Sometimes, being forced to face our problems seems to create them. It doesn't. It only brings to light what has been a problem the entire time. Does something being shrouded in darkness make the thing any less real? Does neglecting a problem make it any more solved?

Sometimes, dealing with certain problems blinds us to other problems. Perhaps the other problems aren't as important; perhaps they are. That is irrelevant. Solving the first problem does not necessarily bring you closer to solving the next. It doesn't mean that solving the first was useless; it means that you can't stop there.

As long as there are problems, there will be problem solvers. As long as there are people, there will be problems. As long as there are people, there will be stories. And as long as there are stories, there will be storytellers. Perhaps the problem solvers and the storytellers are one and the same.

Harry felt anxious about leaving Hogwarts for the summer holiday. Snape had invited Harry to spend the summer with him at Spinner's End, and Harry had accepted. Snape had been rather nervous about it, and offered Harry the alternative of staying at Hogwarts, almost to the point of overrunning the invitation with that suggestion. But since Harry knew that Snape usually spent his summers at Spinner's End, Harry had opted to spend his summer there with Snape. He didn't want to put Snape out of his usual routine, plus, despite his anxiety, Harry thought a change of scenery might do him good.

Sirius had recommended it too. Not that Sirius wanted him to go; no, Sirius actually wanted him to stay at Hogwarts, if he had been perfectly selfish. Ghosts had to be bound to a particular place, according to Ministry law. Due to an increased paperwork if it were otherwise, a ghost could only be moved once a year. Since ghosts had no legal rights, they could be moved by any wizard who had attained the age of majority, who could make real estate decisions regarding a particular piece of land. While Dumbledore would have been perfectly happy to move Sirius to Spinner's End, or wherever else Harry could have been staying, and Sirius would have been perfectly happy to go, Harry would be spending three months of the year there, and nine at Hogwarts. It made sense that Sirius stay at Hogwarts until Harry's education was done.

But Sirius had recommended that Harry visit Spinner's End anyway. Sirius thought it would be good for Harry to get away from Hogwarts for a bit. So much had happened in such a short period of time that it would be good for him to sort out some of his problems in a new environment. Plus, if Snape was going to be spending time at Spinner's End, it wouldn't be good for Harry to be staying at Hogwarts with only an immature ghost for company. Who knew what sort of dangers Harry would get into then?

So, come the end of term, Harry packed his trunk and made ready to floo to Spinner's End. Carrying his trunk behind him with a levitation spell, Harry made his way to Snape's chambers. He admitted himself, not bothering to knock; they had done away with that formality awhile ago.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked when he looked up from where he was just finishing packing himself.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"Just one trunk?" Snape questioned.

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated. Snape shrugged and finished quickly. He shrunk Harry's trunk a several of his own and put them in his pocket.

"Rules regarding magic," Snape began abruptly. "They include the following: Do not do magic, unless your life or well-being are in danger. Technically, you could probably get away with it because the Ministry cannot tell one magical signature from another, as you found out with Dobby, and I am, of course, authorized to do magic at Spinner's End. That does not justify your breaking of law. Even if you can get away with it with the Ministry, you can't get away with it with me, and I will not allow it, if only because I intend for you to be a law-abiding citizen and follow the laws in place."

"Of course," Harry agreed, without hesitation. "Are we ready then?"

"Almost," Snape stalled. "Have you ever been to Wolverhampton?"

"No, sir," Harry replied.

"Then I suppose I should probably explain a few things before we get there," Snape began, ill at ease. "Wolverhampton is not a nice town. At least, not where Spinner's End is."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"You're from Surrey, aren't you?" Snape asked quickly.

"Yes," Harry said, sounding confused.

"Well, Surrey is a fairly good part of the country," Snape continued. "Not that bad things don't happen there - obviously - but it's not known as a bad area. Wolverhampton, on the other hand, is. It looks it. Spinner's End, and the surrounding buildings are, well, for lack of a better phrase, falling apart."

"Oh," Harry said tonelessly, confused. "Well that's alright. It won't be a problem, will it?"

"I hope not," Snape said. "I just didn't want to startle you. I feel should apologize for not having a better place to offer." Harry smiled at him.

"Honestly," Harry said, "I think I can deal with whatever the problems are, as long as I'm safe."

"Yes, well," Snape said, clearing his throat. "There are certainly ways to be unsafe in Wolverhampton, though I think if you follow some common sense rules, it should be alright. We can discuss them once we're there." Harry nodded.

Severus threw some floo powder into the fire, and called out, "Spinner's End!" The two of them stepped through the archway and into a room, presumably Spinner's End. Harry immediately began looking around. Like Snape had forewarned, the room they stepped into was neither pretty nor kept up. It was built in dark wood, and the floor was warped, like there had been a flood years ago. When Harry took a step forward, it creaked loudly. The wallpaper and paint were peeling in places, leaving the plaster visible beneath it. There was visible water damage on the walls. The doorframes and mopboards were missing in places. In one spot, there was even a large gouge in the wall. The ceiling had water damage as well, and was missing pieces of plaster, revealing some of the rafters. There were spots for two windows in the room, but they were boarded up, and between them was a door. It had multiple locks in place. The glass in the windows had been shattered and not replaced. The far wall was lined with shelves, crammed with books. They were nicely filed along the shelves, but then there were books sitting crosswise across the tops of others and a few on the very tops of the shelves as well. A dark gloom hung over the room, perhaps making it look worse than it was.

The furniture was just as bad. There was a couch and two armchairs which looked like they belonged in the junk heap. The upholstery was faded and worn, showing stuffing and foam in numerous places.

Snape stepped over to the wall and flipped a light switch. A single unshaded bulb sprung to life. It didn't help matters any.

With the exception of a nine month layer of dust, Harry had to admit the place was clean, and for that he was grateful. Snape smiled apologetically at Harry.

"It's nice," Harry lied, and almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement. He could tell Snape was stressed about the condition of Spinner's End, and he wanted to put Snape at ease about it. Harry didn't care that much about the condition of the building. Snape was offering him a much better place than the Dursleys, even if the integrity of the building was compromised.

"You don't have to try to make me feel better," Snape dismissed. "I know it's bad enough that it should have been condemned years ago, and it's fine to say that, because it's true. The one thing it has going for it is that it doesn't have any leaks. Yet." Snape crossed his fingers and glared at the ceiling, as if glaring at it was going to convince it to not leak.

"Why don't you just transfigure some of this into better things?" Harry asked, wondering if that was overstepping his bounds.

"Do you realize how much magical energy that would take to maintain?" Snape snorted. "The number of things, the duration, and the distance between caster and object all have to be taken into account. To transfigure all of this, even only for the time I'm here, would drain all my energy. I would lethargic at best, and dead at worst."

"Oh," Harry said. "So when you transfigure a cot or something in your chambers...?"

"It's one thing, usually only for a night, and I remain nearby," Snape explained. "Additionally, since that's Hogwarts, the school provides some of the energy required. It's not nearly as demanding there as it would be here. You will find that I use my magic much more sparingly away from Hogwarts."

"Oh, okay," Harry said cheerfully. "May I...see the rest?" he asked.

"So I haven't scared you back to Hogwarts yet?" Snape laughed. Harry just smiled weakly. The house was fairly intimidating, but Harry wasn't going to change his mind now. Snape stepped out of the room and Harry followed.

"How did you come by the house?" Harry asked. They walked into the adjacent room, the kitchen. There was a stove and oven, and a refrigerator, both of which looked like they had seen much better days.

"It was my parents'," Snape replied. The sun shown through a window above the sink, facing away from the road. There was a grate over the window.

"Why are there bars on the window?" Harry demanded quickly, almost panicking.

"Safety," Snape said, puzzled at Harry's tone. "It helps deter robbers."

"Oh, okay, well if that's all," Harry dismissed, breathing a sigh. Snape raised a curious eyebrow, but didn't question anything. "So you grew up here?"

"After a fashion," Snape said. "This is where I lived as a child. When my parents died, the estate fell to me as the sole heir." Snape stepped over to the fridge and plugged it in. A low whir filled the room as it began to run.

"Was it always like this?" Harry asked.

"It wasn't quite this bad growing up, no," Snape admitted. "The city has become more run down over the years, and I haven't been able to keep it up. I'm absent nine months out of the year, and when I am here, I neither have enough time to do the work myself nor the money to invest in it, even if I did have the time."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, puzzled. Snape shrugged as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Spying would have payed better if it wasn't that Dumbledore and the Dark Lord both knew I had effectively no choice in the matter," Snape said softly. "Teaching pays acceptably, but not abundantly. Much of my teaching funds go towards my potions ingredients so that I and others can avoid doctor or healer bills as much as possible."

"Others?" Harry questioned.

"Some local muggles, the stray witch or wizard," Snape shrugged. "They all have a right to what I have to offer, and they pay what they can, but most of the time, it doesn't cover the cost, much less the labor."

"And you do it anyway?" Harry asked, clearly shocked.

"Of course," Snape said, sounding affronted.

"But - but - " Harry stammered. "That's being nice."

"No, that's being a decent human being," Snape corrected quickly, before anyone might get the impression that he, indeed, was being nice.

"So decent human beings are supposed to be nice, that's all," Harry smiled cheekily.

"Hmph," Snape snorted, but didn't argue the issue any further. "Do you want to see the rest of the house then?"

"Sure," Harry said, nodding. There was a narrow hallway off the kitchen, which had three rooms off of it; two bedrooms and a bathroom. They were like the rest of the house; damaged, and the furniture falling apart. There were tiles missing from the bathroom floor and walls, and there was mold growing in corners. Harry wasn't sure he liked the look of that, but quickly started filing away ideas on how to kill the mold. He had picked up some useful knowledge from working at the Dursleys for years.

"And this one was what I had intended for your bedroom," Snape said, directing Harry into the bedroom closer to the kitchen. It was almost empty, except for a bedframe and mattress shoved into the corner of the room, and a dresser beside that. There was a small window above the bed, also with a grate over it. Snape unshrunk Harry's trunk and shoved it through the door. Harry moved it the rest of the way into the room.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully, smiling broadly at Snape.

"Do with it as you wish," Snape instructed. "Put up your infernal Gryffindor banners or whatever you want to make the walls more palatable."

"Thank you," Harry repeated, awkwardly standing in the room, glancing about as Snape stood in the doorway, not entering.

"I intended that this would be your space," Snape continued. "I will do my best to respect that and not enter without your explicit permission, barring an emergency of some sort." Harry nodded his understanding. "Likewise, I would ask you to keep to the same rules regarding my bedroom as well. Of course, should you need anything - anything at all - that constitutes a valid reason for you to come get me from my room should I be residing there at any given time. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Don't go in your room unless it's an emergency."

"No," Snape corrected patiently. "Don't go in my room unless I am both in there and you need something. It doesn't have to be an emergency; just something you need."

"Oh," Harry said, though he wasn't sure he understood what Snape meant, at least not entirely. Perhaps time would tell. "Okay, that's fine then."

"Well, I suppose you should probably get unpacked," Snape advised. "We can venture back to The Leaky Cauldron tonight for dinner since I haven't had a chance to buy any groceries yet. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes, of course!" Harry agreed enthusiastically. Snape pushed himself off the doorframe.

"Alright," Snape said. "I'll be unpacking as well. Let me know if there's anything you need. We can talk about house rules tonight at supper." Harry nodded but didn't say anything. When Snape left, Harry looked worriedly at his trunk and opened it.

He took out his textbooks and set them in a pile in the corner, but then thought better of that. If the house flooded, as the evidence seemed to indicate, his books would be safer in his trunk. So he put them back. He took out his clothes, folded them neatly, and put them in the drawers of the dresser. He didn't have many; just enough to cover the bottom of each drawer, actually.

There were a couple other things Harry had in his trunk as well; his wand, his photo album, a few Weasley pranks, and Hagrid's flute, to name a few. He pulled out the album and set it on the dresser, opening it and setting it on its edge so it balanced, revealing the pictures of his parents in their youth and then, later on in the album, pictures of himself, Ron, and Hermione. He set his wand and the flute next to it.

Harry sighed, dissatisfied with how quickly he had unpacked his measly possessions. He didn't even have any of those infernal Gryffindor banners to hang up, and he ardently wished he did. Spinner's End was a scary place, and anything he could do to make it seem more familiar would improve it a lot. Harry sank to the bed and closed his eyes and he tried to calm his raw nerves.

It surprised Harry that Snape lived in the slums, but Harry was not ungrateful for the shelter being provided, all the same. It was safer than Privet Drive had become, despite the mold in the bathroom and the crime potential. Harry just hoped the roof didn't fall down on him all of a sudden. Some might have thought that his bedroom resembled that of Privet Drive, and perhaps in some ways, it did. But there were two fundamentally different things about this room. The first was that Snape had given it to him of his own free will, not because he was forced to, but because he wanted to. The Dursleys had often reminded Harry that he was an unwanted waste of space; Snape wasn't giving him that impression. The second thing that was different was the fact that the only lock on the bedroom door was one on the inside. Harry was comforted by the fact that he knew Snape couldn't lock him in the room, short of magic, and he knew Snape wouldn't do that. The bars on the window unnerved him, but at an intellectual level, he understood them. They were meant to keep others out. They weren't meant to keep him in. Harry thought that, perhaps, he could adjust to the bars though, if he reminded himself that they weren't there to hurt him.

Harry stretched out on the worn out mattress, feeling the springs dig into his still-thin frame. Harry shifted into a more comfortable position, found a soft spot on the mattress, and laced his fingers behind his head as he lay against the pillow, and examined what remained of the ceiling. Then he fell asleep.

The next thing Harry knew, Snape was calling to him from the doorway.

"Are you ready for dinner?" Snape asked.

"Of course!" Harry slurred, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Then let's get going," Snape prompted. Harry quickly grabbed his wand from the dresser, (couldn't be too careful), hid it beneath his clothes, and joined Snape into the living room.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape asked.

"Yes, thank you," Harry said, smiling. Snape was still awkward about the whole caring bit. Perhaps he always would be. But it made Harry smile to think that Snape was willing to try for him. Snape called out "The Leaky Cauldron!" and they flooed through together.

Once they arrived, Harry and Snape sat down at a booth in a quiet corner of the restaurant. They sat opposite each other, and Harry watched the other witches and wizards mill about and pick at their food. Harry realized just how much he appreciated the thought of not having to starve for the next three months.

A barmaid came up and cleared her throat pointedly. She looked all levels of unpleasant and she waited impatiently for Snape to acknowledge her. Harry was glad she hadn't seemed to notice him.

"Can I help you?" she snapped.

"Yes, I hope so," Snape replied smoothly. "I'll have a serving of shepherd's pie and a butterbeer, thank you. Harry? Have what you like." The girl looked at him oddly.

"Harry Potter?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, feeling self conscious as the heat rose in his cheeks. "I'll just have the same thing." Harry shifted uncomfortably, unsure what the girl was thinking. Due to the Skeeter article in the Daily Prophet, what had happened at Privet Drive was common knowledge, and Harry hated that. He read the judgement in people's faces even when it wasn't there, and he knew it. He glanced up at her nervously, but quickly glanced away again. She was simply staring at him, still skeptically.

"If you would be so kind as to see to our food," Snape snapped, breaking the awkward silence.

"Of course," she nodded, and left.

"Why do people have to be so blasted unpleasant all the time?" Snape grumbled. Harry chuckled, considering the record levels of unpleasantness that the speaker had been known to cause. Snape rested an elbow on the table and then held his chin in his hand, drumming absently on the table with the other.

"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Yes?" Snape asked, focusing his attention on the boy across from him.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Harry said. "For everything. I mean, the adoption, taking me in, helping me, helping Sirius become a ghost..." Harry's voice drifted off.

"It's fine," Snape dismissed kindly.

"I think you wanted to talk about house rules for the summer?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. Talking about rules never boded well.

"Oh, right," Snape said. "Ask questions. If anything is every unclear or there's something you want to know, just ask." Harry looked confused. "That's the first rule," Snape clarified. Harry's mouth made a silent "Oh," and his confusion didn't dissipate.

"Alright, I'm confused," he finally admitted. "How is that a rule?"

"I don't want you doing something stupid because you've failed to ask a question," Snape explained. "I know it might be hard for you to do so, but I don't want you assuming things that are wrong because of that."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "I think I can do that." The barmaid came back carrying their food and set it down wordlessly, and stalked away. Harry felt a deep pang of guilt as she didn't even glance at him, and he wondered if that wasn't for the best. He doubted he would have liked the expression on her face if she had. Harry picked up his fork and began to eat.

"Don't let her bother you," Snape murmured softly, as he, too, began to eat. Harry shrugged, but his throat felt tight, and he didn't want to trust his voice at the moment. "Which brings me to the next rule," Snape continued. "I want to know if something is bothering you. I want to know if you're in trouble of some sort, because I'll be better at getting you out of it than you will, most likely. I've probably been involved in every problem you could ever be in at one point or another in my life." Harry nodded, remembering the last few times he hadn't told Snape when he was in trouble, and the dire consequences. He thought he could do that, too.

"Additionally, I would like you to show up to meals on time. Breakfast will be at eight, lunch at noon, and dinner at six. I want you to eat a decent amount, and take care of yourself. Lastly, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't wander too far from Spinner's End. It's a bad neighborhood, and you could get in trouble very easily with the wrong sort of people. Don't go out at night alone." Before Harry could say anything, Snape continued quickly, "I don't mean to make unreasonable rules, Harry. If Spinner's End were in a better neighborhood, I would be giving you a curfew rather than telling you not to go out at night at all. I just want you to be safe."

"I understand," Harry nodded. "I wouldn't really want to go out at night anyway."

"Is that alright with you then?" Snape verified. "Are all the rules acceptable?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, through a mouthful of food.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Well," Harry began, hesitating a bit and glancing around nervously.

"Yes?" Snape prompted patiently.

"What happens if I break the rules?" Harry asked. Then he quickly added, "Not that I'm planning to, honest. I just want to know what to expect if I mess up."

"So you're asking about punishment?" Snape asked. Harry nodded and hung his head. He had been trying to avoid the word, because he didn't want to associate Snape's discipline with what he had received at the Dursleys. Come to think of it, Harry realized that he and Snape really had never talked about what had happened at Privet Drive except for Vernon's abuse of him over the previous summer. Perhaps they would have talked about it more if it hadn't been for that. Harry hoped Snape would never ask.

"Well, I think essays are an appropriate punishment," Snape began. "What do you think?" Harry's eyes got wide.

"So...so you won't keep me in my room or anything?" Harry didn't think Snape would withhold food from him, seeing how neurotic the man was about him eating enough. But maybe once he put on some weight, maybe then it wouldn't matter so much if he was denied a meal. Harry didn't want to ask about that though, in case Snape would take offence from the question. Harry also didn't believe Snape would hit him, because Snape had refused to use the belt when Harry had stayed out past curfew at Hogwarts the previous year, and that was before they had built any rapport and Snape had been furious.

"We may opt to give each other space at some point," Snape cautioned. "I would imagine that there will be conflicts. Any staying in your room that you do will be voluntary." Snape's voice dropped in volume, and Harry had to strain to hear. "I promise I won't hurt you, Harry. I won't hit you, ever." Harry began to shove the vegetables from one side of the plate to the other as he rested his temple against his hand, elbow braced against the table.

"Didn't say you would," Harry muttered.

"I know," Snape murmured, not sounding hurt or offended, thank goodness. Harry didn't feel like talking anymore.

Severus sat across from Harry, and he worried about the boy. Harry receded into his shell, and Severus was reluctant to draw him out, simply because he wanted to respect Harry's privacy. He wondered just how deep Harry's scars ran, and he wasn't thinking about the boy's physical ones. He had seen those within the first twenty-four hours of the adoption and while appropriately appalled, he hadn't been, strictly speaking, surprised. The only thing that had surprised him was the number. Severus had been unable to shake that image from his mind over the past half a year. Harry standing shirtless, braced against the wall, his back scarred from previous beatings, expecting the same treatment at his hands. And then and there, Severus renewed his vow to protect Harry with everything he was, up to and including his last breath.

Severus watched Harry pick at his food, and neither said a word. He wished he could do more for the boy, and felt inadequate when, in instances like this, it was apparent that what he was doing wasn't enough. He ate a couple bites of his own meal.

"I'll be happy to help you with your summer homework," Severus offered offhandedly.

"Thanks," Harry laughed. "I'm sure I'll need it. It'll be the first time I'll even be able to try at it."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked casually. A shadow passed over Harry's face, and he shrugged.

"Never was allowed to do anything freaky over the summer," Harry muttered, carefully putting food in his mouth right after.

"Mm," Severus acknowledged sadly, unsure what to say. It was just another thing he had written off to arrogance and had never considered any other possibility. Perhaps if he had been more observant, less biased and judgemental, it could have saved Harry a lot of pain and trouble. Severus felt like kicking himself in the arse.

Harry put his fork down and leaned back. He had eaten about half of the meal, but Severus was still pleased that Harry was trying to eat. Usually Harry had been eating more, but with the nerves and topics of conversation tonight, Severus understood Harry's lack of appetite.

"Shall we head back then?" Severus suggested. Harry nodded. Severus summoned a to-go box and moved Harry's leftovers. Harry picked up the box and they flooed back to Spinner's End.

"You can put the leftovers in the fridge," Severus instructed. "I was intending to do some grocery shopping tonight. Would you care to come along?" Severus was also wary of going out alone after sunset.

"Yes, of course," Harry agreed happily.

When they returned, Harry and Severus each carried two bags. Severus didn't own a car, but luckily the supermarket was only a few blocks down the street. They began to put the milk, butter, and other perishables in the fridge and sorted the bread, baking soda, and peanut butter on the counter.

"I have books on the shelves in the living room," Severus began. "Feel free to read whatever you want, just be warned that a few would probably be banned from the restricted section at Hogwarts, and I don't recommend them."

"Why don't you just get rid of them then?" Harry asked absently, as he put a few more things in the fridge.

"Knowledge is hard to come by," Severus shrugged. "I'm hesitant to get rid of them because they're a link to the past. There were a few good things in my past too, you know."

"How would books about dark magic remind you of anything good?"

"Perhaps good wasn't the correct word," Severus amended. "Perhaps I should have said 'less bad.' I don't entirely know how to explain it, Harry. Have you ever felt the desire to keep something, even though there's nothing that should make you want to keep it?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I've never had that opportunity." Severus shrugged, and was ready to let the subject drop, but Harry wasn't.

"So, if something reminds you of something you'd rather forget, why don't you just get rid of it?" Harry asked. "Are you being sentimental?"

"Harry," Severus said softly, feeling a certain ruefulness envelope him, "if I got rid of everything that reminds me of something I'd rather forget, I would have nothing. I wouldn't even be alive." Harry looked as though someone had slapped him for a moment, but then his face closed off and he nodded.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, as he put the last of the groceries away.

"That's alright," Severus replied. They were silent a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Oh, do I have a bedtime?" Harry asked quickly.

"No," Severus said. "Just be up in time for breakfast."

"Okay," Harry agreed. Severus washed his hands and went to the living room, and Harry followed him. Severus turned on a lamp on an endtable, and it flickered to life.

"Damn," Severus cursed under his breath. He drew his wand and cast a quick reparo. The lamp shone brightly.

"A short?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Severus grouched, annoyed with the lamp. "I fixed that last year. I fixed a lot of this last year, but it always breaks again when I'm not keeping it up. Pretty soon it won't even stay fixed when I'm here." Quickly, Severus cast a few more reparo charms on the worst parts of the furniture. Then he put a fire in the fireplace, and went to the shelves, selected a book, and sat on the couch. Harry did likewise and sat next to Severus, closer than strictly necessary, Severus noted, and he felt a warm sense of pride wash over him.

While not one for physical displays of affection, Severus put his arm around Harry and pulled him close. Harry sighed contentedly and settled himself comfortably next to Severus.

"What did you pick?" Severus asked.

"A Brief History of Time," Harry replied.

"Science," Severus observed. "You like science?"

"Don't know," Harry shrugged. "Is this a good book to find out?"

"An excellent one," Severus approved. "Yet you know what a short is."

"Well, of course." Harry's eye roll was apparent in his voice. "You're not told to fix them without learning a bit about them!"

"I think you'll find that book a little different than a hands on manual," Severus continued. "It's more theoretical. You probably won't ever use the information. It can be fun to read about though." Harry opened the book and began to read.

They began to read in companionable silence, and some time later, Severus realized that Harry had fallen asleep against him. Severus smiled, and laid his cheek affectionately on Harry's head as he continued to read. Severus blamed it on the adoption that he could feel that much for any human being. He knew he wasn't an empathic man, but he still was able to feel Harry's pain as though it were his own. He still continued to be honored by Harry's trusting faith in him, even after the fiasco in Malfoy's dungeon. Severus hadn't forgiven himself for that, and he doubted he ever would, even though Harry had.

"I wish I knew how you stayed so pure, so good, though all of that," Severus whispered to the sleeping boy, as he thought about all the abuse that had happened over the past fourteen years.

Suddenly, Harry stiffened in his arms, and Severus knew it was nightmare. He'd seen it multiple times, and knew not to let it continue. He shook Harry gently.

"Harry, wake up," he called urgently, though calmly. "It's just a nightmare. You're at Spinner's End, and you're safe. No one will harm you." It was a recitation that he had come to say every time he caught Harry in a nightmare. Though up until this point, he had always informed Harry that he was at Hogwarts. Harry gasped as he woke up, and pushed himself upright as he caught his breath.

"Thanks," Harry said, nodding his gratitude. Severus nodded back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Severus asked. He always asked.

"No," Harry said promptly. He always declined. Severus wasn't going to give up asking about the nightmares, because he knew it was going to be an integral step to healing for Harry. It just had to be when the boy was ready. Forcing the issue wasn't going to help, but perhaps one of these times, Harry would take him up on the offer. Severus wondered how good of a psychotherapist he could possibly be.

"It's getting late," Severus commented. "I think I'll be going to bed."

"I probably should too," Harry agreed.

"Harry, I want you to come get me if you have any problems during the night," Severus reminded him with a pointed look. "That includes any more nightmares and panic attacks."

"I'm not a baby," Harry muttered, seeming defeated.

"Of course not," Severus agreed. "Babies wouldn't have the capacity to ask for help when they need it." Harry shook his head ruefully. "I'm serious. I want you let me know if there's any problems. Problems always seem bigger at night. We both know this. It's no different than when you spend the night in my chambers at Hogwarts." Harry often spent the night in Severus' chambers, and the only reason this was permissible was because of the blood adoption. When he did, Severus had transfigured a cot for Harry and placed it next to his own bed. When it became clear that Harry was staying on a semi-regular basis, Severus gave in and simply put a second bed in the room permanently. There was a small walkway between them, but it allowed Severus to keep a close eye on Harry during the nights when the boy struggled the most.

"Don't make me put a monitoring charm on you," Severus threatened.

"You wouldn't!" Harry gasped, horrified. It was a charm often used on infants in case anything went wrong.

"I most certainly will if you refuse to cooperate," Severus declared. The beginnings a smile were tugging at his lips.

"Okay, okay, I'll cooperate!" Harry agreed sulkily.

"Then get to bed," Severus laughed, tousling Harry's messy mop playfully. Harry laughed and they bid each other good night in the hallway.

Harry quickly changed into his nightwear, and crawled under the covers of his bed. The moon shone through the bars on the window as Harry lay on his back and looked at the night sky. It was a clear night, and the stars were bright. He felt restless, and very much not-tired anymore. He lay in the bed, tossing and turning, but not relaxing into a sleeplike state at all.

The house was too quiet. Harry had grown accustomed to the Gryffindor dormitories or Snape's chambers, and in either one, he could hear the breathing of his friends or protector. On an impulse, Harry got out of bed, grabbed his wand, and stripped the mattress of its sheets and pillow, walking down the hallway towards Snape's room, being careful to step quietly. He was skilled at walking silently; he had to be to knick food from the Durlsey's kitchen.

He was an early riser, and he knew Snape slept late whenever he could. It would work out perfectly, if he just slept in the doorway, and made sure to make his bed before Snape could guess how childish he was being.

Severus slept with his door open; it was easier to hear if anything was threatening, and Harry understood that. Out of respect for Snape's request to stay out of his bedroom save if Harry needed something, he threw the pillow on the floor right in the doorway and lay down next to it, tossing the sheets over himself. He didn't like the hardness of the floor, but he didn't mind it either. He had slept in worse places. Despite Snape's warning not to cast any magic, Harry cast a silencing charm on himself. It wouldn't do for him to have a nightmare and wake Snape while in the man's doorway. Harry felt himself relax immediately as he watched Snape's sleeping form and listened to the soft breathing of the only other human being in the house.

Severus woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. He groaned, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head. Then he threw the covers off and quickly pulled on a robe. He rushed out to the kitchen.

He saw Harry dressed, freshly showered, cooking breakfast. Severus stood there and narrowed his eyes at the boy.

"Good morning!" Harry greeted him happily.

"Good morning," Severus returned skeptically. They were silent a moment, and Harry began to look slightly concerned. "What on earth are you doing?" Severus finally asked.

"You said breakfast at eight," Harry defended. "It's only 7:50. I'm sorry I woke you up - "

"I think you misunderstand my question," Severus cut him off. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making breakfast," Harry stated obviously.

"Why are you making breakfast?" Harry looked bewildered.

"Because it wasn't going to make itself?" he replied. Severus sighed. He reached out and waved his concealed wand at the pans, instantly finishing the cooking.

"You don't have to make the meals," Severus said, his eye roll clear in his voice. "It's much simpler for me to just magic my way through it. There's no reason for you to bother. Whatever gave you the stupid idea..." Severus' voice trailed off, and neither said a word, nor did they look at each other. Harry went to the cupboard and got plates, silverware and glasses. Severus cleared his throat, but Harry didn't say anything. Severus put the pans on the table, and set out some apple juice. They both sat at the table silently.

"Sorry if you didn't want me to make breakfast," Harry muttered, biting the inside of his cheek, still refusing to meet Severus' gaze.

"That's alright," Severus replied. "Forgive my candid remark as well." Harry shrugged. "I take it you regularly made meals previously?" Harry nodded, and Severus put a generous amount of bacon and eggs on the boy's plate.

"Eat, please," Severus prompted, when Harry didn't move. Automatically, Harry picked up his fork and picked at the eggs.

"So, then," Harry began nervously, "you don't want me to make the meals?"

"No, of course not," Severus confirmed immediately. "Whatever had given you the that idea?"

"You said breakfast at eight," Harry shrugged. "What else was that supposed to mean?"

"Be up by eight," Severus clarified. "I had intended on getting up sooner."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"I try to save sleeping in for the weekend," Severus explained. "It makes returning to a Hogwarts schedule less painful." Harry smiled.

"So then breakfast isn't at eight on the weekend?" Harry questioned.

"The weekend is up to you," Severus answered. "No restrictions on get up time, nor meals. But you still have to eat," Severus cautioned. Harry took an enthusiastic bite of eggs.

"So what time were you planning to get up during the week normally?" Harry asked casually.

"Seven thirty," Severus replied. "Why?"

"Oh, just curious," Harry shrugged off. "I'll still probably end up awake before you."

"It's not my fault you think it's an acceptable practice to get up before the sun," Severus muttered through some bacon.

"Morning was the only time I could be by myself," Harry said quietly.

"Understandable," Severus said, equally quietly.

The next few hours passed uneventfully. Snape read a newspaper, and Harry read his previously selected book quietly. They had their midday meal promptly at noon, and Snape put the sandwiches together with a quick spell. Harry had decided never to mess around in the kitchen again unless Snape expressly wanted him to. They sat at the table, finishing up their meal.

"I was planning to visit a few of the neighbors," Snape announced after the meal. "I have some more of their potions, which are undoubtedly running low since last summer."

"Did you want me to come along? Stay here?" Harry asked cautiously, unsure of what Snape wanted.

"I wouldn't mind you coming along," Snape shrugged. "I doubt the neighbors would like it though. They're all very private, and are under the impression that the potions are slightly illegal. The fewer people they believe know about it, the better for their peace of mind."

"Are they illegal?" Harry questioned.

"Slightly," Snape dodged. Harry sighed, exasperated.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Under wizarding law, I am a potions master and perfectly entitled to do as I wish with potions, assuming that the purpose of the potion is itself a legal potion," Snape began.

"So no murdering people with potions," Harry interjected.

"Exactly," Snape agreed. "Under Muggle law, some of the substances are highly regulated, and I do not hold the proper status to distribute such combinations."

"So you're not a doctor," Harry translated again.

"Yes," Snape agreed.

"You - you only give them helpful potions, right?" Harry questioned.

"I have no motivation to make them drug addicts, Harry," Snape said lowly. "They can't pay for the potions as it is. I have nothing to gain by giving them something that they shouldn't use." Harry nodded.

"I didn't think you would do that," he defended.

"I would hope you think better of me than that," Snape agreed. "I would think that the fiasco with the dreamless sleep should have taught you that I don't approve of addiction."

"It's really hard, you know," Harry began thoughtfully. "Sleeping without the potion, I mean. It's hard to relax enough to go to sleep, even doing the breathing exercises and meditation before bed."

Snape rose and collected a bag full of things, looking thoughtful, before he returned and laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically.

"I know," Snape murmured. "I'm sorry. You've made a lot of progress. Don't forget that. I'll be back in a few hours. Try not to blow up the house while I'm gone, even if it would improve the look of the place." Harry snorted and shook his head.

Snape left, and Harry heard the door click behind him. Harry locked the door behind Snape, as instructed previously. Snape had a key and would use it to get it later. In the meantime, it was too dangerous to not use at least the knob and deadbolt lock. Harry didn't lock the other latches, since they could only be opened from the inside.

Harry looked around the near-empty, quiet house and began to try to imagine something to do. He went to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out the box of baking soda that he had insisted Snape buy.

Snape might not want him cooking meals, Harry thought, but Snape couldn't object to him killing a little mold in the bathroom. It would improve the place quite a lot, and Harry needed something to do or he would go insane from the boredom. And haunting thoughts.

Harry took the box to the bathroom and began opening the cabinets, looking for a brush. He came across some cleaners and soaps that he laid out on the counter, but still no brush. He opened another cabinet and found a chain and leather collar. Harry tilted his head and cautiously picked it up.

It was a heavy, well-built chain, and the collar was also high quality. They looked old. The chain had some rust spots on it, and the leather was musty.

It looked like a dog collar. Harry smiled. Snape must have had a dog at some point, and stored this memento. Harry doubted he was supposed to find it, but was pleased to think that Snape might have had something as simple and normal as a dog. The Dursleys had never allowed animals, for fear that they might damage the house or the yard.

Harry felt the leather; it was well worn. There was a tag on the collar. Harry tipped so the light didn't reflect off of it.

Bitch.

Harry felt it almost burn his hand as he frowned at the collar. It reminded him too much of things he had been called once. Cautiously, confused, he set the objects back in the cabinet and continued to look for his brush. Upon eventually finding it, he began to scrub the baking soda into all the moldy areas of the bathroom, from the sink to the grout.

It confused Harry as to why Snape would have called his dog that. If Snape had a dog - if he cared about the dog enough to have kept the memories of it around - then why hadn't he chosen a more flattering name, like Fido or Spot? Snape was weird though, so maybe it had something to do with that? Maybe someone else had named the dog, and Snape just hadn't renamed it. Harry kept scrubbing.

Soon, the bathroom was finished, and it looked much better than it had when he started. Harry rose to his feet, put his hands on his hips, and looked proudly at his work. Snape was going to be so happy! Harry washed out the brush and and washed his hands, digging the dirt out from under his fingernails. He put the brush away, next to the collar under the sink.

The timing was perfect. Snape walked in through the door just as Harry was finishing up. Harry smiled at him. He was excited to show the man what had kept him busy all afternoon.

"Are the neighbors doing well?" Harry asked.

"Yes, well enough," Snape replied. "You look like you're about to bust if you don't say something. What's on your mind?"

"Come see!" Harry exclaimed excitedly and ran out of the room. Snape sighed loudly, but Harry could see the smile in it. He darted between Snape and the bathroom until Snape finally made it to the other end of the dilapidated house.

"See? See?" Harry prompted, entering the bathroom and gesturing around. "I cleaned out all the mold, and it's much cleaner now!" Snape smiled at Harry, in almost a patronizing way.

"Thank you, Harry," Snape said, looking around. "I appreciate it. You didn't have to do it though. I don't want to assign you work. I'm not your relatives."

"Oh, I know," Harry said, not even letting the mention of the Dursleys bring down his pride. "I wanted to help though, and I might as well put my skills to good use."

"Well, thank you again," Snape said approvingly. "Don't ever feel obligated to work on the house though. You have full permission to do what you want to, but I will never assign you repair jobs. Do you care to eat supper now?"

"Sure!" Harry responded enthusiastically. They went to the kitchen, where Snape cast a few quick spells, and they had a simple pasta dish on the table in minutes. It was rigatoni in a thin tomato sauce. There was plenty of it. Harry didn't think he could eat half of it, even if he put all of his effort into it. Snape was just going that extra length to make sure he could have all he wanted to eat, and Harry felt a warm feeling in his chest at that thought. He dished a generous helping on his plate.

"You had a dog?" Harry mentioned casually, between bites.

"Hmm?" Snape replied, his mouth full. He swallowed. "No, I never had a dog. Why?" Snape looked puzzled.

"I found something," Harry shrugged, suddenly wondering if he wasn't supposed to have seen the collar. "It's not important. Never mind."

"What did you find?" Snape's voice seemed concerned, worried.

"Like I said, not important," Harry dismissed again. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm curious what you saw," Snape said suspiciously, almost stiffly. "I don't want you to have any misconceptions about anything."

"I - I - " Harry stammered, suddenly feeling embarrassed and ashamed that he had found something of Snape's, without Snape volunteering it. He wouldn't like Snape going through his things. "I did it again, didn't I?" he finally sighed. "Sorry."

"Did what again?" Snape asked.

"Screwed things up." Harry shoved his pasta vigorously on his plate.

"Show me what you found," Snape ordered coldly. Harry noticed Snape didn't offer any argument to the self-accusation. He rose silently, avoiding Snape's eyes, and Snape followed him to the bathroom. Harry opened the cabinet with the collar and chain and pulled them out, handing them to Snape. Harry summoned the courage to look at Snape.

Snape's eyes were wider than usual, and his face was pale. He looked like he was keeping himself under control, barely, and Harry felt scared. Snape held the objects in his fingers, not his hands, as though he wanted to keep as little physical contact with the items as possible.

"Sorry," Harry apologised again. "I just thought you had a dog. I - I didn't mean to screw things up again. I can just forget about it." Snape's face twisted into a frown and he glanced at Harry.

"You want an explanation?" Snape asked, somewhat darkly.

"No, no, it's fine," Harry backpedaled quickly. "I didn't mean to intrude on anything." Snape sighed.

"I know you didn't," he said. "And I knew things like this might happen, if I invited you here. It was a calculated risk. I'll answer your questions, completely and honestly."

"Okay," Harry said nervously, shifting his weight from side to side.

"What are your questions?" Snape prompted, setting the objects on the counter distastefully. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and studied the tip of his shoe.

"I - um..." Harry stammered. "I know you said you didn't have a dog, but I can't see why you would have named anything that."

"I didn't," Snape replied promptly.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "If it wasn't for a dog - what was it for, then?" Harry bit his lip nervously and watched guarded emotions pass over Snape's face.

"Me," Snape replied simply, without looking at Harry. His lips formed a tight line and he visibly swallowed. Harry watched Snape patiently, not pressing the man. "The collar and chain were for me."

"Why?" Harry whispered.

"Because my father liked to humiliate me whenever he could," Snape whispered back.

"But - but - " Harry objected, picking up the collar and pointing to the tag.

"An added insult, to remind me of my place and my worth," Snape explained.

"This is something the Dursleys would do, though," Harry objected quietly, as he held the collar at arm's length. Snape shifted and put his hands in his pockets, but didn't look up.

"The Dursleys are not unique," Snape shrugged.

"When did your father use it?" Harry asked.

"Whenever he felt I was getting out of line," Snape replied calmly. "That is, whenever he was drunk, angry with me or my mother, whenever I did any accidental magic, or when he just felt like being a sadistic bastard."

"What did he tie you to?" Harry's voice had dropped so that it was barely audible.

"A post in the cellar," Snape choked out. "Harry, I - I don't want you to be bothered by that, please. I know it makes me seem, well, weak, I suppose, but I don't want this to alter how we've been getting along."

"Is that what you think of me, then?" Harry asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Snape asked, his head snapping up, meeting Harry's gaze.

"You think I'm weak?"

"Absolutely not!" Snape objected emphatically. "Why...?"

"This is hardly any more a sign of weakness than what's happened to me, is it?" Harry challenged.

"No, I suppose not," Snape reluctantly agreed.

"How long did he leave you there?" Harry asked, sounding a bit sick.

"It varied," Snape dodged.

"Normally?" Harry asked.

"A day in the summer time, probably about an afternoon in winter," Snape speculated. "He didn't want to have to account to a doctor or a funeral director about what was happening, so he took care not to push the limits too far." Harry was silent, taking the information in. "He would hook the chain to a pole, lodged in the dirt of the cellar. He would put the collar on me and leave me there, alone, in the dark and cold, until he got bored and let me out. I could have undone the collar easily enough, but I never wished to anger him that much. I feared what he might do if I defied him openly. I think he knew that the poison of my own thoughts was worse than anything he could do to me. Harry, are you alright?"

Harry looked slightly green, and he had dropped the collar on the counter, leaning against it for support. He shook his head. He felt cold and clammy, listening to Snape's casual description of common childhood events.

"Did it ever occur to you that what your father did was wrong?" Harry asked, the horror plain in his voice.

"Did it ever occur to you that I had very good reasons for taking my Mark?" Snape replied, pulling his sleeve up, and revealing his tattoo. "I was trying to escape."

"But it's like something the Dursleys would do," Harry objected again. "I didn't know - I didn't even think that it could happen to someone else." Snape reached out and put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's alright, Harry," Snape said. "You are not the first, and regrettably, you will not be the last." Harry just nodded and turned away.

"Harry?" Snape called after him softly. He paused, turned, and looked up questioningly. It brought up so many memories of the cupboard that Harry felt his eyes welling up against his will. He knew Snape would see when he looked at him. Maybe the man would dismiss it as sympathy.

"Does this remind you of something the Dursleys did?" Or maybe he wouldn't. Harry knew better than to lie, since Snape always knew when he wasn't telling the truth. Harry reached out and braced himself against the doorframe. He nodded, not trusting his voice. "Will you tell me about it?" Snape added softly. Harry shrugged and was silent a moment, trying to calm himself.

"They locked me in a cupboard under the stairs," Harry finally said. "When my Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, the Dursleys got scared that someone was going to charge them with child abuse - ironic, isn't it, how they knew what they were doing? - and moved me to the smallest bedroom."

"And how did that fare?"

"Five locks, a cat flap, and bars on the window later, just fine." Snape nodded.

"So that's why you were nervous about the bars on the windows," he murmured.

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Please don't take offense at them," Snape continued. "They serve an entirely different purpose in Spinner's End than they ever did in Surrey."

"I know," Harry agreed. "Here, they're meant to keep people out; they're not meant to keep me in."

"Precisely," Snape confirmed. "The function of the locks and bars was to keep you in; what was the function of the cat flap, exactly?"

"So that they wouldn't have to unlock the door, touch me, or look at me when they finally decided to give me food," Harry admitted with another shrug. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Then we don't have to," Snape said. "I just want you to know that you will never be locked away anywhere in this house, whether by bars or deadbolts, and you are always welcome to as much food as you want. I am not your relatives, and I do not have the same standards they set."

"Of course," Harry murmured.

"Then in the meantime, let's finish supper," Snape concluded.

That night, after Harry heard Snape softly snoring, he picked up his bedding and lay down in Snape's doorway. After casting a silencing charm, he fell asleep peacefully.

Severus' eyes snapped open and he rolled out of his bed, feet hitting the cold floor. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as he tried to free himself from the apparent restrictiveness of his sweat soaked nightclothes.

It had been one of his own ever increasing nightmares. Rather than getting better after the Dark Lord's demise, they were getting worse. You would have thought, after destroying all but one of the horcuxes, that he would have been more relieved than he was. Instead, there was always a little voice in the back of his head, reminding that he wasn't safe, wasn't free; the voice was never absent, and was loudest in the silence of night.

His dream had been more of a memory than a fabricated sequence of imagination. Perhaps that was the most horrifying part of all, knowing that it was real.

It was still pre-Hogwarts days, before Severus knew how to control his magic. Well, at least before he knew actual spells. He was probably ten. He was gifted in the areas of mental magic, and already could control the effects of his magic. Sometimes. Like this time, there was a beautiful vase of lilies on the table, which had wilted and died. Severus focused his magic on the flowers, and after wishing very, very hard, they sprung back with new life. Severus smiled at what he had done, but his father was furious.

Tobias grabbed Severus by the ear, and pulling dangerously hard, wordlessly dragged Severus to the cellar. He threw the boy against the wall with a sickening thud.

"I - I'm sorry," Severus whimpered, as he huddled down against the wall. "I was just fixing the flowers. I didn't want to see the lilies die."

"I've told you a million times that you're not supposed to do your God damned infernal magic around my house!" Tobias screamed at him. "I'm not going to have you go to hell too! Your mother is bad enough. No son of mine is going to be a Satan worshipper."

"But, Dad - " Severus began to argue. He wasn't a Satan worshipper! Tobias stepped close and drew his hand back, slapping Severus hard across the face.

"No back talk," Tobias hissed, grabbing Severus' shirt, pulling him to his feet. Severus didn't resist, but shook in fear. Tobias grabbed the collar and chain from a shelf within arm's reach. Roughly, he jerked the collar tight around Severus' throat. Too tight. Severus gasped for air as he pulled at the collar. His eyes grew wide as his brain screamed for more oxygen.

"Can't breathe," Severus mouthed, his panic mounting. Tobias laughed.

"What?" he said in a mocking tone. "You can't just summon a demon to get you out of this one?" If Severus could have breathed, he probably would have started to cry at that point. Instead, his vision began to tunnel. Just as he was sure he was going to pass out, Tobias loosened the collar one notch. Still not enough to be comfortable, but enough that if Severus worked at it, he could breathe. He filled his lungs a few times, experimentally, just to make sure.

"You're not worth the air you breathe," Tobias hissed in his ear. Severus winced, and Tobias took advantage of his distraction to yank the chain, making Severus fall to his hands and knees. Severus just waited there, knowing what would come next. It didn't take long, and there was a well-aimed kick to his torso. Nothing broke, but there would be a beautiful bruise there next morning. The wind was knocked from Severus as he rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, clutching his side. He groaned softly. Tobias unhooked the chain from his collar.

"No, no!" Severus begged, hysteria lacing his voice. "Please, no! Give me a belting, please!" He scrambled to his feet, his aching rib cage forgotten.

"You know I'm doing this for your own good," Tobias admonished. "Maybe if you suffer enough in this life, you'll still be able to escape hell in the hereafter. You know what you're supposed to do. Now do it!" Severus nodded, teary eyed, as he pulled his shirt off and braced himself against the wall. He swallowed and tried not to panic. He shoved all of his feelings behind a mental wall. He couldn't afford to feel anything in moments like these. Later, he would learn that this was called Occlumency.

Severus felt the chain hit his bare skin, and he shrieked as the rough edges of the metal cut him. He knew better than to move though, and so endured a second and a third lash from the chain. He could feel the blood trickling down his back.

Tobias was always careful to not push things too far. There were never going to be doctors involved with the discipline of his son, of that he made sure. There were no more than three lashes given that time, but that didn't mean they were any more bearable.

Severus was sobbing uncontrollably by the end, which was a terrible idea, considering the still-too-tight-for-comfort collar he was wearing. Tobias signaled Severus to stand up, and he did so, meekly. Tobias hooked the chain back on the collar and wrapped the other end around a post.

"Don't you so much as move a muscle to undo this, or you'll be ten times as worse off," Tobias growled. But it was too late. Severus had already passed out on the floor, the chain stretched to full length.

Severus stumbled forward, feeling an overwhelming sense of nausea, and his foot collided with something warm and soft, without so much as a thud. He lit his wand and saw Harry scrambling to his feet. The boy looked terrified and stepped aside.

Severus just gave Harry a pointed glare, hoping not to have to clean up any sick that night. He rushed past Harry, and darted into the bathroom, being sure to close the door behind himself.

He lifted the toilet seat and knelt down, not a moment too soon. He vomited the entire contents of his stomach. There was a soft knock on the door, and Severus, being preoccupied, was unable to answer.

Harry knocked on the door. He could hear Snape retching beyond it, and was unsure if he should offer any comfort or not. There was no answer. Obviously, there was no answer. Snape wasn't exactly in a position to reply. So Harry opened the door cautiously. He saw what he expected to see. Snape was kneeling in front of the toilet, gagging and vomiting at irregular intervals, as his hair fell over his face.

Harry stepped forward, still being extra cautious, and murmured something - he wasn't even sure what - softly, to alert Snape to his presence there. He put a comforting hand on Snape's back.

"It's alright," Harry said softly, beginning to rub circles on the older man's back. "Everything's alright." Harry held Snape's hair back from his face in an attempt to keep it out of his way. "Everything will be fine." He tried to use the same tone Snape did when comforting him. Perhaps he should use some of the same words too. "You're at Spinner's End, and no one will hurt you here. Not now. You-Know-Who won't be coming back. We sent the last horcrux with Sirius and he hid it somewhere. No one knows where. We reported it destroyed, remember? He can't come back if no one knows that anything of him still exists." Snape's heaves were becoming fewer, but Harry was still increasingly worried.

"You'll be fine!" Harry almost pleaded, suddenly kneeling next to Snape and putting his arms around the man. "You have to be." You can't leave me, Harry silently added.

Snape sighed.

"And I will be," he said, loosening Harry's grip and standing. He flushed the toilet, went over to the sink and cleaned up, before turning to Harry and meeting his gaze.

"I'll deal with you in the morning," Snape sighed, glancing at the doorway, where Harry's blanket and pillow lay, unceremoniously thrown in a heap.

"I'm sorry - " Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he repeated, more sternly this time. "I don't want to discuss it now." Snape's shoulders slumped tiredly, and he shuffled back to his bed, where he lay down. Harry watched for a minute, to make sure the man made it alright, then started to pick up his blanket and pillow, prepared to spend the rest of the night awake, waiting for Snape to fully reprimand him. He turned to leave.

"And where do you think you're going?" Snape called back.

"Uh..." Harry stalled. "Nowhere."

"Good," Snape said. "I'll transfigure you a simple cot tonight. We'll sort things out more permanently tomorrow."

"Will you be alright with that, transfiguring something away from Hogwarts?"

"There's a big difference between transfiguring one simple thing for the duration of one night, and maintaining multiple transfigurations at a great distance for an indefinite amount of time," Snape said, and his eye roll was apparent in his tone. "I can monitor my own magic well enough. Put your pillow down." Harry did, and he flicked his wand, the pillow immediately turning into a cot identical to the one that he had made that first night that Harry spent in Snape's chambers.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You have a blanket already," Snape continued, ignoring Harry's thanks. Harry was beginning to lie down on the bed, when something soft collided with his face. Snape had thrown him his own pillow instead.

"Oof," Harry moaned, pulling it away from his face. "What was that?" he laughed.

"Oh, just go to sleep," Snape chuckled back as he rolled over, using his arm as a pillow instead. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night," Harry whispered back.

Breakfast was a very quiet affair. Neither had said anything, save for greetings and the occasional request to pass something. Snape cleared his throat.

"Would you care to explain why you were sleeping in the doorway?" Harry shrugged.

"Not really," he declined candidly.

"Then explain even if you don't care to," Snape ordered in a no-nonsense tone. It was apparent that Snape was not in a very good mood at all. Harry was silent a minute, and a dark shadow passed over his face as he looked away. "We can move to the living room, if you prefer," Snape suggested quietly. Harry nodded. They left the kitchen and Snape magicked up some tea for them. He handed one mug to Harry. Well, at least Snape was trying to be civil.

"So explain," Snape prompted.

"It's hard sleeping without anyone near," Harry began, nervously sipping his tea as he settled himself on the couch. "Without someone I trust," he clarified. "Lots of bad things happen in the night; you've said so yourself. Sometimes things seem hopeless, and people make incredibly bad decisions then. Sometimes things happen really quietly, and no one knows they're happening until it's too late. Anything can happen, here, at Hogwarts, anywhere really. If I'm not near you, how will I know you'll be there in the morning?" Snape was silent, stunned.

"I'm rambling, aren't I?" Harry hastened. "Sorry."

"No," Snape denied. "No, you're not rambling at all. Do you really think that I would abandon you that readily?" Harry shrugged.

"People make bad decisions sometimes," he finally said. "I don't think you would if you thought about rationally but - "

"But you think that I might make a hasty, 'bad' decision," Snape finished. Harry shrugged again, and then gave a little nod. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You said once that you thought about it," Harry murmured, sipping his tea again. "I can't deal with you dying." Snape nodded.

"Understandable," Snape agreed coolly. "But somehow I don't think my assurances that I, in fact, will not die by my own hand in the middle of the night are something that will ease your mind, will it?"

"I know you won't kill yourself," Harry sighed, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

"You're simply afraid that I might," Snape supplied. Harry didn't react. "Well, in light of that fear, if you want to drag your bed frame into my room, I suppose we can arrange that. I want my pillow back tonight." Harry smiled at that.

"You've come a long way, Harry," Snape continued. "That doesn't mean there isn't a long way to go. You'll need to learn independence at some point; this isn't the sort of thing you can keep up forever. That doesn't mean you need to learn it now, though. I simply want you to realize that we can't keep this up forever."

"I know," Harry whispered.

"You'll grow to full maturity, become a man in every sense of the word, and I'll grow old and die of purely natural or accidental causes, and you'll have to fend for yourself."

"Please don't make me think of that," Harry whimpered, closing his eyes tightly, trying to keep the images of an older version of himself crying over Snape's deathbed out of his mind. "I can't deal with that."

"And you don't, not yet," Snape pointed out swiftly. "But everything in this life is passing. People, things, love, even ideologies. You have to either move on when life does, or get left behind. You seem oddly resigned to your own death, yet terrified of that for others."

"If I die," Harry began, "I know the world will go on without me. If someone else dies," he paused pointedly, "I know my world won't." Snape made a noncommittal grunting sound as he drank some of his own tea.

"I'm sorry you had to see me that way last night," Snape commented casually a few moments later.

"It's alright," Harry smiled wanly. "I've known about that for awhile now. I would wake up at Hogwarts. Being a heavy sleeper was never a good thing, you know?"

"Absolutely," Snape agreed. "My apologies for disturbing your sleep in the past then."

"That's fine," Harry dismissed. "I just never knew if you wanted me to acknowledge that I knew...I mean, I always pretended I didn't, because I didn't want to intrude...but last night - " Harry cut himself off. "Sorry." Snape waved the apology away.

"You may do whatever makes you the most comfortable," Snape said. Harry felt a wide smile creep onto his features as he heard Snape's real words, "I'm too proud to ask for your comfort, but if you're willing, it is appreciated."

"You had a nightmare then?" Harry continued, feeling a bit lost for conversation topics.

"Naturally," Snape replied snidely, and he hid his face behind his mug as he continued to drink.

"Is there - do you want to talk about it?" Harry stammered.

"About as much as you want to talk about yours," Snape replied casually. Harry shrugged.

"Makes sense," he agreed. "You just ask me every time, so I thought I'd return the favor."

"Mm, appreciated," Snape mumbled. Harry saw a slight pink tinge grace Snape's high cheekbones. "You never answer either."

"It's not like I have a good role-model," Harry smiled softly.

"Granted," Snape agreed after a moment. "You'll learn without a role-model eventually."

"Hypocrite," Harry chuckled.

"Absolutely," Snape agreed quickly. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "Harry, I want to know why I didn't hear my foot collide with you last night." Snape's voice grew stern. Harry's gaze fell, but he didn't say anything, at least not right away.

"I didn't want to wake you," Harry murmured. "I was afraid I might have a nightmare, and then you'd find out what I was doing if I woke you, so I tried to fix that."

"I told you not to do any magic this summer, and I told you not to use that damn silencing spell!" Snape hissed at him. Harry had actually lost count of the number of times Snape had caught him using the spell. It was reasonable, Harry supposed, that Snape would eventually lose his temper over it. The man wasn't one to take defiance easily. He made his position on the spell's use quite clear, and Harry knew he kept disregarding it anyway.

"You said the Ministry couldn't tell my magic from yours! I haven't heard from them expelling me or anything!" Harry argued.

"You're right. They can't tell. That doesn't make it any more acceptable! Aren't you supposed to be the honorable Gryffindor? Respect the laws that are in place, whether they can enforce them or not. It's customary for every parent to make such rules. And even if I didn't care about your magic habits over the summer, I've told you not to go silencing your nightmares! If you want a role-model, learn from my never using a silencing spell!" Snape was yelling by the end.

"Okay, fine!" Harry shouted back at Snape, bringing his hand down in emphasis on the arm of the chair. "I bet you used it a long time ago though!"

"Naturally!" Snape admitted loudly. "I didn't have anyone to learn from! My only friends were your mother and Lucius Malfoy. What do you expect? When your mother stopped speaking to me, it was only Lucius! I had no role-model or mentor. Damn it, I was happy when my father died, alright? You, on the other hand, are not alone. You don't have to suffer like I did!"

"You're still suffering!" Harry accused.

"Of course!" Snape replied. "And I will for the rest of my life! That doesn't mean you have to be a victim of the same fate, and by every power in heaven, I will do my best to see that that doesn't happen!"

"I don't see why a stupid silencing spell has gotten you so upset!" Harry shouted back. "It's not like I'm hurting myself with it!" He heard himself from six months ago shouting the same thing about the dreamless sleep, and wondered if it could be something similar. Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, sighed, and leaned back into his chair, visibly relaxing his tense muscles. It didn't make him look any less angry though. Harry wondered if he had pushed the man too far.

"Fine," he said coolly. "You're not hurting yourself. You're simply trapping yourself in the world of your nightmares, letting your mind replay things best forgotten without anyone to help you escape that. I'm willing to wake you every time I hear you scream, but no, you'd rather stay there, wouldn't you? Maybe," Snape continued darkly, "I misunderstood the real cause of your screaming." Harry looked horror-struck, and couldn't bring himself to even properly deny the accusation.

"I - I - " he stammered stupidly. "No! It's not like that!" Harry felt a hot prickling behind his eyes. "I don't even know how you can say that!" He turned and rushed out of the room in one fluid motion, but not before Snape could hear a shuddering gasp.

Severus rose and followed Harry out of the room, immediately regretting his unimaginably hurtful words. The same impulse that had driven Lily away so many years ago. When he entered the kitchen, Harry was nowhere to be seen, but there were limited places he could be hiding. Severus approached the boy's room, where the door was closed, and knocked softly.

"Go away!" Harry called.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Severus called back. "May I come in?" There was silence, which Severus interpreted as a tacit approval, so he opened the door slowly, carefully listening for any objection.

"Harry?" Severus prompted. The boy was sprawled on his bed, face down, hiding his emotions in his pillow. "How about we move this bed into my room now?" Harry didn't react. Severus sighed. "You know apologies don't come to me easily," he ground out. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I don't know how you could say that!" Harry shouted, whirling on Severus. The boy stood and fisted his hands as his tear streaked face contorted into an angry grimace. "You should know. You should understand. I'm sorry I made you mad, okay? Why can't we even have a fight like a normal family?" Harry sank back on his bed, looking disheveled and disheartened. "Please, whatever you do, don't ever insinuate that." Severus lay a cautious hand on the boy's messy hair, and was pleased when Harry didn't shrink away.

"You are completely right," Severus agreed. "Shall we move this bed frame though?"

"No," Harry said, and Severus frowned, not willing to pressure Harry, still resting his hand on the boy's head.

"Alright," he agreed after a moment, somewhat stiffly. "That's fine." He moved his thumb slowly over Harry's temple. "Let me know if there's anything you need. I'll be in the kitchen preparing lessons for next year."

Harry didn't come out of his room the rest of the day. Severus had hoped that he would come out for lunch, but when the boy didn't, he shrugged it off, thinking that Harry would surely come out for supper. That didn't happen either. Severus was worried about him, but his version of worrying was to ignore the problem and hope it fixed itself. Would that be good enough?

Severus ate supper alone, and then dished a generous helping on a plate. He carried it to Harry's room. Opening the door quietly, Severus saw that Harry was asleep. Silently, he set the plate on Harry's dresser and cast a warming charm on it. He would find it when he woke.

There was a note with the food.

Harry,

I'm sorry about what I said earlier today. It was entirely uncalled for and I regret it deeply. I wish I knew what to do to make it up to you. You're welcome to sleep in the cot I'll transfigure for you tonight, if you so wish.

SS

It wasn't long, but it was to the point, and Severus hoped it would help melt the ice that had suddenly frozen between them. Even if Harry didn't join him that night, Severus thought he should give the boy the opportunity.

He quietly tinkered around the house for the rest of the evening, planning lessons and brewing potions in his lab in the cellar. Finally, he went to bed, though he was restless and not sleepy. After quaffing a sleeping draught, he transfigured a cot, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The cot was untouched next morning.

"Harry, I know you're awake. Will you please come out here?" The door creaked open, and Harry slipped out of his room, taking a seat at the table, not looking at Snape. He didn't want to face the man, not after the comment, and not after disregarding the clear hint in the note to come sleep in his room that night. Harry's night had been restless at best. He felt sticky and clammy from all the crying he had done. Silent tears, ones he hoped Snape wouldn't notice. He hadn't. The pain was so intense, and he wanted it to end.

"Good morning," Snape said softly.

"Morning, sir," Harry mumbled. "Sorry for being such a brat - "

"Hardly," Snape cut him off. "I believe it is I who should be apologizing to you." He paused. "It's good to see you again." Harry nodded, but didn't reply. Snape dished him some food, but Harry didn't eat much. Hardly a bite. Snape noticed, but didn't comment on it, for which Harry was grateful.

"I will have to be gone most of the day today," Snape announced. "I need to visit the neighbors and see to a few other errands. We're running low on some groceries and I need some new quills and parchment from Diagon Alley. Would you like to run the errands with me?" Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice. He still hadn't met Snape's eyes, and he could tell how frustrated the man was getting with him.

"That's fine," Snape continued patiently. "Just stay here then. There's food in the fridge for your midday meal. Don't starve yourself." Harry didn't acknowledge the instructions, and Snape didn't press the issue. Snape got up, collected a few things and left without another word.

Harry sulked at the table, alone. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Snape. The man had apologized, had brought him his supper, and even invited him to sleep in a place of security. What else could he demand from Snape? It wasn't like they could go back in time and undo their actions, or change history somehow. Even if they could use a time-turner to go back in time, it would only make history happen. It wouldn't change it. Harry began to lose himself in a fantasy about how he would change reality given the chance, but abruptly caught himself.

Naturally, he would have not lived with the Dursleys if he could have helped it. He could have avoided so much pain and trouble if he had lived with anyone else. Occasionally, Harry wondered if growing up with the Malfoys would have been preferable. Vernon might be dead, but his actions still lived on, and Harry was feeling the pain acutely.

He couldn't go on like this. He felt like he was suffocating in the poisons of his own emotions. They wouldn't go away. He'd spoken to Snape about wanting to die; he still did, want it, that was.

It wasn't like he had much to live for, Harry thought regretfully. Voldemort was dead, or as dead as he would ever be. What else was the Boy-Who-Lived supposed to do? He had his friends, yes, but they would continue on without him. They would grow to forget about him. Sure, his death would always be an unpleasant memory for them, but time healed most wounds.

Harry felt the growing emptiness inside him, and it became unbearable. Even though he cried through the previous night, he broke down and cried again.

He had been making so much progress lately, too. It all slipped through his fingers like water. Why couldn't he just feel better all the time? A small voice in Harry's head told him that he was just too broken to fix. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe he was fated to live out whatever remained of his life as a terrified, traumatized shadow of a human being, broken beyond repair.

Harry knew he had grieved for a long time about what happened at Privet Drive. He was still grieving. Shouldn't that period be over by now? He was safe. Why couldn't he stop living in the past? Why did those memories have to push themselves on his mind every time he closed his eyes? Couldn't his uncle leave him alone, even in death?

It wasn't physical pain. Harry knew he could endure that. What he couldn't endure was the endless psychological pain, wearing away at his mind every moment of every day. During brief respites, he could sometimes remember what it was like to be normal - or as normal as he ever was. It was like these wounds would never heal, and Harry was beginning to despair. Something had to change.

Snape's comment just showed how slowly he was making progress. Even Snape was getting fed up with him, and Harry knew that Snape had the potential to be a very patient man if he wanted. It could be so easy to accept help, Harry realized blearily. Like a drowning man, he kept pushing it away, more assured of his own abilities than those of others. If only he could trust again.

Harry rose and left the house by means of the front door. He knew he shouldn't be going out alone, but everything in Spinner's End reminded him of Snape, which reminded him of the previous day, which reminded him of Privet Drive. Harry needed a break from the house, and if Snape wasn't going to be back till supper, that left him plenty of time for a walk. He was careful to bring his wand. Anxious as he might be for the pain to end, somehow, he didn't want it to be at someone else's hand.

Harry spotted a church not too far out of his way. He decided to see if the door was unlocked. It was. It was a small, simple church. Much more modern than St. Paul's had been. It was set up in a half circle with the altar as the focal point. In the back, there was a fountain. It was large, perhaps the size of a small table. A wall rose about a foot from the floor, and the highest point of the water was about the Harry's waist.

It was so quiet and peaceful in the church. He knelt on the floor next to the fountain as he watched his reflection. He frowned, trying to keep reign on his emotions. Dipping his hands in the water, Harry envisioned his life slipping through his fingers just as the water did. He closed his eyes and prayed. When he opened them, he saw another figure in the water.

Harry jumped and screamed, but calmed himself when he saw it was only the vicar.

"I'm sorry I startled you," the man said softly. "I've never seen you around before. What's your name?"

"Harry, sir."

"Are you new in Wolverhampton, or just wandered in?"

"I'm staying for a few months with...my family," Harry ended lamely. He sucked in his breath. "Adopted."

"Ah," the vicar replied knowingly. "Might I know them?"

"Severus Snape," Harry choked out. He felt a stray tear run down his face.

"I know of the man," the vicar said, smiling. "Cold, but kind at heart. He comes every so often, to Mass, I mean." Harry nodded. Unconsciously, Harry submerged both his hands in the water and began to pour the water over his arms, even rubbing at them a bit. "What seems to be troubling you?" the vicar asked quietly.

"I had a fight," Harry murmured, unsure why he was willing to open up to a stranger. Maybe it was the environment. It was almost like confession. "Snape, he - he said some terrible things. We've hardly spoken since." Harry turned away, still pouring the water over his arms.

"Still on a last name basis, then?" the vicar asked casually.

"He's never invited me to call him anything else," Harry whispered. "He took me out of duty. I had no where else to go."

"You don't believe he loves you, then?"

"I think he's grown to, in his own way," Harry said, a bit more confidently, but not much. He was still rubbing at his arms. "It's complicated."

"Most things are," the vicar agreed. "Aside from a few cruel remarks, has he been good to you?"

"Yes, too good," Harry answered quickly. "He's given me more than any other human being."

"Severus is a strange man," the vicar said slowly. "No one knows much about him even though rumor says he grew up here."

"He treats me fine," Harry muttered sullenly. Snape's comment played in his head again, bringing with it a fresh round of emotion. "I just - I just - " Harry began to break down. His tears rolled down his cheeks, and into the holy water. They formed little ripples the faded into the large pool. Harry didn't notice. Few people notice the large effects a small action can have on the world.

"You just what?" the vicar prompted.

"I just want it to stop," Harry sobbed freely.

"You want what to stop?" the vicar whispered, laying a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. He jerked away suddenly, whimpering.

"Don't touch me, please," Harry begged, squirming away like a wounded animal.

"I'm sorry," the vicar apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you." The man kept his distance after that. "What do you want to stop?" he asked again.

"Everything," Harry choked out, his voice hoarse from the tears. "I don't want to exist anymore. It hurts too much."

"What hurts?"

"My heart, my head," Harry answered, tears streaming down his face and into the pool. He stopped pouring the water, but left his hands submerged. "I just want things to go back to the way they were."

"Did you lose someone, Harry?" the vicar asked.

"Yes, but that's not what I meant," Harry answered. "Terrible things, vicar. Why are people so cruel?" Harry looked up at the man and searched his face. "How can people be so selfish?" The vicar didn't answer right away.

"I don't know," he finally said. "Perhaps it's because that's where their first priorities lie - with themselves. I don't know how the screams of the innocent can fall on ears that deaf." Harry began to cry harder. That wasn't an explanation he had hoped for. "This is a question that has haunted the human race for generations, Harry, and this is a question that each must answer for himself." They sat there together for some time. Harry continued to weep, and the vicar didn't admonish him in any way. As Harry gained control over himself again, he began once more to absently pour the water over his arms.

"That's entirely unnecessary, Harry," the vicar whispered, carefully lifting Harry's hands from the water. Harry didn't flinch this time. "Let me assure you that you are already quite clean." He spoke the words pointedly. Harry nodded and rose from the fountain.

"Try to forgive Severus," the vicar instructed, also rising. "What he said must have hurt you a lot, I know. It's not good to harbor ill-will, though."

"Thank you, vicar," Harry whispered. "Thank you for listening to me." The man nodded his reply. Harry saw himself out of the church.

His talk with the vicar hadn't made him feel any better. Perhaps a little more calm, but not better. He still felt the gnawing emptiness inside. It was like his life was spiraling out of control. It was pouring rain when he left the church. Harry put his glasses in his back pocket to keep them from catching raindrops. He could still see well enough to continue his walk. It was a chilly rain, but Harry didn't notice. He didn't notice as the water soaked through all his clothes, to his skin, and he didn't notice when he began to shiver. Finally, after walking around for what must have been for another hour or two, Harry returned to Spinner's End. Then, he realized his clothes were dripping wet. Quickly, he changed into dry clothes.

Harry didn't feel like eating, so he passed on lunch. No reason Snape would have to know.

His mind drifted to horribly morbid thoughts. Thoughts about what it would feel like to die. A rational part of Harry's brain told him he should be concerned that such thoughts had preoccupied him all of this morning and the previous day. The voice that told him he was broken beyond repair was louder though.

Harry thought about different ways a person could die as he slumped down at the table. He could stab himself. Something clicked in Harry's mind. He had shifted from a theoretical thought about any human to a specific thought about himself. It didn't bother him though. Perhaps it should have. It brought him a strange sense of peace that a way to feel better existed.

Oh, yes, so he could stab himself. There were knives in the kitchen. It wouldn't be hard. It would be painful, slow, and bloody though. Harry decided he didn't want to feel himself die. He'd felt too much already. He'd felt his happiness die a long time ago, and that was enough for him. He didn't much care if the method was slow, as long as he didn't feel it. And lastly, he didn't want to leave a mess for Snape. He created enough of a mess by merely existing.

Harry rested his chin in his hands as he continued to think. Hanging was a possibility, but he didn't know how to tie the knot. If Snape had a car, he could gas himself to death. Jumping from the roof? Harry snorted morbidly as he envisioned falling through the roof before he could jump off it. He could always eat something ridiculously obnoxious.

He could brew himself a potion. He knew all about sleeping potions. If he altered the ratio of the ingredients just a little bit, it would send him into a coma and then death. That's why he had to be so careful when brewing his extra strong dreamless sleep. Then, he hadn't wanted to die. Well, perhaps he had, but he knew he had a mission to kill Voldemort. Dying then would have made the old bastard's job too easy.

It would be poetic, wouldn't it? Dying at the hands of a potion. Snape had to have a lab. The only part of the house that Harry hadn't explored was the cellar. He went over to the door and paused, wondering if he really wanted to go through with this. Steeling his will, because he certainly didn't want to live in pain, he opened the door and descended into the cellar. It certainly was a lab. It smelled just like Hogwarts.

Harry noticed a lone pole erected in the middle of the cellar.

Making a direct path to the lab table, Harry began to collect the necessary ingredients for his dreamless death potion. He knew the recipe for dreamless sleep by heart, and knew just how to alter it to suit his needs.

He felt more at peace than he had in a long time. For the first time in forever, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and that heartened him. He would enter a place where his uncle couldn't follow him.

Soon, the potion was done. Harry bottled an overdose of it and returned upstairs. It would work quickly, he knew, so he wanted to write his letter to Snape before he took the potion. It wouldn't due to leave his last thoughts half written. Grabbing the parchment Snape had used to apologize, Harry turned it over and began to write on the back.

Dear Sir,

Isn't it funny, how we've been communicating more in the written form over the last twenty-four hours than in words, even though we live under the same roof? I know that that's mostly my fault, and I'm sorry.

You're probably wondering why I did it. It hurt too much. I couldn't live this way. Don't feel bad. Your comments were only the last thing. We've talked about this before. I know you remember. I've never not wanted to die, not since last summer. I kept trying to hold it together for you. Say goodbye to Ron and Hermione for me, please. Tell them not to feel bad either. Tell them I'm sorry.

Ironic, isn't it, that I'm using a potion? I remember when, on my first day of potions, you told us we could learn how to "stopper death." Instead, it's what I've learned from you that will finally ease my pain. And I'm grateful to you for that. It's an altered version of dreamless sleep, if you haven't figured that out already. You probably have. I'm calling it dreamless death. It should be painless and not messy. I didn't want to leave you something ugly to clean up, or I would have just slit my wrists and stabbed myself. You've seen enough ugly things.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not stronger. I'm sorry I can't do this anymore. I wish I could keep it together all the time. I wish I could just be normal again. I wish you could love me, and I wish I could trust you. I know you say you love me, and I know you believe it. I don't know how to trust it though. I want to believe it, but I can't. I'm too broken. You can't fix me. You need to focus on yourself. I'm distracting you from helping yourself. You need to work on something that isn't a hopeless cause.

Please forgive me. Please. I wish I could hear your forgiveness. I wish I could. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry.

Harry James Severus Potter Snape

Harry drank his potion in long gulp. Leaving the note on the table, he retreated to his room to die. He stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head, and began to pray for everyone he loved, and begged God to have mercy on his soul.

When Severus walked in, he hoped Harry would greet him, as he normally did when they were in his chambers together. When Harry didn't, Severus sighed sadly.

"Harry, I'm home!" he called out instead. There was no reply. Severus began to feel a little annoyed that Harry would ignore him like that. He wasn't asking for the boy's approval or forgiveness; just an acknowledgement.

"Harry I would appreciate it if you would answer me when I'm talking to - " He cut himself off when he caught sight of the note on the table, in Harry's sloppy script, addressed to "Sir."

Severus began scanning the lines quickly, and the further he read, the more his features paled. Finally, not even registering the last paragraph properly, Severus let the paper drift to the floor as he rushed into Harry's room.

It was a good thing he was a spy and a soldier first. If he weren't, perhaps he would have been too overcome with emotions to properly register the situation. Which was not to say that he was entirely emotionally divorced from the situation. It meant that he was able to shove those feelings aside long enough to do what had to be done, and do it effectively. He rushed to Harry's side, first checking for a pulse and breathing. The pulse was weak and the breathing shallow, but they were there. Severus breathed a sigh of relief as he began to examine the bottle Harry must have used.

He smelled the bottle and checked the color and consistency of the last few unconsumed drops. Without further analysis, Severus couldn't be sure, but he thought he knew what Harry had done to the dreamless sleep potion. A sloppy, but effective, method of lethal poisoning. For once, Severus was glad that Harry was as incompetent as he was with potions. Given more skill and some different ingredients, Severus knew Harry would have been dead instantly.

Without a second thought, Severus scooped up Harry and draped him over his arm. Then, careful not to choke the boy, Severus gently probed his fingers down Harry's throat, trying to induce vomiting. Harry lost everything that was in his stomach. It wasn't much. Severus was disappointed in that. Harry's stomach must already have emptied after he took the potion. It had been worth a try, though. He laid Harry back on the bed.

Harry's potions skills were abysmal at best, and Severus didn't dare hope that Harry had written down his experimental potion. Just in case, unwilling to leave any leaf unturned, Severus rushed to his lab and checked for any spare parchments, notes, anything. He found nothing. Feeling panic rising in the back of his throat, Severus took a moment to occlude and reason out his next step.

He couldn't be sure how to counter Harry's potion. It was experimental, and, therefore, he could only make an educated guess about it. Hell, he wasn't even certain he knew what Harry had done to the potion, much less know how that portion would react with Harry's body chemistry. It would all come down to guesswork, something Severus didn't like. He would have to take a stab at what he should do. He would have called a healer from St. Mungo's, except that he was well aware when someone swallowed an experimental potion, St. Mungo's was in the habit of contacting him. He might be no healer, but he knew his potions.

"Hang on, Harry," Severus breathed, as he pulled a cauldron down from one of the shelves, frantically pouring chemicals together. His best bet, he figured, was to make Harry dream. If he could induce any sort of dream state, there was a good chance he would also be neutralizing the lethal component of the daught.

Harry already had experience with the addictive qualities of dreamless sleep. The active ingredient, when too concentrated, could be lethal. It's not uncommon with addictive substances, when handled wrong, they can become deadly. Harry must have read that somewhere and filed the information away. The substance, when added in appropriate amounts, dulled a person's brain waves to inhibit dreams. When taken enough, the potion became both addictive and ineffective. When the ratios were thrown off, the same substance that made dreamless sleep effective could dull the person's brain waves so much that the brain would stop waving, so to speak. It would completely shut the brain down.

Either Harry hadn't put enough in his potion to kill him as quickly as he imagined, or he hadn't taken it that long ago. Then another thought occurred to Severus. It could have been that Harry's system, still recovering from the addiction, had retained some immunity, and his body was reacting better to the overdose than some other witch or wizard.

Through all his thoughts, Severus continued to brew as only he knew how. It was, perhaps, the quickest potion Severus had ever made. In a few fifteen minutes, he had an antidote complete. It wasn't nearly as strong or as effective as a properly brewed antidote would have been, but it would see to it that Harry had a chance to live long enough for Severus to brew the real thing.

Racing back upstairs, Severus sat next to Harry's unmoving form. He still was breathing. Severus hadn't allowed himself to think of the possibility of Harry's death when he was brewing. Quickly, Severus propped Harry up and poured the antidote in his mouth. He massaged Harry's throat, encouraging him to swallow. Once the entire antidote was down, Severus noticed Harry sigh once, and his breathing became more regulated. It was a good sign.

Severus went back to the lab to brew the real antidote, now that Harry had a chance of living out the next few hours. If the temporary stabilizer had worked that well, Severus felt confident that the stronger potion would bring Harry around. He set about making the dream inducing potion properly, and after a few minutes, the potion was ready to mind itself for an hour. Severus went back upstairs.

He felt uncomfortable in Harry's room. He had promised not to intrude, and while it was definitely justifiable for him to care for his son in his room, Severus opted to carry the boy to the couch instead. Severus picked him up, and realized that Harry was still too light. Perhaps he would never put on as much weight as Severus would like. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Harry was currently dead weight. His head lolled back in an unseemly fashion as gravity determined the position Harry would assume.

Severus laid him out carefully on the couch, propping him up a bit with a few threadbare pillows. There wasn't anything for Severus to do now, but watch and wait. He went back to the kitchen where he had dropped the note and reread it, more carefully this time.

"Oh, God, what have I done?" he whispered, placing the parchment on the table. He went back to the living room and pulled a chair close to the couch. The house was deathly still and he could hear each of Harry's breaths. Every time the boy exhaled, Severus feared he wouldn't hear the next one.

Severus' panic and worry was beginning to catch up with him, now that the immediate emergency medicine had been taken care of. His concern as a parent was beginning to kick in. He reached out and took Harry's hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. He tried to close his eyes and collect his emotions, but it was to no avail.

"Harry, hold on," he pleaded again. "You can't die. I need you." Severus kept telling himself that Harry would be alright once the full strength antidote was complete. A gut feeling told him it wasn't going to be that simple. Nothing in his life was ever that simple.

He held Harry's hand in both of his own, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Severus' stomach was twisting with the fear that Harry wouldn't pull through. Just as Harry had stated it would be impossible for him to cope with Severus' death, Severus also thought it would be impossible for him to cope with Harry's.

The hour slipped away slowly, and reluctantly, Severus rose to complete the antidote. Minutes later, he returned with the bottle, and administered it. He would have to keep Harry in the dream state until he was sure the poison had run its course - a minimum of twenty-four hours. After that, it was entirely up to Harry. Severus hoped his intervention was enough. If Harry had lost his will to live, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't come out of his self-induced coma, even if the poison was removed from his system and he didn't die. Was that any better than death, really?

Severus resumed his position, holding Harry's hand. He didn't know how long he sat there, waiting expectantly, for any sign of change. He felt the back of his eyes burning. The waiting was the worst part. It allowed the worry to eat away at him, letting his imagination create the worst possible scenarios.

Suddenly, Severus moved to the couch and sat close to Harry. He reached out and touched the boy's face. It was burning up. Puzzled, Severus frowned. A fever wasn't a usual side-effect of either an altered version of dreamless sleep or the antidote.

"I'll be right back, Harry," Severus whispered, as he rose and walked back to Harry's room. Looking for any clues, (perhaps Harry had taken two potions?), he found a pile of soaked clothing thrown in the corner. They was the same clothes Harry had been wearing that morning, and Severus suddenly realized that, yes, Harry must have changed at some point. In his single-minded goal of preserving Harry's teetering life, Severus had failed to notice.

It had been raining earlier that day. It was the most reasonable explanation, that Harry had been out wandering, against his orders, in the rain. Severus wasn't surprised. It made sense that Harry would want to go for a walk to mull things over before he died. Severus couldn't begrudge Harry that desire. Severus himself knew that he would want to do that if their positions were reversed.

He cast a quick drying spell on the clothes in the corner. It wouldn't due to let them mold and he didn't have time to deal with them any other way. Concluding that Harry's fever was the result of careless wandering in a cold rain, Severus fetched a washcloth. He went to the bathroom and soaked it in cool water. He was reluctant to give Harry a fever reducing potion since he couldn't be sure how that would react with the dreamless death.

After wringing out the extra water, Severus stalked back to the living room. Harry still rested peacefully, alive. Shifting Harry's sleeping form, Severus positioned himself on one end of the sofa, Harry's head resting in his lap. He laid the cloth over Harry's burning forehead and ran his hand through Harry's messy mop of hair.

"Keep breathing," Severus pleaded. He had to wait six hours before administering the next dose of the dream inducing potion. There was nothing left for him to do for Harry save sit up with him and monitor his status, perhaps changing the wet cloth occasionally. Leaving Harry's side for more than a few minutes was out of the question, though. He was going to be awake if Harry needed anything, whether in his last few moments or if he woke up.

While waking up at this point was nigh impossible, Severus feared the worst, that suddenly Harry would gasp his last and he would be helpless to stop it. He continued stroking the boy's hair absently.

If it wasn't some evil maniac trying to kill them, it was something else trying to end one of their lives. Severus covered his face with his hand, still trying to hide the emotions, even though there was no one to witness. It was no use. He released a strangled sob, then another, as he tried to retain his dignity. He was glad there was no one there to witness him fall apart.

If Harry died then, Severus knew he would never forgive himself. He'd probably kill himself right after. If Harry died, it would be his fault, entirely and solely his fault. He never thought his comment would bring about such dire consequences. Sometimes, it was the littlest things that made the biggest impact.

One line from Harry's note stood out in Severus' mind. I wish you could love me. Severus didn't know how else to show his love. What else could he do? He'd tried to provide for Harry, tried to be there for him, protect him, and had even been prepared to die for him. Didn't Harry know he loved him, more than he loved any living person? He wished he knew what to do for the boy.

"Harry, I love you like if you were my own child from birth," Severus assured the unconscious form. "If Lily and I had been married, and I conceived you, I would love you the same way."

Severus' tears fell into Harry's mop, shining and glistening. Absently, Severus hoped that somehow that would wake him up and everything would be better. Nothing happened. Things like that were reserved only for fairy tales. They didn't happen in real life.

"Don't let him die, please," Severus sobbed. "God, please, save him. Don't let him die."

Severus realized it was one thing for him to suffer. He doubted he would be entirely upset by that prospect. He knew he deserved it, for everything he had done, and he was willing to pay the price. What he was unwilling to accept was that someone like Harry should be the one to pay. If there were some magic he could wrought to exchange their places, he would.

When the next six hours had passed, and Harry's heart still worked, Severus gave him the next dose of dream inducing potion. He was loath to leave Harry for even a moment, but he had to go get the antidote in order administer it. He didn't want the bottle breaking as it came up the stairs if he used a summoning charm.

He had since controlled his emotions enough so that his eyes were no longer leaking saltwater. It didn't mean he was feeling any better. If anything, the worry had eaten a hole in him, and he was simply feeling numb. That didn't stop him from constantly murmuring encouragements to Harry or his prayers, begging for his son's life to be spared. He didn't know if Harry or God was listening, but it was worth a try.

Kneeling by the couch, Severus continued to pray. He slumped on his heels, elbows on the couch as his folded hands interlaced fingers.

"Please, someone, listen to me!" he begged. "I'll do anything, just save his life! I would even sell my soul if that would ensure his life. Please. Please." Tears began afresh. Severus grabbed Harry's hand and brought it to his face, trying desperately to get Harry to respond, hoping for some miracle from heaven.

"Harry, I wish I could go back in time and change things," he began between broken sobs. "I wish I could have saved you sooner. I wish you never stayed with your relatives. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, leaving you there. Minerva warned him. I warned him, eventually." Severus' voice broke. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I tried so hard to be everything you needed."

Minutes wasted into hours, and hours grew into days. Severus never left Harry's side for more than a few minutes at a time, and he certainly didn't sleep. Well, perhaps he dozed off a few times, Severus thought ruefully, but they had only been short periods of time, and accidents at that. Occasionally, hunger would drive him to the kitchen just long enough to sustain life, nothing more. Severus wept continually, comforting Harry and begging the Creator for mercy. He couldn't remember a time he had wanted anything as much as this, except to have Lily's life spared all those years ago. Now he was begging a different Lord for her son's life.

When the fourth day dawned, Severus had almost given up hope. Harry's fever hadn't gone down, despite the cool compresses and the water that Severus had spelled into him. Harry had gone in and out a few times, sometimes speaking incoherently in his dreams. Severus hoped that was a good sign, though undoubtedly the fever was influencing his dreaming state as well. Finally, he risked a fever reducing potion, which had brought it to a more manageable level, but Harry stopped any vocalizations at that point. Severus hoped he hadn't inadvertently poisoned the boy himself

Severus' heart jumped and he sat forward in his armchair when he noticed Harry stir. This was the first time since the fever reducer that Harry had shown any signs of life outside of breathing and a heartbeat. Severus hardly dared hope that this could be the moment when Harry rounded the bend. Suddenly, Harry sat up, his eyes snapping open, gasping. He looked confused and terrified. Severus breathed a silent thank you to heaven, letting his eyes close for a moment in sheer gratitude.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"What happened?" Harry groaned, glancing in his direction. Harry smiled ever so slightly, cautiously.

"You've been very sick," Severus explained, unsure of how much Harry remembered. "You've been going in and out, talking absolute nonsense at times. I've been worried sick about you. How are you feeling?"

"Am I dead?" Harry asked, very quietly.

"No," Severus answered, swallowing slightly. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if Harry still wanted to die. "Not unless I missed something important." Harry tried swinging his legs off the couch, but that didn't go as well as planned. Harry began gasping for breath almost as soon as his feet hit the floor. Severus murmured incoherent, comforting sounds to the boy as he laid Harry back on the couch. Then he resumed his former position as well.

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

"You're at Spinner's End, and this is the summer after your fifth year," Severus answered, skeptical, beginning to worry about Harry's memory.

"Oh," Harry moaned. "I had quite a dream then."

"You've been asleep for several days," Severus admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was a screwy dream," Harry began. Severus was shocked to not get an immediate no. It was the first time Harry had not explicitly declined the offer. "You and mum were married, and you were McGonagall's and Voldemort's son - "

"Wait, what?" Severus interrupted. He laughed a little, nervously, recognizing a twisted version of things he had murmured to Harry over the last four days.

"And we were trapped in the potions lab for a weekend, and you held me, and then Dumbledore was really Ron who had gone back in time - "

"You weren't kidding," Severus interrupted again. Perhaps holding Harry had been the right thing to do if it had made it into his dream. "It was screwy. Continue."

"And he poisoned both of us, and you had to make an unbreakable vow of servitude to Voldemort - " Severus made a face, but didn't comment on that. Harry must have been paying very close attention, or at least his subconscious was, to all the drivel he had said over the last four days. "Sorry," Harry apologized suddenly, misinterpreting the dark look on his face.

"It's alright," Severus assured him.

"And then you broke the vow when he ordered you to kill me, and you died, and he killed me, and McGonagall killed him, and we were both happy in heaven."

"It sounds like the most un-nightmarish dream you've had in a long time," Severus observed, noting silently to himself that if that wasn't to be counted a nightmare, then those that were were just all that more horrible.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and smiled softly. They were silent a few moments. Then Severus slipped to his knees from where he had been sitting and brought Harry into a close embrace. Harry resisted initially, but then melted. Severus rocked Harry back and forth.

"I'm so glad you're still alive," Severus gasped, feeling tears creeping up on him again. Hadn't he cried enough gallons in the last four days? "You were so close to death."

"I think that was the point," Harry sniffled. Severus didn't let go or loosen his grip at all.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed. "Please, please forgive me." Severus felt Harry nod.

"Why did you say it?" Harry genuinely asked, his voice small.

"I make poor decisions when I'm angry," Severus explained. "It's not an excuse, but it's the truth. I haven't had anything to lose in a long time." If it were possible, Severus pressed Harry even closer. "I don't want to know that feeling again, ever."

It took Severus well over fifteen minutes to let Harry go. He had been too close to losing the boy. Now that Harry was past the worst of it, Severus never wanted to let him go.

"Um, sir?" Harry finally said. "You can let me go now." Severus sighed, but complied with Harry's request.

"Harry," he said pointedly.

"I'm not going to kill myself just because you let me go!" Harry whined, sounding guilty. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Severus prompted. Harry didn't answer. "Harry, I'm so, so sorry. Promise me you will never, ever try suicide again." Harry shook his head.

"I won't make a promise I can't keep," Harry rasped. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't," Severus whispered. "Please. What promise can you make?"

"I won't kill myself today," Harry promised.

"That's a beginning," Severus approved, but his voice belied how much he wanted a better promise. "Oh, Harry," he sighed. He blamed his exhausted state for the unseemly show of emotions. "Harry, can't you promise me more than that? Can you promise to talk to me next time, before you do it? Even if you can't promise there won't be a next time? Harry, I need your word." Severus gaze searched Harry's face expectantly. He considered using legillimancy but decided against it. He could tell if Harry was lying without it. Harry looked away, and seemed about to be ill.

"I'm sorry," Harry choked out, beginning to cry. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. You've always been good to me, and I don't want to lose that. I am sorry. I won't do it again, I promise. I promise." He threw himself at Severus. Despite having just asked to be released, when Harry launched himself at him, Severus positioned himself on the couch next to his son and comforted him.

"Shh," Severus hushed a sobbing Harry. He rubbed circles on Harry's back. "It's all forgiven. I want you to come talk to me if things start spiraling out of control again, alright?" Harry nodded into Severus' shirt. "Everything will be fine."

"I'm so sorry," Harry sobbed again.

"I forgave you," Severus reminded him.

Severus was careful to not leave Harry alone after that. When he had to step out of the house for something, he either brought Harry along, or placed a monitoring spell on him. If Harry did anything self-destructive, the spell would let him know and he would be back at Spinner's End in a heartbeat. Nothing was going to take his son from him. Nothing. Not even Harry himself.

The days passed pleasantly. Severus and Harry didn't speak of the incident, at least not much. Severus didn't want to remind Harry of it, and Harry didn't volunteer much. Severus was saddened that Harry didn't trust him more. He supposed it was understandable, considering how his previous comment had hurt the boy.

Harry was willing to move his bed frame into Severus' room, though. Like they had in his chambers at Hogwarts, the two beds were close, about a meter apart. Severus supposed they slept peacefully enough, except for the nightmares that occurred, every night. One of them would have a dream, at least, without fail. Severus appreciated having Harry there to offer a friendly hand, he found. It was a blessing.

Mid-July approached.

"Harry," Severus began casually over breakfast. "I was thinking. Your birthday is coming up. What would you like to do to celebrate?"

"My birthday?" Harry asked guardedly. Then he shrugged. "Nothing." Severus snorted.

"Honestly, Harry," he prompted. "You can see I don't have a lot of funds at my disposal, but I want to do something for you. I save money for things like this. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not," Harry said. "I just don't want to do anything."

"Why's that?" Severus asked.

"I just don't," Harry snapped defensively. "Leave me alone. Please."

"Harry," Severus said, his voice taking a warning tone. "Last time I did that, it didn't work out so well. You remember, I trust?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled into his food. He seemed to have suddenly lost his appetite. "May I be excused?"

"Yes," Severus agreed, and Harry went to his room. Well, Severus' room, technically. The room with his bed. Severus let him have some space.

Harry sat on his bed, swinging his legs, a deep frown on his face as he thought about what Snape had said. He didn't want to celebrate his birthday, not because he was concerned about Snape's finances, but rather because he remembered how his birthday was observed the year before. He shuddered, thinking about it.

Snape didn't know. He didn't know when Vernon had started in on him, except it had been sometime during the summer. How was he supposed to explain to Snape? Tell the man that he was mental enough for a "happy birthday" to throw him into a flashback?

He'd be turning sixteen in a few days. Most boys didn't have to worry about these sort of things. They had school, yes, but they never had had a crazed murderer after them, and most boys had a good family, from the beginning. Some even had girlfriends. Ron did. Harry idly wondered if he'd ever have a girlfriend.

He wasn't sure he could handle one, honestly. If a simple "Happy birthday, Harry!" threw him into a fit, what would a full on girlfriend do? Harry sighed, wondering why his life had to be so difficult.

After a few minutes, Harry came out of the room and joined Snape in the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Snape said softly.

"You didn't," Harry lied. Snape shrugged.

"Why don't you want to celebrate your birthday? I was under the impression that you quite liked festivities." Then it was Harry's turn to shrug.

"Please don't pry," he requested. "Just things."

"Does it have something to do with your relatives?" Yeah.

"I guess so," Harry said smoothly. "They never acknowledged it. I'm not sure I want to change that." Oh, yeah, Vernon acknowledged it. Snape looked at him strangely, like the man knew he was lying. Well, maybe he did. But he didn't say anything. Just grunted and changed the subject.

Later that day, Snape broke a comfortable silence with, "Harry, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Of course," Harry replied sincerely.

"Alright," Snape said, concern furrowing his brow. "Just as long as you know."

Snape didn't bring up birthdays again for a couple days.

Then, the day before the seventh month died, "Harry, I'm not trying to pry. Please, won't you tell me why you don't want to celebrate your birthday?"

"I told you," Harry growled. "I don't want to talk about it!" And with that, Harry stormed out of the living room.

Harry had begun to recede into himself, Severus realized, after the boy had left the room so abruptly. Something was eating at him, and he wouldn't talk about it. There wasn't much Severus could do to help him if Harry wouldn't talk! It was just getting worse, and it had all started when he asked about birthday plans. It wasn't like Harry to be this way. Severus wanted to let it blow over as a teenage phase, but his gut was telling him to pay more attention than that. As the rationalist he was, Severus turned the page of his paper, and dismissed the matter from his mind. Harry knew he could talk to him any time he liked.

Something stirred in Severus' mind as he thought of all the times that Harry could have talked to him about his problems and didn't. What made him think this was any different? Harry might resent him for awhile, but Severus knew he had to demand answers. It had been a month since his suicide attempt, and Severus hadn't seen any more plans of a suicide. Harry's surly attitude might just be strange teenage hormones at work, but then again, maybe not. Not willing to risk it, Severus got up and silently stalked down the hall.

The door to Harry's room was closed. Harry's room, not the room they shared. Severus put his ear to the door. He heard quiet sobbing from inside. Quietly, he knocked.

"Go away!" Harry sobbed.

"Harry, may I come in?" Severus asked, reminded of the last time they had this conversation. Only this time, Severus didn't feel he had wronged Harry in any way, recently at least.

"No, I said go away!" Harry shouted back, his tears evident. It struck Severus as odd. Usually if he asked a second time, Harry gave in.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Severus asked, concern lacing his voice.

"It's fine," Harry lied. "I can work through it on my own."

"You don't have to, you know," Severus replied quietly, but still loudly enough that his voice carried. Harry cried harder. Something struck Severus as wrong. Harry wasn't acting normally, and Severus didn't know what to do about it. It was still Harry's room, yes, but it wasn't where Harry usually retreated. Now, he went to Severus' bedroom. It wasn't like Harry to cry in his room in the middle of the day without seeming provocation. It wasn't like him to deny Severus access to him after multiple attempts. Something wasn't adding up, and Severus didn't like it. He tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. Severus swore.

Now he was really concerned. Harry never locked his door. Ever. He was almost phobic about locks. Severus drew his wand and cast a quick "Alohomora." Afterwards, he was glad he did.

Harry sat on the floor, his back against the wall, sobbing his eyes out. His knees were up close to his chest, and he held a knife in his right hand. As soon as he saw Severus, Harry shot to his feet.

"Don't come near me," Harry warned, though he hadn't stopped crying. He positioned the knife against his heart.

"Harry," Severus said imploringly. Then, "Expelliarmus!" The knife shot out of Harry's hand into Severus'. Harry sank to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he moaned. Severus threw the knife to the other side of the room and knelt by Harry. "I wish I knew how to fix myself. I want to die one minute and then the next I don't. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Severus murmured, taking Harry by the shoulders, pulling him close. "I think we need to do something about this though. I won't lose you."

"What do you mean? Send me to an asylum where I belong?"

"No!" Severus hissed. "I've been thinking about it for awhile now. This only confirms it. I think you should see a mind healer. This is beyond what I can help you with."

"You want me to see a bloody shrink?" Harry gasped.

"Language," Severus warned halfheartedly. At least Harry could swear. Rumor had it the dead told no tales. He doubted they swore either. "Yes, I think you should."

"I'm fine!" Harry argued.

"You just told me you weren't," Severus pointed out. "You've tried to kill yourself, twice now! How fine is that?" Harry rested his forehead against Severus' shoulder.

"It's not," Harry moaned. "God, I'm just a crackpot."

"No, you're not," Severus assured him, helping him to his feet. "I will see you through this, even if I can't be everything you need. I will not let you die, whether at your own hand or someone else's. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"I've invested too much in you to lose you now." Harry nodded again. Severus began to escort Harry from the room. Harry paused.

"Tonight will be a year ago," he murmured.

"Pardon?" Severus asked. He'd heard, he just didn't understand.

"The first time," Harry clarified, and understanding dawned on Severus. He placed a gentle arm on Harry's shoulders and they walked to the living room, and sat on the couch.

"Is that why you're reluctant to celebrate your birthday?" Severus asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, unable to meet his eyes. He looked away, and his breath hitched. Severus held him close.

"You can tell me about it, if you like," Severus offered.

"He told me happy birthday," Harry sobbed, "at the end." For a few minutes, Severus let Harry cry.

"Would it help if you showed me?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Legillimancy," Severus clarified.

"God, no!" Harry spat. "I'm having a hard enough time dealing with Vernon having raped my body. You want to remind me of all those times you raped my mind?" Severus stiffened, paled, and swallowed. He thought about what to say for a moment.

"I'm sorry you thought of it that way," he finally said.

"That's what it was!" Harry sobbed, still letting Severus comfort him. "You forced entrance into my mind. What's the difference?"

"There isn't," Severus whispered, feeling truly dirty. He sighed, "I don't know why you keep me around, sometimes."

"Same reasons you keep me, I suppose," Harry replied.

"It can be a healing experience to show someone the memories," Severus continued, dropping the subject. "It doesn't have to be me; it could be the mind healer. I highly recommend you show someone though."

"If I show you..." Harry began, "...will it hurt?"

"The only reason your Occlumency lessons hurt was because I was being ruthless - as I knew the Dark Lord would be - and you were resisting me, as well you should have. If you wish to show me, I promise on my life that I will be gentle." Harry laughed humorlessly.

"That's what he said, you know."

"Explain," Severus demanded.

"Vernon told me that it wouldn't hurt so much if I wasn't fighting him. He told me he'd be gentle." Severus hissed under his breath.

"Don't compare me to your fat lout of an uncle, or I swear, I'll become a necromancer just so I can kill him myself." Harry laughed darkly.

"I could see you doing that too."

"Because I would."

"I'll show you."

"You don't have to, you know. Especially if that's how you feel about those sorry excuses of lessons. I understand."

"No, it's fine," Harry said, though his voice was stilted. "I trust you. Now."

"Alright," Severus agreed. "What, exactly, will you be showing me?"

"What happened on my birthday last year," Harry said sorrowfully. "After the clock struck midnight."

"Perhaps you should show me what happened before, as well," Severus suggested. "It may present a clearer understanding of the rest of the events." Harry nodded.

"How do we begin?" he asked.

"I would say, sit close to me, but I believe you're already doing that," Severus said. "I need to reach your temples to do this properly." They shifted position so that Harry was between Severus' knees, Harry's back to Severus' chest. Harry let his head loll backward, resting it on Severus' shoulder. It wasn't lost on Severus just how much trust Harry would have to have in him to willing accept such a compromising position. He gently touched Harry's temples and entered his mind.

Harry showed Snape the events that led up to being trapped in Vernon's bedroom. The pizza, the dusting. He showed Snape, in graphic detail, how Vernon had gone about it the first time. He showed Snape that after the climax, Vernon had whispered, "Happy birthday, Harry," and how he had sobbed silently after that.

Harry lay awake for some time after that. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.

The morning of the thirty-first of July dawned brightly. Vernon shook Harry awake, and forcefully claimed what he desired of the boy.

"I don't want to get rough with you," Vernon warned, when Harry objected. "I want to be gentle."

When the deed was done and Harry felt properly sick, he prepared to slip off the bed, eying the pile of clothes that were still on the floor from the night before. Mentally, he was making relieved plans for a good, long shower, so he could get Vernon's smell off of him, scrub all the reminders away.

"Where are you going?" Vernon asked, grabbing Harry by the wrist. Harry froze, terrified.

"I was going to get dressed, sir, and make your breakfast," Harry almost whimpered, though Vernon's voice hadn't been threatening per se.

"It's your birthday, though, isn't it?" Vernon asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed.

"Then this is a special day for you, and we should treat it as such," Vernon leered.

"You've never observed my birthday before!" Harry objected desperately. "Can't I just make you breakfast like always, and then go for a walk? Please?" Vernon got up from the bed and stood in front of Harry, taking him by the shoulders, gently.

"You weren't my beautiful slut before," he whispered, kissing Harry's lightning bolt scar.

"And I'm not now!" Harry shouted, backing up. He hit the wall sooner than he had anticipated, and Vernon stepped close to him, blocking his view of the rest of the room

"Aw, come on, Harry," Vernon whined. "It's not that bad. Just don't fight me, okay? I'll be gentle."

"But I don't want to - "

"No, please!" Harry begged immediately. "Don't make me do this, please! I'm just a kid! You're an adult. It's wrong to do this to me!"

"You're fifteen this year, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"In Jewish culture, a boy becomes a man at thirteen, you realize. In the middle ages, boys your age were married, maybe even with children already. You're not a child, Harry."

"I'm not a Jew in the middle ages!" Harry pleaded, but already knew it was useless.

"Let's go downstairs and get some breakfast before we start having more fun," Vernon suggested. Harry ducked to his pile of clothes.

"No, no," Vernon laughed. "It's just you and me in the house, isn't it? What are you suggesting you should cover? I've seen everything already."

"It's my birthday, isn't it? Can't I wear what I want?" Vernon grabbed him by the wrist and Harry dropped the clothes. He looked at them longingly, but followed Vernon downstairs. They made breakfast together in the nude, and Harry ate what would probably have qualified as his best meal at the Dursleys. He felt guilty that his food should come at such a price. Harry just picked at his food, not really wanting to put anything into his soiled mouth. He felt impatient with himself for not taking advantage of being fed for the first time in his life.

"Eat, Harry," Vernon instructed as he scrutinized Harry. Harry shrugged, but still picked at his food, feeling very self-conscious, sitting naked in the kitchen. Vernon, sitting at the end of the table and Harry sitting to his right, reached out and grabbed Harry by the neck, just below the base of his skull. Harry stiffened, memories of the many other times Vernon had grabbed him like that flooding back.

"I told you to eat," Vernon growled threateningly. "You'll need the strength for later this morning and afternoon, trust me." Then, loosening his grip, "I've told you; I want to be gentle. It's your birthday. Let me be gentle." Harry brought the fork to his mouth and ate. There were bigger things to argue about than the food.

Later, Vernon shooed him back to the bedroom. Harry argued the whole way there.  Vernon forced him to the bed, and proceded to violate him again.  Harry felt humiliated as he, the Boy-Who-Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, was, once again, twice in twenty-four hours, overpowered by a mere Muggle.  Time seemed to slow, but Harry was grateful when that round of torture was finally over.

"It's not about the sex," Harry sobbed "It's about the power you wield over me. That's what you really get off on. The power. Not the sex. The power."

Severus retreated from Harry's mind, and he could feel the boy sobbing in agony against him. Severus placed his firm hands over Harry's, and squeezed in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. It would have been comforting for him if their positions had been reversed. Harry didn't react. Then Severus wrapped his arms around Harry. Hastily, Harry slipped out from Severus' grasp. The older man went over to the bookshelf, scanning for a particular title.

"What are you doing?" Harry hiccuped between ragged breaths.

"I'm looking for that book on necromancy," Severus answered casually, though it seemed forced to his own ears. Harry let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a derisive snort and another round of tears.

"Not really, I hope," Harry said, when he had himself more under control. Harry sat with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins protectively on the couch. "It's better that he stays dead."

"No, not really," Severus agreed, going back to Harry's first statement. "I wouldn't bring him back. I want to have been the one to see to your safety though."

"You want to have been the one to kill him, you mean," Harry corrected weakly.

"Yes," Severus agreed. Glancing over his shoulder at Harry, Severus frowned. "I'm sorry, Harry. Your experiences have been much different than mine." Harry nodded, so Severus continued, more quietly. "I never meant to hurt you in those Occlumency lessons. You have a point. I never intended it that way, though. It doesn't excuse my actions. I know that."

"It's alright," Harry whispered back. "I know you didn't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said - "

"What you said was true," Severus cut him off. "Never apologize for the truth. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you." Severus sat down on the couch next to Harry, and put his arm across the back of the sofa. Harry moved closer to the man, and Severus dropped his arm around Harry's shoulders protectively. "I think you should see a mind healer, all the same," Severus continued softly.

"I don't want to," Harry whimpered. "A mind healer can't undo what happened."

"That's true, she couldn't," Severus agreed. "But she could help you deal with what has happened."

"She?" Harry questioned.

"There is a particular mind healer who has loose associations with the Order," Severus explained. "Naturally, I think you should see her, since her loyalties are known to me."

"Even if she's not a Death Eater," Harry began, "wouldn't it be a problem if she were caught and tortured for information about me by some other Death Eater? Like the Malfoys?"

"Ah, perhaps the best safety of the mind healing community," Severus replied, "is that when a person is first certified as a mind healer, each and every one makes an unbreakable vow to never reveal any information about their patients to anyone the patient has not specifically included in their trust. Should your healer ever have the misfortune of crossing the Death Eaters, and she try to tell them anything, however small, her vow would kill her before she had a chance to say which flavor of ice cream you preferred."

"Isn't that a little dangerous for them?" Harry questioned. "What if they make a mistake when talking to someone?"

"That is why a mind healer never, ever speaks of his or her patients to anyone. It is a foolproof method of privacy. Does that make you feel any more secure, knowing that?"

"I suppose," Harry shrugged. "At least it can't get tracked to anyone else. I still don't want to talk to a mind healer though. You're going to make me, aren't you?"

"If I have to," Severus murmured kindly. "Harry, I will only make you if you flat out refuse to talk to her yourself. I think it's the last resort. I don't like mind healers any more than you do, but I won't have you kill yourself because of my negligence. I'm not trying to make you miserable; I'm just trying to help you."

"I know," Harry whispered. "I'll try to talk to her. For your sake."

"That's a start," Severus agreed. "Ultimately, you should be talking to her for your sake."

"Have you ever seen a mind healer?" Harry asked.

"No," Severus said. "I've never needed it."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I wish I was stronger. Like you."

"I told you, our experiences are different. The Dark Lord was always clear and direct with me. He never tried to play with my mind. I also wasn't a child. There's nothing wrong with you. Don't feel that there is. Your reactions are perfectly normal and natural. The only problem, I think, is learning how to deal with those reactions. Shall I contact Miss Ryker then?"

"Can't we delay this a little bit?"

"No, your appointment is in five minutes, and we're already here."

"I'm not ready."

"You'll never be ready if you wait until you're ready."

"Please."

Severus sighed looked at Harry thoughtfully. The distress was apparent in Harry's features. Severus didn't want to give in to Harry's requests, but he didn't want to traumatize the boy any more than he already was.

"Do you want me to come with you? You already filled out paperwork allowing Miss Ryker to speak to me about anything that happens in your sessions."

"No, I - I think I can handle it alone," Harry stammered. "You don't need to come."

"Alright, but if you change your mind, I'll be waiting here."

"Harry?" a female voice called softly. Harry rose, trying to control his shaking, and realizing how much he appreciated that Miss Ryker was a woman. He walked over to the lady waiting in the doorway. She was of average size, had a perfect figure, and wore a red knee-length dress. It shaped to her hips flatteringly, and the skirt flowed beautifully as she moved, revealing nylons. She wore a pair of flat black shoes with straps over the top. Her feet seemed almost disproportionately small for her body. Her soft, brown hair fell about her shoulders, the loose curls bouncing slightly as she moved. Her smile reflected her glittering hazel eyes. Harry watched her from below lidded eyes as he bowed his head.

"Pleased to meet you, Harry," she continued brightly. "I'm Sylvia Ryker."

"Hello, Miss Ryker," Harry greeted her softly.

"Please, just Sylvia," she said, smiling. Her smile was warm and inviting, and Harry had a hard time not weakly smiling back at her. He glanced at Severus, who nodded. Harry squared his shoulders and went to Sylvia Ryker's office. The door snicked closed behind them.

"Please, take a seat, if you wish. Make yourself comfortable." Harry cautiously sat on a couch in her spacious office. He sat with one foot under him, and bounced his other knee nervously as he glanced about. Her office was large, with only a couple pieces of furniture. She had a chair and a desk for herself, and then a couch with an end table. There was a bookshelf on the far side of the room next to the window overlooking St. Mungo's.

"You don't look very comfortable," Sylvia commented, taking her seat behind her desk. She leaned forward on her elbows.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, and he consciously stopped fidgeting.

"No need to apologize," Sylvia said lightly. Her voice was very easy to listen to, Harry noticed. "Here, maybe this will help. Catch." She threw something to him, and Harry was caught off guard. He hadn't expected an adult to be as casual as to pitch something across the room. He glanced down at what he caught. It was a glob of squishy material. Silly putty, if he remembered correctly.

"It's been my experience," Sylvia began, "that people become less nervous when they have something to do with their hands." Harry nodded, and began to play with the putty. They were silent a moment, but Harry could feel Sylvia watching him, evaluating him.

"Would you like to know a little bit about me before we begin?" Sylvia offered.

"If you want," Harry dodged, not looking up at her, intent on the putty.

"Harry, I want to be an open book for you. You can ask me anything, whether it's personal or not. I don't mind if you know about who I am. This isn't necessarily a one way street, where I learn things about you and you don't learn things about me, you know."

"Alright," Harry deadpanned.

"I got into therapy because I had a friend once, who could have used some. Instead, she killed herself one day. I hadn't helped her enough, as her friend, and I vowed to be what she didn't have. I don't want anyone to feel the way she felt, ever."

"Oh," Harry said. "Why did she kill herself?"

"Bullies," Sylvia replied. "She was a squib, and the other children used to torment her mercilessly. She had no way to defend herself against their magic."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said. "That must have been terrible."

"Yes, it was," Sylvia agreed. "But her death wasn't purposeless. It made me go into therapy, and now here I am, helping people every day, and I think that's something that wouldn't have happened without her."

"Okay," Harry agreed non-committally.

"So, Harry," Sylvia began, her tone changing, "do you have any questions about anything before we begin?"

"No, ma'am," Harry replied.

"It's Sylvia," she corrected, laughing a bit. "I appreciate your manners, but I'm just another human being, like you." Harry shrugged. "I want you to be honest with me, and not try to mask your real feelings behind titles of authority."

"Alright. Sylvia." The name felt strange on Harry's tongue, since she was clearly his superior, and he wasn't used to addressing someone other than his peers by their first names. Come to think of it, though, perhaps she wasn't that much older than he was. She looked to be in her early twenties, Harry supposed. Perhaps he had even been at Hogwarts with her in his first or second year.

"Severus told me very little about the nature of why you're here," Sylvia said. "He simply said that you have been through some traumatic events."

"Well, I'm sure you know already," Harry mumbled. "Or, at least, can guess. It's been all over the Prophet." He felt himself grow red.

"You expect me to read the Prophet?" she asked incredulously. "I don't read that pile of BS. I'd rather not believe lies or have to sort out the truth from the lies. I get my news from the Order or from my patients. So no, I don't have any idea why you're here, other than something traumatic happened."

"Well, um," Harry began, not knowing what to say. He anticipated she would have kept up on the news better than that. He supposed it was good that the Order wasn't discussing his personal affairs with loosely associated persons, though. "Long story. I don't know where to begin." Harry surprised himself by actually feeling like he wouldn't mind talking to Sylvia about it. He had expected to have it drawn from him with wild horses, but instead, he found himself trying to determine how to explain.

"It's fine," Sylvia soothed. "Take your time. You don't even have to tell me the whole story tonight. You can take as much time as you need." She watched him intently, but it didn't make Harry uncomfortable this time, and she didn't seem to be rushing him. He took a deep breath. Then another.

"My Muggle relatives left a lot to be desired," Harry said airily, and he tried to laugh a bit after he said it, but Sylvia wasn't smiling. Her face looked unnaturally grave. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I see," Sylvia said. "Tell me about your relatives."

"I lived with my uncle and aunt," Harry began. "They had a son."

"What were their names? It might make the story easier for me to follow with their names." What she didn't explain to Harry was that a refusal to name the thing feared only increases the fear of the thing.

"Vernon and Aunt Petunia," Harry replied. "Their son was Dudley."

"How were they related to you?" Sylvia asked.

"Aunt Petunia was my mother's sister," Harry answered. Sylvia nodded.

"And you were living with them because of your parents' deaths?"

"Yes. I was left on the front porch, and they had to take me in. They resented it."

"How did you know they resented it?"

"Aunt Petunia never touched me, if she could help it. She ignored me. Dudley got lots of toys and presents. I never got any. Vernon would yell at me, hit me. He never hit Dudley. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and they fed me cold leftovers. I had lots of chores to do, but Dudley was allowed to play video games all day. If I did better than Dudley in school, Vernon would smack me around for showing up his son. They called me a worthless brat, and told me I didn't deserve the air I breathed."

"Why were you placed with your relatives if they hated you that much? Surely there was someone in the wizarding world who would have gladly taken you in. The Weasleys, for example."

"There were blood wards around my relatives house, because Aunt Petunia was related to my mum, who had died to save me. The Weasleys couldn't provide that for me."

"I see," Sylvia said. "And you lived like that until you went to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Sylvia," Harry quickly corrected when she gave him a look. "It wasn't so bad, as long as I didn't know what I was missing."

"Did you go to primary school?"

"Oh, yes, of course. It's required by law! I just didn't have any friends there. Dudley and his gang made sure that anyone who would have been my friend wasn't. They threatened the other kids and said if they talked to me, they'd regret it. I don't know what exactly they threatened, but whatever it was, no one ever tried to talk to me after that. Dudley told the teachers that I cheated, and they hated me too."

"Did your aunt give you food for lunch at school?"

"Sometimes," Harry shrugged. "Sometimes she'd give me a little money to buy something at school, but whenever that happened, Dudley and his gang would take the money, and I wouldn't get anything. Sometimes that happened with the food too, unless Dudley hated what Aunt Petunia had packed. If he didn't like it, then I'd get to eat it in peace."

"And no one objected to what Dudley was going? Stealing money, stealing food?"

"Who was going to object?"

"The other children, perhaps?"

"They were all scared out of their minds of Dudley and his gang. I mean, Dudley's pretty stupid, but if he wants to pound someone into the ground, he can do a right good job of it. He was about three times the size of anyone in our class. No one wanted to cross him."

"What about you? Could you have gone to the teachers?"

"The ones who hated me? They would have accused me of lying, surely. And once it was out that I lied to a teacher, it would get tracked back home, and there would be hell to pay there for saying one word against Dudley."

"I can see why this would create a problem for you," Sylvia said softly. "I'm really sorry about all that. Did anything change when you started going to Hogwarts?"

"Only that I learned what it was like to be loved, at least a little," Harry said. "I got to see how the Weasleys treated Ron, or how Hermione's parents sent her presents and letters. The Dursleys obviously didn't."

"The Dursleys? Is that your relatives' last name?"

"Yes...Sylvia," Harry hesitated. "And I was moved to the smallest bedroom, rather than the cupboard under the stairs. They didn't want the wizards to see how I was being treated. Suddenly, they became self-conscious of their actions. But once they realized that the wizarding world wasn't watching them, they went back to their usual treatment. I got to keep the smallest bedroom though."

"And what was that like?"

"There were bars on the window, and a cat flap on the door. There were half a dozen locks to keep me in." Harry's voice was small and quiet. He was still folding the putty over and over in his hands. "That was what I returned to every summer."

"Did you ever try to tell your teachers at Hogwarts?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to stay for the blood wards. There wasn't any use complaining. No one likes a whiner."

"I can see how this would have been very traumatic for you. Did Professor Snape finally discover this and that's how you have ended up with him?"

"Um...well, none of what I've told you is actually why I'm here," Harry backpedaled. Sylvia cocked her head and looked at him curiously. "But yes, something like that. I was trying to learn Occlumency from Snape, and he saw some of those things that I described, and Dumbledore let him adopt me. A blood adoption, so the blood wards could be maintained."

"Why didn't anyone perform a blood adoption before, then?"

"No one knew," Harry ground out. "I wasn't going to complain. When I asked about staying with the Weasleys, nothing was said about a blood adoption being an option, and I didn't pursue it. I didn't complain. I never talked about my relatives to anyone. Ever. Because anything about them would have wound up being a complaint."

"Harry, there's nothing wrong with a little complaining," Sylvia admonished. "If you don't complain a little sometimes, then nothing happens to fix the problems. Complaining is what makes progress."

"I had just discovered what it was like to have friends," Harry justified. "I didn't want to drive them away by being that person everyone hates."

"I understand," Sylvia said. "But now you've grown past your first year at Hogwarts. You can afford to complain a little bit. And inside these walls, you can do all the complaining you wish. No one will hate you. I'm the only one who will hear your complaints, and I assure you, Harry, I will not hate you for it. I encourage it."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"So, I believe you mentioned something to the effect that that litany of abuse wasn't what brought you here. May I ask what did?" Harry felt himself pale, and his breathing became shallow as his memories threatened to overwhelm him. "There's no rush," Sylvia continued. "Take your time. If you're not ready to talk about it yet, you don't have to. You mentioned you were learning Occlumency. How did that go?"

"Eh?" Harry shrugged. "It could have gone much better."

"Seeing as you have a knack for understatement, apparently, I'm going to assume that that means terribly. What was wrong with it?"

"Well, Snape, he - I don't think he really taught me right. I don't mean to - ah - talk badly about him."

"It's alright," Sylvia assured him. "You seem to get along with him well enough now. I don't think a slight critique of his teaching style will spell disaster."

"You want to know what I'm really afraid of?" Harry asked quietly.

"Of course," Sylvia replied kindly.

"I'm afraid that if I tell you everything that's happened between me and Snape, you'll say he's an unfit parent and take me away from him," Harry said. "He's not. An unfit parent, I mean. He's the reason I'm alive right now, many times over. He's saved me time and again in school, he saved me from the Dursleys, from Voldemort himself! And he saved me from myself. Twice. So he's a great parent. He's not perfect, but he's perfect for me."

"Harry, I doubt Severus would let any power on earth take you out of his custody. He would move to the other side of the planet to escape Wizarding Protective Services. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded gravely. "I know. I don't want to mess that up though. I don't want him to have to do that."

"Harry, you realize I can't talk to anyone about what you tell me, right? The only person you've given me permission to talk to is Severus himself. You realize I can't talk to WPS without your express permission?"

"But what if you decide he's an unfit parent? Can you take me away from him?"

"No, that isn't my job. My job is to help you, and you alone, to better cope with whatever life may have thrown at you. I'm not here to fix anything; you're not broken. I'm here to help."

"So nothing I tell you could make me lose Snape?" Harry verified, his voice tight.

"The only way anything could happen would be if you wanted it to. If you were to tell me something and give me permission to talk to WPS about it, then perhaps something could happen. Without your permission, I certainly can do nothing about it, even if I wanted to, which I highly doubt I will. I like to believe myself to be a good judge of character, Harry, and I believe Severus has your best interests nearest his heart. Is this not so?"

"It is," Harry confirmed. "Some might not think so."

"I know a little bit, a very little bit, about Severus' past. I know that he was a Death Eater at one time, turned spy. That much the Order informed me of. I can see why some might be skeptical of his motives, but he strikes me as genuine. Perhaps he's simply a good spy, and can fool even me. Perhaps. But I think not. And apparently you agree. So, with the understanding that nothing you say can endanger your relationship with Severus, what were you going to say about Occlumency?"

"Well, he tried to teach me by having me try to defend against his attacks. It didn't work out very well because I didn't know what I was doing."

"Don't take the blame," Sylvia said quietly, almost without interrupting.

"He just did it over and over, and I couldn't keep him out, and it was pretty terrible. And so I never learned Occlumency, really, because we never got past that."

"He's the best Occlumens alive today, though, is he not?"

"Yes, he is," Harry confirmed. "But he can't teach it." Sylvia smiled knowingly.

"Well, I'm sorry that your lessons went so poorly. I'm Severus is as well?"

"Yes, he's apologized."

"How do you feel about that?" Harry laughed.

"What do you mean, 'How do I feel about that'?"

"I mean, did you accept it? Turn it down? What did you do?"

"I accepted it, of course," Harry replied. "What else would I have done?"

"You could have made some sort of cutting remark about it, I suppose, leaving Severus feeling worse about the situation than before he tried to apologize." Harry's mouth fell open.

"Oh, my God," he breathed. They were silent for a moment.

"I take it you did that, then?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered, still in shock. "That means I didn't really accept it?"

"That's right," Sylvia said. "May I ask what you said?"

"I told him not to talk to me about the Occlumency, because that was behind us and it was like raping my mind." Harry put his hand to his mouth. "I didn't mean to reject his apology."

"Then why did you say that?" Sylvia asked.

"It seemed relevant at the time," Harry said. "I just didn't want to talk about it. I was really stressed out at the time."

"Why was it brought up if you were stressed out?"

"He wanted me to talk about what was stressing me out, and I couldn't. So he offered that I could show him instead, and that brought up the Occlumency."

"Did you show him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, perhaps you should try to make amends over your comment," Sylvia advised. "It seems quite a harsh comment."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

"Apologizing might take some of the sting away from your comment, but it doesn't change that you made it, just like Severus apologizing doesn't change the fact that Occlumency was a bad experience for you. I'm sure Severus doesn't take an accusation like that very lightly."

"No, he wouldn't," Harry said airily. "I never meant to hurt him."

"Didn't you?" Sylvia asked, without missing a beat. "If you make a comment that bold, even in a stressed out state, especially in a stressed out state, I think people do intend to hurt others. They just don't know how much that hurt will be or cost. I don't think you intended to hurt Severus as deeply as I think you must have with the comment, but I think you intended to hurt him."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry agreed softly. "I wish I hadn't said it though."

"Try counting to ten next time, before you make an angry remark. If, after that, you still think it's a good idea to say, then say it."

"I wasn't angry," Harry protested. "I was terrified."

"Of what?" Harry shrugged and didn't answer. He wasn't about to answer everything Sylvia asked him, not yet, anyway. He truly hadn't realized the cutting nature of his words at the time. It really was an awful accusation to have thrown at the man. Snape was probably very offended, and rightly so. Harry was impressed he was still around, and hadn't thrown him out of Spinner's End, in retrospect. What he certainly didn't want was another repeat of the time when he tried to push Snape away for his own safety. That had been a miserable experience, and it was something neither he nor Snape ever wanted to go through again. Then, the problem had been not enough communication, but now, perhaps the problem was too much.

"Snape's probably pretty angry about that comment, huh?" Harry whispered, but his voice was shaky.

"Probably not angry, but hurt, rather," Sylvia guessed. "You would do well to smooth things over, I'm sure. I encourage you to try." They were quiet for some time, and then, quickly, Harry stood up and bolted for the door. His breathing was ragged, like that of a pursued animal, and he rushed into the waiting area where Snape was reading a magazine.

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed, falling to his knees at Snape's feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, not like it sounded." Snape looked at Sylvia, who had followed a couple of steps behind Harry and he glared at her. Smoothly, Snape slipped out of his chair, crouched in front of Harry, and the boy threw his arms around him.

"You must be highly skilled to elicit a reaction like this," Snape drawled.

"Professor," she said primly. "You may have been able to intimidate me with that expression when I was in my first year, but that time has long since past. I assure you, everything is quite fine. I have done nothing out of my line of work. Listen to what Harry has to say to you, and stop glaring at me. This is normal and expected." Harry hadn't moved but his tears had slowed some. He let go of Snape. Sylvia handed him a handkerchief from her pocket.

"It's clean," she assured him. "I keep them regularly for times like these."

"Thanks," Harry said, blowing his nose and cleaning up his face.

"When would you like to see me again? Would two times a week be too much for you?"

"No, I think that will be fine," Harry agreed as he looked up at his therapist. He tried to give her a weak smile.

"Wonderful!" Sylvia acknowledged. Harry and Snape both rose to their feet. When he tried to hand the handkerchief back to Sylvia, she pressed it into his hand and whispered, "Keep it."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, turning to Snape.

"What are you sorry for now?" Snape sighed. Sylvia slipped into the background, but stayed close the witness the interaction.

"What I said about the Occlumency lessons the other day," Harry mumbled, twisting the toe of his shoe into the carpet. Snape gave Harry a calculating look and didn't respond right away.

"That's alright," Snape finally said, but the words sounded somewhat forced. "It's water under the bridge. But thank you."

Later that week, Harry was back at Sylvia's for another session. Things had been quiet between him and Snape. They hadn't spoken of the session at all. Snape didn't ask, and Harry didn't volunteer anything. But, three days later, at the same time, they were in the waiting room of the therapy clinic.

"Harry?"

Harry's head shot up and he met Sylvia's eyes for a moment. He really liked it that she came out to call him herself and not some person bringing him to her. It gave him the illusion that she cared. It was probably meant to do that. He rose and followed Sylvia into the back, but not without a quick glance at Snape. Snape nodded at him and went back to his reading.

When Sylvia and Harry got to her office, Harry sat down on her couch again, like he did before. Almost immediately, she threw the putty at him. He was ready this time, and caught it easily.

"How have things been since the last time I saw you?" she asked.

"Fine, I guess," Harry shrugged, beginning to play with the putty, not making eye contact.

"How are things with Snape?" Sylvia asked. "Any better?"

"They're okay, I suppose," Harry said. "Nothing much changed. We didn't talk about the comment after what you saw. Do you think he forgave me?"

"I think he forgave you the moment you made the comment," Sylvia said. "I think it's himself he won't forgive."

"So I just made his life harder, again," Harry concluded, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch and bracing his cheekbone against his fist as he turned the putty over in his hand.

"You've also made his life better," Sylvia reminded him. "Everyone is human, and we all make each others' lives harder, but we should also try to make their lives better. And we know we're going about it right when we make their lives more better than more harder, if you'll pardon the pathetic grammar."

"So...do you think I've done that?"

"Absolutely. Snape is much better man because of you. Don't even dare to think that he would be better off without you, because he wouldn't be. If anything, you're the therapy he's never gotten for himself. He can see that you need it, even if he's never gotten it."

"You think he needs therapy too?" Harry chuckled. "I don't think he would appreciate you saying such things."

"I really don't care what he would appreciate," Sylvia dismissed. "But we're not here to discuss his state. We're here to discuss you. When Snape is ready, he'll come see me himself. I believe we were talking about your relatives last time. You said that Snape had discovered the abuse, and a blood adoption was performed to maintain the wards. What did you think about that at the time?"

"It was terrible, and wonderful," Harry admitted candidly. "I was terrified, because this is Severus Snape we're talking about, and I thought he hated me, and I did hate him, but I was relieved in a way too, because I knew I didn't have to go back to the Dursleys."

"Did you think living with Snape would be an improvement on your previous accommodations?"

"Yes," Harry answered immediately. "And, well, no," he amended. "Better in some ways, I thought. I hoped. I thought he'd beat me."

"But he never did?"

"No," Harry said emphatically. "He's never raised his hand to me, ever."

"But your relatives did?" Harry nodded, momentarily unable to answer. He was wearing a t-shirt, and in a moment of naked frankness, he pulled his shirt up and turned his back so she could see. He didn't hear a gasp. She didn't immediately start apologizing, or offering him pity. He wasn't even sure she had seen, because it was so quiet. He pulled his shirt back down and turned back to her. She had an impassive look on her face, much likes Snape's own when he was trying to reign in some remark or emotion.

"I see," she said, stiffly Harry thought. "It was your uncle?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wincing.

"I assume Snape has seen the thoroughness of your relatives?"

"Yeah," Harry repeated. "The first night, I stayed out past curfew, and I thought he'd beat me, so I gave him my belt and told him I was ready. He was confused."

"I can imagine," she said. "Was it only your uncle who beat you?"

"Uh-huh," Harry replied. "Aunt Petunia never touched me. Dudley would hit me, but I could usually get away from him."

"You're a very strong young man," Sylvia commented. "To have made it this far already is a great accomplishment, and I want you to understand that."

"What do you mean?"

"You've suffered more than most, just from the things you've already said, and you're still here. That's something." Harry shrugged.

"Just help me become stronger, please," he whispered. "I need to be stronger, or I'm going to fall apart."

"What's bothering you?" she murmured. Harry just shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry.

"It's okay," Sylvia said softly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry repeated. He began to rock back and forth, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry." He didn't know why he kept repeating it, but it was true. He was sorry. He was sorry for the beatings and everything that went along with them, but he was sorry, too, for the repeated rape at Vernon's hands, and then he was sorry for having pushed Snape away and exposing himself again, and he was sorry for trying to kill himself, and lastly he was sorry that he couldn't talk about it. He was sorry for everything. "I'm sorry."

Softly, Sylvia rose and sat on the couch next to Harry. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, as he buried his face in his hands. He turned away from her, ashamed of his weaknesses.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she murmured softly.

"It's just - maybe - " Harry sobbed, "if I had done something differently - perhaps - things would have happened differently."

"Yes, perhaps if Snape hadn't seen anything that concerned him, you would still be with your relatives."

"Oh, God," Harry gasped, and turned towards her. She held him close.

"Don't worry about what might have been," Sylvia advised. "There's always a better way things could have gone, and always a worse way. If you were to worry about all the possibilities, then you're wasting what life you have now. Worry about the moment, not about what could have been." Harry nodded, but didn't look up from where she still had her arms around him protectively.

"Would you like to tell me why Snape brought you here?"

"No, no, please, no," Harry panicked. His head shot up and he broke their contact. Sylvia sat on the couch next to him, but respected his non-verbal request for personal space.

"It's alright; you don't have to," Sylvia soothed. "You seem to be dangerously close to it, though. Shall a hazard a guess?" Harry didn't reply. He didn't move. He was absolutely still, hoping that she would be wrong, yet wondering if she somehow knew. "You always get more anxious whenever you talk about your uncle. In fact, you don't call him 'uncle' at all. You just call him Vernon. I noticed that last time. You called your aunt by her title, but not your uncle. Combined with your nerves when we speak of him, I suspect he is at the crux of why you're here. Am I wrong?"

"No," Harry admitted guardedly. "Please, I want you to make me better, but I just can't say it."

"It's like drawing out poison, or cauterizing a wound. It must get worse before it gets better. You have to face whatever it is. You have to face it, name it, and then, you can become better. Ultimately, you will have to make yourself better. I'm just here to help you do that. But at the end of the day, it all comes down to you. I believe in you, Harry. You're very strong, and you can come back from anything that's bothering you. It's called resilience, and you have lots of that. Needing help isn't a sign of weakness; it's a sign of strength when you know that you need it."

"Couldn't I just show you too, at some point, like with Snape?"

"No," Sylvia said, and her words made no room for argument. "First of all, I am no legilimens, but even if I were, it isn't going to help you get over it. You must face it the same way every human being, whether wizard or Muggle, must face it, and that is to talk about it."

"But Snape - "

"Snape is not a shrink," Sylvia said, cutting Harry off. "Yes, yes, I know that's what a lot of people, probably Snape among them, call psychotherapists, and that's fine. Snape has done a wonderful job, please don't misunderstand me. Bringing you this far is an enormous feat on his part. He clearly possesses a lot of understanding on the matter, even if he has almost no training. But just like I would never tell him how to brew potions, he shouldn't tell me how to counsel people. It's not his job, and he doesn't understand it like I do. You must talk about it, and I won't let you do anything less than that. Nothing less than that will help you."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged.

"Has showing Snape helped you?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"Then showing me would be no different. It would revisit your pain without actually curing it. Imagine an infected cut. Would you just keep picking at it, opening it and making it bigger and bigger, allowing more bacteria to enter it? Or should you put some salve and disinfectant on it, then later, a bandage? After some time, the wound will heal."

"It will leave a scar."

"Yes, and over time, the scar will fade. And there are things you can do to make the scar less. Perhaps it will always be there, but at least it won't become a systemic infection. You will have averted the worst of the effects."

"Do I have a systemic infection?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes," Sylvia said. "And before you can get better, I need to give you some major antibiotics. It will kill the majority of the infection in your system. I have to apply alcohol to your still open and bleeding wound, wherever that may be, sew it closed, and put a bandage over it. With enough time, the bacteria will die, and the wound will close. It needs to be given time and the proper care. Without it, the infection will kill you. That doesn't make you weak. Surviving it this long makes you strong. But even the most skilled doctor in the world can't save a patient who won't accept treatment. Will you let me begin care?" Harry nodded, his face somber. "Then, whenever you are ready to take your medicine, let me know. Once we being treatment, there's no turning back."

"I'm scared," Harry admitted, sounding like a pathetic three year old getting a shot.

"That's okay," Sylvia said. "Don't be someone who has come this far, only to turn back now and refuse the one thing that will save your life. It may hurt, and it may hurt terribly, but in the end, it will make you feel much better. Disinfectant never feels good, but it sure feels a whole hell of a lot better than the infection continuing." Harry nodded once.

"Would it be alright for me to write a few things out before our next session, and read from those notes when I get stuck?"

"Yes, I think that is a marvellous idea," Sylvia said. "Don't push yourself, though. If writing out your notes gets to be too much, you can set it aside. We can do this slowly."

"No, I think pushing on ahead might be the best thing," Harry replied, sucking in his breath. "It's not like time is going to stop for me, is it?"

"It won't," Sylvia agreed, "but pushing too hard, too fast, can be worse. You can set yourself back further. How long has it been since you tried to kill yourself?"

"How do you - " Harry cut himself off.

"You mentioned that Snape saved you from yourself, twice, I believe," Sylvia reminded him. "That sounded like a euphemism for a suicide attempt. Or two of them. Which, I would hazard a guess, is the thing that finally convinced someone like Severus Snape to bring you here. Am I wrong?"

"No," Harry said. "You're spot on."

"So, how long?"

"Like a week?" Harry guessed. "I don't remember exactly. We made the first appointment right after, and you were quick about scheduling."

"Severus mentioned it was urgent," Sylvia shrugged. "He was quite concerned about you."

"Figures," Harry drawled. "I hate getting special treatment for my name."

"It wasn't because of who you are," Sylvia smiled. "I try to accommodate all my patients."

"You know...there's something I've been wondering about," Harry continued. "Confidential?"

"Absolutely."

"Snape doesn't have a lot of money, and, um," Harry stalled. "I was wondering if we could make an arrangement that he doesn't have to pay for this? Because he shouldn't have to be spending his money on me and I have enough gold that I can afford it so..." Sylvia laughed.

"No one is paying for anything," Sylvia started to explain.

"Oh, you mean like universal healthcare coverage?" Harry sighed, looking relieved.

"Unfortunately, the wizarding world isn't as progressive as all that," Sylvia continued. "But Professor Snape is calling in a favor I owe him."

"A favor?" Harry questioned.

"Yes," Sylvia confirmed. "When I was a student of his, I needed to score well on my N.E.W.T Potions test to become a therapist. I need to know how to assign potions to people, if that becomes necessary. While I was always an acceptable student in his class, I was never anything special, but I needed an Exceeds Expectations. After plucking up the necessary courage, I approached him with a truly Slytherin proposition - if he would help me outside of class in preparation for test, I would owe him a favor."

"Wasn't that a little dangerous?" Harry asked. "What if he asked you to do something for the Death Eaters or something?"

"I was asking a professional favor of him," Sylvia explained. "I would return a professional favor. So what if he asked me to counsel a Death Eater? It's happened before, and it may happen again. They're people too, you know. I don't think he ever expected to need my favor, but even if you can't see why you'd need it at the time, collecting favors is a particularly fun pastime for Slytherins."

"You didn't even know his was in the Order then. Hell, he might not have been."

"He wasn't," Sylvia said. "He got his teaching position after turning spy, though. And I trusted Professor Dumbledore to have protected the right man. If he said Snape was a spy, then he was. There was some danger in my offer, but it has turned out alright, hasn't it? Don't worry about cost, Harry. I'm not charging Snape anything for these visits, nor will I."

"I'm sure he doesn't like having to call in his favor," Harry replied.

"I don't think it matters too much to him," Sylvia continued. "As I mentioned before, he never expected to need it."

"What if he intended to use it for himself someday?"

"Harry," Sylvia said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "I don't see anything wrong in Professor Snape seeking my abilities, but it is entirely possible that he would feel very ill-at-ease with a former student. And not just any former student, but one with whom he worked very closely for a year. I doubt he ever intended to use it for himself, even though I happen to agree with you, that he does need help."

"How do you know he needs help?"

"A sixth sense," Sylvia explained. "I've known since he began tutoring me. There's something off about him. I don't know what, but I would imagine that being a key chess piece between two grand masters probably takes its toll."

"Probably," Harry conceded dryly.

"But now that I've answered your questions," Sylvia continued, "I'd like it if you could answer mine." Harry gulped. "It's not appropriate for you to be paying for your own medical bills, even if I were charging for my services."

"But like I said - " Harry began.

"Yes, yes," Sylvia cut him off. "I know. You already said that Snape doesn't have a lot of money. He has enough to see to your needs, though, or he wouldn't have been approved to adopt you."

"Oh, I know he can afford it," Harry said. "But he should be spending his money on something for himself, not me."

"Don't you think Professor Snape is old enough to spend his money how he pleases?" Sylvia asked, her eyes twinkling much like a certain old man Harry knew.

"Yes, but - " Harry sighed.

"Severus is not like your relatives. I'm sure you know that?"

"Yes, of course," Harry said, sounding a bit affronted.

"Then don't expect him to use his finances like your relatives."

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Harry asked.

"Of course."

"How did you get along with Snape as a student?"

"Well enough," Sylvia hedged. "He tolerated me for a year outside of the classroom, so I don't suppose he hated me too much, though he was always good for snide remarks and intimidation, even then." Harry smiled a bit. "So, I think you should try to write out some of your thoughts regarding what we should talk about at our next meeting, alright?"

"Yes," Harry gulped. "I'll try."

"Remember to not push yourself. That won't help anyone. And talk to Snape about it, if it doesn't stress you out too much. He will listen to you. He won't let you suffer alone."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Have you seen the way he looks at you?" Sylvia laughed. "A mother bear couldn't be more protective of her offspring."

"But being protective isn't the same as..." Harry drifted off.

"As being caring?" Sylvia supplied. "It's not. But he cared for you when you cried last time, didn't he? He did it in front of me. If he can be that demonstrative in front of me, how much more caring must he be when you're alone? Harry, Snape will listen to anything you want to tell him while you're preparing your notes."

"I don't want to make him angry," Harry said.

"Angry? Not at you."

"No, not at me," Harry agreed. "But he sometimes gets very angry when I show him things."

"At your uncle," Sylvia concluded.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "I don't want to make him angry."

"He can deal with his anger," Sylvia assessed. "He's been dealing with it since he was a student himself. He cares about you more than the anger can stifle. I wouldn't worry about it too much. Lean on him when you need to. He will be there for you."

"Yeah," Harry said. "He will be."

"Harry," Snape called, rushing up from his lab. "Oh, there you are." Harry was sitting at the table pouring over his sixth year textbooks. "I need to be out for awhile. Will you be alright by yourself?" The last question was asked very pointedly. Snape hadn't forgotten what happened the last time he left Harry to his own devices, and likely wouldn't for a good long time.

"I'll be fine," Harry replied, slightly annoyed.

"Are you sure?" Snape pressed, his sense of haste dissipating.

"I'm sure," Harry assured him. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Yes, I do," Snape countered. "But you're sure you'll be alright while I'm gone? You'll be here when I get back, healthy and...alive?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I promise. Where do you have to go?"

"One of my...patients has an emergency. I need to go see to her. It will likely take a while, even on into the night. Keep the doors locked, and don't answer for anyone. There's food in the kitchen. I know you can cook. Make sure you eat enough while I'm gone."

"Yes, Mom," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. Snape took a moment to glare at him.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "Be safe."

"Just go already!" Harry shouted after him, smiling at the care in Snape's voice. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

"Alright, alright," Snape said, walking out the door. "See you later." And with that, he closed the door. Harry locked it behind him.

It had been a typical, boring afternoon. Snape usually spent that time in his lab anyway, so nothing felt different for Harry until dinner. About six, Snape usually came up and magicked some food together for the both of them. They usually ate in companionable silence. Snape probably figured Harry didn't want to hear about potions, and Harry knew Snape didn't want to hear about his textbooks. The man had read them himself years previously. He didn't need a teenager's review.

But now, Snape was gone, and Harry was under strict orders to eat something. It wouldn't be too hard. He'd gotten used to three moderate meals a day, and his stomach was currently informing him of the time. Snape would probably take an inventory of the food supply when he got just to make sure Harry had eaten. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

"Harry, you only ate three pounds of food?"

"Yes, and I ate all of it. No leftovers."

"I told you to eat. What are you? A teenage boy with a metabolic system with fuel efficiency like a tractor trailer or a paramecium?"

"A what?"

"Apparently you have the vocabulary of one."

By the end of his fantasy, Harry had pulled out some rice, beef bullion, and some peas. He began to cook the rice in the beef broth, and added the peas later. He found a few other things in the cupboard too. Not only was the baking soda still there, but he also found that Snape kept a few bottles of alcohol stashed in the back. It was a good meal. He ate alone, of course, which was more of a disappointment than he thought it would be. It wasn't like he and Snape interacted much at meals, but he realized he liked being with Snape, even when they didn't say anything.

There were leftovers. Harry ate until he thought he would burst, just to make a point to Snape that he could take care of himself. He didn't need the man to coddle him all the time. He was sixteen, which was plenty old enough to look after himself for an evening.

That didn't mean he didn't want Snape back, though.

Harry realized he had another therapy session the next day. And he'd done nothing about writing out those "notes" that were his excuse not to talk last time. He couldn't very readily say he didn't have time, could he? There was nothing to do in this old, run-down house except study and make potions. He had plenty of time to work on the notes. He just didn't want to. And now the time was running short. Why hadn't he started them earlier? Now he had a deadline to meet. Sylvia even gave him a couple extra days between appointments so he wouldn't feel rushed. So much for being cooperative.

Maybe it was better to work on it while Snape was out, Harry thought. That had definitely been his reason for not working on it. He didn't want to do it in front of Snape or have Snape ask why he was holed up in his room. Definitely.

Which left him no excuse not to work on it now.

Dutifully, Harry pulled out some parchment and a quill. He spent a good five minutes just staring at the blank pages, quill in hand, trying to think of where to start. Maybe he should try to tell the story of the first time?

It was the day before my fifteenth birthday.

He scratched it out. Sounded too much like a novel. These were supposed to be notes, to help guide him through the rough patches of talking, not an essay for Snape.

Lead in with an explanation of the life at the Dursleys. Talk about how the summer was strange. Talk about the pizza and dusting the bedroom.

Harry realized he could talk about all those things without notes. That wasn't the problem. What he needed was a good kick in the pants to make him say the rest of it. Then, he realized if he couldn't write it, he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to say it.

And Vernon raped me. Over and over. Three times a week. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. And then Christmas break. Aunt Petunia and Dudley never came home. It was just me and Vernon, the entire time. That's a total of 23 times, not counting when he did it in the mornings too. And afternoons. It was the worst kind of torture I've ever endured. At the hands of a Muggle who was supposed to love and care for me. Not that he ever did, but he was supposed to. And 23 doesn't count the time in Malfoy's dungeon or with Nott. But Nott can't count, because I agreed to that. So like 23.5 since Malfoy's dungeon didn't go all the way, I suppose? I guess that's way more sex than any normal sixteen year old has. I think, right? I don't really know. And I hated it. Every. Single. Time.

Harry was beginning to feel overwhelmed. But he had to get these notes done, and he knew that all of this were things he couldn't talk about yet. So he had to write them. He pushed on, wishing for something to numb the pain.

Oh, subtract one from that total. Vernon did lay off me once. Because I promised to be willing in return for a one day reprieve. So 22.5. I think that time was the worst. I shouldn't have done it. It wasn't worth it. Malfoy was right. I sold myself for an evening alone.

Snape had those alcohol bottles. Maybe that would dull his thinking enough to get through this. Being the impulsive Gryffindor he was, he got up to do just that. He found a rather large bottle of firewhiskey and got a tumbler from the cupboard. He poured it about half full and put the jug back on the shelf. On second thought, he grabbed the jug and the glass and brought them both to where it was working. No use in having to get up if he wanted more. Quickly, knowing already what liquor tasted like, he took a large swallow. He coughed. Even though he'd had vodka and muggle whiskey before, neither prepared him for the sheer strength of firewhiskey. What was in it anyway? Was it rubbing alcohol under a different name? Because it tasted like shit. Perfect. It would do the trick. Harry took another swallow, which didn't taste so bad. He felt his ears get warm.

Maybe he'd take a break for about twenty minutes until the alcohol started actually hitting his system. Then it should be easier to write. He sat back in his chair, and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling, praying for the alcohol to make him numb like it did once before. Bored, he took another sip. It was beginning to taste better. They said alcohol didn't taste as bad the more you got in your system. Another swallow. He wanted the alcohol to take effect now, so naturally drinking more would speed up the process... Harry knew better, but he still kept drinking at his now almost empty glass.

Then he felt the pleasant punch in the gut when the alcohol hit his brain. He felt a small smile creep onto his face. All the colors seemed brighter when he pupils dilated. Maybe he could write again now. He needed to get it done. He couldn't quite remember why but that'd been the reason for drinking in the first place. He poured himself some more. It wouldn't due to lose this buzz now.

The worst time. It was over Christmas. I just couldn't do it every day, and it was getting to be too much. It wasn't even a good day. I just stayed in my room, dreading the clock striking midnight. He followed through on his end of the bargain, and so I followed through on mine. I feel so dirty. Why did I do it? Why did he do it?

By the end, Harry's script was entirely illegible. Under sober conditions, it was chicken scratch. Under rapidly becoming drunk conditions, it was unsalvageable. He took another long swallow of the whiskey. His brain was swimming and the world looked like it was moving around. Maybe so much hadn't been such a good idea.

The alcohol had quelled his fears, but it hadn't stifled his sorrow. It simply brought his emotions to the surface. He was done writing for tonight. And now he needed to pee. After making his way to the bathroom, complete with touching the walls for support, and effectively relieving himself, Harry grabbed the whiskey and lay down on the couch in the other room. He threw his arm over his eyes, trying not to cry again. But he was failing, of course. Every so often he took another sip of the whiskey.

Then the door began to open.

How much time had passed? Had it really been all night? It felt like only a few minutes ago that Harry came over to the couch. He realized it must have been much longer, though, because the whiskey jar was much depleted.

"Snape!" Harry shouted, delighted when he saw the man's familiar figure enter the house. His voice was slightly slurred.

"What?" Snape asked. "Why are you still up? What - " Snape cut himself off as Harry launched himself at him. Harry embraced him fiercely, but not before stumbling slightly. It took Snape a moment, but he returned the enthusiastic gesture. Snape sniffed the air carefully, and then glanced at the table where the jar of whiskey still stood, along with a partially filled glass. For a moment, Snape couldn't help the look of disappointment crossing his face. Harry noticed though.

"I'm sorry," he immediately said. "I can explain."

"I should hope so," Snape said, a little coldly.

"I - I'm sorry," Harry slurred. "How's the lady?"

"She...didn't make it," Snape replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry replied. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Snape dismissed, picking up the whiskey jar and glass.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'll finish what's in the glass."

"No, you won't," Snape contradicted. "You're too far gone as it is." He brought the whiskey into the kitchen, and poured the remains in the glass into the sink, putting the jar back in the cupboard. "I'll pour all of it out if you don't give me good reason to trust you in the future."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted.

"You're tottering drunk," Snape corrected. As if to prove his point, Harry stumbled over his feet at that very moment.

"Am not," Harry slurred, sounding like the sullen teenager he was supposed to be.

"Are too," Snape argued back.

"Whatever," Harry dismissed, not really caring anymore. His body was numb. He couldn't feel a thing. He wished his mind was just as numb.

"You're taking a shower," Snape declared. Harry gave him a blank look. "Come on," Snape sighed, gently taking Harry by the arm and guiding him down the hallway towards the bathroom. He turned on the shower and half pushed, half lifted Harry into the tub, clothes on and all.

"What're you doing?" Harry squawked as the water drenched him.

"Sobering you up a little," Snape explained as he held Harry in the shower, careful to keep his eyes, nose, and mouth out of the water.

"I'm not drunk!" Harry objected. Snape didn't reply, and after a period of time which Harry couldn't tell, Snape finally pulled him out of the shower, shut the water off, and cast a drying spell over his sopping wet clothes.

"Better?" Snape asked.

"Sure," Harry agreed sullenly.

"You sound better," Snape observed. "Walk out to the couch under your own power. I want to see how you do." Harry did so, with much less grace than he usually would have, but he did it without falling down or knocking anything over.

"Why?" Snape asked, guiding Harry's descent to the sofa cushion.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Why did you start drinking? You've never shown any interest before."

"Had to write," Harry tried to explain. "I had to write notes for Sylvia tomorrow, and it was hard. I thought the alcohol would help."

"Did it?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I wrote lots more. I didn't mean to make you mad at me. I'm sorry." Harry didn't realize how little he'd actually written after starting his binge.

"Hmm," Snape replied, settling down on the couch next to Harry. "I'm not mad at you."

"She said to talk to you too," Harry suddenly blurted.

"Sylvia, you mean?" Snape clarified.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "She wanted me to talk to you about...stuff."

"Interesting," he said.

"I'm really sorry, you know," Harry continued.

"For?"

"For comparing the Occlumency to the rapes. You're nothing like Vernon at all, and I know that. And that was really cruel for me to say, and I'm sorry. Are you going to forgive yourself? I forgive you. And you said you forgave me."

"Harry..." Snape began, a look of anguish crossing his face for a moment.

"I'd give anything to unsay it," Harry continued. "But I can't. What can I do? I don't want it to come between us. I want you to like me."

"You're not responsible for my feelings," Snape dismissed. "I won't let it come between us, Harry, I promise. And you're not the one I dislike."

"Don't dislike yourself either," Harry said. "You're actually quite likable once you get past the unlikable part."

"Such wisdom," Snape drawled.

"No, I mean it," Harry pressed. "You're really nice, and I like having you around. I missed you today. Eating alone wasn't any fun."

"I wasn't under the impression it was fun when I was here."

"It's not, but it's nice, and you're there for me. So don't hate yourself. It's not good for you."

"And drinking like this isn't good for you, either," Snape countered. "Obviously, we're going to have to talk about this more once it's run its course. Like in the morning, when you have a hangover. In the meantime," he summoned something, "I want you to drink lots of water." A glass of water flew into Harry's hand and he began to sip.

"I'm sure Sylvia never intended for you to get yourself drunk over those notes," Snape continued.

"No," Harry agreed. "But I'm not drunk."

"Would 'plastered' be more to your liking?"

"I'm buzzed."

"We'll argue terminology tomorrow," Snape promised. "I'm sure she didn't intend alcohol to play a role in your notes at all."

"Prolly not," Harry said.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I let it go till tonight," Harry explained. "And I'm sorry, but I was so scared. I didn't want to write them, and I know I can't talk about it without them, and she expects me to have them by tomorrow...I didn't have a choice."

"I think she would have understood, if you had tried your best," Snape rebuked gently. "Were you able to write anything without the alcohol?"

"Yeah, a little," Harry admitted.

"Then that should have been what you bring in," Snape concluded. "You've pushed yourself too hard, too fast this way."

"I know," Harry said, his emotions surfacing again, tears welling up in his eyes. "I want to get better, and I don't know how. The nightmares won't go away and the daymares are almost as bad."

"Harry," Snape said, taking the boy's hands in his own, "I understand. I really do. I know what it's like to be haunted by the past, and it doesn't make you any less."

"You understand more than anyone else," Harry conceded. "But do you really understand, really?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Dark Lord used you and threw you away like a piece of meat," Harry spat. "And that was terrible, but he didn't play with your mind like Vernon did. He fucked my mind more than my body, I think." Snape gave him a confused look.

"Would you care to explain? I know he was adamant that you enjoy it, like a consensual lover."

"Snape, I - I don't know where to begin," Harry said, tears now flowing down his cheeks. He sobbed once.

"Tell me the worst thing you can think of," Snape suggested. "It's what's bothering you right now, isn't it?"

"I did make that deal, like Malfoy said," Harry confessed suddenly, sobbing thoroughly, hanging his head so low it was between his hands, which Snape still held. The grip tightened slightly. "It was Christmas, and they didn't come back, and it was just the two of us all break, and it was hell. He'd taken off from work. He barely left the house. I was helpless. I was used to a few days off when they came back during the week, but they didn't come back! I was desperate. And Vernon came to my room that night and I just couldn't. I thought I'd die if I didn't have a break, and I told him that. And he said I wouldn't die, I just needed to finally relax a bit. And I don't know what happened, but I said that I'd try to relax tomorrow if he just let it go tonight. And he said really, how much would I relax? And I said that I'd consent, okay? I wouldn't fight him at all or beg him to stop, if he'd just leave me alone for one night. And he said okay, but he wanted me to initiate it. And he said if I didn't hold up my end of the bargain, he'd keep me out of Hogwarts, and I didn't know if he could or not, but that was the only safe place I had, so I couldn't risk it." Harry stopped and took a breath.

"Here, drink some water," Snape said. He released one of Harry's hands and grabbed the water, giving it to the boy. Harry drank some of its contents before setting it down. Snape took a sip after.

"And it was so terrible after," Harry continued. "I shouldn't have done it. I spent the whole day with my stomach in knots thinking about the next day. I didn't get any freedom. And then the next day..." Harry broke off, sobbing uncontrollably. Snape pulled him close, holding Harry under his arm. When he got control of himself again, "And then the next day, I followed through, just like I promised, because I wanted to go back to Hogwarts." Harry glanced up at Snape. "You don't want to hear about this, do you?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't...it'll bring up bad memories for you."

"No, Harry, continue as long as you want," Snape replied without hesitation. "I will be here for you. I've wanted you to explain for a long time now. The fact that it took half a fifth of firewhiskey to do it is regrettable, but if you want to talk, I'm not going to object."

"It's not rape when I consented. I sold my body for a few hours. I'm no better than a common whore. Malfoy was right." Harry's tears flowed freely. Snape ran his hands up and down Harry's back.

"You didn't consent," Snape murmured. "You were under duress. You're not a whore."

"You keep saying I didn't consent, but I did," Harry argued. "I just let him have his way after that. All the rest of the nights, like three or something, I don't really remember, I just lay there and took it. I did whatever he said, and I didn't even ask him not to."

"You hated it, and he knew it," Snape said. "It doesn't matter what the other circumstances were."

"I hate it, I hate him, I hate me," Harry sobbed. "So much hate."

"Harry, uh..." Snape began, the pause very unusual in his delivery, "have you ever had a good experience?"

"What?

"I mean..." Snape paused again. "Was there ever anyone in your life...who..."

"You mean did I have voluntary sex? What's so hard about just asking?"

"I'm not the one who is...buzzed," Snape drawled.

"And no," Harry answered. "Not unless you count that time I just told you about or the time with Nott."

"I most certainly don't," Snape answered, sounding a bit affronted.

"Then no," Harry concluded. "Do you honestly think I was getting laid when I was fourteen?"

"Well, I mean, you are the Boy-Who-Lived..."

"I couldn't even getting a bloody date for the ball," Harry sobbed. "How do you think I was going to get laid? Being the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't mean shit."

"I see," Snape sighed. He seemed a bit sad.

"You wanted a different answer?" Harry guessed.

"I was hoping," Snape answered.

"But why? Wouldn't that make me even more slutty?"

"If you had had a good experience," Snape began, "then maybe you could draw on that for your future to overcome your bad experiences. Given that you have never had a good experience, you have no reason to want to experience anything sexual again, do you?"

"Absolutely not!" Harry exclaimed, recoiling a bit from Snape's grasp. "I know I should want to, but I don't."

"That's alright," Snape soothed him. "I was just wondering. You'll probably remember nothing of this conversation in the morning."

"I might," Harry replied. "It doesn't seem to be working like the last time."

"Last time?" Snape questioned, suddenly going alert. "When did you have a last time? I wasn't aware of it."

"Last time at the Dursleys," Harry answered. "Vernon wanted to throw a party, commemorate the last time I'd be there for awhile, probably till Easter, he figured. He brought home a bunch of booze and I started drinking like there was no tomorrow. After a few shots and a couple beers, I just stopped remembering. We were still in the kitchen when it just goes blank."

"When did you come to?"

"Next morning. I was lying with him, and I was happy because that meant I could go home."

"So you've no idea what happened that night?"

"None, whatsoever, and it's better that way," Harry answered. "That's one night I don't have to feel guilty for."

"You don't have to feel guilty for any of them," Snape whispered, drawing Harry close again.

"But this doesn't feel like last time," Harry continued. "It took way more, and I still feel more coherent than last time."

"You get one blackout before it becomes very hard," Snape explained. "You probably used yours wisely, all things considered, but we still need to talk about alcohol use. I won't have you becoming an alcoholic." He shuddered.

"I'm going to have a hangover, aren't I?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Snape replied calmly. "You should drink all the water you can stomach, and then you should go to bed."

"I'll go get ready for bed," Harry volunteered, breaking contact with Snape and trying to stand on his own. That didn't go well. He began to sink towards the floor. Between the still high alcohol levels in his system and the emotional exhaustion, it was hopeless for Harry to get to bed on his own. Snape caught him, and began to guide him towards the bedroom.

"I'll transfigure your clothes into something more appropriate for bed," Snape volunteered, and without waiting for a response, he did as he said. Harry was wearing a nice pair of red and gold pajamas.

"Gryffindor," Harry commented sleepily. "You're thoughtful."

"I just know you like those garish colors," Snape justified. Then he summoned a bucket and placed it next to Harry's bed. "In case you feel like throwing up tonight and can't make it to the bathroom in time."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I am feeling a little queasy."

"You're welcome," Snape replied, stepping into the adjoining bathroom while he got ready for bed. When he returned, Harry glanced over at him.

"I'm glad I moved my bed in here," Harry commented. "I'm safe here. It's nice being with you."

"It's nice being with you too, Harry," Snape replied after a moment, resting a hand on his shoulder momentarily.

"I love you," Harry muttered before he drifted into an alcohol induced slumber. Severus smiled.

"I love you too," he whispered, but Harry couldn't hear.