After a summer spent with Professor Snape, and the new understanding that had developed between them, Harry was unpleasantly surprised to find Potions the same nightmare it had always been. Even though Snape had expressly warned him that he could treat Harry no differently in front of the children of Death Eaters, Harry still harbored a tiny hope that Snape would be less cruel to him than he’d been in the past. After all, hadn’t things changed between them over the summer?

 Yet, after a particularly trying lesson where Harry had actually brewed an acceptable potion, Snape had berated it—and Harry—as utterly worthless. Snape then proceeded to banish Harry’s potion, much to Harry’s chagrin. Harry set his head on the desk and refused to move. Betrayal warred with anger which warred with a part of himself that was trying to reason that this was all just an act. But dammit all to hell if it didn’t feel real and hurtful.

When the bell finally rang, Harry raised himself off the desk and began gathering his belongings.

Snape’s harsh, angry voice rang through the air: “Potter, see me after class.”

Sighing, Harry slumped back onto his stool and dropped his head onto the table once more. Fan-fucking-tastic, he thought.

As the students filed out, Snape snapped, “Potter, in my office, NOW.”

Harry dragged himself to his feet and entered Snape’s office through the back classroom door that connected the two.

He didn’t look up when Snape slammed the door, or when Snape warded it and put a silencing charm up.

“Care to explain yourself, Potter?” Snape queried, his voice still sounding angry.

Harry looked up to see Snape leaning against his desk, arms and ankles crossed, his eyes radiating anger and impatience.

“ME?” Harry demanded, outraged. “I am not the one who was being a complete bast…”

“Watch yourself, Potter,” Snape commanded, his eyes flashing.

“My potion was FINE!” Harry shouted. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was as good as or better than a lot of the other potions in class and on one else had their potion banished!” Harry slammed his book bag onto a chair. “I am not the best student in the class, but I am certainly not the worst. And YOU,” Harry emphasized, pointing a finger at the man, “you always…” Harry swallowed, feeling angry tears clog his throat. “Fuck,” he muttered, and spun away.

“Potter,” Snape snapped. “You will cease this behavior at once!”

Harry kicked out at a chair, cursing as the action did nothing to relieve his irritation but made his foot throb. Still not looking at Snape, he breathed, “Why are you doing this? I thought…”

“You thought what, Potter?” Snape said, his voice derisive.

“I thought things had changed between us,” Harry said, angrily swiping a tear from his face.

There was silence for a long time as Snape studied him. And then Snape sighed. “Sit down, Potter.”

Harry sat.

Snape took the seat behind his desk. “We’ve had this discussion at least twice before, Potter. Before the term began.”

“I know,” Potter said, “I just thought… I didn’t expect… I didn’t know it would be so hard.” Harry let out a breath and starred at the floor. In a much smaller voice, he added, “I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

When Harry looked up, Snape’s gaze was shuttered.

“How can you do it?” Harry asked. “How can you walk around exuding hatred for everyone around you, and yet…”

“Feel something different inside?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, ducking his head.

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Snape replied. “And there’s a lot more at stake here than your fragile feelings, Potter. Your life, for one. And mine, for another.”

Harry’s head snapped up. Snape didn’t look so angry anymore. He looked more exasperated than anything. Harry let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “You’re right, sir. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling overemotional at the moment, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“No apology needed,” Snape said, getting to his feet. “But do us both a favor, Potter, and please try and remember that we both have a role to play. This isn’t a game we can afford to lose.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do better at remembering.”

“I doubt you will,” Snape said. “But try to, anyway.”

Potions still continued to be a nightmare after that, but Harry tried his best to keep his head down and not rise to the bait that Snape so eloquently handed him. He had also worked out that, even though Snape banished his potion attempts and decried his intelligence and performance every chance he got, Harry’s actual marks did not suffer. This, perhaps more than anything, helped Harry to weather the storm of Snape’s dual personality.

Harry didn’t see Snape much outside of class anymore, which was hard. He knew he could go to the taciturn wizard if he needed to, but the things that Snape had told him made sense and Harry didn’t want to risk Snape’s cover, much less his life, over some trifle. Snape was trying to keep Harry alive, after all, and it would be poor repayment to risk exposing Snape as anything other than hostile to Harry.

The only time that Harry had risked going to see Snape was when his suspicions about Draco Malfoy had become too much to ignore. Unfortunately, Snape didn’t seem inclined to believe him any more than Dumbledore had.

After stating his case, Snape merely said, “Leave it, Potter.” Snape hadn’t even looked up from the stack of essays he was marking.

“But, Professor,” Harry complained, wishing someone, anyone, would listen to him. “He is up to something. Can’t you just please look into it? Just to be sure?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Potter,” Snape replied calmly.

“I know, but I think this is more serious than just some stupid schoolboy prank or whatever you might think it is. He’s up to something!”

Snape set down his quill and gave Harry a hard look. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Sir?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling like he’d overstepped some invisible boundary.

Snape rose from his desk, anger clear on his features, his fists clenched. “I told you to leave it. I told you it doesn’t concern you. I told you to drop it. But you can’t, can you?”

Harry took a step back. “I just thought… I mean… you’re his head of house and… I thought… well…I thought you should know…”

“You thought I should know,” Snape repeated in a dangerous, mocking voice.

Harry swallowed and took another step back.

“And did it not occur to you that I might already know? That, in fact, I might know more than you?”

“I…” Harry began, unnerved by how much Snape sounded like Dumbledore in that moment.

“Of course it didn’t,” Snape sneered. “Is your need to play the hero so great that it’s worth risking everything on your simple-minded suspicions? The Great Harry Potter knows more than everyone else, is that it?”

“Stop,” Harry said. “Don’t. Please.”

“Then don’t question my position!” Snape snapped.

“I wasn’t,” Harry protested.

“Yes, you were. You accused me of neglecting my students and my responsibilities.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Get out, Potter, and don’t bother me with this again.”

“But…”

“Out!” Snape said, his lip curling, as pointed at the door.

Part of Harry wanted to run, but another part of him knew he couldn’t leave it like this between them, if only for his own sake. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He opened his mouth to speak and then really looked at Snape. The wizard looked drawn and tired. Worry lines creased his forehead. He was even trembling slightly, and Harry had the feeling it was due to stress or worry, not anger.

“You’re right,” Harry said. “I have no right to question how you do your job. I’m sorry.”

Snape’s arm dropped and the anger on his face slipped into a scowl.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m an idiot sometimes. You know that,” Harry said.

Snape snorted. “That you are, Potter.”

Harry hesitated. Were they good? He didn’t want to leave on bad terms.

Snape returned to his desk and sat down. “Don’t you have studying to do or something?” Snape asked. Snape scrubbed a hand over his face, as if dealing with Harry, with everything, was just too much for him this evening.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll just go now, then, okay?”

Snape nodded.

As Harry reached for the door, Snape said, “Your instincts are good, Potter, but your ability to keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong is abysmal.”

“Right,” Harry said, smiling at being back on steady ground with Snape. “I’ll try and keep that in mind.” Harry heard Snape snort in response as he slipped out the door.

The term seemed to drag on as all of the professors were constantly harping about NEWTs the following year. As such, the complexity of the subject matter, as well as the amount of homework, seemed to increase exponentially. Everyone in Gryffindor tower was struggling, except perhaps Hermione, who stuck to a study schedule no matter what.

Thus, it was a bit of a surprise when she agreed to accompany Harry and Ron that Saturday for a trip to Hogsmeade. It was the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas and Harry was hoping to get a little shopping done. It was always a bit dodgy trying to shop for your friends and surprise them when your friends were actually with you the whole time. But as they’d been expressly bidden to stick together in groups for their own safety, they’d had to make the best of it.

Having finished their shopping, they decided to head to the Three Broomsticks before making the trek back to the castle. A light snow was falling and a group of carolers were singing Christmas songs in front of one of the shops on the high street as they passed.

Harry was enjoying the day. He’d managed to purchase gifts for Ron and Hermione without them noticing—or so he hoped—and he’d also found something small for Snape, an ornate pocket potions journal that was charmed to notice patterns in potions or ingredients and point them out to the brewer; Harry hoped the man would like it. It wasn’t much, but he wanted to get him something for helping him get through the past summer. The autumn term hadn’t been great between them, but Harry supposed it was the best it could be, given the circumstances.

Harry smiled and turned to ask Hermione about what she was doing over the Christmas holidays when she suddenly went rigid, her face blank.

“Hermione?” he asked.

Then a hand clamped on his arm and the compressing bands of Apparition closed around him. The last thing he saw was Ron and Hermione, rigid as boards, falling face first into the snow, not even raising their arms to block their fall. Then he was being sucked away, an ominous feeling and the first stirrings of panic filling his gut.