Aug. 24

It's been a shitty couple of days. I almost killed the Headmaster, and myself, and did knock both of us unconscious for like two days straight, Snape spent the first five minutes of him being my guardian screaming at me - at least I think so; it's hard to remember for sure - and I've had a headache that no potions have been able to get rid of yet. I'm also black and blue and sore all over from being hexed a bajillion times.

Oh, and have I mentioned the complete fucked-upedness of nearly killing Professor Dumbledore? Well, if not, I guess Snape has brought it up enough for the both of us. He's been, um . . . in a mood. Not sure what kind, actually. One minute he looks like he wants to filet my brains and serve them for tea, and the next he's telling me I'll be okay, that everything will be just fine, and if I ever scare him like that again, he'll filet my brains and serve them for tea.

So, um . . . yeah.

He also said he's going to teach me more positive - or at least less homi- and suicidal - ways to manage my anger. In furtherance of that, we now spend two hours every day dueling, right after breakfast. We started this new routine yesterday, as it was the first day I was on my feet more than I was in bed. We used the Room of Requirement, like I did with the DA, so the space was perfect. And hey, I've even learnt some new hexes!

Mostly, though, I've learnt that being a Death eater and a spy for almost twenty years enables one to learn far more curses than even a better than average student of Defense can possibly counter. Hence the black and blueness of me. And I've been learning that when I get really angry, I put a lot more power into my hexes, but I have a far harder time with shields.

But today Snape said I did good. . . . well, what he actually said was, "Adequate wand work, Mr. Potter. (And I swear, I'll get him to quit calling me that if I have to dose his tea with a Narro Proprie Potion.) Though, if you do not desire to spend the rest of your foreshortened life as a lesson to others of the folly of letting your guard down, then you will erect the Tutela Gravis shield in its entirety, not just to the front of you. Like so . . ."

But it almost felt like a compliment. From Snape!

I'm still not sure what to call him, if anything different from usual, now that he's my guardian. He doesn't actany different than he did last week, really, so maybe it's all just the same between us. Still, he's the first person who's had the care of me since I was a baby that's actually gone through channels and asked to take care of me. Almost like he actually wants me. So, that's a good thing, right?

And mostly he doesn't threaten to make mince pie out of me anymore, not over what happened with the Headmaster, at least. He does, however, think it would behoove me to apologize to the man in person, even after I already sent a note on my own.

He's probably right, but I . . . I don't think I can face him right now. Maybe . . . next year some time, instead.

Oh . . . . Fuck. School starts a week from tomorrow.

---

"Do you have all your assignments done for the start of term?" Snape asked, after wiping his mouth, a quick dab at each corner, then placing the serviette, folded lengthwise, next to his plate.

Watching him instead of eating his own dinner, Harry nodded. "For weeks now."

"I will look over your work tonight. Retrieve it immediately after we're finished here. I will return it to you for corrections by tomorrow evening."

Harry pulled a face, but made sure he didn't whine when he said, "Do you really have to?"

Snape stared at him, lifting an eyebrow. "Yes, I really do."

"Why? Is it a guardian thing?"

"Have you never had anyone go over your work before?"

Now it was Harry's turn to lift an eyebrow, except he had to raise them both. He was going to learn that trick; he was! "What do you think?" Snape sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as if pained, and Harry relented. "Actually, Hermione sometimes went over my work, but only when I asked her to. Or sometimes gave her bribes."

"I see. Well, now that I am responsible for you, I shall make certain your homework is of a quality to reflect your changed circumstances."

Harry sighed. He supposed it was a small price to pay for an actual protective-y guardian. "Okay, fine. Potions, too?"

Snape actually smiled, but there was more a predatory air about it than any actual humor. "I am actually quite looking forward to seeing that work."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Harry poked a little more at the chicken in some kind of red sauce on his plate, and swished it around in the mashed potatoes to form a pulpy pink mass, before giving it up and putting his fork down. "May I be excused?"

Inclining his head, Snape said, "You may. But re-"

"Retrieve my homework, yeah, I got that."

"Points off for repeated use of a restricted word. Impudence will get you nowhere, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood and crossed his arms over his chest, not even bothering to point out that there was nothing Snape was actually taking points off of. They'd never really decided. He'd have to think about that some. Maybe they could use it for hedging against chores or something. He assumed he'd have chores, now that he was an actual ward and everything. But first . . . "Look, could you please not call me that? Even if it's just when we're here, okay? Every time you do, it makes me feel like you're only seeing my father. And I know he was an arse to you, and I feel bad about it, but I'm really not him, you know?"

Gaze sharp, Snape leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms, looking rather more casual than Harry felt. Harry's face warmed, like he was the one who should be backing down, but he wasn't going to, not this time. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Snape nodded, once. "I shall endeavor to avoid that particular epithet in the future."

"Which one will you use instead?"

With a snort, and a lip twitch, Snape said, "I imagine the replacement will be spectacularly appropriate, whatever I decide."

"Yeah . . . or you could, I don't know, just call me ‘Harry.'"

Snape shook his head. "Too mundane."

"Right. Is this another way you have of foiling my expectations?"

"Indeed." Snape drank the last swallow of the white wine he had been served, in contrast to Harry's pumpkin juice, and gave him an almost patient look. "Your summer work?"

"Oh. Right." Harry went to fetch it all, wishing he'd been neater with his essays, especially the one for Potions. He handed them to Snape and stepped away, as if the whole thing might go up in flames.

"Thank you, Harry," Snape said, and Harry goggled at him. A ‘thank you' and his first name? In the same sentence? They must be having a snowball fight in the seventh layer of hell about now.

"You . . . you're welcome."

Snape topped off the weirdness with an actual smile, and Harry was sure he was about to participate - unwillingly, unwittingly, and all other kinds of -ingly's - in the very final, end of the world, apocalypse.

Instead, he took a new book from Snape's shelves - he'd already reread the copy of the one Sirius had given him for Christmas, and taken notes from it on some decent counter curses for the dueling thing - and settled down to read in front of the fire. It was nice, like this. Almost . . . actually, kind of a lot like a real home.

---

Putting aside Harry's summer work, Severus watched him reading on the settee for a moment before rising and retrieving something from his study. He was surprised by how quickly the boy had acquiesced to having his old, dour professor go over his work, and was grateful they hadn't needed to argue about it. There had been more than enough raised voices the last couple days as it was . . . thankfully fewer now that he'd started giving Harry the chance to hex him as much as he wanted for two hours a day. . . . if he could get past the shields and blocks, obviously.

Yesterday, when Harry was sweaty and out of breath and very nearly smiling after their workout, Severus realized they should have started dueling weeks ago. Of course, Harry had just gotten his new wand, but still . . . It was just disconcerting, really, how much calmer he seemed this evening.

How much calmer they both were.

Severus had to admit, he had not been particularly easy to get along with the last few days, but he'd had good reason, dammit! His mentor and near-father-like figure had been almost killed by the boy he had just signed papers for, to make his ward. He'd been righteously angry! And frightened utterly witless. For both of them. For all Albus seemed to be doing well now, Severus had not been sure he would even recover at all. And Harry . . .

Merlin, the boy's nightmares and flash backs, his self-blame and sobbing apologies . . . Severus had been beside himself with worry, and then abashed at exactly how worried he had been. This boy was his ward, now, certainly . . . but he had felt actual pain in his heart these last few days, quietening the boy's terrors, calming him and talking him through the latest crisis. It had been so long since he felt such an ache, for anyone. And then, when he thought the worst was over, there had been Harry's description of what actually happened between the two Wizards, drawn out at last, like poison from a wound.

In the end, Severus just didn't have it in him to blame the boy for what had happened. Albus was a meddler, and he did push too hard, and Harry was not in an appropriate place, emotionally, to deal with either of those things. It was no surprise he'd blown up. As well, Albus didn't seem fazed by the idea that Harry's magic had taken a Darker turn. He'd just nodded, a little sadly, truth be told, and said, "With all he's been through, it's a miracle his magic is as Light as it is."

But now it was Severus' responsibility to see it didn't happen again.

He stepped in front of Harry and waited until the boy looked up. "Here," Severus said and handed over a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"What's this?"

"A package."

Harry smirked - had he learned that from Severus? Heaven forefend! - and took the oblong package. "I gathered."

"I took the liberty of ordering this for you," Severus said quietly. He knew Harry would turn his nose up at what he perceived as charity, and further, was unused to gifts of any kind, so he added, "You may consider it a . . . welcoming gift, as my ward, if you like."

Harry frowned, brows drawing down in a V. "But I didn't get you anything."

"I am not the one becoming a ward." Severus paused, then, "Just open it, Harry."

As he expected, the use of the boy's name wore down his reluctance to accept the present and he did as he was told. The moment he had it unwrapped, his mouth formed an O. He gripped the book hard, staring at the burnished, leather cover of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, a copy of the book Harry had received from the Mutt last Christmas. "You . . . you got this for me?"

"I don't know anyone else named Harry," Severus said drolly, starting to feel uncomfortable. "I merely thought you might enjoy a replacement, as yours is . . . no longer available."

"I do . . . I just . . ." His gaze rose from the book, and those green eyes - Lily's eyes - had a look of such lost confusion that Severus was taken momentarily aback, pulled into memories of more than two decades ago.

Then, realizing how his words might have been construed, he lifted his hands, palm forward, as if to ward off the boy's ire or any other untoward displays. "Rest assured, it's just a book I knew you enjoyed. I have no intention of making myself into a replacement for your Mutt. I know it's not even possible to be . . . whatever he was to you."

"Godfather."

"Well, yes," Severus agreed with some pique. Really, why had he even brought the subject of that foul man up? It wasn't as though he could even think about him without an attendant inchoate rage.

"But he didn't . . ." Harry shook his head.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't ever fight for me. Not like you did."

Severus frowned. "Of course he did."

"No." Harry swallowed and stared at the book again, one index finger tracing the embossed lettering on the cover slowly. "I mean, he fought for Peter, to get his hands on Peter, but not for me, not really. And he never once tried to contact me, that whole year when we all thought he was evil, or tell who he was or that he was there. If he knew Scabbers was Peter, and that Ron had him, why didn't tell me?"

With a sigh, Severus sat on the edge of the chair across from Harry, and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know," he said quietly. Oh, Merlin, reduced to defending that bête noire! How much lower could he fall? "But I do know that he was fighting the Ministry, through Lupin, to have his rights as your godfather reinstated this summer. I doubt that . . . Before the events last month, with the Dursleys leaving, I doubt it would have happened anyway, since the Headmaster was so sure the blood wards were strong enough to keep the Dark Lord out, but you need to know that he cared about you, Harry."

The boy's breath hitched in his throat, and Severus prepared himself to Accio a set of handkerchiefs. But Harry surprised him by just nodding and saying, "All right. Thank you."

Severus was willing to call that one a win.

A few minutes passed in companionable silence, then, "Can we go flying, sir?"

The Firebolt was another gift from the Mutt, Severus remembered. He wondered, did Harry want to go flying because he wanted to fly, or because he wanted to get all maudlin over his Dogfather? Then he realized, it didn't really matter which, and the boy needed a distraction regardless. They hadn't flown for several days now, for one thing. Besides, he was not in a competition with the bedamned Mutt for Harry's loyalty or affection! Not even a little, tiny bit.

"Go on, get your broom."

Harry answering smile could have lit up the room. But that it lightened Severus' mood was almost as good.