In Harry's fifth year, Ron and Hermione had been revolted about the occlumency lessons he had to take, and the fact that Snape was teaching him. This time around the reaction was the same, except neither had the slight bit of comprehension they'd had the last time, when Harry had been suffering from Voldemort's visions. Not knowing Snape was in the Order of the Phoenix, or even what the Order was, likely contributed to the fact that they were very sympathetic to Harry's plight, even offering to petition Dumbledore for another solution.

Harry had feigned being brave and sacrificing though, and gone down for his first occlumency lesson on Monday evening.  Snape's office was open - likely only to him - and empty, so Harry sat in the hard visitor's chair and looked around the room. It looked much like it normally did, the books on the shelves all potions or education related, a small amount of ingredients organized on some of the shelves, a full scale experiment of some sort set up on a table in the back of the room, and a large bowl of fruit on the round desk. Harry looked around to find the tea mugs with spoons still in them that he knew Snape regularly surrounded himself with, but evidently the man only did that in his own flat.

On second glance, Harry noticed that Snape's office, unlike his flat, had no real signs of the Muggle world in it. The clock in the corner was a magical one, currently stuck on ‘Dinner', and the experiment at the back was quietly completing steps and mixing compounds regularly under a few well-cast spells. There wasn't a single biro or pencil on the desk, and even the landscape photographs on the wall lazily rotated through their animation, trees barely discernable as they swayed in the wind.

The door burst open as Harry was standing to go inspect the bookcase, and he dropped back into his seat with surprise. Snape stormed in, newspaper in his hand and a set look on his face.

"Through there," Snape instructed, pointing toward the hidden door to his flat.

Harry stopped to remove his shoes at the hallway door, hanging up his outer cloak before moving into the room. In his pocket he had a letter that he'd unfolded and read several times in the past half hour, and he was in a rather good mood.

"Sirius sent me a letter," Harry happily said.

"Did he now?" Snape replied, filling the kettle.

Snape had dropped the newspaper on the coffee table as he passed through to the kitchen, so Harry grabbed it as he plopped down on the couch. The front page was a very familiar image - Sirius Black holding up his prisoner number and screaming at the camera.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN

"He got out," Harry said, spreading out the paper and quickly scanning the article for details. "Did you help him?"

Snape was clanging something down in the kitchen, likely making tea, and looked over at Harry from the half wall separating the kitchen from living room.

"No."

Harry looked up in confusion as Snape brought tea back into the room.

"But I thought - I couldn't send a reply letter to him, because Azkaban doesn't get post. How did he get the first letter?"

"Magic," Snape deadpanned, drinking from his mug and again not removing the stirring spoon first.

Harry looked at him sceptically, certain that Snape had found a way to get the letter there.

"Do you think he's already at Grimmauld Place? Is there any way Dumbledore..." Harry started, putting the paper down.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Snape interrupted. "And he will not let you leave Hogwarts in order to visit a convicted felon, Potter."

Harry twisted his face at that, and drew his feet up onto the chesterfield. He left his tea on the table to cool down.

"Harry. We're both from another time, I just - I feel more together when you call me Harry."

Snape stared at him.

"That's not a valid reason."

"No," Harry admitted. "But you say Potter with such loathing, and I don't feel like I know anyone here as well as I know you."

"I shall consider it," Snape said, sounding like he'd do anything but.  He flicked his wand, and a small log floated over into the fireplace. Harry thought the room was warm enough, but Snape didn't seem to be bothered by the heat.

"Now," Snape said, serious and down to business. "Describe the locket."

....

"Dumbledore warned me to watch out for Sirius Black this morning," Harry said, walking with Ron and Hermione toward the greenhouse entrance. "Even though he was my godfather, and my dad's best friend, Dumbledore said it was likely that Sirius was guilty."

It was getting easier and easier for Harry to lie to his friends, and he wasn't quite sure if he liked that change or not. Still, Harry was rather annoyed at himself for not predicting the events of earlier that morning. Ron and Hermione talked about what they'd looked up in the library about Sirius, while Harry mentally berated himself. Scabbers the rat had crawled all over the bedside cabinet between Ron and Harry's bed that morning, as it sometimes did, and happened to walk across the copy of the Evening Prophet. Harry had dropped it there after returning from the dungeons the night before, forgetting that Scabbers could read.

Sloppy, Harry, Harry thought as he scowled. He was smart enough to figure out that there was a horcrux in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault for Pete's sake, he should have thought ahead. And now the rat was missing, having fled after reading about Sirius' escape.

"Did you eat something off this morning?" Ron asked, looking at Harry's scrunched up face.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just thinking about everything. What if he tries to contact me?"

"Tell Dumbledore," Hermione said, with absolute conviction. "Even You Know Who is afraid of him."

"Scabbers!" Ron blurted, bursting ahead of them. A few doors down the hall was his rat, frozen in place against the stone wall. Ron went charging after it, and Harry knew it wouldn't stay. Peter Pettigrew would try to run. Sure enough, by the time Ron had reached the last door and Harry had drawn his wand, the rat had sprung to life and darted off.

"Accio Scabbers!" Harry commanded, pleased when the furry little rodent flew through the air toward him. He didn't notice either Ron or Hermione's gobsmacked look until he caught Scabbers.

"Harry! Where did you learn that spell?" Hermione asked, astonished. "That's an upper year spell."

"My brothers don't even know that one yet," Ron added, looking a bit jealous. He moved to take Scabbers back, but was interrupted by a low voice from the shadows.

"A fifth year spell, how impressive Mr Potter," Snape said, stepping out into the light of one of the sconces. "Five points from Gryffindor, for using magic in the hallway."

Harry's lips thinned as he bit back a response, and he managed to keep quiet. Snape's gaze lingered on him a moment, before he looked down at the rat.

"And what is this?"

"That's mine, sir," Ron piped up, apparently not wanting Harry to lose any more points. "That's my rat, Scabbers."

"I see," Snape said, before holding out his hand. "First years are allowed an owl, a cat, or a toad. Nowhere on that list is a rat, Mr Weasley."

Harry handed Pettigrew over, amazed at Snape's ability to get what he wanted without arousing suspicion. Ron was mad, but he didn't suspect that Scabbers was anything else than a mangy rat.

"But he's mine, sir," Ron stubbornly said, no longer embarrassed about the scraggy condition of Scabbers.

"And perhaps if you speak nicely to the Headmaster, you may get it back," Snape nastily said, conjuring up a small cage and walking off with Pettigrew.

"Git," Ron muttered. "Probably just wanted a rat to experiment on."

Harry's eyes widened at the statement, and he allowed Hermione to usher him toward their next class.

"You're probably right, Ron," Harry said

...

Snape, surprisingly, informed Dumbledore about Sirius Black's presumed innocence. He did so after a lengthy interrogation on Dumbledore's part, and admitted that he'd never seen Black at any Death Eater meetings. He did, however, quietly clearly remember Peter Pettigrew. This was naturally a lie, but it was enough to convince Dumbledore. Snape blandly claimed to have not come forward with the information previously as his own reputation was suffering, and he did want to see Black pay for at least one of his crimes.

Dumbledore was not happy, but Snape had skilfully reminded him that power could make a man do foolish things. 

Harry had only heard part of the story, and was thusly surprised when the headmaster had agreed for him to meet Sirius Black, at Grimmauld Place.  Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape all stood on the front step on Sunday evening, Snape with a scowl on his face, Harry trying to keep his excitement to a manageable level, and Dumbledore humming to himself.

"Remember, Severus," Dumbledore said, lightly tapping his fingers against his side. "Only enough veritaserum for the truth."

"Veritaserum?" Harry said, whipping his head to look at Snape.

Before Snape could say anything, the door was flung open and Sirius Black stood leisurely leaning against the frame. He wore deep red robes, a starched white shirt underneath, and his hair had been thoroughly washed. Harry fought his every instinct to burst forward and hug the man.

"Potter," Snape said, his eyes never leaving Sirius, "this waste of space is your godfather."

"Mr Black," Harry said, still sounding slightly too enthusiastic. "What happened to your nose?"

They'd been ushered in for tea, served by the muttering and foul-mooded Kreacher as Sirius told a grand tale of revenge and murder for the deaths of his two best friends. Harry suspected that as a young boy he was supposed to be taken in by the adventure and action of the story, but couldn't help comparing his own rash-actioned habits to Sirius'. Snape sat on the couch next to Harry, his arms crossed and his face set into a sneer as he listened to the story. Dumbledore appeared to be enthralled, though he did interject questions here and there.

Despite the obvious tension in the room though, Sirius was in a grand mood and kept giving Harry an easy smile throughout the conversation. He even agreed to take veritaserum (administered by Dumbledore, not Snape), so he could prove his innocence over the Potters' betrayal. After twenty minutes the truth was confirmed, and Dumbledore mentioned that Harry might like to stay with Sirius over the summer, though it would have to be rather kept a secret, as there was still the mess of the explosion and escape from Azkaban. Sirius was asked to remain at Grimmauld, to avoid going back to gaol.

Sirius reluctantly agreed, and hinted that banishing his mother from the house would likely improve the living conditions immensely.

With Dumbledore in the front of the house, working on the riddle of removing Mrs Black's portrait, Snape made his move. Harry was slowly moving about the room, looking for the locket in the cabinets.

"Silencio," Snape hissed, moving forward and pinning Sirius to the wall. Harry watched from the doorway, stunned, as Snape easily held the slightly taller man and immobilized him.

"Now we come to the favour part of the evening," Snape said. Sirius looked annoyed, and darted his eyes toward Harry.

"Easily obliviated," Snape muttered. At that, Sirius struggled more, until Harry saw him stop dead. Harry wondered if Snape had hexed him, before he noticed that Snape was holding not his wand, but a wooden ladle of similar size against Sirius's groin.

"There is an old heirloom in this house that I need for an experiment. You will allow me to visit, search for, and retrieve this item. Once I have retrieved this item, you will be given Peter Pettigrew."

Snape stood back and released the spell just as Sirius let loose a stream of curse words.

"Peter Pettigrew is dead," Sirius sneered. "You get nothing."

Snape calmly withdrew a photograph from his pocket, holding it up for Sirius to see. He had a slightly smug look on his face, and Harry knew instantly that it was his trump card, if not from Snape's expression, but from the way the colour drained out of Sirius' face.

"I assure you he is very much alive."

"I spent ten years in Azkaban, and you knew he was alive!" Sirius growled, catching his second breath. He looked like he was getting ready to hex Snape, and had forgotten that Dumbledore wasn't that far away.

"Not until very recently," Snape countered, and Harry could tell he was starting to lose his cool. Being a student that had caused Snape to lose it enough to launch a jar of cockroaches at his head, Harry knew the signs.

"As you'll likely remember, Cornelius Fudge isn't very receptive to being proved wrong. So I suggest that you play along with the headmaster's plans, be a good dog and stay home. I'm certain the headmaster will work on proving your innocence when he has some spare time."

Dumbledore chose that moment to return to the room, looking sheepishly at them as he smiled.

"I do believe we shall take our leave, as I fear I have upset Mrs Black further."

"Well done," Sirius muttered, before clasping Harry on the back of the shoulders. "I'm glad you came to visit, and that you gave me a chance to explain. I can't believe how much you look like James."

"But I have my mother's eyes," Harry softly repeated. He felt a piercing hitch inside every time someone said it, only long enough to last a second, because he couldn't remember his mum looking at him. The only time he'd seen them was in the Mirror of Erised and in the Forbidden Forest, but her eyes had been a muted shade of grey.

"Lovely," Snape said, interrupting. "Headmaster, we do have a schedule."

"Kreacher!" Sirius bellowed, eyeing Snape suspiciously as Dumbledore worked to get the Floo connection running. "Make a list off all the heirlooms in this house. The family ones."

"Yes, Master," Kreacher said, his voice dripping venom as he glared at Sirius with a look of utter loathing.

"I want to make sure nothing goes missing," Sirius unnecessarily said, his eyes focused completely on Snape. Within seconds a bright green fire was roaring in the fireplace, and Sirius was giving Harry a hug. To Harry, it felt like he'd finally come home.

...

Curfew for first years was at 8 pm, in which they were all expected to be in their dorms. Technically they were to be in bed at 10, but the only Prefect in Gryffindor who tried to enforce that was Percy. Ron had been ignoring Percy for eleven years of his life, though, and happily continued to do so at school. He and Hermione listened raptly to the story of Sirius Black. Ron was immediately inclined to believe everything, but Hermione was still sceptical. She wondered why Sirius couldn't remember what spells he'd fired off at Peter Pettigrew. Harry promised to asked more questions the next time he saw Sirius, and they headed off to bed.

The dorm was rather close quarters, which was nice for cosiness and chatting, but the curtains around their beds were brilliant for when any of them wanted to stay up later. The only problem with it was that there was no lighting options inside the curtains, so Harry cast a lumos spell and stuck his wand over his ear, like a pencil.

"When will the daggers be ready?"

It was only quarter of eleven, and Harry hoped that Snape was still awake.  The journal remained cold though, so Harry moved on to making a list of things that needed to be done still.

Find diary - see if Dobby will deliver it.
Find ring - where did Dumbledore say the house was?
Get locket from Sirius' house - why wasn't it in the cupboard?
Ask Snape about my scar.
Research time turners.

Harry leaned over to get more ink, from the bottle balanced precariously on the flattest part of his bedcovers. The journal grew warm, and Harry waited for whatever Snape's answer was.

"Daggers will be ready next week. It was not a time turner that brought us here."

"Do you think it was a curse?" Harry wrote, scowling at his bad penmanship.

"One usually remembers when one has been cursed. What destroyed your horcrux the first time?"

"Voldemort cast the killing curse at me," Harry immediately replied. Beyond the curtain he could hear Ron starting to whistle in his sleep.

"That is not an option," came Snape's strongly emphasized response.

"Well, the Philosopher's Stone gives you eternal life, doesn't it? So maybe that'll be enough to wipe out the horcrux, if it needs to be banished out of me."

Harry picked up his bottle of ink and stretched his feet out under the blanket, wincing at the fading cramp in his leg, and at the cold sheets on his feet. He suddenly realised something, and nearly spilled the ink in his haste to write.

"The Stone! Quirrell now knows how to get past Fluffy!"

Harry didn't want to think about what would happen if Quirrell successfully retrieved the Philosopher's Stone. Voldemort would come back early, and they weren't prepared for that. Harry intended to take full advantage of the time travel and destroy the horcruxes before that could happen.

"A very stupid name for a dog as such," Snape wrote in return.

"We need to stop him," Harry insisted, wondering how Snape could be so utterly unconcerned.

"Potter, have you ever wondered why Quirrell waited an entire month after delivering the dragon egg to Hagrid, before attempting to steal the Stone?"

Harry looked at his journal in confusion. No, the first time he'd gone through first year, Norbert had hatched in late April. Harry remembered clearly, because Ron had been sent to the infirmary on the Early May Bank holiday, and Harry had visited to tell him all about it.

"Maybe he was waiting for Dumbledore to leave the school?"  Harry suggested, no longer feeling the immediate urge to get up and go protect the Stone.

"The headmaster is not, unlike what most pupils imagine, all-knowing. Quirrell doesn't need him to leave in order to go into the chamber."

"What's stopping him?"

It took Harry a few minutes to realise that he was having an actual conversation on level with Snape, albeit via written word, and that it was going smoothly. It wasn't quite like talking to Ron and Hermione, but Harry did feel that he could now mention ideas and theories to Snape without them immediately being disregarded as stupid.

"Professor Quirrell has asked each staff member about their enchantments guarding the Stone. All have given sufficient information to bypass their charms and traps, except for myself."

Harry grinned to himself and accidentally flicked ink toward the journal as he tapped his knee with his hand. Snape. Of course it was Snape who was stopping Quirrell.

"When did you tell him about yours, the first time?"

"I believe I mentioned in passing that I enjoy a good logic puzzle, the day of his attempt."

Harry was still grinning, and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. They were in control. Snape controlled when Quirrell went for the Stone.

"That's brilliant," Harry wrote, yawning. "I was thinking though, that I want to go down again. With Ron and Hermione."

"Let three children down into the chamber again after the Dark Lord? What a fantastic idea."

Harry read the message after twisting himself down onto his side, burrowing under the blanket. It was amazing how well Snape could still get his sarcasm across through text.

"We're going. I don't want my friendships to be less strong because we didn't face half the things we did the first time at Hogwarts."

Harry's wand dropped off his ear, and he fumbled in the dark for a second as the light only lit up a small portion of his red woollen blanket. When he finally righted the wand, Snape had written his response.

"We will discuss this later. If you go down, it will not be without supervision."

Scowling with annoyance, Harry loaded his quill and scribbled back.

"You can't stop me. I'm the one who defeated Quirrell last time."

"I am the adult, Harry. I don't care what you did as an eleven year old, nor how many rules you broke to do it."

"I'm an adult too!" Harry wrote back. "I faced Voldemort five times and died once, just in case you've forgotten."

Slamming the book shut, Harry reached beyond the curtain to put his quill and ink on the bedside cabinet. Stupid Snape. Just when he thought that things were going well, and Snape was treating him like a fellow colleague, Snape had to go and be all authoritarian. His glasses joined the quill and ink, and Harry shoved the journal under his pillow. He refused to open it and read any messages until morning, and tried to ignore that the warmth from it was rather comforting.

When he awoke, Harry found that Snape had not written a long diatribe about Harry respecting his elders, nor had he listed the many painful tortures inflicted on the last person to argue so vehemently with him. Instead, all he found in the journal were three underlined words, pressed strongly into the page as if Snape had imagined smacking Harry with the journal for each word.

"I don't break promises."

As Harry was mostly coherent early in the mornings, it took him only a moment to remember that Snape had made a promise to the memory of his mother, to protect him.  Harry knew that Snape was a man of his word, as he'd literally given his life to protect Harry and help defeat Voldemort. Muttering to himself as he got ready for breakfast, Harry realised that convincing Snape to let him go after the Stone would be damn near impossible.

...

Snape had a free period on Thursdays, which was scheduled to give him time for marking or preparation work. This Thursday Snape took himself to London, apparating to the street in front of Grimmauld Place. He'd committed to memory the description of the locket that Potter had given him, but had not taken the drawing of it. Snape did not put anything past Sirius Black, and that included childish possession summoning spells.  He had brought a copy of the rat's photograph, and charmed it to burn Black's fingers if he tried to take it.

After taking his sweet time, Black opened the door and scowled at Snape.

"Time for your little treasure hunt?" Black jeered, and Snape suspected he'd been imbibing a little.

"Quite," Snape replied, entering the house.

Mrs Black was as vulgar and loud as before, becoming further enraged by each hex muttered by her son. Black was headed to the back of the house, where the kitchen was, but Snape well remembered the layout of the dreary old home and cut quickly into the drawing room. The glass-fronted cabinets that Potter had described lined the back wall of the room, cobwebbed and grimy. They were filled with dark and murky-looking tchotchkes that Snape would expect to find in forgotten cabinets at Malfoy Manor.  

"I want you to start in the kitchen," Black said, shadowing the doorway, his arms crossed.

Snape continued his search unperturbed, shining light from his wand into the glass cabinets.

"There is nothing of worth in the kitchen," Snape replied.

"Is that what you're after? Money?" Black scoffed. "I can easily find fifty galleons to keep you out of my house."

Snape turned to look at Black, his eyes glittering.

"No need to play lord of the manor on my account," Snape said. "We both know you only inherited this house due to the death of every other member of your immediate family."

Sirius growled, almost as if he'd forgotten he was in human form, and not canine.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something long forgotten," Snape answered. He didn't want Black to know exactly what they were looking for, as Snape was quite certain that Black would try to use the item for blackmail, much like he himself was doing with the photograph of Pettigrew.

"Harry has mentioned that you've actually managed to keep up regular correspondence with him," Snape said, deliberately using Potter's first name. "Enticing stories of illicit student activities and jinxes to use on other students."

Black took the bait immediately, suspicion across his face.

"Harry? You're not his head of house. Why do you call him by his first name?"

Snape closed another cabinet door on shelves of useless dark artefacts.

"Harry and I get along quite well," Snape lied, calmly browsing through a bookcase. It wasn't exactly a lie; their working relationship had been downright peaceful since returning to the past.

Black drew his wand, puffing out his chest in a display of masculinity.

"I don't want him to have any sort of interaction with you other than the two potions classes a week that you teach," Black said, in an attempt to sound threatening.

"Surely even you can't be stupid enough to think that the Dark Lord is gone," Snape derisively said, checking the last cabinet in the room.

"You Know Who has nothing to do with this," Black argued. "This is about me not wanting you anywhere near my godson, Snivellus."

"The Dark Lord has everything to do with this," Snape snapped. "It's currently a time of peace, and during which I shall be teaching Harry every skill I can to prepare him for when the Dark Lord returns. And I assure you, he will return."

Black had an ugly look on his face, but Snape suspected he'd seen his crazed cousin and other Death Eaters at Azkaban, and recognized that there was a chance Snape was right.

"What could you possibly be able to teach him that I couldn't?" Black evenly said, his wand still at the ready in his hand. "I was in the original Order, before you snaked in."

The last cabinet appeared to be empty of any sort of locket, though it had a varied collection of shrunken heads in it.

"Are you familiar with the powerful and intimate mental intrusion of legilimency?" Snape nonchalantly asked, closing the cabinet. Five minutes later, when he stepped out of the house to apparate back to Hogsmeade, he'd managed to work Sirius Black up to just short of an apoplectic rage.

...

Harry hated occlumency, and even though the first lesson had not ended up in him actually practicing it, he was afraid that Snape intended on testing his abilities for the second.

"Are we going to sit in your office, or your flat? It's warmer in your living room," Harry said, rubbing his arms over top his robes. Snape's office was not as cold as the potions classroom, but only just.

"We are here for you to learn occlumency, Mr Potter," Snape said with gravity, and for a second Harry felt panic exploding in his stomach. Was he really being tested? Or had Snape forgotten everything that had happened? Or, Harry thought, bile in his throat, Snape might have managed to return to his normal time, and left Harry behind. Snape must have noticed the look on his face though, as he raised his finger to his lips in the universal signal for quiet.

"And as your performance in the first lesson was abysmal, I require your utmost attention this time."

With a sense of dread, Harry prepared himself for the pain and revulsion of legilimency. It never came, but instead, a knocking sound came from the fireplace as it whooshed green. Albus Dumbledore stuck his head through the fire, and seemed to be surveying the room. His eyes fell upon Harry, and he smiled.

"Ah, Harry, Severus. So sorry to interrupt, but your order of phoenix tears has arrived."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Snape said, leaning against his desk with wand poised. "I shall retrieve it from you tomorrow."

"Of course, whenever is convenient," Dumbledore agreed. Snape then made the excuse of teaching, and Harry watched Dumbledore disappear into the flames. Snape immediately disconnected his Floo, and pointed Harry toward his flat door.

It was warmer just in the hallway, and slightly above the Gryffindor Common Room's temperature once inside Snape's actual flat. Instead of using the couches though, Snape led Harry to the laboratory. A plain wooden box sat on the main worktable, along with the vial of Basilisk venom.

"I am uncertain to what amount of venom is needed," Snape said, opening the box. Inside were two ordinary looking leather watches, with a slightly scratched watch face as if they'd been in use for a few years. Snape handed him the smaller one, and it felt slightly heavy with a strongly gilded clasp. The watch fit easily around Harry's wrist, and snapped on.

"Press the wind knob, and say horcrux," Snape ordered, testing it with his own watch. The watch face turned into the handle of the dagger, and in a flash of a second the leather band turned to a solid silver blade. Harry's did the same.

"That's brilliant," Harry breathed, holding his dagger up. It was only about four inches long, but that would be enough for the mostly inanimate horcruxes.

Snape held his own up to the light, and seemed quite pleased with it. The next thing he did was to open the vial of Basilisk venom, and pour some into a small petri dish. Harry watched with fascination as the daggers were placed in the dish, and seemed to soak up the venom. As neither knew just how much venom was needed, Snape used half of what he'd collected for the daggers. Once it had been soaked in, neither looked as if they had been affected by it.

"There's only one way to test," Harry said, shrugging a little. He was fine with destroying the goblet or the diadem. Neither of those had tried to kill him.

"The diadem," Snape said, decisively. It made sense to Harry, as they'd had that horcrux the longest. Watching Snape carefully remove it from the lead box, Harry remembered what he'd intended on asking Snape earlier.

"Have you been to Grimmauld Place recently?"

"Once," Snape answered, removing any breakable lab-ware from the worktable. "The locket is not in any glass-fronted cabinet you mentioned."

"It should be there, no one's been in the house in ten years, I don't think," Harry mused.

"It would be easier to locate," Snape said, casting a sticking spell on the diadem so it could not leave the table, "if your godfather wasn't so insistent on following my every movement in the house."

Harry was slightly amused at Snape's extreme precaution, but didn't dare laugh.

"I think he does it to irritate you. But he has been acting oddly lately."

Snape held up his dagger, and gave the diadem a determined look. Harry was quite certain that Snape was hiding any sort of anxiousness in his preparations.

"It'll fight back," Harry warned, no trace of mockery or tease in his voice. "Hit it quickly."

As Snape stepped up to the bench, the diadem emitted a low hissing noise in warning. Snape swung his arm up, and poised the dagger over the diadem. The hissing grew slightly steadier, and the diadem vibrated slightly on Snape's downswing, at least it to Harry it seemed.

Snape's aim was true, and the effects were immediate. The diadem cracked down the centre, and an ugly black shadow, similar to the one they'd seen in the flashbacks touching the horcrux, rose up and out of the diadem. A strong clasp of wind cycloned around the room, even though it was windowless, and the beakers and instruments on the shelves rattled. A black box to Harry's right, which was sitting on one of the work stools, shook ominously. Snape was focused on the diadem, ignoring the glass breaking around them and focusing on the taunting horcrux. The words were slightly garbled, as Harry was trying to cover his ears and face from the shards of glass, but perhaps as partially influenced by the true diadem itself, he heard the horcrux mocking Snape for wanting to be smart enough to make Ravenclaw as a child.

Angered, Snape raised his dagger to strike the diadem again. Harry was about to tell him that the horcrux would die shortly, but he then noticed the black whisping smoke starting to escape from the box on the stool.

"Bollocks," Harry exhaled softly, grasping his watch. The button was pressed, and Harry easily gripped the dagger as he gave the word and it transformed. Completely ignoring Snape and the broken bits of potion laboratory equipment flying about, Harry flicked open the lid on the box. As he expected, the goblet was resting inside and leaking a vile black substance. Without even waiting for the horcrux to gather itself, Harry jammed the dagger as hard as he could against the soft gold goblet. Heirloom be damned, he was going to kill it.

The goblet, having never been touched by Harry, had nothing to use against him. Instead, it let loose an unholy shriek that Harry imagined would be similar to the banshees Seamus was always talking about.  Harry held his dagger tight though, and kept it pressed hard against the goblet.

As Harry expected, both horcruxes died off after a minute of havoc. It seemed like much longer though, and when Harry straightened up, his eyes widened at the mess in the laboratory. Snape would have to replace a large number of his loose instruments that had not been in cabinets, and some of the ingredient jars had been cracked. One or two appeared to be leaking. Snape himself stood in the middle of the room, holding his glittering dagger and staring at the tarnished, broken diadem on the table. He had bits of glass stuck in his hair, torn shreds of parchment stuck to his robes, and a large gash across his cheek.

"What the hell were you thinking, keeping both in the same room?" Harry demanded, checking the back of his own hands for injuries. Just a few small cuts and nicks from where he'd covered his neck with the diadem's first burst of wind.

"To decide which would be destroyed first," Snape snapped back. "Neither of us knew they would interact."

Harry opened his mouth to argue back, but abruptly shut it. There was no point arguing, as they'd at least destroyed two out of six. "Fine. Let's clean this up later."

Shaking his head, Snape spun and headed toward the door. He apparently agreed, as the laboratory was left looking like a bomb had gone off in it. Perhaps Snape had trained house elves to clean up such messes.

Harry followed Snape back into the main living area, stopping off in the kitchen to get some towels and water. Snape was already there, running his hand under the tap. There was a large chunk of glass, which looked to be from a broken stirring stick, jutting out from his wrist.

"Never just pull it out," Snape instructed, noticing Harry's revolted-yet-fascinated look. He was a bit calmer out of the potions lab, as if he'd moved into an automated mode to deal with injuries.

"Why not?" Harry asked. After a minute, the wound was mostly clean. Snape patted it dry with a cloth, and held his hand up for Harry.

"How much is it bleeding?"

Some blood was already appearing around the edges of the glass, but not nearly as much as Harry expected.

"It's plugged?" Harry guessed. He saw Snape's satisfied nod, and felt good for getting the answer right. Harry had never had anything stuck into his skin like that, and even if he had as a child, Aunt Petunia likely would have passed out before teaching Harry how to deal with it.

"One should normally remove embedded objects with the help of another, to cast the healing charm quickly enough," Snape said, concentrating on his hand. He positioned his wand almost perfectly inline with what looked like the trajectory of the glass, and softly commanded the summoning spell. The glass flew out, and before it had a chance to drop, Snape had cast episkey on the wound. More blood had surged forth, but Snape was fast enough that it was stemmed quickly. To Harry, it seemed like Snape was disturbingly practised at it.

"I have yet to successfully heal such a wound without leaving a small scar," Snape continued, washing his hand again and holding it up to the light. There was a small scar at his wrist, smaller than the glass had been, and pale enough to not immediately be noticeable.

"Where did you learn first aid?" Harry asked, avoiding asking if it had been a required skill for associating with Death Eaters.

"All heads of house are required to take mediwizardry training," Snape briskly answered.

"Oh," Harry answered. He gave a quick glance to his own dagger-watch, noting that the horcrux destruction had only taken them twenty minutes in total. It showed no signs of taking in the basilisk venom, and didn't show any marks from the horcrux. He heard Snape tsk, and within seconds his own hands had been healed.

"Well, Mr Potter. I am pleased to see that you are far more skilled at this than occlumency," Snape said, banishing the towels they'd used to clean up.

Harry stared at him, blinking. 

...

Harry returned to his dormitory, checking his uniform along the way to ensure there weren't any stray bits of glass or wooden ladle splinters stuck to his sleeves or hood. It was only nine, and Ron and Hermione had waited up for him. After completely making up details about his ‘lessons', Harry played a game of chess with Ron before heading up to their dorm room. While Ron was getting ready for bed, Harry got his journal out and saw that Snape had left him a note.

"Black is acting weird because he is locked up in that house and paranoid. Tomorrow you will find essence of dittany at your desk in class - use it on the cuts from today."

Harry didn't have much by the way of scars on his hands, certainly less than he'd received at the Dursleys while working in the back garden. Still, he'd use the dittany in the morning, and perhaps this time around as he grew up, he'd have less war wounds than the last time. Opening the journal, Harry inked his quill and wrote a quick response.

"Thanks. Good night, sir."

Harry closed it, and put the journal under his pillow as normal. It didn't warm up right away, so Snape had likely gone off to do something else, but that was all right. As Harry reached up to put out the light next to his bed, he noticed that his left hand was free of any marks; that there were no words etched into his skin. Settling in with a content sigh, Harry dropped off to sleep quickly.