Chapter Text
The summer was both too long and too short. The distance between himself now and himself before was greater than any summer he’s ever passed. Yet the days felt too short to have contained it all.
It reminded him of those summers he held as a boy. The carefree days spent with her, the tortuous nights spent within his home, the moments alone in between the calm and chaos.
He was used to change coming in points. In distinct moments of time in which the second before was known to be different from the second after. The day he met her for the first time. The day he said something unforgivable. The day he took the mark. The day he heard the prophecy. The day he begged for forgiveness. The day he knew there would be none for him.
Here, there was a before and an after, but there was also an inbetween. There was a gray area where one bled into the other like ink through paper. One moment never really distinguishable from the one right before it, but completely different from the one that came before that.
The realizations came in when one thing had fully faded into the next. The curiosity was there before their first dueling lesson, but it was seeing the boy flinging spells in any desperate attempt to keep up that made him recognize that the indifference had turned to curiosity.
He found the respect when the boy had come back beaten and battered, but with the word that all had gone well at his trial, better than expected by all accounts.
The worst was the protectiveness. The realization came not with the argument from his godfather, but that night. It came with the boy’s trust.
Protective was a treacherous thing. There was only one other person he ever felt that very feeling for.
He was to blame.
Their occlumency lessons have been progressing fine. They were in the upper recesses of the headquarters once again. The school year was starting in only a few days now. Harry should be excited about this fact.
Harry was nervous.
It was not in what he said, but what he didn’t say. In the words that he swallowed and the way he seemed to shrink in the plush loveseat. It was the way everything he did made him appear smaller, less obvious, as though attempting to replicate the effects of a notice-me-not.
As though he were concerned with what Severus thought of him.
It was… odd looking at the boy now and seeing all the things he has seen before. Because Severus… has seen Harry nervous. The only difference was the interpretation. The lack of eye contact was no longer an issue of respect, it was one of anxiety. The lack of focus wasn’t from insubordination, but unease.
There was the issue of what was causing the unease, but this was not nearly as great as the issue of actually talking to the boy about it.
Because the distance Severus had crossed in the summer was not nearly as long as the one that still remained between him and the boy five feet from him.
“For our practicals today-”
“Sirius talked to me yesterday.”
And Severus would have scolded the boy, but this was not the Severus he has always known. The person was not entirely Severus. There were some things similar, but too much different. This person was someone different. An intruder upon his body.
“Pardon?”
“I-” Harry looked away again. He twisted his hands together, as though it would help him finish what he was thinking. “I’m sorry. I swear I know how important these lessons are I just- we should do the spells.”
Harry continued with the twisting motion of his hands until the knuckles began to burn white. This made him worry.
Severus did not used to worry.
“We can take a break for now.” He laid his wand down on the table.
Harry nodded slowly, but the tightness around his lip conveyed the continuing anxiety well enough. There was something going on in that head of his forcing its way outwards. If Severus focused, he could feel the beginnings of static in the air.
There were few things that could motivate Harry to make static.
Harry sat on the very edge of his seat, gaze ever so slightly averted and shoulders hunched inward.
After several moments, it became clear the boy was not intending on continuing this line of conversation.
This was unacceptable. Because this was Harry. And Harry did not bring up his godfather in from of Severus unless it was absolutely necessary.
This was Harry, and even if he knew little about keeping his emotions hidden, he knew plenty of half-truths and almost-lies.
If Harry brought Black up unprompted, something important happened.
If Black laid even a finger on him…
“Harry,” Severus attempted to gain the boy’s attention but succeeded in only making him jump ever so slightly, “What happened with your Godfather?”
Harry shrugged. “We… talked. About the thing that happen over the summer. On my birthday.”
Severus nodded, though doubted the boy even registered the action.
They were in a delicate place. They were in a turning point. Any wrong move meant total disaster.
“He said- he said he wanted everything to be alright again that he didn’t understand why I haven’t been as… interested in talking to him. And I told him that I was upset over our fight and that I’ve been worried it would just happen again and that I didn’t- I-” Harry rubbered at his eyes underneath his glasses. “I didn’t like what he said and he- I think he realized that what he said- that I didn’t like it. He apologized and he promised me it would never happen again.”
From this admission, Harry leaned back into the couch, as though trying to disappear into the sunflower-yellow upholstery. He finally released his hands from twisting around each other and instead crossed them over his chest.
This was the moment where he was meant to say something to fill the silence. He was meant to reach out and do the right thing or say the right thing.
But the winter was long, and he was still cold.
Just when he thought he understood the boy more, he really understood him less. This was the boy that made flowers from grief. This was a language Severus did not understand. Even after his years as a spy, this was something he could not decipher.
Yet, sometimes when he looked at the boy whose arms were crossed too tightly over his chest and whose lips were pinched too tight he did understand.
When he looked at Harry it was the very same thing as looking back at her and it was the very same thing as looking back at him. This was history repeating itself and it was history making itself anew. And Harry was not him or her but him and her. There was the girl who loved so much she screamed with the fire that burned in her heart and the boy who was so numbed by his pain that he sought to burn the world around him to feel anything at all and there was the truth that these two things would fail to reconcile in the end.
There was the possibility of reunion.
Severus did not think these things. This was a different person. This was the person he was becoming, and part of him didn’t think he deserved to become this person. Part of him feared becoming this person. And this was the way things have always been and its been so long since change had brought something more than pain. And maybe he was overdue for change. And maybe he was young enough to still believe in change. And maybe this was change. Maybe he still had a choice. Maybe it was time to choose. To make his mistakes anew.
The winter may be long, but he can choose to light the fire.
“Did you forgive him?” Severus asked.
Harry nodded quickly, flippantly. This was the wrong question to ask. “I told him I’d owl him.”
“I see.” Severus said evenly, and Harry’s head seemed to snap up in surprise. It was Severus’s turn to be observed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means… I understand.”
“No- but what do you mean?”
“Harry,” Severus did his best to emphasis without sounding derisive, “I have no idea what you are asking.”
The boy groaned, rubbing at his face. The skin around his scar pulled, and Severus wondered if it hurt when it did that. If he could feel the phantom itch of the curse underneath his fingertips.
“You don’t like Sirius. I just told you I forgave Sirius even after all that rubbish that happened. And… you know…”
“Are you… attempted to ask me if I approve of your relationship with your Godfather?”
Harry flushed. “I- not necessarily. I just-” he shrugged again, “I wanted to let you know. We can get to the magic bits of the lesson now.”
How was this the very same boy who could keep his cool when an imposter invades his home under the guise of his best friend’s father?
“As far as I am aware, your personal relationship with your godfather doesn’t involve me.”
Harry nodded stiffly. “Right. Of course. It was er- stupid of me, I guess.”
Severus said the wrong thing. It was Severus’s mistake. He wished the boy were a little more like a potion. More easy to diagnose what went wrong and where. But Harry wasn’t a potion. He was a boy. And these were very simple facts that complicated the entire problem for Severus.
Severus did not like Black. Harry looked up to Black.
He had to start somewhere.
He had to choose to start.
“I do not like Black.” Severus said, and he wondered what Harry saw. He wondered if this was the right thing to say. “I have never liked Black and I do not foresee any scenario in which I would get along with Black. I think he is impulsive, immature, and frustratingly irritating.”
“Oh…” Harry said, “I understand.”
Severus shook his head. “However, I am not omnipotent. Sometimes the very things I feel quite sure about turn out not to be true at all.”
Harry smiled, an almost shy expression. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, you brat.” This was the right thing to say because Harry laughed. “Sometimes it is worth giving people a second chance, and I believe you made the right choice in this case.”
The boy gave an impish smirk. “In this case? What about if I want to give my evil potions master a second chance? Is it okay then?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know any evil potions masters.”
“You literally fed Neville’s botched potion to his toad.”
That did sound like something he would have done, even if he didn’t remember it exactly.
“The toad lived.”
“You didn’t know that!”
“Yes, well. The important matter now is that Black maintains the terms of his apology. Words are only as good as the actions that follow it.”
Harry looked at him with wide eyes and it was the very same as her judging him and as the boy he used to be judging him.
And maybe he was different from who he was at the beginning of their occlumency lesson.
The winter was long, but it never lasts forever.
-.-
Their boots clicked along the black marble, echoing minutely off of the walls. The sound was familiar, and it was almost a comfort to have such a familiarity.
Almost.
“Narcissa was so pleased when you accepted the invite, though I can’t say Draco is particularly enthusiastic over a chance for you to comment on his potions work,” Lucius commented idly. His tone was silky and aloof, but this was a clear diversion. The man did not talk family in front of just anyone.
“I find myself similarly pleased with the offer. It has been all too long, Lucius.”
Lucius smiled in that slightly patronizing way. “You’re like family, Severus. If ever you find yourself… in trouble with that Headmaster of yours…” he trailed off.
Severus gave a sharp nod, and did not flinch away from Lucius’s touch to his shoulder.
The table was set when they arrived in the dining room with Narcissa seated next to the head of the table. She rose to greet them. “Severus,” she said demurely, “How kind of you to join us.”
“While I find myself even busier these day, I always have time to indulge you.”
These were simply pleasantries, but they were also layers upon layers of diplomacy. This was all an act. This was an acknowledgement that they each were playing a part and each knew the other was playing a part and that their audience was greater than the eyes in the room.
“Thank you, Severus. But do remember to leave that talk for after dinner.”
Severus inclined his head. “Naturally.”
They seated themselves at the table. Lucius at the head. Narcissa on his left. Severus to the right.
Narcissa made the mistake of following Lucius’s ambitions. Lucius who was affluent and surprisingly charismatic for hsi cool exterior. He had a hunter’s eye when it came for things talented and beautiful.
Severus always maintained that marrying Narcissa was nothing more to Lucius than the gliding of his cane’s end. An accessory.
“How busy is the Headmaster keeping you anyways?” Narcissa asked.
“He has decided to compensate his manpower by overworking everyone to death.”
The door opened, and Draco approached them with a soldier’s posture and pressed clothes.
“Professor,” he greeted stiffly. Severus acknowledged him, and he sat next to his mother.
Narcissa always argued that the overt professionalism was unnecessary when Severus came for social visits, but Lucius insisted from the time Draco was a mere toddler that he show Severus the respect of his title.
Lucius called it respect, but Severus knew it had to do with the blood running through his veins.
Draco glanced at Lucius, but his father did not meet his plea for approval.
Perhaps he wasn’t as aware as Severus and Narcissa were, but Draco did play his role well in their play.
Draco was one of the pure blood children who had been trained from near birth to hide his true emotion, taught that any show of emotion was weakness. Compared to Potter, the boy was all but a blank slate, but Severus has seen the boy enough over these past few years.
He has seen the boy anxious and upset many times. It was all too easy to spot the twitch of his jaw indicating he was chewing on his cheek.
Clearly, Lucius had spoken with his son before Severus’s arrival.
Dinner began with its normal fanfare of house-elves and cutlery clinking. To the average wizarding household, it was a formal affair, yes. But this was far from the average wizarding household, and this dinner was far from formal. This was familial.
Severus engaged Lucius in idle conversation about the state of the ministry and his daily work. Narcissa punctuated routinely about her opinions about that self-centered minister of the interior or that uppity halfbood undersecretary .
There remained one member of the table yet to be engaged.
“Have you given your career plans any thought, Draco? You are entering your OWL year, after all,” Severus asked.
The boy’s head did snap up every so slightly, clearly surprised at having been brought into the conversation.
“Uh- yeah-” his eyes flung to Lucius and back again to Severus. “I mean- yes, I have, Professor. I am interested in politics, like-” Draco took a breath, fully regaining his composure. “I like my father’s work.”
Ah, yes, because children interested in their father’s work don’t bother to listen to them speak of it at the dinner table.
Severus nodded. “You should see to it to remain studious about your OWLS then. The Ministry likes to see that you can understand magic on a high level.”
“Yes, sir.”
This was the most Draco could be engaged for the entirety of dinner.
Severus did not have a close relationship with Draco. Lucius saw to that becoming a fact of their lives, and Severus never had an interest in entertaining children of any kind. When it came to Draco, he’s always known the boy to be endlessly spoiled and utterly arrogant.
The boy picked at the peas on his plate. He had an almost distant look on his face. His mouth was turned down every so slightly.
He did not care much for Draco, but it was in this moment he looked so undeniably like the other boy he didn’t care much for a mere few weeks ago.
Severus stifled a laugh at the thought of the identical dissent Draco and Harry would have at even the implication of a comparison between them.
Yet both sought the approval of someone who will never give it to them. Both held the weight of other’s expectations on their shoulders. Both will be asked to do the impossible.
“Any news on whether the Headmaster has found a new defense professor?”
“Come now, Lucius. There is no need to gloat. You and I both know the Headmaster simply doesn’t have the time to find a new defense professor.”
“Yes, well, I think I may get the board to pass an addendum that requires a ministry-appointed defense professor to teach for a year minimum.”
Severus nodded and focused on staying in character.
-.-
Lucius’s office walked the line between refined and extravagant. It was as though he were attempting to show the very limits of his wealth without appearing ostentatious. The sconces were in pure gold, and the solid dark oak desk had gilded handles. The room was set with a backdrop of a huge painting of one of the ghastly goblin war battles, but a keen eye might spot that it was indeed the original painting.Every piece of glamor was hiding in plain sight.
Lucius did always enjoy that particular type of deception.
Severus situated himself on the futon while Lucius poured two glasses from the decanter.
“Draco seems to have matured much over this summer.”
Lucius didn’t smile, because Lucius did not smile unless it was for some overly philanthropic endeavor, but his shoulders did straighten with pride. Even this pitiful display of affection, however slim it may be, was reserved for very few. Many would never witness this vulnerability. For that was what it was to care about someone in their line of work.
“He has much to learn,” Lucius replied, but without the harsh edge. There wasn’t softness, but there wasn’t defense.
Severus accepted the stiff drink, allowing Lucius to sit before continuing, “As all young men do.”
“Yes, well,” and that was as clear an indication as any that Lucius had something to ask of him, “We seemed to have stumbled into the reason for my invitation.”
He could never quite remember the first time Lucius had introduced himself to Severus. The older boy had always been at the edges of Severus’s vision. He knew from his very first year who Lucius was, and more importantly, what his last name was and what that meant. These were the kind of things that destitute halfblood children paid attention to.
It was his fifth year. He knew that much because he was a fifth year and Lucius was in his seventh year, looking for bigger and better things.
And in spite of his privilege and prestige and high ambitions, his eye landed on Severus.
Sometimes that old attachment to Lucius lingered. Lucius welcomed him into the world of purebloods. Lucius made him feel like he belonged. Lucius told him that he was greater than his ambitions would allow him. Lucius told him to dream bigger.
Lucius told him he was better than her.
Severus was his own man. He made his own choices. He dug this grave and carefully etched his fate into the headstone.
But as much as he wanted to deny Lucius’s influence, as much as he couldn't bear to think about his own desperation to be accepted by pureblood society, he knew Lucius’s fingerprints were all over his past. That if he didn’t have Lucius to vouch for him to the Dark Lord, he would not be in this room with this man who expects him to roll over and obey like any common lapdog.
He would do whatever Lucius asked. It was what he was meant to do based on the expectations that Lucius held of him.
But the inner impulse from all those years ago remained. However much he wanted to have forgotten it, there was a part of him that still felt that Lucius was just and right because he had taken Severus under his wing. Because he had told Severus that Pot- that James was wrong and cruel and Severus was justified in fighting back. Because he had all but funded Severus’s apprenticeship and research.
Even if Lucius was not just or right, Severus still owed these things back to him.
There was a power in being seen. There was a power in being understood.
“We match,” the boy whispered. He followed Potter’s eyes to their forearms, to the twin marks etched in their skin. “We match,” he repeated.
Severus steeled himself, forcing himself to focus on Lucius and the glass he was nursing. Not quite occlumency. If he used occlumency, Lucius would be able to tell he was hiding his true emotions.
“The Dark Lord has taken an interest in Draco,” Lucius said.
“As expected, no doubt.”
“Indeed. However, Draco is…” Lucius chewed the inside of his cheek. Like father, like son . “He is not ready for the Dark Lord’s attention.”
Draco was many things, but he would never be a dark wizard. It was not Severus’s place to say this to Lucius. It was not Severus’s place to say this to Draco.
“I understand,” Severus supplied.
Lucius shook his head. “But you don’t. Not unless you know how he got into Potter’s house this summer.”
Severus allowed his surprise to betray him. “What does Potter have to do with Draco?” That was an absurd question in and of itself. What didn’t Potter have to do with Draco?
“What do you know of the resurrection potion?” Lucius countered, voice lowering in spite of the vast amount of privacy wards on the room.
“I only know about it from Potter’s side of the story, and he… was not quite able to share much about the ritual. However, with my own research… I know it could not have been a resurrection potion.”
Lucius nodded, “Yes, exactly. The Dark Lord was not resurrected so much as he was given a new form. His soul was intact even though it had vacated his body.”
“I understand.”
Lucius made a sound that was an almost-laugh. “I apologize for my attempt to talk potions to you, Severus, but I promise this is necessary.” Lucius took a long sip from his drink. “One of the ingredients of the potion required the blood of an enemy.”
This was the very moment Severus realized exactly how foolish he has been. How foolish they have all been.
He forced his face to relax into mild curiosity, to listen to Lucius through his entire explanation and only reveal his shock at the very finish of his monologue.
The Dark Lord had Potter’s blood in his veins.
“It was a simple blood ritual, really,” Lucius continued. “We did it on some low level looking to prove his worth. Someone that the Dark Lord had no qualms about disposing of. He did not expect the job to be successful. In fact, he expected Dumbledore to get to him.”
“A blood pact?”
Lucius shook his head. “Even simpler than that. A blood bond. In all honesty, I told the Dark Lord it wouldn’t work unless he invoked a blood ritual at least as strong as a blood pact. The possibility of actually getting to Potter was considered to be slim to none. The fact that it very nearly worked save from some shoddy acting skills…”
Potter was protected by blood wards. The blood wards shielded him from those who wished him harm.
The Dark Lord had Potter’s blood. The Dark Lord was protected by the blood wards.
When Severus learned of an imminent attack on Privet Drive, they never thought it was as serious as this. That the Dark Lord himself could have strolled into the boy’s house without none the wiser to his plan.
It was pure luck that Potter wasn’t kidnapped that night.
“They have a blood connection?”
“Yes. It is… difficult to parse out, even for myself. I don’t know if there are any written accounts of this sort of connection.” Lucius finished off his drink languidly. “At the very least, I now find myself all the more indispensable, but it comes at the price of his interest in Draco.”
“He wants to know if any power can come from two wizards with shared blood fighting on the same side.”
Lucius’s lips thinned. “Insightful as always, Severus.”
Lucius was not an affectionate father. He had high expectations for his son that didn’t quite know how to meet them and took anything less as weakness. He expected obedience despite his son’s growing individuality. He expected independence despite his son’s aimlessness. He expected pure rationality despite his son’s sensitivity.
Lucius was not an uncaring father.
“I will do what I can, but I cannot guarantee results. The Dark Lord trusts you with these matters far more than myself.”
“But he does trust you, and if I attempt to sway him differently, he will see through me.” Lucius did not say this with fear.
“I will do what I can,” Severus reiterated, and it was as close to the truth as his position would ever allow him to speak with Lucius.
“You know that is all I ask, Severus.”
Lucius was his enemy in this war. That was the truth at the end of the day. There will come a time where Severus and Lucius stand on opposite sides—be that in battle or in trial.
But this was the paradox of the soldier and the politician: the duality of the polite and the impolite and vulnerability and invulnerability. Lucius held his hands tightly in his lap and his mouth pressed thin and this was the very moment that he was enemy and friend. Adversary and ally.
Protecting Draco from the Dark Lord’s influence was not a matter of duty to the war effort. It was a matter of duty to a friend and of duty to stop a boy from getting lost in the wars of men.
The boy was all but a leaf for how his shoulders shook. The fabric was twisted densely between his hands. “I- I saw the scar on your neck. That night. I knew. I saw what he did to you and they really aren’t that bad, I swear.”
They really did have more in common than they thought.
-.-
Severus paced the Headmaster’s office, nearly infuriated with the lack of reaction from the older wizard. “Don’t you understand what this means?” he hissed.
“It means, we must give this new perspective careful thought. It means we must be calm in order to think rationally about what to do with this information. So please, Severus, you must remain calm,” Dumbledore said evenly.
“The boy’s arm,” Severus continued, ignoring him entirely. “It hurts when he has visions. This connection could be the reason he is having visions.”
“And this is why I implore you to remain calm. These are unfounded hypotheses.” Dumbledore waved a chair to move closer to the desk. “At the very least, take a seat.”
Severus reluctantly accepted the seat. This was the way the headmaster worked. He did not do things such as require those below him to bow or even made others use a proper address. He required his control to be shown in a much more subtle manner.
Severus forced the edge out of his tone. “We must consider the possibility that this is why Potter is having visions.”
“I have already considered it,” Dumbledore countered. “It is not possible.”
“When did you have time to consider this?”
“I admit that I did not consider the blood connection to be responsible for the near-kidnapping, but I did consider this connection after Harry had confided about his visions and the pain in his arm.” Dumbledore steepled his hands on his desk. “It is simply not possible for a blood connection to create a connection between minds.”
“This is a unique situation-”
“And yet, it has a very simple premise. A known magical blood connection between two individuals cannot cause a mind connection.” Dumbledore said with a tone that spoke of the very thing that Severus often forgot the headmaster carried with him.
“That being said,” Severus focused on maintaining a level tone,” I do think we should consider the facts individualizing this case from a simple blood bond or blood pact. They do not share similar blood, they share identical blood. This is a far stronger connection than anything either of us has ever studied. Even Lucius admitted to not fully understanding the repercussions of this.”
This was a key difference between the Headmaster and the Dark Lord. The Headmaster did not punish disagreement. This did not mean he listened to it.
“I have already settled the matter. They have a blood connection, but it is not a causal factor for the visions. I believe there to be other forces at play more powerful than the blood connection.”
“And what would those be?”
“I cannot tell you at this time.”
Severus shook his head. “You are limiting yourself to your own viewpoint. Myself, Alastor, Arthur, Professor McGonagall, even Black could contribute to your research if you would simply allow us to do so.”
“It is not a matter I wish to burden you with.”
Maybe they did not start on the best of terms. Maybe at one point in his life he was nearly as disenfranchised with the Headmaster as Harry appears to be now, but he now understood the Headmaster. Even in their disagreements, there was respect for his position, for his ability and leadership.
This was not so much the case at the moment.
“This is not the time to suddenly decide to protect me. I am meant to be an asset to you. I cannot do that if you do not give me the necessary information to do so.”
“I do not mean to patronize you, but this is a heavier burden than I usually allow you to carry. You have enough between the occlumency lessons and your other duties to keep you more than occupied for now. I do not wish to distract you from your most important tasks.”
“Are the boy’s visions not important? Does his connection to the Dark Lord not endanger him everyday he is without a defense in his mind?” Severus sneered.
“He is making progress, and that is what is important,” the Headmaster said calmly. His eyes perhaps a little dull.
Severus shook his head. “Is there anything else you need from me at this time?”
“That will be all.”
Severus exited the room swiftly, slamming the door behind him because it was his right to inform the Headmaster when he disagreed with him.
He walked briskly down to the dungeons. The halls were empty. Even after teaching for nearly fifteen years, it was never a feeling he got entirely used to. Hogwarts was something of place of constant movement and activity, as though the students were as integral as the stones it was built with. Stillness was not in Hogwarts’s nature.
Despite this, he has been staying more and more in Hogwarts these past two weeks than usual. It was a simple matter of convenience, of course. He was doing more potions work for the anticipated school year. It needed to be in closer contact with the Headmaster. It was a practical choice.
It had nothing to do with the empty seat at the other end of his kitchen table.
It was colder in the dungeons, even in the heat of summer. It was quieter in the dungeons, even in the excitement of bustling children and budding friendships.
He wondered if that was why he was drawn to it, all those years ago.
His quarters were nothing special. The furniture was whatever the house elves came up with all those years ago. The fireplace wasn’t large, making floo travel inconvenient for anyone of average height. The only reason the room didn’t turn musty was because of the house elves’ constant upkeep.
Sometimes the quarters remained so unchanged that he felt as though he were walking into them for the first time. The same grief wracking his bones. The same guilt making a home in his gut, hardening to a stone of anger.
Sometimes it felt like nothing ever changed at all.
Severus knew from the headache forming behind his eyes meant a stiff drink was not a good idea. He decided against the practical course of action.
Severus was a spy. He was meant to follow the practical course of action. Take the path of least resistance.
He was finding it increasingly more difficult to follow the practical course of action these past few weeks.
Severus Snape was not a good man.
He had a stiff drink and a headache and an exhaustion that made him feel older than he was, and these were things that have happened before.
But for the first time, he hoped that Harry was sleeping well.
Severus Snape was not a good man.
But if could choose to care for Harry, then maybe, he could choose to change that too.
He would get to the bottom of the blood bond.
For Harry.