“SNAPE!! I want a word with you!”

It was only thanks to his early warning wards that Severus Snape didn’t ruin the potion he was brewing. It had taken him two days to get to this stage, and Poppy would murder him if he had to start over again.

As the current cause of possible delay slammed into the Potions lab, Severus cast a stasis spell over his cauldron and turned to face the intruder.

“Black,” he acknowledged. “What are you yapping on about now?”

Sirius Black came to a halt with a lab bench between them. He rested his palms on it, leaned forward and growled.

“You stopped Harry’s Occlumency lessons – again! You know Dumbledore wants him to learn to shut Voldemort out!”

“Well, perhaps if he was willing to learn, I wouldn’t have felt the need to stop wasting my time,” Severus drawled, folding his arms across his chest.

“Of course he wants to learn!” Black exclaimed. “No-one would want Voldemort in their head! Except his loyal followers, I suppose,” he sneered.

Severus snorted. “Potter wants to know about the corridor he’s been dreaming of. He hopes it’ll bring him acclaim, like the attack he witnessed on Arthur.”

“That’s a lie!” a younger voice contested hotly from the doorway. Black jerked around. Interesting. He obviously hadn’t brought Potter with him.

Severus raised an eyebrow at Potter. “Really? Which part?” he asked, silkily.

“I didn’t report the attack on Mr Weasley for ‘the acclaim’,” Potter stated, moving further into the lab and halting next to Black. “I did it so he could be saved!”

“Hmm, didn’t deny your interest in the corridor, though, did you?” Severus sneered at him. “Your right to know absolutely everything working overtime, is it?”

“Shut up, Snape!” Black said, sharply. Potter flushed, although whether that was due to anger or shame was anyone’s guess.

Anger, Severus decided. Didn’t like being taunted about something he shouldn’t be interested in.

“Until Potter is willing to learn and works at learning, then there’s nothing more I can do.” Severus turned back to his potion and prepared to lift the stasis charm. “Run along now. I’m sure the Potter fan club is waiting for a glimpse of their idol, and there are sticks to be fetched, mutt. Some of us have real work to be getting on with.”

“Yeah, all work and no play makes Snape a dull boy,” Black taunted in a sing-song tone.

“Who’d want to play with him anyway?” Potter asked, sounding disgusted. He obviously felt safe with his dogfather there to protect him.

“Yes, maybe if you washed your hair more, Snivellus, people wouldn’t run away so quick.” Black chortled, amused by himself, as Severus tensed.

“Shame he couldn’t do anything about that skin, though,” Potter added.

“True. Sickly vampire is never a good look. And those teeth . . .” Black tutted. “Ever heard of dentists, Sniv?”

“Hermione’s parents are dentists,” Potter said to Black. “Perhaps she could arrange an appointment.” He paused and looked over at the frozen Potions Master. “Free of charge, of course.”

“Get out.” The hiss was emphasized by the rattling of glass vials. Potter and Black looked around, uneasily, at the trembling potions. “Five hundred points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher.” Severus whirled on them, his eyes blazing with fury and his wand pointed directly at them. They both took a rapid step backwards, and Black’s arms came up as though to shield Potter.

“Now, Snape . . .” he started, warily eyeing the wand.

“I said GET OUT!!” Severus bellowed, and flicked his wand.

Black and Potter were thrown backwards, and landed hard in the corridor outside the lab.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Harry and Sirius slowly picked themselves up off the floor and stared at the closed door. They could hear breaking glass behind it.

“Guess old Snape can’t handle the truth,” Sirius said, cheerfully, then slapped Harry on the back. “Come on. Lunch time. Let’s go find Remus.”

Harry looked at the door again before turning to follow his godfather out of the dungeons. Shame was beginning to crawl through him. Even if it was Snape, greasy bat of the dungeons, he had been cruel. It reminded him unpleasantly of the taunting Dudley’s gang used to do.

As they crossed the Entrance Hall, something caught Harry’s eye. He turned to look, and stopped dead. “Sirius . . .”

There were more gems in the Gryffindor point hourglass than he had ever seen. Almost the entire lower section was full. But they weren’t the red colour they should have been.

All of the gems were solid black.

“Sirius . . .” Harry repeated, faintly. Sirius came to stand beside him, and gaped at the hourglass.

“What the . . . ?” he muttered.

“My word! What happened?” came a shocked voice from behind them. Professor McGonagall approached to study the hourglass more closely.

“What does it mean, Professor?” Harry asked, curiously.

“The gems only go black when a House is in negative points,” she said, frowning at the glass. “But how did Gryffindor end up at minus a thousand points?”

Harry gulped, and even Sirius looked taken aback. “M-minus a thousand?” he whispered. Oh, yes, Snape had been very angry . . .

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows at Harry. “Do you know why this happened, Mr Potter?” she asked.

“It was that slimy, no-good—” Sirius started to say. He was vibrating with rage.

“Sirius!” “Mr Black!” Harry and Professor McGonagall snapped in unison.

“Mr Potter? Perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain.” Professor McGonagall eyed him sternly.

“Um, Snape . . . ah, Professor Snape took points because I . . . we were . . . well, we were kinda rude to him.” Harry scuffed his toe along the ground in front of him, then eyed the hourglass. “Guess he took even more once we’d gone.”

Professor McGonagall eyed both of them, then raised her gaze heavenwards. “I don’t suppose I want to know what made Professor Snape that angry,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But you will both apologise to him as soon as possible – sincerely – and do whatever he requires of you to earn back those points.”

“But, Professor . . . !” Harry started, alarmed. With that kind of leeway, Snape could legitimately use him as potion ingredients. Or turn Harry into his own personal house elf.

“No, Mr Potter.” Professor McGonagall gave both he and Sirius a grim look. “Do you want to go down in the history books as the only student to ever earn a House negative points – let alone so many?”

“No, Professor,” Harry mumbled, and hung his head. “We’ll apologise first thing in the morning.”

“All work and no play makes Snape a dull boy.”

Severus sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace. He stared blankly at where flames had been, several hours before. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey sat forgotten on a small table beside him. His hands rested limply on his knees.

And blood dripped continuously, unnoticed, from a gash on his left forearm. It trickled down his hand and pooled silently on the carpet.

“Maybe if you washed your hair more, Snivellus.”

As his mind replayed the words of Black and Potter, over and over again, tears slowly ran down his face.

Hadn’t the Marauders been bad enough? Did Black really have to teach the next generation to carry it on?

He may not be the handsomest in their year, like Black or Potter Senior, but he still had skills. He wasn’t worthless just because he didn’t chase after every woman out there.

“Who’d want to play with him anyway?”

“Sickly vampire is never a good look.”

So he didn’t spend hours sunbathing, or primping in front of a mirror. He had work to do, for Merlin’s sake! Real work, important work!

“All work and no play makes Snape a dull boy.”

As the taunts, both new and old, rang in his head again, Severus shot to his feet with an anguished cry.

Unfortunately, this put him at eye-level with the mirror above the fireplace. He stared at himself, really looking for the first time in years.

“My, we do look a bit rough,” said his reflection, reaching up to touch his hair with his fingertips. “Need a bit of work doing, perhaps . . .”

At hearing the words from the reflection – from his very own self – Severus let out a heart-wrenching scream that held more than an edge of insanity. A bright burst of wild magic exploded in the room, shattering the mirror, the firewhiskey decanter and several dozen potion vials.

When the light cleared and everything settled, Severus was gone.

It was all very well saying apologise to Snape, Harry mused three days later, but it was exceedingly difficult to do when the man didn’t show up anywhere.

He was never in his office, or his private potions lab, which was still covered in glass and congealing potions from when he and Sirius had been thrown out.  

He didn’t come to the Great Hall for meals, and he hadn’t shown up for any of his classes.

Professor McGonagall held him back after his Transfiguration class. “Have you and Mr Black apologised yet, Mr Potter?” she asked.

“I’ve been trying to, Professor, but I haven’t been able to find him,” Harry informed her, kicking at a nearby table leg in frustration. “Maybe Sirius had better luck.”  

“Not been able to find him?” Professor McGonagall repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Didn’t you have double Potions with Slytherin yesterday?”

“Professor Snape hasn’t shown up for any class for three days, Professor,” Harry said. Hadn’t she noticed her colleague was missing?

“Any? For three days?!” Professor McGonagall’s voice had risen, and her eyes were wide with alarm. “And nobody thought to mention this?”

“Umm . . .” Harry shuffled his feet, guiltily.

“Och, never mind,” Professor McGonagall said. She folded her arms. “No doubt you were all too happy to not have Potions.”

Harry felt himself blush. She was quite right – about the Gryffindors, at least. They’d all practically had a party every night to celebrate another Snape-less day.

“You may go, Mr Potter. I must go and see the Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall said, shooing Harry towards the door. “Perhaps he knows where Professor Snape has got to.”  

“Sirius?” Albus Dumbledore’s voice echoed around the cavernous kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. “Sirius, are you here? Si– ah, Sirius, my boy,” he said, as Sirius hurried into the kitchen. “I’m glad to see you’re here. May Professor McGonagall and I step through?”  

“Of course, Headmaster,” Sirius replied, tapping the fireplace with his wand to lower the Floo wards.

Dumbledore’s head disappeared from the fire, and seconds later he stepped through it, followed by McGonagall.

“Hello, Professor, Minerva.” Remus Lupin stood in the doorway. “Can I get you anything?”

“Ah, Remus, good. No, I’m afraid we don’t have time for anything. Have either of you seen Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Remus looked surprised. “I’ve not seen him since he dropped off the last batch of potion for me.”

“Not since last week when we . . . ah, had words,” Sirius added. He looked abashed for a second, and then perked up. “Why? Have you lost him?”

“Sirius!” Remus elbowed him in the side, and he subsided.

“He seems to have disappeared. No-one’s seen him since your . . . words,” McGonagall explained, giving Sirius a stern look.

“He hasn’t been in any of his classes, and his lab and quarters are a mess of broken glass.” Dumbledore wrung his hands together. His eyes had lost their customary twinkle. “We also found blood in his quarters.”

“Maybe he’s with Voldemort,” Remus suggested quietly.

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, he always informs me when he’s summoned, and Harry hasn’t had any more visions lately.” His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know where else to look for him,” he said, sorrowfully.

Remus nudged Sirius in the ribs again, and tilted his head meaningfully in the direction of Dumbledore. When Sirius just gave him an uncomprehending stare, he gestured again, more vehemently, first at Dumbledore and then at the Floo, wrinkling his nose.

When Sirius still looked blank, Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Sirius can go and see what he can smell in Severus’ quarters,” he said.

“Me? In Snape’s quarters?! Not a chance!” Sirius squawked in alarm.

“Oh, my boy, that would be wonderful!” Dumbledore enthused. “I’m so very worried about Severus.”

“But . . . Snivellus will throw a fit if he finds out I’ve been anywhere near his rooms,” Sirius protested. “I don’t want him to take more points from Gryffindor!”

“Honestly, Sirius!” McGonagall scowled at him. “Haven’t you learnt your lesson about name-calling yet?”

“It’s just Snivellus,” Sirius muttered, sulkily, but he dropped his gaze from McGonagall’s.

“Sirius, if Severus hasn’t been seen since last week, then you and Harry were the last to see him,” Remus said. “Do you really want Harry to be questioned by Aurors over whether or not he had anything to do with Severus’ disappearance?”

Sirius sighed, and his shoulders drooped. “No,” he admitted. “Fine, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Dumbledore beamed at him before moving back to the fireplace. He took a pinch of Floo powder from the bronze container on the mantel, and dashed it into the fire.

“Professor Severus Snape’s quarters, Hogwarts,” he said, loudly and clearly, and stepped into the flames when they turned green.

“Doesn’t Severus have wards on his rooms?” asked Remus.

“Normally, yes,” McGonagall answered, moving towards the fireplace. “But when we went to investigate, all his wards had gone.”

An hour later, if the situation hadn’t been so serious, Remus would have laughed at Padfoot. If ever a dog was sulking, Padfoot was the image of it. He’d barely moved away from the fireplace and sat all hunched up. His ears were laid back, and he kept baring a front fang and sneezing. 

But for all that, he had at least sniffed the air and confirmed that no-one other than Severus had been in these rooms recently.

Which meant that the blood was Severus’.

“Could someone have been trying to get in?” wondered McGonagall. “Surely he wouldn’t have let someone in if they wanted to harm him.”

“A Death Eater, perhaps?” Remus suggested. “He couldn’t have kept them out for long without them getting suspicious.”

Padfoot gave a sharp bark and shook his head.

“No,” Dumbledore agreed. “He always let me know when one came to call on him.”

“An accident, then?” said McGonagall. “If he was angry enough, his magic could have broken free and shattered the glass. He could have been injured that way.”

“But then where is Severus now?” Dumbledore pointed out. “Why didn’t he just treat himself or go to Poppy? No, something happened . . .” He suddenly broke off and tilted his head, looking puzzled. “Someone is trying to get into my office,” he stated. “Someone not recognised by the wards. I must go.”

He looked at Remus and then down at Padfoot. “Thank you both for trying to help. I just hope Severus is all right.” With that, he turned and hurried out of the Potions Master’s quarters.

“So,” Remus started, turning to McGonagall. “Perhaps we could go and see Harry?”

Albus Dumbledore hurried up to his office, several floors above Severus’ quarters, using all the hidden passages that only the Head of Hogwarts knew about, enabling them to get from one side of the castle to the other in mere moments.  

Albus stopped short once he was in view of his office entrance. A boy stood before the gargoyle, his back to Albus. He appeared to be chatting to the stone guardian.

“I adore flying,” he was saying as Albus drew nearer. His voice seemed to fluctuate in both pitch and tone. Not as if his voice were breaking, but as if he had two different voices that spoke at once. Both of them sounded familiar to Albus, but he couldn’t place either of them.

“It’s just a shame I don’t have anyone to go flying with,” the boy continued. His voice changed again. “Mind you, Reggie’s useless on a broom, even if Mum didn’t coddle him.” The voice changed again. “I hate being an only child.”

Albus raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was something not quite right here. The boy’s magical signature was fluctuating just as wildly as his voice. Albus cleared his throat, gently. The boy whirled around, and Albus received another surprise.

The boy’s appearance was changing, too. His hair went from being long and lank, to long and bouncy, to long with a tuft sticking up at the back, although it remained a solid black colour. His eyes went from a warm hazel – which also brought a flicker of glasses with it – to a cool blue-grey, to a cold black. His skin went from a golden tan to a creamy pale to an unhealthy-looking sallow tone.

“Were you looking for me, dear boy?” Albus asked, eyeing him curiously. He was sure some of the boy’s features were changing too, but so slightly as to be almost unnoticeable.

“I don’t know,” the boy answered. He frowned in faint puzzlement and ran a hand through his hair. “I just found myself here. I’ve no idea why.”

“Well, if you come up into my office, I’m sure we can get things straightened out for you.” Albus turned to the gargoyle. “Jelly beans.” The stone creature obediently leapt aside, and Albus ushered the boy onto the revolving staircase, and up to his office.

“So,” he started, pressing the boy into a seat before his desk and then settling into his own. “Lemon drop?” The boy eagerly took one, but then looked at it as if he had no idea what it was. “Shall we start with your name?”

The boy placed the sweet on the edge of the desk and smiled at the headmaster.

“Sirius Potter,” he said. “Or maybe James Black.”

Albus’ mouth dropped open in shock.

As it happened, Professor McGonagall was still standing with Remus and Sirius when Harry joined them at the same moment as Fawkes. The bright red phoenix landed on her shoulder, sang a greeting to the others, and held out its leg for Professor McGonagall to take the attached letter. 

“Verra well,” she said to Fawkes, quickly reading the brief note. “We shall be there in a moment.” Fawkes gave a brief trill, cheeped at Remus, and then rose from Professor McGonagall’s shoulder to disappear in a bright flash of flame.

“Huh,” Sirius muttered. “Fawkes is usually friendlier than that.” Harry silently agreed. After rescuing him and the others from the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, Fawkes had always said hello to him whenever he’d had to see Dumbledore in his office.

Knowing he’d somehow upset Fawkes made Harry feel vaguely ashamed, even if he didn’t know why.

“If you gentlemen will follow me, the Headmaster has requested our presence,” Professor McGonagall said, interrupting Harry’s musing. He prepared to say goodbye to Sirius and Remus, but before he could get a word out, she carried on speaking. “You as well, Mr Potter. Come along, now.” 

Harry fell into step beside Sirius, wondering what Dumbledore wanted him for. As they all reached the gargoyle, and McGonagall uttered the current sweet-based password, Harry held Sirius back, allowing the other two to precede them up the revolving staircase.  

“Did you find any sign of Snape?” Harry asked, quietly.

“Some blood in his quarters, but otherwise, no,” Sirius said. He tried to smile confidently at Harry, but his shoulders twitched uneasily. “Just means you get to enjoy more Snape-free classes.”

“I guess.” Harry looked up, thinking he’d heard Remus call his name, but his response garnered nothing but mutters, so he turned back to Sirius. “What if it’s because of us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sirius snorted. “We didn’t do anything to the greasy snake.”

“But we were mean, Sirius,” Harry said, anxiously. “Just like my cousin and his friends.”

“You are nothing like that whale of a cousin,” said Sirius, sternly, taking hold of Harry’s shoulders. “You’re a good kid. James and Lily would be proud. Now, let’s see what Dumbledore wants.” He gave Harry a slight push towards the office door.

Harry noticed, however, that Sirius had not said anything about their behaviour towards Snape.

Remus entered the Headmaster’s office a step behind McGonagall, but stopped dead as soon as he saw the person in front of Dumbledore’s desk.  

“Harry?” he spluttered, wondering how the boy had gotten there first. Harry’s response of “Yes?” floated up from behind them even as he realised his mistake.

Dumbledore’s visitor didn’t look like Harry, although Remus was sure there’d been more than a passing resemblance not two minutes ago. Now he looked more like . . .

“Siri?” he muttered, then shook his head. The visitor’s features changed subtly as Harry and Sirius entered the office.

“James?!” Remus exclaimed, almost in unison with Sirius, but then continued, “No, that can’t be right.”

The visitor’s hair was shoulder-length, as Sirius’ was, but part of it stuck up at the back, just as James’ had – and as Harry’s still did. His eyes had been shimmering between Sirius’ pale blue and James’ hazel, although Remus was certain he’d seen them flash to a solid black, along with a look of complete and utter terror, just as he’d entered the office. Now, however, Dumbledore’s mystery guest had one blue-grey eye and one hazel eye. He squinted slightly with the hazel eye, as though unable to focus with it.

“Albus, what . . . ?” McGonagall began, staring at the young man. “Who is this?”

“To be honest, Minerva, I have no idea,” Dumbledore replied.

“James Black, ma’am,” the stranger said to McGonagall. He held out a hand, and McGonagall stared at it for several seconds before taking hold of it. She gave it a firm shake and then let go, looking faintly puzzled.

“I swear I know that signature,” she murmured, more to herself than the room at large.

“What did you want to see us for, Headmaster?” Remus asked, keeping his gaze on James Black.

“I was hoping you might recognize him, or have an idea as to what happened,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. He looked towards his office door. “Ah, good, Poppy’s here. Maybe she can help.”

Remus moved aside as medi-witch Poppy Pomfrey bustled into the crowded room. She, too, looked surprised at the sight of the visitor, who rolled his eyes in a tantalisingly familiar way, but then gave her a smile that was pure boyish charm.

As Dumbledore explained the problem to Madam Pomfrey, Remus huddled with Harry and Sirius out of the way.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked softly. “Who is that guy?”

“Not a clue, kiddo,” Sirius answered. He shot a narrow-eyed look over to where Madam Pomfrey was now waving her wand over the young man and looking confused. “But we’ll get to the bottom of this, sooner or later.”

Minerva McGonagall stood beside Poppy and watched as various coloured symbols flickered over the young man standing in front of Albus’ desk. There was something very strange going on here. She had taught James Potter and Sirius Black for seven years, and been their Head of House for that time. She had also worked with them for four years in the Order of the Phoenix before that disastrous Halloween night.

This . . . imposter certainly reminded her of both of them, but there was someone else in the mix. Someone that Minerva was sure she should know, but couldn’t put a name or face to.

“Is something wrong, Poppy?” Albus asked eventually. He absent-mindedly popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

“This just does not make sense!” Poppy exclaimed in frustration. “I’m getting conflicting readings from everywhere. For instance, my scans say that his collarbone has never been broken, had one clean break, and was broken into three pieces.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw Sirius twitch, and start to raise a hand to his own collarbone.

“I’ve never broken my collarbone,” the young man said, then he grinned and his voice changed. “Had to have my arm immobilised for three weeks when I crashed my broom. Still saved the quaffle from Reggie, though!”

There was a short pause. “Hmm, yes, well, all of my scans say the same thing,” Poppy continued. “Either this man is a physical impossibility, or he’s three people at once . . . which is also impossible.”

“So we are still no closer to discovering the boy’s true identity.” Albus looked disappointed.

“Aren’t the records in some sort of database somewhere?” Harry asked. “Couldn’t you just . . . look them up?”

Minerva snorted as she saw Albus and Poppy mouth “Database?” to themselves. Sirius also looked faintly confused – as though he’d heard the term before but couldn’t remember what it meant – but Remus and, interestingly, the surprise young man, looked as if they knew exactly what Harry was talking about.

“I’m afraid, Mr Potter, that the Wizarding world hasn’t quite gotten that far yet,” Minerva explained. “But it was a good idea all the same. 10 points.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in the negative score Severus had plunged Gryffindor into, but it was a start, she thought. Everything had to start somewhere.

Nobody saw the brief flash of absolute hatred that passed over the young man’s face, apart from Fawkes, who began an almost inaudible calming trill.   

“Okay, but there are records, right?” Harry looked at Madam Pomfrey for confirmation. She nodded at him. 

“Indeed there are, Mr Potter, but considering how many years Hogwarts has existed, then there are thousands of student records.”

“Not to mention staff records,” Professor McGonagall added.

“Couldn’t you just summon them?” asked Harry. “Say, summon the records that include a broken wrist, then from that lot summon ones that include a broken collarbone, and so on. Wouldn’t that eventually only leave you with one?”

There was a pause as Madam Pomfrey considered this.

“It would still be an excessive amount of records,” she said doubtfully.

“But we could narrow it down, time-wise,” Remus suggested. “It’s obviously someone who was very familiar with both Sirius and James.”

“That someone is still in the room, you know,” interrupted the visitor. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked vaguely annoyed.

“Apologies, dear boy. Lemon drop?” Albus held out the tin. It was apparent that the stranger was having a brief internal struggle before he finally accepted one, although it was clear he hadn’t quite meant to, since twice he raised it to his mouth and then lowered it again, before stashing it in a pocket of his robes. “Unfortunately, though,” Albus continued, “unless you’ve remembered something that would help us?” He paused, and the stranger quickly shook his head. “Then I’m afraid we must continue to discuss you as though you were not here, until such time as you can make your explanations yourself.”

Remus cleared his throat as the young man sulked. “As I was saying, I think concentrating on the years we attended Hogwarts, with maybe a few years either side just to be sure, would do. I doubt anyone older or younger than that would have paid much attention to either James or Sirius, unless they were pranking someone.”

The young man bowed his head, but otherwise didn’t make any attempt to disagree or interrupt.

“Then that is what Poppy shall do,” Albus stated, smiling at the group. “Minerva, if you could see to organising rooms for our young Mr Black, and escort Harry to his next lesson . . . ?”

“Of course, Headmaster. Come along, Mr Potter, Mr Black.” Minerva gestured for them to precede her out of the office.

“Remus, if you and Sirius could carry on searching . . .” Albus continued behind them. The rest of his sentence was lost as the spiral staircase carried the three down.

After a week, Madam Pomfrey hadn’t made much progress with the records, as she was kept busy with injured students. Harry knew this, as he was one of the injured.  

The temporary Potions professor hired by Professor Dumbledore lacked Snape’s knowledge and talent – both in Potions and maintaining discipline in the class. Three separate exploded cauldrons had landed half the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins in the Hospital Wing.

The only positive thing about the woman, Harry mused, was that she didn’t appear to be working for or with Voldemort in any way.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling over to his bed, carrying a small vial of a pink and violet coloured potion. “Now then, Mr Potter,” she said cheerfully, “how are you feeling?”

Harry responded with a string of chirps and squeaks, which the enchanted parchment on the bedside table translated as, “I’m feeling much better, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Good. Drink this, and you should be back to normal by tomorrow morning.” She handed the vial to Harry, who made a face but drank it in one go. “You have a visitor,” Madam Pomfrey informed him, taking the empty vial back.

Harry looked beyond her, and saw Remus standing at the end of his bed. He grinned, and let out a stream of clicks and trills. Remus obviously hadn’t been told what had happened, as he looked considerably taken aback. Harry rolled his eyes and tapped the enchanted parchment.

“What happened?” Remus asked, seating himself on the bed.

“We – my group – were brewing a Transformation potion, and someone—” Harry very carefully didn’t look over towards the Slytherins “—tossed a jaymouse feather in our cauldron.” He indicated the feathered-and-furred Gryffindors in the nearby beds. “The new professor didn’t know what to do to stop it exploding. Nor any of the others.”

“Oh dear,” Remus said. He seemed torn between concern and amusement. “No-one was seriously injured?” Harry shook his head.

“Any luck with the search?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. He was sure Hermione would bombard him with all the things he should have done, but she had been caught in the line of fire when Goyle – or perhaps Crabbe – had added one too many ingredients in the wrong order, and created a volatile destabilising potion. Hermione and half a dozen others were all currently locked in a specially warded room, constantly changing from solid to liquid to gas, and back again.

“No, no luck at all,” Remus said. He definitely looked concerned now. “We even checked . . . it’s home location, but no-one’s been there for months.”

“Do you think Voldemort found . . . it?” asked Harry.

Remus shook his head. “We would know by now if he had,” he said reassuringly. “Has . . . Dumbledore’s visitor remembered anything yet?”

“No. We’re all calling him JB now,” Harry informed him. “Professor McGonagall said it was too confusing otherwise.” Remus made a murmur of agreement. “What about the records?” Harry continued. “Madam Pomfrey won’t tell me anything.”

“Probably because there isn’t anything to tell,” Remus suggested. “She hasn’t even finished the first lot of summoning.”

“But it’s been a week,” Harry protested. “How could there be so many people with the same type of injury?” Remus gave him a pointed look, and Harry remembered why he ended up so often in the Hospital Wing – besides Voldemort. “Oh.”

“So has . . . JB been put in classes?” asked Remus.

“Yeah, he got placed in our year,” said Harry. He frowned. “It’s weird, though. One day, he’ll be ace at Transfiguration, the next at Potions, then Defence, then flying, then back to Transfiguration. And he keeps making all these plans to prank people, but never does anything, although I think Fred and George are taking notes.”

“Oh, dear,” said Remus, looking a lot more worried now, obviously recalling some of the pranks the Marauders had thought up. “Perhaps I’d better get Minerva to have a word with them.” He got to his feet and patted Harry’s leg. “I’ll see you soon, Harry.”

“Bye, Remus. Say hi to Snuffles,” Harry responded, then snuggled down to sleep, as Madam Pomfrey lowered the infirmary’s lights, letting out the odd intermittent chirp or squeak as he dreamed.  

Two days later, Harry was back in his classes, along with most of the others who’d been in the Hospital Wing with him. Only three students hadn’t been released yet, as they’d had the misfortune of being hit by all three exploding solutions.  

“That woman is a menace,” Hermione fumed now, dropping her Transfiguration books onto a desk with a bang. “We’ll never learn anything if we keep ending up in the Hospital Wing. And then how will we pass our O.W.Ls?”

“So it doesn’t matter if we’re gravely injured, just whether we can learn stuff?” Ron asked, raising his eyebrows at Hermione.

“Of course it matters, Ronald!” Hermione huffed at him, as Harry stifled a laugh.

Professor McGonagall entered at that moment and began returning their homework assignments and passing out the woollen mittens they’d be attempting to Transfigure today.

“She might have a point, you know,” Ron said in an undertone to Harry. “Snape might be a greasy git, but at least less people get hurt.”

Harry nodded his agreement. Three more classes had been injured by exploding potions. One of the classes had been the first year Gryffindor/Hufflepuffs, and they had been brewing a potion that was so notoriously stable that it could even be brewed in a moving carriage.

A sound of frustration drew Harry’s attention to his right, where JB was stabbing his wand viciously at his mitten. They were supposed to be turning the mitten into a live rabbit, and then turning that into a wooden bracelet, but today was obviously not one of the days where JB seemed to Transfigure things as naturally as breathing.

Harry studied JB out of the corner of his eye as he poked his wand casually at his own mitten. The young man’s appearance had settled down. Only his hair continued to change, although never by more than an inch or so. He still had one hazel eye and one blue-grey eye. Madam Pomfrey had decided that although glasses were needed for his hazel eye, the resulting strain would be too much for the other eye, so she had charmed a clear, glass-like patch for JB to wear. He had complained it made him feel like a pirate, but hardly anybody noticed it.

“Is there a problem, Mr Potter?”

Harry jumped, and looked up to meet Professor McGonagall’s gaze.

“Ah, no, Professor,” he said.

“Then kindly carry on with your work,” Professor McGonagall said briskly, and turned away to where Neville’s mitten was trying to strangle Seamus. Harry looked at Hermione, who was wearing and admiring an intricate wooden bracelet, and Ron, who’d managed to produce a large rabbit that was still made of wool, and gave a sheepish grin.

An angry “Merlin scorch it!” and a frustrated hiss caused Harry to look at JB again, just in time to see a rabbit’s leg slowly morph back into the mitten’s thumb.

JB let out a stream of angry muttering, most of which Harry didn’t catch. But the couple of phrases he did hear confused him, as they sounded very familiar, although he couldn’t remember why.

Harry puzzled over it for the rest of the day, until he found himself after dinner sitting in the Gryffindor common room. A little to his left, a group of first years were complaining about the new Potions professor.

“Snape might call us dunderheads, but at least our potions don’t explode so much,” said one.

“And if they do, Snape doesn’t dance around, waving his wand, and make it worse,” another agreed, and they all snickered.

Harry sat upright, as their words washed over him. He shot to his feet and bolted for the portrait hole, ignoring the collective chorus of “What’s wrong? Harry!”

It was, perhaps, a miracle that Harry didn’t break a leg or his neck as he raced down the stairs and along to Professor McGonagall’s office. He barely remembered to knock and wait for her call of “Enter!” before bursting through the door.

“Professor!” Harry panted, gripping the front of her desk to keep himself upright. “I’ve figured it out. I know who JB really is and where Professor Snape is!” 

Albus was sitting at his desk, trying to conquer the ever-growing pile of paperwork, when Minerva brought Harry to his office. 

“Ah, Minerva,” he said, greeting them both with a smile of genuine relief as he put the current Ministry decree aside. “And Harry. Shouldn’t you be in your dorm, dear boy?”

“Mr Potter says he knows who JB is,” Minerva informed him. “And where Severus is.”

Albus’ bushy eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Well, that’s wonderful news,” he enthused, but then remembered just who could have Severus, and his enthusiasm waned. “Was it a vision, Harry?”

“No, Professor,” Harry answered. “It was JB, actually.”

“Really?” Albus frowned in confusion. “But how would he know where Professor Snape is?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Harry clarified, “but he’d know because he is Professor Snape!”

There was a shocked silence, and then “He’s what?” burst from Minerva. Albus held up a hand to forestall any comment she might make and turned his full attention to Harry. “Please explain how you came to that conclusion, Mr Potter,” he said.

“Well,” Harry twisted his hands together, nervously. “In Transfiguration today, JB was having problems and getting really annoyed, and he started muttering to himself. I couldn’t hear all of it, but it included ‘dunderheads’ and ‘foolish wand-waving’. Then the first years were talking about the new Potions professor after dinner, and said both phrases, and I remembered the speech Professor Snape gives in first year.” Harry fell silent and chewed on his lower lip.

“Hmm.” Albus folded his hands together on top of his desk. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out if the young Mr Black is truly Severus. Minerva, would you fetch him, please?”

“Of course, Albus.” Minerva headed briskly for the door, and Albus waved a hand at a chair in front of his desk.

“Sit down, Harry,” he said, and watched as Harry carefully sank into the comfy armchair. “Lemon drop?”

“Ah, no thank you, Professor,” Harry declined, shaking his head.

Aside from soft coos from a Fawkes busily preening his feathers, they sat in silence until Minerva returned with the strange young man who could be their missing Potions Master. JB looked curious, but not unduly worried.

“Take a seat, dear boy,” Albus invited, cheerfully. “Now, we believe we may have discovered your true identity.”

“Really?” There was a faint hint of anxiety in the word, and Fawkes abandoned his primping to fly across and land on JB’s shoulder. Trilling a calming melody, he rubbed his head against JB’s cheek.

“Yes. We believe you are actually Professor Severus Snape,” Albus said, watching the boy closely. It was impossible to miss the panicked terror that flared across his face. Fawkes trilled louder.

“But . . . no!” the young man exclaimed. “I’m James Black. Sirius Potter. I’m Sirius James Potter Black!” He shot to his feet, ignoring Fawkes who had sunk talons into his shoulder to remain on his perch, and tried to bolt for the office door, only to be stopped by spells from both Albus and Minerva blocking his way. He turned around to face them again, tears flowing down his face. “I’m James Black,” he repeated, desperately.

“I’m sorry, my boy, but we must know for certain,” Albus said. He pointed his wand at the young man and began chanting a long stream of Latin.

JB shook his head frantically, and raised his arms as if shielding his head from an expected blow. A pale light surrounded him, obviously attempting to shield against Albus’ magic, but it was no use.

With one last blinding flash, the light disappeared, and with a terrible, heart-rending wail, the young man slowly shifted into the missing Severus Snape, and then promptly fell to the floor, unconscious.

Two weeks later, Minerva stood with Poppy at the end of Severus’ bed in the Hospital Wing. He had returned to consciousness after a day, but no-one could claim he was really awake. He wasn’t quite catatonic, but he did everything asked of him with the mindless agreeability of someone under Imperius. The rest of the time, he stayed motionless, his eyes open but unseeing.

“It breaks my heart to see him like this,” Poppy said softly, as if she didn’t want to disturb him.

Minerva silently agreed, but did not say so. After all the arguments over her Lions, she was fairly certain that Severus would not believe it of her, nor would he appreciate the sentiment.

“Is there nothing more you can do?” she asked instead.

Poppy shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “Physically, he’s perfectly fine, just malnourished, and a few good meals will sort that out.” She turned to look at Minerva. “Has Albus decided anything? There isn’t really any point in having Severus remain here much longer.”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Albus himself answered from behind them. He stopped at the bedside and patted the Potions Master’s lax hand. “He shall be moved to his rooms, where he’ll be looked after.”

“Looked after by whom?” Minerva wondered, not trusting the look in Albus’ eyes.

He smiled at the two witches, and it was not an altogether friendly one. “Why, by the two who caused this, of course.”

“Honestly, Remus, I don’t like it!” Sirius Black snapped, folding his arms across his chest and refusing to go near the fireplace where Remus Lupin was waiting impatiently. “Once was bad enough, but twice?”

“When are you going to grow up, Sirius?” Remus snapped back. “Dumbledore asked for you; are you really going to keep him waiting?”

“I just don’t see why it has to be in Snivellus’ rooms when he has a perfectly good office!”

Remus literally growled at Sirius, who looked taken aback by his friend’s annoyance. “Perhaps,” snarled Remus, “it’s because there’s something wrong with one of his professors and a member of the Order, and he wants to ensure he’s taken care of. If you want to hold on to petty grudges, then you can explain that to Albus yourself!” And turning back to the fire, he threw in a handful of Floo powder. “Professor Severus Snape’s quarters, Hogwarts, Wolfsbane!” And with the utterance of a newly established ward’s password, the green flames engulfed him and he was gone.

Sirius stared at the empty fireplace as the flames died down. Since when had Remus started siding with Snivellus? It wasn’t like the greasy bat had any fondness for Remus. Sirius was sure he only made the Wolfsbane Potion because Dumbledore forced him to.

The fire suddenly flared again, but instead of Remus or Dumbledore stepping out, as Sirius expected, it was Harry’s head that appeared.

“Harry!” Sirius exclaimed, dropping his arms to his sides and stepping towards the fireplace. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Dumbledore asked me to hurry you up,” Harry replied with a grin. “We’re all waiting for you.”

Sirius hesitated, then rolled his eyes. Scorch Dumbledore, he knew just what would push Sirius into doing his bidding. “Back up, then,” he said to Harry. “I’m coming through.”

Sirius stepped through the Floo into a room that was more crowded than he’d expected. Along with Harry, Remus and Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey and, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy were gathered around a chair in the middle of the room.

“Ah, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, beckoning him closer. The Malfoy boy turned, and glared at Sirius with a look that he recalled the older Malfoy giving him when they had been in school.

“What’s he doing here?” they asked in unison, then glared at each other.

“Harry discovered Severus,” Dumbledore carried on, ignoring them both.

Sirius crossed the room to clap Harry on the shoulder. “Clever boy, Harry!”

“Was just lucky, that’s all,” Harry muttered, and twitched his shoulder away. He didn’t look happy, but then again, it meant he’d have the no-good Slytherin as his teacher again. Sirius supposed any decent non-Slytherin would be upset by that.

“However,” Dumbledore ploughed on, “we have a problem.” He and the others backed away from the chair, and Sirius got his first glimpse of the returned Snape.

Sirius’ mouth fell open. Snape looked dreadful. He was almost skeletally thin, and his skin, stretched painfully over sharp bones, looked translucent. His hair hung limply down past his shoulders, and was ragged at the ends. His eyes, although open, stared blankly ahead. All life had gone from them, leaving them dull and glazed over. Snape’s head lolled back against the armchair’s wing, and his arms rested passively in his lap.

“Did a Dementor get him?” Sirius asked.

“No, it seems that Severus has suffered a trauma so great that he is hiding himself from the world,” Dumbledore explained, sadly. “Not even I can find him, so deeply in his mind is he hidden.”

“So what does that have to do with us and Harry?” asked Sirius, gesturing to include Remus. Harry looked away, obviously already knowing the answer.

“Severus cannot stay in the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore said, laying a hand on the Potions Master’s shoulder. There was no response. “He will need someone to look after him.”

There was a pause while they figured it out, and then “You can’t be serious!” “No way!” exploded from both Sirius and Draco Malfoy.

“You can’t do that; Uncle Severus will never come back!” Malfoy continued.

Ordinarily, Sirius would have disagreed with the boy on general principle, but in this case, that would mean actually agreeing to look after Snape, so instead he just nodded.

“I’m afraid in this case, I must insist,” Dumbledore said, firmly. “As Harry and young Mr Malfoy here will have classes, then Sirius will be needed during the day.”

Ugh, all day alone with Snivellus? Sirius pulled a face at the thought. Hang on – alone with Snivellus . . . He could do whatever he wanted to the Slytherin, who wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Sirius was just raising his hands to rub them together gleefully, when something pulsed through his nervous system in a jittery wave, leaving him shaken.

“Ah, did I mention you’ve all been placed under a Healer’s geas?” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly at Sirius, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Muttering under his breath, Sirius retreated to the far corner of the room. 

Draco Malfoy watched his cousin slink away, and thought of all the bad ideas the crack-pot Headmaster had ever come up with, this one was the worst.  

He turned back to look at his godfather. Yes, the man needed help, but as if two Gryffindors would be able to provide it. No doubt if he ever came back, Uncle Severus would throw a fit over the Headmaster allowing any old riff-raff into his quarters.

Draco suddenly realised the Headmaster was talking.

“. . . have to Legilimise him, but I will help you with that.”

“What?!” Draco swung round. Dumbledore had been talking to Potter, but now gazed steadily at Draco. “Why do you need to Legilimise him? He hasn’t invited you – that’s invading his privacy!”

“I appreciate your concern, Mr Malfoy,” said Dumbledore, “but unless you all see what the problematic memories are, how will you all be able to find the best way to heal Severus?”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. Dumbledore was correct – if they didn’t know what had caused his godfather to retreat in the first place, then they could accidentally make things worse.

“If we must,” he agreed after a moment. “But only the trauma, and the Gryffindorks go first, that way I can help repair any further damage they cause.”

“Very well, Mr Malfoy.” Dumbledore inclined his head in a brief nod. “Harry, if you would stand before Professor Snape?”

Draco kept his eyes on his godfather as Potter moved to stand where he could meet the professor’s gaze, ready to leap forward at the first sign of . . . well, anything that Uncle Severus displayed.

After murmuring instructions to Potter – He’s been taking lessons in this from Uncle Severus, how could he not know how it works? – Dumbledore gripped his wrist and they raised his wand together to cast the spell. Dumbledore stepped back.

Potter remained motionless for a good five minutes, before he let out a cry and reeled backwards. His face had gone white, and his expression was stricken. Draco felt a pang of worried alarm. What had Potter seen?

McGonagall, Pomfrey and Black all surged forwards to reach Potter, but interestingly, Dumbledore didn’t move.

“Oh God,” Potter choked. “Oh Merlin. That was . . . I can’t . . . we did that?” He turned to the Headmaster, his eyes pleading for an absolution that didn’t come. When Dumbledore gave no answer, Potter stumbled to the nearest chair, and sank into it, burying his face in his hands.

“Harry?” Concerned, Black knelt before him.

Potter looked up at Snape, then at the Headmaster. “Sirius shouldn’t go in,” he said, hoarsely. “It’ll be too much. Sirius has to stay out.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “If you think that’s best, Harry,” he said, and turned to Draco. “Do you require assistance, Mr Malfoy?”

“No,” Draco answered bluntly. “Uncle Severus taught me.” He moved slightly to see his godfather’s eyes and cast the spell.

People. Hundreds of people. Towering over him, looming, threatening. Sniggering, taunting, laughing. “Loser.” “Coward.” “Snivellus.” “Who’d want him?”

Pain. Exploding everywhere. Fists to his head. Arms broken. A belt to his back. “Stupid brat.” “Worthless.” “Freak.” “Shoulda drowned ya at birth.”

Loneliness. Aching silence. No one to aid or defend. Just alone. Always alone.

Draco reeled back with a cry of his own. He covered his eyes with a hand and fell to his knees. How in Merlin’s name did his godfather cope with that without going insane? He suddenly gained a whole new respect for his Uncle Severus’ strength of mind.

A small sound made him look at Potter, who had wrapped his arms around himself. A sudden flash of rage washed over Draco.

“How could you do that?” he snarled at Potter.

“Mr Malfoy—” Pomfrey started, in protest, but Draco ignored her.

“There’s always been rumours about your family and how they treated you,” he carried on. “So how could you do that to him?”

Poppy Pomfrey startled back and fell silent as Mr Malfoy suddenly screamed his last sentence directly into Mr Potter’s face.  

Mr Potter jerked back, and his face lost any remaining trace of colour, but he said nothing in reply.

Mr Black began to hotly defend his godson, but Mr Malfoy turned on him, too.

“And you!” he said, in a voice of deepest loathing. “Following in the Black family footsteps, are we? Your mother would be so proud.”

Mr Black tried to splutter a protest but then fell silent.

Poppy inched her way closer to Minerva. “What is going on?” she asked softly.

Minerva looked faintly disapproving. “I’m afraid Harry and Sirius . . . had words with Severus before he disappeared.”

“Is that how Gryffindor ended up with so many negative points?” Poppy asked.

Minerva nodded. “They haven’t said, but I don’t think they were kind words.”

Poppy sighed. “You’d think the Marauder would have realised he’s not in school anymore.” She looked at where Severus was sitting, oblivious to the screaming going on in front of him.

A sudden flash of light heralded the arrival of Fawkes, and seemed to halt everything. The large phoenix ignored everyone else, and landed on Severus’ knee. He sidled along until he was pressed up against the Potions Master’s body, and then began to croon a low, soothing melody.

Poppy blinked at the bird, then looked at Albus, who seemed just as surprised as everyone else.

Pulling herself together, she clapped her hands briskly. “Right, everyone out. It’s time for Professor Snape to rest.”

“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Mr Malfoy said, and moved to stand beside his godfather.

Mr Black didn’t complain, but hustled Mr Potter out of the room before he could say anything.

Poppy shooed everyone else out, then turned for a last look at her patient. Mr Malfoy had fallen to his knees in front of Severus, leaning against his legs.

And as she watched, Fawkes shifted so that his long tail feathers were draped comfortingly over Mr Malfoy’s shoulder.  

Darkness. Black and total. Inky and impenetrable.

He was safe in the darkness.

And yet still they found him, their taunts and jeers pecking away at him like the sharp beak of an eagle or a hippogriff, tearing off little pieces that he’d never get back, no matter how quickly he snatched at them.

His cries to scare them off came out tinny and weak, perilously close to a tearful whine, while theirs bounced off the echoes, building and multiplying until he could hear nothing else, not even the breath in his lungs.

He drew himself in, curled into the tightest ball he could manage, pulled the darkness around himself like a curtain, but still it wasn’t enough to hide him.

He flailed out with his arms, trying to beat them back, to push them away, to lash out and tear blood-drenched strips from them, but somehow the strips were torn from him instead and left him ragged and bleeding, although there was no outward sign of it.

The darkness suddenly expanded around him, a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow him whole.

He retreated into a ball, cried out for mercy, tried to squeeze himself ever smaller so that he might become invisible and the darkness not find him.

But just as it was poised above him, sharp teeth ready to tear him apart, a golden melody floated through the dark.

It burned like fire, and wherever it touched, the darkness retreated, squalling in pain.

The melody wrapped around him, soothing his agony and covering him so that he was safe from the torment of the dark.

Finally relaxing, he curled himself through the melody and slept.

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.

Harry threw his quill down in frustration. Either his friends had gotten the assignment wrong – and if Hermione had gotten homework wrong, then he was Voldemort’s new best friend – or the new Potions professor had resorted to making stuff up.

“Why is it a bad idea to combine blue Fwooper feathers with jarvey saliva in a Keep-Away Solution?” Harry muttered crossly. He’d developed the habit of speaking out loud whilst doing his schoolwork in Snape’s rooms. It helped him to think, and he supposed provided something other than quiet stillness for Snape. “It would really help if she said what a Keep-Away Solution is!”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t mentioned in any of the textbooks. Harry had just spent a very aggravating hour looking through not just his book, but Hermione’s books from the previous years. He very carefully hadn’t asked why she had them with her.

He’d even asked a sixth and a seventh year if he could borrow their books, but still couldn’t find even a footnote regarding that particular potion.

With a huff, he closed the book he’d been skimming through.

“Come on, Professor,” he said, getting to his feet from where he’d been sitting beside a small table in front of the fire. “Let’s get some exercise.”

It had occurred to Harry and Malfoy that sitting around all day wasn’t doing the professor any good. Well, it had occurred to them after a very pointed remark from Madam Pomfrey. So they had taken to urging Snape to walk around his rooms. Occasionally, they’d take him to the Quidditch pitch and would take turns wandering with him while the other one flew.

Now, however, Snape only took a few steps before coming to a halt in front of one of the restored bookcases.

“Come on, Professor, we have to keep going,” Harry urged, tugging on the man’s sleeve. Reluctantly, Snape carried on around the room, only to halt again in the same spot. Harry groaned and tugged on his sleeve until Snape was moving again.

The third time, though, Snape refused to move at all. Harry pulled until he thought Snape’s robe would tear, but the Potions Master could have been turned to stone for all the movement he made.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Harry turned to face him.

“Okay, you win, Professor,” he said, wearily. “You obviously want me to find something, so what am I looking for?”

There was no verbal response, but something flickered through Snape’s blank eyes, and then one of the books on a lower shelf popped out.

While Harry gaped at it, Snape calmly stepped around him, and continued his circuit of the room.

Picking it up, Harry discovered it was a potions textbook. A very old textbook. Keeping half his attention on Snape, Harry flipped through the book. It appeared to be either a very general potions revision guide, or it was a seven-year textbook.

Whatever it is, Harry thought, I wish we had them now!

Most of the potion recipes looked easy enough for even Neville to brew correctly. And there – just four pages from the start of the book – was the Keep-Away Solution.

“Ah-ha!” Harry exclaimed, triumphantly. “Thanks, Professor!” He turned to look at Snape, and his excitement instantly drained away.

Snape was standing motionlessly in front of the door to his potions lab.

“Oh, Professor,” Harry murmured sadly. “I’m so sorry.” Snape’s head tilted slightly, but he put up no resistance as Harry led him back to his armchair.

Quarter of an hour later, Harry was still studying the old book. He’d been shocked speechless to discover the N.E.W.T section – the very first potion in it was the Boil-Cure that they’d brewed in their very first potions lesson.

“Blimey, wonder what they’d make of our N.E.W.Ts,” Harry pondered out loud.

“Who?” asked Malfoy from behind him, causing Harry to jump so badly he fell off the cushions he’d been sitting on. Malfoy just rolled his eyes and crossed to greet his godfather.

“I found the book our new professor’s using,” Harry replied, once his heart was beating steadily in his chest again. He held up the book for Malfoy to examine. “Bit out of date, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy said, absently, flicking through the book. “’75 isn’t that long ago.”

Harry chuckled. “Better check again, Malfoy,” he informed the other boy. “That book was written in eighteen seventy five.”

“What?!” Malfoy’s eyes widened, and he went straight to the front page of the book to check.

“No wonder she can’t stop any of our potions exploding, if she’s using that,” Harry said, grimacing. “It classes Boil-Cure as N.E.W.T level.”

Malfoy sat down heavily on the settee. “Merlin’s beard, didn’t Dumbledore check her credentials?” he wondered.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” he said, “but it’s a good motivator for us to get Professor Snape back.”

Unseen by either of the boys, a small spark flared to life in Snape’s eyes.

It took Hermione another three days, along with much hair-pulling and gnashing of teeth, to discover the old text in an out-of-the-way corner of the library. Word quickly spread through Gryffindor and Slytherin, then to the other houses, and by the end of the week, Madam Pince had been flooded with requests for more copies of the book.

“It’s ridiculous, Albus,” she complained to the Headmaster.

Albus tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. He had been assured that his temporary potions professor had been home-schooled to the highest level, even if she wasn’t a Potions Mistress. Perhaps he should have asked just what her ‘highest level’ consisted of.

At that moment, his fireplace flared with green flames. Albus groaned as he heard Poppy’s strident tones.

“This cannot continue, Albus!” she said as soon as she laid eyes on him. “I have four N.E.W.T level potions students in the infirmary tonight, added to the three from last night, and the six from last week!”

“What?” Albus half rose from his seat. “What happened?”

“They’re all trying to complete their N.E.W.T projects without any competent supervision!” Poppy raged. “Really, Albus, something must be done, otherwise none of the seventh years will be in fit state to take any N.E.W.T!” And with that, she backed out of the fire, letting it go out with a pop that echoed around the office.

Albus sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh.

Madam Pince rose to her feet. “If I have your approval, I will go and see about ordering more of that potions book,” she said. Albus waved a hand at her, and she departed, muttering under her breath.

“We have to do something!”

“This is ridiculous. If he wants to go in there so badly, we should let him.”

“Are you nuts? Dumbledore said it’s still too dangerous in there!”

“Well, what do you suggest, then?”

Harry and Draco – he hadn’t been Malfoy for weeks – stood side by side in Snape’s living room. Snape, as had become his habit recently, was standing motionlessly in front of the door to his lab.

Harry thought it was a good sign that the professor wanted to brew again, but even if the effects of Sirius’ manic search had dissipated, they still wouldn’t be able to let him in. Snape was a Potions Master, after all, and no doubt his experiments would be far above the seventh years’ ability, never mind Harry or Draco’s.

Harry’s gaze wandered and suddenly fell on an old cauldron set out of the way near the door.

“We could set him up with the equipment somewhere else,” he said.

Draco looked at where Harry was looking and nodded. “We could set him up in the kitchen,” he said, thoughtfully. “Herbs, spices, vegetables – we’d be set.”

Harry thought of what Snape could make with that list – and his mouth fell open.

“You want Snape to brew soup?” he spluttered.

“Why not?” Draco smiled and headed for the kitchen to see what he could find.

“Because he’s a professor, not a house-elf?” Harry said sarcastically.

“Would you rather he tried to brew something else and poisoned us?” Draco raised an eyebrow then turned back to rummaging through cupboards. Harry shuddered at just how Snape-like Draco had looked.

Unfortunately – although he’d rather hex his tongue out than admit it – Draco had a point. Sighing, Harry went to help him gather the necessary equipment.

Harry returned to his dorm that night covered in a foul-smelling sludge. Whatever Snape had been brewing in his head had not worked out so well in the real world, and Harry, Draco and the kitchen had been coated in the stuff when it exploded.

Snape, however, had remained immaculate, although whether that was because of something Snape had done or because of Fawkes, the boys didn’t know.

It took Harry three hours to get all of the sludge off himself. He supposed it could have been worse – it had taken Draco four hours.

Yawning, he stumbled towards his dorm room, eager for bed.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t to be.

He’d barely set foot out of the bathroom when a searing pain went through his scar. With a cry of pain, Harry dropped to his knees, his hands pressed against his forehead.

Voldemort was apparently furious.

How DARE he pretend he can’t feel me? He WILL come when I call!

Abruptly, Harry realised that Voldemort meant Snape. Either no-one had told the megalomaniac dark wizard about Snape’s breakdown, or he didn’t believe it.

Another surge of pain blossomed in his skull, and Harry screwed his eyes shut against it.

Damn that traitor! He will pay for this!

Harry began to panic. Snape was in pain – probably more than he was – and Draco was on his own with the professor. He had to do something, had to go and help them.

Clenching his teeth with effort, Harry clambered to his feet and lurched towards the staircase. Peeling one eye open, he just barely managed to stop himself from tumbling headlong down the winding stone steps.

Leaving one hand pressed against his head, and using the other as support against the walls, he made his way down to the common room. Wishing briefly for Floo powder, he staggered towards the portrait hole.

Harry didn’t know how long it actually took, but it seemed a very long time before he found himself slumped against Professor Snape’s door. He gasped out his password – Draco had his own – and almost fell flat on his face as it swung open.

Draco was fast asleep on the transfigured settee. Snape, sat in his usual armchair, looked as he always did, but his eyes were open, and Harry had the impression that Snape was screaming inside. Fawkes was perched on Snape’s leg, trilling firmly but with a worried edge.

Harry fell to his knees beside Snape’s chair, his free hand gripping the professor’s shoulder, both for support and balance. “I’m here, Professor,” he said, softly, the pain causing his words to slur. He wasn’t sure he could do anything, but he had to try.

With Fawkes chirruping encouragement, he transferred his grip to Snape’s forearm. Even through the sleeve of the nightgown, he could feel the Dark Mark burning.

Shuffling the sleeve up, Harry squinted at the Mark. It was a deep black and looked as though it had tried to explode out of Snape’s arm. The skin around it was red and inflamed.

Another surge of agonising fury went through his scar, and before he could stop it, his head dropped down until his scar was resting against Snape’s Mark.

Harry almost thought he could hear Snape screaming.

Why, oh why had he not learnt Occlumency when he had the chance? He sorely regretted it now. He needed to protect them both. He needed . . .

It felt like a small snapping noise, somewhere deep inside his mind. Then there was the rush of a soundless explosion and abruptly, all the pain disappeared.

The absence of it was like total silence, echoing around him.

Stunned, Harry slowly lifted his head, almost expecting to be struck down by the blinding pain again. When nothing happened, he sat back on his heels. Fawkes was carolling triumphantly, causing Draco to stir and mutter groggily from the settee. And Snape . . .

Harry stared at his potions professor in disbelief.

Snape . . . was smiling.

Dark. Red. Dark. Red. Thick, black, inky darkness. Pain, pulsing red like a heartbeat. Eaten by darkness or washed in agony.

Time passed. He had no idea how much. Time was meaningless here.

Someone was so angry with him. Not that there was anything unusual in that. Everyone always hated him. Nothing he ever did changed that.

With a whimper, he curled himself up as tightly as he could. Perhaps the pain would rescue him from the dark.

Or perhaps being eaten by the dark would be preferable to the agony etching every artery and vein in burning red.

Abruptly, there came the sound of something rushing towards him. Panicking, he tried to push himself out of its path.

Something warm broke over him, and the red agony disappeared, and even the hungry darkness retreated.

Just as when he’d been coated in the fiery harmony, he relaxed, finally feeling at least a modicum of safety.

Unfortunately, his sanctuary didn’t last. The voices were back – loud and argumentative, pecking and drilling at him, circling, waiting for an opening to ravage him.

Would they never leave him alone?

“Greasy git!” Spat with contempt. “It’s just Snivellus.”

Except there was suddenly one he’d never heard before, overcoming all the others, shouting them down.

“DON’T CALL HIM THAT!!”

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.

A month later . . .

The end of his disastrous History of Magic O.W.L saw Harry frantically banging on the door to Professor Snape’s office.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” he chanted under his breath.

When the door started to swing open, he barged through without waiting to see if anyone was coming the other way, and he nearly bowled Professor Snape over.

“Potter! Wha—” was as far as Snape got before Harry interrupted him.

“Professor, I think Volde— ah, You-Know-Who,” he amended when he saw Snape wince, “has Sirius! He’s torturing him, please, we’ve got to go and rescue him!”

“Potter! Be quiet, and breathe,” Snape said, pushing him into a nearby chair. “Now, what’s this about the mutt?”

Fidgeting with anxiety, Harry explained what he’d seen during his exam. When he described the location he’d seen, Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Really, Potter,” he sighed, “did those Occlumency lessons teach you nothing? The Dark Lord is trying to draw you to the Ministry, and you want to rush in like a foolish Gryffindor without checking for traps. Not everything is as you see it, you stupid boy!”

“HE’S GOT SIRIUS!” Harry bellowed, jumping to his feet. “He’s hurting Sirius! We have to go and help him!”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he could feel starting to form.

“Potter!” he barked – again. He was starting to feel like a parrot. “If you would kindly sit down and be quiet, then I will check if the mutt is where he’s supposed to be.”

Grudgingly, the boy sank down again, biting his lip. Sneering, Severus moved towards his desk and removed a small wooden box with a metallic lid. Tapping it three times with his wand, he waited to feel the hum of the rising magic before demanding, “Sirius Black!”

The metallic lid shimmered, then stretched upwards into an oval shape. Severus touched the cloudy surface, and there was an echoing chime as though he’d rung a bell.

Severus could see Potter fidgeting again out of the corner of his eye as they waited for the surface to clear. Stupid mutt was probably out chasing sticks, he thought.

Eventually, though, the surface cleared to show a scowling Sirius.

“What do you want, Sn— Snape?” he groused. “That filthy Kreacher injured Buckbeak and I need to get back to him.”

“So you are at Headquarters, then,” said Severus, glancing at Potter who had slumped over in relief. “Not being tortured?”

“Only by your face,” Sirius muttered, then he yelped as the punishment spell he was under kicked him.

“There, Potter, you see? No point in haring off, is there?” With a sneer of his own at Black, Severus wiped the surface clear again, and it sank back onto the wooden box.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, gratefully. He got to his feet and made his way to the door. “Goodness knows what might’ve happened if I hadn’t been able to come to you.” He closed the door carefully behind him.

Severus thought how much had changed over the past couple of months. Now Potter actually listened to him, the mutt was . . . disciplined every time he tried to say something less than civil to Severus, and he could rarely turn around these days without Albus, Minerva, Poppy or even Lupin for Merlin’s sake wanting to chat with him and have tea.

Severus smiled to himself as he made his way out of his office to check on his Slytherins who were preparing for their N.E.W.Ts the following week.

No, he definitely didn’t need to wear a mask any more.