Heart of the Guardian

13. Remedial Potions

They had ended the evening with tea, Potter sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, Snape on one of the chairs, watching him. The boy was clearly exhausted, but his eyes remained wide, staring. Snape insisted he take Draught of Dreamless Sleep, though he doubted the boy would stir once his head hit the pillow. Indeed, the boy had been nearly asleep on his feet when Snape led him to the bed he Summoned from the stores on the seventh floor to the empty fourth room. He removed Potter's glasses and shoes, and loosened his belt and collar, then pulled a light cover over him. He lit a fire in the fireplace in the room, and sat down carefully at the foot of the bed, studying the boy's face, until he was sure Potter was asleep. After a few minutes, he sighed, rose as quietly as he could, and went to his own room, where he fell into an exhausted, mostly dreamless sleep, though some part of him listened for any sign the boy needed him.

When he rose early the next morning, Potter was still asleep. During the night, he had curled around his pillow, clutching it tightly, but the covers were otherwise undisturbed. He'd had a peaceful night, then. Snape turned back to his study, snapping his fingers at the table as he passed.

He sat at his desk and pulled parchment and ink to him. His quill scratched softly on the parchment as he worked. His first letter was to Kingsley at the Ministry. The second was to McGonagall, also in London. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled another piece of parchment toward him, and, somewhat less steadily, penned a third, longer missive. He was sealing the last of the letters when Potter came hesitantly out of the fourth room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Snape gestured to the table, and the boy wandered over without comment and sat in front of one of the place settings. Snape pressed his sigil into the wax seal, placed the envelope on top of the other two, and joined the boy.

"Breakfast," he murmured, and their plates filled with scrambled eggs, savory sausage, warm toast and blueberry jam. The ever-present pumpkin juice was accompanied by other choices – hot Irish breakfast tea, ice cold milk, and apple juice. Fresh summer fruits were sliced neatly into bowls. They ate without a word, the previous evening making them slightly awkward with each other.

Snape finished his scant meal before the boy, who was chasing egg around his plate, albeit slowly, his head down. He poured himself another cup of tea, added honey and milk, and stretched his crossed legs out under the table, watching the boy with hooded eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Potter looked up, then back down at his plate. "Nothing," he said quietly.

"It is perfectly obvious something is on your mind, Potter. You look as if you just lost the Quidditch cup to Slytherin."

The boy gave a snort at that. Better.

Snape leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, rotating his teacup idly in his still-thin hands. The boy twitched a shoulder, feeling Snape observe him, but kept his gaze on his plate.

"Let's have no secrets between us, Potter."

"It's 'Harry'."

Snape hesitated.

"Potter," he said. "I'll not keep secrets from you – not anymore. I am done with all that," he said with a bitterness he had not intended to voice. He raised a hand slightly to forestall what Potter was going to say. "Let me finish."

The boy nodded.

He took a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"Ask me anything," he said. "You know most of my secrets anyway, given that damned Pensieve," he said wryly, shaking his head. "I will answer if I can. No –" he said in response to the look on the boy's face. "There are some things that are not mine to tell, stories that belong to other people, and I will not betray their confidence. But if I can answer a question, if it is mine to tell, I will. You can ask anything. I'll tell you if I can; I promise. No more lies," he said, raising his fingers to draw them across his forehead, tired of it – all of it.