Harry headed down to lunch feeling thoroughly discouraged. That the Board of Governors would fire Snape based solely on scare tactics and innuendo was simply wrong and the fact that no one could do anything to stop them was infuriating.

Harry slid into his seat at the table and reached for a sandwich. He took a few unenthusiastic bites while listening distractedly to the conversations around him, none of which, he noted irritably, concerned their Potions Master’s impending dismissal.

McGonagall entered the Hall and stepped up to the head table. “May I have your attention, please?” she said, addressing the students who grew quiet. “Professor Snape was released from hospital this morning. He will resume his position as Head of Slytherin, effective immediately and Potions lessons will recommence tomorrow morning.”

This news was greeted by a collective groan from the assembled students. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at them but said nothing more.

“I can’t believe Dumbledore’s having Snape teach,” Lavender said. “I mean, under the circumstances…” She trailed off and Ron spoke up.

“Well, I suppose it’s teach or sit around and wait for the ax to fall.”

“At least we shouldn’t have more than one lesson with him,” Dean said. “There’s no way he’ll last the weekend.”

Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, deciding that he really didn’t want to listen to his classmates discuss Snape after all, then noticed Snape, himself, slip into the Hall through the staff entrance. Snape looked even grimmer than when Harry had seen him in Dumbledore’s office and he was clearly distracted, paying no attention to any of his colleagues or to the frank stares of the students.

Harry nursed his pumpkin juice and watched the Potions Master out of the corner of his eye, but Snape never looked at him which made Harry even more irritable. The man was probably going to be gone in a few days and Harry wondered if he’d even have the chance to say goodbye to his teacher, let alone discuss all of the worries that had been haunting him.

Snape finished his lunch and slipped out of the Hall as inconspicuously as he’d arrived. Harry left too and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. His gloomy mood was not improved when he climbed through the portrait hole to discover a large box piled high with all of the cards and sweets he’d received in the hospital ward. Harry glared at the evidence of the excessive outpouring of admiration and concern he’d received.

“Wow, Harry, what’s all this?” Neville asked as he climbed through the portrait hole along with the other Gryffindors returning from lunch.

“Is this what everyone sent you in hospital?” Dean asked, surveying the box with a grin. “You really cleaned up, didn’t you?”

“You are going to share, aren’t you, Harry?” Seamus asked hopefully, his eyes on the pile of chocolate under the cards.

“Sure,” Harry said. “Go ahead, you can have it all.” He turned his back on his surprised classmates and went up to his dormitory. He grabbed his broom and headed out to the Quidditch pitch.

It was the first time he’d been on a broom since his Quidditch accident, but Harry felt no apprehension. Flying was as natural as breathing to him. He kicked off and soared into the air, letting the freedom of flight lift his spirits as he felt the familiar rush of joy. He raced around the stadium, dodging in and out of the goal posts. He flew faster and faster, letting the exhilaration banish his worries.

Harry pulled a sharp turn and raced down the pitch once more to dodge in and out of the goal posts. The first post flashed by on his left. He immediately twisted to the left as the second post grazed his right arm. The third post was directly in front of him. He threw his whole body to the right and pulled on his broom with all his might. He missed the post by inches and let his broom coast to a hover in the middle of the field. He’d pushed himself to his limit that time; he was sweating and his heart was pounding, but he felt great.

“Harry!”

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Ginny flying towards him.

“Are you mad?” Ginny yelled at him as she pulled up next to him. “You only just got out of hospital this morning and you’re already out here trying to kill yourself!”

Harry was surprised by Ginny’s angry concern. “I was only practicing.”

Ginny pressed her lips together, not at all mollified and headed to the ground. Harry followed her down.

“Honestly, Harry!” Ginny said once they’d both dismounted their brooms. “Can’t you be a little less reckless?”

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “I just needed to get out.”

Ginny snorted and glared at him. “You’re worried about Professor Snape, aren’t you?”

Harry looked at Ginny in surprise, wondering, not for the first time, how it was that she always seemed to know what was bothering him. “Don’t you think I ought to be?”

Ginny sighed. “I know you’re concerned, Harry, but Dumbledore’s not going to let Snape get killed; you know that. He must have some sort of plan.”

“That’s not the point,” Harry said as he and Ginny started back towards the castle.

“Then what is?”

Harry considered. “It just seems that I wind up losing so many of the people in my life one way or another,” he said in frustration.

They walked on in silence for a few moments, then Ginny spoke quietly.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Harry looked sharply at Ginny. If it had been almost anyone else, he would have denied it automatically. But Ginny’s expression was frank, without even a hint of disapproval and it inspired an honest answer.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I guess seeing what Voldemort put him through really affected me.”

“Well, of course it did! Seeing someone almost die –” Ginny looked away and bit her lip. “The problem is we don’t always realize how much we care about someone until we nearly lose them.”

“I suppose,” Harry said gloomily. “But I’m sure he doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?”

“We can’t really pick the people we care about, Harry,” Ginny said, still chewing her lip. “Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we can’t stop caring about someone even when we know that the other person will never feel the same way about us.”

“That doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Harry said, disgusted with his own sentimentality.

“Feelings don’t have to make a lot of sense, Harry.”

Harry smiled at Ginny. “I guess you’re right. Look, thanks for coming out after me. It helps to have someone to talk to.”

“You can always talk to me, Harry, anytime.”

Harry smiled again, then frowned slightly. Behind her smile, there was something almost sad in Ginny’s expression that Harry couldn’t quite identify.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course, I’m fine,” Ginny said, glancing away towards the castle. “But, er, I really need to get ready for class, so I’ll see you later, all right, Harry?”

“All right,” Harry replied as Ginny took off at a run for the castle. He frowned after her, wondering momentarily if he’d said something to upset her, but he couldn’t think of what it might have been.

He headed back to the castle himself, feeling much better than he had earlier. The entrance hall was bustling as the last of the lunch crowd poured out of the Great Hall headed for classes. Harry spotted Draco Malfoy swaggering across the hall flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Unfortunately, Malfoy saw him as well.

“You still alive, Potter?” Malfoy asked with feigned surprise. “Pity.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I heard that Professor Snape is Head of House again too, so I guess it’s just not your day.”

“I can’t believe even Dumbledore bothered to reinstate Snape,” Malfoy sneered. “What was the point when he’ll be gone in a few days?”

“The Board of Governors hasn’t voted yet.”

Malfoy laughed and Crabbe and Goyle grinned as if on cue.

“Hoping for a miracle, Potter?” Malfoy said.

“Potter’s right, Mr. Malfoy,” Ryan said, coming up to them. “Until the board votes, we can’t be certain of the outcome. So if you’ve got a strong opinion, it wouldn’t go amiss to share it.” He nodded at the three Slytherins. “Given that student safety is the board’s primary concern, I’m sure that heartfelt testimonials from concerned young men such as yourselves would help the Board of Governors make the right decision.”

Ryan winked at Malfoy and his friends, then continued out of the castle with barely a glance in Harry’s direction.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Malfoy said, grinning broadly and nudging Crabbe. “We could write to the Board of Governors and tell them how worried we are, lying awake at night, terrified that Death Eaters may break into the castle and kill us in our sleep.”

“You’re a filthy, lying son of a Death Eater, Malfoy,” Harry said furiously. “The Board of Governors would never listen to you!”

Malfoy feigned a hurt look. “But I’m just a pitiful victim whose father besmirched our great and ancient family name by tragically succumbing to You-Know-Who’s inducements.” Malfoy’s earnest expression was replaced by a smirk. “Those fools on the board love that sort of thing.” He laughed nastily once more, then the three Slytherins pushed past Harry and were gone.

Harry glared after them for a moment, then headed back to Gryffindor Tower, fuming. The Board of Governors had to know better than to listen to the likes of Malfoy. On the other hand, they were listening to Pembroke, which didn’t bode well at all. Harry scowled as he climbed through the portrait hole. It was all Ryan’s fault! He was obviously trying to put Malfoy and the others up to writing to the board in order to ensure that Snape was sacked and he was made Head of House permanently.

He won’t get away with it! Harry thought determinedly. Malfoy wasn’t the only one who could write to the board. Harry raced up to his dormitory rummaged in his trunk for a quill and parchment, and began to write. His thoughts flowed with surprising ease as he tried to impress upon the board members the injustice of dismissing Snape based on hysterical rumors. He insisted that no place was safer than Hogwarts and defended Snape as one of the few people with the courage to stand up to Voldemort. How could they punish him for that?

Harry felt much better when he had finished. If nothing else, the act of writing had proven cathartic. He gave the letter to Hedwig to deliver, then set about working on the homework assignments he’d missed while in the hospital wing. Harry managed to finish the last of his assignments just about the time that the rest of his housemates were due back from classes. He went down to the common room to meet his friends only to find them in the midst of an excited discussion.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he joined the group.

“Snape has called a meeting of all the Slytherins,” Neville said. “The entire house is supposed to gather in their common room before dinner.”

“What for?” Harry asked.

“That’s just it,” Dean replied. “No one knows. It’s a complete mystery.”

---

Snape strode through the dungeons in a black mood. Since McGonagall had appeared at his bedside that morning and handed him copies of the previous week’s editions of the Daily Prophet, the day had gone steadily downhill, which was something of an achievement, to say the least. It seemed that he couldn’t walk through the castle without everyone he passed staring at him and whispering behind his back. He had tried to sequester himself in his quarters, but when he was alone the bitter truth of his situation was even more palpable than the stares that followed him through the halls.

Now he had the singularly unappealing task of attempting to persuade the Slytherins to foreswear the Dark Lord. It seemed a dubious endeavor at best, but Dumbledore had insisted that he give his students a first-hand account of the Dark Lord’s true nature and Snape had reluctantly agreed. Never one to share personal information, however, he found the prospect of doing so with his students extremely distasteful. At least it would be quick, though; what he had to say wouldn’t take long.

Snape swept into the Slytherin common room in his usual imposing fashion. “I trust everyone is here?” he asked, barely glancing at his prefects.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered sullenly, forgoing his usual obsequiousness. Snape ignored him and looked around at the students packed into the common room, all of whom fell silent as they watched their Head of House expectantly.

Snape unbuttoned his left sleeve and pulled it up then raised his arm so that all could see the Dark Mark emblazoned on his forearm.

“You all know what this is, of course.”

Some of the students looked excited; many others exchanged nervous glances. No one looked surprised.

“I will tell you, however, that none of you understands what it means.

“As all of you surely know by now, I no longer serve the Dark Lord. In fact, for quite some time, I have done all in my power to oppose him. But that was not always the case. There was a time when I was eager to follow him, as eager as some of you may be now.

“I received the Mark when I was seventeen years old and still a student in this school. I was not the only one of my classmates to do so. I know that some of you may follow that path as well. It is a seductive one. The Dark Lord offers much to his followers: power, wealth, prestige; and he promises death and worse to those who oppose him. That’s a powerful inducement. But be warned, a Death Eater’s life does not appeal to all.

“If you seek to join the Dark Lord because you believe it will bring you power, because you consider it an honor, or simply because your family wishes it, think again. As with most things in life, the reality of being a Death Eater is not the same as the promise. This I discovered to my great regret not long after receiving the Mark.

“As the Dark Lord’s servant you will know more cruelty than you can imagine. You will witness unspeakable acts. I have seen grown men scream in agony and beg for death that could not come soon enough. I have inflicted such agony on others and I have endured it myself. I would not wish either experience on any of you. Yet you are assured to suffer both in his service, for he is a harsh master.

“You may think that Death Eaters wield great power. Some do, but most do not and in any case, the power is illusory. You may lord it over the entire world, but you will always prostrate yourself before him. He will tolerate nothing short of abject servitude, so if you aren’t willing to crawl on your knees before him, reconsider. In fact, if you have even the slightest doubt of your decision, if you are not consumed with the desire to serve him, then do not under any circumstances join him!

“This is not a question of beliefs. It has nothing to do with your stance on blood purity or Muggle relations. The Dark Lord does not only wish to purify our world, he intends to subjugate it and he will begin with you. This Mark is not only a symbol of allegiance. It is the brand of slavery and it can never be expunged. Once you give yourself to him, you are his for life. The only escape is through death.”

Snape was interrupted by a small strangled cry. Annoyed, he glanced over at a group of students huddled around a fifth-year girl who didn’t look at all well. Faye Morgan was pale and Lucy Worster was clutching her shoulder in concern.

“But sir,” Lucy said, looking from her friend to Snape. “You just said that you no longer serve You-Know-Who and you’ve survived.”

“That I survived his tender mercies once was a miracle. I have no expectation that I shall do so again.”

“Again?”

“Do you imagine that the Dark Lord allows his followers to stray? He allows no betrayal, however slight, to go unpunished and mine was enormous. You may well imagine the extent of my punishment to require as prolonged a convalescence as I have endured, but I assure you it was not sufficient in his eyes. He neither forgives nor forgets.

“I have no illusions as to what my fate will be, but I also have no regrets. Few people would choose as I have done. Fewer still would be capable of it. But I would rather die a free man than be slave to another.”

Without warning and to Snape’s utter dismay, Faye burst into tears.

“Faye, get hold of yourself,” Lucy admonished her friend. “It’s all right.”

“But Thomas, you know he –”

“I don’t know anything and neither do you,” Lucy interrupted fiercely, casting a terrified glance in Malfoy’s direction.

“But he doesn’t want –”

“Faye, shut up!”

The urgency in her friend’s voice finally seemed to register and Faye looked around at the crowd of students who were staring at her. She spotted Malfoy and turned so pale that Snape was afraid she might faint.

“Mr. Malfoy, take your friends and leave,” Snape commanded without taking his eyes off the stricken girl.

Malfoy didn’t move. “Actually, I think we’d just as soon stay.”

Snape turned to regard Malfoy with an unreadable expression and his lip twitched in the slightest smirk. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said in a low, velvet drawl, not at all ruffled by Malfoy’s insolence. “My days at Hogwarts are likely coming to an end, so perhaps you are under the naïve impression that I will tolerate disrespect from my students. I assure you that is not the case. Keep in mind that when I am no longer a professor of this school, my duty to protect its students will be void. Defy me, and I shall take great pleasure in ensuring that you regret it. Now take your friends and get out of my sight.”

Malfoy’s bravado was no match for the genuine menace Snape managed to convey. No one doubted that Snape was serious. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards his friends. With a final glare at Snape, he jerked his head towards the door and he and his gang trooped out of the common room

Snape turned back to Faye Morgan.

“Please, Professor,” she blurted out. “It’s my brother, Thomas. You remember him, he left Hogwarts just last year. He met some people and he wound up joining You-Know-Who, only now I think it might have been a mistake.”

Snape considered. Yes, he remembered Thomas Morgan: over-confident, eager to be someone, and utterly inexperienced in the harsh realities of life. He could well imagine that the boy was out of his depth in the Dark Lord’s service. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done for the young man now and his sister’s blubbering could only make matters worse.

“Miss Morgan,” Snape admonished the girl sternly. “You cannot possibly know your brother’s situation and you may well be misjudging him. I myself would not expect him to voice any disenchantment with his position and it is not your place to do so. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Faye Morgan looked at him in horror, but the girl was no fool; she understood. With effort, she regained her composure and wiped her eyes.

“Yes, Professor,” she said. “You’re right, of course.”

Snape looked around at the rest of the students. It was amazing how quickly the veneer of arrogant self confidence had fallen away and Snape would have sneered at them in contempt if they hadn’t looked quite so lost and frightened. Worst of all, Snape realized with a sickening dread that they were all staring at him with the same look of anticipation Potter had given him the night before in the hospital ward. Snape frowned slightly. He’d done his part by telling them the truth. What more did they want?

“Is it really true that you’re leaving, Professor?” Jeremy Banks asked.

“Very likely, yes.”

Walter Sutton, who was standing next to Banks, spoke up. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My dad will disown me if I don’t become a Death Eater,” one of the seventh year boys blurted out hopelessly. “He says he owes a debt and the only way to repay it is for me to join up.”

Another boy nodded. “My folks stayed out of it last time and were shunned by a lot of the old families. They don’t want to make any enemies this time.”

“My dad’s one of ‘em. So’s my uncle. How can I tell them no?” demanded a third.

Snape had no answers. His gaze raked over his students once more. Some looked frightened, others grimly resigned, but they all suddenly looked terribly young. These were children. They had no idea how to manage on their own and no one to turn to for support. Most of their families were no help, the rest of the school ostracized them and they couldn’t even trust each other, not with Malfoy and his gang intimidating everyone.

Dumbledore had been right; they desperately needed guidance and for the first time, Snape genuinely resented that he was being driven out of Hogwarts. No one knew these students and their families as well as he did. He knew that he could advise them better than anyone else, but now that he could finally speak to them honestly, there was no time.

Snape felt a vicious fury and his mouth drew into a thin determined line. “I will not stand for any of you to be drawn into the Dark Lord’s service against your will. So long as you are at Hogwarts, you are safe.”

“What about when we leave?” a student called out.

“And what about our families?” asked another.

“There is considerable help to be had both within this school and without for those who know how to ask,” Snape told them. “I will make certain that you have every resource you need at your disposal whether I am here or not, you have my word for it. Now pay attention and I will tell you what to do.”

---

Dinner was very late. The tables in the Great Hall, normally laden with food by now, stood bare. Surprisingly, this was not the greatest concern of the students who had assembled. Conversation centered on just one topic: the conspicuously empty Slytherin table. Word of the Slytherin house meeting had spread quickly throughout the school; however, no reason had been given for the gathering which was obviously going on longer than expected, and speculation was running rampant.

Ron sighed. “They’ve been down there for an hour. What’s Snape doing?”

“Saying his farewells, do you suppose?” Seamus asked.

“That would make sense,” Dean said. “I can’t think of any other reason why he’d call the entire house together.”

Ron frowned. “How long’s it take to say ‘goodbye’?”

“Maybe he’s talking to them about Voldemort,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Well, if he is, I hope it doesn’t take all night,” Ron said. “I’m starved.”

Hermione scowled at Ron. “How can you think of eating with all that Professor Snape is going through?”

“If I thought missing dinner would help him, I’d consider it, but I really don’t think it will.”

“Well, it looks as if something’s happening,” Neville said hopefully.

The others followed his gaze to the staff entrance next to the head table. The teachers were arriving, though Snape wasn’t among them. Dumbledore entered the Hall last of all and stepped forward to address the students who immediately grew quiet.

“I wish to offer my apologies for the delay in dinner. As all of you know by now, Professor Snape is meeting with the Slytherin students. They should be joining us shortly.” Dumbledore paused and looked around the Hall, sadly.

“Dark times are upon us. But Lord Voldemort is not the only enemy among us, nor dare I say it, the most dangerous. The greatest enemy is the one that lies within each of us. It is fear, hopelessness, indifference. It is every prejudice that divides us. It is taking the easy path instead of the right one.”

Dumbledore looked towards Harry. “It is a sad truth that those who bear the heaviest burden often do so alone and in secret. But it is not only the task of the few to rid our world of evil, it is the duty of all. We must all lay aside our fears and stand together against injustice or we shall never be free of the evil that threatens our world.”

At that moment, the doors from the entrance hall opened and Draco Malfoy and his entourage entered the Great Hall. They didn’t look at anyone as they stormed up to the Slytherin table, barely contained fury evident in every step. They took their seats and a few moments later the rest of the Slytherins arrived, looking haggard and grim. The younger students all looked worried and frightened, but not nearly as much as some of the older students who looked practically sick. A few of the girls had clearly been crying.

There was silence in the Hall as everyone watched the Slytherins, though the new arrivals didn’t seem to notice. Their attention was focused on their own table where Malfoy and his friends were ensconced at one end, glaring at their housemates. The other Slytherins hesitated, glancing warily at one another. No one seemed to want to sit down.

Finally, Millicent Bulstrode pushed her way past the rest of the milling students. She met Malfoy’s glare with one of her own before stomping down to the opposite end of the table. She sat down, staring defiantly at no one in particular. The rest of the Slytherins looked from one end of the table to the other and made up their minds. A few of the students joined Malfoy, but the majority joined Millicent. Each group ignored the other and none of the Slytherins spoke. Neither did anyone else.

This unnatural quiet was broken by the door opening once more. It was Snape and everyone in the Hall turned to stare at him. He looked more tired than Harry had ever seen him, but there was quiet determination in his rigid posture and firm step. Snape didn’t look at any of the students as he started towards the front of the Hall, his footsteps echoing evenly in the silence. Everyone watched him, some with concern, most with frank curiosity. Harry was gratified to see Malfoy and his cronies shrink down in their seats as Snape passed them, even though they threw malicious looks at him behind his back. The other Slytherins, in contrast, gazed at Snape with respect bordering on reverence. Whatever Snape had told them, it had clearly had an effect.

Snape took his seat at the head table, still somehow managing to ignore the relentless scrutiny from the students. He glanced at Dumbledore who smiled slightly in return.

“Now that we are all present,” Dumbledore said, “I believe it is time to eat.” Dinner appeared on the tables and slowly the oppressive silence began to lift. Even the tension at the Slytherin table subsided as the students began to talk quietly among themselves. However, Malfoy and his gang continued to glare resentfully at their housemates. They ate quickly and left.

---

Wednesday morning, the rift between the Slytherins was still obvious. Not only were the two groups not speaking to each other at breakfast, but by the time Harry arrived for Ryan’s Defense lesson, the two factions of the sixth year Slytherins were standing as far apart as possible and doing their best to ignore one another.

“Should be an interesting lesson,” Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione.

Ryan arrived, his usual ebullient self, and didn’t seem the least bit troubled by the tension in the Slytherin ranks. If anything, Harry thought he looked amused.

“We’ll be dueling in pairs today. Everyone select a partner.”

Ron immediately turned to Hermione, but she was already heading towards the Slytherins. She marched up to Millicent Bulstrode.

“Do you want to be partners?” Hermione asked the startled girl and all the other students paused to look at them. While Ryan periodically instructed the students to pair up with someone from the other house, given the choice, they always partnered with members of their own, so Hermione’s action was shocking.

Millicent glanced uncertainly at the surprised faces watching them, but Hermione wasn’t deterred.

“We always win,” she said, smiling conspiratorially.

Millicent slowly returned the smile. “Yeah, we do. Okay, why not?”

With that decided, the rest of the students began pairing off. Malfoy and his group stayed strictly amongst themselves, not even deigning to work with other members of their own house, which threw yet another wrinkle into selecting partners. The process took twice as long as usual, but Ryan seemed perfectly content to wait.

Eventually, the teams were formed, including four inter-house pairs which eventually wound up faring better in the duels than the single-house teams. Hermione was proven right; she and Millicent won all of their duels, though the one against Ron and Harry was a near thing and Harry complained that the only reason he and Ron lost was because Ron couldn’t bring himself to curse Hermione, whereas Hermione had no compunction against cursing him.

“I can’t help it, Harry,” Ron apologized as they mounted the steps to the entrance hall after their lesson. “It’s Hermione.”

Harry shook his head in disgust as they went in to lunch, but said nothing else on the subject. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione wasn’t nearly as circumspect and took great pleasure in describing the highlights of their duel to Ginny who grinned at her brother.

“Wait until I tell Fred and George.”

Ron grimaced and sank lower in his seat, but just then the students who had had Potions that morning arrived and the conversation turned to Snape. Everyone was relieved to hear that the Potions Master had been no worse than usual, despite the fact that he was likely to be sacked any day. That wasn’t saying a lot, of course, but it was something and it was enough to convince Harry that the time was right to approach Snape with his worries.

Snape hadn’t been at breakfast and, hadn’t come up to lunch either, so Harry wolfed down his food and headed for the dungeons. However, when Harry arrived at Snape’s office, the door was closed and he could hear the murmur of voices inside. Harry hesitated, unsure what to do. It had never occurred to him that Snape might be occupied with another student, but as he stood in momentary indecision, the door opened and a burly seventh-year Slytherin emerged. The boy scowled suspiciously at Harry, but said nothing as he lumbered off down the hall.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Snape asked, frowning at Harry from the doorway.

“I need to talk to you, Professor,” Harry answered.

“I’m busy, Mr. Potter, it will have to wait,” Snape said, turning away.

“But sir –”

“I said it will have to wait,” Snape snapped in a cold, imperious voice. “Get back upstairs where you belong.” Snape slammed the door leaving Harry alone once more.

Harry had no choice but to retrace his steps back upstairs. He was annoyed with Snape and spent the entire period during History of Magic sulking and rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say to the man the next time they met. It wasn’t until the students arrived at Herbology that Harry’s mind was finally distracted from the taciturn Potions Master. Waiting for them on a table in the center of the greenhouse was Neville’s plant.

“I’ve asked Mr. Longbottom to read out the excellent essay he wrote about his Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Professor Sprout told the class.

She smiled encouragingly at Neville who looked terrified. He was visibly shaking when he rose to address his classmates and his voice was barely audible at first. However, after a few minutes, he began to relax. He clearly enjoyed talking about his plant and became quite animated, especially when a few of the students actually asked questions. It turned out to be a surprisingly good lesson and everyone congratulated Neville as they headed back to the castle.

“You know, Neville, you really ought to consider being a teacher,” Hermione said.

“Me? A teacher?” Neville asked incredulously.

“Why not,” Ron said. “You only have to be good at one thing and you’re brilliant at Herbology.”

Neville frowned slightly as they trooped across the entrance hall towards the stairs, obviously trying to decide if Ron’s comment had been a compliment or an insult.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ron asked as Harry broke away from the rest of his classmates and headed for the dungeons.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” Harry said, then disappeared down the stairs before anyone could question him further. He headed for Snape’s office once more, determined not to let the man brush him off again, and knocked at the door.

“Come in,” Snape answered at once, but when Harry poked his head into the room, Snape scowled at him. “Potter, don’t you have anything better to do than pester me?”

“I really need to talk to you, Professor,” Harry said firmly, coming into the room and shutting the door.

Snape shook his head impatiently. “I have no time for you now.”

“That’s what you told me at lunch.”

“That’s right, Mr. Potter, and I still have no time for you.”

“It’s important,” Harry insisted.

Snape pursed his lips, clearly displeased. “Are you having difficulties with your visions?”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry began, but Snape interrupted him at once.

“Then there’s no reason for you to be here.”

Before Harry could protest, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Snape called and Faye Morgan opened the door. She hesitated, looking askance at Harry.

“It’s all right, Miss Morgan,” Snape said, giving Harry a stern look. “Mr. Potter was just leaving.”

There was obviously no point in arguing, so Harry left Snape’s office and returned to Gryffindor Tower, more frustrated than ever.

“Harry, what were the results of the Vampire Congress in 1723?” Ron asked as Harry entered the common room.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Hermione won’t tell me,” Ron added.

“It’s in the text!” Hermione said in exasperation. “Can’t you just look it up?”

Ron looked at Hermione as if he’d never heard a more ridiculous suggestion, then turned back to Harry. “Come on, Harry, help me out will you?”

Harry flopped down on the sofa. “I don’t know what the results of the Vampire congress were and I don’t care.”

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.

“I need to talk to Snape, but every time I try he’s busy with someone else.”

“You’ll need to take a number if you want to talk to Snape,” Ginny said.

“Since when is Snape so popular?” Ron asked.

“Since yesterday evening when he met with the Slytherins. He scared them all half to death from what I’ve heard and a lot of them are looking for advice on how to avoid joining Voldemort without actually coming out against him. A bit tricky, that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said as he stood up and began to pace.

“Why do you need to talk to Snape?” Ron asked in a tone that clearly indicated that he found the idea distasteful.

“I just need to,” Harry said impatiently.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked and Harry whirled around to glare at her.

“Yes, I’m all right!” Harry yelled. “Will you stop asking me that all the time?”

“There’s no call to shout at Hermione!” Ron said indignantly.

Harry looked from Ron’s angry expression to Hermione’s stricken one and felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He sat back down on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, then looked up as Hermione came to sit next to him.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” she asked seriously. “We’re your friends. Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

Ron had come to stand next to him as well and Ginny was watching him intently. They were all looking at him with sympathy and concern and Harry felt a rush of gratitude for having such good friends. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“It’s just that every time I read about another Death Eater attack, I feel guilty, as if it were my fault.”

“Harry, that’s ridiculous!” Hermione said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it feels as if it were. Voldemort has to be stopped and I’m the one who needs to stop him.”

“What?” Ginny asked, clearly horrified. “Harry, why on earth would you think that?”

“It’s the Daily Prophet, that’s what it is,” Ron said in disgust. “Not a week goes by that there’s not some editorial about how you’re the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and you’re going to defeat Voldemort and save us all. But that’s rubbish, Harry! You know it is.”

“Just because Voldemort has tried to kill you, that doesn’t mean it’s your job to defeat him,” Ginny insisted. “You of all people need to stay away from him, Harry!”

Hermione agreed in her most sensible tone. “Ginny’s right, you’ve got to stop playing the hero. Voldemort is the most powerful evil wizard that’s ever lived. Even Dumbledore hasn’t been able to stop him and if he can’t, there’s no way that you can expect to do it. That’s just madness.”

Harry swallowed hard and looked away. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, then he stood up and headed for the portrait hole.

“Where are you going now?” Ron asked.

“I just need to go for a walk.”

Harry left Gryffindor Tower and made his way to the third floor. It had been weeks since he’d felt the need to retreat to his private hideaway, but at the moment there was nowhere else he could bear to be. He sank down on the window seat in the tower room and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around them, but the cramping in his stomach refused to go away. Instead it spread until his chest ached as well. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the profound hopelessness he felt.

His friends were right; it was ridiculous to think that he could defeat the most powerful evil wizard who had ever lived when even Dumbledore was unable to do so. How could he have ever believed that he could stand against Voldemort? Harry’s lip curled in a sneer at his own stupidity. Even his studies of Occlumency and Legilimency seemed pointless now.

He’d worked so hard, devoted so much time and effort to learning to defend his mind against Voldemort and he’d succeeded. But so what? His hard-won personal victory in gaining control of his visions seemed increasingly unimportant, as each day the horrific headlines in the Daily Prophet mocked him with reports of another Death Eater attack, more innocent lives destroyed. Harry felt his stomach twist again, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to face the truth. He was no closer to finding a way to stop Voldemort than he’d ever been. All he’d really accomplished was to spend six months distracting himself from the inevitable. Now there was nothing to obscure the cold fact: Voldemort was going to kill him and there was nothing he could do about it.

But if that was true, if there was no hope, then why had the prophecy pointed to him as the one who could defeat the evil wizard? Surely that wasn’t just a cruel joke; Snape had told him that his death couldn’t be a foregone conclusion. Harry seized that assurance, but had no idea how it might help him. It made no sense; he knew that he could never beat Voldemort in a duel.

Harry’s head was starting to pound, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and called upon his mental disciplines to ease the tension in his mind and relieve the pain. Harry’s eyes snapped open. His mind. Could it be that his efforts to learn Occlumency and Legilimency hadn’t been futile after all? He’d reached into Voldemort’s mind to find information. Might he also use that connection to attack Voldemort directly? Harry remembered the murderous fury he’d felt the night he’d attacked Snape. He recoiled from the memory, but still he knew that he was capable of hatred that could kill. Could it kill Voldemort? Harry shuddered at the thought of giving in to that kind of hatred, but he could see no other hope of defeating his foe.

Harry leaned back and stared out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight drenching the grounds below and at the students coming and going, laughing together or calling out to their friends. He longed for a carefree life where the worst thing he’d have to face would be a Potions exam, but he was never going to have that. He was either going to die or become a murderer as filled with hatred as the enemy he hoped to kill.

Harry took a deep breath and tried once more to calm his mind. He was only partially successful; he simply had too much to think about and felt the familiar frustration that there was no one he could talk to. He didn’t dare broach the subject with his friends again and Snape had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to see Harry. That was no surprise, Harry thought bitterly. He should have realized that Snape would want to avoid him. What better way to ignore the fact that Harry had saved his life? Harry shook his head, disgusted as much with his own naivety as he was with the Potions Master. He should have known better than to think that he could talk to Snape and he hated to admit how much his teacher’s rejection hurt.

Being angry with Snape at least calmed Harry’s anxiety. He left the third floor and went back to his common room where the bustle of activity and conversation helped to further push his worries out of his mind. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, but that night Harry had another horrific nightmare which still haunted him the next morning at breakfast.

---

“You all right, Harry?” Neville asked as he spread jam on his toast.

Harry gritted his teeth, but managed to answer in an even tone. “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.”

“I don’t believe it!” Seamus exclaimed staring at the morning paper. “The Board of Governors has voted to keep Snape on.”

“What?” Ron said, incredulously. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was,” Seamus said with feeling.

Dean leaned over to peer at the headline and shook his head in disgust. “And here we thought we were going to get rid of him.”

“Why’d they keep him on?” Ron asked, obviously annoyed. “I thought it was a sure thing they were going to sack him.”

Seamus didn’t answer. He was reading the front page with a rather perplexed expression.

“Seamus?” Dean prompted.

“Er… It says that Harry’s the one who talked them in to keeping him on.”

“What?” Harry blurted out, still trying to absorb the news that Snape wasn’t going to be fired. “Of course I didn’t!”

Hermione took the paper from Seamus and skimmed the article. She looked up at Harry. “It says that you wrote to the Board of Governors.”

Harry blinked. He’d forgotten about the letter he’d written, but surely that couldn’t have made a difference. Then again, if the Daily Prophet had mentioned it –

“Let me see that.” Harry took the paper and read it as his classmates huddled around to peer over his shoulder.

“In a unanimous decision, the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry voted yesterday to retain Professor Severus Snape as Potions Master at the school despite the recent attack on Snape’s life by Death Eaters. The board was swayed by an impassioned plea made in a letter from Harry Potter, who is a sixth year student at the school. Potter praised Snape’s courage in facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and emphasized the support Snape has provided him in time and again thwarting You-Know-Who’s plans…”

Harry closed his eyes. He felt slightly queasy and couldn’t bear to read any more.

“Wow, Harry,” Dean said, sounding more disgusted than impressed. “Did you really say all that?”

“I suppose so,” Harry said, passing the paper back to Seamus. “I was trying to convince the board not to sack him.”

“Why?”

Harry looked up at his classmates. Dean had asked the question but it was obvious that most of the others were wondering the same thing. Why would Harry, of all people, want Snape to remain at Hogwarts? Harry had no idea how to answer; his emotions were a complete jumble. Fortunately, Hermione spoke up.

“How do you suppose it would feel to be tortured by Voldemort, to barely survive and then be told that you were being kicked out of Hogwarts because you’re a danger to the school? No matter how awful Snape is, he doesn’t deserve that.” She turned to Harry. “I think what you did was brilliant! No one else could have convinced the board not to dismiss Professor Snape.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry said modestly.

“You don’t read the paper enough,” Seamus said. “Hermione’s right. With all the uproar against Snape there’s no way anyone else’s opinion would have mattered. But you’re Harry Potter. If you say Snape’s all right and should stay at Hogwarts, then he stays.”

“I haven’t got that much influence,” Harry protested.

“Sure you do, mate, it’s all right here,” Seamus insisted, flipping through the paper. “Yesterday, every editorial said that Snape ought to be fired for the safety of the school. Today, they can’t say enough good things about him.”

“What’s Pembroke have to say?” Hermione asked.

Seamus flipped a few more pages. “Nothing. He didn’t write an article today.”

Hermione smiled in satisfaction, but Harry was feeling decidedly uncomfortable at the idea that he could single-handedly sway policy and public opinion.

“Well, maybe Snape will at least be in a good mood for Potions this morning,” Dean said.

Harry looked up at the head table, but once again Snape wasn’t there. Dean was right, though; surely Snape would be pleased by the board’s vote. But even as he tried to convince himself of that, Harry couldn’t shake a nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Somehow he suspected that Snape wasn’t going to be entirely happy.

---

Snape hadn’t gone up to breakfast. He didn’t care to read whatever Pembroke might have written about him in the paper that morning, much less endure the furtive glances and whispers of the students. Besides, he was far too busy. Snape shared the common assumption that he would be dismissed by the weekend and although he lived an ascetic lifestyle, he still had fifteen years’ worth of papers and books to sort and pack. At the moment, most of these were stacked in piles in his living room.

Snape’s quarters were sparsely furnished in the purely functional style of a man who pays no attention to decor. A long, black, leather sofa sat in the middle of the room facing a workbench which stood against the wall opposite the fireplace. Snape had spent many long nights dozing here while waiting for some complicated potion to brew. A matching armchair huddled near the fireplace in front of the hearth rug, the only floor covering that dared encroach upon the cold, gray, stone. The walls were bare of pictures or other decoration. Most were lined with bookshelves and a few cupboards used to store the rarest and most dangerous potions ingredients. The ceiling was surprisingly high, though shrouded in darkness. In fact, the whole room was dark, requiring the lamps to be lit; this was owing to the fact that there were no windows in evidence. Dark blue, velvet curtains hung from ceiling to floor along the entire wall opposite the entryway. But these were drawn tightly closed and gave no hint of what might lay beyond them. In front of these curtains stood a five-foot-long mahogany table and a single chair.

Snape sat at the table which was currently covered with numerous large stacks of papers. With a wave of his hand he sent his notes on the Wolfsbane potion floating across the room to land in an open box. Another larger pile of papers was sent floating towards the rubbish bin, however, this was overflowing and the papers fluttered uncertainly for a moment before dropping to the floor next to it. Snape scowled and picked up his wand.

“Evanesco,” he said, emptying the bin for the second time that morning.

There was a knock at the door. “What?” Snape called tiredly.

The door opened and Dumbledore entered, smiling benignly.

“Good morning, Severus,” he said picking his way through stacks of boxes and books to reach Snape who rose to greet the headmaster. “I see you’ve been quite industrious.”

“What do you need, Albus?” Snape asked, unable to muster the patience for pleasantries.

“Nothing,” Dumbledore answered. “However, I thought you ought to see this.” Dumbledore pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his pocket and handed it to Snape, who hesitated only a moment before accepting it.

Snape grimly opened the paper and looked at the front page then back at Dumbledore in astonishment. “They voted to retain me?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “They voted unanimously to retain you.”

“And you thought your entreaties hadn’t impressed them,” Snape said with a smirk.

“Mine didn’t.”

Snape frowned in confusion, but Dumbledore only smiled and nodded at the paper. Snape scanned the article under the headline and felt his stomach drop. He looked back at Dumbledore’s impassive expression.

“He wrote to the Board of Governors?” Snape demanded in a genuinely scandalized tone.

“Apparently so,” Dumbledore replied, clearly amused. “And it seems as though his letter was quite effective.”

“This is humiliating!”

“Do you think so, Severus? I have never found the respect and loyalty of my students to be humiliating; quite the opposite, actually. However, if you believe that the Board of Governors has erred in their decision, you are, of course, welcome to resign.”

Snape scowled at Dumbledore, but bit back his sarcastic comment.

“In lieu of that however,” Dumbledore continued, “I suggest you unpack.” The old man turned to leave, but stopped. “And Severus, you really shouldn’t keep the curtains drawn all the time. I find that letting a little light in does wonders to help us see.” Dumbledore waved his hand and the heavy velvet curtains obediently parted and drew back to reveal a wall of windows stretching from floor to ceiling.

To find such an expanse of windows in the dungeons was startling, but the view itself was arresting. This side of the castle was built upon a bluff and the windows opened out onto a sheer drop to the valley far below and provided a panoramic view. Morning sunlight flooded the room causing the now unneeded lamps to wink out.

Dumbledore smiled. “That’s much better.” Then he was gone.

Snape stared after Dumbledore for a moment, then sank down into his chair once more. He didn’t even glance out the windows behind him, but stared sourly at the Daily Prophet. He read the article through once more, slowly and sighed. He had to do something about Potter.

In the last several days, he’d been too busy arranging his affairs and meeting with the Slytherins to think about the boy. Or rather, he’d been busy enough that he’d been able to avoid thinking about him. Now that he was going to be staying at Hogwarts, however, he could no longer simply ignore Potter in the hope that he would go away. It was clear that the boy had taken it upon himself to act as Snape’s personal guardian and advocate and Snape found this deeply disturbing.

It was his own fault, of course. He had indulged his sympathy for the boy – Snape didn’t dare think of it as affection – and this had allowed Potter to overstep the line between teacher and student. However, this couldn’t continue. Regardless of what Dumbledore had told him about not pushing Potter away, the boy was far too close and the appropriate boundaries had to be reestablished between them.

The clock over the mantelpiece chimed; it was time for his sixth-year Potions class. Snape laid aside the paper and waved his hand at the curtains behind him. They closed smoothly, plunging the room into darkness once more and the lamps flickered on as Snape rose and left his quarters.

---

“So Potter, going for teacher’s pet?” Harry had just taken his seat in the Potions classroom and looked up at Malfoy’s snide remark. The Slytherin was glaring at him with a mixture of malice and disgust.

“Oh, Professor Snape is my hero,” Malfoy drawled melodramatically. He looked beseechingly at Harry. “You can’t dismiss him! I don’t know what I’d do without him!”

There were several snickers from the other students and Malfoy laughed derisively. Harry could feel himself blushing, but Hermione touched him arm. “Ignore him!” she said firmly, giving Malfoy an angry glare.

Harry was spared further taunts as the door was wrenched open and Snape stalked into the classroom.

“Your homework last week was abysmal,” he snarled. “Assuming that any of you intend to sit your NEWT and are not simply here for entertainment, you will need to do far better. Put your books away and prepare an essay on six common Potions in which wormwood is used. Describe its role in each potion and how its effects are altered by the other potion ingredients as well as the method of preparation.”

No one moved. The students simply stared at Snape, stunned. Snape sneered at them in return.

“Unless, of course, you would all prefer detention as well as a zero for the day,” he drawled.

Everyone immediately scrambled to find a quill and parchment and began scribbling furiously. Snape prowled around, grunting in disgust, shaking his head and thoroughly unnerving the students. He arrived at Harry’s workbench and favored Harry’s rather minimal effort with a look of perfect disdain.

“It’s a pity that your knowledge of potions doesn’t equal your powers of persuasion. Unfortunately, fame doesn’t make up for incompetence. If this is the best work you can do, I guarantee you will not be in my class next year.”

Snape turned away, leaving Harry hunched over his essay, his face burning in humiliation as he tried to ignore the stares of the other students.

At long last the bell rang signaling the end of the lesson. Harry reluctantly passed in his essay. Snape had been right, of course; it was dreadful. Then Harry grabbed his books and joined the rest of the students filing out of the classroom.

“I guess fame doesn’t make up for stupidity, either,” Malfoy snapped, stopping Harry in the hallway. “I told you that Snape hated you, Potter! Did you really think some fawning letter to the Board of Governors would change that? Do us all a favor and don’t do him any more favors.”

Malfoy stormed off and the rest of the students favored Harry with grim looks as they dispersed.

“Harry, it’s not your fault that Professor Snape was horrid to everyone,” Hermione said sympathetically as they walked upstairs.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What difference does it make? They all blame me anyway.”

“They’ll get over it. You did the right thing in defending Snape to the board. You know that.”

“Snape doesn’t seem to think so,” Harry said bitterly. “He obviously isn’t terribly happy with me.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s just the way he is.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of it!” Harry only just managed not to shout as he came to a halt in the entrance hall. “I’m tired of him biting my head off for no reason. He won’t talk to me. He’d probably have been happy to be sacked just to get away from me! Malfoy’s right, he hates me and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry turned around to find Ryan standing behind him and forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. “Yes, sir?”

“Now that you’ve recovered from your Quidditch mishap, it occurs to me that I still owe you detention from last week,” Ryan said, looking much too pleased.

Harry sighed and gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re to report to the Potions classroom this evening after dinner.”

Harry frowned. “The Potions classroom? Why?”

“Professor Snape has been extremely busy with the Slytherin students the last two days and will likely continue to be for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, that means he has very little time to devote to preparing potions ingredients for his lessons. Since you’ve ensured that this situation won’t be changing any time soon, it seems only fair that you assist him.”

A day earlier, Harry would have been delighted with this detention, but now it only filled him with dread. “Couldn’t I just polish the trophies or clean the lavatories instead?”

Ryan’s teeth flashed in his most wolfish grin. “Not a chance, Potter.”

---

The door to the Potions classroom was ajar that evening when Harry arrived and he pushed it open without bothering to knock. Snape stood at one of the workbenches grinding something in a mortar. There was a bin sitting on the workbench as well as a number of small, empty jars. Other workbenches held similar bins and jars; obviously potions ingredients waiting to be prepared for upcoming lessons.

“Professor?”

Snape looked up and grimaced. “Potter, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for detention,” Harry said sullenly as he came forward.

Snape’s frown deepened. “Detention? From whom?”

“Ryan. He said you needed help preparing potions ingredients.”

“Ryan has no business assigning his students detention with me,” Snape said irritably as he poured the contents of his mortar into one of the jars in front of him and scooped up another batch of beetles from the bin. “And I certainly don’t need your help.”

Harry bristled. “I may not be your best student, but I think I can grind up beetles.”

Snape regarded Harry as though he weren’t entirely certain of that.

“Or you could just let me off detention, if you prefer,” Harry added.

“Hardly,” Snape sneered. “Very well, Mr. Potter, be my guest.” He set down the mortar and pestle and waved at the workbench. “I need forty jars of beetles, coarsely ground.”

Snape stepped across to the next workbench, picked up a chunk of Bicorn horn and began grating it into a fine powder. Harry glanced between Snape and the beetles.

“A bit more alacrity, Potter, unless you wish to be up all night,” Snape said.

Harry rolled his eyes, but stepped forward, picked up the mortar and pestle and began to grind away at the beetles. He and Snape worked in silence. Snape appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in producing an ever growing mound of powdered Bicorn horn and paid no attention to Harry. Harry, on the other hand, kept glancing at his teacher and could feel his frustration growing as the man continued to ignore him.

Harry filled his fifth jar with ground beetles and sighed for the tenth time.

“Is preparing ground beetles too taxing for you, Potter?” Snape asked in obvious annoyance.

Harry shrugged as he scooped more beetles into his mortar. “It’s better than trying to sleep.”

Snape frowned slightly and looked over at Harry. “You said that you were no longer having visions.”

“I’m not, but I’ve had nightmares every night for two weeks and each one is worse than the last. Just about anything is better than going to bed, even preparing potions ingredients with you.”

Snape stared at Harry a moment longer, then went back to grating Bicorn horn. Harry sighed deeply once more.

“Potter, if you have something to say, say it!” Snape snapped in irritation.

“Would it kill you to talk to me?” Harry snapped back.

“I don’t believe in frivolous conversation, Potter, and I have nothing to say to you.”

“Really?” Harry drawled with perfect sarcasm. “Well, I can think of a few things. Like maybe you could explain why you’ve been avoiding me, or why you were so furious with me in class this morning?”

“What did you expect, gratitude?”

“No, Professor, I know better than that,” Harry said bitterly.

“Good.”

They glared at one another, then lapsed into a sullen silence once more, but after a few moments Harry spoke again.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” Harry’s voice was tightly controlled, but the anger and resentment were unmistakable.

It was Snape’s turn to sigh. “You can ask anything you like. Whether or not I answer is another matter.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you. I simply refuse to waste my time. I told you, Potter, you’ve learnt all that I can teach you.”

“You also told me that I could come to you if I needed your help,” Harry reminded his teacher indignantly.

“What do you need?” Snape demanded, thoroughly exasperated.

“I need to be able to talk to you.”

“Why? Can’t you talk to anyone else? You have enough friends!”

“I tried talking to them. It didn’t work.”

“Then go and see the headmaster.”

“Why can’t I just talk to you?” Harry asked, his voice rising in frustration.

“Because I can’t help you!” Snape yelled as his own frustration got the better of him. “What do you want, Potter? Comfort? Sympathy? I can’t give you that! Go to someone who can!”

Snape returned to grating the Bicorn horn with far more force than necessary, Harry noted. Harry half-heartedly ground his beetles, but his attention was on Snape, whom he watched out of the corner of his eye. The man was clearly furious and Harry suddenly understood that Snape’s anger wasn’t actually directed at him, at least not entirely.

“Last night I dreamt that I murdered all of my friends,” Harry said quietly without preamble. Snape froze and glanced sharply at him as he continued. “They begged me not to, pleaded with me, but I just laughed and killed them one by one. I enjoyed it, enjoyed the power, just like I enjoyed it in my visions.” Harry met Snape’s eyes. “Who do you suggest I try to explain that to?”

There was a long moment of silence in which Harry and Snape stared at one another.

“Do you have any idea why you dreamt that?” Snape asked softly.

Harry looked away and nodded. “Do you remember the night that I attacked you when we were first starting my lessons and you told me that I was able to do it because our minds were so closely attuned?”

“Of course.”

“My mind and his are even more closely linked, so I’ve been thinking – I wondered if maybe I could attack him the same way?”

“What?” Snape asked, taken aback.

Harry looked at his teacher. “I can’t beat him in a fight, Professor, he’s too strong and I’ll never be good enough. Besides, if defeating him in a duel was all that it was going to take, then anyone could do that. But if I’m the only one who can defeat him then there’s got to be something different about me, something I can do that no one else can.”

Snape picked up on Harry’s line of reasoning. “Such as being able to reach into his mind.”

“Exactly!” Harry said. “It’s the only place that he’s vulnerable to me.”

“Potter, just because you were able to enter his mind once, doesn’t mean that he’s vulnerable. You caught him when his concentration was… elsewhere, so you were able to slip by undetected. Were you to attack him that would not be the case. He would fight you and he has far more experience than you do at Legilimency.”

Harry nodded wearily. “I know, but it’s the only chance I’ve got. Believe me, if I thought there was another way, I wouldn’t even consider it. I know how much I’m going to have to hate, how much I’m going to have to want to kill, in order to breach his mind’s defenses.” Harry bit his lip and looked away. “That’s why I dreamt what I did last night. I’m scared of what I’m going to have to become in order to beat him.”

There was a long moment of silence that Snape finally broke with a thoughtful, almost comforting tone. “The hardest enemy to face is the enemy within,” he said quietly. “But you’ve no reason for despair, Potter. Believe me, I have walked far darker roads than the one before you.”

Harry looked back at Snape. “I know. That’s why I need your help. I don’t need sympathy or comfort and I don’t expect you to solve all of my problems, Professor. I know you can’t do that. But I need your advice because there are some things you understand that no one else can.”

Snape regarded Harry gravely for a moment, then sighed in resignation. “Very well, Mr. Potter. If that is truly what you require, then I will make myself available whenever you need to discuss what’s on your mind.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said with genuine relief.

“There is, however, one condition,” Snape added. “Stop defending me from every threat, insult or injustice, real or perceived that comes to your attention. I have been taking care of myself since before you born. I don’t need you to do it for me.

“I don’t mean that as a reproach, Potter,” Snape added at the look on Harry’s face. “It’s simply a fact and you have enough on your mind already.”

Harry hesitated, but he knew Snape was right and he felt a weight lift from him. He really didn’t need to be worrying about Snape on top of everything else. “All right, Professor, it’s a deal.”

“Now Mr. Potter, I think we’ve both endured enough of your detention for one evening. You may go.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry laid aside his mortar and pestle and turned away, but Snape stopped him.

“Do you need a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion?”

Harry considered, but the desperate dread that had weighed on him steadily for the last two weeks, was gone. In its place he felt a calm determination. “I think I’ll be all right tonight, sir. Thank you.”

“Goodnight then, Mr. Potter.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”