A New Place to Stay Chapter 17 - Harry Potter

 Severus Snape wakes from brutal Chamber of Secrets nightmares and finds Harry up before dawn with Occlumency texts. A quiet check turns into real trust as they speak about fear, then Snape uses Legilimency to map Harry’s magical bonds and carefully contain the Voldemort link without harming his core. After a short dose of Dreamless Sleep, the day shifts to training with an Auror style animated dummy where Harry’s Reducto shatters the “indestructible,” and the evening closes with food, showers, and an honest talk about third year that tightens a growing guardian bond. This is close, character driven Snape and Harry mentorship with canon deep magic and steady hurt comfort.

Transcript

**Chapter 17: Nightmares, and Harry Truly Settles in at Prince Manor**

Severus tossed and turned beneath his black bedding, the duvet thrown off him in a restless flurry. It was his own doing; he was trapped in a vivid nightmare, one that had haunted him for the past few nights.

He kept seeing a small twelve-year-old boy begging for help, trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. The nightmare replayed over and over, showing Harry dying, with Severus witnessing Lily's devastated face time and again.

"Disappointed in you," she would say, her voice echoing with a haunting monotone, repeating, "You promised, you promised." That single word—Mudblood—had shattered his future and sealed his fate as a Death Eater. As usual, he woke up with a muted scream threatening to escape his lips.

Nightmares and night terrors were nothing new to him. The memories of his actions during his Death Eater days, intensified by the shadow of the Dementors, made these dreams even more vivid.

Pale and shaken, Severus used his wand to check the time before slumping back onto his bed. The black linens only accentuated his sallow complexion, making him appear even more sickly, if that were possible.

He shuddered anew at the nightmare he had just endured—seeing that twelve-year-old boy chased by a sixty-foot Basilisk. A boy he had sworn to Dumbledore and Lily to protect at all costs, yet the danger had unfolded right under his nose.

What else had he missed? Why had he ignored all the signs?

Was he too consumed by his hatred for James Potter? The thought made him shudder.

He wished he could confront Dumbledore about it, but he feared that doing so would mean the boy wouldn’t be allowed to return. That realization made him sneer at his own feelings, but he couldn't deny that he was growing fond of the boy.

He would deny it emphatically, even under the torture of the Cruciatus Curse. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Severus managed to steady his heart rate, bringing some semblance of calm back to his troubled mind.

After twenty minutes of meditation, Severus Snape realized it was five o'clock in the morning. Knowing he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, he got up.

After enjoying a long, luxurious shower, he left his room, already dressed for the day. As he walked past Harry's room, he noticed a light shining through the gap at the bottom of the door.

A frown creased his brow in concern as he knocked gently, but there was no answer. Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the door and peeked inside.

Harry was sitting on his bed, engrossed in a book. It was just past five-thirty—what on earth was the child doing up at this hour?

Severus knew Harry usually woke by seven and was already dressed. “Potter, what on earth are you doing up?” Severus asked, his voice tinged with exasperation.

Harry whirled around, startled. He hadn’t even heard Severus approach, which was unusual for him.

He was a light sleeper and typically very alert when awake. It had been years since someone had been able to sneak up on him like that, and he didn't like it one bit.

Severus stepped further into the room, his expression one of genuine concern. “Um… I just couldn’t sleep,” Harry admitted halfheartedly, already aware that Snape could sense the lie.

He had been reading the Occlumency and Legilimency books his teacher had given him. Now he understood how Snape could read him so easily, like an open book.

“Nightmares?” Severus asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Just seeing Harry alive and well settled him more than anything else could.

He couldn’t quite grasp why the nightmares affected him so deeply, but he felt a heavy sense of failure. He had vowed to protect Harry, and the nightmares were a reminder that he feared he was failing in that promise.

“Yes, sir,” Harry eventually sighed, the admission weighing on him. For the first time, he was telling someone about his nightmares.

He was relieved that his Potions Master wasn’t mocking him. If anything, Severus appeared even more concerned.

Harry couldn’t quite understand how he was able to read his teacher so well, but in that moment, it felt as though Snape understood him better than anyone else ever had. His face may have been expressionless, but his eyes, usually like black tunnels, sparkled with concern.

No matter how much Harry tried to push the feelings aside, he felt a wave of giddiness at the fact that someone cared enough to ask about him—about why he was awake so early and aware of what he was going through. “Do you want to talk about it before breakfast and your run?” Severus asked smoothly.

Harry shook his head. He figured his Potions Master would just think he was being silly.

He worried that Snape might even share how pathetic he was, despite having promised not to tell anyone. Harry had no guarantee that Snape would keep that promise.

He was afraid to trust him too much, especially since he was starting to care about this person and open up, knowing that once Hogwarts started back up, Snape might revert to his usual self. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re about, Harry,” Severus sighed, watching the teenager with an emotionless gaze.

“Having nightmares doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human, just like everyone else.”

“I’m not everyone else, though, am I?” Harry replied bitterly, shaking his head. “What you are, Harry, is a very strong, capable young man who has been through too much,” Severus said smoothly.

He silently cursed himself for using Harry's proper name; he hadn’t meant to. What struck him most was how Harry's eyes sparkled at the sound of his name.

It dawned on him that the abuse Harry had suffered probably meant he hadn’t heard his name often from an adult—or maybe at all. Severus shuddered at the thought.

As abusive as his father had been, he had at least called him by name, even if there were a lot of other names thrown in. He suspected Harry had been called “freak” more than anything else in his short life.

Severus had no idea he had hit the nail on the head. “Nobody would understand…” Harry murmured eventually.

Harry pondered whether he could truly trust Snape enough to share what he needed to. Could he confide in him without worrying that Snape would rush to Dumbledore with that information?

He knew he had to tell someone; keeping it all inside was unbearable. Fear gripped him—he dreaded feeling the visions again, just as he had before.

"I'm sure you just feel that way," Severus said, arching an eyebrow in curiosity. True to Severus's nature, Harry found himself slowly opening up, sharing thoughts he had never revealed to anyone else.

However, for the past few days, they had avoided discussing his years at Hogwarts. Instead, Harry let slip random bits of information as they settled into a routine.

"I saw the meeting you attended... before you came back that day you got me to clean the dungeons," Harry blurted out, hoping that if he said it quickly, he wouldn't lose his nerve.

Despite his haste, he noticed Severus's eyes widen in shock—he clearly understood. "I see," Severus replied, barely managing to suppress a gasp.

The memory was painful; he didn't enjoy being reminded of his failures. He had treated Harry horribly that day, and the boy certainly didn't deserve it.

Severus was trying, in his own way, to make amends. He realized just how deeply Harry and Voldemort were connected, more than he had previously thought.

A sense of urgency washed over him; he needed Harry to shield his mind before Voldemort became aware of their link. If the Dark Lord discovered it, God help Harry—Voldemort would stop at nothing to drive him insane by forcing him to witness unspeakable horrors.

As he contemplated the depth of their connection, Harry watched Severus warily, questioning whether he had made the right choice in speaking up. "Sit over here, Mr.

Potter," Severus instructed, quickly drawing his wand. It was a testament to how much trust the teenager was beginning to place in him that he complied without a word of protest.

A sense of hesitation washed over him, but a warm glow settled in his stomach at the thought. Nobody had trusted him unconditionally for a very long time—not since he and Lily were children.

In a way, it was a good thing; after all, he was a spy. But that didn’t make it any easier to feel so isolated and distrusted by everyone around him.

He snapped out of his thoughts to find trusting green eyes staring back at him. Just the sight of those eyes made his insides melt; he was sure they would be the death of him.

"I'm going to perform Legilimency on you," Severus said. "I want you to relax and allow me to do this.

I’m going to try to find this connection between you. Is there anything you wish to tell me before I begin?"

Any information would help him pinpoint the connection.

"I could feel the curses… Voldemort—he cast them, not fully, but more like echoes," Harry struggled to explain. "How many times have you witnessed these meetings?" Severus demanded, his concern growing.

"Just the one. You were there, so was Lucius Malfoy..." Harry's voice trailed off.

"Indeed. Then that must have been the only meeting he has had so far," Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He had only attended one meeting, but that didn’t necessarily mean there had only been one. Voldemort could focus on just one follower and summon only that person.

It wouldn’t end well if, during a day of teaching classes, Voldemort called on him and he collapsed in front of his students, clutching his arm. Thankfully, he was given reprieves during the school year, but any holiday brought a flurry of summons.

He had only endured a year of this—spying, teaching, and attending Order meetings. Yet, he couldn’t shake the bitterness that Lily and Harry had paid the price.

Lily had died, and Harry? He had lost his mother before he could even know her.

“Legilimens,” Severus whispered. As he slid past some surprisingly adequate shields, he knew they wouldn't keep him or the Dark Lord out.

Still, they would prevent someone like Dumbledore from probing his thoughts. Dumbledore wouldn't risk delving too deeply into anyone's mind.

The Dark Lord, however, had no such restrictions, and right now, neither did he. He didn’t focus on specific memories; instead, he followed the strands of magic before him.

There were only eight strands, which meant Harry cared about just eight people in his life. He recognized the black strand as representing Potter, while the red and black one undoubtedly stood for Lily.

The remaining strands varied in size and color, indicating the degree of his feelings for each person, with the color reflecting his current emotions toward them. Magic was a powerful force; it bonded people together—not in the way of marriage, but rather as a protective instinct among powerful wizards who sought to shield those they loved.

This was evident in the strands he observed. The black strands signified that the magic was no longer present; those individuals were gone, their magic no longer intertwined with his.

For instance, Harry had lost his parents, and even at a young age, his magic would have reached out to theirs, providing him a sense of safety and happiness. But when they were gone, their strands turned black.

Lily’s magic remained vibrant, hence the red; her protective influence over her son was still alive and strong. He speculated that some of those strands belonged to his friends—Granger, Weasley, perhaps even Ginny Weasley.

Remus and Sirius were also possibilities. He was genuinely surprised that there weren’t more strands.

He had always assumed Harry loved the entire Weasley clan, but it seemed he didn't know them well enough for his magic to seek them out. As for Severus, he had only two strands of magic that weren’t black; those represented his godson and Harry.

Harry’s strands were his mother and father, both thick and undeniably black, but Lily’s had red intertwined with it. Harry had formed his first connection to his parents after spending an entire year with Remus during Patronus lessons.

The strand representing Remus was very thin, nearly fading away. Ron's strand, however, was thicker than Remus's and a cool shade of blue.

This color indicated that Harry wasn't happy with his best friend and no longer trusted him after everything that had happened over the past year. Hermione's strand was probably the second thickest, glowing in a vibrant orange.

This signified that Harry loved her, but his feelings were somewhat diminished due to a sense of betrayal; she hadn’t kept in touch. Then there was a surprising yellow strand representing Neville Longbottom.

Harry cared for his fellow Gryffindor and felt a strong connection to him, as they both shared the pain of losing their parents to Voldemort and the war. Neville's strand was almost as thick as Hermione's, indicating a kinship so profound that nothing could change its color.

Next was Sirius. His strand was barely there, almost faded to nothing.

Harry had only seen Sirius twice, for less than an hour each time—once during their visit to the cave in Hogsmeade and again on the day he let Pettigrew go. Although he had seen Sirius in the fire, that connection felt tenuous at best.

Given Harry's feelings toward Sirius at that moment, it was no surprise that the strand was nearly invisible. The last strand was the thickest and purest of them all.

It shone in a deep indigo, representing respect, trust, and a deep-seated desire to impress. This color was typically associated with a mentor or a close parental figure.

This strand was reserved for Severus Snape, the one constant in Harry's life who had always been truthful with him, despite his cold and often harsh demeanor. Snape had never changed, and Harry had unknowingly clung to that stability.

Before the summer, this strand had been lavender, signifying grudging respect and confusion. Harry had never been able to fully grasp what that meant.

Harry struggled to understand why Snape had hated him, but now he saw a deep indigo strand representing their connection. If Snape had known that this strand was for him, he would have been quite surprised.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, such connections couldn't be easily read. Further in, Harry noticed a pulsating black and vivid green ball of magic intertwined with his own golden magic.

Severus was actually witnessing Harry's magical core; it shouldn’t have surprised him to see the color of Harry’s powerful magic. After all, he had been the Dark Lord’s equal since childhood.

Severus understood that if Harry had grown up in the wizarding world, his magic would have been extraordinarily potent. There was nothing he could do about the connection—it was literally tied to Harry's magic and, therefore, his life.

Severus had never encountered anything like this before, and given his extensive experience, that said a lot. He wasn’t sure what the pulsating mass would do, or even if he could do anything about it, but he could try to manipulate it, to move it away from Harry's magical core and contain it in a small box.

Slowly but surely, he succeeded in separating the green and black from Harry's core until he finally finished. However, he was unsure how to eliminate it entirely; it felt like a living entity deep within Harry.

He would need to do some research before attempting anything further. For now, at least he had contained it; if it had been leeching off Harry's magic, it wouldn’t be able to do so any longer.

Having done all he could for the moment, Severus began to ease out of Harry's mind, navigating through the strands of magic and memories. When he finally emerged, both of them were gasping for breath, drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted—especially considering they hadn’t had enough sleep.

Harry slumped down onto the bed, unable to stay upright, and showing such vulnerability was likely torturous for him. “Would you like some dreamless sleeping potion?

Just a little, so you can sleep for a few hours?” Severus offered. Severus offered the potion, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Harry nodded reluctantly, having been awake since three o'clock. The idea of sleeping without dreams was too tempting for him to resist.

He barely registered Severus summoning the potion and measuring it into an empty container. The vial he handed over contained only about a third of the potion.

In a moment of trust, Harry slipped under his covers, drank the potion, and managed to place the empty vial on the table before his eyes fluttered shut. Severus watched the teenager sleep for five minutes, feeling his own magic begin to replenish.

His emotions had shifted so quickly that he was still adjusting to them. For the past four years, he had harbored resentment towards this boy—or rather, the insolent, spoiled brat that Harry had portrayed to the world.

This Slytherin in lion's clothing had deceived them all for years. Yet now, his respect for the boy was growing rapidly.

Shaking his head at his sentimental thoughts, as he liked to call them, Severus headed to his own room to lie down for a while. He avoided dreamless sleeping potions unless he was alone, ensuring he wouldn’t be summoned to Order meetings.

He preferred to endure any nightmares that came his way, believing he deserved them as a form of penance for his past during his Death Eater days and his delusions of grandeur. Both Severus and Harry ended up sleeping until eleven-thirty.

“I’ve put on a whole stone!” Harry exclaimed, entering the room and sitting down at the table after showering and getting ready for lunch. He looked much healthier than he had that morning.

Harry had indeed gained weight and built muscle, aided by the physicality of Quidditch and the forced labor at the Dursleys’. Speaking of those rats, Severus remembered to feed them a few times.

He was... Severus was surprised and disgusted to see the Dursleys actually eating the food he had left for them.

It was hamster food he had given them, and he truly didn’t care whether they lived or died. They had harmed a wizard—one he had sworn to protect.

In his mind, he was entirely justified in taking this approach, given his vow to protect Harry. Really, he was just doing his job.

He had committed darker deeds in the past against people far less deserving than the Dursleys when he had been a Death Eater during his darker years, before he realized the damage he was causing. Eventually, he came to his senses, recognized the Dark Lord was wrong, and went straight to Dumbledore.

That wasn’t the only change he noticed. Harry had stopped using "sir" or "Professor Snape" at the end of every sentence.

Sure, he still said "sir" occasionally when asked a direct question, but it wasn’t as frequent as before. Something as simple as allowing Harry to brew potions with him and assisting him with his research on the diary had done wonders for the boy’s self-esteem and helped him come out of his shell.

It had only been three days, yet they had flown by. Harry spent his mornings running, doing sit-ups, push-ups, and upper-body workouts, along with a few chores.

As Molly often said, it didn’t hurt him to do chores. In truth, Harry had begun taking the initiative, tending to his potion patch— as he had come to call it— watering the plants and pulling up weeds.

In the afternoons, Severus asked him to help with brewing potions, and then they would have dinner. Afterward, Harry would read—not only through the Dark Arts books, searching for answers related to the diary, but also studying Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He was already up to the sixth-year Defence books, and Severus hoped that by the time Harry returned to Hogwarts, he would have completed the seventh-year ones. The house-elves usually took care of the fish in the pond Harry had created, but they left the potion patch for him to manage, as he had taken such pride in it.

Severus had given them clear instructions. "Good," he said smoothly, pleased to see his plans taking shape.

He had meant what he said—nobody at Hogwarts would recognize the child. Harry was taking on a warm, golden hue, likely from all the sunlight he had been soaking up.

He no longer resembled a frail stick; Severus knew without even looking that the boy had put some weight on. Harry was not the same child he had known at Hogwarts, and Severus couldn’t help but reflect on how much he had changed since arriving at Prince Manor.

He had finally relaxed, understanding that Severus wasn't going to hurt him or punish him without reason. Just three days ago, Severus had been rather harsh, warning Harry that he would face detention if he continued to be so fearful of making mistakes during potions.

The boy had been tense, but after that conversation, he began to ease up. It wasn’t just the relief from fear; Harry's true personality was beginning to shine through—his Slytherin nature, as Severus liked to think of it.

Some of the things Harry said reminded him of his Slytherin students, leading him to believe with a fair amount of certainty that Harry was a true Slytherin, albeit in lion's clothing. He couldn’t shake the memory of what the nearly fifteen-year-old had expressed during their visit to the Pensieve.

"Today, we are going to learn some Defense. You have your wand, I presume?" Severus asked.

"Yes, sir!" Harry replied, pulling it out. Severus's attention was immediately drawn to the wand; there was something oddly familiar about it.

Harry noticed the mix of confusion and irritation on Severus's face and blinked cautiously. Why was his teacher curious about his wand?

He decided to share a piece of information he hadn’t revealed to anyone else. It was becoming increasingly clear that he could trust Severus—this Severus, at least, if not the Snape he had known before.

Harry stood in front of the animated training dummy, his brow furrowing in curiosity. "It's the brother wand to Voldemort's," he explained, careful to avoid saying the name that always seemed to cause Severus pain.

He had learned to tread lightly around that topic. "I see," Severus replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

So, that was where he recognized that wand from. It was similar to the one belonging to the Dark Lord; it made sense, considering they were equals in power.

He knew he had to tell Harry about the prophecy, but he planned to wait until the boy was able to push Severus Snape out of his mind completely. Perhaps by the end of the summer, he thought.

It was a lot to ask of a fourteen, nearly fifteen-year-old, but if anyone could do it, it was Harry. After all, it had only taken him nine lessons to produce a fully formed Patronus—one that most adults would envy.

"Now, let's go," Severus said, gesturing once they had finished breakfast. They stepped outside, finding themselves at the back of the expansive garden at Prince Manor.

Harry faced the animated dummy, which moved in a lifelike manner. He stared at it, clearly baffled.

Given everything he had encountered during his years at Hogwarts, that was saying something. "This is an animated trainer, similar to those used to keep Aurors in shape.

It's set to a low level for now. Prove yourself, and it will increase," Severus informed him, his voice laced with challenge.

He knew the best way to motivate Harry was to provoke his pride. To his satisfaction, Harry didn’t take the bait; he simply nodded calmly.

It seemed his meditation was paying off. Severus recognized that this training would be demanding.

Harry might be physically fit, but he needed time to catch up magically. He hoped that by the end of the summer, they would see significant progress.

During the summer holidays, Harry was determined to be fit—magically, physically, and mentally—for whatever challenges lay ahead. Severus was not a man who tolerated failure well; for both their sakes, he hoped to achieve what he needed.

"So, what do I do then? Just fire spells at it?" Harry asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

"Of course," Severus replied with a sardonic smirk. "All right," Harry said, launching his first spell.

To his dismay, the animated dummy simply dodged to the side... and so the challenge began.

Severus stepped aside, observing Harry's interactions with the training dummy. His onyx eyes glimmered with approval as he watched Harry practice.

It surprised him, though it shouldn’t have, to see Harry's impressive skills in both diving and casting spells. He had only read about most of these techniques, yet here was Harry, flinging spells from his wand as if he had years of experience, rather than just a novice with four years of magical education.

Pride began to swell within Severus; he was becoming far too fond of Lily's child. He found it difficult to maintain his emotional shields without causing harm to Harry.

Whether Harry realized it or not, Severus could sense that the boy was starting to rely on him. It was hard not to; after all, he was likely the first person to truly ground Harry and provide him with what he needed, the first to genuinely help him and allow him to confide his thoughts.

Severus knew he was in trouble. However, for now, he could set aside thoughts of the upcoming school year and focus on turning Harry Potter into a young wizard that Lily would be proud of.

Not that she wouldn’t have been proud of him anyway, but the truth was, Harry wouldn’t have done half the things he had if Lily had been alive. She had a temper that could rival his own; she would have been furious with her son.

Harry would have felt utterly flayed alive and would never have dared to disobey his mother again. A sad sigh escaped Severus's lips.

Of course, that would never happen. It was up to him now to prevent Harry from making any more reckless decisions.

He would be damned if there was any more nonsense like the Chamber incident. Harry Potter wouldn’t be pulling any more dangerous stunts this year, or embarking on any more save-the-school missions.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Severus noticed that, despite only twenty-five minutes of training, Harry was already exhausted; sweat dripped off him like rain. Although he had been casting spells, he hadn’t managed to land a solid hit on the training dummy, relying instead on tickling hexes and a stunning spell that merely grazed its arm.

Just as Severus was about to tell Harry to call it a day, the boy connected with the dummy, landing the most impressive Reducto curse Severus had ever witnessed. The spell was massive—far beyond the average power—and, astonishingly, it completely obliterated the dummy, something that shouldn’t have been possible.

It was designed to be indestructible. But then again, nothing was ever ordinary when it came to Harry Potter, he thought with a sardonic smirk.

“Crap,” Harry gasped, wide-eyed and nearly collapsing to his knees in exhaustion. “Language,” Severus chided gently but firmly, signaling to Harry that he wasn’t in trouble.

Harry relaxed, reassured that he hadn’t truly done anything wrong, that his teacher wasn’t angry with him, and he wouldn’t be blasted like the dummy. “That was some serious damage, Potter.

That dummy isn’t supposed to break. Some of the most powerful Aurors have tried… and failed.” 

He had asked Shacklebolt for it two days prior, knowing what he had in mind, and Shacklebolt had recounted his and his friends’ futile attempts to destroy it.

He had even insisted that Severus keep it, saying they had plenty in storage. Severus had made sure Shacklebolt understood exactly what he was doing.

Severus focused on the training dummy, determined to keep things under control. He knew that both Moody and Shacklebolt wanted to train Harry effectively.

While he and Moody often disagreed, they found common ground when it mattered. Severus trusted Shacklebolt to keep things quiet, knowing his mental defenses were strong enough to prevent Dumbledore from accidentally discovering anything.

Kingsley was one of the few in the Order whose mind Severus couldn't read. Unlike Dumbledore, Moody, and the other Auror members, who could occlude their thoughts, the rest were an open book; he could read their minds just by looking them in the eye.

Fortunately, most people avoided his gaze, which could be both a gift and a curse—especially when he needed information. “Nothing is normal about me,” Harry said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Indeed,” Severus replied. “Reparo!” he incanted, watching as the dummy straightened itself, seamlessly piecing back together as if it had never been broken.

Satisfied, he gestured for Harry to head back into the house. “Shower, dinner, then we talk,” he instructed.

Harry sighed, a mix of irritation and sadness swirling within him. He had anticipated this moment, secretly hoping his Potions Master would grant him a longer reprieve.

Tonight, it was clear they would be discussing his third year. Reluctantly, Harry trudged toward the shower, wishing he could just crawl up the stairs instead of walking.

He was used to feeling exhausted, but this time it was different. This exhaustion was preferable; at least he wasn’t in pain.

He recognized he was being childish, taking his time. A week ago, he would have dashed downstairs without a second thought.

He realized he was becoming too comfortable around Severus, and the thought stunned him. He gulped, recognizing that he was acting like a typical teenager—something he had never experienced before.

It was a luxury he had never had. Wrapping the towel around himself after switching off the shower, Harry walked into his room.

He dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, his mind still reeling. He felt… normal.

Not freakish or abnormal—this was a completely new concept for him. Was this how Ron felt all the time?

He couldn’t afford to dwell on that thought. Snape was only looking after him because he had been told to, he reminded himself sternly.

Yet, even as he repeated that in his mind, his heart reacted differently. He never wanted to leave this place.

He had grown to love his room, the food, the house-elves, the grounds, and his potions patch. Yes, even Severus Snape.

That realization scared Harry more than anything else in the world. The indigo strand of magic within him twisted with red as Harry's magic acknowledged that he actually liked—no, loved—Severus Snape like a father.

What could only be described as a miracle was the fact that the usually stoic Potions Master felt the same way. Harry could sense his own magic pulsating with a depth of affection even greater than what he felt for Draco Malfoy, his godson.

As he walked down the stairs, he recalled what Snape had said when he learned about Harry's abuse. A half-smirk, half-smile twisted on his face as he descended.

"I know better now," Snape had said. "I’ve helped many abused children over the years—from all houses and backgrounds: purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns.

No one else was quite sure how to deal with them; I, on the other hand, am familiar with what they went through. I know I’m probably the last person you want knowing about this, but understand that I am here for you if you want to talk.

You will talk about it before school starts back up, believe me, even if I have to force you. But be warned: I won’t coddle you, pity you, or lie to you.

I will listen, however, but that’s all. I’m not about to turn into Molly Weasley."

"Help you.

You've come this far, and I know now that you are made of sterner stuff than anyone realizes. However, everyone has their breaking point, and I'm afraid you've reached yours, Potter."

Go figure; Severus was right.

He didn't pity Harry, he didn't coddle him, and he sure as hell made him talk about it. "Tell me about third year," Severus urged softly after they'd finished their dinner.

He could sense the deep conflict within Harry. He didn’t want to talk about it, yet he also craved the release that came with sharing his burden.

Part of him wanted to hate Severus for pushing him, but he knew he couldn’t. And so, Harry spoke, feeling his heart ease a little more with each word that escaped him.

As they shared their thoughts, their magic intertwined, strengthening their bond. The magical strands glowed brighter and thicker, all without their awareness.

Just as magic had always done, for years and years, long before either of them had been born.