“How could you let the crate fall like that?” accused a deep and silky voice. It grumbled in its deepness but held an edge that was oddly familiar despite the fog it managed to pierce through in Harry’s mind.

“I din’ mean’tah, pr’fesser! I was deliverin’ them blasted worms n’ things all gen-teel like yeh’ warn’ted when those ghosts busted through them walls and startled me somethin’ fierce they did!”

This other voice was craggly, unpolished and yet very familiar as well…

“I’ll not have you blame this on apparitions, you fool. If you had broken the bottles, why not inform me? The Potter brat nearly slit his wrist in two!” the deeper voice hissed harshly, unforgiving in its anger.

Harry had come-to a bit more by this point, and swiftly the events before he blacked out came rushing back. Most of them, anyhow. He opened his eyes and blinked at the blurs standing just offside his bed in what appeared to be the hospital wing. It was dark aside from the torches burning every few paces by each bedside, with only his own bed illuminated in some sort of stronger—but still soft—spotlight. Harry had spent enough time there to recognize this place without the help of eyewear.

Thinking of which, he fumbled to the side table and found the clunky things and pulled them on. Looking back to the source of the voices he saw it was Snape and Filch in the middle of a heated argument, making no pretense for Harry’s sake as he was laying just a few feet from them.

“Them ghosts have been actin’ awful these last few days, I tell yeh!” Filch growled back, hunched into himself. Miss Norris was no where to be found, likely tucked away safely in case Snape thought it fit to use her in his potions as punishment. Harry absently chastised himself for the fleeting thought, but then the case of Trevor came to mind and Harry supposed Filch wasn’t as foolish as Snape was making him out to be just now.

“I do not care what they’ve been up to, you caused a student to be injured which wasted my time—” Snape snapped back, and upon hearing this Harry felt all patience to wait for an opening to alert them of his awakening vanish. Harry had enough memories of the Dursleys reiterating such drivel, that he was a waste of their time and such, and he just couldn’t stand it coming from Snape.

“It’s not Filch’s fault.” Harry clearly interjected from his bed, startling Filch and making Snape raise a brow.

“Welcome to consciousness, Potter. I see it must be instinct for you to butt into that which does not concern you immediately after waking—a dreadful habit.” Snape sniffed, but his eyes shined brightly in the torchlight and seemed different somehow. Like they did not match his words. But Harry had no time to try and decipher Snape at the moment—it felt like one of those Chinese finger traps Dudley once got as a gag in a party favor bag at school. Trying to understand what Snape was feeling was like pulling his fingers out of the trap; the trap would just keep latching tight.

“It would concern me though, wouldn’t it?” Harry ground out, leaving off the respectful title on purpose. Snape noticed and his face soured. “It’s not Mr. Filch’s fault.” Harry quickly continued, so Snape could not squeeze in another tirade of hateful remarks that left Harry feeling stung. He already had a killer headache. Snape noted the title given to Filch and again his face crinkled in slight anger.

“And, pray tell, how do you come by that enlightening conclusion?” Snape asked, coming closer to Harry’s bed to tower over him. Filch shuffled to the other side, looking at Harry oddly.

“Like he said, the ghosts have been acting odd lately.” Harry replied, thinking of the few encounters he’s had, however brief they were, and thinking they were indeed slightly off. “They must just be restless or whatever, who knows. But the point is that he couldn’t have known there was a broken bottle, and even if he did, he can’t very well fix it on his own—er, no offense, sir.” Harry turned to Filch with a wince, not wanting to be indelicate about his being a squib.

Filch just stared back at the boy, seemingly shocked into silence.

Snape, arms folded at his chest, tapped an elbow as he did his best to contain his emotions.

“I find your entire little diatribe to elicit little-to-no helpful information whatsoever.” Snape replied after a moment of thought. “I should have been informed of the jostling of the crate, so I could have possibly taken action which might have prevented your little episode in the lab.” He finished with a snarl. “Hence why we are here in the first place.”

Harry blinked, thrown off track from that. He did remember blacking out…but that was about it. He wouldn’t have called it an episode exactly. Why was he even here? Surely a little faint wouldn’t require a trip to hospital, would it?

“Well, stuff like that happens. I don’t think it’s right to punish Mr. Filch over it.” Harry answered in a bit of a challenging tone, feeling confused as well as irritated now. Snape looked ready to argue the fact more when in bustled Dumbledore and, to Harry’s delight, Remus Lupin.

“Quite right, Harry my boy; Argus is surely not to blame.” Albus answered as they joined them around Harry’s bed.

“Harry, how are you feeling?” Lupin asked immediately, sounding out of breath.

“Uh, yeah…I just had a little accident is all.” Harry smiled wanly as he gestured with his now bandaged right hand. Seeing it for the first time closely since waking, Harry stared at it a bit longer than necessary. Harry then turned his gaze to the headmaster.

“Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to the common room. I’ve a bit of homework left to do…” Harry tried, making to get up. Snape’s hand was instantly on Harry’s chest and pushed the boy back down into the bed, though not roughly.

“Wonders never cease with you, it seems. Studying?” Snape sniffed rhetorically.

Dumbledore made a brief annoyed face in Snape’s direction before turning to Filch.

“Argus, it is late even for you. Fret not over this, young Harry is well taken care of and you are not to blame for what was most assuredly an accident. Sleep well.”

Harry chanced a glance up to Snape who was looking like he had been robbed of some still-lengthy reprimand for the old caretaker, but said nothing to contradict Dumbledore’s words. Filch then caught Harry’s gaze as he nodded to Dumbledore, then he slipped out of the room without another word. The headmaster turned back to Harry, eyes kind and warm.

“Harry, I should like to ask you a few questions regarding what happened tonight. Would it be alright if both Professors Snape and Lupin remain? I feel they may have valuable insight to contribute.” Dumbledore asked. Harry pushed himself back and up against the headboard, but nodded in consent.

Both Lupin and Snape looked minutely surprised, possibly that Harry would allow the Slytherin to remain…and without protest.

“All I really remember is um…cutting myself on some shard of glass by accident and then blacking out.” Harry looked down and to the side. “I have never fainted at the sight of blood but…” Here he looked back to Dumbledore and shrugged. “…I suppose there’s a first for everything.”

The three men shared a paused look, then Lupin spoke.

“Harry…would you mind if I run a few spells on your hand? They’re different than what Madam Pomfrey has already done.” Harry assumed she had done her work earlier while he was still out, though the light in her office remained on, just with the door closed. She was there if they needed her, he guessed.

“These…look for curses, if any are present. A bit more advanced than normal mediwizardry as far as that used in schools like this, but shouldn’t take long regardless.” Lupin asked with a shallow breath, as if sure Harry would absolutely refuse.

Harry shrugged, feeling a little confused. And a little wary. It must be something a bit obscure then, if Poppy wasn’t going to handle it personally.

“That’s all that happened though, isn’t it? You think I was cursed somehow?” Harry asked, burying his other, actually scarred hand under his covers subtly that no one noticed.

“You were screaming and hallucinating about seeing blood. Everywhere.” Snape’s voice chimed in deep and mellow, contrasting violently with how Harry’s stomach now felt.

“B-blood? Everywhere…” Harry looked to the side, soaking in the implications of that…trying to remember. Oh. He did recall a faint dream of reds pooling at his feet, coating the entirety of his hands. Screams, faint as whispers but sharp as knives in his heart. “All my fault…” Harry whispered to himself, lost in the memory.

Snape blinked, then immediately grabbed hold of the boy by the shoulders, shaking him just a little.

“Snap out of it, Potter!” He demanded, and Harry practically threw him off, eyes back to reality and just a smidge disgruntled at the manhandling.

“Severus—” Dumbledore began, looking a little shocked.

“Keep your hands off him, Snape!” Lupin practically growled, pushing between him and Harry. Harry’s eyes widened, having never heard Remus talk in such a way to Snape before, not even in his own timeline.

“Remus!” Dumbledore gasped, looking at a loss for what to do with this new outburst.

“He said that exact same thing before he went all mental, Lupin! Or would you like to relive that little nightmare with the boy? I’m sure you both can bond over that with a side of tea and crumpets.” Snape barked a bitter laugh at that last bit but moved out of Lupin’s new little territorial bubble of space beside Harry just the same.

“That gives you no right to yank him back to consciousness!” Lupin’s hands trembled with his indignant anger welling up inside. Harry’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Both of you, stop this argument this instant!” Dumbledore interjected finally, inwardly still unsure how things got out of hand so quickly.

In the next moment Lupin stiffened, then looked to have all his anger melt completely away as he looked to the smaller bandaged hand that now held his own larger one. Harry’s eyes met his, and he felt all of a sudden very foolish but also very warm and content.

“Please, don’t fight.” Harry requested calmly.

Snape looked on at the sight and felt a constriction in his chest that made it momentarily hard to breathe. Who was it that protected the boy against his own self? Who was it that helped Poppy clean his face and hair of the blood while she did her healing work? Who acted quickly to prevent another incident just now?

But it’s everyone’s favorite last Marauder that gets painted with wings and a halo, never mind of the beast locked inside those deceptive pure-gold eyes of his. But a moment later his glare caught the movement of Harry’s hand retreating back to himself, his eyes not on Lupin but on Snape himself. Not able to help himself, for the emotion seemed to pour out of the boy’s blasted pure green eyes, he heard the words unbidden in thought, wrapped in melancholy.

I’m sorry. It’s my fault.

Snape blinked twice, caught off guard by the echoed sentiment spoken by the boy once again, though he seemed fully in charge of his faculties this time.

Just what was going on inside Potter?

Harry felt himself tense minutely under the gazes of all three men, two of whom looked concerned, the other looking slightly on edge but otherwise forcefully blank. Harry didn’t feel the probe of Snape’s mind when their eyes connected—a connection that seemed to be happening more this week than the entirety of Harry’s life—and so the man’s odd look on his face still confused him. However, Lupin spoke up, breaking the silence that seemingly lasted forever but really only stretched a hearty few seconds.

“May I have your hand, Harry? To begin my test.” The man asked softly, gently.

“O-okay…” Harry shifted his injured hand to Lupin’s waiting one, which felt strong and warm. Harry closed his eyes a moment to take in the feeling, remembering just how cold Remus had been when he helped lay him to rest. Someone had suggested levitation, but Harry wouldn’t have it; together, he and Hagrid had gently, so very gently, picked him up to travel to his final resting place, beside Tonks, who was tended to by Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. His eyes prickled at the physical proof that that reality was now just a memory of a forsaken timeline. Harry opened his eyes a second later to see two pairs staring back at him as Lupin was meanwhile distracted in readying his incantations.

Harry stared back, mostly at the deep blue eyes that seemed to have lost their twinkle, flooded in concern. The other pair, obsidian and hard, looked back in unflinching, emotionless intensity. It made Harry shudder.

But it was then, a moment after opening his eyes, that he realized they were wet. As Lupin pulled over the chair by his beside closer, Harry looked down and breathed in a rush from his nose, wincing as it made a snotty sound. Still feeling stared at, Harry merely mumbled “allergies” and let it drop.

Meanwhile, Lupin (who had paused momentarily at the sound of Harry’s sniffle) was reciting some old magic, with only an English word stuck here and there, the rest being in Latin. Dumbledore moved to be beside Lupin, while Snape moved more stiffly on the other side of the bed. Harry tried to ignore the surreality of being surrounded by these three wizards he cared so much for, and instead wait for the negative results of the scans.

Oh, but there were some questions to be asked weren’t there?

“Did you feel anything…off, just before you blacked out?” Dumbledore asked softly, hands at his sides but lost within the folds of the fabric of his robes. They were dark maroon, and rather plain for what the old warlock would usually wear. Lupin, meanwhile, had dulled his incantations to a quiet murmur.

Harry sighed and looked down, tempted to fiddle with his sheets with his free hand, but deciding against it since that hand /was/ cursed, and he wasn’t sure how to explain that away as ‘just allergies’.

“No sir. It was just a fr-…um,” there was that word again. Merlin, why was it so hard to say? “just an unexpected accident.”

Albus shared a look with Lupin then, who had completed his muttering and was waiting for the results of the spell. They then looked to Snape, who was staring at the hand being held by Lupin, the soft white circling tendrils of magic still assessing the wound.

“Do you know why you would…see things, things like those described by Professor Snape earlier?” Dumbledore continued his line of questioning, this time very clearly disturbed but trying to find a delicate way of putting them. Harry got a sinking feeling. It was the same look he had when he talked to Riddle all those years ago.

Is there something you wish to tell me, my boy?

Harry’s eyes prickled again, so much so he had to look away. He could practically hear Riddle’s response, the sound of his voice and inflection along with it, like he was standing right beside him. It made him shudder inside, but outside he tried to surreptitiously control his emotion. This wasn’t going according to plan, and he had to figure a way out…as honestly as he could, he hoped.

“Yes.” Harry replied, so quietly it made all three blink, wondering if they heard the thirteen year old correctly.

“Then please, elaborate, Mr. Potter.” Snape sarcastically prompted, motioning that Harry had the floor. Harry felt his anxiety jump. What was he thinking. Why would he admit to anything..? It was too much, too soon.

…

But it was that look.

….

That single, worried, lost look Dumbledore had given him. The look reflected in those moments he saw between the old wizard and the young Tome Riddle. He wanted so much to not be like Riddle, perhaps a fear he had always held since fifth year, until perhaps that day that he died.

“It…was possibly because of a nightmare I had the night before.” Harry replied carefully, not daring to look at any of the men. His stomach was in knots now, and his chest felt consumed in flutters.

“A nightmare?” Lupin breathed, his hold on Harry’s hand tightening, but not uncomfortably.

“Just a run of the mill, normal, everyday nightmare.” Harry shrugged, gaining momentum with the ease of the half-truth. He tried to calm himself.

“Yes, because normal nightmares—if there are such things—involve pools of blood and screams of terror.” Snape growled in anger, but at what Harry wasn’t sure. Was it at him? Probably. The possibility just made Harry more tired.

“Severus.” Dumbledore admonished quietly.

“Is the thing, um, done?”  Harry changed the subject, looking to his hand as the colors of the magic swirling about had stopped and changed from white to light blue.

“Yes…” Lupin answered, distractedly. He then looked down to his work and with a snap of his fingers the magic ceased. Snape raised a brow but said nothing, seemingly surprised the wolf knew anything about wandless magic, small though it was.

“I’d say it’s a clean bill of health as far as curses go, if I remember that particular spell correctly.” Dumbledore commented, relief touching his eyes from the result. Lupin nodded in confirmation.

“Yes sir, Harry has not been cursed recently.”

Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes, wishing it were that simple. Snape snorted, turning to leave as he said, “If that will be all, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore looked surprised that Snape wanted to leave but did not push the issue. Harry also felt put out. Abandoned, even. But he mentally shook himself from the thought, as it did not do to dwell on such things. Dumbledore himself had said so ages ago. Harry had to accept that Snape would never care about his wellbeing unless it was life threatening. Harry decided that was enough, it had to be.

“Yes Severus. Thank you.”

Snape merely tilted his head just so and turned fully, completely ignoring Harry and Remus. But it seemed Lupin, despite Snape’s departure, had questions of his own.

“Harry,” Lupin began, the sounds of Snape’s boots clicking softly on the stone floor fading away has he neared the exit, “Can you tell me where these scars came from?”

Harry’s heart felt like it stopped to jump out of his chest, staring dumbly as Lupin, whose amber eyes danced in a weird intensity with the light of the torches in the dimly lit room. Dumbledore froze where he stood. The clicking of Snape’s boots stopped.

“S-scars?” Harry asked, still not looking down at his hand, so completely taken off guard as he was. Lupin shared a look with Dumbledore before plunging forward.

“Yes, see here? There’s several all along your hand…you can’t see them so much as feel them in this light, but they’re there. Do you remember how you got them?”

Harry slowly looked to his hand, before taking it out of Lupin’s grasp to feel in his own. Scars? For a moment Harry was afraid they were…but no, these were old. Very old. He’d always had them. They had been gained in the days when he was Just Harry.

“These are old ones.” Harry voiced from his thoughts, sounding oddly faraway. Oh, he knew how he got each and every one, but they had been a part of him forever, in his life before Hogwarts. He had never given them much thought. And besides, no one had noticed before. Harry himself had forgotten their significance, put out of mind like background noise.

Lupin and Dumbledore looked like they expected more than that as explanation, and Harry heard but did not register the sound of the clicks of sole on stone once more, though becoming louder as they neared.

“I did—I mean, I do—a lot of ah, chores…especially yardwork, for my relatives. That’s what these are from.” Harry breathed softly, looking at his hands, careful to cover his curse scar with the hand currently under question. His sleeves were long though, and covered his hands to the knuckles thankfully. “I don’t usually wear gloves.”

More like never allowed to…

Lupin’s eye twitched. But before he could say anything further a hand from Harry’s other side snaked into view only to snatch Harry’s hand to pull into his own. Harry jumped, surprised, but otherwise did nothing to yank his hand away from Snape’s as he might have done years ago. In fact, he was entranced in watching the stony Potions Master gently but thoroughly look over his hand, and feel the scaring for himself. Snape’s hand was spidery, but strong like Lupin’s. And they too were rough in some places. Harry didn’t know what to do with himself but just sit there, gaping up at Snape.

Snape had not consciously known what he was doing before it was already done. Hearing Lupin’s quiet question echo into the room might as well been a sharp cry in the dark, for how much those simple words shot through him.

The boy’s hand had a slight tremble to it, imperceptible had Snape not been holding it firmly in his own. Potter’s appendage was littered with callouses and the muscle felt wiry, testifying of the truth behind the answers, as one did not get a hand like this without doing some kind of manual labor. Repeatedly. And it seemed Lupin was correct, as there were small raises along the skin in certain areas such as around the thumb and along the dorsal side where his knuckles were. Keloid scaring. Snape, forgetting himself and whose hand he held, let his thumb rub along them gently, as if mapping out where each scar lay, following their paths to where more surely could be found. It disturbed him as he stood there, but it was almost like he needed to keep feeling them to believe they were there. Then right as he felt something larger than the other bits of keloid just past the boy’s scaphoid bone to the beginning of the radius, Harry pulled his hand free from his grasp.

They both shared a startled look before the coldness seeped back into Snape’s eyes, and a cloudiness seemed to permeate Harry’s. Coal black eyes flickered in surprise when seeing Harry’s own eyes shine unmistakably from unshed tears in the light.

“It’s really late, Headmaster.” Harry said softly, almost in a whisper, still staring right at Snape, who also did not dare to look away from him this time. Harry did feel a brushing against his mind this time, but somehow—by some grace above—was able to retain his ground and not allow any words from his mind breech the surface as he concentrated.

Snape’s brow crinkled minutely, before Harry felt the brushing move off.

“I believe our dear Harry is correct.” Dumbledore agreed, his voice also a bit far away. Snape broke his gaze to shoot the older wizard a dirty glare. How dare he imply the Potter brat as anything dear to him? Even within a group, it was revolting.

Well, perhaps not revolting…though, that was just crazy talk. Potters and disgust went hand-in-hand didn’t they? At least in Snape’s tumultuous and contradicting thoughts, he tried to argue they still did.

Before any more retrospection could be made (of which Snape was most assuredly not obliged to do with the confusing feelings he felt bubbling up) Harry Potter’s voice broke through his reverie, almost with alarm.

“OH! Before you go, I had—” Harry looked around him wildly, as if searching for something. “rats, my bag is back at the dorm room.”

“What did you need, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, very curious now. Lupin mirrored the expression as he continued to sit in the chair. Snape curled a lip halfheartedly.

“I had some plans me and Percy Weasley had laid out, for the club sir. But I also wanted to ask about our sponsoring teacher.” Harry confessed in a hurry, as if not getting it out quickly would result in him losing his nerve.

Snape, of course, immediately squinted in distrust.

“What sort of club, Potter?” He ground out slowly , Lupin giving him an irritated look. A hundred ideas of what horrendous subjects the boy could think of to revolve a club around surfaced, including a legitimate fanclub of himself. Snape figured if the Headmaster allowed that, he would just fling himself off the Astronomy tower, consequences be damned. This must be about what the boy had chirped on during his meeting with the Headmaster, Snape concluded. This should be good…

“A dueling club.” Harry replied simply, but not quite looking his way.

“What?” Snape all but shouted, completely perplexed. “After that fiasco last year?!”

Harry turned to fully glower at the man this time, tired and thoroughly irritated no matter how much he admired him.

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“You almost got bitten by that snake.” Snape hissed.

“Severus—”  Albus tried but failed to interrupt. Lupin was once again shocked by the tid bits he was gleaning.

“I told him NOT to strike!” Harry waved his hands in an exasperated arch about him, looking to Dumbledore and Lupin for help. He then turned back to Snape. “YOU’RE the one who attacked Professor Lockhart!”

“Gentlemen! Please!” Dumbledore intervened finally, his voice a bit firmer than normal. Lupin looked to Pomfrey’s office expecting her to have busted in at his movement. Dumbledore sighed and explained,

“I cast a silencing spell soon after we arrived…somehow,” he looked pointedly at Snape here, “..I knew things might get out of hand.”

“Right.” Lupin replied slowly.

“And poor Poppy needs her rest…Now then, Harry, you said something about a sponsor.” Dumbledore prompted. Harry felt all of a sudden badly for bringing it up, especially in a situation like this, late as it was to boot.

“I know it’s not the best time to ask but—” Snape snorted derisively here, “—I wanted to ask Professor Snape and Professor Lupin to be our sponsors.” Harry asked in a very different, timid sort of voice as he determinedly looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore alone.

Snapes eyes widened, and Lupin looked to have some color return to his features.

“Oh.” Dumbledore managed to say after a moment, looking himself quite shocked. Then a brilliant smile grew underneath his beard until even it could not hide it. Snape saw and was shaking his head, very much ready to give his negative response when Dumbledore answered for them both.

“What a SPLENDID idea Harry!” Dumbledore bubbled in absolute joy, patting Harry’s knee and then making his way out of the infirmary. “YES! Absolutely!” He called out to no one in particular.

“Where—WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?” Snape spluttered, taken aback by what he was just agreed to doing, and then said agreer moving quite fast past him on his way out the door. Lupin just stared after the scene, his own smile small but genuine.

“We have much to do, much to organize! You and Remus’s club will need space, first and foremost!” Dumbledore called back with a wave of his hand.

“Our--?? OUR GROUP! Headmaster, WAIT!” Snape called, and with one last desperate look to Lupin and a rather half-hearted glare to Harry, he took off after the older wizard, who had disappeared past the doorway into the hall.

There were now only two people left in the main part of the infirmary. Harry felt a bit overwhelmed, and sighed to release some of his anxiety.

“How are you feeling?” Lupin asked, putting a hand back over Harry’s own.

Harry looked at his gesture then at the man, who now held his gaze with such warmth and compassion that he almost forgot to breathe.

“I’m fine.” Harry replied in a hollow whisper, but regretted it as something passed over Lupin’s face indicating that wasn’t the answer he was searching for.

“You know Harry…we haven’t known each other very long, but…well, I want you to know that should you need me, to tell me something, that you can, yeah? Especially if something is bothering you.”

Harry looked back up into Lupin’s face, a bit surprised to hear him say this. His Remus had never said something this…blatant. This open. There had always been barriers, walls…missed time and passing words of advice, vague but meant to be helpful. Not that either were at fault for these things in their relationship; things moved so fast after Third Year, and there was so much going on, so many issues. And after Sirius…well, things weren’t ever the same were they? But still, his Remus was so…different. Weren’t they the same person, though?

“You don’t believe me.” Lupin stated, a bit sadly but more so as a calm truth he was willing to face.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts and stuttered his denial.

“N-no, sir! I just…it’s complicated.” Harry lamely finished, looking away in his disappointment in himself.

“But there is something bothering you, isn’t there? James had that same look on his face when he was worried.”

Harry did stop breathing then, if only for a beat.

“…H-He did?” Harry whispered, touching a bit of his cheek self-conciously.

Lupin smiled and nodded, patting his hand before pulling his own back into his lap as he sat and regarded Harry.

“Oh yes.” Lupin chuckled fondly. “Though it usually when he got himself into quite the spot of trouble, a result from his rather rambunctious tendency to get into things he ought not to.” Lupin looked off the side as he thought back to happier days spent with Potter Sr. “There was one time that he and Sirius—” Lupin abruptly stopped, his face paling whiter than the cresent moon that was setting, showing through the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“I’m so sorry Harry, I didn’t mean to—” Lupin apologized, making to get up, but Harry would have none of it.

“Re-er, Professor Lupin, it’s okay.” Harry said in an almost pleading voice. “It’s okay. I only just found out about…everyone that was involved.” Harry continued in a half-lie. Lupin looked at a loss for words. “I…was angry. But I’m dealing with it…you shouldn’t have to censor your memories on my account.”

Words that finally formed at the tip of Lupin’s tongue seemed to die back into his throat, he looking away in pure thought. Harry noticed the darkened skin under his eyes, and the rumbled quality of his robes. He needed rest; Harry realized. It had been a long night. And Harry felt himself cringe inside knowing he was the cause.

“I’ll be alright sir, really. You should get some rest.” Harry murmured quietly, to gently bring Lupin out of his mind and back to the present. He succeeded, and Lupin replied with a wane smile as he stood up.

“I think you may be right. But it goes for the both of us, hmm?” Lupin replied, catching a bit of Harry’s sheet and ruffling it a bit more over Harry’s chest once Harry had snuggled back down from half-sitting against the headboard. Harry felt his cheeks warm, and Lupin seemed to notice his actions looked terribly parental as well. But the deed was done.

Lupin left with a final awkward wave of his hand, and Harry found himself smiling in the midst of his own foggy thoughts.

--

Snape had finally caught up to Dumbledore when they both reached the staircases. Snape managed to jump right as the case Dumbledore had stepped upon began to shift, apparently feeling a need for a change of destination. Dumbledore looked for all the world unperturbed by this as they rode it, which irritated Snape.; one of the few things he missed of his father’s world was that muggle staircases did not have the inclination to move about, especially while you were on them.

Gathering his wits as they drifted lazily through the air, wind pushing his lank black hair about softly, Snape managed to calm himself before he spoke to the elder wizard. Even if irritated, he had to admit that the sight of the cases constantly moving in an almost endless maze above and below was beautiful, in a chaotic and defy-all-common-sense sort of way. Such a sight would give anyone pause, especially on a night such as this when most of the castle lay asleep. Dumbledore seemed to think the same, as he too remained silent. Snape decided to break it first.

“What exactly are you playing at then?” Snape narrowed his eyes, one hand on a rail as he looked up to the older man several steps above him. Dumbledore gazed back, a slight glimmer in his eyes that were a bit distracted it seemed—he must have several kettles on the fire in his mind, Snape thought. He knew the feeling, as dealing with Potter usually set his own mind alight with several whirling thoughts at once, most however were destructive in nature.

The case settling against another punctuated Dumbledore’s answer: “I am merely taking advantage of an opportunity, something you would do well to learn from, dear boy.” He then hiked up part of his robes and climbed to the next set of stairs, with Snape right on his heels. They were moving once again when the Potions Master spoke in reply.

“Are you seriously saying this to a Slytherin? Nay, the Slytherin Head of House?” Snape gawked at the man before him in bewildered amusement, almost forgetting his earlier panic and anger. This was Dumbledore’s desired affect.

“I am merely describing my wish for you to be a bit more open minded, especially when it comes to Harry Potter.”

Snape’s face crumpled, but then relaxed as he twisted those words to his favor to draw a light stab at his old friend. “So you’re saying I need to take more advantage of your Golden Boy, hmm?”

Dumbledore turned sharply as Snape then, giving him A Look. They stopped moving again and stepped on a landing connecting to their bannister, of which immediately left them once Snape settled beside the Headmaster. It looked like they would be there for a few minutes before another case drifted by.

“Of opportunity, as you well know I meant. And don’t call him that, you know I hate it when you call him that.” Dumbledore looked out to the view of the steadily moving staircases, focusing on nothing in particular.

“Hmph.” Snape smirked.

“It doesn’t even make sense. What on earth makes him ‘golden’? He’s not a statue, he’s a little boy.”

Here Snape rolled his eyes as he joined Dumbledore’s right side (as he secretly always preferred, it being a comforting place in contrast to Voldemort’s, a place which always struck him cold deep inside his soul). “You’re babbling again.” Snape continued to tease lightly, pleased he could get under Dumbledore’s skin just the right way to get him sidetracked like this. He spoke so eloquently and wise when around most other people, but when just the two of them Snape was privy to the younger, more real part of the man’s personality. At times like this, he wouldn’t talk mostly in riddles or half-truths, and he would blab on about absolutely nothing in particular. It wasn’t the best time to gain any secrets from the man, but it was Snape’s favorite despite himself, as he gained rather a better understanding of the man’s soul, which seemed protected and closed off from the rest of the world.

Oh, these sentiments were bad, Snape knew. It would be his undoing to have such a fondness for him buried deep inside his own soul; he would likely do anything the man asked of him if this kept up. Perhaps he ought to get himself worked up again; he did much better with anger and bitterness, not this mushy warm feeling welling up inside himself. Before Dumbledore could reply, Snape cut him off.

“So you believe taking this ‘opportunity’ to cater to the whims of this little boy and supervise his ridiculous club is wise? Pay no mind to the fact that this would be in addition to my duties as a head of house, Potions Master, and night patrol. And the fact I must share the duty with Lupin, the man with a fuzzy problem.” Snape grimaced realizing he used the phrase James Potter had often loved to use as a euphemism for Lupin’s condition. Dumbledore shushed him before he could give it much more thought.

“Severus, must you be so loud? You’ll wake up the whole castle.” Dumbledore admonished a bit pettily, as Snape had been talking with normal, even tones which were drowned gently in the contant rumble and murmur of the staircases. Snape looked heavenward for patience in his exasperation.

Another case began to make its way to them, one aiming to the higher levels, which was not where they wanted to go. When it connected to their platform, they ignored it and continued their conversation.

“The opportunity to spend more time with Harry, to figure out what’s bothering him, ‘what he’s up to’, seems like it would be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.” Dumbledore commented, leaning back against the wall slightly and shaking out some wrinkles in his night robes.

“As I’ve said a hundred times over, I couldn’t care less what may be bothering the infernal teenager. Finding out about this attitude change, what he’s hiding, can be done in more subtle ways, without an excess of time wasted in his presence, more than it already is.”

“Like tonight’s detention?”

Snape didn’t know what to say to that, his own mind and heart still reeling from everything that happened, in the classroom and the infirmary. Dumbledore placed a hand on his arm.

“We both know something is wrong, and it is our duty to find out in order to help him. And in so doing, protect him from whatever dark influence Voldemort may try and strike against him this year…” Snape felt any bitter retorts die in his throat at the worried look Dumbledore was giving him. The gravity of the situation was finally rearing its ugly head. This was sound logic, of course. The Dark Lord had tried to kill the boy twice in as many years so far…and though perhaps not predictable, Riddle was indeed a creature of habit. That is, when he wanted something. Snape had seen this manic fixation first hand during the first war, when the dark wizard had begun to target the Potters.

A chill ran up his cloak and settled in his spine at the thought.

“I want you to honor Harry’s request you be there, sponsoring this dueling club with Remus. Besides, you’ve been nagging me about teaching defense for years now, here is your chance.”

Snape snorted in derision. “I will be there. But I will not be lifting a finger to teach an additional class for the sake of Potter’s latest whim, mark my words.” Another staircase connected to their landing and Dumbledore led the way downward through its steps.

“I shall. Now then, you and I must get some sleep.” Dumbledore continued, Snape seeing they were about to part ways; he on his way further down to the dungeons, and the Headmaster through this level’s corridor to his own quarters.

“Seems moot at this point.” Snape grumbled, stepping down, readying himself to catch the case he wanted nearing his position.

Dumbledore smiled at his collegue, soft but sad. “Goodnight, Severus.”

Snape turned a moment to meet his eyes and nod. “Good morning, Albus.” And with a tired smirk, he stepped gracefully onto the case as it slowly drew past and then away.

Dumbledore’s smile waned, as his earlier worries for Harry Potter, since at bay with the distraction of company, eeked back like a sludge. Deep in thought, the old wizard fell into a rhythmic step down the hallway, mind full and soul heavy.

--

“He tucked you in?” Ron asked, flinching away from an owl that had decided his flyaway hair needed grooming.

They were in the Owlery, early on that Thursday morning. Harry had been the one to suggest the place in which to meet and speak freely when he arrived at the common room about four hours after Snape, Dumbledore and Remus had left. Madam Pomfrey had finished fussing over him that morning, and through much sweet-talking from Harry she relented to let him go. Harry figured the sweetness of his words didn’t do much to phase the witch, but more so her pity for him. Her gaze seemed to linger at his face, worn and tired it must look, and she suggested he may sleep better in his own dorm. He was scheduled later that day to visit her again for a change of his bandage and another once-over. Harry agreed and found himself walking through the portrait hole to find both his friends, waiting and worried. Harry promised to explain after much rushed whispers, if they followed him to the Owlery, one of the few safe places he felt drawn to within the castle.

No one ever lingered too long at the Owlery, and definitely not before dawn as they were. Hermione was there as well, sitting on Harry’s other side and looking very, very worried after he finished reciting the events that had taken place, causing him to fail to return after his detention was due to be over. Harry glanced at his friends before looking back down at Hedwig whom he had in his lap, she half asleep from his soft running through her feathers. Petting Hedwig had often calmed him after a nightmare when he was back at Privet Drive; if only he had had her beside him when he woke up in the Infirmary earlier.

Harry grimaced at Ron, who seemed to back-peddle and look rightfully sheepish.

“I-I mean, not that that’s bad or anything, of course, but—”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry’s annoyance was short lived as he sighed a soft laugh. “No, Ron, it was nothing like that. I guess he just felt bad for me and overcompensated a bit in the end without thinking about it. Snape was pretty flip-floppy with his mood there…it set us all a bit off I s’pose.”

Harry could still remember Snape’s hand taking his own, inspecting with an odd curiosity for the scars Remus seemed to have detected. The firm gentleness in the wake of his yelling not minutes before left Harry feeling jumbled and unsure what exactly he should feel.

“That does seem strange.” Hermione mused as she half-stared at a feather she twirled in her hand, lost in part of her thoughts as she did so. She then looked to Harry in urgency, a new thought crossing her mind and immediately replacing any train dedicated to the oddness of their professors for the time being.

“Oh! Ron! Tell Harry about your letter!”

Harry looked at his best friend expectantly. Ron straightened up, his countenance changing to excitement.

“Bill replied to me n’ Hermione’s letter! I got it last night when I came back from detention.”

Harry grinned, his previous discomfort and edginess dissolved into excitement. “Fantastic, what did he say?”

“Oh get this—he was practically ecstatic that I wanted to learn more about ancient curse-breaking and old wards.” Ron beamed, absolutely thrilled he had his eldest brother’s approval. Harry smiled right back, extremely happy for Bill’s response.

“And,” Hermione took up, her own excitement shining through, “Bill said that he had a job he had to finish in Rome but would ask to take off a few days soon so he can visit and help us in person about our ‘school project’.” She giggled and clapped her hands together in glee.

“Oh that’s brilliant.” Harry murmured, his own mind-gears turning as he made plans to devote to this eventual meeting between them. This could be a big break in understanding just what defenses Hogwarts had at their disposal, especially should they be unable to be backed up by the staff. Harry shuddered, renewing his determination to ensure the safety of this school and ALL those who resided there. Except for Scabbers of course. Which, speaking of…

“So, we’ve had Pettigrew under lock and key, and with Crookshanks keeping watch we should be good for a little while longer.” Harry laid out, “But I haven’t heard from Sirius. Hedwig didn’t come back with a reply…but I know he got the food and my letter. Hedwig wouldn’t have left them unless he himself had received the parcel.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t of the right mind, Harry.” Hermione gently suggested.

“Maybe he didn’t think to send one. I get pretty distracted by food too.” Ron shrugged, hoping to ease Harry’s worry. But it was a nagging feeling Harry kept in his heart, the one that held his doubts in himself and his plans.

“And hey, maybe he just didn’t have anything to write with, yeah? Even using the back of your letter, he’d still need a quill of some kind. And having no wand…” Ron mused, walking over to Errol and picking off a lose feather from his neck. The old owl gave him a disinterested hoot and turned his head around to tuck into a wing.

“That’s true…I should have thought to send one along. Still, he might have pinched a quill somewhere if he really wanted to reply. You’d think he would, given what I wrote him.”Harry moped, picking at his bandage on his hand. Hermione followed the action with her gaze, looking like she wanted to change the subject back to his odd dream-vision, but sensed it was not the right time.

“Give him time, Harry. He’s still got a way to travel yet, and perhaps if he knows things are being handled on our end he can take more time. Clear his head a bit for a proper correspondence. ” Hermione suggested as they stood to leave. Light was peeking through the tops of the trees, as the blues of night shrank away from the muddy oranges of daylight. Soon, the rest of the castle would be up, and it would be time for breakfast.

Harry nodded, glumly but resigned to allay his worries on Sirius for now. They began to trudge their descent down from the tower in which the Owlery was located and toward the path that led to the Great Hall.

“Did either of you get any sleep?” Harry asked, remembering the hour in which he had found them already dressed and awake, waiting for him in the common room.

“Not really.” Hermione replied as Ron piped up his own “no.”

“You both need your rest.” Harry sent them both a stern look, hypocritical though it was. Ron huffed.

“Right, and you don’t?”

“I was always used to getting up early.” Harry evaded, not really in the mood to argue but also too stubborn to let it go.

“We’re just…restless.” Hermione intervened, soothing the tension from a night lacking sleep because of Harry’s disappearance.

“Yeah. We’ve been here barely a week but I feel like we’re wasting time. There’s still so much to do.” Ron agreed, wiping a hand over his face tiredly.

“I know. It’s hard to enjoy being here with everything looming over us.” Harry agreed. They turned a corner and moved down a lengthly hallway. It was one of the few that held no portraits, which was why Harry chose this way. The walls usually very literally had ears, and one had to be careful. “Did you two have any luck studying while I was with Snape?”

“I did some more research on the Trace, actually, while Ron did our homework.” Hermione stopped, and the two boys halted their pace as well.

“Oh. Ron, you did our homework?” Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Ron’s ears turned pink and he crossed his arms.

“Well, someone’s got to, don’t they? Besides, I needed to keep busy while we waited for you, and ‘Mione knew what she was looking for.”

“Good show, mate.” Harry grinned, clapping him on the arm. “I’ll take tonight’s work, to make up for last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was good Hermone got the extra time. She found something that may be useful—“ Ron began but was interrupted.

“Now what nonsense are you blathering on about, Weasley?” Said a voice coming around the opposite corner to join in their hallway.

--

Ten minutes earlier.

“So you’re not going to tell me about it.” Nott’s voice was emotionless, all except for a smidge of offense, as if this were a personal affront. But Slytherins weren’t so transparent, were they?

Draco tilted his head back against the window pane, the base of which they were both seated, talking as the first rays of sunlight shone above the tallest trees of the Forbidden Forest. It was a quiet part of the castle this time of the morning, near the Owlery and away from the more occupied classrooms a level or two down. It was what made him come here after the evening he had had. Unluckily though, Theodore Nott had been the one to wake him from his nightmare. His simple words of “We need to talk” had put Draco on edge in much the same way his nightmare had, but for very different reasons.

“Why do you even want to know?” Draco huffed, his silver eyes colder than normal, and very untrusting at the moment. Perhaps he was just unused to being on uneven footing. Not since the Trials.

Theodore broke the shared gaze to look at the opposite wall. He looked upset, but Draco could not really fathom why. This was about him, not Nott. If anything, he should be the one upset.

“I…I thought…” Nott stopped wringing his robes he had suddenly realized he was even doing, and then he exhaled sharply. “I just have never seen you that way before. I wanted to know if it had been a common occurrence.”

Draco looked at him again, trying to figure out his motive.

“Why would you think that?” He asked, more curious than accusatory.

“You had a silencing spell on.”

Draco winced at being so thick as not to remember that little detail. Of course it had been clear he had had nightmares before, if he were taking precautions against being heard.

“So now you’re watching me sleep?” Draco countered, a bit rudely as he pushed himself off his perch and rounded on the Slytherin he had once called a friend. These days he didn’t know what to call Nott or anyone in his house…but friend just seemed too foreign now. ‘Friend’ these days looked like a gangly mite of a wizard with a rat’s nest of raven hair and circular thick-framed glasses.

Nott blinked in hurt surprise, turning away his gaze and wringing his hands slightly on the hem of his robes.

“I…no, don’t be daft.” Nott managed to shoot a glare at Draco with that, but looked down at his shoes again. “I…I just happened to be awake, and saw you…” his voice dropped to a whisper. “And I thought…well, because I get them too.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. Theodore had never, never shared anything so…personal…in all the years he had known him. Besides, it wasn’t normal for a Slytherin to share a weakness, much less with another fellow snake.

“You shouldn’t have told me that.” Draco whispered, his expression slightly confused. Nott looked up sharply, his face tinged with pink and a crinkled brow.

“I wanted to. That way we’re even.” Nott replied, now standing there stoically, artificially calm and resolute.

“Even. Right.” Draco’s tone was stilted and the air around them was now awkward.

“So?” Nott prodded, not at all affected by the atmosphere as Draco was—or, at the very least, he was more determined to get an answer.

“…So..? ‘So’ what?” Draco asked, moving forward to leave the corridor but keeping his gaze on Nott who was at his side and matching his pace, undeterred.

“So, you’ve had a nightmare…are having nightmares. Did you want to..uh..talk about them?”

Draco shuddered a bit, accosted first by Harry and now Theodore for the very same thing. What weird dimension had he woken up to this morning?

“Not really.” Draco sighed, slowing his pace as they neared a corner. His nightmare had been a bit nonsensical, but at the end it had morphed into his memories at the Manor during the Dark Lord’s stay. Needless to say, it would be difficult to explain much less talk about with someone like Nott.

“I see.” Nott murmured, his eyes turning a bit cold but unsurprised as he stared ahead as they walked. Draco managed to catch it as he stole a look his way, gauging his reaction.

“It’s…not that I don’t eh, trust you.” Draco began but Nott snorted, they both stopping in their path to focus on their conversation as it turned.

“Don’t patronize me, Malfoy.” Nott hissed, crossing his arms. He was hurt, Draco realized. “I don’t expect you to confide in me all your deepest darkest secrets—only idiodic Gryffindors and overly-sentimental Hufflepuffs do so. But I had thought…we could be fr—allies, at least. Since we both…ugh. Just nevermind.” He made to walk off in a heated rush, but Draco pulled at his arm and stopped him.

“Nott—Theo. Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Draco replied in a low, more serious voice. The apology alone made Nott pause. “I just…I’m not sure where to even begin, even if I was ready to talk about it.” Draco let Nott go and simply waited for a reply; this was as honest as he was going to be.

“I understand.” Theo’s eyes softened just so, and Draco felt warmed by it, adding a relieved smile of his own to the lanky Slytherin. It was at that moment they heard voices picking up from the other corridor. They shared a look and Draco led the approach to the voices, Theo trailing behind hesitantly. Since when did they run headlong into anything like a Lion? He thought as he followed the blonde.

“…on’t they? Besides, I needed to keep busy while we waited for you, and ‘Mione knew what she was looking for.”

“Good show, mate. I’ll take tonight’s work, to make up for last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was good Hermone got the extra time. She found something that may be useful—“

Draco couldn’t help the elated look on his face at hearing the Trio’s voices, and missed the slightly perturbed look Theo gave him at his reaction as he picked up his speed to meet them.

“Now what nonsense are you blathering on about, Weasley?” Draco called almost happily, as he tried to school his features. Theo couldn’t help but join him as they stopped in front of the three Gryffindors.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked a bit shocked to see Draco, but contrary to how Theo expected them to react, they greeted him warmly.

“Morning Draco.” Harry grinned, clapping him on the back. Ron and Hermione also bid him good morning. They then turned to Theo, who felt ansty at being outnumbered.

“Morning Nott.” Harry nodded to the other boy, his tone more neutral but no less warm.

“Potter.” Nott merely replied, then look to the other two Gryffindors. “Weasley. Granger.”

“We were on our way to breakfast…would you two care to join us?” Hermione asked softly.

Theo matched Draco’s gaze before the blonde accepted—for them both, which irritated Theo as he had no desire to spend time with these three. And he had yet to figure out how exactly Potter of all people would prove to have some sort of ground-breaking power as Draco had implied. He seemed just a snotty, rule-breaking, loud Gryffindor like the rest of his house.

Well…maybe not loud. Potter was oddly quiet unless provoked, as Theo had noticed over the last two-ish years.

So on they walked, down the way which led to the Great Hall. But where it would normally be awkward, Draco seemed perfectly at ease with the others, and it was a spectacle Theo couldn’t help but take in as they pushed on. Potter said something awkwardly clever (somehow a contradiction that the raven-haired lion seemed able to pull off) and his obnoxious best friend barked a laugh. Even Draco Malfoy was smiling—a genuine one at that since his silver eyes crinkled just so as he did. And the Mudbl—well. The muggleborn…she seemed to still be in her rather odd mood of shrinking into herself but she too looked aglow with mirth at the happiness of her…friends. The four looked so chummy, the only division being the overbearing amount of garnet and gold in contrast to the more subtle silver and juniper.

Theo felt like he was having a stroke.