Harry had been close to breaking down that evening, the night that everyone was finally out of the hospital wing after the fiasco at the Ministry. Hermione had asked him how he was. It was a simple question, but Harry had almost lost it right there in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, because he knew that this was her discreet way of asking how he was dealing with Sirius' death. It had taken every ounce of strength on Harry's part to say that he was getting by alright. The truth was, he was not. He was an utter wreck, and upon reflection, he almost wished that he could have broken down right there, in front of everyone, because even the embarrassment would have paled in comparison to how he felt inside now. Of course, the problem was that he knew very well that he had no right to cry, for Sirius went to the Ministry to save him in the end. It was for that reason that he was killed. If Harry had not have had that vision, Sirius would still be alive.

At first, Harry had tried to blame Snape, as his occlumency lessons had been useless, but after a while, even that proved difficult. Harry had begun to think that maybe those lessons would have been useful if he had just listened, and practised like he was told to. As well as this, however much he wanted to, Harry found no way to blame Dumbledore either, for he tried to prevent such tragedy by arranging the occlumency lessons. So, Harry was left with nobody to blame but himself, and no matter what the others said to him, all he could pay attention to was the holes in their arguments. It was for this reason, this guilt, that he promised himself he would not cry for Sirius, for he knew it to be selfish to cry out of want for someone he led to death.

This promise was one that Harry kept. In fact, he kept it surprisingly easily. Harry had noticed that his friends seemed surprised at how well he was taking Sirius' death, for they foolishly believed that his stoic demeanour meant that he had accepted what happened, and was moving past it. But that was alright. He did not tell them why he was so calm and composed. He didn't tell them how he closed his eyes so tightly at night that he could not possibly cry. He didn't tell them how easily the numbness fell over him, until his wish for his sense of feeling to disappear came true. And before his friends could begin to spring the topic of Sirius' death on him, summer was upon them. The joyful prospect of two whole months stretched before everyone but him, filled with warm evenings and late mornings, green trees and the beauty of the season.

Perhaps that was why he was almost happy to return to the Dursleys'. He did not have to appreciate the beauty that they saw in the world, for his was mostly colourless. Harry would not be bothered by questions from his friends, and nor from his relatives, for Mad-Eye had threatened the Dursleys, and Uncle Vernon dared not speak to him, let alone give him any chores to do. So he stayed in his room, the blinds down, the peach walls closing in on him. He only dragged himself out of his room long enough to nearly drown himself in the shower, or grab an apple from the kitchen. Both were really only out of habit, and neither of these habits lasted long; Harry would take one bite out of the apple, only to gag on the taste of food, and after a while even getting the energy to turn on the shower seemed impossible. So, in time he just gave up both, and stayed in his room, lying on his bed and staring coldly at the ceiling. He didn't think of Sirius, or anything besides the horrid colour of the walls. He was getting very good about thinking of nothing. It was of course, only then that that Harry realized he had finally learned to clear his mind. Oh well. He hadn't been bothered with visions in ages, and it was no wonder, what with the amount of time he spent staring at the walls. It was quite monotonous, but Harry wanted that. The colour peach could not possibly remind him of Sirius.

A week and a half into his stay at Privet Drive, however, something occurred that broke up the monotony. He hadn't really heard his bedroom door creak open, or maybe he did, but just didn't care. He was lying upon his bed, on his side and staring at a chip in the paint, not bothering to see who it was that had opened the door. Uncle Vernon was at work, so it could not possibly have been him. Dudley had gone to terrorize the neighbourhood with Piers. It was impossible not to hear Dudley and his gang leaving, what with the racket they made. Therefore, it could only have been Aunt Petunia. Under any other circumstances, Harry might have asked her what she wanted, but this time he didn't have the will to do so. He hoped she might think he was sleeping, even though his breathing wasn't deep enough, and his eyes stared blankly. If it weren't for the numbness that had settled in his chest, he might have been surprised as the squeaky mattress on his bed descended slightly with the weight of a person sitting on it.

"Harry," began Aunt Petunia, sounding awkward and out of place, "what happened?"

He did not bother to respond.

"It's just that ... this isn't like you," she muttered.

"How would you know?" Harry replied flatly, not bothering to look at her, still staring at the walls. Harry guessed she was probably biting her lip at his comment. She did that a lot.

"Is ... is there something you want to tell me?"

Harry hoped she would take a hint from the silence he gave her.

"Alright. I made some chicken soup. I'll bring you a bowl."

"I'm not sick."

"I know," she muttered after a rather uncomfortable pause. Silence fell once more between them.

Harry wondered why she hadn't moved yet. He was amazed when he felt her tense hand settle on his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but all it did was make Harry's muscles clench. She took her hand away quickly, and clearing her throat, she got up and left. The room was quiet for a little while, but after a moment or two soft steps across the floor announced her presence again, and with a light clink she set something on his desk. Aunt Petunia left after that, closing the door, and leaving Harry in peace. Only once he was sure she was gone did he roll over onto his other side.

He stared at the bowl of steaming homemade chicken soup upon the desk. There was a neat little stack of crackers next to it. After a moment of indecision, he reached for one, dipped it in the hot broth, and nibbled on it. He put it down quickly. It tasted like everything he had never had.

***

Cold. He was cold, despite the fact that steaming cauldrons had filled the dungeon room with a damp heat. Perhaps it was the shooting pain in his left arm, far more invasive than it normally was. He was on his knees in his lab, the pain threatening to take over as his heart filled with a poisonous chill. Severus Snape stood up shakily, taking advantage of the moment between the waves of pain. He stumbled over to the fire, and tossed a handful of floo powder into the flames, which he stumbled into once they had turned green.

"Headmaster's office!" he gasped, clutching his left arm, his palms breaking out in a cold sweat despite the warm flames licking his side.

He arrived in a whirl, barely keeping his feet as he emerged from the fire.

"Severus," exclaimed Dumbledore in surprise as he looked up from a pile of paperwork. "He is calling?"

Severus nodded, breathing heavily.

"It is not going to be good," he said, voice slurring in pain. "I have a terrible feeling about this one, Albus."

"Where will it be?"

Snape closed his eyes for a second, and amidst swirling blackness he got the vague outline of a large building. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a dusty sweet smell. He recognized it immediately. Sometimes, when Voldemort's call was stronger than usual, and you knew how, you could tap into the magic that was meant to take the wearer of the mark to the destination. This occasion was one of those, and Severus informed Dumbledore hastily of the place he believed he was being called to.

"Malfoy Manor," he gasped. "I'm sure of it."

"Good luck," said Dumbledore, his eyes betraying a hint of worry. "I shall wait for your return. Should I have your potions kit ready?"

Severus nodded, beads of sweat now forming on his forehead. He pitched another handful of floo powder into the fire, and threw himself into the flames. This time, when the fire roared to life, he appeared in a fireplace in the room off the Great Hall. He barrelled out of the doorway, past empty tables and out into the Entrance Hall. Out into the damp, starless night he ran, the sound of thunder rolling across the sky. Lightning lit the path down to the gates, and with a clatter he threw them open. They clashed together loudly behind him. The crack of Severus apparating was lost in another crashing roll from the sky.

When the gates of Malfoy Manor clanged shut behind him that old, familiar sense of terror rose inside him, the same sort of dread he had remembered feeling as a child when his father came home from the pub. Despite the fact that everything here felt so wrong ...despite the fact that the ground hurt more than he could say as he was cursed onto his back, he did not show an ounce of fear. It was the only thing left to do, for dignity was all he had ever had.

****

That night, storms rolled all across Britain. Lightning streaked the sky, and with every booming clap of thunder Number Four Privet Drive trembled from the very foundation. The cold bowl of soup rattled on the desk every time the walls shivered from the raging storm. Harry watched the flashes of lightning dance across the ceiling in his room. The house was stifling hot, and he lay on top of the covers, one hand resting on his bare stomach. He brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes, thinking deeply. He couldn't make sense of how Aunt Petunia had treated him today. It was almost as though she had reached the point where she was actually starting to worry about him. In some, small part of him, he wished he could have told her what had happened, and how much pain he had hidden away within him. The thought of what he had done engulfed him once more, but again, knowing no other way of dealing with it, he squashed all of the pain far into the depths of his self, and all the feelings that came with the memory. It was better to be numb, he he told himself, even if he knew somewhere deep down that this was not true. But every day, a larger part of himself had started to believe that numbness was better. Perhaps that was what Aunt Petunia had started to see - that cold, blank expression on his face. She had seen him only a few times when he went across the hall to the bathroom, but clearly she had started to uncover the fact that something was very wrong. Harry wasn't willing to admit she was right, however. Maybe he wasn't happy like this, but the absence of feeling was better than pain.

He had so little will to react to anything that he didn't even jump when thunder exploded above the house, sounding exactly the same moment as the light reached the corners of his room. Aunt Petunia let out a terrified screech from across the hall, and light crept under Harry's door, probably coming from his Aunt and Uncle's room. In the spaces between the thunder Harry heard Uncle Vernon reassuring Aunt Petunia that they were going to be alright. The lights flickered and died as the power went out. Harry rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Now, despite the heat, he felt cold. He shut his eyes tightly, forcing his tears away.

For a second he was aware of the sudden tingling sensation in his fingers and toes, and then as it rushed up and took over him, a deep, almost tangible darkness descended upon his senses. Thunder crashed in his ears, but no light reached his eyes as he was plunged into a strange sort of nothingness, and he knew no more.

***

The floors of Malfoy Manor shook as thunder crashed and rain leaked down into one of the stone dungeons, creating tiny rivers to wash away the crusted blood on the stones. Flashes could be seen coming through the grates high up in the walls where the water was flowing in. Severus was lying on the damp, cold stone floor, but the chill could not take away pain that was left by a different kind of hot lightning that had streaked down his spine only moments earlier.

"CRUCIO!" screamed the Dark Lord yet again, descending on the traitor with a vengeance.

Severus had long ago lost count of how many times that curse had been screamed since he had arrived. The streak of hot fire from the sky and the light from Voldemort's wand crackled at the same time, and again, Severus' bones felt like they were splitting into sharp, fiery pieces. Though he had barely a voice left to do so, his yells reached such a height that they could be heard over the roar of the thunder and the rain. The curse was held, and held, until Severus wasn't sure of anything anymore, just the pain, and the sound of his voice rising above the tumult of the storm. The Dark Lord released, and Severus took in a deep gulp of burning air. His eyes were streaming, and every muscle in his body was twitching and spasming without his control. Drool had dribbled down the side of his face, and his body felt hot and cold at the same time. He was also semi aware of the fact that his robes were wet beneath his legs, and he knew from the warmth that it wasn't water. The Dark Lord yelled Crucio again before he had time to fully understand what had happened. The aching, ripping fire returned, and this time he succumbed to the dark, swirling blackness at the edge of his mind.

***

When Harry awoke, it was very early in the morning. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on, or at least he thought he had been asleep. He looked at the clock. It said that it was four thirty in the morning. The pale morning light was just starting to show through the curtains. He sat up, and then frowned, for his bed seemed different. He threw the covers off, which felt heavier than usual. He looked down at his legs. Funny, the bed was a lot bigger too, because he looked quite small in comparison to it. His glasses slipped off his face, and in his attempt to catch them he poked himself in the eye accidentally.

"Ouch!" he said angrily, as it watered badly. He frowned once more. His voice was different. For a second, he recalled the odd tingling he had felt the previous night. He wondered if he was sick. He decided to look in the mirror, to see if he looked pale at all. First, he picked up his glasses and held them on his face. He figured they must be broken from sleeping with them. Harry then slid off his bed, and was shocked by how high it was. He actually had to drop a little bit before his feet touched the ground. He gaped in shock when his pyjama trousers, and his pants slipped down around his ankles, leaving him wearing nothing. He hadn't worn a shirt to bed thanks to the heat. Feeling his face get hot, despite the fact that nobody was there, he hoisted his underpants back up, suddenly worried. Surely he hadn't lost that much weight from not eating? He threw this idea away however, for that would not explain why he was so much shorter than he had been last night. Heart pounding, and knowing that something was very wrong, he wrenched open his wardrobe and stared at himself in the mirror. What he saw made him open his mouth with shock. A little kid stared back at him. A kid that looked exactly like he had when he was four. He took a step back, stumbling and falling to the ground.

***

"Severus!" a voice hissed at him urgently. "Severus, wake up!"

A hand dabbed a wet flannel on his forehead. It made the cuts sting. He became vaguely aware of the damp smell of the cellar, and the underlying scent of blood and urine. Feeling as though it took all the strength in the world, Severus fought to open his puffy eyes. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but he could see enough to figure out whose face was above him.

"N'cis?" said his garbled voice, barely able to make a sound. He swallowed thickly, for his throat felt raw, and every breath stung.

"Yes, it's Narcissa," she said, choking on tears. "The Dark Lord is gone for a little while on business. I'm getting you out."

Severus closed his eyes, trying to stay conscious.

"Dotty, come over here," she said hurriedly.

He opened his bloodshot eyes once more, and took in the form of a small house elf with floppy ears. She was wringing her tea towel nervously.

"Take Severus to Hogwarts. The Headmaster might be busy, so take him to the gamekeeper, Hagrid. He rarely leaves."

"Yes, ma'am!" squeaked Dotty.

"Do this, and then you must stay at Hogwarts to work, just in case," Narcissa instructed. "It will not be safe for you to return after this, for you or I. You must never come back to Malfoy Manor, or admit to anyone that you worked here. You also shall pretend you have no knowledge of this night. I haven't any clothes to give you right now, but consider this your final act under the Malfoy name."

"Yes, ma'am," Dotty said again.

"N'cis," croaked Severus, trying to protest.

"I am going to obliviate myself of this," she hastily explained. "He cannot know how you escaped if I do not. You've been too good a friend to my family for me not to help you."

Then, she bent down and kissed him on the forehead, not minding the sweat, grime, and blood.

"You are so brave to do what you did. I wish I could stand up to him like that."

Severus' bloodshot eyes became watery, and his cracked lips tried to form a thank you, but she gently shushed him.

"Now go, Dotty!" Narcissa whispered anxiously.

The little house elf grabbed a hold of Severus' arm, and in a moment there was a crack and the dungeon room disappeared before Severus' eyes. The two reappeared a few feet from the front steps on Hagrid's hut. The grass was still cold and damp from last night's rain. Severus moaned slightly, the morning light creeping over the horizon and making him blink after the darkness of the dungeon. Severus felt very dizzy, and he was on the verge of passing out when Hagrid opened the door at the elf's knock. The words that the elf said to Hagrid sounded garbled in his ears, and he must of have blacked out for a few seconds, for the next thing he knew was that the elf was gone and Hagrid was picking him up. He let out a sharp cry at the sudden movement, which made his head ache and his body scream with a sick, burning pain. He gasped for air, fighting to keep his roiling stomach from turning over, gulping as the tears streamed down his face. He was too weak to stop them, and he hated himself for it, though his mind was too muddled to register why.

"Shh, you're okay," Hagrid said softly, but this only confused Severus, for he was having trouble making sense of the sounds that Hagrid's voice made. He could feel himself about to black out again as Hagrid cradled him in his arms and started to run up the hill to the castle. He threw up on Hagrid's moleskin overcoat halfway there, trying desperately to remain conscious. Then, the fight left him, and he descended into darkness again.

Light flooded his vision once more, and before him swam the face of Madam Pomfrey. She was pulling his tie off and unbuttoning the blood-stained white dress shirt that he wore under his robes. Pain throbbed in his temples, the aching and burning returning full force.

"Wha' thhell?" he said to her, voice slurring, trying to figure out what she was doing through the haze of his senses. It scared him that he could barely move, and he didn't understand where he was or how he got there. "Sop tha'!"

"Severus, I'm doing this so I can heal you," she said patiently as she continued with the buttons, though her voice was shaking.

It scared him that she was crying. Confused, he stared blankly, and then another wave of pain made him lose consciousness.

***

It was eight in the morning, and Uncle Vernon had gone to work. Dudley was not home, as he had stayed the night at Piers' house. Harry was grateful for this, for he knew that he was in big trouble. This wasn't something he could fix, and however much he was absolutely scared stiff to go downstairs and find Aunt Petunia, he knew that there was no other way he could write a letter to Dumbledore. He had tried to write a note with a quill, but he couldn't get the letters to form properly and he kept blotting the ink. He stamped his foot as he stared at the crumpled up pieces of paper in the waste-basket. He could write his name, sort of, but that was it. He might have been able to do it with a regular pen, or a pencil, but those were all kept in a cabinet drawer in the dining room, because that was where Uncle Vernon did paperwork and taxes. There was no way Harry would be able to sneak downstairs without Aunt Petunia hearing him, because she was always in the kitchen around this time doing the early morning scrub-down of the floors and counters. And Harry knew a problem like this could not wait. He didn't know how he had gotten this way, and if he could not fix it himself, he intended to find someone who could. He wondered if he somehow did some sort of accidental magic, although he really had no idea what had provoked that. But all he did know, was that he couldn't be a little kid if he was going to fight Voldemort. It was not safe for him to be in such a vulnerable form. So, he dug through his wardrobe for a t-shirt he could wear. He found one that wouldn't slip over his shoulders and threw it over his head. He felt stupid, because the shirt practically looked like a dress on him, but for the life of him he could not get his trousers or underpants to stay up. He felt exposed, but knew there was nothing that he could do to fix that without a good shrinking spell.

"Here goes," he muttered to himself, hating the pitch that his voice was at.

Then he reached up and turned the doorknob, standing on the tips of his toes. The door swung open, and using all the Gryffindor courage he possessed, he crept out of his room. He reached the end of the hall and stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened as he tried to recall if they had seemed this big the last time he was a little kid. Scowling, he grabbed onto the handrail and took the stairs one step at a time. Butterflies made his stomach do flip flops, and if it were not for the fact that he was so nervous, he might have realized that he didn't feel any of the cold numbness he had felt since Sirius died. He held his breath and tiptoed down the hallway at the bottom of the stairs and to the kitchen door. Feeling like he was going to be sick, Harry reached up to turn the handle, seeing the silhouette of Aunt Petunia through the glass in the door. She didn't seem to hear Harry come in, for he was very quiet.

"Aunt Petunia?" he squeaked, terrified.

She looked up for a second, not sure where the sound had come from.

"I d-did something accidentally with my magic - I swear I don't know how I did it, I wasn't even trying to do magic," Harry told her, just as she caught sight of him. She dropped her sponge and opened her mouth wide in a silent scream. "Dumbledore can fix it, I promise, but can you write him a letter for me that I can send with my owl? I haven't got the coordination to write."

"W-What ... what the ..."

Harry frowned. Clearly she wasn't going to snap out of it anytime soon. She sat down with a soft thump on the kitchen floor. He waited a good five minutes for her to speak.

"Come ... come here," she said dazedly at last.

Harry obeyed, and she very carefully reached out a hand. Her finger poked him in the shoulder.

"Oh no ... Oh no ..." Aunt Petunia said hoarsely upon determining he was solid. "I'm not crazy ... or maybe I am ... very, very crazy."

"I'm real," Harry assured her, trying to stay calm too. "I think I somehow did accidental magic, like that time I blew up Aunt Marge, only I made myself little again. Physically at least. I still have my older mind. I'm not sure really how it happened, or why."

"Thank God Vernon isn't home," she said rather squeakily as she chewed on one of her fingernails. Harry knew she must really be frightened if she was doing that. She'd always maintained that it was a disgusting habit, and scorned others for doing it.

"I know it must seem very strange, but please, can you just write me a letter to Dumbledore saying what happened? I ... I can't do it myself." Harry tried to stop his voice from shaking, but he found it very hard. He watched as Aunt Petunia took a few very deep breaths. She closed her eyes, and waved her hands a little in a slow, calming way, and then she opened her eyes once more.

"Okay," she said shakily. She stood up rather woozily, and went into the dining room. Harry followed her, and climbed up into the chair next to her as she took a pen and some paper. "Tell me what to say."

Harry took a deep breath. On the chair, he sat upon his knees so that he could watch her write

"Dear Professor Dumbledore," Harry began, watching as his Aunt's pristine cursive graced the page. It was slightly shakier than usual, however. "It's spelled D-U-M-B-L ..."

"I know how to spell it," she snapped. Harry stared at her quizzically, but she ploughed on before he could ask her any questions. "Well, what do you want to say next? Go on."

"Er, okay. Write this: I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but something weird happened this morning."

"Mhm."

"I woke up, and I think that during the night I did some accidental magic." Harry paused, trying to remain calm as he waited for his aunt to finish the sentence. "Now, physically, I look like a little kid ... perhaps four or five years old. But I still think like myself."

"Go on."

"I don't know how to turn back, or why I got like this in the first place. Can you come and help me change back? I know this doesn't look like my writing, but I had to have my Aunt help me because I haven't got good coordination. Regards, Harry."

"Is that all?" Aunt Petunia said, now sounding a great deal calmer.

Harry nodded.

She folded up the letter and handed it to him, eyes wide.

"Terrifying ..." she muttered. "You look exactly like you did when you were a child. Do you think Dumbledore can fix it?"

Harry bit his lip. "I think so. He is very smart."

Aunt Petunia sat in the chair for a moment or so after, looking rather shocked, and not sure what to do.

"I'm going to look for some old clothes in the attic that will fit you," she said after a while. " I don't want anyone to see you like that, even one of your kind."

"Okay," Harry said, not at all surprised that she had commented on his awful attire. She gave him one more nervous glance, and then rushed out of the room, leaving Harry to go upstairs and send the letter to Dumbledore.

Not realizing he was doing it, he held his breath as he watched Hedwig fly away with the letter.

"What's going to happen to me?" he whispered to himself, his eyes welling up with tears. He blinked them away as Aunt Petunia knocked on his door, and came into the room carrying a worn out pair of overalls.

***

Severus stirred slightly. The light slipped through his eyelids, orange and red. He moved his tongue around in his mouth, exploring the feeling of it and tasting the awful flavor of morning mouth. Yet, he didn't think that it was morning, and if it was, he was struggling greatly to remember what he had been doing last night. He felt a little bit queasy, and his head ached, but he didn't think he had been drinking. He rarely drank, so he doubted this could have been a product of that.

With much difficulty, he opened his eyelids, which stuck slightly and were crusty. Weary, and still trying to escape the strange foggy and fatigued feeling that had settled over him, he observed the room. The sun was obviously going down, because it only ever came through the hospital wing windows in the evening. No, it definitely was not morning then. Slowly he began to emerge from the hazy state of his mind. He started to wiggle his fingers and toes. The fingers on his left hand moved fairly alright, though they were a bit stiff. He began to feel worried when he could barely move the fingers on his right hand, or his arm, which was beyond stiff. There were parts of his right arm that he could not feel at all, and for a moment he feared it was not there completely. With great effort, he moved his left hand over to feel his right. It was intact alright, but if it weren't for the fact that he had almost no voice left, he might have given a shout of surprise. He could feel his left hand touching his right arm, but his right arm couldn't feel his left hand. Panic rose in him like a poison, taking over his senses. Painfully, he heaved himself into a sitting position, regretting the speed of his adrenaline-induced actions for the spinning in his head. His stomach lurched a little, but he swallowed forcefully and looked around the hospital wing. There was nobody in sight, but he knew that Poppy would be in her office. Confused, and having trouble remembering all that happened the previous night, he threw off the covers and clumsily swung his legs around the side of the bed. With determination, he put his feet on the floor and pushed off, intending to go see Poppy and demand what was going on.

He soon found his stiff right arm could do very little. His legs were mostly alright, he thought. Of course, this illusion was shattered when tried to take a step. Severus was on his feet, but he tried to drag his right foot forward, to very poor results. He stumbled, and fell to the floor. He managed to cushion his fall slightly with his left arm, but his right could not reach up far enough to do that.

Scowling and wincing with pain, Severus lay there for a moment on his stomach, head spinning. The cool stones made him shiver a little bit, the hospital pyjamas doing little to keep him warm. He knew he had to get up, and could not stand the embarrassment of Poppy seeing him like this. A flashing image suddenly raced through his mind, of Voldemort, his wand raised. At last, he understood why he was here in the hospital wing. He moaned slightly as he finally remembered some of the hazy snippets of the previous night, when Poppy had been working on healing him. He hated appearing weak, even if he had just been very nearly tortured out of his mind. Despite this, Severus was grateful that she had already done a very large amount of healing on him, but clearly there was something more to this as well. Awkwardly, he rolled onto his back and managed to prop himself up with his left arm. He struggled to get to his feet, and this time he managed to take a step or two before falling, though his right leg was not supporting him nearly enough, or moving as well as he needed it to. He stumbled and managed to grab a hold of the edge of the bed, falling to his knees. They collided painfully with the stone floor. Panting, he rested his cheek on the bed clothes, his good arm grasping as much of the bed as possible as he tried to drag himself up again. He found he lacked the strength. He scrabbled at the sheets harder when he heard footsteps, panting slightly as he tried to get back into bed on his own. He didn't need help. He didn't want help.

"Oh, Severus," sighed Poppy. He hated the tone in her voice. He scowled deeply, something he knew Poppy did not miss. He couldn't help it, even if she was just trying look out for him. By the tone of her voice he felt that he was some sort of creature to be pitied. He felt her arms slide beneath his armpits and help to support him so he could climb weakly into the bed. "You never were one to lie still, were you?" she said rather sadly as he lay there breathing heavily.

"P-Poppy, wh - wh -" he croaked, voice crackling and raw. He was trying to voice the question as to why he was having such difficulty moving.

"Rest your voice for now, Severus," she warned him. "You have damaged your vocal cords. They will heal soon enough with a few more potions, but for now, you must be quiet. I know you must be confused, and wondering why you can't move your right arm or leg very well, and why you do not have full range of feeling."

Severus nodded, hanging onto her every word.

"You were under the Cruciatus Curse for longer than should be humanly possible. I am not sure how your mind has managed to remain in as such good a state as it is, as the areas of your brain that control cognitive thinking and speech have shown very little damage. I believe that your occlumency skills may have helped in the preservation of that, but you have, however sustained damage to your nerve endings, as well as some of the parts of your brain that control movement, which has led to partial paralysis in certain areas on your right side, and very minimal damage on the left. Luckily, we have potions that can treat you and will help restore a fair amount of movement. You may always walk with a limp, and I do not know how well you will be able to cast spells with your right hand, as your dexterity may be permanently affected. You may have to relearn to do many things with your left, but with extensive physiotherapy, we might be able to avoid you having to do that."

Severus made to open his mouth, shock riddling his features, but Poppy shushed him. He glared at her.

"I know, it is not a fun situation Severus, but we are trying as hard as we can," she said wearily. "I will see your treatment through, but I am consulting a specialist from St. Mungo's who is allied with the Order, and we will keep all of this a secret."

He tried to speak again. It only came out as a whisper, but Poppy seemed to take a hint that it was important. She lowered her ear close to his cracked lips in order to hear the name that he was uttering. She raised her head up again and responded .

"Albus received an urgent letter at dinner, but he will come to speak to you when he has dealt with that matter," Poppy responded once she understood what he was saying. "I have some potions for you to take, and you need to try and eat something with them. I will be back in a few minutes."

Severus watched her retreat wearily, and then closed his eyes, trying to digest the information. Every time he thought about what she said, he was pierced by the sensation that the ground had been pulled out from beneath him. Breathless, he opened his eyes and stared at the stone ceiling, trying to anchor himself as the world spun out of control, as his face finally reflected the fear within him. What was he going to do?

The doorbell rang. For a moment, neither Harry nor Aunt Petunia moved from where they sat rigidly at the kitchen table. Uncle Vernon was not there, for Aunt Petunia had cleverly suggested that he and Dudley go see an action movie at the cinema. Harry had been surprised to find that Aunt Petunia had done this, for he had stayed in his room for the rest of the day in a constant state of fear, wondering when Uncle Vernon was going to come upstairs and give him a licking for what he had done to himself. The last thing Uncle Vernon would want would be to have to keep Harry in his house any longer than he had to. Harry did not need to remind himself that the arrival of Albus Dumbledore could have been made a lot more stressful had Uncle Vernon been there, and for this reason he was more grateful than he wanted to admit that Aunt Petunia had gotten him out of the house.

At last, Aunt Petunia got up from her chair and moved out of the kitchen to get the door.

Harry felt small in his seat at the table, seated on a phone book so he could see over it. Two voices were filtering into the kitchen, and in a few moments Harry could hear the door being shut, and the clack of boots on the wood floor as they approached.

"Thank you, Petunia," Dumbledore said as he came through the kitchen door with her. "Ah, and here is Harry."

"Hello, Professor," Harry said rather meekly.

"My word," was his Professor's reply as he looked upon the small boy.

Harry was shocked at Dumbledore's surprise. He had been under the impression that nothing surprised Albus Dumbledore.

"There is a spell to change me back, isn't there?" Harry asked frantically, eyes wide. "Isn't there?"

Dumbledore sat down at the table across from Harry and surveyed him over his half-moon glasses.

"This will require a great deal of thought," said Dumbledore slowly.

"But ... there is a way for me to change back," Harry said once more, his voice taking on a bit of a hysterical note,

"That will depend, Harry."

It took every ounce of Harry's strength to keep from bursting into sobs. He had to bite his lip. Nearby, Aunt Petunia was biting her nails. Although, this was probably more to do with the worry that she would have to have him in the house for another twelve years or so. Harry almost looked up at her, but couldn't raise his eyes from the wood of the table.

"For now, you shall come to Hogwarts with me."

"Yes, sir," said Harry weakly, and Aunt Petunia relaxed in her seat.

After Harry had packed, they departed for Hogwarts, Harry's things already sent to the castle by magic. Aunt Petunia didn't even have the heart to sigh with relief when he went out the door, as she usually did every summer before she closed the door with a snap behind him. This time, the door did not close forcefully, and she watched for a moment or so as they strode away from the house. Dumbledore walked down the sidewalk calmly and inconspicuously as he could, with his baby blue suit, his long beard, and flashy boots. Harry, naturally, was under his invisibility cloak for safety's sake. They had had to fold it in half and then drape it over Harry so it wouldn't drag too badly. In this manner they walked a fair distance, and then Dumbledore slid into an alleyway. Harry followed obediently, trying to keep up with the long strides of his headmaster.

"I am going to take you by side-along apparition," said Dumbledore very quietly. "It is the quickest and safest way for us to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Ordinarily I would have you grab my arm, but I am too tall for you to reach one. I will have to pick you up for this."

"But -"

"I know, but I do not want to risk losing my grip on you during apparition. It would be too dangerous."

Harry felt the unquenchable urge to grumble under his breath, which he did so freely without entirely registering the fact that he was doing so.

"I'm picking you up now."

"Hmmph."

Dumbledore reached down, and felt for the invisibility cloak. Harry reached out his arms, quite disgruntled. Dumbledore was able to pick Harry up with the invisibility cloak. He settled Harry in his arms, and told Harry to hang onto him tightly. It felt strange to Harry. He also noted that Dumbledore felt as though he was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry closed his eyes tightly as he felt Dumbledore spin on the spot, and then he was pulled into a confusing mess of blackness. Sound rushed in his ears, and he squeezed tightly to Dumbledore, trying not to make a sound. He thought he might have let a little sob out along the way, but the rushing noise was too great for him to hear anything. Then, at the moment when he felt surely he had no air left in his lungs, the warm, moist air hit his face and he was gasping, still safe in Dumbledore's arms. Harry felt panicky inside and wanted desperately to give in to tears. It had been utterly terrifying to him, and he couldn't figure out for the life of him why it had been so frightening. Ordinarily, he thought something like that wouldn't have bothered him too much. Then again, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was physically a child. But he didn't think it affected his thinking too much, or did it? All of these things happened in seconds, and the next thing Harry knew was that Dumbledore had gently lifted up the cloak so he could see Harry's face.

"Are you alright?" asked Dumbledore. "Do you feel sick at all?"

Breathing heavy, Harry said he was alright, and no, he did not feel sick. He rubbed his eyes. He hadn't realized a few tears had escaped. He looked away in embarrassment.

"Oh, you needn't worry about that. Probably a side effect of your physical state. It is not a sign of weakness Harry."

Harry still didn't look at Dumbledore.

"Do you want to walk the rest of the way?" inquired the headmaster.

"Yes," said Harry defiantly. He scowled. He didn't like being asked stupid questions like he really was a child.

Upon his request, Dumbledore set him down. Harry's head was spinning a little bit, and upon further consideration, he did feel a bit queasy. He swallowed thickly. It was a good thing he had a lot of practise keeping his meals down, what with his occasional bout of anxiety.

"Are you sure you are feeling alright? Apparition can be very hard on the system."

"I'm FINE," Harry snapped, unconsciously stomping his foot on the ground.

"If you insist," said Dumbledore. Harry felt a cold sort of fire erupt inside him when he heard the note of amusement in Dumbledore's voice.

"I think we shall see if Hagrid can keep you company for the day," Dumbledore said, thinking aloud. "I want you to be with someone in case there are any new developments."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, all traces of anger gone and replaced with curiosity. Not that he minded Dumbledore leaving him alone, but he did wonder what the Headmaster was doing.

"I was talking with you Aunt while you were packing your things, and she helped me to see a rather important clue," said Dumbledore.

"What was that?"

"Oh, all in good time, my boy. I think I may have started to understand your situation, for this reminds me of something I read about years and years ago. I need to do some research before I can determine what we can do to help you, Harry."

"Okay."

Dumbledore carried the invisibility cloak for Harry, as it was awfully big for his arms, and together they walked leisurely through the gates and across the grounds; Harry suspected Dumbledore was slowing up for him. Eventually however, they reached Hagrid's hut. Dumbledore didn't want to shock Hagrid, for he was sure he would recognize Harry, and so therefore had Harry sit on the step while he explained inside. Harry stared at a lady-beetle crawling across the steps up to Hagrid's door while he waited. It fascinated him more than bugs ordinarily did, but he supposed this had something to do with the fact that he was bored out of his mind, and he was no longer concentrating solely on his sore stomach, for he was feeling much better now.

The door opened, and Dumbledore beckoned Harry in. Harry, suddenly shy, looked at his feet and shuffled into the room.

"Hi, Hagrid," he muttered.

"It's good ter see ya Harry," said Hagrid pleasantly, although Harry could easily tell he was very curious and surprised to see Harry in such a state.

"Harry, you will indeed stay with Hagrid for the day," Dumbledore said. "You will probably stay the night too."

"Can't I go back to Gryffindor Tower?" Harry asked. "No offence, Hagrid, but it would be nice to sleep in my own bed."

"No offence taken," Hagrid replied cheerfully.

"No, I think it is better if you are with someone else in case this progresses at all," Dumbledore said, frowning a little. "And I am a little bit worried that Peeves might bother you. I am afraid that during the summer he is used to having run of the empty school, and he's a bit difficult to fend off without magic. But, while you are here, I will see if I can procure some smaller clothing for you, and send it down with an owl."

"Okay," said Harry gloomily. He muttered the last thing under his breath. "I hate Peeves."

Dumbledore chuckled slightly before saying goodbye. Harry watched him go rather gloomily.

"I hope he knows what he's doing," Harry said darkly.

"Oh, he'll figure somethin' out for ya," Hagrid assured him. "He always does, don't he?"

While Harry was still having trouble adjusting to the shock of his transformation, the rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. Harry helped Hagrid garden a bit, although he wasn't as good with a hoe as he remembered being. After that it started to get darker out and they went inside to eat some stew that Hagrid had made. It tasted good, but Harry didn't eat much. He was too worried. After that, Hagrid sat by the fire darning his socks and Harry lay on his belly on the floor rolling some marbles around that Hagrid had found him.

"Hagrid?"

"Uh huh?"

"Do you think Dumbledore's found out what happened to me yet?"

"I don't know," said Hagrid gently.

"What if he doesn't figure it out?"

"Oh, he will. You'll see. He always does. Jus' trust in him, Harry. Trust's an important thing."

"Okay."

Harry pondered this as watched the glass marble sparkle in the firelight. They were beautiful. After a while he found his eyes drooping slowly. And he closed them. The warmth of the fire was making him slowly fall into half dreams. In the state between wakefulness and sleeping, he felt someone pick him up. He vaguely decided that it must have been Hagrid. He thought that perhaps he had dropped off for a few minutes, for the next time he opened his eyes he was laying up against the crook of Hagrid's enormous arm. He barely took up any room on Hagrid's lap. The gentle movement of Hagrid darning his socks and his steady breathing sent Harry back to sleep immediately. In fact, he didn't even mind that he was sleeping in someone's lap. The last thing he thought was that when morning came, at least he could pretend to Hagrid that he didn't remember any of this happening.

***

"Severus, just let me measure you," said Poppy Pomfrey, at last betraying her impatience with him, which had not been present for the duration of the argument, which had been going on for at least fifteen minutes.

"No, absolutely not," Severus said with a scowl, his arms crossed as he sat up in his hospital bed, staring defiantly out the window.

"I cannot get a leg brace made for you until I measure you," she said, her hands on her hips, a magical measuring tape hovering in the air beside her, quivering with anticipation.

"I do not need one," he replied peevishly, glaring at her with the kind of look that invited a challenge.

"Then demonstrate to me that you don't!" Poppy blurted out at last, throwing up her hands to show that she was at her wit's end.

A sudden surge of anger filled Severus, and the glass on his bedside table began to rattle. He did not notice this until Poppy put a hand on the glass to keep it from toppling. Severus felt his stomach flip, and the glass ceased to move. Had he done that? Poppy was looking at him intently, and he suddenly felt ashamed.

"I - I did not mean to ..." he said weakly, wanting nothing more than to sink down into his bed and pull the covers over his head from embarrassment. How had that happened? He had not done accidental magic since he was in his teenage years.

"I know you didn't," said Poppy, her voice suddenly quiet, looking saddened. "I may have been a bit harsh, and I am sorry. But all things aside, you are a very powerful wizard Severus, and seeing as for the next little while you will not be casting any spells you must be careful not to get worked up. An excess of magic can sometimes be dangerous, so you will do well to remember yourself when you are upset."

"I was not -"

"Yes, Severus, you were upset," Poppy said plainly, but without heat, "and that is perfectly alright. You have every right to be upset for some time, but you cannot let it get the better of you."

"What am I, eleven?" he hissed, furious at the way Poppy was speaking to him like he was an ignorant first year. "The last thing I need is another lecture. It will not occur again, but it would not have even happened in the first place had you not insisted on pestering me to no end!"

"I am doing this for your own good, Severus Tobias Snape!" Poppy cried, her voice suddenly becoming shrill. "Do you want to walk, or not? I only want what is best for you, so it is about time that you cooperate with me!"

Severus looked at her as she huffed and puffed, her cheeks flushed and her hands clenched into fists. He had to admit he was shocked, for he had never seen her come undone like this, but he was startled to see that her eyes were wet. Her words started to sink in. Swallowing, he slowly nodded.

"Fine," he said, barely able to make his voice audible. "You can measure my leg."

For a second he met her gaze, and he tried to say sorry, but the words stuck in his throat. He was never good at apologies, or admitting he was wrong. Poppy's gaze softened, and she gently brushed the covers aside and rolled up his trouser leg that so his right leg was exposed, and then waved her wand to send the measuring tape to work.

It only took about a minute or two, and the measurements wrote themselves onto a little piece of parchment. Poppy said something about sending them off somewhere, and that the brace would be ready in a few days. Severus barely heard her, and as soon as she left he let his head fall back onto the pillow, closing his eyes and trying to think of anything that would distract from the hollowness inside him.

***

Harry ended up staying with Hagrid for four days before Dumbledore found the lead he had been looking for. This did not bother Harry all that much, as Hagrid was generally good company, so over all his stay was pleasant. What Harry liked most about this arrangement was that when speaking, Hagrid treated him like he was older. Of course, a few times Hagrid tried to talk to him about Sirius, but Harry ignored these attempts to get him to talk every time, because he didn't like being upset. But this in no way spoiled Harry's stay. In fact, he was rather hoping he would get to stay with Hagrid for the rest of the summer. The days were predictable and calm, for the most part. They ate breakfast early, and then hauled water for some of the animals. Hagrid and Harry would weed after that. Sometimes Hagrid called Fang over so Harry could play fetch with him. Then they would eat lunch, and Harry would brush Fang while Hagrid did a little bit of cleaning in his hut. Then for the afternoon they would do an assortment of odd jobs.

Most of all, Harry found he liked evenings. After supper, like the first night, he would play with marbles, or scratch Fang's belly, or something of that nature. And then, after such a long day of walking the grounds and pulling weeds, he found he would start to fall asleep. Secretly, deep in his heart, Harry liked it most when Hagrid would pick him up and put him on his lap while he darned socks or knitted. Harry had never experienced sleeping on someone's lap, and he found that he slept better than he ever had when he did. Perhaps that was why he was so full of restless energy each day, and was able to follow Hagrid around without difficulty. Of course, it also helped that the day was so full of chores, and therefore Harry did not do a lot of thinking, for it was thinking that caused the most trouble for him. If he had no time to contemplate Sirius, it was easier to forget his pain.

Despite the days being busy, and generally pleasant, much of the time he still felt how he had before. That was, apathetic, gloomy and sad. He didn't let himself think about why that was, and in fact, he had little time to. He already knew that his general numbness was because of what happened at the Ministry of Magic. So he reasoned with himself, deciding that he had no reason to keep thinking about it because it made him feel so blue, and therefore continued to push Sirius to the back of his mind like he had been doing. He didn't see why he should have to talk about it. With the amount of things he and Hagrid did in a day, Harry found it was easy not to.

These days, however, Harry knew had to end. Indeed, on the fifth morning, Dumbledore came for him while they were eating breakfast. Harry had been dunking strips of toast into his egg yolk when Dumbledore swept through the door, the warm summer wind pushing him into the hut. Harry caught a glimpse of the Forbidden Forest waving in the gusts of wind.

"To what do we owe ya the pleasure, Dumbledore?" Hagrid asked cheerfully. "Care for a spot o' breakfast?"

"No thanks, Hagrid," said Dumbledore kindly, "I ate at the castle already. As for why I am here, I have finally figured out - or so I believe - what it is that has caused Harry's sudden change. If you don't mind, I would like to speak with him privately on the matter."

"Not at all, not at all," said Hagrid, getting up and putting his empty plate in the sink. "I'll just go out into the garden and get a jump on waterin'."

Harry swallowed his last bite of egg and stared at Dumbledore over his glasses, which Dumbledore had shrunk shortly after his arrival to Hagrid's.

"Harry," Dumbledore began when Hagrid left, "have you grieved for Sirius?"

"Sir?" asked Harry, surprised by the question, as well as its suddenness.

"What I mean to say, Harry is, have you cried for him?"

Harry blushed. "I don't see how this has anything to do with -"

"It has everything to do with how you ended up like this," said Dumbledore, sounding almost urgent. "Have you cried for Sirius? Tell the truth, please."

Harry bit his lip for a moment, but then muttered, "Not really."

"This is the truth?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore looked deep into his eyes for a moment, and seemed to determine that Harry was indeed not lying.

"Your Aunt said that you were not eating and that you refused to talk about anything to her. I understand that you would not want to discuss such matters with Petunia, but I must know - have you been repressing your emotions? Have you refused to let yourself grieve for Sirius?"

"No," said Harry too quickly.

"Do not lie to me," said Dumbledore calmly over his half-moon spectacles as he surveyed Harry. "I will ask again. Harry, have you been refusing to deal with your emotions?"

"Well ... I ..." began Harry, but words failed him. Dumbledore seemed to understand him despite this.

"I thought so," said Dumbledore heavily, looking disappointed. Harry felt a sudden surge of guilt rush through him, and then anger.

"But what has that go to do with anything?" Harry said, louder than he had intended. The fork in his hand suddenly twisted itself into a spiral. He dropped it as though burned, his eyes wide. He had not meant to do that. "Sorry sir," he whispered.

"I expect accidental magic will happen quite often for the next little while, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling calmly at him. "You have the magical power of a teenaged wizard, trapped in a four year old body. It is to be expected."

"Yes, sir," he muttered.

"Now, you repressing your emotions is the reason why you ended up like this in the first place. There is a kind of magic that comes from deep within wizards or witches. This magic is invoked when the person in question is in grave danger."

"But, I'm not in danger," said Harry.

"Bear with me, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "Now, you have been travelling down a dangerous road, repressing all of those very powerful emotions. When the mind is put under significant strain like what you have been putting yours under, it essentially begins to self-destruct as the person spirals closer and closer to the breaking point. This happens with muggles, but with a wizard, it is especially dangerous, because an unstable mind can cause a huge release of aggressive magic, and it can literally destroy a person, not in the figurative way that a muggle would self-destruct mentally. It has become clear to me that because your mental state has been declining due to the large amount of repressed emotions, your magical core has recognized that you are in danger, and therefore, it has acted. Your subconscious knows that you cannot continue like this, so it invoked the powers of an ancient kind of magic, and you have reverted to a state that makes it far more difficult to bottle up emotions. Eventually, you will come to the point where you must deal with your grief, and come to terms with what has happened. When you have expressed all that you need to, I believe you will return to your previous state."

"And, this has happened to others?" Harry asked, having difficulty absorbing what was just said.

"Yes, but in different forms. Each case is different. There have been cases where people have become temporarily deaf or blind, lost the ability to speak, had a hold put on their magical powers, turned into animals ... it happens in many ways. But it all is done to save the person from themselves, just as your magic is trying to save you."

Harry frowned.

"So, I just have to cry, and then I'll be normal?" asked Harry.

"That is an oversimplification," said Dumbledore. "You must grieve, and properly express your emotions - and if that means crying, then yes - as well as, I think, understand what it was that was stopping you from grieving, and move past that. I cannot say when you will change back, or even all you will need to do to move past this. Only you can know that."

Harry nodded, but he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Do you have any questions?"

"I - I'll still keep my older mind, right? That won't change, will it?"

"I do not know, Harry. A good question, I am sure. I believe that it is possible that you will regress mentally in some ways, due to the magic. It may act in other ways to prod you in the right direction, but how much, I do not know. Do you have any further questions?"

"No, sir," he muttered, not liking what he was hearing.

"Well, if that is that, then I might as well discuss with you where you will be living. You will be taken to a secure location, owned by the Order, called Bell Point. Bell Point is a little piece of land by the sea with a cottage built on it, and you will be living there until this conflict has resolved. It is the safest place for you to go. Mrs. Weasley will be there when she can to make sure that you are settled in and doing alright," said Dumbledore kindly to Harry.

Harry frowned a little bit, swinging his legs. He looked out the window at Hagrid's lumbering form pouring buckets of water over the plants in the garden.

"Molly will be living there with you for first week or so, but after that she will be unable to be there all the time. There will be someone else staying at the cottage as well, because he too is in danger and in a compromised position. He will likely need some of her time as well, but when Molly is not around the two of you will likely have to work together to do some things."

"What's his name?" asked Harry, wondering who on earth the person was. "Do I know him?"

"You will meet him soon enough," said Dumbledore, and Harry was sure he was evading the question when he went back to what he had been saying earlier. "Now, because Mrs. Weasley will not be there all the time, and may possibly be helping the other occupant of Bell Point, you will not always have her help. Do you feel that you can manage looking after yourself a little bit from time to time?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, wondering who on earth would be staying with him. "I can still do lots of things for myself. Except ... well ..."

Harry went red.

"What is it? There is no need to be ashamed."

"Buttons," Harry said, a little upset. "I can't always get all my buttons done up."

"In that case, on days that Molly is busy or not there, I would suggest you forgo wearing anything with buttons, alright?" said Dumbledore rather absent mindedly as he pulled from his pocket a small notebook and scribbled something down. Harry thought he sounded rather condescending.

"I know that."

"All the same, I will send a note to Molly to find clothing for you that does not have any buttons, as Professor Snape is not in much of a state to be helping you with your buttons either."

"Professor Snape?" Harry said, bewildered and quite suddenly feeling sick at Dumbledore's slip. Professor Dumbledore looked like he deeply regretted the last sentence. "Why would he want to help me with that? Hang on, he's not ... no ... he's not who I'm staying with, is he?"

"Yes, he is," said Dumbledore gravely, frowning. "I suppose you had to find out eventually. You see, his position as a spy was given away, and he is still recovering from the events that transpired. This leads me to say that while you are at Bell Point, you must not tell your friends of your location, or mention that Professor Snape is staying with you. Is that clear?"

"I won't stay with Snape," Harry said angrily.

The look of sympathy and understanding on Dumbledore's face was very genuine, but Harry was still furious with him.

"Professor Snape, Harry," corrected Dumbledore. "I know this is not the best situation we could hope for. I wish there was another place safe enough for you to stay, but there is only one location owned by the Order that is appropriate for this kind of healing. None of the safe houses are secure enough for you, or Professor Snape. The only other place that is heavily warded enough would be Grimmauld Place, but not only is it barely fit for living, it would not do for you to spend the summer there, given the situation. Is this not better than staying in a place so full of memories of Sirius?"

Harry looked up from his feet, and met Dumbledore's eyes meekly. His lip trembled slightly, but he pushed his emotions down again.

"But sir," he protested weakly, "Professor Snape's just going to be mean to me, and he'll bring up things from this summer in class to make fun of me!"

"Harry, I do not think he will be returning to teach in the fall," said Dumbledore gravely.

"He ... he won't?" Harry muttered, confused.

"I do not think so, no." Dumbledore paused, and continued to speak when Harry seemed to have digested this piece of information. "I am sorry that this is the way it is, Harry. I do not think that Professor Snape will be overly pleased about the arrangements either," Dumbledore continued, "but we must make the best of the situation. I have no doubt that if you take the time to understand why you are feeling the way you are, and deal with your emotions properly, you will be back to normal in no time at all. It is up to you how long you wish to remain this way."

"Yes, sir."

"I will bring you to Bell Point tomorrow morning. If there is anything you wish to bring with you, notify Hagrid and he will send me a note so I can go retrieve whatever it is."

Harry nodded, and with a rather sad smile Dumbledore got up and left. The sound of the door shutting echoed rather lonesomely. Harry pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, then closed his eyes. That dark cloud was pressing in on his chest again, making it hard to draw a breath. He knew it was all in his head, but Harry found himself wishing he was physically sick instead, because at the moment he felt that anything was better than to be sick at heart.

Severus swore heavily, brows furrowed. He was trying to tie his shoelace, but his fingers were not cooperating.

"Here, let me, Severus," said Poppy. "You have worked hard enough."

"No," Severus spat. "I'll get it myself."

Poppy sat, waiting patiently while Severus struggled with the laces.

"Albus wants to see you," said Poppy. "He has found a place where you can go into hiding until you have recovered."

Severus did not respond, but his face pinched even more with frustration as the bow slipped from beneath his clumsy fingers once again.

After a few more tries, Poppy silently bent down and tied them for him.

"Remember, it's not good for you to get so angry," she said to Severus calmly. He was panting, and had finally ceased swearing. His fists were clenched, or as much as they could be.

"I can do it myself, Poppy!" he said very loudly, the sheets on the nearby beds fluttering.

"No Severus, you can't," she said patiently, and the sheets fell limp again as he looked down at his feet, expression downcast. "Not yet. But you will be able to eventually, though not for a while. If you keep taking your potions, and doing those exercises I showed you, it will improve somewhat. Besides, do not expect to get anything completely right on the first try. It may take a few attempts before you have the strength and coordination to complete certain tasks."

Severus leaned back in his chair, his scowl relaxing a little bit.

"I know you are just trying to make things easier," he muttered, at last finding the right words. "I just ... I hate it when people try to help me."

"You're going to have to learn to accept a little bit of help until your dexterity has returned. It takes time to build skills and strength."

He did not respond, but continued to stare witheringly in the direction of his feet, as though the shoelaces were at fault for his predicament.

"Can I let Albus in now?"

"Yes," he muttered.

She strode over to the door, and Dumbledore entered when she opened it. Madam Pomfrey retreated into her office, and Dumbledore came over to where Severus was sitting and sat down in a chair opposite him.

"How are you?" inquired Dumbledore.

"Alive," said Severus. He didn't really feel like he could say anything else. He was not in the mood to discuss his feelings on his predicament.

"I am very grateful that you are," was Dumbledore's reply. "But now that you are in relatively good health, we must move forward. I fear for your safety, Severus."

"The castle is perfectly safe. He cannot reach me here."

"Ah, but he has breached these walls before, by some means or another. I want to move you to a secure location. We have one place, which was been built and warded for the Order of the Phoenix years ago. It is under the fidelus charm, like headquarters, and is much more fit to live in. While Grimmauld Place is secure, I do not believe it would be a good place for you to recover. Bell Point will be the place for you to do that."

Severus was mildly interested. "I suppose that sounds alright."

"Indeed. It is by the sea, and the air is nice and fresh. There is plenty of room for roaming, so you would not need to be indoors all the time. I think that space is a very important thing if we are going to properly rehabilitate you."

"You are certainly making it sound good," said Severus slowly, narrowing his eyes. "But tell me ... what is the catch? If there was not one you would not be talking the place up so much."

Dumbledore frowned slightly.

"Alright Severus, the catch is that you won't be the only one there. There has been a rather strange mishap, and like with you, I do not believe that Grimmauld Place would be a suitable choice for recovery in this case."

"What happened? Who is it?"

"I believe it is a case of Superessendam Magicis," said Dumbledore, choosing his words carefully. "You are familiar with it?"

"Yes, Survival Magic," said Severus automatically, intrigued "It's like an instinct, isn't it? You cannot do it knowingly."

"Exactly. In this case Superessendam Magicis was invoked in order to protect the mental wellbeing of the person, which is often the case. I believe that it will be helpful for you to understand the situation, if you are to be staying with whom I speak of."

"Who am I staying with?"

"I shall inform you after I explain the situation Severus," said Albus.

Severus had a bad feeling about this.

"After Superessendam Magicis was performed, it turned the unwitting caster into a child once more. He is now, physically, about four years old, although he still retains his older mind. The reason for this, I believe is due to his reaction to the loss of someone he cared for. As, from what I have learned from those who were living with him before the incident, he has not been dealing well with this, and has not been expressing any of his feelings over the matter, as well as blaming himself for the loss of whom he loved."

"So, in order for him to recover mentally, he had to enter a state in which it was easier to grieve, thus, he became a child."

"Well deducted," Albus said, impressed.

"Now who is it? Who am I staying with?" Severus asked, rather smug from Dumbledore's praise.

"Harry Potter."

"WHAT?"

***

Harry sat in the sand as the water rushed up and down over the slightly rocky seashore. Gulls flew overhead and the afternoon sun flitted in and out of the clouds. The waves darkened the sand as they passed over the beach, leaving an imprint from where the water had flowed over it. As the moments passed on the sand grew lighter, only to be soaked again by another cold wave. Harry watched the pull of the ocean, rising and falling, falling and rising. It was never ending - eternal. He wished that people you loved could be that way - never die, always stay alive, just as the ocean was, dancing over the beach under the cry of the gulls.

The salty tang of the sea air filled Harry's lungs as he took a deep breath. He slid one of his hands into the sand and pulled up a handful of it, watching it fall, grain by grain by grain back onto the beach. There was a little tin shovel and pail beside him, but he ignored these. When Dumbledore had apparated Harry to Bell Point, he had gone up into the attic of the little cottage by the sea and pulled from an ancient looking trunk the pail and shovel. Harry hadn't had the heart to tell him he didn't play like a four year old, even if he looked like one, for Dumbledore had been quite convinced he had given Harry a wonderful treat. So he let Dumbledore depart to Hogwarts once more, thinking happily that he had found an enjoyable activity to occupy Harry's time until he returned later in the day with Professor Snape.

Over the crashing of the waves and the crying birds Harry heard the sounds of someone's feet sliding in the sand. In a moment someone else sat down beside him, and gently slid a small, well-worn Chudley Cannons baseball cap on his head. He did not have the willpower to protest.

"Wouldn't want you to get sunburned," said Mrs. Weasley with a sad little smile.

"Thank you," whispered Harry, although he did not want to wear a hat.

"Ron says hello," she said. "He promises he will write soon, and he told me to tell you that he wishes you could have come to the Burrow this summer."

"I wish I could have too," said Harry, hands stirring up the sand again.

"I know, dear," sighed Mrs. Weasley. She was silent for a moment before continuing. "This place is beautiful, though. It might be fun. There is even a nice swing hanging from a tree a ways from the cottage."

Harry didn't respond.

"I'm sorry about what happened, Harry, I really am," she said. "About Sirius too. Professor Dumbledore is as well."

"I bet Snape isn't," spat Harry, staring off into the distance at the swelling sea.

"I think you should go easy on Severus, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "We are all foolish when it comes to our enemies, and while I know he did awful things to Sirius, have you ever considered that he did such things because he has known little but cruelty all his life? He has by no means had an easy time on this earth."

"But he's still horrid," said Harry.

"He does not make it easy for others to like him, Harry, I know," said Mrs. Weasley patiently. "But please, when he arrives, treat him with respect. You don't have to like him in the  least, but remember that he too has been through a very difficult ordeal in this last week. Just try to understand, if nothing else. I am sorry you must be here with him, but sometimes there is nothing to do but try and make the best of it."

"Is he really in that bad of shape? Dumbledore didn't say how bad he was hurt, except that he probably won't be teaching next year." Harry scowled. Selfishly he thought that surely Snape could have made along just fine on his own, somewhere away from him.

"Yes, he is in bad shape," said Mrs. Weasley. "Professor Snape has partial paralysis all along his right side. He may never be able to cast a spell with his right hand again, but we are hoping he will improve. His left hand, at least, has enough movement to cast spells with practise and training. Go easy on him. I know it is hard, but he is going through something just as trying as your situation. He has had to relearn a lot of things as of late."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling a little guilty.

"Please, promise me that you will give him a chance."

Harry looked up into her pleading, hopeful eyes.

"I will, Mrs. Weasley," he whispered. "I'll try. I promise."

"You're a good boy, Harry," she said, that sad smile on her face again as she patted him on the cheek before getting up.

"I'm going in to make some lunch," she said. "I'll call you when it is ready. And please, stay out of the water. I am afraid the current might be too strong for you if you go in alone."

"I won't go in," he said. "It's too cold, anyhow."

Looking relieved, she turned toward the cottage and began her way up the small dirt path between the grasses.

"Wait, Mrs. Weasley," Harry called suddenly to her, and she turned to look at him, her apron fluttering in the breeze, her red hair standing out starkly against the lightly coloured stone walls of the cottage. "Thank you for staying with me for a while."

"You're welcome dear," she said, the sadness in her smile disappearing for a moment or two. "I am just sorry I cannot stay longer."

She then turned away and went up onto the porch and through the door into the cottage, leaving Harry to keep stirring up the bits of beach around where he sat, extracting seashells from the warm sand.

***

Severus took a shaky step away from Dumbledore. He jerked his arm out of Dumbledore's grasp irritably.

"I can walk fine with the leg brace you know," he spat. "I'm not that bloody incompetent."

Dumbledore did not reply, but watched warily as Severus took a few more shaky steps, his right leg now holding with the new brace that Poppy had gotten made earlier.

Severus ignored Dumbledore's wary looks as he surveyed the seashore. They were standing on what was Bell Point, the sea shore slapping the stone outcrop they had landed on. Severus glanced to his right, where the rocky point turned to a sandy beach. Down the way he could see a small boy collecting pebbles and throwing them as far as he could. They made little splashes in the water, but up on the windy outcrop of the rock the sound of the splash was lost.

"Is that Potter?" asked Severus, amazed.

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"Merlin, he's small," was his muttered reply.

"Yes, and you will do well to remember that. He may have much of his teenaged way of thinking left, but his mind functions in some ways like that of a child. He will not be as resilient, so do not treat him as you do in class. He has been through many trials as of late."

"Must you turn everything into a lecture?" said Severus wearily, trying to clasp his stiff hands behind his back as he stood on the rock, his hair whipping in the wind. "What kind of person do you think I am? I wouldn't hurt a four year old, even if he is Potter."

"Just be mindful of what you say, is all," said Dumbledore. "You have a tendency to be rude without meaning to be."

"I learned from the best," grumbled Severus, his brows furrowed. "Pity you never met my father. He was a charmer."

"Let us head to the cottage, and I will show you your room," said Dumbledore, ignoring Severus' bitter comments.

Slowly, they walked down from the rocky outcrop and onto the sloping, grassy hill that led to the cottage. It was a beautiful little place, Severus had to admit. Carefully he ascended the two steps onto the wide porch, his left hand clutching the rail by the steps. Dumbledore hovered nearby, ready to help at any moment. This irked Severus to no end.

Once on the porch he turned around to survey the view, just for a moment, his hands resting on the white painted railing that wrapped around the porch. Through two large trees they could see the seashore. Potter was still throwing rocks into the water, and as he bent down to pick another up, he turned toward the cottage. Potter stared curiously from under his faded orange hat, watching Severus, who was still standing sentinel on the porch. Severus made no move to acknowledge Potter, and he turned on his heel and limped into the house. Molly stood waiting, and she greeted him cheerfully.

"Your room is the one on ground floor," said Albus, leading him down a very short hall beside the sitting room and through a bedroom door. "Perhaps, once you have improved we might move you to the second bedroom upstairs so that you can continue to build strength doing the stairs."

Severus nodded, and sat heavily on the bed, which was soft and with feathers.

"I hope it will be comfortable for you here, Severus," said Molly rather hurriedly. "I'm sorry, but I must excuse myself to go check on the bread in the oven."

She turned on her heel and left for the kitchen, leaving Dumbledore and Severus alone, taking in the smells of fresh bread that perfumed the cottage.

Severus glanced morosely around the room. It was comfortable enough. The walls were painted a creamy yellow, and the window was propped open with a piece of driftwood. The fresh scent of the sea drifted into the room as well, the breeze fluttering the pale curtains slightly. There was a light brown braided rug on the floor.

"Molly will be here for much of the week, and then after that she will only be able to drop in every so often," said Dumbledore. "She has had to take a part-time job in Ottery-St. Catchpole so that her family can put away some money in case they must go into hiding in the next few years. But she will be around from time to time, and Poppy will be here every day for a little while to help you with your exercises, so she can assist the two of you with some things. After a week, if Molly thinks that leaving you and Harry to manage on your own is too much I will figure something out. For now, the plan is for Dobby the house elf drop meals off for you two when Molly is not here. If you have any requests, either tell him in person or write a list to leave for him."

"A list, Albus?" said Severus scathingly, jerking his right hand slightly.

"Oh dear," muttered Dumbledore. "I am so sorry."

"It does not matter."

Dumbledore glanced at his watch, the little planets and stars ticking away.

"I am afraid I must go soon," he said. "You will be alright here?"

"Yes."

"Do not hesitate to ask Molly for help, Severus, she is happy to do so," Dumbledore said. "I will be back to visit in a few days, so until then, good luck. But first, I must tell you that this cottage is not connected to the Floo network for the sake of hiding it, so if there is an emergency while Molly is away, grab a hold of this." He pulled a sickle from his pocket, and tapped it with his wand. It glowed blue briefly, and then returned to its normal colour. He pulled out two more sickles, and tapped these as well, muttering a different incantation. The sickles all glowed this time before returning to their ordinary colour. He handed Severus the first coin, then took the set of coins and put them in his pocket. "When you hold your sickle in your closed hand for more than thirty seconds, it will make my coin emit heat. I will carry one of the three coins everywhere with me, and I will come if it activates. When I receive the signal, I will tap the coin, causing yours to heat up. That way, you will know if I got your message. You may also contact Poppy in case someone is injured or the emergency does not require my attention, hence the third coin to hold. Hers will activate after only fifteen seconds. If it is a true emergency that requires my attention as well, keep the coin in your hand until it activates both signals, and we shall both come to your aid. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"Good," he said. "As I mentioned, because Poppy is overseeing your treatment, she shall come to Bell Point to help you with your exercises and bring your potions. She will probably be coming once a day for some time, although it will depend on the type of physical therapy you will be doing."

Severus nodded.

"Now, I believe that is all. Good luck."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, and then swept out of the door, his purple travelling cloak whipping out of sight.

With a sigh, Severus stared out the window. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let the breeze flutter through his hair. Opening his eyes once more, he looked around the room, at the soft yellow walls, and over to the vase of sea lavender sitting on the shelf. It was a beautiful place, but he could feel nothing but the chill in his heart. He sat down on the bed and with difficulty he swung his legs up as well. The bed was lower to the ground than most beds were. He thought perhaps that this was done to help him.

Severus stared up at the ceiling, sinking into the soft feather bed with its patchwork quilt. The front door closing announced Dumbledore's departure, and Severus closed his eyes, thinking of the sea, of its great, endless, open expanse as he tried to forget that he was trapped within his own body. Imprisoned within himself. And as he drifted off to sleep on the waves of the ocean within his mind, he wondered if Potter too was trapped by the injustices of the world. So tired, he did not even scoff at the thought.

Severus emerged from sleep in the early evening, not sure what had woken him. He felt tired, and his eyes were heavy as he lay there on the soft bed. He knew he had to start unpacking his things, but he did not open his eyes just yet. There was a comfortable weight on his chest, and in his groggy state he did not think to question it.

"Hedwig! Come here," hissed someone nearby.

"Hoo!" said an owl softly, very close by.

Severus' eyes snapped open. Huge, amber orbs stared down at him, only a few inches from his face.

"Hoooo," said the snowy owl resting happily on his chest, its face level with his.

"ARRG!" cried Snape, shock and surprise shooting through his body.

The owl, clearly alarmed at the sudden noise, flapped noisily off his chest. Severus panted noisily, his left hand over his heart.

"Hedwig," hissed someone, and the owl fluttered toward the voice. "What on earth were you doing?"

With difficulty, Severus pushed himself up into a sitting position. A tiny Harry Potter was berating his owl.

"Is this some sort of prank?" Severus asked dangerously, anger flaring up inside him. "What on earth are you doing?"

"It's not a prank sir, I swear," squeaked Potter, his voice much higher than Severus was used to. "Hedwig just flew in here - I tried to stop her, I swear! I think she was s-surprised you were in this room. See, she was using this window earlier to go outside."

Severus narrowed his eyes, surveying the small boy. He was wearing a pair of overalls and a blue t-shirt, the same faded orange Chudley Cannons hat on his head. His hair stuck out from under it every which way. Behind his glasses his eyes were wide with terror, and he was trembling. Remembering what Dumbledore had said to him earlier, Severus bit back a cruel retort.

"Leave," he said coldly. "Do not let it happen again, and close the door on your way out."

"Yes, sir," said Potter quietly.

Before the boy could leave, Molly appeared in the doorway, looking anxious.

"Harry, I told you not to bother Severus," she said under her breath, looking as though she was trying to diffuse a bomb.

"Tell that to Hedwig," he muttered darkly, scowling and stalking from the room. "It's not my fault!"

"I'm sorry, Severus," said Molly.

"Apology accepted," he said.

"Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes," she informed him.

"Quite a drastic change in Potter," said Severus now that he was gone.

"It is, isn't it?" Molly said, looking a little bit amazed upon thinking of it.

"I was worried he was going to wet himself with fright when I asked him what he was doing in here," confided Severus, a little bit bewildered after seeing Potter so small.

"Do try not to scare him, he is so very little," said Molly lightly, and as an afterthought, with the ghost of a laugh upon her features she added in a whisper, "and I'm afraid if you talk to him too sharply, he just might."

Severus let out sharp laugh, to Molly's delight.

"I won't," he said. "I will come down to dinner shortly."

"You will be fine to get there yourself?"

"Yes," he said, surprised at how little he minded the question, for Molly did not sound condescending as Albus did. "I can get around fairly well, although stairs are a bit of a trick."

With that, Molly turned and left the room, leaving Severus with his thoughts. After a moment it occurred to him that perhaps Dumbledore tended to sound condescending simply because he was so old, far older than anyone at Hogwarts. Sure it was infuriating, but maybe it was something that he could not help much of the time.

***

Harry stood on the chair in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Weasley do the dishes. Professor Snape had retreated into the sitting room to read a book, as he was little help in cleaning up. Harry was alright with this, however, because neither of them had said a single word to each other during the meal, and Harry was happy to get away from the tension.

"What do you think you're going to do tomorrow, Harry?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she handed Harry a cup to dry.

"I dunno," he said, shrugging and drying the cup with the tea towel.

"You know, that trunk up in the attic might have some interesting things in it," said Mrs. Weasley. "Why don't you go have a look in it to see what there is."

"I think it's just toys," Harry said rather morosely.

"What's wrong with toys?" inquired Mrs. Weasley. "It might be nice to play a little."

"I'm still a teenager in my mind, remember?" he said, rolling his eyes.

"Even teenagers need to play a little sometimes Harry," she said, eyes twinkling. "Everybody does. You wouldn't believe how much fun Arthur had when the kids were young, playing pretend with them. I think he wanted to play more than they did some days."

"I guess," said Harry, frowning as he accepted a soapy plate from Mrs. Weasley. "It's just ... I never really played much when I was little the first time."

"Why not?"

"Well, I didn't have many toys, really," admitted Harry slowly. "And I was too busy doing other things to play pretend much, except when I was alone in bed, and by then I was too tired to play."

"Then what did you do all day?" asked Mrs. Weasley, sounding baffled.

Slowly, Harry answered her, throwing caution to the winds "Whatever there was to do. Chores, sometimes. I didn't mind doing them because they made it easier to avoid Dudley a lot - you know, my cousin. He was pretty mean to me."

"I'm sorry to hear," said Mrs. Weasley after clearing her throat.

He waited for her to continue speaking when she turned back to the sink.

"You know Harry, I think that this is your chance to do what you never got to. I know you still think a fair bit like a teenager, but there is a little kid inside of you, just as there is in all of us. Why don't you take this as a chance to have some fun? A little bit of play cannot hurt. I think it would be good for you. Perhaps it will allow you to release some stress."

"I guess," said Harry, not convinced. "I mean ... it isn't as though I can write to do my homework. Dumbledore left my school books in my dorm at Hogwarts for some reason."

"I think he wanted you to find other ways of entertaining yourself besides school work," she said after a moment. "Why don't you go up to the attic after we finish the dishes?"

"I - I think I'd rather just go to bed," admitted Harry, though it was only seven-o-clock. "It's been a long day. Sorry."

"That is just fine, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "You're right; it has been a long day. How about you go brush your teeth and I'll come tuck you in. Is that alright?"

"Um, okay," said Harry rather cheerfully, forgetting himself for a moment. "I've never been tucked in before. I mean, that I can remember."

"I put your toothbrush in the lowest drawer by the sink," said Mrs. Weasley. "The toothpaste is there too, and there is a step-stool for you.

"Thank you," he said with a little smile before rushing down the hall and going into the bathroom, which was located on the main floor by the laundry room.

He began brushing his teeth, not recalling just what he had said about never having been tucked in before. If Harry had stopped to think about it, he might have thought it had something to do with the fact that he was young again, and it had taken him a great deal of time to learn what was normal for other children. And now, it was evident that sometimes his brain reverted to its old ways. It was a good thing, however that he had not noted his slip-up, because it would have kept him awake all night. Luckily, his mind was drifting away on a quaint little fantasy of what life might have been like if he had not grown up with the Dursleys, and for once, this dream did not feel so melancholy.

***

Severus looked up from his book as Molly came into the room. She took a seat on the sofa, a few feet away from the armchair Severus sat in.

"Such a good boy," she muttered to herself rather sadly.

"You miss having young children around," said Severus. It was not a question, but a statement.

"Hmm?"

"You offered to tuck Potter in," he said over his book, struggling to flip the page so as to look like he had been reading rather than listening in to the conversation going on in the kitchen.

"And?" said Molly, bristling slightly.

"He may look young, but he isn't really, in a lot of ways."

"You know what he told me, Severus?" said Molly, her voice suddenly trembling, and full of an unexpected anger. "He told me that he's never been tucked in, as far as he can remember. He said it like it was normal. Normal! He has not led the existence that you, and many others, believe. That is the most he has ever told me about his home, and I do not think he even meant to say it in the first place. It is plain to see that he scarcely had a childhood, and I intend to give him one, even if for just a little while!"

"I did not mean it as criticism," said Severus, also growing angry and starting to think that Albus might have been right about him. "I just ... I was just reminding you so you are not disappointed when he does not do everything a little child would. You cannot take care of him in every way, Molly. Maybe he will let you tuck him in, but he is not going to be like your boys were when they were little. This is different."

"So you don't want me to get hurt, is that right?" said Molly, still angry.

Severus caught her eye, and then looked at his feet.

He shrugged slightly, remaining silent, although Molly easily read him. Her expression softened.

"There is truth in what you say," said Molly kindly. "I understand where you are coming from, but I think will be fine."

"I will not mention it again," muttered Severus, wondering why he bothered to open his mouth in the first place.

"Mrs. Weasley?" called a quiet voice from the top of the stairs.

"Coming, Harry," said Molly, brightening suddenly.

Severus watched her go up the stairs and put down his book, wondering how it was that everything he said was wrong. Perhaps that was why he had really only had one proper friend, and even she had been offended enough to leave in the end.

***

Harry lay down on his bed, and Mrs. Weasley lifted the covers from him to get under them. She smoothed them over as he lay beneath them.

"Was it an okay first day here, Harry?" she asked softly.

Thinking for a moment, Harry nodded.

"I guess," he said, taking off his glasses.

"Well, tomorrow will be better; I promise," said Mrs. Weasley taking the glasses and putting them on the side table for him. "Would you like to hear a bedtime story? Or are you too tired?"

Harry let out a huge yawn, and Mrs. Weasley chuckled.

"Too tired. That's alright, we can read another night if you would like. Would you like that?"

"Yes, please," whispered Harry, his eyes drooping.

Mrs. Weasley sat there for a few more moments, and then smoothed the covers once more before getting up to turn off the lamp in his room.

"You'll be alright with just the night light in the hall?"

"I'm not afraid of the dark," mumbled Harry, a touch of defiance in his voice as he rubbed his eyes.

"Alright then, goodnight, Harry," she said. "Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley."

Harry closed his eyes, and the light left the room. For a moment, tired and groggy, he opened them.

"So this is what it's like," he mumbled, mostly to himself. He was surprised when Mrs. Weasley spoke, for he thought she had left.

"What what is like?" she inquired curiously.

Harry paused, but replied, despite knowing that he would be telling her far more about him than he normally liked to share. Yet, in his sleepy state, he found he didn't care all that much and that he was too tired to stop the words spilling out.

"This is what it's like to be loved," he said quietly, closing his eyes for the last time, and drifting off before he could see the look on her face. Although, he thought for a second that he heard a soft sniffle.

***

When Harry came downstairs the next morning, dressed and ready for the day he found Snape sitting in the kitchen and drinking coffee rather clumsily with his left hand. The other hand was struggling to flip a page in the paper. Harry reached up and flipped it for him as he got onto his chair.

"I can do it, thanks," said Snape coldly.

"I know, but I wanted to see what was on the next page," said Harry, backtracking quickly. "I thought it might be comics."

"Did you two sleep well?" asked Molly as she bustled into the kitchen to take out the bacon.

"Very," said Harry, while Snape merely grunted.

"I take it you slept badly, Severus?" she said, sounding halfway amused at the way he had responded to the question.

"Yes, but no surprises there," he replied irritably at the oddly stern look she was giving him.

"And why is that?" she asked. "Couldn't get comfortable?"

"Something like that," he muttered training his eyes on the paper and starting to read.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to know not to press the issue, and Harry did not dare ask what Snape meant by his last statement. So, he busied himself with his breakfast as soon Mrs. Weasley put it before him. Snape stabbed at his own breakfast rather mutinously, although his aim wasn't all that great, as he had to eat with his left hand, and it too, while much better than his right, appeared to be slightly affected. He missed the eggs and his speared his toast instead.

"Blast," he muttered, pulling the fork out and hitting the eggs this time.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry when he had swallowed his mouthful of bacon, "can I go look for starfish in the tidal pools today?"

"It's a bit rainy to do that, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Weasley, surprised. She opened the curtains hanging over the kitchen window just a little further, and sure enough, rain was streaming down the windowpane.

"Oh," said Harry, expression downcast. "I guess not then."

"Why don't you go up to the attic?" she suggested. "You can look through that old chest for something to do."

"I guess so," said Harry glumly, knowing there really was little else for him to do but that.

So, after breakfast Harry let Mrs. Weasley pull down the folding staircase to the attic. He climbed up, Mrs. Weasley following close after him with a lamp. There were various pieces of furniture scattered about, covered in sheets to protect them from dust. But in the centre of the attic sat a wooden chest, the very same one Dumbledore had rifled through for the pail and shovel. It looked a lot like the one that held shoes in the sitting room near the front door, but this one was bigger and much heavier. Mrs. Weasley lifted the heavy lid while Harry stood and watched. It stayed propped open and Harry rushed forward to peer inside. He could easily have fit three of himself in the chest comfortably, and the colourful contents intrigued him more than he could admit.

Mrs. Weasley went over to the small diamond paned window and pulled back the dusty curtains. A beam of rain-washed light hit the floor near the trunk, making it light enough for Harry to search through the trunk without the lamp.

"Will you be alright if I leave to go back downstairs and keep Severus company?"

"Uh huh," said Harry, still standing on his tiptoes, his arms folded over the edge of the chest as he peered into it. He listened for her footsteps retreating, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was gone.

Then, he plunged his hand into the chest. He pulled a string, and attached along it were little wooden ducks that quacked when you pulled them along the floor. He set these aside then reached in again, this time coming up with a small red quaffle, perfect for little hands. He grinned suddenly and tossed it in the air to try to catch. It fell with a clunk when he missed it, and it rolled off to the side. He did not bother to retrieve it however, for he was drawn back to the chest. Rummaging through it he found what looked like some dress-up clothes. There was a dark blue cape with a big red button on it to fasten it under your chin, a knight's helmet, and a wooden sword among them. Harry dug deeper. He pulled out a floppy stuffed lion, which looked worn, but loved.

"You look sad," he said to it, sitting down on the ground and smoothing its mane. The lion was about the size of Hedwig, and its black button eyes were scratched with age, the fuzz on its nose all gone and its yarn mane was a bit frizzy. Harry smiled a little at it, and set it on the rocking chair beside the trunk. He smoothed its mane again, and the fuzz around its eyes. It didn't look so sad now.

Into the chest he reached once more, pulling out two baseball gloves and a ball, a little tea set packed safely in a box, a toy train and a few pieces of mismatched track, a dragon figurine and a few knights, a princess too. There was a puzzle, and a bright red kite with a blue tail, and a few little tins of powdered paints. Then, at the bottom of the trunk sat a stack of storybooks, faded from the years. But they were not the only things hiding at the bottom of the trunk, for right there, next to the storybooks was what interested Harry the most. A big glass jar rested on its side, the lid still on tight. Inside was a collection of shining, multi-coloured marbles. Grinning from ear to ear, Harry stepped up onto the small stool he had pulled over from one of the attic corners, and reached far into the trunk. It was difficult, but he got his fingers around the jar, and was able to lift it up and into his arms. He stepped down, and put the jar on the floor.

Having learned from Aunt Petunia at an early age that it was not good to leave a mess, Harry began to pile things back into the trunk. In went the books, the kite, the cape, the knights and dragon, the train, the tea set, the gloves and baseball, the quaffle, the tins of paint, the dress-up things, and the wooden ducks. Harry left the marbles out, and glanced around the room to see if he had missed anything. His eyes rested on the lion, still sitting on the rocking chair, its floppy legs splayed out and button eyes looking at Harry. After a moment's consideration, Harry closed the big heavy lid of the trunk, careful not to pinch his fingers. It was lucky he was careful with things like this thanks to the amount of cleaning he had done as a youngster while at the Dursleys'.

"You can come with me," said Harry to the lion, wrapping one of his arms around it, and putting his other arm around the marble jar. He held them both carefully, as though they were the most precious things in the world, and he descended the attic stairs. They were steep, and it took him a long time, but eventually he reached the landing on the second floor of the cottage. Harry set the marble jar down by the door to his room, and took the lion over to his bed. He set it carefully on the patchwork quilt, and with a smile, he left the room, the button eyes smiling back at him. Then, he took the marbles down into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley was knitting, and Snape was reading.

"Can you open this for me?" asked Harry in a whisper to Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh my, what a nice jar of marbles," said Mrs. Weasley genuinely, surveying the jar's contents as she opened the lid. "There you go. Be careful not to lose any. We wouldn't want anyone slipping and falling."

Harry noticed that Snape scowled at the last part, even though Mrs. Weasley's eyes had remained fixed on Harry.

"I won't," said Harry, setting the jar down and pulling a few marbles from it.

He lay on the soft, braided red and brown rug by the hearth and examined each marble. They were very pretty, and looked to be handmade. Harry put the prettiest in a pile to his right and the others in a pile on his left. Molly watched him contentedly over her knitting, the rain washing softly against the windows.

After a while Harry noticed Snape get up and leave the room, but he did not pay much attention to this, for he had found a red and orange marble that glittered brightly in the light.

"Look at this one, Mrs. Weasley," he said to her, holding it up.

She peered down at it.

"I like the colours," she said. "Gryffindor, hmm?"

Harry nodded and made to put it back in the pile, but he dropped it in shock on the rug when a huge crash rang through the air. The marble bounced a little before coming to a stop by a wrinkle on the rug.

Mrs. Weasley leaped up from her chair, hastily throwing her knitting down and whipping her wand out as she ran out of the room toward the sound of the crash. It had come from the hallway. Harry, heart pounding, followed her. It took him longer to get to the source of the crash, however, as his legs were smaller, but it was soon apparent what it had been. He rounded the corner into the small hallway that led to Snape's room to find his Professor slumped up against a wall, clutching his bleeding nose, which was more crooked than ever. Harry took a step back, scared that he would be reprimanded for being there. He stayed out of sight by the staircase, and peered at the scene with as little of him showing as possible.

"What happened, Severus?" asked Molly urgently.

"I tripped," said Snape thickly through the blood, sounding furious. "I could not get my hands under me in time."

"Here, let me fix your nose," said Molly.

Snape did not move, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Please, please let me fix it," Molly muttered, voice almost inaudible.

Grudgingly, Snape took his hands off his nose, his dark eyes watering in pain, or perhaps humiliation. The scarlet blood on his face made him look paler than ever.

"Episky," said Mrs. Weasley, waving her wand.

Snape's nose straightened, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

"I'll go get something to clean the blood off," said Molly quietly. "You stay here a moment, until we can determine if you've hurt anything else."

She bustled off to fetch something for the blood, leaving Harry staring. He pulled his head back around the corner quickly, but the image was left in his mind of the crumpled look that had fallen over Snape's face.

Harry went back into the sitting room and half-heartedly continued sorting the marbles, listening to the muffled noises of Mrs. Weasley talking to Snape. She was asking him questions, by the sound of it. When his replies reached Harry from the hall, he thought Snape sounded tired, and disappointed with himself. Harry rolled a red and green marble back and forth on the braided rug as he listened, puzzled by the feeling that was now growing within him. And as he thought back to the look on his Professor's face after he had fallen, Harry realized that this feeling was understanding.

That first week with Mrs. Weasley there was fairly uneventful. A broken nose was the most interesting thing to have happened, and after that the three settled in fairly well, although Snape and Harry tried their very best to avoid each other. Mrs. Weasley ended up being there mostly to keep them company and to cook, for they found that they could manage on their own fairly well. Harry enjoyed having her around though, and let her tuck him in every night because, while he also enjoyed it, he was sure she enjoyed it more. The weather had cleared, and Harry had spent many hours wandering the shoreline looking for seashells, trying to distract himself from thinking of Sirius. He kept the prettiest of the shells in a jar on the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley had crocheted a nice doily to go beneath it.

In retrospect, that first week was the easiest. Mrs. Weasley was constantly there to give them a hand, although both Harry and Snape were reluctant to accept it. Harry noticed that Snape especially was this way. He couldn't help but admire the man's stubbornness. But, all too soon, the week ended. It had been decided between Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore that Harry and Snape would be able to live without help, and if there was anything they needed done that they could not do themselves, they were to wait until Madam Pomfrey came to ask her, as she had been coming daily to do physical therapy with Snape for an hour or so (something that happened while Harry was well out from underfoot). So, Sunday night they ate in silence for much of the meal, contemplating the days to come. It was only when Mrs. Weasley began serving treacle tart that anyone spoke.

"Dobby will drop off some breakfast for you two tomorrow, at eight-o-clock," said Mrs. Weasley, breaking the stillness. "Lunch will be brought at twelve, and supper at six. I do not know when I can be here next, but Poppy will still be here every day for a few hours for your physical therapy, Severus. If you need anything Harry, don't hesitate to ask her as well."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said when she set his treacle tart before him.

"Severus?" she asked, waving her serving spoon at the treacle tart.

"No, thank you," he said rather quietly. "I think I shall excuse myself to go sit on the porch for a while."

"Alright," she said with a smile. "It will be on the counter if you would like a little later."

He nodded and got up stiffly, limping out of the door. He looked strange to Harry in muggle clothes. For the past few days he had taken to wearing blue jeans around the house, and muggle t-shirts. Harry wondered if his Professor always dressed this way during the summer, or if it was just because there was no reason to wear hot robes in such weather. He had not had the guts to ask, however.

"And what are you going to do this evening Harry?" she asked after some time.

"Collect more shells?" he said, pausing in licking the last bits of treacle tart off his spoon. "The jar's only half full."

"Well, that sounds lovely," she said.

"You're going back to the Burrow this evening, aren't you?" asked Harry curiously.

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, looking a little bit melancholy at the thought. "I daresay I miss my brood, although I have enjoyed spending some time with you, Harry."

"I'll bet they've missed you, especially your cooking," said Harry with a half-hearted smile "Or at least Ron has."

"The way that boy eats, you'd think he'd been starved," said Mrs. Weasley with a laugh. "Of course, you're not much better."

Harry blushed, and Mrs. Weasley's smile slid away as she stared off into nothing.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat and breaking the rather heavy silence, "I'll start the dishes. You go out and collect shells, dear, I don't need help tonight."

"Okay," said Harry, relieved to get away.

Going to the door, Harry grabbed his shoes and slid them on. Clumsily, he did up the laces. It took him a few tries due to his lack of coordination, but he got them tied in the end. He reached up to push open the screen door, and stepped out onto the porch. It was a beautiful night, the damp ocean breeze perfuming the air. Harry took note that the rocking chair on the porch was occupied. Snape sat in it, staring out into the distance. It took Snape a moment to realize that someone was watching him.

"What, Potter?" he said, his voice lacking the usual heat and anger.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, not realizing he had been staring. "I just can't get used to you in muggle clothes. It's ... strange."

"I cannot get used to it either," said Snape, much to Harry's surprise, seeming like he felt the need to explain his unusual appearance. "I usually only wear muggle clothes when going to the market during the summer, or if it is too warm for robes."

He didn't sound too keen on this thought. Harry wondered just where Snape's lived ordinarily during the summer, but thought not to ask.

"Then why are you wearing muggle clothes now if you don't like them much?" Harry asked instead.

Snape frowned for a moment, as though trying to decide whether or not to reply.

"Less buttons," he mumbled at last. "They are a right pain to do up."

"It's okay sir," said Harry, noticing the slight flush in his Professor's cheeks, "I can't do buttons either."

"Well, of course, you are four," he said, looking halfway amused.

"Well, physically," scowled Harry. "Even if I'm physically four, it's still really annoying not being able to do buttons."

"Indeed," muttered Snape. He frowned for a moment and then added, "Well, just be glad that you will grow out of it when you change back. I am stuck like this forever."

"Maybe not ..." said Harry thoughtfully, piping up with a sudden thought. "My neighbour had a stroke once, and his hands were messed up too, as well as one of his legs, and he did a lot of rehabilitation and stuff, and he ended up gaining a lot of movement back so he could do normal things again, even buttons I think. And with magic, who knows how much you'll improve?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"But tell me Potter," said Snape in a tone of utmost seriousness, "when all of this is through, will I be able to play the violin?"

"Er," said Harry, bewildered, "maybe ..."

"Well, that would be incredible," said Snape, eyes suddenly snapping with amusement, "considering I could not play it before all of this."

Harry was almost too surprised to laugh. He couldn't think of a time when he had seen Snape look ... well, mischievous.

"Contrary to what others believe, I do have a sense of humour, Potter," he said, "It is just a little dusty from disuse."

"Huh," said Harry, amazed.

"Now go away, I was enjoying the view," Snape said, although not cruelly.

Feeling rather punch-drunk (and convinced that Snape must be extremely bored if he was making jokes around him) Harry walked down the steps from the porch and down the narrow dirt path to the seashore. At the edge of the path Harry took his shoes and socks off and the walked out onto the warm sand, stirring it up with his feet.

In the orange light of the sun falling in the sky he began to comb the beach for shells, wondering what creatures had called each of them home. Washed in golden light he picked up a speckled conch the size of his palm and held it tightly in his hand. He looked back at Snape, whose sporadic moment of cheer had gone to be replaced by a sad, melancholy look, one that he wore most frequently. He looked rather forlorn, sitting there on the rocking chair, his good arm resting on the chair arm and the other in his lap. Harry looked back at the shell, the inside rimmed with a pale pink. Perhaps a hermit crab had once called it home, just as Harry called Hogwarts his. Glancing at Snape, he wondered where the place was that he called home, or if such a place even existed for Snape. Perhaps he too felt displaced during the summers, having to be away from Hogwarts. Of these things Harry wondered as he turned the shell over in his hand.

The sun was falling fast, so Harry, with his pockets full of shells, wandered back up the path, his shoes in one hand, the speckled conch in the other. The grasses waved on either side of him, and soon enough his bare feet were travelling up the two steps and onto the porch. Snape still sat on the rocking chair, staring into the distance. The expression on his face told a tale of a thousand sorrows, and for a moment, Harry could feel his pain. On a whim, Harry approached Snape, who did not seem to notice him.

Biting his lip, Harry set the conch on Snape's lap, and before his Professor could turn his surprised face toward him, Harry ran into the house. He paused, standing behind the screen door where he could just barely see Snape at this angle. Snape looked puzzled as he picked up the shell with his good hand, examining it with curiosity. As he looked at the pattern on the shell he gently rubbed his thumb against it, and for a moment, the look of sadness lifted. Harry darted away from the screen when Snape looked toward it.

Mrs. Weasley entered the living room a moment later, and she came over to give Harry a hug and say goodbye.

"I'll be seeing you soon," she said to him fondly, releasing him from her embrace and staring down at him with a small smile, a hand on his head. "I will try and visit when I can."

"Okay," said Harry. "Thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley. You didn't have to take so much time to spend with us."

"I was needed, so I came," she said. "It was a pleasure Harry. Now, don't hesitate to send me a letter, I know you aren't very good at writing right now, but even if it's just a few words that are really messy, I should be able to understand it anyway. I've had to learn to decipher the writing of seven children, after all."

Harry smiled a little, and she lifted her hand from his head and picked up her small suitcase. She hesitated before launching into a hasty speech.

"Before I go Harry, promise me to go to bed on time, and brush your teeth, and bathe regularly, and eat lots -"

"I will Mrs. Weasley," said Harry a little exasperatedly, cutting her off.

"Oh, I don't know why I worry," she said with a little laugh. "Of course you will."

Then she went out onto the porch to say goodbye to Snape, and Harry followed her out after a few moments, making sure they were done their conversation. He didn't want to eavesdrop. When he went out Snape was standing shakily by the porch railing, watching her walk down to the rocky outcrop to apparate away. Harry crept forward and peered through the wood rails. She disapparated.

"Well, I guess it is just you and I now," said Snape heavily.

Harry frowned. He didn't know what to think about that, and by the looks of it, neither did Snape.

Leaving Snape on the porch, Harry soon went inside and made a beeline for the kitchen. He climbed up on a chair by the kitchen table and dropped the shells one by one in the jar, leaving all but the largest in his palm. He held it up to his ear and listened. Harry let out a sigh when he heard the sound of the ocean. Even if he knew the ocean sounds weren't really trapped inside the shell, it was strangely comforting anyway. He dropped the last shell in the jar, and still thinking of the sea, he licked his lips. They were dry from spending the evening outside. Feeling very thirsty, Harry dragged the chair over to the kitchen counter and climbed up on top of it before reaching his hand onto one of the shelves for a glass. Sitting on the counter he lowered the glass into the sink and filled it with water. It was nice and cool, and he gulped it down thirstily as he stared out the little window above the sink. The sunset was breathtaking, but the pale pinks and oranges somehow made his heart quake. Maybe it was the beauty of it, or maybe it was because he was wondering if Sirius- wherever he was - could see what he did right now. Sighing slightly, Harry put the empty glass in the sink and slid off the counter, careful to put the chair back where it belonged.

Rubbing his eyes, he went through the hallway at the base of the stairs and into the bathroom, where his toothbrush sat in a little cup by the sink. Standing on the footstool he reached for it and began to brush his teeth. He gargled with water, and then got off the footstool and slid it out of the way so Snape wouldn't trip. Weary from a long day, the stairs seemed like a laborious task. With shorter legs, and less coordination, he had to grip the handrail and watch every step. He was very glad when he reached the top.

When he got to his room he put on a pair of Chudley Cannons Pyjamas that had large paisley patches on the knees, and pulled his covers back. He made to crawl in before realizing he would have to turn off the light. With a pang in his stomach he realized fully that Mrs. Weasley had gone back to the Burrow.

Trying not to think too hard about that, he dragged the colourful child-sized chair across the room until it was beneath the sputtering oil lamp. Carefully climbing up, he turned it down all the way until, with a little hiss, it went out. In the blackness, Harry leaped off the chair and dove into his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He turned onto his side, and felt something brush against his face. He almost cried out, but he soon realized that it had been the stuffed lion. He pulled on its paw and brought it under the covers with him, just like he'd been doing for the past few nights. He buried his face in its yarn mane, which smelled dusty, but sweet. As he drifted off only moments later, he heard the sounds of Snape downstairs as he came inside from the porch, his uneven steps echoing through the little cottage.

It was still night when Harry awoke, a feeling of panic keeping him from falling back into his slumber. For a moment in his groggy state, he wasn't sure what it was. Then, like a lightning bolt from above, it hit him that he really needed to go the bathroom. He rocketed himself out of bed and sped through his room and toward the hallway, which was washed in a dim, orange glow from a little charmed light fastened to the wall. It was in the shape of a phoenix, and Harry knew from watching it that every once and a while it flapped its wings. He did not stop to observe it now like many times before, but instead turned into the hall quickly and hurried to the staircase. Biting his lip and dancing on the spot he reached out for the hand rail, silently furious at how small and clumsy he was. The feeling of urgency increased as he went down the stairs, having to put both feet on each step before he could go to the next.

As he descended he could see the sitting room through the gaps in the wood banisters on his left. It was very dark. It had to be around midnight, Harry thought. Finally, he got to the bottom of the staircase and turned into the little hall on his right that led to the bathroom. Harry took a step down the hallway, barely able to see with the oil lamp at the end turned down to its very lowest. The light pooled near Snape's bedroom door at the end of the hall, but was enough to illuminate the open bathroom door halfway down the hall, on Harry's left. With much relief, Harry increased his pace, taking a big step forward. His foot was at the door, and then to his alarm he felt the front of his pyjama trousers grow warm. He stared in horror at Snape's closed door down the hall as he felt the warmth dribble down his leg.

"No, no no no," he mouthed, standing stock still in front of the bathroom, mortified. He had been so close! Why did this have to happen now? How could he have done this?

His eyes screwed shut, he thought hard what to do, and then it hit him. Snape didn't have to know about this at all. The laundry room was directly across from Snape's door, on the left side of the hall. If he could creep into it and grab one of the cleaning rags he knew were kept there, he could wipe this up without anyone knowing, and he would put his pyjamas in the wash-tub, which had been charmed to wash without the tap of a wand so that he and Snape could easily get their clothes clean with Mrs. Weasley gone. Then, all he would have to do would be to retrieve his clean pyjamas and instead of hanging them inside to dry, leave them in the spare room upstairs with the window open, and Snape wouldn't ever know.

Taking a gulp of air and blinking away the tears threatening to fall, Harry tiptoed down the hall. He reached Snape's door, and as he stood there he did not dare take a breath. The door was shut, the lights off, no sound coming from the room. Heart beating frantically, Harry turned left into the laundry room and shut the door until it was only open a crack so that the sound of the squeaky handle turning would not wake Snape. Then, he stood on top of a laundry basket to reach the magical oil lamp in the laundry room, which ignited itself as he turned it up just enough to cast shadows.

Harry looked around the room, and finally located the basket of cleaning rags. They were next to the spare sheets, high up on one of the shelves. Harry shivered a little, cold and wet as he stared up at them. How was he to get up there? It was on the very top set of shelves fastened to the wall. He hastily glanced back and forth in the room for something to stand on. Eventually his eyes landed on a rickety, hard backed wooden chair with rigid arms by the wash-tub. He carefully moved it over beneath the shelves, moving it in such a way that it did not make a lot of racket. Even with the chair, however, he could see he was still not going to be tall enough. Frowning and shifting uncomfortably from side to side as his skin started to sting where his pyjamas were wet, he decided that he would have to climb up the two shelves beneath it to reach the top. He swallowed, and then clambered up on the chair, reaching up to the shelf with conviction. He grabbed a hold of the shelf up above his head, and then put his right foot on the chair arm. He pulled with his arms and slid his other foot onto the chair back. Carefully, he put his right foot up too. Then, he made to swing his left foot onto the shelf, but the chair wobbled beneath his feet, and then suddenly it was not there and with a huge bang it hit the floor, leaving him swinging from the shelf. Harry's hands slid on the dusty surface and he landed hard on the floor.

"What the -" said a voice across the hall loudly.

Harry felt his heart jump in his chest, and knowing the game was up, his instincts took over. He frantically looked around the room, and ran for the safest place he could think of. It was a beaten up old wardrobe at the back of the laundry room. He threw himself toward it, wrenched the door open and darted into it. There were a few clothes hangers above him, and he was plunged into darkness as he closed the door and sat down, pulling a clothespin from beneath him before curling up as small as possible. If he could just lie low for long enough, perhaps Snape would not be quite as angry with him. If it worked with Uncle Vernon, reasoned Harry, it might work with his Professor.

After only a few seconds he could hear noises from the other room. Eyes closed tightly, Harry burrowed his face in his arms, which rested on his knees.

Tha-thump, tha-thump, came the unsteady sounds of Snape's dragging footsteps, followed by the creak of his bedroom door opening. The hall lamp had been turned up now and was coming in from under the laundry room door and shining through the cracks in the wardrobe, for through his eyelids Harry noticed the subtle change in lighting. It sounded like Snape was coming directly into the laundry room. With any luck, he would not see the wet floor by the bathroom.

Tha-thump, tha-thump, squueeaak. The laundry room door was opened, the light turned up here too. Shivering and shaking in his wet pyjamas, Harry bit his lip to stop the tears from spilling from his eyes. He was going to get it. He knew it. His hiding spot had not been well thought out in the least.

"Potter? Are you in here?" came Snape's croaking voice, tired and annoyed.

Harry tried not to make a sound, though he was trembling from head to foot.

Quite suddenly, Harry heard another noise, very different from the ones Snape was making as he searched the room. It was the sound of rattling breaths being drawn. In the semi-darkness Harry could just see the outline of something across from him in the wardrobe. It was hunched over, and he could just discern the figure of a man. Too shocked to move, Harry kept staring, and as his eyes adjusted, he was amazed to see the emaciated face of his godfather. Harry didn't know what to think, but his heart leaped for a moment, and then began to pound with unholy terror as the figure grew thinner, becoming bony and skeletal-like before him.

And Sirius spoke, in a rattling, gasping voice. Yet, Sirius' lips did not move, those pale, lifeless eyes staring into Harry's as the words echoed through his head.

"It is all your fault I died. You could have saved me, but you chose not to."

"No," mouthed Harry, no sound coming from his lips.

"I never loved you. It was all an act, and after what you did, how could I?"

Harry's heart seemed to stop as he stared at those horrible, cold black pits for eyes.

"ROT WITH ME!" the voice screeched in Harry's head as fury like he had never seen before lit up the corpse-like face of his godfather, those grasping, dead hands reaching for Harry's throat.

"AHHHHH!" Harry screamed, shoving the wardrobe open with all his might, tears streaming down his face. The door opened as far as the hinges allowed it, coming to a stop with a bang and shutting again with the force that Harry had thrown it open, leaving the boggart trapped. Still yelling like he had never done in his life Harry blindly ran forward, and ran headlong into something solid, but living. He pummelled the figure, screaming and crying as he tried to get around it.

"Potter," said a shocked voice, but his terrified mind could not make sense of the sounds. Hands latched onto his wrists, stopping him from going anywhere or hitting anything. Harry easily wrenched his left wrist away from the slack grip. "POTTER!"

But he did not respond. The hand tried again to grab his left wrist, but it could not get a firm grasp. Only his right wrist remained trapped. His name was called over and over again but Harry could only sob in terror, still fighting for all he was worth. Then the figure swore heavily. Harry paid no attention to this, and as far as he was concerned, the figure's words were just meaningless noise in a world of terror. As his fear increased, objects around the room started to shift and rattle. In a foggy daze Harry realized that he was doing this, but he could not stop it, and it only made him more frightened. The clatter increased as his cries grew louder.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself pulled into the figure's legs, one hand on his back and holding him in place, firm but gentle. The other hand rested on the back of his head. Harry's arms stopped flailing as he was held still, and the laundry room grew silent but for the sound of Harry's sobs.

"Shhh," came the same voice, firm, yet softer, and tired. This time Harry heard it properly. "You are safe. Stop crying ... please."

Despite the calming words, Harry continued to sob with gusto into the soft grey material his face was pressed against. The sobs were not as frantic as they had been, however, and the terror was slowly leaving his limbs as the warm hands remained in their places. He tried to stop crying, but he only succeeded in giving himself the hiccups. It took several minutes for Harry to properly register the fact that there was only one person in this house whose nightshirt he could be crying into, and even when he realized full and well that it had to be Snape's, he did not immediately pull away. It was only then that Harry was able to get himself back under control, and stop the tears. But he let himself stay where he was, not quite realizing that his hand was clutching the fabric of Snape's nightshirt.

"Was it a boggart?" came Snape's voice from above as the shut wardrobe behind them emitted a slight clunking noise of its own accord.

Harry nodded into Snape's legs.

"What form did it take?"

"S-Sirius," muttered Harry, too terrified to lie. "S-Said it was my f-fault ... tried to take me w-with him for what I did."

Harry thought he heard Snape sigh, but he could not be sure.

"It is not your fault he died," said Snape sternly, sounding like he was instructing Harry on a particularly difficult potion. "The blame rests on Bellatrix Lestrange. She cast the spell that knocked him through the veil, not you."

Harry could only let out a small sob, and Snape gently extracted him from his legs, standing back to survey Harry, who looked up hesitantly at him. Snape looked pale and worn as he took a step back toward the fallen chair, righting it clumsily with his good hand and taking a seat, tired from having remained standing while Harry had cried. He looked strange to Harry in his long faded grey nightshirt, his feet bare and his leg brace showing where the hem ended.

"Did you wet your bed? Is that why you were hiding from me?" he asked softly as Harry trembled before him, trying to figure out what had just happened. There was no anger, nor laughter in Professor Snape's voice, which both surprised Harry, and scared him. His stomach gave an unpleasant flop anyway.

With a hiccup Harry shook his head, not meeting Snape's questioning eyes.

"Potter," he said with a warning tone, eyebrow raised as he stared at Harry. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

"No, sir," muttered Harry, barely stifling a sob.

"Then if you did not wet the bed, where did you have the accident?"

Harry tried to answer, but he felt himself flush with shame and his answer got stuck in his throat.

"Did you simply not make it to the toilet in time?" inquired Snape with a small air of impatience about him.

"I-I was so c-close," he said, voice cracking as he started to cry again. "I was right outside the bathroom. I didn't want to get in t-trouble so I came here to get stuff to clean it up. I'm too old for this! I should be able to m-make it to the toilet!"

"You are a four year old boy; these things happen," said Snape, definitely impatient now.

"But I'm older than that, really," said Harry, wiping away tears angrily.

"Potter, you're stuck in the body of a little boy. You are just going to have to expect things like this to happen sometimes. Your mind may know better, but your body doesn't at this age. I understand your frustration, but you will simply have to learn to live with it for the time being."

"No!" stormed Harry, fury rising within him as he clenched his fists, his sadness turning to anger. "You don't understand! I should have woken up earlier! My stupid body should have realized I had to go sooner! STOP PRETENDING YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW!"

Snape's brows furrowed, suddenly beginning to look angry.

"Fine, if you are going to be that way. Not a word will be spoken about anything that happened or was said tonight, got that Potter?" Snape began coldly, his cheeks gaining a tinge of colour, anger snapping in his eyes.

"Okay," said Harry, confused but relieved.

"Good. Now, shut up and listen. You may think your body should have realized you had to go sooner, but, as I said, the fact is that you are physically a little boy, and little boys do not always have that ability," he spat, and then, he paused, as though teetering on the brink of something. After a moment, he dove over the edge, anger still raging in his eyes. "And, you might think I do not understand at all what you're going through, losing the ability to do some things, but you are forgetting without the use of my right hand, I have lost the ability to do so many more things than you have! I am an adult, have been able to do buttons up since I was five, and cast spells since age eleven, but I can do neither of those things now! It is infuriating having to leave my wand in a drawer, and wear things that have no buttons like I am a little boy again! And that is only two things - there are a whole host of things I cannot do anymore. Hell, I can barely even dress myself! So don't you dare think that I know nothing of your problems! I know perfectly well how you feel, being trapped in a body that does not work the way you want it to! You are not the only one having a hard time adjusting, so quit acting like it!"

He was left panting angrily, cheeks sallow and tinged with red as he gripped the handles of the chair, daring Harry to make fun of him. But there was no humour in the situation for Harry. His anger was gone, leaving him feeling cold, sick even.

"Sir, I didn't mean ..." began Harry, wiping his eyes.

Snape shook his head, dismissing Harry's apology as though he was indifferent to it.

"Where did you have your accident?" he asked, his voice suddenly taking on a forced calm, as though he wished to forget about what had just been discussed as quickly as possible.

"By the bathroom door," whispered Harry, feeling deeply ashamed of himself.

Snape got up silently and reached for one of the cleaning rags with his good hand, his right at his side. He grabbed a small wash bucket by the rusted faucet and filled it with hot water and soap, the rag already in the bucket.

"Go get some dry pyjamas and quickly get yourself washed up with a wet flannel in the bathroom," he said tiredly, frowning. "I'll clean up the mess."

"I can do -"

"No, the most useful thing you can do is get changed before you track your mess all over the house," he said firmly. "Your bed is still dry?"

"Yes," Harry muttered, pausing before meekly going upstairs. "Sir, I'm sorry. I should have thought that you weren't having an easy go either. I just ... I didn't think."

"Save your breath, Potter," said Snape wearily.

"Yes sir," he said awkwardly. "And ... thank you, for ... well, you know."

All that he received was a rather irritated snort in return, but Harry was not fazed by this as he went upstairs to get new pyjamas. He felt ashamed of himself, in so many ways, and he looked anywhere but at Snape when he came downstairs with the new pyjamas, and went into the bathroom to wash up a bit. His eyes filled with tears when he remembered the boggart, but he blinked them away as he rinsed out the flannel in the sink. It had been a nasty shock to him that his boggart had changed. Seeing his godfather like that had taken its toll on him, and he let out a soft sob, which he stifled quickly. It made him miss the way Sirius had been when he was alive, for he was so different than the boggart. Then again, that was before Harry had led him to his death. Thinking of how much he missed Sirius, Harry had to forcibly remind himself of the vow he made about crying for him as he got washed up and changed into the clean pyjamas. It took a great deal of effort, but he pulled himself back into control. He scrunched up his face up as he thought of Snape's declaration that it had not been his fault Sirius died. Harry had never expected to hear those words from Snape. He just wished they had been true.

Daylight came, and Severus was still lying awake. The sun was up, so he supposed it was morning, although he had long lost track of the hours. What had happened in the night seemed like a bad dream to him. Everything he had said to Potter rang through his head like the death knell, filling him with a sick, hot feeling. Imagine what the other students would say if they knew that their Professor could barely dress himself? In addition to this horrible thought, every time he closed his eyes, he saw again the look on Potter's face when he came running out of the wardrobe. He had never seen a child look so hysterical, so downright terrified. He hadn't known what to think at first, until the wardrobe started to move on its own, announcing the presence of the boggart. At first he had been under the impression Potter was seriously overreacting to having an accident, but it did not take him long to realize otherwise, and after hearing what the boy said he had seen, it was no wonder he had been in such a state.

Severus couldn't help but feel amazed at how quickly the boy had responded to the change in his tone of voice when he had stopped shouting at him to calm down, and instead tried to comfort him. Much to his chagrin, he had figured out quickly that that would be the only way for Potter to calm down, because his shouting approach had not been working. Besides, the boy could have blown apart the entire room with the magic he had been accidentally creating. There had been no choice but to try something besides a stern command. Yet, to softer words, Potter responded far quicker than he could have imagined. It was as though Potter had been shocked at him trying to comfort him. Severus found this unsurprising, considering what Potter had known him as for so many years. But it had been more than just surprise directed at who it was trying to comfort him; it was surprise that someone would be willing to do so in the first place. He knew that wide eyed look of shock. That look he had seen far too many times on the faces of some of the more unfortunate Slytherins. He could not count the number that had come from broken homes. It was Slytherin's largest problem, and best kept secret. How else could the Dark Lord gather so many followers from one house alone? He promised safety, protection ... family.

The whole world knew that Slytherins had a thirst to prove themselves, but what they did not know was that the thing so many Slytherins were trying to prove was that they were worthy of love. The other Heads of Houses had no idea that Severus was willing to bet every Galleon, Sickle, and Knut he had that his house was the most emotionally demanding to manage. Potter was definitely not the first student to cry on Severus Snape, and never in a million years would Severus admit just how many had done so over the years.

It scared him how much Potter had reminded him of those students. Potter had looked far too Slytherin last night as he stood there, shaking and crying. He had looked so desperate that for a moment, Severus almost hadn't recognized him. This was the Potter he had never seen before, and the way the boy had held onto him despite knowing just who he was clinging to made him feel sick; not the fact that it was Potter, but the knowledge that only someone who was absolutely desperate would cry in an enemy's arms. This made Severus realize just how right Dumbledore had been that Potter was in danger mentally. He now knew exactly why Survival Magic had been invoked. The boy was a ticking time bomb of emotions, and he clearly still believed that it was his fault, and his alone that Black was dead. This belief was clearly creating a dam of emotions just waiting to explode. Severus knew full well the power of survivor's guilt, and just as well how easy it is for it to destroy you. The only thing that had saved him was the knowledge that there was some small way to pay in part his debt, by looking out for Lily's son. But Potter was innocent of the crime he thought he had committed, and there would be no way for him to find redemption for something he never did. He would always blame himself if he did not wake up from this nightmare soon. It would consume him if he kept internalizing the hate.

Severus moaned very quietly, despising himself for it, but feeling suddenly sorry for Potter. The boy was an idiot to think it was his fault, but Severus was starting to think he did not deserve his lot. Sure, Potter was infuriating, especially with his insistence that Severus did not understand how he felt, but then again, wasn't the boy still mostly a teenager in his mind? They were always convinced they were the centre of the world. It was something that had to be grown out of, hopefully.

"You were just as self-centred and stupid at that age, Snape," he spat at himself angrily. "If you had only told Lily why you felt there was no way out for you ... no future but to join the Dark Lord ... maybe then, she would have been able to make you see sense."

Severus swung his legs out of bed, scowling, and snatched up his leg brace. He fumbled with it, and dropped it with a clatter.

"Maybe then, you would not be a damned cripple!" he hissed under his breath, lunging once more for the brace.

***

Poppy showed up at three o clock in the afternoon, as she had been doing so for the past few days. She arrived in a swirl of robes on the rocks by Bell Point, and Severus watched her approach from the rocking chair on the porch, which was quickly becoming his favourite spot. Potter had been wandering around aimlessly for a little while, watching butterflies flutter in and out of the bushes by the cottage. Severus had been observing him for some time, unconsciously paying more attention when Potter neared the seashore. Right now Potter was digging aimlessly with the little tin shovel, off in the distance. He didn't appear to be enjoying it particularly, but instead dug with the air of someone who didn't know what else to do.

"Severus, how are you?" greeted Poppy, coming up the two steps on the porch.

"The same as yesterday," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "You've been asking me that question since I woke up in the hospital wing, and my answer always remains the same."

"I know," said Poppy with a light chuckle. "You took your potions this morning?"

"No, I gave them to Potter."

"Alright, so you took them."

"Yes."

"Lovely," she said, putting a check mark in a tiny leather bound book and stowing it in her pocket. "Shall we get started on your physiotherapy for today?"

Severus stood up as she opened the screen door into the house. He glanced over at Potter, still playing half-heartedly in the sand.

"You'll be able to see him through the window," said Poppy casually, "no need to worry."

"I do not trust him to stay out of trouble," he explained scathingly. "The boy was bad enough at fifteen, but at four? I think not. And with Molly gone I'm on the chopping block if he blows himself up."

"And I am not criticizing you for your concern," Poppy said. "I quite agree he should be watched. He is lucky to have you around."

Poppy went to stand behind Severus as he sat down, and wordlessly she began to massage his shoulders, as they had been doing the past few days.

"Do you have any more feeling in your hands and leg than you have the past few days?"

"Not really," said Severus as her hands moved down his right arm and worked various muscles. "Maybe a little, but I am not sure."

"That is to be expected," she said in response to his discouraged face. "It will likely be a few weeks before you do feel much improvement in feeling."

Severus' muscles tensed slightly at this statement.

"Take a deep breath; I need you as relaxed as possible for this," said Poppy calmly.

Severus looked mutinous, but after she looked at him pointedly, he did so.

"When we are done today I am going to give you a few activities to do while I am gone," she said. "They will help with your dexterity, and I expect you to work on them in your spare time."

Severus merely grunted, and he continued doing as she said in silence, attempting to grab certain objects with his hands, letting her pull his arms into strange positions and move his bad leg through its range of motion. All of this irked him to no end, just as it had when they first began the treatment in the hospital wing. 

Two weeks of this, he thought to himself, and what is there to show for it?

"How has Mr. Potter been coping?" she asked softly as she gave Severus a break for a moment or so.

"Not well, exactly, but he is doing alright," he muttered in reply, glancing out at Potter, sitting a ways away on the beach where he was examining a bug or something on the end of his shovel. "He is still figuring all of this out."

"I see," she said with a small sigh. "Albus has been worried about him lately. Although, I believe that he worries more for you."

Her remark was met with a scowl.

"Can I take the brace off now?" Severus hissed.

"Yes, yes, go ahead," said Poppy, looking tired. She watched as Severus struggled to undo the fastenings on his leg brace, but did not make a move to help him. He would get it eventually. He was stubborn, and this she knew, and strong because of it. This resilience was perhaps why she respected him so much, despite their differences.

"Ready?" she asked, holding out her hand.

Severus nodded, and grudgingly let her grab his arm. With a little bit of help from Poppy he was on his feet, shakily, but standing without the brace.

"Alright, left first," she said patiently, and Severus dragged his left leg forward, his right leg wobbling beneath him, trying to give out at the knee. Poppy braced herself, supporting much of his weight. "Now the right."

It took far more effort for him to drag his right leg forward, his left staying slightly more stable. He planted his right foot to the ground again, trying to conceal his shaking breaths,

"Very good," said Poppy with an encouraging smile on her face.

Severus scowled, but the colour in his face was draining steadily. After two more strides, he was even paler, but Poppy sensed to keep going.

"Left again ... right ..." Poppy muttered, paying close attention to the beads of sweat on Severus' brow. "Just four more to go. Left, Right ... Left, Right ... Left ... Keep going Severus, keep going. Right ... last one .... Left, right."

She let him collapse in the armchair again, panting.

"Well done. You are improving, you know," she said quietly as he buckled the brace back on his leg with shaking fingers. "That was two more than yesterday. You are regaining some strength, from the looks of it. I think the potions have helped a lot."

"I cannot wait to get rid of this thing," he said with a scowl, staring down at the pale plastic brace. Despite magical materials being abundant, plastic was found to be the best, and Severus was mildly annoyed that wizards had yet to improve upon a muggle design. "It feels foreign."

"I know," said Poppy, eyes crinkled with concern. "I hate to tell you this, but you may always need it, Severus, to some degree. There may be times when you are strong enough to go short distances without the brace, once you have regained enough movement in it, but you will probably need to wear it for some of the time still."

His look was mutinous.

"If you want," began Poppy hesitantly under his glare, "I could ... well ... I wasn't going to ask because I was sure you would probably threaten to hex me for it ... but there are charms to make braces more appealing."

"What on earth does that mean?" asked Snape, bewildered.

"I ... I could change the colour ... if you wanted?" she said, flushing slightly as she prepared for him storming at her. "I can do patterns, and pictures too."

She held her breath, trying to decide what he was thinking. It baffled her the longer he was silent, for she had been sure he could be angry at her for such a silly suggestion.

Severus merely sat, looking pensive. He felt like a bit of an idiot asking, but she was right. If he was stuck with this thing for a while, he might as well like it. Something did come to mind, and however much he was afraid to speak it, he felt this was worth swallowing his pride.

"Can you do ... lilies? Just one, really. A tiger lily."

Poppy looked shocked, and for a moment, confused. There was a strangely innocent look in his eyes, sad, and yet, wistful.

She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly, suddenly remembering him as a young boy, throwing snowballs with Lily Evans on the grounds as a first year. Of course, why else would he ask for a lily?

"Yes, I think so," she said. "Where?"

He leaned over a little, pointing at the piece of plastic that covered his ankle. It was a nice open space, free of buckles.

Carefully, she lifted his leg up, brace and all. He did not protest, for once. With a smooth, twirling motion she dragged her wand over the plastic. On the surface bloomed a host of colours: a soft spray of green, bits of black and orange, blooming into a small, but elegant lily. The plastic around it was tinged a soft, pastel green, fading into the neutral colour of the brace.

Severus looked down at his leg to admire the design on the brace, and for a moment, Poppy thought he almost smiled.

"Thank you," he muttered. "It ... it might pose as inspiration."

"I miss her still," said Poppy in a whisper, wiping her eyes.

For a moment, Severus' brow crinkled, though not in anger or annoyance.

"You said you had some things I had to do while you were away?" he asked with the tone of someone changing the conversation.

"Yes, that is correct."

Knowing it was better to simply consent to his change of topic, Poppy rummaged in a bag at her feet, pulling from it a flat green square of plastic with holes punched around the edge, as well as a shoelace.

"This is the first activity I want you to try for me," she said, holding up the plastic and shoelace.

"What the hell is it?" asked Severus, wondering what on earth it was for.

"It's a muggle sewing card," she said, and Severus was quite sure he detected a hint of enthusiasm. "It's an activity to teach coordination. A friend of mine suggested it when we were reviewing your case. Of course, she did not know whom we were discussing."

"And what do I do?" drawled Severus, rather irritated.

"You thread the plastic end of the shoelace through the holes, over and under, like you would sew," Poppy told him, demonstrating on the card a few times. She pulled the shoelace tight to reveal the stitches. She undid them quickly and separated the shoelace and plastic once more. "Here, you try it."

Severus reluctantly took the card, and took the shoelace in his left hand, the card in his right. Carefully, he began to thread the plastic end through the holes as she had said. It was harder than she had made it look, but with much irritation, he decided this was because she was more coordinated.

"That's enough for the moment," she said, and Severus pulled the shoelace out clumsily. "I would like you to attempt it with both of your hands, doing as much as you physically can, including taking the lace out again. "I know it is not overly interesting, but I am sure that it will help your coordination. You still have some movement in both of your hands, although very little in the right. Could you try holding the tip of the shoelace with your right hand?"

Severus used his left hand to position the shoelace for his right hand, and carefully, he attempted to pull his thumb and forefinger close enough together to hold the tip of the shoelace. It was difficult, and required quite a lot of effort, but he could do it.

"Wonderful. Will you promise to do the sewing card daily?"

"Alright, if you think it will help," muttered Severus with little enthusiasm.

Poppy smiled with relief.

"There is one more thing that I have brought you," said Poppy. "I have been thinking, and I believe that it would be good for you to learn to write with your left hand. You seem to have enough movement to be able to write. I realize that you still have some weakness in your hand, but with writing practise, that may improve. Therefore I have brought you a quill and ink."

"There are writing materials here too," said Severus, rolling his eyes.

"This quill is special."

Sure enough, the quill that Poppy extracted and showed to Severus was indeed a little bit different than those he had seen. There was a thick rubber grip around the middle, larger than most quills would have. Clearly it was designed to be easy to hold. He took the quill from Poppy and held it in his left hand. It felt awkward, and strange. Severus wondered if he would ever get used to writing with his left hand.

"The inkwell is charmed to stay sitting upright, so it is simply not possible to be knocked over," Poppy further explained. "Hopefully that should make it a little easier. And you do not have to fear young Mr. Potter's antics while you are writing."

Severus chuckled slightly at her comment, but stopped quickly. She looked pleased, however. Her expression didn't last as she glanced out the window.

"Although, right now it does not look as though he has much for energy," she muttered, looking outside to see Harry sitting in the same position on the beach, this time not digging at all. Severus glanced out the window too, although he knew what she was seeing. Severus had been keeping an eye on Potter, who he had been sitting motionless for some time.

"He is like that a lot," said Severus slowly. "I think it will be a long time before he finally realizes it isn't his fault, and properly expresses his emotions."

"Well, I hope for his sake that it is sooner than later. He cannot return to his former self until he does grieve properly. Even then, I fear he will never be the same mentally."

Severus scoffed. "Of course not. Who is when they lose someone? Those scars always remain. One just has to hope that in cases such as Potter's they are not too deep to allow growth."

"Some of the things you say can be quite profound. Did you know that?"

"Oh, I know. Unfortunately the profound constitutes only about one percent of what comes out of my mouth, and the rest of what I say has to go around my foot," he replied darkly.

"And that's the Severus I have grown to love," said Poppy with a laugh as she got up from the sofa and straightened her robes. "Well, it is high time I should be going. Take care of yourself, and please practise what we discussed."

"I will."

"I know. I have always admired your determination."

"And I've always admired your extremely irritating determination to boost my self-confidence every time you come," he said, smirking. "Bloody annoying, you know."

"Well, sometimes I think that you need a little bit more confidence," she said softly. "You are far too hard on yourself."

Before he could retort, Poppy said a short goodbye and swept out of the door, leaving Severus sitting in the armchair. He sighed, then glanced down at the lily on his brace. He dropped the leg of his jeans over it when he heard Potter's small steps on the porch. Potter came in, walking slowly and deliberately. He did not glance at Severus, and continued to go upstairs.

Severus watched Potter go, contemplating the boy. How long would he remain this way? To be completely honest, it scared him a little bit to see how languid the boy was. He shook his head. There was no sense in worrying about something he did not know how to fix. Once he heard the sound of Potter's door closing, he started to get up. Severus was tired, and aching all over from the physical therapy session, as he always did. For the moment, he caught himself feeling glad he had a leg brace as he limped toward the bathroom to examine his reflection. He was sure he was as pale as a ghost. Once there Severus grimaced in the mirror. He was indeed pale, but most of all, he needed to shave again, something he had been avoiding for a little while. He knew it quite well, and he also knew that he did not have any essence of dittany left, in case he cut himself like last time. Why had he not thought to ask Poppy for some?

He scowled at himself, his right hand unconsciously reaching up to feel his chin. He could not get the hand high up enough. Muttering swears under his breath, Severus instead used his left to feel his stubble. Yes, it was too long. He was starting to look more and more like his father, and the resemblance would only increase the longer he remained unshaven. Frowning, he reached into the drawer beneath the sink. There were three, and the one that was highest was Severus'. Potter's was on the bottom, and the middle held clean flannels. Severus pulled his drawer open and rummaged around in it. He found the little case that he kept his razor in. He pulled it out carefully with his left hand, and set it on the counter that the sink was set into. He sighed slightly. Why did shaving seem so difficult now? He had enjoyed the task before all this. He had always enjoyed it. It was a good thing he did, for his facial hair grew as though there was no tomorrow (something he blamed on his father). Despite this, he had never grown a moustache, or a beard, or goatee. Especially not a moustache. His father had always had one, and the resemblance would have been terrifying if he had one too. The last thing he needed was to see his father in the mirror every morning. Unfortunately, he was looking like him more and more as he grew older. Every new wrinkle screamed Tobias at him. His only consolation was that at least he still held the fine frame he had gotten from his mother. He could not stand the thought of having a beer gut like his father.

An eyebrow raised, Severus began to spread shaving cream on his face, noting how strange it felt to be doing so with his left hand. He was glad to see it had gotten a little easier from the last time he had shaved, although it had really only been a day or two, he thought. Perhaps his left hand was improving after all. He did recall Poppy saying at first that it would definitely regain its full strength with time. Only his right side seemed to be the one that would give trouble. He filled the sink with water, and with more care than he used to use, he wet the razor and got started, very cautious so as not to let his slightly weak left hand slip on him. Each stroke took him far too long for his tastes, but the action was still a little bit calming. For a moment, he almost forgot that things had changed.

After the house being so silent, the crash that shook the floor was especially alarming, and made Severus jump very badly.

"Shit," he swore, dropping his bloodied razor and snatching up a bit of toilet paper to staunch the blood flowing from the nick he had made on his jawline, furious. He never used to cut himself shaving, even when startled. Not since he was a teenager!

Pushing those thoughts aside, he removed his hand from the cut for a second to wrench open the door, fearing the worst after such a loud noise. Livid, he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall, looking for the source of the noise. Trying not to bleed everywhere and very aware that his face was still half covered in shaving cream, he went to the mouth of the hall and stared down at the base of the stairs where Potter was getting to his feet, looking unhurt, but startled.

"What in Merlin's name was that about?"

Potter looked up at him and cowered away.

"I - I fell down the stairs ..." he muttered, wincing and rubbing his arm unconsciously.

"Why?"

"I dunno, I just slipped."

Severus suppressed the urge to swear, still pressing the cut on his jawline to keep from bleeding.

"He slipped ... slipped!" he spat indignantly to nobody in particular, furious. He looked down at Potter once more and continued. "Well do not do it again. Especially when I am shaving!" He growled slightly, not waiting for Potter's response. "Do you want me to cut my jugular?"

"Er, no sir. I don't."

Severus paused, suddenly aware how ridiculous he probably looked.

"Good," he said haughtily before stalking down the hall and back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The boy was probably laughing right now. Severus gritted his teeth in anger. After a moment, however, a grim sort of satisfaction came over him, for it occurred to him that like with Potions, the four year old Potter did not understand the subtle art of shaving, and that it was a ritual sacred to any man. As he wiped the blood off his cheek and assessed the damage, he thought wryly that even the teen-aged Potter probably knew nothing about this, like his father before him. James Potter hadn't been able to grow a damned thing on his ugly face, at least as long as Severus had known him. His gloom lifting somewhat because of this thought, Severus continued with his ritual, keeping his ears trained on the movements of Potter upstairs, lest he wander too close to the stairs and cause another disaster. But he did not, and Severus finished shaving, his shoulders hunched and brows furrowed.

***

Harry did well to avoid Professor Snape ever since he chewed him out for falling down the stairs and disrupting him while shaving. It had been a little bit terrifying, in Harry's opinion, for Snape had looked utterly mad, covered in blood and shaving cream and waving his razor like a lunatic. Of course, Harry may have found some humour in the situation later had Snape not been in a horrible mood for the rest of the day. Naturally, Harry stayed outside for much of the afternoon, but occasionally could hear a rather potent swear drifting out of one of the open windows of the cottage. Even during dinner Snape was scowling at his broccoli like it had committed an offence worthy of death. He stabbed at it mutinously, muttering under his breath each time that he missed, oblivious to Harry's unease.

"Professor?" he said meekly after some time of trying to work up the courage to ask a question that had been on his mind all day. He'd searched the house from top to bottom, but he still had not found what he was looking for.

"What?" Snape said stiffly, his jaw clenched.

"You ... you haven't seen a ... well, a stuffed lion around, have you?" Harry asked meekly.

"A stuffed lion?" Snape drawled, looking annoyed as he struggled with his fork and knife. "No. Why?"

"I ... well, I lost it," Harry said quietly. "It's nothing ... I just thought maybe you'd seen it."

"Why would I know where your silly lion was anyway?" was the cold reply.

"I had him downstairs earlier," muttered Harry under his breath, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He had come down in the morning to get his jar of marbles, but got distracted by a flock of birds outside and had gone onto the porch to watch them. After that he could not remember where he had put his lion down. He had looked all over the place.

"Why are you asking me?" Snape sneered suddenly, setting down his knife and jabbing at his chicken with the fork. "Can't sleep without it?"

Harry flushed, clenching his fists under the table.

"Oh, this is precious," Snape continued in a low voice. "Did wee little Potter get attached to his precious baby toy?"

"Stop it!" Harry cried, furious.

"Did I strike a nerve?" Snape asked cruelly.

Harry stood up on his chair so that his face was level with Snape's, angrier than he could remember being in a long time. How could Snape do this to him? Last night, Harry had thought that maybe he could trust Snape, especially after he had straight out lied to make him feel better by saying that it was not his fault that Sirius died. For one night, Harry felt like the summer wouldn't be a total disaster, but the illusion was shattered, and Harry was furious at both himself for being so trusting, and at Snape for stabbing him in the back like this.

"JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE MAD THAT YOU'RE STUCK LIKE THIS DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN TAKE IT OUT ON ME!" he bellowed, trying not to cry as he glared at Snape.

Snape's sneer turned into a mask of fury, and his breathing sharpened as the fork slid from his grasp. Suddenly, Harry's cup full of milk shattered spectacularly, spraying the table with milk and glass. Harry stumbled away from it with a short gasp, jumping down from his chair and backing away to the door, because he knew all too well that he had not done that. Though he had not been cut, Harry felt his eyes welling up with tears before he could stop them, and then he ran out of the room. He knew that Snape had seen the fear on his face, but strangely enough, Harry thought that the look on Snape's face hadn't been too different.

Harry ran all the way up into his room, but he did not hear Snape pursuing him. He looked around for some place to hide, and he dove for the cupboard. He wrenched it open and pushed aside a small box of his clothes, closing the door behind him. He knew that Snape couldn't come up the stairs to get him. He could only go up a few steps. His heart hammered erratically, and Harry lowered his face onto his knees, halfway expecting Uncle Vernon to wrench open the door.

***

A floor below, Severus lowered his head onto the table, his hands on his head.

"What is wrong with me?" he whispered to himself hoarsely, feeling sick, his anger replaced with dread. How could he have lost control of his magic again? Better yet, how could he have rubbed salt in Potter's wounds like that? The boy was right. He was mad at himself, not Potter. Yet it had taken a four year old to point it out.

"Why? Why did I have to say that?" Severus said, barely able to speak past the lump in his throat. "I ... I didn't even mean it. Why?"

Suddenly, Severus clenched his eyes shut tightly, hearing words echo in his head from long ago, powerless to stop them.

"No ..." he muttered, his voice hoarse from the sudden sharp pain in his chest. "I am him! I'm him!"

"What is wrong with you, you little shit? What kind of boy sleeps with a stuffed pony?"

"Daddy, give Bailey back!" the little boy cried to his father, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks as he lunged for the battered toy being waved before him.

"Oh, little baby wants his horsie back?"

"P-Please, Daddy!" the child sobbed, reaching his hands up to his father.

"Get it for yourself," growled the drunken man, his speech slurring as he threw the toy onto the coals in the fireplace. "That will teach you to be a man!"

The little boy cried as his father dragged him roughly upstairs. He was forced into a chair in the corner of his tiny bedroom, and the door was shut with a crash that that shook the rickety walls of the house on Spinner's End.

"How did I become him?" he whispered to himself hoarsely, trying to forget the smell of old whisky and the taste of tears. "How could I have done this?"

He pushed his plate away, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He lowered his head to the table once more, eyes tightly shut.

***

Harry stayed in the cupboard for some time, but eventually, as darkness fell he left it and crawled into his bed. He heard Snape go to bed around nine-thirty. As he lay still under the covers Harry wanted desperately to go look for his lion again, but Snape's words stuck in his head, and he heard over and over in his mind Professor Snape taunting him about not being able to sleep without a toy. Unfortunately, this was all too true by now. Harry had gotten used to the comfort of something soft to hold at night, and now, listening to the sound of the wind whipping through the trees, he felt his stomach clench with fear. The house creaked with every gust, and no matter how Harry tried he could not sleep. So, at last, he decided to forsake his dignity, and go down the stairs. The clock had struck midnight a little while ago, and Harry tiptoed in his socks, walking as quietly out of his room as he could, then went down the stairs.

The trouble was, it was very dark. He searched through the sitting room, trying to think of where his toy might have gone, but his efforts were fruitless. After about ten minutes of this, it occurred to Harry that he had made a brief stop in the kitchen for some water before going to get his marble jar earlier during the day. Thinking that perhaps he might have left his lion in there, he crept into the kitchen.

There was only a small amount of moonlight shining through the kitchen window, and Harry shuffled around the table, noticing that all traces of the broken glass were gone. Harry wondered how long Snape had taken to clear it up. Frowning, Harry looked around. He peered up at the counters, and over to the pantry. The pane of glass in the pantry door reflected the moonlight, and the white pattern of painted flowers glinted softly. Harry knew he had not gone in there earlier with his lion, so he turned away from the pantry, choosing instead to slowly rotate on the spot, squinting in the semi-darkness. It was then that he heard a soft thumping noise. Harry turned in horror and glanced out the kitchen door, which had a direct view of the hallway that went past the staircase and to Snape's room. He saw Snape's door open. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry crept out of view of the entrance to the kitchen, then toward the pantry and opened the door. He shut it behind him and backed up into the darkness, the fragrant smell of dried herbs filling his nostrils as he fought to control his breathing. He heard the footsteps, hoping desperately that Snape would not come in here. He was fairly confident he could not be seen in the darkness of the pantry, but he could see out of the glass, for it was lighter in the kitchen.

To Harry's horror, the sounds of Snape walking grew closer, and then he saw his Professor through the glass, wearing his pyjamas. The moonlight only just illuminated his figure, and Harry froze. Snape looked exhausted, and his eyebrows were furrowed. Harry noticed that there was sweat on his brow. He seemed slightly shaky. Snape looked around as though he expected something to jump out and grab him.

Harry frowned. Had Snape had a nightmare?

Harry watched as Snape shook his head slightly, his eyes clenched shut as though he was trying to forget something. He opened his eyes, and reached up for an empty glass. Snape took it off the shelf with his left hand and then started to move over the sink to fill it. He fumbled with the glass suddenly, and Harry could not stop himself from jumping slightly when the glass fell to the ground and shattered. Snape's shoulders tensed, and he froze, his fingers still extended as though they were still holding the cup. Harry could see Snape's expression from the side. It was a peculiar look, perhaps part shock, the other part fury. He stood still for second as he stared down at the glass, which had cracked cleanly into three pieces. Snape trembled on the spot, and then without warning, he sunk down to the ground, resting his back against the cupboard beneath the sink. Then, to Harry's amazement, Snape's face crumpled, and his shoulders began to shake. Harry was started to see tears dripping off the end of Snape's nose as he bowed his head. His Professor was silent but for the occasional ragged breath.

More than anything, Harry wished that he could turn away and not watch this, but he found himself frozen to the spot. He knew Snape would skin him alive if he knew that Harry was here, but it was clear that Snape suspected nobody in the room. Harry felt a strange, unsettled feeling in his gut as he watched, hardly daring to breathe. Snape was cold and emotionless much of the time. He did not cry. He never cried. If anyone had even suggested the idea to Harry before this, he would have laughed at the thought. It was absurd to think of someone so callous breaking down, but as he stared through the glass at Snape shaking, tears streaking his cheeks because of a broken cup, he did not quite understand how he could have thought the man did not show sadness before this. It made Harry want to cry as well, strangely enough, because before this he never properly thought about just how difficult this new situation was for Professor Snape. The shattered glass was clearly the last straw.

At last, Snape sniffed quietly and he reached down for his baggy white t-shirt, pulling the hem up to his face and wiping his eyes, his chest still shaking slightly. He looked around, his face blotchy, his eyes wide, as though he feared someone had been watching. Harry was not seen, and a few moments later Snape stared blankly forward, looking utterly exhausted. He made to get to his feet, but then sat back against the cupboard again, looking suddenly hopeless.

Harry felt his stomach drop, because he often did the same thing, especially these days. He'd try to move, only to lose heart a moment later, feeling as though his arms and legs were of lead. It was depression ... hopelessness, and Harry never thought he'd see it in Professor Snape, a man so resilient and determined.

Then again, thought Harry, wasn't I once so determined?

Across the kitchen, Snape closed his eyes, unaware that there was a little boy in the pantry, holding back tears, knowing exactly how he felt. Snape wiped his face again on his shirt and slowly - looking as though it took all the strength he possessed - he got to his feet. He reached down carefully and picked up the three pieces of the glass one by one, putting them in the rubbish bin that was in the cupboard under the sink. Snape seemed to deflate suddenly as he looked at the shelf where the glasses were kept. He then stared over to the kitchen faucet. After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly and he shuffled over to the sink. He turned on the faucet, and lowered his head to take a drink from the stream of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned the tap off, then slowly walked out of the kitchen.

Harry awoke the next day, cranky from not sleeping well. He had stayed up for a long time last night, trying to reconcile the image of Snape crying with the one who had shouted him down at dinner, mocking him for being attached to a stuffed toy. It had bothered him for a very long time, but at around four in the morning he had remembered what Mrs. Weasley had said to him about Snape the day that he had first come to Bell Point.

"We are all foolish when it comes to our enemies," she had said, "and while I know he did awful things to Sirius, have you ever considered that he did such things because he has known little but cruelty all his life?"

The last statement really stuck with Harry, and he thought that she had hit the nail on the head about something, but he was not entirely sure what sort of cruelty had made Snape such a conflicted man. Snape did have the capacity to be kind, and a fair bit of the time, he seemed to mean well with things. Harry found, however, that Snape was prone to outbursts. Even the slightest thing could make Snape snap in class, and he wasn't any different now. Snape, of course, was not exactly the only one to snap at people. Harry knew all too well that he had a tendency to snap at his own friends. He often wondered if this was because living with the Dursleys had rubbed off on him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were very unstable around Harry, and having grown up with that, Harry felt that it was normal sometimes. In fact, it was only after he had gone to the Burrow for the summer that he realized that most families weren't like that. Maybe Snape too had grown up like this too, and once thought that kind of reaction was normal. Was Snape cruel because that was all he knew?

Whatever the answer was, Harry had fallen asleep shortly after that, and had risen at his usual time, feeling like he had sandpaper in his eyes. He got dressed and stumbled down the staircase. Harry did not see Snape anywhere, but was rather glad not to. Usually they only saw or conversed with each other at meals, and right now he hoped Snape wouldn't show to breakfast. The problem was that one part of him was furious at how Snape had made fun of him over the stuffed toy, and another part was terrified to see Snape lest he find out that he had been hiding in the pantry last night, and seen him break down like that. So, it was with much relief that the kitchen was empty when Harry entered it. There was a bowl of cereal on the table for him, as well as a little plate with strawberries. Harry retrieved the milk from the magical ice box and poured it over the corn flakes. He added a little bit of sugar, and threw in a few strawberries, and began to eat. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, but somehow he did. Perhaps he was able to do so because he was afraid to fall asleep again. The little amount of sleep he had gotten last night had brought more nightmares of Sirius, wasted and dead, spitting angry remarks at Harry. Only this time they had been complicated by Snape shouting at him, saying to grow up or he'd be sorry.

Harry frowned as his breakfast turned to ash in his mouth, and he let his spoon fall with a clatter. He could barely stomach the thought of eating any more. Just then Snape came in. He did not spare a glance at Harry as he went to go pour himself a cup of coffee.

He took a sip, and for a moment, he surveyed Harry.

Harry stared down at his barely touched breakfast, and he frowned, resting his face on his fists.

"Eat, Potter," Snape said sharply.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said, his voice muffled slightly by his fists on either side of his face.

"Of course you are," said Snape, rolling his eyes. "You may not want to eat, but you need to. The last thing we need around here is you fainting from hunger."

"I don't faint from hunger," Harry said with a scowl, dropping hands to the table, hating the thought of Snape thinking he was weak. "I can last days without food, and not even get dizzy."

Snape looked at him like he had sprouted three heads.

"When have you lasted days without food?" Snape said slowly, eyes narrowed.

If Harry felt queasy before, it was nothing to how he felt now. Why did he have to say that? He prodded his imagination, dying for a reason besides the truth.

"When I've been sick, obviously," Harry scoffed at Snape as though he was an idiot. Harry knew he was pushing his luck, but it was the only way to deflect Snape's suspicion. "You try eating something when you're puking your guts out."

Harry's plan worked perfectly, and the tone of his voice made Snape scowl furiously.

"That hardly constitutes a reason for you not eating breakfast," Snape spat. "Eat, or I'll make Poppy give you a check-up."

"Fine," Harry said, still staring at Snape angrily.

Snape just rolled his eyes and limped out of the room to go drink his coffee elsewhere, leaving Harry to poke at his cornflakes until they got soggy.

That was close, thought Harry. Too close.

Luckily, Harry was fairly confident that Snape had been too annoyed at him to really take the comment to heart. The last thing he wanted was the git of the dungeons to know what went on in the Dursley household. The less Snape knew about him, the better.

***

Come afternoon Severus was shuffling things around in the sitting room for something to do. Despite the fact that he had never caught the elf doing it, Dobby did clean the cottage a few times a week during the night. Right now, however Severus had something on his mind, and would have cleaned even if he had to walk right behind the elf to do it. Potter was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, for Severus still wanted to throw up at the thought of what he had said last night. He just did not understand why he had been so cruel. He had promised Dumbledore he would make fun of Potter. But he had, and for something as petty as sleeping with a stuffed animal - something he had done at that age as well. To make it worse, Potter had only brought it up because he had lost it. The boy had to have been really desperate for it if he had worked up the courage to ask for help in finding it.

Then what did I do? Severus thought. I shot him down, just like that.

With a heavy sigh, Severus straightened the sofa cushions. One was particularly lumpy, and so he gave it a thump with his good hand, trying to flatten out the cushion. Severus straightened up, intrigued, and pulled the cushion away. Something was lodged behind it. When he saw what it was he backed up and sunk down in the armchair nearby, closing his eyes.

It was Potter's stuffed lion, sitting there, staring at him with its black button eyes, looking mournfully up at him and just daring him to apologize.

Severus swore under his breath. He knew he had to give it back to Potter. But he did not know what he would say. Of course he would have to apologize. It was something he had known since the moment he insulted Potter, and Severus had been working himself up to it all day, but he knew it would not be easy. How much would he tell Potter? This would require some thought, and Severus felt that the last thing he wanted to do was give the true reason behind why that particular insult had come to mind.

***

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a story book for lack of something better to do. It was about a rabbit, but it barely held his interest. He tried reading the words, but after a while got bored and was instead looking at the pictures. He sighed and dragged his glass of milk toward him. He didn't really feel like lifting the glass, and the milk was still close to the top, so he lowered his face to the glass and stuck his tongue into the milk, purely because he could. This was how Professor Snape found him.

Harry pushed away his glass forcefully, feeling himself turn red as he hastily went back to the storybook.

"'Lo Professor," he mumbled, feeling sheepish.

"Afternoon, Potter," said Snape, sounding hesitant.

Harry looked up, wondering why Snape seemed different. He looked a little ill to Harry, and he had his left hand behind his back. Harry craned his neck to see what it was.

"I was cleaning, and I found this," said Snape gruffly, pulling from behind his back a ratty stuffed toy.

"My lion!" Harry said enthusiastically, reaching out for it. Suddenly, he dropped his hands. Where was the catch?

Snape took a step forward and put the toy on the table, right in front of Harry.

"What did you do to him?" Harry accused, staring warily at the lion.

"Nothing," said Snape, sounding gloomy.

"But ... but before ..."

"Look, Potter," said Snape tiredly, leaning against the kitchen wall, "I did not mean what I said earlier. It was a stupid thing for me to say, anyway."

"Then why did you say it?" Harry asked, hating the pleading tone in his voice.

"Because ..." began Snape, looking anywhere but Harry, "because I ..."

Harry waited expectantly, but Snape's words simply fell away. He changed his train of thought after a moment and continued, his words sounding a little broken, like he was assembling his sentences with difficulty.

"The reason for why I said that has nothing to do with you, Potter," Snape settled for. "You have no reason to be ashamed of having a favourite toy. It was a cheap shot, and ... and you were right. It was unhappiness that made me say it, not you."

Snape scowled, although Harry didn't think it had much heart in it. Then, he turned on his heel and left.

"Wait!" Harry cried, leaping off his chair and running to the kitchen door. Snape was already halfway down the hall. He did not turn around, but he stopped. "Thank you, Professor."

There was no reply, but Harry thought that Snape's shoulders relaxed a little as he continued down the hall again, and went into his room. Harry was left standing in the kitchen. He looked up at the table where the lion was looking down at him. It seemed to be smiling.

***

Harry thought that he would have slept better again with his stuffed lion, but he was wrong. The next morning he awoke even more exhausted. That day passed, and it would have been uneventful had dread not pierced Harry's heart every other minute at the thought of going to bed. This anxiety only increased, and by the time night came again he almost didn't sleep at all. Yet, his time spent asleep was still too much, in his opinion, for despite the fact that it had now been four nights since Harry had seen Sirius' boggart, his Godfather's wasted face continued to plague his dreams, trying to pull Harry into the veil as well. He would wake in a cold sweat, terrified, nearly paralysed with fear. The scream would come rising in his throat, fighting against the haze of tiredness, but Harry always clamped his hand over his mouth to stop the sound from leaving him.

While Harry could deny having nightmares, he could not deny the presence of the deep shadows beneath his eyes. Snape noticed them at breakfast, as usual. In fact, he had been eyeing Harry warily for the past few days, but only when Harry was almost falling asleep in his porridge did Snape speak.

"Potter, have you been sleeping alright?"

Harry jerked awake. The question had been hesitant, but it snapped him to attention anyway.

"I'm fine."

"You do not look fine to me," scoffed Snape before taking a bite of his own porridge, fumbling slightly with his spoon. "Have you been having nightmares?"

"No," said Harry peevishly. Snape made to argue, but Harry filled his mouth so full of porridge he would not be speaking for a long time. Snape seemed to feel it was not worth the battle at this time in the morning.

Knowing it was only a matter of time before he was interrogated again, Harry avoided Snape the rest of the day, and went out to sit by the sea, watching the ebb and flow of the tide. He spent as much time as possible out of the house, and this seemed to irritate Snape. Snape appeared to have figured out that Harry's reason for staying on the sandy beach was because he could not walk easily on it. While he was improving in his walking, sand still proved difficulties.

Harry made sure to eat lunch at a different time than Snape, and at dinner he kept his mouth as full as possible, despite the fact that he had little appetite. Snape's reaction to the whole charade made Harry nervous. While acting a little bit more polite than usual, Snape showed no other sign that he was going to interrogate Harry, for his behaviour or otherwise. He did however seem to be watching him closely, for when Harry looked up from his food Snape had a peculiar expression on his face, like he was surveying him. Still, Snape was silent, and nor did he look up from his book when Harry stomped upstairs to go to bed sometime later, still in a wretched mood from lack of sleep. His mood only worsened at the thought of more nightmares.

"Who says I have to sleep, anyway?" Harry complained childishly to himself as he lay face down under the covers, his face burrowed in his lion's mane. Buttons, he had finally decided to name him. Sure, he knew the name was babyish, but the lion's personality seemed to come from his button eyes. Harry had caught himself calling the lion Buttons a few times in his head, and after a while, he stopped trying to force himself not to. And after the row in the kitchen a few days ago, it wasn't as though he would dare say anything to Snape about Buttons, anyway. Just as he would not talk about his nightmares ... about Sirius' dead eyes staring into his soul.

Despite the growing darkness outside the window, Harry fought to stay awake. He pinched himself, twisted into uncomfortable positions in his bed, picked at the sleeves of his pyjamas for something to do, and talked quietly to Buttons. He heard the sounds of Snape getting ready for bed downstairs, and he rolled around a few times to wake himself up a bit more. His eyes itched with tiredness, and he yawned widely. He got up and stretched, and then lay back down, head resting on Buttons' soft chest.

He didn't even remember closing his eyes before he was plunged into dreams. They barely lasted, surprisingly - only few quick glimpses of a cupboard and Sirius' face, wasted and torn, and then he fell into such a deep sleep  that he surpassed dreams. He slept deeply all the way until morning, and when he opened his eyes, the sunlight was streaming into his room, much to his amazement. Besides the fact that he was left wondering if he had slept at all due to how quickly the night had passed, and how dreamless it had been, Harry realized he felt well rested. Somewhere downstairs he heard Snape walking around. He was already up, which surprised Harry. Normally Harry was up before him.

It took Harry a moment to properly wake enough to realize that he was lying in his bed in a cold sweat. He shivered a little, extracting his head from Buttons' mane, having awoken in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Four almost sleepless nights will do that, he supposed. Sitting up, Harry suddenly felt that everything wasn't as it should have been. He was cold in all the wrong places. Hot shame washed over him. He didn't do that. This didn't happen. But, his wet pyjamas and damp sheets beneath him said otherwise. He moaned quietly with embarrassment. And then an even worse thought occurred to him. How was he going to get the sheets and his pyjamas down to the laundry room without Snape seeing?

He would have to be immensely careful, but with Snape in the kitchen hopefully eating breakfast, he might be able to sneak everything to the laundry room before Snape could notice. Practically dying of embarrassment, Harry tore off his wet pyjamas and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of patched overalls, ramming his glasses onto his face. He bunched his wet pyjamas up, and then got started on the bed. He would take the sheet first. It would be the easiest to carry. He rolled it up, and piled his pyjamas on top. The smell made his eyes water, but it was more the shame from the reminder of what he had done than anything. He tiptoed over to his door, peered around the corner. He peered from the top of the railing of the stairs where he could see diagonally into the open kitchen door, which was right next to the sitting room. He could just see Snape sitting at the table. Noting Snape's back facing the door, Harry crept downstairs. One by one he went down, but, being so careful not to trip on the end of the sheet, he forgot to jump the stair that squeaked. He froze as Snape looked around.

"Morning, Potter," he said, looking almost cheerful.

Harry felt his breath turn to ice in his chest as Snape spied the sheet and pyjamas in his arms.

He closed his eyes, which were tearing up behind his glasses, waiting for Snape to start making fun of him.

Quite suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed the sheet from Harry's small arms, which were struggling to keep a hold on them. Harry opened his eyes to see Snape looking down at him.

"If you had not been so sleep deprived, this would not have happened," was the slightly irritated and gruff reply, but it did not bite like Harry expected it to.

"It's n-not gonna happen again," Harry said quickly. "It's just one time, I promise."

"Alright," said Snape, neither contradicting Harry nor agreeing with him as he strode down the hall to the laundry room, his ungainly steps echoing on the wood floor. "Go get the rest of the blankets and bring them downstairs. I will put them in the wash."

Harry bit his lip, and did as he was told.

Snape did not say another word as he brought down a clean set of bedding from the tall shelf, which he gave to Harry to put on the bed. When Harry returned from doing this, Snape motioned for Harry to come and sit down at the kitchen table, where breakfast was waiting.

"I know you wish not to talk about this," Snape began slowly, soundly as though he definitely didn't want to talk about it either, "but I think it would be wise for you to share with me now if bed-wetting has been a problem for you in the past. Poppy is coming today, and if you need, she can figure something out for you. I promise I will tell nobody but her."

Harry stared at him furiously, jabbing his egg with his fork until it was an unrecognizable mush.

"Potter," said Snape impatiently, massaging his temple. "I am just trying to help ..."

"No!" Harry said suddenly, much louder than he intended. "I never wet my bed when I was little before! Happy?"

"Thank you," said Snape coolly, taking a sip of his coffee. "There is no need to be so embarrassed about it. It is clear to me that you have not been getting enough sleep as of late - do not give me that look - which means that when you finally do sleep, you have trouble waking up. Considering the amount of stress you have been under, and your current physical state, it is perfectly understandable." Harry scowled. "None of that now. It is not something to be ashamed of. I have known students at Hogwarts - all far older than you are physically - that still had accidents at night. They could not help it, and neither can you."

"Nothing to be ashamed of?" Harry said, furious.

"I know that you feel embarrassed about this, but you should not get so worked up about it given the circumstances. If the problem persists -"

"It won't!" spat Harry.

"You may be confident that it will not, but if it does, I am talking to Poppy."

"No, you won't!"

"Yes, Potter. I will. But only beca-"

"I hate you!" Harry interrupted, abandoning his breakfast and running back up the stairs. He snatched Buttons up and buried his face in his mane, scrunched into a ball in the corner, wondering how Snape dared to discuss such private things with Madam Pomfrey. Her fussing would be worse than ever. He wished with all his heart that Snape would not say anything.

***

Down in the kitchen, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking that either he was tactless, or the boy was too sensitive. At the moment, Severus was inclined to say it was a combination of the two.

"What does he expect me to do? I couldn't have gone to talk to Poppy without even mentioning it him," he muttered to his empty cup of coffee, which stared at him blankly. He hoped desperately that Potter was right, and that he would not have another accident. Snape scowled at the thought of yet another thing to complicate his life, but deep down he felt a little sorry for Potter, even if he was an overly emotional little boy. Snape wondered wryly if between the two of them they would ever have a day that was not dramatic.

"I am not cut out for dealing with little children," moaned Severus, staring into the depths of his porridge, which up until recently he was enjoying. "I diffuse one disaster of my own making, only to create another. Lily, you were right. I am hopeless."

Severus pushed his porridge away and let his forehead rest on the table, thinking that this was one of those days that he should have just stayed in bed.

The sun rose in crystal clear skies the next morning, and Severus sat out on the porch with a mug of tea. He had risen with the sun today, which was not exactly unusual for him. The nightmares were getting worse. They were always the same. Always a tangled mess of the prophecy, Lily, being tortured by the Dark Lord, and his father. Not that it had ever been easy for Severus to sleep, and nowadays were no exception. He could remember waking his parents up screaming often as a child, although his nightmares had been plagued by different things then. He supposed he had always been prone to them, and yet for the longest time it had shocked him so badly when horrible things that happened during the day showed up in his dreams, especially when he was younger, before he learned to expect nightmares from nearly everything. Really, should it have been any surprise to him when he had first become a Death Eater, and immediately dreamt all of the horrible things he had seen in those first meetings over and over until they made him sick? He scoffed slightly, watching a flock of birds pecking along the beach. What bothered him most was that he still dreamt of that night sometimes.

His mug was empty, and for a while he made no move to refill it, choosing instead to watch the sun emerge from behind the sea. Only when it had emerged in a golden blaze did he stand up, wavering a little bit, and go inside to pour himself another cup. Despite it being summer, it was still a little bit chilly so early in the morning. Perhaps he would bring one of the knitted throws out with him.

As he crept to the kitchen, walking near the staircase as silently as he could he heard a stifled cry from upstairs. He paused, debating what to do, seeing as stairs were still tricky for him, despite Poppy having been coming for physical therapy daily for an hour or so (Severus found it quite mundane, for it was the same things over and over again. Stretch this, try and hold that in your hand, and so on until he was bored out of his mind). He heard another cry, and then a strangled shout.

"No!" came Potter's small, frightened voice from upstairs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

After a moment's hesitation, Severus called up the stairs loudly, "Potter, wake up!"

"No ... No! D-Don't let him take me!" was the answer. It was clear Potter was still dreaming.

"Great," muttered Severus to himself, backing into the sitting room for a moment to set his cup down on the nearest surface.

He stood at the base of the stairs once more, debating. Surely Potter would wake soon? He turned to look over to the kitchen, where the tea pot was still full.

"Mum! Help me, please!"

"Bloody hell," muttered Severus under his breath, reaching out to take the railing on the staircase,. "This was not how I wanted to tackle a proper staircase!"

"MUM!"

"Well, it may not be Lily coming, but ..." Severus said with gritted teeth, planting his left foot on the staircase and heaving his right up. And that was only one stair. He looked up, and there were far too many for his liking. Nothing like the two steps onto the porch. Those were just fine. He was alright to do three or four, but after that, it was just too difficult. Yet, Potter's shouts seemed to electrify Severus' senses, and slowly, he ascended past the fourth stair. Both of his sweating hands gripped the handrail as well as they could, and his chest was heaving with the effort, but he was only halfway up.

"Right foot, come on Severus!" he spurred himself on, grunting as he strained to lift his right leg up to the next stair and Potter's shouts got more urgent.

"He's gonna kill me! He's gonna kill me Mummy!"

"Just three more ..."

A scream rent the air.

"Two more ..."

Severus teetered dangerously, but was able to tighten his left hand on the railing.

He grit his teeth as he tried to lift his right leg once more. "Damn it, one more stair Severus!"

With the most effort it had ever taken Severus, he reached the top of the stairs. Shaking and clammy, he rounded the corner into Potter's room. The door swung open without him touching it, though he did not register this, and he stumbled across the room to Potter's bed. The boy was trembling and thrashing about. Exhausted, Severus sunk onto the side of the bed and shook Potter's shoulder with his left hand.

"Wake up - come on Potter," he said frantically.

"M-MUMMY!" cried Potter again.

"WAKE UP FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!" shouted Severus, a combination of panic and adrenaline causing his voice to rise in volume.

Potter let out a sharp gasp and scrambled away from Severus, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Potter jammed his back against the corner made by the headboard and the wall, and sat there in as small a ball as possible. For a moment he sat breathing heavily, his hands over his mouth and eyes shut tightly. He made a slight gasping noise.

"Potter, are you alright? Potter?"

Potter did not move, and remained in the same position.

Severus was not sure how to continue, and his mind was fuzzy with fatigue from his efforts on the stairs. He glanced around the room, as though asking for someone to help him. His eyes caught sight of something furry at the end of the bed. He looked at it a moment longer and realized it was the stuffed lion. He looked to Potter, who had his hand over his mouth and eyes shut, desperately trying not to cry.

Gently, Severus picked up the lion. He looked at it for a moment, and then edged a little closer to Potter on the bed. With much care, he slid the lion up against Potter's shaking side, and retracted his hand quickly. Potter opened his eyes suddenly and took his hand off his trembling lips. He did not speak a word.

Severus searched for something to say. He was never good at saying things in moments like these. He knew that he failed his young Slytherins miserably in this department, no matter how much he tried. Severus felt that he was too much like his father to be comforting, but at least his Slytherins appreciated his effort. Potter ... well, he probably would judge him much more harshly. Now was not the time to be a coward, however, and Severus knew he had to say something. So he let the words come out of his mouth, staring into Potter's watering green eyes, trying desperately to speak in the way that Lily would have had she been here.

"You do not have to tell me about your nightmare right now, if you do not want to," he said, stammering a little. His courage grew when Potter looked relieved. "But you must not keep all of your pain inside. You need to express your emotions eventually, or talk about what is hurting you. I ... I will listen, if you ever feel like talking. Just ... find me."

And at that moment, Severus knew that for once, however awkwardly it had come out, what he had said had been the right thing, for he was quite sure Lily would have at least approved of what he had told her son. By the look on Potter's face, his words were surprising, but appreciated.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" muttered Severus, unsure of what to do.

Potter looked at him hesitantly, then shook his head, looking like he wanted to disappear.

Severus understood, and nodded. Shakily, and despite the fact that he did not want to move for the next century, Severus got up, hand gripping the headboard as he did so. Potter closed his eyes again, and one tear escaped them. Sensing that he should go, Severus turned around and moved across the room, his right leg dragging noisily as he fought the tremors that were wracking his fatigued body. When reached the door, he glanced back at Potter. He had taken the lion in his arms, and had his face buried in its mane. The button eyes of the lion looked up at Severus. He was amazed by those button eyes, for they told tales of a thousand sorrows. Perhaps it was imagined, however, and was simply Severus' own buried anguish reflected in the blackness of the buttons. He was unsure, and pondered this as he softly closed Potter's door. Only once it was closed did he sit down against the wall, panting, his legs no longer wanting to support him. He rested for about ten minutes, and then, still on the floor, he slid himself closer to the stairs. His feet were over the edge, and he reached up his left hand to take the wooden posts in the banister, and with his good leg out to stop himself from going too far, he slid down one stair at a time until he reached the bottom, like he used to do many years ago, back when he was a too small to walk down properly. He hoped Potter would not come down and find him lying at the foot of the stairs, shaking and trying to catch his breath.

It was some time before he got to his wobbling feet and moved the few steps into the sitting room to collapse on the sofa. He fell asleep the moment he hit the cushions, not bothering to take off his leg brace. He did not hear Potter come down, or feel the blanket that was clumsily dragged onto him, or notice that a pillow had been put beneath his head. But when he awoke later in the day by the sound of Dobby apparating into the house with their lunch, he knew exactly who it had been. Yet, for all the fatigue that still rested in his bones, he did not find he minded much.

***

Hermione walked leisurely but purposefully down the street, the sun setting fast. The twilit street stretched out before her as she walked from her home to the corner store, as her mother had sent her for a box of tea for the morning. The breeze fluttered her thick hair, cooling the back of her neck in the warmth of the night. The damp smell of a summer evening permeated the air, fresh and sweet as the air began to cool. The only sound besides the occasional car passing by was the soft slap of Hermione's sandals on the still warm pavement. As she turned onto a small sidewalk that led through the park, an owl swooped low over the trees, and Hermione smiled up at it, wondering for a few moments whether or not it was carrying post. It probably was not, for there were a great number of ordinary owls in Hermione's area, what with her house being just down the street from the park she was currently walking through. She always had to cut through it to get to the little store, but she wasn't bothered by this. Her neighbourhood was quite safe, thankfully. Yet, her father still worried about her going out at night alone. Luckily, Hermione's mother had so tactfully reminded him that their daughter was no ordinary girl. Even if she was underage, it was well known to her parents that it was within Hermione's rights to use magic in life threatening situations.

Hermione sighed a moment, her shoulders tensing. Her ability to protect herself had come into question a lot lately, although it was not her parents doubt in her abilities that caused this to be considered. After what happened at the Ministry of Magic there was no hiding from her parents that her world was on the verge of war. She could not conceal from them such a critical piece of news, especially not when she had been in the hospital wing for some time after the incident. Yet, despite all of this, she was not overly worried about her own livelihood. She was mostly worried about Harry's. He had not returned a single letter to her, and she was starting to fear that he was letting Sirius' death really get to him. A nagging feeling in her gut was telling her that there was a larger reason for why her letters were not being returned.

She was shaken from her suspicions by the bright lights coming from the corner store window up ahead. They seemed harsh to her eyes after the walk through the park. Hermione continued toward the door, and opened it. The hinges squeaked a little, and the buzz of the ‘open' sign filled the air. The clerk, a young girl a few years older than Hermione, stood chewing gum behind the counter. Not wishing to linger in the artificial brightness long, Hermione found her parents' preferred brand of tea and paid for it quickly, darting out of the corner store eagerly.

The sun had fallen almost completely now, making the trees in the park silhouettes against the sky, blocking the neighbourhood from view. Rather keen to get home, Hermione walked a little bit quicker, clutching the box of tea in its little paper bag. The park was darker now as she went through it, and a few bats swooped in and out of the trees. Glancing to her side as an owl gave a hoot from a tree nearby, Hermione made the turn out of the park, onto the street that her family lived on. Their house was right at the very end, and always stood so comfortingly as though greeting her whenever she returned. With a slight smile, and thinking that however much she loved Hogwarts, home was home, Hermione removed her gaze from the owl and looked up the street toward her house.

The tea fell from her grasp.

After breakfast Harry sat in his bedroom, flipping through one of the children's books he had found in the trunk upstairs. The book was not overly interesting, and so interruption was welcome when he heard the surprising sound of Professor Dumbledore's voice downstairs.

"Harry, come down here," called Dumbledore.

Wondering what he wanted, Harry put down the book and rushed to the doorway, peering down the stairs. Dumbledore was standing at the base of them.

"Yes, sir?" he asked curiously.

"Come take a seat please, I have news."

The look on Dumbledore's face made Harry feel quite suddenly fearful, for Dumbledore looked far older than he normally did. Cautiously Harry went down the stairs, peering through the rails in the banister on his left and into the sitting room. He saw Snape sitting wearily in an armchair, his face in his hands.

Harry walked over to the sofa and pulled himself up onto it, shifting restlessly as Dumbledore took a seat on the sofa as well, looking grim.

"What is it?" asked Harry, almost afraid to speak.

Dumbledore looked as though he wished he did not have to say anything, but he opened his mouth and started to tell Harry, sounding sick.

"Last night, a group of Death Eaters showed up in Miss Granger's neighbourhood."

Harry shot up from his seat.

"She's not ... She isn't ..."

"She is alive, if that is what you mean. She was unhurt, physically. Unfortunately," Dumbledore's voice seemed to waver, and he swallowed deeply, "her parents were killed."

Harry let out a strangled cry, and fell back onto the sofa. Snape twitched at the sound, his face still in his hands.

"The Death Eaters came with the intention of killing Miss Granger, but she was out of the house at the time they came. Arthur Weasley was working late when he heard the news of the attack, and the location, and knowing it was their home, he went along."

Harry moaned, muttering to himself, "Of course, last summer he went to see the car Mr. Granger fixed up. They got talking at King's Cross last year. H-Hermione told me about how funny it was."

"And it was very lucky that they did talk," said Dumbledore gravely. "Without Arthur, Hermione would surely have been killed as well."

A soft cry escaped Harry's lips.

"This is all my fault! They wanted revenge for what we did at the Ministry!" Harry said.

"Potter, did you force Miss Granger to come along?" said Snape suddenly, jerking his head up from his hands, his face dry but twisted with sorrow and anger.

"No, I told her not to."

"Then it is not your fault, you stubborn boy! Miss Granger may be a hard headed Gryffindor, but beneath that hard head is a very clever mind. She knew all too well the dangers when she agreed to go. It is not your fault."

"Harry, Severus is right," said Dumbledore as Harry tried to recover from the shock of Snape's words. "If it is anyone's fault, it is mine. I should have thought to put magical protection on Miss Granger's home. I never considered that Voldemort would know its location. Instead, I was too caught up with what Voldemort going public might mean. It is my fault, Harry, and I am sorry."

"Tell that to Hermione!" Harry said suddenly, eyes filling with tears. Dumbledore's eyes too welled up, and Harry was furious, just as much as he had been with him when Sirius died. Dumbledore should not look so torn up like this. Not when Harry was angry with him.

Harry got to his feet and pushed past Dumbledore, trying to stop his tears from spilling over. He halted at the bottom of the stairs when Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Harry, I am not finished," he said, trying to be calming. "We must discuss the upcoming arrangement."

"I've heard enough!" he spat, pent up rage washing over him in great waves. "I'm so sick of you saying sorry! Sorry I didn't protect Hermione, sorry that Sirius died, sorry your parents are d-dead, sorry you watched C-Cedric murdered! Sorry, sorry, sorry, SORRY! ALL YOU EVER SAY IS SORRY!"

Clenching his hands so tight that his nails were digging into his palms, Harry ran all the way up the staircase, tripping on the top step and tumbling into the hall. He did not make a sound after this, and simply lay there in misery. After a moment Harry was amazed to hear Snape's voice carrying up from the stairs.

"Now look what you have done!" growled Snape. "And you say that I have no tact!"

"Severus -"

"He has been having a hard enough time already without you straight out telling him that you did nothing, absolutely nothing to protect one of his best friends! Could you not have left that piece of information out? Before you bring her here, you had better give a damn good apology to Miss Granger, because she bloody well deserves it!"

The scuffle of someone getting to their feet drifted up to where Harry was, his face riddled with surprise at the news that Hermione was coming to stay with them. So that was what Dumbledore meant by ‘arrangement'.

"Stop that; I do not need your help," Harry heard Snape spit angrily. Immediately after he spoke the sound of Snape's limping gait could be heard. Harry froze, looking down as Snape stopped in passing the foot of the stairs and turned back to look at Dumbledore (who was out of Harry's sight) to add one more thing. "Send me a letter before you bring her. I will tell Potter the arrangement. There is no need to go up and try to talk to him. He has enough on his mind already."

Without noticing that his conversation was not private, Snape turned, continued past the stairs and stalked off into his room at the end of the hall, slamming his door.

Harry did not move for fear of being heard, but after a while the front door opened and closed. Quietly, Harry went downstairs to watch Dumbledore walking to the edge of the wards. The look on his Professor's face made Harry feel a bit guilty, for he looked a thousand years old. Maybe Harry should not have been so hard on him. Riddled with confusion, guilt, and grief, Harry's lungs seemed to want to burst.

The walls closed in on him, and when Dumbledore was indeed gone, he burst out through the screen door with a loud clatter and ran as fast as his legs could take him, out to seashore, not even considering that Snape had probably heard him. With no shoes on his feet he stumbled on rocks and through sand as he grew nearer to the grey, sad expanse before him. His feet splashed in the cold water as the tears poured down his face for Hermione, her parents, and even for Dumbledore who - despite his flaws- had looked so tortured at what had happened. Guilt consumed Harry, and his salty tears mixed with the ocean as he fell to his knees, the chilly waves in the shallows splashing up on him and soaking him to the bone. The dim morning light seeping through the clouds did little to warm him, but he didn't care.

It took so much effort, but with the cold slap of the waves he was able to bring his grief under control, and push it away as his thoughts drifted to Sirius, of whom any form of guilt reminded him of. He forced himself into the parasitic numbness that saved him from pain, driving himself into the well of nothingness within himself, dulling all feeling.

As waves rose and fell around him, Harry wished oddly that he might stay there forever, and simply become the sea ... melt into it, forget everything. And then a soft voice called him away from the sirens luring him into the deep, this one exhibiting even larger a pull on him, for such softness he had never heard in Professor Snape's voice.

"Potter," he said simply, standing on the little stone path at the edge of the sand, unable to go any further because of his bad leg and the unstable ground.

Harry looked up, the wind splashing him with sea spray. Snape was holding a towel in his left hand. He looked expectant.

Aching with grief, Harry tried to stand up, but lost the will to, and sunk back to his knees.

"It's hopeless," Harry said suddenly, looking out at the distant misty curtain descending into the sea from above. "Everything."

"Hope is only lost if you let it be," was the reply. A strong gust of wind, cool and damp pushed the sea inward toward Harry again, bringing the smell of rain. "Now come inside, before the storm starts."

Shivering, and expending more effort than Harry had ever thought it would take, he stood up, the numbing cold of the sea in his heart. His chilly toes picked up the sand as he walked, the first raindrops darkening splotches across the beach. He reached Snape, and looked up for a second into his dark eyes. They were sad. For one wild second, Harry thought oddly of Buttons' eyes. Dismissing the thought, Harry dropped his gaze to his feet, water dripping off of him and onto the stone path. He felt a towel draped clumsily around his shoulders, and he was prodded forward. Snape walked slowly behind him, keeping with Harry's pace, even as the raindrops fell around them, making the morning seem like night.

They went up the porch steps and through the screen door, entering the sitting room. Harry stopped moving when Snape did, staring outside at the downpour while Snape sat down on the small chair by the door and took his shoes off. In a moment, to his surprise, Snape got off the chair and took Harry's shoulder in his left hand, and guided him toward it instead. Too numb to really care, Harry sat down, and he stared off blankly at the wall as Snape did a surprising thing, and began to wipe the sand off Harry's cold feet, and warm them with his hands as well as he could.

Snape looked at Harry for a moment, who simply sat motionless, not responding, his mind lost in a numbing fog. Cold air blew in through the screen door, but Harry did not shiver. He felt colder inside. Snape seemed bothered by this cold air, for the house was damp and had lost its warmth. Leaving Harry on the chair, he closed the door over the screen, and then walked toward the fireplace. He bent around it, arranging logs and bits of crumpled up parchment he had retrieved from somewhere. Harry watched disinterestedly as Snape tried to light a match with his clumsy fingers. A slight pang of sorrow permeated the fog in Harry's mind, giving him a momentary spark of energy. He slid off the chair wearily, and walked over to the fireplace, shivering slightly as he went.

"I can do it," Harry muttered mechanically.

"You're four."

"But I can do it, and it isn't as though I have the brain of a four year old."

Snape looked up at Harry, at his sudden determination. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and with only the slightest hesitation, he handed Harry the matches. Watching him like a hawk, Snape stood back while Harry lit the match and poked it under the lean-to of wood, igniting the parchment. Harry started to blow on the flames. For a moment, they flared up, but were not catching easily. Snape bent down quickly, and also blew air into the fire. It caught some of the pieces of kindling, and as Harry added little pieces of wood beneath the lean-to the blaze grew warmer. His work done, Harry stood back.

"T-T-Told you," Harry said slowly through chattering teeth, inching closer to the fire to get warm as he dripped seawater on the braided rug.

"You did," was all Snape said before disappearing for a moment as Harry shivered and shook by the fire, warming his freezing hands.

Harry jumped when Snape's hand prodded his shoulder slightly upon his return.

"Here, get changed by the fire and try to get warm. I am going to make something hot to drink."

Harry turned around to see Snape retreating, eyes spying a little pile of clothes on the seat of the armchair before the fire, which Snape had left for him. The clothes must have dried overnight in the laundry room because of the cloudy skies. In his surprise Harry did not quite notice some of his numbness leaving him as he put on the t-shirt and jeans.

Harry was curled up with a knitted throw around his shoulders, sitting on the braided rug before the fire when Snape returned from the kitchen. He made two trips to bring the mugs and set them on the little side table by the armchair. He set one mug before Harry. It was hot chocolate. The other mug was tea, and this one was for Snape.

"Thanks, sir," said Harry gratefully.

"Warm yet?" Snape muttered a little gruffly, sitting directly behind Harry in the armchair.

"Almost."

Silence fell, and the only sound that punctuated the quiet was the occasional crackle of the fire and the gentle clatter of a mug being set down.

Harry finished his hot chocolate, and was pleasantly warm inside from it. The glowing warmth of the fire brought Harry back to Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor common room. It was extremely pleasant. Outside the wind had picked up and the rain came in thick sheets, pounding against the window panes, unable to get inside where the warmth was. Harry's eyes began to droop, and he barely registered Snape throwing another log on the fire. He heard the rustle of Snape sitting down in the armchair behind him. The heat of the fire intensified a little bit, and Harry moved back a foot to escape the heat. His back touched Snape's leg accidentally, and Harry inched forward just enough so that they were not touching. Tired from such an eventful morning, Harry's body was too young to take it, and he fell asleep sitting up. In his slumber he came to rest up against Snape's legs, lost in pleasant dreams. Harry was allowed to sleep, and unbeknownst to him at first, he was not the only one who did. For this was how they awoke at lunchtime, not a single nightmare having plagued either of them. Nobody spoke of what had happened, but Harry felt much better. He had an inkling that Snape did too.

***

That evening a letter came from Professor Dumbledore. Severus took it carefully from the beak of the tawny owl that had fluttered through the kitchen window while he and Potter were eating their dinner. He opened it at the table, and skimmed its contents. Potter looked curious, but much to Severus' surprise, he did not say a word.

"I am not sure if you are aware, as Dumbledore did not get a chance to say, but Miss Granger will be coming to stay here for the summer."

"Why here, sir?" Potter asked, although not in protest. "Why not the Burrow?"

"Dumbledore feels that this is the safest place for her, and that she can recover best here. He also wanted her to be with someone who can understand her situation."

"Me," said Potter bitterly, stirring his peas around.

Severus looked up, his stomach squirming.

"Actually, Potter, I think he may have been referring to me," he muttered, hoping rather foolishly that the boy would not question the basis of his vague statement.

"What? But my parents -"

"Yes, I realize you know what it is like to lose your parents as well. However, do you remember how you felt afterwards?" He paused to examine Potter's sheepish expression. "I thought not. Therefore, you know only some of what she is going through."

"What, and you know exactly how she's feeling, do you?" Potter said a little childishly, sounding annoyed as he put a spoonful of peas in his mouth.

"My parents both died when I was fifteen," Severus said quietly after a moment of silence. Although he did not mention that Potter was right to say that he did not know exactly how Miss Granger felt, because he had not been close to his father in the least. But Severus' mother had meant everything to him.

He looked up as Potter almost spat all of his peas out in shock. In any other situation it might have been funny to him, but not right then, and not during this sort of conversation.

"Sir I'm ... I didn't mean ..."

"It does not matter," said Severus, not letting on how much Potter's accusations had hurt. "Miss Granger will be coming at seven-thirty. Molly will be bringing her, as Dumbledore is busy."

Severus got up, taking his plate to the sink, which he filled with water and soap. Carefully he began to wash his dishes. Potter came up behind him and put his own plate and cutlery in the sink, and then grabbed the little stool in the kitchen to position by the sink. Potter stepped up onto it and took the soapy plate from Severus in silence and dried it. Though Severus would rather have eaten Knarl quills than admit it, the help was much appreciated.

"If Miss Granger is coming I would suggest that you have a quick look in the spare room to make sure it is clean, and take some sheets up there. I will lift them down from the shelf in the laundry room for you."

"Yes sir," Potter said. He looked puzzled for a moment before adding something. "How did you get up the stairs the other day? I thought you could not do them yet."

Severus wiped the last fork clean, and handed it to Potter.

"With a lot of effort," he said before adding the second part as an afterthought. "I am not completely sure how I did it either, to be honest."

"I ... I'm glad you did come up," said Potter, cheeks red. "I don't wake up easily from, well, nightmares."

Severus was amazed, and for a moment, he looked down at Potter. Unless he was mistaken, that was a thank you. Despite the fact that he normally did not speak of nightmares, he hesitantly opened his mouth.

"I do not either," was Severus' muttered reply as he turned around to limp out of the kitchen, escaping Potter before he could ask any questions. Just before he left, Severus caught sight of the stunned look on Potter's face. Severus wondered if the boy thought he had been alone in this. Perhaps he had said it out of the odd wish for Potter to know that he was not the only one to be woken in the dead of night by a long forgotten foe, remembered only when darkness fell.

As he walked into his bedroom, Severus thought of another young boy of not so long ago that had also been afraid to fall asleep. He stood pensively in front of the window, the sill propped up just enough to let the breeze flutter the open curtains. He watched as the rain collected on stones and the grass, flowing in streams and slowly trickling toward the sea, picking up dirt and sticks and washing them away. Far off he could see where the small droplets met with the ocean's rolling waves, grey, blue, and deep.

Severus sighed, brows furrowed with thought.

"What if I am wrong about Potter?" he muttered, breathing in the soft scent of rain. "What if we aren't so different?"

Darkness was falling over the cottage, and Harry was lying on the rug in front of the crackling fire. I was evening again, and while the rain still pounded on the windows, it showed no sign of stopping. Snape was sitting in the armchair again, brows furrowed and swearing almost inaudibly under his breath as he fiddled with the muggle sewing cards. When the wind calmed down you could only just hear what he was saying.

"If I spoke like that I think you would make me eat a bar of soap," Harry said absent-mindedly, scribbling away with an old pack of crayons he had found in a drawer in the spare room while he was rearranging things. Along with this he had unearthed a stack of yellowed colouring pages.

"You would swear too if you had to do one of these blasted sewing cards," he growled irritably. "My left hand isn't a problem; it's the blasted right one."

"Is it at least getting easier?" asked Harry, watching as Snape missed one of the holes yet again as he tried to thread the shoelace through it.

"Not really," Snape said bitterly.

"Well you know, you could take a break from it," said Harry. "You have been at it for at least an hour now."

"And then do what, Potter?" said Snape scathingly.

"Er, colour?" Harry suggested weakly, looking down at the stack of yellowed colouring pages he had unearthed. Snape raised his eyebrow, and Harry sought to defend himself. "Colouring is good for coordination, you know. Staying in the lines is hard ... and when you finish one of these pictures, they start to move!"

Harry went red, regretting his enthusiasm.

"They ... move?" Snape said rather curiously, surprising Harry.

"Yeah, they must be magic. They're way better than the muggle ones we had in primary school."

Snape frowned, looking down at the sewing card.

"Well, I'm going to keep colouring at the kitchen table," Harry said, gathering the crayons and thinking himself rather sly. "If you're really, really bored you could come too."

Harry gathered his crayons, hoping a little that Snape would join him. It wasn't much fun colouring by yourself. He hoped that moving to the table might make it easier for Snape too if he wanted to join him. Sitting on the floor would have been a difficult task with his Professor's leg being the way it was.

Snape did not follow Harry, and he found himself a little disappointed as he arranged the colouring pages on the table. Rather unenthusiastically, Harry picked up the red crayon and kept colouring the Quidditch scene in his picture. He had almost finished one of the players when he heard the squeak of the floorboards. He looked up only when Snape had thrown himself into the chair opposite, looking rather annoyed. The annoyance seemed a little forced, strangely enough. Harry fought the urge to laugh.

"I am only here to keep myself from going insane from that ridiculous sewing card," Snape informed him, a warning in his voice.

"I know," said Harry quickly.

There was an awkward silence between them where Harry did not colour. Seeking to break the silence, Harry spoke.

"There's a cool dragon picture over there. You can colour it if you want."

Snape raised an eyebrow as though ‘cool dragons' were beneath him.

"Madam Pomfrey would probably approve, because it'll be good for your hand," Harry wheedled.

"Fine," Snape said, snatching the picture up with his good hand. He examined it, and seemed to deem it fit. The fingers on his right hand groped at the navy blue crayon lying on the tabletop, and after a moment Snape had gotten it in his hand.

"I will personally hunt you down if you mention this to anyone," Snape said sharply.

"I won't say anything," Harry said.

Snape stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, but seemed to decide that Harry was telling the truth, and he carefully set the tip of the crayon on the page and started to colour, his left hand holding the picture down. He lowered his head closer to the table in concentration, and Harry went back to his own picture. They coloured in silence for quite some time, only speaking to ask the other to pass a certain colour of crayon to them.

Having long finished his own picture, he watched Snape work on the dragon, seemingly without Snape's notice. Snape's picture did not appear to have been coloured much more skilfully than Harry's, although Harry had to admit he liked his Professor's choice in colour scheme. The dragon's body was a deep navy blue, the folds in the wings a greenish grey. Its claws were the colour of iron, the spikes on the tail the same. At the moment, with utmost care, Snape seemed to be blending two colours together. He was currently colouring the snout of the dragon black, lightening the colour so that it blended into the blue of the rest of the body. Harry liked the effect quite a lot, and noticed that while Snape's hand was still clumsy with its strokes, it seemed almost a little less so. It occurred to Harry that this may have been because the hand was more relaxed, just as Snape was. He was almost finished the picture now, and Harry watched as he coloured in the last part. Snape put down the crayon, flexing his hand as much as he could. He looked rather tired.

"I like the colours," Harry said, raising himself up on his chair (he had been sitting on his knees on the seat) so that he could see the picture better.

The picture gave a shiver, and Snape looked down at it with interest. The dragon suddenly launched itself up from the two dimensional ground, flapping its wings on the paper. Harry gaped in amazement when Snape let out a low chuckle. It was a rather dark sound, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy the dragon flying around on the paper and blowing two dimensional flames on the page.

"Cool, isn't it?" Harry said, not expecting an answer.

"Quite, actually," Snape replied. "I would have been very excited to colour one of these as a child."

"Were your parents muggles?" Harry asked a little hesitantly, amazed to hear his Professor actually speaking of himself.

"My father was," said Snape, the smirk sliding off his face, seemingly lost in thought. He scowled then muttered, "he and Petunia were one of a kind."

As soon as he finished speaking, Snape paled, looking panicky. His response to the drop of the name Petunia could only mean one thing in Harry's books.

Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, taking Snape's expression into account. "My aunt? Did you know her?"

He stammered slightly at Harry's question, seemingly searching for some way to avoid answering. Just then, a voice called through the house, the sound of the front door opening and closing drifting into the kitchen.

"Hello!" Mrs. Weasley said.

Snape shot out of his chair like a rocket, stumbling slightly as he sped away, leaving Harry sitting at the table, amazed and filled with curiosity. Harry heard Snape speaking to Mrs. Weasley. He heard another voice coming from the sitting room. Like a bolt of lightning he remembered who Mrs. Weasley was bringing, and not a moment later the newest addition to Bell Point came into the kitchen.

"Hermione!" Harry said excitedly, forgetting for a moment why she was here.

"Hello Harry," Hermione said, slowly walking to the table to drop into Snape's empty seat.

She looked awful. Her hair was tangled slightly, and her eyes had deep shadows under them. Her face was a bit splotchy as well, and she was pale. Somehow she looked thinner than when Harry had last seen her, even though it had only been a day or so since her parents had been killed.

"How are you?" Harry asked quickly, changing his expression to something more appropriate given the circumstances. "Sorry, stupid question."

She tried to smile, but she dropped her eyes from his gaze and to the table. Footsteps could be heard coming out of the sitting room and toward the kitchen.

"Did you colour this?" Hermione asked, looking down at the coloured dragon, still moving around on the page. Her voice was flat and tired. She did not sound like herself at all. It worried Harry.

Snape was standing in the doorway with Mrs. Weasley now. He glared at Harry pointedly after hearing Hermione's question. This went unnoticed by the others.

"Um, yeah, I did," Harry lied, eyeing Snape out of the corner of his eye.

"It's nice," Hermione said awkwardly, clearly trying to keep the topic from her.

"Harry, why don't you show Hermione to her room?" asked Mrs. Weasley gently.

"Alright," Harry said, getting up. Hermione too got to her feet, although she looked as though she could have sat there forever. Snape and Mrs. Weasley took the two spots at the table and began to talk, leaving Hermione to follow Harry out of the room.

They went the short distance to the staircase and Harry led the way up it. He paused at the top, waiting for her.

"That's my room," he said to Hermione, pointing to the room on their immediate left. "You can see it later if you want. Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I haven't written you back for the past few weeks," he said quietly, stalling in the hallway. "I wanted to, really ... but Dumbledore said I couldn't tell you or Ron what happened by letter, and if I would have written with the way my writing is ... well, you would've wanted to know why my writing has changed. I'm sorry. Ron only found out because Mrs. Weasley was able to tell him in person because she came to stay with me a while."

"I forgive you, Harry," said Hermione. "Ron did say that he knew you were okay, but that it was kind of complicated why you couldn't write me."

"He did?" Harry said, suddenly relieved, finally understanding why the letters she had sent him did not badger him too badly to write back. He had felt so guilty about it.

"Yes," she said. "He told me not to worry."

"That's your room up ahead," Harry told her suddenly, hearing her unspoken words saying that she worried anyway.

Hermione nodded, and followed Harry to the end of the hall. On the left was a second room. The door was closed, and Hermione pushed it open gently, staring into it. Harry waited for her to step forward into the room. It was a little bit larger than Harry's, but Harry had liked it less because the wallpaper was floral patterned, unlike the plain light blue paint in the bedroom he had decided to take up residence in. Hermione's trunk had been sent up the stairs and into the room by magic, and sat at the foot of the bed. Harry had tried to get the sheets on the mattress as nicely as possible, and straighten the patchwork quilt as best he could, but it was imperfect.

"I'm sorry the bed isn't really neat," he apologized gloomily. "It's hard to do now that I'm so small. I tried to make the room a little bit homey. Figured it might help a little ... what with everything ..."

Hermione glanced around the room, seeing the little vase with sea lavender in it by the windowsill and the knitted throw on the chair in the room for when she was cold. There was a muggle photograph in a frame on the wall that Harry had found up in the attic. It was of a lighthouse. Harry had replaced the magical wizarding photograph of a ship in a storm, thinking that Hermione would feel more at home with a muggle picture.

"It's nice, Harry," she whispered, eyes filling with tears. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," said Harry, feeling nothing but sorrow at the tired look on her face.

"We can visit later, if you want," Harry told her, taking her fatigue as an indicator that she wanted to be alone.

"Alright."

He gave her a pained smile, and then turned to leave.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you," she called to him softly. "I know you don't like depending on people."

His heart ached at her concern. Here she was, having just lost her parents, and all she could ask was how Harry was.

Harry nodded, and he backed away. She lay down on the bed and toward the window. He closed her door behind him, and went into his room to lie on his bed as well, holding Buttons close and calling silently to the universe the question of why Hermione's parents had to be taken from her. And why Sirius had been taken from him. He fell asleep despite the early hour, and this was how Mrs. Weasley found him before she left. Harry knew she had been there because when he awoke in the morning he had the covers tucked around him and a freshly sealed letter from Ron on his bedside table.

Having gone to be earlier Harry awoke before Snape, and sat at the breakfast table with a bowl of hot porridge Dobby had left for him. He read his letter from Ron. He sounded pretty choked up after hearing what happened to Hermione. Ron had also continued to remain covertly sympathetic to Harry's problem (he could only say vague things because it wasn't to be discussed through the mail), which Harry had let Mrs. Weasley inform him of. It was inevitable that the Weasleys find out what happened to him, so he told her to simply go ahead, but leave out exactly why he had been turned into a little kid. Ron cursed Dumbledore a few times in his letter, which made Harry feel rather cheerful.

All in all, it was shaping up to be an alright morning, considering. Except for one thing. Hermione had still not gotten out of bed, and Harry knew from living in the same school as her that she was an early riser.

"Do you think I should go knock on her door?" asked Harry when Snape stumbled in to pour himself cup of coffee, blinking in the morning light.

Harry's lip twitched with amusement despite the grim situation. It seemed as though Snape had relaxed a little bit, seeing as he had thrown a blue and grey dressing gown over his nightshirt. Harry too was wearing pyjamas. He would get dressed a little later.

Snape rubbed his eyes and sunk into the chair opposite Harry in his usual morning routine.

"Miss Granger is probably exhausted, Potter," said Snape, sounding exhausted himself.

"But she's normally up so early," Harry muttered.

"Given the circumstances, I would not worry about her sleeping in a little. In fact, it will be good for her. If she is not up by one, then I give you my permission to make sure she is alright. Now let me eat my porridge in peace."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, not bothered by Snape's comment, as it lacked the usual spite. Harry figured that this had to be because it was early in the morning.

A few minutes passed with them eating in silence, and then Snape perked up slightly.

"I just remembered," said Snape. "Molly left us a charmed quill, mostly for you to use, of course. I assume you want to respond to that letter of yours without having to rewrite your reply so many times to make it legible?"

"Yeah," said Harry excitedly as Snape got up and rummaged around in the kitchen drawer.

"It works like a quick quotes quill, only it is not designed for reporting," said Snape, setting it before Harry. "It's self-inking as well. I do not think Molly trusts you around an ink pot, you know. I think she fears you will knock it over." Harry scoffed before Snape continued. "She may have a point, but if we should not trust anyone with ink, it is me," he added rather absent-mindedly, rolling his eyes.

"Well, your comments on essays are rather frightful," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Snape looked at him in amazement for a second, and then to Harry's surprise, he smirked.

"You would know that, given your essays," jabbed Snape lightly.

"Yeah, well, I was never allowed to do well in school before so I‘ve missed out on a lot of practise," Harry said without thinking, dismissing the comment with a shrug.

"What did you say?" asked Snape, setting down his coffee abruptly.

Harry groaned inwardly, cursing himself and wondering why on earth he would let that slip now. He hadn't even registered what he had said until Snape noticed something wrong with it.

"Nothing," he muttered into his porridge.

"No, it is not nothing," said Snape. "What do you mean you weren't allowed to do well in school before? Before going to Hogwarts, you mean?"

Harry scowled.

"Answer me."

With a sigh, Harry spoke. "I just meant that people picked on me for getting good marks." It was the truth, just not all of it. Dudley would beat him up if he scored better on a test, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would make his life hell.

"I do not think that is exactly what you meant, Potter," Snape said, scrutinizing him. "There are just as many students at Hogwarts that mock others who are clever. I think you're too stubborn to let them stop you from getting good marks."

Harry scowled

"Meoowww."

Harry jumped when Crookshanks made himself heard under the table. He had forgotten he had come with Hermione.

Snape seemed momentarily distracted.

"I suppose someone should feed you," said Snape, staring at Crookshanks' squashed face.

Harry was immensely relieved at the change of topic, and it must have showed on his face.

"Do not think we are done talking about this," Snape told him sternly. "We will discuss it again."

When Snape wasn't looking Harry stuck his tongue out at him, but caught himself quickly, mortified at what he had done. Ashamed, Harry played with the rest of his porridge while Snape set out a bowl of Crookshanks' cat food. Snape watched with uncharacteristic amusement as Crookshanks devoured the food with relish.

"That is the ugliest cat I've ever seen," he muttered to himself, although it was clear to Harry that Snape found this rather funny. "He has to be part Kneezle."

"Kneezle?" Harry asked.

"It's a magical creature," Snape replied. "Very smart. Of course, they look like they got hit in the face with a frying pan, but some people think that's endearing, or so I've been told."

Harry snorted, laughing a little.

"Huh, if people think a flat face looks so endearing, maybe I shouldn't have ducked the last time Aunt Petunia took a swing at me in the kitchen with her pan."

Snape barely caught himself from spitting his coffee across the table.

Harry's eyes went wide, and he was pretty sure he felt his heart stop. He had thought it, but had it come out of his mouth too? The look on Snape's face told him it did, and as his heart resumed beating with a steady throb, throb, he wondered how on earth he had slipped up that badly, twice in one conversation. He had learned the art of secrecy very thoroughly, over the years. It was then that it hit Harry. That was it, wasn't it? He had learned to stay quiet. But when he was young, he did not have as much of a filter in place, and would say whatever he was thinking. The childish part of his brain had forgotten that. Great, he thought, thinking that this was the last thing he needed.

Snape wiped his mouth, having dribbled a little bit of coffee after his very near spraying of the table. He was too shocked to be embarrassed, however.

"She what?" he asked hoarsely.

"Oh, nothing, just ... she was, you know ... cooking?" Harry said, stringing together whatever words he could find in his panicked brain.

"I highly doubt that she was that careless with pans," Snape said in a low voice, scrutinizing Harry.

"She had something on her mind, and thought I was in the other room," said Harry quickly. He squirmed slightly in his seat. "Erm ... gotta go."

He got up from his seat and dashed to the bathroom, glad for an excuse to leave despite the fact it usually embarrassed him how little warning he had when he realized he had to go.

"Do not think this conversation is over Potter!" called Snape.

***

While the boy was in the bathroom, Severus' mind rushed with the recollection of what Potter had said. Surely there was something more going on with Potter's home life? Petunia had been no angel. However much he hated to admit it, alarm bells were going off within him. Severus had seen too many abused households being the Head of Slytherin. That, and his had not been the happiest either.

But Potter's family spoiled him, didn't they? Yet, at the thought of this Severus could not help but think of the night that Harry had had the accident before seeing the boggart, and how he had hidden when he had knocked over the chair. Sure, the boy had been embarrassed, but the speed the boy had had was impressive. Severus had heard the bang of what he supposed must have been the wardrobe shutting within seconds of the chair falling. He had yet to even get out of bed at that point. What child was that afraid of being discovered? More importantly, where did that fear come from?

He could hear Potter fleeing up the stairs after the toilet flushed, and he made no move to stop him. The boy could run if he wanted, but if Severus kept his ear to the ground, he would learn a great deal more. It was a rule Severus learned long ago, that secrets had a way of coming out when people lived under the same roof. And Potter had just proved that.

 ***

Hermione still had not gotten up by one. She was awake, and Harry knew it. He had been avoiding Snape all day, since he had let himself slip up at breakfast, and given Snape the impression that all was not as it seemed at the Dursleys'.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said softly as she lay in bed, facing the wall, her back to Harry. "You have to get up and eat something."

Hermione sighed.

"I'm fine Harry," she said. "I am just tired, and I'm not hungry."

"Please?"

"I know you're trying to help Harry, but I just want to rest a while. Please, can you just go?"

Her voice was brittle, and he knew not to push her. Hermione was as stubborn as him sometimes. So he left her and went to his own room, not knowing what else to do. She was doing exactly as he did when he was hurt, and Harry had never had anyone try to help him, so he did not know how to help her. It hurt him deeply to leave Hermione be, knowing she was in misery. What could he do? He saw her as the sister he had never had, and he wished with all his heart he knew how to make her feel better, like she had done for him on many occasions. But some things not even Hermione could heal. Harry knew that, and he feared that she would not be able to fix the tangled mess inside her. He knew she must be terrified, just sick to the heart. But lying in bed wouldn't fix that. He had no way of communicating this, however. He frowned, and continued to shift around the haphazard arrangement of puzzle pieces on the floor in his room, trying to make them fit, not knowing where any went.

Restless, Harry went downstairs to grab a sandwich, bringing it upstairs with him hastily, glad not to have met Snape. He ate half for a late lunch, and he brought Hermione the other half, for he thought it was probably all she could manage. She did not look at him when he came in, and he left the plate on the side table. Nothing in the room was unpacked. It didn't look homey, even though Harry had tried so hard to make it that way before she had come. The sea lavender on the window sill was wilting. He closed the door softly behind him, looking at its blankness. It was then that he knew what he would do.

Harry grabbed his crayons from the drawer in his room, and a stack of paper. He picked a whole bunch of nice colours, and set to work. He added yellow, orange, pink, and bright blue. In big, bold letters, with his shaky writing, he wrote out ‘Hermione's Room'. After an hour of work, it was as good as he could make it. It had a rainbow of colours, with big polka dots. It was a little bit blinding, but Harry wanted Hermione to see it when she finally came out. He grabbed a piece of tape he had sneaked downstairs to grab, and he put it on the door, just waiting for Hermione to see when she came out for dinner.

Except, she did not. She remained in her room. Harry didn't know what to do. He told her dinner was ready, but she had not said a thing, and he had left, at a loss.

He sat down at the table, picking at his shepherd's pie, avoiding Snape's gaze. He was waiting for Snape to start questioning him about what he had said earlier, but he did not. It confused Harry, but it was just as well. Harry knew what he had to ask.

"Sir?" Harry asked in a whisper. "I can't get Hermione to come out of her room."

"I cannot blame her for staying there," he said casually. "She's been through a great deal."

"But she won't eat either," Harry said. "I brought her a sandwich and she didn't touch it. She needs to eat something."

"Yes, she does," said Snape patiently. "But we cannot force her to."

"Can ... can you go talk to her?" Harry whispered. "I mean, I know stairs are still pretty hard for you, but ... I can't get her to come down. I'm s-scared she'll end up like me! All I did was stay in bed, and now I'm like this!"

Snape looked at Harry, whose eyes were full of tears.

"It's gotten easier," said Snape slowly. "I should be able to manage."

Snape ate his last few bites of shepherd's pie then stood up.

"You keep eating," commanded Snape as Harry made to follow. So he did, watching Snape go out of the kitchen, and out of sight. Silently, Harry wished him good luck.

***

 Severus was surprised that Potter asked him to do this. Although, he had been planning on paying Granger a visit anyway, not that he would tell Potter that. Before he went upstairs, he went into the laundry room. Recently, a few Aurors had returned to his home to retrieve a few things. What he wished to keep could fit in just four boxes, which were stacked in a dim corner. They were almost all books. He rummaged around in the smallest box, looking for a green hardcover book with peeling letters on it. He dusted it off, and went toward the stairs.

He had practised once with Poppy in going up the stairs, the last day she had been there. He did not so much mind going down, but going up daunted him more than he could admit. It would be difficult, but when had difficulty ever stopped him from doing something?

After much struggle, and resting twice, he reached the top at last. It had been slightly easier than the last time he had gone up them with Poppy. Not much, but still, it was an improvement. He made a beeline for Miss Granger's door. Severus saw upon the weathered wood a sign that said ‘Hermione's Room', printed in crayon. For a second, he smiled, thinking of the little boy downstairs carefully making the sign. Clearly, Potter was trying to make this place home. Severus felt a cold sort of sadness fall over him again. This place, he knew, could never be like the home that Miss Granger left. But that did not mean they should not try to make it close, and Severus was not going to be a cold-hearted bastard in this situation, unlike what the students thought him as.

"Miss Granger?" he called, tapping on the door softly. "May I come in?"

There was a lengthy pause, and finally a tired voice called out tiredly, "yes."

So Severus turned the handle and stepped into the room. There was a trunk in the corner, and it had not been unpacked.

Miss Granger was lying on the bed, the covers scrunched up at the end of it. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms with butterflies on them, and only one sock was on her foot, the other nowhere to be found. Her hair was uncombed, and she had shadows under her eyes.

Feeling awkward, Severus took a seat at the chair by the bed, which he supposed Harry had left. He told himself that it was just another student, just like his Slytherins and all the times he had had to drag heart-broken students from their beds, often suffering from bad break-ups. This kind of heartbreak was different, however, and it scared Severus as he looked at the girl's face, for he saw so much of himself after his parents had died.

"Miss Granger," he began, trying to think of what he would have needed to hear so many years ago, "this is not your fault."

It sounded lame, even to his ears.

Miss Granger did not look at him, and continued to stare at the ceiling.

"I am sorry for all that you have had to go through, these past few days," he muttered, his hand tracing the spine of the book in his lap. "Very few understand what it's like, to lose both parents so young. Even Potter doesn't properly understand, in some ways, as he does not even remember them enough to fully know how you feel."

"And you do?" muttered Miss Granger, her voice hoarse from disuse. The question was not accusing. It was not curious. It just was.

"Yes," Severus forced himself to say.

"How old were you?" whispered Miss Granger after a pause, eyes flicking to look at Severus for the first time.

"Fifteen," he muttered.

"Sorry to hear," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

"They were driving home from a wedding in the summer. My father was drunk, as always. It was a head on collision. Both died on impact."

"I didn't ask how," Miss Granger said, seeming for the first time to show some emotion. In this case it was confusion that he would reveal such a piece of information.

"But you were wondering," said Severus quietly, and Miss Granger's eyes flickered to his, and he knew he had been right. He continued, after a moment. "If you wish to talk about something, anything, my room is downstairs. Potter's supposed to be in bed by eight-thirty, if you do not want him hearing."

Miss Granger gave a little twitch of her head, which Severus took for as a sign of understanding.

"I brought you something," Severus told her quietly, looking down at the green covered book in his hands. "Perhaps it might help you escape from your head, if just for a little while."

"What's it called?"

"Did I catch a hint of enthusiasm?" said Severus, letting his lips quirk into a smile as he flashed her the title. "Anne of Green Gables. A Canadian book. I think you might like it, if, of course, you haven't already read it."

He set the book on the side table, and then stood up.

"You know, Miss Granger, while at times it may feel like it," he said, "you are never alone. Do not let yourself fall into that trap, as I did for so many years.

"Now, before I leave, you should know that I am not going to badger you come downstairs, come to meals, look presentable, or even shower. Instead I am going to give you a few days to pull yourself together. You can sit up here, stay in bed, read, cry, stare out the window for hours ... whatever you need to do. But I will say this: in time you must get up again. You will never feel any better unless you do, and no amount of me pushing you can get you to make the choice to go on with life."

He turned on his heel, and limped to the door. He turned slightly when he heard a slight whisper.

"Thank you, Professor," muttered Miss Granger, her eyes full of tears.

Severus nodded slightly, and knowing that he had said the right thing, he ventured out of the room, closed the door behind him, and began the long and arduous process of going down the stairs. But this time, it was filled with the relief of knowing that he might have actually done something right.

Potter was waiting in the kitchen when he got down there, shaking and tired from a journey that had felt like it spanned oceans.

"Is she coming down?" Potter asked hopefully.

"No," said Severus.

"But -"

"Potter, I know that you are trying to help her," he said slowly in response, patiently, even, "but you are not to bother Miss Granger for the next few days. You may visit occasionally, if she allows. I have spoken to her, and it is clear to me that she needs time. Time is sometimes the only thing that can aid in healing, and it is unfair for us to interrupt that process. She will come down here eventually, when she is ready. But for now, we cannot force her to do anything. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir," muttered Potter.

"Good. Now help me with the dishes."

Potter got up, and the two of them put their plates and cutlery in the sink, silence falling over them. They cleaned the dishes in silence. Severus washed, and Potter dried.

"Sir?"

"What, Potter?"

"Is Hermione going to be alright?"

Severus looked at the small boy standing on the stool beside him, steadily drying a cup, his eyes wide with worry. The question had been hesitant, and it made Potter sound young, like the little boy he was supposed to be.

"She will be," was his answer to the boy.

"Promise?" Potter whispered, biting his lip after he said it, as though he wished he had not let the word slip out.

"I promise," said Severus, drying his hands, thinking deeply. "Go outside and play. I'll finish the dishes."

"Really?"

"Go on," Severus said, and he almost smiled at the way Potter's face lit up as he bounded off the stool.

"Thanks, sir!" the boy called as he hurried from the kitchen.

The sound of the screen door opening and closing echoed through the house, and Severus finished the dishes in silence, thinking. Potter was different now, somehow. The boy seemed more respectful, and yet ... more innocent. Perhaps it had been some of the things Potter had said to Severus, the things that made him wonder what the boy's home life really was like. Potter's slip-up, when he said that he had not been allowed to do well in school had set in motion a number of feelings within Severus. The statement made a part of Severus cringe with worry, and filled the rest of him with hesitant wonder. There were a few incidents in which Potter had betrayed himself, in both words and actions. It was as though the walls were slowly starting to come down, and Severus had the feeling that Potter was trying his very best not to let them. And through these cracks that were slowly appearing, Potter was looking even more desperately for someone, anyone, to save him.

A thought flitted across Severus' mind, at first seeming crazy, but then, making more sense. Was it possible that Potter had never wanted to play the hero, and he was only doing for others what he wished they would do for him? Could it have been all along that the Boy Who Lived wanted nothing more than someone to come and save him from darkness instead?

Severus glanced out the window at the tall tree a ways from the cottage, where a swing hung from its strong branches. Potter was sitting on the worn seat, his arms wrapped around the ropes as he gently rocked back and forth, his eyes closed.

He did not seem like a Potter anymore.

Harry stood outside Hermione's door in the dead of night, anxiously trying to decide what to do as his heart pounded in fear. He had wet the bed again, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl up in a closet and disappear. He had changed his pyjamas, and had yet to take them down to the laundry room, as well as the dirty bedding. The clean sheets were still on the top shelf, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion Snape had kept them there so he knew whether or not Harry was having accidents. So, a choice lay before Harry, which was precisely why he was standing stock still in the night and debating with himself. He could either ask Hermione to take down the sheets for him, or he could ask Snape, because he knew too well he would not be able to get to them himself. He had at first thought of Hermione, unable to bear the thought of Snape finding out yet again that he'd had an accident. Especially after Snape had mentioned telling Madam Pomfrey if the problem continued. It was not as though Snape was mad though, Harry just felt embarrassed. He felt trapped by the fact that he had to wake someone up like a little boy because he'd had an accident. It made his eyes sting, and it wasn't fair at all.

The sign on Hermione's door that he had made earlier in the day stared Harry in the face. He had been ready to open the door a moment ago, but now he was not sure. He loved Hermione like a sister, but the thought of her knowing what had happened made him cringe with shame almost more than the thought of Snape knowing, even if Madam Pomfrey would find out because of that. Harry turned around, and he walked to the stairs, sitting on the top step. He put his chin on his fist as he rested his elbows on his legs, thinking. Hermione was going through a rough time, and probably needed sleep. She still had not come out of her room yet either, but he knew that despite her misery, she was still worried about him, and he was sure she would help. Somehow though, Harry felt horribly ashamed at the thought of having to ask for help with something like this, even if she was forever telling him she would help him with anything, if he just asked. Hermione was nice that way, but for some reason Harry was more inclined to go to Snape's door.  "Why?" he whispered to himself so quietly only he could hear.

For what reason was he more inclined to go to Snape? He pondered it for a minute or so, putting off the moment when he would have to face up for what happened. A few answers came to his mind. One was that Snape already knew Harry had had accidents before, and so it wasn't anything new to him. There was one answer that seemed to weigh the most in Harry's consciousness most, however, and it occurred to him that he felt like Snape understood. Harry was reminded how Snape had said some time ago that Harry was not the only one who felt trapped inside his own body. Snape knew what it was like to not be able to control everything. Sure, he didn't have all the same troubles as Harry, but Professor Snape was unable to do magic because of his paralysis, and dropped things more often than most awkward teenagers now. At least Harry knew that Snape would not blame him for what happened, because so far, the man had yet to do so. He was still better than the Dursleys.

Quietly, Harry stood up, wrapping his arms around himself and looking down the staircase. Now came the hard part. He would have to go and wake Snape up. Trembling slightly, Harry grabbed a hold of the staircase railing, and went down the steps, one by one. He tiptoed down the hallway, trying not to let the tears spill over. It was lighter in here, as the little lamp always had a flame burning in it at the end of the hall, near Snape's room door. Feeling small and ashamed, Harry stopped in front of the door, which was open just a crack. Using every ounce of Gryffindor courage he possessed, Harry gently pushed on the door, and it swung open on oiled hinges. He could see Snape's sleeping form, and hear soft snores. Feeling just a little curious, although mostly filled with dread, Harry padded across the room in his bare feet, and stopped at the edge of Snape's bed. Professor Snape was sleeping on his back, one hand resting on his chest and the other curled around the edge of the patchwork quilt, which was not completely covering him due to the heat of the night. He looked peaceful, and his mouth was open slightly.

Harry rubbed his eyes, which were starting to tear up a little.

"P-Professor?" he whispered. "Professor Snape?"

He gently prodded Snape's shoulder when he did not respond.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, not recognizing the childish gesture as something he used to do when he was scared at the Dursleys'. He watched as Professor Snape moved slightly. Snape breathed in deeply, and then moaned slightly as he rubbed his eyes. He looked to the side of the bed, seeming a little surprised in his fatigued state.

"What is it, Harry?" he asked groggily, barely awake, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Something wrong?"

Harry's eyes widened with surprise. Had Snape really just said that?

"What do you need?" continued Snape, blinking.

"I - I need some sheets," Harry whispered, deciding to file away Snape's slip for later.

Snape dragged a hand through his hair, heaving himself into a sitting position, looking exhausted.

"You wet the bed again?" he asked quietly, his voice sounding scratchy from sleeping.

Harry tried to say yes, but choked, and he rubbed his eyes quickly to stop the tears.

"Nothing to worry about," said Snape gruffly, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his leg brace.

Harry watched as he lifted the leg of his pyjama trousers and fit the brace on his leg, beginning to do up the buckles. It was strange to see Snape in his pyjamas. His pyjama trousers were a blue plaid material, and he was wearing a white vest because of the heat, which made Snape look very thin. Harry never really realized just how, well, scrawny his Professor was. Clearly the man either had a great metabolism, was in excellent shape, or did not eat a lot. Harry was willing to bet that it was a combination of the three, and he reminded himself that in order to be a spy amongst the Death Eaters, Snape probably had had to be quite fit. He wondered if this made it even more difficult for Snape to accept such an injury, for Harry was willing to bet that he was probably very agile before this. Harry glanced at the brace again, thinking of how much it probably bothered Snape to have to rely on it. It was then that he caught sight of something on the plastic, a picture of some sort. Yet, Harry only saw a flash of colour near the ankle on the brace before Snape threw his pyjama trousers over it again.

"Come on, then," said Snape curtly, getting shakily to his feet.

Harry suddenly remembered the present, and his wonder of what had been on Professor Snape's leg brace was driven out of his mind as he hung his head and followed Snape.

Snape was really good about being woken up in the middle of the night, Harry thought. He took down a stack of clean sheets and gave them to Harry, and then waited at the bottom of the stairs for Harry to bring down the dirty bed clothes, and he put these in the wash.

"Thank you, sir," whispered Harry as he stood at the base of the steps.

"You can come to me any time," said Snape, much more awake now. "I would rather you let me know when something like this happens."

Harry twisted the hem of his pyjama shirt, feeling embarrassed as he asked, "You're ... you're not going to tell Madam Pomfrey like you said earlier, will you?"

"Not if you do not want me to," was the thoughtful reply.

Harry felt relief wash over him, as well as surprise.

"However," continued Professor Snape sternly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, "if you start having accidents more frequently, I think it would be good if you allowed me to talk to her."

"I'm sorry I had to wake you up," Harry said, his voice breaking a little bit.

"No, do not be sorry," said Severus. "I would rather know that you have had an accident than not hear a word of it. I do not mind getting up with you to give you a hand. I am just thinking that if it gets worse, Miss Granger may find out about the problem. If your accidents begin to occur more frequently, which is possible, eventually Miss Granger is going to be awake as well when you need help. Judging by the fact that you came to me, and not her, you would prefer that she did not know. She will not blame you for it, and I think that she can be trusted not to tell if she does happen to find out at some point. But if you really, really do not want her finding out, and you start having more accidents, then you should keep in mind that I am perfectly willing to talk to Poppy about it. Just say the word, and I will."

"You can talk to her if it gets worse," Harry whispered after a moment, his lip trembling. He knew that Snape was right, and however much he loved Hermione, he didn't want her to know about this. Besides, he knew that she'd worry more about him, and that was the last thing he needed.

"Alright," said Snape, "but you know what?"

"What?"

"I do not think it will," said Snape pensively. "But a plan is always good to have."

"Why do you think it won't get worse?" Harry asked, surprised.

"You tend to have accidents when you are stressed, or have not slept well," said Severus thoughtfully. "As long as you do not become any more stressed, it should not get much worse. Has something been on your mind, or did you not sleep well last night?"

"I couldn't get to sleep for a long time, and then I kept waking up."

"Is there anything I can do to help you sleep better?" Snape asked thoughtfully, to Harry's surprise.

Harry frowned. He knew one thing had helped him sleep better. When Mrs. Weasley was here, he had slept quite well, but that was because she tucked him in at night and read him a story, but Harry would rather die than ask Snape if he could tuck him in at night.

"No, sir," he said, looking at his feet. He glanced up at Snape for a second, and he knew that the man had caught him lying, but strangely enough, Snape did not call him on it.

"Best get back to bed then," said Snape rather heavily. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, sir," Harry muttered, playing with the sleeve of his pyjama top. "Thanks for being so patient, and ... stuff."

Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand and shuffled down the hallway to his room again, leaving Harry to tiptoe up the staircase.

***

Severus noticed that Potter was a lot quieter the next day. He barely spoke a word at breakfast, and he crept around the house as though he were afraid to awaken a monster. It was strange. At first Severus was sure that it was because Potter was still worried that he was going to tell Madam Pomfrey if the bed-wetting got worse, but after a while Severus was not so sure.

He pondered and puzzled over this as he carefully dipped the quill in the ink pot, then put it to the parchment, practising writing as Madam Pomfrey had recently suggested. She had told him to write letters to Dumbledore, which would be interesting enough, and motivate him to keep trying.

Severus really wasn't sure what to say to the man today. He would rather die than admit it, but Severus wanted to avoid talking about Potter in the letter as much as possible. Well, partly. He actually would not mind admitting that particular statement, but it was really the reason behind it that he very much wanted to keep a secret. He was concerned for Potter, and did not want to hurt the boy by sharing anything that he did not want shared. Severus scoffed slightly, and upon thinking of what Potter would not want shared, he stumbled across the answer to why Potter had been so nervous all day.

"Of course," mumbled Severus, setting down the quill mid-sentence, having momentarily forgot a rather significant event that took place during breakfast the previous day.

Potter had let something slip during casual conversation, and. Severus was sure that Potter was hiding something about his home life, for it sounded wrong to Severus in every way when Potter had said he was not allowed to do well in school. Even after he had claimed it was because he didn't want to be made fun of by his classmates, Severus had been doubtful.

"Freaks aren't allowed to go to normal schools," rang the voice of a fourteen year old Petunia Dursley as Severus recalled as he thought of this. Potter's Aunt had had a lot of stupid sayings just like that. Severus wracked his brains, and he was quite sure Petunia and her stupid husband had a boy about Potter's age. What if Petunia hadn't wanted Potter besting her own child?

It was then that Severus knew what to write. In fact, to his surprise, the words for this particular letter had been gathering in the back of his mind since yesterday. Even greater than his surprise however was the feeling that Dumbledore would be rather annoyed that Poppy had suggested him as Severus' new pen pal.

He smirked slightly at the thought of the old man's expression when he opened the letter.

***

Harry carefully poured himself a glass of milk in the kitchen as Professor Snape hastily worked at sealing a letter. As most of the day had gone without mention of it, Harry was beginning to think that Snape had forgotten his slip-up the previous day, and so he felt it safe to come and get something to drink.

"Who're you writing to?" he asked curiously.

"Dumbledore," said Snape shortly.

"Whatcha writing him for?" asked Harry, not noticing that he had slipped into slightly childish speech patterns. He did not clue in when Snape looked up, his lips quirked slightly in a way that might have indicated he was mildly entertained by the whole thing.

"None of your beeswax, Mr. Curious," said Snape with a note of amusement in his voice, tying the letter to a patient barn owl's leg. It was the resident post owl, as Dumbledore had thought Hedwig a little too conspicuous for their mail.

"Why not?" Harry asked, ploughing on despite Snape's previous statement.

"Because it is a matter between Dumbledore and I."

"Oh," Harry frowned, lifting his glass up to put it on the table. He grabbed a hold of the chair and got onto it, sitting on his knees as he always did. Harry took a gulp of milk, thirsty from being outside.

"How is the weather?" Snape asked amicably, beginning to roll up the spare parchment.

"Hot," said Harry, panting a little.

"Any clouds?"

"A few."

"Hmm. It feels humid. I wonder if it will storm."

"I hope not," said Harry, thinking of thunder and lightning with a grimace. For some reason it seemed a lot more frightening now that he was smaller.

"You do not like storms?" Snape asked, intrigued.

"Nah uh," Harry said, shaking his head vigorously.

"Why not?"

"It's kinda scary when you're in bed and all alone," Harry said into his glass of milk.

"Yes, I tend to agree," said Snape thoughtfully.

Harry looked at him with surprise.

"You ... you do?"

"Yes," said Snape. "Is your cousin scared of storms too?"

"No," Harry scoffed. "He was never left out during them."

"Left out during a storm?" Snape said, eyes widening. "Have you been left outside during a storm before?"

"I ... I accidentally locked myself out once," Harry said quickly, breathing heavily. "See, my aunt and uncle didn't hear me over the rain. They thought I was in my cu - er, room."

"That must have been very frightening."

Harry nodded, eyes wide, afraid that Snape had seen more in that statement than he wanted him to.

***

Severus frowned slightly at Potter's frightened look. He picked up the roll of parchment, quill, and ink and then got up to return it to the appropriate drawer. He was sure Potter was not telling the complete truth about how he got locked out. He turned to ask the boy another question, having put the writing supplies away, but Potter was gone. Only the empty glass sat on the table, a drop of milk left in the bottom of it.

Severus looked out the kitchen window where the owl had left only minutes earlier, a strange, unsettled feeling deep inside him as he silently wished the owl to fly as quickly as it could.

Severus glanced out his bedroom window briefly, making sure that Potter was not getting into any mischief. The boy was throwing a ball outside, running after it and then throwing it again. Severus could not help but be amused by this. It was quite clear that Potter was beginning to become even more childish, which of course, Dumbledore had guessed would happen. Molly had stopped by earlier in the day to ask how Miss Granger was doing, and Severus told her that he was letting Miss Granger be for the time being. Molly seemed rather worried about that, and had left after a short visit with Harry.

With a sigh, Severus continued to fold his laundry. He was honestly a little worried about Granger too. Scowling, he stooped to pick up the pair of socks he had dropped, and dusted them off a little. He put them in the folded pile after a bit of a struggle in getting them together, and glanced at his watch. It was quarter to one. Potter had come in for lunch a little while ago, and Severus was putting off having lunch himself. He had a few things to do, between his laundry slowly creeping up on him and his plans to organize the boxes of books that had been brought from Spinner's end.

Severus was stacking up a pile of trousers when he heard the creak of the bottom step of the stairs, much to his surprise. He felt relief wash over him, knowing that it could only be one person coming downstairs and treading down the hall and into the laundry room, for though his room door was closed he heard the squawk of the door hinges across the hall a moment later.

Relieved that Miss Granger had finally chosen to come down, Severus took a deep breath. The hardest part was over now. Just to make sure it had indeed been Miss Granger's footsteps, he glanced out the window once more to see if Potter was still out there. He was, and Severus had to hold back an unexpected laugh when he saw what Potter was doing. He was turning around and around in circles, making himself dizzy. Severus watched as he fell to the grass, landing on his bum and shaking his head to clear it, grinning. Potter looked toward the front of the cottage, and when he saw Severus standing at the window he waved suddenly, not seeming embarrassed in the least that he had been caught spinning around in circles. Surprised, Severus raised his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and then watched as Potter picked up the ball and started to chase it again, his steps rather unsteady after spinning in circles.

"Silly boy," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he sat back down on the edge of his bed.

A strangled cry made him leap up from the bed again, and terror shot through his limbs. It had not been Potter making that sound. It had been Miss Granger.

Severus swore under his breath, suddenly remembering that Miss Granger did not know of the boggart. Without thinking he snatched his wand out of the drawer by his bedside, threw open his bedroom door and entered the laundry room.

Miss Granger was sitting on the floor with her face on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. A laundry basket had been dropped beside her, spilling clothing across the wood floor. In front of Miss Granger Severus saw two figures lying upon the ground, cold and still. Understanding shot through Severus, and he cursed himself for not taking on the boggart earlier.

Miss Granger was sobbing and shaking. She glanced up again to see if the boggart was still there, and then hid her face. Severus stepped in front of her, and then the bodies had turned to only one, vivid red hair spilling across the floor like blood, green eyes staring blankly at Severus.

He heard Miss Granger gasp behind him, and he raised his wand with a shaking hand, which struggled to keep its grip. It was then that Severus remembered why the boggart still lived in the laundry room - how he could not get rid of it himself - how he had been too ashamed to ask someone else to do it. Now, his shortcomings had forced this situation on Miss Granger, and so despite the fact that he had been told not to use magic just yet, despite the fact that he knew it would difficult, Severus held his wand as steadily as he could and aimed it at the boggart. The spell he knew would require no movement of the wand, but aim was important.

"Riddikulus," Severus said sharply, trying not to look at Lily, lying dead on the floor.

Nothing happened.

"Riddikulus!" he cried again, but his arm was shaking too much, and he felt his stomach sink. How could he fail at this in front of a student? How could he be that useless? "Riddikulus! Damn it, Riddikulus!"

He heard Miss Granger stumble to her feet, and she raised her wand too. She was shaking like a leaf, and as she stepped forward, Lily became two bodies once more.

"R-RIDDICULUS!" she shrieked as tears poured down her face. There was a flash, and with a bang, the boggart was sent flying back into the wardrobe where Miss Granger had intended it to go.

She let out a muffled sob and sank to the floor. Feeling rather weak too, Severus sunk down against the opposite wall. He wanted to melt into the floor with embarrassment. How could he have failed like that?

"I'm sorry," he muttered, staring at the wand in his hand. "I should have been able to perform the spell."

Miss Granger shook her head. "Not your fault," she muttered through choked tears.

"Your parents?" muttered Severus.

Miss Granger nodded.

"Who was that ... that woman?" Miss Granger asked suddenly after a few moments of silence. "I think ... I've seen her before."

"I went to school with her," muttered Severus.

"Harry's mother," said Miss Granger immediately, a moment of clarity visible on her face. "Hagrid gave him a photo album. I've seen her in there."

"You always have been too clever for your own good," said Severus under his breath, knowing he would not pull a fast one on the girl in front of him, even though she was so distraught.

"Why?"

Severus knew exactly what she meant despite the vague question, but he did not particularly want to share the entire story of why he saw Lily lying dead on the floor.

"We were best friends when we were young," he settled for. "But do not tell Potter. I think he would take it badly."

"I won't," sniffled Granger.

They sat in silence for a moment, and in his head Severus cursed himself and his pride. He knew very well he should have asked Poppy or Molly to take care of the boggart, but both he and Potter knew to avoid it, and so he had put it off. Shame festered in his gut as he looked down at his wand in his left hand. He was brought from his thoughts by Miss Granger's voice.

"Why are t-they my boggart?" she asked, voice trembling and confused as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "How can s-something that's come to pass still be my greatest fear?"

"I do not fully understand that myself," said Severus honestly, the words coming slowly as considered each one. "In my case, it has been years since ... since Lily died, but I still see her, every time. You seeing your parents, I suppose, is the same sort of thing. My best guess is that it is partly the recollection of the feelings associated with the loss of someone you love, as well as what that means. In your case, I think you are seeing your parents as a reminder of just what their deaths have done to change your life, and that terrifies you."

"Why does her death scare you?" Hermione asked suddenly, looking intrigued. "I never knew that you were even friends."

"That is a matter I would rather not discuss," muttered Severus.

"Sorry," Miss Granger said a little sheepishly. "I just ... I ask questions about everything. Sometimes I don't pay attention to what kind."

"Curiosity is not a crime," said Severus, feeling like he was channelling Dumbledore, and hating every second of it.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Severus stood up.

"Did you like the book?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes, a lot," said Hermione gratefully, wiping her eyes. "I finished it last night. Strangely, it actually made me feel better."

"I thought it would," said Severus.

"It made me realize that I have to move on," muttered Granger. "I mean, if Anne had let herself be consumed by being left an orphan so young she would never have met so many wonderful people, or seen so many beautiful things."

"I did put some thought into what book I gave you, you know," said Severus quietly.

"Clearly," she muttered. "Thank you. It helped. It really did."

"You may keep it, if you would like."

"Really?" asked Miss Granger, astounded. "But, I -"

"No, really, keep it," he insisted. "To be honest, I have not got a place to put it anyway. My summer home is unsafe for me to return to, and I will not be teaching again this year, so unless you want the book it will be sitting and gathering dust in a box for a long time."

"Thank you," Miss Granger said gratefully, standing up as well. Hesitantly, she continued to speak. "I ... I'm sorry that you can't go home this summer."

"It was not much of a home anyway, really," admitted Severus. "I think I will miss Hogwarts more."

"What will you do all year?" asked Miss Granger as she stooped over to start gathering her fallen laundry, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I hope you will not take this badly, but I honestly cannot see you doing anything but teaching potions class."

"I have no idea what I will do," said Severus, shaking his head slightly at her comment to show he didn't mind. "To be perfectly honest ... I cannot really see myself doing anything else either, oddly enough. I am sure there are plenty worthwhile things I can accomplish without having to stop a bunch of dunderheads from blowing themselves up every other day, but as of yet I cannot think of any."

"I suppose brewing potions is out, isn't it?" Miss Granger frowned.

"Indeed," muttered Severus, feeling his stomach sink as he wandered over to the door. "Speaking of brewing, well, a rather different kind of brewing that is ... Dobby put together a nice soup for today's lunch, and he made sure to leave you some, which you can heat up if you are hungry."

Miss Granger looked pleased by this.

"Before I go," Severus said suddenly, finally working up the courage to speak it, "could you promise not to mention my boggart to Potter?"

"I won't say a word," said Miss Granger, steadily gazing over at him.

Severus nodded.

"I will be tidying up the sitting room ... if you need me," said Severus rather dully, thinking that it would be some time before Dobby came, and how Potter had left the place in a bit of a rumpus. "Merlin, cleaning makes me miss magic."

"I would help you with that," said Hermione in a low voice, gesturing to her wand, "but honestly, I am rubbish at cleaning spells. Don't tell Harry or Ron, though. They think I'm good at every spell ever invented."

Severus caught himself chuckling.

"Pity I am not teaching this year," he said to her. "I would have put a special section on cleaning cauldrons, just to even out the curve a little."

The last thing Severus saw before leaving the laundry room was the shocked and amused expression on Miss Granger's face at his joke.

***

Harry was all played out, and when he came inside he flopped down on the braided rug in front of the sofa. Snape, who was sitting on one end of the sofa, looked up from his book, but returned to it after a moment of consideration. Harry stared at Snape's socked feet a little ways away, panting slightly where he lay, his knees folded under himself and his chin resting on the soft rug. He looked around a little, wondering if this was how cats saw the world. To his amusement Crookshanks looked at him curiously for a moment, edging toward him and then leaping up to sit by Snape, who absent-mindedly reached down to stroke him.

Harry turned his head a little bit further to the right, now staring at the space under the sofa. Something shiny caught his eye, and he carefully reached his small fingers under the sofa. His hand came up with a marble. It was a light blue colour, with greenish glass swirled in the centre. It reminded him of something, and he sat up a little, resting on his knees as he stared into the depths of the glass. He felt a hot, sick feeling rise up in his stomach when he realized what it reminded him of, and he leaped to his feet. Harry ran to the door and flung it open. The marble in his hand he ran to the edge of the porch and tossed the marble as far as he could.

Feeling a hundred pounds heavier than he had been earlier, Harry stomped back into the house, closing the door behind him. Snape stared, but did not ask why Harry had done what he did. Even if he had, Harry probably would not have heard him as he stalked over to the sofa, his mind swirling. Not paying any attention to Snape he crawled up onto the middle cushion, wanting to be near Crookshanks. Harry curled up so that his head was resting by the cat, his nose pressing against the soft sofa back. He felt like crying when Crookshanks yowled and left. He scrunched himself tighter, trying to get the words of the prophecy to stop going through his head. He heard the rustle of Snape turning the page in his book.

A little while later, to his surprise, Harry felt a hand run through his hair gently.

"The cat moved," Harry mumbled tearfully, thinking Snape had mistaken him for Crookshanks because he was too absorbed in his book.

The hand paused, and then slowly removed itself from where it rested on his head.

"So he did," muttered Snape quietly.

Harry looked away from the back of the sofa. He looked up, and caught Snape looking down at him with a rather sad expression.

"Sir?" whispered Harry, suddenly exhausted.

"Hmm?"

"Can I stay here a while?"

"You may."

So Harry pressed his nose against the sofa again, closing his eyes. He felt a little bit numb again, and it made him even more tired. His body had had enough, and his mind was tired of fighting. He was asleep in minutes.

When he awoke he found Hermione reading on the sofa as well, his small feet pressed against her side, his head resting near Snape's hand. Harry smiled sleepily at her, and despite the shadows under her eyes the smile she gave him was the most beautiful he had ever seen, because it was her way of saying, "I am going to be okay."

"I am very impressed, Severus," Poppy said with a smile as he finished threading the shoelace through the muggle sewing card. They had finished the exercises, and today's session was almost finished. "You have gotten much faster with that."

"So I can stop doing it?" Severus asked hopefully, sitting up straighter in his armchair. Across from him, sitting on the sofa, Poppy sighed.

"Unfortunately, I think it would benefit you to continue to do the card twice a day still, with each hand," she said. "As well as that, I want you to try going up the stairs every so often. You have been doing much better in your practise with me. I also have a new activity I would like you to try."

She pulled from a bag at her feet a worn baseball and two baseball gloves. One glove was small, the other large.

"I want you to practise throwing a baseball," she said. "Gently, of course. You do not need to throw it far, but I think it will be good for your coordination. I think that Harry will not mind playing with you, as I am betting he would have fun doing this. The ball is charmed so that it cannot hit anyone, which means that as soon as it gets too close and no hand or glove is intercepting it the ball will stop mid-air and drop. That should prevent injuries."

Severus felt his mouth fall open.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" Severus asked rudely, his fingers digging into the upholstery of the armchair. "I am not playing catch with Potter. What, is this some sort of ridiculous idea of Dumbledore's? Does he want us to ‘bond' or something stupid like that?"

A right bloody bigot he is then, wanting me to get to know Potter better when he hasn't even answered my letter asking him about Potter's home life, Severus thought mutinously.

"Severus!" said Poppy, and he was pleased to see she was angry with him.

He scowled at her.

"This was my idea, because I want to help you get better!" she said, setting the two baseball gloves and the ball roughly on the sofa cushion beside her. "Throwing and catching a ball will help you to recover, and Mr. Potter is the only other person here that I believe will not mind joining in on the activity. And you know what? He might not mind it. Either that, or you try to convince Miss Granger to play with you, and I think you would rather not do that."

"But Poppy, I'll just make a fool of myself," Severus said after a few moments of hesitation. "I will look stupid when I cannot catch the ball, or throw it."

"Harry is four. He cannot catch or throw very well either. Which is why I think you two would do just fine together."

Severus sighed as she stood up, gathering her things.

"Whether you like it or not, I expect you to play catch with Mr. Potter a few times this week," she said. "It will not hurt me if you do not follow my instructions, Severus. You will only be hurting yourself."

And with that she stood up, and left without saying goodbye.

As soon as she was gone, Severus sighed, and he put his face in his hands, feeling that the last thing he needed was to have a four year old outshine him in a game of catch. He was going to need some time to work himself up to this.

***

"Potter, what are you doing?" Severus asked a few hours later, not too long after lunchtime. Potter had his belly on a stool in the sitting room, and he was waving his arms and legs in the air.

"I'm swimming," Potter said. "Duh."

"Swimming?" Severus repeated, watching the boy continue to wave his arms. He decided to humour him for a moment, remembering that once upon a time he too had had a little bit too much imagination for his own good as a child. "Where are you swimming?"

"The ocean!" Potter replied, grinning up at Severus, who had come around so that he was in the boy's gaze. "Watch out for the shark."

"You astound me," Severus said, rolling his eyes to prevent himself from smirking. "I have a proposition for you."

"A pr-propo - huh?" Potter asked, letting his legs and arms hang.

Severus sighed, and he held up the baseball and two gloves.

"Would you like to have a game of catch?" he said rather reluctantly.

"Seriously?" Potter inquired, sounding more like his teenaged self as he narrowed his eyes. "Did Dumbledore set you up to this?"

"No," said Severus grudgingly, his teeth gritted. "Poppy thinks it would be good for my recovery, and she is labouring under the delusion you might have fun."

"Well, if Madam Pomfrey thinks you should ... I guess so," said Potter with a shrug, leaping off his chair and getting his shoes by the door.

Severus was rather surprised. The boy seemed to be holding back a smile. Did Potter actually want to play catch? But why with him?

***

Harry jumped on one foot down the steps from the porch, skipping out onto the grassy area in front of the house.

"Come on, Professor!" he called, unable to explain why he was so eager to play. "I found a good spot!"

The words came out before he could stop them, and he wished he had not sounded so excited. The fact was that he was amazed that Snape was even doing this. Harry hated to admit it, but he was always jealous when Uncle Vernon played catch with Dudley, and he always wished that someone would play catch with him. He'd seen other boys and their dads playing games together at the end of year school picnic held near the play park by his school. Harry had always gone because the teachers would have asked funny questions if he hadn't, but was given the instructions to read a book by Aunt Petunia instead, while Dudley and Uncle Vernon competed in games. He had been instructed to pretend he would rather read. Harry bounced on his toes, watching as Snape walked sedately out onto the grass.

"Which glove's mine?" Harry chirped, looking up at Snape.

"The one that looks like it could fit a puppet," said Snape, rolling his eyes as he handed the little glove down to Harry.

"Fits good," Harry said with a grin. "How far do I stand from you?"

"I do not know," said Snape. "I've never done this before."

"Your Dad didn't play catch with you either?" Harry asked curiously before he could stop himself. He was amazed to see Snape flush slightly.

"No," he said through gritted teeth.

"It's okay," Harry said, examining his glove, "Uncle Vernon never plays with me either. He likes it better when I stay out of the way."

Harry did not pay much attention to what he had just said, and as he was still examining the baseball glove he did not see the expression on Snape's face.

"Be ready to catch the ball," Snape said, sounding a little bit awkward. "I might not be able to throw it too accurately."

"That's okay," Harry said, shrugging. They were only about seven feet away from each other.

Harry got ready with the glove, and lunged for the ball, which Snape threw underhanded. The ball wobbled through the air, and Harry missed it, but the ball had at least come fairly close to him.

"Sorry," Snape said through gritted teeth. "I doubt I can throw it well enough for you to catch it."

"I don't think I can throw it too well either," Harry said as he picked up the ball. It was big in his hand, but he twisted around and lobbed toward Snape. It went quite a ways to his right.

Snape walked over it and picked it up again.

"Ready, Potter?"

"Yup!"

The ball flew toward Harry, and he held his glove open. The edge of the glove grazed the baseball. Snape did not comment on this, but spoke when Harry got ready to throw the ball back

"When you throw it this time try keeping your wrist straight. You let it twist a little bit last time, which was why the ball went to the right."

Harry picked up the ball, and paying attention to Snape's advice, threw it, careful to keep his wrist lined up with Snape. The ball flew straight, and Snape only just missed it with his glove.

"Better," Snape said absent mindedly as he picked up the ball.

Harry grinned, and held open his glove as Snape gave the ball another throw. To his excitement, Harry managed to clamp his glove over the ball. He raised it up in the air.

"Did you see that, Professor?" he said, waving the ball, so excited he could hardly breathe, the words coming out before he could stop them. "I did it! I did it! Good throw!"

To his amazement, Snape actually smirked, which was the closest thing to a smile Harry thought he was capable of. Just then, Harry caught sight of someone on the porch, standing and watching.

"Hi Hermione!" he called over to her. "Did you see that? I caught it!"

"I did, Harry," she said. "That was a very nice catch."

Snape suddenly looked a little bit sheepish, and seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to his glove. Harry looked back at Hermione, as she was speaking again.

"I'm going back inside to have a bite of lunch, Harry," Hermione said. "Have fun."

Harry grinned and waved. Then he threw the ball back at Snape, but his throw was wonky and went too far for Snape to catch.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, frowning slightly.

"No need to apologize," Snape said with a bit of impatience in his voice, throwing the ball at Harry again, who missed catching it. "We would do far too much of that between the two of us if we insisted on apologizing for every bad throw."

Harry kept Snape's earlier advice in mind again, and his throw was straighter this time. Snape raised his glove, and just barely got the ball.

"Yeah!" said Harry. "That was good!"

Snape seemed rather pleased with himself, and threw the ball back.

***

After the first ten minutes, Severus was rather amazed that he was almost enjoying himself. Sure, it wasn't exactly riveting, throwing a ball back and forth, but he had to admit that Potter was being rather amusing. That and for the moment, it took Severus' mind off the fact that Dumbledore had yet to reply to the letter he had sent a few days ago about Potter's home life. He shook his head slightly, focusing on the present again, trying to forget the comment Potter had made about his uncle a few minutes ago.

"Woah, that one went far," Potter cried over his shoulder as he ran after the ball, which was rolling down a slight slope after a rather long throw of Severus'. Potter giggled slightly as he dove for it. "Got it!"

Potter was clearly becoming more childish. Severus was pretty sure if the boy had been acting completely as a teenager, he would have scoffed at the idea of a game of catch, but right now, he seemed to be having a lot of fun. Severus was getting a bit better at throwing and catching, and so was Potter, so perhaps this added to it. Potter tossed the ball back to Severus, who caught it, much to his surprise.

"Hmm, looks like it might rain," said Severus as he fumbled to take the ball out of his glove, staring up at the sky. "There are a few clouds coming in."

"Aww," said Potter, looking crestfallen. "But I wanna stay outside."

"It is not going to rain for some time," said Severus absent mindedly as he threw the ball. "We can play a little longer."

Potter did something that made Severus' heart actually give a small beat. Potter's eyes lit up with excitement, and his face broke into a big smile before he bent down to scoop up the ball.

"Just as well," said Severus to himself, glancing at the rain clouds, "The plants could use a little water today, considering the temperature."

He looked down again, toward Potter, who was standing stock still, the ball in one hand and his glove still on the other.

"Go on, throw it then," Severus said, though not unkindly.

Potter had a funny expression on his face.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked, suddenly worried.

Just then, Potter's eyes widened. Before Severus could ask him what was wrong, Potter was running up the steps of the porch and into the house, the screen door opening and shutting with a bang.

"What on earth ..." Severus muttered, going after him as fast as he could, leaving his glove in the grass, his stomach dropping to his toes. He hated to admit it, but he was honestly worried. Was the boy's scar hurting? Did he have a vision?

Into the house Severus went, his leg dragging slightly. He frowned when he noticed that Potter had not taken off his shoes, as they were not at the door. He could see no trace of him at first, and then he saw the baseball at the foot of the staircase, across the sitting room. Had Potter gone up, or through the hall?

"Professor, what's going on?" Hermione asked worriedly, poking her head out of the kitchen, a pitcher of juice in her hand. "I just heard Harry come tearing in here. I didn't see where he went. What happened?"

"I do not know what this is about," Severus said, bewildered. "He stood as still as a statue right as he was about to throw the ball, and then ran into the house."

"Is he hurt?" Hermione asked, worried.

"I do not think so," was Severus' reply as he walked over to where the baseball was. He picked it up and examined it.

Severus took a step forward, and then he looked down the hall. There was a glove outside the bathroom door, which was shut. Miss Granger was standing at the base of the stairs and looking up. Just then, there was the sound of a toilet flushing.

Severus suddenly felt the urge to laugh.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly after a moment, unable to keep the amusement from his voice, "it's fine. He just had to go to the bathroom."

"Oh," said Hermione, looking relieved. "Of course. I should have guessed ..."

She giggled slightly, then retreated to the kitchen.

Severus stood in the hall and waited for Potter to come out. The door creaked open.

"You're alright?" asked Severus calmly.

"Yeah," said Potter, looking embarrassed, his voice barely a whisper. "Sorry, but I really, really had to go."

"Completely understandable," said Severus. "I was merely worried your scar was acting up again."

Potter shook his head, and then he started to play with his sleeve. He looked up hesitantly, and asked, "Sir?"

"Hmm?" Snape asked, picking up the small baseball glove that had been left on the floor by the bathroom, where Potter had flung it aside.

"Can we keep playing?" whispered Potter.

Severus smirked slightly, and then handed Potter the glove.

"Yes," he said.

***

Snape had gone in some time ago, and the baseball gloves had been put in the chest in the sitting room, by the door to be used later. The clouds had rolled in overhead, but so far, no rain had begun to come down. Harry was taking advantage of the little time he had before the rain came, and was swinging under the big tree outside the house. Hermione was sitting on the porch, reading a book and glancing over at him occasionally.

The tree was a very large one, and it creaked as the swing went back and forth, the leaves fluttering in the breeze. There was a thick patch of moss around the trunk, and clusters of fascinating little mushrooms that snaked up through cracks in the slightly decaying bark, something Harry had spent a great deal of time studying, as a plethora of the insects and slugs lived here. At the moment, however, thoughts of bugs, slugs, and fungi were far from his mind, for he had a rather different pursuit in mind than documenting the activities of the tree trunk.

Harry, who had never been lucky enough to have someone push him on a swing, had learned to pump his legs long ago, and he rose higher and higher into the air with each movement. There was a big, green leaf fluttering in the breeze. It was a beautiful leaf, and Harry was quite determined to reach it so he could press it in a book, for it was so much bigger than the other leaves on the tree. Just a little higher, and Harry thought he might be able to reach up and pull it off the branch. He swung his legs back, then forward again, then repeated. With determination, he kept his gaze up, watching the tree branches above him as he swung. At long last, he had gotten the swing moving as high as it would, and he readied himself for what he was going to do.

"You can do it, Harry," he whispered to himself as the swing rocked back, and then started to go forward once more.

This time, he was prepared to take his right hand off the rope of the swing, and try to snatch the leaf off the low hanging branch.

Just like Quidditch, he thought.

The swing sped toward the ground, and then left it behind again, and Harry took his hand off the rope. He was almost to the leaf, and then in a blink of an eye it was right before his eyes. He snatched at it with his right hand, the leaf so close. He leaned forward just a little bit more, and he just barely touched the stem. Harry gasped as the swing rocked backward again, and quite suddenly his bum slid off the seat. He had his left hand still on the rope, and dangling in the air he was brought down with the swing, being pulled behind it. His fingers slipped when he was still a ways from the ground. His knees hit the dirt hard, and his hands went out in front of him. He skidded along, and felt the worn out pair of jeans rip, and his knees were exposed to the dirt and stones. He slid to a halt, his palms and knees throbbing, careful not to raise his head too high lest the swing hit him on its way back.

He started to cry, unable to help himself, and he looked at his palms, gritty and scraped. Before he knew it Hermione had run down from the porch, and she lifted him to his feet and brought him out of the way of the swing, which had yet to stop completely.

"Harry!" she said breathlessly, "Are you alright?"

He tried to tell her he would be fine through his sobs, but he couldn't. He didn't understand why he was making such a fuss. The sting wasn't overly bad.

"Where does it hurt?" Hermione asked, holding him by his shoulders, looking frantic. Harry's tears blurred her image, and he held up his palms. "Okay, your hands. Oh my, and your knees."

She looked down to his torn and bloody jeans, and gently pulled away at the fabric to examine the cuts. Harry let out a squawk of pain and jerked back. Now that had hurt.

"Shh, you'll be alright," Hermione said, surprising Harry by picking him up and starting toward the house, settling him on her hip. "I'll take you inside and get you patched up, okay?"

Harry only cried harder, because as far as he could remember, nobody had ever carried him inside like this when he got hurt. He pressed his face against her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.

She brought him inside and set him down in the bathroom, on the counter by the sink. Hermione rummaged around in a drawer for a moment.

"N-No," Harry said through his cries without thinking, "S-Snape, I w-want Snape!"

Hermione looked at him, shocked. Harry hadn't realized he said it, but Hermione nodded.

"I'll go get him, so you stay here," said Hermione, and then she was gone.

Harry shuddered and angrily scrubbed at his tears. Why did he have to go and say that? He hoped he had not hurt Hermione's feelings, and he wondered why had he even said it.

Well, because it's true, he thought to himself. He did want Snape, although he wasn't too sure why.

Hiccupping, Harry noticed the light dim, and he looked to see Snape standing in the doorway, looking concerned. To Harry's surprise, Snape dragged a stool into the room, and he sat down so that he was mostly level with Harry. He had expected Snape to refuse to help him, but apparently, that was not the case.

"What happened?" Snape asked calmly, examining Harry's cuts. Carefully, he rolled up the legs of Harry's baggy jeans so that they were above his knees.

"I f-fell off the s-swing," Harry said through tears.

"Well, you faired pretty well," said Snape. "Lucky for you, Poppy brought around some essence of dittany during her last visit."

"D-Dittany?"

"It heals cuts, to explain simply," said Snape. Harry hiccupped slightly. "Take a deep breath, Potter, you will be just fine."

Harry complied, and Snape got up, then took a flannel from the middle drawer under the counter and wet it in the sink, adding a little soap.

"This will sting a bit," Snape told Harry.

Harry nodded, sniffling, and Snape began to clean the scrapes on his knees and palms. He worked in silence, and Harry watched as he carefully wiped the dirt away. Snape's hands were steadier than they normally were. Harry wondered why, and watched his Professor's brows, furrowed in concentration.

When the scrapes were clean, Snape pulled a little brown bottle from his drawer under the sink. He carefully unscrewed the cap with his left hand, then put a few drops onto a cotton ball he had retrieved from his drawer. He then dabbed the cotton ball on Harry's knees, one at a time, then added more liquid from the bottle.

"Your hands, please," Snape asked, and Harry thrust them forward, his palms facing up. Snape dabbed the wet cotton ball again on his wounds, and Harry watched in amazement as the scrapes healed over immediately.

He let out a shuddering breath.

"All done," Snape said, putting the brown bottle of dittany back in his drawer, and putting the flannel covered in blood and dirt into the little basket for the laundry.

Harry tried to thank Snape, but it just came out as a strangled sob, and he looked at down at his feet. The pain was gone, but his eyes were still watering, and he was not sure why. He sniffled, trying to keep his nose from dripping. Harry was sure Snape was looking at him like he was a ball of germs, like his Aunt and Uncle always had. Harry rubbed the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve as Snape stood up. Finally, he looked up at his Professor, and to his surprise Snape stared back for a second, not looking disgusted as Harry believed he would. In fact, he looked rather thoughtful. Harry hiccupped, and let out a shaky breath.

After a moment of hesitation, Snape reached into the middle drawer again to pull out another clean flannel, and he wet it under the tap.

"Close your eyes, Potter," he directed, sounding tired.

Harry obeyed, confused. He felt the flannel, warm and damp on his cheeks, and he let out a tiny cry when he realized Snape was wiping the dirt and tears off his face. He relaxed after a second, and then Snape pulled the flannel away.

"There, now you can save your sleeves from getting dirty," Snape said a little bit gruffly, pushing the stool he had been sitting on closer to the bathroom counter, obviously so Harry could get down. "I would suggest you go put on a different pair of jeans. Those ones are torn up pretty badly."

Harry nodded, and looked down to make sure the stool was under his feet. He made to slide off the counter, but Snape told him to wait, using his teaching voice. Harry looked up at the command, surprised as Snape's good hand reached out and grabbed one of his.

"There, now you can come down," Snape said. "No sense in scraping yourself up again."

He held Harry's hand to keep him steady as he jumped down from the stool and onto the ground, then he let go.

"Well, run along then," Snape said, seeming bewildered as to why Harry was still staring at him.

"T-Thanks, sir!" Harry said quickly before darting out of the bathroom and up the stairs to his room to put on a different pair of jeans. But before he went he saw the wide eyed surprise on his Professor's face at his words.

***

"Why me?" Severus asked Miss Granger a few minutes later as he stood at the window, looking out as the rain started to fall at last. While both were staring out at the clouds, neither seemed to have their minds on the weather. "Did he say why he wanted me?"

"Not really- he just asked for you, plain as day," Granger said slowly, looking equally puzzled. "I'm not exactly sure why myself ... but I think you make him feel safe."

"But why?" Severus wondered aloud, bewildered by her answer.

"Well," Granger muttered, pausing slightly, "you're one of the most consistent people in his life. He can predict how you'll react to most things, and while you're strict, he knows what to expect. At least, I think that might be part of it. That, and lately, you've been there for him more than I have." Miss Granger sighed slightly. "I've been ... distant, lately," she added quietly. "What with ... my parents, I haven't seen much of Harry, or paid much attention to him because I've been in my room most of the time."

"I do not think he blames you," said Severus honestly. "You have had a rough time lately."

"I know, I just ... I feel like a bad friend," Granger admitted. "And when he asked for you ... well, I realized I haven't been there for him as much as I could have been."

"You are not a bad friend," Severus said, forcing himself to be honest. "You are a very good friend, the kind that everyone needs sometimes. Potter probably just did not want to burden you with his troubles when he asked for me instead. He has been worried about you lately. Would he worry so much if he thought you were a bad friend?"

Before Granger could look away from the window and reply to his statement, Severus made a hasty retreat. He limped down the hallway toward his room, and he closed the door tightly behind him, sinking down on his bed. He had not wanted to be thanked for his words, and he could tell she was going to. He was not used to being thanked, and so he had fled. He sighed slightly. Maybe he was so used to playing the bad guy that he was not used to being treated like he was good.

He did not dwell on his, and let his thoughts move on, his mind darting back to Potter's request for him to help him. Was Granger right on the reason Potter wanted him instead of her? Did he really make the boy feel safe? But why? Severus frowned.

"What have I ever done to make him feel safe?" he muttered to himself, confused.

He put his face in his hands, and closed his eyes for a while, thinking. After some time it occurred to him that maybe, he had asked the wrong question.

"What have others done to make him feel unsafe?" he whispered to himself at last, looking up from his hands, not understanding why he didn't think of it before.

It was at that moment that he had at last finished waiting for Dumbledore to reply to his last letter. He was going to demand that Dumbledore visit and answer his questions about Potter's family. He was sick of waiting and wondering if Dumbledore would even write back. Severus was going to talk to the man himself, because he knew there was no guarantee that Dumbledore had even put a straight answer in the letter (if he had even answered it), and it was difficult to guess a lie on paper. So, quickly, Severus went out of his room and to the kitchen. He grabbed a piece of parchment from the drawer, as well as the ink and special quill, and settled at the table.

Dumbledore, I need to talk to you about Potter's home life. I am done waiting for your reply by mail. You are to come here as soon as possible to have this discussion, in person. I need answers. This is not a request, it is a demand.

- Severus Snape

He set the quill down, scowling at his messy writing. It was not as though his writing was pristine before all this, but now it was downright awful. Oh well, he thought to himself. It would have to be good enough for the moment. It was the message that counted, anyway.

He strode out into the sitting room. It appeared that Miss Granger had gone up to her room, and he felt his shoulders relax as he went and over to the perch they kept for the resident owl, seeing as Potter's Snowy Owl was too obvious. He then carefully tied the scroll to its leg. It took Severus a long time to do it, but the owl was patient. It hooted slightly when Severus finished, then fluttered toward the door. Severus opened the screen door, and let the owl fly out into the rain. He was very grateful for the fact that Poppy had charmed all the parchment to repel water, as Severus could not do the charm himself like he normally would have done. He watched it fly away, and then went back to his room, staring out the little window and at the swirling grey skies.

"Now comes the wait," he sighed, wishing he could do more than just send letters.

The first crash of thunder came at one forty in the morning. Severus woke with a start. He sat up straight in bed with impressive speed because he had been sleeping on top of the covers due to the oppressive heat. For a second a flash of the cold dungeon at Malfoy Manor met his vision, but as quickly as it had come, Severus realized it was only a memory. Panting, Severus lay down again, taking a deep breath. The wind roared around the cottage. Just when things seemed to grow quiet again, a banging crash came from the sitting room.

Severus swore. He had forgotten to shut the heavy oak door over the screen door before going to bed.

He did up his leg brace as quickly as he could (which was not quick enough, in his opinion), and Severus strode out of his room. The lightning flashed outside, illuminating his path through the hall, the nearby flashes easily showing him the way. As he was passing the staircase a blinding flash of light threw the area into sharp relief, and at the same time an even louder crash of thunder shook the house.

Quite suddenly, there was a series of small thumps and Severus felt someone run into his legs. He stumbled and grabbed a hold of the wooden post where the staircase railing ended.

"Potter!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry Professor," squeaked the boy. "I heard a scary noise."

The screen door banged loudly again, and Potter jumped.

"It's just the screen door," said Severus, continuing forward.

To his surprise he felt Potter's small hand grasp the leg of his pyjama trousers. He went forward, and Potter followed, still hanging onto him, much to Severus' surprise. He was about to tell the boy to stop it when he recalled an earlier conversation he had had with Potter, about how he had been left out during a storm. He closed his mouth, suddenly noticing how much the boy was shaking. Knowing that he had to shut the screen door, Severus ventured forth again, slowing up for the little boy clutching the leg of his pyjama trousers. Severus reached forward and took the wood frame of the door in his hand, and pushed it tightly shut. The breeze, hot and humid fluttered his hair, and for a moment he stared up at the turbulent clouds above, watching the lightning streak through them, entranced. He could hear the crashing of the sea a ways away, and he saw the white peaks of the waves when the lightning illuminated them. Another deafening crash of thunder shook the house, and Severus heard Potter cry out, and felt him press his face against his leg.

He took a hold of the big oak door and shut it over the screen. The sound of the storm dampened slightly, and the sound of another set of feet descending the staircase could be heard.

"Professor Snape?" called Miss Granger, standing halfway down the staircase and clutching the railing as she peered into the sitting room. "Is Harry down here?"

"Yes, he is with me," Severus told her, placing his hand gently on the top of Potter's messy hair to make sure. Potter's face was still hidden in his leg. "Would you mind lighting a few lamps?"

"Not at all, sir," said Granger, going down the rest of the staircase and then rummaging in a drawer by the sofa. She went over to the various magical lamps, and as she turned them up they lit themselves. As the lights flared to life the darkness was chased away, and Hermione glanced over to Severus.

"Harry, are you alright?" he asked quietly, not noticing Miss Granger's look of surprise that he had used Potters first name, because he did not really noticed it himself.

"I don't l-like storms," Potter said, sounding on the verge of tears, his words muffled from the fabric of Severus' pyjama trousers.

"I know," said Severus softly.

"Don't send me back to bed!"

"I won't."

"You won't?" Potter whispered, looking up at Severus, his eyes wide.

"What did I just say?" Severus asked quietly, but firmly.

Potter looked down at his feet. He let out a tiny sniffle and let go of Severus' leg.

"What would you suggest we do to pass the time?" asked Severus after a moment, knowing that he would never be allowed to sleep as long as the storm was raging around the house, between the racket and Potter, that was.

"We could ..."

"What?" Severus said when Potter faltered.

"I could get a book and read aloud," suggested Granger when Potter did not continue. "That used to help me when I was little and there was a storm."

If Severus could have, he would have given her a hundred points to Gryffindor, because Potter seemed to have been thinking exactly that. He reacted in surprise, but nodded vigorously at the suggestion.

"I think Molly mentioned that the story books are in the attic," said Severus slowly, thinking hard. Potter still was speechless, but he nodded in agreement with this statement.

"I will go and find them," said Granger with a little smile for Potter.

***

Harry scrunched himself up on the sofa, shutting his eyes tightly as the lightning flashed. Hermione had just gone up to the attic looking for a book, and he and Snape were sitting in silence.

"W-Why won't it go away?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes, not caring how childish he sounded.

There was another flash of lightning, and Harry let out a little sob. The thunder followed.

"The lightning scares you most, doesn't it?" asked Snape curiously.

"Uh huh," Harry said.

"Why?"

"I dunno."

"Most children are scared of the thunder. Why is it the lightning that you dislike?"

"It's all sudden, I guess," Harry whispered, looking up at Snape for a moment. He looked rather curious.

"Sudden like what?"

Harry squirmed under Snape's gaze.

"Sudden like ... like ..." Harry couldn't complete the sentence, and gasped when another bright flash zigzagged over the horizon, easily seen through the curtains on the window.

Harry felt himself shaking, and he could see in his mind the flash of green that haunted his dreams.

As another streak of white fire shot across the sky he couldn't keep the thought quiet anymore, and he looked Snape straight in the eye, fear making the words come out to fast.

"Like when Mummy died," he whispered, feeling the tears come pouring down his face, not realizing he was speaking like he really was four, because all he could think about was hearing her scream. Every time the lightning flashed. Every time a dementor got near. Every time his dreams turned sour.

Shaking, Harry stared at Snape, pleading silently for him to do something - anything. After a while he realized Snape was pale as a ghost.

"If I can make the lightning go away, will you feel better?" asked Snape after a moment of silence, his voice taking on a strange edge to it, like he was fighting something deep inside himself.

Harry nodded.

"Alright," said Snape slowly, and with utmost seriousness. "This is what we have to do. We need to build a fort."

"A f-fort?"

"A strong fortress to keep the lightning away," he said.

Harry nodded, not sure he followed, but trusting that Snape knew what he was doing.

"Alright, stand up and help me get the cushions off the sofa," Snape said.

Curious, and rather amazed, Harry numbly got up and pulled the large cushions away. He then followed Snape over to the other side of the sofa, around the back. He watched as Snape propped the cushions up on their sides, so they created walls. Harry followed Snape into the kitchen, and helped him drag two tall chairs into the sitting room.

"We will put them so their backs are facing the sofa back," said Snape, arranging the chairs. "Next, we will get some sheets from the laundry room. The nice dark blue ones. Those should block out some of the light."

"Okay," Harry said, following Snape.

As they walked down the hall, there was another great flash of lightning. Harry jumped badly and sped ahead so he was beside Snape, his heart pounding as thought it was trying desperately to escape his chest. The thunder sounded, and even though he knew he would be embarrassed by it later, Harry grabbed Snape's hand.

Professor Snape looked down, and Harry looked quickly away. To his amazement, Snape's hand tightened around his, and he did not say a word.

Together the two carried the stacks of navy blue sheets into the sitting room, and set to work draping them over the backs of the sofa and chairs. Harry took the embroidered pillows from the armchair, and they propped these up against the sofa back inside the tent so they would have something comfortable to rest their backs against them. Upon Snape's encouragement, Harry then braved the stairs to go get the magical phoenix night light that resided there. Snape stood at the bottom of the stairs the whole time.

"Come on, Phoenix," Harry said to it, holding his hands out. Dumbledore had brought the night light when they first arrived here together. It was something of his invention, and Harry had watched as he had taken it from his pocket and instructed it to rest there on the wall. The Phoenix night light flapped its wings and then fluttered into Harry's hands. The magic of it astounded him, and Harry couldn't help but smile at it. Harry brought the phoenix down into the little fort, and it fluttered in and settled on the back of one of the chairs, lightning up the small area.

"There," said Snape, surveying their handiwork.

There was another flash of lightning, and Harry went into the fort. Snape followed, and the two of them sat down, resting against the sofa back.

"Better?" asked Snape, looking down at Harry.

"Yeah," Harry replied, much calmer now. The lightning was not so bright in here, and the phoenix light was calming. "You're really good at building forts."

"Well, I had help," said Snape, smirking.

"How did you think of it?" Harry said, rather amazed at his Professor's ingenuity.

"I built a lot of forts when I was young."

"What were you trying to keep away?" Harry blurted out. The question was quite innocent, but Snape looked shocked. Harry looked down at his feet for a moment. "Sorry," he muttered.

Harry was further amazed when Snape shook his head, and actually replied.

"My father," was the soft answer, and Harry looked up suddenly, studying Snape's face. His brows were furrowed, and he looked thoughtful. "I was trying to keep my father away."

"Why?" Harry whispered, eyes wide, almost afraid to know.

Snape sighed, a thoughtful look on his face. He opened his mouth a few times, as though to speak. After a few failed attempts, the words came out.

"He drank," he said finally. "A lot."

"I-I'm, sorry," Harry said, suddenly feeling his heart clench.

"It was a long time ago," muttered Snape, eyes downcast.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying to forget the sound of the storm. For a moment, he opened them again, and looked up at Snape, wanting to tell him that he understood. Snape was not the only one who had been scared for someone in his family to come home. Snape looked expectant, but Harry fell silent, afraid to speak. The sounds of Hermione coming down the stairs met their ears, and Harry looked at his feet.

"Oh, there you two are!" she said in amazement. "I am sorry it took me so long. The books were at the very bottom of a trunk in the attic. I had to do a fair bit of digging. May I come in?"

"Yes," Harry said to her softly.

"What a great fort," she said, looking up at the ceiling made from sheets.

"It's to keep the lightning away," Harry said to her. For a moment, Hermione looked over to Professor Snape when she thought Harry wasn't looking. Harry of course, could see her out of the corner of his eye, and he was surprised by the grateful expression she showed Snape.

"Which book would you like to hear, Harry?" Hermione said after a moment, making room so that Harry could move to sit beside her, so that Harry was in the middle, Professor Snape on his other side.

"You pick," he said.

After a moment Hermione began the story, her voice soft and clear, only occasionally drowned out by thunder.

Harry did not really listen, for all he could think of was Professor Snape as a little boy. Suddenly, that memory he had seen during Occlumency lessons, the one where Snape was a child and crying in the corner while his parents fought, made sense. Harry could almost picture a young Snape, trembling in a homemade fort not too different from this one, probably up in his bedroom while he heard the slamming of doors and raised voices down below, wondering if he was going to get it too. Perhaps it was because Harry had been in a situation not too different from that on many occasions, lying low in his cupboard or out in the garden as he waited, wondering when Uncle Vernon was going to find him after he'd done something freaky, something he couldn't help.

After some time Harry let his mind rest, and he watched the phoenix light. The storm was softer now, and Hermione had started the second book. Harry was getting a little bit sleepy, and so it was a bit of a surprise when Hermione fell silent, the second book finished.

She looked down at Harry.

"Thanks, Hermione," he whispered.

"I think the storm's almost over now," she said. "See, listen. Just rain."

Harry smiled hesitantly.

"Are you ready to go back to bed?"

A huge yawn came over Harry, and Hermione just smiled.

"Yeah, I thought so," she whispered, then lowered her voice even further as she continued. "Looks like Professor Snape is too."

Harry looked to his left, and he had to cover his mouth to stifle a giggle. Snape had fallen fast asleep, slumped up against the sofa back, his chin resting on his chest.

"Come on, Harry," she mouthed, crawling out of the fort and making way for him. Harry came out, and stood by watching as Hermione took one of the knitted throws sitting nearby and carefully settled it on Professor Snape. He let out a soft snore, and she froze, but he did not stir.

With one backward glance at Snape fast asleep, Harry took Hermione's offered hand and went up the dark stairs and let her help him to bed. He was exhausted, and now that the storm was gone the adrenaline had run out, and he was running on an empty tank.

"You know, ‘Mione," Harry said tiredly as she tucked the covers around him in the dimly lit room, his speech becoming childish with fatigue, "me an' Professor Snape aren't so different."

"Really," she said, kneeling by his bedside. "In what way?"

"His family wasn't so good to him either," Harry said, stifling a yawn. "Well, maybe his mummy was. But his daddy was scary an' my Uncle's scary, so I guess we're kinda alike."

"I think you should tell him that," said Hermione thoughtfully, her eyes seeming oddly bright. "Maybe you can tell Professor Snape some of your stories. Perhaps he'll share some of his too."

"Yeah," Harry said, letting Hermione settle Buttons beside him in the bed. "Yeah. Someday ... someday ‘m gonna tell him."

Then he closed his eyes, and to his surprise Hermione pressed her lips to his forehead. He was too tired to react, and fell into a deep sleep in an instant, before she even had the chance to turn the lights out. And in the morning when he vaguely remembered the night before, the memory brought to mind the look he had seen in Mrs. Weasleys' eyes when she saw him, for it was the same look that had been in Hermione's. It was an expression of love, the kind that a family has for each other. For a long time after that Harry stared up at the ceiling his room, the morning light shining on his bed, wondering if anyone had ever looked at Snape that way.

Severus sat with his morning coffee, scowling at the letter Dumbledore had sent back to him, phrases bouncing around in his head.

... too busy to come talk to you during the next week ... mean to say you are concerned? ... Harry's relatives have provided him with a home ... is true they may be hard on him, but ... Would it be possible for you to voice your concerns in the next letter? ... no way for me to answer your request in person in the coming days, demand or not ...

"Bloody old coot!" Severus growled, slamming his mug onto the table, fuming.

Unable to sit any longer, Severus got up and began to pace around the kitchen. Potter had risen long before him despite the late night, being on the clock of a child, and Severus glanced out the window to see that the boy was sitting on the swing again, with his head down. Potter was acting listless again, and it was not what Severus wanted to see. For a little while Potter had been acting as a young boy should, which had been rather good for him, in Severus' opinion, despite the extra work it created. Now, however, Potter had fallen back into his gloomy, apathetic demeanour. Fury coursed through Severus' veins again, but not because of Potter.

He snorted slightly, unable to believe that Dumbledore's reply had made him this angry. It occurred to Severus only now that it was not so much curiosity that had made him write that last letter to Dumbledore, demanding answers about Potter's home life. It was in fact, very real concern that had made him do so, and this thought made him question for a moment just who he was and what he'd done with Severus Snape. Frowning, Severus shook his head slightly. The way he saw Potter just wasn't the same anymore, and it was at this moment that he finally saw just how much his view had changed. Thinking of how he saw the boy at the end of the school year, to now, was astounding to him. He almost didn't mind the boy. In fact, he almost liked him sometimes. And it had gotten to the point where he was worried enough about Potter that he was losing sleep over it. It was strange to think that things had changed. His hate of everything Potter had grounded him over the years. It had been the only thing that never changed, but now that that was gone, Severus did not know what to be sure of.

He had thought that Potter was a brat. Disagreeable and spoiled beyond belief and now all he could see was a boy not unlike the one he used to be. It scared him, however much he hated to admit, and it brought on a whole wave of confusing feelings.

Severus sighed, walking back to his chair and sinking down into it again. It had taken some getting used to, but he was at last willing to admit to himself that he was worried about Potter's living arrangements, not because Potter was a former student of his, but because he actually gave a damn what happened to him. He was sure the boy had been about to tell him something last night during the storm, when Severus had shared that his father used to drink. Had Dumbledore seen that look last night, Severus doubted that he would push the issue aside again. But what on earth could he do, though? He wanted to march right up to Dumbledore and interrogate him, but it was clear from the phrasing of the letter that Dumbledore was skirting the issue. Sure, he was a busy man, but he had always made time for matters concerning Potter in the past. Not this time, however, and Severus was sure the he knew something about this.

Severus lifted his coffee cup again, wondering how he could get the answers out of Dumbledore. A moment later he felt his mouth open with shock, and the mug almost slid from his slack grip. He tightened his fingers on the handle just in time, his brain whirring.

Who says I have to go to Dumbledore, anyway? he thought to himself.

He could still apparate. He was sure he could. There was no wand movement required. One only had to have the wand on person, and perform the simple twisting motion. It was mostly concentration anyway.

Severus stood up immediately, heart hammering from the exhilaration of stumbling upon the answer to his dilemma.

He glanced out the window and frowned. But how would he get past Potter? He would have to go to the point to disapparate. He would be seen by Potter if he was outside, and the last thing he wanted was to have Potter ask him where he was going, or worse, send a letter to Dumbledore saying he knew Severus had left. Severus would much rather spring the news of his excursion on Dumbledore after he had returned, lest someone try to stop him. But the boy was outside, and would undoubtedly notice his absence, even if he was only gone for a few hours. Severus frowned deeply. There had to be something that could be done to distract the boy.

"Good morning, sir," said Miss Granger, coming into the kitchen, looking weary. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down, staring into it. There were shadows under her eyes.

"You look exhausted," Severus told her, shaken roughly from his thoughts by her appearance. "Then again, I suppose none of us got that much sleep last night, what with the storm."

"Well, I couldn't fall asleep, even after the storm," sighed Granger, her eyes flicking up to Severus for a moment.

Severus nodded, not knowing what to say, but hoping a look of understanding was enough. She looked like she wanted to say something more, and for a moment she opened her mouth as though she was going to, but then she closed it, and looked down at her coffee.

Severus sat back down at the table, across from her. It was obvious she needed to talk, and despite the fact that he was quite sure there were millions of people on earth that would likely do better than him at this, Severus knew that he would have to do for now.

"What have you got on your mind?" he asked quietly.

Miss Granger looked surprised for a second, but she just sighed, and rested her chin on her fist, stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. Some of her dark hair fell onto her cheek, making her seem paler.

Severus let her be silent for a moment, hoping that she would say something.

"I miss them," she whispered finally, her eyes glancing up from her coffee cup, filled with tears.

"I know," he said quietly, not sure what else to say.

Miss Granger took in a shuddering breath, letting the spoon go so that it sat in her coffee. It made a soft clink against the ceramic.

"Sir?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Yes?" Severus said, not realizing he was whispering too.

"Will ... will it ever stop hurting?" she whispered.

The first word of his answer slipped from his lips before he could think. It was the honest answer, but he feared it was the wrong one.

"No," Severus had said heavily, sighing. He paused for a moment or so before continuing with care, knowing he had to properly explain such an answer. "You will always miss them, if that is what you mean. But ... it will get better, and after a while the pain will dull until you can think of the good times had with your parents. Still ... there are some wishes people never let go of, and the wish not to have lost someone is one of those."

"Do you still miss your parents?" asked Miss Granger slowly, cautiously.

"I miss my mother a great deal," Severus muttered, knowing that Granger needed honesty right now. Besides, what did he have to lose? He was not going back to teaching. Who cared if she told the whole school this? Yet, even if he had been going back to teach, Severus had a feeling Miss Granger would not broadcast anything he said. She was not that type of person, and it made his words flow easier when the time came.

"What about your father?" she asked.

"He was a piece of work," Severus said, scoffing slightly. "I do not understand what my mother saw in him. Whatever that was, he lost it pretty quickly, I think."

"I am sorry to hear," muttered Miss Granger.

Severus shrugged, then said, "I guess it was not all bad. I learned how to look after myself, mostly, and how to stand my ground."

Severus frowned as Miss Granger looked at him. She had straightened up in her chair, and a curious expression had fallen upon her face. He was just about to ask her what she meant by it when she spoke.

"You probably don't want to hear this," she told him slowly, "but strangely enough, you really remind me of Harry sometimes."

"I do?" Severus asked, bewildered and a little bit defensive. "How?"

"Well," she began carefully, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup thoughtfully, "neither you nor Harry are what you seem. On the outside both of your manage to make it look like you have it together, but ... well, forgive me for saying so, but you two play that role better than you live it. I hope that doesn't offend you, at all. See, now that I know you a bit better ... you really aren't what I expected. Of course, Harry is often not what people expect either. I think that he has surprised you as well, in some ways."

"No offence taken," said Severus, shaken at how well her words had described him. He still didn't much care for being compared to Potter, though, but he was careful not to show this, as he did not want to distress Miss Granger. Dumbledore's letter swam in front of his vision quite suddenly, and he knew that now was the moment to swallow his pride. "However much I hate to admit it, you are quite right that Potter has surprised me. I am ... afraid that I was wrong about him. Very wrong. Which is why I need to leave today."

"What, where?" Miss Granger said, sounding panicked. "Will you come back?"

"It will just be for a few hours," Severus assured her, surprised by her concern. "I believe that Potter's home situation isn't as ideal as many think. I need to talk to his Aunt. Dumbledore has been skirting the issue, which is a very bad sign indeed, so I am going to go pay her a visit. I knew Petunia. The Evans' lived a few neighbourhoods over, and Petunia was very jealous of her sister. I have reason to think that she may have carried that grudge a little bit too far."

"Rather like your grudge against Harry's father?" blurted Miss Granger suddenly. She went red and pressed her lips tightly together once she'd said it. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't me-"

Severus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them.

"No, you are right," Severus admitted slowly, his heart sinking, feeling his neck grow hot from shame, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I did see only James Potter, but I was wrong. I owe it to Lily to ensure her son's safety, to whatever cost, a role I have only partly filled as of late. But now I have a chance to do this properly, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could distract him for a few hours. Two, perhaps, just until I am back. Claim I am ill, or something of that nature if he asks about me. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," said Miss Granger, her eyes ablaze with determination.

"I will be leaving in about twenty minutes," said Severus. "If you could have Potter upstairs at that time and away from the windows, that would allow me to disapparate without his knowledge. And before I go, you should know that there is a single silver sickle in the drawer of my desk. If something happens while I am gone, hold it in your closed hand for fifteen seconds and Madam Pomfrey will be alerted that you need help. If you keep it in your hand until thirty seconds have passed it will alert Dumbledore as well. You will know someone has gotten your signal when it emits heat. Only summon Dumbledore if it is absolute emergency. I give you permission to tell him where I went in such a situation. Is that clear?"

"Yes. Good luck, Professor."

"And to you as well," he said, turning to go to his room and prepare for the trip.

"Wait, sir," Miss Granger said, "why don't you just ask him? Just ask Harry, I mean?"

Severus frowned.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "there is always two sides to every story, and this way, I will have more proof. Beside ... do you really think he would tell me?"

Miss Granger looked thoughtful and then said, "I do. If you asked right."

"The problem is," said Severus after a moment of hesitation, a ripple of fear going through him, "I do not know how to."

She nodded, silence falling over the two. Severus spared her one last glance, then turned on his heel and retreated into his bedroom to gather the necessary things for the excursion.

***

Severus crept from his room. He was wearing his robes, for full effect. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to do all the buttons up, but oddly enough, it was easier than the last time he had tried. Feeling slightly elated, and also wanting to puke at the same time as he thought about what he had to do, he shuffled out of the cottage. Miss Granger so far seemed to be keeping Potter out of the way, and he saw no trace of him as he walked over to the point to apparate to Privet Drive.

His heart was hammering as badly as it had the very first time he had apparated, because Lily had been only a few hoops over. She had been deliberately ignoring him, but he had wanted so badly to be the first in the class to apparate, so as to impress her. He'd been reading books on technique for months, and practising without his wand, wanting to prove himself to anyone who was watching. Especially Lily, whom he was careful to position himself near each class.

"Come on, Severus," he muttered to himself, standing on the outcrop of rocks, looking over the endless sea, trying to keep his knees from shaking. "You have come a long way since then."

He thought with a wince back to the time he had first achieved apparition. Sure, thanks to those endless months of preparation, by the end of the third class he had managed to become the first to apparate. Or at least most of him had. He'd left a leg behind because he was distracted by the wave of Lily's hair at the last moment as she twirled on the spot.

"Just have to hold the wand steady, Sev, and that's it," he muttered under his breath, knowing he'd have to get a move on before Potter looked out his window.

Lily swam before his vision again, but not as the memory of the girl who he had wanted to impress, but as the woman he owed everything to. And the thing that had been everything to her was not Severus, but her son. So, thinking of everything he had yet to do, of all the ways he had failed her, of how much he wished he could take it all back, he felt his nerves turn to steel. He took a deep breath, let all else but his the thought of his destination fade into the background of his consciousness, and let himself fall into nothing.

He appeared in an alley not far from Privet Drive, and the first thing Severus did was check to see he had all of himself there. Thankfully, he had. Pride swelled in his chest for a moment, but the dread born from knowing what he had come here to do replaced it quickly. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket for Potter's Invisibility cloak, which Molly had thought it best to put away for the time being. Thankfully, Severus knew exactly where she had put it - high up in a box in the Laundry room.

It was around noon, and he walked along the streets as quietly as he could, the summer sun making it hot under the cloak. He was panting by the time he reached number four, and even though he knew it would be a relief to get out of the sun, he faltered on the front steps, staring at the gleaming door knocker.

Oh how he hoped Petunia had gotten fat.

Of course, this was not the reason for himself pausing on the step. It was not that he wanted to savour the moment where he could choose to believe that Petunia had been run over by the freight train of middle age (although he enjoyed this anyway). Quite frankly, it was the fact that he wasn't sure he could pull this whole act off. What had he been thinking? He could threaten her all he liked, but he couldn't even make her hair stand on end if he wanted to, what with his total lack of wand waving skills.

Then, of course, a more frightening thought occurred to him. What if he just snapped? What if he lost control of his magic? It had happened earlier with Potter. Who was to say it couldn't happen here? Besides, Petunia always found a way to wind him up. While with Lily it had been love at first sight, with Petunia it had been hate from the moment he had seen her bouncing brown curls. Severus feared that the very same thing that fuelled the childish hope that her looks had gone south would betray him, and cause him to do something he couldn't fix.

Fear festered in his gut, and his shoulders slouched. He turned on his heel so that his back was facing the door and stared down Privet Drive, the cheerful sunshine mocking him.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't do this. How on earth could he fool her that well?

Same way I have always done it, he thought suddenly to himself, remembering what Granger had said while comparing him to Potter.

"On the outside both of you manage to make it look like you have it together," he heard her say in his head, "but ... well, you two play that role better than you live it."

So what if he couldn't live it? So what if he did not really have the power he once had? How could he have forgotten his motto? Fake it ‘til you make it. That was always his saying, from age ten on. That was what he had learned to tell himself when his father was sneering at him as a child for one thing or another, asking him if he was going to cry. And Severus had always swallowed his pain and lied through his teeth, all the while looking up at his father with the scowl he had become known for in the halls of Hogwarts, the one that said get out of my way or you'll be sorry.

"Aww, is little Sevvie gonna cry?" he heard his father say through drunken lips.

Severus scowled, gritting his teeth. He squared his shoulders and whirled around to grasp the metal door knocker through the cloak, rapping hard on the door, wand drawn and ready for a fight ... ready to fake if for all he was worth.

Petunia was the one that came to the door, as he had predicted. It was during the day, and from what he remembered Lily saying about the scum Petunia had been dating years ago, and then married, Vernon's other wife was his workplace. So of course it was Petunia who answered.

Severus pushed past her. She gave a shriek, not seeing who was there because of the cloak, and then he slammed the door behind him. He tore off the invisibility cloak, scowling at her with all his might, trying to distract her from his fumbling hands as he stuffed the cloak in his pocket.

His first thought was of disappointment that she had remained as thin as a stick insect. The second, with a wry kind of satisfaction, was that she looked more like a horse than ever.

"YOU!" screamed Petunia.

He sneered and raised his wand, pointing it at her with his left hand. Like she'd ever know which was his proper wand hand.

"Not even a hello?" he said with a dark laugh.

"G-Get out of here!" she spat, her anger replaced with shock, and now ... fear? "How dare you! V-Vernon is -"

"Isn't home," said Severus, his wand trained on her still.

He smirked when she paled.

"If you're here for Potter, he isn't here!" she screeched, recovering quickly.

"I know he isn't, you daft lunatic," Severus spat at her.

"Then what are you here for?" she said, her fists clenched, red spots on her bony cheekbones.

"I was in the neighbourhood," Severus drawled, lowering his wand and tapping it menacingly against his leg, making it look as though it was an unconscious act. Petunia watched the wand, eyes wide.

"Crawled out of the gutter to see what high class society is like?" she spat with gusto, fire snapping in her eyes.

"If that was what I was doing, why on earth would I come to this hovel?" he said casually, pushing past her and into the kitchen as she opened and closed her mouth silently like a fish. He rummaged around, found the kettle, filled it and threw it on the stove for no other purpose but to wind her up.

"Tea, Petunia?" he said courteously.

His words were drowned out by the most unladylike assortment of curses he'd heard in a long time. If he'd had the time he might have written a few of the better ones down.

"Good to see Vernon taught you well," Severus snapped back at her, and she let out a screech of mirth, threw her hands up in the air and marched toward him, standing up as tall as she could, her face inches from his. He stood calmly and quietly, staring down at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Alright, you lowlife scum, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" she hissed. "Don't pretend you wanted to see me. What do you want?"

"What is your opinion on Potter?" he said casually, not bothered by her taunting.

She stepped back, huffing and looking surprised.

"What kind of a question -"

"Just answer," Severus said firmly, twitching his left hand so she took notice of the wand in his grasp once more.

"Lazy, rude, freakish," she listed, arms crossed. For a moment, the anger left her face, and her voice took on a rather urgent tone. Why? Is there something wrong with him?"

"Oh, I do not think there is anything wrong with him," Severus said rather quietly, surprised. "He has had a rough time, lately, if that is what you are referring to. Do you mean to say you are worried?"

"Dumbledore would kill me if something happened to him," spat Petunia, missing the barb within Severus' comments. "And the rest of your lot think the sun shines from his every orifice. Not to mention he's done something freaky again, and if Dumbledore can't fix it I don't know what we'll do."

"But you don't really like the boy, do you?" Severus said, taking on a different approach to see if it would work. "Like you said, he is rude, and very hard to live with. I have to teach him at school. Truthfully, he's a brat."

"Finally, someone else who agrees," Petunia said under her breath, latching onto the word ‘brat' like a mosquito to a fresh supply of blood.

"That is why I came, to tell the truth," admitted Severus grudgingly. "I am utterly sick of Dumbledore and his little fan club worshipping the ground Potter walks on. However much I hate your guts, you are the only one who has an accurate view of what Potter is really like."

Severus made sure that his voice was absolutely dripping with disdain. It was what Petunia had come to expect, and it would have clued her in if he acted any other way. Of course, he was quite happy to profess his hate for her.

"Something's been wrong with him lately," said Petunia distastefully, oddly set at ease by the acidic comment. "I am happy to have him gone while Dumbledore sorts out that stupid accidental magic of his ... but he was acting strangely, even before that. Of course, Vernon chalked it down to laziness, and he might be right. Whatever it was, Vernon thinks he had no right to act the way he did, moping all day long. That I definitely agree with."

"His Godfather died," said Severus before he could stop himself, barely reminding himself to keep the ice from his voice.

"Well, that explains that," she said, looking a little unnerved. "I thought he was trying to kill himself by starvation."

"Didn't you ask him why he was not eating?" Severus said before he could stop himself, disgusted. Petunia seemed to think that his disgust was regarding Potter being foolish and refusing food.

"After a few weeks I asked," said Petunia, to Severus' surprise, actually looking concerned for a moment. "I will admit I was a little worried. I told Vernon to lay off him a bit."

"And normally you do not say anything?" Severus said, trying not to grind his teeth.

"Oh no, it's good for the boy to have his ego taken down a notch occasionally. His freakishness gets out of hand otherwise. I daresay that was why he did that stupid thing with his magic. I never should have told Vernon to leave him alone. I don't know what got into me."

An ounce of decency, probably, though Severus wryly. Oh well, better squash that right away. Next thing you know you might start feeling charitable toward others, let alone your own flesh and blood!

"Well, goodness knows the boy deserves it," said Severus, hating to say it but sensing Petunia was enjoying talking to another Potter hater. Her attitude toward the boy made Severus' insides boil quite suddenly, even though he knew he was a hypocrite, considering the way he used to treat Potter. He clenched his fists together, for he could feel the magic tingling down his spine, the way it did before something bad happened. "What do you normally do to keep him in control? He's a menace in the classroom."

"Well, Vernon yells at him a lot, and gives him plenty of chores. The best thing to keep him out of the way is to give him a good scare. Shout at him suddenly, stage a bad mood to drive him out from underfoot, try to catch him with a pan or something. Things like that."

Severus clenched his hands tighter. He did not have to open his mouth to prod her into continuing, because Petunia was just dying to tell someone about all this, for she was obviously sick of Potter's lot taking his side.

"A good wallop to the back of the head smartens him up. He's pretty quick though, and hard to catch, but the lesson sinks in all the better when you finally do get him."

"Interesting," said Severus, counting slowly to ten in his head as he felt the crackle of magic at the tips of his fingers. "Do you mind showing me what his room is like? I'd like to get a sense of how he normally lives."

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then Severus continued.

"I would really appreciate if you didn't mention this to Dumbledore," said Severus in a conspiratorial tone. "He seems to think the boy can do no wrong. I trust you can keep a secret?"

"I will not say a word," she said smugly, all suspicion forgotten at the thought of a juicy secret. "This way. His room is upstairs now."

"Where was it before?" Severus asked, trying to forget the pounding in his heart at the thought of trying to go up the stairs quickly. He was still quite slow.

"The cupboard," said Petunia, pulling open a door under the stairs as they passed it, revealing an old mattress and a couple of shelves with cleaning supplies. "He was horribly destructive. We had no choice but to make this his room until he could smarten up and treat his living quarters carefully. When he started school he got a little better so we moved him upstairs to get him out from underfoot. He's so hot headed. Sometimes when he got really upset he'd try to barricade himself in here -"

Severus stopped dead in his tracks, her words continuing but not registering.

The cupboard ... the cupboard. Where did Potter go when he had that first accident and thought he was going to get in trouble? Small space, heavy door. The wardrobe.

"Damn, look at the time," said Severus, feeling his stomach drop when he saw that the picture frames on the walls shaking ever so slightly, unnoticed by Petunia. "I have to go. Perhaps some other time. I appreciate your insight on the situation, Petunia. This will help immensely with my plans."

"What are you planning on doing with him?"

"With Potter?" Severus said breathlessly, pushing past her and going to the door, pulling the invisibility cloak from his pocket.

"Yes."

"Oh, no, with you," he said, sneering mirthlessly at her before throwing the cloak over himself and slamming the door behind him, leaving the horror-struck look on her face permanently burned into his memory.

He only wished he could have enjoyed that.

"Hermione, can we please go outside" Harry cried hopefully, having grown tired of the game of marbles they had been playing in his room. He was feeling a lot better than he had in the morning, and now that his energy had returned, all he wanted to do was be out in the sunshine. "Pleaassee?"

"Well," said Hermione, looking at her watch. "Are you sure you don't want to go up to the attic and look around? I'm sure there are a lot of fun things to do there. Besides, it is still quite wet and muddy outside."

"But Hermione, it's such a nice day," Harry said, not realizing he was wining as he tugged on the leg of Hermione's jeans. "It stormed all night, but now the sun's come out! I'm not gonna get muddy, I promise!"

"Well," said Hermione, looking down at him. "Alright, but just for a little while, okay? Then we have to come in for lunch."

"Yes!" Harry cried, running around her legs and dashing to the stairs. He danced down the steps and ran over to the chest in the sitting room that held all the shoes. He dug around for a little while, and found his wellington boots. Harry had seen some great puddles out his window earlier from the storm the previous night.

Hermione followed shortly, and Harry bounced up and down on his toes, making the metal clasps on his overalls jingle slightly. He liked the way it sounded and jumped up and down a few times on the porch while Hermione tied her shoes. When she came out he ran down onto the spongy grass, wet from the rain. He saw a nearby puddle and splashed in it. Hermione backed away to avoid the water.

"Oops, sorry, Hermione," he said to her, pausing for a moment. "Aren't you gonna splash too?"

"I haven't got any boots like yours, silly," she said. "I'll get my feet wet."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Do you have a game in mind, Harry, or do you just want to play in the puddles?"

"Just the puddles," he said with a shrug, giving a little jump and watching the splash land all around him.

"I think I'll read on the porch, then," said Hermione. "I'm afraid I won't be much fun without some boots of my own."

"Okay!" he said back to her, and she left for a moment to go get her book, and she began to read in the rocking chair on the porch, glancing off to the point every so often. Harry wondered what she was watching for. This, he quickly forgot however, the possibilities of all the deep puddles distracting him.

"Ribbit!" he said, hopping from puddle to puddle and pretending he was a frog. He looked up after the splash landed, staring at the window on the ground floor that was in Snape's room. The blinds were closed. He frowned. He wished that Snape would come out and play catch with him. That had been fun. But he knew Hermione would never let him bother Snape. She had told him he had a headache and was sleeping.

Harry sighed, stirring his boot in the water. He looked up again, and then saw something wonderful. Mud, and lots of it. There was a great big patch a ways away, sitting underneath a tree. Harry glanced at Hermione, thinking how Aunt Petunia used to get mad if he played in the mud. But Hermione wouldn't, he thought. He just had to be careful, and not get any in the house. Hermione was nice enough not to mind it if he stayed clean. Besides, he'd wash off his wellington boots in the puddle.

So, Harry walked over to the patch of mud. It glistened in the light, and was soft and slick. He glanced once more at Hermione, who saw him looking and waved cheerfully. Harry waved back, and she went back to her book, then, he stepped into the mud. It made a fantastic squelching noise, and the coolness made Harry's boots feel cold too. He put two feet in the muck, and grinned. It was thick, but slippery, and he slid his feet a little in it. Harry really wanted to put his hands in it, but knew Hermione wouldn't like muddy hand prints, so he restrained himself, but only just.

The mud squished and gushed as Harry stepped further into the deep wallow. A little voice in the back of his head told him that he was too young and clumsy to be walking around in the mud like this, and that he'd fall, but he brushed that voice off. That was the part of him that was no fun - the one that liked to be sensible. Harry was through with being sensible, so he squished around in the sloppy mud, grinning. He wondered how well the mud would splash if he jumped in it, like the puddle. He bent his knees, and pushed off.

"Uh oh," he said, waving his arms. His boots had stayed stuck, and he'd thrown himself off balance trying to jump. He waved his arms around for a while, and luckily, he got his balance again.

Feeling like he'd just dodged a bullet, Harry slowly pulled at his boots with his hands, and then dragged them up with his feet. They came loose, and he started to step through the mud toward the grass again, thinking that he'd pushed his luck a little too much. He was close to the edge of the mud patch when he stepped on something that was just beneath the slick surface. It was raised up, and felt like a tree root. Harry waved his arms as his boot slid. He saw the exposed bark of the root after his boot slipped across it, before the mud covered most of it again. Then, he slid backward, falling onto his bum in the mud with a soft slap. Bits of muck splattered his face, and he scrambled to get to his feet again, eyes wide with fear, his small glasses speckled with dirt. He was almost at his feet when he slipped and fell to his knees. At last, he found the tree root, still slightly exposed. Harry put his hands on it and pushed himself to his feet. He scrambled to get out of the mud, and when he was on the grass, he froze.

What had he done? Fear spread throughout his body, and it took him a few moments to realize he was shaking. He was so dead, and he knew it. Memory after memory of getting Aunt Petunia's floor dirty had come back to him, and he was terrified. Harry kept his mouth shut tightly, trying to keep the quivering sob from leaving his lips. He had to be quiet, otherwise Hermione would see him. But what could he do? He looked over to the seashore. Perhaps he could go in the water to wash himself off, just deep enough to splash a little water on himself.

Then he remembered Mrs. Weasley asking him not to go in the water alone, because she thought the current might be too strong if he got too deep without anyone to watch him. He hung his head, for he didn't think it was wise to add disappointing Mrs. Weasley to his naughty list. Then he heard Hermione gasp.

"Oh, Harry, what happened?" she asked, running off the porch and down to where he was standing, sniffling and dripping muddy water, his face splattered with mud.

"I fell," he said through trembling lips, afraid to look up at her. "I'm sorry! I'm soo sooo sorry!"

"I'm not angry," she said.

Harry shut his eyes tightly, thinking of Aunt Petunia, luring him toward her, acting sympathetic, only to throw him in a cold bath and scrub him until his skin felt raw, then make him stay in his cupboard without dinner. And that was if he was lucky. He was pretty sure Hermione wouldn't do this, but some small part of him, the part that had learned to survive long ago, disagreed from experience.

"Come on, Harry, you need to get cleaned up," said Hermione, holding out her hand.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, staring at her open hand with hesitation.

"I'll run you a bath," she said, puzzled. "You can't go around the house like this. You have to get yourself cleaned up."

"You will not track mud all over my clean house!" screeched Aunt Petunia in Harry's memory.

"NO!" he shouted, stepping back from her as though he had been burned.

"Harry, what -" Hermione began, alarmed.

"NO NO NO!" Harry cried, running away from her and slipping with his muddy boots. "I DON'T NEED A BATH!"

"Yes, Harry," said Hermione, bewildered, "you do."

"NUH UH!" he cried, turning around so that he was facing her from about ten feet away, his fists clenched as he tried to fight the tears.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked quietly, holding out her hands.

Harry backed away unconsciously, remembering Aunt Petunia's bony fingers, reaching out grab him by the scruff of his neck.

"I WON'T HAVE A BATH!" he cried, feeling his chest grow tighter, the tears flowing down his cheeks without his consent.

***

Severus apparated to a slightly different location near Bell Point than the one had left from. He had noticed it from a distance upon his departure from the rocky seaside, and hoped it would serve as a good apparition point, as it too seemed to be out of the wards. It was a grassy hill a ways away from the cottage, and to his relief, it served its purpose well. The ground was smooth and less stony here, making it easier to land, thankfully. He had decided before apparating back that he would enter through the back door of the house to minimize the risk of being seen, which came in through the laundry room. Part of it was that he thought the landing would be better, and another part was that he had no desire to be seen, for he was sure that he was white as a ghost from his trip to Privet Drive. He wished he had known of the hill before, so that he would not have had to risk being seen as much by going out the front door. But he was glad that he found another place to come and go from all the same, and as he tried to calm his breathing, he walked carefully down the sloping hillside toward the house.

He did not see anyone around the back of the house, and gained entrance to the laundry room unseen. It was dim in here, and Severus tiptoed across the hall to his room. He took off his robes, then got dressed again in muggle clothing so Potter wasn't suspicious. He tried to calm his shaking body, his mind still ringing with all that Petunia had said. But he knew he had to put it out of mind for the moment until he could properly assemble the evidence and give Dumbledore a presentation that couldn't possibly be ignored. He wondered whether or not Dumbledore already knew all of this. He hoped he didn't, because the alternative was too painful to consider.

As he stepped out of his room he strained his ears to listen for Miss Granger and Potter. They were probably upstairs, he decided. He was just about to call for them so that Granger would know he was back when he heard a loud cry from the front of the house.

Suddenly worried, he walked quickly to the front door and out onto the porch. He looked around, spying Miss Granger, who looked on the verge of tears.

"What on earth -" he began to ask her when he felt something hit him hard in the legs. He backed up and almost fell, but luckily was able to lean against the wall of the house.

He heard Potter crying shrilly, and he stared down at the boy, who was now clinging to him like his life depended on him. He was also filthy from head to toe, much to Severus' chagrin.

"What happened?" he said quickly, looking to Hermione for answers.

Potter answered before she could, however, and it took every ounce of moral fibre Severus had not to completely break down with laughter.

"SHE'S GONNA MAKE ME TAKE A BATH!" he screamed like it was absolutely the end of the world, hiding his face in Severus' legs.

"A ... a bath?" said Severus carefully, trying to refrain from laughing as he forced himself to remember what it had felt like when he was a young boy to be forced to do something he didn't like.

Potter let out an unintelligible stream of words that included small phrases like "can't make me", "didn't mean to, I promise", and "anything but that".

"Look ... Harry," said Severus, barely able to stay serious, "you are covered in mud. I realize baths are really quite boring, but I hardly think you want to walk around looking like a mud puddle. Besides, you'll get all your favourite things dirty. I doubt you want your lion to get covered in mud too."

Potter seemed to pay particular attention when Severus used his first name, and he stared up at him like he'd never seen him before, silent at last. Severus was pleased, for it had been his attempt to get Potter's attention. Once he had it however, Severus' urge to laugh was gone in an instant, because upon Potter's face he saw very real terror. The unsettled feeling in his gut was hard to ignore.

"Professor, I am so sorry," said Granger under her breath, looking exhausted.

Severus dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand, still staring thoughtfully down at the boy clinging to his legs.

"Why do you not want to have bath?" Severus asked Potter gently, who was still looking on the verge of continuing with his little meltdown.

"C-Cause," he said, hiding his face in Severus' legs again.

"We can put some bubble bath in it," Severus said despite the fact that it sounded very silly to say it. "I'm sure I saw some in the bathroom cupboard."

Potter had a brief teenage moment and looked up at him like he had grown another head. Severus felt even sillier, but forgot his embarrassment when Potter resumed crying, albeit quieter this time.

"I'm not having a bath," Potter whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes again.

"Unless you tell me why not, I cannot help," said Severus slowly, trying to speak in a way that would make Potter trust him. "Why do you not want to have a bath?"

Whether or not Severus had managed to incite a small amount of trust, or Potter had simply become too upset to keep silent any longer, he answered Severus' question.

"The water's a-always cold when I'm bad," Potter said at last, "and then you'll make me go to my room without any lunch or dinner."

"I was going to run a warm bath, Harry," said Hermione suddenly, her eyes full of tears.

"You w-were?" Potter said.

She nodded.

"Tell you what," said Severus, forcing himself to breathe as he tried to ignore the resurgent lust for Petunia's blood, "you can help me run a bath. You can pick how warm it is, and you can even put in bubble bath."

"I can?"

"Certainly," said Severus, gently extracting Potter from his legs and taking his muddy hand.

"Okay," whispered Potter.

Severus looked over to Miss Granger, who looked like she wanted to cry. He felt his stomach clench, then looked down at the little boy holding his hand.

"Harry?" he said after a moment of inspiration.

The little boy's face lit up at the sound of his name again, and Severus continued.

"Would you let Hermione go up the attic and pick out a bath toy for you?"

Potter looked to Miss Granger, and grinned.

"Yeah," he said to her.

Hermione genuinely smiled back, to Severus' relief.

***

"Are you even in there?" Severus asked some time later, a little amused from where he sat on a small stool in the bathroom, only able to see Potter's dark hair amidst the mountain of bubbles. In hindsight it had been rather stupid to let Potter pour the bubble bath himself, but Severus had learned that lesson now, and he would never forget it. Just about the whole bottle had gone in, but at least the mud would disappear easily.

It had been clear from the start that Potter was definitely acting his physical age today, as he had required quite a lot of help getting into the bath. Severus had taken this duty without too much reluctance, as Potter seemed most comfortable accepting help from him, especially after Severus had trusted him to help run the water. That, and Severus did not mind helping a little so that he did not have to live with the lifelong regret of letting the Boy Who Lived get vanquished by a bottle of bubble bath.

To Severus' surprise, his question was met with a hearty giggle.

"Want your boat, Potter?" Severus asked, holding out the little wooden tug boat that Hermione had found in the attic.

"Yeah," said Potter, taking it in his bubble covered hands. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Severus said curiously.

"Call me Potter so much," asked the boy, looking puzzled.

Severus paused, trying to think of a good answer to tell a child - an answer free of all of the complications of enemies and grudges. The older Potter knew all of that already, and at the moment, it was not the older Potter asking. At least that was how Severus looked at it.

"Well," he said at last, "probably because I have been a Professor for a long time, and I always call students by their last names. I do it out of school too, because that is what I am used to."

"I like it better when you call me Harry," Potter said plainly, dropping the tugboat on a pile of bubbles and watching as it sunk down to the level of the water. "Harry's better ‘cause it's the name Mummy and Daddy picked, just for me."

"That is right, isn't it?" Severus said thoughtfully, intrigued by the boy's response.

"Yeah," said Potter.

"Alright then, Harry," said Severus slowly, Potter's reasoning still echoing in his head.

Harry's smile seemed to light up the room, and it was the kind of smile that not even a photograph could quite do justice to. For a moment, the intensity of it surprised Severus. It was then that he felt he had good reason to believe that Petunia had never seen a smile like this from her nephew, because he could not quite bring himself to believe that this same sight would not change her the way it changed him in an instant.

It was quarter to ten in the evening, and Harry had long been in bed. Severus was rummaging around in the wooden crates that had been rescued from his old home on Spinner's End. Right now the boxes rested in the far back corner of the laundry room. There were only a few, and most contained books. There were a number of personal items among them: old photographs, childhood memoirs, and so on. One crate, however, Severus was particularly glad had been saved, for Petunia's words kept running over and over in his head, making his neck tense. He rummaged around through the sawdust and wood shavings with his left hand, kneeling as well as he could on the floor. The dust made him want to sneeze, but it had been a necessary evil in packing these away. He'd done so a few months ago, for he had sensed that the Dark Lord was ill at ease. In fact, all these boxes had been packed months ago. It was a good thing too, for otherwise the Order might not have gotten anything out of the house before the Death Eaters got to it.

"Aha," he murmured, a crooked grin on his face as he felt the cool glass. He pulled it out of the box carefully, mindful not to get dust everywhere. He carefully took the bottle and wiped it with a cleaning rag until he could see the dark wine within it.

Smirking, he carefully lifted the bottle, holding it against his chest with his good arm so he would not drop it, and he walked out into the kitchen. To his surprise Miss Granger was in there, sitting at the kitchen table. She was staring down at a closed book of some sort, looking rather pale. Severus made to back out of the kitchen, but she spotted him, although not before he had thrust the wine bottle behind his back. The teacher in his had made a brief appearance.

"Hello," she said rather curiously. "You look guilty."

"I haven't the slighted idea what you're talking about," he said quickly.

"What do you have behind your back?" she said, her lips quirked as though she was holding back a smile.

"For the love of ..." Severus muttered darkly beneath his breath. "Oh alright, but do not tell Dumbledore. I'm not sure he would approve of me drinking around a former student, even if it's just one glass ..."

Severus set the slightly dusty wine bottle on the kitchen table, and went over to the kitchen drawers to hunt for a corkscrew.

"Wine?" Granger said, a little amused.

"My mother's collection, actually," said Severus as he searched the drawer. "She made it herself. It was a talent of hers, and I thought that the time was ripe to open this particular bottle."

"I helped my parents made wine once," said Miss Granger, blinking rapidly. "It was ready this summer. They opened a bottle and we all tried it."

"How did it turn out?" Severus asked curiously, at last finding a corkscrew.

Miss Granger suddenly smiled, although she looked like she was trying not to.

"Awful," she said quietly, her voice quivering. "It was practically vinegar. Pity too."

Severus sat down at the table and took the bottle. He lifted it down and put it between his legs to stabilize it, as his right hand wasn't much help with that. He drove the corkscrew in the bottle, and began to twist it. It was rather difficult, but he worked at it slowly. At last, the cork gave way, and he set the opened bottle on the table.

Severus looked over the book Miss Granger had before her.

"Is that a photo album?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said, looking down at it with sad eyes. "From when I was little. I thought ... I thought maybe I'd chance looking at it, just a little to try and ... well ..."

"Remember the good times," finished Severus.

"Yeah," she said. "Only, I can't seem to work myself up to open it."

"I know what that is like," muttered Severus under his breath. He scoffed at himself. "I turned every picture of my mother around in the house for a good year after she died. Seems stupid now, really, but back then ... it wasn't." She did not respond, and Severus got up to grab a wine glass. There were a few on a rack in the pantry, which he had seen earlier. He opened the door, and as he took a glass he saw the troubled look on Miss Granger's face.

The Professor in him said hell no, but the human in him said yes.

He took down a second glass.

He strode over to the table and set the glasses down.

"Normally I wouldn't offer, but seeing as Dumbledore seems allergic to this place ... why not?" said Severus, holding up the glass. "That, and he cannot fire me now. Would you like a little bit of wine, Miss Granger? I daresay you are old enough, and responsible enough."

Miss Granger looked at him in surprise, but she smiled, and whispered yes.

Severus poured out a small amount into the glass, and nudged it toward her, then poured one for himself, and took a sip. It was a good bottle. A very good one. Miss Granger seemed pleased as well by it. Severus had a feeling her parents had been wine lovers, because not many teenagers he had met appreciated much besides whatever had the highest alcohol content. Miss Granger, however, seemed to genuinely like the flavour. She stared thoughtfully down at the photo album.

"Oh, I just can't do it," muttered Granger, her hand poised over the cover.

Severus frowned. Then he closed his eyes for a second, wondering what on earth he was doing, but having the strangest feeling it was the best bet.

"Well," he said slowly, "would it help if I showed you my photo album first? It might ease you into looking at yours."

"What, and see pictures of you and your parents?" Granger said, taken aback. "You would really show it to me?"

"Why not?" said Severus with a shrug. "Besides, as a Professor, if you ever tell stories about me, I can send the worst recommendation letter that has ever been written when you try to get a job."

It was said lightly, and to his surprise, Granger actually laughed.

"Alright," she said. "I'd love to see it."

Severus returned in a few minutes with the old leather album under his arm. Miss Granger moved over so that he could put his chair on the same side, and then he dropped the heavy book onto the table before taking a sip of wine.

"A lot of the pictures are muggle pictures," explained Severus. "Magical film was more expensive. We really didn't have a lot of money. We were lucky at all to have the awful camera we did. It was a wedding present to my parents. Ready?"

"Are you?" Miss Granger said with a small laugh as she took a small sip of wine.

"Not really, but what the hell," he admitted, rolling his eyes and opening the book. "Page one ... in which Severus Tobias Snape is brought home from the hospital, and Tobias Snape's horrible, awful sixties moustache steals the show."

Miss Granger looked down at the first picture curiously, at the man holding a small baby with dark hair.

"Wow, is he scary looking," Miss Granger whispered, as though afraid Tobias would hear.

"Tell me about it," said Severus gloomily. "And the worst part is that I keep seeing him in the mirror."

"You do look a lot alike," said Granger seriously, taking a side glance at him. "Is that your mum?"

"Yes," said Severus, looking rather fondly upon the picture on the next page, black and white and yellowing with age. She was wearing a polka dot dress, and smiling tiredly as she cradled a tiny baby with just a few wisps of black hair.

"Aww, you were so cute," said Miss Granger.

"You are lucky I cannot wave a wand," said Severus lightly, "or you would have just been hexed."

"It is true though," said Hermione, snickering. "Bet the Slytherins would love to see it."

"If they ever do, I know who to blame," said Severus, rolling his eyes as he flipped the page. "I'm a little older here. This one here was taken when I was two, I think. Some of the pictures are a little spread out, time-wise."

They flipped through a few more pages, and Severus added sparse commentary. He felt his stomach drop when he flipped the page and saw a picture he had long forgotten.

It was of his father, smiling and holding him on his lap. Severus remembered that picture being taken. He was four, and was holding his favourite stuffed toy.

"That's a good picture," said Miss Granger.

"Yes, it is, isn't it," said Severus heavily.

"What's wrong?"

"Just memories," said Severus, caressing his wine glass. "Memories."

"Good ones?"

"A mixture of good and bad," he told her.

"How so?" asked Miss Granger thoughtfully.

He frowned, debating whether or not to say what was on his mind. He looked over to Miss Granger, at the bags under her eyes and the subtle sadness that seemed to have been so permanent upon her face since she had come to Bell point. He got the feeling that maybe it was time to lay some of the ghosts to rest, and voice some of his past aloud. Perhaps she needed to hear them more than he did. He thought of how sometimes for him, hearing another person's trials, however different from his own, made his feel less alone. Perhaps it would do the same for her.

"My father was a good father sometimes," Severus said to her, trying to think of all the ways he could say this as he felt the old confusion rise up in his gut. "What I've said of him probably doesn't seem to make sense of that. The problem was, my father had a tendency to be a really awful parent, but then there would be moments when you would think that he was okay. It would have been so much easier if he had simply been all bad."

"You don't have to answer this ... but what made him so bad?"

"A lot of things," said Severus quietly after a moment. "But the biggest of those was that he drank. He drank whisky, beer, gin, anything. The only thing he didn't touch was wine. He said with was for women. I guess that's why my mother wasn't afraid to make it. Everything else he kept in the house though, she used to hide from him if she thought she could get away with it safely. I'd catch her doing it when I was just a little kid."

"Do you ever drink like him?" whispered Miss Granger, her words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

"No. And when I do drink, only wine ... call it a little gesture of defiance," smirked Severus, not mentioning his fear of drinking anything else.

Miss Granger nodded, then took a sip from her glass. They continued, and Miss Granger asked a few questions here and there.

"Harry's mother," said Granger suddenly, seeing a picture of Severus and a young Lily, sitting on the front step. Lily was talking animatedly, frozen in time.

"We were eleven," Severus said, suddenly smiling. "My mother took that shot. Lily had come over to borrow a book when my father was at work. Oh, she was a real live wire. I think you two would have liked each other. She was as smart as a whip, and had a temper to match. She had a righteous way about her, and was always up to defending people. Of course, just because she set store in the rules did not mean she was beneath decking someone who really deserved it. One time she even broke Sirius Black's nose. He was always a little sore on that point with her. We were fourteen when that happened."

"What did he do?" Miss Granger said, laughing.

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Severus fondly. "But it was something I will never forget. From what I have heard, though, Lily is not that unique in the ability to throw a good punch," Severus added slyly, sipping his wine with mirth.

"Draco Malfoy deserved that," said Miss Granger sharply.

"I have no doubt he did."

He flipped the page, ignoring her surprised look. Many pages passed. The last page came quicker than Severus thought it would, and he paused, staring down at a picture of him sitting in the old living room at Spinner's End. He was sitting next to his mother, and they were both reading from the same article.

"I remember that evening," muttered Severus, watching the memories flash before his eyes. "It was the summer before my fifth year. We were reading the newest issue of Potions Monthly. We lived for that magazine. I remember writing back and forth to her throughout the year, discussing articles and discoveries. I was always able to get it in the Library at school when the new issue came. Madam Pince knew it was my favourite, and I was always top of the list to get it."

Severus sighed and put his glass to his lips, mind swirling, for it was what had happened after that picture that he would always remember.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Miss Granger after a minute or so, noting that the book remained open despite this being the last picture.

"Well, a couple of weeks before I went back to school that year, they died," said Severus, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "My father and I had fought that evening. My mother ... she came up to my room to talk to me. I listened, but I didn't really pay attention. I wish I could remember what she had said. Maybe ... things would have turned out differently, then."

"What, you think they might have lived?"

"No ... I mean I might not have been such an idiot the rest of that year. Had it not been for that argument ... that night, perhaps I might have had a chance at a bright future."

"What did you argue about?" asked Miss Granger, surprised and shocked.

Severus frowned, staring into the dark red wine in his glass, and then he answered.

"We were discussing careers," he said finally, for time had made that night harder to keep within him. As more and more years passed, the weight of what once was had grown heavy, and it was a burden that he was growing tired of bearing. "I was going into my fifth year, and, as you know, that year is when you branch out a lot, and pick your classes to suit a career."

"What did you want to do?"

"Well, I wanted to be healer," said Severus, waiting for her to scoff at him.

"Really?"

There was no doubt or harshness in her voice. She sounded surprised, but not in a bad way.

"Believe it or not," said Severus heavily, "I did. It fascinated me, especially the potions aspect. It still does, I suppose. It was all I really wanted to do ... but, well, my father thought otherwise."

"He didn't like the idea?"

"He ... well, my mother and I tried to explain exactly what a healer was to him," began Severus. "He was a muggle, and ... he seemed to be under the impression a healer was like a nurse. He went berserk ... and started bellowing at me how no son of his was going to do a woman's job. He brought up a whole bunch of stuff from when I was kid, like how my favourite stuffed toy as a kid had been a horse, which he thought was ‘girly'. Stuff like that, and he used it like it was evidence that I had never been a proper man or something, and as he kept shouting he said that he wasn't going to let me disgrace the family name by doing a woman's job.

"That's hardly fair," said Miss Granger, horrified.

"Ah, well, he was an ass," Severus said casually as if it was of no concern, "A chauvinistic ass, at that. It was the seventies too. Times were different. Anyway, I was furious, and after about an hour of him tossing stuff at me and bellowing about how I would never amount to anything ... I believed it. And that was when it occurred to me that I could just become a Death Eater. It was easier, and I would never have to listen to anyone like him again. I was sick of him. I was sick of everything. Then, that night after they drove to the wedding he drank himself silly, and he tried to drive them home. So I was all alone, and desperate. After that, all of that propaganda dung that the pure bloods spouted started to sound pretty good, and I truly decided that I wanted to join up. So, I lost my best friend because of that. Lily didn't like the idea of me being a Death Eater, but it wasn't even just that. I was an absolute arse to her that year too. I was so bitter over my father taking my mother to the grave with him, and while she knew what had happened, I never said that it was that I was angry over, and she kept thinking I was mad at her. After that, there was no turning back.

"And that is how I ended up like this," Severus finished bitterly, looking down at his right hand and trying to flex it. "It only took me one year to completely and utterly mess my life up. Since then, just about every bad thing that's happened to me and others around me has been because of that one, horrible decision."

"But you became a spy," said Miss Granger.

"Only after Lily became a target," said Severus, feeling his heart sink. "I was no saint. I was a wretched excuse for a human being, and I am not much better now."

"That's stupid," said Miss Granger plainly.

"What?"

"Saying that you aren't much better than you were," she explained, eyes blazing. "That is the dumbest thing that I've ever heard you say. You've protected Harry from the first day he stepped into Hogwarts - oh yes, I noticed - and over the years you have risked your life countless times, trying to ensure the downfall of that horrible excuse for a man. You may not be a knight in shining armour, but you have still sacrificed as much, if not more, than those who have always been on our side. While that does not excuse some of the things you have done, you still have fought far more for good than many people ever will."

Severus stared, not sure what to say. The words echoed through his head. Why was she defending him from himself? He had not expected that in the least, and could not help but feel amazed. It was in that one moment that he realized exactly why Potter and Weasley were such good friends with Hermione Granger. She sold things to people straight, but in a way that made them see the good, not the bad. Just like Lily had. He was speechless, and when she kept talking Severus made no move to interrupt.

"I know I've said it before, but you and Harry are so much alike," she said, looking as though she had never seen him before. "He really looks up to you now. And you know what? I think that it has taken you this long to start to warm up to him because you are afraid of disappointing him."

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but he hadn't any idea what to say, because she had hit the nail on the head. For was that not always the reason? Wasn't that why he had always remained distant from his Slytherins unless he had no choice, because he was scared to let them down? Why he had settled for being a Death Eater, for fear that his father was right, and that he was not good enough to be anything else? Why he had always been so cruel to others, because he knew he could not fall from grace he had never been given? Was he not afraid to disappoint everyone, even himself?

"Merlin," he muttered under his breath, not knowing what else to say. And then Miss Granger added one last thing.

"You are not going to disappoint him if you let him get to know you," she said quietly. "I have not been disappointed."

"Alright," he said quietly after a long time. "I will let Potter get to know me better. Really."

They both looked thoughtfully into their wine glasses for what felt like forever.

At last, Severus smirked half-heartedly and said, "Now if you do not mind, let's look at that photo album of yours. I am sick of hearing about me."

"I don't mind," she said quietly.

"And, Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking into his glass of wine.

She just nodded, and then opened the book.

"Page one," she said in a whisper, "where Hermione Jean Granger is introduced to her three adoring grandparents with their enormous bifocals."

"My lord, they look like bugs," Severus said before he could stop himself. He wanted to hit his head on the table for shame, thinking that this was the last time he wanted his mouth to run away on him.

To his amazement, Miss Granger let out a peal of laughter.

"Especially my Granddad," she said. "Grandma Jenny not so much here, but she used to wear these awful sequined shawls, kind of like Professor Trelawney. She was the life of her nursing home, in the later years."

"Do you have any grandparents left?" Severus asked hesitantly.

Miss Granger shook her head. "No. Grandma Jenny passed away two years ago. She was my favourite."

"I'm sorry to hear," Severus muttered.

"Oh well, I'm sure she's teaching everyone all her bowling tricks wherever she is. You should have seen her trophies. She joined a team a few years before I was born to keep herself occupied after her husband died."

"She sounds highly entertaining," said Severus as Miss Granger flipped the page.

"She was. My mother ... she was a lot like her," muttered Granger. Severus did not reply, and slowly she continued. "You know, I think that's the hardest thing to get used to. Speaking about them in past tense. I guess it just makes me feel even more far away."

"They are never far away, Miss Granger," Severus said quietly, remembering Dumbledore saying something similar to him once.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind ... well, calling me Hermione instead of Miss Granger, just for the summer?" she asked hesitantly. "Maybe then ... this place might feel a little ... a little like home."

"I can do that," said Severus, surprised. "Funny you should ask. Potter, or should I say Harry, asked me to use his first name earlier today as well."

"He did?" she asked, surprised.

"He said it was the name his parents wanted for him, and that's why I should call him by it," Severus said.

"Good logic," Miss Granger said thoughtfully. "Which reminds me. How did your visit with his relatives go? I've been wanting to ask you all day, really."

"It went well, but only in the sense that I got a lot of information out of Petunia," said Severus distastefully. "I'm going to use the memory as evidence to build a case for Harry, so Dumbledore will finally do something about his situation. Although, he probably doesn't know as much as he thinks he does, on the matter. Some of the things Petunia said ... but ... we can discuss this another night. I'll need time to think all of it over anyway.

"Besides right now is all about you and your family, and I will listen as long as you want to speak." He paused for a moment, thoughts swirling. He looked to Miss Granger, and then added, "You know, I have come to see that you tend to think so much about others, you sometimes forget to think of yourself."

Miss Granger's eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, looking as though she did not know what to say. Severus knew he had been right to say what he had. He watched her carefully as she flipped to a new page in the photo album.

"This is my second birthday," she said with a shaky laugh. "Dad had to bake the cake because Mum was working the night before. That was the last time he tried a layer cake."

Severus chuckled as he looked down at the cake, which a young Hermione was blowing the candles out on. The cake was leaning at an impressive angle.

"Are you sure your father was not magical?" he said jokingly. "There had to be a few charms in place to keep that thing standing."

Miss Granger giggled slightly and wiped her eyes before continuing to flip pages.

"Ooh, look at this one!" she said a little while later. "I remember that Halloween costume!"

"You went as a witch?" said Severus with a laugh. "Now that is funny."

"My father sewed the sparkly cape himself," she said, erupting in laughter.

"He did?"

"My mother hates sewing," she said automatically. "I mean ... she hated sewing."

Hermione sighed, her eyes tightly shut. She remained silent for a moment or two.

"I miss them so much," she whispered at last, tears leaking from her closed eyes. "And all I can think about is that I didn't tell them I loved them before I left."

"I have no doubt they knew you did," Severus said, "not that that makes it any easier to accept."

"I wish I had my time turner again," Miss Granger croaked, putting her head down in the crook of her right arm, her left hand on the photo album, clutching tightly to the edge of it as though she was afraid it too would disappear. "It's all our fault the Ministry's time turners were destroyed!"

"It doesn't work like that," muttered Severus. "Even if you had a time turner, they might not have lived anyway."

"But it would work, it would work, I know it!" she sobbed into her arm.

Severus gently extracted her hand from the photo album and held it tightly. She did not say anything, but she gave his hand a squeeze.

"I used to think that too," he said quietly. "I guess every witch or wizard thinks of it eventually. I thought for a while that I could change my parents' deaths, or Lily's death. You may not believe me ... but I tried very hard to get my hands on a time turner for some time. Really. But then it occurred to me that even if I had gone back, how was I to know something bad wouldn't happen a few days later, or a year later? I don't really believe in fate ... but sometimes ... sometimes things seem to be meant to happen a certain way.

"I know it isn't easy to hear this ... but Voldemort was going to come after you no matter what, and were you to get a hold of a time turner how do you know that you would not be the one to die, or that the Dark Lord would not have simply found your family a month or two down the road, this time with you there? Perhaps not even Voldemort would have caused their end. Accidents happen all the time, and who are you to say that it was not their time to go? It may not feel like it was their time, I know, but how can either of us have the right to make that decision?"

"But we could hide them -" she began, taking her tear streaked face from her arm.

"Hermione ... even the Fidelus charm is not foolproof, and Harry's parents proved that. I know it is so much easier to think that you could have done something, or could do something, than accept what happened. There are many roads we end up having to travel in life, roads we do not choose, but we can determine whether or not we want to keep going forward, or continue to look back forever. And believe me, if you fix your eyes on the past too long you miss what's happening in the present. I know ... I've been there. You cannot keep telling yourself there is something you could have, or can do to reverse it. For me, every day I wish I still had a family ... and my best friend back ... but the fact is no kind of magic can bring back the dead. It is a fact everyone has to face, in their own time."

Hermione fell silent, tears dripping off her nose as she looked down at the photo album. She gently closed it.

"But Sirius ... we saved Sirius in third year," she whispered, looking up at Severus. He felt his heart clench, for she looked like a child, begging for him to tell her there was still hope.

"You what?" Severus said, confused.

"Dumbledore t-told me to use the time turner the Ministry had let me have to do more classes," Hermione said in a hushed voice. "He found out Sirius was going to be kissed by dementors, and when everyone left the hospital wing he told us where Sirius was and that we should go back and save Buckbeak and fly up to get Sirius before it was too late."

Severus felt the shock settle in. So that was how Black had escaped. He had thought Dumbledore had something to do with it, and he had been sure that Potter ... Harry ... had too.

"Dumbledore told you to go back in time before the dementors came for Black?"

"Yes," Hermione muttered.

"Maybe that's the difference," muttered Severus. "Maybe that's why it worked. He hadn't had his soul taken yet. It was before it happened."

"But ... I no, it didn't ... he still d-died, didn't he?" Hermione said slowly in a moment of clarity, her eyes seeming to look further than just the kitchen walls. "He was always a condemned man, even after that. Buy him time ... was that all we did? Was he meant to have been kissed that day?"

Severus frowned, feeling muddled inside. "I ... I do not know. We can never know. Nobody can, and I suppose that is what I am trying to say. And .... magic is not meant to take back death. It can prevent it, it can delay it, but it can never take it back. "

"I wish it could," Hermione whispered, putting her face into her arms, shoulders shaking.

"Me too," Severus whispered back.

He took her hand again and squeezed it tightly. Her trembling fingers wrapped themselves tightly around his. They remained this way for a long time. At last, she took her tear-stained face from the table and wiped her eyes. She looked at Severus, and he knew that she was thanking him, even though no words came from her lips.

"I think I'll go to bed now," she said softly, at last speaking.

Severus nodded, gathering the two wine glasses and putting them in the sink to wash later.

"Thank you for listening, Professor," Miss Granger said as she stood in the doorway, the photo album clutched to her chest.

"Severus," he replied on a whim. "I am not really a professor anymore, am I?"

She smiled softly, her sad smile mirroring his own.

"Goodnight, Severus," she said. She shook her head. "I'm not sure I'll get used to that, you know."

"Not sure I will get used to Hermione either, or Harry, for that matter."

"Well, we have all summer," she replied tiredly. "It is not as though any of have anywhere else to go right now."

"True," he replied, glancing out of the kitchen window and into the starry night.

He turned to see that she had left the kitchen. Severus heard the quiet sound of Hermione's footsteps ascending the stairs. He looked back out of the window, thinking, her words having set his mind in motion.

"It's so hot," Harry complained, flopping down on the kitchen floor, hoping the tiles would be somewhat cool. They felt sticky with humidity, and in fact, the entire house was humid. It had been that way since he awoke in the early morning, and it felt like someone was pressing a blanket over Harry's face.

"Take a cool bath," suggested Snape distractedly from where he sat, slowly reading from a long piece of parchment he had received in the mail not a moment ago. Harry thought Snape had mentioned it was from Dumbledore.

"Nuh uh, no way," Harry said, annoyed that Snape seemed to have forgotten momentarily that Harry had a slight aversion to such things.. "I hate cold baths. Hate ‘em!"

"Ask Hermione to take you swimming," said Snape rather exasperatedly, frowning down at the letter before him. "There is an ocean here, you know. As long as you stay by her at all times, and you two stay in the shallows you should be fine."

"Really?" Harry asked, leaping up from the floor and bouncing on his toes, his energy suddenly seeming to have returned.

"Molly thought you might want to eventually - she told me that there is an old muggle life jacket upstairs. Put it on before you get in the water."

"Okay," Harry said simply.

Snape looked at Harry scrutinizingly to see if he was telling the truth. It reminded Harry of the way Snape used to look at him in class, and for a moment a flash of green water and forests of seaweed went before Harry's vision

"After the second task, like I would want to go swimming without one," Harry told Snape, annoyed that he didn't seem to have taken his word for it.

"Alright, I believe you," Snape replied. "Just get out of my hair so I can finish reading this letter. It is important."

"Like I'd wanna be in your hair," Harry said without thinking.

Snape looked at him sternly, and Harry looked at his feet.

"Sorry," he said.

"I should hope so," said Snape sternly, although he did not seem overly surprised by Harry's overly teenager-ish comments. "Now run along."

Harry smiled with relief and scampered out of the room, off to find Hermione, mind set once more on the cool ocean awaiting him. He practically danced when she said she would gladly take him swimming ("This awful heat takes all the fun out of reading anyway," she had said). Harry then ran to his room to put on a well-worn pair of shorts, and, true to his word, he ascended the attic stairs that Hermione had lowered for him before going to change, then found the old muggle life jacket. By this time Hermione still was not ready, and Harry stood at the bottom of the main set of stairs, bouncing on his toes. In the meantime he was trying to get the life jacket all done up. He scowled down at the straps and zipper. Harry glanced back up at the top of the stairs. Hermione wasn't in sight.

Wanting to waste as little time as possible so he could go swimming, Harry ran into the kitchen.

"What is it, Harry?" Snape said without looking up.

"I can't get all the zippers and buckles, and it's too loose," Harry said with frustration.

"Come here then," Snape said as he tore his eyes from the letter. "Let's see what I can do."

Snape turned his chair slightly and reached for the buckles along the side of the life jacket. His brows furrowed with concentration as he worked at the straps. It took him a little while, but he was able to pull the straps through the buckle further and tighten the first side. He did the other, and then reached for the zipper, which he was able to do up fairly easily. Harry watched, and was surprised how steady Snape's hands were. The left was the best, of course.

"Your hands are getting better," Harry told Snape when the last buckle clicked into place.

"You think so?" Snape said, seeming pleased.

"I bet you could way out-colour me now!" Harry told him excitedly. To Harry's surprise, Snape chuckled.

"There you are, Harry," Hermione said. Harry turned to see her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, having changed into a pair of faded shorts and a t-shirt for swimming. She was glancing at the letter on the table, as well as Snape's reply. "Did Dumbledore write back, Severus?"

"Severus?" Harry said in horror, waiting for Professor Snape to start yelling at Hermione. He looked over to Snape and, in a stage whisper, added, "Is she allowed to call you that?"

"I do not mind," Snape said, looking highly amused. Harry turned to Hermione, who was holding back a laugh.

"How come Hermione gets to call you Severus?" Harry said, his bottom lip sticking out despite his best efforts not to pout.

"Because it seems silly for her to call me Professor when I am not one anymore," Snape explained. "If it bothers you so much, you can call me Severus too. I do not mind anymore."

"Wow, really?" Harry said, unable to believe it.

"Really," he said, still amused. "And in answer to your question, Hermione, yes. Dumbledore did write back. He's coming for a visit in three days to discuss a few things."

"Good," said Hermione, looking relieved.

"What's Dumbledore coming for ... Sev-er-us?" Harry asked, savouring every syllable of Professor Snape's first name.

"We can talk about that later - you two just have fun swimming," was Snape's reply as he turned back to his reply on the table, picking the quill up. Harry wondered why his lip was kind of twitchy, but thought better of asking.

"Okay, Severus. Bye Severus! Have fun writing your letter, Severus!" Harry cried as he ran to catch up with Hermione, who was already halfway through the living room to the door.

As he opened the screen door, Harry thought he heard laughter from inside the house, but he couldn't be sure because a flock of seagulls passed overhead a moment later. If it had been Snape, he really didn't know what would possess him to laugh that loudly, so Harry decided that it had to have been his imagination.

Hermione smiled down at him.

"Ready, swimming buddy?" she said.

"Yeah," Harry told her, grinning back.

"Great. Race you to the beach!" Hermione said suddenly, to Harry's surprise. He had never thought Hermione one to race.

He let out a cry of shock when she sprinted off, and by the time he had started to chase her, peals of laughter were bubbling up from inside of him. He couldn't believe that Hermione had started a race. He knew she could beat him easily, but she slowed up for him, and for a while they were neck in neck. By the time they got to the beach they were both laughing too much to care who won. They tossed their towels down in the sand. Harry set his glasses down on his towel and then they walked to the water's edge. Hermione dipped her toes in.

Harry went splashing in without any hesitation, and got Hermione wet.

"Hey," she said in mock indignation, bending down to put her cupped hands in the water. While Harry was laughing she raised her hands, tossing water at him. She managed to catch him with a few drops and he gasped, stepping back, laughter still written on his face.

"Oh yeah?" he said before running a little bit deeper and sitting down in the water. He got his head wet too, and when he stood up, his dripping over his face, he grinned. "Now you can't get me wet."

"Silly goose," Hermione said with a small laugh. "Seeing as you're all wet, do you want to go a little deeper?"

"Yeah!" Harry said excitedly.

Together they waded until Hermione was up to her waist and Harry was bobbing around in his life jacket. Hermione pulled him through the water, her hands clasping his. Harry grinned as he kicked his legs furiously, enjoying the feel of the cool water on his toes. Normally it sort of scared him when his feet couldn't touch the bottom, but today it didn't. He knew he would be okay as long as Hermione was hanging onto him.

"INCOMING!" shouted someone from behind Harry and Hermione, who let out a small scream of shock. There was a loud splashing noise, and all Harry saw before the enormous splash was a streak of bright red hair.

"RON!" Harry yelled, paddling around with frantic excitement as his friend surfaced. Ron's head came up above the water, and he remained crouching so that he could look Harry in the eye, but all Harry could see beneath his soaking wet red hair was a wide grin.

"Hiya Harry," he said. "You look different. Did you get a haircut or something?"

Harry burst into childish giggles, and Ron stood up in the water, grinning sheepishly as Hermione gave him a quick hug.

"What are you doing here?" she said as she released him, ecstatic.

"Mum wanted to talk to Snape about something," said Ron with a shrug. "Thought I'd join you two for a while."

Harry glanced off toward the house, and he waved happily at Mrs. Weasley, who was standing on the porch with Snape. They turned and went into the house. Harry saw that Ron had taken his t-shirt off and thrown it by their towels, along with his shoes.

"So, how is Snape treating you two, anyway?" Ron said curiously, flopping back into the cool water and floating on his back, clearly enjoying himself.

"He's so different from how he is at school," Hermione said. "I wouldn't have believed it if someone had told me."

"Different, how?" Ron said, splashing Harry lightly, his eyes still on Hermione.

"Heeey," Harry said, trying to dunk Ron but having no success. Ron just grinned.

"He's a lot nicer," Hermione said, sinking into the water as well. "And more relaxed. I think it helps that we all know each other better. Surprisingly, we get along pretty well now."

"No way," Ron said, incredulously.

"Yes way!" Harry said, staring at Ron with wide eyes. "He's actually ... well, fun now."

"Fun?" Ron said, looking at Harry as though he'd grown another head. "Look mate, I know Snape, and he's not fun."

"I thought I knew him too," Harry said, getting slightly worried at what Ron would say about Snape, "but I guess I didn't. He even makes jokes sometimes. I mean, he's a little grumpy, but we get along okay."

Ron looked to Hermione to see if Harry was telling the truth, and upon seeing no contradicting expression, he shook his head in disbelief.

"Weird," muttered Ron. He looked at the two of them, and Harry could tell that there was an immense battle raging inside him. It was a moment or two before he spoke, but at last he said, "I still think he's kind of a git - but if you two think he's different ... then I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

Hermione beamed, and Harry grinned. He splashed Ron a little, his way of saying thank you.

"Your Mum talked to you, didn't she?" Hermione said, holding back a laugh.

Ron rolled his eyes, and by the look on his face, Harry could tell she was right.

"Hey, Harry, come here," Ron said once his ears had returned to a normal shade, a sly look on his face.

Cautiously, Harry approached Ron.

"What?" he said, looking up at Ron, who had stood up in the water.

"Gotcha!" Ron cried with a laugh, grabbing Harry around the middle, but not roughly.

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly.

"Bill used to do this," Ron said, as though that explained exactly what he was doing. "Do you trust me?"

"Duh, Ron," Harry told him despite his confusion, Ron still holding him round the middle.

"Then plug your nose Harry!"

"What?"

"Three - two - one!"

Harry let out a cry of both fear and delight as Ron tossed him up above the water. For a moment Harry was flying through the air, and then he fell the short ways back into the water. Harry held his breath as the water splashed all around. He came bobbing up, and as soon as he broke the surface he was laughing.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, horrified. "You might have warned him first!"

"Aww, lighten up Hermione," he said. "He loved it. That was fun, right Harry? I used to love when Bill did that. Besides, Harry never had any brothers to toss him into a lake - or ocean, for that matter."

"That was wicked, Ron!" Harry cried now that he had breath to speak. "Do it again! Pleeaase, Ron?" Harry begged.

Ron grinned at Hermione, who just rolled her eyes.

Harry cried out with delight as Ron tossed him into the ocean again, and still laughing, they decided to wade out a little bit deeper, so that Hermione was chest deep, and Ron was a little over waist deep.

"What did your Mum want to talk to Severus about?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Severus?" Ron said, sounding as shocked as Harry had earlier. "He lets you call him that?"

"Well, he isn't going to be a Professor anymore," Hermione said. "He said that he didn't mind."

"Merlin, he has changed," Ron muttered, shaking his head and accidentally spraying Harry with water, who was hanging onto Ron's arm and paddling around him. "I don't know what Mum wanted to talk to him about."

"You're lying," Harry said simply.

"Alright, I know, but she didn't want me to mention it."

"Why?" Harry asked playfully, looking up at Ron as he bobbed up and down.

"Becaaauuse," Ron said, mimicking Harry's tone.

"You two," Hermione said, shaking her head and laughing as Harry and Ron stuck their tongues out at each other.

They both turned to Hermione and made faces at her instead for her comment, holding back laughter.

"I'm getting chilly. Why don't we go and look for things in the tidal pools?" Hermione suggested, ignoring their silliness.

Harry and Ron agreed, and they all wandered out of the water, down the beach and toward the rocks, talking as fast as they could as they caught up on the fun things they had missed telling each other.

***

"No, no, it isn't too much trouble," said Severus thoughtfully as he refilled Molly's glass of ice cold lemonade, as well as his own. "I think it's a great idea."

"I just thought, even if Harry isn't completely back to himself next week, a birthday party would be nice," she said. "And, seeing as Dumbledore doesn't want him moved, this place is really the only choice."

"It is suited well for a gathering of the sort," Severus said thoughtfully. "The kids can swim if it's hot, and everyone can sit in the shade of the trees. We can take a table outside and eat supper out there."

"We can make it a potluck, of sorts," she said brightly.

"Who would be coming, besides you and your family, that is?" Severus said. "We probably should not have too many, so as not to overwhelm Harry, especially if he has not changed back yet."

"Perhaps just Hagrid, and Remus," said Molly. "Harry would probably be happy to have them around. As long as you don't mind Remus coming by ..."

"That sounds fine to me," Severus said, and while he was rather irritated that the wolf had to come, he reminded himself that Harry would like to see him. "I can put up with Lupin for one night. Harry would appreciate him being here."

"Thank you, Severus," said Molly. "I know you two aren't always on the best of terms."

"I have been selfish, in the past," he said quietly. "I am often wrong, too."

Molly looked at him in surprise, amazed.

"Molly, may I confide in you?"

"Certainly," she said, shock still evident on her face.

"I went to pay a visit to Harry's aunt and uncle's home," Severus said quietly, fearing to be overheard despite knowing that Harry was probably still swimming.

"When?"

"The day before yesterday," muttered Severus. "I was able to apparate."

"Congratulations," she added, delighted.

"Thank you," he said, taken aback by the praise. "Anyway ... I found out I was ... very wrong, before. I used to think Harry was spoiled ... that he had everything. Well, you know what kind of background James Potter had. I thought Harry was no different."

"That has never been true, has it," Molly said sorrowfully. "How bad was it? I have asked Harry a few times about his family, and tried to get him to confide in us, but he has never said much besides that his Aunt and Uncle are very strict."

"It was awful," Severus told Molly in a low voice. "I knew Petunia as a child. I grew up near her and Lily and she was a right piece of work then. The things she said while I was there ... you should have heard her. I had to get out before she gave me a tour of Harry's room, otherwise I would have done something stupid. They used to lock him in a cupboard Molly. A cupboard!"

He had to look away, for the tears in her eyes were unbearable.

"Does Dumbledore know?" she said, her voice shaking.

"That's the thing ... I do not know," Severus said heavily. "He has been busy lately, and has not had time to visit yet. I am unsure as to whether or not he is avoiding the subject, or he truly is busy. He has always told me that it is the best situation for keeping Harry safe from the Dark Lord. I ... I just cannot help but wonder, would he really leave Harry there, knowing what goes on? Does he know how bad it is? And when he comes ... I am almost afraid to ask."

"I wanted to have a word with Dumbledore a little while ago, and he said he was at the Ministry all day," she said thoughtfully. "He is busy, at least somewhat. I think we just have to give him the benefit of the doubt, Severus. But, Harry ... oh, the poor dear."

The two were silent for a little while, the worry evident on their faces.

"Where is he going to stay? Have you given any thought to it?" Molly said grimly. "He cannot stay there."

"I, I have given some thought to it," muttered Severus.

"We would be willing to take him in a heartbeat," Molly told Severus.

He nodded, and he thought his face remained expressionless until Molly smiled softly.

"Severus, you want him to stay, don't you?" she said quietly.

"Did I say I wanted -" he began, defending himself, but he saw he wasn't fooling her, and he muttered miserably, "I would miss him."

Molly looked at him in a way that made him want to throw up, and when she wiped her eyes, he resisted the urge to roll his.

"But he wouldn't want me as a guardian, believe me," Severus said with heat, scoffing. "I mean, I was horrible to him for years, and it has taken me this bloody long to realize I was wrong."

"Severus, I think he would stay," she said to him after a moment. "If your view of him has changed this much, it is partly because Harry has felt that he can be himself around you. Harry's a subtle child. He is quiet around those who he does not feel safe around. If you feel that you have gotten to know him, it is because he feels safe with you. That's a sign you should not ignore, Severus."

Severus stared thoughtfully into his glass of lemonade, and Molly smiled softly. She seemed to sense that his mind was still sorting a lot of things out when it came to this topic, and so she did not seem bothered by his silence.

"Well," she said after a minute or so, "we have a birthday to plan. Shall we begin?"

"Indeed," Severus said, glad for an easier subject to consider.

And so they went to work, deciding who would bring what, what time, decorations, and the kind of cake that Molly would make.

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent a good half-hour wandering among the rocky tidal pools, looking for starfish and crabs. Hermione seemed to particularly enjoy identifying different species of plants (they're all in Magical Water Plants of Britain's Coasts, you know). Harry just enjoying getting to be with his two best friends, and the time passed quickly. They went into the ocean for another quick swim before towelling off and heading for the house. Thirsty, the three of them trooped down to the porch and went inside, in search of a drink. They found Mrs. Weasley and Severus talking at the table. They stopped their conversation as they entered the room.

"How is the water?" Molly asked, noting everyone's damp hair as Ron brought the glasses down from the shelf.

"Great!" Harry said enthusiastically. "Ron threw me!"

"Threw you where?" Severus asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

"Into the water," Ron said, his ears turning red. "My older brothers used to like to do that when I was little."

"Ah, I see," Severus said, although he was still frowning as though he was unsure of what to think of this.

"Oh, Bill used to do that all the time," said Mrs. Weasley with a chuckle. "Ginny was so funny, bothering him every time we went swimming. I swear he never got a moment of rest."

Ron grinned, and Harry wondered what Ron and Ginny were like as children his age. Well, physical age, at least. He bet they were a handful.

"We walked down to the tidal pools," Hermione added brightly, changing the subject. "There were some fascinating species of magical water plants. You would have liked them, Severus."

"Perhaps I will have to take a walk down there sometime," Severus said thoughtfully as Hermione handed full glasses of water to Ron and Harry, who drank thirstily.

"Well, Ron, we had best get going," Mrs. Weasley said. "Charlie is coming for dinner, and I want your room nice and clean for when he arrives."

"Mum," Ron said, "Charlie doesn't care."

"But I do," she said sternly, and Harry sniggered behind his hand.

"I do not see what you are laughing about, Harry James Potter," Severus said in his teaching voice. "As I recall, your room isn't as clean as it could be either."

Ron started to laugh, half out of amazement and half out of glee that he wouldn't be the only one cleaning.

Harry scowled and followed Mrs. Weasley out of the room and to the porch. He gave her a hug, and she kissed the top of his head.

"It was good to see you, dear," she said quietly, kneeling in front of him. "I am just sorry I couldn't stay longer."

"Thanks for bringing Ron!" Harry said enthusiastically.

"I am glad you enjoyed having a visit," she said with a smile, standing up.

Hermione gave Ron a hug as they said goodbye.

"Come visit again soon," Hermione said to him. "It was so nice to see you."

"Yeah, it was great to catch up." Ron turned to Harry. "Swimming was great."

"Especially when you threw me in the water!" Harry said with much enthusiasm.

Ron's ears turned red, but he looked pleased with himself.

"See you, Harry," he said. "Don't let things get you down."

Harry smiled, and said, "Yeah, see you around."

"And if Snape is giving you a hard time, write me, okay?" Ron said in a low voice.

"Thanks, Ron, but I don't think I'll need to," Harry said quietly, smiling anyway as he glanced back through the screen door and into the sitting room, where Snape was scratching Crookshanks' back with care. "But I'll keep writing anyway!"

"Alright then, bye," Ron said, waving to the two of them as he ran to catch up with Mrs. Weasley, who had begun to walk down to the point.

Harry and Hermione watched until Mrs. Weasley had disapparated with Ron, and then the two of them went back inside, smiling and content after a good day. Harry paused to wonder what Mrs. Weasley had been talking to Snape about, but he did not spend too much time thinking of this, for it was almost supper time and he was told to go wash up by Severus.

***

For such a calm and relaxing day, the night was surprisingly tension-filled. As the clock struck one, Severus awoke with a start, his left hand clamped over his mouth, his body shaking. He looked around frantically, not sure where he was. In the dim light he caught sight of the seashell resting on the desk under the window, and with a wave of relief he remembered that he was at Bell Point. Yet, the image of Lily, lying dead on the floor and staring blankly up at him was the same as it always was, and he knew that that was one nightmare he would never escape. He shuddered slightly, trying to control his shaking. Hastily, he wiped his eyes. They were damp. Knowing he would not sleep for a long time, he swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his brace. His breath hitched slightly when he saw the lily that adorned it.

"But you're keeping your promise, Sev," he muttered to himself, thinking of Harry, and all the things he had done to repay his debt - all the things he was still willing to do. He could not help but think he had done a much better job of redeeming himself this summer than all the years he had known Harry at Hogwarts. He cringed as he thought of everything he had said and done to make Potter's life hell. But now, he was no longer a Potter. He was simply Harry.

Severus shook his head, and got shakily to his feet, his heart still racing. He wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a hot night. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and he debated throwing a shirt on before going into the kitchen, but the heat was too much despite the time of night.

Severus crept from his room and into the kitchen. It was a little bit cooler in here than in his room, and for this he was grateful. He frowned for a moment, running his hand through his sweaty hair, trying to calm his breathing, which was still coming too fast for his liking. On a whim, he reached up and grabbed a glass from the shelf. He set it on the counter and fetched the pitcher of cold milk, and he poured himself a glass.

Severus sunk down at the table and took a sip. It was cool and sweet on his tongue, and it relaxed him slightly. He had not had a glass of milk in a long time. He used to drink it quite often when he was in school. And, back in those days he would have nightmares just as he did now. Although, they were of different things. Mostly his father. If they were particularly bad, he would creep from his bed and go down to the brightly lit kitchens for a mug of hot chocolate, or a glass of milk. He frowned down at his glass right now, thinking that for all the years that had passed, there were some things about him that never really changed. He shook his head slightly, and took another gulp of cold milk. Severus sighed a little bit, trying to clear his mind of the twisted nightmare he had just emerged from. It had been a mess of everything - his father, death eater meetings, Lily's death, and a whole host of other things. It had created such a jumbled mess of emotions that Severus was having trouble processing them all.

Severus was so lost in thought he almost jumped out of his skin when a small voice spoke by his side.

"S-Sev'rus?"

"Harry," he said, startled, his hand over his heart, which was still racing.

"Sorry," whispered Harry, looking at his feet. He had only one sock on, and was wearing just his pyjama trousers. His hair was sticking up worse than ever from sweat.

"No, no, I simply did not hear you coming," Severus said, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to worry Harry. "What is it that you need?"

Harry looked up at him for a second, his green eyes wide behind his lopsided glasses. Severus felt his stomach clench at the sight of them, but he did not look away.

"Did you wet the bed?"

"No," said Harry quietly.

"That's good," Severus said, hoping that it would encourage Harry. "What is bothering you, then?"

Harry's lip trembled a little, and he whispered, "I ... I had a bad dream."

Severus watched as Harry rubbed his eyes a little and sniffled.

"I had a nightmare too," Severus said softly, and Harry looked up at him in surprise. "That's why I am up as well."

Harry looked a little bit relieved, but he remained silent.

"Would you like a glass of milk?"

"Yes, please," Harry said with a whisper, and so Severus got up and poured him a glass, setting it on the table opposite where he was sitting. Harry climbed up and wrapped his small hands around it and took a drink.

"Sev'rus?" Harry said, suddenly holding back what seemed to be a giggle.

"Mhm?" Severus replied as he set his own glass down.

"You got a moustache," he told him in a whisper, barely containing his laughter.

Severus hastily wiped his upper lip, and he looked over to Harry.

"You have one too," he told him pointedly. Harry giggled a little.

They fell into seriousness once more, neither seeming to have their minds on the present.

"Do you want to tell me about your dream?" Severus said after a little while, noting the look of apprehension that had fallen over Harry.

Harry rested his chin on the table for a moment, staring at Severus.

"Kept dreaming ‘bout Padfoot," mumbled Harry rather tearfully. "And he was being chased by dementors ... only the dementors turned into dog catchers and they were gonna take him away from me. And they asked for me to p-prove he was my dog ... but I didn't have any p-papers." Harry shuddered slightly. "T-Then they sucked his s-soul out," he whispered.

"That must have been terrible," Severus muttered.

Harry nodded a little and took another gulp of milk.

"What was your bad dream about?" Harry asked Severus curiously after a little while, milk still clinging to his upper lip. Severus sighed, and paused to think.

"A dear friend of mine, mainly," muttered Severus at last.

"Who?"

Severus looked at Harry, into his green eyes, still wide with fear.

He was silent for a moment, unsure of whether or not to tell the truth. The reality was that Severus was tired of hiding. He was tired of fearing. A little boy of four years old was not someone to fear. If Harry learned that he had known Lily, and because of this, somewhere down the road, how the prophecy had gotten into the Dark Lord's hands, then so be it. It was only a matter of time, anyway.

"Your mother," he said finally, despite the fact that it seemed his voice was having difficulty working.

"You were friends with Mummy?" whispered Harry, his eyes now wide with wonder.

"We grew up near each other. We were the best of friends until fifth year," muttered Severus.

"What happened?"

"Well," Severus began, trying to think of the simplest way to explain, "my parents died the summer before fifth year, and I was very angry. I wasn't very kind to anyone that year ... not even myself. Lily thought I was mad at her, because I'd snapped at her far too many times. I just didn't know how to tell her what was really bothering me."

"Didn't she know your parents died?" whispered Harry in horror.

"Well, yes," said Severus thoughtfully, considering all the ways he could tell this so that would not upset a four year old. Harry still wasn't exactly thinking like a teenager. "You see, I didn't tell her my father and I had argued the night before they died. My father said some pretty nasty things, and I started to believe that I wasn't much of anything. So I let myself get in with a bad crowd, which she didn't like. I did not like them particularly either, most of them, but I didn't think I was good enough to hang around anyone else."

"I think you're good enough," Harry said simply, smiling a little and staring unwaveringly across the table.

Taken aback slightly, Severus did not know what to say at first.

"Thank you, Harry," he muttered at last.

"Can you tell me about Mummy?"

"Now?"

Harry looked so hopeful, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

"For a little while," he said quietly.

Harry grinned, and Severus began.

"I first saw your mother at the playground when I was ten," Severus said thoughtfully. "It took me a long time to work up the courage to go say hello ..."

And so, for the next half hour he spun the tale of how he and Lily met. He then told Harry of all the mischief they got into that first year of friendship, how they had fallen in the river while they were boating in an old tin washtub (the cork plugging the hole in the bottom fell out), how Lily baked him cookies for his birthday and burned the lot, how Severus had nicked his mother's ancient broomstick and taught Lily to fly in a pasture outside town.

Severus wished he could tell stories of Lily forever, but before they knew it thirty minutes had passed, and Harry was starting to fall asleep, fighting it all the way.

"Sev'rus," he mumbled sleepily as Severus took his hand and led him out of the kitchen, "can you tell me more about Mummy tomorrow?"

"Anytime you would like," Severus told him with a smile, relieved that Harry had not been appalled that he had been friends with his mother. He had feared for the longest time that Harry would take it badly ... but he could not see why now.

Harry grinned sleepily up at him as they walked down the hall together. Harry made to turn to go up the steps.

"Not yet," Severus said firmly, a thought occurring to him. "I daresay you should go to the bathroom before you go back to bed. You did have a glass of milk, after all."

"Oh," Harry said, standing still for a second. He looked up at Severus, and after a moment, he whispered, "Yeah, I hafta go."

Severus led him to the bathroom and waited until Harry came out again. He then tried to lead Harry to the stairs, but Harry refused to move. Severus looked down at him questioningly.

"You had a glass of milk too," Harry told Severus scornfully.

It took every ounce of sanity Severus had to refrain from bursting into laughter.

"I will go later," he said, hardly daring to speak. "Let's get you tucked in first."

"Okay," said Harry, permitting Severus to lead him up the stairs by his hand. "But, you'd better, you know. Otherwise you'll wet the bed."

"I am a little old for that, thankfully," Severus said as they reached the top of the stairs.

"I thought I was too," Harry said darkly, for a moment sounding like a teenager.

Severus was able to keep it together long enough to make sure Harry was tucked under the covers and that he had his stuffed lion. Then, he crept down into his bedroom, flopped down on his bed, pressed his face into his pillow and laughed more than he had in years. All the while thinking that it was a good thing that he didn't hate Harry anymore, because had he still been the evil git of the dungeons, that was a comment he never, ever would have let Harry forget.

Hermione came downstairs slowly around eleven-o-clock in the morning, having been upstairs reading since breakfast. Severus looked up from where he was doing one of Poppy's sewing cards. Hermione looked lost, like she didn't know what to do with herself. There was a gentle crease in her forehead.

"Severus?" she said slowly.

"Yes?" Severus asked.

"I - I have to go somewhere today," she said softly. "An owl just came to my window with a letter from Professor Dumbledore. It says that ... that my parents' ashes are ready for burial. He's finally managed to arrange a small graveside service for today. Just me ... and a few relatives, to keep it safe. Tonks and Mad-Eye are going to accompany me there."

"What time?"

"One-thirty," she whispered, sinking down into the sofa.

"I cannot say I am surprised. Dumbledore sent me a quick note the other day saying he was trying to get something arranged, informing me that you would probably have to leave for the funeral in the upcoming days."

"He did?"

"Yes."

Severus continued to fumble slightly with the sewing card, expecting Hermione to get up and leave.

"Is something else bothering you?" he asked slowly when she did not, trying not to let the worry show on his face.

She frowned, then let out a shaky breath.

"My parents' will was examined," she muttered. "And now I know for sure where I'm going to live, I guess. Although .... Although I knew it before anyway. They had to change it at the start of last year."

"You do not sound overly pleased," Severus said. "Are you unhappy with the arrangement?"

"Well ..." she said slowly, "It's not so bad ... I guess. See, up until last year I was supposed to go live with my dad's friend Maria, but last August she went overseas to do some more schooling, get a second degree. So, seeing as it was only a year or two before I was old enough to live on my own - sooner if I want to live in the wizarding world - we decided that if s-something was to happen ... I would go and stay with my Great Aunt Isobel. She is really the only person available."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Well, I don't really ... like her much. I mean, my parents and I considered that, but we didn't ... we didn't really t-think -" Her words dropped off, and she wiped her eyes.

"Does she know you are a witch?"

"Not yet, no," sighed Hermione. "I honestly don't know much about her, either. I guess we'll talk things over today."

"Do you need someone to come with you ... to the burial?" Severus asked softly.

"Well, Tonks will be there," muttered Hermione. "We've always got on well. Why, do you want to come?"

"If you want me to, I will," Severus replied, hesitating slightly before continuing. "Nobody should have to go to their parents' funeral alone."

"Did you have to?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes again.

"No, Lily came."

"That was good of her."

"Yes, it was," Severus said quietly, trying to keep from thinking about that day, because it still made his chest hurt. "And I will go with you, if you would like me to. It is up to you."

"I ... I think Harry needs you here more," Hermione said, sounding a little sad. "I don't think he'd do so well if someone else came to look after him, even if only for an hour."

Severus nodded and muttered, "You are probably right."

"Thanks for ... for offering anyway," Hermione said, and Severus could tell that she genuinely appreciated it. He was suddenly quite sure she probably would have said yes had Harry not been around.

"I would have gladly come," Severus told her. "I would have."

"I know," she said, a ghost of a smile evident upon her face. She looked at her watch and sighed. "Well, I guess I had best start getting ready."

Severus turned back to his sewing card as Hermione walked slowly toward the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Suddenly unable to sit, Severus tossed down the sewing card and got up, feeling that there had to be a more interesting way to practise coordination. He walked over to the bottom of the stairs, and slowly, he began to go up them. It was easier now than it used to be, but Severus was still out of breath by the time he got to the top. He took a moment to catch it, and then he went over to Harry's room and peered into the room through the open door.

"Up for a game of catch?" he said casually to Harry, who was lying on his belly and colouring, the stuffed lion next to him.

"Can I bring Buttons?" Harry asked, looking up.

"Sure," Severus said, trying to keep his lips from twitching with the desire to laugh. "We can roll the ball to him."

Harry grinned, and quite suddenly he bounded out of the room and down the stairs.

***

Hermione was ready for her parents' funeral with a fair bit of time to spare. By then Harry and Severus had come in from a game of catch, and had just finished eating lunch. Hermione had told them that she had eaten earlier, but in reality she had barely been able to stomach a mouthful from one of the chicken and ham sandwiches Dobby had brought by. Now, it seemed that Severus had settled down to read a book, and Harry had skipped off down to the beach with his tin pail in hand. Wishing to be with neither one for fear that she would start crying, Hermione sat by herself on the porch while she awaited Mad-Eye and Tonks.

Harry seemed to be having a lot of fun, and as she hated to spoil it, she did not have the heart to tell him where she was going. Such care-free days for Harry were few and far between, and today, so far, seemed to be one of them. He did not seem to have noticed anything peculiar over her nice clothing as he had run down to the beach, and Hermione was rather glad for that. From a distance she could see the flurry of sand that was flying in the air as Harry set to work with his tin shovel, seemingly determined to dig as big a hole as possible. After a while all Hermione could see was his feet and the patched seat of his jeans as he leaned into the hole and dug. Due to his preoccupation, it was with little fuss that Hermione bade Severus goodbye, who wished her luck. She then walked out to the point, where Mad-Eye and Tonks had appeared at last. Tonks held out her arm for Hermione, quickly explaining that she would be side-along apparating. Hermione simply nodded, taking in Tonks' more sedate appearance. Her hair was a darker shade than she normally wore, a more burgundy-ish purple, rather than bubblegum pink. Hermione felt a tiny, unexpected twinge of amusement, for it was clear that Mad-Eye seemed to think that burgundy was hardly a colour for a funeral, and kept shooting Tonks looks with his normal eye. Moody nodded slightly to Hermione, who tried to smile, but failed, her moment of humour having left as she remembered where they were going.

"Ready?" asked Tonks quietly, her arm securely around Hermione's.

"Yes," Hermione replied, and Tonks twisted on the spot.

Her eyes were met with darkness, and the pressure in her chest and tightness in her lungs did not feel as strange as she thought it might. Even after arriving in the familiar country lane that had once led to her Grandparents' farm, it took her some time to pinpoint the reason for this. At last, as the old graveyard came into view, she realized that the way apparition made her feel reminded her a great deal of another sensation. It was in fact the feeling she got every morning, when she had awakened enough to remember that everything had changed.

***

"Where's Hermione?" Severus heard Harry ask later that afternoon. He briefly looked up from his book to determine where the boy was, and was met with an interesting sight indeed.

There was a rather impressive trail of sand following Harry into the sitting room. However much he wished to point this out to Harry, he chose to ignore this for the time being, as it could be fixed later. In the meantime, the answer to the question just voiced seemed more important.

"Her parents' funeral is today," explained Severus. "She will be gone for two hours or so, depending."

"But ... why didn't she tell me?" Harry asked.

"She probably found to too difficult to say aloud," said Severus. "Or, she did not want to worry you. Most likely a little bit of both, in this case."

"I - I wanted to go though," said Harry, his distress evident. "I wanted to b-be there for her."

"No doubt she knows that," Severus said quickly, startled by the tears in Harry's eyes. "Dumbledore could not make it quite secure enough for you to go, and he doesn't want you leaving here in your present condition."

"That's no fair." Harry let out a loud harrumph and stomped his foot, his arms crossed.

"I know," sighed Severus. Harry looked at him curiously, his scowl gone, to Severus surprise. "What?"

"You agreed with me," Harry muttered.

"I did. I agree that it isn't fair that you are unable to go, even if it cannot be helped."

"People ... people just tell me life isn't fair, when I say stuff like that," Harry told him in a small voice, his eyes wide. "But ... I don't like when people do that."

"And why is that?" Severus asked, interested to hear what Harry had to say.

"Well ... ‘cause the people that tell me life's not fair usually get what's fair, so they don't really understand what not being fair is. But they think they do, and that's why they say that."

Severus was impressed. It was odd because the message sounded a little more like it stemmed from a teenaged Harry, but his posture, and the way he said it indicated that he wasn't having a teenager moment. Severus found it strange to be hearing such wise words from a four year old.

"Sev'rus?"

"Yes?"

"Will you play with me?"

Momentarily taken aback by the outright request, Severus hesitated. Harry looked at his feet.

"Sorry - I know you're busy, an' stuff," muttered Harry.

"Don't be. I will play with you," said Severus, knowing he could not say no even if he wanted to, for that short question had brought back memories of himself begging his father to play before he knew not to. The crushing disappointment of being told no over and over was something he couldn't inflict on another. He did not regret it; the look of joy upon Harry's face was so radiant Severus felt a shiver go down his spine, for it reminded him in every way of Lily. "What would you like to do?" Severus asked when it was clear Harry was still lost for words.

"Well ... I - I don't know," Harry said at last, all in a flutter and sounding as though he hadn't considered what would happen if Severus actually said yes. "I never had nobody to play with before, really."

"How about we go up to the attic to see what we can find?" Severus suggested.

"You can get up the attic stairs?"

"I think I can now," Severus replied. "Might as well give it a try."

Harry jumped up and down with excitement and reached for Severus' hand, dragging him out of his chair. Severus wrapped his hand around Harry's small fingers, which seemed so small compared to his own. They were also very slightly sticky.

Severus found himself smiling slightly as he was led by Harry toward the staircase. Slowly they went up. Harry did each stair beside Severus, gently hanging onto the fabric of one of the legs of his blue jeans, as though guiding him. They made it up the main staircase, and Severus reached up in the hallway for the rope to pull down the attic stairs. They backed up, and they unfolded with a light creaking sound. Severus took a deep breath as he stared at the steep wooden staircase. His legs were shaking slightly, partly from the first ascent, partly because he feared he could not do this. He had known very well it would be a challenge when he suggested going into the attic, but it was something he had been wanting to do for a long time. It was the final challenge in this house. It was his Everest. Harry looked expectantly up at him, waiting.

"You go first, Harry," Severus said, grabbing hold of the thin rail and releasing Harry's small hand.

"Kay Daddy," Harry told him, fumbling up the stairs.

Severus froze.

"Harry?" he said slowly.

"Uh huh?" Harry said, turning around from where he stood at the top of the stairs.

"What did you say?" he asked faintly, hoping Harry would repeat the words he had just spoken.

Harry looked down at him, biting his lip, his eyes wide.

"Nothin'," he said quickly before running out of sight.

Severus' brow creased, but he had not entirely expected Harry to respond to his question. For the moment, he thought it best not to say anything further. He shook his head in amazement and focused on the stairs.

The shock of what had just been said started to fade away, and then suddenly, Severus found a warm feeling growing deep inside him. He smiled slightly, and began his way up the stairs. It took him a good couple of minutes, but it was only when he reached the top that he realized his legs had stopped shaking before he'd taken that first step.

"Come on, kiddo," Severus said rather breathlessly, ruffling Harry's hair and going toward the big wooden trunk, his mind still churning.

Harry helped him open it, and with a thump that left dust swirling, the lid fell open. Severus sat down on an upturned crate, his legs tired.

"See anything you want to play with?" Severus asked Harry, who was standing on his tiptoes and leaning into the box. A trickle of sand fell from the back pocket of his scruffy blue jeans as he did so.

"I don't know," Harry said, frowning.

"Hmm, I see a few puzzles, some wooden ducks, a toy train," Severus said, listing a few things to start.

Harry rummaged around a little, looking unsure.

It was then that Severus spied something that brought him back to his own childhood days. It was a helmet, a knight's helmet in fact, and a blue cape. Severus grinned suddenly, and extracted the helmet from the trunk.

"I have an idea, Harry," he said. "Look over here."

Curiously, Harry turned to him.

"You're a noble knight," Severus said, placing the helmet over Harry's head, "brave and loyal to your country."

Harry smiled suddenly. Encouraged, Severus reached for a blunt wooden sword from the trunk.

Severus lifted the wooden sword, which was held tightly in his hands.

"I knight thee Sir Harry Potter," Severus said, tapping the wooden sword on each of Harry's shoulders, then handing it to him.

Harry giggled suddenly, then grabbed the blue cape from the trunk, trying to put it around Severus' shoulders. Severus finished fastening the cape, which was many feet too small for him and had a red button to secure it.

"I knight thee ..." Harry said, pausing, the sword resting on Severus' left shoulder. He burst into a wave of giggles and continued through them, "Sir Smelly Socks!"

Harry collapsed with laughter.

"In that case, you're Sir Sandy Pants!" Severus added, making Harry burst into renewed giggles at the word pants. "If I have a funny name, you need one too!"

"Sir Smelly Socks, are we going on a quest?" Harry said.

"Indeed we are, Sir Sandy Pants," Severus told him. "But first, to the armoury! I need a weapon! What shall my weapon be, Sir Sandy Pants?"

"This!" cried Harry, dragging a rubber chicken out of the trunk.

"A noble choice," Severus said, holding back a snort of laughter.

"Oh no, there's someone in the Garden!" Harry cried playfully, glancing toward the small window. "We have to protect our kingdom! Queen Hermione will never forgive us if we let the thieves steal her books!"

"Let us go to battle! For glory, for books, and for a red dawn!" Severus cried dramatically, brandishing his rubber chicken and bravely following Harry down the treacherous steps.

"For COOKIES!" Harry joined in, making Severus almost slip on the steps with suppressed laughter.

***

Harry squealed with laughter as he hid behind the tree in the garden.

"Get back, you terrible Giant!" he cried, jumping out from behind it and waving his sword. "Nobody eats Sir Smelly Socks and gets away with it!"

"ARRRGGGG!" Severus growled in a deep voice, making the fiercest giant face he possibly could. Harry cried out with delight, still surprised to find that his once scary professor was great at playing pretend. "I'm going to squeeeeze you into jelly and put you on my toast!"

"Ahh, I don't wanna be jelly!" Harry cried through giggles as he ran away from Severus' waving arms, his sword abandoned by the tree.

Severus was quick as a flash as he knelt down and grabbed Harry around the waist. Harry cried out with delight when he was caught, and before he knew it the he was being tickled mirthlessly.

When Harry was gasping for air Severus let him go, and wasting no time at all Harry lunged for the rubber chicken, lying a few feet to their left in the grass. He raised it triumphantly in the air and jabbed it at Severus. Severus let out a giant-like roar of pain and fell flat on his back, bits of dust and grass floating up in the air where he fell.

"Aarrrgg," he moaned weakly. "Sir Sandy Pants .... arrgg ... promise me you'll ..."

"Promise you I'll do what?" Harry said seriously, kneeling by the side of the giant.

"Tell Mummy I love her!" Severus gasped before taking one last breath, his dramatic spluttering cough. All of this was lost by Harry's sudden onset of laughter.

"Sev'ruuus," Harry said, "Giant's don't say that when they die!"

"They don't?" Severus said, opening one eye and frowning up at Harry in mock confusion.

"No," giggled Harry.

"And what do Giants say on their deathbed?"

"I JUST WANTED TOAASST!" Harry crowed, adding a few fake gasps as he fell back into the grass beside Severus.

Severus laughed, much to Harry's delight. Harry grinned happily.

"Oh my, look at us," Severus said with a chuckle, examining the grass stains on the knees of his blue jeans and the dirt on his arms. "You are no better than I am."

Harry looked down at his own jeans and shirt, and found that he was covered in stains and dirt and bits of grass.

"Well, I'd call the day a success," Severus said lightly as he picked grass off of his t-shirt. "How about you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, delighted that Severus wasn't upset over the stains. "You have grass in your hair."

"I am not surprised," Severus replied, straightening the cape on his shoulders. "What do you say we go inside for a glass of lemonade?"

"Yeah!" Harry told him, thinking that today could not get any better.

***

Harry seemed to have dawdled on the way to the house slightly, which did not concern Severus. He paused on the porch to wait for him, standing in front of the door to the house. In the meantime he brushed some of the grass off his clothes, although the stains would have to come out in the wash. He was pretty sure he had dirt on his face, and a few bits of leaves in his hair, but this did not concern him much. He could get those out later. It had been worth it, and however much he hated to admit it, he had almost as much fun as Harry. He hadn't had anyone to play with when he had been really young as well, and even though he felt silly because of it, he had greatly enjoyed the chance to make up for lost time. That, and it seemed he had forgotten that sometimes the best stress release in the world is to get dirty and make a great deal of noise.

"Sev'rus!"

Severus looked away from the house for a moment to see where Harry was, for the surprised cry had alarmed him. Coming nearer were two people. One was Hermione, the other an elderly woman who had Hermione's arm hooked in hers. She was an austere sort of woman, wearing long, deep purple robes in pristine condition, each curl of her grey hair resting perfectly beneath her hat. She wore spectacles of a square sort of kind, and they were perched delicately on the tip her nose, not crooked in the least. Hermione looked miserable standing next to her.

The woman and Hermione stopped on the porch, and Harry came to stand beside Severus, who was only just realizing he was still wearing the childish blue cape, and holding a rubber chicken loosely in his right hand. He dropped this and hoped she did not see it. Harry's helmet was on crooked, but he seemed also to be worried by the stern woman's glare, and he straightened it.

"So you're Severus Snape?" said the woman in a disapproving sort of way.

Hermione seemed to have just noticed his appearance, and Severus reached up to pull a leaf out of his hair, sure that he looked like a deer in the headlights, blocking the way to the front of the door to the house as though he had forgotten what he was doing there.

He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, chagrined by the fact that his voice seemed to be deciding it wanted to crack slightly. "And who might you be?"

"This is my Great Aunt Isobel," Hermione said, clearly trying not to sound apologetic. "She's a witch too. I never knew until today."

"I thought I should come and see what kind of company my grandniece is spending her time with. She's talks most ... highly of you."

She surveyed him over her glasses, taking in the grass stains and the dirt.

"It's nice to meet you," Severus said, smiling hesitantly and hoping that Hermione could tell just how sorry he was for his appearance.

Just then, he felt a tugging on the leg of his jeans.

"Sev'rus," Harry said in a stage whisper, his tone urgent. "Can you move? I have to pee!"

Severus' lip twitched.

"Go on, Harry," he said, stepping out of the way of the door so Harry could go inside.

Great Aunt Isobel looked scornfully in Harry's direction. It was clear to Severus that she preferred children to be seen and not heard.

"Why don't you come inside," Severus said, opening the door for her.

"Thank you," said Great Aunt Isobel stiffly before glancing sideways at Hermione. "Come, along now. We shall have a cup of tea."

Hermione had no choice in this matter, for her arm was still locked in Great Aunt Isobel's. The moment that the two were in the kitchen Severus practically ran for his room, threw on a different set of clothes (a long sleeved shirt to cover up the Dark Mark, which thankfully, he had managed to keep hidden from her during their brief meeting) and opened his wardrobe to examine his appearance. He watched as the colour drained out his face when he noticed the smudge of dirt under his eye and the twig in his hair. He quickly rubbed the dirt away with his hand and combed his hair with the fingers on his left hand. He straightened his best shirt (the robes would have taken too long) and left for the kitchen. He arrived to find Hermione bringing out the good teacups for tea.

Great Aunt Isobel had removed her hat and sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her posture ramrod straight. Just then, Harry entered the room. He still was covered in grass stains, and he was trailing bits of dirt as he walked. Taking advantage of the moment where Great Aunt Isobel was distracted by Hermione asking if she took cream and sugar, Severus grabbed Harry's hand and steered him out of the room.

He grabbed a wet flannel from the bathroom and knelt by Harry.

"I don't wanna get my face wa-ummph," Harry said, his words cut off as Severus cleaned the dirt off of his face. He picked a few pieces of grass from Harry's hair and then sent him firmly up the stairs with the order to change.

"Best behaviour, alright?" Severus called as loudly as he dared after Harry, who was pouting for having to go and put on clean clothes. Severus was worried by his mood. Harry had played hard today (in fact, they both had) and he knew well enough from having taught Harry that he was not pleasant to deal with when he didn't get much sleep. A four year old, cranky Harry Potter was the last thing they needed right now. Severus crossed his fingers that Harry would take his words to heart.

He re-entered the kitchen with as much grace as he could, and Hermione poured him a cup of tea as well, Great Aunt Isobel supposedly having used a spot of magic to boil the water so they did not have to wait so long. He quietly thanked her and then took a sip despite the fact that it was scalding hot.

"Come join us, Hermione Jean," said Great Aunt Isobel, her wrinkled hand gesturing daintily toward the chair across from her.

Seeming irked by the usage of her first and middle name, Hermione sunk down into the chair. Severus noted that it seemed to be with deliberate clatter. Hermione smiled stiffly and began to put liberal amounts of sugar in her tea.

"Ah, ah, set the spoon down on the saucer," Great Aunt Isobel said, noting that Hermione had been about to set it on the table.

Severus looked at Hermione when Great Aunt Isobel was preoccupied with adding cream to her tea from the small pitcher. He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione gave him an exhausted sort of look.

"So, tell me, Severus," Great Aunt Isobel said in a conversational tone, "what is it you do for a living?"

"Well," Severus said thoughtfully, "I was a Potions Professor at Hogwarts."

"Yes, Hermione Jean told me. But whatever do you mean by was? I hope you do not mean you are unemployed." The scorn in her voice cut like a knife. Hermione nudged his foot under the table, and Severus continued.

"I'm switching subjects," he said without missing a beat, years of spying making it easy. "Teaching the same subject for so many years gets tiresome."

"What subject will you be teaching now?"

"Arithmancy," said Severus, thinking of all the years he enjoyed taking that class as a student, as well as his natural proficiency for it. He could at least hold to this bluff. "It is one of my best subjects, so I am looking forward to teaching it."

"How nice," said Great Aunt Isobel, seeming pleased by this answer to both Hermione and Severus' relief. "No slouching, Hermione Jean!"

Hermione straightened up so quickly Severus was amazed she didn't pull a muscle.

"How was the service?" Severus asked hesitantly, hoping to divert the conversation to something else.

"Quite nice," said Great Aunt Isobel. "But there was a girl with purple hair there. I hardly think my daughter would associate with people like that.

"I like Tonks' hair," said Hermione. "She's an Auror, so she had to be there for protection."

"Well I don't see why she has to look like such a ... a hooligan."

Hermione seemed to think it best not to argue, and she did not say a thing. This surprised Severus. He had never known Hermione not to speak her mind, but right now, she seemed to be saying as little as possible.

"Hi Hermione!" Harry said brightly, coming into the kitchen, thankfully dressed in clean clothes. He bounded over to the chair at the end of the table, next to Hermione and Great Aunt Isobel. He sat on his knees.

"Hello Harry," Hermione said, looking glad to see him.

"How was the ... the funeral?" he whispered to her, eyes wide.

Hermione's eyes became rather bright. "It was nice," she whispered.

"I woulda come if I coulda," Harry told her.

"I know."

"And who is this?" chimed Great Aunt Isobel, seeming slightly annoyed that nobody had introduced her. Severus could feel his neck tightening with every word she said.

Hermione looked away from Harry reluctantly, and glanced at her great aunt.

"Great Aunt Isobel, this is Harry," she said. "Harry, this is my Great Aunt. She's the one I'm going to live with now that ... that things have changed."

Harry looked at her, shock written on his face.

"B-But," Harry said, his eyes filling with tears. Severus felt a flutter of panic in his stomach at the look on Harry's face, realizing only now that he had forgotten to mention that Hermione would be going to live elsewhere. He had thought Harry would assume this, but at the moment, he saw just how silly an idea that had been. "I thought you were staying here."

"For a few more days," said Hermione slowly, looking sad. "The rest of the summer I'll be settling in with her."

"You can't!" Harry said suddenly, standing on his chair so he was level with Hermione, the tears spilling over.

"Sit down, young man," Great Aunt Isobel said sharply. Harry didn't obey, and a look of fury crossed his face. He turned to her slowly.

"No," he said to her in as dangerous a tone as a four year old can muster, and Severus could tell that things were going to go badly.

"Harry, it would be best if you sat down," Severus said, a warning tone in his voice. Harry looked to Severus, but then he saw the look of satisfaction on Great Aunt Isobel's face, and he did not move.

"Well, friends or not, with those manners you will not be coming to visit Hermione Jean unless you can smarten up," she said stiffly. "Now sit down."

"NO!" he said to her. "You can't tell me what to do! AND YOU CAN'T TAKE HERMIONE AWAY!"

"Harry, calm down," Severus said sharply, debating whether or not to go over and take Harry off the chair himself and send him to his room. He had a feeling Harry would react badly to force, however. Instead, he added, "You will still get to see Hermione."

"Little boys should be seen and not heard," Great Aunt Isobel said sharply, paying no attention to Severus, her pale cheeks flushing and her blue eyes snapping.

Harry didn't take this well at all, and as he yelled the tears came pouring down from his face. He clenched his fists, still standing on the chair, glaring at Great Aunt Isobel.

"I DON'T CARE! YOU'RE JUST A MEAN OLD LADY WHO WANTS TO TAKE HERMIONE AWAY! I ... I WON'T LET YOU!"

Severus saw what was going to happen a second before it did, and made to jump up from his chair to get Harry to come down, but Aunt Isobel was quicker. She had leaped up from her seat as though electrified, and reached forward and swatted Harry hard on the bum where he stood on his chair. Severus winced.

Harry let out a yelp, and then reached down to feel his backside. It was not the cry of shock that Harry made, nor the pained look, but the sudden fear in his eyes as he froze that made a sudden bolt of anxiety go through Severus. Harry remained, staring in terror at Great Aunt Isobel, who looked at him with triumph, her hands on her hips. And then, with a whimper he leaped off the chair and ran out of the room, the same terrified look upon his face as Severus had seen the night of the boggart.

"You had no right to do that!" Severus said, not caring anymore what happened, fury coursing through his veins as he got to his feet. Hermione sat in shock, staring at the scene. She looked to Severus, clearly grateful, for she too was horrified at what had happened.

"I had every right - naughty little boys should be taught when to behave," Great Aunt Isobel said haughtily, returning to her tea. "As one of his elders, it is also my duty to teach him right and wrong."

"That boy is no ordinary boy!" Severus cried, furious, forcing himself to breathe as the magic coursed down his spine. "He's been abused you daft woman! That's not the kind of punishment that helps him learn - all it does is terrify him!"

To his surprise, Great Aunt Isobel's hand shook as she set her cup down.

Before she could defend herself, Severus had left the room, off to go find Harry. He had a hunch on where to find him.

***

Harry tried to calm his breathing, although it was going badly. Each breath came as a sharp gasp, and as he rocked back and forth, his face buried in Buttons' mane, he focused on the slightly dusty scent of the cupboard in his room. It was a safe smell, just different enough from his cupboard at the Dursleys', and just similar enough, that it set him at ease. He couldn't believe she had done that, and as he replayed the events in his mind he could remember every shout of Uncle Vernon's, every screech from Aunt Petunia. He could feel cold hands on his neck and the sharp throb of a hand to the back of the head. The sting of a slap to his cheek.

It seemed like a hundred years later when he heard a quiet voice outside the cupboard door, but it had only been a minute. Harry tried to make his breaths obey him, and become silent, but he couldn't do it.

"Harry, can I come in?" said the voice. "It's Severus. Just me. I want to make sure you are alright."

Harry nodded slightly, then realized Severus couldn't see him, so he raised his voice slightly, and through the sobs he called "Yes."

The cupboard creaked open, and Harry heard a rustling noise. He looked up to find Severus moving aside a box of toys, and taking them out of the cupboard. He sunk down on the opposite wall, and he pulled something from his pocket. I was the phoenix night-light, and it fluttered from his hand to rest on the wall.

"Would you like me to close the door?" Severus asked softly, and Harry nodded. The cupboard door was closed, and in the cramped space the two of them sat, the phoenix fluttering its wings and emitting a golden glow on the two of them. Severus had a pained sort of look on his face. After a moment, Harry realized that it was understanding.

Harry's breaths still came irregularly, and to his surprise, in the dim light, Severus opened his arms. Harry gasped slightly, and silently, he crawled toward Severus. He wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his face into his chest, sitting on his knees.

"I am so sorry," said Severus in his ear. "I should have protected you. I wasn't quick enough."

"'S okay," whispered Harry. "It's my fault."

"No, it's not," Severus said. "It is true that you should not have yelled at her like that, or gotten up on your chair, but she had no right to hit you without a warning like that."

Harry just sniffled.

"And neither did your relatives in the way they did," Severus told him.

Harry tensed, his stomach suddenly dropping to his toes.

"You know about that?" he whispered, pulling away slightly and looking into Severus' dark eyes. To his relief, they did not hold pity. Instead, the look of understanding had remained.

"I talked to your Aunt Petunia a few days ago," said Severus. "I got her to tell me a few things. That is how I knew to look for you in here. You feel safe in this place, don't you?"

"Uh huh," whispered Harry, pressing his face into Severus' shirt and breathing in his smell - like dust, soap, and something herbal. "Silly."

"No, it isn't silly. It makes sense. The cupboard was the only place that was only yours, the only place that only you could go into. It is completely understandable that you would feel the safest there."

"You're safer than cupboards," Harry whispered in Severus' ear.

Harry felt Severus' arms tighten around him, and pull him closer. He did not say a word for a long time.

"I can make sure that you don't go back to the Dursleys," muttered Severus when Harry had stopped shaking. "Do you want that?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Good. That's why I have been mailing Dumbledore, so I can tell him about what's happening, and make it better."

Harry let out a small sob, and clutched Severus' t-shirt, not knowing how to say how grateful he was. Severus just held him, shushing him gently. Telling him it was all going to work out.

"Where would I go?" Harry mumbled tiredly after a few more minutes.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't wanna go nowhere," Harry said quietly, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Severus' chest. "I wanna stay here. With you."

"Then here is where you'll stay," Severus replied in a shaky whisper. Harry smiled softly, and shut his eyes. He was asleep in minutes.

***

Severus was just putting Harry's sleepy form to bed when Hermione came into the room. He looked up from where he was tucking the covers around Harry. He would wake him in a little while for dinner, after he'd had a nap.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, for everything," Severus said quickly, worried by the shadows under Hermione's eyes. "Both Harry and I made a terrible impression. It's my fault, really. We were outside, and we lost track of time."

"No apology needed," Hermione said in a low voice. "I should be apologizing, for her. She's ... just, forceful, is all. This is the worst I've seen her though ... I think she was really stressed from the funeral, and so she was trying to find control somewhere in her life. We all were pretty stressed, I guess. She felt really bad, though, about what she did. She felt awful. But ... I wish she hadn't come at all. When she found out I was a witch too, well, she sort of insisted on coming for tea. She was a bit excited about it, I think. It never crossed my mind that it would go so badly."

"She didn't know you were magical either?" Severus said in surprise as the two of them walked slowly out of the room and down the stairs.

"Well, we both sort of kept it a secret, thinking the other wasn't, I guess," Hermione said with a frown. "She went abroad for school, so I guess it isn't too surprising I hadn't heard of her."

"Interesting."

"Interesting is right ..." she muttered. She opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say something more. But she closed it, seeming unable to speak.

They remained in silence until they reached the sitting room. It was nice and cool in here, and outside the harsh light of day was starting to wane. Severus took a seat in his usual armchair, and Hermione curled up on the sofa.

"Did you two decide when you are moving in?" Severus asked quietly, an empty sort of feeling in his gut as he remembered just why Great Aunt Isobel had come into the picture.

Hermione looked up at him.

"We're not sure when yet," she muttered, staring out the big sitting room windows.

It was with these words that he understood why his stomach felt empty. This illusion he'd been living in, the taste of what family life was like, was only ever to be temporary. Hermione would have to leave, and even though he wanted it, he dared not hope that Dumbledore would be able to arrange for Harry to live with him (if, by the odd chance, Harry still wanted to when he had returned to his normal age). Even if Harry was able to stay, Severus knew that anything more than that was for better men than he. Yet, this did not stop him from wishing that this fragile way of life did not have to be shattered, that Hermione would choose to stay here. He was so close to asking her, the words in his heart dying to be heard, for a small part of him told him there was a chance she would say yes if he just asked. But he couldn't. He tried to open his mouth to say the words, only to discover that he seemed to have frozen with the terror that she would think he was crazy for asking, that she would say she deserved better than Severus Snape as a guardian - a man that had thrown himself to the Dark Lord ... a man who had been nothing but cruel in the past ... a man who no longer had the ability to cast a spell.

Hermione got up from the sofa, shadows under her eyes. "I think I'll go read," she said softly, walking toward the stairs.

"Wait," he called after her, but his voice was not loud enough. It came out in a whisper, and Hermione was gone before he could make himself heard. He bowed his head, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The Dark Mark upon his left forearm stared at him. He shut his eyes tightly, and rolled down his sleeves once more, wishing with all his heart that things could be different.

It was a fool's dream, and he knew it. He had he'd never deserved Lily. He had not even deserved a proper father. He did not deserve any life besides one of loneliness, and anyone who believed otherwise hadn't known him enough to understand this.

Harry sat on the porch steps, staring wearily out at the dull ocean, its merry sparkling gone thanks to the cloud cover. Off in the distance he could see thunderheads piling up. Despite the fact that it was only five-thirty it felt like late evening, for the sun was blocked out by the incoming clouds. Hermione had asked him a little while ago if he wanted to build a puzzle, but he had told her he wasn't in the mood. In fact, he hadn't much been in the mood to do anything since the night before. He had wet the bed again, this time after a terrible nightmare. It probably hadn't helped that he'd had such a stressful encounter with Great Aunt Isobel. However, the nightmare had not featured her at all, despite this. Instead, it was of the usual horrors. In this particular nightmare Sirius had only half-fallen into the veil and managed to hang onto the stone dias. He had been calling for help, but Harry had been too afraid to move. He had been terrified to go near the veil, and had watched, frozen to the spot as Sirius slowly slipped away.

He had woken up screaming, and Severus braved the stairs to come and see what the matter was. When he got there all that had met him was a wet bed and an empty room, but he had thought to look inside the cupboard again, which was exactly where Harry had fled. Harry had felt so guilty after the dream that he was almost sick to his stomach, between making a mess of his bed, waking everyone up, and Sirius. He tried to let himself cry, he really did, but at that moment the heavy feeling in his chest that had been absent for a while had returned, and since then had stayed long after Severus had coaxed him out of his hiding place. In fact he still felt a little bit sick to his stomach at the thought of it, and the prospect of supper seemed rather daunting.

The storm cloud in the distance seemed to shiver with energy, and Harry felt the breeze ruffle his hair from behind. The clouds were drawing in warm air. Harry sighed heavily. The storm still frightened him to some degree, but the weight in his chest seemed to bring him back to his previous self a fair bit. He didn't feel as childish, and he felt sort of silly as he thought of all that had happened. Yet, a part of him, faced by the return of his depression, wanted nothing more than to grab Buttons and crawl up on Severus' lap. But, however patient Severus had been lately, and even though he had relaxed enough to call Harry by his first name, and let Harry refer to him that way as well, it was something Harry did not dare try.

A small, childish voice spoke, however.

But Severus held you when you saw Sirius' boggart. Don't you remember? And what about when he first found you in the cupboard, and he let you sit with him?

Harry frowned, staring at his shoes. Yes, he thought, but his older mind, the one that had learned not to trust or hope, said, But he only did that because of your accidental magic. It would have brought down the house if you'd kept going that way. And he only held you in the cupboard because he was afraid of the same thing, that you would start doing accidental magic again.

Harry looked up from his feet and stared off at the horizon. The storm had gotten closer. Knowing that Severus wouldn't much like him to be out in bad weather, Harry numbly stood up. His body ached, and for a moment he almost fell back onto the steps in exhaustion. Harry took in a deep breath and took another step toward the house, and another. He walked slowly inside, through the empty sitting room, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up them. Why did all this seem so difficult? His sluggish mind could not answer the question, but he grabbed a hold of the bars on the wood railing of the staircase, and slowly ascended, each step feeling like a mountain. At last he reached his room, and without even bothering to close his door he stumbled over to the bed. He crawled up onto it and threw the covers over his head. After a moment of hesitation, he reached his hand out of the nest of blankets and dragged Buttons toward him, those black button eyes greeting him with love despite the way that Harry felt. He held Buttons tightly to his chest, trying to ground himself to a world he did not feel a part of. For a moment he wondered if he really was here, or if somehow, his spirit - the life in him that was - had left for someplace better. He sighed heavily, and he left his mind go blank as the familiar bittersweet flavour of profound sadness washed over him. It hurt, and yet somehow, it felt oddly right. Harry supposed this was similar to the way adults felt about alcohol, something he had only tasted once out of curiosity when he was young and Uncle Vernon wasn't looking. He had gotten caught, and had been in a great deal of trouble, but he still remembered well the taste and feel of it in his mouth. It was sharp and bitter. His memory of alcohol made him think of depression, for he thought that the two things shared something rather significant in common, that thing being that after a while, you started to like how it burned.

Twenty minutes later. Harry heard Severus calling for he and Hermione to come downstairs for supper. He didn't move. It was about three minutes after this that he heard the footsteps on the stairs. By the slow, clunky sound of the steps Harry presumed it to be Severus. Harry scrunched his face up tightly.

"Harry?" said Severus' voice. It was soft, and Harry thought he could detect concern in his voice.

The steps came closer, and Harry felt Severus' weight settle on the side of the bed as he sat down. Harry remained where he was, lying with his back to Snape, the covers pulled over his head.

"Harry, it's time for supper," said Severus softly, his hand resting on Harry's back for a moment.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said, his voice muffled by the covers over his head.

"Were you sleeping?"

"No," Harry said before it occurred to him that Severus might leave him alone if he said he was napping.

"Will you look at me?" Severus asked, although not unkindly.

Harry tried for a moment to sit up, but settled back onto his side, back facing Severus still, the covers over his head.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I feel heavy."

"Is that nightmare still bothering you?"

"Yes," whispered Harry.

"It was not your fault. He would have felt terrible had he stayed behind."

"I know," Harry said out of habit.

"No," Severus said, although not unkindly. "You do not. But you will."

Harry felt a hand rest on his back again. It was gentle, and when Severus spoke his voice was understanding.

"I can save you some food if you would like."

Harry did not answer, but Severus did not seem to have been waiting for one. He got up quietly, and strode to the door.

"Wait," Harry said, lifting the covers off his head. "I - I think maybe ... I'm a little hungry after all."

The warm smile that came from Severus surprised Harry, and after a moment he found the strength to get out of bed. And while his feet felt like lead, he walked slowly toward Severus as though he was cutting through thick fog. When Harry reached him he held out his left hand, and Harry took it. For a moment he leaned against Severus' leg.

"Thanks Sev'rus," he whispered.

Severus squeezed his hand silently, looking down at Harry with a strange expression on his face. Harry realized, to his surprise, that it was pride.

Together they went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Harry still felt a little bit numb, but less so, and he was able to eat some of the spaghetti that Dobby had brought. Neither Severus nor Hermione pushed him to talk, but kept the conversation light between themselves, and for this, Harry was glad.

***

After supper Harry stood at the screen door, watching through the screen as the storm approached. Severus was practising wand movements with his left hand, using a plain stick that Poppy had brought by earlier in the day. He seemed to be quite keen to get started doing magic, and Harry had learned at the supper table that Poppy thought he was almost ready to do simple charms again, which was why she gave him the practise wand (although he still had to do the muggle sewing cards, which Severus was annoyed about). Hermione was knitting a hat for an elf - which she informed Harry was for Dobby as a thank you for all the good meals he had put together for them, and the cleaning he had done. Harry thought it looked a little bit like a giant caterpillar, but he didn't say so because he knew Dobby would love it anyway.

It was now almost completely dark outside, for the great anvil-shaped clouds had grown even larger and now covered the whole sky. Lightning had started to streak across the sky. Harry watched, fearful, and yet unable to look away. It was perfectly calm, and the lightning up above was so frequent that each fork might have just been an extension of the first. Yet, there was no sound.

"Where's the thunder?" Harry asked in a hushed voice, a faint shiver breaking through his numbness and running down his spine. "There's so much lightning, but no sound. How come?"

"It could be heat lightning, perhaps, which is when lightning is too far away to be heard," said Hermione without her usual sensible tone, looking up from her knitting. She did so slowly, as though she was rather tired, the way she had seemed all day. Harry thought she might be a bit depressed as well. He smiled at her in thanks for answering his question, even though it was hard for him to do so.

"Probably," Harry told her, "but still, they don't really look far away."

Harry heard a shuffling behind him, and was surprised when Snape joined him at the screen. He too looked up into the sky.

"Those do seem close," he said with a frown. "Perhaps the lightning is simply too high up for us to hear."

"It makes me all shivery," Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself.

Just then, a gust of hot air blew through the screen, and the first roll of thunder could be heard.

"Ah, there it is," Severus commented upon hearing it. He looked down at Harry for a moment, and Harry looked up at him. In a voice too soft for Hermione to hear, he added, "Are you alright? Would you like me to close the door, and the blinds on the windows?"

"I'm okay," Harry said, but his mouth was dry, and the lightning was making him shake. Yet, somehow, he was drawn to it. "I ... I wanna watch."

"Alright," Severus said slowly. "If it gets too much, let me know."

Harry nodded.

Severus went back to his chair to continue practising wand movements with a surprising amount of zest (occasionally sending the practise wand flying into a couch cushion or clattering across the floor, all of his blunders dismissed and followed by a fresh attempt that mimicked the same eagerness as a first year). Harry rested his hands on the screen. A loud crack of thunder sounded overhead. It was extremely close, and the flash had been blinding. Harry wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to watch despite his fear. It gave him feeling. It made him feel alive.

Shortly after the thunder died away the first drops of rain started, and Harry watched as the flashes illuminated them in the darkness. The wind picked up as the rain pounded on the roof, and Harry watched as the trees waved in the wind. He edged to the left of the screen, and he stared out into the space to the right side of the cottage. A series of lightning flashes cast blinding light over the trees, making the branches seem to move in slow motion. Harry's eyes were drawn immediately to the far right, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

Just barely illuminated by the intermittent flashes of lightning, the wind whipping its fur, was an enormous, shaggy black dog. It was staring straight at him, and before he even could consider that the wind was now whistling through the trees at an alarming pace, that the rain was coming down in icy sheets, that the lightning was dancing across the sky, he started toward it. Harry didn't even hear Severus calling his name as he pushed the screen door open and ran down the slippery porch steps and in the direction he had seen Padfoot.

***

Severus dropped the fake wand with a clatter, his heart seeming to have jumped up into his throat, his activity all but forgotten.

"Harry, come back here!" he called.

Hermione looked up in alarm, but Severus did pay any attention to that. He was out the door before she could gasp with shock, stumbling down the slick steps and out into the rushing wind, struggling to catch up with Harry.

"HARRY, COME BACK HERE!"

The thunder crashed in his ears and the lightning lit up the small figure sprinting across the sopping grass. For a second Severus thought that he saw the silhouette of an animal off in the distance, but he blinked and it was gone, Harry the only thing in sight.

***

Harry slipped and slid over the grass, the rain splattering on his small glasses and making it hard to see. His breaths came in gasps, his ears deaf to the cries for him to come back. He was at the edge of the house, and Padfoot was nowhere to be seen. He glanced all around, and for a moment, he became aware of the flashes overhead, and he felt his stomach clench with fear. Then he turned to his right. The tree that held the swing was waving in the wind, its black branches arching across a fiery, white sky. Beneath it was where Harry saw him. The great dog stood directly under the tree, watching, waiting.

Harry turned the corner, and ran along the side of the cottage, his eyes pinned on Padfoot.

***

Severus was running faster than he could remember running with his brace before, and his leg threatened to give out completely beneath him, but as Harry turned the corner he sped up despite this. His chest was heaving, his hair sticking to his face in the rain, his whole body shaking from the memories that came crashing down on him during ever roar of thunder, every flash of lightning. He caught sight of the tree, bending and twisting in the wind with the swing waving wildly, and the small form of Harry could be seen dashing toward it. What Harry was running for, Severus did not know, but it was clear he did not see what Severus did. Fear electrified Severus' senses, and he kept sprinting toward the tree, not far behind Harry. He could hear Hermione shouting at a distance, nowhere near close enough to either of them.

"GET AWAY FROM THE TREE!" Severus cried despite the fact that his voice was barely working.

But Harry halted beneath it, looking frantically around, as though he was looking for something ... and the trunk kept bending, its old, rotten centre ready to yield to the wind. Feet from the tree, Severus bit into his lip and tasted blood. His legs screamed as he increased his speed, hoping to the heavens that he wouldn't be too late.

The crack was like a gunshot.

Harry screamed as the snapping sound of the tree shattering met his ears. Bits of bark and rotten wood flew through the air, and for a second all he knew was the roar of the wind and the cracking sounds of branches falling. Then, quite suddenly, a streak of black went across his vision and an arm had him around the middle and scooped him up. He shut his eyes tightly, hearing the creaking sound of the tree falling, and then before he knew it he was on the ground and the strong figure that had been carrying him was over top of him, clutching him tightly.

Harry heard another scream off in the distance, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Hermione. He blinked slightly as everything seemed to go still, the thunder and wind seeming to pause for a second that felt like forever. It was Severus who was lying on top of him. Harry recognized the black t-shirt that Severus had been wearing. The warmth of his chest over Harry was a stark contrast to the cold of the ground. His vision blurred by tears, Harry peered through a small window created between Severus' arm and side, and up above Harry could see leaves and snapped branches, lightning still dancing across the sky. Harry realized right then that he was crying, tears running down his cheeks, his wails lost in the thunder. His mind was blurred with fear, but he could hear Hermione fighting through the tree limbs to get to them. Severus was not moving.

For a moment, Harry feared the worst, and then the arm tightened around him, and a small moan rang through Harry's ears. Harry started to cry harder, and Severus stirred. He gripped Harry tightly, and his left hand secured itself around Harry. Harry felt Snape roll over and sit up. Harry was still clutched to Snape's chest, and he pressed his face into Severus' shirt, his cries muffled, hiding his eyes. Padfoot was nowhere to be seen.

***

Severus sat up, still holding Harry tightly to him with his left arm. There was debris from the fallen tree everywhere, and he could see the enormous trunk about five feet to his left, having fallen parallel to where they now sat. After a moment, his mind feeling numb with adrenaline, he managed to get to his feet amidst the tangle of sticks and leaves, his left arm holding Harry to his hip. His legs shook under him, but his slightly blurred vision focused, and he saw Hermione had fought her way to where they were. He glanced around the mess of fallen limbs, and it was then that he realized just how lucky they had been.

Besides the trunk being so close, a foot to his left was a thick tree limb, to his right another. Severus felt Harry lift his head from his shoulder for a second and look around. When he saw what Severus did he fell silent and pressed his eyes into Severus' neck.

"Are you alright?" Hermione called above the sound of the storm, her voice shaking.

"I - I think so," Severus said.

"I can take Harry, if you need," Hermione said as he fought his way out of the tangle of branches with care.

"I've got him," Severus told her, amazed as much as she seemed to be that he was able to carry Harry with his good arm.

Harry let out a tiny sob, and once everyone was free the three of them walked with care to the house, fighting the wind and rain. Hermione held the door open for Severus. He thanked her dizzily, and stepped into the sitting room, sinking onto the sofa immediately with Harry upon his lap, exhaustion having caught up to him.

Hermione shut the heavy wood door over the screen door, and grabbed a knitted throw from the armchair. She draped it over Harry and Severus.

"Thank you, Hermione," said Severus, amazed he was even able to speak.

"Shall ... Shall I go makes some tea?" she said, looking pale, but unable to sit still despite this. "To calm the nerves?"

"If you feel up to it."

She nodded, looking as though she welcomed the distraction. For a moment she paused to close the blinds in the living room, blocking out the lightning. She glanced fervently at Harry, then turned up the lamp and left for the kitchen, leaving Severus and Harry alone.

***

Harry shifted slightly so he was lying across Severus' lap, his cheek resting against his chest. He took in a shuddering breath and looked up at Severus. His mind was finally starting to work properly again, and now that it was, there was something that he didn't understand.

"W-Why did ... y-you do that?" he asked, his words coming out in shuddering gasps.

"Do what?" was the quiet reply.

"Run under the tree when it b-broke."

"It was going to fall on you," said Severus, looking puzzled.

"You ... you coulda d-died!"

"So?"

"You almost died ‘cause of m-me. Why?"

"Because I care about you," Severus said slowly, his words almost sounding as though they were a surprise to himself.

"But ... what if you'd died?"

"If I managed to save you ... it would have been worth it."

Harry stared, a strange, warm feeling deep within him.

"You wouldn't have blamed me?"

"No."

"I saw Sirius," Harry said thickly as the tears started to fall, his mind suddenly flashing to the image of Padfoot under the tree. "I saw Padfoot. I chased him. That's why I went outside."

Harry expected Severus to tell him it was his imagination, but for some reason, Snape simply paled.

"Is that so," was Severus' reply.

"And ... a-and then y-you saved me," Harry said. "You coulda d-died!"

"It was a risk I was willing to take," Severus told him, emphasizing what he had essentially said earlier.

"And .... And S-Sirius was willing to t-take it t-too?" Harry asked suddenly, the realization hitting him hard.

"Yes. He was, and he did. It was a chance he would have taken again, gladly. Just ... just as I would be willing to take it again."

"I'm s-sorry, Sev'rus," Harry sobbed, clutching at Severus' shirt, unable to look into his eyes and thus burying his face in the fabric. "I'm soo sorrry. And S-Sirius ... I never m-meant for him t-to d-d-die!"

"I know," Severus replied heavily. "I forgive you. I ... I am sure that he would too."

The tears came faster, and Harry felt Snape's arm tighten around him as the sobs grew louder. It was as though a dam had finally broken, and once it had, Harry couldn't stop it. He cried for what had just happened, for what Severus had just done, for all the things he had hoped for when he found out Sirius was his Godfather, for all the dreams that had died when he was taken from him, for the guilt he had lived with for so long, and for the realization that it wasn't his fault. For the realization that he was loved. He cried until he didn't have any tears left, and all the while Severus spoke to him softly, telling him he would be alright. Until at last, his sobs softened, and his eyes grew dry, and he lay quietly on Severus' lap, kept warm by the knitted throw. The cup of tea Hermione had made Severus had grown cold beside him. Harry didn't remember her coming in to bring it to Severus.

***

Severus looked down at the little boy leaning into him, small fingers playing with the fabric of his black t-shirt. Harry looked content at last, thankfully. Though his eyes were puffy, he looked better now that he had accepted the handkerchief from Severus and blown his nose. He sniffled softly again.

Severus felt the relief growing inside himself, but his mind was not exactly at ease. He pondered what Harry had said, about having seen the animagus form of Black. He would ordinarily have dismissed the thought, but he had thought he had seen something too while running after Harry. Yes, it had been dark and disorienting in the storm, but Severus was almost positive he hadn't been seeing things. Either some animal had been loose earlier, he and Harry had had similar hallucinations, or ... perhaps ...

A rather silly thought occurred to him, and yet, he had trouble dismissing it. Was it possible that it had not been Black, but the Grim? They had so narrowly escaped being crushed that Severus feared it had been. He knew it was stupid to think such a thing, but a part of him could not help it. Yet, could it have been something besides the Grim, and could Black really have made a short appearance? Stranger things happened every day in the magical world, and was it not possible that he had led Harry under the tree so that Severus would save him, and help him see the truth he so desperately needed to understand, that it was not his fault? The tree had fallen in such a way that they hadn't been touched, and after seeing the mangled wreckage, Severus could scarcely believe that they had come out with only minor scratches. But would Black condone his long-time enemy keeping Harry safe? Severus frowned, and shook his head. Yet, he could not dismiss the thought, for perhaps now, if Black was out there somewhere, he could see how things had changed ... that Severus wasn't who he used to be. But had he? Had he truly changed? Severus thought so.

Of these things he pondered for a long time, nothing but the growl of thunder to interrupt his thoughts, until hesitantly Harry spoke.

"I'm hungry."

"You are?" said Severus, relieved but unsurprised considering how little Harry ate at supper. "What would you like?"

"Grilled Cheese?" Harry asked hesitantly as he slid of Severus' lap and onto the ground, his fingers picking at the threads around the pockets of his overalls.

"I think I can make that," Severus replied, getting up from the sofa.

Harry smiled and slid his hand into Severus'. The warmth of the small hand in his was oddly comforting to Severus, and together they started to walk to the kitchen. For a moment, Severus was surprised at how slow Harry was walking. He slowed his pace so Harry could keep up.

His heart jumped into his throat when Harry's hand went limp in his. Severus tightened his grip as Harry fell to his knees, but his small hand slipped. Severus was at least able to slow his descent by doing this.

"Harry!" Severus said, alarmed as he looked down at the collapsed little boy.

Severus knelt down to where Harry was lying perfectly still. He felt his wrist, and luckily, there was a pulse, but Harry was deathly pale.

"HERMIONE!" Severus yelled in the direction of the stairs, "COME HERE!"

Hermione sprinted down into the sitting room in record speed, a book still dangling from one hand. When she saw Harry lying still upon the ground, Severus kneeling beside him, she gasped. The book slid from her fingers, and she paid no attention to it.

"What happened?"

"I - I do not know, he just fainted," Severus told her with bewilderment. "Give me a hand and carry him up to his bed, will you? I'm going to get that enchanted sickle to signal Dumbledore and Poppy. He might just be changing back ... but I don't want to risk anything. He said he was hungry a moment earlier - it could be something else as well."

Hermione did as she was told and scooped Harry up into her arms. His head lolled on his chin, and his arm dangled lifelessly. It frightened Severus terribly, but he knew he couldn't afford to lose sight of what he had to do. He heard Crookshanks yowl as he came to investigate. The cat followed Hermione, watching intently as she carried Harry.

Severus travelled to his room as quickly as he could and wrenched open the drawer that he kept the sickle in. He did not see it immediately, but he supposed it must have slid under the single stack of parchment paper within the desk from opening and closing the drawer. He took the paper out of the drawer and shook the whole stack. He threw these onto his bed when nothing came out, and he stared in fear at the empty wooden drawer. His eyes caught sight of a crack in the back of it. He had not seen that there before. Had he noticed it, he never would have left the sickle here.

He swore and went to the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?" he called.

She poked her head out of Harry's door.

"What?"

"I need you to do a summoning charm to get the sickle. I think it's fallen somewhere inside the desk inside my bedroom. I will sit with Harry in the meantime."

Hermione nodded and rushed down the stairs. Severus went up, and when he reached the top he entered Harry's room. He sat down on the chair Hermione had set down beside Harry's bed, and he stared at the little boy nestled under the covers, his glasses folded neatly on the top shelf that made up the headboard. He was so pale, lying there. Hermione had settled the stuffed lion next to him, and Crookshanks was curled up by the headboard, his yellow eyes pinned on Harry.

Severus glanced at the door, then back at Harry, and when he was sure nobody was looking he smoothed the covers slightly.

"Wake up, come on," he said, feeling Harry's forehead. It was strangely cool, with droplets of sweat.

After a moment, Hermione returned, looking ill.

"Severus?" she said in a low voice.

"Did you get it?"

"N-No," Hermione replied, twisting her hands. "I tried summoning it so many times, but it d-didn't come. I hoped it would make some noise at least, trying to get to me, but I've listened, and l-listened, and I can't hear it in the desk, or anywhere else downstairs. I think it must be lodged in that crack in the back somewhere so tightly it can't move. Either that ... or maybe Dobby accidentally swept it up when he was cleaning? Oh ... why now?"

She sunk down on the bed, putting her face in her hands, falling silent. Severus too could not think of anything to say for a moment. The wind battered the house and made it moan, the rolling thunder overhead louder upstairs than it had been in the sitting room.

"Hermione, have you ever done a Patronus charm?" Severus said slowly. "If you can conjure one, you can give the Patronus a message, which it can pass on extremely fast."

She looked up at him, her face devoid of tears, but worry etched in lines across her forehead.

"H-Harry taught us last year," she said quietly, a soft tremble running through her words. "But ... Severus, I've never been good at them. And now ... lately ... I just ... I don't think I can."

"I cannot do the wand movement," Severus admitted, his voice shaking slightly. "The swishing motion - it needs to be smooth and quick. I ... I have tried to conjure my Patronus a few times ... as a comfort. And my left hand just can't do it well enough. You are the only one here that has a chance. You must."

***

Hermione looked deep into Severus' eyes as he told her he could not conjure his Patronus, and for the first time since she had known him, she saw true fear in them. Even when they had encountered the boggart in the laundry room she had not seen this kind of fear in his eyes. It had been more so a look of disappointment upon his face when he could not tackle the boggart, but now, she knew he truly was afraid of what might happen should there be something truly wrong with Harry, and they were unable to help him.

The grief that weighed on her soul intensified for a moment when she thought of casting a Patronus. How could she possibly accomplish what she had only occasionally been able to do under good circumstances? Yet, looking down at Harry, and seeing the look on Severus' face, she knew she could not give up so easily.

"I can try," she said softly.

"I believe that you can do it," Severus told her firmly. "Please, for Harry."

Hermione closed her eyes, and concentrated on the memory she had always used for casting her Patronus - the memory of coming home for Christmas in her first year, and seeing her mother and father beaming on the platform, waving at her, her father's arm around her mother's shoulder.

"Expecto Patronum!" she gasped. For a second there was a flicker of light, but the pressure in her chest increased, and it died.

"Try again," Severus said urgently, glancing at Harry, whose breathing was so shallow it seemed as though he may have stopped if it were not for the occasional rise and fall of his chest. "I know you have it in you."

"Expecto Patronum!" she said after a moment of focus. "E-Expecto Patronum!"

This time there was no light at all.

"S-Severus, I can't!" she said, the tears flowing down her face at last. "E-Every t-time I think about them ... it starts out okay, and then ... all I can feel is emptiness. The only memories that have ever worked are w-with M-Mum and Dad in them."

"There has to be another memory, another thought that brings you happiness," Severus said urgently. "Think, Hermione!"

So Hermione closed her eyes, and she scanned though memories beginning from the time she could remember, until now. She spent a good couple of minutes thinking, pondering, until at last, she thought she had a memory that worked. For a moment, when she thought of it, some of the heaviness lifted, and that was when she knew that this memory stood a chance.

She let it fill her soul, she let her mind exist within it, and quietly, slowly, she raised her wand.

"Expecto Patronum," she whispered.

A silver otter burst from her wand in a flurry of sparks, swimming through the air around Hermione, its bright light filling the room. Hope expanded in her chest, and the otter grew brighter until its power was greater than any Patronus she had managed so far, for the sheer relief she felt at knowing it had worked fuelled the Patronus. Tears filled her eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow.

"Tell it what you want to say," Severus said. The relief was evident in the breathless way he spoke.

"Go to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey," she gasped to the otter now staring at her intently. "Tell them Harry is unconscious and Severus and I need them to come now, and that we think Harry might be turning back but we cannot be sure."

The otter nodded, and Hermione and Severus watched as it did a small flip in the air and sped through the glass of the window, and out into the dark night. Its silver light could be seen in the shimmering rain for only a moment before it had disappeared from view.

Hermione fell back on the end of the bed, her breaths coming quickly.

"I did it," she whispered dazedly. "I did it."

They were silent for a few moments, and the full force of the roaring wind and rain on the windowpane could be heard.

"That was a powerful Patronus," Severus said quietly after some time, sounding impressed. "What ... what was the memory, if you don't mind me asking?"

Hermione sat up with care. With a thoughtful look in her eyes she reached a hand out to trace the lines on the wooden posts at the end of the bed. After a moment, she answered.

"It ... it was here ... this place," she muttered. "Bell Point, I mean."

Severus looked thoughtful as she spoke, but this look was replaced with worry all too quickly as he continued to watch Harry, the gentle creases on his forehead visible.

They said no more after that, and simply sat and listened to the storm, watching Harry closely as they waited for Dumbledore to arrive, neither able to acknowledge the silent worry that had fallen over them.

Severus leaped up from the chair by Harry's bed when Poppy rushed into the room at last, shattering the silence that had stretched between Hermione and Severus since they had sent the Patronus.

"Harry!" Poppy said, her hand up against her mouth.

Severus glanced to Hermione, and they shared a look of relief.

"You said he just collapsed, did he?" Poppy asked breathlessly as they made way for her to kneel by his bedside.

"Yes," said Severus, worry gnawing at his gut. "It was a few minutes after he'd finished having a breakdown over Black. I think he finally realized it wasn't his fault. But I cannot be sure. Better safe than sorry ..."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, feeling Harry's forehead.

"He's so cold," she said, sounding alarmed. She waved her wand a few times, repeating various patterns, at last saying nervously, "I don't know what to make of it, Severus. I hope you are right that this is what is happening, because I haven't seen anything like it before."

"You think he's changing back, then? It isn't something else?" Hermione asked, the fear evident in her voice. She was shaking, and her eyes were filled with tears as she hovered at the end of the bed.

Hesitantly, Severus edged a bit closer to her, and grasped her shoulder. The tremors seemed to dissipate slightly, and while Hermione did not say anything, she did not shy away.

"I think that must be it," said Poppy, although she still looked concerned, and uncertain.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs reached their ears, and before anyone could even greet him, Dumbledore was kneeling by Harry's bed, a hand on his Harry's wrist and feeling his pulse. After a moment he moved the hand to Harry's forehead. Harry moaned softly in his state. The air seemed to ripple slightly. The thunder outside crashed loudly.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Yes," he said, "yes, he's returning to his previous state. I am quite sure of it. It seems to match what little is in books and papers about this phenomenon. You can feel the magic too. I am glad you informed us. I am glad to be here for this, just in case."

Severus stood still, and concentrated, thinking of Dumbledore's comment about the magic. He too could feel the tingling feeling over his body now that he had calmed down a bit.

"Thank Merlin," he said hoarsely once he had found his voice, his hand still on Hermione's shoulder. Dumbledore turned to him with a look of concern.

"Severus, there was something besides this that you wanted to discuss with me," he said. "I believe it will take some time for Harry to fully change back to himself. We might as well have our discussion in the meantime."

"I will be watching over Mr. Potter," said Poppy.

Severus looked at Harry, then to Hermione, and Poppy. He hated to leave Harry, and it made him self conscious to know that he couldn't hide his concern. But, Severus knew that Poppy would know when to come and get him or Dumbledore if something went wrong, which it likely wouldn't. He also knew that sharing with Dumbledore the things he had learned were of utmost importance. If Harry was changing back, the last thing he wanted was for him to be shipped back to the Dursleys'. The sooner he talked to Dumbledore, the better.

"Alright," he said slowly, taking his hand off of Hermione's shoulder and walking over to the door, where Dumbledore was standing. "But, Poppy, come and get me if he begins to wake. I want to be here."

"Alright, Severus," she said, a trace of a smile evident on her lips as she took the chair Severus had been sitting in.

"Oh, and Miss Granger," said Dumbledore before he and Severus left, his eyes twinkling, "that was an excellent Patronus. Given the circumstances, I would award you a hundred points for that, were we in school."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured.

"You are most welcome," he said with a smile.

He swept out of the room, and Severus followed.

"Albus, I require your pensive for this," Severus said shortly.

Dumbledore nodded. Severus went on a quick trip to his room to retrieve his wand. He entered the kitchen to find Dumbledore standing by the table. Within moments Dumbledore had performed an elegant twisting motion with his wand, and as though it was made from smoke, the pensive materialized on the kitchen table. It looked so out of place in a room that was ordinary in every way. Severus moved to stand before the pensive.

"You should not have put this off," said Severus in a low voice, unable to stop it from shaking with anger. "You really should have come when I said so."

Dumbledore seemed to have opened his mouth to explain, but Severus cut him off, giving him a look that clearly said "later". He raised his wand to his temple, his left hand steady as a rock now that the time had come for him to pull through for Harry, just as he'd promised. A silver strand was pulled from his temple, and the gossamer thread of memories was lowered into the pensive. Severus looked pointedly at Dumbledore, who stepped toward the pensive, and lowered his face to the surface. He sunk into it, and Severus plunged into the bowl after him.

They arrived on Privet Drive, and up ahead, while he was unable to see himself, Severus knew he was walking beneath the invisibility cloak.

"This way," he muttered to Dumbledore, and they walked forward, sliding dreamlike across the landscape until they reached number four. Severus saw the door knocker move, and as the door opened Petunia was pushed aside by the invisible force, her shocked expression evident.

Dumbledore and Severus entered the house. They watched as the memory Severus pulled the cloak off, as he threatened Petunia, as he snarled and pushed his way into the kitchen. Dumbledore tore his gaze from the memory, and looked over to Severus with curiosity.

"I got tired of waiting for your explanation," Severus explained simply, though his voice was biting. "Just because I cannot cast spells yet, does not mean I cannot apparate."

"Well, you never were one to sit idly by," Dumbledore said quietly, sounding rather impressed, to Severus' irritation. They fell silent again as the two people before them began to talk.

It was not long before the memory of Severus had Petunia spilling her darkest secrets. Severus, who had been hearing Petunia's confessions every time he went to sleep for the past few nights, watched Dumbledore instead of himself. He wanted to know how much Dumbledore knew. The evidence against Petunia piled up, steadily growing. It got worse as she continued, just as it had the first time. Only Severus knew what was coming now, and it made it all the more horrid.

"A good wallop to the back of the head smartens him up," Petunia's voice echoed. Severus glanced at her in disgust, finally able to show his true feelings. "He's pretty quick though, and hard to catch, but the lesson sinks in all the better when you finally do get him."

Severus turned to look at Dumbledore, and he was alarmed by the shade of grey that he had gone. He sneaked glances at him every so often, and Dumbledore did not improve in his appearance.

The minutes ticked by, and Severus tried to block out the sounds of Petunia's grating voice, for every word she said was making the old anger within him rise like hot lava. He could feel the tingling at the tips of his fingers and toes, and this sensation was an entirely different one than he had experienced when he had been in Harry's room earlier, and Dumbledore had pointed out the magic in the air. That magic was benign, but this ... this was destructive. Severus took a deep breath, and he felt the feeling reduce.

He shook his head slightly, and upon noticing himself and Petunia moving into the hallway, he followed. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry. Despite the fact that he knew what was about to happen, he still felt sick.

"Where was he before?" he heard himself ask in regard to where Harry used to sleep.

"The cupboard," was the haunting reply he'd heard too many time to count since the visit. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the look on his own face. He could hear the picture frames shifting ever so slightly, the memory preserving this detail well. It was odd, because he could feel the magic in the air. Severus frowned. Pensive memories were not that powerful, were they?

He opened his eyes and looked at Dumbledore, and felt his mouth open with surprise. The magic was not from the memory, but from him. Sparks crackled in the air, and a pulsating kind of aura seemed to surround Dumbledore, who had a look so terrible on his face that Severus backed up, the years reminding him of the night he had first gone to Dumbledore, begging for Lily's life. The hatred was intense, and Severus was reminded of why Dumbledore was so feared.

When the door to number four slammed the memory went black, and moments later they were in the kitchen again. The only noise to be heard by Severus was the rushing within his ears, and his senses felt strangely dead with no magic coursing through the air. It was gone. Dumbledore's face was no longer terrifying, but the look that had replaced it was even worse than before. It was the look of despair.

And for the first time since Severus had known Dumbledore, he seemed lost for words. Feeling weak at the knees, Severus sunk into the chair opposite Dumbledore.

"I ... I am sorry, Severus," Dumbledore muttered at last, he too sitting down. "I am sorry I did not come immediately. I had important things to do - and I guess I thought they were important enough that I could wait a few days before coming to see you."

"What was so bloody important," hissed Severus, "that you pretty much ignored everything I was saying?"

Dumbledore took a shaking hand, pale and clammy, and he reached it into his robes. He pulled out a crisp newspaper. It was stamped with tomorrow's date.

"I thought this was the best thing I could have been doing at the time, for Harry," muttered Dumbledore, eyes dull, their twinkle lost. "The past month I've been in and out of the Ministry. I had to testify this week, and talk to a lot of people to get it all sorted out. A lot of evidence was required."

Curious, Severus picked up the newspaper, shaking slightly from the residual anger. He read words splashed in bold print across the front page.

"Sirius Black declared innocent - Albus Dumbledore testifies," he muttered under his breath. Beneath it was a large photograph of Sirius Black, grinning and laughing with James Potter, looking just as Severus remembered him at school. He looked away quickly.

He cleared his throat slightly.

"I ... I understand," Severus said quietly as he stared down at the words again. "This will mean a lot to him."

To his own surprise, Severus felt a bitter, and yet relieved laugh rise from his throat as he threw the newspaper down on the table.

Dumbledore looked at Severus, his expression questioning. Severus replied after a moment.

"Until now, I thought that you knew about Harry's home life already. I suspected that you were working against me."

When he looked up from the paper, still lying on the tabletop, he was amazed to see that Dumbledore's eyes were damp. Dumbledore looked away, staring out the window, where the rain was running over the glass.

"I am a fool, Severus," he muttered, his words rasping. "A fool too caught up in ideas ... too willing to believe in the good of people to see the horrible things like Petunia Dursley are capable of. Forgive me."

"It is not my place to forgive," muttered Severus, trying to keep the biting tone from his voice. "It's Harry's."

"You are right," Dumbledore replied, clearing his throat slightly before continuing. "How could I have been so blind? I ... I knew things were tense between Harry and his relatives, I knew from the very start they would be. I knew they punished harshly, but not like that ... not like that. Harry could easily have suffered serious harm from them. All those years I simply wrote off his protests as being to insignificant, considering that it is ... or was, the safest place for him to go. And even with your letters ... perhaps ... perhaps I merely did not want to believe that things were as bad as you said so in the letters. I thought some of it was merely Harry's sudden transformation into a child ... his withdrawn nature ... the anxiety ..."

"Harry cannot stay there," said Severus firmly.

"And I agree with you. We will find somewhere else for him to go. There is no sense protecting him from those outside Privet Drive if the ones inside pose a threat as well. I never thought that Petunia would consider ... striking a child simply for being different." He shook his head sorrowfully, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. "Even given the circumstances ... no child should be treated that way."

Severus felt a rush of relief at the last statement, for he had feared that Dumbledore would see the evidence and still say Harry must stay - he had a whole list in his mind of all the memories that would prove his point - that Harry had been abused. He was grateful he did not need to break Harry's trust and show them, that Petunia's confession was enough. He had been so afraid that Dumbledore had known all along, that he had simply decided it was a necessary evil to ensure the Dark Lord's defeat - toughen up their freedom fighter while he was young, and send him out the door with his fists raised and his armour thick. Severus did not think it was possible to sum up the vastness of the weight that had just been lifted from his shoulders.

"He can stay here, with me," Severus said, his voice shaking as he fought the fears deep inside him ... the old fears. He tensed, hoping he would not be interrupted and told he wasn't good enough. "He asked some time ago to stay here. Of course, he was acting very childish at the time ... but if he still wants to ... I would be willing to become his guardian."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore said, genuinely surprised.

Severus nodded, his eyes darting from his lap to Dumbledore. "He's ... he's different now. Well, no, it is me that has changed. Or, maybe we both have."

"You need not explain," replied Dumbledore with a soft smile. "I trust that your reasoning is sound."

"And ... while ... while we are on the subject of bad situations," said Severus hesitantly, "I am worried about Hermione."

"And what of Miss Granger?"

"Her Great Aunt Isobel seems ... rather hard on her, and Hermione seems to be displeased with going to live with her. As I understand, the arrangement was only made because of a sudden change in circumstances, and because she only had a little while before she could live on her own. I worry that she will be unhappy with her. Would you, perhaps, be able to suggest an alternative living arrangement for her?"

"Can you?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

Severus felt his neck grown hot, and he spluttered slightly. He looked down, then back at Dumbledore.

"She wouldn't want me for a guardian," he said. "Harry's one thing - I mean, he has nobody to compare me to. And, sure, Hermione and I get along well now, but ... really, me as her guardian? As a mentor or sorts perhaps, but I do not know anything about young girls. The ones in Slytherin baffle me. Hermione wouldn't want this ..."

"Severus, she was able to conjure a Patronus from here."

"With difficulty. It took her a couple tries."

"I am willing to bet the memories she tried first were of her parents."

"She ... she mentioned that," Severus said, staring at Dumbledore with narrowed eyes.

"And did she say what memory was the one that worked?"

"Well," said Severus, pausing to think. He had been so panicked he had only considered her reply for a moment. "She said that she thought about Bell Point."

"Is that so?" he said, unsurprised. "My, she really must find this a beautiful place to live if she can create a Patronus simply by picturing the scenery of the cottage."

"Don't be daft, Albus," Severus said before he could stop himself, thinking of an old saying of Lily's. "It's the people that make a ho -"

Severus fell silent and looked at Dumbledore, his mouth half open.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore told him, beaming. "About time, Severus. About time."

"You ... you really think that means ..."

"Yes!" Dumbledore replied before chuckling softly. "If you work up the courage to ask her, I have little doubt that she will say no, if she is as unhappy as you believe. The signs are obvious Severus - it is only your fears that blind you to them."

Severus did not have much time to respond to that, for a sudden interruption cut their conversation short.

"Harry's waking up!" called Hermione urgently down the stairs.

He leaped up from his chair, and rushed up the stairs as quickly as he could.

When they entered the room, Severus was amazed to see that Harry was no longer a child. He was once again fifteen, skinny and lanky where he lay in the bed. He was still wearing the childish clothes, the overalls he had been wearing re-sized to fit him. Severus moved to sit by his bedside, and did not pay much attention to Poppy or Dumbledore leaving the room. Hermione hovered again at the end of the bed, anxiously awaiting her friend's return to consciousness. Harry stirred slightly, moaning a little bit in his sleep. His feet kicked again, the covers half off of him.

***

Harry was falling. He had started falling a long time ago, really. Ever since the night Sirius had left him for good. He had been stuck for a while in weightlessness over the past few weeks. But that free fall had returned full force when he felt his hand slip from Severus'. Harry didn't feel himself hit the floor, or hear the startled voices which logically should have met his ears. Instead, he was met with nothing. After a moment, the nothingness was replaced with an uneasy sensation. A crack of thunder up above - or was it in his mind? Then, hot lightning was running through his brain, like a whip it cracked the still processes into action, triggering a memory. The vague recollection of that first collapse at Privet Drive was brought to mind, and Harry was semi aware of the fact that he had collapsed a second time, that he was unconscious. But this was nothing like the first time, when he had fallen into a darkness, and cold, consuming numbness. This was dark ... but it was not cold at first. It was like standing outside in the middle of the night, the world pitch black and feeling the heat of a storm coming on your skin. Then, just as in the storm that night, the lightning consumed him once more, the memories taking over fully.

Like a flickering picture from an old film projector he saw Sirius' face across the forefront of his mind. The pictures of him as a young man twisted together with those of him in Azkaban, the wasted dead look in his eyes imploring Harry to save him as the Dementors swooped down, as the veil swallowed him up, as he disappeared forever. A sharp, painfully cold feeling washed over Harry in waves, taking over the previous warmth until it was replaced by a strange sense of detachment. The memories were replaced by a new, unfamiliar scene. And yet, there was something vaguely familiar about it even so, but it was not a memory. It did not seem to be real either, however. It had the unmistakable twisted image of something akin to a dream.

He was flying over water, a grey, dull blanket spread out beneath him, the chill of the sea spray stinging his face. Before him, Harry could see blackened stone walls of the fortress, crumbling in spots from years of being worn away by the sea. As he rushed toward it he looked down at his hands, amazed. They were not small anymore. He glanced back up, his hair whipping back as the tower grew nearer. His heart hammering, he landed softly on the rock that housed it. His feet touched the ground, but they did not feel like they were properly in contact with it. He drifted dreamlike through the iron doors that had sprung open, and he was blown into the hallway by a bitter and icy wind. It was damp and freezing in here. His insides turned to ice when he saw them: Hundreds of Dementors were lined up in rows along the walls, stock still and yet terrible all the same. Their rattling breaths filled him with a poisonous chill. Harry's legs became heavy and he fought to drag himself forward. He had no strength to raise his wand, and his throat was too dry to make a sound. He felt his eyes dragged down to his feet and he stared at the blackened stone, walking forward but going nowhere. It might have been a lifetime that he spent walking down that hallway with the blackness of the motionless Dementors' stares boring into his skull.

At last, a tiny flicker of something ignited in his chest, and he wasn't sure what it was, but for a moment, he was able to look up to the end of the long, draughty corridor. There was a dim sort of glow at the end of it, not bright, but rather like fire, a flickering sort of quality that made it come and go. It filled Harry with a sense of longing, and he broke into a run despite the aching in his bones.

When that first running step fell with a heavy thud a noise like a thunderclap sounded and another flash snaked across his vision. He fell hard on the stone floor, his cheek resting on the cold ground.

"TAKE HARRY AND RUN!" he heard a distant voice yell, soft and echoing. A flash of green light passed over his eyes, but he shut them tightly. For one, short moment the echo of his mother yelling for Voldemort to take her instead pierced his mind. It was only an echo, and a soft one at that, but it cut like a knife anyway. Not a moment after she had fallen silent he heard his own voice, yelling for Sirius as the black curtained veil swallowed him up, but his mouth was closed tightly. It was a memory and nothing more. Silence fell once more, the kind that presses down like a weight.

Shivering and shaking Harry pushed himself off the ground, and opened his eyes, his vision blurring. As he did so, the cold left, and all around him he realized that the grungy, blank walls of what he assumed had to be Azkaban had changed, no Dementors in sight. They were now crumbling, and the sunshine was pouring in through cracks in the walls and roof. The dusty, empty cells were illuminated by beams of light, and vines and moss were taking over the bars as he watched. Harry walked, the silence filling his ears, his footsteps making no sound on the mossy stone as he looked into each cell. They were not as empty as he had believed.

Harry did a double take as he passed the first cell. Sitting on one of the horizontal bars was a tiny, dusty figurine. It looked familiar. Harry lowered his face down to it, and blew some of the dust off it. A little tin soldier with chipped red paint stared him in the face. He tried to touch it, but his fingers passed straight through it. He frowned.

He crept forward, edging through the silent world as warm sunlight poured on his skin. He paused beside the next cell. This one was very overgrown, but not with vines. Somehow, the metal bars could not hold the contents of the cell; the door was open and rich, dark soil spilled out of it. Growing in it, bending around the bars and out the window and along the floor were dozens upon dozens of white lilies. Their perfume was sweet and soft, and Harry breathed it in. It was the most intoxicating scent he had ever come across, and he was tempted to lie amongst the flowers and simply exist, letting them envelope him. Yet, a strange sense of urgency invaded his senses before he could do so. Something was pulling him forward, so with a longing glance at the soft flowers, he continued. Yet, as he took a step away, he thought he heard a small childish giggle come from the lilies. He paused to look around, and for a moment he was sure he saw a pair of small, deep brown eyes, but he blinked and they were gone. Unnerved, he moved forward.

The next cell puzzled him a little bit. It held nothing but a small, child-sized school desk facing him, with a few pencils scattered about on it. He tried the door, hoping to go in to see if something was inside the desk, but the iron would not budge. Harry moved on, not bothering to look back, He trod softly, continuing to observe the contents of each barred room: Muddy paw-prints in one cell; birthday cakes all lined up along the far wall in another, their candles too far to blow out; a rusting old lawn mower; Mrs. Figg's living room (complete with cats), perfectly reconstructed with a metal door that only opened partway; a thousand letters and care packages addressed to him from his parents, all stuffed out of reach; a replica of Delores Umbridge's office with an idle, sharp quill; a giant model of Harry's own pair of glasses through which you could see shadows of people if you looked long enough.

It was the last cell that held what he most hoped to see since the high walls of Azkaban had come into view, and when he had reached it, the door locked, Harry saw someone with his back to him and standing at the window. His heart jumped into his throat, and he tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The familiar figure did not look over to him, but was instead looking serenely out the window at a distant shore, which was just visible on the horizon. The window looked more as though it belonged to Hogwarts than a jail. Harry rattled the door handle further, his throat suddenly too tight to call out. He tried harder to open it, but after a long struggle, he let his hands drop in defeat.

"Sirius, let me in!" he said at last, tears now running down his face. "It's l-locked - please."

At last, when he stopped trying the door, a soft voice called out to him, the voice of Sirius.

"Try it again," called Sirius patiently, still staring out the window.

Harry frowned sceptically, but put his hand on the door anyway, and taking a deep breath, Sirius' voice still echoing in his ears, he turned the handle. It opened without any trouble, and it swung open on well-oiled hinges. Sirius turned around at last, and he looked just as Harry remembered him in those last days, only smiling in such a way that he had not for a very long time.

"How did you unlock it?" Harry asked dazedly, standing stock still with disbelief, his eyes drinking in Sirius.

"I didn't," Sirius said with a twinkle in his eyes that Harry had only seen in old pictures. "It was never locked."

"But ... I ..." Harry stared blankly, and as Sirius' words sunk in he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. In that one short moment, he thought he understood something more than just the words that had come from Sirius' mouth. It was also in that moment that he saw in the look upon Sirius's face the man that had loved him like a son, a best friend, and a younger brother combined - someone who had never been angry with him, and while it had come to him earlier that it was not his fault, right now he understood that it hadn't been a mistake, or accident. As Severus had said, Sirius fighting at the Ministry was a risk he had believed worth taking, and right here Sirius' face showed it.

Sirius did not say a word, and nor did he need to. He opened his arms. Harry ran forward and wrapped his arms around Sirius' neck, holding on for dear life.

"Thank you," whispered Harry, shaking uncontrollably, wishing there was something more he could do for Sirius, some way he could repay him for his sacrifice.

"There is no need to thank me," whispered Sirius in his ears. "I would do it again."

It seemed like forever that the two hung onto eachother, until at last, Sirius broke the silence.

"It's time to let me go, Harry," was the muttered phrase in his ear, as though he had heard Harry's thoughts. "Your life falls into the hands of another now ... Lily would want it." His voice was heavy with regret, although there was a small trace of what Harry thought might have been hope, but he was unsure. "I will miss you, and no doubt you shall miss me as well, but when it gets dark, and you feel all alone... remember that I never left."

With these words echoing in his mind Azkaban vanished, the sunshine and the dust as well. For it was at that moment that he came to, and whatever dream, or fantasy, or encounter he had been having disappeared, and he found himself instead with his arms wrapped around Severus. Severus seemed rather surprised from where he was sitting right beside Harry's bed, but he had returned the embrace, to Harry's amazement. From what Harry gathered in that split second, he had simply shot up from where he was lying and pressed his face into Severus' shoulder. Severus seemed smaller, somehow. That was until Harry realized it was because he was no longer trapped in the body of a four year old. His return to the age of not quite sixteen made him realize just how silly the situation might seem. He coughed slightly and released Severus.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "Dreaming ... you know ..."

"I don't mind," said Severus despite the slightly alarmed look on his face. He noticed Harry's worried look then continued. "I was merely a little surprised. You had barely stirred before you sat up."

Harry felt himself go red anyway, but a wave of relief had washed over him. For a moment he had been afraid things were back to the way they had been before this summer, but he had been wrong. He searched for his glasses and put them on, more for something to do than anything. He plucked at the fabric of the overalls he had been wearing. They must have been resized. It was strange to see them, for it felt like years ago that he had collapsed, and yet he doubted it could have been longer than a few hours.

His eyes came into focus, and at the end of the bed he saw Hermione hovering anxiously. The sight of her made him grin quite suddenly.

"How are you, Hermione?" he asked.

"Never better," she said, smiling suddenly, the anxiety that had been upon her face breaking like a wave on the shore, relief replacing it.

"That brings me back ..." he muttered with a chuckle, a lopsided smile upon his face as he sunk back onto the bed. He stretched his arms up over his head with a small moan. A loud rumble interrupted his stretching, but it wasn't thunder. He felt his cheeks go a little bit red at his stomach's complaint.

"How about that grilled cheese?" Severus said with a slight smirk. "I did promise."

"Yes, please," Harry said with a grateful grin, hardly daring to believe his ears.

Severus got up from his chair, looking to be very relieved.

"Poppy wants to give you a quick check-up," he said to Harry. "I will send her up. After she says you can get up and move around, you can go down to the laundry room where your trunk is. It's got all of your regular clothes in it, so you can go get those and change into them. After you come downstairs Albus and I want to have a word with you over a few things."

"Okay," Harry said thoughtfully, wondering what they wanted to talk to him about. He decided it probably had to do with his return to his normal state. Hermione and Severus filed out the door, leaving Harry in the empty room.

A gnawing feeling in his gut announced its presence, this sensation entirely different from hunger. It was an aching sort of wonder, for it was only at that moment that he realized he had forgotten to ask Sirius if it had been him standing beneath that tree earlier, trying to make him understand. Still lying in his bed, he stared out the window. The blackness of night pressed in on him; the rain slapped the window pane.

The answer came to him simply, and while his mind told him that what he thought was impossible, his heart told him otherwise. For in this room he was alone. The night was dark. And Sirius had never left. Not really, anyway, and that was the thing his heart had needed to know all along.

Madam Pomfrey soon deemed Harry fit to go downstairs and retrieve his clothing. He crept downstairs softly, listening intently to the urgent conversation that seemed to be going on in the kitchen. The door was closed, so he could only hear the murmur of voices. He could only assume Hermione was elsewhere, for he could only hear Dumbledore and Snape's voice. Madam Pomfrey had gone home now that her job was done, with instructions to send her a Patronus if anything went wrong. Nobody seemed to notice him because of this, something he was glad for. Thus, Harry walked into the laundry room and closed the door. He grabbed his clothes from his trunk and set about getting changed, thinking that he would haul all of his things upstairs later. After a moment, he sunk down on the trunk lid and sighed.

Was there any sense in bringing his trunk upstairs? What if he had to go back to Privet Drive right away?

Harry looked up from his feet, but after a moment or two his eyes were drawn by the wardrobe sitting in the corner, still and silent. It seemed like an age ago that he had hidden there. Harry felt his eyes fill with tears at the thought of just how frightened and lost he had been that night. Well, most nights, that was. Even now he felt sad at the thought of Sirius, but this was not the same type of sadness. It was no longer a deep, aching guilt that was numbing everything. Now it was just an ache. Harry wished that Sirius could still be here, but most of all he found (however surprised he was to admit it) that he also hoped that things between him and Snape could remain how they were these past few days. Harry recalled that night in the cupboard after Great Aunt Isobel's visit, when Severus had made a promise to a little boy that he could stay right here. Harry feared that this promise would be rescinded, and for this reason he seemed to freeze in that laundry room, sitting atop the trunk and staring at that empty wardrobe which now seemed to hold all the weight of the past.

Snape had taken it well when Harry had woken up after changing back and so suddenly hugged him, and this thought filled Harry with hope. Maybe it was true what Sirius said - maybe his life really was in the arms of another now.

Of course, these pleasant thoughts left Harry's mind as soon as they came, for it was staring at the wardrobe that reminded Harry of all that had happened when he was a child. He felt his neck grow hot, and he looked at his feet. He'd cried, and gotten into all sorts of scrapes, and told Severus Snape (his once upon hated professor) all sorts of things about his life at the Dursleys', often without meaning to. Harry felt his stomach drop when he remembered accidentally calling Severus Daddy. What if Snape used that against him? What if he brought it up? It had been a simple slip, because for a moment, Harry had caught himself with the feeling that the way he felt when Severus paid attention to him was the way he might feel if his father was still around. Harry wondered what James Potter would say about what had happened that day on the way up to the attic. Harry wasn't sure what to think, but he felt sick at the thought of all this, for he wondered if Snape wasn't just playing nice to get back at him. His hopes, which had risen at the thought of his awakening, faltered.

No, Harry thought forcefully. He shook his head slowly. No, that wasn't Severus' plan, it never was. That's just your paranoia, Harry. Too many years at the Dursleys'. Too much time spent looking into every action, every word to make sure they weren't trying to hurt you.

Harry felt his thumping heart slow a little bit, for he was now fairly certain that Severus was not simply trying to get some dirt on him. He had genuinely cared, at least a little bit. The night during the thunderstorm had been a good example of that, and even though Harry felt his cheeks grow hot at the way he had clung to Snape's leg, he felt his insides fill with a different sort of warmth at the memory of how Severus had helped him build a fort to keep away the lightning. He did not have to do that. He could have simply sent Harry back to bed with a "too bad, grow up," and a scowl, which was exactly what Harry had expected him to do ... but Severus didn't.

It was perhaps the thought of all the times Severus could have acted badly, but didn't, that gave Harry the strength to get up off his trunk. Despite all the memories of just how silly and childish he had acted, all the times he'd had to poke Severus awake in the middle of the night for a change of sheets, all the times he had let something slip, all the times he had acted immature, he didn't feel as embarrassed anymore. Now, at least the feeling was tolerable.

Taking a deep breath, Harry crept from the laundry room, not looking back at the wardrobe, which seemed to be staring at him from afar. He walked through the hall, past the staircase. He glanced at the clock that could be seen in the sitting room. It was now eleven o clock.

"How are you?" he heard a quiet voice from the top of the stairs. He looked up to see Hermione smiling down at him from the stairs, looking exhausted.

"Good," Harry said, smiling slightly.

"Quite an adventure, wasn't it?" Hermione said with a rather unsteady laugh.

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head as though in disbelief. "Not at all the usual kind of adventures we have though, right?"

"Yes ... very different" Hermione said, sounding rather thoughtful.

"I just don't know what to think of it all," Harry said. "I mean, everything that's happened."

"Me neither, sometimes," muttered Hermione. She glanced behind her, looking longingly toward her bedroom before turning back to Harry. "Anyway, you had best not keep Severus and Professor Dumbledore waiting. I'm going to bed. I think it's a conversation they want to have with just you."

"You think?" Harry said nervously.

Hermione nodded, and she couldn't meet his eyes. Harry was frightened by this, but did not say anything.

"Goodnight Harry," she said. "Don't worry though. I have a good feeling about tonight."

She gave him another soft smile, this time meeting his eyes, and then went quietly up the stairs. Worried, Harry stared at the closed kitchen door. He knocked before he could lose his mettle.

Severus opened the door, his expression unreadable. Harry swallowed thickly, his throat dry, and walked into the room.

"Eat," said Severus curtly, nodding toward the grilled cheese sandwich that sat on a plate at the end of the table. Despite his nerves, Harry was starving. He did not need telling twice.

"Tea, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, gesturing to the pot on the table.

Harry nodded, his mouth full of his sandwich. Three bites later and he had reached the conclusion that Severus could make a mean grilled cheese.

Dumbledore poured the tea, and the rich aroma of peppermint filled the air. He topped up his own cup. Severus stood watchfully in the corner, his arms crossed.

"Harry ... remember how you have said to me on occasion how you dislike living with your relatives?" Dumbledore began after a few minutes, when Harry had finished most of his snack. Harry felt bewilderment grow within him - had he heard a tremor run through Dumbledore's voice?

"Yes," muttered Harry, for a moment confused. He looked to Snape, who was studying his feet in the corner still.

He looked to Dumbledore again, and upon his face was a look that seemed very much like one of pity. It was then that Harry understood. He stood up, looking to Severus. A part of him was glad. Another terrified. The sudden fear, the sudden panic made him unable to sit.

"You ... you said something, didn't you," Harry said, hating the way his voice shook. It shouldn't have surprised him. He had known - if Severus was actually going to be true to his word, he would have to say something. A confusing mess of emotions rose inside Harry at this thought. He was somehow grateful for Severus' initiative, furious that he had told, and frightened beyond belief of what this would mean.

"I had to," muttered Snape. "Besides, you do not like living with them, right?"

"Well ... no," Harry said as Snape's deep brown eyes flicked to meet his and then looked away again.

"Then this has to be discussed," muttered Snape. No, Severus, Harry reminded himself, noting that his brain sometimes reverted to old habit now that he was older again. It was Severus talking to him. He forced himself to remember Severus, not Snape, who had been here with him.

Harry slowly sank back into his chair, unable to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

"What do you know?" muttered Harry without heat. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing you told Severus has been repeated, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus paid some attention to your actions as a child, and he informed me that something was wrong. He did not go into details, but merely asked to speak with me, hoping that I could answer some of his questions." Dumbledore sighed, and fell silent.

"Is that why you were writing letters so much, Severus?" Harry said to him, suddenly understanding.

Severus nodded, but he looked a little bit bitter, for some reason.

"Well, what did you two talk about?" Harry asked hesitantly, frowning. He looked from Dumbledore then to Severus, and both looked rather tense. Disappointed too, perhaps? "How long have you known?"

"We were only able to discuss things today, Harry," Dumbledore said at last, the pain quite suddenly evident in his voice. "I pushed aside Severus' letters because I was busy. I thought what I was doing was more important, at the time. I am sorry I did not come right away. I am sorry this couldn't have been fixed sooner."

Harry felt his fists clench, but right now, however much he wanted to yell at Dumbledore for his oversight, he feared that if he did he would never get to leave the Dursleys'. Both Dumbledore and Severus seemed to have been waiting for an outburst from him.

"So if Severus didn't tell you the details, how do you know how bad it is?" Harry asked curiously in a voice that only barely suggested the forced calm, surprising them.

"Well, Severus took matters into his own hands. He did something incredibly brave, Harry, given the circumstances."

Severus scoffed in the corner, but Dumbledore ignored it. Harry looked at Severus, puzzled.

When Severus did not elaborate, but continued to stand haughtily in the corner, Dumbledore continued.

"A few days ago Severus had Hermione distract you, and - at great risk to himself - he attempted to apparate to Privet Drive," he explained, to Harry's shock. "He did so successfully. He then went to visit your home, and found your Aunt Petunia there. He was able to talk her into confessing many of the things that went on in her household, and how she viewed you." There was no doubt about it: Dumbledore's voice was definitely shaking now. "Tonight, Severus was able to show me just how wrong I was to place you in their care. It is appalling the way they treated you, and I am sorry you had to go through that, believing yourself to be alone. You are never alone Harry, and even though I have done a poor job of showing it ... I care deeply for you. If you will simply give me the chance ... I feel that perhaps we can rectify the situation."

Harry sat in stunned silence, his eyes only for Severus. He blinked hard, trying to keep his watering eyes from giving himself away.

"It had to be done," barked Severus, not meeting Harry's eye, seemingly expecting Harry to be angry with him.

"I'm not angry," muttered Harry, getting to his feet and standing, facing Severus, hovering, unsure of what to do with himself, but once again feeling that he could not sit. Much like Severus, it seemed. "I ... I want to thank you. Nobody ... nobody's ever done anything ... like that for me."

"Oh. Well, good."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, standing a few feet from eachother, looking unsure of what to do. At last, Dumbledore spoke.

"Severus, I believe that you mentioned a suggestion as to Harry's new living situation -"

"You mean I don't have to go back?" Harry said, his legs suddenly weak. "Just ... just like that? I don't have to tell you everything ... everything that happened first?"

"A full account would be highly useful to determine the punishment suitable for the Dursleys' offences. To know the degree of their abuse would help us immensely. The full story can wait, however. But a part, perhaps, yes."

"Hang on ... suggestion, what suggestion?" Harry said, his mind having caught the other detail he had not paid attention to, dismissing Dumbledore's words without so much as a thought.

"Well ... you see," began Severus slowly, and Harry noticed that a minute tremor seemed to have begun in Severus' right hand, "I recall that - you might have changed you mind of course - when ... when ... the other day you mentioned you didn't want to go back to your relatives' house. And, I thought, perhaps, you might like to stay ... well, with me."

"What, you mean have you as a guardian?" Harry asked, hardly daring to believe it. He paid no attention to Dumbledore, who seemed to be watching the scene with interest.

"I ... er, yes," muttered Severus. "I can understand however, if you wanted someone different. I just thought ... after all this ..."

Severus seemed greatly surprised when Harry's eyes filled with tears, and he looked suddenly alarmed.

"Stupid idea, you're right," Severus added, looking worried.

"I don't think it's stupid," murmured Harry, hastily wiping his eyes. A part of him was furious at his display of emotion, and another part was glad. It made him human again. It made him alive again. That was something he had not felt properly for a long time.

"You ... you don't?"

Harry shook his head. Then, to his surprise, a hesitant smile broke over Severus' face. His hand was steady once more.

Harry returned it.

Both came back to their senses when Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Well, now that that is settled," said Dumbledore briskly, "however much I hate to interrupt this, another matter must be discussed."

"And what is that?" said Severus, sounding rather weary.

"I am afraid, Harry, there is one thing I must ask you to do," said Dumbledore apologetically. "I have heard Severus' side of the story. I have seen Petunia's. Now ... if you agree, will you show me a part of your story? Only a part. There is always more than one side, and as this situation concerns you, your point of view is most important."

Harry felt his heart grow cold.

"Please, sir, not now," Harry said, imploring him, not wanting anyone to see the humiliation ... the fear ... the pain. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What if you showed us?" said the quiet voice of Severus. "All you would have to do would be to select a memory, and put it in the pensive."

"Do I have to see it too?" Harry muttered.

"No," was Severus' reply.

Harry looked to Dumbledore for a moment, with his sad expression, then to Severus, who was looking at him with the kind of look that held a steady sort of encouragement.

"Okay. What do I do?"

"Think of a memory," said Severus. "One you are alright with sharing, and that you feel gives a good picture of what life was like with your relatives. Bad, or very bad. Whatever memory you choose."

"And you'll see it too?" Harry muttered to Severus.

"If you would permit me," said Severus.

Harry nodded and said he would, then thought long and hard. He felt his heart clench, for he knew immediately what memory it was to be. He hated this memory. Oh how he hated it. Oh how he wished it never would see the light of day, but right now, with Severus standing before him, his eyes piercing his soul with a strange kind of warmth, Harry wasn't so afraid. He knew that this was the kind of thing that both Dumbledore and Severus feared to see. The same thing Harry feared to share. But it was what needed to be shown ... it was what Vernon Dursley deserved ... for his actions to be seen at last and hated for what they were.

It had finally come to this, the day when the secrets would come out; the time for the barred door to be open and for the prisoner to be released. And Harry wasn't sure who that prisoner was right now. Maybe it was the little boy in the memory, maybe it was the person he had become. Maybe it was a piece of his spirit locked away, the part that held his hopes and his dreams, his trust and his safety. His ability to truly love and be loved. Whatever it was ... whatever had been locked away, he knew that today was the day he needed to let the walls come down and unleash the memory of what once was, for just as he had cried for Sirius, just as he had at last allowed his blindness to the truth to shatter into pieces by his feet, Harry needed to let the fortress fall for the light to reach him. He needed to let himself be vulnerable for any good to come of the old hurts and fears.

And so he held his wand to his temple as Dumbledore instructed him to do, pulled the silver strand with a shaking hand from his clammy temple, and dropped it into the pensive. He shut his eyes tightly as the two men before him prepared themselves. Dumbledore was across from him on the other side of the table, Severus beside him. A hand grasped his shoulder for just a moment, and then the two men had disappeared into the memory of a night long ago, a night that Harry had never forgotten.

The kitchen was empty, the night silent except for the soft noise of Harry's shuddering breaths. His head in his arms, his damp eyes resting on his shirt sleeves, he sat with his face close to the tabletop, waiting.

Severus was plunged into the memory like a raindrop into a river, and was swept away immediately into darkness. The only thing visible for a long time was Dumbledore beside him, and when they finally found their feet on solid footing, they could barely see each other in the gloom of whatever small space they seemed to inhabit. They had to bend down slightly, for overhead the shadow of a misty ceiling could be seen.

And then they heard the singing.

"Twinkle Twinkle ... little star," a child's voice sang ponderously nearby, the words soft and almost too quiet to be heard.

Severus knew that voice. Oh, how he knew that voice.

Then, as the quiet song filled the cupboard it was illuminated by a soft light. Taped to a shelf was a drawing in crayon of stars, and a tiny, bespectacled boy of no more than three (or so Severus guessed, as Harry seemed to be just a mite younger than Severus had known him to be) lay in his bed and stared with amazement at the paper. It shed light on all the surroundings, illuminating the shelves of cleaning products and the door to the cupboard. Severus shuddered as his eyes took in bottle after bottle of floor polish, bleach, and other toxic products. He never thought he would think it, but he was suddenly grateful that Harry had some amount of sense in him. He turned his eyes back to the little boy before him, who was eagerly standing on his saggy mattress and feeling the scribbled crayon stars with his fingertips. He was even smaller than when Severus had known him as a child.

"Twinkle Twinkle little star ... how I wonder ... what you are " he whispered in a broken tune, now hugging himself tightly and smiling in the soft glow of the stars, which seemed to grow brighter as he sang.

"Up above the world so high ..." He fell silent for a moment then whispered. "With Mummy, and Daddy"

Beside him, Severus thought he heard Dumbledore's breath hitch, but the sound was cut off by Harry's careful singing as he tried to continue the song.

"Like a dia- day ... sparkle in the sky ..."

Severus smirked slightly, but his mind was quickly taken from Harry's song, for he was wondering when everything was going to go wrong. This memory was pleasant, but he knew it couldn't last, that there was something in this moment that made Harry give this memory up. And as footsteps sounded outside the door, as little Harry kept singing as though he and the stars were the only things in the world, as the light in the hall flicked on, Severus suddenly wished he did not have to know what shattered this peace.

The cupboard door opened with a thwap, and Harry froze. The light from the stars continued to trickle innocently into the dim lighting of the hallway. A man whom Severus could only assume was Harry's uncle stood in the doorway, his bushy moustache twitching as he stared at the stars. Harry had frozen, and was now staring in horror at his uncle. For a moment, the man seemed speechless as he stared with alarm at the glowing stars, but when he regained his voice it rose to a terrifying height. It was so loud Severus jumped badly, and had anyone been able to see him in the gloom they would have seen his neck grow hot from embarrassment.

"WHAT IS THIS FREAKISHNESS, BOY?" Vernon had shouted, and the man's words still seemed to echo in Severus' head as he roughly pushed Albus' hand from his shoulder, where it had reached in an attempt to calm him after he had been startled so badly.

Harry backed up, staring at the stars and then to his uncle, clearly hoping they would go out. Severus watched in horror, wishing he could do something.

"I - I d-d-didn' do it!" Harry squeaked, his wide, emerald eyes filled with tears.

Vernon opened his mouth to bellow more, but, bravely, Harry cut him off.

"I didn', really! T-T-They must b-b-be m-magic!"

Vernon froze, his skin now the colour of newsprint. Then, he squared his shoulders, his meaty fists clenched.

The stars flickered and died as he made a grab for Harry, who backed away with a small cry.

"What was that word?" hissed Petunia, who had come downstairs with her dressing gown a few moments ago, although Severus supposed he hadn't noticed her initially.

"What w-word?" whispered Harry. "I didn' swear."

"You know what word boy!" hissed Vernon.

"M-Magic?" whispered Harry, his eyes tearful again.

Uncle Vernon roared, and Petunia shrieked with fury, seemingly speechless.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" said a sleepy voice down the hall. Harry, Petunia, and Vernon all turned their heads. The two adults immediately changed their posture, going from menacing to loving in a second. It was so fast that if Severus had blinked he would have missed it. He caught a glimpse of the toddler standing at the end of the hall, plump and well cared for in his brand new pyjamas, which contrasted greatly to the ratty pyjamas Harry was wearing.

"Diddy, darling," cooed Petunia. "Let's get you back to beddy-bye."

She made to leave, but gave Vernon a pointed look, then a scornful one in Harry's direction, like he was dirt. It was a look that filled Severus with hate so powerful he could taste it. Harry looked at his feet meekly.

"I will not have this ... this unnaturalness in my house," Vernon spat.

"U-Uncle -" whispered Harry, clearly sensing danger. He backed away. Tears started to flow down his cheeks. "I - I don't know how it happened! I ... I was singin' twinkle twinkle an' they just did that like ma ..." Harry's eyes grew wide as he realized his mistake.

"DON'T SAY THAT WORD!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, raising a hand in the air.

"N-No, p-pease!" cried Harry with his childish speech, falling to his knees and putting his face to the floor, reminding Severus absurdly of a house elf. "I be good, I p-promise!"

Vernon grabbed Harry's arm roughly. He gave a sharp cry as he was dragged from the cupboard. Severus felt his stomach drop as Harry was pulled roughly down the hall crying, his pyjama trousers now wet from fear, his eyes wide as Vernon cursed and swore and said an unintelligible mix of words and insults about no good little boys who couldn't stay in control of themselves.

Severus sprinted down the hallway after them, feeling his chest tighten and his vision blur, whether from anger or some other emotion he wasn't sure. He could feel the throbbing pulse of the destructive magic that he longed to release, and he did not even hear Dumbledore's shaking breaths as he followed Severus out into the back garden. It was pouring rain outside, and darkness had long fallen. The rain was so thick that the neighbours' houses were obscured, but clearly Vernon was pleased by this. Not a star was in sight, and the sound of the pounding rain masked Harry's cries. Severus watched in horror as Vernon tossed Harry into the garden shed.

"That will teach you not to be a freak!" he hissed. "Tomorrow you're scrubbing that cupboard! How dare you make a mess for your aunt! Do it again and you'll get something worse than this!"

Severus and Dumbledore rushed into the shed as well, and with a click they heard Vernon lock it. Severus' eyes adjusted just enough to make out shapes. He watched in numb disbelief as the tiny boy crawled into a damp corner, shaking from head to foot and drenched from the rain. His form was illuminated just for a second as lightning flashed outside, the light reflecting in his fearful eyes. Severus felt his hands shaking again, his stomach suddenly filled with acid and dread, for after Vernon's last words he knew exactly why Harry had worked so hard to keep any accident of his a secret.

Somewhere in the distance, the thunder rolled. Harry put his head to his knees, and while he shook like a leaf, he did not make a sound. Upon a sudden surge of what seemed to be instinct Severus fell to his knees and reached forward, trying to touch him, but his fingers were met with nothing but mist.

At that moment the memory ended, the word dissolving around them. Blinking, Severus and Dumbledore reappeared in the kitchen in the exact same positions. Severus' arms remained in the air for a few moments before he dropped them numbly. He got shakily to his feet, fury like he had never felt before overtaking him like a storm. He clenched his fists. He felt dizzy, and angry with himself and at Dumbledore too, angry at every single teacher who had missed it, for every single person who had not taken it seriously. Angry at the world for this injustice. Harry was sitting at the table still, his face in his arms. The way he was sitting made him look remarkably like the little boy who they had left behind in the memory. Of course, that little boy wasn't quite the memory as Harry probably wanted them to think. The fear and the uncertainty were still there in the Harry before Severus, a boy caught between a child and a man.

Severus' thoughts reached the point where they could not stay coherent any longer as the images of what he had seen flashed before his eyes. Panting, Severus made a beeline for the door.

"Severus," said Dumbledore in a low voice, "control yourself."

Severus glanced at the table, noting the teacups shaking. They stopped when he paused to focus for a moment, but when they fell silent his clenched fists began to shake instead from fury.

"Where are you going?" asked Dumbledore in a moment when Severus resumed walking to the door, Harry still not looking up.

"To kill Vernon and Petunia Dursley," said Severus, his voice shaking almost too much to be used. Harry looked up sharply, staring at Severus with his mouth open.

"No," said Dumbledore firmly, "Stay here."

Severus glared at Dumbledore, only to realize that he was not the only one shaking with rage.

"Let me rephrase that," muttered Dumbledore quickly, almost recklessly, "Not yet."

"Albus," said Severus, scandalized, but somehow pleased all the same.

"Don't!" said Harry in what could only have been described a squeak. "They're not worth it."

Dumbledore seemed to have realized what he had said. He sunk into the chair and put his fingers to his temples, looking ashamed.

"Forgive me, Harry," he said, his voice having lost that wild edge it had acquired a moment earlier, a weary, sad tone replacing it. "I did not mean what I said. What I intended to say is that they will be punished for what they have done, in whatever way is deemed fit. What they did was very wrong ... and it has pained me very much to know that you had to suffer like that."

Harry looked rather relieved, but Severus was intrigued by the way that Dumbledore was employing Legilimency to prevent Severus from reading into his thoughts. What was he planning? To kill, certainly not, Severus was quite certain, but he thought that either Albus had considered it a moment at least, or had other methods planned to make the Dursleys sorry. Why else would he block Severus out?

Severus smirked darkly, a taste of his old ways in his mouth.

"Severus, I expect you to think rationally about this," said Dumbledore sternly, gesturing to the remaining chair. "Promise me you -"

"- will be a good boy and not get myself thrown in Azkaban for murder?" said Severus with a rather alarming grin.

"Yes."

Severus looked from Dumbledore, then to Harry, who seemed to implore him.

A dull sort of heaviness settled in his chest again, a sort of shame at his previous thoughts, he supposed. Or perhaps a sense of duty, of doing what was right even though it was not easy, because Harry needed it. Whatever it was, he knew he owed it to Harry to follow his wishes.

"Alright," said Severus. "I promise."

Harry gave him a look that made it clear Severus had said the right thing, and for a moment that twisting pain inside Severus lifted. Despite the fact that his anger was justified, he supposed that to avoid going to Azkaban he would have to wait for Vernon and Petunia to get what they deserved by other means.

He turned on his heel and threw himself into a chair. Harry didn't need another person who cared for him to go to Azkaban. One had been enough.

"I am sorry, Harry," muttered Severus after his breathing had slowed, to Albus' apparent surprise. "I got carried away."

"'S okay," whispered Harry.

"Thank you, Harry, for trusting us with that memory," said Dumbledore gently. "It was a very brave thing to do.

Harry just nodded.

"Do I have to say anything else about it all?" whispered Harry after a moment, his eyes now filled with tears, the shadows beneath them evident.

"No," said Dumbledore, his eyes too looking surprisingly damp, his voice a little raspy. "You have shown enough courage for one night. If you have anything to add to the matter, you may tell me or Severus another time, but for now, I think this is more than enough to justify you going to a new home."

"And I can stay with Severus?" whispered Harry, seeming almost afraid to say the words too loud in case someone contradicted them.

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

Harry looked to Severus, who nodded.

Harry lowered his head to the table again, exhausted.

Dumbledore left soon after to go alert the Order and find a way to deal with the situation without the help of the Ministry. He left Severus and Harry in the kitchen, and in a few minutes Severus led Harry to bed, who could barely stay on his feet. Harry put his pyjamas on, and a few minutes later Severus came into his room. He sat on Harry's bed, and neither said a word. Severus smiled slightly (however tiredly), hoping it would encourage Harry, who had fallen back on the bed.

It must have set Harry at ease, for his eyes fluttered shut. Severus removed his glasses, because he was already asleep. Harry was not awake to feel the gentle hand run through his hair, or the blankets being tucked around him.

Despite this, Severus knew that in the morning Harry would notice these subtle changes. Most wouldn't pay any attention to such tiny details, but the neglected always did. And if there was anything that Severus was sure both he and Harry knew, was that it was the little things that made all the difference. That was all Severus had ever yearned for, really, those little things - those small acts of love, whether it be the chance to give or receive them. Yet, as Severus tumbled into bed and his sleepy brain lost the battle to wakefulness, one last thought drifted across his mind, the thought that maybe, those small acts of love were bigger than he had ever realized.

Hermione bent low over the piece of paper in her hands, the crisp parchment scroll unrolled upon the small desk in her bedroom. The tears that were sliding down her cheeks threatened to blot out the pristine writing upon the page. Hermione gave a soft sniffle and wiped them away roughly.

Downstairs she heard the sounds of Severus shuffling around sleeplessly. It was late, but she did not care. She lowered her head onto the desk, brushing aside the piece of parchment. Outside the storm had settled into a steady drizzle, and the rain ran down the glass in small droplets, the dark skies outside making them hard to see if it were not for the small lamp Hermione had dimly glowing upon her desk.

"Stop this," she said to herself tearfully, hating the way she felt sorry for her own lot when Harry, one of her best friends, had finally escaped the horrid situation he had been in, just as she had always hoped he would. He and Severus would get to live together. Harry would have something like a father, at long last. She had gone downstairs to retrieve a book from the sitting room, and overheard Severus and Dumbledore discussing it in the kitchen while Harry got changed.

Of course, they had said that they were uncertain as to whether or not Harry would accept. But Hermione knew in her heart that after what had happened this summer, Harry would never say no once asked. If anyone else had seen the way Harry looked up to Severus, and the way Severus' eyes sometimes came alive with a kind of fondness he would never say aloud, they would know immediately that those two could never accept anything to the contrary. They had found each other in the darkness that had brought them to Bell Point, and Hermione felt she had no right to feel bitter and sorry for herself. Especially when she looked down her own letter, so kindly worded, loving even. Great Aunt Isobel was rigid and proper, but spoke kindly and promised to allow any of Hermione's friends to visit. She had said she was sorry again for how she had acted, but Hermione had known from the moment Great Aunt Isobel had apologized the first time, before leaving Bell Point, that she truly did regret her actions. The letter continued to say that she couldn't promise to be a perfect guardian, but that she could promise to let Hermione be herself, something she said she hadn't done well the day of the funeral, and that she'd do anything to rebuild the bridge she broke from her own mistakes.

It was a nice offer. A kind one, but not the one Hermione wanted. Yet, this was her only option.

The reply would only take an hour or so to get to the countryside home that Great Aunt Isobel had inhabited as long as Hermione could remember. Perhaps this was why Hermione was so terrified that she had sent her answer as soon as she heard Severus saying to Dumbledore that Harry would be welcome to live with him, wherever that may be.

Yet, here I am, alone still, thought Hermione with a small sniffle. She shook her head, hating her thoughts. Harry deserves this. Severus needs this. Having me around would only make it too much to handle.

Hermione sighed, knowing she could never intrude on that, that she could not ask and risk ruining the delicate balance Severus and Harry had. Besides, she had been thinking that probably, Severus wouldn't even have enough room for her wherever he went anyway. Dumbledore had mentioned to her that Bell Point was owned by the Order before she came here, and that it had been used over the years in crisis. Hermione suspected that they could not remain here forever, not Harry, not Severus, and certainly not she. Bell Point was a refuge, a safe haven, one that would be needed again by others. Even knowing this, she wished she did not have to go. She wished she could stay here forever in its comforting walls, with the people she had somehow grown so accustomed to living under the same roof with. For the past few days, things had been different from when she'd first arrived. It started small, and reminded Hermione of the feeling she got when she reread a familiar book. It was a faint glimmer of hope and warmth, and she had started to feel it here, at Bell Point, with Harry and Severus. It was a small, tantalizing taste of what things used to be like. It was different than it had been at home, with her parents, of course, but she had started to get a glimpse of something that recalled days of what her life had been.

She reached forward and grabbed the green cover of the book Severus had given her, dragging it away from the other books on her desk. The golden letters across the fabric binding welcomed her, asking her if she wanted to get lost in the world of Anne of Green Gables once more. Hermione sighed and pushed it away. She was even jealous of Anne now, a girl whose childhood had been nothing but orphanages and bad homes until she had turned twelve and her fortune changed.

The reason for her jealousy was simple. Anne found a home. Anne got to stay at Green Gables, even though they had sent for a boy to work in the fields and accidentally been sent a girl instead. They didn't have to keep her, but they did, because she was charming and winning despite her flaws and broken past. But Hermione didn't feel charming and winning like Anne. She just felt tired and bookish like Hermione.

Anne belonged at Green Gables, even before she'd gotten there.

"And me?" whispered Hermione under her breath as she stared out the window where she had sent the resident owl of Bell Point hours earlier. "Where do I belong?"

Surely not at Great Aunt Isobel's. True, she was getting along with Great Aunt Isobel, but that was not the same as belonging with someone. So surely she did not belong there, with her.

Not at Bell Point, either, that was certain. She wasn't Hermione of Bell Point. She was just Hermione, the orphan. Not even the orphan. An orphan. Somehow, within Hermione's mind, the prospect of being taken in by Great Aunt Isobel did nothing to this new status.

Hermione let the tears fall, and she didn't care that she was getting the papers on her desk wet and that the clock had struck one. She didn't care at all.

She cared even less about the hours of lost sleep and the state of her desk when the owl returned at seven - thirty in the morning, the house still silent and its occupants sleeping in from the late night. Aunt Isobel must have found it waiting for her in the early hours of the morning (for Hermione doubted she would have been awake at the late hour the owl had arrived), and written back, much to Hermione's relief. Her eyes scratchy from a sleepless night, she unrolled the reply, surprised but grateful it had arrived in time.

Dear Hermione,

I am surprised you wish to come so soon, but I am pleased nonetheless. I had almost given up on a reply what with sending that letter a few days ago, so your owl gave me quite a start when I found the owl on my porch when I woke! It must have been delayed by the storm. And yes, Hermione, of course I can be there in the morning. I shall be there for you at eight-o-clock. A bit earlier than you expected, I think, but a friend is dropping by at nine to borrow my pruning shears (I told her to keep those garden gnomes under control, and now look what's happened). I apologize for this, but Matilda is having her family over for lunch and wants her garden to look tip top, and I did promise her, after all.

Looking forward to seeing you,

Great Aunt Isobel

Hermione left the letter on the table and a few minutes later lifted her trunk, which she had packed during the night. She did not intend to be back in this particular room. She had thought perhaps she would at least have time to say goodbye if Great Aunt Isobel was coming at nine, or so. Now that she knew she would be earlier, Hermione wasn't even sure if she would say her goodbyes in person. She could leave a note, and send letters later. It hurt too much to say those words in person, and it was not like she would never see Harry again, or Severus if Harry was to be living with him.

She walked out of the bedroom door, the room behind her spotless, the bed made. The only things that remained were the ink pot that had been on the desk when she came, and the green book that lay upon the bed with its shining gold letters and printed picture of a young girl sitting at the train station, waiting.

***

Severus woke up at seven forty-eight, still exhausted, confused, and groggy. A nightmare had thrust him roughly from the folds of sleep, his mind still filled with images of it. He paused for a second in his sleep-befuddled state to recall the nightmare. A twisted mess of people and places had arranged themselves in his dream, and the more he thought about it the weirder it got.

It had begun at Privet drive, where his father and Petunia had been sitting at the dining room table and passing a bottle of whisky back and forth. Severus had been standing, scowling in the corner as Petunia had gotten out the shot glasses, but suddenly a four year old Harry was there and she was filling them up with bleach and cleaning products and making him drink them down one by one while Tobias made bets with Dumbledore on whether or not Harry would live.

Harry, who was starting to cry, was out of reach, for the Dark Lord had shown up somewhere in this as well, and had stolen Severus' leg brace, so he was unable to move. Hermione was there too, crying and trying to push Tobias out of the way so she could get past him and over to help Severus and Harry, but Tobias kept pushing her away from the table.

Then, things took a very strange turn. Severus' mother had come into the room as well and started threatening to give the Dark Lord a spanking for taking Severus' leg brace, of all things, and Severus had begun to laugh at this. He had made to turn to the Dark Lord to stick his tongue out at him (for he noticed then that he was only ten years old, and thus found this to be an appropriate response), only to find that when he looked back at the table everything had vanished, and he was all alone in his room at Spinner's end, lying in bed, still ten and waiting for the clock to strike midnight and sound his eleventh birthday.

He had a niggling feeling something wasn't right, and it was then that he woke up again to find himself at Bell Point, thirty-six once more, and thinking that he should never, ever, under any circumstances have taken Dumbledore's advice and had hot chocolate before bed to help him sleep after a stressful day. Thus, while putting on his brace and scowling at the bright light streaming through the window, Severus couldn't help but classify such a piece of information as the most bullshit advice Dumbledore had ever given him.

His mind still preoccupied with the rather absurd thought of his mother threatening to take the bloody Dark Lord over her knee for being bad, Severus stumbled into the hallway. To his immense surprise, he just about ran straight into someone. Running on only about four hours of sleep after having been up half the night with worry, Severus was hardly in his right mind.

"Mum, you can't just say that to the Dark Lord," he ended up mumbling, still half asleep.

"What?" said a familiar voice.

"What?" Severus said, snapping awake and realizing he'd been drifting off slightly along with his train of thought.

"What did you say?" Hermione said, bewildered.

"Nothing," said Severus quickly as he edged past her, trying not to look too embarrassed. "Er ... coffee ..."

He was so hasty in his retreat to the kitchen he did not properly pay attention to what Hermione had been bringing down the stairs. It was only as he took his first sip of coffee that his hazy brain notified him that she had been carrying her trunk. This realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. Slopping hot coffee down his front he rushed out of the kitchen (hastily putting his mug down on the table as he did so) and into the sitting room.

"Hermione," he said breathlessly, panting from shock, looking a little deranged with his wrinkled pyjamas and coffee-stained dressing gown. "Where ... are you ... going?"

Hermione seemed to pay almost no attention at all to his appearance. In fact, she hardly seemed to pay any attention to the fact that he was even standing there. She simply seemed to be elsewhere, as though in an attempt to distance herself from the present.

"I'm off to live with Great Aunt Isobel," she said softly. "She's coming to get me. I know it's short notice. I didn't get a chance to send her letter back until last night, and I thought I would just ... just say goodbyes some other time. Or write. I was going to leave a note in the kitchen saying where I went."

"But -" Severus began, "I thought you weren't going? And just leaving a note ... you know better than that."

"I changed my mind - she's alright, actually," muttered Hermione with a shrug, her eyes downcast. "I mean, she was pretty bad the day you met her, but she isn't always like that. The ... the funeral got to her." Hermione either hadn't hard Severus' last comment about knowing better, or was ignoring it, something he thought to be odd.

"What time is she coming?"

"Eight."

Severus swore under his breath, his fatigue making it harder to filter his thoughts before they hit his mouth. That left five minutes for him to say what he thought he'd get at least a day to work himself up for. Hell, a day to find the words to even work himself up to saying aloud.

"Oh, she won't mind that you are in your dressing gown," said Hermione, looking concerned as Severus began to pace.

"No ... it's just ... I have to tell you ... something," Severus began, twisting his hands. Why was he so bad with words when it really came down to it? How could he possibly ask her if she wanted him as a guardian? How could he say that he wanted her to stay?

"Well, what is it?" Hermione said, for a moment, her voice losing that dull, forced tone.

"Er ..."

She was staring at him. Expectantly.

"So..." he began, the ticking of the clock filling his ears, "you know when you make a Wolfsbane potion?"

WOLFSBANE POTION? he thought to himself. Severus, REALLY?

Oh great. He'd started this metaphor, and now he had to finish it.

"Well, I've read the theory," said Hermione slowly, now completely nonplussed.

"Good," said Severus, trying to remember where the hell he was going with this. "Right, then you know the most important ingredient is ... is the Wolfsbane?"

Right, essential ingredients. That's where I was going.

"Yes ... er, the potion will be useless without it."

"Right and wrong!" Severus said with sudden enthusiasm, quite sure now that she would understand exactly what he meant in a moment. Besides, Potions, he could talk about.

"What?"

"The wolfsbane is the most important ingredient, and yes, the potion is useless without it ... but ... the wolfsbane needs the moonstone to act as a catalyst or it it won't be able to start the necessary reaction to neutralize the worst of the werewolf transformation! See? Do you get it?" Severus finished, panting slightly and waiting eagerly for her to get it, waiting for his metaphor to sink in. Waiting for her to understand that he needed her around ... that she made him a better person. Wolfsbane ... moonstone ... didn't she get it?

"I don't think I'll be brewing wolfsbane over the summer, Severus," said Hermione slowly, clearly not trying to sound ungrateful. "But thank you for the tip."

"No ... no it's a metaphor."

"Er ... Severus? What are you trying to say?"

"Sorry ... bad example ... Hermione, what I've been trying to ..." Severus faltered as he wrung his hands slightly and paced a little. Three minutes. Three minutes left. "I want ... I need ... you to understand that -"

That I want you to stay!

"- duelling is useless without a good team." Alright, now Severus really, really wanted to cry. And he was totally alright with admitting it to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and refrained from doing so, thinking hazily that he needed to start getting more sleep. "No, no, that's not what I meant to say ..."

"Well, Great Aunt Isobel is outside," said Hermione apologetically, looking both bewildered and sad when she glanced outside to see the upright figure in navy robes walking across the lawn.

No, no, he thought to himself. I have to say it! I have to! Come on Severus!

"What I meant to say is ..." - there was a knock on the door - "is have a good summer," he finished lamely, hating himself.

"You too," said Hermione, choking slightly as she rushed forward to give Severus a hug, which was so quick he had no time to return it.

She picked up her trunk and hurried from the room and out onto the porch, closing the front door.

Severus stood numbly in the sitting room, wondering why he had to be a Snape ... an emotionally challenged, hard-headed, inarticulate Snape.

"Severus?" said Harry groggily, having come downstairs to see what the commotion was about, "what's going on? Where's Hermione?"

"Hermione ... Hermione left," he said in disbelief, although the way Harry had said it, it sounded as though he already knew. "To her Great Aunt's."

"But ... but she left this," Harry said. "On her bed. Her things were gone ... all them but this. She never forgets her books."

Severus looked over to Harry, who was holding a familiar, green book in his hands.

She doesn't want to stay, muttered a voice inside of Severus when he saw the title. It's her way of saying she doesn't want to know you, Severus.

Then why did she look so sad as she left? said another, and a strange sort of hope filled his chest. Maybe it made her think too much of this place ... maybe ...

It was at that moment that Severus took the book from Harry's hands, his own fingers trembling, because right now, right then, as Hermione's figure could be seen walking down the sloping, grassy hill off in the distance with Great Aunt Isobel, moments from being out of reach, Severus knew what to say. He knew how to tell Hermione in a way she would understand, and in words he could say aloud.

Harry, who seemed to have just noticed Hermione's distant figure, started toward the door to go and catch her, but Severus got there first. Not even pausing to appreciate the hilariously shocked look on Harry's face he scrambled to the door, waving the book and shouting for Hermione to wait.

He was halfway down the lawn when Hermione turned round, and holding the book up high, panting, he called out breathlessly, "Hermione, you're my Anne!"

He knew that she understood it from the moment he said it, because her smile was brighter than the sun.

"Stay, please," he called, relief washing over him, his words seeming to have unglued themselves. "Don't go. I'm sorry it took me so long to say!"

Hermione looked to Great Aunt Isobel, who looked over to where Severus was standing, and Harry, who had at last caught up. She nodded, and said a few quiet words to Hermione, smiling. She looked a little bit sad as Hermione dropped her trunk and began to run toward Severus, grinning ear to ear, but Great Aunt Isobel did nothing to stop her. She watched with a melancholy sort of expression as Hermione spread her arms and threw herself into Severus'. Severus laughed with relief as he hugged Hermione. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and as Harry walked over to them she reached an arm out and dragged him into the hug too, so that the three of them were standing there together. Hermione seemed to have no words to say when she let go, her eyes wet, but she didn't need to, because her relief was enough.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to say," muttered Severus again.

"It's okay," she said with a smile. Her lip twitched with suppressed laughter. "But that analogy with the potion really was terrible."

"That was bad, I admit," Severus said, feeling his face grow warm, making Harry stare in surprise.

Hermione glanced over to Great Aunt Isobel, looking a little lost as she stared out at the lonely figure standing by her trunk.

"Severus, can we invite Great Aunt Isobel for a cup of coffee?"

Severus thought that it would be Hermione to say it, but it was Harry, who seemed to say what was on Hermione's mind as he watched the exchange.

"Yes, certainly," said Severus, surprised that Harry would not mind.

A wave of relief fell over Hermione's face, and she whispered a thank you. Harry grinned at her, and without another moment's hesitation she ran over to Great Aunt Isobel. Severus watched as the two talked. Great Aunt Isobel smiled softly as Hermione spoke, and in a few moments, the two were walking across the grass toward them.

Severus looked to Harry, nodding slightly, his way of saying he was proud. Harry smiled. It was clear he understood. Sometimes things were easier to understand when no words were spoken.

It was a pleasant visit that followed. Great Aunt Isobel was polite, highly particular about things, but kind. She seemed a great deal more relaxed this time, and listened more than talked (although it seemed to pain her on occasion). Almost immediately she asked where the little boy was that she had met last time was because she wished to apologize, making the three others laugh with delight as they explained. Her amazement was terribly funny to all three, although this made Great Aunt Isobel purse her lips and frown, so they tried not to laugh too hard. Amazingly, she kept quiet about the whole thing, and instead moved the subject toward something less to do with her surprise and more to do with magical herbs, which Severus knew plenty about and Hermione was happy to contribute to. She left shortly before nine. Hermione promised to visit, and in turn, Great Aunt Isobel very sternly made Severus promise to look after Hermione well (You will hear from me if you don't, young man!), and send her any letters updating her on what Dumbledore was doing on the situation, for the paperwork still had to be done. She said she had faith in Dumbledore, however. And so did Severus.

Great Aunt Isobel said goodbye for the time being, promising that her teapot was always ready should Hermione wish to come visit. And that was that. No disasters. No worries. Just a simple goodbye that left a family to go on with their day in peace. And a proper family they would be, something Severus had never thought he would be a part of again. Like Severus, it was clear that neither Harry nor Hermione had thought they would be either. None of them had expected it. Then again, wasn't it this quiet delight at finding themselves wanted the thing that really brought them together in the first place?

It was evening when Severus came into the sitting room, looking tired but happy. It had been a full day of paperwork and owls and messages to Dumbledore, something Harry had watched from afar. Things had almost been arranged for Harry and Hermione to be permanently in Severus' care. Hermione had been easiest, for Great Aunt Isobel merely had to sign to allow her custody of Hermione to switch to Severus. Harry's situation required a little more thought considering the Dursleys and Harry's fame.

Harry was lying on the sofa, Flying with the Cannons resting open in his hands. He closed it at the sound of Severus' approach.

"Harry?" Severus said, a newspaper under his arm.

"Hmm?" Harry said lazily, opening one eye.

"Remember how Dumbledore said that he had been busy, and that was why he hadn't come earlier?"

"Yeah," Harry said, sitting up with sudden curiosity. He closed his book and set it off to the side. Severus sunk down on the sofa as well, where Harry had made room.

"He was at the Ministry, and he did a lot of convincing and talking, so that he could do this," said Severus, unfolding the newspaper. "I would have given it to you last night ... but given the circumstances ... you seemed pretty worked up already. I've only just remembered now - I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Harry said, shrugging, thinking that he'd been busy enough this morning anyway with all the arrangements.

Puzzled as to what it could say, Harry carefully took the paper and glanced at the headline. The paper fell from his loose grasp and rested on his lap. His eyes filled with tears. He looked to Severus, who seemed to understand, for Harry was certain the emotions that were coursing through his veins had to be visible in some way, for there was no way such strong feelings could be invisible. Inside he was a mess or sorrow, and yet gratitude as well, happiness, pain, memories, and longing.

"Dumbledore thought it was the best thing he could be doing for you at the time," said Severus quietly.

Harry swallowed thickly, and Severus patted him awkwardly on the knee before getting up, leaving him be to think for some time.

Harry stared down at the newspaper, his heart throbbing with the pain of having lost Sirius. And yet, seeing this paper here with the headline telling the world that Sirius was innocent after all, a kind of relief washed over him. He shut his eyes tightly, but a few tears escaped anyway. He wiped them away, and began to read the story, about how Dumbledore had come charging into the Ministry and demanded a review of Sirius' case. How he'd testified, and gotten the Ministry to give Veritaserum to one of the captured Death Eaters from the Ministry and asked them whether they knew of Wormtail's survival. Now that the Ministry knew Dumbledore had told the truth about Voldemort, they had actually listened long enough for him to prove Sirius' innocence.

It hurt to know that it was too late, but it felt good to know that Sirius was no longer written in history as the man who killed Harry's parents, but as a good man instead. He closed his eyes and lay back on the sofa once more, the newspaper still held tightly in his hands. He fell asleep like this, a strange, melancholy sort of peace falling over him. And this peace lasted.

***

On the day of his birthday, Harry woke later than he ordinarily would have, although it was still far earlier than most teenagers would dare get up. Hermione was sleeping still, which did not surprise Harry. When he drifted down the stairs for breakfast he found pancakes with blueberries cooked into them like smiley faces. Severus, who had come into the kitchen to sit with Harry while he ate (he'd eaten earlier), chuckled.

"Seems that elf of yours knows it's your birthday," he said, refilling his coffee cup.

Harry grinned sheepishly and took the pitcher of syrup, drizzling it over his pancakes.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Severus added, pushing a small package toward Harry. It was wrapped only in brown paper.

"You didn't have to get me a birthday present," Harry said, although he was very pleased.

"Yes, I did," said Severus. "And even if I didn't have to, I would have."

"Can I open it?" he asked eagerly once he had swallowed his first bite of pancake.

"No, Crookshanks gets to," Severus snorted. "Of course you can open it. It isn't much ..."

Harry tore open the wrapping paper, and opened the small box.

"A razor?" Harry said, surprised.

"Yes," said Severus. "I know, boring and practical ... but you're starting to get a bit patchy in spots - which is more than your father could say for the same age, might I add. And quite frankly, I think you should at least look presentable on your birthday."

Harry grinned, surprised by the casual comment about his father. But after a moment his smile faltered.

"Er ... Severus?" he said.

"What?" Severus asked, suddenly looking worried. "You hate it, don't you?"

"No ... it's just ... I haven't any idea how to shave," muttered Harry, embarrassed. "I've never really had anyone to watch and learn it from."

"I guess I'll have to give you a few tips then," said Severus, looking surprised but thoughtful as he felt the stubble on his own chin. For a moment, Severus adopted his teaching voice, and added in a drawl, "Well then, Mr. Potter. I suppose it is time I teach you the subtle and exact art of shaving. Provided you aren't a dunderhead."

Harry snorted with laughter, to Severus' apparent delight.

***

Hermione came downstairs at ten-o-clock, well rested and happy. She made to go to the kitchen, but heard talking from down the hall. She went a few steps down toward the bathroom, and to her surprise Harry stuck his head into the hall, the bathroom door having been left open.

"Look what Severus gave me for my birthday!" Harry said enthusiastically, shaving foam spread half spread over his face, his shirt off and tucked into the back of his pyjama trousers to prevent it from getting wet or covered in foam. He waved a razor in the air, and Hermione smiled, trying to suppress a chuckle at how happy Harry looked. Somehow, despite the contradicting situation, the image reminded Hermione of the four year old that had run around Bell Point not so long ago.

"Watch where you're waving that," said a muffled voice.

Hermione grinned and took a few steps further to see that both Harry and Severus were grouped around the sink, although Severus had his shirt on and was scowling slightly as he tried to get a particularly tricky patch near his jawline.

"Great gift, Severus," she told him, "I would have given him a razor myself if he'd let things get any more out of hand."

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly. "My face didn't look that terrible."

"Happy Birthday Harry," she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Meet me in the kitchen after you're done - I have a birthday present for you too."

***

"Did I really look that bad?" Harry muttered, watching Severus out of the corner of his eye when Hermione had gone.

"Quiet, I'm concentrating ..." Severus said elusively.

"Well that's news to me," muttered Harry mulishly, accepting the answer to his question to be a yes. "Ron didn't seem to mind."

"Naturally, he is a Weasley after all."

"What does that mean?" Harry replied, bristling slightly at Severus' comment.

"I mean that he's too busy causing mischief and having fun to pay too much attention to something as boring as neatness," Severus replied simply.

"Oh." Harry's frown relaxed as he rinsed his razor in the sink.

"Missed a spot," Severus added, still seemingly examining his own reflection in the mirror. "Right side of your lip."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Severus asked.

"See things without appearing to look at them."

"Well, let's see ... I was a spy, and I used to teach Potions - I practically have eyes in the back of my head. Surprised you did not know that already, Potter."

The emphasis on his last name - so devoid of heat (although not for lack of trying, it seemed), made Harry snort with laughter. It was short lived, however.

"Ouch!" Harry said, dropping his razor and holding his hand to his lip.

A crease appeared on Severus' forehead and he quickly put his own razor down, still half covered in shaving foam.

"Let's see," said Severus, turning to Harry and moving his hand away.

Harry felt himself going red, a feeling of stupidity rising up within him.

"Just a small cut," Severus said, looking relieved. "Wash it clean."

Harry accepted the wet flannel Severus handed him, then dabbed blood from the wound and wiped away the excess shaving foam.

"Dittany," said Severus, taking a small cotton ball and dipping it in the dittany and giving it to Harry. "Just dab it a few times - it will heal right up."

Sure enough, it did, and as Severus resumed shaving, Harry frowned in the mirror. The cut wasn't even visible anymore, and had healed over perfectly.

"No need to look so upset over it," said Severus, "Everyone does it. It took me forever to get any good at shaving - my father wasn't the one to teach this sort of thing. Should have seen me the first couple of times I tried to shave after my injury too. For a while I was convinced I would have to take up growing dittany the rate I was going through it." Severus shook his head slightly, looking distant.

"Wouldn't know it now," Harry said, although Severus' words did help a little.

"And think how great at this I would have been if a certain little boy hadn't decided to distract me every time I had a moment of peace to shave," Severus said, although he was smirking at Harry, and his eyes had lit up with amusement.

"Well, if that certain little boy hadn't taught you how to colour properly, who knows where you would be?" Harry said back. Severus chuckled, the sound deep and yet without the characteristically dark tone to it.

***

When Harry had succeeded in getting the remaining shaving foam from his face (and the small streak of it from in his unruly mop of hair), he went into the kitchen to meet Hermione, who was just finishing up her breakfast. She slid a wrapped package across the table at Harry and took the last sip from her glass of orange juice.

"I thought that it was fitting, considering how things are going to be a whole new world for you this summer," Hermione said cheerfully. "Well, for both of us really. New memories, and all."

Curious, Harry ripped away the paper. Hidden in the wrapping was a camera.

"Developing the pictures is really easy using the magical method," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "Just one potion is needed - the bottle in the box in fact - and a nice dark place and an old pan. I thought you could use the laundry room here for now. The potion I got makes the pictures move. You can get a potion to make them just like muggle photographs too, but I thought you'd prefer this."

"Wow, it's great," said Harry breathlessly. "Hermione ... thank you so much."

"Well, I thought you would want to remember this summer," she said, "and your first proper birthday party."

"What?"

"It was Molly's idea," said Severus, who, at last cleanly shaven had finally re-entered the kitchen, seeming pleased he had arrived just in time for Hermione to break the news. "We thought it best not to surprise you later today - give you time to get ready. The Weasleys, Hagrid, and Lupin are coming for dinner tonight. Just a sort of potluck, nothing fancy. Things have been a bit hectic lately, so we thought that was best."

"Really?"

"I'm making a cake, so you had best get out from underfoot soon," Hermione said with a smile.

"You're ... wait, Remus is coming? Cake?"

Hermione laughed at Harry's confused but ecstatic look. He felt like it was too good to be true.

"Yes, Harry, we're having a party, just for you, because we love you, and Severus even invited Remus, and I'm making you a cake," repeated Hermione, clearly seeing he needed to hear it again to believe it. Harry smiled.

"I think I rather have to make up for missing so many," Severus said, looking a little blue all of a sudden.

"Thanks," whispered Harry, his eyes suddenly watering.

Hermione smiled, and Severus clapped Harry awkwardly on the back as he left for the porch to sit outside for a while, as he usually did in the mornings.

"Now get out - I have a cake to bake!" Hermione said with a laugh, shooing a still grinning Harry out of the kitchen. "The sooner I get it iced and decorated the better. It's my mother's recipe, and it's going to be great. Go take pictures of the ocean, or something." She giggled slightly and added, "See if Severus will strike a pose!"

"I heard that!" Severus called from a distance.

Harry let out a bark of laughter and left the kitchen, holding the camera in his hands. He walked into the sitting room, on his way to the door to go outside. Harry stopped, however. He paused, and listened. He could hear Hermione moving things around in the kitchen, hunting around for pans. He could see Severus moving just beyond the screen door. He could hear the cry of the gulls from the seashore, drifting in through the open front windows. He remembered when he heard those gulls for the first time during those first hours at Bell Point. He had thought they sounded sad, but at the moment, Harry wondered how he could ever have believed this.

***

Harry convinced Severus to go walking by the tidal pools with him. It was slow going because Severus had to go with much caution. He had brought a good walking stick - salvaged from the remains of the tree that had fallen a few days ago and had yet to be cleared away with magic. The clunking sound of the walking stick followed Harry as he knelt down by the edges of the crystal clear pools, admiring sea stars and small flashing fish as they flipped through the water. He picked up one of the sea stars and gave it to Severus, who was sitting on a rock. Severus held it in his open palm and examined it with care, a small smile about his lips. He had said he didn't feel like kneeling down on the hard rocks to look for silly things in the water, but Harry had seen through it, knowing that it was more of a reflection of Severus' lingering difficulty in kneeling or manoeuvring tricky landscapes. It was clear he was correct, for Severus found the sea star highly interesting.

Harry snapped a picture of him with it, to Severus' surprise, causing him to look up, but not until after Harry had captured the moment. He grinned.

"Haha, funny; now give it to me," said Severus, handing back the starfish and holding his hand out for the camera.

Harry stood with his back to the ocean, finding that he didn't even have to fake a smile. It just came naturally, because right now he felt luckier than he ever had.

"Say ‘ten points from Gryffindor'," Severus told him in his most sardonic tone.

"Severus," Harry said, although he laughed.

"Close enough - my name is synonymous with the Gryffindor's misery after all," Severus added, handing the camera back to Harry with a smirk.

"For someone who's convinced a whole school he has no sense of humour, you sure are funny," Harry told Severus as he sunk down onto the large stone as well. Severus did not reply, so Harry added, "What a beautiful day."

"No thanks to your ugly mug."

"No thanks to your unoriginality."

Harry nudged Severus with his shoulder. Severus raised one of his eyebrows, glancing at him for a moment before turning his gaze back to the ocean. He nudged Harry back.

"Happy birthday, brat."

Brat. Harry grinned and looked out onto the ocean, which was rippling in the breeze.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, admiring the ocean view.

"I never want to leave this place," said Harry, feeling immensely content.

"Me neither," Severus said with a sigh. "Such a shame the Order needs it."

"Yeah," said Harry gloomily. They had talked of this before during the past few days leading up to Harry's birthday. Severus had taken to look through house listings in the Daily Prophet in the evenings, and job listings. Severus had been writing to Dumbledore as well, who occasionally gave a suggestion or two when it came to job opportunities, what with his extensive network of friends and contacts.

"For the first time in my life ... I'm actually not looking forward to going back to school," Harry said, almost unable to believe it.

"I don't particularly want you to go back either," Severus said. "It will be strange not going back. I ... I wish I was."

"Me too," Harry muttered.

"Oh well, no sense in thinking of all of that. Today's a day for celebration."

"Celebrating that my ugly mug has survived this long?"

Severus chuckled, but there certainly was a grain of truth in it.

***

It seemed like forever until six-o-clock rolled around and just about all the Weasleys showed up - Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Charlie, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Severus worked together to get the tables set up by the lights on the porch - pretty coloured jars that Severus had done himself. Hermione had been fretting about how she wished she could use magic to decorate the place when Severus thought he'd give it a try. To everyone's delight and amazement, he was able to manage the fairly basic wand movement of a colour changing spell, which required more concentration and proper pronunciation than anything. But it was the first proper spell Severus had done, and they were all so giddy with excitement they almost forgot to feed Crookshanks (until he reminded Hermione forcefully by digging his claws into her jeans). Once Crookshanks was fed and Severus had done a dozen or so jars, Hermione filled each of them with small candles and arranged them all around the ledges of the porch. They shone like beacons from the house, their light distant and twinkling where Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley children were down by the water.

It was a hot summer night, and with the sun beginning to lower, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and Charlie went running into the water as soon as they got the chance. There was much splashing, dunking, and laughing. Harry and Ginny had a particularly great time sneaking up on Charlie, going underwater and grabbing both his legs, dragging him under the water too. Ginny got lifted up and tossed into the water for her crime, Charlie's strong arms accomplishing this easily thanks to the hard physical work required to be done by a dragon keeper. Harry thought he got off easy until he got dunked when he was least expecting it.

After a while, Mrs. Weasley came down to the beach carrying a ball, which she had rescued from the depths of a dusty corner in the attic. They all decided the best use for the ball was a game of keep away.

Having an uneven number, Ginny was sent to beg Mr. Weasley to come play too, and he didn't disappoint. He came running into the water like an overly excited child as Mrs. Weasley laughed from a chair on the lawn, where she and Severus were talking.

"Remus!" shouted Harry excitedly as he emerged from diving after the ball and missing. "Come and play!"

"In a minute," called Remus, "I'm just going to go say hello to Molly and Severus!"

"Okay!" Harry called before chasing after Fred again, who had the ball under his arm and was trying to get it to George.

***

Severus relaxed in the warm air, feeling content as the moths swooped low over the grass. He could see the happy gathering, splashing and laughing in the water, enjoying the lingering heat from the summer day. Molly talked of the kids, life at the Burrow, and other similarly pleasant topics. It was a surprise when Lupin suddenly appeared nearby, saying hello.

"Lupin," said Severus, his voice not biting as it usually would be. He decided that he might as well be civil.

"How have you been, Severus?" asked Lupin.

"Well, and yourself?" he said.

"Alright, but busy," said Lupin. "I'm glad to get a chance to see everyone. I sure appreciate you inviting me for Harry's birthday."

"Harry will be pleased you have come, no doubt," Severus added.

That was the extent of the conversation, and then Lupin began to talk to Molly, asking a few things about the family, and the other usual subjects.

"What a hot evening," said Lupin, wiping his brow. "I suppose I shall have to go join Harry now - he's waving again. It was nice talking to you two."

Lupin paused for a second.

"You know, Severus, I bet you would have fun if you joined us," said Lupin suddenly. "Besides ... if I join they'll be an uneven number."

I am shocked. Is Lupin inviting me to ... play?

Molly smirked at Severus' look of surprise.

"I am quite content, I assure you."

"Hmm, pity," said Molly. "It is so terribly nice - I thought I might go wading a bit."

Severus frowned thoughtfully, remaining silent for a moment before giving his answer.

"Lupin, you can expect that whichever team I am on, will thoroughly smash yours in keep away," said Severus.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Lupin with a decidedly wolfish grin. Severus smirked slightly, because whatever Lupin though he was sure that he was definitely going down. He followed him down to the water. Both Severus and Lupin both tossed their shirts in the pile on the sand and raced each other into the water in an odd moment of what felt like something almost like friendship. Severus couldn't go that fast, but he made up for losing this part by being the first one to dive into the chilly water. It felt nice in the evening heat, and Severus laughed when he saw that Lupin was cautiously lowering himself into the water. He laughed even harder when Harry came flying over and thoroughly dunked Lupin.

"Severus!" Harry cried. He saw it about to happen the moment before he leaped.

Uh oh, thought Severus.

He came up from the water spluttering.

"You're going to get it!" Severus cried, chasing after Harry, and he found to his amazement he was quite fast in the water. His leg brace - while still helping support the leg thanks to its water proof nature - did not seem to be needed as much. Severus felt stronger with the water supporting him, and he wondered why he hadn't done this sooner.

Lupin ended up on the team with Hermione, Fred, George, and Arthur. Harry, Ron, Charlie, and Ginny were on Severus' team. They started with the ball, and with Molly acting partially as a referee in the shallows an epic battle began as they tried to keep the other team from getting the ball. Severus and Harry in particular put up a heroic fight, and Lupin and Severus went head to head in a ferocious battle every chance they got. On one hand Lupin had incredible reflexes, whereas Severus could always predict when anyone was trying to fake a throw from many  years of spying, allowing him to see clearly his opponents thoughts through their body language alone. Lupin learned quickly it was better not to even try to fake a throw near him.

Of course, in the end, they had to call it a tie, because -

"HAGRID!"

Ron's shout alerted everyone and they all dove out of the way as Hagrid sunk into the water with a huge splash, his red and white striped bathing suit lurid and blinding.

After that the game of keep away fell apart as everyone greeted Hagrid, and in any case, after another ten minutes or so everyone began to complain of hunger, so the group dried off (with the help of a few spells on Molly's part) and worked together to carry the dishes people brought for the potluck outside.

At long last, after everyone was finished, Hermione went inside to get the cake. Molly held Harry's camera, ready to take pictures as she has been doing for him off and on this evening so he would have photos to look back and remember.

Severus felt himself begin to grin as he caught sight of the cake Hermione had made and decorated. It had two tiers, and a creamy vanilla icing covered it in thick swirls, with decorative slices of oranges sticking to the sides. It looked delicious, and Harry's face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw it, with its deep brown chocolate lettering spelling out Happy 16th Birthday Harry across the top, the glowing candles reflecting in his eyes. He looked up, grinning over the cake at Severus.

Molly snapped the picture, and Severus thought that at that moment, he was more grateful for the photo than Harry, because it was a moment he wished could last forever.

 The cake had long been eaten and the half-moon shone brightly. The quiet rustling of everyone gathering their things could be heard drifting over the lush hills of Bell Point. The cottage windows glowed from afar, a golden light spilling out into the night, banishing the darkness. A sleepy warmth pervaded the atmosphere, the lingering heat of a hot summer day drifting into the night. Off in the distance the moon shone on the gently rippling surface of the ocean, and as Harry walked with Remus to the apparition point, where following goodbyes, the Weasleys had disappeared only moments earlier, he sighed with contentment.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," Remus said with a smile, his expression tired, but happy.

"Thanks for coming, Remus," Harry said, his heart feeling so full it might burst. He wasn't quite sure how to say how he felt, but Remus seemed to understand.

"You deserve this, Harry," he told him softly, his eyes gesturing to the cottage and its sweeping hills, to Hermione and Severus who were folding a tablecloth by the light from candles within the coloured jars.

Harry looked at his feet, unable to conceal the huge grin on his face. He was surprised to feel Remus ruffle his hair affectionately.

"You're so much like Lily - humble as can be," Remus said with the ghost of a laugh. "Goodbye, Harry. I'll visit soon, I promise."

"Okay," Harry said. "Even though Severus is here?"

"Oh, I don't mind him," said Remus. "I don't think he minds me much either. It's my furry friend he doesn't like."

He winked, his joke about his condition surprising Harry, who laughed. Remus gave Harry a short one armed hug before walking out of the wards. For a moment his shadowy form - tattered robes swirling about him - stood in the light of the moon, the rippling water beneath the rocky point shining, and then he was gone.

He was about to walk away when he heard another pop. Thinking that perhaps Remus had forgotten something, he turned back around. To his surprise Professor Dumbledore stood before him.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Happy Birthday."

"What's your favourite kind of jam?" Harry asked quickly, doing what Severus had been drilling him and Hermione to do when anyone arrived.

"Raspberry," said Dumbledore smoothly. "And your patronus?"

"A stag."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, sweeping down off the rocky landscape and falling in step beside Harry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry inquired, although not rudely. "You haven't shown up for any of my other birthdays, so it has to be more than just that."

"Well deducted," said Professor Dumbledore, sounding a little sad for a moment upon consideration of what Harry had said. "At the moment, yes, I do have an ulterior motive, although a good one in this case. I hope I am not too late to visit? I would have come earlier, but I've been in council with some of the Order, discussing how to work out the problem of your relatives."

"Oh, no, Remus just left," said Harry. "Have you decided what you're doing yet?"

"We haven't come to any conclusions just yet, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It is tricky. We cannot go through legal channels for fear of it getting out, but we cannot simply let them walk away without some justice done for the way they have mistreated you."

"Don't hurt them badly," Harry said, "I know I've said it before, but please don't."

"No, I would not do that," said Dumbledore, sincerely, Harry thought. "I merely wish to find a way for them to understand how terrible a crime it was for them to commit, acting as they did."

Harry just shrugged.

"Is Severus still awake?"

"Yes, why?"

"I have a simple matter to discuss with him."

Harry looked around. Severus was sitting on the porch now, eyes closed and resting his legs up against the railing and tipping back in the rocking chair that sat there.

Hermione was blowing out the candles one by one, taking the jars inside. She waved to Professor Dumbledore, set at ease by his cheerful expression.

"Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore. "How are you?"

Hermione gave Harry a look that said "come inside they want to talk", so Harry went up the steps and followed her inside, telling Dumbledore it was nice to see him.

***

"I'm well, thank you," Severus said as the screen door shut and Hermione and Harry had left.

He took his legs from the railing. Dumbledore had dragged a small chair over to where Severus was, and he sat contentedly upon it, looking out onto the gentle roll of the sea.

"All the details have almost been smoothed over," said Dumbledore. "The Order should have all the paperwork done for Harry soon - we believe the Dursleys will sign over guardianship of Harry fairly easily."

"Good," said Severus, a few lines on his face disappearing with the good news. He had feared Dumbledore had come with grim tidings - for it seemed that happened all too often these days. Severus was immensely relieved that Harry would soon be out of there for good.

Both contented with this thought, they fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound that of the light breeze flowing through the trees and the gentle slap of water on the shoreline.

"This place has a magic all its own, don't you think?" said Dumbledore at last in a low, soft voice.

Severus stared out at the beam of moonlight Dumbledore had his eyes transfixed upon, where it seemed to lead off in a silver path to whatever lay beyond the ocean.

"Yes," Severus said, his voice soft, his mind and body relaxed. "I will miss it."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then he turned away from the sea and stared instead at Severus.

"Severus, have I ever thanked you for all of the things you have done for me?"

"What?" Severus said, tearing his eyes from the scene of beauty before him and looking at Dumbledore.

"You have risked everything, Severus, and oftentimes with so little to show for it. You have done everything I have asked - you have kept Harry safe. You have gone into situations unimaginable, seen sights that some of us wouldn't even dream of and that would haunt those who did see them until their dying days. I want to thank you for that. I want to tell you how much it has meant to me over the years - how much it has meant to the light too. Without you we would never have gotten so far."

Severus sat in shock. He hardly knew what to say. Had he ever been thanked? It had been a thankless job, spying on the Dark Lord, going into a world of darkness all those nights, not knowing if you would return. He had never expected to be thanked.

"I ... no ... I do not know if you have, exactly," muttered Severus. "Well, not like that."

"I am sorry, I am so sorry that you had to sacrifice so much," said Dumbledore, his words coming out almost breathlessly. He looked away, as though in shame, and Severus was surprised to see the glisten of tears in his eyes.

"I - I knew the risks," Severus said, his heart heavy. "I could have stopped if I had wanted to, there are ways."

"But you didn't, and that is why I feel I owe everything to you, Severus." Dumbledore reached into his pocket, and he drew from it something, although his hand remained clasped around it. He was silent a moment before continuing. "You have been shunted from one place to the next too many times in your life - back in school, when I was too much a fool to see you properly, to help you before it was too late - to this day in society for the mistakes made by a frightened young boy of long ago. You deserve more than that."

Severus watched in surprise as Dumbledore lifted his closed hand, took Severus' hand in the free one, and set a small, cool object in his palm. As soon as he took his hand away, Severus opened his.

It was a key, old fashioned and dull coloured.

Severus thought he knew, but he asked anyway.

"What is it for?" he asked, his voice low and scratching.

"You never have to leave Bell Point, Severus," said Dumbledore softly. "It is your home now. It is your place to recover in, your place to live, your place to share with your new family. This is my thank you for everything you gave up, and I fear it does not cover the sacrifices you made."

"Albus," said Severus, hardly knowing what to say. "But the Order, I thought it needed Bell Point -"

"That's not important," said Dumbledore. "There are other safe houses. This is yours now."

Severus hardly knew what to say, and now that his words had run out he stared at the key in his hand. Dumbledore grasped his shoulder for a moment and said goodnight. He walked down to the point, and with a smile and a wave he was gone, leaving Severus standing on the porch in the moonlight, tears streaking down his face despite his best intentions.

***

Harry and Hermione were overjoyed by the news. The prospect of a whole summer ahead of them, years even, spent at Bell Point seemed to bring a kind of life to the two that nothing else had since the deaths of Sirius, and Hermione's parents. Severus was so grateful for this, and those summer days were the best he had known yet. He went on long walks with Harry and Hermione, swam and practised his spell-work every second he could, until he was able to do most of the simple spells he had learned in his early years at Hogwarts, although only with his left.

Bell Point became a rather busy place from time to time, for the Weasleys were always welcome and Lupin dropped by a fair bit to visit with Harry. The paperwork did work out for Harry not long after his birthday, and to celebrate they all went to the Burrow for an evening of Fred and George's fireworks and homemade ice cream. Although Severus did not say so, he much preferred "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs" when they were chasing Umbridge all over Hell and half-acre, but they were nice outdoors too.

It was perhaps the best, and therefore shortest summer Severus had ever had, and it seemed like no time before the final week of vacation arrived, signalling the time to return to the bustle of activity and work. Severus had been searching through papers and sending out resumes to numerous places, hoping for some job that he could do without trouble, but so far, his luck had been fruitless. Too many knew what he had done - too many believed him to be a traitor. Severus should have known not to expect anything different, for he had known a very long time that his past would always haunt him. Thankfully he had been writing papers for various Potions journals, which really didn't care who wrote the article as long as they knew what they were talking about and had the credentials to prove it. These provided an irregular source of income, but thanks to the key that now rested safely in the (repaired) drawer of his desk, they got by just fine.

Yet, despite all the blessings he had been given over the summer, Severus' heart ached as he thought of sending Hermione and Harry off to Hogwarts. And then that day came, and he watched as they waved sadly behind them, Harry looking more heartbroken than Severus ever imagined he could considering he was going to a place he had always said was his home.

A month passed. Owls came, and owls went, and Severus wrote steadily into October, the silence of the cottage peaceful and yet sad. He watched the leaves turn from green to red and gold. He watched them turn to brown  and fall, and the skies go from blue to grey. He watched the fog and mist roll in from the ocean, and all the while he worked himself as hard as he could, doing spellwork and even attempting the odd potion. Severus made good progress, but he still was not what he used to be. He was on his way, but not at the destination he needed to reach to return to teaching. He never thought he would be sorry when the day came that he was no longer a Professor. And yet, he was. Just as he was sure he would never grow to love two meddlesome teenagers the way he had the two that wrote him long letters every week, the same two he had taken to sending (he swore he never would do this, but then again he'd sworn a lot of things before everything changed) packages in the mail with the occasional small surprise - a little yarn for Hermione here and some hot chocolate mix for Harry there.

The only thing that kept him going some nights in that empty house was the knowledge that they would be coming home, that his family would return for Christmas to the little cottage by the sea. It was like a candle in the darkness, and he was so engrossed with this idea one morning that he was quite surprised when a letter from Albus Dumbledore came through the window by owl. It had been a few weeks since he'd written.

Once he got over the surprise he expected the usual fare within the envelope. He was quite wrong.

***

Harry sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, reading over some class notes. There was a tapping on the window, and he looked up tiredly, hoping that it was Hedwig with some mail for him so that he had an excuse not to study. The owl was not familiar, and he felt his heart sink. He opened the window for it anyway, and yet, despite its unfamiliarity, it landed in front of him and stuck out its leg.

"For me?" muttered Harry, confused, wondering as well why it hadn't come at breakfast. Perhaps it was urgent.

Harry was surprised to see a sealed muggle envelope, as well as a small scroll attached. The scroll said, Open First in the elegant script Harry was quite sure was Professor Dumbledore's handwriting.

Dear Harry, it said. This letter just came for me today - I had to have it sent by muggle post due to the nature of my request and the distance it travelled. I hope that in some small way this is in part consolation for what your relatives did. I only wish we could have brought them to true justice and had the world know what they did, but alas, I know that is not what you want, nor what should be announced despite how much they deserve to be scorned upon. Thus, a different arrangement was made, and I assure you they shall never harm you again for they are quite out of reach.

It was signed in Professor Dumbledore's loopy handwriting. Looking around the mostly empty common room (most people were still at dinner, but Harry had been quick because he wanted the common room to himself for a while), he decided he would go up into his dorm to open the letter alone.

He sunk down on his four poster and slit the envelope with trembling fingers. It had stamps and postmarks all over it, but he didn't bother to read these. Shaking, Harry pulled from the envelope a stiff, shining piece of card-stock. It was a postcard, in fact, and splashed across the front in a bold font, pictures of wolves and stylized totem poles behind it, said Greetings from Barrow Alaska!

"What?" Harry spat, confused. He turned the postcard over, and attached to it was a small picture of the three Dursleys, looking extraordinarily grumpy in their jackets. It was signed by all three Dursleys, and at the bottom of the postcard Harry noticed a small typed note, part of the post card.

Did you know that, due to its position on the globe, it is dark twenty four hours a day from November to January in Barrow Alaska?

Harry hardly knew how to react. At first he was horrified, and then he burst out laughing, the less sympathetic part of him winning over as an immense sense of relief flooded over him. They were far away now, and they could not hurt him.

He sunk down on his bed, laughing so hard that he didn't noticed Hermione come sprinting into his dormitory.

"Harry! I have great - what are you laughing for?" Hermione asked, panting, her eyes alight.

Harry wheezed a little and tossed the postcard at her.

Hermione looked stricken when she read it, but upon Harry's continued gale of laughter, her lip twitched.

"That was very creative of Dumbledore, you know," she said when Harry had managed to gasp out what the small scroll had mentioned.

"It's genius!" Harry said, wiping his eyes and thinking that he was going to find the largest bag of sherbet lemons he could for Professor Dumbledore. "I couldn't be happier."

"Actually ..." said Hermione, her face lighting up once more, "I beg to differ."

"Aw, come on Hermione, nothing you could say would be better than this," Harry said, still chortling as he waved the post card, now safely in his hands once more.

"Then I'll show you," said Hermione briskly. "Come on, then."

Harry stared at her curiously as her eyes sparkled and her lips quirked in a smile.

"You'll love it," she said, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him down the staircase.

"I swear, if it's something to do with Spew ..." Harry muttered.

For once, Hermione didn't even chastise him for his comment regarding S.P.E.W.

It was then that Harry began to wonder.

Hermione dragged him down past the Great Hall and from corridor to corridor, and for a moment Harry got excited, thinking that perhaps ... just maybe, Severus was back. But they passed the main staircase down to the dungeons, and turned left instead, going along a winding passage with smaller classrooms than were in the larger halls.

When at last Harry felt he'd questioned the silent Hermione more than he could bear, she led him to a closed classroom door.

Harry opened his mouth to ask, but she pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shh," she said, giggling a little as a look crossed her face that clearly told Harry You'll see.

She rapped on the door, which Harry noted had a small sign on it that said Arithmancy

"Come on in - I am just writing up Monday's lesson -" called a muffled voice through the door.

Harry frowned. Had Hermione taken him to see Professor Vector? Why would she do that?

Hermione pushed open the door. The classroom was narrow, but deep. Harry glanced around the room for a second, distracted by the complicated measuring devices and charts filled with equations upon the walls.

"Harry!" Hermione said, prodding him so that he ceased to examine a strange sort of slide rule that had some funny knobs and was resting on a desk beside him.

"Huh?"

Harry looked up, and it was then that the figure turned around, a piece of chalk held in his left hand, his robes billowing as he did so. Words failed Harry, but before he knew what he was doing he was running down the aisle and had thrown his arms around Severus, who, beaming, returned the embrace.

"How - what, what are you ..." Harry began, shocked to the core. Hermione, who had taken a seat on the surface of the front desk, grinned.

"Professor Vector's taking the rest of the year off," said Severus, trying not to look too pleased. "Her sister is ill, and she wants to be there for her. Albus remembered that I was good in Arithmancy ... and as this class is mostly writing, he thought I would do well."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Hermione said. "Well, not for Professor Vector, that's terrible, but at least some good came of it!"

Harry just grinned as Hermione let her mouth run away as she rambled on about how grateful she was.

That night (the next day being a Saturday), the three of them went for a walk on the Hogwarts grounds. It was a bit chilly, and they pulled their cloaks tight, but up above the sky was cloudless and the stars were just starting to come out. The three of them journeyed down to the lake, where they sat on the wide flat stones that lay upon the shoreline, Severus in the middle, and Hermione and Harry on either side of him. Together they stared out at the glittering expanse of water. It made Harry ache for Bell Point a little, something he wasn't quite used to. Perhaps it was the water that had drawn the three of them, and how much it reminded them of home.

"I'm so happy," said Harry quietly over the sound of lake slapping the shoreline.

"I am too," muttered Severus after a moment, a small smile on his face.

"Me too," whispered Hermione at last, sounding almost surprised.

Silence fell between the three. It grew darker out, dark enough so that they could not be seen from the castle if anyone had looked, and that was the way they liked it, for it was just the three of them. When the cold set in Severus draped his arms around both of them, and he pulled them close to his sides. Hermione did what she seldom let herself do, and let her head rest on Severus' shoulder, and Harry, who had never known such quiet bliss as this, did as well. They remained this way for quite some time, until at long last they walked up to the castle, and as the night became its darkest, the stars grew ever brighter.

Those stars would shine brighter still as the hours left of the night grew fewer and the three who were once so lost lay in their beds in different parts of the castle, in different dreams. And while they were separate for the time being, one thing reached beyond stone walls and far off corridors, and that was that no matter the distance between them - whether they were at Bell Point, or Hogwarts, or goodness knew where else - every day, and always, they would be a family. And to all those who have experienced life without one and tasted the aching fear that all the loneliness in the world belongs to you and you alone, this was the kind of thought that would fight every kind of darkness, again and again.