(Summer, Two Weeks After Fifth Year Ends)

/Papers, papers, papers,/ Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thought as he sorted through the rather enormous pile of parchment on his desk, one thumb and finger pressed to his forehead. /It’s a wonder Minerva has not yet gone mad./

Minerva McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House and Transfiguration Professor. Currently, she was on her summer leave, visiting a younger brother and his family in a rather isolated wizarding city somewhere in the Alps. Consequently, he had taken on her workload *plus* his own. And he found himself rather dizzy because of it.

He gave a long sigh, leaning back in his desk chair, and wearily rubbed his face. By Merlin, he needed a break!

Fortunately, by Gandalf’s grace, that break came in the form of a snowy owl, speckled with black spots. The owl, whom Severus caught sight of out of the corner of his eye, swooped in through an open, high, dungeon window. Twilight had fallen out side, and needless to say, the wizard was quite shocked a moment later when the bird, hooting softly, landed on his shoulder.

Recognizing the owl, the man gave a slight scowl. “You’re Potter’s owl, aren’t you? Probably thought up more ways to blame me for the mutt’s death…”

Hedwig hooted indignantly and gave him a sharp nip on the ear for that comment.

“Ow! Knock it off, you bloody bird!” Severus snarled, trying to shoo her off. “I am busy, if you had not *noticed*…”

Hedwig hooted again, angrily, settling back on his shoulder, and held out her leg pointedly to the Professor.

Severus huffed in annoyance. “Fine. Have it your way, then.” The next part was muttered, “Damn boy just could not let me be, could he…” He snatched the letter from Hedwig, trademark sneer firmly in place, and unrolled the parchment. In truth, he was actually quite curious about what drove the Boy-Who-Lived to send a letter to his “git” of a teacher.

He scanned the letter once over…then nearly dropped it as he read a snatch of its contents. Sitting back even more heavily in his chair, he slowly began to read it from the beginning:

Dear Professor Snape (it read),

This is not to spite you. Nor is it meant to rub salt in old wounds. Although I’m sure you think otherwise (“Damn right, I did,” muttered weakly).

I actually want to apologize. I had no right to enter your pensieve and I truly regret ever having done so in the first place, because by doing so, I violated your privacy. I do not, however, regret seeing that memory. It showed me a side of my father and Sirius that, much as I’d prefer not to have found out, is nonetheless the truth. And you were right, Professor, they *were* gits.

I have told no one of what I’ve seen, sir, except for Sirius and Remus, and that only because I was desperately searching for a reason behind their actions. They did not have one, blaming it all on immaturity. Which is a lie if ever I heard one: I am fifteen, and I have never done anything even remotely resembling that type of bullying. But no one else---not about the pensieve, and not about the Occulmency lessons. I do keep my word, Professor.

And I do know what it is like to be tormented for no reason. Very well, in fact. My “family” does it to me all the time, in spite of the Order’s warning. But enough of that.

Sir, whatever happens in these upcoming months, please know that I am truly sorry for what I did. And although it’s probably too late, I’m sorry for what they did, too.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

“Well,” Severus mumbled after reading and re-reading the letter several times, “I certainly was not expecting that.”

He set the letter down carefully on his desk before leaning forward and burying his face in his hands, mind abuzz. Hedwig fluttered down from his shoulder with a rather gentler nip and settled on the desk. He *wanted* to convince himself that it was a hoax, a dirty trick. But he knew Potter---*this* Potter---and at long last could admit to himself that there was, in fact, a difference between father and son.

Harry was Harry. Not James. And Harry would never send something like that letter as a joke.

So that left the hardest question of all: what did he do now?

Later he would question if it was fate, or just coincidence, but in the next moment someone rapped lightly on his office door. “Come in,” he mumbled, head remaining in his hands as he *still* tried to answer the rampant questions running through his mind.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore entered, brow creased with slight concern. “Severus? Child? What is it?”

The Potions Master said nothing, merely waved a hand at the piece of parchment.

Curious, though the creases in his forehead did not disappear, Albus stepped over to his former student’s desk and picked up the paper the younger wizard had indicated. A thoughtful frown marred the venerable Headmaster’s face once he finished reading over the letter.

“I do not like the fact that the Dursleys disregarded what Moody and Arthur said to them on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters that day.” He paused, evidently thinking something over. “Hmm, perhaps we should ‘accost’ Mr. Potter a bit earlier than planned. Grimmauld Place is safe enough. Actually, I do believe I shall Floo Molly about it today. Perhaps have Ms. Granger come, as well.”

When he came out of his reverie, the Headmaster found his Potions Professor scowling darkly at him. He kept his face and tone serene as he inquired, “Yes, Severus?”

The younger man’s scowl deepened. “Am I to simply sit here and berate myself for what happened between us? Moaning over ‘should-have-beens?’ What should I tell Harry?!”

Albus’s eyes crinkled at the corners, blue orbs twinkling madly. A moment later, Severus realized why. He groaned. The older wizard continued, nonplussed, amusement in his voice, “Well, you can always start with that. And I *do* need someone to inform *Harry* about his returning to Grimmauld Place. In fact,” he began rummaging through the nearby shelves for an empty potion phial, surfacing with a small, dusty blue one moments later, “I believe this will serve as a fine Portkey.”

Severus glared petulantly at his mentor. “I hate you.”

Albus merely chuckled and plopped down the empty bottle in front of him. “As you have told me on numerous occasions.”

The Potions Master glowered. “You are infuriating, old man, you know that?”

The Headmaster laughed and leaned down, brushing a quick kiss on his younger friend’s forehead. “Of course!”

Severus blushed brilliantly and quickly ducked his head, starting to hunt through his desk for parchment and a quill, muttering, “That’s *really* not fair, you know.”

Albus simply exited the Potions Master’s office, still laughing.

(Four Hours Later, Number Four Privet Drive)

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and savior of the wizarding world, let out an exhausted sigh as he fell---face-first---onto his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive.

Today had actually been relatively livable. The Dursleys had paid him little heed, except to give him chores to do and make sure he did them. Wearily, he raised his head and squinted at the digital numbers on his cousin’s old alarm clock. Midnight.

With a groan, Harry dropped his face back into the thin pillow and pulled the equally thin sheets over his head, more than prepared to fall asleep. A sharp rapping on his window, however, startled him from his half-doze.

Grumbling, he hauled himself up and forced his exhausted body to climb out of bed and cross to the window. He *really* did not want his Uncle to wake up. Besides, Hedwig was an hour overdue.

Sure enough, upon opening the window, Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulder, giving his ear an affectionate nip. Attached to one leg was what seemed to be a rather thick scroll of parchment. “Girl,” he whispered, stroking her chest feathers, “what have you got there?”

The snowy owl hooted softly and held out her leg. Gently, he undid it from her leg. Another soft hoot and affectionate nip, then she flew over to his desk chair, perching herself there.

Harry glanced at her in slight surprise, before swallowing nervously and making his way back over to the bed. Sitting down on the edge, he slowly unrolled the scroll, apprehensive. He had *not* expected the Potions Master to write him back.

It was, therefore, a rather ill-at-ease young Gryffindor who began to read his teacher’s letter:

Dear Harry (it began),

I received your letter, and I must say, I was not expecting it. I had not anticipated an apology from you in any form.

I thought you were your father.

It is now very clear to me you are not. And it is for that I must apologize. I treated you as James---not as Harry. And you are very much Harry.

You are not Lily, either, but you do have some distinct traits of hers. Your eyes are merely one of them.

Lily and I were very good friends at Hogwarts---cousins, actually. Her mother was my aunt on my father’s side.

Whenever my father came home drunk, my mother sent me off to her sister-in-law’s, if at all she possibly could. Your mother helped me through some very rough times, no matter what slurs I threw at her. She had a heart of gold, your mother did, and compassion to match. A compassion to rival even your own. And she had a quick tongue on her, as well. She was the only one who could beat me in a verbal sparring match. We both know where you stand on that.

I loved your mother, Harry. Very much so. I am only sorry I did not see some of her best traits in you---or rather, chose to ignore them. I was bullheaded, and for that, I apologize, as well.

Perhaps things can change from here on out. You are not your parents, Harry. They were both very great wizards, and the shadows they cast are very deep, but you need not fill them. You cast your own light, and it is about time I acknowledged that.

Sincerely,

Professor Severus Snape

“Well,” Harry choked upon finishing the letter, “that certainly caught *my* attention.” His cheeks were wet, but he really did not mind. Re-reading the letter, he wondered if the older wizard was aware of just how precious a gift he had given him.

Likely not. But Harry fully intended to let him know when next he saw the man.

A third glance over the pieces of parchment, and he realized he had missed one. Shuffling carefully through them, he was quite startled a moment later when a small, dusty bottle fell onto his lap.

“A Portkey?” he muttered in confusion, “wha---?”

P.S. (the slip of parchment read):

The Headmaster was quite displeased to hear that those ‘relatives’ of yours did not listen to Moody and Arthur. As I am sure you have realized, the bottle is a Portkey. It is enchanted to get you to Headquarters where you will be staying for the rest of the summer. I do believe the Weasleys and Ms. Granger are there already. They will be expecting you promptly at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The password is “Spinner.” Rest well and remember to clear your mind before sleeping.

Professor Snape

Harry smiled slightly, a warm feeling coursing through his veins. He chalked it up to joy at being able to leave Privet Drive and the Dursleys much earlier than he ever had before, and at being able to spend a good chunk of the summer with his closest friends. But he wondered if now it was not also because of something more…

That night, it was a very relieved fifteen-year-old who fell asleep at Number Four Privet Drive. He did as his Professor reminded him, but honestly, could probably have gone without it, such a blanket of peace surrounded his mind. That letter had done wonders for Harry, and Voldemort would not be getting into his head anytime tonight. For the first time in far too long, the Boy-Who-Lived fell into a peaceful sleep, unimpeded by nightmares.

(Nine O’Clock the Next Morning, Twelve Grimmauld Place)

/Too bad this journey couldn’t be as peaceful as last night,/ Harry thought that morning, grimacing as he landed in front of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. He had forgotten just how much he hated Portkeys.

Fortunately, he did not have to dwell on it long. Seconds later, a delighted squeal split the air and Harry found himself tackled and nearly hugged to death by one Hermione Granger.

“ ‘Mi…one,” Harry wheezed out, trying to breathe and hug the girl at the same time.

“Herm,” Ronald Weasley’s very amused voice spoke up as he pried the girl off their mutual best friend. “He kind of needs to *live* for the next couple of years, you know.”

Hermione pouted prettily at the red-haired boy. “I *know* that, Ronald.”

Harry laughed at the other teenaged boy’s blush. Oh, one of these days…!

Ron turned the grin to Harry---if somewhat sheepishly---an embarrassed blush still very prominent on his cheeks. “It’s great to see you, mate,” the other soon-to-be-sixth-year remarked warmly, voice low.

The Boy-Who-Lived returned the grin brightly. “Thanks, mate. It’s great to be here.”

Molly Weasley chose that point in time to come down the front steps of Grimmauld Place. Catching sight of the young Gryffindor, she hurried down the steps and embraced him, “Oh, Harry, dear! Thank goodness you’re here!” Stepping back, she placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled, one tear squeezing out of her eye.

Harry, blushing slightly, reached up and dashed the tear away. “Please don’t cry, Mrs. Weasley. Everything is really all right.”

The stout woman nodded. “I know, dear. Severus has been in and out over the past week---”

“Severus?” Harry interrupted softly. “You mean Professor Snape?” Then he blushed, realizing what he had done. “Sorry.”

She gave him a lopsided smile, if slightly worried. “Quite all right, dear.”

Harry instantly noted the concern on her part. “Mrs. Weasley? Is everything all right?”

Her smile became a bit more preoccupied. “As well as it can be, but I’m really not the one to ask.”

The teen nodded, accepting her answer---for the moment. At the same time, he tried to ignore the startled looks his two best friends had fixed him with. He would explain things to them later---*after* Mrs. Weasley shooed them off and went about her work.

The witch continued. “As I was saying, Severus has been in and out the past week or so. We’ve had several meetings of the Order and he has supplied us with information on You-Know-Who’s actions, or as much as he can. He sent a letter yesterday evening, explaining that you were arriving by Portkey today on the Headmaster’s orders.”

Harry sighed in something oddly resembling relief as something in him eased. He knew, of course, that Professor Snape was a spy, but for the first time he took note of how tense he felt at the thought of the man continually risking his life for the Order and Wizarding World at large. That he was, for the moment, safe, took quite a bit of weight off the young Gryffindor’s shoulders.

“And what was that sigh for, Mr. Potter?” a soft voice spoke up from behind him.

Harry jumped and let out a yelp before he could stop himself, whirling around to face a laughing…

“Ginny!” he exclaimed with a groan of mock-vexation.

The youngest Weasley continued laughing helplessly. “I’m sorry!” she gasped between giggles, “I’m sorry! But you should *see* your face!”

“She’s right, mate,” came Ron’s laughter-choked response as Harry turned his scowl to the two other sixteen-year-olds. Even Hermione was laughing.

Harry rolled his eyes at them, but stopped scowling, even allowing a small grin to break through as he turned back to the soon-to-be-fifth-year girl and gave her a firm hug. “It’s good to see you, too, Gin,” he murmured.

Ginny laughed and returned the hug.

“Ginny, sweetheart,” Molly spoke up, “did you get the groceries I told you to?”

The two separated and Ginny answered her mother, “Yes, Mum. The owner sent them over.”

The woman sighed. “There’s enough to keep a body busy here any day. Very well, then, I’ll see about putting them away now that that dratted Kreacher is gone. Why don’t you four go wander some? It’ll be a couple of hours before lunch. Harry, dear,” she turned to the raven-haired boy, “Remus would like to see you when he returns from Hogwarts, and both the Headmaster and Severus wanted to know when you arrived, so I’ll let them know. Go on, now.” And she shooed them off, heading back inside.

It was a pleasant summer day and none of the four had any qualms about walking around the grounds. There was silence a while, comfortable, just the Gryffindor quartet enjoying the weather and each other’s company.

Then Harry broke it, idly touching a vine-covered fig tree in one of the many gardens, “I would have loved to see this place when the gardens were kempt,” he muttered.

His three friends shot him surprised looks.

“What?” he frowned lightly at them.

Hermione was the one who spoke up, “Really, Harry? I would have thought Dark Magic would have been running rampant here, then.”

Harry shrugged a bit. “Maybe. But I can’t sense it anymore, really. It feels kind of empty…you know what I mean?”

The three with him shook their heads and Ginny gave him an inquiring look. “You can sense magic?” she asked, curious and more than a little interested. Hermione gave him a matching look.

Harry nodded, biting his lip slightly. Even Ron seemed intrigued. “Is that a bad thing?” the Boy-Who-Lived wanted to know.

His three friends exchanged significant glances, before Ron turned back to him. “No, mate, it’s just…not very common.”

Harry heaved an exasperated sigh. “Lovely,” he muttered sarcastically. “Can *nothing* be common about me?”

Their conversation was taking on a decidedly darker tone. His three friends knew of the Prophecy of course:

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…And either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives…The one who has the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…” (1)

And they knew why Harry had to spend every summer at the Dursleys---or at least until Voldemort was defeated. He had explained all about both the blood protection and the Prophecy whilst returning to Kings Cross station on the Hogwarts Express at the end of fifth year. They also knew he was less than pleased with the situation.

So, deciding to lighten the mood a little, Ginny hopped towards him playfully and gently tapped his chest with her fist, laughing a bit, “But you wouldn’t be Harry, then, now would you?”

It worked. Harry grinned and rolled his eyes good-naturedly once again, “Oh, no, I’d just be a normal wizard with some *un*-normal characteristics.” But there was laughter, and soon, the four friends had abandoned any and all sense of maturity, chasing each other through the overgrown gardens of Black Manor. Still laughing.

When the time for lunch rolled around, four breathless, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked teenagers trooped up the back steps and into the house.

(Some Hours Later, Kitchen Table at Grimmauld Place)

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully for the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place. Because they had not yet received their O.W.L. scores, they did not know what their summer assignments were. It had been a relaxing afternoon and evening found Harry and Ron battling it out in Wizard’s Chess while Hermione and Ginny discussed some triviality (at least according to the boys’ perception). Molly hummed to herself as she went about preparing dinner and Arthur Weasley read the “Daily Prophet” in a chair at the head of the kitchen table. The twins would be joining them shortly, and Bill and Charlie soon thereafter. And Percy…well, that was best left untouched.

He had yet to apologize to his family, and Harry was not entirely sure he would at all.

But the young Gryffindor quite firmly shoved those memories to the back of his mind. They were not of the most pleasant sort, and dug up the even more painful memories he had somehow managed to pent up thus far. Memories…of Sirius. When he was alive.

Harry shook his head violently. No. No. NO! He had promised himself he would not dwell on it, had promised Ron and Hermione! He could not---

“Mate?” that was Ron, and he sounded a bit concerned.

Looking up at his best male friend and forcing away the memories, Harry managed to smile, “Yeah, Ron?”

The other teenaged boy peered at him. “You okay there, Harry? I lost you for a minute.” He could feel Hermione’s and Ginny’s eyes on him now, too.

Harry, however, was spared from answering when the fire on the kitchen hearth suddenly roared and flamed bright green. Startled, all the kitchen’s occupants stopped what they were doing and quickly turned to face it.

One rather irate form dressed entirely in black stalked through the flames, swearing liberally. Harry found himself quite surprised in the next minute when that form actually marched *across* the floor and threw itself into the chair directly opposite him (Ron sat in the chair on his right) with an exasperated sigh.

“Honestly, Potter, how can you *stand* those relatives of yours?!” one highly frustrated Severus Snape demanded, obsidian eyes locking for a moment with the fifteen-year-old’s emerald ones, before he pressed the heels of his palms against them, elbows on the table, and muttered, “Damn Muggles. And Petunia…! Merlin’s Beard, how I wish she had never even *heard* of that Dursley!”

Harry, however, was finding this situation entirely too amusing. He laughed softly, albeit a bit uncertainly, “Er…nice to see you again, too, Professor.”

Severus raised his head long enough to glower balefully at the teenager, before going back to cursing the Dursleys in all manner of different languages.

A quick glance at the girls and Ron revealed they were just as amused and perplexed by this entire scene as he was. “What happened, I wonder?” Ron mused beneath his breath.

Harry wordlessly shook his head. The man across from him was acting *most* un-Snapelike, and that in itself was incredibly amusing. He did not dare remark on it, however, as it had been a full two weeks since he had seen this particular teacher last, and they had not exactly parted on the best of terms. The letter he had received only much earlier this morning, and as yet, was not quite sure of his footing with the other.

Harry sighed softly. Yet another thing they had to talk about.

Severus, while showing no indication that he had heard Ron’s whispered remark, *did*, however, stop his tirade and look up at Harry’s sigh, silently quirking an eyebrow at the teenager in a questioning manner.

A bit startled by the attention he was receiving from the Potions Master, Harry blushed and dropped his head slightly, gazing up at the Head of Slytherin through wayward dark bangs. He was about to hazard an attempt at explaining when the fire roared again, this time admitting both Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin.

Unconsciously, Harry stiffened as the two arrived, not quite ready to face the memories that came with them.

Consequently, it was quite an odd look he received from the Potions Professor who, true to form, did not miss even that slight detail.

The blush on the young Gryffindor’s cheeks worsened when he found himself the object of not only the older wizard’s scrutiny, but his friends’ as well. He shook his head slightly, although whether it was at the Professor, his friends, or both, no one was quite clear, not even him. All that was clear to Harry was that he was not ready to do battle with his emotions, yet.

Further exploration into the matter was halted, however, when the Headmaster’s eyes lighted on his Potions Master. “Severus, dear boy, there you are! How did it go with the Dursleys?” remarked jovially as Remus came around the table and gave Harry a careful hug.

The glare the Potions Professor laid on the venerable wizard would have made anyone who was *not* the Headmaster run for the hills. As it was, he only smiled. “You make me go to that blasted house again and I *swear* I will hex you!” the Head of Slytherin spat.

Albus’s blue eyes twinkled. “Now, now, Severus, she *is* your cousin.”

This announcement was met by startled gasps from all four of the Weasleys and Hermione. Harry merely shrugged when his friends looked at him in shock. It was not news to him. He glanced up at Remus, still rather uncomfortable, but not surprised to find that the werewolf looked completely unaffected by the revelation. He had figured the man had known for much longer than he himself had.

Of course, when Ron, Ginny, and Hermione realized this, their expressions immediately turned accusing. “Why didn’t you tell us, Harry?” Hermione demanded softly.

The boy flinched slightly, but nonetheless answered firmly, gaze steady, “It wasn’t my place to say it, ‘Mione.”

Their quiet conversation had by now caught the attention of all the adults.

“And why not, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked, voice neutral.

Harry surprised himself---and evidently, the Potions Master, if the brief flicker of shock in the man’s obsidian orbs was any indication---by meeting the older wizard’s gaze openly and straight on. “Because I have wronged you enough, Professor.”

The normally unshakable man across from him started slightly at the steady answer. Nothing else was said for a few moments and Harry shifted uncomfortably, aware that practically the entire *kitchen* was staring at him. At last, the Head of Slytherin found his voice, “Mr. Potter, we have already made our apologies. And I gave you that information *willingly*. I am going to assume that it was your idiotic Gryffindor honor which made you keep quiet about it, but please do bear in mind that if I give you information it is for a reason.”

Harry blinked in shock at the stream of words, before giving a crooked grin that did nothing to dim the sudden brightness of his eyes. “Then you assumed correctly, sir.” Abruptly, he turned to Molly Weasley. “Mrs. Weasley---” he began.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted him, smiling gently. “Harry, dear, it’s quite all right to call me Molly.”

Harry grinned slightly. “Molly,” he conceded, before continuing, “is there time before dinner to get Professor Snape’s letter?’

“Well, I don’t see why not. Go ahead,” the woman responded.

The young man quirked a grin at her. “Thanks.” Before he stood and swiftly left the room. Ginny, Hermione, and Ron quickly followed suite, the other teenaged boy hollering as he exited the room, “Oi, I get first dibs!’

The adults heard Harry’s somewhat faint, rather amused reply, “All right, all right! Just so long as you don’t tear it!”

The adults watched them go, the Weasleys, Remus, and the headmaster with amusement and Severus absently, a faint, somewhat awkward smile on his lips. /I made him that happy, did I? First time for everything, I suppose,/ he thought, remembering the look in Harry’s eyes. He just was not quite sure how he felt about that.

Severus was brought out of his stupor by Remus Lupin wearily lowering himself into a chair beside him. “Thank Merlin for small miracles,” the werewolf muttered.

The Head of Slytherin raised an eyebrow at him. “Remus?” he queried.

Startled by the usage of his first name, the lycanthrope quickly looked up…and was unable to hide a tired grin at the look on the Potions Master’s face when he suddenly realized what he had called him. “Why, Severus, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut up, werewolf,” growled, but with absolutely no ire behind it. Faint blush touched his cheeks momentarily before quickly being forced away. “So are you going to spit it out or not?” demanded. He did not *dare* look at the Headmaster.

Remus grinned widely a moment before replying, “Well, since you asked so *nicely*…” Severus merely rolled his eyes. The werewolf sighed, his smile fading as he became serious; his amber eyes took on a haunted look, “I know you hated Sirius, Severus, but Harry *loved* him. When he…died…Harry retreated into himself. Numb, not responding to the outside world like he was supposed to. He was desperate to find out if Sirius could come back in any form, even asked Sir Nicholas about ghosts if I’m not mistaken. It wasn’t healthy, the way he was acting two weeks ago.” Remus shook his head sorrowfully. “And I’m not entirely sure how he’s going to react to the news I have for him.”

“What news?” Harry asked, re-entering the kitchen with Ginny, Hermione, and Ron in tow, the latter gaping wordlessly at his best friend and the Professor, the two girls grinning widely. Oddly enough, those smiles made Severus even more uncomfortable than the male Weasley’s expression.

Then Harry plopped down in a chair at his right side, opposite to Remus who was on his left. If possible, Severus felt ten times more uncomfortable when the teenager did so. No, he most definitely was *not* used to this.

Hell, he knew how much of a bastard he was. That was no secret. Fronts rarely *were* secret. But in the span of a day, no less than five people---and all Gryffindors at that---had been granted permission by him---*consciously*---to see the man he once was. That exterior had been a defense mechanism for so long, and he had not quite comprehended how raw and vulnerable he would feel when he dropped it. Even now, he was beginning to have second thoughts on the matter. But…there was Harry’s letter to consider…not to mention his own…

The other children had since returned to their places across the table and their expressions had yet to change. Severus was therefore very grateful when Remus cleared his throat, re-directing the quartet’s attention. “Harry?”

Harry looked at the werewolf, Severus suddenly reflected, with slight apprehension apparent on his youthful features. “Yes, Professor Lupin?”

“Remus, Harry.” He was silent a moment, then took a deep breath. “Harry…yesterday I received a letter from Gringotts…”

The young Gryffindor stiffened slightly. “What did it say?” breathed unevenly.

Severus cast a sidelong glance at him. The teenager did not seem to notice.

“Apparently, Sirius’s vault was split in half between yours and my own. Furthermore, in his will, he stated that Grimmauld Place was to be given to you should he happen to…pass away…”

Harry’s response was dramatic.

“*What*?!” the demand was sudden and the fifteen-year-old shot to his feet, successfully startling the entirety of the company gathered in the kitchen. “Sirius’s money?! His *house*?!?!” the teenager was shaking. No. No. No. No. NO! He didn’t want this! He didn’t want any of it!

A hand was place cautiously on his arm. “Potter?” Severus queried softly, frowning lightly at the minute tremors he felt running through the young man’s body.

“Harry, he only wanted to make sure you would be well taken care of if he wasn’t around to do it,” Remus advised him gently, even though the teenager had started shaking his head halfway through.

“No! I don’t want it!” exclaimed. “I don’t *want* it!”

“Harry!” Molly Weasley sharply rebuked. He jerked his head in her direction, eyes wide and pained. “That’s simply how it is! Sirius cared for you, why do you deny him that final wish?”

“I don’t need the money! I don’t *want* the money! *You* take it, and take the house! *Please*, Mrs. Weasley! I don’t want it!” Abruptly, he turned to face Severus (who still had his hand on the young Gryffindor’s arm), eyes wild. “Tell them I don’t want it!” And then, jerking out of his teacher’s hold, he all but fled the kitchen, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Not a soul in that kitchen moved for a long, endless minute.

Then a kettle boiling on the stove whistled shrilly…and broke the spell that had fallen.

Several things, then, happened at once. A thoroughly drained Remus Lupin dropped his face into his hands, trying unsuccessfully to hide tears that wanted to be shed. Albus looked far wearier than Severus had ever seen him, a sharp remorse on his face that he did not understand. Ronald Weasley jumped to his feet as Molly hurried to tend the kettle, and Arthur stared at a page of the “Daily Prophet” without really reading it. The two girls looked ready to follow the teenaged boy’s example.

No one was in any position to go find Harry, not the way they were acting.

So with a resigned sigh, and not so little uncertainty, Severus calmly stood to his feet. To the boy, he ordered neutrally, “Stay here, Mr. Weasley. I will find him.” Then he silently glided from the room, leaving a sputtering Ron in his wake.

(An Hour Later, Foyer of Grimmauld Place)

“Where *is* that dratted boy?” Severus growled to himself, but in truth, was fast growing more and more concerned. An hour of searching and he *still* had not found the young Gryffindor. For a heart which had so recently---so *very* recently---begun to open up, this situation did not do wonderful things for its owner. And for a heart just learning to love (whether unconsciously or not), nearly having a heart attack was a *completely* new experience---and rather frightening, when it came down to it.

He sighed and rubbed his face, coming to a momentary halt. “If I were a fifteen-year-old boy who was grieving and did not wish to be found, where would I hide?” he muttered, just as a breath of wind caused a few strands of hair to blow into his eyes.

Startled and trying not to show it, Severus turned swiftly to face the direction it had come from. His eyes landed on the partway open front door. Dismay shot through his veins, “Tell me he did not go out *there*!”

But by some instinct he thought long ago capped, the Potions Master knew with absolute certainty that it was so.

Sure enough, as he glided through the threshold, he came upon a softly shaking form on the top step, bathed with moonlight. There in the doorway he paused, trying to come to terms with the raging emotions within him. This was the child he has tormented for the past five years, and yet…and yet…

He spoke up quietly, “Mr. Potter, one would think you could find a more accommodating place to grieve.”

Harry, utterly startled, quickly whipped around to face him with a soft cry, nearly tumbling down the steps in his haste. At the last moment, he managed to catch himself. “P-Professor?” he half-stammered, half-choked. The irony of Snape being the one to come after him was not lost on the teenager. Nor was the picture presented to him any less strange: the Potions Master stood in the doorway to Grimmauld Place, casually bracing himself on the wooden support beams to either side. Light from within framed his dark figure and spilled around him, onto the top step. A strange intensity was clear in the man’s eyes as he watched him.

Moonlight reflected off tears which trickled down Harry’s cheeks, and Severus felt his heart give an odd twist at the look. He sighed softly. Who was he fooling? In no less than twenty-four hours, his entire opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived had changed---drastically. “Mind if I join you?” he inquired quietly.

Wordless, Harry merely shook his head, scooting over a bit to give the Professor room to sit.

Swiftly, before he could allow his nerves to change his mind, Severus exited the house and gracefully sat down beside his student, settling his robes around him. “You left in a bit of a hurry a while ago,” he remarked mildly. Around them, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft chirps of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the nearby orchard and gardens. Fireflies dodged hither and thither in the cooling night air.

Harry nodded and turned back to the darkness in front of them. Again, he said nothing.

Severus was fast losing his nerve, but if there was one thing the two had in common, (other than their wretched home life), it was that they were both exceedingly stubborn: “This is about Black,” stated bluntly, and not really a question.

The fifteen-year-old blinked rapidly, but nodded.

Silence fell between them, heavy and slightly awkward. It was soon broken, however, when Harry shivered---violently---in the chill wind. Something of which Severus quickly took note.

“Confounded boy,” he growled, “you’ll catch your death out here.” Brusquely, without giving the young Gryffindor time to react---or himself time to think about *exactly* what he was doing---, Severus took hold of his outer robe and, reaching out, wrapped both it---and his arm---around the teenager’s slight figure, drawing the boy tightly against his side.

At contact with the older man, Harry immediately stiffened in shock. Warily, he gazed up at his teacher, not sure what to think. The Head of Slytherin did not look at him, rather, kept his gaze firmly locked on something well ahead of them. He did, however, speak, “You need to be warm, Potter. The last thing the wizarding world needs is for its savior to die of pneumonia.”

The teenager nodded against the older wizard and slowly allowed himself to relax. Oddly enough, as soon as his initial shock was over, Harry found himself almost…savoring this contact with his teacher. He had never really been held before, not by Sirius and not by Remus, nor his friends or Molly Weasley. Hugged, yes, but never held. It was an entirely new sensation for him and…he liked it. He *needed* it.

And as soon as he began to relax, then the tears came again. Hot tears. Tears of grief and guilt and pain. Turning, not caring that this was once his least likable teacher, Harry hid his face against the Potions Master’s side…and began to weep.

Astonished, Severus quickly glanced down at the slight figure when he felt the teenager lean into him. Small shoulders shook with silent sobs; shoulders which, he could now admit, had borne the weight of the world far too many times. “Potter…” he breathed in shock, but did not draw away. For a few minutes the only sounds to be heard on the doorstep were Severus’s quiet breathing and the soft crying of his student. During that time, the Potions Master tried to deal with the emotions Harry’s unprecedented reaction elicited. At last he managed to ask, voice uncharacteristically gentle, “Have you grieved, yet?”

Trembling, the young Gryffindor slowly shook his head back and forth, beginning to sob in earnest.

To say Severus was dumbfounded would be an understatement. That Harry trust him with *this*, with his *emotions*, with his *weakness*…For as long as he could remember, Harry had been strong, to the point of folly, even; yet, here he was, crying like a lost child.

//I know you hated Sirius, Severus, but Harry *loved* him...//

Lupin’s words from earlier this evening came rushing back to him. And feeling the tremors which wracked the smaller form curled against him, he supposed that Harry must have loved Black a great *deal*---for him to be in such an emotional wreck.

Almost unconsciously, the Head of Slytherin tightened his arm around the teenager. He had never liked Black, nor did Black hold any love for *him*, but…the man was gone now. Times had changed. Over the past two weeks in-between Potions’ brewing and paperwork, not to mention his…ahem…nightly job for the Order, he had done plenty of thinking on their rivalry, and had made it clear that while he no longer hated Black---or James Potter, for that matter---, he could not completely forgive them either. He could *forget* their treatment, but forgiveness…was another matter entirely.

He only hoped he could do better by Harry.

Softly, he began to hum, slowly rocking them where they sat on the top step. A lullaby, really, that Lily had taught him all those years ago:

“Dream by night,

Wish by day,

Love begins this way.

“Night’s a friend,

With love to send,

Each new day.

“Bless your heart,

Bless your soul,

Let your dreams come true.

“Future songs and flying dreams,

Wait for you.

“Love it seems,

Made flying dreams,

So hearts could soar.

“Heaven sent,

These wings were meant,

To prove once more,

That love is the key.

“As you wish,

As you will,

Dream of flying stars.

“Love and care,

The power’s there;

Trust your heart.

“Trust…your heart.”

The last note rang clearly in the air before all fell silent. Soon enough, the usual night sounds took hold again. Harry, for his part, had long ago lapsed into silence, listening in awe as his Professor sang. After a moment, when it became evident that the man would not speak first, the young Gryffindor did, voice quiet and still shaky, “Y-You have a beautiful voice, s-sir.”

Severus, upon hearing that, gave a barely perceptible start and quickly glanced at his student, searching the emerald orbs that so steadily gazed up at him for any signs of deceit. There were none.

His cheeks suddenly felt rather warm.

The slight blush on the Potions Master’s face did not go unnoticed by Harry. And he grinned---if only a little.

Severus did not notice. Clearing his throat, he glanced away momentarily.

By this time, a full-blown grin had worked its way across the fifteen-year-old’s face.

Upon looking back down at his student, Severus was surprisingly relieved to see a wide smile on the teenager’s face. And he knew quite well why. Which, in turn, was precisely the reason his response was so stunning---for both him *and* Harry. He smirked back and retorted, “Yes, Potter, I *am* human.”

And earned a shocked, whole-hearted laugh from the young man, albeit something of a wet one. The teenager sat up, for which Severus was exceedingly grateful. He felt entirely too undone, completely unsure of himself. /Merlin, what is *happening* to me?/ he thought, uneasily straightening his robes.

Before the silence that had fallen between them could become too uncomfortable, the Potions Master gracefully stood to his feet and offered the soon-to-be-sixth-year a hand up. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up, Mr. Potter,” Severus murmured, brusquely brushing away the last remnants of the Gryffindor’s tears. “And I daresay you have some mildly upset friends waiting for you.”

Not giving the teenager much of a chance to feel guilty about *that*, the Head of Slytherin swiftly ushered him back into the warmth of Grimmauld Place. They made their way towards the kitchen in a---surprisingly---companionable silence. As they neared the kitchen, however, instead of going straight in as Harry expected, his Potions Professor gently tugged him into a nearby washroom. Startled, the teenager inquired quietly, “Sir?”

“We need to do something about those,” he explained, indicating the dried tear tracks on Harry’s face after running the faucet.

The teenager touched his cheek self-consciously, blushing slightly. “Oh,” mumbled.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “‘Oh,’ indeed,” he remarked softly, conjuring a washcloth and wetting it under the lukewarm water. “Unless, of course, you wish your Potions Master to be sent to Azkaban.” He, in yet another unprecedented action, turned, knelt, and began to lightly scrub away the tear traces on his student’s cheeks, determinedly avoiding the fifteen-year-old’s incredulous gaze. At one point, the Head of Slytherin rubbed a bit harder than he had meant to and Harry flinched. Noticing this, the Potions Master immediately stopped, and frowning, inquired, “Potter?” His frown deepened when he noticed the bruise on his student’s face.

Quickly, the teenager looked away, “It’s nothing, Professor.”

Severus did not buy it. “Potter.” His tone held a note of warning. The young man steadfastly refused to look at him. “Potter!” It hardened. He crooked his finger under the young Gryffindor’s chin and firmly tipped the fifteen-year-old’s face up. He started slightly when the young man flinched again. Hard. “Potter,” his voice had softened. He cursed under his breath when he took a good look at the dark, spreading bruise across the younger wizard’s cheekbone. “…Damn it, what did those Muggles *do* to you?!”

Startled by the Professor’s tone of voice, Harry met the man’s blazing obsidian eyes. “Really, sir, it’s nothing,” he insisted, hoping his teacher would let it go.

No such luck. “Like hell it is!” the older wizard snarled. “Do not give me that ridiculous nonsense, Potter.” Severus’s eyes turned fiery. “In spite of your spectacular habit of ending up wherever trouble happens to be, even *you* could not be fool enough to injure yourself so near your eyes!” Abruptly, the fire subsided, “You know you cannot lie to me,” quietly stated, “and I have no wish to use Legilimency on you, but I will if I must.”

That made Harry angry. “Why do you care?! Why do you *bloody* care?!” demanded. Now that his anger was fueled, he could not stop. “Fine. You want to know what the bruise is from? My uncle! They’ve given me the minimum care possible, minimum food, shelter, everything! Because freaks like me don’t *deserve* those things, all right?! Satisfied now?! Your most hated student lives a life of misery! Bet you’re--”

But whatever Severus *was*, he did not hear. After staring in horror at the boy a moment, he became aware of the pulsating energy around him. Its center? Harry.

The mirror in the washroom began rattling ominously and he suddenly remembered the mess the Headmaster’s office had been two weeks ago. Before Harry’s anger could wreak similar damage here, Severus reached out…and abruptly clasped his student’s head to his chest, fingers interlocked.

He half expected to be flung across the room. To his---and not to mention Harry’s---utter surprise, he was not. Rather, the Potions Master’s nearness calmed the young Gryffindor considerably. The teenager completely relaxed, and his anger fled.

Which begged the question why he could be calmed by the Potions Master where even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny failed.

After a moment, once Severus was sure the young man had subsided, he hastily released him. The Head of Slytherin was uncertain as to what prompted him to take such an action, but he *was* certain that whatever it was, it had changed the dynamic of their relationship indefinitely.

There was a long moment of silence wherein neither was able to utter a word. But Severus, still unnerved by what Harry had told him, at last managed, “Does Albus know?”

Harry, his anger gone, now simply shook his head wearily. “And it’s not like this anything new,” the younger wizard sighed.

Severus straightened slightly at that. “How do you mean?”

“My relatives have been doing it since I was old enough to walk,” the Gryffindor answered matter-of-factly.

The Potions Master was *not* happy to hear that. Checking his own anger, he prompted cautiously, “And why did you uncle hit you…?” He bit his tongue to keep from saying “this time.”

Harry shrugged slightly. “I was clumsy.” The teenager suddenly looked incredibly tired and vulnerable.

“He hit you because you were *clumsy*?!” his Potions Master repeated, disgust clear on his features.

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s right. My cousin---Dudley---tripped me. I couldn’t catch myself in enough time, and the tea kettle I was carrying shattered when I fell.”

Concern lit the Head of Slytherin’s face. “Were you burnt or cut?”

Harry said nothing, but dropped his eyes to the floor. Severus had his answer.

“Show me,” he demanded. Merlin, was this child *suicidal*? If either the cuts or the burn had gone untreated…

The young Gryffindor sighed and pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head. Around his lower torso was wrapped a makeshift bandage (a strip of his Aunt Petunia’s old, unused sheets).

Severus glanced up at him, mildly impressed. “You wrapped this yourself?” he gently prodded at it as Harry nodded. “Well done, Mr. Potter,” he approved softly.

Startled and pleased, Harry smiled shyly at his teacher and was favored with a slight upwards turning of the dark man’s lips.

“May I?” he inquired, indicating the bandage.

Harry nodded slowly, trying hard to rein in his nervousness.

Severus nodded back, somewhat surprised that his student had agreed. Carefully, he unwound the linen from around the teenager, grimacing in sympathy when he saw the burns. Tenderly, he fingered the inflamed skin. Feeling the fifteen-year-old flinch, Severus lightened his touch. “Muggle medicine,” he remarked.

Even though it was not a question, Harry nodded anyway. “Yeah, my aunt more or less threw it at me.”

Severus sighed and shook his head. “As I am reasonably sure you are not accustomed to receiving praise, is there anything else you wish to tell me about your oh so wonderful home life? As I am also quite sure your friends know nothing about this particular…complication.” He was treading dangerous ground here, he knew that, but he was quite firmly of the opinion that it would help more than hurt the young man to get it out. He murmured an accio spell, calling two lotions to him from the Order’s stores here at Grimmauld Place, smirking slightly at his student’s startled gaze. “Well?” prompted with uncommon gentleness. He *could* be a patient man when he wanted to be…

Harry said nothing for several minutes, silently watching as the older wizard as he went about retreating the burns. He shook his head slightly in bewilderment. What *had* gotten into his teacher? He actually felt brave enough to ask it aloud.

The Head of Slytherin’s smirk widened. “It would seem a certain snowy owl happened along with a much needed apology,” he answered lightly, easily going with the evasion. Becoming serious, he sighed and continued, “As I told you in my letter, Mr. Potter, you are not your father, and you need not apologize for his mistakes. Nor your godfather’s.”

“I can’t believe they did that to you,” Harry advised him, shaking his head angrily. “I can understand now why you hate me.”

“Not anymore, Mr. Potter,” Severus responded, smoothing the healing ointment over the burns. “It was cruel of me to do so in the first place.”

The fifteen-year-old’s response was immediate: “You *aren’t* cruel!”

Abruptly, the Potions Master stopped spreading the ointment and raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor’s outburst.

Harry flushed, but continued doggedly, “I mean, yes, you can act like a real bastard sometimes, but I’m guessing at least *some* of that is because you *have* to.” He sighed. “And really, sir, in some ways you treated me better than they ever did. My relatives, I mean.”

Severus stared at the young man a minute, before shaking his head in self-reproof and muttering, “How so? I seem to recall several incidents where I acted little better.” He started administering the ointment again.

Harry sighed in relief as the cool ointment started working. He hazarded a tiny smile at the man kneeling in front of him, feeling the magic invested in the ointment pulsing through his body. “This, for one,” he replied softly. “You put a lot of power into this ointment, didn’t you?” At Severus’s rather startled nod, he inclined his head. Then grimaced. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the burn cream my aunt gave me was outdated.” The Professor moved to spread the second ointment over the bruise, touch feather-light. “You have never hit me, either, although I’m sure there were times you *wanted* to…” This elicited an amused snort from the man. There was silence between them for a few minutes as Severus finished up. “But honestly, sir, ‘cruel’ is not exactly a word I would use to describe you.”

Severus sat back on his heels and gave the boy a rather bemused look. “How, then, would you describe me, Mr. Potter? Now, anyway?” the Head of Slytherin asked, truly curious. Most children, his own Slytherins included, classified him as rigid, dark, and somewhat frightening. Gryffindors generally called him a “greasy git” and “bastard,” and really, he could not fault them. But this young man…he could not help but wonder what *Harry* thought of him. What little he knew, anyway.

The smile of the Boy-Who-Lived softened. “Why don’t you use Legilimency on me to find out?”

The Potions Master gave a small start. “Potter, are you…?”

The soon-to-be-sixth-year met his gaze solidly. “I’m positive, Professor.”

A beat of silence, then Severus slowly began to shake his head. “I cannot do that.” /Not now, after what I have learned of your home life,/ he thought, but did not say.

Harry grinned a bit. “Professor, it’s really all right.”

The man sighed and shot his student a slightly amused look. “I do believe this is the first time anyone has actually *asked* me to use Legilimency on them. However, if you insist, Mr. Potter…”

The young Gryffindor grinned a little more, feeling comfortable enough in the older wizard’s presence to banter somewhat, “Which I do…”

Severus shook his head again before placing his hands lightly on the teenager’s shoulders and locking their gazes. “Legilimens,” he incanted softly.

As Harry felt the man’s spell take hold, his memories began to swirl into focus, running through earlier today before finally falling on his and the Professor’s discussion on the front steps. Without consciously knowing how he did it, the fifteen-year-old stopped his teacher at the point wherein the man had just reentered the house:

//His teacher’s back is to him, tall frame slightly ahead and scarcely into the threshold. Light once again haloes the Professor, spilling out behind him. It is indeed an odd sight, but also strangely right. And in that moment, two words come to mind, /*Guardian Angel*./ He nods slightly to himself, satisfied. It fits.//

Brief though the memory was, the Potions Master gently broke off the spell. Once again sitting back on his heels, Severus regarded the young man in unconcealed shock. He shook his head several times, jaw slightly slack and unable to form any words. This young man thought of him as a…guardian angel? Where along the line had he picked *that* title up? Guardian, perhaps, but *angel*?

A quiet laugh drew his attention back to the teenager. Harry’s emerald eyes danced with amusement as he remarked, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, sir.”

That broke the spell that had fallen. Severus scowled mildly at his student, rocking to his feet and standing. Harry was still watching him, eyes bright with mirth. Unable to keep scowling in the noticeably lightened atmosphere, the Potions Master sighed, shaking his head, and banished the two ointments back to the storeroom. “You are all set, Mr. Potter. Those burns should be gone by tomorrow,” he advised the teenager. Producing his wand (up until this point having used wandless magic), the Professor conjured a roll of fresh linen bandages and carefully wrapped it around Harry’s torso, banishing the old one.

The soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old grinned as he pulled his shirt back over his head. “Thank you, sir.”

Severus took one look at his student’s grin…and shook his head again, returning the wand to its place in his robes. “You are a strange child, Mr. Potter,” the older wizard remarked as the two headed back out.

If possible, the young man only grinned harder. “I know.” Then his mind fully registered what his teacher had said, making him pull up short, “Hey, wait a minute! Did you just call me a child?!”

The *very* uncommon sound of the Head of Slytherin laughing was all the answer Harry received as the older man exited the bathroom ahead of him. The laugh was rich, baritone, and in spite of everything, as the young Gryffindor followed, he found himself smiling.

Picking his pace up a bit, he hurried to catch up with the Potions Master. Once he reached his Professor’s side, Harry slowed to his regular walk and was pleased to note that the older wizard had slowed his own stride to match Harry’s.

Just before they reached the threshold to the kitchen, Harry looked up at Professor Snape and advised him quietly, “You know, you should do that more often.”

Severus raised an inquiring eyebrow. “And what would that be, Mr. Potter?”

The teenager smiled softly. “Laugh, sir.” And then dodged ahead into the kitchen before his teacher could respond.

Not that he would be able to.

He shook his head slightly. What *was* it about this one child…er…young man that had managed to render him speechless---twice, now?

Deciding not to dwell on it---at least for the moment, anyway---Severus shook it off and followed his student into the kitchen.

He was just in time to see the other three Gryffindors practically pounce on Harry, demanding at once to know if he was all right. And Harry? He just laughed and assured them that yes, he was *indeed* perfectly fine.

Looking over their heads and smiling gratefully at the Potions Professor as he did so.

Severus, who had been in the process of making his way back to his abandoned chair by Lu…er…Remus, paused momentarily as he caught sight of it. Of its own accord, blush tinged his pale cheeks. But he nodded to his student in acknowledgement of the gratitude and quickly sat down.

Albus, having watched the entire episode from the moment Harry had reentered the room, now turned to Severus and laid an inquiring gaze on his Potions Master; that ruddy twinkle had returned to his blue eyes.

In response, Severus could only blush harder.

Chuckling silently to himself, the Headmaster relented and turned back to his observance of the four students. He, however, did not miss Remus leaning over and whispering to the other man, enemy turned ally, “I don’t know what you did, Severus, but thank you.”

In response, Severus merely nodded.

(Several Hours Later, Living Room)

Dinner had come and gone, and the Order of the Phoenix meeting had just adjourned. Severus found himself sitting in an armchair and gazing contemplatively into the living room’s fireplace where the flames danced and wove on the hearth.

He had managed not to think about it---*too* much---during dinner. And was even successful in ignoring it during the Order meeting---*mostly*. But now, Harry’s words and memory came back to haunt him with a vengeance.

Nymphadora Tonks and Remus, along with the Headmaster, had elected to remain for a cup of tea after the Order meeting, along with Bill, Charlie, and the Weasley twins. Harry and his three friends were in the kitchen now with them, having some cinnamon biscuits and hot cocoa courtesy of Molly Weasley.

Severus had elected to sit alone by the fire in the living room, although a steaming cup of orange-flavored tea and a biscuit sat beside him. Molly had insisted, as he had not eaten terribly much for dinner, in spite of the fact that Albus---he was fairly sure---kept piling more on his plate. And who was he to go against the Weasley matriarch?

Then again, the Potions Master reflected, he was not one to eat much, anyway. Something that concerned Albus to no end. The Headmaster seemed to think he was (and had been for years) intentionally starving himself, and claimed that he was far too thin. Severus knew he was correct---not that he would tell the older man.

The Head of Slytherin huffed softly.

Now it appeared Harry had noticed it, having caught the teenager several times during dinner intently watching the interaction between him and Albus. Then, when Molly had insisted he bring some tea and a few biscuits with him as he left the kitchen, Severus had felt Harry’s eyes on his back. And he had the uncanny feeling that it would not be the last time, either; soon enough becoming more than simply watching.

Severus sighed, and vigorously rubbed his temples. From the moment he had looked into Lily’s eyes when Harry had first stepped into Hogwarts, he had known the child of his beloved cousin and school time tormentor would have a very important role to play in his life. Which was actually one of the reasons he had treated Harry as he did---wanting nothing to do with the son of James Potter, but forgetting that he was part Lily, too. He had *never* thought he would be labeled a “guardian angel,” though. Least of all by that particular child.

As it was, he *still* could not wrap his mind around that little fact.

“Severus, my boy, what troubles you?” Albus’s soft voice cut through the Head of Slytherin’s thoughts, bringing the man back to full awareness rather abruptly. He tensed, snapping his eyes up to the twinkling blue ones six inches from his own.

The Headmaster chuckled, blithely ignoring the furious glare his former student shot his way. The venerable wizard had seated himself quite comfortably in a conjured rocking chair, back to the fire and facing the younger man in front of him. “It is not often I have been able to catch you unawares,” he remarked warmly. “Not even when you were a student yourself.”

The Potions Master sighed and dropped his glare, knowing that the other wizard was practically immune to it. “I could never be too cautious, Albus. You know how my family was, you know what other people thought of me,” Severus replied, bitterness tingeing his voice. Indeed, it had been precisely *because* of that treatment that he had been driven into Voldemort’s fold in the first place.

The Headmaster sat forward slightly and patted him gently on the knee, as if he still was that student. Sorrow darkened his normally twinkling blue eyes, “I know, Severus,” murmured simply. He left it at that.

The Potions Master leaned back in the armchair, eyes shut tight and face pained, giving a short nod. There was silence a few minutes, wherein Severus fought off past demons. Albus *allowed* him that time. Merlin knew the younger man had suffered enough. That was why he found himself very much intrigued as to what had transpired between Harry and Severus from the time the Potions Master had left the kitchen in search of the teenager, to when Harry himself had reentered the kitchen.

He did not have to wait long. A deep breath and the Head of Slytherin shook off those demons, knowing he would have to face them in nightmares later, but wanting the present cleared up for now. “Albus, what is planned for Potter this coming year? I do not believe that it was discussed during tonight’s Order meeting,” he murmured.

The Headmaster smiled slightly, the twinkle back in his eyes. Severus, whose own were once again fastened on the fire over his shoulder, did not notice. “I had assumed I could perhaps ask Remus to teach him Advanced Dueling and Advanced Defense. He *will* need to know it should he find himself in a situation that requires it…” He trailed off, seemingly in thought, knowing well what kind of reaction *that* would elicit.

The Potions Master scowled. “Albus! No offense to Re-Lupin,” he quickly corrected himself at the older wizard’s widening smile, “but he is hardly the right person to teach Potter. His condition leaves him far too weakened after a full moon to engage in dueling!”

The Headmaster’s eyes started twinkling madly. “Are you volunteering, then, Severus? How delightful!”

Too late, Severus realized the trap he had fallen into. He could fool Vol---the Dark Lord, but the spy could not fool Albus Dumbledore. He glared hard at his mentor a moment, before sighing and letting it drop. “Very well, Albus.”

Stunned, the venerable wizard blinked, not saying anything. He had not thought the younger man would agree *quite* so easily.

The Potions Master smiled faintly at the Headmaster’s inability to speak. “You thought I would put up a fight, did you not?” he responded softly. At Albus’s nod, he turned back to contemplating the fire. “So did I,” Severus spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Harry defended you at the Order meeting tonight,” Albus gently prompted.

Severus said nothing, merely nodded as his eyes went unfocused and he recalled the meeting…

(Flashback)

A fist slammed down on the table, causing not just a few to jump. “Damn it, Moody, why can’t you understand?!” Hogwarts’s Potions Master snarled. “All Slytherins are *not* evil, and all of them are *not* Death Eaters! Given the choice, some of my students would sooner *die* than take the Dark Mark!”

The old Auror glared. “But *you* didn’t,” he hissed.

Severus’s eyes flashed. “Because I was a bloody *coward*!” the Head of Slytherin spat. “I am aware of it, Moody. You think I am not? But this isn’t *about* me, it is about my Slytherins!”

Old Moody’s tone was hard. “I still say the entire House is corrupt. Their Head is a Death Eater, and they themselves will *become* Death Eaters. The whole lot should be scanned!”

The Potions Master’s and Auror’s gazes were locked and blazing; both looked ready to explode at a moment’s notice. Indeed, they had been butting heads the entire *meeting*. Around them, other members were murmuring in agreement---mostly with Moody.

With a weary sigh, Albus Dumbledore began to stand to his feet, seeking to end the argument before it became any worse…when a quiet voice cut through the din. “Professor Snape isn’t a Death Eater,” Harry Potter stated, steel underlying his voice as he stood to his feet, magic crackling through the air, consequently drawing all attention to him. He looked Moody squarely in the eye. “And he is correct, not all Slytherins are Death Eaters.”

Moody looked appalled. “Potter, it is on his record at the Ministry!”

The younger wizard’s emerald eyes were fiery. “And I suppose every single other Slytherin throughout history is as well?” he remarked acidly. “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot believe that all Slytherins are Death Eaters, or evil, for that matter. I seem to remember finding out that my parents were betrayed by Peter Pettigrew. A Gryffindor. Furthermore, my club---the DA---was betrayed by a Ravenclaw. And who’s to say that a Hufflepuff isn’t on Voldemort’s side as well?” Many flinched at the Dark Lord’s name, but Harry did not bat an eye. “The point *is*, sir, that you cannot assume all Slytherins are automatically evil.” No one said a word. Harry did not notice; he barreled ahead, “And don’t accuse Professor Snape of being a Death Eater. He hasn’t *been* one in over a decade.”

Then Harry sat back down in his chair, incidentally beside the Potions Master, a vaguely disgusted expression on his face. The Boy-Who-Lived did not notice the measuring glances being shot at him by the Headmaster and many others in the Order, nor did he notice the absolutely astounded expressions on his friends’ faces or the Head of Slytherin’s.

Then Severus seemed to regain a foothold on himself, quickly pulling down his impassive mask. He did, however, rest his hand lightly on the young Gryffindor’s forearm, and gave it a small squeeze.

Harry relaxed imperceptibly at the man’s touch, the last remnants of the magic in the air dissipating. Then Severus quickly withdrew his hand, lest anyone see. But he did not escape the grateful gaze of his student, or the watchful one of the Headmaster.

(End Flashback)

“You were able to calm him, too,” Albus pointed out quietly, drawing Severus’s attention back to the present. “Not even Ms. Weasley has been able to do that.”

“I cannot say how, Headmaster,” the Potions Professor sighed. “I do not even understand why myself. My best guess is that he…well…he…”

“Trusts you,” Albus completed softly.

Severus turned away…and nodded, tired eyes on the flames. “I do not understand, Albus,” he muttered. “Not at all. For the last five years I have been nothing but horrible to him. Yet, he still trusts me. Perhaps on some level he always *has*…*No one* trusts the spy, Albus.” He cut the older wizard off before he could protest. “And do not say you do. At first, you did not trust me, either.”

The Headmaster gave a soft sigh, but nodded. It was true, after all, and not something he was proud of. “There is more, though,” he remarked.

Startled, Severus turned back to his mentor. “Well, I…he…” For the first time in a while, the Head of Slytherin could not string together an eloquent response. At last, he sighed again and stated bluntly, “He called me a guardian angel, Albus.”

The Headmaster said nothing for a moment, taking in this information, then his eyes started twinkling madly. Again. “Did he now?” He sounded very pleased.

Severus scowled at the older man. “*Yes*, he *did*.”

Albus chuckled, gently patting the other wizard’s arm. His friend’s scowl deepened. The Headmaster paid it no heed, allowing his laughter to subside. He *did*, however, grace the Potions Master with a warm smile. “Well, Severus, I cannot say I am surprised. In spite of your claim of hating the boy, you have never let any harm come to him if you could at all prevent it. Something, I must say, which I am very grateful for.”

“Albus!” he protested. “I am no angel!”

That infuriating twinkle simply would *not* leave the venerable Headmaster’s eyes. “Harry seems to think so.”

“*Yes*, and it is *precisely* that foolish Gryffindor trust that will get him killed,” Severus growled.

“Or save him,” Albus pointed out quietly.

“He *has* to be more cautious, Albus!” the Potions Master exclaimed.

The Headmaster merely smiled serenely. “Indeed, and I can think of no one better to teach him how to be cautious than you.”

Severus gave up with a soft huff. “Albus, you do not need to ask me to teach him something like that. I have been *trying* to teach him that for the past five years.”

Albus smiled. “And I am sure you have been doing a fine job of it.”

The Potions Master rolled his eyes, but said nothing further on the matter. “I still do not see how he can consider me a guardian angel,” the thirty-five-year-old man mumbled after a while, eyes once again on the fire.

“Ah, now *there* is something I cannot explain,” the Headmaster remarked pleasantly. “I am afraid Harry has to be the one to tell you that.”

Severus snorted. “Why am I *not* surprised you said that?”

Albus merely smiled some more. “Ah, but you have known me for a great many years, my friend. You know I always have a purpose for saying something.”

The Potions Professor’s only response was another, rather more derisive, snort. However, before he could come up with a retort, the two men heard movement in the kitchen.

“…Now off to bed with you. Shoo, shoo, shoo!” Molly Weasley’s voice wafted out of the threshold connecting kitchen and living room.

The two men exchanged grins, Severus’s rather more faint than the older wizard’s, as they heard the Weasley matriarch’s commanding tone.

“But, Mum---!” came the two youngest Weasleys’ chimed response.

“No ‘buts!’ Off you go!” she scolded.

Faint grumblings reached the two wizards’ ears, but four teenagers nonetheless emerged from the kitchen some moments later. Ron was still muttering, “…Honestly, she treats us like two-year-olds. Gin I can understand, but I’m almost *sixteen*!”

Ginny did not look happy with her brother. “Me?! For your information, Ronald Weasley, I’m almost *fifteen*!”

The two siblings passed through the living room, still bickering, while Hermione followed them, wearing an amused expression. None of the three noticed the two adults sitting near the fire. Harry, however, pulled up short, slowing his walk until he at last paused, seemingly aware that the two had been talking about him. He glanced at Severus, expression inscrutable.

Severus, whose eyes had rested on Harry since the boy had entered the room, nodded slightly. He surprised himself by speaking gently to his student, “Go ahead, Mr. Potter. I shall be up in a moment. There are a few things I wish to discuss with you.”

Harry nodded a bit, uncertain. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated still, though, looking as if he might say more.

The Head of Slytherin raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Potter?”

The Boy-Who-Lived shook his head and murmured, “I’ll tell you when you come up, sir. Professor Dumbledore.” He nodded gravely to the venerable Headmaster before hurrying after his friends.

“Good night, Harry,” the older wizard bid quietly, wide smile on his face as he observed Severus’s eyes watching the fifteen-year-old’s retreat.

When the Potions Master turned back to his mentor and took note of the other’s smile, he scowled. “Oh, be quiet, Albus,” he growled, but blushed slightly. After all, it was not *his* fault that Harry had changed his entire perception of him in less than a day.

Albus chuckled and patted the younger Professor’s knee once again. “Certainly, Severus. Certainly!”

Still scowling at the Headmaster, the Head of Slytherin gracefully rose to his feet, biscuit and tea forgotten, and glided out of the living room in the direction of the stairwell.

Once the younger wizard left the room, Albus leaned back in his rocking chair with a content sigh, blue eyes twinkling furiously as he gazed in the direction Severus had gone. He doubted he would ever get the full story out of either one of them, but what he *did* know was that Harry would be good for his boy. Oh, my, *yes* he would be good!

(Boys’ Room at Grimmauld Place)

Harry fell back on his bed with a wistful sigh, folding his arms behind his head and gazing up at the canopied ceiling of his bed. It was wonderful being away from the Dursleys and with people who actually *cared* about him, but being in Sirius’s house, when Sirius himself was…was…dead…

Tears stung at the back of his eyes and he quickly rolled over, digging his face into the pillow as the heat built up. He was grateful Ron took his time in the shower, and he knew he had yet to finish grieving, but Merlin, would it *ever* end?

He released a shuddering breath as the heat spilled over onto his cheeks, then he released another. He tried to bring it under control…His pillow was becoming damp…Another shuddering breath…But Snape was coming up…

Harry did not hear the man’s near-silent footsteps as he came up the hall. Nor did the teenager hear those footsteps pause in the threshold of the room or the Potions Master give a soft sigh. The Boy-Who-Lived was completely unaware when the older wizard started walking again, quietly shutting the door, this time gliding across the floor to his bed.

He *did*, however, notice when the bed dipped gently under his Professor’s weight and a slim hand came down to settle lightly on his back. “Give it time, Potter,” murmured with the same gentleness as he had shown earlier tonight. “It will get better.”

Harry nodded mutely into the pillow, struggling to bring his erratic emotions under control once again.

The Potions Master began to gently rub his back, hesitating for a brief moment before starting to quietly hum the tune to the lullaby he had previously sung on the front steps. As with earlier tonight, the song seemed to do wonders calming Harry.

Once the teenager felt he had himself reasonably under control, he rolled onto his side so that he was facing his teacher. “Did my mum teach you that?” he whispered. The tears had subsided to a slow trickle.

Severus smiled lightly. “She did indeed. And I do believe she used to sing it to you.”

Harry sniffed slightly before clearing his throat and shyly averting his eyes, “Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers creeping out to lightly touch the back of the man’s hand where it rested on the bed.

At that hesitant touch, Severus stiffened a bit, not expecting such an action on his student’s part. But when Harry did not pull his hand away, the Potions Master forced himself to relax. He shook his head, “Do not mention it, Potter.”

But the teenager shook his head, too, stubbornly persisting, “Not just for that, sir. For earlier tonight, and for the letter.” A small, sardonic smile tugged at his lips. “Actually,” he muttered, bashful, “I should probably be thanking you for First Year, too, when you saved me from Quirrel; for Second Year; for Third Year, when you stepped between Remus’s wolf-form and us; for Fourth Year; and for Fifth Year, when you sabotaged Umbridge and attempted to teach me Occulmency, while I’m at it…”

Throughout his speech, Harry had nervously been toying with the Potions Professor’s hand. Now, however, the very much stunned man gently entrapped the boy’s fingers, causing his student to stop his tirade and glance up in faint surprise. Severus struggled to find an appropriate response, not at *all* used to such speeches. Finally, he managed to speak: “Thanks go to you, too, Mr. Potter.”

Harry shot him a confused look. “Why, sir?”

Now it was Severus’s turn to be nervous. Dropping his eyes to the smaller hand he held in his own, he explained quietly, “Because you defended me at the meeting. No one else did so.” He gave a humorless smile. “Few have ever taken my side in an argument. You had many people talking tonight, Potter.”

“Terrific,” the young man retorted dryly. He sighed and continued, “But truthfully, Professor, I would rather they talk about that than about my Quidditch skills or who will be my girlfriend *this* year.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at the young Gryffindor, nerves easing somewhat now that he had gotten *that* thanks out of the way. “Indeed? You would rather they speculate about the nature of your relationship with the slimy Head of Slytherin?” the Potions Master asked dubiously.

That earned a laugh from Harry. “Professor!”

“What?” the man looked honestly confused.

The young Gryffindor kept laughing softly, shaking his head. “Never mind, sir.”

The older wizard’s other eyebrow rose and he looked at his student oddly. “At any rate, Mr. Potter,” the Professor remarked, “I am actually here on a matter of some importance.”

Harry sighed. “Let me guess, Dumbledore wants me to receive extra training.”

Severus started slightly before replying, “Well…yes. And it is *Professor* Dumbledore, Mr. Potter.” The teenager gave a small smile at the correction. The man phrased his next statement carefully. “I take it, then, you know of the Prophecy…”

Harry glared stonily at a point somewhere off in the distance, voice bitter as he recited, word for word, “//The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…//” (1)

“You know the entire *Prophecy*?” the Potions Master demanded sharply.

“Of course, it’s only *my* *life* that’s in question,” the teenager retorted acerbically.

Severus winced at the tone. /Damn it all, Albus!/ he thought, angrily shaking his head. /Your love clouded your judgment. One of these days it may just be your undoing!/ He glared at Harry. “You *do* realize, Potter, that Vol---the Dark Lord only knows half the Prophecy? And you *do* realize that I could easily take the second half of it and give it to him, therefore rendering you vulnerable?”

Harry turned back to him and smiled grimly. “I think we both know you won’t, Professor.”

Severus pulled away, slightly taken aback by the certainty with which the young man had made his statement. Then he sighed, and gently hauled the fifteen-year-old upright. Leaning down slightly, arms now crossed over his chest, the older wizard met the teenager’s emerald eyes, gaze serious, “Mr. Potter, I fail to understand how it is you can trust me. Not even many of my *colleagues* are certain I am not about to betray them to the Dark Lord…”

Harry sighed. “I don’t think I can answer you readily, sir, except with ‘I just do.’ Believe me, last year I would *never* have admitted to it, but in some way, I guess I always have. You’ve constantly protected me, after all, even though you…er…don’t like me very much.”

Severus blinked. That was all? That was *truly* all it had taken for his student to trust him?

He shook his head slightly in bewilderment. Albus had not trusted him until he had warned the Potters of Volde---the Dark Lord’s intentions. Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, probably the only other two (aside from Albus and, apparently, Potter) who *genuinely* trusted him, had only done so when he arrived in the Hospital Wing near death one night---incidentally just after the Potters went under the Fidelius Charm. Voldem---the *Dark* *Lord* had not been pleased, to say the least…

/And I think Potter’s starting to rub off on me. Blasted boy…/ he thought, but really (and much to his horror), the ice around his heart was starting to melt. Not that he would tell Potter that.

“Are the extra lessons with you, sir?” Harry’s voice cut into his thoughts, weary and almost…*hopeful*?

Severus slowly turned back to him, gaze thoughtful. “Yes, Mr. Potter, they are,” the Potions Master answered softly.

Harry closed his eyes in silent gratitude.

The older wizard had continued to watch him. “I must confess, I am rather surprised you still wish to learn from me after the way I treated you in Occulmency last year.”

“Perceptions change, Professor,” Harry responded softly. “This you know.”

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed, I do. But what changed yours? Was it the letter I wrote?”

A tiny smile touched the teenager’s lips. “Somewhat,” he admitted truthfully. “But honestly, what really changed my mind was earlier tonight. No one will talk to me about…Sirius’s death…Well, the girls and Ron will…but…they…they won’t let me…just…grieve. Mrs. Weasley…smothers me, and Remus…he’s still grieving. And it’s just…more comfortable with you somehow…” He shook his head. “Does that even make sense?”

Severus did not wish to say so, but it *did* make sense---in a way. Although his Slytherins knew they could come to him with *anything*, and although he offered them comfort should they need it, to the rest of the school (colleagues included) he seemed rather aloof and cold, acting like a downright bastard sometimes. With Albus, and now Harry, he behaved rather more differently than what most termed “normal” for him. As such, the teenager had been granted a rare glimpse of his caring side. And since he had been the one to come after Harry…

Well, it just made sense, loathe as he was to admit it.

He sighed. “I believe so, Mr. Potter.” He lightly nudged the teenager’s chin up, claiming his student’s attention. “But remember, I still have a part to play in this war. I will not be anywhere near as harsh to you as I once was, but I *will* have to ignore you and I *will* have to act the part of the nasty Potions Master. Unless by some grace of Gandalf I am found out a spy…” The latter part was muttered under his breath, but Harry still heard it.

“You’d be killed, then,’ the young man remarked very quietly, in such a way that it had Severus closely inspecting his face.

The Potions Master was startled to note *pain* lurking in the depths of his student’s eyes. He nodded slowly, response cautiously, “Likely.”

*That*¸ apparently, was not the wisest response. Harry turned away, emerald orbs shut tight and jaw clenched, clearly battling it out with his emotions again.

Unfolding his arms, Severus lightly touched the young man’s shoulder. “Potter?” murmured.

Abruptly, the fifteen-year-old whirled back to face the Head of Slytherin, eyes open and fiery. “Promise me,” he demanded, “promise me that you will be careful. Promise me that if you’re found out, you will *not* give in willingly and will *not* let them kill you without any resistance.”

Severus jerked back slightly under the full force of Harry’s gaze. “Potter…” he began.

“Promise me! On your wizard’s vow, promise me!” the young Gryffindor demanded fiercely.

Severus’s eyes widened slightly. When (and where) had Harry learned about wizarding vows? Because it was obvious he knew swearing by them was perhaps one of the strongest oaths a wizard could make. Clearly, the young man was adamant that he live unless it became absolutely necessary that he die. In fact, the Potions Master received the distinct impression that the teenager would stand up to Death itself if it came to that. To be sure, Harry would do the same for his friends and Remus Lupin, but *never* had Severus *ever* thought such care and loyalty would extend to him as well. Least of all from this young man.

The Potions Master gave a resigned sigh, but nodded. “All right,” he conceded softly.

Harry still looked fierce. “Swear it!”

“I swear it, Potter,” he replied with another sigh. His gaze suddenly became stern. “But you must do the same.” Well he knew the Dark Lord’s hatred for this young man in front of him. Well he knew the Gryffindor’s tendency to be reckless. Now was as good a time as any to ensure such things could be, if not stopped, then at least checked.

In spite of the serious atmosphere, Harry cracked a small smile. “Me, Professor? But I’m not yet of age.” Young wizards were not recognized as ‘of age’ until they turned seventeen.

Not in the mood for banter at this particular moment, Severus growled, “That bears little relevance to the matter, Mr. Potter. I *highly* doubt the Dark Lord has any intention of waiting for you to graduate from Hogwarts!”

“I’m not a spy, either,” the teenager pointed out mildly, but nonetheless a trifle uneasy with the man’s tone of voice.

“Potter!” the Potions Master exclaimed sharply. “Just do it!”

Harry sighed. “You know I can’t do that, sir. Vol---sorry---He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants me dead, and right now, that seems like a very likely option.”

The Head of Slytherin scowled. “Which is exactly *why* you’re to be trained in Advanced Defense and Advanced Dueling! Honestly, Potter, will you just stop and *think* for once?! *No* *one* is sending you out there to die! I am aware that you’re the *bloody* Boy-Who-Lived, but contrary to what you seem to believe, you are *not* some saint to be martyred!”

The teenager jerked slightly. Whatever he had been expecting, those words had *not* been one of them. “Then what *am* I, Professor??” he wanted to know, feeling heat once again build at the back of his eyes. “A tool for Dumbledore to use at his whim? The wizarding world’s ‘Golden Boy?’ Even *Draco* thinks I’m ‘Saint Potter!’ And you, *you* called me a ‘celebrity’ my first day of Hogwarts! If I’m not any of that, then what *am* I?!”

The Potions Master’s eyes were like smoldering coals. This had always been a sore spot for him, this notion that Potter was some sort of elite “hero.” He had wrongly thought that it was because he was just like his father, aware of his fame and popularity and not at *all* hesitant to flaunt it when he had the chance. And so he had resented James Potter’s son.

Then came Occulmency lessons.

Neither he nor Potter had been very agreeable to it, and therefore, absolutely *refused* to be, if not tolerant, at least *civil* to one another. And it was to *that*, he attributed most of their failure last year. He had, however, entered Potter’s mind, and found there quite a different view of this young man’s home life, and really, his life in general. But he had been so blinded by hatred for the young Gryffindor’s father and godfather, so incensed at the teenager’s behavior in lessons (both regular and extra), that he translated it as an attempt to gain even *more* popularity.

Then Harry’s apology had arrived, shattering every preconceived notion he had ever had of the younger wizard. It had become apparent to him then that the teenager was genuinely *not* his father. He looked like him, yes, but his mannerisms---a few of them---were Lily’s.

That, too, however, had changed. This young man was his own person, his own personality, which was purely Harry and *not* either of his parents.

Such a realization had shown him the true extent of what he had done to this younger being. By assuming he was another and would respond to things exactly *as* another did, he had hurt the fifteen-year-old in a way that would take quite some time heal. And with thoughts like that running through his head, he deflated, nothing except naked regret in his eyes when he looked back at Harry. “You are only a boy, Potter,” he answered softly. “No matter what you are capable of, and no matter what you are expected to do, you should not have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders---*despite* the fact that you have done so numerous times.” He sighed. “I am not going to say you are just like any other teenager, because you’re not. Not anymore. But I promise you, you will learn whatever you need to survive, and furthermore,” he hazarded a small, roguish smile, “to become one *hell* of a handful, all right?” He hesitated, sobering, before reaching out and resting a tentative hand against the younger wizard’s cheek.

Harry started violently at the gesture, *completely* taken by surprise, his eyes snapping up to his teacher’s. Regret and sincerity swirled in the man’s dark orbs, holding the young Gryffindor’s gaze and impressing his words in the teenager’s mind. “All *right*?” repeated quietly, those two words weighted with far more meaning than appeared on the surface.

A moment of silence, then the fifteen-year-old managed a tiny smile, his own hand coming up to hold his Professor’s hand in place against his face. “Okay,” he agreed in a whisper.

The Head of Slytherin briefly clasped the young man’s head to his shoulder before pulling back. “Good,” he said, his lips quirking into another small smile. It grew as Harry suddenly gave a yawn. Turning slightly to the side, he muttered, “Tempus.”

Wisps of smoke formed a clock face that read, “Eleven at night,” Severus murmured. He turned back to his student with his usual, more comfortable smirk, “Much as I’d love to continue this conversation, Potter, Molly Weasley will have my head for keeping you up to all hours of the night.” He rose to his feet, gazing almost…kindly…down at the younger wizard. “I will be here tomorrow morning, so we will decide what to do about your extra lessons then. And then we will probably go to Diagon Alley.”

He was relieved to see that the teenager’s smile was back as he nodded, eyes bright with the prospect of going to Diagon Alley. “Yes, sir.”

Feeling oddly…warm, Severus inclined his head, “Well, then, be sure to clear your mind, Mr. Potter. Rest well.” He gently pressed the student back onto his pillows.

As he began to back away, Harry quickly sat up and lightly grabbed the Potions Master’s wrist. “Please, wait,” he requested.

Startled, the older man halted and raised an inquiring eyebrow, “Potter?”

The teenager blushed lightly, dropping his eyes to the bed. “Would you…I mean, could you…would you mind…singing that lullaby again?”

Severus smirked, coming back to the bed and leaning against the wall near the head of it, his arms again crossed over his chest as Harry released him and laid down, watching expectantly. “I thought you said you weren’t a child,” he remarked dryly.

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly and grinned back, still somewhat shyly. “I never said I *wasn’t* a child, just that I don’t like being *called* a child.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he replied, smirk widening.

The teenager frowned at him. And *he* chuckled, “Very well, then, Mr. Potter.” Leaning down and unfolding his arms, Severus lightly pushed the fifteen-year-old back down on the bed, humming the tune before beginning, once again, to sing:

“Dream by night,

Wish by day,

Love begins this way…”

The young Gryffindor settled his head on the pillows and smiled, closing his eyes and letting his teacher’s voice break over him. Eventually, the man’s singing soothed his mind enough that he need not clear it any further. Before he knew it, Harry was sound asleep.

He did not even realize the Potions Master had, in fact, repeated the song twice over.