“Harry!” Hermione proclaimed. “What are you doing here? Usually I only see you here in the mornings and evenings when you feed…” Hermione broke off at the sight of tears running down Harry’s face. Grabbing his arm, she asked urgently, “What’s wrong? Is Severus all right? Has something happened?”

“He told me to leave,” Harry said, his expression the picture of misery.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling him into an embrace.

“I was just trying to help. He’s been through so much and I didn’t want him to be alone and…”

“I know,” Hermione said, pulling back to look at her friend. “This has been really hard on both of you. Severus just needs some time to rest and to heal.”

“That’s what he said,” Harry said around a sob.

“Have a seat and I’ll make you some tea,” Hermione said, pulling out a chair for him.

 Harry slumped into it and laid his forehead on the table, banging it lightly.

“Stop that,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe he told me to leave,” he moaned. “He was gone three years and…” his voice broke off.

“Harry,” Hermione said, pulling out a chair beside him. “Severus is a very proud man, you know that. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“But I don’t care about that!” Harry protested.

“I know that, but Severus does. He wants to be healthy and whole for you.” Leaning in, Hermione added, “He’s used to taking care of you. He’s not used to you taking care of him.”

Harry made a sound of frustration deep in his throat. “How can I convince him to let me help him? I want to help him! He’s done so much for me and he’s been gone so long and he’s hurting…”

“I know. You just need to give him some time. He’s in a lot of pain and he needs to rest right now. Once he’s feeling better, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Harry raised his head and speared Hermione with a desperate gaze. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong with him? No one will tell me.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“Hermione, please. Everyone knows but me, and shouldn’t I be the one to know most of all?” When Hermione hesitated, Harry swore. “What is it that you are all keeping from me?” When that tactic didn’t work, Harry said, “If it was Ron, you’d demand to know, too.”

Sighing, Hermione capitulated. “They broke his back in several places.” As if to soften the blow, she whispered, “He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

Harry gaped. “Can’t the healers fix that?”

“They’re trying,” Hermione said, “but even magic can’t fix everything.”

“But…” Harry protested, gathering his thoughts. “He rode his horse. How could he ride his horse if he was paralyzed?”

“Magic and a lot of help. While Draco was persuading you to get on Penny, Ron was getting Snape dressed and Hannah had him braced and magicked into the saddle. She also spelled his stallion to be as gentle as a pony.”

Harry shook his head, unable to take it all in. “Why?”

 “Severus didn’t want your first sight of him to be that of a broken man,” she said. “He couldn’t bear the thought.”

Harry swallowed against the lump in this throat. “Can he… will he be able to walk again?”

“We don’t know,” she said sadly.

Harry put his head back on the table and wept while Hermione rubbed his back.

Harry paced his room. It was nearing three in the morning, but he couldn’t sleep. Severus had been back for five days, seven if you counted the two days before when Harry hadn’t known. Yet he hadn’t seen Sev for the last two of those, not since Sev had asked him to leave. Harry had barely eaten or slept since. Knowing Sev was back, yet not being able to see him, was killing Harry.

How could Sev have told him to leave? Harry hadn’t seen the man for three years and then he’d only been allowed three days with him before Sev had turned him away. Didn’t Sev know that Harry was only trying to help? Sev had done so much for Harry, more than Harry could ever repay, and now, when Harry could finally return the favor, Sev wanted nothing to do with him.

Harry ran his hands through his hair. How had it come to this? In any of his daydreams about Sev being found, they had never ended like this, with Harry being exiled from his bedside. It slowly began to dawn on Harry that maybe Sev hadn’t really missed him at all. Or maybe the man’s feelings had changed for him while he’d been held in captivity. Maybe Sev was angry that Harry hadn’t managed to find him, save him. Maybe Sev blamed Harry for Harry’s failure to rescue him. Harry certainly blamed himself. Sev would never have given up looking for him if had he gone missing. Sev wouldn’t have locked himself in his house and stopped searching, refusing all contact with the outside world. Sev would have beaten down every door until he found Harry and brought him home. Yes, Harry certainly had failed Severus. Perhaps that was why the man wanted nothing to do with him. Harry was stricken by the very thought.

Even after Harry had left, Severus found he had little time to himself. When he wasn’t sleeping, healers were there working on him, trying to fix his back. And now that the swelling had gone down, therapists were arriving as well. They poked and prodded him, massaged and kneaded the muscles of his useless legs, bent them at odd angles, all in the name of physical therapy. They were trying to ‘reawaken his nerve endings’ they told him as they held him in awkward positions and said spells over his limp limbs and dysfunctional spinal cord. Snape was beginning to think that even Harry’s incessant chatter was preferable to this indignity. And that was before the Aurors had shown up, insisting on asking him the same questions, over and over, for hours on end. If he’d had answers for them, he’d have happily given them, if only to see the annoyingly persistent Aurors gone from the place.

As the hours turned into days, Harry’s world began to collapse in on itself. He’d begun setting alarms to remind himself to feed and water the animals: a chore that no longer held any pleasure for him. He still brought the eggs and milk up to the house, but Hermione had taken over making breakfast. She hovered over him like a hawk, making sure he ate everything on his plate. She bemoaned his lack of sleep. She cajoled him to take better care of himself. Sometimes Ron joined in on this, and other times he told Hermione to give it a rest. Harry said little.

The house was quieter these days. Hermione and Ron had returned to work. Hannah and Draco had both taken leaves of absence to tend to Severus. Hannah’s sister Calista had gone off to Hogwarts. And that left Harry alone, to do nothing but lament his sorry excuse for a life. After three, long, miserable years, Severus had returned. And he didn’t want to see Harry. What was the point of living if even Severus couldn’t stand his company?

All Harry had been able to think about during those dark times was Severus. Was he still alive? Was he in pain? Was he missing Harry as much as Harry missed him? He thought about how much Severus had come to mean to him after the war. How he’d never told the man as much. What he would do and say if he ever got the chance to see him again.

Yet here he was, Sev was back--gravely injured--but still back, and Harry was adrift and more alone than ever. Sev didn’t want his help or his sympathy. Sev didn’t want him. It was more than Harry could take.

It had been three days since he’d sent Harry away. He hadn’t meant that the younger man wasn’t welcome to visit, merely that he needn’t spend every moment of his time in Severus’s presence. So why hadn’t Harry come back to visit? If only to check on him?

Resolved to let Harry come to terms with everything that had happened as Harry saw fit, Severus resigned himself to being patient. He’d waited three years to see Harry again, he could wait a couple more days.

He decided to spend the interim time getting as much rest as he could and trying to regain some of his strength. The more therapy and healing he could accomplish now, the stronger and healthier he’d be when he saw Harry next. That all sounded well and good, but he missed the younger man something fierce.

When he’d first seen Harry on Penny, he felt as if he’d been given his life back. Yes he was severely injured, and yes he’d hidden it from Harry, but the look of surprise and wonder and relief in Harry’s eyes when he’d seen Severus alive had been more than worth it. Harry’s touch alone, after so long without comforting human contact, had been a balm to his soul. He yearned for Harry to return to him. Harry was never patient; surely he would be back soon.

By the fifth day of being banished from Malfoy manor, Harry had stopped sleeping and eating altogether. Other than taking care of the animals, he stayed in his room. His mind was a chaos of dark and desperate thoughts. He had started to use a glamour to hide his appearance.

Hermione had taken to bringing him breakfast and dinner because he’d refused to eat in the dining room any longer. He always thanked her. Then he’d break off a few crumbs, smear the food around the plate to make it look as though he’d eaten, and banish the rest. Ron had taken to spending evenings with him, trying to engage him in chess or some other pastime, telling him that Snape would come around, that it was only a matter of time before he’d be asking for Harry to visit.

Harry had finally told Ron and Hermione both that he was writing a book, a book about his life. About growing up and the war. He said it was something he’d always wanted to do. He said that now that Severus was back home safe, he could concentrate on one of the projects he’d always wanted to do until Sev was ready to see him again. It gave him an excuse to stay locked in his rooms day and night. And it hadn’t been a total lie, he had been writing, but it wasn’t a book. He was writing letters.

Early that afternoon, much earlier than normal, he went out to the stables to take care of the animals. The sun was shining bright, and he relished the feel of it against his skin. He gazed around the estate, taking in the stream that he loved, the trees and the birds and the fresh air. He inhaled the scent of hay and leather and feed and, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt at peace.

He took his time with each of his animals, saving Penny for last. He talked to the chickens as he sprinkled seed on the ground for them. He rubbed down Sir Francis Bacon, smiling as she practically purred with pleasure, flipping onto her back so he could rub her tummy. He patted Bessie as he milked her, taking the time to thank her, before feeding her some hay. Then he made his way to Penny. Penny, his overgrown pony, as Sev had called her. He scratched her behind the ears and fed her an apple. She nuzzled him as if to ask him why today was so different. He didn’t respond, merely placed his forehead against her nose and inhaled her unique scent.

Finished with his chores, he made his way back up to the manor. He gazed at it for long moments, remembering the time he and Sev had spent together fixing it up. There hadn’t been much to do, as the previous owners had kept it in good repair, but still, old manors needed regular maintenance, and Sev had much more knowledge in that area than Harry could ever claim. Shoulder to shoulder, Sev had taught him spells to clean windows and to fix leaks and cracks and to fight back weeds. Sev, his Sev, who had taught him all he needed to know to be a landowner, and to take care of farm animals. Sev, who had been the one constant in Harry’s adult life. Sev, who had finally returned, only to cut ties with him.

Swallowing his tears, Harry made his way inside. He debated walking through the rooms before he made his way to his quarters, but he couldn’t muster the energy or initiative to do so. Instead, he forced himself up to the stairs and into his study. Carefully, he laid out the ledgers of his accounts, showing his expenditures. He made sure they were all in order and easily understandable. Then he placed out his monthly bills, in the order they needed to be paid. Lastly, he laid out his log on the animals--where he purchased their feed, how much they should be fed and when, and any other particular cares they required.

Next, he took a quick shower and shaved before putting on sleep pants and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. He made his way to his bedroom, where he laid his favorite dress robes out on his bed: a deep green velvet set trimmed in gold that Sev had picked out for him for the ceremony where he was awarded his Order of Merlin, First Class. He ran his fingers along the soft velvet, remembering how Sev had stood beside him the whole night. Harry hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t felt up to it. The trauma of the war and all of its losses had still been too fresh. Ron and Hermione had gone to Australia to find her parents, and Harry hadn’t wanted to face the crowds alone. To Harry’s surprise, Sev had stepped up and taken Harry under his wing, seeing him through the event before, during, and after. If it hadn’t been for Severus…

Harry shook his head, forcing the memories away. Sev wasn’t his anymore. Perhaps he never had been. Perhaps Harry had been a fool to believe things could go back to the way they had been when Severus returned. Then again, Harry thought, he’d always been a fool. When had his life ever worked out the way he’d wanted it to?

Fighting against the soul-deep sorrow that threatened to engulf him, he carefully laid out the scrolls he’d written. There were so many. Letters to Hermione and Ron, Hannah and Ernie, George and Ginny, Bill and Fleur, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Luna, Neville, Hagrid, Minerva, and many more. He laid these on his bed, beside his dress robes.

Then he went to his dresser and pulled the wooden box out from the bottom drawer. After Sev had disappeared, he’d started adding things to it: a ticket from a Muggle concert they’d attended, a receipt from a restaurant, the book on hexes Sev had given him one Christmas, the Snitch tie clip Sev had given him for his thirtieth birthday. In the beginning, when the reminders of Severus had been too painful, he’d began squirrelling these items away in this box to keep them out of sight. Later, when he was particularly missing the man, he’d sit on the floor and go through its contents, reveling in the memories that each item brought forth of the times they’d spent so contentedly in each other’s company.

Now, he merely set the box atop his dresser unopened. He retrieved the black silk scarf that Sev had given him when he’d first returned on horseback. Harry folded it neatly, trying not to think about how he’d felt that day--the ecstatic joy, the relief, the hope. He set the scarf carefully atop the box, and then placed the scroll for Severus atop that. More than all the other letters, this one had been the hardest to write. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to turn away.

He hopped up onto the cushioned window seat in his bedroom that overlooked the back gardens and sighed. He had loved this place. When Sev had lived here, it had been his home. After Sev had been taken, it had been his refuge. Now, it had become his prison--haunted by hopelessness and lost dreams. Pushing those thoughts aside, he focused instead on what lay ahead. On relief and freedom and the absence of pain.

Settling himself more comfortably into the cushions of the deep window seat, he leaned back against the wall and drew up his knees. Balancing his left hand, palm up, atop his left knee, he studied his thickly veined wrist. He closed his eyes momentarily before whispering a mirroring spell. Then he raised his wand and drew a vertical line along the inside of his left arm, watching as an identical line appeared on his other arm. As his wand slipped from his fingers, he let his eyelids fall shut. It was better this way.