It was a warm, mid-August day when Snape apparated to the alleyway he used when visiting the Grangers. He had left Potter there two weeks ago, against his better judgement but on Dumbledore’s orders. It still chafed. As he made his way up the walk to the Grangers home, he checked the wards. They were still holding strong. Just as he was about to raise his hand to knock, the front door was flung open.

“Professor, please come in.”

“Miss Granger,” Snape said with a curt nod, stepping inside.

The young witch ushered him to the sitting room.

“Hello, Professor,” Potter said, getting up from his seat.

“Potter,” Snape replied. The boy walked up to him and stood awkwardly before him. Snape felt suddenly ill at ease. Was the boy expecting a hug? He shivered to think it. Yet a handshake seemed equally out of place. To cover the uneasy moment, he placed a hand briefly on Potter’s shoulder. “You are looking well,” Snape said.

“Thanks,” Potter replied, a look of relief crossing the boy’s face. “And thanks again for the robes.”

“They fit, then?” Snape inquired.

“Brilliantly,” Potter said with a smile.

Hermione said: “Want to have a seat, Professor?”

“No thank you, we need to be going.”

“Dr. Snape,” Mrs. Granger said as she entered the room. “It’s a pleasure to see you,” she said, offering her hand.

Snape shook it. “The pleasure is all mine.” Gesturing at Potter, he said, “I hope he hasn’t been any trouble?”

Mrs. Granger waved his concern away. “None at all,” she said. “Harry is a lovely house guest. Now, can I get you something to drink? A lemonade or iced tea perhaps?”

“I appreciate your offer, but we must be on our way. I would like to have them back to you before dinner,” Snape responded.

“Of course,” Mrs. Granger demurred. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Snape said. “I am sure you have much to do, and if not, you have certainly earned a well-deserved break from these two,” Snape said, gesturing to his two students who stood, identical innocent expressions on their faces.

Mrs. Granger laughed. “They really are no trouble. It’s nice to have them here for the summer.” Smiling, she added, “Well, I best leave you to it then.”

After she’d left the room, Snape turned to face the two teenagers. “There are some preparations we need to make.” He removed two bottles of potion from inside his robes.

“Polyjuice?” Hermione asked.

“Indeed,” Snape replied, handing a bottle to each. He removed a cloth satchel from his robes and handed it to Potter. “You may wish to change in the loo, Potter.”

“Will I need to change as well?” Granger asked.

Snape looked at her Muggle clothing and said: “You should be fine.” Then he glanced back at Potter pointedly. Potter was wearing jeans and a button down shirt, and was clearly unsure as to why he need to change. Shrugging he made his way to the restroom.

The door closed behind Potter, and Snape gazed out the window.

“Shall I drink this now?” Granger asked.

Snape nodded as Granger forced down the potion. He observed clinically as her features changed and she stood before him, short dark hair and even darker eyes, her complexion more olive, a touch of acne on her skin. She was only about 2 inches shorter and only slightly heavier, so her clothes still fit well enough.

Just then, they heard a curse and a moan.

“Professor?” Granger asked, concern bright in her newly dark eyes.

Snape bit his tongue in an effort to keep a straight face. Then he cleared his throat. When Potter stepped out of the bathroom, he had to turn away to prevent himself from bursting out laughing.

“Ohhhh,” Granger breathed.

Potter stood, his face rigid.

Granger bit her lip.

Snape turned, an eyebrow raised.

Indignantly, Potter said, his hands on his now curvy hips, “I can’t believe you gave me knockers!”

“Well,” Granger said, tilting her head, trying not laugh, “you do make a very… umm… attractive… girl.” And then she giggled.

Harry started cursing, trying to adjust his unwieldy breasts. “I have a new appreciation for girls and bras,” he muttered.

Snape sniggered.

“Is this really necessary?” Potter asked, his voice high and feminine.

“I believe it is,” Snape replied. “You two are sisters. Pure blood. Regina and Charlotte Norgrass. From Devonshire. You live with an elderly aunt who is unable to accompany you.”

Potter groaned. He pushed his shoulder-length long, dark hair from his face, and then looked at Snape. “Why would you ever want to keep your hair long like this? It’s so annoying!”

Snape only smirked. “Are you ready?”

Potter pulled on the legs of his trousers, trying to lower them and muttered something about girl bits. “I am so glad I’m not female,” he muttered.

“Too bad Ron isn’t here to see this,” Granger commented, still chuckling.

Potter groaned again. “I’m glad he’s not. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Are you two girls ready?” Snape asked.

Potter glared at him, and Snape chortled. “Rest assured that no one will recognize you, Potter. You did say that was what you wanted, did you not?”

Potter made a derisive sound. “You could have made me an unrecognizable wizard,” he complained.

“I could have,” Snape agreed, opening the front door to usher the students out. “But it wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable.”

Diagon Alley was busy as usual, with many students and their parents shopping for the upcoming school year. Snape found Hermione invaluable in her ability to keep Potter on task and make sure that he got all of his supplies. It made his life much easier.

Snape had spent the last hour supervising as they purchased books, clothing, potions supplies, owl treats, candy, and whatever else they felt they needed. Nearly at the end of his patience, he’d agreed to one last stop for ice cream before they made their way back.

“Charlie,” Granger simpered, the shortened version of Charlotte that Potter had agreed to, most likely because it sounded a bit manly. “You must try the strawberry crème ice cream. It is simply divine.”

Potter rolled his dark eyes. “Fine, Regina, I will,” he bit out.

“Now girls,” Snape intoned. “Play nice.”

Granger smiled while Potter looked annoyed. Snape was quite amused at how Granger had slid into character. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Potter seemed a bit miserable, as he kept trying to adjust his clothing about his new body parts, but overall he seemed to be managing.

As they neared Fortescue’s Ice Cream parlor, Snape leaned over to whisper in Potter’s ear: “At least people aren’t staring at you.”

Potter grunted and Snape’s lips twitched. He imagined Potter would get him back for his someday.

They ordered and took a seat at an outside table with a colorful umbrella overtop to provide shade. Potter and Granger with ice cream had large ice cream cones, while Snape had merely ordered a glass of ice water. Snape sat back in his chair, stretching his legs, as the two teens chatted easily. He’d been on high alert since they’d arrived, but nothing had seemed amiss so far. He watched the street in both directions nonetheless.

“Snape,” a cold voice said from behind him.

Snape stilled and set up straighter. A dagger of fear ran through him. Pulling his features into a stony mask, he got to his feet. “Yaxley,” he greeted, looking the wizard over.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Snape,” Yaxley said, looking the two girls accompanying over. “And with youngin’s no less,” Yaxley said snidely.

Snape took Yaxley’s arm and led him a few steps away.

“Fine day to be shopping,” Yaxley continued. “I didn’t fancy you ferrying others’ children about.” Yaxley sneered at Snape. “Unless they are yours?”

“Certainly not,” Snape retorted. “Orphans,” Snape said coldly.

“In Slytherin?” Yaxley asked, suspicion clear in his tone.

“Of course,” Snape said. “Did you expect me to shuttle around brats from other houses during my summer vacation?”

Yaxley studied him, pushing at his Occlumency shields. Snape quickly slipped in a few images of him picking up the children from a countryside manor, an elderly woman shooing the children out. Another image showed the two girls each purchasing new Slytherin robes.

“What happened to their parents?” Yaxley asked, pulling out of Snape’s mind and clearly presuming that Snape hadn’t noticed the intrusion.

“The mother had an affair,” Snape spat. “The father took matters into his own hands. Killed her lover in front of her. Then killed her for good measure,” Snape said, as if he relished such slayings. “Offed himself when the Aurors arrived.”

“Pure bloods?” Yaxley asked.

“Of course,” Snape replied.

Yaxley shook his head. “Shame.”

Snape made a noncommittal noise that could be taken for assent.

Yaxley looked speculatively over at the two girls. “Orphans, you say?”

Snape surpressed a growl. “I must be getting them back,” he said through gritted teeth. He knew Yaxley’s predilection for young girls.

“You are a very busy man, Snape, what with the potions you need to brew, both for the Dark Lord and that excuse of a school.” Yaxley puffed out his chest. “I’d be happy to escort them home for you, save you the trouble.”

Snape glanced back at the table where the two teens sat rigidly, their ice cream cones dripping onto the glass tabletop.

“That is quite all right, Yaxley. I am more than capable…” Snape said.

“I wasn’t questioning your abilities, Snape. I was offering…” Yaxley said, practically purring, as he leered at the polyjuiced girls.

“I know what you were offering, Yaxley,” Snape spat. “But they are Slytherins, and as their head of house it is my responsibility…”

Yaxley waved such concerns away. “No one would be the wiser,” Yaxley said conspiratorially.

“No,” Snape ground out.

“Ahh…” Yaxley said with a nod. “Saving them for yourself, eh?”

“Something like that,” Snape said through gritted teeth. Snape pulled out his pocket watch, squinted at it, and said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting them back.”

Yaxley gave a bitter laugh. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Snape said. He brushed past Yaxley to his two students. “It is time to go,” he said, his voice brooking no arguments.

The two stood, and one look at Snape’s face had them ditching their ice cream cones and grabbing their bags.

Knowing that Yaxley was still watching, Snape grabbed their arms roughly and apparated them away. They came out in a back alley in London.

“Professor?” Granger asked.

“Be quiet,” Snape snapped. He had to think. Would Yaxley suspect? Would he check up on Snape? Would he try and follow to gain access to the girls? Snape cursed, grabbed their arms again, and apparated them away.

They landed haphazardly on the front step of Order Headquarters, where Snape quickly ushered them inside.

“What’s going on?” Potter asked.

“Nothing good, I assure you,” Snape replied.

“Are we being followed?” Granger asked.

“I don’t know,” Snape said.

“Who was that man?” Granger asked.

“A Death Eater by the name of Corban Yaxley,” Snape said grimly.

Granger’s mouth formed an “o” while Potter said nothing.

They made their way into the foyer, where Snape quickly shut and warded the door. He cast a quick “Hominum Revelio” which indicated one other human on an upper floor. Likely the wolf, he thought.

“Harry?” Hermione suddenly said. “Are you ok?”

Snape glanced at Potter, who stood, pale as a ghost, his arms wrapped around himself, or herself as the Polyjuiced case might be. Snape cursed. He had wanted them someplace safe and inaccessible; he hadn’t thought about what it would do to the boy to bring him back to his dead godfather’s home.

“Severus?” another voice called. Lupin was coming down the stairs, looking at the three of them. “What’s going on?”

Snape stepped forward. “We’ve just returned from Diagon Alley,” Snape said. He gestured at the two girls. “Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, Polyjuiced.”

Lupin looked momentarily surprised. “Harry?” he asked.

The boy in a girl’s body looked up with haunted dark eyes.

“What happened?” Lupin asked all around.

Hermione spoke up. “Death eaters,” she whispered.

Lupin’s face paled. “They didn’t…”

“No,” Snape said. “We weren’t attacked.” Snape ran a hand through his hair. “It was Yaxley, the sick bastard. He wanted a go at them,” he said, shuddering in disgust.

Lupin looked appalled.

Snape reached into his robes and pulled out two vials of antidote, handing them to Potter and Granger. Granger drank hers immediately and changed back into herself. Potter had grasped the vial but only held it, his eyes now closed, his arms again wrapped tightly around himself.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. “Go on and drink it. You’ll be back to yourself then.”

When Potter didn’t move, Granger pried the bottle from his fingers and uncorked it. Stiffly, Potter took it, swallowed, and transformed into himself. Lupin stepped forward, his eyes shuttered.

“Harry?” he asked. “Are you alright, cub?”

Potter shook his head. “Can we leave? I can’t… I don’t… want to be here.”

Lupin and Hermione looked to Snape.

Shit, Snape thought. He wracked his brain trying to think of a safe place. If Yaxley was suspicious, or still looking for the girls, his home wouldn’t be safe, and neither would Hogwarts since he couldn’t Apparate directly into the castle grounds. He exchanged a glance with Lupin, who seemed to understand.

Lupin stepped forward and placed his hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and Hermione come to my room. I don’t think you’ve seen it before, have you? I can show you my… ah… tea collection,” Lupin finished lamely. He looked at Snape with a grimace, before ushering Harry and Hermione up the stairs.

Nearly two hours later, Snape made his way to Lupin’s rooms at Headquarters. He’d been to Spinner’s End, to Hogwarts, and elsewhere to see if Yaxley had tried to follow him. He’d stopped back at Diagon Alley to see if questions had been asked about him, or the children with him. Although he’d gained no new information, he had to agree with Dumbledore. He couldn’t count on his summer residence being safe for Potter. And if the look on Potter’s face when they’d arrived was any indication, Order Headquarters wouldn’t be a good place for Potter, either.

He knocked on Lupin’s door.

“Enter.”

Snape looked around the scene. A tray of leftover sandwiches, biscuits, and drinks lay on Lupin’s table. Hermione was perched in a corner, reading a book. Potter was playing cards with Lupin on the floor. Potter looked drawn. Lupin glanced at Snape meaningfully as if to say ‘What took you so long?’

“Time to go,” Snape said.

“Is everything ok?” Hermione asked, closing the book.

“As far as I can tell,” Snape replied.

Potter stood, his face downcast.

Lupin walked them to the door, giving Potter a hug before they left.

Snape gave Lupin a curt nod, ushered the teens onto the front step, and Apparated them to a different alley near the Grangers’ home.

Once Snape had assured the safety of the area, Snape said, “It would be best if you two slipped under Potter’s invisibility cloak.”

Without a word, Potter removed it from his rucksack and threw it over the two of them.

“Follow me, then,” Snape said as he led the way to the Grangers’ home.

Once inside, they settled in the living room. Mrs. Granger brought everyone lemonade.

Snape glanced hard at Hermione, willing her to understand what he wanted without having to speak. He would, if need be, but it would be preferable if she just…

“Mum,” Miss Granger said. “Will you help me take my stuff upstairs? I want to show you what I all got for school.”

Snape nodded appreciatively at her and waited until they’d left the room.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, moving to sit on the ottoman in front of the boy. Potter didn’t look up. Snape took a deep breath. “I am very sorry about taking you to Order Headquarters.” Snape closed his eyes, trying to think how to word this. “I needed to get you two somewhere safe and it was the first place I thought of. I didn’t even think about Black.”

Snape reached out and put his hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Potter looked up, his eyes glassy. He swallowed a few times. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Potter dropped his head again. “I… it’s just… hard… being there now.” Potter grimaced.

“I know,” Snape said.

“Dr. Snape, I am sorry to have missed you earlier,” Mr. Granger said, walking into the room.

Snape stood to shake hands, chagrined that he’d been interrupted.

“Can you stay for dinner? We are having roast pork and potatoes, and we would be happy to have you.”

Snape hesitated. As much as he didn’t want to stay, he didn’t want to leave Potter if he wasn’t all right either.

Potter got to his feet. “Excuse me, I’m just going to go put my things away.”

Snape frowned as Potter left the room. “I’d be delighted to accompany you for dinner,” Snape relented.

“Potter, a word if you please,” Snape said as he prepared to leave the Grangers’ home after a quite filling dinner.

Potter stepped into the hall. Pre-empting Snape, Potter said, “I’m okay now, sir.”

Snape studied the boy closely. He had been more himself over dinner and the color had returned to his cheeks. Satisfied, Snape nodded. “Very well. Someone from the Order will return in two weeks to escort you to London to catch the Hogwarts Express.”

“Not you, sir?” Potter asked.

“Unfortunately,” Snape said, “I do not think that would be wise. It is better for everyone sake’s if you and I maintain appearances.”

“You mean act like we hate each other,” Potter said.

“Precisely so,” Snape agreed.

Potter sighed. “Does that mean you are going to go back to being mean to me in class?”

“It is necessary, Potter. The children of Death Eaters need to continue believing that I loathe all things Harry Potter.”

“Great,” Potter said.

Snape lifted Potter’s chin. “You will withstand it with your stubborn courage, as you always have. But now you will know that the words I speak are not the truth.”

“Easy for you to say,” Potter grumbled.

“There can be no other way,” Snape said.

“I know,” Potter responded. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Snape thought a moment. “Tell you what,” Snape said. “If you need to speak to me at Hogwarts, knock your potions ingredients to the floor. I will insult you and give you detention, which will not seem out of the ordinary. Will that work for you?”

“I guess,” Potter said.

“We all have a role to play, Potter.”

“I know,” Potter said. “Thank you, Professor. I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Snape nodded and bade his farewells to the Grangers before Apparating back to Spinner’s End.

Harry fell asleep that night feeling out of sorts after his unexpected visit to Headquarters. He hadn’t been ready to face 12 Grimmauld Place without Sirius’s easy smile and the camaraderie that had existed between them. Remus had tried to help, as had Hermione, but Sirius’s death was still too fresh in Harry’s mind. He fell into restless dreams of the Ministry and prophesies and Sirius being tortured beyond the veil, Harry desperate but unable to reach his godfather.

Harry awoke to flashing orange lights and the sound of an owl hooting insistently. “Hedwig?” he mumbled. Then realization struck: The wards around the house were under attack. He leapt from his bed, threw open his window and released Hedwig with an urgent command: “Alert the order.” Then he raced around his room, jamming his glasses on his face, grabbing his wand, and throwing his invisibility cloak over himself while stuffing his feet into the charmed boots Snape had given him for his birthday.

Where was Hermione?

His heart raced as the seconds ticked by. He cursed the plan they had come up with as feeble at best, fatal at worst. His instructions were clear—stay in his room, hidden under his invisibility cloak, no matter what. Hermione had been insistent on this point, and Snape downright lethal in his threats to Harry should he disobey.

Yet every instinct screamed for Harry to go and help Hermione hide her parents, to fight the Death Eaters who were there to kill as many Muggleborns and their families as they could—to root out what Voldemort’s supporters had deemed illegitimate lineages. It was unlikely they would expect to find Harry there; chances were it was a random raid. And yet, how could he leave his best friend to fend for herself?

Hermione clung to the wall, trying to keep her breathing steady and her trembling limbs moving forward. The green beams of light and the yowling cat screams that had awoken her had been replaced by orange and then red strobe lights—signalling that the wards had not only been tested, they had been breached. And then an eerie silence had followed. The Death Eaters would gain entry to the house any minute.

Wand gripped tightly in her hand, she rushed down the hallway, careful to walk along the rugs to avoid the sounds of creaking floor boards or missteps. Her mission was to retrieve her parents, lock them in the bathroom and ward it—which would cause her parents to be transported to safety at the Burrow, get to Harry, and get out of the house.

It had sounded like such a sound plan at the time, but as the seconds ticked by, it seemed foolhardy at best. The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. She and her parents would be in plain sight of any Death Eaters scoping out the upper floor.

Hermione jumped at the sound of a muffled sob. Quickening her pace, she reached for her parents’ door, heart in her throat. Her mother stood there, white-faced and shaking, clinging to her father’s arm.

“This way,” Hermione whispered, motioning for them to follow her. She led with her wand arm, ready to curse anyone who might get in her way. Her mother started making a keening sound, and Hermione hissed at her to keep quiet. The bathroom was only three steps away, two, one…

BANG!

The sound of the front door being blasted off its hinges echoed through the night.

Mrs. Grainger screamed, and Mr. Granger tried to push both his wife and his daughter behind him.

“There’s no time,” Hermione hissed, shoving her parents into the bathroom. Any moment now, the Death Eaters would be at the bottom of the stairs. “Get in and lock the door!”

“Hermione,” Mr. Granger pleaded at the same time that Mrs. Granger reached for her daughter.

“Not now!” Hermione whined, grabbing the door to pull it shut. In her haste, the door slammed. All sounds of the rummaging Death Eaters below stopped. Hermione cursed her stupidity and raised her wand to ward the door.

But in that instant, thundering footsteps approached the stairs and curses started flying. Hermione knew she had to make a choice: Save her parents, or save Harry and herself.

And in that moment of indecision, two things happened: A flash of orange light ricocheted off the door plate and caught Hermione in the shoulder and Hermione heard her name called out by none other than Harry Potter—Harry who was supposed to stay hidden and silent no matter what.

Searing pain shot down her arm while the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Hermione fell against the bathroom door, aiming a curse at the masked man running up the stairs.

“HERMIONE, RUN!”

Wand in hand, Hermione turned from the bathroom door and ran towards Harry, who stood silhouetted in the guest bedroom doorway, no invisibility cloak in sight.    

“Harry, my parents,” Hermione cried as she ran toward him. “I didn’t ward the door…”

Two death eaters burst onto the landing and both Harry and Hermione aimed spells at them.

“Protego!” Hermione shouted, while grabbing Harry with her injured arm and trying to pull him back into the guest bedroom. Getting in and shutting the door would buy them only a moment of time, but any advantage was better than none.

Except that Harry wasn’t budging; he was fighting, leaving Hermione no choice but to do the same.

One of Harry’s curses hit one of the Death Eaters, who froze mid-curse, momentarily disabled. Harry turned and screamed something, but Hermione was too busy with the other Death Eater to hear what it was. Then two more dark wizards reached the top of the stairs as the Death Eater that Harry disabled regained his ability to fight.

Outnumbered now, Hermione pulled harder on Harry, desperate to get a door between them. Harry didn’t resist; in fact, he was already falling backward, his weight dragging Hermione with him.

Dread coursed through her at the realization that Harry’d been hit. As spells flew all around them and bits of plaster and stone rained down upon them, Hermione’s desperation peaked. She did the only thing she could think of that might work.

“Fiende Flamare,” she rasped out, pointing her wand at floor in front of them.

Wild, hungry flames shot toward the ceiling, creating a momentary wall between Harry, herself, and their attackers. Swallowing back her despair, Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak from beneath Harry and threw it over the both of them. Her arms shook as she crawled down Harry’s still form.

The Death Eaters bellowed, shooting curses at the flame wall in an effort to find a way through. She knew they wouldn’t be able to douse the fire; no one would—it would devour the entire house and everyone in it. But they would probably be able to get through it before it engulfed everything.

The flames parted and, just as a Death Eater plunged through the gap, Hermione reached Harry’s boots and, with shaking hands, slammed them together three times.

The flashing lights of the curses fired in their direction reflected on the backs of her eyelids as she felt herself and Harry being sucked away.

Hermione cried out as her injured arm was compressed between Harry’s body and a hard, stone floor.

“Harry,” she gasped, pulling her arm out from under him and cradling it. “Harry, wake up."

But Harry didn’t move. Hermione looked around in desperation, quickly cataloguing the long wooden table and benches to her right, the large fireplace to her left. They were in the kitchen of the Order of the Phoenix. A piercing sound alerted her to the fact that their arrival had triggered some sort of alarm.

“Oh, Harry, please wake up,” Hermione moaned, shaking his shoulder.

But Harry lay still, his face pale.

Fear spiked through Hermione as she fought the tears that came to her eyes. As she stared at Harry’s chest, hoping to see the tell-tale rise and fall of inflating lungs, a small bump caught her attention—the pendant!

Shoving her hand down Harry’s shirt, she whipped out the pendant, flipped it over, and used her fingernail to trace the message that she hoped would save Harry’s life. Just as she’d finished, a door on the other side of the room burst open. A slender man with a sallow, wan face and a woman with bright purple hair rushed in.

“Professor Lupin, Tonks,” Hermione sobbed, “Thank Merlin you’re here. Harry’s not breathing, and my parents… my parents…”

Lupin already had his wand out and fell to his knees beside Harry, muttering something over him as Tonks wrapped Hermione in her arms. “Shhh…” Tonks calmed her, “Tell us what happened.”

“Death Eaters,” Hermione lamented. “They came to my house. I don’t think they knew Harry was there. Not at first.” Hermione paused and bit back a sob. “But then he came to help me and we were fighting, and one of them hit Harry with a curse. I don’t know what it was. We were outnumbered, and I had to… I had to… use fiendfyre…”

A loud crash sounded as a kitchen door was blown off its hinges. Everyone’s attention jumped to the towering dark man storming into the room.

“Out of my way!” Snape bellowed. His wand was already in motion, spells flying from his lips as everyone jumped to move aside.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whimpered, “I tried to protect him. I did, but there were so many of them, and he was falling, and I…”

“Silence!” Snape hissed, not turning his attention from Harry.

Harry’s lips were blue now, and his face had lost all color. His pallor was terrifying. Hermione buried her face in Tonks’s shoulder and sobbed even harder.

Snape had awoken from a fretful sleep at the feel of the pendant burning against his chest.

“What is it now, Potter?” he had muttered in sleepy annoyance. Leave it to the boy to not leave the damn thing alone. Pulling the pendant from his nightshirt, he had flipped it over to see shaky green letters:

DE

HP Hurt Bad

At HQ

Snape’s mouth had flooded with the taste of metal as his veins filled with dread. Rocketing out of bed, he had grabbed his potions kit and his cloak and had run for the perimeter of his property, Apparating mid-step across the boundary onto the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Once inside, he had raced down the stairs, blowing the kitchen door out of his way with his wand in his haste to get to Potter. The sight that had awaited him stole his breath: The boy was blue from lack of oxygen. The wolf was hovering over him, surely doing nothing of any use.

“Out of my way!” he had bellowed as he waved his wand in the characteristic movement needed to determine what curses had been used against the boy. A sickly lime green light had emanated from Potter’s too still form for only a moment, but it was enough. Snape had known instantly what Potter had been hit with. He had felt the bile rise in his throat as he had skidded to a halt in front of the boy who was already turning blue from lack of oxygen.

“Granger!” he commanded, shoving his potions satchel across the floor to her. “Find me the Pennywise potion and the Elixir of Life. Right. Now.”

He didn’t wait for the girl’s response, instead focusing on stabilizing Potter’s bodily functions. He barely heard her quavering voice as she held out the potions to him. Uncapping them each with the grace of a well-trained potions master, he propped Potter up by the shoulders, tipped his head back so his mouth fell open, and dribbled the Elixir of Life into his mouth. He massaged Potter’s throat to encourage the swallow reflex and prevent choking.

“Come on, Potter, swallow,” he coaxed, rubbing more vigorously, until Potter swallowed. Then he waited, praying to Merlin that the boy wasn’t too far gone. Time seemed to slow. Snape watched, helplessly, hoping beyond hope that Potter would respond, that he wasn’t too late.

Finally, Potter gave a convulsive shudder, then a cough. Snape slapped the boy on the back.

“That’s it, Potter,” he said. “Just try and breathe…”

Snape swallowed against the panic that had been steadily rising within him. He felt as if he’d lived a hundred lifetimes as he waited for Potter to respond to the potion. Potter’s face was still pale, and the teen’s limbs had gone rigid. His eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw clenched.

“I know it hurts,” Snape murmured. “Just a couple more potions and then you can rest.”

Snape uncapped the Pennywise potion and held it to the boy’s lips. “Drink this.”

“Make it stop,” Potter cried out, turning his head away.

“Potter,” Snape snapped. “Drink this now!”

The teen stilled and reluctantly opened his mouth, swallowing what Snape poured in. Then he hissed in pain and started to struggle against Snape. Snape grasped him around the middle and pulled the boy tight up against his chest.

“Granger, find me the mind numbing potion.”

“Sir?” Hermione questioned, horror in her eyes.

“Now!” Snape commanded. He watched as she fumbled through his potions with one hand, her other arm curled tight against her chest.

With a trembling hand, Hermione handed the potion to Snape. It was lime green, just like the light that had shone from Potter’s body.

“Potter!” Snape yelled. “Calm yourself this instant!” He hoped that his most menacing voice would make Potter still, at least momentarily. But the teen was keening and spinning out of control.

Snape grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.

“Severus!” Lupin shouted.

Potter kicked out and clawed at Snape’s hands, but eventually, the boy stilled long enough to rasp, “Can’t. Breathe.”

Snape loosened his grip and, as Potter opened his mouth to inhale, Snape poured in the mind numbing draught. “Swallow, Potter.”

Thankfully, the teen did, and within moments, Potter slumped against Snape. Snape turned Potter so that he could slide his arms under the teen’s back and behind his knees. Then he lifted the boy in his arms. Standing, he glanced at the wolf. “Lupin, see to Granger’s arm.”

Snape was filled with a moment of satisfaction as Lupin took note of Hermione’s injury, and at the shame that crossed his face for not noticing it sooner.

“Tonks, contact the Ministry and get a group of Aurors out to the Granger place.”

Looking to Granger, Snape said: “Meet me upstairs as soon as Lupin has seen to your injuries.”

Then he departed the kitchen to find a bed for the boy.

“Sir?” Granger called as she entered the room where he and Harry were. She gasped when she saw Harry, lying motionless and presumably asleep on the bed, but with leather restraints across his chest, wrists, thighs, and ankles.

“Sir?” Granger called as she entered the room where he and Harry were. She gasped when she saw Harry, lying motionless and presumably asleep on the bed, but with leather restraints across his chest, wrists, thighs, and ankles.

“What. Happened.” Snape spat, his eyes flashing with fury as he sat beside the unconscious teen.

Granger put a hand to her mouth and started to cry.

“Stop that at once, Miss Granger. There is no time. Unless you want Potter to die, you will tell me what happened this instant! Start from the beginning.”

Snape barely spared a glance at the girl as she tried to compose herself. Instead, he turned his attention back to the boy who was just barely alive.

“We were asleep,” Hermione began. “I awoke to the alarms, the green light and the cat yowling. By the time I realized what was going on, the light had turned orange.” Hermione swallowed, pushing on.

“I grabbed my wand and ran to chivvy my parents into the bathroom as we had planned.” Granger paused. “They didn’t want to let me go,” she said, swiping at the tears on her face.

“Go. On.” Snape demanded, fighting against the rage and impotence that swirled inside him.

Granger took a deep breath. “I got them in the bathroom and closed the door, but then I got hit with a curse. I didn’t…” Granger gasped. “I wasn’t able to ward the door.” She bit back a sob, and Snape grudgingly gave her credit for forcing herself to continue. “I tried to fire a hex back, but the Death Eaters were coming up the stairs and Harry was calling my name.”

Snape swore.

“He was supposed to stay in his room and wait for me. I don’t know why he didn’t,” Granger lamented. “I tried to pull him back, but he was fighting them, and so I had to fight them too. There were curses flying everywhere; I didn’t even know Harry was hit. But then he was falling…” Hermione faltered, swallowing convulsively and clearing her throat.

“I knew we were in trouble. So I…” she stuttered and wiped at her overflowing eyes, “I did the only thing I could think of.” Barely above a whisper, she added, “I cast Fiendfyre to hold them off.”

Snape jerked his head to gaze at her, astonishment plain on his face.

“Then I crawled to Harry and clicked his boots together three times like you told me, and we came here and I wrote that message to you.”

Granger took in a great, ragged breath and dropped her head into her hands.

“Miss Granger,” Snape said, stunned by what she had done. “Where are your parents?”

Granger’s sobs broke free as she wrapped her arms around herself and began rocking back and forth. “I couldn’t save them,” she cried. “There wasn’t time to ward the door. I… I had to choose…”

Snape was stunned. The girl had sacrificed her parents for Potter. He wasn’t sure how many children would have been able to do that. “That was very brave of you,” he said softly.

Hermione shook her head, refuting his words.

Lupin burst into the room. “How is he?” the man said. When he saw Potter, he froze.

“Sedated for now,” Snape said.

“Why is he restrained?” Lupin demanded, looking accusingly at Snape.

“The restraints are for his own safety, as well as that of others,” Snape replied wearily.

Lupin frowned, seemingly unhappy with Snape’s answer. “What was he cursed with?” Lupin asked, approaching the boy’s bed.

Just then, Tonks ran into the room. She fell to her knees in front of Granger. “Hermione,” Tonks said. “I just received word from the Weasleys. Your parents arrived safely at the Burrow.”

Granger raised her tear-streaked face. “What?” she asked. “But that’s not possible. I didn’t ward the… I didn’t…” Granger paused, thinking, and then turned horror-filled eyes to Snape. “Harry…” she whispered.

“Harry what?” Snape demanded.

“He warded the door. That’s why he was in the hallway. That’s why he got struck with that curse. He saved my parents… instead of himself.”

Snape cursed vehemently, wanting to strangle the stupid little hero lying restrained on the bed. Half the Wizarding world spent their time trying to keep the idiot boy alive, while he constantly put himself in death’s path. And tonight, he’d nearly succeeded. Might still succeed, if Snape was honest with himself.

Snape shot to his feet and stomped out of the room before he gave into the urge to strangle the unconscious twit. He stamped his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to firecall Dumbledore. The curse Potter was hit with had caused, and unless he could stop it would continue to cause, serious damage. Clenching his jaw in frustration, he tossed in some Floo powder and stuck his head into the flames. At least Dumbledore would deserve the telling off he planned to give the man.

Snape returned to the room that Potter was in to find Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley.

“…your parents are fine, Hermione. A little shaken up, of course, but mostly they are just worried about you and Harry,” Arthur was saying.

“Fiendfyre, you say?” Shacklebolt interrupted. “That explains why the house was completely destroyed.”

“Ah, Severus,” Arthur said, the first one to notice Snape’s arrival. “Can you tell us what Harry has been cursed with?”

“Protinus malum,” Snape replied, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“What does it do?” Arthur asked.

It was Shacklebolt who answered. “A Death Eater favorite, if I recall,” he said. “Tricks the mind into believing the body is under constant attack, until the witch or wizard either ends up killing themselves or being killed, am I right?”

“You are correct,” Snape said through gritted teeth.

“What?” Granger shrieked. “Why would he kill himself or be killed?”

“Because,” Snape said, leaning against the door jamb, “he will either exhaust himself in an effort to fight off an invisible attacker, foregoing sleep and sustenance, or he will attack anyone who comes near, thereby being killed by another in self-defence.”

Lupin spoke then. “How do we break the curse?”                                             

“It hasn’t been done before,” Snape spat.

Silence descended upon the room, quickly followed by an uproar.

Snape raised his hand. “There is, however, a potion that might clear it. In the meantime, he will be restrained so that he cannot injure himself or others. He is sedated for now, and the mind numbing potion should help temporarily, but neither potion can be used long term and their effects weaken with continued use.”

Snape pushed away from the door. Looking to Shacklebolt, he asked, “What is known of the attack?”

“Two Death Eaters killed in the fire, two more captured, four escaped. The Granger home is a total loss.”

“And the motive?” Snape asked, holding his breath. Had he jeopardized Potter’s safety by taking them to Diagon Alley? He didn’t think he could have, but coincidences never sat well with him.

“Three other homes of Muggleborns were attacked this evening as well. It does not appear that the Death Eaters knew that Potter was there,” Shacklebolt reported. “You heard nothing of this?”

“Obviously not,” Snape retorted. “Many of the lesser Death Eaters find sport in such things and the Dark Lord is not averse to killing Muggleborns,” he said, distractedly running a hand through his hair. “Those in his inner circle are usually kept busy with what the Dark Lord deems to be more important tasks.”

“What happens now?” Hermione asked, looking imploringly at Snape.

“Now,” Snape said, “you, Miss Granger, will accompany Mr. Weasley back to the Burrow to be with your parents. I will take Mr. Potter to Hogwarts, where he will be monitored at all times.”

Snape silently dared anyone to contradict him. Not only was he Potter’s de facto guardian, but he also had the headmaster’s support.

“I will attempt to brew a potion to stop, and hopefully reverse, the curse. But there are no guarantees.”

The potion was tricky, which Snape generally enjoyed, but not so much when Potter’s life hung in the balance. He also had no certainty that the potion would work. The curse wasn’t very common so an antidote had never been developed. Still, Snape had found cures for rarer curses, and he wasn’t about to throw Potter to the wolves just yet.

Sighing, he wiped his sweaty brow, flicked his wand to turn the flames down to low so the potion could simmer for an hour, and went to check on the teen now restrained in the Potions Master’s own bed.

Potter was moaning softly in his sleep. Snape put a hand to his brow to check for fever. Thankfully, there wasn’t any. A fever spiked as the curse progressed and, if it got that far, Snape doubted anything he could brew would be able to help Potter. Snape absently carded his fingers through his ward’s hair, hating the feeling of helplessness that washed over him.

The teen’s eyes fluttered, opened, closed again. Potter groaned. “Hurts,” he moaned, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Hurts soo much.”

Snape put a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Drink this,” he said, raising a vial to the boy’s lips. “It’s a pain relieving potion.”

But Potter had started to struggle, to fight his bindings, to try and get away from the torment. He swung his head back and forth, his muscles rigid.

“Potter!” Snape shouted.

Potter froze momentarily and Snape shoved the vial to his mouth.

“Drink,” Snape commanded.

Potter allowed the potion to be poured in and swallowed convulsively.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief when the teen didn’t choke on the liquid.

“Try and relax,” Snape said.

 “What’s wrong with me?” Potter whinged. “Everything hurts.”

“You’ve been cursed. I’m brewing a potion right now to reverse the effects.”

 “Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I’m being punched and kicked and…” the boy sucked in a sharp breath, “and… crushed… and pulled apart… limb by limb… all at once.” Potter shivered violently. “But when I open my eyes, there’s no one there.”

“That’s the curse. It tricks your mind into thinking you are being attacked.”

Potter tossed his head, unable to remain still. “Why am I restrained?”

“Because, as the curse progresses, you won’t be able to stop yourself from attacking anyone who comes near you. You will perceive every person as a threat.”

“It gets worse?” Potter asked, his eyes wide with terror at the thought.

“I’m afraid so,” Snape said. “But the potion I am brewing should be ready by morning.”

“Please tell me it will make this feeling go away,” Potter said, trying to twist and turn beneath the restraints.

“Try and be still,” Snape said, unable to answer Potter’s question. What he was brewing should work, theoretically, but that didn’t mean it would work, in practice. “Try and sleep.”

“Can’t,” Potter moaned. “Oh, make it stop! I can feel them hitting me, crushing me.” Potter’s head swung wildly side to side. “MAKE IT STOP! Arghhhhh!”

Snape gritted his teeth as Potter thrashed and began to scream. There was nothing more he could do for the boy. If the pain relieving potion wasn’t working, it meant that the curse was growing stronger.

Snape raised his wand and murmured, “Stupefy.”

Potter’s body fell limp against the mattress.

Snape only hoped that the spell truly knocked Potter out and didn’t just trap him in his mind, preventing him from even the woefully insufficient release of venting the torment in his mind through his body. 

Snape rubbed his face and headed back to the lab. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

With one last anti-clockwise stir, the potion sputtered and turned a vivid hot pink. It was the counter shade of the violent lime green of the curse. Snape tapped the cauldron twice to cool the potion, then decanted it, prayed to whatever gods might exist, and walked with trepidation back to the Boy Who Lived, hoping that the moniker would still hold true.

Vial in hand, Snape stepped into his bedroom to find Potter in what looked to be the throes of a nightmare. He wasn’t sure if the teen was truly asleep or experiencing the effects of the curse.

“Harry?” Snape called softly.

The boy’s eyes jerked open and he cried out. His clothes were soaked in sweat, his breathing ragged. “Hurts,” he whimpered. “Bloody hell, it hurts.”

“I know,” Snape said, stepping closer. He didn’t know what Potter’s state of mind would be, and he didn’t want to aggravate the boy further. “You need to drink this.”

Potter whimpered, his body rigid. “Make it stop, please just make it stop.”

“This will make it stop,” Snape said, “but you have to drink it.”

But Potter was tossing his head, spittle flying form his mouth, Snape’s words incoherent to him. Potter’s head was the only thing free to move, the rest of his body was restrained.

“Potter!” Snape shouted. “Calm yourself!”

This time, even his most commanding voice failed to reach the boy. Seeing no other way, Snape grabbed a handful of the mop of black hair and held tight.

The teen’s eyes snapped to Snape and, as he opened his mouth to protest, Snape poured the potion in.

Potter sputtered and coughed, but the brew went down.

Then Snape held his breath and waited.

Potter’s eyes slid away from his, lost their focus. His body seemed to relax and sink into the mattress.

Snape released his hold on Potter’s hair.

And then Potter screamed. A blood-curdling, window-shattering scream that went on and on. His body convulsed on the bed, foam bubbling from his mouth. Lime green smoke issued from his eyes and ears, nose, and mouth.

It took several moments for Snape to realize that the boy writhing on the bed wasn’t the only one screaming. Snape’s heart raced and his throat burned from shouting the boy’s name. Was his potion ridding Potter’s body of the curse, or was it killing him? He’d never seen such a violent reaction before, but he couldn’t imagine that it boded well.

Potter’s limbs shot out as more sickly yellow-green vapor oozed out of him, now from the pores of his skin. Sweat ran in rivulets down the boy’s forehead and cheeks. He stared making choking noises.

“Anapneo!” Snape cried, but nothing changed.

Snape was coming undone. Sweat beaded his body as the taste of metal flooded his mouth. In his panic, he kept shouting Potter’s name over and over. He thought about fire-calling Poppy, but she was travelling somewhere in the west of France and he didn’t know how to reach her.

Snape ran back to his lab, checked his handwritten notes once more. Checked his ingredients. Checked his cauldron. Decanted a few more vials and added various ingredients to ensure that they reacted as expected. Everything was fine. But Potter was NOT.

He raced back into his bedroom, where Potter now lay trembling. The wailing had stopped, to be replaced instead by sobbing.

“Potter?” Snape said, clasping Potter’s hand. “Harry?”

The boy gasped and looked at Snape. He whimpered.

“What are you feeling? Where does it hurt?”

The boy shook his head, but it wasn’t the agonized, frantic tossing of before.

 “I feel awful,” Potter choked out. And then he lurched. “I’m going to be sick.”

Snape just had time to free the binds and conjure a bucket before Potter rolled sideways and started retching. The vomit was bright, lime green. But floating atop it, seeming to chase it, were strands of hot pink.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said, wiping at his mouth.

“No, Potter,” Snape said. “Get out as much as you can. Get it all out.”

Potter sicked up twice more and Snape rubbed the boy’s back, immensely relieved as the vomit slowly became more pink than green.

Finally, Potter collapsed back on the bed, panting and exhausted.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” Snape asked again.

“Not like before,” Potter breathed. “More like a dull ache.”

Snape nodded. “Do you still feel as though you are being attacked?”

“Not right now.” Potter looked up at him. “Is it over now, then?”

Snape let out his breath. “I hope so. But just to be safe, I think you should drink another dose. And then, if you can, use the restroom and let me know… what color… things are.”

“Sir?” Potter asked.

“Green is bad,” Snape said. “Pink is good.”

Potter gave him an odd look. “That’s not something I thought I’d ever hear you say.”

“Me neither,” Snape commented. “Here, drink this, and then I’ll help you to the loo.”

Indeed Potter’s output was bright green. But there were hot pink strands in it, too, that seemed to ingest the violent green.

“The curse seems to be working its way out of your system,” Snape observed.

Potter was leaning against the wall of the loo, his eyes shuttered, his breathing still ragged.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Snape said.

He helped Potter into bed, then cast some cleaning and freshening charms on the boy. With a flick of his wand, he dressed Potter in clean pajamas and used magic to change the sweat-drenched bed sheets as well.

“I’m so cold,” Potter said, his teeth beginning to chatter.

Snape grabbed some heavy blankets and a quilt from the chest at the end of his bed, throwing them over the teen.

“Thanks,” Potter mumbled.

“Try and rest,” Snape said. “You will need to keep taking the potion every four hours until nothing comes out green.”

“Okay,” Potter said, burrowing beneath the blankets. The teen fell asleep almost immediately.

Snape collapsed into a chair by the bed, his head in his hands. His body began to shake as it came off the fear and adrenaline rush. How had a child he had so loathed worked his way under his skin to become someone he would do anything to save, and not just for Lily or Dumbledore, but for the boy, and for himself?

At the feel of a hand on his shoulder, he jerked his head up to see Dumbledore standing over him.

“Headmaster,” Snape said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” Dumbledore replied. “I take it your potion worked? Harry seems to be resting peacefully. And he’s no longer restrained.”

Snape let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “It nearly killed him,” Snape said.

“The curse? Or the potion?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Both,” Snape said.

Dumbledore squeezed Snape’s shoulder. “I didn’t doubt you for a moment, Severus.”

“That makes one of us,” Snape said shakily.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Severus, you’ve earned it,” Dumbledore said.

“Potter can’t be left alone,” Snape replied.

“I will watch over him,” Dumbledore said, producing a very large tome. “I have some reading to catch up on, it seems.”

Snape studied the elderly wizard. He would have liked to monitor the boy himself but he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and it was rapidly catching up with him. “He needs another dose in four hours,” Snape instructed, pointing to the vials placed neatly atop the bookshelf.

“I will see to it,” Dumbledore replied. “Now go get some rest. I will wake you if I need you.”

Snape nodded and retired to his sitting room, collapsing onto the couch where he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Snape awoke, Dumbledore closed the book he was reading, smiled at Severus, and took his leave. Snape found Potter sitting up in Snape’s bed, a spread of food laid out before him. Snape grimaced at the thought of crumbs on his shee

“Feeling better, I see,” Snape remarked.

“Yes, much,” Potter said. “Want to join me?”

Snape hesitated, realized his bed was already a lost cause, and sat on the edge of the mattress, helping himself to some steak and kidney pie.

“Still more pink than green?” Snape asked.

“Yes,” Potter replied around a mouthful of chocolate biscuit. “Not much green left now at all.”

“Good,” Snape said. “Did the Headmaster have anything interesting to say?”

Potter paused and set the uneaten half of the biscuit back on the plate. “He said you saved my life,” the boy said earnestly. “Thank you for that.”

Snape nodded. “See that it stays saved.”

Potter frowned. “Are you angry?”

“That you almost got yourself killed? Again? That you didn’t listen to my strict instructions? That you were reckless and impulsive and idiotic?”

Potter shrunk back into the pillows.

Snape sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I should be,” he said. “Yet I find myself too relieved at the moment that you survived—not only a Death Eater attack, but also a curse that should have killed you.”

“Sorry, sir,” Potter muttered.

“You should be,” Snape snapped.

“What happens now?” Potter asked.

“Now you will stay at Hogwarts until school starts,” Snape replied.

“In Gryffindor tower?” Potter inquired.

“No, here, in my quarters. I still need to monitor you. You can finish your summer homework when you feel up to it.”

“I could help you brew potions,” Potter offered.

“Brew potions?” Snape asked incredulously. “Did you hit your head when you were cursed?”

“Probably,” Potter admitted. “But I could brew the simpler potions, and it would give me something to do.”

Snape studied the teen carefully. “I never got the impression you enjoyed brewing,” Snape observed.

“Well,” Potter responded, “I do owe you for saving my life. I reckon it’s the least I can do.”

Snape raised a brow. “I suppose there are a few basic potions that even you could brew for Madam Pomfrey’s stores.”

“Great,” Potter said, pushing himself up in bed. “When can we start?”

“Not so fast,” Snape said. “You may be feeling better at the moment, but that’s only because you’ve hardly left that bed. You will need longer to recover before you are able to be up and about.”

Potter sighed and collapsed back onto his pillows.

“If you are so eager for something to do, you can write out potions labels for me.”

“All right,” Harry agreed.

Snape looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I wasn’t serious.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s something to do, at least.”

“As you wish.” Snape left the room, returning a short while later with a stack of labels and a quill.

“Will you tell me what each potion does?” Harry asked.

“Are you sure that curse didn’t affect your brain, Potter?”

Harry glanced up.

“Since when are you interested in Potions?”

“Well,” Harry responded, chagrined. “I didn’t think you’d want to discuss Quidditch with me.”

Snape snorted. “I happen to be a fan of the Ballycastle Bats.”

“You are?”

“And that potion right there,” Snape said, gesturing toward the label Harry was filling out, “would eliminate your ability to create new memories for the next six months.”

Harry swallowed. “Why do you brew it then, sir?”

“Because in small doses, it can be used to ease the memory of a traumatic event. Madam Pomfrey has been known to give it to inconsolable students who have suffered the loss of a parent or sibling.”

Harry nodded, rather wishing they’d return to speaking about their favorite Quidditch teams instead.

The last weeks of summer progressed in a rather comfortable fashion. Once Harry was well enough, he helped Snape in the professor’s private potions lab in the mornings, brewing the simpler potions for Madam Pomfrey and also brewing potion bases for Snape’s stores. His afternoons were his own, and he spent his time exploring the castle or the grounds, writing letters to his friends, having tea with Hagrid, or playing pick-me-up games of Quidditch with Madam Hooch and any Order members that were visiting.

One very memorable game included himself and Madam Hooch against Tonks and Lupin. At one point, even Professor McGonagall joined in and, for as old as she was, she was remarkably skilled. By the time he’d landed, sweaty and exhilarated, he found Snape sitting in the stands.

Harry walked over to him and took a seat beside him. He was surprised to see Snape there and it felt remarkably like what having a father would feel like—someone who came to see his son play sports, who took pride in his son’s accomplishments.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Harry said.

“It pains me to acknowledge it, Potter, but you fly remarkably well,” Snape said.

Harry beamed. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”

Snape merely grunted.

When the other Order members joined them, Harry excused himself to shower.

How very different this summer had turned out, he reflected, a smile still plastered to his face as he changed in the locker rooms. He would never have thought, not in a million years, that the professor he’d loathed more than any other—barring Umbridge, of course—could become a man he’d come to respect and rely upon. A man who, for all his harsh posturing and bitter exterior, still looked out for Harry, even if he hadn’t signed up for the task.

Harry didn’t know what the future held, but if he had Snape by his side, Harry thought he just might make it to the final showdown with Voldemort. And if they were both extraordinarily lucky, he and Snape might actually live through it too and have a chance at the Voldemort-free life they both very much deserved. 

For now, Harry thought he’d try and enjoy the rest of the summer and not worry too much about what lie ahead. There would be plenty of time for that later.

~Fin~

A/N: This is NOT where I intended to end this story. However, the story deviates from here and becomes quite dark. Darker than what I’ve written so far for this series. Thus, I’ve decided to end this story here and continue it in a second sequel. That way, if readers don’t want to delve into the darker side of things, they can end the series here on a lighter note.