Harry stood at the door of Snape's office, trying to decide how he was going to proceed. He'd managed to get out of the dorm without encountering Snape, but the man was undoubtedly up and roaming around trying to find whoever had left the dorm at midnight. Additionally, Snape had this door alarmed, so he'd be alerted as soon as Harry opened it. He'd need to act fast. And if this doesn't make him back off, nothing will. Harry had tried to piss Snape off before, but he'd always, for some reason, held back from doing anything truly destructive. Those were pranks. Games, compared to this. Too bad, Snape. I was being nice, but I really don't feel like it anymore. Harry, too, was capable of being an utter asshole. Making his decision, Harry swung the door wide and pictured flame.

The desk caught with no trouble, starting at one corner, then spreading quickly as Harry concentrated on his flame. Next he lit the chair, and then the carpet. From there, the flames spread quickly. The couch went up like a light, fabric and stuffing smoking and smelling horribly. From the carpet, his flames climbed the wall, burning the paint and cracking the glass on some sort of framed certificate. The only things that were not burning were the bookcase, and the door to the potions lab. The flame just stopped in a sharp line, two inches from the bookcase, and four from the door. Focusing his full attention on the bookcase, Harry pushed, then pushed harder. Finally the books blew outward in a wave of flame, stopping a foot from his face as he threw up an arm to push them away.

The very air was full of flame and noxious smoke, making him cough, but the flames still stopped short of the door to the potions lab. Harry pushed hard, then harder, but no matter how hard he strived with mind and magic, that invisible barrier would not cede even an inch to the flames. Worse, he was getting tired. He wasn't going to get through. Well, fine, then. The door wouldn't budge, he'd have to try for the wall.

Eyes streaming from the heat and smoke, Harry threw the flame away from him and at the wall opposite, only to growl in frustration as it, too, hit a barrier. Giving up on the potions lab, Harry once again turned his attention to the desk, watching as it started to crumble apart.

Suddenly Harry felt himself pulled backward out of the room. A body came between him and the fire, as a shouted “Aguamenti!” sent water everywhere, dousing the towering flames as quickly as Harry had built them. Harry watched mutely as his flames died under the torrent, only then coming to his senses and realizing just how much damage fire caused, and how fast. It had been barely ten minutes since he'd opened Snape's office door. As he watched, Snape came back to stand beside him, and locked a hand onto the back of his neck, pulling him out of the doorway and into the hall. He was then wordlessly escorted back to Snape's quarters and found himself sitting on the couch in the living room with only uncertain memory of how he'd gotten there.

Apprehensive, Harry watched as Snape left him on the couch and walked into the potions lab in his quarters. A few seconds later, he was back, carrying a vial of potion, a roll of some sort of cloth, and a pot of salve. Approaching Harry, Snape crouched on the ground just in front of him, putting aside the cloth and potion and uncapping the salve.

What's he doing? Harry wondered as the man put two fingers in the salve. The man was supposed to be screaming at him, at the very least, and he hadn't spoken a word. Harry had no time to think about it further, though, before the man's left hand came to hold his chin, and the other hand to spread the salve on his cheek. The touch was too gentle for him to bear, and he pulled away sharply.

“Stay still,” Snape said, anger and concern clearly warring in his voice and expression.

“Can I do it?” Harry asked, “Please?” Please? He didn't know if he could stand it, if the man touched him.

“Do I ever let you medicate your own face?” the man asked, voice tight.

“Do you have to do it at all?” What's wrong with my face?

“Do not question me.” The sharpness of the demand made Harry close his mouth, and Snape started spreading the salve, hands so painfully gentle they belied the anger completely.

Shit. “Please?” Harry pleaded.

Snape closed his eyes, clearly losing patience. “Please what?”

Please don't touch me. He had thought that if he remained cold, and just didn't care, that he could shut the man out, but somehow it only hurt worse with time. And now the man was touching him and it was worse than he'd ever expected. Despite ten years of experience in not liking being touched, Harry had started to understand, to the core of him, that a touch from this man did not hurt. He'd started to like it, sometimes, that the man would touch him so gently. And now he had essentially attacked the man, trying to get rid of him, because eventually the man would leave, and the man's hands were still as gentle as they had always been. And so the touch was wonderful, and hurt enormously.

Harry shook his head a little. “Never mind.”

“Good. Now stay put.”

Severus brought his full concentration to the boy's face, spreading salve gently over the angry, reddened skin and trying to forget the recklessness that had caused it. He could be angry later, he told himself sharply. He could worry later. He could fall apart later. For now, he was a potions master, and a teacher, and his young student needed care. Yeah, right, Severus. Like he could really forget that this was Harry. It wasn't like his other students habitually put themselves in danger this way. Fire, honestly? What was he thinking?

Halfway through, the boy closed his eyes, face once again carefully blank. It was helpful to getting the salve on, so Severus didn't object. He paused, though, when he noticed a trail of water down from the boy's eye to his chin.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Am I hurting you?”

Not in the way you mean, Harry thought, mortified that the man would see him crying over something so stupid as a simple touch. “No.”

Deciding not to push further, Severus went back to his gentle treatment of the boy's burns as tears continued slowly down Harry's face. When he was done, he let go of Harry's chin, noticing when the boy immediately looked down at the floor.

“Arms, please.”

Harry held them up mutely. His left arm was fine, but his right forearm showed worse burns then the ones on his face. Gripping the wrist, Severus got started on the arm, then pulled back when Harry pulled away.

“Hold still,” he said irritatedly, gripping the boy's wrist slightly more firmly.

“It hurts,” Harry argued.

“Burns generally do,” Severus said, keeping his voice rough. He burned down your bloody office, and now you're sympathetic that burns hurt? “If you minded, a good start might've been to not play with fire.”

“I wasn't playing,” Harry said, wincing again but staying put.

“No?” Severus asked inquiringly, “then what were you doing?”

Harry lifted his chin, meeting Severus' eyes squarely and speaking aggressively. “Burning down your office, obviously.”

Harry held Snape's gaze, tense. Maybe that was why Snape'd been so nice. Maybe he didn't realize that Harry had done it on purpose. Maybe now he knew, he'd finally get mad and scream and kick Harry out, and Harry could go about his life like normal. Normally miserable, he admitted to himself. But Harry was a bad kid, had always been a bad kid. If Snape was going to kick him out for that, he'd rather it be now.

“I suppose it's good you had some reason,” Severus said neutrally, quietly steaming. Of course. Once again, he puts himself in danger to get back at me. Once again carefully gripping Harry's wrist, he returned to spreading the healing salve on the boy's burns. Once again, the boy winced and pulled back, and Severus found he had trouble holding on to his anger.

“Hold still,” he said, keeping some heat in his voice. The correct response to this was anger, damn it. The boy had been actively destructive, and put himself in serious danger in the meantime. He was worried, and angry, and shouldn't care that the boy was in pain now because of it. But Harry was avoiding his gaze, again, and he found himself speaking more softly. “The salve is part pain-reliever. It'll hurt less once it settles.”

Harry carefully avoided Snape's gaze, thinking hard. He doesn't hate me. He still doesn't hate me. What the hell? That the man was angry, underneath the gentleness, was clear, but there was no malice to his anger. He talked to Harry as he'd always talked to Harry, when he was in trouble. Harry had heard him when he was really mad, malicious-mad, when he'd talked to Marcus Flint and Mr. Filch. This wasn't close to that. This was still worried-mad, the sort of mad that Blaise had told him so firmly meant that Snape cared for him. Which meant that, despite all, Snape still cared for him. He'd expected Snape to scream, to kick him out, even, and the man was hardly even scolding, yet.

“Why aren't you mad?” Harry asked, confused.

“You'd do better to wait until I'm done treating you, before deciding I'm not angry,” the man said tightly, putting the salve aside and unrolling what turned out to be a length of bandage.

“N-no, I mean I know you're mad, but – you're not mad, mad,” Harry explained, watching Snape's wrapping, rather than his face.

Severus frowned. “What exactly did you expect?” He kept his hands gentle, continuing to wrap the bandage evenly around Harry's arm.

You were supposed to hate me. But Harry suspected that that would not help, and just shook his head.

“If you thought I'd be so mad, why did you do it?” Severus asked, finishing up the wrapping and securing it with a sticking charm.

Harry just shook his head again.

Snape got up from his crouch to sit on the opposite side of the couch from Harry, and stared so intensely at him that Harry thought he could feel his gaze on the top of his head. “We are going to talk about this, Harry. I would advise you to start now, when I'm in too much shock to get really angry.”

Okay, so maybe he is kinda scary, even worried-angry. He hadn't thought much about the amount of trouble he'd be in for this, at the time that he'd been considering destroying Snape's office. He'd sort of figured that Snape would be done with him, after that, and so he'd either get punished by the school or not at all. So far, it was going all wrong. What did it take to get rid of this man?

Snape's voice darkened. “Look at me and explain, please.”

Harry looked up quickly but remained mute.

“Why, Harry?”

Harry bit his lip and looked back down, unsure how to react. Cold politeness hadn't worked; destruction hadn't worked. Instead he was just in trouble again, and trouble of the worst kind. Snape was worried and angry in a way that recently seemed to mean that Harry ended up apologizing. But apologizing was hardly going to help drive the man off. And damnit, the man wasn't supposed to be worried. He wasn't supposed to care about Harry at all, now that Harry had shown just how horrible a kid he really was. And yet he was. And now Harry was in trouble. Worried-Snape trouble. Bloody hell, I'm never going to be allowed out of my dorm again.

“Now, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry!”

It came out before Harry could stop it, an old protest against the formal name that Snape only ever used, now, when Harry was in trouble. He hated it when Snape called him that.

“You've objected to that term because I use it primarily when I am angry with you,” Snape answered bluntly. “And believe me, I am angry. I am thoroughly tired of your recent behavior.”

“So stop bothering with me!” Harry said. “Just leave me alone, like I asked, and you won't be so tired of me!”

“I did not say I was tired of you, Harry,” Severus argued, “I said I was tired of your behavior.”

“Same difference,” Harry said mutinously.

“No, it is not,” Severus answered. What do I do? He needed to talk to the boy, but he also needed to scold and punish him. How was he going to do this? Calming down, Severus steeled himself to tell the truth, pathetic as it might have sounded in his own ears. “I am sick of your behavior largely because I have missed you, Harry.”

“Well great,” Harry retorted, still sounding cynical. “Now I'm back, and your office is a pile of cinders.”

“But now you're back,” he agreed. I guess I'm talking, first. “And I am grateful for it, burned-out office or not.”

It was the truth. Harry was obviously very confused, and he'd been destructive on a level that Severus could hardly believe, but Severus, too, found himself very confused. The boy was talking to him, finally. He'd done something communicative, if also destructive, and now he was talking. For that, Severus could only be grateful. And again, he needed to talk to the boy. He had to convince Harry that he wasn't going anywhere, that he could be vulnerable to him because he would not hurt him. But then the boy had done something dangerous and destructive, something that Severus knew with out a doubt would make him furious in very little time. Harry deserved punishment, not praise, and not coddling. But he was back, and Severus had missed him. And I'm a sentimental fool.

Harry stared at Snape, barely believing. How can he say that? I burned down his office, didn't he notice? “You – but I burned down your office,” he finally said confusedly.

“And you will be in a lot of trouble for that in very little time, believe me,” Snape answered, voice calm.

Harry found himself glaring at him. “That's not what I mean,” he said, frustrated with the man. “Stop playing.”

“I am not 'playing,' Harry,” Severus answered, “I simply do not know what I can say that I haven't already said before. I have told you that you cannot drive me off. I care about you, and that is it, and there is nothing you can do about it. All you can do is decide exactly how much time you want to spend grounded before you figure that out for yourself.”

Harry winced a little. There was absolutely nothing he could say to that, and he really had too much pride to try. Like what, I only burned down half his office? That's not even true. But part of him was slowly, tentatively deciding that things would turn out okay. After all, he'd burned down the man's office. If that didn't drive him off, nothing Harry could think of would. And that was a very strange thought. I can't drive him off. He's really not going anywhere.

Severus watched, relieved, as Harry's whole body language changed – shoulders dropped, arms dropped from closed around his chest to at his sides, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. Suddenly the boy was back to the one he'd known, accepting a punishment that he knew he deserved. We're done talking, he decided.

“Now look at me, and tell me what you were thinking.”

Harry glanced up quickly, then back down, and mumbled mutinously, “you already know.”

“I will not ask twice,” Severus answered simply.

That time Harry looked up and met Severus' eyes, a tiny spark of anger coming back to his eyes. “You wouldn't leave,” he said forcefully. “I told you why you needed to leave, but you wouldn't.”

“That is true. I knew that, yes, if I were to leave you, it would hurt, and I refused to do so.”

Harry's voice rose. “Well, fine. You wouldn't leave, so I figured if I was really, really, bad, that then you'd finally figure out that I was still a bad kid and wouldn't ever be a good kid, and so would finally realize I wasn't worth the effort and leave.” He met Severus' eyes fearlessly, anger winning out over his initial reluctance, but Severus wasn't fooled.

“And so you got really angry, and decided to destroy my office,” he said, allowing his voice to develop an edge.

Harry maintained his defiance. “Yeah.”

“Using fire,” Severus continued.

Harry winced a little, but didn't look down, and just nodded slowly.

Severus closed his eyes, unable to keep from picturing the inferno in his office, and the boy's resulting burns. From there it was far too easy to imagine worse burns, so many bodies burned black from so many Death Eater raids. It would have taken so little for Harry to join them. Fire. Of all things for the boy to use.

“Tell me, Harry,” he said, rapidly losing control of his voice, “how many times have we talked about you thinking before throwing yourself into a dangerous situation?”

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. And still, all he's mad about is that I put myself in danger. Is the man insane?

“I burned down your office,” Harry pointed out again.

“And thereby burned your face and arm, displaying a lack of control that could have very easily resulted in your death, yes,” Snape snapped, words piling on top of each other as he almost yelled. “Now you will answer the question. We talked last time you ended up hurt about you getting angry at me, and putting yourself in danger as revenge. You promised me it would not happen again and already you have broken that.”

“I didn't think you'd care!” Harry protested, getting upset.

“Well I damned well do, Harry! How many times have we talked about this? What will it take before you stop trying to get yourself killed?”

“I'm not trying to put myself in danger, I was just mad!” Harry protested, realizing as he did so just how upset Snape really was. He's cursing. He never curses. Except when Harry put himself in enough danger, apparently.

“AND SO YOU SHUT OFF ALL THOUGHT AND NEARLY GOT YOURSELF KILLED!” Snape finally shouted. Harry flinched, but held his ground, and Snape suddenly calmed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Go to your room, please, Harry,” he said finally, voice a lot calmer.

Harry stared at him, confused. “But-”

“That was not a request, Mr. Potter.”

“It's not my room,” Harry felt obligated to say.

“It only exists so that you can use it,” Snape said cuttingly, “it is therefore yours. Now go.”

“But-”

“Now, Harry!” Snape snapped, composure cracking again.

Biting his lip anxiously, Harry turned away from his very angry mentor, went into 'his' room, and closed the door behind him. Once in the room, he headed for the bed and climbed up to sit in the corner between the headboard and the wall, noticing as he did so that the covers were different. It's all a little different, he realized then, looking around. The most obvious change was to the color scheme – the house-elves had initially brought furniture from all over the castle that didn't quite match. That had been fixed, and now the whole room was decorated in shades of green and tan, vaguely Slytherin but not overwhelmingly so. It's nice, he thought. It was a strange contrast, seeing the room that Snape had set up for him so carefully, when Snape was so angry, now.

He's worried, again. Of all possible reactions, that was somehow the only one Harry hadn't contemplated. He expected to be screamed at and...well, he was screamed at. And it sucked royally. But somehow, there was screamed at, and then there was screamed at. He wouldn't have minded, if Snape had screamed at him for destroying his office. That had been his goal, after all – a last ditch effort to get Snape off his back, to make him scream at him in hate and kick him out. And instead...

Oh, God is he mad, Harry reflected. That wouldn't have mattered, if the man wasn't sticking around, but he was. I'm so dead. Oh, why couldn't he just get rid of me? Bloody hell, the man wasn't getting rid of him. He'd just sent him to his room. 'His' room. It only exists so that you can use it, it is therefore yours. And it was just about the most weirdly familial thing Snape had yet done. Harry looked around the room and made a face. How long am I going to be in here?

Looking around, Harry suddenly noticed a small bookcase against the wall to the left of his bed. Curious, he got down from the bed to check it out.

He regretted it almost immediately, though, as his throat threatened to close. The first shelf held an extra set of all of his first-year texts, carefully arranged by subject. It was blatantly obvious that they
could only be for him. The next one down held some more advanced texts, including one on basic transfiguration theory, and another that looked like it was Potions or Herbology related. It was the third shelf, though, that really caught his attention. It held about twenty Muggle books – a couple of Shakespeare plays and Pullman's His Dark Materials, along with some other classics like To Kill a Mockingbird, Call of the Wild, and White Fang, plus a whole bunch that Harry didn't recognize. It also held several magical books that were just fun – Practical Transfigurations for Practical Jokers, Holiday Hexes and Hoodwinks...

When did he get these? Harry wondered. It hadn't been all that long after Snape had set up the room than Harry had started avoiding him. He wouldn't've just had them, would he? But then he wouldn't have bought them special, either. But he might've. He'd gotten Psycho kitty for him. Books are more expensive than kittens, though. But they were used. But that could go either way, really – they were used, so they were cheap to buy, or they were used, because Snape already had them. I bet he didn't have the practical joke book before.

Why did Snape have to be so bloody nice? Harry knew perfectly well that the man didn't try to be, the way Sprout did. It was like the man was only ever nice to him. He's nice to me. He's like always nice to me. And it made it like a hundred times worse when Harry screwed up. But had he screwed up, really? I did it on purpose. How could one screw up, doing something on purpose? But Snape hadn't reacted right. He still treated Harry like he was worth something. Worth a lot.

Harry had attacked him, and destroyed his stuff, and the man still acted like Harry was worth something. Somehow that meant everything. He didn't hit back, he finally realized. It's like with Blaise. I hit him for no bloody reason, and he didn't hit back. The conclusion was inevitable. This is entirely my fault. God why do I have to be such a freak?

We talked last time you ended up hurt about you getting angry at me, and putting yourself in danger as revenge. You promised me it would not happen again and already you have broken that. He'd really thought he wouldn't care. But he'd still promised, and he'd still broken that.

Why won't he leave? Harry wondered, suddenly. Harry was awful to him, had been awful to him since the very beginning. What made the man so determined to put up with all of it for so long? He'd burned down the office, how could Snape know he wouldn't do so again?

A knock on the door broke up his thoughts.

“Harry?”

“Yes, sir?” Harry asked nervously.

“It occurs to me that it is two o'clock in the morning. I have a pair of pajamas for you, and a toothbrush. I want you to sleep here, tonight, and we will finish discussing this in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Come on out, then.”

Come out? He had to face him again already? Apprehensively, Harry opened the door and looked down at the floor to avoid seeing the man's expression. He said we'll discuss it tomorrow, that means he won't yell at me anymore now. Or so he hoped. Fervently. He didn't know if he could take it if the man stayed mad for long, even if he did deserve it. Why the hell would he want anything to do with me, anymore?

A light brush of fingers on his hair made him look up a bit just before the hand on his head pulled him forward into the man's chest.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Severus looked down at his young ward, noticing suddenly how lost he seemed. He'd noticed before that the boy wasn't looking him in the eye, but then Harry hadn't much lately, so he hadn't thought it strange. But this time there was a wariness and a shame to it that he couldn't ignore. He'd made it plenty clear that he was unhappy with the boy, and he would deal with it tomorrow morning, but for now he just wanted that wariness out of the child's eyes. Carefully, gently, he reached out for the back of the boy's head, and pulled him to him. Harry stiffened for a second, obviously surprised, but then, as before, he pushed his face into the fabric of Snape's robes on his chest. This time, though he still didn't fully reciprocate in wrapping his arms around Severus's waist, he wrapped both hands in the fabric of his robes like they were some kind of lifeline. Severus just gripped him tighter, hoping to communicate in his grip what was not seeming to get through in words.

“'m sorry,” he heard Harry mumble into his chest. “I know 'm a bad kid.”

“You are not a bad kid,” Severus answered. “You did not hurt anyone. I will not deny that your behavior was appalling, but I am mostly upset with you because you hurt yourself. The wanton destruction is at least reparable. I cannot replace you if you die for something this stupid.”

The next mumble he couldn't pick up. “Speak clearly, please, Harry.”

Harry moved his face a little to the side and spoke up. “I wouldn't've died.”

“And you know this how?” Severus asked.

The boy hid his face back in his robes and didn't answer.

“Harry...”

“Sorry.”

Severus sighed. Tomorrow. We'll talk about it tomorrow. “It will be alright. Now come brush your teeth, please.”

Harry let go of Snape's robes, blushing, but Snape just gripped the back of his neck and pushed him gently towards the bathroom.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Unable to sleep, Severus paced his bedroom, thinking hard. Try as he might, he could not think of anyone to take the boy in. Who would Harry even willingly go with? The boy was improving, but he was still seriously suspicious of unknown adults. Severus could mentor him during the school year, of course; he wouldn't even imagine giving that duty up. But who could be responsible for the boy all year? Where would the boy go for Christmas, for the Summer? He couldn't just stay at Hogwarts alone. Sure, Hogwarts was a fun place to be for Christmas for those students who lived too far away to go home, or whose parents had somewhere they needed to go, but for a boy who had no parents, or for one who was scared to go home? It would be no different than spending Christmas at an orphanage. He knew that because he'd lived it. He couldn't let it happen to Harry. But who could take him? And the most troubling, vicious little thought of all – was he really going to find someone else to care for his child?