Chapter 3 - Dungeon Dwellers
He couldn't believe this was happening. Bad enough he had to spend potions class in this man's company, but to be now expected to live with him! Oh, he had no doubt he'd find a way to survive it. After all it couldn't be any worse than the years he'd endured with the Dursleys. But the school terms had always been his one reprieve from that nightmare - living in the Gryffindor Tower had been like some wonderful dream he looked forward to all summer. The idea that he'd never have that again made him sick to his stomach. To give up Gryffindor Tower in favor of the dank, dark dungeons!
Snape led him down through the bowels of the castle, down several dark, poorly lit corridors, their steps echoing ominously in the stone hallways. He paused finally before a portrait of Salazar Slytherin and a very large snake.
"The password is Eldorado," Snape said for both the painting's and Harry's benefit. The portrait slid open and Harry followed Snape into the chambers that would be his new home from now on.
Harry paused in the doorway. Not quiet what he expected. Despite being in the dungeons and lacking the high windows he was used to having in Gryffindor Tower, the main room actually reminded him somewhat of the Gryffindor common room. Well furnished - though the primary color scheme was green and not red, thick rugs on the floor, a plush couch by the magically burning fireplace, comfortable-looking chairs on either side. There was even a Wizarding chess set waiting in a well-lit corner of the room. Candles and oil lamps illuminated the place more brightly than he'd expected, and despite being in the dungeons, it didn't feel at all damp. Or cold.
The walls were draped with tapestries much like the ones he'd seen throughout the rest of the castle, and there were several doors off this main one which Harry guessed led to other chambers. Snape he noticed had taken off his outer robe, tossing it over the back of the couch. The man walked toward a sideboard where he poured himself a tumbler full of an amber-colored liquid and downed it in one gulp. Harry took his distraction as an opportunity to glance into some of the other rooms - a well furnished office off to one side, a potions workroom off of that, a private library, and a rather enormous bedroom with a private bath. While he was looking inside, Dobby appeared, along with his trunk, which he had not yet managed to unpack.
"Here is Harry Potter's belongings," Dobby announced. "Harry Potter is having to stay in the dungeons now, and Dobby is certain to visit him often!" The little elf smiled happily up at Harry as if delighted by the turn of events - but Harry had never really figured out just what sorts of things the house elves did and did not understand. "Will Harry Potter be wanting Dobby to help him with anything?"
"No, thanks, Dobby," Harry assured him. "Thanks for bringing my things."
Dobby grinned from ear to ear. "Harry Potter is considered himself most gratefully thanked for his kindness." And with that the little elf vanished again.
Harry stared down at his trunk, then looked over at Professor Snape who was staring at him now as if he were some sort of insect he'd trapped under a microscope. Harry shifted uncomfortably, but when no words were forthcoming from either of them, he sighed and dragged his trunk off to one side, shoving it up against a wall in the main room and out of the way. Snape poured himself another drink and Harry worried suddenly that the man was planning on getting himself good and drunk. He wasn't certain he would know precisely how to deal with a drunk Snape. At least the man wasn't looking at him any longer.
"Excuse me, sir?" he asked quietly. Snape stiffened, but didn't turn. "Where am I supposed to sleep?" As far as he could see there was only the one bedroom.
"You can sleep in the closet for all I care, Potter!" Snape snarled as he turned and pinned Harry with a black glare.
Harry flinched and took a step back, his insides freezing, his heart fluttering at the words, memories of ten years of small cramped quarters suddenly returning with a vengeance in a most unexpected way. He'd run away from Hogwarts before he'd go through that again!
His reaction seemed to have startled Snape and to Harry's surprise the man's glare faded instantly, his face paling. Harry saw his grip tighten momentarily on the drink he was holding, then he quickly set it aside, taking a hesitant step toward Harry. "I'm sorry," his words were even more unbelievable considering Harry had never heard him express remorse for anything. "That was. . .I didn't mean to say that. I wasn't thinking. Please accept my apology." The man actually looked vaguely sick, and Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out if it was actual remorse for his words, or over the idea of apologizing for anything.
Harry just nodded tightly, wrapping his arms around himself against an imagined chill. He said nothing more, waiting for Snape to remember his initial question. The man seemed to gather himself again, and glanced briefly at the couch and then just sighed in resignation. "The bed is big enough for the both of us, Mr. Potter," he informed him, and Harry paled at his words. "And it would look odd if anyone found you sleeping on the couch. I wouldn't put it past Fudge to send spies to investigate."
"You expect me to. . ." Harry sputtered in shock.
"Mr. Potter," Snape's anger returned full blown. "Trust me, I'm no happier about this situation than you are. But we are both stuck, and at some point must bow to certain inevitabilities, one being that we will be unable to avoid spending a certain amount of time in each other's company. But despite what I said to Minister Fudge earlier, I assure you your virtue is quite safe from me!"
Harry felt his face burning red in embarrassment at his words, growing hotter as the man added in the most mocking tone he'd ever heard, "I trust you can offer me the same assurances?"
"You don't actually think I would-" Harry sputtered.
"No, I don't, Mr. Potter," Snape cut him off. "Please extend the same courtesy to me!"
"Fine!" Harry glared at him. "I'm going to bed!" He grabbed his pajamas out of his trunk and all but ran for the relative safety of the bedroom, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. He hated that man! Hated him! And it was all he could do from keeping from kicking the walls in fury.
He sat down on the edge of an enormous tub and attempted to get his emotions back under control. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't imagine how Dumbledore expected the two of them to live together without killing one another. The temptation to draw his wand and hex Snape into oblivion was almost overwhelming. Instead he stripped out of his clothes and climbed into the enormous tiled tub, noting with some surprise that Snape actually had a shower rigged in the plumbing - a rarity in the castle, but a necessity he supposed for a Potions Master. One never knew when a cauldron might explode all over you.
He took a quick shower, changed into his pajamas, and then headed cautiously out into the bedroom. To his relief there was no sign of Snape.
He stared at the enormous canopied bed on the far side of the room, green curtains of course. Snape was right - the bed was big enough for two. Big enough for four or five if they were really fond of one another. But the very idea of ever climbing willingly into Severus Snape's bed! He shivered. Bloody hell!
In the flickering candlelight the golden ring on his right hand winked up at him. Married! To Snape. He wondered if that made him Harry Snape now? Or worse yet Severus Potter? His parents were probably turning over in the graves. And he couldn't imagine what his godfather would say when he found out. Sirius would probably return in a rage and rip Snape's throat out.
For some reason that thought actually made Harry feel better and he reluctantly walked over to the bed, and set his glasses and wand down on one of the nightstands. Then climbing onto the bed, he slid under the blankets, moving to the edge of the bed as far away from the other side as he could get without falling off the side. He thought he detected the faint scent of cinnamon on the sheets. Unable to sleep he lay on his back in silence, too strung out to really piece together coherent thoughts.
Perhaps twenty minutes later he heard the bedroom door open and Snape entered, heading toward the bathroom. Harry listened in brooding silence while the shower ran and he pointedly didn't try to picture the Potion Master in there bathing. Really, he told himself, this was ridiculous. He was in his most hated teacher's bed, for God sake! There had to be rules against this!
Rules in the Muggle world perhaps. But he wasn't in the Muggle world and he was beginning to suspect there was a whole set of rules in the Wizarding World he had yet to learn about. He never imagined the day would come when he'd actually find himself missing the sane familiarity of the Muggle world. But then when he really thought about it, how much stranger was it living in a cupboard under his uncle's stairs, wondering if he'd be allowed to eat sometime that week? He sighed, resigned to the fact that Muggle or Wizard, his life would never make sense.
Eventually Snape emerged from the bath, moving toward the large wardrobe that stood off to one side. Despite himself, Harry's eyes were drawn to the man.
Snape was dressed only in a pair of pajama bottoms, and was rummaging through the wardrobe for a shirt to pull on. It occurred to Harry that it probably meant Snape typically didn't wear any top to bed - and despite everything Harry found his gaze drawn to the man's torso. He wasn't certain what precisely he'd been expecting, robes hid a great deal -– certainly pale skin, perhaps a too thin frame, and, even though he'd already seen the dark mark once before, an unmarked body. That wasn't at all the reality. Pale skin yes, but the frame was muscled and strong - a young man in the prime of his life, a body athletic and defined suggesting that Snape lived a far more active life than Harry had ever imagined. And he'd been prepared he supposed for the dark mark on the forearm that he could see from even across the room - but he hadn't expected the flash of color on his right shoulder blade of a tattoo - a red rose entwined with a green serpent. A tattoo like that went against everything he knew about the dour Potions Master.
He also wasn't expecting the scars he could see here and there upon the pale skin - wounds that looked like they'd come from some sort of knife or blade. And then just as suddenly it was all gone from view as Snape pulled on a thin nightshirt, and Harry realized he'd actually been ogling the man. Horrified, he rolled over onto his side, turning his back to Snape and informing himself quite firmly that he hadn't found him in the least bit attractive.
Something occurred to him - the sight of the dark mark perhaps bringing it to the foreground. Voldemort was not going to be pleased by this turn of events. He'd long ago accepted the fact that he was first on a list of people Voldemort intended to kill - right along side Albus Dumbledore. He supposed that the moment word of this got out, Severus Snape's name would also be added to that list.
A moment later he felt the bed move, the mattress dipping slightly as Snape climbed into the other side of the bed, keeping well away from Harry, and the unreality of the situation struck Harry so hard he almost laughed. "I wonder why it chose you," he said out loud, before he had really made a conscious decision to speak. "I mean the Marriage Stone," he clarified without turning over. "Why did it choose you as my. . .why it would think that you and I. . ."
"Mr. Potter, I am not accustomed to chatting in bed," Snape's voice was sharp and cutting, and far closer than Harry was prepared for despite the fact that he knew the man was lying right next to him in this enormous bed that suddenly seemed ridiculously small.
"I am," he answered without thinking.
Snape let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Have vast amounts of worldly experience, do you?" he asked, voice filled with mockery.
Face burning red in embarrassment Harry turned over to glare at the man. "That's not what I meant!" he shouted. He was completely unprepared for the sight of Severus Snape lying beside him in bed, amusement and disdain shining in his eyes with equal parts. Harry sighed and lay back down. "Ron's bed is next to mine," he explained simply. "We talk at night." Something, he guessed, he'd be sorely missing now for the rest of his life.
"Do I in any way, shape or form remind you of Mr. Weasley?" Snape demanded. "Or is this perhaps your way of expressing your remorse that you did not take your friend up on his oh, so, noble offer to sacrifice his own dubious future with Ms. Granger and marry him instead of me? Something being noble Gryffindors they both no doubt offered, and you just as nobly had no choice but to refuse."
Shocked, Harry could only glare at him fury. "Were you born this hateful or did you take lessons somewhere?!"
"Years of practice, Mr. Potter!" Snape shouted back at him.
"I hate you!"
"Good! My life is complete! I've taught yet another Gryffindor how to hate. How ever am I going to top myself this time?!"
Harry strangled back a shriek of rage and turned his back on the man, rolling away from him. "Shut up and leave me alone!"
"Gladly!" Snape growled, and judging by the movement of the bed he too had turned his back on Harry.
Harry guessed Snape had also just won whatever argument they had just had - he'd certainly found a way of shutting Harry up. He closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts on finding ways of driving Severus Snape absolutely insane for his treatment of him. Muggle rock music maybe, he thought. He'd find himself a very loud stereo and start blasting the music every time Snape had papers to grade. Or a nice family reunion - first chance he got he was going to invite Sirius and Remus to come for an extremely long visit. And if there really was a Snape Manor, he was going to have it painted Gryffindor red!
Three hours later Severus Snape found himself lying awake in his bed unable to sleep despite the lateness of the hour. Of course it wasn't every night he was forced to share his bed with a young man nearly half his age. A rather attractive young man, he told himself bitterly. The whole situation was phenomenally unfair. And he would go to his grave blaming Dumbledore for it.
If he'd known that morning that he'd end the night as bond-mate to Harry Potter, he wouldn't have bothered getting out of bed in the first place. He'd never really liked Potter - granted he also never really hated the boy, not the way Potter believed he did. Most of his behavior was an act necessary to maintain his fiction as a loyal Death Eater. But even before he'd had to take up the mantel of spy, he had felt a certain enmity toward Harry Potter because of his father and godfather. Couldn't be helped really. Amazing how long resentment lasted.
And despite all that, he had noticed abstractly earlier that night when he'd first seen Potter in the great hall that the boy had matured into a very attractive young man. More attractive than his father had been certainly - took after his mother more and more each day. And much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he did admire the boy's courage. He didn't know anyone else in the world who would have attacked Voldemort with a broom of all things - certainly he would never have dreamed of simply stealing the Eye of Odin from the Dark Lord as if it were nothing more than a Snitch. There was something poetically Gryffindor about that whole battle.
But the resentment had lingered - mostly he supposed because he had imagined the boy basking in the adoration of his fans like some mindless celebrity - something he had no patience for at all. Even during his first year the idea of a boy-celebrity had turned his stomach. He'd imagined the boy brought up in the lap of luxury, pampered and spoiled his entire life for being nothing more than James Potter's son. One of the reasons he disliked Draco Malfoy as well - though he was much better at hiding his dislike of that particular student.
Of course Potter had to go and crush all those delusions as well. Locked in a cupboard, beaten and starved. Certainly sounded like the lap of luxury to him. Potter might not have realized it, but he had succeeded in kicking all of them in the teeth with that little revelation. The look on Dumbledore's face alone was one he'd never seen before. Not often the greatest wizard of the century miscalculated so grossly as that.
And the worse part was the way Potter had explained the situation - that his uncle had only starved him for five or six days at most, no big deal, no great hardship. Not like he was trying to kill him or anything. He wondered what else the boy had been forced to endure over these last fifteen years, and how he had restrained himself from screaming in mindless rage every time his Potions Master had mocked him for his celebrity status and spoiled lifestyle. Severus knew himself well enough to know that he would not have shown such restraint - not by half. He would have hexed his antagonizers to oblivion long ago. Case in point, the treatment he'd received from James Potter and Sirius Black when he was Harry's age had made him nearly as vicious as Lucius Malfoy was.
And now the boy was his bond-mate. If it wasn't so pathetically ridiculous he might actually enjoy the fact - God knows it was going to send Black through the roof, not to mention Malfoy and Voldemort. Lily and James Potter were probably spinning in their graves. And he was more than certain his own deceased parents were laughing in unrestrained glee.
"The boy needs you," Albus had tried that line of persuasion as a last tactic - something that still surprised Severus. The logic of Dumbledore's arguments had not moved him in the slightest, the fact that there was no one else available, that very few people could stand up to Fudge successfully, that it would be safer for him to give up his role as spy and join the forces of light once and for all. No, the one argument he'd been unable to find a decent counter to was the one argument he didn't believe for a moment. That somehow Harry Potter - or anyone for that matter - might actually NEED him. And he'd weakened and given in without further protest despite the evidence staring him the face that Potter had no need at all of him and hated the very idea of spending any more time with him than necessary for classes.
He could still feel Harry's hand shaking in his own as he'd gripped it during their so brief ceremony. Terrified - the boy who'd faced down Voldemort and an army of Death Eaters was terrified of the idea of spending any time in his company. Swell. Wonderful. Such little joys to brighten up his dismal life.
But regardless of Harry Potter's feelings, the fact remained that like it or not they were bonded now. Harry was his responsibility. And the sooner they both accepted it, the better off they would both be. Merlin knew they couldn't spend the rest of their life fighting like they had tonight - though he had to admit Harry looked rather lovely with his eyes blazing with rage, and his body quivering with anger.
He sighed in exasperation. He was not about to make advances toward a sixteen-year-old boy - even if they were married. Not to mention that he knew he would be rejected out of hand, and he'd never been fond of the idea of force despite the words he'd spoken so convincingly to Minister Fudge that night. He supposed Fudge imagined he was spending this night ravaging the hero of the Wizarding World. No doubt Black would accuse him of the same thing. He wasn't looking forward to the next few months.
A sound caught his attention and he rolled over to look at Harry. Still asleep, the boy was shaking his head fitfully. A moment later a whimper escaped from his lips and he began thrashing in the bed as if fighting with someone. A cry of terror replaced the whimper, bringing Severus fully awake as he sat up in shock. Uncertainly he reached out and touched Harry's shoulder, shaking him. "Potter!" he called, wanting to wake the boy up without startling him too terribly.
Harry cried out again, twisting away from his hand. "Potter!" he called louder, and the sharp sound of his voice brought Harry out of his sleep, though he continued to shudder and shrink away from him in the darkness.
"I'm sorry Uncle Vernon!" he cried out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He flinched away from Severus' hand, covering his head with his arms as if to ward off an expected blow.
Severus froze, several explanations springing to mind, none of them even remotely pleasant. He felt his heart clench in his chest, an icy chill gripping him. "Harry," he said more gently. "It's me. Severus." Then thinking that the boy might not recognize his given name, he added, "Snape. It's me, Snape. Wake up. You're having a nightmare."
Harry stilled at once, though his breath came in heavy deep gasps as he blinked up at him in the darkness of the curtained bed. "Professor?" he asked uncertainly.
Severus winced at that, not certain he was overly comfortable with someone calling him professor while lying beside him in bed. "Yes," he admitted.
"Sorry," Harry muttered. "Didn't mean to wake you." He looked amazingly vulnerable lying there trying not to shake or cry, and Snape had the sudden urge to comfort him.
"That's alright," he assured him. "I. . ." he sighed, not certain how to bring up this subject. "Is there a reason you would expect to find your uncle beside you instead of me?" Not perhaps the most tactful way of asking the question, but Severus had never really done tact.
Harry blinked at him in confusion. "What?"
"You called me Uncle Vernon when I woke you up," Severus explained. "When I mentioned the various methods of abuse earlier this evening, there was one sort I neglected to list. Did your uncle. . ."
"No!" Harry's voice broke in shock. "No!" he insisted again. "He'd never touch a freak like me!" To Severus' surprise the boy's voice was filled with utter contempt, and he was uncertain if it was directed at the hated uncle or at the boy himself. He guessed 'freak' was a term the uncle used to describe wizards.
"Then why did you think I was him?" he asked gently.
"I have nightmares," Harry shrugged. "All the time, every night. I woke them up screaming. Uncle Vernon would. . ." he broke off, looking away, his expression unreadable.
"Uncle Vernon would do what?"
"He'd throw things at me," Harry admitted. "From the doorway. To wake me. Shoes mostly. If I wanted to eat during the day I didn't dare fall asleep during the night and risk waking them up. I usually just use a silence charm on myself at night, but I'm not allowed to do magic over the summer."
Snape swallowed around a lump in his throat, tasting bile at the thought of this boy's uncle throwing shoes at him when he woke screaming in the night instead of comforting him like any sane man would. "You mean you use silence charms when you were in Gryffindor Tower so you wouldn't wake your friends?" He wondered if anyone knew what sorts of nightmares this boy had - even his best friends? Didn't sound very Gryffindor to him - surely his friends would have been happy to comfort him?
Harry just nodded miserably. "Yes, I'm sorry. I guess I just forgot tonight. It won't happen again." He reached out toward the wand he'd left on the bedside table with his glasses. Severus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"If I can't hear you, I won't be able to wake you," he pointed out.
His words caught Harry off guard, and the boy blinked up at him in confusion. "Why would you want to?"
Severus stared at him. The boy seemed genuinely baffled that he would want to help him. "Because that's what you do when someone has nightmares," he said simply.
The boy's confusion didn't fade in the slightest. "Better have lots of shoes handy then. I'll keep you awake all night."
He restrained himself admirably from strangling the boy. "Harry Potter, I am not going to hit you with a shoe!" he snarled in outrage, instantly regretting it when the boy flinched away from him. "I'm not your uncle," he added more gently. The boy didn't move, his expression unchanged, and it occurred to Severus then that this happy, go-lucky, trusting Gryffindor was neither happy nor lucky, and if he was reading the situation right, didn't trust anyone.
Severus turned toward the nightstand on his side of the bed, pulling open one of the drawers there and rooting around in the contents inside. "You know there is one good thing about being bonded to a Potions Master," he told the boy mildly, keeping his voice as casual as he could. He found what he was looking for and pulled a small glass vial of blue liquid from the drawer. "An endless supply of potions!" He held the vial out to the boy.
Harry stared at it. "What is it?" He made no move to take it from Severus' hand.
Severus frowned. "You studied this last year in my class," he informed the boy, unable to hide his resentment that the boy took such little interest in his subject.
"Was this before, after or during my numerous stays in the hospital wing?" Harry asked irritably, though he took the potion from Severus' hand and began working the stopper loose.
Severus' frown deepened. Now that he thought about it Harry had missed a great deal of class due to the constant attacks he'd been under from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Funny that he hadn't thought of it before now; but then a little Potter went a long ways. The times he was present and accounted for he more that pushed Severus beyond his tolerance quota. He supposed it was a testimony to Ms. Granger's tutoring ability that the boy had actually received tolerable marks on his OWLS.
He watched in silence as Harry sniffed carefully at the potion, brow furled in concentration. It struck him suddenly that the boy had remarkably beautiful eyes - pity they were always hidden behind those horrible glasses. "Dreamless Sleep Draught," he stated, though there was a note of question in his voice.
"Very good, Mr. Potter," Severus nodded. "That small bit should get you through the rest of the night without any dreams."
The look of hope in the boy's eyes did something surprisingly strange to Severus' heart - it almost hurt. "Do you have more of this?" he asked hesitantly.
Again he resisted the urge to snap at the boy. He was a Potions Master for God's sake! Though he said nothing, his expression must have been enough to make Potter realize the idiocy of his statement. The boy flushed and looked down in embarrassment - at least Severus had assumed it was embarrassment. When the boy spoke he realized it was in fact shame.
"I mean. . .I know you have more. . .can make more, I just. . ." He broke off and Severus realized in shock that Harry had been asking if he had more of the potion that he would be willing to 'share' with him.
"Never mind," the boy muttered, risking an apologetic glance at him. "Thank you for this," he added and downed the vial quickly before handing the empty glass back to him. Considering the boy owned a nearly priceless invisibility cloak and one of the most expensive brooms on the market, Severus had always assumed that he had been given pretty much anything he wanted. Apparently not if he wasn't even able to ask for something as simple as a much needed potion.
"I have as much as you need," he informed him in a tight voice. "As I said, an endless supply of potions."
"Thank you," the boy said again, the potion already taking affect as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "I'll pay you back, I promise." He was sound asleep before Severus could inform him that there was no need to pay him back.
Flabbergasted, he stared down at the sleeping boy in silence. Seemed he didn't know Harry Potter even half so well as he thought. And he wasn't comfortable at all with the fact that every other thing this obnoxious individual did seemed to provoke a strong emotional reaction in him; nor was he comfortable with the stray thoughts about the boy's relative attractiveness and charms. They weren't appropriate, and struck far to close to the mark, considering that by morning the majority of the Wizarding World would probably believe that he'd spent the night forcing his attentions on their innocent young hero.
He brushed away a lock of hair from the boy's forehead. They'd both be far better off if they spoke as little as possible. Certainly no more of this idle chattering in bed, not if it was going to put all sorts of ideas into his mind. And while he was certainly not going to hit the boy with any shoes, he'd also have to make certain he didn't make any other type of contact with him - Severus froze as he realized that he was currently in the process of tracing the boy's features lightly with his fingers. He snatched his hand away as if burned.
"Bloody hell!" he hissed under his breath and rolled away, turning his back on the boy. Sometimes he really hated his life.
He was up at dawn, glad to have an excuse to get out of the bed and away from Harry Potter. He showered and dressed quickly, pausing before his wardrobe to think about the trunk that Harry had left in the main room. Much as he hated the idea of having to share his quarters with anyone, he supposed there was nothing he could do about it now. It was his responsibility to provide for his bond-mate, and he supposed that also meant a suitable place to live.
Didn't mean he had to share his own wardrobe with him however. Grabbing his wand, he transformed a candleholder into a second wardrobe, positioning it near his own. Then he levitated the trunk into the bedroom and left it in front of the large piece of furniture for Harry to unpack.
Satisfied, he headed into his office to gather his material together for the first day of class. He had first years, third years and unfortunately advanced potions with sixth and seventh years that day, and he wasn't at all certain how he was going to deal with teaching a class with his bond-mate in it. He supposed there was no need to maintain his Death Eater fiction now - more likely than not the news of his marriage would be all over the papers this morning. Marriage to Harry Potter would proclaim his loyalties more loudly than anything else he could think of. Which meant of course he no longer had to maintain the farce of favoring Malfoy above all other students.
But he did so love taking points away from the Gryffindors!
Of course, he couldn't allow himself to really treat Harry much differently either - bond-mate or no. He was still his student, and he would have to maintain a professional relationship with him inside the class in the interest of fairness. Besides, the boy was abysmal at potions despite the fact that he'd done well in his OWLS - he personally felt the judges had been far too lenient last year. But if Potter didn't shape up, he'd fail his NEWTS. And Severus couldn't imagine a more shameful outcome than Severus Snape's bond-mate failing his Potions Newt.
He worked for about a half hour on his notes for his first class, before heading back toward his bedroom to retrieve the new grading roster he'd left there a few nights earlier. As he passed through the common room he noticed Potter fiddling around with something by the fireplace. Harry didn't look up, and Severus didn't greet him.
The roster was in his nightstand and as he pulled it out of the bottom drawer he noticed that the bed had been made. He paused, frowning. The house elves never came this early.
He glanced over at the new wardrobe; the chest was gone, no doubt unpacked and put away. He also noticed that the doors to his wardrobe were firmly closed - he'd actually left one of them slightly opened. Crossing toward it, he yanked open the door to look inside. The night clothes he'd been wearing last night - the ones he was fairly certain he'd left draped over the back of the chair near the bathroom door, were folded neatly inside and placed in the laundry basket. Not the elves then - they would have taken the basket with them.
A niggling suspicion began to grow in his mind and he headed swiftly toward the bathroom. There should have been some towels on the floor or draped over the rim of the bath. And he knew he'd left his straight razor on the edge of the sink after he'd shaved that morning. But the bathroom was spotless, no signs that he'd been there at all - no signs that Harry had been there either.
Turning, he headed toward the bedroom door, pausing in the doorway to watch Harry. The boy wasn't fiddling with anything, he was making a pot of coffee, setting up the tray service Severus left near the hearth. And unless Severus was sorely unobservant Harry Potter didn't drink coffee - he, like most of the other students, preferred tea in the mornings. Besides which there was only one cup on the tray service and he'd made no effort to add another. Severus also noticed that the robe he'd removed last night and draped over the back of the couch was gone, no doubt hung up in the wardrobe or put in the laundry basket with the other things.
Several things clicked in his mind. If the Dursleys starved, beat and imprisoned the boy, what would stop them from working him like a house elf as well? Now more than ever he regretted the utterly stupid comment he'd made last night about having Harry sleep in the closet. His apology had been sincere but it seemed the damage had been done - Harry didn't really expect this new living arrangement to be much different than his previous one. No doubt he was simply behaving in the manner he assumed was expected of him.
The rage Severus felt startled him. It was directly in equal parts toward the Dursleys, himself and surprisingly Albus Dumbledore for putting him in this situation in the first place. "Mr. Potter!"
Startled, Harry jumped, and Severus had to bite back the words that immediately sprang to mind. He wasn't mad at the boy, and it wouldn't do to take his anger out on him. Harry glared at him, and he found he was actually relieved to see the defiance in the boy's gaze.
"Mr. Potter," he said more calmly, forcing himself to control his emotions. "You are my bond-mate and as such this is now your home. You are not my ward, nor my servant, and I neither expect nor require you to clean up after me." He looked at the tray in the boy's hands, took a few steps toward him. "Nor do I expect you to wait on me or serve me in any manner. It is a kindness and I would thank you for it, but it is not required. Do you understand?"
Harry said nothing, just stood staring at him, tray seeming forgotten in his hands. The defiance however never faded from his eyes and to Severus surprise, he walked forward and very pointedly set the tray with coffee, cream and sugar down on the table in front of the couch. Then he stood back and stared at him in silence, mouth set in a firm, defiant line, eyes gleaming with challenge. It took Severus a moment to realize just what exactly it was the boy was waiting for.
He took a hesitant step forward and picked up the cup of coffee. "Thank you," he said firmly.
Something flickering in Harry's eyes, surprise perhaps that he'd actually meant what he'd said. "You're welcome," he answered just as firmly. The sheer civility of the moment unnerved both of them.
"I'm going to breakfast," Harry announced.
Severus just nodded and watched as the boy left their quarters. He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. One thing was certain, life with Harry Potter certainly was not going to be dull.