He had not expected laughter. Maybe he should have. He was pathetic after all. But it was not a cruel or demeaning sound, as he would have expected from a Marauder ... more breathless and disbelieving. Finally, his wrist was released, but before he could distance himself, warm hands touched his arms, turning him around. The sweet smell of treacle tart brushed over his face as Harry's pulled him close with gentle hands. Softly the teenager whispered, "You're my first, Severus. My first follower, my first advisor. Do you think I would leave it at that?"