“Aren’t you coming, Harry?” Anthony Goldstein asked, pausing by the door of their dormitory.

Harry lifted his head from the book he was reading and straightened up from where he was slumped rather uncomfortably against the headboard of his bed.

“I don’t think so,” said Harry distractedly. “Go on without me.”

“You alright?” Anthony asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fine, really,” Harry replied with a quick grin to assuage Anthony’s concerns.

“But it’s the Halloween feast,” Anthony said as though it trumped all argument.

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m just not one for parties.”

“Neither is half of Ravenclaw House,” Anthony said, rolling his eyes. “But they’re all going.”

“I just need some quiet,” Harry said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. Anthony was only being nice; it wouldn’t be fair to snap at him.

Anthony sighed.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, “but if you’re still moping when I come back, I’ll sic my sister on you.”

Harry faked a shudder. Anthony’s sister, Bri, was a feisty fourth-year Hufflepuff who was notorious for taking younger students under her wing and mothering them half to death. She was also rumored to have made Marcus Flint cry once when she had intervened in his bullying of a second year.

“I’m fine, Anthony, just go.”

Harry exhaled slowly when Anthony left. He did appreciate Anthony’s concern, he really did, and, quite frankly, Harry was still amazed at how many people seemed to like him around here.

But none of that mattered right now, because it was October thirty-first. The anniversary of his parents’ deaths. He couldn’t just go to the feast, shovel down heaps of food, and have fun with all the others, while on this very day, his parents had died for him. Against all odds, he was still alive today, and Harry couldn’t disregard that and run off to a Halloween feast as though nothing was different.

What else could he do? Visit his parents’ graves? Sob over a loss he scarcely felt connected to, having lost his parents so young?

The best he could do was not feel happy, even if he couldn’t feel anything else.

Harry leaned back and continued in his book from where he had left off. His mind continued to wander, however, so Harry slammed the book shut and abruptly rose from his bed.

He needed a change of scenery.

Harry walked down to the common room, which was empty aside from one sixth year girl who was scribbling on a piece of parchment. She glanced up briefly when Harry entered, but turned back to her work without acknowledgement. Harry exited the Ravenclaw tower and walked slowly down the corridor, unsure of where he was headed.

He walked a while longer, lost in thought and unusually incognizant of his surroundings.

What were my parents like? How different would my life have been if they hadn’t died?

Did they love me?

Harry supposed they must have, or they wouldn’t have died for him.

But would they have still loved me if they never died, and raised me instead of the Dursleys?

The Dursleys had raised him, and they sure hadn’t loved him. Harry knew they were capable of loving; they had obviously loved Dudley.

Had they, though?

Harry hadn’t forgotten about the time Dudley had confided in Harry his fear that he wouldn’t be loved if he was anything other than what his parents wanted him to be. Sure, Dudley had been given everything he’d asked for, and then some. He had been hugged and kissed freely, by his mum, at least, and he’d never heard his parents utter a single negative thing to him.

But what if Dudley’s fears had basis? Maybe his parents only loved him when he acted the way they wanted him to.

What if he had been more like Harry…?

But he was their kid. Parents love their kids. I’m not really anyone’s kid, so no one will ever love me in that way.

He shoved the thought away. What was the point of thinking about this?

Harry paused when he found himself in front of the library; it seemed his feet had taken him along a route he had walked many times before. He entered the room, ignoring Madame Pince’s suspicious glare, and wandered aimlessly down the aisles, glancing through the titles for a book that might hold his interest.

He then noticed from afar the locked door of the restricted section.

I really need to get a pass for that. Do they even let first years into the restricted section? Don’t they even realize that by calling it the restricted section, people are more likely to try to sneak in? It sounds like a Dumbledore thing to do, with his forbidden third floor corridors…

Harry was jerked from his thoughts by a sudden crackling noise emanating from the loudspeaker. Or rather, what passed for a loudspeaker in the wizarding world.

“There has been a report of a troll set loose in the dungeons. All students are to return to their dormitories at once, accompanied by a prefect.”

What kind of school was this?

Oddly indifferent to the potential danger of a rogue troll, Harry made for the door. He walked briskly towards the Great Hall in the vague hope that he’d meet the rest of his house along the way.

How could a troll get in? Did it come from the Forbidden Forest? Do trolls even live in the forest? Or did someone-

Harry’s thoughts were pierced by a sudden scream.

He froze.

The person, whom Harry was reasonably certain was female, screamed again, the sound even louder and more hysterical than before. He followed the sound as best he could, and soon found himself outside a girls’ bathroom.

He pulled open the door, peered inside, and felt his heart drop.

Hermione was pressed against the wall, face chalk-white, and her mouth open in a silent scream, while a troll lumbered around the room, a long, thick wooden club dangling from its huge, lumpy hand.

Harry caught Hermione’s eye, and she shook her head frantically, mouthing “Go, go!”

Harry didn’t move, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. It was then that the troll finally noticed Hermione. It stood motionless for a moment, then began to slowly stomp towards her.

No.

Harry darted into the room, wand in hand, wishing desperately that he knew more magic. The troll sensed Harry’s arrival, and turned toward him, swinging its club. He dove out of the way, landing painfully in a pile of splintered wood. He jumped back up and ran toward Hermione, who grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip.

The troll gave a deafening roar.

Hermione screamed, pressing her hands over her ears, and Harry flinched so badly that he slammed his head into the wall behind him.

He was utterly at a loss.

This is the end. What are we supposed to do? How do we get out of here? How the bloody hell could this be allowed to happen in a school?

The troll lumbered toward them again, the club raised over its head. This time, Hermione was quicker. She grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shoved him forward. She was not quick enough, however, and there was a sickening crack as the troll’s club slammed into her arm.

She screamed in pain, dropping to the ground, her entire body trembling.

That was it.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the largest piece of wood he could find, chucking it in the direction of the troll’s head. It seemed to have no other effect then to remind the troll of Harry’s presence. It swung its club towards Harry again, who threw himself out of the way.

He then had a sudden idea.

He stood up quickly and raised his wand.

“Incendio!” he yelled, and a flame shot out of his want and made contact with the troll’s leg.

It howled in pain, but it did not stop it from moving even closer to Harry, the club poised for attack. Apparently, trolls did not have very sensitive nerve endings.

Harry stood pressed into the wall, frozen.

I’m going to die, We’re both doing to die. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save myself this time.

Suddenly, for a reason Harry could not immediately determine, the troll was shoved back several feet.

He turned to see Hermione on her feet, swaying dangerously, her hand outstretched.

Her wand was on the ground beside her.

Harry’s relief was short-lived, however, when the troll pulled itself up and stomped toward Hermione.

No. She’s not going to die for me.

A terrible sort of anger and fear rose up in Harry’s chest, so much so that he felt as though his rib cage would crack with the force of it. A rush of magic burst from him, sending the troll flying through the air and smacking its head into the wall. It landed on the floor, unmoving.

Harry stared.

“Is it dead?” he heard Hermione croak. Harry opened his mouth, but froze when a hoard of teachers, namely, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Quirrel, and Snape rushed into the room.

“Nice of them to show up now,” Harry heard Hermione mutter, the sarcasm somewhat lost in the way her voice cracked.

Harry laughed silently, more at the insanity of the situation than at her comment.

He looked up quickly when a shadow swept over him. Snape.

The man knelt down and gripped Harry’s chin in his hands. Harry just stared, unable to speak.

“You are bleeding.”

Harry then realized that his nose was bleeding, as well as the palms of his hands. His entire body ached, actually.

“Come.”

Harry saw Hermione being carried out of the room on a stretcher, and he relaxed minutely, allowing Snape to lift him off the ground.

Everything went dark.

***

“What. Were. You. Thinking?”

Harry had spent a full day in the hospital wing. He and Hermione had both been treated for magical exhaustion on top of their injuries, and Hermione had been sent home for the week to recover from the ordeal

Harry was now in Snape’s quarters, being hounded for his, in the man’s words “utter idiocy.”

Harry bit his lip.

Snape looked as though he was several moments away from exploding. Harry tensed his shoulders and looked at the ground. Snape wasn’t going to listen to anything he said, not in this mood.

However, the man seemed to notice his train of thought, and visibly calmed himself. Taking a steadying breath, he spoke in a quieter tone.

“Well, to begin, why were you not at the feast?”

Harry picked at the skin around his nails.

“I- my parents died today,” he said in a low voice. “It felt wrong.”

Snape visibly deflated.

“It is so difficult to chastise you, however much it is deserved, when you say such things,” Snape said tiredly.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t deserve sympathy.

“I didn’t even feel anything,” Harry said harshly. “I figured I at least owed it to them not to enjoy myself.”

There was a heavy moment of silence.

Snape inhaled, as though he meant to say something and thought better of it.

He then spoke.

“So, you chose not to attend the feast, which is perfectly acceptable, though I do wish…”

He paused again.

“However,” he continued sharply, his features tightening. “Once you heard the announcement over the loudspeaker, why did you not immediately head towards your dormitory?”

Harry looked away.

“Harry…” Snape said in a warning tone, rapidly losing patience.

“I had to help Hermione. I heard her, I couldn’t just leave her.”

“And you did not think to summon a faculty member?”

“It would have been too late!”

“Perhaps so, but you realize that the odds dictated that you and Miss Granger both would have died. You are extremely lucky.”

“I know, but I had to…”

“You did not have to, you chose to.”

“I did have to, at least if I-” he broke off, looking away.

“Yes?”

“I just didn’t want another person I cared about to die today.”

Silence.

More silence.

Is he going to say anything?

Snape finally heaved a breath.

“Did it not occur to you how close I came to losing someone I care about today?”

Harry froze, the blood draining from his face.

Harry stared at his hands, his chest tightening inexplicably. Then, to his horror, he felt his eyes begin to water. He squeezed them shut.

No, I will not cry. I won’t.

He couldn’t stop the few tears that escaped.

I’m so pathetic.

“Why did you say that?” Harry bit out, feeling inexplicably angry.

“Harry. Look at me.”

Harry shook his head, keeping his face down and his eye shut tight. His hands trembled lightly, and the awful tightening of his chest only worsened.

“Look. At. Me.”

Harry shook his head again, more frantically. He couldn’t bear it. What the man had said could not possibly be true.

Not the way I want it to be. I’m not his… he’ll never really. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t.

Harry’s chest started heaving, and the trembling in his limbs worsened. Without quite realizing it, he was on his feet and sprinting for the door.

Snape let him go.

***
“Harry, what the hell? Where have you been?”

Apparently, it was not his day.

He’d scrubbed his face clean and ran for his common room, hoping to escape to his dormitory unnoticed. But Anthony, as observant as ever, had grabbed Harry’s arm the moment he’d stepped into the common room.

Harry tried unsuccessfully to yank himself out of Anthony’s grip.

“Get off me,” he snapped.

Anthony’s face suddenly darkened with anger. It gave Harry pause, as it was uncharacteristic of Anthony’s generally open, friendly features.

“I covered for you,” he said in a low, angry tone. “Everyone was asking about you, and I knew you were in the hospital wing, but I didn’t say anything because I know you hate questions, and I was worried, and-.”

“Stop! I’m sorry, okay,” Harry said, unable to conceal the anguish in his tone. He knew his facial expressed was no better.

Anthony shut his mouth abruptly.

Harry bit his lip.

I’m an awful friend. Why does he stick around?

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry said quietly, avoiding Anthony’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Anthony replied. “I just.”

“No,” Harry cut in. “You were right, I shouldn’t’ve…”

“S’okay.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Well, I’ll forgive you if you tell me what happened,” Anthony said, suddenly mischievous.

Harry scowled, but complied, Anthony’s eyes growing steadily wider as Harry outlined the events that had occurred.

“You are absolutely mental.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t know the troll was in there, I just heard screaming. What was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, get a teacher, maybe.”

“You sound just like Snape.”

Anthony smirked.

“Well, Potter, if you possessed a modicum of sense, it might have crossed your minuscule mind-”

“Shut up,” Harry cut in, laughing.

***

Harry felt on edge the moment he’d entered the potions classroom. He studiously avoided Snape’s gaze, focusing intently on his potion, no matter that he’d actually made this one before in Snape’s laboratory during the summer.

He placed his bottled potion on Snape’s desk once complete, and he’d almost reached the door, when-

“Mr. Potter, stay after.”

Harry groaned silently.

Once the classroom emptied of students, Harry approached the man’s desk reluctantly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Come.”

Harry followed Snape to a door in the back of the room that led to his office. Snape sat behind his desk, and Harry sat gingerly at the chair facing him.

“Did you assume that our unfinished conversation had slipped my mind?” Snape said evenly.

“No,” Harry muttered, staring at a scratch mark on the desk.

“Well, it heartens me to hear that your perception of character has not been compromised.”

Harry looked up with a scowl.

“I wasn’t concussed.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“You were upset by comment I made, and I would like you to tell me why.”

The man said that so abruptly that Harry stared, utterly caught off guard.

“I will not speak around the topic any longer, Harry,” Snape said with a sigh. “Answer the question.”

Harry’s jaw tightened.

“What happened to your perception of character, sir? Don’t you already know?”

Harry knew he was crossing a line with his rudeness, but oddly, Snape seemed almost amused by his comment.

The guy just acts weirder every day…

“Oh, I am quite certain that I do,” Snape replied. “I simply wonder if you do yourself.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not say that.”

“May as well have-”

“No,” the man said sharply. “You are far from an idiot. You simply have no concept of what it means to be cared for.”

Harry cringed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I stated that I care for you, and you fled.”

“I-,” Harry broke off, unsure of what he’d meant to say.

“Tell me why.”

Harry stared as his lap.

“Tell me, or you will sit here for the remainder of the day until you do.”

Harry looked up, eyes blazing.

“Why?” he all but shouted.

The man looked unperturbed.

“Why do I insist that you answer, or why do I care for you?”

That question gave Harry pause.

“I dunno,” he whispered. He then met Snape’s dark gaze, against his better judgement. There was that look again. That look that made Harry want to run, freeze, or cry at the unbearable feelings that the sight of it produced.

“Why do you care about your friend, Miss Granger, Harry? So much so that you would risk your life for her?”

“I- because I like her,” Harry responded, confused at the turn of the conversation. “She’s nice to me, she doesn’t think that I- she’s- I just, I just do.”

“It is inconceivable to you that someone might feel the same way towards you?”

Harry couldn’t pull away from Snape’s gaze if he tried. The man leaned forward so his face was inches away from Harry’s.

“Harry. I care more for you than any other student in this school. Or rather, any other child on this cursed Earth.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, actually pressing his hands over his ears.

“Stop! Stop saying that! Please, I can’t-”

Harry felt Snape’s hands moving towards him and pulling his own hands away from his ears. He opened his eyes.

“You can’t do what?”

That unbearable look again.

“It can’t be true, what you’re saying,” Harry said in a hoarse whisper. “So stop saying it, before you hurt me worse.”

Snape’s face was unreadable. “How am I hurting you, Harry?”

“Because you’ll leave. You’ll stop caring, even if you do now.”

“I will not.”

The look in the man’s eyes was so very intense, so intent.

Harry shook his head frantically in denial. Snape cupped Harry’s face in his hands, halting the movement.

Harry was frozen, caught in the man’s magnetic gaze, like dark tunnels he could get lost in, except that they were warm, and felt inexplicably safe.

“You will understand, Harry,” Snape said quietly. “I will make it my business to ensure that you do.”

Harry’s throat felt closed off, his chest so tight he couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

“Is. That. Cear.”

Harry gave a short nod, his face still caught in the man’s hands. Snape stared at him for one moment longer, then released him.

“You may go if you wish.”

Harry exhaled, then rose from his seat shakily and grabbed his bag from the floor. He looked up at the man once more, struggling to find the words to explain what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a faint whisper.

I’m sorry I can’t say anything more… I’m sorry I can’t say it back… I’m sorry I’m so ungrateful…

Snape gave a short nod, and Harry turned to go. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Harry?”

He turned his head.

“Detention with me for the rest of the week for your utterly foolish stunt.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in his consternation.

Snape raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

Strangely, Harry felt far more like himself after that exchange.