The Merryweather Hotel

Part Three

The hotel was in Theatric Alley and a short walk to Harry’s house on Diagon. Narrow and crooked, it stood between another house (just as narrow and crooked) and Ollivanders. He had never lived on Grimmauld place or in Godric’s Hollow. As soon as he could, he had bought this home, here on the street where his magical life had started.

He entered, yelling a greeting to Kreacher, letting the old elf know he was back. Aside from being slightly hard of hearing, his old friend was just as spry and hardworking as ever. Because of both their natures, however, their relationship had lost most of its formality.

“Kreacher’s down here ironing,” the elf responded from the laundry. “Does Master need tea or something?”

“No! I’m fine. I’m going up for a nap. Don’t wake me!”

The ground floor held a tiny library and study off of the entryway. The first floor had a living room with a dining area, and the second, Harry’s bedroom and a small nursery he used as a walk-in closet. Above that were Kreacher’s quarters. As in most old London houses, the kitchen and laundry were in the basement.

Though he never slept much more than five or six hours a night, he felt completely exhausted. Since he had the day off he had decided to indulge, and after taking off his Auror’s belts and robes as well as his lace-up boots, he lay down on his sofa under the quilt Hermione had made for him last Christmas. He was asleep immediately.

He was shocked to wake up in darkness. Turning on the light, he saw on the mantle clock that it was a quarter past seven. He had napped for six hours! Unbelievable. He remembered asking Kreacher not to wake him but was surprised he had not heard the old elf as he left for his weekly night off.

Hermione had convinced both of them that it was a good idea. Kreacher left on Thursday around five and did not usually return until Friday at approximately the same time. He went to Hogwarts for his ‘leisure,’ as he called it, where Harry suspected he worked the entire time. But it had gotten Hermione off their backs, and that was a good thing.

Harry decided he could not be bothered to cook dinner, but felt he needed a wash before presenting himself in public.

The thought of getting his ears wet in a shower was, for some unknown reason, extremely unpleasant, so he filled up the tub. He vaguely looked in his cupboard for bath salts or bath oil he knew he didn’t own and got in the water to his neck. The water was too cool for his taste, so he quickly soaped up, rinsed off, and got out. After that less than satisfactory bathing experience, he went to get dressed for his evening out.

In his closet, he chose black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black cashmere turtleneck. He stood disgruntled in front of his underwear drawer for a while. Whatever had possessed him to purchase boxers in such ludicrous prints? Yellow smiley faces, red lips, Snitches, red polka dots… Inane. Near the bottom, he found a pair of black silk ones and slipped them on with relief.

He owned a set of black robes. He had bought them in an emergency, to go to Frank Longbottom’s funeral. The only ones available off the rack had been dress robes of Zabini design, beautifully cut, of wool and silk blend, and ridiculously expensive. He had never worn them since, and wasn’t that silly? They were beautiful.

He checked himself in the hallway mirror on the way out. He was pleased with what he saw and thought that perhaps he might go out after dinner. His hair was remarkably well-behaved. Maybe it would behoove him to forgo washing it more often.

Diagon Alley was noticeably quiet for all it being a quarter past eight. A few harassed-looking wizards were walking purposefully, a strange change from the usual aimless wandering of the evening crowd.

Harry was standing in front of the newsagent when he noticed the pink glow of the sky to the east. Disbelieving, he checked the date on the Daily Prophet. Friday. It was not Thursday evening, but Friday morning. He had not napped for six hours, but slept the sleep of the dead for eighteen. Inconceivable (though it explained why he was starving). What in the world was happening to him?

He needed breakfast. There was no point in trying to think on an empty stomach. A few restaurants offered morning fare in the alley, but what he really craved were those perfect poached eggs from the breakfasts at the Hotel. He had not actually eaten them, Snape had, but they did sound good right now. The restaurant was expensive, but so what? Poached eggs and dry toast there wouldn’t cost any more than the full English he would ordinarily get at Wilkins’ pub.

He indeed enjoyed his breakfast very much, though usually just the sight of running yolks would have made him shudder. He had no plans for the day and stopped at Flourish and Blotts on the way back, spending an inordinate amount of time in the more esoteric sections.

He was pleased to find a book that had been positively mentioned at the convention. It was about pluralistic charms, not a subject he was overly familiar with, but it seemed interesting.

He made a small detour by Slug and Jiggers, the large apothecary. He really did not need anything there, just liked the smell of all the exotic ingredients. By the time he returned to his house, it was eleven, and he was spent. He lit a fire and sat in front of it with his new book and a cup of plain tea.

The subject matter turned out to be quite fascinating, yet several times, he found his eyelids closing. He got up to stretch and started to search around the room. He went up the stairs and looked in his bedroom, and then made his way to the library before he realized he had no idea what he was looking for.

It was a strange sensation. He analyzed his feelings more closely. He felt as if he had been interrupted by a Floo-call in the middle of the last chapter of a detective novel, only to realize after saying good-bye that he did not remember where he had put down his book. His search, for he knew not what, had that kind of focused, urgent quality.

Had he left something of importance at the hotel? He quickly went through his unpacked bag, and as far as he could tell, all was accounted for. And yet, he felt some strange pull to return to the Merryweather and search his room. It was unsettling and ridiculous.

He forced himself to sit down again but was unable to concentrate as his anxiety grew. He had to ask himself: was he just looking for an excuse to go and see Snape?

He had decided the night before (well, actually two nights ago…) that any relationship with Snape would have to wait until he had settled into his new life, and put some distance between them to analyze his feelings towards the man with a cool head. He still felt that this was the best approach. Yet the need to get up and go to the hotel right now was almost irresistible.

He skipped lunch. The thought of forcing food in his knotted stomach was nauseating. He started pacing back and forth in his living room, stopping a few times to check under the couch’s cushions, open a random cabinet, searching, but for what?

Finally, by three in the afternoon, the urge to leave was just too great. He threw his beautiful black robes back on and headed out in the direction of Theatric Alley for the second time that day. Once in the lobby of the Merryweather Hotel, he wondered. How would he explain himself to Snape? Would his visit be taken as some sort of a come-on? Suddenly, he could not be arsed to care, and against hotel regulation (and with quite a bit of disregard for his own safety), he Apparated to Snape’s door and knocked.

An extremely disheveled Snape opened the door. He had obviously been asleep but a short while before and was wearing nothing but black pajama bottoms and a white undershirt.

He let Harry in without a word and went to sprawl on the nearby couch. Harry followed and sat a little more formally on the nearby chair. Snape looked at him with an expression that might have been a smile, had the man not been Snape.

“I am so relieved to see you,” he said, expressing fairly perfectly what Harry was feeling.

Snape ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that, though it was unusual to see Snape do it, felt somehow familiar to Harry.

“This is weird,” continued Snape. “I mean, I find you very attractive, and I have enjoyed your company, but not to the point where I should be … pining for you.” Snape covered his face. “But it is not so weird as me just blurting that out. What the hell is happening to me?”

“Do not be overly concerned about what you might view as an indiscretion. I harbor very similar sentiments and will not hold your expression of them against you,” answered Harry. “I have been feeling highly unsettled myself and acting rather peculiarly. I can find no logical explanation for my strong desire to return to this suite either.”

“Do you sleep all the time?” Once again, Snape ran his hand through his hair in that familiar gesture.

“I have been uncharacteristically prone to slumber, yes,” agreed Harry.

“It’s that damn curse, it has to be.”

Harry was profoundly annoyed at himself. He was the Auror. Why had he not immediately made the connection? Of course, this entire situation must be the result of the unknown curse.

“We should go to St Mungo’s and have ourselves examined,” said Snape.

“For magic’s sake,” snapped Harry, “use your celebrated brain and show a little foresight. What could be more fodder for media gossip than ‘The Man Who Killed Voldemort’ and ‘The Genius Who Saved The Magical World’ to present themselves together to the Curse Injury ward?”

“The genius who saved the magical world?” repeated Snape.

“That’s what they were calling you in this morning’s Prophet, but do you think you could be bothered to forget your newly found fame for a moment and concentrate on the problem at hand?”

“Sorry. It’s just such a stupid nickname. Who makes these up anyway?”

“Snape! Has your desire for recognition completely erased your good sense? Focus, in Merlin’s name!” Harry could have hexed the silly man. Did he not understand their predicament? His own mind was reviewing the possibilities and almost instantly came up with the perfect solution.

“I shall contact Bill Weasley. He has founded a small but excellent curse breaking business. Not only is he an outstanding curse breaker, but he can also be counted on to be discreet. Has your Floo been returned to the network?”

“Yes, it has, but shouldn’t we think this through? I mean…”

“I have. So unless your brilliant mind has produced a more elegant solution, I will proceed.”

“Whatever,” said Snape, sitting down and looking peeved. “It’s a great idea: you just don’t have to be such a git about it.”

“Why, Master Snape, thank you for that ringing endorsement.”

Harry approached the fireplace, threw some Floo powder in it, and called out: “BFV curse breaking, Bill Weasley’s office”

“Yes?”

Harry knelt and thrust his head in the flames.

“Bill, it’s Harry. Are you busy? I have a bit of an emergency, here.”

“No, just paperwork today. Is it Aurors’ business?”

“No, personal. Would you mind stepping through?”

Harry backed away, the fire flared higher, and Bill Weasley stepped in. His red hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, and despite the scars on his face, he was very attractive, in a roguish style.

“Good grief, Harry, did someone die?”

Harry was confused. “No, nothing so tragic, why?”

“Well, the way you are dressed…”

There was a laugh from the couch. “Yes, Potter, have you been raiding my closet? Not that it doesn’t look good on you, quite the opposite…”

Bill’s eyes were as round as marbles. “Professor Snape?”

“Mr. Weasley. How are you?”

“Huh… Fine. It’s good to see you, sir.”

Snape sat up in the couch. “Well, Potter, if you are determined to bring in guests, I will take a moment and make myself presentable, shall I?”

Harry suddenly realized Snape was still in his pajamas and that he had just invited Bill to the man’s suite without as much as a by your leave. “Oh, right. Sorry about that, I might have gotten carried away…”

“No matter,” said Snape, running his hands over his face. “As you pointed out, neither of us is at our best, this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.”

He got up and walked towards his room. “Why don’t you brief our good Mr.Weasley on what’s been happening while I do my ablutions?”

“Wouldn’t you rather I wait…”

Snape turned back and looked at him tiredly. “You are an Auror, Potter, I am sure you can be trusted with a simple report?”

“Right. Will do. Take your time.”

Snape waved a dismissive hand above his shoulder and disappeared into his room.

“Wow,” said Bill, “he seemed different!”

“Not exactly. It’s an interesting story. Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

It took Harry no time at all to go over the actual facts to explain his presence at Snape’s side during the conference and the manner in which they had been cursed, repeating almost verbatim what he remembered reporting to the Hit-Wizards. His actual memory of the event was no longer in his mind but in the evidence locker. It took him longer to explain the subtle symptoms that had led Snape (he gave him full credit) to suspect that their unusual behavior might be tied to the curse.

“There were no physical effects at all?”

“No. We were both scanned by a diagnostic spell. We are physically fine.”

“Do you mind if I repeat it?”

“No, of course not.” Harry noticed his glasses had slid almost to the tip of his nose and gave them an annoyed shove up. He wondered if he had somehow stretched the earpieces. He had never noticed them sliding down before.

Bill ran his wand over Harry in a diagnostic spell very similar to the one Romilda had used, this one however concentrating more on his head.

“You’re right. There is nothing wrong with you physically.” Bill sat down again, just as Snape emerged from his room. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Blue jeans. And a turquoise t-shirt.

Harry and Bill stared. Harry vainly tried not to notice how fine Snape’s ass looked in the tight trousers.

Snape looked down at himself and laughed. “I transfigured them. “ He looked up again. “I just didn’t feel like wearing black. How weird is that?”

Bill looked worriedly from Snape to Harry, and back again.

“Professor, what’s the composition of the Revelatio Temporam Potion?” he asked.

“Water based. Dust, essence of thyme, bitumen, vanilla, camphor. Why?”

“It’s a potion I use in my work to date old artifacts,” Bill explained to Harry. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be familiar with it.”

“Well, you were right, but…”

“Harry, who is the Seeker for the Chudley Cannons?”

“Karen McNeil.”

“Right in one.” Somehow, Bill seemed a bit less tense. He continued, ”Harry, what have you done today since you woke up?”

“Took a bath, dressed, ate breakfast here at the hotel…”

“You slept here last night?”

“No, I returned here from my own home for breakfast this morning. I felt an irresistible craving for the restaurant’s perfectly cooked poached eggs.”

“Hum… And then?”

“I made a stop at Flourish and Blotts, stayed there for some time, perusing their Esoteric Magic shelves; purchased a tome on pluralistic charms I was eager to read; returned to… no wait. First I went into Slug and Jiggers, then I turned homeward…”

“What did you need at the apothecary?”

“Huh… Nothing.” He realized some explanation was expected. “ I just like the smell?”

“O-K… Then you went home and...?”

“And I sat down to read in front of the fire until I started feeling as if I’d lost something, as if I was missing something. This disquieting feeling did not cease until I arrived here and saw Snape.”

Bill Weasley nodded, as if he had learned something useful. “Professor, what has your day been like?”

“You bought that book on pluralistic charms?” Snape asked Harry. “How is it?”

“Quite fascinating, the…”

Bill interrupted him.

“Harry, I really need for Professor Snape to tell me about his day.”

“My apologies,” said Harry, at the same time as Snape was saying ”Sorry.”

“Professor?”

“Please call me Severus. I haven’t been your professor in almost thirty years, for heaven’s sake.” He brought his left hand to the bridge of his nose and then ran it through his hair. “So… I went for a swim, showered, came back here and had to spend an hour dealing with removing water from my middle ears and treating the subsequent headache. I NEVER swim without earplugs, but for some reason, completely forgot about them this morning.

“Then on my way to breakfast, I met my neighbor. The poor woman is from Austria, and she’d lost her passport. Since no one in the hotel besides me seems to speak German, I spent a good portion of the morning explaining her predicament to different authorities, then taking her to her Embassy in Muggle London, and getting her a new passport. She has spent only very little time in the Muggle world and was terrified of going alone, so…”

“How did you discover that she had waylaid her passport?” asked Harry, curious.

“She was with me in the elevator. I noticed her red eyes, and asked her what the matter was.”

“Of course,” said Harry, with a smirk.

Snape glared at him.

“Potter, if you are done interrupting, perhaps I can finish?”

“Sorry.”

“I came back and was exhausted and uncomfortable. I put on my pajama bottoms, and decided to have a lie-down, which is ridiculous, because I slept eleven hours last night. I had been awake for about an hour, wondering how to get a hold of him when Potter showed up.”

“Interesting,” said Bill. “I will need to do a bit of research. Would one of you please provide me with the actual memory of the event? I need to have a look at the curse trail.”

“You will require Snape’s. I removed my memory and deposited it at the Ministry as evidence.”

Snape shrugged. “Sure,” he said. Bill handed him a glass tube with a cork stopper. Snape pulled a silvery strand from his temple and dropped it in before re-corking the vial and handing it back to Bill.

“I think I have a pretty good idea what happened to the two of you. Until we can be certain, I have a few recommendations.” He looked at them both a little warily. Neither of them struck him as especially compliant, but he had to try. “I believe you are both demonstrating some of the other’s personality traits.”

They were looking at him in total disbelief.

“You would not be aware of it, of course. Your actions would seem mostly natural to you, if a little out of character.” Seeing he was making no headway, he said to Harry pointedly: “I have had enough breakfasts with you at the Burrow to know you like your yolks as dry as bones, Harry. You do not dress in black from head to toe. You do not like to spend hours ‘perusing the Esoteric Magic shelves’ of Flourish and Blotts, and you certainly do not like the smell of the apothecary. These are things Professor Snape does."

He turned to Snape.

“Am I right about your liking poached eggs, Professor?”

“You are, though right now, they sound unappealing. Please do call me Severus.”

“That’s just it, Professor. You do not ask people to call you by your first name. You do not swim without earplugs. You do not try to comfort complete strangers in the elevator, or skip breakfast to help a lady in distress. You do not put on your PJs in the middle of the day, or wear jeans and t-shirts. These are all things Harry does.”

Snape looked taken aback, ran his fingers on the bridge of his nose and through his hair as he puzzled the truth of what Bill had said.

“That’s another thing, Professor. You keep trying to push non-existing glasses up your nose, while Harry’s are about to fall off his face. And have you heard each other speak, for Merlin’s sake? Trust me. There has been some personality transference.”

Snape and Harry stared at each other warily.

“I think on a deeper level you are aware of the substitution and are trying to reclaim your own self, hence the desire you feel for each other’s presence. Your subconscious does not want to deal with it, so you shut down and want to sleep all the time. I have encountered similar reactions before.

“Until I return, you should do what feels right. Stay here, stay together. Sleep as much as you want. The less external stimuli you encounter, the less chances your new personality will have to anchor itself into your deep psyche.

“I will return as soon as I can. I believe we should be able to correct the problem, once I know exactly the curse that was used."

He looked at Snape, sprawled as he was on an armchair, one leg over the arm, foot swinging, and at Harry, arms and legs crossed, dressed like an undertaker in full robes, and could not help but grin.

“I will see you gentlemen later.” He was still grinning as he disappeared into the green flames of the Floo.

Harry tried to concentrate and feel the foreign thoughts or behaviors he had acquired from Snape. They had been obvious when Bill had described them, but it was as if his mind was in denial about the possibility. He felt like himself, even if he was behaving like someone else. He yawned, suddenly exhausted.

Snape was looking pensive, and Harry realized he was probably undergoing the same process Harry had just been through, which was confirmed when he also yawned widely. Apparently attempts at self-probing into their confused personalities was a direct ticket to slumber.

“I need another nap,” said Snape.

“I feel that I require additional rest as well, as illogical as it may be,” answered Harry.

“If you have no objection, I shall resume the use of my previous room.”

“OK. See you later.”

Once alone, Harry removed his robes, and after a moment of hesitation, his trousers and sweater as well. There was no point in sleeping in his clothes. He might as well be comfortable. Though terribly tired, and in a very comfortable bed, he found himself tossing and turning, suffering once again from that strange impression of having misplaced something important.

He felt quite certain that the presence of Snape would almost certainly alleviate the sensation but was very reluctant to disturb the man, in case he had managed to fall asleep. A soft knock on his door put an end to his speculation. Snape opened it and stepped in, dressed only in his pajama bottoms and undershirt, and seemed relieved to find him awake. He looked terrible.

“Can’t fall asleep… “ He yawned. “Can I come in?”

Harry moved to one side of the bed, and Snape got in on the other side with a sigh of relief.

"Thanks.”

Immediately, Harry relaxed and slipped into oblivion, not quite sure if their hands had found each other and clasped or if he had imagined it.

When he woke up, an indeterminate amount of time later (it was dark outside), there was no room left for imagination, or anything else between their bodies. Snape was spooning him: Harry’s head was tucked under his chin, and even their feet were touching. He felt amazingly comfortable, if slightly horrified, and quite happy that his libido was choosing to hibernate at the moment. A raging hard-on would have rendered the situation even more mortifying than it already was.

“Oops, sorry about that,” said Snape, who had apparently woken up as well, as he backed away. "I’m starving," he added conversationally, "do you want something to eat?"

“Yes,” Harry answered wholeheartedly. He was ravenous. Upon getting up, he noticed that Snape did not seem riddled by lust either, his pajamas lying perfectly flat, and he could not help but feel a small amount of disappointment.

They both got medium-rare steaks from the Restaurant, with baked potatoes and plenty of butter, and salads.

“Well,” remarked Snape with a smirk, “that’s at least one thing we have in common.”

“Did you order the green salad out of guilt?” inquired Harry.

“Absolutely.” They burst out laughing, digging in.

Once the edge of the hunger was gone, they started discussing pluralistic charms. Snape knew more general background information than Harry had started with, but Harry’s understanding of the topic was more profound after his recent reading. It was fascinating stuff.

They decided to share a chocolate soufflé for dessert, which led incongruously to a discussion of the concept of sin in Muggle society. Harry’s background was Christian, while Snape’s was Jewish, though neither had received any formal religious education before entering Hogwarts. That too turned out to be a very enriching conversation.

Both philosophies comprised the concept of redemption, which led Snape to talk in a rather shockingly open manner about his past as a Death Eater and as a spy, and Harry to discuss his own personal nemesis, guilt.

By the time they went back to bed, close to three hours later, and as Harry’s back unselfconsciously sought Snape’s front, he reflected that he had found some resolution, and he wondered if it was due to seeing what he had always thought as insurmountable issues through the relentless logic of Snape’s mind. He hoped his own more forgiving nature had also helped Snape find some solace.


Hugging Potter tightly to his chest, Severus tried to make sense of the few hours they had just shared. The easy interaction they had experienced before the curse was different from what had just happened between them.

He had never spoken to anyone, not even to Albus, about his short few years as a true Death Eater. The guilt, the shame of these years was something he had only contemplated alone, during his bouts of insomnia. The moral dichotomy of his years as a spy had also always been kept buried from everyone.

But just as there had been nights when these thoughts would not let him be, no matter how hard he had tried to shut them out, he had found himself completely incapable of holding back the words, of changing the topic of conversation with Potter. The man’s green eyes had not left his as he confessed his most terrible regrets, and instead of condemnation, he had only felt empathy from him.

The usual pattern of circular thinking had also been absent. Something foreign in his heart, something he well knew did not really belong to him, had acknowledged his remorse, and allowed him to move on to other thoughts. He felt cleansed somehow.

When Potter had talked about the guilt he carried in his heart for all the deaths he had indirectly been responsible for, Severus had sensed the truth of the feeling and its devastating result on the young man’s outlook of his actions during the war.

He had understood that however illogical the feeling might be, it was a defining aspect of Potter’s personality. He hoped his own perception of reality and of the randomness of some of the events that haunted Potter had been of some help to the younger man. He fell asleep, his nose buried in Potter’s unruly hair, enjoying his scent.


The next time they emerged, there was darkness still, but it must have been morning, because they were offered the breakfast menu. They both had eggs on toast, Harry poached, and Severus scrambled dry. At one point, Harry’s glasses almost slipped off his face and into his plate. He crammed them back on with an exasperated gesture.

“Why don’t you get rid of those?” asked Snape.

“My wearing eyeglasses never bothered me before,” answered Harry.

“You know, your eyesight could be corrected with a potion.”

“Yes, I am aware. I never saw a reason to bother before, however. Which is rather astonishing. I find them extremely uncomfortable at the moment.”

“I could Floo Slug and Jiggers, get everything I need, and have the Eyeright Potion ready in a couple hours. It’s a tricky but quick brew.”

“Really? You would not mind?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do at the moment.”

It took less than thirty minutes for Snape to be ready to start. The small cauldron, the magical flame, the stirrer and the knife he had had in his valise (which made Harry laugh), and the ingredients were simple: parsley, eyes of newts, salamander tears, ant feelers, and Harry’s own glasses (“Well, there will be no further opportunities of changing my mind now!”), which went in last and completely disappeared in a puff of smoke. Snape was funny, humming and dancing around the cauldron in his pajamas.

“I’ve never brewed in my undies before,” he joked.

“Yes, I am quite certain that reflects an aspect of my personality,” answered Harry.

“You brew in your skivvies?”

“In the nude,’” replied Harry, straight-faced.

Snape looked at him, completely astonished.

“I never brew, you understand,” added Harry, still deadpan. “But was I to, I am quite positive it would be in the nude.”

They laughed so hard, Harry had to sit down, and they could not look at each other for quite a while without starting again.

Two hours later, the resulting potion was as clear as water, with the texture of syrup. Harry drank it down, making a preemptive face, but it was surprisingly mild. His vision however stayed as murky as ever.

“Let’s go back to bed,” said Snape. “It will be a couple hours before it takes effect.”

Relieved, and once again exhausted, Harry approved that notion immediately. A squint at the clock told him it was 10:15 AM. He wondered vaguely when Bill would be back, yawned, and went to sleep in Snape’s now familiar embrace.

The next time Snape woke up, he found Harry in the bathroom, grinning like a fool while reading the back of his bottle of shampoo.

“It worked perfectly,” Harry said.

“Of course,“ said Snape with a shrug.

They each showered in their own room and then had lunch. Harry thought Snape was rather subdued.

“Snape? Is something bothering you?” asked Harry.

Snape suddenly looked…shamefaced.

“Fascinating,” observed Harry, unused to being able to read Snape’s face. “You look guilty.”

Snape’s face immediately became void of all expression. “I do not look guilty,” he said in his habitual dismissive way, then ruined it completely by adding: “Do I?”

Harry laughed at him. “Now you look embarrassed,” he said.

“It’s all your fault!” answered Snape petulantly. “Both the look and the sentiment. I’m turning into a bloody Gryffindor!”

“Please explain yourself. You evidently want to…”

“Fine. I feel guilty about correcting your eyesight.”

“Merlin, why? I am quite pleased about it!”

“I’d always disliked your glasses. They hid your eyes. Yesterday, when we were conversing of personal matters, I found myself reaching up as if to push my glasses back several times. Of course I don’t wear glasses, so I realized it’s something you do to separate yourself in uncomfortable situations. All these years, you’ve been hiding behind them.

“It was obvious to me that since I had that urge, you’d no longer have it, and I took advantage of the situation to convince you to get rid of them. I think that once our personalities are restored, you’re going to miss your glasses a lot.”

He looked at Harry to gauge his reaction.

“So, the Slytherin in you could not help but take advantage of the situation, whereas the Gryffindor in you cannot assume the guilt.”

“I should warn you for future reference that that annoying Gryffindor is not normally in residence.”

“Noted. Well, hopefully, this Gryffindor will forgive you.”

“And perhaps there is enough Slytherin in you to appreciate what the change does for your appearance.”

“An improvement, is it?”

“Well, you look a lot less… approachable.”

“And that’s a positive thing?”

Snape’s smile was all Slytherin. “Oh, yes,” he said in his dark velvet voice, “besides which it might cut down considerably on your need to use that Notice-me-not charm of yours.”

Harry had lost track of the conversation for a moment. The use of that voice at close quarters should be made illegal, as well as the look that accompanied it. But his recovery was spectacular.

“Perhaps I should take advantage of the situation as well and manipulate you into having rhinoplasty.”

Snape’s laugh was deep and rumbling and came straight from his gut. “Not a chance,” he said, finally.

“Good,” replied Harry with a smile. “I like your nose. I would not change a thing.”

It was Snape’s turn to look a little off-kilter.

They talked more, Snape of his childhood with his parents, of his friendship with Lily. Harry spoke of the Dursleys, and of Ron and Hermione. They were both of them aware of the fact that they had never, and probably would never have these conversations with anyone ever again, but all the same, it was enormously cathartic and impossible to stop.

Harry felt in him an anger that was not his, that had never before had a place in his recollections of his childhood, and an intense feeling of gratitude for his friends who had stayed with him through everything in his life. He wondered what echo of his own reactions Snape was feeling. Affection for the neglected child he had been? Forgiveness for not having heeded his friend Lily’s advice?

When they gave in to their tiredness and returned to bed, they held each other close, more strongly than before, seeking comfort and finding acceptance in each other’s presence.

They were awoken by Bill calling out from the Floo.

“Ahoy! Is anyone here? I’m coming through!”

Harry could not help but feel their emergence from the bedroom had a certain zombie-like quality. He felt as if most of his brain and half of his body were still asleep. If Bill was surprised to see them come out of the same bedroom, he certainly didn’t show it, though after taking in their semi-comatose state, he called room service for some espresso.

Once it seemed they could carry on a coherent conversation, he gave them his report. The curse was not a curse. It was actually a medical spell that had been popular in the first half of the twentieth century to treat certain mental diseases but had since fallen into disrepute. It was the magical equivalent of a frontal lobotomy. Parts of the patient’s personality were removed to make them more pliable, less independent. It was the reason it had penetrated through their shields: it had been designed to be able to slice through the patient’s natural attempts at self-preservation.

However, Harry and Snape’s shield put together had been enough to contain the removed aspects of their personalities, which had then been immediately reabsorbed albeit somewhat randomly.

“The solution is to redo the spell, once again under your shields, but with you standing further apart. Once that’s done, a simple Accio from each one of you should do it. Something like Accio Meus Verus Sensus. It should be quite straightforward.”

“Famous last words,” said Harry.

“Easy for you to say,” said Snape.

“Well, shall we proceed?”

Snape and Harry stared at each other for a moment and both nodded as one.

They pushed a couch out of the way, allowing almost three meters between them, the maximum distance they should be able to extend their Protego. Bill’s spell, like the original, would hit Harry first and Snape second.

Once they were in position, Bill asked, “Ready?” and both Snape and Harry nodded.

Bill pointed his wand, and chanted, “Abolesco Penitus Sensus,” with a swift move of his wrist. The spell hit, the shields filled with blue vapor, Snape and Harry both pronounced his recommended Accio, calling their true personality traits back to themselves, and it was done. The shields were empty for several seconds before either one of them remembered to remove them. They both sat down, looking completely worn out.

“I think you will need to rest again,” said Bill. “It might take a while for you to readjust.”

Whereas Harry had been completely unaware that anything was wrong after the curse had struck just three days before, and though he was even more exhausted than he had been, a sense of well-being had washed over him immediately after this second casting and still lingered, a feeling that all was right in the world and that things were finally back to normal. He smiled at Bill.

“Thanks, Bill”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Weasley,” echoed Snape.

“Thanks are fine, but cash is better,” answered Bill. “My invoice will be owled to you both in the next few days.” Then he added in a radio announcer kind of voice, “We would like to thank you for using BFV Cursebreaking and wish you a good day.”

Harry laughed and Snape rolled his eyes.

“It’s good to see you both back to normal,” Bill said, once again his easygoing self. “I’ll let you rest now.” And in a flare of green flames, he was gone.

Snape and Harry looked at each other. Harry’s eyes were closing on their own.

“G’night, Snape.”

“Good night, Potter.”

They each retired to their own rooms, and Harry was asleep the second he closed his eyes.


Before falling asleep, Severus had time to reflect how he missed the presence of Potter in his arms. He did not need the closeness anymore, but he wished for it, very much. He realized his feelings for Potter had evolved far beyond the strong attraction he had felt a few days before. He now found that he loved everything about him: his honesty, his empathy for others, his courage, his inquisitiveness and intelligence, his kindness. He could not fathom a life without that remarkable man in it, and that was even before considering how incredibly attractive he was physically. He buried his considerable nose in his pillow, catching the remnants of Potter’s scent as he succumbed to his exhaustion.

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