“Potter, are all of your clothes in such a state?” Severus asked at breakfast a couple of days later. He had noticed the Gryffindor’s terrible wardrobe previously, but had assumed they were his only options before getting his trunk and then that, perhaps, they were what Potter felt most comfortable in. Now, however, after a month together, he wasn’t so sure of those assumptions.

He watched Potter blink dumbly before looking down at the overly large greyish T-shirt with a few holes torn in it.

“Uh, yes, sir. They’re second-hand from my cousin,” Potter said, almost sounding confused about why his clothes might be a point of conversation.

Severus fought to conceal any reaction to the revelation while anger boiled inside him at yet something else that was denied Potter by the bloody Muggles. The more he learned, the happier he became that they were already dead and that Lucius was still tortured daily for losing his son. It gave him the opportunity to focus on the boys rather than any desire for revenge on their behalf.

“I see,” Severus said. “Well, I do not feel they are acceptable. We will have to run to a shop.”

“Sir?” Potter said, frowning.

“You need a proper wardrobe, Mr. Potter. There is a town not too far away that we will go to, under Polyjuice, of course,” Severus explained.

“But, I haven’t got money. My clothes are fine,” Potter argued and Severus sighed, having figured it would be an issue.

“You are my responsibility for the summer so I will take care of it,” Severus said. “Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

Potter clearly wanted to keep arguing, but stayed silent at Severus’ stern stare, returning to his omelette. Severus continued eating as well, but released an annoyed sigh when he heard his Floo activate, drawing curious looks from the two boys.

What the hell does Albus want now? he thought, irritated. Considering there was an Order meeting later that day, he could only assume they would, once again, be discussing Potter and Malfoy, a conversation he was already tired of having. He downed his remaining coffee, wishing it was a far stronger substance, and looked up just as the headmaster entered the kitchen.

“Albus, despite what it may seem with these two, I do not actually enjoy my home being invaded repeatedly without invitation,” Severus said, glaring at the man.

“I know, Severus, but we must finish our discussion,” Dumbledore said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware there was any more to say.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, staring at him.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He rose to his feet. “Finish eating, then head outside,” he told the boys and then followed Dumbledore to the study, closing the door behind them. He crossed his arms and stared at Dumbledore hard, waiting.

“I am asking you to reconsider one last time, Severus,” Dumbledore said and Severus huffed, getting angry. “This arrangement is not sustainable.”

“Might I remind you it was your arrangement in the first place,” Severus pointed out.

“It was meant to be temporary so you could discover how they got into Hogwarts. We needed to be sure the wards were intact,” Dumbledore said.

“We should be far more concerned about the harm they would come to if they were anywhere but here,” Severus said.

“They continue to be in more danger the longer they are here,” Dumbledore said.

“On the contrary, I believe they are safer here,” Severus said. “They are in more danger outside this manor, both from those that claim or should claim to care for them and those that seek to do harm.”

“And what of Mr. Malfoy’s tracker once he returns to Hogwarts? It will reactivate the moment he leaves here,” Dumbledore said. “You cannot hide them from who they are.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Perhaps, but they deserve the opportunity to feel safe for once in their lives.”

“I agree, but I also do not think they should learn to find comfort in something that cannot and will not last,” Dumbledore said seriously.

“And why should it end?” Severus asked.

“Severus, you know how important and delicate your role is. You cannot do your job and play this role for them,” Dumbledore told him.

“I have managed to protect Potter this long without anyone being aware,” Severus said.

“But now Voldemort is back. I cannot allow you to risk yourself, or Harry, this way, not with how vital your work is and Harry’s own role,” Dumbledore said.

“I do not believe I have asked your permission,” Severus said snappishly.

“You cannot care for them, Severus, not truly,” Dumbledore said and Severus’ eyes hardened. “And what of Harry’s training? You cannot teach him Elemental Magic.”

“I have already arranged for them both to work with masters,” Severus said, still feeling the sting at Dumbledore’s words. He didn’t know if the man meant he was incapable of caring for Potter and Malfoy or unable because of his position, but it hurt all the same.

“I cannot approve outside influences. Harry must learn to use this magic against Voldemort. It is obviously the power the prophecy spoke of,” Dumbledore said.

Severus let out an aggravated breath. “I truly do not understand what it is you want, Albus. You wanted me to train the boy, but, as you said, I cannot, so I have found someone who can, yet you do not approve.”

“It is not just about Harry learning to use his magic. He must be prepared to face Voldemort. It is his destiny to be the one to defeat Voldemort and he must be ready to do so,” Dumbledore said. “Like you, he cannot be distracted.”

Severus glared. “You put too much stock in prophecies.”

“I believe you did the same the night you delivered this prophecy to Voldemort and bound Harry to this fate, the boy you now claim to protect and, dare I say, foolishly even care for,” Dumbledore said and Severus couldn’t help but wince at the harshness.

“I will not treat a fifteen-year-old like a sacrifice nor will I leave two to torment, loneliness, and possible death,” Severus said, anger leeching into his voice. “They are not your soldiers to be placed in line for slaughter.”

“Severus, you are making a mistake.”

“For the first time, I do not think I am. I will discuss this no longer. Potter and Malfoy remain with me and I will care for them the way you and everyone else refuses to. You will no longer control them.”

“You have no claim to them,” Dumbledore said.

Severus’ eyes flashed. “They stay with me.”

Severus felt a sting at the cold disappointment in the headmaster’s face, but pushed it away and replaced it with anger. He was divided on how he felt about Potter and Malfoy, but he knew he would not allow them to be manipulated any longer. Malfoy would not be ignored and abandoned to enslavement or death because of his parentage, and Potter would not be trained as a soldier willing to put down his own young life for a war that wasn’t his. They deserved better. They deserved lives and what remained of their childhoods, whatever could be salvaged.

After several long moments of staring hard at each other in a heavy silence, Dumbledore inclined his head and left without another word. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing and wincing at the pounding in his head. He was about to go to the liquor cabinet when he heard muffled sounds on the other side of the door. He raised an eyebrow and listened.

“Shove off, Malfoy. I’m trying to hear.”

“Was it the Floo? I don’t hear anything now.”

“If you would shut up, maybe we would.”

“Shut up, Potter. You can’t hear anything either.”

“Because you won’t shut up.”

“Get out of the way, idiot.”

“Don’t be such a bastard, ferret.”

There was quiet scuffling and Severus rolled his eyes. He waved his hand and the door opened, revealing two teenage boys in the midst of pushing at each other. He very nearly snorted aloud at their comical, deer-in-headlights expressions.

“Get off of me, Scarhead,” Malfoy muttered, releasing Potter’s shirt and shoving him away.

“You started it, ferret,” Potter said with a glare.

They both turned to him, cheeks reddening at being caught.

“I recall telling you to go outside, not eavesdrop on a private conversation,” Severus said, looking at them sternly.

“Yes, sir, you did,” Malfoy said.

“Yet here you are,” Severus said, watching both boys gulp.

“Yes, sir,” Potter said.

“This is not to become a habit. If a conversation requires your presence, you will be included,” Severus said. “Understood?”

Potter and Malfoy nodded, at least having the decency to look somewhat contrite. He sighed.

“Have your fears of being sent away been assuaged?” he asked, watching them both look at him in surprise. It hadn’t been hard to assume what their next fear would be after being beaten. The small nods told him the fear had been culled for the moment, but would likely return. “Very well. Outside now.”

He watched them head down the hall and out the front door, shoving each other as they went as though Severus couldn’t see. He just shook his head at them, not realizing that the retaking of their childhoods had already begun.

“It is time for us to begin Occlumency, particularly for you, Mr. Potter,” Snape said later that day.

Harry groaned, truly not looking forward to the new lessons. They’d spent the last few days reading and learning about the practice and, while he appreciated the preparation, it hadn’t made him feel any better about the whole thing. He really didn’t want Snape—or anyone, quite frankly—rooting around in his mind. Snape hated him enough and knew enough as it was. He didn’t want Snape seeing anything he’d spent so long keeping to himself.

“Today will be to introduce you to the practice so you know what to expect as well as an attempt or two at blocking,” Snape said. “However, Occlumency is not about hiding memories. Truthfully, it is about redirection. You do not want to hastily hide any memories in a panic as that will just make your attacker pursue that memory for, if you are so desperate to hide it, it must be important. Instead, you want to be able to redirect an intruder casually, blending important memories in with mundane ones while ensuring only the mundane ones are really seen. This makes your mind seem more natural and does not draw attention to anything in particular. To achieve this, emotional control of your memories is crucial.”

Harry sighed. Another hint to talk about their ‘abuse’. When would Snape get it that they were never going to talk about it, to him or anyone?

“I understand your reluctance to discuss your abuse and anything else troubling you. However, it is important you acknowledge these things. While talking is always an option, I have an alternative solution,” Snape said and Harry looked at the man curiously. He wasn’t going to force them to talk? Snape walked over to the desk and picked up two leather-bound notebooks, holding them out to Harry and Malfoy upon standing before them again.

Harry took the journal, intrigued. His was a deep auburn while Malfoy’s a deep green. He absently wondered if Snape had chosen the colours for them on purpose. There was little to the cover aside from embossed vines and leaves that bordered the edge. He flipped through, finding normal lined pages, though he did notice in a bottom corner a little symbol depicting an open book inside a circle.

“These magical journals connect to each other and to a third, which I possess,” Snape said. “You may use these to write about whatever you wish. Neither of you can continue to ignore all that is haunting you, especially not if you are to learn Occlumency and gain control of your magic. Anything you write will not be seen though you can share to other journals if you like. To do so, you touch the symbol on the page and think or say the journal you wish to share to. You are also able to put memories directly into this journal though I assume memory retrieval is not something either of you are familiar with.”

Harry and Malfoy shook their heads.

“Something I will teach you if the need arises,” Snape said. “If you continue to refuse to speak about your trauma, then I expect you to use these.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about writing about his thoughts and feelings, but it had to be better than talking about it. No one would know anything if he just wrote about it, and, as such, no one would come to pity him or judge him or treat him differently. No one ever had to know a thing.

“Is this amenable for you?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry shot a small glare at Malfoy at their unison. It was really annoying when they spoke at the same time. It made him think of Fred and George, and he and Malfoy were nothing like the twins.

“Very good,” Snape said. “Now, we will have our first practical session. You will learn what to expect first and then we will attempt Occlumency. Mr. Malfoy, take a seat over there. Mr. Potter, here.”

Malfoy walked over to one of the desks, sitting behind it, while Harry sat in the desk chair that had been set in the center of the study. He put his journal on the floor and looked up apprehensively at Snape in front of him.

“Do not try to fight, just feel what is happening. It is similar to when we searched your magic only in the mind with memories. It can be painful and it is exhausting,” Snape explained and Harry really wanted to roll his eyes at how much Snape’s words didn’t help him feel any calmer. “Are you ready?”

Not really. “I guess,” he said. He thought he saw Snape’s lips twitch as though he wanted to smile, but it was so minute, Harry couldn’t be sure.

Snape raised his wand, making Harry stiffen even more. “Legilimens.”

As Snape had told them, he didn’t try to fight but just let it happen. He was pulled into his mind by the spell, dragged through his memories as they swirled around in a blur of colour and sound. He was resigned to go wherever Snape went with the spell, memories occasionally pulled out of the mess and viewed briefly before being tossed aside. It was only a few seconds, though it felt like several minutes, before Snape withdrew the spell, removing them from Harry’s mind.

Harry couldn’t help his long draw of breath as though he’d been holding it the whole time. His hands were clenched on the armrests, his head was aching, and his body was shaking lightly. This is how it felt when he wasn’t fighting back?

“How do you feel, Potter?” Snape asked and Harry looked at him.

“Like this is going to suck,” Harry said, not caring about politeness and briefly forgetting their usual awkwardness.

“Indeed.”

This time, Harry knew what he saw. Snape’s lips tilted up ever so slightly and the dark eyes flashed with clear amusement. He couldn’t believe it. He’d made Snape—almost—laugh? He didn’t even know the man had a sense of humour, let alone that he could find Harry anything other than irritating.

“Try to Occlude now,” Snape said. “Let your mind settle, flow naturally. I will look for a memory. If I bring one up, try to make it slip away and replace it with another. Redirect, don’t hide.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded. He wasn’t relaxed and he knew he probably should be, but he couldn’t in the face of what was about to happen. Snape was going to see his memories, see what happened with the Dursleys, the graveyard, all his moments of weakness, self-hatred, and loneliness. He couldn’t let anyone know the truth about him, that Harry Potter was no grand saviour. He was just Harry, a lonely little orphan who wanted nothing but to be wanted.

“Legilimens.”

They were pulled into his mind again, the memories flying around. He could instantly tell the difference. Snape wasn’t just strolling through his mind, he was actively searching. He could feel the intensity of the spell as it wound its way through inconsequential memories to find something of substance. Harry tried to keep all the memories flowing, surreptitiously trying to speed up their movement to blend them all together. Snape was too strong, however, and he easily pulled a memory out.

It was the summer after first year, well into his imprisonment in Dudley’s second bedroom. A bowl of watery broth and a slice of plain, stale bread was shoved through the door’s cat flap. An almost-twelve-year-old Harry was sprawled on the floor near the pitiful food, half-conscious. Harry remembered this. It was only a few days before he would be rescued by the Weasleys. He’d hardly been able to move, as weak as he was from the starvation. That summer had been the worse it’d ever been for the starvation. It’d taken him months to recover yet no one seemed to have noticed anything was wrong. No one ever did. No one cared enough to notice.

The despair he’d felt was filling him. He tried to push the memory away, tried to replace it with another, but his resolve was quickly waning as the memory continued and its sadness overwhelmed him.

“No!” he shouted and felt a blast of power. Snape was thrown painfully from his mind, dragging Harry back to the present. He gasped and threw his hands to his head. It felt like a knife was being twisted in his skull.

“Potter—”

“No, don’t!” Harry interrupted, unwilling to discuss the memory. He glared at Snape, daring him to push the issue when the professor gave him a hard stare.

“While using magic to expel me is an option, I do not recommend it and it does not always work,” Snape said. “You cannot let yourself get lost in the memories.”

Harry rubbed his temples and sat up straight, meeting Snape’s eyes. “Go again.”

Snape gave a short nod and raised his wand again. “Legilimens.”

Like last time, Harry tried to keep his memories moving so Snape couldn’t pick out what any of them were about. However, like last time, it didn’t work. Snape was strong, quick, and Harry was already weakened, and the professor found a memory even faster. This time, it was the graveyard and Harry was consumed by it immediately, filled with its fear and guilt as Cedric hit the ground and Voldemort returned to torture him.

“I’m sorry!” he cried out, yet another blast of power violently ejecting Snape from his mind. He gripped his hair tightly as the knife in his skull multiplied, causing excruciating pain. He could feel tears on his face and his breath was coming in gasps as his body shook.

“Potter—”

“I…I didn’t mean to,” Harry gasped out, forgetting who he was with as he fell into the pain of what he’d caused just weeks earlier.

“Take a breath, Potter, and drink this,” Snape said.

Harry looked up to find Snape holding a vial out. He recognized it right away as a Pain Reliever and accepted it easily. He let out a quiet sigh as his head pain eased, leaving him with the pain in his heart.

“Mr. Potter, you—”

“Just don’t, sir,” Harry said. “Can I go? I…I can’t…”

“You may,” Snape said. “Rest.”

Harry snatched up his journal and left the study, heading straight to his room. He sat heavily on the bed, staring blankly down at the journal he still grasped. He couldn’t stop his tears as the green light flashed, Cedric’s body fell, and the Cruciatus ravaged his body over and over. His fingers cramped around his journal. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He felt like he was drowning and all these people were around, but no one was noticing him. They were all acting like he was fine, expected him to be, so he tried to be, but it was an act. He wasn’t fine, couldn’t be, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be. He was sinking and he had no way out and no one to help.

It was just him, alone, left to drown on his own in the middle of the ocean everyone else threw him into.