Severus Snape was not a pleasant man on the best of days, but especially not after a goblin deal, bank robbery, and chaotic game of hide-and-go-apparate. Potter, the bundle of unplanned action that he sometimes was, had fled the restaurant in search of Sirius Black. He'd first gone to Diagon Alley, but upon realising that Azkaban was not easily accessible for visitors (especially eleven year old students), he'd gone to the Muggle entrance of the Ministry of Magic, and then finally to Grimmauld Place. Snape had followed along crossly, thanks to a tracking spell he'd cast on the boy's glasses when he'd passed out touching the diadem, and finally nabbed Potter in front of Grimmauld's.

"Have you lost your mind?" Snape growled, holding tightly to the white tipped collar of Potter's uniform shirt.

"I need to figure out a way to break Sirius out of Azkaban," Potter said, struggling against Snape's hold.

"That's not going to happen tonight, Potter," Snape answered, his grip strong.

"I have to," Potter insisted, turning to glare at Snape. "We've been back for two weeks, and I've just left him there."

"Another day won't do any harm, in theory," Snape dryly pointed out. "A rescue mission from you will blow our entire cover."

Huffing, Harry turned and glared at the gate between Number 11 and Number 13. He looked rather constipated as he concentrated on it, and Snape leaned over after a moment to speak.

"Now that you've proven neither of us are on the wards, we will be returning to Hogwarts."

"No, I'm going to get him out tonight," Potter argued, trying to pull away from Snape. There was a jogger passing them by on the street, but was too absorbed in his music player to pay much mind to either Snape or Harry.

"Potter!" Snape growled, pulling him close. "Think ahead! Black will be extremely suspicious and boisterous if you release him now, and that will not help us retrieve the horcrux here."

Before Harry could form a response to that, Snape had apparated them right to the gate's edge of Hogwarts. They'd taken a step onto Hogwarts grounds before Harry could apparate himself away, and the gate closed.

"You don't want me to rescue him," Potter accused, his stride small as he stormed ahead of Snape. "You want him to stay in Azkaban."

"Even though you and your little friends uncovered Pettigrew as the murderer of the Muggles, there is still the case of attempted murder that Black is guilty of," Snape nastily replied. He stuck his arm out and pointed at a smaller and darker stairwell to the side of the grand staircase hallway. "Go to the dungeons."

"For what? When you were sixteen? Blimey Snape, people change as they get older," Harry replied, heading for the dungeons without thinking to disobey. Snape's icy voice followed him down the stairs.

"You know as well as I that he hasn't," Snape snapped. He was stalking behind Harry, his long swirling robes mostly blocking Harry from anyone who happened to glance down the halls.

...

The goblet sat before them on the coffee table, its dull sheen glowing warm from the fire. Snape had placed it there, and once again only felt touches of dark magic, nothing more. Potter had flopped onto the chesterfield he normally sat on, still angry, though he had quickly grasped the knit blanket to wrap around himself and settle in.

"So I write him letters, introduce myself, see if it'll get him to respond, and then we'll break him out," Potter was saying, scribbling furiously into a notebook. Snape had finished taking measurements of the horcrux moments before, and was sketching it into his own workbook.

"I agreed to nothing of the sort," Snape said.

"So you'll just let him rot in gaol, for a prank he played against you?" Potter said, getting properly riled up the way that Snape remembered from teaching the boy occlumency lessons. "That's a bit immature, isn't it?"

"I don't call attempted murder a prank, Mr Potter," Snape said, glaring at him. The room was warm again, and Snape was sitting in his favourite chair, using the footstool as a small desk for his only two books that mentioned horcruxes.

"I don't think he actively set out to kill you," Potter scoffed, much like the way any teenager did when searching for an excuse for their stupid behaviour.

"What other reason could anyone have for sending a classmate to face a fully transformed werewolf?" Snape asked, his tone blunt and hard.

"I don't know," Potter sighed. It sounded queer to Snape, the sigh of a worn man emitted from a tiny eleven year old.  "I wouldn't have done it, not even to Malfoy."

"Oh, how interesting," Snape commented smugly. "Werewolves are far too violent, but unknown curses marked solely for enemies are acceptable. What intriguing insight into the morals of the Boy Who Lived."

Chastised, Potter's cheeks burned as he stared at Snape's dark eyes. Neither looked away from the other, but Potter spoke first.

"I never meant to kill him," Potter said, unblinking. "I only wanted to stop him from casting the cruciatus curse."

Snape paused his quill and stared at the small boy sitting on his chesterfield. Potter's hair was a wild mess, and his eyes were bright and darting around as they tried to interpret Snape's expression.

"I will only say this once," Snape quietly said. "Always ensure that the defense, or revenge, that you choose does not become your own downfall."

Potter's mouth closed abruptly as he took in the advice, and Snape changed the topic of conversation before Potter could ask about his own personal experience with that life lesson.

"Watch what you write in that letter. No one must know about the time travel, and that includes Black," Snape gravely said.

"We can trust him," Potter insisted, firing back up. A house elf knocked through the Floo and passed through a tray, filled with hot chocolate and pie from the kitchens. "Sirius won't ever tell."

"He most certainly will," Snape scoffed, leaning forward to grab a mug. "He didn't give a single thought to exposing his friend and schoolmate as a werewolf."

Outrage sparked on Potter face, and he pushed himself up to as tall a sitting position as he got. His hot chocolate was steaming in front of him, but he ignored it.

"You didn't either! You outed Remus at the end of third year!"

"Yes," Snape said, his eyes sparkling vengefully. "After endangering yourselves and the entire student population by forgetting his potion. My promise was broken the moment he neglected that."

Potter glared at him dubiously.

"So you ruined Remus' career because he forgot to take his Wolfsbane, not because you're a vengeful arse."

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape smugly said, stirring his drink. "I warned you about the language."

...

Harry shook his head and picked up his notebook, turning over to a fresh page. In all likelihood, Snape and Sirius would never get along. They didn't in their regular time, and Harry knew they wouldn't in this time period either. To be fair though, Harry couldn't think of a situation where he'd ever want to work closely with Malfoy. They'd had a few moments, when Malfoy had lied to his parents at the Manor, and when Harry had pulled him out of the burning Room of Requirement. But they'd never get past a nod on the street, Harry didn't think.

Perhaps if he were lucky though, Snape would be able to hold back on hexing Sirius, having the future knowledge of what was to come in the war.

"Can I send mail to Azkaban?" Harry asked, unsure of what to write.

Snape picked up the goblet and squinted at it, trying to read the tiny inscription on the handle.

"Likely not."

Harry ignored him, crossing out a sentence he'd already written. What exactly was he to write to Sirius? In his old timeline, he hadn't a clue about Sirius until he was in third year. He didn't have an excuse for knowing Sirius was his godfather, and he technically was supposed to think what everyone else did; that Sirius Black betrayed the Potters and killed Peter Pettigrew. His page remained mostly blank, with Harry glaring at it in frustration. He couldn't very well write ‘Dear Mr Black, I've heard you were my godfather, and that you've also killed thirteen people and sent my parents to their deaths. Is it true?'

"I wish to see the horcrux memories," Snape said, tapping his quill nib against his own notebook and breaking Harry's thoughts.

"I don't know what this one has, Ron and Hermione were the ones to destroy it," Harry said, staring at the goblet. He was rubbing his forearms, his hands jammed up his sleeves, as he looked at it. The notebook lay on his lap, more crossed out lines than not.

"Nonetheless," Snape continued, nodding toward it. "I believe it will be useful to see."

"Why do you trust me so much all of a sudden?" Harry asked, his voice soft.

Snape dropped the quill and turned slightly toward the fire, the flames flickering yellow in his black eyes.

"The moment you walked into the Shack, after the Dark Lord left," Snape replied, his bland tone masking any emotion. "I knew you were a man of your word, like I."

Harry sat back against the couch, the hot chocolate warming his tiny hands as his body relaxed. In all of his school years, even receiving praise for conjuring a patronus didn't match to the pride he felt from Snape's words.

"Just to warn you, it might knock me out again," Harry said, recapturing Snape's attention. He held out his hand and waited for Snape to grasp it.

"You're small enough to not do much damage," Snape answered, gripping Harry's arm firmly.

The sickening feeling was even worse this time, and Harry felt his dinner from earlier churning in his stomach. Images flashed through his mind, Hepzibah Smith in her home, surrounded by a cluttered trove of long forgotten collectables, an elderly house elf, and the impeccably dressed Tom Riddle. A violent wrenching sound tore through Harry's mind, and he suddenly saw black clouds of the horcrux pulling forth out of the dead woman's mouth. The clouds swirled around Tom Riddle, trying to suffocate him, before he forced it - shrieking - into the cup. Harry heard Riddle's triumphant laughter again, and he fought to drop the horcrux.

Harry sat back, letting the cup clang to the hard stone floor.  He shivered on the chesterfield, his younger body unable to keep itself warm, or rid itself of the evil feeling from the pit of his stomach. Snape was writing furiously in his notebook, his own hand shaking as he scrambled to write down everything they'd seen.

"Going to fall?" Snape asked, writing another sentence.

"No, I'm sitting," Harry said slowly. "I feel really dirty." He shook his head, to clear the images from his mind, but his ears were slightly fuzzy and it felt weird.

Deciding he'd had enough, and to return to the tower dormitory to take a shower, Harry stood up slightly too fast. The blood rushed to his head and his knees started to give out as he tried to stand.

Snape's hands were suddenly on him, and Harry felt himself being pulled back to his feet.

"'m fine," Harry said, trying to shake off Snape's grip. A strong shiver went through him as Snape half-steered, half-carried him toward the red army cot behind the chesterfield.

"Was that worse or easier than the diadem?" Snape asked, pulling Harry's glasses off. His thumbs held Harry's eyelids down, as he checked Harry's pupils.

"Worse," Harry said, trying to get rid of the mental image of the horcrux being formed. "Did you see? Her body?"

Snape nodded and handed the spectacles back. He held up Harry's arm, pressing two clammy-cold fingers to the inside of Harry's wrist. He was checking his watch on his other arm, and it took a few seconds for Harry to figure out that Snape was taking his pulse.

"The bed's still here," Harry said, looking down at it. It was very comfortable the last time he'd slept on it, and Snape's flat was very quiet and peaceful.

"Yes," Snape said, dropping Harry's arm.  He seemed satisfied with the results of his medical check, and sat back onto the stool that was still near Harry's cot. He held up his wand, and a pair of children's pyjamas flew toward them from the direction of a small linen cupboard.

"Why does it affect me so much?" Harry yawned, reaching for a blanket to wrap himself in. He blinked dumbly as Snape tugged the blanket away and handed him the pyjamas.

"I suspect it feeds off the horcrux residing within you," Snape said, watching Harry untie his shoes. "Which is why it leaves you exhausted and dim-witted."

"I'm not dim-witted," Harry growled, though his speed at getting his shoes off negated the statement.

"Stand up, arms out," Snape said, motioning up with his wand. Harry just managed to get his arms up when Snape did the spell to switch his clothes. It was an odd feeling, and the pyjamas were a bit cool against his already chilled skin.

"Of course you aren't," Snape retorted. "Do you want the potion from last time?"

Harry flopped back onto the cot and shoved his feet under all the blankets.

"No, I'll just take a quick kip," Harry said, falling back onto the pillow. He'd already closed his eyes before he remembered his glasses. Hoping they'd hit the throw rug and not the stone floor, he took them off and blindly let go. Harry didn't hear the glasses land, but he did feel the weight of another blanket dropped on him.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was mentally picturing himself crushing the horcrux while riding on the back of the Basilisk.

....

Curious, Snape took the goblet with him as he headed into his private lab. The wards on his flat would confirm if Potter woke up any time soon, but Snape was quite certain the boy would sleep for at least two hours.

The diadem, which they'd found now two weeks earlier and had yet to destroy, was encased in a solid lead box, on the lower shelf of Snape's bookcase.  It had remained there without incident, until Snape approached with the goblet.  It wasn't quite like a magnetic attraction, but Snape could feel a pull from the goblet toward the diadem.  Potter had never mentioned any such possibility, but then again, he'd also never said that he'd been in possession of more than one horcrux at a time.

Securing the goblet in a similar container, but stashing it in an empty storage cupboard at the end of the hall, Snape returned to the living room. Nothing could be done about the horcruxes until their daggers were ready, and that would be in another two weeks.  Snape just had to make certain that Quirrell wouldn't be able to reach the Philosopher's Stone in that time, a task that wasn't quite as easy as it seemed.  There was no telling just how much their arrival back in time had changed, and Snape didn't want to take the chance that Quirrell would be successful in his quest.

He sat back down in his favourite chair, lifting his feet up to rest them on the ottoman. Then again, if they managed to stop Quirrell, there was still the small matter of the horcrux left in Potter's scar, and where the non-entity of the Dark Lord would disappear to once his host body was destroyed.

Snape sat back in his chair and rolled his shoulders, working out the knotted tension. He was far too old and tired for war games. Spotting Potter's notebook on the coffee table, Snape summoned it wordlessly.

The letter was on the topmost page, and Snape read it quickly as Potter murmured in his sleep behind the chesterfield.

"Dear Mr Black,

I've been told that you're my godfather, and that you were best friends with my Dad when you were growing up. If that's true, why did you betray my parents? Why did you tell Voldemort where to find us? And how could you kill all those Muggles?

Some of the stories told now seem so wild that they can't be true. What really happened?

Sincerely,

H. Potter."

Snape smirked and glanced toward the chesterfield, where Potter was hidden.  The letter was rather brilliantly written - open and accusing enough to spark an outraged response from Black, and just doubtful enough that Black would think he had a chance to convince Potter that he was innocent. Snape was impressed.  He carefully removed the page from the notebook, closing the book and tossing it back toward the coffee table. He'd send the boy back up to the tower toward midnight, but for now wanted to unwind. The letter was folded, and placed into Snape's pocket as he relaxed back into his chair with a book for distraction.

...

Azkaban was on a miserable little rock of an island in the North Sea. It was impossible to fly to on a broom, there were anti-apparition wards surrounding it, and the only was to get there safely was by Ministry-sanctioned portkey. Visitors were welcomed, if they could get there. While Snape had never fully enjoyed it, one of the most useful skills he'd learned as a Death Eater was how to fly. Considered a circus trick by the other Death Eaters, Snape had been the only one to perfect it beyond mere levitation. When he arrived at Azkaban though, robes sodden and hair messed due to wind, he was not in the friendliest of moods.

Nonetheless, one of the junior aurors on shift led him to a little used meeting room. It had a cage across the back end with a bench inside, and three plush chairs around the visitor's side. The cage door was open, as if Black would be brought in through the regular door first. When he was, he was dirty, half deranged, and cursing his guards. Snape couldn't help smiling.

"Snivellus Snape," Black said, laughing to himself as he stepped into the room. He sounded remarkably like his demented cousin, Bellatrix.

"Black," Snape replied, staying near the back of the room in anticipation of sudden movement.

"Come to taunt me, have you?" Black asked, still smirking as he was led to the cage.

There was a sudden howl as Black broke out of the grasp of the younger auror, charging at Snape with an impressive speed for someone who'd spent ten years in a prison cell.

Snape had experienced a bit more of life in that time period though, and was no longer a lanky boy that flinched from his father or bullies. He side-stepped quickly enough that Black's flying fist sailed harmlessly through the air, and brought his elbow up in time to connect with Black's nose. The man went down with a groan, and Snape watched passively as Black was dragged to the cell and locked in.

"Ten years, and you've almost gone feral," Snape replied, sounding almost bored. For the entire flight to Azkaban Snape had reviewed what he could remember of the incident in the Shrieking Shack, when he'd let his hatred of Black blindside him.

"What do you want?" Black breathed heavily.

"Perhaps a favour," Snape suggested, watching with amusement as Black's face contorted.

"A favour? I'd rather see you rot in here with me for the rest of our lives," Black said, enjoying the idea of power over Snape.

"Be careful Black, your fleas are showing," Snape softly said, his voice low and his eyes burning. "You forget that in order to betray the Potters, the secret keeper showed his face amongst some of the Death Eaters."

"And you'd know, wouldn't you?" Black jeered, gripping the bars of the cell. He had blood running out of his nose, and occasionally spit some of it to the floor. "Voldemort's right hand man, probably laughed the entire time he was telling you where they were."

"Laughed? Haven't you ever wondered how the Potters had been given warning that he was coming? How Dumbledore had known?"  Snape asked, smiling in a malicious and triumphant way.

Black stared at him openly for a minute, processing what Snape had said, before his face twisted up again in disgust.

"You ruddy turncoat," Black sneered, spittle passing through the bars. "I don't care what Dumbledore says, you're a sneak, a thief, and a murderer."

"Yes, well, the opinion of a man serving time for murder concerns me so much," Snape immediately replied.

This comment seemed to enrage Black again, and for a second, Snape wondered if he'd ever known before seeing that newspaper in Potter's third year that he'd not successfully killed Pettigrew.

"He betrayed my friends. He deserved to die," Black growled, with absolute conviction. It was clear that he had zero regrets for his vengeance.

"Justice that only you could provide?" Snape asked, as if talking to a particularly dumb student.

"I couldn't leave him to the aurors," Black snapped, not letting Snape finish. "Everyone thought I was the secret keeper, only I knew it was Pettigrew!"

"That's what veritaserum is for, you half-wit," Snape sneered, leaning closer. "But no, brave Sirius Black went out to the Muggle world to seek his own justice, with nary a thought for Potter."

"I avenged my friends, James and Lily," Black gritted, pulling himself to height. "Which is more than you'll ever do."

"I beg to differ," Snape scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "I am referring to Harry Potter, your famous godson."

Black stepped back slightly in surprise, before furrowing his brow and studying Snape suspiciously.

"What do you care about Lily's son?"

"I don't," Snape irritably replied. "But I have to teach the little cretin, and somehow he learned of you."

"He's not a cretin!" Black immediately denied, pointing a filthy finger at Snape.

"Oh how would you know?" Snape huffed, withdrawing Potter's letter from his pocket. "You took off in search of revenge for two people who were already dead, leaving the boy with his Muggle relatives."

"No," Black shook his head, pacing in his cell. "I tried to take him, but Hagrid said he was to go to them. Dumbledore's orders. I wanted him to go to Remus or I."

Black's hazel eyes were strong, bright, and slightly crazed as they focused on Snape again.

"I'm certain that even after your past decade as a guest at Azkaban, you have not forgotten that Lupin is a werewolf," Snape icily said.

Black gave him a malicious smile, and Snape decided to cut his visit short. He would have been happy to leave the mongrel at Azkaban, but he knew Potter would never abandon his godfather.

Stepping up to the bars of the cage, Snape unfolded the letter Potter had written.  He dropped it, along with a spare sheet of paper and a standard student's pencil, on the floor in front of the cage.

"Read the letter. You have twenty minutes to respond to it."

When Snape collected the response, he wiped the grime from the room off his robes and looked down at Black. Black was more subdued, and appeared to be plotting something. An improvement, and more useful for his own escape than his enraged idiocy at the beginning of the visit.

"Pity you've never had sufficient motivation to leave," Snape said, planting a seed. "I've heard even a dog can find it's own way home."

Snape walked toward the door, signalling to the auror in the viewing window that he was done.

"Have you?" Black asked, and Snape could hear the determination in his response.

...

Snape had never bothered to purchase his own owl, as he'd never had enough friends to correspond with. For potions he could order in person, by Floo, or by school owl, and the only people who sent him a Christmas gift lived at Hogwarts as well. Therefore, when the small school barn owl fluttered into the Great Hall and flew toward Potter, Snape knew for certain that not even Potter would suspect it was from him.  Snape calmly returned to buttering his dinner roll, only half listening to Flitwick as the small professor talked about changes to head of house duties. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Potter opened Black's response, smiling brightly as he read it. Both Granger and Weasley were curious about it, but Snape had made sure to charm the letter illegible to anyone else.

As much as he hated Black, he knew that Potter idolized his godfather. Sirius Black would be good motivation for Potter to help Snape finish off the horcruxes, but Snape was only concerned that Potter would attach himself too fast to this Black and history - or the future, in their case - would repeat itself. When Potter had first gone through his years at Hogwarts, Snape's concern for the boy's welfare had been put to the side, more so because Snape was busy walking his own tight line. But as tired as he was now, having to go through the years again just the two of them, Snape could conclude in his own mind that Potter had suffered enough too.

Deciding to leave dinner early, Snape left the table quietly and headed for the empty library. He was covertly browsing for books regarding time travel, a subject of which he'd never had much particular interest in before, when Dumbledore approached silently.

"If you need extra time to prepare your examinations, I'm afraid I cannot move the due date," Dumbledore said, his smile kind.

"When have I ever been remiss in submitting examinations on time?" Snape countered, opening the book to see if the table of contents revealed anything useful.

"Not once in ten years," Dumbledore immediately responded. Snape waited quietly for the real topic of conversation to present itself. "Care for coffee?"

...

The headmaster's office was mostly quiet in the evening, when Fawkes was out on his hunt. There were stacks of books on the desk, most written in languages Snape recognized only in passing. A penseive shimmered in a closed glass cabinet by the west window, and Snape noted a stack of Daily Prophet crosswords in the centre of the desk, which were gaily rearranging themselves.

"Have you uncovered anything regarding Quirrell?" Dumbledore asked, cutting quickly to the point.

"Nothing concrete," Snape answered, standing by the bookcase and inspecting the headmaster's collection. "I am certain he is after the Stone though, and I believe he is quizzing the staff on their enchantments."

"I see," Dumbledore said, striking his beard. "Keep further watch then. We need only keep the Stone here until August, when Nicolas returns for it."

"I shall assume then," Snape lightly said, checking a book on common Muggle poisons, "that you have employed proper security measures, and not just a simple obstacle course?"

"You may assume," Dumbledore answered, sounding amused. "I do have another concern I would like you to look into, regarding Harry Potter."

"I believe you're slightly mistaken," Snape sarcastically said. "Mr Potter, thankfully, is not a member of my house."

"Severus," Dumbledore warned. "The Easter holidays are almost upon us, and young Mr Malfoy has gleefully been reminding Harry that his parents are no longer alive. Such pernicious callousness can leave quite an emotional impact."

"Mr Malfoy is an eleven year old boy with an overinflated ego and a large arrogant streak," Snape dismissively said. "That being said, no, I have not noticed, nor paid any attention to, any signs of depression from Potter."

"Hmm," Dumbledore nodded, mostly to himself.

"He does have Petunia's family, does he not?" Snape asked, baiting. He knew perfectly well what a putrid waste of space Petunia had been as a child, but didn't know much about the large uncle and fat boy. After teaching Potter legilimency though, he had his suspicions.

"His family has other obligations this holiday, I believe," Dumbledore vaguely answered, in the tone he used when he was embarrassed and wrong.

"The rumours are true then," Snape stated, crossing his arms slowly. "The family hates him and the boy slept in a cupboard for eleven years."

"Ten," Dumbledore sighed. "I left him on the doorstop when he was fifteen months old."

"I believe in the Muggle world that would be considered child abuse," Snape blandly said, though he knew that Dumbledore was aware of his displeasure.

"I did not say it was my best idea, but it did keep him safe," Dumbledore conceded. "I am happy to hear though that you care about Harry, now that you've met..."

"Care?" Snape raised his eyebrow. "I don't believe you've forgotten I made a promise to protect that boy at all costs. You'll forgive me if finding out he was raised by a family who considered him to be unwanted rubbish irritates me."

Dumbledore said nothing, and Snape pushed a tiny bit more.

"And you knew."

"I cannot change what has been done," Dumbledore quietly said, "and I request that you do not either." He nodded at the books in Snape's arms, some of which were regarding time travel.

"Harry is safe, and he is now at Hogwarts, which he considers home. It is the best I could hope for."

Snape wondered for a moment if Dumbledore knew what monsters lurked below the castle floors.

"In that case," Snape conceded, knowing when to quit, "I will watch the boy."

...

Harry had forgotten how meticulously organized Hermione was when it came to final exams. For an entire two weeks after his visit to Gringotts, she did nothing but remind them of how close the exams were. Ron, who had never really worried about exams until the week arrived, kept looking for excuses to play chess, or monitor Quirrell and Snape. Harry found himself worrying over his notes though, as it had been a long time since he'd taken exams, and while he'd learned a lot of magic since then, he had to be careful to only mention first year spells and theory when he wrote. To escape the monotony of the rainy evening, Harry suggested they go visit Hagrid.

The hut was just as comfortable as Harry remembered, with fur lined rugs covering the large wooden floor, a merry fire spitting in the hearth, and Fang lying half out of his bed in the corner, drooling in his sleep. The room was unusually hot though, and Hagrid seemed to be cooking something over the fire. Harry stared at the pot, puzzled, before he noted the library books half hidden by a holey blanket on Hagrid's bed.

Hagrid wasn't cooking. Hagrid had gotten his dragon.

A heavy feeling settled in Harry's stomach as he remembered the fiasco of Norbert's escape the first time. As the tea was served at the table, some of it sloshing over the cups, Harry pointed at the cauldron.

"Hagrid, what's that?" Harry weakly asked.

"Oh that there," Hagrid said, stroking his beard. "That's a little gift I got from a friend down the pub."

Both Ron and Hermione pushed up from their chairs to peer into the pot, and Harry watched as Hagrid nervously smiled.

"That's a dragon egg!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Where did you get that?"

"A dragon egg?" Hermione repeated, half excited and half anxious. "Aren't those illegal?"

"Well, I won it, see," Hagrid proudly said. "Fair ‘n square."

Harry half listened as Hagrid told the story of how he won the dragon's egg in a vicious round of cards down at The Hog's Head. Harry knew it was Quirrell who'd given up the egg, but it was quite clear that Hagrid had been telling the truth the first time it had happened; he'd been so excited to get the egg, that he didn't pay much attention to who was giving it to him.

Harry bit back a grin as he remembered how baby Norbert was so intent on ripping up the teddy bears, setting fire to Hagrid's beard, and Ron having to spend a week in the infirmary, from its bite.  Harry blinked owlishly as Hermione peered over the cauldron at the black egg. Ron's infection had lasted an entire week from the dragon's poisonous bite. What if the poison could be used for something else?

Filling their pockets with some rock hard oatcakes that Hagrid had made, the three left his hut ten minutes later, promising not to tell about the dragon's egg. It wasn't too late yet, so instead of going to bed, Ron and Hermione squished into a big cushioned bench by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, while Harry sat in one of the leather chairs. Hermione was talking of reviewing further for exams, Ron was playing with the Dumbledore chocolate frog card, and Harry had pulled out his communication journal. His fingers played with the edges of the rough note he'd read several times and folded safely between the sheets of the journal. Sirius' note, and while Sirius hadn't written anything else, he'd told Harry that he'd figure out a way to prove his innocence.

"Are you sure this is the right Nicolas Flamel?" Ron asked for the fourth time in a week. "He's like, six-hundred years old."

"Thanks to the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione whispered, slipping into lecture mode. Harry shook his head, before writing in his book.

"Snape? Are you there?"

The journal remained cold as Harry listened to his friends debate over the Philosopher's Stone. They'd ‘discovered' Flamel's name on the wizard card shortly after Harry had returned from his trip to the Chamber with Snape, and now were wondering what exactly was protecting the Stone.

"Harry?" Ron said, his voice disrupting Harry's wandering thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"What's in that book there? You're always writing in it, but it's not for class."

"No," Harry said, clutching the book tightly. He knew no one else could read it, but he still protected it. And he'd known that they would ask one day, so had made up a story to tell.

"Remember how Professor Dumbledore asked me not to search for the Mirror of Erised again?" Harry asked, looking between his friends. Hermione's face softened, and Harry looked away.

"Instead of looking for my parents, I write in this," Harry lied. The notebook warmed in his hands, a sign that Snape had responded, but Harry kept it closed. He was surprised at how strong the pull was to read Snape's message.

Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say; they instead just stared at the fire. Harry, feeling guilty, opened the journal.

"Stupid question, Potter. I must be here in order to read your message and respond."

Harry bit back a smile.  

"Do you think dragon venom, or dragon fire, would destroy them?"

"Who do you think gave Hagrid the, you know?" Hermione urgently whispered.

"Someone who doesn't like him that much," Ron scoffed. "If he gets caught with one of those, he'll face huge fines."

"What is your fascination with deadly creatures?"

"Seems to be the best path to destruction," Harry immediately wrote back.  He closed the journal again, and added to the conversation about the dragon.

"We know Hagrid won't want to give it up, and he can't keep it here," Harry started. "It won't take Dumbledore long to realise there's a dragon at Hogwarts."

"I don't think it would take anyone long to realise that," Ron said. Harry felt the journal grow warm as Snape replied something, but he left it shut.

"What about Charlie?" Harry asked. Ron gave him a very confused look.

"How would Charlie know about it?"

"I think he means could Charlie take the dragon," Hermione clarified, rolling her eyes.

Ron looked excited about that idea, and Harry was reminded of how much Ron idolized his older brothers, even though he outwardly complained about having to live up to their accomplishments.

"Yeah, I reckon he could," Ron replied. "He's always talking about how they take in dragons at the reserve, ones that lived too close to Muggles."

The journal in Harry's hand was rather hot now, and he wondered how much Snape had written.

"We'll write him then," Harry said, with determination. "And then when the dragon is born, convince Hagrid to give it up."

"Good luck with that, Harry," Hermione doubtfully said.

"Gives us something to do while we wait to see if Quirrell holds up to Snape's interrogations," Ron said, scratching a note to his brother.

Harry had started to read the message from Snape, when he looked up at Ron.

"We don't know if it's him or not though."

"Harry," Ron said, his voice over exaggerating. "Snape's evil. It's got to be him."

Harry shook his head and read the reply.

"It's also the easiest way to trace someone. Even if it did work, dragons are rather hard to find by design, Potter. We are not breaking into Gringotts again."

When Harry hadn't answered, Snape had continued with his thoughts.

"Potter. Why were you thinking of dragon fire? If I recall correctly, you faced a dragon in your fourth year, not first."

There seemed to be a large inkblot after this, and then Harry's name, written strongly into the page.

"Who has the dragon, Potter?"

Harry smiled to himself. He regretted now that the last time they went through the war, how they'd ended up pitted against each other. Harry was sure that Snape had mostly chosen that route, to keep his position as a spy.  Working with the man, which Harry could appreciate now that he was older, was much more fun.

"Technically it hasn't hatched yet."

...

Snape nodded his head politely at the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, as he waited for the door to open. He'd never understood wizards and witches who treated less-sentient creatures, like gargoyles, as rubbish. Gargoyles were imbued with strong protective magic, and Snape had always been of the thought that it was best to keep on friendly terms with those who served to protect.

A lesson Potter could do in learning, he snidely thought. But that wasn't quite true either, as it was painfully obvious that Potter was as protective of his friends as they were of him. Now that Potter knew of Snape's loyalty to his mother and promise to protect the boy, Potter had even shown him care. Snape had been extremely surprised to see Potter's face as he'd lain dying in the Shrieking Shack, and only slightly less so again in the Forbidden Forest when they'd woken up. When Potter had again rushed to help him in the Chamber of Secrets, Snape had thought to himself that Potter might actually be worth trusting.

"Good evening, Severus," Headmaster Dumbledore said, sitting at his desk. Fawkes was preening himself on the stand, and gave Snape a very piercing look as he sat down.

"Headmaster," Snape said.

"How are your Slytherins?"  Dumbledore was writing in an old and crumbling book, with a quill that glinted gold in the candlelight.

"Thriving," Snape answered. "However, I regret that I have little time to discuss them. Floo appointment at half eight."

Dumbledore waved his free hand over the desk in invitation.

"Mr Potter appears to be relatively happy, despite any bullying from any other student regarding his home life. He seems pleased to stay at the school over Easter."

Snape watched as Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction at this, and knew that the man's intent was not malicious. Snape himself as a student had considered Hogwarts home, and ever since his fateful return, had been welcomed with open arms.

"I have, however, noticed him rubbing his scar, often while in the presence of Quirrell. I was unaware that ordinary curse scars left a trace of foul magic in them."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, twirling one of the gadgets to his left.

"No one before Harry has ever survived the Killing Curse, so it is unknown what effects it would have, or how Quirrell would aggravate them," Dumbledore said. Snape couldn't tell if the headmaster had suspected already that there was a connection, or whether he was being truthful about not knowing.

"Do you suspect a residual link?" Snape bluntly asked, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"I don't believe Voldemort is truly gone," Dumbledore answered instead. "Consequently, if he does return, I do think that the scar will have some level of interaction with Voldemort's magic."

Snape nodded at this, raking his fingers through his hair once.

"Occlumency," Snape said, looking at the desk.

"I suspect it will be prudent for the boy to learn it," Dumbledore agreed.

"You should start now, before it is a necessity," Snape replied, standing to leave. He had just made it to the door before Dumbledore spoke up again.

"It won't be I that teaches him, Severus."

"Headmaster," Snape said, turning to face the desk. "Potter is an arrogant little child, and we barely tolerate each other. I am well aware of what him and his little friends think of me. To expect me to allow the possibility of such an intimate intrusion into my own mind while teaching him is preposterous."

"You'll manage. Your skills in occlumency bypass even mine, and I trust no other with the task," Dumbledore said with finality, looking at him with piercing blue eyes that hadn't been able to break through Snape's mental shields in years.