It was only after midnight when Severus had any peace of mind.

The rest of the hospital wing had fallen silent. Before the end of the fifth chess game, Ron and Draco had fallen asleep as well. The chess pieces had taken over and had destroyed each other, leaving no victor. The matches, Severus had heard, had been evenly matched between the two boys – two to two.

Seated in a soft chair at the end of Harry’s bed, Severus watched the rising and falling chest that was hidden beneath heavy blankets. The boy’s face was pale, but he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His fever had broken. A miracle had occurred; the danger had passed. Now all that remained was watching for any difficulties that the boy might’ve had from the magical poisoning.

But he was going to recover.

If Draco hadn’t put that silly little spell on them, then none of this would have happened. Even if it had been Dumbledore’s doing in arranging it, Draco still had to cast the spell. Getting them stuck together had to be the best thing that had ever happened to either of them.

Wait a minute…

The spell…

Severus glanced at the boy. Dumbledore’s office was far from the hospital wing, father than the last time Severus had checked the spell’s distance. Had it extended already without his realization? Severus lifted his wand and flicked the spell.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Severus whispered the spell out loud, not wanting to wake the nearby prefects nor disturb Harry’s rest. Nothing happened. Briefly alarmed, he pointed his wand at the chess set. The broken chunks melded back together again, reforming into complete chess pieces. Severus cast another spell, a featherweight charm, on a chess piece. It writhed in the air a moment later. He lowered it back to the board, ignoring the rude gestures the chess pieces were now giving him.

His magic was fine. The distance spell wasn’t working. Did that mean…

Did that mean the spell had been broken? When did that happen? Severus had been too busy with everything that he hadn’t given it a second thought. But something had broken the spell. What had Dumbledore said about it? It was a spell that connected two people who hated each other, until they didn’t any more.

Severus looked back at Harry’s sleeping face. He closed his eyes.

Well, he didn’t hate the boy any more.

Maybe that was it.

***

It was dark when Harry opened his eyes. A soft groan rumbled through his throat. He felt like a hippogriff ran over him; and then brought his buddy, the nesting Hungarian Horntail, for a let’s-roast-Harry-over-a-fire-on-a-spit party. His muscles burned something fierce, bringing tiny tears to his eyes. He crushed his eyes together, wiping away the moisture. He took a steadying breath. He could handle this.

Harry turned his head, looking around and trying to get his bearings. He frowned. When had he gotten to the hospital wing? He couldn’t remember walking there. It was too far from Umbridge’s office—

Umbridge!

Harry sucked in his breath, remembering what she had said. She was going to take him away from the Dursleys. How that was possible, Harry didn’t know. On the scale, the Dursleys were better than Umbridge – and Snape was better than the Dursleys. Harry shook himself, nearly chuckling. Last year, there was no way he could’ve imagined that.

He couldn’t stay here, not when Umbridge was going to take him away from the school. Snape would know what to do, though.

Harry pushed against the bed, trying to sit up. He gasped, pain in his chest making him fall back against his pillow. He let out a quiet cough. He turned onto his side, his knees curling against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and moved his arms. He slowly pushed against the bed again, slowly rising to a half sitting position. After catching his breath, he rearranged the pillows behind his back to give himself a little support. He groped in the blurry darkness at the bedside table for his glasses. Once on his face, he glanced around the darkness, looking for the exit.

Harry’s eyes widened.

The hospital wing was fuller than he had realized. In the moonlight illuminated darkness, he could see multiple beds were occupied. What had happened while Harry had been asleep? He looked around his bed. There were figures surrounding his bed, appearing to have fallen asleep in their chairs. To his left, he could see the bushy hair of Hermione. To his right, the light of the night revealed Ron and, to Harry’s complete bewilderment, Draco Malfoy. A chess tablet was set up between them. Behind those boys, Harry could see others asleep in their chairs as well.

Harry scratched his head, frowning in utter confusion.

What the heck was going on?

His eyes were drawn to the end of the bed. A dark figure was resting in another chair. The dark robes were unmistakable. Harry leaned back against his pillow, staring at the sleeping form of Snape. A little touch of fear pressed at his heart, but it was quickly extinguished with a new emotion.

If this many people were here… did that mean Harry had been really sick? What could cause Draco Malfoy to be at Harry Potter’s bedside, playing… chess with Ron Weasley?

Maybe he had transferred to a new world where all this craziness was possible, because Harry was sure this had to be a dream otherwise. In any case, he needed to talk to Snape right away. He had to tell the man about Umbridge. Maybe then, someone could stop the woman.

Or help prepare Harry for the worst.

“Professor,” whispered Harry. He glanced between his friends, worried about waking them. The man didn’t seem to hear him. Harry leaned forward a bit, grabbed a half broken chess piece from off the board, and lightly threw it underhand towards Snape. The chess piece grumbled in protest, it’s deep tiny voice screeching quietly in the dark.

It landed in Snape’s lap.

The man woke with a start, his wand hand bolting into the air. Harry blanched, slamming back down against his pillow, only to smash his head against the backboard with a dull thud. He groaned and grabbed his head, hunching over somewhat.

Snape stood up, cast a silencing charm around them, and moved to Harry’s side.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” demanded Snape in soft whisper. “What do you need?”

The horror of his action was completely erased by the sound of his name on this man’s voice. Harry never believed Snape would ever call him anything but ‘Potter’ with that venom – sometimes blatant, sometimes hidden – in his tone. But at this moment, the man was calling him ‘Harry’ with an attentive urgency to his tone.

It caught Harry off guard.

Snape seemed to take his silence for something worse. He placed a hand onto Harry’s forehead, which flabbergasted Harry even more. What in Merlin’s name is going on? Harry pulled out of his daze when the hand withdrew, the cool air of the hospital wing signifying the fleeting warmth.

“Your fever is still down,” said Snape with a deep, tired sigh. With dismissive wand of his wand, a chair materialized behind him. Snape sat down with another sigh. With a hand, he dug his fingers and his palm into his eyes, before dragging it down over his face. His hand paused at his chin, where he stared at Harry with an intense gaze.

“You woke me up,” said Snape, with the flat air of making a statement. There wasn’t anything threatening to the man’s tone.

“Yes,” said Harry, feeling breathless. He shook himself, swallowing hard. “I have to tell you something.”

“Do you have any idea what we’ve been through?” asked Snape, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea why you are in that bed? In the hospital wing?”

Harry froze, wondering if he had done something wrong. He bit his tongue and slowly shook his head. If he had done something wrong, he’d rather get yelled at alone. A shouting match would wake up the other students.

“You were poisoned,” whispered Snape. His eyes dropped downward slightly, a faraway look entering their light. “Magical poisoning. By a Black Quill.”

A what now?

The quill…

“Umbridge poisoned me?” gasped Harry loudly. He winced, franticly looking between his friends and the rest of the hospital wing.

“It’s fine. I put up a silencing charm up.”

Harry sighed in relief.

“And, yes, she poisoned you.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to say. If she were trying to kill him, then why say she was going to take Harry into her custody? What was her angle in all this? Was she trying to kill him or was she trying to dominate him?

Surely the latter – the Ministry wasn’t in the business of killing off teenagers, were they?

“She said I’m expelled,” said Harry. “She—”

“What?!” barked Snape harshly, his posture going rigid. “What the devil do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Umbridge said I’m expelled,” said Harry, recoiling. His muscles burned in protest. The man looked downright frightening in the darkness.

“I heard you the first time,” snapped Snape. “I want to know where she got such a ridiculous idea that she can expel students.”

Harry breathed out. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Only the headmaster can expel students,” said Snape, with a rant in his tone. He snarled and under his breathed, muttered, “I am going to gut that woman and hang her entrails on a Christmas tree.”

The image in Harry’s head was the stuff of horror films.

“She also said that I’m going to become a ward of the Ministry, under her care.”

Snape paused, looking into Harry’s eyes. The man’s expression wasn’t comforting. It was slight; there was a mixture of confusion and alarm in his features. Quickly, it faded into his blank expression.

“She can’t, right?” asked Harry, feeling worried now. “I mean, she can’t take me away now. We’re stuck together. And didn’t Dumbledore transfer my guardianship to you? So, she can’t take me away, right?”

“Guardianships are easily transferred, as Albus demonstrated,” whispered Snape. He put his face into both of his hands, dragging them down. After a moment of rubbing his face, Snape looked back up at him.

“Harry, I want you to be honest with me.”

“Okay,” said Harry, noting the seriousness in the man’s expression with a touch of trepidation in his heart. Yet, there was something soothing about hearing his name again.

“How do you feel about your relatives?”

“The Dursleys?”

Snape’s lips thinned. “Yes, the Dursleys.”

What does this have to do with Umbridge?

“Why do you ask?” said Harry with a tilt of his head.

“Just humor me.”

Humor him… How, exactly?

“Um, they’re fine?” said Harry, his voice lifting in a questioning tone.

What else was he supposed to say? This didn’t make any sense. They needed to get back to the important topic at hand: Umbridge. Why was the man avoiding the topic about the guardianship. Could the woman take him away or couldn’t she?

“That’s… That’s not what I meant,” said Snape with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He paused. “Tell me how you feel about them.”

“Um…”

Alarm began to rise inside his chest. What did Snape want to know? Why was the man suddenly interested in the Dursleys? Who cared about them. It wasn’t like they mattered in the equation anyway.

“I need you to tell me the truth,” whispered Snape, looking at him intently.

He wanted to know the truth. Somebody wanted to know the truth – finally, after all this time. Brilliant timing this was, wasn’t it?

“Well, Aunt Petunia doesn’t like me,” said Harry. That was fine. This was known information. Everyone knew this. The Dursleys didn’t like him. No big deal. They didn’t have to like him.

“Petunia doesn’t like you,” repeated Snape slowly, as if he were gauging the situation.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” No harm in this line of conversation, right?

“And your uncle?”

A chill slid down Harry’s back. “He doesn’t like me either,” he said, his voice a little higher.

“And the other member? A cousin, I suspect?”

“Dudley?”

Snape’s face twitched. “Dudley Dursley, my… what a name. Yes, him.”

“Well… He learned from his parents… to not like me.”

“I see,” whispered Snape. There was a pause. “Your cousin doesn’t like you either, then. Am I following this correctly?”

“Yes.”

Where is this going?

“You haven’t answered my first question. How do you feel about them?”

“Uh, um…”

How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to answer that?!

“Is it suffice to say that the feeling is mutual?”

“Yeah,” whispered Harry. “I don’t like them either.”

Snape took a deep breath. His dark eyes gazed deeply at him. “Harry, this is very important. I need you to answer this truthfully: how is your life there?”

No…

It was the question asked by teachers, only to be dismissed as foolish notions. They’d ask why Harry was so thin, when Dudley was the opposite. They’d ask why Harry was so quiet, when Dudley was the opposite. They’d ask why, why, why – and the same answer was always given.

‘Oh, he’s just disturbed. Not right in the head.’

‘We try to take care of him, but you know how it is, I’m sure.’

‘I do worry about his health. He’s so thin, but he refuses to eat.’

‘My sister’s boy. Died in a car accident. The boy hit his head when he was a babe and hasn’t been the same since. Pity, he was such a… nice baby.’

So many lies to cover their true ‘dislike.’

Oh Merlin, he’s asking that question. He’s actually asking. Oh, what do I do? He can’t know, right? Right, there’s no possible way he knows anything. Right?

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” said Snape, almost delicately. “Is it safe to say that if they dislike you, this dislike is emanated in the rest of their dealings with you?”

No, he can’t know.

“Well, sure, if they don’t like me…” said Harry, his voice growing higher. His voice cracked. “It shows.”

“How does this show in daily life?” whispered Snape.

“It just shows up? In daily life?”

“Harry.”

Why did he have to say his name like that? Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t the man say his name normally, without using it as leverage like this?

“What do you want me to say?” asked Harry, his hands clenching a handful of his blanket. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“What, now someone wants to know the truth?” snapped Harry.

“You’re becoming defensive.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “What am I supposed to say? They hate me, so they treat me like crap every day of my life.”

“How was it like when you were a child?”

“It was horrible. It was awful,” said Harry. He gained momentum. “I had to watch them treat Dudley like he was normal and I wasn’t for some unknown reason. I had no idea why until I turned eleven. Until I found out that I had magic.”

Harry put a hand over his face, wishing he could block everything out. He wanted everything to go back to normal. But in the next breath, he didn’t want it to go back. Normal was living in Gryffindor Tower. Normal was going back to the Dursleys come summer time. Harry’s new normal, though, was going back to the dungeons, to the safety of those warm quarters – to the place Harry had been free to learn and excel in the area he wanted.

“They hate me because I have magic,” whispered Harry. “It makes sense. They’re supposed to be normal. It doesn’t matter. I’ll…”

I might not have to go back. Now that I’m Snape’s ward. Maybe the spell will last through the summer. I don’t want to go back.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry with a dismissive wave. He tried to not to sound happy. “We’re stuck together. So, the Dursleys don’t matter any more. It’s not like I’ll see them this summer, probably. We haven’t figured out how to break the spell, only extend it.”

“The spell is broken.”

The blood drained from Harry’s face; his heart stopped.

“What?” breathed Harry.

“I don’t know how exactly, but last night the spell broke. We are no longer bound to each other by a spell.”