Secrets

The rest of the break passed without event. To the untrained eye, very little change occurred in the relationship between Harry and Severus. This was far from the truth, however. Small gestures indicated otherwise. Snape was careful to keep his voice low and soothing around Harry, mindful of his body language, and refrained from calling the boy who lived anything but, well, Harry. Never had Snape taken such pains with anyone. He’d been reserved, severe, and austere for the majority of his life, and though he was not an old man, he often seemed that way due to his demeanor. The boy who lived had awoken something within the professor that compelled him to care about people. Instead of viewing the boy with indifference, he wanted to protect him, help him to not feel pain, help him grow into a stronger human being. Harry had gone nearly all of his young life without having his needs met, and Snape wanted to be the person to rectify that.

Changes to Harry were more obvious. He was quieter, not having the façade of intoxicants to hide behind. Little things startled him now, as Ron noticed one day at lunch. The red-haired boy had playfully jabbed Harry with his elbow only to have Harry shrink into himself for a few minutes. Puzzled, Ron vowed to be more careful around his markedly changed friend. It was Hermione, though, who broached the subject with Harry at dinner.
“Harry,” she’d said carefully, “you seem different to me. What’s up?” She looked at her friend quizzically.

“It’s…well…I don’t really want to talk about it here,” Harry answered.

“It’s not a boy, is it,” questioned Hermione. She and Ron had long known that Harry fancied boys. They knew, although Harry did not. When Harry shook his head, she sighed. “What is it then?”

“Well, there have been…changes recently,” he replied.

“What sort of changes?”

Harry didn’t know where to begin. How could he possibly explain his previous life with the Durselys, his foray into drug use, and his utter confusion with relationships to his friends? He looked at his bushy haired friend fondly. He knew she had his best interests in mind. Hermione was like that. She took care of her boys. Ron was the one she loved, the one she would marry. Harry was like her brother. She cleaned up his messes, fussed over his injuries, and laughed with him. His eyes moved to Snape, who was looking at him fondly. Harry had never been so confused in his entire life.

“I’ll explain, or try to, later this evening,” he whispered. As luck would have it, it was a Friday night. The trio would be able to corral themselves in the Gryffindor common room later that evening and talk into the night.

“Whatever it is, Harry, it’ll be ok,” reassured Hermione.
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Later that evening, the trio gathered in the common room. The fireplace danced with life, casting its orange light onto everything in the room. Falling onto the plush sofas, the trio began to chat in contentment. Ron had snagged some butterbeers from the kitchen, and Hermione had somehow acquired a lot of jelly beans. They were the good kind too, like muggles ate sometimes. For a few minutes, Harry felt comfortable and safe, nestled in between his best friends on the sofa.

“Harry, what’s happened,” asked Hermione.

“Where do I even begin,” sighed Harry.

“It’s ok, mate,” said Ron.

“Well,” Harry began, “you know that my life with the Durselys was not…pleasant,” he began. “Things were really bad, actually. They did things to me.” Harry choked on his own voice, not really wanting to share this information with anyone.

“Like what,” asked Ron, “I’ll kill them. You want I should kill them for you?”

“Ron,” scolded Hermione, “let Harry finish.” It was clear, though, that she too wanted to give the Durselys a piece of her mind. Her eyes shone with rage. Unlike Ron, she was able to infer what had happened, somehow.

“Well,” Harry continued, his voice getting small, “after a while, I needed some help, to get me through things.” The other two nodded. “I couldn’t find any people, so I started…doing other things, using other things, if you catch my drift.” There were tears in Harry’s eyes, and he began to curl into a ball.

“It just got so hard,” he whimpered. “I was never good enough, it was never soon enough.”

“Shh, Harry, it’s ok,” soothed Hermione, stroking Harry’s back gently.

“I don’t even know how to relate to people,” he said.

“How do you mean,” asked Hermione cautiously.

“It’s just…there are these feelings that I have. I’m not used to them,” he spoke, looking up at Hermione wide-eyed.

“I knew it,” she exclaimed, smiling. “There is a boy. Who is it,” she asked.

Harry became quiet. He wasn’t sure if he could explain these feelings that he had. Part of him wanted to return to before, where he could be content living an emotionally stunted life. He never would have known this, but prior to his time with Snape, Harry had been about as emotionally mature as an eleven year old boy. He was used to wanting a father figure, a mother. He knew that when he went to the Burrow, he would feel jealous of the Weaselys because they had a father like Arthur. During the summers, he missed Hermione because she took care of him during the year. This was more than that, though.

“It’s just that there’s this person,” he began. Then, he stopped, and asked, “How do you know that it’s a ‘he’?”

“I have my ways,” laughed Hermione. She and Ron smiled for Harry to continue.

“I just feel comfortable around him, safe, protected, warm, and…something else,” Harry trailed off.

“Have you ever had a crush before, Harry,” asked Ron.

“A what,” asked a confused Harry. He knew he’d heard the word, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant.

“A romantic feeling for another person,” responded Hermione. When Harry looked at her quizzically, she sighed. “It’s when you really fancy someone, want to see them a lot, and want to be with them.”

“Oh,” he said, a light going on inside his head, “like you and Ron.”

Hermione blushed and said, “Yes, well…sort of. What do you feel, Harry?”

“I dream about them,” he began, “and my stomach feels odd too, like I’ve just gone on a really dramatic roller coaster. I find myself distracted in their presence.”

“I think,” Hermione spoke, “that you have a crush.” The girl was fairly certain that she knew who the lucky male was, but she was not about to mention it.

“What do I do about it,” asked Harry.

“Well, you could tell the person about it,” she started. When Harry got an alarmed look on his face, she backed off. “Or you could try to figure out if they had feelings for you before you tell them how you feel.”

Harry thought for a moment, remembering the chess games with Snape, and recalled what the chess pieces had said. He wondered if such an object could be trusted.

“What if,” he asked, “you’ve heard from a source that this person shares your feelings?”

“Then I think,” Hermione answered, “that you ought to tell them how you feel and get on with it.” She smiled mischievously.

“Get on with what,” asked Harry.

“Harry, you’re hopeless, you know that, right,” asked Ron.
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He’d been out of sorts since the boy had moved back to Gryffindor tower. True, Harry still came to visit fairly often. At least three nights a week, the pair could be found reading aloud to each other, playing chess, and otherwise entertaining themselves. Sometimes Harry played guitar while Snape read. It wasn’t the same, though. He wanted the boy to stay, wanted to go to sleep with him, and wake up next to him. Partly, though, he couldn’t reconcile having feelings for a student. There wasn’t a rule against teacher student relationships, per se, but the idea made Snape nervous. Finally, he became antsy enough to need to talk to someone. Knowing he’d never hear the end of it, he made his way to Dumbledore’s office.

“Pop Rocks,” he said. Snape was allowed passage to the headmaster’s office, and was pleased to see that Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, sipping a cup of tea. Idly, Snape wondered if Dumbledore ever did anything else besides sip tea.

“Dear boy, what brings you to see this old man at such an hour,” asked Dumbledore.

Taking his time, Snape sat down in a chair. He poured himself a cup of tea, which was quite out of character. Normally, Snape refused every refreshment that Dumbledore had to offer.

“I am conflicted,” spoke Snape.

“What about?”

“Ethics,” spoke the potions master.

“Severus, of all people, you should not worry about ethics. Your teaching methods are slightly unorthodox, but you are quite ethical,” replied Dumbledore.

“It’s about Harry,” confessed Snape.

“Is the boy all right,” questioned Dumbledore.

“Oh, he’s quite all right. Never been more himself, actually,” said Snape. “That’s not the issue.”

“And the issue is,” asked Dumbledore, rising to walk about his cluttered office.

“Of a controversial nature.”

“Ah, I see. I was wondering when this would happen,” mused Dumbledore. “Clearly, it’s occurrence now does pose some problems…”

“What are you talking about,” asked a befuddled Snape.

“Well your feelings for Harry Potter, of course,” replied Dumbledore, as if there could be nothing more obvious in the world. “He’ll be having feelings for you too, I suspect.”

“But,” exclaimed Snape, “how could anyone possibly know?”

“Prophecies,” spoke Dumbledore.

“Bloody prophecies.”

“Indeed,” agreed Dumbledore. “They’re always getting in the way of what we have planned.”

“What do you suggest I do,” asked Snape.

“Take good care of Harry, of course.”
“But the rules,” contested Snape. Dumbledore held up his hand before Snape could continue to speak.

“The rules do not apply here, Severus. No wizard has ever been able to avoid a prophecy. It is simply impossible. Just as Voldemort was destined to mark Harry as his equal, you were destined to pick up the pieces of the boy who lived, put them together, and love him. There is no avoiding it,” concluded Dumbledore.

“I see,” muttered Snape.

“Oh, be happy about it, Severus. You will find that having companionship is far better than being introverted. Just do me one favor,” asked the headmaster.

“Yes?”

“Be discrete.”