The next few days in the house in Shrewsthorpe passed unremarkably, considering. Harry finally had his things arranged in his room. He read what he liked and wherever he liked. He practiced a few parchment spells on his letters without interference. Hedwig had adjusted to her surroundings and came back more quickly when he let her out to stretch her wings. When he awoke, the room itself ceased to surprise him, even if his circumstances still felt strange.

“Are you settling in all right?” Snape asked him one morning.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. It occurred to him that they didn’t talk very much, just sat in silence, though it wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. “Should we be having more conversation?” Harry asked.

Snape thought a moment. “If you wish to have one, simply start one.”

Harry smoothed the butter on his bread more than necessary. “I just wondered if it was too quiet.”

“There is no such thing,” Snape insisted. “Not after ten continuous months at Hogwarts.” He handed Harry the hazelnut butter. “Not to give you the idea that I am against a conversation now and then.”

“It is amazingly quiet here,” Harry observed. He bit into his bread and tried to think of something to talk about. Hedwig flew in at that moment and dropped a letter before heading off again. “I think she likes it here. She’s out a lot more.”

“The open fields and the grain storage have far more vermin for her to hunt than the dense forests around Hogsmeade,” Snape said.

“That is probably why she doesn’t insist on table scraps.” Harry turned his letter over. It was his annual Hogwarts letter. He tore it open and glanced past the usual welcoming paragraph to the supplies list. “I don’t suppose I can go to Diagon Alley?”

“You cannot be seen, Harry. Even the Floo Network is not considered safe for you—that is why we took the train.”

With movements of vague annoyance, Harry folded the letter and put it in his pocket.

Snape watched him and said, “Have patience. The Ministry is working hard to get them.”

Harry nodded and, with less appetite, went back to eating breakfast.

Later that afternoon, Harry had a reply for Hermione ready in an envelope, and no owl. He stood at his window and looked out at the grey sky and damp pavement outside. During the day, lots of autos and bikes and walkers went past. Harry’s attention was caught by a bright yellow slicker walking on their side of the road. The person threw back the hood of the coat, allowing wavy dark brown hair to fall behind her.

The girl looked to be his age with a pert nose and dark eyes. Harry watched her make her way up the road. As she came alongside the gate to their garden, she glanced up at the house and apparently saw Harry standing at the window because a flash of consternation crossed her brow. She put her head down and walked faster. Harry stepped back from the window. He understood how it felt to be watched and certainly didn’t want to bring that feeling on someone else.

Harry’s new routine became natural, although he found himself fidgeting fiercely during moments when he considered everything all at once. This often happened when he looked about his new room with all his wizarding things on full display in it. When he awoke that morning it happened again. Distracted by his movement, Hedwig fluffed herself and put her head back under her wing, apparently believing it too early to rise. Even though it was early, Harry felt almost too well rested. He hadn’t had a single dream of dark shadows since arriving. This made him hopeful that they were figments of his post-Dementor uneasiness, rather than actual visions. He was glad to be rid of them, whatever the reason. He put on his dressing gown, stretched, and headed downstairs.

Breakfasts still felt cramped in the closer space of the dining room in contrast to the high ceiling of the Great Hall. While Snape read the Prophet Harry looked about the room, trying to force everything to feel familiar, even the unusual objects on the mantel such as the slender, engraved silver vase and the blackened wooden box with little drawers on three sides. On the other wall, a windmill turned slowly in a dark landscape painting.

When he finished eating, Harry sat back and Tidgy came in just after to collect his plate. As the elf departed, he bowed deeply at Snape. Harry wished he wouldn’t do that, and suspected he wouldn’t ever be used to seeing it. Wishing he could go outside to look around, especially since it was a sunny morning, he propped his head on his hand and stared at the turning windmill.

Snape’s voice interrupted his somewhat melancholy musings. “Is everything all right?”

Harry straightened and clasped his hands before him. “Yeah. Just, uh, a little bored. If I use an Obsfucation Charm, can I go out for a bit on my broomstick?”

“It would be best if you did not. Such a charm will not fool the worst of those wishing to find you.” He spoke sternly but Harry didn’t feel it as correction, but as something else—protection. He gave up his imaginings of a quick flight of exploration. Thinking ahead to the long day inside, he must have sighed aloud because Snape said, “Perhaps I can show you a few spells?”

Harry brightened. “I’d like that.”

“Go and move the items in the hall aside to get them out of the way, if you would.”

Jumping up eagerly, Harry went to do this. The hall didn’t contain very much, just a padded bench that angled up at the ends, a tall oil lamp, a small tall table, and a large rug. Harry hovered all this aside beside the door to the drawing room. The resulting open space appeared perfect for dueling. Harry was pacing it off when Snape stepped in.

“Not quite large enough,” Snape said, sounding amused.

Harry found himself smiling. “What good spells do you know?”

Snape stopped in the center of the floor. “All kinds, I would think. What would you like to learn?”

Harry thought that over. “You know. Something I’ve always wanted explained, why can’t a wizard levitate himself? It’d be very useful. Professor Flitwick insisted it wouldn’t work on yourself, but why won’t it work on, say, my shoes, with me in them?”

Snape crossed his arms, looking smugly at Harry who was studying his footwear. “It isn’t simply that the spell will not work on the caster. It is more complicated than that.”

Harry wasn’t entirely listening. “When I hover something else and then step on it. The spell still collapses. But if someone else hovers it, well, someone like Hermione, lots of others can step on it.”

With a flick Snape hovered a small battered step stool from the kitchen and let it rest on the floor before Harry. “Levitation is a spell of gravity. It is deeply entwined with gravity. The caster must be rooted on the ground to successfully cast it. If you were to levitate that stool…” Harry did so, holding it a foot above the floor. Snape went on, “As soon as you step upon it, you are no longer rooted to gravity. You can not push against gravity to retain the hover. Do you understand?”

Harry put one foot up on the floating stool, it twisted sideways, mostly because he wasn’t maintaining the spell well while moving around. When he started to pick up his other foot, the stool sank in response. “Huh,” Harry muttered, backing away and letting the stool rest on the floor.

“Come over here and I’ll demonstrate it another way,” Snape suggested. “You clearly have the levitation charm mastered. Given that you had six years to do so…one would hope that you would.” He backed up a step. “In a moment I want you to try levitating it again. Wingardium Leviosa!”

Snape was pointing his wand at Harry, who drifted upward and couldn’t help trying to reach down with his toes, only to be lifted just out of reach. Harry glanced around, he wouldn’t mind being this tall, he thought. Snape said, “Go ahead and try to levitate it now.”

Harry twisted in the air to give it a go. The stool refused to budge, even on several tries, and indeed the spell didn’t feel right. The floor met his feet and the stool jumped into the air. “So you’re saying even if someone else levitates me, I still can’t make it work.”

“Correct.”

Harry rested the stool back on the floor with a thunk. “I understand.” He went to pick up the stool to take it back down to Tidgy. With it tucked under his arm, Harry asked, “So, what if I’m on an aeroplane and I’m trying to hover something on the same aeroplane?”

“I have to confess to never having been in such a contraption.” He sounded pleased about that.

“Oh. Neither have I…but I wouldn’t be on the ground in that case, so, would the spell work?”

Snape looked honestly uncertain. “I don’t know,” he answered reluctantly.

Harry started past with his burden. “That’s okay. I still understand why it doesn’t work normally.”

The silence of the house was most acute at night. The road, so close to the house as to present a hazard to traffic, carried few automobiles after dark and this particular night seemed to carry none at all. Harry listened to the uninterrupted rush of blood in his ears as he drifted off to sleep.

Harry awoke with a jolt a few hours after falling into hard sleep. He wasn’t certain what had awoken him, thought perhaps he had heard something. His heart raced as he listened, straining in the silence around him. He had experienced too many incidents of paranoia that had saved his life to fall back to sleep, even in a quiet house. He picked up his wand, slipped out of bed, and padded to the door. Silently, he pushed it open and stretched his hearing to listen. The clock downstairs ticked away into the silence.

Especially if you feel unsafe, played in Harry’s mind as he considered that he should just go back to bed. Not following instructions had led Harry to more pain than he cared to recall. Before he could change his mind, he stepped onto the balcony and along the wall to Snape’s door. He listened as he stood there…still no sounds. It occurred to him then that Tidgy might have been working on something. But Harry hadn’t heard him any other night.

Harry carefully turned the handle to the bedroom and stepped inside, taking the inside handle in his other grasp and easing it to close and relatch. Halfway across the floor he whispered, “Severus?”

The form on the bed started instantly. “Harry?”

“I heard something,” Harry whispered.

Snape tossed the covers aside and, with his wand in his hand from the nightstand, stepped over to him. “Stay here.”

Harry disobeyed and followed him to the door. Snape opened it and looked out. He tapped his wand on the doorframe. Faint blue sparkles spread along the wood down to the floor and, a moment later, out across the walls of the hall. As they framed the corridor leading to the back entryway, the sparkles dipped to red. Snape stepped back suddenly, pushing Harry back with his arm. They both stood there for a long moment, their breathing the only noise.

“How many?” Harry whispered very quietly.

“Several.” He pushed Harry back farther. “Stay here.”

“Not a chance. They don’t know I’m here—draw them out and I’ll hit them.” Harry spelled his hands and knees with a murmured Gecko charm and ducked past Snape, who, in the inky darkness, reached out for him too late. Before he could be grabbed again, Harry climbed up the wall and over the ceiling along one of the dark beams. He lowered himself quietly into the far corner of the opposite balcony. In the dim light he could see Snape’s form in the doorway, ducking down. This was a good setup—he could feel it.

Nothing happened for several breaths. Harry’s mind raced. If he were attacking, he would come up under a cloak. Harry whispered, “Accio cloak,” as he pointed at the steps. A grunt sounded from there and a struggle started with black limbs appearing and disappearing. Harry incanted a binding curse and a half-covered figure toppled down the stairs and lay still. Another figure moved across the floor and bent over the first. Harry, feeling less generous, fired a blasting curse this time.

This was a mistake because the blue line of the spell gave away his location. He leapt to his feet and, bent low, scuttled toward the other end of the balcony. A blast came up through the wood where he had been crouched, throwing wood chips and heat at his back. Harry stopped in the middle of the balcony, in case the other end was too obvious. His heart raced from the near miss.

Snape fired something from the doorway of his bedroom and an exchange of spells ensued. Now they would know that there were two of them, Harry thought with a frown. A curse hit Snape in the shoulder, spinning him back against the open door and into the room. “Severus,” Harry breathed. When Snape didn’t reappear in the doorway, Harry panicked. He spelled his hands, feet and knees again quickly and scurried up the wall and over the ceiling.

“What is this?” a deep voice asked from below. A spell struck Harry as he sped across, breaking the Gecko Charm. He fell away from the high ceiling and hung suspended. A twist of his body gave him a dim glimpse of Snape pointing his wand at him, presumably using a hover charm. Directly below him, a Death Eater raised his wand. He could see his teeth glinting in the spare light from the window as he took a breath to speak another curse.

Harry waved his wand to cancel out the hover charm and landed, relatively softly, on the pudgy man about to curse him. They both hit the floor. The dark wizard hissed and grabbed Harry by the collar and they both twisted and fought. Harry was less than half the man’s weight, so in a thrice, the death eater was on top, hand crushed over Harry’s mouth, arm cocked to punch him.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice said. Harry shifted his eyes over to Lucius Malfoy striding slowly over to them.

The first wizard, Harry assumed it must be Mulciber, released him with a hard shove against his face and chest. He crouched in front of Harry wearing a sadistic smirk that glittered in the light from the road outside.

“Imagine finding you here, Mr. Potter,” Malfoy said with a tone of anticipated pleasure. Harry could only perceive light-colored eyes surrounded by a halo of long hair. “Imagine myself of all the Dark Lord’s servants to be the one honored to do this!” He raised his wand and Harry saw the disk of green flash around Malfoy’s feet. It was too far away to reach in time, before it became a thing channeled through wizard and wand. The words were forming on Malfoy’s tongue. Harry shouted and grabbed Mulciber by the hair, desperately twisting them both over onto the floor with his much smaller self on the bottom. Green flashed everywhere around Harry, prickles of pain spiked along his arms where he clutched the man’s hair, his soft upper arm.

At the same time came Snape’s shout of “Expelliarmus!” followed by Malfoy cursing and more spells flying nearby.

“Harry?” Snape gasped from close by.

With a grunt, Harry pushed the limp weight of Mulciber off of him with ominously tingling hands. “Merlin, I hate that spell,” Harry muttered and he heard Snape exhale in relief. Harry felt around the floor for his wand. When he had it in hand, he stood up beside his guardian. “Did we get all of them?”

“Yes.” Snape had put a chain binding charm on Malfoy—a fancy one made of metallic squirming centipedes. The charm had knocked Malfoy back to sit against the wall. “Can you keep an eye on him while I summon assistance?” he asked Harry. With his wand free he waved the chandeliers up.

“Sure,” Harry replied and raised his wand to point it at the blond man. Snape stepped away quickly.

In an injured voice Malfoy said quietly, as his head lolled against the wall, “What are you doing here, Potter? We thought we’d have a little fun punishing our traitor…didn’t expect to find you. Really didn’t expect to find you. Couldn’t find you, in fact.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said and rather enjoyed saying it.

In a taunting voice Malfoy said, “Wouldn’t have expected you to be anyone’s plaything.”

“What are you on about?”

Malfoy chuckled. “Of course, of course,” he said in a patronizing voice. “You are probably potioned to not remember. Pathetic, but it does have certain…interesting possibilities.”

“Shut up,” Harry repeated with more force.

Snape came back out of the library. “The ministry will be here shortly.” He raised his wand at Malfoy. “Check the one by the steps.”

“Which one?”

“The one that isn’t dead already.”

Harry, with a grimace, stepped over to the two forms on the floor at the bottom of the steps. The one tangled in the invisibility cloak lay with his head at an unhealthy angle. The other had a broken nose and was also in a chain binding. “Doesn’t look like he is going anywhere.”

“Find their wands if you can.”

Harry found one on the floor. The other may have been tangled in the dead man’s cloak. As he searched, he heard Malfoy taunting Snape. “Was he your reward for turning against our Lord?”

“You didn’t add a binding curse to his mouth?” Snape asked from across the room.

“I was finding his stupidity entertaining,” Harry replied as he tugged at the edge of the cloak where the man’s hand was trapped under his thigh. He found the wand there and, biting his lip, slid it out. He brought them both over.

Snape took them in hand. “I’m not taking any chances. Unlike you, Potter,” he snapped harshly. Harry hadn’t heard that tone in a long time and cringed from it.

The outside door opened and Tonks, Shacklebolt, and another wizard stepped out of the entryway, wands out. They relaxed as they took in the scene.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Shacklebolt said in his warm voice. “How very good to see you.”

Malfoy growled at him.

“One of these is dead…Rookwood it looks like,” Tonks said crouching next to the half-invisible Death Eater beside the last step.

The other Auror pointed at the struggling wizard chained beside the stairs. “I’ll take him and come back.”

Tonks stepped over to them. “Where is Pettigrew?” she asked Malfoy.

The blond man laughed a little crazily. “As if I would answer questions from a freak like you. Freaks like you.” He looked around at them all. “You are an insult to wizardry—you disgust me.”

Harry crouched before the other man. “Too bad you missed the show, Malfoy. You know, the one in the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts. Twenty-two Death Eaters and nineteen students aged thirteen to seventeen…guess who won?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in fury. “Gloat while you can, Potter.”

“I will, thanks. I got what I wanted. Voldemort is dead.” Harry thought a moment. “That name doesn’t have any power anymore, does it. Vold-e-mort. Just doesn’t have the dark ring to it that it used to have. Sad, isn’t it?” he asked mockingly.

Snape stepped over and patted Harry’s shoulder. He looked up and Snape shook his head lightly. Harry took the hint and stood up and got out of the way. The Auror Harry didn’t know returned and Shacklebolt took Malfoy away. The relay of prisoners and bodies continued until it was just the two of them and the Aurors.

“Well, he made a lot of threats regarding Pettigrew. Could be empty but we’ll stand guard for the night and spell the place by the light of day,” Shacklebolt said.

They all followed Snape’s gesture for them to retire to the drawing room. Tidgy showed up with tea, shaking so the cups rattled. He apparently didn’t have enough magic to do more than hide during the attack. Harry took the tray before an accident happened and set it down, ignoring the dark look from Snape as he did so.

“You are in trouble, Potter,” Snape said.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said as he poured tea.

“I have to think of an appropriately severe punishment.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry repeated.

The Aurors looked between the two of them. “Kind of surprised to find you here, Harry,” Tonks said.

“I live here,” Harry said as he handed her a cup of tea on a saucer.

“You do?” she asked, confused. She looked to Snape for confirmation and received a raised brow in reply.

“It isn’t generally known,” Harry said, “but Severus adopted me.”

Tonks dropped her cup and saucer. The noise of it smashing grated on what was left of Harry’s nerves. The Auror cleaned it up with a sweep of her wand. “Adopted?” she choked. “You’re kidding, right?” She looked between them. Harry gave her a hard stare. “All right, that was the wrong thing to say.” She shook her head and breathed, “Wow.”

Harry sat down and poured himself some tea, wishing it were mulled mead.

“When did this happen?” she asked, her voice forced into something conversational.

“August second,” Harry said.

“Well, congratulations, Harry.” She said as she poured another cup for herself.

“Thank you,” Harry said, trying to sound equally conversational.

Tonks peered at Snape over the rim of her new teacup, then blinked rapidly in disbelief.

Shacklebolt leaned forward. “This is Tristan Rogan, by the way,” he said, indicating the other Auror. “I should have done introductions.”

They each shook hands with Rogan. “Thank you for getting rid of Voldemort, Mr. Potter,” Rogan said.

“No problem,” Harry quipped.

“Who killed who in there?” Shacklebolt asked.

“I chained up Lucius and the other one. Harry did the other two,” Snape stated.

“The two dead ones were Harry?” Tonks asked. She turned to him. “Getting a little rough, aren’t we? Don’t go for a Killing Curse as your first resort.”

“I didn’t,” Harry said defensively. “The one on the stairs I put a binding curse on and he fell, got tangled in the invisibility cloak as well. Must have broken his neck tumbling. Malfoy used a Killing Curse on me and I ducked under Mulciber to avoid it. My hands are still tingling,” he said, a little peeved, and held them up to look at them. They looked normal at least. “I would have blocked it, but I couldn’t reach his feet—my legs were trapped.”

“What?” Shacklebolt asked.

“The Killing Curse, when—” Harry stopped as he saw Snape shake his head. “Why can’t I say?”

“Ask Dumbledore. He didn’t tell the Ministry what happened—I assume he had his reasons.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Rogan said tiredly, “I thought this Order business was over.”

“It is,” Harry said. “Or if it isn’t, I wouldn’t know anyway.”

“It just sounded like you had a counter to the Avada Kedavra,” Shacklebolt said.

“I do,” Harry said with a challenging look at Snape. They all turned to him. “Well, I have something that worked once.”

“When?” Tonks asked.

“A few months ago.”

“I’d like to see it,” Shacklebolt said.

“And therein lies the problem,” Snape said dryly with an undertone of warning.

Harry wondered if Dumbledore had kept quiet to protect him from some kind of spell experimentation. Shacklebolt interrupted his thoughts, “We wouldn’t use it on him!”

“Then you cannot test it,” Snape countered.

“We’d still like to hear about it,” Tonks said.

The discussion went on through the night. Harry did explain how he’d countered the Killing Curse, even though Snape didn’t want him doing so. Harry was disappointed that they didn’t think much of his description of what he did. Darkly, he thought that, for anyone else, surviving it would have been impressive enough. For him they thought it rather unremarkable.

When the sun finally lit the room, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes open. More of the same tea he had consumed all night was not going to help. As badly as he wanted to watch the Aurors work their protective spells, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than the interior ones. He finally followed Snape’s repeated advice to go to bed.

By the time Snape woke him, the Aurors had left. Snape bent over him and shook his shoulder to rouse him. “Wake up, Potter. It is very late in the morning.”

Harry blinked at him. He had only slept fitfully. His hands still ached. He clenched and unclenched them to relieve it.

“Get up now,” Snape insisted, reminding Harry of his Aunt Petunia, which reminded Harry that he was due some kind of punishment. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and found his glasses. “The Aurors insist that Pettigrew cannot enter the house, nor even approach it now,” Snape said.

Harry’s stomach felt starkly empty and sour from the tea. “Do you have anything for a burning stomach?” Harry asked.

“Of course.” Snape departed and returned a minute later. He gave Harry a swallow of a purple, creamy potion in a teacup. It made his stomach feel better as soon as it slid down that far.

“Thanks,” Harry said as he handed the cup back. “It’s working already.” He tossed the covers aside and stretched to try to get his body moving.

“I will expect you downstairs shortly,” Snape said as he departed again.

Harry gathered clean clothes and a robe and went down to the bath beside the kitchen. When he came out, freshened and more awake, he found Snape in the drawing room, writing a letter.

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape said, indicating one of the chairs still around the small marble table from last night.

“Uh oh,” Harry said. At Snape’s questioning look, he explained, “You always use my last name that way when you are upset with me.” He turned one of the chairs to face the desk and sat down.

“I am.” Snape bent his head to the letter. Harry fidgeted as he waited. He wondered, if he complained about his aching hands, could he delay his punishment. His forearms ached too, now that he thought about it. He closed his eyes as he remembered that horrible green flashing. That reminded him of the memories of his mother screaming that the Dementors drew out of him. That made him feel slightly unwell and achy more places than his hands.

“Potter?”

“Yes.” Harry didn’t look up at him. He didn’t want to risk his current thoughts being snagged from him.

“You look as though you are punishing yourself,” Snape observed.

“Not intentionally,” Harry said, voice empty. “I’m just remembering all the times I’ve seen that awful green light.”

“That would be a form of self-torment, at the very least,” Snape pointed out. After a pause, he went on. “You disobeyed me, at a time when your safety, and more likely your life, was at risk. I will not tolerate that.”

“You wanted to take them all on alone?” Harry asked.

“I was in a good position to do so. As well, the house is spelled in ways you do not know. It was on my side as well, but not after you were mixed in with the others.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“Why did you so unwisely try to cross back over?” Snape demanded.

“You were hit,” Harry said defensively.

“Not severely.”

“It looked it from where I was.”

Snape dropped his quill and crossed his arms. “Altruistic or not, it was a stupid thing to do. You had lost the advantage of stealth.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I admit that,” Harry said, chastened. He had panicked in a fundamental way he hadn’t in a long time.

“You need to control this hero complex of yours.” Snape said. Harry just frowned in reply. “I admit, I cannot determine a good way of punishing you for your disobedience. The normal things, bed without dinner, restricting you to your room, restricting your access to your friends, seem unduly cruel given your past treatment by your relatives.”

Snape leaned forward. “I also considered simply transfiguring all of your Gryffindor things into Slytherin ones, but after hearing you speaking to Malfoy last night, I feel that would be merely symbolic.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I ask you to tell me that you will not repeat what you did.”

“I can’t do that,” Harry said.

“No?” Snape half snarled.

“How can I let you face four Death Eaters alone? What if something happened to you? I’d end up having to deal with them anyway. Alone.” He drew in a breath past a tight chest. “I can’t lose anyone else,” he confessed with a catch in his voice. His eyes were suddenly burning and was loathe to dab at them and call attention to it.

“Harry,” Snape said. He stood up and came around the desk. After a moment’s deliberation, he touched Harry on the shoulder. “All right, you may help, should there be a next time, BUT only at my specific direction.”

Harry nodded, blinking to control the heat in his eyes. Snape stepped away, apparently dropping the issue.

That day letters came in from his friends redirected from the castle to home. He knew he should reply the same day, but he couldn’t think of anything to write about except what had happened the night before, and he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that. Instead, he passed the time reading an account of taming wild dragons he had found on the miscellaneous shelf in the library, hoping it would give him something to talk about with Hagrid. Finally, dinner came around. Harry ate slowly to draw it out.

As Tidgy cleared the plates, Snape said, “Hopefully this evening will be quieter than the last. It was good that you woke me. I did not hear what you did, obviously, and your doing so made a significant difference in the outcome. Do not hesitate to wake me in the future, for anything that disturbs you.”

Harry nodded and finished his pumpkin juice. He wished the clock would move faster so he could reasonably go to sleep. He wished he had something meaningful to pass the time. “Do you have a copy of the text Greer is going to be using?”

“I do not know what text she intends to use. I have several seventh-year texts if you would like to read them.”

Harry stood up. “I would. I need something to do.”

Snape told him where to find them in the library and Harry curled up on the lounger and tried to focus on chapter one of each book. After two hours, Harry decided this was a good way to study. The important points were repeated in each book, so he didn’t have to do the work to figure out what they were on his own, which made studying a lot easier.

Finally it was ten o’clock. Harry put the books back where he had found them and said goodnight to Snape in the drawing room.

After the previous night, his body didn’t want to relax, even though his brain was exhausted. He didn’t have any potion here since he hadn’t needed any. If he had any left from Hogwarts he hadn’t seen it when he unpacked. Harry turned onto his side and forced the tension out of his neck.

With a groan Harry woke a third time from fitful sleep. Persistent shadows paced him through a long hall that vaguely resembled the one downstairs except miles long rather than thirty feet. Exhausted beyond reason, Harry slipped on his robe and slippers and went down the balcony. He paused outside Snape’s door and rocked from one foot to the other. By going in he was changing things. There was a clear dividing line here he would be crossing by going inside this door. This wasn’t the same as thinking something was wrong externally and raising an alarm. This was needing help for himself and asking for it from an adult trusted with his care. He wasn’t used to this at all and it made him wildly uneasy.

Deciding he needed the potion more than his pride, and knowing he could wipe out the frantic feeling by being brave, he knocked on the wood in front of him. After a moment, a voice told him to enter. Harry did so. The room’s darkness was nearly complete. He stepped in what he judged to be halfway. “I’m sorry, Severus, but I can’t sleep.”

He heard Snape sit up. The lamp flared to a pale glow. Snape was rubbing his eyes. “Come here,” he said. Harry stepped over as Snape stood up in the long gown he slept in. He used the bed for balance, making Harry realize how tired he must be as well.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated.

“Don’t be. Sit down, I’ll get you something.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and waited longer than it took for the stomach potion. Eventually, Snape came back with a teacup half-full of his usual sleeping potion. “I checked the spells. Everything is secure,” Snape said as he sat beside Harry. He rubbed his forehead as he held out the cup. Harry drank it down and handed it back. “I assume your nightmares have returned,” Snape said.

Harry hung his head. “Yes. But I think I’ve figured it out.”

“What is that?”

“Malfoy said they didn’t know where I was. Now they do. The dreams stopped when they didn’t.”

“Interesting theory,” Snape said doubtfully.

Harry shook his head. “Not a theory. I know that’s what the shadows are.” Reluctantly, he added groggily, “I know, because you’re one of them.”

Snape closed his eyes and inhaled. “I did not imagine…” he whispered.

Rambling, Harry explained, “When you wake me…in my dream there is a shadow very close, and then you wake me and you are right there.” He swayed as he gestured with his hand.

Snape put an arm behind Harry to lower him back to the bed. By the time he was horizontal, Harry was out. Snape studied his sleeping face before he said, “You cannot know how deeply sorry I am for that.” Then after a pause, “What have you done to me, Potter?” He freed his arm and sat up. He shook his head with a huff of self-disgust and pulled out his wand to hover the boy to his own bed.

When he had settled Harry in and covered him, he stared down at him by the warm lamplight. He had given the boy a double dose and did not expect he would wake up again. He left the lamp up a little, just in case.

Harry yawned widely and rubbed his disoriented head as he entered the dining room the next morning. As he sat down, he had to use his hands on the table for balance.

“I gave you quite a bit of the potion last night,” Snape said.

“Is that why I feel like this?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes to coax them to stay open.

“Undoubtedly. It will wear off in a few hours,” Snape said conversationally as he read the Prophet.

Malfoy’s insinuations played through Harry’s mind but he dismissed them.

“Would you like this?” Snape asked as he held out the newspaper.

“Am I in it?”

“Remarkably…no.”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry accepted it and read the text of a speech given by Fudge where he took credit for his Aurors apprehending four of the remaining free Death Eaters. Harry shook his head, but felt relieved at the anonymity.

The next day, Snape said, “I need to go to a meeting at Hogwarts. I don’t want you left here alone. So you will accompany me and occupy yourself at the castle for a bit.”

“You said Pettigrew couldn’t get in.”

“Nevertheless…”

“You are worrying too much, sir,” Harry criticized as he put his quill down from taking notes from the Potions texts. Snape seemed to take affront at this. Harry went on, “You said, and the Aurors said, that the other two still free are not consequential and probably aren’t even with Pettigrew.”

Darkly, Snape said, “I think you want him to show up, Potter. So you can do him in.”

Harry looked down at his parchments. “Well, you said I couldn’t go out after him…”

“Revenge is not what you think it is.”

Harry didn’t look up at him. He pretended to go back to his notes.

With a dismissive tone, Snape said, “Very well, I will trust the Aurors’ magic and assume that if it is challenged you will call for help, NOT try to handle it yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, although he didn’t look up as he did so, afraid his lie would show for certain.

In a darker tone Snape said, “And if not, then you will suffer the consequences.” He stalked off with a swish of his robe.

As he heard the sound of the Floo powder canister scrapping on the mantel, Harry almost called him back. He had disappointed his new guardian and hated the inky feel of it. With a sigh, he pulled his wand from his pocket and placed it on the desk beside his parchment as he went back to his notes.

An hour and a half later, Snape returned. Harry hadn’t moved. “Good meeting, sir?”

“Good enough. No opportunities for revenge, I assume?”

“No,” Harry admitted, wishing this topic would get dropped.

Days later, Harry watched the yellow slicker go by again while he was looking for something in his trunk. He was careful this time to stay far enough from the glass so as to be invisible. The girl glanced up at his window and didn’t see him, apparently, because she continued by at the same pace. Harry wondered who she was. He envied her freedom to walk along the street. He slammed the trunk lid down hard in anger then sat on it until he had himself under control.

Pettigrew. Wormtail. He hated him now. Harry didn’t want him in Azkaban, he wanted him dead, preferably after a bit of pain and some of that pathetic sniveling fear of his. Realizing that everyone from Dumbledore to Sirius would be alarmed by his fantasy, he quit it and stood up.

Harry sat back on the lounger in the library and wrote to his friends after rereading their most recent letters. Snape sat at the very small table in the corner, taking notes out of a book almost too heavy for the table’s spindly legs. Harry reviewed the letters, folded them up and set them aside, not feeling energetic enough to fetch Hedwig from his room. His eyes weren’t focusing well. He rubbed them hard which made them ache more.

The clock read just after six. Harry wished it read a little later. For no particularly good reason, he felt like he had played back-to-back Quidditch matches, long ones. He slouched in his chair and mindlessly rearranged the piles of letters.

“It is dinner time, I believe,” Snape said easily. He stood and set aside the large book he had been reading.

Thinking of food made Harry woozy. “Uh, I think I’m not very hungry,” he said. He disinterestedly stacked the letters, debated pinning them to his writing board, then set a book on them as a weight. He rubbed his eyes again, more gently this time.

“You are certain?” Snape asked.

It made Harry’s stomach heave to even consider it. “Yeah.” He pushed himself to his feet using the lounger back. “I think I’ll just go up to my room.” The floor tilted a little, but he made it to the door. Snape followed close behind across the hall. At the bottom of the staircase, Harry grabbed the handrail because he feared he would need it to get himself up the first step. Focusing his eyes had grown more difficult as he walked, but he resisted rubbing the aching things yet again. Snape took hold of his left arm and turned him back. “Are you feeling unwell?” he demanded.

Harry recoiled from his tone and had to take a step backward up the stairs to keep from falling. “I’m all right,” he insisted. He tried unsuccessfully to straighten his back. “I’m tired. That’s all.” Even standing up a step, he was not up to his guardian’s height. Snape leaned closer and looked him over. He still had hold of Harry’s arm. “Really,” Harry insisted. “It’s nothing.” He dearly wanted to go to his room and lay down and not move anymore.

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he studied Harry. He tossed his hand free of his long sleeve and raised it to Harry’s forehead.

“It’s not—” Harry mumbled, just barely resisting pushing Snape’s hand away.

“You are feverish,” Snape stated. He released Harry’s arm with a push to urge him upstairs. “Go to your room, then.” He stepped away with a flare of his robe and headed down to the toilet beside the kitchen.

Anxious, Harry watched him disappear. He could only force himself to move by degrees. Finally, he turned to continue, an undefined ache of worry in his chest. At the top of the steps, Snape caught up to him.

“Come along,” he said, retaking his arm. “I found an antipyretic. It will make you feel better, at least.”

Harry was led to sit on the edge of his bed. He could not find the strength for anything, so he waited mutely. Snape poured a blob of thick dark liquid into a small glass of water and handed it to him. “Drink it,” he commanded.

Harry put it to his lips and forced himself to swallow past a wave of nausea. Between sips he watched Snape re-cork the bottle and set it on the bedside table along with a fresh jug of water and a cloth. Harry held the tainted water before his mouth and stared out at the main hall. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You’re what?”

Harry’s lips moved mutely before he repeated, “I’m sorry.” He thought about drinking more of the diluted medicine, but he could not imagine swallowing around the anxiety tightening his throat. He held it out for Snape to take back.

“Finish it,” Snape said firmly. Harry tried to obey. His guardian paced away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When Harry eventually set the empty glass aside, Snape asked, “Why are you apologizing?”

Harry thought that over and hesitated replying. He rubbed his eyes carefully and said in a quiet voice, “I don’t mean to be a problem.”

Snape froze with his hand pulling back his hair. “You aren’t. Have I given you that impression?”

Harry could not find a response. The question confused him. The hard tone and the words clattered together in his brain. “I just—” he stopped. He felt dizzy now and could not understand why Snape wasn’t angry with him, or was, but in some incomprehensible way.

“Lie down and rest. I’ll check on you in an hour or so.” When Harry did not comply immediately, Snape said, “Harry,” in a firm tone.

That jarred him into moving, like an automaton, to kick off his house shoes, pull off his glasses and lie on his side. The room did not cease to spin, it just did it sideways now, which was worse. Harry closed his eyes to block out the unstable view of his room.

Snape returned an hour later. With the heavy clouds, it was dark outside, so he turned up the bedside lamp. Harry lay in his day robe, curled on his side. A sheen of sweat coated the boy’s face and he appeared pale in the warm light. Snape pressed his hand to Harry’s damp forehead and found he was even warmer than before. Snape frowned, thinking that he had put far too much faith in the Febrimin.

“Harry,” he said, shaking one bony shoulder.

Harry made a small noise and rolled onto his back. One hand clawed weakly at his damp robe front. He cracked his eyes and squinted at Snape, brow furrowing.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked. Eyes unnaturally bright, Harry blinked at him without replying. Snape straightened. “I’ll contact a Healer. You may have something more serious than an influenza. Mulciber would have been living in rough hiding and could have exposed you to any number of things when you two wrangled.”

Harry shook his head clumsily. “Doctors are expensive,” he mumbled.

“I would not summon you a doctor. A Healer would be much more effective.”

Harry’s eyes moved around the room, squinting hard. He then looked at Snape in confusion. After swallowing hard, Harry said, “Professor?” in a way that made Snape suspect he had lost track of things.

“Yes, definitely a Healer.” Snape stood quickly. “Do not move.”

Harry looked like he wanted to say something, but Snape did not give him the chance.

Standing before the hearth, Snape hesitated contacting St. Mungo’s, and considered instead contacting McGonagall and having her locate Madame Pomfrey. The high likelihood that they were both out of the country led him to request the hospital after he tossed in the powder.

The hospital greetingwitch insisted that someone would arrive in fifteen to twenty minutes. Snape straightened his tall frame and went back up to the boy’s room.

Harry was half sitting, leaning over to pour himself some water. Snape intervened, taking the jug from shaky hands. He filled the glass and held it out. Harry looked at him uncertainly before accepting it. Snape stood beside the bed as Harry thirstily drank it down, then took the glass back. After adjusting his glasses, Harry looked at each of the objects in the room with bloodstained eyes. Snape soaked the cloth in water from the jug and folded it in thirds. He held it in his hand. “Harry?” he prompted.

Clearly disoriented, Harry looked up at him. “Where?”

Calmly, Snape replied, “You are home.” When this only increased Harry’s agitation, Snape said, “It’s all right, Harry, you are ill and not yourself.” He held out the cold, damp cloth. “Put this on your forehead. It should make you feel better.”

Biting his lip, Harry accepted it and removed his glasses to press it over his eyes. Snape thought he could see Harry’s shoulders relax as the cold made itself felt. The sight again of Harry’s sweat-soaked robe sent Snape to the wardrobe for a set of pyjamas.

Setting them on the bed before Harry, just as he was readjusting his glasses, startled the boy. He looked sharply up at Snape.

“Harry,” Snape said, trying to reassure him. “You are feverish. Trust me for a short while until you feel better.”

Harry swallowed hard again and thought that over. It occurred to Snape that depending upon how disoriented Harry was, there may be no basis for trust. He hesitated while he considered how best to proceed. As he mulled over this dilemma, Harry felt his chest and reached for the clean clothes. Snape stepped back to give him a little space. He hoped the Healer wasn’t too long in coming.

Changed, Harry clumsily crawled under the duvet and dropped back onto his pillow. Snape returned to his side and rewetted the cloth.

“I don’t…” Harry began as Snape tugged off Harry’s glasses and draped the compress across his forehead. Snape chose to disregard Harry’s confusion this time.

“The Healer will be here in a matter of minutes. Rest.”

Harry fell silent. He reached up and adjusted the cloth so it wasn’t over his eyes, then let his arms fall, eyes glazed. Snape brought an old straight-backed chair from against the wall and placed it beside the bed.

“Doctors are expensive,” Harry said again, eyes now straining to focus on something in front of him. His hands reached out and swept the air as if expecting to touch something that wasn’t there.

“There is no use for a doctor,” Snape repeated, keenly watching Harry’s strange actions. “What do you see?”

Harry reached out again, concentrating harder on trying to touch something invisible. “Spiders.” He frowned, his dark brow creasing almost comically. “I don’t mean to cause trouble.” His shook his head as if confused. His cheeks had taken on a reddened sheen indicating the antipyretic had worn off completely.

Snape glanced at the ceiling, which may very well have spiders, but that wasn’t Harry’s focal distance. Harry dropped his arms with a sigh. “Where are the spiders?”

Snape leaned over to catch Harry’s gaze and whispered, “Legilimency.” He caught a vision of a bed in a cramped space, light leaking in only in streaks outlining a staircase from the underside. A woman’s shrill voice was scorning him for the inconvenience and expense he was causing everyone. Harry’s hallucinatory brain couldn’t manage anything more than a pathetic apology, which he muttered again.

Snape broke eye contact, reeling and nauseous from Harry’s ailing mind. It required many deep, cleansing breaths before he returned to himself.

Pushing the chair aside, Snape moved to sit on the bed. He took Harry’s arms in his hands and spoke his name. “You are not with the Dursleys anymore—you are with me.” When this seemed to cause more confusion, Snape released him and sat back with a huff. It was futile to explain. “Just be calm, Harry,” he said. “You aren’t in your cupboard.” A stab of something went through Snape as he said that, surprising and dismaying him.

Harry murmured, “You’re being nice to me.”

“Perhaps just accept it.” Snape heard himself snapping a bit, and took another deep breath.

Harry’s expression indicated this answer wasn’t acceptable. His mouth twisted and his eyes continued to move over something in the near distance that was not in the room. “Where’s Professor Dumbledore?”

“At Hogwarts I assume.”

“I want to see him.”

“I can bring him here after the Healer is gone. If you wish.”

Harry was breathing heavily. “I want to see him,” he repeated.

Snape wondered why Harry wanted to see the old wizard, since he had clearly been party to leaving the boy in a cupboard. Snape’s own loyalty to Dumbledore could be deemed paltry in comparison.

Snape picked up Harry’s wrist to check his pulse. Harry observed this, but left his arm limp as if he didn’t believe what he saw. His pulse was elevated as well as his temperature. With care, Snape placed Harry’s arm back on the duvet. “I sense you do not trust me at the moment.”

The wardrobe suddenly drew Harry’s attention away. He fixed his eyes on it for a minute. “I don’t know,” he answered breathlessly.

“I would give you some more potion to ease your symptoms but I don’t want to interfere with the Healer’s diagnosis.”

“Too expensive.”

“You keep saying that. It is nothing considering you are my responsibility.”

The look he got from Harry was not a happy one. Snape sat straighter and rubbed his knuckles over his chin. Harry’s instinctive distress was disturbing him more than he wished. “I will fetch Albus as soon as the Healer finishes. I promise.”

The sound of the door knocker rescued Snape.

A middle-aged wizard stood in the doorway. Snape barely heard his introduction of himself before he hurried him in and up the staircase. “He has been feverish almost two hours. I gave him an antipyretic to only minimal effect.” Snape forced himself to stop rambling.

The Healer stepped over to the bed, set his battered leather case on the floor, and sat on the edge. “Hello, son. Not feeling so well, I hear.”

Harry shook his head in agreement. “Who are you?” he breathed in a bit of a challenging tone.

“Healer Redletting.” To Snape he said reassuringly, “There is something virulent going around with so much travel now that school is out.” He pulled out his wand. “Open wide.”

Harry opened his mouth and was spelled in a way that made color radiate all around the inside of his mouth.

“Any trouble breathing?” he asked. When Harry didn’t reply, Redletting turned to Snape, who shook his head. He used a few more spells then sat back in thought. “I would have thought Bostick Influenza, but it doesn’t look like it.”

Snape found himself immensely disliking the man’s indecision. Harry fingered the compress on his forehead as though noticing it for the first time. “I knew…I knew they wanted revenge,” Harry stated knowingly.

“Did you?” Redletting said matter-of-factly before giving Snape a questioning look.

“He has been a little delirious,” Snape explained easily, although he hoped Harry did not feel the need to talk much.

“Apparently,” the Healer agreed. He removed two vials of silvery liquid from his bag. He uncorked one and used a spell to charm a drop of blood out of Harry’s finger without pricking his skin. The drop fell from Harry’s unmarred fingertip into the vial.

“He still wants to kill me,” Harry commented.

“Who does?” Redletting asked as he repeated this with the other vial.

“There isn’t anything else left,” Harry went on, ignoring the question.

Snape rubbed his chin and met the concerned, bordering on suspicious, gaze of the Healer. Redletting tightened the corks on the vials and shook them before holding them up to look through them at the lamplight.

“He killed mum and dad. He doesn’t care. Why not me?” Harry went on. Snape stepped around the bed to the other side as Harry said, “But he can’t if I kill him first.”

Redletting swallowed hard and gave Harry a disturbed look. He looked reluctantly up at Snape as if afraid he perhaps now knew too much. Snape sighed and reached over to pull the compress aside. He had to gesture with his head to get the wizard to look down at his patient.

“Yah!” the man said, startled.

His reaction startled Harry as well, making him roll away to escape. Snape sat down and rolled him back and held him down, wishing he could instill comfort, but knowing he could not.

“Professor?” Harry said in confusion.

“Great goblins,” Redletting blurted.

“That is why he speaks so,” Snape stated. He narrowed his eyes at the Healer. “Perhaps the Misthrapherian has finished,” he prompted.

“Huh? Oh.” Redletting held up the vials. “Ah, it is Bostick. Bad bad case of it.” He rummaged around in his bag as he said, “Raised Muggle, though, right? That lack of childhood exposure to Diabolavirus can make adult cases highly disagreeable.” He pulled out four bottles and poured some of each into the water glass.

“Here you are, Mr. Potter,” Redletting said as he handed it over.

Snape considered then abandoned his notion of assisting Harry with the cup. Harry sniffed it doubtfully before taking a sip.

“The Prophet has been complaining about not knowing where he is,” Redletting said.

Lowering his brow, Snape said, “You will not be saying, correct? As you heard, his life is in danger.”

Redletting sat straighter. “No, of course not.”

The Healer spoke nervously, but Snape decided he was telling the truth. He considered using a memory charm on the Healer but if he needed to contact him should Harry not recover, that would make things unnecessarily difficult.

Redletting indicated the bottles on the beside table. “Doses every four hours and in twelve to sixteen he should be completely recovered.”

Harry had finished the cup and held it out. “Good boy,” Redletting said as he accepted it. Harry’s eyes darkened and narrowed to such a degree with enmity that the Healer stood suddenly. “Well,” he muttered as he picked up his bag. “I’ll be going then.”

Snape followed him downstairs. In the entryway, Redletting paused and pulled a blank parchment pad from his pocket. He muttered a charm and the bill appeared on it. He tore off the top sheet and handed it over. Snape squinted at the illegible writing before pulling his coin purse from his cloak pocket. He handed over a galleon and four sickles.

“Do contact me if he isn’t himself by the afternoon. And if he worsens take him to St. Mungo’s immediately.” Redletting approached the hearth, turned and said, “And do tell him I was very honored to meet him.”

Snape nodded him out. Back upstairs Harry was sound asleep. Normal color had returned to his cheeks and the sheen on them had dried. More tension than Snape realized had built in him drained upon seeing this. He turned the lamp down and sat in the chair again, determined not to fall short on his care a second time.

Four hours later, Snape put down the book he held and reluctantly roused a heavily sleeping Harry. “How are you feeling?” Snape asked as he shifted to sit on the bed.

“Bit off,” Harry said hoarsely. He accepted the offered cup of medicine and took a gulp. “Throat’s sore.”

“Any confusion about where you are?”

Harry froze with the cup held against his bottom lip. His eyes went around the room as if doing inventory. “Er…” he answered into the cup. “Someone else was here…?”

Snape said, “A Healer. You worried him with your dark talk of revenge and killing, but I explained.”

“I what?” Harry frowned. Then as though upset he had been taken in, muttered, “Right.”

Snape considered not asking since Harry seemed disoriented still and possibly didn’t remember, but Snape had promised. “Shall I fetch Albus?”

He expected Harry, who seemed somewhat recovered, to shake his head, but Harry bit his lip instead. “Could you?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Snape stood. “Will you be all right alone for five minutes?”

“’Course.” His eyes were still red rimmed and he rubbed at them gingerly.

“I will return in five minutes then. Your wand is there.” He pointed at the side table.

The clocks in the Headmaster’s Tower were striking eleven when Snape stepped out of the hearth.

Dumbledore was reclining in the upper area of his office. The book he was holding nearly fell from his hands when he leaned over to look down. “Severus, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Your presence has been requested.”

Dumbledore lifted his glasses to peer down at Snape with his pale blue eyes. “Has it? May I ask why?”

“Harry has taken ill with influenza and is feeling uncertain about his situation.” The words seemed to be doing something sharp to Snape’s insides and a until now dormant part of his mind was mocking him for taking any kind of emotional risk, let alone this kind.

Dumbledore swung his leg to the floor and put the book aside. “Harry wishes to see me? And you?”

“You are asking if I wish to see you?”

“I am asking if you wish me to see Harry?”

A mobile on the desk chimed like an ice faery banging at a silver cage, a sound Snape knew because one of his schoolmates had kept one beside his bed one December. Until it had died. Only it had not. Snape had let it loose and used a collection of innards from the Potions classroom to recreate it in the bottom of the cage.

Snape composed his answer with some care. “I don’t want Harry to feel uneasy. I assume that he wishes to be reassured. That is all.”

Dumbledore slid his reading glasses back on. “Severus, I think you should handle this yourself.”

The room jumped into stark relief. “You aren’t coming?”

“You will not have me to help you much longer, Severus. I think you should work this out yourself, as best you can, and only if the situation becomes desperate should I intervene.”

“What shall I tell him? Shall I lie and say I did not find you?”

Dumbledore thought about this. “That should not be necessary, Severus. Tell him I think you are more than suited to the task.”

“He is feverish and does not trust me.”

Dumbledore picked up his book again. “Then the fever will pass and all will be well. You have quite a lot of experience with apprehensive school children. You are Head of Slytherin House after all.”

“I promised him.” Snape regretted saying that the moment it left his lips.

“You promised you would try. You cannot promise for me.” He put his feet back up and returned to reading. “You know I am right, Severus. And we both know you can handle this.”

“I thought we both knew Harry, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“You are not going to bait me, Severus. Say hello to Harry for me.”

Harry shook himself awake again when his wand slipped from his fingers. He was remembering battles, here in this place, and thought he should have it in hand. The Floo Network roared downstairs and he pushed himself up a little better from what felt like a decrepit position. His arms were almost too rubbery to push against the soft bed. Fortunately, he didn’t need much strength to cast spells.

Snape knocked on the doorframe. He strode in with some authority, then stopped. “He refuses to come.”

“Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Harry looked at his wand, having forgotten that he held it. He reached out to put it on the bedside table. “Why?”

Snape leaned on the back of the chair beside the bed. “He insists I sort you out myself. If at all possible. I know I promised, but I did not imagine he would deny me.”

“That’s not your fault,” Harry said. He looked away from Snape’s gaze and stared at the lumps that were his feet under the duvet. “It’s all right.” Harry said, and hoped he sounded more truthful than he felt. In reality he felt undone, like he would cresting a high hill on a bicycle with no hands.

Silence fell until Snape said, “Can I implore you to sleep again? I expect after the next dose of medicine you will feel yourself.”

Harry looked around the bed, checking for what he did not know. With his glasses put aside, he pushed himself lower on the bed, pretending the movement was easy, and with effort curled up on his side. He could barely see because the covers were up at his brows, but he heard Snape take a seat and pick up his book.

Harry said, “You’re going to sit there?”

“Would you prefer I leave?”

Harry wondered more what he himself was doing there. Maybe it was just the fever but, really, very little made sense at the same time everything seemed unnaturally clear. He almost said he wanted to go home, but he did not know where that would be and that made his chest hurt so that he couldn’t breathe.

Snape’s hand brushed his hair and Harry jumped as if a spark had passed between them. He hadn’t expected to be touched and now alarm made his heart race.

“I apologize for that, Harry. I will leave you alone.” He stood. “Your wand is there if you need it.”

Harry awoke from a treacly dream of centaurs and shadows and snaking vines. The lamp was low but the halo on the wick glared into his eyes.

“Your medicine.”

It was Snape, which made the world reorganize into strange patterns out of a dream full of nothing sensical. Only because he was being urged to, Harry propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the glass. He was getting used to the taste of ink and ash and rotted blueberries and lemony dirt. When he smacked his mouth unpleasantly, a glass of water was pressed into his hand. Harry pushed it back at the giver and used both hands to sit up better. His glasses were put into his hands first, then the water when he could see again.

The water chilled Harry’s stomach. He gulped half of it down and sat with the glass and his hands pinned between his knees. Snape remained standing, bending over him. Harry looked up at him then away again, waiting for something, maybe for the medicine to work. He wasn’t being very brave, illness or not.

“You don’t want to sit?” Harry asked.

After a hesitation, Snape slid into the seat, adjusting his dressing gown as he did so.

Harry sniffled. At least his throat had stopped hurting.

Snape asked, “Feeling better?”

Harry nodded vaguely. He was wide awake now, dogged by the kind of cottony buzz in the brain that would accompany the utter stillness of three in the morning.

“You’ve been sleeping for quite some time. Do you want to talk?”

Harry thought it actually sounded like Snape wanted to talk. He drank the rest of the water and set the glass aside just to free up his hands. “If you want.”

“I am going to take a guess as to what is happening to you,” Snape began.

“I’m not certain what I’m doing here,” Harry interrupted to say.

“And that is certainly acceptable. I have moments when I wonder that as well.” His lips twitched into a tiny smile.

Harry turned to really look at him. Snape was unslept and unshaven, but his gaze was bizarrely easy going, completely lacking the cautious alarm it should have.

Snape said, “That is why there is a piece of paper as part of this.”

Harry’s insides twisted around. He almost repeated that he wanted to talk to Dumbledore, forgetting that he had already refused to come. Rubbing his eyes, Harry breathed in and out, hoping the medicine worked soon and everything would make sense.

Snape crossed his legs and sat back in the chair with his hands steepled. “You trusted me quite a bit to agree to this arrangement, but that trust was in contrast to our previous enmity. Only now do you realize it falls short. At least, your febrile imagination believes it does.”

“Maybe.” Hazy snippets of companionship at Hogwarts competed with instinctive ill ease. Harry bravely forced himself to feel secure here in this new room, in this new bed. He feared there was too much to lose if he couldn’t manage that. “Must be the fever that’s the problem. I’m pretty sure I can trust you.”

Snape raised his chin, taking on a haughty air. “There is trust and there is trust. There is trusting that I will do nothing untoward because it is not in my nature and there is trusting in the same only because Dumbledore would do something painful to me if I erred. I thought we operated in the realm of the first, but perhaps in your condition we have fallen into the second.”

Harry felt his shoulders stiffen. “I didn’t mean it that way. Asking for him.”

“Perhaps the medicine is working.”

Harry said, “It might be.” He put a hand to his own face and his temperature felt normal enough.

Snape smiled lightly.

“Has Dumbledore ever punished you for anything?” Harry asked. Hedwig’s cage shook at that moment as she fluffed herself. Her eyes winked then closed again.

“I’m not going to answer that.”

Feeling bolder, Harry added, “I’m just wondering because I’ve noticed it’s in your nature to be untoward sometimes.”

“When the situation warrants it, yes.”

“Or when you’re angry enough.”

“It has been known to happen,” Snape answered, unaffected. “A state I have seen you in as well.”

Harry looked away. He could feel he was making a face. “Yep.”

There was silence for a time until Snape said, “If you want Dumbledore here I will personally drag him here, foremost powerful wizard of our time or not.”

Harry imagined Dumbledore here, in this room, Snape slipping out to close the door to leave them alone. He felt unwell admitting defeat like that, being disloyal like that. The adoption made them a team with something to prove.

“I don’t want to see him,” Harry said.

Snape tipped his head to the side in acknowledgement.

Harry rubbed his neck, which was no longer aching, although his head felt heavy. “One more dose of medicine after this?”

“Yes.” Snape pulled his dressing gown sleeve out of the way and neatly lined the bottles up on the back edge of the nightstand.

“Then you won’t have to bother after that, because I’m certain I’ll be better.”

“Your repeated apologies for your illness are rather irksome.” Snape did sound angry. “I’m tempted to command you to stop, since nothing else is working.”

Harry twisted his fingers together in his lap.

Snape spoke sternly. “I am accustomed to it. As surprised as you may be to hear that. As Head of House I deal with quite a number of things, including sick children. This task is of no matter and I don’t want to hear it again.”

Harry ducked his head to bite down on an apology for that too.

“Harry?” The sternness was gone just like that.

Without looking up, Harry nodded.

“You really are no trouble.”

“Sounds boring. I can fix that,” Harry said.

“You must be feeling better. You sound like a Slytherin.”

Again, Harry’s head tried to fall to the side and he had to put his hand behind his neck to hold it up. “You’re saying I sound like a Slytherin when I’m at my best?”

“I’m not going to answer that. Give me your glasses so that you can sleep.”

Snape’s voice sounded level and calm, and even a touch pleased, which made Harry smile despite trying not to. Harry tugged his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, which didn’t ache anymore.

“Medicine’s definitely working,” Harry said as he shuffled his pillows down to a better spot for sleeping. His eyes were barely staying open. With a groan he sank into the pillow.

“You need normal sleep now that your fevered sleep is over,” Snape explained. “One does not count for the other.”

Harry groaned again in reply.

A long time passed as Harry drifted in a half sleep, still aware of the low lamp light. Eventually there came the sound of the chair being set against the wall, then the lamp went out, then nothing. In his mind’s eye, Harry tracked the shadow settling into the next room, close enough to call back, and that thought made the night’s embrace a welcome one.