Harry glared at Sirius, his arms folded across his chest. How had he gotten into Snape’s rooms anyway? He flicked his glare at Draco for an instant.

“I was expecting Greg and Vince,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He barged in when I opened the door.”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” said Sirius. He was actually pouting.

Harry shook his head. “It’s the fact you shoved your way in here with no invitation, and then started insulting Professor Snape—”

“Harry, you’ve been spending every spare moment down here in the snake pit,” Sirius interrupted. “Don’t you miss your Gryffindor friends?”

Harry gaped at his obviously-insane godfather. “Sirius, I spend every night in Gryffindor Tower, and have classes with them. What’s there to miss?”

“How about the trust?” Sirius folded his arms as Harry had.

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. Sirius gasped.

“They’ve corrupted you!” he accused, pointing a finger at Harry.

“What?” Harry shook his head while Draco rubbed his forehead.

“They’re trying to make you Slytherin, and I won’t have it!” yelled Sirius.

“What has gotten into you, Sirius?” asked Harry, frustrated. “You should have given up this grudge years ago!”

“They are snakes, Harry, slimy, untrustworthy snakes whose only pleasure in life is serving Voldemort and who would hand you over to him faster than blinking!” Sirius ranted. “And the worst one of all is that greasy git!” He stabbed a finger towards Snape.

“Stop calling him that, what are you, nine?” Harry snapped, slapping Sirius’ hand down.

“Why should I? It’s just Snivellus,” Sirius said, sulkily.

Abruptly, Harry had had enough. Who needed Voldemort when petty house rivalries pushed people apart?

“DON’T CALL HIM THAT!!” exploded out of Harry before he even realised he was thinking it. “His name is Professor Severus Snape, and he deserves respect. If you can’t do that, then get out!”

And just like Snape had done to them at the start of this mess, Harry’s magic rose up, fast and strong, and Sirius was blown back out into the dungeon corridor.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Minerva McGonagall was with Albus in the Great Hall when they saw Sirius Black stomp his way out of the dungeons and through the front door.

Exchanging worried glances, they hurriedly made their way to Severus’ quarters.

The door was closed, but it was opened quickly enough by Draco Malfoy when they knocked. He stepped aside to let them enter, his face paler than usual, although there were spots of colour over his cheekbones.

“Is everything all right, my boys?” Albus asked, anxiously.

“We saw Mr Black leaving,” Minerva explained. “He looked . . . displeased.”

A snort – worthy of Severus, thought the Deputy Headmistress – came from the far corner of the living room, where Harry was pacing back and forth like an agitated lion.

“Oh, yes, he was very . . . displeased,” drawled Draco. “He thought Potter is spending too much time with us – how did he put it? – slimy, untrustworthy Slytherins.” His mouth curled up into a sneer the likes of which Minerva hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Well, it’s not like I agreed with him, is it, Malfoy?” Harry snapped. Minerva was quite surprised. She’d thought they’d been getting on well together over the past few weeks. “I threw him out, didn’t I?” Harry continued.

“I beg your pardon, Mr Potter!” Minerva gasped. “You did what?”

Harry gave her a sulky but defiant glance. “He was saying the same old stuff, Professor,” he tried to explain. “Honestly, he was like a broken record and he just – wouldn’t – stop. Professor Snape deserves better than that, so I, uh . . .” Sheepishly now, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “My magic chucked Sirius out.”

“There were probably better ways to have handled it, but still, well done, Harry!” said Albus, clasping his hands together enthusiastically. “You defended Professor Snape because you wanted to!”

“Well, he deserved it,” Harry said, calmer now, coming to stand beside the still-catatonic Potions Master. “He’s strong, brave, pretty much genius-level smart, and okay, he may not be the most patient of teachers, but at least he kept us all from landing in the Hospital Wing every week!”

“Not hard for anyone who’s read a book published after 1875,” Draco muttered. Minerva was pleased to see that instead of snapping at his blond classmate, Harry just grinned at him.

Turning back to Severus, Harry crouched in front of him, placing a hand on his knee for balance and, Minerva thought, to hopefully draw Severus’ attention to him.

Her colleague didn’t move, but Harry continued regardless.

“Professor Snape, I would like to formally apologise for how I behaved towards you,” he said, his voice strong and true. “I was cruel, unnecessarily so, and I have regretted every word since. I am very sorry for disrespecting you, Professor, and hope you’ll get better soon.”

“Yeah, please come back, Uncle Sev,” Draco added, crouching beside Harry and touching Severus’ other knee. “I miss our weekly chats,” he continued, mournfully.

“I, too, miss our conversations, dear boy,” added Albus, gently squeezing Severus’ shoulder. “I’ve always enjoyed trying to discover where you’ve hidden lemon drops that you don’t really want but took anyway to please me.”

Harry and Draco muffled sniggers at that, but Minerva just sighed and raised her eyes heavenward. With a small huff, she stepped forward to briskly pat Severus’ other shoulder.

“It’s about time ye came back, laddie,” she said, her natural brogue slipping into her voice. “It’s nay good seeing Gryffindor win our Quidditch matches without ye there to snap and snarl aboot it.”

From his perch on Severus’ lap, Fawkes began to sing.

For the first time in he didn’t know how long, the hungry darkness was . . . less hungry. The picking, pecking, nagging voices were quieter, as though they were coming through an ever-lengthening tunnel. When they tried to claw him to shreds, they just bounced off him, as though made of rubber.

Incredibly, the darkness was . . . retreating.

The fiery melody danced around and through him, warming him, filling in the jagged holes the rotten voices had made in him.

He even thought he could hear soft voices, gentle voices, words that were kind and touches that soothed.

Inch by creeping inch, the darkness was being driven away from him. Slowly, he found himself uncurling from his protective huddle. Slowly, he found himself standing. Slowly, the steel was being poured into his spine again. He was being freed from the darkness. He was . . . he was . . .

. . . sitting in an armchair in his living room?

It was early enough when Harry woke up that only the most extreme of students, such as Hermione – who was starting to panic badly now their O.W.Ls were only a month away – were awake.

Leaving Hermione muttering to herself in the common room, Harry made his way downstairs, broom in hand.

“Good morning, Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall as he reached the Entrance Hall. “Outdoor exercise today, I take it?”

“Morning, Professor. Yeah, I thought we’d . . . we’d . . .” Harry’s voice trailed off as something over her shoulder caught his attention.

“Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall queried, but Harry barely heard her. Turning to see what had captured his gaze, the Transfiguration professor gasped loudly. “Merciful Merlin!”

The Gryffindor point glass was almost entirely empty of gems, except for a few lining the bottom of the hourglass. But – for the first time in several long weeks – the gems weren’t black.

Instead, they were their normal ruby colour.

Gryffindor still wouldn’t be winning the House Cup this year, but at least they were finally out of negative points.

Dropping his broom with a clatter, Harry raced for the dungeons. Gasping out the password at Snape’s door, he almost fell through it, barely catching himself as he looked frantically around the rooms.

Draco was still fast asleep on the settee, grumbling faintly as the crash of Harry’s entrance disturbed him.

But Professor Snape’s armchair was empty!

Crossing over to Draco, Harry realised he could hear running water. He reached down and roughly shook Draco awake.

“Go ‘way, Potter,” Draco mumbled, trying to bat him away. “Too early.”

“Draco, the professor’s gone!” he said, urgently, and the blonde’s eyes popped open.

“What?” he squawked, levering himself up onto his elbows and looking over to the empty chair. “But . . . he was right there! What happened? Oh Merlin, we lost Uncle Sev!” he moaned, dropping back onto the settee.

Even as Harry opened his mouth to answer that, Draco suddenly sat upright. “Why can I hear water running?” he asked.

The question had barely left his mouth when the sound of the water stopped. Two minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Professor Snape emerged, wrapped in a towelling robe and rubbing at his hair with a towel.

He froze abruptly upon catching sight of his gaping audience, then scowled. “What are you gawping at?” he barked.

“Uncle Sev!” “Professor Snape!” the two boys chorused joyfully in unison.

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall shrieked from the doorway, dropping Harry’s broom. Harry hadn’t even realised she’d followed him.

Professor Snape flinched as she flung herself at him, then after a hesitant moment, he gingerly patted her on the back.

“Och, I must go and get Poppy – and Albus,” she said finally, drawing back and sniffing. She strode for the door, then paused briefly to look back. “It’s good to have you back, lad,” she said, warmly, and then she bustled out into the corridor.

Professor Snape frowned, puzzled. “Did I go somewhere?”

Harry and Draco grinned at each other, then burst into relieved, joyful laughter.