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Harry had trouble sleeping.

There were many reasons for it. Sometimes the silence was just too loud, though Hedwigs presence always helped, her quiet presence making it less intimidating. Tonight she was out hunting. And tonight even the moon, casting pale light through the curtains was too bright, not to mention the pit in his stomach.

Harry buried himself deeper into his pillow.

At the Dursleys, he had survived by sneaking food. Bread stuffed into his pockets for the days when meals were withheld entirely. It would go hard, but it worked. Sometimes a bare hand of noodles. Sometimes a singular potato. Whatever he could take without being noticed.

Harry was not a picky eater.

Living with Snape, food had not been denied to him. He ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner - something that had been rare outside of Hogwarts. And yet, despite full meals, his stomach still twisted with hunger.

It didn't make sense. And it did.

Surely Snape wouldn't notice if a little food went missing.
Harry just had to be careful.

He opened his bedroom door and paused, listening.

The house was silent. Snape must surely be asleep at this hour.

He crept down the stairs in the dark, wincing at every soft creak when he put his weight down too quickly. He paused, listening for angry footsteps, but the house remained silent. One hand slid along the railing as he descended, trying to put his weight on his hands rather than on his feet.

By the time he reached the kitchen, the hunger had become something sharp. He wasn't even sure if he was actually hungry, he was greedy. Because who knows if tomorrow, Snape decides that Harry won't have full meals anymore.
Or maybe he will be returned to the Dursleys first thing in the morning.

He opened the fridge, scanning its contents for something that wouldn't be missed.

A block of cheese.

Snape was precise, but Harry doubted he counted food. He cut off a slice and ate it quickly while opening a cupboard. Inside sat a box of Kellogg's.

He grabbed a handful, pressing it flat against his mouth as he swallowed, barely chewing, then pocketing some of them.
He moved on, ripping a piece of bread in half like a wild animal, pocketing one half as well and devouring the other like he hadn't eaten in days.
And he didn't stop there.
...

Severus woke easily.

He would have blamed it on his Death Eater days, had his sleep not been light long before that. Blame it on what you will, but he had trained his body to wake before his mind could catch up, to register the smallest disturbance before any fear or reason could follow.

So when something creaked somewhere in the house, Severus startled awake at once, wand in hand.

He did not move. Instead, he held his breath and listened.

Another creak, closer this time.

With a quiet exhale, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He pulled his nightgown properly over his shoulders and rose, opening the bedroom door with deliberate care.

"Lumos."

Soft light bloomed at the tip of his wand, illuminating the hallway before him.

It lay still. Snape's gaze swept over the closed doors, pausing when he noticed that the one of the guest room , the one where Potter temporarily stayed in, stood ajar. He stepped closer and glanced inside.

As expected, the bed was empty.

Severus turned and ascended the stairs, each step placed carefully. The sitting room was deserted.
Nothing in the study.

When he reached the kitchen, he found it empty as well.

Empty, but in a state Severus hadn't left it.

One of the cupboards hung open. On the counter sat half a block of cheese, a knife left beside it.
Open packages and crumbs scattered on the isle.

Severus stepped into the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement underneath the table.

That must be the one responsible for the chaos.

Severus halted then, allowing his eyes to rest for a second. He was unsure how he should proceed.

This was. Unusual.

He flicked on the overhead light and approached the table slowly, lowering himself to one knee so as not to startle the boy.

Potter gasped, his cheek painted in a thin red. His eyes were wide, panic plain visible on his face.

"Why are you hiding, Potter?" Severus asked, keeping his voice level.

Potter bit his lip. "I... I was stealing."

Severus inclined his head. "And yet you hide in plain sight."

Harry pressed himself further into the corner, clutching the hem of his too large shirt.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he mumbled. And the tone of his voice twisted Severus chest in a way he hadn't expected. Why was this child apologizing? For being hungry?

"Come out," Severus said, voice calm, allowing it to be as gentle as it got. "My knees don't enjoy kneeling indefinitely."

Potter hesitated. Then, slowly, he crawled out from under the table, twisting his fingers together. He stood infront of Severus as if he had done a second degree crime.
Head bowed, teeth working on his lips.

"Sir," he said quickly, "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I had dinner, and I had no reason to steal food."

Severus's gaze drifted back to the counter, to the cheese, the knife..
The evidence of the murder Potter thought he committed. When it was nothing than simple hunger.

Of course Severus would prefer the boy ate during reasonable hours.
But that was beyond the point.

He said nothing, looked at the boy and waited.

For what, he was not entirely sure either. For an explanation, perhaps. For the boy to reveal himself, to say something that would clarify the situation.

Potter shifted under his gaze. Severus noticed the way he avoided eye contact, and yet his eyes didn't leave Snape. Following every small movement. The tension coiled too tightly in his small frame.

"Do you-" Harry faltered, biting his lip. "Do you expect me to go to my room? Or should I clean the kitchen? With a toothbrush perhaps? What's my punishment?"

Severus merely raised an eyebrow.

Did the boy truly expect punishment for procuring food when he was hungry?

„Maybe the electric chair is in favour for this unforgivable misdeed"

Potters eyes widened. And Snape sighed, „That was a joke, Potter"
He lifted a hand to his forehead, considering his response.

Potter flinched.

It was subtle, barely even more than a twitch, but Severus saw it. The boy drew back half a step, as though bracing himself for-

Severus stilled at once, his hand falling back to his side. His eyes fixed on Potter.

"Really, Mr. Potter" he said.

And finally the boy met his gaze.

His eyes held something raw and tangled, fear radiating so plainly it was almost visible.

"Yes, sir," Potter replied, his voice tight.

„I won't-" Severus started, but he trailed off, focusing on a point behind the boy. He shouldn't have to tell him.

"We shall discuss this tomorrow," Severus said evenly. "It is late."

Potter nodded, head dipping.

Severus watched him for a moment longer, then turned away. He closed the open cupboard and opened another, retrieving a loaf of bread. He sliced it carefully, buttered it, and placed it on the table, at the seat Potter usually occupied.

Potter opened his mouth as though to speak, but did not move.

Severus leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folding across his chest. He waited, letting the moment stretch.

"Eat," he said at last when Potter made no move toward the table, his tone neutral.

Potter hesitated. "I-I don't get it.. am I not in trouble?"

"No."

Potter approached the table slowly and sat. He picked up the sandwich with both hands, casting a wary glance toward Severus.

Severus was not entirely certain what the boy was looking for, so he kept his expression deliberately neutral. He did not move.

Apparently good enough, because Potter took a large bite. Then another.

He ate quickly, chewing and swallowing as though afraid the opportunity might vanish if he did not finish fast enough.

Severus did not comment.

Only when the plate was empty did he step forward to collect and clean it.
„God these cutlery's really could need a good washing.." he mumbled to himself as he put the plate away
...

Harry loved housework.
It was repetitive, something you could rarely fail at. Either something was clean, or it wasn't. And while Petunia would always find fault (sometimes searching until Harry made a mistake), Harry himself was usually satisfied with the work he'd done.

So when Snape waved him off to do as he pleased, muttering something about important business, Harry found himself in the kitchen, washing every plate he could find in the cupboards.

Snape had said that they could need a washing after all.
Petunia sometimes did that too. Comments that didn't seem directed at anyone, and then being annoyed at Harry for not realising that's actually not the case.

So naturally, he lined them neatly on the counter, scrubbing each one until it shone. He hummed softly to himself, a rhythm without words, until the last plate was clean.

Then the cups.

Then the glasses.

Above the sink, he noticed several vases.

He washed those too.

There was only one left, tucked far back on the highest shelf. Harry stretched onto his toes, fingers brushing the rim as he pulled it forward-

It was heavier than he expected.

The vase slipped, hitting the floor with a deafening crack.

Harry shrieked. He dropped to his knees at once, hands scrambling to gather the shards.

Snape had accepted him sneaking food- but this? This was different. This was destruction. Personal belongings.

It had been hidden at the back of the cupboard, but Harry was certain Snape would notice it missing.

His hands shook as he gathered the broken pieces, mind racing. The bin was impossible; Snape would see them immediately.

He would think of something later.

For now, Harry raced upstairs and shoved the shards under his pillow, heart pounding. He would find a better place. Maybe he could even repair it.

...

Severus had never been really fond of housework.
But he preferred doing them physically instead of magically any day.
Perhabs because his father had hated it when Severus had used magic to do them.

But that was a place Severus wouldn't touch.

Naturally, after the meeting with the Order, Severus went straight to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Nothing elaborate. A simple stew with beef and potatoes. He even went so far as to prepare a small dessert. Treacle tart. He had noticed Potter's fondness for it.

Severus himself had little taste for sweets, but Potter eating something he enjoyed would do him good. Especially after the other night. The boy needed to learn that food was not something to be stolen or rationed or snatched in secret.

It was simply there.

He had just finished setting the table when Potter slipped into the kitchen, already hovering at the threshold.

He noticed it the moment he turned toward him.

Potter stood too rigid in the doorway, shoulders drawn inward, as though bracing for something unseen. When Severus reached for the plates, the boy stiffened further, fingers twitching at his sides.

Severus paused, then continued as though he had not noticed.

"Wash your hands."

He ladled stew into his own bowl. Potter obeyed at once, scrubbing his hands too thoroughly, before taking his usual seat.
They ate an silence, which was nothing new.
If there wasn't the fact that the boy would startle and drop hid form the very moment Severus moved.

Severus frowned and deliberately slowed his movements, he tried to eat slowly, not even glancing toward the teen.

Another scrape. The knife this time.

What, precisely, was wrong with him?

Potter had always been jumpy. That much was hardly new. But this was different. As though something clung to him, invisible yet unmistakable there.

Guilt, perhaps.

Yes. That would make sense. James Potter's son was rarely idle for long.

The fork slipped again.

Severus sighed. "Potter," he said, weary now, "for Merlin's sake, will you stop doing that?"

Potter flinched. His shoulders curled inward, and Severus caught the brief press of teeth into lower lip.

"Pick up your cutlery," Severus continued, moderating his tone, "and keep it in your hands."

Potter complied immediately.

He ate quickly, eyes fixed on his plate, posture tense as though prepared to bolt at any moment. Severus watched in silence. When he set the treacle tart down, he did not miss the way the boy's expression changed, how his eyes brightened before he seemed to remember himself and look away again.

Severus noted that.

When the last bite was swallowed, Severus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Now," he said, "care to explain why you are so uneasy today?"

"I'm fine," Potter replied at once.

"Clearly."

Their gazes met for a brief moment, then Potter looked away first. Severus knew that look. He was not getting any answers tonight.

They had yet to address the previous night, and Severus was acutely aware that pressing now would yield nothing of value.
Maybe even take them several steps back.

"Can I go to my room, sir?"

Severus closed his eyes briefly and drew a slow breath.

"You may," he said slowly, then, after a moment, added, "You can tell me if something is bothering you."

"Yes, sir," Potter answered when Severus barely finished talking.

The words were correct. The posture was not.

Severus studied him for a second longer than necessary, noting the tension that had not eased, the way the boy still seemed to be holding himself together by sheer will alone.

"May I please go to my room, sir?"

There it was again. Withdrawal and politeness. Anything to hold Severus back from- well from what he didn't know.

Severus inclined his head.

"You may."

Potter did not linger.

...

Snape knew something.
At least, he suspected something.

Harry was certain of it.

He had to get rid of the shards.

Perhaps Snape had already noticed that one of his vases was missing. Perhaps dinner had been his chance to come clean, an opportunity Harry had failed to take. And now the consequences would follow. They always did.

This was Snape, after all.

Harry paced his room, eyes flicking uneasily toward his pillow. The shards were there, wrapped clumsily in cloth.

He couldn't keep them in his room. It would be the first place Snape would look.
The bins inside the house were out of the question as well.

Vernon had on several occasions looked through the trash - for wrappers of chocolate bars that had went missing, Harry doubted that Snape was any different.

He stopped his pacing, staring out of the window.
An then, something clicked.

...

Something about the boy was off.
Well, more off than usual.
When Severus had agreed (at Dumbledore's insistence) to take the teenager in after the truth of his home life had surfaced, he had expected arrogance. Defiance. A miniature James Potter determined to make his life insufferable.

And in some ways, the boy did make it insufferable.

Just not in the manner Severus had anticipated.

The emotional demands alone were far beyond Severus' capacity. He would not coddle the boy, nor would he pretend to be the solution to whatever trauma Potter had endured - trauma the boy refused to speak of, much to Severus' growing displeasure.

And yet...

Severus exhaled and closed the book he had not truly been reading.

His eyes flicked to the clock.

Past midnight.

Potter had been avoiding him for days now.

He came down for meals : breakfast, lunch, dinner. Always on time and never spoke more words than he had to. He delivered his summer homework at precisely four in the afternoon for Severus to review, and accepted it back at dinner without comment.

Severus almost caught himself losing himself in that routine, technically the boy didn't do anything wrong.

But before that... there had been progress. Reluctant progress, but progress nevertheless.

The boy had lingered in the sitting room from time to time. Sat on the porch with a book. Even used the hammock Severus had put up, as though testing whether it was truly permitted.

That had stopped. Entirely.

And Severus was not merely suspicious, he was quite certain the change had not been coincidence.

He sighed, pressing fingers briefly to the bridge of his nose. Whatever the cause, he would not unravel it tonight.
It was already late. It would be best if he settled for the night.

He rose from his chair and ascended the stairs toward his bedroom.

When he walked down the corridor, he noticed it.

A thin line of light beneath Potters door, faintly illuminating the dark hallway.

Severus paused in his steps.

His brows drew together.

Why was the boy still awake?

True, he was a teenager. And Severus had never imposed a bedtime. But this... felt deliberate.
He stood there a moment longer than necessary, debating whether to knock.
Intervening might push the boy further into whatever retreat he had chosen.
After a final glance at the light, a sigh forgotten on his lips, Severus turned and continued toward his own room.

The next morning, Severus watched Potter more critically than ever.

The boy's posture was rigid as he entered the kitchen, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes - lack of sleep, most likely. He suppressed a yawn as he slid into his chair.

Severus took a measured sip of his coffee.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," he said neutrally, disrupting the boys routine.

The boy's head snapped up.

Severus' jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he held the gaze a second too long.

"Did you know," he continued, tone still as neutral as ever, "that a lack of sleep reduces magical capacity? Not merely cognitive productivity, as it does for Muggles, but actual magical output. In young witches and wizards, it can be... dangerous."

He took another sip, studying the boy over the rim of his cup.

"I didn't know, sir." , Potter answered flatly. His eyebrows furrowing as he looked down on his breakfast.

Severus hummed softly.

"You are not in the habit of ignoring such risks, I trust?"

Potter fork stilled against the plate. He didn't answer at first. Didn't even look at Severus.

"I'm not really hungry. May I please go upstairs, sir?"

Avoidance. Again.

Severus set his cup down with deliberate care.

"You may not."

Potter puffed out a breath, leaning back in his chair with more force than necessary as he looked at Severus.

Severus met the look evenly, expression composed. He said nothing.

He waited.

Potter shifted under the silence. His fingers twitched against the table.

Finally, he sighed.
"Why not?"

Severus rose smoothly, carrying his cup to the counter to refill it.
"Because," he said mildly, "I won't have you avoiding me. And I won't have you avoiding food."

The porcelain clicked softly as he set the cup beneath the kettle.

"You know, then?" Harry asked quietly.

Severus paused.

"Know what?" he asked, turning only halfway.

Harry shook his head quickly. "Nothing."

A lie thin enough to be seen through at once.

"Can I please leave?"

Severus studied him for a long moment.

The dark circles.
The rigid shoulders.
The way the boy's gaze slid off him again and again.

He did not understand what had happened.
But something had. And he couldn't leave it unspoken.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" Severus asked, more quietly now.
"What is it you think I know?"

Potter's mouth tightened.

"Nothing is wrong," he said, firmer this time.
"May I please leave, sir."

Silence pooled between them.

Severus exhaled slowly. Irritation tugged at him, but it was threaded with something heavier.
Something he wouldn't name.

He could forbid the boy from leaving.
He could insist.

It would not make him speak.

"...Fine," he said at last.

A beat.

"Go."

The boy didn't hesitate, he bolted upstairs.

Silence fell back into the kitchen.

Severus sat down slowly, the empty chair opposite him suddenly... present.
The faint trace of the boy, the disturbed air, his unfinished breakfast, the echo of tension in hows own shoulders left him deeply and irrationally uncomfortable.

He pressed his fingers briefly to the bridge of his nose.

He wasn't fit to do this.

...

Harry waited until the house had fallen completely silent.

Not the ordinary quiet of evening, but the deep, settled stillness that came hours after midnight, when even the pipes stopped knocking and the floorboards ceased their complaints. He had not slept. He had not even undressed.

The book lay open on his desk, pages slightly warped where his fingers had pressed too long and too hard against the margins. He had spent the entire night combing through it.

Reparo had failed.

The crack had widened instead of sealed. One shard had splintered further, as though the vase itself rejected the spell.

So he had searched for something stronger.

Something definitive.
Not a patch. Not a repair. Something that would erase the mistake entirely.

After searching through nearly every book in Snape's library, Harry had finally found one.

Reverte.

A time reversal charm.
Designed to return a single object to a previous state.

Never for living things.
Rarely attempted.
Marked in the margins with a warning about instability.

Harry ignored that.

He knew he could do it.
He just needed to focus.

The shards now lay arranged carefully atop his desk, edges aligned as precisely as he could manage.

Harry swallowed.

His hand trembled as he raised his wand. Lack of sleep made everything feel slightly distant, like he was standing a step behind himself.

He allowed himself last glance at the book, practicing the hand movement one last time.

"Reverte," he whispered.

The spell struck.

And briefly, hope flared.

His chest rose in confidence when the shards shuddered.

They lifted.

One by one, they slid toward each other with sharp, clicking sounds. The sound of ceramic kissing ceramic. The outline of the vase began to take shape mid air, pieces locking together.

Harry stepped forward without meaning to.
It was working.
It was actually working.

And suddenly.

A shrill crack split the air.

The forming vase convulsed violently, seams glowing a sickly white. The magic strained, like something forced into a shape it would not hold.

And then it burst. Not cleanly and not into it‘s original pieces.

It exploded outward in a violent spray of splintered ceramic, shards reduced to smaller, jagged fragments. They shot across the room with lethal speed.

Harry barely had time to react.
He threw his arms up, turning his face away.

The impact hit him sharp and hot.

Fragments tore into his forearms, his hands, one grazing his cheek just as he turned his head away. The wall behind him rattled as pieces embedded into plaster. Something clattered against the wardrobe.

Harry lost his balance due to the magic outburst and hit the floor hard, breath knocked from his lungs.

For a moment, there was only ringing in his ears.

Then the sting began.

Small lines of red welled along his skin.
He pressed his lips together to keep from making a sound.

He had to fix this.
He had to. How would he clean this up? How could he-

If he could just get the spell right, just once! He had to try again.

He had to-

"POTTER"

The door burst open with a crack sharp enough that the walls seem to flinch.

Harry did.

His whole body folded in on itself, instinctively, as though the sound had struck him full in the chest. He scrambled to his feet too fast, his vision blurred, and he nearly slipped on the scattered shards beneath him.

Snape stood in the doorway, his words cut short.
His mouth was slightly open as his eyes swept the room.

Harry stood in the middle of a desert of ceramic.

Blood traced a thin line from his temple, sliding down his cheek, gathering at his jaw before dripping silently to the floor. His forearms were dotted with cuts, each one seeping, each one bright against his skin.

Their eyes met.
And Harry didn't look away.

He watched Snape the way you watched a storm rolling in.
Trying to hide it now would be pointless.

There was too much of it.
He might as well just take it.

The anger.
The punishment.

Oh, Snape wouldn't hold back.

Vernon hadn't been fast. Hadn't been strong. Harry had learned to dodge him easily enough once he knew what to look for.

But Snape-

Snape didn't need fists.

And Harry hadn't just broken the vase.
He'd obliterated it.

His breathing came too fast, but he didn't notice until the edges of the room tilted, the air thinning in his lungs like he'd forgotten how to draw it in.

Snape moved toward him, speaking. And Harry could see the shape of his words, but the ringing in his ears swallowed them whole.

Then, unexpectedly, Snape's hand reached him.

It brushed his shoulder almost softly. But that couldn’t be, because it shouldn’t be that soft.

Harry jerked violently, teeth clicking together.

The breath he'd been dragging in vanished. He tried again, and his chest locked as though bracing for a blow.

"Harry."

The name cut through the haze. Not Potter. Not even Mr. Potter. Harry.

Snape was close, one hand steady at the small of his back, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry let himself be moved. He wasn't sure why.

Snape sat beside him. Leaving some respectful space between them

Harry's gaze flicked over him automatically, scanning for the telltale signs: tight lips, narrowed eyes, clenched jaws.

But they weren't there. There was something else.
Something that was so radiant, that Harry had no name for it.

The hand on his shoulder remained. It was steady there. And for some sickly reason it was comforting.

"That okay?"

Was the touch okay? It hurt in a way anger never could. And yet-

Harry dropped his eyes. He nodded.

"Merlin, Potter. You could have blinded yourself," Snape murmured. The usual bite in his voice missing. „I‘m going to heal you, don’t be alarmed“

Warmth spread across his arms. It was slow, controlled magic sinking into his skin. Splinters eased free. Torn flesh knitted together. The sting he hadn’t even noticed before faded to dull heat. Snape hadn't even used his wand.
And it reminded Harry of how powerful the man actually was.

"What," Snape continued quietly, "..happened here?"

Harry drew a broken breath and shook his head, trying to dislodge the knot in his throat. Snape‘s hand moved down his arm once. He forgot how to breathe.

"I-" His voice cracked immediately. „You said your cutlery needed cleaning. So I did. I cleaned them. And I broke one of the vases. I- I was trying to fix it and then I used- I used a spell I hadn't done before and…“

"What spell?" Snape interrupted, his voice suddenly tight. His eyes flicked to the open book on the table. "You looked through my library? What spell did you use?"

"Reverte."

For a second, Snape just sat there. Jaw tight.

Harry’s eyes burning. He blinked once. Twice. But nothing helped.

A tear slipped free from Harry's eye anyway. It was humiliating. He scrubbed at it, forcing the rest down.

"It was an accident," he said roughly. "I didn't mean to break it. I- I am sorry."

Harry risked a glanced then, bracing for the fury or the disgust he deserved.

But Snape wasn't looking at him.

He was staring at the place where the vase had stood before it exploded.

“When I complained about the cutlery, that was not a request.”
He glanced at Harry briefly, then returned his eyes forward, as though addressing the wall was easier than Harry himself.
“When I want you to help in this household, I will tell you directly.”

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. Not understanding had always been safer than guessing.

The silence pressed in. And Harry didn’t miss how Snape’s jaw clenched, the slight shift in his posture, the way he seemed to hold something back.

“Do you realize,” Snape continued, finally meeting Harry’s eyes, “how badly that could have ended?”

Harry’s stomach sank.

“Advanced magic,” Snape said next, almost reluctantly, “which you had not attempted before. In a state of exhaustion. A spell I marked as dangerous.”

Harry stiffened.

“Why did you not use Reparo?”

Harry bit his lip. "Didn't work."

A pause.

"So," Snape said quietly, "you were too exhausted to manage a basic repair... and decided a temporal reversal would be safer?"

Harry cowered slightly. "I didn't know what else to do."

Snape's gaze sharpened.

„You could have told me.“

He paused, looking at the wall instead.

"Has the vase been the reason you kept your distance?" he asked quietly. "Did you stay up because of it?"

Harry's lips pressed together.
He didn't answer.
The silence this time was shorter. More decisive.

Then Snape's hand withdrew from Harry's shoulders.

The loss of contact was immediate.

Harry hadn't realised how much of his balance had rested there until it was gone.
Cold crept in where the warmth had been.

Snape rose.

No sharp movement. No dramatic turn.

He crossed to the desk and picked up the "borrowed" book that had taken without permission.

His long fingers moved slowly over the cover, brushing the title as though verifying something already known.

His eyes lifted briefly to Harry's.

Harry's gaze had never left him
He watched everything.

The slight twitch in Snape's eyebrow.
The way his thumb pressed into the spine.
How his fingers curled when he shut the book.

Signs.
Harry didn't know what they meant.
Only that they always meant something.

Snape said nothing.
And the silence stretched like it always did.

And Harry never knew if it meant Snape was restraining himself, or deciding how to proceed.
Thinking of the best punishment possible

Snape could remain quiet for minutes at a time, and it made Harry's skin prickle.

Then Snape drew his wand. Harry froze.

It wasn't a decision.
His body moved before thought could reach it.

His shoulders locked.
His breath snagged high in his chest.
His fingers twitched at his sides, already half lifting.

Was this it?

A curse?

He hadn't thought before, not really, that Snape could hurt him the way magic allowed.

But of course he could.

A single word and Harry would never even see it coming. As he proved how skilled he was when he healed him.
Was it an unforgivable then? That he needed his wand?

Snape stopped abruptly in his tracks .

His face drained, the colour pulling tight from it.
The wand dipped an inch.
Then another.

His attention wasn't on the shattered vase anymore.

It was on Harry, and entirely on him.

And something in Snape's expression shifted.
It wasn’t irritation or anger.

He looked... shaken.

"I am not going to curse you." , his voice was quiet.

Harry's head jerked up.
"I wasn't thinking that," he said too fast, the lie tripping over itself.

Snape didn't blink.

"You were bracing for impact."

Harry swallowed. His throat felt dry.
"You- You just startled me. That‘s all"

Snape took a slow step forward.

Harry's body folded in on itself before he could stop it.

Snape halted instantly.

"You are afraid of me." , he concluded.

Harry pressed his lips together.

He wasn't.
He wasn't.

"I will never use magic to punish you," Snape said, voice lower now.
A fraction less controlled.
"I will never cause you physical harm."

He paused, like the next words cost him something.

"Mentally... I cannot promise perfection. But I am trying."

Harry let out a small, disbelieving breath.

"Right."

Like adults meant what they said.
Like promises weren't just quieter threats.

"You don‘t believe me?“

Harry shook his head.

"In words, Potter."

Harry dragged a hand over his face.
"I shook my head. That's equivalent to no."

"Watch your tongue," Snape said, not loudly.
"And answer the question."

Harry crossed his arms, a thin shield.
"You say that. But you don't mean it."

The sentence dropped between them like something breakable.
For a moment, Snape's composure slipped.
Only slightly. But Harry saw it, the way his face tightened like he actually had the audacity to be offended.

"I see," Snape said quietly.

He raised his wand again.

Harry forced himself still.
He wasn’t afraid.

If it was coming, he wouldn't flinch for it.
His jaw locked. He stared straight ahead.

"Reparo."

The spell left Snape's lips like an exhale.

The shards trembled.

They lifted from the soil, spinning slowly, aligning with careful precision. Dust spiraled around them. Fragments clicked into place one by one, fine seams of light sealing fractures until there were none left.
And the vase stood on his desk like it had never been broken in the first place.

Snape lowered his wand.

The room was suddenly very quiet.

Harry stared at the vase. Then at Snape and back at the vase.

It made no sense.
And yet it made perfect sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry hugged his arms tight around himself. “Why aren’t you angry?”
His eyes squinted as he studied Snape‘s face, and hesitated.
“Are you angry?”

Snape stilled, studying him as though Harry were a puzzle laid out in pieces.

“For breaking the vase? Did you expect me to be angry?”

Harry shrugged, then forced himself to answer. “People don’t like it when their things get broken.”

“You are correct,” Snape said, his tone level, measured. “And yet you yourself stated it was an accident. One that could have been remedied, had you simply come to me.”

He paused.

“The question is why you did not.”

Harry’s breath shuddered. “You never told me I could.”

Snape’s jaw tightened. “I did not think I had to.”

Snape closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath. When he opened them again, his expression was controlled, but not cold.

“You will not be punished for breaking something by accident.”

Harry frowned. “So i‘m not-"

“You are not in trouble.”

Harry swallowed.

“I should be,” he murmured, voice small.

Snape drew a heavy breath, folding his arms. His gaze didn’t waver. “No. You are not in trouble for the vase. That is trivial.”

Harry blinked.

“You nearly blinded yourself,” Snape continued, voice low, deliberate. “That is what you will answer for next time, Potter. Not a broken object, not mismanaged cutlery, not some household task. That is the risk that matters.”

Harry’s chest tightened. He couldn’t look away. The weight in Snape’s voice settled into him. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t a threat. But it carried something far heavier. The truth.

“Talk to me next time,” Snape added, folding his arms again, a faint exhale of frustration slipping out. “Instead of almost killing yourself.”

Harry nodded, swallowing hard.

"I'm not sure I can," he admitted.

Snape regarded him for a long moment.

"That," he said, "isn‘t a failing on your part"