The next few days passed quickly. Harry tired easily and still slept a lot, but thanks to the painkilling potions, he was not uncomfortable. His arms didn't bleed again, and he slowly began to feel a little stronger.

Ron and Hermione came down to visit him in the afternoons, and the three of them worked on their homework, talked about the upcoming school year, or sometimes just sat quietly together. Ron and Hermione did not question him much about any of the difficult events that had happened in the past couple months, Sirius' death or the kidnapping, except for once on the second afternoon they'd come. Hermione tentatively asked Harry if he wanted to talk about what had happened with them.

Harry hesitated. Ron and Hermione were sitting on either side of the bed, facing him, their eyes warm and concerned. Hermione had reached to hold his hand, and Ron's hand was almost touching Harry's arm. He could talk with them about it, Harry knew, and they would listen and they would care. They cared about him, in spite of all the silly foolish mistakes he'd made, and they wanted to help him feel better.

Harry felt a warm rush of affection for them, but at the same time, he realized he didn't want to talk about being kidnapped and tortured, not just then. Not when he was feeling just a little bit happy again for the first time since last June, not on a warm afternoon when he could push it back and just joke around with his friends and look forward to school starting.

Just for now, he didn't want to think about Voldemort or Death Eaters or people who had died because of him or why he was stuck in bed instead of being outside enjoying the last couple weeks of summer. Just for now, he wanted to treasure the moment and not bring the fear and horror of his nightmares among them.

Because his nightmares haunted him except for the brief hours that Ron and Hermione could chase them away.

"Not yet," Harry told them, swallowing hard. "I will sometime, but not yet."

For a second, Hermione looked as if she wanted to pursue the subject, but then she nodded. ""All right, Harry." She glanced over at Ron. "How'd I do?"

Ron grinned. "Not bad. Better."

Harry looked from one to the other. "What?"

"Ron said I shouldn't try to push you to talk about things when you don't want to," Hermione explained. "We don't want to upset you, especially since it might cause your arms to bleed...not that we would want to upset you anyway, of course. So we'll just wait til you want to tell us."

"It's weird how my arms can start to bleed again, just because I might get upset about something," Harry remarked, looking down at his bandaged forearms.

"Well, not really," Hermione told him. "When you get angry or frightened, your heart starts to beat faster, you know, and that increases your blood pressure. If you have an open wound, it can cause bleeding."

"Thank you, Healer Granger," Ron said dryly.

Hermione glared. "Well, I just thought Harry might like to know why---"

"Okay, guys, I might get upset if you start fighting," Harry interrupted them, grinning a little bit.

They subsided at once, even though he was teasing.

"I wish we'd hurry up and get our O.W.L. results." Hermione said a moment later. "I can't plan my courses for this year without knowing my scores."

Harry blinked. With everything else that had happened, he had completely forgotten about such mundane matters as O.W. L. results.

"We haven't gotten those yet? Seems pretty late to be getting O.W.L. results, seeing as school starts in less than three weeks."

"It is really late to be getting them," Ron answered. "They usually come in July. But my dad says that You-Know-Who returning has gotten everything messed up at the Ministry. Apparently, some of the examiners decided they were going to go ahead and retire...some of them were pretty old, I guess...and then what with Fudge being forced out and rushing to elect a new Minister and with all those useless safety bulletins they've been sending out, they're really behind on grading exams. Dumbledore himself had to remind them that Hogwarts would need the results before the start of term, but they promised that the scores would be sent out before the end of August. So we should get them soon."

"I hope so. It seems like we've been waiting forever," Hermione said.

Ron shrugged and Harry had the impression that he could have happily waited until the next summer for his results. He himself felt a little curious, but also a little worried. If he still wanted to be an Auror, then his scores were important, and he already knew he'd done poorly on Astronomy and History of Magic. Not that those two subjects were crucial to his career plans, but he also wasn't sure how well he'd done in Potions and Transfiguration, which were.

But thinking about the O.W.L. exams brought him dangerously close to thinking about the Ministry of Magic battle and Sirius, and Harry just didn't think he could bear remembering all that right now. Firmly pushing those memories to the back of his mind, he said in a determinedly cheerful voice, "Hey, could we talk about something else instead? Something fun?"

"Something fun?" Hermione said doubtfully.

"Well, Fred and George's joke shop is really taking off," Ron told them. "They're raking in the galleons. Mum doesn't know what to think. She's proud of them, obviously, but she's kind of worried about them setting a bad example for me and Ginny, too. Especially since every time she nags us about finishing our summer homework, Ginny says that maybe she'll just drop out and go into business with the twins."

He grinned. "Ginny's just kidding, of course. But it is funny to see Mum's face. She can't tell us what a terrible mistake Fred and George made and how they'll always regret it, like she used to, because they're having the time of their lives."

"Your mum didn't want them to stay with Umbridge here, though, did she?" Harry asked. "I mean, look at what Umbridge was going to do to them."

"If Umbridge had laid a finger on any one of us, she wouldn't have had to worry about centaurs," Ron said confidently. "Mum would've hunted her down like a dog. And Mum was a Duelling Champion back when she was in school, you know. Umbridge wouldn't have stood a chance."

Harry couldn't stop himself from glancing down at the faint white scars on the back of his right hand. I must not tell lies. Ron was right. If Umbridge had dared to do anything like that to one of the Weasley children, Molly, and Arthur too, would not have rested until she had been thrown into Azkaban, at the very least.

A great pain constricted his chest. He was glad, of course, that Ron and Hermione had loving families, people who would look out for them, but why couldn't he have someone like that, too?

Sirius had wanted to be that person for him. Sirius would have definitely gone after Umbridge, if he'd known what she had done to Harry. Sirius had wanted Harry to live with him, had tried to protect him, had loved him. If only it had been possible...

Well, so much for having a fun afternoon.

Harry became aware that Ron and Hermione had fallen silent and were watching him anxiously. He looked up and forced himself to smile at them.

"You know, I'm kinda tired. I think I want to rest for a while."

"You sure?" Ron asked quietly.

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione hugged him. "It'll be all right, Harry."

No, it won't. Sirius can't come back. "Yeah."

As soon as they'd left, Snape came in, carrying a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and another bowl of soup. "It's time for you to eat again."

Harry sighed. He still felt very uncomfortable about having to be fed, especially by Snape, but he supposed he'd better get used to it. Apparently, he wasn't going to be allowed to use his arms for several weeks still, and somehow, Snape seemed to be the only one around at mealtimes. Although, right now that was his own fault. He hadn't realized it was so close to dinner time or he would have had his friends stay a little longer.

But Snape hadn't been bad about it, actually. He hadn't made any derogatory comments about Harry being a helpless baby, or being so stupid as to let himself get kidnapped. Of course, that was simply because he didn't want to aggravate Harry's wounds though. There was no other reason for Snape to start treating him decently. He'd always made it perfectly plain how much he despised Harry.

On the other hand, maybe Snape was right to despise him. He was stupid and arrogant and dangerous and reckless and all the other things Snape had always said he was. Hadn't Harry already had to admit as much to himself? But Snape was more clever. He had seen all that in Harry from the beginning.

Suddenly Harry remembered sneaking into Snape's Pensieve the year before and he flushed scarlet. That had been more than stupid and arrogant. That had been inexcusably wrong. Harry couldn't blame Snape for hating him for that. He really should apologize.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Harry knew he had to do it. Snape would be horrible about it, and bringing up the Pensieve incident would ruin whatever fragile truce was going on, but apologizing was the right thing to do.

Gathering his courage, Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say the words, Snape almost tossed the plate and bowl onto the night table and grabbed his wand. He quickly waved it at Harry, who looked down just in time to see the crimson stains on his bandaged arms disappear.

Snape laid his wand down and frowned. "If Granger and Weasley are bothering you, perhaps they shouldn't come back."

Oh, that was rich. When he didn't want to see Ron and Hermione, Snape forced them on him, and now that he'd realized he did need his friends, the professor was threatening to keep them away.

But Snape didn't look angry exactly. More like...worried. But how could that be? Snape didn't worry about him. Snape hated him. Didn't he?

"It wasn't them," Harry said quickly. "It was just...some other stuff."

The man studied him thoughtfully, but didn't say anything as he Summoned a vial of foul-tasting Blood-Replenisher and handed it to Harry. Harry made a face, but didn't argue as he drank it.

Once Snape had taken the plate of sandwiches and settled into a chair beside the bed, Harry tried again. "Um, sir. I have to..., I mean, I should...," He took a deep breath and blurted, "It was wrong, and I know I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry."

"What are you babbling on about, Potter?" Snape stared at him, nonplussed.

Harry dropped his gaze to the quilt and picked at a loose thread. "Your Pensieve. Last year, during Occlumency lessons," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have looked in it. But I wasn't really trying to see your memories. I mean I wasn't trying to snoop into anything personal. I just thought it might be something about Voldemort and what he was up to. But it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

There was absolute silence. Trying to brace himself against Snape's rage, Harry forced himself to meet the man's eyes.

For a long moment Severus struggled with conflicting emotions. When the boy first mentioned the Pensieve, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of the old anger and humiliation. But he also couldn't help noticing the way Potter ducked his head and hunched his thin shoulders, as if he expected a blow.

That brought to mind the memories from the child's mind, and now that he'd seen the scars on Potter's back, Severus knew the abuse had been more than just a few random incidents. It had been real and ongoing, and a lot worse than what he had actually seen.

And that brought to mind another point, one that Albus had made when Severus had gone storming in to see him, to demand that Potter be severely punished and to let the headmaster know in no uncertain terms that their Occlumency lessons were ended.

At the time Severus had been too caught up in his own rage and self-pity to give Albus' words any credit. After all, the headmaster always had defended his Gryffindors, no matter what they did to Severus. But now...well, perhaps Albus had been right, in this case anyway.

When Potter finally raised his eyes, Severus felt something inside himself lurch at the abject misery and fear in them. He had to do something to ease the boy's pain.

"Very well, Potter. I accept your apology," he spoke stiffly, a little surprised at himself. His next words surprised him even more. It was one thing to acknowledge Albus' point to himself, but he had never meant to admit it aloud. "I...owe you an apology as well."

The boy gaped at him, and Severus almost stopped, but the words seemed to come out of their own accord.

"I used the Pensieve to hide my own worst memories, but I did not give you the same opportunity. Perhaps I should have."

Potter stared at him as if he had grown two heads, and suddenly Severus just couldn't bear all the tension anymore.

"Here," He shoved a sandwich at the boy, breaking their locked gaze.

Potter swallowed nervously. "Um, should we wash my arms first, like you did before?"

"It can wait until you've had dinner. Now, eat before your food is ice-cold."

Later, after Potter had eaten and Severus had cleaned his arms and was heading back to the sanctuary of the living room, the boy surprised him again by saying softly, "Thank you, sir. For everything."

***

The next afternoon when Ron and Hermione came down, they didn't come right on into the room. Instead they hung back at the door as they had on their first visit.

"You feeling better, mate?" Ron asked him.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, come on in."

"Well, before we do, the rest of my family wants to see you. Is that all right?"

Harry nodded again. "Sure."

He was a little curious about why Ron and Hermione grinned at him as they stepped aside, but he was caught unaware by the sight of a huge three-layer cake, covered with creamy scarlet and gold icing and lit by flaming candles, floating in front of a tearful Molly Weasley. Arthur Weasley, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Fleur, and Dumbledore came in behind her, all of them beaming and carrying gaily-wrapped presents.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" It was a great general chorus.

"But...I missed my birthday," Harry stammered in amazement. "It's the middle of August."

"Better late than never." George shrugged.

"Yeah, Harry. Haven't you learned anything from us? It's never too late to party." Fred clapped him on the shoulder.

For one wonderful, frightening moment, Harry thought he was going to embarrass them all by crying. He'd never had a real birthday party before, or people who wanted to celebrate the fact that he was alive, and it was almost overwhelming.

But then Mrs. Weasley was setting the cake carefully in front of him, and everyone was trying to find a place to set their presents, and telling him to make a wish and blow out the candles. In the happy confusion, Harry found that the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes disappeared.

"Hagrid could not be here, unfortunately, as he had to go away on business. But he does want you to go see him as soon as he returns, Harry. He said he would fix up a special birthday tea for you." Dumbldore's eyes twinkled at him, and Harry smiled back. Even the prospect of eating Hagrid's cakes couldn't dim his spirits today.

"Hmm, doesn't that sound yummy?" Ron muttered and Harry actually found himself laughing.

It was while Mrs. Weasley was cutting the cake and Mr. Weasley was conjuring cups of sparkling cider for everyone that Harry looked over at the door leading to Snape's office and saw the familiar black-robed figure watching them. His face was inscrutable, but Harry thought he saw a flicker of emotion in Snape's eyes as he stared at the group bustling about, laughing and talking, and no one noticing the Potions professor.

No one except Harry. Because seeing Snape standing forgotten on the edge of the crowd reminded Harry of all the times he'd been the one left out. How many times had he watched Dudley's birthday parties from the fringes? How many times had he seen his cousin wolf down cake and ice cream and rip into presents, and know that no one cared a whit for him?

When Snape turned and started back into his laboratory, Harry all at once couldn't stand it. It was hard to believe, but Harry was sure it had been a look of hurt in Snape's eyes.

"Sir?" He called. "Professor Snape? Would you come and have some cake, too?"

"Potter, I do not care for---" Snape's tone was so angry that Harry could almost think he'd been mistaken, but then again, the professor wasn't likely to admit to feeling lonely or left out, was he? No, he would die first, Harry knew. But just because he didn't admit it, that didn't mean that he didn't feel things. Harry knew that, too, firsthand.

And he knew that once he'd mentioned Snape's name, the man wouldn't have any choice.

"Severus, of course you must join the party," Dumbledore insisted. "You've done more than anyone to save Harry."

And before Snape could protest any further, Mrs. Weasley had pressed a paper plate holding an enormous slice of cake into his hand and was ushering him into the room.

It was the best afternoon Harry had had in a long time. There was plenty of cake, and chocolate ice cream, and cider. There were almost enough presents to rival Dudley's annual haul. And best of all, there was a roomful of people who cared about him.

Maybe even Snape, a little bit.