyes on her work as Harry walked by to join Ron and Hermione, but he thought her eyelids flickered up just as he passed.

“I’ll just have a sandwich,” Harry said as he sat down. “Or, alright, I’ll have one of those jacket potatoes or two. Maybe three. And… Ron, pass some of that pie. The whole thing, yeah.”

“Harry, you’re too skinny,” Hermione said sternly as Ron passed the plates over. “You eat as much as Ron does. Where on earth do you put it?”

“In his hair,” Ron snickered from the other side of Hermione and choked when she elbowed him in the side. “And besides, he needs to be skinny. Seekers can’t be all muscular and stuff, you know.”

“Wow, thanks,” Harry muttered with a tired grin and dug into his potatoes. “I have muscles,” he informed his meat-pie. “Loads. In my back.”

“It’s all bone,” Ron declared cheerfully. “And we still love you for it.”

Hermione chuckled at their banter and pushed away the papers she had folded up as soon as Harry had sat down. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the Minister of Magic making some speech in the grainy photo, hands waving magnanimously in the air. He could see his own name printed in a large, elaborate font, but he twirled his fork in his potatoes, sipped his juice slowly and refused to reach for the paper.

The other students weren’t so bad. They had been there, they had fought as well. They didn’t owl him with long, thankful letters, or disgusted, disappointed Howlers. He rather thought they should get their own letters as well, but he was the Boy Who Lived (More Than Once) and was pretty much resigned to his fate. He looked up and caught Neville’s long-suffering expression. Neville offered him a small grin, tipping his face up so that Ginny could fuss over the space under his chin and Harry grinned back.

He was about to reach past Hermione to pour more juice for himself, when a wave of shocked whispers started at the back of the Great Hall. Harry craned his neck and blinked rapidly at Draco Malfoy leading Severus Snape to sit down at the sparsely populated Slytherin table.

Harry was well-aware that he was gaping, and Snape’s jaw looked set as he adjusted his robes and sank down onto the bench. The murmuring grew louder as Harry’s mind absorbed the fact that Snape was wearing school-robes, the Slytherin tie knotted neatly at his throat. Harry, who had refused to wear his school-robes in deference to the work they were doing, couldn’t stop staring.

Snape bent his head forward as he reached for a platter of roast chicken, using his hair to hide his pale face, even though the black strands were not as long as before. An air of total discomfort emanated from him and he ducked his head even more as the other Slytherins pressed close. Malfoy snarled something at them and Harry smiled grimly as they shrank back.

“Severus Snape.” McGonagall’s voice rang out from the Head Table and the muttering died down as she got to her feet. Harry watched Snape’s shoulders tense and then he raised his head, looking up towards McGonagall with a carefully blank expression, as if he expected the worst to happen. Harry, who had always been told that his face was like a book, envied his control.

“Welcome back, Severus,” McGonagall said in a low, trembling voice and she did a very strange thing: she began to applaud.

There was a pause and then the other professors started to applaud as well, rising to their feet. Professor Flitwick, his tiny hands a blur, actually stood up in his seat.

Good, Harry thought almost fiercely as he rose to his feet as well, clapping as well. Let everyone know.

Severus Snape’s face was a picture of confusion as Slytherins stood around him, applauding. Other people rose, albeit more reluctantly and Harry grinned as Seamus let out a sharp whistle. Even Ron stood up and clapped, rolling his eyes when Harry glanced at him incredulously. Hermione was fairly bouncing on tip-toe, her face wreathed in smiles. Snape looked up at Malfoy, who clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a slight smile.

Severus stood up, looking around the Great Hall and nodding quickly. His dark eyes met Harry’s and his lips tightened as he sat back down. As people began to settle down again, Harry took his own seat with a sigh.

“That was amazing, things like that should happen all the time,” Hermione said happily, and Harry made appropriate noises of agreement as he continued to stare surreptitiously at Snape.

~o0OO0o~

It was a bit surreal, the way things fell back into order. The castle certainly felt quite different to Harry; it had the echoes of battle and death imprinted on its walls, but through the combined efforts of students, professors and volunteers, the reconstruction was going wonderfully. Little by little, the sad destruction began to disappear, and the castle began to look like its old self again. Harry could sense the change; instead of an intense mourning emanating from every corner, a steady feeling of perseverance settled over the grand old building like a comforting cloak.

As the weeks passed quickly, he would catch glimpses of Snape walking along, seeming to be surrounded by a veritable wall of Slytherins; even some that had left before the Battle had sidled back to the school under the watchful gaze of the Headmistress. It seemed as if they were protecting Snape, but Harry thought that they might be seeking security from him.

That would seem rather likely, Harry mused as he went through his work. Snape was currently the poster boy for Reformed Slytherin. He was a hero in his own right; as long as he was about, Slytherin House was not as reviled as it might have been.

He had tried to greet Snape once or twice, but the man (or boy, as it were) simply looked through him; the rest of the Slytherins did the same, and Harry was passed by quite carefully.

“Strange lot, they are,” Ron had remarked the last time this happened. “You’re a weird one too, trying to make friends with that bunch.”

Harry shrugged, watching the fluttering robes of the Slytherins as they drew away. “I guess I gave it a good shot. Last time for that, though.”

Yet, he still looked in the direction of the Slytherin table whenever he entered the Great Hall, watching Snape and Draco talking closely together. When Draco and Snape were called in front of the Wizengamot, Harry was also summoned as a witness, and he watched closely as Snape sat stiff-backed beside the Malfoys, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Narcissa Malfoy had cried silently when Lucius was sentenced to the Dementor-less Azkaban, and Severus passed her a small green handkerchief. Harry blinked as Severus placed his hand on Draco’s and squeezed when Draco’s sentence was commuted to Hogwarts, where he would be under constant watch by the castle itself while he completed his education.

The same judgement was applied to Snape, and Harry watched his face as the Chief Warlock beat his gavel and the crowd dispersed. Harry didn’t even attempt to approach Snape; he’d just be rebuffed again by the calm blankness in Snape’s eyes. And he had some pride left, trying to hold onto a bit of said pride as he was surrounded by reporters and flashing bulbs.

He managed to escape them and return to Hogwarts in one piece; he found Hermione and Ron in the common room, caught up in a loud card-game with Seamus, Neville and Luna.

“Snape and Malfoy are going to be watched by the castle,” Harry told them as he sat down on a comfortable couch and wriggled his feet out of the new boots he had bought for the Wizengamot hearings. They pinched, and he sighed as he pulled them off, poking Ron in the back with his bare toes when Ron wrinkled his nose and complained about a cheesy smell. “How’d you figure they’ll do that?”

“Oh, that’s not so hard,” Hermione said, placing a card down on the surface of the table and grinning smugly as the other players groaned. “I supposed they’ll be doing some sort of binding, where the castle’s magic will be linked with theirs. If you read Hogwarts, A History, you’ll see the chapter on the natural magic of this particular location, and how this gives the whole building a near-sentient awareness of what goes on within the walls. All the portraits, all the suits of armour, they’ll be recruited by the castle in Snape’s and Malfoy’s sentencing. The portraits love to snoop, in any case.” She placed another card and the other players flung down their hands in disgust. Hermione cackled and pulled her winnings close, exclaiming over a tiny plant that Neville had thrown in.

Harry watched them, and then carefully removed his foot from where it had been resting companionably against Ron’s back as his friend sat on the floor in front of him. He wriggled his toes underneath the edge of the floor-mat and pressed them against the stone floor.

The magic of the castle, old and soothing, tickled the underside of his foot, and Harry stifled a giggle. Another brush of magic, and it was gone, leaving Harry with a sense of well-being; he relaxed a little, just realising how tense he was. Satisfied, he got up and stretched, telling his friends that he was going up to bed. He chuckled at Ron’s accusations of Hermione cheating as he stumbled up to his room.

~o0OO0o~

Harry placed a hand on the cool stone surface and breathed slowly. He formed a question in his mind, asking where, and the castle returned a quick, helpful response in the form of image in the forefront of his mind’s eye, slightly wavy at the edges. He smiled; the castle liked him. It seemed to try and coddle him, adjusting the temperature in rooms he entered to his liking, darkening windows that let in too much sunlight. Hermione noticed this as well, and complained that the castle was trying to spoil him rotten.

The castle locked her out of every other room for an entire day, impervious to even the strongest Alohomora, until she admitted that maybe Harry deserved some pampering after all.

“Harry?” A voice came from the portrait-hole as Harry was about to step away. He started, almost dropping the bottle he was holding. He turned to see Ginny peering out at him, her eyes slitted suspiciously as she pulled her night-robe close. “Where are you going? It’s late.”

“For a walk.” Harry placed the bottle in the deep pocket of his own fluffy robes that covered his pyjamas. Her eyes followed the movement. “I’m a little jittery, can’t sleep.”

“It’s past curfew,” she said, pursing her lips. “We’re supposed to be in bed.”

The lit sconces on the walls flickered and nearly went out. Harry patted the wall absently, feeling the castle’s affront on his behalf. Ginny looked around, confused.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her with a small smile. “If anything happens to me, you’ll know.”

The sconces flared happily and he gave Ginny a small smile before turning away again.

“Harry?” She bit her lip as he turned back to her with raised eyebrows. “About us… there’s no us anymore, is there?”

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose and twisted his mouth. Surprisingly, Ginny gave a little amused huff, and smiled for the first time in weeks.

“That’s a stupid question, when I already know the answer. It’s just that, after everything, I was hoping that I’d make you jealous, and you’d come back to me. As you can see, that worked quite well,” she said dryly and Harry gave her a small smile. “And Nev… he’s turned out really brave and wonderful, hasn’t he?” Her face had taken on a soft expression. “I mean. He’s really changed.” She shook herself a little, and then raised her chin, looking him in the eye. “The point of all this is to ask if we can still be friends.”

“Of course,” Harry said quickly. “I’ve never stopped thinking of you as my friend.”

“Good. So now you can tell your friend where you’re going.”

Harry groaned at this trap and rolled his eyes. “I’m going to see Snape. I have something that belongs to him, and I want to give it back. Happy now?”

“Why can’t you do it in the daytime?” Ginny asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“Because he’s always waist-deep in Slytherins and I can’t bother with that. Besides, I know where he is now, and he’s alone. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Don’t worry, Gin,” he stressed, feeling a brush of exasperation at the look in her eyes. “The war is over. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a habit,” she replied with a wry grin. “Alright. Night, Harry.”

Harry nodded and set off, touching the walls now and then to make sure he was going the right way. Doors opened silently, leading him onwards as torch flames flared, lighting his path. Finally, he was at a large, wooden door near the dungeons, but he felt the bristle of strong wards.

“Can you?” He whispered and the castle responded. There was a low buzz, then a sudden snap, and the door clicked open. Harry pushed at it and caught only a glance of a pile of books and candles on a desk, before a wand was pointed at his throat and Severus was glaring down at him, his face twisted into a snarl.

“What do you want, Potter?” Severus snapped, his eyes burning. The ground beneath his feet shifted and he staggered, releasing Harry and trying to catch his balance. “What the blazes–”

“It’s alright!” Harry yelled, looking up at the ceiling. “He won’t hurt me, it’s alright.”

The ground ceased its small quaking and settled down. Severus shot him a dark look, not much different from what he used on Harry when he was older. He brushed at his clothes and crossed his arms over his chest. His mouth was pulled into a thin line, his sneer causing his large nose to appear even larger.

“Typical. Everyone loves Potter, even the castle,” he said in a low voice. “I suppose it overrode my wards simply because you desired to intrude on my personal time.”

“I have something for you,” Harry said desperately, suddenly wanting to get this over with. Severus tilted his head, raising his eyebrows.

“What could you possibly have that belongs to me, Potter?” he wondered icily. “According to all accounts, you and I had the same sort of interactions that your father and I did. I was your teacher, you were my student and there ensued mutual hatred.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket. Severus tensed, and moved his wand-hand slightly, holding it in the defensive position. “Well, I did. But not now.”

Harry took out the bottle which held all of Professor Snape’s memories and held it out to the young Severus, sighing as the black eyes narrowed at the ethereal, glowing contents. “They’re yours.”

“I’ve already been informed of my involvement in your War,” Severus told him. Harry felt annoyance start to bubble up in him; damn, only Snape could rile him up like this by being a complete, stubborn berk.

“It wasn’t my war,” he said as soon as he calmed himself properly. “But, here they are, your memories. You might find out a lot about yourself, and what you were capable of.”

“I know what I’m capable of.” Severus seemed to stand down, his shoulders relaxing from their hunched-over stance. He stepped close, eyeing Harry suspiciously before reaching out a thin arm and snatching it out of Harry’s palm. He rubbed the long, slim bottle between his hands contemplatively. “You have Lily’s eyes,” he said abruptly, and Harry blinked.

“Yeah,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “I get that a lot.”

Severus sneered at him, but it was a bit half-hearted. “The rest of your face, too. Granted, your hair is just as nest-like as your father’s, but your face is all hers. I would know,” he informed Harry loftily. “I knew Lily well.”

Harry cautiously rested his back on the closed door. “I know.”

“She was my friend,” Severus murmured. He cast Harry a defiant look. “My very good friend.”

Harry said nothing, but kept still as Severus looked at his face, just as intently as he had when they were in the Shrieking Shack and he was releasing all his memories into Harry’s keeping. Harry had the impression that as Severus’ expression softened just a little bit, he wasn’t seeing Harry at all.

For some reason, this stung him.

“I have to go,” he said and Severus’ face became a sharp mask again.

“Please do so,” he said coolly. “Don’t bother me again, Potter.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry said, striving for the same chilly tone and failing. “I won’t. Take care, Severus.” He fumbled for the doorknob behind him and the castle helpfully turned it, lighting his way as he fled back to the Gryffindor tower. He could have sworn that he heard someone call out to him, but he thought he was mistaken.

~o0OO0o~

July, 1998

“Finally, a break. I was getting tired of looking at all those stones,” Ron said brightly as he and Harry made their way to the Quidditch pitch, brooms held tightly in their gloved hands. The morning was bright and cool; behind them, Neville was walking arm in arm with Ginny, carrying their brooms and talking gently to her as she smiled up at him. Ron gave them a long look over his shoulder and then sighed dramatically as he looked around; he opened his mouth to speak and Harry shook his head. Ron folded his lips in and then gaped up at the sky as they entered the field.

“Oi!” He yelled up at the two figures slicing rapidly through the air. “Hey! What are you doing, we had the field reserved for now!”

“Oh, my,” Harry heard Ginny say in a small, amazed voice. “Is that… is that Snape?”

Harry felt his jaw unhinge as the two forms landed smoothly in front of them, both of them tall and slender. Malfoy’s fair hair was windblown, and his eyes were watering a little as he glared at Harry; obviously, he had forgotten to cast an eye-shield charm in his haste to get into the air. Harry could understand; there were many times he had neglected to transfigure his glasses into goggles, out of sheer excitement.

Harry wasn’t looking at him closely, however. Severus stood beside him, turned away slightly as he gripped a school broom in his hands. His gloves were fingerless and for some reason Harry’s eyes were fixed on the way his fingers curled around the stick, which was shiny from years of use. Severus’ colour was high, and his hair was tucked up under a knitted cap, a few black strands escaping to stick to the damp skin of his neck.

It was only when both Severus and Malfoy gave him matching sneers that he realised that he had been staring at Severus for too long.

“See something you like, Potter?” Snape said smoothly and Malfoy snickered as Harry flushed.

“Most likely Potter’s a poofter,” Malfoy jeered and Ron lunged forward out of sheer habit, stopping when Harry’s hand clamped on his shoulder. Severus gave Malfoy a long look; Malfoy went as red as Harry under the heavy stare.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Ron blinked. “Beg pardon? Harry, what did he say, I could have sworn he actually said sorry.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “He did. Now, are we going to have a little match, or not?”

Silence reigned as everyone stared at Severus; even Malfoy had turned to him with a shocked expression.

“We don’t have enough for two teams,” Neville finally volunteered in a low voice.

“Then we’ll get some.” Harry smiled cautiously and Severus simply arched a dark eyebrow at him. He turned to Neville. “Could you find some people who want to have a pick-up match? Tell them it’s not about houses. We’ll just choose teams, stick some names on them and we play.”

“Fine. I’m taking Team Newt, Seeker of course,” Draco said as Neville ran off and then placed his hand on Severus’ forearm. “And Severus is with me. Beater. And… I’ll take the Weaslette over there, as one of my Chasers.”

Ginny cut in through Ron’s howls of protest. “Alright,” she said, smiling a little at Harry’s encouraging nod. “Chaser, Team Newt.”

“Fine, I’ll be taking Team… uh, Team Doxy. Seeker and Ron is keeper.”

Neville returned with the chest that contained the training Quidditch balls, followed by a large group of curious students. Harry chose a sullen-looking Slytherin, a tiny Ravenclaw and some lanky twins in Hufflepuff to furnish his team. The twins beamed at each other and ran towards the broom shed with that particular synchronicity that only twins seemed to have. Harry and Ron watched them, and looked at each other, giving each other sad smiles as Draco picked out his team; heavy on the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but at least he seemed to be making an effort.

The stands were filling with students, teachers and volunteers as word spread that an impromptu Quidditch match was in the works. Harry saw Hermione waving cheerily at them and waved back. Ron poked him in the side and pointed out the fact that the pennants were changing, from their normal colours and animals, to a silver Newt curled on a blue background, and a black Doxy scowling ferociously against a yellow field. The castle was getting into the spirit as well.

“As long as it changes back,” Ron muttered, clambering onto his broom and floating up to the goal-posts.

The Hufflepuff whom they had assigned as referee gave them the signal to begin, and brooms spiralled quickly in the air; Harry floated as high as he could, keeping a sharp eye out for the Snitch as the Ravenclaw on his team began admirable Chasing duties. He yelled at the Slytherin to tail her, support her, and received a dark look; but his orders were followed and a goal was quickly scored. Ginny, her braid whipping out behind her, took possession of the Quaffle, and it was passed between herself and her fellow Newt Chaser, but Ron managed to block it as they lobbed it towards the goal-posts. Satisfied, he began to gaze around again, intent on watching for that golden glint… or, he was, until he caught sight of Severus wielding his beater’s bat with an expression of sheer malicious glee. Harry swerved as Severus sent a Bludger in his direction, his throaty laughter reaching him as Harry ducked to avoid it.

“You’re a quick little bugger!” Severus yelled.

“Severus Snape!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rose indignantly from the stands. Severus flashed him a grin, and it was so unusual that Harry actually came to a dead-stop in the air. Severus’ sharp, narrow face was completely changed when he smiled, his black eyes shining. Harry was so caught up in staring at him, that he nearly missed Malfoy’s dive near the pennants.

“Blast!” he shouted, and dived as well; the Snitch made a sudden turn, back in Harry’s direction and Harry went into a roll, reaching out one hand to try and snatch the little winged ball before Malfoy crashed into him. He felt it flutter against his fingers, and then it was gone; he and Malfoy barely missed each other.

Another goal was scored for Team Doxy, and Harry was constantly kept on his toes by the Bludgers Severus sent in his direction. He was also surprisingly proficient at protecting his own team-members, more than once batting a Bludger before it could hit Ginny or someone else.

“Damnit,” Harry swore, ducking again. Another Bludger slammed into his back and he cried out, feeling pain shoot up his spine even as he heard the triumphant cry of Malfoy catching the Snitch. He sighed at Ron’s yells and floated down as slowly as he could to the grassy field.

“Here,” Severus said right into his ear, and a long, warm arm settled around his shoulders, supporting him. Severus was right beside him on his own broom, descending as well. “I… I did not mean to hit that one so hard.”

Harry turned his face and gaped up at Severus, whose eyes were averted. “It’s ok,” he managed, laughing weakly. “I mean, it’s Quidditch. These things happen.”

“Hmm.” They landed on the grass and Harry tried to stifle a groan as his injuries flared. Severus was looking at him in concern. “I saw my memories, Potter. When I was older, I was asked to protect you.”

“You did!” Harry said, grabbing onto the sweaty front of Severus’ shirt. It was a marvel. He’d never think that a being like Severus Snape could sweat. “You did, and I’m grateful for it. I mean, you’re not doing such a great job now, I think you’re trying to kill me, but I’m ok… that was a joke,” he clarified at Snape’s furrowed brow.

“I deduced that,” Severus said smoothly. “Stick to Quidditch, Potter.”

The corner of his thin mouth quirked slightly, and Harry felt his pulse race as he watched Severus float up and away as Madame Pomfrey came stomping over to him. Severus’ eyes were darkly mysterious as they fixed on his and Harry found that he could not tear his eyes away.

~o0OO0o~

September, 1998

The young man waited patiently for Greenheart, his little grass-snake friend. They had been meeting and talking for nearly a month now, and the snake’s presence was quite calming for the young man. His studies were going very well, although they were hectic; but he knew he could manage.

A warning rustle sounded to his left, and Greenheart slid out of the high grass which completely hid the young man as he sat under the hoary old tree which was the site of their delightful little meetings.

There you are, the young man hissed at Greenheart, who coiled up right at his side and gazed up at him with those large, flat eyes. He frowned. Greenheart had developed a habit of curling close to his warmth and he thought he rather liked it. What’s wrong?

Nothing is the matter, Greenheart replied. It… it is just that I would like a certain snake to be my mate.

Oh, but that is a simple thing, the young man said with a confident smile, we can get you one quite easily.

But I already know which mate I want, the little snake said sadly, I know that they do not want me.

Severus stared down at the green scales, wondering if it would be alright to hope. He’d known since he’d first met this lovely snake that it was Potter; there was something in the aura of the little snake, but even now he wasn’t too sure and felt a little grumpy at this lack of knowledge. He had kept this information to himself, for he’d enjoyed talking to Harry in his Animagus form, using that particular talent that had presumably seeped into his veins from the bite he had suffered from Nagini. It simply wasn’t a gift he had been born with. Watching his painful memories, he could only conclude that whatever bond she had shared with her master, it had slid into him with her poison, and with the regeneration of his youth, it had been bound to his magic. He had discovered it when the first-years had proudly displayed their familiars to him, and the snakes had promptly began their sly chatter.

In any case, it had been good for his temper to not look at the other boy and see James Potter’s face, but what he’d told Harry had been right: he did have Lily’s face, and Lily’s temperament.

Yet, seeing him around school had shown Severus that Harry was a person in his own right. To be exact, he was also a snake in his own right, and a very depressed one right now.

Have you asked them? Severus asked. Greenheart tilted his head a little and considered this.

They are a very… prickly type of snake, it hissed carefully. We argued many times, but not now. Not anymore. I won’t ask them to be my mate, anyway, Greenheart hissed decisively. They will just say no and I will be hurt.

Ask. Severus drew up his legs to his chest, trying to keep his expression mask-like. It wouldn’t do if he was mistaken about Harry’s soft, longing looks. Ask now, Greenheart, before it’s too late.

Greenheart looked up at him for a long moment more, and Severus watched with his lips folded as the slender shape grew longer and larger, until Harry knelt close, looking anxiously at Severus’ impassive face. He pressed his palm against the ground and Severus felt a low pulse of magical energy.

“What was that?” he snapped, his wand already in his palm.

“Oh, just the castle, giving me moral support,” Harry said with a nervous laugh. “In case you turn me down.”

“I hope you don’t mean mate in the traditional sense of the word,” Severus said crisply. Harry looked surprised and then bashful.

“Oh. No, not if you don’t want me to.” He ducked his head, twisting a blade of grass through his fingers. “I suppose you’re angry at me for not telling you I was Greenheart.”

“I thought it was fairly Slytherin of you,” Severus admitted and they sat there together, a small smile touching at Harry’s mouth. “I suppose you can kiss me now, if you like.”

Severus felt the ground under him rumble in a pleased manner as Harry leaned forward to kiss him, but he thought the castle was taking it a little too far when it began to spurt delighted jets of water from out of the Lake.

“I forgot to give you a proper welcome back, Prince,” Harry muttered shyly against his mouth.

“This’ll do, Potter,” Severus said dryly, and kissed him again.

fin

Extra/Deleted Scene:

[Additional Author's Notes: The entire fic was inspired by a wonderful bit of artwork by lyntek, which is found here: Subjugation; R; HP/SS. I had seen it, flailed over it and told the artist: I'm wondering if this was some sort of role-playing, or deaged!Snape, or some accident with a Time-turner... Yet, when I was writing the fic for the fest, I couldn't finish in time to send to the betas. I managed to write that part, though, and hope you enjoy. Thanks to Sweets and Ash for the additional beta on this section.]

~o0OO0o~

Bound [NC-17]

“Potter is staring at us,” Draco hissed at Severus as they sat at dinner, the chatter of other students a comforting wall of sound. Severus took a fastidious bite of roast chicken, humming at the taste. “Severus. Are you listening?”

“Pass the potatoes,” Severus said and thanked the fifth-year that pushed the large bowl towards him with a small smile on her face. Severus nodded at her and her smile widened. “Hmm, there is oregano on this. I need to ask the house-elves to give me some of their dried stock, they serve well in painkilling potions.” He took a mouthful of the buttery potatoes and gave an approving nod. Draco stared at him with a mixture of fondness and impatience. “What is it, Draco?”

“I’m telling you that Potter is staring over here and you’re waxing eloquent over the herbs,” Draco said with dry exasperation, squinting dangerously at Potter’s direction. “Some things never change.”

“Potter has a surprising jealous streak,” Severus noted and Draco’s lips tightened; he sneered over at the Gryffindor table for good measure. He still wasn’t used to the idea of Severus and Potter, and there was a constantly simmering contest between him and Harry over Severus’ attention. Severus, who was not used to people bickering over him (at him, yes, but not over him), was simultaneously pleased and annoyed at their constant quarrels.

“Well, next time you deign to have a conversation with him, tell him to keep his speccy eyes to himself.” Draco stabbed his fork into a large drumstick with a deferred violence and glowered at Potter, who was sitting between the gangly height of Weasley, and Granger’s expressive hands, which denoted that she was explaining something she thought of as important and that the other two didn’t give one hoot about.

Severus smirked as Harry and Draco glared at each other; Harry’s glare was backed up by Weasley’s and Severus adjusted his striped green-and-silver tie, trying to hide a smirk. School was in full session again, and everyone was back in uniform, even Potter, who had expressed dismay at Headmistress McGonagall’s firm stance on the dress code. Severus, who was comfortable in his uniform, had been happy to wear it. He had been told that he did not have to, but Severus insisted. After all, he was in school.

Next year, when the current Potion’s master left, he would be a Professor… again. Sometimes, he had vague dreams of teaching, visions that swam almost to the forefront of his mind before slipping away again. There were occasions where a certain smell or sound would stop him in his tracks, bringing back a memory that, according to all accounts, had not happened to him as yet; but it had happened before.

Quite confusing at times. Severus preferred not to deal with it.

~o0OO0o~

Draco frowned as he watched a green grass-snake enter with some of the younger Slytherins, sliding quickly along the floor towards the upper-year rooms. It looked up at him as he passed, flicked out its tongue at him and then slithered off; he turned, pulling at his tie as he tracked its movements and saw that it had coiled in front of the room that Severus had claimed as his own. It stared back at him, a baleful expression in those large eyes. The door was pulled open suddenly and the snake snapped its head around, sliding into the small room.

Severus raised his eyebrows as Draco stared at him.

“I didn’t know you’ve got a familiar.” Draco’s voice was filled with a deep suspicion.

“You didn’t?” Severus regarded him with an amused glint in those dark eyes. “I suppose I didn’t tell you.”

He gave Draco a quick nod and closed the door; but right before it clicked shut, Draco could see the shadows cast by the fire on the walls inside. He gaped as the little shadow of the upraised body of the snake morphed into that of a slender, messy-haired person.

Draco gritted his teeth, threw his tie across the room and stomped his way to his own quarters as it fluttered to the ground.

~o0OO0o~

“Draco was in here,” Potter was saying sullenly, his eyes roving around the cramped room. “I could smell it on him, as a snake.”

“Yes, he was.” Severus stepped close to him, and Potter looked up at him with slitted eyes. “I was assisting him with his Transfiguration assignment. Oh, and Draco told me to tell you that you should consider keeping your eyes to yourself.”

“As long as he keeps his hands off you, I will,” Harry said sourly and tightened his lips as Severus looked at him with amusement. “What?”

“You do realise that Draco is quite the heterosexual? And that his interest in me does not exceed that of a close friend.”

“Doesn’t stop him from having a huge man-crush on you and trying to sabotage us all the time. I don’t need that, I get enough of it from my friends,” Harry said with a pout and Severus gave into the urge of kissing him right on it. It was exciting to have someone so possessive over him, he thought as Harry’s mouth parted against his and his tongue shyly crept out to touch at Severus’. Harry became extremely grumpy whenever he saw Draco and Severus together, which was astounding, since Harry’s personality was usually quite calm and balanced. To be fair, Draco would constantly stand close or touch Severus to put Harry into a snit and would watch in malicious delight as Harry’s eyes darkened. No matter how much Severus told Draco to stop, he would keep doing it.

“Man-crush? That is a strange word,” he said lightly now, aware that in his other life, he had not done ‘lightly’ very well. Or at all. He dreamt about that sometimes, of shouting at hapless students in a dark, dank room. There were other dark rooms in his memory, folded deeply in his mind, waiting for him to pull them open…but right now, he was trying to coax Harry into a better mood, that was what counted. It seemed to him that it was all that counted. “Is that what you have for me?”

Harry blinked and looked taken-aback, surprised out of his sulk. “No! I mean… it used to be a crush, but… but it’s something more than that, now.” A fleeting smile touched at his lips. He reached up and his fingers brushed against the hollow at the base of Severus’ neck. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated and then cleared his throat.

“Out with it,” Severus said, and inclined his head, raising his eyebrows.

“I had a… a thought about you today,” Harry admitted in a low voice, and then blushed furiously. More than a thought, Severus reflected with amusement, and then went on to wonder how this young man, who had once carried the fate of an entire people on his narrow shoulders, could go so red when speaking of sex. They’d only been through hurried fumblings, groping, kissing, hands snuck up shirts and robes.

Severus had poured himself into a book called the Wizarding Guide to Gay Sex, because he wanted to get it as right as possible. He had a very strong idea that while he had not completely refrained from sex in his… former life (no matter what the students had thought, he had still been a man, and a man with needs, a sour echo of a voice rang in his head), his sexual activities had been lacking in finesse and tenderness.

One corner of his thin mouth lifted as that sour voice seemed to sneer in his mind again. Tender? Severus Snape doesn’t even understand the meaning of the word tender.

Of course he did, once, when he knew a girl called Lily Evans. She had been the first person he had ever really wanted to love, apart from his mother. Lily had loved him, he remembered that clearly, even though he had realised he was attracted to other boys, and she had been trying to teach him what real love was about. But he had failed her; failed them both. It was strangely apt that he would find such love again, and in Harry; strange because Harry was her son, and apt because Harry loved like she did, fiercely and wholeheartedly.

So. What did Severus Snape ever do to deserve such love, the voice continued in dark tones, dripping with self-disgust and muddled sort of fear.

I don’t know, Severus thought mildly. But I was given a second chance. I intend to make the best use of it.

The bitter voice retreated, and Severus continued to inspect Harry’s flushed face, his dark lashes lowered shyly over those bright green eyes.

“A thought?” he prompted with an amused curl of his mouth, and Harry nodded.

“I just… maybe you’d like to see,” Harry said on a nervous rush of breath, and peeked up at Severus from under his eyelashes. Harry moved his hand from where it had been petting at that dip in Severus’ collarbone, and pressed his hand against the long shape of Severus’ wand under the material of his robes, tucked into that narrow inside pocket under a lapel. Severus withdrew the wand, still looking down into that upturned, trusting yet nervous face.

“Legilimens,” he said softly, bringing his wand in a short arc over Harry’s temple. Another world, another mind bloomed in front of his eyes, Harry’s random thoughts of the day flickering past the edge of his vision (i don’t think i want to eat breakfast, oooh sausages, i wonder if hermione finished checking my history assignment for me… if i turn my wand like so, maybe the angle will force the spell to interact with the target better… why in the bloody hell am i still doing potions?… severus, i want to show severus that root, i know what it is but i can’t recall the name); then one strong thought, or the memory of it, circled around him eagerly and enveloped him.

A dark room. Empty, and warm. He saw himself seated in a chair, bound to it with what appeared to be thorny rope wrapped around his upper arms, but they did not seem to be tied in a manner to cause him pain. He was sitting very quietly, head bowed, hair hanging in his face. His school robes were gone, but his trousers and white shirt were still crisply neat.

Greenheart slithered into the room, from some unknown, shadowed door, and went directly to one booted leg of the seated Snape, crawling up it and into his lap. It paused, writhing a little in the lap of the bound Severus, no doubt enjoying the warmth and knowing that the movement was pleasurable, from the way Severus squirmed just a bit, breathing quickly. The real Severus felt his cock twitch in commiseration, and he continued to watch closely as Greenheart slid up the torso of the other Snape and over his shoulder, its green tail flickering indolently as it disappeared. The Snape in the chair became still again.

Then Harry, in his human form, loomed behind the trapped Snape, his eyes bright and heated behind his glasses. He bent and whispered something in Snape’s ear. Severus saw the shiny strands of black hair shift, and he could see the outline of his large nose, and a small smile. Harry reached both hands around Snape’s neck, loosening the green-and-silver striped tie. He tugged it carefully up, moving the noose past Snape’s chin, under the hair and up over that miracle of a nose, until it was at his eyes. Harry adjusted the knot of the tie, so that it would not fall from Severus’ eyes.

Harry cast a spell, and the buttons of the crisp shirt twisted out of their button-holes, one after the other. The white cotton parted and Harry’s hands began a tentative exploration, fingers peeling away the material so they could trickle lightly over Snape’s chest.

He could see his own stomach moving in deep breaths, noticed the way his shoulders tensed as Harry bent close, reaching further down so that one of his hands was fumbling at the belt cinched at Severus’ waist. The bound and seated Snape began to move his head from side to side, a slow negation, even as Harry managed to unbutton his trousers and pulled down the zip, the sound of it surprisingly loud.

“Let me,” Harry breathed into Snape’s ear, his expression almost severe in its desire. “I want… I want to take care of you, let me.”

This caused both the bound Snape and the watching Severus to pause, inhaled breath trapped in long, pale throats at the warmth in Harry’s tone. Harry murmured again, let me, right in the curl of Snape’s ear, his hand now plunging into the opened placket of Snape’s dark trousers. Severus pressed the heel of his hand to the hard line of his own cock, exhaled shakily and saw how the two of them looked, both dark-haired and intense, Harry’s hand finding a sure rhythm. He watched as Snape’s (his!) hips moved up and around, slight appreciative circles, low moans escaping from him.

The edges of the memory-thought became tinged with a rosy shade, the colour of Harry’s arousal, and Severus pulled himself slowly out of it, feeling Harry’s mind grip at his almost greedily, before releasing him with great reluctance. Severus placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, hauling him forward for a real kiss. Harry’s slighter form crowded up against his, hands going into his hair and gripping entire hanks so that he could angle Severus’ head properly and ravage his mouth.

Severus felt himself being spun around by sure hands and walked backwards until the back of his legs met with the end of the low, narrow bed. Harry continued to kiss him with that single-minded urgency, tongues and lips dancing together, and suddenly Harry placed his hands on Severus’ chest and pushed. Severus fell back on top of the duvet, clothes askew and breath harsh, staring up at Harry’s flushed face.

“Harry,” he croaked, and Harry pounced, straddling his hips and hauling off his own robes and shirt, tossing them away randomly. Severus struggled with his and there was complete disregard for Severus’ neat room, as there was a flurry of flying clothing, punctuated by low laughter and flailing limbs.

Severus looked up into that amused, aroused expression on Harry’s face, noting that bitter, disgruntled voice was gone from his head… and he smiled.

FIN