Chapter 60 - A Lot Like Love

He awoke with a jolt. One moment he was unaware of the world around him, and in the next he bolted upright in bed, not altogether sure why. He half expected to be restrained, a vague impression flitting through his mind that he hadn’t been alone in quite a while. But no hands appeared, and he seemed to be alone now.

It was night, and things were a bit fuzzy without his glasses, but he could see well enough by the illumination of a soft light nearby to know where he was. He was still at Kneader’s. In the infirmary room. In pajamas that he had not been wearing before. He experienced no moment of confusion, no hazy waking-up period. He remembered everything about being in Voldemort’s mind, and he shuddered at the sudden overwhelming urge to take a bath to rid himself of black sludge and dark magic.

It had been awful.

And it had been worth it. He remembered waking up, of Snape’s rolled-up sleeves, his arms bare like Harry had only seen them a small handful of times. He remembered the lack of Dark Mark, the skin unblemished as if the Mark had never existed. Most of all, he remembered Snape’s face, how he had looked in an instant of relief, how his eyes had been clear of the pain that so often haunted them.

He remembered the joy. Or what he thought was joy. And he remembered…

His face heated, though there was no one around to see. He remembered the feeling of being tucked in, like he imagined his parents might have done, and of a gentle kiss, the kind he’d seen Petunia give Dudley so many times but that she’d never once given to Harry. He remembered…he remembered feeling loved.

Surely it had been in his imagination. He knew that Snape liked him now, but…he was Snape. He wasn’t the type to get sentimental or to show affection.

He also wasn’t the type to give Harry mementos of his mother, or to hold him when he had a nightmare, or to return a hug, or to let him sleep on the sofa in his private quarters. And yet…he had done all of those things, so… Why shouldn’t he be capable of one fleeting, barely-there, parental moment that made Harry feel safe, protected, and like everything was going to be okay?

You should have been my son.

Snape’s once-spoken words ran unbidden through his mind, and he swallowed against a rush of emotion. His overactive mind was taking the words out of context, he knew, and he shook his head in an attempt to shake them loose. He needed to stop himself before he began to expect more from Snape than the man was prepared to give. His own realization within Voldemort’s mind was causing him to wander down a dangerous path of wanting and craving things that he had no right to expect.

He really wasn’t certain of the exact moments his hatred for Snape had turned to tolerance, and then to understanding, respect, appreciation, and ultimately to love. It had happened quite quickly, only over the past couple months, but…at the same time, it had happened so gradually that he could not think to the exact moment that it all changed. There were so many moments, too many to count up, that had all led him to this moment, to this realization.

Because that’s what it was now. Love. He felt for Snape the same way he’d felt for Sirius. In a way. He felt a different mix of emotions when he thought of the two men, certainly. They held different parts of him, different bits of his life and his history, and they filled different spaces in his heart. But the love? That part was the same.

It struck him that the most staggering part of his epiphany about how he felt about Snape was how not staggering it was. Okay, yeah, he had been staggered by their evolving relationship every single time he’d thought over it over the past weeks and months…but right now..?

Right now it felt normal, natural even, that he should feel love for Snape.

It was on the tail end of that thought that he heard the rasp of a soft snore and swiveled his head to see a sleeping body on the bed next to his. He fumbled for his glasses on the small bedside table between them. Snape’s closed eyes and hooked nose were lit up by the soft light of a lantern on the table. He was lying on top of the covers, an open book inches from his hand, as if he’d intended to read and had instead fallen asleep.

Harry watched the man’s chest rise and fall for a couple minutes, then scanned his eyes about the room, not sure what he was searching for. He had a bit of a headache, but it wasn’t bad and he wasn’t tired enough to fall back asleep. He didn’t want to wake his professor—Merlin knew the man could use the rest, after all Voldemort had put him through recently—but he also wasn’t in the mood to converse with Kneader or Mimsy, should he be caught wandering the house. As silently as he could, he swung his legs out of bed and onto the floor. He carefully placed his weight on one leg and then the other as he stood, not certain how steady he would be after whatever Voldemort had done to his mind to end their connection, and he was happy to note that despite a bit of trembling in his hands and knees, he felt strong and sturdy.

A glass of water sat on the bedside table and he gratefully sipped at it while glancing sideways at a pile of papers closer to Snape. He’d just about made up his mind not to be nosy when he saw his own name on top of what looked to be some sort of schedule, and he craned his neck to take a peek. He almost laughed at the predictability of Snape’s dealing with Harry’s period of recovery by making him yet another study schedule, except that he was worried it meant he had slept away another week of school. He didn’t feel like he had been asleep all that long, but anything was possible when Voldemort was involved. He took a deep breath and let it out on a soft sigh. The idea of having to catch up on schoolwork again was downright depressing, but he supposed if he’d done it before, he could do it again.

He had broken the Dark Mark’s connection, and Snape would live. Surely that was worth a bit of extra studying. He’d still hate having to do it though.

He was about to move on from the schedule before his eye caught on a rather large block of time set aside where one shouldn’t be. Giving up on not touching Snape’s things—it was basically Harry’s thing anyway, with his name on it and all—he snatched up the paper and narrowed his eyes at what he hoped was Snape’s idea of a joke. A large chunk of his Saturdays was taken up by something labeled “P.” Whatever that was. Was Snape intending to have him study his weekends away until he was caught up? Or even longer, because he wanted Harry to bring up his grades to an impossible Hermione-like level? He nearly groaned aloud, his thoughts of lazy lie-ins and flying practice with Ron going up in smoke. He’d do it, he knew. If Snape really wanted him to spend his Saturdays in the library or in extra study sessions, he’d do it. It probably wouldn’t even feel like the worst of all punishments, because he liked knowing the man was proud of him. But he wouldn’t do it without grumbling and trying to talk him out of it first. Trying really, really hard to talk him out of it first.

Setting the schedule back where he found it, and finding that his legs were already growing tired, he sat back on the bed with his legs folded under him and studied the sleeping professor. It struck him that he could probably sit here and study Snape’s relaxed face and think on the year he’d had and not run out of things to think about all day. He grinned and stifled a laugh as his victory within Voldemort’s mind began to settle, to feel real, and he felt almost giddy in relief. Snape would live. Harry would live. They would go back to school, where Harry’s greatest worries were homework and Quidditch matches.

Well, and nightmares and unpredictable powers and the looming threat of his next encounter with Voldemort. So…not entirely worry-free, he had to admit. But better than before, because Snape wasn’t going anywhere. He would be there beside him, helping him to deal with his nightmares and teaching him to channel his power and training him in the mental arts. With such a capable teacher beside him, none of those things was impossible to conquer.

He didn’t realize he was sporting a soft smile on his face until he registered a pair of black eyes blinking up at him sleepily. An instant later, the eyes widened and Snape was pushing himself up from the bed. He stared at Harry for a long moment, looking him over from head to toe as if confirming that he was, in fact, sitting on top of his bed fully awake, staring back at him.

“Um. Good morning,” said Harry politely. He looked out the window at the darkness outside. “Good evening?” he corrected, then turned back and got right to what he wanted to know. “Please don’t tell me I slept another whole week away. It’ll be so much harder to catch up in the middle of term than it was at the beginning!”

Snape shook his head as if to wake himself faster. “No,” he rasped. He cleared his throat. “We can discuss that later. How are you feeling? Headache? Dizziness? Disorientation?” He whisked out a wand before Harry could answer and ran it over him in a way that reminded Harry of Madame Pomfrey and her diagnostic spells.

The professor was already walking to the potions cabinet when Harry caught up enough to answer, “Um, headache. Not too bad though… And no dizziness or anything like that. A little shaky, maybe? And tired. Not sleepy tired, more like my muscles are tired. I feel…good though. Like, better than I would have expected,” he said with a question in his voice.

Snape didn’t respond right away, his hands busy rifling through vials. He found what he was looking for and returned to the bed with a headache draft, which Harry downed eagerly, and a thick earth-toned concoction that Harry studied curiously.

“A nutritive potion,” explained Snape. “Your body went through an ordeal alongside your mind. As well as you are feeling at the moment, it will be best to wait until at least the noon meal to consume solids.”

Harry drank the potion, which didn’t taste horrible, for its drab color. He licked his lips. It tasted a bit like grass, if grass were as sweet as pineapple.

The professor sat in a chair next to the bed and watched him. What for, Harry wasn’t sure, but before he could give in to the urge to fidget, Snape volunteered, “Your body recovered from its exhaustion quickly, though you will find yourself easily drained after being abed so long. Mr. Kneader theorizes that you were aided in your quick healing by the power that you managed to gather into your magical core. With your body injured, it focused itself internally, repairing your body quite a bit more quickly than might otherwise be expected.”

He nodded, relieved, but his greatest concern was elsewhere. He moaned, “Seriously. How long was I asleep? Just tell me so I can mourn the loss of all my free time for the rest of term.”

Snape’s lips quirked up and he leaned back, something of contentment in his expression. “No need for dramatics. You only missed two days of school. It is coming up on Wednesday. We shall see how you feel come morning light. Judging by your mental alertness, you will almost certainly be well enough to attend classes. If not, I will be happy to personally deliver your assignments to your sick bed.”

Harry grimaced at that thought, then scooted back on the bed and leaned against the headboard. Two days, he thought with relief. He could handle two days. That wasn’t so bad. “You didn’t have to miss class again too, did you?”

“No,” assured Snape. “I returned each evening, but Mr. Kneader has been with you during the day.”

He nodded. “I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

Snape gave him a look that Harry could only call exasperated and said dryly, “You invaded the Dark Lord’s mind, went into magical shock, very well could have died or become a vegetable in the process, and you hope you didn’t worry me too much.”

“Um. Yeah?”

“If you ever do anything that stupidly self-sacrificing again and survive, I will kill you,” Snape growled. “Personally.”

Harry thought a slight change of topic might be in order. “So…without the Dark Mark, can you say and hear You-Know-Who’s name now?”

Snape gave him a last warning look, then touched his left forearm with the opposite thumb, rubbing circles absently across the bare skin. A very un-Snape-like look crossed his face, and he looked almost lost. “I don’t… I hadn’t had time to consider. But. I can’t think why not. So…yes, I suppose so.”

“Can I… Do you want… I mean, can I try?”

Snape hesitated, then nodded, focusing his eyes on his arm.

“Voldemort,” said Harry, almost in a whisper.

Snape flinched.

“Still?” asked Harry, dismayed. “How is that even possible?”

“No,” said Snape in a pinched voice. “No, it didn’t hurt. Not at all.” He sucked in a sharp breath and looked at Harry with an undefinable emotion in his eyes. “It is only… Nearly twenty years… I—I must think how to explain.” He lowered his eyes back to his arm. “I do not miss it—how could I?—but it has been a part of me for my entire adult life. I should not miss it, and yet… No,” he said firmly. “I do not miss it. It is only, I do not know what it is to be without it yet. I expect it to burn at any second. I feel it burn in my mind. And the mind…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have been trained to fear the Dark Lord’s name, and the mind does not so easily forget.”

“I could start with something close, to get you used to it,” Harry offered. “Moldywart? Voldyshorts?

Snape looked up and Harry was gratified to see amusement in his eyes. “How long have you been waiting to use those monikers?”

“A while,” he admitted.

Snape’s eyes were soft, when he said, “I appreciate the suggestion. However, I…I am quite tired of living in fear, I think. I am determined to reclaim my mind, and I cannot do so without acclimating myself to hearing his—to saying V—Voldemort,” he shuddered.

Harry wanted to pat his professor’s arm and tell him well done, but it might seem patronizing, so he gave him a wide grin instead. Snape smiled back, and Harry was struck by how much younger and less dour he appeared when he smiled and was pain-free.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and after a few minutes, Harry decided to take advantage of Snape’s good mood. “You know, you still owe me a total rundown of your personal life and who all you’re friends with on the Hogwarts faculty.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “I believe I said I would provide for you one detail of my personal life, without a specific promise as to the topic, and with the understanding that it would be altogether inconsequential and unexciting.”

“You even talking to me about talking to me about your personal life is already exciting,” countered Harry.

Snape huffed in amusement. “Well then. Let us draw out the excitement as long as possible. I have a question of my own first.”

“What? Why do you get to go first?”

“Because I am the grown-up.”

“That is a totally unfair and arbitrary rule.”

“Alas,” Snape held up his hands in mock defeat, “as the grown-up, I get to make the rules. Arbitrary or no.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, though he wasn’t truly put out. “Oka-ay,” he sounded out. “How about the question game? Take turns, a question for a question? For old time’s sake.”

“We grew out of that game long ago.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. The grown-up making the rules.” Snape gave him a look, the kind that accused Harry of being obtuse on purpose. “I would hope that you would have realized by now that I will always give you only as much information as I am willing to give you, regardless what game we play. The ‘question game,’ as you call it, was my ploy to get you to talk.”

“I know,” Harry shrugged. “But I still got something out of it. And it worked, didn’t it? I talked. So why not do it again? It’ll probably put me in more of a sharing mood,” he said with exaggerated innocence.

“Because you no longer require it. You trust me enough by now to generally answer my questions without the necessity of persuasion or subterfuge.”

“But it would be fun,” Harry needled.

“For Merlin’s— Fine.” Snape threw up his hands with a harrumph, though Harry could tell that he wasn’t truly put out either. “I still will go first.” His eyes dared Harry to challenge that, but Harry was quite content to have won one battle, and he happily plumped up a pillow to put behind his back.

Instead of starting right in with a question about his health or studies like Harry had expected, Snape shifted in a way that Harry knew meant he was uncomfortable or nervous about something. And wasn’t that intriguing? He adjusted himself so that he was sitting up straight and watched his professor expectantly.

“I—” Snape cleared his throat. “My question is rather more of a proposition. I thought to offer before, especially in light of recent revelations that may have hindered your past academic performance.” He ran his eyes over Harry’s new glasses. “But with Occlumency so new and quite urgent, and the distraction of my Dark Mark…” He shook his head. “In any event, we are well into October. I am running out of time to extend such an offer. Hence…” He cleared his throat again and paused long enough that Harry had to work hard to keep the confusion off his face. He finally said, “You still desire to complete your Potions NEWT, yes?”

Harry widened his eyes and a little too quickly squeaked, “What? Yes! Of course. Yes.”

“I meant what I said before. I will only allow the best students into my NEWT class. However…if you are so inclined to put in the hard work required, I would be willing to tutor you. With the understanding that if I deem your progress satisfactory by the end of this term, then you may join the Sixth year class in the spring.”

“Yes.” Harry bit his lip to keep from saying yes over and over. That was all that would probably come out, as he was too thrilled to be able to put together a coherent sentence.

A smile ghosted on Snape’s lips. “Make no mistake. It will be hard work. I will accept nothing less than your best effort, and we have much to cover, not only to catch up to your classmates, but also to hone skills that you should have mastered prior to this year. My time is valuable. You will not waste it. I expect for you to put in your highest amount of effort, or I will not waste my time teaching you.”

“Yes.” His body was thrumming with excitement. “Please. Yes. I’ll work hard, I promise. You won’t regret it.”

Snape studied Harry with a smile ghosting his lips. “No, I do not think that I will,” he said softly, then reached for the study schedule on the table. He handed it to Harry. “However, you would be wise to give my offer some actual consideration before accepting. As I have class during most of your free periods, and it is unwise to fill up every evening with extra lessons, you will be required to give up a considerable amount of time to additional studies in between your classes and the honing of your brewing skills on the weekends. With all that is on your plate—”

“Yes.” Before Snape could go on, he insisted, “I thought about it. I want to. I’ll work hard, I promise, and I won’t waste your time.” Every thought he had had to talk Snape out of Saturday work vanished. He could still be an Auror! But. “Oh,” he paused. “Um. There’s flexibility in there for Quidditch practices, right? We practice a lot on Saturday mornings, and sometimes we move it to the afternoon.”

Snape quirked his lips. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of Quidditch practice.”

Harry laughed and tried not to bounce in excitement. “Then it’s a deal and I accept.” He extended his hand.

“You are aware that not all offers must be cemented with a handshake,” Snape pointed out, even as he accepted Harry’s hand and gave it one firm shake before letting go.

Harry shrugged, still grinning. “It feels more official.”

“Hmm.” Snape leaned back with a satisfied look on his face and waved for Harry to take his turn. But truly, what more could Harry ask for after that? He wouldn’t even complain if Snape wanted to be closed-lipped for the rest of the year if he was really willing to spend all that extra time teaching Harry.

Okay, that was a lie. Spending all that time with Snape would probably only sharpen his curiosity. So maybe he’d better strike while the iron was hot.

“Who are you friends with on the Hogwarts staff?” he asked eagerly. At Snape’s dry look at the word friends, he amended, “Which Hogwarts professors do you talk to when you don’t absolutely have to?”

Snape gave him an approving glance at the amended wording and answered, “Sprout.”

“Sprout?” Harry repeated, surprised. That…had not been what he was expecting.

“I enjoy conversing with Pomona Sprout. She is quite knowledgeable about herbs, and by extension the fundamentals of potions-making. She generally has the positivity to put up with my foul moods, yet the ability to temper it enough to not thoroughly irritate me.”

All he could think to respond for a few seconds was, “oh.” He smiled, a warm feeling spreading inside him at the personal revelation, and then he laughed in delight at the mental image that conjured up. “You sit around the staffroom talking about herbs with Professor Sprout?” He couldn’t have pictured it before, but now that he did, it didn’t seem too far-fetched.

Snape sniffed. “Well. I can see how it pales in comparison with your riveting social engagements. Debating the finer points of schoolyard crushes and chocolate frogs, no doubt.”

“Those are very serious topics,” said Harry, only half joking. “I don’t know what I expected. Professor Flitwick, maybe.”

Snape shrugged. “I have never avoided conversing with Professor Flitwick. We have little in common, but I appreciate his temperament and respect his teaching style and expertise.”

“Huh. And Professor McGonagall?” he asked while Snape was in a sharing mood.

“We have a grudging professional respect,” shared Snape. “We have known each other long enough to work well together, but neither of us has quite the patience for lengthy lunchtime chats with a fellow stubborn soul.”

Harry tried not to laugh at the idea of McGonagall and Snape trying to be friends. He couldn’t quite picture it. They were too similar and dissimilar at the same time. “And Dumbledore,” he said, not asking. “You talk to him.”

Snape inclined a head in agreement but didn’t elaborate. “Any more pressing questions? Would you like to inquire as to my relationship with Professor Trelawney, perhaps?”

Harry grinned. “Um, no. No, I don’t think I need to ask about that one.” The mere thought of Snape trying to put up with a conversation with the Divination teacher made him want to laugh. “Your turn. But, professor?” He smiled. “Thanks. Really.”

Snape inclined his head again and asked, “How much do you remember of the cabin?”

Harry didn’t need to ask; he knew what cabin Snape meant. “Bits and pieces? I remember images, more than anything. The way the blanket felt. Waking up, and you being there. I keep remembering something about snow?” he half-asked with a confused frown. “But it couldn’t have been snowing that time of year, so I have no idea what that’s about.”

Snape laughed—actually laughed at that—and Harry decided maybe he was better off not knowing. “The only clear things I remember were what you said about Sirius, and also when I—” He looked away. “I remember thinking you were dead, and it’s kind of hazy, but I remember that you were there and you…um, said you’d stay with me. And you did.”

Snape leaned forward, not laughing now, and rested his elbows on his knees. “That is all?”

“Um.” He peaked at Snape’s face and decided to be honest. “No. I…I remember one more thing. You, um, asking me about Dementors. About—about what I hear.”

“Oh.” Snape looked away. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember that,” he admitted.

“It’s okay, you know,” said Harry tentatively. “You didn’t have to wait until I was out of it to ask. I’d have told you.”

Snape waved a hand feebly in the air. “Yes, I know. I was rather more hoping to avoid my own embarrassment of asking something so personal. And to…” He swallowed.

“To..?” Harry prodded after a minute.

He made an aborted effort at speech and then said, “I was not ready to talk at length about her, to inspire you to think that she was fair game. I am still not quite…” He hesitated. “She— It is only that I—”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Harry, and it was. Just because he wanted to ask for the moon didn’t mean he wouldn’t be content with a few glimpses of it from afar. He wanted to know all about Lily Evans Potter, yes, but he’d already found out more from little snippets Snape had given him than he’d ever dreamed he’d get. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I really, really want to know more about my mum, and I’d love to hear anything you want to tell me, but, um…I won’t ask if you don’t want me to. I mean, I’ll try not to ask. You can just tell me whatever you want to whenever you want to, and if you don’t want to say much, that’s okay too.”

Snape studied him like he didn’t believe him, but his earnest expression must have been convincing. The professor sat back in his chair with a sigh. “You are entirely too empathetic for a sixteen-year old. It is unnatural.”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry? I guess?”

“You should at least negotiate for what you want.” Snape pointed a finger at him. “I still blame your Gryffindor tendencies, but the truth is that you also have far too much Hufflepuff in you to ever put your Slytherin potential to maximum use.”

“Hufflepuff?” Harry repeated, having never thought of himself in relation to that house before. “Huh. Well, being like a Slytherin is mainly about ambition, right? Who says I can’t be ambitious about making friends and not stepping all over them? The two can work together.”

“Do not forget cunning. Among other attributes. Cunning and getting along with people are not mutually exclusive, you know. With finesse, it is quite possible to both get what you want out of the situation and ensure the other person feels the same.”

“But I don’t want to play games.”

“I know,” nodded Snape with a mournful look that turned to determination. “We will work on that.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to throw up his hands. “You’re still angling to turn me into a Slytherin?”

Snape’s eyes took on an amused gleam. “You have just agreed to spend a sizable portion of your year in one-on-one tutelage with the Head of Slytherin House. The more pertinent question is whether you still think that the development of your Slytherin traits can be avoided.”

“Hmm.” Harry pursed his lips at that, mainly to avoid a smile, but he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he circled back around to the point and insisted, “I mean it, you know. I’m not playing games. You don’t have to—”

Snape stopped him by covering one of Harry’s hands with his own. “I know. I am grateful.” His eyes were unguarded for once, letting his gratitude show. Harry smiled and nodded, and Snape squeezed his hand before he let go. “I believe it is your turn.”

Harry hesitated. He’d honestly had something stored up that he’d wanted to ask for a while now, but after just promising not to pester Snape about his mum, it didn’t feel like the right time. It might even be rude. It was definitely brushing up against those mental scars Snape carried around with him from the past. He bit his lip and decided to chance it. Maybe. “You don’t have to answer. I mean, I just told you I wouldn’t pester you about my mum, and I meant it, it’s only, something you said once, about…about my dad. Only, more about me, and I wanted to know, but you didn’t say, and you don’t have to, but I wondered if you might—”

“Ask,” said Snape gently. “Remember. I will give you only what information I wish to give you.”

Harry licked his dry lips and watched Snape for his reaction. “You, um…you told me once, while we were at Grimmauld Place, that I was like my dad. Only…only, not in the ways you always thought.”

Snape looked away, but not before Harry saw a glimmer of pain in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Harry said in a rush. “I mean, I wanted to know what you meant by that, but you don’t have to, if it brings up memories you’d rather... I mean, I can just—”

Snape held up a hand, and Harry stopped talking. He had to try really hard not to break the silence that followed, as Snape seemed to be deciding what to say. The professor crossed his arms and rubbed a hand across his face.

“I still hate him,” he admitted after a while, without looking at Harry. His jaw clenched. “I know that I should try not to, for your sake. But a lifetime of single-minded hatred is not so easily overcome.”

Harry looked at his hands, finding a loose thread on his pajamas quite interesting. For the first time since he woke up, he was distinctly uncomfortable. He’d known he shouldn’t have brought up his dad. They had mostly ignored the topic of James Potter lately. Harry had thought it was enough that Snape didn’t hate Harry now, but he was beginning to see that until Snape could forgive Harry’s dad, there would always be a James-sized chasm between them. No matter how much they tried to ignore it, or how often it seemed not to matter, it would always be there in the background. He wrapped the thread around his fingers and tried to figure out how to backtrack the question so they could ignore that chasm for as long as possible.

“He was arrogant,” Snape said suddenly, in a clipped tone, not looking at Harry. “Spoiled. Both things that you are not. You possess a reserve that he didn’t. And a desire to protect, and to see the best in people. He did not— Your personality is quite more like—” he swallowed, hard, and went quickly on. “But not entirely hers. I hated his rashness, but I cannot deny that he was brave in the face of danger. Like you. Firm in his convictions, as far removed as they were from my own. Skilled in certain areas, particularly Defense and dueling, to my detriment. He was sharp-witted, which was bloody irritating. Loyal to his friends, as undeserving as they were…”

Harry bit his lip, too overwhelmed by the information about his dad to say anything. He silently willed Snape to continue, and the man took the hint.

“You share those traits. Only, I don’t hate you for it. So there is that.” Snape half shrugged and lowered his head so that Harry could not see his face. “The one thing I cannot hate him for is his last act. He protected Lily. Sent her away with you. Sacrificed himself. I hate that it was he who had the right to protect her, but I cannot hate that he did. Even if it did not save her in the end.” He looked up at Harry with resigned eyes. “You are like both your parents in that respect. Self-sacrificing. I wish to hell you were not.”

Harry looked back down to the loose thread, winding and unwinding it around a finger. That was more than anybody aside from Sirius had told him about his dad in one go, and that it was Snape, who hated his dad and who had been willing to tell him about him anyway, meant an awful lot. He was alarmed to find that he was blinking back tears.

Snape’s hand covered his again, stopping his nervous fidgeting, and Harry looked up through his fringe. The professor took a deep breath and let it out. “I will…try. I cannot…cannot promise anything. It may take a miracle. I am not so skilled at—” he waved his other hand in the air as if to make up for words he could not say. After another aborted attempt, he changed tacks. “You chose a better path than I. I once denied it, then resented it. I believe I am finally grateful to you for it.”

“Grateful?” Harry asked, confused at what this had to do with his dad but deeply yearning to know.

Snape nodded, his gaze firmly focused on Harry. “I have never truly accepted the concept of choice. One is so often what one was born to be. Or so I thought. Dumbledore insisted otherwise, even Kneader on occasion, but I could not see it. Until you.”

Harry was fascinated by the man’s words. He was wary of saying much, for fear of derailing Snape’s openness, but he cautiously asked, “Why…until me?”

“You have not merely upended my world, but also my worldview.” He took a shallow breath and let it out. “When I found out…after we left your relatives’ home… I had previously thought you a brat without excuse, only to discover that you have an excuse and yet are not so. For a time, I hated you for the second almost as much as I hated you for the first, for it meant that I myself was without excuse.”

He had the urge to apologize and bit his tongue. This was definitely one of those situations that didn’t warrant it.

“I still do not understand how forgiveness comes so easily to you,” Snape shook his head. “But I cannot deny the power of being on the receiving end.”

“You forgave me,” Harry pointed out. “I think you’re better at it than you give yourself credit for.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Ours are hardly equal situations.”

And no, reflected Harry, they weren’t equal. Stealing a potions jar wasn’t quite the same thing as serving an evil Muggle-hating wizard and being partially responsible for orphaning a childhood friend’s son. And yet. “It’s a big deal to me,” he said. “Equal or no.”

Snape stared at him for a minute, then shook his head with a wry but sad smile on his lips. “You see? The great Harry Potter, bane of my existence, is undeniably a good person. I should find you thoroughly irritating. To tell you the truth, I find it quite irritating that I do not.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you,” he said simply. “For trying. To forgive him. Even if it might take a miracle.” He felt a weight lift off his chest even knowing that Snape would try, because he had more confidence in Snape’s ability to forgive than Snape himself did. It took practice, that’s all, and the man had already had some practice to start out with, thanks to Harry’s own mistakes. Surely he would only find it easier going forward.

Snape sighed and removed his hand from Harry’s. “Are you tired? You should rest, perhaps.”

He recognized Snape’s attempt to end the conversation. Talking so openly like this couldn’t be easy for him; he’d gotten better at it, but he still wasn’t used to it. Harry really should have agreed for the professor’s sake, but he really wasn’t tired, and he could tell that Snape would be willing to keep going if he wanted to. Plus, he had another question he really needed to know the answer to, and he wasn’t sure when else would be a better time to ask. So he went out of turn and before he could talk himself out of asking, he blurted out, “Did you kill Crabbe?” and tried to not cringe.

Snape didn’t react at the question, didn’t even look surprised. “No,” he said evenly, meeting Harry’s eyes.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and repeated a relieved, “no?”

“Do not paint me a saint quite yet,” Snape warned. “I have killed in the past. And I knew when I used Crabbe for my plan that I was endangering his life. I am not entirely innocent.”

“But you didn’t kill him. You didn’t mean for him to die.”

“No. I did not.”

He nodded. Good. That was…good.

Snape waved a hand. “Anything else you wish to know? Consider it carte blanche on your turn. Since you apparently love the concept of carte blanche,” he said dryly, eyes narrowed, and Harry tried not to laugh. He wondered how long he would be paying for his stunt with Dumbledore the other day.

“You can ask,” Harry offered. “I already skipped your turn. It’s okay.”

Snape shot him a half-exasperated stare. “You really do need to learn how to play the game to your own benefit.”

“The question game?”

“The life game. When someone offers you an advantage, take it.”

“I just want to be fair.”

Snape sat back and gave him an exasperated glare. “We have much work ahead of us.”

“Good thing we have the time,” said Harry with a barely contained smile.

Snape quirked his lips. “Yes,” he said softly, ghosting his fingers over his unmarked arm. “We have time.” He breathed in and out a few times before saying, “I am quite out of questions for tonight. We have much to discuss of your foray into the Dark—” He paused and shuddered as he forced himself to say, “Vol—Voldemort’s mind. But as you are not in any imminent danger, that will wait until our next Occlumency lesson. If you have anything else you wish to discuss, now is your opportunity. If not, you should at least try to rest your body and your mind before breakfast.”

Harry could think of dozens of things he’d like to ask his professor, but one thing stood out among the rest. “Maybe, um…one thing? It’s not like it’ll matter for a while, I just want to know…” he trailed off, and at Snape’s encouraging nod, he carefully asked, “Do you think Dumbledore will send me back to the Dursleys?”

“No,” said Snape almost before he had finished the question. A dark look crossed his eyes. “Absolutely not. You need not concern yourself with that possibility. It will not happen.”

“But do you know for sure? Has Dumbledore said?”

“He has already informed your relatives that you are no longer in their custody.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wait. He did? He spoke to the Dursleys?”

Snape gave a noncommittal sound that Harry knew meant yes, but that he wasn’t going to go into details. “You may ask the headmaster about the particulars if you wish. Suffice it to say, they have been thoroughly admonished for their wrongdoing and removed from their position as your legal guardians. They should be facing more dire consequences,” he said with an angry tick in his jaw, “but going through Muggle legal channels would only bring undue attention to you in our world. As it is simple to remove you from their home without that step, it was thought best to avoid that for your sake.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, grimacing at the idea of the articles the Daily Prophet would write about him. “Thanks. But oh. Wow. That’s…” He could cry, that’s what. All he’d ever wanted was to be free of the Dursleys. “But…where will I go?” His godfather was dead, he had no living family, and he didn’t want to put his friends’ families in more danger. “I can’t stay at Hogwarts…” He really, really wanted to stay at Hogwarts. He wished it weren’t empty during the summers.

“There is plenty of time to make arrangements,” reassured Snape. “I’m certain the headmaster already has a few ideas in mind to ensure both your safety and your comfort.”

“He hasn’t told you?”

“No. But I know him. He has already given considerable thought to a solution, I assure you.”

“Okay,” he said and wished his voice didn’t sound so small. He wasn’t little anymore, but there was nothing like finding oneself suddenly adrift without parents or legal guardians to make one feel like a little kid in a great, big, overwhelming world. Except…he had friends. And teachers. One, in particular. He wasn’t all alone.

“Time to rest, I think,” said Snape, and this time Harry didn’t try to put him off. He obediently slid down the bed and let Snape pull the covers over his body. He wouldn’t sleep, he knew. His brain was still running over all the things they’d talked about and more. But they were both ready for talking to give way to a companionable silence, and so he got comfortable and didn’t complain when Snape plucked his glasses from his face, folded them, and placed them on the bedside table.

He wondered if Snape loved him back. The thought came to him before he’d realized that’s where his brain was going, and he and immediately backtracked, closing his eyes firmly and willing the thought out of existence. The last thing he needed was for Snape to inadvertently read that thought in his mind. But…but he had already thought it, and it wouldn’t disappear into oblivion now, so he gave in and mulled over the answer. And yes, he decided, cracking open his eyes enough to see Snape dim the light and settle into the bedside chair with a book in hand. Snape probably did feel something like love for him, in his own way. He’d seen quite enough of the man behind his cold, stubborn facade to know what it looked like when he cared about someone or something. He didn’t think Snape had much experience giving or receiving love, but that didn’t mean he was bad at it. He also knew enough of what lay within the professor’s developmentally challenged heart to know that he would find it difficult to say so if he did love someone. And Harry would certainly never ask him.

And…that was okay, he decided. More than okay. He didn’t need to hear words to feel looked out for. Snape always cared more about actions than words anyway, even if he was getting better at the words part.

He reached for the lily charm, grateful that it still hung about his neck, and ran his fingers over the grooves in the flower shaped metal. This one pendant, and the stone that had come before it, meant far more to him than any words Snape could possible gift him with. It meant the world to him, not only because it was his mum’s, but because of how much it had meant to Snape. The man had been willing to relinquish to Harry’s care a part of his past that he’d kept locked up tight for so many years. The charm was a gift, yes, but more than that, it felt like trust. And maybe even a little like love.

Yes, Harry decided, watching as Snape filled up his water glass and then settled in with a book at his bedside.

It was a lot like love.