"Oh."
"You aren't the only one capable of recognising them, you realise." Snape moved a hand to his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Of course, you realise. Conceit hasn't ever been one of your problems. So, is there anything else we should discuss? Dr. Goode tells me regularly not to ask about your sessions, but you do know that I'm willing to listen to anything you'd like to share about them, don't you? I'm sure the doctor is quite good at what she does, but her position as a squib would naturally tend to limit her perspective on some things. If you need a wizarding point of view about anything, I am here."
"I know that, Dad." Harry couldn't resist it, then. His father was so close, and talking about being there for him through anything. Willing to listen to Harry, for as long as it took. About anything. It was everything he used to dream about, when he was lying alone in his cupboard. An adult who really, truly loved him.
All he had to do was shift forward a bit, and lean over, resting his cheek on the warm black fabric of his Snape's shirt. The man's arms came around him at once, as Harry had known they would. Harry couldn't help what he thought of next. If I'd had this all along, like I was supposed to, I'd never have wanted a needle like that. I wouldn't have to dread telling my friends that I'm not quite right in the head.
But at least he had a dad, now. A dad who really loved him. The amazing part of that, Harry realised, wasn't that it was Severus Snape who had come to feel that way. No, what really surprised Harry, deep down, was that anybody at all could love a boy like him.
But no, those were the kinds of thoughts Marsha always shook her head at, when Harry drifted towards them during their sessions. "Just because you weren't loved doesn't make you unlovable," she'd say in her quiet, firm way. "The things we suffer when we're young are very scarring, Harry, but we don't have to let them define us."
Very scarring... a funny turn of phrase, considering Harry's forehead. Now, the words made him think of Draco. He'd been scarred, too, from the day he was born. He just didn't have an outward mark to show it.
Harry nodded slightly, his cheek moving against Snape's shirt. Draco might be kind of hard to take at times, but Harry would try harder not to lose his temper with his brother. After all, Draco had already let slip that he didn't feel as though Harry liked him. Or Snape either, for that matter. That was pretty close to feeling unloved, and Harry knew how bad that felt.
"Thanks," Harry said, his throat tightening a little.
"More thanks."
"Yeah, for Marsha. She really is helping, Dad. But as soon as I think I need your perspective on something, I'll come straight to you. For now, though... I'm all right."
"I'm happy to hear that." Snape tightened his arms around Harry, for just one moment more. Then he was standing up and waving a wand for his door to open.
Harry started to go to his room, but thought better of it. "Dinner's over," he reminded his father. "How about we all have some of that shortbread, now?"
"I'd be glad of some tea, but--"
"Oh, come on," said Harry, determined. "No disodium phenate, I promise. Remember the label? Just sugar, flour, butter and, er, one more thing, I think--"
"Salt."
"See, it's as pure as can be. You can have yours with some Oolong."
"Oh, very well," said Snape, in the manner of someone making a large concession. But his eyes were twinkling as though he were very pleased.
------------------------------------------------------
Ron and Hermione arrived mid-morning the next day, courtesy of the Portkey Dumbledore had prepared for them. The first thing Harry did--well, after the greetings and hugs--was offer them some Walkers shortbread. He'd found out the night before that it was every bit as brilliant as he'd expected, better even than the elf-made version served at school. No wonder Dudley had always hogged it all to himself.
When Draco took a wedge, Harry almost laughed. The night before, his brother had had nothing but complaints about the biscuits. They were too crumbly, he'd claimed, making a slight face as he added that Muggles obviously didn't know a thing about baking.
And you do? Harry had almost asked. He didn't want to fight, though. He and Draco had been doing too much of that.
And so now, if Draco was eating his biscuit without complaint... well, maybe he was just trying to be polite in front of their guests. Harry hoped so, anyway.
"So, what's kept you?" Harry asked Hermione. "I didn't think I'd have to wait until July to see you!"
She started twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "I know. But I didn't want to intrude on family time--"
"You aren't!"
Draco, Harry noticed, stayed conspicuously silent.
"And besides, I really neglected S.P.E.W. during the last school year, so I thought I'd better work up some more hats and scarves and such--"
So much for Draco saying nothing if he couldn't say something nice. He scowled as he sat there, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "How long is it going to take you to notice that the elves hate that freedom rubbish you keep trying to shove down their throats?"
"Oh, like you care so much about elvish welfare," said Hermione, tossing her hair.
"Oh, that's right. I hate elves," said Draco, not a trace of sarcasm about him. "Free them all, then. Make the little buggers as miserable as possible."
"You hate everyone," said Ron.
Not everyone, Harry thought of saying as he remembered Rhiannon. But he didn't want to remind Draco of her. Not to mention, it wouldn't be very brotherly to bring her up in front of Ron and Hermione. Besides, he had better things to discuss. If Hermione wanted to be immersed in a project, Harry could give her a much better one than helping elves who wouldn't appreciate it. "Say, have either of you heard of something called the Mirror of All Souls?"
Ron shrugged while Hermione shook her head.
Draco raised his voice, which Harry thought ridiculous since their father was just a short distance away, sitting at the square table in the kitchen as he wrote on parchment. "Severus, do you think Harry should be blabbing to his friends about that mirror we found?"
"I found." Draco hadn't even noticed it.
Snape looked up briefly, his gaze intent when it met Harry's. "Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are Harry's long-standing friends, Draco. I'm sure they can be trusted to deal responsibly with any information Harry cares to impart."
Not too subtle, Harry wanted to scoff. Why don't you just remind me outright to tell them about my problem with needles?
Snape's eyes glimmered still further, for just a moment, before he turned to regard Draco. "And too, perhaps a new perspective is what we need."
"I hardly think that a Muggleborn girl is going to shed much light on--"
Harry glared.
"What?" asked Draco with an air of innocence. "She is, you know."
"She's also the most clever witch you'll ever have the luck to meet!"
"I admitted she was clever, myself, and I stand by it," Draco retorted. "That doesn't mean she's going to have the kind of background that would enable her to understand that mirror."
"Like your background was such a lot of help."
"TouchÈ."
"What are the pair of you going on about?" asked Hermione in an exasperated voice. "Are they always like this, sir?"
Snape set aside his quill and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his dark eyes contemplative. "Yes, the bickering does get old. But they're normal children, Miss Granger, and--"
"Children!" exclaimed Harry and Draco as one.
Snape went right on speaking "--and sibling rivalry is, I'm afraid, an ever-present--"
"Dad," said Harry in an over-loud voice.