Severus felt his skin crawl at the room darkened, and he fought the almost feral desire to close his eyes against this element of the unknown. He had been in far more frightening situations than this, seen things that would make most men crumble, and yet he had always kept a steady hand. Now, however, the hairs at the back of his neck bristled almost painfully as a murky, grey mist gathered around him. He flexed his fingers as wisps of cold gathered in his palm, finding only emptiness even though he swore he could feel Harry’s small hands clenched around his. The forming haze continued, billowing slowly, almost as if in slow motion, enveloping him, blanketing all surroundings in a thick fog. He forced his breathing to remain steady, tongue sweeping over suddenly nervous lips almost as if expecting an attack.

This was nothing like the first time, when Harry had literally shoved the images at him in a panicked fury of thoughts; the cluttered, raw scenes flickering through Severus’ mind like an antique reel of footage. This was slow, deliberate; the shadows breaking apart with methodical purpose as they gradually formed a scene in front of him.

Severus was in a courtyard, and recognized the worn stone walls instantly as one of the more secluded areas at Hogwarts. He had often escaped to such islands of solitude as a youngster in order to study or lose the trail of idiotic classmates. The skin of his arms gathered into goose bumps as a cold wind slapped at him with sharp palms. He glanced around quickly, unsure as to exactly how or what Harry would reveal.

The low murmur of voices suddenly caught his ears and Severus’ hand instinctively slipped to his side, chilled fingers brushing against his wand. He paused, feeling foolish and vulnerable all at once as he took a few slow steps, his cloak catching on the rough bricks as he peered around the wall. On a low, stone bench sat Harry. To his right, sat the youngest Weasely boy, and next to him, Granger. All three sat heads bent over a large, brown photo album as the Weasley boy…what was his name again? Severus’ brow furrowed. The twins had been a thorn in his side for years with their penchant for ridiculous jokes and tricks, played most often on his Slytherins. The youngest one had been in his potions class last term, and while he had little of his brothers outright displays of idiocy and defiance, he was quietly insolent, sending scathing looks at Severus’ back every time points were taken from Gryffendor.

“Oh, Ron!” the Granger girl giggled, aiming a light slap on the redhead’s shoulder.

Ron. That was it. Trust that annoying girl to give the right answer even in a vision Severus thought, lip curling with disdain as he watched from the safety of the shadows. There was no need to conceal himself of course, but somehow it felt wrong to witness the scene as if he were in a Pensive, to wander about boldly, knowing he was part of nothing more than a mental impression. He would respect Harry’s memories. The boy deserved nothing less.

“Boy, have we got something...” said Fred mischievously.

“To show you,” finished George, grinning as he and his twin slipped around the bench where the three first years were seated.

“What’s this?” Fred asked, prodding at the book open on Ron’s lap.

“Photos from Easter,” Ron retorted, swatting at his older brother’s arm until the hand retreated. He flipped the page, and immediately Hermione let out another giggle at an animated photo which showed the Weasley family seated for Easter dinner, complete with gently waving bunny ears for each member of the family.

“Ron!” She exclaimed, her delicate hand at her mouth as she laughed. “What on earth is this?”

“How did that get in there?” Ron hissed, slamming his open hand over the photo.

“It’s nothing!” He said quickly, returning Hermione’s continued glee with a distressed look.

“Oh, come on,” smiled Fred, prying his younger sibling’s hand off the album.

“You make such a cute widdle wabbit, Wonny,” George said with a satisfied grin as both Hermione and Harry leaned in to better see the photo.

“It’s Mum’s idea,” Ron stated, his face the picture of disgust as he shook his head at the picture. “She does it every year and - lemme go!” He exclaimed, pulling his hand from his brother’s grip and slamming the album closed. “Why don’t you both sod off!”

“Oh we can’t” said Fred

“do that,” continued George as he slipped an old leather bound book into Ron’s lap. “I think you’ll find this...”

“much more enjoyable,” finished Fred as he reached over Ron’s shoulder and flipped open the tome.

The twins raised their heads and glanced about the courtyard. The April air was still quite cool and most of the students were inside.

Harry stared as Ron began the flip through the first few pages of the mysterious book, when suddenly his friend stopped, his fingers tracing a handwritten note at the bottom of the page.

“This is Dad’s writing!” Ron said in confusion as he studied the familiar penmanship. His head shot up, an accusing look directed as his older brother. “Where did you get this?”

“From Dad’s study,” Fred answered.

“Where else?” Finished George, reaching in and flipping a few pages further into the book. “Take a look at that,” he stated triumphantly.

Severus’ eyes narrowed as the pages fell open. He could see nothing of the book from where he was, and he had the sudden feeling that what was about to be revealed was of some importance. Though silence was not required, Severus made his way stealthily across the courtyard, giving the students a wide berth as he positioned himself behind the group.

“At what?” Ron questioned angrily as he gestured toward the open book. The picture took up most of the page, a jet black canvas with a frame of lightly glowing green runes. Fred leaned down until his lips were but an inch from his younger brother’s ear.

“That,” he whispered ominously as the dark photo came alive, and automatically the three friends leaned in, eyes on the murky, swirling shadows that billowed within the magical photograph. Suddenly, a figure burst from the blackness, a large, floating, ghostlike creature draped with a tattered black cloak. The heavy, ripped hood covered its head, and as it reared up to full height, the hood slipped back revealing a gaunt, almost featureless face with nothing but a gaping hole of a mouth. All three children gave a collective gasp. The beast writhed as if in great pain, its two gnarled hands, slate grey and decayed grabbing at the air, fingers a mess of pallid flesh and jagged bone. Its mouth opened and a piercing screech emanated from the creatures rotting maw, a scream so agonizing and raw that even Severus took in a sharp breath at the sound.

“What the hell,” Ron whimpered, his voice on the edge of frantic. “...is that?”

“That’s a Dementor,” George answered, his voice low and sinister. He grinned slyly at his twin.

“A wraith,” Fred continued. “They’re all over Azkaban. They suck out your soul,”

“and feed on your happiness,” said George. “It’s all in there. See? Dad made all kind of notes on them.”

“What are you doing with this?” Ron asked, eyes wide as the Dementor shrieked again. It was all he could do not to slam the book closed.

“Making a fortune,” the twins replied in unison.

“A knut a minute,” George said.

“We’ve already made a sickle,” Fred proclaimed proudly. “But since you’re our little brother...”

“...you get a free peek,” finished George as he reached out and pulled the book from Ron’s lap. “Time’s up!”

Severus drew himself up to full height, ignoring the sudden ill feeling in his gut and cast a furious look at the twins. Had they no idea of the danger that came from bringing such a book into the school? The information contained within it would likely be of a highly sensitive nature, and here were these two halfwits parading it around as if it were a Gryffindor flag. The idiocy!

“Dad’s going to kill you, you know that,” Ron stated.

“No he won’t,” Severus growled in a near whisper. “Because I’m going to.”

The twins shook their heads at Ron’s words.

“He’ll never find out.”

“It’s an old journal.”

“He doesn’t even remember he’s got it.”

“And anyway, we’ll have it back.”

“By Christmas.”

Ron looked back and forth between his brothers in disbelief as they spoke, then cast a look at Harry, who was staring at the book in George’s arms, face pale.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, his indignation turning to concern.

“Huh?” Harry pulled his eyes from the book and turned to his friend. Severus watched as the boy forced a smile.

“Oh,” Harry replied. “Yeah, I’m fine. That thing was pretty creepy.”

“It was disgusting!” declared Hermione indignantly, wrinkling her nose. “Who on earth would pay good money to look at something so revolting?”

“First years!” The twins exclaimed together before breaking into laughter.

“Bloody idiots,” Ron muttered as his brothers sauntered away. “It’ll take Mum about three days before she figures out what they’ve done. She always does. She’s right scary that way.”

Harry shivered, the air suddenly feeling more like fall winds rather than almost summer. He wiped his brow, which was slowly beading with sweat, with the sleeve of his shirt, and stood up.

“Want to go back inside?” He asked. “It’s getting a bit cold.”

“I’m fine,” said Hermione, shrugging. “But let’s go in. I’ve got homework to do.”

“Liar,” Ron snorted as he stood. Hermione rose to her feet and gave an aristocratic sniff.

“If you must know, Ronald, I requested an extra credit assignment from Professor McGonagall.”

Harry stood motionless as his two friends made their way back into the corridor, Ron baiting Hermione as best he could about her scholarly obsessions. He brought a trembling hand to his mouth and soaked up the moisture on his upper lip with his sleeve. The Dementor had affected him more than he wanted to let on. His skin crawled uncomfortably as a bead of sweat slid down his back. He could almost taste the suggestion of rot on his tongue and he swallowed, grimacing as if he had a mouth full of swill.

Severus watched silently as the boy gathered himself. Harry took a few deep breaths, eyes darting to the dark places of the gloomy courtyard as the intense, distrusting look Severus had come to know so well settled across his face. It wasn’t until Ron’s face appeared at the doorway that Harry finally made any significant movement.

“Oi! Mail’s coming in, Harry!” The redhead shouted. “Let’s go see what we got!”

Harry’s eyes lowered a moment before glancing back out into the cold afternoon.

“Nothing,” he whispered, the near emotionless tone tearing at Severus heart. “I’ve got nothing.”

Severus reached out, his hand hovering above the boy’s shoulder. He knew comfort was impossible, but attempting to offer it was automatic, instinctive, as if no other natural course of action existed. At that moment, a feeling of emptiness washed over him, sending Severus reeling against the sudden emotion. He shook his head gently as if to regain his bearings, brow knit in concern as an intense sadness gripped him. His hand fell back to his side, and again he felt the brush of Harry’s fingers against his own.

Forcing a look as close to a smile as possible, Harry turned and followed Ron into the school, and Severus looked on as shadows consumed his vision.

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Severus had no idea how long he was wrapped up in Harry’s memories. It was so unlike Legilimency, where he could peruse scenes at his leisure, focusing on what he felt was important. This was so fractured, nothing in order, fluttering randomly through time as Harry’s mind recalled particular events.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach was still there, an aching that Severus contributed to the emotion of witnessing Harry’s innermost thoughts, but as the memories played out in front of him, the feeling swelled, an uncomfortable ball of emotion that clutched at his stomach with splintered fingers. Unconsciously, Severus moved his hand to his stomach, resting the warm palm against the unsettling sensation as he watched Harry’s reaction to finding out Snape had seen the memories of his abuse after using Legilimency. It was then that Severus noticed that Harry was doing the exact same thing, the small hand pressing against his lower torso, brow skewed in physical as well as emotional pain, and Severus suddenly made the connection. He was feeling Harry’s emotions! Not only was Harry showing him past events, but he was projecting his feelings of the moment as well. Almost as soon as he had come to the realization, pain splintered across his body as the room faded to black once more, and another room materialized around him and the sound of sobbing filled his ears. Near doubled over in agony, Severus spun around, his face ashen, breath catching in his throat as a scene that no words could describe came into view.

He was beating Harry.

Savagely, without remorse, without censure, silently, lips set in a grim line as the black clad arm rose again and again against the child cowering before him. Each time the fist came down, pain resonated through Snape’s body, and he sank to his knees, eyes refusing to leave the frail, shuddering frame of the boy he had come to love so ardently. He gasped as an intense wave of fear splashed over him, pulling him even further to the cold floor, drowning him in an ocean of desperation. He felt everything Harry felt, both in body and mind, though the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of terror, panic, and desperate confusion that was running through the child’s mind as he fruitlessly tried to fend of the blows.

The images came faster now, as if Harry were trying to rush through the hideous scenes with as much haste as possible, and Severus wondered how much control the boy had over what was being shown, and if that control extended to allowing Severus to feel the pain and emotion of each encounter.

Finally he had a concrete understanding of how the boy had been feeling since he arrived at the manor, the gnawing, raging panic, the fear of being hurt, of being hated, of every move made towards him, every glance, every word, every….thing. It made Severus ill, those same feelings churning within him, finally grasping the severity of it, understanding the strength of will the boy must have possessed in order to keep it hidden inside himself. It seemed so impossible that he was able to keep it contained for so long; though it was unlikely the child had a choice under his aunt and uncle’s ruthless authority.

Scenes continued to play out before him, and with each setting the clamor of emotion within Severus changed to what Harry was feeling at that time. The intense distrust and fear of Harry’s first night at the manor, uncertainty and guilt planted by a manipulative Craig over Severus’ indecision to attend the conference, and the almost crippling desperation over the abuse carried out by a disguised Craig. That was the hardest for Severus to witness, the multiple beatings, each blow with belt or clenched fist shattering the carefully built trust Harry had for him.

He watched with horror as Harry discovered the book of curses in his library, scolding himself for not keeping better track of such a dangerous piece of literature. At the same time he was relieved beyond compare that the boy had innocently stumbled upon the tome instead of seeking out the deadly spells, and his belief in Harry’s reluctance to cast the unforgivable was proven minutes later, as he felt the desperation as the despicable words were yelled with such terror and pain. He could not only hear, but feel Harry begging him to stay back, Harry’s own mind whirling frantically as his wand lurched in shaking fingers. Please don’t make me. Please please please please please....

Then came the encounter in Fudges office, blind panic as small fists slammed against the elevator door as Craig came closer and closer, and Snape felt the heart wrenching anguish as the child was dragged back to the Minister’s clutches, the frail voice begging, pleading, promising silence, and the most painful to Severus’ ears….apologizing. It seemed all too much for one person to handle, let alone a young boy of twelve.

And just when Severus though he couldn’t take anymore of Harry’s pain, it stopped.

He felt the tide of horrific emotion flow out of him in an instant as his surroundings changed. He was standing in Harry’s room, the two of them seated together on Harry’s bed, the boy’s face damp, eyes red from crying, and Severus recognized the scene as the moments before Harry had taken his hands after the nightmare that evening.

He watched as Harry rose slowly from the bed, eyes narrowed in thought, and Severus felt another emotion seep into him, and he braced himself for another onslaught. But there was no pain, no terror, no wild, aching panic. It was hope, an anxious, fervent yearning laced with forced confidence, quietly desperate. Severus felt the emotion grow within him, fear mixed with the boy’s longing, and Severus’s eyes narrowed in disbelief as he realized what he was feeling, what Harry was feeling.

Harry loved him.

He loved him.

It was a cautious emotion, ready to be hidden away deep inside in an instant, deathly afraid of being misplaced, of being shattered, but ready to take the risk, believing in the goodness of the man in front of him, and Severus’ chest tightened as Harry’s trust in him was revealed.

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“Sir?”

Harry whispered the word again as the Professor’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. His hands were still clasped in Snape's, but neither made any effort to pull away. He felt like he should still hold on to the man, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. The Professor looked a little shaken as he sat at the edge of the bed, not that Harry could blame him after what he’d put him through, and he forced himself to make eye contact, Snape’s dark eyes locking with his own.

“I…,” Severus started.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, hoping to head off any complaint. “I didn’t mean to make you feel it, Sir, honestly I didn’t.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Snape replied gently, his hands tightening around Harry’s as if to convey the honesty of his words.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry repeated, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I….” There was a long pause before he managed to ask timidly. “Was is very terrible for you?” He watched as Snape’s face crumpled into disbelief before he stood, releasing Harry from his grip and placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The boy had just shown him the very depths of his soul and relived unimaginable pain and abuse, and the child was worried about him.

“It was terrible, yes,” Severus replied. “But do not misunderstand me,” he said quickly as Harry opened his mouth, likely to apologize again. “What is terrible is that you have experienced such things under my care, that I was too blind with arrogance to see your pain, and that I was oblivious to the violations perpetrated against you by Craig. What you have been through these last weeks is nigh unfathomable. I am at a loss, Harry, to understand how in Merlin’s name you endured all you have since arriving here, and yet you still managed to find a reason to lo…,” Severus paused, dropping his gaze. The words he was about to say, he hadn’t meant to say aloud, at least not so soon. He had meant to give the boy time, allow him the freedom of expressing himself at his leisure, not -

“It’s alright, Sir.”

Severus caught Harry’s eyes, free of worry now, almost determined as they stared back at him.

“You can say it,” Harry whispered.

Severus swallowed roughly, suddenly unsure of saying it out loud, but he had felt Harry’s emotions for him correctly, hadn’t he? He thought back to Albus’ words that day at the manor, back when admitting his love for Harry had seemed so alien, so impossible.

Love works wonders, Severus. Even on the most impenetrable of hearts.

The old man had been right. Again.

“And yet,” Severus said softly. “You still managed to find a reason to love me.”

He watched as Harry’s eyes flickered in that moment, as if the words had made physical contact with his body.

“And I love you, Harry,” Severus said fervently, wanting to make sure the boy understood the words, believed them, trusted them.

“I-” Harry started, his breath catching in his throat; and for a moment Severus thought perhaps the boy wasn’t ready to say the words, and that maybe the knowledge that Snape simply knew was enough.

“You need not say it, Harry,” he said, gently pulling the boy to his chest. “There is no need, not now and not ever if you so chose.” He meant what he said. Even if Harry was never able to articulate his emotions verbally, this moment had been enough. He had done so much more than utter those three words to his Professor. He had shown him, allowed him the honor of literally feeling the boy’s love for him, and it had proven Harry’s feelings with far more power and eloquence than words could ever convey. The boy in his arms had so little reason to believe in love, let alone express it, and moments later when the small voice met his ears, Severus marveled again at Harry’s ability to continue to defy the miseries in his life.

“I…I love you too.”

Severus’ heart clenched at the words, words he had not heard since he was a young man, and words the boy in his arms had until now never had the luxury of hearing. He exhaled heavily against the soft, brown hair, the two clinging to each other almost in desperation, neither having the desire to pull away, neither having ever believed this moment could become a reality, the possibility of it too unimaginable, too difficult to even hope for. He felt Harry sniffle against his chest, the boy’s grip on him unfaltering.

I expect you need young Mr. Potter as much as he needs you.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Harry,” Severus replied, feeling a tremor in the arms around his waist. “What is it?” He took a gentle step back, his hands now on Harry’s shoulders, knowing any anxiety would be evident in the boy’s eyes. Harry looked up at him, the emerald orbs glassy with tears, the familiar look of worry etched across his face.

“Do you think…” Harry started uncertainly. “I mean, you said I didn’t have to go home, Sir…..so I was wondering…. I mean, couldn’t I stay here, Sir….with you?”

Not the world, Severus. Just one child.

Severus pulled the boy against him again, the embrace meaning so much more than just a hug, more than just comfort. It was a connection, a promise, one he had uttered so many times to the child, his child. He would not let him go.

“I would not give you up, Harry,” he said in earnest, feeling the thin arms tighten around him in reply. “Not for anything.”

Severus closed his eyes

“Not for the world.”