[HP] Secret help

He broke free, got up from the ground, patted the ashes on the pillow, and said, "I'm sorry, I was just joking. I apologize to you and to my mother."

"I..." Harry said softly, his back turned to Snape, "I'll do my best - get well soon."

Harry opened the small door of the study and left.

He didn't look back.

Snape felt that looming breath also disappeared.

No.14 glass beads

It was probably because everything went so smoothly, so comfortable, so good, he grabbed the weeds from the mud and climbed up, and landed on the wet grass, and it was still raining.

I don't know when, that kind of silent staring became a habit, and when Harry finally realized it, it was out of control.

It was horrible, he was in love with Severus Snape, his trophies, his medals, his only hope of surviving in the mud.

And Snape loved - no, loved his mother.

Harry thought, he is the most unlucky hapless person in the world.

How painful this secret liking is, just like Harry sitting on the turf and hugging himself, he watched Snape walking over with an umbrella, as if passing by, and seemed to be attracted by his pitiful look like a lost dog , the man walked past him, the wide edge of the umbrella shielded him from the rain for a while, and for about a moment, Harry felt that the sky had cleared up.

Then when the rain poured down again, Harry suddenly realized that he was just rubbing the umbrella, like wild cats and dogs hiding from the rain, and he was not much nobler than them.

Just like this time.

Harry finally remembered that he was just a guest, and he passed the warm living room with the plush carpet, and instead of enjoying the soft fur on the soles of his feet, he just threw the pillow back on the sofa , back to his room.

He was going to find something to hold the little glass ball in, and waited for the others.

There were no frills in the little bedroom, no vases or jars that used to hold flowers - that's right, Harry thought.

I'm just a guest.

Harry pulled out his small box from under the bed. Harry couldn't remember how long he hadn't opened it. There was already a thin layer of dust on it. He lowered his head and rummaged through it, but found nothing useful. , but nothing can trouble a wizard, nothing can trouble Harry Potter.

The small cowhide box was snapped shut. Harry picked it up and spun it around. After thinking for a few seconds, he pulled out a rivet button from the decorative band, waved his wand, and turned it into the size of a Quaffle. clear jars.

Harry put the bottle on the bedside table and threw the portkey in. The small glass beads fell to the bottom of the bottle with a crisp "ding" sound, rolled around in a gurgling circle, and stopped moving.

There was only one glass bead in the bottle, which looked a little awkward. Harry crossed his arms and thought for a while, and made the bottle a little smaller. It seemed easier to fill it than before. After thinking about it, Harry made the bottle bigger , larger than the original, the bead was barely noticeable at the bottom of the bottle.

It was like a countdown, Snape said that all the Portkeys would be returned to him one after another, and when the jar was filled little by little, Harry was about to leave.

It's snowing again in London.

In fact, Harry hadn't looked out of the window for a long time. Like Snape's little pet, he was peacefully locked up in the house in Spider's End, not caring about anything.

He stood by the window of the small bedroom and watched the snow outside the window quietly. From sunset to dark, Harry didn't know what he was thinking. Since he was sick, his nerves had been dull-until Snape came to knock his door.

"Supper, Potter." Snape's voice came through the door.

Harry rushed over to open the door as if he was awake from a dream, his feet were still a little limp after standing for a long time, he said embarrassedly: "I-I forgot the time, sorry, I will not forget to make dinner next time."

Snape didn't have any particular emotion, just glanced at him: "There is no shortage of house elves here, I just asked you to come to dinner."

"Oh, oh, yes, yes." Harry followed Snape into the dining room. Snape's cooking skills didn't look too bad. They sat at both ends of the long table and finished their meal in silence. Harry obediently drank the medicine after the meal, and obediently nestled on the sofa to read the books on Snape's bookshelf. The two of them tacitly found something to spend the slightly difficult time before falling asleep.

Snape sat in his small study, looking at the messy hair on Harry Potter's head on the other side from the back of the book, he didn't know what to say, he couldn't break through the barrier in his heart and really be with that kid Together, the former student, the son of the old love, and the famous savior.

It was only when the boy put away the rich and fragrant net and opened up the layer of misty and beautiful ambiguity that Snape realized that everything was so insurmountable. Their identities, ages, and positions, they should be two roots of different dimensions. Lines that appear to intersect, but in reality never extend together.

This rigid man who always fastens his collar button to the top button seems to have lived in a strong self-restraint and restraint all his life. Finally, he lost his love and made himself a cage. He tied himself in Harry Potter body, so that the little bastard caught him again, and it was out of control.

This is wrong.You have no future with that kid, Snape said to himself, and you have to admit that he deserves better than you.

This feeling sucks.

He walked out of the study, opened the secret passage through the living room and walked underground without looking sideways.

Harry flicked his fingers holding the book, raised his head after the secret door was closed tightly, closed the book and went into the small bedroom.

It wasn't until nearly eleven o'clock that Snape came out of the basement. The door of the master bedroom rang twice, and then Harry's door was slammed open. Dimming the lights brings out the small sofa again.

"I hope Mr. Potter has prepared himself," Snape murmured.

The room was dim and yellow, and there was a very faint smell brought in by Snape in the small space.

Harry fluttered his nostrils, recognized it and asked, "Have you been drinking, Professor?"

"I think..." Snape leaned back on the sofa and looked at Harry Potter who was leaning on the head of the bed, "In order to deal with the fantastic adventures in your little head, Potter, I think I have to first Let yourself get used to it first."

"Okay, okay." Harry shook the quilt angrily, "You always have a point, Mr. Snape."

Snape shrugged his shoulders and made a "please" gesture to him, and Harry got under the covers and lay down with his back to Snape.

After about 5 minutes, the messy head on the top of the roll made a voice: "...I can't sleep."

In fact, it was Snape who was about to fall asleep, and Harry slept for an hour and a half in the afternoon, and even after reading a book all night, he was still very awake at this time.

"Are you a baby who needs someone to tell you a good night story to put you to sleep?" Snape muttered with his eyes closed. Drank some wine lightly.

Harry turned to face Snape. The man was half lying on the couch with his arms crossed and his legs crossed. His eye sockets were buried in the shadow of his browbones, and his nose was only outlined by the dim yellow ceiling light in the bedroom. Dark hair that hung like a curtain around his face - he looked asleep, although Harry knew he wasn't.

"Why not," said Harry softly, "tell me about something you want me to dream about, or, tell me about something you want to dream about."

Snape was silent, and after about ten seconds, when Harry thought Snape had really fallen asleep, he replied, "Okay."

Snape sat up on the little sofa, compromised: "Let's put Baby Potter back to sleep as a baby - now, close your eyes and prepare to sleep, and from my next sentence on, you are not allowed to open your eyes or speak , otherwise you know my methods."

Harry closed his eyes obediently, even expectantly.What would Snape say?Does he really tell himself bedtime stories?

Snape lifted his lips, and a whisper sounded in Harry's ear.

"Abyssinian shrunken fig: must be shelled. Sunshine orchid root: ground into powder. Pooh stone: taken from the stomach of a goat, has a strong detoxifying effect..."

Harry screamed inwardly: Snape! ! ! !

He violently rolled up the quilt to cover his head, and shrank to the edge of the bed farthest from Snape. The mattress creaked toothache under Harry's rough movements. He tried to stay away from the annoying voice that followed him, Closing his eyes and forcing himself to sleep quickly, he knew that this old bastard would have no good intentions!

In the dimness, Snape's voice paused for a moment, and then continued with some pleasure: "Bicorn's horn: crushed into powder. Billywig's stinger: dried. Caterpillar: cut into thin slices. Cockroaches, dead. Daisy roots: chop up..."

This was Harry Potter's most humiliating sleep, though he had to admit that Snape had a good voice for reading bedtime stories, deep and calm, even tender and affectionate if he wanted to.What could be more sleepy than having a professor of yesteryear teaching a class right next to your ear?

Harry felt like he was going to cut slugs all night in his dreams.

When Snape fell into the dreamland, his own voice still echoed in the dense fog. Harry didn't sleep very deeply, and seemed to feel that he was still listening to Snape's nagging, the voice was not very clear, male