Over the next month, Harry spent more time with Snape, learning about his father’s life and the events that led to the deception orchestrated by Dumbledore. While the adjustment was slow and occasionally strained, Harry found himself growing more comfortable around Snape. There was something oddly reassuring about the man’s sharp wit and quiet protectiveness.
Snape, for his part, began to see shades of himself in Harry—not just in his looks, but in his stubborn determination and occasional bursts of sarcastic humor. It was bittersweet; every moment spent with Harry reminded him of the years they had lost.
One evening, Harry sat in Snape’s quarters, a cup of tea warming his hands. He glanced around at the shelves lined with books and jars of mysterious ingredients.
“This place is...cozy,” Harry admitted.
Snape raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware ‘cozy’ was a compliment.”
Harry smirked. “Well, it’s better than the cupboard under the stairs.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Harry’s words hanging in the air. Snape’s jaw tightened.
“They had no right to treat you that way,” Snape said, his voice low but intense. “If I had known...”
“You didn’t,” Harry interrupted gently. “And...it’s not like you could have done anything back then. But you’re here now.”
Snape met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco had noticed the changes in Harry. He seemed lighter somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But there was still an edge of uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely let show.
One afternoon in the library, Hermione sat across from Harry, a stack of books between them.
“You’re doing better,” Hermione said softly.
Harry glanced up, his brow furrowing. “You think so?”
She nodded. “I can see it. You’re still adjusting, but...you seem more at peace.”
Harry hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just...weird, you know? I spent years thinking Snape hated me, and now I find out he’s my dad. It’s hard to reconcile.”
Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his. “Give it time. Relationships like this don’t happen overnight.”
Harry looked down at their hands, warmth spreading through him at her touch. “Thanks, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hermione blushed slightly but smiled. “You’d manage. You always do.”
As Harry’s bond with Snape deepened, so did his friendship with Hermione. They spent hours together, studying, talking, and even just sitting in comfortable silence. Draco occasionally teased Harry about his obvious affection for Hermione, but Harry brushed it off, insisting they were just friends.
But one evening, as Harry watched Hermione laugh at something Draco said, he felt a pang in his chest. It wasn’t the usual warmth of friendship—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.
Later, as they walked back to the common room, Hermione glanced at him curiously.
“Are you okay, Harry? You’ve been quiet.”
“Yeah,” Harry said quickly. “Just...thinking.”
“About?”
Harry hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just stuff.”
Hermione gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further.
One night, as Harry sat in Snape’s quarters, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace, Snape spoke up.
“You care about her, don’t you?”
Harry looked up, startled. “Who?”
Snape gave him a pointed look. “Miss Granger.”
Harry felt his face heat up. “I...I mean, she’s my best friend.”
Snape raised a brow. “And yet, the way you look at her suggests otherwise.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but stopped. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s always been there for me, you know? Through everything. And now...I think I’m starting to see her differently.”
Snape studied him for a moment before speaking. “If that’s the case, don’t wait too long to tell her. Life is unpredictable, Harry. Don’t waste the time you have.”
Harry nodded slowly, the weight of Snape’s words settling over him.
The next day, Harry found Hermione in the library, as usual. She was engrossed in a massive tome, her hair falling into her face as she scribbled notes.
“Hermione?” Harry said, his voice quieter than usual.
She looked up, her expression softening when she saw him. “What’s up?”
Harry hesitated, his heart pounding. “I...I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. For being there for me.”
Hermione frowned slightly. “Harry, you don’t have to thank me. That’s what friends do.”
“I know,” Harry said quickly. “But...you’re more than just a friend, Hermione. At least, to me.”
Hermione blinked, clearly surprised. “What are you saying, Harry?”
He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I think...I think I’m falling for you, Hermione.”
For a moment, Hermione said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.
“I think I’ve been falling for you too,” she admitted softly.
Harry felt his heart soar, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.
YOU ARE READING
Harry Potter
Hayran Kurguwhat if Harry got sorted into Slytherin? what if he was really snapes son but got kidnapped by the potters and was told his son died? read to find out The cover isnt mine I just edited it a bit
