Harry was lying on his stomach, Kinship and Related Curses spread open before him, and Lucius Malfoy was seated on the edge of the bed explaining the virtues of the Macto Dominus curse, when Snape burst through the doorway. Harry jumped to his feet, startled, but Malfoy only turned his head in cool acknowledgement.

"Severus," Malfoy greeted genially. "You're home at last."

As the man spoke, he was waving his wand behind his back, out of Snape's line of sight, transfiguring the spellbook title into, "Ancient Runes and Contemporary Thought: 1790-1980."

Snape stood before them, gasping for breath. His gaze first raked over Harry, ascertaining that he was, indeed, still alive, then his sharp black eyes darted back and forth between the boy and Lucius, as though trying to figure out just what damage they had wrought in his absence.

"Lucius," he said with strained courtesy. There was a fine dusting of ash on his shoulders; he was panting as though he had sprinted straight up from the floo. "I see you misunderstood me when I instructed you to stay out of this wing of the house!"

"I must have forgotten," Malfoy said with a smile; his eyes were like cold steel.

"A pity," whispered Snape, "that the wards on this chamber failed to jog your memory"

"I couldn't help but indulge in my curiosity. My apologies, Severus," Malfoy said with an elegant dip of his head. He smiled at Harry with an affected degree of fondness. "I have concluded there is nothing about this young man that warrants confinement; he seems quite agreeable to me."

Snape looked between the two of them, unsettled. Harry realized that there was something decidedly off about him. He looked ill.

"Well I assure you, these disciplinary measures are entirely necessary," Snape said with thinly veiled irritation, "And I would appreciate your not meddling while you are a guest under my roof. You are here on my sufferance"

"Oh yes, that," Lucius said with languid disinterest, examining his own fingernails. "Did our friend have any insight into our situation?"

His calculating, gray eyes crept back up to Snape's. Comprehension dawned in Snape's face, his entire body stiffening.

"So," Snape breathed, "it was you."

"But of course," Malfoy practically purred, eyes gleaming with cruel triumph. "And you would do well to remember it."

Harry stood there, remembering suddenly Malfoy's explanation for Snape's departure: "Called away. Hopefully learning some manners."

Malfoy was gazing with unruffled arrogance at Snape, who loomed before them, radiating suppressed fury. Harry noticed the slightest tremor of Snape's hands as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His eyes shot up to Snape's thin face; the sallow skin looked haggard, his black eyes bloodshot and slightly crazed.

He remembered snatches of the conversation between Malfoy and Snape the night before, when Snape was objecting to Malfoy's presence in the house. The men had clearly had a disagreement, and this morning Snape had been called away. Now, Snape was exhibiting symptoms associated with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape took a halting step forward, glowering at Malfoy. His composure was steadily eroding before Harry's eyes. "How did you twist my words? You treacherous, loathsome bastard-- what did you say?"

There was no question in Harry's mind now that Malfoy had said something to get Snape in trouble with Voldemort, and today Snape had been punished for it. But what?

"Is this an appropriate discussion for sensitive young ears?" Lucius inquired delicately.

Snape's eyes found Harry, and he stared at him numbly for a moment, blinking, as though he'd forgotten the boy was there. Harry avoided the dark eyes and stared at the wall beyond Snape's head, just wishing the floor would swallow him. He felt like an intruder here, and he was aware of some irrational sense of guilt for this entire thing.

Snape's expression tightened; he recovered his usual self-possession.

"I do not want you in this room," he said to coldly Malfoy. He looked suddenly tired and years older as he gazed at Malfoy. "Do me the courtesy of abiding by that request, Lucius, if nothing else."

"I'll agree to that," Malfoy said mildly, still looking very smug, but the hard glint in his eyes had abated somewhat. "In the name of our dear friendship."

Snape's eyes drifted lazily over to Harry's, and he held them just for a fraction of a second. Whatever he wanted to say seemed to rise, and then die upon his lips. He swept wordlessly around and left Harry and Lucius alone in the room.

"Well, that was a painful little interlude, wouldn't you agree?" Malfoy drawled, then added with a smirk, "For our dear Severus, especially, I should think."

Harry dared not speak; he wasn't certain whether he should pretend to be entirely baffled by the exchange, or if it was safe to show some inkling of comprehension.

Malfoy waved his wand carelessly to restore Kinship and Related Curses back to its original form. "Since I appear to have agreed to stay out of your chamber, I suggest you locate some spells of particular interest, and perhaps we'll discuss them tomorrow morning." He shot Harry a wry glance. "In my room, of course. Are you amenable to that?"

There was nothing about Malfoy's tone that rang of a 'request'. Harry felt an acute surge of dislike for the smug, blonde aristocrat, but he swallowed hard and nodded with what he hoped appeared to be enthusiasm.

"Yes, of course." His lips pulled up into a smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

It took a simple 'point-me' spell, and some ordeals with various wards to locate Snape.

Lucius Malfoy was right about one thing: Snape's wards were surprisingly ineffective when one truly applied oneself to breaking them. It occurred to Harry that this, perhaps, was the reason he and his friends had found it so easy to steal potions from Snape's cabinet at school. The man simply wasn't very talented at constructing protective measures.

He found himself faintly amused as he disabled those impediments that had so effectively shut him out of the house in previous days. Clearly Snape had relied upon the psychological impact of having the wards in place, and with good reason; Harry hadn't even thought to put a concerted effort into breaking them, because he hadn't believed them to be vulnerable. With the exception of the wards around his own chamber, most of them were weak and easily disabled.

Of course, the potions lab was giving him some difficulty. He struggled with this one for fifteen solid minutes before feeling it buckle before him, and he proceeded cautiously into the room.

"Hello," he called softly. "Professor?"

The room reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts-- cold, dark, and grim. He almost laughed at the thought of Snape intentionally refurbishing one of the manor's stately rooms to resemble one of the dank Hogwarts dungeons, but his amusement died when he spotted Snape slumped against the wall in the far corner of the room.

He felt a knot of anxiety form in his chest. "Professor?" he said quietly, approaching Snape with caution.

The man looked terrible, even worse than he had upstairs. He was sagging bonelessly against the wall, the bleak hollows under his eyes more stark in the laboratory's lighting.

He knelt down and nudged Snape's shoulder. "Profess--"

He jumped when Snape's eyes shot open, and his hand clamped around Harry's wrist with an unyielding grip. The black orbs drifted uncomprehendingly over Harry's face, the talon-like grip tightening more and more until clarity suddenly stole into his expression.

"Potter!" spat Snape. "What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," Harry replied, bristling at the anger flashing in the man's eyes. Now, at least, Harry really was wondering what he was doing down here. "You looked like a wreck upstairs."

Snape sneered. "Oh? How extraordinarily perceptive of you, Mr. Potter. And you thought your presence would somehow improve my condition?" He released Harry's wrist and shoved the boy away from him. His other hand scrabbled over the wall behind him, trying to find some purchase to shove himself back to his feet.

"I can help you--"

"No!"

Harry watched Snape attempt to salvage his pride and dignity, fumbling with the wall, trying to pull himself upright.

"Sir--"

"I don't want or require your help, you insolent brat!" Snape was on his feet now, swaying precariously. "I am off the floor, as you see, so get out!"

"You can barely stand up on your own!" Harry burst out. "I suppose you're going to make your way up three staircases to your room all by yourself?"

"No," said Snape disdainfully. "I intend to traverse a single flight of stairs to settle on a comfortable couch in the parlor. For that matter, I was doing quite well on the floor before you disturbed me. Now, leave."

Harry stood there stubbornly. Why wouldn't the man just let him walk him upstairs? What the hell was his problem?

He noticed that Snape's hands were shaking harder now, even as the man tottered across the room, supporting himself with the wall. He knew that the effects would grow steadily worse.

"Don't you have a potion for that?" Harry called softly. That Calming Draught Snape had given him, he remembered, was intended to mitigate the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape's face half-turned to his. He could see the bitter, downward twist to his lips. "No, Potter. I gave the last of it to you for your Occlumency instruction. I haven't had the chance to brew more."

Again, Harry felt that twinge of guilt. Snape had resumed his halting course over to the door, and there was something strangely pitiful about the spectacle of his formidable potions professor struggling to keep his feet under him.

Well, to hell with Snape's pride.

Harry pulled out his wand and approached him from behind. "Mobilicorpus."

"Potter!" cried Snape as he floated into the air. "Put me down, now!"

"Sorry, but I'm not letting you walk."

"Potter!" Snape snarled, voice lower as they cleared the lab; even in his state he was conscious of the threat of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry used this to his advantage to aid Snape with far less harassment than the professor clearly would have liked. He floated Snape up the stairs as the man twisted his body in an effort to fight the spell. Several choice insults and three staircases later, he gently lowered Snape onto his bed.

Two black, hate-filled eyes met his.

"Get out!"

Harry turned from their fury and left Snape alone with his pain.

* * *

He wasn't sure just what compelled him to return to the lab, much less to attempt to brew that same opiate-laced calming draught Snape had once given to him. He'd idly wondered whether he could find the instructions somewhere in Snape's lab; he was astonished when he actually happened upon them amidst a pile of papers.

He took advantage of the fortuitous accident, and reflected as he brewed that it truly was similar to the Calming Draughts they made in second year potions. Harry worked in silence, and somehow he found it easier than it ever had been at Hogwarts to perfect the potion. By the time he brought a vial of it up to Snape's room, he had no doubt it would work as intended.

At first he thought the man was asleep, but Snape glanced up at him sourly when he drew closer to the bed.

"Sir..?" he asked tentatively.

Snape's eyes lit upon the potion in his hand, and the displeasure on his face increased. "Where did you get that, Potter?"

All too aware Snape wouldn't trust any potion Harry had brewed, he shrugged his shoulders. "I checked your stores, and I thought I recognized this. You must have overlooked it."

Snape's eyes glittered darkly at him, and the man roughly took the vial from his grasp. He scrutinized the liquid intently in the half-light, shot Harry a dubious look, then swallowed it.

A flicker of distaste passed over his expression before his features went slack. Harry was nearly overcome by the spiteful impulse to reveal just who had brewed the potion, but he readily dismissed the idea. He wasn't in potions class anymore; it didn't matter that Snape would never acknowledge he had the slightest aptitude for the subject.

Snape's grip eased up on the vial, and Harry quickly grabbed it before it fell. He watched his professor settle back onto the pillows, relaxed and seemingly content; he remembered with some envy the delightful haze that accompanied the opiate.

He was just turning away when Snape spoke up from behind him, "Just what do you hope to gain from this, Potter?"

Harry's brow furrowed, and he sent Snape a questioning look. "Sir?"

His professor pushed himself up onto his elbows, and was now appraising Harry through black eyes glittering with a strange intensity amidst the deathly pallor of his face.

"I asked you what you hope to gain, Potter."

Something in his expression and slurred voice made Harry's skin crawl with dread.

"Putting me to bed, brewing me a potion…" At Harry's startled look, a horrible smile crept over Snape's lips. "Yes, I can recognize my own stock, you foolish boy."

"What makes you think I want to gain anything from this?" Harry demanded, with that creeping sense of unease as something truly malignant stole into Snape's countenance.

"The way I see it," hissed Snape, leaning imperceptibly closer to the boy, black eyes glittering cruelly, "You are either hoping to gratify your hero complex, in which case I suppose you're feeling quite smug you helped your poor, pitiful professor..."

"I wasn't--" Harry began heatedly.

"Or perhaps," Snape cocked his head, his gaze seeming to sear straight through Harry's skin, "those Muggles left you so pathetically desperate for attention that you hope to win my affection with this." Snape's voice softened to a low, malevolent drawl laced with cruel amusement. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry felt anger and mortification creep through him.

"I suppose," Snape pressed on speculatively, "those two possibilities aren't so mutually exclusive. Perhaps your ridiculous and destructive need to be everybody's hero is simply a guise so the rest of us won't perceive that worthless, unloved little boy who spent so many years in a cupboard. He's still right there under the surface; he has been all along, hasn't he? You were just hoping we wouldn't see him."

Harry's cheeks were burning red; he clenched his fists tightly, as though he could will away the humiliation raging through him.

"Rest assured, Harry…" Snape leaned closer, his greasy hair casting his face in shadows. His eyes glittered into Harry with vicious intensity as he whispered, "I see you."

Harry stared at him numbly.

Snape slumped back against the pillows; the malevolent energy suddenly drained away from him. "Get out of here!" he rasped. "Out!-- you sad, pathetic, little boy!"

Harry stared at him. The horrible emotions churning inside him all seemed to coalesce into a molten rage.

"Next time, Snape," he promised softly, his voice shaking, "I'll leave you on the ground to rot."

Snape's harsh, rasping chuckle followed him out of the room.