~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 26th September, 1997

Harry couldn't seem to catch a break in that final week of September. He woke up suddenly before dawn on Friday morning to the familiar pain ripping through his body he too often knew came from his chemotherapy tablets, and shivering so ferociously his charmed yellow blanket had no hope in combating the cold from his bones. Though he had been bound to have a "bad day" - outside of the daily fatigue he'd mostly gotten used to and then the bleeding from two days ago - while at school, he had foolishly allowed himself to fall into a false sense of security surrounded by the normalcy of the last month. Now, the nausea and pain were back to remind him his body still had to keep fighting to keep the cancer away; he wasn't completely healed yet, his battle was still far from victory.

Having not considered what he'd do in this scenario, when the nausea became too much to handle in his room - and he could admit it wouldn't quickly pass - he pulled the crimson curtains away from around his bed, grabbed his glasses, shoving them onto his face so quickly they sat half crooked , and wished he had the self-cleaning pail beside him. Rushing up from his bed he raced out of the room and down the circular stairs, heading straight to the lavatory he shared with all the other Gryffindor boys.

The tower was designed with four floors higher than the common room - the lavatory, then three dormitories - with the remaining four dormitories below the Common Room. When he first moved into Hogwarts, Harry loved that they'd been lucky enough to have the top floor; and even happier when he found only the sign outside changed each year rather than the location within the Tower, giving them a prime location each of his seven years in Gryffindor. After living in a cupboard in the middle of the house for pretty much all of his life, he felt a strange calm at sitting on the window ledge overlooking the grounds from such a high angle. Having to go down three rounds of the spiral stairs to use the lavatory never bothered him before, but he'd rarely been sick to his stomach while away at school, and if he had been, a quick trip to Madam Pomfrey for a Stomach Soother always did the trick to prevent the middle of the night rush to the loo.

Harry's bare feet pattered down the cold stone steps, almost in the same cadence as his beating heart, with only the early morning moonlight filtering into through the windows and the soft, dimmed glow from the few lanterns lit for this exact purpose: guiding his way. Located on the floor above the Common Room - three floors down from Harry's dorm - the boys' lavatory was split into two half circles, separated by a wall of sinks. The door from the staircase led directly into the left side consisting of the toilets and sinks, and at the far end a small walkway between the two halves led around to the other side where their showers were located. It seemed small for the amount of boys sharing the space, but they'd never really had any issues. By now, they all pretty much knew who liked to wake up early for the first crack at the showers, and those who - like Ron - would prefer to sleep and shower later. Harry always hoped, yet doubted, the girls had a bigger space than the boys otherwise they would never make it to class on time without needing to wake at some awful early hour in the morning.

Entering into the lavatory in record time, Harry felt grateful to have just barely made it into the first stall before the nausea completely overtook him. Feeling utterly alone, kneeling on the cold floor in front of the loo as the vomiting tore through his body - having no idea how long until morning nor how he'd get to his medication set aside for these occasions - reminded him of those early treatment days back at Privet Drive. Back then, he had no idea what to expect from the chemo and once he realized what was in store for him, he thought he'd have to go through it all alone. That was until Snape showed up and rather than mock his weakness like Harry had fully expected from the man, he genuinely helped him. Never would Harry be able to explain to anyone how much he appreciated the professor's presence during those early sick days. Looking back, those days had started them on the long road to where they were now, and without them, Harry doubted he would have been able to overcome his animosity for the Slytherin. It was the only real thing he owed to his illness.

When the heaving finally subsided and Harry's weak body could no longer hold himself up, Harry laid down on the floor in front of the toilet, on his side with his knees drawn to his chest, completely unaware of his convulsive shivering. His blue and white striped pyjamas clung to every angle of his torso from his sweat, yet at the same time he couldn't get warm. Frustration tore through his mind as he thought about his current circumstances. How could he feel perfectly fine going to bed yesterday and wake up only hours later unable to move? He knew, of course, but somehow being surrounded by the school environment - and knowing his dorm mates slept soundly only floors above him - made the reasoning all the more crushing than ever before.

Against all odds, the young wizard managed to fall asleep on the lavatory floor, only waking up sick one more time between his arrival at the loo and when he felt a pair of warm hands shaking his arm.

"Harry?!" Ron's panicked voice called into his ear, the word feeling like it was beating against the side of his skull. "Harry, wake up, mate."

With a groan, the raven-haired Gryffindor rolled over from his side onto his back and cracked his eyes open to see Colin and Dennis Creevey - still dressed in their pyjamas - standing over him and Ron kneeling to his right. Light coming in from over the top of the stall told him somehow he'd made it to morning, but he knew there was no way he'd be able to go to classes that day.

"S'ry, guys," mumbled Harry as he tried to sit up, quickly finding he didn't have the energy to move on his own.

"Careful there," Ron told him, helping Harry up until he could lean his back against the side of the stall. His face flushed as he looked over at the Creevey brothers watching him, and picking up on Harry's embarrassment, Ron pushed them aside and lectured, "Give 'im some privacy, will ya?!"

Alone - at least in the stall, Harry could still see feet out in the lavatory - he went to tell his friend "thank you" but ended up back over the loo. As he succumbed to another round of violent vomiting, he tried not to think about the people standing outside listening to him be sick and instead focused on his friend's hand firmly pressed around his shoulders, as if to remind Harry he wasn't alone, yet not exactly sure what his friend would need from him.

"Ron? 'arry?" Seamus asked, peeking his head into the doorway. "I grabbed all de bottles from 'arry's bedside table, naht sure what any o' dem do though."

Harry reached out with a shaking arm and the other wizard dropped them in his hands.

"Can you get 'im a goblet of water?" Ron asked, while Harry searched the bottles for the correct one to help his nausea, though having no real hope that it would work. Once he found the right one, he handed the rest to Ron, who was watching him carefully dispense two white, oval tablets. "You sure it's those, mate?"

If he didn't feel so sick, Harry would have answered back with some sarcastic remark about having taken enough of the tablets to know which was which, except he didn't have the energy. Instead, he glared over at his friend - noticing he had come to the lavatory still dressed in only his undershirt and bright red boxer shorts, not appearing to care at all - then took the offered goblet from Seamus and swallowed the tablets.

"Thanks," he groaned and went to lay back down on the cold floor when he heard a lot of mumbling outside. Then, as if there weren't enough spectators already, Dean squeezed into the opened stall doorway with his charmed blanket.

"Here ya go, Harry," his friend said, "I've cleared out the lavatory for you, and Neville went to get Professor Snape."

"Neville went?" Harry closed his eyes through another wave of pain, shivering as Ron covered him in the blanket. Maybe he should take a pain tablet too.

Ron moved from his kneeling position to his bottom, only managing to fit because Harry shifted his legs over into the stall beside them, and began to explain, "When the Creevey brother, I was too tired to figure out which one, came in telling us you were sick in loo, I knew we needed to get him, but only Neville and I knew where his quarters are... I offered to go and was practically out the door, but Neville said I should be here with you and that he'd do it."

Gratitude. Harry's tired body flooded with so much gratitude it almost replaced the sick feeling inside of him. Neville - the one Gryffindor everyone mocked for being one - hadn't thought twice before going to potentially wake up his boggart for Harry. These had been his first friends, his first family, and he didn't know how he'd ever repay them, or how he'd manage the next several years in school without them when they left for the real world at the end of the year.

Harry's ears picked up a stern knock on the outside door of the lavatory and he knew it had to be Snape arriving. Dean glanced back at the same time the door opened and the room became filled with noise from the stairwell; by this point, the other boys would have either heard what was going on with Harry, or legitimately needed to use the facilities and had been told to bugger off. Regardless of the reason, Harry knew he had to move and get out of their way.

"Hold it, Mr Potter," McGonagall's firm voice said when he started the stand. "Severus will be here shortly."

What's she doing in the boys' lavatory?!

Ron must have thought the same thing, because he looked down at his unorthodox pyjamas and his entire face flushed when he met Harry's eyes. It had been enough to make Harry give a small chuckle.

" 'm alright, Professor," Harry tried to reassure her, but his trembling voice betrayed his confidence. In reality, his body had been getting used to feeling healthy, so this change not only came as an emotional challenge, but a more physical one than he hadn't been used to.

The door opened and closed again and this time no sound was heard from the hallway, meaning either a privacy ward had been cast or Snape scared everyone in the stairwell away; a sight Harry would have loved to see.

"Mr Finnegan, Mr Thomas, if you'll please go back to your dorm? I believe you have classes to get ready for," Snape's dark voice came from the other side of the stall, dismissing the two Gryffindors.

"What's going on?" Neville's voice boldly called out from somewhere near the lavatory door. "Is- is he gonna be alright?"

The sigh from Snape couldn't be any more condescending; as if to say had Harry been in any actual danger, the professors wouldn't be so callous in their response.

"Yes, Mr Longbottom," the Defense Professor responded, "this is a normal reaction to his medications."

"But-" Neville tried to argue and was immediately cut off by McGonagall.

"We have this handled from here," their Head of House reassured them in a much kinder tone than Snape ever would. "Now please return to your dormitory."

Harry heard the main door open and close one more time leaving him, Ron, and the two professors remaining in the lavatory.

"Mr Weasley," McGonagall said, handing over a scarlet red dressing gown she'd obviously just conjured, her eyes disapproving of his current attire, "please give us some space."

Sheepishly, Ron stood up, his face as red as the dressing gown now tightly wrapped around his midsection, "I'll just… head back upstairs."

"Actually," Snape surprised them all with his interjection, "I'd appreciate your assistance helping Harry back to his room -" he turned to Harry and asked, "-that is unless you'd like to wait out these effects in our quarters?"

As tempting as it was to go downstairs to his comfortable, soft bed with the conveniently attached lavatory, Harry didn't want to walk through the school in his current condition and he definitely wasn't about to floo anywhere.

"No, sir," he answered, "I'll be fine here."

The two professors carefully watched him, and as he started to shift to move, Snape reached down to help him up by wrapping his arms around Harry's side.

Harry wanted to protest when both Ron and Snape assisted him back upstairs to his bed, but he found himself too exhausted to say a word. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all sitting on their beds talking; about what, Harry didn't know because they halted immediately when they saw Snape enter a half second before Harry and Ron. None of the other Gryffindors mentioned anything about the Head of Slytherin standing in their room and once again Harry was grateful to be surrounded by his friends and family.

Against all odds, Harry managed to fall asleep and next awoke to the smell of chicken soup causing his stomach to grumble; not exactly a sign that this bout was over, but good enough to tell him it likely wouldn't last the entire day. He expected to be in his bedroom down in the dungeons until he heard murmuring coming from near Ron's bed, confusing him about where he'd fallen asleep having never been sick in the Tower. Cracking his eyes open, happy for the overcast day blocking the sun from shining in on his sore eyes, another wave of nausea coursed through his body.

"Here you are, mate," Ron said, jumping up from his own bed and handing Harry the pail Snape conjured and charmed earlier that morning before he'd left to teach.

The redhead sat beside Harry, not at all shying away from his vomiting, with a hand tentatively wrapped around his shoulder, through the three waves of heaving. Once Harry placed the pail back on the floor opposite of Ron, the red-head handed him a goblet of water and his glasses.

"Thanks," Harry croaked, absolutely hating the way his throat felt on these 'bad days'. "Shouldn't you be in class right around now?"

"Naw," Ron shrugged, "McGonagall excused me for the day. Professor Snape didn't want to leave you here all alone."

"I would have survived," Harry claimed. "If I really needed someone, I could have called Dobby."

With a small chuckle, Ron said, "Snape pretty much nixed that idea the second McGonagall suggested the same thing. He wanted someone reliable."

"And he chose you?"

"I thought that too," Ron sat back on the foot of the bed so he faced Harry. He pulled out his wand and levitated over the tray containing the bowl of soup with bread from the bedside table onto Harry's lap. "We'd all do it for you, though, even without the benefit of skipping class."

The steam rising in front of him nearly warmed him up inside from just the anticipation of it sitting in his stomach. Carefully, he dipped the spoon and took a cautious sip hoping his stomach would cooperate.

"What time is it?" Harry asked. "Am I eating lunch or dinner?"

"That's lunch," Ron answered, "it's about one o'clock. The guys came by with it to check on you. You just missed 'em."

Harry's face warmed with embarrassment. "What happened this morning? I mean… how much did everyone see?"

"Enough," Ron squinted his eyes in thought. "Dean said McGonagall sat all the boys down after Snape left and explained what was going on. That you have good days and bad days, and that sometimes Snape or her may need to stop by to help. Erm… she made sure to tell us that you're not contagious… guess that question came up from a first year."

"Can't really blame them, I'd want to know the same thing if I found someone laying like that in front of the loo," Harry commented.

Ron only shrugged. A companionable silence fell over them while Harry tried to finish his soup.

"You scared me though," Ron eventually said, sounding so much unlike himself Harry almost didn't know how to react. "I think I thought you were fine now because you only take those… muggle..."

"... tablets," Harry offered.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "and then you were at Snape's for that weekend, but Monday morning you were fine at breakfast."

He could understand how based on those observations his friends could come to that assumption, unwilling to admit even to himself that occasionally he allowed himself to believe it too.

"It's not that simple," Harry thought back on some of the things Dr Snyder had told him, "this is… something that's going to come and go for the next couple of years. Ironically, most of it's from the medications, but I need 'em."

"That makes no sense," Ron confusedly stated and Harry didn't want to say he agreed.

"Let's go down to the Common Room," he told Ron instead, "I need a change of scenery."

"We can play some Wizard's Chess?" Ron offered, perking back up to his normal, more chipper self.

"Sounds great."

If Ron noticed his lack of enthusiasm, the other wizard didn't mention it. Instead, he walked directly behind Harry, who was dressed in his warmest pyjamas and wrapped in his yellow blanket, down the circular stairs to the common room. For the most part, the room was empty with only a set of fifth years studying at a table to the left of the fireplace and a pair of first years - one of whom Harry knew had been homesick lately and could often be found crying to her friends - playing Gobstones on the floor in front of the fireplace. Harry's stomach clenched at the mere thought of the smell radiating from the marbles. He paused on the bottom step, debating on if he wanted to go back upstairs or continue down and deal with the stench.

"Hey," Ron called out to the group by the fireplace, "would you mind?"

The two first years - Harry had learned their names at some point, but couldn't come close to remembering them in that moment - looked up at them and nodded. Leaving the Gobstones on the floor, in a move McGonagall would have hated to see, they took off out the portrait hole most likely heading towards their last class of the day.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry commented as he set up the chess board between them on the scarlet sofa directly in front of the fireplace. "I would have been fine with it."

"It's one of the benefits of being a seventh year," Ron smiled. "Think of all the times we were booted from the Common Room as firsties!"

Harry screwed his eyes in thought, "No, I don't think that really happened."

"Sounded good anyways," Ron replied, causing them both to laugh.

Harry couldn't help thinking about how much he needed this: to have Ron there beside him and how much time they seemed to have missed over the past year. Even now, while Harry had a much lighter schedule and was able to spend the time with his friends, more often than he'd like to admit, they were busy with exams and homework much more difficult than Harry's own. Where they used to fill their spare time with Quidditch, chess, and just messing around, it was now rarely spent all together - one of them inevitably had Head Girl or prefect duty, or was finding alone time with their significant other - and most of the time they did spend together was usually in the library. To have this break, even with only Ron, felt like healing to Harry.

They fell into a natural rhythm, talking about the upcoming Quidditch trials - incidentally, they fell on 11 October, the same day as his next chemotherapy appointment and Harry made a mental note to ask Snape about moving his treatment back a day - where Ron mentioned he'd been made Quidditch captain this year. First prefect - an honor that Harry used to resent Dumbledore for giving away to Ron, but could almost understand why he had - and now Quidditch captain. Ron had, more or less, lived up to the image he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised their first year. He wanted to feel jealous, but thinking harder about it hadn't he also attained what he wanted? Sure, he didn't get his whole family back - it would never be possible - but he had a father figure he loved and for what it was worth he'd gotten to spend time with his parents. Listening to Ron ramble on about Quidditch practice schedules, plays, and drills, Harry's mind wandered back to the mirror. What would he see if given the chance to peek into it now? The answer, of course, was what Dumbledore alluded to the night he'd found Harry sitting in front of the mirror: he was wise enough now to know not to look at it in the first place.

"You've gotten good at this," Ron grudgingly exclaimed, almost randomly. "I know it's been a while since we've played, but bloody hell you've come a long way. I actually have to think now!"

Harry smiled at the compliment, unsure when his skills - one that still got him creamed by Draco and Snape - had improved enough to notice, "Believe it or not, I've had a lot of time to play over the year. And Snape's really good, though he didn't actually teach me as much as Draco did while we were living together."

Ron audibly gulped at the mention of their fellow classmate.

"I saw him the other day," Harry mentioned, making his next move, "did I tell you that? At the hospital wing after my… fight."

"No, you didn't mention it," Ron uncomfortably answered. "How'd it go?"

"Erm… fine, I guess," he warily replied. "He was professional and didn't really say much of anything." Ron's blue eyes peered across the board at him. Harry could see the question lingering as the other Gryffindor internally debated whether to ask it or not. Putting them both out of their misery, Harry sighed and asked, "What's going on?"

"It's…" Ron's eyes averted over to the fireplace for a moment as he collected his thoughts, "Well… Why aren't you guys talking? I mean, don't get me wrong he can be a right git at times... Is that it? Did he do something-"

"No," Harry cut in leaning back against the armrest, "he didn't do anything. It's... complicated. Has he said anything? I know you guys hang out sometimes…"

He trailed off hoping Ron wouldn't take it offensively. Harry understood that sometimes they wanted to spend time as couples, especially when Harry's schedule didn't coincide with the seventh years'.

"Naw, mate, he's really quiet about it," Ron confessed, "it's not even like when we were in our row fourth year and 'Mione really felt torn in the middle. We just don't mention you… like an old divorced couple."

Harry picked up the pillow from behind his back and tossed over the board, hitting Ron in the head. The action caused their pieces to start yelling at him and then bickering between each other so quickly, neither Harry nor Ron could keep the argument straight. In the end, the two wizards started laughing again.

"Seriously though," Ron brought them back to the topic at hand, "you guys need to figure this out. I think him and Hermione are getting pretty serious-" Harry's eyebrows shot up and Ron chuckled, "-yeah, like that. I know Lav made a big fuss a couple of weeks ago about all that gossip, but I see it in Hermione's eyes. If he asked her, they'd be engaged and what would you do then?"

Harry ran his hand down his face when posed with the very blunt question. He'd kept his promise not to put Hermione in the middle, rather they all simply ignored it instead, but that couldn't last forever. At some point, he'd have to confront Draco, his nightmares of their time together, and find a way for them to move forward.

"I'll work on that," Harry committed, mostly because he had no other option.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry lost both of their games, however it wasn't nearly the slaughter - his pieces' observation, not his own - that usually happened. During their game the two of them jumped from talking about Ron and Lavender's relationship - and much to Harry's discomfort, how the couple crossed that line recently, with Ron boldly stating he couldn't believe he waited this long to do it - to Percy's apology to Mr and Mrs Weasley at the end of the summer, landing on how difficult the N.E.W.T classes were this year. Harry had just started his own complaining, telling Ron how difficult it was to have to sit through lectures he had already done and write essays over again.

"Why don't you just copy the ones you already did?" Ron suggested in a low tone as the Common Room filled with students finishing the last class of the week - it should have been Herbology for Harry and Defense for Ron. "Let's be honest here, Harry, between the two of us, I'm sure we can find most of our old essays."

"Ron," Harry tried to be serious, but his smile betrayed him, "as a Prefect, should you be encouraging this?"

"Blimey no," Ron laughed, "but Dumbledore kinda knew what he was getting when he made me one, so what can I say?"

"You know I can't do that," Harry shook his head.

To his credit, Ron didn't dwell on the subject, instead he went on about how he was sure he would fail all his N.E.W.T.s and he didn't mind because then he'd have no other option but to work with Fred and George. However, as they continued playing Ron's idea began to worm its way into his head like a parasite. He'd left most of his old essays back at Spinner's End. It'd be easy to ask Snape to go back - for what reason, he'd still have to decide - and get them. He knew they wouldn't be exactly the same as what was being requested to write now, but most would be similar enough not to bore him out of his mind when working on them.

~~~~SS~~~~

If someone were to have asked Severus to guess the most random way he would start his Friday, getting woken up by Neville Longbottom banging on the door to his quarters wouldn't have even made the list. The scenario was so unlikely, he would go as far to say that even if they were the only two souls left in the castle that morning, this specific wake up call still would not have crossed his mind. The fact that the child whose boggart was Severus had sought him out - on a sluggish morning for him of all days where he had actually still been asleep - to help out a classmate, also meant for the first time in this reality, Severus awarded the Gryffindor points.

He'd spent the previous night - longer and later than he should have given how little sleep he'd been getting - back at Spinner's End finalizing his date on Saturday night over at Mae's flat. Her flatmate Jessica was supposedly a very good cook and therefore would be preparing dinner for the three of them. In her typical pushy yet flirty way, she grilled him about foods he liked and didn't like until he had to blatantly explain to her that ninety percent of his meals came from his school and the rest consisted of him cooking for just himself and Harry, and therefore the bar was set pretty low. He wouldn't say his cooking skills were fantastic, but he was decent enough to get him and Harry by without starving or any major nutritional gaps. Needless to say, with the last several stressful weeks he'd had, Severus found he didn't want to walk away from the phone call - and the distraction it provided him - so he'd not gotten back to his quarters until almost half past midnight and it was well after one in the morning by the time he made it to bed.

Sometime over the last month of living back in the castle, Severus had managed to get used to Harry being in the Tower. Their occasional dinners sufficed his need to check in with the teen, then one random night he found he no longer had to hold his breath when walking by Harry's empty bedroom heading towards his own, and his first thought each morning wasn't questioning if he were alive. So between the late night talking with Mae, managing his students' behavior, and the nosebleed incident, Longbottom's early morning wake up call - and his subsequent message of Harry laying on the Gryffindor lavatory floor sick - shook him more than it should have. The inevitability of a bad day could not be avoided, but neither of them had wanted to discuss what to do when it did.

As he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower with Longbottom, Severus felt lucky on two accounts: his talk with the young Weasley wizard had obviously sunk into his otherwise thick skull, and Harry's accidental magic had left him alone; if it hadn't he could almost guarantee it would have been more than Longbottom at his door when the lavatory refused to allow them entry to help their friend.

Giving Weasley the day off - much to Minerva's chagrin - to stay with Harry had been a last minute decision because in that moment, all Severus knew was that he didn't want to pressure Harry to accompany him back down to the dungeons, where Severus could stay with him, if he didn't feel up to it and leaving him in the hands of the emphatical house elf Dobby made him shudder. While any of the seventh year boys would do it, Harry would wake up more comfortable seeing Ron than any of them, convincing himself that moving the seventh year's surprise quiz from their Friday class to their Wednesday class had more to do with his unwillingness to mark it this weekend than refusing to penalize Ron for missing class to help his friend.

Minerva arranged for Harry's dormmates to bring him a bowl of soup for lunch, giving Severus the ability to keep a closer eye on his students. The murmurings and rumors he'd managed to pick up following their house meeting two days ago were not positive at all. If nothing else, the process of the younger students being led to and from their classes - reminiscent of the time during the Chamber of Secrets events where the professors had to escort students to class - by an older one, seemed to show the other house that Severus was watching his pupils much closer than ever before. If only his older students would understand this basic concept, Severus could sleep more soundly.

His mind had been mostly kept occupied by his classes, massive amounts of coffee, and a small Invigorating Draught around one o'clock in the afternoon when all else seemed to fail. At the start of his last class of the day, Dean approached his desk to tell him Harry had still been asleep when they dropped off the soup at lunchtime and that Ron told him Harry had only woken up sick twice, falling back asleep easily when each round subsided. Overall, it helped calm his nerves from not getting the chance to check on Harry himself and Severus managed to end the week with some sense of control.

For dinner, he knew Harry wouldn't make it to the Great Hall and though he couldn't exactly have dinner in the Gryffindor Common Room - or the seventh year dormitory, if the young wizard hadn't managed to move throughout the day - he used bringing the meal early as a reason to visit. With a plate filled with scrambled eggs, yoghurt, peanut butter toast, and a smoothie, Severus made his way through the corridors to the Gryffindor portrait, giving The Fat Lady the faculty password - Dumbledore - then walking through the portrait hole. Prior to this year, in his tenure as a professor in both realities, Severus could count on a single hand the number of times he'd been in the Gryffindor Common Room; one of which had been to collect Harry before the Welcoming Feast this term. The gaudy crimson and gold furnishings and tapestries couldn't be any further from the sleeker cool decor of his own Common Room, exemplifying the main difference between the two houses: Gryffindors being bold and loud, compared to the subtle, hidden nature of Slytherins. And yet against all odds, he and Harry managed to overcome those differences and live harmoniously together.

Being a Friday evening, Severus wasn't sure why he'd expected to see more students around the room when he entered. The weather outside had been overcast, misty, and dreary all day, but apparently that never stopped Gryffindors from going to celebrate the start of the weekend. Severus gave a hard sigh at the Gobstone set sitting out in front of the fireplace, the previous users hastily leaving and forgetting to return it to its rightful place. Between the lack of structure in this House and Harry's upbringing as a House Elf, Severus was surprised the young wizard kept his bedroom as neat and tidy - comparatively speaking - as he did.

In the almost empty Common Room, he easily found Harry laying across the sofa in front of the fireplace and the Gobstone set, causing Severus to question if Harry had been the one playing earlier. Upon his entry into the room, the seven or so other students quickly gathered their belongings and swiftly dispersed up the staircases leading to the dorms. His eyes narrowed at the sight of two fifth year girls heading up with the group of boys to the boys' dormitory. Slytherin's dorms also allowed the girls access to the boys' dorms - and conversely not the other way around - yet he'd never actually seen it happen. As this wasn't his house to manage, he'd let it go without so much as a comment to Minerva; there was a reason for the large discrepancy between the number of appropriate relationship conversations she had to have with her students compared to himself.

As he carefully approached Harry - in an effort not to scare the teen - Severus almost choked when he noticed the sketchbook and pencils in the Gryffindor's lap and hands. Not wanting to make too many assumptions, he tried to keep the small sliver of hope at bay, however when he saw the subject of the sketch was from the Weasley-Delacor wedding - Harry and Luna dancing alongside Ginny with Dean, and even Hermione and Draco - he couldn't help feeling relieved. This was a good sign, a sign of healing, and a sign of progress.

"Harry?" He called out from behind the young wizard, not wanting to surprise him, nor draw too much attention to him seeing the young wizard sketching. "I brought you some dinner."

As expected, Harry closed the sketchbook quickly, embarrassed to have been caught doing the activity directly correlating to his mental health, and shifted his body to make room for Severus to sit beside him on the sofa. Harry's face was too pale and too tired to be considered back to health, nevertheless he appeared better than he did on any of his previous "bad days". By the morning, he'd be back up and moving almost as well any of his healthy days.

"Thanks," Harry took the offered plate. "I'm not too hungry right now though."

"There's a stasis charm over the plate," Severus explained. "My presence is required at dinner tonight, however I'll be by check on you afterwards and would like to see at least some of it eaten."

Harry nodded. By now, they intimately knew the landscape of these times and their designated roles during them. Severus knew the Gryffindor understood how important it was for him not to completely skip his meals.

"How did today go?" The professor asked. "I half anticipated you to still be in bed."

"Today wasn't too bad," Harry admitted, "outside of this morning at least. I think I slept most of it off… really wish that happened more often. Thanks for coming this morning, by the way."

"You need not thank me for that," Severus predictably stated. "As a reminder, though, I understand it's not always easy to remember during those times, your sphere will work across the castle. Should you need me, that is always the fastest way to alert me."

"Yeah," Harry frowned, fiddling with the hem of his blanket, "I didn't think about it at the time."

"It's an adjustment and we'll get used to navigating these new times," Severus kindly told him. "And you are always welcome back at our quarters when you're having a sick day."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed, then took a sip of the smoothie. Severus knew the odds of him only consuming that portion of his dinner was higher than he wanted to see. "Do you still want me in detention tonight?"

Severus gave an exhausted chuckle, having completely forgotten about the child's punishment for fighting. Closing his eyes to mentally bring up his schedule, Severus said, "We'll reschedule tonight's to Wednesday night."

"Wednesday?" Harry confusedly asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I do have other obligations to arrange it around," he commented realizing what a bad week it'd been based on the number of detentions he'd given. "Unless you'd prefer to serve it with Filch on Monday."

"No," Harry promptly responded. "Sunday and Wednesday are perfect."

The pair sat on the sofa, watching the dancing flames of the fire as they crackled and moved across the stones containing them, and once again Severus's eyes were drawn to the setup of Gobstones. "My mother used to play Gobstones," Severus randomly said, a scowl on his face, unsure why he felt compelled to share the tidbit of information.

"She did?"

Based on the tone used, Severus could tell the teen was equally surprised by the revelation. His green eyes brightened up over the prospect of learning something new about the professor.

He'd been thinking of his parents, how he'd shunned muggles for years because he naturally assumed his mother would have been happier had she married a wizard. Now that he was… whatever he had… with Mae, he could start to understand why she'd gotten into a relationship with Tobias in the first place. She hadn't been thinking about how he would eventually turn on her and their son over the fact they had magic. Could she have really known the man she'd fallen in love with - giving up her family and her world for - would eventually turn on her? She'd only been thinking about how much cared for him.

"The lowest of the wizarding games, yes," Severus growled. "She was the head of the Gobstone team here at school."

Harry smiled, "Did you join?"

"Absolutely not," he remembered, "though my mother insisted on it each year. In her delusional mind, since she was so adept at the sport, she assumed I had to be. Instead, I told her potions took up too much of my time."

"Do you regret it?" Harry's inquisitively asked. "Lying to her, I mean?"

"I didn't say I lied."

"You didn't have to."

"No," Severus shook his head. "I never thought twice about it. Things were hard enough without adding Gobstones to the mix."

"If your dad was a muggle," Harry cautiously began, "how did they meet?"

The question was innocent enough, and one Harry had asked him in his old reality, albeit at a much younger age.

When Severus began to speak next, he purposefully chose not to make eye contact with Harry as he went through the story. "Their fathers - to say, my grandfathers - were miners working in separate towns, but for companies owned by the same family… a set of brothers if I remember correctly. My mother's father mined for Moonstones, which you should be familiar with its use in potions-" Harry nodded, hopefully remembering the essay from his fifth year on the Draught of Peace, "- and my father's father mined for coal in the muggle mine. They met at a cross company function the summer after my mother's final year at Hogwarts. They courted shortly after, and I can only assume things had been well enough, they were happy when they got married and when my father took the job at the height of the paper mill in Cokeworth."

Severus didn't mention - and Harry didn't ask - that atypical for the era, his parents had him later in their life; just shy of thirty the year of his birth. He had his suspicions as to why they had no desire to have children earlier, his father's alcoholism and abusiveness the leading theory. The idea of his mother not wanting to bring a child into the world and subjected to a father like Tobias Snape made him feel minisculey better about his childhood; that if she'd had her way he would have been saved from his own childhood. Though for whatever reason, he did exist and his father's blatant hatred towards them, coupled with his mother's resentment, certainly helped to support his theory. Between his and his mother's magic and the mill taking a deep decline before he started at Hogwarts, Severus and his mother never stood a chance. Harry didn't need to know that information. This Harry had seen enough while attempting to protect himself during their awful Occlumency lessons in his fifth year to connect the dots.

"And my mum's dad?" Harry's eyes had brightened as they usually did whenever they talked about his mother, "I guess that would be my grandfather… he worked at the mill too?"

Severus inclined his head slightly, "In the time Lily and I lived there, just about everyone in Cokeworth worked for the mill in some capacity. As I'm sure you saw, the neighborhood varied based on the position in the mill. My father could barely keep his job as an operator, showing up hungover more times than I could count, whereas Mr Evans started as a superintendent and eventually worked his way up into the management team. Luckily, he had enough foresight to move on long before the mill closed. See, my father had far too much pride to listen to anyone else about how to keep his job and stayed until the end."

"Did you spend a lot of time with my grandparents?"

"The Evans always welcomed me into their home and family," Severus smiled, thinking back on his Christmas spent skiing with them, in spite of Petunia's angry fussing when she couldn't bring her boyfriend, "and I spent as much time there, or more accurately away from my own home, as possible."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, just above a whisper, staring down at his hands as he ran them across the yellow blanket covering his legs.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," Severus replied, genuinely confused as to what could have triggered this reaction, though knowing without a doubt what the apology was for. "All of that occured years before you were born, ergo you have no reason to apologize."

"I just know what it's like-"

"Your situation, while similar in nature, is the one deserving an apology," he made sure to emphasize the last word. "You had adults place you in that home and never thought to check in on your well being. It's quite different when the child is born into such an environment."

"I disagree," Harry shrugged and he tried to hide a big yawn as he took another sip from his smoothie, "it's not like you got to choose your parents. Well, I guess you could have run away like Sirius did, but by then it's kinda too late."

Severus scowled at the idea of being compared to the likes of Sirius Black. The mongrel may not have liked his family, but Severus would have bet he didn't live in the same fear as Severus or Harry had.

"Are your parents still alive?" Harry quietly asked.

Severus had to think back, never had he mentioned his parents' deaths so the assumption was a natural one, though living in his childhood home would tend to lead one to believe them to be deceased.

"No," he stated matter-of-factly, demonstrating how little regard he had for them in the end. "My mother became gravely ill in February of my seventh year, something from the mill I did not even try to understand at the time. Though I don't doubt had my father allowed her, it wasn't anything a healer and potions couldn't cure. Then, without my mother there to stop him, it wasn't long before my father succumbed to the alcohol. I didn't exactly care much about it."

Harry continued to stare down at his hands, turmoil written all over his face. He had questions, Severus knew him well enough by this point, but he didn't ask. Students started filtering down from the dorms drawing his attention to the late hour and his need to not discuss his personal life in front of other students, especially Gryffindors.

"Your dinner will still be fresh for the rest of the night," he signified the end of their conversation, "do please try to get some rest. I'll be back to check on you this evening."

"Before you go," Harry said quickly as the professor rose, it gave away his nerves regarding whatever the request would be, "are you going back home tomorrow before your date?"

Severus peered around, happy to see the other Gryffindors had vacated prior to Harry's declaration of his plans the next night. Noticing his reaction, Harry mumbled "Sorry."

"Yes, I will be returning home first, is there anything specific you needed me to bring back?"

"Erm…" Harry's hands were wringing in his lap, "I was hoping I could go with you there and then just come back when you're done. It'll give me time to sort through some of the books and stuff I left that I need."

The non-answer to his inquiry - a pathetic attempt at a Slytherin technique Severus and Draco had long perfected - caused him to question the real reason for Harry's need to return home. Of course, he'd assured Harry home would always be available should he need something, and Severus didn't want to break that trust upon the first request. And it also helped that in order to uncover the truth, he'd have to allow the Gryffindor home and from there he'd be able to find out what he needed so desperately in such a short time.

"Let me check with Minerva to see if she's available to accompany you tomorrow night," Severus responded, "I'm not comfortable with leaving you alone while I'm in the company of muggles, and help from any other capable adult being so far away should you need them."

"What about Remus?" Harry suggested, once again too quick for him not to be suspicious. "Tonks mentioned they wanted to see me over the holiday, so this could work."

Narrowing his eyes, not necessarily wanting the werewolf in his home, but unwilling to let Harry stay there alone, especially after a day like today. Not to mention, if he was suggesting Lupin, there had to be advantage to him versus Minerva.

"I'll firecall the were-" he caught himself and grudgingly changed it, "-Lupin to see if he has any interest in staying with you. I'm working at the MLD until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon and need to be in Guildford at five. Be ready to leave at half past four, sharp. Now, get some sleep."

"Thank you, Severus," Harry smiled, apparently feeling as if he'd won whatever it was he had hiding up his sleeve.

When it came to his Slytherins, Severus typically tried to stay as far away from the rumors and gossip as possible. He heard it, of course, and stored the information neatly away while choosing to come to his own conclusions about things like Crabbe and Goyle's complete ineptitude for anything more difficult than breathing, or Parkinson's desire to be the next Bellatrix. But when the gossip around the school quickly turned to Hala Khatib - an orphaned first year Slytherin from Jordan who was the sole survivor, out of her family of five, from a jinn attack when she was five or six - and her ability to foresee someone's death, Severus couldn't help taking that one a little more seriously than usual. The students were all terrified of her, leaving her with only Draco as a friend, and Severus with plenty of talk around the school to monitor. None of it could be substantiated, however as much as he hated to admit it, since Divinations and seers had played such a significant role in almost half of his life, he couldn't immediately discount the claims he'd heard, no matter how much he wanted to inside. Instead, he handled her unique situation as he had when Harry first arrived at Hogwarts and watched her closely from a distance. Thus far, there hadn't been any reason to believe the claims made against her, and though the witch was certainly odd - in a more conscious way than Luna - she never appeared threatening in any way.

That all changed when a special edition from the Daily Prophet dropped down at dinner. What started as any normal Friday night in the Great Hall - loud and boisterous with anxious teenagers ready to forget about classes and homework until Sunday afternoon - quickly took a turn when the noise from his Slytherin table suddenly became almost deafening loud. He'd been discussing Harry's request to go back to Spinner's End with Minerva - who agreed with Harry about asking Lupin and Tonks to accompany him - when the swarm of owls came rushing through the windows. Severus's copy of the newspaper would be waiting for him in his quarters, but interested to see what would warrant a special release, he leaned over towards Minerva, who stealthily shifted her paper so he could see it.

Breaking News: Two Mysterious Deaths in Azkaban Prison!

By: Rita Skeeter

The bodies of Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin, the two Death Eaters responsible for the attack on Diagon Alley over a month ago and recently sentenced to Azkaban, were found dead in their prison cells earlier this afternoon. While the death of inmates is not uncommon in the Wizarding Prison, the sudden death merely minutes from each other, alongside the fact that these specific inmates had been working together to plan and execute the attack does leave many with questions over the cause of death.

By first glance, neither death is speculated to be suicide, though the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has yet to speak on the matter. Sources close to the investigation tell me the aurors in charge of the investigation have brought in for questioning Talpin's cellmate and fellow unmarked follower of You-Know-Who, Fenrir Greyback, who appeared distressed shortly before his new cellmate's body was discovered.

As this is part of a pending investigation, more information will be reported as soon as it becomes available.

Severus hardly had a chance to digest the information he'd read or continue on with the rest of the news article outlining Talpin and Ash's timeline of their day, as well as any significant events since their sentencing, because the noise from his students continued to rise.

"Trouble in paradise, Severus?" Minerva leaned over towards him, gesturing to the table where the Slytherins were not only loud, but on their way to belligerent. Something about the latest news had shaken them, and it appeared to have something to do with Miss Khatib.

"If only it were that simple," he shook his head watching them closely trying to determine if they could work it out before having to stand up and reprimand them on their disrespectful, abhorrent behavior, like a bunch of… well, children. They knew better than to act in such a manner, particularly when pointed towards a fellow Housemate.

"- she did it!"

"- else would she have known?"

"We all heard her say it back-"

"-told you she was-"

Upon hearing those phrases thrown around, not only by the Slytherins, but, on a lesser scale also from some of the other houses as students stood to glance across the hall at the small eleven year old, Severus's intuition spiked. To her credit, Hala sat beside Draco with her head down, ignoring every single comment, stare, and gesture pointed towards her. Either she really had no idea of what was going on around her, or she had become an expert at ignoring the reactions of her fellow classmates; neither of which was good. Draco's face contorted into one filled with disgust and he leaned over to whisper something in the first year's ear.

"Severus?" Albus asked from Minerva's other side.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," he answered the unasked request and made his way over to the table, feeling all eyes in the Great Hall on him.

At this point, the noise emanating from the Slytherin table rivalled that of any given Quidditch match. Severus allowed his anger to fill him, knowing he needed to be in control, without losing control, of the situation to figure this out.

"Get up," he demanded in a low hiss, causing the arguing to cease immediately, "I expect every single one of you to arrive at the Common Room no less than three minutes after I cross the threshold."

Not speaking another word, he turned and stormed straight down the aisle, relishing in the sound of chairs scraping and dishes clanking as each of them scrambled to follow him. The first rule of his house was that disciplinary measures would be handled privately and he'd be damned if he broke it during a time where the Slytherins were at their least stable. Charging through the corridors down to the dungeons, he pitied the poor soul who took over as Head of Slytherin when he left; realistically Horace, ideally new blood. Hopefully he or she would have an easier time with Voldemort gone for good, at least once the current students - those intimately touched by the evil - filtered through.

Exactly two minutes and thirty-eight seconds after his foot crossed into the Common Room, the last student - unsurprisingly, Jeremy Harper - entered. In any given year, rarely did Severus have to stand before the house and lecture them on behavioral issues, and now he'd done it twice in the same week.

"To say I am disappointed in your representation of our house tonight would be an extreme understatement," he spat at them, "I expect a concise, relevant explanation as to why you all believe it acceptable to act as a pack of hormonal Hufflepuffs."

The silence following his instruction calmed his nerves. The teenagers looked around at one another daring one of them to explain to their stern Head of House why his presence had been needed to reign them in.

Draco broke the deafening silence first, a testament to his ability to hold rank in the House, "They're afraid Khatib is going to go around predicting everyone's death."

Frustratedly, Severus tightly closed eyes; a move commonly seen when dealing with Longbottom or Lovegood in Potions class, "I am well aware of the rather pointed accusations surrounding Miss Khatib, however someone better start telling me why you seem to think a foolish school rumor gives you the right to act as five years old at dinner!"

This time when the awkward silence enveloped the room, most of the students turned to Draco - the mentor of the student in question - which in hindsight could help earn his right back into the Slytherin's good graces just as easily as tear him down.

"They're terrified because she was right," the Malfoy heir replied with a hint of arrogance - or perhaps pride? - laced in his voice. "Back when the Prophet first reported on them getting locked up in Azkaban, she told us it might as well be a death sentence-"

"They won't make it," Hala's small, unwavering voice from the left side, announced, "I said they won't make it."

Severus simply stared at her, not sure how to navigate a situation that he was sure had never come up before. If there had been a precedent for handling potentially seer students, he'd not been privy to it. Regardless of if she'd been right or not in her assessment towards the fates of these two Death Eaters, he couldn't very well have his house in fear of her.

"Let me make sure I understand… you all are aware that you live in a magical castle," he started his lecture, "using magic to do things muggles would - and have - kill to be able to do. You all have the option to take the, albeit questionably legitimate, course in Divinations, and yet the idea of an eleven year old predicting the death of two men incarcerated in a location where deaths in general are not uncommon is completely unraveling you?"

"I wouldn't say that," Pansy Parkinson spoke up against him.

"Then please enlighten me, Miss Parkinson, on why you all acted as if the sky were falling?"

Her face blanched for a second, then she straightened up taller, "Now she can pretty much say whatever the bloody-"

"I dare you to complete that sentence, Miss Parkinson," Severus warned with a growl. Turning to Hala and Draco, he lowered his voice, "Miss Khatib, unless you foresee the guaranteed death of your classmates or any other person of significance, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself-"

"It doesn't work like that," her timid voice cut him off. "They're not guaranteed. It can change, you see, depending on choices made."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing this day - week and month - would hurry up and end, he bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself the goal was not to make her cry. "Even more reason to keep your… visions… to yourself. Might I also suggest an introduction with Professor Trelawney. I'm sure Mr Malfoy can assist in the arrangements."

Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod that would satisfy the masses of his students and hopefully give Hala some kind of direction with her potential gift. Despite the words he'd just said, as much as he loathed to admit he should take some time with the young Slytherin to find out more about what had happened with her family, where this "seer" or "death prediction" idea came from, and discuss ways she can cope with it, at some point it would have to be done; and probably with Albus as well.

"Every single one of you better get out of my presence in the next sixty seconds," he dismissed his students not knowing his work had only just begun.