Much like the first time Harry had smuggled a dragon out of Hogwarts, the shunning from other students started to wear off within two weeks. They'd not lost as many points this time around, and exams looming overhead quickly distracted Harry's housemates from their anger. He still kept mostly to himself though, only talking to Ron and Hermione in quiet whispers in the common room.

Harry had been using the journal to regularly communicate with Snape, though his detentions had tapered off. Harry was afraid that Hermione would suspect something out of the ordinary, and he was rather certain that Dumbledore already knew that something wasn't quite normal.  Still, there were the occlumency lessons he was to take once a week, and those provided ample opportunity to plan their next moves. And to fight.

The first argument had occurred with the delivery of the diary.  Snape had an almost unnatural curiosity for the dark arts, which was very strongly rumoured throughout the school and which Harry suspected was still the driving point behind some of Snape's decisions.  When Dobby had delivered Tom Riddle's diary, and Harry had explained in great detail what dangers lay within, Snape had peered at the diary with a determined and studious look. Harry sensed trouble right away, and had warned Snape of what the diary was capable of simply by leeching off the power of a twelve year old girl, never mind a grown and powerful wizard. Snape, irritated, had snapped that Harry would do best to mind his own proper business, and that was where the fight had fully started.  Harry hadn't lost any more house points, but he and Snape had not spoken to each other for four days.

After the period of silence, Snape had presented Harry with the destroyed diary at his next occlumency lesson. The man had not said anything, merely glared, leading Harry to believe that he had interacted with the horcrux and been perturbed the evil power behind it.

The second argument had occurred only the day before, when Harry had accused Snape of treating him like a child. They had been discussing their plans for dealing with Quirrell in the lower chambers, and Harry had vehemently argued that things go much the way they had the first time around so that his friends could learn to be brave. Snape had balked, demanding to know when Harry had hit his ‘fool head' against something that that idea would seem like a good one.

The argument had progressed until finally Harry had blurted, in frustration, information that in retrospect he could have stated much more nicely. The Riddles had not been listed in the directory that Snape had ordered for Harry, as no one from that family had lived in the house since before 1950, and the Gaunts were not listed either. Harry hadn't expected them to be. He did, however, remember after a nightmare one night that Voldemort's resurrection had taken place at Riddle Manor, and that Snape had returned to Voldemort much later that evening, likely at the same manor.

So when Snape had said, yet again, that Harry wasn't big enough to face Quirrell/Voldemort alone, Harry had snapped back that Snape should know the village they were trying to find, as he'd returned there to swear his allegiance the night Cedric had been murdered.

For a tense few seconds, Harry was certain that Snape was going to launch another jar of dead insects at his head. He didn't, likely because there weren't any ingredient jars in his living room, but he did threaten to ground Harry for an entire weekend, with promises of disgusting potions to clean up and prepare ingredients for.

With the arrival of exam week, tensions were running high through the castle and Harry himself was feeling pulled in a few directions. He was annoyed that he'd been right about the horcruxes being too difficult to completely destroy before summer. He was irritated with Snape, who seemed to be in an equally bad mood, for the same reason. He was excited about the summer, as it meant he could spend time with Sirius, and he wasn't sleeping through the night, as he kept having nightmares that they wouldn't be able to return to their own time.  It had been three and a half months, and neither had a clue as to what had brought them back. On more than one or two sleepless nights, Harry had seriously considered confessing to Dumbledore and asking for his advice.

....

In retrospect, the obstacle course was rather ridiculous. Harry hadn't questioned it as an eleven year old, but now as a vastly experienced eighteen year old, he realised just how impractical the whole setup was to safe guard the Philosopher's Stone.  Why not just hide it in a canister of ruby red candies on Dumbledore's office shelves? Surely hiding it in the open would be much less suspicious, and much less tedious to get to.

With sweaty palms, Harry entered the final chamber, mentally repeating to himself that he had a wand with him, and unlike when he was eleven, knew a multitude of spells to fight back against Quirrell. As it turned out, it wouldn't be necessary.

Snape was standing down in the pit of the room, off to the side of the mirror. He looked morose, as if he'd been there a while and had been looking at his own reflection.  To his left, and closer to the stairs, was the crumpled body of Professor Quirrell.

"What do you see?" Harry asked, walking quietly down the steps.

"Excuse me?" Snape said lowly, turning to look at Harry. "Don't touch him. I have no desire to travel to Albania if the Dark Lord escapes."

"In the mirror. What do you see?" Harry continued, carefully stepping around Quirrell.

"Regrets," Snape answered, glancing back at the mirror.

"I see my family," Harry offered. "Usually."

Snape nodded at that, but didn't say anything further. Harry wondered if Snape actually saw his mother in the mirror. Taking a chance, Harry assumed so and asked something that had been on his mind recently.

"You're doing all this for my mother, right? Do you think she's forgiven you for telling Voldemort about the prophecy?"

Snape jerked his head to look at Harry, and his eyes were dark and focused.

"She died before I could find out," Snape blandly answered.

"I think she would have. You didn't know who it was about, and you tried to save us once you did," Harry reasoned. "What I don't know, is if she's forgiven you for how you treated me at school."

"What, exactly, are you trying to prove, Potter?" Snape asked in his low and dangerous tone.

"Just that it was maybe mum who sent us back, so we could sort things out," Harry shrugged. He had estimated that the first time he'd come after the Stone, he'd spent ten minutes in the chamber with Quirrell. That gave them a few minutes to have a talk without fear of anyone eavesdropping.

"The dead cannot send the living back in time," Snape firmly said, crossing his arms.

"Well," Harry started, trying to carefully suggest that Snape might be wrong. "We both saw Dumbledore on the cusp of dying, just before arriving back here. So maybe they can."

"Of course he would," Snape muttered. "Potter -"

"Harry," Harry interrupted.

"Harry, I am quite certain that our time travel will come to and end with the destruction of the last horcrux. At that point, it won't matter who or what sent us back here."

Harry snapped his mouth shut at that, and wrapped his arms around himself. He'd walked to his death once before, but his didn't think he had the guts to do it again.

Snape came to stand beside him, so that they could both get a good look at the Mirror of Erised. His arm brushed against Harry's shoulder, and the slight touch and strong presence brought Harry some reassurance.

"We need the Stone, and as far as I am able to ascertain, he doesn't have it," Snape said, his eyes flicking toward Quirrell.

"No..." Harry trailed off, staring directly at the mirror. Much like the first time, he felt his pocket grow heavy with the weight of the Stone. "It's right here."

Snape stared hard and Harry, and for a second Harry was afraid he was doing legilimency.

"Potter..."

"Dumbledore," Harry shrugged, not wanting to explain any further. He pointed to the floor, where Quirrell appeared to be out cold. "What happened to him?"

"He chose the wrong potion and later ran into the floor," Snape deadpanned.

"The wrong potion?" Harry asked, suddenly worried about his own choice.

"He will lose seven hours of memory," Snape impatiently explained. "How did you get the Stone?"

"I haven't a clue, actually," Harry confessed. "Dumbledore put it in the mirror, and said it would only be available to someone who didn't want to use the Stone for himself."

"Which would be why I was not able to see it," Snape muttered, inspecting the mirror from the back.

"You want to live forever?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Absolutely not. I will use the Stone to hopefully prevent you from dying when I get rid of your scar horcrux," Snape answered.

Harry made a queasy face. "How are you going to do that?"

"You will see," Snape vaguely replied. He sounded as if he was trying to make light of the whole topic, and Harry suspected that he didn't want to know what Snape had planned.

"Now, I believe the headmaster will be returning from London shortly, and your friends are in the antechambers?" Snape asked. He slipped the Stone into his own robe pocket, and steered Harry not toward the hall he'd entered from, but a small hidden door in the wall's crevices.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "They were both brilliant. Thanks for not making the potion puzzle harder."

"We must only change what it absolutely necessary, as difficult as that becomes with time passing," Snape philosophically said.

"Oh, so I shouldn't have written my exams perfectly?" Harry joked, with a half laugh.

Snape gave him a strong look.

"I expect you to have."

Harry felt a sudden flush of embarrassment creep up his face, and he faltered slightly under Snape's serious gaze. The man wasn't joking, and Harry actually felt as if he wanted to do well on his exams, just to prove to Snape that he could do it.

"How did you get down here?" Harry asked, changing the topic.

"It seemed," Snape said as he pushed Harry into a narrow pitch-black hallway, "highly unlikely that the headmaster only had one way to get to his precious mirror, especially if he was expecting you and your friends to go after the Stone. The third floor corridor was used for theatre classes when I was a student, and its passages were well known."

Snape kept his hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him toward a rickety set of wooden stairs. Harry climbed them carefully, and stood on his tiptoes to yank on the door's hatch at the top of the stairs. The door, which was actually the back of a portrait, opened up to Madame Pomfrey's private office. The light was bright, and Harry squinted as he and Snape exited to the main infirmary room. Before he could make his escape though, Snape pushed Harry to a bed and told him to get up.

"What for? I'm fine," Harry insisted, leaning back against the bedframe. He grunted as Snape levitated him and plunked him down atop the bed.

"Fine," Snape sarcastically repeated, tugging at a tear in Harry's jumper, just on his sternum. It was then that Harry realised his trousers were also torn, and that his hands were rather bruised and scraped up.

"Fine enough," Harry amended, crossing his arms.

Snape merely crossed his arms, and after a minute Harry huffed as he presented his palms for Snape to heal.

"Allow me to indulge myself," Snape dryly said, performing some light medical charms, "in my secret role of Harry Potter's Protector."

"Prat," Harry muttered, lifting up his jumper for Snape to heal the small gash along his chest.

...

Once Potter and Granger had been sent back to their dormitory, and Weasley delivered to the infirmary for a check up, Snape waited just outside the infirmary doors. He didn't bother returning to the dungeons, as he knew that within moments of leaving Weasley, the headmaster would want a detailed recount of the evening's events. He was correct, though instead of the office that Snape had anticipated, Dumbledore had suggested walking outside and talking.

"It seems that Quirinius has no recollection of the evening's events," Dumbledore said, not bothering with hellos.

"Pity," Snape dryly replied.

"And most interestingly," Dumbledore continued, "I was saved the trouble of deciding on his fate, by an owl I received from Gringotts today. It would seem that someone has tipped the goblins off, and informed them that Quirrell was the one to break into the vaults last summer."

"How very fortunate for the goblins," Snape said, keeping his face very passive.

"Fortunate indeed. I must also thank you, Severus, for keeping such a close watch on Harry," Dumbledore said, walking slightly slower than normal down the path. He was stroking his beard, much like he normally did when pondering over something. Snape, who had no real desire to visit the Forbidden Forest, followed slightly reluctantly.

"It is nothing more than what you asked," Snape replied. It was just past dinnertime, and he could see through the castle that students were busy returning to their dorms.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore mused. "And to think I had first wondered in September if you would keep your promise to protect the boy, after finally meeting him."

Snape scowled at that, but as he was slightly behind Dumbledore, the headmaster didn't notice.

"There was never any question. You and I both know that if the Dark Lord returns, I am in a better position if Harry Potter detests me."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. "Let us hope that does not happen for a while."

He turned to give Snape a piercing look, which would have been highly unsettling had Snape not become accustomed to it in his nearly forty years.

"I assume that is not the only reason you wished to talk this evening?"  Snape asked, walking beside Dumbledore now that they were on more even ground.

"No," Dumbledore answered. "Have you finished whatever little quest you had involving Sirius Black?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and flexed his fingers under his sleeves, the only outward sign to show his surprise.

"Not entirely," Snape answered vaguely. He knew that there was little point denying that something was going on.

"Finish it this weekend," Dumbledore said, in a nice tone disguising the absolute order. "I have no excuse to keep a felon and Voldemort supporter in the castle near the students."

"You're worried about the rat?" Snape asked, partially amused.

"More about Sirius. I fear he is succumbing to cabin fever quite rapidly. Though why in that house more so than ten years in Azkaban, I cannot say."

"What will you do with Pettigrew?" Snape asked, ignoring the comments regarding Black's mental capacity.

"Remand him to the Ministry. I believe Sirius has paid his dues, and so has Harry. Although I will have to explain that Harry must continue to consider the Dursleys as his home, for protection."

Ever since the headmaster had first told Snape of the blood magic used to keep the Potter baby safe, Snape had wondered exactly how the spell had worked.  It was a branch of dark magic, and was never made clear how Potter could remain protected while not actually in the company of his aunt. After Potter's fourth year, when the Dark Lord had resurrected himself with Potter's blood, Snape had taken extra measures to monitor the areas around Privet Drive for Death Eaters.  He hadn't thought to watch for dementors until after they had been dispatched.

"I fear that it is Harry who will have to suffer most when all is said and done," Dumbledore continued, turning to walk back to the castle. "I will ask far too much of him, and of you."

Snape followed behind silently, strongly resisting the urge to reply that Dumbledore was bloody well right.

"But for now, after the Quidditch game on Saturday, he will go to Grimmauld's. I would like you to escort him."

"To finish my task? Or to irritate Black?"

"To finish your task, and also to supervise," Dumbledore strongly suggested. "His behaviour has been quite odd most recently."

"Potter has mentioned the same," Snape acknowledged. 

"Then in this case it shall work out for the best with you there. Harry can spend time with Sirius, and you can have a day and a half to retrieve whatever it is you're looking for."

"A day and a half, headmaster?" Snape asked, ignoring the indirect question of what he was looking for. "You're allowing Potter to stay overnight?"

"Normally I would never allow a student to leave Hogwarts for an overnight stay during term," Dumbledore conceded. "However, in light of Sirius Black's changing behaviour, I wish to consider this a trial visit before summer holidays arrive. If all goes well, Harry can spend part of the summer with his godfather. If it doesn't, I believe he will be most welcome at the Burrow."

"How touching," Snape muttered. "And what about my Slytherins? The first Saturday evening after final examinations is the busiest night for Heads of House."

"Ah yes," Dumbledore agreed, a small smile on his face. "I believe it is the time of year for me to spend an evening in the dungeons, to ensure that housing in that area is adequate for staff and students."

Snape quirked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. No doubt the headmaster would have the Slytherins building forts in the corridors of the dungeons.

"And Potter's absence?"

"His friends are aware of Sirius Black's escape and innocence," Dumbledore easily answered. "The rest of his house will simply be informed that he is visiting an old friend of his parents' for the evening."

They walked past the path to Hagrid's hut, stepping over the very stones where Snape had duelled Potter for a very brief few moments the night that the headmaster had died.

"I suppose everything will wrap up nicely then," Snape acknowledged, willing himself to not get lost in the memory of the second worst night in his life. "I assume that rumours will circulate that Potter and friends went into the chamber on the third floor?"

"Naturally," Dumbledore replied, not bothered by it.

"You have no desire to stop it?" Snape asked, pausing at the stone gateway not far off from the main doors of the castle.

"I must have some sort of explanation for Quirrell's sudden departure," Dumbledore reasoned, with a smile. "The students will be told the very same thing I have been," Dumbledore continued, his eyes glinting. "Professor Quirrell was found in the lower chambers, planning another burglary, and was reported to the goblins as the person who broke into Gringotts last summer. The students shall, of course, not be told anything about the Philosopher's Stone."

"Of course," Snape agreed. He'd told the headmaster that when they'd found Quirrell, he hadn't yet been able to retrieve the Stone. It was still in Snape's robe pocket, and Snape hoped that Dumbledore wouldn't try to move it.

"The summer shall be quieter, Severus," Dumbledore optimistically said, waving his hand and opening the door.

...

Saturday afternoon's quidditch match was a game Potter had never played before. They were playing against Ravenclaw, and needed to win by one hundred and twenty points in order to claim the House Cup. All of the houses had turned up to watch the match, the Slytherins cheering on Ravenclaw, but as Snape sat up in the Professors' section under a cooling charm, he secretly cheered on Gryffindor. Not for the entire house, but for Potter. Potter, who hadn't been so carefree on a broom since before his fourth year. He'd played quidditch since then, but Snape had always noticed the guarded smiles on the boy's face, as if he were hesitant to have too much fun.

It was somewhat still there, but Potter was laughing as he zoomed through the air. It was quite obvious to Snape that Potter's skills as a flier had infused themselves to second nature, and he easily out flew the Ravenclaw seeker and the bludgers on the pitch. At one point Snape was certain Potter had already spotted the snitch, but not made his move as his team didn't yet have enough points to win the House Cup.

Nonetheless, Snape smirked each time a goal for Ravenclaw was scored. It happened thrice, prolonging the game, but Potter seemed content to be zipping about in the air on his broom. Out of habit, Snape glanced about the rest on the field at regular intervals, making sure that nothing suspicious or dangerous was in view. On his tenth glance, he noticed a large dark shadow down by the referee's box, and it took him a minute to recognize the black dog that was there. Unable to wait to see the boy, Snape thought with a sneer. He felt certain that Black had spotted him, as Snape tended to stand out amongst his more colourful colleagues, and made sure to exaggerate his applause when Potter finally caught the snitch and ended the game.

...

It was a quarter of three by the time Potter had showered, changed, and presented himself at the gates of Hogwarts for apparition. Black the Dog had disappeared shortly after the game, and Snape figured he'd returned to Grimmauld Place ahead of them to make sure nothing was left out that he didn't want Snape to see. Dumbledore had mentioned that he wasn't quite happy about Snape escorting Potter to the house.

To form, Black had answered the door with a half-snarl, and spent five minutes arguing with Snape over the terms of their agreement. It was bad form, and Black allowed his anger to override any common sense to be polite when Potter was around. Potter played his part well though, feigning ignorance and slipping into the kitchen. Snape managed to shut Black up long enough to inform him that Dumbledore was taking the rat to the Ministry the following Monday, to ensure his freedom.

Once Black had processed that little tidbit of information, he'd still glared suspiciously at Snape, but allowed him to search Grimmauld's for the wanted heirloom.

Snape started his search for the horcrux locket in the cellar of Grimmauld Place. It was dank and untidy, a small collection of three rooms mostly under the kitchen and the dining room. At one point the Black family had used them as a makeshift wine cellar, but now the few remaining bottles were covered in cobwebs and dust.

"Accio locket," Snape muttered, expecting exactly nothing to come toward him. Potter had told him that the horcruxes didn't respond to an accio charm, but it was worth the four seconds to try. Snape took another breath of stagnant, musty air, slowly swung his lantern around, and noted that the dust on the floor was undisturbed. It was highly unlikely the locket was down here, and Snape decided to abandon the search for the rooms that were in use.

Returning upstairs, Snape could hear the faint voices of Potter and Black in the kitchen. Black was telling grand tales of when Potter was a baby; of the adventures and games they played in the house at Godric's Hollow. Snape entered the front study, just as Black proudly told Potter about buying him his first toddler's broomstick.

"Humph," Snape harrumphed, walking around the room to the desk. "Too bad you weren't there to save him from falling off his broomstick at his first game."

There were a multitude of papers and sheaves of parchment on the desk, all blurred and secured with a privacy and compulsion spell. Snape, who'd learned to resist most compulsions in his experience as a spy, was easily able to deconstruct the two flimsy spells Black had used to safeguard his notes.  Notes Black had made about his experiences in prison, a record of the events of the day he'd supposedly blown up Peter Pettigrew, and hastily written plans for teaching defensive charms and spells. Snape could tell that Black wanted to teach Potter, but his notes were disorganized, his plans sloppy, and most of the defensive spells weren't useful against Death Eaters. For all his time spent in Azkaban, Black still planned to fight fairly, and teach Potter to fight fairly, against a gang of dark wizards who eschewed any sense of propriety in a wandfight.

"Foolish," Snape muttered. The papers were rather telling and rather disturbing, as Black didn't have any sort of filter as he wrote out what was troubling him. Snape's name came up upon occasion, as someone to be watched in regards to Harry. It was obviously that he'd taken Snape's comments to heart, and was highly suspicious of how much time Snape spent with Harry. There were lists of places to take Harry, activities to do with him, life lessons to teach him, and even one entitled ‘how to win Harry back.' There was a rather long parchment full of Snape's own wrongdoings, a large amount of the accusations unfounded, and some even proved in court as untrue. It didn't matter though; Black had gone through more than a decade of Snape's life and assigned blame to him for things that had happened in general and to Black in particular. In the last letter that Snape found, Black had started to write a petition to Dumbledore to prevent Harry completely from interacting with Snape. No lessons, no detentions, no supervisory visits, nothing. The letter turned dark as Black described all sorts of horrific acts that Snape had supposedly committed as a Death Eater, and what he would do given unsupervised time with Potter.

Quite unsettled, Snape was now rather glad that he'd come along with Potter for the visit. Potter was eighteen, and likely capable of defending himself, but Snape had always been in the background to ensure the odds were slightly stacked in Potter's favour. He'd been the one to make things right ever since Potter had been an actual scrawny eleven year old. Snape could feel his anger rising up within him, irritation that Black had penned so many dark marks against him. Dumbledore trusted Snape with Potter's life. He'd trusted a twenty-one year old broken Death Eater to give his life for that of a child. And Snape had kept his promise, had been there for Potter throughout his years at Hogwarts to keep the little bastard safe. He'd been more of a father figure than Black could ever be, both in this life and in their future one.

Snape blinked, charming the papers to blur themselves again. He'd never in his life wanted to be an actual parent, had instead channelled any lingering feelings for that into being a strong Head of House for Slytherin. And yet, he had secretly acted as a guardian to Potter. Not a father, but a guardian, a watcher, a surrogate safe keeper to Lily's child. As much as he'd hated, goaded, teased, grounded the boy, Snape readily admitted to himself that he'd always wanted Potter to be safe. Wanted Potter to survive.

Somehow, the boy had. Through a mixture of luck, a small amount of skill, and some background manipulation, the boy had managed to survive. He'd even proven himself quite useful in their tasks with the horcruxes, and without a doubt he was brave beyond measure. Snape remembered once commenting to Dumbledore, in Potter's fifth year, that the Harry was braver than he had intelligence for. Dumbledore had replied that Harry's intelligence was on par with his bravery; at a level only surpassed by Snape himself. It was rubbish, as Snape didn't think himself as overly brave. He merely did what needed to be done. That being said, Potter had turned out to be a man that Snape could feel a slight bit of pride about.

"Snape!" Potter yelled, his voice lazy and unhurried. "Dinner is up!"

Not bothering to answer, Snape made sure that everything was set to rights in the office. He knew it would irritate Black to not know what had been moved, so was careful that even every quill was returned to where it had been. A meal with the boy and Black would turn out to be interesting to say the least.  Snape made a mental plan to inspect the bedrooms after dinner, and to suggest that Potter ask for a lesson in wizarding customs. Best get Black to teach Potter things that wouldn't endanger his life if he were given incorrect information.

Passing the stairs to the hallway, Snape glanced a curious look upwards. There was nothing sticking out, no wispy dark smoke of the previous horcruxes, but there was a strong feeling that something was up there. He ignored it though, in favour of a warm supper. There was plenty of time afterward to find the Dark Lord's little bastion of evil.

...

Potter was sitting at the far end of the table, nearest the fireplace, listening aptly to Black's retelling of a monstrous dream he'd had.

"First the slithering, the whisper of a black lethifold chilling over my skin as it floated up over the bed. It covered my face, and I felt it suck all the air out of me, like I'd been placed in a hoover. Then before I could reach my wand, before I could fight it off, it reared up and turned into a screaming banshee."

Snape filled a bowl from a pot of stew on the kitchen counter, noting from the corner of his eye that Potter didn't look particularly disturbed by the description.

"Is that when you woke up?" Potter asked.

"No," Black answered shortly, eating some of his dinner. "She then turned into your mother, and had a proper yell at me for abandoning you."

Potter scooped a chunk of beef with his spoon, but didn't lift up to eat it.

"You've dreamt about my mum?"

Snape sat at the long table, two seats away from Potter. He said nothing, and though was not actively a part of the conversation, was still listening intently. The stew wasn't much of a distraction either, as it had been made by Kreacher and tasted incredibly bland.

"And your dad," Black shrugged. "I've dreams about the Muggles too, the thirteen that died in the explosion with Pettigrew."

Black gave a small glare in Snape's direction, as if daring Snape to mock him.

"I dream about Voldemort sometimes," Potter lightly said, taking a mouthful of stew. He sat back in surprise as his godfather started choking on the stew he had taken in.

"I don't believe your godfather is accustomed to anyone using the Dark Lord's name," Snape calmly said, over Black's coughing fit.

"I've encountered many who call him the ‘Dark Lord' though," Black cuttingly said. "Have you told Dumbledore about the dreams, Harry?"

"Naturally, Black," Snape smoothly lied. "Hence the occlumency lessons, once a week."

"Which only you can give," Black sneered, pointing his dripping spoon at Snape. "Why isn't Dumbledore teaching him?"

"Because I am the better occlumens," Snape bluntly replied.

"Sure you are," Black scoffed. "Come next week, I'll have Dumbledore teaching him instead of you."

"He is," Potter quietly said, between mouthfuls of stew. "He's been mentioned in four books about dark arts and magic of the mind."

"Of course he has," Black sarcastically replied. "How many times have his brainwashing skills been mentioned?"

"Sirius," Potter exhaled, pushing his stew bowl away.

"This man was a convicted Death Eater, Harry," Black stated, still staring at Snape. "Have you heard of them?"

"Yes," Potter answered. "And I've seen the Dark Mark on his arm too. But Professor Dumbledore trusts him to teach me, so I'll trust him too."

"Dumbledore has been known to make mistakes," Black immediately answered back. He looked like a petulant teenager, hunched over his chair and glaring angrily over his dinner bowl.

"Yes he has," Snape evenly stated. "Such as not expelling a student who tried to have another killed."

"Enough," Potter called, obviously not wanting to go down that road again.  "Sirius, I trust him to teach me. That's it. And since I've started occlumency, I've not had many dreams about Voldemort."

Black was quiet, and still glaring down the table at Snape. 

"Unfortunately," Snape started, drawing out the syllables, "your godfather seems to be suffering from a different sort of malady. A malevolent spirit, perhaps, influencing his sleep. Or some sort of...curse."

"It's not a curse," Black bit out. "I haven't left Grimmauld's, have I? Slightly difficult to be on the receiving end of a curse."

"Oh you haven't?" Snape asked, sopping up the stew remains in his bowl with a large chunk of bread. "Not even in your more basic form, to take in a match or two?"

"I saw you there too, Snape. Pretending to cheer Harry on, just to irritated me," Black spit. Potter looked blessedly confused.

"No need to pretend," Snape nonchalantly shrugged. "Youngest seeker in a century, and already leading the Gryffindor team in a complete turn around. I believe Harry also set a Hogwarts record in the game before today's, catching the snitch in under five minutes."

Now Potter looked happy and confused, and Black sported a sloppy half smile of pride.

"Of course he did," Black stated, "just like his father."

"Yes, yes," Snape said, waving his hand irritably. "And just like his mother, his favourite dessert is treacle, he doesn't like being called on in class, and he licks his lower lip when he tries to concentrate."

As Snape listed the personality traits, Black's smile faded in to a scowl.

"What's wrong, Black? Are you upset that your enemy knows your godson better than you do?" Snape asked, smiling slightly as he drank from his glass of water. "Perhaps if you wrote actual letters to him, and not just rants about me, you'd find out more."

"My correspondence is none of your business," Black growled, pushing back out of his chair and gripping the table tightly.

"No, perhaps not," Snape answered, buttering a small piece of bread. "However, I was sent here this weekend to accompany Harry, and supervise your visit. Why would the headmaster do that, Black, if he wasn't concerned about your behaviour? Concerns that I can only assume arose from correspondence, as I recall you are to remain here at Grimmauld Place."

Potter was staring between them, watching the conversation bounce back and forth. He hadn't said anything yet, likely as he didn't want to anger Black, but looked like he was about to tell both of them to grow up.

"Harry, do you feel in danger around me?" Black suddenly demanded. His hair was slightly wild and his eyes bright and piercing, giving him a slightly out of control look.  He seemed to catch Potter's hesitation.

"I don't," Potter finally answered, with a tentative smile. "I think you've been cooped up in this house too long."

Well evaded, Snape thought, remaining quiet. He didn't particularly wish to make Potter choose between himself and Black, but he did take a certain amount of pleasure in rattling the man. And in the past few years, he'd not had many sources of amusement.

"Well, you're not wrong," Black said, with a forgiving smile. "Finish your dinner and come up. I've fixed up a room for you."

Snape watched as Black almost completely changed his demeanour, losing his anger in one swoop of a smile. He left his dishes on the table for Kreacher to clean up, and waltzed out of the room. Snape figured he was headed for the office, to better hide his writing.

...

"Why do you have to do that?" Harry tiredly asked, standing up and taking his bowl to the sink.

"Merely continuing a conversation Black started," Snape answered lightly, though the look he gave was a warning. Harry ignored it.

"Yeah, but you don't have to get him so angry. Why do you still hate Sirius so much?"

"Because he's still the same arrogant teenage bully that he was at Hogwarts," Snape answered, taking his own dishes up to wash.

­"That's not really his fault, Snape. He's been in Azkaban, it's like he's been put on pause for ten years. You've had the chance to grow up, but he hasn't."

"Irrelevant," Snape said, but paused when Harry held his hand up.

"If you saw my father today, if he'd lived, would you hate him too?"

Snape paused with the wash brush over his bowl.

"No. He had changed, before we'd even left school. His ultimate act as a father was to sacrifice himself to save you."

Harry looked at Snape, kept eye contact with the dark eyes.

"You did that too."

"I'm not your father," Snape immediately said.

"No, but you act like a guardian. You have since I've arrived at school."

"I have done as promised," Snape quietly said.

"Yeah," Harry replied, lost in thought. He was staring at the peeling Victorian damask wallpaper covering the wall behind the sink.

"Is the way he's acting similar to how you and your friends were affected by the locket?" Snape asked, splashing his cup into the sink.

"Yes," Harry replied, shaking his thoughts clear. "Definitely the paranoia."

"But you've noted that Black is worse in the mornings."

Snape stepped aside, finding a cloth to wipe his hands on.

"And he hasn't been wearing the locket," Harry agreed.

"Because it's likely under his pillow," Snape said. "Black has placed it in his room somewhere for safekeeping, under the bed, or under the pillow, and it's influencing him as he sleeps."

Harry looked queasy at that.

"No wonder he's having such horrid dreams," Harry mumbled. "I'm going to go up and see the room."

Snape nodded as he finished tidying up the kitchen.

"I will be along shortly, and take the room next to yours."

Harry wiped his hands against his trousers and headed for the door, trying to figure out how they'd get the locket safely out of Sirius' hands. Sirius probably thought it was his brother's, and wouldn't be all that keen to give it up, especially if it was persuading him not to.