(Great Hall, a Couple of Hours Later)

Severus jabbed at his dinner that night in the Great Hall, poking, prodding, but never actually eating. At last, frustrated and overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions, he groaned rather loudly and slammed his fork down on the plate, burying his face in his hands. That garnered him a few concerned looks from his fellow teachers and Albus, but otherwise, they left him alone. For which he was grateful.

Almost reluctantly, his gaze was drawn to the Gryffindor table, where a certain sixteen-year-old, dark-haired wizard looked at *least* as preoccupied as he himself *felt*. He had not even touched his food, much to the consternation of the Weasley siblings and Granger. The Potions Master shook his head sadly, at the same time finding himself very uncomfortable with the ache which rose up in his heart when he saw the Granger girl gently prod at the teenaged Savior of the wizarding world, trying to get him to eat---and which, consequently, the boy refused to do. Severus suddenly wondered if the Boy-Who-Lived had eaten anything at *all* over the past couple of days.

Judging from the teen’s---at times---seemingly half-asleep state in classes, he could honestly say the boy probably had not.

Severus felt caged. He was not used to worrying over a student, not like this, and least of all, one whose surname was “Potter.” He wanted so *very* much to protect this teen, yet, at the same time, the part of him which feared to care, grafted at such a thought. He hated teetering on the edge like this, not sure which direction to take or which path to follow---he’d been there too many times already, far more than he cared to count. And he hated *himself* for the hesitation because he knew where it stemmed from.

It was, quite simply, the fear of loving someone because whomever he had loved, always wound up getting hurt or killed in the end.

Perhaps it was the admittance to that failing of his which started to crack emotional barriers he had so long erected. Or perhaps it was because the child he now watched had proven stronger than that fear. Whatever the reason, his mind suddenly went into overdrive.

He supposed he could conjure up some excuse for giving the teenager detention. Just so he could keep an eye on him---at least for tonight. If the boy were with him in the classroom, he would not have to worry about the Dark Lord or a random group of Death Eaters, such as Lestrange, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy (who’d escaped from Azkaban), attacking the young Gryffindor when no one was around or everyone was asleep. The sixteen-year-old had a knack for finding trouble---or rather, trouble had a knack for finding *him*. He could, he mused with bitter irony, give the younger wizard detention for constantly having to risk his neck.

But a second glance at his student, who was currently trying to gently refuse the Weasley girl’s imploring that he eat *something*, served to wing home the realization that he *couldn’t*. Not now, maybe not ever again. /This child,/ he thought, /has more than enough on his head as it is./

Thus decided, but still unsettled, wanting to ensure that at least *some* sense of protection could be instated, Severus placed his hands firmly on the Head Table and, using it for leverage, pushed himself to his feet. As he strode purposefully away from his peers and towards the Gryffindor Table, the Potions Master fingered the wand in his pocket and muttered under his breath, “Accio. . . pendants.”

A slightly heavy, slim object fell into his pocket alongside the wand. The box he pulled out and opened the lid, drawing out a pendant on a black leather chain and slipping it over his head. The other he kept in the box, pocketing it.

Surreptitiously shifting his eyes around, he was gratified to note that not even Albus had appeared to notice his rather unusual behavior. Breathing an inaudible sigh of relief, he quickly continued along his path.

“Snape!” Ron hissed to Harry in warning where they sat at their table. “He’s headed this way!”

Sure enough, within three minutes of Ron’s statement, Severus pulled up even with the Boy-Who-Lived and stopped, standing behind him. “Potter, a word,” snapped.

Harry said nothing, merely sighed, weary of *everything*, too much so to care any longer, and stood to his feet resignedly, mentally reviewing all the things he could have *possibly* done wrong to get on Snape’s worst side.

Without further ado, Snape abruptly whirled away and strode off towards the doors, black robes billowing and Harry following.

As their best friend left the table, uneasy about what was to come, Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, silently agreeing to follow as teacher and student headed out of the Great Hall, pretty much unnoticed---except by themselves and Dumbledore. They did not know what this was about or what was expected to happen, they only knew that they wanted to find out, and find out *fast*.

Unheeded as they left, Ron’s younger sister Ginny---a fifth year---stood silently to her feet and followed as she caught sight of her best friend and older brother heading to the entrance of the Great Hall.

Once through the doors, Severus abruptly grabbed Harry’s wrist and fairly dragged the sixteen-year-old out of those in the Great Hall’s sight, startling and alarming the boy.

“Professor?!” Yelped. Well, he certainly had not counted on this!

“Shut up, Potter.” Growled.

He blinked. “Shutting up, sir.”

Severus rolled his eyes and, in spite of everything, fought a smirk, even though what lay on his mind was anything but amusing. Potter had become much more sarcastic and outspoken than he had been previously, and the man found that he honestly did not mind too much. This boy had turned out to be a completely different person than his father and had more of his mother in him than was probably healthy for him. Lily Evans Potter had had a quick tongue, too, and had been all-around too compassionate for her own good. That is what he had come to see in her son, although, to be sure, the Boy-Who-Lived was coming into his own.

As these thoughts ran through his head, the Head of Slytherin dragged the boy to a shallow alcove housing a statue of a gargoyle. He stopped, then, pulling the young Gryffindor around to face him, and---badly startling the teen---dropped to his knees in front of him, fiercely gripping his shoulders and glaring intently into his eyes.

“Professor?” Whispered. If Harry did not know any better, he would have said the man was frightened. But of what, and why?

Without preamble, all business, the Potions Professor stated, “Potter, listen up. We don’t know when, and we don’t know how, but the Dark Lord is going to attack the school.”

“That’s stating the obvious, Professor,” Harry replied.

About to level another, harder glare at the younger wizard, Severus paused when the teen gave an exhausted sigh and absent-mindedly rubbed his scar. He could hear the fatigue that lined his student’s voice when he spoke and did not like what that implied.

Harry’s thoughts, however, were not on his Professor or on the action which he was performing. They were, instead, wrapped up in his nightmares. For several months running now, he had had nightmares of Death Eater meetings, torture sessions, slayings, killings, raids, everything unpleasant that bore the mark of Voldemort’s and his followers’ handy-work. He had been careful to hide it up until this point, but now, for the first time, he let it slip. Strangely, with everything that occurred last year---Occulmency and its related areas---he felt safe, even comfortable, in the Potions Master’s presence.

He was rather shocked in the next moment, then, when a callused hand reached up and took his own, the one massaging the scar.

“Don’t do that,” sternly. “It does not help.”

“Nor does having a bloody headache.” Grumbled.

Severus’s eyes turned sharp. He knew of the scar’s properties and what the pain the boy was experiencing could imply. “Potter, is he---?”

Harry sighed and shook his head, his frustration at last surfacing. “I don’t know!” cried. “It’s been like that for months!”

Severus shook his own and pulled the boy’s hand back down when he went to rub the scar again. “That’s not how you treat a headache.” Surprising the teen immensely, he placed his thumbs gently on either side of his student’s temples, and tilting his head up and back slightly, rubbed them in a soothing circular motion, bleeding the tiniest bit of his magic into the Boy-Who-Lived.

The young Gryffindor’s emerald eyes widened. “S-Sir?”

The Head of Slytherin scowled mildly at his student. “Do not give me that look, Potter. I’m only doing this because I need you to be able to think clearly.” Growled gruffly.

But looking into the man’s obsidian eyes, Harry saw that the Professor’s retort, in fact, was only a partial truth. The smallest of smiles, even something of a shy one, touched the teenager’s lips. “Yes, sir.”

Instantly, Severus’s eyes slid away from the boy’s when he realized what had just passed between them. Focusing intently on getting rid of Potter’s damn headache, he muttered, “You should have spoken to me about this in September. I might have been able to give you something for them. Do you have these dreams every night, Potter?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied softly, forcing himself to hold still as the older wizard went about his ministrations. By Merlin, but this was strange!

Severus snorted derisively, still massaging the boy’s temples. “Bloody Gryffindor pride.” Mumbled.

A smirk. “Thanks *ever* so much, Professor. And should I tell you what *I* think of *Slytherin* pride?”

Sarcastically: “*Do* tell, Potter.”

Harry’s smirk widened as he answered without hesitation, “Biased. Unfounded. And bloody annoying.”

Another derisive snort. “Dear me, Potter, was that just a *compliment*?”

“Blatant.”

From where he was watching this entire exchange with Hermione, Ron gaped. “Has he gone completely *mental*!?” Exclaimed.

Hermione, her eyes still fastened on the two in front of them, absently wondered which of them he was referring to. As far as she could tell, they were *both* off their rockers.

Severus and Harry, utterly oblivious to the fact that they were being watched, continued their battle of wits. Neither would admit to it, but this was almost surreal. The two of them swapping words like this. But the Head of Slytherin, at least, was not about to stop. All through their exchange, he kept massaging the boy’s temples, then bleeding a bit of healing power into him. Massaging then bleeding. Massaging then bleeding. If nothing else, their “battle” took the boy’s mind off the pain. He shook his head slightly, darkly amused, /Who would believe *this*? Me, *bantering* with *Potter* to keep his mind off of *pain*? I do not believe it myself! /

At last, his magic warned the Potions Professor that the headache was gone and he settled his hands back on the boy’s shoulders. Bringing an abrupt end to their word duel, Severus demanded gruffly, “Better?”

Harry, startled for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes or so, blinked, suddenly realizing that yes, indeed, it was better. In fact, it was not even *there* anymore! “Y-Yes.” A bit shakily.

The Professor’s eyes became diamond hard. “Then listen, and listen good. When Voldemort attacks the school he will probably bring most of his Death Eaters. Being as you seem decidedly prone to wandering into the worst of situations, I want you to carry your wand with you at all times, even during the day or when going to classes.”

Harry’s heart thudded uneasily as he watched the man’s face. “But, sir, I thought. . .” He trailed off.

Severus sighed with strained patience. “Potter, look, the Dark Lord is a very paranoid, very mistrusting individual. He is also decidedly cruel, even to the most loyal of his followers.” The man looked, Harry suddenly reflected, rather pained. “He never told…us…about his plans, not until the very same night of that chosen action. And with our loyalty constantly in question…let’s just say he was not particularly forthcoming with information.” The latter part of the man’s statement was remarked darkly and without humor.

An odd clenching sensation suddenly seized Harry’s heart, his eyes never once leaving the Head of Slytherin’s face. Unwillingly, his mind was drawn back to the Death Eater meetings he had witnessed. All of them. The torture, the cries, the curses, the deaths…Bad enough that he witnessed them in his nightmares---he could not grasp how much worse it must be for Snape, having to attend every meeting, having to suffer through all of that, for so long, for so many years. Just how long had the man been a spy, let alone a Death Eater, anyway?

Too late, noticing the absolutely confounded expression on the man’s face, the teenager realized that he had asked that particular question aloud.

“Potter?” breathed unevenly. “H-How did you . . .? How long?”

“Have I known?” the sixteen-year-old prompted. At the older wizard’s wordless nod, he continued, “To be completely honest? Since the end of fourth year. I-I saw several trials of Death Eaters in Professor Dumbledore’s pensieve.”

“Which would explain why you were not the least bit shaken when I allowed you into mine that first night,” Severus muttered to himself. “Your ever-present curiosity, I would assume?” This part remarked condescendingly.

Harry flushed hotly and bowed his head, almost flinching back. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“Relax, Potter,” Severus advised him in quite a different tone of voice, a bit surprised by the boy’s reaction. “I was merely wondering.” The man sighed dramatically at his student’s wide-eyed look as Harry’s head jumped back up. “Honestly, Potter, I am by no means *that* bad.”

“Try telling that to a first year student who’s seen you for the first time in his life when his bloody scar twinged,” the teen mumbled, going to rub the scar again.

“Stop that!” Severus admonished, once again capturing the young Gryffindor’s hand in his own. This time he did not release it.

The utterly despairing look he was met with in emerald eyes caused him pause. For the first time ever, Severus Snape was afforded a look into the very depths of Harry Potter’s soul.

What he saw there, did nothing less than shock him.

The child’s soul was naked, scarred. All in all, he knew he should not be surprised. His own soul, after all, probably looked much the same way. But this was not what he had expected, not in the eyes of a *child*, a mere *teenager*. A teenager who had seen far more in the past sixteen years of his life than any teenager should have to, true, but he was nonetheless really only a boy.

The older wizard wondered where along the line they had forgotten that.

It also made the ache in his chest, to protect this one child, so much the fiercer.

Unsettled by the sudden upsurge in his emotions, jittery, Severus abruptly shoved a slim, plain box into Harry’s hand, bringing the boy’s concentration crashing back to the here and now. “Here, Potter, you are to wear this and I’ll hear nothing to the contrary,” he attempted to sneer derisively. . . and failed miserably.

The young man merely gaped at him again. Wordless.

Severus gave a long-suffering sigh, wondering if he would *ever* live this down. “Well, go on then.”

When Harry still did not move, the man gave a slight growl. To which Harry promptly opened the box…and froze. Severus resisted the urge to growl again. Was this truly so stunning?

His attention, however, was redirected in the next moment when the boy gingerly took the box’s contents out. The Potions Master found himself feeling strangely touched when he noticed the care with which Harry handled the impromptu gift. The boy’s fingertips lightly traced the stone design---an ancient Celtic knot---set in the wood of the pendant. His mouth was slightly open in awe and his eyes fairly sparkled at it as he followed the design over several times.

Damn those eyes and damn that sparkle for making his tightly knotted heart loosen slightly.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed as Harry raised his head and met Severus’s gaze.

Damn those eyes. . .

“What does it mean?” quietly.

Severus found himself responding: “Eternal protection, Potter,” rather gruffly stated. “Should you be in danger of any sort, the stone will glow blue.” As he was stating this, the man pulled the pendant’s twin out from underneath his collar. “As will mine---if I myself am in danger. Your danger, however, will cause my pendant to glow red. If at all I can possibly assist you, I need only grip this,” he indicated the pendant, “and it will take me to you. An Apparating spell of a sort, though, I cannot know for sure. This is very ancient magic, Mr. Potter, not even Headmaster Dumbledore seems to know its exact function, other than to protect those it has been bestowed upon.”

For some unknown reason, Harry’s breathing hitched. “You . . . You’re giving this . . . to *me*?”

Severus raised his eyebrows. “Why ever not, Mr. Potter?” Before the boy could so much as get in another word edgewise, he had taken the necklace from Harry’s hands and clasped it around his student’s neck, muttering a rather complicated locking spell to ensure it *stayed* on. Given what he knew of Potter, however, he would not be surprised if the teenager could break it within a moment’s notice. Hmm…perhaps he should emphasize that little fact…

Harry was speaking again. Emotions whirled within him. Emotions he could easily name, but had never, not *once*, even *dreamed* he would feel in Snape’s presence. “But you. . . you *hate* me!” exclaimed.

The Head of Slytherin looked up sharply at that particular cry. “Hate you? Potter, what on *earth* gave you that idea?”

The young Gryffindor’s maelstrom of feelings kept at it, growing stronger. /Did . . . did he just say what I think he did?/ the boy thought. His breathing caught. “You . . . you don’t?”

Small. Uncertain. Wavering. Even hopeful. What was it about this child that touched him so?!

“He . . . he doesn’t?” Hermione gasped from where she and Ron were still watching the proceedings, now with rapidly growing interest.

Ron worked his mouth but nothing, not a sound, came out. He watched the two wizards in front of him as avidly as slighter girl next to him.

Severus shook his head.

“You must detest me at the very least!” Harry exclaimed, barely daring to believe he was hearing this---or in this case, seeing it. “*Especially* after what my father did to you!”

“You are not your father,” stated evenly, softly. When a tear slid down the child’s cheek, Severus hushed him. “Potter . . . shhh, not here,” stated almost kindly. His hand shaking very minutely, the man went to brush away the tear. This was not *anything* he had expected, nor anticipated.

It was true, he did not hate Potter. He never had. And it was only now that he was admitting to himself that he did not even really *dislike* him. . .

Actually, currently he had no *idea* what he felt towards the boy in front of him, except an overwhelming need to protect this child who had seen far more than anyone should in a *lifetime*. And then there was that intense, almost fierce, ache in his heart, one which he had thought long ago frozen over…

Was he even *capable* of loving again? Because he sure as hell did not deserve that chance in return.

But the teenager’s reaction to such a simple declaration had him worried.

Praying that his next inquiry would not cause the young Gryffindor to become anymore emotional than he already was, Severus murmured cautiously, “Potter, is there…is there something that you…miss?” He growled in frustration. “No, that did not come out right. What I meant to say was---”

Harry, aware of the tears trickling down his cheeks but paying them little heed, interrupted, voice hushed, “How can you miss what you never had?”

Severus was taken aback. “Potter?”

Harry continued, voice thick, “How can you yearn for something that you never knew?”

That damn ache would not go away. These questions . . . they were not something someone Potter’s age should be asking. And that they were coming from this boy, of all people. . . Furthermore, Severus all too clearly remembered asking *himself* those same questions, and when he was sixteen, no less.

But there was a fundamental difference between the two of them.

“But you can crave something that you deserve, Potter,” the Head of Slytherin murmured, brushing away his student’s remaining tears.

Harry’s mouth fell open in an “O” as he stared at the man who, until quite recently, had been his least likable teacher.

A warm feeling, an odd feeling, began to fill his heart, then, and the tiniest of smiles found its way to his lips as he realized suddenly that, had he not thought Snape would die of shock, he would have hugged him right then and there.

His hands came up to touch the necklace. “Thank you, sir,” whispered as he bowed his head bashfully, dark, unruly bangs falling softly over his eyes.

Severus moved his hands from the boy’s shoulders and clasped them loosely around the younger wizard’s, leaning down to meet his emerald eyes. “It is yours, Potter,” quietly declared. “You deserve such a small gift, at the very least. And not because you are the Boy-Who-Lived, but because you are *you*. Do not let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Abruptly, he pulled back and away. “I fully expect you to wear that necklace and carry your wand at all times, Mr. Potter,” Severus advised sternly. “Promise me this.”

Harry blinked at the sudden shift to a more formal tone. Then realized that dinner would probably be emptying out any minute now. “Yes, sir,” whispered.

Severus relaxed imperceptibly. “Thank you,” murmured. Then the Potions Master whirled away, and in a swirl of robes, stalked down the corridor, undoubtedly headed to the dungeons.

It was about then that everything that had occurred in the past twenty minutes or so crashed down on him---full-force.

With a movement that had Hermione and Ron, both of whom had watched the conversation through its entire duration, starting to their feet from their previously crouched positions and out the gaping entrance to the Great Hall in alarm, Harry promptly collapsed on the stone bench in front of the gargoyle. His jaw was slack and his mind buzzing as he futilely tried to sort through the jumbled feedback he was receiving from his memories of their conversation.

“Harry!!” Hermione’s concerned cry brought his head snapping up. His two best friends were rushing towards him.

“Hi, Hermione,” he answered weakly, still utterly and completely stunned by what had just transpired. Dumbfounded, he dropped his eyes from his friends and shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of everything and what emotions were consequently evoked.

What the *hell* had just happened?

Apparently, Ron wanted to know the same thing, “Bloody hell, mate! What was *that* about?!”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

Harry’s head jumped up again at their exchange. “You *saw* all of that?!”

Sheepishly, the two nodded.

Harry moaned.

“We just wanted to make sure nothing was going to happen to you,” Hermione explained quickly, seeking to reassure her friend.

“And, well, Snape . . .” Ron added, trailing off.

Immediately, Harry retorted, “He would never hurt me, Ron!”

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances before the red-haired sixteen-year-old held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Mate, take it easy! We know that---*now*.” He peered curiously at Harry. “Why are you so defensive of him all of a sudden, anyway? I mean, up until twenty minutes ago I could have sworn you *hated* each other.”

“Ron’s right, you know, Harry,” Hermione spoke up softly. “I thought that you could barely stand to be in the same room for more than five minutes.”

“I thought so, too,” Harry muttered, figuring he may as well get this over with, “until start of term last year. Remember those “remedial potions” lessons I had to go to?” Hearing their assents, he continued, “They were actually Occulmency and Legilimency lessons.”

The two other Gryffindors gaped. “What?!”

“Just what I said,” their friend explained with a patient sigh.

“You mean you let *Snape* pick through your memories?!” Ron exclaimed in disbelief.

“It’s not like I had a choice, Ron,” Harry defended. “Voldemort is connected to me through my scar. My *scar*, Ron. Which was why I always had bloody headaches after my nightmares. Dumbledore told me I should learn Occulmency, at least. Apparently he’d already told Professor Snape, and the man agreed to teach me. At that point, I was willing to do *anything* to get rid of those damn dreams, so I agreed, too. The first night in, we worked with erecting a barrier around my mind because, as Snape told me, Legilimency and Occulmency go hand in hand.” The teenager allowed himself a tiny smirk. “I surprised him. I’d already taught myself meditation over the summer at the Dursleys because my uncle…wasn’t exactly pleased with being woken up in the middle of night.” /And used a belt to get that particular point across,/ Harry thought grimly, but did not dare reveal. The only one who knew about that was Professor Snape. “I was able to defend my mind and throw him out, all in that first lesson. According to him, I shouldn’t have been able to do that until at least three months into lessons. It just sort of progressed from there. My shield is invisible now and not even the Headmaster can break or bend it.”

Hermione and Ron were gaping again.

Harry, taking note of this, flushed deeply and groaned, “*Guys*.”

They snapped their mouths shut. But still, they stared at him.

The sixteen-year-old bit his lip and dropped his eyes down to examine his hands, shifting uneasily. He would have thought they would be used to this by now. Apparently not. As his blush receded, he continued, voice soft, “That took around two months. Then Professor Snape insisted I learn Legilimency. I was wary, at first. I hadn’t come to completely trust him, yet, and you *need* that for learning Legilimency.” Harry shut his eyes tightly as the memories of that night returned. “In order to gain it, he allowed me into his pensieve.”

Hermione’s jaw slackened slightly. “But Harry that’s…that’s---”

“Personal, yes, I know,” the boy interrupted the girl quietly. “Extremely personal. I didn’t even ask. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to understand how important that trust was. He didn’t even go with me. I…I saw some things I never expected, and things I had never believed possible. I refuse to go into details, but I will say this…I was crying when he pulled me back.” /And by Merlin, was he astonished,/ the Boy-Who-Lived thought. He still remembered the utter shock on his Professor’s face when the man took note of his tears. In the first kind gesture he had ever received from the Potions Master, Snape had fumbled with a handkerchief and shoved it into his hand, whirling away and quickly moving back to his desk, muttering about “Bloody Gryffindor emotions.” It was about then that he had begun to wonder about the man’s real feelings toward him. Suddenly remembering what his friends wanted to know, Harry hastened to continue: “A-After that particular incident, I could no longer hold any suspicions about the man. I trusted him, and the fact that *he* trusted *me*…well…” The teenager shook his head, still not looking up, and his voice quieted further, “We started Legilimency that night, after I calmed down. Just the basics, no invading minds, yet. He told me we never really ‘forget’ anything, just store it away. So much information is encoded on our minds that it interferes with earlier memories, something he called ‘retrograde interference.’ He told me that our minds are rather like photo albums, and the memories like photos. Like a photo album, you can search through your mind and pick out certain memories. The next time we met, he started me on the actual probing, showing me how to do it by going into *my* mind and memories.” He grimaced at the recollection. “I found out that night that during Legilimency, as your partner is watching your memories, you relive them---to their full extent. Let’s just say the memories he found weren’t exactly pleasant. He was curious about my home life, and was somewhat shocked by what he saw.” /In his words,/ the boy thought, /after about half an hour of pure raving, they were ‘horrendous.’/

“Second Year? Third?” Ron at last ventured softly, attempting to process all this.

Harry nodded. /And so much more besides,/ thought, but not spoken. “That night as I was leaving he…he…” The teenager’s breath abruptly hitched. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. “What he saw,” the sixteen-year-old attempted again, “…what he saw…i-it made him…I don’t know…change somehow. At least a tiny bit. He…he stopped me from leaving…and apologized. Apologized for the past four years or so in his class, apologized for not being able to see what my life was really like, apologized for the bad judgments he made regarding me as a person. I-I didn’t know what to say. He told me I didn’t need to say *anything*.” Harry shut his eyes again. “J-Just before he allowed me to leave---and mind, I don’t think he wanted me to even *notice* it---he…he quickly touched my cheek. I-I couldn’t…I had never…” The teenager was unable to complete his explanation. The tears burned viciously at the back of his eyes and he realized suddenly that he *really* needed a hug.

The sixteen-year-old started horribly when a pair of slight arms wrapped around him.

Quickly, Harry glanced up. “G-Ginny?” he choked, staring at the girl in surprise.

The fifteen-year-old offered a tiny, lopsided grin, and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“He touched…your cheek,” Ron repeated slowly, trying to process that fact and why Harry was so damn shaken by it.

Hermione was staring at him in disbelief. “He couldn’t have. He would never even *dream* of doing that!” Although, as she said it, Harry could tell she was mentally going over everything they had witnessed in the hall. Slowly, a light of realization touched her dark eyes.

Seeing that, Harry gave a half-checked sob and buried his face against Ginny’s shoulder. In response, the younger teenager merely tightened her arms around him. Hermione hugged him from one side as well.

Still utterly bewildered, Ron nonetheless rested his hand on his best friend’s trembling shoulder. After a moment, he spoke up softly, “Mate, why are you going off like this? I mean, this is *Snape* we’re talking about.”

“That’s exactly the point, Ron!” Harry cried, the memories of last year coupled with his very recent exchange with the Potions Master proving at last to be a bit much to handle all at once. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be finally *cared* about like that?!”

Ron slowly shook his head.

Sensing the shake, rather than seeing it, the other sixteen-year-old murmured, “Never mind. You couldn’t. Not with the family you have. The girls can’t, either. It’s not exactly a typical teenage problem. But, then, when have I ever been a “typical” teenager,” the latter remarked bitterly.

“You never have been, Harry,” Ginny murmured after a moment, when neither Ron nor Hermione felt brave enough to speak. “But I think Professor Snape did his damnedest to at least *try* and treat you as he would any other student.” When the other three Gryffindors stared at her, the fifth year shrugged as best she could while holding Harry. “I mean, think about it, he never treated you as though you were someone extra special. In fact he went far out of his way *not* to.”

Thinking back on the amount of detentions and point deductions Snape had given him over the past five years, Harry saw her point. It was true, where another teacher, even Professor Minerva McGonagall, would likely have dismissed a few of the actions, chosen to ignore them, Professor Snape never did. It was common knowledge that Harry was not exactly the Potions Master’s favorite student, and up until Occulmency and Legilimency lessons, he had never thought the man felt anything other than hate for him. In spite of receiving the man’s rather unexpected and shocking apology last year, he had only *wondered* if the older wizard’s attitude towards him was, in fact, what it appeared to be. He had never dared ask, however, not until just a few minutes ago.

To say the least, that realization made him feel oddly grateful.

Carefully backing away from his three friends and brushing his tears away, he graced the younger girl with a warm smile, “Thanks, Gin. For making things clearer.”

Ginny blushed lightly, but nonetheless grinned. “Anytime, Harry.”

As the quartet made their way slowly back towards Gryffindor Tower, the sixteen-year-old shot a devilish grin at his male best friend before turning back to the fifth year girl, “You certainly are wiser than your brother will ever be.”

She laughed. “Of course I am! Mum always says so, too.”

“Hey!!” Ron cried with injured dignity.

Hermione and Harry laughed, as well, the sixth year girl gently patting Ron’s cheek. “Oh, you poor dear,” she teased.

“No fair, ‘Mione,” Ron complained good-naturedly, doing a horrible job at hiding the blush that leapt onto his cheeks at the girl’s playful gesture. “You aren’t supposed to be on *their* side!”

Hermione adopted a mock-stern look. “Oh, really, Ronald Weasley? And since when have *you* determined which side I’m on?”

“Bet you ten Sickles they’ll be together by the end of this year,” Harry whispered loudly to Ginny as their friends went at it.

The fifth year Gryffindor’s grin took on a ferocious air. “Bet you fifteen that they’ll be engaged by the end of next.”

“GINNY!” Hermione shrieked, overhearing the two (as *she* was meant to). She flushed deeply.

“HARRY!” Ron shouted simultaneously, also overhearing the two (as *he* was meant to). His face was as red as his hair.

Laughing, their two friends took off running for the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione and Ron were not far behind them, yelling and waving their arms.

From the shadows, Potions Master Severus Snape silently stepped out, the tiniest of smiles on his lips as he watched the four students go and obsidian eyes suspiciously bright. “Fifty points to Gryffindor for finding laughter where there previously was none,” whispered softly to the quieting corridor.

As the last echoes of the four’s laughter bounced against the walls, a handful of rubies tipped into the Gryffindor hourglass.