Quidditch was the one thing that could always make Harry forget his troubles. The joy of flying and the thrill of the game banished every concern as he soared over the stadium to the roar of the crowd in the stands.

From the outset, Gryffindor dominated the match, but the Snitch seemed particularly temperamental, making only two brief appearances in nearly four hours of play. Both times, Harry and Kevin Whitby had managed to prevent one another from catching it. Now, both teams were exhausted and Hufflepuff trailed Gryffindor by 130 points. Flying high over the action, Harry spotted the Snitch for the first time in over an hour. Kevin hadn’t seen it yet and this time Harry was determined to get to the little ball before it vanished again. Harry lay flat on his broom and sped towards the glittering gold ball which dove towards the ground as it darted in and out among the other players.

Harry followed it, gaining steadily on the elusive little ball. He was aware that Kevin, at last, was racing towards the Snitch from the other end of the pitch, but he was close now and knew the other Seeker wouldn’t make it in time. It was only a matter of moments. Harry was so intent on the Snitch fluttering just out of reach that he didn’t see the Bludger and didn’t hear the warning shouts from his teammates. He grabbed for the Snitch on his right just as the Bludger connected with his left shoulder. His entire left arm instantly went numb and with the force of the Bludger added to the momentum of his lunge he had no hope of staying on his broom.

Harry had been flying as fast as he could to catch the Snitch and suddenly found himself tumbling through the air at the same breakneck speed. As the ground rushed at him at a terrifying rate, he had just enough time to think how ironic it was that for all the times Voldemort had tried to kill him, he was going to wind up dying in a Quidditch match. Then he hit the ground.

---

Harry opened his eyes and recognized the hospital wing at once. It was evening and the lights had been dimmed. He sat up and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

“So, the Quidditch hero awakens at last,” said a familiar, sarcastic drawl from across the room. Harry looked over to find Snape sitting up in the bed across from him regarding him with a sneer.

“The daring Harry Potter once again gives his all to win the match. What’s the matter, Potter? Life’s not exciting enough for you, so you have to try to kill yourself at Quidditch?”

Harry had only a vague memory of the Quidditch match and of falling.

“What happened?” he asked.

“During your game against Hufflepuff, you were unseated from your broom by a Bludger immediately after catching the Snitch. Do you have any idea how fast you were going when you hit the ground?”

It was coming back to Harry. He remembered approaching the ground at an unbelievable speed. He swallowed. “Fast. I thought I was dead.”

“So did everyone else in the stadium. Apparently they could hear your legs shatter in the upper stands.”

Harry winced. “How did I survive?”

“Although you broke most of the bones in your body, miraculously your neck wasn’t among them. Madam Pomfrey was able to mend the fractures that afternoon. Of course, the internal injuries took longer.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“More than two days. It’s Monday evening.”

Harry lay back on his pillow. He was sore and stiff, but generally felt okay considering the circumstances.

He heard papers being shuffled and looked back at Snape whose bed, he now noticed, was littered with parchment.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Marking homework,” Snape answered, without looking up from what he was reading.

“When’s Madam Pomfrey going to discharge you?”

“Before I go mad, I hope.”

“How are you feeling?”

Snape sighed and looked up at him. “I’d be better if I hadn’t had to endure your endless array of admirers coming to pay homage,” Snape said testily, nodding to Harry’s right.

Harry followed Snape’s glance and saw that the bed next to his was covered with cards, sweets and other tokens. It looked like half the school had sent him something and Harry flushed in embarrassment. All he’d done was fall off his broom!

Harry lay down and stared at the ceiling. “I wish people wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t send me all that stuff,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t, but celebrity has its advantages.”

It has its disadvantages too, Harry knew. But Snape wouldn’t believe that. The man had nearly lost his life in the fight against Voldemort, but Harry was willing to bet that no one had bothered to send Snape a card. Harry glanced at the Potions Master who was immersed in another essay. His head was bowed and his hair hung forward obscuring his face except for the frown of concentration he wore.

Harry was vividly reminded of the last time he’d spent the night in this ward. Had it really been little more than a week ago? He wondered how much Snape knew or would admit to knowing about that night as all of Harry’s confused and conflicting thoughts about his teacher came rushing back. Harry fidgeted. He wanted to talk to Snape, to at least find out where he stood with the man, but there wasn’t a less approachable soul in the world.

Harry fidgeted some more and finally sat up, wincing slightly in pain. Snape paid no attention to him. Harry swung his legs out of bed and stood up, gingerly. He cast an irritated glance at Snape which went entirely unnoticed, then went to take a closer look at what his well-wishers had sent him.

There were all sorts of sweets and a mountain of cards. There was a huge card from his fellow Gryffindor teammates as well as cards from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams. Everyone in Gryffindor seemed to have sent him something. So had many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, especially those in his year. Of course, not a single Slytherin had sent him anything.

Harry looked over at Snape once more and scowled; the man was still oblivious to him. Harry took a deep breath, then scooped up an armful of sweets and crossed the room to Snape’s bed, ignoring the dull ache in his legs.

“Want a chocolate frog?”

Snape glanced up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Would you like a chocolate frog, or maybe some Bertie Bott’s beans? I’ve got just about anything you could imagine, actually.” To prove the point, Harry dumped his load on Snape’s bedside table.

Snape tilted his head to one side and regarded Harry as though he wasn’t sure whether the young man was mad or playing some sort of strange prank on him.

“No, thank you,” Snape said coldly, returning his attention to the essay before him. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Potter, I’m busy.”

“Does Madam Pomfrey know you’re sitting up marking those?”

Snape’s head came up and his eyes flashed dangerously. “Potter, what do you want?”

“I want to know if you’re angry with me.”

Snape sneered. “For being a hindrance, or an insufferable annoyance?”

“For saving your life.”

Snape stared at Harry in surprise. “Why on earth would I be angry with you for that?”

Harry shrugged. “You hated my dad for saving your life.”

“That was different! It was his fault in the first place and he certainly wasn’t acting altruistically in saving me. Do you honestly think I’d be angry with you after what you endured on my behalf?”

“I don’t always understand why you act the way you do, Professor,” Harry said. “I wasn’t really sure what to expect.”

“Rest assured Mr. Potter, I am not quite that unreasonable,” Snape said. He pushed aside the essays in front of him.

“Sit.”

Harry hesitated a moment, then sat down on the edge of Snape’s bed.

“How did you manage it?” Snape asked.

“You mean how did I find you?”

Snape nodded and Harry frowned, considering.

“I just had to block out… what was happening and concentrate on his thoughts and feelings.” Harry looked up at Snape. “Have you ever performed Legilimency on him?”

Snape’s eyes widened. “I would never have dared.”

Harry grimaced. “Trust me, you’re not missing anything. He’s so evil it’s beyond describing. There’s nothing but hatred and vengefulness. I don’t think there’s any compassion in him at all.”

“There’s not,” Snape said darkly, shaking his head. “I don’t have to look into his mind to know that. His actions speak for themselves.” Snape looked back at Harry. “Have you had any further visions?”

“No.”

Snape nodded and frowned in thought a moment longer, then his expression cleared. “Well, Mr. Potter, I would say you have earned an ‘Outstanding’ in Legilimency. I’m sure you’ll be happy to have your evenings to yourself once more.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Your lessons are over, Potter. You seem to have mastered everything I could possibly teach you.”

That was high praise indeed, Harry knew, and it was true that he had managed to master his mental connection to Voldemort, yet somehow all he felt was disappointment. It had never occurred to him that his lessons with Snape might end. Harry stared at his teacher and the only response he could manage was a weak, “Oh.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say.

Snape scowled, clearly annoyed. “Oh? Is that all you have to say? I’d have thought you’d be delighted!”

“I am,” Harry said, not sounding at all delighted. “I’m just, er, surprised, that’s all.”

Harry tried to sound cheerful, but knew that he wasn’t the least bit convincing. Worse, Snape was looking at him with a peculiar, almost alarmed, expression. Harry looked away.

“I will, of course, be available,” Snape said, picking his words carefully, “should you have any difficulties or questions, but the need for formal lessons has passed.”

Harry nodded and gave his teacher a small, but genuine smile. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re welcome, Potter. It was obviously well worth the effort. Now, I suggest we both get some sleep before Madam Pomfrey discovers us and threatens to keep us here another week.”

Harry grinned at that. “Yes, sir. Goodnight.” He went back to his own bed feeling relieved; that hadn’t gone nearly as badly as he’d feared. Of course, they hadn’t talked much, but at least Snape hadn’t belittled him or ignored him, and in truth, Harry didn’t feel much like talking himself. He ached all over and was exhausted from the little time he’d spent out of bed. He’d have time to talk to Snape later when they were both up to it. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed, feeling more content than he had in over a week. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

---

Snape lay awake listening to the faint, rhythmic breathing coming from across the room and cursed himself for the tenth time. How could he have been so careless? He had thought nothing of the rapport that had been growing between himself and Potter over the last several months, attributing it to the boy’s natural impertinence and the unavoidable familiarity that was the result of their lessons. Even the knowledge that Potter had sat by his bed grieving the night he’d nearly died had somehow not quite impressed itself upon him. The memory of a dream was something he could explain away or at least ignore. But the crestfallen expression on Potter’s face when he had announced that the boy’s lessons were over had been unmistakable. Snape sighed. Potter still hadn’t learnt to hide his feelings.

It was well known, of course, that teachers and students of the mental arts often formed an emotional bond as a byproduct of their lessons, but Snape had never imagined that could be a risk with Potter. Their mutual animosity was too well entrenched, or so he’d thought. Clearly he’d overestimated the resoluteness of the boy’s hatred towards him. The question was what to do about it now.

Unfortunately, Snape was entirely out of his depth. He had always remained aloof from his students; even with his own Slytherins he maintained an entirely professional demeanor. He might favor them on principle over the other students, but this had never extended to any sort of affection or empathy. Certainly, in all his years teaching none of his students had ever looked at him the way Potter had.

Snape knew he should have simply rebuffed the boy, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to muster the cutting remarks that would have warned Potter off. Probably it had been the shock of realizing that Potter didn’t want their lessons to end. Still, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. What troubled him was that, for an instant, as Potter had tensed and looked away, already braced for rejection, Snape had actually felt sympathy for the boy. That was an impulse he didn’t dare indulge.

Snape shook his head, disgusted with himself. These aberrant feelings had to simply be the result of the physical and emotional traumas he and Potter had both suffered in the last week. His own uncharacteristic weakness was most likely due to the shock of seeing Potter when he’d been brought into the hospital wing after the Quidditch match.

---

Snape had done little but sleep during his stay in the hospital ward and with the castle nearly deserted due to the Quidditch match underway, Saturday had presented an ideal opportunity to rest, undisturbed. He’d been sound asleep with his bed curtains drawn, only to be startled awake by what sounded like half the school rushing into the ward. He could tell from the angle of the sun that it was late afternoon as he tried to make sense of the barely controlled chaos just outside his curtains.

“Mr. Weasley, get everyone out of here,” McGonagall commanded over the din.

“But Professor –”

“Wait in the hallway. I’ll come and tell you as soon as we know what his condition is, I promise you.”

“You heard the deputy headmistress,” Professor Sprout said. “Come with me, all of you.”

There was a great shuffling of feet as Sprout apparently ushered the crowd out of the ward. Snape heard the door shut and silence descended once more, broken only by the tinkling of potions bottles and a stream of hurriedly cast spells coming from the other side of the room. Snape listened intently to the activity, becoming more and more alarmed. Madam Pomfrey’s patient had clearly sustained massive injuries.

“Poppy?” McGonagall asked anxiously.

“I don’t know yet, Minerva,” Pomfrey said tensely. “It’s a miracle he’s not already dead.”

Snape sat up in bed. He suddenly knew without doubt who it was his colleagues were hovering over. Whenever there was trouble, Potter was usually in the middle of it and the worse the trouble the more certain it was to be centered on him.

Snape stood up and braced himself as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over him. He was weaker than he had realized, but decided that he probably wasn’t going to collapse, so he pulled aside his bed curtains and looked around. Poppy Pomfrey was standing over a bed directly across the ward from his, working feverishly on her patient. McGonagall stood at the foot of the bed watching worriedly; otherwise, the ward was empty.

Snape took a deep breath, steadied himself and padded silently over to stand behind McGonagall. He peered past her at the figure on the bed and his knees nearly buckled. Potter was hardly recognizable. His face was so badly bruised that his eyes were swollen shut. His nose was obviously broken and his hair was matted from the blood that had flowed from numerous cuts on his face and scalp. But these were by no means his worst injuries. The boy’s robes and skin alike hung in shreds and he was covered with blood. The skin that hadn’t been torn from his body was black and blue and shards of bone protruded from his arms and legs which lay at unnatural angles.

“My god,” Snape gasped.

McGonagall jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around. “Severus!” she cried in a strangled, high pitched voice nothing like her usual calm, authoritative tones. “Are you mad? What on earth are you doing up?”

Madam Pomfrey was too busy with Potter to do more than glare. “Professor Snape, get back in bed this instant!” she admonished him, but Snape ignored both women.

“What happened?” Snape asked, swaying slightly on his feet as he stared, horrified, at Potter.

“Never mind that.” McGonagall grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him away from Potter’s bed and back towards his own. “You need to rest, Severus. Honestly! Between you and Potter I’m going to have a nervous breakdown!”

“Is he going to live?” Snape asked doubtfully as he got back in bed.

McGonagall took hold of Snape’s blankets and pulled them up with a crisp snap. “I don’t know.” She began straightening the covers without looking at him. “He was diving for the Snitch and didn’t see the Bludger. He was flying too fast and was too close to the ground. None of us could react in time.”

McGonagall folded Snape’s top blanket neatly into place, and started on the second.

“Minerva, stop fussing!” Snape said, snatching the covers away from her and scowling. He certainly didn’t need to be tucked into bed like a child!

McGonagall looked at him and the dread in her eyes sent a chill through him. “Poppy’s doing everything she can. We’ll know soon enough.” McGonagall turned away without another word, pulling the curtains tightly around Snape’s bed as she left.

Snape lay stiffly in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted and knew he should let himself sleep, but he couldn’t; he was too angry. Leave it to Potter to get himself killed in a Quidditch match! Snape thought bitterly. The arrogant boy had no doubt been pulling some reckless stunt as usual. He was just like his father! James had never given a thought or care to anything beyond showing off. Still, one would have thought that Potter might have a little regard for all of the people depending on him and trying to protect him instead of being such a careless, selfish, spoiled –

Without warning Snape’s bed curtains were drawn aside.

“What?” he snarled at McGonagall, who, haggard as she was, nevertheless managed to raise a reproachful eyebrow at him.

“I just thought you’d want to know that Potter is going to live,” McGonagall said dryly. She held Snape’s angry glare until he backed down.

“Naturally,” Snape sneered.

McGonagall gave the barest hint of a smile. “Get some sleep, Severus,” she ordered sternly, then she was gone once more and Snape at last allowed himself a sigh of relief. The next moment he scowled at his own foolishness. He should have known better than to think Potter could die in a simple accident and he really shouldn’t have let it rattle him so. Obviously, his own recent brush with death had made him unusually anxious.

---

With that settled in his mind, Snape had relaxed and gone to sleep once more. But now, thinking back to that afternoon, he was no longer so sure that the fear he’d felt hadn’t been caused by something more troubling than his own near-fatal experience. Could it be that Potter wasn’t the only one whose emotions had been affected by the intensive study of Occlumency and Legilimency?

No! he thought angrily. He refused to even consider that possibility. Potter might be a weak, sentimental fool, but he was not. His concern for the boy was strictly professional. Potter was supposedly destined to play a crucial role in the war against the Dark Lord and it was his job to see to it that the boy lived long enough to do so. Beyond that he cared nothing for Potter. Snape turned over in bed and forced himself to relax. He was drifting towards sleep when a sudden cry from across the room jolted him awake once more.

“No!” Potter called. “Don’t go!”

Snape sat up and looked across the darkened room.

“No! Please!” Potter moaned, clearly in the throes of a nightmare.

Snape grimaced. How was he supposed to get any sleep with Potter going on like that? The boy cried out again and Snape sighed. He threw back his covers, got out of bed and went to the potions stores, muttering under his breath. He retrieved a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and headed back across the ward. Why isn’t anyone else ever available to look after Potter? Snape thought, feeling thoroughly put out. Why does it always fall to me? He reached Potter’s bedside and glared resentfully at the boy who was tossing restlessly in his sleep.

“Please don’t die, Professor,” Potter murmured. “Please don’t.”

Snape froze. It was the same anguished plea he’d heard in his dream the night he’d almost died, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a shock through him. Then the full realization of what Potter had to be dreaming of hit him. He bent over the boy and shook him hard.

“Potter, wake up!”

Potter’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Snape with an awareness caught somewhere between dream and reality. He seized Snape’s arm in fear and concern.

“Professor, are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Snape snapped. “You were having a nightmare, that’s all. Now drink this.” Snape helped the boy to drink the potion and at once Potter sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Snape straightened up and regarded the boy. He was so young, hardly more than a child, really. He slept peacefully now; the only sign of his nightmare was the hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. Without thinking, Snape reached out to brush the fringe aside, but stopped. His fingertips hovered an inch from the sleeping boy’s face, then he drew back.

“Severus?”

Snape started and turned to find Dumbledore standing behind him.

“I was going down to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk,” the headmaster said, “and I thought I’d stop in to check on you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Snape answered quickly. “Mr. Potter was having a nightmare so I gave him a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion.” He held up the empty potion vial as if to prove he was telling the truth.

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore said sadly, coming to stand next to Snape and gaze down at his sleeping student. “I imagine there are few nights when Harry isn’t haunted by the horrors he has witnessed. It is terrible that one so young should be burdened by so much.”

Dumbledore reached out without hesitation and gently brushed the hair off of the boy’s forehead, then he turned to Snape.

“I’m glad you are here to watch over him, Severus, but you’d best get some sleep yourself.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape said.

Dumbledore turned away and quietly padded out of the hospital ward. Snape took one last long look at Potter then retreated to his own bed.

---

Harry awoke the next morning to the sounds of an argument.

“You can’t keep me here against my will!” Snape yelled.

“Yes, I can,” Madam Pomfrey retorted, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

Harry reached for his glasses then peered over his blankets. Snape and Madam Pomfrey were standing toe to toe, glaring at one another in the middle of the ward.

“You’re welcome to take it up with the headmaster if you have a complaint,” Madam Pomfrey said. “In the meantime, get back in bed!”

Snape folded his arms and stood his ground. He clearly had no intention of obeying the matron’s order.

“Professor Snape, don’t make me restrain you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Snape scoffed.

Pomfrey drew her wand and leveled it at her patient. From the look on her face, Harry knew she wasn’t bluffing. Snape clearly knew it too because his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Will you at least tell the headmaster I wish to see him?” Snape asked through clenched teeth.

“I’ll pass it along immediately,” Pomfrey assured him with a smile, however her wand didn’t waver and Snape reluctantly returned to his bed.

When Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that her patient was going to stay put, she turned and bustled out of the ward. Once she was gone Snape let out an exasperated sigh.

“Insufferable woman!”

Harry couldn’t help himself. He snickered.

“Potter! That will be five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry pushed his covers aside and sat up. “For what?” he demanded.

“Eavesdropping,” Snape answered

“How can I be eavesdropping when you know I’m here?” Harry asked.

“You were pretending to be asleep.”

“I could hardly sleep with you and Madam Pomfrey shouting at one another,” Harry complained.

Snape snorted in disgust then lay down and pulled up his blankets having clearly said all he intended to on the subject. That was a good thing, Harry knew. As miserable a mood as Snape was in, Harry was lucky to have only lost five points. He slipped quietly out of bed so as not to disturb the Potions Master and went to peruse the cards he’d been sent and which he’d only had the chance to glance at the night before. He was halfway through them when Madam Pomfrey returned.

“Mr. Potter, you’re up,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Let’s have a look at you,” the matron said, coming over to examine Harry. “You’re a very lucky young man, you know. You took quite a fall. The new brooms these days are entirely too fast. I swear it’s only a matter of time before someone breaks his neck!” She shook her head disapprovingly then stepped back and smiled at Harry.

“Well, you at least seem to be in fine shape. Your clothes are at the foot of your bed and I’ll have the rest of your things sent up to Gryffindor Tower. You may go, Mr. Potter.”

“You’re letting him go?” Snape demanded as he sat up in bed, clearly outraged.

“Yes Professor, and you will be delighted to know that I am discharging you as well,” Madam Pomfrey replied before Snape could begin ranting at her again. “Your clothes should be here shortly.”

Snape scowled, but was obviously relieved. “It’s about time!”

---

Harry changed quickly and hurried up to Gryffindor Tower. Along the way, he was greeted by nearly everyone he passed and was in high spirits when he arrived in the common room. It was nearly lunchtime and the room was full of students having just returned from classes. Hermione spotted him first.

“Harry!” she cried and raced to hug him as all the other Gryffindors crowded around. “It’s so good to have you back! We thought you were dead!”

“That’s the truth,” Ron said. “When I saw you hit the ground I nearly fell off my own broom!”

Neville, Seamus and Dean pushed their way forward to pound Harry on the back.

“You’ve got more lives than a cat, Harry,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed. “You’ve given the nickname ‘The Boy Who Lived’ a whole new meaning.”

Harry grinned, then Ginny pushed her way through the crowd and threw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “Don’t ever scare us like that again, Harry,” she scolded.

“I’ll try not to,” Harry promised, blushing slightly.

Finally, when everyone was finished welcoming him back, Harry retreated to a corner with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

“So have I missed anything?” he asked casually.

His three friends exchanged a quick glance and Harry’s good mood vanished.

“What now?”

Ginny spoke up. “The Daily Prophet reported this morning that the school’s Board of Governors is going to vote on whether or not to dismiss Professor Snape.”

“What?”Harry asked incredulously. “You’re joking!”

“I wish we were,” Hermione said. “You remember the articles Pembroke wrote about Snape? Well, he hasn’t let up. Every day there’s been another one claiming that Snape is a threat to the school.”

“And then there’s all the background investigation insinuating that Snape is mixed up with the Death Eaters somehow,” Ginny added.

“You can imagine the reaction to that,” Ron said. “We’ve had a steady stream of owls, all from people demanding that Snape be sacked.”

Hermione sighed. “The board is set to vote by the end of the week and at this point there’s not much question as to what the outcome will be. Pembroke has drummed up a near hysteria over this and the Board of Governors just wants to stem the public outcry.”

Harry sat in silence for a moment, trying to take in what his friends had told him. “Snape doesn’t know, does he?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Ginny said. “The staff have been trying to keep it from him until things settled down. That’s why Madam Pomfrey has kept him in hospital so long.”

“Now that it’s pretty much a done thing, I suppose Dumbledore will break the news to him,” Ron said.

Harry nodded once, then stood up and headed for the portrait hole.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ron asked, but Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance at his friends as he hurried out of the common room, leaving them to stare curiously after him.

---

Harry exited Dumbledore’s moving staircase and knocked at the office door which stood open.

Dumbledore looked up from the papers in front of him and smiled warmly. He didn’t look at all surprised to see his visitor.

“Ah, Harry, do come in. I’m glad to see that Madam Pomfrey was able to release you at last. What can I do for you?”

“You can’t let the Board of Governors sack Professor Snape!” Harry blurted out. “He doesn’t deserve that! You know he doesn’t. And it’s exactly what Voldemort wants!”

“That decision, I’m afraid, is out of my hands,” Dumbledore said regretfully.

“But you’re Headmaster!” Harry protested.

“Yes, and I have spoken with the board at length in an attempt to convince them of the injustice of giving in to this hysteria, however I fear they have not listened.”

“But there has to be something you can do,” Harry insisted. “You’re the most powerful wizard in the world!”

“That may be, Harry, but I am not all powerful. If I were, do you suppose I would have allowed you to suffer all that you have?” Dumbledore looked at Harry with deep sorrow. “Fear, Harry, above any other emotion, will drive men to perform unspeakable acts. It is more dangerous than hatred or even vengeance because it can turn on anyone. Ignorance feeds it and it is running rampant in our world right now. I have no power to stop it, or to change the hearts and minds of those who have been blinded and deafened by it.”

Harry felt a crushing disappointment. “So that’s it, then?” he asked bitterly. “He’s just going to be turned out on the street so Voldemort can kill him?”

“Harry, I would hope that you know me well enough to realize that I would not allow that to occur. The board’s decision is by no means certain; however, even if Professor Snape is forced to leave Hogwarts, there are other safe places for him to go. Rest assured that I have already seen to that.”

Harry nodded, somewhat relieved, but he still felt a deep frustration. “It’s just so unfair!”

“Yes, it is,” Dumbledore agreed, “And not only to our Potions Master.” He smiled sadly then raised his voice. “Professor Snape, do come in. You needn’t wait outside.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Snape was standing in the doorway looking as dour as Harry had ever seen him. Harry didn’t know how much of the conversation Snape had overheard, but it had probably been enough.

“Professor McGonagall said you wished to see me, Headmaster,” Snape said coming into the office. He frowned disapprovingly at Harry. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, Harry was just leaving,” Dumbledore said easily, smiling his dismissal at Harry who nodded and left quickly without looking at Snape.

---

Snape scowled after Potter as the boy practically fled the office, then he turned to glare at Dumbledore and wordlessly tossed a copy of the latest Daily Prophet on the desk. The headline, Board of Governors to Decide Professor’s Fate, stood out boldly.

“I see Minerva has apprised you of the situation,” Dumbledore said simply.

“Yes,” Snape replied testily. “Though you might have told me about this in the first place, you know.”

“And put you in a worse mood than you were already in? I wouldn’t have done that to Poppy Pomfrey. Besides, there was nothing you could have done about it from your hospital bed except worry.”

“I’m obviously to be dismissed?” Snape said.

“That has yet to be decided and I will fight it with every means at my disposal.”

Snape shook his head disgustedly and turned away to pace the office. “Don’t waste your time. Pembroke is an adept propagandist. I doubt that even your efforts would prove sufficient to undo the damage he has done. Besides, there are certainly more important battles to be fought.”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore said. “I consider this of the utmost importance. The students need you here at Hogwarts.”

Snape stopped his pacing and looked skeptically at the headmaster. “I doubt any of them would agree with you. I should think that every student in this school would be delighted to see me go.”

“I wouldn’t say every student.” Dumbledore smiled slightly. “Harry seemed quite distressed at the prospect just now.”

Snape’s lip curled disdainfully. “As always, Mr. Potter is the exception to every rule. Nevertheless, I’m certain you can find a competent replacement to teach my classes. It hardly requires a master potion brewer to instruct these students. Nearly anyone with rudimentary knowledge would prove adequate.”

“It is not Potions which concerns me,” Dumbledore said. “You are needed here in a more important capacity.”

Snape’s expression darkened and he spoke in a cold, clipped tone. “Mr. Potter’s lessons are complete and I have already endured far more than my share of time with that boy since you manipulated me into teaching him Occlumency and Legilimency. I should think that I’d be entitled to a respite.”

“Manipulation is a harsh word, Severus. I assure you that I had no sinister motive in asking you to instruct Harry. You were simply the most logical choice. And you were eminently successful.”

“Oh yes, eminently,” Snape sneered. “And now what am I supposed to do with him?”

Dumbledore regarded Snape with mild curiosity. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean!” Snape said accusingly, meeting Dumbledore’s serene blue eyes with an angry glare. “I am not the mentoring type! I have no sage advice or words of comfort to offer anyone, least of all Potter!”

“Ah.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“Severus, I do believe you’re allowing paranoia to get the better of you.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Of what?” Dumbledore asked, fixing Snape with a keen look. “That Harry had come to respect and to trust you? That was obvious to all and sundry months ago.”

“Wonderful,” Snape drawled. “So I was the only one too thick to notice?”

“Actually, I believe Harry only realized it himself last week.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Well, we certainly make a perfect pair then.”

“Severus, why are you fighting your own best nature?” Dumbledore asked with gentle concern. “Harry needs very little beyond your respect and understanding. You have been giving him both for months whether you realized it or not.”

“I already have more than enough to concern myself with, Albus. I have no sympathy or patience for anyone else’s problems.

“I think you underestimate yourself. I hope you do, because Harry is not the only student who needs you, nor even the one who needs you most at present.”

Snape frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

“I believe you owe the Slytherins a full explanation of why you were unable to fulfill your duties as Head of House this last week.”

Snape regarded Dumbledore in silence for a moment. “A full explanation, Headmaster? Exactly what do you intend for me to tell them?”

“The truth.” Dumbledore stood up and came around his desk to face Snape.

“My greatest regret as headmaster of this school has been my inability to prevent one after another of my students from being seduced by Lord Voldemort. You know as well as I do that there is considerable pressure on the Slytherin students to align themselves with him. Without some counter to that we will lose too many of them needlessly.

“Those most susceptible to his lies will not listen to the likes of me, but you are Head of Slytherin. Your students respect you and they know that you understand them and share many of their views. They will listen to you and they desperately need your guidance. Now that you are free to speak openly with them, you must make them see the true consequences of following Voldemort.”

“Albus, you can’t be serious!” Snape said, appalled at what Dumbledore was suggesting.

Dumbledore smiled. “This is hardly the worst thing I have ever asked you to do.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Snape said. “I don’t recall our Head of House bothering to warn us about the Dark Lord’s true nature when I was at school.”

“That was a different time,” Dumbledore said. “Far less was known of Voldemort then and your Head of House had no personal knowledge of him. You do and you have the opportunity to use that to the advantage of your students.”

“The students are capable of making their own decisions and I doubt they would have any use for my opinion. Their families and friends have far more influence on them than I do.”

“I disagree. I believe that many of them would be more open to an overture from you than you realize,” Dumbledore insisted. “You are the only one who can speak to them from personal experience. The truth may be harsh. It may be more than many would wish children to be told. But if there is a chance that even one soul can be spared that dark path then it must be done and it must be done soon. If the Board of Governors does vote to dismiss you, we have very little time.”

Snape sighed. “Very well. If you insist, I will speak to them,” he said grudgingly.

“Thank you, Severus. The truth is our greatest ally.”