Severus braced his arms on the edge of the pensieve, sucking in harsh, angry breaths as the innocent-looking wisps of silver, floated on, unaware of the damage the caused. Never did he imagine that arrogant, little prat would snoop in his pensieve. He was under no delusions that Potter respected him, his privacy or any rules whatsoever but he did think the boy would have avoided the pensieve out of sheer self-preservation.

Severus allowed himself one last angry angry breath then took a long, calming one, schooling his face back to its usual inscrutable neutrality. It was rare he allowed emotion to run away with him, even anger, and Severus did not enjoy the lack of control. He’d be calm now. Severus lowered his wand into the pensieve and raised the memory back to his head. The reintroduction of a pensieved memory always brought with it a touch of the emotion the memory held and Severus had to force down the resurgence of anger and humiliation as he memory slipped back in to his consciousness.

No longer willing to look at the dungeons, the broken beetle jar that he had so recklessly thrown at Potter or the cursed pensieve any longer, Severus turned on his heel and stormed down the hall to his quarters.

“Outlet Mall” Severus spat at the Portrait of Gladoon, Outlet Mall was an odd password but secure given the wealth of muggles-related things pure blood wizards didn’t know. His password was always random, always muggle-related and unlike Albus’ to name his password after sweets, unrelated to his own interests. The serious-looking man in the portrait stepped aside wordlessly.

Severus entered in to the comfortable, almost soothing confines of his quarters. The small fire had already been lit by a house elf and the soft glow illuminated the dark green couch and sitting chair as well as the large stack of books on the small, glass coffee table.

 Without stopping, Severus strode to his small, seldom-used kitchen and turned on the dim light. The aging yellow-tiled backsplash and worn slate counter tops were hardly lively but the familiarity of the sights that had made up his shelter through-out the past 15 years somewhat calmed Severus.

He reached atop the fridge and grabbed an old bottle of firewhisky. He wasn’t one for drinking but some nights called for an altered state and this was one of them. Neglecting to grab a glass, Severus took the bottle to his much-loved easy-chair and gratefully took a swig. To be alone.

“Severus?” A familiar voice called to him, concerned. Severus froze, the bottle still raised. Unlike most wizards or muggles, Severus did not yell or drop things in surprise, he knew that acting suddenly out of fear rarely ended well, it was better to be still, to calculate. His eyes surveyed the room, landing on the coffee table where Albus Dumbledore’s face gazed up at him, concerned.

“Headmaster…” It took all of Severus’ effort to keep the question out of his voice. Why was Professor Dumbledore looking at him through his coffee table? And then another thought. “Where are you? Everyone has been looking.”

Dumbledore, as always, heartily ignored the question with a twinkling smile.

“Not to worry Severus. I am fine. It seems that you however are not.” Dumbledore said. His eyes went from Severus’ closed-off face to the bottle of firewhiskey which Severus immediately put-down, embarrassed.

“How – Sir how exactly did you come to be in my living room?” Snape deflected. Anyone else and Severus would have smashed the thing in half. Dumbledore smiled benignly.

“Ah yes well, Severus, I knew our new colleague Dolores was, shall we say, less than fond of me and would be plotting my removal from Hogwarts along with Fudge of course. I thought it pertinent that I retained a way of communicating with you.” Dumbledore finished his speech with a little smile then proceeded to glance curiously around at Snape’s quarters.  Severus observed Dumbledore impassively for a moment.

“That’s a new level of intrusion, even for you headmaster”. Snape replied curtly. He did not appreciate having someone able to glide in and out of his living room at will, even if it was Dumbledore.

“I meant to tell you my dear boy” Dumbledore responded with a dismissive smile “Dolores was a little faster than I anticipated in obtaining the means to remove me.” If Dumbledore was worried by this at all, he did not show it and continued to observe Severus’s living room with a mix of curiosity and enjoyment.

“Ah Lord of the Rings, I do so love Muggle books. They have such an inventive take on magic don’t they?” Dumbledore said eyeing the stack of books by Severus’ arm. For some reason, Dumbledore knowing his reading material felt altogether too personal for Severus and he felt the familiar mixture of embarrassment, annoyance and uncertainty that usually accompanied him in social situations. He was not in the mood for people tonight.

“Is there a reason you are here headmaster?” Severus gritted out, trying to keep the rudeness at a minimum.

“Well Severus this is a rather special charm of mine” Dumbledore started looking at the coffee table with a smile of satisfaction. “I did it myself you see, it only calls me when you are in distress, meaning when you pick up that bottle of firewhiskey you keep stashed behind the ice box.” 

Severus felt his eyes harden in anger. He was not an alcoholic, nor did he self-medicate with alcohol or display any other signs of problematic drinking. Tobias Snape may have been a drunk but Severus was not. He rarely touched the stuff.

“I fail to see why you chose the firewhiskey considering I am not an alcoholic” Severus retorted acerbically.

“Come now Severus it is charmed to your pain-relieving potions as well I don’t think you have a drinking problem if that’s what you are on about. Quite the opposite. I do know, however, that after a particularly hard meeting you, like any other person would, require some fortification.” The initial levity in Dumbledore’s voice had gotten heavier as his eyes swept over Severus’ face. “Forgive me the intrusion Severus but I wanted to be sure that, while I was gone from the school physically, you would not have to be completely alone should you be…called.”

Despite Severus’s initial feelings of anger and violation. A part of him felt almost touched as the headmaster’s face continued to search his face, concern evident in the deep brow lines.

“Did Voldemort call you tonight Severus?” Dumbledore asked with the air of a kind parent asking a small child if he had been bullied.

“No headmaster, all is still quiet on that front.” Severus said carefully. He rubbed the wretched mark unconsciously. Dumbledore continued to observe him, evidently waiting for an explanation for the firewhiskey.

“I merely had an Occlumency lesson with Potter” Severus spat out, making no effort to keep the malice out of his voice. To his extreme annoyance, Dumbledore seemed to find Severus’ reaction amusing.

“Ah yes, Voldemort and Harry Potter, the only things that can drive dear Severus to drink.” Dumbledore chortled. Such a comment would have normally incensed Severus but the headmaster had said it with such levity and affection that Severus just grunted in agreement and took a shameless pull from the bottle.

“Occlumency is a difficult skill Severus, you must be patient with the boy.” Dumbledore advised, his eyes getting that annoying softness they always got whenever the Golden Boy was brought up.

“Even if time was a luxury we did have, and I assure you it is not, there is no way I can continue to teach that boy. He is beyond insufferable.” Severus seethed, enjoying the way the hateful words felt on his lips. Dumbledore’s affectionate expression shifted to exasperation.

“Severus you will continue to teach that boy Occlumency, it is not only his life at stake –“ Dumbledore started but before he could finish the lecture Severus cut him off.

“He looked in my Pensieve. He is no longer welcome in my office.” Severus spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness to the Professor whom he usually addressed respectfully, at times even kindly. Severus was not sure why he had even mentioned tonight’s events with Potter to the headmaster.  Dumbledore studied Severus for an infuriating amount of time.

“Am I correct in assuming that the memory he saw involved his mother?” Dumbledore asked in a way that suggested every word was being carefully weighed.

Severus tensed than gave a short nod. “And perhaps James?” Severus gave another sharp nod. Dumbledore sighed.

“I regret that, as sorry as I am to hear your privacy has been violated and your history with Harry’s parent’s exposed, I must insist that you keep teaching the boy Occlumency.” Dumbledore continued taking no notice of Severus’ defiant expression. “For what it is worth, I’m sure Harry himself regrets –“

“That little whelp does not regret a single thing” Severus snapped savagely, unwilling to hear Dumbledore list the boy’s virtues again, tonight of all nights. “That boy is an arrogant, bull-headed, self-absorbed prat. So like his father!”

“Enough!” Dumbledore roared, halting Severus’ tirade. Severus stared back at Dumbledore’s angry blue eyes attempting to keep his face impassive. Inside he felt like a small child who was getting sharply rebuked for something they believed to be unfair. Dumbledore sighed than continued.

“Severus I have long-since been tolerant of your hatred towards Sirius, James and Remus because it has yet to effect the war and because I know it comes from a place of deep, deep pain.” Dumbedore said, true sympathy in his voice. The accuracy of Dumbledore’s statement made Severus’ stomach turn and he looked away from the coffee table to focus resolutely on the fire like a sullen child. “But I think it is high time you got yourself over it.” Severus’ mouth opened in protest but Dumbledore cut him off again. When he spoke his voice was heavy and serious.

“Severus, James died at 21, knowing marriage and fatherhood for barely more than a year. He had so much love for his family that he stepped between Voldemort and them, wandless, certain to die so that Lily and Harry’s chance of escape may be increased by the smallest degree. He never saw his child grow, never got to grow himself, he died little more than a child.” Severus felt himself fume at Dumbledore’s words, how dare he discuss that night. Severus had seen Potter’s crumpled body in the entrance; saw the wand in the living room. He knew what had happened, that Potter had sacrificed himself to save Lily. An act Severus had been unable to do. Dumbledore sighed and continued.

“Sirius was raised by the most horrendous woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He was thrown out at 16. He did find happiness, briefly, at Hogwarts with James.” Severus snorted at this. “Yes Severus, that happiness came on occasion at the expense of others, but consider a boy who was taught nothing of the importance of character but only the importance of blood. A teaching, I might add, he rejected. He had to learn how to treat others with no guidance, no model and he still managed to love with unflinching loyalty. His reward for this of course was to be locked in Azkaban for 13 years.” Severus tightened his lips. He did not care to hear these stories, he failed to see the point in all of this. If Dumbledore thought he was going to feel sympathy for the prats he was dead wrong.

“Remus, afflicted with lycanthropy, had no friends until Hogwarts and was too shy and inexperienced to stand up to the two rather intimidating boys who had shown him not only friendship and compassion but an unflinching loyalty he never imagined would be granted to him.”  Dumbledore completed his sermon and Severus stared back at his face, unflinching.

“I fail to see why this is of any importance.” Severus responded coldly, uncertain of what else to say.

“It is important Severus because those boys grew to have their lives devasted by the war in ways that are as painful as your loss of Lily” Dumbledore responded simply. At Lily’s name Severus felt as though a pin had popped his heart. “You are more alike than you know.”

“Yes they were young and stupid and yes James got to be with Lily and Sirius could be cruel, but Severus my boy their lives were destroyed only years later. You got a second chance and they didn’t.” Dumbledore stopped talking and looked Severus in the eye, searching. “Don’t you think they have suffered enough? Don’t you think it is time Severus, to forgive?” “

Severus regarded the headmaster’s beseeching expression for a long moment. The tension was thick. Severus did not like the immature, embarrassed feeling that accompanied Dumbledore’s orders to essentially grow-up. He had always prided himself on being mature for his age. Even as a young boy he was grave, serious, his mother called him an old-soul and it made him smile.

“I will teach the boy” Severus said simply, standing up from his chair and leaving the headmaster’s disembodied head to watch him from the coffee table.

Harry hurried to pick himself off of the floor once again. He wished, not for the first time, that his intrusion into Snape’s pensieve had ended the Occlumency lessons for good. Snape had been so angry that night, Harry figured Snape never wanted to see him again. A proposition Harry was heartily okay with. Not only did Harry still hold his old feelings of anger and dislike for his potions professor, but seeing Snape now also brought up new feelings of embarrassment and shame. Snape for his part had not spoken a word to Harry until the end of class a week after the pensieve incident. He had called Harry to his desk and fixed him with a cold, onyx stare.

“We will resume Occlumency lessons tonight. 8 pm.” Snape’s definite tone had left no room for argument. Harry left with a short nod, eager to be out of the man’s presence.  The lessons had not been going well.

“You have not been practicing.” Snape asserted, staring down his fingers at Potter.

“I have…” Harry trailed off. These days he was so bleeding tired that when he fell into bed he was asleep before he even had the opportunity to consider emptying his mind of emotion. The nights where he did try, he was unsuccessful. With Dumbledore’s absence, OWLs approaching, Voldemort’s new bid for power, Harry had nothing but emotion.

“Do not lie. You do so badly.” Snape retorted coolly. He observed Harry for a moment, shrewdly. “We have had fourteen lessons together Potter and still you show no sign of progress. Tell me, do you enjoy failure?” Harry gritted his teeth, determined not to respond.

“No? Well then do you feel like somehow this connection makes you special? You like being special, don’t you Potter? I saw your interview in that magazine. Anything for attention - you and your father have that in common…” Snape stopped his tirade abruptly. He hadn’t mentioned James since that night in the pensieve and clearly had not been intending to do so now. Harry and Snape stared at each other for one long moment of awful, thick silence that made Harry’s insides feel like worms. A hint of the other night’s anger glinted in Snape’s eyes. Harry briefly wondered if he was going to have a jar of beetles thrown at him again.

“I -” Harry stopped, not knowing what he wanted to say. His usual knee-jerk reaction to defend his father was gone. “That’s not why I gave that interview.” He finished lamely. Snape curled his lips in an unflattering scowl.

“Control your emotions. Legilimens. “ Snape snapped pointing his wand at Harry. This time Harry had been so unprepared for the attack that he did not even employ his usual feeble attempts to prevent Snape from accessing his most embarrassing and private memories.

Harry beamed, joy and pride rippling through his chest as he held the snitch up for the crowd to see. A newfound feeling of security and even family replaced the feeling of pride as Sirius hugged him at Grimmauld Place. A five-year-old Harry watched from the edge of the garden as Uncle Vernon threw Dudley into the air and caught him, both shrieking with laughter. Harry felt the ache of loneliness and envy with the honest simplicity of a child.  A much older Harry examined a picture of his parents, staring at his Dad’s face. There was a deeper, more mature sorrow as Harry felt the loss of his father all over again. The lump in his throat threatened tears.

“Stop!” Harry yelled, mentally yanking the image away. That memory was too fresh. There was no way Snape was going to see how much the memory in the pensieve affected Harry, nor was he going see that Harry was close to tears only nights ago.

Both Snape and Harry flew backwards as though blasted from an explosion. Harry’s head snacked against the hard, concrete floor. The smarting of his head, along with the internal aching of his tired brain and the wave of unpleasant emotions associated with the memories Snape just riffled through made Harry feel ill. Uncle Vernon, Sirius, his Dad, clearly father figures were on his mind tonight. Not considering where he was, he closed his eyes for a moment. Heavy footsteps brought Harry back to reality. He sat up, rubbing his head.

“Are you hurt?” Snape asked, no more solicitous than if he was going to start railing on Harry’s potions work.

“I’m fine, sir.” Harry replied, avoiding eye contact as he got to his feet. “What was that?”

“The beginnings of Occlumency. A stage you should have attained weeks ago.” Snape explained superciliously.

“That’s all for tonight. Practice for tomorrow.” Severus clipped, his robes billowing as he strode out of the dungeon. Harry sighed, a dull ache pulsing through his head. After all of this work, Voldemort better be planning on doing something utterly awful with his legilimency skills.

Harry exited the dungeons still rubbing his head. Snape had ended the lesson early enough that he should have time to go up to the Owlery and collect his thoughts before returning to Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione would want to hear all about the lesson and Harry did not wish to relive those unspoken feelings of longing, loss and resentment for a second time.

The approaching summer meant that the sun set later and Harry watched the pink sky darken. The warm, still air filled Harry with an ominous feeling. The sights and sounds of summer that often brought joy to students only brought misery to Harry. He knew that the more beautiful the weather, the sooner it would be that he would return to Privet Drive and Uncle Vernon. He wondered how he would feel about summer holidays if his parents were still alive.

Harry had always taken it for granted that he would be happy with his parents. He assumed that they would love him, like him even. He thought back to his mother’s blazing eyes and his father’s cruel idea of humor. Maybe his mother would resent Harry for binding her to James forever. It stood to reason that his father would not care for him much. Harry had never been popular before Hogwarts and was not particularly popular now. He was small for his age and much more retiring than James or Sirius. Would his father think he was a loser too? The sky darkened along with Harry’s mood.

A cough broke Harry’s reverie unpleasantly and a wash of dread filled his stomach as he turned to face Professor Umbridge. She was smiling at him in a flowered dressing gown, toad-like as ever. Harry’s heart sank. He had meant to be in the Owlery just long enough to pet Hedwig and pull his head together. Instead he had decided to lay-around daydreaming. Curfew had come and gone by now for sure.

“Mr. Potter what are we doing out of bed?” Professor Umbridge asked in an overly-sweet tone that boded worse than Snape’s waspish one.

“I’m sorry Professor. I just lost track of time.” Harry answered warily deciding that the truth was the best course of action. Umbridge regarded him as though he was a juicy fly that she wanted to eat.

“Lost track of time in the Owlery?” Umbridge asked, looking around the dropping-filled floor with disgust. “Hardly a place for a child to be…lurking. Where is your owl Mr. Potter?”

Harry remembered Hedwig’s broken wing with a flash of anger.

“With Professor Grubbily-Plank, m’am.” Harry answered, again hoping the truth would get him out of another set of detentions. Umbridge smiled toothily at this.

“A boy with no owl goes and sits in the Owlery after dark? Doesn’t that seem a wee bit suspicious to you Mr. Potter?” Umbridge questioned, her expression savage. Harry did not respond. He did not care how many detentions he got, he was not going to tell Professor Umbridge that he was moping around the Owlery wondering whether or not his father could ever have loved him.

“Waiting on a message from Dumbledore?” Umbridge asked with an expression that suggested she had just found a smoking gun in Harry’s hand.

“No m’am, just standing.” Harry replied nervously. There was not a great chance of Umbridge believing him and there was no Dumbledore to protect him if she didn’t.

“You’re lying Mr. Potter.” Umbridge retorted. She stepped close to him. “You know what happens to liars. Detention tomorrow night.” Harry’s heart raced.

“But m’am I have – remedial potions tomorrow night.” Harry replied hopefully. Maybe Snape was intimidating enough that she would let the class stand.

“You can do detention with me earlier, through dinner.” Umbridge concluded without batting an eyelash. “I suggest you eat a large lunch.”

Harry watched her go, pure loathing cursing through him.

When Dumbledore first started to teach Severus Occlumency, he referred to legilimency as a beautiful bit of magic, akin to sharing an individual’s soul for a brief moment. It is impossible to feel the emotions and hear the thoughts of another and remain completely impassive towards them. Understanding inevitably begets compassion. The fact that Potter was an abysmal Occlumens was not only troubling to Severus because of the Dark Lord, but also because night-after-night he had to feel Potter’s emotions, hear his thoughts and understand his fears.

Severus did not want to see Potter as a lonely, skinny child sneaking through Petunia’s things trying to find a picture of Lily. He did not want to feel the hurt and disbelief Potter felt in discovering that his father was a bully. He definitely did not want experience the surge of compassion and empathy Potter had felt for Severus after said discovery. It was all too intimate.

He did have to admit that the child was different, ever so slightly, than he had presumed. The childhood memories Severus had witnessed were almost uniformly unpleasant. Severus had expected that the ‘Boy Who Lived’ would be the centre of his little, muggle family. Instead, it seemed that the boy had a childhood filled with chores and loneliness. This new information did not change the fact that he did not like the boy. It did not negate Potter’s penchant for rule-breaking that made keeping him alive exceedingly difficult, nor did it mean he was treated as anything less than a Prince in this world. It was simply new information that Severus found himself unwillingly cursed with having. It also did not change the fact that the little berk was running late.

Seconds later, the sound of trainers running reverberated through the dungeons and Potter appeared at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry Professor.” Potter wheezed, entering the classroom. “My detention with Umbridge ran late”. Severus sighed. Any new understanding he had developed in regards to the boy did not negate the fact that he was thick as congealed cement.

“Potter, are you not aware of the precarious nature of your relationship with Umbridge?” Severus asked turning dark eyes to Potter.

“Yes, but – “

“Were you not explicitly told to stay off of her radar?” Severus asked again, cutting off the boy’s feeble attempt at explanation. Potter’s face flushed red and his eyes snapped with anger.

“I think it is a little late for that, sir.” Potter replied defiantly. This was the boy’s problem, every emotion just sat there. The woman probably said something odious and Potter snapped at her in temper. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Severus thought briefly. Neither of his parents were particularly cool-headed. The thought came out of nowhere, an unexpected and unwelcome dreg from his subconscious. He shook it off just as quickly.

“Do you know how to control your emotions Mr. Potter?” Severus snapped at the boy. Harry looked as though he was about to throw back a furious retort but then quite unexpectedly, the boy gave a defeated little shrug.

“Empty yourself of emotion Potter. Its what I’ve been telling you for weeks!” Severus replied exasperated. This boy was going to get them all killed.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry exploded in frustration. Severus looked at the boy’s face for a long time. He looked more agitated than he usually did, even in Snape’s company. There were dark, half-moons under the boy’s glasses and tension seemed to radiate from ever fiber of him. Tension, Severus himself had not caused. This lobbing of insults was, if anything, less heated than previous exchanges had been. Perhaps the boy had a fight with a friend – The Weasley boy maybe.

Maybe it was because the boy looked stressed; maybe it was because Severus was so sick of seeing the prat’s life in memory form; or maybe it was that understanding Dumbledore had warned him about all those years ago, but Severus did not snap back. Instead, he leaned back against the desk and observed Potter who started to fidget under Severus’ stare.

“You do not know how to empty yourself of emotion?” Severus asked calmly. Potter looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to decipher if the question was genuine or a doorway to another insult.

“Not in the way you mean…so that my head goes blank and I feel nothing.” Harry answered, apparently deciding to test the waters with the truth.

“The objective is not to feel nothing Potter. It is to push those feelings out of the conscious mind.” Severus did not bother to control the sneer in his voice. Potter did not respond to it but simply looked more confused.

“Sir, how do I know I have done that?” Potter asked. It was likely the first time the boy had asked Severus a question that related to their lessons.

If Severus was completely honest with himself he would admit that he had not exactly put his best foot forward teaching-wise during these Occlumency sessions. He barely thought of a lesson plan that went beyond him screaming legilimens at Potter. Considering protecting oneself from random legilimency was extremely difficult, it was not surprising the lessons had been met with little success.

He struggled to recall Dumbedore’s teachings almost fourteen years ago. Their relationship had been different. Severus had been so angry and hurt and Dumbledore was the only person who was willing an able to understand why. It was easy to allow Dumbledore to poke around the inside of his mind. There was nothing of importance the man did not already know and, unlike Severus, Dumbledore was a kind and patient teacher. Dumbledore had walked into Severus mind, he did not explode into it. Severus tried not to sigh.  How he was teaching Potter clearly was not successful. The boy arrived increasingly more sullen and frustrated. His Occlumency skills were barely advancing. If he wanted these unpleasant evenings with Potter to finish, he was going to have to use a different method.

“Sit down Potter.” Severus ordered, pulling a chair up himself. Harry gave Severus the same circumspect expression he always did when the man did not snap at him but took the seat.  Severus leaned back considering how best to start.

“You can produce a Patronus charm can you not?” Severus asked, knowing the answer. Potter nodded in response.

“Yes, sir” Severus snapped. He loathed nodding, shrugging and all other adolescent, non-verbal gestures.

“Yes, sir.” Harry repeated. He had the same pinched look of dislike his father had when he looked at Severus. Severus moved along.

“One way to clear your mind is to focus on a memory, like a Patronus.” Severus explained. Harry nodded, seemingly able to follow for once. “unlike a Patronus this memory should not be particularly strong. Strong memories are often clouded by our own interpretations. This makes them hard to hold on to. Think of something that is innocuous, but vivid. An image that has struck in your mind for no particular reason.”  Potter worried his lip for a moment nodding.

“Alright, sir I think I have it.” Harry said, determination on his face.

“I am going to attempt to penetrate your mind. You are going to attempt to let me see only that memory.” Severus added. Harry closed his eyes. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Legilimens.” Severus said quietly, attempting to control the intrusion so as only to enter the conscious mind. Potter’s memory seemed to take place in the Gryffindor common room. Potter was sitting on one of those wretched, over-stuffed chairs by the fire, a large ginger cat in his lap. The fire crinkled pleasantly. Potter calmly watched it, dazed by the dancing flames. Unlike the previous memories, it did not flow like a movie but sat like moving photo. Severus attempted to mentally shove past the image. The image shook, Severus could hear the voices coming from other memories just behind the image, but stayed in place. He had to grudgingly admit that Potter was doing a fairly decent job for a first attempt.

Severus pushed again, harder, wanting to show the boy how it felt when the image was moved. He was successful. He could feel affection and tenderness as Harry observed Hermione correcting his essay. Those soft feelings of friendship and gratitude suddenly twisted to righteous anger the likes of which Severus had yet to feel from Harry. Hatred, pain and fear swirled in the boy’s mind as he looked down at his hand. I will not tell lies was etched deeply in the skin.

With a sensation of being pulled backwards through a tornado, Severus pulled himself out of Harry’s mind. The boy breathed heavily gripping his hand. He turned his pale face up to Severus, looking petrified as he attempted to catch his breath.

“Your hand Mister Potter.” Severus clipped, holding his own hand out. Occlumency did not distinguish a fantasy from reality, though the emotions contained in fantasies were much more simplistic. It was possible Severus had stumbled upon a dream. With a slight feeling of foreboding he noticed that Potter’s hand, until now hidden under over-large robes, was bandaged.

“I do not have all night.” Severus said not attempting to soften his voice. Deciding reluctance was futile, Harry cautiously extended his hand to Severus. Severus banished the poor bandaging causing Harry to wince. There the evidence was, clear as day. I will not tell lies was carved in to the thin, freckled hand that he had sworn to protect. Blood still wept, sluggishly, from the carving. The skin around it was swollen and tender.

There was a tense moment of silence where neither of them knew quite what to do. During his time as Head of Slytherin he had dealt with ill children, scared children and even his share of abused children but none of them were Potter. It was so much easier to be kind when it wasn’t Potter. Harry was observing him keenly, trying to decipher Severus’ next move. His clammy hand shook slightly.

Severus raised his wand and Harry flinched instinctively, almost pulling his hand away. Severus tightened his grip on the boy’s wrist and looked in to the fearful, green eyes staring back at him. What did the boy think he was going to do? Curse off the hand?

“Epinsky” Severus whispered. The wound shut. Harry yanked his hand back ungraciously, regarding the healed wound with surprise.

“Uhm..Thanks.” Harry responded as he rubbed his now uninjured hand. Had he been looking, Severus would have detected a new emotion akin to curiosity in the boy’s face. As it happened, Severus’ mind had already moved on from the boy in front of him. Potter was not the only student who had detention tonight. Without a word of dismissal, Severus swept past Harry leaving the boy to stare after him. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the footsteps followed Severus.

A deep thrill of fury Severus had not felt in years ignited in his chest as he stormed down the hallway. First that blob of a woman gets Dumbledore kicked out of Hogwarts and now she decides to use a blood quill on the very students he was responsible to protect. Severus hated people who hurt children, even if the child in question was Potter.

In Severus’ fog of anger, it seemed to him as though the Umbridge’s office materialized out of thin air. Without knocking, he threw open the door and took in the scene before him. A million pink kittens meowed at him. The pink of the room was so overwhelming he almost did not see Umbridge’s stout figure glaring up at him with surprise and fury. He looked past her. He wasn’t looking for her yet.  Severus looked down at the desk in front of him where little Jack Prewett stared back at him with a mixture of pain, fear and guilt on chubby face. The Slytherin first year was quiet, intelligent and obedient. Unlike Potter, who would likely only follow the rules should they be carved into his skin, it was hard to imagine Jack breaking a rule so important as to deserve to have his hand carved up.

“Wait outside” Severus said to Jack, a little more tempestuously than he intended. The boy did not need to be told twice. He jumped out of his seat.

“Now you wait a minute young man.” Dolores finally seemed to have found her voice and strode over, her body swelling with her false sense of power. Jack froze.

“Now, Mr. Prewett.” Severus said sharply, gliding between Dolores and Jack. Jack bolted out the door, not looking backwards. Dolores swelled in anger, giving herself an acute similarity to a bull-frog.

“You cannot dismiss my –“ Severus held his wand up to Dolores’ throat, his teeth barred.

“I have done things that make killing you look like a regular Thursday night.” Severus whispered slowly, taking care to emphasize every word “You touch another one of my students again and I promise you, you will most…uncomfortable.” Dolores looked liked she would have liked to respond but Severus gave her one last snarl for good measure before whipping around and exiting the office. He didn’t want to over-sell it. He glanced around briefly for Jack but the boy hadn’t waited by the door. A chocked sob reverberated from the adjacent hallway. Severus tensed. He hated it when they cried. He never knew what to do.

“There now, it’s alright” said a vaguely familiar, low voice. “This will make it feel better.” Severus silently rounded the corner and realized with surprise the voice belonged to Potter. He was crouched in front of Jack, gently dabbing something on the boy’s hand with a handkerchief. In his flash of rage Severus had forgotten Potter had followed him to the office. He had never heard the boy speak in such tone of voice before. Jack let out another little sob.

“I di-didn’t mean to be late.” Jack sniffed, clearly hoping to impress upon Potter that he was not a delinquent.  He wiped his good arm across his face to brush away the tears. “I just got lost.” Jack continued, starting to worry his lip between his teeth. Severus was not sure why he watched behind the corner instead of stepping in immediately and sending Harry back to his dorm. Jack should be fixed up by his head of house, not by a 5th year with rather limited healings skills. Still, Severus could not help but be intrigued by seeing Potter in such a role. He was unwilling to interrupt the moment.

“It’s not your fault.” Harry reassured the boy. His tone was soft and sympathetic as he continued to apply the potion with a gentle hand. “She’s like that with everyone. See?” Potter held up his own hand for the little boy to see. The look of gentle concern on Harry’s face reminded Severus of someone but he wasn’t sure whom.

“She said I needed to be punished.” Jack whispered. He was no longer crying but his lip quivered ominously. Severus felt a new rush of hatred for Umbridge. Severus was quite fond of Jack. The boy was trying hard to succeed at Hogwarts and was often found in the Slytherin common room reviewing his homework with a seriousness most first years lacked. It seemed utterly unnecessary for Umbridge to break down the little boy’s self-confidence for minor tardiness.

 Harry’s soft expression hardened. He stopped applying the potion and put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You don’t listen to a word she says.” Harry said a little more fiercely. “She’s a big, fat, ugly toad is what she is.” Jack’s troubled face broke into an uncertain smile. Harry smiled warmly back.  

“Language Mr. Potter.” Harry jumped up as though he had been electrocuted. His face flushed red, clearly embarrassed at having been interrupted in a moment he believed to be private.

“Sorry Professor.” Harry muttered, shifting uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. He looked so much like James in that moment that Severus almost wanted to take points on principle.  Still, Potter had been decent to the younger boy, kinder than he had to be.  Severus supposed it would seem rather unfair to Jack if he took points for something so inconsequential as calling Umbridge a toad after Potter had been kind to Jack. Severus did not like to seem completely petty in front of his first-years.

“We will resume lessons on Wednesday night Potter. Do practice.” Severus said by means of dismissal. Harry nodded and gave Jack a smile and a wave, which the boy returned. Harry turned his eyes to Severus for a moment.

“Goodnight Professor” Harry said. Then Harry did something Severus never expected. Harry smiled at him. It was an awkward, tight smile that left almost as soon as it came, but it was unmistakably a smile. Severus was so taken aback that he continued to stare at the boy. Harry gave a little nod and trotted past Severus towards the Gryffindor common room.

"Well so much for him getting nicer." Harry whispered to Ron, looking at his potions essay in dismay. A large P stared back at him; at least it was better than the D Harry had so spectacularly gotten last time. Harry sighed and shoved his parchment in his bag before Hermione got any ideas about sharing grades.

"Greast Git." Ron responded savagely. They both had worked sort-of-almost-hard on that essay.

"Well at least Harry isn't getting his hand cut open anymore." Hermione whispered.

"You're just happy you got an O." Ron muttered in response sneaking a glance at Hermione's paper. Hermione made an indignant sort of sound and moved to hide her paper but flushed pink all the same.

"I just mean that Professor Snape is an Order member, and he's been helping Harry and now he's stopped Umbridge. The least we can do is refrain from commenting on his hygiene." Hermione replied tartly under her breath. Ron, who had initially been so impressed with Snape tearing Umbridge a new one that he declared Snape "not all bad", was now reduced to giving an angry shrug of agreement.

The prickle of pain that had been irritating Harry's scar all morning returned and Harry moved to subtly rub at it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Hermione and Ron exchange nervous looks with one another.

"I'm really fine" Harry muttered, unable to prevent another wince of as the pain in his scar flared once again.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital wing mate." Ron whispered. Harry noted he seemed to be picking up on Hermione's propensity to mother hen.

"And say what exactly? The mental connection between Voldemort and I is a little painful. Do you have a potion for that?" Harry snapped in response. Ron looked a little strung and went bad to his cauldron.

"He's just trying to help Harry. We both are." Hermione said, somehow managing to sound both apologetic and reproachful at the same time. Harry immediately felt a rush of shame and moved to apologize.

"Professor Snape? I trust you got my note about the date and time of your review" Umbridge asked, her voice causing the whole class to whip around and look at her. The sea of heads turned back to watch Snape for his reaction. He did not give one. Just slightly tilted his head in acknowledgement of Umbridge's comment before turning back to handing out the essays.

"Invigoration Draught, instructions on page three hundred and ninety four." Snape said, brandishing his wand forcefully towards the student store cupboard, causing it to spring open with a crash.

"Umbridge is reviewing him again?" Harry whispered to Hermione as they qued up to get ingredients. "You don't think she could real fire him do you?"

"Who cares." Ron grumbled, clearly still stinging from his poor grade. Hermione observed Umbridge questioning Crabbe and Goyle for a moment then turned back to Harry and Ron.

"With Dumbledore gone…" Hermione trailed off with a little shrug before grabbing her ingredients. Harry grabbed his handful of lacewing flies and dandelion roots, not taking his eyes off of Snape who was circling the class, more bat-like than ever. When Umbridge had first inspected Snape, Harry had been torn between wanting to see Umbridge torn apart by Snape and wanting to see Snape fired as publically as Trelawney had been. Now though, Harry found it harder to root against Snape. He had, after all, continued to help Harry even after Harry had looked into the pensieve. He had threatened Umbridge in order to prevent her from going after the students, including Harry. He fixed Harry's hand without a snarky comment.

Harry crushed the dandelion root, finding himself relaxing slightly as Malfoy sung Snape's praises. It wasn't that Harry liked Snape, he just didn't want to see him fired because of something he saw in Harry's head. He had already gotten Dumbledore fired. Beads of sweat started to form on Harry's forehead as he carefully measured out armadillo bile over the hot cauldron. The pain in his head made it hard to read the numbers on the side of the measuring cup. He could see Hermione peering over at him in concern. He gave up, pouring however much bile he had measured out into the cauldron.

Heels clicked sharply as Umbridge walked over to the Gryffindor side of the classroom. Evidently, the Slytherins hadn't been as cooperative about bashing their Head of House as they had been with other teachers.

"Mr. Weasley, do you find Severus Snape a good teacher?" Umbridge asked, looking at Ron's cauldron, in which a chunky sort of grey mixture was giving off a strong smell of sewage. Ron gaped for a moment, not knowing how to respond. He looked over to the Slytherin side of the classroom where Snape was examining potions mixtures with a scowl, clearly within earshot.

"Yes. Yes, I have really learned a lot from this class." Ron answered, not to convincingly. "He's very patient." Ron continued. This clearly pushed the bounds of believability for Umbridge, who gave Ron a wide, sharp-toothed smile that looked slightly aggressive. She turned sharply to Hermione and asked the same question.

"Yes, he is quite wonderful. We have already covered all of the potions that might come up on our OWL." Hermione said with a touch more sincerity. Umbridge's eyes were beginning to get the wide, crazed look she got when she sensed mutiny.

"You Longbottom? I hear Snape is quite hard on you." Umbridge said advancing on the boy with a predatory glare. Neville, sweating and wide-eyed, looked quickly at Snape, who was now watching the proceedings with a touch of amusement on his face.

"N-no m'am. I'm just no good at potions. Snape is a good teacher." Neville answered clearly hoping to help Hermione and Ron with whatever they were getting at. Harry could hardly suppress a smile.

"You sure he never goes just a little too far?" Umbridge asked. Harry assumed she meant her voice to sound maternal but it was fake and brittle. Harry felt his heart beat painfully in his head.

"He's never made us bleed if that's what you're getting at." Harry snapped angrily. The whole class turned to look at him, aghast. Where was that anger coming from? Harry could feel his heart beat frantically. Only moments ago he had felt amused at Neville. The anger wasn't his. Umbridge advanced on Harry and wagged a fat finger in front of his nose.

"Young man –" But Harry didn't hear the rest of her lecture. A burning pain shot into his head causing him to grab his scar with a scream. His knees buckled. Someone, Ron, was at his side holding him up. Harry felt fear, pain and a disconnected detachment as Aunt Petunia brought a frying pan down, hard on his head. Harry tried to think of the Gryffindor common room and pull the image away. Everything burned. He realized at some point Ron had sat him in a chair. Hermione's concerned face swam in front of his eyes and he could feel her hands on his shoulder, keeping him steady. Then, just as he thought it was over, a surge of pain, unlike anything Harry had ever felt exploded from deep inside his brain. He heard himself scream. Memories he didn't even remember having exploded into his conscious, all at the same time. The dim light of the dungeon seemed unbearable. He knew he was still screaming. Aside from the pain he felt cold and shaky, as though all of the blood was leaving his body. Harry squeezed his eyes, shut, gnashed his teeth together and tried to force the image of the Gryffindor common room into his mind. He couldn't. The pain flared again. All went black.

Before Harry opened his eyes he knew something was off. The smell and sound of the room he was in was unfamiliar. His splitting head brought the hysteria of the last few moments back. His throat was raw. He wondered how long he screamed for. Harry opened his eyes then gasped in pain at the brightness assaulted him, making his stomach swirl.

"Harry?" Snape's voice. Harry's eyes opened involuntarily in surprise to confirm that his mind hadn't completely turned. Big mistake. An unstoppable roll of nausea came up through his stomach and he just managed to roll over so it ended up on a worn, grey carpet and green couch as opposed to back down his throat. Where was he? His head hurt too much to really care. He squeezed his eyes tighter.

"Scourgify." Snape whispered, sounding closer this time. Something Harry assumed to be a wet washcloth was placed over his aching eyes. The cold and dark felt good.

"Drink this Potter." Snape's voice came again. Why was he with Snape? Where were Ron and Hermione? Where was he? A vial was raised to his lips and he opened his mouth to receive it automatically. It tasted bitter and he tried not to wince as he drank. As soon as he swallowed, the deep, throbbing pain seemed to disappear, leaving only a shaky, sick feeling in its place.

"Thanks." Harry murmured. Now that the pain was subsiding, embarrassment, fear and confusion were beginning to curse through Harry's system. He reached a hand up, reluctantly pulled the cloth from his face and opened his eyes. He was lying on a green couch in a cool, comfortable, if slightly cramped living room. All of the lights were out, save for a softly crackling fire. Harry figured that was probably for his benefit. Most alarming, Snape was sitting on a chair by his head. His pale, impassive face looked even more severe back-lit by the fire. Harry instinctively tried to sit up but Severus reached out one long hand across Harry's chest and forced him back down.

"Lie down." Harry's one attempt to sit partially upright left him feeling shaking and naseous again and he had no choice but to sink back in to the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath, willing his stomach to calm down. When he opened his eyes again Snape was still watching him. It might have been Harry's imagination but, when he first opened his eyes he thought there was something like concern in Snape's expression. It was gone, if it had ever been there, when Harry blinked.

"How do you feel?" Snape asked. His tone was not kind but it was devoid of its usual harsh affect.

"Ok." Harry lied, shuffling to sit up a little more. He felt embarrassed to be lying down like an invalid in front of Snape. Looking away from Snape's penetrating glance, he tied to assess his body. His head was throbbing dully, his wrist kept giving off sharp pains and his stomach was still swirling unpleasantly. He blinked and took in his domestic surroundings again. "Where am I?"

"My quarters." Snape said after a moment of hesitation. Harry felt his heart speed up and his cheeks go red. He was in Snape's house?

"I'm sorry about the carpet." Harry mumbled, remembering the truly embarrassing moment when he wrenched all over Snape's living room.

"You were ill." Snape said dismissively. Harry was determinedly avoiding Snape's gaze by staring at his watch. It took a moment for the numbers to sink in. Harry gasped.

"It's 1am." Harry said looking up to Snape in surprise. He had been out since 10 am. The fear he seemed to constantly have to push away these days started to curse through him.

"Yes." Snape answered, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher on the coffee table. Harry noticed that the coffee table was cluttered with potions, washcloths, empty plates and glasses. He could tell by the indents in the carpet that the coffee table had been pulled over to make room for the chair Snape was now sitting on. It painted a picture of some sort of vigil. Had Snape been sitting up all night with him? There did not seem to be another conclusion. Harry felt his face flush again.

"I'm sorry Professor – about all of this – I'll uhm – I'll go up to Gryffindor tower." Harry said kicking of the blanket that someone – Snape – had laid over him and throwing his legs over the couch to sit up. The quick movement was not a good call. He could feel his stomach roll and the world sway again. Snape had a forceful hand on his shoulder before he could move to stand up.

"Sit down Potter." Snape said harshly. With a wave of horror, Harry realized that he was going to be sick again.

"I'm – " He tried to say by means of warning. Snape was already ahead of him, swiftly placing a large bowl under his mouth. For the second time in 15 minutes, Harry vomited in Snape's living room. The moment he finished there was a heavy silence. Snape placed the bowl on the coffee table and wordlessly vanished the vomit before gently pushing Harry backwards towards the corner of the couch. Harry reluctantly settled back against the pillow on the arm of the couch. Snape gave him a long assessing look. Harry noticed he looked more pale and pinched than usual, undoubtedly the effect of sitting on a chair for hours instead of sleeping. Harry looked away.

"Drink this." Snape said handing over the glass of water he had just poured. Harry drank it gratefully.

"Slowly." Snape admonished, but his voice was more concerned than cold. Harry slowed his guzzling and finished off the water. Getting sick had been awful and embarrassing but he almost instantly felt better.

"Professor – what happened to me?" Harry's question came out more child-like and shaky than he would have intended. He wanted to add and why am I here? But he didn't want to sound ungrateful.

"The Dark Lord tried to breach your mind." Snape said. Harry nodded, figuring that much out for himself. "When he was unsuccessful, he seemed to attempt to blast away your Occlumency shields to gain access to you. It resulted in some damage."

"Damage?" Harry repeated quietly. Was he going to be crazy now?

"The mind is bound by the organ that gives it life, the brain." Severus started slowly. "When someone tries to access thoughts, they are accessing the actual organ, to do so forcefully causes physical damage." Harry could feel his face pale. Maybe it was the stress of being sick, or reliving all of those memories he had buried so far down, maybe it was the pain, but Harry felt suddenly extremely vulnerable. He wished he was in the hospital wing with Hermione, Ron and Professor Dumbledore telling him that it was ok.

"I wanted to keep you here instead of the hospital wing as your mental connection with the Dark Lord is to be kept quiet." Snape said.

"And?" Harry asked in barely a whisper. This is just what he needed on top of the rumors of him being insane. Snape wordlessly passed a blanket to him. Harry didn't realize he was shivering until he accepted it.

"Thanks." Harry whispered, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"There was some bleeding but aside from that your brain is fine." Snape replied finally. Harry nodded, relieved. A not uneasy silence followed. Harry was lost in thought about Voldmort and Snape staring in to the fire.

"The physical symptoms you are experiencing are merely a response to the pain of the intrusion." Snape said. He noticed that Snape's voice sounded more strained than normal. Snape stared at his hands for a moment, apparently lost in thought.

"Are you hungry?" Snape asked suddenly.

"Pardon?" Harry said, broken out of his reverie.

"Food Potter. Would you like some?" Snape said, sounding more like himself.

"No thank you Professor." Harry replied. His stomach rolled at the very thought. Snape looked like he might consider forcing it on it him but after a moment he simply nodded.

"You will sleep here tonight." Snape said matter-of-factly. Before Harry could respond Snape had turned and walked through the door to his bedroom. Harry stared at the closed door.

The scream had come out of nowhere. One minute Severus was amusing himself by watching the Griffyndor’s clumsy attempts to protect him from Umbridge, the next, Potter was screaming. Severus had seen the boy lose all of the bones in his right arm, fight a dragon and face down an assumed murderer. He had never seen Potter scream. Severus, along with the rest of the class, froze in horror. Then Potter’s legs buckled and Weasley instinctively caught him by the waist. This action seemed to waken Hermione who pushed the pair of boys towards a chair while uttering a string of soothing words to Harry who did not seem to hear her. Then the screaming stopped. Harry looked up at Hermione, breathless. For a moment it seemed like it was over. Hermione was just about to speak when Harry suddenly screamed again.

Severus had heard nothing like it since the Dark Lord was in power. It was ripped from the throat and almost panicked in its pain. It was that scream that broke Severus out of his state of frozen shock. He whipped his wand out and strode purposefully towards the boy. He pushed Granger away with a stern ‘move’. The girl did not even think to argue. He took her place in front of Harry as Weasley struggled to keep the boy upright from behind the stool.

“Potter” Severus said urgently, placing his hand’s on Harry’s shoulders and almost kneeling in an attempt to catch the boy’s eye. Potter’s robes were slightly damp under Severus’ hand and he could feel the boy’s muscles shaking involuntarily.  The pain was palpable. Severus raised the boy’s head trying to look in his eye’s to perform legilimency and push the intruder out of Potter’s mind.  His eyes were clenched shut.

“Open your eyes Potter.” Severus ordered, thanking Merlin his voice wasn’t shaking.

“What are you doing to him?” Ron demanded, pulling Harry back towards him protectively. Severus didn’t answer. At that moment, a single tear squeezed off of Harry’s eyelid and landed on the thumb Severus had holding Harry’s cheek up. Something very unpleasant happened to the inside of Severus’ stomach at the feel of that tear. It was like it was turning over and dropping out of him all at once.

“Restura” Severus whispered. Instantly, Harry went slack and slumped forward, nearly taking Ron with him. Severus, who was prepared for the weight, caught Harry easily. It was reckless to knock Harry out, doing so left his mind almost completely open but the boy was in pain now. They could deal with the Dark Lord later. With a deft flick of his wand, he levitated Harry up silently.

He turned to the rest of the class and Umbridge, all of who were watching in silent fascination.

“I need to tend to Mr. Potter here. Dolores, given your qualifications I assume you have the ability to take over the class.” Severus said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Dolores opened her mouth to protest but ended up giving a stiff nod of assent. She looked at the wealth of smelly, smiley, bubbling cauldrons with clear distaste. “Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger have the ability to assist you if you need it.”

Severus was the only professor who had not complemented Hermione and he knew this small nod of approval would have usually made her beet red with pleasure. Now though, she didn’t respond. She just continued to look at Harry’s unconscious body, pale-faced and tearful.

“No I’m coming with you.” Hermione squeaked as Severus turned to levitate Harry out of the room.

“Me too!” Ron added hastily. It was all Snape could do not to bare his teeth at the children.

“Hurry up then.” Severus snapped. Wordlessly levitating Potter took concentration, he didn’t want to argue with the other two musketeers and risk dropping the boy on the stone floor.

Severus levitated Potter out of the classroom, careful to avoid the doorframe. He could hear whispers break out the moment the dungeon door closed. Umbridge’s demand for order came moments later but the buzz of student voices continued to filter down the hallway.

“Professor?” Hermione asked in a voice that suggested she had been debating saying what she was going to say. Severus sighed. Did this girl ever make the choice not to speak?

“Professor, this isn’t the way to the hospital wing.” Hermione said, gaining more confidence as she spoke.

“No.” Severus agreed.

“Well, where are you taking him?’ Ron asked with the same protective outrage he had when Snape tried to perform legilimency on Potter.

“I hear Potter has a way of communicating with Black.” Severus said whipping around to confront the two children tailing him. Both exchanged looks with one another, clearly unwilling to confirm or deny this statement. “Go to the common room. Tell Black I need to speak to Dumbledore.” Ron looked like he was about to protest but Hermione, calmed at being given an order, nodded sharply and pulled Ron towards the dungeon’s exit. Severus felt a twinge of relief. At least he wouldn’t have Thing 1 peppering him with questions and Thing 2 acting like he was going to attempt to murder Harry.

Severus whispered his new password (colonoscopy) to the portrait of the stern-faced Chinese soldier and stepped in to his apartment, carefully levitating Potter in front of him to the couch.  Severus lowered the boy with as much control as he could, wincing slightly when Potter’s head hit the arm-rest.  For a moment, Severus felt a little overcome with the awkwardness of having a student, Potter no less, stretched out on his couch. The list of people who were invited into his quarters was short. The list of students was almost non-existent. Severus pushed the feeling of discomfort away. It was not helpful. Protecting Harry Potter was his job and if that meant putting the boy on his couch than the boy would be on his couch. Severus would find a way to deal with it.

Severus took in the state of the boy. His face was pale, lined with pain. Even in sleep it seemed that all of his muscles were clenched.  Severus desperately wanted to give him a pain-relieving potion but he wasn’t sure if he should until he figured out the reason for his pain.  With a complicated swish of his wand, Severus ran a diagnostic spell over the lifeless body on the couch.

Blood vessels were burst in the brain and it was already starting to swell. Similar injuries had rendered better wizards than Potter paralyzed, brain-damaged or dead. Icy dread filled Severus’ chest. Severus took a deep breath and forced himself to be more impassive. Potter’s injuries weren’t nearly as critical as the cases he was thinking of and Potter’s own magic was already starting heal his body. Severus placed two fingers on the inside of Potter’s throat. The muggle-half of him never trusted magic to monitor a heartbeat. He needed to feel the steady pulse of the vein himself. The heartbeat was rapid but strong. Tension began to melt away and the task before Severus became more manageable. After years of serving the Dark Lord, Severus knew how to heal.

He was able to close the blood vessels with almost no problem.  He didn’t want to do more for the swelling then give the boy an anti-inflammatory potion until the boy woke in case the damage was more extensive than he thought. He easily spelled the potion into the boy’s stomach. Harry would undoubtedly have a headache and feel shaken and sickly from the prolonged pain. There was nothing to be done for that.  Severus looked at the boy again. Even in sleep Harry’s face was pinched and pale. He tossed fretfully. If Severus could get the boy awake and check his cognitive functioning he could give him some relief from the pain.

“Harry.” Severus said shaking the boy softly. Harry’s eyes blearily slid open. The green eyes focused on Snape’s then started to slide shut again. “No stay awake.” Severus ordered shaking the boy again. Harry opened his eyes just long enough to give Severus a decidedly pissy scowl.

“Who am I?” Severus asked before Harry could sleep again. Harry took a few moments longer than he should have to focus on Severus. A nagging worried feeling started to rise up Severus. “Harry?”

“Sn-Snape?” Harry said, more of a question than an answer. Harry blinked heavily, bothered by the lights. His distress growing. “What’s – where –“. Severus noticed that the boy’s breathing was starting to teeter on the edge of panic. Despite Harry’s agitation, Severus was calmed. Though Harry’s eyes were glazed with pain and fear they were also filled with comprehension. He would be fine.

“Drink.” Snape said, less solicitous. If the boy was going to be fine there was no need to fuss. Harry downed the pain-relieving potion Severus brought to his lips without question. Harry struggled to blink his heavy eyelids open as he stared at Severus, confusion on his pale face. He couldn’t keep it up. After a moment, his eyes slid shut and his breathing deepened. His forehead was creased in a slight frown, knowing, even in sleep, something was amiss.

Severus turned to go to his own room to wait for Dumbledore then stopped himself and turned back to Harry. Severus stepped closer to the boy and waited for moment, assessing the deepness of his sleep. Both the physical injury and the potion should keep the boy sleeping deeply for the next few hours. Wordlessly, Severus conjured a pillow under the boy’s head. He paused, waiting for a reaction. None came. Breathing a little easier, Severus walked to the end of the couch and, like a reluctant child taking of a band-aid, he slowly removed Potter’s left shoe, then his right one. Potter sighed and shuffled in his sleep. Severus whipped his head around to look at the boy’s face and froze like a rabbit being hunted.  Potter smacked his lips and started to snore. Severus relaxed and summoned the blanket from the back of his easy chair. He draped it over Potter as efficiently as possible to avoid any impressions of tucking the child in. For a long moment Severus watched the boy. He didn’t seem to be suffering or ill. His hand had wound itself around the blanket and his chapped lips were slightly agar as he snored softly. After a moment of slight hesitation, Severus reached forward and removed Harry’s askew glasses with the same care one might expect from a surgeon removing an organ. He placed the glasses soundlessly on the coffee table and, without another look back, swept into his bedroom.

Hours later, Severus’s peace was broken by a groan from the next room. He stiffened.  He has spent the last few hours grading abysmal essays on his bed so he wouldn’t have to think of Potter until the potions wore off, which, given the boy’s head trauma, was not supposed to be until morning. Despite his acknowledgement of the noise coming from the living room, Severus did not look up from Mackenzie Sheppard’s analysis of the difference between forgetfulness potions and memory-erasing potions. A simple forgetfulness potion should use only the juice of only three… Another moan, louder this time. Severus tightened his jaw and read.  A simple forgetfulness – Potter called out. Severus’ head jerked up from the essay to the door.

He knew the boy was alive and healing, that was his far as his interest in Potter always extended. Every time the boy had fallen from his broomstick or faced down a dragon, Severus had always checked. If he couldn’t find a reason to be present when Potter’s injury was being assessed he would wait until Potter’s crowd of adorers left the hospital wing and go sit by the small bed to watch Potter’s chest rise and fall. He did not do so to make sure Potter was comfortable or healing emotionally. He just cared that the chest kept rising. He would always leave after a few minutes.

For the first time, Severus felt an urge to make sure that the boy was not in pain and not in fear. He didn’t like this new feeling. Another moan, louder this time, reverberated from the next room. Perhaps he should call Minerva. And say what? A voice inside his head retorted. You are too scared to look in on the boy? He could just let Potter suffer. It’s not like he cared before.

 ‘No…no…no” Potter’s voice whimpered from the next room. The voice sounded too young and tremulous to be Potter’s. “He’s going to kill me Mom.” It felt as though all the blood in Severus’ body had been turned to ice. It was too much, even for Severus, to hear the boy beg for his mother…beg for Lily.

Severus slid into the living room and over to the couch where the boy lay. A thin layer of sweat covered the pained, fearful face. The blanket was tangled around him and he fought against it as though it was a restraint.

“Potter” Severus whispered sharply, unsure of how to act. He had never been in this situation before.  The boy didn’t respond and continued to toss fretfully. His face looked slightly feverish, not an uncommon response to the magic Severus had performed earlier. Even healing spells had side-effects. Undoubtedly the pain and confusion from earlier were also taking their toll on him. Severus could only give him small amounts of pain-reliever until he woke up properly.

“Potter you’re dreaming.” Severus said, trying again, his voice softer this time. No luck. This was completely beyond him. It would be easier, not to mention less awkward to shift the boy’s dreamscape. Severus took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Potter’s forehead.

“Legilimens” Severus said silkily, controlling his intrusion to limit his effect on Potter’s already-taxed brain. As Severus expected, Harry’s dreamscape was less rational and organized than his memories were. Images whipped in and out before Severus could fully see them, as though he was standing in front of a flip-book someone was thumbing through too fast. Though he couldn’t focus on the images, he himself could feel the deep dread pouring out from each of them. There was an almost overwhelming sense of terror in Potter’s mind that threatened to engulf Severus as well if he allowed it. It was not advisable to dream-walk alone. Unlike pure memories, the subject was not able to offer an anchor in reality to the legilimens. Consequently, the legilimens had the potential to get engulfed by the memories they were watching, remaining stuck until subject awoke and pushed them out of their mind. Taking a steadying breath Severus focused hard on the next image that went sailing by. 

Harry, hardly 8, stood in a worn elementary-school bathroom stall. The clothes he was wearing were too big for a much older child; on Potter they looked like a bad attempt at a Halloween costume. Four larger boys, older and better dressed, blocked Harry’s exit from the bathroom. They were laughing. Harry’s face was pale but set. Severus could feel the fear and defiance cursing through him and was distracted from the task of finding a new image for the boy. Like Harry, he was frozen.

“Get in” The largest one, Harry’s cousin, ordered. Harry shook his head defiantly. The others laughed. The cousin gave Harry a firm shove, causing the boy to stumble back and sit on the toilet. Fear was greater now. With a sudden swell of defiance, Harry ran at the boys. The cousin pushed him back so hard that he left his feet and crashed to the ground. The over-large glasses flew off of his face. Everything was blurry now. His bottom hurt from where it had crashed on the floor and he was almost winded from where his back has smacked the toilet. There was no way he’d cry. Harry leant forward for his glasses. One of the boy’s small and rat-like, stepped on them, taking care to crush Harry’s fingers. Harry’s lips quivered as the glasses broke. He was going to be in trouble for that. The boys started to laugh.

“Look who’s gonna cry.” The rat-like boy said, howling. Harry bit his lip so hard he could feel the bumps in the muscle. He didn’t dare look up.

“What a baby.” A rough-grab pulled Harry up by his hair towards the toilet. His attempts to scramble away were met with a swift kick in the ribs that winded him. He cried out. Then he was choking on stale toilet water and he couldn’t breathe, the water was swirling around taking his breath with it. Panic and fear shot up into Harry. Severus fought to unwind himself from the emotions, desperately trying to think of a soothing image to place in the boy’s mind.

A child’s pale face with soft features and brilliant green eyes was contorted in laughter. It sounded melodious, more beautiful than it could have been in reality. The curtain of red hair shook with the force of the giggles. Severus’ breath stopped. He hadn’t meant to put this image in Potter’s mind. This image was only his. Before Severus could yank it away jealously, the image began to shift. The smiling, green-eyed face was the same, changed only to be older. There was no childish laughter just a loving smile. This was Harry’s image of Lily, Severus realized with a start. The image was blurred and slightly distorted. With a pang that had nothing to do with seeing Lily, Severus realized Harry was not certain enough about the details of Lily’s face to have a clear image of her face. Still, Severus could feel calm and comfort start to replace the boy’s fear and sadness. Severus studied the loving smile etched on Lily’s face for one more moment. He wasn’t sure if the painful longing he felt belonged to Potter or himself. Not daring to look again, Severus extracted himself from Potter’s mind.

Severus looked down at the boy who was now snoring peacefully. He could see traces of the scared 8-year old in the thin-layer of baby fat that still covered what would become handsome, high-set cheekbones. The hand wound around the blanket seemed to underscore the boy’s age. He was still so young. Severus could see the faint outline of the scar on Harry’s hand: I must not tell lies. The boy’s brow creased for a moment and he groaned softly, as though about to wake. Another scar, the famous one, came into view. The boy moaned again. Without thinking about it, Severus reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“It’s alright.” Severus whispered. His voice had taken on a gentle tone that he never knew he possessed. He was not entirely sure what he was trying to accomplish with the gesture and regretted it almost immediately. Harry calmed and nestled deeper into the couch.

Harry woke early the next morning expecting to see the familiar scarlet hangings and wooden ceiling of his dormitory. Instead, he found himself curled on a rather comfortable couch staring at a dying fire and his sleeping potions professor. Another time, Harry would have found the image of his dour potions master asleep with his mouth slightly askew amusing. Right now, all Harry could think about was how to extract himself from Snape’s lair with minimal contact. Harry silently pulled the blanket off himself and folded it in to a neat little square. He briefly wondered why Snape had returned to sit with him after Harry had gone back to sleep. Maybe the connection Voldemort had forged through breaking down the Occlumency shields left Harry open to being possessed and Snape was worried he would start attacking students on Voldemort’s behalf. Harry’s stomach recoiled at the thought. He looked back at Snape wondering if it would be impolite to not leave a note. He needn’t have worried. At that moment, Snape’s eyes flashed open. He moved from asleep to wide-awake with impressive quickness.

“Good morning, sir.” Potter said a twinge of nervousness in his voice. He didn’t think Snape would be too pleased with the idea of his least favorite student watching him sleep. As expected, Snape’s lip-curled as though Harry was something that smelled quite unpleasant.

“Potter.” Snape said it more as an acknowledgement than an indictment, which was new. Harry relaxed slightly. “You feel better I trust?”

“Yes sir, loads better, thanks and er sorry…” Harry continued scrambling to his feet, understanding the cue to leave.  Harry found his shoes and slipped them on, not caring to ensure they were on the whole way. “I’ll get out of the way sir.” Harry didn’t dare look at Snape’s face as he shoved on his glasses, picked his wand up off of the coffee table and headed off the couch.

“Potter.” Snape said in the heavily annoyed tone that Harry was more used to. Harry halted and turned around. Snape had an inscrutable, stern expression on his face as he advanced on Harry. Harry’s stomach began to turn. He really did not want or need a lecture at how terrible he was at Occlumency right now. But Snape did not say anything; he extended two small vials to Harry.

“Sir?” Harry questioned, taking the proffered vials. Snape’s stern expression flickered with annoyance.

“Pain potions Mr. Potter, which you should recognize should you with to receive above a D on your OWL.” Snape said. Harry just blinked stupidly at him. Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest as though Harry was making this interaction hard on him on purpose. “There maybe some lingering discomfort.”

“I-“ Harry started then stopped. He had to admit that Snape had done more than just patch him up. When Harry woke, puking, scared and shivering, Snape had been almost patient and solicitous. He had apparently stayed by Harry’s bedside all night (though considering Voldemort was trying to break into Harry’s mind that was probably more duty than care). Now he had thought to give Harry pain potions. Considering the man had thrown a beetle jar at his head mere weeks ago, Harry felt oddly touched. After all Snape had done for him, running out with only muttered thanks yous and apologies, like he couldn’t get away from the man fast enough seemed ungracious and bratty. Snape was giving him an odd, assessing look and Harry realized he was still staring at the potions. Summoning up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry looked Snape dead in the eye. 

“Thank you sir, for last night, and for…” Harry trailed off, breaking eye contact. For taking care of me, for staying with me, all sounded too childish for Harry’s taste. Instead, Harry raised the potions. “and for these.” Harry wondered if Snape understood the things Harry had been unwilling to say because a touch of color appeared his white cheeks and his jaw clenched.

“And sorry again about the carpet.” Harry added hastily with a little smile, deciding to save them both the awkwardness of Snape having to respond to Harry’s gratitude.

“As am I.” Snape drawled. Harry felt his smile falter. He should have known Snape would find a student joking with him, especially if that student was Harry, impudent.

 “That was a joke Potter.” Snape added impatiently, seeing Harry’s expression. This entire interaction had to be an after effect of the drugs. Snape’s own lips seemed to be fighting the urge to twitch upwards. Harry turned and stepped through the portrait hole. At the very last moment, without thinking about it, he turned and grinned at Snape. Snape looked momentarily stunned and then, just as Harry was turning around, almost sad.

***

Severus had seen Harry smile enough to know that the boy had Lily’s smile. He had seen it on the boy’s face on the Quidditch pitch, when he chatted with friends in the great hall and directed at others in the boy’s memories. Never had Potter smiled at him like that before. It was playful, childish, genuine and so like Lily. Severus had felt for a moment that he was standing at Hogwarts laughing with his old friend. Lily had never hesitated to tease him. Not in an unkind way like James and many of the other students, but in a way that expressed a familiarity and friendship that most people were unwilling to extend to him. Having that smile directed at him after so many years felt…disquieting. Severus turned back to the living room to finish tidying up. His Fridays were a light day. He only had a Hufflepuff/ravenclaw first-year class in the afternoon. He would give them something easy enough that he wouldn’t have to instruct them too much. After everything last night and today, he was tired, confused, and feeling emotions he was entirely unwilling to feel.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice came from the fire. “May I come through?” Severus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He knew that the older wizard would have been a challenge to locate but he had expected a faster response.

“Of course Headmaster.” Severus replied, sending the easy chair back to its spot by the fire with a quick flick of his wrist. Dumbledore came through the fire followed, by a rather harried-looking Sirius. Severus could not prevent his lip from curling towards his teeth.

“Where is Harry?” Sirius asked without preamble, his eyes sweeping over Severus’ living room as though Snape had the boy hidden somewhere.

“I didn’t realize you were bringing a guest Headmaster.” Snape said, not bothering to hide his displeasure. Sirius opened his mouth to retort but Dumbledore cut him off.

“I do recall asking, at the end of last year, for a cessation of open hostilities.” Dumbledore reminded them. Despite the benign smile on Dumbledore’s face, both Severus and Sirius understood the statement as an order and, with great restraint, looked away from one another.

“How is Harry, Severus?” Dumbledore said, apparently satisfied that the animosity in the room had been dialed down to a tolerable level.

“The boy is fine.” Snape answered, motioning to the couch. He sat down with Dumbledore but Sirius continued to pace a little wildly.

“He’s fine?” Sirius repeated, incredulous. “Hermione was beside herself, said he wouldn’t stop screaming.” Sirius stopped pacing for a moment and threw an accusing glare at Severus. “This never happened before these Occlumency lessons. How do we know he isn’t doing something to Harry’s mind?” Severus returned the accusation with the same blank, indifferent expression he gave Bellatrix when she accused him of being a double-agent.  

“Severus did nothing to harm Harry, Sirius.” Dumbledore said patiently. ”Given neither of us should be here perhaps we should abandon the blame and get the facts so that we do not prolong our excursion.” Severus noted that Sirius was clenching and unclenching his fists spasmodically in frustration. Nevertheless, he inclined his head slightly in agreement.

Severus told them what he had told Harry. Potter’s successful occlumency, the bursting blood vessels in the brain, the relatively quick recovery. Severus left out the details about the nightmare and his own vigil as he watched the boy not, as always for the rise of the chest (which he knew was coming) but for signs of pain and fear.

“Where is he now?” Sirius demanded when Severus finished. Sirius had jumped to his feet in emotion when Severus had mentioned the ruptured blood vessels and had resumed pacing. The back-and-forth was making Severus feel slightly dizzy.

“Class I’d imagine.” Severus replied with a tone of superb indifference. Sirius rounded on him, furious.

“You sent him to class after that!” Sirius roared. “His head literally exploded Snivillious! Don’t you think you could have found it in your cold, lump of a heart to give the boy a day sleeping in the hospital wing!” Severus jumped to his feet. Nose-to-nose, wand-to-wand with Sirius. Underneath his anger at being yelled at in his own quarters he felt a swell of uncertainty. This time, he actually thought he had done what was best for Potter. Maybe it had been too soon to send him to class.

“Are you quite finished?” Dumbledore asked as Severus and Sirius continued to glare at each other, wands raised. “Sirius, I can assure you Harry was well-tended.”

“How?” Sirius spat, not taking his eyes off of Severus. Dumbledore looked at the potions on Severus’ coffee table thoughtfully for a moment.

“Pain-reliever…anti-inflammatory…an invigoration draught” Dumbledore stopped over the last one. Severus thought he saw a smile playing at the old man’s lips. He resisted the urge to hit him. Dumbledore looked up at Severus.

“I suppose, should I be rude enough to enter your bedroom uninvited, I would find your bed has not been slept in. You sat up with him all night did you not? Even after he was so clearly out of harm’s way?” Severus felt a burn of embarrassment starting to crawl up his cheeks. The old fool had no right to go on like that in front of Sirius. Dumbledore continued to look around Severus’ quarters with a smile.

 “Blankets, pillow, damp washcloths. The evidence is here. Yes, it seems like someone looked over Harry with quite a lot of tenderness.” Sirius lowered his wand. For the first time in Severus’ memory, Sirius’ expression wasn’t filled with contempt but with confusion. Severus lowered his as well but still kept a firm grip on the handle, not quite willing to look Sirius in the eye. Sirius continued to scrutinize him.

“Well I am glad to hear that Harry is recovering. There is much to think about. I’ll be in touch soon.” Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. “Do keep an eye on him Severus. Good day Sirius.” With that, Dumbledore hopped in the fireplace and disappeared. Leaving Sirius and Severus to stare at each other.

“That was good of you.” Sirius said after a second of uncomfortable silence. “To take care of Harry like that.” Sirius fidgeted with his wand for a moment, seemingly not knowing what to do next. As Sirius was far more socially competent than Severus, Severus had no idea how to respond either. Both of them stood in Snape’s living room somewhere between awkwardness and anger.

Then, out of nowhere, Sirius’ entire demeanor changed. He shoved his wand in his pocket and looked up at Severus with a smile, leaning forward slightly with his hands still in his pocket.

“Fancy a drink?” Sirius asked. His tone was half-sheepish and half like he was partly enjoying the absurdity of the idea of them sitting down to a drink together.

“It’s 9 am.” Severus replied dryly, trying to retain some of his bite. He felt quite wrong-footed. His protest went without acknowledgement and Sirius summoned the firewhiskey.

“This place is quite nice actually. Could use a little more light….and all these books…Sirius looked at the books on the side-table and the bookshelf. “Have you actually read all of these books?” Sirius, poured two generous glasses and looked up at Severus.

“Yes.” Severus answered. Sirius held out a glass to Severus with almost childlike expectancy on his face. Severus hesitated than took it, sitting down on the couch across from Sirius. Sirius sipped his fire-whiskey and Severus did the same. The silence was a shade too awkward to be described as comfortable but there was something amicable in it.

“Maybe I should read more.” Sirius mused as he sipped his beverage. Apparently undeterred by Severus’ lack of contribution to the conversation. “It’d be better than talking to Buckbeak all day. You know I’ve actually started expecting him to respond. This is the first time I’ve been out of that blasted house in ages.” Severus did not know what to say and merely took another sip in response. It was odd to Severus that Sirius would speak to him about being shut-up in Grimmauld Place given that Severus had made it a point to rub it in so many times. Sirius refilled his glass and topped off Severus who wasn’t quite as fast.

“Keep up mate.” Sirius said with another grin. Apparently Severus was a “mate” now. This day was getting odd. Severus took a large swallow of fire-whiskey. A gentle, woozy sensation was beginning to come over him.

“Is it true you told Umbridge where she could stuff it?” Sirius asked, seemingly momentarily more cheerful.

“I threatened to kill her if that’s what you mean.” Severus replied. Sirius howled with laughter. A little part of Severus, the part that was still a friendless 11 year-old, felt a twinge of pleasure at Sirius’ amusement. “I wish I could have seen her face. What did she do to deserve it?”

“She was using a blood-quill.” Severus responded after a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t want Sirius to go running through the castle half-cocked. The smile fell off of Sirius’ face.

“On Harry?” Sirius’ asked. His voice was low, eyes hard.

“The boy’s fine. I fixed the hand. The scar may even vanish.” Severus said in response, attempting to wave off Sirius’ concern. It didn’t work. The mention of scars and the extra gulp of firewhiskey Sirius had seemed to be a poor combination. Sirius threw the glass across the room and it shattered on the wall. Severus flinched, this felt much too similar to nights with his father to be comfortable.

“I’m supposed to be his godfather.” Sirius yelled, whipping around to look at Severus wild-eyed. For a moment he looked so like Bellatrix that Severus nearly pulled his wand. Instead, Severus simply raised his eyebrows at the figure in front of him. There wasn’t much point in trying to stop a drunk. One simply had to roll with the punches, literally or figuratively. Sirius seemed to not like whatever he saw in Severus’ face because he smoothed his rage-twisted face back out.

“Merlin Severus, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have –“ Whatever he shouldn’t have done Severus didn’t hear. Instead of finishing the thought, Sirius turned to the wall and muttered repairo. The glass reformed. Sirius looked so much older than the cock-sure, 18-year Severus remembered. It wasn’t surprising, but Severus hadn’t really considered it until now. Remus, Black, Potter, even Lily, they were all frozen as Hogwarts-aged students to Severus. The boys were so connected to Lily, and the only Lily Severus cared to dwell on was the pre-fifth year Lily. The Lily whose eyes always found his across the Great Hall, who took care to see him as much as she could during the long summers with his father; his first friend. He didn’t like to remember that she grew up and grew-out of him. Consequently, he always looked at the dratted Mauraders as high-school students. It was odd now to sit across from Sirius the man when he remembered the boy so clearly.

 In school Sirius had always been casually handsome in the dark way that so appealed to teenage girls. All dark hair, tanned skin and a dangerous air of being uncontrollable. Now, he was subdued, scarred and Severus could practically see dementor’s in the man’s dark eyes. For a moment Severus wondered what the teenaged Sirius would think of the man before him. Unbidden, Dumbledore’s words came back to Severus: Haven’t they suffered enough?

Severus poured them each another drink even though Sirius had probably had enough. Sirius drank it gratefully.

“I swore to Lily that nothing would happen to him.” Sirius said softly. For the first time in the conversation Severus stared hard at Sirius. Lily. He couldn’t resist hearing about her, hearing about words she said and things she thought. Even if it was second-hand, even if it was from Sirius, even if the story involved James, Severus felt the need to hear it like a starving man feels the need to eat. He held his breath.

“She was so worried…having a baby in the middle of the war like that.” Sirius started, looking into his glass as though it was a pensieve and the memory was playing out in front of him. “And James wouldn’t – couldn’t – talk about  -about what would happen if…” Sirius trailed off. After all these years he still couldn’t talk about James and Lily’s mortality. “But one night James goes out for formula and a muggle – a muggle – pulls a knife on him.”  Sirius almost laughed. “Got him right in the stomach.”  Sirius started to chuckle fondly. Severus looked at him like he was insane.

“Anyways he had his wand – he fixed himself up a bit – came home and Lily saw to him properly. James and I thought it was a big laugh – a muggle with a bunch of wizard gold and a loyalty card to the Apothecary.” Sirius took a drink of the whiskey, lost in the memory for a moment. “Lily was not as amused. James went up to sleep it off and she lost it. Convinced that they were going to die and seeing as that both their parents were dead and James had no siblings, Lily was convinced Harry would have to go live with Petunia who would have no idea how to protect him from dark magic.”

“I promised her that if she and James died I would take Harry and raise him like my own. I looked her right in the eye and promised that he wouldn’t have to be raised by Petunia and that I would keep him safe.” Sirius raked a hand through his long-hair. “Some job I’m doing. ” Sirius took a pull of whiskey and gave a little laugh.

“She’ll kill me if there’s an after-life you know.” Sirius continued.  He gave a fake, angry hair-flip that was the exact imitation of Lily’s. “Black what in the hell were you thinking going after Pettigrew like that you pig-headed fool.” Severus just stared at Black, his expression blank. He did sound quite like her.

“She could be quite the bitch sometimes.” Sirius added with a smile that suggested this was his favorite quality of hers. The smile stayed fond but turned sad and it took Severus a moment to realize with a start that Sirius was missing Lily.

It was odd to see someone else mourn her. After all of these years the grief was, understandably, an old one for most. Sirius and Lily had become close only after she began dating James so Severus had never witnessed their friendship. Severus had assumed most of Sirius’ anger at Pettigrew and love for Harry had come from his friendship with James. He was unaware that Sirius held equal loyalty and affection for Lily. The information was confusing to Severus but he felt more than contempt for the man sitting beside him.  They were both loyal to an impossible promise made to a woman long dead. There was companionship, an understanding, in that state-of-affairs that not even Severus could deny.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself.” Severus said after a long moment. “Potter-watching is extremely difficult. I’m pretty sure the boy actively wants to get himself killed.” Sirius chuckled.

“Did you see him last year with the dragon?” Sirius asked. “He flew at a dragon.” It seemed like after all these months Sirius still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Saw it?” Severus replied, almost smiling despite himself. “I had a damn near heart attack. Foolish child. Lucky he wasn’t burned to a crisp. Flying! He should have used a simple conjunctivitis curse.”

“Doesn’t have quite the same flare though does it?” Sirius responded affectionately.

 “Yes, well, seeing as it was less likely to get him killed…” Severus retorted pouring them both another glass.

“Their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart” Sirius said in a passable imitation of the sorting hat, picking up the glass and raising it.

“There is no way I am drinking to that.” Severus replied with clear distaste. Sirius laughed and raised his glass again.

“Alright have it your way then…to new friends.” Sirius said, a touch more soberly. Severus hesitated than raised his glass to Sirius. In a million universes, there was only one where Severus Snape and Sirius Black could come to an understanding. Severus respected Sirius’ desire to keep his promise to Lily. Sirius was touched at the care Severus had shown Harry. Both had been lonely for so long, their allies were so limited.  They were both drunk and painfully aware of the coming war and the unpleasant tasks awaiting them. Two people, more similar than they would ever acknowledge, poised to understand each other perfectly. They would be friends; both were unflinching in their loyalty once it had been given.

Severus poured another drink. There was no way he was going to be any use to his first-year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class.

Harry tried to focus on the jar of pickled snake hearts instead of the blood pouring out of Ron’s nose. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help sneaking glances over to his former-best-friend who now was so pale Harry was worried he was going to pass-out in Snape’s office.

“You should lean forward.” Harry muttered. Ron glowered and said nothing.  He had been staring steadfastly forward since the moment Snape had ordered them into his office.

Crawling worms had taken over Harry’s stomach’s again as he contemplated his situation. At this point he wasn’t even afraid of Snape. Nothing Snape could do to him could possibly be worse than what Harry himself had accomplished this week. 

He had yelled at Neville for talking too loudly to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, snapped at Ginny for bugging him about restarting the DA and rudely told Ernie to shut up when he had nervously started reciting details about plant care before their Herbology review session.

As if that hadn’t been enough, he had nearly made Hermione cry when he went off on her for asking how he was keeping up with his school-work. He had assumed that she was berating him again for not revising enough for his upcoming OWLs. Instead, she had merely been trying to offer him copies of her meticulously written notes. Ron had given Harry tongue-thrashing for that, which ended with Harry punching Ron in the nose in the middle of the Great Hall.

Which was why he was now sitting in Snape’s dungeon as Ron attempted to hold the blood in his nose with both his hands. Ron had put up with his surly attitude all week but, Harry could tell, punching him in front of half-the-school was the limit. He was going to be alone again, like all those years at Privet Drive, but this time it was his own fault.

The door swung open, pulling Harry out of his depression spiral. Snape stared down at both of them, a potion in his hand. Harry’s stomach flipped, at this moment he deeply missed Professor McGonagall.

Snape pointed his wand at Ron’s face. Ron closed his eyes as though expecting his entire face to explode. Harry would have laughed if they were still friends.

“Episkey.” Snape said firmly. Ron’s nose gave a sickening crack and straightened out. Ron yelped in pain. Snape handed Ron the potion and sat in the large chair behind his neat desk.

“50 points for fighting.”  Snape said without preamble, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Each.” Ron let out a little groan and scowled again at Harry.

“Mr. Weasley you may go.” Ron got to his feet, throwing a slightly unsure look at Harry. It seemed, even if they were no longer friends, Ron was unwilling to see Harry eviscerated. Still, he retreated, slamming the dungeon door for good measure.

Snape turned to glower at Harry. Any good will that had developed between them after Harry’s injury had been promptly destroyed throughout their next few Occlumency lessons.  Snape had been attempting to teach Harry to project specific thoughts over his image of the Gryffindor fireplace. The goal of this was to hide the fact that he was Occluding and hopefully prevent Voldemort from bursting into his mind again. Much to Snape’s annoyance, Harry hadn’t been able to do it successfully.

Snape gave a complex flick of his wand and a full tea service burst from the cupboard and settled itself on Snape’s desk. Snape tapped the pot with his wand and Harry could hear the water start to boil.

“Tea?” Snape asked, as a waterfall of sugar cascaded from his wand into a dish beside the kettle.

Harry’s jaw dropped. He was partly expecting to be thrashed. It was one of the few times Snape would have actually been in the right to yell at Harry and now, not only was Snape passing up this opportunity, he was offering beverages. The kettle was steaming. Snape poured out two cups and, to Harry’s amusement, added a significant amount of sugar into his own cup. It was odd to think of Snape having likes and dislikes.

Snape passed Harry the steaming cup. Harry looked at Snape’s impassive face for a moment before slowly reaching out his hand to accept the tea. Snape took a long sip, continuing to observe Harry, who was starting to feel quite uncomfortable.

“It has come to my attention that you have been especially insufferable this week Potter.” Snape said matter-of-factly, setting his tea down on his desk. Harry glowered back at Snape defiantly. Much to his annoyance, Snape seemed relatively unperturbed by this.

“That’s not really any of your concern.” Harry replied with as much dignity as he could.  Snape took another sip of tea and sighed.

“Potter trust me, I have no desire to revel in your teen angst.” There was almost a mocking smile on Snape’s lips. “However when you start punching students, talking back and stop trying to do anything resembling successful Occlumency this, unfortunately, becomes my concern.”

Of all the people Harry would like to talk to about his feelings, Snape ranked at the bottom of the list near Umbridge and Voldemort. Harry was sure that the giant squid would provide a more sympathetic ear. Harry defiantly crossed his arms and looked away. Snape couldn’t make him talk. Apparently deciding that Harry wasn’t going to start the conversation, Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“The level of Occlumency you are attempting to obtain is quite high. As a fifth year student with no exceptional grasp on the magical arts, it is hardly surprising it is taking you more than a week to master it.” Snape said, taking aim at what he thought Harry’s biggest worry was. Harry didn’t know whether to be offended or comforted by Snape’s comment. Even though it came out nicer than most things he said, it was still insulting.

And there it was again, Harry’s lack of an exceptional magical talent. These days it seemed to contrast so vividly with Voldemort’s seemingly endless supply of power.

“Whatever.” Harry said, not meeting Snape’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye he could of sworn he saw Snape smirk.

“As piercing as your wit is Potter, I still need an explanation for your behavior unless you want Gryffindor to lose another 30 points.” Snape replied coolly taking a drink of his tea. Harry snapped his head up, outraged.

“You wouldn’t!”

“We’ve known each other for 5 years now Potter. I dare say you know I would.” Snape replied. It seemed to Harry that he was thoroughly enjoying this. A familiar rage started to boil within Harry’s veins as he looked at the stupid, smirking, pallid face in front of him. The last thing he needed right now was to be picked on by his git of a Potions professor.

Much to Harry’s surprise, the numerous glass jars on Snape’s shelves started to tremble ominously. Snape glanced casually from Harry’s face to the jars. Harry felt as though he was back in the kitchen in Privet Drive with Aunt Marge insulting his parents. He could feel the magical energy in the air but he wasn’t trying to do anything. In fact, he was trying to stop. Snape opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the loud crash of jars from behind Harry. Both Harry and Snape jumped to their feet in surprised. The rest of the jars stopped quivering.

“Are you hurt?” Snape demanded, anger clear in his voice. He swept past Harry to examine the broken jars.

“No, sir.” Harry muttered feeling embarrassed. At 15, he really should be able to control his magic.

Luckily the ingredients Harry spilled everywhere did not seem to be dangerous or valuable as Snape vanished the entire mess with a flick of his wand before rounding on to Harry. Harry looked at the ground, both shamed and scared that Snape was going to make Uncle Vernon’s story about Harry attending St. Brutus’ true.

“Sorry sir.” Harry muttered, kicking his feet against the floor and risking a glance up at Snape whose enraged face seemed to miraculously soften into something slightly less angry.

“Everyone looses control of their magic sometimes.” Snape replied in a measured tone, returning to his seat behind his desk. Harry gaped at him. Harry had seen Snape go from calm to angry for no reason, but never the reverse. That, plus the rare display of accidental magic, was so off-putting that Harry sank back in the chair across from Snape.

“I haven’t” Harry muttered “Not since –“ Harry trailed off thinking of Aunt Marge bumping on the kitchen ceiling like an over-sized balloon. “Not for a long time.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Snape just nodded from across the table. For the first time, Harry had an inexplicable urge to tell Snape about this new, horrible dark presence that seemed to be following him everywhere. Snape knew about Voldemort breaking in to Harry’s head, he knew about the scar and whatever else Dumbledore had told him. If there really was something wrong, Snape might be the only person able to fix it.

“I think I’m turning evil.” Harry blurted out. Snape’s eyebrows raised, seemingly in both surprise and vague amusement, but he gave no other reaction. Hearing it out loud, Harry suddenly felt extremely stupid. Snape was the last person to talk to about this. He’d probably love nothing more than to prove to everyone just how right he was about nasty Harry Potter. Harry stared hard at his lap.

“And why do you think that?” Snape asked. Harry could tell the man was carefully considering his words as he observed Harry with a piercing stare. For the first time, Harry wondered what Snape was like with Slytherin students. He had a wild image of Snape reading a bunch of first years a bedtime story and felt an odd urge to laugh. But Snape had seemed genuinely concerned about Jack after his detention with Umbridge. Harry had seen him slip a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulder to steer him back to the Slytherin dorms when he thought Harry had already rounded the corner.

Harry looked up at Snape who continued to wait patiently for Harry’s response and, for whatever reason, Harry told him. He admitted that he was angry all the time. He explained that his friends all hated him except for Luna, but that she was only sympathetic because she thought Nargles were behind his new attitude (Snape seemed to want to ask what that meant but stopped himself). Before he could reign himself in, he admitted being angry at Dumbledore for abandoning him and being hurt that Sirius seemed to think he wasn’t as brave as his father. Somewhere during his outburst, he let it slip the worst most terrifying part: that he was sure Voldemort was responsible for every last one of these emotions and that it was only going to get worse.

It was more than he wanted to say. Snape hadn’t interrupted him once in the entire 20 minutes and Harry had all but forgotten exactly whom he was talking to. The words had spilled out of him impatiently, without stopping to be censored, as though they had been waiting to leave him for quite a while. Now that it was over, Harry regretted every single one of them. Hermione always went on about the importance of talking, but now Harry knew she was wrong. If Harry felt bad before revealing his feelings to Snape, it was nothing compared to the depths of misery he felt now.

Snape didn’t seem to feel the need to reply to Harry quickly. He simply continued to observe Harry over the top of his teacup as though he was a mildly interesting museum exhibit.

“I don’t think the Dark Lord is responsible for what you are feeling.” Snape said after a while, as though it was the clearest thing in the world. Harry shrugged. That was what everyone said and it didn’t make him feel the least bit reassured.

“I think you are experiencing a reasonable amount of anger at the lack of control you have over your life.” Snape said softly, sipping his tea casually. Harry stared at his knees.  “And I think that you are scared.”

 Harry snapped his head-up and looked Snape in the eyes for the first time since the conversation. Snape calmly returned the stare as if daring him to deny the truth of the statement. Harry didn’t. Snape put his teacup back on the tea service then leaned forward towards Harry.

“You face an uncommonly heavy burden, especially for someone your age. At the same time, you don’t have the ability to make decisions…Dumbledore, the Dark Lord and the Order do, which makes you somewhat like a pawn in a giant chess game. I’d be surprised if you don’t feel scared and powerless.” Snape said simply, as though he was explaining a basic potion to a student he liked much more than Harry.

Harry looked down at his hands and squeezed them tight to stop from shaking. He couldn’t bare to look up at Snape even though he could feel the man’s eyes on him, not after he hit the nail on the head so completely.

“Dumbledore is not playing chess with you Potter.” Snape continued, a little more hesitant. “He doesn’t see lives and happiness as things to be sacrificed for the greater good. He is trying to protect you and give you some semblance of your childhood.”

Harry felt stunned. It was the most words Snape had ever said to him at one time. Much more shocking was that the words made Harry feel understood, something even his closest friends hadn’t been able to accomplish. An accusing voice reminded him that he hadn’t shared nearly as much information with his friends as he had with Snape. The thought almost made Harry laugh then made him feel sad and alone all over again.

Harry looked up at Snape who was no longer looking at Harry. He was resting his lips on his long-fingers, looking somewhere past Harry, deep in thought.

“Feeling powerless, scared and alone has made many people angry, cruel, even evil.” Snape said finally, turning back to Harry. His lips seem to twist over the words as if they were physically painful to speak. “I would advise you to avoid that path.” 

There was a deadly seriousness in Snape’s eyes. It was the first time Harry had seen those eyes willingly show any emotion but anger or contempt. Harry briefly thought about the Dark Mark seared on the man’s arm.

“Then what do I do, sir?” Harry asked quietly. He felt less embarrassed now, as though Snape had just shared enough of himself to make the conversation bearable.

“All my friends already hate me.” Harry muttered, more to himself than Snape. Snape gave a Harry a look that suggested the only reason he wasn’t rolling his eyes was because of years spent increasing his powers of self-control.

“Potter, when you were ill I had no less than 9 visits to my personal quarters from Mr. Weasley who seemed to be convinced I was set on killing you. If you don’t think I know that Ms. Granger spends half her nights correcting your abysmal Potions work you seriously underestimate my intelligence. Mr. Longbottom would willingly stand in traffic for you. As for Mr. McMillan and Miss Weasley, I am sure they harbor the same vomit-inducing loyalty the others do.”

Harry tried to resist the urge to smile both at the slight warm feeling that entered his chest at Snape’s words and the fact that Snape was quite sassy when he wasn’t spewing vitriol or glaring ominously. Snape returned Harry’s smile with the slight upturn of his thin lips before turning serious again.

“I think you’ll find, if you don’t feel alone, fear and helplessness have a lot less power.” Snape said thoughtfully.

Harry thinking of all the people in his life who had come through for him in his life: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ernie, the Twins, Luna, Sirius, Dumbledore, and now, apparently Snape. Eager to apologize and resolved to be a more open, caring friend, Harry stood to leave the dungeons.

“You’re right, sir. I’ve been a complete ass –“ Harry stopped dead in the middle of his sentence. Snape was gripping his left arm and gritting his teeth in an effort to keep from calling out. His black eyes met Harry’s and they stared at each other, the air thick with tension.

The pain in Snape’s arm passed, he broke eye contact stood up and wordlessly smoothed down his robes. Harry noted that Snape’s face had whitened so much it looked almost translucent.

“Professor?” Harry said tentatively. Snape stopped at the doorframe. Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say or why he had called out in the first place.

“There will be no Occlumency lessons tonight.” Severus said shortly without turning back to face Harry. “I suggest you use the time to prepare for your Potions OWL. At this rate, you’ll be lucky to polish an Auror’s wand.”

Snape swept out into the hallway, more bat-like and menacing than ever. Harry barely encoded the barb to his potions work and, with shaking hands, moved to clean up the tea service that seemed to have been used hours ago.

Severus hated his Death Eater robes. They were scratchy. It really was the least of his problems at the moment but worrying about such a trivial concern was reassuring. Usually Dumbledore took the long walk to the end of the grounds with him. He always talked about candy, or students, or a potions article he read while Severus walked silently beside him. After the meeting was over, he would always find Fawkes perched on the Hogwarts gate, waiting patiently to accompany him back to the castle. More than once, Severus had been unable to make the long walk up and the bird had flown off to get the headmaster.

Voldemort knew Dumbledore kept a close eye on Severus. He especially enjoyed sending Severus back to Hogwarts bloodied and injured, forcing Dumbledore to both fix Severus up and tear himself apart with guilt. It worked well. After one of the first Death Eater meetings, Dumbledore had stopped Severus at the gate and, in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty and emotion, told Severus to accompany him back to the castle, that they would find a way to win the war without a spy. Severus had wordlessly removed the gentle, wrinkled hand from his forearm, walked to the apparition point and disaparated, leaving Dumbledore’s pain-riddled face in his wake.

Severus had been more touched than he would admit even to himself at the headmaster’s hesitation. For a moment it felt like Severus mattered more than the war. It wasn’t true of course, no one person mattered more than the lives of many. From then on though, Severus knew that he mattered to Dumbledore, that he was cared for, loved even. Severus understood then, for the first time, what Dumbledore meant when he said that love was the most powerful magic. While Lily’s death had changed Severus’ allegiance, Dumbledore’s love had gained Severus’ complete loyalty. Something Voldemort could not expect even from his most enthusiastic Death Eaters.

Severus scoffed at the headmater’s need to provide him an escort to the apparition point, protested against the frequent invitations to tea and largely shunned Dumbledore’s attempts to comfort and console him; but he loved Dumbledore just as heartily and was soothed by the mere knowledge of his presence at Hogwarts. Now, walking to the apparation point, fresh after seeing Lily’s eyes stare at his left arm in horror, Severus felt more alone than ever.

Severus lifted the latch on the gate and pushed open the heavy door. Without a look back to the castle, Severus placed a finger on his arm and disapparated.

It was odd, where he landed. A forest. The mulch path Severus was standing on was soggy from the rain and darkened by the many large trees that lined it. Severus was alone. Severus looked around and gripped his wand. It never boded well to be summoned alone.

“Severus.” Voldemort said silkily, approaching him with a cold smile. Severus bowed his head reverently.

“My lord.” Severus could feel Voldemort enter his head. He wasn’t worried his Occlumency shields wouldn’t hold, Voldemort was too arrogant to give the thoughts of others much consideration, but he was concerned that it happened so quickly. He knew the fear coming off of him would please the Dark Lord and didn’t bother to shove it back down. There were more important things to hide.

“The boy.” Voldemort said slowly, starting to circle Severus slowly. “The boy has turned into quite an Occlumens.” As always, Severus chose not to speak. It was best to limit the potential to say the wrong thing and anger the Dark Lord.

“You have been teaching him have you not?” Voldemort was beginning to slowly circle Severus. Only experience prevented fear from completely robbing him of his powers of speech.

“Yes my lord.” Severus replied. Voldemort knew this. Severus had told him long ago on Dumbledore’s orders. Voldemort hadn’t been worried about the challenge of breaking through the defenses of a fifteen year old boy and had instructed Severus to teach him well-enough that Dumbledore would not be suspicious. Was it possible Severus had done his job too well?

“He does well.” Voldemort commented again, his voice heavy with suspicion.

“Surely my lord, a legilimens of your power…” The Dark Lord thrashed his wand angrily at Severus. Severus’ face burned, blood trickled into his lips. If he didn’t know he was in trouble before, he knew it now. Severus felt his heart start to speed up.

“Do not compare my abilities to that talentless, half-blood child!” The Dark Lord exclaimed. Severus bowed his head slavishly. Voldemort seemed to gain a hold on himself.

“It is not Potter’s occlumency skills that interest me Severus. It is yours.” Voldemort stopped right in front of Severus’ face. Inches separated them. Severus blinked.

“Mine my lord?” Severus replied, feigning confusion, buying himself more time. He had rehearsed these conversations with Dumbledore repeatedly. Voledmort didn’t move but gave a horrible, stretched smile.

“The boy is so competent after only a few months of lessons. It makes me wonder if I have truly tested how talented your Occlumency skills are.” Voldemort whispered softly. Severus recognized this tone as his most dangerous.

“Crucio.” Voldemort said, his tone was casual, unaffected as Severus collapsed on his knees. “I am told prolonged exposure to pain will weaken an Occlumens.”

It felt like a fire had been lit in Severus’ bones. Pain started from the inside and worked its way out to his skin. But Severus was prepared for this. He had felt this fire before and he would feel it again. With practiced ease, he focused on his Occlumency shields and nothing else, not his own pain, not his fear and not the hope that the pain might stop.

xXx

“Harry I don’t know about this.” Hermione whispered warily. Ron nodded in agreement, looking green. They were shut in the Charms classroom. With OWLs, NEWTs and finals approaching, the Gryffindor common room was always too full to talk, but the Professors were happy to leave their classrooms unlocked so students could prepare for the practical portion of their exams..

“Even Dobby thinks this is stupid Harry, and he thinks your brilliant. There’s got to be another way.” Ron added looking down at the shaking elf. It was only appreciation that Ron had forgiven Harry so quickly for breaking his nose earlier that stopped Harry from yelling at him.

“There is no one from the Order at Hogwarts. We can’t get anyone to help us.” Harry reiterated firmly. Hermione twisted her hands in anticipation but nodded.

“Harry’s right Ron. Someone needs to check-up on him.” Hermione said, seemingly stiffening her resolve. It had been over eight hours since Professor Snape had left his office and despite Harry, Ron and Hermione’s repeated knocks on his door, they had not seen him since. As there were no Order members to check on him, Harry had convinced Dobby to apparate him in to Snape’s private quarters. The elf looked about as scared as Harry felt. If Snape found out and was not injured, Harry would certainly be turned in to potions ingredients.

“If I’m not back quickly, use my mirror to call Sirius.” Harry said to Ron who was holding the mirror fragment of his hands. Harry wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around himself and Dobby. With any luck, they would land in Snape’s living room, see him sitting there reading a book and apparate out before Snape could even consider that someone was in the room with him.

“Ready Dobby?”

“Yes Harry Potter. Dobby is ready sir.” Dobby said in a tone that suggested one could never be truly ready to invade Snape’s privacy.  Dobby took Harry’s hand in his long, green one and snapped his fingers.

Harry flew through the air at a pace that made his stomach flip over in protest. He had to grab Dobby’s shoulder to stop from falling when he landed hard on the grey carpet of Snape’s living room. It took Harry a second to get his bearings and then he found what he had been looking for.

Snape was not sitting on his chair reading a book. He was lying on the floor in a horrifying mix of blood and robes. For a terrible moment, Harry thought Snape was dead. The blood on the floor, the bluish-white face that was half-exposed as Snape lay, curled on his side all looked impossibly bad. But then Harry realized that he was hearing a sound like a toy being sucked up a vacuum, harsh and ratting and that sound was coming from Snape as he fought to draw in shallow, painful breaths.

“Oh no, oh no. oh no.” Dobby said over and over again rocking back in forth in a panic. Harry’s own hands were shaking as the hovered uncertainly over Snape’s body. Checking on Snape had seemed like a good idea but Harry hadn’t really thought through what he would do if he met a scene like this. He had an extremely limited knowledge of healing spells and realized belatedly that he should have brought Hermione with him. But Hermione wasn’t here; hopefully, in a few moments she would be informing Sirius that Harry needed help. Harry was on his own until then.

Four years of near-death experiences had given Harry the ability to pull himself together under stress. He took a deep breath and dug through all the medical knowledge he had gained through the American TV shows Aunt Petunia occasionally watched. The bleeding…there was too much blood…he needed to stop the bleeding.

“Dobby, help me roll him over.” Harry said urgently, pushing Snape on his back as Dobby helped to lower the body gently. Snape’s face tensed slightly at the movement but besides that there was no other indication he knew what was happening.

Harry almost wished he hadn’t rolled the body over. Snape’s mid-section was covered in deep, wide gashes that were still oozing blood. The shirt underneath the robe had been reduced to strings of useless fabric. Harry pushed them aside irritably.

“Ferula” Harry said, miraculously remembering the spell Lupin had used to conjure bandages for Ron’s broken leg years ago. A stack of white bandages appeared shot out of Harry’s wand onto the floor. Harry quickly gathered them and pressed them down hard on Snape’s stomach. Snape let out a strangled, shocked moan at the intrusion.

“No. No.” He muttered painfully. Snape’s body was shaking all over. Shock, Harry realized abruptly. Not that he knew anything about it. Blankets…in TV there were always blankets.

“Dobby can you warm him up?” Harry asked suddenly. Harry had never cast a warming charm on a person before. It was incredibly advanced magic and Harry didn’t think that this was the time to attempt it.

“Yes Dobby can.” Dobby said, seemingly relieved to be able to help. Dobby picked Snape’s hand up off of the ground and held it between his two green ones. Warm light seemed to radiate from their hands.

“Professor.” Harry said, shuffling to be closer to Snape’s head. Snape’s forehead was creased in a frown and his lips were wordlessly muttering something. “Professor? Can you hear me?” Harry said a little desperately. He was running out of ideas and debating running to go get a blood-replenisher or even Madame Pomfrey.

As if on cue, the fire flared green and Sirius, eyes drawn to Snape’s body and Harry’s bloody hands, stepped out. Without missing a beat, Sirius strode to Snape’s side, knelt down and waved his wand over him. The injuries on Snape’s body glowed a bluish white. Snape’s entire right arm glowed and Harry realized with horror that it was completely boneless.

Sirius worked with a grim calm, not even acknowledging Harry’s presence. He tapped his wand to the larger injuries and looked increasingly tight-lipped as he read the little pieces of paper that shot out the end of his wand.

“Dobby I need pain potions, blood replenishers and disinfecting potions…quickly.” Dobby nodded, dropped Snape’s hand snapped and disappeared. Without really thinking about it, Harry picked up the fallen hand and held it tightly in his own. Sirius gently removed the mess of bandages covering Snape’s still bleeding stomach and let out a slight hiss of empathy. He hesitated for a second than nodded, seeming to steel himself.

“Try to keep him calm Harry.” Sirius said, raising his wand. “This is usually done with pain potions but we don’t have time.” Wondering how he was supposed to keep an unconscious man calm. Harry nodded, still holding the limp, cold hand in his.

Sirius bent low over Snape’s stomach, concentrating hard. He gave his wand a complicated swish and muttered something that did not seem to be English. The large gaping wounds seemed to start to knit themselves together but it looked painful and grotesque, like the skin was being stretched. Snape cried out. Sirius’ mouth tightened, but he kept muttering.

“Professor?” Harry called again softly, seeing Snape’s eyes flutter. At Harry’s voice, Snape’s eyes immediately snapped open and locked onto Harry. The sight of Harry seemed to both petrify and surprise Snape in equal measure. He gripped Harry’s hand painfully hard and looked around wildly, clearly thinking they were somewhere dangerous.

“It’s ok sir.” Harry said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “We’re at Hogwart’s. Dobby is on his way with pain-reliever.” Whenever Harry was injured the first thing he wanted to know was when the pain was going to stop. Living or dying always took second place to that. Although there was still pain in Snape’s black eyes, the alarm seemed to die down. Sirius muttered another incantation over Snape’s thrashed stomach and Snape almost arched his back in pain and moaned, crushing Harry’s fingers with his grip.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Sirius muttered, almost to himself. Sirius put the hand that wasn’t holding his wand on Snape’s leg and whispered over his stomach again. Snape’s eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

Sirius was about to say something but Dobby appeared holding almost every healing potion in Hogwarts in a large bag.

“Here is the pain potions sir.” Dobby said, grabbing the top two potions. “And blood replenishers.” Harry noticed that Sirius shoulders seemed to drop several inches as he took them.

“Good work Dobby.” Sirius said taking the vials and moving to the other side of

Snape’s head. “Thanks for your help. You can go.” Dobby nodded, looking grateful to be able to leave, and disapparated.

“Severus, wake up.” Sirius said in a gentle tone of voice that, until now, had been reserved for Harry. Severus barely stirred as Sirius heaved him up into an almost sitting position against Sirius chest.

“Severus.” Sirius said again more sharply, lightly slapping Snape’s face.

“Just spell it in to him.” Harry said, feeling more disturbed than he wanted to admit at seeing Snape look like a ragdoll. Sirius shook his head.

“That is advanced healing magic Harry. Only Poppy or Dumbledore could do it.” Sirius said, casting a nervous glance at Snape. “Maybe we ought to get her down here.” As if to starve off such an idea, Snape’s eyes opened.

“Drink this, it’ll help.” Sirius said kindly, uncorking the pain reliever and holding it to Snape’s lips. It was a mark of how far gone Snape was that he both drank the potion without comment and didn’t seem at all concerned that he was propped against Sirius’ chest.

“Good.” Sirius said in a voice that reminded Harry of Hagrid feeding sick bowtruckles. “And this one.” Sirius uncorked one blood-replenisher after another until Harry saw spots of colour return to Snape’s cheeks. The distressed, rattled breathing was gone with the pain-relieving potions. Sirius too seemed to relax slightly. Then he frowned, looking at the long, thin slash on Snape’s face, easily the least severe of the injuries.

“Episkey.” Sirius said sharply, as though the wound had personally offended him. The cut sealed itself shut. With another wave of Sirius’ wand the blood vanished off of Snape’s face and exposed stomach. Sirius looked up at Harry.

“He’ll be alright.” Sirius said, taking in the worried look on Harry’s face. It made a rather odd image, Snape propped against Sirius’ chest like a sickly child. Sirius hadn’t let him back the ground even though all the potions were swallowed. His focus seemed to be on Harry now though. With the arm that wasn’t holding Snape to him, Sirius reached over and gently placed his hand on top of Harry’s hand that was still gripping Snape’s. His eyes were gentle with concern. Harry didn’t really encode he was holding Snape’s hand until the moment and he let it go, feeling slightly embarrassed.  

“You did well Harry.” Sirius soothed. “He’ll be alright. Let’s get him into bed.” Harry nodded numbly. Sirius lowered Snape back to the ground and flourished his wand. Snape’s body gently floated in the air. Unbidden, the memory of the first night Harry met Sirius came to his mind. The scene was so similar Snape suspended horribly before them, Sirius and Harry silently following behind. But Harry knew this time Sirius wouldn’t let Snape hit a dust-bunny let alone a stone wall. As they approached the bed, Sirius gave a complicated swirl of his wand. Snape rotated to be horizontal and was gently lowered on top of the covers.

“Harry, go grab the blanket from the living room.” Sirius whispered, lifting up Snape’s boneless arm and examining it carefully. Harry nodded and did what he was told.

“It’s alright Severus. Harry is ok.” Harry heard Sirius say reassuringly to Snape who was trying to sit up. Sirius’ was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Snape down with a firm hand.

“No, no, he’s -.” Snape’s voice had taken on a high worried tone that made Harry feel a little ashamed to be intruding. His legs kicked feebly in an attempt to throw off Sirius. Harry hesitated at the door. Surely, Snape would not want Harry to see him like this. But Sirius heard Harry and held a hand out for the blanket so Harry walked over and handed it to him.

Snapes eye’s locked on Harry’s and, instead of the scorn Harry was half-expecting, a million different emotions Harry couldn’t figure out flashed across his face.

“Harry.” Snape said softly. He abruptly stopped fighting Sirius’ efforts to hold him back on the bed. He stared at Harry and Harry stared back, unable to look away from the painful look of relief in Snape’s eyes.

“See everyone’s alright.” Sirius said, his usual carefree tone back. “We’re all just in need of a good sleep.”  Sirius continued more gently, spreading the blanket over Snape who had yet to look away from Harry even though his eyelids were drooping.

Snape was unable to keep his eyes open and, after a moment of looking between Harry and Sirius, he fell asleep. Sirius flicked his wand and a studded gold band wrapped itself around Snape’s wrist. The studs pulsed rhythmically and changed to a yellowish colour.

“Respiro” Sirius whispered and, with another flick, a bright, blue bubble extended over Snape’s mouth containing what Harry assumed to be oxygen.

Sirius turned his attention to Harry, surveying him critically. After a moment, his arm came up and secured itself around Harry’s shoulder, drawing him to Sirius’ side. Harry considered resisting, but allowed himself to be pulled close after a moment. Sirius’ solidness beside him felt warm, secure.

“You did a good job tonight.” Sirius said softly, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s arm. It was taking all of Harry’s resolve to not bury his face in Sirius’ neck and bawl like a toddler so he just nodded shortly.

For about the millionth time since learning of Sirius’ existence, Harry wondered what it would have been like if Sirius had drawn his wand just a little faster that night 15 years ago and caught Pettigrew. He would have grown up with someone who loved him; someone who did things like put an arm around him when he was upset and bought him toy broomsticks. Harry couldn’t fathom that existence. It was so far from the one that he knew with the Dursleys.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” Sirius soothed, giving Harry’s shoulder a little squeeze. “I’ll stay with Snape.”

Harry shook his head, still remembering the Durselys. Even when he was little, they left him alone and scared when he was sick. As a child, Harry never more unloved and isolated than when he woke up crying and ill to find himself completely alone with no one who cared that he was hurting. Snape hadn’t left Harry to flounder alone after Voldemort blasted his mind apart. Despite the fact that Snape hated him as much, if not more, than the Dursleys, every time he woke up sick that night he had been taken care of and comforted. To leave Snape now seemed like the worst sort of disloyalty.

“No, I want to stay.” Harry replied firmly. Sirius sighed a little, but nodded in agreement. With a flash of his wand, the small, wooden chair by Snape’s dressing table had turned into a rather large couch. It took up almost the entire space between the bed and the dressing table. Both Harry and Sirius sunk into it gratefully.

“Crucio.” The pain was so unbearable that Severus did not register his body hitting the ground in an undignified collapse. He wanted to stand back up, to not yell out in pain, but no one was that strong. The curse lifted. Severus dug his fingers into the mulch and gripped the rotten wood chips for comfort.

Recovering after the first curse was easy enough. Severus’ mind was well-ordered, his most dangerous secret thoughts were carefully locked under an image of an apple tree he liked to sit in as a child. That image itself was tucked below years and years worth of information and emotion. Voldemort did not have the patience for that. As long as he stayed calm and did not disorder his mind to reveal the apple tree, all would be well.

“Legilimens.” Voldemort hissed. Potions classes, faces of students, feelings of disdain and hatred all flipped passed Severus’ mind with dizzying speed. As he and Dumbledore hoped and expected, Voldemort was looking for a clear image of Severus’ disloyalty, skating over the seemingly insignificant memories which, if examined carefully, all together, would have pointed to Severus’ true allegiance.

“Crucio” The pain came again, so intense it felt like it must have always existed and would never end. Severus felt a taste like sour milk in his mouth as he crashed to his knees. He was going to be sick.

A pair of strong hands rolled Severus over on to his side. He puked violently over the side of the bed into the large pot. When did he lie down? He gasped and shuddered over the pot for a moment. His stomach burned so much, he felt as though acid had burned a whole straight through him.

xXx

“Alright…you’re alright.” A voice was speaking in a gentle, reassuring tone right near his ear. One hand that Severus assumed belonged to the voice was holding his chest to stop him from rolling off of the bed. The other rubbed slow, deliberate circles on his back. Severus was fairly certain this was not Voldemort.

“Better now?” Asked the same solicitous voice. Severus gave a jerky nod yes even though he felt like he would never be free of pain again. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself being rolled back to lie down again. He was propped up on an exceptional amount of pillows. If anything could feel nice right now, this would.

“This will help with the pain.” The voice said, placing a vial of something up to his lips. Severus knew it wasn’t smart to take potions from an unknown voice but at this moment he didn’t care. If the voice wanted to kill him it could. A bitter pain reliever was tipped down his throat. Moments later, a water glass was held to his lips. Severus drank greedily, eager to wash the taste of sick and potion out of his mouth. He ended up choking on half of it, sending his stomach into another fit of pain. The voice swore lightly then rubbed his shoulder reassuringly as his sputters died down.

“You’ll feel better soon.” The voice promised after the coughs stopped. “Just relax and try to get some more rest.” Severus wanted to be offended at being talked to like a child but he appreciated the soft tone. It didn’t make his head hurt and he knew it wasn’t Voldemort. Something cold and wet wiped his overly hot face. It felt nice. Things seemed to hurt less now.

xXx

The white-hot agony was so blinding that Severus was almost unconscious from the pain. This had to stop soon. The Dark Lord would not want to kill him. He was useful. Dumbledore always made sure he was too useful to be killed. Severus quickly pushed that thought away. He had to keep his mind ordered.

“P-please me lord. I hide nothing from you.” Severus whispered.

“Severus, I have no use for a spy I cannot trust.” Voldemort hissed. Severus felt a new pain in his stomach. With a terrified horror, Severus realized that Voldemort was cutting into his stomach using a knife, not his wand. He wanted to torture him and perform legilimency at the same time. Blood ozzed, warm and wet to mingle with the vomit on his robes.

“You can trust me.” Severus whispered, having no idea how he was still able to speak.

“Prove it.” Voldemort hissed, cutting in to Severus again. Severus swallowed down the urge to vomit as the pain overwhelmed him. He was going to die tonight. The realization paralyzed him. His hold on his perfectly organized brain that so carefully hid his treachery was starting loosen. His mind craved comfort so badly that it was starting to rifle through old memories in a futile attempt to soothe itself. Severus gulped down air.

xXx

“It’s just a dream.” James Potter said with uncharacteristic reticence. A warm hand came to rest on top of his and squeezed gently. Severus was incredibly confused. Wasn’t James Potter dead? James Potter being alive made more sense than him holding Severus’ hand. Severus heard footsteps and whoever was holding his hand moved aside, removing their hand from his. Severus realized that his body was trembling slightly. Voldemort – the Cruciatus Curse – bits came back to him. He felt like he should be in more pain.

Opening his eyes seemed to require an unusually large amount of effort, but Severus did. The room he was in was dark. Sirius Black stood over him, his face lit eerily by his wand. Severus blinked. Sirius was still there, both observing him carefully and smiling.

“What – ?“

“Don’t worry about it.” Sirius said, cutting him off with a kind firmness. “You’ve had a bit of a long night. We’ll talk in the morning. Drink this, it’ll help.” The words felt familiar. Sirius extended a vial of what appeared to be pain reliever to him. Against his better judgment, Severus took it.

“Was James Potter here?” Severus asked, his brain wasn’t working right. A glint of laughter appeared in Sirius’ eyes.

“Not quite.” Sirius replied in that new, gentle tone Severus didn’t understand. “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better. Now drink up.” Severus tried to glare. He was not aware Sirius had become his mother. But his stomach hurt and he was tired so he took the potion. Severus felt his eyes close. Someone took the empty vial from him.

“Throw that in the sink, would you Harry?” Sirius whispered. Harry. Severus knew Harry wasn’t in the room. It made sense now. He was dreaming. He must have overdone the pain potions. He thought he felt someone pull the blanket up around his shoulders. What an odd sort of dream.

“I tried to give Tuney those sherbet balls from Hogsmeade, but she just threw them out.” Lily said with a sigh. She was swinging upside down from the lowest branch of the apple tree. Her long, red hair dangled down to meet Severus’ shoulder as he sat at the base of the trunk.

“So then, I mixed Bertie Botts Every-Flavoured Beans in to her jellybeans. She had vomit flavored one.” Lily said, laughing. Usually Severus would have joined in but nothing in the world, not even Lily, could make him smile now. The tree branches rustled and, moment’s later, Lily landed on her feet beside him.

“What’s wrong Severus?” Lily asked. seeming both slightly annoyed that he wasn’t listening to her and genuinely concerned. Severus shrugged.

“Nothing.” Severus muttered, digging his nails into one of the dropped apples, making its skin crack in a satisfying manner. Lily sat down beside him.

“You seem upset.” Lily tried again, a little hesitantly. “Is it your parents?” Her voice indicated that she wasn’t entirely sure asking him this was a good idea. Severus felt his face burn with embarrassment.

“Just go away Lily.” Severus said hotly, turning himself away from her. Severus could feel her hesitancy, but she didn’t move. After a moment, she settled herself more comfortably on the tree trunk. There was an incredibly heavy silence. All of Severus’ muscles were clenched. He couldn’t fathom why she was still there or why she wasn’t getting mad at him. Then, the grass rustled as she moved to leave. He didn’t know whether or not he wished she stayed. His head hung between his knees despondently.

“Would you like some chocolate?” Lily’s voice asked softly. Severus snapped his head up. Lily was still sitting beside him. She had dragged her bag over closer to them and now held a chocolate frog out to him. Her big, green eyes observed him warily.

“Go on then.”

After a moment Severus reached out to take it. He didn’t know why his eyes were starting burn. He didn’t dare look up at her.

“Don’t worry Sev.” She said, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch. “Soon we’ll be back at Hogwarts. I won’t have to see Petunia, and you won’t have to see your father, and we’ll be able to eat chocolate frogs by the lake with the giant squid every day.” She grabbed a chocolate frog out of the bag for herself and unwrapped it.

Severus lifted his eyes and smiled a little at her. Her words felt like a soothing balm on a fiery burn. Not because of what she said, but because she had cared enough to say it. She smiled back and rested her head on his shoulder. His heart jumped up to his throat and he felt like he couldn’t take a proper breath. Lily ate her chocolate in happy silence. In order to do something other than stare at her head on his shoulder, Severus nibbled at his too.  The soft summer breeze encircled them and a vanilla scent floated up from her. If Severus did not have the lash marks to prove he was on Earth, he would have been sure he had died and gone to heaven. It was perfection.

Severus blinked. There was no apple tree or warm summer breeze, just a pitch-black room. He tasted the remnants of pain-reliever in his mouth instead of chocolate. The familiar, parchment smell of his apartment filled his nose instead of the warm vanilla scent. He had been dreaming. He wanted to cry with disappointment.

“Professor?” Asked a soft, distinctly Potter-like voice. Snape nearly jumped off the bed in alarm. What the fuck was Harry Potter doing in his room?

“Sorry, sir.” The boy whispered. “Lumos.” The tip of Potter’s wand cast an eerie glow on the room and lit-up his face. He was pale, puffy and blearily eyed, as though he just awoke.

“How are you feeling?” Potter asked, putting on his glasses, and observing Severus carefully from a big couch. But that wasn’t right, Severus did not have a big, ugly couch in his bedroom. Severus looked around, aside from the couch and Potter everything seemed to be in place. Was he dreaming again?

“Sir, are you alright?” Potter asked again. “We’re at Hogwarts.” Potter continued. Severus felt his mouth thin into a familiar scowl.

“I know where we are Potter. My question is why the hell are you in my room.” Snape spat out. He tried to sit up but an ungodly pain flared in his stomach. Surprised, Severus gasped a little and fell back on his pillows. Harry jumped off of the couch in alarm, laying a hand on Snape’s arm.

“You should stay lying down sir.” Potter instructed nervously. “Your stomach -- you’ve been hurt quite badly. Sirius is getting some potions from Grimmauld Place.” A tense silence followed.

Severus felt himself pale. Flashes came quick and fast. The forest, the knife, Voldemort, not quite yet willing to kill his spy, sticking him into the floo at Borgin and Bourkes.  He remembered collapsing in pain, happy to die in his warm apartment. A young voice and uncertain hands – Potter – followed by a competent, reassuring voice making the pain slowly die away, telling him to relax and sleep. It was no dream. The voice was Sirius. The hand on his had not been James’, it was Harry’s.

“Can I get you anything?” Potter asked quietly.

“Get out.” Severus said sharply. He had never felt so much embarrassment and self-loathing in his entire life. He did not know how the boy got in to his apartment but he was going to change every single ward and block his fireplace. He was not going to teach the boy potions anymore let alone Occlumency, Dumbledore be damned.

The boy’s eyes widened in fright, but he looked hesitant.

“Get out now.” Severus yelled causing Potter to recoil as though he had been slapped hard across his face. Harry gave a little nod, and left.

Severus wished he had died. Everything hurt. Lily was dead. Black and Potter had spent the night watching him puke and scream. Potter had held his damn hand. He was going to be the laughing stock of Gryffindor now. Hell it would probably make the Prophet. Severus could see the headline: Harry Potter Valiantly Saves Hated Professor from Dark Lord, Gains 1000 points for Gryffindor.

Severus closed his eyes, biting back all instincts to scream, cry and throw things. Severus took a calming breath. This was not helping.  To stop from thinking about Harry fucking Potter, Snape attempted to assess his injuries. He moved to push the covers off to examine his stomach, but only one arm worked. His left sat like a filled up rubber glove beside him. It burned slightly and Severus could tell that the only reason it wasn’t in intense pain was because of liberal amounts of painkillers.

Severus sighed and awkwardly pulled at the bandage on his stomach. What had been gaping holes were now covered with thin skin. Sirius had successfully done a skin growth spell. Despite himself, Severus was a little impressed. That was difficult healing magic that involved forcing individual skin cells to expand slightly to cover a wound. Everything else just had the familiar dull, ache that came after the Cruciatus Curse was used. Given the amount of exposure, it would be about a week or so until Severus would feel comfortable again. Severus’ teeth chattered. He was cold.

There was a soft knock at his door followed by a hesitant ‘Professor?’

Severus started. Potter stared back at him from the door. He was wearing the same look of nervous determination that he had when he walked out to face the Hungarian Horntail last year.

“Would you like some tea?” He held two large mugs of tea in his hands. Severus opened his mouth, but Potter cut him off.

 “Remember, sir what you said to me – you said if I didn’t feel alone I wouldn’t feel as scared. Well – Well I reckon the same goes for you.”  Harry said it in a quick, embarrassed burst and Severus had the distinct impression that the boy had been rehearsing the sentence. He was bright red.

“I won’t leave, sir. Not until Sirius gets back.” This sentence seemed to have exhausted all of Harry’s courage. He looked down at the mugs of tea nervously. Not even Severus could yell at a student after that bumbling attempt at comfort. If Severus were the sort of person who found things endearing, that would have done it. Severus shivered, the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse still wreaking havoc on his nervous system. Harry looked up from the mugs of tea, concerned.

“You can’t have anymore pain potions, but the tea might help.” Harry said softly, almost at a whisper. He extended one of the mugs to Severus who eyed it warily. The thought of a hot cup of tea was almost appealing enough to be worth Potter’s company.

“Go on then.” Harry said with an encouraging nod. Severus was reminded abruptly of another pair of green eyes waiting hopefully for him to accept a sweet. Severus gave Harry a disgruntled look, but put out his good hand to accept the tea. Harry smiled.

The tea was warm and wonderful and although Severus knew it was purely psychological, he could have sworn his shaking limbs calmed. Harry looked around uncomfortable, clearly not willing to risk sitting back on the couch.

“Sit down Potter. I’d rather have you where I can see you.” Snape snarled. Harry sank back on the couch and took a large sip of his tea.

“Where does Umbridge think you are?” Snape asked sharply after a moment. The woman had started instituting random bed-checks.

“Hermione’s done some spell that make it seem like I’m there.” Harry answered. Wonderful, Severus thought to himself, now all of Gryffindor knows where the boy is. That was going to start some particularly nasty rumors.

“Hermione and Ron are the only ones who know. They’re worried about you too.” Harry said softly, as though reading Snape’s mind. Severus tried not to scoff at the idea of Ronald Weasley worrying over him. Harry was being kind. Severus wasn’t too thick to see that. He probably also saved his life.

“How did you get in here?” Snape asked. He was serious about changing the wards. Harry looked up at Snape nervously, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he could answer the question without getting in trouble.

“My friend Dobby apparated me in.” Harry answered, carefully gauging Snape’s face for a reaction.

“You cannot apparate within Hogwarts Potter.” Snape said, realizing with anger that he had stopped mentally calling the boy Potter and that Potter had stopped calling him sir. Now the boy was lying to him in his own quarters.

“Dobby can. He’s a house-elf.” Potter replied simply, sipping his tea. Snape blinked, taken aback.

“You are friends with a house-elf? The Malfoy’s elf?” Snape said torn between disbelief and incredulity. If true it was a pretty good idea. Granger must have thought of it.

“Yes.” Potter said defensively, giving Snape a slight glare. “And Dobby is a free elf.” Snape hid a smile. That was something Lily would’ve said.  He immediately regretted it. The suppressed chuckle made his stomach flare in agony. Snape hissed and jerked, spilling some tea on himself.

Harry reached forward and grabbed his mug, placing it on the nightstand.

“Why don’t you get some more rest, sir? Sirius will be here soon.” Harry said gently, as though the impending arrival of Black was supposed to be a comforting thought. Severus nodded and grimaced slightly. It was a little awkward to try and fall asleep with Harry on the couch beside him.

“Nox.” Harry whispered and the room was cast into pitch black. Severus listened to the boy settle into the couch. He tried to decide whether or not he was comforted by the presence in the room, but fell asleep before he came to a conclusion.

Voldemort pulled himself out of Severus’ head. Severus was half-conscious now.

“Lily Evans, still in your thoughts is she?” Voldemort said, his voice tight with suspicion.

“I have not hidden that from you my lord.” Severus whispered. His mouth was dry and chapped. Everything felt fuzzy. It was true. Severus had once begged the most dangerous wizard in the world to spare Lily’s life. To hide that he loved her would only prove he was hiding his thoughts and feelings.

“She’s long dead.” Voldemort said simply. He seemed more puzzled at finding that Lily’s memory was still powerful than concerned. Voldemort would never understand over 20 years of unrequited love, something Severus was able to use to his advantage. Severus managed an ironic quirk of his lips from his place on the trees.

“I know my lord.” Severus said, more blasé than he felt. This seemed to mollify Voldemort slightly. Voldemort kept talking but Severus couldn’t hear him. He could just hear his blood in his ears.

“Crucio.” Severus thought he saw Voldemort laugh. He could see spots and Dumbledore’s eyes. He was going mad. He was going to be insane like the Longbottoms.  He couldn’t take anymore.

 “Severus, wake up.” Severus knew that voice. He obeyed instantly. Dumbledore was sitting at the edge of Severus’ bed. A deep frown line replaced the usual benign smile. Despite the fact that it was now the wee hours of the morning, the Headmaster was wearing a travelling cloak  - black opposed to his usual flamboyant coloured one – over somber robes. Clearly, he was still very much on the run.

“You shouldn’t be here Professor,” Severus said. It came out a little more sharply than he intended it to, but he was not going to have Dumbledore risk being sent to Azkaban just so the man could stare pityingly at Severus from his bedside.  Severus moved to sit up but Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on his arm that clearly told Severus he was not to move.

“My shields weren’t broken.” Severus continued, uneasy at Dumbledore’s silent, penetrating examination. Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed, as though Severus’ comment had deeply hurt him. His hand remained, warm and heavy, on Severus’ arm.

“I’m not worried about that right now my dear boy.” Dumbledore said softly. “I’m worried about you.” Dumbledore gave Severus a look that was so piercingly intense that Severus, for a moment, felt like Dumbledore was about to perform legilimency on him. He didn’t. He just stared. Severus knew that Dumbledore was trying to gauge how pathetic, weak and frightened Voldemort had left him. To see if this was the time Voldemort broke him.

“I’m fine Headmaster.” Severus said in a voice quite foreign to his own. Dumbledore looked at Severus and opened his mouth as if to speak. He closed it, and looked towards the enchanted window in Severus’ room that was starting to shift from black to dusky grey.

“Alright.” He withdrew his hand from Severus’ arm. Severus hadn’t realized that the headmaster had been covering the Dark Mark with his hand until he removed it. He wondered if it was intentional.

“Can you me what happened?” Dumbledore asked, his tone more businesslike. Severus ran a tired hand across his face and nodded.

“He only summoned me. He no longer trusts me. Not completely.” Severus said softly, facing Dumbledore again. “Potters Occlumency skills have made him suspicious.” He found himself unable to look at the Headmaster. He tried to force away the intruding memory of Voldemort slashing his stomach, the agony of the Cruciatus curse, the feeling of fear when he felt his hold on his mind slip perilously.

It was lucky the comforting thought his mind reached for this time was Lily. What if next time it was a memory of one of the few times he had indulged in Dumbledore’s comfort, or had sunk into a chair at Grimmauld Place, hating the company but feeling safe and so relieved to be somewhere so well hidden from Voldemort. This was why Severus was all too happy to push away Arthur’s attempts at friendship and Albus’ invitations for tea. The memories of comfort, of safety and compassion were the memories any mind would grab for in the face of overwhelming fear. Thus, they were harder to keep locked under his shields when he was with Voldemort. The less compassion he had in his life, the better.

“I don’t like the look of that thought you are thinking,” Dumbledore said gently, breaking Severus out of his reverie. Severus dared to look back at the headmaster. His eyes were soft, warm, paternal even. Severus had seen that look on Dumbledore’s face before. He craved and hated that look in equal measure. He craved how loved and safe it made him feel and hated that it made him feel that way. He never knew how to respond appropriately. His own father had never looked at him like that growing up. Severus looked away.

“He says he will test me.” Severus said, barely at a whisper. For a wild moment he considered mentioning the crazed look of mingled vehemence and ecstasy on Voldemort’s face when he made the threat. But he didn’t need to. Dumbledore knew Voldemort’s psychopathy and knew that Severus could barely put one foot in front of the other some days out of fear. As if to confirm his understanding, Dumbledore placed his hand back on Severus’ arm, again on top of the Dark Mark.

“Something to worry about at a later date I think.” Dumbledore responded. The warm hand on his cold arm seemed to give Severus a second wind.

“He promised to discover my true loyalty.” Severus nodded towards his useless rubber glove of an arm. “This was to be a warning to you.” Dumbledore looked taken aback then stared at Severus’ arm, a dangerous fury replaced the warm concern in Dumbledore’s eye.

“This was to be a warning to me?” Dumbledore asked, gingerly picking up Severus’ disgusting facsimile of an arm. He examined it closely then closed his eyes and whispered something.

“Oi what that hell!” Came Sirius’ sleepy, startled voice from the living room. Severus looked urgently at Dumbledore, who just chuckled to himself. Sirius opened the door looking slightly put out. Fawkes was sitting on his shoulder nipping at Sirius’ ear affectionately.

“Your bird, sir.” Sirius said with an air of great disgruntlement. The phoenix took off with a soft trill and flew to Dumbledore’s hand.

“Ah Sirius. I knew Fawkes would be fond of you.” Dumbledore said stroking the birds back. “He has always rather fond of wizard’s with healing powers.” Sirius blushed furiously and scratched at his head, taken off-guard by the compliment.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Sirius said, closing the door. With a gentle nudge from Dumbledore, Fawkes waddled up to Severus arm and observed it for a moment.

“Professor the Skle-Grow is just as effective.” Severus protested as the bird laid his head on Severus’ arm. A warm, wet tear fell on to his arm. Severus didn’t know why he was protesting, but something about Dumbledore’s bird mournfully crying over his arm made him feel tearful and vulnerable.

“I won’t have this injury cause you anymore pain Severus.” Dumbledore replied firmly. The phoenix tears were incredible. In moments, his arm had returned to its normal, bone-filled state. Severus wriggled his fingers and gave the bird a little pat in thanks.

The bird gave a soft chirp and glided gracefully over to a lump of blankets on the couch. The lump moved. Potter, Severus realized with horror. He looked up to Dumbledore, whose eyes were positively dancing with amusement.

“Interesting crowd tonight.” Dumbledore said smiling at Severus. Then, before Severus could stop him, Dumbledore pulled the covers up to Severus chin.

“Albus –“ Severus said warningly. But Dumbledore ignored him with a smile and smoothed the covers down, like a parent would with a much-loved toddler. Severus pushed that thought out of his mind.

“I daresay you’re in need of a spot of fussing, not to mention a good rest. I’m going to put you in a dreamless sleep.” Dumbledore said in a tone that left no room for argument. Before Severus could say anything, Dumbledore pointed his wand at Severus’ face and Severus slumped onto the pillow, unconscious. It was a good thing too. He would have been must aggrieved to observe Dumbledore holding his hand firmly, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he watched Severus sleep.

xXx

“Hermione, he’s waking up.” The voice sounded positively petrified at the thought.

“That’s a good thing Ron.” Granger responded, although her own voice held a thread of anxiety. Severus kept his eyes shut. If he was not dreaming and someone had let Potter’s entourage into his quarters, Severus was just going to stay in bed with his eyes firmly shut until he fell back asleep.

“Professor?” Granger said, trying to sound comforting through her nervousness. “He’s still asleep Ron.” She said in an annoyed whisper. “That’s the fifth time. I’m trying to study.”

“Well I’m the one sitting with him aren’t I? It’s my brain that are going to get pickled if he wakes up.” Weasley replied heatedly. Despite himself, Severus had to admit he was slightly amused.

“Oh, go on then. You’re stew is almost done anyways.” Granger said acerbically. At that moment, Severus could smell something deeply unpleasant, like burning socks.

“It’s not a stew.” Weasley said defensively, further away from Severus now. “It’s Healer’s Helper. My mom always made it for us when we were sick.”

Granger gave a derisive sort of snort. From her proximity, Severus could tell she had settled into the god-awful couch beside his bed. For not the first time in the last 24 hours, Severus wished Voldemort had killed him. At least then he’d be spared the awkwardness of this whole situation.

“You think he’s going to be ok, right?” The girl asked. She sounded genuinely nervous and Severus could feel her eyes charging into him.

“Of course he will. We wouldn’t get that lucky.” Weasley replied in a bracing sort of tone that didn’t quite cover the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Ron, don’t joke.” Granger snapped sounding almost, tearful? Oh god. Severus deeply, deeply missed being tortured by Voldemort. And where was Harry? After that all-for-one speech he had been given at midnight, he was a little surprised to wake up without the boy or Sirius. He told himself that the flash of annoyance he felt was not a result of disappointment.

“Professor Snape? Can you hear me?” Granger said, suddenly alert. Severus realized with horror that he had grimaced audibly at the thought of seeing the girl cry. If he woke up, he could send them away, or at least get his female student out of his bedroom. This whole situation was beyond inappropriate. Severus opened his eyes and glared at Granger. She gave him a wary smile. Severus wondered if Harry had described his welcome to her.

“Miss Granger.” Snape said slowly. “Why are you here?” Snape said through gritted teeth, opting for fierce intimidation instead of outright anger. Belatedly, he realized it was hard to be intimidating tucked into bed with a wet washcloth on one’s forehead. He ripped the cloth off immediately.

“Well sir, Sirius is brewing something and Harry needed a few hours to study for our Transfiguration OWL this afternoon.” Granger said, her voice falsely bright. “So Ron and I thought we’d uhm – keep you company?” 

Her jaw tightened but she held his gaze defiantly. She was readying for a fight. Snape found himself too tired to give her one. Harry had slept in his room and, judging by the fact that he hadn’t had to use the washroom all night, Sirius had been taking care of his bladder by magic. His privacy had been so violated in the past few hours that the appearance of these two brats was hardly enough to raise his ire.

“What is that smell?” Severus asked. It was bad enough that the children were in his room. Severus was not going to have them blowing things up. Granger looked like she half wanted to laugh and was half-afraid.

“It’s Healer’s Helper.” Weasley said from the doorway, a proud grin on his freckled face. He held a tray containing a large bowl of – something – and looked remarkably like Molly when she decided someone was underfed. “My mom always makes it when we’re sick. It’ll put you right in an instant.”

The boy carried the tray over and placed it on Severus’ lap, beaming like he had just presented Severus with London’s best treacle tart. Both Severus and Granger peered into the bowl skeptically. It was filled with a sort of grayish broth. If Severus hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the large chunks floating in it were rat brains from his potion’s store. Severus looked up at Weasley, whose grin faltered slightly.

“I couldn’t quite remember the recipe. I’ve never made it before you see,” Weasley explained, going a little red. Granger snorted. Mostly because Severus wanted to see just how badly the boy had screwed up (and not-at-all because he was touched the boy had attempted to make the dish for him) Snape took a small spoonful. Granger grimaced as he swallowed. It tasted worse than it looked. It took all his self-control not to spit it over the bed.

“Water, please Miss Granger.” He chocked out before turning to a rather red-faced Ron. “Mr. Weasley, I have had your mother’s cooking countless times. I assure you, this is not her recipe.”  He gratefully chugged the water the girl handed to him.

“Told you so.” Granger said, turning back to her impressively large stack of study notes, earning a scowl from Weasley.

“I thought it looked off.” The boy admitted, taking the bowl from Snape and sniffing it. He looked a little repulsed. “I’ll just get the house elves to send something up. Do you like chicken soup?” He asked, uncharacteristically obliging. 

 Severus gave a little nod, and the boy left, leaving him alone with Granger again. Severus wished he hadn’t. Even though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he felt like a creepy old man having a 15-year-old student in his bedroom. The girl, however seemed completely non-pulsed. She kept looking at her parchment, then looking up and seemed to be trying to repeat what she had read. Severus looked down at the mountain of paper beside the girl. Surely she wasn’t attempting to remember all of this information. Severus shifted on the bed and Granger’s eyes jumped from her paper to observe him critically.

“Are you ok sir?” She asked. “Sirius doesn’t want you taking anymore pain potions until he looks in on you.” Severus was going to tell Sirius where to stick it next time he saw him.

“What are you studying?” Severus asked in order to say something that had nothing to do with his physical condition.

“Transfiguration.” The girl responded, still observing him carefully. Severus nodded.

“What are the two essential differences in vanishing animate vs. inanimate objects?” He asked mostly because he was bored, and if he was going to be sitting in this bed with Moe and Curly beside him, they might as well learn something.

“Animate objects require a greater ratio of power-to-size, and the tranfigurer must be able to overpower an animate objects’ desire not to vanish.” She answered automatically. Severus nodded in approval.

They went on like this for a while. Joined by Weasley (“Hermione your not making him test you? He’s ill!). He was far less competent than Granger, but far more entertaining in his answers, which got increasingly rude the more he got wrong. Severus supposed he should have said something about the language but this was an odd-situation, and an odd-day, and he didn’t feel like it. Being able to lecture them on transfiguration took his mind of the burning in his stomach and it wasn’t until the chicken soup came that he thought of something Granger had said earlier.

“Where is Black?” He snapped suddenly over his bowl of soup. The children, who had just started to seem comfortable in his presence, looked up at him with wide-eyes.

“Well, he needed to brew a potion so – “ Severus was on his feet before Granger could finish her answer. His stomach burned, almost forcing him to sit back down, but he batted away the hands that reached out to help him. Clad only in his pajamas (someone must have transfigured his Death Eater robes) he swept down the hall as convincingly as he could whilst being almost doubled-over in pain.

“What are you doing?” Severus snapped from the dungeon doorway. Black was transfigured to look like a third-year and wearing Hogwarts robes, but Severus, who had known Black at that age, recognized him immediately. The image was not endearing. Sirius’ mouth opened in surprise, then he looked equally angry.

“What are you doing out of bed? Sit down.” Sirius said angrily. He pointed his wand at a stool and it transformed into a large armchair. He pushed Severus into it moments later. Severus irritably threw Sirius’ arm off but sat in the chair. He didn’t think his legs would work much longer.

“Stop fussing.” Severus snapped as Sirius moved to check on his stomach. Sirius didn’t listen and batted his hands away.

“Worse than James you are.” Sirius grumbled, peeling back the corner of Severus shirt to look at his stomach. Severus didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just let Sirius poke around his stomach until he nodded, apparently satisfied. 

“And what are you doing wandering around the castle? Your lucky Umbridge doesn’t walk in here and sent you straight to the Dementors.” Severus hissed looking back towards the door.

“Look, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Sirius pointed at the Marauder’s Map sitting open by the cauldron. Severus grit his teeth resisting the urge to lunge for that godforsaken map and tear it to shreds.

“Clearly, you weren’t watching it very closely if I was able to sneak up on you.” Severus retorted hotly, unsure why he was so annoyed with Black’s antics.

“Aw, are you worrying about me Snapey?”

“What did you just call me?” Severus snapped back waspishly. Sirius grinned. 

“I made you this.” Sirius said getting up and walking towards the caldron. “You’re timing is perfect actually.” Sirius ladled an extremely watery, orange looking potion into a cup and carried it back over to Severus.

“I believe I am the Potions master at this school.” Snape said looking at the potion derisively.

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” Sirius said, but there was a smile on his face. “Trust me. It’ll help.”

Since Sirius hadn’t killed him yet, Severus reluctantly took the potion. It tasted rather sour and burned a little as it went down. Nothing happened for a moment. He was just about to tell Sirius so when the sort of bone-deep warmth one gets from being wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea spread through his entire body. He didn’t realize how much pain and tension he was feeling until it vanished. His limbs no longer shook.

“What is that?” Snape asked, stretching his fingers and legs, amazed to feel nothing but the normal pull and release of his muscles.

“A Cruciatus potion James and I came up with during the war.” Sirius said casually, as though he had brewed up a simple burn salve. “It’s not as good as it seems now. It’ll wear off after an hour-or-so and you can only have a few doses. It reacts badly with a lot of other potions.” Severus had no idea why Sirius was downplaying this.

“Do you realize how much this is worth?” Severus said with the same edge he had in his voice that he had when talking to Longbottom. Sirius looked surprised.

“Well, it’s not very good. James and I were just playing around with it cause of the war.” Sirius said with a bewildered shrug. Severus wanted to explain to him that medical miracles generally consisted of slow, consistent improvements to imperfect formulas but he found he didn’t have the energy. Clearly, Sirius’ aptitude for healing went beyond first-aid.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked, changing the subject. Severus didn’t know how to respond. In the last 24 hours, he had had tea with Potter, been tortured, been fussed over by Black, had tea with Potter again and woke up to the Bobsey Twins watching over him. Only Voldemort’s actions made sense to him, which was a thoroughly disturbing thought.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Sirius said when Severus didn’t answer, sounding a little concerned. To Severus’ amazement it didn’t hurt to stand, and he was able to walk comfortably, if slowly, to the door. At the door, he turned to Sirius.

“You saved my life.” Severus said matter-of-factly. He meant to say it as a thank you but it came out rather skeptical. Sirius looked a little offended.

“I’m not a completely horrible person you know.” He huffed, poking his head out to ensure the hallways were empty. Satisfied, they started down the hallway, Sirius matching Severus’ slower stride.

“Well seeing as you did try to kill me once…” Severus said, more harshly than he felt. Sirius looked a little stung and Severus, for the first time, noticed the lines of exhaustion and stress on the other man’s face. Between stopping Severus from dying and brewing that potion, Sirius clearly had been up all night. The realization made Severus immediately feel ashamed. It was a stupid time to bring up a night so long past.

“Yes, well in my defense, seeing as you suspected that Moony was a werewolf, I didn’t think you were going to be stupid enough to actually try to see for yourself.” Sirius sighed, sounding weary. He hesitated for a moment, then continued.

“Moony had it so rough. I suppose we were all a little overprotective where he was concerned…and I have never had a great control over my temper.” Sirius’ voice contained that pleading, uncertain tone of someone who was trying their best to explain something while knowing they didn’t quite have the words.

“I am sorry.” Sirius said, more gravely than he had ever said anything. “And I was sorry as soon as it happened. I should have said so a long time ago.”

“Did they know?” Severus didn’t know why he asked but the question had been rippling under his skin for over 20 years. Sirius looked mildly surprised but shook his head.

“No, no they didn’t know.” Sirius answered, a small, sad smile on his face. “James wouldn’t talk to me for weeks and Remus.” Sirius swallowed. “Well things weren’t the same with us for a long time after that. If he’d’ve killed you…” Sirius trailed off, the thought too horrible.

It was odd, having the truth now after all these years. He supposed somewhere deep down he always knew that as malicious as the Marauders were they were privileged assholes, not murders.

“I suppose we’re even now.” Severus said as ungraciously as he could. They stopped outside Severus’ portrait hole and observed one and another for a tense moment.

“You’re healing abilities are above average.” Severus said. “We should utilize them.” Sirius, who had been re-transfiguring himself to look his normal age, stopped abruptly and turned to stare at Severus, confusion playing out on his face.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that we are in the middle of a war, Black. We are going to have injuries. If the current climate remains, there will be more and more instances where Order members are unable to go to Poppy or Saint Mungos.” Severus said, almost suspecting Sirius of being deliberately obtuse.

“You think I should become a healer?” Sirius said sounding half-incredulous and half-intrigued.

“You seem to possess the rudimentary skills and the predilection.” Severus said. One of his secret pleasures was helping the fifth year students pick career paths. He lacked the temperament to fuss over his Slytherins, but he enjoyed when they came to his office and, almost combusting with embarrassment, disclosed a secret passion or goal. He was able to show he cared for them and believed in them by doing nothing more than approving of their ambition and pointing them towards the correct pamphlet. When the walked out of his office, excited instead of embarrassed, it was one of the few times he felt well-suited to teaching.

“I can’t exactly apply to get the training.” Sirius protested. “I didn’t even know how to spell potions into you.” Severus shrugged.

“You were competent last night. The rest is just book-learning.” Severus said before hesitating. “Dumbledore would be able to train you. I could help in some areas as well.” The last part of the sentence came out rather stilted and painful but Sirius didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at Snape as though someone had just it him over the head with an anvil. Snape returned the look with a long assessing one.

“I know it’s not blowing up buildings and risking your neck every day, but surely it’s better than sitting at home doing nothing. You said you wanted to be of more use to the Order, this is your chance.” With that, Severus entered his quarters, which were considerably more full than he preferred.

The three musketeers had made themselves rather at home around Severus’ kitchen table. Hermione was transfiguring one of Severus’ teacups to a pig while Ron stared at her stack of notes, his eyes glazed. Potter had returned as well. He was fiddling his wand as he whispered memorized information under his breath in a hurried whisper.

“Will you stop that?” Snapped Hermione peevishly as Potter accidently made fat raindrops fall from the ceiling onto Hermione’s notes.

“Professor.” Hermione greeted warmly, noticing Severus and Sirius standing by the door. Harry and Ron looked up at Severus too, both a little more uncertain of their welcome.

“My living room is not the bloody Peach Pit.” Severus said shortly. He was made less-threatening by Sirius pushing him towards his easy-chair.

“Go on kids, you heard him.” Sirius said, winking at them as though Snape’s rancor was some sort of adorable quirk they all tolerated good-naturedly. Severus turned to give him a look of deep loathing, but Sirius was already settling himself way to comfortably on Severus’ couch. As the children packed up, Sirius summoned a kettle, started a fire and started boiling water for tea.

“Goodbye Professor. Thank you for your help earlier.” Hermione said, giving him a smile and a wave. “Goodbye Sirius.” Sirius had stood when the children moved to leave and, quite unexpectedly, Hermione trotted over to the couch and gave Sirius a fleeting hug. Looking rather surprised, but pleased, Sirius returned it.

“Bye Hermione,” Sirius replied, bemused.

“If you want, I can write my mom for the proper recipe for that stew.” Ron said, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. “It really works!” Severus’ lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile and Sirius laughed outright.

“Thank you Mr. Weasley.” Severus was about to say that Ron’s cooking was as bad as his potions work, but he stopped himself at the earnest look on the boy’s face. “I’m quite fine.”

“Alright.” Ron said, following Hermione to the door with a wave to Sirius.

“Glad you’re feeling better, sir.” “Harry said softly, his eyes betraying more nervousness then the other two. He fiddled with his wand. Severus gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. The boy turned to follow Hermione and Ron out of the room. Abruptly, Severus realized he should probably thank Harry for saving his life but the boy had already started to walk away and Severus didn’t have the words.

“Good luck you lot.” Sirius called after them. He ruffled Harry’s already messy hair fondly as he walked past him. Harry batted him off, but looked slightly pleased as he approached the portrait hole.

“We’ll be back to check in on you lot later.” Harry promised as he stepped through the portrait hole, not looking back. Severus was going to tell him to absolutely not do such a thing, but the portrait hole closed and the sound of laughter and footsteps died away. Severus was left with the very distinct feeling he had just been adopted by the trio, like some sort of stray.

Severus sighed. He was a spy in the middle of a war. There was no time for companionship and children’s studying. Even if there was, friendship was not a thing Severus had craved in years. Exchanging light barbs with Minerva about Quidditch and reluctantly accepting rock cakes from Hagrid at Christmas had sufficed for “friendship” during Severus’ last 14 years. He hardly saw a reason to change now.

“Are you planning on staying here all day?” Severus snapped at Sirius acerbically.

“Mhmm” Sirius replied, not looking up from the healing pamphlet he nicked off of Severus’ bookshelf. With an impatient flick of his wand, Sirius conjured a large stack of sandwiches and grasped one, still reading the pamphlet keenly. “Eat.”

Severus grunted and grabbed a sandwich and a stack of lesson plans from under the coffee table.

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.

Sirius, Severus and Harry stared at the rat, too transfixed by the sight to move. It only took that moment of horrified silence for Sirius to completely lose his head. With an howl that made him seem less like a man and more like the large, dangerous dog he transformed into, Sirius threw himself at Peter, landing hard on the floor. The rat was too fast.

At the same moment, Severus cast a freezing spell, but the curse missed and hit the coffee table instead causing glass to rain down on Sirius and Peter. Neither seemed to care, and Sirius scrambled over the glass to attempt to grab the rat again.

“Stupefy!” yelled Harry from behind Severus. The curse landed finely between Peter and Sirius and Severus didn’t dare try again with Sirius’ fingers perilously close to the rat. The rat scuttled into a small hole in the wall that Severus has never noticed. Severus’ forehead creased in confusion, but before he could formulate a thought he saw Sirius scramble to his feet and raise his wand.

“BLACK! NO!” Severus yelled. But it was too late. Sirius’ wand came crashing down, and the wall exploded. The high ceilings and cool green and silver furnishings of the Slytherin common room burst into view, as did several students whose eyes and mouths were all rounded in surprise.

“That’s Sirius Black,” one boy whisper-yelled. The ensuing panic would have been hilarious if the situation was remotely funny. Girls shrieked, some students drew their wands, others raced for the portrait hole causing Emmeline Kliene, a particularly small first-year, to almost be trampled. Sirius realized the danger and went to pull the little girl out the throng of students. Jack Prewett, in an act that was both incredibly brave and stupid, ran up and kicked Sirius in the shins. Sirius swore and dropped the girl’s arm and Jack pulled her back to the crowd. If they made it out of this, Severus was going to give Jack ten points just for the sheer hilarity.

“Enough, enough.” Severus said firmly, his voice raised only enough to carry over the din of panic. Rather reluctantly, the throng of students stopped their movement and turned their wide-eyes to him.

“Black put away your wand. You’re scaring them,” Severus muttered as he walked by him to address the students. Sirius, still stunned by the appearance of the Slytherin common room, looked at his wand as though he just remembered possessing it. He stowed it in his pocket and gave the students a sheepish smile.

“Erm – has anyone seen a rat?” asked Sirius asked hopefully, before Severus could open his mouth. Most of the students continued to simply gape at Sirius while others reluctantly checked their surrounding areas. Severus turned and glared at him then returned his attention to the students.

“None of you are in any danger. If you’d please - ”

“Sorry Professor, but is this the rat you were looking for?” asked Faye Dawson, holding the rat out to Severus without a hint of disgust or fear on her face. Severus narrowed his eyes slightly as he approached her. She was the niece of Yaxley, one of the fiercer Death Eaters, and Severus had no doubt she would head the same way. Dark hair and blue eyes that were as cold as highly-polished marble, she was exceedingly pretty and dangerously intelligent. Unlike Draco her allegiance was never something to boast about, she was careful, calculating, the Dark Lord already had her pegged for his inner circle. She returned his narrowed eyes with the slightest raise of her thin eyebrows as Severus took the rat from her.

It was all-wrong. Severus knew instantly. The fur, though close in colour was slightly greyer than Peter’s and the missing toe was on the wrong foot. Severus raised his eyes to meet Faye’s again. The left corner of her lip lifted up in to the beginning of a smile and her eyes conveyed nothing but knowledge.

“It’s not Peter, Black.” Severus said softly, turning away from the wretched girl to face Sirius who was looking at the rat with wide-eyed horror.

“No…” whispered Black, the disbelief was clear in his voice even as dawning comprehension filled his pale face. Severus didn’t have time for Black to process. He roughly grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him back across the destroyed wall to the apartment.

“You have to get out of here now.” Severus said lowly “Before - ”

“Well, well, well – what do we have here?” The sweet, sticky voice that Severus hated so much flowed through the common room like a spilt potion. Umbridge appeared at the portrait hole, flanked by two Aurors.

“Arrest him,” ordered Umbridge, a hard smile on her paunchy face. A surge of anxiety flooded through Severus’ veins. “The Dementors have been waiting an awfully long time for this.”  Severus felt Sirius’ arm tense under his hand and his wide-eyes flickered from Umbridge to the students, clearly trying to assess the possibility of fighting without hurting one of the children. Severus gripped his wand in the pocket of his robes. He supposed at this point they were in it together.

“NO!” yelled Harry, stumbling over the rubble to put himself between the Aurors and Sirius. “You can’t take him! He’s innocent.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” said Sirius. The comforting words were belied by the thready tremor in Sirius’ voice that Snape had heard only one other time: when he thought he was about to be expelled from Hogwarts.

“I fancy myself a little more well-informed about Black’s situation than you, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said, teeth barred in a horrible, patronizing smile. “What are you waiting for? Get him. Potter and Snape too, they must be questioned.” There was a rumble of disapproval from the Slytherin students.

“Harry and Snape have done nothing,” Sirius almost whispered. There was none of the usual levity and over-confidence in his voice, it was replaced by an almost beseeching tone. He pulled Harry back from the Aurors.

“That remains to be seen,” Umbridge replied toothily, nodding to the Aurors. The taller of the two Aurors wrenched Potter’s arm from Sirius.

“You can’t do that!” Jake protested, aghast. The mutinous mutterings of some of the Slytherins grew louder, and a fifth year girl was drawing her wand. Severus’ eyes flicked between Sirius, Harry, and the Slytherin students. Add Dumbledore and a few Order members and all the people Severus cared about would currently be threatened. He didn’t enjoy the feeling.

“You can’t take him to the Dementors.” Harry said to the Auror, clearly hoping he was more reasonable than Umbridge. “He is innocent. Please. Dumbledore can explain –“ The Aurors that had seized Sirius by the arms were now half-dragging him towards the door and Potter’s pleas were almost nonsensical.

Severus was so busy trying to formulate a plan to get Sirius and Harry away without hurting any Slytherin students that he didn’t notice Jake run up to the portrait hole, blocking it with his small body.

“Out of the way, boy.” The Auror bellowed. Jake wide-eyed, shook his head no.

“It’s alright, kid,” Sirius said with a little smile on his face, even as he eyed the Auror’s wand apprehensively. “Go on, sit down.”

“Do as he says, Mr. Prewett.” Snape said beginning to feel his heart beat in his ears. Umbridge wasn’t above blasting a student out of the way, and the boy was going to accomplish nothing with the gesture. It was positively Gryffindor-esque. He felt a new sympathy for Minerva.

“If he’s innocent, you can’t take him,” said Jack in a small-voice. “You should hear his side of the story. It’s only fair.”

“Jack!” Severus snapped, looking warily at the wand in the Auror’s right hand, “Sit. Down.”

“Enough of this!” Umbridge yelled, a hysterical note to her voice. She pointed her wand at Jack. That was not on.

“HEY!” Severus yelled as he lunged at her. The last thing he saw was the fuzzy pink of Umbridge’s sweater as she raised her arms to defend herself.

The first thing Severus wanted to know was why his bed was so hard and cold. He might come off as the kind of guy who liked a hard bed and needed only a thin blanket, but really, Severus liked big, soft beds and clean, squishy duvets. This was all wrong.

“Professor, please wake up,” someone begged, their voice panicky.  Severus attempted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t quite remember how.  

“Snape, you have to wake up.” The voice sounded near tears and shook him roughly. Clearly, the voice wasn’t alright. It needed help. For some reason, that thought provided the motivation Severus needed to pry open his eyelids.  

Potter’s face hovered inches above his own. Severus tried to recoil but only succeeded in banging his head on the stone floor.

“Does the concept of personal space mean anything to you, Potter?” Severus asked rubbing his head. There was no apology or abashment on Potter’s face, only pure panic.

“Sir, they’ve got Sirius. They said that they will perform the kiss at nightfall. Just like last time.” Potter’s eyes were so wide that they seemed to take up an unusually large portion of his pale face. They seemed to dull the usually overwhelming effect of James’ high cheekbones and strong jaw-line on Harry’s appearance. For the first time, all Severus could see was Lily, Lily, Lily all over the boy’s face. Lily’s eyes staring at him: frightened, wordlessly begging for help. Severus blinked, he must have hit his head really fucking hard.

He tried to sit up but his stomach burned and his head throbbed with fresh vengeance. Harry put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I think you re-opened some of those gashes on your stomach when you flew at Umbridge,” explained Harry, anxiously.

“Jack?” Severus asked, feeling to nauseous to say anything more.

“He’s fine,” Harry said, looking Snape over with concern. “One of the Aurors got him out of the way, you know, without magic.” Severus nodded, one less thing to worry about. “They took our wands.” Harry whispered fearfully as Severus felt his pocket. They exchanged dismal looks for a long moment. No wand. Severus couldn’t remember the last time he was without a wand. He felt as though some vital part of his body had been removed. Potter was looking panicked again.

“That’s fine.” Snape replied hoarsely. “I can do wandless magic.” The confidence in his voice far surpassed the confidence Severus had in his own abilities. Dumbledore had taught him some wandless magic, many years ago and his abilities were extremely limited.  Still, Potter looked reassured, and for some reason that made Snape feel better.

“Ok,” Harry said reaching forward to grab Severus’ elbow. Instinctively, Severus flinched and pulled it back. He scowled at the boy for good measure. Harry pulled back, his face frozen in a sort of apologetic cringe. Harry reached forward again and gently touched Severus’ elbow.

“I should probably help you, sir,” Harry said hesitantly. Knowing he had no other choice, Snape nodded. The hand around his elbow tightened and he clamored to his feet unsteadily.

“Alright?” asked Harry. Snape made a conscious effort not to sway on his feet and gave Harry a short nod. The boy let go of his elbow, a little hesitantly, and they both walked to the locked door.

“Stand back, Potter. I’m not sure how much control I’ll have.” Snape muttered. Potter stepped back so he was against the far wall.

Snape raised his wand hand and tried not to think about how ridiculous he looked as he pointed at the door.

“Alohomora.” His fingers felt warm, but nothing else happened. He felt Potter’s eyes on him and felt slightly embarrassed at the lack of bangs and whistles.  “Alohomora.” Nothing happened.

“I’m sorry, Potter,” Severus said, lowering his hand. “I don’t seem to be able to.” He turned around to look at Harry. The boy turned to look out at the setting sun, shoulders slumped. 

Severus turned back to the locked door. He took a deep breath and felt his magic, swirling through this blood. He imagined connecting with it, controlling it like an animal ready to attack. Wandless magic was the only way to protect Potter and help Black. At this thought, he felt his magic surge, as though the importance of helping Potter was so deeply rooted it affected his blood. He focused on pushing that energy through his body to his fingers.

“Alohomora.” A bright white light shot spastically from Snape’s fingers sending him cascading backwards and causing the door to blast off of its hinges. Debris from the upper part of the wall slide down. A large rock landed on Severus’ arm, pinning him and sending a flare of excruciating pain up his arm. Well, Severus thought numbly, at least the problem isn’t a lack of power.

“HOLY SHIT!” Harry yelped, climbing over the rubble to Snape’s side. “Are you ok?!”

“Yes,” Snape lied, blinking heavily to focus on Potter. The boy started levitating rocks off of him.

“Potter! Stop! There is no time for that. You need to go to the floo and contact Arthur Weasley. He’ll know what to do.” Harry searched Snape’s pale face and looked out the window to the rapidly darkening sky.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry whispered. “There isn’t time.”

“Potter!” Snape snarled as the boy picked himself up. “Do not go for Black alone.” Harry turned towards the door, and did not respond.

“I’ll be back soon.” Harry said, then he ran through the door. Snape had no other option but to listen as the sound of Harry’s trainers rapidly slapping the ground faded.

                                                                        XxXxX

Harry ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the Gryffindor common room.

“Harry! Hey, Harry!” Ron’s voice stopped Harry in his tracks and he turned to see Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville and Ernie all jogging towards him looking concerned.

“What happened? Ernie said you fainted in the middle of the exam?” Hermione asked anxiously, looking over Harry for any physical abnormalities that may provide a clue.

“I’m fine,” Harry’s eyes darted to Luna, Neville and Ernie who were all looking at him expectantly. As much as he appreciated their work in Dumbledore’s Army, he wasn’t willing to talk about Sirius in front of them.

“They say Stubby Boardman is back in the castle.” Luna said vaguely. “Is that why you fainted?” Ernie looked at her, bemused, and Harry realized with a slight laugh that Ernie had not been truly exposed to Luna’s particular world-view. The laugh was gone as soon as it came. Sirius was still being held in the Astronomy Tower, about to be descended on by Dementors. How dare he think of anything else?

“Sirius is in the Astronomy Tower. Umbridge found him. She’s calling the Dementors.” Harry explained hurriedly to Hermione and Ron, no longer caring what Luna, Ernie and Neville thought or did. He didn’t have time for that.

“Is he still after you?” Ernie asked eyes wide. Taken aback, Harry fully-remembered that even his friends thought Sirius was a raving murderer.

“He’s innocent. We have to help him.” Harry directed the last part of his sentence to a milk-faced Hermione and Ron, but Neville, Luna and Ernie were nodding in agreement. 

“Harry…look.” Hermione pointed to the window. A cloaked figured slid eerily by, casting an eerie, cold shadow over the. A deep despair that had nothing to do with the Dementors filled hollowed Harry’s lungs.

“We have to go now.” The five of them started after Harry. “Not you.” Harry said turning to face Neville, Luna and Ernie. Ernie turned back to look at the window where two more Dementors were gliding by.

“Do you really think you three can hold off that many Dementors?” asked Ernie, an eyebrow raised skeptically. Ron grimaced.

“Neville, can you do a Patronus charm?” Hermione asked with a hesitant kindness. Neville blushed and shook his head negatively.

“That’s alright, Neville.” Luna said, looking away from the painting of a unicorn she had been examining. “They’re rather difficult, aren’t they? Pretty though.”  Harry blinked at Luna for a moment than turned back to Neville.

“Neville, Professor Snape is trapped under a pile of rubble in the Astronomy Tower. Go get Madam Pomfrey and help him,” said Harry. It felt odd to be giving orders. Neville looked like he would much rather face Dementors than an injured Snape, Patronus or no Patronus, but he nodded and turned back towards the hospital wing. Harry took one last look at Ernie and Luna.

“Well, come on then!” They broke in to a sprint, past the Gryffindor common room, shuttered classrooms and empty Great Hall until they burst out into the cool evening, leaving the safety of the castle behind them.

They didn’t have a time to come up with a plan. Even if they did, Harry didn’t have any ideas. To make matters worse, Harry still didn’t have a wand. A fact he had only remembered when they peered at the Astronomy Tower from the relatively safety of Greenhouse One. There the five of them stood now, huddled by the Greenhouse window silently. They were too far away to make out the figures guarding the Astronomy Tower, but Harry could see the ring of Dementors circling the tower like a perverse merry-go-round.

“How are we going to get past the Aurors?” whispered Ron, so close to Harry that he could feel the boy’s breath.  

“Maybe we could call their boss.” Ernie whispered. “The Ministry is not supposed to condone Dementor activity without a full and fair trial. Someone there has to know this behavior is intolerable; furthermore –“

“We could tell them that we found a Flying Voldygrout,” suggested Luna, cutting off Ernie’s political science discourse.

“What is a Flying Voldygrout?” Ernie asked, not knowing better. Harry was about to cut-off this completely unhelpful conversation, when Hermione’s eyes got the hazy, unfocused look they got when she came up with a plan.

“Luna’s right, Harry,” said Hermione for the first, and probably only time. Even Luna looked vaguely surprised. “We need a distraction.”

“Good luck with that, Potter,” sneered Malfoy from the opposite end of the Greenhouse. All five of them whipped around to look at Malfoy, who was wearing an ominously self-satisfied expression. As always, Crabbe and Goyle loomed large behind him. Malfoy slapped the venomous tarantactula that was inching up his shoulder and walked towards them.

“Shove off, Malfoy.” Ron said, disdainfully. Surprisingly, Malfoy ignored Ron, choosing to give Harry a cold smile instead.

“I’ve been told to come and find you lot by Umbridge herself,” said Malfoy. The look on Malfoy’s face told Harry that he had needed little cajoling to carry out the task. “She thought you would be trying to help Potter, looks like she was right.” Malfoy smiled maliciously. Ernie, Hermione, Ron and Harry glared at the Slytherins. Luna was tickling the leaves of a young Mandrake plant and cooing at it.

Dealing with Malfoy was bad enough when doing so did not prevent Harry from saving his godfather’s soul. At the moment, every wasted second seemed to cause Harry physical pain.

“Fuck you,” Harry said emphatically. He shoved past Malfoy to exit the Greenhouse and head towards the Astronomy Tower.  He had only taken two steps when something hot flew past his ear. Ron yelled something intelligible and Harry whipped around to see him jump on Malfoy and punch him square on the face. Hermione screamed at Ron to stop, but Ron was able to get one more good punch in before Goyle’s instinct to protect Malfoy surfaced, and he aimed his wand at Ron. Harry yelled an ineffectual warning and Ernie, who had taken a hesitant step forward to join the fight, raised his wand and snapped it downwards quickly.

Hermione was still screaming with her hands covering her face. Even Luna, who had been watching the fight with a touch of amusement and boredom, looked concerned, and she was trying to pry Hermione’s hands from her face. Harry ran towards them. The shattering glass had the effect of pulling Malfoy and Ron out of their fight and Ron approached Hermione too. Malfoy and a rather guilty looking Ernie knelt beside Crabbe and Goyle.

“It’s alright, I’m sure it’s nothing a mixture of Troll’s blood and cold-cream won’t fix,” Luna said soothingly. Hermione let go of her face with a little sob. Even for Luna, the statement was optimistic. Red, bulbus boils rendered her face almost unrecognizable. Ron looked aghast.

“Hermione! Your face.”

“I don’t think you’re helping, Ron,” commented Luna, as Hermione grimaced and experimentally prodded on of her blisters. Harry agreed with Luna and tried his best not to look repulsed when Hermione met his eyes. Ron patted Hermione’s shoulder.

“You still look pretty,” lied Ron unconvincingly. Hermione chuckled. “You need the hospital wing,” Ron continued. He looked at Harry apologetically, and Harry understood he had to take her himself.

“Go,” said Harry without hesitation. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but the pustules on Hermione’s face seemed to be growing.

“They need the hospital wing too.” Ernie said from where he was observing Crabbe and Goyle with Malfoy. Ron looked at the unconscious figures a little derisively. 

“I’ll let Madame Pomfrey know,” said Ron grudgingly. He put an arm around Hermione and led her back to the castle with a final rueful look at Harry.

“Come on,” Ernie said grabbing Harry’s forearm and pulling him away from Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy towards the Astronomy tower. Harry could hear Luna’s breath quicken behind him as they ran over the damp grass.

They reached a small thick of trees ahead of the Astronomy towers. The two Aurors that arrested Snape, Harry and Sirius were standing out in front of the door.  Considering Snape and Harry had been left alone with only a locked door, Harry assumed there had not been time to call in more reinforcements.

Both Aurors looked a little bored, the short-haired female one yawned widely, but Harry knew enough about Auror training to know that they would be highly-skilled. They were lucky to get this far without being undetected and the thick of trees was well-positioned for an attack.

“We should do it now,” whispered Harry to Ernie and Luna who were crouching down in a bush beside him. Ernie grimaced a little.

“Now?” whispered Ernie. “I don’t know, Harry. They are government officials.”

“I think they rather deserve it personally,” responded Luna, observing the Aurors with her over-large eyes. Ernie swallowed hard. As much as he liked Ernie and Luna, Harry really wished that Ron, who didn’t spend an overlarge amount of time thinking of the long-term consequences of his actions, was by his side instead. Expecting Ernie and Luna to directly confront the Ministry was a lot – too much – to ask. Especially for Ernie who was experiencing a rather sharp learning curve in the art of rule-breaking.

“It’s ok, Ernie. You can go back,” whispered Harry, wondering how he and Luna were going to get past two Aurors with one wand. Ernie looked deeply offended and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I am not going to go back. I made a commitment.” Harry felt he should inform Ernie that they were discussing treason not prefect duty, but Harry didn’t want to further offend the boy’s sense of honor.

“Alright then, a surprise attack is the best bet,” said Harry, giving Ernie an encouraging pat on the back. Ernie and Luna looked at each other and nodded.

“On three then?” questioned Luna lightly. Ernie nodded sharply. “One, two, three.” Both jumped to their feet and cast stunning spells at the Aurors without hesitation. Luna’s hit true, and the female Auror collapsed. The larger, male Auror had managed to narrowly avoid Ernie’s spell, and ducked into the doorway.  With agility Harry would not have credited him with, Ernie jumped over the bush and cast a spell at the doorway. Luna followed, leaving Harry to cower, wandless in the bushes trying to focus on his friends’ duel as opposed to his own helplessness.

A bright jet of red light shot out at Ernie from the doorway, Luna deftly cast a shield charm between him and the spell. Ernie raised his wand to retaliate, but the well-trained Auror was too quick for him. Another streak of light came, and Ernie flew backwards, landing in an unconscious pile on the grass.

“Stupefy!” yelled Luna with uncharacteristic sharpness, before the Auror could raise his wand again. The Auror collapsed. Heart pounding, Harry jumped the bush and followed Luna to run towards Ernie. To Harry relief, when they reached him he was already starting to stir feebly.

“Ernie!” Harry said, sliding to his knees beside the boy. “Are you alright?” Ernie blinked blearily a few time in a not altogether successful attempt at focusing his eyes.

“ ‘M ok,” he said unconvincingly, trying to sit up. Luna, who was on her knees at the other side of Ernie’s head, pushed him back down.

“I think you should lie down for a while. You look like you’ve swallowed a rotten Plimpee,” said Luna kindly. Ernie looked as though he was trying to determine whether or not his head injury was responsible for hearing the word plimpee.

“We’re almost there,” muttered Ernie, sitting up. “I certainly don’t intend to abandon a mission half-way through,” he continued, a touch of his old grandiosity returning to his voice.

“That’s all very well, but your bleeding out of your ears,” replied Luna. Harry looked at Ernie long neck and, sure enough, a river of blood wound its way down to his shoulder. “I’ll take you to the hospital wing and call back-up for Harry. I think it’s time we call some adults.” Harry couldn’t really deny that. He and Luna pulled him up to his shaky feet.

“You better go, Harry. He’ll wake up soon.” Luna said, gesturing vaguely to the unconscious Auror. Harry nodded and turned to head into the Astronomy Tower, hoping that somehow he’d be able to get to Sirius without a wand.

“Wait,” Ernie said grabbing Harry’s arm, “Take this.” Ernie held out his wand to Harry. “Poplar and unicorn hair, 13 inches. It should do.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” said Luna, looking at the wand. Ernie blushed and mumbled something that sounded like ‘thanks’. Harry looked at the proffered wand hesitantly. He was pretty desperate for a wand, but he felt as though he was depriving Ernie of one of his limbs.

“It’s alright, Harry. Luna and I can manage.” Ernie said it with such confidence that Harry had no choice but to take the wand.

“Thanks,” said Harry softly, suddenly feeling quite grateful to the pair of them. Before Harry could say anything more, Luna and Ernie had started towards the castle. Knowing he had no time to waste, Harry ran the last couple of meters to the Astronomy Tower. By the time he had run up the numerous, steep steps - slipping twice – his back and face were covered in a sticky layer of sweat and a sharp pain lanced his side. Mercifully, the wooden door of the topmost room appeared as Harry rounded the last turn of the spiral staircase.

“Alohamora!” wheezed Harry. The door clicked smartly.

“Sirius!” exclaimed Harry throwing open the door.  Sirius, who was looking at the corner with a decidedly despondent look on his face, whipped around to look at Harry and smiled.

“I was getting worried.” Sirius admitted with an easy, almost impish smile. Harry ran over to untie him. “Where’s Professor Snape?” Harry felt a squirm of guilt.

“Under a pile of rubble in the dungeons,” answered Harry. Sirius looked as though he didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused. He stood-up and brushed himself off with a little chuckle.

“Well, that’ll be good for your relationship,” Sirius said with a tired smile. He put an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Let’s go get him then.”

Just as Harry was about to open the door, he heard the rush of the floo for the second time that day and felt a corresponding flash of dread.

“Impedimenta!” shrieked Umbridge. Sirius, unable to defend himself without a wand, fell into the wall. Harry turned to look at Umbridge. Her curly hair was plastered to her damp forehead, and her eyes were wide and mad.

“Flipendo!” Harry yelled back instinctively. Ernie’s wand seemed relatively accommodating, and Umbridge flew backwards off her feet, landing hard on the floor.

“Harry…” Sirius whispered, horrified. Harry had been scared when he had cursed Snape in third-year, but even then he knew that between Dumbledore’s protection and Snape’s modicum of self-restraint, he would not be physically harmed or even expelled.  He was under no delusions that Umbridge would be as forgiving.

“Expelliamus.” Sharing a look of dismay with Sirius had distracted Harry and Ernie’s wand flew from his hand. Umbridge advanced, wand pointed menacingly at Harry. Sirius scrambled to his feet and put himself in front of Harry. For once, Umbridge did not have the fake sweet smile on her face. She looked positively feral, and Harry wondered why Sirius was so sure she was not a Deatheater.

A Dementor slipped in through the window. A flicker of resignation passed over Sirius’ face.

“Not Harry.” Sirius said. For a moment Harry was reminded horribly of his mother, begging for his life. “You can’t leave him in here. He’s done nothing, nothing to warrant this.” A horrible chill started to penetrate Harry’s bones. He wondered if it was from the Dementors or Sirius’ words.

“He has helped a criminal escape justice!” Umbridge shrieked. She turned to look at Harry and his eyes narrowed. “And Harry is heading down a dangerous path. I think that he should know what happens to those who flout authority.” Umbridge pointed her wand at Harry and, before he could react, pink velvet cords wrapped around his legs, wrists, and neck and hoisted him in the air. He let out a choked scream of surprise.

Sirius tried to run at Umbridge, but Dementors were streaming into the room. They reached out their scaly fingers to grasp Sirius and pull him back to opposite wall. The smell of putrid flesh filled the room.

Harry could feel icy bursts of dread shoot through him. He knew he was begging incoherently, but he didn’t care enough to focus on the words he was saying. Sirius’ eyes were starting to roll towards the back of his head. The silver mist of Sirius’ soul was being sucked away by the Dementor’s greedy mouths.

“Do it slow,” Umbridge instructed. “I want the message to sink in.” Umbridge flashed a toothy, pitiless grin at Harry and walked back towards the floo. The Dementors stopped feeding off of Sirius. His eyes refocused and he sucked in harsh, ragged breaths, hardly able to stand.

“Professor, please!” begged Harry shamelessly, but Umbridge had stepped in the floo and disappeared.

It was a particularly slow torture watching Sirius’ slow descent in to desperation.  The Dementors would circle him, sucking slowly at his soul until Sirius’ horrified visions became so strong that he stopped screaming and went silent, teetering on the verge of consciousness. Then they would stop, wait for Sirius to come back to himself, and start again.  Every time they stopped, Sirius’ eyes looked a little further away, and Harry was genuinely concerned for his godfather’s sanity as well as his soul.

Harry could feel the air turn significantly more frigid and the Dementors started to suck greedily, the way they had before Umbridge told them to slow down. Harry knew this time they weren’t going to stop. They were no longer capable. Desperation flooded, Harry. He closed his eyes, unable to watch the soul leave his godfather. Tears wet his face. The door banged open.

“Expecto Patronum” Harry had never been so happy to hear Severus Snape’s voice in his entire life.  A magnificent silvery doe charged down the Dementors. Harry’s eyes snapped open and focused on Snape. He was pale and only had one good arm, yet he radiated such power and rage that Harry flinched when Snape pointed his wand at Harry to vanish the restraints.

“Sirius! Sirius!” Harry yelled, nearly sobbing with fear and relief. Harry scrambled to Sirius’ side as Snape knelt opposite him. Sirius’ face was an alarming shade of gray. Snape gently pulled Sirius’ hand away from his mouth, checked his pulse, and relaxed minutely.

“Are you hurt at all?” Snape asked, turning his head to give Harry an appraising glance.

“No, sir,” breathed Harry, not taking his eyes off of Sirius.

“Sirius?” Harry whispered, squeezing his godfather’s shoulder tightly as his eyelids fluttered. They opened to reveal wide, haunted eyes that were so disturbingly flat, Harry almost wished they stayed closed. Sirius’ lip trembled slightly, and he looked away from Harry and Snape to stare at the ceiling. He swallowed hard.

“They’re gone,” said Snape. His voice was surprisingly gentle, and even though he was finished checking Sirius’ pulse, his hand remained wrapped around Sirius’ wrist. The two cups of tea sitting on Snape’s coffee table came to Harry’s mind and he realized that Snape’s offer of reassurance was not that surprising after all.

“I know.” Sirius said faintly, giving a horrible fake smile and sitting up. “I’m fine, really.” Severus gave him an overtly skeptical look.

“Do any of you have any chocolate?” Snape asked. Harry whipped around to see Ron, Hermione, Luna and Ernie peering in, concerned from the doorway. Ron dug through the pocket of his robe and pulled out a lint-covered half of a chocolate cauldron. He handed it to Snape who gave Ron a look of deep-disgust before grudgingly accepting it.

“Eat this. It shouldn’t kill you,” ordered Snape. He brushed the chocolate off a little then passed it to Sirius, who accepted it with a shaky laugh.

“Really, I’m ok.” Snape just raised his eyebrows in clear disbelief and turned back to the rest of the students. Hermione’s face was still covered in boils, a sight made more horrible by the thick translucent cream covering her skin.  Ron’s face still bore the bruises and scrapes from his fight with Malfoy. Judging by the paper-white shade of Ernie’s face, and the blood on his neck, Ernie hadn’t made it to the hospital wing.

“You lot to the hospital wing. Now. No arguments.” Snape said when Hermione opened her mouth to object. He ushered them down the steps like a mother hen, keeping a firm grip on Ernie, who was starting to sway.

“I’ll be back in a moment. You stay up here until we get a hold of Dumbledore,” ordered Snape, giving Harry a look that promised disembowelment in the face of disobedience.

The footsteps faded down the staircase and Harry turned back to Sirius. He was sitting against the wall with an arm wrapped around his leg and his head in the other hand. The chocolate dangled uselessly from his hand. After a moment, Sirius threw the chocolate clean across the room. Harry swallowed, not knowing what to do. There was a moment of silence, then Sirius let out a chocked sob that held more pain than Harry even knew was possible. Without even realizing what he was doing, Harry slid forward on the floor and touched Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius jumped in surprise, stared at Harry for a second, then quickly wiped his tear-streaked face.

“Merlin, Harry…I’m sorry I thought – the hospital wing…” Sirius trailed off and blinked at the ceiling again.

“It’s ok,” said Harry lamely, because he knew he had to say something. Sirius stared vacantly at the corner.  Harry moved to lean back on the wall next to Sirius. He knew he had to do something to make that look disappear. He hesitated for a second than reached down and gripped Sirius’ hand. Sirius stiffened.

“Harry – “ He said warningly, and his mouth twisted strangely. But Harry had spent enough time with Snape recently to learn that people tended to need company the most when they wanted it the least.  Harry squeezed Sirius’ hand. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Sirius squeezed back.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Harry heard Sirius sniff a few times, but didn’t dare risk embarrassing Sirius by looking at him. After a moment, Sirius let go of Harry’s hand to wipe at his face, and wrapped an arm around Harry.

“You sure you’re alright?” asked Sirius. “The Aurors didn’t rough you up too badly?” The emptiness in Sirius’ eyes was being replaced by concern, and Harry understood that it made Sirius feel better to ask these questions than to have them asked about him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said with a smile. Sirius rubbed Harry’s arm in that way that seemed to erase all bad feelings and replace them with warmth.

“Me too.” Sirius said, ruffling Harry’s hair. He returned Harry’s smile with a faint one of his own.

Of all the teas Severus had with Dumbledore, this was by far the strangest. Dumbledore had originally called them all to his office to hear the details of Umbridge’s behavior and the long list of illegal behaviors perpetrated by the Auror office. Dumbledore who had returned as though he had never left, had been talking rapidly into the fireplace on and off for the past hour. Now, Aurors were on their way to escort Umbridge off the grounds and Dumbledore had conjured a variety of multi-coloured puffs and plates of sandwiches to make up for them all missing dinner. It wasn’t as abhorrent as it could be, but given the fact he was still sore and had only hours ago been rescued by Neville Longbottom, Severus was eagerly waiting for the moment to make his exit.

 The students were all talking cheerfully, and Dumbledore was intently listening to Luna’s explanation of Dirigible plums. Ernie, whose head was still wrapped in a bandage, nodded along with Luna. Since he knew Ernie to be a serious and talented student, Severus assumed that the head injury was to blame for the boy’s behavior. After a moment, Luna felt Severus’ eyes on them and turned to him with a smile.

“Finger sandwich, Professor?” asked Luna. She held a plate of sandwiches out to Severus. This interaction seemed to catch the interest of the rest of the students and Dumbledore who seemed to be trying to hide a smile.

“Thank you,” muttered Severus too hungry to deny the sandwich based on awkwardness alone. Harry was talking to Sirius who, though still pale and shaky, was smiling at whatever Harry was saying. Ron was stuffing his face with what had to be his twelfth or thirteenth sandwich while Hermione looked on in revulsion.  Severus had just bit in to his sandwich when the door flew open without pretense.

“Arrest them!” snapped Cornelius pointing dramatically but still vaguely. It was unclear if he was talking about Dumbledore, Sirius or any one of the children. Severus got to his feet with Dumbledore, but Sirius stayed seated, staring sightlessly at Dumbledore’s rug. The two Aurors with Fudge advanced rapidly on them. Severus pulled his wand.

“You are not arresting anyone Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, managing to sound both angry and gentle at the same time. One of the Aurors advanced on Sirius and grabbed his arm.  Sirius didn’t resist.

“Hey!” exclaimed Harry pulling out his wand. Severus was just about to beat Harry to casting a curse, when Dumbledore raised a hand and caused the Auror to fly clean across the room. The children all gasped. Sirius jerked his head up and stared at Dumbledore in shock.

“Dumbledore! That man is a criminal!”  yelled Fudge. Sirius stared wordlessly at the floor, as though he couldn’t hear the words being said about him. Harry’s eyes flickered between Dumbledore, Fudge and Sirius so rapidly he looked like a muggle cartoon.

“There was no trial!” exclaimed Ernie, jumping up in indignation.  The colour drained from Ernie’s face with alarming quickness. Wondering if all the students at Hogwarts were plotting to give him an anxiety attack,  Severus pushed the boy back to his chair.

“Calm down, Macmillan,” Severus said sharply, getting a sheepish smile in return.

“But he’s right, sir.” Hermione said, turning back to Cornelius. “The accused has the right to speak in his own defence.” Severus, who was attempting to restrain Hermione from speaking with a variety of stern pointed looks, scowled at her. The last thing these kids needed to do was piss off the Ministry even more.

“You’re all confounded!” Fudge grumbled, not at all happy at being educated in civics by a group of injured fifteen-year olds. Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Severus, assuming that the boy’s comment would be neither as eloquent nor polite as Granger’s, cut in.

“All of us?” asked Severus, raising an eyebrow. “Dumbledore, all these children, me? You are so certain we are all mistaken that you will send this man to Azkaban without further trial?” Cornelius’ eyebrows jumped to his receding hairline in shock and indignation. Harry who had remained silent in favor of observing Sirius brood, blinked up to Severus in surprise.

“You?! You said that Sirius Black attacked these very same children only two years ago! You proposed the kiss,” sputtered Cornelius, looking slightly desperate now that someone he thought for sure was an ally was turning against him. Severus felt a squirm of discomfort. That was admittedly not his finest moment. Ernie looked scandalized, and Luna observed him as though he was an extremely complex puzzle.  

“I was mistaken,” Severus said with simple finality. Harry continued to stare at Severus. There was something in the boy’s eyes Severus could not identify, but it was surprisingly not accusatory.

“Children, I think it’s time you head back to your houses for the evening,” said Dumbledore smoothly, cutting in to save Severus any awkwardness. The children obliged immediately, with the exception of Harry who stood up then paused to look back at Sirius. Sirius stopped staring at the floor long enough to give Harry a playful wink and an encouraging nod, which was all Harry needed to leave. As soon as the door shut behind Harry, Sirius returned to glaring moodily at the floor.

“You have the wrong man, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore tiredly “And I’m afraid I won’t allow you to take him again.” Fudge started to sputter incoherently.  “Gentlemen, Severus would you give us a moment, please?” The Aurors were clearly happy to retreat from the room. Severus nodded and was about to leave, but Sirius looked up from the floor and met Severus’ eye. Something that looked close to fear and panic flashed across Sirius’ face. With a jolt, Severus realized that Sirius didn’t want him to go.

“I’ll stay,” Severus said with enough confidence to cover his uncertainty. Sirius gave him a faint, half-smile, then returned to staring at the ground. There was a look of surprise in Dumbledore’s eyes that left as quickly as Sirius’ fear had, but he nodded his assent. Since he was now staying, Severus felt the need to contribute.

 “I made an assumption based on the information I had. My facts were incorrect. It was Peter Pettigrew who attempted to harm Potter and his friends.” Fudge’s jaw dropped comically.

“Pettigrew – Pettigrew is dead,” said Fudge, almost whimpering now. Severus closed his eyes and placed a wand to his temple. He drew out a long strand of memory.

“This is Pettigrew contacting me about rejoining Voldemort.” Severus said, placing the only memory  of Peter that did not make himself look like a Death Eater in the pensieve.  

“The memory is indeed a year old and may be hazy, but it clearly has not been tampered with,” said Severus calmly. In order to store a high-quality memory, the memory had to be clear in a person’s mind. The more time passed, the less dramatic the memory, the less clear the images were.  Peter, being a sniveling piece of garbage, was hardly worth recollecting perfectly, but Severus was confident it would be good enough.

“Let’s see for ourselves, shall we Cornelius?” said Dumbledore. With an air of great disgruntlement, Cornelius walked over beside Dumbledore, and they both put their heads in the swirling water.

Sirius continued to stare at the floor from his seat, looking alone and somehow frail as he waited on his chair for Dumbledore and Fudge to work out his fate. Severus walked across the room and took the chair beside him. The despondency radiated off of Sirius, and Severus racked his mind for something reassuring to say. There was nothing, or at least nothing that Severus had the nerve to say, so Severus just sat, waiting with him.

Moments later, Fudge and Dumbledore removed their heads from the Pensieve. Fudge was pale and shaky and his stared up to Dumbledore’s calm face with disbelief.

“I take it you understand now, Cornelius?” asked Dumbledore almost kindly. Fudge looked at Sirius who hesitantly raised defiant eyes. Something in Sirius’ face, undoubtedly the hollow despair that still occasionally lurked around his eyes, caused Fudge to look away and fiddle with his bowler hat.

“I must get back to the office,” he muttered, stepping towards the fireplace. He looked as though he might have wanted to say something else to Sirius but guilt and pride proved stronger than remorse and compassion. He disappeared into the fireplace. Sirius turned to Dumbledore who looked rather pleased. 

 “So, I am not going back to Azkaban?” asked Severus. His attempt to keep his tone light was not completely successful.

“Of course not, Sirius. I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen, regardless of what Fudge said. I’d like to think you know that.”  Dumbledore said, the joy of victory fading fast from his face. Sirius raised his eyes from his lap, looking almost skeptical as he assessed Dumbledore’s sincerity. As always, Dumbledore was capable of softening even the most stubbornly independent of men, and Sirius apparently saw whatever it was he was looking for on Dumbledore’s face. The tension drained from Sirius’ face and he nodded.

“Now I believe you have a project to get back to,” Dumbledore said raising his eyebrows. Severus rolled his eyes. The “project” had taken up the better part of Severus’ last few days. Still, a joyful glimmer returned to Sirius’ eye and Severus could hardly feel bitter.

“Alright, thank you,” Sirius said with a genuine smile. “Both of you.” Severus gave a tight uncomfortable nod.

“You don’t owe me any thanks, Sirius,” said Dumbledore, looking suddenly old and sad. Sirius swallowed and copied Severus’ short nod before heading into the fire and vanishing. For a few moments, Dumbledore watched the fire crackle, deep in thought. Severus was about to take his leave when Dumbledore turned to him and fixed him with a shrewd look.

“Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Before the words were even fully out of Severus’ mouth he could feel the tell-tale warmth of a diagnostic spell. Dumbledore sighed.

“Sit down, Severus,” said Dumbledore tiredly, making Severus feel a twinge guilty and embarrassed. Severus did what he was told, and Dumbledore peeled Severus’ sore arm away from his side and vanished half of his sleeve.

“Do you mind!” Severus said indignantly. Those robes were new. Dumbledore summoned a deep, purple cream Severus hadn’t seen before and started to apply it liberally.

“If you were honest about your injuries when you went to see Poppy, I wouldn’t have to vanish your clothing now, would I?” asked Dumbledore, sounding a trifle more testy than usual.  Despite his snark, Severus had expected pastiche of comforting words Dumbledore always gave when Severus was injured. The uncharacteristic sharpness made him feel stung and insecure, even if the pain in his arm was receding.

Without preamble, Dumbledore shone a bright light in Severus’ eye. The brightness caused a flare of pain in Severus’ head, and he pulled back from the light.

“You have a concussion,” said Dumbledore in a business-like tone that was more suited to Severus than himself. Two pain-relieving potions zoomed across the room and Dumbledore caught them with surprising agility. “Drink.”

Severus scowled and took the potions. Such a diagnosis was usually met with fussy concern and offers of candy and company. Severus wasn’t sure if he was angry at Dumbledore for his sudden coolness, or angry at himself for getting used to the comfort and expecting to be coddled. Severus learned long ago that he didn’t elicit tenderness and compassion in others and hadn’t needed either for a long time. Still, he felt a surge of hurt and humiliation.

“I do not try to fail, you know,” Severus spat out. Dumbledore, who had been prodding at one of the deep bruises on Severus arm fixedly looked up, surprised.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, genuinely bemused for possibly the first time since Severus met him.

“Potter. I do try and stop these things from happening to him. He just –“ Severus trailed off, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He did always have a flare for the dramatic. If Dumbledore was this upset and angry, it had to do with Potter.  To his surprise, Dumbledore sighed and looked even wearier than before.

“I know you do, Severus, and you do a great job.” Dumbledore stopped abruptly and looked at Severus in the eye. “It is not you that has failed me. I have failed you.” Taken aback, Severus raised an eyebrow.

“How have you failed me?” asked Severus. Dumbledore continued to walk to the Headmaster’s office silently for a few moments. Despite his burning curiosity, Severus stayed silent, allowing the man to collect his thoughts.

“You’re in pain,” said Dumbledore with a sigh. “Something I try to prevent at all times of course, but something that I swore would never happen while you were at Hogwarts. After all I ask of you, I couldn’t do that one thing for you.” Dumbledore lapsed into silence again and Severus felt extremely wrong-footed. As always, his discomfort expressed itself with rancor.

“I do not need protecting,” Severus said indignantly. Dumbledore looked at Severus and smiled, his former twinkle returning to his eye.

“We all need protecting, Severus,” replied Dumbledore. “That is why we have family.” Severus did not know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Dumbledore was straightening Severus’ fingers, trying to determine if the arm and hand were still in working order. They were fine. Severus knew a fair amount of healing magic, and he knew when things were bad. He could take care of all this himself. Still, it did feel nice to have someone else want to do it. The thought embarrassed him.

“I’m fine, Albus. I can do this myself,” snapped Severus.

“It’s done, Severus. Sit still and have some tea,” said Dumbledore pointing his wand at the tea set lying forgotten on his desk. It immediately started to boil, and Dumbledore prepared the tea, remembering to scoop and unconscionable amount of sugar into Severus’ cup. The sweet hotness made the tension and pain recede. Severus relaxed further into his chair. They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“No word from Voldemort?” asked Dumbledore. A little taken aback, Severus raised his eyebrows and put down his tea.

“I think you would know,” said Severus with a wry smile. Dumbledore did not find the humor in the statement and stared at his lap.

“That rat going through your floo…you did not act like a Death Eater,” said Dumbledore with a pinched expression. “Faye will report that to her uncle.” Severus shrugged with more confidence than he felt.

“I say I act as your agent while at Hogwarts. He as always accepted that,” replied Severus. Dumbledore eyed Severus warily.

“But now he doubts you.” Severus nodded tightly and looked away. Dumbledore reached over and squeezed Severus arm gently. He found it didn’t hurt anymore.

The next week passed with the mingled speed and slowness associated with the end of the year. Severus was faced with his usual Potions classes, ensuring all the Slytherin end of the year business was taken care of, and taking on Umbridge’s final Defence classes. Thankfully, Voldemort hadn’t called him over the past week, he simply did not have time to deal with a psychopath. Still, Severus didn’t know whether to be relieved or petrified. He rested his lips on steepled fingers, delaying the moment he had to start grading first year potions exams.

“Professor Snape?” The deep voice of Sebastian McCoy rudely blasted through his calm. Severus opened his eye to observe the tall, black boy standing at the doorway, looking very uncertain of his welcome.

“McCoy. What can I do for you?” asked Severus. McCoy looked over his shoulder and slouched in to the room, hunched over as always to minimize his large build. Too bad the seventh year was afraid of heights. He would have been an amazing addition to the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“I just wanted to say goodbye, sir. I’ve enjoyed being in your house. I’ll miss it,” McCoy said, looking around the dungeon a little wistfully. Pomona and Filius, even Minerva occasionally, all made a big deal about their seventh years graduating. There were always tears and nonsense that Severus just did not agree with, but sometimes he felt a little moroseness mingle with the joy of being student free.

“That’s very kind, McCoy,” Severus said, almost smiling at the boy. He was shy and liked to learn for the sake of learning. It was rare to get students like that. McCoy smiled and turned to exit the door.

“Sebastian,” called Severus, causing the boy to turn around. “I hope you are doing something worthwhile with your education.” The stern voice didn’t worry the boy and he smiled broadly, dropping his reticence instantly.

“I got accepted to train to be a Healer, sir,” he said, beaming. Severus felt a rush of pride that he had to work hard to keep off of his face.

“Very well,” Severus grunted. When the boy turned his back to run off, Severus smiled at the desk and started his work.

Teaching first years really was a slow form of torture, and he felt relieved when, hours later, a hesitant knock drew Severus out of Jane Myers meandering, simplistic essay on Shrinking Solutions.

“What?” growled Severus, testily. The door pulled open, and Harry poked his head in, to unsure of his welcome to enter.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Harry said with a smile. Severus scowled back at the boy.  He had grudgingly agreed to let Harry use the floo in his office to see Sirius. He had almost forgotten.

“Potter,” Severus said with a little nod. Harry entered the classroom and quietly walked towards the fireplace.  The hectic pace of the last weeks had prevented the Occlumency lessons from continuing. That hadn’t stopped Potter from behaving…oddly. He had smiled at Severus as he left Defence the other day, and had stopped scowling all through Potions. Potions.

“Potter, wait.” Severus riffled through his desk for a moment until he found the two month Potion OWL study sheet he had prepared. “This is for you.”

Harry took it, his brow creased in confusion, then his expression tensed into awkwardness. He studied the paper for much longer than necessary.

“Your Potions OWL, Potter,” Severus said after a long moment of silence, confused at this reaction.

For a moment, Severus was sure that the boy simply did not want to have to study through the summer. The sheer laziness and ungratefulness angered him, and he was about to say so, but something in the hesitant way Harry fiddled with the paper, eyes on the floor, stopped him. 

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry quietly, looking up and forcing a smile on his face. Severus’ eyes narrowed as he observed the boy. It was odd that the boy didn’t want to make up his OWL.  Most jobs required at least an A, which was why Severus took the exams so seriously.

Harry’s cheeks reddened under the scrutiny, and he avoided Severus’ eyes by turning them back to the paper, scanning the study plan. After a moment, he folded the paper in to a neat little square and slid it into the breast pocket of his robes.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry looked at Severus for a moment, hesitating over what to say.  “You’ve been…You’ve done a lot for me, recently. I really appreciate it.” Harry ducked his head, embarrassed.  Severus felt a little taken aback. Sure, he had protected Harry, but he had always done that.  He hadn’t “done a lot” recently…unless he had.

There had been more contact perhaps. The horrible night when Voldemort had ripped in the boy’s mind had required a modicum of kindness. Then with Dumbledore and McGonagall gone, Severus was forced to deal with the boy’s fear and anger. There was no one else to, and he was worried the boy would have done something stupid left to his own devices.

When Severus had been injured, the boy had been kinder than he had to be. Severus had been reminded of Lily instead of James that night and the realization had almost panicked Severus. Still, he had purposefully told the boy off the next morning specifically to stop something from changing between them. Surely, he wasn’t too late.

With a horrid flash of realization, Severus saw what Potter saw: a lack of hatred, affection even. Severus could admit that the hatred had been scaled back. Harry was just a fifteen-year-old boy, not some demon spawn. Severus knew that. Still, he didn’t believe that this lack of hatred meant affection had developed in its place. He’d be aware if it had.

“Sirius is waiting for you.” Severus said, inclining his head towards his fire. Potter didn’t object to Severus ignoring his words of thanks. He just nodded and turned towards the fire.  

“Thank you, sir.” The boy was insufferably hard to despise. Severus nodded, and returned to Jane’s essay, glad to be rid of the boy.

“Headquarters!” Harry said firmly. A sound like a minor explosion echoed for a moment then was gone. Severus looked up from the essay and stared at the wall.

xXx

For a moment, Harry didn’t believe it was Grimmauld place at all.  The kitchen that he had flown into seemed to have had years taken off of it. The stone floor had been scrubbed within an inch of its life and the large wooden table was covered with candles emitting a warm, cozy glow. Copper pots hung atop the stove, a large bowl of fruit sat on the counter. These indicators that someone actually used the kitchen seemed to rid it of its previous gloom and make it seem almost homey. Sirius, who had clearly been waiting impatiently in the kitchen, stepped forward and hugged Harry, who was still taking in the clean, bright kitchen.

“Wow, Sirius it looks great,” Harry said. Sirius brushed off the compliment impatiently and pulled Harry along by his arm, reminding Harry very much of a child wanting to show their parent a favorite toy. He had to hurry to keep up as Sirius pulled him from the kitchen towards the entrance.

It was not just the kitchen that had changed. The Black family tapestry had been unceremoniously covered with floor to ceiling bookcases filled with books, flowering houseplants, and some of the prettier, more benign Black family artifacts. Cheerful candlelight made the space seem roomier than Harry had thought it was.

“Snape recons reading is a better use of my time than talking to Buckbeak.” Sirius said grudgingly. “I told him to order me ‘a couple books’. This is what he comes up with. At least now, I’ll look smart.” The books were almost all thick and serious with titles like Profound Potions Profundity an Me, You and Mystodiastalicsyphining. Still, there were a few novels and Quidditch books thrown in and, despite Sirius’ tone, Harry could tell that he was pleased.

Sirius pulled Harry up the staircase. Gone were the elves heads and peeling wallpaper. They had been replaced with cheerful blue paint and bright wall sconces, and the worn carpet had been pulled up to reveal the houses’ handsome original wood floors.

Sirius’ speed was causing Harry to run out of breath and he was wheezing by the time they finally reached the top of the newly handsome staircases. They stopped at the third floor, where Harry had not been before. Like the rest of the house, it looked warm and cheerful. The wood floor was covered with a soft, taupe rug and glittering gas lamps remedied the lack of windows.

Harry followed Sirius to the first wooden door to the right. He stopped dead right behind Sirius, seeing the nameplate on the door: Harry James Potter. Harry felt his stomach drop. He turned to Sirius with his mouth open. The excited expression on Sirius’ face had been replaced with an uncharacteristically nervous one. He gave Harry a fleeting smile and opened the door. 

Harry guessed that the room was at least fifty-percent bigger than Dudley’s. The walls were a light grey and, like in the rest of the house, the oppressive velvet curtains on the large window had been replaced by fluttering white muslin, allowing the sun to light up the room. A large bed with a handsomely carved headboard and a Gryffindor scarlet duvet dominated the room.  A glittering chandelier and ornate fireplace added a touch of the house’s former grandeur.  Cautiously, Harry approached the wooden dresser that matched the bed. Its surface was covered with framed, moving photos.

Some were pictures Harry had seen before, but there were some he hadn’t: Lily sat on a swing with a giggling baby Harry as James pushed them; a 15-year old Sirius smiled nervously beside James, who was wearing a lopsided Santa hat, Harry’s grandparents stood behind them, laughing; a smiling Sirius ran around with a squealing Harry on his shoulders as Remus followed nervously, hands ready to catch Harry; Harry stood with his arms around Hermione and Ron.

A suspicious ball seemed to rise up Harry’s throat as he picked up the picture. He hadn’t really believed Sirius had done this for him until he saw the picture of his friends. He turned around to look at Sirius, who was fidgeting fussily with the duvet.

“You really did this all for me?” whispered Harry, gazing around the cavernous room. Sirius nodded with a little shrug.

“Do you like it?” he asked, with a brave attempt to control his nervousness. “I know the Gryffindor colors might be a little much, and there might be too much grey. We can change the –“

“It’s perfect,” said Harry, cutting Sirius off. He didn’t want to change a single thing. No one had ever given him a room before. His room at the Dursley’s had been ‘Dudley’s second bedroom’ and as much as he loved his dorm at Hogwarts, it wasn’t his alone.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, taking in the bright, inviting room again. When Harry was little, he had asked for the guest bedroom instead of the dark, cold cupboard. Petunia has told him that people only gave rooms to people who were wanted in the house. He had never been wanted before.

“When did you have time to do all this?” asked Harry. The entire house seemed to have taken on a new character. A feat that he and the Weasley’s had not been able to pull off in all the weeks of last summer.

“I have had a lot of time recently,” Sirius said with a smile that was wry, but no longer bitter. “And I realized that the best thing I can do for the Order, right now at least, is to learn all of this healing stuff and make headquarters livable. Household magic is a little funny. The house responds best to the actual owner. Dumbledore helped some too. Mom’s still down in the hallway though. I was going to take out the wall but it’s a load bearing beam.” Sirius said with a touch of exasperation. Usually, when Sirius talked about the house and his family, he ranted and raved, this good humored acceptance was new.  Harry found it oddly reassuring.

“I know I am no great parental figure, but I want know that you always have a home here, with someone who loves you, even if you can’t use it all the time,” said Sirius, looking at the fall instead of Harry. “I know you have to go back to your Aunt and uncle’s, but if you want, you could spend a few weeks here.”  

Harry had no idea how to respond. Never in his recollection had anyone ever said that they loved him. Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Sirius, and maybe even Remus and Dumbledore had all shown him in their own way that he was loved, something that meant more to Harry than he would ever admit, but he hadn’t realized how comforting the actual words were. It was as though they had reached out and touched a place Harry hadn’t known existed, providing a new sense of security Harry hadn’t known he craved. An embarrassing heat started to prickle at his eyes.

“Of course I want to stay with you,” said Harry, deepening his voice to a hoarse whisper to avoid any traitorous cracking. Sirius ducked his head and grinned widely at the floor.

“Oh well, that’s awesome,” Sirius replied, smiling up at Harry and nervously scratching at the back of his head. There was a moment of awkwardness that caused both of them to laugh. “Come here.”

Sirius pulled Harry into a great, bone-crushing hug, almost yanking Harry off of his feet. Harry laughed and hugged Sirius back tightly. The laugh that rose up Harry’s throat was trapped in his nose and changed to a shuddering sob. The happiness, relief and love Harry felt at the moment crashed painfully against years of loneliness and disregard. The mix of emotions was so overwhelming that he couldn’t control the next humiliating chocked sob no matter how much he wanted to.  Sirius softened his grip from the sports-guy bear hug to the gentler embrace a father might use to comfort a child.

“Hey…hey, it’s ok,” said Sirius, a little concerned. He rubbed a soothing hand over Harry’s back. “I’ve got you.”

Harry had never really been held before either. It felt safe and wonderful, and even though he was mortified, he couldn’t help but lean in to the embrace. He sniffed in to Sirius’ shoulder for as long as he dared, then got himself together and awkwardly pulled away. To Harry’s surprise, Sirius’ eyes were wet too. His Godfather dug through his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He looked at it skeptically for a moment.

“My handkerchief is in dire need of the laundry I’m afraid,” said Sirius as he reached over and wiped the tears away from Harry’s cheeks with his thumbs. “That’s better.” Harry wanted to open his mouth to apologize, or to assert that crying spells weren’t something he commonly indulged in, but Sirius cut him off.

“How about I make us some steak and kidney pies?” asked Sirius, raising his eyebrows invitingly. Harry looked at his grandfather skeptically.

“You can cook?” asked Harry innocently. Sirius gave his great bark-like laugh that seemed to come more and more frequently these days, and put an arm around him.

“I can take the frozen pies out of the box and put them in the oven,” said Sirius, leading them out of the bedroom to the hallway. “Here I was, hoping to impress you.” Harry looked back to the bright nameplate that declared ‘the bedroom’ Harry’s room and looked back to Sirius.

“You have,” said Harry, blushing as Sirius did.  They walked down the stairs and turned to the kitchen, neither of them noticing the handle turning on the front door.  

Back at Hogwarts, Severus’ arm flared with a familiar pain.

Harry wondered if it wouldn’t be better to be dead. His mother was. His Father was. Sirius was. He liked to think that there was something - somewhere else and they were all happy there: talking, laughing, being together. Harry wanted to be there with them so badly that life on this planet - where he was forced to cook, clean and endure Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia all day - seemed pointless.

He had spent the entire first week at 4 Privet Drive lying on his back thinking about this and wishing that his soul would leech out of his body and rise upwards, as fragmented and weightless as the specks of dust that caught the light.

It didn’t happen, but one day Uncle Vernon knocked on his door.

“What?” asked Harry lethargically. Much to Aunt Petunia’s and Uncle Vernon’s consternation, he no longer tried for the semblance of civility he usually reached for.

“Someone is here for you.” Harry raised his head at that. Whomever it was, Uncle Vernon did not look pleased.

Downstairs, Snape, dressed in Muggle clothes, was standing beside a thin-lipped Aunt Petunia, who looked small and mousey next to Snape, who was still imposing in jeans. Harry blinked, taken aback.

In the midst of the earth-swallowing pit of grief Harry was in, he had forgotten about Snape and potions and occlumency and everything else that was not directly related to the fact that Sirius was dead.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Potter. I don’t have all day,” Snape said. Harry looked down at his pyjamas.  

“It’s Thursday?” Harry said stupidly. Snape scowled.

“Go get changed. Let’s go.”

Feeling stupid and wrong-footed to see Snape there in Privett Drive, wearing a black pea coat and jeans no less, Harry quickly bounded back up the stairs and got dressed. He shoved his wand in his back pocket, snatched his potions book off of his desk and ran back down to Snape.

“Let’s go,” Snape said, nodding to Petunia and walking out the door without a look backwards. Harry wondered what he said to them. With an awkward look at his Aunt, Harry followed. Snape stopped in front of the house and held out his arm.

“We’re going to apparate,” Snape said when Harry looked at his proffered arm like it was something dangerous or disgusting. Not entirely sure what that was, Harry took hold of his arm.

They ended up in a small, underpopulated neighbourhood. The identical cream cabins were lined up like tired workers waiting for a train at the end of the day.

Before Harry could ask where they were, Snape had already started to walk purposefully through a dead garden towards the little house.
The inside of the house was stuffy and, like the garden, had a dead, neglected air. In the living room, the entire East wall, excepting the fireplace was covered in books. The leather sofa by the fireplace looked relatively new, but the matching armchair was well-used. There was a wonderful cinnamon smell in the air.

Severus didn’t stop, but led Harry down the stairs to a stone brewing room. Which, in contrast to the living room, looked well-used: ingredients lined the shelves, piles of cauldrons were stored in the corners, and more books were piled on a desk. It was completely windowless except for one sad, boxy window filtering a weak light.

Severus flicked his wand, lighting the candles

“Ok, let’s start with the basics,’” he said.

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“My home,” Snape said, looking at Harry like he was a little slow. Harry knew this, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why?”

“Grimmauld Place is still insecure given…past events…and Hogwarts is to far for regular practice. So, I will tutor you here if that suits you, Potter,” Snape said, his voice tight and defensive.

“No - that’s fine - uhm - thanks,” he said.

“Alright then, as I was saying, let’s go back to the basic elements that your Potions OWL will test.”

A book opened in front of him: a boil solution.

“You have an hour,” Severus said. “I will observe.”
 
Harry nodded and started to gather the ingredients with a sigh. The idea of spending time brewing made him irritable and tired. He just wanted to be left alone, left to wallow, but after a few minutes of cutting and reading, he felt himself start to relax.  

It was the first time since Sirius’ death that Harry had actually done something more than stare at the ceiling. For an hour, Harry chopped, cooked and prepared potions ingredients and thought of nothing more significant than the amount of bubber-tubber pus needed in an acne solution.

Snape, for his part, was watching Harry out of the corner of his eye, assessing the child. He was thinner than usual, pale, but that was to be expected after losing the closest thing one had to a parent.

Both of Snape’s parents were long dead. His Mother had died when he was during his sixth year at Hogwarts. He still remembered Slughorn’s awkward attempts at sympathy, the way the man kept pulling at his sleeves. Madame Careburn, the Mediwitch before Madame Pomfrey, was there as well, and Severus remembered the indignity he felt at the unspoken assumption that he might somehow cause a scene, need professional, medical help.

He had left Slughorn’s claustrophobic office as soon as he possible could and returned to his dorm to pack up his trunk and head home.

There was no one after that: no owls, no calls. His Father to drunk to make any arrangements. It was Snape who called an undertaker. Snape who stood alone at a tombstone - he had been too embarrassed to stand there alone with a Vicar, so he hadn’t gotten one.

Then Dumbledore had appeared at Eileen’s graveside. Severus had been too surprised to say anything. Dumbledore didn’t seem to expect him to.  

“Is there anything I can do to help you, Severus?” he had asked finally. Severus shook his head.

“You’re so brave, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “but I hope you let the people who care about you help you through your grief.”

Severus muttered something in agreement, but he hadn’t meant it. He had already been well on his way to the dark side, and he had barely heard Dumbledore’s words at the time, but the Headmaster’s kindness had been the only kindness offered during that horrid time and Severus had never forgotten it. It was part of the reason he knew he could meet Dumbledore on that hilltop years later.

Severus considered opening his mouth and saying something to Potter. He had made ginger snaps. He had decided he was going to be kind to boy, supportive, reassuring. But Potter looked so drawn, and Severus suddenly had no idea what to say. Did he really expect cookies to make this better?

Potter’s potion thickened and turned an acceptable beige. Severus nodded in approval.

“Alright Potter, that’s enough for today. This is just to get you started” Snape said. “Next week we will work on Occlumency.”

Harry nodded, although the relief had gained from the hour of potions was both surprising and welcome. Severus handed handed him a battered, red tin.

“This is a port-key, it will allow you to bypass my wards and it will return you to your home,” Severus said. “Until Next Thursday.”

Harry nodded. He expected Snape to make a joke about not using the tin except for the designated Thursday practice, but he didn’t. In fact, Snape hadn’t said anything mean to him all day.

“Remember, clear your mind before you sleep,” Snape said. Harry nodded and gripped the port-key.

Snape’s steady face turned into a swirl of black as Harry was rudely jerked back across the country to Surrey.

Uncle Vernon was waiting for Harry when he got home.

“Who the ruddy hell was that?” he yelled the moment Harry entered. Harry shrugged.

“I don’t want your freak - ”

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia said, looking around the room like she might be being watched. “Vernon it doesn’t matter, just let the boy go.” She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper “Remember?”

Uncle Vernon’s rage melted to some sort of fear, he scowled at Harry with deep loathing.

“Go to bed,” he snapped. Harry swallowed, and nodded, running up to his room before Vernon changed his mind.

It was only 5. but laying his head down on the pillow he’d knew he’d sleep immediately.

Remembering Snape’s instructions, Harry closed his eyes and focused on ‘clearing his mind’, which really just meant he breathed deeply and tried not to think of Sirius. In moments, he was asleep.  

Cedric was dying - slowly. His eyes were pained; his fingers reached for Harry.

“Help me,” he mouthed, unable to speak. Harry couldn’t moved. He was frozen, useless.

Then it was Sirius. His face covered in soot and blood. Dementors swirled behind him.

“Sirius, look out!” Harry said. He reached for his wand, but it wasn’t there.

Cedric started to convulse. Harry ran over.

“Cedric, no!”

“This all your fault, Harry,” Sirius said. The Dementors whipped around him faster now, pulling his soul from his mouth, ears and eyes.

“SIRIUS!” Harry said. “Expecto Patronum.” He had no wand. Sirius fell to his knees.

“SIRIUS!”

“Wake up!”

Harry woke with a hot, pain on his cheek. Uncle Vernon had slapped him.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said instinctively. Before being fully awake, he had pulled himself in to the corner of the wall. Vernon looked down at him, blisteringly angry.

“Sorry! You woke the bloody house up you ungrateful little rat,” The dream, the pain, the freshness of Sirius’ death and the cold reality of what he was now left with hit Harry as he stared up at Uncle Vernon.

He shoved Harry hard against the bed.

“Wake me up again and I swear to God you won’t have any food for a week,” Uncle Vernon promised and Harry had no doubt he meant it.

With that, he gave Harry a final shove and strode out of the room.

Uncle Vernon’s yelling and shoving never affected Harry, but in that moment, in the wake of his dreams, he had a mad desire to cry.

                        xXx

“What happened to your face?” Severus asked as Harry floo’d into the .

“A fight with my cousin,” Harry lied. Snape looked at him for a long moment.

“I’ll get you some bruise salve,” Severus said simply. Harry nodded. He had woken his Uncle up again the previous night. He had tried to clear his mind, to meditate, but the dreams kept coming: Sirius, Cedric, his parents. He had not gotten a good night sleep in weeks. Neither had Uncle Vernon, and it was doing nothing for his temper.

Severus handed him a bottle of thick cream and Harry dabbed it on his eye. After a moment of assessment, Severus nodded tightly.

“Let’s get to it then,” Severus said. Before Harry could respond, Severus shouted: “Legilimens.”

Surprised, Harry’s image of the Gryffindor common room stood for a moment, then disappeared into a sea of blackness and fairy lights.

Cedric’s sightless eyes stared up at him.

Harry himself fell through the air towards the Quidditch pitch.

Sirius fell through the veil.

“No!” Harry yelled, falling to his knees.

A moment later, the wood floors came into view, then Snape’s boots.

“Are you hurt, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, but didn’t get up. “I’m sorry, I’m awful at this,” he muttered to the ground. His hands were shaking. He was embarrassed.

“You doing as well as can be expected,” Snape said. Harry shakily got to his feet, and Snape reached out and steadied him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Harry snapped. “Cause you’re afraid I’ll cry or something, ‘cause I won’t!”

Most disconcertingly, Harry felt his eyes start to prickle. He had been denied the last few meals and it was making him irritable.

“I’m just being objective, Potter,” Snape said, frowning at him.

“Well, I don’t need it! Just ‘cause Sirius….” Harry took a deep breath, calming himself. “I’m fine!”

“Clearly,” Snape said, looking at Harry with some concern.

Harry still looked a little too pale for Severus’ taste. Severus flicked wand and tea service materialized on the coffee table. He waved it again and an assortment of biscuits appeared on plate and steam issued from the spout of the kettle.

“I think you’ve done enough for today,” Severus said. “Have some tea.”

Despite his anger, it was very hard not to ravenously shove all the biscuits in his mouth.

 "Thanks,' he said gracelessly. He settled on a chocolate one as Snape poured them both tea. The strong, hot liquid burned away the sticky, cold feeling his own memories had brought. He relished it. Away from the Dursley’s, eating and drinking, Harry’s permanently tense muscles started to relax.

"I'm sorry," muttered Harry, embarresed for his outbutst. Snape shook his head.

 "Occlumency can be very challenging," he said. "Especially when - well it just can be challenging, Potter. Your frustration is understandable." 

Harry met his eye and, uncharacteristically, Snape looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

He cleared his throat.

“Potter, about Black…” Harry felt like Snape had just socked him in the gut. The minor relaxation he had indulged in moments ago was now gone. He was afraid of this, of Snape thinking that Harry wanted to talk about his feelings

“Dumbledore wanted me to inform you that there is going to be a memorial for Black this Thursday,” he said.

“Oh - Right,”  Harry responded feeling quite wrong-footed. There was an awkward silence. “My Aunt and Uncle -”

“If you wish to go, Potter. I will ensure you are able to.” More silence. Harry stole a little glance at Snape. It was odd now, their relationship. No longer did he know what he meant to Snape or what Snape meant to him. Only months ago Snape was the last person Harry ever wanted to see, now it seemed like he was only adult he could handle being around - and could handle being around him.

“Oh, ok. Thanks,” whispered Harry.

Snape nodded stiffly in response and poured Harry some more tea.

As promised, Severus arrived on Thursday. The white collar and cuffs that Snape typically wore had been replaced with black. He stood beside Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon kept casting sideways glances at the man. Again, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what Snape had said to them to allow him to go.

“Ready, Potter,” he said. Harry nodded. Snape offered him a crumpled football - a portkey - and it started to glow blue.

“What the hell is that?” demanded Uncle Vernon as Aunt Petunia gasped.

Before Snape could do more than shoot them a disdainful look the were soaring through the air, like a mad spinning top or a carelessly thrown Frisbee.

They landed hard on a cracked linoleum floor. They were somewhere underground. It looked like an old lou, but there were no toilets, just a bored, curly haired boy who looked up from his book to gave a vague ‘hiya’ as Snape tossed their portkey into the bin beside him.

The climbed up an iron staircase to a sleepy corner of muggle London. Black cabs rolled past, cafes were beginning to open. It was odd to be with Snape in this world, and they walked in silence through the empty streets of Maryleborne. It was a gloomy Thursday and the perpetually boring neighbourhood was seemed even more dreary than usual. Snape turned towards a small, yellow church. Harry stopped walking.

“Will his body be there?” Harry asked softly. Snape looked at him for a moment then shook his head.

“No,” Severus said, clearing his throat. “No. People will just say some nice things and talk about his life. That is all.”

Harry nodded, still worrying his lips. He didn’t want to cry in front of Snape. He didn’t want to cry in front of anyone. He had stopped walking towards the Church. Snape had as well.

“Remus will be there, right?” Harry asked, not knowing if he wanted to see Sirius’ old friend or not. Harry knew Sirius’ death was his own fault. While he knew Remus had always been kind to him - Harry dared to think that Remus actually liked him - but now that Harry had killed Remus’ best friend, he wasn’t so sure that he’d be so happy to see him.    

Snape nodded and, with that, started to walk towards the Church. Harry sighed and followed.

There were only a few people: Moody, the Weasley’s, Tonks, Dumbledore, and Remus who was watching the door. When he saw Harry was come through, he jumped up to his feet and hurried to the door.

“Harry!” Remus’ face was kind and when he put his arm around Harry and something inside his stomach unclenched. Harry hugged him back, hard.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Remus sounded so like Sirius that Harry’s heart jumped to his throat. Harry just nodded. Remus seemed to understand.

Harry could see Hermione, Ron, Ernie, Neville, and Luna sitting on a bench near the front. Luna waved at him, and he smiled. Still he couldn't face being cheerful for them, not right now.

“Come, let’s go sit,” Remus said, keeping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. They took a few steps forward. Then Remus turned back. “You’re welcome to join us, Severus.”

Snape just shook his head and walked to the back row to sit alone. .

After a few minutes, silence fell over the small crowd and Dumbledore stood up walked to the podium. It was the first of his speeches Harry didn’t care to listen to. He talked about Sirius’ work for the Order, his exploits at school, and…

“Of course, Harry, who Sirius loved very deeply,” Dumbledore said, his eyes piercing Harry’s. Remus took Harry’s hand, and Harry let him. The roof of Harry’s mouth felt like sandpaper and he felt irrationally, deeply angry as Dumbledore continued to talk.

Dumbledore didn’t know about Sirius. He didn’t know that he had been the only person Harry knew who could make Snape laugh; he didn’t how Sirius’ eyes lit up for whenever he saw Harry; he didn’t know how hard it was for Sirius to change and paint walls, buy books and study for Healer’s exam, to become a responsible adult. Harry couldn’t possible believe that Dumbledore understood how much it meant to Harry that Sirius had become that for him when no one else before had bothered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Snape. His face was unreadable as he stared at the alter in front of him. Feeling Harry’s eyes, he looked over. Harry snapped his head back to the front of the small church.

A wispy haired witch in purple robes started to speak about death and the after-life. Harry focused on his shoes. He never asked Sirius if he believed in the afterlife. There was so much he had never asked Sirius. The wispy haired witch finished, and Harry was glad when he did. It all seemed so pointless.

People started to rise and Harry did too until Remus took his wrist.

“Wait, Harry, I have something for you,” Remus said. Harry sat back down and watched as Remus dug a pristine dragon skin box out of his pocket. He opened it to reveal a glittering gold watch with gently spinning planets. It was one of the most beautiful things Harry had ever seen.

“This was Sirius’. He wasn’t much for heirlooms, but this watch was probably the most important thing he owned. Your Grandparents gave it to him when he turned 17,”  Remus said, turning it over so Harry could read the inscription.

Happy 17th
We Love You.
Harry and Catherine Potter

Harry fingered the words of the Grandparents he never knew. Another loss.

“I still remember the look on his face when the gave it to him,” Remus said, smiling. “You would have thought they had given him a million galleons. The only time I saw him that happy again was when he talked about you. All he ever wanted was to have a family, to belong. You gave him that, you know? You were the reason he was able to keep going on.”

“I just - I can’t believe he’s gone. That I’ll never…” Harry stopped, unable to go on and knowing Remus would understand. Remus squeezed Harry’s leg.

“I know. Me too.”

Harry’s eyes were starting to swell. Remus slid the watch on Harry’s wrist.  

“Remus, are you sure?” he said. “If you want - ”

“Don’t be silly,” Remus said, fastening the latch. “He would want you to have this.” Harry swallowed.

“If you’re every feeling alone, if you’re ever missing him, just look at that,” Remus said, squeezing Harry’s forearm. “Or you write me, ok? Anytime. If you ever need anything or want to talk, you can always come to me.

Harry swallowed down a thick ball in his throat and nodded.

“Thanks,” he whispered, not trusting himself to say anything else.

“Ready, Potter?” Snape said. Grateful to focus on something other than the watch, Harry nodded.

They apparated to Mrs. Figg’s backyard and walked silently through Privet Drive. Snape, Harry know, would be perfectly happy to not have any conversation, but Harry found the silence oppressive, and there was something he had to say.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, as they walked to the door. “Thank you for taking me today.”

“It was no trouble, Potter,” Snape said irritably, as though the idea that he would do something nice for Harry was embarrassing.

At the front door they turned and faced each other, both uncomfortable. Thinking unhelpfully that they looked like they were ending a first date, Harry had to hold back a laugh.

“Well, Potter, I’ll see you next week Thursday then, for our lessons.” Snape said.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. Snape looked at Harry. His face was emotionless, but Harry could detect the whirring and spinning of thoughts in Snape’s mind as he tried to figure out what to say.

“And my condolences,” he said stiffly. He half-raised an arm, like he might pat Harry on the shoulder or something, but thankfully for both of them, he didn’t. If it was anyone else ‘my condolences’ would have seem cold and out-of-place - Snape had, after all, held Harry as he had cried all night - but But Harry knew that even that had been hard for Snape, that he had likely been working himself up all day to say it. Harry was as touched by those three words as he had been by Remus’ speech.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said genuinely. Snape gave a stiff nod and turned to walk away. Harry turned back to the Dursley’s door with a sigh, feeling oddly alone as he heard Snape apparate back to Hogwarts with a pop.

Harry opened the door. Uncle Vernon was there, almost as though he had been waiting for Harry.

“So, he’s dead.” Uncle Vernon’s blunt statement washed over Harry. He wasn’t sure he could feel anymore. Harry just shrugged and started to walk to the stairs.

“Don’t walk away from me boy.”

When at home with the Dursley’s, Harry tried his best to be quiet and obedient just to make the time pass with the least amount of pain and trouble. Right now, he didn’t care. Knowing he’d pay for it with a missed meal later, Harry continued up the stairs.

He had only gotten two stairs up when Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the back of is collar and yanked with all his might. Harry slid backwards down the stairs, landing painfully on his ankle.

“You think you can give me cheek now, do you?” Uncle Vernon asked, his purple face and spitting mouth inches from Harry.

“N-no,”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir,” Harry parroted, trying not to stutter.

“You think you’re a big man now? I don’t care what people from the freak school of yours say. You’re nothing,” Vernon said, painfully grabbing Harry’s shoulders. Vernon wasn’t usually like this. His anger, his rage, it was usually directed at something Harry had said or done. This unfocused vitriol unsettled Harry.

“You’re under my roof,” Vernon said. “You will respect my authority.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Harry.

The back of Vernon’s hand connected painfully with Harry’s cheek so hard that it sent Harry to the ground. Apparently, Harry could still feel something.  

“Get upstairs,” Vernon said, loathing on his purple face. Trembling, Harry picked himself up off of the ground and walked passed Vernon, not daring to look him in the eye. The metallic taste of blood dripped into his mouth.

Ignoring the throbbing in his jaw, Harry lay on top of his thin duvet, watching the sky darken. There was always a point in the summer when Hogwarts finally felt far away and the realization that he had three months with the Dursley’s sunk in. This was that moment. Hogwarts was far away. Sirius was gone. As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, Harry imagined the last light in his own soul finally extinguishing.

What would he be doing now if Sirius was alive? Sirius had promised to show him how to fix up a motorbike, maybe they’d be doing that. Perhaps they would be walking around Muggle London, chasing each other on broomsticks, watching Quidditch. Perhaps - and this was Harry’s dearest, most painful thought - they’d just be sitting in Sirius’ new living room talking.

Harry tasted salt and realized that tears had been running down his face. It made his lip sting. Harry pressed against the cut with his tongue. Sometimes, when he was a kid and really upset about something, he’d throw himself down the stairs. It started when he noticed that when Dudley tripped, fell, Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would sweep him up and kiss and cuddle him. Harry had been so desperate for affection that he threw himself down the stairs in hopes that Aunt Petunia would comfort him, hold him.

She didn’t. Harry landed at the bottom of the stairs with a squawk of surprise and genuine tears (it had hurt a lot more than he thought it would). Harry was not held. Aunt Petunia told him to stop making a fuss and went back into the kitchen. Harry had found solace in the sharp pain of the tumble. For once, he wasn’t sad.

He did it time-and-time again until one day, the falls stopped hurting and bruising him. His magic must have protected him. Harry hadn't thought about that pain in a long time - since well before Hogwarts - but lying on the bed, agonizingly alone, feeling his insides burning with emptiness, he craved that physical pain.

His maudlin thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a grey owl pecking insistently at his window. Surprised, he got up and let him in. The bird landed on the bed, seemingly looking at the messy room in disapproval, and stuck a leg out. Harry took of the parcel and the letter and tossed some of Hedwig’s owl nuts at the bird, who took them skeptically and flew off.

Harry tore open the first letter.  

Potter,

I thought these books may provide a productive diversion.

Best,
Severus Snape

Harry ripped open the wrappings. Cavalier and Klay, Moby Dick and the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Slowly, Harry ran his fingers over the embossed leather cover and a slow, small smile broke out over his cracked lips. He lay back on his covers and started to read.