The first thing Harry saw when he woke up was a blurred version of the hospital wing ceiling. Reaching automatically to his nightstand, he pulled on his glasses and turned his head.

He was in a crisp white bed with warm red covers and a pitcher of water was on his night stand, in blue and white striped Infirmary pajamas. On the bed next to him was Professor Snape, who seemed to be deep in sleep. He had a bandage wound around his left arm and was wearing a gray nightshirt, which normally would have put Harry in fits of giggles, but he wass simply overjoyed at that point that Snape was alive at all.

Madam Pomfrey came in at that moment and saw Harry trying to struggle out of bed.

“No, Mr. Potter. You need your rest,” she said firmly, going and tucking him in tightly.

“But Madam, Professor Snape—“

“Is quite capable of listening to you blather without you getting out of bed and destroying your health, Potter,” drawled a familiar voice, and Harry turned with the brightest, most radiant smille Poppy had ever seen on his face to the professor, who opened his eyes long enough to glare at the boy, then closed them.

“Professor! You’re all right—“ Harry cried happily, but then his smile dropped off his face and his insides sunk down deep. Snape seemed to sense this, and one eye opened. Sighing, he opened his eyes and turned to Poppy.

“Poppy, leave us for a few minutes?”

Poppy bit her tounge about he was her patient as well as the boy and neither should get overly tired or stressed, but in the end she simply left the room. It wasn’t worth it.

Harry was playing with his blanket miserably, refusing to make eye contact with Snape.

“I’m very sorry, sir.”

“As well you should be, Potter. You disobeyed my orders, threw not only yourself but your friends and I into danger, did battle with the Dark Lord, and saved my life.”

Harry shrunk in his bed, then looked sideways quickly. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, be quiet, Potter.”

“I’m really sorry, sir, that I put you in that much danger.”

“Ah, yes, apologize, I do so hate it when people spoil my death attempts.” Potter looked confused and Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “You saved my life, Potter, from something completely out of your control. I should be apologizing to you.”

Harry looked aghast. “No—but, sir—“

“Shut up, Potter. Just nod.” Harry nodded slowly.

“What exactly happened, sir?”

“I think I would like to know that as well, Harry.”

Professor Dumbledore entered the room and stood, not overly friendly but not angrily, by the door. His eyes looked sad and his face looked tired, and he walked over and pulled up a chair.

“Please, Mr. Potter. Tell me everything.”

So Harry told it all, haltingly, from figuring it out to telling McGonnagal and Snape, to jumping down the hole after him to the chess game to the potions. He told him, softly, about Voldemort and Quirrell, about the fight.

“I see.” Dumbledore looked a little jollier. “It must have been very frightening.”

Harry nodded slightly.

“I wonder, though, Harry—how did you get the stone?”

Harry went pink and started to play with the blanket again.

“Uhm, Professor Snape gave it to me.”

Snape spluttered indiginantly. “I most certaintly did not! How would I have gotten the blasted thing?”

“I mean, in the mirror,” Harry said softly.

“Ah. And what did you see in the mirror, Harry?”

He had glossed over this part for a reason—he didn’t want Snape to know how pathetically he longed for him, for his love. Harry shrugged.

“Things.”

“What sort of things, please, Harry?”

“My—err, my mum and dad. They were, they were hugging me and stuff.”

This put a pang in Sseverus and he didn’t know why, a pang of hurt like the pang of importance he had sensed when Potter came in after him.

“When did Professor Snape arrive?”

“He—he was, he was in there the whole time, sir,” Harry said quietly. Snape would hate him even more now. That he dared, even when he knew no one could love him, that he dared to try to make it so—the gall it represented! Uncle Vernon would have locked him in his cupboard for a week, he knew, and he tried to start reminding himself that he would be getting the cupboard again soon, as soon as he got home—if they didn’t take him to London, again. “He was—doing the, the same things. And he, he put it in my pocket in the mirror and then it was in my pocket in real life.”

The pang in Snape was throbbing so hard that his heart felt like it might burst, and he wondered what it was, because it wasn’t pain any more, and he didn’t know what else it could be.

Dumbledore nodded and toyed with the idea of explaining things to Harry, about the mirror, and he stuck with a simple explanation. “that mirror is the Mirror of Erised. It shows you your deepest desires.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded.

“Now, I suppose you’re wondering what happened from then til now.”

“It would be kind for you to enlighten us, Dumbledore,” Snape drawled as he rubbed his chest.

Dumbledore explained in turn. “It seems that young Mr. Longbottom was unconcious—“

“Are Neville and Hermione all right?”

“Yes, Harry. Mr. Longbottom was unconcious for a mere fifteen minutes, then he and Miss Granger were able to make their way back to Professor Sprout’s trap, where they found Professor McGonnagal.”

“She didn’t—I thought she didn’t believe me.”

“She did. She just didn’t think it would be so fast in happening. She was working her way through the obstacles to see for herself at that very moment. She will be visiting you very shortly, I imagine.”

“Continue, Albus.”

“She went very quickly to the chamber, where Harry was lying unconcious, surrounded by splinters of the Philosopher’s Stone. She stabilized him and you, Severus, and then she Levitated you to the Infirmary, where you rest now. I returned first thing this morning and heard this story, and now I am here, talking to you. Lemon drop?”

Harry took the offered treat and started to suck on it, slowly, while watching the Headmaster.

“Uhm…what happens now, sir?”

Dumbledore blinked. “Now? Well, now you’ll recuperate here for about a week, then you’ll probably attend the feast and head home—“

Harry looked at the sheets and tried not to cry. He had hoped, but he’d always known that hope wasn’t good enough. He was to be expelled.

“—for the summer.” Harry’s head shot up and he looked at Dumbledore.

“For—for the summer?”

“Yes, and then return to school in September.”

“September?” Harry squeaked, and Snape rolled his eyes.

“No, Potter, the school year normally commences in January. Of course September, you fool!”

“I can—I can come back?”

“Of course, Harry. What you did last night was a very brave, noble thing. I won’t expel you for it.”

Harry slumped back against his pillows, weightless, his head spinning.

He could come back. He could come back.

Professsor Dumbledore rose and headed to the door, before turning back. “Oh, and Harry—Neville Longbottom gave this to my, to give to you. He thought it might make you feel better.” And he handed Harry his parents picture, then left swiftly.

In the hallway, Dumbledore leaned against a wall and took in a pained breath. He had failed that boy. He had failed that boy, and now it would take an awful lot of work to gain his trust.

At least, Dumbledore thought as he walked away, at least he had Severus.

0000000000000000000

Harry was tracing over his parents faces drowsily as he lay in the bed. He had been filled to the brim with every type of potion, and his bed was so warm and toasty—

“Professor McGonnagal gave you that?” Snape asked suddenly. Harry nodded shyly.

“She said Madam Pomfrey took it, when my parents were young.” Harry paused. “He told me how he killed my mum and dad.”

Snape silently watched Harry as he stopped tracing the faces. “He killed a great many people.”

“He said—that my mother would still be alive, if she hadn’t tried to protect me.” Harrys eyes filled with tears and he scrubbed at them with the back of his hand.

“She would. But if she had let you die, I don’t think she could live with herself, Potter,” Snape said cautiously.

“That’s what Professor McGonnagal said. She said that, to them, life without me would be life.” Harry sniffled. “But I killed them. It was my fault.”

“No. The Dark Lord killed them. It is not your fault.”

“My mum would still be alive if not for me.” Harry sniffled again. “That’s probably why the Dursleys hate me. Because I killed them.”

“You haven’t killed anyone, Potter,” Snape said, thinking back on Quirrell.

“But it was my fault. Maybe—“

“Potter.” Snape said firmly. “Potter, you did not kill anyone. Listen to that.”

“All I ever want is for somebody to l-like me. And, and the only people that did, like me, I mean, they died cause of me. Maybe no one should like me.”

Snape knew the step he was going to take was dangerous, it was a step off of a dark cliff and he didn’t know if he would be caught or plummet down to the rocks, but he took it, because this boy had taken too many steps off that cliff, and every time been hurt.

“I like you, Potter.”

Harry looked up at him, his eyes wet with tears, and he said “W-what?”

“I like you.”

“But you didn’t—you didn’t want me to come with you,” Harry said in a tiny voice.

“I wanted you to be safe—a foolish mistake on my part. If you hadn’t come, I would be dead.”

And Harry, Harry Potter who wass the subject of almost every conversation in Hogwarts halls right then, Harry Potter burst into tears and buried himself under all his covers, unable to stop even when he felt a hesitant touch on his back and heard soothing noises. And Snape, Severus Snape who was the bane of every childs existance save one, Snape let himself go over and touch him, the first time he had really initiated contact in years. And he murmered things, nonsense things, to a little boy who could have been him except he was better.

Harry cried and cried and cried, and when he emerged he fell straight to sleep.

000000000000000000000

The morning of the train departure from Hogwarts was a very painful morning for Harry. He had woken up at six thirty to go around and say goodbye to all the things he loved.

He stopped in the kitchens, where Tookie gave him a packed lunch for the train and several small hugs around his knees.

“Tookie will come always to help Young Master, even if Young Master not at Hogwarts,” she promised, and then she hugged him again.

He got his HARRY piece of cake from Gibley (who assured him it was still good) and he stopped by the portrait of the red-haired lady. He went to all the little nooks and crannies he had found, he went to the greenhouses and said goodbye to the Night Flowering Lilies, he said goodbe to the Quidditch Pitch, where he had rooted Gryffindor forward, and to the Fat Lady and the common room.

He stopped at every classroom and every staircase, and then he went back to the tower to get his trunk.

His last stop, after a breakfast in which he didn’t eat anything, was Snape’s office.

He was there, of course, the Professor. He was reading some big thick book, and when Harry knocked he called out ‘Come in!’ because he knew it was probably the only person he could tolerate at the moment.

Harry stepped in to the classroom and closed the door (he could remember months back, when he had shattered that door) quietly behind him.

“So you’re going back,” Sseverus said as he pretended to keep reading.

“I have to.”

“You could tell Dumbledore,” Snape pointed out, though he already knew the answer.

“I couldn’t, Professor. He wouldn’t understand.”

Snape sighed and closed the book. “Yes, Potter, I’ve heard this all before.” He looked upon the boy scrutinisingly. “You’re to keep up with your schoolwork whilst there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your potion—don’t show it to the Muggles, for the love of God, but keep taking it, it will improve your health.”

“I will, sir.” Harry took a tentative step toward the professor. “Can—can I ask something of you, sir?”

Snape simply raised an eyebrow and Harry continued his thought haltingly. “I…I don’t want to take anything home with me—to the Dursleys, I mean. So I was, I was wondering if you would keep my things here, sir. So they, they’d be safe.”

Snap nodded his head curtly. “You may leave them in my office, Potter. What about your homework, then?”

Harry ducked his head. “I’ve, I’ve done it, mostly, sir. Except for History of Magic, and that’s just write an essay on your favorite historical wizard and I can look up myths and stuff and the library and then get Hermione to mail me the facts.”

Snape nodded again. “Well planned, Mr. Potter.”

“And, uhm, sir—I wanted to just—“ Harry pushed forward the picture of his parents.

“Potter—“ Snape started, and Harry started to babble.

“They would burn it, the Dursleys, and it’s the only picture I have of them and I don’t, oh, I can’t bear to see it burned or locked in a trunk the whole summer, so could you, please just watch it for me?”

Snape sighed and looked at his childhood enemies, at the smiling faces that would taunt him all summer. But then he thought of his childhood and the child and he nodded briskly and put it on his desk. “I will, Mr. Potter.” Severus got up from behind his desk and put the picture on one of the book shelves. “You may come retrieve all your things before curfew when school resumes in September. I shall have Flourish and Blotts send your new schoolbooks here to be delivered to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Mr. Potter?”

Harry had been inching towards the door, but now he looked at Severus with his full attention. “Yes, sir?”

“I expect to have weekly updates on your health. That potion may react oddly to Muggle foods, I’ll need to stay informed. It will also probably run out in late July, so I shall need to send you a new parcel of it. Have you an owl?”

“N-no, sir, I haven’t.”

“Then I shall give you one. Merely for the summer, mind you. Think of it as a loan,” Severus said, ignoring Harry’s wide, surprised smile and the awe in his eyes as he reached on to a shelf and produced a snowy white owl on a stand. The owl hooted softly and flew to the boy.

“She’s—sir, she’s beautiful.”

“Her name is Hedwig, Potter.”

“I’ll—sir, thank you, I’ll take good care of her.”

Severus smiled thinly. “I’m sure. Since you cannot trust your relatives to be responsible for her, I shall keep her here and send her to you in three days time. Until then, I wish you luck, Mr. Potter.”

“Sir—I—thank you, sir, for everything.” Harry took two small steps forward, mindful of the owl on his shoulder, and gave Severus a careful hug.

To his surprise and happiness, he felt a slight squeeze from the other man before he ran away to catch the train, leaving behind an owl and a man who both stared after the boy as he ran off.

000000000000000000000000

As the train was pulling out of Hogsmeaded, Severus made a trip down to the chamber.

There were scorchmarks along the floor and the room felt evil and cold. In the corner, waiting, was the Mirror of Erised.

Hesitantly, Severus stepped in front of it, closed his eyes, then opened them.

It was him, all right, him and his greasy hair and hooked nose and glower, him in all his glory and nothing was different and Severus almost punched the mirror.

But then a small boy with messy black hair and a small, happy smile ran up behind him and jumped on to his back. Severus, both in the mirror and out, smiled, and Mirror-Severus started to give the boy a piggy-back ride around the frame. When they stopped, the two mirror images waved to Severus, and Severus turned away.

If this was his hearts desire, he had a lot of work to do.