"Harry," a timid voice asked. Harry looked up to see Lilith, a small second year, smile shyly at him. "Can my brother come, too?" she wanted to know.

Harry just shrugged. He didn't really care who they brought along. The more, the merrier, really. Besides, it meant he was less alone, if not less lonely, so he was all for it. He remembered to smile at her, just a small smile of his that seemed to work wonders on skittish Slytherins. At this point, he wasn't really sure why they were skittish to begin with. Before all these 'study sessions' had started, he'd always sort of assumed all Slytherins were more like Malfoy. Maybe it was just the fact that so far, he'd been older than all of them.

"Of course," Harry said when he realised he hadn't answered yet. Lilith grinned, then darted out of the classroom. It wasn't until she came back, tugging an older boy after her that he realised he had forgotten to ask who, exactly, her brother was. Or even what her surname was.

It had been a few weeks since the first fifth years had begun dropping in, and really, Harry knew, it shouldn't be a surprise, because he'd been more than aware that sooner or later his own year mates would start showing up as well. He just hadn't thought it would be so soon. Hadn't been prepared for it. No. Not at all.

"Harry," she said and the pride was unmistakeable, "this is my brother."

"Zabini," Harry said and stood, face for once void of his customary smile. He wanted to ask what Zabini was doing here, what he thought he was trying at, but the fact that he'd never demanded anything from the other kids, well. Asking was probably right out of the question. "You don't need meto tutor you, do you?"

"Oh, Merlin, no. No, Potter, I am not desperate. I came for the scintillating conversation."

"Oh." Harry relaxed a little. "Guess you're welcome, then." It felt like everyone gathered seemed to suddenly relax as well. Harry sat back down, feeling his insides squirming. He reached for his bag and pulled out a box with grapes Snape had given him that morning. He'd give Harry a snack, every day, and Harry'd do his best to manage to eat it before the day was over.

Zabini pulled over a chair and sat down opposite to him. "So, Potter."

"Yeah?" He pulled one grape from the cluster and placed it in his mouth, chewing it slowly and methodically.

"You're the one who has been tutoring Lilith in Charms, aren't you?"

Harry smiled. "Why?" He picked another grape, repeating the process.

"She wouldn't say."

"She's a Slytherin. I hear they like their secrets."

"Oh, we do," Zabini assured him. "But she's my sister."

"Yeah, I know."

Zabini smiled. Harry allowed himself to look a bit closer at Zabini, then looked over at Lilith where she was playing a round of Cluedo with a couple of her year mates. They were both dark, granted, and handsome. Same brown eyes, same shape of the nose, and the mouth, really, but other than that they didn't look much alike. He really should have seen it, he mused. He'd just never known Zabini had a sister.

"May I?" Zabini wanted to know, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

"What?"

"The grapes." Zabini looked amused.

Harry paused. On the one hand, Snape wanted him to eat them all. Usually, he managed about half of whatever it was Snape packed off with him. So sharing wasn't really a problem. Besides, Zabini was awfully handsome. He'd just tell Snape he'd shared the grapes.

"Sure." Harry smiled.

"Thank you," Zabini said smoothly and reached for a handful of grapes.

Harry took another one.

—x—

"You ate all of them?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry flushed. "Um. Well, no."

"No?"

"I shared them."

"Shared them," Snape repeated, deadpan.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. With Zabini."

"Blaise Zabini?" Harry nodded, suddenly looking very busy toeing his socks off.

"He showed up at the meeting," Harry muttered.

—x—

"Has it been a good or bad week since last time?"

Harry smiled. "Good. It's been…good. I'm eating a little more. But Snape's real careful about what kind of food I eat, so it's slow going. Veggie stuff, mostly. But that's probably good, I think. Snape reckons I got sick more than I had to 'cause I kept eating heavy food. I dunno." He shrugged. "But it's been good."

Derek smiled. "That's definitely good news."

"Snape thinks so, too," Harry confided, feeling only a little shy.

"Professor Snape seems to have made you a great deal of good, too."

Harry's smile widened a fraction. "He says he cares." Which made Harry remember the other 'thing' he'd wanted to talk about. "Um."

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry frowned. He shifted a bit on the sofa, finally just pulling himself together by curling up, just like he used to do during the summer. "I've been running these study nights, or club nights like Tom call them, for a while now. It's just, lately, people my age have begun showing up."

"Is that a problem?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Not, um, as such."

"In what way then?"

Harry grinned. "S'the 'Blaise Zabini' problem."

"Oh!" Derek grinned and rolled his eyes. "That problem."

"Mmhmm. He's awfully handsome, and I think I want to, you know, like him."

Derek turned serious again. "Something is making you hesitate?"

"Yeah. Um. It's really been bothering me all term, but I sort of pushed it away—"

"This might have been good to know when you first began seeing me again, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I know. I just…"

"Harry?" Derek prodded gently.

"I really didn't want to think about it. I don't like how I feel when I think about it."

The chair Derek was sitting in creaked, as if the man had shifted. Harry was too busy pulling at the loose skin by his nails to look up to check, though. "You remember I told you about, about Charlie, right?"

A short pause. "Yes. I'm not sure if you ever mentioned him by name, but we talked about it."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Turned out he liked me, too. He, um, is a bit older than me."

"How much older?" When Harry didn't answer, Derek added, "Harry?"

Harry sucked on his bottom lip. "Eight years, I think."

"That is—"

"A lot, I know, yeah. But he was great about it. You know? We'd talk, a lot, whenever he was over. Yeah, I get that part of it had to do with the fact that we were basically the only ones in the house all summer. Everyone else seemed to just have, I dunno, disappeared. Then one night, I'd just come back from seeing you, he came looking for me. He had a birthday present for me."

"What kind of present?" The question was a bit stiff, which Harry thought to be a bit odd, but he didn't pay it any mind

Harry shrugged. "Glasses. Tumblers, I think. With dragons on them. Charlie works with dragons, so I think he'd found them at work, but they were still brilliant. Collector's item, he said. They were really cool. We ended up going to the cinema, one of those midnight films. It was…" Harry smiled. "I really liked it. I didn't even know he was, you know, into, um, blokes until then. But then a few days later he had to go back to work again."

"Did he know about you, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I think so. M'not sure, to tell the truth. The next time he came over, which was a couple of weeks later, he said he'd noticed me watching him. Even called the cinema thing a date." That brought another smile to Harry's face. "I'd bought a drink, but only taken one straw. Indirect kissing, he called it. Teased me something awful about it. And we'd shared the armrest." Harry's smile grew. "I think that night, at the cinema, s'one of the best memories I have. I was so happy. It wasn't too much, you know?"

"Just perfect, then." Harry nodded. "Just out of curiosity, what is the age of consent in the Wizarding world?"

"I…actually have no idea. I know seventeen is when we come of age, but I don't know if that's the same." Harry's forehead furrowed as he thought. "Though…we're not allowed to do it at Hogwarts. Maybe that's because Hogwart's a school, though."

Derek agreed. "Both could be true. Ask Professor Snape for me. Just so I know when to tell Alec to have a little talk with Tom"

"Okay," Harry agreed, a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

Derek winked. "But to turn back to the matter at hand."

Harry toned down his smile. "Yeah, okay. So, Charlie went back to work for a while again. Then when he came back, he asked how I'd been since out date. So I think he knew I wasn't quite straight, or at least that I was curious. I told him, though, that while I kinda liked him, I wasn't all that comfortable with it. He said he was okay with it, even told me there was no rush." Harry felt his cheeks turn hot. "And, um, then he kissed me. He'd kiss me a lot, you know. Whenever he had me alone somewhere, he'd always touch me, kiss me. I liked it. But I was busy with other stuff, too, so it wasn't like all I ever did was see Charlie. And he went off a lot, too."

"You never felt pressured to do more?"

Harry shook his head. "No. He was…good about it, I suppose. Or, well. I always thought so. I mean, he joked about that, once I felt a bit more comfortable about it all, we'd get to, um, you know. But it was always jokes and teasing with him."

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing and everything." Harry shrugged. "He helped me out when I needed a hand with something magical. We talked. We had fun."

Derek nodded. There was a furrow between his brows that told Harry there was something about what he'd just told Derek didn't sit right with the man. "What was it you pushed away, then?"

"Oh…I said that?"

"Harry," Derek reprimanded him. "What did I say about deluding yourself?"

"Small doses," Harry drawled, feeling a little impish.

Derek shook his head. "Not to do it," he corrected, sounding amused.

"Yeah, s'what I said."

Lowering his glasses a tiny bit, Derek gave Harry a stern, but laughing, look over the brim. As if to say: 'behave'. It made Harry feel a little bit naughty, but not enough so that he could resist sticking his tongue out. Which he did.

Then he turned serious again, picking at a loose thread from the hem of his jumper. It smelled of Snape and potions and something Harry was tentatively starting to call 'home'.

"The last night before going back to Hogwarts, I asked him to help me shrink my trunk. And…then he asked me out to dinner. We had Italian, I think, and we walked back. After that…it's a bit…fuzzy."

"What happened next?"

"Charlie suggested we test the tumblers he'd got me." Harry fumbled with his hands. "I think we played poker, and that I cheated. It's a bit blurry. But up till the point where we were still playing cards, I was having fun."

"And then?"

Harry shrugged. "We were laughing. He accused me of cheating. I said I wasn't. I think I just wanted the toffees we were playing for. He said something about stripping cheaters, something about feathers and tar. But since I wasn't cheating, then maybe he should just strip me." Harry shot a quick glance at Derek. Derek was looking at him, eyes serious, face concerned.

"Did he?"

Harry shook his head. "No…not exactly. I told him no. We laughed. Then we played…paper, scissor, stone. We won a time each, I think, and lost our shirts. He was kissing me a lot by then." Feeling utterly lost, Harry raised his head just enough that he could look Derek in the eye. "I…I was drunk, you know? Or I think I was. Everything was spinning, and I felt really dizzy, but I was happy."

"Did you know what you were doing? Where you were?"

"I…yeah. I think so. I was just, just, you know. Tipsy. Happy. And it felt good. Just…"

"Just?"

"I feel like I made myself want it… Made myself like it? I'm not sure if I liked it, you know? In the beginning I couldn't sleep properly, 'cause I kept seeing him leaning down over me, and I felt…weird. Off. I didn't like it afterwards. I'm…not sure if I liked it at the time, either, 'cause I kept thinking, like 'I have to moan now'. I felt disconnected. So I made myself not think about it, and pushed it away."

"Resorted to familiar tactics," Derek filled in, Harry agreed with a nod. "Would you have done it if you had been sober?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't even need to think about it. Even now, the response was automatic. "No. No."

"Alcohol impairs judgement, Harry—"

"I know what it does," Harry snapped. "I'm not stupid. If I'd have been with anyone but Charlie, I wouldn't even have touched the stuff. I hate not being in control. Everyone in my dorm's been messing about with alcohol since last year, but I never wanted in on it. I had enough problems without it. I didn't want to lose control of myself, or say something stupid. But Charlie… I felt safe with him."

"Had he been drinking as well?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I guess I thought he'd be more used to it because he was older, though. I should've known better. But he knew!"

"Knew, what?"

Harry gesticulated at himself. "He was the one who kept saying there wasn't any rush, and that I should just let it take its time. He kept… I know he knew I didn't want to, want to…have sex. I know he did! But then all of a sudden he wants me naked, starts…touching me, and… I wasn't sober enough to tell him off for it. Because it felt good, it did, and I was happy, I just didn't want it right then."

Derek's chair creaked, then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Surprised, Harry looked up to see Derek leaning down over him. The sofa dipped as Derek sat down next to him. "This question may be offensive to you, but I feel I have to ask. All right?"

Too stunned to do much more than stare, Harry managed a shaky nod.

"Did he penetrate—" Derek didn't get much further than that. Harry went beet red.

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "No, definitely not!" He wet his lips, cleared his throat. "Um. He went down on me. I think I made myself give him a handjob. That's the part I really don't want to remember. But we didn't, you know. That." Confused, intrigued and morbidly curious, he asked, "People…do that? They…like it?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "A bit beside the point, perhaps. But, yes, it is both done and enjoyed. But, as with everything, it's not for everyone."

A bit wide-eyed, Harry nodded. "Okay."

Shaking his head, Derek continued, "I want you to do something for me. It doesn't have to be right away, but I want you to tell a person of your own choice about what happened with Charlie. Can you do that?"

"I don't… Who?"

"Professor Snape comes to mind."

Harry shifted. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Promise you'll try?"

Harry thought about it for a minute. "Okay. I can do that. Try."

"That's all I can ask."

"But, about Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"I really do like him, you know. Or at least I did." Harry thought about it for a short moment. "No, I still like him. I don't think I can pin it all on him, because I'd like to think that if we'd both been sober, none of it would've happened."

Derek's smile was a bit tight. "I know. That's what makes it so complicated. It's why you're so hesitant about Blaise, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, partly. I haven't heard from Charlie since that night, either. I think that hurt the most. That he wouldn't even send an owl. Wasn't I worth even that much?"

"You're worth the world, Harry," he was told, quite firmly, by Derek. "Never question that. Never forget that."

—x—

Being the last 'customer' of the day, just like Snape, Pomfrey and Derek had planned, meant that Harry could stretch out on the sofa, most often with a blanket on top of him that Derek would place there, and nap until Snape arrived. Some sessions left him more worn out than others, and after this one, Harry was pretty much dead to the world when Snape arrived.

Derek shook him awake. Harry made a whining, protesting sound, then promptly turned around. "Harry, Professor Snape's here."

"Hmmf."

"Dr Hayes." Harry turned his head towards where Snape's voice came from.

"Professor Snape. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Harry yawned. "You're so bloody formal," he mumbled into the crook oh his elbow.

"Some are that way inclined, Mr Potter," Snape drawled. "Are you planning on joining us sometime this century?"

"Mmm, comfy."

There was a moment of silence. "You do not want pizza, then?"

Harry peeked an eye open, perking up. "Pizza?"

"Just down the street, I believe. Dr Hayes recommended them. Something about an award…"

"Yes," Derek agreed, "according to a survey they serve the best pizza in London."

"Just so. I made reservations last week, in fact. But if you are not interested…"

"I'm up!" Harry protested, sitting up so fast it looked almost like he had apparated into an upright position. His hair was standing on ends and there was a red mark on his cheek, from where he had been resting it on his arm. "Pizza?" he wondered, even as he was putting his glasses on.

"One track mind, have we, Potter?" Snape looked dreadfully amused where he was standing, arms crossed, as he leaned against Derek's desk.

Derek himself was grinning, sitting on the chair behind the desk. "You have the worst case of bedhead I have ever seen."

Harry pouted. He grumbled about lying back down again, when he remembered why he was sitting up in the first place, and perked up again. "Pizza?"

—x—

It was another day, another club/study night. That day, Parkinson and Nott decided to make an appearance, showing up together, arm in arm. Harry blinked. He'd been so sure Nott would follow his Death Eater father's footsteps. And he'd been just as sure that Parkinson had something going on with Malfoy. Huh. He really hadn't been expecting this.

"Ah." Harry cleared his throat. Under the table, Zabini nudged his shin with the tip of his shoes. "Welcome. Nice to, uh…see you here." Zabini snorted, loudly. Harry grinned at him. "Shut up, you. I'll have you know—"

"Yes?" Zabini drawled, one mocking eyebrow raised.

"Well, you see…" Harry gave an impish smile. "I'll have you know, they're a right better sight than—

Tom!" he suddenly yelled. Whenever the boy was in front of a cauldron, Harry made sure to be somewhere where he could see exactly what the boy was up to.

Tom froze, his fist clenched above his, so far, calmly simmering potion. "What are you brewing?" Harry asked.

"…Calming Draught?" Tom suggested.

"And what's that in your hand?" Harry wanted to know.

There was a definite smirk playing round the boy's lips. "Dried spider legs, Harry."

Zabini sniggered.

"And what happened last time you did that?"

Tom grinned. "The greatest explosion ever!"

Harry was smiling, too, by then. "Yeah, and then Professor Snape shut us out from that classroom. Which number was that? Seven?"

"Eighth," Tom said promptly.

Harry turned back to Zabini, then noticed that Parkinson and Nott were still standing in the doorway. "Welcome to Potter's Disasters?"

"I'm disinclined to be grateful," Parkinson sneered, and pulled Nott with her to one of the available workstations.

Zabini nudged him with his foot again, only this time his foot lingered entirely too long.

Harry felt warm.

"Not going to brush me off?" Zabini whispered in his ear.

"Should I?"

Zabini chuckled. "Maybe you should."

After the meeting, Zabini turned to him and said, "Shall I walk you home?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress, Zabini." Harry didn't look at him, too focused on fixing his bag and checking so that everything was there. The bag was rather too worn and probably a little too small by now. He'd had it since first year, after all.

"Of course you're not. If you were, I wouldn't have asked."

That stilled Harry's hands. He looked up. Zabini was staring at him, one eyebrow raised. What he wanted was plain to see. Harry grinned. Yeah, Zabini was fit.

"This way," Harry said, and led the way to Snape's office.

"Are the rumours true?"

"Am I staying in an old Head Boy room, you mean? No. I'm staying with Professor Snape."

Zabini slowed his pace. Curious, Harry did the same. "What?"

"It just occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn't walk you home."

Harry shrugged. "He won't be in his office this late."

"Still," Zabini insisted, "Professor Snape has many ways of finding out when we do that which we shouldn't."

"And what would that be?"

Zabini's grin was almost scary, most definitely lecherous, but what it did to Harry was start a slow building fire in his stomach. Harry grinned back at him.

—x—

With two minutes to spare before curfew, Harry made it inside Snape's flat.

"And where have you been?"

"I was just talking a walk," Harry protested. He felt a little pleased that Snape had been worried about him, just because he hadn't made it home when he usually did. If Snape worried, then it meant he cared.

Harry decided he liked being cared about.

"Indeed?" Snape looked amused. "Must have been a vigorous walk."

Harry flushed. "Oh. Um. It was."

"And how is Mr Zabini?"

"Just fine," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure." Snape's eyes were glittering. "Some tea, Potter."

"Yessir." Harry made a beeline for his room.

"Oh, and do fix your shirt, Potter. It's not done up right."

Harry slammed the door closed. On the other side, Snape could be heard laughing. "Stupid git," Harry muttered, throwing his bag on the bed. He almost tore his shirt in his haste to get it off. He pulled on a jumper instead, because there were no chances of getting that wrong. Flicking his wand, he silently Accio'd the box of fruit.

It wasn't the first time he'd considered telling Snape he was queer. The idea had been there for a while, subconsciously, but most definitely there since he'd talked with Derek. He honestly didn't think Snape'd mind, not really. Derek had told him that not everyone was open-minded about it, particularly not the older the people were. That hadn't exactly been news to Harry. But as for Snape… Well, Snape was weird. And besides, with all his comments about Zabini lately, it wouldn't surprise Harry if the man already knew about that. Also, Snape listened to Bowie, and some of those lyrics were seriously queer – both weird and gay.

'You've got your mother in a whirl, she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl' or 'People stared at the makeup on his face, laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace' or 'He flexes like a whore, falls wanking to the floor'

Yeah, Harry knew them all way too well by now, and it wasn't even by choice. Harry's heart sped up a little. Maybe, even if Snape already knew like Harry suspected he did, it was still time to say it. He'd only ever sort of implied it to Derek, and Charlie had asked. Zabini had just assumed. But Snape? Yeah, the man messed with his head, but… Part of admitting a problem, or getting over an obstacle so you could move on was first admitting it to yourself, then saying it out loud.

"I'm gonna tell him," Harry whispered to himself. The door was still closed, and he had his hand on the handle. "I don't care if he already knows, I'm gonna tell him."

Snape had set the coffee table with tea and biscuits and scones. The sight of it made Harry pause in the doorway of his room. It temporarily distracted him.

"I don't think I can eat, sir."

Snape motioned him over, but he didn't say anything.

"You overslept this morning, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep last night." Harry accepted the cup of tea Snape had prepared for him. He stared at the steaming cup for a few seconds, then put it down and stood up. He went to Snape's little kitchen and grabbed a larger mug, poured water and milk into it in equal measures then warmed it up with a flick of his wand. He found the pot of honey and the jar of a spicy 'Christmas-y' blend of tea – cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, almonds and saffron – Snape had written all of it out neatly on the jar, but the smell reminded Harry of Christmas. Harry'd found it delicious with a lot of milk in the tea water, and a healthy dollop of honey.

Snape was slouching in his armchair when Harry made it back, his tea fixed to perfection.

"You missed breakfast."

Harry nodded, curling up in his corner of the sofa. He spread the knitted quilt over his lap, then grabbed his mug from where it was hovering in the air next to his head. He was looking at his lap when he forced himself to say, "And…and I sicked up after lunch and I couldn't eat anything at dinner."

The armchair creaked. Then the sofa dipped as Snape sat down next to Harry. "Potter," he said.

"I'm sorry!" Harry burst. He didn't notice how much he was shaking, until Snape plucked the mug from his hands.

"There is no need for you to upset yourself, Potter," Snape calmly told him, setting the mug down on the coffee table. "The road back is…difficult and long. There will be setbacks, and there will be times you can't make yourself eat, no matter what. All I ask is that you never lie to me about it. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "I think so."

"I want you to promise me."

"I promise."

Snape looked at Harry, the black eyes seeming as if they were looking straight through Harry. Finally, the man nodded, as if satisfied with whatever it was he'd seen. "I will heat up some lentil soup, and you will eat until you are full."

There was no arguing that, Harry knew, so he just sighed. "My stomach's all queasy," he told Snape quietly.

"How fortunate, then, that I have a potion that will solve that particular problem for you."

"Why can't I take it all the time, then?"

The look on Snape's face told Harry he should've known the answer to that question without having to ask. "Because your body will build up a resistance," he drawled, as if it should've been obvious to everyone.

It still felt strange to Harry that Snape of all people suddenly was…important. Someone he didn't want to disappoint, someone whose promise he didn't want to break. He didn't want to think it was just because Snape was there and appeared to care when no one else did, because that, well, that was sure to disappoint Snape. That didn't mean it wasn't part of the reason why Snape's opinion suddenly mattered. Why it was suddenly so important that Snape be proud of him.

Snape read a book while Harry ate his soup. It was delicious, just like always. It'd been news to Harry that Snape cooked his own food, and that the man was both good at it and liked doing it. The potion kept him from getting sick, but not from knowing when he'd had enough, which he was grateful for.

"Snape?" he asked, when he'd finished the bowl. The tea he'd prepared earlier was still pleasantly warm and he sipped it slowly. Sometimes, he really loved magic.

"Yes, Potter."

"I've something to tell you."

"Hmmm?" Snape ran his finger down the page he was reading. Absentmindedly, he reached for a scrap of parchment on the table. He placed it slowly on top of the page, then closed the book. Snape blinked, then turned to look at Harry. "Yes?"

For a moment, Harry floundered. Then he gathered himself and looked straight at Snape. "I'm gay," he blurted. He was almost surprised the words came so effortlessly to his tongue. He'd never said it before, after all. Subconsciously, he'd always thought it'd be harder than that because even in all his talks with Derek, he'd never been able to outright say it.

Snape smirked. "I had surmised as much, yes." The man looked far too amused than he had any right to be, Harry sulked to himself. "Or was I not supposed to notice? Your efforts in keeping a low profile have been admirable. Amusing, very much so, but admirable. For a Gryffindor, that is."

"Well, you're the master spy," Harry grumbled. "I just don't wanna be known as the homo in a boarding school."

"Like I said, Potter: admirable," Snape murmured.

Harry took a drink for his tea. "But you're not, like, you know, disgusted or disappointed or anything, are you?" Harry cast a wary eye at Snape.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Try not to be more stupid than you have to be, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Sorry. You're sort of the first person I told on my own. Even if you already knew."

"Did you expect a celebration?" Snape drawled drily. "Perhaps I should wave a flag and announce to the world how proud I am of my gay ward? How about a badge, Potter? Pink, perhaps. Yes, definitely pink."

Harry couldn't help it: he snorted on his tea, then burst out laughing. "No, sir. It's fine, really, you don't have to do anything."

"How wise of you, Potter."

Harry gave Snape a cheeky grin. "I know, sir. I've got whole moments of it."

Regardless of the fact that Snape had already known about it, it was a weight off Harry's shoulders. He found it was easier to relax around Snape than it had been before.

See you next week.