THROWAWAYS - RaeWhit.doc

http://www.walkingtheplank.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1133

Throwaways

by RaeWhit

Summary: Disposable and dispensable…one a villain, one a hero. Severus and Harry share more than they ever would've imagined.
 

Part One

Potter…the last person on earth whom he had any desire to see.

But there he stood, the Boy Who Lived, no, the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, in all his adolescent glory. Hair standing on end, hands on his hips, down to the arrogant expression on his face. Nothing had changed in the months since Snape had last seen him, and when he finally opened his impertinent mouth, all of this was confirmed in an instant.

"Snape," was the first word. When all he received was an icy stare and ugly moue in return, he continued, "I had to see it for myself. Make sure your bloody ass was locked up." His lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. "Although, the Ministry cells are a hell of a lot nicer than what's waiting for you."

"Get out, Potter. As usual, you're making a spectacle of yourself," Snape told him as he turned away. He listened as the footsteps echoed a retreat.

***

Potter…the last person on earth whom he had any desire to see, but it was inevitable that the boy would be here at his trial.

There he sat in the VIP witness section, cordoned off from the rest of the Order, watching the proceedings with a stony face. Snape almost wished he could've been present when the boy had been given what must have been such heart-wrenching news. He was certain that the boy had already been informed, for he sat, expressionless, through the recitation of Snape's clandestine role for the Order, one he'd fulfilled to the very end, unbeknownst but to a very few, and Potter had not been one of them. But now the whole world would know the tale, from beginning to end.

He watched their shocked faces as the holograph-like images from Dumbledore's Pensieve were played out, one by one, in front of the Wizengamot. He was immune to their reactions, save for those of the boy sitting almost exactly opposite him, just twenty paces away. He relished the thought of what must be running through his mind; he wondered at how painful it must have been to relinquish what he was certain was a well-stewed, righteous indignation. But now, poor Potter…all a pile of dust…a house of cards.

Innocence proclaimed or not, Snape did have to endure the sneer on the boy's face when he was, nevertheless, sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for his cumulative and retroactive Death Eater activities and atrocities. As they pulled him from his chair, Potter's was the last face he saw as he was led from the room.

***

Potter…the last person on earth whom he'd expected to see…well, at least in these surroundings.

Snape didn't actually know how long it had been since his trial, but he reckoned it must have been at least several months. But there Potter stood, his hands in his pockets, studying Snape through the bars of the cell door, his face half-hidden in the shadows.

"Snape. I had to see this for myself," he said softly in a mocking tone. "There is a god, you know. Thought you'd get completely off, didn't you?"

Snape stood slowly from his cot and walked towards the bars. "Potter, what are you doing here? I'm a 'no visitors' prisoner, or did they fail to inform you of that?" Snape despised that the hoarseness of his voice betrayed how little he used it nowadays.

The reply was a derisive, "Hmmph," from the figure who now moved closer so that Snape could see his face in the dim light of the hallway.

They stood juxtaposed that way for a moment, until Snape finally said, "Well, does the squalor of my accommodations meet with your approval, Potter, or would you like to apply to the Ministry to inflict me with something more to your liking? I'm sure they'd oblige you, given your position as Most Valued Wizard of the Age. Oh, forgive me, that title rightly belongs to Albus Dumbledore, but I'm certain he wouldn't mind you stepping into his shoes," he finished, relieved to have maneuvered his voice to an almost normal timbre. He was surprised at Potter's answer.

"No one will ever take his place, especially me. Not that you'd understand how much I'd hate that, Snape." The boy looked down at his feet. Now that Snape had a chance to look at him openly, he supposed he wasn't really a boy anymore…at least physically. He was certain that immaturity still lurked there, no matter how much the package had changed, evidenced by the fact that the man had gone out of his way to come and taunt him.

"Why are you here, Potter? It's a long way to come to merely gloat. Even you are not that vindictive, so it begs the question, what do you want?" Snape couldn't have cared less, even though this was the first human contact he'd had in months, his jailor aside.

Potter measured his surroundings, then turned his attention back to the prisoner. "Not as bad as I expected it. Lucky for you they've replaced the Dementors," he commented as he casually leant against the doorjamb.

"Lucky for me, yes, Potter. Now, is that all? I've a book I've been dying to read," he lied, confused by the sudden, irrational urge to engage the man in conversation to make him stay.

"You've a book, then? I didn't know they were allowed." He tried to look into the cell, but Snape moved to one side to block his view.

"Leave, Potter. Unless you've come bearing the happy news of my Ministry pardon? No? I thought not. Good day." He turned on heel and marched to his cot with dignity, but it was difficult…marching is always difficult in a four-meter space.

He lay on top of his blanket and listened to the footsteps as the man left without another word.

***

Potter…the last person on earth…but it was no longer true that he was unexpected; he was still a bit of surprise, but when Snape heard the footsteps clapping down the hallway in his direction, he knew…

He sat on the edge of his cot and waited until the man stepped in close to the barred door. They considered each other for a moment, and Snape decided he'd be damned if he'd be the first to speak, so he waited.

"Snape. I see you're still alive," Potter finally said.

"Disappointed?" Snape asked him.

The man shrugged. "I've no particular reason to see you dead. Maybe at one time I felt that way, but now..." He shook his head and gave a rueful smile. "It's enough just to see you miserable."

"I'm not miserable," Snape retorted.

"Oh really? I checked, Snape. No visitors, no letters, and ah yes, no books or newspapers allowed. So how can you not be miserable? Or are the little voices inside your head enough to keep you company?" the man mocked him.

Severus bit his lip to keep from instantly reacting. Instead, he took a closer look at his tormentor. Definitely a man now, broad-shouldered and lanky, but he'd lost weight in the weeks since he'd last seen him, and his appearance was unusually unkempt. He decided to be brutally to the point.

"What do you want, Potter? I can't believe you've nothing better to do with your time, and by the way, you look like shit." He maintained eye contact as he said it, and was gratified to see that his comment had struck a nerve.

Potter self-consciously ran a hand through his hair, then caught himself and shot him a wary glance. "Nice of you to notice, Snape, especially since I know you don't give a damn."

"What's the matter, Potter? The celebrity life not to your liking? I'd have thought it'd fit you like a glove," he said snidely, then stood and walked to stand just inside the door.

"I never wanted any of that, not that you'd understand, Snape. If you must know, I'm sick of it," he added hesitantly.

Snape ignored him and asked again, "My question remains. Why are you here, again, Potter? People are going to start to talk…Harry Potter paying regular visits to the despicable Death Eater." He paused, watching, then asked irritably, "Well?"

Potter shifted from one foot to the other, ill at ease, then met his eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Snape. You're still a bastard, but…" He looked away, then said, almost to himself, "You're just not who I thought you were."

Snape stared at him for a moment, then turned to walk back to his cot, muttering as he went, "Spare me the theatrics, Potter, and leave me alone."

He lay with his back to the door, then heaved a sigh when he heard the footsteps finally trudge down the hallway.

***

Potter…the last person on earth whom he would've ever imagined himself wondering about, but alas, this too was inevitable, as he'd spent more time with him in the past six months than with anyone else.

Of course, this was solely due to the fact that Potter had managed to obtain visiting rights, no doubt a product of the Ministry being forever in his debt.

Strange as it was, Snape realized that they'd exchanged more words during this time than the six years they'd been at Hogwarts. Not that they talked about anything of substance. The man was still stuck on that infernal quest, the one that his Gryffindor honor required of him. Snape scowled as he thought of this—as if Potter could ever plumb the depths of him, or understand how complicated his life and motivations had been. Good and evil…black and white…hero and villain…he'd long ago learnt that reality was a melding of opposites that met somewhere in the middle. Not that he could explain this to the man….

Snape didn't stir when he heard him coming, but looked up when he heard the steps stop at the door. "You're becoming predictable, Potter," he said tiredly.

A small laugh without mirth. "Something for you to look forward to, then."

"I don't think so. I'm not that far gone," he replied.

"Yet."

"Hmm, indeed." The silence stretched out, strangely not uncomfortable.

"God, what do you think about all day? A mind like yours…"

"Yes, a terrible thing to waste. Something I'm sure was intentional," he mused.

"So?"

"Potter, you're neither my priest nor my confidant. I suggest if you want whispered confessions, you apply to your paramour of the moment." He couldn't resist looking up to see what reaction he might've provoked.

"Ha. Nice try, Snape. But no, no paramours, I'm afraid, and definitely not something that's any of your business." Snape could've sworn there was amusement in his voice when Potter redirected the conversation. "So, was that your way of telling me you pass the time with sexual fantasies?"

Snape stiffened. "Potter, were you in my place, you'd be a babbling fool by now. If you insist on inflicting me with your presence, to garner God knows whatever it is that you're after, then I'll thank you to keep the inanities to a minimum, or you might just push me over the edge," he warned, with more than a hint of menace in his voice.

The man stared at him, and then had the good grace to blush. "All right, I apologize." He waited, then when Snape remained silent, prodded, "So, I’m really curious. What do you think about?"

Snape swung his legs up and lay down on the cot. "Life, in a word, Potter. Something you've got in front of you, so why don't you get out and get on with it?" He waited, and idly remarked that each time after he ungraciously ended their conversations, it was taking longer and longer for Potter to actually leave.

When he heard the door at the end of the hallway bang as Potter went through it, he turned his head to look to where the man had been standing. There on the floor, just inside the bars, Potter had left something. He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself up. After a moment's hesitation, he stood and walked, then leant down to pick it up slowly. His heart thudded as he unfolded it and looked down at the front page of the Daily Prophet. He fingered the page as he inspected it, not really reading it yet, and for the first time in what seemed an age, Snape suppressed a smile.

***

Potter…the last person on earth whom he would've thought he'd actually look forward to seeing. But then, it wasn't really Potter…he most likely would've welcomed a visit from the Dark Lord himself at this point, but that was perhaps stretching things a bit.

He now had mixed his days and nights up, something that he'd tried desperately not to do. But with little stimulation and an ambient light that was a constant, dull gray without variation, he found himself alternately sleeping and waking for only several hours at a time. And although he'd held off as long as he could, he finally capitulated and started to talk to himself aloud as he paced in the four-by-four area. He'd even devolved into rhyming his words, singing his sentences, reciting his potions—anything to hear the sound of a human voice and require his mind to apply the rigors of language. He knew that it was a critical mission to preserve his sanity.

This was the reason that he missed the sound of Potter's approach, and he loathed himself when he looked up and saw him and realized that the man may have been standing there for only Merlin knew how long. He sank down onto his cot, facing him, and resigned himself to enduring the jibe.

Potter now had a chair in place for his visits, so he sat and studied Snape for several moments before asking, "What do you miss most?"

In an effort not to appear too pitiable, Snape held back the instant answers on his tongue…they were always there, just below the surface of his consciousness, so often had he been consumed by them. He found it a disturbing question as well, one that, if he chose to answer, would increase his already rampant sense of vulnerability.

He decided to concede the more obvious one. "Moving from point 'a' to point 'b'." Then he explained further when Potter looked puzzled. "Departing from one place and arriving at another." He waited until he saw he'd been understood, then gave him the rest of them. "Hot showers. Reading. Tea."

Potter thought for a moment, scrutinizing him. "What? No people?"

Snape scowled. "What do you think, Potter? Did you ever know me to have a social bone in my body?"

Potter shrugged. "I don't really know anything at all about your personal life. I just wondered, since I'm the only one that's even tried to visit you." There was no malice in his words, only a hint of curiosity.

Snape would later wonder over what made him tell the truth to the man. "Albus," he admitted quietly.

Potter nodded in reply, as if he weren't in the least surprised by this answer. "I miss him too. And some of my other friends."

"Ah," was Snape's only reply. That he'd so readily confessed was disturbing enough. To find they shared a common ground even more so. When he mentally reviewed the students who'd been lost near the end of the war, he wasn't altogether sure which of them had been Potter's friends.

"Who?" Snape asked.

"Why do you care?"

"Who says I do? I'm merely making conversation, Potter. And if you recall, you started this. So, whom do you miss? You're under no obligation to answer, of course, and neither was I," he reminded him.

"Neville, George. Not that we were all that close, but they were my friends," he finished, and Snape looked up in surprise at the note of defensiveness in his voice.

"One of the finest tributes to a fallen hero is that they're missed," Snape said neutrally.

There was no answer, and they both fell silent, until the scraping of the chair alerted Snape that his visitor was about to leave.

"Here."

Snape looked up to see Potter holding out the Daily Prophet through the bars of the door. "I've got permission to bring them now, so you needn't hide it wherever it is that you are."

Snape stood and walked to the bars, then reached out awkwardly and took the paper. Potter met his eyes as their hands almost touched, then gave him a nod before setting off down the corridor.

Snape waited until he heard the door swing shut, then murmured, "Thank you, Potter."

***

Potter…the last person on earth whom he'd ever would've thought he'd find himself struggling over how to word a thank you.

He chose, in the end, to just come out and say it. He stood at the bars and leant casually against the frame of the doorway as he looked down at the man in the chair.

"I suppose I have you to thank for the tea." It wasn't a question, because Snape knew there could be no other explanation.

Potter tipped back in his seat, a look of amusement on his face. "So, was that your way of saying thank you, then?"

Snape found he was actually too grateful to even allow himself to be provoked, tempting as it was. "All right. Thank you." He swallowed a little more of his pride to say, "It does much to make the day bearable, and you were under no compulsion to think of such a thing, let alone arrange it." He felt like some huge barrier between the two of them had been felled by this small admission on his part. He couldn't imagine why, though. It was just tea, after all.

As if Potter had read his thoughts, he actually grinned at Snape and said, "Tea's a rather powerful motivator, isn't it? After all, we lost the American colonies because of tea."

Snape gave him a very small smile. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter."

All four legs of the chair hit the floor with a thud. "Now he gives me points," Potter whinged. "You never did, you know. Give me points."

"Oh, I know. You never deserved them," he fired back.

Potter's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he stood and stationed himself just opposite Snape on the other side of the door. "I'm not stupid, Snape. I understood you had to put up an appearance of making my life miserable. What I don't understand now is why you had to put your heart and soul in it. I'm talking about those times when no one but you or I would've known. Wouldn't have been any skin off your back to lay off a little when no one else was around."

"So…you believe I mistreated you to misdirect the Dark Lord?"

"Well, yeah. That makes sense, doesn't it? If he ever looked into your memories, he'd never suspect anything that way. Makes sense to me."

Snape sneered at him. "And what of your own mind, Potter? Given your own pathetic Occlumency skills, what might the Dark Lord have seen—how did you put it—had I 'laid off a little'?" At the look on Potter's face, he nodded. "Exactly. My mistreatment of you wasn't just out of concern for what he'd see in my mind. I was more concerned with what he'd see in yours. It was a matter of self-preservation on my part. Sanctioned by the Headmaster, by the way." He watched as the expression on Potter's face moved from incredulity to comprehension.

"That's it? You made my life miserable to protect your own?" Potter shook his head. "I don't believe for a minute that was all of it. You forget, Snape, I know how much you hated my father."

Snape shrugged. "That only made it easier. You are your father's son, Potter."

"Oh really. And how would you even know that, Snape? You don't know anything about me."

"The apple never falls far from the tree," Snape murmured.

Potter was glaring at him now. "Tell me something. Do you look like your father?" At the look on Snape's face, he continued, "So, that must mean you resemble him in other ways as well. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he mimicked.

Snape had pushed off from the doorjamb, breathing heavily. "I'm nothing like my father, and I'll thank you to keep your observations to yourself, given you know nothing about me."

"So, why don't you practice what you preach, Snape?"

Potter stood and collected his cloak, and with a slight nod, he was gone down the hallway. Snape wondered if there would be tea with his evening meal.

***

Potter…the last person on earth with whom he would've ever believed he'd be spending a Christmas Day.

It was his second Yule season in Azkaban, and he supposed he'd be spending it much like the first one. Except this time, he had a devoted weekly visitor whom he doubted would let the occasion pass without putting in an appearance. Christmas had always been a day that'd taken him unawares, and had it not been for Albus Dumbledore's insistence on keeping the holiday for his staff, Severus would've gladly let the day pass him by without even noticing.

But here was Potter…awkwardly pushing a wrapped package through the bars.

Snape gave him a withering look, then reluctantly took it. "A gift, how kind of you," he said half-heartedly, feeling himself in uncharted territory. "I regret that I have nothing for you, Potter. I had to curtail my usual holiday shopping this year," he said dryly, as he carefully removed the colorful wrapping. He didn't waste anything these days, so he made certain not to tear it as he opened the gift.

He stood there with the shiny new volume in his hands. "'A Tale of Two Cities,'" he murmured as he turned it to look at the dust cover. He looked sharply at Potter. "Dickens," he simply said as he looked out at the man.

Potter was watching him anxiously. "Is it all right, then? You said you liked Dickens. I've never read anything beyond "A Christmas Carol," but this one has high suspense and drama in it, so I thought…" He stopped. "Wait. Have you read this one?"

Snape made a non-committal noise, still reading the jacket cover. "Hmmm, yes, but it was very long ago. I rather liked it, if I recall." He looked up at Potter. "You should read this, Potter. It's one of his best. You do read, don't you?" He was flipping through the pages, then froze at the title page, where Harry had inscribed a greeting. "Happy Christmas, Severus. December 25, 2000."

Severus looked up at him in surprise. "Quite a personal gift, Potter. Severus?"

Potter flushed—not a rare occurrence nowadays, now that they'd got down to discussing everything from Potter's daily routine to his miserable failures with the opposite sex, from Snape's brief romantic liaisons to his colorless life of the recent past.

Something in Snape softened as he watched him. "You may call me whatever you like. I suppose it's not out of the realm of the expected, given that you've been visiting me weekly for…" He didn't finish, realizing that he'd have to think to put a finger on how much time had passed.

Potter supplied the answer for him. "Sixteen months," he said quietly.

Snape peered out at him. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time? Shouldn't you be off at the Weasleys' or with the werewolf having eggnog and plum pudding?"

He should've known, he told himself later, when his dinner arrived whilst Potter was still there. He watched with amazement as a small table was dragged into his cell, then laid out for two, after which Potter stepped in to allow himself to be locked in for the meal. Snape stood stock still as he looked down at the repast—the usual Christmas fare replete with the aforementioned elements. Oh, and not to be forgotten, the cursed Christmas cracker. He looked up at Potter blankly.

Motioning for Snape to sit on the edge of his cot, Potter dragged the small table carefully so that Snape was now perched on one side of it. He dragged his visitor's day chair to the opposite one. He smiled slightly at the look on Snape's face. "Even the Minster can be generous at Christmas," he told him as he motioned to Snape to begin.

"You asked him to do this?" Snape asked, still unable to pick up his fork.

Potter shrugged. "I don't ask for much, so he listens when I do." He looked up to see that Snape had not yet begun to eat. For a moment he looked perplexed. "What? I thought you'd be glad to have a decent meal for once."

Snape finally picked up his fork, but still did not begin to eat, watching the man across from him as he served himself. "You don't make sense, Potter. You never have," he said hoarsely, which made Potter look up in concern.

"Do something for me, all right?" Potter put his fork down and studied him intently.

Snape stiffened; he'd known there'd be some sort of catch—there always was, even for the benevolent Harry Potter—although, Snape couldn't imagine what he'd be able to do for the man. He regarded him warily. "Me, do something for you?" he asked, the disbelief evident in his voice.

Potter was now buttering a scone and did not look at him as he said, "Would it kill you to call me Harry? I rather like my name, and I rarely hear it anymore."

This was it. Ah, but not so innocent a request as it sounded. He ignored the question and asked one of his own. "What makes you think I deserve all of this?"

Potter looked up in surprise and glanced around the small cell and its meager furnishings and the few possessions Snape now had. "I don't think you deserve it, Severus. I used to think you did, but now…" He didn't finish but held Snape's eyes.

Snape realized that he'd been misunderstood. "That's not what I meant, Potter. I meant…this." He pointed to the meal and the book lying to the side.

"Oh. Well, when I thought of who I wanted to spend the day with..." He shot Snape a closed look. "You came to mind for some reason. Disturbing, isn't it?" He gave up all pretence of eating and looked at Snape with a strange expression now. "For some reason, I couldn't stand the thought of you sitting here all day alone. It's Christmas, for God's sake," he muttered as he started to serve Snape who had yet to serve himself.

Snape watched him until he sat back and picked up his fork again to eat. "Yes, disturbing would be my choice of word as well." He looked down at his plate, and for the first time in months, was suddenly ravenous.

***

Potter stood awkwardly to the side as the jailor cleared the table from the cell, then followed him out and waited while the door was once again secured. Once the man had started down the corridor, he turned to Snape and raised an eyebrow.

"So, I guess that's it for today." He traced a finger down one of the bars, not looking at Snape.

Snape had been dreading this moment, if only because it would require him to do something contrary to his nature, especially given it was Potter. He took a deep breath, resolved, and let the strange phrase roll off his tongue. "Thank you for coming, and…" He gestured behind him. "…for the book and the festivities. I was surprised, and that's a rarity for me these days…." He stood and watched the man, then was perplexed by the look of…disappointment on Potter's face. He wondered for a moment over what he'd just said, but then suddenly remembered…ah, yes.

"Harry," Severus finished, and was immediately rewarded by a spark of satisfaction in the man's eyes. Well, it was what he'd wanted, Severus reasoned to himself, and such a small thing really, considering….

Severus leant against the jamb, and would've denied that he strained to watch the man as he set off down the hallway. But he did, nonetheless.

***

Potter…damn it to hell…Harry…the last person whom he would've ever expected to pity him.

Severus had awakened several days ago to find himself in Azkaban's dreary infirmary. He'd lain there for a moment, then slowly the events of the past—how long had it been anyway?—days slowly drifted across his consciousness: overwhelming fatigue, loss of appetite, shaking chills, a pounding headache, fever, then…he supposed…delirium. Actually, blissful oblivion, no doubt cut short by the man sitting at his bedside who'd actually been the one, it turned out, who'd demanded that Severus be immediately relocated here for medical care, if one could really call it that.

He made an effort to speak, but when all that he managed was a hoarse croak, the figure in the chair leant forward to offer him some water.

"It's about time, Severus. You've been out for two days," Harry said as he retook his seat, his eyes betraying his concern.

Severus drained the glass, then looked at him wearily. "What's wrong with me?" he finally asked in a whisper.

Harry pulled his chair closer. "You had pneumonia, but you don't anymore. Wizards aren't usually sick with it for long, but in your case," he sighed as he shook his head, "you didn't fight it off as you should have—lack of resistance, so they said."

Severus looked around and saw that they were the only wizards in the room. "I don't remember much of it," he admitted, "except for the commotion you made." He looked away as he lamented, "I might've died, Harry, so I'm not sure it was a good turn you did me."

The sound of the glass being forcefully slammed onto the bedside table made him look over in surprise. Harry had stood and was now poised at the end of the bed, his knuckles white where he gripped the metal frame.

"You're an ass, you know that, Severus?" Then he turned on his heels and left Severus staring at his retreat.

"Why would you think otherwise?" he called after him, but Harry was already out of earshot.

***

Harry…the last person on earth whom he would've ever envisioned as a Saturday night companion.

But here they were, sitting on either side of a chess board, now a regular occurrence on Harry's visits here. Severus had to admit that the man must've wielded a considerable amount of clout to maneuver these circumstances. He now spent his time with Severus inside his cell, perched on a chair to have tea and, just as often, share his evening meal. On those occasions, the food was remarkably better and even, from time to time, was accompanied by a rather passable wine or aperitif, which was why on this particular evening Severus could claim that his usual reserve had been sacrificed at the bacchanal altar.

"You're making this disgustingly easy tonight," Severus told him as he took his second bishop.

"Hmm, yeah," Harry muttered as he stared at the board.

Severus tapped his fingers on the table as he waited, then stopped suddenly when Harry looked up at him in annoyance. "Pardon me," he murmured in response as he placed his hand in his lap, but let out a sigh of impatience.

"It couldn't have been easy..." Harry made an effort at nonchalance as he placed a fingertip on a pawn."...killing him." Severus sat back, momentarily stunned, watching as Harry slowly slid the pawn into place, then straightened up and looked Severus full in the face.

The game was completely forgotten now. Severus reached up and framed his forehead with a hand. "You've no idea," he said softly, peering out at him.

"Try me," Harry directed him quietly, and Severus thought he heard desperation in his voice.

He leant forward and placed both elbows on the table, then shocked even himself when he reached over and grabbed Harry's chin with his hand. Their faces just inches apart, Severus told him, "Imagine the most important person in your life, someone who's only ever shown you kindness, someone who's been both a mentor and a father, someone who's believed for the best in you, someone who's helped you find a purpose and a future." He paused and searched Harry's eyes, then concluded with ice in his voice, "Then imagine that person is dying and nothing you can do can save him, and in the end, at his request, you kill him with an Unforgivable." He only released him after he'd asked the question. "Can you imagine that, hmm? Have you ever even known someone like that in your life?" He was startled to see the green eyes suddenly fill with tears.

"Yes," Harry mumbled, almost incoherently. When Severus gave him a quizzical look, he admitted, "Dumbledore was like a father to me too." Then he added in almost a whisper, "But I can't imagine having to kill him like you did."

***

Harry…the last person on earth whom Severus ever would've thought he'd be wondering about his personal life.

That startling revelation, over the chess board months ago, had surprised Severus more than he'd cared to admit. He'd been certain that Harry would have nothing in his past that could parallel his own, but then he'd been forced to face the uncomfortable truth: they both mourned the loss of the aged wizard, probably more than anyone else in the Wizarding world. He supposed he should have realized long ago how important the old man had been to Harry, but the fact was that he'd been so blinded by the "boy's" resistance to learning Occlumency that he'd seen little else but willfulness and arrogance. Well, even he himself was wrong on occasion, but he had to admit that missing this attachment had been a rather large gaffe. He found it unsettling and…comforting at the very same time.

Several months ago, Severus had celebrated his third Christmas in Azkaban. Harry had brought him a bag full of Muggle works of fiction and a large, downy comforter for his cot, but Severus' favorite gift had been the chocolate bars. His own gift to Harry at the time had been something intangible once again.

***

They'd been both sitting on his cot, their backs against the wall, savoring the last of the bottle of Glenlivet that Harry had brought to fete the day. The soft comforter lay across their laps, and Severus supposed they looked a bit odd that way, and shuddered to think of such a picture of domesticity making its way into the Daily Prophet. He could just imagine the headline, "Boy Who Lived and Imprisoned Death Eater Share Bed and Christmas Dinner." He snickered to himself, and Harry gave him a sideways look.

"What?"

"I think we might appear a bit strange," Severus told him as he pulled the coverlet up to his chin.

The man laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right. Your good reputation would be shot to hell, that's for sure."

"Not to mention your own," Severus retorted.

"Hmm, nah, I think I've already been there and back several times," Harry told him with a laugh.

Severus found his curiosity had been piqued. "Enlighten me." All right, this was a milestone, he realized. He was asking Harry questions about his personal life, which was disconcerting in and of itself, but even worse was the fact that he was truly interested. He shook the feeling off easily—after all, they were both a little looser than they normally were, given Harry's generous gift.

"Whatever could you have done to sully your sterling reputation, Harry? I can't even begin to imagine."

Harry twisted slig...