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Harry, for the better part of his life, had been miserable. Constantly. Then, when he had turned 11, the wonderful world of magic had whisked him away and held him relatively safely for nine months.
Then, like waking from a wild and pleasant dream, it had ended. He was back with the Dursleys. His friends weren’t contacting him. Petunia seemed a twitch away from locking him back in the cupboard. Vernon seemed one failed sale away from finally deciding to beat Harry black and blue.
Then, the most unusual thing occurred. The magical world took him away from his dreary, depressing normality once again, weeks before it was supposed to.
Only this time, he wasn’t retrieved by a gentle giant who fed him sausages and did illegal magic with a pink umbrella. It was by a man whose demeanor was so sour, one look would send groups of kids scattering. By a man whose appearance resembled that of a vampire or a bat, not a human. By the man who had been a bully and the worst part of Harry’s experience in the magical world all the previous year. By the man who had protected him from countless harms just to settle a debt.
Severus Snape.
He had been so out of place and imposing in the salmon pink hallways of Privet Drive that the shock had prevented the Dursleys from stopping him from taking Harry away. They had just stood there with their mouths open, Petunia looking particularly terrified.
At first, Harry had also been terrified. Snape had still been his regular angry, mean self. He had still glared and shouted and looked at Harry like he was scum. He had still sneered and smirked and snarled. In that first week in Snape’s run down little house in Cokeworth, things had not gone well at all.
But there was always something that Snape did that kept Harry from running off in those rough early days. Something so out of character for the man that Harry couldn’t quite believe it at first. But it just kept happening.
Snape was always there after Harry’s nightmares.
Without fail, he would always appear in Harry’s room, on the edge of his bed, or in his doorway not moments after he had woken up screaming, sweating, and shaking.
At first, Harry had been confused and a little scared. Why was Snape there? Was he going to hit Harry for waking him? Put a silencing charm on him till morning? Threaten him to shut him up?
But that never happened.
Instead, the man always wiped his tears with a cloth and offered him a calming draught. Later, he offered a small sphere of light and words of comfort. And even later, a warm, heart-wrendingly loving hug.
And then other things started happening. It confused Harry at first, but Snape seemed to gradually become more… considerate. Snape would notice when Harry struggled to finish a food he did not like, and it never appeared on Harry’s plate again. Snape’s rules about the limits of his laboratory changed from “stay out unless you have one foot in the grave” to “just knock on the door if you need anything”. Quiet nights were filled with chess games and lessons about random ingredients instead of icy silence. Snape would even ask Harry if he’d done things like brush his teeth or wash his hands.
Harry had cherished these moments of humanity and love from the man. They were the light he always held onto whenever he was stressed, tired, or scared. Snape cared about him, and he held that fact very, very close to his heart.
But it was all a lie.
Harry discovered, a whole year after Severus had first picked him up, that his guardian had never once been at his side because he loved and comforted him. Never once held him because he didn’t want to be scared. Never once admonished him for soaking the shoulder of his dressing gown with snot and tears because of something besides a selfless love.
Harry, who had gotten up to get a glass of water shortly after Severus had left him with a hug and a soft, yellow orb of light, one night after a particularly violent nightmare, watched in utter confusion as the man did something very strange. He waved his hand, and the tears and snot Harry had left on him departed from their place nestled among the stitching in the fabric. This alone was not odd, but the fact that, with another wave of his hand, the man sent the snot to the kitchen garbage can and the tears into a small, glass jar certainly was.
Now, Harry stood frozen, confused and a little horrified that Severus seemingly collected his tears. Why on Earth was he doing that? Was Snape actually some kind of weirdo that wanted to keep a creepy memento of Harry’s nightmares? Did he actually drink students’ tears like almost everyone thought? Harry gulped, thinking of all the times that he had cried on Snape’s shoulder. Had he kept the tears each time? It would certainly make sense for why Snape had comforted him at the beginning of their relationship, even while still openly hating him.
Snape’s head whipped around. Harry must have been too loud.
“Harry? Is everything alright?” He asked softly, setting the jar on the kitchen counter and taking a step towards Harry.
Harry took a step back, his eyes flicking back and forth between Snape and the jar of tears.
Snape’s brow furrowed and concern filled his eyes. He turned his head, following Harry’s gaze and froze.
“Oh.” He whispered.
That one spoken word cut through Harry and, like a strained rubber band that finally snapped, he was set into motion. He took another step back, turned on his heel, and bolted up the stairs. The almost- silent steps of his guardian soon followed, but Harry knew he was faster. He could make it. He could find someplace to hide and puzzle all this out.
Up the stairs.
Three doors down the hall.
The door firmly shut.
Under the bed.
Small, tight, dark, quiet.
No adult could ever hope to squeeze under. No one could bother him until he was ready to come out. Here, he would be safe. Here, he would have time to think
Harry’s breath caught in his throat as two slipper-clad feet appeared before him. Would Snape summon him out? Or levitate the bed to get to him? What was he going to do?
The feet vanished, replaced with knees, then the pale, concerned face of Harry’s guardian.
“Harry?” the man asked, concern still swimming in his eyes.
Harry choked on a gasp and pushed himself further against the wall. Nothing was making sense. His guardian had a jar of his tears, which was something only creeps and weirdos kept, and had seen Harry looking at them, yet was still trying to pretend that he cared. Weren’t creeps supposed to try to lock you in the basement or kill you when you found out about their weird behavior? Why was Snape still looking at him like he cared?
“I know you’re down there, Harry. You can’t hide from me in the hiding place that I basically invented.” Snape called in a soft voice.
Harry just held his breath.
“Just come out here so that I can talk to you.”
Ah, so that was the game. It was a trap. Snape would try to gentle talk his way into getting Harry out from his safe spot and then kill him or lock him in the basement or something.
“Why do you have a jar full of my tears?” Harry asked, hoping his tone was as accusatory as he hoped it was.
“Ah, so you did see them.” Snape whispered.
“Yeah. Why are you saving my tears?”
“Human tears are a powerful potion ingredient, used in many things. They are most potent when they fall from the eyes of a frightened child.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, then Harry felt his heart shatter. Oh. So Snape really hadn’t ever gone to his bedside to comfort him. Every whispered comfort, every tight hug, every late night check in, they had all just been in the interest of business. Even after a year of being Harry’s guardian, Snape still only gave a damn for a reason other than Harry.
Harry knew he should be relieved that his tears being potions ingredients meant that Snape wasn’t a weirdo that was going to lock him in the basement for the rest of his life, but all he could feel was emptiness. How could he not? The only love he had ever known from an adult was not even real.
“That’s the only reason you’ve ever woken me up from my nightmares?” Harry asked in a whisper.
Snape’s breath hitched. Harry looked up at him again and was shocked to find that he looked just as devastated as Harry felt.
“Oh, Harry,” he breathed, “Come here. Come out of there, please.”
Hesitantly, Harry obliged, sliding out from beneath the dark, dusty space beneath his bed.
Once he was out and in the soft glow that the nightlight afforded, Snape gently reached out and brushed the dust off of Harry. Harry stood stock still.
“Harry, I do not wake you from your nightmares because I want to collect your tears. I wake you from your nightmares because it’s painful to listen to you scream and cry in your sleep. I cannot bear to stand by and let you needlessly suffer.” the man whispered.
“Th-then, why? Why even take my tears at all?” Harry asked, suspicion clouding any of the warm, happy feelings Snape’s words sparked in him.
“Human tears are very valuable, as they are used in some of the strongest grief and depression treatments. I… I was careless, Harry. I had simply assumed you would not mind, and never thought to actually ask you. I apologize.”
Harry looked up at Severus again.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Biting his lip, Harry looked down. He did mind. He really minded. He didn’t like thinking that such intimate and important moments between himself and his guardian included Harry being a living potions ingredient factory. But it was so selfish to only think of that and not of all the people who were grieving and depressed that his tears had probably helped…
“I will never collect tears from you again, Harry.”
The boy snapped his head up.
“B-but what about-”
“Even though these tears are valuable, there is no shortage of them in the wizarding world. You clearly dislike the idea of me using your tears as ingredients, so I will simply have to tell my buyers that I have run out of stock. We do not necessarily need the extra money, and they will go off and buy their tears elsewhere. I am going to choose what is best for you, Harry, not some strangers I will never meet.”
Harry stared up at his guardian, the warmth he suppressed earlier blooming in his chest.
“Why?” He asked softly.
In answer, Snape leaned forward and gently wrapped Harry in his warm, strong arms. It was so genuine and so comfortable that Harry almost thought that he would cry for the second time that night. Snape didn’t have to say anything for Harry to get the message he was trying to convey. Harry had gotten pretty good at nonverbal communication in his year with Snape, and such a voluntary and open display of affection from the man was practically a shout.
Because I love you.