Harry hadn’t thought the gloomy atmosphere around Grimmauld Place could get any worse, but with everything that had happened so far this summer, he was getting used to being proven wrong.

He first noticed that something was off during lunch the day before. He had just finished up his fourth day of Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape and was so exhausted that he thought about going straight to his room for a nap. Surely Dobby could be talked into bringing him a bite to eat later. But then Fred had been in his bedroom, looking suspicious and shifty. The older teen had been relieved when he saw that it was only Harry and had confided in him that he and George were days away from “the most magnificent invention we’ve ever dreamed up!” Harry might have been more excited for them had they not said that about the five previous inventions. Or had plumes of green smoke not been drifting toward the ceiling from above Harry’s own bed.

Deciding that the kitchen was probably safer than his bedroom for the time being, he joined the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione for lunch after all. Snape almost never ate in the kitchen now that the house was full, but the random Order member would occasionally pop in. This time he’d greeted Tonks and Moody before sitting down to chat with Hermione and Ginny.

The girls were the same as usual: at times giggling over shared jokes, at times subdued when the thought of Ron lay heavy over the table, and always curious about how Harry’s lessons had gone that day. Harry was flattered that they cared so much to ask and listen to what he was learning, but he supposed that they both - though Hermione especially - felt personally invested in his progress after having helped him before.

So he’d told them all about it. Well, all about the Occlumency. He didn’t tell them just how invasive the mind melding experience was, how even though Snape had said they couldn’t use the potion two days in a row, Harry was starting to forget what privacy felt like. He also didn’t tell them that he thought Snape was actually a good teacher when he wanted to be, which made it glaringly obvious how often he didn’t care to be. (Now that he was seeing this somewhat more patient, helpful side of Snape, Harry was tempted to try to figure out how to coax this side of his professor into coming out during the school year. It certainly would improve the mood in Gryffindor Tower on Potions class days if people were more interested in learning than afraid of being bodily thrown by Snape into their own boiling potions.)

He definitely didn’t tell them about the awkward moments he and Snape still had during the lessons or about how the professor was so obviously trying to keep him at arm’s length. He didn’t tell them about how it wasn’t completely working, about how close he was starting to feel to Snape after having shared thoughts and emotions so many times. Or that he wondered if it was the same for Snape, even if the man would rather die a horrible death involving hot coals and hungry, attacking Acromantulas before admitting to it.

What he did tell them was how he was getting better at grabbing hold of emotion and using it as a shield. He explained how Snape was teaching him to create and fortify a mental wall around his other emotions so that they couldn’t be detected, and how he could use the same tactic to hide memories that he didn’t want seen by a Legilimens. He also told them that Snape hadn’t attacked Harry’s mind like the year before. He’d given Harry fair warning that such lessons were inevitable, though the way he’d said it made it clear that he expected Dumbledore to take over by that point. Harry would need use of a wand for that, after all, so it would wait for the school year when the decree on underage magic no longer applied.

He’d been halfway through telling them about his latest lesson when he first noticed that something seemed…off with the adults. Tonks kept sneaking glances at him, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think there was pity or sorrow in her eyes. He had gotten used to seeing those emotions in the eyes of visitors ever since Ron had been attacked, but he thought it odd that it was directed solely at him. Still, he shrugged it off and returned his attention to his tale of Occlumency successes and failures.

A few minutes later, he had caught Mr. Weasley and Moody looking at each other as if silently communicating something of great importance. Harry’s words had faltered at that, and he was at once certain that the adults were keeping something from the kids. Something new.

Was it about Ron?

That thought effectively broke his concentration and he stopped talking mid-sentence. Thankfully, the girls caught on pretty quickly at that point that something was amiss. They all three sat in silence, listening carefully to the conversations of the adults around the table.

But whatever the secret was, the adults were keeping it to themselves. They heard Moody and Mr. Weasley having a stilted conversation about the weather, improved security at Gringotts, and even the Chudley Cannons’ latest victory – even though it was obvious that Moody wasn’t even certain which sport they played. They heard Tonks awkwardly compliment Mrs. Weasley’s cooking…three times. They heard Mrs. Weasley’s distracted thank you, dears and saw her worried glances towards them when she realized that they were listening far too intently.

Ginny must have had enough after seeing that her own mother was hiding something from her. She interrupted everyone at the table with a loud, “Alright, what’s going on, then?”

The table fell silent. That is, it fell silent except for the sound of breaking glass when Tonks accidentally knocked her drinking glass from the table. “Sorry…so sorry,” she muttered as she waved her wand at the mess and it vanished with a whispered spell.

Then it fell silent.

The adults didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were hiding something, which Harry interpreted as a sign that whatever it was that they were hiding was too big or too awful to stay hidden from them for long.

His stomach started to clench up, and he wished he hadn’t eaten so much.

But apparently, not hiding that they were hiding something didn’t mean that they were going to share what it was. First Mrs. Weasley tut-tutted about how they were too young to know everything going on in the Order and to go on upstairs and if they needed to know anything, she would tell them.

When that was met with three protesting teenagers, Mr. Weasley cut in to order them to “listen to your mother…er, well, to Ginny’s mother,” but his heart wasn’t in the reprimand, so they felt free to ignore him.

Harry thought they were finally going to get some answers when Moody cut in with his opinion that “Potter’s got a right to know-” until Mrs. Weasley silenced him with a particularly furious glare. It was a very impressive glare, Harry had to admit. It hadn’t even been directed at Harry, and he’d cringed. It worked as intended, for Moody clammed right up. Harry could see he still thought Harry ought to know whatever was going on, but that Mrs. Weasley had won. They’d get no information from Moody. Harry was feeling downright irritated at Mrs. Weasley for trying to keep him in the dark. There was no use arguing with her, though. Once her mind was set…

He’d directed his gaze at Tonks then. She was younger and probably didn’t hold much sway with the others, but he thought he might be able to get her on their side through her sense of sympathy. Maybe he could even get her alone later and she might give them a hint…

Her sad smile and small shake of her head told him that that wasn’t going to happen.

“This is so not fair!” Ginny ranted. “We’re practically in the Order! Harry especially. We’re at headquarters, and my brother might never wake up, and an evil wizard is after all of us, and we deserve to know what’s going on!” By the time she was finished, she was standing, leaning over the table, and aiming a rather impressive glare of her own at her mother. Harry left off whatever arguments he was about to come up with, deciding that she was doing just fine on her own.

Of course, it still didn’t work. Mrs. Weasley had passed that glaring ability down to her daughter, so it didn’t faze her in the slightest. She shooed all three of them out of the kitchen with a lecture about respecting one’s elders or some such nonsense, and then the three teenagers were fuming together in the drawing room.

They each tried throughout the rest of the day to find out what was going on, but they were ignored or put off. Moody and Tonks left shortly after lunch, but other Order members came and went throughout the day. None of them would say a word.

He wished Remus was there to ask, but his former professor hadn’t been by since the previous morning. Not that he was likely to tell Harry anything remotely tied to Order business anyway. He was like Mrs. Weasley in that regard. But at least Harry could try to guilt the man into it. It was worth a try.

He knew he stood a better chance with Snape. He might tell him something. Maybe not everything, but the professor wasn’t a member of the Harry Must Be Coddled club, so if there was anything that Harry could know without it putting anyone’s life in danger, Snape wasn’t as likely to keep it from him as the other adults in his life.

Only…Harry was trying to give Snape space. It wasn’t merely that the man needed some emotional distance from Harry. It was also that Snape had been tired even before they started Occlumency lessons, and he was looking more and more tired each lesson. It was tiring Harry out too, but he figured that the burden of constantly weaving in and out of someone else’s mind, experiencing another person’s emotions and memories over and over, not to mention having to be in control of the entire experience, must be taking a toll on the professor.

He’d thought that very morning about suggesting that they take a day off, but he was too afraid that if they stopped the lessons, they wouldn’t start up again. He’d never even outright asked the professor for more lessons after the second day. He’d simply shown up at the lab at the same time each morning and Snape had acted as if he’d been expected, and they’d had a lesson. Neither of them mentioned anything about starting up regular lessons again even though they’d fallen into doing just that.

So he spent the rest of that day in a gloomy, annoyed haze alongside the girls, especially after Fred and George attended an impromptu Order meeting and then promptly told them with somber faces that “we’d tell you if we could-“ “-but mum would have our heads.”

The rest of that day and breakfast the next morning passed with excruciating slowness, and Harry had never before waited with such anticipation for the chance to talk to Snape.

“You’re early.”

Snape blocked the doorway, so Harry shifted from one foot to another in the hallway and tried to look as if he hadn’t been awake half the night planning out how he’d get the professor to agree to answer a barrage of questions.

“Yeah?” He shrugged, trying to look casual. “I ate breakfast quickly. Hungry, I guess.”

“Ah. I suppose your sudden increase in appetite has nothing to do with desiring that I divulge all of the Order’s secrets to you.” Snape gave him his best knowing look.

Harry opened his mouth and promptly closed it. How did Snape do that? They’d barely started to get along, and already he knew Harry all too well. He pursed his lips. “So…will you?” There was no point denying it.

Snape heaved an exasperated sigh and opened the door wider. Harry had no idea if that was a yes, but it certainly wasn’t a no. He quickly entered, perched himself on a stool, and watched Snape expectantly.

The professor leaned his back on the counter across from Harry and crossed his arms. He leveled a stern glare across the space. “Mr. Potter,” he clipped. “I am not a source of information for you to pick at anytime your curiosity gets the better of you. If other members of the Order refuse to tell you information, they no doubt have a very good reason to do so.”

“Not always,” Harry argued stubbornly. He dived right in, determined to make his case. “And anyway, it’s not the Order refusing to say anything. It’s Mrs. Weasley. She treats me like a kid because she wants me to stay a kid. Moody wanted to tell me. And you’ve told me things before too, so I know you think I’ve got a right to know when something’s going on that affects me.”

“And why would you imagine that recent Order business affects you?”

“Doesn’t it?” Harry tilted his head and raised his eyebrows deliberately. He thought it went without saying that most things going on with the war and Voldemort and the Order these days - the last several weeks, especially - affected him.

Snape tightened his lips, which Harry took as a yes.

He pushed his advantage. “Look, Mrs. Weasley’s feeling a bit protective right now, and I get that, with what happened to Ron. But Dumbledore put you in charge of me, not her, right? I know you can’t tell me secret plans or anything that could compromise the Order. I know I can’t know everything. But I’m old enough and definitely involved enough that I shouldn’t be totally left in the dark.”

“And if you should dislike what you hear?” Snape asked as if he already knew the answer. “If someone you loved were in danger, for example. Would you partake in your typical Gryffindor tendencies to rush headlong into danger? Give yourself up to the Dark Lord, perhaps?”

“Is somebody I love in danger?” Harry asked, mouth suddenly dry.

Snape ignored the question to say imperiously, “The reason you are not told all there is to tell, Mr. Potter, is that you have shown yourself unable to control your impulses when you think that you know better than those who are older and wiser.”

“That’s not true!” Harry shook his head vigorously. “I always go to adults or professors when I can, just sometimes they’re not around!”

“Oh?” Snape asked in mock surprise. “So that is why you took it upon yourself to head to the Department of Mysteries after having already alerted an Order member to your concerns?”

Harry glared, trying to decide if it was wise to argue that he hadn’t been certain of Snape’s allegiances at the time.

“And I suppose you did everything you could to find an adult when the Sorcerer’s Stone was endangered.”

“I did!” Harry insisted, again wondering if it was wise to say that he’d thought Snape had been the one after the stone. “McGonagall didn’t do anything when we talked to her before, and in the end, there wasn’t anybody around to help us, or who would have believed us. We had no choice but to-”

“You were eleven! You went rushing headlong into danger, confronted a fully grown dark wizard, confronted the Dark Lord himself! There are absolutely no circumstances that would justify eleven-year-olds doing such a thing in a castle full of professors! And don’t get me started on the Basilisk.”

“That was different! And anyway, Ron and I did have a professor with us that time, remember?” Harry hotly pointed out.

“Oh, yes. Gilderoy Lockhart,” Snape sneered. “I know that you are not daft enough to have considered him more useful than a joke wand. Come to think of it, a Muggle stick would have been of more use to you than that buffoon.”

Harry smirked despite himself, knowing that whatever else he and Snape disagreed about, they shared the same opinion of Professor Lockhart. But he stayed on track, pointing out, “Well there’s no Chamber or Basilisk this time, right? And it’s not like I’m going to just up and leave, so I don’t know what the big deal is.”

“The big deal, Potter,” Snape spat, “is that you are headstrong and obstinate and I’ve no doubt you would find a way to do just that if properly provoked.”

Harry bristled. “What’s got you in a twist, anyway? I just want to know what’s going on. Why are you acting as if I’m planning some wild escape from Grimmauld Place?”

“You are the problem,” said Snape with more heat than Harry thought the conversation warranted. “You never ask for help-”

“I asked for your help with Occlumency!” Harry refuted.

“You never ask for help when in true peril,” Snape clarified without missing a beat. “When your life or your loved ones’ lives are at stake, you rush into action without thinking. You’ve nearly gotten yourself killed how many times? And you never think to find an older, skilled wizard, someone in the know, an actual adult!”

“Yeah, well, since when have adults ever done anything for me?” Harry yelled and immediately wished he hadn’t. Snape wore a pinched expression and was already opening his mouth to no doubt refute that. He quickly added in a not-quite-yelling voice, “All I mean is…well…well…it’s true, isn’t it! You really think Vernon and Petunia would have ever done a thing to save my neck when they’d have been happier if I’d died? Did you know I tried to tell a teacher once about how things were there? I did, and it was the best day of my life when Mrs. Thornton believed me. I thought for sure I was going to get to live somewhere else, or at least there’d be somebody making sure the Dursleys were nicer to me. And then Petunia convinced her I was a liar, that I was making it up for attention. I got punished just for telling the truth, and all the teachers treated me like a juvenile delinquent after that. So, you know, it’s ridiculous to give me a hard time about not asking adults for help when I grew up knowing they never would!”

He thought Snape looked uncomfortable at the admission, as the man was stoically looking at the wall, not at Harry. He wasn’t sorry he’d said it though. He still got angry when he thought about that day in second grade, and in his mind, he was completely justified in asserting that most adults didn’t believe him, so why should he believe in them?

“And to be honest,” he added for good measure, “I haven’t seen a lot to change my mind since coming to Hogwarts!”

Snape let go of his discomfort at that, his eyes snapping to Harry’s. He was absolutely seething. “Oh, I suppose I’ve been twiddling my thumbs, not risking my own neck to save your miserable self every single year!”

“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” Harry threw up his hands. “I didn’t know what your ploy was, but I thought you were pulling the wool over Dumbledore’s eyes! I was about ninety-nine percent sure you were working for You-Know-Who! I think you liked me thinking that too, don’t deny it! You liked knowing I was afraid of you.”

The gleam in Snape’s eyes was answer enough.

“And it’s not like I was going to cower in the corner, but I was afraid of you!” He said accusingly. “Like I really would have asked for your help last year if you hadn’t been the only one around! Seriously, using yourself as an example of how I should have learned to trust adults? It’s laughable!”

Snape’s nostrils flared but Harry figured he probably couldn’t deny the truth of that, for he switched course. “The headmaster has helped you on many occasions.”

“Yeah, and he’s also avoided me when I needed him most, ignored me when it suited him, treated me like a little kid instead of just telling me the truth about my own life, about things I had a right to know! Not to mention, he’s the one who made me live with the Dursleys in the first place!” Harry felt a rush of shame for bringing that up. He’d forgiven Dumbledore for that, or tried at least, and he knew the headmaster hadn’t known how bad it was. But…it was still the truth. Just because it was forgiven didn’t mean it didn’t still sting.

“Black-”

“Did help me,” Harry admitted, cutting him off. “But he couldn’t do much, could he, forced to stay here like a criminal? And Azkaban messed with him, you know. He wanted his life back, before everything happened. He wanted my dad back, I think, but he got me instead, and he was even upset that I wasn’t more like James…” He cleared his throat, resisting the emotion that wanted to choke him at thoughts of Sirius. “Ironic, right?” he said with a sad smile, partly to distract himself. “You were angry with me for being like my dad, and Sirius was angry with me for not being like him. I should have locked you two in a room and let you figure out who was right.” He frowned. “Wandless, of course. Otherwise it’d get messy.”

“It would have been messy regardless,” Snape said dryly. He looked away, and Harry couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, just that he seemed to have lost some of his steam. He finally sighed and surprised Harry by saying, “You are in some ways, you know. Just not in the ways I always thought.”

Harry frowned, confused. “Come again?”

“Like your father,” Snape clarified, still not looking at him, and Harry held his breath. It wasn’t very often that he got to hear people talk about his parents, and Snape didn’t look as if he was about to villainize James like he usually did. He looked as if maybe…maybe he was going to tell him something about him. Something real. But to his disappointment, Snape shook his head and his contemplative look slipped back into a sneer. “And I suppose you show the same level of ingratitude toward Lupin, after all he has done for you.”

“Remus…” Harry faltered, really wishing that Snape had said whatever he’d been thinking about saying about Harry’s dad. But old habits die hard, he supposed. Snape had lived his whole life only saying negative things about James Potter. He wasn’t likely to change his tune just because Harry wished it. “Remus, um, tries, I think. But his heart isn’t in it. I mean, it is…but it isn’t.” He shrugged, giving up on explaining it in a way that made sense. “He helped when I begged him to. Then he disappeared from my life. Now he’s back, and I know he cares, and I love him, I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go to him for every little thing. He’s got better things to do-”

“Every little thing?” Snape hissed. “We are not talking about who you go to when you skin a knee. Not that you do that either,” he added darkly. “We are talking about what you do in life or death situations!”

“Well, I don’t go to Remus, alright?”

“You don’t go to anyone. That is the point!”

“What does it matter?” Harry jumped to his feet to stare at Snape face to face, even though he had to look up to do it. “What aren’t you telling me? What’s so awful about whatever the Order’s keeping from me that you’re suddenly harping on me about life and death situations and asking for help and trusting adults? What. Is. Going. On?”

Snape ignored his questions to ask, “What is your word worth, Mr. Potter?”

“Wha- Huh?”

“What is your word worth?” he repeated

“I don’t understand.”

“What value do you place on your word? It is a simple question. If I ask you to make me a promise, how likely are you to keep it?”

Harry was taken aback by the random question. He was also alarmed. What in the world was going on that Snape needed him to promise to something?

“I require an answer,” Snape prodded.

“I…” Harry thought about it. Would he keep his word? Honesty was important to him, but what if he promised something that he regretted or that was impossible to follow through on? “Why do you want to know?” he asked, his muscles tensing up.

“Would you keep a promise? Yes or no.”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. And he didn’t know. He wanted to say that he would keep a promise, but he knew that if something happened and he thought he needed to break a promise for a really good reason, he probably would.

Snape sighed, long and slow, and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought not.”

It was kind of weird, this feeling that he was letting Snape down. He’d never cared about that before, and he hadn’t thought it would make his chest feel sore. He rubbed a spot above his heart.

“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” he asked miserably, resigned to being kept in the dark.

Snape looked at him in silence for a few moments and Harry held his breath. He finally said, “I know you, Potter. I need assurances that if I tell you what is troubling the Order, you will not run headlong into danger like you always do.”

Harry felt a touch of nausea at the thought of what could be so serious that Snape would be worried about him losing all sense over it. “I can promise,” he offered. “I can promise that I won’t do anything rash, or that I’ll at least find help before I do. I just…don’t want to lie. What if something unexpected happens or there’s nobody around and I have no choice? Are you going to hold me to it then?”

Snape looked him in the eyes and slowly nodded his head. “I will accept that, Potter, so long as you understand that if you embrace any foolish or reckless action whatsoever without it being the last resort - by my standards, not yours - and assuming you survive the experience, I will not hesitate to assign you detentions every single evening for the rest of your Hogwarts career. Especially during Quidditch matches.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Out of any other professor’s mouth, he would have thought they were exaggerating or even halfway joking. Judging by Snape’s stone face, he was deadly serious, at least about the Quidditch part. He jerkily nodded his head, knowing the professor had found a really good threat to keep him in line.

“Sit,” Snape instructed, and Harry immediately sat. He nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt while Snape brought a stool and sat facing him. “An Order member is missing,” the professor began, watching him intently. “It came to our attention when he missed an important communication yesterday. His home appears to have been ransacked, and there is no trace of him.”

“Who?” Harry whispered, knowing that Snape wouldn’t have been worried about his reaction over just anybody.

He guessed the answer a split second before Snape said, “Lupin.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face and the ache in his chest worsened. He took a shaky breath. Remus. Of course it was Remus. Because who in his life would actually be left alone?

“Was it Vol- You-Know-Who?” He hated that his voice shook.

“That is the most likely conclusion,” Snape quietly confirmed. “But we do not know for certain.”

Harry shook his head. “No. No, no, no,” he denied automatically. “He’s an Order member, he’s a really good dueler, he’s a werewolf! He wouldn’t be taken easily. He probably fought back and is just hiding out, or maybe injured.” He raised frantic eyes to Snape. “What if he’s injured somewhere? We need to-”

Snape stopped him with a sharp swipe of his hand in the air. “Remember your promise, Potter,” he said sharply. “We do not need to do anything.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It didn’t work. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“Possibly.” Snape didn’t pretend to misunderstand his meaning. “The Dark Lord may have learned of Lupin’s connection to you through any number of avenues and decided to capture him for information. Or he could have been after an Order member in general. Or he could have simply wanted a werewolf for some reason. We also do not yet know that the Dark Lord is the one who has him. It is best not to jump to conclusions.”

How could he not jump to conclusions? They were in the middle of a war, and Voldemort was actively trying to find him, and it wasn’t likely that the people he was close to were becoming targets through coincidence. Studying Snape’s face, he knew that despite his words of caution, the professor also believed it to be Voldemort’s doing.

“It’s not fair!” He jumped up from his chair. He felt like punching something but there was nothing around to punch, not unless he wanted Snape to go ahead and enact that lifetime ban on Quidditch. So he paced the room with quick, angry strides. “First Mrs. Figg, then Ron, now Remus! Why won’t he just leave them all alone!”

“He wants you, and he will go to any lengths to get what he wants,” Snape answered unhelpfully.

Harry stopped his pacing. “Maybe if we listen to my vision’s warnings, think about that plan-”

The fierce blaze of anger in Snape’s eyes was enough to cut off his words this time. The professor stood and grasped his shoulders with both hands so that Harry had no choice but to look at him with wide eyes. “Were you listening to me? No rash plans! No actions that will only serve to get you killed.”

“He could be killing Remus right now!”

“If that is the case, then getting yourself killed will not help him!”

Harry was mortified when he felt tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. He broke away from Snape’s grasp and hastily wiped them away. “Maybe…maybe I could try to reach into You-Know-Who’s mind. Find out if he’s got Remus, where he’s keeping him.”

“And have you ever done such a thing before?” Snape asked in a deceptively reasonable tone. Harry knew that tone. It was the humor Potter until he sees how foolish he’s being tone.

“No,” he admitted anyway. “And no, I don’t know how to do it. But you’re a Legilimens, and I’ve got the connection to his mind. Together we could come up with something to at least try?” He looked at the professor hopefully.

“You have no idea how dangerous such a thing would be,” said Snape, twisting his lips in scorn. “Legilimency is not an easy skill, not one to take lightly. Even if your connection with the Dark Lord were normal - which it decidedly is not - you could not possibly learn such a skill in so quick a time. Not without doing potential damage to your own mind. Even if you were by some miracle successful, you would not be able to reach into his mind without his feeling your presence.”

“I’ve done it before, lots of times,” he argued.

“Not with intent!” Snape hissed. “Accidentally slipping into his mind while his defenses are lowered by his emotional state, seeing snatches of whatever is at the forefront of the Dark Lord’s mind at that particular moment, is completely different than what you suggest! You would need to not only learn how to operate the connection - a daunting feat in itself - but then slip into his mind while it is not vulnerable and purposely search through his mental fortifications for information or relevant memories. It would require a level of skill that I am not certain even I possess to direct your mind over such a distance and hold the connection open while he, an incredibly skilled Occlumens and Legilimens, will be simultaneously forcing you out and attempting to do untold harm to your mind. You could be a vegetable by the time it was over!”

Harry stared open-mouthed for a second before he lamely said, “Oh.” Put that way, it didn’t sound like such a great plan after all.

“Yes. Oh,” Snape mocked. “This mental connection you possess with the Dark Lord might serve a more useful purpose in the future, but until you learn to control and strengthen your own mind through years of study and practice, you are forbidden from attempting anything so foolish!”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Snape repeated with narrowed eyes as if dissecting the word for hidden meaning. “Just…okay?”

Harry sighed and ran a still shaky hand through his hair. “You’re the mental expert. I believe you when you say I can’t do that yet.”

Snape studied him suspiciously, clearly surprised at Harry’s easy agreement and not quite trusting it.

Harry huffed a short laugh through his frazzled nerves. “I’m not planning some secret revolt, professor. I won’t try to do anything with my mental connection to Voldemort-” he cringed when Snape gave a barely perceptible flinch and quickly said, “Sorry. It slipped out, I didn’t mean-” Snape impatiently waved off his apology but Harry felt bad. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the hint of pain in the tight lines in his professor’s face. He let out a long breath, continuing more carefully. “I believe you, that’s all I meant. If you say I can’t do that, I trust you to know what you’re talking about.”

When Snape still stared at him like he was waiting to be told the truth, Harry smirked and said, “Times change, professor. We’re not mortal enemies anymore, and I might actually listen to you sometimes. Get used to it.”

“Indeed,” Snape said and cleared his throat. “Well then. What other schemes must I talk you out of? I’d prefer to press this advantage for as long as it lasts.”

Harry plopped himself back onto the stool, defeated. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be told to just wait and do nothing?”

“Yes. I do,” Snape answered matter-of-factly, which gave Harry food for thought. Of course Snape, the spy who could no longer spy, knew the frustration of having to unwillingly sit on the sidelines. He probably felt it even more acutely than Harry did, having had so pivotal a role before being benched, so to speak. He didn’t know why this empathetic insight about Snape was calming him, only that it didn’t feel quite so irksome being bossed around by an adult who could actually understand his frustration.

He wondered if Snape could understand it completely though. Did the moody, cynical professor even have anybody in his life whom he loved, or even cared about? The man understood wanting to help and being unable to, sure, but did he understand how much worse it made things when the life of a friend or loved one was on the line? How much it made the skin crawl to know that that someone could be dying, how much it made the heart pound and every nerve twitch with the impulse to do something about it?

Not that he would ever ask such a thing. There were personal questions, and then there were personal questions, and Harry didn’t think that them being ‘not mortal enemies anymore’ was quite close enough for him to get away with asking the latter kind of question.

“Just tell me if there’s anything that I can do,” he finally said.

“You can be prepared, as the Dark Lord will continue his search for you. You can be on guard should he come closer than he has.”

“For Remus. You know I meant if there’s anything I can do for Remus.”

“You can trust that he is a skilled and intelligent man who can take care of himself. If he can do anything to escape his current situation, he will.”

Harry squinted at the professor. “You really think he’s skilled and intelligent? I mean, I know he is, but I thought you hated him.”

“I dislike him immensely.” Snape wrinkled his nose as if to get rid of a bad smell. “That does not mean that I do not see qualities in him that would serve him well when faced with such a situation as this.”

Harry nodded distractedly, eyes back on his hands. He willed them to stop shaking. “Be honest. What are his chances?” He felt the tears welling up again and held them back through sheer willpower.

Snape hesitated, then said, “It depends. If the Dark Lord is behind this, and if what he wants is information, then Lupin is undoubtedly still alive.”

“You were sure he’d kill Mrs. Figg the first day,” Harry whispered, afraid that if he spoke louder, his voice would crack.

Snape shook his head. “If the Dark Lord went to the trouble to capture Lupin due to his connection to you, he will have beforehand found out not only that he is closer to you than she was, but that he is more intricately involved with the Order and therefore has more information of value. He also will view Lupin as more difficult to break due to his werewolf qualities. The Dark Lord will keep him alive long enough to satisfy himself either that he has given up all that he knows or that his mind is too strong ever to do so.”

“Will he Legilimize him?” Harry asked, alarmed, when the thought occurred to him.

“Possibly but not likely. He uses Legilimency only occasionally and somewhat unpredictably. He holds to ridiculously arbitrary standards, refusing to defile himself by Legilimizing a Muggle or a Squib, and yet has done so nonetheless when it suits him. It is likely he will view a werewolf’s mind with similar disdain. However, as one cannot share a location protected by the Secret-Keeper spell even through the mental arts, he will be unable to find you through that method.”

“What if he finds out Remus can’t tell him where I am? That he’s of no use to him?” Harry swallowed the urge to panic.

Snape shook his head again. “The Dark Lord is not a fool. He certainly already knows that something akin to the Secret-Keeper spell is in effect. There are plenty of other details he can glean from Lupin that he believes will help him.”

“So he’s going to torture him. To find me.” The horror was only now hitting him. He’d felt terror and worry before, but now…he was horrified. He felt for a moment as if he would be sick.

“Stop,” Snape commanded in such a stern tone that Harry tried to obey. “You can do nothing for him by blaming yourself. Now that you know what is going on, I expect you to stay here, stay safe, and trust that the Order is doing everything in its power to find him.”

Harry nodded automatically. He was losing the battle with his tears, he could tell. Any second the dam was going to break again. “Why did you decide to tell me?” he asked.

“Because you are incorrigible,” Snape snorted and recrossed his arms. “You dig until you find answers. It is best that you hear the answers from someone who will provide complete, accurate information and prevent you from instantly running headlong into trouble.” He paused. “Besides that, while you may still be a child, you will not be for much longer. You must learn sooner rather than later how to respond appropriately to such situations.”

They sat in silence for a full minute, Harry trying to rein in his emotions and Snape letting him.

“Thank you,” Harry said finally. “It’s hard to know, but I’m glad you told me.”

Snape gave a sharp nod and carried his stool back to the counter. He apparently deemed Harry’s thanks as the conclusion of their conversation, for he said, “No Occlumency today, I think.”

“No,” agreed Harry. That would be a disaster, with the state his mind was in right now.

“I will inform Mrs. Weasley of our chat. You can be reassured that I will be the object of her ire,” he said dryly. He didn’t sound as if he minded Mrs. Weasley’s ire in the slightest.

Harry smiled even as he silently allowed a few tears to fall. Of course Snape would be one of the few men in the world who wasn’t intimidated by Mrs. Weasley’s masterful glare.

Snape was setting up his potions counter, no doubt preparing to do some brewing, and Harry was thankful that he was letting him leave in his own time. He didn’t really want to, not yet. If he left this room, he would run into too many faces. Most knew about Remus and hadn’t told him, and two didn’t know and would want to be told. Couldn’t he hide out for a little while longer?

He peeked at Snape. The professor was paying him no mind, which suited him just fine, as he kept having to wipe those pesky tear tracks away.

“Can I stay?” he asked on a whim. “Maybe…maybe I can help you chop up some potions ingredients or something?”

Snape studied him without expression for a few seconds before gesturing to the Harry’s usual table. “I need twelve sliced caterpillars and three chopped sprigs of lavender to start.”

Harry swiped at his cheeks one more time and gratefully grabbed the ingredients and knives to set up his station. If he was going to keep his promise to not make a doomed rescue attempt, he would need something to keep his mind occupied. Chopping potions ingredients with enough precision to please Snape’s exacting standards would do nicely.

He chopped and Snape clinked and stirred, neither breaking the otherwise somber silence for the rest of the morning. He found himself wishing that his mind could be as silent, for despite his promise to Snape, it was sifting through idea after idea for how he might possibly be able to help the Order locate Remus. The upside of thinking about ways to get around his promise to Snape was that he could put off acknowledging that feeling in the pit of his stomach that kept insisting that this was all his fault.

Mrs. Figg. Ron. Remus. Who would be the next to be sacrificed in Voldemort’s quest to find Harry?

No one, he resolved.

He would keep his promise about Remus, he decided. But once they got Remus back (and they would get him back), he was going to get Snape to listen to him about Other Harry’s warning. And maybe by then Dumbledore would be back, and they were going to come up with a plan, and if the professors wouldn’t help him, then he’d do something about it on his own. He didn’t know what yet, but he’d figure something out. He always did.

Or maybe he’d be pleasantly surprised and the adults would come through for him. He doubted it, but stranger things could happen. After all, with everything that had happened so far this summer, he was getting used to being proven wrong.