Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
I feel I should making something clear: When I write, it's always an ongoing experiment. Does this work? Can I do this? And so on and forth. Part of my 'test' this time is deliberately making one part of this vague. And while I'm at it anyway: I don't mind questions. I like them, just as much as I do suggestions and tips.

Why won't Ron, Hermione etc talk to Harry? What would cause something like that to happen? How can I work around it, find my explanation and insert it. So, yes, you are supposed to feel like there is, as one reviewer pointed out, one part of the puzzle missing.

This story is all about confusion and a sense of having misplaced something.
Chapter 5

—Chapter 5—

Harry wasn't sure which was worse: When he'd knocked on Snape's door at Grimmauld Place, or what he was about to do right now. He was standing outside Snape's office, hand raised as if to knock. It was just wrong. Plain wrong to visit Snape voluntarily. But it wasn't like there was anyone else he could talk to any more. Yeah, the other teachers still treated him the same as always, but Dumbledore still wasn't speaking to him. It was like last year all over again, only so much worse. He had to talk to Snape about Malfoy, and West, and the younger kids in Slytherin. He just had to…talk. Derek wasn't here, and he didn't think he'd ever missed anyone so much as he was missing Derek right now.

Because Harry was about to explode. Or quite possibly go mad.

He knocked. It didn't take Snape long to answer the door.

"Potter."

Harry managed a weak smile. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn't manage to construct a single syllable. Snape stared at him, saying nothing, his dark eyes fixed on Harry.

"Get in, Potter," Snape finally murmured. Grateful, Harry slipped inside the open door. He made a beeline for the chair in front of Snape's desk, opposite of the armchair on the other side. There was a stack of parchments on the desk, most likely essays, waiting to be corrected.

"What is the matter, then?" Snape asked when Harry still hadn't said a word.

Harry started. "I, um."

"Yes?"

"It's Malfoy."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

Harry bit his lip. "D'you know if, if I can trust him, maybe?"

"Of course not," Snape said promptly, "He is a Malfoy. However, though the question is wrong, I think I know what you mean." Moving the stack of parchments to the side, Snape leaned forward over the desk, resting his elbows on the scratched surface. "No, Potter, he is not gathering information for the Dark Lord. I doubt he will join."

"Oh." Harry sagged with relief. "Good."

"Is it?"

Shrugging, Harry looked away. "He's the only one my age who really talks to me, y'know? I mean, yeah, Neville tries, but the rest of the blokes in my dorm don't make it easy for him."

"I shouldn't think so."

"Yeah." Harry fiddled with the sleeves of his robe, gathering his courage for a new question. "Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry was sure he'd never heard Snape like this before, especially not since before the summer, talking to Harry without an ounce of malice or disgust or hatred. It was…nice. Unexpected, but really nice. "Tom West?"

"What about him?"

"D'you know what he's doing?"

Snape smirked, black eyes amused. "Oh, yes, I'm quite sure I do."

"Is it all right, d'you think?"

"I see nothing wrong with it."

"Oh," Harry said again. "I wasn't sure if you'd mind or not."

"No."

Snape waved his wand, conjuring a tea set along with some scones. Harry's stomach churned, but while he poured himself a cuppa at Snape's direction, he didn't touch the scones.

"Something I have noticed, and do mind, is that you are not sleeping in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry froze, eyes wide.

"Where are you at night?" Snape asked sharply, tone hard.

"Someone goes through my stuff," Harry whispered, his face pale but for the spots of red on his cheeks. "They tried to make off with it a couple of times. But I'd been warding it, like you told me to this summer. Then, after I'd begun to have my trunk on me all the time… They're hexing my bed, cursing it and… I can't sleep there. Sometimes, I can't even get into my own bed. I tried sleeping in the common room, but they just did the same there."

Snape's eyes were horrible. Harry felt giddy with relief that it wasn't him they were meant for. "Inexcusable," Snape hissed. "Is Minerva aware?"

Harry bit his lip. "Is it okay that I don't want to know if she is?"

Snape's eyes were still flinty, bright with hatred and disgust, but there was something about the set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw that calmed Harry. They weren't tense, as if he was about to strike out at Harry. "I'm sure your psychologist warned you against self-delusion."

"Small doses, he said." Snape snorted. "Don't tell me if you ask, please?" Harry begged.

Snape ignored him. "Where do you sleep, then? Not an empty classroom."

"No. It's the Room of Requirement. I ask it to keep me safe and wake me so I've time to get ready for class."

The Professor nodded. "Eat a scone, Potter."

Harry hesitated, then reached for the smallest one he could find, silently cursing the House Elves for making everything roughly the same size. After Harry had a scone in his hand, half-heartedly nibbling on it, Snape continued, "I can't allow you to continue sleeping in the Room of Requirement, Potter."

"I figured you couldn't."

Snape smirked. "Indeed. As it is, I can't allow you to sleep in your dormitory, either."

Harry's shoulders were slumped. "I tried, you know. I mean, I tried talking to them all. Neville really doesn't like—" Harry frowned, his eyes a bit distant. "They were all acting as if they didn't know me, you know. Even Ron was just staring right through me. It was really…odd." He wanted to say 'fucked up', but Snape was a teacher. He'd taken points for less. "They're calling me a slimy snake." Harry wet his lips., then said, "So I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"Not true," Snape disagreed He had been strangely quiet as he listened to Harry's confused little speech. "I have a guestroom. I will make sure no one has a problem with you sleeping in there."

"Really?"

Snape didn't look nearly as sour as Harry was sure he wanted to. "Yes. Really." Snape stood up, indicating with a curt gesture that Harry was to follow. Harry, putting down his mostly uneaten scone, followed. Snape's dark eyes followed the motion, and while his lips tightened a bit, he didn't say anything. Harry did his best to ignore it.

The room was very bare, only holding a single bed that looked like it hadn't been used in many years. But the room was clean, and there was a thick shag pile on the floor. It wasn't even an overly large room, but for some reason, Harry instantly liked the room very much.

"I shall have to ask the House Elves to locate some furniture, obviously," Snape was saying.

"It's nice, Professor."

Snape ignored him. "You will be added to the wards and given a password. It will allow you – mark my words, Potter, only you – to enter."

Harry wanted to ask who else he'd bring. In the end, he thought better of it and just nodded. "I understand," he said.

—x—

His trousers were too large.

Harry had noticed his failing appetite and the nausea he hadn't been able to shake since the school began. Talking to Derek had always helped, though. He'd always been hungry after he'd been to see Derek. Fuck, he missed Derek. Living with Snape, always having the man nearby was setting his nerves on edge. Snape was always there, always watching, always seeing.

Madame Pomfrey had talked to him once or twice since he'd returned to Hogwarts. She'd noticed his failing appetite, too. Harry just wasn't sure if she'd told Snape, and in that case, what exactly she'd told him.

Standing in just his pants in front of the mirror, trousers pooled round his feet, Harry didn't get how he hadn't noticed just exactly how much weight he'd lost. Snape had been on him, he suddenly realised, all his comments and urgings about Harry eating a pie or a biscuit or a sandwich.

"Are you intending to spend the next forever in there, Potter?" Snape called from the other side of the door. Harry realised he'd been hogging the bathroom far longer than he usually did.

"No," Harry called back and hurriedly dressed. His hair wet, lying flat on his skull for once, with just one or two locks stubbornly sticking up, Harry opened the door.

"Hi."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as he walked past Harry into the bathroom.

Harry went back to his own room to change his clothes. Suddenly, he felt cold and an overwhelming urge to hide. He'd been staying with Snape for two weeks now and it showed. The room had somehow become his during that short time. Snape didn't seem to mind. In fact, if anything, he seemed amused.

Snape, Harry had decided after two days or so, was weird. Outside of his rooms, he could've fooled anyone that he wasn't anything less than a haughty pureblood. But in private? Harry sniggered.

—x—

It was to the screeching notes of Ziggy Stardust that Harry came home. Two weeks ago, he hadn't even heard the name, but now he almost knew the text by heart. Snape listened to music a lot and he did it loud.

He said it was because if he had to read essays full of drivel and bullshit, then he'd bloody well do it to proper music.

Harry wasn't feeling nearly suicidal enough to point out that David Bowie wasn't proper music, in any way.

"Where have you been?"

Harry started, whirled round. Snape was there, almost standing on top of him, his black eyes fixed intently on Harry's. There was only fifteen minutes left until curfew, the latest by far that Harry had been out in the weeks since he'd stayed with Snape.

"I… Tom wanted me to help him with his DADA homework."

"You weren't at dinner." The 'again' was left unsaid.

Harry bit his lip. "I wasn't hungry." Snape looked at him. For some reason, it made Harry feel extremely guilty. "I ate some toast."

"Toast."

Harry nodded. "Yeah." Harry's throat felt constricted. "I don't get sick from toast," he forced himself to say, heart hammering in his chest.

Snape's eyes went over him, taking him in. Harry was sure he noticed exactly how many layers Harry was wearing, the extra long-sleeved T-shirt under his school clothes, the jumper he was wearing over that.

"Some tea, I believe."

Harry wanted to protest. The look in Snape's eyes told him not to. With a flick of Snape's wand, he lowered the volume of the music. "Come," he said. Harry, as if he'd always done it, obeyed Snape without question.

That night, Snape served crackers with the tea. Harry found to his delight that he managed to eat several without his stomach turning. They were dry and slightly salty and didn't taste like much of anything at all, but they were more solid than most of what Harry managed on a daily basis these days. That night was also the very first time that Harry tried some of Snape's cooking. It was just a soup, granted, but it was probably one of the tastiest soups Harry had ever eaten. It was a green lentil soup, and it filled Harry's stomach just enough that he wasn't hungry any more most nights when he went to bed, and it warmed him up like nothing he had ever experienced before.

—x—

The entire day had been one disaster after another. He'd woken up feeling sort of dizzy with a headache. Snape – Harry swore the man had eyes like a hawk – had noticed before Harry'd even stepped out of bed, it felt like, and forced a potion or two down his throat. It had been early. Harry wasn't quite sure it had actually happened. Then, he'd been late to his first class, which just so happened to be Potions.

Why? Because he'd been sick the moment he entered the Great Hall. He'd spent far too long in the bathroom with a clenching and rebelling stomach. By the time he'd felt even near comfortable moving, he'd already been five minutes late. By the time he'd finally arrived, it was late enough that Snape had snapped at him to get out, taken fifteen points and assigned him detention.

Yeah, Harry lived in Snape's flat, but that didn't mean that Snape would suddenly treat him any differently in class. If anything, Snape was more strict and stern with him. Harry guessed it was because these days Snape got a first-hand view of the amount of time Harry actually spent studying. So Harry'd spent the time when he should've been in class napping. Which, of course, had made him late for Transfigurations as well. McGonagall had only taken points, though.

But by lunch, Harry'd lost Gryffindor over twenty points. The Gryffindors were not happy. He'd seen more than one student glaring at him.

So Harry sat, shoulders hunched to make himself less of a target, and stared at his empty plate. He had considered eating, but nothing on the table made him even the slightest bit peckish. Rather the opposite, in fact. So, all in all, it looked to be yet another day where all he ate would be Snape's soup and his crackers.

Even the thought of it now made him feel a bit ill. Harry forced the feeling away and swallowed heavily.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned his head.

Pomfrey cleared her throat.

"Hi."

"See me in my office, Potter." It was not a request.

Harry swallowed nervously. His plate looked anything but eaten on and, by the look of the almost empty hall, lunch was over. A quick glance at the time told him he had fifteen minutes to get to class. This wasn't the first time she'd cornered him about his eating habits. At least once a year, in the beginning of term, she'd more or less interrogate him about why he wasn't eating as much as he should – which was also connected with the whole never-ending project of Harry not weighing as much as he should. The other years, though, by the time October neared, he'd have started to put on some weight, and at the very least have worked up a normal appetite.

Not his year, though.

It was already a week into October.

"I have class—" Harry began to protest. He didn't want to see her. She'd definitely know for sure, if he did. And, and then he'd know for sure that he was letting Snape down. Even now just the thought of it made his stomach clench in that peculiar way.

"After dinner," Pomfrey said drily.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I—"

Pomfrey merely raised an eyebrow. "Shall I send an escort?"

Harry got the feeling she'd be one step ahead of him no matter what he said. Glaring, he muttered, "I've got detention with Snape tonight."

Pomfrey just gave a brisk nod at this revelation. "Excellent. I'll have one of the House elves let him know that he is to walk you up."

Harry wanted to exclaim: Aha! You are in cahoots with each other, aren't you? As if he had just revealed a dark master plan regarding the complete and utter defeat of Harry Potter's failing appetite. It felt like Snape and Pomfrey both were predators, who'd been circling him for a long time until now, finally, they had him surrounded. It wasn't the slightest bit funny, though. If anything, it made him feel lightheaded.

"I will see you tonight, then, Potter." Pomfrey turned on her heel and walked away.

Harry's glare was surly and petulant. "…fucking wank," he muttered.

As if to underline it all, he ended up being late for Charms, too. Flitwick only took five points, though.

—x—

Detention with Snape that night was rather unspectacular. Upon arrival, Harry had been tasked with cleaning cauldrons. It was familiar, boring and repetitive. Unfortunately, it meant his thoughts could run wild. Whatever it was Pomfrey wanted to see him for, Harry was firmly convinced it couldn't be anything good. And, more to the point, he absolutely didn't want to give Snape any kind of reason to believe that the soup-and-crackers diet wasn't working.

When there was an hour left until curfew, Snape told him to stop.

"I have been directed to escort you to the infirmary, Potter."

Harry scowled. "I'm fine!" he protested.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If Poppy thinks otherwise—"

"She's always like that!" Harry protested. "Every time I come back after the summer, she's hounding me, like, once a week or something. But I always sort it out—"

"Do you mean to tell me, Potter, that you are frequently too sick to maintain a proper diet?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Um, no," he admitted. "S'just, this time."

"Mmmhmm," Snape said, sounding both disapproving and very much not amused. "Just this time. Do you not think it prudent, then, to allow her to examine you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me, though! I'm fine!"

Snape shook his head. "You are severely underweight, Potter—"

"I'm trying!"

"Potter." Harry closed his mouth. "I know you are."

"You do?" Harry asked, feeling strangely subdued. And warm. There was something warm, fluttering deep down inside. He forced the guilt away, because if Snape knew he was trying, then if he found out that Harry was still being sick… that might make Snape angry or disappointed. So Harry pushed it away, to the far reaches of his mind, and promptly ignored it.

"Yes. Now, let's go see what the esteemed Madame Pomfrey wants."

"She's a Napoleonic powermonger," Harry muttered as he stalked to the door. He thought he'd been too quiet for Snape to hear. Snape snorted. Harry chanced a look over his shoulder at Snape. The man looked rather too amused. "She is, though," he muttered insistently.

"If you say so," Snape agreed. He placed a hand on Harry's neck. Harry tensed, then quickly relaxed when he realised that all Snape was about to do, was sort of…guide him.

Snape certainly wasn't grabbing him by the neck, ready to toss him somewhere. It felt nice. Unexpected, but nice. Harry smiled.

"Sir?"

Snape grunted. His thumb was stroking the back of Harry's neck, making him shiver and transform his smile into something catlike.

"I'm sorry I was late this morning."

"I'm sure," Snape drawled.

Harry nodded, careful not to dislodge Snape's hand. "Will you let me brew the potion some other time?"

"I don't see why not. It won't count, of course, and it won't be graded. But if you wish, I will oversee your brewing."

"Mmmm, yes. If it's really all right, then I think I want that." Harry yawned. "Can't believe I'm so tired," he mumbled.

"It's because you are underweight," Snape said. The doors to the infirmary were coming up in view down the corridor. "You are likely more susceptible to falling ill, as well." Snape eyed him. "It will stunt your growth, too."

Harry started. "What? No!"

"Oh, yes," Snape said.

Horrified, Harry looked at Snape. Snape was much taller than him, like he'd always known, but the prospect of not growing tall enough to be able to look the man in the eye without straining his neck? It was definitely not something Harry wanted to contemplate. He'd never really had visions of being seven feet tall or something like that, but he'd sort of always assumed that when he grew up, he'd be, you know, tall. Not a little shrimp that everyone looked down on. Ron – hell, all the Weasleys were taller than him, even Ginny, except maybe Mrs Weasley – was already towering over him, and Hermione'd had those one or two inches over him since last year. He'd never really thought about it, but Charlie had been a bit taller than him, too.

"Snape, I don't know anyone who's shorter than me!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Cease the histrionics, Potter. You are not that short. All I'm saying is eating disorders can have a negative effect on your growth."

"Eating disorder," Harry stuttered, "You think I have an, an eating disorder?"

Snape gave him a look. "What else would you call it?"

"I…I don't know," Harry mumbled. "But…it's not that I don't want to eat, it's just that…it's just that I can't."

"I am aware." Snape nodded at the closed doors that led to the infirmary. "As Poppy, no doubt, soon will be as well."

Harry bit his lip. "If, if I promise—"

"Potter. This is not up to me. Madame Pomfrey is the MediWitch of Hogwarts. Therefore, all medical issues fall under her jurisdiction." Snape's gaze turned considering. "Unless, of course, you are hiding something."

It was the perfect opening, the best opportunity he'd ever had to tell Snape that he still couldn't keep anything down. With guilt clawing at his stomach, Harry looked away, lowering and shaking his head. "No, sir. S'nothing. I just really don't like being in there."

Why it was suddenly so important to appear strong in Snape's eyes, Harry had no idea. But it was more important to him, so much more important that pushing aside guilt and conjuring a couple of small, white lies didn't faze him very much. Because if he did, then he didn't have to think about facts like: how he absolutely, under no circumstances, wanted Snape to be disappointed in him, or worried about him, or…

Or feel let down.

It was easier to think about appearing strong, than exploring why he felt the way he did.

Snape pushed the door open, urged Harry inside, and called out for Poppy.

The matron was there in seconds. Harry really didn't like the glint in her eyes. "Severus, Potter. Good evening."

"Hullo, Madame."

"On the bed, sit," she ordered. In here, Harry was powerless to do anything but obey.

So, he sat down. Allowed himself to be poked and prodded at, to be measured, weighted and questioned. It seemed like she had him in her clutches for hours, but that couldn't be, because he was back in his room in Snape's flat before curfew.

Snape had waited for Harry, leaning back on the bed opposite to the one Harry was sitting on. He'd heard the clucking and the humming, seen the results of the scans. Knew for a fact, now, that Harry was underweight and that his vision in his left eye was much worse than in his right eye. It wasn't the first time Pomfrey had updated the strength of his glasses.

But Snape had waited. For him.

No adult had ever waited for him, listened to what the doctor – or MediWitch – had to say and taken the recommendations to heart.

Harry felt warm, taken care of.

The guilt almost threatened to consume him. He pushed it away by telling himself that Snape was only doing it because he had to: there wasn't any other choice, was there? No one else wanted Harry at the moment, so they'd shipped him off to Snape. Logical, wasn't it? Harry told himself it was.

—x—

His belt was too large.

It was another couple of weeks later. He was always cold these days. It seemed no matter how much Harry wore, it was never enough. Harry had tried to eat more, he truly, honestly had, but… Obviously, it hadn't worked as well as Snape probably thought it had. As Pomfrey had assumed it would. Without a second thought, Harry shrunk the belt until it fit properly again. For a short moment, guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but then he firmed his resolve.

It was really, really important to him that he didn't make Snape disappointed in him. It was why he hadn't really told Snape about all the times he'd sicked up his dinner or lunch. Why he'd done his best to avoid Pomfrey at all costs – another visit in the infirmary would've revealed that Harry wasn't doing as well as they hoped, he was firmly convinced of it. Well, there was also the fact that Harry didn't really know how to tell Snape. Most of the time, it felt like a big, dark secret he had to keep at all costs. The more time that went by, the harder it became.

And he didn't want Snape to be disappointed with him.

—x—

When Snape grabbed Harry's wrist, his fingers easily met round it. Harry's hand was suspended over his bubbling potion, three porcupine quills held between his thumb and forefinger.

"The instructions clearly said one, Potter," Snape said. His eyes were very dark. There was a furrow between his eyebrows Harry didn't think he'd ever seen there before, and it made something in his stomach to twist with uncertainty and guilt.

"Remain after class."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

His potion was a disaster, thoughts racing through his head. What did Snape want to talk about? He didn't know, did he? Harry'd been so careful not to make him worry or disappointed. Harry'd honestly thought it'd be easier, because Snape didn't like him, after all.

It was just… Snape was letting Harry stay in his flat. Harry got that it was because Snape didn't want him to roam round the school at night, or sleep in the Room of Requirement. He didn't get why Snape was always checking him over, though, looking at his homework, making sure he ate and slept properly. Snape insisted Harry clean his room once a week, he insisted Harry be in bed, not necessarily asleep, but in bed, by eleven at the very latest. Snape even let Harry babble at him.

The classroom emptied itself far too fast for Harry's peace of mind. His desk was still cluttered and the failed potion was still bubbling away merrily in his cauldron.

"Up here," Snape ordered.

Heart hammering in his chest, Harry stood up and walked up to where Snape was standing by his desk. "Sir?"

"Give me your hands, Potter," Snape said, his voice quiet but serious. Bemused, Harry held out his hands. Snape grabbed them with his own. Once again, he let his fingers circle Harry's wrists, and this time even Harry could see how easily Snape's fingers reached round and how Snape's fingers even overlapped.

"Oh."

"Have you been lying to me, Potter?" Snape's eyes were hard, the restrained anger in them easy for Harry to see.

Just as easy as the blatant disappointment.

Harry felt his own eyes sting. He shook his head. "I tried so hard," he whispered. "But…"

"But?"

Harry swallowed. "I…I…"

"Potter," Snape prompted him. His tone wasn't kind, but it wasn't cross, either.

"My trousers don't fit any more," Harry made himself say, "and then you started with the crackers and the soup and, and I started feeling…weird, so I tried eating more. Honest, I did, and you'd look at me, and I'd feel like I'd done something right, for once. And Pomfrey said it'd work, she did! But it didn't and, but then this morning my belt didn't fit any more, and I knew it was 'cause, 'cause I can't do anything right."

Snape's fingers under his chin lifted Harry's face up, forcing Harry to meet Snape's gaze. "Why is that, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath. His eyes were stinging even worse than before. "'Cause the food made me sick. I was so careful! But I just got sick, no matter what. And, and I didn't want to disappoint you," he whispered, looking away.

"Potter," Snape said again. The fingers under Harry's chin were firm. Harry made himself look up again. "You should have told me before."

"Why?" Harry asked, plaintive and confused. "I don't understand. Why should I've done that? Why d'you even want to know? I don't understand!"

"I would have thought getting better lay in your own best interest," Snape said. Harry just stared, chin raised stubbornly. Snape rubbed his nose. "Why do I care – that's what you mean, correct?"

"No one cares," Harry accused Snape mulishly. "Oh, they pretend to, but then I do something freakish and unnatural, and suddenly everyone's got something better to do. I'm never worth—"

"Stop." Snape's eyes were very dark, almost scary in their intensity.

"It's what always happens," Harry protested.

"Through no fault of your own. Quite the opposite." Harry's confusion and hurt were very visible. "No. Your friend Mr West cares, I'm sure, as does his father—"

"Only 'cause I pay him," Harry muttered.

"Oh? How many patients do you honestly think he allows into his home, near his children?"

Harry scowled. "So I'm special, that's what you're saying?"

Snape shook his head. "No. I'm saying that Derek cares about you."

Unbidden, the memory of how Derek had let Harry sleep on his couch, woken him in time, and given him breakfast that morning when they were leaving for Hogwarts came to mind. Harry'd woken with that soft blanket wrapped round him. Had Derek placed it there?

"In fact, only this morning Poppy expressed her concerns about you. It is far from the first time she has done so this term, as you very well know."

"She says she's gonna tie me to a bed and force-feed me," Harry mumbled.

"Really?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm always too skinny."

Snape made a curious sound in the back of his throat. "Perhaps not the best course of action," Harry thought the man muttered to himself. "So, you could say that both Derek and Poppy care for you."

Harry bit his lip. "I guess. Maybe."

"Then why can't I? After all, I am more than aware of just how troublesome you can be."

"You mean, I couldn't make you—"

"No."

"Oh."

There was just something so wrong about hearing Snape say he cared. Even after Harry'd seen him in the mornings before he was properly awake, after he'd heard him sing along to queer texts to that weird music he listened to, even after he'd seen him stretched out on the sofa, dead asleep. He'd heard Snape curse, heard him laugh, seen him with his hair wrapped up in a towel like a girl, walked in on him having a piss, heard him yell at the kettle after it'd fallen on his toe. It was just…caring made Snape human. Despite all that Harry now knew Snape was a normal person, if right weird, it just wasn't logical that Snape could do that.

Care.

It was just… Snape could have mentioned Harry's old friends in Gryffindor, the Weasleys or Dumbledore. All people Harry'd known cared about him before. But Snape hadn't. And maybe that meant that Snape cared, just a little? If he didn't want to hurt Harry?

"It's not right," Harry mumbled.

Snape barked a laugh. "Of course it's not. But, Potter," he said, seriously. Harry's eyes darted up to meet Snape's again. "You need to stop thinking along the terms of right and wrong, and start acting along what's natural."

"Natural?"

"What your gut tells you to do. I'm sure even you have that instinct?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry's eyes began stinging again. It felt as if there was a great lump in his throat. "It wanted me to tell you. I wanted to so bad, and I felt so guilty. But I couldn't, 'cause then you'd be disappointed—"

"False assumption," Snape chided.

"You wouldn't have been?"

"No. I wouldn't have been."

"Are you? Now, I mean?"

"No," Snape said again. "However, I do believe lunch is in order."

Harry's stomach lurched.

That afternoon, Snape excused Harry from the rest of his classes and cancelled his own. To Harry, that was unheard of. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a long meeting with Pomfrey, painstakingly laying down the diet Harry was to follow from now. But it wasn't just that Harry wasn't eating properly that was the problem. It was whatever was causing that, and that needed to be dealt with as well.

—x—

"Hi, Derek," Harry whispered. He was standing in the doorway of Derek's office.

Derek stared back at him, his eyes wide and face pale. "Oh, Harry! What happened?"

Harry fidgeted with his hands. "D'you know how I told you my relatives wouldn't feed me when I was bad?"

Derek nodded. "Yes." He walked over to Harry, placed an arm round Harry's shoulders and led him inside. They sat down together on Derek's couch. "Have you been punishing yourself?"

"I dunno. The whole school hates me, nobody wants me. Everyone's always staring at me. Whispering. Then, then Snape took me in, looked after me and I couldn't disappoint him! He'd noticed I wasn't eating properly, and I tried! But I couldn't keep anything down, and I wasn't ever hungry and—"

"Calm down, Harry. From the beginning, okay?" Derek smoothed a hand through Harry's hair.

"Okay."

Harry dared to believe that maybe Snape was right and that Derek cared a little about him, for real.

Chapter End Notes:
Napoleonic powermonger – said Jack O'Neill from Stargate SG-1, about their doctor.

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