A new beginning

Tea

At some point, Snape's right arm took a life of its own and allowed his fingers to drum slowly on Potter's back. Harry was comforted by this. It was strange, but it somehow reminded him of his mum and dad. As if they had done it to him when he was a baby. And yet not quite. It was a different kind of comfort. But it reminded him of something, something from a long time ago, and yet, of nothing at all.

Snape continued to stare straight ahead. Potter's head was resting just below his shoulder. The rest of the boy's body was leaning slightly against his left leg. His arm was still wrapped around the tiny body, pressed against the rising chest, captured by Potter's two arms. It had been a few minutes now since Potter's tears stopped dampening his sleeve, and yet he was sure the child needed as much comfort now as he did through the crying.

It was a very strange feeling. Surprisingly, Snape did not feel as anxious and uncomfortable as he thought he should. He was not accustomed to offering physical comfort to anybody, much less a Potter. Even if this was Lilly's son. But he was at ease nonetheless.

A deep and somewhat shaky breath broke through Harry's mouth, his hand wiping at his nose. He sat up, slowly releasing the professor's arm in the process. He wiped his nose again. He felt so stupid.

Snape tore his eyes away from the wall as soon as he felt Potter sit up. Rested them at the top of the mop of black hair. They needed to talk. Obviously, there were still some rules that needed to be instated, actions to be addressed. But every time he thought of how to bring the topic up, it got stuck on his tongue. It was absurd.

"I...," said Harry, breaking Snape away from his thoughts. "I'm..." he tried again unsuccessfully. He wanted to apologize. But he couldn't. He did not feel he deserved to be heard. He was a liar.

Harry looked down at his own hands, only now realizing he was still holding onto the man's sleeve. Tears filled his eyes once again. It should have been impossible considering how much he cried seconds ago, but the sight of Snape's hand on his knee was making him feel even worse. The man had not moved. Pushed him aside. Even as he held onto him as if his life depended on it. Another shaky breath and the ache in his chest grew again. Snape was still silent. Allowing him to hold him. Like a baby. And he was sitting on the man's lap. He was a stupid baby. Who cried and cried and...

Snape felt a shift in the young boy resting on his knee. He saw the tears form in Potter's eyes once again, and could not help the bit of annoyance that rose inside of him. The dramatics! It was just a smacking. A very well deserved smacking and yet Potter acted as though it was the end of the world. Was still acting rather. But something about the way the child was looking at his still-imprisoned hand told him those tears, the feelings Potter was fighting, came from somewhere else. It was not pain or even resentment. It was different.

"Potter" called Snape after deliberating for a few seconds. The child turned sideways immediately, wiping his eyes and nose once again. Snape stared at the green eyes. "Join me for tea."

Harry's eyes widened in slight alarm. Never in his life had he been asked to tea. In fact, his aunt and uncle had never even allowed him to be near tea time. He was meant to be quietly in his room well before that. Of course, he had sneaked down on some occasions and tried one of the cups left behind by his uncle's guests as everyone was saying their goodbyes by the door. In his opinion, it was not a good drink. The bits he had tried were very bitter and full of black speckles that got stuck to his tongue. But he couldn't say that to the man. He could not admit to not liking the drink or sneaking about to try it for Snape was sure to turn it into some sort of ridicule or punishment or something.

"Yes, sir," was all that Harry said. His tongue felt a bit dry at the prospect of drinking tea. And yet, he was once again filled with an overwhelming need to cry. Snape, the man he hated from the beginning, who he was meant to hate still and that had openly hated him in return, was the first person to invite him to tea. He should not be feeling like crying. There was no need. And yet, he could not help it.