Three sets of trainers reverberated through the stone, torch-lit dungeon. To Harry, the sound seemed to be a reminder that they were intruding somewhere where their presence was not welcome.

“Should we have brought something?” Hermione whispered as they turned past the last, large classroom into the portrait-lined hallway where the entrance to Professor’s Snape’s private quarters was.

“I don’t think we should coming here in the first place,” Harry muttered.

“A promise is a promise Harry,” Hermione replied loftily, pointing to the Portrait of the Chinese Soldier. Hermione flounced up to the portrait while Ron and Harry exchanged reluctant looks.

“We probably should’ve brought something,” Ron muttered. “It’s a lot harder to be a git when someone is handing you a bunch of chocolates, isn’t it?” Harry shrugged, not at all convinced that chocolate would have any effect at all on Snape’s temperament.

It had been one thing to be in Snape’s apartment when the man was so clearly hurt. The high drama of the night had made everyone a little softer, more familiar and united, than normal. It also helped that Snape was too injured to move about properly and too exhausted to insult them. Relieved that Snape was alive and able to move around, and encouraged by briefest flicker of fondness that Harry had seen in Snape’s eyes when they said goodbye, Harry had rashly declared his intention to return to check-up on him.

But now that Snape was convalescing, the drama had died away, leaving Harry completely uncertain about everything to do with the man. He felt as though he was approaching a cross-roads as he stood in front of the portrait-hole.

“Harry, Ron and Hermione for Professor Snape, please.” Hermione said politely to the Chinese Soldier. The portrait gave a serious nod, turned around in his frame for a moment, then turned back to face them. A few moments later, the portrait swung back to reveal Snape in a grey housecoat. His face was paler than usual, and dark-circles still lurked under his eyes, which were torn between concern and annoyance.

“What’s the matter Potter?” Snape snarled in a manner that implied only loss of limbs would justify their presence. Slightly taken aback at the resurgence of hostility, the three Gryffindors simply blinked. Ron gave a rather nervous swallow.

“We came to see how you were feeling, sir.” Hermione answered warily. Snape’s eyebrows knitted ­together. His eyes flicked between the three of them, as though trying to discern whether or not they were having him on.

“I was a lot better before you woke me up,” Snape replied coolly, leaning on the edge of the portrait hole. Harry noticed that he looked just as tired and ragged as he did when he awoke in the middle of the night and yelled at Harry to leave.

“Can we get you anything?” Harry asked, recklessly ignoring Snape’s barb. Snape’s features seem to harden as he observed Harry.

“Regardless of what you saw last night Potter, it is still sir or Professor to you,” Snape gritted out in a thin, waspish voice. “You will not speak of your little adventure to anyone, and you certainly are not welcome to come banging around here whenever you please.”

There was a moment of silence where Snape glared at them and they stared back, unsure what offence they had committed.

“Sorry, Professor” ; “Sorry, sir” They mumbled indistinctly, taking a step back from the portrait hole together as Snape continued to observe them with a fixed, angry look. Harry, feeling stupid and embarrassed, turned around to lead his friends out of the dungeon.

“Potter,” Snape said as soon as Harry took a step away. Harry turned around and momentarily met Snape’s black eyes. “Good luck on your Potions OWL. I’m sure your performance will be…outstanding.” There was a mocking smile on Snape’s lips and a cruel, hardness in his black eyes that left no question that Snape did not hope or expect Harry to achieve the required Potions grade to continue at NEWT-level. Before Harry could do more than blink stupidly, Snape turned and closed the portrait behind him with considerably more force than necessary.

“Well done Hermione,” Ron said sarcastically as they turned down the hallway.

“I didn’t think he’d be so mad,” Hermione said in a small voice. Harry wasn’t quite sure what she expected. Maybe she thought Snape would thank them, invite them in for tea and biscuits, and quiz her in potions. Enough adults had disappointed Harry in his life that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He had pretty much expected the reaction that he got. Still, for a moment, when Snape had called him back, there was a brief, hopeful flutter in Harry’s chest. He wasn’t aware he had been hoping for anything from Snape until that moment, and he still wasn’t sure what exactly he had been hoping for. Still, it made it even more humiliating when Snape had insulted him with such casual cruelty moments later.

Harry pushed the thought from his mind. It’s not that he cared about Snape. He had experienced a normal amount of concern at seeing someone he knew grievously injured. If Snape wanted to push Harry away, Harry was more than happy to go.

Hours later, Harry awoke to find his face sticking to Hermione’s notes on the proper use of Fairy eggs. A large drool splotch marred a sentence about calculating the egg’s gestation, and he realized with dismay he had only gotten through half of the notes he had intended on reading. Harry’s stomach plummeted with such force that he his hands tingled. His Potions OWL was today, the one massive, ugly monster standing between him and a career as an Auror.

“Morning.” Ron mumbled from his bed, barely looking up from his notes. Harry grunted in reply, too nervous to speak. He dressed silently before heading down to a breakfast of dry toast, which he only ate to appease Hermione. Time seemed to be racing with Harry’s rapid heartbeat. One moment, the Great Hall was a jovial breakfast room, the next, a fear-inducing exam centre. Hermione gave Harry a brief hug and moved to the front of the line with a grim confidence. Ron looked as bad as Harry felt, and managed a funny sort of whine, which Harry took to mean good luck, before departing for the back with the other Ws. Moments later, his mouth dry and tasting like burned toast, Harry was forced to slide into the chair behind Padma Patil and await his fate.

Professor Sprout sent the papers flying to their desks with a quick flourish of her wand. Harry stared at the overturned paper and felt a vague, sick feeling bubbling up in him. Why had he not started preparing for this exam months ago when McGonagall warned him that he would need an Outstanding? Why had he not begged Professor Snape on bended knee for extra help? By the time Professor Sprout gave the instruction to begin, Harry had worked himself to such a state that he read the first question without comprehending a word. He forced himself to breathe and reread the question.

1) Describe

a) the effects and uses of the Polyjuice potion, including potential dangers and side-effects, and (25 points)

 b) its brewing process. (20 points)

Harry fought the urge to burst out in relieved laughter. The next question, compare and contrast the effects of moonstone and kyanite crystals, was a bit of more of a challenge, but Harry was relieved to recognize both ingredients. Although he knew his answer wouldn’t be as detailed as Hermione or Ernie’s, he’d at least have something quasi-intelligent to say.

The final question: ‘describe the proper way to disembowl and store frog intestines’, brought nothing but delight to Harry. Snape had given him so much practical experience in that area, he was sure his answer would rival Hermione’s. Grinning, Harry dipped his quill in his inkpot and started to write.

He was halfway through describing the different melting points for moonstone and kyanite crystals, when he felt his brain give a rather uncomfortable lurch. Harry had not felt anything quite like it. It was though a small creature was trapped inside his brain pushing to get out. Harry rubbed his eyes to try and dispel the sensation, no doubt caused by squinting at parchment for too long. He had finished his sentence and was moving on to the next: The similarities of moonstone and kyanite crystals include calming prop -.  Another shove, this time stronger. Harry forced down a lurch in his stomach.

Though by no means a skilled enough Occlumens to project deceiving visions over his shield. Harry had been able to create a fairly strong barrier to his mind. This mental shoving was reminiscent of Snape’s intrusions in their Occlumency lessons. Before he could think of what to do, Harry felt himself go slack at his desk as Voldemort pushed into his mind.

This time, instead of black, painful nothingness, Harry was standing in the Department of Mysteries. The very place he was no longer meant to be dreaming about. This time, he wasn’t alone. Sirius stood in front of him, bloody but defiant.

“Get it,” Harry hissed at his godfather, feeling a hatred brew in his gut. Blood-traitors… worse than muggles.

“You’ll have to kill me,” Sirius responded calmly, a hard, fatalistic smile on his lips.

“Oh I will,” Harry said with a laugh, raising his wand, “Crucio.” Sirius collapsed on the ground.

“NO! NO!” Harry realized he was shouting moments later as something sharply made contact with his head. Harry had collapsed on floor and Ernie MacMillan, who was sitting to his left, had jerked in surprise, knocking his ink well off of his desk on to Harry’s head.

“Harry, what is it?” Ernie asked, looking at Harry with concern. Harry knew he must look awful to have drawn the other boy’s attention away from his OWL.

“No talking, no talking! This is still an examination!” Professor Sprout said, jogging up the rows of students to Harry, who was struggling to his feet, trying to process what he had just seen.

“Harry dear, what happened?” she asked quietly, putting an arm around him to lead him out the examination room. The vision of Sirius’ face, filled with pain and fear as he crumpled to the ground, was making quick work of all Harry’s rational thought. All he could think of was Sirius, laid out liked Snape has been: bleeding and close to death. How long did he have? Not long. He had to make a plan. Quickly.

“M-Must be coming down with something. Hospital wing.” He looked so pale and ill that Professor Sprout clearly took his terseness for nausea and gave him an understanding nod.

“Alright dear, off you go.” She said kindly, turning back to finish invigilating the exam. As soon at the doors shut, Harry bolted. He needed a member of the Order, and there was only one left at Hogwarts.

Although he was sprinting with all of his might, it seemed to take eternity to reach the Portrait of the Chinese Soldier who gave no sign of acknowledging Harry.

“Harry Potter for Professor Snape. It’s urgent.” Harry wheezed. He felt as though he would never have enough oxygen again. The soldier nodded and turned around in his frame. Moments later, he turned back to face Harry.

“Well?” Harry asked, exasperated. Most portraits, bored in their frames all day, were happy to talk the ear off of a living person. Leave it to Snape to find the only silent, serious portrait in the whole school. Harry was about to run to Snape’s office when the portrait swung inwards.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape aske, sounding concerned instead of derisive. His eyes raked Harry over, as though trying to detect an injury.

“Voldemort has Sirius!” Harry practically yelled. Snape blinked at him and seemed to relax slightly. Harry felt a hot anger rush through his veins. Snape knew what it was like to be at the mercy of Voldemort. Was he such an awful person that he did not care that Sirius was now suffering the same fate?

“You have to do something!” Harry blurted out.

“Sirius is fine.” Snape said almost dismissively, though he was now regarding Harry with some concern. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

Harry was enraged. After all Sirius had done for Snape: sitting by his bedside, reassuring him, healing his injuries, Snape didn’t care in the least that, at this very moment, Sirius was being torn apart.

“Never mind that! He’s in trouble.”

“No he’s not,” Snape snapped, irritated. “This, Potter, is why you are learning Occlumency.”

“How do you know he’s ok?” Harry asked, confusion setting in over his fear. Snape observed Harry for a moment and seemed to come to the conclusion that only proof would stop his questions. Looking thoroughly irritated and oddly embarrassed, Snape pulled open the portrait-door more fully.

“Black, It’s fine. It’s only Potter.” Moments later, Sirius bounded out of the kitchen as a large, black dog and transformed, half-way through a leap, with a large smile for Harry.

“Very impressive,” Snape said dryly to Sirius before turning to Harry. “As you can see, your beloved godfather is just fine.”

 Indeed, Sirius looked more than fine. Aside from not being tortured, he had a contented, confident look about him that Harry had only scene in photographs and during last Christmas with the Weasley’s. The disturbing, haunted look his face seemed to be slowly dissipating with what Harry imagined to be a steady flow of good food. It was such a remarkable change that Harry wondered if he was imagining it out of relief.

“Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius replied, looking between them, confused.

“It’s as Dumbledore suspected,” Snape said by way of explanation. Sirius’ face softened sympathetically as he looked back to Harry.

“What did you see, Harry?” Sirius asked gesturing to the couch. Harry was too busy recounting his story to find it odd that Sirius was telling Harry to make himself comfortable in Snape’s home. Snape seemed too interested in the story to care.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that Harry, but all is well,” Sirius said, giving Harry a reassuring pat on the knee.

“Well Potter, you did the right thing by coming here,” Snape said with a slight sneer. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

But Harry was too busy considering his surroundings to be perturbed by the barb. Two mugs of tea were sitting out, drained of their contents; the edition of the Quibbler, which proclaimed Sirius to be Stubby Boardman was sitting on the coffee table. Snape was wearing his usual teaching robes, but Sirius was wearing jeans and a cable-knit sweater. It would be odd for Sirius to be doing Order work in muggle clothes, even if he was allowed to leave the house, which could only mean…

“Were you guys…hanging out?” Harry asked, trying not to sound appalled. Snape looked as though he swallowed a lemon. Sirius let out a great, bark-like laugh.

“Are you friends?” Harry asked again when Snape gave Sirius an imperious look that looked far too familiar and far removed from his usual, hateful glare.

“Don’t look so appalled Harry. It is not unheard of to grow out of schoolboy rivalry.” Sirius said. Snape looked like he very much wanted to assert that whatever hatred existed previously remained, but settled for rolling his eyes.

“Potter, whom I have in my private quarters is none of your business. It is crucial that you close your mind. Do you understand me? He is trying to lure you outside of the castle. You must not let him. No matter what you see.” Snape spoke in the low, silky voice Harry now was beginning to associate with extreme concern. Sirius was looking at Harry with an unwontedly serious expression as well.

“I tried. I did! He kept pushing, and I couldn’t stop him.” Harry said, addressing Snape this time. Describing the pushing sensation brought the unpleasant sensation back to Harry. He reached up and rubbed his head. Snape watched him for a moment, looking surprisingly sympathetic.

“I know, Potter,” Snape said, before getting up and walking to his kitchen. Harry sighed and laid his face on his hands. Now that he knew Sirius was safe, the fact that he just walked out on his Potions OWL and left his entire future behind was starting to catch up to him.

“You alright, kiddo?” asked Sirius, placing a hand at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry felt an odd jump in his stomach. No one had ever called him kiddo before, nor had any adult ever reach out to comfort him with zero hesitation. Even Mrs. Weasley had been tentative when she had reached out to hold him after the Triwizard Tournament, and though he had become close with Lupin, they never crossed the professor-student line. For a moment, Harry almost felt like he had a parent, someone who was truly his.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just left any chance of being an Auror sitting in that exam room.” Harry said with a sigh.

“Surely Potter, you don’t think the Ministry allows futures to be derailed by inopportune illness.” Snape said, from the kitchen. He swept across the living room and held a pain-relieving potion out to Harry. Harry took it with a small smile of thanks and drained it immediately.

“You’ll be able to re-sit the exam.”  Sirius clarified, seeing the mixture of confusion and hopefulness on Harry’s face. Harry grinned. Apparently, it was too much for Snape to see Harry that happy.

“Of course, that means you’ll have to study all summer.” Snape said with a particularly smug expression. Harry’s face fell. To Harry’s consternation, Sirius joined in by laughing at him even as he patted Harry’s shoulder consolingly.

“Next time I have a vision of you being tortured, I am just gonna leave you there.” Harry muttered half-heartedly. Sirius ruffled his hair.

“Alright, I have seen enough bonding for one day. Potter, out!” Snape said, pointing towards the portrait-hole.

“Yes, sir. Enjoy your tea.” Harry said with a wide-grin. Something about Snape being friends with Sirius made him less scary in a way that seeing him vulnerable and injured hadn’t managed. Surely, if Sirius enjoyed Snape’s company there had to be something there, hidden under the rough layers of inapproachability. It was enough to almost make Harry curious. Snape sneered, and was about to respond when the fire turned green.

Snape’s eyes widened in alarm. Before Harry could process what was happening, Snape pulled Harry back, placing himself between Harry and the intruder. Sirius had jumped to his feet as well and both stood, wands raised. There was a brief second of uncertainty when no one actually stepped out of the fireplace, but before anyone could say anything, a disturbingly familiar rat scuttled out of the fire across the carpet.