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Shall Yourselves Find Blessing 1/2
Title: Shall yourselves find blessing
Author: quill_lumos
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Severus (and yes you did read that right!)
Warnings: none
Word count:12,900
Disclaimer I do not own anything Harry Potter related, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and their assigns. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Summary: This story was written for the Secret Santa swap at the yahoo group Severus *sighs*. My giftee was atypicalsnowman and these were her requirements. To see whether I met them or not I’m afraid you’ll have to read the story. If you want to read the other stories in the swap you'll have to make your way to the link above. There are some lovely snarries on offer, including the one written for me Tempting Sweets by the awesome calanor. *squishes her*

These were snow's requests:

Preferred Pairing: Snarry only
Preferred Rating: NC-17 or R
Warnings: Please no chan under 17, no slave or dark!fics, no mpreg (at least not Harry), non-con, or non-happy endings (would love some bottom!Snape but not a requirement)
Christmas theme: Freshly fallen snow
One sentence prompt: Relaxing for the first time on this particular day, Severus pulled Harry closer to him as they stared into the fire.
Requests: Something not overly fluffy but definitely Christmas-y
Anything else: Surprise me.

A/N: Thanks so much to WhiteCotton, who betaed this story and made it so much better than it was. Hopefully I have managed to get most of your favourite things in, my dearest snow!

I wanted to wait for the revael before I posted this, so it's a bit late for Christmas, but this is really a mid-winter story anyway. *looks out of the window at the hard frost outside*





Shall yourselves find blessing



It was Christmas Eve and Harry had decided to go for a walk. He’d been at Hogwarts since September 1st. Teaching. Harry had never thought he might become a teacher; it just didn’t seem like something he would do, he was meant to fight Dark wizards, at least that was what he’d always thought in the past. However he’d apparently done a good job with the DA, back in his fifth year and Minerva had never forgotten that, so when her need for teachers had become desperate she had called on Harry.

Harry had been very uncertain about accepting the headmistress’s offer at first, and he’d said no several times. But if he were honest with himself, he’d not been happy as an Auror, not really. Harry was tired, tired and weary. He really didn’t want to fight any more, and once Hermione had persuaded him that he would indeed make a good teacher he’d taken the chance that Minerva offered and said yes willingly enough.

He wanted to settle down, find someone to love him. When he thought about love, about settling down, Harry’s heart hurt. He’d always thought he would marry Ginny, but that wasn’t to be. Ginny had grown tired of Harry’s prevarication, of his seeming inability to commit. Harry loved Ginny, so he told himself at least, but their relationship was strained, difficult and very unsatisfactory in bed.

The only way Harry could make love to Ginny was if he were picturing someone else. Someone with dark eyes, dark, black hair, someone tall, slim and firm all over. Someone male. The first time Harry had realised it was men that really turned him on he’d panicked, buried his feelings deep down and tried to ignore them. How had he managed not to notice for so long, that he liked boys instead of girls? Maybe it was the fact that the war had got in the way? There’d been no-one he could talk to. Remus was dead and all of Harry’s other relationships centred on the Weasley family in one way or another. He’d finally, in desperation, found himself talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Harry had been mortified. Kingsley was Harry’s boss and he knew that you didn’t have that kind of conversation with your boss, it just wasn’t done. But Kingsley had noticed how distracted Harry was, told him that he was a danger to himself and others; sat him down and forced him to reveal what was wrong. Harry, worn down by worry and self-hatred, had finally told Kingsley everything, well almost everything. There were some things that were just too painful.

It had been late July and Harry had just come back from a long and gruelling mission, chasing down some of the last few Death Eaters who remained at large. Shacklebolt had dragged Harry out for a meal first and plied him with copious quantities of Ogden’s before he finally cracked, but when he did, Harry told his boss all that he could bear to tell him.

Kingsley had insisted that it was about time Harry found himself, that he’d given so much for the wizarding world, and now he needed to find out who he truly was and what he wanted from life. Kingsley had suggested a sabbatical for a year or so, to give Harry time to re-charge his batteries and think about those things most men normally did when in their teens. He’d said that Harry’s feelings were not disgusting or perverted, as Harry, heavily influenced by his upbringing and saturated in prejudice, had believed. For the first time since he could remember he’d actually felt hopeful, felt that he was normal and that things would be all right, especially as Kingsley had unknowingly echoed Hermione’s advice about moving on from the Aurors.

But Ginny had disagreed. She had been furious with him, called him every name she could think of and thrown him out of their shared flat, the flat that he’d bought and paid for, but which he’d gifted to her. Homeless, sad and lonely, Harry had been glad to end up here, back at Hogwarts. The only place that had ever truly felt like home.

Neville had been at Hogwarts for some time already, happily replacing Sprout in the greenhouses. Molly Weasley was here too, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, at first Harry had worried that she wouldn’t want to see him after what had happened with Ginny. But Molly had told him he was like a son to her, whether he was with Ginny or not and that had helped Harry make the final decision to say yes.

There were vacant posts in Muggle Studies, Charms and Potions, Minerva had told him, they were hard to fill as so many people were employed elsewhere, enjoying the boost that the end of the war had given the economy. She’d also needed someone to support her in tutoring Transfiguration and since all the posts were empty she had let Harry choose.

The thought of teaching Potions had really tickled Harry’s sense of humour. But at the last minute, Minerva had persuaded Slughorn to stay on for just a few more months. So Harry had chosen Muggle Studies. His Charms and Transfiguration skills were okay, but Harry liked the idea of teaching Muggle Studies. He’d decided to completely redesign the subject so that Wizarding traditions could be taught to Muggleborns whilst wizard-raised children were taught Muggle traditions at the same time. In this way, Harry hoped he could help break down some of the barriers that had been built up and which had, Harry believed, contributed to the rise of Voldemort and the subsequent wars.

Of course because she was so short staffed, Harry had ended up sharing Transfiguration with Minerva anyway. The Charms post had finally been filled by a rather insipid young wizard who’d attended Beauxbatons.

At first he’d worried about how the other Weasleys would treat him. Even though Molly had been so accepting, he’d still had his doubts about how Ron would react, but he need not have been anxious as all of the family had had been so sweet to him, kind and protective. Harry knew, however, that Ginny would always come first with them, which of course she should do, as she was a real Weasley. That was why he was here, on his own, on Christmas Eve. He hadn’t thought it would be fair on Ginny and so had gently refused Molly’s invitation to spend Christmas at The Burrow. But it was the first time since the war had ended that Harry had been alone at Christmas and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for himself. That was why he was taking a walk now; to try and clear his head and chase away the melancholy thoughts.

He was going to have dinner with Ron and Hermione, they were joining him in his rooms at six pm, but he was not looking forward to it. Hermione was worried about him and so was Ron, and he just knew they were going to look at him with anxiety writ clear in their eyes and talk about inconsequentialities while careful to avoid any mention of Ginny. And Harry would feel more lonely than ever.

He sighed.

The sky was dark and heavily laden, auguring that bad weather was on the way. Not that Harry minded; they suited his mood, those graphite skies. He was alone. No one was outside on this bleak winter afternoon except for him and one lonely crow which circled overhead.

Harry made his way down towards the lake and stood for a while watching the still, slate-grey water. If the squid was about today, he wasn’t anywhere near the surface. Memories assaulted him from every direction. Dumbledore’s tomb was close by and Harry debated wandering in that direction, but in the end he decided to circle the Forbidden Forest, close to Hagrid’s Hut. This was where the memorial fountain had been built, standing as an almost silent testimonial to those who had died, the constant trickle of water keeping the memories alive. The little arbour was named after ‘Agnes the Aggressive’. She had been a feisty witch from the middle-ages who had refused to be married off to a man who was not only much older than she was, but who’d been rumoured to be part troll. She had ended up hitting her father with a broomstick after he’d insisted on dragging her up the aisle, and then jumping astride it and flying off to freedom. She had become a teacher at Hogwarts eventually and had defended her class from some long-forgotten danger.

But Harry doubted the deeds of those whom the fountain commemorated would be forgotten, for they were engraved, for all to see, around the base. The glade was surrounded by gorse and fenced on one side by the forest to form a very peaceful, serene place. It was an idyll for recollection and Harry headed there now. But whilst he had enjoyed the relative shelter afforded at the lake, the wind had picked up and it had definitely turned colder. Harry walked along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hunkering into his coat and pulling his woolly hat (knitted by Molly Weasley) close over his ears.

He kept his head low, against the gathering wind, and realised as he walked that he was now uncertain of the distance to the castle. He lifted his head to see exactly where he was and saw ahead of him a hunched, dark figure in a ragged cloak, obviously male from the height and build. That puzzled Harry. As far as he was aware there was no-one living this close to the forest. Who would be out, on an afternoon like this?

Harry shivered, it had definitely turned colder. He debated following the man to see who he was but the afternoon had turned dark and from the leaden skies there came the first flakes of snow. With a mental shrug, he headed back to the castle.



******************



The rest of the day seemed to drag by, and just as he had surmised, even Ron and Hermione’s visit didn’t cheer him up. Ron tried his best, telling Harry about the varied customers who’d visited Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes in the past few months and some of the peculiar things that they wanted. Hermione regaled Harry with tales of her studies and her interactions at Oxford, where she was reading law. She planned to be a barrister and take on the inequities in the magical community by tackling the Wizengamot head-on. She had often talked for hours about how unfair laws were in the wizarding world, that what had happened to Sirius, for example, should never have been allowed to take place. Harry didn’t disagree, but he didn’t dare get her started on house-elf rights because she could go on for hours.

Of course then he would feel guilty, because he was proud of Hermione and knew she would make a wonderful lawyer, but he just didn’t think he could cope right now with her intensity. Harry simply felt too sad. Nothing had happened the way he’d anticipated. After the last battle, Harry had hoped to settle down and marry Ginny and have lots of kids, to have a happy ending like the one Ron and Hermione seemed to be enjoying. But, if he were honest, he knew that was never going to happen, not now.

He smiled though and he laughed and pretended that he was fine. Ron and Hermione had finally Flooed away, clutching Harry’s presents for the Weasleys and leaving a pile of brightly wrapped gifts in return, wishing him a very happy Christmas over their shoulders as they left.

Harry popped the parcels under the tree in his sitting-room and went to bed.



*****************************



He awoke to a world covered in thick, white snow. Harry’s rooms were high up in the Gryffindor tower, giving wonderful views of the grounds, right over to the forest and encompassing Agnes’s Glade and the fountain. As he gazed, rapt, at the postcard scene and arched the night’s kinks from his spine, his eyes were drawn to a solitary black speck. The dark figure was moving along, against the outline of the forest, and seemed to be gathering wood. But it was so cold out there and still snowing. It was the man from last night, Harry was sure of it, and he decided to go and help whoever he was. He got dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on his warmest boots and the thick blue duffle-coat that Ginny had made him buy last winter. He knew he would be grateful for it outside but he didn’t want to think about Ginny right then. Hermione had told him Ginny was dating Dean again, that she seemed happier now. That Harry was right not to go to The Burrow, things were simply too raw; it would be better next year, she’d said, and Harry believed her. But he still had this Christmas to get through first and a distraction was just what he needed.

Harry ran downstairs. There was hardly anyone left at Hogwarts this year. The castle had taken three years to be rebuilt and this was the first proper term, parents were still extra protective of their children and almost everyone had gone home. But Minerva was still here. She met Harry in the entrance hall. “Good morning, Mr Potter. Happy Christmas. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Hi, Professor. Happy Christmas to you, too,” he said, tugging on his gloves. “I’m off to the fountain, there’s someone out there, collecting wood or something.”

McGonagall flushed and looked away. “Professor, what is it? Do you know who it is?”

Harry could have kicked himself, of course she knew who the person was, she was the headmistress, and anyone staying on Hogwarts’ grounds would have to tell her. She’d have to give permission wouldn’t she?

“I’d rather you didn’t go out there and disturb him, Harry,” she said, “He does value his privacy.”

Harry looked at his ex-Head of House. She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes.

“Tell me who it is, and I’ll give him his privacy.” Harry had a very strong feeling that he knew exactly who Minerva was protecting, but he needed to have those feelings confirmed.

“It’s Severus Snape.”

“Snape!” Harry breathed, “I knew it. Why are you protecting him?”

Minerva’s eyes met Harry’s this time with a steady, clear gaze. “Don’t you think he deserves protection?”

“I do,” Harry said seriously, “it just doesn’t seem like a lot of people agree with me. I wondered where he’d gone after the trials, why on earth did he come here?”

Minerva’s eyes had softened. “He didn’t have anywhere else to go. The Wizengamot might have cleared him after your testimony, but too many people don’t trust him, too many people thought he got away lightly. I can’t even let him teach here.”

“But that’s terrible. He’s a hero, he should be rewarded, we should all be grateful to him.”

“I know,” Minerva’s voice was sad, “but it’s not up to me Harry, all I could do was offer him somewhere to stay and the protection from being hexed or attacked that being in the grounds of Hogwarts affords.”

“Where is he staying?”

“There is a shed, just on the edge of the forest, beside the fountain in Agnes’s Glade.”

Harry knew it, he’d seen it. It was broken down and ramshackle. It made the Shrieking Shack look like Buckingham Palace in comparison. He’d assumed that Hagrid kept animal feed there or something, it wasn’t a suitable place to live, not for anyone, not for a hero and definitely not a home for Severus Snape.

“Let’s go and get him. He shouldn’t be alone at Christmas.”

“Severus is used to being alone, Harry. It’s all he’s ever known.”

“But Professor.” Harry winced at his tone, he sounded like a whiney teenager and not like the mature twenty-year-old that Harry had worked hard to become.

“Harry, he wanted peace and privacy. I think we owe him that at least,” she said with finality.

Harry wasn’t happy about it, but he allowed the Headmistress to lead him away, scowling and trying to suppress a pang of guilt. Severus Snape had helped save them all; he had done more than anyone else, suffered more than anyone else. It wasn’t right that he should be skulking around in robes that, even from a distance, were obviously shabby, and living in a shed that was barely enough shelter most of the time and totally inadequate for weather such this.

Harry thought about Snape all day: when he joined the few remaining students and the teachers for a lavish breakfast, when he returned to his room and couldn’t quite bring himself to open his presents, when lunchtime came and he headed back down to join the others. Slowly, so slowly, the day wound on and outside the soft snowfall of the morning turned heavier, the wind picked up again and the first snow of the year became a blizzard.

Finally, with the light fading fast outside, Harry decided he’d had enough. He hadn’t promised Minerva that he wouldn’t go and get Snape, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to retrieve the man without telling her first.

“Harry, you can’t go, it’s wild out there,” Minerva said.

“I can’t not go, it’s not right. A dog shouldn’t be in that shack alone tonight, never-mind Snape, and the castle is warm and cosy,” Harry explained. “I owe him my life, several times over, and I won’t let him be treated like this.”

“He’s been living there for the last three years Harry, since the final battle. He’s got nowhere else to go.”

“But his house, didn’t he have a house somewhere?”

“It was suggested that he donate it so that the monies from the sale could be distributed to good causes,” she said, her disgust clear.

“But he didn’t owe anything to anyone!” Harry was indignant

“The Wizangamot disagreed.”

“The bastards!”

“Indeed.”

“That settles it. I’m going to get him.” Harry summoned his duffle-coat and put it on, only to see McGonagall draping herself with a thick robe made in Black Watch tartan. “What are you doing?”

“If you are going to get Severus, I’m coming with you,” she said, “Do you really think that I would let you go and face Severus Snape alone?”

“Do you think that he’ll be cross?” Harry asked.

“No, Mr Potter. I think he’ll be absolutely furious.”

Visibility outside was very poor indeed and Harry wondered if he’d made the right decision. Minerva was huddled behind him, which didn’t strike Harry as particularly sensible; he wasn’t much bigger than her after all. Harry squared his shoulders and set off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. All around him the storm raged and the snow fell thickly, but somehow the path that Harry was following seemed clear. The snow wasn’t so thick along it and the flakes didn’t seem to be as large or falling quite as heavily.

However, it still seemed to take much longer than usual to get to the fountain. It took Snape even longer to get to the door, despite the fact that Harry banged on it so hard he thought it would come out of its frame. When he did come to the door he almost shut it again, and Harry had to stop him by blocking its closure with his body.

“Potter, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you back to the castle,” Harry said, despite his teeth clattering because of the freezing cold.

“What makes you think that I’d go? In case it had escaped your notice it is wild out there and I have just managed to get warm. I assure you I am not planning on following you anywhere tonight; or ever if I can help it. I’m done with you for good!”

The man looked dreadful. His hair was matted and stringy, he had dark circles under his eyes, his face was pale and his nose red and chapped. He was wrapped up in tattered robes, with a dirty grey scarf circling his throat. His hands were partially covered in fraying fingerless gloves, his fingers blue with cold. He looked half dead.

“You have a choice Snape, either you follow Minerva and me now and come back up to Hogwarts or I hex you with Petrificus Totalis and float you up there stunned and unable to resist.”

Snape’s lips thinned and his nostrils flared. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You always were an arrogant little snot. How dare you come here to my home, hovel though it might be, and order me to leave?” he thundered.

“Look, Snape, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave you here. It’s freezing and this place might not survive the night.”

Snape’s face contorted into a sneer and he looked as if he were about to say something, no doubt something scathing and cutting. Minerva took a step backwards as the ex-Headmaster drew himself up, presumably ready to deliver some scathing invective. But Harry spoke first.

“Please, sir? Please let us help you?”

Snape appeared to crumple and he looked greyer than ever. He didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked to look at something behind Harry, someone behind him. His eyes were locked with Minerva’s. Finally he nodded and followed them out from the scant security of the shed and into the storm.

It seemed to take much longer to get back to the castle. It was much darker and the wind had grown even stronger. They couldn’t talk; they could barely even see each other. Harry reached over and took Snape’s hand, he gestured for the other man to hold on to Minerva and the three of them set off for the safety of Hogwarts. Snape’s fingers felt frozen to Harry, slim, bony pieces of ice. At first he tried to pull away, then obviously decided he wasn’t up for the inevitable tussle that would ensue when it was made clear to him that Harry wouldn’t let go. Tenacity was, after all, one of his virtues. Cold weakened a person and Harry was much warmer than Snape seemed to be, snuggled as he was in his duffle, warm which made him stronger that the other man.

Once again the path Harry that they trod seemed far easier than elsewhere in the storm around them, it was if they were protected for some reason. But even so, Harry wasn’t taking any chances, things could change at any moment and the weather seemed to be worsening.

By the time they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry doubted that he would ever get warm again. He couldn’t feel his toes, even though he was wearing three pairs of socks. But he was better off than Snape. Snape was practically blue with the cold. Despite the fact that the three of them had repeatedly cast warming charms, they could only do so much and the intensity of the cold had depleted their magic.

Snape was shivering violently, he wasn’t looking at Harry or Minerva, his gaze was fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched. Two Ravenclaws came out of the Great Hall and stopped when they caught sight of the three frozen figures, seemingly frozen themselves. Harry heard them begin to whisper to each other, speculating on the tableaux that Harry and his companions made. Minerva turned to him, “Get him upstairs, Harry. Take him to your rooms and I’ll join you shortly.”

Harry nodded and placed a hand on Snape’s back, meaning to guide him in the direction of his suite, but Snape snarled at him and shook the hand away.

“Don’t touch me, Potter.” He hissed, angrily.

“Please, Professor. Please come with me, we need to get you warm and dry.”

“I wouldn’t need to get dry if you hadn’t insisted on dragging me into a storm.”

“There’s a fire laid in my rooms, it’s warm there – private.”

Snape sneered at him, his dark eyes blazing with something indefinable.

“Please sir, I owe you so much, let me start to pay my debt,” Harry begged softly.

The other man sagged. His head and shoulders drooped, his chin practically burying itself in his chest. It was as if the fight had all gone out of him.

“Whatever, Potter,” he said, flatly.

He allowed himself to be led upstairs, he didn’t comment or resist in any way, he was totally unlike himself; like nothing more than a shadow of the man he’d once been.



***************



The moment they arrived at his suite, Harry ran the man a bath. Snape was standing on the Turkish rug in front of the fire, dripping pathetically, looking very much the solitary crow that Harry had seen just yesterday or the bat they had once called him. He glared at Harry’s Christmas tree in total disgust.

“Erm, I’ve put some clothes out for you, in the bathroom. If you have a bath it’ll help you get warm.”

Snape looked at Harry steadily as if he were trying to decide something. Finally he inclined his head, just once, as if acquiescing, and without saying anything at all he brushed past Harry and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

It was thirty-five minutes before he emerged looking totally unlike his usual self. He was wearing Harry’s clothes, a pair of black jogger bottoms that were far too big for Harry and a black jumper that was also too large, both of which were the result of reluctant, therefore too hasty, shopping sprees. Harry didn’t have many black clothes, he tended to wear greens and browns and the occasional primary red or blue. These two items were the best that Harry could provide at such short notice, and that he thought Snape would actually consent to wear.

The clothes hung on Snape too. They fitted him length-wise, but otherwise he was swamped, having grown so painfully thin.

“Hi, Professor, does that feel better? Fancy a cup of tea and something to eat?”

“Why are you doing this Potter?” Snape asked. He still looked pale and sallow, but the hair framing his face was dark and glossy, shiny and clean. He lifted a hand and brushed back a stray lock behind his ear. Harry gasped. He wondered how soft that hair was. He wanted to touch it and didn’t that feel strange? Snape’s eyes betrayed his puzzlement, his suspicion of Harry’s motives. Harry had never realised how striking his eyes were before.

Snape was beautiful and Harry had never noticed. He had always seen the man as the embodiment of ugliness but that wasn’t true, it never had been had it? Snape had a strength about him, a nobility.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Harry called.

Minerva entered, followed by a school house-elf carrying a tray laden with tea and scones and what looked like turkey sandwiches.

“Severus, you do look so much better,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you Minerva. I have no idea why I am here though, what on earth does Potter want with me?”

“I don’t think that Harry wants anything, do you Harry?”

Harry shook his head. They were discussing him as if he wasn’t here and he felt like he was about twelve again, sure that any minute now they would be deducting points.

“I just didn’t like the idea of you being stuck in that storm, it’s freezing out there,” he said to Snape, determined to join the conversation and not just be the subject of it.

“It’s been colder than this, Potter. You never cared before now.”

“I didn’t know you were here.” Harry felt indignant. “I only found out today, when Minerva told me. I also found out how badly you’ve been treated. It’s appalling!”

For a second or two Snape almost looked mollified, his dark eyes turned to look at Harry’s, betraying unexpected vulnerability. Then it was as if shutters had descended and his face twisted into a familiar scowl.

“Oh, how wonderful, I think I might have to swoon. I’ll be safe now, Potter the hero comes to my rescue,” he sneered.

Harry felt his own features twist with anger.

But Minerva interrupted, “That’ll do Severus. Come and have some tea, we all need to warm up a bit.”

Snape flushed and glared at the Headmistress. “I am not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one,” she shot back.

If Snape’s glares had been deadly as Harry had once supposed, then Minerva would be a Black Watch-shrouded corpse.

Minerva however was totally unfazed. Harry supposed that after so many years of teaching alongside the man, she was used to him.

Snape’s scowl deepened but he moved over to sit beside McGonagall on the battered sofa that dominated Harry’s sitting-room.

“It will not matter how warm I get, if I just have to go back out there again, will it?” he finally said in a dull tone. Minerva handed him a steaming hot cup of tea, but she didn’t contradict him.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Harry, you don’t think that I would have let Severus stay out in that shed if there had been any alternative?”

“Minerva, don’t!” Snape said sharply. “You have helped me more than anyone else has done.”

Harry hadn’t thought about it, but if he were honest it made sense. Of course Minerva would have helped Snape more if it were possible. He flushed. He hadn’t done anything to help Snape had he? Ignorance was no excuse, he should have sought the man out, checked up on him before now.

“Why can’t Snape stay in the castle, he could teach Potions again, he could have his old place back.”

“Severus is not allowed to stay here, the governors forbade it.”

“WHAT! They can’t do that!” Harry felt outraged at the mockery.

“They can and they did, and that is why I shall be heading back to my luxurious little hut very shortly.”

“No way,” Harry hissed, “You just stay right there.” He turned to the Headmistress. “Is that why you won’t have a Potions Professor after Slughorn leaves at Christmas? What does Kingsley have to say about that?”

“The Minister for Magic? Why would he have anything to say about it?” Snape enquired.

“He could change things. If Fudge could appoint Umbridge without anyone wanting her here, then Kingsley could put pressure on the governors on Snape’s behalf.”

“I don’t know the Minister that well!” Minerva said at exactly the same time that Snape said, “Why would anyone want me to teach their children again, now that they’re finally rid of me, I am a dreadful teacher?”

“You were in the order with Kingsley; you could have talked to him about this, he’d have done something.” Harry answered Minerva first and then jabbed a finger in Snape’s direction. “And you shut up and sit down.” Harry was now trembling with fury, desperately wanting to hit someone.

“You protected this school from the worst of the Carrows’ madness, the least you’re owed is your job back, whether you are a snarky git or not,” he told Snape. He breathed deeply, reigning in his temper. “I’ll write Kingsley a note, he’ll have words with the governors. I’ll threaten to leave. I bet Neville would too.”

“I don’t want him told anything!” Snape stood up, seemingly incensed. “I won’t go begging for scraps from anyone, Potter, I don’t want your support, or Longbottom’s. I’ve earned my place here, brewing potions for the infirmary. It might not be much but it’s my life.”

“It’s not good enough, Snape. You deserve more.”

Snape looked like he wanted to say something, for a second or two he seemed to be bordering on fury. But then he seemed to deflate, he appeared diminished somehow, like he simply had no fight left.

“Do what you want, Potter,” he sounded so bitter, “You always do.”

“I did try, Harry,” Minerva said, sadly. “Severus…” she looked in the direction of the ex-professor, “…hasn’t exactly made a lot of friends and I don’t have the connections that Dumbledore had.”

“Do you think it will make a difference if I speak to them?” Harry asked her, feeling foolish all of a sudden. Minerva had tried, of course she had. If she couldn’t manage then what made him think he could change things for Snape?

“You’re the Chosen One, Harry. You could probably change anything that you wanted to,” the Headmistress said coolly.

Snape didn’t say anything at all.

He just sat on the sofa, shrouded in Harry’s black jumper, which hung off his thin frame. To Harry he looked broken. He’d given his whole life to defeat Voldemort, been prepared to die – had nearly died – and yet he’d still ended up with nothing, whilst Harry had the world at his feet, at least that’s what they told him anyway. Harry hated his status as a hero; feeling that there were other people more deserving than him. Snape was far more deserving in Harry’s opinion.

“I’m sorry, Snape.” Harry went and sat beside the other man, he wanted to touch him but didn’t quite dare.

“Stay here tonight, Severus, please, I’m worried about you. You need to start taking care of yourself,” Minerva said. “Harry’s right, they won’t dare disagree with The Chosen One.”

For a second Harry wondered if he’d been manoeuvred into the position in which he’d found himself, rescuer and champion of Snape. He looked suspiciously at Minerva and was sure he saw a glimmer of a twinkle in her eyes.

“I have to leave you both to it, now,” she said, standing and turning to leave. “Christmas is a very busy time at Hogwarts.”

“I think I’ve just been played,” Harry said as she shut the door behind her.

“Welcome to my world, Potter,” Snape replied dryly.

Harry began to giggle. “Don’t you think the whole ‘get Harry to Hogwarts’ thing was real then?”

“I have no doubt it was, as she did need more teachers, I merely question the presence of an additional motive. I sometimes wonder whether that woman should have been in Slytherin.” He sighed deeply. “I suppose you want me to leave now?”

“What? No, of course I don’t. I’ll sleep on the sofa. You are NOT going back out there tonight.”

“Thank you, Potter.” Snape’s voice was quiet, “I do appreciate it.”

Harry was stunned. Snape had sounded almost human, something he would never have expected. “Do you want some whisky?” he asked to fill the sudden quiet.

The ex-potion’s professor gave Harry a broken kind of smirk. “Go on then, if I’m going to spend the evening with you, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Harry scowled and went to get the whisky. At least he sounded more like his snarky self now.

Harry poured them both a generous glass of malt and gave one to Snape. He didn’t normally drink the stuff, didn’t like the taste, but somehow he felt the occasion called for it.

“It doesn’t matter if she did trick me into getting you here and saying that I’d talk to Kingsley, it’s the right thing to do. I really didn’t know how badly you were treated and now I do I won’t let it continue. They call me hero, but you did more than I did, and for years and years. That kind of courage,” his voice cracked slightly, “I…I don’t know how you did it, every time he called you to him you could have died. It wouldn’t have been a kind death either; he’d have tortured you if he ever found out.”

“I assure you, Potter I was well aware of that.”

“You still did it though, didn’t you? That makes it even braver if you ask me.”

“There wasn’t anything else to be done.” Snape contemplated his glass for a long while before continuing, not looking at Harry. “I had much for which to atone. I am truly sorry for what happened to your mother and to James, who despite his earlier mistakes was a good man in the end. And I’m sorry that you had the childhood that you did. I thought Albus was wrong, that it didn’t have to be that way.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Harry said, feeling rather touched by Snape’s sincere speech. “I’m all grown-up.”

Snape snorted. “Of course you are, Potter.”

“Do shut up, you sarcastic bastard.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic, I meant it. You have grown up very well, very well indeed.”

Harry was sure that his jaw dropped, probably making him look even more gormless than usual. Snape was complimenting him.

“Look you can still stay, you don’t have to be nice to me.”

“Potter, when have you ever known me to be nice? I am being honest about how I see you; I assure you I am not being nice.”

“Oh, Right. Well it seems like you are being nice-ish anyway. I mean you’re not being cutting or sarcastic as you normally are to me.”

“I have come to regret how I treated you when you were a child. There was a need to keep my distance, to make The Dark Lord think that I hated you. However, I wish that I had not thrown myself into the role with such relish. I know, having shared my memories with you, that you have learned the truth about my part in the death of your parents. I know that you know everything that I did, everything that happened to me, everything that I caused to happen to you. Yet you don’t seem bitter, you don’t seem to hate me. I find that quite remarkable.

“I got you wrong, Harry. You are far more like your mother than I ever thought you might be. After what you’ve been through, by all rights, you should be bitter and twisted and full of hate. Yet you are not, there is something very attractive about that. Your forgiveness could become addictive.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. “Are you Imperiused?” he finally managed.

“No Potter, I am not. I simply feel I have been given another chance. There is nothing else which would have worked so well tonight. I had decided my course, I was set on it. Then you arrived, blown in by a blizzard, with those big green eyes of yours and your hero’s heart and you would not let me go. You dragged me here and defended me. I have no doubt you will take on the magical world for me and that they will crumble before you, just like He did. It is possible that I have a future again. Thank you Harry.”

Harry peered suspiciously at the man. He didn’t look any happier, but then he supposed that Snape and happy were misnomers. He’d never really seen the man look anything less than pissed off, certainly not in Harry’s company. But now, whilst he didn’t exactly seem joyful or content, he did look a lot less fraught. He sat there, draped in black, dark eyes taking in the room, seemingly curious as to Harry’s living arrangements and occasionally glancing at Harry.


part two.