Harry curls onto his side and pulls the blankets over him. It is past midnight, but he cannot fall asleep. The other boys are dead to the world--Ron snoring, and Neville frowning slightly as he dreams--but Harry cannot find such respite tonight. His mind is on Dumbledore. It angers him that the headmaster can vanish into thin air--and nobody in the whole school seems to notice. And despite the fact that Dumbledore has put Harry through a lot…it still troubles him that the old man has disappeared.

Harry scrunches under the covers, trying to get comfortable. This is stupid. Snape doesn't seem to care that Dumbledore is gone. He'd probably lock Dumbledore up and throw away the key if he could.

Harry bolts up in bed, eyes wide, as something occurs to him. Something big. He scrambles off the bed and yanks on his Invisibility Cloak. Then he scribbles a note to Ron and Hermione, leaves it on Ron’s pillow, and dashes out of the silent dormitory.

It is simple enough to find the right jar in the Potions classroom--easier still to whisper the password--the hard part happens when he ends up outside Snape's door. Does he really have the nerve to do this? It is one thing to come down here invited--quite another to show up in the middle of the night unannounced. But still--he wants to tell Snape--it is more than that, he needs to tell Snape what he has figured out.

And so Harry shrugs off his Invisibility Cloak and knocks on the door. After a long minute, the door snaps open.

"Yes, Potter? What is it?" The words are delivered sharply, and Harry suddenly feels stupid. Here he is, in his pajamas and slippers, trotting off to Snape like a little kid who has had a bad dream. Snape is still fully dressed, and looks ready to duel or brew or do whatever it is Snapes do in the middle of the night. He peers down at Harry, his black eyes glittering.

"Are you alright?" This is delivered even more sharply.

"Yes, I'm fine," Harry manages. "Er...can I come in?"

"It's after midnight, Potter."

"I know."

Snape cocks his head, studying Harry. Then, without further comment, he opens the door, allowing Harry entry.

Harry immediately sits on the faded couch. He waits anxiously as Snape settles onto the armchair across from him.

"Now, what's this all about?"

"I know where Dumbledore is," Harry blurts out.

Snape raises an eyebrow. "Where?"

"The Room of Requirement."

Snape coolly sits back in his chair, considering this. "And you know this how?"

"I was in bed wondering where he'd got to, and then--I just knew."

"So this is based on instinct rather than any factual evidence?"

"I guess."

Snape steeples his hands together. "And what do you propose to do about this hunch of yours?"

"I want to get him out of there."

"If he is within."

”I know he is,” Harry says stubbornly.

"And why do you think he is there?"

"Because someone locked him in, or--"

"I did no such thing," Snape interrupts coldly.

"I didn't say you did," Harry protests. He hesitates. "But...you didn't?"

"No."

"And you don't think someone else did?"

"I don't think anyone locked him up, Potter. I don't think he's there at all."

"Let's go find out," Harry says, ready for action. "Let's go find out right now."

"We will do no such thing," Snape growls. "Potter, listen to sense. If Dumbledore is in the Room, he is there by his own hand. Nobody has the power to make the headmaster do anything he does not wish to do. Believe me."

"But why would Dumbledore hide away like that?" Harry demands. "Umbridge can do anything she likes now!"

"Dumbledore doesn't hide. Dumbledore waits to be found," Snape says quietly. "He is waiting for someone to find him." And then Snape's face hardens. "He's waiting for you to find him."

"Or you."

"Not me," Snape says flatly. "You."

"But why would he go to that much trouble?" Harry asks, bewildered. "If he wants to talk, all he has to do is find me."

"After your last conversation went so well?"

"Oh. True." Harry pauses. "I, um, wish I hadn't burned his photograph."

"You were allowed to react to Dumbledore's admission that he was too much of a coward to take you in, Potter."

"I still wish I hadn't done it," Harry says gloomily. "He looked so hurt, Snape, you've no idea."

"Stop torturing yourself over him," Snape says sharply. "It doesn't become you."

”I can’t help it,” Harry admits. “I just keep—worrying about him.”

“I cannot imagine such a thing.”

“You…you really hate him that much?” Harry asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I can’t help but notice,” Harry says slowly, “that Dumbledore gave you what he refused me. He gave you a safe place to live. When you asked him for quarter from the Death Eaters—he trusted you. He gave you Hogwarts.”

"I wish he had turned me away," Snape murmurs. "When I came to him--when I told him what I had done to your parents--I wish he had left me to my miserable fate. But instead he told me how to atone. That knowledge was like an apple offered by a serpent, Potter."

”Dumbledore isn’t a serpent,” Harry says crossly, tired of Snape’s complicated analogies. They don’t go down well this late at night.

"You cannot honestly still feel affection for him."

”Affection?” Harry laughs. “I don’t feel safe around Dumbledore anymore—I don’t trust him—but what does that mean, really? Most people are dangerous to me. Dumbledore’s been added to the list, that’s all.”

"And you can satisfy yourself with mere disillusionment? After what he’s done to you?”

“Well, no,” Harry admits, a familiar ache twisting his gut. “But you’re missing the point here. This isn't really about Dumbledore, Snape. This is about me. It doesn't feel right to hate Dumbledore. I think I could hate him--if I wanted to. But I don't want to."

"And that," says Snape, "is the great difference between you and me."

"Yeah," Harry says. "I guess it is.”

“And may I ask,” Snape says after a pause, “exactly when you had this great change of heart regarding the headmaster?”

“Tonight.” Harry whispers. “When I figured out he might be in danger, I started to worry about him. And you can’t worry about people you hate, Snape.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Well, I can’t,” Harry announces. “So are you going to help me or not?”

"Gain entrance into the Room? No."

"Well. Okay, then." Harry stands up, sure the interview is over.

"No, not yet," Snape says. "Sit back down."

Harry looks skeptically at Snape, but lowers himself onto the couch.

"You are not to go back into the Room," Snape says quietly. "I don't care if you think Dumbledore is in there—or if you think Granger and Weasley or Merlin himself is inside. You stay out of there. Do you understand me?"

Harry jiggles his foot up and down. "But what if Dumbledore’s hurt, Snape? Don't you even want to check? We can't win this war without him."

"You aren't listening to me," Snape says. He leans forward, until his hooked nose is only inches away from Harry. "You are not to even walk past that corridor on the seventh floor, Potter. As far as you are concerned, the Room of Requirement is out-of-bounds."

"You are forbidding me?"

"I did not think such a stricture was necessary," Snape replies. "I thought you would give that place a wide berth for the rest of your life."
"I'm not scared to go in there again," Harry says, a trifle hotly. "And normally, yeah, I'd stay away. I've had my fill of it. But if Dumbledore is in there and he can't get out--"

"Dumbledore left us there to rot," Snape says grimly. "If he has gotten himself locked up, it might be good for him. Turnabout is fair play. You stay out of there."

"And if I don't?"

"If you disobey me in this," Snape says, quite coldly, "then the consequences will be severe."

"What does that mean?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice even.

"Do you really want to find out?"

"Not especially."

"Then give me your word that you will not enter that Room," Snape says. "Do I have your word, Potter?"

Harry fiddles with a stray thread on his T-shirt. The silence lengthens between them.

"Why did you come down here?" Snape asks softly. "Why did you not proceed directly to the Room?"

"Because," Harry says. "I wanted your help."

"I'm giving it to you," Snape says. "Really, Potter, Dumbledore can fend for himself. I think he controls the magic in that Room. Not the other way around."

"Yeah, maybe…" Harry’s voice trails off.

"But?"

"But I, um, still want to check on Dumbledore."

"I see," Snape says. He stands up. "Then I only see one solution." He strides toward the door. "May I borrow your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Why?" Harry asks, surprised. "I mean, yes, you can borrow it, but why do you need it?"

"I do not want anyone to see me leave here."

"Where are you going?"

"To the corridor on the seventh floor, of course."

And then Snape is gone, leaving Harry alone with only the flickering flames from the fire to keep him company. He sits there without moving, shocked that Snape is going to take care of this for him. He knows how much Snape detests the Room of Requirement. And he really knows how much Snape dislikes Dumbledore. And yet--he left to seek both out, like it was no bother at all to do so.

Like he wanted to do so.

Harry smiles to himself, a private and shy expression that only few ever see. Stretching on the couch, he glances around, finally getting a proper look at Snape’s quarters. It’s much easier to satisfy his curiosity about this place when Snape isn’t two feet away, staring at him. Nothing terribly extraordinary—but then something catches Harry’s eye. A beautiful wooden box, perched on the corner of the kitchen table, that looks awfully familiar.

“Ah,” Harry murmurs. “So that’s what Snapes do in the middle of the night.” He stands up for a more thorough investigation. Yes, it’s definitely the same box that Snape was clutching before—the one that held the photograph of his grandparents. For a long time Harry simply stares at the little chest, wondering if he dares. He would bet anything there are photographs of his mum in there. The ache to see those photographs is a physical sensation—but so is the fear churning within him. Merlin, if Snape caught him going through his things…well, for some reason Harry bets the punishment for investigating the Room would pale in comparison.

Harry drums his fingers on the table, eying the box. He has no right to go through Snape’s possessions. And the box probably has lots of enchantments on it. He should just ask if he can look at the pictures. Snape gave him the one of his grandparents, after all. That was a pretty decent thing to do.

But despite all that…well, Harry’s curiosity has never particularly listened to reason before.

If only the box wasn’t in view, taunting him like this, right in front of him!

Harry snatches up the chest before he can reconsider and looks wildly for a place to stash it. There are cupboards lining the kitchen, so Harry flings one open at random and shoves the box inside. He closes the door with a bang, feeling instantly better now that he doesn’t have to stare at the thing.

It’s funny how his mind works, sometimes.

Harry resolutely sits back down on the couch, a little dizzy at his narrow escape from temptation. He’s only just gotten settled in when the door bangs open.

“I can’t get into the Room,” Snape announces without preamble, shrugging off the Cloak and tossing it at Harry. “I tried everything I could think of, but the damned thing simply does not want to allow me access. I suspect that you would have far better luck opening the door.”

“You mean if I used Parseltongue?” Harry asks, trying his best to look unruffled.

“Or something similar,” Snape says grimly. “Leave it to Dumbledore to create another Chamber of Secrets. But you still aren’t going near that place, Potter. I’m not about to let the old man outsmart me a second time. You will give me the courtesy of further reflection before you do anything. Can you promise me that?”

“I promise,” Harry says quickly.

Snape raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised that Harry has acquiesced so easily. “I’m relieved to hear it. Now, Potter, it’s rather late for all these misadventures, so perhaps you would be good enough to—” Snape stops mid-sentence. Then, to Harry’s horror, he strides over to the kitchen table. He stares at the empty surface for a long minute, his back to Harry. When he turns around, his fists are balled up, almost white with tension. “Where are my photographs, Harry?”

The use of his first name throws Harry for a loop. “I…I—"

“Did you look through them?” Snape asks, in the same spookily quiet voice. “Did you look through my photographs?”

“No-ooo…”

“WHERE ARE MY PHOTOGRAPHS?” Snape yells, slamming his fist on the table.

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry says, hearing himself plead and hating himself for it.

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” Snape roars. He yanks Harry to him. “Tell me the truth, Potter! You gave them the Dumbledore treatment, didn’t you? Burnt to a crisp, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Harry gasps, nose to nose with Snape.

“You were angry with me!” Snape roars. “Dumbledore gave me the safe haven he never offered you! I heard you say it!”

“That’s ridiculous, sir—”

“THEN WHERE ARE MY PHOTOGRAPHS?”

Harry shakily points at the kitchen cabinets. Without releasing him, Snape takes two steps sideways and yanks one open.

There’s nothing inside but a few bowls and cups.

Harry stares at it blankly, failing to comprehend that Snape has merely opened the wrong cabinet. Snape takes his silence as an admission of something—and perhaps it is. He shoves Harry toward the kitchen table and roughly bends him over it. Harry scrabbles against the pitted wooden surface, trying to get away from Snape. But the man has a hand like a visor around Harry’s neck, and he cannot do more than hop awkwardly from foot to foot, folded in half like this. He scrunches his eyes shut, giving in to fate, both shocked and unsurprised that it has come to this. He waits for the first blow, heart beating in his throat, unable to say a word.

He waits a long time.

“Get up. For fuck’s sake, Potter, get up!”

Harry, thus released, immediately rights himself, eyes wide as he turns around and stares at Snape. The man looks undone. He holds his belt limply in one hand, face ashen, black hair sticking sweatily to his forehead.

“I didn’t look through your photographs,” Harry whispers. “I hid them so they wouldn’t tempt me. That’s all. I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Snape says, voice so low Harry can barely catch it.

“It does,” Harry insists. He edges past the table, giving Snape a wide berth. He flings open several cabinets before he finds the right one. He points at the wooden box, too scared now to touch it. “See? There it is.”

With an almost animal groan, Snape snatches the box and cradles it to his chest. He runs his wand over it several times, obviously performing some kind of test. Then he whispers a long incantation and the box disappears. Harry wonders if he will ever see it again.

“I didn’t look inside,” Harry repeats. “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t need to believe you. The box is charmed to alert me if anyone opens it.”

“But…do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” Harry says. He wipes his sweaty palms against his flannel pants, relief washing over him now that the danger has passed. He sits down heavily in the armchair, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal.

“Okay?” Snape says, his voice hoarse. “That’s all you have to say, after I almost whipped you?”

“You didn’t go through with it,” Harry points out. “You stopped.”

“And that makes it alright?”

“It’s a lot different than actually beating me.”

“No, it isn’t,” Snape groans, sinking onto the couch and putting his head in his hands. “Merlin, what on earth is wrong with me?”

Harry hugs a pillow to his chest. “Did you really think I would burn up your photos, Snape?”

“You did it to Dumbledore.”

“That doesn’t mean I would do it to you.”

“I know,” Snape says tightly. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Jesus,” Harry says, letting out a long, shaky breath. “You really freaked out.”

Snape purses his lips. He stands and returns to the ill-fated kitchen, rifling through cupboards and pointing his wand at various objects. He comes back with a mug in his hands. “Here.”

“I would never burn up photographs of my mum,” Harry says, accepting the cup of tea. “I mean, aside from everything else…I would never do that.”

“I know,” Snape repeats, sounding agitated. “I saw that the photographs were gone, Potter, and I lost my temper. I should have told you to leave that very minute.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You said last time, when I locked you in the Potions closet, that you would rather fight with me than be left alone,” Snape reminds him. Then he frowns. “No, that isn’t true. I’d forgotten all about that. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t thinking at all. Clearly.”

“But you know I wouldn’t do that to you?” Harry repeats, needing reassurance on that point.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“And?” Snape prompts. “Is that all you have to say?”

Harry shrugs.

“Are you not upset that I was seconds away from beating you? For something you did not do?”

“It’s happened before,” Harry murmurs.

“I know,” Snape says. “I remember.” He pauses. “Or, rather, you remember.”

They are both thinking about the dinosaur, Harry knows. He doesn’t like dwelling on that memory.

“Potter,” Snape says slowly, eyes glittering, “This is not good. What happened here tonight can never happen again. I promised, after I slapped you, that I would never hit you again. And tonight I broke that promise.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harry says. “You didn’t actually hit me.” He pauses. “Do you know how often I wished Vernon would change his mind and let me off, Snape? But he never did. Not once.”

“You sound as if you are pleased with my behavior tonight,” Snape whispers, looking disturbed.

“Yeah, I’m pleased you didn’t beat me!” Harry says, setting down his tea. “I’m really pleased on that front, believe me!” He gestures to the thick leather belt, looped like a snake on the floor where Snape dropped it. “That would have hurt. A lot.”

“I know it would have hurt!” Snape says, frustrated. “That was the point of it! Harry, are you not angry with me for getting so close to—to doing that to you?”

Harry clutches the mug of tea with both hands. Mostly what he feels now is relief. The dizzy aftershock of a narrow escape…he’s familiar with the sensation. “I—I don’t know. Nobody’s ever felt bad…about doing that to me before. And you didn’t even do it.”

“Merlin, Potter! Is your frame of reference so defiled?”

Harry jerks back. “I’m not defiled.”

“Then stop rationalizing me standing over you with a belt. You can’t explain that away, not ever, so kindly desist. I find your behavior distasteful.”

“Fine,” Harry says, stung by Snape’s tone. “What do you want me to do? Am I supposed to run screaming from the room in terror? Because you shoved me against a table?”

Snape says nothing.

“What, then?” Harry demands, something stirring within him. “You want me to get angry and say hateful things and storm out of here? Would that be better?”

“There’s something to be said for routine,” Snape says, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

Harry stares at Snape. “What is wrong with you?”

Snape frowns but does not answer.

“I don’t understand,” Harry says, bewildered. This man has more mood swings than a pregnant woman. “Do you want me to go?”

Snape, again, says nothing.

“Fine,” Harry grinds out. He marches over to the door and twists the knob, loathe to leave things unresolved but unsure of what else he can do. He stops and looks over his shoulder at Snape. The tension has gone out of the man’s body. Snape seems oddly…relaxed, as though things have worked out neatly.

Harry purses his lips, something clicking into place for him. He quietly walks back into the room, picking up the fallen belt on the way, stopping right by Snape’s chair. Then he snaps the belt in the air. It cracks like a gunshot, and Snape visibly jumps, the whites of his eyes showing.

“You can’t make me leave,” Harry announces. “I’ve figured out what you’re up to.”

Snape stares at Harry for a long beat, the muscles in his jaw working hard. Then he leans over, yanks the belt out of Harry’s grasp, and throws it in the fire. The smell of acrid leather fills the room. Snape keeps his eyes on the flames rather than Harry. “And what exactly is that, Potter?”

“You were being a bastard so it would be easier for me to leave,” Harry says flatly. “That’s why you were acting so cold. You expect everyone to leave you, so you were just helping the process along.”

Snape frowns. “That is perhaps the most generous motivation anyone has ever subscribed to me."

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Snape says slowly. “I know that I’ve waited a long time for you to reach the end of your rope, Potter. But you don’t. You keep throwing me a line instead.” He looks up at Harry, a ravaged look transfiguring his expression. “Why don’t you just forget about me, Potter? Why don’t you leave? Everyone else does.”

“I carry my parents around with me every second of every day,” Harry says softly, “and I don’t even remember them. You think I can leave behind people I actually know?” He pauses. “Why do you think I can’t just forget about Dumbledore, Snape? It’s not in me to do that.”

“And it’s not in my nature to expect people to stay,” Snape says bitterly. “Not anymore.”

“Not after my mum, you mean.”

“Oh, who knows if it was Lily?” Snape says impatiently. “She certainly wasn’t the first person to tire of Severus Snape.” He snorts. “She was probably the last person I let matter, however. After her—I decided that it’s not so bad when people leave—if they don’t matter. Because then, you don’t even notice when they go…”

“I think they still mattered to you after that,” Harry says. “You just hid it better. You notice when people leave, Snape.”

Snape looks up, eyes glittering. “I notice more when they stay.”

“Well,” Harry says, sitting back down. “I’m staying. Even though it probably means I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Snape says sharply. “And you certainly aren’t defiled. Quite the opposite. I don’t know how you have become the person who stands in front of me. By all rights you should resemble some...I don't know, rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeats.”

“Oh.” Harry looks down, fiddling with the pillow. “I’m not a rough beast…I know that much…but I’m still kind of screwed up. Snape. I know most normal kids would hate you for—the belt. Because of the humiliation, if nothing else. But…I don’t know. You expect people to leave—and I expect violence. And this was nothing compared to…other stuff.” Snape makes a move to speak, but Harry holds up a hand to stop him. “And I know that it’s not particularly normal to want to try and make you feel better about losing control like that. But I don’t like to see people in pain, Snape. Not when I can do something about it.” He looks up under his lashes. “I know it’s a big deal that you almost thrashed me, Snape. Really, I do. But what you don’t seem to understand is—to me, it’s a bigger deal that you stopped yourself.”

Snape looks pained, but doesn’t say anything.

“And... this is the other thing,” Harry continues. “This is the part where you are going to know how messed up I really am. I don’t think you understand, Snape, that the belts and the fists and things… that was not the worst part of it for me. The worst part was knowing that they didn’t care. I mean, when I’d been in my cupboard for a long time… alone…I stopped caring about anything but being let out. I didn’t care if they hit me or yelled at me or what, as long as they let me out and talked to me.”

“You implied as much when you were under Veritaserum,” Snape says quietly. “You told me about how your aunt tore up the Christmas card you made her. You called it your worst memory with the Muggles.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Because that was when I realized that they didn’t love me—”

“—And that you were alone,” Snape finishes.

“Yeah.” Harry pauses. “Don’t get me wrong…I hated getting hit. Hated it. It was really, really scary and it hurt like hell. It’s just…there are things that hurt more. Things you could do that hurt more… that you haven’t done.” Harry stops, sure he is rambling.

“Perhaps beating you is not the very worst thing I could have done to you,” Snape allows. “But it’s still pretty damn bad, Potter.”

Harry cannot disagree. “I know. I just wanted to give you some…context. To make you feel better.”

“I wish I could make you feel better,” Snape says quietly. “Instead of all the rubbish things I do to you.” He lets out a shaky breath. "Merlin, Potter, I am so sorry for scaring you like that tonight. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Harry glances up at Snape, surprised by the intensity he finds in the man’s gaze. Nobody has ever apologized for scaring him before. Nobody apologizes to him much at all.

“I have not yet told you,” Snape continues, his voice a low rumble, “how pleased I am that you resisted the urge to go through my belongings. I know the desire to see photographs of your mother must have been overwhelming. That was quite a test of character that you passed tonight.”

A brush creeps up Harry’s neck. And then Snape reaches out his hand and squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

And Harry feels better—enough so he can broach the subject that’s been nibbling at him all night. “Snape? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Snape says, still looking troubled. “Potter, after what I’ve done to you, or almost done, you can ask me anything at all.”

“What made you stop? Why didn’t you beat me?”

Snape frowns. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s kind of an important one, don’t you think?”

Snape studies Harry, his black eyes awash in emotion. “I stopped because it seemed like such an absurd thing to do. That moment--when I was holding the belt-- I felt my father’s inheritance descend onto my shoulders. It slipped on so easily. It was such a marvelous fit. And you--you were dancing from foot to foot, so nervous. Your heart was beating so quickly. I could feel your pulse hammering and your breath coming in these little hard bursts. You--you reminded me of a fawn-- just a little gangly baby thing nobody in their right mind could hurt.” Snape clears his throat, breaking eye contact and looking embarrassed. “It just seemed like such an absurd thing to do.”

Harry swallows thickly. “Oh.”

“And I could not…I would not…do that to you.” Snape pauses. “Do you know what the worst part was, Potter? The way you looked at me afterwards. Like what I had done didn’t surprise you in the least.”

“You hit me before,” Harry murmurs. “And you weren’t the first.”

Snape leans forward. “Harry…I don’t want you to expect people to hurt you.”

“You’re calling me that a lot tonight.”

“I know,” Snape says. “It gets your attention.”

“Oh.” Harry pauses. “I was surprised when I heard you take off your belt, you know. Part of me was, anyway.”

“That’s not good enough,” Snape says hoarsely. “Do you know what my wish is for us, Potter? That if I ever threaten you with a belt again—that you laugh in my face, because the idea is so ridiculous to you.”

Harry considers this. “Belts aren’t funny. They hurt.”

“I know they hurt,” Snape says. “But you see my point?”

“That wouldn’t be very respectful, would it? Laughing at you?” He glares at Snape, anger flickering inside him. “You might give me detention then.”

Snape groans. “Why did I ever lecture you about that?” He points a finger at Harry. “If I ever come close to this idiocy again, you have permission to laugh at me, hex me, or do anything else that crosses your mind.” He looks thoughtfully at Harry. “I wonder if you are more upset over that detention than what happened here tonight.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. That detention bothered him for a host of reasons. He still feels sort of upset over it, especially when he remembers how Snape didn’t say a word to him for the whole stupid two hours.

“After you had served it,” Snape continues, “you said you respected me in the Room but not in the classroom, because I had earned your respect in the former but not in the latter.”

“I remember,” Harry says cautiously.

“Potter, if I’ve lost my temper to the extent that I’m waving a belt at you like a power-crazed two-year old—then I’ve done nothing to earn your respect. So this is the new rule for us: you show me respect only when I’ve done something to earn it. Otherwise—do what you like. Understand?”

Harry nods slowly, a little surprised by this turn of events. And a little skeptical.

“You should go back to your dormitory,” Snape says after a moment. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. It has been a trying evening. He gets up and unfolds his Cloak, but he doesn’t put it on. He rubs the pads of his thumb over the impossibly velvety material, thinking.

“Snape?”

“Yes, Potter?” Snape replies, sounding indulgent.

“I wonder if…maybe you passed a test of character tonight, too.”

Snape snorts. “Failed, you mean.”

“No,” Harry says. “You didn’t listen to the ghost of your father or whatever it was. You threw down the belt. That does mean something, Snape. To me, if not to you.”

“It is generous of you to say that, Potter.” Snape murmurs, sounding unconvinced.

“Can I ask—can I ask you one more thing?”

Snape nods.

“You--you haven’t decided to ditch me? Because you think I’d be safer?” Harry asks, keeping his eyes on the Cloak. “Because that would be one of the things...that would hurt more than a belt. If you just gave up on me.”

“I don’t leave people,” Snape says quietly. “They leave me.”

“Oh.”

“What is it?” Snape asks, seeing something in his expression.

“I’m just am curious whether…” Harry’s voice trails off. “Well, I wonder if part of the sequence that led to you standing over me with a belt—I wonder if that was your test for me. To see if I’d leave, after you did that.”

“And you didn’t leave.”

“Well,” Harry says. “You didn’t beat me.” He wraps the Cloak around himself, disappearing from sight. “Goodnight, Snape.”

“Goodnight, fawn,” Snape murmurs. He folds his arms and shivers, a cool blast of air whispering around him. His father’s ghost isn’t the only one around here tonight.

Somewhere, somehow, James Potter is laughing at him.