The first thought that came to Harry when he exited the secret tunnel was how much he missed Hogwarts. True, he’d only been away for three months, and he didn’t regret his decision to not return for his seventh year. But Hogwarts was home and coming back was thrilling, even if the homecoming was covert, under his Invisibility Cloak, with the Marauder’s Map in hand.
The burly wizard in a too-tight robe jeered at him. Harry couldn’t see his face. But he could see colours, lots of them. How could such a beefy wizard be so quick? One jet of light cancelled his Expelliarmus; the rest flew toward him.
Seconds later, his world went black.
He came back because he knew things couldn’t stay the way they were. He knew nothing about duelling, and his working range of offensive attacks consisted only of common spells.
Two cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, and a concussion. Multiple scratches and cuts. A full month of bed rest.
How could he have been so … useless? Some Saviour of the Wizarding World he was. He couldn’t even win a Knockturn Alley scrimmage. He supposed he shouldn’t have gone tracking the locket alone. But he was so sure Mundungus Fletcher had sold it to some seedy Knockturn shop…
He needed to practise sparring with Ron. He needed Hermione to help him with spell theory. And—a thought flashed through his mind—he needed to learn how to create new spells.
Harry paused to look at the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Then shook his head. He didn’t come back to reminisce; he had Horcruxes to destroy and a war to win. He resolutely turned the other way.
When he reached the other side of the seventh floor, Harry checked his map one last time to make sure the dots labeled “Filch” and “Mrs. Norris” were nowhere nearby. McGonagall was in her office, and all the students were in class. He turned the last corner into a corridor to his left.
There it was. The familiar tapestry, and the even more familiar blank wall next to it. In the past, he had passed in front of the blank wall asking for cushions and bookcases. But today—Harry passed the wall once … twice … three times … and opened the door to the Room of Requirement.
-
The room was bare except for a window and two couches—one in the Gryffindor colours of red and gold, one in the Slytherin shades of green and silver. On the Slytherin couch sat a boy of no more than fourteen.
When the boy saw Harry, he stood up in horror. But the unguarded expression was quickly masked by a sneer as he walked away from the couches, pulled out his wand, and readied himself in duelling position. Harry smiled and just stood there.
When he saw that Harry made no move to fight, the boy flicked his wand and let loose a string of hexes and curses that Harry had never heard of before. Harry recognised only a few: Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, Riddikulus (Harry almost laughed. He was the boy’s boggart?). Later, he was sure he heard Expecto Patronum (He supposed he was a Dementor too, he snorted.) and even Accio (He did not just hear “Accio Potter!”). Harry stood and played docile target to the hurling curses as every red, purple, and green light bounced off his body.
The boy’s eyes widened in apprehension. “What are you playing at, James Potter?”
Harry gave him credit for the false bravado. He walked over and extended a hand. “Hello, Severus. My name’s Harry. I’m not James Potter.”
The boy looked skeptical, but stopped hurling hexes. Harry smiled as he pulled back his untouched hand. Some things never change. Even at such a young age, Snape was level-headed and practical. Why cast more spells if Harry was immune? This worked well for Harry, who wanted a conversation with school-aged Snape without being blinded by jets of light.
“You look like Potter,” the young Snape prodded.
Harry nodded. “It’s because I am a Potter. Harry Potter.”
Snape scowled, and for a moment, Harry swore Snape looked like his 40-year-old self. He laughed. “It’s confusing, I know. I’m Harry, and you’re my guest. We’re in the Room of Requirement. I asked for you to be here.”
Snape cast surreptitious glances around the room. “Where are the others? Black? Lupin? Pettigrew? And Potter … you’re not his twin, are you?”
“We’re – sort of related. But I’ve never lived with James Potter, not for any stretch of time I could remember…” Harry’s voice drifted off as he realised he didn’t have any memory of his parents. “But no matter. You’re the Half-Blood Prince, right?”
Snape choked back a gasp. “That’s – who told you this?”
“You did.”
Snape’s scowl deepened. “I don’t remember conversing with you.”
Harry waved a hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, sit.”
When the two were seated in their respective couches, Harry took a good look at the Half-Blood Prince. He was a near replica of Severus Snape—the same curtain of long, greasy hair; the same dull-yellow skin; the same all-black attire save the Slytherin tie he was required to wear as uniform; and the same unpleasant temperament—only shorter, younger, and very much not intimidating.
Harry began, “I need you to teach me everything you know about spell construction.”
Harry classified Snape’s wide eyes and open mouth as the “how do you know I know spell construction” look, definitely a new look on Snape. Too soon, though, the open mouth twisted into a sneer. “Why should I? And why do you need it anyway? You’re nearly invincible.”
Harry chuckled. “That’s because I asked the Room of Requirement to make me immune to your hexes. This is my room for now, and I get to ask for whatever I want. That’s why you’re here, so I can ask you to teach me.”
The look on Snape’s face made it clear that he thought Harry insane.
Harry pressed on. “I know you’re in the process of developing original curses. At the rate you’re going, I’m sure you’ll have come up with functional hexes in two years. And you must know the theories behind spells and their defense in order to create them—that’s what I want to learn.”
Snape lowered his head, concentration etched on his face. “What do I get in return?” he asked, after some deliberation.
“I can give you anything as long as it’s legal and within my power.” Harry hastened to add, “And nothing against the Marauders. I am related to James, after all.”
Snape nodded—tentatively—but it was distinctly a nod. Harry grinned. “So what is it? What would you like?” he asked.
Snape looked up. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Are you a Hogwarts student?”
“I was. But not anymore.”
“You’re a Gryffindor,” Snape said. It wasn’t a question.
Harry challenged, “How can you be so sure? Maybe I was a Ravenclaw.”
Snape pointed to the couch with Gryffindor colours. “And those are Ravenclaw colours.” He smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’re a Gryffindor.”
“Hey, now, you make it sound like a bad thing! I’m both Gryffindor and Slytherin. The hat told me I could do well in both.”
“You can’t be both!”
“What if I was? You’ll never know, will you? Look, I have nothing against…” Harry paused. He’d be lying through his teeth if he said he had nothing against Slytherins. And he’d be telling a bigger lie if he said he had nothing against Snape. “…against you, the Half-Blood Prince.”
Snape looked mollified, and Harry caught himself breathing a sigh of relief. This was stupid. Why did he want Snape’s goodwill so badly? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t ask the Room of Requirement to reset the scenario if things had gone badly. But for some inexplicable reason, Harry was glad that the Snape before him was seriously considering his request.
After a minute of thinking, Snape said, “I base all my experiments on the Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction. You’ll be able to create any spell you want once you’re familiar with the Edict.”
Harry waited for Snape to say more, and noticed something most unusual—was the young Snape shuffling his feet?
“If I teach that to you … would you get me a sack of cockroach clusters from Honeydukes?”
Severus Snape, the surly future Potions Master, wanted sweets. Harry grinned. “Of course! In fact, I’ll pick up a bunch of other sweets so you can sample and see what you like…”
-
Harry visited Hogwarts on Wednesdays. He would walk past the same blank wall three times every week, asking for Severus the Half-Blood Prince—not Snape, for the two were very different. The awkwardness of the first meetings subsided, and Harry now found himself opening the door to shy smiles and polite greetings.
The Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction was well beyond Harry’s capacity of comprehension, so he only copied the Edict’s archaic language verbatim for Hermione to decipher later on. Severus always glared at Harry with the “you’re an idiot” look, but the glare softened with each visit and Harry could almost believe Severus now considered him a friend.
Harry liked Severus and Severus liked him. He rolled his eyes. Apparently, cows could fly and Voldemort liked milk and cookies by the fireplace.
Harry entered the Room of Requirement four months later to a Severus whose trousers were no longer too long—time passed differently in whatever dimension this Snape was from. The room provided a faux window, showing a beautiful view of Hogwarts’ grounds in early summer. He looked at the lake. If he squinted, he could even make out the shadow of the Giant Squid just beneath the surface.
“Hello Sev – what’s wrong?” Severus looked different. Very different. “Here, want some cockroach clusters? I brought enough for both of us.”
Severus shook his head wildly, the strands of hair that usually draped over his face whipped about in a fashion worthy of the Whomping Willow.
Harry settled next to Severus. This won him a nasty glare. “Move away, you Gryffindor! I want nothing to do with you.”
He quickly shuffled onto the Gryffindor couch. Something was off. Harry swore that Severus’ voice sounded different. It was more velvety, had less teenage crack, and was just a tiny bit deeper. Not to mention he was a lot less friendly.
“Severus? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Sixteen. That would be … fifth year? “It looks like summertime outside,” he said. “Did you just take your O.W.L.s?”
“Don’t you dare mention the O.W.L.s!” Severus was now in hysterics. “You were there, weren’t you? You spent all this time pretending to be a former student, only to play traitor and turn against me at the first opportunity. You’re as bad as Sirius and James!”
Harry’s mind raced, trying to piece together what he knew about Severus’ life up until this point. This would be his fifth year. It was right after the O.W.L.s, which meant…
Harry following James out of the examination hall. Sirius and James were bored. Snape was dangled in midair. Snape was threatened to have his pants removed. Harry was thrown out of Snape’s office because he stumbled across one of Snape’s worst memories.
“No, I wasn’t there! I had nothing to do with it! What they did to you was cruel. I apologise on behalf of them. But I didn’t –”
“Then why would the Marauders know how to use Levicorpus?”
That … oh. Severus was suspecting him, accusing him of teaching one of the Half-Blood Prince’s self-invented spells to the Marauders. “Listen to me, Severus, I didn’t tell –”
“You’re the only one I showed my spells to! You’re the one who’s been asking for instructions! Do you think I go around telling my spells to my enemies?”
“I said I didn’t –”
“I’m a fool to have trusted you these past two years. Get out!”
Severus’ body was shaking with fury, and Harry sat petrified, dumbfounded.
“I said leave,” Severus hissed.
Harry opened his mouth. “But –”
There was a flurry of movement, and Harry found himself at the receiving end of Severus’ pointed wand. “I don’t care if you’re immune to magic in this room. I’ll blind you with the light of the spells if I have to. Leave now!”
Severus was shaking even harder, and all Harry wanted was to gather Severus into his arms. Hermione always hugged him when he was shaken, and it always worked. But this was Snape. Whether Potions Professor or the Half-Blood Prince, he was still Snape, and Harry doubted Snape had received many hugs in his life.
But he couldn’t just leave and end this friendship—or whatever it was—that he had developed with Severus over the past few months (two years in Severus’ time). The friendship had meant something to him.
Harry raised his arms above his head, something he’d seen in Muggle television when one party was about to surrender, and slowly stood up. “Room, make me magically normal,” he said in a loud voice.
He turned to Severus. This was a risky move, he knew, but he also knew that the teenage Snape was not yet cruel. “I just asked the room to make me normal. Go ahead, play out your revenge on me. I didn’t rat to the Marauders. But since I’m related to James, I suppose I’ll take his punishment as penance.”
Severus, now also standing, was wide-eyed. His wand-holding hand lowered—just a bit, but enough for Harry to believe that he was calming down.
“Go ahead. Don’t you want to get back at the Marauders? Pretend I’m them. I won’t fight back.”
For a moment, Severus stood motionless, and Harry wondered if he’d just made the stupidest proposition of his life. But before he could change his mind, Severus’ eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, like a predator ready to strike. Wordlessly, with the barest flick of a wand, Severus hit Harry with his hex and dangled him upside down by the ankle in midair. The sudden rush of blood into his head made Harry dizzy. He closed his eyes.
Harry was almost grateful when Severus spelled away his robe, which draped uncomfortably over his head. His glasses slid off his nose and hit the floor with a clink.
Severus left Harry’s jumper untouched, but with another swish of the wand, the trousers were gone. Harry’s heart pounded, wondering what would come next. There was no Lily Evans to intervene, and he never found out if Sirius made good on his threat to remove Snivellus’ pants…
The answer came soon enough. Cool air settled around Harry’s groin, making him feel very exposed. Heat spread from his cheek up his ears and down his neck. This was embarrassing!
“Why aren’t you protesting?” Severus asked. There was no longer hostility in his voice, only curiosity.
Harry cracked his eyes open. All he could see was a Severus-shaped blur holding out something in the shape of a wand. “This is punishment,” Harry said. “Your revenge. Why would I protest?”
The Severus-shaped blur lowered his wand and came closer. “Because,” he said, softly, “James Potter never went this far. You really weren’t there that day, were you? Hagrid stopped him before he could remove my pants.”
Harry felt himself lowered a bit, and he again closed his eyes. Then something—a hand—was touching his left thigh, gingerly rubbing up and down. The same soft voice spoke again, but this time it was against his ear, “Would you protest now, if this is still punishment?”
Harry shivered. If he was blushing before, now he was flaming. But Severus’ touch felt so good. The hand slid around and grabbed a handful of his arse—oh!—no one had ever touched him there before. A finger teased the crease between his cheeks—Harry’s hips jumped at the ticklish sensation. This was incredible, but surely something was wrong. Because even when he was dating Ginny, they’d never got this far…
Ginny.
Harry snapped his eyes open. “Severus, stop!”
Severus’ face was looming close enough for Harry to make out his expression. He wasn’t angry, but … disappointed. Severus let go, redressed Harry, and levitated him onto the Gryffindor couch. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Harry Accio’d his glasses and pushed himself up by his elbows. “No, it wasn’t you. It … I’ve just never done this before, not with … I-I like girls.”
Severus nodded, pointedly looking away. So the rumours were true. Everything Fred and George said about Snape being gay. Harry prodded, “You fancy me. How long?”
Severus’ face turned beet red. Being rejected was hard enough. Harry supposed that to someone as private as Snape, his question was like rubbing salt into a wound. Seconds passed. Maybe Severus wasn’t going to answer.
He did, after sinking into the Slytherin couch and still not looking at Harry. His voice was a whisper. “Since last year. When you kept visiting even after I taught you everything I knew about the Second International Edict. I started thinking of you as … a friend.” Severus was gripping the edge of the couch so hard that his knuckles were white. “And then you didn’t leave disgusted when I started showing you some of my more nasty curses. I … no one would stay around to be with me for this long.”
He was Severus’ only friend? What about the gang of Slytherins he always thought Snape was part of? Harry’s heart ached. “Severus, I like you. You are a friend. I just can’t…”
Severus’ shoulders slumped, looking every bit like the awkward, gangly teenager that he was. “I understand. Go back to wherever you’re from. I’ve shown you everything. I’m of no use anymore.”
“Severus, I can visit again next week my time –”
Severus shook his head wildly. “No, don’t come back. Don’t give me false hope. That would be cruel.”
Even though Harry didn’t like it, he understood. Coming back was the equivalent of dangling a carrot in front of a mule, perpetually out of reach. Severus would have a life of shattered hope ahead of him. He didn’t need to introduce more false hope into his life. Harry stood. “So … it’s goodbye then.”
Severus didn’t answer, but followed Harry out the door with his eyes.
Before returning home to Grimmauld Place, Harry walked in front of the blank wall three more times and asked the Room of Requirement to bring him back to the storage bazaar. There, he found the furniture behind the vanishing cabinet in which he had hidden the Half-Blood Prince’s Advanced Potions textbook. He didn’t need it for the notes anymore; Severus had already shown him everything except for the final incantation of Sectumsempra, which he would develop within a year. But Harry took the book with him nonetheless. He needed something to remember the young Severus Snape by.
Harry stared blankly at the book, doubts plaguing his mind. Was he so sure that the carrot would be perpetually out of reach?
-
It turned out that deciphering the Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction was a project that would take months. Snape really wasn’t the best teacher, no matter at what age. Harry managed to copy copious notes on the subject, but it was Hermione’s task to translate his scribbles into understandable magical theories. From there—if they ever finished deciphering—Harry would use the theoretical base to improve his duelling skills, and hopefully develop new spells that would protect all three of them in their search for Horcruxes.
“Harry, is this an ‘N’ or an ‘M’ … Harry James Potter, put that book down at once!”
Harry jumped, closed the Half-Blood Prince’s Advanced Potions book, and hid it under a pile of Witch Weekly. “Mmf … yes?”
Hermione held up Harry’s notes. “This word. Is it ‘E-N-Y-R-T-H’ or ‘E-M-Y-R-T-H’?”
“Enyrth. It’s derived from a family of Invigoration spells. Ennervate, for example, is a distant descendant of the En- prefix charms.”
Hermione scribbled down the answer, while Ron turned to Harry in awe. “Blimey, Harry! If only you had half this memory during Binns’ class!”
“It’s because Binns isn’t the Half-Blood Prince,” Hermione muttered.
“What do you mean –”
“Harry, look at you! I haven’t seen you go a day without carrying that book around. And for the past months it’s always been ‘Severus this’ and ‘Severus that.’ If I hadn’t known about your crush on the Half-Blood Prince last year, I’d have agreed with Ron that you’ve gone mental.”
“I’m not mental – what did you say about a crush?”
“The way you pored all over that book. Don’t play innocent. You know what I’m talking about,” Hermione said.
Harry looked to Ron for help, but his friend only shrugged in a way that said he agreed with Hermione. “Ron! Last year at this time I was going out with Ginny! Remember her? Your sister?”
“Probably not,” Hermione fumed. “Ronald was preoccupied with ‘Lav-Lav’ this time last year.”
“And you were going out with McLaggen!” Ron accused.
“That’s not the point! The point is Harry!”
“Me? How’d it get back to me?”
Hermione went over to the stack of magazines and fished out the Advanced Potions book from the bottom. “Your mind was on only three things last year: Ginny, Malfoy, and the Half-Blood Prince. Ginny you dumped. Malfoy you hexed. And the Half-Blood Prince? You kept his stupid book!”
“I broke off with Ginny because I didn’t want her to get hurt! Imagine if she’d been with me at Knockturn Alley that day. I would never forgive myself!” Harry sighed. “And the book … I retrieved it because I wanted to have something to remind me of Severus.”
“He’s Snape, Harry!” Ron said, the same time that Hermione said, “I thought you turned him down.”
Harry took the book from Hermione and moved his hand over the cover. “I did. I told Severus I like girls. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. And Ron, he’s Severus. He’s not Snape, not yet at least. They’re different.”
Ron crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Harry supposed he could understand. Before this, he’d never believe he could get along with Snape—any manifestation of Snape … Severus. He ran his hand over the book’s cover once more, and sighed. The carrot was reining in.
Pieces of parchment came into Harry’s field of vision; they were covered with Hermione’s familiar script. “Go visit him, why don’t you? I’ve compiled a list of questions on the Second International Edict. Maybe you can get some answers and save us weeks of deduction, and check up on your Severus at the same time.”
Harry took the parchments. Hermione’s questions were complex. Harry knew each individual word, but strung together as sentences, he had no idea what Hermione was asking. He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go see him again.”
-
When Harry stepped into the Room of Requirement, he came face to face with a startled and shifty looking Severus.
“Hullo, Severus,” he greeted.
Severus took a step back. “Harry Potter.” His voice was cold. There was no trace of warmth or joy that Harry was half-expecting to hear from him.
Severus looked older, now in his late teens. But there was the Slytherin tie, so he was still a student. Severus’ face had stretched length-wise, his features more angular, and his nose disproportionately large. He was beginning to resemble the Snape of Harry’s time.
“I come with questions.” Harry took out the parchments, more to break the awkward silence than to get to business. “They’re from my friend, Hermione Granger. She’s been helping me with understanding the International Edict theories.”
Severus didn’t move or talk, so Harry walked over to the familiar Gryffindor couch and sat down. To his relief, Severus soon followed and took his seat on the Slytherin couch.
“How old are you?” Severus asked.
“Still seventeen. But I’m turning eighteen soon.”
Severus nodded. “I’m eighteen now.”
Harry smiled. “Happy belated birthday.”
They fell silent again.
“So … how’s school?” Harry asked.
Severus shrugged. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Do you know what you’ll do next? A Potions apprenticeship, perhaps?”
Severus shrank back, and Harry noticed Severus lifted his right arm unconsciously to cover over his left forearm … his heart skipped a beat. Oh God, Snape was marked while he was still in school?
Severus became aware of Harry’s eyes on his arm, and he stiffened. “Go. You’re a Gryffindor. There’s nothing for you here.”
Harry leaned forward, careful not to break eye contact. “Severus, let me see it. I know what it is. Just…”
“No!” Severus snarled. “You don’t have the right! You can’t just disappear from my life for two years and come back as if nothing has happened!”
Harry inched toward the Slytherin couch, bending his knees. He had learned this from watching wildlife shows on the Dursleys’ telly. Approaching threatened animals slowly lowered the chance of the animal attacking out of panic. At this moment, Severus was very much a threatened animal.
When he was only inches from Severus, Harry knelt down, and placed a hand over the hand that was clutching at the Mark. “Severus, I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t know how long it’s been. In my time, it’s only been a few months. I’ve … I’ve missed you.”
Severus’ scowl was replaced with a look of uncertainty, and Harry took the chance to bat Severus’ right hand away. He then returned to the left arm to roll up the sleeve—Severus became very still. Harry himself was barely breathing, his eyes widening as first the snake, then the skull, came into view inch by inch.
Harry lifted his head and found Severus’ eyes searching his face for signs of fear or disgust. He made sure he looked as calm as possible. “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“They offered me a future,” Snape said.
“That’s it? But you’re bright enough to get any apprenticeship.”
Severus looked away. “Camaraderie, security, the promise never to be humiliated again…”
Harry inwardly cursed the Marauders. “Was there no one else? No other option?”
Severus shrugged. “You left.”
“What do you mean I –” Harry’s jaw slackened, and his voice left him. Severus had no other friends, a not-too-friendly voice spoke up in his mind, of course he’d join Voldemort. You left him all alone to fend for himself, Harry, you were his other option.
Fingers touched Harry’s head and hesitantly began threading through his hair. Harry welcomed the touch and lowered his head onto Severus’ lap. “It was my choice, Harry. No one’s to blame. I was the one who asked you to never come back, remember?” Severus paused. “And the inconvenience of Dumbledore’s prejudice aside, I’m quite happy with my decision.”
“But you’re a half-blood –”
“And I have use for the Dark Lord.”
This time, Harry couldn’t stop disgust washing over him. He yanked his head back and stood, pointing a finger at Severus. “You’re serving a madman! Don’t you care that his mission is to kill? To destroy? He’s going to kill my … a lot of people! Don’t you give a damn?”
Severus’ eyes glittered dangerously, every line on his face screaming that no, he didn’t give a damn. “You’re as weak as the rest of them,” Severus spat. “Get out of my life.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t ask you to come back, you useless Muggle-sympathiser. All you Gryffindors are the same. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Where was the Severus who was vicious but not cruel, spiteful but not sadistic? “What’s got into you? How could you believe this crap –”
“You’re no longer the older one, boy, you can’t tell me what to do. Get the fuck out of my life!”
Harry blinked. This wasn’t Severus he was looking at. This was Snape, the Death Eater, the future murderer of Dumbledore. “Fine, I will. And for the record, I hate you.” He stomped out and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.
When he returned home, he took out the Advanced Potions textbook and tore every page to pieces.
-
“But I don’t understand why I can’t channel the shield charm into a stronger version!” Harry said. “When I was in the Room of Requirement and asked for immunity, I could feel the room providing me with some altered form of the shield charm, only combined with something else!”
“Well, it’s the ‘something else’ that we don’t have, isn’t it?” Ron muttered. It had been five weeks, and they only managed to create one spell.
“Ron, you’re not helping,” Hermione admonished. She turned to Harry. “Your question is precisely the missing piece of the puzzle to developing the immunity charm necessary for destroying Horcruxes. And I believe the answer lies in one of those passages in the International Edict that we couldn’t figure out.”
“So we’re not getting anywhere,” Harry said. Hermione shook her head. Harry stood. “Well, then, let’s go and practice our duelling then. While the sun’s still out.”
“Great idea!” Ron said. He’d been dying to try out the new maneuver he developed from a Quidditch dive.
“Ready?” Ron yelled from the far edge of the warded area. From the opposite end, Harry and Hermione gave a thumbs-up.
Ron hopped onto his broom and shot into the air. Halfway up, he pulled out his wand and rolled over, so that he was hanging on the broom upside down. Without warning, the broom took a nosedive and charged toward Harry and Hermione.
Harry pulled out his wand, ready to deflect whatever Ron would send his way. The sky suddenly turned a blinding white, and before Harry could think, his reflexes told him to brace his arms in front of his face. Harry’s heart pounded. What spell was Ron using? He’d never felt something so powerful, and it was white –
“Harry!” He heard Hermione yell. Was he hurt?
“Harry, are you all right? Harry!” That was Ron. But he sounded so far away…
-
Harry found himself deposited onto the Gryffindor couch he had come to know so well. There was no Severus in the room, but he heard footsteps outside, as if someone was pacing back and forth by the door. Everything suddenly made sense. He’d been summoned to the Room of Requirement; Severus was conjuring him. But why?
The door opened, revealing a Severus who now looked about twenty. He had scarcely closed the door before he charged toward Harry, kneeling by the couch, touching him all over with his hands.
“You’re Harry Potter! You’re James and Lily’s baby. It’s you!” he said. “Oh, Merlin … you’re alive! You’re alive in your time, so you’ll live in my time too. The Dark Lord is going to choose the Longbottoms. Oh, thank Merlin…”
One look at Severus, panicked and desperate—and every negative thought Harry had harboured against him in the past weeks evaporated.
“Severus.” He grabbed Severus’ hands and tried to still them. “Severus!”
Harry breathed deeply. There wasn’t any way to break the news to him gently. “Voldemort’s going to choose my … choose the Potters.”
Severus’ face blanched. “You mean … oh, no! I’ve killed you. There won’t be a Harry Potter in my time…”
“But there –” Harry snapped his mouth shut. Ought he mess with time? Severus was looking at him, waiting for more words. The anxiety, the panic—to hell with time travel rules. Time could handle little intrusions like this.
“Don’t worry, I’ll live. I … I don’t know how it happened, but I’m going to live.”
Severus looked at Harry, his eyes wild. “And your parents? Potter? Evans?”
Harry shook his head and turned away. The mere mention of his parents hurt. He swallowed hard, forcing down the bile threatening to leave his stomach. But the harder he tried to suppress everything, the more intense the rush of anger felt pooling in his chest, needing an outlet for explosion.
“I did it,” Severus confessed. “I was the one who told the Dark Lord. I was there –”
Harry flung Severus’ hand away as hard as he could. “I KNOW!” he screamed, “I’ve known since I first met you! Just, stop talking … please…”
Severus shrank away, but he didn’t leave. Harry supposed it was a kind gesture on Severus’ part. But he wasn’t feeling too charitable at the moment. Severus could disappear into thin air and he wouldn’t give a flying fuck about it.
“I apologise, Harry.”
“That’s not enough!” he shouted. And it wasn’t. It would never be enough.
Severus’ eyes darkened, any trace of hope for reconciliation gone. He stood. “I understand. I’ll send you back to your time then.”
Harry watched Severus’ back as he walked toward the door. This was not the proud professor with billowing robes; this was a broken man, someone who had just been told the consequences of his action. This was … his Severus.
“Thank you.”
Severus turned.
“The Severus in my time never apologised.” Harry patted the space next to him. “Come here, sit down. I want to have someone nearby.”
Severus shuffled over, step by step, each more hesitant than the last. When he was close enough, Harry stood and guided Severus down onto the couch. He kept a hand on him, maintaining touch even as his emotions battled fiercely inside.
Gradually, Severus’ body relaxed and he no longer looked like he was about to bolt for the door.
“How old are you, Severus?”
“Twenty.”
“I’m eighteen now.”
Silence.
“I’ll be twenty-one when you’re born. I’m old for my time’s Harry.”
“I like you like this better.”
Severus whirled around. “Like me? How can you like me after all that I’ve done?”
Harry considered what Severus said. Had he spoken too lightly, when what he meant was simply that he preferred this Severus to the Snape of his time? But if Severus was merely the lesser of two evils, then why was he so afraid of him leaving, of losing what guise of a friendship they had? And then there was the element of the time loop. To Harry, Severus was a twenty-year-old plus twenty more years of Professor Snape. Yet reality was suspended in the Room of Requirement. This was a not-yet Snape, someone Harry could—it suddenly struck him—and did, care about.
“For now I do.”
Harry’s declaration emboldened Severus. He snaked an arm around Harry, inviting Harry to rest his head on his shoulder. Harry was starting to feel tired and was only too happy to comply.
“Is this farewell?” Severus asked.
“Huh?”
“The next time we meet, if we meet, I’ll have been responsible for your parents’ death.”
“Hmm,” Harry said, thinking hard. What Severus said was true, and to Severus, this issue was pressing and present. But to Harry, his parents’ death happened so long ago. “I don’t remember my parents.”
“They’re … tolerable.”
“You’re not saying that just because I’m their son, are you? Right, of course you are. You hate them.”
“And they hate me.”
Harry sighed. “So much hate,” he mumbled, and burrowed his face further into Severus. “I had a horrible childhood.”
“Did Dumbledore raise you?”
“No, my relatives did. They didn’t like me. They said wizards are freaks.”
Severus began petting Harry’s shoulder, at first hesitant, but the motion soon became comforting. “James and Lily would make great parents,” Severus said, grudgingly, and after some deliberation.
Harry smiled into Severus’ neck. He remembered both Sirius and Remus telling him how much his parents loved him. “Thank you.”
Harry was half-asleep when Severus’ hand stopped stroking. He shifted and sat upright. “Is something wrong?”
“The Dark Lord … does he continue killing everyone until the war is over?”
“He would. But I’m going to live, remember? Things will be all right, for a while, anyway.”
“For everyone?” Severus asked. “I mean, will I…”
Harry had never seen such vulnerability on Severus’ face. He wasn’t sure if Severus was asking whether he would live or die. It didn’t matter; the looming inquiry was the same.
He looked straight into Severus’ eyes. “You’ll have to make a choice.”
Severus grabbed his left arm and pushed his sleeve up. “There is no choice, Harry. There’s no out. I saw Regulus Black die with my own eyes! I was there. The Dark Lord doesn’t permit traitors.”
“What about someone who can protect you? Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “You’re at Hogwarts right now, aren’t you? You snuck into the castle to summon me into the Room of Requirement, didn’t you?” Severus nodded. “Then go to Dumbledore! He probably knows you’re here anyway.”
“He’ll turn me over to the Ministry,” Severus said, a hollow protest. Harry could tell that even Severus didn’t fully believe that himself.
“But you’ll save me,” Harry said. He attempted a smile. “I think I want to live longer than a year.”
Referencing himself tipped the balance. “All right,” Severus said, his face resolved. “I’ll pay the Headmaster a visit when I leave.”
Harry beamed. He knew what was going to happen. Dumbledore would accept Severus and carry him through the First Voldemort War. And maybe if Harry continued visiting Severus, he could avoid history repeating itself in this timeline…
“Are we all right again, then?” Severus said in a barely audible voice.
Harry thought for a moment. “I guess we are. I’m not angry anymore. Well, I am, but not at you.”
Severus let out a held breath. “Harry Potter, you’re a very generous person.”
Harry supposed he was, to Severus, who managed to worm his way into having a soft spot in Harry’s heart. He placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder, absently rubbing out the tension at the base of his neck.
Severus leaned into the touch at first, but then he pulled away. Harry wondered if he’d done something wrong. Maybe Severus didn’t like people touching him there? But Severus didn’t look offended, just … nervous.
“Do you – do you still like girls?” he stammered.
“What? Huh?”
Severus shrugged. “You’re so sure that the Headmaster will take me in, but I’m not. What if I end up in Azkaban? I don’t want to go without … I’d like to know what it’s like to … do it with someone.”
Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Merlin … Severus wanted sex! Only someone the social skill of Snape would think it appropriate to go from barely mending a friendship to asking for a fuck. Harry knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it. So the groping in Severus’ fifth year wasn’t just a fleeting teenage crush.
“Or we don’t have to,” Severus quickly amended, his face bright red. “I … forget that I asked.”
Harry swallowed, forcing his words to be as calm as possible. “W-Well, to answer your question, yes, I do still like girls. But as I already said, I like you.” Please let that be enough. Let Severus drop the topic. Let him talk about something else…
“I … I want to give you something,” Severus said, and reached into his robe and pulled out the Advanced Potions textbook. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He suddenly became very interested in looking at the book.
Toward the front, between two pages were several sheets of parchments—the ones that Hermione had written her questions on. Harry squinted and noticed that Severus had written answers on those pages. “This book contains notes on all of my devised spells, and the answers to your friend’s questions are written on the original parchments. Take this. May you and your friends succeed in what you’re trying to do.”
Harry couldn’t stop himself from a bitter smile. Following the days of his tantrum, he had often regretted tearing the book to shreds. “Thanks,” he said and placed it securely in his pocket. He would have to return the book before the Harry in Severus’ timeline reached sixth year.
Severus looked nervous again. “So what should we do now?”
Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from snapping a rude retort. God, couldn’t Severus take a hint? Maybe he should suggest that they paint daisies on the wall. That’d be something to do. But Harry knew very well that wasn’t the “doing” Severus had in mind.
And if the weird sensation in his groin meant anything, it was telling him that he did want Severus.
“How about just a kiss?” he suggested. “Then you’ll have something to look forward to.”
Severus pounced at the suggestion. He kissed Harry fiercely, hungrily, possessively. This was nothing like stealing kisses with Cho or Ginny. Severus latched onto Harry’s lips and refused to let go. Harry inhaled. Severus smelled like dried Potions ingredients.
Barely anytime had passed when Harry felt a tongue prodding at his mouth, demanding entrance. He smiled into the tongue. If Severus lacked finesse, he certainly made it up with enthusiasm. He parted his lips.
At first, the tongue felt slimy and weird, but it was soon causing incredible sensations on, around, and inside his mouth. Harry drew back for a quick breath, only to have Severus lean forward like a starved predator and recapture his mouth. Arms snaked around him and pressed their bodies together. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Everything about Severus felt right.
As the kiss went on, he gradually became aware of a bulge digging into his stomach. Thrill tingled down his spine. Severus was hard; Severus wanted him. Within seconds, Severus was gyrating his hips, not-too-subtly trying to find release in Harry. More heat pooled into Harry’s abdomen. He pulled his head back and broke the kiss. They needed to stop, they should stop … but neither wanted to.
Severus clung onto Harry and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, moving his hips against Harry’s with abandon. A tongue darted out to explore Harry’s neck, accompanied by suckling and light biting. Severus was now thrusting, snapping his hips back and forth, doing anything to get more, more…
And then he stilled. Harry couldn’t tell whether Severus came or if he suddenly realised he was doing much more than just kissing. Too many layers of clothing separated them to make out whether Severus’ trousers were damp. All Harry knew was that Severus was breathing heavily against him, and that when he got home, he’d have his own pressing problem to take care of.
When their eyes met, Harry could see a fire there, something he never thought possible with Snape. Harry prayed to God that Severus would remember this moment. Maybe in this world, he would stay loyal to Dumbledore for his sake, for the memory of the kiss.
“Harry, I … you … I…”
Harry drew Severus close. “I know,” he said muffled into Severus’ robes. “Me too.”
-
Life was in full gear for Harry over the next months. Hermione broke through her research barrier with Severus’ notes, and Ron and he developed new battle moves that would make Professor Flitwick proud. They worked on creating new spells in the morning and sparred in the afternoon. During evenings, they would either relax or track down leads on the whereabouts of Horcruxes when they got wind of something new.
Several nights a week, Harry would meet with Severus who, now working at Hogwarts, would summon him. The years sped by in Severus’ timeline.
Harry rested his head on Severus’ abdomen as they lay on the four poster bed, a now-permanent fixture in the Room of Requirement. “When I come to Hogwarts, be nice to me, okay?” he said. His counterpart in Severus’ time was months away from entering Hogwarts.
Severus ran his hand through Harry’s hair. “That depends on whether you’ll show up drunk with the glory of your fame.”
Harry shot up. “Severus! I don’t like being famous. I never did! It was you who got it into your head that I’m some kind of celebrity expecting special treatment.”
“You’re getting plenty of special treatment from me now.”
Harry stuck out his tongue, delighted to see an answering glint of amusement in Severus’ eyes. “Don’t you dare do anything to the Harry in your time. The world’s not kind to pedophiles, you know.”
Severus choked. “Harry! When we started we were practically the same age –”
“I know. I’m just suddenly feeling jealous of myself in your time, that’s all.” Harry smiled. “Let’s talk about something else. So what’s Fred and George like?”
“Horrifying.”
Harry’s smile broadened, and judging by the way Severus was looking at him, he could tell that Severus did not find the twins remotely entertaining. “You can’t deny that they’ve got talent. And I’ll let you in on a secret: they’re going to use their potions skills to open up a joke shop after they leave Hogwarts.”
“Joke shop? May God protect us all…”
“Quit with the melodrama. You know you like it when students learn from you.”
Severus snorted. “I’d like it more if they learnt Defense Against the Dark Arts from me. But if the rumours are correct, then I’ll be stuck teaching Potions for at least another year.”
Harry suddenly remembered what happened in his time when Snape finally got the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Despite himself, he trembled. “Severus,” he whispered. “You’re much better off teaching Potions. None of the Defense professors have lasted more than a year. The position must be cursed or something.”
“If the hearsay going around the staff room is correct, then Albus plans to hire a Master for next year. I’m afraid he possesses the knowledge and skill to last more than a year.”
Harry froze. The incoming Defense professor, the one who would be teaching Harry when he was a First Year. “Do you mean –”
“Quirrell is his name. Renowned researcher and adventurer who specialises in Dark creatures of Albania. He already interviewed with Albus. The Headmaster is keen on hiring him onto the staff for next year.”
“Severus, have you met this Quirrell?”
“I will. Term ends in another month. I believe there’ll be the usual summer staff meetings when the students leave.”
Harry grabbed Severus’ arms. “Promise me, promise me you’ll occlude your mind every time Quirrell is nearby. He can’t find out about us, about me. Can’t!”
“Do you think me incompetent?” Severus snapped. “No one has found out about us yet. Not even Albus.”
“But I’ll be at Hogwarts next year, and Harry Potter will be the centre of attention! Severus, don’t talk with him, don’t go near Quirrell, please…”
Severus pulled Harry forward and silenced him with a kiss. “Not a word,” he said in between kisses. “I suspect Quirrell’s in league with the Dark.” Severus’ teeth nibbled lightly on Harry’s lower lip. “Dabbling with Dark creatures.” Lips moved down Harry’s jaw, throat… “But he can’t do anything –” On the collarbone… “– not with Albus around.”
Oh, he could. Harry knew Severus’ tenuous position in the First War, how he barely survived under serving two Masters. Severus had no idea … he would let something slip and endanger himself, even if the “something” was as minor as treating the first year Harry Potter fairly.
Harry gasped, not from the kisses, but from the cold realisation that Severus could not have any prior knowledge about Harry Potter and live.
“Severus…” Harry whispered, clutching to his lover.
Severus responded by trailing more kisses down Harry’s neck. In this timeline, it must have been weeks since Severus had last seen Harry, maybe even months.
There was no guarantee that when Harry next visited, it would be before Quirrell’s arrival.
Harry forced his mind to clear and let Severus make love to him. He let Severus uncover him, then cover him again with hands and mouth over every bit of revealed skin. He moaned when Severus’ hand found his cock and began stroking. No matter how many times they’d done this, it still felt so good.
With his other hand, Severus loosened his trousers and freed his own cock from the confinement of clothing. He lay down, side by side with Harry, and guided Harry’s hand to his cock.
Harry stroked, languidly at first, but soon was moving as fast as Severus. He felt every familiar bump and vein. This was his Severus, hardening with each stroke, thrusting into his hand. Precome gathered on the tip of Severus’ cock; gently, Harry pushed back the foreskin and smeared the fluid down the shaft.
Severus’ hand was moving even faster now. Harry panted and tried hard to think about ice storms and Filch dressed in fluorescent pink knickers, anything to stifle his own arousal. His free hand flailed about, catching the edge of his robe that was bunched up in a wrinkled ball next to him. Severus twisted the head of his cock during an upward tug… “Oooh…!” Harry moaned, digging his nails into the robe, into what felt like a pocket. His own hips were thrusting up to meet Severus’ strokes, each skin-on-skin contact bringing him closer to climax. Filch in pink knickers, he mentally chanted. Filch in pink knickers…
After another minute or so, Severus’ body went stiff—the only signal he gave—and Harry’s hand was coated in come. “Harry…” Severus gasped.
Harry wanted to call out Severus’ name, to choke out that he loved him. But the threat of Quirrell was still very fresh on his mind. Taking advantage of Severus’ temporary pause in the wake of his orgasm, Harry pulled away, snapped out his wand from the pocket, and aimed it at Severus.
“Obliviate!”
For several seconds, Severus looked confused, and Harry hastened to spell away the semen and zipped up Severus’ trousers. The bed in the room was beginning to disintegrate. Harry grabbed his clothing and quickly dressed himself, his fading erection digging uncomfortably into his pants, tenting his trousers. Within seconds, the bed disappeared.
It took Severus close to a minute to gather himself, his eyes eventually landing on Harry. “You! What are you doing here?”
Harry’s heart turned into ice. Severus was addressing him as a student, just another rule breaker. And why wouldn’t he? There was no longer a “them.” There was no longer a four-poster bed.
Harry ruffled his hair to hide his scar and turned his gaze to the floor. “Professor Snape, sir, I was just trying to find a quiet place to study.”
Even without looking, Harry could tell that Severus wasn’t convinced. He hated the familiar feeling of hair rising at the back of his neck. He was once again a nobody in Severus’ eyes. A student. An inferior.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for lying,” Severus said.
Harry couldn’t resist looking up. “H-How do you know I’m a Gryffindor?”
Severus pointed to the Gryffindor-coloured couch. “Because those are Ravenclaw colours,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t play dumb, you’re a Gryffindor.”
Harry sucked in a breath. This was Severus, the same one who at fourteen had said the same thing to him. Tears pricked at his eyes. He couldn’t stand being in Severus’ presence anymore, not when he had no recollection of their years together. And so he ran, dashed for the door, and let the magic of the Room of Requirement transport him home.
-
There was no ripple in time, no travelling between timelines, no differing realities. There was always just one Harry Potter, one Severus Snape, and one Room of Requirement. When eleven-year-old Harry Potter entered Hogwarts in two months, his Potions teacher would be the same nasty Professor Snape that Harry had always had. But this Professor Snape was still Severus, still someone with a dry sense of humour and who had a sweet tooth for cockroach clusters; he was still the object of Harry’s affection, still Dumbledore’s murderer, still Harry’s lover, still the person he hated most second to Voldemort…
Magic dumped Harry into the living room of Grimmauld Place. His knees gave out, and before Harry could feel his body crash to the floor, blackness overtook him.
