Severus knew that staying indoors a second day in a row was probably not good for the boy. He’d spent the previous day just observing him. It’d been quite the accomplishment on Severus’ part not to snap at Potter or snark out degrading comments whenever he opened his mouth. But then again, the boy had been quiet for the rest of the day, so there wasn’t much to go on. However, there were a couple of times when the boy looked at one of the paintings on the wall – the one which featured a blue sky and green grass blowing in the wind – with a somewhat forlorn expression on his face.

Today was no different. It was already the start of a beautiful day. No doubt, the boy would’ve been out on the grounds with his friends, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.

Severus couldn’t shake off the desire of making sure the boy was well. It was downright annoying, to be honest. But there was a more pressing need than a refreshing day out on the grounds: they needed to extend the distance. Potter had classes to attend and if the two of them couldn’t find subjects to agree on, then even a Potions class would be difficult to navigate.

However, Severus’ mind was haunted by what had occurred in the night. The inkling that had been rising with every interaction with the boy had only doubled when Severus had witnessed the nightmare. He was disturbed by the violent nature of the event. Screams never reached a certain pitch, unless a person was under intense distress or beneath the Cruciatus Curse.

So, either the boy had more demons than previously assumed – which Severus was quickly coming to believe – or the boy had been reliving that night the Dark Lord had risen.

Both were sickening possibilities.

Dear Merlin, he hadn’t signed up for this. Why hadn’t anyone realized anything? Surely someone would’ve noticed the Golden Boy was having issues, especially after the Third Task. He was a child, for crying out loud – of course, he was going to have nightmares. But Severus wasn’t the boy’s Head of House. He wasn’t responsible for noticing these things. He had his Slytherins to watch over.

“Sev, you promised to watch over my boy and so far, you’ve done a right crappy job of it, if I do say so myself.”

Oh, look. It was that approaching insanity. Except now it was oncoming much quicker. Oh, joy.

If Severus had to admit it, the boy wasn’t that much of a bother. It was obvious Potter was attempting to be polite much of the time. Sure, he’d have his moments, but overall, it was completely the opposite from what Severus had been expecting from the son of James Potter.

There must be more here.

Tomorrow was the start of classes. Which meant that left only today to extend the distance – that and learn some more things about the boy.

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long day.

The start of breakfast was awkward, at best. The boy was more subdued than yesterday, but Severus caught glimpses of Potter stealing glances at him every once and awhile. There was a sense of curiosity in those green eyes.

Had no one ever been kind to the boy after a nightmare? It was like Potter wasn’t sure what to make of Severus now. The way the boy had been blubbering ‘sorry’s over and over last night, it was apparent the boy had been conditioned to it.

Oh, dear sweet mother of Merlin, this was overwhelming.

“Sir,” began Potter. The boy bit his lip briefly, before looking up at him. Severus raised an eyebrow, surprised the boy had broken the silence. “I’ve noticed something.”

Severus’ jaw clenched.

Self control.

Severus was going to have to employ it more often now. He lowered the napkin his hand and, biting back the snark that was so readily available on his tongue, said instead, somewhat stiffly, “Oh? And that would be, Mr. Potter?”

The boy didn’t notice, thankfully.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat meat during meals.” Severus’ eyebrow rose again; the boy blushed a few shades darker. “Sorry. Maybe I’m being…” Potter trailed off and looked down at his food. Severus dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin. He slowly set it down.

Observant child; so unlike his obtuse father. That was a quality more from his mother…

Interesting.

“Your observation would be correct,” said Severus. The boy looked at him. Potter blinked.

“S–so…”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“What? Ever?”

“Not any more.”

Mm, he shouldn’t have said that. Potter looked even more curious. The subject of eating meat brought a sudden flash of terrible memories. Severus’ jaw tightened as he forced the images back beneath his shields. Instantly, he lost all appetite. Severus put his fork down.

“Why not?” asked Potter.

“Enough. That is none of your business,” snapped Severus.

Nosy brat.

Potter leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. He picked at his food. Severus diverted his attention to his copy of the Daily Prophet. Once again, the ministry displayed its brilliance in idiocy – they did it so well, they deserved an award. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the boy jab his fork at the food on his plate. He didn’t continue to eat.

Potter was far too thin and short for his age, Severus noted.

“Finish your food,” said Severus, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m full, sir.”

“Take another bite anyway.”

Potter’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his lower cheeks tightening. A few seconds passed before they relaxed. Potter shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and then dropped the fork onto the plate, creating a resounding clink.

The boy had more self control than Severus had first realized. He had moments of bursting out in tempers, but it was extremely clear that he was trying.

Maybe they could survive this, after all.

The rest of the meal was completed in silence. While Severus continued to read the Prophet – noting its absolute drivel, but it was good to keep up on the enemy – Potter didn’t leave the table. For a number of minutes, Severus ignored it. But when the boy continued to sit there, sometimes glancing around, Severus knew something had to be up.

Was the boy waiting to be dismissed from the table?

Severus stopped turning pages. Over his paper, he watched the boy. Potter didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on one of the paintings that hung above the doorway to the living room. For a number of moments, Potter just stared at the painting – which happened to be one Severus had been more pleased about. Potter’s hands were clasped in his lap. It was like he was some trained animal – or something along that old saying, ‘children were to be seen, not heard.’

It was strange to see in a child of James Potter or the godson of Sirius Black.

What in Merlin’s name was going on with this boy? He never acted like this in class. It confused Severus to no end. Was Potter really trying for the both of them? Or was this behavior more common than Severus had originally realized?

And why couldn’t the boy just ask if he could be excused?

Finally, Severus couldn’t take it any longer. He placed the paper aside.

“Mr. Potter, I believe we have some things to address.”

Potter glanced back at him. “Sir?”

“Tomorrow, you and I have classes and its imperative that we find some common ground between us.”

“Uh…”

The boy frowned, appearing confused.

“Imperative,” repeated Severus, forcing the sneer back down. “Of vital importance. Crucial. Get a blasted dictionary and expand your vocabulary, boy!”

“I knew what it meant!” snapped Potter hotly, though his cheeks were flushed red. “I just don’t know how we can find anything in common. Besides hating each other…”

“I do not hate you, Mr. Potter,” said Severus, shaking his head. Potter gave him a dubious look, but he ignored it. “And surely we can find something to agree on. Our current distance doesn’t allow any functionality whatsoever. This could prove disastrous in Potions class. Can you imagine the consequences if I am unable to react to some foolish first year’s potion making? I refuse to allow anything to happen in my classes and you, Mr. Potter, are going to cooperate with me one way or another.”

Severus sat back in his chair and folded his arms, regarding Potter with a firm stare. The boy looked at him for a moment, before he dropped his eyes. Once again, Severus had the strong impression of an overly submissive child.

It only took a few seconds after that to connect the dots.

As Severus watched the boy, he was overcome with a nasty realization, one he refused to believe. It just couldn’t be true. This was the golden boy. Everyone in the wizarding world knew this boy’s name. They worshipped him – well, normally. To think this boy hadn’t been doted on and pampered and adored as a child was unthinkable.

But this contrasting behavior behind doors, away from all his classmates, seemed to have a specific pattern, one of which Severus had intimate knowledge and awareness.

No, he must have been imagining it. He had to be. Living together meant noticing the minutia. Perhaps Severus was being overly observant. Yes, that had to be it.

Right?

“Can’t we do this later?” asked Harry, lowering his tone. He scrambled for an excuse. “I mean… I have homework…”

“No, we will do this now,” said Snape.

Lovely. This was not how Harry wanted his day to start. Breakfast had been awkward enough, especially while waiting for the man to finish. Now he had to stay here even longer? It was going to be a horrible day, wasn’t it? It wasn’t fair at all! He wanted to be outside or in the very least with his friends.

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping. It seemed Snape took that as his answer.

“All right, Potter, we’re going to go about this in an organized and systematic fashion,” said Snape.

Oh, yeah, there’s an ice breaker for you. Fantastic way to begin the conversation, Snape.

“Let’s start with school.” Harry bit back a groan. “What two subjects are your favorite and why do you enjoy them?”

It was unreal. Never before had a teacher, besides Remus, taken an interest in him. Well, not that Snape seemed all too interested. Still, it was strange hearing a teacher ask what he liked. Unfortunately, the answer wasn’t exactly an easy one.

So, which were his favorite? It honestly depended on the situation, especially since class and subject were two completely different things. Harry enjoyed Charms and Transfiguration, both classes and subjects were interesting, though sometimes Professor McGonagall was strict.

History of Magic was the perfect example of what could’ve been a fascinating subject, but was in the hands of an incompetent teacher. Yes, in Harry’s opinion, Binns was worse than Snape, even only just. Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to be cursed, since the subject was great, but the teachers were so inconsistent that it was too difficult to really learn anything – with, of course, the exception of Remus. Crouch, in the form of Moody, had been all right, but he’d been too eccentric for Harry’s taste.

There’d been that small detail of plotting to kill him, after all.

Now that Umbridge had come this year, Defense Against the Dark Arts was just terrible. Harry dreaded going to class each week, more so than going to Potions. And don’t even get him started on Divination. It was just as bad. Umbridge hated him, yes, and gave him detentions, yes, but at least she didn’t predict his death every five minutes. With Voldemort back again, that came a little too close to home. Harry wished he could drop the class – or even had taken something else, like Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. If only he could; he would’ve dropped Divination in a heartbeat. Finally, and one of the biggest disappointments for Harry, Potions class was another one where it could have been great, if Snape didn’t always breathe down his neck.

So, favorite class? Definitely third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Otherwise, it was a tossup between Charms and Transfiguration.

Favorite subject?

Well… Harry had a favorite, no doubt about that, but he hadn’t told Ron or Hermione what it was. Harry wasn’t sure about telling Snape, of all people, that his favorite subject was Potions. It was hard enough enduring a class he truly wanted to do well in and had a great interest in, but then to listen to Snape’s ridicules about it – it would only crush all motivation Harry had left.

“Come on, Potter,” said Snape, obviously impatient. “This isn’t a complicated question.”

“I know,” said Harry. He paused, biting his lower lip. Should he… or shouldn’t he? “It’s just… Did you mean favorite class or favorite subject?”

Snape sighed in exasperation; he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does it matter, Potter? Must you be so difficult?”

“Well, yeah, it matters,” said Harry, frowning. Deciding on a safe subject, he continued, “I mean, look at History of Magic. That’s got to be interesting, for at least Muggleborn students. But Binns is awful. He can’t teach. At all. No one stays awake in class – unless you’re Hermione. So, yeah… Terrible class, cool subject.”

For a moment, Harry wondered if he had said too much. Snape took that time to stare at him, a contemplative expression across his features. Then, finally, the man nodded.

“Duly noted, then, Mr. Potter,” said Snape. “Very well. What are your two favorite classes and your two least favorite, and why? Then, what are your two favorite subjects and your two least favorite, and why?”

It sounded too much like an essay subject. Harry sighed.

“This year, Charms and Transfiguration are my favorite classes,” said Harry. He paused, wondering what class he should say was his least favorite. He almost said Potions, but after Umbridge and the constant stream of, “You’ll die by moonlight on the convergence of Saturn and Mars.” Potions was actually higher than the others. With a deep breath, Harry said, “Divination and Defense Against the Dark Arts, least favorites.”

“Care to elaborate on the why, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shrugged. He looked away. Snape continued to stare at him, obviously waiting for an answer. Harry sighed again.

“Well, even though Charms and Transfiguration aren’t easy, I can at least do the work. Trelawney is constantly predicting my death.” Snape raised an eyebrow. “It gets annoying fast,” he added. “And Umbridge.” Harry nodded twice, as if that explained everything.

“So, my class isn’t on the bottom?” asked Snape, the edge of his mouth twitching slightly. Harry flushed and looked down. He shrugged again. “Mr. Potter, enough with the shoulders. Look up.”

Harry did so; he avoided the man’s eyes, though.

“Continue.”

Harry bit his lip. Should he say the truth? Or would covering it up be better? What if Snape was happy about it? Maybe the man would give him a few pointers, then. Maybe if Snape knew how much Harry liked Potions, maybe he wouldn’t be so awful in class.

But was it worth the risk?

“Potter,” said Snape, sounding impatient.

“Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, favorite,” whispered Harry, keeping his gaze at Snape’s chest level. “Least favorite, Divination and Astronomy.”

Even without looking at the man’s face, Harry could feel his surprise. His heart hammered against his chest. Here it came, the man would either disbelieve him or make fun of him. Either way, Harry probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.

Stupid, stupid, why did I do that?’

“Did… Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Potter?” said Snape, the incredulity pouring through his tone. “Potions is your favorite subject?”

Harry nodded jerkily, still avoiding the man’s eyes.

“Yet, the class isn’t?”

Harry stilled, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t get him detention for the rest of his life. He automatically shrugged yet again, praying that this action wouldn’t frustrate the man.

In desperation to avoid this line of talk, Harry asked, “What were your favorite classes and subjects, sir?”

For a moment, Harry didn’t think he had escaped the previous question. But, after a painfully long moment – though, it was less than a minute – Snape leaned forward onto the table and gazed at him over interlocked fingers.

“Charms and Potions were my most enjoyable classes, while Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology were my least enjoyable. I was never one to romp in the dirt.”

Harry held back a smile, but it slowly crept through his face anyway.

“Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts were my favorite subjects, while…” Snape paused for a moment and Harry caught a glimpse of hesitation. Then, the man continued, “Charms and Transfiguration were my least favorite.”

Harry frowned. Those answers were so contradictory. If Snape’s least favorite class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it was his favorite subject, that meant something happened in class that made it miserable – as it was now in Harry’s year. Maybe the man had a bad teacher, though who could be worse than Umbridge? Or maybe the classmates were bad? The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor still went on even back then. What if…

“Sir, what classes did you have with the Gryffindors?”

A gleam entered the man’s dark eyes, almost in satisfaction.

“Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions.”

Well, that explained some of it. Defense Against the Dark Arts must’ve been something like Potions was for Harry and his friends. But if Snape’s favorite class was Charms, but he disliked the subject, how did that make any sense?

Wait a minute…

Flitwick had said once that Harry’s mother had been exceptionally good in Charms. When Harry had received his wand, Ollivander had mentioned something about Lily’s wand being good for Charms.

Harry slowly lifted his eyes, finally making eye contact with the man. Snape had sat back in his chair, his expression neutral – but there was something in those dark eyes, as if he were waiting for Harry to make the connection.

So… how to go about this…?

“Sir… Was…” Harry trailed off. He swallowed once, before pressing on. “Was my mother any good at Charms?”

The darkness glittered with a gentle light. Snape inclined his head to the side.

“Yes.”

Excitement rose inside Harry’s chest. He leaned forward eagerly, unable to contain himself. His questions burst forward at top speed. “What was she like? What were her favorite classes? What were her least favorites? What—”

“Potter!” snapped Snape, putting up a hand. Harry clamped his mouth shut, but he still looked at the man expectantly. “Enough. I believe that is enough for now.”

Snape pulled out his wand, waved it, murmuring, “Aperio Logi.” Dusty, green lettering floated in the air, stating ‘Eighteen feet, six inches.’ Snape, once again, seemed surprised by how much it had extended, just as he had the other day.

Harry, on the other hand, was too focused on getting some kind of information about his mother. Who cared about the distance – he wanted to hear someone talk about her, as if she truly had once lived and existed. To Harry, she was nothing but a faint dream in his childhood, the nighttime wishing and longing for the mother he would never have. As he grew older, those dreams became dimmer.

But here was someone who knew her. His words could brighten the dream once again, but only if he talked about her.

“Sir, please, tell me about my mother. You knew her, right?”

“Another time,” said Snape, getting to his feet; his chair roughly scraped against the floor. The man turned away and took two strides towards the entrance of the living room. He stopped abruptly as Harry called out to him.

“You were friends with her, weren’t you?” said Harry, desperate to hear something, anything, about the mother he never knew. “Weren’t you? That’s why you liked Charms class, because she was there, right?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” snapped Snape, his tone darkening in warning.

“Wait, please,” began Harry, getting to his feet as well. “Can’t you just tell me one thing about her? Anything at all? I don’t care what, just something. Please?”

Snape paused. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the man’s face lowered, his body turning slightly. He kept his back to Harry and stared downward at the floor.

“She wanted to become a healer,” whispered Snape. “From what I can tell, she never told anyone.”

Then, without another word, Snape left the kitchen. Harry could hear him sitting down on the sofa. Instead of following after the man, Harry slowly lowered himself back into his chair. Over and over, he repeated what the man had said in his mind. His mother had wanted to be a healer, something she obviously never had been able to accomplish. She never told anyone.

Except Snape. Out of all the people in her life, she told him – and only him.