Harry’s eyes flew open and his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were watery with tears as he gazed up at the ceiling, seeing Sirius fall through the veil even there. Sweat dotted his forehead and his scar prickled incessantly, despite the nightmare having nothing to do with Voldemort. He turned his head on the pillow, ignoring the spots obviously dampened by tears, and found the books normally on his desk floating above it instead.

He frowned at the increasingly common event. It seemed random items were floating around his room every day and he didn’t know why. He stared at them and focused long enough to force them to fall back onto the desk. Sighing, he turned his head to look back up at the ceiling.

Another day in which he’d awoken and had to deal with Sirius being gone. Another day in which he’d rather not have woken at all.

Twenty-four days and counting though he wished the counting would stop.

He didn’t want to live in this world where he’d caused so much pain and death. He didn’t want to live in this world without Sirius, the only person to ever give a damn about him. He didn’t want to live in this world where he was ignored and kept in the dark until it was convenient, but convenient for others, not him. No, for him, it destroyed his life even more each time and did nothing but keep him shoved aside until someone else decided he was needed.

He rubbed his eyes aggressively, making them ache. He finally pushed himself up to be sitting, crossing his legs under his pitiful blanket. He leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his fingers in his hair, gripping until it hurt. After a few seconds, he released his hair and lifted his head to stare at a seemingly empty corner of the room.

“Good morning to whoever is here,” he said dully, throwing the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There was no response, but he felt the odd charge in the air that he’d come to realize was magic. “I know someone’s here, I’m not stupid.”

He was putting his glasses on when the charged air pulsed slightly and he was suddenly looking at a clearly unimpressed Snape. The man’s stare was hard, his mouth was thin, and his arms were over his chest, wand in one hand. Harry knew the look he gave the man was disinterested at best, but he couldn’t muster up more.

“Professor,” he said with little feeling.

He waved his wand over himself, muttering, and magically changed his tattered, oversized pajamas for his tattered, oversized clothes. While he could never praise a single thing that happened at the Ministry, he was appreciative of the chaos Voldemort’s acknowledged return had caused in the Ministry. Underage magic was no longer being monitored, nor magic in the presence of Muggles. All attention was on Voldemort’s return, the spiking Death Eater activity, and Fudge’s abominable failures. Even the kind of magic being used was no longer monitored unless it was part of a Death Eater raid, meaning anyone could use any magic, even the Unforgiveables. The war was unravelling their world.

“Potter,” Snape said stiffly. “How did you know I was here?”

Harry leaned on his knees again. “I mean, there’s always someone. I know the Order’s been told to watch me,” he said, sighing at Snape’s stare. “Aside from that, I could also feel your magic.”

Snape frowned at him. “You can feel magic?”

Harry nodded, looking at his hands as he picked absently at a hangnail. “I didn’t know it was your magic specifically, but, yeah, it’s a thing that I can do now, feel magic. Same with the whole levitating things without meaning to.”

“When did these things start?” Snape asked.

Harry went still, staring hard at his hands which he laced tightly together. “In the last few weeks. Something…happened or changed after the Ministry.”

“Boy! Get down here!” Vernon’s yell interrupted whatever Snape had been about to say.

Harry sighed and got to his feet, walking to the door. Before opening it to head downstairs, he turned back to Snape.

“If you’re coming, put the Disillusionment back on,” Harry said. “Dursleys hate magic.”

Snape stared at him for a moment, obviously deciding what he wanted to do. Eventually, he tapped his wand on his head and he disappeared though Harry could now feel the active magic.

“Don’t say anything. They’ll lose it if they find out you’re here,” Harry said. “Also, don’t worry about anything you see or hear. Not that I think you’d care, honestly, but it doesn’t matter, just ignore it.”

With that, he opened the door and headed downstairs, feeling Snape’s magic a few steps behind him. He stepped off the stairs and headed down the small, short hallway to the kitchen. He was about to enter the kitchen when Vernon’s large, meaty hand wrapped around the back of his neck, squeezing. Harry winced, but kept quiet and his eyes forward at the kitchen.

“Burn or break anything again today, boy, and you’re in trouble,” Vernon said lowly into his ear.

Harry clenched his jaw. “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Vernon shoved him hard, then, making him stumble into the kitchen while Vernon waddled over to sit with his family at the dining table. Harry avoided looking at his relatives, keeping his eyes locked on the full breakfast he was preparing. He could feel Snape standing nearby, likely leaning against the counter behind him as he observed.

Harry found himself oddly calm knowing it was the professor behind him rather than any of the other Order members. He wasn’t sure why, considering this last year had been the worst their relationship had ever been. As he fried up the tomatoes, he pondered absently, curious why he felt okay with Snape, but no one else, especially when he had felt nothing but abject pain, loneliness, and depression for weeks. Perhaps it was the fact that Snape didn’t care, so he didn’t feel the need to pretend. Perhaps it was because Snape would likely agree Harry had been stupid and that stupidity got Sirius killed. Perhaps it was because Snape knew in a way no one else did because only they and Dumbledore knew of the prophecy. Perhaps it was because, while everyone else had changed towards him in the last year, Snape remained a horrible constant.

He was jerked from his musings as he was suddenly hit hard in the back. He fell forward from the unexpected force and put his hands out to catch himself out of instinct. His left hand landed on the counter, but his right landed on the stovetop. It knocked into the pan where he was frying the bacon, landing partially on the element while hot grease sloshed out of the pan and onto his hand. He couldn’t stop the small yelp that escaped him as he yanked his hand away, but snapped his mouth shut to prevent any more noise and drawing Vernon’s attention. He turned his head to glare at Dudley who was just closing the refrigerator after grabbing a fizzy drink and smirked at him.

“Watch it, Potter,” Dudley sneered, swiping past him again to return to the dining table.

Harry felt a rise in the air behind him and turned towards it just enough for Snape to know he was the one being spoken to. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Please, leave it.”

He could almost swear he felt Snape’s magic bristle before it settled. He felt his lips twitch at the indignation he could still feel emanating from the man and his magic. He raised an eyebrow when the faucet suddenly turned on at the sink beside him. Apparently, his lack of immediate response was incorrect as an invisible hand pushed his shoulder to make him move to the sink and then pulled his injured hand under the cold water. His lips twitched again, amusement threatening to break through his haze of despair.

After just a couple seconds, he made to remove his hand, but Snape held him still. He frowned at where he knew the professor was.

“I have to finish breakfast,” he whispered.

The air around him buzzed and he was soon watching the bacon resume frying, toast getting buttered, and everything plated. Within moments, three plates with a full English breakfast were prepared and waiting to be served.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered and, this time when he pulled away from the water, he was allowed.

He managed to balance two plates on his forearms to avoid using his injured hand and brought them to his relatives as swiftly as possible. None of them spoke, all eyes glued to the telly, allowing him to retreat back to the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow again when he found a small plate with two extra buttered slices of toast. He reached out to grab them and then gestured to the doorway with his head.

“Come on,” he said quietly. He felt almost a questioning air in Snape’s magic. “I know you’re not allowed to leave me alone and I need a break from here, so come on.”

He left the kitchen and headed back down the hall to the front door. Feeling Snape behind him, he held the door long enough for the man to exit before letting it close. Glancing around found the street completely deserted and Snape soon reappeared next to him. He cocked his head to the right, indicating his intended direction, and led the way to the abandoned park nearby. He honestly would’ve preferred to go somewhere else, not wanting the memories of seeing Sirius for the first time in the park, but given there was nowhere else, he had to settle.

Arriving at the park, he sat on the bench and was surprised when Snape joined him.

“Give me your hand,” Snape said and Harry did so without question, using his other to munch on his toast. He watched as Snape pulled a jar from somewhere in his robes and, opening it, began to gently massage a white cream into his burns. “Why did you not respond?”

“Told you, the Dursleys hate magic,” Harry said. “It would have just made things worse.”

Snape hummed, turning his hand over to treat his palm.

“You should eat more,” Snape said.

“That would imply I’m allowed,” Harry said flippantly, pulling his hand back once Snape finished wrapping it in light, white bandages from his wand. “Thanks.”

“Your relatives do not allow you to eat?” Snape said.

“Oh, they do. I get whatever’s left,” Harry said, finishing off his first piece of toast. “Given the size of my uncle and cousin, I’m sure you can guess there isn’t always much.”

“Potter—”

“Forget it,” Harry said, waving his bandaged hand through the air as he started his second piece of toast. “I didn’t think you’d care, given your insistence over the years that my life is a paradise. Figured you’d be thrilled to find out it’s not true.”

“Even I can admit wrong when faced with such damning evidence,” Snape said.

“Fascinating,” Harry muttered, gaining a raised eyebrow. “I think there’s a lot we don’t understand about each other, Professor.”

Snape just hummed again, gazing at the rusted swing set.

“I’m surprised you revealed yourself,” Harry said after a few moments of silence.

“I couldn’t very well ignore you when you knew I was there,” Snape said.

“Everyone else does,” Harry said, feeling Snape’s eyes slide to him. “They all act like I’m stupid.”

“You are stupid,” Snape said. “Sometimes.”

“Yeah, guess I am,” Harry said, drifting away to the Ministry, his face crumpling into a pained frown.

“If no one has spoken to you, how do you know we are not to leave you alone?” Snape asked.

“You mean, aside from the fact that there is literally someone here all the time?” Harry said and Snape nodded. “What did Dumbledore tell you?”

“We are additional protection due to the rise in Death Eater attacks,” Snape said.

Harry snorted, tossing his remaining toast onto the ground and watching a few pigeons come to fight over it. “I know you know that’s complete shite.”

“Oh?” Snape said, eyebrow rising again.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know you’re a spy. You think I don’t know you’re the reason the Order showed up at the Ministry?”

Snape said nothing, but Harry did see the smallest of frowns downturn his lips.

“Anyway, no, you’re not here to stop Death Eaters from offing me,” Harry said. “He’s making sure I don’t off myself before I can be useful.”

Harry was surprised to see the look of shock that crossed Snape’s face.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Snape said, forehead wrinkled and mouth in a deep frown.

“I destroyed Dumbledore’s office and basically told him I wanted to die,” Harry said, voice a little duller as he stared at the rusty swings that swung just slightly in the barely-there breeze.

“Did you mean it?” Snape asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said shortly.

“And now?”

Harry shrugged. “More often than not.”

“Potter…”

Harry turned to Snape when the man trailed off, a tone in his voice Harry had never heard before. He was certain there was worry or concern in the black eyes, and knew the hum of worry in his mind wasn’t his. He raised an eyebrow and gave a half-smile that lacked amusement.

“Careful, Professor, or I might start to think you care,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Potter, you need help,” Snape said.

Harry scoffed. “And who’s going to help me, Professor?”

There was no response and Harry glared at the swings again, trying to ignore the rising pain. He hated how true it was, how alone he truly was. There was no one that could or would help him. He just had to exist in his pain until someone else, likely Dumbledore, decided it was time for him to die. He shook his head at himself and got to his feet.

“Come on, should get back,” Harry muttered. He didn’t wait for Snape to follow him, just assuming the professor would as he made his way back up to the street to Number Four. As he opened the door, he felt the air ripple behind him as Snape reapplied his Disillusionment Charm.

“They did not realize you were gone?” Snape asked quietly as they climbed the stairs.

“They wish I was,” Harry said, letting them into his room where he immediately collapsed on the bed. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, but did see Snape reappear in the corner in his periphery. “It’s the one thing we’ve actually always had in common.”

“Potter—”

“You can go, Professor,” Harry said. “Have a good night.” It didn’t matter that it was only two o’clock in the afternoon. For Harry, it was basically nighttime as he would probably spend the rest of the day drifting in and out of tortured sleep.

“I cannot leave you alone, as you pointed out, and you have done the complete opposite of convincing me otherwise,” Snape said.

Harry rolled his head so he could look at Snape with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill myself when I’ve got a job to do. I know better than that, to die before I’m of use.”

He saw the realization that dawned on the man. “He told you the prophecy.”

Harry gave an insincere smile that was closer to a sneer, turning back to the ceiling. “Sure did,” he said. “So, you see, I’m not going to off myself, not when I’m going to die at Dumbledore’s command anyway.”

The small buzz that picked up in his mind made Harry frown and look back at Snape.

“Why are you angry?” Harry asked and the professor looked at him sharply.

“What are you talking about?” Snape snapped.

Harry sighed. “Know how I was a complete failure at Occlumency?”

Snape nodded, frowning and scowling at the reminder of said disastrous lessons.

“Well, I can apparently do Legilimency without even trying,” Harry said. “Started with everything else. I can just…connect to some people’s minds and get…impressions, I guess, from others.”

“Potter, were you examined after the Ministry?” Snape asked and Harry winced when a wave of alarm washed over him, creating an odd pain in his skull.

“Merlin, if this is what you feel all the time, no wonder you’re a bastard,” Harry said, rubbing his temples.

“I only feel it when I am actively performing Legilimency,” Snape said. “Tell me, were you examined?”

“Just by Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. “Got a Pain Reliever and a Pepper-Up so I could talk to Dumbledore. She said I wasn’t all that injured.”

“You were tortured and possessed, correct?” Snape said

Harry nodded stiffly, not appreciating the reminder.

“You require a core examination,” Snape said. “It could reveal the reason you are experiencing these things.”

“Why, what is it?” Harry asked.

“It is an examination that looks at your magical core and reveals any changes or damages,” Snape said.

“That can happen?”

Snape nodded. “I am surprised the headmaster did not insist on one given the possession.”

“I’m not,” Harry said, glaring up at the ceiling. “Ignoring things is what he does best, especially if the alternative is me not being or doing what he wants.”

“This could help you,” Snape said.

“Again, who is going to help me, Professor?” Harry said. “If you haven’t noticed, I was dumped back here nearly a month ago and you are the first person I’ve actually seen or spoken to. Helping me is no one’s priority. I’m just here to fight for them and, if I die, well, it was for the greater good, wasn’t it?”

Harry stared at the professor, holding the dark eyes. They seemed empty, but Harry could tell there was something there and it wasn’t the normal angry hatred he’d seen for the last five years. An image of Snape crying in Dumbledore’s office flashed in his mind along with a hum that he could tell was regret.

“Don’t worry, Professor, none of it is your fault,” Harry said. “Dumbledore told me about you and my mother and the prophecy, but I don’t blame you. Pettigrew betrayed my parents and Voldemort would have gone after them eventually, with or without the prophecy.”

He saw Snape was going to respond, but was interrupted by two envelopes popping into the room, one in front of each of them. Harry grabbed his, but kept his eyes on Snape.

“I must go,” Snape said though Harry saw the hesitation, felt the worry, saw the image of him dead as his mind picked it up from Snape’s.

Harry frowned slightly, confused by the man’s apparent concern. Snape hated him and no one else seemed to be concerned, so why was Snape?

“I’ll be fine, Professor, promise,” Harry said. “I’ll live to annoy you another day.”

Harry couldn’t help his small, cheeky grin at Snape’s withering scowl. He watched as Snape waved his wand to reveal the fireplace Harry wasn’t supposed to know about, the one set up for Flooing to and from Grimmauld Place, but only to those keyed to it.

“Professor,” Harry said before the man could step into the green flames. Snape turned to him. “Thank you for talking. I know you hate me and you have every reason to, but it was nice not to be alone for at least a couple hours.”

Snape gave him an odd look before giving a short nod and disappearing into the fire.