After Harry had drunk his fill, he found he had no desire to leave the washroom. Harry looked at the inviting marble tub and thought how very nice the hot water would feel on his aching body. He immediately disrobed and spent a soothing amount of time in the tub. He never took nice hot water for granted.

Eventually, Harry got out of the tub, feeling much refreshed but also very ready for bed. He had lost all sense of time, but thought rather feverishly that he had been awake for quite a long time. Harry surveyed the sink. There were two toothbrushes and some toothpaste. There was also a cabinet below the sink that he hadn’t noticed before. Harry brushed his teeth and then squatted so he could see what was in it. A pair of pajama pants, a sweatshirt, and some rather fluffy blue socks.

Harry shook the clothes out, bemused but not altogether surprised to find that they were in his size. Harry peered back into the cabinet, but there was nothing in there for Snape. Oh well, Harry thought rather gleefully, that was Snape’s problem. Harry changed into the nightclothes, even the fluffy socks. If Snape decided to have a go at him, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Harry padded out of the washroom, his black mop even unrulier than usual. Water seemed to give it more bounce. Snape was up and about, shifting rubble away from something in the center of the Room. He stopped immediately, however, when he saw Harry.

“I told you no magic!” Snape accused, pointing at Harry’s clothing. “Did you conjure those clothes?”

“No,” Harry said wearily. “They were in a cabinet under the sink.”

Snape pursed his lips. “Make yourself useful. Unearth the trunk.” He stalked off to the washroom without another word, making sure to give Harry a wide berth.

Harry had forgotten about the trunk that had appeared in the Room right after the dinosaur memory. Snape had already dug most of it out. In fact, all Harry had to do was give it one good yank, and it was free.

Harry examined the trunk. He quickly discovered two important things: it was locked, and it wasn’t his. Harry slid his eyes over to washroom. Sounded like Snape was taking a shower. He probably wouldn’t hear one tiny little Alohoroma, right?

But did Harry really want to risk the Room’s wrath? Or, for that matter, Snape’s? The Room still didn’t feel right, and Harry finally decided with a sigh to be a good little boy and not do anything. He sat down, leaned his head against the trunk, and closed his eyes.

Snape exited the washroom, grudgingly attired in the black pajamas and dressing grown he’d found underneath the sink. He stalked over to the trunk and snorted. Potter was slumped against one side, sound asleep. Snape peered around him, trying to get a good look at the trunk. It was locked, but there appeared to be some tiny writing next to the keyhole. Unfortunately, the boy’s absurd mop of hair was obscuring his view. Snape considered his options. He could either bodily move Potter, or let the trunk’s mystery remain until the boy got all of his beauty rest.

“Potter! Wake up!” Snape said loudly.

Harry startled and opened his eyes. “Erm?” he said helpfully.

“Move, Potter,” Snape said impatiently. Harry blinked blearily, still half-asleep. Finally he staggered to his feet, yawning hugely. “Whazzit?”

Snape ignored him and studied the writing. TAP YOUR WEAPONS was written in tiny block print. He frowned, not recognizing the handwriting. Well, at least the message was clear enough. “Potter! Is your wand on you?” he asked imperiously.

Harry, still looking like a ruffled owl, nodded.

Snape took out his own wand. “Now,” he instructed. “Tap your wand when I do against the trunk.”

Harry agreeably got out his wand.

“My,” Snape sneered. “You certainly do become more obedient with sleep deprivation, don’t you? Useful information, Potter.”

Harry proved his point by merely yawning until Snape could see his molars.

“On my count. One, two, three!” Both of them tapped their wands on the proscribed point. The lock clicked open, and Snape nodded, pleased.

Snape peered inside the trunk. There were various foodstuffs, and two squashy purple sleeping bags. They looked suspiciously like the ones Dumbledore had conjured in the Great Hall during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Snape gave one a retaliatory poke.

Both of the sleeping bags flew out of the trunk. One merrily bounced up to Potter and patted him on the cheek. To Snape’s great disgust, the sleeping bag started cooing at Potter, and reached out a flap to stroke his hair. The boy just stood there and took it, eyes closed, a tiny smile on his face. Sickening.

The sleeping bag finally rose several feet into the air and arranged itself into a very inviting hammock, complete with blanket and pillow. Without a glance at him, Potter sleepily climbed into it, curled up, and was asleep in seconds. The hammock began to rock gently back and forth. What treacle.

The other sleeping bag floated respectfully in front of Snape. “Oh, go on then,” Snape sighed. The sleeping bag floated away until it was right next to the boy’s hammock.

“No,” Snape said firmly. “Further away.” The sleeping bag hovered stubbornly. “Shoo!” Snape repeated, motioning with his arms. “Not next to his! Over there!” But the sleeping bag merely converted itself into another hammock. Snape growled but got into it. He could hear the boy’s even breathing, and if he had wanted to, he could have reached out and touched him.

The hammock began to rock.

“Stop that or I’ll use you for toilet paper,” Snape hissed.

To his great satisfaction, his hammock stilled immediately.

***

Harry’s eyes snapped open. His heart was thudding, and he was covered in sweat and tangled in blankets. His scar was throbbing something awful. It felt like seconds since he had tumbled into the bed, but something told him it had been far longer.

Harry scrubbed at his face, his nightmare still pulsing through him. The look in Cedric’s eyes when he died. The sound Wormtail’s knife had made when it sawed against his bone. The agony of the Cruciatus Curse. And then it had turned into something else. Voldemort was unhappy about something…he was punishing someone…

He’d had the same nightmare for months now. And, for whatever reason, they were usually followed by a painful vision from Voldemort. Dudley had heard him moaning in his sleep over the summer and teased him mercilessly about it. Since then, Harry had made a nightly practice of casting a Silencing Charm on his bed before he slept.

But he hadn’t cast one last night.

Harry rolled over onto his side, kneading the blanket between his fingers. “It’s okay,” he whispered to himself. “It’s okay.” Harry’s voice caught in his throat when he found himself inches from Snape’s face. Snape was staring at him from his hammock, a slight sneer on his face, his black eyes barely separate from the darkness. They looked at each other a long moment, the only sound the swishing noise of Harry’s sleeping bag.

Finally, Snape spoke. “It’s no wonder you’re such a dunce at Occlumency.”

Harry winced, stung, and pushed the sweat-plastered hair off of his forehead. His scar glowed red in the darkness, casting an eerie pallor on Harry’s face. Snape stared, oddly transfixed by the jagged, ugly scar that had given him ten years of freedom. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to touch it. Snape reached out his hand, a strange eager look in his eyes.

Harry shook his head, a horrified look on his face. “What do you think you’re doing, Snape?” he whispered, dread crawling up his backbone. “Please. I’m asking you. Don’t.” He leaned away, understanding suddenly how this man could have become a Death Eater.

Snape ignored him. He felt like he had the first time he had seen the Dark Lord. Enchanted. Intrigued. Bold. He let his long, stained finger brush gently against the inflamed scar.

Harry arched his back and screamed. Snape snatched his throbbing finger back, biting his tongue so hard he tasted blood. The pain was excruciating, Snape thought clinically, as he examined the tip of his finger. It was covered in blisters, as though recovering from a particularly nasty burn.

The boy was still screaming.

“Potter!” Snape yelled, snapping back to himself. “Calm yourself!”

This, predictably, had little effect. Snape awkwardly got out his hammock, ran to the washroom, and soaked a towel in cold water. Then he ran back to Potter and slapped the cold towel over his face.

The boy bucked a few more times, then shuddered and was still. Great rasping breaths tore out of him. Snape hovered by his side, the lines in his forehead more pronounced then ever.

“Potter?” Snape finally said haltingly.

Harry made no reply, but sat up and yanked the towel off his face. His scar was bleeding. With a roar, Harry threw the towel as hard as he could at Snape. It hit him full in the face, and Snape stumbled backwards, lost his balance, and fell awkwardly to the ground.

Snape painfully picked himself up. The boy was glaring at him, little rivers of blood streaming down his face and leaving tracks like tears.

Snape didn’t like the look of that bleeding scar. “Potter,” he said quietly, gentling his voice as much as he knew how. “I need to look at your scar.”

“I don’t care what you want! Don’t touch me!” Harry gasped, shaking his head from side to side as a dog would to rid itself of water. He tumbled out of his hammock, looking wildly around him. “I mean it, Snape, touch me again and I’ll-”

Snape took a step closer.

“Room!” Harry yelled wildly. “I need you to keep Snape away from me!”

Nothing happened except a slight rumble. Snape took another step closer.

Harry fumbled and took out his wand. “Petrificus Totalus!” he incanted.

Not even a rumble from the Room.

Snape closed the distance between the two of them. Harry moaned and did the only other thing he could think of.

He closed his eyes and swung.

Snape staggered backwards, his eyes wide open in surprise. His lip immediately began to spurt blood from where Harry had clipped him. Snape wiped the blood off. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he growled, and stalked towards Harry again.

Harry offered no resistance this time. He closed his eyes, a weary feeling of resignation washing over him. Snape would do as he liked. Without magic, Harry had little power here.

Snape put both hands on Harry’s shoulders and stared intently at his scar. The raw redness had faded, and the blood was now coagulating. Snape pulled away, satisfied. Then he firmly pressed the cold towel against the boy’s forehead. “No lasting damage,” Snape pronounced. “Hold the towel against it for the next hour.”

Harry violently shrugged Snape off, but clapped the towel to his forehead just the same.

“Now,” Snape said brusquely. “Has your scar ever bled before?”

“No,” Harry snapped, anger washing over him afresh at Snape’s gall in asking such a question. “But nobody’s ever had the bloody nerve to TOUCH IT BEFORE, EITHER!”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to make his voice steadier. Perhaps he did have one weapon left here. “You know, I wasn’t sure what you deserved before tonight. And the Room certainly didn’t clarify matters, did it?”

Snape began to interrupt, but Harry stopped him. “The options,” he announced, ticking them off with his fingers. “One, Voldemort kills you, but you’re good so it’s alright. Two, Voldemort likes you and you’re evil. Three, Dumbledore throws you out for being a bad guy. And four—” Harry stopped, eyes glittering as he went in for the kill. “Four, Dumbledore is grateful but doesn’t love you, right?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Careful, Potter.”

“And five,” Harry continued, voice satisfied at the palpable hit. “Well, I can’t imagine you ever sitting in a chair humming to yourself. So, was one of the five showing us the future? Your end at the hands of either Voldemort or Dumbledore? Or maybe… maybe the Room just meant that neither one of them trusts you.”

Snape said nothing, but something about his expression let Harry know that these were not unfamiliar worries to Snape.

“Nobody seems to be very sure where your loyalties lie, Snape. But let me tell you something. Not even Voldemort has ever dared to touch my scar.” Harry leaned in closer. “So that either makes you stupider or braver than him.” His voice got just as waspish as Snape’s. “Or it makes you worse than him. Tell me, Snape, which one do you think it is?”

A muscle in Snape’s face twitched. “Go to bed,” he said in a low, cold voice. “And we’ll speak no more of this.”

Harry glared at the man. “You can’t even apologize, can you? I suppose I have my answer.” He got back into his hammock and closed his eyes. Snape really was a bastard.

****

Harry ignored Snape the next morning. He made breakfast for himself out of the stuff he found in the trunk, and then set about trying to find his schoolbag. Finally, he found it buried in a corner under some rubble, and settled into his hammock, rereading his DADA text. Whenever he wanted a break, he tried to get the Room to let him perform some magic, but nothing ever happened.

But then something did happen. Harry was lazily waving his wand, studiously ignoring Snape, when all of a sudden two tiny vials popped into existence and hovered halfway across the room. Was his magic coming back?!

Harry jumped up, excited. So did Snape. His professor, perhaps out of habit, yelled “Accio bottles!” at the exact same moment Harry did.

The bottles didn’t respond to either of them. Well, that answered that question about his magic. Harry yelled “Room! I need those bottles!” but quickly gave it up and ran full out towards the hovering vials, determined to beat Snape there. Luckily, he had youth and agility on his side, and easily reached the bottles before Snape did.

Panting, Harry examined the bottles, darting well away from Snape. The little things were identical and filled with a clear liquid. Harry took the top off of one and sniffed it. Odorless. Harry’s heart sank. Did that mean that they contained—

“Veritaserum,” Snape said in disbelief, catching up to Harry.

Harry wanted nothing to do with Veritaserum, especially not around Snape. He hastily screwed the top back on and stuffed both vials into his pocket. “Could just be water.” But he doubted it.

“I suggest you drink it and find out,” Snape sneered.

“Why don’t you drink it and find out?”

Snape cocked his head. “Give it to me and I will verify that it contains Veritaserum.”

Harry looked at him suspiciously. That almost sounded polite. And did he really think Snape was going to hold him down and force the liquid down his throat?

Well, he might. After last night, Snape had proven that he was, if nothing else, unpredictable.

“That’s okay,” Harry said awkwardly. “I’ll just keep them safe in my pocket here.”

Snape scowled. He glanced at Harry’s scar, which was still rather red, and swiftly changed tactics. “Then I believe the time has come for you to keep your part of our agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“That I will not inform Professor Umbridge of your illegal defense meetings, and you in turn will do something for me.”

Harry nervously touched the vials in his pocket. He could see how much Snape wanted to get his hands on the Veritaserum. And he appreciated, he really did, that Snape wasn’t immediately flying off the handle and bullying him into it. But he also knew, without a doubt, that he did not want Snape to use the Truth Serum on him.

“Sorry,” Harry said out loud. “Tell Umbridge, then.”

“Is your Gryffindor honor really worth so little to you? Not to mention the hides of all your little friends? And your own hide?”

Harry had never really trusted Snape to keep his word about not telling Umbridge, so he wasn’t too fussed about that. Besides, first he had to get out of here. Then he would worry about that old toad.

“No deal,” Harry said, faking a carelessness he did not feel.

Snape was not out of tactics yet. Not by a long shot. “What if we need to drink those vials in order to be released from this Room? Ever think of that, Potter? What if, by disobeying an implied command from the Room, you are dooming us to spend eternity in here?”

“Oh, Dumbledore won’t let me rot in here,” Harry said airily. “You told me that, Professor.”

Snape wasn’t a Slytherin for nothing. Only a certain tenseness in his shoulders betrayed his growing sense of frustration. “Give me the Veritaserum, Potter,” he breathed. “I believe it may be of critical importance to getting us out of this place. You have my word that I will not use it on you.”

Harry, for the first time, answered truthfully. “Sorry, Professor. I don’t trust your word.”

Snape cocked his head. “And there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise, is that it?”

“No,” Harry said, surprised by the question. “I mean, maybe if you drank the Veritaserum and let me question you. But if I give it to you, something tells me you won’t want to use it on yourself.”

“And if I apologize…for last night?”

Harry looked at Snape incredulously. “An apology doesn’t count if its leverage for something. And, besides, you wouldn’t mean it.”

“You are sure of that?” Snape said quietly, his black eyes somber.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

Snape looked at him shrewdly before changing the subject. “There are two vials. What if we each drank at the same time?”

Harry shook his head. “No. You’d just pretend to drink it.”

Snape threw up his hands, letting irritation cut through his voice. “You really don’t trust me at all, do you, you little whelp?”

Harry shook his head, a feeling of doom coming over him. This wasn’t going to end well. He suddenly felt an intense wave of sympathy for Dumbledore. It was sometimes really, really hard to deal with Snape.

Snape tried again, forcing his words to be slow and even. “You owe me, Potter. You owe me for those little visions with the Dark Lord and the headmaster. Give me the vials, and we will call it even. I won’t report you for hitting a professor. And I won’t assign you any additional punishment once we get out of here.”

Harry swallowed, knowing that Snape wasn’t going to like what he said next. “Did you really think that you could touch my scar and not suffer any consequences for it, Professor? I’m sorry, but it’s the same answer as before. I don’t trust you to keep your word. Not after last night. Sorry.”

Snape’s fingers began to tap ominously against his side. “Give me the Veritaserum, Potter, or I tell my Slytherins about the dinosaur.”

Oho. Now they were getting down to it. “Tell them, then,” Harry said bravely. “I never thought you wouldn’t.” Snape already knew about the Dursleys. Any other Slytherin was small potatoes compared to that.

Snape’s hands stilled, which for some reason worried Harry more than his fidgeting had. “Do you really want to do this the hard way, Potter?” Snape asked quietly. “Do you really want me to take the Veritaserum from you by force?”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry said, hoping to Merlin it was true. “Oh, not out of any concern for me. You proved that last night. But because the vials might break.”

“That is a risk I’m willing to take.” Snape looked Harry over. “Make your decision, Potter. Give the vials to me or I take them from you. The choice is yours.”

Harry stared at Snape. His professor looked back at him, his black eyes resolute.

Harry felt backed into a corner, and he didn’t like it. “What was all that stuff, then, about me not abusing my power when I had my magic and you didn’t?” he cried. “You didn’t mean any of that, did you? Now that the tables are turned?”

Snape curled his lip. “I never said I wasn’t a bully, Potter. It’s better to bully then to be bullied, don’t you think? Your father taught me that.”

“You’re no better than the Dursleys!” Harry said bitterly.

Snape folded his arms. “I doubt your relatives gave you a choice beforehand.” He paused, and then his low voice became even deeper. “I do not wish to take the Veritaserum by force, Potter, but I will if I have to. Those vials might be the key to our release from this place. Don’t be an idiot.”

Snape stood at his full height, patient now as he waited for the boy’s decision.

Harry bit his lip. He didn’t want Snape to wrestle the Veritaserum from him. He was used to violence thanks to the Dursleys, but that didn’t meant he liked it. And, oddly, more than that, Harry discovered that he really didn’t want to punch Snape again. And he would, he knew he would, if Snape came at him again.

Harry slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the vials. He deposited both of them into Snape’s waiting hand.

“Good boy,” Snape said softly, something like relief in his voice.

Harry looked at him, wide-eyed, more shaken by that than anything else Snape had said.