Harry yawned tiredly. It was nearing two in the morning and Snape hadn't said another word to him.Snape had barely even moved. Harry wanted to sleep. No, he needed to sleep. A nightmare had plagued him the night before, the same one he'd been having since the summer. Simply, he was exhausted.

The plan had been to allow the Potions Master to make the first move. He'd expected Snape to say at sometime around midnight that they should go to bed. He hadn't. Now what? Harry didn't know what they were going to do about sleeping arrangements. Push a couple of chairs together to make a bed or something? He yawned again.

“Professor?” he asked cautiously. He hoped Snape's anger had receded slightly since he demolished the desk. He didn't relish the thought of meeting a similar, albeit bloodier, end. The Potions Master didn't move. “Professor?” Harry called more insistently. No answer.

He stood up, slowly stretching his stiff back and arms. Hogwarts needs better furniture, Harry mused. Cautiously, he made his way towards Snape. He was within a foot from the Potions Master, and began examining him, attempting to find any trace of life. Was he asleep? Surely, it wasn't very comfortable being propped up against a door, sitting on a cold stone floor.

The wand Snape had been twirling was held loosely in one slender hand. He seemed quite incapacitated. Harry reached a hand slowly towards him, intending to shake him awake. He placed one hand on his shoulder and froze.

Snape's eyes snapped onto him, his wand raised and pushed firmly against Harry's throat. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes darted around the room erratically. They came to rest on Harry once again and the delirium faded slightly. Recognition took its place but he didn't remove his wand. Harry carefully lifted his hand from one heaving shoulder. He swallowed nervously, which caused the wand to move in accordance with his Adams apple.

“Professor?” he whispered quietly, as though afraid to startle an unruly animal. Snape removed his wand and quickly stood, Harry took a quick step back and straightened. He glared angrily at his teacher. “Is neurosis a secret you don't know you're keeping or something?”

Snape nodded distractedly and slipped his wand into his robes, much to Harry's relief. What if Snape had used that spell? Harry would be able to join the Headless Hunt, which was more than he could say for Nearly Headless Nick.

“What time is it, Potter?” asked Snape with a little less loathing than usual as he surveyed their room.

“Five to two,” Harry answered. “Sir, are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, Potter! Desist your mother superior disposition. It is unbecoming of you,” sneered the Potions Master.

There's the Snape we all know and hate, Harry thought wryly.

“Just asking,” he muttered moodily.

“Va-t'en,” Snape sighed irritably. Harry glared suspiciously at him for a moment.

“What does that mean?” he asked warily. Snape ignored him this time and proceeded to the far corner of the room without any indication that he'd heard Harry. Harry stomped back to the chair he now loathed as much as Snape loathed him. He could feel the Potions Master's eyes on his back as he retreated. He slumped in the now uncomfortable chair and began the game he'd been playing earlier, counting how many stains were on the tables within eyesight. He'd reached six hundred and nine.

Harry watched curiously as Snape brought two chairs together. That's ironic, Harry thought. He brought his wand out once again and mumbled a spell Harry didn't catch. The two chairs transfigured and slowly formed what appeared to be a comfortable bed. It was no where near asextravagant as the four poster in his dormitory but he wasn't fussy. He grew up with the Dursleys after all. In addition, Snape conjured blankets and pillows and placed them neatly on the new divan.

That finished, he turned back and walked towards the door. As he passed a carefully watching Harry, he waved lazily towards the cot, indicating that he should sleep there. Harry nodded, stood gratefully and went towards it. He sank down on the mattress and resisted the urge to jump up and down on it. He glanced towards Snape who had resumed his previous position by the door, wand in hand.

Harry opened his mouth to ask why he wasn't going to transfigure a bed for himself but thought better of it. He didn't want Snape snapping at him again. The light in the room dimmed slightly so that a comfortable, warm orange glow akin to the street light at Privet Drive coated the room. Harry wondered about this for a moment among other minor thoughts before drifting to sleep.

--

His loyal Death Eaters were gathered around him, each kneeling obediently at his feet.

“Wormtail,” he called coldly. One of the identical figures rose and stepped forward, removing his dark hood and revealing the whimpering little rat. “Wormtail, you have good news, I hope. For your sake.”

The balding man knelt at Harry's feet and kissed the hem of his robes desperately.

“Please, my Lord, please,” he begged pitifully.

“Wormtail, you disappoint me,” Harry said regretfully. He removed his wand and gripped it in his thin, skeletal fingers. He said simply, almost happily, “fortunately, not for much longer.”

“N-no!” Wormtail screamed pathetically. He grasped Harry's robes and clawed at them. “Pl-please, m-my Lord, I-I won't -”

“No, Wormtail, you won't fail me again. I can assure you,” the grin widened. “I've thought of another use for you.”

Harry's other hand shot quickly out of his robes and clutched Wormtail by what little of the greying hair he still had. Wormtail cried out in pain and began whimpering. Harry held tighter. He lowered his face to Wormtail's ear and whispered dangerously, each word enunciated perfectly, “you will never fail me again. If ever you do, do not return. I would much rather enjoy hunting your mangled corpse and feeding it to the wolves. I will find you Wormtail. Make no mistake about that.”

Tossing the cowering man aside, Harry straightened and allowed him to return to the ranks of the other Death Eaters.

“Where is Severus this evening?” he asked, a hint of concern lacing the poisonous words. There was no answer. “Hmm, Wormtail, you will go to Hogwarts. You will find Severus. You will discover the reason he feels so sure of himself not to depart when he is called. Am I clear?”

Wormtail nodded hastily, and quickly backed out of the circle. He prepared himself to Apparate from the area.

“Oh, and Wormtail,” Harry said offhandedly. The rat turned to him fearfully. He pointed his wand at him lazily. He whispered lethargically, “Crucio.”

The man screamed and writhed on the ground, his body seemingly tearing at the seams at the excruciating pain. The enjoyment Harry felt at tormenting Wormtail overwhelmed him. He smiled cruelly and after a full minute of torture removed the curse. “Do not. Disappoint me. Again.”

--

“Potter!” A harsh voice called to him from a distance. “Potter! Wake up!” Harry felt something icy and wet hit him like a thousand penetrating knives before he shot up in bed. He groped at his body and stared around the room, making sure that it was indeed his own.

He was completely soaked. Harry searched the room again, wondering what on Earth had happened when he noticed Snape hovering nearby ... holding what appeared to be a large, empty jug. Harry glared at him half-heartedly for a moment before peeling away the sopping blankets and heaving himself out of the now frigidly cold bed. Not that it made a difference. His robes were completely drenched and they were the only ones he had while he was trapped there with Snape.

Brilliant, he thought sardonically. Snape came closer as Harry began to shiver, both from the full jug of freezing water and the aftermath of the nightmare.

“And what was wrong with conjuring an alarm clock or something that didn't result in hypothermia?” Harry asked sarcastically. Snape ignored him again, much to Harry's frustration. He deposited the jug on a desk and began drying the bed covers. He pointed his wand at Harry, who stiffened slightly, and dried his robes, much to Harry's relief.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered grudgingly. Snape ignored this but nodded, and gestured towards the now warmed bed, prompting Harry to sit.

“The Dark Lord?” Snape asked. Harry nodded tiredly.

“H-he was ... upset - with Pettigrew,” said Harry hesitantly. Snape looked him directly in the eyes, beckoning him to continue. “I don't know why. He'd failed to find something out, I think. I'm not sure. Voldemort -” Snape flinched at the name, “Voldemort,” Harry persisted, “wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill him.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at that. He looked away, and seemed to be in deep thought.

“And -” Harry continued. Snape returned his attention to him attentively, “he wants to know where you were. He's sent Wormtail here to find out. If he doesn't Vold – oh, all right – You-Know-Who's going to kill him. It's his last chance.”

Harry swallowed. He didn't want to talk about this, least of all with him. It was like meeting the cow going to the slaughter and already planning to eat it. Snape stood and began pacing from the door to the desk, and back again. Harry watched him without actually seeing him, he was too lost in his own thoughts.

The monotonous click, click, click of Snape's heels halted as he stopped pacing. He glanced towards one of the cabinets at the other side of the room. He strode towards them and began rummaging through the contents. He pulled out one vial after the other, glancing at each of them before depositing them on a desk.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for; a small vial. It contained a clear potion Harry knew only too well. He began walking back to Harry, vial in hand.

“What are you going to do, sir? If Wormtail finds out we're being imprisoned together, I mean?” asked Harry worriedly. Not that he was particularly concerned about the Potions Master personally. He'd be equally worried if it was a complete stranger, it was simply the right thing to do.

“Don't concern yourself, Potter,” said Snape shortly. He handed Harry the Dreamless Sleep potion and began backing away.

“But if he finds out you're working for the Order -”

“Potter, I said enough,” Snape growled menacingly.

“Fine! It's your funeral,” said Harry angrily, before throwing himself back into the bed, facing away from the Potions Master.

“Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera. God helps those who help themselves,” said Snape surprisingly subdued.

Harry looked over his shoulder at him and noticed Snape clutching his left arm, grimacing slightly as he turned to walk away from him back to continue his vigil by the door. His scar twinged, but he ignored the feeling. He was far too accustomed to it by now. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

“Why would he send Wormtail here, Professor? Why not someone he trusts?” Harry inquired curiously, turning over on the bed to face the Potions Master.

“He's an Animagus, he can get into the grounds without risk of detection,” Snape said slowly as though explaining it to someone extremely dense. He settled himself against the door and continued. “The Dark Lord is probably secretly hoping he'll get himself killed. He doesn't take to doing his dirty work himself.”

“So, he's the one God wouldn't help, Professor?” asked Harry quietly. Snape grinned sourly.

“Indeed.”

Harry nodded and quickly downed the potion. He was asleep within seconds.