Severus had to re-interview Ms. Bell, to have a formal recording. It went well enough, the girl for once seeming to understand that something larger was at play. She seemed nervous and had asked what was wrong. Severus was done with patience and kindness, he told her, in kinder words, to mind her own business. Technically she was the center of it all and it was more her business than nearly anyone else's.

Albus seemed pleased at the easy pardoning of Potter, but Katie Bell’s actions had him even more worried. Try avoiding one publicity catastrophe and you bump into another. Luckily, Potter, meek and somehow very forgiving, had insisted that no charges be brought against the girl. She was still sixteen, three weeks shy of coming of age and certain privacy laws allowed her to be exempt from the immediate investigation which generally occurred after an unforgivable curse had been used.

Somehow, through continued misunderstanding and the nature of the events, the stories about Potter still circulated. Severus could see it, where the boy was usually ignored or bullied for amusement, there was now a dark malignancy. Bruises appeared with greater frequency on him and in class people grew more bold in speaking against the boy. Severus kept feeling tinges of guilt and moral prompting. It was easy to see the adverse effect this all had on the boy. Severus did nothing, he maintained his treatment of the boy in the classroom --quick and vituperative criticism-- and watched the adolescent grow ever more withdrawn.

Katie Bell had left school by the work of Madame Pomfrey, claiming that therapy was greatly needed and that her parents could afford a different form of schooling. This request was obliged. However, it made things all the worse for Potter as Katie, who now felt deep remorse, was unavailable to contend the stories made up about Potter.

Severus, still resolutely blinded by carefully tendered hatred, turned his head to the proceedings.


XxX


A month after the terrible event, Severus was on his way to visit Poppy and discuss the medical supplies. Opening the Hospital Wing door silently, Severus proceeded to Poppy’s office, but halted as he heard voices and saw that the door was open.

“Please, headmaster, this isn’t a case of wanting, this is a case of absolute need,” Poppy was imploring, she sounded desperate.

“Madame Pomfrey, I admire your dedication to the students, but you must trust my judgement on this matter,” Albus always managed to sound politely condescending, as if he were humoring those speaking to him.

Severus heard Poppy’s snort of indignation.

“Potter has nerve damage, nerve damage Albus,” Poppy cried, “he has uncontrolled spasmodic events and now, eleven recorded seizures, Merlin knows how many he’s had which he hasn’t admitted to. That boy needs help far beyond what I can offer him. St. Mungo’s is the only option and you have the gall to-”

Severus could only imagine Albus’ raised hand, his quiet yet severe expression.

“Please, Poppy, I am quite aware of Harry’s suffering, I know it better than many, but you must trust me when I say that if Mr. Potter were to be placed in St. Mungo’s he would suffer much worse.”

Poppy let out another huff, this one a little wet with emotion.

“Albus, how could a hospital filled with capable and highly trained personnel possibly be worse than a place where he is actively injured and verbally attacked by other students? He’s being crushed, Albus. I’ve had to stand by for the last two years, allowing him to go untreated, but Ms. Bell’s attack has reneged all the progress I had made with him, Potter needs help,” Poppy’s anger was gone by this point and in its place was pure solicitude.

“Please,” Albus sounded no less desperate and genuine, “trust me Poppy, there are unforeseen dangers which would mean more than a few trifling batteries against the boy. I speak of his death.”

“I speak of his death!” Poppy snapped back.

“How long do you think a child can bear what he has?” Poppy asked.

“Harry is nearly an adult,” Albus chided, a weak and silly point of the argument.

It was silent.

“Please, Poppy, trust me,” Albus’ voice was near a whisper and Severus, even from his position, could feel the magic in it.

It was again silent.

“I can’t be held accountable for what happens to that boy.”

Those were Poppy’s last statements and she soon appeared outside of the office. Severus had quickly moved himself to the front of the room so it now looked like he had just entered the Hospital Wing.

Poppy greeted him with a weak smile, bitterness spilling over. Severus did not make eye contact with Dumbledore as the man stepped out of the office.


XxX


No more was said on Severus’ end of the matter. Potter continued to exist in the periphery of Severus’ daily life as he had the last six years, quiet, subdued, scared, stuttering as he tried to perform spells. The only thing that changed was that Potter, usually the best brewer --though Severus never credited the boy his ability-- was an adequate Defense Against the Dark Arts student. He struggled with spells initially but was familiar with all the theory. Severus made the boy suffer for his every failing.

Finally, one evening, things came to a sudden change.

A knock sounded against Severus’ office door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and there was Draco Malfoy. Not uncommon, the boy would often seek him out, or Severus would call the boy to his office. His attempt on the Headmaster’s life had been unsuccessful and his next plans quite weak. The boy spent half his time screeching at Severus to leave him alone or crying as he begged for help. Severus didn’t care much for the boy, but he saw himself there, a fresh and unwitting Death Eater who had entered a society he little understood and which offered only grave dangers. There was also the matter of his vow to Narcissa.

“Draco,” Severus said by way of greeting, using the boy’s given name as a way to appear more amenable.

Draco was pale, he looked more worried than usual.

“I’m not here for help,” Draco bit out, before tucking his head in, emotionally scattered.

“Merlin forbid you ask a man best gifted and allied to perform your task for help,” Severus sneered sarcastically.

“Don’t mock me,” Draco nearly shouted.

Severus was used to this particular phrase, but today it seemed to be less vehement than usual. Not that he made light of the situation, but there was an apathy bred in him from his many years of serving in perpetual danger. He already knew death was around the corner and instead of fearing the day he lived with quick and exacting forethought. No end left loose.

“I came to you, I thought you should know,” Draco started, shuffling uncomfortably.

Severus raised a brow.

“It’s Potter,” Draco spit out.

Severus was surprised.

“What of him?”

Draco looked up and there was a peculiar look on his face, one of confusion and something else, possibly pity? Severus couldn’t place it.

“He-he asked me to kill him,” Draco said faintly.

Severus blinked. He kept his mouth shut and forewent his immediate desire to ask the boy to repeat what he’d said. Severus had heard it clearly, repetition wouldn’t change it.

“He said it would make You-Know-Who happy, he knows I’m a Death Eater,” Draco was explaining, but he sounded as if he didn’t understand.

Severus was silent, allowing the boy to finish his thought.

“He’s in the Owlery, he said to meet him there, that he wouldn’t fight, that it would be better this way,” Draco turned his head away, eyes unable to meet Severus’.

A few moments passed.

“Thank you for bringing my attention to this matter, return to your dormitory, I will deal with this,” Severus stood up, moving in a fast pace toward the door.

“Wait!” Draco cried.

Severus turned, eyeing the boy. Draco cringed back at the look and the energy he had shouted with wilted.

“Are you going to kill him?” Draco asked quietly, staring at the floor.

“Why? Do you wish to do it yourself?” Severus asked, words cruel.

Draco recoiled.

“No,” he whispered.

“Then do you wish the Dark Lord’s enemy to live?” Severus asked incredulously.

Draco recoiled even more, fear lighting up his face.

“No! Of course not, I just,” the boy fell silent.

“Leave, forget what Potter told you and speak of this to no one,” Severus demanded.

Without glancing back at the boy he set off toward the Owlery.


XxX


It didn’t take too long to get to the Owlery. Potter was there, stroking the head of a snowy white owl and looking ethereal in the moonlight that was pouring through the open windows of the owlery. The image was made all the more haunting under the context. Potter was waiting for death, and like those who committed to it, looked happier and lighter than Severus had ever seen him.

“Potter,” Severus said, announcing his presence.

Potter didn’t jump, instead turning to look at Severus with wide eyes.

“Professor,” Potter said, eyes lowering to the ground.

Severus considered how to approach the subject. He couldn’t cast the boy from the tower, it wasn’t past sixth year curfew and the owlery had no restrictions, that and Severus feared what the boy might do. Severus strode over to the one, paneless, floor to ceiling window in the building, it was a slender square, just wide enough for a person to stand at it. Severus placed himself between it and Potter. No need for unnecessary temptations to the boy.

“Are you posting a letter, Professor?” Potter’s voice was polite and soft, apparently his approaching death had relieved him of some of his fear of Severus.

Severus didn’t respond at first, trying to gather his words. He knew what Albus wanted, the old wizard had plans for Potter, according to him the boy was needed to defeat the Dark Lord. His death was not advisable.

“Tell me Mr. Potter, how did you think Mr. Malfoy would have killed you?” Severus’ voice was level and calm, silken tone mockingly casual.

Potter stiffened, the owl let out a soft hoot and abandoned the boy, flying up to the rafters.

“What?” Potter whispered.

“I can’t imagine what could possibly incite you to such an action? Star crossed love is it? Some sort of romantic immolation, a desperate course of affection?” Severus was being intentionally cruel.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about Professor,” Potter spoke, a quaver in his voice.

“Then tell me Potter, why do you wish to die?” Severus was peering intently at the boy.

Potter flushed red before paling.

“Wouldn’t you know best though, Professor?” Potter replied, voice faint.

Severus nearly flinched at the question, mind spinning at the implications of the question.

“What do you mean?” Severus snapped.

“Me, Potter, I’m rude, and idle, and ignorant, and a bad student. I’m useless and stupid, your worst student, and I make trouble, I make people suffer. You-Know-Who, he’s back because of me. A hundred people dead, and me the cause. I’d think you’d understand,” Potter sounded so matter of fact, as if Severus were merely pretending not to understand.

“Don’t be so vain, Potter, you’re too pathetic to take full blame for any of those events,” Severus sneered.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“See? You understand, I am pathetic, Professor Dumbledore thinks I’m going to vanquish the Dark Lord, but I can’t, but I know that I’m supposed to die, and maybe I can do it now so he can figure out how to have someone else save the world,” Potter spoke so earnestly.

“What do you mean?” Severus said, already knowing the answer.

He recalled the conversation with Albus about the Horcruxes, about how Tom Riddle had inadvertently attached a part of himself to Potter. Had Potter somehow learned of this?

“Please, you know best, you know how worthless I am, how I ruin things, this way I can get out of the way before I ruin everything.”

Potter was pleading reason to him, thinking that Severus wanted him dead as much as he wanted to die. Severus felt sick. The boy truly thought Severus would be happier to see him dead. How was he supposed to convince him otherwise? He’d spent the last six years daily reminding the boy of how little he thought of him, of abusing his power as a teacher just to make the boy suffer.

In a sick sort of way, like putting down a suffering animal, Severus nearly conceded in granting the boy's wish. He was meant to die, and any events between now and that fated moment were no doubt to be a hardship to the boy.

He held no lost love for the child.

Severus held Potter's gaze and felt grief. Those were Lily's eyes, haunted and suffering, absolutely hopeless. They didn't look so much like Lily when they were like that.

The boy couldn't die, not yet.

“You're melodramatic performance is pathetic, Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for wasting both Malfoy and I’s time. You will accompany me to the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey will punish you as necessary.”

Potter's hopeful look died and he looked crushed.

“Yes, professor,” he whispered.

Severus escorted the boy to the Hospital Wing where Madame Pomfrey smiled benevolently at them, betraying no extreme or excited emotion.

Severus had sent a small message ahead explaining that Potter had had a relapse in health, something to do with his tremors and convulsions, Severus had advised her to keep him twenty four hours.

Severus left with only a curt word to Poppy. He trusted Potter to not speak of his suicidal intentions to the woman and go along with whatever she said while he knew Poppy would not let the boy alone for the next while.

Now was a time to speak to the Headmaster.


XxX


Albus looked more tired and frail by the day. Severus felt frustrated, they didn't have much time left. Since placing the ring on his finger in an extremely rare display of mental lapse, Albus had deteriorated quickly. Severus had done all he could, had done all anyone could.

The Dark Lord was plotting and already striking, their greatest asset --Dumbledore-- dying, and the boy, meant to defeat an indescribably powerful wizard, weak, cowardly, and on the brink of suicide. This left Severus, an ex-traitor whom no one trusted except said megalomaniac and dying asset. The situation was far from ideal.

“We have little time Severus,” Albus said, raising his hand and peering at it mournfully.

“It seems mortality beckons all of us,” Severus spat out, feeling far from benevolent at this time.

Albus eyed him.

“You've come to speak to me, is it of Voldemort?”

Severus cringed at the name as it caused his dark mark to twitch unpleasantly.

“Worse, it is Potter,” Severus had not seated himself, still standing.

Albus however was seated in his chair.

“He's tried to get Mr. Malfoy to kill him,” Severus eyed the man as he spit out the words in his caustic manner.

Albus did not seem surprised. He let out a weary sigh.

“Severus, things have gotten out of hand,” Albus spoke with a serious tone but he raised his blackened hand and a twinkle of morbid humor entered his eye.

The attempt at levity, Albus’ seeming resignation to his death and the utter lack of options set Severus off.

“How are we to have the pathetic snivelling mess that is Potter conquer the dark lord?! He can't even face his classmates let alone wield his wand with intent. He duels with half hearted attempts, claiming in all my classes that he is afraid to injure. Now he has a death wish?! The boy will die before his use is through and he, Potter, is the best plan you have!” Severus was roaring by the end of the diatribe, chest heaving and dark eyes shining with emotion.

Albus was quiet, eyes calm and melancholy.

“I had hoped the boy's gentle nature would be what kept him good, but I ignored far too many things. You are right, Severus.”

Severus stared, indignation rising. Years of being condescended, of exploding in fury and frustration and Albus had always had an answer, had always calmly reminded him of hope. It seemed the headmaster was just as hopeless as the rest of them.

All the air and pomp fled Severus and he collapsed in a chair feeling the weight of the world upon him. The Ministry would fail, the Order would be decimated, everything they'd fought for, everything he'd sacrificed, worthless.

“There is a way we can still triumph, Severus, but it may not succeed and it would be dangerous,” Albus offered.

Severus snorted. Dangerous, Albus was saying dangerous now, and lack of success, he lived off the idea that he wouldn't succeed. Each meeting with the dark lord, each additional vow of secrecy, of aid, it all was dangerous.

“Pray tell me, Albus, what could possibly save us now?” Severus said harshly.

“Harry is still the key in this, he just needs guidance,” Albus was eyeing him significantly, but with an air of desperation and hope.

This was the last plan, the most desperate ploy Albus had reserved for the end game.

“Guidance? From whom? No one knows of the horcruxes aside from us and the dark lord himself, you are dying and I hate the boy,” Severus sneered.

Albus said nothing, merely continuing to look at Severus.

“No, no,” Severus started, “I was to be the spy, to stay close to the dark lord until the final moments, if I give up that position all will be lost.”

“And if Harry dies before the time is right, all will be lost anyways, he needs a confidant and someone to guide him, I am dying, but the boy does not trust me anyways.”

Severus shook his head.

“And you think he trusts me any more?” He said incredulously.

“Severus, you are the only one with both the loyalty and the knowledge to complete this task.”

It was silent.

“What? Shall I ask him to tea? Talk to him of quidditch and wizarding chess? Poppy has claimed he is a mess, physically and mentally, and you would ask me, someone who hates the boy, to ‘guide’ him to defeating the dark lord?” Severus was staring in disbelief at the Headmaster.

“If it takes tea and quidditch and wizarding chess, then so be it, but you must foster a relationship, a positive one, with the boy. The horcruxes must be destroyed to defeat the Dark Lord and Harry must be involved.”

Severus stared, eyes glazing over. This was ridiculous.

“You’d die, and leave me --Severus Snape, traitor, spy, death eater, right hand of the Dark Lord-- the sole key to defeating the Dark Lord?” Severus’ voice was soft with disbelief.

Severus began laughing, a small chuckle which grew into a loud catharsis of harsh laughter. Albus watched him with a reserved gaze.

“Truly, Headmaster, you are something else,” Severus said, stomach still twitching with the release.

“You assume I think little of you Severus,” Albus said sadly, “but I suppose it is too late to reconcile myself to my mistakes. No matter how you may see it, you must guide Harry.”

Severus grew serious once again. Albus was not kidding, he wasn’t making light and he wasn’t asking because it would “please” him to see Severus form a relationship with the boy. Last ditch, end of the line, only hope. That’s what this was.

“You bind my hands Headmaster, and I bow to it every time, but you may find that I am not so magnanimous as yourself. Know that you are leaving fate to something which may not be possible.”

Severus rose, he’d acquiesced, just as Albus had wanted. No need to stay and play the loser. He was nearly to the door when Albus spoke.

“You’ll find neither Lily nor James in the boy, he is his own person,” Albus said softly.

Severus paused, turning to meet the Headmaster’s pensive and aged gaze, blue eyes piercing him so, that without a great amount of self-control, he would have flinched back.

“In fact, Harry Potter may be more akin to you than you would wish to admit.”

Severus left.


XxX


Severus kept his word, he’d sworn on Lily so he planned on keeping his word. Potter had stayed the night in the Hospital Wing, he’d made sure of it by speaking with Poppy. Today the boy would be in class, Defense Against the Dark Arts was held at nine in the morning for the sixth years. Severus would take the necessary steps there.

The class went well, Hermione Granger again presenting top marks alongside Michael Corner. Potter stayed as quiet and small as possible, avoiding Severus more than usual. Class was near an end and he saw that the boy planned on sneaking out as soon as possible.

“Potter,” he called, making everyone look at the boy.

Potter shrunk, glancing about fearfully at the curious looks of the students.

“Stay after class, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Potter nodded his head and the class continued. Severus dismissed class and watched as Potter stood stock still, eyes on the ground and wide with terror. His fellow classmates said nothing to him and soon the room was empty except for Severus and Potter.

“If you’d follow me, Potter,” Severus said, making an effort to be at least civil.

Potter jerked into motion, fingers clenched around his books so tightly that they were turning white.

Severus now worked in the DADA classroom which meant that his office had been moved as well. It felt more spacious because of the high ceilings but actually had less floor space. It was also more welcoming than his last space, a large arched window on one wall allowing light to filter in and warm the office.

Severus sat down at his desk and waved a hand indicating Potter was to do the same. The boy sat, he acted as though he were about to be tortured. Severus threw the thought away as he remembered that the last time a Professor had shown any interest in Potter, the boy had been tortured.

“If I recall, Mr. Potter, you are a skilled brewer, are you not?”

Potter’s head jerked up so fast Severus wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had whiplash.

“Professor?” Potter said, looking absolutely shocked.

“You received the best marks in all my classes and according to Slughorn you have continued to show this aptitude. Am I incorrect?”

Potter dumbly shook his head. Severus bit his tongue to keep from spewing out an unpleasant comment. This was war, premeditated, planned out warfare of a far more treacherous kind. If he could fool the Dark Lord into believing he was a trusted follower he was more than capable of pretending to befriend the boy. The duplicity was bitterly close to the last time Potter had trusted a teacher, the end nearly the same since Severus would ensure Potter died when it was needed. No emotion, just pure objective skill. He didn’t have to like the boy, just fool the child into thinking he did.

“Please speak up Potter,” Severus said, tone impartial.

Potter still jerked at the command, and Severus felt a bit of annoyance as the boy’s shoulders hunched.

“I do like the class, sir, but, I didn’t think--you never told me-” the boy again bit his tongue, eyes flickering to Severus’ before lowering once again.

“Yes, well,” Severus struggled, he’d six years to make up for, and he couldn’t just sweep it under the rug without coming across as insincere.

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to assess skill at the early stage of learning, you’ve succeeded even under difficulty and I believe that your abilities need to be fostered.”

Potter was staring. Severus didn’t enjoy the look.

“Say something, Potter,” Severus snapped.

Potter’s eyes skittered away again and he clutched his bag closer. Severus cussed rather inelegantly in his mind. He needed to get his temper under control, he was a better actor than this.

“I-Is this, is it because of yesterday? Is, is the headmaster, is he making you?” Potter wouldn’t look up as he asked the questions.

Severus was disturbed by how easily the boy had guessed at the truth.

“The Headmaster does not have the wherewithal to make me take on a private student, that is completely of my own choice,” good, he could still lie.

“As for yesterday’s events,” Severus intentionally paused, wanting to make it sound like he had a heart, “I believe there are better ways for you to use your life, Potter, and throwing yourself on the sword is not one of them.”

It was quiet. Potter was looking at him, judging the validity of his statement. Severus felt his stomach turn as he realized the significance this held for the boy, Severus’ sincerity would make or break the boy and Severus was knowingly deceiving him.

“Y-you mean that?”

Severus could not meet Lily’s eyes, Harry’s eyes, and answer the question honestly, not knowing what it meant to the boy. So instead he averted them, fixing something on his desk.

“I do not say things I do not mean,” Severus replied, a tone of hauteur in his voice.

Lies, lies, lies, and Lily’s eyes looking at him so hopefully.

“Of course, sir,” Potter hastily amended.

“So, Potter, I have examined your schedule and seen that Thursday afternoons are quite free for you, we will meet then. Two o’clock should give you plenty of time to finish your study hall.”

Potter was still gaping and Severus again stopped himself from saying something cruel to the boy.

When the boy didn’t speak, Severus took it upon himself to be once again “kind”.

“Is the time unsatisfactory, I can arrange it for another?”

Potter shook his head vigorously.

“It works wonderful, Professor, I just,” the boy was at a loss for words.

Potter abruptly stood.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, bowing a little.

Severus again felt the acid in his stomach turn against him. The earnest gratitude; for some reason he felt guilty knowing he was gulling the child.

“You’re welcome,” Severus said blankly, but Potter was already rushing from the room.


XxX


Thursday was fast approaching and Severus had no desire for it to come. It had been difficult enough dealing with Potter for the few short minutes he had. An hour personally tutoring the boy would be a nightmare. To have to watch his every word, to have to pretend to care about the boy.

Swiftly marching down the hall, Severus came upon a scene, which, if he’d happened upon a few weeks ago, he would’ve ignored.

Potter was nursing a bloody nose, sprawled on the ground as three other Gryffindors scattered the contents of his book bag over the ground. They were saying some unpleasant things.

“You’re disgusting, Potter,” one boy bit out, one of the younger Weasley boys, honestly, Severus could never remember any of their names.

“Doing that to little kids,” one of the others spit out.

Potter said nothing in his defense, gaze distant and obviously tuning out of the experience.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas.”

Just Severus’ tone had all three boys turning around. He watched the Weasley boy grit his teeth but neither of the three said anything. It occurred to Severus that the boy shared his dorm with these three. If they felt comfortable beating the boy out in the open who knew what they did in the privacy of their chambers.

“Ten points for fighting, unless of course you want to argue that both parties agreed to this?”

“But, that’s not fair, you heard what Potter did to Bell!” The Weasley was speaking up.

Severus was unimpressed by the misinformed bravery.

“I have heard that Potter is unequivocally innocent, proven so by all involved in the matter. Though how you think the the affair is any of your business confounds me.”

The boy blinked, looking surprised. He glanced down at Potter and Severus saw the self-doubt and then regret. Potter just looked like he’d been hit with an immobility curse.

“Get to class, before I take more points for sheer ignorance,” Severus bit out.

Potter was staring at him, eyes wide with confusion. Severus had walked by scenes similar to this for years, never saying anything and even going so far as to take points from Potter and assign him detention if Slytherins were involved.

The boys nodded, but the Weasley boy seemed to be thinking. Severus turned on his heel. He’d shown enough mercy for now. He did see out of the corner of his eye the Weasley helping Potter up and offering a pathetic apology.


XxX


Thursday evening arrived and Potter was prompt in arriving at the Severus’ office. Severus instructed the boy to place his bags to the side before escorting Harry to his back room. Though he wasn’t the Potions professor any longer, Severus was still a skilled brewer and he kept his own storeroom.

“We’ll begin with Krzycki’s Consane,” Severus said.

The boy perked up. So Potter was familiar with this particular potion. It was an old healing potion that was one of first potent topical potions. It was noted for having a pleasant smell.

“This is an assessment, I will not aid you and will merely watch you work as a means to evaluate your work.”

Potter gave a nod, already beginning work. Severus stood back, not hovering as he often did. He knew by now that Potter struggled when anyone was near to him.

He was surprised. Severus knew that Potter was a good brewer, but as the boy worked a smile came to his face and a sort of grace took over his actions. The boy had an intuitive treatment of the potion and did not follow the instructions exactly. It was interesting to watch him work. Severus recalled a few interactions with other skilled brewers, but they were far and few between and he had never seen them work.

Potter was a natural, had been since day one, and the fact that Severus had made the classroom environment so toxic for the child pointed to his skill. The potion was difficult because of precision and skill, otherwise it was a short brew, in fact, the brevity of certain stages was part of what made it so difficult.

The time passed quietly. When it was done, Potter bottled one portion and placed the cauldron on stasis.

“Very good,” Severus murmured, for once acknowledging to himself that Potter had talent.

Potter hesitantly approached, offering up his potion. Severus examined it. Just looking at it he could tell it was near perfect, a more thorough analysis could be made, but at this point that would just be semantics.

“It seems you do indeed have some talent,” Severus said, allowing the compliment to slip out as if meant grudgingly.

He needed to be particular about how he tendered his relationship with the boy, open enough not to chase him away but too shocking of a character change would frighten the boy more.

A small satisfied smile came onto the boy’s face.

“We will have to continue our lessons. I’m afraid our time is up, you have astronomy soon do you not?”

Potter nodded.

“I will see you next Thursday, Potter,” Severus said as a dismissal.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter said quietly before heading out.

Severus watched him go. He let out a long sigh when the door closed.