Serving Penance • Snarry •

Chapter 3

Harry was not comfortable asking him face-to-face for a scar fading solution and so left a note and a pile of Galleons in the laboratory. He pre-emptively copied instructions from one of the library books at Grimmauld Place and picked up the correct ingredients. Harry had taken to replenishing supplies under the cover of night. Looking around the lab, he wanted to tidy and clean after Snape finished for the day, but he invariably left it in pristine condition.

Without Wolfsbane, he bit and scratched himself during his transformations, and basic healing spells and dittany could only achieve so much. A normal wizard simply went to an apothecary and got what he needed, or even used owl-order, but he was just so ashamed.

The sole positive in all this horror was that he could help support Snape. It was so wrong that someone that served Hogwarts and the wizarding world for so long had so little to his name. He wasn't sure if he was being optimistic, but he thought Snape had filled out more, and looked more well-rested. His hair was freshly cut, and he stood taller. He wore sweeping robes reminiscent of Harry's school days, and Harry hadn't seen the patched shirt and trousers since May. Although he must be nearing forty, he didn't look a day over thirty. Something Harry still found difficult to get used to was the reality that wizards lived past one hundred and fifty years old. Professor McGonagall at nearly a hundred was still far from retirement age.

Harry took better care of his appearance, too. On days when he expected Snape's company, he showered and shaved. He kept his hair cut short and always put on fresh clothes. Even the mirrors had noticed.

On an afternoon when he wasn't brewing Wolfsbane, Harry asked Snape to go with him to a house he had bought in Southampton. To his surprise, he said yes. Harry hoped to rent it out in a couple of months' time.

Snape, though never the chatty type, appeared quieter than normal as they walked around the house. As he was a cash buyer, the sale had gone through quickly.

"It's a bit of a fixer-upper, isn't it," Harry said, screwing up his nose.

"Indeed." Snape reached out a long finger to snap peeling paint off the kitchen wall. Harry peered out of the grubby window that overlooked the back garden.

"Are there spells to get rid of the cigarette smell?"

"Undoubtedly. A house such as this would occupy your elf for a period of time."

"This is more to occupy me. Though I'm hoping the magic I learn to upgrade this place will help improve Grimmauld Place, too."

Snape twisted a squeaky tap in the kitchen sink. No water came out. "Reparo!" he said, tapping it with his wand. Water flowed out in fits and starts.

"Nice!" At Severus's face, he clarified, "Well. It's a good start. Gives me hope for the rest of the house."

"You could just hire Muggle contractors. Do they still have the Yellow Pages?"

Harry blinked. It was incongruous that Snape knew about the Yellow Pages. "I guess so. But where would the fun be in that?" he said, grinning.

There was no particular rush to rent it out as he didn't need the cash, but he felt idle doing nothing all day with no social life outside of Snape, Kreacher and Somnus. Hardly the paragon of a lively social schedule. Two of them weren't even human. But then neither was he, he supposed.

****

On the day of the full moon, Harry awoke at five-thirty as abruptly and absolutely as if someone had yelled in his ear. For minutes, he remained stock-still as the prospect of tonight crowded every tiny particle of his brain, then, unable to bear it, he leapt out of bed and put on his glasses. Night was coming, whether or not he was ready for it. There was no point in wallowing with his head under the blankets. He needed to get over it.