Potter…the last person on earth whom he had any desire to see.
But there he stood, the Boy Who Lived, no, the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, in all his adolescent glory. Hair standing on end, hands on his hips, down to the arrogant expression on his face. Nothing had changed in the months since Snape had last seen him, and when he finally opened his impertinent mouth, all of this was confirmed in an instant.
"Snape," was the first word. When all he received was an icy stare and ugly moue in return, he continued, "I had to see it for myself. Make sure your bloody ass was locked up." His lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. "Although, the Ministry cells are a hell of a lot nicer than what's waiting for you."
"Get out, Potter. As usual, you're making a spectacle of yourself," Snape told him as he turned away. He listened as the footsteps echoed a retreat.
***
Potter…the last person on earth whom he had any desire to see, but it was inevitable that the boy would be here at his trial.
There he sat in the VIP witness section, cordoned off from the rest of the Order, watching the proceedings with a stony face. Snape almost wished he could've been present when the boy had been given what must have been such heart-wrenching news. He was certain that the boy had already been informed, for he sat, expressionless, through the recitation of Snape's clandestine role for the Order, one he'd fulfilled to the very end, unbeknownst but to a very few, and Potter had not been one of them. But now the whole world would know the tale, from beginning to end.
He watched their shocked faces as the holograph-like images from Dumbledore's Pensieve were played out, one by one, in front of the Wizengamot. He was immune to their reactions, save for those of the boy sitting almost exactly opposite him, just twenty paces away. He relished the thought of what must be running through his mind; he wondered at how painful it must have been to relinquish what he was certain was a well-stewed, righteous indignation. But now, poor Potter…all a pile of dust…a house of cards.
Innocence proclaimed or not, Snape did have to endure the sneer on the boy's face when he was, nevertheless, sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for his cumulative and retroactive Death Eater activities and atrocities. As they pulled him from his chair, Potter's was the last face he saw as he was led from the room.
***
Potter…the last person on earth whom he'd expected to see…well, at least in these surroundings.
Snape didn't actually know how long it had been since his trial, but he reckoned it must have been at least several months. But there Potter stood, his hands in his pockets, studying Snape through the bars of the cell door, his face half-hidden in the shadows.
"Snape. I had to see this for myself," he said softly in a mocking tone. "There is a god, you know. Thought you'd get completely off, didn't you?"
Snape stood slowly from his cot and walked towards the bars. "Potter, what are you doing here? I'm a 'no visitors' prisoner, or did they fail to inform you of that?" Snape despised that the hoarseness of his voice betrayed how little he used it nowadays.
The reply was a derisive, "Hmmph," from the figure who now moved closer so that Snape could see his face in the dim light of the hallway.
They stood juxtaposed that way for a moment, until Snape finally said, "Well, does the squalor of my accommodations meet with your approval, Potter, or would you like to apply to the Ministry to inflict me with something more to your liking? I'm sure they'd oblige you, given your position as Most Valued Wizard of the Age. Oh, forgive me, that title rightly belongs to Albus Dumbledore, but I'm certain he wouldn't mind you stepping into his shoes," he finished, relieved to have maneuvered his voice to an almost normal timbre. He was surprised at Potter's answer.
"No one will ever take his place, especially me. Not that you'd understand how much I'd hate that, Snape." The boy looked down at his feet. Now that Snape had a chance to look at him openly, he supposed he wasn't really a boy anymore…at least physically. He was certain that immaturity still lurked there, no matter how much the package had changed, evidenced by the fact that the man had gone out of his way to come and taunt him.
"Why are you here, Potter? It's a long way to come to merely gloat. Even you are not that vindictive, so it begs the question, what do you want?" Snape couldn't have cared less, even though this was the first human contact he'd had in months, his jailor aside.
Potter measured his surroundings, then turned his attention back to the prisoner. "Not as bad as I expected it. Lucky for you they've replaced the Dementors," he commented as he casually leant against the doorjamb.
"Lucky for me, yes, Potter. Now, is that all? I've a book I've been dying to read," he lied, confused by the sudden, irrational urge to engage the man in conversation to make him stay.
"You've a book, then? I didn't know they were allowed." He tried to look into the cell, but Snape moved to one side to block his view.
"Leave, Potter. Unless you've come bearing the happy news of my Ministry pardon? No? I thought not. Good day." He turned on heel and marched to his cot with dignity, but it was difficult…marching is always difficult in a four-meter space.
He lay on top of his blanket and listened to the footsteps as the man left without another word.
***
Potter…the last person on earth…but it was no longer true that he was unexpected; he was still a bit of surprise, but when Snape heard the footsteps clapping down the hallway in his direction, he knew…
He sat on the edge of his cot and waited until the man stepped in close to the barred door. They considered each other for a moment, and Snape decided he'd be damned if he'd be the first to speak, so he waited.
"Snape. I see you're still alive," Potter finally said.
"Disappointed?" Snape asked him.
The man shrugged. "I've no particular reason to see you dead. Maybe at one time I felt that way, but now..." He shook his head and gave a rueful smile. "It's enough just to see you miserable."
"I'm not miserable," Snape retorted.
"Oh really? I checked, Snape. No visitors, no letters, and ah yes, no books or newspapers allowed. So how can you not be miserable? Or are the little voices inside your head enough to keep you company?" the man mocked him.
Severus bit his lip to keep from instantly reacting. Instead, he took a closer look at his tormentor. Definitely a man now, broad-shouldered and lanky, but he'd lost weight in the weeks since he'd last seen him, and his appearance was unusually unkempt. He decided to be brutally to the point.
"What do you want, Potter? I can't believe you've nothing better to do with your time, and by the way, you look like shit." He maintained eye contact as he said it, and was gratified to see that his comment had struck a nerve.
Potter self-consciously ran a hand through his hair, then caught himself and shot him a wary glance. "Nice of you to notice, Snape, especially since I know you don't give a damn."
"What's the matter, Potter? The celebrity life not to your liking? I'd have thought it'd fit you like a glove," he said snidely, then stood and walked to stand just inside the door.
"I never wanted any of that, not that you'd understand, Snape. If you must know, I'm sick of it," he added hesitantly.
Snape ignored him and asked again, "My question remains. Why are you here, again, Potter? People are going to start to talk…Harry Potter paying regular visits to the despicable Death Eater." He paused, watching, then asked irritably, "Well?"
Potter shifted from one foot to the other, ill at ease, then met his eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Snape. You're still a bastard, but…" He looked away, then said, almost to himself, "You're just not who I thought you were."
Snape stared at him for a moment, then turned to walk back to his cot, muttering as he went, "Spare me the theatrics, Potter, and leave me alone."
He lay with his back to the door, then heaved a sigh when he heard the footsteps finally trudge down the hallway.
***
Potter…the last person on earth whom he would've ever imagined himself wondering about, but alas, this too was inevitable, as he'd spent more time with him in the past six months than with anyone else.
Of course, this was solely due to the fact that Potter had managed to obtain visiting rights, no doubt a product of the Ministry being forever in his debt.
Strange as it was, Snape realized that they'd exchanged more words during this time than the six years they'd been at Hogwarts. Not that they talked about anything of substance. The man was still stuck on that infernal quest, the one that his Gryffindor honor required of him. Snape scowled as he thought of this—as if Potter could ever plumb the depths of him, or understand how complicated his life and motivations had been. Good and evil…black and white…hero and villain…he'd long ago learnt that reality was a melding of opposites that met somewhere in the middle. Not that he could explain this to the man….
Snape didn't stir when he heard him coming, but looked up when he heard the steps stop at the door. "You're becoming predictable, Potter," he said tiredly.
A small laugh without mirth. "Something for you to look forward to, then."
"I don't think so. I'm not that far gone," he replied.
"Yet."
"Hmm, indeed." The silence stretched out, strangely not uncomfortable.
"God, what do you think about all day? A mind like yours…"
"Yes, a terrible thing to waste. Something I'm sure was intentional," he mused.
"So?"
"Potter, you're neither my priest nor my confidant. I suggest if you want whispered confessions, you apply to your paramour of the moment." He couldn't resist looking up to see what reaction he might've provoked.
"Ha. Nice try, Snape. But no, no paramours, I'm afraid, and definitely not something that's any of your business." Snape could've sworn there was amusement in his voice when Potter redirected the conversation. "So, was that your way of telling me you pass the time with sexual fantasies?"
Snape stiffened. "Potter, were you in my place, you'd be a babbling fool by now. If you insist on inflicting me with your presence, to garner God knows whatever it is that you're after, then I'll thank you to keep the inanities to a minimum, or you might just push me over the edge," he warned, with more than a hint of menace in his voice.
The man stared at him, and then had the good grace to blush. "All right, I apologize." He waited, then when Snape remained silent, prodded, "So, I’m really curious. What do you think about?"
Snape swung his legs up and lay down on the cot. "Life, in a word, Potter. Something you've got in front of you, so why don't you get out and get on with it?" He waited, and idly remarked that each time after he ungraciously ended their conversations, it was taking longer and longer for Potter to actually leave.
When he heard the door at the end of the hallway bang as Potter went through it, he turned his head to look to where the man had been standing. There on the floor, just inside the bars, Potter had left something. He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself up. After a moment's hesitation, he stood and walked, then leant down to pick it up slowly. His heart thudded as he unfolded it and looked down at the front page of the Daily Prophet. He fingered the page as he inspected it, not really reading it yet, and for the first time in what seemed an age, Snape suppressed a smile.
***
Potter…the last person on earth whom he would've thought he'd actually look forward to seeing. But then, it wasn't really Potter…he most likely would've welcomed a visit from the Dark Lord himself at this point, but that was perhaps stretching things a bit.
He now had mixed his days and nights up, something that he'd tried desperately not to do. But with little stimulation and an ambient light that was a constant, dull gray without variation, he found himself alternately sleeping and waking for only several hours at a time. And although he'd held off as long as he could, he finally capitulated and started to talk to himself aloud as he paced in the four-by-four area. He'd even devolved into rhyming his words, singing his sentences, reciting his potions—anything to hear the sound of a human voice and require his mind to apply the rigors of language. He knew that it was a critical mission to preserve his sanity.
This was the reason that he missed the sound of Potter's approach, and he loathed himself when he looked up and saw him and realized that the man may have been standing there for only Merlin knew how long. He sank down onto his cot, facing him, and resigned himself to enduring the jibe.
Potter now had a chair in place for his visits, so he sat and studied Snape for several moments before asking, "What do you miss most?"
In an effort not to appear too pitiable, Snape held back the instant answers on his tongue…they were always there, just below the surface of his consciousness, so often had he been consumed by them. He found it a disturbing question as well, one that, if he chose to answer, would increase his already rampant sense of vulnerability.
He decided to concede the more obvious one. "Moving from point 'a' to point 'b'." Then he explained further when Potter looked puzzled. "Departing from one place and arriving at another." He waited until he saw he'd been understood, then gave him the rest of them. "Hot showers. Reading. Tea."
Potter thought for a moment, scrutinizing him. "What? No people?"
Snape scowled. "What do you think, Potter? Did you ever know me to have a social bone in my body?"
Potter shrugged. "I don't really know anything at all about your personal life. I just wondered, since I'm the only one that's even tried to visit you." There was no malice in his words, only a hint of curiosity.
Snape would later wonder over what made him tell the truth to the man. "Albus," he admitted quietly.
Potter nodded in reply, as if he weren't in the least surprised by this answer. "I miss him too. And some of my other friends."
"Ah," was Snape's only reply. That he'd so readily confessed was disturbing enough. To find they shared a common ground even more so. When he mentally reviewed the students who'd been lost near the end of the war, he wasn't altogether sure which of them had been Potter's friends.
"Who?" Snape asked.
"Why do you care?"
"Who says I do? I'm merely making conversation, Potter. And if you recall, you started this. So, whom do you miss? You're under no obligation to answer, of course, and neither was I," he reminded him.
"Neville, George. Not that we were all that close, but they were my friends," he finished, and Snape looked up in surprise at the note of defensiveness in his voice.
"One of the finest tributes to a fallen hero is that they're missed," Snape said neutrally.
There was no answer, and they both fell silent, until the scraping of the chair alerted Snape that his visitor was about to leave.
"Here."
Snape looked up to see Potter holding out the Daily Prophet through the bars of the door. "I've got permission to bring them now, so you needn't hide it wherever it is that you are."
Snape stood and walked to the bars, then reached out awkwardly and took the paper. Potter met his eyes as their hands almost touched, then gave him a nod before setting off down the corridor.
Snape waited until he heard the door swing shut, then murmured, "Thank you, Potter."
***
Potter…the last person on earth whom he'd ever would've thought he'd find himself struggling over how to word a thank you.
He chose, in the end, to just come out and say it. He stood at the bars and leant casually against the frame of the doorway as he looked down at the man in the chair.
"I suppose I have you to thank for the tea." It wasn't a question, because Snape knew there could be no other explanation.
Potter tipped back in his seat, a look of amusement on his face. "So, was that your way of saying thank you, then?"
Snape found he was actually too grateful to even allow himself to be provoked, tempting as it was. "All right. Thank you." He swallowed a little more of his pride to say, "It does much to make the day bearable, and you were under no compulsion to think of such a thing, let alone arrange it." He felt like some huge barrier between the two of them had been felled by this small admission on his part. He couldn't imagine why, though. It was just tea, after all.
As if Potter had read his thoughts, he actually grinned at Snape and said, "Tea's a rather powerful motivator, isn't it? After all, we lost the American colonies because of tea."
Snape gave him a very small smile. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter."
All four legs of the chair hit the floor with a thud. "Now he gives me points," Potter whinged. "You never did, you know. Give me points."
"Oh, I know. You never deserved them," he fired back.
Potter's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he stood and stationed himself just opposite Snape on the other side of the door. "I'm not stupid, Snape. I understood you had to put up an appearance of making my life miserable. What I don't understand now is why you had to put your heart and soul in it. I'm talking about those times when no one but you or I would've known. Wouldn't have been any skin off your back to lay off a little when no one else was around."
"So…you believe I mistreated you to misdirect the Dark Lord?"
"Well, yeah. That makes sense, doesn't it? If he ever looked into your memories, he'd never suspect anything that way. Makes sense to me."
Snape sneered at him. "And what of your own mind, Potter? Given your own pathetic Occlumency skills, what might the Dark Lord have seen—how did you put it—had I 'laid off a little'?" At the look on Potter's face, he nodded. "Exactly. My mistreatment of you wasn't just out of concern for what he'd see in my mind. I was more concerned with what he'd see in yours. It was a matter of self-preservation on my part. Sanctioned by the Headmaster, by the way." He watched as the expression on Potter's face moved from incredulity to comprehension.
"That's it? You made my life miserable to protect your own?" Potter shook his head. "I don't believe for a minute that was all of it. You forget, Snape, I know how much you hated my father."
Snape shrugged. "That only made it easier. You are your father's son, Potter."
"Oh really. And how would you even know that, Snape? You don't know anything about me."
"The apple never falls far from the tree," Snape murmured.
Potter was glaring at him now. "Tell me something. Do you look like your father?" At the look on Snape's face, he continued, "So, that must mean you resemble him in other ways as well. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he mimicked.
Snape had pushed off from the doorjamb, breathing heavily. "I'm nothing like my father, and I'll thank you to keep your observations to yourself, given you know nothing about me."
"So, why don't you practice what you preach, Snape?"
Potter stood and collected his cloak, and with a slight nod, he was gone down the hallway. Snape wondered if there would be tea with his evening meal.
***
Potter…the last person on earth with whom he would've ever believed he'd be spending a Christmas Day.
It was his second Yule season in Azkaban, and he supposed he'd be spending it much like the first one. Except this time, he had a devoted weekly visitor whom he doubted would let the occasion pass without putting in an appearance. Christmas had always been a day that'd taken him unawares, and had it not been for Albus Dumbledore's insistence on keeping the holiday for his staff, Severus would've gladly let the day pass him by without even noticing.
But here was Potter…awkwardly pushing a wrapped package through the bars.
Snape gave him a withering look, then reluctantly took it. "A gift, how kind of you," he said half-heartedly, feeling himself in uncharted territory. "I regret that I have nothing for you, Potter. I had to curtail my usual holiday shopping this year," he said dryly, as he carefully removed the colorful wrapping. He didn't waste anything these days, so he made certain not to tear it as he opened the gift.
He stood there with the shiny new volume in his hands. "'A Tale of Two Cities,'" he murmured as he turned it to look at the dust cover. He looked sharply at Potter. "Dickens," he simply said as he looked out at the man.
Potter was watching him anxiously. "Is it all right, then? You said you liked Dickens. I've never read anything beyond "A Christmas Carol," but this one has high suspense and drama in it, so I thought…" He stopped. "Wait. Have you read this one?"
Snape made a non-committal noise, still reading the jacket cover. "Hmmm, yes, but it was very long ago. I rather liked it, if I recall." He looked up at Potter. "You should read this, Potter. It's one of his best. You do read, don't you?" He was flipping through the pages, then froze at the title page, where Harry had inscribed a greeting. "Happy Christmas, Severus. December 25, 2000."
Severus looked up at him in surprise. "Quite a personal gift, Potter. Severus?"
Potter flushed—not a rare occurrence nowadays, now that they'd got down to discussing everything from Potter's daily routine to his miserable failures with the opposite sex, from Snape's brief romantic liaisons to his colorless life of the recent past.
Something in Snape softened as he watched him. "You may call me whatever you like. I suppose it's not out of the realm of the expected, given that you've been visiting me weekly for…" He didn't finish, realizing that he'd have to think to put a finger on how much time had passed.
Potter supplied the answer for him. "Sixteen months," he said quietly.
Snape peered out at him. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time? Shouldn't you be off at the Weasleys' or with the werewolf having eggnog and plum pudding?"
He should've known, he told himself later, when his dinner arrived whilst Potter was still there. He watched with amazement as a small table was dragged into his cell, then laid out for two, after which Potter stepped in to allow himself to be locked in for the meal. Snape stood stock still as he looked down at the repast—the usual Christmas fare replete with the aforementioned elements. Oh, and not to be forgotten, the cursed Christmas cracker. He looked up at Potter blankly.
Motioning for Snape to sit on the edge of his cot, Potter dragged the small table carefully so that Snape was now perched on one side of it. He dragged his visitor's day chair to the opposite one. He smiled slightly at the look on Snape's face. "Even the Minster can be generous at Christmas," he told him as he motioned to Snape to begin.
"You asked him to do this?" Snape asked, still unable to pick up his fork.
Potter shrugged. "I don't ask for much, so he listens when I do." He looked up to see that Snape had not yet begun to eat. For a moment he looked perplexed. "What? I thought you'd be glad to have a decent meal for once."
Snape finally picked up his fork, but still did not begin to eat, watching the man across from him as he served himself. "You don't make sense, Potter. You never have," he said hoarsely, which made Potter look up in concern.
"Do something for me, all right?" Potter put his fork down and studied him intently.
Snape stiffened; he'd known there'd be some sort of catch—there always was, even for the benevolent Harry Potter—although, Snape couldn't imagine what he'd be able to do for the man. He regarded him warily. "Me, do something for you?" he asked, the disbelief evident in his voice.
Potter was now buttering a scone and did not look at him as he said, "Would it kill you to call me Harry? I rather like my name, and I rarely hear it anymore."
This was it. Ah, but not so innocent a request as it sounded. He ignored the question and asked one of his own. "What makes you think I deserve all of this?"
Potter looked up in surprise and glanced around the small cell and its meager furnishings and the few possessions Snape now had. "I don't think you deserve it, Severus. I used to think you did, but now…" He didn't finish but held Snape's eyes.
Snape realized that he'd been misunderstood. "That's not what I meant, Potter. I meant…this." He pointed to the meal and the book lying to the side.
"Oh. Well, when I thought of who I wanted to spend the day with..." He shot Snape a closed look. "You came to mind for some reason. Disturbing, isn't it?" He gave up all pretence of eating and looked at Snape with a strange expression now. "For some reason, I couldn't stand the thought of you sitting here all day alone. It's Christmas, for God's sake," he muttered as he started to serve Snape who had yet to serve himself.
Snape watched him until he sat back and picked up his fork again to eat. "Yes, disturbing would be my choice of word as well." He looked down at his plate, and for the first time in months, was suddenly ravenous.
***
Potter stood awkwardly to the side as the jailor cleared the table from the cell, then followed him out and waited while the door was once again secured. Once the man had started down the corridor, he turned to Snape and raised an eyebrow.
"So, I guess that's it for today." He traced a finger down one of the bars, not looking at Snape.
Snape had been dreading this moment, if only because it would require him to do something contrary to his nature, especially given it was Potter. He took a deep breath, resolved, and let the strange phrase roll off his tongue. "Thank you for coming, and…" He gestured behind him. "…for the book and the festivities. I was surprised, and that's a rarity for me these days…." He stood and watched the man, then was perplexed by the look of…disappointment on Potter's face. He wondered for a moment over what he'd just said, but then suddenly remembered…ah, yes.
"Harry," Severus finished, and was immediately rewarded by a spark of satisfaction in the man's eyes. Well, it was what he'd wanted, Severus reasoned to himself, and such a small thing really, considering….
Severus leant against the jamb, and would've denied that he strained to watch the man as he set off down the hallway. But he did, nonetheless.
***
Potter…damn it to hell…Harry…the last person whom he would've ever expected to pity him.
Severus had awakened several days ago to find himself in Azkaban's dreary infirmary. He'd lain there for a moment, then slowly the events of the past—how long had it been anyway?—days slowly drifted across his consciousness: overwhelming fatigue, loss of appetite, shaking chills, a pounding headache, fever, then…he supposed…delirium. Actually, blissful oblivion, no doubt cut short by the man sitting at his bedside who'd actually been the one, it turned out, who'd demanded that Severus be immediately relocated here for medical care, if one could really call it that.
He made an effort to speak, but when all that he managed was a hoarse croak, the figure in the chair leant forward to offer him some water.
"It's about time, Severus. You've been out for two days," Harry said as he retook his seat, his eyes betraying his concern.
Severus drained the glass, then looked at him wearily. "What's wrong with me?" he finally asked in a whisper.
Harry pulled his chair closer. "You had pneumonia, but you don't anymore. Wizards aren't usually sick with it for long, but in your case," he sighed as he shook his head, "you didn't fight it off as you should have—lack of resistance, so they said."
Severus looked around and saw that they were the only wizards in the room. "I don't remember much of it," he admitted, "except for the commotion you made." He looked away as he lamented, "I might've died, Harry, so I'm not sure it was a good turn you did me."
The sound of the glass being forcefully slammed onto the bedside table made him look over in surprise. Harry had stood and was now poised at the end of the bed, his knuckles white where he gripped the metal frame.
"You're an ass, you know that, Severus?" Then he turned on his heels and left Severus staring at his retreat.
"Why would you think otherwise?" he called after him, but Harry was already out of earshot.
***
Harry…the last person on earth whom he would've ever envisioned as a Saturday night companion.
But here they were, sitting on either side of a chess board, now a regular occurrence on Harry's visits here. Severus had to admit that the man must've wielded a considerable amount of clout to maneuver these circumstances. He now spent his time with Severus inside his cell, perched on a chair to have tea and, just as often, share his evening meal. On those occasions, the food was remarkably better and even, from time to time, was accompanied by a rather passable wine or aperitif, which was why on this particular evening Severus could claim that his usual reserve had been sacrificed at the bacchanal altar.
"You're making this disgustingly easy tonight," Severus told him as he took his second bishop.
"Hmm, yeah," Harry muttered as he stared at the board.
Severus tapped his fingers on the table as he waited, then stopped suddenly when Harry looked up at him in annoyance. "Pardon me," he murmured in response as he placed his hand in his lap, but let out a sigh of impatience.
"It couldn't have been easy..." Harry made an effort at nonchalance as he placed a fingertip on a pawn."...killing him." Severus sat back, momentarily stunned, watching as Harry slowly slid the pawn into place, then straightened up and looked Severus full in the face.
The game was completely forgotten now. Severus reached up and framed his forehead with a hand. "You've no idea," he said softly, peering out at him.
"Try me," Harry directed him quietly, and Severus thought he heard desperation in his voice.
He leant forward and placed both elbows on the table, then shocked even himself when he reached over and grabbed Harry's chin with his hand. Their faces just inches apart, Severus told him, "Imagine the most important person in your life, someone who's only ever shown you kindness, someone who's been both a mentor and a father, someone who's believed for the best in you, someone who's helped you find a purpose and a future." He paused and searched Harry's eyes, then concluded with ice in his voice, "Then imagine that person is dying and nothing you can do can save him, and in the end, at his request, you kill him with an Unforgivable." He only released him after he'd asked the question. "Can you imagine that, hmm? Have you ever even known someone like that in your life?" He was startled to see the green eyes suddenly fill with tears.
"Yes," Harry mumbled, almost incoherently. When Severus gave him a quizzical look, he admitted, "Dumbledore was like a father to me too." Then he added in almost a whisper, "But I can't imagine having to kill him like you did."
***
Harry…the last person on earth whom Severus ever would've thought he'd be wondering about his personal life.
That startling revelation, over the chess board months ago, had surprised Severus more than he'd cared to admit. He'd been certain that Harry would have nothing in his past that could parallel his own, but then he'd been forced to face the uncomfortable truth: they both mourned the loss of the aged wizard, probably more than anyone else in the Wizarding world. He supposed he should have realized long ago how important the old man had been to Harry, but the fact was that he'd been so blinded by the "boy's" resistance to learning Occlumency that he'd seen little else but willfulness and arrogance. Well, even he himself was wrong on occasion, but he had to admit that missing this attachment had been a rather large gaffe. He found it unsettling and…comforting at the very same time.
Several months ago, Severus had celebrated his third Christmas in Azkaban. Harry had brought him a bag full of Muggle works of fiction and a large, downy comforter for his cot, but Severus' favorite gift had been the chocolate bars. His own gift to Harry at the time had been something intangible once again.
***
They'd been both sitting on his cot, their backs against the wall, savoring the last of the bottle of Glenlivet that Harry had brought to fete the day. The soft comforter lay across their laps, and Severus supposed they looked a bit odd that way, and shuddered to think of such a picture of domesticity making its way into the Daily Prophet. He could just imagine the headline, "Boy Who Lived and Imprisoned Death Eater Share Bed and Christmas Dinner." He snickered to himself, and Harry gave him a sideways look.
"What?"
"I think we might appear a bit strange," Severus told him as he pulled the coverlet up to his chin.
The man laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right. Your good reputation would be shot to hell, that's for sure."
"Not to mention your own," Severus retorted.
"Hmm, nah, I think I've already been there and back several times," Harry told him with a laugh.
Severus found his curiosity had been piqued. "Enlighten me." All right, this was a milestone, he realized. He was asking Harry questions about his personal life, which was disconcerting in and of itself, but even worse was the fact that he was truly interested. He shook the feeling off easily—after all, they were both a little looser than they normally were, given Harry's generous gift.
"Whatever could you have done to sully your sterling reputation, Harry? I can't even begin to imagine."
Harry twisted slightly on the cot to see him better. "You've been reading the Prophet, haven't you? Did you notice that there are rarely stories about me anymore?" He waited while Severus thought about this.
"You're right. I haven't noticed much about you in…" Well, he wasn't exactly sure, but now that he thought about it, it had to have been some time since he'd even seen mention of Harry in the Prophet. He frowned at the man. "You know I have no sense of time here, but it's been a long while since I've seen you featured for any reason at all." At the look on Harry's face, he demanded, "Out with it. What happened? It couldn't have been too bad or I would've read about it." He considered Harry for a moment, then chided, "You held that edition back from me, didn't you? What could you possibly think would make any difference to me?"
Inexplicably Harry flushed. "They got a picture of me, a compromising one…with another man."
Severus scoffed. "Please don't tell me they've a picture of you in Knockturn Alley with your tongue down his throat."
"No, not in Knockturn Alley," Harry protested, indignant.
"Ah." Severus' eyes were appraising. "So, I should've known. And here I thought your break up with Miss Weasley due to more honorable scruples."
"Yeah, well, now you know. But when it hit the papers, you'd have thought I'd done something horrible, the way they played it up." Harry asked him cautiously, "So, are you surprised?"
"Of course not. The Prophet's always been a gossip-mongering rag," Severus said.
Harry sighed. "No, not the Prophet, about me, Severus." Severus smirked and Harry shot him a look of irritation in return. "You knew very well what I meant," he complained.
Severus was measuring him, enjoying his uncertainty. "What I'm most curious about, Harry, is why you felt you had to censor my newspaper so I didn't see this."
Harry tossed back what was left in his glass, then looked at Severus with determination. "I wasn't sure how you'd react, or what you'd think. It was over a year ago, so I wasn't sure you wouldn't use the information to…well, torture me." He gave him a half-smile. "You've always been quite good at that, so I wasn't about to give you material." He looked down at the glass in his hands.
Severus moved without even thinking. He swept his arm up and caught the back of Harry's head with his hand, then neatly planted his mouth over the one that had opened in an attempt to protest. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but Severus made it a thorough one nonetheless. When he felt Harry's delayed response, his mouth opening to Severus' own, he pulled away sharply.
Harry brought a hand up to his mouth, staring saucer-eyed at Severus. "I guess that means you're not going to torture me then, about being gay," he said with a shaky laugh.
"Straight or gay—all of Wizardom is one or the other," Severus said matter-of-factly.
"I guess I'm the 'other', then." Harry said slowly.
Severus studied him shrewdly, then said with a note of sarcasm, "And there was weeping and gnashing of teeth when they discovered it, I've no doubt. The Wizarding world's most eligible young man taken out of the running—no wonder there was such a backlash. But they seem to have forgot, haven't they? I've not seen mention of you for some time now."
Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, they’ve forgot me now."
***
Months has passed since then, and Severus lay on his cot waiting for the overdue sound of Harry's footsteps. When he finally heard them, he closed his eyes briefly in relief, and cursed the man for this insidious token of dependency.
He didn’t get up when Harry was let into his cell, just rolled over and watched passively as he pulled a chair in close and straddled it beside him.
"Are you ill? You've not even dressed," the man remarked with concern.
"Oh, I thought I'd have a lie-in today," he said snidely, "as my crushing social calendar has me knackered. You're late," he said without any transition as he swung himself up to sit on the edge of the cot.
Harry dropped a bulky sac onto the floor at his feet. "I was off getting some more books for you. You must be finished with the last lot by now."
Severus gave them a disinterested glance. "I've not even finished the lot before the last lot, so you needn't have bothered," he yawned.
Harry pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "What's the matter, Severus? This isn't like you at all. You usually have all of them read and are whinging for me to bring more." He waited, and when there was no response, he insisted, "What's wrong?"
Severus gave him a thunderous look. "What's wrong? What's wrong, Harry? What could possibly be wrong? I'm sitting here, rotting in this godforsaken hole; I no longer know what day, hell, what year it is; I no longer care to eat, and I can't even sleep, which is what I want to do!" He shut his mouth suddenly and turned his face to the side. "Nothing's wrong," he muttered, "forget I said anything."
Harry stood and swung the chair around and slammed it to the floor in front of him, then sat and pulled it up so close that their knees were almost touching. "Severus, I'll not have you going off half-cocked, you hear me? What do you think I'm trying to do here? You have to fight it, damn it! I've got you a calendar, I bring you books and bloody chocolate, you even get the Prophet delivered every morning now. I'm trying to help you, you moron, but you at least have to try." He paused, then added more gently, "You've done so well up until now, so much better than I would've. So please, don't do this, Severus. I don't know what else I can do to help you."
His face still turned to the side, Severus muttered, "Then don't."
He heard Harry make a sound of frustration, then, "Too late. I'm not giving up now."
"Suit yourself," Severus told him.
When Harry had finally given up and gone, Severus at last looked up at the empty cell, then spoke to the darkness, "Gryffindor."
***
Harry…the last person on earth whom Severus would've ever believed could truly shock him.
Well, if he were honest, he'd admit that he'd come dangerously close… That infuriating persistence in continuing to visit, when he'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't welcome…that tiresome wheedling into Severus' preferences for things that would then appear on the next visit or the one after…that ingratiating concern that had made him actually look forward to his step in the corridor… No, he'd not been really shocked, just…surprised, was all. But this time…this time he'd have to categorically qualify the events that occurred as shocking. Especially since their visits over the past several months had degenerated into Harry sitting in a chair and stubbornly trying to outwait his silence, but never winning.
He'd heard his door creak open as Harry was admitted to his cell. He'd remained as he was, facing the wall, half-conscious, dimly aware that a chair had been pulled in close to his cot.
"Severus, turn around," Harry said firmly.
No, I'm staying as I am. Go away.
"Severus, I'm not going away. Now, turn over and talk to me. Now." There was an uncharacteristic determination in his voice that Severus had not heard before. Nevertheless he remained…uninspired. He heard the scrape of the chair, then whispered words at the door…Harry's voice and several others.
Before he could process what was happening, Severus was being hauled from the bed and dragged from his cell. He caught a glimpse of Harry standing to the side as he was literally swept down the hall and unceremoniously dumped into the shower stall. The tap was turned on full force and Severus gasped as the frigid water soaked through his clothes.
"Get 'em off and wash, or we'll conjure something unpleasant to do it for you," he was told as a brush and soap were thrown into the stall. He stripped, having already learned from past experience that resistance would be futile. He made a half-hearted effort to clean himself, then rinsed and stepped out, shivering. Fresh prison garb was thrown in his direction, and he dutifully donned it, and then was quickly escorted down the hall and back to his cell. He stepped in and glowered at the man sitting there waiting for him.
"Feeling better?" Harry asked him with a smirk.
"How dare you?" Severus hissed as strode and flung himself back down on his cot. When he made a move to roll onto his side, Harry grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Oh no you don't, Severus. I didn't have them do that to you so you could go back to sulking. Sit up, I want to talk to you," he commanded.
Severus didn't sit up, but turned to face him. "You have no right, none at all, to come in here and make demands. You're the one who's insisted—"
"Shut it, Severus, I'm not in the mood. A famous writer once wrote, 'I've tried kindness. I've tried persistence. Now I shall do things my way.'" He pushed his face closer to Severus'. "You're awake, you're lucid, and you're going to sit there and keep quiet until I'm done saying what I have to say. Understood?" There was an edge of harshness in his tone that Severus had never heard before. He reluctantly sat up.
He'd taken the Dark Mark, been required to commit atrocities that had turned his stomach, postured as a double spy in the most dangerous of times, killed his mentor, and even survived the final Death Eater roundup. But none of it could have prepared him for the twist his life was about to take.
Harry pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, and chewed at his lower lip as he considered Severus. "I've got the Ministry—well, actually Scrimgeour—to agree to offer you a pardon."
Severus' mouth dropped open as he stared at Harry. "A pardon," he repeated dumbly.
Harry nodded, and Severus could tell by the anxious look on his face that he was about to hear something distasteful.
"Severus, I've thought a great deal about this. You've been here three and a half years, and you're unraveling. You know this," he gently insisted.
"Go on," Severus said tonelessly.
Harry rubbed his hands on the top of his jeans. "I've never asked the Ministry for much—even though they've tried to give me plenty. So, when I went to Scrimgeour and asked, he couldn't really say no." He dropped his eyes.
"Just like that, he agreed to a pardon?" Severus asked disbelievingly.
Disbelief which turned out to be well-founded, when Harry answered, "Well, not exactly." He was quick to add, "I did try just asking, but I sort of knew before I asked that that wouldn't be enough, so I had," he paused, as though bracing himself, "a back-up plan."
Severus had already resigned himself to something unpleasant. "Harry, will you just tell me? What are the conditions?"
Harry swallowed noticeably. "I told him that we were…romantically inclined, and that I'd vouch for you, so he agreed to a pardon, provided..." His voice was strained as he finished, "...we pledge ourselves in a Binding Ceremony before your release." He sat back quickly, as if to put as much space between himself and the explosion which was sure to come.
Severus was speechless for a moment, then delivered the expected reaction. "You can't be serious?" At the look on Harry's face, he thundered, "Potter? You led him to believe—" He stopped when Harry stood so suddenly that his chair toppled backwards.
"Listen to yourself!" Harry shot back at him as he paced the small area. "Of course I'm serious, Severus! How much longer do you think you'll last like this? You've been in the infirmary twice since Christmas; you don't eat; you've stopped reading. I won't stand by and watch you do this!" he finished hotly. He stopped in front of Severus, who was watching him with a baleful eye. "Just tell me you can do the ten years, and I'll drop it," he challenged.
At this, Severus had to look down at his feet. "What I choose to do is none of your concern," he said quietly.
Harry dropped to one knee in front of him. "Severus, all I know is that this is your chance to get out of this place. What does it matter how? It'll just be a sham on our part, anyway. And once you're free…" He dropped his voice lower. "...then it's up to you what to do with the rest of your life. But at least you'll have a life," he pleaded.
Severus looked up at him slowly. "I can't believe it’s just that simple, Harry, is it? There's more, isn't there?" he accused, then was rewarded by the grimace on the man's face.
Harry stood now and righted the chair and took a seat beside the cot. "Yes," he said wearily, "there's more, but it's not as bad as you're going to make it out to be." At the look of disgust on Severus' face, he shook his head in frustration. "Of course it wouldn't just be a binding and that's it. No, we have to cohabit." Before Severus could object, he explained, "And that's the easy part, Severus. I've a large house, one the two of us can live in together without meeting up with each other for days. You can go your way and I can go mine. It's a formality, when you think about it." He waited for Severus to do exactly that.
Freedom, Severus thought, and just in the nick of time. Harry was right, he knew. He wouldn't last much longer at the rate he was going, physically, but his greatest danger was what was happening to his mind… and his will to stay alive. He'd noticed a marked deterioration in his mental faculties in the past several months, and had no idea how he could personally forestall his downward spiral. But to bind himself to Harry seemed such a drastic measure…not only for himself, but also….
He looked up into the piecing eyes, searching them, then asked, "All the reasons why I should leap at the chance for freedom aside, I have to wonder why you'd do this. This is a life bond, as I'm sure you know, so why? Why would you waste yourself on a gesture? It doesn't make sense, Harry."
Harry gave him a rueful smile, then looked down at this hands. "No, I guess it doesn't. I didn't set out to make friends with you, Severus. But now," he said as he looked back up, "I consider you one. And to be honest, I don't have many these days, and since I've invested so much time in you, difficult as you are, I don't want to see you dead."
He stopped and leant in slightly, lowering his voice as he said, "And we both know that's where you're headed. Lucius Malfoy didn't even last three years. Besides," he said as he sat back with an amused but under confident smile, "I'm tired of coming out here every week. So, we'll do the binding thing, get you out of here, and we'll share a large house where we won't be in each other's hair. It's really not a hardship on my part, Severus. There need not be any real commitment. We only have to give the appearance of one to get you out of here."
Severus had been listening closely, then asked the question that had not been answered. "But what about your future with someone? Clearly you haven't thought this through," he pointed out.
Harry shook his head. "There's no one, Severus. And you're going to have to trust me on this, but I don't think there ever will be. I'm damaged goods," he finished as he looked away.
Their eyes locked then, and for a long moment, Severus tried to read the man, but all he saw was unwavering sincerity, and no evidence of a secret agenda.
"All right. What do I have to do?" he asked simply and, with those words, felt that he'd gained the world, but lost his very soul.
***
Harry…the last person on earth whom Severus would've ever chosen as a life mate.
But then, he'd really had little choice in the matter. With his acquiescence of just a week before, he'd made a compromise that had sparked an endemic of self-loathing. He knew that Harry was right, that he'd not survive another year, but even so…. It still boggled his mind that the man would willingly sacrifice his future for such a tactic, despite his protestations that it made little difference to him. It did make a difference to Severus, of course. Choosing to die when there was no other choice was one matter; choosing to live when it was within the realm of possibility was quite another.
As he lay on his cot the night before the ceremony, he thought that there were probably many things he should've thought of before, questions that he should've asked: where did Harry live; what was the public to be told; what would Severus do to earn his keep; what had Harry told his friends; would his wand be returned; what would his duties be in a shared household; what did that actually mean…a shared household? He sighed as he rolled over, preparing to sleep for the last night in that cursed place. And somehow, just that thought that it really was his last night there, silenced all his questions, at least momentarily.
***
It was mercifully short, Scrimgeour and Severus' guard serving as the only witnesses. Harry had been permitted to arrive a half-hour before the ceremony, and had presented the freshly washed and shaven prisoner with a clean set of robes. Severus had been startled to find that they closely resembled his usual attire at Hogwarts: black trousers, white fitted shirt, with a considerably more luxurious outer robe and cloak than he was accustomed to.
Harry had had some last minute instructions. "Severus," he said as he brushed a stray hair from the shoulder of the slightly bemused wizard. "I'm not sure exactly what Scrimgeour believes or suspects. So I think that a certain modicum of.." He groped for the word. "...fondness between the two of us will be expected." He looked at Severus soberly.
"Fondness?" he asked uncertainly.
"Yes, fondness, Severus. It needn't be much, just enough to play the game. All right?" he asked anxiously.
Severus gave him a resigned look. "All right, I suppose I can manage that."
They both turned when they heard the door at the end of the corridor swing open with a bang, and as they stood side by side and faced the door of the cell, Severus was slightly shocked when he felt Harry slip his hand into his.
"Remember, you're supposed to be happy about this."
"I am," Severus told him half-truthfully.
***
They stood, shoulders touching, flanked on either side by Scrimgeour and the guard, facing an ancient-looking wizard with a benevolent air about him. Severus was vaguely aware of being prompted to repeat the words of intent and then promise, then heard Harry's voice as he murmured the phrases of commitment in return. Finally, they were holding their clasped hands up for the old man to lightly cover them with one of his own, and when the binding incantation was spoken, Severus watched as a flash of gold light encompassed them, a thin sliver of magical thread that encircled their wrists, looped into a knot, then drew tight for an instant before disappearing.
"Congratulations to both of you," the wizard said solemnly as they dropped their hands, still holding on to each other. "I've been party to a great many binding ceremonies, many of them with reluctant participants, sad to say. But I could tell by the appearance of your bond that there is affection between the two of you. A good way to start out," he finished with a smile.
Affection? Severus thought to himself, then was suddenly aware that Harry had turned to him with an expectant look. He gave him a quizzical one in return, then saw that the others had turned and seemed to be expecting something as well. Ah, the ceremonial kiss, how stupid of me not to have thought of it.
It was nothing like that kiss of long ago when he'd done it to drive home a point, however. Chaste as it was, Severus could feel the heat behind it. Whether it was a residual effect of the binding, or something else, Severus did not know, and was too dazed to even wonder. But when they drew away from each other, he couldn't mistake the look of amazement on Harry's face, no doubt a mirror of his own expression.
They were silent during the boat ride from the prison to the mainland, Severus being caught up in the novelty of sea and sky and freedom. Once on the shore, Harry offered the bewildered man his arm to Side-Along them away to home.
***
Harry…the last name on earth that Severus ever would've imagined conjugating in a sentence with the word and concept of home.
Yet here they were, Harry leading him through room after room, showing off the expansive accommodations. Severus now appreciated Harry's prior claim that they could co-exist without really cohabiting.
At one end of the second story, Harry opened a door and stood aside, motioning Severus in with an incline of his head. "These are yours—there are three rooms that interconnect—a sitting room, a study, and a bedchamber with a bath. They've never been used, so I think—" He was stopped by the look on Severus' face, who had walked to the door of the study where he stood rooted to the spot.
"My…desk, and my books, and…." Severus shook his head in confusion.
"Oh, that," Harry said with relief. "They were put in storage at Hogwarts when you…left. Minerva helped me locate and, er, relocate them." He leant against the doorjamb and watched as Severus sank into the chair behind the desk, running his hands over the ink-stained blotter. "I'm sorry, but your property at Spinner's End was sold at auction," he told him regretfully. "By the Ministry, of course, not long after your trial."
"Hmm, no matter," Severus commented distractedly, pulling out drawer after drawer, verifying that their contents were still intact. "Everything of importance was at Hogwarts, in any case. It was my home for most of my life, not Spinner's End."
Harry shifted, uncomfortable. "Still, it was all that you owned."
Severus stood and walked back to the doorway, where he turned and surveyed the room along with Harry. "No great loss, I assure you."
He found his sitting room furnished with his treasured leather armchairs and settee, and his bedchamber with his own bed and wardrobe full of clothing. It suddenly struck him how much effort it must've taken to restore all of this to him, and in such a short span of days. He turned and faced Harry, who was watching him, unsmiling, from the doorway. "I certainly didn't expect this," he said stiffly, unable for some reason to voice his gratitude.
The reason became crystal clear later that evening, when after a quiet dinner, Harry led him out to the wrap-around porch. "Look, Severus," he said as he pointed to the west.
Never an emotional man, Severus felt the unfamiliar rush of emotion that had threatened to overwhelm him several times already that day. The sky was streaked with crimson and azure as the sun set, low on the horizon. They stood side by side, this time not touching, watching as the clearly defined colors mixed and faded behind the trees. Severus felt the wetness on his lashes, and reached up to swipe at it with a sleeve. "Something in my eye," he said quietly, but this time he knew that Harry understood.
