Snape was still in the hospital wing, even though according to Dumbledore he was conscious again, and in his characteristic good cheer. The old wizard refused to discuss what he'd learned of Lucius's presence at Bassianus's house, and he'd informed Harry that he would have to ask Professor Snape himself.

Harry was keen enough to realize he was being kept in the dark yet again, and he resented the hell out of it. He hated it when people treated him like a little kid who couldn’t handle reality.

Lucius had been at Bassianus's house for a reason. Someone else had been there, too, at least one other person… someone Snape feared enough that he had decided to run rather than wait around for a confrontation.

Who could it have been?

Voldemort? No, impossible. His scar would have been killing him.

But who?

The knowledge that he was being protected from the truth again was infuriating. Still raging with irritation, Harry charged up a moving staircase, hoping to exhaust himself so he could actually sleep that night. His scar was pounding, and this irritation with Dumbledore, Snape, and the world was doing nothing to help his Occlumency.

His thoughts strayed back to Dumbledore's withered, old face when he informed Harry it was 'not his place to tell him' about Lucius, and how he'd just wanted to scream at him—

The burning in his scar suddenly seemed to envelop his entire being.

Harry was dimly aware of his legs sinking beneath him, his vision tunneling into blackness. He scrabbled with his hands for balance, all too aware of the unsteady floor teetering beneath him—

And then someone caught him, and eased him gently down to rest upon the steps.

"Thanks," Harry said breathlessly.

Gratitude cut through the thundering pain in his head, and he managed to forced his eyes open even as his scar made them water. His heart lurched in excitement at his rescuer's familiar grin.

"My pleasure... Wotcher, Harry!"

"Tonks!"

He almost hugged her before her grip tightened warningly on his arm, reminding him that anyone could see them here. Slightly abashed, Harry settled back on the steps. He couldn't fight his dazed smile.

"I can't believe you're actually here," Harry said blissfully. "Where did you come from?"

"I was heading to the Headmaster's office. How are you feeling? Are you sick?" Tonks asked him worriedly, her hands lingering on his arm for a moment longer than necessary. "Harry, you could have fallen."

Harry glanced off-handedly at the floor lurking fifty feet below the staircase. He couldn't feel that thrill of alarm at his near-miss, not with Tonks here with him. Finally here with him!

His heart thumped wildly as his gaze riveted to her familiar features, her lively eyes— amber today— and her thick sweep of garish, red hair.

"It's my scar. It's been giving me some problems lately." He rubbed it as he sat there, just grinning at her like some idiot. "What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming. I would have—"

He fell short. What would he have done differently? Combing his hair never helped. Practicing a few smooth lines always failed. Figuring out exactly what to say to her, how to ask her whether or not they were… well, dating? And if so, how to warn her that Snape had found out about them?— there was really nothing he could have done but worry about the fact that she was coming to Hogwarts, and flub whatever he planned in advance to say to her once he actually ran into her.

His stomach was leaping with butterflies, and Harry wished their first encounter since July hadn't seen him on the verge of fainting like some wimp.

"It was pretty last minute," Tonks replied lightly, settling next to him on the staircase and sprawling her slim legs out before her. "Seems Dumbledore's planning a Hogsmeade weekend, and he wants to have a few aurors watching over you kids."

Harry glanced over at her sharply. You kids?

He felt the first niggling of dread when he realized she wasn't looking at him now; she was staring intently at the far wall, as though searching for whatever words she herself had rehearsed.

Oh. Oh no. Was she going to tell him it was… well, that he'd had the wrong idea?

"It's been so long since I've seen you," Harry said brashly, hoping to forestall it. "I've missed you."

Her expression softened. "I've missed you too, Harry. We had some good times this summer, didn't we?"

Good times? Great times. Fantastic times.

"Er… yeah. Yeah, they were."

A strand of her cherry-red hair had fallen in her eyes, and he just wanted to tuck it behind her ear; he didn't know how she'd like that, though.

Funny how things had seemed so natural when they were together at Grimmauld Place, yet now everything was so strained here at Hogwarts. Was this just the effect of passing time, or was there something about the school that brought the reality of their situation back to the forefront of their minds?

She started wringing her hands where they rested on her lap. "Harry… I need to ask you something."

He nodded uneasily.

"Does Professor Snape know about us?"

Harry's throat tightened. Oh no. Had Snape said something to her—?

"He's been giving me funny looks," Tonks volunteered. "And he's been making pointed remarks." She laughed uneasily. "Basically he's been alluding to me being a… a dirty old woman, or something."

Harry felt his cheeks color. He felt deeply ashamed to admit this. "Er, you know I take Occlumency with him, right? Well, uh, he sees inside my mind. He saw stuff from this summer, too." He faltered. "I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Her tone was empty and slightly flat. Harry wondered if she felt angry with him.

She had every right to be mad…

"I'm not angry with you," Tonks offered, looking at him for the first time, her eyes sharp and perceptive. "You know, what happened this summer… Well, Harry, we were alone together, and you seemed so depressed… You were barely eating or speaking, and I just—"

Harry's stomach dropped.

"You felt sorry for me?" he blurted out, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Oh, God, if that was the reason—

"No." She stared down, her cheeks flushing. "Well, yes, I did just a bit, but that's not why… It's just that, Harry… you've been through so much. You've seen so much. It's easy to forget sometimes just how young you are. And I shouldn't have let myself forget; I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

"I'm not that young," Harry protested. "I'm graduating next year."

She smirked ruefully at that. "There's a world of difference between sixteen and twenty-three."

"Funny how it didn't matter a few months ago when I was fifteen," Harry said bitterly.

He saw her expression shutter closed, and he instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Look, Tonks," Harry said quickly, drawing closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that. I just… I don't think—"

She rose to her feet before he could get any closer.

"No, I'm sorry, Harry... I don't want you fretting over this. I'm the adult here, and I made the mistake."

She smiled at him, but she looked for all the world like she wanted to flee.

"I'm late for my meeting..." She gestured a bit helplessly to the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office. "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital wing? I could... I'll help you walk, if you'd like."

Harry shook his head grimly, not trusting himself to speak around the knot in his throat.

"Take care of yourself, Harry."

The wistful smile she gave him before turning away made his stomach twist in knots. His gaze fell morosely over the edge of the staircase. He couldn't bear to watch her leave.

His hand strayed back up to his forehead, and he sat there a long while, rubbing at his scar miserably. There was something he could have said to salvage this. He knew it.

If only he could think through the pain in his damn forehead.

* * *

He couldn't say what exactly brought him to the Hospital Wing in his invisibility cloak later. Maybe it was his resentment at Snape for scaring Tonks away from him. Or perhaps it was his burning irritation that something big had transpired at Bassianus Snape's house, and no one had deigned to tell him what. But he found himself in the hospital wing, firmly ensconced in his invisibility cloak, glaring at the sleeping form in Snape's bed.

It was hard to stay angry at an unconscious man whose forehead was knit in remembered pain. He was furious at Snape for scaring Tonks away, but he'd at least known all along that Snape was going to do something to separate them.

It could have been worse; it could have been Azkaban.

Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking of her parting smile. It hadn't seemed like she felt nothing for him. Surely if he'd just handled the situation differently… if he'd been more mature and proved to her that he wasn't just some kid…

Snape snorted in his sleep, and Harry jumped. He stared at his professor for a long moment, conscious of how loudly his own heart was thumping. He glanced wildly to the exit, and it took a concerted effort to reign in the impulse to flee before Snape woke up and... sniffed him out, or something.

He turned reluctantly back to face the injured man. He'd been wondering about Snape since Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey had hustled his inert form away. He couldn't help it, really. Snape had looked dead.

He seemed in better shape now, though… A bit paler than usual, but otherwise alright.

It made Harry nervous, recalling the strained, shallow breathing that had filled Snape's office while he waited by the unconscious professor. He'd been too shocked at the time to consider the possibility that Snape could be seriously injured. He was glad that it only occurred to him now how tense those minutes of waiting had been.

A sharp breath caught his attention. Snape stirred to life in his bed, his black eyes slipping open and gazing sightlessly up at the ceiling.

Harry nervously slinked backwards away from the bed.

Snape's head shot up, and he glared in Harry's direction, sweeping his narrowed, black eyes back and forth.

"Who's there?"

He was still glaring around intently long after Harry made his successful escape.

* * *

Two nights later, Severus was restless. Dumbledore had assured him that he'd erected wards to prevent Draco from leaving Hogwarts grounds, and he'd already summoned a team of aurors to chaperone the next trip to Hogsmeade on the oft chance Lucius tried to retrieve his son, but the news had done little to set Snape's mind at ease. He felt anxious to depart Madame Pomfrey's care, yet the Headmaster remained firmly unmoved at Snape's appeals to leave the blasted hospital wing.

His mind raced now with tactical moves he couldn't make here in bed. He was in a deadlock with Lucius. Draco was his hostage, and in a very real sense, Harry was Lucius's. It was an infuriating situation, one that prevented him from even avenging his own family... nearly every last one of whom Lucius and Bellatrix had murdered over the last two weeks.

Severus couldn't figure out how much Bellatrix knew about the people she'd killed, or the reasons why she'd done so. He hoped Lucius had played upon the woman's sheer insanity to convince her to take part in the fun, but for all he knew, she could be whispering the delicious situation with Snape's half-blood son into the Dark Lord's ear.

And here he was, stuck in bed, utterly useless.

Snape's thoughts fell silent when he heard a sound

Footsteps were brushing over the floor… Snape fought his smirk, knowing he'd caught the culprit this time, and he feigned sleep, concentrating intently.

Yes, that was a person breathing.

Well, well. So he hadn't imagined it after all, these last two nights!

Was it someone with a disillusionment charm? A prankster? A thief? Harry?

He waited until he could hear the soft breathing just a bit closer, and then his arms whipped out and seized the intruder. There was a muffled yelp of surprise, and a yank of fabric revealed his son, tangled in his grasp.

"Potter!" he snarled. "What are you doing here?"

"Let go of me!"

Snape let the boy scramble from his arms, but snared Harry's elbow when he tried to escape.

"What are you up to, skulking about in here?" Snape demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing," Harry said, trying to shrug off his grip.

Snape's fingers tightened, and the boy's cheeks flushed into two angry spots of red.

"Stealing from Madame Pomfrey?" Snape asked coldly. "Or perpetrating an amusing little prank on me while I'm incapacitated?"

"No, of course not!"

"Do you deny you've been lurking here the last three nights?" Snape persisted, drawing him closer. "I heard you."

"I couldn't sleep. I was taking a walk."

"Three nights in a row? In the hospital wing?"

Harry glared at the wall beyond Snape's head. "Look, I was around. And I was just wondering if you were feeling better."

Snape snorted. "A likely story."

"Sorry if I actually worry about people," Harry retorted, then with a little sneer, "… especially after they faint right on top of me."

Snape glared at him. "I did not faint. I passed out. There is a marked difference."

It was Harry's turn to snort.

"Whatever. I won't be here again. Let me go. Deduct points… do whatever you're going to do."

Snape appraised him coolly. He simply couldn't credit the boy with that story. Visiting his most hated Professor to see if he felt any better?

Then of course, this was the same sentimental creature who had been utterly distraught when he believed he'd killed a house-elf. Who'd taken it upon himself to put Snape to bed the last time he'd undergone a bout of the Cruciatus Curse. If anyone was the type to visit an enemy simply to see if he was well-recovered, it would be Harry. He was a sickeningly considerate boy that way.

He should break Harry of that; he really should. It would lead the boy to nothing but ill.

Irritated, Snape shoved him away. "Go to bed, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry stared at him incredulously. Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Five points?" the boy echoed.

"Would you prefer I make it ten?" Snape asked sourly, wondering why the young idiot was still gawking at him.

Harry laughed in disbelief. "Here I am, out after curfew, and you're only deducting five points?"

Snape glared at him. This would have been easier a few months ago, when he could simply devise some malevolent purpose for the boy's presence here. Now, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking Harry was anything but an unusually generous person who simply worried about others. Even about him.

He should say something cutting, but his thoughts turned involuntarily back to that humiliating day, when Harry had assisted him up to his chamber. When he'd brewed Snape a potion to help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

It seemed unbelievable now, that he'd believed Harry relished their power reversal. He'd wanted to kill the boy when he'd refused to leave Snape in the lab, when he'd levitated him up the stairs against his protestations… He'd spent his time, shaking in agony and humiliation in the bed, thinking how delightfully smug Harry had to be feeling, seeing his greasy Potions professor cut down to size. He'd almost spat that potion back in the boy's arrogant face instead of drinking it.

But he'd been entirely wrong. Harry was not gloating, nor was he arrogant; he was simply kind. It was rather unsettling to think of that scene, and realize the boy had only wanted to alleviate another person's suffering.

He looked Harry over, remembering his words that day.

"Perhaps those Muggles left you so pathetically desperate for attention that you hope to win my affection with this. Isn't that right, Harry?"

They seemed unduly cruel now, looking back, when he understood suddenly from the invisibility cloak still bunched in one of his hands that Harry had never intended to lord Severus's weakness over his head.

Harry had been… concerned. Just as he was right now.

It gave Snape an odd feeling to realize that. He wanted to say something to counter those words he'd spoken the last time this boy had seen him in a sickbed.

"The potion over vacation…" Snape spoke up clumsily. "The Calming Draught you brewed when I was indisposed…"

Harry's brow furrowed, clearly wondering just where this was coming from.

Oh, hell. He couldn't do this.

"You added far too much asphodel. It tasted quite bitter."

"Oh…" Harry said, still confused. "Sorry about that. Erm, do you want me to let you sleep now?"

Wonderful. Now the boy clearly thought he was rambling and delirious. That wasn't what he'd intended at all.

Harry had stepped back negligibly, eyeing his invisibility cloak as though gauging whether he could slip it from Snape's grasp. He grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him forward again.

Harry's brow furrowed, and his green eyes sought Snape in confusion.

Why was this so difficult to say?

"The potion otherwise…" he fumbled for a moment, "… exceeded my expectations." At the boy's silence, he supplied, "It was not an entirely poor effort."

"Really?" Harry said, surprised. He blinked several times, then his lips twisted in certain manner that threatened to become a smile. "I— uh, I didn't think you were very happy with me."

"It alleviated my symptoms. Perhaps I should have told you so."

Snape released his grip, allowing Harry to retreat.

Harry stared at him, his expression overcome with confusion and vulnerability. Snape wondered if he even understood the significance of the admission, but he rather doubted it.

It was strange; Snape gazed at his son in the half-light of the hospital wing, and he felt a hollow ache growing in his chest. He dimly wondered if there was something wrong with him, because he was increasingly aware of an obscene sense of gratitude to the boy for actually visiting him, and he couldn't pinpoint just why he was suddenly inflicted with this horrible onslaught of sentimentality.

The same awful tenderness compelled him to reach out and gently draw the hem of the invisibility cloak back over Harry's head, trying to ignore how the boy flinched at his sudden movement. Harry's surprise melted into bewilderment as thin air swallowed his expression.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," Snape said to the unseen form. "And you will not care for your punishment, should I catch you out after curfew again."

"Yes, sir."

Harry's voice was slightly muffled. Snape nudged the boy towards the door, and was gratified to hear his footsteps padding away.

When he was certain he was alone again in the room, Snape sagged back into the mattress. That strange, unsettling feeling lingered within him; he didn't wish to analyze it, but now his throat felt tight, and a strange weight seemed to be crushing his chest. He knew there was something wrong with him.

It just seemed entirely too strange, knowing his son had visited him in the hospital wing.

My son…

What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't dislodge this horrible knot in his throat, though he swallowed several times, and even rubbed at it with his fingers.

His son had actually taken the time to visit him when he was unwell.

And judging by that invisibility cloak, Harry clearly hadn't wanted to be caught. He'd just wanted to make sure Snape was— was—

Snape rolled on his side, trying to ignore the foreign sensation flooding his chest. It shouldn't mean so much… It shouldn't mean anything that the stupid boy had come to check on him.

He was a smug, arrogant, condescending little Gryffindor brat… And Severus was inwardly berating himself for his stupidity, even as he found himself indulging in the wild thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do it.

Maybe he could be a father to Harry after all.

He sneered at himself even as it occurred to him. It was impossible. Ludicrous, even!

He was no Arthur Weasley, to shower a child with kindness and affection. He was no Lucius Malfoy, to gloat and preen over his spawn's every little achievement. He was a bitter, empty shell of a man, who could look no further than his own interests.

Yet... Finding Harry hidden under that cloak shouldn't have meant a thing to him, but for the first time since learning he had a son, Snape wondered if perhaps the situation wasn't entirely impossible after all.

He wasn't sure how to be a father, he wasn't even sure how to be someone's friend… But what if he could have that thing, that asset that the Weasleys and the Malfoys and their ilk seemed to prize so highly?

Could he be a parent? Would he dare?

He gazed at the empty space where Harry had stood just moments ago, and found Lucius's words drifting back to him.

"This boy… This son of yours… Well, Severus, you're not untouchable any longer."

A cold feeling settled over him.

It was strange that only now, he knew the stakes Lucius had been playing for all along.

He could never be Harry's father. A son was too great a weakness, too potent a vulnerability.

Snape willed that strange, choking feeling of sentimentality away, disconcerted that even clearing his mind did not seem to dispel the sensation that something had stirred to life within him.

Nor could he ignore the fear that Lucius perhaps had honed in upon the perfect weakness. Malfoy had finally found something Severus couldn't bear to see destroyed.