Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space	By : SparklySprinkles Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry Views: 10089 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-chapter one
- 2-Chapter Two
- 3-Chapter Three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenny one
- 22-twenny two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-one more to go!
- 26-the end (26)
- 22
- 23
- 24
   Severus woke under the love of his life, and hated himself even more for it. It was his fault she was dead, and then he'd done this to her son. And now he may as well have everything. What more was there of which to rob her? He'd even taken her bloody hairbrush.
   He stirred, needing to be free of her, and she moved. Woke, looked up at him, and smiled shyly. And it had been done before. He'd seen Lily's shy smiles before. Not for him, but he'd seen them. He'd known of their existence. His chest was wet, and he knew why.
   She moved on him, hopeful for something, though Severus couldn't imagine why. She had no reason to want him. For that matter, neither did Potter. Either of them had the right to hate him forever. And she was moving against him, like she wanted it all. Shameful.
   "Good Morning?"
   "Nnn." Good. Morning. Severus should forbid this one, this abomination, from speaking unless spoken to.
   "I could ... I could make you happy. I could do something for you?"
   Disgusting, terrible boy, putting those words in her mouth. He answered it with his most vicious sneer, something this one had experience with. "I have no interest in the tricks you may have learned for your uncle."
   She recoiled, a quick look of horror marring her features in the time it took for her to hide her face. Free of her form that had been weighing him down, he rose and left, without another word. Shut the door behind him and stopped, held in place in the hallway, feeling like a monster for saying such a horrible thing. Not saying something nice to her. What the hell? Rotting his brain, and it was a tired, beaten thought.
   It was like living through a dementor's hell, where he watched over and over, the acids he threw at her, only in a new way every time. Because he had always been gifted at saying horrific things. This was his true fate.
   He should have just peeled her off him and said 'good morning', like a person would have, then run from the room.
   But no, he'd come in the night, taken what he'd wanted again, and left her there, confused. He owed her something. He owed her, and the boy both, a lifetime of compensation, and it would never be possible. Would never be something in his reach to offer. But he could turn himself around and ... what? Tell her it was a thoughtful offer? Tell her that he liked what she did with her hair?
   He was so desperately dull witted.
   And what kind of thought was that? He could go in there and charm her with intelligent conversation? Because it had worked so well the first time around? Merlin, what was happening to his mind? But he could at least, at the very least, not always be such a massive prick, and try to say something kind. Like see you at breakfast. That would mean something to her. Would let her know that she would be allowed out today, and her presence would be enjoyed. Looked forward to. Yes. That was the winner. He was such a fool.
   He allowed his hand to follow its own incentive to turn the knob and came back in the room and saw her naked on the bed, sucking at a breast.
   "Stop that!"
   "Yes," she looked away, turning a charming red, sniffing quietly. She frowned at the mattress. "I'm sorry."
   He stood in confusion, not really understanding his immobility, or rather, what to do about it.
   "Please, may I do it when you're not here? They hurt."
   He was torn. He needed to remember that she was a boy - no, a young man, dealing with something he didn't understand, and he was trying to cope with a body that was alien to him. And his breasts were full and ripe and leaking, and needing a mouth.
   "Of course. I'm sorry. You do what you need to do. Of course." He came closer, lured. Unable to resist the pull of her needs, like she was pulling at him through the bond again, only now in the same room. But she wasn't; she was very much minding her own business, sat up tight on the bed. It was that sweet milk. He was stealing it like everything else. Reaching back in time and taking one more thing from her child. What a mess he'd made of everything.
   She sat back, watching him, a hand still holding herself. Like she didn't think she should let go even with him watching her, though any woman would have. Her beautiful lips were wet with it, and she licked them nervously as she stared at his knees. He sat at the foot, hardly knowing he did. But she didn't move. Like she wouldn't be putting more of this depravity on display for him, and he wished he had what it took to command it.
   But he couldn't command her. He'd just done so, and hated himself for it. Who was he to tell her what to do with those? A worm. More so because if he'd never said anything, she would still be doing it.
   "Please."
   "Yes," she still looked at his knee, now on the bed between them, and he realized she'd said yes to the unasked plea, and couldn't even have known what it was. He sneered at his own inadequacies, and didn't know what to say to her. Didn't know how to ask for it. He really wanted to see her milk herself. But he couldn't ask, when he'd just hissed at her for it.
   She came closer to him, perhaps seeing how he couldn't, and he opened his arms. She put herself in that space carefully, unsure, still looking down with red rimming the green of her eyes. He pulled her in, until she was sideways in his lap, where he'd been thinking about having her so much lately. He licked her throat, and she leaned her head back, giving him every space available to move in for more. But she kept her eyes on the ceiling, and said nothing, like she was afraid to make a sound. Just breathed onto his forehead hotly.
    He moved lower, to a pale round mound, and licked his path to the darkened nipple, stiff and waiting, calling, still wet. Closed his mouth around it and couldn't stop a soft moan over the taste washing over his tongue. Just as sweet as he remembered. It tapped at his shields, and then a slender hand made its way to his hair and gripped lightly. She was forgiving him. He let them fall with a weak smile around his mouthful, knowing he would be wasting energy on a lost battle, when she was holding him in place to empty her, and he sucked harder. Tightened his arm around her to position her better, and her fingers curled in his hair, forming a grip while keeping him in place.
   And then she dipped her other hand between her legs.
   He would have had to let go of what he had to watch, so he didn't. Instead he moved his arm to hold her body and arm inside, so he could feel it, imagine what it was doing, and kept going until he had reached the thickness at the end. She let out some soft little sounds over his head, but she still seemed to be holding it in. Just as well. He didn't need to go losing anything over this.
   She started moving her hips just a little, not enough to jostle his upper half, but more than enough to bend his hard prick with every move. He sucked his pain out, and didn't dare disturb her. It was the least of what he owed her. Felt right that he would be punished in the tiniest way to ground this blinding pleasure.
   He moved on to the next one, and she moaned a little louder as he started sucking. Her movements came a little faster, and it seemed she needed help. He knew she probably didn't, but he couldn't recall everything he knew, not all the time. He laid back and pulled her with him, the breast still in his mouth. She followed and moved herself so she straddled him, a hand on the bed by his head, but her other one still working some magic between her legs.
   Her hand was still moving between her legs, faster, and she might get where she was going before he could be freed of his robes, so he banished the buttons. Hadn't he already told himself to get rid of those?
   He pulled his cock out beneath her hand and she made another tiny sound, he couldn't name it, but she'd found him, her hand closed around him, and stroked, but she looked up at him, unsure, like she needed permission. And how large a crime was that? Another one to add to his list, that she would feel she needed it. He was a monster. To make such a woman think she needed to beg for anything.
   He needed to address that, and tried with another inadequate little "please," to let her know she had all power here. Words weren't his strength. At least, not pretty ones, ones that had a place here, in her bed. Hopefully she would know that, know him well enough, that she could take that seed of a 'please' and plant it on her own.
   She pulled her wet hand away from herself, and he seized it before she could do anything as wasteful as wipe it, and pulled it to his face, where he could lick it clean for her. She froze everything and watched him, mouth open and her hot sex hovering over his leaking prick, calling from inches away. The she remembered, and lowered herself over him to run his length through her lips, teasing. But she wasn't. He knew that. She was savouring his length.
   He helped her, lifting his hips to play along with her, and when she sighed over that he smiled. She pulled her hand back and held him for herself to lower, swallowing him quickly and wetly, and he lifted for that, too. For everything, as she kept her breasts over his face, swinging, hitting him, he took it, took everything she did over him, and let her drive her own pace. Like perhaps he was doing her a service. And in a way he was. This would be dictated by her. He was too weak for this test that he'd made for himself. And he would never withhold anything from her again. He'd been a fool to try.
   She sat deep and ground, taking her breasts away from him, but that left her mouth, and she dove on him, hungry. He opened his mouth for her. She understood, and invaded, seeking his tongue with her own, and kept there until she came, crying out over him and into him, gripping and pulsing, lovely tensed legs bracing against his own.
   He did nothing, waiting for her to keep going or get up and leave. It was hers. She moved her mouth over him, long soft hair a curtain that closed them off from everything else, licking faintly at his face, his neck, until her legs stopped their shaking, until her hands came with equally light touches to follow what her mouth was doing. And he accepted everything. She owned everything she touched, mouthed, enveloped. As she always had.
   After a time she began moving again, riding him fast and keeping her wonderful full breasts near his face again, and he laid back, letting it all wash over him, until he couldn't hold back anymore and strained upwards releasing inside her, grunting quietly as he did. Feeling weak for not giving her longer. She stilled, and gripped him a few times, smiling shyly as she did so, and he gave her a weak one in return. She kissed him once more and leaned in to his ear. Licked it and kissed it and whispered a very grateful sounding "thank you." He blinked at the ceiling as she rose and left him - like the apparition she was.
   Her forgiveness had taken the form of a thank you. His head swooned a little from that thought. It was taking root deep and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He told himself that it wasn't real, but that was causing a war. So what if it wasn't real, it had felt amazing. Was that what vindication felt like? He wasn't sure, he'd never known, himself.
   He stayed still, waiting for his blood to cool a little and then he left and started his day downstairs, where he should have, but never would again, and let her claim the upper half of the house for her shower or other needs. He had another bathroom down here that he could use, and clothes in the study since he'd moved his life to there. But it was an unsafe practice to sleep by a fireplace connected to parts of the floo network. He'd never felt right about that.
-/--/-

   Harry was picking this up, slowly. He'd been called many things, and a few of those were his by rights, and a few were his by luck. But clever wasn't something that had ever been in that first list. However, this was clearing up for him, and it helped that he would do anything to have that love wash over him, again and again. Proper incentive, that was.
   And if Harry was careful, always careful and mindful, he wouldn't mess it up again. He just needed to treat his master, oddly enough, like a flighty wild animal caught indoors by accident. Eye contact only when sought out, touches light and fleeting, never ask for everything in one swallow. He would never again.
   He'd kept a finger on the pulse of the shields constantly, and they had begun their buckling before Snape had made it to the bed, but that didn't mean he needed to go about stomping in the remains. He could be good.
   Graceful.
   He laughed to himself. He would be so graceful ... as soon as he learned how. Because he knew now that Snape was afraid of him. Or her. He didn't understand, but he didn't need to. It was enough that he knew where the danger signs were, and he had no trouble skating around those, he was even practiced at such things.
   He came back from his shower and dressed, then waited for breakfast, or to be called down for it. So many options these days.
   Neville came for him after a time, and Harry followed, mask in place. He wondered if he would be given the polyjuice ever, and hoped not. He didn't need anything from his old body, it had never done anything for him. This one owned the man downstairs.
   He sat at the table, happy to be a part of the world. The paper was parceled out, and Harry ended up with the games again. Then Snape explained, slowly, sonorously, silkily, that every room and hallway would have a goblet of polyjuice potion that Neville would be refreshing regularly. And beside it would always be a hair that was Harry's. And if ever anyone, anyone came by, Harry was to down it instantly. If the visitor was to stay longer, then Harry would need to make it to the nearest second goblet before the hour ended.
   He nodded quickly to the slow words, and was stared at hard. "You don't know what's at stake here. And you would pray for death if you failed to follow this. These are the strictest of orders that you will follow without fail."
   Harry nodded again. He wasn't totally thick. He understood. Well, he didn't understand most of it, but yes, he understood hiding whoever this was from people. That was it. Who she was, or why it was so costly were mysteries to him.
   There was one such goblet on a plate in front of him, and a few hairs beside it.
   There was also one in the room with the books that led to this one. One in the kitchen, one along the stairs and one in the hall outside his room. All with little hairs beside them, and Harry hoped sickly that he would never need to use it.

   Snape came to him at night, after the sun had been down for long enough for the sun to travel below the clock's "horizon" to the pattern of dots that Harry could remember from astronomy was the lion. And that was all very fine and well and useless, but what it meant was that it was about eleven o'clock. A lot of effort to know such a simple thing, but he was almost seeing it as another game, enjoying the challenge.
   He looked up as the door opened, and said nothing, averted his eyes. A flighty thing that could leave if he looked directly at it. He stayed still and waited as the man came in and laid down quietly beside him. Harry wondered if he should move in, but decided against it. There was just too much caution under his pulse tester. The ice was shaky. Unsafe for skating or other recreational activities.
   He laid close, almost close enough to touch, and closed his eyes, trying to show just how good he could be.

   He woke to Snape staring at him, watching him as he slept, love pulsing strongly through the bonds and Harry fell into the feeling, hoping it would just go on. It pulsed in time between his legs, and he grew wet just staying still. Perhaps this was what fancy drugs felt like? It was in his veins, everywhere, warm. Like a blanket, but a million times better. What the inventor of the blanket had been going for.
   "Would you like some help with those?"
   He beamed, knowing what he was talking about. "Yes, please." He looked over and saw Snape hadn't moved, so he raised himself over him, letting his fullness rest over the man's mouth, and sighed deeply as he was clamped on, easing his tensions almost immediately. And he did just what had helped him along the morning before, touching himself as he was sucked on, stroking and working himself. A moan rumbled wetly beneath him, and he was bolstered enough by that to ask, "please, would you help me with this, too?" Snape gurgled another moan, and followed Harry's hand with his own, touching him, stroking tentatively. Funny, given they were a little beyond that by then. Harry moved with the hand, and felt it was safe to reach for Snape's prick, showing through his sleeping robe. A drawstring was the only thing stopping him this time, and he quickly had him in his hand.
   He stroked him, wondering at the way Snape's hips bucked into his hold at first touch. This was ... well, it was power. He lifted his chest, and gave him the other breast to work on, as he rose over him, and lowered, taking him in slowly, groaning as he was filled. He stayed there, adjusting to get him as deep as he could, then moved from there, having to hold the man's head up to keep him at his first task.
   Snape wrapped his arms around him and sat up, and Harry knelt outside his thighs and used that to move against him slow, keeping his mouth busy and filled. Harry nuzzled into the top of his head, and was washed away in the affection, the hold that didn't give him much room for movement, and he worked with it, swallowing Snape's cock over and over until he was shaking from it all again in just moments.
   He slowed, and he was lowered to his back, Snape following, staring at him, wide eyed, plunging wetly into him, petting his face and hair, and the man came in a few more strokes.
   Harry stayed still under him, willing to never move again if this would just keep going on, but finally Snape lifted from him and sat up. Harry got up and, masking himself, quickly left the room, forcing himself to keep the distance Snape might have wanted. Don't push it. Don't reach for more.
   He washed himself and Snape was gone when he returned. But that was fine. Everything was incredibly fine.
   Neville came up for him a while later so he put the mask back on came down for breakfast. Neville gave him a smile, and Harry wished he could see his. But at least he could be here. At the table.
   The paper was passed around, and Neville said quietly from behind his, "there are newts all over the garden today. I was thinking I might collect some."
   Snape nodded.
   "I was hoping Harry could come out and help."
   Papers lowered a touch as Harry turned from one to the other, hoping for outside time. That would be something. Snape scowled at them both, as though this was a conspiracy, and suspicion flooded through him. Harry knew the answer. "It's too much risk. Anyone could come by, out there." That was a solid point. Harry didn't have any desire to see this man's friends.
   "Sorry, Harry."
   "It's alright, Neville. It really isn't safe."
   Neville looked from him to Snape and shrugged. "Not very safe in here either, though. Are you?"
   "That's not true," Harry said quietly, overcoming his shock, "I've never been so safe in my life." Neville stared at him, and Harry looked back at his food. Took a bite. Quiet overtook everything again, and as the plates emptied he asked, "may I help him clean up?"
   "You may."
   "Thank you." So there was that to look forward to.
   And again, at lunch, he was allowed to help Neville out in the kitchen. He didn't hate being confined to the room upstairs, not yet, but it was nice to be allowed in other rooms, and do things there, too. He'd just been so confined in his life that these were gifts. Once they were done Neville braved a question for Snape. "Can he help me with the newts?"
   "You think I have all day to supervise you?"
   "What do you think we're gonna do? Plan y-" he stopped, wisely. Harry stayed silent, like someone who's learned from his mistakes.
   Snape turned in his chair and stared at him, until Neville dropped his gaze. "Tell me if you are."
   "I'm not."
   "And if I leave you alone for one hour?" He glared at them both, but there was silence. "Do nothing of which you think I would disapprove." And he left them angrily, for whatever room he used for retreat.
   Harry blew some air out loudly. "Wow, Neville. Are you trying to make him angry? What was that?"
   "Yeah. I know. Maybe I'm getting used to him?"
   "Are you?"
   "No. It just makes me angry to see this. It's so wrong, what's happening to you. I mean, it was wrong what happened to everyone, but I'm not, I mean, what's." He stopped, and Harry had some idea what he couldn't say. But what was he supposed to do about it? Tell Neville Longbottom that he happily lived for Snape's dick now?
   "If it helps you, he's being real nice." And so angry today.
   Neville snorted, and a pained look came over him. Harry wished he hadn't said anything. Neville pulled out the bucket of lizards and dumped them in the kitchen sink. Aunt Petunia would have raised the roof. "So we need to separate the livers, the spleens, the eyes and brains and the hearts. And they'll go in different bottles," which he pulled out of one of the cupboards, and Harry saw it was full of bottles, all of the same size. And feet deep, while he knew the outside wall was only a foot away. But whatever. He'd accepted magic a long time ago.
   He nodded and watched Neville take out a couple of deathly sharp knives, and took one. Watched the first one go down, and held his newt with regret. Was this really worth time outside his room? "How do I find a spleen?" And any of the rest. Except the brain. He could do that one. And the eyes, of course. He froze as Neville opened up what he had, and picked through, like a demonstration, with hands that shook ever so slightly.
   "Here is the heart, down here the liver, and behind that the spleen. That's all there is to it. Just don't throw any in the wrong place."
   "Alright."
   "So what do you look like under there?"
   "Honestly? Amazing, Neville. It's all good. Long red hair, long legs, huge melons. I've got it all."
   "Yeah, except one thing, eh?"
   "Er. Yeah."
   "Can't be happy about that, I imagine."
   "No, of course not. Who would be?"
   "Yeah."
   "Not like it's permanent, though. Right?" No one would have ever understood, he knew. But he didn't mourn his dick. He had so much more now.
   Neville opened his mouth and looked around, opened it again and shook his head. "Bloody bond. Anything he would disapprove of ... Sometimes, I wish I had a stupid man controlling things. Like it would be easier that way."
   "Don't be so sure about that."
   "What, this is better than what you left? What am I saying? Of course it is. You were dying. I've never seen someone look so rough. I guess they were pretty stupid, huh? Or they were doing that on purpose? Trying to kill you slowly?"
   "I guess. So you can't say what you really wanted to, can you?"
   Neville shook his head. Harry thought, still holding the same newt. "And I can't give you hints, either. I mean, I had to make myself know that I was denying you the hints you want out loud, not that I wished I could." He shook his head over it.
   "Right. Of course not." He stroked the top of the little head, breaking the accidental eye contact it had made. How could it know where those were through the cloth? Clever little shit. "Are you conspiring against him?"
   "No. What can I do here? Nothing." He chucked his last little organ a little harshly and reached for another one.
   "You ever see Luna or the others?"
   "I never see Luna. Although I'm really glad he didn't take me to that thing last month."
   "Last month?"
   "Yeah. I guess it was a little bit more than that now. But there were articles in the paper. You. You looked so thin there, too. It hurt to see it."
   "Oh." He raised his free hand a little, to block its view of what Neville's hands were doing. Just in case.
   "I still have it, if you wanna see. The paper, I mean."
   "No." He didn't want to see that.
   "Of course. But Luna's in it."
   "Luna. She was a gift that night."
   "Why? What did she do? Did she say anything?"
   "She saved me from the reporter."
   "Can you tell me about it?"
   So Harry did, but he didn't really seem to have all the details Neville wanted. "And I think she tells Malfoy what to do, now."
   "Huh."
   "Ginny was there."
   "I've never seen Ginny. Any of them but Ron."
   "You saw Ron?"
   "Yeah that death eater keeping him is a real creep. He came over with him a couple times, trying ... I'm not, I don't know if you'd understand. I don't even want to say it."
   "It's alright, Neville. You don't have too. I can imagine."
   "I don't know if you can, Harry. He's real sick."
   "Right."
   "Poor Ron."
   "Poor Ron." And they were in a much more similar boat these days. Harry had to wonder if maybe Ron might be enjoying it as much as he was. Probably not. "What do these things eat?"
   "Huh? Vegetables, wet things. Garden things."
   "Of course."
   "He'll never allow it."
   "Of course not." But he might. "I really think he's worried I'll recognize, either of us will recognize, who I am, so that's why I have to wear this. Can you name all the redheads we knew in school?"
   "I think he would disapprove of me answering that, Harry. Or the bond thinks it? Can't help you. You think he was going for a student?"
   "Maybe. What else?"
   "Maybe McGonagall had red hair back in the day?" They laughed. Maybe she did. Scottish, after all. Neville stopped sharply. "I'm sorry. It's not funny, is it? I'm really sorry this is happening to you, Harry. It makes me sick. Not that it's your fault, of course. I just can't say anything without saying the wrong thing. I'm sorry."
   Harry looked at him, and realized there were circles under his red eyes. Like he'd been up too late for a few nights. "It's alright, Neville. Really."
   "You're just saying that. It can't be true."
   "It is. I promise."
   "Umm. Alright." He reached into the bucket for another victim. "But it's not. It's wrong. I wish I could do something to stop it."
   Harry hoped he would never find a way. He was living a life people were meant to live here, like this. Newt in his hand silently pleading for its life, friend beside him, and hopefully someone to drown him in something wonderful later that night. Or the next morning. Or the next week if it had to be that way. It wasn't even that. Not all that, at least; he could reach out through the bond and feel it at any time. Love all for him. He had it all. Although. He touched the bond right then and felt a pulsing anger, and almost smiled while he almost frowned. Snape was always mad, but this was a little sharper. Resentful?
   "Really, Neville. This is paradise to where I was a few weeks ago. None of this is horrible." Neville was staring at him. Harry stopped all movement, and breathed lightly. What was he seeing? A black blob, since Harry was shrouded. "None of this."
   "Well. That's good. I guess. But this isn't right, Harry. Someone will do something one day. You'll see."
   Harry looked at him, wondering if he was trying to say something, but the command was stopping him. He looked behind. The command had been for Neville, curious beyond rational thought, not for Harry. He whispered, "I saw McGonagall at my relatives' house when I was there." Neville's eyebrows rose. "She saved Hermione, and was keeping her somewhere safe. And she wanted to take me, but the bond was too much. So she left me there. But she's out there, still trying." Neville stared. "Oh. Right. And she came again, while I was away, and told my cousin she could do something about the bond, but that was forever ago." Not that long, if the mess at Hogwarts had just been little over a month ago. "And she seemed to be trying to come for Ginny." Neville didn't nod, didn't blink. And Harry wondered if just hearing his words would count as something Snape would disapprove of. Perhaps he should shut up. "Sorry."
   "It's alright," he said faintly. "You want some help with that one?" Harry pulled it close to himself, and shook his head. He'd made eye contact. How could he do that? Neville sighed heavily. "You want to take it upstairs, don't you?"
   "Yeah, I do. You think that would be okay?"
   "Why would it?"
   "Right. You think maybe you could just let it go?"
   "Yeah, Harry. Give it here."
   Harry handed it over, never hesitating, and Neville took it outside. Neville wasn't someone to be doubted. He came back smiling like an idiot. "I let a few go, too. But I really do need these for potions."
   "Yeah, I know. It's fine. It was just that one. Looked right at me."
   Neville took out his wand and cleared the mess, the counters the sink and everything. He lifted the little bottles and walked out while Harry wondered, not ungratefully, if he would ever be able to do more than open hidden doors with his. "You coming?"
   "Right." He followed Neville to the basement, learning one more mystery about the doors along the stairway, and they passed a wine cellar to a larger room like an ingredient cellar. Neville lit the room with his wand, and Harry looked as much as he could. There was a cauldron with bubbling something inside, possibly the polyjuice base. Probably. And there were a few other cauldrons, unused and waiting. A set of scales beside an assortment of knives that seemed to be of different materials. Not much else that he could make out in that light.
   Neville pulled out a large jug and filled each little bottle with a liquid that reeked, and corked them all, labelled them magically, automatically, and went back up, Harry following, feeling useless, but happy to be along for it either way.
   They came back up and went back to the kitchen, but their job was done. Neville put on some tea and had poured two cups when Snape came in.
   "Your hour is more than up."
   "Yes, thank you." Harry left quickly, not wanting to make any noise about anything. It had been a pleasant time, awkward bits aside, and he would happily behave well for more.
   He was called down soon after that for a silent dinner, and they all ate. Harry pushed his luck by seeking permission to help Neville afterwards, and Snape sat at the table, slightly less angry. But even that was a part of the whole in Harry's mind, and he cherished it all as he washed the dishes.
   Snape came to him later that night and laid down beside him. Harry contained the thrill at having him there and kept his parts to himself. He felt he might be catching on to this well enough. He moved close enough to feel body heat, and stayed there until he fell asleep.

A/N thank you for the kind comment! I was starting to worry I'd buried myself in a whole lot of stupid, and I was actually a little stuck over it. Stupidity can be like B.O. or something, where we develop blinders to our own. Or that's how it feels from the inside sometimes.  XD
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I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space