-Severus-

Severus sat on his sofa before the fire, Harry's homework assignment with its letter held loosely between his fingers. His eyes were far away and he didn't seem to notice when the parchment fell from his hands and floated slowly to the floor. Something was wrong inside him; something in his heart, or perhaps in his gut, was tighter than it should be. The skin on his face prickled; it felt too tight too.

He stood suddenly and walked over to his bookshelf, where a very old Victrola, hand-cranked, sat. He hadn't touched it in years. The albums were stored beside it, upright to avoid warping. He had every Beatles album, and they were stored by release order. 1965. Rubber Soul. He took the black vinyl out of its sleeve, careful not to touch it with his fingertips, and placed it on the turntable. He'd adjusted the device long ago to turn at the appropriate speed for "modern" albums. He dropped the needle precisely on the beginning of the track and poured himself a shot of Firewhiskey as the music and lyrics, seemingly so simple, began to swell, bouncing off the stone walls and surrounding him in melancholic loneliness.

Though Lily's image floated through the song as it always did, it was almost a background layer, second to the other thing he wanted to hold on to, wanted to forget, could not forget, could not ignore.

"…like it's exactly the right size for the two of us."

The two of us. Not Lily and Severus. Harry and Severus. Lily's son and Severus Snape. Her gift, her legacy, her sacrifice, her progeny, her eyes.

Lily's eyes.

Harry's soul staring out of Lily's eyes.

/

19 December, 1996

Thursday

Dear Harry:

You will receive this letter tomorrow—Friday—the day of Professor Slughorn's Christmas party, and on Saturday you will be off on the Hogwarts Express, headed back to spend the first part of your Christmas holiday at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Because of this schedule, you may not have the opportunity to write a response to it. I daresay you will not be continuing to write letters to me while we spend time together at Shell Cottage. So, you may either wait until your return in January to formulate a written reply or we can certainly discuss any comments or reactions you have while we while away the time of day at our seaside retreat.

I think you made a wise choice in purchasing the gloves for Miss Weasley. They are of very fine quality, are personal and beautiful while still being practical. Jewelry, especially of the diamond variety, can wait. As for the other gift Miss Granger's parents are procuring, I myself am anticipating seeing Mr. Weasley do the hula hoop in front of his entire family. In fact, I plan to challenge him to a game of chess when I come to pick you up with the loser agreeing to entertain the assembled guests by hula hooping to the tune of Celestina Warbeck singing "I saw Merlin Kissing Dumbledore" or whatever her irreverent song of the year is.

I must admit to not having much experience with video tapes, though by the name I imagine them to be recordings on magnetic tape that convey both pictures and sound. You said you watched the tape and you obviously heard the dialog. In my opinion, Harry, one cannot see "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" too many times, so yes, my offer to take you to the cinema still stands. There are other Muggle movies I would enjoy seeing as well. Perhaps we can procure a player for these video tapes and determine a way to use it in a cottage with no television and no electricity. Or we can simply go up the road and break into the home of a Muggle who won't be back 'til the summertime. What to do, what to do…

I will make it a point to lean over Mr. Thomas in class and soil his text book with my greasy hair. What, exactly, did he claim to be in my shampoo? And what makes any of you believe I even use shampoo?

Harry, there are many animals that have hoofs, not only the stag but a large variety of antelope. Be patient. Minerva is an experienced Animagus and will know when the time is right for you to attempt a complete transformation. She is not telling me anything she has not told you. Why would I be disappointed if your Animgus turned out to be a stag? You certainly have no control over the shape of your form; it is what it is. I shall certainly be glad when you can master the form and use it to help shield yourself from the Dark Lord.

Harry, while love may indeed be the greatest human experience, it is also the greatest human mystery. It affects different people in different ways. The Headmaster must believe that your capacity to love is larger than that of most people. I, however, propose that your capacity is not greater but is instead stronger—you have within you the capacity to love even though you were treated to a rather loveless childhood. You filled those very empty spaces in your heart not with rancor, or bitterness, or jealousy but unbelievably with love, with hope, with compassion.

You forgave your Godfather for his transgressions.

You do not hold the Headmaster responsible for leaving you with the Dursleys and condemning you to a childhood of neglect.

And you are able to overlook my treatment of you and, unbelievably, to consider me family.

For how else am I to interpret your words, that the cottage at the sea is just the right size for the two of us?

I do not deserve your respect or your forgiveness. But I accept them. I do not deserve to be a father, yet I am beginning to feel quite paternal when it comes to you. I have not made a real home for myself in all the years of my adulthood, but I am beginning to feel that home is not really a place to begin with but a feeling that surrounds one when with the people who make up one's family. I cannot deny these feelings or fully suppress them, no matter that they come at a time in my life when my primary objective is and must be my role in this revolting battle. I made a vow to the Headmaster many years ago that I must fulfill, and can only hope that I live to see a day when the battle is over and I am free. Until very recently, I would not have even dared to have that hope; I would not have had a reason to want to live on once I fulfill the task appointed to me.

The song you quote, "In My Life," is indeed one of the greatest songs of all time. It is simple and direct, the lyrics not complex, the meaning not hidden. Thank you for recalling it for me.

I will certainly see you at the much anticipated party given by our esteemed Potions Master. Who is your lucky date?

Regards,

Severus

/

He signed his name and re-read the letter. He knew it was sappy, emotional, overwrought. But he couldn't be bothered to care. The boy would be the end of him, the death of him. The vow…to protect the boy, to do it for Lily, to make up for his transgressions by putting Harry's life before his own.

Everything was so twisted and confused. It had been an odious chore to put up with the child in previous years, but this year it was an odious chore to treat him as he always had. He had always seen James in the past. Now he saw Lily. How had the boy gone from spoiled to neglected? From arrogant to compassionate? From insolent to brave?

He poured himself another shot of Firewhiskey, downed it, poured himself another, downed it. Poured himself a third. Downed that one too.

He sat on the couch and threw the shot glass in the fire.

Closed his eyes, light-headed. Opened them, remembering Harry. Groaned. Stumbled to his office in search of a Sober-up Potion.

Damn it damn it damn it. He couldn't even get drunk in peace.

-Harry-

Ginny hadn't broken up with Dean. One more chance, she'd said. Harry had somehow managed to dodge Romilda's love potion, ask Luna to the party and eavesdrop on Snape and Malfoy, all in one day. Severus was going to KILL him. He'd promised he would get through the end of term without obsessing on Malfoy, but the opportunity was right in his face and he couldn't—didn't—resist.

But all he'd learned was that Malfoy was up to something—something big and bad—and even Severus didn't know what it was.

Malfoy didn't trust Severus.

That worried Harry.

Was it just Malfoy or was it all the Death Eaters? Was it Voldemort too? Did they know he was a spy? Were they using him?

What could he do?

He felt helpless.

He had to find out what Malfoy was up to but he couldn't find out what Malfoy was up to. Heck, even Severus couldn't figure it out.

He had to do something.

He packed.

He picked up the new owl cage he'd purchased for MacKenzie. He wrapped all of his gifts and packed them in his trunk. He met Ron and Hermione in the Entry Hall and they took the thestral-drawn carriages to Hogsmeade Station to board the Hogwarts Express.

They were only an hour into the trip when Severus was summoned.

Thirty minutes later, Severus was suffering the Cruciatus. Harry would not occlude. He sent his Patronus back to Minerva. Minutes later, the Headmaster apparated directly into their compartment.

"He tried…Severus tried…to get Draco to tell him what he's up to…Being punished…"

The Headmaster's hands were on his shoulders, pressing him down onto the seat, his eyes locking with Harry's.

"Occlude, Harry," he urged with his voice and his eyes and his hands and his will. "Immerse yourself, block the pain."

"He's hurting!" protested Harry.

"I know. It will end soon," answered Dumbledore. "Occlude…"

Harry closed his eyes and willed himself into his bubble, into his ocean, into his cocoon of silence and shadows.

/

21 December, 1996

Saturday

Dear Severus:

Dumbledore left me occluded until we reached King's Cross Station. When we got to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley told me you were back at Hogwarts and were doing fine. I'm not sure what she means by fine. Fine as in you're not dead? Fine as in you'll recover? Or fine as in you walked back to the castle pain free and are having a glass of eggnog with Minerva?

I went up to Ron's room and took another nap. I woke up a few minutes ago. Everyone else is downstairs, probably having dinner. I can hear their voices floating up the stairs but I'm not in the mood to go down there yet.

Ginny came in to see how I was doing but I wasn't even in the mood to talk to her. I told her "fine." She probably wasn't sure what I meant by fine, but she smiled and went back downstairs. I think she understood.

Are you still coming Christmas Eve?

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry placed the very short letter on the nightstand next to his cot along with his glasses. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.

He didn't wake some hours later when soft voices approached in the hallway.

"He's sleeping in here, Severus. I put Ron in the twin's room to give him some privacy, so you can take Ron's bed."

"Thank-you, Arthur. I apologize for intruding this late but…"

"No need to apologize, Severus. Albus explained and we certainly understand. Wouldn't do to have him fretting about you until Christmas. Much better this way—put his mind at ease."

The bedroom door opened and the tip of Severus' wand lit up and hovered over Harry. His dark eyes glinted in it's reflection.

Severus sat down stiffly on the edge of Harry's cot.

"What am I going to do with you?" he muttered, brushing sweaty hair off Harry's forehead.

Harry snuggled down into the covers as Severus found Ron's bed and climbed in, closing his eyes against the dizzying motion of the Chudley Cannons chasers on the poster above the bed. Even in the dark, he couldn't quite get all the orange out of his vision.