Harry Potter had spent the night curled up in an armchair that was hidden in a corner of the common room. What he’d seen in Snape’s mind echoed behind his eyes every time he closed them.

He had spent 10 years locked up alone in a cupboard. His cousin Dudley had taken great delight in tormenting and bullying him, and he had thoroughly developed his skills in escaping the ‘Harry-Hunters’. His aunt and uncle had barely tolerated him on a good day and were down-right cruel on bad days.

No adult ever seemed to believe how bad it was, or if they did, they were swiftly disabused of the notion. Harry had given up asking for help by the time he was four.

He’d been thrilled to finally make – and keep – friends when he’d arrived at Hogwarts. People who liked him and stood up for him.

So knowing how it felt on the other side . . . how could he have done the same thing to someone else?

Harry felt sick just thinking about it. He’d seen in Snape’s pensieve . . . he knew what Sirius and his father had done to Snape while they were in school. He knew that Sirius hadn’t gotten over it and loved to taunt the Head of Slytherin at every opportunity. He knew that Snape wasn’t popular and didn’t seem to have friends or anyone to care about him.

So how could he have acted like Dudley?

Snape had been right – he was just like his father.

Harry buried his face into his drawn-up knees with a groan of despair.

“Harry?”

Blinking the moisture from his eyes, Harry looked up to discover Ron and Hermione peering down at him in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. “Has something happened to . . . Snuffles? Or Remus?”

Harry shook his head. “No, they’re fine.”

“Then what is it?” Hermione waved her wand and two armchairs marched over to them. Harry’s friends sat down and leaned towards him. “Another vision from . . . Voldemort?” Hermione continued, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Harry, you’re supposed to block those out . . .”

“It’s not . . . him,” Harry muttered. “It’s Snape.”

“You mean the greasy git’s come back?” Ron made a disgusted face.

“Don’t!” Harry said, sharply, before Hermione could even open her mouth. “Don’t call him that!”

“Why?” Ron looked bewildered. “That’s what he is.”

“Because if we call him names, what makes us different than my cousin and his gang?” Harry said.

“He takes points or gives detention,” said Ron, making it sound like the worst punishment he could think of.

“He doesn’t do that until after,” Harry pointed out. “So why do we start it?”

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked softly while Ron struggled for an answer.

“You know the, uh, special lessons Snape was giving me?” The two nodded. “Well, I went snooping – yes, Hermione.” Harry held up a hand. “I know it was wrong. But at the time, I thought he was up to something and thought I’d be able to find out what it was. He caught me, yelled at me and chucked me out of his office.

“Sirius was furious when he found out Snape wouldn’t give me lessons anymore. So he . . . he came to Hogwarts, found Snape in his private lab and barged in.

“I followed him, Snape started on about me again, and then . . . Sirius and I were . . . we weren’t . . .” Harry rubbed his arm across his eyes, too ashamed to look at his friends. “We were cruel to Snape,” he got out, finally.

“It was just Snape,” Ron muttered. “Git probably deserved it.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped at him.

“No-one deserves that – not even Snape,” said Harry. “Anyway, McGonagall said we should both apologise . . .”

“And that was the night he disappeared,” Hermione breathed in realisation. “Now he’s back, do you know where he was?”

Harry nodded. “He was JB.”

There was a stunned silence.

“But . . . but . . . but . . .” Ron stuttered.

“So now that he’s himself again, now what?” asked Hermione, eyeing Harry.

“He . . . he’s still not . . . well,” Harry said. “So Sirius and Malfoy and me . . . we’re looking after him. Malfoy and I . . . we had to see what . . . the bad memories were, so we don’t make things worse.” He looked away from his friends, his eyes welling up again. “It was so bad,” he said, thickly. “After all this time, I’ve turned into Dudley.”

Draco’s first thought on waking was that he was going to find whichever house-elf had made his mattress so lumpy and insist that it iron its hands as punishment.

Then, as he opened his eyes and blinked up at a semi-familiar ceiling, he remembered that he wasn’t in his own dorm, but in his godfather’s rooms and on his settee.

Sitting up, he stifled a groan. Perhaps this was how Uncle Sev discouraged unwanted guests, by making them sleep on what felt like a bag of rocks.

Draco stood and stretched the kink out of his back, and then looked over to where his godfather was asleep in the chair. He had fallen asleep looking so peaceful that Draco hadn’t had the heart to wake and move him.

Fawkes was still perched on Uncle Sev’s knee, and opened one eye as Draco moved.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he told the phoenix, who gave a sleepy trill of acknowledgement and closed his eye again.

The bathroom was very big, but also very Spartan. Draco thought it was a shame – if it had been his, he would have installed a bath big enough to act as a swimming pool and a shower big enough for a mountain troll. As it was, he had to make do with a cubicle that barely had room for him.

He also mourned the fact that he didn’t have any of his bathing products here, but he supposed helping Uncle Sev was worth one day of not looking his absolute gorgeous best.

When he arrived back in the living room, his godfather was awake, although the only change was the fact that his eyes were open.

“Good morning, Uncle Sev,” Draco greeted him cheerfully. “What do you want for breakfast?”

He’d barely got the word out before food popped into existence on the kitchen table. Draco wondered if that was an automatic spell, or something the Headmaster had come up with.

“Come and eat, Uncle Sev,” Draco urged, going to investigate what the house-elves had sent. “Ooh, porridge!”

Fawkes flapped his way over to a kitchen chair as Severus got to his feet and shuffled over to join Draco.

Draco tried to keep up a pleasant conversation during the meal, but it was hard when he got no response whatsoever, so he eventually lapsed into an awkward silence.

Sitting back, he studied his godfather, who was thoroughly chewing a strip of bacon. Uncle Sev had never been ill before, never been anything but his strong, controlled self, so Draco wasn’t quite sure just what he should be doing, nor how he could make things better. He also had doubts that having Black around would be helpful. At least the Healer’s geas would prevent Black from harming Uncle Sev anymore.

Fawkes gave a soft chirrup, and Draco looked up to see the phoenix gazing steadily at him. He gave a small nod and smiled. The fiery bird would also ensure Black did no more harm.

A quiet knock came from the door to Uncle Sev’s quarters, and Draco went to answer it.

Sirius’ knuckles had barely touched the disguised door to Snape’s quarters before he was turning away and retreating back up the corridor. “No, see, they’re not in, he’s obviously fine, doesn’t need us, come on, Harry, how about some Quidditch—”

“Sirius!” Harry called after him. Reluctantly, Sirius stopped at the end of the corridor, before heaving a large sigh and trudging back.

“Don’t see why it has to be us helping,” Harry could hear him muttering.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, but just as he opened his mouth to tell Sirius off, the door behind him opened to reveal Malfoy.

“Oh,” Malfoy said, as unenthusiastic as Sirius was. “It’s you two.” He turned away from the door, but at least he hadn’t slammed it shut first.

“See, even he doesn’t want us here,” Sirius said.

“We caused this so we have to fix it,” Harry said, impatiently. Merlin, had his godfather always been this . . . whiny? He stalked into Snape’s quarters, leaving Sirius to shuffle after him.

They had obviously just finished breakfast, as Malfoy was urging Snape up from the kitchen table and herding him towards a door that Harry presumed led to a bathroom. He sat down on the settee to wait for them.

Sirius hadn’t moved any further than just beyond the doorway. His arms were folded and he was sulking, kicking out at the carpet underfoot. Harry wondered whether he’d made a mistake in insisting that Sirius not be allowed in Snape’s mind. With that attitude, he didn’t think Sirius would be much help at all.

Finally, Malfoy escorted Snape back to the living room and directed him to the chair he’d been sitting in the day before. To Harry’s surprise, Fawkes flew over to perch on the back of the chair. He hadn’t realised the phoenix was in the rooms.

Snape looked just as bad as before. It really was like he’d been Kissed by a Dementor. What happened to those who got Kissed? Harry wondered. Did they have someone to care for them after, or were they just left to rot?

“Good morning, Professor,” he said after clearing his throat anxiously. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Malfoy inclined his head and dropped gracefully into another chair. He seemed as determined to ignore Sirius as Sirius was to ignore him. “We need to decide how we’re . . . you’re going to handle this.”

“Uh . . .” Harry felt himself go blank. Did that mean Malfoy wasn’t willing to help anymore?

“I know what I’ll be doing and when,” Malfoy continued, “but you—” his eyes flicked briefly to Sirius “—need to organise yourself.”

“I thought I’d come down in the mornings and after classes,” Harry said. “You know, peace and quiet to do my homework and all that.”

“Hmm.” Malfoy pressed his lips together for a moment, then said, “You are aware that your friends won’t be allowed down here?”

That hadn’t occurred to Harry at all, but thinking about it, he supposed he could see Malfoy’s point. Snape had been tormented by Gryffindors in the past, and this generation weren’t his greatest fans, either. Although he might recover just to yell at them and throw them out, Harry didn’t think it’d do any good in the long run.

“That’s fine,” he agreed, nodding.

“Just as long as your junior Death Eater pals aren’t allowed in either,” said Sirius, nastily.

“Sirius!” Harry exclaimed.

Malfoy just raised an eyebrow at him, haughtily. “No Slytherin except me is allowed in Uncle Sev’s rooms,” he informed them.

Sirius opened his mouth, but before he could get any sound out, they were interrupted by soft cooing from Fawkes.

The phoenix appeared to be uttering the sound straight into Snape’s ear. Even as they watched, Snape’s head oh-so-slowly rolled towards the soothing sound and ended up resting against Fawkes, who didn’t appear to mind being used as a cushion.

Malfoy and Harry exchanged wide-eyed glances. Perhaps, with Fawkes’ help, they had a chance at fixing this after all.

Malfoy rose and went to collect his book bag. He paused beside Snape’s chair. “See you later, Uncle Sev,” he said, resting a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “Thank you, Fawkes.” The phoenix chirped at him, then went back to cooing at Snape.

“I’ll see you later, Sirius,” Harry said, getting up and following Malfoy to the door. “Bye, Professor.”

As they walked down the corridor, having left a grumpy Sirius behind, Malfoy kept looking back over his shoulder, as if he wanted to go back and rescue Snape.

Harry had to admit he wasn’t sure it was a good idea leaving Sirius alone with Snape. Sirius didn’t seem to have grown out of his schoolboy mentality. What did that say about his godfather that he couldn’t be trusted to look after a traumatised man without causing more damage?

It was at that point, watching Malfoy look over his shoulder once again, that Harry had an idea.

Huffing, he turned around and startled. Fawkes was still cooing into Sniv’s ear, but his eyes were gazing steadily at Sirius, who was suddenly reminded that although usually gentle and placid, Fawkes was a very large bird with a very sharp beak and talons.

Shuffling his feet and feeling like a naughty child caught holding the biscuit jar, Sirius attempted to meet Fawkes’ gaze. Unable to hold it for even a minute, he stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to one of the numerous bookshelves lining the wall. He doubted he’d find anything that wasn’t Dark Arts, but it would enable him to demand that Harry not be allowed back here.

Scanning the shelves – first casually, and then more slowly – Sirius couldn’t believe his eyes. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Potions, some Muggle he’d never heard of, Potions, Potions, Potions.

This isn’t right! Where are all his books on the Dark Arts?

Frantically, Sirius started scanning all the other shelves. The closest thing he found was the Defence books.

He must have hidden them before, just in case Dumbledore ever dropped in unannounced and saw them.

Determined to find something that could save Harry from anymore unnecessary time with the Death Eaters – since the Malfoy boy had been one in training since birth – he began searching.

Living room – nothing. Kitchen – nothing. Study – nothing. Bedroom – nothing. Bathroom – nothing, although Sirius was surprised at how luxurious it was.

Wasted on Snivellus, Sirius thought. Now where else could he have hidden it all? Ah, of course, where else but the heavily warded lab?

The protective wards were amazingly complex – no doubt Sniv bribed someone to do them for him, or maybe he’d used Dark magic – but he persevered, and four hours later finally succeeded in tearing them down. Several of them had given him shocks, but he’d just ignored that.

It took him a further three hours to dismantle all the wards on the cupboards, and by the time he’d searched the last one, he’d had to resort to a Bubble-Head Charm to avoid the toxic fumes.

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” “What happened?”

The overlapping voices floated in from the living room.

“Harry! Don’t touch anything!” he called, and hurried out to where the two boys were gaping at the mess.

“Sirius! What happened?” Harry asked.

“Trying to find Sniv’s Dark Arts stuff,” Sirius replied. Cancelling the Bubble-Head Charm, he missed the mingled sorrow and anger that flashed across Harry’s face.

But he clearly saw the furious look that appeared on Draco Malfoy.

Sirius sneered at him. “Worried your precious Death Eater leader will get thrown out of the castle if I find it?”

“Shut up!”

Surprisingly, the yell came from Harry.

“Honestly, Sirius, grow up! You’re supposed to be looking after Professor Snape. Have you even looked at him at all today?”

Sirius cast a brief glance in Sniv’s direction, but said nothing. Didn’t Harry realise how dangerous it was for him here? It was Sirius’ duty to protect him, no matter what.

Harry shook his head, looking disappointed. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he said, looking apologetically at the Malfoy boy. “Dobby!”

Strong phoenix song filled the Headmaster’s office, causing Albus to drop his quill. Ink splattered over the latest report to the Board of Governors, but he could deal with that later.

If Fawkes needed him badly enough to call that loudly but not appear to fetch him, then something was terribly wrong.

Checking with Hogwarts’ wards, Albus felt his heart skip. Fawkes was still in Severus’ quarters. Had something happened to Severus?

Using every secret passage he knew, he made his way to the dungeons and Severus’ rooms, trying to prepare himself for any eventuality.

What he saw upon entering the rooms, however, stopped him in his tracks.

Severus was still sitting in his chair, his head tipped to one side. Fawkes was perched on the back of the chair, talons puncturing the fabric, his wings and head-crest extended, beak open in a warning hiss.

Harry and Draco Malfoy were stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Severus, wands out but not pointing at anything.

Perhaps most surprising was the curiously-dressed house-elf standing protectively in front of them all, hand outstretched threateningly towards . . .

. . . Sirius? Oh, my boy, what have you done now?

“Professor!” Harry exclaimed. Sirius spun around to face him. Albus couldn’t quite decide if his expression was more guilty or relieved, but underneath it was frustrated anger.

“Just what is going on?” Albus asked. He raised a hand when Sirius opened his mouth. “Mr Malfoy?”

The young Malfoy looked surprised, but soon gathered his wits. “We – Potter and I – came back from classes, and found the place like this.” He gestured, and Albus noticed for the first time that the place was in shambles. The furniture had been overturned, torn scraps of paper were scattered everywhere, the desecrated remains of Severus’ books littered the floor, and the shelves they had rested on were now little more than kindling. The only intact anything was the chair Severus was sitting in.

Albus was aghast. “What, by Merlin’s beard, happened?” he asked. He doubted even reparo would fix this.

Draco Malfoy levelled a truly ferocious glare at Sirius. “He,” he growled, “apparently thought Uncle Sev had a cache of Dark Arts stuff hidden away somewhere, and was determined to find it.”

“Oh, Sirius,” Albus said, reproachfully. Sirius looked away, but said nothing.

“He obviously hasn’t even looked at Uncle Sev all day,” Draco continued, “but Potter had the idea of leaving a house-elf to watch over him.”

Harry took up the narrative. “But when I called Dobby, Sirius . . . well, he apparently didn’t like the idea that we – I – didn’t trust him, and uh, got a bit mad. Fawkes must have thought he was going for Professor Snape, and then Dobby thought he was going for me . . .” Harry’s voice trailed off.

Albus looked at Sirius. “Didn’t you feel the repercussions from the Healer’s geas?” he asked.

“Oh, was that what it was?” Sirius shrugged. “I just thought it was the lab wards shocking me as I dismantled them.”

There was an incredulous silence as the three functioning wizards gaped at him.

“You took down the wards on Professor Snape’s private lab?!” Harry managed to say eventually.

“What did you do in there?” Draco gasped, and made a movement as if he was going to look. Harry caught his arm.

“If it’s the same as out here, then it’ll be too dangerous in there,” he said.

A look of unbelievable fury appeared in Draco’s eyes. “You ruined all of Uncle Sev’s work, and for what?” he snarled at Sirius. “For some idiotic notion that you’re better than him and will show everyone?” Draco’s wand was slowly rising, until it was pointing at Sirius’ heart. Draco was trembling with his desire to punish Sirius.

Harry had turned his back on his godfather, and now he made an anguished noise. “Oh . . . Professor,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure you can replace everything.”

Startled, Albus and Draco both followed his gaze. Although Severus’ eyes still lacked awareness, a single tear was slowly rolling down his cheek.

Harry had a hard time believing he wasn’t dreaming as he watched Dumbledore escort Sirius out of the Potions Master’s quarters. He couldn’t believe that his godfather had been so intent on his grudge against Professor Snape that he’d ignored the Healer’s geas.

Mind you, it could have been worse, he suddenly thought. What if the geas caused Sirius to focus on that rather than harming Snape?

Malfoy looked round at the debris. “How are we going to clear all this?” he said, quietly. “Uncle Sev’s had that book collection all his life. Some are irreplaceable. And his lab . . .”

“Dobby, can you help?” Harry asked, looking down at the house-elf.

Dobby tugged fretfully at his ears as he surveyed the damage. “Dobby can be repairing the furniture,” he squeaked out eventually. “But Dobby cannot be repairing the books.”

Wise to the ways of house-elves – or Dobby, at least – Harry hastily laid a hand on the elf’s head. “If you could just fix what you can, Dobby, that’d be great,” he said.

“As Harry Potter wishes!” Dobby raised his arms, and all of the pieces of broken furniture levitated into the air.

They briefly swirled in the air, as if caught in a giant, invisible hurricane, and then shot out to their respective places, assembling themselves like a jigsaw.

Harry looked around with a sigh. The empty bookcases made the room seem bigger, more airy . . . and far less homey.

“Thanks, Dobby,” he said, patting the little house-elf on the head to stop the tears of joy that were about to spring forth. “Are you able to separate the book pages into common or rare, and then provide a list of what the books were?”

“Dobby will try, Harry Potter!” Dobby bounced once, then fell still, his eyes screwed up in concentration.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Harry began to think that Dobby couldn’t do it. And then, with little shivering movements, the bits of paper began to stir.

Abruptly, all of it shot into the air, and then dropped into two piles at opposite ends of the room. It reminded Harry of the inside of a snow globe that Dudley had had once.

Dobby snapped his fingers twice, and a blank parchment appeared in the air above each pile, before slowly filling with book titles.

Eventually, it was done, and Dobby handed the lists to Harry before popping out of sight.

Malfoy – who had remained quiet up until now – reached for the list of rare books. “You really think you can replace these?” he asked, skimming the list.

“If not, then I’ll make sure Sirius compensates Professor Snape,” Harry replied.

Malfoy snorted in derision. “Potter, some of these books are exceedingly rare, and cost Uncle Sev a fortune – and not always in Galleons. He had quite a few one-of-a-kinds, too. Those can never be replaced.”

“Then I’ll work on finding a way to fix them,” said Harry firmly.

Shaking his head as he ushered Professor Snape towards the bathroom, Malfoy said nothing.

Two weeks later, Albus called Minerva and Poppy together for a progress report. The news was not encouraging.

“No change, I’m afraid,” Poppy sighed.

Albus looked down at his hands, trying not to show just how bitterly disappointed he was.

“It’s hard to tell just how much damage Mr Black’s actions have caused,” Poppy continued, “but at the very least, Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy don’t appear to have aggravated the situation any further.”

“How are Harry and Mr Malfoy coping, now that Sirius isn’t available?” Albus asked. If the two boys started falling behind in their school work, then Severus might have to be sent to St. Mungo’s instead.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Poppy said.

“They have worked out a reasonable schedule,” Minerva took up the explanation. “During classes, a house-elf watches over Severus, and they both check on him between their lessons. Harry usually stays with Severus for lunch, and Mr Malfoy stays with his godfather over-night.”

Minerva paused for a second before continuing. “They also spend a lesson period with Severus twice a week. Never on the same day, and never the same class twice in a row.”

“Is that affecting their work?” Albus asked, concerned. This was what using Sirius was supposed to avoid. Much as he had appreciated the Marauders’ hi-jinks when they had been at school, the same tendency in someone who was supposed to be a productive member of the Order and a good role model for Harry was highly exasperating.

“No,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “They inform the relevant professor beforehand, asking what the lesson will cover and about any assignments. Then they request one of their friends to take notes for them.”

“Why, that’s very sensible of Harry!” Albus exclaimed, beaming in delight.

Poppy and Minerva exchanged a look. “I believe,” Poppy said, slowly, “that Mr Potter only started doing things that way because Mr Malfoy had already done it.”

“Then it is a very good idea of Mr Malfoy’s,” Albus said firmly, after a minute. “10 points to Slytherin for it.”

Down in the dungeons, Fawkes carolled, softly but triumphantly, into Severus’ ear. No-one was around to see the corner of his mouth briefly curve up into a half-smile before falling still again.