Harry gave a dubious frown and ascended the staircase slowly, turning back cautiously once more, half expecting to see the dark robes billowing into the foyer, Snape’s icy voice demanding explanation, but there was nothing, and Harry found himself drawn up to the closed door where Craig stood with a hand on one hip, looking at Harry in amusement.

Remaining silent, but bowing his head self consciously, Harry followed as Craig turned and pushed open the huge door.

The library was modest in size, quite a bit smaller than Harry’s bedroom, though the collection of books was impressive. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and even the space above the door held a shelf, books spread from end to end, resting against two stone bookends. Several lush chairs, sheathed in dark chestnut covers sat in one corner near the window, and a matching couch rested in the other. Harry walked slowly towards a shelf, feeling reverent in the quiet room, though it wasn’t nearly as grand as the library at Hogwarts, though this space was still splendid in its own way, small, unimposing, almost quaint with its comfortable furniture, and, Harry noticed, a small end table holding a vase of gaily coloured wildflowers. It was testament to the hidden side of the Professor that such luxuries even existed. Such soft, gentle comfort for a man who seemed all harsh corners and prickles.

Cocking his head to the side, Harry perused a shelf of books, reading the lopsided texts one by one, eyes widening at one or two more sadistic titles before coming to the end of the row. Leaning closer to read a particularly minuscule title, Harry caught sight of a small, dark book wedged between the end of the shelf and the wall, barely visible unless you were nearly upon it. Grasping the corner, he worked the tiny tome up and down, finally freeing it from the space. The book was small, only slightly larger than his hand, but a little wider. It was thin, badly abraded by its time lodged between the rough wood, and Harry ran his hand over the marred lettering, hardly even able to read the ground down text, but after a moment of study, he whispered the book’s title.

Curses of the Damned

Licking his lips with as much trepidation as excitement, he opened the cover, his eyes narrowing at the tiny script. The first page contained a brief warning, and Harry skimmed it before turning past the index to the first spell.

Immunda Cruor – The spell of blood pollution. Circa 1452 by Olian Kedavra (see pg: 8 – Avada Kedavra) When used in conjunction with the incantation and wand movements illustrated below, the victim’s blood becomes toxic, causing a prolonged and excruciating death due to blood poisoning and bodily rejection. There is no known counter to this curse.

“Whatcha got?” Craig called from across the room.

“Oh…uh…” stammered Harry, quickly closing the book and tucking it into his back pocket. “Um…more wand care stuff.” he finished, attempting a casual laugh at Craig’s look of aversion.

“What did you find?” Harry asked, taking a few steps towards Craig and letting out a cautious breath, taking in another, hoping it would calm him. He didn’t know much about this man, but he was fairly certain if he knew about the dangerous little book, he sure wouldn’t allow Harry to read it. Harry’s heart beat heavily in his chest as he gave Craig a forced smile.

“This is Snape’s potion section.” Craig replied, waving his hand towards a large division of books. “Do you know how long he and my brother have been working on this damn venom thing?” he paused and waited for Harry to shake his head in response. “Seven years!” Craig exclaimed, earning raised eyebrows from the young wizard. “Do you know how much research they’ve done, how many discoveries they’ve made about this stuff? Good God, they’re pretty much the world authorities on it now.” he finished, nodding his head, his mouth set in a rigid line as he stared at Harry, who had taken to fidgeting, running his index finger across the scab on his palm repeatedly as he stared back.

“It sure would be a pity if Severus had to miss this conference.” Craig lamented as he pulled a thick book from the shelf and flipped to a random page. “All that work.” he continued, seemingly talking to himself, though Harry knew exactly to whom the words were being directed. He fell into the soft chair, wincing as the book in his pocket jarred against his lower spine, and he shifted himself slightly, not wanting to reach back and adjust the sharp corner lest Craig notice him.

“Um, well, I think Professor Snape should go.” Harry said urgently, unwilling to be blamed by Craig or his brother for Snape’s reluctance to leave him. “I’ll tell him that he should go, ok?” he finished, trying not to let his voice incline to a desperate pitch as he stared at Craig, who responded with a surprised look.

“Hey, kid, don’t worry ok? Its fine, no one’s going to give you grief about it.” He paused, a look of alarm blooming across his face. “Is that what you thought? Oh hell, kid, I’m sorry.” Abandoning the book, Craig sat down in the chair opposite Harry. “I just don’t want to see Severus lose out of a once in a lifetime experience, ya know?”

Harry swallowed and nodded, suddenly all too aware of just how much work Snape was willing to throw away, and for what? For him? He sighed, guilt washing over him. Here he was making things difficult for the Professor, just like he’d made life difficult for the Dursleys. They’d had to make adjustments too. Making sure no one saw him, keeping him fed and clothed, making sure he – Harry’s brow fell into a frown – no, he hadn’t deserved what the Dursley’s did to him. They’d been horrible to him because they were horrible people, not because he’d made them, like Uncle Vernon had always said. But they’d never have treated Dudley that way, and it had only been different when he came along, hadn’t it? Maybe Harry had been a lot of trouble, just like he was being now, for Snape. Maybe the Professor would end up –

He was suddenly aware of his name being called, and he flinched instinctively, pulling himself out of his thoughts and turning towards the voice, his heart stopping cold as he saw the Professor standing in the doorway, his face wrought with concern as he repeated Harry’s name.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, his face heating in embarrassment. “Oh, I…” his eyes fell on Ernie, who had poked his head from behind Snape’s robes, and was now giving Harry a very peculiar look as he pushed through the doorway, glancing at Craig for an instant before reaching up and tugging his friend’s robe. Severus looked down and nodded before reaching out and silently asking for Harry’s co-operation. Harry eyed the extended hand, then locked eyes with the Professor, a quiet desperation emanating from the emerald orbs as his own hand moved to be clasped in Snape’s strong grip, though after a moment the force of his fingers around Harry’s wrist subsided as he led the boy out of the room. Ernie and Craig followed, sharing a private look of concern as they slowed to a stop in the hall.

“Ernie, we are in agreement in regards to the status of our address, are we not?” Snape asked crisply. Ernie nodded hastily, his head bobbing furiously in agreement. This was no time for comedic retorts.

“Then our work here is done. I shall be in contact with you regarding my attendance.” the Professor finished, his voice laced with ire as he nodded briskly at his friend, a command not lost on the tiny man as he led Craig back down the stairs where Della was waiting, her own stance stiff and severe as she escorted the two towards the fireplace.

Harry watched the scene with an anxious interest, not sure what exactly had transpired, though he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and await his own instructions by the Professor, who was standing silent at his side. Moments later however, the man’s stature softened as he turned towards the boy.

“Are you alright?” Snape asked, eyes still darkened in anger, though Harry could hear the trepidation in his voice.

“Yes, thank you, Sir.” Harry replied, keeping his reply as short and respectful as possible. He felt the grip around his wrist lessen, then fall away as Snape moved the hand to Harry’s shoulder, where it rested gently.

“Harry, I am not angry with you.” Severus explained, feeling the boy’s shoulders deflate in relief, and he immediately felt remorse at his behavior, bursting into the library like that and scaring the boy half to death with his conduct. “Ernie made a rather worrisome comment regarding his brother’s possible manipulation of you regarding my attending the conference.” Severus continued, gently maneuvering Harry down the hallway towards his room. “I was concerned when I discovered you and he had left the room. I simply wanted to make sure you were not being coerced in any way. Did Craig say anything to you that you felt uncomfortable with?”

Harry, who during the slow walk down the hall had been customarily quiet, stopped at his bedroom door, and Severus could see the conflict washing over his face before he answered.

“No, Sir. Craig didn’t say anything to me about the convention. I’m mean, we did talk about the meeting.” he said quickly, seeing the dubious look the Professor was giving him. “But I just asked him some questions, that’s all. We didn’t talk about you going or not going. Just regular stuff. Oh, and your potions books, that’s all, I swear!” he finished, his voice growing more panicked by the end of his explanation.

“Harry, calm yourself, this is not an interrogation.” Severus said gently. If Harry’s reaction to being questioned was any indication, Craig had done a damn sight more than talk about potions books, though he wasn’t surprised to hear Harry’s defending statements. The boy was so used to maltreatment and retribution, that refusal to divulge any abuses towards him was second nature.

“Alright.” Severus replied, giving the shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Prepare for bed. I will return shortly.”

Half an hour later the professor returned, book in hand, settling down in the chair next to the bed as Harry sat propped against his pillow, nervously tapping the tip of one thumb against the knuckle of the other, though at Snape’s appearance he stuffed his hands under his rear, unwilling to let the man see his unease. During his thirty minutes of alone time he had worked out a simple yet effective plan. All he had to do was make Snape believe he was over his nightmares. At first it had seemed impossible, as the nightmares plagued him constantly during sleep, except for last night, and Harry had smiled at the memory of being held by the Professor, not having felt safe and cared for since as far back as he could remember. But Snape wasn’t going to hold him every night, and there was no way he would attend the conference if he had to soothe Harry to sleep like a baby each night. No, there had to be a different way.

It had come to him in the shower as he was massaging shampoo into his hair. He had been thinking of Ron, whose morning ritual of showering while belting out Muggle show tunes had led the pair to invest some serious study time in learning a silencing charm for the redhead. It had taken hours of repeating the spell along with some very complex wand movements, but finally Ron’s exasperated swearing faded, and his excited but entirely silent chatter declared the enchantment a success.

Unable to keep smiling from the excitement, Harry had rinsed, dried, and dressed, all but running for his wand and giving a few practice incantations before he was sure the charm was sound, then he placed his wand on the bedside table, gasping as he noticed the dark edge of the book he’d found in the library peeking out from beneath the mattress where he’d hidden it. He’d given it a good push, leaping into bed only moments before hearing the Professor’s heavy footsteps in the hall, heart beating wildly as he tried to look calm resting against his pillow.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

“Fine, Sir.”

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, acting obtuse came as naturally to Harry as potions did to Neville Longbottom.

“I do believe you know what I mean, Harry.” Snape pushed, allowing dash of firmness to his tone. “If there is something you wish to tell me, I hope by now you are comfortable in doing so.” He watched the boy’s reaction, noticing Harry was trying exceedingly hard not to show any outward signs of angst, even managing to refrain from the standard attention to his bottom lip, which was usually the first casualty of Harry’s fretfulness.

“I apologize if I seem a distant man when it comes to emotional affairs.” Snape said softly. “Here during the summers when I am alone, or at Hogwarts, where I am...despised, you can imagine there is little requirement for me to offer solace, especially to a child.” Snape shook his head as Harry gave him an inquiring look. “Slytherins do not hug.” he said, answering the unasked question, and Harry replied with a brief, sad, nod, knowing all too well the feeling of being hated, desperate for a kind word or touch.

“I’m sorry.” Harry whispered, and Severus watched as the boy reached out of his own accord, slowly at first, unsure and trembling, and placed his hand on Severus’ own. It was a tiny gesture, though colossal in its importance, because for the very first time, though hounded by uncertainty, Harry had reached out to someone, sought comfort, initiated touch, and it was him. Nasty, unlovable, Severus Snape.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Severus replied, still in awe at the leap of faith the boy had just made.

“I do.” Harry whispered, looking at the Professor tearfully. “Because I wasn’t nice to you, and I could have been, and I know what it’s like….and…and -”

“And I didn’t make it easy for you to like me.” Snape cut in. “I suppose I too am not comfortable in allowing others to become close to me.” He turned his hand over, allowing Harry’s palm to press against his, and in unison, both wizards tightened their grasp on the other. “It seems there are things we both need to work on.”

It was almost two hours later, when a soft snoring could be heard coming from the Professor, that Harry opened his eyes. Pretending to be asleep was easy. It was the same as pretending to pass out during one of his uncle’s beatings, and Harry felt a churning in his stomach at the thought of his uncle only stopping an attack when he thought Harry had been beaten into unconsciousness.

Slowly, eyes locked on Snape’s shadowy form, Harry reached behind himself, his hand coming to rest on his wand, his fingers falling around it, pulling it to his chest, and in a barely audible voice, Harry whispered the silencing charm before gently placing the wand back on the table. He lay back down, facing away from Snape; unable to look at the man for guilt, but this had to be done. He would make sure the Professor attended his conference. It was the only thing he could do to repay the him for all he had done, and a few hours later, when Harry awoke, his screams heard only by his own ears, he wiped his damp brow and couldn’t help but don a weary smile as he glanced at a sleeping Snape, secure in the knowledge that even though his life had known mostly hatred, he still knew the meaning of kindness.

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The next few days felt like months to Harry. It was harder than he’d anticipated, keeping up the careful deception, feigning restfulness and a calm demeanor, all the while being filled with desperation that the plan work as he’d hoped. It was a constant struggle to push down the fear and anxiety that lay just beneath the surface, and though it had been second nature for him at the Dursley’s, faking out Snape, someone who actually seemed to care about him somewhat, was an entirely different affair.

He had done his best to become what he felt Snape wanted of him. Each night they would engage in conversation, Harry ensuring to use a few well placed sighs or looks of unease as the Professor asked him about the Dursleys, and Harry would lay against his pillow, a frown twisting his brow as he recounted some of the abuses he had suffered, though he revealed only the least ruthless beatings, still unsure as to what Snape had seen in his mind when performing Legilimens.

The charm had worked perfectly too, keeping his repeated wakings a secret, his screams of anguish looking quite disturbing as he flailed in complete silence, waking startled in a heavy sweat, his cries of suffering unheard by the sleeping Professor. When morning came, Harry would feign sleep again, waiting until he heard Snape rise and leave the room, then allow himself to fall into slumber for an hour or two before the man came to wake him.

Snape seemed completely unaware, continuing as Harry’s nightly companion with increasingly less concern than the night prior, and it gave Harry a small measure of hope, even a sense of pride that as skilled as Snape was at reading him, he was still blinded by Harry’s new ability to hide his emotions. Though rewarded by Snape’s indifference, there was still the niggling shame that came from deceiving the Professor, and Harry did his best to dismiss the feeling of disgrace, comforting himself with the promise of Snape being all the better for it. The most painful reminders of his deceit came when the man would take his hand, catching Harry’s eyes and giving him a piercing look of concern, honest worry creasing his brown as Harry spoke of his past neglect, and it was all he could do not to burst into tears and admit everything, especially when Snape would greet him in the morning and lead him down to breakfast with a warm hand on his shoulder. The last morning had been the worst, for as they reached the foyer, the Professor had pulled Harry close to him in a brief one-armed hug before continuing into the kitchen. Harry stood alone in the foyer, breathing heavily as shame washed over him, tears stinging his eyes, his desire to revel in Snape’s comfort almost overwhelming, though within moments he had forced back the emotion, a feat almost impossible after the display of affection, and followed the man into the kitchen.

Harry found himself barely able to conceal his worry as he sat before his plate of bacon and eggs. The conference was tomorrow, and still there had been nothing from Snape about his attending. Harry went over everything in his mind as he chewed weakly at a piece of bacon. He was sure Snape didn’t know about the charm, or there would have been hell to pay, and the man had said nothing that would infer his knowledge of Harry’s deceit. Then what was it? What was keeping the Professor from the conference? Harry frowned, deep in thought, his brow furrowed with such intensity that he reached up and rubbed at the aching muscles of his forehead.

Della scuttled by the table, giving Harry’s plate an anxious look before coming to a stop next to Snape’s chair. She looked very anxious, more anxious than usual, Harry noted

“Mister Russer is being very worried!” Della shrilled. “Mister Russer is being very worried indeed! Mister Russer is being in contact on every hour asking for Master’s decision!”

Snape looked slightly amused, a smug, satisfactory sneer on his face as Della regarded him with a look that was as close to a glare as she dared to show her master. The little elf took a few steps closer to the table, reaching out and placing her delicate hand on her masters.

“Perhaps Master can be speaking to Mister Russer soon?” she asked timidly, patting Snape’s hand. “If Master is speaking to Mister Russer, Della is being having more time to make Master treacle sponge, yes?” he finished hopefully, eyes wide, nodding in encouragement at the offer of pudding.

Harry watched as the Professor gave Della a wry look, promising her he would indeed speak with his friend at the earliest possible time, earning another pat on the hand and an admiring smile from the creature before she departed.

Snape picked up his fork, continuing his breakfast as if the intrusion hadn’t occurred; unaware of the look of worry on Harry’s face as he sat unmoving across the table. It was obvious the man wasn’t going to give him any answers without provocation.

“Della sure seemed upset.” Harry started, attempting to steer the Professor into giving him some kind of answer about what his plans were.

“Della is in a constant state of vexation.” Snape replied, reaching for the paper. “If she were to remain calm for more than a few minutes, it is I who would be worried.”

Harry waited a few moments before speaking again.

“Uh, I guess Ernie is probably waiting for an answer, huh.” he said carefully, ducking his head and reaching again for his glass, though through his fringe he could see the Professor was perusing the first page of the paper.

“Ernie will wait.” Snape replied, almost despondently. “He may not like it, but he will wait.” he finished, a smiling playing at the corners of his mouth as he jabbed his fork into a thick slice of bacon.

Harry let out a heavy breath. This conversation was going nowhere. Snape had to go to the conference. There was no way Harry was going to let the Professor ruin his life over him. He wouldn’t!

“You should go!” Harry blurted suddenly, almost gasping at his outburst. His plan was to gently guide the conversation towards the subject, not yelp it out while Snape was mid-mouthful. “Uh, I mean to the conference.” he finished, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible but feeling incredibly stupid now. Snape was looking at him in surprise, perhaps even a hint of amusement in his features, and Harry took the opportunity to prompt the man a little more. “It’s tomorrow right? You should probably get ready. Um, pack or something?” he said encouragingly.

“I do not believe that is something you need to concern yourself with.” Severus replied, looking back to the Daily Prophet. His indifference was slightly forced as gazed at the day’s headlines. There had been a change in Harry the last few days, though he couldn’t pin-point it exactly, and that alone concerned him. The boy seemed more willing to discuss the horrors of his past, even answering questions as to the level of neglect and violence over his lifetime, though Severus had a suspicion that the most appalling of abuses were still carefully guarded. Though he had been quite thorough during his use of Legilimens, the ability did not allow infinite admission to one’s mind. Only the thoughts at the forefront of consciousness were accessible during that particular intrusion, though with continued prying it was possible to reveal the very core of one’s psyche. It was very plausible that Harry had suffered so deeply that points of utter shock and horror remained hidden, even to Harry himself.

His nervous habits had greatly lessened in frequency, though the panicky tousling of hands and fretful shudders were still noticed on occasion, and of course the nightmares had abated, which was welcomed, though it seemed too abrupt for Severus’ liking. It was almost as if the boy had flipped a switch, turning off all emotion, a skill he likely honed out of necessity at the hands of his relatives. Lowering the paper, Severus watched Harry eat ridiculously small mouthfuls of egg, they boy’s eyes trained a few inches ahead of his plate, as if the tabletop held some incredibly appealing feature

Harry sat in silence, his throat constricting with the familiar tightness of worry, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he had to be concerned about. He had heard the edge in the Professor’s voice, and Harry winced, instantly assuming the anger was meant for him. It was undoubtedly a natural reaction for Snape, for anyone faced with the possibility of missing a pivotal and life changing event due to something as ludicrous as babysitting. Harry shifted in his chair, feeling the weight of the Professor’s stare, and he cleared his throat, keeping his own eyes locked firmly on his breakfast as he stabbed the tines of his fork into a rubbery slice of egg.

“Harry.” Snape replied, sighing as the boy gouged at his breakfast repeatedly, an obvious sign of anxiety, though he had done remarkably well the last few days in terms of showing any worry. “Harry.” he repeated, a little more forcefully this time, and he wasn’t surprised to see the shoulders tense ever so slightly at the raised voice, though the boy did look up, his eyebrows raised, attempting indifference as he stared at his teacher, finally allowing the egg to rest peacefully.

“I will decide on my attendance at the conference only when I am confident in your ability to remain unattended.” Snape replied.

“But I haven’t had any nightmares for days.” Harry said quickly, his voice wavering, and he forced himself to remain calm. He wasn’t going to fail now, not when he was so close. “I’m much better now.” Harry went on, lifting a splayed hand and counting on each finger as he listed his recent achievements. “No nightmares, I’m eating, I feel better…I...” He stared at the remaining two fingers, then back at Severus, who regarded him silently. “Umm. Oh! I…I talk to you about…things.” he finished slowly, his voice distinctly hushed as he spoke the last word.

Severus sat impassively as he listened to Harry list his accomplishments of the few days. The boy sat silently too now, holding up the last remaining finger, unable to think of any further successes, and his eyes took on an awful hopelessness, the same look that had plagued him so often in the past, a look Severus was working diligently to wipe from the boy’s existence.

“I do believe you have also made considerable effort to curb your anxiety, and to allow yourself to trust more freely, have you not?” Severus offered, and Harry’s face relaxed into a smile, his last finger curling inward to his palm to join the others.

“See?” Harry stated, nodding at the Professor, who was looking thoughtful, almost as if on the verge of making his decision. Thinking quickly, Harry resorted to his last ditch attempt to influence the man. “Sir?” he started, waiting for Snape’s eyes to meet his before continuing. “I’d feel really horrible if you didn’t go because of me. I promise I’m fine, and I know you want to go, and I’d feel loads better if you went. Please, Sir, I know I’ll just feel so guilty about it every time I see you if you don’t, and I can stay here with Craig, and I’ll be fine, I really, really promise.”

Severus’ mouth set in a grim line at Harry’s last few words, quite taken aback by the desperation with which the boy spoke, almost begging him, pleading with him to attend the seminar. He sighed. As simple as Harry’s problems seemed from the outside, there was so much complexity to his suffering that Severus had almost thought himself unable to take on the task of helping the boy. But so much progress had been made, though Harry’s behaviour over the last few days seemed to dull the excitement of his past evolution. Perhaps by attending the conference Harry would feel less a burden. Severus knew all too well that it had been ingrained into the child that he was a liability, an affliction on his family, a curse. Surely he would feel relief at no longer feeling an encumbrance to his host. He would likely see it as an honor that Severus would feel he had made progress enough to leave him.

Harry meshed his fingers together under the table, unable any longer to refrain from allowing his nerves to get the better of him. Obviously the supplicating had some effect on the Professor, and Harry wondered if he should throw a few more please in there just to be safe, or if that would be overdoing it. He’d seen his aunt pleading with Dudley countless times, and he’d done his best to get the entire scene right, from the beseeching, wide eyes, to the mournful tone, but not too grief-stricken, or Snape would think he was having a breakdown. Harry waited, barely daring to breathe as he stared at Snape with the perfect mixture of hopefulness and despair, and for a moment, Harry felt a wave of guild engulf him at the deception, but he ignored it, knowing he was doing this for Snape’s own good, whether the man liked it or not.

“If you are completely sure.” Snape said slowly, speaking each word with extreme enunciation, as if he wanted Harry to understand exactly what he was agreeing to.

Severus watched as his words caught Harry’s ears, the boy’s face lighting up in response.

“Yes, Sir!” came the excited reply, and Severus felt his heart beat heavily in his chest at seeing the boy so obviously excited, though he wished he didn’t look so relieved as well, as if he were scared Severus might think him unworthy of leaving. He smiled as Harry stood quickly, his chair clattering backwards behind him in his exuberance, and the child’s face fell as he bent down to set the fallen chair upright.

Severus rose and stepped around the table, coming to a stop at Harry, who was on bended knee, wrestling with the ridiculously heavy oak chair. He knelt down and took Harry’s arm, the boy turning to him in surprise, which was quickly replaced with a worried look as Severus took both of Harry’s hands and rose, pulling the boy to his feet before he reached down and effortlessly raised the chair onto it’s legs and pushed it against the table.

Harry smiled meekly as the man took his hands again, running his thumbs across the tops of the boy’s small hands, feeling each knuckle under the pale skin.

“When I am gone,” Snape said gently. “I expect you to eat, understood?”

Harry nodded spiritedly.

“I will, Sir, I promise.”

Severus let Harry’s hands fall to his side, and slowly, so as not to startle him, brought a hand up to cup the boy’s cheek, silently regarding the boy’s features, so like his Father’s, but with the wild jade eyes of his Mother, and Severus smiled, too fond of the boy now to think unfavourably of his likeness to James.

Harry returned the smile, face alight with a grin seen far too sparsely in his time at the manor, and the boy threw his arms around him, nestling his head against the Professor’s chest as Severus gently carded his fingers though the child’s hair. Severus tightened his hold around Harry’s frame, still too slender, still far too malnourished for a boy his age, but trembling this time from giddiness rather than terror. Severus gently patted the boy’s back, feeling far too enamored with the sensation of being hugged than he would ever admit, and Harry leaned back slightly and met his teacher’s eyes.

“You should pack, Sir.” he said, the elation still clear in his voice.

Severus nodded.

“Come.” he said gently, releasing Harry, but still keeping one arm around the boy, enjoying the almost tangible emotion of the moment. He called for Della, who promptly appeared, nodding at her instruction to contact Ernie before disappearing, leaving Harry and Severus to walk slowly up the stairs, reveling in each others presence, the warmth and comfort of the contact desired by one as much as the other as they made their way into the Professor’s room to pack.

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The next morning came quickly. Snape had insisted on spending the last night with Harry, sitting in his usual spot in the chair, though Harry had himself maintained that he no longer needed to be watched over. The Professor had rewarded Harry’s obstinacy with a trademark glower, which this time elicited a smile from the boy rather than a startled apology. The nightmares still came, and Harry awoke with the usual chaos, the feeling of choking on his own blood still terrifyingly fresh in his mind as he sobbed into his pillow, damp with sweat, trembling for hours afterward, though thankfully it had subsided before the Professor woke.

Craig arrived shortly after breakfast, greeting Harry with a mischievous smile that caused Severus to take the man aside for almost half an hour in private conversation. When they returned, Craig looked decidedly more solemn, reserved, nodding at Snape’s continued instructions regarding bedtimes, emergency contact, and repeated stressing of the point that extreme caution was to be observed at all times, especially since Della would be departing also, her extraordinary and unique magical abilities making her the only safe choice for keeping the venom secure during the conference.

Finally, after another lecture for both Harry and Craig on various points, Snape found himself standing in the living room, Della at his side, suitcase clutched in her slender hands.

“You are to listen to Craig.” Snape lectured. “This morning I erected extra wards around the manor and the island. There will be no sightseeing, do I make myself clear? Craig has the password, “Snape continued as Harry nodded at each stipulation. “and he has been instructed that trips off the island are strictly forbidden.”

“I have left something for you to amuse yourself with.” Snape said; the faint wisp of a smile crossing his lips as he stepped up onto the hearth and scooped a small amount of powder into his palm. “I have left it on your bed. Mind you don’t break anything. I believe Craig’s medical skills are somewhat non-existent.” he drawled, giving the man wry smile. Craig responded to the gentle insult with a chuckle, turning to Harry, whose face carried a quizzical air as he contemplated the Professor’s words. Just then, Severus reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and he resisted the urge to reach down and hug the young man, still far too ill at ease to show such affection in Craig’s presence. “Harry.” he said softly, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze. He paused for a moment, taking in Harry’s affectionate stare, realizing there was so much more to how he felt about the boy than he gave credence to. “Enjoy yourself.” he said, and before Harry could respond, Severus had released the grains of powder from his grip and he and Della were gone.

“Right!” Craig exclaimed, turning towards Harry and smiling broadly. “Everyone old and boring is gone. Time for some unrestricted fun I’d say.”

“Just a minute.” Harry replied, starting across the room to the foyer. “I’ll be right back!” he called, pointing towards the staircase. “I just have to check something!”

He took the stairs two at a time, and dashed down the hall with an excitement he never thought possible, and pushed open the door of his room. He paused, eyes wide as he gazed at his bed. He took a few hesitant steps, unsure if what he was seeing was real, and he reached out his hand, his fingers gently running across the length of it, the cool, smooth wood feeling very much alive under his touch. There was a small tag attached, and Harry whispered the name in awe.

“Nimbus Velox”

The broom was beautifully crafted, and brand new. It must have been, as Nimbus had only announced the new line of racing brooms last month, and the Velox wasn’t even available in stores yet. Breathing heavily, Harry’s eye caught the flash of two tiny initials, carved into the wood and set with gold filigree.

H.P

For the next few moments, Harry could do nothing but simply stare, his thoughts tumbling over themselves in wonder and exhilaration. Slowly, as if handling a newborn baby, Harry lifted the broom to his chest and pressed it against him, his arms gently cradling the sturdy shaft, the stiff bristles tickling his bare wrists as he held the broom in tender adoration. The smile came slowly at first, eyes moist, breaths hitching as held back chuckles spilled out of him, and then the grin widened, almost impossible for his face to contain the width of it, and joy of it, and he laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, almost dancing with the broom, embracing it, allowing the feeling of utter happiness to wrap around him in a thick blanket of indescribable bliss, and in that moment, Harry finally understood.

This is what the feeling was deep in his chest, the tiny shred of something that he had felt when Snape had been so caring towards him after he had arrived at the manor. This is what had been buried for so long, an emotion not felt since infancy, an emotion drawn from him by the Professor.

He finally understood what it was, and Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling, finally able to put a name to it, finally able to remember it, letting it wash over him, and the tears kept coming, tears of joy at finally knowing what had been locked away for so long he had almost forgotten it.

Really. Truly. Finally.

He felt loved.