Chapter Text
Alive.
Severus still couldn't fully believe that fact applied to him. The surreal realisation would drop into the pit of his stomach at random times, such as now. Everything around him in his private quarters was familiar, seemingly ordinary: the scent of leather and stone, the slight chill, the stillness. But that he was breathing, about to start another day… Severus shook his head with equal parts incredulity and disgust.
He resumed spreading an even layer of tart blackcurrant jam over his toast. After setting aside the butter knife, he took a bite. Severus chewed and gazed out the glass of his underwater conservatory. Long strands of tangleweed moved with the lake's currents. A squad of Grindylows dashed past, hunting amongst the swaying, green towers. Craning his head, he looked up into the water's depth, then sighed.
Severus had always felt like a bottom-dweller, and living in the dungeons for over a quarter of a century had only reinforced that opinion. The above faint glow of sunlight, the symbol of hope and life for so many, seemed as though it would forever be beyond his reach.
He unconsciously touched his free hand to his chest.
Turning away from the lake, he focused his attention on the stacks of unread Daily Prophets arranged around the table like knights of old awaiting their king. The accumulation was due to his month-long recovery from his near-fatal fangs-to-neck chat with Nagini. Since the war's end, Severus had been safely cloistered away in St Mungo's from prying press; salivating rumour-mongers; and bleeding-hearted dunderheads, most of which were annoying Gryffindors. Or so he'd been informed by the exasperated healer-in-charge, Hippocrates Smethwyck.
Severus had been brought out of his induced coma only three days prior, and he'd returned to the scarred castle just the previous evening. Technically, he was still Headmaster, but he'd decided to forgo the lofty Headmaster's tower and had returned to his true home down in the dungeons, which had mostly been spared any harm.
Perhaps, the truth of it was, his banishment from the sun had always been self-imposed or—self-inflicted.
Severus wiped his fingers on a napkin. Then, pointing his wand at the bell pull hanging beside a tapestry of magical flora and fauna, he wordlessly rang the kitchen.
Pop.
He glanced at the house-elf that appeared to his left and recognised her as Whimsy.
She curtseyed. "Good morning, Headmaster." Beaming at him, she said, "I and many others were very worried about you. We are so happy you have returned, sir. How may I be of service?"
Severus cleared his throat, nonplussed by her effusive greeting. "Yes. Good morning to you as well. I'm done eating, but please leave the tea alone."
"Of course, Headmaster. I shall make sure your pot stays full until you say otherwise."
He gave her a nod. "Thank you."
A second later, Whimsy along with the remains of his breakfast vanished.
Severus shook his head. To go from being despised to venerated would take some getting used to.
Returning to the task at hand, he selected the topmost newspaper from a chronologically ordered pile. The special evening edition was dated Sunday 2 May 1998: Rather a momentous day. The day Harry Potter slew the Dark Lord, once and for all. And the day Severus thought he'd breathed his last.
The Prophet's front-page title was unexpectedly succinct: VICTORY!
Below the bold headline, an obscenely large picture of Potter almost smothered the entirety of the page. His face was covered in dirt and fresh bruises. Potter looked exhausted, relieved, but also somewhat fearful. Perhaps the enormity of now having a future felt overwhelming. Or perhaps he was frightened because he momentarily doubted that the Dark Lord was forever dead.
Severus could relate. He lifted the left sleeve of his white shirt and, once again, quickly checked that his Dark Mark was only a faded scar.
On the following pages were articles about those who rose to the occasion, such as Longbottom and the Weasleys, and those who had fallen from grace, such as the Malfoys. People who had lost their lives, whether Light or Dark, were also listed.
After reading the paper, front to back, Severus snorted in dark amusement. His name was nowhere to be found—which was, frankly, unsurprising. Although he was a touch chagrined due to his injured pride, he felt reassured. Everything considered, Severus would rather be forgotten than rotting away in Azkaban. He also knew the apathy towards him hadn't lasted long once Potter had opened his mouth. The three large bags of unopened fan letters sitting in his lounge like a trio of unwelcome guests were a testament to that.
Severus set the finished newspaper onto the floor, starting a new pile. After pouring himself a fresh cup, he took a sip of the hot, strong brew before picking up his next Prophet.
Potter was on the front page again, this time flanked by Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. The damage to Hogwarts was evident in the background. Potter glanced to his right at Granger, then to his left at Weasley, giving them each a soft smile touched with bittersweetness. When Potter again faced straight ahead, Severus paused before bringing the paper closer. Past Potter's fringe, he noticed what appeared to be a forming bruise or rash. He understood Potter must have been busy navigating his many accolades. But wasn't Potter capable of asking for a potion? Then again, with the number of people who sustained injuries during the final battle, Potter likely didn't want to cease residing in a place known as martyrdom.
Severus' lips twitched. As if he were one to talk.
With the topic of potions on his mind, he reminded himself to speak with Poppy about restocking the Hospital Wing.
He continued to peruse the paper at his leisure, intermittently enjoying his tea.
The third Prophet he picked up made him roll his eyes. Splashed across the top was SEVERUS SNAPE: WIZARD OF COURAGE OR COWARDICE? The same picture that had been used to announce his promotion to Headmaster accompanied the article. Joining him on the front page, of course, was Potter. By the looks of it, he was striding through the Ministry, a determined expression on his face.
Severus frowned. The marks on Potter's forehead seemed to have darkened somewhat.
Odd.
And possibly worrisome.
What if Potter had caught an ailment, such as Dragon Pox or Spattergroit?
He placed the unfinished newspaper down and skipped to the next. Reviewing the photographs of Potter, he could see a hint of varying colours. But ones not associated with illness.
Could it be?
Severus rushed to grab the following Prophet.
Now he could clearly see the indistinct shapes on Potter's forehead had sharpened. Yes, it seemed the Dark magic of the Horcrux that once inhabited Potter had prevented the physical manifestation of his soul, a distinctive mark, which should have occurred alongside puberty.
When two people had identical marks, they were destined for each other, and their souls would yearn for the other until they fully joined. The younger generation coined the anglicised word starmark to refer to it, while Severus preferred to use the traditional term stella (plural stellae), Latin for star or constellation. However, the word for referencing a witch's or wizard's match or a matched pair hadn't suffered from a generational divide; conpar (plural conpares), also used as a term of endearment, meant beloved, perfect match, mate, and spouse—although automatic marriage between conpares was no longer a part of wizarding law.
Muggles, too, had a word for the concept: soulmates.
Gaining a stella took no effort; the hard part was a witch or wizard finding their conpar. A conpares' stellae may be twins in shape, but they appeared randomly on the body, much of the time hidden beneath garments. Though, with Potter's stella being on his face, he was bound to identify his conpar in record time.
Severus gritted his teeth, bitterness rising and lapping against his heart. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When his mind was suitably clear, he returned to his reading.
Soon, however, an uneasiness began to creep along Severus' spine.
Then, a short time later, when he lifted another newspaper, he paled.
"It can't be…"
He tossed the paper aside and scrambled for the next and then the next again.
"No! It's impossible!" Severus snarled in frustration and increasing fear. He could only ever see glimpses of Potter's stella past his damnable hair, but what he could see was looking frighteningly familiar.
Standing abruptly, Severus dropped the Prophet onto the table as if it were a cursed object. Remembering what Minerva had mentioned the previous evening at dinner, he glanced at a nearby clock. He then charged towards the exit, not bothering with donning his robes.
The instant his quarter's door slammed shut, Severus sped forwards down the long corridor toward the first set of many stairs. As he made his way, Severus fixated on how the absurd possibility he was contemplating would be snuffed out shortly. But beneath all his fear and anger, he was unable to stop a seed of hope from taking root.
While approaching the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office—Severus still found it difficult to call it his office—he noticed part of the stone creature's face was missing, one of the few repairs left that needed to be completed. He couldn't decide whether the damage made its appearance worse or better.
The gargoyle bowed its head to him and moved aside: no password required for the Headmaster. Severus hurried onto the moving staircase and immediately began to rise, his body steadily spiralling upwards, while his thoughts spiralled further downwards.
After he came to a stop, Severus charged ahead and flung open the door. Storming inside, he found Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, and Potter standing below Dumbledore's portrait. Startled by his entrance, the trio had turned around as one, stances wide and wands drawn.
Potter, the first to realise there was no imminent danger, lowered his arm. "Professor Snape," he courteously greeted. He straightened into a more relaxed position and moved aside his fringe, proudly displaying his fully formed stella, a stunning galaxy of freckles and spots. Its colouring was especially eye-catching: greens and blues swirling into purples and reds with flecks of shimmering gold.
Severus' breath caught at the sight of it. He'd found his answer. And it seared his very soul.
Unequivocally, he now knew: Because of his past bitterness, hatred, and jealousy, Severus had destroyed any chance to know real love.
He knew this because Harry Potter was his conpar.
Harry didn't know what to make of Professor Snape after he'd burst into the room as if an army of Dementors were chasing him. Currently, Professor Snape was just standing there, silent and wide-eyed. At first, Harry hadn't recognised him; while at Hogwarts, he'd never seen him in anything but billowy robes. Seeing him wearing only black trousers and a white shirt, Harry was shocked at the revealed lines of his fit form.
"Mr Potter…" Professor Snape said softly, politely addressing him for the first time ever.
He and Professor Snape took an involuntary step toward the other. They then froze, both looking stunned at their actions.
Flushing, Harry clenched his fists. Why did his insides feel like a nest of Devil's Snare? The last time he'd been in Professor Snape's presence, Professor Snape had been unconscious in hospital, an empty shell compared to his usual formidable self. Since witnessing Professor Snape's near-death, Harry had gained much insight and had vowed to protect him as best he could. He still didn't necessarily like Professor Snape, but he did feel some newfound respect for him. "Sir—"
"Severus! There you are!" Professor McGonagall sternly shouted, entering the office. The herbal scent of heather also entered along with her as she strode further inside. "You said you'd be busily ensconced in your quarters for the day, so I went all the way down to the dungeons to retrieve you. And then to find you here of all places." She gave Harry a side glance before shaking her head, a tug of a smile on her lips. "You do know I'm no longer a spring hen."
At first, Professor Snape appeared amused, but a moment later, his brow furrowed. "Why did you need me?" he cautiously asked her. His gaze flickered to Harry, then away.
"Not did," Professor McGonagall retorted, "do. I finished reviewing Gringotts' audit of Hogwarts' protections."
Harry briefly met Ron's and Hermione's eyes at the news.
Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I'm sorry to have to cut short your conversation with Professor Dumbledore."
"It's alright," Harry said, smiling warmly. "We were about finished anyway. Have a nice day, Professors."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron made to leave when Professor Snape spoke: "There's no need to prematurely end your visit. I'm sure you also wanted to enjoy a chat with your Head of House while here. And since you all should be seventh-years, I'm confident a conversation about Hogwarts' protections won't be completely beyond you."
"Certainly not," Professor McGonagall agreed, looking fondly at her Gryffindors.
Harry was gobsmacked by Professor Snape's offer. By the expressions on Ron's and Hermione's faces, they felt the same.
"Then, let's sit," Professor Snape said, moving to claim the seat behind the desk.
Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and four chairs appeared opposite him. Professor McGonagall sat on the far left chair, followed by Ron, Hermione, and Harry at the other end.
"Minerva," Professor Snape said, "what is the audit's conclusion?"
Professor McGonagall pinched her lips together. "The conclusion is a hard potion to swallow. The defences keep collapsing because of the Keystones. They must be renewed."
All colour fled from Professor Snape's face.
At Professor Snape's reaction, Harry asked, "What's so bad about renewing these Keystones?"
"They're mentioned in Hogwarts: A History," Hermione answered first. "There were four in total, each founder creating one. Just finding them might be the challenge; their locations have been lost over the centuries." She regarded Professors Snape and McGonagall. "Unless that's only a lie to protect them."
"Unfortunately, Miss Granger," Professor Snape replied, "it is not. Hogwarts likes its mysteries, for instance, why it insists on keeping me on as Headmaster." He sighed wearily. "As Headmaster, it shall be my responsibility to restore the Keystones because of my connection to Hogwarts. However, the magic required is considerable. Professor Dumbledore, or even the Dark Lord, would have been capable, but I am not."
"Couldn't you use a magical donator?" Ron asked.
Everyone looked at him with mild shock.
Ron snorted. "Always with the surprise." Grinning crookedly, he shrugged his shoulders. "I know about them because Bill had to use one sometimes when he worked in Egypt."
Professor Snape slowly nodded. "The donator would need to have substantial magical reserves. For that, we'll probably have to search abroad. Besides needing to consider the school's security, the donator's magic will have to be compatible with mine. Finding and thoroughly vetting potential donators could take months"—he grimaced—"which means next term will likely have to be postponed."
At Professor Snape's words, Hermione suddenly sat straighter in her seat. "Harry might be able to help," she blurted.
Harry and Ron stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.
"What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "You were Voldemort's magical equal. Surely, you have the raw power required."
Harry could have throttled her. What was she thinking! With how confusing his emotions were towards Professor Snape, spending even more time with him was the last thing he needed.
"There's still the matter of where they could be," Professor McGonagall reminded them.
Harry winced, knowing he should speak up. "Well, maybe we already know the general location of one: Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets."
"You're right!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly. "But…"—she thought for a sec—"being able to say open in Parseltongue may not be enough." Hermione studied Harry's forehead. "Can you still speak it?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Er…I don't know." He looked around the room. "I'll need something with a snake on it to try."
"Allow me," Professor Snape said. He flicked his wand, and a lovely young Sunbeam Snake appeared in his left hand.
Smiling, Harry admired its iridescent black scales…and how graceful Professor Snape's long fingers looked—
Harry started, blinking hard. Wait a minute. What was he doing thinking about Professor Snape's anything? He flushed pink.
"Er, thanks, Professor," Harry managed to say.
Harry clenched his hands. What he needed to do now was focus.
Looking intently at the snake, he spoke: "Hello?"
The snake turned towards his voice.
"Can you understand me?" Harry asked.
"Yes…" the snake replied, nodding its little head. It began to slither off Professor Snape's palm onto the table and towards Harry. "Hungry. Want plump frog."
Harry chuckled and lowered his hand for the snake to climb onto it. Grinning, he looked up. Professor Snape was staring at him, his face expressionless; however, his smouldering eyes told another story. Harry unexpectedly felt himself fall into Professor Snape's dark, penetrating gaze, and for the first time since he could remember, he felt…safe.
"So, mate," Ron said, breaking the spell, "it seems you can still speak it."
Harry inhaled a shaky breath. "Yeah," he agreed weakly.
"While you're here, Mr Potter," Professor Snape smoothly added, "we should test to see if our magics are compatible, that is, if you're willing to help."
"Oh," Harry said, feeling surprised and somewhat alarmed, "yeah, sure…" He bent down and set the snake on the floor to explore. "Er, what do I have to do?"
"Can you wandlessly call your magic at will?" Professor Snape asked. "It's not a common ability."
Harry nodded. "Yes, I can."
Professor Snape stretched out his right arm, palm facing upwards. "Then place your hand face down on mine."
Harry's stomach and heart began to do the waltz under his ribcage. "Okay." He laid his palm on Professor Snape's and almost gasped, warm electricity suffusing his skin where they touched.
"Go ahead and form a sphere of power beneath your hand," Professor Snape instructed, his voice sounding unusually rough. "It doesn't need to be much; about the size of a Snitch shall suffice."
Harry swallowed hard. "Alright." He licked his lips, then concentrated on pushing a trickle of his magic where his wand would typically be.
When Harry's power began to pool and swirl between them, interacting with Professor Snape's aura, he had to refrain from moaning. The charged heat that had been localised to his hand was spreading, and the odd, yet pleasurable, sensation was causing him to harden in his trousers.
"That's enough," Professor Snape said a tad too sharply. He cleared his throat. "I must partially open my Occlumency shields before we can continue." For a few seconds, he shut his eyes. "Now," he said, keeping his lids closed, "gently push your magic towards me."
Harry mentally offered the glowing orb, and with no effort at all, Professor Snape's magic accepted it.
Sharply inhaling, Professor Snape abruptly retracted his arm.
Harry thought he saw a flash of unbridled desire on Professor Snape's face but, on second glance, knew he must have imagined it and had only projected his own feelings. As usual, Professor Snape looked as blank as a plain sheet of parchment.
"A success," Professor Snape said without inflexion, the truth of the statement questionable in Harry's opinion.
Harry nodded dumbly, just glad he hadn't been standing; the rush he'd felt had nearly made him come in his pants. Merlin, if that was the effect of a small transfer, he thought in a mild panic, how am I going to get through this without making a fool of myself? He imagined being all alone with Professor Snape and gulped.
"Hey," Harry said, looking at Hermione, Ron, and Professor McGonagall, "did you want to come along down to the Chamber?"
Hermione and Ron shared a look.
"No offence, mate," Ron said, "but we're good. I reckon Hermione and I have had our fill of the place."
"And I'm too…wise to go traipsing through the plumbing," Professor McGonagall said wryly.
"It seems it shall have to be just you and me, Mr Potter," Professor Snape said. "Will that be a problem?"
"No, sir," Harry answered while internally screaming the opposite.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow at nine a.m. outside the Chamber's entrance."
Hermione suddenly giggled, grabbing everyone's attention.
"What?" Harry asked curiously.
"Oh, nothing," Hermione said, waving a hand. "Just a silly thought. I was thinking about how strong bonds can strengthen the casting of protections. And then I thought, what if you and Professor Snape were conpares!" She chuckled. "Just imagine! The potential magical charge would be enormous!"
"Yes…" Professor Snape drawled, standing up to leave. "Just imagine."
Harry grinned at Professor Snape's dry tone. Then, brushing his starmark with his fingers, for a short second, he did imagine him as his conpar. And for some reason, the thought made Harry's heart skip a beat.