Reluctant Savior

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* * * * *

The Knight Bus jerked to a stop inside the Hogwart’s Express terminal. Miraculously, the unlikely duo had arrived at their desired destination safely, despite the roaring incompetence of both the driver and attendant helming the wizard transport.

Harry was still sleeping rather soundly, head perched delicately against the window, lips slightly parted, a trail of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. Snape shook his head, a smile threatening to disturb his otherwise cold and brooding visage. He was quite reluctant to wake the younger wizard, but it was necessary.

He shook the boy gently, "Potter, wake up." In response, Harry’s body jolted violently from its sprawl as he inhaled sharply, his hand clutching his wand dangerously. He opened his startlingly green eyes that even essentially unseeing flashed the Jade of the Chinese Middle Kingdom or the rare malachite of the Russian Empire. "A little jumpy, eh Potter?" asked Snape both saddened and amused at Harry’s instinctually defensive posture.

Harry looked on confused, still not entirely aware. He absently rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other patted the seat, frantically hunting for something that it would never find. "Your glasses aren’t here, Potter," Snape said gently, immediately recognizing the boy’s search pattern.

Finally, Harry looked up at Snape, comprehending the situation. His gaze once again focused on his feet as he blushed, running his hand through his sloppy hair. "I know, sorry," he mumbled, neither he nor Snape really sure why he was apologizing.

Severus couldn’t help himself, sarcasm just came too easily. "If you plan to pay tribute to these vinyl seats all day, reveling in the praise of your followers," he spat, glancing toward the front of the bus before directing his scathing glare back to Harry, "whilst drooling on yourself," he added critically, "don’t let me stop you." With that, Snape swiveled gracefully and stomped down the narrow aisle without turning back to see if Harry followed.

He wanted to go back to sleep. For whatever reason, his slumber on the trip had been peaceful for the first time in weeks. Knowing full well that he had to accompany Snape to Hogwarts, he clutched the back of the bus seat tightly and rose to his feet. As the world swam before him, he regretted the move instantly. Fighting off the waves of blackness threatening to overtake him, he stepped forward cautiously, hoping the Potions Master hadn’t decided to leave him at the station. He believed Snape was quite capable of such an act without any provocation, but worried that he might feel especially motivated by the fact that he had been kept waiting by none other than ‘the famous Harry Potter.’

Unbeknownst to Harry, Severus Snape was actually beginning to feel guilty for leaving the younger man on the bus. As the minutes drug by, he fleetingly considered re-boarding the monstrosity to make sure the boy was okay. "Damn," Snape swore under his breath, Harry was getting to him. Finally, Harry’s thin, pale form appeared at the top of the steps leading to the door.

"Bye now, ‘Arry," grinned Stan, waving foolishly.

"Goodbye," Harry responded, politely, turning to the source of the voice. ‘Bad move, Potter,’ he thought to himself, wondering if anyone would catch him if he were to tumble down the steps.

Pushing aside his worries, he descended from the vehicle, landing awkwardly in Snape’s arms as he reached the bottom. Clearly exasperated with his unwanted role as the white knight to Harry’s damsel in distress, the professor asked, "Would you kindly refrain from collapsing every few feet? I would like to make it to the castle some time today." Harry, ashamed at his weakness, blushed, noting the disgust in the Potions Master’s voice.

He nodded, following the other wizard to the horse-less carriage awaiting them. Once inside the pair began their journey to the Hogwart’s gate.

They rode in silence. Harry seemingly fascinated by the blur of the passing scenery, filled with self-loathing. He hated feeling so damn powerless, especially in front of Professor Snape. Risking a glance at the tall Potions Master, Harry began to ponder why Snape was still at the school. "Doesn’t he have a home, a life, maybe even a family outside Hogwarts?" Harry wondered. He tried picturing the greasy professor with a wife and kids, and found he had to bite his lip to avoid giggling. To have kids, Snape would have to have had… "Whoa, not a mental picture I need at this point," Harry thought to himself, shuddering slightly.

Snape looked up, noting Harry’s tremble. He hated to admit it, but he was concerned for the teenager. As Harry stared out the window, Snape took the opportunity to observe his student once again. As the boy fiddled with his hands, Severus noticed several, tiny crescent-shaped scabs mottling each small palm. "What in the world?" Snape thought…"fingernails! Of course, but what would cause Potter to dig his fingernails into his palms hard enough or frequently enough to draw blood and leave such permanent marks?" Then, it clicked, Harry’s uncle. As the most horrendous scenes flashed unbidden before his eyes, Snape vowed that Vernon Dursely would get his, soon. In reality, the scabs were a legacy of Harry’s frequent and quite horrific nightmares, another reminder of Voldemort’s reign of terror.

* * * * *

Later, outside Dumbledore’s Office

"Sit here, Potter," Snape ordered, pointing to a chair outside the Headmaster’s office. "Do try and stay out of trouble!" Harry nodded as Severus Snape entered Dumbledore’s domain.

"How was the trip, Severus?" The headmaster asked, politely. "Would you like some tea?"

"It was fine and no, thank you," the Potions Master answered, impatiently before taking up the gauntlet. "Sir, if I may…" Dumblefore nodded his acquiescence, gesturing for Snape to continue, "Why did you have me bring Mr. Potter to the castle? What is going on?"

"Well, Severus, honestly, the final battle is upon us. I would be very surprised indeed if we were to make it to Halloween without incident. It is quite clear that Voldemort intends to storm this castle; he has an unhealthy fixation on destroying Hogwarts and killing Harry. He is only getting stronger, and we must prevail! Harry will be thrust in the middle of this, through no fault of his own, and we would be remiss not to prepare him for the fight ahead. We all stand to lose in our next confrontation with Tom Riddle, but Harry more than most. It is to this end, that I have asked you to bring Harry back to the school, in order to train him in defense and dueling and the dark arts. Incidentally, how is he?"

As Professor Snape struggled to take in the Headmaster’s almost blasé attitude over Voldemort’s impending attack, he admitted that Harry didn’t seem to be at the top of his game. "Honestly Albus, I think the boy should stay in the infirmary this evening, he could be quite ill."

"I see…" but before Dumbledore could continue, Snape spoke up once more. "For reasons unbeknownst to me, Harry no longer has his spectacles, and his clumsiness today indicates that this absence is quite debilitating and perhaps even physically painful. Can’t we just correct his vision and be done with it? It seems a rather dangerous weakness to have anyway, considering the that he will undoubtedly face the Dark Lord at some point."

"Severus, correcting one’s vision through magic is a difficult and unnecessarily risky endeavor. Even if one is a fully qualified opti-wizard, the consequences… trust me, they do not bear thinking about. Why do you think I wear glasses, and Minerva, and Trelawny? I daresay, the great Wizard Benjamin Franklin had the right of it when he invented the bi-focal. Now then, about Harry’s spectacles, you will take him into London tomorrow and get a new pair- perhaps something a bit more flattering than his former frames, eh? That is, of course, provided that Poppy gives him permission to leave the infirmary. Good, now that’s settled… Ah yes, living arrangements." At this mention, Snape’s mouth widened further, fearing the implications of the twinkle in the Headmaster’s eyes. "After tonight, you will be residing in the Gryffindor dormitories with Mr. Potter both to protect him and also to get to know him. You seem to have a rather inexplicable disliking for the boy Severus, and I assure you he is really quite sweet! You will be fighting on the same side, it behooves you both to make some effort to put aside your differences and get along!" Noting Professor Snape’s horrified look, Albus added innocently, "Unless of course you would prefer him to sleep in your dungeons?"

"No," the Potions Master replied hastily, he would not have the insufferably obnoxious troublemaker mucking about in his personal space.

"Good." He rose to accompany the Potions Master to the door. As Dumbledore emerged with Severus in tow, both were met with the sight of Harry slumped rather uncomfortably in the chair in the hall, sleeping soundly.

Smiling briefly, the headmaster cleared his throat causing Harry to wake. He straightened to look at the two professors, grimacing, Snape noted absently. "Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Hello, sir." Harry responded, looking a bit concerned at what could have prompted Dumbledore to send for him during the summer.

"I have requested your presence in the castle in order to train you for the future, whatever it may bring." Dumbledore explained. "Rest assured, there have been no tragedies. Sirius, Professor Lupin and the rest send their love. This is merely a precaution."

Harry nodded, to show he understood. He couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. He had been fearing the worst: that Voldemort had ravaged the wizarding world during the three weeks since he had left the castle, or that Sirius or one of the Weasleys had been killed. He shuddered again, forcefully pushing the terrors from his mind.

Both Snape and Dumbledore were concerned. "Off to Madame Pomfrey with you! She’ll have my beard if you don’t visit the infirmary this evening," the headmaster said, shooing them toward the hospital wing. " Good night, Harry. Severus," Dumbledore inclined his head, dismissing them.

"Goodnight, Professor," Harry responded.

"Sir," Snape acknowledged, taking his leave.

Shaking his head, Albus Dumbledore re-entered his office with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. This summer would certainly be interesting.

* * * * *

"Drink this," the nurse ordered, tutting and shaking her head over Harry’s criminal negligence when it came to his health.

"But.." he protested, eyeing the vial suspiciously.

Madame Pomfrey interrupted, "No arguments. You are far too thin, and you look like you haven’t slept in weeks! Have you looked in the mirror lately, Mr. Potter?" she reprimanded.

"No," he replied, somewhat sheepishly. "Would it be alright if I took a shower and changed first?" he looked so desperate to get out of his oversized garments that she couldn’t refuse him.

"I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, but you must have an escort."

"Madame Pomfrey, I am certainly old enough…"

She cut him off, "End of discussion! Professor Snape will accompany you, and that is final. You look as though you might collapse at any moment.. .by yourself, indeed!" she clucked her tongue in disapproval, muttering to herself about how thinking he was invincible was going to put him in an early grave.

Interrupting the private diatribe of the disgruntled school nurse, Severus drawled, "I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter?"

"Certainly not! Now go before I decide to slip something in your food tomorrow," she said shooting him a menacing look that rivaled the patented ‘Snape death glare’ in its sheer intensity and ability to inspire fear.

Resigning himself to his role as chaperone, Snape sighed. "Come," he beckoned Harry, as he turned toward the door, his black cloak sweeping dramatically behind him.

Following Snape closely out of necessity, Harry stumbled, his palms scraping along the rough stone as he put out his arms to catch himself.

Snape turned to the sprawled Gryffindor, "There is a step there."

"Yeah," Harry retorted, sarcastically, "Thanks for the warning." He hauled himself back to his feet, continuing along the path, displaying a bit more trepidation than before.

Snape stood at the top of the staircase, tapping his foot impatiently. Harry briefly considered showing Professor Snape a choice hand gesture, but successfully restrained himself. Plus, he thought irritably, though the Potions Master seemed remarkably well-versed in muggle colloquialisms and terminology- he wasn't sure that the professor would fully appreciate the cultural implications of the bird- and that wouldn't be any fun.

The pair finally reached the washroom, with Snape agreeing to wait outside while Harry conducted his business. After disrobing, Harry walked toward the shower, banging his hip on the edge of one of the lower wash basins. He gripped the sink, cursing, as pain exploded through his body.

Letting the warm water wash over him, Harry felt better than he has in weeks.

* * * * *

It had been a long time, and against his better judgement, while at the same time because of it, Snape went into the bathroom.

"Potter, if it hasn't come off by now, it's probably supposed to be there." Snape pronounced, dryly.

Snape ventured farther into the steam-filled room, "Harry?" he called, practically choking on the boy's given name, a cold block of fear settling in the pit of his stomach.

Receiving no answer, he pointed his wand at the shower, turning off the water. "Harry?" he called again, knowing his inquiry would again meet silence. He really didn't want to open the shower curtain, but, he reasoned internally, the boy could be injured or worse. Several nightmarish images flooded his mind as he sharply pulled away the plastic veil.

There before him in a crumpled heap lay the boy who lived. For a moment Severus could only stare. Although several bruises marred Harry's otherwise smooth skin- most notable among them a large purple mass of broken blood vessels on his right hip and chest- the Potions Master also saw a few marks on his arms and at his collar bone- there did not, however, appear to be any blood. Snape grabbed the towel that the younger man had draped over the shower rod and scooped him out of the tub, trying to remain detached as he felt the firm wet body in his arms. Still holding the unconscious wizard, the Professor performed a simple lung clearing charm (just to be sure) "expectoratium!" and then revived him, "enervate!"- It took a few seconds for Harry to respond to the second spell, but he did ultimately awaken, coughing and sputtering.

Snape probed deeply into the slightly glazed green eyes before roughly depositing Harry in the corner, uncomfortably aware, as the blue towel began to slip that the other man wore nothing under the makeshift garment.

"You do what you need to do, quickly" Snape added sharply.

Harry nodded feebly, "Thanks."

"I'll be outside," Severus informed him before departing the humid enclosure.

At this Harry leaned his head against the wall, contemplating how in the world he was going to get up. He thought his clothes were laying across one of the sinks, but he wasn't completely sure. Sighing, he closed his eyes, resting- he was so tired.

10 minutes passed, 15, then 20. Severus burst into the lavatory, only to see Harry sleeping in the corner.

"Are you narcoleptic, Potter?" Snape growled.

Harry jerked from his slumber, regarding the angry Potions Master wearily.

"Get Up!" snarled Snape, walking over to the sink, grabbing Harry's clothes and tossing them in his direction.

"If you are not outside, fully clothed in ten minutes. I promise you, you will regret it!" With that, he once again retreated to the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

 

Severus Snape was angry, not at Harry, not really, but there was a general feeling of frustration building in him. He didn't understand it, what the hell was his problem? He felt like kicking something, but as Severus was a man possessed of a great deal of self control, he merely glared at the door, imagining something horrific befalling the school nurse- of all the things she could have suggested!

The one thing that could have made his mood more foul, aside from Sirius Black or Voldemort appearing in front of him in the corridor that is, sped toward him, singing a jaunty, but dirty limerick, "There once was a slimy git of a Potions Master from Nantucket who’s d…"

"Peeves!" Snape snapped, interrupting the lewd and insulting verse, "What do you think you’re doing here?"

"Just out for an evening stroll, Snapey!" with that, the poltergeist floated away, commenting about how much happier Snape would be if he got a little action.

Fuming silently, Snape continued to wait. Where the hell was Potter?

Finally, a full ten minutes later than he had instructed, Harry emerged from the WC. He was dressed- sort of. His pants were buttoned crooked and his shirt seemed to be both inside out and backwards. He was carrying his shoes.

Snape's critical eye devoured the pitiable form, saying only "Nice socks." One was red and the other was green.

They had traveled a little ways before Snape noticed that Harry was limping slightly. Sighing, "What have you done to yourself now?" He then remembered the pronounced bruise on Harry's hip. Maybe the boy had been limping before too, and he just hadn't been aware of it.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked, irritated.

Snape just smirked, "You are just a regular picture of grace, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry froze and looked straight at the Potions Master. There was something about not being able to see, something that targets your personal will, your morale deteriorates. Harry currently felt his drive slipping and his control ebbing. Raw magical energy filled the air and the torches lighting the hall flickered violently. Snape looked curiously at Harry, but the calm had once again descended before the storm had even erupted.

"I am not exactly at my best right now, okay?" Harry finally responded, realizing that if possible his headache was actually worse than it had been before the foray to the wash room.

"Clearly," Snape replied icily, once more turning his back on Harry.

* * * * *

"There you are," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, "I was about to send the cavalry!"

Harry blushed, suddenly very interested in the tennis shoes he was carrying.

"We had some... ah... difficulties," said Snape, diplomatically.

"I see," Poppy said, her eyebrows raised, taking in Harry's disheveled appearance.

"No more fussing out of you, drink this and get some sleep."

Harry grudgingly obliged, and he barely had enough time to properly settle under the blankets before a blissfully dreamless slumber overtook him.

* * * * *

Early the following morning, Severus Snape descended upon the infirmary, intent upon waking Harry and departing for muggle London as soon as possible.

"Potter!" Snape barked, quite dreading the impending trip with his least favorite student.

Snape was just about to shake Harry awake when Madame Pomfrey entered the ward.

"Severus," she said quietly, "Let him sleep. The boy isn’t well."

He looked away somewhat guiltily and thus missed the mischievous glint in Poppy’s eyes and the fact that the corners of the stern nurse’s mouth pulled slightly upwards. "You are not the cold-hearted bastard you would have us believe, Professor Snape," she thought to herself, "and I am going to prove it!"

"Send him to the Great Hall when he decides to honor me with his presence- I do have other things to do today!"

As she pulled the blanket more firmly around Harry’s shoulders, she pondered the plight of the boy who lived and the grumpy Potions Master. The animosity between the two was legendary, and yet…She frowned, certainly the age difference was formidable, but the soul isn’t bound to the temporal plane and has no consideration for mere physical trappings like gender, race, or age. It was so necessary for both… each desperately needed love and acceptance. They could be great together, provided they didn’t kill one another first.

* * * * *

About an hour later, Harry found his way to the Great Hall. His appearance was much improved, but he still tread rather carefully and the lines of pain on his face had not completely disappeared.

Harry decided to take his breakfast at the high table next to Snape, rather than sitting alone.

As the Potions Master observed the other wizard heading towards him, he fought back a rude remark. He wanted to harass the boy, but Poppy’s words came unbidden to his mind- ‘the boy isn’t well.’

"Good morning, Potter," Snape said, almost choking on his coffee.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry replied, wondering idly if that strained, arctic tone was as friendly as Snape would get.

"After you finish, we are going to go to London to purchase eyes glasses," Snape announced.

Harry looked startled. "You didn’t think we were going to let you stumble around blindly all summer, did you? Honestly Potter! In any case, Professor Dumbledore took the liberty of withdrawing a liberal amount of money from your Gringott’s account for the occasion, so we can head to the appropriate shop without any detours or delays."

* * * * *

Muggle London

Waves of people, colors swirling incomprehensibly around him- the noise, it was deafening. Harry felt nauseous, images swimming before him- blood rushing, dizzy. Swaying, he reached out to his buoy in the vast sea of confusion.

Snape suddenly felt something clinging to his robes. Repressing the urge to forcefully disengage the offending object. "Don’t touch me!" he said, cold almost hissing, as he turned to see who or what had accosted him.

"I need a minute," Harry said, his voice sounding weak.

Snape sighed, frustrated. "We can’t bloody well stand here in the middle of everything," he commented, as some hurried travelers jostled them, almost knocking Harry to the ground. Still annoyed at the invasion of his personal space, he ushered Harry to a bench up ahead.

A few minutes passed, and neither said a world.

Finally, the professor addressed Harry impatiently, hoping his irritation thoroughly masked his underlying concern, "Have you sufficiently recovered?"

Harry was actually feeling significantly better. However, rather than reassuring the Potions Master, Harry merely nodded. The effect was less than convincing. Unlike previously on the Knight Bus, this time when Snape rose, he reached out to help Harry, offering his arm for support. Much recovered, Harry found himself gratefully accepting the offer of assistance, unnecessarily leaning on the taller man. What the hell was wrong with him? Granted, Snape was warm, despite the often cold and punishing tone he adopted. Still….it was just that he felt so safe and protected with Snape’s arm draped over him, bracing him against the horrors of past and present. Harry melted into the half embrace, seeking something lacking in his life, something forbidden, all the while silently acknowledging that nothing good could come of his little indulgence.

Severus, for his part, found Harry’s suddenly limp carriage worrisome in the extreme. "Are you okay?" he questioned the other wizard, Poppy’s words on his mind for the second time that day.

"Yes." Harry said, straightening, with effort, "I’m fine."

‘Great,’ Snape thought to himself, ‘he thinks I was being sarcastic when I inquired about his well-being and now he won’t accept my help’ Snape actually liked being nurturing… who would have guessed it based upon the number of plants he had managed to kill in his time, nonetheless, he felt terrible that Harry felt the need to put on a brave face and weather his pain and fears alone. ‘Where the hell had that come from,’ he wondered, putting the line of thinking away for later as they approached Drusilla’s Eyeglass Emporium.

* * * * *

"Mr. Harry Potter," The receptionist called out.

"Yes," Harry answered, not quite able to discern where the voice was coming from. Snape rolled his eyes and went up to the reception area to see what was needed.

The woman behind the desk handed the Potions Master a clipboard and a pen, explaining the process, "if you would, Mr. Potter, just fill out the form and sign the bottom, okay?" She gave him a strange look- thinking to herself, "the way the bloke is acting, like he’s never seen a ball point pen before… too bad too. Ah well, the attractive ones are always mentally disturbed."

"Just a moment," he gave the woman a forced smile.

Snape went back to the waiting area and escorted Harry back to the front desk. "I am not Mr. Potter- he is. I am Severus Snape," he said this as if that fact should be blatantly obvious to anyone.

"Then why’d you come… oh, are you the boy’s father, then?"

‘Muggles’ he thought, annoyed. "Not hardly," he couldn’t help but vocalize. "I am Professor Severus Snape, one of the boy’s teachers. You see," he began, not quite sure what he was going to say, "Harry attends a boarding school, um.. St. Brutus’" Harry just looked at him, how in the world? "Yes," he nudged Harry with his elbow, subtly. "A premier learning institution, specializing in year round education, right"

"Okay," the woman said, skeptical as to what the story had to do with an eye appointment.

"Lovely," Snape thought, "I am going to have to perform a memory charm before we leave." He continued, "well, there was an unfortunately incident with a broo…"

"Uh, Basketball," interjected Harry quickly.

"Right," Snape covered, "A basketball, and seeing as how Mr. Potter’s parents are indisposed at the moment"- ‘you don’t know the half of it, lady’ he added, mentally- "I was wondering if it would be alright for me to, um, fill this in," he gestured awkwardly to the clipboard.

"Do you have some form of identification?" she asked, officially, though all she really wanted was his address.

"Certainly," he answered, reasonably, "doesn’t everyone?- it must be in my bag, hold on" He walked back over to the area with the plastic chairs and magazines, shooting Harry looks that quite clearly stated, ‘I am going to kill you when we get out of here.’

"Stand in front of me, while I try and conjure some Muggle Identification." Snape ordered, the hostility in his voice and bearing strong.

"It would have been easier if you had just told her you were my father." At this Snape leaned down, an expression on his face that Harry didn’t recognize, and then whispered somewhat huskily, "But I'm not your father." There was no malice in his tone, clearly the intent of the statement wasn’t to insult James or Harry with respect to relations and progeny. In fact, if Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought Snape was being- seductive! Harry, being the naive boy he is, and also accounting for the fact that it was Snape, the greasy Potions Master he was talking about, only said, "Well, I *know* that, still, it would have been easier."

"Do I look like I ever take the easy path, Potter?" Secretly thinking to himself, in a part of his mind that rarely crawled out from under its rock, the boy is so dense!

When Snape had satisfied the woman’s curiosity, the optometrist called Harry into the examining toom. "May I? Muggle technology amuses me," confided Snape.

"Uh, sure," answered Harry, uncertainly, "You don’t by chance have a plug collection, do you?"

Harry asked, grinning, unable to control himself.

"No." It was Snape’s turn to be baffled.

He put his hand on Harry’s back, gently guiding him to the appointed chair.

* * * * *

After the exam was completed and the doctor had made it clear to both Snape and Harry numerous times how completely blind Harry was, they were presented with the task of choosing an appropriate set of frames.

A sales woman grabbed the unsuspecting Harry and drug him over to one of the many display cases. Plucking a pair of glasses from the center of the column and placing them on his face, she gestured to a nearby mirror, "What do you think of these, young man?"

"Um…" Harry found that he couldn’t really see well enough to pass judgement. "They seem okay…" he turned to Snape, who was standing by the wall with his arms crossed defiantly, pleading.

At this, Snape strode purposefully to the saleswoman and Harry, shaking his head.

"Absolutely not. These.." he paused, scowling, as Harry handed him the thick rimmed glasses, searching for an appropriate term "… monstrosities would practically guarantee that any copulatory activities he might perchance to engage in would be conducted alone." Both Harry and the clerk looked questioningly at Snape, he sighed and muttered about appalling vocabulary, "I believe the more mundane term is ‘BCGs’- Birth Control Glasses- spectacles that ensure that anyone foolish enough to wear them will never get laid."

Harry burst out laughing, Snape cared about his sex life?! Unbelievable, and hearing him use the word ‘laid’ in public, well that was just priceless, right up there with seeing Saudi Crown Prince Abdullah is a flannel shirt, cow boy boots, and a cowboy hat at the American President’s ranch in Texas.

"Sir, the boy is only what, twelve?"

Now it was Harry’s turn to be affronted, "I am 16," or very nearly, anyway, he added silently.

"Oh, well, when you find a pair that suits you, let me know."

Snape was now laughing at him too, "So, I am short, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Just pick out a pair so we can go!"

"I actually have no preferences in the matter at all, I can’t see a bloody thing." He was still

annoyed that the saleswoman thought he was so young, though he had been told he looked quite youthful without his glasses.

"Fine, stay right here." Snape then perused the shelves, selecting several frames.

"Try these on," the Professor instructed. After he had modeled each pair for Severus, the Potions Master made him try on a thin, slightly bronzed, wire frame pair again. "Yes, I think these are just the thing"

"Thank you," Harry said, sincerely. Snape merely nodded, as they presented their choice to the sales associate.

* * * * *

Later that night

 

Snape emerged from the portrait hole and ambled purposefully through the Gryffindor common room, attired quite uncharacteristically in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a tee-shirt that said, "Stop! I have a wand and I know how to use it!"

Harry stared. Where was the greasy, stuffy, uptight potions master, and who the hell was this?

Noticing Harry's startled expression, Snape responded rather innocently by asking, "Surely you didn't think that I slept in my black robes too?"

Harry found himself nodding, that was exactly what he had believed.

Snape rolled his eyes and walked over to one of the chairs by the fireplace. He looked up and noticed Harry smiling at him.

"What are you so bloody happy about?" Snape couldn't help but retort- not at all pleased with his new living situation and especially not with his new roommate.

"Nothing," Harry answered, conversationally, "Just your shirt, it's pretty funny."

At this, Severus' face took on a configuration that looked at once bizarre and frightening. He grinned, teeth and all, his voice was almost friendly when he said, "Yes, isn't it great? There is this shop, 'Where the Sun Doesn't Shine'"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Catching the boy's incredulity, Snape explained, "Oh, they named it in honor of their very first tee-shirt slogan: 'You know where you can stick your wand!' They have..."He stopped, suddenly, the mischievous glint that had animated his coal black eyes only seconds before was replaced by the characteristic aloofness and cruelty. The lines on his face resumed their grim set before he continued, "I mean, the shirt was a gift from a friend, not a real friend, mind you, but someone my parents paid to play with me as a child- not that I was ever really a child- oh, and by 'play,' of course, I mean that I tormented, tortured, and scared him, until he cried. However, being the utilitarian, fascist bastard that I am, I do not believe that anything should go to waste. Thus, I wear this tee-shirt when I haven't done the laundering spell on my clothes for a while."

At first, Harry just looked shocked, but then he broke out into an actual laugh. His sounds of amusement possessed an almost lyrical quality, brightening his entire face and returning the sparkle to his astonishingly green eyes. When Harry regained a semblance of control, he spoke to the Potions Master, "You have a sense of humor, Professor. I think Hell must have frozen over."

Severus paused, glaring at Harry before replying, "No, I do believe it is still rather warm in here." With that, he flopped onto the chair facing the fire and ignored the petite Gryffindor.

Harry shook his head in disbelief before making his way up the steps to the bedchambers in the tower, resigning to tell Ron, Hermione, and Sirius of his whereabouts and about the Potions Master’s unexpected behavior.

* * * * *

Later the next day, after a bit of exploring and a frantic search

"Where have you been?"

"I went to Hagrid’s and then…"

The Professor cut him off, "What were you thinking? You can’t just go wandering about, Potter- you are Public enemy number one. People are depending on you! It is irresponsible, ungrateful, and selfish for you to risk yourself unnecessarily for a bit of a thrill! Do you have any idea how many people are putting themselves in danger and willing to make 'the last full measure of devotion' on your behalf?"

"I’m sorry, I didn’t think…"

"Clearly!" The Professor didn’t back down, nor did he relax his vice-like grip on the boy, his pale, cold fingers clamped down, almost crushing the bones in Harry's slight shoulders. Snape paused momentarily in his diatribe, recalling that Lily had been petite in this way, small, lithe, slender.

Harry looked up, green eyes shining through his thick, slightly smudged, lenses. His gaze contained guilt, fear.

Snape nearly recoiled, he stood uncomprehending. Certainly his words were a bit disturbing, they were meant to be. Nonetheless, Harry would have had to have been living under a rock in the land of Denial for the past fifteen years to not be aware of the fact that as far as the Dark Lord was concerned he was living on borrowed time.

Snape desperately wanted to calm him, "Potter, there is no need to get hysterical…" but before Snape could finish choking out what was probably the closest to a statement resembling paternal comfort he would ever get, Harry interrupted him.

"You're hurting me." His voice was soft, but to Snape, the accusation rang clear.

The professor jumped back, releasing his hold on Harry, looking as if he had been slapped.

Severus Snape stumbled, the smug, sure facade completely torn away, "oh, I didn't, I mean..." he stammered, reaching out to reassure Harry, but the boy winced under his gentle touch.

As the Potions Master looked guiltily at his large hands, seeming almost to curse them, Harry smiled. "It's okay, sir, just um..next time, not so hard. And I am sorry."

"Of course," said Severus taken aback. "Right then..." he babbled, his usual confident, sneering veneer, completely absent. He seemed beside himself, ill-at-ease, self-loathing even, before he tottered away leaving a confused but none the worse for wear Harry, staring in his wake.

"God," Severus thought, "Do I terrify the child? How could I?" He had seen the bruises on the boy’s arm yesterday during what he privately deemed the ‘shower incident.’ The spacing of the purple, blotchy, painful-looking marks exactly mirrored those that would be left behind by the grasping fingers of an oversized, meaty hand. "Probably that fat, horrid, muggle I encountered on 4 Privet Drive," thought Snape darkly.

Meanwhile, Harry had wandered up to the Astronomy Tower and perched himself on the stone windowsill, taking in the breeze and the view. Harry dismissed Snape's strange mood as the result of inhaling the fumes of one too many potions in the lab. "This place really is beautiful," he said to himself, lost in thought high above the troubles that plagued him.

TBC