Chapter 7 - The Binds that Tie
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table the following morning with a beginning potions book propped open before him. He'd found it in the library early that morning - something set aside for first years since it was no more than basics. Sure enough there was a whole section in there that spoke of the necessity of chopping verses dicing - and while it did mention the change these things had in the properties of the ingredients in question, it was couched in vague references that a Muggle-born probably would not recognize.
"Oh, God, it's finally happened!" Seamus groaned in horror. Harry looked up in surprise as his fellow Gryffindors joined him. "Harry's reading a potions book!"
Harry flushed under the looks his friends were giving him, especially Ron. "Oh, knock it off," he told them. "It isn't that bad. I'm just trying to make certain I don't flunk potions." He turned the book around and shoved it across the table toward Hermione. "Did you know that there is an actual difference between dicing and chopping ingredients in the outcome of the potions."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, what about it?"
"I didn't know," Harry told her pointedly. "Don't recall it ever being mentioned in class. And while I've been assured that this is something most wizard-born children learn by the age of five, it isn't something a Muggle-born would know. How is it you know?"
"I read about it of course," she pointed to the book. "It says right there in plain English."
"It says right there in very vague English," Harry informed her. "There is nothing plain about it."
"Then how did you figure it out?" Hermione asked.
"Professor Snape told me," he explained.
"Oh God, Harry!" Neville moaned. "He's forcing you to study potions in your free time now?"
Harry frowned at Neville. "No, not really. We were just talking." Though he had to admit that sounded weird too. And judging by the looks on his friends' faces they all thought so as well.
"You were talking?" Ron demanded. "To Snape? Just chatting? About what? Quidditch?"
"Potions," Harry sighed. "It's not like I can avoid talking to the man." And if he was truthful with himself, he was beginning to admit he almost enjoyed the conversations.
"That must be bloody awful!" Seamus exclaimed.
"It's not that bad," Harry informed them all. "He's not. . .he isn't. . ." He just sighed and shrugged. "It's not that bad. Believe it or not, I actually get away with calling him names right to his face."
That shocked them all. Hermione looked utterly amazed. "Are you telling me that he doesn't take away house points when you call him names?"
Harry shook his head. "Not outside of school hours. I can tell he thinks about it, but he never actually does it. I guess he doesn't think it would be fair."
"Snape doing something to be fair?" Ron snorted in disbelief. "That will be the day."
"Do you ever call him by his name?" Dean asked curiously.
Harry frowned perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's kind of weird you calling your bond-mate Professor Snape," he pointed out.
"What else am I supposed to call him? He still calls me Mr. Potter."
"Not all the time," Neville told him. "He called you Harry when he made you go to Hogsmeade with him. Remember?"
Harry did remember and he frowned. He'd vaguely remembered him calling him Harry before that too - in bed if he remembered correctly, though he wasn't about to share that piece of information with his friends. "Would feel weird calling him anything other than Snape," he told them with a dismissive shrug.
They all nodded in agreement. "Still," Dean added. "It's kind of weird."
Harry personally thought the entire thing was kind of weird.
Quidditch practice started and took up much of Harry's time in the afternoons after class. He often didn't find time to do his homework until after dinner. Then he'd sit quietly at the desk Snape had set up for him while Snape graded papers by the fire. He had noticed that despite the fact that Snape had an entire office to himself, he often spent his evenings in front of the fire and Harry wondered if this was a new development for his benefit. Oddly enough he suspected Snape did it to keep him company - though why, he couldn't imagine. It wasn't as if he really liked the man. And certainly Snape couldn't stand him.
And yet he didn't retreat to the private office when he so easily could have. And after a while Harry grew accustomed to his presence. From time to time the man would even speak to him, commenting on something he was reading or something that had happened in the course of the day. Harry found himself speaking occasionally too - mostly asking questions about his homework that he would have typically asked Hermione if he'd been doing his homework in the Gryffindor common room like normal. To his surprise, Snape usually answered his questions, reserving the majority of his overly snarky comments for potions class, which were still as difficult as ever though Harry had to admit he had been getting steadily improving marks due to more careful preparation of ingredients. More than once he'd actually caught Snape looking approvingly at the contents of his cauldron, though the man had yet to actually compliment him.
The arrival of the clothing Snape had ordered for him from Torsand surprised Harry even though he'd known they were coming. He hadn't actually expected so much - he'd never owned so many things in his life. And so many things that actually fit - he'd tried on several of the items, staring at himself in the mirror in amazement. Okay, he wasn't so certain about the riding breeches - but he had to admit the doublets looked nice. Eventually he put everything away in the wardrobe, and rejoined Snape in the common room.
"Well?" Snape asked, not looking up from the scroll he was reading.
"It's. . .nice," Harry admitted, wondering what precisely he was supposed to do now. He supposed thanks were in order, but he felt suddenly very awkward and very strange. Didn't seem right that Snape of all people should be giving him so much. It felt weird.
Snape looked up, expression unreadable. "Nice?" He sounded somewhat disbelieving.
Harry flushed. The man must have spent a small fortune on the clothes; the material alone was worth a ton of coins. "I've just never owned so much before," he admitted. "It feels. . ..strange." He sat down nervously in his chair.
"What's strange about it?" Snape demanded.
"I don't know," Harry shifted uncomfortably beneath that penetrating stare. "I just don't think. . .I mean. . I know what you said and all, but I should have bought everything myself."
"I thought we went over all that," Snape leaned back in his chair, dropping the scroll into his lap in irritation.
"I know what you said," Harry repeated. "But still. . . it's not right! I don't care what everyone else thinks or says; I didn't marry you for your money. And you didn't exactly have a choice either. You shouldn't have to pay for me!"
"Pay for you?"
Harry flushed again, realizing how that sounded. He glared angrily at Snape. "I didn't mean that! I meant you shouldn't have to take care of me! I don't need anyone to take care of me!"
Snape leaned forward suddenly, his face set in a dark frown. "Mr. Potter, this has nothing to do with me taking care of you, or paying for you, or what ever it is you think is right or wrong. This has to do with what I, and the rest of the Wizarding World, consider my responsibility, and the fact that I have no intention of showing up in public with my bond-mate improperly dressed!"
Anger and hurt flared so swiftly through Harry that he almost hit Snape's sneering face; came so close in fact that his fists had clenched, his body trembling in rage. As it was he only managed to restrain himself by jumping up and running from the room. He fled to Snape's private library, slamming the door behind him and locking it tightly. Fury rolled off him in waves, causing several books to fly off their shelves and fall to the floor with loud thumps.
Startled by the sounds, Harry felt the rage drain out of him and he dropped down onto his butt in the middle of the floor, too numb to even bother looking for a proper seat. With the rage gone all he was left with was the hurt.
So Severus Snape was ashamed of him! He should have known. Just like the Dursleys. Their solution was to lock him up in a small room and pretend he didn't exist. Snape's solution was apparently to dress him up in fancy clothing and pretend he was something other than what he was. He'd always thought Snape hated the fact that he was famous - never thought the day would come when Snape would force him into the ridiculous celebrity status he'd spent the last several years mocking him for. But apparently it worked for him now, didn't it? Gave him back his family's good name. The very thought hurt.
Harry found himself fighting back tears once again. He wouldn't cry. He never cried. Not even Voldemort had ever succeeded in making him cry. Snape certainly wasn't going to succeed. But he didn't really know why he hurt so much. He didn't like Snape after all. Didn't care what the man thought of him.
At least he didn't think he did, did he? Surely he hadn't actually entertained the thought that Snape might have bought him all those clothes because he wanted to do something nice for him? That would be utterly ridiculous - especially since he had explained quite clearly before hand why he was doing it. Granted he'd couched it in a bunch of nonsense about marital roles in the Wizarding society, but he'd never once indicated that he actually cared about Harry's well being.
Not like Harry cared either - after all he'd just told Snape that he didn't need anyone to take care of him. And he didn't. Never had. Certainly the Dursleys had never taken care of him. And while Sirius might have been willing to take care of him, he had never been given the opportunity. Last thing he needed was to pretend that this farce of a marriage was anything more than what it was. An inconvenience for both of them. Snape wasn't really his family now.
No, it wouldn't do for him to feel hurt about anything Snape did or didn't do. He should have just ended their argument with his typical declaration of undying hate and left it at that. See if he ever tried to start a conversation with the man again!
Sighing, Harry climbed wearily to his feet. He was tired - Quidditch practice that afternoon had taken a lot of out of him. And the last ten minutes had left him feeling drained and cold. But at least now he had his emotions under control, his resolve firmly back in place. After all he knew why he was here - they both did, thanks to Snape's words.
He unlocked the door and returned to the common room. Snape was still sitting by the fire, though he looked up when Harry re-entered the room. His face was quite unreadable. Moving toward the desk, Harry began gathering his homework together, intent on going to bed.
"What was that all about?" Snape demanded.
Harry didn't look up but he could feel Snape's gaze on him. "Nothing," he muttered. "Doesn't matter."
"Harry?" The sound of his name surprised Harry and he looked up sharply. Snape was staring at him in bewilderment.
"Why do you call me that?" Harry demanded.
Snape looked somewhat taken aback. "What?"
"Harry. You call me that sometimes. Why? Why bother?" Harry clarified. "You've never done it before. You've always called me Potter, or Boy, or Idiot or Brat. They've always suited you before. Why change now? Am I supposed to call you Severus?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You've never been particularly reticent either about calling me whatever you damned well like."
"It's not the same."
"We're bond-mates. We're going to have to get used to certain familiarities sooner or later!" Snape insisted.
"Because society expects it?" Harry demanded.
"What in Hell is all this about?" Snape asked in exasperation. "You're obviously angry about something. What? What did I do?"
Realizing that he'd broken his own resolve not to indulge in these conversations again, Harry just shook his head, turning away. "Nothing, never mind. It doesn't matter." He was nearly all the way to the bedroom door before a hand grabbed his arm, stopping him, turning him around. Alarmed, Harry stared up at Snape in surprised. So far the man had refrained largely from touching him save when absolutely necessary.
But far from the angry expression he expected to see glaring down at him, Harry actually thought Snape looked. . .. worried? "Have I hurt you in some way?"
"No!" Harry denied vehemently.
"Then what in hell is wrong?" Snape asked. "I've obviously upset you."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You've spent every year I've been here going out of your way to upset me! Why should you care now?"
Snape's hand tightened on his harm. "Because I didn't intend it this time!"
"So it's different when you do intend it?" Harry scoffed.
"Yes," Snape growled, eyes no longer worried but angry, flashing with their usual fire.
"Why?" Harry demanded again. "Because now we're bond-mates? Because now we're supposed to be a family?" The very idea was ludicrous.
"Yes!"
"I hate you!" Harry informed him, quite pleased to have found an appropriate opportunity to tell him that once again. Problem was he was starting to suspect it wasn't entirely true.
"So you keep saying!" Snape said. "But I'd like to point out that doesn't disprove my point. You hate the Dursleys too, and my brothers hate me, and I hated my father. Hate is a common theme in families. Sometimes it's the glue that holds them together!"
"If that's true then we'll never be parted!" Harry shot back, his heart tightened in his chest at the thought. Families founded on hatred; it sounded like the most horrible thing he could imagine. All he could think of was the Weasleys and the time he'd spent with them the few summers he'd been able to leave Privet Drive early. Seemed he would never have that.
Apparently Snape had no answer to that, and Harry just glared up at him. "Stop touching me," he ordered.
Snape looked confused for a moment. "What?" he asked in disbelief and then noticed that his hand was still clamped tightly around Harry's arm. He released him as if he'd been burned, stepping quickly away. Harry turned immediately and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him firmly. So far Snape had given him complete privacy when he was preparing for bed. Despite the fight, he didn't expect that to change tonight.
He entered the bathroom, moving on automatic as he went through his nightly ablutions, changing finally into his pajamas. Then he returned to the bedroom where he stopped next to his wardrobe to peer inside once again. The beautiful new clothing seemed almost to mock him, and he ran his hand over the soft materials, remembering the day they'd gone to Torsand. He'd actually almost enjoyed himself that day. Certainly he'd enjoyed teasing Snape about being the only Potions Master married to a professional Quidditch player. And picking out all those things had been fun.
But Snape had only done it because he was ashamed of Harry. How could he imagine that would not upset him?
But then Snape never said anything he didn't mean. He honestly hadn't intended to upset him? Harry frowned.
If that were true. . . I have no intention of showing up with my bond-mate improperly dressed .. . .a direct attack toward him! But if he really hadn't intended to upset him, who else could that have been aimed at? If not him? The only others mentioned in that statement were Snape himself and the public in general.
Snape or the public.
Harry paled suddenly, other conversations coming to the foreground. Snape had become a Death Eater to reclaim his family's honor by killing his own father. And in failing that duty he'd become a spy for Dumbledore, suffering God only knew what at the hands of Voldemort for the sake of a duty he believed he had failed in performing. The man had a streak of honor inside him a mile long, but being a Slytherin his motives and methods were almost never decipherable.
Realization struck Harry hard. It wasn't Harry he was ashamed of. He genuinely believed that nonsense about him being responsible for Harry's support - and if Harry appeared in public inappropriately attired it would be a sure sign that Severus Snape was not performing his duties. That he was neglecting him, like he obviously believed the Dursleys had.
Which meant that these clothes had been gifts. Given out of a sense of duty granted, and not out of affection or kindness, but gifts nonetheless. And Harry had nearly hit him for it. He felt sick to his stomach.
The door opened a moment later and Snape entered, moving toward the bathroom without a word.
"Thank you," Harry said softly to him, stopping his progress across the room.
When he heard no answer he turned toward him. Snape was staring at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. "For the clothing," Harry explained. "Thank you for the clothes. I like them. No one has ever bought me so much. . .and it's. . ." He stopped that line of thought. That's what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. Okay, it was still weird, but at least now he could understand it a bit more. "It's just. . .thank you."
Once again Snape looked completely lost for words. Finally he just shook his head in bafflement. "You're welcome," he said simply.
Harry just smiled at him and then headed toward the bed to sleep, leaving a completely bewildered Severus Snape standing in the middle of their room.