It wasn’t yet dawn. Harry blinked heavily in his dark room, registering that he was still at the safe house. He had no idea what had awoken him, only that he now heard the faint murmur of indecipherable voices seeping through the walls.

He burrowed down into his comfortable bed. It was far softer than his beds at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place, loads better than his hard, lumpy mattress at the Dursleys, and Harry felt as though he were safely tucked into a nice, warm cloud. He started to drift back to sleep when a faint clinking sound roused him again. He yawned and blinked up at the ceiling. His brain was waking up, and there was little he could do about it.

He sat up slowly, stretching first one arm and then the other, before swiveling his legs out of the bed. He wasn’t ready to face the blinding light of his lamp, so he felt his way to the door in the darkness and placed his ear against it. The wood was too thick to make out anything. From the deep sounds of the muffled voices, he knew that at least two men were conversing. Snape and Kneader, then. They were the only men in residence who would be awake. Well, unless any other Order members had arrived in the night. But from what Snape had said, he doubted anyone else would be joining them for a few days at least.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he hesitated, unsure about interrupting whatever conversation was going on at such a late - or early - hour. He darted his eyes toward his trunk, though he could barely make out its outline in the darkness. An idea was brewing in his head…

He tiptoed to his trunk - though he was certain they wouldn’t be listening for him - and blindly rooted through its contents until he found what he was looking for. He grinned, slipping his Weasleys’ Wizard Wall Watchers onto his face. He’d have to remember to thank the twins next time he saw them. Who knew such a gift would come in handy on more than one occasion?

Light. He slammed his eyes shut as the light from the living room hit his eyes. Ooh, he should have squinted first.

While he got used to the light, the voices became clear, immediately recognizable as belonging to Snape and Kneader.

“-should return soon, and then we can make other arrangements,” Snape was saying.

“He won’t rush things, you know,” Kneader replied. As Harry got used to the light, he could see that they were angled opposite each other in Kneader’s comfortable armchairs. He could see Snape from his vantage point, but Kneader was only in profile. Kneader swished around a drink he held in his hand. Ice cubes clinked against the side of the glass, explaining the sound Harry had heard before. “We need as many allies as we can get. If he’s got to be there to make sure others are in place to hold off You-Know-Who’s influence, that’s what he’ll do.”

“He is not blind to his priorities.” Snape took a sip from his own glass. “As the leader of the Light, he has many matters needing his attention, few of which are as important to him as ensuring the protection of that boy in there. In light of the Dark Lord’s latest gambit to root out Potter, Dumbledore won’t be staying away longer than he must.”

Kneader tipped his glass to his lips, swigging down a fair amount more than Snape had, then set his glass aside. “And he trusts the werewolf, does he?”

Harry immediately felt indignant on Remus’s behalf. Just because he was a werewolf didn’t mean he should be suspected all the time!

“Implicitly,” answered Snape with a sneer. “When not compromised, at any rate. Lupin is hopelessly sentimental and slow to act, but even I cannot deny that he has provided valuable service to the Order. Furthermore, Albus appreciates the bond that he shares with Potter.” Snape frowned and helped himself to another sip before adding, “The boy trusts him.”

“Should he not?”

Snape stared into his glass for a few seconds. “That child is too trusting of his friends, too wary of everyone else.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Kneader’s voice was amused.

Snape shot him a mild glare. “Don’t be ridiculous, old man. I have no friends.”

“So you keep saying.” Kneader smiled pleasantly and offered Snape more to drink.

Harry shook his head at Snape even though the man couldn’t see him. While he didn’t appreciate being discussed like that, he was more interested in Snape’s claim that he didn’t have friends. Was that really true, he wondered, or did Snape simply prefer to think that? Because it sure seemed to Harry like Kneader was his professor’s friend. And Harry knew that the man had had friends in his school days…probably his Death Eater days too. What in the world would cause somebody to close themselves off from people to the extent that they neither claimed nor desired friendships?

Snape had always been an enigma, but he seemed even more so now that Harry was curious about him not only as his professor, but as his mum’s friend. He was now an enigma that Harry really, truly wanted to understand.

“Lupin can be trusted,” Snape was admitting, though it seemed to pain him to do so. “Especially where Potter is concerned.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Kneader, leaning back into his sofa. “Though I’m not sure what good the man will be in a fight. I’ve tapered him off of the sleeping draught, and still he was dog tired all day.”

“I noticed,” Snape commented, seemingly unconcerned. “Effects of his capture, perhaps. Or a possible side effect of the prolonged use of Wolfsbane Potion. I’ll need to ask him about it before Dumbledore notices and nags at me to do so.”

“How very commendable of you,” Kneader said, and though his face had turned away, Harry knew by his tone that he was teasing Snape. It made Harry smile, knowing that at least one other person in Snape’s life dared to tease him.

Predictably, Snape gave their host a glare that clearly advised him to shut up.

Instead, Kneader completely changed the subject. “I wouldn’t think Dumbledore would allow the use of blood quills at Hogwarts. Rather dark, that. Quite surprises me, given his stance on other ‘cruel and unusual’ punishments.”

“Blood quills?” Snape looked at him as if he were crazy. “I don’t know where you came up with that idea. He would never allow those monstrosities at Hogwarts.”

“That isn’t how Potter tells it,” Kneader said, and Harry heaved a long, annoyed sigh. Why did adults have to remember everything he said in the heat of the moment and repeat them to others? He hadn’t said anything about the blood quill being used on him, but now Snape was going to assume it, wasn’t he? Unless he decided Harry was lying. Maybe he would think Harry was lying. One could only hope. The man had learned quite enough embarrassing things about him this summer, thank-you-very-much.

“And pray tell, how does Potter tell it?” Snape leaned forward slightly.

Kneader shrugged. “He seemed a bit incensed about his last Defense teacher. Was rather opposed to her ‘propaganda,’ as he told it. And said she used blood quills in detention, that sort of thing.”

Snape stared at Kneader with narrowed eyes. “In his detention?”

“Didn’t say,” the older man answered, “but I’d bet a few Galleons on it.”

“Of course she did.” Snape set down his glass hard enough to jar the end table. “Because who hasn’t abused the boy lately?”

“Have you?” Kneader asked so matter-of-factly that it took both Snape and Harry by surprise. He could tell Snape was surprised because the man stared at Kneader with a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Have I abused him?” he clarified, face tightening.

“You have a temper and have never hidden your dislike of the boy,” Kneader said pointedly, and Harry could tell this was a man unaccustomed to beating around the bush. “It is a reasonable question.”

Snape stared at him for a lengthy pause before answering, “yes,” and picking up his glass again. He didn’t take a drink, just swished the liquid, watching the ice clink within the glass. He didn’t volunteer any details, for which Harry was grateful. Harry wasn’t even sure what to make of that one-word admission. He wouldn’t have expected Snape to admit even that much…and he really wanted to go in there and ask him if that meant he regretted how he’d treated Harry in the past.

Of course, he wasn’t suicidal enough to actually do that.

Kneader nodded as if he’d expected that answer, accepted it even. “But things have changed..?” he prompted.

Snape waved away the question as if to shoo away a fly.

“Speaking of the boy…” Kneader redirected in the face of Snape’s obvious discomfort. “I’ve been surprised by a few things since meeting him.”

Snape cleared his throat and said dryly, “I don’t doubt it. He does live to wreak havoc wherever he goes.” Harry narrowed his eyes at the professor. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that trouble so often followed him around. Okay, well…it wasn’t always his fault.

“Is that so? Not that I doubt you, understand,” Kneader said calmly. “He is quieter than I’d imagined, is all. Not shy. More…Serious. Withdrawn.”

“He’d just been dragged from headquarters, which he assumed was under attack by the Dark Lord, and sent to stay in a stranger’s home with his injured and drugged favorite teacher and his comatose best friend in tow. Did you expect for him to start bouncing off the walls?”

“Not as such. I’d not have been caught off guard by a few demands, however. He is the honored guest, the mighty Boy Who Lived. I expected a little prince, found instead a generally polite young man, reluctant to be a bother, and exceedingly wary of strangers. Yet somehow defiant and strong-willed at the same time. Quite the combination of traits. Kid’s got to learn some patience and impulse control, but on the whole, it was a pleasant surprise, really.”

“You’ve learned plenty about him in three days.” Snape seemed put out. Harry wondered if it was because it had taken Snape five years to start to get to know the real Harry.

“I am observant, Severus. And I observe that, unlike I’d been led to believe, someone, somewhere, taught him manners.”

“Or to know his place,” Snape said darkly.

“Pardon?”

Harry was certain that Snape was thinking of the Dursleys, and he was relieved when Snape waved the question away without elaborating and said instead, “Just wait. His self-sacrificing urges can be more aggravating than delusions of grandeur ever would have been.”

Harry aimed his best glare at Snape through the wall.

“Hmm. My point, Severus, is that I’d compiled a rather different mental picture from the way you spoke of him before.”

“I do not believe we’ve ever conversed about him before,” Snape corrected mildly, pouring himself more to drink. Harry absently wondered how much they’d already had to drink. Shouldn’t they be getting a bit tipsy by now? But then, they’d mainly been sipping, and he had no gauge. He’d only seen Vernon tipsy a few times, and he’d been more concerned with avoiding the man’s exaggerated rage in that state than wondering about the quantity of alcohol it had taken to get there.

“Eh. Maybe not as such,” Kneader conceded. “The way your face got darker than a storm cloud whenever The Boy Who Lived was mentioned, then. I also seem to recall a few muttered phrases under your breath, something along the lines of ‘arrogant, spoiled, good for nothing truant of a miscreant.’ My own paraphrase, but I think that was the gist.”

“Yes. Well.” Snape cleared his throat and admitted, “I may have said a few words about the boy out loud, and it is possible that you were nearby at the time.”

They fell silent for a few moments, then Kneader circled back around to prompt, “Changed your mind, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Snape said stubbornly.

“Didn’t have to. I’ve got eyes as well as ears, remember?”

Snape slowly crossed one leg over the other. “I may have…broadened my perception of the boy’s attributes.”

Kneader chuckled. “You have the best turns of phrase I’ve ever known, Severus. What a perfect way of saying you’ve changed your mind about the boy without outright admitting that you were wrong.”

Snape shot him an annoyed look and took a sip of his drink. He didn’t respond.

Harry settled more comfortably on the floor. This was turning into a fascinating conversation. When else was he going to get to know what Snape really thought of him? He crossed his legs and leaned forward, hanging onto their every word.

Kneader spoke up again. “Something else I noticed-”

“Oh, would you stop noticing things, Ephraim?” Snape broke in.

“I could try.” Kneader shrugged. “But what would be the fun in that? I do have so few amusements in my solitary life, you know.”

Snape shot him a look of exasperation and grumbled, “Well, get on with it then.”

“The boy’s grown attached to you,” Kneader said almost questioningly, and Snape downed the small amount of liquid in his glass. Harry felt his ears heat up, even without anybody around to see. Great. Just great. Harry knew Snape didn’t want any real closeness between them, and now that somebody had voiced his worries out loud, Snape was sure to pull away. Harry glared at Kneader’s profile.

“We have overcome some of our differences,” Snape said carefully. “We have replaced them with a certain degree of…trust. Additionally, a misguided feeling of closeness is only natural due to the nature of the lessons I am providing to him. It is all new to him. Whatever ‘attachment’ you think you see will no doubt dissipate as soon as he is back at school, surrounded by his friends and favored professors, and my tutoring is no longer needed.”

“Are you certain about that?” Kneader prodded.

Snape shot him a look that said he was a fool for asking.

“He was worried about you before you arrived. Spent all day watching for your return.”

“He was worried for news of headquarters,” Snape corrected. “His best friend’s family was there and he had no way of knowing the Dark Lord was not getting ready to attack.”

“I’ve watched him over the last several days, Severus. He hangs on your every word. He looks up to you, is curious about you.”

“Perish the thought,” Snape said dryly, though the rigid way he held himself betrayed his discomfort with the conversation.

Kneader didn’t push it further, instead taking a different tack. “I noticed something else interesting. Would you care to hear?”

“Do I have a choice?” Snape snapped back.

“The boy’s not the only one forming an attachment,” said Kneader and held up a hand when Snape started to protest. “Deny all you want, it’s obvious that you care about him.”

“Of course I care what happens to him,” Snape bit out. “He is in my charge. It is my duty to protect him. Dumbledore will murder me if I allow harm to come to him.”

“Oh, don’t get all dodgy on me, Severus. It’s obvious you worry about him, and not merely because Dumbledore put you up to it. That kind of worry isn’t something you do out of duty.”

“I do not worry.” Snape sneered. “It’s a good thing, too. That boy would cause an actual guardian an ulcer inside of a day, always getting into trouble, even when trouble isn’t actively searching him out.”

Kneader was silent. Harry couldn’t see his face in full, but he thought it showed a fair amount of skepticism. Well, so did Harry’s. He could no longer deny that he had started to look up to Snape, to feel close to him in a way that Snape wouldn’t want, to feel a need to find out more about the man. And he wasn’t an idiot; he knew a lot of that was due to the mental intimacy of Occlumency lessons and his newfound knowledge of the man’s friendship with Harry’s mum. But the idea that Snape felt a similar way about him? That was ridiculous. Sure, Harry was fairly certain that Snape didn’t hate him anymore, maybe even that he found Harry’s presence tolerable most days, but that was a far cry from…well, caring.

Kneader was a crackpot old coot if he thought that.

Although…he had a nagging thought that Kneader’s words sounded eerily similar to Hermione’s observations of the other day. Could they both be wrong? Or was there something more to Snape’s recent willingness to help Harry and listen to him and answer his questions? Was it possible that the man cared, even a little bit, about Harry beyond his role in the war? He didn’t think so, but he was surprised by the thought that he wouldn’t hate if the man did…

Kneader finally broke the silence, saying softly, “Dumbledore worries about you, you know. I’m certain he didn’t when you first began working together, but you see, that is what happens over time when you start to care about the wellbeing of someone other than yourself. I can see where you’d be confused, there not having been many people close to you worth caring for.”

“Shut it, old man.” There wasn’t much venom behind the words. If anything, Snape looked exhausted by the conversation.

Kneader leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I recall a conversation we had once, long ago in this very room. You told me that you didn’t want your fear of turning into your father to hold you back. How is that working out for you?”

“How do you think?” Snape said tiredly.

“I think,” said Kneader evenly, “that you do not believe yourself capable of being anything more than what you have been to that boy or to anyone else, and so you have decided to not even try.”

“And why do you imply that I should?” Snape hissed. “He has plenty of people in his life to guide him. I hardly think that an ex-Death Eater-”

“There are things about him that others in his life cannot understand,” Kneader said with confidence, “aren’t there? You’ve made it clear that he is not a stranger to abuse. Even at his young age, it is obvious that he struggles with the weight of a destiny he did not choose, and with the consequences of past decisions. You cannot tell me that his werewolf friend or even the headmaster himself understands the combined weight of such things quite so completely as you do. And I think that on some level, the boy himself recognizes it.”

“If he were so astute,” Snape sneered, “then surely he’d have also recognized that my method of dealing with such things is hardly something to be emulated.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to develop habits worthy of emulation,” replied Kneader.

“I do hope you know how thoroughly I regret coming here,” muttered Snape. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong…”

Kneader leaned back into his chair. “We’ve known each other for, what, fifteen years? A bit less? You’ve come a long way from the broken young man Dumbledore plopped on my doorstep after the war. I think you can go a long way yet. Perhaps the wounds that you’ve bandaged with solitude and bitterness would be better healed through caring for another’s wellbeing.”

Snape held himself rigidly, white knuckles curled around his empty glass.

Kneader seemed to know that he’d pushed as far as he could, for he finally heeded Snape’s wishes and abruptly changed the subject. “The other boy. Ron, was it? I’ve an idea, but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

Ron? Harry’s heart skipped a beat and he inched closer to the wall, as if that would make the man’s words come out faster. He pushed aside all the talk of Harry himself for later consideration, more than eager to know any news of Ron’s condition.

Snape took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a minute, he answered, “We’ve tried almost everything we know to do. Research, diagnostic spells, potions. I have a few more potions maturing at headquarters we can attempt to administer in a week or two, but beyond that…we are at a loss. Believe me, any idea will be welcome.”

“Worried about him too, are you?” Kneader said teasingly, and Harry was a little bit awed by the man’s nerve. He’d never known anybody but Dumbledore who could say whatever he liked to Snape and reach the other side of the conversation unscathed.

“Not in the slightest,” Snape shuddered. “He is a Weasley. He has plenty of people to worry over him. Including Potter.”

“He matters to Potter.”

“Yes.”

“Which matters to you,” Kneader said in a knowing tone.

Snape frowned. He then gestured impatiently. “Your idea?”

“I’ve seen many curses in my Healer days,” he began. “This case is different…but it brings to mind a patient that I had upside of twenty years ago. Took us ages to determine what was wrong with the woman. Only figured it out by chance, really…” Kneader paused and looked straight at Snape. “I think that we should consider a Dual Curse.”

Snape’s frown deepened, and he leaned forward, waiting for Kneader to go on. Harry leaned forward too and reminded himself to breathe.

Kneader explained, “His symptoms are not following any of the typical curses that would result in such a state. However, if combined with another, less detectable curse, which could mask or change some of the symptoms…”

“We could easily miss an obvious diagnosis,” Snape filled in. “Yes, it is theoretically possible, but to achieve such specific results would require extensive preparation for the curses to work in tandem. The effects of both curses would need to be planned with precision. What purpose would the Dark Lord or his followers have of purposely putting Weasley into a comatose state? It serves no purpose. It seems far more likely that they intended to capture him as bait for Potter and he was caught in the path of a wayward curse when they failed.”

“How did you find out about the attack?”

Snape didn’t answer, and Harry could practically see the wheels turning in his head as the man thought through Kneader’s ideas.

“Is it possible that whatever source warned you of the attack was compromised? Or that the information was given to them on purpose?”

“What are you suggesting?” Snape asked slowly.

“I am suggesting the possibility - just a possibility - that the Order did not, in fact, hold off the Death Eaters when they attacked the Weasleys. What if You-Know-Who tipped off the Order, wanted them there, then wanted us to think we had won, that the Weasleys had escaped, only to attach a curse to the boy that would somehow lead them straight to Potter?”

Snape was speechless, eyes betraying both his surprise at the theory and his horror at the implications. Harry thought that his face probably looked the same…but his brain was moving too slowly, trying to put it together…

“The Weasley boy is Harry Potter’s best friend,” Kneader went on. “His family are also known members of the Order. You-Know-Who is a strategist. Erratic at times, but a strategist at heart. He’d reasonably assume that if this Ron and his family needed protection or treatment, they would very likely be hidden alongside Potter.”

Snape shook his head. “No. Any variation of a location spell would never circumvent the extensive wards at headquarters, much less the Fidelius Charm.”

“Typically true,” Kneader said softly. “But…with a way to guarantee the spell would remain active for a long period of time - hidden within a seemingly unbreakable sleeping curse, for example - perhaps strengthened or triggered were Potter to come into direct contact with the boy… With a wizard of incredible skill, it could be a simple matter of time to narrow down to an approximate location.”

“At which point,” Snape added in a near whisper, “knowing that he could trace no farther and deducing that the Fidelius Charm was in play, he’d use what knowledge he had to force Potter to move to a new location, one more easily traced.”

“My home is not so easy to trace,” Kneader pointed out.

“Easier than headquarters.” Snape stood and started to pace the room. “It would still take time, but there is no Fidelius Charm in play here. If your theory has any merit, it will be only a matter of time before he finds our specific location.”

“If I am correct,” said Kneader. “We should separate the Weasley boy from Potter.”

“Yes,” Snape agreed readily, “but that will not solve another problem. If they locate Weasley, they will still attack. And if he is found without Potter, they will use him as bait. Potter won’t stand by and watch his friend be harmed on his account. He will turn himself over to the Dark Lord without hesitation, and he will find a way around any attempts to stop him. We can’t let that happen. Weasley too must be protected at all costs.”

“Agreed.”

“Do you have a way to detect the curses placed upon him, to isolate them individually?”

Kneader shook his head. “If it is a Dual Curse, they are too intricately linked and therefore undetectable in their individual parts. The only way to treat the boy is to find out the specific combination of curses used and then to develop a counter-curse that will target both simultaneously. And the only way to find out that information…”

“Is from the very Death Eaters who cursed him,” Snape finished, shoulders dropping in defeat. They were silent for several minutes, which was unfortunate for Harry, as he now had time to dwell on what he’d heard. His heart was pounding, and he was having trouble taking a breath. He felt this way sometimes after nightmares, and this was worse than any nightmare. He pressed a hand over his chest and tried to breathe.

Had Voldemort been playing him all along? As far back as with the vision about attacking the Burrow? Had Ron been intentionally cursed in this way in order to find Harry? The men were talking again in the other room, but his ears were ringing and he couldn’t think and he couldn’t register what was being said. He yanked the Wall Watchers off of his face, plunging his vision into the darkness of his room, where the only sound was the rasp of his breath and the barely audible murmur of indistinct voices through the wall.

He stood on shaky legs and immediately sat down again. If Kneader’s theory was true, what did it mean for Ron? For Harry? For everybody who was with him? How could they hope to be safe if Voldemort was always one step ahead? If he had more access to Harry’s mind than he’d imagined?

Were any of his visions this summer real? Had Voldemort sent all of his visions on purpose, or were some still accidental? There was no reason to send the one about Mrs. Figg, no reason at all. And of course, there was the one about Snape, when he was tortured after being found a spy… That had to be true.

Didn’t it?

A chill ran through his body. He’d seen Snape after he was tortured. He knew it was real. But so was the vision about attacking the Burrow. Voldemort hadn’t lied or portrayed anything false; he’d simply wanted Harry to see it. If Kneader’s theory was true, that is. He still didn’t know if it was true. He took in a gasping breath. But it made so much sense…

Voldemort easily could have made it look like Snape was caught out as a spy, only to turn around and plant the man close to Harry so that he could gain his trust and then turn on Harry in the end.

But Snape had to be on their side, Harry argued with himself. He had protected him from Voldemort. He’d had plenty of opportunity, alone with Harry at the Dursleys and Grimmauld Place, to incapacitate Harry and deliver him to Voldemort. But he hadn’t. He’d gone out of his way to warn Harry, to keep him safe. He’d even given him a way to call for help… He touched the ring briefly with his thumb to remind himself that it was there.

Unless it was all a part of Voldemort’s plan to get Harry to trust Snape…

No! Snape had helped Harry with Occlumency. Harry had wondered last year if Snape was purposely opening his mind, making it easier for Voldemort to get in. But this time he knew he was making progress. For the first time, he’d managed to pull himself out of a vision without help. He’d managed to block a Legilimens from gaining access to certain memories. He was starting to be able to focus better, to wall off emotion and thought, even if he still had a long way to go. Snape was teaching him, really teaching him, not just pretending to.

Dumbledore trusted Snape. Other Harry thought he should trust him too. And as much as Harry was second guessing all of Voldemort’s visions, he still trusted in his dreams of the future. They came from inside himself, not from Voldemort. If he was certain about anything, he was certain about that. He knew, deep down in his heart, that he could trust those. They came from deep within his own soul.

And if he couldn’t trust himself, who could he trust?

So he would trust Snape. He had to…because if he let himself doubt Snape right now, then he would find himself completely and utterly adrift.

He tried to stand again, and this time his legs supported him. He crossed over to the lamp and turned it on, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping again for a good long while.

Why had he allowed himself to be lulled into a feeling of safety for so long? Sure, he’d been stressed about Voldemort, but he hadn’t truly thought the dark wizard had an actual plan - with an actual chance of success - to locate him. He’d been imagining him blindly searching, telling his followers to keep a look out, haphazardly going after Harry’s friends on the off chance it could bear fruit in the search. But no - Voldemort hadn’t been doing anything haphazardly, had he? He’d known exactly what he was doing, each step of the way, even biding his time to do it, and now Ron might be a ticking time bomb of an advanced tracking spell and Harry’s mind was a blank slate for Voldemort to write upon whatever and whenever he wished and-

Harry suddenly felt incredibly, deeply violated.

He felt tears of frustration and fear welling up. He wanted to scream but held it in. Instead, he channeled his frustration into kicking the bedside table. The lamp wobbled and he scrambled forward to catch it, instead knocking it further askew. It crashed to the ground in a cacophony of ripping cord and broken glass, plunging his room back into darkness.

He winced, waiting…

Sure enough, mere seconds later, his bedroom door was shoved open and he was bathed in light from the other room. He didn’t have to look up to know that Snape was standing in the doorway.

He stood there, facing the broken lamp, and waited for the lecture. He should have just gone with the urge to scream, he thought morosely. More explaining, less property damage. Kneader surely wouldn’t think he was a polite young man after he’d destroyed his lamp.

The bedroom light flicked on and Harry slammed his eyes shut against the brightness. He felt Snape come up beside him but didn’t look over. The tears continued to gather behind his eyelids, and he didn’t dare open them. If he did, he would cry in front of Snape.

He really didn’t want to cry in front of Snape.

“All right?” the man asked softly, and Harry managed a jerky nod. “What happened?”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t making the strongest case for being left alone, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would accidentally let loose a sob. He willed the man to just let it go and leave.

But this was Snape. The man couldn’t help putting his abnormally large nose into Harry’s business. Harry swallowed and turned his head away. He hadn’t meant that thought. Not really. He appreciated everything the man had done for him lately. He just really didn’t want to face him right now when all he wanted was to bury himself in his covers and cry for Ron and for himself…mainly for not even having control over his own mind.

That last thought made his heart pound again, and he sucked in a sharp breath. If Voldemort had so much access to his mind, what was to stop him from manipulating Harry in other ways? He didn’t think he’d try to possess him again, but he might have other ways of deceiving Harry, controlling his thoughts or actions. What else could he make him believe, manipulate him into doing? Harry barely registered his breathing coming in sharp gasps when he felt arms shoving him over to sit on his bed.

He couldn’t breathe. He actually couldn’t breathe. A wheezing groan came from somewhere in his chest, and his hand fumbled for something to hold onto. He clutched a handful of cloth between his fingers, not caring that it was attached to Snape, and tried to suck in air where there wasn’t any.

“Potter. Look at me! Open your eyes and look at me.”

He obeyed, barely registering that doing so let tears escape. He saw a blackness at the edge of his vision and clutched the cloth tighter. Was this how he was going to die? Because it was a really, really pathetic way to die after everything he’d been through.

“You’re having another panic attack. You think you can’t breathe, but you can.”

He couldn’t. He tried but he couldn’t. His free hand clawed frantically at his throat.

“Slow.” Snape caught Harry’s hand in a firm grasp and held onto his shoulder with the other. He stooped so that his eyes were directly in front of Harry’s. “Just one breath, Harry. One slow breath. Match mine.” He placed Harry’s hand on his own chest and took a slow, exaggerated breath.

Harry focused on Snape. His steady eyes, his slow-moving chest, and felt a small, shaky trickle of air enter his lungs.

“Good. Again.”

Air. Little by little, breath by breath, the blackness receded from Harry’s vision and his gasps slowed into measured breaths. But that left the tears to flow, and he was too exhausted to try to stop them. As soon as Snape saw that he wasn’t in danger of death by panic attack, he stood up. But Harry couldn’t let him go. He kept hold of what he realized was a fist full of Snape’s shirt and leaned forward, resting his forehead in the center of Snape’s lower chest. It was awkward, sitting this way, leaning only his head against the man, but he needed this, so he took it even while bracing himself to be pushed away.

Snape stilled. He probably hadn’t been expecting to be used as a human pillow - even standing up - but he didn’t push Harry away. So Harry tightened his hold and let the tears flow, trying to take deep, measured breaths. It was hard to do while crying. After a particularly ragged breath ended in a hiccup, Snape put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. It wasn’t a hug, and there was no attempt to soothe him, but it was comfort. And it helped.

After his tears had slowed and his breathing came easier, Snape quietly asked, “Nightmare?”

Harry shook his head, which was hard to do with his forehead still attached to Snape. He reluctantly lifted up his head, knowing that he could only push the man’s limits so far and for so long. He didn’t meet Snape’s eyes as he pulled away and wiped at his wet face with his sleeve.

“Vision?” Snape’s tone was more urgent.

“No,” Harry croaked. He never wanted to have another vision again as long as he lived. Not that he knew how to stop them completely yet. Nor that he would necessarily have a long life, for that matter.

“I was not aware that you regularly suffer from panic attacks.”

“I don’t,” Harry denied automatically.

“Ah. Yes, I can see that,” Snape drawled. “My mistake.”

Harry let go of Snape’s shirt, realizing belatedly that he was still clutching it. He watched as the man smoothed it with one hand, but even without his glasses on, he could tell that the fabric was hopelessly wrinkled.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. It’s a good thing he was so mentally and physically exhausted, Harry decided, for it helped him to shove aside most of his embarrassment for later.

Snape didn’t acknowledge the apology, just asked, “Do you require a potion?”

Harry started to shake his head but stopped mid-shake as he thought better of it. He already had plenty of Dreamless Sleep potion in his trunk, but if he was going to stop these visions, it might not be a bad idea to accept more any time it was offered. “More Dreamless Sleep?” he asked, glancing up quickly.

Snape nodded and left without a word. Harry heard a brief murmur of Snape’s and Kneader’s voices before a door opened, then closed, and seconds later, Snape was again in front of him, this time holding out a vial of purple potion.

He accepted it with a quiet “thanks,” but Snape didn’t make to leave. The silence stretched awkwardly until Harry finally looked up questioningly. Snape was watching him, though Harry couldn’t see his expression very well. Was he waiting until he’d consumed the potion..? Harry hadn’t really planned to, not then anyway. He wanted to think a while before he fell back asleep. He wasn’t even sure if it was the middle of the night or near dawn. Maybe he’d just stay up until everyone else was awake, hold onto the potion until tomorrow.

Snape cleared his throat. Harry thought he might have been about to say something, but it looked like he changed his mind, for he only said, “Good night, Potter,” and left.

Well, tried to leave. His foot caught and kicked something of Harry’s across the floor as he passed the trunk. Harry watched absently as the man’s fuzzy form bent to pick it up, and only then did he remember that he’d dropped the Wall Watchers. His eyes widened in alarm, and he tried desperately to school his features as Snape folded the glasses and placed them on Harry’s bedside table…right next to Harry’s actual glasses.

Snape paused and looked at Harry, close enough for him to see the puzzlement in his eyes. And Harry knew the moment his act of innocence failed to fool the man, as puzzlement gave way to suspicion.

“I got another pair,” Harry blurted. “Just in case.”

Snape kept staring, and Harry knew the heat creeping up his face would betray him. “Your generous relatives bought you a second pair of glasses, did they?” he asked smoothly, with the skill of a professor used to rooting out the secrets and misdeeds of his students.

“No,” he answered a moment too late to be convincing. “They were a gift. From Hermione.” He’d have to get Hermione alone first thing tomorrow to back him up. “Self-adjusting. She got tired of me always asking what teachers’d written on the board.”

That part was true, at least.

But Snape wasn’t fooled. Watching Harry steadily, he picked up the Wall Watchers and raised them to his own face.

Out of options, Harry lunged, and Snape neatly side-stepped him, obviously having anticipated that Harry would try to stop him.

“What have you gotten into this time, Potter?” he growled.

“Nothing!” He tried to rip the glasses from Snape’s hand, but the man held them out of his reach. “They’re just…my glasses, is all. I don’t want them to get ruined!”

“So you leave them in the middle of the floor? Excellent plan.” Finally, he barked, “Potter! Stop this at once!”

Harry knew that he’d been beat. He backed up slowly, dread pitting in his stomach as an irate Snape placed the glasses on his nose and immediately stepped back, looking around him in alarm. His lips parted as he looked first one way, then another, and Harry took advantage of his distraction to put on his real glasses and retreat so that the bed was between them.

It was a good thing, too, because Snape’s eyes were narrowed slits when he removed the Wall Watcher. “You were watching,” he hissed. “You were listening to our private conversation. Weren’t you?”

Would he be in worse trouble if he admitted to it or if he pleaded ignorance? Deciding that the truth would eventually be dragged out of him, he reluctantly nodded.

Snape began to stalk around the bed, and Harry backed up into a dresser.

“Noble words don’t mean much without action to back them up,” he said silkily.

“Wha-?”

“Your grand apology, Potter,” Snape hissed, inching closer. Harry tried to mold himself to the dresser. The man was livid. “To think that I believed your remorse, that you truly regretted invading my privacy last year, when all along you’ve been spying on me, using this…contraption,” he yelled and threw it to the other side of the room, “to invade my privacy over and over again!”

“No!” Harry protested. “I haven’t been-”

“You expect me to believe anything that is coming out of your mouth right now?” Snape snarled, his face twisting in rage.

“I swear, professor!” he tried again. “I-I listened to you and Dumbledore once, right after we got to Grimmauld Place. I didn’t - we weren’t, back then - I mean, I wanted to know, and it was about me, and…but that’s it, the only time, I promise! Until tonight. I just wanted to know who was out there before I interrupted, and then you mentioned me, and Ron, and I needed to know-”

“Yes, you always need to know,” Snape sneered. “And if it tramples somebody else’s privacy, then so be it.”

“I didn’t think-”

“And therein lies the problem. You don’t think,” Snape’s voice was low, more dangerous than he’d heard from the man in weeks, “about your actions or their consequences, or about anybody but yourself!”

The words cut to the core, and Harry swallowed against a rush of tears. “I’m sorry,” he said plaintively.

Snape swept out his arm and Harry flinched violently, banging his back into the dresser and flinging his arms up to protect himself. He realized a moment too late that Snape had been gesturing for him to stop talking. He lowered his arms, but the damage was done. Snape had quickly backed up, a mix of emotions on his face. Regret was there, but in the end, disgust won out.

“I’m done,” he spat as he turned towards the door. “Practice Occlumency on your own. If you have questions, ask the headmaster.”

“Professor…” Harry tried one more time, but Snape was already slamming the door closed.

He sank to the ground in the sudden silence and hugged his knees to his chest. He felt cold, although he didn’t know if the chill was coming from inside or outside his body. He’d messed everything up. He hadn’t even stopped to think about how violated Snape would feel at being spied on, about how fragile their tentative trust was and how easily broken. Of course the man would see it as a betrayal. And he was right. If Harry had stopped to consider Snape’s feelings for even one second, he’d have considered how much Snape valued his privacy. He’d have known that it was the wrong thing to do.

He’d lost any hope of further Occlumency lessons. Without even realizing it, he’d imagined a world in which some form of their lessons lasted through their return to Hogwarts. At the very least, Harry had imagined that Snape might allow him to seek him out in his office to ask the occasional question. In his most hopeful moments, he’d wondered if Snape might allow him into his NEWT Potions class. All that was gone too.

Including Lily. He’d never be able to ask about his mum now.

But out of all that, what made him feel most adrift was that he - in his own thoughtless act - was to blame. This time, it wasn’t Snape’s stubbornness or blind hatred causing him to wall himself off. Harry had managed to lose the man’s trust all on his own through his disregard for Snape’s boundaries.

Sniffling, he scrambled to his feet and found the Wall Watchers on the other side of the room. It wasn’t even scratched from Snape’s throw, but Harry could barely stand to look at it. He never wanted to use it again, never wanted to so much as be tempted. He grasped it in both hands and snapped it down the middle, then crushed the lenses with the heel of a boot from his trunk.

Finished, he tossed the fragments into a corner of the room.

And then he climbed into bed and took the easy way out of dealing with all of his guilt, worry, fear, and panic. He gulped down half the bottle of purple potion and sank into the welcome arms of dreamless sleep.