Title: A Healing Touch, Part I

Author: InnocentImp

Rating: PG-13(ish)

Warnings: Completely AU as the challenge provided.

Beta: LydiaCarol

Summary: Harry was removed from the Dursleys' care at an early age and placed in the care of the Ministry. He's been groomed by the best for the sole purpose of destroying Voldemort. Once his task is done, he begins to realize the wide world beyond the Ministry has left him behind in so many ways. Enter Severus to show him the way.

A/N: I want to take a moment to point something out about this fic. Originally, I intended this fic to be a lot longer, unfortunately due to unforeseen RL issues I couldn't make it the fic it was supposed to be. I had a choice between submitting this or nothing at all. I chose to do this. This story can stand alone, though I will revisit this story in a sequel sometime in the future. In any case I hope you enjoy what I have to offer. Let me know if you'd like to see more.

Albus Dumbledore was well aware of his reputation as being omnipotent. He'd used that reputation to his advantage countless times. It was exceedingly useful in a school full of mischievous children. Unfortunately his reputation was just that, a reputation. What was often mistaken for omnipotence was actually just the wisdom and insight of an old man, and Albus had rarely wished it to be any other way. The little life of Harry Potter would prove to be an exception to that. In the nearly two decades after Harry Potter's birth, Albus would come to wish that he'd been able to foresee the dramatic and lonely turn the child's life would take. And when the time came, he would do everything in his power to make sure that little Harry Potter found his home.

***

It was a cold day in Little Whinging that greeted six-year-old Harry Potter. He'd been up since nearly seven, the sharp rap on his cupboard door alerting him that it was time to help his aunt in the kitchen. It hadn't started out as a particularly bad day, or an exceptionally interesting one for that matter. He had managed to help set the table properly, had fetched his uncle's morning newspaper, and had even been able to avoid his cousin's pudgy arms. He'd hoped he'd be allowed breakfast; he was after all terribly hungry, as he hadn't had supper the night before. He pretended to be invisible in the corner, waiting for the family meal to be over. Harry's mouth was watering at the sight of a nice thick piece of bacon that had yet to be eaten.

“Are you done, Duddykins?” Petunia glanced toward Harry's corner, indicating with a general flick of her wrist that he could begin to clear the table.

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Then you'd best go wash your hands and put on a jumper. We have a few errands to run before your play date with Piers. You, boy, you may have that bit of bacon and the leftover toast once you've cleared the dishes. And you'd best stay out of your uncle's way while I'm out. I won't have you troubling him on his day off.” Harry nodded as he cleared the last of the dishes. He knew better than to anger his uncle when his aunt wasn't around to intervene. A slight cuff could easily become a hardened blow if he was caught underfoot.

“But I want the bacon!” Dudley's whine was almost as painful as the realization that Harry wouldn't be getting breakfast after all.

“Sweetums, you need to go get ready to go. You said you were done with breakfast.” Harry looked hopefully towards his aunt, stomach twisting in anticipation. “Now go and get your jumper. If you hurry I'll buy you an ice cream while we're out, alright?”

“Two scoops!” Harry rolled his eyes while his aunt and uncle weren't looking. Dudley was looking more and more like a little piglet every day.

Petunia and Dudley left the room to get ready, leaving Harry alone with his uncle, who was reading the paper. Hoping to ferret away the bacon before Dudley could return, Harry quietly reached for it.

Thwack! Harry jumped back, holding his stinging right hand close to his chest.

“Your aunt told you to clear the dishes first, you little ingrate. You're not to eat until you've done so.” Uncle Vernon smiled maliciously at Harry's stinging hand. “That will teach you to take things you've not yet earned, boy.” Harry nodded meekly, reaching for the remaining dishes on the table. Maybe if he was careful he could hold his hand under some of the cool tap water to take out the sting.

Harry was rinsing the last of the dishes, before loading them into the washer, when he heard Dudley thundering back down the stairs.

“Mum! I'm ready!” Dudley came into the kitchen just as Harry finally retrieved the plate with the leftover bacon and toast. Harry knew Dudley was coming for him before he actually saw him, but the kitchen was just too small for him to move out of the way.

Crash! Though Harry had expected Dudley to cause a problem, he was still horrified to see that one of Aunt Petunia's plates had been broken. His uncle was up and moving faster than Harry could react. A rough hand gripped the back of his neck before throwing him to the floor.

“Look what you've done! You'll clean that up immediately and take out the trash. There will be no food for you the rest of the day, in payment for the plate you've broken.” Harry emitted a small squeak of dismay.

“What's going on? What happened to my dish?” Petunia was standing in the doorway scowling at Harry as he fetched the broom and dustpan.

“Nothing, Pet - I've taken care of it. I'll see you and Dudley to the door.” Harry's uncle turned the hateful glare to him once more. “You better have that cleaned up by the time I get back, boy. Or else.” Harry didn't need the threat. If he moved quickly he could be out of the kitchen taking out the trash before his uncle came back in.

Harry quickly swept up the mess and bundled up the trash. Thankfully Uncle Vernon hadn't returned yet, and Harry was hopeful he could escape to his outdoor chores. He hefted the trash out the back door and trudged around to the side of the house to put the trash near the fence. With only a few feet to go, Harry heard the bag tear, spilling some of the contents. Quickly, so as not to be discovered, Harry slipped back into the house to get another bag. Thankfully Uncle Vernon didn't hear him.

Harry bent over the sidewalk, quickly shoveling the litter into the new bag. Thankfully there wasn't much and Harry was able to maneuver the old bag into the new with little fuss. But just as he was beginning to close up the bag, he paused. There, on top of the pile, was the bacon left over from breakfast. Harry's mouth watered instantly. He was so hungry, and Uncle Vernon had said he'd have no meals for the day. His little fingers trembled, and he quickly cast a look back towards the door. His uncle would never know. Carefully Harry pulled the bacon out of the bag and gingerly wiped it on his tatty but clean jeans. He'd just swallowed the first bite when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around.

“What do you think you're doing?!” Harry could only quake under his uncle's grip.

“I'm sorry!” It came out as more of a sob than an apology.

“Not yet you're not!” In his rage Vernon began dragging Harry back towards the door. “But you will be. It seems you didn't learn your lesson this morning.” The slamming of the back door drowned out Harry's sob.

Neither Harry nor Vernon saw Mrs. Figg standing across the street, a wayward cat in her arms.

***

Harry sat back on his heels and pulled his aching fingers to his chest. He couldn't remember another time when Uncle Vernon had been so angry. He'd forced him into the kitchen as he berated him about his animalistic behavior, before he'd marched over to one of the drawers in the kitchen and withdrew one of his aunt's large wooden spoons. He'd demanded that Harry present his hands, palms down, for punishment. He swore he'd beat the animal out of him. In his terror Harry had uttered a pitiful plea of, “Please, no, Uncle Vernon.” The open-handed slap that connected with his cheek silenced any other pleas.

Harry had cried most of the way through his punishment, and had at first been grateful for a chance to escape outside, even if it was to pull weeds. But now his bruised and bleeding fingers were cramping and Harry longed for the dark comfort of his cupboard. If he was lucky he would be able to sleep through the worst of the hunger he was sure to face.

“Boy! Get in this house right now.” Harry stood, and hastened to comply. His uncle's voice had an unsteady element to it and he didn't wish to anger the man any further.

Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair as he walked into the kitchen, wincing at the shooting pain in his hands. He stopped short in the entryway, his eyes going wide. The four people at the table made a most peculiar picture. There was an old man, the oldest Harry had ever seen, sitting on one side of the table, a long white beard tucked into what looked to be a fancy dressing gown. To his right was another man, far younger, though far more intimidating; the look he gave Harry reminded him of when his aunt was assessing him for a new chore. On the other side of the man with the long beard was a woman wearing a long skirt and matching blouse, with a long white apron over the top, much like the one the baker in town wore. She reacted to his presence with a small gasp.

“Oh my!” Harry squirmed under the sudden scrutiny of the room's occupants.

“Harry, do come in, child.” The older man beckoned him to come closer, extending wrinkled hands in his direction. “Let us have a look at you.” Harry shuffled slowly forward, head slightly bowed. His uncle looked ready to explode at any moment.

“There, you've seen he's fine. Now if you don't mind?” Vernon was silenced by the glares from both the woman and the younger man. Harry stopped just outside of grabbing distance of the older man.

“Ah, there you are. Hello, Harry. My name is Albus Dumbledore.” Harry looked up into kind old eyes, though the elderly man's smile seemed to dim when his gaze swept over his face.

“What happened to your cheek, Harry?”

“I fell.” Harry's weak excuse was belied by his antsy glare to his uncle. Unconsciously, he reached up to touch his cheek. He'd forgotten about that.

“What happened here?” Harry gave a startled gasp; Dumbledore was awfully quick. He'd reached right out and gently grasped the hand he'd touched his cheek with.

“I … I took something I shouldn't have. I was bad.” Harry hung his head and discreetly shot a glance towards his uncle.

“Let me see those fingers.” The woman rapidly approached Harry, taking his hand away from Dumbledore. Reflexively, Harry tried to pull away from her unfamiliar and rather brisk touch.

“Harry, this is Madame Pomfrey. She is a nurse at the school where I work. Let her have a look, please.” Harry didn't offer his hands, but he didn't resist when the nurse picked them up either.

“Harry dear, what did he use?” The nurse's voice was kind and sympathetic but Harry was very hesitant to provide any more information. Uncle Vernon was strangely silent, but he still looked ready to explode at any moment. Dumbledore must have noticed the direction of his gaze because he intervened again.

“You needn't worry about your uncle, Harry. Go ahead and answer Madame Pomfrey - that way she can fix your hands.” Dumbledore put a gentle hand on his shoulder and for the barest of moments, Harry felt as though a little bit of bravery had flooded through him.

“My aunt's mixing spoon.” The nurse, Madame Pomfrey, made a little sound in the back of her throat before withdrawing a long stick of wood from her apron. At the sight of it Harry flinched.

“It's alright. This may tingle and feel a little cold, but it won't hurt, alright?” Harry braced himself, but Madame Pomfrey had been honest. There was just the barest hint of a cold tingle, not unlike the sensation Harry got after he'd brushed his teeth.

“Do you have enough, Rufus?” Dumbledore addressed the other man.

“Yes. We can take him to the Ministry this evening, and we can accommodate him until a hearing can take place later this week.”

“That's quite unnecessary. We have the room at Hogwarts, and Madame Pomfrey is more than capable of keeping an eye on him.” Harry couldn't understand. They seemed to be arguing about him. They were taking him somewhere. Had his uncle sold him? He'd threatened it enough.

“I'm afraid I have my orders to follow, Headmaster. He goes the Ministry. I'll contact you as to the time and location of his custody hearing.” The younger man stood from the table and moved towards Harry. He placed a hand on his shoulder and turned to his uncle. “Vernon Dursley, you are being placed under formal investigation for child abuse and child endangerment. You will be hearing from someone in our department shortly.” With a curt nod in Dumbledore's direction, the man began to guide Harry towards the door. Harry was reluctant to leave the old man and the nurse. They seemed far nicer people to him. Once again, Dumbledore must have noticed his discomfort.

“Harry, this is Auror Scrimgeour. He works for the Ministry of Magic. You go on with him; I will arrange to see you tomorrow, alright?” Harry nodded his head shakily. He didn't understand what was going on, but it had to be better than staying with his uncle, who looked mad with rage. It would be the last time he ever saw his uncle, or Privet Drive for that matter.

A few days later a worn and frustrated Albus Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts. He'd been to see Harry several times over the last few days, and while the child seemed to be physically alright, it was clear he was still very confused and rather frightened. Albus had hoped that he could make Harry a permanent ward of Hogwarts, or even take custody of him personally. He'd fought long and hard toward that end, but had regrettably failed. The Auror Office and the Minister himself had swayed the Court of Children's Welfare. They'd claimed that Albus had already tried to act in Harry's best interest and this had yielded disastrous results. They had had argued that Harry be made a special ward of the Ministry. At first Albus had thought the Court would dismiss the idea outright, but the Minister had had an ace up his sleeve.

At some point the Minister had escorted Harry down to the Department of Mysteries and acquired a prophecy. The entire Court of Children's Welfare had heard that Harry would be all that stood between the Ministry and the second rise of Voldemort. In their fear they had rapidly agreed that Harry should be raised by officials who could properly oversee his training. A special squad in the Auror Office had been created to oversee just that, and little Harry Potter had been whisked away immediately.

There were restrictions, of course. Harry was to be “well cared for” and was to remain on schedule with Hogwarts teachings in all primary subjects. The court had insisted he be capable of sitting his OWLs and his NEWTs at the properly scheduled time. There was also to be a Court liaison assigned to ensure that Harry was being treated properly.

Albus sighed. He'd liked to have believed that the Auror Office would properly care and guide young Harry, but he'd been dealing with the Ministry far too long to be so naïve. Albus doubted that Harry would have any more of a childhood than he would have had had he remained at the Dursleys'. It was a burden that would bother him for years.

***

Harry surveyed his new room pensively. He'd hoped he would at least be allowed to say farewell to Mr. Dumbledore, but they'd whisked him out of the courtroom before he'd even had the chance to wave goodbye. That aside, the room wasn't too bad. It was larger than his cupboard, of course, and it looked a little larger than Dudley's room as well. There was a small bed on the far wall, with a narrow window placed directly above it. There was also a small desk, and a large bookcase filled with all sorts of books. Finally there was a wardrobe; one of the doors was open and inside Harry could see several shirts that looked to be about his size. Strangely, they all appeared to be the same color of gray.

“This is your room from now on. Tomorrow several people will come to evaluate you. After that you will receive proper tutoring in any subjects we deem important. I expect you to work hard towards obtaining perfection. I will not tolerate laziness.” Harry looked toward Auror Scrimgeour, slightly nervous at his tone.

“You will be provided with the finest education. I expect you to live up to our investment and your potential.” Auror Scrimgeour looked down at him with the assessing gaze Harry had become so accustomed to. It wasn't quite a glare, but it still made Harry uncomfortable.

“There are rules here for you to follow.” Scrimgeour paused to ensure he had Harry's attention. At the boy's hesitant nod he continued. “You are not to leave this room unaccompanied for any reason. There are two doors. One leads to my office, and the other leads to a small courtyard. Neither will open from the inside of this room without one of your instructors present. If you need something, you are to call out for me. Someone will hear you and inform me. You are only to do so if absolutely necessary. Do you understand?” Scrimgeour looked down his nose at the waif standing before him.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. There are of course consequences if you fail to complete your assignments, break rules, or disobey your instructors. Finally, you are to treat your instructors with the respect they deserve. You are to address everyone you meet with either Sir or Ma'am. You will address your instructors as Master. I am Master Scrimgeour; you will meet everyone else tomorrow. The bathroom is through the door on that wall. Your dinner will be brought up shortly, and then you should get some rest.”

Harry watched as Master Scrimgeour proceeded back through the door they had entered, the door sealing behind him. He hesitantly moved toward the door he'd indicated and peeked inside at the small bathroom. Harry jumped at the small pop he heard, and turned to see a tray of food sitting on his desk. He still wasn't sure why he'd been moved here, or really what these people wanted. He hesitantly reached for the dinner roll perched on the plate, contemplating what the next few days would bring.

***

8 Years Later…

He didn't have time for this, and even if he did, it would be the last way he wanted to spend his free time. His precious free time. He certainly wouldn't choose to spend his weekends tutoring incompetent children. Albus had begged him to accept the position, though why still remained a mystery to Severus. Nevertheless, here he was, in the bowels of the Ministry listening to Rufus Scrimgeour snap out rules and warnings as they proceeded down the corridor.

“Remember Snape, you need only get the boy proficient to take his OWLs. The last few assessments indicated that he'd fallen substantially behind in his studies. Even his typical consequences weren't enough to bring him back up to Ministry standards …”

Scrimgeour continued to blather on, but Snape found himself wondering what exactly he meant by consequences. Actually, Snape wondered about a lot of things. He'd been told precious little about this student. Only that he was a special ward of the Ministry who needed a tutor in potions and possibly herbology. Snape gave a mental snort - apparently there wasn't anyone at the Ministry qualified to tutor the child. What a surprise.

Snape's musings came to an abrupt halt when Scrimgeour stopped midway down a vacant corridor.

“Here we are. He's inside. If you have any problems be sure to let me know. He has strict consequences for his actions; I doubt you'll have much trouble. Lunch will be sent to you, and I will be back for you around five. Do you have any questions?” Snape shook his head in the negative. Most of his questions would be answered shortly. “Very well.” Scrimgeour then ran his finger down the center of the wall and murmured an incantation Snape couldn't quite catch.

Goblin security. Who do they have in here, The Dark Lord? Snape's curiosity was piqued as the wall slid apart. He stepped forward at Scrimgeour's motion to do so. Once over the threshold he stopped dead. Harry fucking Potter. No wonder Albus had insisted.

“Harry Potter?” Severus was disgusted, and couldn't quite keep the surprise from his voice. Scrimgeour shot him a nasty look.

“Is that a problem? You have a reputation for being unimpressed by anything less than genuine skill; was I misinformed?” Scrimgeour was glaring in Potter's direction. “We don't afford him special treatment. If you can't handle him you'd best tell me now.”

“It's not a problem.” Snape was gratified that his tone was properly icy again - Potter looked quite nervous.

“Very good. Potter, this is Master Snape. I expect improvement on your part, and quickly. I don't want this encroaching on your more important studies, are we clear?”

“Yes, Master Scrimgeour. I'll try my best.”

“You'd best do more than try or there will be consequences, are we clear?” Scrimgeour leveled a gaze at Potter that made the boy hesitate. Snape was sure there was more than a mere threat in the exchange. Potter paused significantly before nodding his head. “Yes, Master.”

Scrimgeour nodded once at Snape before he left the room, the doorway sealing behind him. Snape turned and leveled his best glare at Potter, who was standing attentively behind his desk.

“Mr. Potter.”

“Master Snape?” Snape had to repress a smile. He calls me Master; James Potter must be rolling in his grave.

“Tell me, what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Potter opened his mouth as if to answer, hesitated, then spoke.

“I don't know, Master Snape.”

“Very well, let's try again shall we? Tell me, where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?” Again, Potter hesitated, eyes shifting to the right then back to Snape.

“I … I don't know, Master.”

This was going to be fun. “And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

Potter remained silent this time, gaze fixed to the floor, shifting his weight back and forth.

“Don't know? Pity, clearly fame isn't everything.” Snape's mouth twisted into an ugly smile at Potter's expression. The boy looked terribly confused; clearly he was used to being coddled through his studies.

The rest of the day and most of the next was spent assessing Potter's potions skills. It was a frustratingly slow process. And sooner than he'd expected, Snape grew bored of attempting to bait the boy. The only responses he ever received were ”Yes, Master Snape” and ”No, Master Snape.” It was a bit tedious actually. Potter exhibited none of the typical teenage angst he'd come to expect. The boy was a complete enigma. He didn't speak unless spoken to and he showed very little outward reaction to any barbs or insults. His potions skills were, of course, deplorable. He seemed to have a rudimentary grasp of theory, but was completely lost when it came to application. Still, something about the whole situation was off, something Severus couldn't quite put his finger on, and that alone was worth continuing the boy's tutelage. That, and of course Albus would insist.

***

4 Months Later…

Severus was furious. The last four months had been some of the oddest of his life, and some of the most intriguing. Potter was one of the most complex individuals he'd ever met, and unraveling the mystery was, on most days, worth the lost personal time. Today was not one of those days.

There had been a vast variety of things that had perplexed and intrigued Severus about Potter. He was a contradiction in and of himself; he was both timid and strangely confident. He was completely unreceptive to touch. The first time Severus had stood behind him to direct his brewing technique, he had garnered an interesting reaction, and a ruined potion. Potter had been far more forthcoming with an explanation than Severus had anticipated. Apparently the only time someone touched him was either to punish, or when a mediwitch attended him after a particularly rigorous training session with one of his other instructors. But beyond all of Potter's little idiosyncrasies, there was something that had continually niggled the back of Severus' mind. Only today had he figured out what that was. And he was furious.

“Potter! Perhaps you would like to explain this?” Severus was having difficulty not throttling the boy. And he'd begun to actually regard him with some modicum of respect. Such a grievous error in judgment of the boy's character grated on his nerves.

Potter had the decency to look ashamed. He eyed the well-worn and obviously well-read potions book apprehensively. “Sir?” The acknowledgment was little more than a squeak.

“Are these not your notations in the margins?” Potter took a step back when Severus waved the book menacingly towards his head.

“I … I've been adding notes after your lessons.”

“Do not lie to me. You were in no need of a potions instructor at all, were you?” So much made sense now. When Potter had hesitated in answering questions, it had been to formulate false responses. The question remained as to why he would do this.

“No, Master Snape.”

“How dare you waste my time in this manner!” Snape threw the book down onto the worktable where Potter had been brewing an elementary sleeping draught, and stormed towards the wall where the door should be.

“Rest assured, I'll not be returning. How do you open this door?!”

“Please, Master. It will only open from the outside.” Snape turned at Potter's voice. He sounded particularly distressed, worried about what he would tell Scrimgeour no doubt.

“Please Master, I … I didn't mean any offense. I only wished to learn.” Even Severus couldn't deny the honesty in the boy's tone. He was typically so sincere and forthright; it was amazing he'd managed the charade for so long.

“Please, don't tell Master Scrimgeour. I only wanted to learn more than the theory. Truly, I meant no offense.” When Severus didn't respond with a derisive comment Harry continued. “The instructors here can't provide me practical lessons. I only wished to learn the basic brewing techniques.”

“You learned those weeks ago, Potter!”

“I know!” Harry nearly shouted his response, catching Snape off guard. “I know.” A whisper this time. “But it's fascinating, and the only things my other instructors will teach me relate precisely to defense. I just, I wanted to learn something new, something different. I didn't think they would find an instructor who knew so much.” Potter hung his head again, a flush barely visible rising from his collar to his face.

“You should have been honest about your skills to begin with. You realize you've wasted both of our time?”

“Yes, Master. I'm sorry.” It really was difficult to remain angry at such an expression, or to find much fault in such an honest thirst for knowledge.

“If you'd been truthful from the start, we'd have been able to brew much more interesting potions.” Snape considered the boy before him carefully. The past four months had been interesting, to say the least, and Albus had insisted he remain Potter's tutor for as long as possible.

“Perhaps you'd do well to take another assessment. See if you have any potential worth salvaging.” The hopeful gaze that met him stirred something in him he didn't quite recognize.

“You'll stay? You won't tell Master Scrimgeour?”

“Provided you give me adequate reason to. I won't waste my time on some talentless boy hero. I expect you to work hard, and be honest about your skills with me. I'll not tolerate any more deceit.”

“Yes, Master Snape.”

***

Two years passed in much the same fashion. Severus continued his tutelage of Harry in potions, and at Harry's urging even moved into some herbology. Harry was endlessly curious, and it was that trait that allowed Severus to grow to appreciate to boy's company and intellect. It was remarkably easy for Severus to fall into a friendship with Harry, the likes of which he hadn't experienced since Hogwarts. It was an easygoing friendship, unburdened by normal social obligations. Unlike most people, Harry expected nothing of him and was more than content with what he did receive. It had been all too easy to become dependent on their easygoing friendship.

On more than one occasion he'd had to fight to continue Harry's tutelage; Scrimgeour, if he'd had his way, would have devoted all of Harry's time to the pursuit and destruction of the Dark Lord. Severus had managed to remain at the boy's side, as both friend and instructor, right up until he sat for his NEWTs. Harry did admirably, of course, and at that point their relationship was forced to an end. Though Severus would miss his time spent with Harry, there was a little part of him that felt it might perhaps be best for him to cease his association.

On reflection, Severus couldn't quite tell when his feelings for Harry had changed, though he had no illusions as to how they'd changed. He was startled the first time his imagination conjured a scenario with Harry as the star, though perhaps he shouldn't have been. Harry had filled out rather nicely, average height, messy black hair, captivating green eyes, an intellect to challenge his own. Even so, the first time Severus woke, damp and tangled in his sheets, a lingering vision of Harry on his knees calling him ”Master” caressing his mind, he was shocked. As it turned out, it was the first fantasy of many. Though it probably should have bothered him to have such thoughts about a person who amounted to a seventh-year student, Severus was largely unconcerned. They were just fantasies, and Harry, thank Merlin, was too innocent and sheltered to have any idea that anything had changed. Severus found he could live with the harmless fantasies; it was the feelings that grew out of those fantasies that made him uncomfortable. When lust turned to a protective possessiveness, Severus began to worry. Lust was one thing; he could control lust. He always had. But this was turning into something more, something different, and something that simply couldn't be. It was Severus' fervent hope that time would manage what he couldn't. It would be a very long two years before he saw Harry again.

***

Diagon Alley was densely packed with people out celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord. People lined the streets, moving in mobs throughout the Alley, most having come to see the Boy Wonder himself. Severus wished he could say he was just there for potions ingredients, but the truth was, he'd wanted to see that Harry was well. And so far as he could tell from his dark little corner of the street, the boy was fine. A little tired, and wary of the crowds perhaps, but fine. The Order of Merlin looked good on him. Severus sighed and turned away; he'd come, he'd seen, and it was time to walk away. Perhaps a quick drink wouldn't hurt before he headed back to Hogwarts.

The crowds were finally beginning to disperse out of the Alley, the day's festivities done, though there was still a steady group of onlookers that kept trying to creep up on Harry. He gave a tired sigh, ready to go home and get out of the stuffy formal Auror robes he'd been made to wear that morning. Initially, he'd been excited about the ceremony; he'd never been out of the Ministry before, at least not since he was really, really little. But he hadn't anticipated the crowds. He'd never seen so many people in one place, and he hadn't seen the only person he'd wanted to. Now he was dirty, tired and longing for some familiar surroundings.

“Potter.” Scrimgeour approached, fishing a gold key from his pocket. “Potter, this is yours. There will be a goblin waiting for you. He'll give you access to your accounts and properties. I'm sure you will find something to your liking.”

Harry studied the key, confusion etched across his features. “I'm not coming back with you?”

Scrimgeour snorted. “Of course not. You've completed your task for the Ministry; you can go about on your own now. Your instructors have already been disbanded and reassigned throughout the department. Now if you'll just turn around and trot on into the bank, they'll get you taken care of.” Scrimgeour gave Harry a final, hard look before turning and disappearing into the remaining crowd. As soon as he departed Harry found himself surrounded by a growing group of people. They were all pressing in around him, some reaching out to touch his sleeve, some shouting questions, and some thrusting quills into his hands.

Panicking, Harry slipped out of his robe, through the mess of people and down the first side alley he came to.

A few hours later…

He was well and truly lost. He'd managed to successfully lose the last of the crowd hours ago, but he'd also managed to lose himself in the process. Tired, cold and hungry, he sat down under a gas lamp, wondering what to do. He didn't have any money, or any way of contacting anyone, and all of the shops were long closed anyway. He hadn't seen anyone who'd acknowledge him in hours. Perhaps he could just wait here until morning? Harry gave a little start when a hand grasped his elbow.

“How much, boy?” A man smelling of smoke and old alcohol leaned in towards Harry's face.

“What?” Harry squeaked a protest as he tried to pull his arm away. He didn't like that he couldn't dislodge the man's grip.

“Coy one, aren't you?” The man began to pull Harry down the alley and away from the street. “Come on, boy, I'll make it worth your while.”

Harry tried to yank his arm away again. He had no idea what this man wanted, but he knew he needed to get away from him. There was a pub a few streets back; maybe they could give him directions.

“Unhand him.” Harry instantly recognized the third voice, relief he hadn't thought possible washing over him. Turning his head slightly, he could see that Severus had his wand trained on the other man. The man reluctantly released Harry's elbow, obviously not wanting to fight over him.

“Come, Harry.” Harry took a few stumbling steps towards Severus, who reached out to steady him. They didn't talk for the next fifteen or so minutes as Severus lead Harry through several streets and alleys he didn't recognize. When they turned onto the main road, Harry gave a sigh of relief, finally recognizing some of the buildings from earlier that day.

“What were you doing down there?” Severus' tone was harsh and Harry faltered in his steps for a moment.

“I got lost.”

“Why aren't you back at the Ministry? Why did you leave your other instructors?” Severus halted his stride just outside a place called The Leaky Cauldron and turned to face Harry.

“I meant to go to the bank - Master Scrimgeour said I couldn't go back to the Ministry. I got lost in the crowd. I'm sorry, Master Snape.” Snape sighed; he hadn't meant to snap. Harry hadn't called him “Master” in a very long time. But he'd been shocked to find Harry on a corner in Knockturn Alley like some common whore. Merlin only knew where he'd have ended up if Snape hadn't stayed late at the pub.

“Scrimgeour just abandoned you here?” Really, the arrogance of the Ministry where Harry was concerned was appalling.

“He said there was a goblin waiting to give me an accounting of my properties at the bank.” Severus was furious. The Ministry and Scrimgeour in particular had been very clear, during the course of Harry's education, that they regarded him solely as a weapon, a tool to be used to ensure the Dark Lord couldn't rise to power again. Still, it was disgusting that Harry could be so easily thrown aside.

“You can't stay by yourself. At least not until your properties have been properly inspected and warded.”

“But I've nowhere to go.”

“Nonsense. You'll come with me, back to Hogwarts. I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore will have room for you.” And he'll probably twinkle merrily at me for the mere suggestion , thought Severus.

Severus knew without doubt Albus would make room for Harry, at least until the boy could look after himself. He'd always felt guilty that Harry had grown up the way he had. Though how Snape would survive the coming months was a mystery to him. Time had done nothing to lessen the pull he felt towards Harry. He wasn't sure if he could continue to keep his distance, particularly since Harry was well past the age of consent. There was so much he could teach him still. Harry had no idea the pleasure a simple touch could bring, and Severus ached to be the one to show him.

“I can stay with you? At the castle?” Harry's eyes were full of the innocent excitement and curiosity that Snape had found so alluring during their academic conversations. He couldn't help but reach out and gently grasp Harry's shoulder.

“Yes, for now at least, you may stay with me. I'll Apparate us to the castle and we can clear up your account with Gringott's another day. Alright?” Harry nodded and smiled his consent. He then moved closer to Severus, leaning his slight weight against his side. A thrill raced through Severus at the contact. It was the first time Harry had ever initiated any kind of physical contact on his own, and Severus basked in it, even though a part of him recognized it was only so he could Apparate them more easily. Though the contact lasted for only a few moments, it was the last thing Severus thought about as he Apparated them to Hogwarts, and towards their future.