The sun was once more setting over Hogwarts when Harry Potter finally awoke from a deep and fitful sleep. The room was fuzzy, the colors muted, the shapes blending together. Harry extended an arm and felt around on the small table next to the bed he lay in. As he slipped his glasses on, the world about him became coherent and defined with a sort of reason and purpose that he felt he was exempt from sharing.

"Oh!" The soft exclamation drifted to Harry’s ears and he turned toward the direction in which it came from. Hogwarts’ head nurse, Madam Pomfrey, had risen from her seat a few feet away. "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" the nurse queried, as she made her way over to the bed he was occupying.

Harry shrugged, pulling the blankets up around his arms. "I dunno..." he murmured. "Tired. And cold."

Harry took a moment to examine the woman who had personally tended to his many injuries over the years he had been enrolled at Hogwarts. She had fretted about his weight and stature when she had first seen him, always acting motherly and caring. She had laughingly admonished him for small scrapes and slight bruises acquired during mischievous mishaps and sternly reprimanded him when he had seriously hurt himself, like the time he had broken his arm playing football. (1)

Now, though, she was looking at him differently, as though he were a figurine of fragile glass, already cracked. She did not want him to break. It was irritating, really. He did not like the overly soft tones and drop-of-a-hat attentiveness. He would have preferred a stern reprimand right now.

Well, he thought sardonically, I suppose people will be apt to tread lightly around you when you’ve just tried to off yourself.

At that moment the door to the Hospital Wing opened, creaking ever-so-slightly, and successfully attracting Madam Pomfrey’s attention. Harry craned his neck to see who the visitors were.

"Good morning Harry!" Albus Dumbledore greeted, as cheerful as ever. His literature professor, Severus Snape, glowered from the background.

"Um... morning, Headmaster," Harry replied slolwy.

"How are you faring?" Albus queried.

Harry shrugged. "Ah, um..."

"Yes," sneered Severus, "how are you feeling?"

Harry gave him a pointed look in return. "Sir," he ground out flatly, "I feel a funeral in my brain."

"And mourners to and fro, no doubt?" (2)

Albus just smiled at the exchange between the two. "Harry," he began, "I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you."

Harry looked perplexed. "Okay... what about, sir?"

"The matter of your rehabilitation," Albus went on. "I am sorry but I do not think it wise to allow you back into the Gryffindor dormitories so soon after such a..." he paused, searching for a word. "... strain."

Harry’s face fell. "Then, then where am I to go?" he asked, thoughts of expulsion and, worse, the Dursleys running through his head.

"I feel it would be in your best interest to stay with Professor Snape."

"What?!" Harry cried out, eyes widening in a mixture of shock and confusion. "But why?"

"I asked that very same question myself, Potter," Snape drawled, looking sour.

Dumbledore smiled briefly, before continuing. "I know that you and Severus are somewhat less than fond of each other but please, for me, try to make this work."

"Well, I guess I’ll have to..." Harry muttered, looking at his hands. This whole thing didn’t make any sense to him.

Snape, he thought. Why Snape? He hates me, I hate him, and... he’s Snape!

"Believe me, Potter, I am not at all pleased about this little ‘arrangement’ either. However, I will not tolerate any disrespect."

"Oh, no sir," Harry drawled out (in a rather Snape-esque manner, actually). "I will be the epitome of good behavior."

Snape snorted and muttered something about "big words for such a small brain."

"Now, now boys," Dumbledore gently admonished, "please try to behave." He turned to Harry. "I know this is a shock to you but I assure you that, by agreeing stay with Severus here, you both just may have some things to learn." He turned, heading for the door. "Now, Harry," he said before exiting, "once you feel you are fit to leave the Infirmary you may pack your things up and transport them to Professor Snape’s private quarters."

As he walked out the door, Harry heard Severus murmur under his breath, "Busy old fool... unruly son." (3) And at that moment, Harry felt that he couldn’t agree more.