The Great Hall sounded as though it were full to bursting. There were the usual childish laughter and shouts, the unceasing susurration of dozens of subdued conversations, the background clatter of utensils and plates being moved, all contained in what amounted to an echoing stone box. It was way too much noise for anyone to have to deal with first thing on a Monday morning.
Severus Snape paused outside the hall entrance, ready to bolt. Two days simply wasn't enough time to reclaim one's life, let alone one's equilibrium. Friday at this very time, he'd been a child, chasing his roommate around the bedroom playing tag instead of getting dressed for school. Now . . . .
Now it was back to normal: no more tag, or quidditch, or even Exploding Snap. He wasn't going to class; he was teaching it. What's more, he had a four-month hiatus for which to make up. He didn't want to think about the state the curriculum was in. There was no way he could correct four months of substandard work in the three that remained to him.
That was really what should be troubling him, Severus thought as he stood paused outside the hall's towering doors. The work missed, the students' that would be ill prepared for their exams – those were the pressing issues, not his emotional problems.
But as he stood there frozen outside the Great Hall, his emotions were the only thing real to him. As soon as he opened that door, he was going to have to face a school full of people who had seen him as a seven-year-old. For some reason, that thought both terrified and shamed him.
It made no sense. He'd faced Voldemort for years while spying without so much as a quiver, but the idea of walking into that hall and feeling all those curious eyes upon him unmanned him. And he didn't know why.
He'd certainly done nothing wrong, nor had he embarrassed himself. Hermione and Ron had seen to it that he was properly dressed and that he behaved well at all times. There had been nothing shameful in any of it, so why was he so sensitive about it? Why did he feel like all his deepest secrets had been paraded in full view?
It was with the thought of Hermione and Ron that he began to understand what was bothering him. The whole school had seen him helpless. He'd been vulnerable and lost, and everyone had known it. They'd seen the Weasleys take him in and give him a home.
A home that was no longer his. That was the root of his problem. Every morning for the last four months when he'd entered the Great Hall, he'd been ensconced between Ron and Harry at the teacher's table. And now that he'd reclaimed his adult life, he was going to have to reclaim his isolated seat down at the end of the table as well. To do anything else would be to reveal a weakness, a need, and Severus was resolved to maintain his dignity at all costs. He'd lost so much; he wasn't about to lose that as well. But . . . .
Severus took a deep breath and tried to relax. He could do this. He'd borne the Cruciatus. He could survive this.
Steeling himself, he opened the door and entered the hall. It was impossible not to notice how all sound seemed to stop at his entrance. He could feel dozens of eyes upon him as he crossed the room to the teacher's table.
He wished that he had his hair to hide behind, but it was still drawn back in that clip Hermione had given him. Startled, he realized that his new hairstyle alone could be reason enough for them to be staring. He'd worn his hair in that same cut for longer than some of his colleagues had been alive. He supposed that the change would be shocking enough. Even so, those stares weighed on his nerves.
"Good morning, Severus," Headmistress McGonagall greeted with a warm smile. "Welcome back again."
She'd been in to see him yesterday. She was the only one of his colleagues other than Harry who had paid him a visit.
"Minerva," he nodded, and then tried to be polite as the others all acknowledged his return.
As he moved down the long table to take his former seat at the secluded far end, he realized that the teachers' table had fallen completely silent around him. The Great Hall as a whole seemed to draw a collective breath, every professor and student seeming to anxiously await his reaction. From the tension in the room, it was clear that no less than a volcanic eruption was anticipated.
Already a nervous wreck, Severus felt his own muscles stiffen up as he prepared for whatever prank awaited him. Damn, couldn't the cretins give him one morning to get his life back in order before once again making him the butt of their brainless jokes? As he turned to deal with whatever ignominy awaited him, Severus promised himself that he'd make the life of whoever had planned this hell.
His steps faltered as he took in the cause of the tension. His normal seat, the chair next to the last at the end of the table, was empty as usual, but it was no longer isolated. Ronald Weasley was sitting in the last chair, next to Severus' empty seat. Harry Potter was in the chair on the opposite side of the chair, with Hermione at Potter's other shoulder – their usual mealtime configuration for the last four months.
As if that weren't shock enough, a terrified looking Neville Longbottom was perched on the edge of the seat next to Hermione, with Blaise Zabini next to him. Merlin knew what they'd done to get Longbottom there. The man appeared on the verge of collapse.
They hadn't left a single empty chair for him to isolate himself behind. His . . . family had set it up so that Severus' only choice was to sit among them. Either that or move to the other end of the table entirely. And the only seat at that end was next to the arrogant Miller. He'd rather eat next to Hagrid's Blast Ended Skrewts.
As he stood there frozen in shock, Severus wondered how he should respond. The absolute silence around him told him that the school as a whole was expecting an amusing spectacle.
He looked at the faces of these people who'd been so kind to him. Hermione's was set with equal degrees of worry and determination. He recognized her hand in this, for only she could manipulate Longbottom into doing something so completely against his nature. Potter appeared nervous, as if he feared this move might damage the uneasy friendship forming between them. Zabini was behaving as a typical Slytherin; the lanky brunette seemed amused by the entire thing.
The only person acting anywhere near normal was Ron. His complete attention was on his bowl as he wolfed down a heaping helping of porridge. As he watched, Ron seemed to become aware of his stare and the silence raging around him. Ron glanced up, scanned down the row of seemingly petrified teachers, gazed out over the equally absorbed House tables, and finally turned to him. Ron rolled his eyes and glared down the teachers' table.
"Enough already! It's not like nobody's ever moved their seats before. Severus, sit down before all the food goes cold!" And with that, Ron went back to his breakfast.
Hermione looked like she wanted to kill Ron. Harry appeared to be waiting to make a decision as to whether to help her or not. Longbottom was attempting to fade into the woodwork. Everyone else was waiting for an entertaining spectacle of Snape proportions.
Severus took his seat.
He gave a droll, "Good morning," as he settled down between Harry and Ron. To his intense relief, conversation started throughout the Great Hall again as though a switch had been flicked.
"Good morning, Severus," Hermione brightly responded, looking as though she might pass out herself from the relief.
Ron's mumbled, "'morning," was lost between chews.
Harry's quiet "Hello," gave him an unexpected shiver. That was not something he'd anticipated having to deal with this morning.
"Hello," he answered, praying that he wasn't blushing as he met Harry's gaze. He'd already made a big enough prat of himself with that entrance.
"How are you today, Severus?" Hermione asked.
Completely too aware of every gaze upon him, Severus shrugged and evaded, "Here," and then silently cursed himself for the concern that filled her gaze.
He reached a shaky hand for the teapot, but a larger one beat him to it. Proving once again that he was nowhere near as oblivious as he let on, Ron poured the tea into Severus' cup, saving him the embarrassment of sloshing it all over the table.
"Harry, what did you think of what Crenshaw and Sinastra did with your classes over the last few months?" Zabini asked from the other side of Longbottom. "They told me they'd dropped by to go over the curriculum they'd covered."
He felt Potter's gaze move from him, the way he'd feel the heat of the summer sun leaving him when he passed into shadow. He was accustomed to controlling his emotions. In his arrogance on Saturday night when he'd told himself he'd be able to maintain the charade of platonic friendship with Harry Potter, he'd assumed that his feelings for Harry would be as simple to ignore as all his other emotions had been. Clearly, he had never had a true test to his controls before.
As Harry answered Zabini's question, Severus drew in a deep breath. His rubbery limbs belonged to a man who'd just fought a life and death battle, not someone who'd simply sat down at the breakfast table. What kind of feckless fool had he become to make such a melodrama out of entering a room? And, obviously, everyone else had expected him to overreact. He was clearly . . . .
His thought broke off as a large, warm hand settled in the middle of his back, Ron's comforting gesture unseen by all. Severus glanced over at Ron.
Weasley was still shovelling porridge into his mouth as fast as he could with his right hand while his left provided that surreptitious comfort, but he met Severus' gaze and gave him a quick wink and a grin before repossessing his left hand. Once he'd swallowed his mouth-load, Ron whispered, "The first step's always the hardest. It will get better."
Had he become that transparent? Was his every thought and fear now on display?
Not knowing how to deal with this, he looked at Ron. His pride was insisting he should snap Weasley's head off for his assumption, but this man had protected him when he was helpless as no one had ever done before. So instead of snarling, he quietly questioned, "Will it?"
"I sure hope so. This morning's been hell," Ron sighed, an uncharacteristic gloom settling over his normally affable features.
Severus gave an enquiring lift of his eyebrow.
Ron took a quick glance at his wife, who was seemingly absorbed in conversation with Zabini and Harry, and explained, "You know how fogged Hermy is first thing. She went to wake you boys for school, only . . . ."
"Ah," Severus nodded, beginning to appreciate that he wasn't the only one for whom this situation was difficult. These people had changed their entire world around to accommodate Harry and him in their time of need. He couldn't imagine what either Ron or Hermione must be going through, to have the children they'd taken into their home and hearts vanish overnight, never to return.
Ron's voice dropped even lower as he leaned in and said, "Thanks for not . . . just thanks. I think it would have killed her if you'd gone over to sit with Miller."
Ron was *thanking* him?
"Hey," Harry's hand landed on Severus' left arm as he interrupted, "no secrets at the breakfast table. Did you ask him yet?" Harry leaned around him to inquire of Ron.
"Ask me what?" Severus uneasily questioned, leaning back in his seat to try to include both Ron and Harry in his line of sight, which was hard as they were on opposite sides of him.
"Well, to reward ourselves for getting through Mondays without using an Unforgivable on any of the little monsters, we usually get together in the evening to grade papers and homework," Harry said.
"We haven't done it since December because everyone was covering so many classes," Ron explained. "But since things are back to normal now, we thought we'd give it a go tonight."
"We'd like you to join us," Hermione said from Harry's other side. "That is, if you don't have too much else to do."
"I was hoping we might fit in a game of chess," Ron added from his other side.
"You don't have to make up your mind right now," Harry quickly interjected.
"Yeah, take some time and think about it," Ron counselled.
All three of them appeared braced for rejection. From their expressions, it was plain that his compliance was very important to them.
Severus knew this wasn't a good idea. He should be cutting ties, not strengthening them, but . . . as hard as it was to let anyone in, it was harder still to refuse these three anything they might require of him. He owed each of them a debt he could never repay. If they wanted to inflict his company upon themselves, he had no right to deny them.
What incredible twaddle, he chided himself. No right to deny them? He didn't want to deny them. He . . . needed them.
And that scared him.
Severus stared down his fear for a long moment before softly replying, "I don't need time to consider. I would be honoured to attend."
His formality didn't appear to affect them, not if their grins were anything to go by.
"Perfect," Hermione beamed, her eyes twinkling bright as Albus'.
"Come on, you lot," Neville called from Hermione's other side. "We're about to be late!"
"What?" Harry, Hermione, and Ron did a classic double take as they gazed around the emptying Great Hall.
"Severus didn't even get breakfast," Hermione protested as they all scrambled to collect their book bags and personal effects.
"He's not seven anymore, Hermy. He knows when to eat," Ron snorted, but he passed Severus a napkin-wrapped muffin on his way to the door all the same.
With a rushed "See you later!" the Weasleys hit the floor running, leaving Severus standing there in bemusement staring at the pastry in his hand.
"It's a little overwhelming, isn't it? Being an adult again, I mean," a familiar, rich tenor said from his side.
Startled, Severus looked over to find Harry Potter still standing there. The green robe Potter was wearing was an exact match with his eyes.
Still uneasy with this grown up version of the boy who'd befriended him, Severus gave a cautious nod.
"I could barely muster the courage to walk into the hall this morning," Potter continued, giving a self-deprecating smile as he admitted, "Hermione had to take me by the arm."
Thinking how strange it was to hear Potter openly admit to any kind of weakness in his presence, Severus slowly said, "It is, as you said, overwhelming."
"You don't have a first period class either?" Harry asked.
"No. My Monday starts with the second period and ends with the ninth. I have two double potions classes today," he answered. With a vague shock, Severus realized that he was actually making 'small talk.'
"I don't start till third. Walk with me?" Harry asked, gesturing at the French doors to their left that led out into the gardens.
Severus knew it wasn't wise to be alone with Potter. He didn't understand how the affection his childhood self had borne Harry had transformed into this totally inappropriate desire. All he knew was that it hurt to be with Potter now. And hurt even more to be without him.
Still, there was no valid reason to refuse the request. To do so would bring undue attention to his reasons for avoiding Harry. And he had given his word to attempt to be his friend.
So, he gave a nod and followed Potter to the doors.
The weather was hardly conducive to walking. The sky overhead was dark and overcast, the grey clouds spitting down a misty rain. The temperature was cold, the damp biting. Although the ground had thawed; the grass hadn't sprung yet. The earth was a muddy mire that squelched unpleasantly under their boots.
But there was something bracing about the chill. It rather suited his mood, Severus decided. And it was fascinating to watch Harry's skin turn pink as the mist soaked his face and hair.
"We would have had a quidditch match this afternoon," Harry said, staring out over the bare, rain-blackened trees. It was still cold enough that his words emerged as puffs of steam.
"If it weren't cancelled," Severus said, wondering how long it would be before his guts stopped lurching every time he thought of what they'd be doing at a particular moment if they hadn't been restored.
"Yeah, there's that. I miss Adam," Harry said suddenly, referring to the redheaded boy who had befriended them both.
I miss you, Severus thought, but he didn't speak the words.
"Isn't that strange?" Harry asked.
What was strange was that Harry could still trust him enough to share that type of confidence. Feeling those troubled eyes upon his face, Severus looked down at the soggy ground.
"I don't know," Severus answered at last. "He was a friend."
"Yes, he was. I thought of going back to see him," Harry said as they walked among the sleeping rosebushes that lined the narrow walk. This time of the year they were nothing but thorns, which somehow struck Severus as being very appropriate. His life often seemed a thin path between thorn thickets, with no haven in sight. He was so absorbed with the play of expression over those familiar, but now compelling features that he was only half-listening as Harry continued with, "But I thought it would only confuse him."
"That's probably wise," Severus said.
"Probably? Do you think I should see him?" Harry jumped at the idea.
"I don't have any answers, Harry. If you recall, it was I who wanted to remain a child," Severus reminded short-temperedly. He wasn't good at this. Potter should know better than to press him.
"So it's my fault, then?" Harry questioned. His words should have been accusative, but they only sounded miserable.
Six months ago Severus would have said *Yes, it's all your fault* and blamed everything from their current situation to his twisted longings on Potter. Now such pettiness seemed pointless.
Taking a deep breath of the earth-scented air, Severus softly answered, "No, I don't believe either of us ever had a choice."
Potter was silent. For a long time the only sounds were their squelching footsteps and the drip of the water off the leafless vegetation around them.
"How are you doing?" Harry asked in a soft tone some time later.
"Let's just say that you're not the only one thinking about missed quidditch games," Severus offered at last, wondering if he were being too honest. But this Harry wasn't really all that dissimilar from the boy he'd known. Potter didn't feel a need to attack a weakness simply because it existed.
"I wish . . . ." Potter began and stopped.
"Yes?"
"I wish I could make things better – for us both," Harry said, still very much the optimist that had wanted to make the world a better place.
"There is no *better*. There is only enduring," Severus replied, voicing the truth of his soul.
"I don't believe that," Harry instantly argued.
"That is your choice. It has, however, been my experience," Severus replied. He didn't want to argue with Potter, but he wasn't going to lie to him, either.
"If that's true, then what's the point in living?" Potter objected, sounding scandalized by the very idea.
Severus shrugged. "Damned if I know."
"Severus!"
"What?" he questioned, his voice as subdued as Potter's had been upset.
"That's not funny!"
"What would you have me say?" he demanded, out of patience already, and he hadn't even faced his first class of dunderheads. "Do you want me to lie to you?"
Harry's stare poked right through his walls.
Severus forced himself to hold that gaze.
"Do you really feel that way?" Harry asked at last.
"I have *always* felt that way. Except for the last four months," Severus admitted, wondering if his honesty would be enough to drive Potter away.
But his honesty wouldn't have scared the boy off, and it didn't scare the man Harry had become either. Harry was still a head shorter than Severus, but he still seemed larger than life as he reached out to grip Severus' left arm and held on tight.
"We haven't lost it all," Harry insisted.
"Haven't we?" They'd had this discussion on Saturday night. Severus wondered how many times it would be repeated before Harry finally realized that he couldn't be the same person he'd been at seven.
"No, we haven't. I know we're not kids anymore, but we're not back where we were five months ago. Things have changed, for the better. It was different at breakfast this morning, wasn't it?" Harry asked.
Severus thought of that warm, supportive hand on his back this morning and gave a cautious nod.
"I know it's hard right now, but it will get easier. I promise."
*I promise*, like Potter would personally guarantee him a rosy future. How often had the seven-year-old Potter made that same vow? And every time he'd listened, things had been all right. Not once had Harry ever misled him. But his seven-year-old self had had more courage than Severus could ever aspire to.
"Class is going to start soon. I must return." Severus looked away, but not fast enough to keep him from catching the disappointment in Harry's face.
Harry gave a dispirited, "Yeah," and turned back towards the school.
Side by side, they walked through the soggy April morning.
"We're soaked," Harry said as they paused on the flagstones in front of the French doors that led back into the Great Hall.
Liking neither the gloom in Harry's expression nor the knowledge that he'd put it there, Severus met Potter's gaze and offered in a dry tone, "Fortunately, I know this really neat drying spell."
Severus held his breath. Humour had never been his forte' and Harry's face was blank as a Goyle's for a moment. But then the reference seemed to click. Severus knew the exact instant that Harry remembered the words Potter had spoken to Minerva on the day they'd built that mud fort in the quidditch pitch.
And, suddenly, the laughter was back. It exploded out of Harry in a heart-warming burst of sound.
His hand settling on the taller man's back as he ushered Severus into the Great Hall, Harry grinned and said, "Neat!"
It didn't change anything, but putting that smile on Harry's face made it all a bit more bearable. Even if he could no longer think with that hand on his back.
"I'll see you later?" Harry checked once Severus had used his *neat* drying spell on them both.
Severus looked down at Potter's cold-reddened face. The man had interesting features. His wide, bespectacled green eyes and slightly upturned nose gave Harry the vulnerable air of a young boy, while his high cheekbones and strong, cleft chin did everything in their power to undo that image.
An enticing sheen of moisture gleamed on Harry's sensual lips. The sight of it twisted something inside Severus. Realizing that he was staring, Severus ripped his gaze away and attempted to get his respiration back under control.
Yes, things had certainly changed.
"Later," he agreed.
Another grin and another purposefully childish "Cool!" and Harry seemed nearly as happy as his seven-year-old self. "I'll see you at dinner. Try not to petrify any of the monsters."
To his surprise, Severus found himself responding to Potter's irrepressible cheek. "A Gryffindor or two less – who would notice the loss?"
"Hermione and Ron, when they're counting them at dinner. You want to explain the service you've done mankind by decreasing the Gryffindor horde to her, then, please, be my guest."
"And they accuse Slytherins of having a cruel streak," Severus lamented.
Harry's laughter followed after him as he took his leave.
