Dear Severus Snape (Snarry Fanfiction)

Chapter Forty Four

Notes: Wow, we're at 100,000 words! Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Almost the whole chapter is from Snape's POV, hope you like it!

It was odd being back at his old quarters at Hogwarts. Snape felt as though he was standing in the middle of a strangers living room.

The new Hogwarts Potions master had opted to stay closer to the Gryffindor tower, claiming that he wasn't much of a fan of the dungeons. That left Snape's quarters untouched, looking exactly as they had nearly a year ago.

There was a thin layer of dust on everything, and he didn't bother to vanish it. He was simply too exhausted to perform magic at the moment.

It was early in the morning, perhaps around 5. He was eagerly awaiting the morning newspaper, curious as to what they had written about him. He usually did not pay attention to such rubbish as The Daily Prophet, but he needed to know what they had written about him and Harry.

The foolish boy had certainly shown more memories than Severus had counted on, not to mention that dreadful house elf. Since when had house elves been used in a court of law, anyway?

He couldn't be angry at the house elf, though. It had surely had it's memories ripped from it's mind without warning or consent. It seemed somewhat barbaric, the more he thought about it, and he wondered if Granger was still working on S.P.E.W.

He had always thought her crazy, but perhaps she had a point. As much as he loathed to admit it, she was quite brilliant, and could probably accomplish nearly anything she wanted.

His thoughts about Granger led him to think about Weasley, and of course, Potter. The golden trio had clearly had a change in dynamic, and Snape had a sinking feeling that it was because of him. The Weasley boy had surely been glaring daggers and both him and Harry, and he looked quite ill when Harry's memories had been played for the world to see.

Harry and those damn memories. What had the boy been thinking?

He was thinking about your safety, A voice in his head murmured.

He pointedly ignored the voice, and began to drum his fingers against the small kitchen table he sat in front of.

His thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation he had with Minerva last night, as much as he tried not to think about it.

He would not deny that he had grown to care about Harry, but surely he didn't feel that way towards him? He had not allowed himself to have such feelings since.... well, he had never really allowed himself to have feelings for anyone before.

Sure, he had experienced one-night-stands before, but that was hardly the same. They had merely been a way for him to relieve his stress, and they met little-to-nothing to him.

Surely this was no different? He wasn't used to people caring for him, and Harry talked about his life with such... passion, it made him want to do anything he could to make the younger wizard happy. It made him want to do everything he had never had the opportunity to do before. It made him want to change.

But how did one even go about that?

Yes, Harry was different than the others. He wasn't a simple one-night-stand. There was nothing simple about him at all. And there was certainly nothing simple about their relationship.