Bonds of Affection

Author's Note: Thank you all for reviews. If you notice spelling/grammar mistakes, feel free to email me with specifics, so that I can correct them. I suck at proof-reading my own work.



* * * Private Conversations * * *



When Snape emerged from his study a few hours later, he realized that the Manor was oddly quiet. No voices were coming from Harry's bedroom. He and his friends simply left. All three of them.



Snape's first hunch was that after the caning, Harry had simply decided he'd had enough, and left, went back to his Muggle family. Snape entered Harry's bedroom and surveyed it. No, that wasn't it, he saw. Harry hadn't gone away. His belongings were still there. Even his owl was still there – he wouldn't have taken off without her.



It seemed unlikely then, that Harry would defy the clear-cut rule of informing Snape before leaving... Not when the slave-bond might assert itself any moment, and demand punishment for misbehavior.



Snape went to the fireplace. The Floo hadn't been used. The feeling of dread surged, then intensified. He had finally done it, Snape thought with despair. He had taken Dumbledore's golden boy from the blood protection of his Muggle family, and lost him... Then, for a few seconds, genuine, uncontrolled panic set in, as it always had, whenever Harry Potter was in danger... whether he rode a hexed broomstick, or whether he drove a stolen vehicle into the Whomping Willow, or whether he roamed the Hogwarts hallways in the dark, with a murderer on the loose, or whether he was captured by Umbridge's inquisitorial squad, about to be subjected to the Cruciatus curse... The knot in Snape's stomach tightened. At the moment, Snape abhorred Harry Potter more than any other human being on the face of the earth – for being able to evoke so much terror in him.



The panic only lasted for a couple of moments. Abruptly, Severus Snape came to his senses and forced himself to calm down. He was being ridiculous. Harry Potter was not kidnapped right under his nose. Rather, he was an unruly, irresponsible, insubordinate sixteen-year-old, with a short attention span. He and his friends just went somewhere, and he forgot to advise Snape of his plans... And as for why they hadn't used the Floo – well, perhaps, they rode broomsticks, or Apparated illegally, or had a port-key.... Or, Snape suddenly remembered with loathing, Ron Weasley's infernal car.



He still had no idea where the young people may have gone, however, Snape had surveillance spells on all of the rooms in the Manor. A precaution he had never seen fit to remove, and now he was thanking the heavens above for his own paranoid, compulsive tendencies. He had not intended to listen in on the private conversations of his unwelcome guest, but neither did he have any compunction about doing so, when needed.



“Enarro,” he said, with a flick of his wand, summoning the words of the private conversation that had taken place a few hours ago.



He listened to the echo of the conversation in stunned silence.



The gasps from Harry's friends led Snape to believe the damage he had inflicted was more severe than he realized. Snape frowned. He hadn't held a punishing tool in years. And he hadn't bothered to examine the damage of the caning after the punishment had been delivered. So much for his own confidence that he would not abuse his ... well, whatever Harry was to him. Snape cursed himself under his breath, and continued to listen.



Harry's voice: I prefer this to.. you know. My uncle's fists.



Fists? Broken nose? Broken ribs? Snape thought, overcome with nausea. Harry had said that his relatives only used the hand to correct him. Snape had taunted him upon hearing that. Little did he know... Harry Potter, Snape's least favorite student, hadn't been reckless and unruly because he was spoiled. He was this way because ... he either did not care enough about himself, or because no trouble he could possibly get into at school, would compare to what he had experienced at home.



Snape listened. I couldn't just let him die.



Anger surged through him, violently and unexpectedly. Pretending to be a noble rescuer - just like James – Snape thought automatically... and then caught himself. No, Harry was nothing like James – at least, not in this instance. After James Potter had saved Snape's life, he never let him live that down. His taunting got worse. Harry was... different. Acting behind the scenes. Not expecting to be thanked – or even liked.



Almost – a kindred spirit, Snape thought suddenly.



Almost. But not quite.



Harry was not doing his good deeds covertly, behind the scenes, to atone for the sins of the past, or to redeem himself. Unlike Snape, Harry was not tainted by horrible, abominable crimes, or by love of cruelty and power. Harry was just doing things this way because it was in his nature.



Snape buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply.



At the end of it all, Snape still did not know with certainty where the young people went – to Hogsmeade, to get drunk; or to the Hogwarts library. Placing a wager on Hermione Granger's uncanny influence on the two boys, Snape guessed the library, and arrived there shortly. His guess was confirmed when he saw the three of them together at the table, immersed in books and scrolls.



He approached their table quietly and waited, with his arms folded on his chest, staring at Harry thoughtfully. Eventually, Harry lifted his eyes and paled slightly, looking at him.



“I forgot to tell you where I went,” he said quietly.



Snape nodded gravely. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were staring at Snape with obvious distaste.



“You want me to come home with you now,” Harry guessed.



Snape nodded again. Harry stood up instantly.



“See you later,” Harry told his friends. Hermione Granger gave Snape a deathly glare, and Snape returned it gleefully. To his satisfaction, he managed to stare her down, and she looked away.



Snape and Harry walked to the Headmaster's office, to use the Floo to travel back home, Snape walking fast, and Harry trailing slightly behind.



“Sir?” Harry asked hesitantly. “How did you know where to look for me here?”



Reluctantly, Snape forced himself to answer.“There are surveillance spells on ... all the rooms in the Manor. I have had them for years.”



“Oh,” Harry said weakly. He sounded positively mortified.



They walked together in silence. For the first time in his interactions with Harry Potter, Snape found himself wishing he could say something genuinely reassuring, however nothing was coming to mind readily.