Despite Harry’s determination to make things right between him and his friends, he didn’t actually get a good opportunity to talk to them until Monday afternoon. The two of them had spent the whole morning sitting together at desks and decidedly ignoring Harry, which immediately withered any confidence he had to approach them and talk things through. Harry was too worried about what might happen, and the fear had paralysed him into inaction. He felt like losing Ron and Hermione would tug a loose thread in his chest free, unravelling his very being until nothing was left of him.

 

But as the day progressed, Harry forced himself to shove his worry to one side. He had to find a way to mend this rift, as difficult as it might seem. That afternoon, he made his way alone down the grassy verge to Care of Magical Creatures and decided he wasn’t going to go back into the castle without some resolution or another. Since they were now spending most of Care of Magical Creatures shoving shredded lettuce down the throats of Flobberworms, which wasn’t that mentally taxing, it made the class the perfect forum for a discussion. 

 

Harry immediately made his way up to the Flobberworms Ron and Hermione were tending to and looked at the two of them pleadingly. 

 

“I don’t want to fight with you two,” he said quietly. 

 

Hermione bit her lip, then sighed. “I don’t want to fight either. I hate this.”

 

“Er - sorry we went behind your back to McGonagall,” Ron mumbled, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “We were just worried, mate.”

 

“No, I get it,” Harry begrudgingly admitted. A slight awkward silence fell, broken only by the low chatter of the groups of other students around them. Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of how to progress from here.

 

“We do trust you, Harry,” Hermione blurted out. “All of these things with Malfoy are just a lot to process at once. You said it yourself - we didn’t see him change like you apparently have…”

 

“I don’t expect you two to be mates with him or anything,” Harry said, “I just can’t go on hating him like I have before now.”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Ron muttered. Hermione elbowed him sharply and glared at him, and Ron’s ears went slightly red. He coughed. “Sorry. Habit.”

 

“Ron, imagine what it would be like if you and Percy violently hated each other and fought constantly,” Harry said, shredding more lettuce. “Wouldn’t that be miserable? Wouldn’t you rather get on with him and avoid all the arguments?”

 

“Me and Percy do fight constantly,” Ron pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but you don't hate him, do you?  And besides, your fights are him thinking you nicked his Head Boy badge. When Dra - when Malfoy and I fight, it gets really bitter,” Harry said. With a small amount of reluctance, he added, “And McGonagall pointed out to me that we’re basically - well, sort of stepbrothers, I guess.”

 

Hermione and Ron’s immediate horrified groans were highly amusing to him. 

 

“Look, I reacted the same way,” Harry said with a small laugh. “I don’t know what to call it, really, but we’re pretty interlinked now. I definitely don’t want to hate someone I’m living with every summer, and neither does he, so we’re trying to get over it. Wouldn’t you rather not have him constantly fighting with us, anyway?”

 

“Even if he likes you now, he still hates me.” Ron scowled. “Just because the two of you are making nice, I doubt he’ll stop hexing me…”

 

“I had a go at him about that and told him to leave you alone, actually,” Harry said irritably. “And he said he would.”

 

Ron looked surprised. “Really?”

 

“Like I said, he doesn’t want to fight with me, either. And that means not coming after my mates.”

 

Ron stared down at the Flobberworms, expression thoughtful. “Well, let’s see if he actually does what you say, then.”

 

“I think he will,” Harry said firmly. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll hex him, he added in his head.

 

He noticed Hermione was staring between the two of them, looking quite anxious.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked.

 

Hermione sighed softly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Harry.”

 

“I’m not going to.”

 

“It’s Professor Snape and Malfoy!” she said, wringing her hands anxiously. “They don’t have a good track record when it comes to being kind to you. I’m just worried about what could happen, that’s all.”

 

“You don’t have to be,” Harry bit out, trying not to be too snippy.

 

He felt like they were going in circles, but Harry knew he had to be more patient. They hadn’t seen all of the changes Snape and Draco had made, Harry reminded himself. Besides, it wasn’t fair to shout at Ron and Hermione when they were just trying to make sure he was okay. Harry could still remember Ron awkwardly sidling up to him at the Leaky Cauldron to check that the Dursleys hadn’t been too awful to him that summer, expression fearful. He supposed it had to be horrid to see your friend go through something like Harry had with his relatives without any power to do something - Harry knew it felt horrible for him to see Draco upset about his parents, after all…

 

“Harry, I’m always going to be worried,” Hermione said bluntly. “But I trust you. And if you say they’ve changed… well, I hope they have.”

 

Harry could tell from the resigned look on her face that she still didn’t quite believe it, but he knew that this was about as far as he was going to get with his friends right now. At least they were speaking, now. When this whole arrangement was a little less fresh a few months down the line, when his friends had more evidence that things weren’t going to completely implode, Harry really hoped he could change Ron and Hermione’s minds. He’d just have to make do for now, he supposed…

 

Harry found his eyes straying to Draco, who was currently poking at a Flobberworm with a disgusted look on his face. Once again, he was working alone, but there was something different about the other Slytherins today. Harry thought about it for a moment and realised that none of them had said a single bad word to Draco. Care of Magical Creatures up until now had been prime territory for Pansy Parkinson to start making snide, mean-spirited comments aimed at Draco, since he could be thoroughly embarrassed in front of the Gryffindors in the class. 

 

Not today, though. The Slytherins were all pointedly ignoring Draco, but no one had said a mean word to him. Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy’s face, which was affixed with an even fouler scowl than usual, and found himself wondering if Snape had had a word with the Slytherins or something.

 

This theory was only strengthened when their Care of Magical Creatures lesson concluded and their class ran into Snape in the Entrance Hall. He was standing in one corner, glaring malevolently at the passing Slytherins. They all paled noticeably under his ire and made an effort to quicken their pace as they scurried downstairs. Snape stalked after them, looking every part the bat of the dungeons.

 

Harry, who was admittedly rather nosy, decided to follow the man into the dungeons to ask about it. After all, Snape had said before that he wanted to see Harry when he wasn’t having to yell at Harry about something. He often forgot that he could even take Snape up on that, since Harry was so used to forgetting he had guardians while at Hogwarts. All of this was still quite the adjustment for him…

 

Harry bade a quick goodbye to Ron and Hermione with the promise to meet them in the Great Hall for dinner, then began to head down to Snape’s office. After a brief moment of hesitation, he reached out and knocked. The door swung open of its own accord.

 

“Harry.” Snape looked up from his desk and beckoned for him to come in. Harry did so, and the door swung shut behind him. “Draco’s not in at the moment.”

 

“Er - okay.” Harry cleared his throat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes. “I just - well, I wanted to say hi to you, actually.”

 

If Snape was surprised, he hid it well. There was only the briefest flash of something like shock in the back of his eyes. “Take a seat, then.”

 

Harry obeyed, while Snape retrieved his wand from his pocket and tapped the desk. A cup of tea appeared in an instant, which he pushed towards Harry. “I see you made up with your friends.”

 

Harry jolted upright. “How do you even know about that?!”

 

“I make it my business to know things,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “I believe I have also informed you before that you are the least subtle person to ever walk this earth. It is not particularly difficult to discern what is going on in your life if one simply pays attention. I noticed you weren’t sitting with them at meals or speaking to them and assumed there had been a falling out.”

 

“Oh.” Harry still didn’t know how he felt about that. He liked to think he was a little better than that at hiding his secrets…

 

“Any reason for the rift?” Snape inquired.

 

Harry gave a purposely vague shrug. “Eh, nothing important.”

 

Snape’s brows knitted together. “Might it have anything to do with a certain conversation they had with Professor McGonagall?”

 

“You know about that, too?!”

 

“She discussed it with me,” Snape said. His expression was almost misleadingly blank, and it set Harry’s teeth on edge.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because the complaint was about me, as you’ll recall.” He frowned. “She was bound to check that I was not mistreating you in some way.”

 

 “I promise I wasn’t badmouthing you or anything,” Harry said quickly, his heartbeat speeding up. “They just got the wrong idea about everything, I promise!”

 

“I never assumed you were badmouthing me.”

 

“And they didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry added a little desperately. “Look, I’ve already talked to them and explained, it’s just taking them a minute -”

 

Snape gave Harry a piercing look. “What precisely has gotten you into such a state?”

 

“I just don’t want you to be angry with them,” he said miserably.

 

“And what gives you the impression I am angry?”

 

Harry knew it sounded ridiculous - Snape was clinically calm, his tone level. Still that level of control was generally the result of Occlumency, and Occlumency almost always meant that Snape was forcibly controlling his emotions.

 

Except for his tell - the tightness in his jaw. A surefire sign of Snape irritation.

 

“I don’t know!” Harry said eventually, his shoulders slumping. He didn’t know how to put any of this into words. “You look all - all tense and stuff! You just seem annoyed!”

 

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Well I’m certainly not happy to be accused of mistreating you. I am not going to act on that, which is what you’re implying I might do.”

 

“Right. Er - of course.” Harry felt his cheeks burn.

 

Snape sighed. “They’re just concerned about you, Harry. I do understand that, and Minerva certainly went to great lengths to emphasise that all of this came from a place of care on Granger and Weasley’s behalf. All is well.”

 

“Good,” Harry said, feeling some of the tightness in his chest loosen. By now, he’d grown to trust Snape’s word - the man wasn’t going to do anything, then.

 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t quite curious about conversations held that had something to do with him, though.

 

“So… what did Professor McGonagall tell you, then?”

 

“Nothing in detail,” Snape said. “Simply that there were concerns I might be mistreating you, which she addressed and alleviated with the whistleblowers. That is all.”

 

“Oh.” Harry fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. “And you’re really not annoyed about that?”

 

“No.” The corner of his lips tugged into a slight frown. “Although I must admit I was rather alarmed by something else Professor McGonagall mentioned. Certain comments you made about me ‘getting rid of you’, I believe?” 

 

Harry ducked his head, hoping to hide the blush spreading on his face. He knew those sorts of anxious, vulnerable thoughts made him sound stupid and pathetic, but sometimes he couldn’t help but blurt them aloud…

 

“It’s not going to happen, you know,” Snape said.

 

“But I can’t know that,” Harry bit out. “Look, it’s nothing against you or anything, but how am I supposed to know for sure? With anyone?”

 

“Do you regularly see the parents of your peers discard their children over petty quarrels and the like?” Snape pointed out. “The guardianship papers I signed are just as legally binding as any other parent-child relationship. For one thing, it would be illegal for me to abandon you one day, and for another, I have no desire to. My mind is not going to change.”

 

“I could do something terrible or something, though!” Harry insisted. 

 

“What on earth are you going to do?” Snape asked exasperatedly.

 

“Well - like I could turn to a life of crime,” Harry said, splaying his hands wide. “I could have some dark side you haven’t seen yet - like what if I murdered a bunch of people?”

 

“Well, I do find myself regularly cowering in terror from your violent outbursts.” Snape’s tone was drier than the Sahara desert. “When you refused to allow me to squash that spider in August, that really cemented your future as a brutal killer in my mind.”

 

“It’s not that hard to just trap them and -” Harry cut himself off and made a frustrated noise. “Don’t distract me!”

 

Snape pressed his lips together, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “You are a far better person than you give yourself credit for, Harry. But nevertheless, I will assure you - even if you turned into a violent thug, I would not repudiate you. As a matter of fact, I would ensure I could obtain visiting permission for Azkaban to continue to lecture you about the consequences of your actions. You are unfortunately unable to escape me, even through a life of crime.”

 

Despite his best attempts to the contrary, Harry couldn’t stop his small snort of laughter. He thought that Snape’s lecturing would be a worse punishment than the Dementors…

 

“Any better?” Snape inquired.

 

Harry nodded, and a new wave of heat scorched his face. “Er - sorry I keep asking you this sort of thing over and over. I know it must be annoying.”

 

“You never need to apologise for asking for something so simple as reassurance,” Snape said, like it was the most obvious and logical thing in the world. “Reassurance I am quite happy to provide, I might add. I have been made aware that it might be… helpful to you.”

 

Suspicion settled over Harry. Someone had made Snape aware… or something?

 

“It was in that book of yours, wasn’t it?” Harry grumbled.

 

“Perhaps it was,” Snape said evasively. “A book that is still very available for you to read, if you wish to?”

 

Harry shivered. Something about that trauma book - or perhaps, about the confrontation with his childhood he’d have to endure if he read it - made icy fingers of dread curl their way around Harry’s heart.

 

“Yeah, no thanks.” Eager to steer away from the topic at hand, Harry asked, “Look, I have other things to talk about, anyway. Like the Slytherins.”

 

“What about the Slytherins?” Snape asked.

 

“They’ve gone all Hufflepuff suddenly,” Harry said. “They’re all quiet and scared of their own shadows and stuff, especially around you - I saw them. Did you scare them straight for Draco?”

 

Creases lined the space between Snape’s eyebrows. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

 

“Well what if I want to know if I have to help Draco out or -”

 

“The situation has been handled,” Snape interrupted, holding out a hand.

 

Harry smirked. “So you did handle them yourself! What did you say? Did you go all scary on them?”

 

“Slytherin house matters remain within the house,” Snape said irritably. “Don’t be so nosy.”

 

Harry kept grinning as he reached out to sip his tea, which had finally cooled to the perfect temperature. As a now-scowling Snape reached for his own cup, Harry wondered if there was anything that the omniscient old bat didn’t know…

 

And then, it came to him.

 

“Perhaps I could hear a little bit about Slytherin house matters,” Harry said, setting his cup to one side, “since Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, after all.”

 

Snape choked on his coffee. 

 

So you don't know everything, Harry thought smugly.

 

“Why on earth would the Sorting Hat want to do that?” Snape demanded once he’d recovered the ability to speak. “With your penchant for throwing yourself into danger, one would think you’re a Gryffindor shoe-in!”

 

“Apparently I had a thirst to prove myself, and the potential for greatness or something.” Harry shrugged. “The hat said Slytherin could help me on my way to greatness, but - er, well, I wasn’t really interested.”

 

“I see.” Snape slowly smirked. “Perhaps you do have some redeeming qualities, then. Will wonders never cease…”

 

Harry smiled into his tea. 

 

---

 

After making up with Ron and Hermione, Harry finally settled into a comfortable routine, which Snape and Draco were somehow now included in. On top of the usual business of lessons and Quidditch practices, Harry also found himself taking a trip down to the dungeons about twice a week to see the two of them. Snape was generally quite busy on weekdays and spent most of Harry’s visits sitting in his office, but he tended to leave the door open unless he had a student in with him. That meant he could chime in while Harry and Draco spoke, or could ask a few simple questions about Harry’s day. It was all delightfully mundane, in a way that made Harry almost giddy with happiness. He’d never had this sort of casual rapport with anyone but Ron or Hermione…

 

Harry normally ended up providing something of a distraction for Draco. After their last talk, which had been surprisingly frank and honest, Draco made a consistent effort to steer their conversations away from any serious topics. He staunchly refused to talk about Lucius’ trial, which Harry was careful to never bring up anyway, and pointedly ignored any subtle questions from Harry about how the situation in Slytherin was. Harry didn’t mind that much, though. If someone made him talk about all his problems with the Dursleys at all times, that would be completely miserable. Draco deserved the same courtesy, and if he just wanted to talk about their chess or Monopoly games, then so be it.

 

It was nice - that was the only word Harry could think of to describe it. Sitting in Snape’s quarters and hanging out with Draco was nice, it was comfortable, and Harry really enjoyed visiting them down there. He enjoyed their company.

 

Harry just wished he could talk to Ron and Hermione about it properly.

 

They currently had a great arrangement that consisted of them not discussing Harry’s living situation. He disappeared down to the dungeons twice a week, they didn’t comment on it, and they all avoided another fight. Harry knew that while they said they trusted him, Ron and Hermione still weren’t fully comfortable with his new relationships. Ron was generally less bothered about Snape for some odd reason but took greater issue with Draco, while Hermione was decidedly wary about both of them. As a rule, it was safer for Harry to just never raise the topic, which Ron and Hermione respected in turn.

 

To Harry’s surprise, though, Hermione actually brought it up to him, two weeks from the day that Draco had moved into the dungeons. She returned to Gryffindor Tower from the library, half-hidden behind a stack of books, and gave him a confused look.

 

“What is it?” he asked, turning his attention away from the Divination homework he and Ron were struggling through.

 

“Did you tell Malfoy to talk to me?” she asked slowly.

 

Harry frowned. “Er - no? Why?”

 

“Did he say anything to you?” Ron asked, jerking his head up. His expression immediately darkened with anger.

 

Hermione set down her books and slowly sat down in an armchair, looking completely nonplussed. “He… he apologised to me.”

 

“What?” Ron demanded, his jaw dropping open.

 

“Did he actually?” Harry asked, feeling just as shocked as Ron looked.

 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her brows knitting together. “He came up to me in the library and said he was sorry for all the horrid names he called me, and for being such a prat about Muggleborns.”

 

“Wow,” Harry said faintly. 

 

“You really didn’t tell him to say that?” Hermione asked, frowning. “I sort of assumed you had.”

 

“I really didn’t,” Harry said. “I did have a go at him two weeks ago for all the stuff he said and he told me he didn’t believe Muggleborns are inferior anymore, but I didn’t make him say anything to you, Hermione.”

 

“I wonder why he did it, then,” Ron said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. 

 

Harry stared at him. “Because he doesn’t believe it anymore.”

 

“Sure,” Ron said, in a voice that clearly said how he didn’t believe that for a second.

 

“It was all really quite odd,” Hermione said, picking up a book and cracking it open. “I didn’t quite know what to say, honestly.”

 

“I wouldn't either. That sounds really weird,” Harry said slowly. He was very confused about what had happened and made a mental note to interrogate Draco as soon as possible.

 

Hermione shrugged. “Well, either way, I did appreciate it. I suppose he must have improved a little bit, Harry. I can’t imagine him ever saying sorry to me last year, even if he was being forced.”

 

Ron made an indignant spluttering sort of noise as a response, but Harry still smiled to himself. He couldn’t help but be pleased by the progress.

 

---

 

Harry made a beeline straight to the dungeons the next morning on Saturday to ask Draco what on earth Hermione had been talking about, but his interrogation was unfortunately held up by an irate portrait.

 

“The password has changed,” the cobra guarding Snape’s quarters informed him loftily.

 

Harry groaned. “Can’t you just let me in anyway? I’m always in and out of here, you see me!”

 

“What kind of security measures would that constitute, boy?” the snake demanded. “No entry!”

 

“But what am I supposed to do? Snape hasn’t told me the new password!” Harry complained.

 

The cobra made a shocked, indignant sort of noise. “And you certainly don’t deserve it, if you continue to address him without the proper honorifics! You youths have absolutely no respect for your hardworking elders, back in the day they’d have rulered your hands for being so rude…”

 

“Who are you to tell me any of this?” Harry said, crossing his arms. “You’re just a snake!”

 

This seemed to grievously offend the cobra. He drew himself to his full height, ruff flaring, fangs bared, and loudly hissed, “how dare you! I have been the watcher and guardian of this office corridor for over two hundred years, you insolent brat! I have seen generations of insignificant, snot-nosed adolescents traipse along -”

 

“Harry, what have you done?” Draco said exasperatedly from behind him. “Why does that snake look like it’s about to jump out of the portrait and bite you?”

 

“I think I pissed him off,” Harry said with a grimace, struggling to ignore the angry creature as his rant grew in volume. “I didn’t know the password.”

 

“Right - Severus was going to send you a note when he got back in. New password is ‘Salazar’.”

 

Harry turned back to the portrait and gave it a smug look.

 

“I have half a mind to refuse you entry anyway!” the cobra said angrily.

 

“It’s literally your entire job to let me through!” Harry shouted, feeling quite frustrated by now. The Fat Lady could get snippy, but she was never this bad! “Salazar, Salazar, Salazar! Bloody hell, let me in already!”

 

The snake bared his fangs again, but the hinges of the portrait swung open against his will, revealing the entrance to Snape’s quarters. Harry stepped through, but noticed Draco remained out in the hallway. His face had drained of all colour.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked with a frown. 

 

“I-I forgot you could do that,” Draco said in a slightly strained voice.

 

“Do what?” 

 

“Speak to snakes!” Draco said loudly, stepping into the quarters so the portrait shut behind them.

 

“Wait, was I speaking Parseltongue just then?”

 

“Yes.” Draco looked quite worried. “Did you not know?”

 

“It always just sounds like plain English to me,” Harry shrugged. “Don’t look so frightened! You know I can do it!”

 

“I don’t look frightened!” Draco said irritably. “It’s just a shock to see you doing it, that’s all. And it’s a bit creepy, really…”

 

“Rude.” Harry scowled, remembering the Chamber of Secrets affair from the previous year. All of that had made him thoroughly sick of people calling Parseltongue evil and creepy.

 

Draco noticed his reaction and quickly changed focus. “Does the portrait have anything interesting to say?”

 

“No.” Harry glared in the direction of the entranceway. “He’s a right dickhead.”

 

Draco frowned. “Can a snake be a dickhead?”

 

“That one certainly is,” Harry said darkly. 

 

Draco began to make his way over to his bedroom, while Harry trailed behind. He’d been in here a couple of times now - Draco’s bedroom was how Harry would imagine the Slytherin equivalent of the Gryffindor dormitories to look. There was a grand four-poster bed with green hangings, a silver and green rug carpeting the floor, and a few Slytherin pennants on the walls. There were other aspects of the room that Draco had personalised, though, like the bookshelves, or the slightly messy desk which he was currently placing a couple of arithmancy textbooks onto. At the top of the stack Harry noticed a newspaper - he caught a glimpse of a photograph upon the cover depicting a snake curling its way out of a skull’s mouth before Draco hurriedly slammed it in a drawer. 

 

“So… just wondering something,” Harry said casually, sitting on the end of Draco’s bed.

 

Draco looked up at him thoughtfully. “Yeah?”

 

“Er - Hermione mentioned you came up to her yesterday.”

 

Draco’s face instantly became rather pinched. “Ah.”

 

“Why did you do that?” Harry burst out. “Did Snape put you up to it, or did you -”

 

“He did not put me up to it!” Draco shouted, suddenly looking very angry. “Merlin’s beard, why does everyone always accuse me of having someone else puppetting my every action? First Granger, now you! Did it ever occur to you that I’m capable of making my own damn decisions?!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said quickly, subconsciously backing away from him. He'd clearly touched a nerve. “I just didn’t understand why you would do something like that, is all -”

 

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I actually wanted to make amends?” Draco demanded.

 

“But you hate apologising!” Harry pointed out. “No offence, but even if you were sorry about something, you don’t tend to say the words unless someone makes you.”

 

Draco huffed, and glowered pointedly into the ground, but didn’t otherwise refute what Harry was saying.

 

“Why now, then?” he asked insistently.

 

Draco sighed, and looked at Harry hesitantly for several moments before speaking. “I… I was thinking about what you said the other day. When you asked me what I thought about Muggles and Muggleborns.”

 

Harry gave him a surprised look. “You did?”

 

“Yeah. Er - it all sounded quite bad when you laid it out like that. Just made me think, I suppose.” Draco crossed his legs beneath him. “Severus has been having a lot of talks with me, as usual, and - well, long story short, there have been a lot of lectures about the appropriateness of apologising and stuff, and I sort of thought that applied to Granger, and I know you don’t want me to be nasty to your friends, so…”

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. Draco had seriously gone up to Hermione and had apologised. Draco! He wasn’t even being forced to do so!

 

“What are you grinning about?” Draco asked irritably.

 

“Nothing,” he said cheerfully. “Just thinking about how you’ve changed.”

 

"Oh, shut up," Draco grumbled, throwing a pillow at him. 

 

---

 

As the term progressed and the month of October marched on, Harry found himself becoming slightly distracted from the issues of Draco, Snape and his friends. He had larger, newer concerns to deal with; namely, the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. The date had at last been set for Halloween, and the whole common room was buzzing with excited chatter, discussing where they would go and what they would see in the village. 

 

Harry, on the other hand, found himself morosely withdrawing from it all. Uncle Vernon had refused to sign his permission slip back in July, and Harry wasn't entirely certain if Snape even could give him permission, seeing as Harry was supposed to keep this whole guardianship thing hushed up. Plus, Harry had something of a gut feeling about what Snape’s answer would probably be. 

 

“I reckon you should go ask McGonagall to give you permission,” Ron said decidedly, once Harry’s moping had grown too obvious to ignore.

 

“Ron!” Hermione said, tone severe. “Harry’s supposed to stay in school -”

 

‘Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade,” Ron said dismissively. “Come on, Harry, the next one might not be for ages, you should at least ask -”

 

“Yeah, I will,” Harry decided.

 

He made a beeline for Professor McGonagall’s desk at the end of Transfiguration, after a quick reminder from her for them all to hand in their permission forms. He stood there nervously, waiting for the rest of the class to disappear. 

 

Professor McGonagall set her quill down and examined Harry over her square spectacles. “Yes, Potter?”

 

“Professor, my aunt and uncle - er, well, they didn’t sign my form,” Harry said haltingly. “And I - well, I can’t exactly ask them now, considering…”

 

Professor McGonagall frowned. “Do you or do you not have a new guardian to take care of things of this nature, Potter?”

 

“Well - I didn’t know if I was allowed to go to him, since - er, since the stuff with him is supposed to be secret and all -”

 

“The Hogwarts staff are the ones with jurisdiction over Hogsmeade permission slips, not the Ministry for Magic,” Professor McGonagall said. “Professor Snape has full control over your Hogwarts business, so you’ll need to go to him for this, not me.”

 

“Oh. Um, okay. Thanks, professor.”

 

Harry began to shuffle out of the classroom, a sinking sensation in his stomach. He somehow had the feeling that Snape was not going to be particularly enthusiastic about this…

 

---

 

“No.”

 

“But -”

 

“You’re not going,” Snape said flatly, tapping a stack of papers against his desk and neatly filing them away.

 

“Why not?!” Harry complained.

 

“You know perfectly well why not, or do the words ‘Sirius Black, mass murderer’ mean nothing to you?”

 

“Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade!” Harry said, echoing Ron’s words from earlier.

 

“Black is mad, and Black was recently sighted in Scotland!” Snape hissed. “We have no idea what he may or may not do! When he is caught, this is open to change, but for now you will stay in the castle."

 

“Everyone else is going!” Harry shouted. “I bet you gave Draco permission, didn’t you?!”

 

“As Draco does not have a murderer out for his blood, I did,” Snape said coolly. 

 

“See? Completely unfair!” he yelled. “You’re just doing this because - because you like him more than me, don’t you?! That’s why he gets to do stuff I never get to do!”

 

“Shouting unfounded accusations about my impartiality at me is not going to make me change my mind, Harry,” Snape said, brushing his robes down and getting to his feet. He was infuriatingly calm, which just made Harry angrier. “Your circumstances are completely different, as you certainly understand. My answer is no.”

 

A strange, furious emotion clawed its way into Harry's chest. It was something that the Dursleys had beaten out of him at a very young age - that deep sense of want, and the accompanying urge to kick out and throw a fit when met with the wrong answer to his request. Who the hell was Snape to decide all of this? Who was he to boss Harry around? The outrage was like a tiny little gremlin, trying to fight its way out of Harry's body - he had to actively struggle against the urge to stamp his foot like a petulant child. God, where had that come from? Instead of expressing all of that, Harry settled for scowling fiercely at Snape.

 

“I still think it's unfair!” he complained. “You're being stupid!”

 

“Do not speak to me in that manner.” Snape's expression went from calm to stern in an instant. Harry shrank back slightly as Snape stalked over to him. “If you want to continue this discussion, you'll keep a civil tongue in your head.”

 

Snape scolding him only served to make Harry even more outraged, for some reason. The gremlin-like emotion finally won its battle for dominance. 

 

“Fine!” he shouted. “I don’t want to keep talking, so I’ll just go, then! You’re nasty, and unfair, and I hate you!” 

 

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the office moments later, leaving a weary-looking Snape behind. When Harry’s anger had calmed a bit later on, he would feel remarkably guilty about that last comment, a phrase he didn’t mean and probably shouldn’t have said. He was just so angry, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate…

 

Still, despite the small pang of guilt, he wasn’t too happy with Snape - or Hermione, who had spontaneously decided to relax on her Snape wariness on the one occasion where Harry actually wanted to be angry with the greasy git. She seemed to agree that Harry shouldn’t be allowed to go to Hogsmeade on account of Black, to his immense irritation.

 

But there was nothing to be done. Instead of getting swept up in the eager anticipation of the trip, Harry spent the next week and a half before Halloween trying to ignore his classmates excitedly talking about Hogsmeade while feeling desperately miserable. He was very annoyed with Snape and spent most of Potions with his head bowed, refusing to make eye contact with the man. 

 

Harry also stopped visiting Draco down in Snape’s quarters. If he took a trip down into the dungeons it carried far too high of a chance for Harry to run into Snape, which was utterly unacceptable. 

 

That wasn’t just it, though. There was something else colouring Harry’s opinion of Draco right now -  jealousy. Snape might have thought that Harry was throwing out unfounded accusations in his office the other day, but he did sometimes think that Snape liked Draco much more than he liked Harry. He was Draco’s godfather, and they had so much more in common; both being Slytherins, Potions, general demeanour… all of that coupled with his elevated privileges to go into Hogsmeade made Harry rather reluctant to see him, since the bitterness was so all-consuming…

 

Harry did end up feeling a little guilty about this behaviour when Draco waylaid him after a Potions lesson and dragged Harry into an obscured alcove.

 

“I tried to convince him to let you go, but no luck,” Draco said in a low voice. “it's completely rotten of him, Harry. He’s being ridiculous!”

 

Harry sighed to himself.

 

“I’ll bring you back a load of stuff, okay?” Draco promised. “And I’ll get you a couple of Zonko’s pranks you can use on Severus as revenge.”

 

Guilt stirred in Harry. Suddenly, his behaviour over the last week and a half seemed a lot less like justifiable irritation and more like targeting his annoyance at someone who didn’t have anything to do with Harry’s situation. Draco hadn’t asked for Snape to be so annoyingly restrictive with Harry, after all.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t come down,” he said guiltily.

 

Draco shrugged, making a clear effort at nonchalance. “I understand.”

 

“Er - I’ll come with Hermione to the library sometime this week and see you there instead, if you’d like,” Harry promised. “I just really don’t want to see him right now…”

 

“What is Granger up to, by the way?” Draco asked. “Is she taking all the courses or something? She’s got far too many textbooks for one girl, in my opinion.”

 

Harry smiled. “That’s just Hermione for you.”

 

“Speaking of Granger, I’ll let you get back to her before she and Weasley think I’ve kidnapped you and try to stage a counterstrike,” Draco said, pulling a face. “See you in the library, then. Oh, and I’ll try and talk Severus into it again -”

 

“Don’t bother,” Harry said wearily. “He won’t budge, and you’ll just end up fighting with him, too.”

 

---

 

After his chat with Draco, Harry went from being angry to just feeling rather depressed about the whole situation. He absolutely hated conflict, and he was starting to really regret how he’d acted in Snape’s office. Sure, he was being an unfair git, but he’d been calm and relaxed while Harry had shouted at him like a child and said he hated Snape. That wasn’t fair. He was angry at Snape, but he didn’t hate him…

 

All in all, the various problems left Harry feeling very despondent on the morning of the Hogsmeade trip. He wasn’t even buoyed by the various promises of sweets from his friends, and decided that today was destined to be a ruined day.

 

Until he bumped into Professor Lupin, that was.

 

To Harry’s shock, he found himself feeling a lot better than he had in a fortnight while in Professor Lupin’s office, talking about Grindylows and Boggarts and Dementors. It was a relief to find out that the man hadn’t thought Harry was weak or something on the day he’d stepped in front of Harry in Defence against the Dark Arts - he had simply been worried that the Boggart would turn into Voldemort. Harry supposed that sounded reasonable, and felt considerably lighter without that worry weighing on him.

 

Of course, Snape had to enter the office moments later, reminding Harry of just how wretched he’d been feeling about the Hogsmeade situation and Snape’s role in it. 

 

“Ah, Severus,” Lupin said, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

 

 Snape set a smoking goblet down, his black eyes not leaving Harry once. He felt slightly unnerved, like Snape was x-raying him. Was he using Legilimency or something?

 

“I was just showing Harry my Grindylow,” Lupin said, seemingly immune to the tension that had settled over the office. He pointed at the tank, and the creature within growled from its nest of seaweed.

 

“Fascinating,” Snape drawled. His tone clearly conveyed that he couldn’t care less. “Harry, I’d like a word.”

 

“Er -” Harry said, pointedly looking between Lupin and Snape.

 

“Don’t let me hold you up, Harry,” Lupin said pleasantly, picking up the smoking goblet. “I ought to get back to my work, at any rate. It was nice speaking with you.”

 

“You too. Thanks for the tea.” Harry got to his feet with a sigh. He supposed that after a week and a half of avoidance, he was more than overdue for a talk with Snape…

 

“You should drink that directly, Lupin,” Snape instructed, backing towards the door. 

 

“Yes, yes, I will,” Lupin said. "Goodbye, Harry."

 

As soon as the office door swung shut, Harry turned to Snape and tersely asked, "What?"

 

"There is no need to be so snippy with me," Snape said, scowling at him.

 

"Yeah, well I was kind of in the middle of something!"

 

"What did Lupin want with you, anyway?" Snape snarled.

 

"To talk. Or am I suddenly not allowed to do that, either?" Harry bit out.

 

Snape's shoulders tensed. "You will get permission when Black is recaptured, so I'd advise that you drag yourself out of this childish strop and get on with your life in the meantime."

 

Harry exalted out of his nose harshly, grinding his teeth. When he thought he had enough control of himself to not say something he regretted, he muttered, "What is it, then? Did you want to talk, or did you just come to have a go at me?"

 

A muscle in Snape's jaw twitched slightly before he opened his mouth to begin speaking. "I came to ask if you were alright."

 

For some reason, that really made Harry's temper flare, and he felt his very little patience give out.

 

"I am not bloody alright with you stopping me from going to Hogsmeade! I'd have thought that I’ve made that pretty obvious!" Harry snapped.

 

Snape's eyes flashed. "You most certainly have, Potter. You have made your feelings extraordinarily clear! After all, you hate me, don't you?"

 

Harry felt like he'd been hit very hard in the stomach. Snape's voice was cold - the iciness of his tone and the coldness in his eyes froze Harry's very blood in his veins as the man continued speaking, tone laced with a dangerous kind of anger. 

 

"My life does not entirely revolve around juvenile concerns such as visits to the local village, Potter!" he spat. "I was asking after your wellbeing because it is October 31st, and I thought you might appreciate the support on the anniversary of your parents' deaths! I see now I oughtn't to have bothered!"

 

Snape strode away in the opposite direction in a flurry of dark robes, leaving Harry frozen against the wall, reeling. He imagined the moment of freefall between being thrown from a cliff edge and hitting the ground must feel something like this - a stomach-lurching moment of anticipation… 

 

Then came the impact.

 

Harry was awful. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd been so wrapped up with his misery over Hogsmeade, and being angry at Snape, and trying to navigate the complexities of holding a friendship between Ron, Hermione and Draco that he hadn't thought once of his mother and father today. 

 

It had happened today.

 

Harry ran his fingers over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead and leaned heavily against the wall. He felt rather faint.

 

Harry hadn't known the date his parents had died as a child, since the 'car crash' that had killed Lily and James Potter was a strictly forbidden topic. Before the age of eleven, Halloween had just been a slightly miserable day where Harry got to sit in a cupboard and listen to happy children trick-or-treat in the hallway just beyond while a costumed Dudley feasted on a massive bag of sweets Harry wasn't allowed near. 

 

He hasn't known the date in time in his first year of Hogwarts. Harry didn't remember precisely when he'd found that out, but it wasn’t like Harry had commemorated it in any way after discovering it had happened on Halloween. He'd been otherwise occupied. Death Day parties, ancient Chambers of Secrets filled with Muggleborn-killing basilisks… he'd been distracted.

 

He'd craved the distraction, perhaps. 

 

Harry was terrible. He should be doing… something, right? But what? He didn't know what you were supposed to do on the anniversary of your parents' deaths, especially since he hadn't grown up commemorating them on the actual date. His sadness for his orphanhood was reserved for other times, like ignored birthdays, sad, lonely Christmases, and long, sleepless nights in his cupboard when all he wanted was for someone to soothe him back into sleep after a nightmare. It was so hard, because Harry just didn't know them. He didn’t know what they would have wanted him to do.

 

But they were his parents! How could he just forget them like he had? 

 

Harry numbly wandered back up to Gryffindor Tower, completely and utterly ignoring a rather chatty Colin Creevey in the common room. Harry pulled the hangings around his bed and curled into a very small ball, hoping it would ease the ache of despair in his core.

 

He wished he could talk to Snape about this. He always had a way of making things make sense…

 

But Harry couldn't talk to Snape. He didn't deserve to talk to Snape. He'd told Snape he hated him for no good reason, and he'd clearly upset the man. Besides, Snape had way more of a right to be upset today than Harry did. He knew Harry's mum, his grief was the proper kind. Harry sometimes had horrible thoughts, where he wondered if he grieved the individual people his parents were or just the idea of them. If the Dursleys had been kind to him, would he still miss them? Harry thought he was an awful person for even wondering that.

 

No wonder nobody wanted anything to do with Harry.

 

He didn't deserve to grieve for them. Harry didn't deserve parents, not when he couldn't even remember to be properly upset on the day they died, like they deserved, because they were good, brave people, while Harry was rotten and awful. 

 

He certainly didn't deserve parental figures, or anything, because he did stupid nasty things like shout at them about Hogsmeade forms. God, it all just seemed so stupid, and Harry wished he could take it back, but he couldn't. He ruined everything. 

 

Harry took the photo album Hagrid had given him and flipped through it for a very long time. He tried to pretend his eyes weren't stinging and blurry, that his throat didn't feel choked and itchy, and stared hard at his parents' faces, smiling and happy, blissfully unaware of the fate that would befall them. When it grew too unbearable, he shut the album and held it close to his chest. He felt so achingly lonely. 

 

---

 

Harry didn't want to go to the feast.

 

He knew Ron and Hermione had returned from Hogsmeade, bearing gifts. He knew that they knew he was moping, because Ron tried shaking Harry awake while he determinedly pretended to be asleep. Ron knew Harry was ignoring him, but eventually sighed and promised to bring him up a roll from dinner. He also added a muttered comment about Crookshanks trying to eat Scabbers that only served to make Harry feel even worse - so now Ron and Hermione were fighting again, too…

 

Harry could not bring himself to go to that feast. He knew it would be delicious, and wonderful, and fun, and Harry decidedly did not deserve to experience that because he was a terrible son.

 

Snape'll be angry with you for skipping meals.

 

This did not affect Harry's decision significantly, because he was not only a terrible son, but a terrible ward, and Snape already was disappointed in him and wanted nothing to do with Harry, so what was one more terrible decision? Of course, Snape being disappointed would mean he was actually invested in Harry which, after today, he doubted was the case. Snape was probably washing his hands of Harry at that very moment, because all he did was push at people and say horrible things without thinking and forget his dead parents.

 

Which he was doing again. Harry shook himself out of the thoughts of self-hatred and returned to the important matters. What did people even do in this situation? Visit the dead person's grave and talk to them or leave flowers?

 

Harry didn't even know where his parents' grave was. What sort of person didn't know that? They were his parents! How could he not know? 

 

Were they even buried somewhere, actually? What if they'd been cremated? Where would the ashes go? Harry was suddenly overcome by a very vivid mental image of Aunt Petunia pouring the contents of an urn into a wheelie bin and decided for his sake to hope it was a grave. 

 

Harry rolled over, buried his face in a pillow, and screamed a muffled scream. He was filled with so many jagged, swirling emotions, and he had to let some of it out or else he would quite literally explode. Once he was done, Harry was half convinced he could hear screaming still, but it couldn't be him because it sounded vaguely feminine, and his voice certainly wasn't that high-pitched. It reminded Harry a bit of the weird screaming he'd heard on the train with the Dementor, actually…

 

There would be a cruel irony in a Dementor showing up right now, Harry thought. He wondered if its powers would even work on Harry, since he thought it was impossible for him to feel any more wretched than he already did. 

 

Well, it was a Dementor. Harry didn't fancy his odds. He made the remarkably un-Gryffindorish decision to bury his head under his pillow until further notice in the hopes that it could help. When he finally surfaced, realising that perhaps the screaming was not him finally going mad but could be an actual person in distress, the sound had gone. Harry had probably been imagining it, then. He returned to his duvet nest for further moping.

 

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the next disturbance. All Harry knew was that one moment, he was lying in the darkness and contemplating matters of grieving, and in the next there were pounding footsteps thudding on the staircase outside. It was probably the fourth-year boys - they liked to run around the tower like a stampede of elephants, something that Percy was prone to yelling at them about. If they were back, the feast had to be over.

 

Moments later, the door to his dormitory flew open so violently it hit the wall with a bang. Someone shouted, "Harry?!"

 

Okay. Decidedly not normal. Harry removed his head from underneath the pillow just in time to witness his curtains being violently ripped open, revealing Snape. His wand was clutched in his hand, and he looked frantic and wild, almost feral.

 

"Did he get in?" Snape demanded. "Are you alright?"

 

"What’s going on?” 

 

Alarm swept over Harry in an instant. Snape pulled the duvet off of him and grabbed onto his shoulders with a vice grip. He began looking Harry up and down, almost as if he was scanning for injuries. 

 

"Um - mind explaining?" Harry said blankly. He was still reeling from the absolute wrongness of Snape in Gryffindor Tower, of all places. "What happened?"

 

"Sirius Black." Harry looked over Snape's shoulders and saw Professor McGonagall standing in his doorway, clutching her heart. Her face was deathly pale. "He attacked Hogwarts tonight, while we were occupied with the feast. He came at the Fat Lady with a knife."

 

"What?" Harry demanded. "Why would he do that?!"

 

"Because she wouldn't give Black the password to Gryffindor Tower," Snape said gravely. "She wouldn't give him access to you."