Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

The Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, April 1997 (19)

For days after the fracas with Draco, Harry lost sleep. He toyed with his food and brooded about what Snape thought of him. He also took frustrated bites out of his dorm mates. After snapping at Neville for once again leaving his trunk perfectly placed for Harry to crack his shin against when he had to dash to the loo in the dark, Neville had told him: "Look, Harry, I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Snape, really, but that doesn't give you leave to treat us like rubbish."

Realizing that Neville had done him a kindness informing him what an arse he had been, Harry had immediately begged forgiveness from the boy and the others. Seamus still looked at him sideways sometimes, but Neville and Dean had shrugged it off straight away. Still, Harry fretted about being so transparent. Snape's frosty behavior after the row in the corridor had felt like a knife to the gut, and Harry had taken it out on those close to him. But even beyond that, he wasn't really angry with Snape either; he was angry with himself, and Neville's admonishment had simply worked to sober him up, to make him recognize that something had to change.

He took to prowling the corridors late into the night, his brow crinkled as he tried to cobble together a way to cope with his feelings for Snape. But wading through all the grief, betrayal, and uncertainty kept him teetering endlessly between a profound hatred for the man, and the undeniable (and growing) desire to forgive him.

Harry needed to talk to someone. Ron had been pissy since the incident outside the Great Hall; Hermione had flatly told him it was Snape he needed to talk to, not her. But he couldn't do that. Not yet. After more thought, though, he knew who would have a sympathetic ear: Aberforth. But how to get in touch with him without leaving the castle? Harry didn't want to use Charlie to contact him because he hadn't appreciated Charlie informing on him to Snape the last time, but leaving the Great Hall after dinner, he overheard Ginny mention the Room of Requirement to Dean. Snape's memory of using the Room to check on Sirius came to him, and he wondered if he could use it the same way.

Harry trailed everyone back to the common room, but he made a detour when the staircase shifted.

Stepping into the Room of Requirement he was astonished to find a replica of Hagrid's hut, complete with scrubbed wood table and inviting fire. Looking about, he hoped there were no critters loose within. Like Hagrid, Charlie had a soft spot for baby animals, lethal and otherwise, but things looked safe enough, so Harry strode over to the fireplace. He stood on his toes to grab a handful of Floo powder from the large red tin atop the mantel, then hurled it into the flames. When they flashed green, he knelt down and shouted: "The Glass Hoof!"

The pub's dark wood walls, jam-packed with family photos, plaques, paintings and historical wizarding paraphernalia, came into view instantly. Harry fancied he could smell the pub's homey interior as he looked about. He let the sights transport him back to last August when things had been simpler, when he'd been at peace with how his parents had died. That dinner had been a raucous affair, but now the pub was still and quiet, seemingly deserted, but Harry knew it couldn't be.

"Hello?" He called.

In a matter of seconds a long grizzled face appeared. Harry recognized Oswin, the pub's Watchman.

"Wat's yer business ‘ere?" Oswin sounded gruff and suspicious, and his flint-eyed expression was far from the cheerful one he had bestowed upon Charlie a few weeks ago-but that was to be expected. Only a select few had access to the pub's Floo. Frankly, Harry was surprised he had been able to get through.

"Um, hi. My name's Harry Potter. I'd like to speak with Aberforth Dumbledore, please."

Instantly, Oswin's demeanor flipped. He leaned forward, peering hard into the fire. Resisting the urge to press his fringe down, Harry flushed when the man's sharp eyes landed on his scar.

"‘arry Potter, you say? Lookin' to ‘ave a chinwag with old Ab, yeah? Well, I'll be!"

The gregarious wizard had the propensity to grin widely as he spoke, so Harry was treated to the man's complete and unfortunate disregard for dental hygiene, yet, the Gryffindor managed to check his revulsion and say, "Yes, sir," in his most reverent tone. The man's mouth was atrocious, but his post as the Glass Hoof's Watchman demanded respect. Ron had filled Harry in on the Watchman's legendary role in the pub when they dined there last year.

Since the pub's inception, descendants of the families who founded it had met every seventy-five years since 1175 to appoint a Watchman or Watchwoman to safeguard the place. First rate battle skills were a must as the Watchman bore the burden of being the pub's sole Secret Keeper. Appointed in 1925 when he was eighteen, Gregory Oswin's tenure had been fraught with an abnormally high degree of auspicious milestones and discord: He had been present for Voldemort's birth, his rise to power, and the first war with the dark wizard; it seemed he'd be around for the second if things continued as they were.

Now ninety years of age, Oswin had been thirty-eight when his wife died in 1945 under mysterious circumstances. Unable to bear children, Charity Oswin had devoted most of her time tending the elderly. One old witch she checked on periodically had been Hepzibah Smith. Smith was swimming in wealth, but she lived a solitary existence and welcomed distraction, no matter how banal. Charity had gone to the Smith residence for one of her visits and found the house in shambles. The dwelling already overflowed with items Smith collected senselessly, but this was different. Everything was strewn about, much of it broken. Stepping further into the disarray, Charity had found Hepzibah, dead.

Oswin had heard the whispers that Riddle-cum-Voldemort had been seen frequenting Hepzibah's home. If that was true, Oswin reasoned that the snotty little trickster must have had a hand in Charity's death, as well as Hepzibah's. He missed his wife every day, but he had learned to embrace his life as a widower. It had allowed him to focus on his singular tasks as Watchman; it had allowed him to plan for the day Voldemort would unleash his dark army, because on that day, Oswin planned to be on the front lines to defeat it.

 "Yeh know, me mam always told me -"

"Mr. Oswin?" Harry interrupted, anxious to crush the man's tendency to prattle on. "I really need to talk to Aberforth."

Oswin chortled loudly and slapped his knee. "Oh, me! ‘Mr. Oswin' indeed! Well, Mr. Potter, yeh just keep ‘old to yer knickers whilst I roun' the ol' boy up fer yeh... Aberforth!"

Half a minute later Harry heard, "Ossie? You calling?"

"Yeah, Ab! Little ‘arry Potter's needin' ta bend yer ear a bit!" Oswin yelled over his shoulder. Harry's bottom lip poked out at being called ‘little'; he'd grown at least an inch since last July...

"Harry?"

Off to the side, out of Harry's line of sight, he heard a labored shuffling sound. Then Aberforth came into view. He looked tired. Harry frowned as Oswin offered a hand to help the elder wizard kneel on an enormous pouf.

"Harry, my boy! How are you?"

"You look shattered..."

Aberforth grinned. The action instantly transformed his face, brightening his eyes. "Oh, my knee's been giving me a spot of trouble. Nothing to worry yourself about, lad."

Harry truly wished the men in his life trusted him to handle unsavory news, but he wasn't there to hound Aberforth about his health.

Aberforth adjusted his spectacles. "So, what's on your mind?"

"My mum and Snape," Harry said.

"Ah... They were close. Thick as thieves those two."

"Did they date?"

Aberforth laughed. "No, it wasn't anything like that."

"Did he ask and she told him to piss off?"

"Harry, Severus didn't want Lily in that way."

"Then why did he want her dead?"

The lively sparkle illuminating Aberforth's eyes vanished, like a mirage in a sandstorm, leaving the blue to reflect steel and cold; Harry winced, realizing that, as ever, he had gone too far.

"Harry, I've been keen to grant you leeway with your feelings for Severus because I know it'll take some time for you to get over what he did," Aberforth said, "but I'll not stand for you labeling him as Lily's murderer!"

"Well, he -"

"Perhaps if you knew all the facts, you wouldn't be so quick to crucify him."

"That's not -"

"It was mid-October, 1981, when the Order began to suspect a traitor amongst the ranks."

"I know, Pettigrew -"

"Yes, but what you likely don't know is that Severus, after telling Riddle what he'd heard, began to feel uneasy. Then when he discovered that Lily and James were to be targeted, he pleaded with that lunatic to spare them. When that didn't work, he went to my brother to offer them shelter."

Harry nearly swallowed his tongue. "He... What?"

"Severus cared deeply for your mother. He was desperate to save her."

Harry blinked, disbelieving. "Her? What about me? What about my father? We were a family!"

"Yes, but Severus's first loyalty is to those he loves, Harry, and you know there was no love lost between him and your father. Lily, though... despite their falling out, he still cared for her, and as a part of Lily, he considered you as well, but truly, at the time, his feelings for her eclipsed any responsibility for you or James Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed as he stewed over Aberforth's words. So, Snape had cared for Lily so much he had tried to save her. Well why shouldn't he have? It was his doing that had put her in danger! Aberforth was sugarcoating it, making it sound as if Snape should be applauded for doing the right thing! Well, bugger that! Snape's perverted view of loyalty stunk. Harry didn't qualify or put conditions on helping someone; if they needed help he did what he could, regardless of how he felt about them. He'd done it for Dudley when Umbridge sicced those Dementors on them, and he'd done it last summer, sitting and reading to Snape and massaging the man's hands!

"I'd hoped that Severus would have told you," Aberforth said, noting Harry's explosive expression.

"What? That my father and me were an afterthought? As if it wasn't bad enough he lied about telling Voldemort about the prophecy!"

Aberforth sighed, sounding as if he regretted saying anything.

"Yes, well, Harry, when you have a child of your -"

"I am not his child!"

Like Draco had done in the corridor just days before, Aberforth eyed Harry as though seeing him for the first time.

"You've never been more right." The old wizard told Harry coldly, making the boy cringe. "No, just now you're one more amongst an ignorant lot to overlook how much Severus has sacrificed for the wizarding world. I grant you, he's no angel, but -"

"Don't do that!" Harry fumed. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to make this my fault! It's not!"

"Of course not, lad! But you do get to choose how you react! You do get to choose to forgive him. Harry, talk to Severus. Don't let an old mistake kill the one good thing that came of it."

Aberforth had a point: Harry could continue freezing Snape out of his life, but in doing so, he would be setting himself up to become like someone he couldn't bear to be like-Aunt Petunia. Until her dying day, she had doggedly determined to hold onto a deliberate misunderstanding of and bitter hatred for her sister, to no end. True, Harry's anger was justified, but it was starting to feel wrong to hang on to it, especially as it bore no influence on what had happened: His parents were dead. No amount of righteous fury would change that. Still, this news about the supposed offer of sanctuary had blindsided him, making the anger flare. How dare Snape pick and choose who to save!

Right now that anger still felt necessary; right now it still felt right. Righteous fury, indeed.

*WO

Potions Classroom, Hogwarts, April 1997 (22)

‘Before this summer, Severus would have borne your hatred and not thought a second about it. Now it would utterly destroy him to hear you say such a thing.'

‘Do you know that every time he leaves the castle he risks getting himself killed? All because he's trying to prove something to you, someone who doesn't care a knut for the sacrifices he's making!'

‘Gods, you're no better than my father. Blood thirsty, narcissistic, selfish -'

 ‘...know that Severus never took taking you into his home, into his heart lightly.'

‘No, just now you're one more amongst an ignorant lot to overlook how much Severus has sacrificed for the wizarding world.'

‘I'm sure he wanted to tell you, but he didn't know how. With all he was beginning to feel for you, probably no time seemed right. He could never have expected to love you, Harry.'

‘Don't let an old mistake kill the one good thing that came of it.'

‘...despite anything you've said or done, he still loves you.'

Harry punched his pillow, flipped from his right side to his left, then flopped from his back onto his stomach before starting the vile cycle all over again. After half an hour of that nonsense, he lay staring up into the dark hole of his canopy, that string of comments chasing its tail round and round in his head. His talk with Aberforth had been atypically discouraging and unhelpful; the old wizard lumping him in with other judgmental arses had been a rather low blow, he thought.

Near midnight, he left his bed to wander the corridors, but this time he had a destination. It was the umpteenth time he had made the decision to speak to Snape since breakfast, and the third time he had made the trip to the bowels of the castle. He was determined to follow through, though - or at least make it to the door.

As he wound his way through the corridors, yesterday's scene in the Great Hall came to him. A mad flurry of conversation had erupted following the delivery of the Prophet with the paper reporting that several Death Eaters-Gregory Goyle's father included-had been apprehended by the Ministry. Aurors had an anonymous tipster to thank for the information. According to the article, the four Death Eaters had been bound and left for the authorities, like big evil presents.

Voldemort had suffered a loss, but he wouldn't let it stand for long. War was coming. For all Harry knew, Voldemort could show up at Hogwarts tomorrow. For that reason, he didn't want things to remain unresolved between him and Snape. They needed to sort things out. They needed to move on with their lives, whether as a family or not.

Rounding the corner to Snape's classroom, Harry stopped abruptly. A spell-a powerful spell. He recognized it as a privacy spell, one they had learned to cast in Charms back in November. Never mind it had been cast to protect the conversation taking place behind the door, Harry wanted to know why it was being used, and at this hour. He then whispered a spell Draco had taught him, one the Slytherin claimed had allowed him to eavesdrop on Lucius and Narcissa: "Sen privatus."

"...a moment of your time." Harry recognized Dumbledore's voice.

"What is it?" Snape.

"I must insist that you relinquish your duties in the Order," Dumbledore said.

Harry curled his hands into fists. On some level he'd known Snape had been spying, but to hear it confirmed out loud... Then he realized, Gods! Snape hadn't been at dinner last night! Had he been the one to capture those Death Eaters? Alone? But, Charlie had missed dinner, too. And Dumbledore had arrived late; McGonagall had been the one to begin the meal.

"Why would you ask this of me now?" Snape said, sounding incredulous.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, as if it was obvious. "The information you have gathered since September has been extraordinarily beneficial, Severus, but certainly Harry must be your top priority now."

There was a protracted pause before Snape spoke: "No... He's settled back into Gryffindor Tower. He's quite at home surrounded by his friends," he said quietly.

"Severus, you know as well as I that the Tower stopped being Harry's home that first night he asked to stay in your quarters." Dumbledore sounded amused, but Snape made a dismissive noise.

"It hardly matters. He has made his choice. I'd be foolish to -"

"My boy, foolish is allowing the distance of a thousand steps to come between you and Harry."

"Albus, you're not listening! He wants nothing to do with me! He has yet to return to class; he avoids me like the Plague; he... he burned the adoption certificate..."

Harry winced, flooded with shame at the pain in Snape's voice. 

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "Harry is still very much a prisoner of his anger, but it shall pass... With him, it always does." The old wizard uttered a small chuckle. "You know, until last summer, I believed him the perfect mix of his parents, with his father's impulsive nature and his mother's kindness - but she had a fierce unforgiving streak in her, did she not?"

"Yes, but Harry doesn't -"

"Precisely, Severus! He does not have it. He bonded with you over the summer despite the rather vicious past you two share; he agreed to be your child despite your own dark past as a Death Eater!"

"I -"

"No matter what he says, Harry loves you, desperately. You need only to see the way his eyes track you when you are not looking, or how troubled he is when you miss a meal."

"That's not - that can't be my concern at the moment," Snape said, his silken voice turned shaky and unsure, "but his safety... You cannot ask me to stop protecting him, Albus."

"I would not dare -"

"You know that I am well placed outside of Hogwarts with my contacts, now. No matter how dangerous, I must continue. I must prove -"

Feeling distinctly mutinous at the thought of Snape consorting amongst Death Eaters, Harry made a small noise.

"Did you hear something?" Snape said.

Harry heard someone moving toward the door. Panicked, he crouched down, wondering if he had cast the spell incorrectly or too strongly; they should not be able to hear him.

After taking a moment to listen, Dumbledore said smoothly-too smoothly: "I could not say."

"Yes... Well... if there's nothing else, Headmaster, I must go check on Draco. I only meant to be gone a moment."

"Only this, Severus, Harry would never ask for your life as payment for past transgressions. He may still harbor some anger and uncertainty, but if he knows nothing else, he knows that you love him. You need not prove it to him this way."

"As you say." Snape muttered, sounding completely unconvinced and exhausted.

When the doorknob rattled, Harry grunted as he nearly lost his footing hightailing it back around the corner. He tucked in tight against the wall, hoping he blended in well enough with the dark shadows. The door opened and he heard the swish of robes as the men emerged from the classroom.

The muted click of boots told Harry that Snape was heading the other way, towards his quarters; Dumbledore seemed to have melded into the stone walls because he did not pass Harry on the way up from the dungeons. After a moment, Harry dared to peer out from his hiding place to check if he was alone. The corridor was empty.

*WO

Harry approached Draco after breakfast. The Slytherin looked wary, poised to dismiss him with a cold glare. Instead he said, "What do you want?"

"You're right to be keeping an eye on the professor." Harry told him.

Interest and concern sparked in Draco's eyes. "Why?"

"He's been providing intel on Voldemort to the Order since September. He's likely the reason Goyle's dad got hauled in."

Draco gaped, astonished. "September? How do you know?"

"I overheard him and Dumbledore last night. He means to keep doing it, too."

Draco hissed angrily. "He's a traitor! They'll kill him on sight! No warning, no nothing!"

"Dumbledore was trying to talk him out of it. I don't understand... Why would he do it?"

Draco uttered a bark of disbelieving laughter. "Potter, Snape will do anything to protect you." He turned on his heel, and left Harry standing there, speechless.

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (22)

Harry mulled over Snape and Dumbledore's conversation and pondered how a talk with the Potions master would play out. Would the man be willing to discuss his spying and why he offered shelter to Harry's parents? Or would he shut the boy down because it was all too painful to address? Harry finally decided it didn't matter. He needed answers, more importantly, he needed Snape safe. The man had been at dinner that evening, so Harry wagered he would not be leaving the castle that night. A little after 8 p.m. he trekked down to the dungeons.

Unsure if the entrance charm still worked, Harry opened his mouth to speak his name, but before he could sound it out, the door was whipped open. Draco, in the process of shifting his book bag onto his shoulder, stopped short, his face registering the same surprise that was on Harry's.

"Potter."

"I came for the rest of my stuff." Harry lied, rattling off the first thing to come to mind, wanting to keep the reason he had dropped by close.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, simply stood aside to open the door wider. Harry ducked past, heading toward their room.

"The professor isn't here," Draco said, stopping Harry in his tracks.

"...Oh..." Harry said, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"He should be back any moment."

"Oh, well... I won't be long." Harry muttered.

When he resumed walking to the bedroom, Draco said: "If you would just -"

Fists clenched at his sides, Harry stopped again. "Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood to hear anything you have to say!"

Draco surged forward and grabbed Harry's arm. He spun the boy around to face him. "What is it going to take for you to snap out of this?"

Harry yanked free of Draco's grip. "Just so there's no confusion, Malfoy, I'm not like you! I didn't just up and decide to leave my parents! They were taken from me!"

Draco's lips thinned. "I hardly just decided to leave my parents and my home, Potter. I had good reason to get out of there."

"Yeah, you finally wised up and realized you were on the losing side!"

Draco laughed - a dry, cheerless sound that had Harry wondering what a true bout of laughter from the boy would sound like. The Slytherin seemed to only manage a disturbing mirthless sound, steeped in sarcasm, or anger-though at the moment it was laced with something else.

"Despite what you've been told, Potter, being thick is not one of your more endearing traits."

"Look, Malfoy -"

"No, you look, you crazy-haired titmouse! If for once you would just listen instead of acting as if you're the only one in the world to have endured an iota of pain in your life, you'd understand that I do know what you're going through!"

Something in Draco's strained expression resonated to an earlier time, then it hit Harry. "Oh, God! Crabbe, in Honeydukes..."

Draco's jaw muscles jumped in response, but he kept silent, stubbornly jutting his chin out, and shading his gray eyes beneath his lashes. Harry was reminded so strongly of Sirius, he had to blink. In that instant Harry recognized that the boy wasn't only a Malfoy, his Black ancestry flowed just as strong.

"What happened to your mum?"

Draco frowned and looked to shrink inside his robes. "...It's a long story."

"You get yourself all worked up just to tell me ‘It's a long story'? Spill it!" Harry growled.

Draco opened his mouth, then started when Snape swept through the still-open door.

"Draco? Why is the -?" Wide, startled green eyes met equally startled black ones. "Harry..." Uttering the name seemed to take Snape's breath.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't blink or feel his lips. As he stood there, confounded, the paralysis in his face threatened to work its way down if he didn't move or speak or something.

"I - I was just getting my things," he managed, horrified at how much he sounded like a thirteen-year old girl.

The naked longing in Snape's dark eyes unsettled him, but only because Harry knew the emotion mirrored his own. Before he could dissolve into an embarrassing blubbering mess, he decided retreat to be his best option. Because he couldn't escape through the front without bypassing Snape, he turned to make his way to his room, doing his best to ignore the hissing sounds of the two Slytherins whispering behind his back.

In his room, Fang lay sprawled across his bed like a big, breathing blanket. Seeing Harry, the dog raised his head to whuff a raspy greeting. He followed that up with a powerful tail wag that set the bed to shaking and creaking. Harry sank down onto the mattress beside the dog and buried his face in Fang's fleshy neck, savoring his warm doggy smell.

With Harry gone from the dungeons, the boarhound once again split his time between two places: Gryffindor Tower and Snape's quarters. Tonight, as he had done all week, he chose to stay in the dungeons. Harry was fine with the dog wanting to spend time with Snape, but he missed him when he did.

"Hey, boy." He whispered.

To Fang's sensitive ears, Harry didn't sound right, but because the dog couldn't ask the boy what was troubling him, he used his nose to scent out the problem. Typically Fang loved Harry's smell because he smelled sort of wild and sweet, like sunshine, but now he smelled sad; it clung to him like smoke. He had not reeked of it so intensely since last summer when he had learned of Remus's death. The dog whined softly as the cloying odor assaulted his sensitive nose. Then he angled his head to gently scrape his large tongue along the back of Harry's neck, as if to rid him of that sadness.

The gentle tongue lashing reminded Harry powerfully of nights spent before the fire at Soth-ince and in the dungeons. If he allowed it, he could hear Snape's quill scratching along a sheet of parchment and he could hear Fang's soft whimpers and snores as he slept. The thought of never having those things again burned fierce, stoking an ache that forced Harry to curl up beside the dog and sob, deep wracking cries that rocked the bed. Within seconds a weight settled near his head. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, urging him up, pulling him close.

"NO!" Harry fought, pushing against that narrow chest. He was already weak from being angry with Snape, from missing him, but he was weakened even further, brought low by the feel of Snape's arms around him and the dastardly aroma of cinnamon and cloves. That smell never failed to soothe him; it was like magic.

"Shhh..." The quiet hiss ruffled Harry's hair. In an instant, he surrendered, collapsing face first into Snape's chest.

"I hate you!" Harry said, his words muffled against the man's robes. "I hate you!"

"I know." Snape's arms tightened around the boy, cradling him even closer.

"Why - why didn't you tell me?" Harry sobbed and clutched at Snape's robes.

"To avoid this - to avoid hurting you. ...I should have told you. I was being terribly selfish because I -" Snape choked. "Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me..." He muttered into Harry's hair and squeezed the boy tighter.

Since learning of Snape's part in the prophecy, Harry had given little thought to what the man could say to make things right. Instead he had been consumed with trying to reconcile the Snape he had come to know with the man Snape had been all those years ago. How could a man who had harbored such blinding hatred for James Potter adopt his child? And how could he deny Harry the truth of his part in his parents' deaths? And how could he then expect forgiveness for such a blatant, hypocritical deception?

Once, Harry might have believed that the sound of those words was exactly what he needed to hear, but now he frowned at them. He couldn't bear to hear Snape begging. Snape didn't beg. It felt wrong, so he pushed off from the man, but Snape was slow to let go, as if it physically hurt to do so.

"I want to forgive you," Harry said, eyes down, "I do, but... I don't know how..."

"It is a lot to ask," Snape said.

"But I still want... I don't want..." Harry paused to breathe, then he looked up into Snape's eyes. "You called me your son that night... in Dumbledore's office."

"Yes," the man said, his voice just above a whisper, but his black eyes blazed with a searing protectiveness that burned, warming Harry from the inside out. That look overwhelmed him, left him feeling weak and needy and loved. He lowered his chin to his chest, then drew his brows tightly together, trying to sort out his feelings.

"How can I still want that? How? Last summer I told Hermione that out of everyone, you'd been the only one to be honest with me! But you lied! You've lied since the beginning! And I defended you! To everyone, even Dumbledore!"

"Yes."

Harry looked up and waited, thinking the man would have more to say beyond a simple ‘Yes', but Snape remained silent.

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked quietly.

Snape inhaled sharply before speaking. "Beyond your safety, anything I want isn't important," he said. "I look at you, and see every wrong I've ever perpetrated. Sometimes it's impossible to look at you... those eyes." Harry lowered his lashes, shading the brilliant green gifts from Lily. Snape cupped his chin to bring his gaze back up. "Sometimes it's difficult to look at you, because all that I've done is in the slump of your shoulders, in the drag of your feet... in the fire of your anger, anger I fully deserve."

Harry sighed.

"I never..." Snape began. "Before we left Hogwarts seventh year, Lily and I came to an understanding, we'd made up in sense. I would have never deliberately... Harry, hear me: I didn't know the Dark Lord would target her."

"I know," Harry said, dragging his sleeve under his nose. "I talked to Aberforth the other night. He told me - he said that you offered my parents refuge."

Snape nodded heavily. "Yes, but, too late. Albus was unable to reach them in time. They had switched their Secret-Keeper to Pettigrew, and he was busy with his little farce involving Black."

"I wish Sirius really had killed him." Harry glanced up at Snape, expecting a stern reproval but the man simply reached to push Harry's fringe aside, revealing that lightning-shaped mark carved into his skin. Snape's fingers lingered, tracing the jagged angles. Normally, Harry would have balked at being touched there, but now he leaned into the touch. Closing his eyes, he realized he had only ever felt so reassured and treasured in his mother's arms. And Snape's.

"I die a bit every day at the thought of how I failed you." Snape whispered. "I told the Dark Lord of the prophecy - I denied you the truth about it. Like Pettigrew, I betrayed -"

"Don't!" Harry moaned. "It doesn't change anything! Pettigrew, Wormtail, he's the one that told Voldemort where to find my family. He's the real betrayer. He -" Harry stopped as a hot rush of bile filled his throat. Putting distance between him and Snape, again, he pulled his knees up and buried his head between them. Wrapping his arms over head, he began to sob anew.

Aberforth had been right: Snape had played his part, but Pettigrew and Voldemort, they were the killers; they had robbed Harry of the life he should have had. And listening to Snape, Harry realized that he hadn't needed to punish the man; Snape had been doing a spectacular job of it all on his own. The man clearly hated himself more than Harry ever could.

Snape shifted to envelope Harry in his arms once more. Harry allowed it. He didn't become pliant, but he didn't stiffen up, either; he simply let Snape hold him.

"I know you need time. I don't dare rush you, but when you are ready..." Snape paused, caressing Harry's hair. After a moment, he loosened his hold. "You came to get your things, yes?"

Harry looked confused for a moment, then he remembered his lie. He sniffed loudly before slowly nodding his head.

"I'll leave you to it then." Snape rose from the bed, his dark eyes filled with a reluctant understanding.

Draco, who had invited himself into the room soon after Snape entered, frowned. "But -"

"No, Draco. Let him go." Snape held the door open. Draco cast a confused and mildly angry glance at Harry before shaking his head and turning to leave. Without looking back, Snape followed, closing the door with a quiet snap.

WO*

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (23) Just after midnight...

Harry skulked around Gryffindor Tower, disappointed in how things had gone with Snape. He hadn't expected the man to let him go so easily, but he hadn't known how to manipulate the situation so that he could stay. He bemoaned having missed his chance to confront the man about what he had overheard, as well as the chance to say that Dumbledore was right: Harry didn't want Snape risking himself to prove that he loved him, and while he was Lily's son, he wasn't Lily; he couldn't hold a grudge.

So, he donned his Invisibility Cloak just after 1 a.m. and headed for Snape's quarters to tell him so.

Steps away from Snape's door, Harry drew back because the heavy oak door was swinging open. Snape stepped out and Harry had to choke down a scream. The man was clad in his typical head-to-toe black, but these robes were distinctly different from anything Harry had ever seen him in - outside of that night last June.

When his eyes strayed low to the oval flash of white in Snape's hand, an impossible chill stuttered its way along the boy's spine: Snape had hold of a white mask, paler even than the light of the moon.

WO*

Hogwarts, April (23) Breakfast...

"Malfoy, can I have a word?"

Draco gave an irritated sigh, but after observing Harry's smudge-eyed appearance, he waved Blaise and Theo on their way, then followed Harry outside. Their breaths plumed in the unseasonably chill morning air as they huddled in a silent corner of the courtyard. Nestled against the edges of the castle where it met the ground, patches of icy snow lingered from March's blizzard. Harry kicked at a sliver of it, loosening it. Draco stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together briskly, already eyeing the entrance back into the castle.

"I was outside the door last night and I saw Snape leave," Harry said.

"And you were surprised?" Draco replied, lips pursed in annoyance.

"No. But... he was dressed up like a Death Eater. He had the mask, those robes..." Harry gestured at his own robes, his insides cramping at the memory.

Draco paled at the picture the man must have made. Seeing Snape in full Death Eater regalia was not new to him; he'd spent enough time in the company of Death Eaters since Voldemort's return, but that was before he knew Snape had been spying for the Order. Things were different now. He understood why Harry was so horrified.

"We need to find a way to stop him leaving," Harry said.

Draco stopped fidgeting to stare at him. "‘We?'"

"Yes, Malfoy, we..."

Draco snorted softly. "Clever. Wish I'd thought of it."

"Malfoy..."

"Well, what's your plan for stopping him, then? You know how he is when it comes to you."

Harry bit his tongue against the acid remark dying to escape. He didn't want to fight with Malfoy; he needed the boy's help.

"To us, Malfoy, when it comes to us." He ground out.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So, what's your plan?" He repeated, then slipped on a pair of black leather gloves.

Harry gave a little shrug and blinked blankly. "I figured you had one."

"Of course." Draco muttered, tugging his collar up.

"Well, you're the one who had the idea in the first place! Didn't you already have something worked out?"

"Yes, but, my idea might seem incredibly tame compared to all the useless, juvenile, imbecilic foolishness you've been up -"

"Fine, then! What's your brilliant idea?"

"We confront him, of course." Draco drawled smugly.

Harry thought a moment. Draco was right. They already knew the man was leaving the castle. Confronting him with that was all that remained.

As if he just realized it was freezing outside, Harry jabbed his wind-reddened hands into his arm pits. Draco muttered something thick with irritation under his breath and pulled out his wand. Harry flinched when the Slytherin tapped his hands with it. Monster-sized gloves of blood red wool appeared with a pop. Draco's brows shot up and his lips twitched.

"Shut it!" Harry mumbled with an embarrassed glare. He had to find a gentle way of telling Hermione to stop knitting things for him. "So, tonight, after dinner?" he said.

"Fine," Draco said, then headed back into the castle.

*WO                                           

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (23) Late evening...

After dinner, Harry made his way to the dungeons. As arranged, Draco met him at the door and they entered the sitting room together.

"You lied," Harry said, denying Snape the chance to get used to the sight of him.

Snape, sitting in a chair next to the fire, blinked and frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"You told Malfoy not to worry when you leave the castle."

Snape closed the novel he had been reading and set it aside. "I did not lie to you. As you two are determined to be both tragically and willfully obtuse, I will repeat myself:  What I do outside Hogwarts is my business -"

"Malfoy and I are your business, too, or have you forgotten?"

Snape swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing and gliding along his slim throat as he absorbed Harry's words.

 "You needn't remind me of my responsibilities," he said quietly.

"Obviously I do!" Harry said. "What'll happen to us if you're captured? Do you have any idea what we would do to get you back?"

"Potter..."

"No, Malfoy! I'm sick of this! I'm sick to death of losing everybody I love to that snake-faced monster!"

"Harry..." said Snape, rising to his feet. In response, Harry shuffled backwards, bringing his arms up, holding his hands out to keep the man at bay.

"Don't! Just because I'm still mad at you doesn't mean I can't worry! It doesn't mean I want you to d-die..."

Snape sighed and shook his head. "Harry, there is nothing to worry about. I -"

"Stop lying!" Harry shouted. The man was playing hide-and-go-seek with Voldemort; Harry had everything to worry about!

"You want to watch your tone." Snape fired back, piercing Harry with a dark look, one that should have made the boy nervous, but because he knew Snape was lying, Harry only got angrier.

"Well, then, you just do what you want!" He growled. "You just go out there and get killed! I don't care!"

Helpless tears sprang to his eyes, but he didn't dare let Snape see them. He turned to run, but was hauled back by strong arms.

"Let me go!" Harry screamed, struggling to get free. "You're a dead man! You're just like S-Sirius! DEAD!"

Snape wrestled with the boy, his chest plastered to Harry's back as he tried to get him under control, but Harry continued to flail about, tears raining down, fogging his vision. Finally Snape cried: "Damn it! Harry, stop it! I can't... Please!"

At the note of desperation in Snape's voice, Harry fell limp.

Winded from tussling with the boy, Snape gasped, "Harry..." He began stroking the messy tufts of black hair, a calming gesture seemingly as much for him as for Harry. "Come. Sit."

Harry let Snape lead him to the sofa where the man held him close. After taking a moment to wind down, Harry relaxed against Snape's chest, resting his head just over the man's heart. Pressing his ear against it, he marveled as it beat a frantic, fierce rhythm. A thought flashed through his mind-that he would wish his own heart to stop if Snape's did. He shivered and Snape gathered him closer still, thinking the boy had caught a chill.

"Listen to me," Snape said, keeping his tone deliberately soothing. "I am not dead, nor do I plan on dying anytime soon." Harry shook his head against Snape's chest, swiping angrily at the tears still leaking from his eyes. "Stop it." Snape chided.

"But, why are you doing it?"

"Because, as I told you, nothing matters more to me than keeping you and Draco safe."

"What good is it if you end up d-dead?" Harry couldn't temper the petulant, needy hitch in his voice; Snape running his fingers through his hair didn't help matters.

"I'm not concerned with what happens to me."

"Well, we are!" Harry blurted.

"Yes..." Snape whispered, then cleared his throat, "but, I've lived a life. You and Draco are just beginning yours."

"And we want you there," Draco said quietly.

Snape looked over to find the young Slytherin perched in the seat he had just vacated, concern lining his sharp features. For months-since the start of the new year, really-Draco had exuded a quiet, self-assured dignity, a behavior that was a far cry from the whinging, sneering, self-involved persona he had worn like skin for years without hint of remorse. Snape knew the boy's escape from Malfoy Manor had a lot to do with that; he also knew what it cost Draco to turn informant for the Order. Having experienced the same life-altering upheaval eighteen years ago, Snape understood the decision had both scarred and healed the boy. Upon inviting Draco to move into his quarters, Snape had feared being able to handle two excitable and demanding boys whose personalities clashed, but the change in Draco had been a most pleasant and welcome surprise. With his newly acquired levelheadedness, Draco complemented Harry's reckless and high-strung nature perfectly.

"We wouldn't thank you," Draco continued, "or consider you particularly brave if you went and got yourself killed because you believe you've something to prove to us. You don't."

Snape opened his mouth to interject, but Draco held up a hand.

"Now, while I find the idea desperately unseemly, particularly for a Mal -, for me, just know that I would not be above... begging you to stop inviting danger upon yourself in our names," Draco said. Snape shifted beneath that disconcerting, and familiar gray-eyed gaze. Harry looked at Draco, too; that the boy loved Snape utterly could not have been plainer. Harry felt Snape's heart begin to slow.

"Draco," Snape began.

"You know none of what you've done in the past can be changed no matter what you do, so this twisted attempt at atonement is -"

Atonement. The word rang in Harry's head like a gong. He jerked back to gape up at Snape. A snapshot of the man's expression from last summer at Soth-ince flashed through Harry's brain and his own cold words came back to haunt him: 'And, if anybody needs atonement, it's probably you!'

"Is that what you're doing?" Harry demanded, pushing out of the man's embrace. "Is that why you're going on these suicide missions? Atonement?"

"Harry -"

"You're doing it because of what happened to my parents, aren't you?" Then an even darker, more painful question occurred to Harry, one he had no choice but to ask. "That's - Is that why you wanted to adopt me?" He whispered, eyes wide with horror. 

"Merlin, boy! No!" Snape looked stricken as he gripped Harry's shoulders. Looking into the man's eyes Harry believed him, but...

"Then why are you leaving us?"

Snape swallowed. "I have my reasons."

How irritatingly uninspired, Harry thought. The man had spouted the same flabby nonsense last September, skating around why his behavior had changed so drastically following that meeting with Dumbledore. It didn't wash then, and it wasn't washing now.

"Dumbledore doesn't want you to do it!" Harry said. "Why won't -"

Snape frowned. "How do you know that?"

Harry flushed at having given the game away. "I, er, sort of overheard you in your classroom the other night." Snape stared. "I tweaked the privacy spell." Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I see."

Harry held the man's gaze. "So, why won't you listen to him?"

"Oh, now you think I should listen to him?"

"Don't do that!" Harry's lips pulled down in a disapproving frown. "It's not funny! You don't have to do this! I don't like it, any of it! It's not funny!"

"No." Snape agreed solemnly, running a hand over Harry's head. "Nothing to do with the Dark Lord is. But, Harry... I'll be fine. We will be fine." Snape pulled Harry back to him, squeezing him to emphasize his point.

*WO

Potions Classroom, Hogwarts, April 1997 (25)

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Harry stuffed his books into his bag and stood to join Ron and Hermione, ready to leave, but he halted when Snape called for him to stay after.

"We'll be outside," Ron said, trying his level best not to sound too unsupportive. Harry might be determined to reconcile with Snape, but Ron trusted the man about as much as he trusted Hagrid's nightmarish spider friend, Aragog; in contrast, Hermione flashed Harry a bright encouraging grin which he answered with a tense nod.

"It pleases me that you have returned to class," Snape said once Harry reached his desk.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Snape's surprise had been hard to miss; his jaw had gone slack when Harry stepped into the room. Draco's reaction had been no less impossible to miss. Spotting Harry, Blaise had elbowed his seatmate in the side, then pitched his chin toward the door. After connecting with Harry's eyes for the briefest of seconds, Draco snapped his head around to take in Snape's reaction.

The man had been standing behind his desk, shifting through a pile of parchment, but when he saw Harry, the parchment fluttered to the floor, creating a whispery, airy sound like a prolonged exhale of breath. He had gripped the edge of the desk to brace his shaking hands, but it took only seconds for him to compose himself. He then called the class to order before the whispers about Harry's unexpected appearance got out of hand.

Over the next hour and fifteen minutes, Snape went on to teach a flawless lesson, pelting the students with questions like an air force gunner. He seemed unconcerned with whether Harry was able to follow along and called on the boy to answer several tricky questions - a couple of which Harry got wrong, but some of which he got right. Harry tried hard not to preen when every right answer was followed by a staid, "Well done, Mr. Potter."

"You've missed rather a lot of classes," Snape said. His dark eyes were liquid and restless as they scanned every inch of Harry. Despite having held the boy in his arms only a few nights before, he seemed unable to believe Harry was real and standing before him.

"Hermione tried to help me to keep up, but..." Harry lifted his left shoulder as a way to finish his thought.

"Yes, well... You did well today, but you will need a thorough review of the questions you missed."

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded. "I'm ready to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Snape swallowed audibly, then crossed his arms over his chest. He nodded once, twice, at a clear loss for words as the boy's determined tone obviously had nothing to do with revising Potions questions.

A shuffling sound out in the corridor grew in volume, announcing the arrival of Snape's next class: third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their imminent approach sharpened the knife's-edge-like tension in the classroom with the two wizards squared off, each dying to say something, but strangely unable to find the words.

Then students began to trickle in. As with all of Snape's classes, the moment they crossed the threshold into the classroom, they fell silent. Normally, Snape would be positioned in front of his desk, his eyes clocking them, as if daring them to behave badly - not that this group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would - but this time, the man's attention was elsewhere.

"I... I think a bit of tutoring after dinner over the next couple of weeks should effectively bring you up to speed," Snape said to Harry. "You learned a tremendous amount last summer, so it shouldn't be exceedingly difficult for you."

"Oh, well, I had a fantastic tea -"

"Harry!" Ron called from the doorway. "Transfiguration, mate! McGonagall'll skin us alive if we're late, again!"

Harry turned to wave an impatient hand at Ron in acknowledgment, then he turned back to Snape, mouth open to finish his sentence.

"Go," the man interrupted, slight crinkles of amusement framing his eyes. "Skinless would not be a good look on you."

Harry's lips quirked up into a smile, yet oddly he felt like crying. The things he wanted to say lay thick on his tongue, but his throat had seized up, shrinking to the circumference of a sipping straw. When tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, he panicked. The urge to burst into noisy, braying sobs overwhelmed him. But he didn't dare fall apart in front of Snape, so to crush it, he looked down and hefted his book bag up into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, but the urge persisted, so he turned to leave. 

"Harry?"

Harry stopped, but didn't turn around. He couldn't. Finally, a light touch to his shoulder freed him to move. At the sight of Harry's water-filled eyes, the lines of concern around Snape's eyes relaxed. When a tear escaped, plotting a singular silvery path down Harry's cheek, Snape lifted a hand, aiming to brush it away. Harry closed his eyes and gravitated forward. He would have allowed it - would have allowed the comfort of having Snape wipe away his tears, but then the bell rang. Its grating sound filled the room, jolting the boy from what had felt like a dream state.

He knuckled the wetness from his cheek and said: "I've got to go."

Snape's hands fell back to his sides as he nodded.

"Is - is tonight okay to start?" Harry asked.

Snape blinked in confusion.

"The tutoring?"

"Oh... yes," Snape said, but it came out raspy. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Why don't... Instead of dining in the Great Hall, how about dinner in my quarters? We could begin after we eat."

"POTTER!" Ron shouted. The already tightly wound third-years, out of sorts because of the change in class routine, jumped in their seats, making a racket of rattling desks.

"Ron! I'll be right there!" Harry called over his shoulder, annoyed.

For most of Hogwarts' younger students, spotting Harry Potter at meals or in a corridor was a thrill. Second and third-year girls giggled and squealed into the books they clutched to their budding chests when they passed him. The boys, working diligently to appear unaffected by the Chosen One, simply shot a casual nod in his direction, but when Harry gave a friendly nod back, they usually turned beet red and their eyes grew too big for their faces. Ron once said that no matter how cool they played it, the boys always looked like they were a breath away from a girly squeal, too.

Noting the mix of adoring and curious gazes among the third-year lot, Harry blushed. Unsettled, he whipped back to face Snape. "Sorry ‘bout yelling," he said, though the man didn't seem the least bit bothered. "Um... Is six okay?"

Snape dipped his chin. "Of course."

"All right, well... Bye, then." Harry jogged to the door, doggedly ignoring the girlish titters of a couple Hufflepuffs ogling and pointing at him. Then a bit of parchment came out of nowhere, aimed at him, but the culprit overshot and it plonked Ron on the forehead.

Harry laughed at his friend's peeved expression as Ron kicked the parchment back into the classroom. Harry opened his mouth, ready to welcome the redhead into the Marked Forehead Club just as something extraordinary occurred: a blast of emotion hit his back, making him gasp. The surge had come from Snape's direction. Happiness. It made Harry's hair stand on end and his skin prickle. Overcome, he had another fit of laughter.

Ron, rubbing at the red mark on his forehead, thought Harry's laughter directed at him. He scowled and turned to leave, but then let out a squawk of surprise when Harry jumped onto his back, crowing: "Onward to Transfiguration, Jeeves!" Dean and Neville broke out into giggling snorts when Ron tried to shake Harry off, but the bespectacled boy had twined his legs tightly around Ron's waist, and his arms around Ron's neck, making it impossible to dislodge him.

As the grumbling redhead ("You're bloody ch-choking me!") started up the corridor, Harry looked back, managing a glimpse of Snape before the man secured the door. His black eyes shone with good humor and something else, something that looked like hope. It made Harry feel light as a feather.

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (25)

At six o'clock, Harry knocked on the door to Snape's quarters. Like the last time he had come, he was tempted to speak his name to see if the charm allowing him entrance still worked, but he didn't want to be disappointed in case it didn't. He wanted dinner to go well and not have his mood hinge on something as insignificant as a charmed door, so he knocked.

"Why didn't you use your password?" Draco asked after opening the door.

"Oh... I didn't know if it would work."

"You know he'd never disable it, you daft dunce."

Harry sighed, stepping into the entry hall. "Do you have a stash of those somewhere? You just pull one out when you're feeling arsey?"

"It's called rapier wit, Potter. I was born with it."

"You were born with something that rhymes with wit..."

"Ingenious, Potter. Come in and sit down."

Harry nearly took a step to follow Draco, but those words hit him the wrong way. "Don't act like I've never been here before, Malfoy."

Draco stopped and stared, taken aback, then he pinched his lips together. "Fine," he said coldly.

Harry bit his tongue, sensing that he had perhaps overreacted. Crap. He was mucking up the evening already and he hadn't been there five minutes.

"Look, I know you're just being... polite, Malfoy, but really, don't treat me like a stranger."

Draco hitched a brow. "Well, aren't you? I mean, you've been gone longer than you lived here - or at least since I've been here, so you'll have to forgive me if I am treating you like a ‘stranger.'"

With a nasty shock, Harry realized that Draco was right. Draco had moved in the day after Valentine's Day and Harry had gone to live in Gryffindor Tower not long after. They were in the last days of April now, which meant he had been gone from the dungeons for more than a month. It had been a long time.

"Seeing you in class was a surprise," Draco said, aiming for a change of topic.

"Yeah," Harry said, following the boy into the sitting room. "It was time. Er, where's the professor?"

"Out with that monstrous mutt of yours."

Harry snorted. "Despite you acting like he wants to eat you, he likes you. You could cut him some slack, you know."

"He's a big slobbery menace. I have no reason to ‘cut him some slack,'" Draco said, then he looked at Harry, curious. "Anything wrong?"

Harry had a repertoire of mannerisms that Draco had come to know: hands in the pockets meant Harry was feeling either terribly embarrassed or deeply apologetic. Just now, he judged the boy was apologetic; Draco took pride in noting that Gryffindor didn't disappoint when Harry shifted and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Well... since we have a minute, I... need to apologize for..." A hand through the hair-irritated or nervous...

Repressing a smirk, Draco said, "For what? If this is about the damage you did to my lip..."

"No," Harry said, "it's not that, although, now you mention it, it looks all right."

Draco glared as Harry peered at his mouth. "Pomfrey works wonders," he said peevishly.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry for it, but you pissed me off, saying I was like your father."

"He's not my father," Draco said tightly. He pointed at the mustard-colored skin around Harry's left eye. "Why didn't you get Pomfrey to do something about that?"

Harry smirked. "It's a black eye; I've had worse. Plus, Hermione likes to baby me when I'm hurt. And, I'm no pretty boy, like you."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the unexpected compliment, then he said, "If that's not what you really wanted to apologize for, what then?"

"Oh, well, when we rowed, I said some things... I know you weren't jealous of me, but I was of you."

Draco sighed dramatically as he sprawled in a chair. "Well, of course you are."

"...Was, Malfoy, was."

Draco looked at Harry, considering. "I wasn't trying to take your place with him."

"You couldn't," Harry said, before he even knew he had formed the words.

Draco let out a soft laugh. "Touché... I'm just saying -"

Harry shook his head, not wanting things to devolve into another row of name-calling and insults. "Forget it, Malfoy, ‘specially if you're aimin' for some long-winded, Slytherin-style explanation."

Draco looked affronted. "Slytherins are not long-winded. We simply like to be precise in our language so that those with a primitive vocabulary can follow at a decent clip."

"Like I said," Harry muttered, trying not to roll his eyes.

Just as he was about to settle on the sofa the front door opened. His heartbeat went from zero to sixty in the space of a second. He ached to dash out into the hallway to greet Snape, but he refrained, not wanting to seem too eager or desperate, depending on you looked at it.

The clicking of toenails across the stone floor announced Fang's presence. Instantly scenting Harry, the dog barked and rocketed into the sitting room where he began to snuffle noisily about Harry's hips.

"Oy!" Harry said, dropping to his knees to be at eye-level with the dog. "Missed me, yeah? Been spending all your time down here, lately."

"Unfortunately," Draco offered in a dry aside. Fang stamped a paw and whuffed at him, making Harry laugh.

"Thank you for coming," said Snape softly from the doorway. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, taking in the scene before him.

Harry looked up at him and smiled shyly, glad to note that the man's eyes had not lost their sparkle from that morning.

"Dobby has set things up for dinner," Draco said.

"Fine," Snape replied. He gestured toward the kitchen. "Shall we?"

Grinning, Harry jumped to his feet. "Yes! I'm starved!"

"When are you not?" Draco drawled as he led the way to the kitchen.

"When are you not insufferable?" Harry shot back.

A blond brow went skyward. "Back to normal, are we?"

"Yup," Harry said smugly, then stumbled over his loose shoe lace.

Draco snorted. "Klutz."

"Chicken lips."

"Pinhead."

"Boys..."

*WO