Forget-Me-Not by Sa-kun
Summary: Everyone seems to have forgotten that the Boy-Who-Lived exists. Harry's friends don't remember who he is. It's a struggle for Harry to hold on to reality as he knows it, while at the same time coming to terms with who he really is. He finds Snape an unexpected ally in the struggle that ensues to reclaim his identity. 6th year AU. (Harry is gay)
Categories: Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape, Teacher Snape > Professor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Charlie, Draco, Original Character, Other, Pomfrey
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 6th Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Neglect, Profanity, Romance/Slash
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 17 Completed: No Word count: 94180 Read: 75304 Published: 19 Oct 2010 Updated: 25 Nov 2011
New Orleans, part I by Sa-kun
Author's Notes:
Harry and Severus go for a little holiday over Christmas.

I blame the tacky Americanism on Supernatural.

 

The flight from Amsterdam to New Orleans took fifteen hours. They'd used the Floo system to get to Amsterdam, and that was also the only part of the trip that had been fast and relatively painless. Harry did not like the way his ears smarted as the plain took flight. He liked the view, loved it, even. But the pain in his ears he'd rather be without.

"D'you reckon it's warmer here?"

Snape glanced out the window Harry was gazing through with avid attention. "Possibly."

"So, no snow?"

"I would assume not."

"You're being really—" Harry glanced at Snape. "What?"

"We will begin to descend soon."

Harry groaned. "No…" His ears were still smarting after getting up in the air. He really didn't want to think about what going down through the air would do to his ears. Given all the time he'd spent on his broomstick, he hadn't really considered that flying could hurt. "Isn't there something—?"

"Yes." Snape made sure his belt was fastened properly and urged Harry to do the same. "I will make sure to have some ready for when we return home."

Harry took that to mean it was a potion, not a spell. He accepted the bottle of water Snape handed him. He'd chewed gum on the way up. It hadn't helped much, but a little. Maybe drinking a bottle full of water would help more. Harry did his best not thinking of the fact that he really needed to use the loo.

—x—

The hotel, Harry decided, was bloody marvellous. It was in the magical part of the city – aptly named just that: the Magical Quarter. It was in a section sealed off from the Muggles in the old part of New Orleans: the French Quarter. The hotel was an old building, whitewashed with tall windows and balconies. There was a lovely garden in the courtyard, complete with a pond, lanterns and various benches. Right next door, the building itself sharing one wall with the hotel, was a block of flats. But the basement wasn't a flat. Oh no – Harry had noted this the very same evening he and Snape had arrived – in the basement by night was a nightclub, and a somewhat more respectable café of sorts during the day.

Snape, of course, had cast a long look at the boarded windows and flashing neon signs. "No," he said.

Harry stiffened, squared his shoulders and tried to make himself look a lot taller than he was. "Hey! That's not fair—"

"If I catch you lurking within a foot of that place after dark, I will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as I sell certain pictures of a certain failed attempt at an animagus transformation."

Harry gulped.

"Are we clear?"

There was a hint of a pout on Harry's face as hit bottom lip protruded just a titbit too much. "Yeah," he mumbled. "No clubbing, got it."

Snape snorted. "You'd be bitten within an hour, Harry. Fresh blood on the streets – who could resist?"

Harry frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," Snape said, rather slowly, "that there is a reason why so many Muggle romance novels featuring vampires take place in New Orleans."

Harry blinked. Then he wet his lips. "Vampires?" he queried, nonplussed.

"Yes. Vampires. I trust that is not a problem?" Snape's tone made it very clear to Harry that it had better not be.

Feeling more than a little confused, Harry began tugging on one of the piercings in his earlobe. "Um, I dunno. Is it? We covered werewolves that time in DADA when you were a temp for Lupin, but…I don't think we ever got to vampires."

Snape glared at Harry for daring to refer to Snape as a temp. Harry just winked.

"Sunlight will not kill them. They are just light sensitive, and nocturnal, so the night is their natural domain. They require little sleep, none of it in a coffin. While the stench of garlic is offensive, it is just that: offensive. The cross is a catholic symbol, unrelated to vampires as a species." Snape tugged Harry's chin up to make sure he had Harry's complete attention. "Vampires hunt. They drink blood. They are dangerous. Because they heal quickly, it's difficult to harm one. I've found a swift jab to their fangs a good deterrent. They recover too quickly from a knee in the gut, or bollocks." Snape's eyes softened a little. "I do believe they usual ask first, though, on the off chance they find a wizard resistant to their thrall."

And that had been that. Harry was sure that once they got back to Hogwarts, Snape would dig out a book or two, then shove them at Harry. But still, that didn't mean Harry wasn't curious about the place. Especially as it was so close, too. Every time he went outside, sometimes alone, to explore the Muggle side of New Orleans – mostly the French Quarter because it was the closest. He'd gone with Snape once or twice, on boat, up the Mississippi to gather potions ingredients. It was tedious, wet and dirty. Snape, being who he was, had dragged Harry off to museums, too. But every once in a while, like today, Harry got some time to himself.

Together with Snape he had explored Royal Street, and later Bourbon Street.

—x—

Early on during their holiday – the second, day, in fact, was a rather important day.

Harry woke up early. He stretched, yawned, then grinned and rolled out of bed. Snape was still sleeping, buried under a smaller mound of blankets. He could just barely make out a tuft of black hair peeking out at top by the pillows. Snape's feet, hands and the rest of him was hidden from sight.

It was Christmas, and Harry was hungry.

Two very good reasons, Harry reckoned, for having the sheer audacity, like Snape would say, to tickle a sleeping dragon. So Harry, on tiptoes, went around Snape's bed. He carefully tugged at the blankets until Snape's face came into view. Then, slowly, Harry reached out. Snape's nose was a beckoning target, and Harry only planned to poke it a little.

Before Harry even made contact, Snape's hands shot out, grabbed Harry by the wrist, and threw him over the bed. With a squeak of surprise, and a grunt as the air whooshed out of his lungs, Harry landed on the bed next to Snape. "Fuck!" he wheezed.

"Indeed," Snape mumbled, then brought his hands down.

Harry squealed with laughter as Snape managed to find every ticklish spot he had, and even a few he hadn't known he had.

It was quite some time later before either one of them was dressed and ready for breakfast. They chose to breakfast at a nearby café, instead of the food offered by the hotel. They both decided to order something a bit more luxurious than usual. Waffles, with sweet jam and a dollop of whipped cream. It was probably a bit much to start the day with, but Christmas only came once a year, after all. Once they were done eating, and Snape had taken the longest possible time, ever, to drink a cup of coffee, Harry dragged the man back to the hotel.

"Ants in your pants, boy?" Snape groused after Harry pushed him inside the tiny lift.

Harry just grinned. "Come on, Snapey! It's Christmas!"

One elegant eyebrow lifted, slowly, up Snape's forehead. "Snapey?" he queried, voice dangerously soft.

Harry bit back a reflexive whimper.

They were in a lift. A small, narrow lift. No witnesses, just the two of them.

"Slipped out? I'm sorry?" Harry tried.

Snape grinned. It was an evil grin that promised humiliation, embarrassment and something highly unpleasant.

The lift chimed cheerfully. Snape opened the door, took hold of Harry's neck, and guided him out. The door to their room opened with a wave of Snape's free hand. Then they were inside. The snick the lock made as it was turned sounded unnecessarily loud to Harry.

"Snape," Harry tried.

Snape came up behind the boy, and Harry didn't stand a chance. A quick cuff over the head, and then Snape's hands descended on Harry's sides.

Now, if Harry had thought he'd been tickled to death only that morning, it was nothing to what he was going through right then. He begged, pleaded and beseeched. Snape grinned, smirked and tutted. He skilfully avoided each and every attempt Harry made to kick and fight free.

—x—

It was a very stiff Harry who sat down on the sofa. Snape himself had a big, fat smirk on his face. He was tapping his wand against his hand, as if he was contemplating whether he should make Harry suffer further.

"Now. You will not call me 'Snapey'. Agreed?"

Harry nodded, looking very sullen. "Yeah." Who knew Snape could be so bloody vindictive? Granted, what with the man being a Slytherin, Harry probably should have foreseen it.

Harry's hair smarted at little, strained as it was into two short, spiky pigtails. Snape had even had the fucking decency to conjure a head band. The one glimpse Harry had got of it had revealed a terrifying amount of sequins, glitter and horrible fluffy pink.

It matched the jumper Snape had magiced on him. In truth, Harry wasn't sure what was worse: his new hair style or the fluffy lavender shirt picturing a My Little Pony, with the words 'Daddy's Precious Angel' printed on it. Again, the glittery pinkness was enough to make Harry want to gouge his eyes out.

The flash of a camera caught Harry off guard. His head snapped up, dark glare on his face. "Hey!"

"Insurance," Snape said silkily, and the camera flashed again. It was tucked away in one of Snape's pockets.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're going to take this stuff off, right?"

"Where would the fun be in that? It can come off when you can take it off." Snape smirked. "Now, I believe someone was a little overenthusiastic about Christmas?"

Harry bit his lip, feeling torn. On the one hand, he really wanted to see what were in the gifts that had materialised overnight under the small Christmas tree provided by the hotel. On the other hand, however, he really fucking wanted to get out of the pink and lavender monstrosities Snape had spelled on him.

The childish instinct won.

"You can be Santa, Snape," Harry proclaimed. He wasn't as good at magic as Snape, but he still thought the Santa hat he created out of thin air was passable. It certainly fit Snape, even if the man glowered at the fluffy red hat with its white trim. Harry's smile was a little sly.

Snape pursed his lips, rolled his eyes, then he heaved himself out of the chair with a loud sigh.

It wasn't until much later that Harry discovered the tinsel wrapped around his waist like a belt.

"First gift is for Harry," Snape drawled.

Harry grinned, accepted the gift, then placed it next to him. After Snape had handed out all the gifts, Harry had a respectable pile of presents next to him. He wasn't sure, but it sort of looked like the biggest pile of gifts he had ever received. In stark contrast, Snape's pile was much more moderate. With another little grin, mostly aimed at himself, Harry dug into his pile.

The first present was from Charlie, and contained the last glasses of his dragons collectible set. It was perhaps a bit much, but Harry figured that Charlie was trying to make up for having forgotten about Harry. A bit daft, really, because it hadn't been Charlie's fault. Either way, the gift still pleased him. Szmanda, who had sort of wormed himself into a casual, new friend of Harry's, had given him a neat set of quills and some coloured inks. Tom had bought him a few smaller Muggle games: a deck of cards with a Star Wars motive, Yahtzee, Ludo, Mikado and Mastermind. They were all games Harry had heard of and seen other kids play when he was little. No one had ever wanted to play any of those games with Harry.

"Um. Why did Malfoy buy me a gift?" Harry wondered. He examined the set of four intricate and beautiful glass bottles Malfoy had given him. The box they were in said that the bottles themselves were unbreakable, resistant to outside tampering once Harry had set the password, and could contain up to two litres of whatever liquid Harry needed to store in them.

"He is keeping his options open, and reminding you that he may yet be swayed," Snape explained, himself busy examining a shiny set of, what looked like to Harry, plain black stones.

"Oh. Brownie points, then," Harry mumbled, mostly to himself.

The next gift was a thick journal, from Derek. Harry allowed a small smile to creep up on his face. This one, unlike the first one Harry had tried writing in, didn't have any lines. Harry hadn't liked the restrictions of lines the first time around.

Despite having opened so many gifts, there was still a sizable pile left. All of them wrapped in the same purple wrapping paper, all of them with ribbons of pink and lime green – that particular colour combination made Harry's eyes water. They were all also completely devoid of either notes or cards. A bit hesitantly, he reached for the first one. There wasn't a danger of any of the gifts having been tampered with – he was sharing a room with Snape. So Harry opened the first one. It was a bit soft and lumpy.

There was a T-shirt inside it, black with a purple pattern. Harry blinked, then reached for the next one and tore that one open as well. A button down shirt, white. Again and again, Harry opened the pile of gifts. His eyes grew larger and larger as clothes continued to spill out. He remembered some of the clothes, having fingered or sometimes even tried them on before having been deterred by the long queues in the shops. And yet… Here was the cardigan Harry had liked, with its charcoal grey colour and swirling pattern of green, blue and grey running down the sides. There were the jeans Harry had tried on, the blue and black pair, as well as the stonewashed pair. Harry found proper, thick gloves and a new Gryffindor scarf. There was even a jacket. It was dark green, sort of Muggle military in its cut and style. It was thick and perfect for winter.

The very last gift he opened contained a white T-shirt, of a slightly tighter style than the others. There was a rainbow on it, with a text underneath: I'm so gay I shit rainbows. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked up.

Snape smirked, raised an eyebrow, then held up a T-shirt of his own, only his was black and long-sleeved. Proud!, it said, big letters and all, each letter a colour of the rainbow. Below that was more text: of my gay son.

Proud!

of my gay son.

Harry clenched his jaw. "Snape. You bastard. I swear, you get way too much pleasure out of this."

"Hmmm. I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," Snape said, being elusive on purpose. "I take it you are pleased with your gifts?"

Harry gave Snape one last glare. Looking over everything he'd been given this year – it was so much, too much! – Harry couldn't help the giddy, shy smile from breaking out on his face. "Yeah, they're great. Thanks." Suddenly nervous, Harry looked up at Snape again. "How about you? Did you like my gifts?"

Buying presents was hard, but fun. Buying something for Snape was doubly so. Back in England – it felt really weird thinking that – he had found chocolates of a more exclusive variant, as well as some new tea blends he thought Snape might like. They weren't the most personal gifts, ever, but at least Harry had known Snape would like them. But then, when they'd arrived in New Orleans a whole new market had opened up. Here, Harry had found a leather-bound old fashioned looking potions journal. In the Magical Quarter, as well as some of the more mysterious shops in the French Quarter, there were shops that dealt with mysticism, folklore, the occult. Three of the books Harry had managed to scour up where probably Muggle in origin. The rest were all magical, but quite unlike any books Harry had ever seen in the UK.

"Yes," Snape said. He glanced at the pile of books Harry had found for him. "You do realise these books are highly illegal in the UK?"

Harry blinked. "Um. No? What? Why?"

Snape smirked. "Because they deal with spirits, Bloodmagic, as well as a little bit of Necromancy and, not to forget, my personal favourite: Black Magic. Where did you find them?"

"There are these shops, in the French and Magical Quarter. They look sort of shady. They deal with herbs and stuff. Occult stuff. One of them made me buy a really neat looking dreamcatcher." Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, it may have been hoodoo and, um, Louisiana voodoo."

Chuckling, Snape shook his head. "You will have to show me, you realise. These books…"

"What? Not good?"

"Quite the opposite, really. Think of them as an appetiser."

Harry laughed. "And the tea was okay, too? It smelled great, but, you know."

"We'll have to try it later," Snape agreed. Then he grew serious. "Now, were the clothes right?"

"They're perfect," Harry said, feeling that strange ball of warmth blossoming in his chest. "Thank you."

They spent the rest of the day trying out the various Muggle games Harry had got from Tom. Harry also spent quite a lot of time trying to get out of the getup Snape had charmed on him. It was easier said than done, much to Harry's frustration, but he finally managed to get the jumper and the headband off in time for dinner. The pigtails he would simply have to live with, for now. Lunch had been eaten in the room – if there was one day of the year when you were allowed to be lazy, it was on Christmas. With what might have been a touch too much glee, Harry immediately set out to find a new – brand fucking new! – outfit from the new clothes.

The black jeans went on, along with a white T-shirt that had random text printed all over it. He wore the cardigan over that. If one ignored the stupid hairdo, Harry thought he looked quite good. He would probably have to talk to Derek about the niggling doubt and growing worry that he wasn't really worth so many new clothes – not to mention the glasses, the boots, the trip: Snape had given him so much. It was probably important that he talked to Derek as soon as possible, before Harry could talk himself into doing something stupid.

Like, trying to talk Snape into letting Harry pay for it.

Dinner was eaten in a quaint little Greek restaurant. The food was delicious, the dessert was delightful. Harry felt so full he was about to burst. It was rather fortunate, he thought, that there was a short walk from the restaurant back to the hotel.

The nightclub Harry had been expressively warned from entering was open. Music could be heard through the open door, and more than a few of the guests were loitering around outside. The way Snape and Harry had gone back to the hotel meant they had entered the courtyard from the back. That entrance wasn't as used as the main gate, and the path was pebbled – it made trying to move silently very difficult. The official entrance was paved with smooth charcoal grey stones, with plants along the sides and light fixtures lightning up the path. This unofficial one was a bit more shady.

The back of the nightclub was lined in with a low wooden fence. There were a few tables and chairs, some of them occupied by people.

One of them Harry couldn't help but notice, especially not when they moved closer. It wasn't that the bloke was exceedingly handsome or anything like that – it was way too dark to tell from this distance, really, and Harry's eyes weren't the best in the dark, despite the new glasses – but the sheer power and magic that he excluded was intoxicating. It didn't help matters that it looked like it was an extremely fit bloke, with really tight trousers that positively hugged the bloke's thighs.

Snape's hand locked around the back of Harry's neck like a band of ice. "That, Mr Potter, is a vampire."

"He's hot!" Harry exclaimed, in a hushed voice, unable to help himself. Or tear his eyes away, for that matter.

Snape squeezed. "Harry. I now have further incriminating photographs—"

Harry rolled his eyes. His hair was still smarting, thank you very much! "I'm just saying, Snape!"

Snape, it seemed, remained a little unconvinced. "I believe a little meditation practice is due for tonight."

"What? Why?"

"Are you completely daft? The reason I was able to walk you through your Animagus transformation was because the trance-like state you put yourself into greatly resembles the meditative requirements of Occlumency preparation. Vampires, in case you have managed to remain unawares of this fact, are naturals in both Legilimency and Occlumency. You could do to brush up on your Occlumency. Especially if you are drawn towards vampires," Snape said, sounding a bit stiff.

Harry felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Occlumency and Snape were two matters he didn't want to think about in conjunction with each other. Last year… Those lessons had been horrible. Pure torture. He didn't want to ruin his first holiday, ever – his first proper Christmas, ever – by resuming those fucking lessons.

"Snape, no, I—"

"Yes." Snape's tone was hard, warning Harry not to question him on this.

"But—"

"Harry. I'm afraid I must insist." Snape wasn't looking at Harry, though, his cold gaze was focused on the pebbled path in front of them.

"No! I won't!" Harry hissed, his temper starting to act up.

Snape grabbed Harry by the arm and twisted the boy around. "It will not be like last time, boy!" he snapped. "You know how to meditate by now. I will talk you through it. You will build adequate defences. I will instruct you how. Depending on your success, I may test them."

Harry gaped, a feeling of incredulity, disbelief and anger welling up inside him. "You… Bastard! Why the fuck did—?"

Snape sneered. "Because I was a stupid fool who took the Headmaster for his word when he ensured me you were sufficiently informed of what the lessons would entail."

Harry stared. The sense of betrayal from what he'd found out last year Dumbledore had kept from him grew.

"I promised your mother I would protect you. I promised the Headmaster the same," Snape bit out stiffly. "Unfortunately, the Headmaster does not have the same opinions of how that might be achieved."

"Sirius died!" Harry hissed.

Snape masked his dislike for the man quickly, Harry had to give him that. "You also broke into the Department of Mystery and destroyed the prophecy itself," Snape pointed out. "I believe the Headmaster thought that to be of greater importance. After all," the man pointed out, voice cold as ice, "Black was merely an escaped convict, was he not?"

Harry's face went red with rage. "I loved him!"

"Yes," Snape hissed, dark eyes glinting, "and that made you weak. It made you harder to manipulate, because suddenly there was an adult you looked up to, more than you ever had the Headmaster."

"But he said he cared too much about me!"

"The Headmaster plays a very dangerous game, Harry. Attachment of any kind is dangerous," Snape said, ruthlessly. "He Obscured you, against reason, so that you might remain undetected by Death Eaters. Does that strike you as something a benevolent man would do?"

—x—

The argument left Harry feeling angry and vaguely unsettled – the meditation had been postponed. He couldn't sleep. After having twisted and turned for what felt like hours, Harry finally gave up. He got out of bed, made sure he was somewhat dressed, stopping only to pull on a jumper and grab his shoes.

Snape's voice stopped him in his tracks the second Harry twisted the doorknob.

"Where're you going, Harry?" The man's voice was thick with sleep, but still somewhat coherent. Harry thought it a bit amusing that, the more tired Snape was, the less posh he sounded. One day, Harry was going to ask where Snape was from and when he had changed his accent.

"The restaurant. Can't sleep."

"Hmmm. Be careful."

"I will. Goodnight."

"G'night," Snape mumbled.

The hotel was decidedly less busy at night. During the day, voices came from all over and whenever you rounded a corner, there was always someone there. At night it was eerily quiet and empty. A corner of the restaurant was sectioned of, and it was to this area Harry was headed. He knew, technically speaking, that it was a bar that closed at five in the morning, when the restaurant opened. But right now Harry hoped that whoever worked as a bartender might be convinced to fix Harry some hot chocolate – or, if that failed, warm milk with honey.

Quiet music was playing. There were a few patrons inside, sitting around a table and carrying on a hushed discussion. Harry ignored them and went straight to the bar, where he sat on one of the high barstools.

"Ain't no way you over eighteen, man," the bartender told Harry after casting one look at him.

Harry smiled. "I'm sixteen," he said.

The bartender gave Harry a wide smile. "Glad we sorted tha' problem out, no? How 'bout a coke?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm trying to fall asleep, not get hyped on caffeine. Do you have hot chocolate or something?"

The bartender smirked. "I might."

Harry smiled. "Great."

"You want a snack?"

Harry shrugged. "Some crisps might be nice," he said, feeling a sudden urge for the slightly salted, but somewhat distinctly sweet and sour taste of salt and vinegar crisps. "Vinegar, if you have."

The bartender blinked. "That something else for you English dudes?"

"I…don't know. Is it?"

"He means chips, Louie," a voice from behind Harry said, just moments before Harry felt the same rush of power and magic that he had earlier that evening.

Well, it wasn't the same, exactly, because this felt a lot more subdued. But still, Harry was instantly on his guard. The bloke who sat down next to Harry looked to be in his early twenties. His eyes were green – not as startling green as Harry's, but few were. He wasn't as pale as Harry had expected a vampire to be, nor did he have long fangs poking out of his mouth. His long brown hair was tied back in a plait. A silver earing hung from his left earlobe.

"I, um. Yeah. I guess."

The bartender produced a bag of crisps from somewhere and held it up to Harry for inspection. "Yeah, thanks! Crisps."

"Chips," the bloke next to him corrected. "I'll have bourbon."

"Got it," the bartender said.

Harry spent a few seconds watching the bartender move about behind the disk, then he opened the bag of crisps and upended it in the small bowl the bartender had provided him with.

"You're a long way from home." The bloke spoke with a soft drawl that Harry had come to learn was the local accent. Harry thought it was kind of nice to listen to.

"Yeah. Holiday."

"What's your name, then?"

"Harry." Harry cast a sideways glance at the bloke. The bloke wasn't looking at him, but was observing his small glass of bourbon rather intently. "You?"

"Michael."

The bartender came back with Harry's hot chocolate right then. "There. You gonna pay me, or add it to your tab?"

"My tab," Harry answered. "I'm with Snape."

"So," the vampire drawled.

Harry shot him a curious glance.

"Nice do."

Harry blinked. "I feel like I've missed out on a whole cultural development or something. Nice what?"

Michael grinned. Harry thought he could almost make out teeth that were a tiny bit sharper than normal. "Your hair, man. Spiffy."

Harry remained oblivious for one short, blissful second. Then his face went red. He scowled. "Fuck it," he muttered under his breath.

Michael's grin widened a little. "So, not by choice?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I called my, um." Harry pondered what to call Snape for a little bit, then shrugged. It wasn't like he was likely to meet Michael again, and it was even less likely that Snape would ever meet Michael. "Let's just say I called my dad something I shouldn't have, okay? I swear, the man takes pleasure in humiliating me."

"Why don't you just take the ties off?"

"Tried." Harry pulled on one of the short, spiky pigtails. "He's good with inventing spells. I just haven't figured this one out yet."

Michael shuffled closer on his chair, then reached out with a hand. He never really touched Harry, or said a spell or anything, but Harry still had the feeling that Michael was doing some sort of magic. He could feel it like tiny little sparks that danced along his skin.

"So part of the lesson is to teach you how long you've to go 'till you're equals, huh?"

"Whenever I get too cocky," Harry agreed. "What are you doing?"

"Just thought I'd do you the favour of checking what kind of spell he put on you." Michael brought his hand back. "Unfortunately, your dad's excellent at covering his tracks."

"He's paranoid. And smug." Harry took a measured sip of the hot chocolate in his large mug. "And brilliant."

"You said your name was Snape?"

For a moment, Harry contemplated telling the truth. Then he pushed that urge aside. Snape had made him cover up his scar the same morning they left England. It was a mix between Muggle cosmetics and potions that Harry hadn't fully comprehended. What he did know was that for a period of up to a week at the time, Harry's scar could be hidden. As a Potions Master Snape frequently travelled to all sorts of places to find obscure texts and ingredients, so it wasn't all that strange for Snape to go away to New Orleans.

It was rather strange, however, for Severus Snape to travel in the company of Harry Potter.

That was one of the reasons that made Harry nod and say yes to Michael. There was, of course, another and infinitely more selfish reason why he said yes, as well.

"He's the Potions Master, right? He's pretty important?"

"I guess. I never was too into potions."

Michael took a sip of his bourbon, all the while observing Harry. "He perfected the potion that brings down the bloodlust in vampires, you know. Makes us not go so crazy every time someone gets a paper cut."

Harry blinked.

"Say, um. What?"

"What?" Michael repeated, rather cockily, a lazy smirk on his face.

Oh yes, Harry thought, definitely fangs poking out now.

"Listen," Harry said, heart beating at a fast pace beneath his breastbone. "I've had one decent teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and when he was ill once, Dad stepped in and did a lecture on werewolves. No one ever covered vampires." Harry said all of this very quickly, his eyes locked on the sharp, white fang peeking out of the left corner of Michael's mouth. "I mean, yeah, Dad covered the basics, but—"

"But?"

"He said you asked, and if not, bang your fangs in," Harry snapped, annoyed at the arrogant interruption.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "One of those, is he."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean one of those who don't like being attacked by random people? Yeah! He is. And so am I, for that matter."

"But that is so boring."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry. I'm sure there's a ditzy blonde somewhere who won't mind."

The vampire was definitely pouting now. "But they are so boring. And you're all English and new. Why would I want the same old I get every day?"

Harry wasn't entirely successful in suppressing his smile at the rather unique compliment. Well, at least he was pretty sure it was a compliment of some kind. "Because," Harry just said.

"Boring," Michael muttered.

"That's life for you."

Michael sniffed.

Harry ignored him and rolled his eyes. He stirred his chocolate a couple of times, then took a few sips. The bartender was over at the other side of the bar, busily pouring drinks and chatting with a group of visitors. They were easily older than Snape. Way older. They were also looking as if they'd been drinking for quite a while already. Every now and then, Harry thought he could see the bartender glancing at him, then at Michael.

"I have been bitten several times," Michael suddenly said.

Harry blinked, then just stared at Michael. "I have to say," the vampire continued, "It feels really good."

"I really don't care," Harry said. Though, if he was honest, there was a tiny, tiny little part of him that was curious. Just a little bit. Snape wouldn't have told him how to escape from a vampire if he wanted Harry to go around offering his neck, right?

"That's a blatant lie," Michael accused, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes again. "I'm British, not easy."

Michael laughed. When he stopped, Harry was rather certain Michael was sitting closer to him then he had before. He was sure of it, because, well. Michael had an arm resting on the back of Harry's chair. "I can feel that you're powerful."

"Really? How?"

Michael shrugged. "Don't know, really. I just do. Same way I know who to go after for blood, I guess. More magic usually means that you mortals are tastier."

That right there stopped Harry in his tracks, figuratively. Mortals? "So, how old are you?"

Michael's grin was decidedly feral. It sent shivers down Harry's spine. "I'm young."

"How young?"

"Too old for you," a voice spoke directly into his ear. For a wild, flashing moment Harry was sure it was Snape. But then he realised that the voice wasn't nearly deep enough, and the accent wasn't the posh English one he had grown used to over the years. "Isn't that so, Mike?"

Michael huffed. Harry twisted around in his chair to face the newcomer. Harry found, even sitting down as he was, he didn't have to look up much to meet the bloke's eyes. The eyes were more yellow than brown, but still sort of warm. Not as cold as the colour would usually indicate. He had short, spiky hair dyed an obnoxious shade of purple and wore makeup.

"I'm not even a bloodsucker," the short man said. He showed off his teeth. A bit pointy and sharp, Harry thought. "See? Werewolf." Then he turned his attention back to Michael again. "What are you doing in here anyway, man? We're waiting outside for you."

Michael drained his glass in one go, then pushed away from the bar. "See you around, Harry."

"Bye," Harry said, then watched as the two made their way out. He drained the last of his chocolate, waved to the bartender, then made his way back to his room. Only, he still wasn't feeling as if he could sleep. So, wand in hand, Harry locked himself in the bathroom.

After all, there weren't any blocks on this bathroom that prevented Harry from erecting a good silencing barrier.

—x—

"I didn't hear you come back," Snape said when Harry stepped out of the loo the morning after. Having slept in a little, Harry had been down to breakfast a bit later and thus hadn't run into Snape yet.

Harry shrugged. "Took a bit longer than I thought, I guess. But anyway, could you please make my hair normal again? I think I've suffered enough now."

"Clearly not."

Harry pursed his lips. "Seriously. It's kind of starting to hurt. And people are looking at me like there's something wrong with me."

"I'm sure," Snape said. But he didn't move for his wand, or look up from the book he was reading.

Harry glared. "Fine," he huffed. "Well, I'm going out."

"Be back before dark," Snape called after him.

Grabbing a scarf, Harry quickly wrapped it around his neck, before pulling on a coat. The scarf was light and in his latest favourite colour – purple. There was some grey, black and silver shot through it, nothing at all Gryffindor about it. It was just that even though New Orleans wasn't exactly scorching hot, it wasn't anywhere near Scotland's low winter temperatures. A thick woolly scarf was a bit too much. Even the coat was lightweight. "It might slip my mind," Harry said, voice clipped.

"Do you want me to ground you, boy?" Snape asked in a dangerous voice. "I assure you, it is something I can arrange unless you mind that tongue of yours."

Harry stilled. "You'd punish me?"

"It is what parents do, is it not?" Snape questioned, sounding rather offish about it.

"You haven't really done that before. You know?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling a bit shy and overwhelmed and…confused. Very confused.

"I think it's rather past time that I started, then."

Biting his bottom lip, Harry crossed the room. He sat down next to Snape on the sofa, hands firmly between his thighs. "So, um. You won't lock…lock me up in, in a cupboard, right? Or, or take away food? I can do chores, and I'm really good at dusting, and polishing, and hovering, and laundry, and I can—"

Snape sat up very straight. He was chalk white, nostrils flaring. Harry realised that while he'd started to tell Snape a little about the Dursleys, he'd never actually said anything about what they had done when they punished him.

In an attempt to reassure the man, Harry leaned closer and said, "They didn't hit me, sir. I promise. I mean, sometimes, they'd slap me a little, but they didn't hit me. And it wasn't so bad, really. I mean, it could've been a lot worse—" Harry didn't even realise he was rambling until Snape slapped a hand down on the low table in front of them.

Harry flinched.

"If you even think of justifying their abysmal behaviour, I will personally make sure that your less than pleasing hairstyle will be the least of your worries. Are we clear?"

Harry nodded rapidly, heart beating fast and hard.

"You have spoken with Derek."

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry nervously bit his lip. "It's hard. But I try."

"Abuse is never 'easy', Harry," Snape said. At Harry's quick, darting glance, and the slow flush creeping up his cheeks, Snape scowled. "And it was abuse."

"I know. I mean, I sort of know, but…I'm not sure I really believe it. Derek's…well, um. We've been talking about a lot of things, but, um. The punishment thing? Um. Derek thinks that because my relatives kept saying how they didn't want me and hated me, I never really got the whole responsibility thing. They never made me feel bad about lying, or breaking the rules, because most of the time, it meant I got away, or got fed, or wasn't locked up. He says I learned evasion, how to get away and how to be invisible instead of remorse, guilt or, you know," Harry whispered. "They weren't consistent.

"Sometimes Uncle would just shout at me if he caught me nicking some of Dudley's old toys, but then, if Aunt caught me sneaking away some food, she'd chase after me with a frying pan. Or she'd slap me. Once, before I knew not to get better grades than Dudley, they kept me locked up in my cupboard for over a week. I kept scratching and scratching at the door to get out. I needed the loo so badly, and my tummy was hurting something awful, I—"

Snape cupped Harry's cheek. "Harry."

"Sir?"

Looking Harry straight in the eye, he said, voice clear, "It was not your fault. You deserve better: the best. I never want you to fear my temper, or hand. I want you to always do your best. I want you to thrive and shine. I want you to be just you. I want you to be happy, cared for and, dare I say it, loved. Do you understand me? You are worth the world, and more.

"I am glad you told me, Harry," Snape finished. "Telling someone is always another step towards absolution. I know it is not easy, so make no mistake in that I am very pleased that you have chosen to confide in me. Each time, it is a little bit easier. Or so I found."

Harry blinked. He didn't realise until then that he was holding on to Snape's arm with a bruising grip. "But…you're so strong! You're brave, and brilliant, and you know tons of spells, and—"

"And I was a child, Harry. My father was a grown man. What could I possibly have done?"

To be continued...
End Notes:
And if you're interested: Harry's T-shirt

Snape's T-shirt


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