A Vessel Formed

Harry slept beside Severus, curled up against him, breathing in his familiar scent. The warmth of him, the undertones of potion ingredients and linens. The sharp tang of Severus’ powerful magic was something that dominated his memories. Once, he had tried to remember what his mother had smelled like, but could not. But Severus - he would never forget.

He was sure that Arthur had smelled differently, no magic, no potions, different linens. Yet he imagined that something in the king would have reminded him of Severus, some underlying property, unbroken since the beginning.

Steady.

He wondered, as he drifted off, if a soul had a smell — if he would know Severus anywhere, in any form, any body.

A jolt ran through the manor, sharp but silent, instilling a sense of knowing within Harry as he was forced suddenly into wakefulness.

He pulled himself up and away from the comforter, hair wild, sight blurry. He reached over to the bedside table and tugged on his glasses. He wanted to do something with Severus, place him somewhere protective, defend him, because while he didn’t know who had triggered the Malfoy wards, he knew someone certainly had and it couldn’t be good.

There wasn’t anything he could do though, want to as he might. He was, unfortunately, in a situation where waiting was the safest option. Remaining alert was the best he could do and so he stayed vigilant as the ward’s alert went off once, twice, thrice more.

Someone was angry.

There was a pause in the alerts, a break that stretched too long to be natural for someone trying to get in. Harry slipped out of bed and went to the window, knowing that the pause meant something was happening. Whoever had disturbed the Malfoy’s security, something was happening to them now and luckily Harry had a partial view of the main gates.

He had to crane his head, looking from an odd angle his glasses certainly didn’t agree with, lenses knocking into the glass, but technically he could see the entrance. There, in the shape of three odd blobs of color, one blond, one black with blond streaks, and one rumpled, were the Malfoy’s and a stranger.

The stranger was waving his arms about and Harry knew for certain he was the one who had set off the wards. He also knew that, whoever they were, they were exponentially angrier than Harry had assumed,

“Snow,” he said and she peaked out from under a pillow, “do you think you could get to the front gate?”

“Probably, but what for?” She asked, tongue flicking about as she slid over the comforter, “it’s warm in here and I’m sleepy.”

“I know you are,” Harry apologized, “but there’s someone at the gate and I need to know what they are saying to the Malfoy’s.”

Snow’s head perked up, her attention sharpening, “oh, a bit of espionage?” her tail juddered, “how exciting, it’s been so boring here.”

“For you maybe,” Harry grumbled.

For him it had been the opposite of boring and rather scary. Narcissa had only told him of the sacred twenty-eight a week ago and the weight of that knowledge was already driving him mad, not to mention that Severus’ condition had not improved. He had asked for a few days to think before seeing Sirius Black like Narcissa wanted, and she had granted him that, but he knew her patience wouldn’t last. Even the past few days had seemed to aggravate her and Harry had no idea how he was supposed to navigate her demands or continue trying to push them off. So no, it certainly hadn’t been boring.

But he knew Snow and Wus were restless. They were used to going outside, hunting mice and voles and whatever else, causing the mischief all good familiars were inclined to cause, but Severus had told Harry to keep them in his room as much as possible for their safety. Harry didn’t know what he meant by that. Would the Malfoy’s hurt his familiars? He knew they were bad people, but killing familiars felt a bit excessive.

Harry wasn’t the biggest fan of Draco, but he certainly wouldn’t hurt Leo the crup. There were simply things you didn’t do.

Hopefully Snow wouldn’t get hurt now.

“You’ll owe me a rat,” she said, “there’s no rats in this place.”

“I imagine the house elves take care of them,” Harry said. The manor was always immaculate, perfectly clean and polished. Unlike Last Landing there weren’t rats or mice or voles from the forest, or little spiders in the corners of rooms, or ladybugs in the windowsills. Severus kept it clean of course, but living in the middle of a magical forest came with certain realities, including pests of both the magical and non-magical kind.

“See. Boring,” Snow hissed as Harry gently pushed the window open, undoing the latch and lifting the glass. It didn’t open all the way, but the little panes could be pushed up to let in a breeze. He would never fit, but Snow managed it as Harry had shrunk her to a smaller size before bed so she could fit perfectly under the head pillows.

She didn’t wait for him to answer if he’d actually give her a rat. Snow didn’t even bother asking where Harry might get such a thing. Harry knew it was because she would go even if he’d said no. He’d still try to get her one though; she deserved it and she certainly wasn’t the only one feeling caged.

Harry stood watch by the window as Snow crept along, sliding down the length of the building, following the fancy pillars and railings until she reached the ground. Harry wished he had changed her color before he’d sent her off. Her bright white scales were stark in the moonlight. As it was he just had to hope that whoever it was at the gate was angry enough to thoroughly distract not only themselves but the Malfoys.

Whatever they were talking about must have been important considering it was the middle of the night and the Malfoys had not sent out an elf, but Harry couldn’t hear them. Even with the window open no sound reached him despite the fact that the man was yelling.

Perhaps the Malfoy’s had employed a silencing charm.

If so, that wasn’t good. It meant Snow wouldn’t be any better off than Harry was.

She snuck through the grass, slowly but surely and it seemed their luck held out because no one appeared to notice her as she sank into the brush of a nearby bush. Harry hoped that even if she couldn’t hear she might be able to piece together some information thanks to being close. Perhaps she would glean something from watching their mouths more.

Harry would take anything he could get.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, the gate swung open and the rumpled, angry man stalked onto the property. Harry watched him closely as he approached, walking rudely in front of Narcissa and Lucius as if to beat them to their own front door. Harry might not have been keen on the whole etiquette thing Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco carried on about, but even he knew such behavior was improper, especially after all the yelling the man had done.

He had messy brown hair and a beard that looked as if it’d never seen a properly sharpened razor. He wore brown slacks, scuffed loafers, a plain shirt under a grayish-brown sweater vest, and a tattered robe. Most notably he seemed to have scars cutting across his face, but Harry wasn’t sure if they were a trick of the light.

The front door slammed and Harry could finally hear the man’s voice which followed a rather scared squeak from a house elf.

“I’ll see him now,” the man said and Harry stiffened. Did the stranger mean him? Certainly not. No one but the Malfoys knew of his presence in the Manor. Perhaps he meant Severus. Was the man a Death Eater or an Order Member? Harry couldn’t imagine he was neither.

“He isn’t well and besides, he’s resting now,” Narcissa’s voice floated up through the floor, harder to hear than the man’s own because she had the decency not to yell while they should all rightfully be sleeping.

He must be here for Severus then.

Harry returned to his protective post by his guardian’s side, ready to fight if necessary.

“You told me you had someone skilled in the mental arts working on him!” There was a thump and a growl of frustration. Harry believed the man had thrown the rather expensive porcelain vase by the front entrance. But it hadn’t shattered. Draco had told him he’d knocked one like it down before when he was five, shattered it into a billion pieces, and cushioning charms had been added to every vase in the house as a result. It must have simply bounced ineffectively off the wall.

“I do,” Narcissa answered.

“Then why isn’t he better yet?”

There was a sharp rap, a sound Harry knew well already, that of Lucius tapping his cane hard on the beautiful marble floor. It was something he did when he was agitated. “I have told you, Mr. Lupin, not to yell at my wife.”

Lupin.

So he was an Order Member.

Served us had told him about Lupin before — the werewolf that hung around Black. He is dangerous. The scars around his face were likely not the result of the lighting after all.

Harry peaked out the window and found the moon in the sky. It was a waning gibbous. Severus had taught him the cycles of the moon, had coached him in how to pay close attention to it. The moon played a key role in many potions after all. Sometimes one could not brew a potion correctly under the wrong moon phase, or a recipe called for full moon water, or new moon, or crescent.

A waning gibbous meant the full moon had recently occurredt. It was likely Lupin was still stressed from his last cycle.

He shouldn’t be trifled with.

“Your wife? I shouldn’t yell at your wife?” Lupin’s voice edge with something dangerous, a sneer, a threat, malice, “Your wife shouldn’t have stolen my partner.”

Lucius' own voice was cold in response, “If you hadn’t wanted her to take custody of him you should have bothered to marry him.”

“Dear,” Narcissa said and Lucius fell quite, probably thanks to her hand being placed on his shoulder. She did that a lot. Harry could picture Lucius calming at the touch the same way he often did when they were discussing serious topics over tea. “I do have a wizard skilled in the mental arts working on Sirius. It is simply that the project was more complicated than anticipated. Please, let’s put you up for the night, it’s late and we have no disagreement. We both want Sirius to recover and that is being worked on. ”

“Put me up with him, then.”

“He’s still - in his state,” Narcissa said and Harry winced. He knew he had done something horrible to Black, something wrong, something that had, even inadvertently, harmed Severus, but he had not seen the man yet. Even Harry wasn’t sure what “state” he was in.

“As if I haven’t seen him like that,” Lupin said, “as if I don’t know.”

So Lupin had seen Sirius, likely before Narcissa had placed him in the manor. Did she intend to give him back to Lupin after Sirius was fixed? She was married to a Death Eater, after all - an enemy of the Order. Would she keep Black because he and her husband were on opposite sides or would she return him to Lupin because Sirius was her cousin and Blacks seemingly stuck together?

Harry got the impression that Lupin had similar questions and didn’t want to take any more risks than he was already being forced to take.

“He smells awful.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, turning about to see Snow slithering back in the window, “Snow!” He hissed, “don’t frighten me like that!”

“Oh so I should have just stayed outside?” she asked sarcastically as she slid over the threshold and waited until Harry put out his arm for her to climb. She twisted affectionately around his neck and shoulders.

Harry appreciated the weight of her. He leaned his head against her scales, “No - just, you frightened me. That man has me worried.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said, tongue flicking his ear, “There’s something horribly wrong with him.”

“He’s a werewolf,” Harry said.

“That would explain the smell, that’s for sure,” her body shivered with the memory, “it’s like he’s got a curse clinging to him, a hex or poison — some sludge clogging him up.”

“He’s come here looking for Black,” Harry said, “he’s an Order member too.”

“Trouble.”

Harry couldn’t agree more.

“Trouble.”

He didn’t manage to sleep anymore that night. How could he with Lupin in the manor? It was out of the question.

So he waited by Severus until morning, asking, as he had many times, for him to wake up. But Severus never answered.

Narcissa came to him in the early hours, when the sun outside was still watery and the world was light blue and fog.

“We have a new guest,” she said, “one you should be prepared for. His name is L-”

“Lupin, I know,” Harry said, “I heard all the yelling.”

And felt the wards go off - but he didn’t say that. He wasn’t sure if he was actually meant to feel the wards, or if that was information reserved for the master and mistress of the house.

He also didn’t tell her that Snow had relayed the fight outside on the grounds to him. It hadn’t been much, just Lupin demanding to be let in and nonsense threats about tearing the gate down. Harry wished Lupin had bothered to say anything of substance, although Severus had warned him the man wasn’t particularly sharp.

“I apologize,” Narcissa said and then, “would you like a glamour? He’ll know who you are, he knew your parents.”

Harry through about it for a while, trying to weigh his options. He wished he had slept more, wished he wasn’t so tired even though he knew the exhaustion was far older than one missed night of sleep. He had been hidden his entire life, glamoured, tucked away, running, always on guard - everything just as Severus instructed and what had it gotten him? Stuck in a mansion with at least one Death Eater and two Order Members. Maybe being careful wasn’t the answer. Maybe Harry didn’t want to hide anymore.

“He’ll find out either way, in the end, won’t he?” He asked, looking at Severus, holding his hand. When he’d been Merlin he’d been the older one. He didn’t remember much, just snippets here and there in dreams sometimes, but he could swear he’d been the older one.

Sometimes it felt odd that Severus’ hands were bigger than his own.

“Yes,” Narcissa said and he was glad she didn’t sugar coat it. She didn’t say maybe, or we won’t know till it happens. She gave him his answer, short and to the point.

“No glamour then,” he said, “No point.”

“I’ll take you to breakfast then,” she said and ushered him off the bed.

“Don’t tell him about Severus,” he whispered before they reached the door, “not while he’s asleep.”

She nodded and then, “Green suits you, but red would do just fine.”

Harry knew she meant Gryfindoor. It was the second time she had said such a thing, but in all reality he didn’t feel that brave or bold, just tired.

They left the room and walked down the long hallway, Harry’s heart thumping in his chest. He caught sight of himself in the polished shine of a vase. He didn’t look well. He wondered if Lupin would yell about him not being taken care of. Black had seemed concerned about that too. Adults always seemed to care about that sort of thing. But Severus took care of him perfectly fine.

They stepped into the dining room where Lupin was already bent over a plate, eating as if he expected the elves to snatch away the food.

Draco and Lucius were there as well, eating far more primly, their silverware never clanking against their fine bone china plates.

Narcissa cleared her throat.

Everyone looked up.

And all hell broke loose.

Harry had never seen a grown man, or anyone for that matter, leap across a table so quickly. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so obviously idiotic and self destructive. It would have been funny too, if it wasn’t so terribly frightening.

The angle Lupin jumped towards him, up and over the plates, settings, and breakfast pastries, reminded Harry of just how small he was and all at once he felt more like a seven year old than he had in quite some time. This adult, this werewolf, lunged at him and Harry was scared.

He fled.

He tucked tail and ran.

Behind him a horrible scuffle began.

“Harry!” Lupin’s voice was wild and desperate and soaked in the sort of terrified surprise one might use to address an otherworldly wonder. Or perhaps, to speak to someone you’d longed believed was dead.

Harry clasped his hands over his ears.

He had thought he was ready. He had thought he was tired of running and hiding. But there he was, running down the hall, eyes burning, fingers curling over his ears, and only one desire in his mind.

Severus.

He wanted Severus.

He wanted Severus here and awake and to protect him.

Harry tripped, feet stumbling over the tile, he held his hands out, expecting to crash into the gleaming floor, to feel the bite of the stone — but it never came.

He tumbled out onto warm grass, into sunshine and dark earth, to the sound of insects and birds and a distant creek.

There was a thud beside him.

Severus awoke to a weight pressing against him, small fingers tugging at his shirt, clutching his shoulders.

“Severus! Severus please, please, please.” Harry’s voice was high with fear, nearly choked with tears — a sound that wasn’t meant to be whispered but shouted, restricted with panic and desperation.

He shot up, willing his mind to kick into gear, to snap into motion. Adrenaline flooded him. He didn’t know what was happening but Harry was terrified. That was all that mattered.

He reached for his wand, fingers closing around nothing when he sank his hand into the usual pocket. Fear lanced through him.

Harry was terrified and he was without his weapon and—

“Severus!” Harry’s arms were around him, tackling him back onto the ground and a kiss was pressed messily to his check. “You’re awake!”

Relief, Harry’s voice was full of relief and Severus’ line of vision was filled with Harry’s messy hair and then his eyes as he pulled back, green as the world around them.

“Severus…” he said again and it was still happy, but the fear and sadness had returned and not knowing what to do or what was going on Severus did the only thing he could of. He wrapped his arm around Harry and held him tightly, pressing their foreheads together and rocking just slightly back and forth as he pulled his knees in to hold Harry all the better.

“I’m here,” he said, “I’m here.”

He couldn’t remember much, there was a headache pounding it’s way behind his eyes and he didn’t know how or when he’d fallen asleep, but he remembered that Harry hadn’t been speaking to him, or sleeping in his bed, and now he was holding him again, kissing his check, and accepting comfort.

What a blessing that was.

Confused even as he was, Severus knew that much was a gift and so he whispered the words he’d not said in too long, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry sniffed, moving to tuck his head into Severus’ shoulder where Severus thought it absolutely belonged. He carded his hand through Harry’s wild hair, buried his nose in it and let the smell comfort him. “I’m sorry I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s okay,” Severus said, because it was, “I told you Death Eaters were dangerous - and they are. Of course you were mad."

“I don’t like being mad at you.”

Severus couldn’t agree more. He had not enjoyed Harry being upset at him one bit.

God, the weight of him against Severus’ chest was so good, so familiar, that it made his ribs ache. He laid back, taking Harry with him, keeping him perched on his chest and lap and let himself take in the weight of him, let himself truly enjoy the sensation of Harry finding him worthy of touch.

Harry’s eyes closed, content, happy, the stress from before leaving his shoulders and jaw, melting away.

“I used to be a Death Eater. I am sorry I never told you I—” Severus signed. He’d never been a fan of airing his own dirty laundry. There was so many truths he wished he could bundle up inside of him forward and simply do away with, bury so far down no one could find them, “I’d hoped I’d never have to tell you. I had hoped we would have stayed hidden forever. That it wouldn’t matter.”

“You stopped being a Death Eater — but they're evil, right?”

Ah, of course, the bad guys in Harry’s bedtime stories did not simply stop being evil. The hero killed them and that was that. No second chances, no doubts, no regrets, just evil all the way down, rotten to the core.

“They are… I was, but then the Dark Lord killed someone I loved very much and it made me realize I didn’t want to be evil anymore.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked as if the question was a painless one, an easy enough thing to talk about.

“You’re mum, Lily.”

“She was your best friend,” Harry said because he remembered the stories. “You told her she was a witch.”

“I did and — and she died and I could not be evil after that and I certainly couldn’t be a Death Eater when her son needed someone to look after him,” he blinked back tears, he did not like remembering Lily’s death or his part in it. Even now he was not strong enough to admit that it had been his fault. Perhaps one day Harry would forgive him for being a coward in that regard. But today was not that day.

“Black… Sirius, he was my Godfather,” Harry said, a statement even though Severus could feel the question within it.

“Is,” he answered, “He’s still alive.”

Harry nodded, “You were my mum’s friend, but also a Death Eater and my Godfather is an Order Member and he still thinks you are a Death Eater.”

“Yes.”

Harry frowned, fiddling with the collar of Severus’s sleeping clothes for a moment, “That sounds very complicated.”

“It is,” Severus agreed, assessing for a brief moment the fact that he was even wearing sleeping clothes for Harry to mess with. “What happened to me?”

“Something happened while you were trying to fix what I did to Black,” Harry said, laying back down fully and feeling for all the world as if he wanted to somehow get impossibly closer to Severus. Severus held him all the tighter for it, attempting to give Harry what he wanted, “Narcissa thinks my magic backlashed.”

“Narcissa?” Had she told Harry what had happened? She must have considering Harry knew about Black’s presence within the manor and what Severus was doing with him. He wondered why she would so willingly hand that information over. She never gave knowledge without an ulterior motive, that was something he had learned quite thoroughly over years. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Just over a week,” Harry said and Severus shivered,

A week.

A week alone in the Malfoy house.

“Did they do anything to you,” he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, he had never intended to leave Harry so exposed and in danger, lost without support in a den of snakes.

“No,” Harry said, “but…”

“But what?” Severus sat up, adjusting Harry’s position in his lap so they could look at one another properly.

“Narcissa told me… about some of what I did as Merlin,” Harry said, fidgeting with his hands.

Severus wanted to ask how Narcissa knew that information. She knew about the library — had she read its contents? Why would she dangle access to the library over their heads if she had the information herself and was just going to hand it to Harry?

“She said that Merlin selected twenty-eight witches and wizards, all from different families and he gave them the apples with his soul pieces inside — his horcruxes.”

Realization dawned on Severus, “The twenty-eight, did she tell you their names?”

Harry nodded, “Black, Malfoy, Lestrange, Gaunt —”

“The sacred wizarding families.”

“Yes.”

“Is that why-” is that why they were the sacred twenty-twenty eight? Merlin had selected them and then fed them pieces of his soul and a thousand years later they still boasted a kind of importance? “What happened to the soul pieces?”

“Horcruxes,” Harry corrected, “The twenty-eight were tasked to keep them as intact as possible to— to prevent me from being born. To do it they only married each other, so the pieces wouldn’t dilute as much across generations but now they have and so I’m here.”

“You-” Severus’ jaw tightened. That bitterness from before rose in him again, a feeling of loss and abandonment, anger like an old wound left to fester. “Why didn’t you want to come back?”

“Merlin didn’t want to come back,” Harry said, looking up at him, voice quieting, clearly able to tell that Severus was a mix of emotions at the moment.

“You didn’t want to come back.”

Harry winced, “I’m me. Merlin he — I don’t know why he did what he did.”

Severus didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to make Harry wince, to make him upset. He had just gotten Harry back. They had just ended their last argument mere moments ago but he was — he was mad.

He had been alone for so, so long and now he knew for sure that it had been Harry’s fault. No matter that he’d been Merlin, the consequences were all the same. He’d left Severus and he’d been terribly alone for so many years of his life.

The only good part of his childhood had been Lily and now she was gone because for some godforsaken reason Merlin, Harry, whoever, had come back as her child, had made her a target. If he had bothered not to leave, if he had chosen to stay, Lily wouldn’t be dead and he would have had the person who he was supposed to belong to by his side for far, far longer.

Severus felt cheated. He felt as cheated as he had when he’d been in Hogwarts, cheated as he did when he’d joined the Death Eaters, like there was some great joke and he wasn’t in on it.

He stood up, leaving Harry in the grass.

“Severus,” Harry said and then, “please.”

“No.” Severus shook his head and tried to take a deep breath but his chest felt as if it were full of fluid. He had asked himself before they had gone to the manor, just a few short weeks that now felt like eons, if perhaps he could have been a different person if Merlin had not altered the cycle and now… now he felt like he knew. He’d been a king once, had all the power he had desired in this life and more and yet he’d been denied.

Centuries.

He’d been alone for centuries.

He’d been denied his destiny, or hell, even just the mundane comfort of having a partner, a home, a love to return to. Every single time he had thought to himself as a child and teenager ‘I deserve better’ he had been right.

Severus’ hands curled into fists, tension constricting around his spine. The longer those feelings festered the harder they were to ignore. And he was trying. He had always, always been trying his whole life to shove those feelings away - even before all the mess with Harry being Merlin, but now he couldn’t swallow them down as well, his mind sliding into his old thought patterns.

He felt dirty for thinking them, wrong inherently. The thoughts did not align with his love for Harry, with the warmth of Lily’s child in his arms.

But Merlin had not asked Arthur if his actions aligned with Arthur’s desires or wishes and he had claimed, ardently, to love Arthur.

Well, maybe the both of them were entitled to their contradictions, to the cracks in the facade, the moments of weakness.

Maybe he could love Harry even as the bitterness sat heavily on his tongue.

Severus wanted to scream.

’Why did you do this? Why did you leave me? Didn’t you know it would hurt me? Can’t you see me struggling to breathe?'

‘Where were you when I was young? Where were you when I was hurt, abandoned, when I took the mark? Where was your love then, then when I needed you the most?'

Was it possible to miss someone you both knew and had never known? Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had been missing someone or something.

The thin line between ‘Where have you been all my life?’ and ‘Why haven’t you been here all my life?’

“I don’t want to fight,” Harry said, reaching out for him, but Severus did not accept the touch.

“Give me a minute,” he said instead of truly answering, “I just need a minute—please. That’s all I ask.”

Harry’s voice wavered, “okay.”

He left Severus alone, but it seemed that was nothing new considering their centuries apart.

Severus knelt down in the grass and had a strong desire to open a bottle of Firewhiskey. Belatedly, he realized they were back at Last Landing. He did not know how they had gotten there, how Harry had taken him and gotten past the Malfoy wards and Narcissa and Lucius themselves, but it didn’t bloody matter.

Harry had been Merlin for Salazar's sake. The boy could likely do any damn thing he pleased.

Except be there for Severus when he had needed him.

He frowned. He really shouldn’t think things like that.

Harry was a child. He had said so himself that he wasn’t Merlin.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t — it, he had no control over it. He was just as much a passenger in this ride as he was and Severus wasn’t being fair, he wasn’t, he—

‘Didn’t I give you enough?’

Why would Merlin choose to leave him? Why would he break the cycle like that? Hadn’t he known? Hadn’t he hypothesized that they would be seperated? Why go through with it if there was a chance they’d be ripped apart?

How purposeful had that separation been? Had Merlin known and not cared?

Where was the love in that?

Severus stood, running his hand through his hair, his hurt barely shelved in his mind as he walked to the cottage. He knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew it would upset Harry. And yet, it had to be done.

He was a rarely satisfied creature.

He had known that about himself for a very long time.

“We have to go back,” he said as he stepped through the front door. The cottage felt surreal. They’d been gone for a few weeks and it already felt like something from another life, another time entirely.

The door felt as if it should have creaked when he opened it. The floor looked as if it should have been caked in a thick layer of dust. There should have been cobwebs in the corner and mouse leavings under the coffee table. This place… this place should had been older than it was, more hurt, more tired - like Severus felt.

Harry was not in the entrance, or the living room, or the kitchen, and he did not respond to Severus’ words.

Severus found him in his bedroom, curled up on the comforter, crying softly, and he felt - well, it was hard to say.

He loved Harry. He did. He knew he did. But he also needed answers. He needed to know why Merlin had done what he had. He had, for years, wondered what was wrong with him. In his adolescence the question had been all consuming and now, now it was back. What was wrong with him? Why had Merlin pulled from him when they were supposed to be tied together… when, as Merlin had told him in the river, they always found one another?

If you weren’t good enough for a connection like that then what were you? Surely it meant something was wrong with him.

Severus sat beside Harry and wanted to yell, but he didn’t, instead he pulled Harry into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said and he was, that part was true, but he wasn’t sure if he regretted his feelings. He wished he hadn’t said anything, but that wasn’t the same thing. He wished to have been quiet, not to have forgotten his anger and sadness.

“I’m not Merlin,” Harry said, "I’m me. I didn’t, I wouldn’t leave you.”

But he had in a way.

Harry had retracted himself from Severus when he was angry, when he’d found out he’d been a Death Eater. Really it wasn’t terribly different from how Lily had pulled away from him and Severus knew that had been his fault - but it had still hurt and it still made him wonder if everyone, no matter who, would eventually pull away from him.

For Salazar’s sake his own, what - soulmate? Fellow hostage of fate? What have you - had pulled away from him. Harry had gotten upset and refused to interact with him

Anyone could leave him. Everyone would. That was natural.

Harry’s words did not comfort him because they simply were not true.

Severus saw, glimpsed, for a moment a deep and inevitable pain.

One day, no matter what he said, Harry would leave and Severus would be alone again, perhaps more profoundly than he had ever been. And on that day Severus would say, “I told you so.”