It was in December, when Draco Malfoy finally decided to make an official appearance at Harry's little study meetings. Harry rubbed his eyes, then his temples. He'd been having headaches lately. Nasty ones that just wouldn't let up. The Slytherins were all suddenly sitting very still, hardly breathing or moving, and Harry wondered why for just as long as it took him to look up and spot Malfoy standing right in front of him.

"Oh. You," Harry said. "Hullo."

"Potter," Malfoy drawled, coming off quite haughty, "I trust I'm not unwelcome?"

"No."

"Good." Malfoy glanced about the room. Harry noticed how his eyes lingered a bit longer on Szmanda, still sitting next to Harry as he had since the first time he'd come. Briefly, Harry wondered if Szmanda collected notches on his bedpost the way Zabini obviously did. Harry decided it didn't really matter. He wasn't actually attracted to Szmanda the way he'd been to Zabini, so he didn't care.

"Take a seat, if you want."

"I believe I shall." Malfoy gave him another look, then went over to sit down with Parkinson and Nott.

"Peacock," Szmanda muttered next to him.

Harry stifled his laughter, but not his grin. "He's a Malfoy, what d'you expect?

—x—

When Harry came home that evening, he met McGonagall in the doorway.

"Mr Potter," she said briskly.

"Professor?" Harry'd never seen Snape have visitors. McGonagall looked him over, and whatever it was that she saw, it made her smile for some reason.

"Minerva, what is the— Potter."

"Hi." Harry smiled at Snape.

McGonagall glanced between the two, then her lips twitched into a smile as well. "Severus asked for your end of term report."

"Oh," Harry said, and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He'd tried hard this term to be prepared for his classes. What if Snape didn't think he'd been good enough? No one had really cared about his grades before. Well, his relatives hadn't liked when he got better grades than Dudley, but he was pretty sure that didn't count.

"There is only one minus, that I can see," his professor briskly continued.

"What's that, Professor?"

"I believe I will discuss this with him, Minerva," Snape smoothly intervened.

"Of course, Severus," McGonagall agreed. "Have a good night."

Severus nodded. "Likewise."

"Good night, Professor."

After she'd gone, Harry turned to Snape. His nervousness must have shown plainly on his face. Because all Snape did was tell him that tea was prepared and waiting by the fire.

"Sir?"

Snape looked amused. "Your grades were very good this term," he finally acknowledged.

"Really? I wasn't sure if it'd show, or maybe if you'd think I hadn't tried hard enough—"

"Potter." Harry closed his mouth. "You did your best. That is good enough."

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"However, just like Minerva intimated, there is one point that needs discussing."

Harry had a feeling he knew what it was, too. Out of all his classes, Transfiguration was the hardest one. For some reason, it was just harder being in a classroom with his former dorm mates, when it was McGonagall who was teaching.

"Your Transfiguration grades were abysmal at best."

"I'm sorry."

Snape waved his apology away. "Why?"

Harry bit his lip. "I can't concentrate. It's like, everything round me there is Gryffindor, and I keep remembering how they don't want me any more. I just can't focus. I do my homework, it's just that everything we do in class is never really anything good."

"Hmmm," Snape said. He didn't sound very surprised, Harry realised. But then, Snape had a knack of knowing stuff like that. "Minerva has made an excellent suggestion as to how we will raise your grade, Potter. I agree with her. I'm quite confident you will manage."

Harry was secretly thrilled that Snape believed in him, believed he could do something. "Really?"

"Have you ever considered becoming an Animagus, Potter?"

—x—

It felt strange. Really strange. But they needed somewhere else to be; the classroom, while certainly big enough, was hardly safe anymore. It'd become another of those open secrets that everyone at the school knew about. This had been Snape's idea, originally. Harry'd talked to Snape about it, about how some of the kids in Slytherin had overheard other students in the school talk about them. Only, their theories about what they got up to weren't nearly as innocent as the truth. The other students were all firmly convinced that the little study sessions and games nights were training sessions on how to become perfect little Death Eaters. It didn't really seem to matter to those students that not everyone who came to Harry's study nights were even all Slytherins any more. Yeah, most of them were but mixed in with all of the Slytherins, were the odd three or so Ravenclaws. First years, granted, but still not Slytherins.

So here they were, him and Malfoy, Parkinson and Nott. Harry'd wanted to go alone, but once Parkinson, somehow, got wind of what he was planning, well. Now there were four of them instead of just him. He was just glad Zabini wasn't there.

It was just… Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson all in one place without fighting or cursing? It felt bloody weird.

"This is unnerving," he heard someone mutter, but wasn't sure who. It wasn't just him, then.

A few minutes later, after they'd arrived at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Malfoy sneered, "Why are we in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Potter?"

Harry smiled. "Well, Malfoy, since you asked."

"Yes?"

Harry patted the sink he was leaning against. "This right here's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets." They all gaped at him, then quickly tried to look bored and unconcerned again. "Now, I've only been there once, and, um." Harry cleared his throat. He pushed the memories of that time as far away as he could. "But I was thinking that if Slytherin really built this thing into Hogwarts, then maybe he made another entrance that led into the dungeons, right? I mean, that's always been Slytherin territory, right? And I just can't picture him going to the bathroom every time he needed to feed his pet basilisk, you know?"

"And why would he do something so obvious?"

"I was just thinking that maybe he did it just because of that. 'Cause it was too obvious. Sometimes, the best hiding spot's in plain sight."

"You have a point," Parkinson admitted. She glanced quickly at her fellow Slytherins. "The basilisk is dead, right?"

"Sure hope so. It was stone dead, last I saw it." With that, Harry turned round.

The etching of the snake on the tap was exactly where he remembered it to be. With a low hiss, he opened the secret passageway.

The sink, the mirror, the wall. It all disappeared with a great rumble, leaving basically a large hole in the wall.

—x—

The basilisk was exactly where Harry had left it. He shuddered. It didn't even look like it'd rotted much, which even Harry noted as odd. They all were real careful to stay far away from it, though.

The Chamber of Secrets was huge. Really fucking huge. It took them the better part of that day to find another way out. Harry was just glad he'd remembered to pack something to eat with him. Not that he was feeling particularly hungry – that basilisk was enough to put anyone off food – but because they needed to keep their energy levels up.

"This would be a good place, if we can get rid of the basilisk."

"It's large." There were fireplaces along the walls, which would keep even this damp, cold cavern warm once they were properly stocked and kept burning. "If we place sofas and the workstations by the fires, there is still more than enough place for people to practice duelling, and such," Nott pointed out.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We'd just have to be careful not to be followed. Maybe have a password or something."

The corridor they were walking down was dark, cold and slippery. The only indication they had that it was actually leading somewhere were the snakes someone had carved into the walls, almost down by the floor. They were only on one side. Currently, they were glowing faintly blue.

When they finally reached the end, Harry found himself, along with the others, staring at a round circle carved on the wall. There was a three headed snake inside the circle, looking much more lifelike than a carved stone had any right to, Harry thought.

It was sleeping, all six eyes closed. Harry didn't like that the snake was guarding an egg.

"Um, hi?" Harry hissed.

The snake's eyes blinked. "You speaks," it told him, delighted.

"I do," Harry agreed. "Um, are you the way out?"

"Who asks?"

Harry blinked. The snake wasn't interested in his name, but, well. It wasn't like he actually was the Heir of Slytherin. "The ward of the Head of Slytherin," he said instead. That much, at least, was true.

The snake flickered its tongues. "You speaks true. Why do you seeks to pass?"

Harry wet his lip. "The Slytherins need sanctuary."

"We haves slept for a very long time," the snake hissed. Harry noticed it was only the head in the middle that talked. "Since the Master lefts us."

"A very long time," Harry agreed. "May we pass?"

The three heads regarded him again. Finally, the left and right heads nodded. "You mays," the head in the middle said. "Strokes my egg."

Bemused, Harry did as he was asked, then hurriedly stepped back as the wall rotated.

On the other side, Snape looked up. He was sitting behind his desk with a book propped up in front of him. Harry could see the surprise turn into shock, then transform into a kind of irritated bewilderment. Harry knew the exact moment Snape spotted him, because that was when Snape suddenly stood up, a single eyebrow raised.

Snape crooked a finger at him. "Come," he ordered, only uttering that one word.

It drew Harry over as if pulled by an invisible thread. "Oh," he said.

"Potter," Snape growled.

Harry hadn't really entertained the thought that the second entrance might lead straight into the Head of House's flat, sort of. A part of it, anyway. "Um. I found the other way?" Harry realised he was standing where the fireplace normally was. In Snape's office. Only, the fireplace had rotated as well and was now halfway inside the tunnel Harry had just come from.

"So I see," Snape murmured in that silky way that made you feel absolutely tiny and talk really fast at the same time.

"It was your idea," Harry suddenly felt necessary to point out. "D'you want to see it? There. Oh."

"What?"

Harry looked behind him, but he couldn't see his companions. Maybe they'd stepped back out of sight as soon as they could hear Snape's voice? "D'you know, there's a dead basilisk in there. Since my second year? It's hardly decayed or anything."

"A basilisk."

"Yeah. S'huge."

Snape stared at him, then at the hole behind Harry. Then Snape had his wand in hand and was locking his office for the day. Harry took that to mean he was coming with them.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Nott, Miss Parkinson," Snape called in a deceptively calm tone. He aimed his wand at the little blue snakes down by the floor. At first they merely pulsed, then they blazed with light and lit up the dark way much more clearly than they had before. "How curious to see you all here."

At first, they just stared at Snape, as if they didn't get how Snape could've seen them in the dark. Then Malfoy shrugged.

"Oh, you know how it is, sir."

"I'm not sure I do," Snape said shortly. The look he sent Harry told Harry the two of them would be having a long discussion later that day. "Well?"

"This way, sir," Harry said and went back inside the tunnel.

"Not so fast, Potter," Snape hissed in his ear. "You will close this door."

"I don't know how," he protested. "I only just got the snake to tell me how to open it in the first place!"

"Potter." Snape said his name once, and not even all that loudly.

"Yeah," Harry sighed.

The stone snake wasn't much more forthcoming now than it had been before. But eventually Harry found out that in order to close the door, such as it were, you had to tell the snake by the fire to close the doorway. Only, Harry couldn't recall ever seeing a snake there. Just as he slipped back out, he heard Snape call out for him.

"Potter!"

A moment later, and Snape was back in his office again. "Potter, what are you doing?"

"It said there was another snake out here that I had to tell to close the door. Hello?"

"Yes?" It was Snape, not the snake.

"Not you," Harry muttered, mostly to himself. "Hello," he said again, only this time picturing a snake in his mind. It took four more tries before he finally managed to slip into Parseltongue.

He thought he saw Snape shudder, but Harry ignored it.

From inside the fire, a tired voice answered. "Yes? Who speaks to Mas?"

"The ward of the Head of Slytherin," Harry explained again. "Could you please close the door after me?"

"Yes," the sleepy voice from behind the fire said again. "Mas wills close the door." Already, the stone was creaking as it turned.

Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the tunnel before Harry was caught on the wrong side of the doorway. "It's just like in Indiana Jones!" Harry exclaimed, smiling brightly. Derek had let him see it that summer, along with a few other films. Harry had liked them all.

"Yes," Snape said drily. "I trust there is not a faction of Nazis secreted away in here?"

Harry choked, then he laughed. "'Course not, sir. Just a big dead snake."

Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson were all a fair bit ahead of them by then.

"And how did you end up with this…motley crew?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. Parkinson knew what I was up to, somehow."

"You had not discussed it with anyone?"

Harry frowned as he thought. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his aching temple. His headaches came out of nowhere, and hurt like you wouldn't believe it. "Well, I might've mentioned it to Szmanda, but I'm not really sure. Besides, he was one of the Slytherins who told me it was time to, you know, find something new. And that's when I talked to you about it, sir."

"I see." Snape placed a hand on Harry's neck. He uttered one word, that Harry didn't catch, but he caught the effects the word cause just fine. It was as if Snape'd given him the best massage in the world. All his muscles just relaxed. Harry hadn't felt this completely free of being tense since, well. He didn't know since when.

"Wow," he sighed in bliss.

"Headache?" Snape asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Harry admitted.

"You have been suffering from several lately," Snape stated. Harry felt a little guilty that he hadn't told Snape immediately about them. Mostly, Snape figured it out himself after watching Harry rub his eyes or his temples. Right now, Harry thought Snape sounded a tiny bit worried about it.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's because I haven't been eating."

Snape looked sharply at him. Harry coloured. "Oh, no. I mean, I have been eating, honest! I have. That's why I don't think the headaches have anything to do with it. I mean, didn't you hear when Pomfrey said I'd put on almost a kilo?"

"Half a kilo," Snape corrected, "And, yes, I heard her." Harry smiled.

The setback after Malfoy'd told him about Zabini had been unavoidable. It'd taken Harry almost two weeks before he'd felt he could accept, yet again, that some people were just after his fame. And then to start eating properly again. It'd been harder than he'd thought, at first. But he'd done it. Was doing it, slowly but steadily.

"Have you read through the books we discussed with regard to raising your Transfiguration grade?"

"Yeah. Mostly, I just skimmed through them, but I think I got the message."

"You need to do more than simply skim the texts, Potter."

"If you expect me to read them, then I won't be done until my birthday. I underlined the important bits and read them more closely. Promise, sir."

Snape's eyes felt heavy on him. But Snape hadn't found him lacking, yet, so Harry took the moment to glow. Snape's praise was rarely as outspoken as his anger, but it was there all the same. It wasn't easy, but Harry was slowly learning what to look for. Most of the time, he even got it right these days.

"Have you written to Mr Weasley?" Snape asked after a few moments of silence.

Harry's heart sped up a little. "No," he admitted. "You really think I should?"

"It would give you closure, I would think. The ball is in your hands, Potter," Snape murmured. "As your…"

"Yes?" Harry's heart was pounding. As Snape's what?

Snape cleared his throat. "As your adviser, I am convinced it would lift a great weight from your shoulders."

Harry grimaced at Snape's use of the word 'adviser', his heart twisting almost painfully. He was sure his disappointment could be clearly seen on his face. If Snape didn't think he was more than an adviser, then clearly Harry was… He was a freak, wasn't he? For ever thinking Snape might be like a dad. A stupid bloody twat, an immature little brat. Clearly, he was just imagining things that weren't there.

"What is it?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Come on, the basilisk's just round the corner."

Snape wasn't anything like a dad at all, Harry told himself sternly. He ignored his stinging eyes and his pounding heart. He ignored the way he felt like he'd been kicked in the gut, and he refused to think about how sick he felt. Snape was his professor. Snape was just looking out for him because no one else wanted to at the moment. Snape was just doing what Dumbledore, most likely, had told him to do. He probably didn't like Harry at all, most likely he was just pretending to. Harry was just reading more into the situation than was really there. It wasn't Snape's fault Harry was mentally and emotionally unstable, after all.

"Potter—"

"It's right here." Harry wrenched his arm free from Snape's grip. He hurried his pace.

Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson were already in the large hall that was the Chamber of Secrets. They were standing by the large doors that led out. The doors had closed since Harry had opened them. Obviously, they didn't stay open forever, but closed automatically after a while.

The basilisk lay between the exit and himself. Snape, unfortunately, was right behind him. And Snape, unfortunately, had much longer legs than Harry.

"You will stay right here," Snape hissed in his ear, once again holding Harry's arm in a strong grip.

"You can't make me!"

"Oh, I can," Snape told him. "You will let Malfoy and his friends out of here, and then you will come right back here. Am I clear?"

"Yes, professor," Harry spat. He wrenched himself free, then stalked over to where Malfoy and the others were waiting by the door.

"Potter."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, then hissed, "Open," at the door. "Come on," he said shortly to the Slytherins, and walked out.

"What about Snape?" Parkinson wanted to know.

"I'm going back for him after I've let you out."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Harry could feel Malfoy watching him speculatively, but neither of them said a word about it. It wasn't until Harry had made the way back up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and was about to go back down again, that Malfoy spoke up.

"Theodore, Pansy, go back without me. I need a word with Potter." Seeing as the two of them had already been by the door, it didn't take all that long for them to leave.

"No, you don't," Harry told him, rather harshly.

"Yes, I do," Malfoy hissed at him.

"No—"

"You look as if someone killed your—"

"You just shut up!" Harry shouted. He whirled round and jumped back down the hole. "Close," he ordered it in Parseltongue. He got one last glimpse of Malfoy's furious face before the secret passageway closed itself again. Much to his disgust, Harry discovered his cheeks were wet when he landed at the end of the pipe he'd just slid down.

"Fucking wank," he muttered as he wiped his cheeks with hands that weren't nearly as steady as Harry wanted them to be. He was leaning sideways against the wall of the cave. His head was pounding again, as if Snape had never done that relaxation-thingy to his neck. Even his stomach was churning. But he wasn't going to be sick. Not this time. It was like, every fucking time he was upset these days, he was sick.

Yeah, he'd probably lose his appetite again, but just because he didn't feel like eating, that didn't mean he had to be sick, did it? Besides, if Snape didn't care, then it wouldn't matter if Harry stopped eating, right? Harry's breath hitched.

But Snape had looked so proud, hadn't he? When Harry finally managed go gain a little weight? When Harry managed to eat one bite more than he had yesterday? And hadn't he said that he was proud of Harry? That Harry'd done good? Been good?

It couldn't all have been lies, could it? Snape wasn't that cold, was he? Wasn't that heartless?

He wouldn't have said he cared, right, if he didn't mean it?

All the others did, Harry suddenly realised. All the others who he'd always thought were his friends, people he'd liked and respected and cared about… They wouldn't even look at him, now. Ginny had been sort of spying on him, hadn't she? And Ron and Hermione had broken off their friendship with him without ever telling him why. The only Weasley who'd actually still talked to him was Charlie, and Charlie wasn't someone Harry'd talked to before last summer, or since, for that matter. Dumbledore was still ignoring him. Fuck, his entire House was ignoring him. Worse, even, since they'd actually pushed him out entirely.

Sirius was dead. He hadn't heard from Lupin since last summer. Mr and Mrs Weasley had all but disappeared.

And hadn't he seen for himself how awful his Dad and his friends had been to Snape when they'd been kids? Maybe this was all some sort of evil plan to get even. Maybe Snape wanted to get back at James and Sirius and the others?

He didn't have anyone, did he? Harry realised he was suddenly utterly alone. He didn't have a family – his own relatives didn't want him – there was no one else. He was…alone. Even Snape—

Harry couldn't breathe.

There was a dark, calm voice in his ear, telling him to relax, to breathe. Harry realised with a sense of rising panic that he hadn't been breathing properly for quite some time. His lungs were burning and his vision was spotty. Snape was holding him, was talking to him.

Snape was stroking his hair.

—x—

When Harry woke up, he was lying on something black, but hard as rock. His head was resting on something warm, but rather soft if still firm. The world around him was a big blur.

"Harry," Snape said. Harry's glasses were gently placed on his face. "Are you well?"

Harry blinked once, twice. It was all back, now, the hurt in his heart and the gaping loss in his stomach. It wasn't exactly made better by Snape calling him by his given name or the way he was acting like he actually cared. "Hmmm," Snape said.

Harry turned on his side so he didn't have to look at Snape. "Did it feel good?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Did what, exactly?" Snape's voice sounded confused.

"Making me think you cared when you really just wanted to get even with m'Dad," Harry told Snape slowly. His voice was even, though his breath hitched a little at the end. Harry could feel Snape's thigh tense under his head.

"Harry—" Snape began, his tone awfully cold.

"Just shut up!" Harry snapped. He would've got up and stormed away, but his head was aching something awful. "Don't call me Harry as if—"

Snape placed a cool hand over Harry's brow, then tugged him over until Harry was lying flush on his back again. Snape didn't have his robe on, Harry noticed, realising that must be what was covering the ground under him. "Of course I care, you stupid boy," Snape told him slowly, voice exasperated. "What man wouldn't?"

"Lots, apparently!" Harry cried. "I wasn't good enough for the Weasleys, or Dumbledore. Lupin hasn't written even once, my relatives couldn't wait to chuck me off! Charlie didn't write, Zabini just wanted—"

Snape's hand gently closed Harry's mouth. Harry was so shocked he actually let the man do it. "Now, Potter, while that question was rhetoric, I do appreciate the answer. It does explain quite a lot."

"Oh." It did?

"You are a very precious boy." Snape's face looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. Expect for his eyes. His eyes were intent and focused just on Harry. Snape wasn't a very demonstrative man in that sense. But he'd said that he cared more than once, now, and it made Harry feel all warm inside to hear. Harry so much wanted to believe him. He just…

…he just wasn't sure if he was brave enough to do it.

"In my opinion, it's their loss, and my gain." Snape's gaze was thoughtful. He began stroking Harry's hair. "I understand that this past term has been difficult for you. You have demonstrated admirable strength, Potter, and courage to get through it."

Harry closed his eyes. He was feeling very warm now, and sleepy. It occurred to him for a moment that maybe he should be worried about how abruptly his mood had changed as of late. It seemed he went from one extreme, to the other.

"Now."

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you take such offence when I referred to myself as your adviser?"

"Derek's my psychologist," Harry stalled. "You're not."

"So what am I?" When Harry didn't answer, Snape sighed. "Don't bite your lip, Potter." At once, Harry realised he'd been worrying his bottom lip with his teeth while he thought about how to answer Snape's question. He didn't want to tell Snape, not really, because telling Snape would make it real.

Harry wasn't sure if he was ready for that. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted it to be real, either.

"I do believe, however, that you put too much weight into the way words are used. You can be entirely too literal, Potter."

"Are you telling me I should read between the lines more, sir?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. I'm sure you know some words are harder to express than others?"

Harry just smiled wryly. "Yeah, I guess I do know that."

"The basilisk can wait until tomorrow," Snape told Harry as he helped up on his feet. "I believe we have had enough excitement for one day."

—x—

"Have you made plans for Christmas, Potter?" Snape asked.

They'd just had dinner. Harry was even feeling comfortably full. Could be, of course, because Snape'd let him decide what to eat tonight. Mostly Snape just ordered up a variation of whatever they were having in the Great Hall when they ended up eating at his flat, but not this time. Harry'd taken the opportunity to order up chips and mushroom pie and a big salad that had practically every kind of vegetable he knew in it, and olives. It had been delicious.

Harry wasn't quite prepared for the question, so he just shrugged. "I normally stay here," Harry said. "Why? Are you going…away? I don't want to be alone—" Snape stared at him. Harry squirmed. "I mean, I don't… I mean, couldn't I come with you, maybe?"

"Perhaps," Snape continued, "it's time you told me about your relatives, Potter."

Harry blanched.

"Your Uncle and cousin are overweight, that much I have surmised."

"Derek knows," Harry protested. "Isn't that enough?"

"Probably," Snape surprised him by agreeing. "But I'm not him. I don't know. There was a cupboard, yes?"

Occlumency, Harry realised. Snape probably knew more than Harry wanted him to, already. "They…don't want me. I don't think they ever did. It was all I heard, growing up, how much they didn't want me there. How I was a freak. Aunt Petunia especially always hated that she had to raise me. So…so she made me their House elf. I basically did everything. They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven."

Snape was staring at him, his dark eyes cold. "I see," he murmured.

"What?"

"Petunia was…" Snape snorted. He shook his head.

"You know her?"

"Not by choice," Snape muttered. "I guarantee you."

"How?" Harry floundered. "Why?"

Snape looked away. His face was awfully tense, Harry noticed. "Snape?"

"I knew you mother."

"You went to school together," Harry filled in. "You called her—"

"Don't!" Harry snapped his mouth shut. "Do you realise, that was the worst your father ever hurt me?"

Harry just blinked, feeling utterly confused and lost. "I don't understand."

Snape ran a hand through his hair. It looked like he hadn't washed it for a while again. "I met Lily when I was a boy, Potter. Long before Hogwarts. She was my best friend, until your father took her from me."

"But—"

"My best friend, Potter. I was a Slytherin, no more pleasant than I am today. Your mother was the most brilliant, beautiful witch in the school. James Potter and his cronies couldn't stand the thought of Lily choosing my company over theirs." Snape was looking at him now. He looked tired, Harry noted. His eyes were dark and…sad, almost. "I was poor, ugly and a greasy Slytherin—"

"You're not!" Harry protested. It was suddenly very important to tell Snape that Harry didn't think he was. "You're—"

"Potter."

"Well, you're not," Harry protested one last time, only a lot more quietly and defiantly. Snape rolled his eyes.

"In our fifth year, your father decided that he wanted to have your mother. Whether he was truly in love with her yet, or just wanted to brag that he'd her, I don't know. What I do know is that, in their eyes, I was more in the way than I had been before. To them, it was my fault that your mother couldn't stand the sight of your father. The scene you witnessed in my pensive was hardly a lone occurrence."

Harry looked down at his hands. "I think you're brilliant, too, sir," Harry whispered.

Snape let out a loud exasperated sigh. "Did you listen to a word I was just saying?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry sullenly agreed. "Honest. Dad was a pillock until seventh year, Lupin and Sirius told me that. You and Mum were friends until she…" Harry felt suddenly cold inside. "She chose Dad over you, didn't she?"

"Essentially," Snape said shortly. "Your father wasted no time telling me as much."

"And then you became Death Eater."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not quite as simple as that, perhaps." Snape narrowed his eyes, then he smirked. "It suddenly occurred to me…"

Harry had a bad feeling about this. A Very Bad Feeling. "What?" He almost didn't dare ask.

The smirk curling Snape's lips turned decidedly evil. Harry shuddered. "I changed your nappies, Potter," he said darkly.

For some unknown reason, Harry flushed bright red. "Snape!" he squeaked.

"Oh, I did. Several times, now that I think about it. You were always overjoyed about it, too. As I recall, once you started walking, one of your greatest pastimes was removing your clothes entirely and then run away to hide behind the curtains. Or wherever else your miniature mind believed we could not possibly find you." Snape chuckled. "I wonder if there are pictures—"

"You wanted to know about me and Malfoy, right?" Harry blurted out, almost desperate in his need to change the subject. Snape knowing those things about him, the potential of more blackmail-worthy evidence lying about, half-forgotten in one of Snape's drawers? Oh, no, Harry so didn't want to know.

The glint in Snape's eyes told Harry that he was see-through, but Snape let it pass. "I did, yes."

So Harry told him. "—that's why I asked, remember, that time? If he could be trusted. And, you know, I reckon it's really Malfoy who's behind it, all the study sessions and stuff. Or at least supporting it, somehow."

"You might be right," Snape conceded. "Don't for a minute think he is trustworthy, Potter. Malfoys play games. Casualties are part of those games. Likely, it is more profitable for him at the moment to side with you."

—x—

It wasn't until much later, when he was on the brink of sleep as he lay in bed, that Harry realised he hadn't thought to ask why Snape had changed his nappies, as it were. If Snape and his Mum stopped being friends, then why had Snape even been there? And, he realised, he did want to know more about when he was little. If just to, you know, know that he'd been happy, once, when he was little.

Not just alone, unwanted and hurt. But someone's precious baby.