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The Way of the Patronus	By : QueenB Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 15104 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in anyway, shape or form. The rights of such belong solely to J.K Rowling. I do not make any money or accrue any monetary benefit on this story.

Chapter List
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So this was what the beginning of the rest of your life was like.
Since the end of fifth year, Harry had been bending so much of his waking thoughts towards plans about killing Voldemort or being killed by him. Now that it was over, he wasn’t sure what he felt. He only knew he had his whole life ahead of him now…and what did that mean for him and Severus?
Harry paused before stepping inside the common room. Hermione and Ron might be there, waiting for news. They’d be upset that he’d left them out of the action. But he’d had no time to formulate a plan or decide anything except that he go after his bondmate. He wouldn’t have wanted to risk their lives anyway.
He had to answer to them. But the last thing he wanted right now was to endure more questioning. He would put up with their company because they were his mates. Yet he knew he’d swiftly find it impossible to be around them and wish to be alone again.
Not alone. He wanted to be with Severus. The man had separated himself from Harry the moment they’d Apparated outside the Hogwarts gates. He had marched in beside Dumbledore, his head held ramrod straight, without glancing to where Harry was trotting beside them. Of course, Harry was still under his Cloak; it would have looked bizarre to any onlookers if Severus had been seen looking towards or talking to thin air.
Thinking of his bondmate, Harry went over what had transpired in that warehouse. It had all happened so quickly that it was difficult to put into words exactly what was happening. That hadn’t stopped the Headmaster from sitting him down and questioning him minutely about everything that had occurred, starting from his certain knowledge Severus was in danger to the final rescue.
The only reason Severus had been spared the interrogation was because he had claimed to feel rather strained from the exertion of his magic. Privately, Harry wondered at that. He hadn’t suffered any loss of power or strength. Then again, Severus had been tortured beforehand. The ordeal must have taken a lot out of him.
But the DADA professor hadn’t been too tired to inquire after Draco. That and resuming his classes had taken up all the intervening time. Harry wondered if Severus was still angry about his rescue at the warehouse. Now that the danger was over, Harry could see how crazed and foolish his plan had been. He might have gotten them both killed--or worse.
He sighed. Severus was a hard taskmaster, difficult to please or appease. He wasn’t looking forward to the lecture that was sure to come. Then again he could endure anything now, knowing that his lover was safe.
Harry mumbled the password before stepping through the hole. Inside the common room, Dean and Seamus were engaged in lively debate. The atmosphere was charged with a kind of tension he didn’t understand.
“They just toppled right over, like they’d been Stupefied!”
“What do you reckon? Some kind of epidemic?” Dean asked.
“No, Dumbledore would have had the rest of us marching into Madam Pomfrey’s if that had happened,” Seamus argued.
“What’re you two talking about?” Harry asked, filled with dread. Keeled over…did they already know? The assault in the warehouse had taken place less than an hour ago. The Daily Prophet couldn’t have printed the news already, could it?
Seamus peered at him. “Where have you been, mate? Hermione told us you’d taken sick or summat and had to go lie down. But we get here and there’s no sign of you.”
“Yeah, and your bed hasn’t been slept in.”
“So where’ve you been?”
“Um, I thought I felt really sick so I took a walk down to Madam Pomfrey’s. Halfway there, I decided it wasn’t so bad so I took off again,” Harry said, praying they wouldn’t question him too closely.
Thankfully, they had something else on their minds. “So I guess you didn’t see any of the others,” Dean ventured.
“What others?”
“A while ago, most of the Slytherins let out these awful screams and keeled right over. It was the damnedest thing,” Dean said in awe, shaking his head.
“Yeah, we thought they’d been hit by a spell or summat,” Seamus chimed in.
“Except no one was casting anything anywhere near ‘em,” Dean added. “I think it’s a magical sickness. Maybe something the twins left behind as a parting gift for Umbridge, like their Puking Pastilles.”
“What sickness could drop a whole bunch of kids at once? I say it’s a spell,” Seamus argued. And the two began bickering again even as they prepared for their next classes.
The collapsed students made Harry rather uneasy. He honestly hadn’t considered other victims when he’d gone to rescue Severus. Now those kids were going to learn--if they hadn’t already--that their fathers weren’t coming home.
Classes seemed to take forever and they were marked with a blessedly low attendance of Slytherins. The baby Death Eaters had been very careful to let no outsiders know about their changed relationship to Voldemort so speculation was rife about what had happened to them.
Harry wasn’t going to enlighten his classmates. But there was something he had to know. “What happened to the ferret?” he asked with a passable attempt at a sneer.
“No idea. He was one of the first sent home. I think Pansy burst out crying over him. But who cares?” Lee Jordan shrugged.
Who indeed? They were Slytherins and the children of known Death Eaters to boot; the rest of the school wouldn’t give a hang about them. But Harry couldn’t help feeling the echoing silence from that table.
Goyle and Crabbe looked curiously forlorn without Draco’s tinier form between them. It seemed in spite of their fathers they had not been singled out to be among Voldemort’s chosen. Either that, or their larger bodies meant they hadn’t been as affected by the magical backlash that had dropped so many of their fellow Slytherins.
They should have counted themselves lucky not to be in Draco’s shoes. But all it meant for them was a new kind of outsider status. Without Malfoy and with the stain of having their fathers newly exposed among the fallen, they were really nothing more than a pair of not-bright losers who’d be struggling at the bottom of the social scale for the rest of their lives, pureblood or not.
Harry was startled at the sour sensation twisting in his gut. He’d never thought he could feel sorry for Slytherins. Now they had lost parents too--because of him. Others would think their deaths justified. That would make no difference to the students who’d lost loved ones in that warehouse.
Curious, he glanced at the Head table. The dark-haired Professor, comfortingly familiar, was turned towards the Slytherin table as well. Incredibly, he could feel Severus’s sorrow and fury that this catastrophe should have befallen the students in his house.
For the first time, he understood. Severus hadn’t protected his Slytherins out of spiteful favoritism. He genuinely cared about the students in his house and it tore him apart to see their numbers so reduced.
How would Harry have handled it if Ron or Hermione had been stricken or hurt in the war against Voldemort? It would have hurt beyond belief to lose them; even the thought of it caused something inside him to ache.
As much as he could, he sent waves of understanding towards his lover. The still white face turned towards him. Did he imagine it or did Severus nod just a fraction? Why didn’t he reach out and speak to Harry through the bond? Was he weakened still?
“If everyone will kindly seat themselves, I have news to relate.” It was Dumbledore, standing at the Head table and looking out benignly at all the gathered students. It took a few minutes but all the children and older students settled down at their respective tables.
“As you will no doubt hear soon, Voldemort is dead.” A collective gasp rose at hearing the dreaded name. The Headmaster continued as though he didn’t notice.
“This is momentous news indeed. But classes are to be taken as usual. Any celebrations are to be kept strictly within your respective Houses and only after classes have been attended. That is all I have to say about the matter,” Dumbledore concluded as he took his seat again.
“You-Know-Who is dead? How? How does the Headmaster know?” Terry chattered.
“It’s Dumbledore. He always knows everything,” Padma stated with authority.
Dean and Seamus leaned together so quickly it was a wonder they didn’t knock heads. “Blimey, you think this has got something to do with those sick Slytherins?” Dean asked excitedly.
“Got to be. Maybe they were all under Imperius by You-Know-Who and they fell over when he bit it,” Seamus answered.
“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, the urge to educate warring with her own shock at the news. “Release from the Imperius Curse doesn’t make people scream or pass out.”
“Well, why don’t you tell us what really happened to those kids, if you know so much?” Michael Corner asked, scowling as he flung down the challenge.
Hermione blushed a faint pink at being put on the spot. But she answered quickly enough. “I don’t know. But I’m betting we’ll be hearing the official story real soon.” Even though she never once glanced at him, Harry could sense her urge to corner and wring the truth out of him.
“They can’t expect us to go to classes after news like that, can they?” Katie Bell moaned.
“What would you rather be doing, Katie? Playing Quidditch?” Parvati asked with a grin.
“Well, yeah! I mean, who’s going to be able to think about Arithmancy or Potions after something like this?” Katie pointed out.
She was right. None of the students seemed able to concentrate on their classes. Any who took them with Harry kept turning around in their seats to sneak glances at him or whisper to their neighbors.
Harry found himself oddly calm. After killing Voldemort and rescuing Severus, the increased class and homework load were curious anticlimaxes. Perhaps after struggling through ordeals like those meant that nothing could really shake him now.
Harry could barely keep from yawning while he easily managed his Transfigurations. With his heightened abilities, he was effortlessly giving himself facial growth, turning his hair colors to rival those of Tonks and altering his facial features. He was also using wordless magic, thanks to his extensive lessons with Severus, and hadn’t needed to speak for any of his tasks. Professor McGonagall was suitably impressed, praising him in front of the class and regarding him with a probing stare as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
He even briefly Transfigured Ron into a wren. When the redhead was returned to his normal state, he shook his arms like he was still trying to fly. “Blimey, mate. This the kind of magic you used to kill What’s-His-Name?” he whispered. Harry had managed to give a hurried, much-edited version of the story to him and Hermione. But he’d yet to tell them everything.
“It’s Voldemort, Ron. Goodness, he’s dead now. When are you going to start saying his name?” Hermione answered in exasperation.
Hermione had been going through her Transfigurations just as easily, of course. But she eyed Harry askance as he waved his wand almost negligently. “Harry, how are you doing all this? Since when are you so good at wordless magic?”
Ron smirked. “What’s the matter, Hermione? Bothered that Harry’s as good as you in lessons now? I know you didn’t like it when he got better at Potions.”
Hermione bristled. “Harry was cheating in Potions.”
Ron hastily cast Muffliato. “Hermione, we’ve been over this. If you’re helping us with our homework all these years isn’t breaking the rules, how is looking through an old book supposed to be cheating?”
Hermione’s lips pinched shut when the muffling spell was cast and she moved away. She really had hated Harry’s increased proficiency in Potions and the fact that he was outperforming her. Now she was on the verge of arguing with Ron again and Harry’s heart sank. His best mates had just been healing the break between them and now it looked like they were about to split apart again.
That was it. He needed to come clean to them. Dumbledore had told him he needed to keep his friends by him. But he’d been hiding the truth about a major part of his life from them and that had certainly contributed to the rift.
He had needed to speak to Severus. Of course, now he didn’t need to contact the man physically to get a message. He just needed a quiet moment to himself…
__________
During one of his free breaks, while staring into the fireplace, Harry sent his mind soaring out in search of his bondmate. He kept the mental touch light; he didn’t want to disturb Severus if the man was doing something important. Severus?
Harry. The answering thought came at once, concerned yet sultry, breathing desire after the initial surprise.
It was amazing how Severus managed to inject so much emotion into a single word. Harry could feel himself flushing and shifted on his ass, hoping no one would notice.
You had something you wished to say to me? Out with it, brat. I don’t have all day.
He could tell Severus wasn’t really annoyed. Truly, it was wonderful to have this precious gift. The man’s face could be like stone; this access to his thoughts meant that every bit of shifting emotion was clear to Harry.
Severus, I want to tell Ron and Hermione about us.
Silence. Then… Are you certain that is wise? You are still underage, Harry. Exposure of our union could prove devastating to you.
Severus was concerned for him not for himself. An odd prickling stung at Harry’s eyes. He shuffled back from the fire, rubbing his eyes as though the smoke were stinging it.
They’re good friends. I trust them to keep my secrets. Besides, they’ve been noticing how my magic has been changing and getting stronger. Hermione’s already suspicious; I don’t want her thinking I’ve absorbed more of Voldemort’s powers like I did when I got this scar.
A valid concern. We can’t have anyone believing you’re becoming the next Dark Lord. There was another silence.
Very well. You may tell your little entourage. But you must make it very clear to them that this is in the strictest confidence.
The burst of relief Harry experienced left him dizzy. I will, Severus. You can count on them. The man’s essence was withdrawing from him when Harry remembered his other concern. Wait!
Yes?
When can we meet again? I-I need to see you.
A touch of worry. Are you suffering from the withdrawal pangs of our touch again? I have experienced no such pains on my part.
Harry checked. I haven’t felt it either. Since we were in the warehouse, it’s like the itching has let up completely. But we can still hear each other. Why’s that?
I believe the answer lies in what happened before the final battle. We had completed the bond. Before then, it was incomplete and that lack was what caused the discomfort for us. Now that the bond has been formed fully, it is likely we will never know that physical distress again.
Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m feeling just a bit distressed right now.
Amusement, darkly sensual, coiled through his mind. There is little that can be done about that now, Harry.
Ideas of Severus and himself exchanging dirty images popped into Harry’s head. A mental chuckle rippled in answer; Severus thought his adolescent fantasies amusing yet undeniably appealing.
So can we meet tonight, Severus?”
Tonight? So eager?
After what nearly happened with Voldemort…yeah, pretty much. You nearly died, Severus.” Harry was stunned at how much the very idea hurt.
A caress of mute assurance. You wish an affirmation of life, I take it? I understand. But don’t forget. The celebration in your Tower will undoubtedly take most of the evening. I doubt very much whether you will be able to get away unseen from the other students.
They’ll be too busy celebrating. And no one knows I was directly involved, remember? They’ll be bound to forget about me sooner or later.
Perhaps. I still do not believe you will be able to come to me tonight.
I am coming tonight. I’ll find a way.
Another amused chuckle. Don’t be too certain. I give you one day to be with your comrades. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me.
Severus!
But I will expect you tomorrow no later than 9 in the evening. I need hardly remind you not to be late.
With one last thought that felt like an embrace, Severus regretfully slipped from his thoughts.
It was a wonder Harry was able to get through his classes. Save for Firenze, who like other centaurs had held himself aloof from the internecine struggle against Voldemort, the teachers were understandably as distracted and giddy as the students. Harry looked up often to see Flitwick, Sprout and others wearing gazes that ranged from shock to utter wonder. Slughorn himself had something that looked suspiciously like tears in his eyes even as he blew his nose and pretended to sneeze over potion fumes in the air.
All too soon Harry wanted the comfort of his bed. Fatigue from the day’s events, memories of the murders, exams and too many conversations caught up with him at last.
The day came to an end, as all days must, and Harry was at last free to escape to the dorm. In the Gryffindor Tower, he was greeted by a bleary-eyed Fat Lady raising a glass with Violet. “Ooh, look who it is! The Sloshen One!” she slurred.
“That’s Crocheted One,” Violet corrected with a hiccup.
The Fat Lady waved a hand as if to say it didn’t matter one way or the other. Then she began singing, in a surprisingly chirpy soprano, a song about some hero called Rikki Tikki Tavi.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Exploding Snargaluff Pods.”
“If you say so, dearie,” the Fat Lady giggled and swung aside to reveal the hole. Harry barely missed getting his leg clipped when the portrait swung back too soon.
Once inside the common room, Harry was met with a roar as the other Gryffindors surged forward. Hands clapped on his back and questions flew from all sides.
“How do you think it happened, Harry?” Lee urged. “Ministry attack and they’re hushing it up?”
He shrugged with a convincing show of ignorance. “How should I know?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Dean stated, nodding wisely. “The Ministry has the Daily Prophet in its pocket. Everyone knows that. Probably snuffed You-Know-Who and the other Death Eaters themselves and they’re pretending it’s a mystery so no one knows they committed mass murder.” He didn’t notice Harry’s flinch.
“But what about all that Chosen One stuff?” Neville demanded. “I mean, those Death Eaters stormed the Ministry, attacked Harry for a prophecy in a little glass ball and nothing comes of it! All that just so someone else could kill them?”
There was a murmur of agreement. “Well, obviously whatever was in that prophecy was utter rubbish. Anyone who’s taken Divinations would know that. Besides, who cares so long as You-Know-Who is dead?” Ron chimed in. “Tonight isn’t about prophecies. It’s about getting good and pissed!”
There was a cry of approval over this and they began passing around a bottle of contraband firewhiskey they’d managed to sneak in under Filch’s eagle eye. But Harry was so full and sleepy he thought he’d throw up if he tried belting down so much as a teaspoon of the fiery liquor.
He retreated to his bed as soon as he could tear himself away from his fellow revelers and stripped himself unceremoniously of his clothing, letting it drop where they may for the house-elves to clean up. Hermione wouldn’t have approved of his indifferent attitude towards the castle help but he was in no mood to care.
Wondering what Severus was doing to celebrate but too tired to reach out towards him, Harry was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

TBC
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The Way of the Patronus