The next morning was Saturday, and Harry found himself very, very tempted to just not get up at all. Snape had said that they'd finish discussing things 'in the morning'. But what if Harry just didn't get up? He could pretend that the previous day had just not happened and he hadn't been that stupid and he wasn't in big, huge, monstrous trouble. Very well deserved monstrous trouble. He didn't mind trouble, so much, usually – he was really used to it, and so usually just did his time without complaining too much. But this kind of trouble was still new to him, and he hated it. He couldn't just shrug off punishments, anymore. Not with Snape, and not when he'd screwed up so badly. And on top of all of it, Snape had made it unmistakably clear that he still cared for Harry, despite all. Despite a lot. It really didn't make any sense, why the man hadn't left yet.

But he wouldn't. Finally, finally, Harry could believe that. Harry was unlikely to do anything worse than he already had, and so far all of the worst of him had just washed off Snape's back like it was nothing. He wouldn't leave. Yeah, great. He would just get really, really mad, and yell and send Harry to his room, or the corner for the rest of his miserable existence, and then ground him for all eternity after that.

But he can't yell at me if I'm sleeping, right?

That worked for all of fifteen minutes, but apparently Snape was psychic.

“I know you are awake, Harry. Stop dawdling and get out here, please.”

Damn. “Okay,” Harry whispered. Taking a deep breath, he got out of bed and pulled on the clothes from the day before, then folded his pajamas neatly and made the bed carefully before running out of things to do to procrastinate leaving the room. Steeling himself, he opened the door and peered out around it.

“Go brush your teeth,” Snape instructed from somewhere Harry couldn't see.

Relieved, Harry came the rest of the way out of the room and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for the day. If anybody could be ready for the kind of day that this promised to be.

And then he once again found himself with nothing further to do and no more excuses to hide. Screwing up his courage as best he could, he headed out to face the music.

“Come eat,” he heard Snape call as soon as he'd left the room. “I promise I won't murder you until you've had breakfast.”

His tone was more serious than it should have been, given his words, and Harry gulped a little before following the voice into the kitchen.

Avoiding Snape's gaze, Harry sat at the table. It was set nicely for two, with a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of ham in the middle, but Harry found he couldn't bring himself to just grab food with Snape looking on, and finally the man sighed and picked up Harry's plate and bowl, serving out a thick slice of ham and a generous portion of oatmeal and putting both back in front of Harry.

“Eat.”

That was easier, and finally Harry discovered that he really was hungry, and ate willingly despite his stress. When he was done, he looked up again, to find Snape watching him. He looked down quickly, but Snape stopped him.

“Look at me, please.”

God, he hated that order. He decided right then and there that if he ever had kids, he would never, ever, ask them to look at him when they were in trouble. Ever. Ashamed, and not wanting to read Snape's thoughts from his eyes, Harry looked up, but focused his gaze on the man's forehead.

Snape's voice sharpened. “Look in my eyes, Harry.”

Damnit he can tell. Harry steeled himself and looked up to meet Snape's eyes. It was incredibly, awfully hard not to look away again at what he saw there. The anger he had expected, but he also saw the emotions behind it – the concern and fear and – caring – that made Snape' gaze the most difficult to meet of anyone Harry knew. The man didn't even say anything, and Harry felt his own eyes start to sting.

“'m sorry,” he found himself mumbling again.

“Sorry for what?” Snape asked quietly.

Harry just shook his head, miserable. “Everything.”

“More specific than that, please.”

That was mean. Really, really, mean, and Harry felt a tiny bit of anger bloom as he muttered to himself. “I'm sorry I'm a nasty, ungrateful little brat.”

“Excuse me?” There was an edge to the man's voice that made Harry distinctly nervous.

Unsure if Snape had heard him or not, Harry decided to revise his statement. “I'm sorry I destroyed your office, and burned your books, and s-scared you. Good enough?” The last was surprisingly hard to get out. It reminded him once again that at least part of this was scared-angry, worried-angry, and why he hated that type of angry so much.

“Well certainly much better,” Snape acknowledged.

Shit, he did hear me.

“You do not speak of yourself that way, do you understand me?” Snape's voice was quiet, but deadly serious, and Harry found himself biting his lip and looking back down at the table.

“Sorry.”

“Your second try was better, but you still missed the most important thing. Try again, please.”

Why couldn't the man just let it go? He'd said he was sorry, who cared about the specifics?

When Harry didn't answer, Snape continued, calm in a way that Harry knew meant that he was on very thin ice. “I didn't realize, previous to your saying it, that you had managed to get through the wards on my books. Did you try the ones on my potions laboratory, too?”

He didn't know that Harry had destroyed the books? Suddenly Harry was really, really, glad that the wards on the potions office had held.

“I'm sorry,” was all he felt worthy to say, still looking down at the table.

Snape's voice was tight and carefully-controlled. “Why am I angry with you, Harry?”

Harry gulped. “Because I destroyed-”

“No!”

The word was snapped out so sharply it made Harry flinch, but the following sentence was calmer. “I do not give a damn about my office, Harry. I do not care about my books, my desk, my potions, any of it, do you understand?” At Harry's small, confused nod, he continued, deadly serious but still calm. “Harry, if you had managed to break through the wards on the potions door, wielding flame the way you did, you would have been so badly burned they would have had to identify your body by magical signature alone.”

Harry blanched. Oh.

“So,” Snape asked with that scary, unnatural calm, “why am I angry with you?”

“B-because of me,” Harry finally answered shakily. “Y-you're mad 'cause I was really, really stupid and could've died.”

“Better. And that effects me, how?” Snape pursued.

PLEASE leave it alone? “B-because you don't want me to die,” Harry said.

“Good. Understatement of the century, but adequate. Now why?”

Understatement – oh. Okay, so he really doesn't want me to die. Great. Now why. Harry remembered the...hug...from the day before and winced. “Because I – because you – because I'm important to you,” he finally managed. He met Snape's eyes uncertainly, finding them totally steady.

“Yes, you are,” the man confirmed simply, before continuing. “I am angry because you took the -” he hesitated, but continued. “You took the single most important person in my life and tried to turn him into a pile of unrecognizable cinders. You even almost succeeded.”

Single most – huh, what? “I – err-” He'd never been that important to anybody, before. Not that he could remember. He'd been slowly getting used to the idea of Snape caring about him, but the declaration was still overwhelming. Heart pumping at a million miles an hour, for a moment he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Shit. He bit his lip. “I didn't mean to?”

Snape's condemning gaze didn't waver. “Didn't mean to do what, Harry? Didn't mean to wake up at midnight and break curfew in order to go into my office, set everything on fire, and actively attack wards that were there for your and other students' protection?”

Harry winced. What could he say to that? He'd intended all of those things. “I - I d-didn't know-”

“We have spoken in class about the effects temperature can have on potions and potions ingredients, have we not? Had you forgotten all of it?”

“No...”

“And yet didn't make the connection between that and what would happen if you managed to burn your way into my potions laboratory.”

Finally Harry couldn't stand it anymore, and found himself talking rapidly, voice rising as he went on. “I said I was sorry, all right? I know I'm a bad kid and I know I screwed up again and I'm sorry but I don't know how to fix it! I've told you like a thousand times that I'm not a good kid. What do you want from me?” Unable to think of anything more to say, and unable to take any more caring or any more anger, Harry burst into tears.

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

Severus didn't know what to do. He deserves it and it will keep him safe. He should feel bad and he should apologize and he should be upset. But he had really not intended to make the boy cry. He really hadn't. And how many students have you made cry, Severus? Must this be so different? But despite his logic, and his arguments, and his determination to be firm, he could not, for the life of him, let Harry just sit there at the table and cry.

“Harry-” he tried awkwardly. The boy didn't look up, and even Severus knew that trying to talk somebody out of crying was a ridiculous waste of time unless you were prepared to be harsh. Instead, he got up and went around the table, and laid a hand on the back of the boy's neck, just rubbing, gently. If anything, the boy cried harder. Lovely. I am terrible at this. He shook his head. Honestly, Severus, you broke it, you fix it. Leaving his hand on the boy's neck, he gently lifted Harry by the elbow with the other, pulling him into a hug for the second time in two days.

He was quickly learning to enjoy the way the boy – frequently so standoffish – reacted so strongly to being held. He was unsure if the boy would ever hug back, but he found he didn't mind. The boy made it clear that he wanted the contact, and that was enough. The fact that the boy desired touch at all was a miracle. He seems so small, like this, he realized. It was like the boy was curled up and hiding. And that didn't help his guilt at all.

After awhile, Harry started calming down, and Severus started talking again.

“What I want from you is not much different than it has always been, Harry. I want you to grow up to be a healthy and successful adult. Additionally, I want you to understand that when I am angry with you for something like this, it is largely because I cannot bear to see you hurt. And yes, I am also less than happy with you for destroying my office, but the essential thing that you need to figure out is that you are worth more than any office anywhere in the world. I will not lose you, Harry. I do not like to see you unhappy, quite the contrary, but I also need to keep you safe, and if that means yelling at you like this every single day, and keeping you grounded until you are seventeen, then so be it. You are not to put yourself in danger this way; I don't care what your motivation. I also don't care how much I hate punishing you, I will do so over and over again until you learn to be careful. Now do you get it, or must I repeat myself?”

Harry nodded into his chest.

“Repeat it back, then, please.”

All he got was a completely unintelligible mumble.

“You'll have to do better than that.”

“You're mad 'cause I put myself in danger. You don't want me to die. I'm in really huge trouble,” Harry summarized. His soft tone belied the otherwise flippant language, and Severus decided to let it go.

“Close enough.”

“So...how huge trouble am I in?” Harry finally asked, looking up at him through one eye.

Severus gently pulled back from the hug and set Harry back where he could see him, fixing him with a stern look. “You left the dorm in the middle of the night, broke into my office, set everything on fire, and almost got yourself killed. Huge,” he answered.

“W-well yeah but – how much is huge?” Harry asked, squeezing one hand in the other.

Severus sighed. Huge enough that if you were any other student, I'd give you the spanking of your young life. But he couldn't do that. The problem was, the boy was eleven years old. He was convinced that eleven-year-olds did best with immediate punishment, not interminable groundings. He wanted to go for immediate shock and unpleasantness, and was constrained to going for length. The longest he'd gone for before was two weeks, but that had already been...excessive. He was certainly not willing to ground the boy for longer than that, even for something like this. It just wouldn't help. He'd come up with a solution the night before, but he was still unconvinced. God, I hate this part.

Harry stood up straight, trying to prepare himself for Snape's verdict. He'd never deserved a punishment as badly as he deserved this one. Ever. And that means I don't get to complain.

Snape met Harry's eyes, and started to speak. “If this were to get out to the school, you would be immediately suspended or possibly expelled for destroying school property.”

Harry bit his lip. Oh, shit, I didn't think of that.

“As I was the one attacked, however, I am not obligated to report this to the school, but do know that you have that option, if you prefer. If I do not report it to the school, I will be taking full advantage of the fact that we are not doing this by the books. Do you understand?”

In other words, he'll keep me from getting expelled, but then he's going to punish me, and that'll suck too, and I'll have to trust him outside of the detention, Quiddich ban, or dorm-grounding framework. Snape getting creative did not sound like fun. You deserve it, dumbass. “Yeah, I get it.”

His casual response brought a frown, and he looked at the floor again.

“Very well then,” Severus continued. “As the school is not involved, I have certain license that I would not otherwise have. As such, you are grounded to these quarters for two weeks. You will spend all the time that you are not in class here, including the evening and night. In addition, during that time you will spend an hour of each evening doing an activity of my choice. As I do not expect you to have the skill to repair my office, you will help me find the time to do so by helping with the infirmary potions for an additional hour every evening until the office is repaired. As you managed to destroy many of my wards, this will take some time. Finally, you have a general Quiddich ban for the rest of the semester.”

Severus watched Harry's expression during the entire litany, waiting for a protest. He never got one. Harry just stared at him mutely, biting his lip hard. His expression went straight to Severus' heart. Faced with the boy's careful stoicism, he found himself at a loss for words, and softening dangerously. He wanted to apologize, to lighten the punishment, to express sympathy, something. But he couldn't. He'd laid down the law, and that was all that he would allow himself to say.

“Do you understand?” he finally said softly.

The boy nodded slightly.

Severus closed his eyes, unable to continue being stern in face of that so-carefully-not-pleading look. I'm such a bastard. “Go to your room, then, please. I'll see you at lunch.”

Without a word, Harry obeyed. Severus thought his heart might break.

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

Harry swiped an angry hand across his eyes. He was such a- a child. How could he bloody cry over something like this? He'd done nothing but cry for two days. And okay, he'd been through a lot of yelling and shit for those two days, but nobody was yelling now! He was crying over – over a punishment! A punishment he'd expected, and that he knew he deserved! It was totally fair, it was not Snape's fault, and he was still crying like he was three years old and somebody had taken his lolly away. He sniffed and swiped again at his eyes, sitting on the floor in a corner of the room with his knees up against his chest. He tried again to dry them, but the tears kept coming, unstoppable. He was going to be miserable for the next two weeks. His Captain was going to kill him. And he couldn't even get mad because he deserved all of it, and more.

He sat like that for roughly ten minutes before becoming aware of the closed door. Getting up carefully, he went to the door and turned the knob. It turned, and, reassured, he left the door closed like he imagined it was supposed to be and went to sit on the bed, this time bringing a book with him from the bookshelf. He was not going to think about it anymore. It'll be okay. Snape'll forgive me. He always forgives me.

Reading the book, Harry hung out on his bed for another ten minutes before getting up and trying the doorknob again. It still turned, and he went back to his bed and his book.

Fifteen minutes later, he checked the door again, then decided he was bored of his book, and amused himself climbing the walls, discovering that he could walk upside-down on the ceiling as long as he was careful to stick the one foot before unsticking the other. He climbed down, checked the doorknob, and climbed back up again to try it with his hands.

Ten minutes later, that got boring, so he came down, checked the doorknob, and got out the book on magical pranks. They were really meant for spell-casting, with a wand, but were easily adaptable, and fun. He booby-trapped his whole room in three ten-minute chunks, then took it all down again.

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

'Click.' It sounded like a doorknob. Surely Harry wasn't going to try leaving his room, after all that? Severus looked over, but the door was closed.

Ten minutes later. 'Click.' Same sound, again, but when Severus looked over, the door was closed. He returned to his thoughts.

Ten minutes. 'Click.' What was that?

Fifteen minutes. 'Click.' Severus tried to ignore it.

Ten minutes. 'Click.' It was very unlikely that it was actually Harry's door. Severus started looking elsewhere.

Fifteen minutes. 'Click.' It sounded just like the click of a doorknob being turned, but then nobody was opening any doors.

Ten minutes. 'Click.' Severus turned his head quickly. Had Harry's doorknob moved?

Ten minutes. 'Click.' Yes, it had. The noise was definitely Harry, turning the knob on the door but not opening it. Why would he do that?

Ten minutes. 'Click.' Every ten or so minutes, the boy turned the knob. Yes, Harry, the knob does still turn ten minutes after the last time it turned. Doors don't lock themselv- oh. Those Muggles had to die. Long, slow, painful, humiliating, and preferably bloody death was the best they would ever deserve.

Harry wouldn't appreciate anybody realizing what he was doing, and they'd dealt with enough for one day. Getting up slowly, Severus went to the boy's door, opened it four inches, and returned to his chair, wishing it wasn't too early for a drink even as he knew that drinking right now would be about the dumbest thing he could do. The Dursleys really would die, for one thing.

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

Harry froze, looking up as the door opened. I thought Snape said he wouldn't come in without permission? But then nothing happened. The door just opened, and stayed open, and Harry could hear Snape moving away into another room. He'd just opened the door, then left. A tension that he hadn't realized was there suddenly left Harry's shoulders. He wasn't locked in. I'm such a screw-up. And worse, Snape knew it. Still, that the man would notice something so small, and care to fix it, remained amazing to him. The man really was nicer to him than he'd ever deserve. Harry shook his head, but finally relaxed and settled back down with the book he'd been reading earlier.

An hour and a half later, Snape called him for lunch. Relieved to be out of his room, open door or no, Harry came to the kitchen. Once there, though, he found he had difficulties. The table was already set, and Snape was seated. As usual, there was another place set up, presumably for Harry, and a chair. Harry sat, but he found himself swallowing around nervousness as he looked at the sauteed chicken breasts and fresh fruit on his plate. It seemed very unlikely that the man would give him food, and forbid him from eating it, but Harry couldn't just tuck in. Usually Snape told him to eat, with an imperiousness that was helpful, but this time he seemed strangely distracted, and just greeted Harry with a short smile and started eating. It's Snape, it's okay.

“M-may I eat, sir?”

That got Snape's attention, and he fixed Harry with a sharp, steady look. “Yes, Harry. You may always eat.”

Harry blushed hotly, but Snape wasn't done. “There may be times when I forbid you to eat something specific – for example, alcohol or sometimes dessert - but I will never deny you food. You will have three meals a day, whether you want them or not. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“Good. Now eat.”

Harry smiled a little. “Thanks.” Snape didn't comment, and Harry ate his food.

When they were both done, Snape seemed to once again lose track, staring into space with a slight furrow in his brow.

Unsure what to do, Harry finally spoke up. “Sir? Should I go back to my room?”

The man focused back on him with a slight grimace. “No, I need to talk to you, actually.”

Harry tensed. He'd thought he was done getting yelled at.

Severus noticed the tense, and found his guilt triple. “You're not in trouble, Harry. I just have something very important to tell you. Let's sit down in the living room, and I'll explain.”

Why was Snape so nervous? It was making Harry nervous, too, though he was relieved to hear he wasn't going to be yelled at anymore. Following Snape, he sat down on the opposite side of the couch.

Severus watched Harry, noticing as the boy got nervous in response to his own nerves. Cool it, Severus. You've faced the Dark Lord's legilimancy without blinking, and now an eleven-year-old boy can pick up on your nervousness?

But it seemed like such the wrong time to be bringing this up. Too soon, the boy was too young, he didn't trust him yet, he was in trouble. But when will it not seem like the wrong time? By the time it didn't seem 'too soon,' it would be too late, and the boy would be hurt again. The boy was too young, yes, but he was also rapidly approaching too old. And the boy was always in trouble, and if he wasn't willing to do this when the boy was in trouble, then he shouldn't do it at all. He was the wrong person. The boy deserved someone better. But then, if he was the wrong person now, then he always would be, and the boy would have nobody at all. And I've already thought this through a thousand times. The boy needs me, I want the boy. If he can possibly forgive me after this, then that's enough.

Harry was watching him, confusion on his face.

Just speak, damnit. It's not going to get any easier. And they had to get past this before they went any further.

Unable to keep still, Severus stood up to pace. “You no doubt already know that I use to be Death Eater,” he started. Harry nodded, brow furrowing. “I was a seventh-year, when I joined,” he continued. “I was – certain – that the vision the Dark Lord had of the world was the right one. It appealed to my cynicism, I suppose. I was also very angry, and looking for a way to lash out, to do something to either correct or at least rebel against the wrongs of the world. I thought, somehow, that these wrongs could be destroyed, almost physically. My – friends – encouraged me on that path. Dumbledore and several other adults in the school seemed to see what I was doing, and did what they could to council me against it, but I sneered at their idealism. They were old; soft and kind. Cowards, to me. They could not see the way the world was meant to be, and would not do what was necessary to obtain it. I sneered at their gentleness and pacifism.”

Harry watched him seriously, still looking confused, but listening, and Severus finally stopped to face him.

“Only one person ever managed to make me doubt. She was another seventh-year. I had known and idolized her since I was very young. She was beautiful and smart, kind and brave. She'd stand up to anything and anyone if she thought there was a wrong going on. She did not like my friends, and worried about the path I was taking, but she – she loved me. We talked about marriage, about long lives together and children. She was the world to me, and I dreamed of the family we could build even as I never cut ties to the dangerous friends I was accumulating. I loved her deeply, but in my arrogance I thought that I could have both her light and my darkness: that I could somehow join the Dark Lord, whom she saw through from the beginning, and keep her love as well. She begged me not to join up, but in the end, I did, and ended up throwing out my one chance at a family. She was smarter than I, and left me even as I tried to convince her, tried to show her how good things could be.”

He knew his pain was written on his face and did not care. The boy needed to hear this.

“I betrayed her, and the Dark Lord killed her. Though I did not know it at the time, I even had a hand in her death.” Severus sighed, looking into the boy's serious face. There will never be a good time. “You will not want to know this, Harry, and for that I am truly sorry, but I cannot leave this between us any longer.”

The boy still looked only confused. That'll change. Unable to look Harry in the face for the next bit, Severus resumed pacing the living room. “I was in a pub, one day, trying and failing to chase away my confusion and hurt, when I overheard some information that I was certain my Lord would want to know. I ran to him, sure that I would be rewarded, that I had saved his life. I told him what I had heard of a family that was prophesied to be particularly dangerous to him. I did not realize that the information I brought referred to her family.”

Severus stopped to look up at Harry and saw the boy's eyes widen in horror. Severus just met his eyes, knowing that this last part could destroy their relationship. I cannot ask anything of him without him knowing the whole story. “When I finally realized, I returned to the Dark Lord to beg for her life. He assured me that, if possible, he would kill only her child, and not her, as he was supposed to be the dangerous one. I did not trust him, and so ran to Dumbledore with my confession, and pleaded with him to keep my Lily safe in return for my service.”

Severus saw Harry's eyes widen further at the name, and once again looked away. “I spied for him, and together we did what we could to save your mother, hiding her and her family the best we knew how. But we were betrayed. Voldemort killed her, and her husband, and then tried to kill her young son - you. You know the rest of the story. Everyone rejoiced, and you became the 'Boy Who Lived,' savior of the wizarding world. I, on the other hand- I had betrayed the person I loved the most, and gotten her and her husband killed. I stayed in Dumbledore's service, hoping that one of my Death Eater comrades would realize my betrayal and take revenge. As yet, that has not happened, and I am beginning to be grateful for that, though I still have no right.”

He looked up again slowly, to find the boy studying his face.

“I-is that why you're nice to me?”

The question startled him. What does that have to do with anything? “No, it is not,” he finally said. “If anything, it is a part of why I was so horrible to you at the beginning of the term.”

“Y-you weren't horrible,” Harry answered, sounding unsure of himself.

“You have very low standards,” Severus answered.

A slightly awkward silence fell, as Severus waited for the boy to process further.

“Y-you didn't know, t-that it was my mum,” Harry said finally.

“No, but I did know that the Dark Lord would kill whomever it was.”

The boy didn't answer, and Severus continued. “In my defense, the Dark Lord was killing a lot of people, and he was already after your parents before he got my information. They were some of the most effective aurors on the force. But my information did make them a – a priority,” he finally said.

“B-but you're good, now,” Harry said. “Right?”

“That is a very complex question, Harry,” Severus answered hesitantly. “I am no longer a Death Eater. I do my best for my students, and for Dumbledore, and I try to be the man Lily would have wanted me to be. But I am only a good man if I am on your side.”

Harry frowned again. “You – you killed Quirrell, didn't you?”

Severus nodded, slowly.

“For me,” Harry continued.

“Yes.”

“Is that what you mean by good if you're on your side? Like Quirrell wouldn't think you were good, but Dumbledore would?”

Severus maintained a blank expression. “Yes.”

Harry frowned, and spoke slowly. “But Quirrell was trying to kill me.”

“He was.”

“Well then, you are good, now.”

Severus frowned. “Perhaps. There are certainly those who think so. There are also those who believe that killing Quirrell the way I did was wrong, regardless. And even I believe that what happened to Flint was wrong. The fact that I don't regret it does not improve matters.”

Harry furrowed his brow, thinking hard. And the fact that I don't regret it? “But if they were bad, then you don't have to think what you did was bad, right?”

“For Quirrell, perhaps. For Flint -”

“Okay, fine, I get it. But just cause somebody does bad things, sometimes, doesn't mean their totally bad, right?” Right?

“Yes, that is true.”

“Well fine, then, so you're good, now,” Harry said stubbornly. “And you wish you were good before. You don't think you should get a second chance?”

“Harry, when I told the Dark Lord that he was in danger, I thought I was doing something good, despite knowing that it would lead to someone's death. The fact that I did not know that it was your mother does not excuse that. And the fact that I now kill people for a different cause – one that you and I think is right - does not mean that my slate is wiped clean.”

“T-then why do you still kill people, if you don't think it's right?”

“Because people are still trying to kill you, Harry!” he finally exclaimed, frustrated.

“Well then you do think it's right,” Harry answered.

“Sometimes,” Severus finally conceded. Where is the boy going with this? “but regardless it does not atone for who I was and what I did before.”

“So it doesn't matter that you're trying?” Harry argued.

“Don't you understand?” Severus finally said, defeated and just wanting the boy to get it, to understand and react so that the suspense would just go away. “I killed your mother, Harry.”

“Voldemort killed my mother,” Harry answered. “You tried to save her.”

Severus blinked. “You don't understand.”

“No, I don't,” Harry retorted. “I don't get it at all. How am I supposed to react? Do you want me to hate you? I had plenty of reason to hate you before, and I failed. Now you give me another reason that you think means I should hate you, and I still fail. You made a bloody stupid horrible mistake ten years ago, and you've been bloody horribly miserable for the ten years since then trying to fix something that you can't. No, I don't get it, and I don't bloody want to. You're all I have, and I don't understand why you won't let me try to forgive you!”

Severus paused, shocked. “I suppose I do not understand how you can forgive me.”

“I didn't even know her,” Harry answered. “What else am I supposed to do? You're all I've got. And you've forgiven me about eighty bizzillion times and I'm still a bad kid.”

“Your mischief hardly adds up to my wrongs,” Severus answered, disbelieving.

“Too damn bad,” Harry said. “I don't have a choice. I'd have to forgive you even if you had been totally responsible, which you weren't. I still say you had a bigger part in trying to save her than you did in her death.”

He doesn't get it. He really doesn't. It hasn't hit yet. He probably wouldn't get it, not for several years, but at least Severus had done his best. Perhaps it was even best that the boy not think it through fully, just yet. And he still had a lot more of this conversation to get through.

“Why did you even tell me, anyway?” Harry asked.

That was as good an opening as any. “I wanted you to know it, because it is relevant to a...request...I have for you. But - I am unsure whether I should ask now, or wait until you've had a chance to think.”

The idea that Snape could be unsure about anything was distinctly strange. “Actually I was planning on not thinking about it much at all,” Harry answered.

Severus frowned at him. “You shouldn't-”

“Look, it's just going to make me unhappy, all right? It's just like every other stupid thing that went wrong in my life. Would you leave it alone?”

“You cannot run from these things forever, Harry.”

Harry frowned. “Yeah, well, I can try.” Then his face cleared and he smiled just a little bit. “Anyway, what kind of a Slytherin are you? It's to your own bloody advantage that I ignore it for awhile.”

That it certainly is, Severus realized, shaking his head. And perhaps Harry was actually right. Neither of them could do anything about the past, anyway. “Language, Harry,” he answered absently.

Harry could always seem to tell when he didn't mean it. “I apologize,” he said, mischief in his eyes. “It's to your own lovely advantage. But you're still being a dumbass.”

“Imbecile,” Severus corrected.

“That too,” Harry answered. At Severus' frown, he continued quickly. “Anyway, what did you want to ask me? That was what this was all about, wasn't it?”

“In part, certainly.”

“Well?”

Severus took a deep breath, standing still though he was tempted to start pacing again. At least this time, there is no bad time, instead of being no good time. “I mentioned before that I had – had meant to have a family,” he started, “and how in my arrogance and pride I squandered that chance. I had...hoped...that you might be my second chance.”

Harry stared at him, hearing his heartbeat speed up. “You - I - I don't understand,” he finally said. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean, Harry, that I want a son. That I want you to be my son. If – if you'd let me, I'd like to formally adopt you.”

Harry continued to just stare. He wants me to be his son. Like, son, son? Like him-being-my-father-son?” “You – don't – please don't shit me,” he finally said. “You can't possibly-” he cut off, feeling his eyes start to sting. This isn't possible. That bloody mirror has just suddenly found its way into my dreams, or something. Any minute now, it would turn into a nightmare.

“I'm not playing, Harry. I am absolutely serious. I know that I'm not...not the best man in the world, definitely not going to be the best father in the world, and you don't know me all that well, really, but then...you don't have a family any more than I do. And I'd hoped-” He shook his head. Eloquent, Severus. You're babbling. “I do mean it, Harry. I want to be your father. I want you to be my son.”

Aren't I supposed to faint, about now? Harry thought, still feeling his heart beating far-too-rapidly in his chest. In any movie, or any kinder world, he'd faint.

“You can take all the time you want to think about it,” Severus finally said. “And I don't expect you to change at all, for it. Things can just keep going in the direction things were going, I won't push you...” You're still babbling, Severus. “...and you can stay in the dorms like your classmates, of course, but you would stay with me, for Christmas and the summer.” And now you're pleading. Just shut up and let the kid think. He had to trust that he'd interpreted the boy's reaction to the mirror correctly. Harry did want this. But he wouldn't get his hopes up. The likelihood that Harry would accept still seemed very, very low. He's only known me for three months, for goodness' sake! But then, that was really not unusual. Just let him think.

That was really hard to do, when Harry was looking at him like he had two heads, but finally the boy spoke. “You – you are serious.”

Severus just nodded, heart pounding in his chest.

“Why?”

And now he did have to talk. And if he said a single thing wrong, Harry would decide it was out of pity, or because Dumbledore wanted him to, or something else damaging. So now the bitter, angry, sharp-tempered Death Eater gets to talk about his feelings. He probably deserved it, given his talks with Harry. Just tell the truth. You demand it of him all the time.

“Because...because you're you,” he started slowly. “Because you are worth it. Because you have felt like 'mine' for a long time, and I have had no right to claim that. Because you are correct, 'teacher' can only go so far. I want the authority and permanence and relationship that goes with being your parent. Because you have no family, and need one. Because I have no family, and want one. Because you're you, and you're mine, and as dangerous as that is I want the rest of the world to know it. Because I thought I was incapable feeling for anyone what I feel for you. Because you make me a better person. Because you deserve it, even if I don't. Because this way you'll have to believe me that I'm sticking around, that I want you, and that you can be as bad as you like and I'll still...” he paused. “...love...you.”

And Harry stared at him, to all appearances in shock.

“Harry?”

“I-” the boy said slowly, voice shaking just a little. He stopped, briefly, then said five words that rang with sincerity. A promise. “I'll try to be good.”

“You-” Severus shook his head to clear it. “Was that a yes? You can think for as long as you need to, honestly, and I'll still be your mentor if you-”

He shut up and looked down in surprise at the small head buried in his chest, but then swallowed around his emotions and responded, putting one hand on the back of Harry's head, and one wrapped around his back, as usual, and feeling Harry's hands wrapped in his robes.

“That was a yes,” Harry finally said quietly.

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