Chapter Text
A box of tea popped up in the middle of the old wooden desk. Potion-stained fingers drummed beside it. The gift wasn’t finished. There was always one more piece. Beady blue eyes narrowed at the box as he kept rapping his fingers against the desk. Kingsley was getting ahead of himself this time. The note stamped with his elegant wax seal always came first. Ministry duties must be occupying Kingsley. That or he had finally forgotten about the man kept under lock and key and glamour.
With a small pop, a piece of parchment arrived directly in front of him.
No. Kingsley wouldn’t forget. The tea and its letter would appear every fortnight until he died. Those were two things that had stayed the same at least in the last eleven years. That and nothing else. Long grey hairs thick and always willing to snarl, fell forward as the man slammed his hand against the desk.
“Fuck!”
His chest heaved with the sudden influx of anger. He was tired of living this way, in this body. Kingsley had promised that someone would recognize him within the first six months after the war’s end and here he was, eleven years later, sitting in a body that was not his in a room that sat untouched from the war. He changed nothing. Not his speech, not his quarters, not his office, not his profession, not even his bloody style though admittedly, the robes looked significantly different on a shorter, wider body.
Narrow fingers untouched by the glamour unbuttoned his high collar, revealing a star-shaped scar with two short slashes trailing from it like the ice and debris of a comet. No magic would hide that though the Ministry had tried. He closed his eyes. That day he had fallen to his knees and begged to be removed of this one thing, this one mark that forever sullied him. But it was not possible. Nagini had left her mark. And so, he had been left with high-collared robes and an increasingly large collection of scarves so that the world would never know that behind the blue eyes, ratty grey hair, and altogether splotchy countenance lay the great and presumed dead Severus Snape.
He crumpled the parchment on his desk, uninterested in hearing Kingsley wallow and flung it clear across the room. It landed beside the fireplace, tucked up neatly next to a stack of logs. Hidden.
His blue eyes glared down at his fingers. Kingsley had at least done him that favour. Given him his hands to keep. The long fingers stuttered in their drumming then settled back into a rhythm. They moved the same on the piano, across the table as they chopped up ingredients. They clenched into the same heartbroken fists when Draco, Harry, Minerva, or any of his friends moved by without giving him a second look.
But at least they were his hands.
He scraped a hand down his still unfamiliar face. After ten years he had hoped something would start to feel normal. The nose was still too small and his cheeks too big. Not to mention that the softness to his jaw, which once had been as sharp and pointed as a razor’s edge, always felt wrong. It was as though he had been knocked good and someday his chin would pop back out. The nightmarish dysphoria hunted him even in his dreams and memories, gradually taking over the identity he had once been so sure of.
His frame was too short and too stout. He would come eye to eye with Harry now and be doubly as wide. He frowned. Well, he would likely still be a bit taller but not by much and the point stood. This was a terrible body. Despite months of begging with Kingsley, it wasn’t likely to change. There was a certain comfort in his height that was no longer present. At best, he was above trouble, physically less likely to be pushed around. He sighed. Perhaps that was why Kingsley gave him the unsheddable weight.
“Eleven years, Kingsley,” he snarled as he picked up the box of tea. This time it was chamomile. “Eleven years, you bastard. A box of tea is hardly going to fix this.”
He flicked his black wand toward the corner of his office. The little tin wobbled, lifted, and floated over to the ever-growing stack of apology boxes of tea though admittedly most were empty at this point.
Severus briefly sneered down at his wand. How no one noticed that was beyond him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing suddenly that any of his students listened to what he taught. If any of them had thought to be observant, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this situation.
A sudden damp cold filled the dungeon office. Christmas would soon be arriving. With it came his annual excuse. A lie. He had already spoken to Minerva without her so much as raising her eyes to listen. “I am taking my holidays elsewhere, Headmistress. I will not be here.” Severus grimaced as he recalled the conversation. “Of course, Professor Anguis. Secretive as always, aren’t you?” “There is no harm.” “No, there isn’t. Well, enjoy the weather wherever you go. Merlin knows it’ll be warmer than here.” He had paused like always before bowing his head and shuffling back to his quarters with his idiotic, short stumps for legs. She hadn’t even bothered looking up from her paperwork.
He sighed heavily. Christmas was the only time he was given his body back. The spell waned for ten days at the end of winter, from the winter solstice to the fresh start of the new year, giving him the gift of his own skin. His own eyes. His voice. Severus clenched his small, beady blue eyes closed.
This punishment was cruel and unbearable.
Each day was an exercise in not ending his own life. Kingsley’s cutthroat optimism was the only thing dragging him away from sharp knives and poisons. In many ways, the break served to make these moments worse. It teased him with the idea of freedom. Something that seemed more and more impossible as time went on.
The light eyes darkened as he looked over to his latest tin.
It wouldn’t last through the holidays. It never did. Tea was something of a last comfort of his and this tea was nearly as elegant as the sort Burbage would make.
“Damn,” he whispered, his voice high and scratchy.
He drank deeply from the hot coffee steaming on his desk. That said, tea would not get him through the morning full of first-years. Twenty minutes remained before his first class of the new year walked through his door. Twenty minutes before he had to shuffle into the room in a fashion so unlike himself it crippled something inside of him each time he was forced to do it. This routine was punishment. Absolute punishment. He never realized how much he enjoyed teaching until he couldn’t do it the way he pleased.
Now, it was all soured. He couldn’t move right. Brewing was a hassle. Everything he loved was an inconvenience or worse, painful. And now he was teaching the children of those he’d saved. Salazar, he was screwed.
Severus had been hiding in plain sight as a Potions Professor. The original spell was cold but simple. He would be changed into this person, Professor Cinder Anguis, with a dark glamour until someone recognized him. The winter solstice caused a brief lapse in magic, so Kingsley explained, giving Severus time to himself. He was only required to stay hidden and never speak of himself or face the consequence. Azkaban until he died.
“You don’t deserve Azkaban, Severus,” he mocked. “The Wizengamot has come up with a harsh punishment, Severus, but fair. There is a way around it.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Have one soul recognize you and all of this will be finished. It will be over before you know it!” The coffee refilled itself. “Well, Kingsley, it is hardly over. I cannot show anyone my face or risk immediate disapparation to Azkaban for life and not a soul, not one soul can seem to guess my identity. Bloody wonderful.”
Severus dropped his head into his hands.
“I am losing it. Christ, am I losing it.”
Most days, he was grateful that Kingsley and the Wizengamot had helped him retain his position at Hogwarts but this was not one of those days. Today, he would be faced with seeing the product of whoever had won Harry’s heart.
He swallowed a mouthful of bitter coffee.
Heroes got their rewards and Harry surely had received his. Severus ground his molars together. The night before the battle after a drunken confession and even drunker snogging, he and Harry had shared a bed. Well, in truth they had shared the floor of the Astronomy Tower but it had been something incredibly special to Severus regardless. Harry had cared for and comforted him, spread his legs and told him he trusted him.
Severus winced behind his hand.
It was all a lie. He had simply been a notch in Harry’s belt. An experiment. If he had been anything else to Harry, if he had even mattered the slightest bit, Harry would have recognized him. He hadn’t. Severus had managed to drag himself to two ministry events. The second, he had stood toe to toe with Harry, even taken his hand in his, only to be met with a curt, “ Nice to meet you, sir.” Five words had never sounded so disgusting.
He traced a delicate finger up and down the side of the warm mug. He was nothing to Harry. Of course, he was. That was no shock to him. He wet his lips. Though it did wound him that the night meant nothing to Harry because it had finally lit his world up. What was bleak and dark, all-consuming and hopeless, had in an instance turned into a beautiful world of sparkling nebulae and stellar nurseries. Severus exhaled slowly. That pain haunted him day and night. He wasn’t usually so foolish. It seemed with Harry he was.
The lack of apparent care was an explanation at least for Harry’s failure to recognize him. There were no such excuses for the rest of the world.
Minerva did not catch on despite his identical vernacular. They ate breakfast each morning and yet she never noticed that he ate the same meals or oatmeal with precisely seven slices of apple. She should have seen it. Draco spoke once to him out of obligation but hardly looked at him. Distracted by the trauma of the war and his own raging depression. Hardly his fault. Lucius had been out of the public eye for the better part of the last eleven years. Who else would care to see him? Kingsley had banked on Harry, he had exclaimed it on the one year anniversary of the punishment when he broke down in tears on Severus’s rug.
What a show that had been.
He supposed he once hoped, like Kingsley did, that someone would notice but after a decade had passed without someone so much as wondering why his body hadn’t been found, Severus had grown weary.
“All the damn crumbs are there,” he hissed, pulling out the roster for the new year. “No one wants to put them together.”
He ran a finger down a list of names. As he skimmed over the list of students coming in, he paused at the name that had stirred up his recent melancholy. Albus Severus Potter .
There were too many questions. All with answers he did not want to hear. Severus bit his cheek and attempted to compose himself. Harry was still a stupid child. Giving the boy a name like that was only going to cause trouble. Had he done it drunk? And who in Merlin’s name allowed something like that? Rising to his feet, he left his musings at his desk and walked into his classroom. It was time to begin.
Severus eyed the children trickling in and huffed as he tried to spot the Potter child. He looked for a spiteful child with Weasley red hair and green eyes. Nothing. Perhaps short hair that stuck up, that would prove it. He did have to hand it to Harry. He’d kept his child out of the spotlight this long. That was practically a miracle. Though he didn’t appreciate being on the defense with this.
He frowned slightly. None of the children stood out to him. Harry was notable enough. Severus expected that his child would be the same but no one caught his gaze yet. No one’s magic either. Harry’s magical lineage alone would carry enough power that he could probably bed and wed a muggle and still have a child ten times more powerful than a pureblood. His eyes bounced between the filling chairs and the clock. Time was running out. With thirty seconds left, a boy very small for his age stalked into the room. His cheeks were pale, nearly as pale as Severus and his lips were the same shape that ran in the Prince family. His black hair was long, to his shoulders, and in need of a good brushing. Severus narrowed his eyes. Who in Merlin’s name is that? Has some witch stolen- The head snapped up to look at him. Those blazing dark eyes settled on him and Severus knew who this child was even as he asked. He knew those eyes. They were darker, a blend of black and green like a forest at night, but so clearly Harry’s he would have bet his soul on it.
“Your name,” he barked.
Some Ravenclaw snickered in the back, “You lose, it’ll be Slytherin he takes points from first.”
“He wouldn’t. He is Slytherin.”
“Ten points from Ravenclaw for interrupting my class.” Snape peered into the eyes so green they were nearly black, unwavering. “Questions ordinarily receive responses.”
“Albus Severus Potter, sir.”
“Ah, the Potter spawn,” he sneered, wondering who in Merlin’s name Harry had shagged to produce this. “And here I thought I saw the last of them.” He clucked his tongue. Somehow the prepared speech felt dead in his mouth. “Useless names, all three of them. Take your seat.”
“They aren’t useless!” The boy flushed. “They were Headmasters, sir. Severus Snape was the bravest man my dad knew. And he says I got his nose.”
The child tapped on his large beak and Snape found himself caught in a world where there had been some magical accident. He had never slept with any witch and though wizard pregnancies occurred, they were rare to the point of myth. Something clenched in his chest. All these years later and he was still hoping that that night had not been some ridiculous joke.
It was as much of a lie as his face.
He had died and Harry hadn’t even mourned. Whoever he had shacked up with to produce Albus, Albus Severus as it were, simply had a handful of similar genes. Not every wizard with black hair, dark eyes, and long, angular jaw belonged to his bloodline. He would have been the father of thousands of students over the years if that had been the case. It was simply his mind running rampant on the fumes of foolish hope. The nose was just a cruel joke Harry likely passed on, something that didn’t matter with Severus being assumed dead. He clenched his jaw. Lots of people took to mocking him since the end of the war. This wasn’t new.
“I do not tolerate discussions about Death Eaters.”
“Severus Snape was a brave man,” the boy repeated.
Suddenly profoundly tired of this rubbish, he snarled, “The Severus Snape I am familiar with was a traitorous Death Eater.” It was part of his bargain, keeping the general public off his scent. Another thing Kingsley regretted. “Perhaps I am mistaken but courageous men do not murder Headmasters.”
“No, you’re wrong.”
“No? Am I mistaken? Was he not a Death Eater? Or perhaps I am confused as to who slaughtered the late Albus Dumbledore? He is scum and the world is better off without him.”
Several Gryffindors in the back snickered, no doubt enjoying the show of tearing apart his old image. It always broke his heart. No one even missed him. In fact, the masses enjoyed this part of his death. He had slithered away as an evil legend. Despite Kingsley having secured him various awards for his service, his inability to defend himself made him guilty in the eyes of the public. They didn’t care about the trial. The results. The truth . Only what he left behind which was his tattoo and the dead body of the Headmaster who hoped for an assisted suicide.
And Harry did not utter a word to defend him. He knew the truth and he stayed quiet. No one did.
“He wasn’t–”
“Tell me, do I have the wrong man? Severus Snape was a rotten coward who played for the wrong team and you would do well to remember that.”
The child stood, dark eyes blazing and drew his wand, pointing it at Snape.
“And what, child, are you going to do with that?”
“No one is allowed to talk about Severus like that.”
“I suppose your father, the great Hero, draws his wand when people talk about that scum.”
“Yes, he does.”
Severus’s sneer deepened. Lies, always more lies.
“Twenty points from Slytherin, as much as it pains my heart. Stay after class. We will be calling your father to see just how much he defends that rat.” Severus stooped low, coming eye to eye with the child. “I do despise liars. You best keep that in mind.”
He sent the boy to the available seat near the back and began his usual start-of-the-year business before starting the group off with a basic potion to assess their listening and critical thinking skills. He sneered. There would be plenty of trolls this year, he predicted. They weren’t taking him seriously. Not the way they took his real face and body seriously. This husk simply didn’t cast any sort of imposing shadow.
Besides that, it was a horrible lot. They were all squirming, chittering like birds, and following anything but the directions. All except the Potter boy. He was instead double checking the directions and re-measuring his ingredients.
Albus Severus. You have all the gall of your father but none of his disrespect in classroom manners. What an astonishing development. The boy frowned, dumping the contents of his cutting board in the trash before starting again. And you even know the difference between chopped and diced. Who is your mother?
Severus aggressively tapped his index finger against the desk as he ruminated. Various heads shot up until he demanded to know what was so interesting and threatened detention. No one answered. Twenty little heads were all buried in their books, attempting to steer themselves clear of punishment.
The longer he looked at him, the less sense everything made. That boy was a perfect combination of Harry and Severus. He vaguely began wondering if he had a sister and never knew about it. Out of morbid curiosity, Severus began devising some sort of plan to ask who the brat had shagged to get a child looking like that. He was half-convinced there was another Prince or Snape walking around out there. The boy meticulously weighed and ground up the remaining ingredients, heading back to the instructions over and over to ensure no mistakes would be made. He even tallied his stirs on a sheet to the side.
That certainly did not come from Potter.
A heavy sigh slowly escaped Snape as he watched the students. They were halfway through the class and no closer to producing something that wasn’t poisonous. Severus’s stomach dropped. They were halfway through class. Soon, he would see Harry for the first time in almost seven years alone. Ministry balls couldn’t be counted. A niggle of hope wormed around in his chest.
It wasn’t going to last.
He restrained the heavy sigh wanting to escape his throat. Calling Harry. What a genius idea. It would easily ruin the rest of his day and likely his month. He didn’t want to watch him falter and fail to realize it was him again. His eyes glassed over. Worrying was useless but he could not stop the panic threading through his blood. Already, students had noted something was amiss.
He would lose whatever small scraps of respect he had if he let this continue. Giving them fuel for later was a foolish mistake. Severus sat back and, steepling his fingers, watched the rest of the class pass with a cold look of apathy on his round features.
The remaining minutes ticked by slowly, drawing Severus into an almost meditative state of anxiety.
When the time had finally dribbled away, he said, “Class dismissed.”
Not a muscle on him moved as he watched the students pack up and scuttle away. Only when the Potter child approached did he drop his hands and come around the front of the desk.
“Sir, I’m sorry I-”
Severus held up his hand. “A matter best discussed with your father, Albus.”
“Albus Severus.”
“Very insistent, aren’t you?”
The boy pouted his lips in a way that was identical to Harry. This was clearly his son. “It is my name.”
“Of course. Come along, you are going to ask your father to Floo in then you will be on your way. Transfigurations next, correct?” The boy nodded. “Ah, Professor McGonagall is less forgiving than I.” The young wizard trailed behind Severus as he walked toward his office full of ingredients. “Will your father be busy?”
“Oh no, not today. He takes Mondays off to brew.”
“Brews his own potions does he?”
“Yes sir. Taught me to brew since I was little.”
Snape jerked to a stop on the threshold of his office. Turning on his heels, he glared down at the boy. “He’s been teaching you?”
“Yeah and says I have a good eye for potions. Says it's hereditary.”
Ah yes, the notorious potion gene found only in the Potters. It matures after erupting precisely one hundred cauldrons full of soiled basic potions. Though Lily was talented in that area of study. Perhaps it comes from his wife. That was certainly a nauseating thought. Harry’s wife. Harry has been teaching him though. That is not anyone’s skill beside his own. Well, at the very least it solves the mystery of the boy’s aptitude.
Severus stared at him a moment longer before ushering him into the office. Scrounging through the drawer collecting broken phials, snapped quills, and useless junk, Severus procured an old bag of floo powder and handed it to the boy.
“Floo your father.”
He turned his back, feigning giving the boy privacy, while he closed his eyes and drew a slow breath in. His heart fluttered in his chest and his eyebrows had begun to sweat. The terror rolling through him at meeting Harry was shoving his head below water. They had met but never alone. Never in private. Nagini’s teeth were suddenly cold in his neck. He brought a hand to his throat remembering warm fingers and warmer tears dropping to his skin. Harry had stuck his fingers in his neck and begged him to stay. Whispered in his ear, “ Please, I love you.” Severus went pale. He had never heard those word before or after the incident. Never again.
Albus Severus tumbled backward, scrambling to stand with such noise it was impossible to ignore. He spun around to face the wide eyes of the child. His head was still back in the Shack.
“He said he’ll be through in one minute if you don’t mind keeping the floo open.”
“Yes,” Severus said, struggling to find his composure. “That’s fine. Be on your way then. If Professor McGonagall gives you issue, send her to me. You will not cost the rest of your house any more points.”
The child rushed from the room and Severus magicked the door shut, erecting a silencing charm behind him and figured out what to do with his body. He was too large to lean on the desk like he once did but feeling out of place in his own office would send a strange message. After pacing for several seconds, he settled on standing near a rack of rare ingredients.
And then, Harry stepped out of the Floo.
Severus felt his heart swell at the sight of his brat covered in ash. He looked nearly the same as he had that night. Earnest. Compassionate. Kind. Severus warred with his lungs to get them to cooperate while Harry lifted a hand to brush the ash from his hair. His hand stopped mid-air and waved the ash away with magic. It all floated delicately like snow back into the fireplace. Before looking at Severus disguised as an old man with a small nose and beady, blue eyes, Harry’s eyes roamed the tall shelves as he said, “Didn’t want to get ash on the floor. Good wood in here, you know.”
Yes, Harry. I gave you that lecture when you spilled some skele-gro across the floor. The-boy-who-lived has a memory at last.
“I thank you.” Severus turned his back to Harry.
His eyes were watering furiously and if he did not get himself under control he would have to face the shame of it later. Every molecule of his being rebelled being in this form, looking this old and haggard and pathetic in front of Harry when he had once been strong and proud.
“Wow,” Harry breathed, awe hanging on his breath. “You…wow. You kept it the same.”
Turning his attention back to Harry, he was surprised to find the man’s hand resting lightly on his lower lip as his eyes scanned the potions. Harry, dressed in dark jeans and a gray turtleneck slowly spun in a circle, shook his head in apparent disbelief. The eyes glittered with unshed tears. Severus watched the apple of his throat bob and distinctly remembered lapping at it all those years ago. It still had the same, featherlight scar from an attempt at muggle shaving.
Bitter resentment flashed like a bomb through Severus. He could remember this then could he but he couldn’t remember the hands of the man who split him open. He couldn't remember the pain in his eyes after so many legilimency sessions. He couldn’t remember anything but the stupid furniture.
Harry was oblivious to the anger rolling off Severus. Instead, relief seemed to seize him. His shoulders fell away from his ears as emotions flashed across his face, some pulling a slight smile while others drew his brows down in a frown. This was different. Severus' anger cooled abruptly. Harry seemed wounded. Unrested. And desperately in need of comfort.
Harry’s hand descended from the lips and fiddled with the metal surrounding a crystal watch face that stopped Severus’s breath in his chest. That had been his watch. Harry was wearing his watch. Snape swallowed around a lump of grief as a memory rose unbidden.
“Harry,” Severus said, brushing a hand through his hair. “Shh, don’t cry.”
“How can I not?! After everything…you…and now us . Tomorrow.”
“Harry. Harry, I will always be here.”
“It’s not good enough,” Harry cried, slamming fists against Severus’s bare chest. “Promise me. Tell me you won’t die.”
Severus’s mouth tightened into a line. “I cannot.”
“Damn you. Damn you!”
“I have no control over this,” he shouted. “I cannot promise that something won’t happen or that I won’t need to protect-”
“Pick me.”
Severus froze. Harry’s hands had found his jaw. They were lightly caressing him, giving special attention to a bruise the Carrows had given him a few nights back.
“Pick me, Snape.”
“What?” he whispered.
“Don’t pick Dumbledore. Or the greater good. Just…just pick a life with me. Give me something to prove you’ll pick me. When it matters, you won’t leave.”
Severus glanced down to his watch. His Pa had given it to him years and years back in a drunken, slurring memory of praise. Severus undid the black leather band and held the watch to Harry’s eyes.
“This is the only piece of my family that I carry. My father gave it to me when I graduated Hogwarts because he was proud of me, the first and only time I think. It is for…family.” Lifting Harry’s arm, Severus fastened the band around his slender wrist. “You are my family, Harry. I will not leave you.”
Severus glared at it, violently outraged at the horrendous injustice served to him by those damnable idiots at the Ministry. The anger shifted toward Harry. His lips lifted in outrage. Damn you, Potter. Damn you, for not recognizing me.
Tan fingers rubbed at the dark black edges of the watch as Harry’s eyes fell upon the desk. Severus watched with rapt attention as Harry held his two shaking hands a breath away from the wood. Dropping his hands onto the wood, Harry’s eyes rolled shut as he hung his head slightly.
Severus gave him the space to mourn.
It was infuriating though to be so close to Harry who still visibly ached from the loss without being able to comfort him. Severus clasped his hands behind his back, giving them something to do instead of lunging out and shaking Harry until he came to his senses. The black band on Harry’s wrist caught his eye again.
They were family.
Even with this strange space that had formed between them from his disappearance, they were still family. His heart turned heavy as a lead ball in his chest as he thought of Albus Severus. Some other witch made Harry happy. She was his family now. And still he wore the stupid watch. A sweeping sense of loneliness blanketed him in shadow.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat with an inconspicuous sniffle that only Severus could catch. Harry clapped his hands to his thighs in exasperation with a sigh and turned to face Severus. “I didn’t expect you’d keep it the same after ten years. Caught me off guard is all.”
“Snape had impeccable organisation, something I rather respected.”
“Well, you’re one of the few, then. Not many people want to hear what I have to say about that.” Harry shook his head. “Is that what this is about? Did Albus Severus say something?”
“Yes, he did. He valiantly defended Snape.” Severus paused, swallowing as he planned his next move. “The Death Eater.”
Harry’s hand groped for his wand tucked in his jeans as he growled. “He was a Potions Master. A professor. A Headmaster. ”
Snape nodded. “He was a threat.”
Harry’s wand pointed between his eyes. Not a tremble moved the wood.
“He was a hero.”
Severus smirked as he looked down the familiar wand. Something about it made his chest warm. He stared at Harry’s stance, so similar to his own duelling stance it hurt, until he thought he would start arousing suspicion.
“Ah, I see that Albus was not lying. You do pull your wand to defend him.” Severus’s eyes darkened. A little test wouldn’t hurt. “You both may want to reconsider your vocal support of such a dark character. You are a hero and he is a hero’s son.”
“Yes he is,” Harry snarled with significantly more venom than Severus expected. Taking accolades was unlike Harry. Well, the Harry of the past at least. “I don’t care if you are a Professor, I’ll hex you for speaking ill of the dead like that. Severus Snape…I’d give my life ten times over for him.”
Severus inhaled sharply.
He’d expected something volatile from Harry but even this was extreme. Severus flicked his eyes to the tip of Harry’s wand. A nasty hex was waiting there, he could tell. It wouldn’t be something small. It felt angry. Malicious. Like it would tear him limb from limb if Harry let it.
All because of me? How very strange.
“A simple test,” Severus said quietly. “I mean no harm.”
“A shitty one.”
“I…apologise,” Severus said. He bit his lower lip. It was horribly stupid what he was about to do. Goading Harry into an argument was seldomly a good idea but his hunger for information ran deep. He needed more and Harry wasn’t offering up anything. “His mother must be a saint to tolerate such talk. Whatever your opinions are of Snape, the opinion of the masses remains.”
“I thought you said you respected him. Besides, that’s not your business.”
“An understanding of the home is important in situations such as these.”
“He has me and that’s enough. Does that give you enough of an understanding? I won’t raise a coward. No child of mine will allow any war hero to take that sort of treatment. It’s bullying and cruel. He will not be that kind of boy. Severus is dead. He can’t defend himself. His Order of Merlin should be enough.” Harry straightened, relaxing a bit and tucking his wand back into his pants. His hand remained on the wood. Untrusting. “I’m sorry Professor...?”
“Professor Anguis.”
“Professor Anguis, awful fitting for a Slytherin, that is, I am sorry. But I do not take kindly to the mocking of a good man, a man who saved my life, I’ll have you know, and Albus Severus doesn’t like it either. I will not punish him for this and I ask that you don’t either.”
Severus stuffed his hands in his pockets. “An adamant defender given history’s truths.”
“What truths? Severus did very little wrong and the few faults he had he more than made up for. He worked for years in the dark for Dumbledore. Kept me alive. Did you know that Severus gave his life for me? For everyone, you included. Did Albus Severus tell you that?”
“He did not.” Snape nearly winced at the pitch of his voice. It was high and squeaky like Wormtail’s. He cleared his throat but his voice would not lower.
Harry eyed the man before touching the watch again. “Well, what did he say?”
“That Snape was the bravest man his father knew. Then he proceeded to point his wand at me, Mr. Potter.”
Harry’s head jerked at his name. The eyes clouded over as they bounced over to the Veritaserum on the shelf beside his head. A notable day for the both of them. It was an interesting reaction though. One that intrigued him.
“He drew his wand?” Harry had the respect to look taken aback.
“Yes, Mr. Potter, he did.”
This time Harry broke eye contact and looked at the floor.
“Is something the matter?”
“You’re sure he drew his wand?”
“Yes, Potter,” Severus snapped, frustrated. “As dense as your head may be, some of us have the clarity of mind to remember events as they occurred.”
Harry recoiled. “Just checking, Professor.” He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since someone said my name like that.”
“Without undeserving reverence?”
“With such vitriol.”
Severus ground his teeth together. “Not everyone worships the ground you walk on, Potter.”
A sad little smile pulled on his lips as the borders of his eyes grew red. “Merlin. I feel a little like I’m back in school. Snape’s office and the way you… I’m sorry. I guess it’s been a long week. Anyway, I’m really sorry about Albus Severus’s behaviour but hey, with a name like that you can’t expect him not to get into trouble. Those two were the worst troublemakers I ever knew.”
“With a name like ‘Potter’ I cannot expect him to be any less of a brat than his father, Harry-pain-in-the-arse-Potter.”
A doofy grin spread across Harry’s face before it fell apart completely. He staggered away from Severus until his hip bumped the desk. Harry’s expression had turned into one of utter, inconsolable grief. He fell sideways, his hands braced against the desk again. Severus watched in utter horror as Harry crumbled into silent sobs, his shoulders shaking. He began to approach but Harry waved him off with a great heaving sob. He stepped back but everything inside of him pulled toward the sad image of someone who had once been a lover.
Harry stood there, shaking from the force of his tears as he clearly fought to regain some control of himself and failed. Severus watched helplessly. He loathed the feeling. He could fix this. If only Harry recognised him. His hands twitched at his side with the urge to take Harry in his arms and soothe the pain away.
Quickly standing, hands on his hips and breathing out strongly through his mouth, Harry shook his head. He looked a mess. His eyes had gone red and crimson splotches decorated his face and neck. The slender chest shook with restrained sobs and the faux power of the stance crumbled beneath the pain decorating his features.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about him. Guess the war took its toll after all.” Harry let out a shaky laugh as he clearly tried to regain his composure. “My kid is a real brat, huh?”
“Indeed.” Snape cocked his head and raised an eyebrow as he said it.
Harry’s entire face fell with his arms. The eyes were suddenly on Snape’s brow. Something went rigid in Harry’s posture as he turned his back to Severus and covered his mouth.
“I think…I think I have to go.” He stumbled closer to the floo. “I’m so sorry Professor S… Oh gods. I’m gonna be sick.”
Harry dove through floo. The sound of retching travelled through the flames before the connection was cut and Severus was left standing in shocked silence.
“Harry Potter,” he said. “What has happened to you?"