Title: Property of the Half-Blood Prince
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Content Notes: Angst, soulmarks AU, AU in that Severus lives
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 4500
Summary: Harry indulges in an enormous eye-roll when he wakes up on his nineteenth birthday with "Property of the Half-Blood Prince" written on his neck like a collar. He goes on to live his life like normal, without being too upset about it—and without telling Snape, who he's sure wants his freedom now.
Author's Note: Another of my "From Litha to Lammas" fics. This fic will have three parts.

Property of the Half-Blood Prince

Harry woke up on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, mind already buzzing. He and Ron and Hermione were going to catch a Quidditch game today—not the Cannons, to Ron's disappointment—and then spend some time around the neighborhood where Hermione had grown up. Apparently there was someone there who could get pigeons to do amazing tricks, and a small Indian restaurant that would set your mouth on fire for the rest of your life. It was exactly the kind of day Harry liked now that he was done with the war and NEWTS study and all the rest of it, lazy and slow and normal.

It was normal until he looked into the mirror above the bathroom sink, anyway.

Something was written around his throat in delicate, precise handwriting that looked somehow familiar, in what seemed to be red ink. Harry leaned closer and frowned, turning his head so that he could see the whole of it.

In the end, though, he had to conjure another mirror that would float behind him, because he honestly couldn't read the whole thing.

Property of the Half-Blood Prince.

"Well, fuck," Harry said, scowling.

"It's a soul-mark. I've read about them. They're really rare."

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry from safely behind Hermione's head, but then ruined it by saying, "Imagine, mate. She's read about them."

Hermione had grown skilled at conjuring pillows to hit Ron over the head with, which she did now. Ignoring the stares they got from the others in the Quidditch stands, she leaned forwards and whispered urgently, "It means that you have the potential to have something great and world-shattering with the person whose mark it is, Harry. How does it feel?"

"Itchy."

"Harry!"

"Well, it is." Harry had finally found a spell that would conceal the whole fucking thing, which he had to use another mirror to see. He rubbed at his neck and sighed. Logically, the tickle of the magic was less irritating than the itch, but he still seemed to feel it. "And you say potential, Hermione. So there's no magical law that Snape and I need to unite or die?"

"Unite or die." Ron snickered. "What kind of novels have you been reading, Harry?"

This time, Harry was the one who conjured the pillow to hit Ron over the head with, while Hermione said, "Of course not. Soul-marks show up sometimes when a person's already dead or on the other side of the world. Or you might be born in the same country and time as your soulmate and still never meet them. It just means potential."

"So instead of world-shattering Snape and I could have something lab-shattering, like."

"What are you thinking, Harry?"

"Just this," Harry said quietly. "You told me that Snape doesn't have a corresponding mark, that they only appear on one person at a time." Hermione nodded. "I'm glad. He's been branded enough for one lifetime. So there's no need to trouble him with it. He's struggled with being leashed and having masters who didn't really understand him." Harry loved Dumbledore, but he was still a little angry with him for what he'd done to Snape, forcing the man to participate in getting Harry to die. "So I'll leave him alone now."

"But—what if he finds out?"

"Who's going to tell him?" Harry lowered his voice and glanced around suspiciously. "Is there someone hiding here under an Invisibility Cloak? Does one of you have a secret correspondence with him?"

Hermione looked on the verge of conjuring a pillow just for Harry. "Of course not! But things like this have a way of coming out. And you might need help from Snape sometime in the future, or he might need yours."

Harry snorted. "He's out of prison and living a quiet life partially thanks to my testimony. And I won't go to him for help."

"Because you'd rather die than do that?"

"No. Because he's given me enough, and I won't ask him for anything else."

Hermione blinked, then said slowly, "Okay, I can see that. And that might even be why the mark showed up. Because magic knows that you won't ask anything from him or try to use him the way other people might."

Harry grimaced. "If that's the only reason, I sure hope Snape has something in his life that's not just me."

"Harry, promise me one thing?" Ron waited until Harry had looked up at him and nodded. "If you ever decide to change your mind and start fucking Snape, then learn the Memory Charm well enough that you can Obliviate me."

This time, Harry and Hermione's pillows hit Ron at the same time.

"Mr. Snape wants me to serve as a—reference?"

It was still unnatural for Harry to speak Snape's name without trying to put the title "Professor" in front of it, if he was going to use one at all, but that was the only reason he was hesitant. Still, the person on the other end of the Floo seemed to interpret it differently. "Not him! No, no. We just know of his recent past, and we're contacting people who can testify to his good qualities before we hire him as a potions contractor for the Ministry."

Harry smiled. "He has plenty of good qualities, but he doesn't interact well with people. Don't put him in direct contact with clients."

"Yes, sir. One of our other references had already said the same thing. But what are his good qualities?"

"He's great at brewing. He's brave, so I can't believe he would balk at unusual requests or be afraid to test out experimental ingredients. He's detailed and meticulous and will return potions that have picky requirements done to perfection. He doesn't let personal feelings interfere with his brewing—"

"You have proof of that, sir?"

It was still unusual for Harry to hear himself addressed that way, but he just shrugged. "Yes. He had to brew Wolfsbane for a werewolf he hated during my school years. He always did it on time."

"Oh." Enthusiastic scribbling. "That wasn't an example our other references gave us."

"They probably didn't know about it." Harry leaned back. "Do you need anything else to hire Mr. Snape?"

"Well…of course some of our people are reluctant to work with a former Death Eater even with Harry Potter serving as a reference…"

"It depends on what you're hiring for. It's true that he's never going to be the most pleasant person to work with. But you're looking for someone who will do his work on time and do it perfection, right?"

"Well. Um. We'd also like to have someone who doesn't make the trainees assigned to collect his potions cry."

Harry shrugged. "Tell them not to write notes rife with misspellings. And if they're too scared to deal with his messages directly, have them pass them on to someone in your department who does have thicker skin."

Watery laughter came from the flames. "You sound like you're rather a champion of Mr. Snape, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked evenly back into the anxious gaze. "It's about time someone was, don't you think?"

Pounding on his door woke Harry at the hour of—he squinted at the numbers hovering above his wand the instant he concentrated—five in the bloody morning. He hopped out of bed and swore as he wrapped a ratty set of old robes around himself. This had better be an emergency on the order of a heart attack for Mr. Weasley or something like that.

He was already composing tirades at Ron in his head as he reached for the door handle when he identified the harsh, husky voice coming through the door. "Open up this instant, Potter!"

Oh. shit. Snape. Harry shied back and stared at the door for a second, then raced for the bathroom and a mirror even as the pounding resumed.

He hastily cast the illusion spell that he and Hermione had designed to hide the soul-mark around his throat. It shimmered and fought him for a second. Hermione had said that might happen in the presence of the person whose "mate" he was meant to be, which was the only thing that kept Harry from panicking. He took a slow, deep breath and tried again, and this time, the mark gave a sullen gleam and disappeared from view.

Harry walked briskly back towards the door and opened it, just in time to duck a flying fist. "Good morning, sir," he said, trying to sound no more than mildly irritated. Snape being offended was better than Snape wondering why Harry sounded like he'd woken up in a panic. "Given that it's five-oh-three in the morning, what do you need?"

Snape only stared at Harry with his brow furrowed for a second. His face was extremely red, but the color was already fading. Harry just stared back, wondering what in the world Snape had thought he would do. Yell, maybe?

"What are you wearing around your neck, Potter?"

Once again, careful thought kept Harry from freezing. He just shrugged. "A few days ago, I met with a vampire who was upset about the bill that the Wizengamot is trying to pass that would require vampires to have a wizard 'chaperone' when they're trying to visit Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade." And that was even the truth, although the vampire, one Lucy Bloodfang, hadn't exactly tried to rip Harry's throat open. Letting Snape infer things from the truth was better than trying to lie to a Legilimens, though.

Snape grunted and swept through the door. "And you're vain enough to wear an illusion even when you're asleep and alone." He abruptly turned and leaned so that he was looking through Harry's open bedroom door. "You are alone."

Harry felt his cheeks flushing, but he shut the outer door and ignored Snape. "I was trying to avoid stirring bad memories." He stared pointedly at Snape's neck, where the scars of his encounter with Nagini were still visible. That got Snape distracted, all right.

"I would hardly have come here of my own free will." Snape's folded arms and glare told the absurdity of anyone ever supposing he would. "I am told that I owe my recent contract with the Ministry to your good word."

"They contacted me to serve as a reference."

Snape sneered at him and prowled a step closer, looking as if he was going to draw his wand any second. Harry kept a cautious eye on it. The actions of soulmates close to a marked one were unpredictable, Hermione had also told him. Snape might feel the compulsion to remove the illusion even though he didn't understand why. "And you told me that I was perfect for the job out of guilt, of course."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I told them you would be a bastard to work with and they should have sensitive trainees give your messages to superiors up the chain instead. But I also said you would be a brilliant Potions brewer and you could experiment well and always get your assignments finished on time. What, did they pretend they were going to hire you as a favor to me or something? Because that's not how it was."

Snape stared at him with his mouth slightly open. Harry raised his eyebrows. Maybe that made him look like his dad or something, because Snape promptly clapped his lips shut and sneered again.

"And you want me to shiver at your feet with gratitude."

"Actually, no, I want you out of my house because you woke me up at an ungodly hour of the morning and I want to go back to sleep."

Snape studied him carefully before he turned around and walked out. Harry relaxed, and then got his wand and cast a few spells to make sure that Snape hadn't left any nasty hexes or jinxes behind.

No. Huh. Harry shrugged and went back to bed. If that was a side-effect of the mark on his neck that Snape would never know about, he'd take it. Just as long as coming to his door early in the morning and waking him up for no apparent reason wasn't a side-effect. Auror trainees didn't get to sleep in all that often.

"You do keep up an illusion spell on your throat at all times, don't you, Potter? I want to know why."

Harry rolled his eyes into the depths of the small cupboard where he was hanging the special set of robes that he wore as a trainee for mock battles. "Just because you want to know doesn't mean you need to, Jensen."

He turned around, and found Keith Jensen standing way too close to him. Harry stared at him impassively. Jensen looked a bit like Malfoy, at least in the coloring department; his eyes were a deep blue and his hair a pale gold. But his personality was nothing like. He seemed ready to worship Harry for his defeat of Voldemort, and made so many flirtatious comments Harry wasn't sure how he kept his mind on Auror business.

But Harry felt no trace of attraction towards him. He wasn't sure if that was the mark, or just because part of him was stubbornly determined not to be attracted to anyone who looked so much like Malfoy.

"But it's an unusual thing, isn't it?" Jensen said in what he apparently thought was a seductive whisper. He braced a hand on the side of Harry's cupboard and leaned towards him. "Why can't you trust a mate with it?"

"I have trusted a mate with it."

Jensen's face darkened a little, but he smiled and practically crowded Harry against the wall. "Your Weasley and Granger don't count, Potter."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Jensen that no one who referred to his friends in that tone of voice would ever know anything about the illusion spell on his neck, but a dark, cool voice interrupted. "Inciting violence among your classmates even in the Auror Corps, Trainee Potter? Whatever would your instructors think?"

Harry glanced up and blinked. Snape stood in the doorway of the storage room, his fingers drumming on the wall. He held a steaming vial of potion that Harry supposed was his excuse for being here.

Still, it was strange. It seemed that Snape agreed with the people who had contacted Harry to serve as a reference. As far as Harry knew, he spent most of his time sending potions and messages by owls and rarely visited the Ministry.

Jensen had backed away from Harry. His face looked like whey. Harry watched him with a faint smile as he resumed putting on his normal robes. Jensen had been a Slytherin, so why he would look so terrified of his former Head of House was a mystery.

It reinforced Harry's beliefs about his resemblance to Malfoy, though. Both in the cowardice and the looks department.

"Pro-professor," Jensen said. He swallowed. "I—I wasn't inciting violence in any way. Neither was Potter, actually. I was just trying to get him to answer a question."

Snape's heavy gaze settled on Harry. "Is that true, Trainee Potter?"

Jensen gasped beside him, probably at the sarcastic emphasis that Snape put on what was technically Harry's proper title, but Harry only smiled. Compared to the things Snape had said to him during school, this was practically friendly. "Neither of us was inciting violence in any way, sir, that's true. I simply preferred not to answer Trainee Jensen's question."

Snape flicked another glance at Jensen. He gulped and ran away. Harry managed to hold in his laughter until he was gone. "Seriously, sir, what did you do to him? Did he try to cheat on his Potions OWL or something?"

"If that had been the case, Mr. Jensen would not be standing here today," Snape said, in that dry drawl that had always made Harry unsure if he was joking or not. Then again, no, wait, Snape had never joked during Harry's tenure at Hogwarts. Snape placed the smoking potion on a shelf near the door that was technically meant to hold dirty gloves and leaned forwards. "But I find myself curious about the question."

"Oh." Harry shrugged and adjusted the collar of his robe. "He wanted to know about things that weren't any of his business."

"The illusion spell about your throat, I presume."

"You presume correctly, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

Snape reached out and caught his wrist as Harry attempted to press by him. Harry sighed. He was just glad that the stupid damn soul-mark wasn't wrapped around his wrist. According to Hermione, they nearly always went mad when the person they belonged to touched them. "Last time, I accepted it as a matter of vanity, Mr. Potter. But it has been months since the 'vampire attack.' Tell me why you maintain the spell." Snape made it sound as though he had actually written the inverted commas around the words "vampire attack."

Harry gave him a bright smile. "It's less a matter of vanity than a matter of privacy, sir. And you don't have to worry that I'm sneaking around behind your back at Hogwarts and getting in trouble anymore. You don't have to know about it."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I need to know about everything involving you, Potter."

Harry let Snape see his sigh, although no sound left his lips. "You still haven't told me why, sir."

"Merlin knows what you're going to get involved in that might destroy the world at any moment." Snape tightened his hold on his wrist as Harry tugged to get his hand back. "And I want you to dispel that illusion spell now, or I'm going to assume that you have a festering sore on your neck that's host to a plague that could kill us all."

Harry had to smile. Why had he never found Snape this funny when he was his student? Then again, being in constant detention with him and constantly compared to his father probably had something to do with that.

And that only strengthened his determination to keep the mark from Snape. Snape would hate being tied like that to Harry. Even if he only felt like society would expect him to be tied, Harry couldn't do that to him.

So Harry told part of the truth. "I woke up on my nineteenth birthday and found out a soul-mark had showed up on my neck, sir."

Snape stared at him, his lips parted as if he was the one who was going to sigh. He never let go of Harry's wrist, though. Harry was almost sure that was the soul-mark's fault. He tugged gently on his hand.

Snape released it at once. For some reason, he was now flushed as though someone had lit a fire under his skin.

Harry shrugged. Probably one more side-effect of the mark. "I found out that it referred to someone who I can—never be with. I didn't want people gaping at it or deciding it referred to them or pitying me if they figured out the truth, too. I want to keep it hidden."

Snape swallowed several times before he spoke, his voice unexpectedly rough. "Soul-marks are rare and precious, Potter. I am sorry that yours is a cause of more pain than it is honor."

Harry stared at him, then nodded. "Thank you, sir." It seemed that Snape was one of those people Hermione had told him about who really did think of soul-marks as the best thing that could possibly happen to you.

Come to think of it, that was probably why he'd blushed when he realized that he was holding Harry's hand. Those rather traditional people who thought soul-marks a blessing also thought that you shouldn't touch the bare skin of someone marked as another person's—

Property, Harry thought wearily, and walked through the door that Snape held open for him. Snape kept watching him all the way down the corridor. It made the soul-mark burn and itch, and Harry reminded himself, again and again, why he was better off hiding the bloody thing.

Snape might respect the idea in the abstract, but it was rather different as a net he could never slip out of.

Harry had thought the address sounded familiar with Auror Forman burst into the training rooms shouting for instructors and trainees and anyone else who had legs and ears and Apparating ability to follow her. And it made sense that it would be an emergency but not a huge one. Most of the regular, trained Aurors were out on other cases. This had to be something trainees and teachers on desk duty could cope with.

Only when he came out of the Side-Along did he realize they were on a quiet little street outside Hogsmeade, and that the burning house in front of him was—

Snape's Potions lab.

Harry promptly broke into motion, ignoring the shouts from behind him, and the orders that were telling him to do something different. The mark was humming like an agitated insect on his neck. He knew without asking that it would guide him towards his soulmate, and that it meant Snape was in danger.

A broken window loomed in front of him. Harry leaped, tucked into a sphere that shattered more of the glass. Shards scraped his sides, but he ignored them, dropping immediately to the floor once he was inside the house.

Smoke billowed past him. Harry cast a charm that would purify the air as it came into contact with his nostrils and mouth, and another one that forced the smoke off to the sides so he could see. Then he drew as strong a breath as he could and bellowed, "Snape!"

A faint sound came from off to the left. Harry promptly clawed his way towards it, moving on his knees and hands no matter how much he wanted to stand up. His little Purifying Charm would be overwhelmed in seconds if he got his head into that smoke, especially since it was tainted with purple and green.

Somewhere, Snape's potions were burning, too, and releasing probably poisonous fumes into the air.

Harry managed to get into the small side-room that looked like it contained most of Snape's finished potions. The walls were stone and not burning—yet—but the tables were all on fire, and so were the storage cupboards, and the glass vials had enormous, randomly-colored flames shooting out of them. Snape, his face wrapped in what looked like a version of the Bubble-Head Charm, was trying to rescue a huge stack of flasks.

Harry whipped his wand forwards and floated the flasks into the air. Snape turned and snarled at him.

"Sir! Come on!"

"These represent years of experimental work!"

"I'll bring them!" Harry held out his hand, making sure that his sleeve dangled enough so that Snape could grab cloth instead of flesh. Snape would probably refuse to touch, as he thought, the skin of someone else's soulmate, and get them both burned in the process. "We don't have any time!"

Snape grimaced and crawled rapidly towards him, seizing his hand. Harry sighed in relief and drew him along. All in all, this fire wasn't as dangerous as it could have been. Magic would prevent the worst of the damage, and—

Ahead of them, a warning roar meant the roof was about to fall in.

Harry didn't even think. He flung himself sideways so that his arms were wrapped around Snape and his foot was touching the collection of floating flasks and Apparated.

They appeared in the alley outside the Ministry entrance. Snape sat up at once, his face wrinkling into another snarl, but Harry managed to pull back from him and point to the collection of flasks that were still floating a good few inches above the ground. "See? Everything is fine."

Snape stared at him, then at the flasks, and then back at him. He said not a word. Shock probably, Harry thought. He needed to get Snape to St. Mungo's, or at least to some place that the Healers could look at him. Harry stood and brushed some dust off his robes.

"How are you alive?" Snape whispered.

That startled a laugh out of Harry. "The same way I got through all my years at Hogwarts, sir. Good luck and good reflexes." He summoned his Patronus by concentrating on the fact that Snape and all his work had survived, and smiled when the stag appeared in front of him. "Go to St. Mungo's and tell them that I'm bringing in a wizard that needs to be treated for smoke inhalation and the effect of burning Potions ingredients."

Prongs lowered his antlers once before bounding away. Harry bent down and carefully took only Snape's sleeve as he urged him to his feet. "Come on. I don't know for sure what the fumes of all those burning ingredients combined with the smoke would do to you, but I'm sure it's not pleasant."

"My collection."

"I can put them in my office and keep them safe that way, sir. That is, if you'll trust me with them."

Snape only studied him for long moments, long enough that Harry wondered if he was going to act uncomfortable again about someone else's soulmate touching him. Then he nodded slowly. "I will trust you."

"Great!" Harry conjured a stretcher and carefully slid it beneath the floating flasks, then canceled the charm that had kept them in the air. When they sagged and Snape took a step forwards, Harry shook his head. "That's only to get them there safely. I'll fly them to my office."

"While escorting me to St. Mungo's at the same time?"

"Ad casam," Harry told the stretcher, rolling his eyes a little as it took off and Snape stared after it. "A charm I developed. It'll take the potions directly to the office, and nothing will happen to them there. My door only opens for objects like this or my personal touch, and then locks behind them."

Snape was quiet as Harry herded him towards a more usual Apparition point. Then he said, so softly Harry could scarcely hear him, "Whoever would refuse to be your soulmate must know only your public reputation."

Harry shook his head, not liking to hear Snape put himself down. "It's more complicated than that," he responded.

Just before they Apparated, he thought he heard Snape say, "Isn't it always?"

But this situation really is complicated, Harry thought as he sat on a bed in the same ward as Snape and watched the Healers treat him for the effect of smoke and fume inhalation. The Healers hadn't been about to let Harry escape until he underwent the same treatment. He would hate me so much if he knew how he'd be trapped.

And avoiding Snape's hatred was something that had become…important for Harry.