(An Hour Later, Foyer of Grimmauld Place)

“Where *is* that dratted boy?” Severus growled to himself, but in truth, was fast growing more and more concerned. An hour of searching and he *still* had not found the young Gryffindor. For a heart which had so recently---so *very* recently---begun to open up, this situation did not do wonderful things for its owner. And for a heart just learning to love (whether unconsciously or not), nearly having a heart attack was a *completely* new experience---and rather frightening, when it came down to it.

He sighed and rubbed his face, coming to a momentary halt. “If I were a fifteen-year-old boy who was grieving and did not wish to be found, where would I hide?” he muttered, just as a breath of wind caused a few strands of hair to blow into his eyes.

Startled and trying not to show it, Severus turned swiftly to face the direction it had come from. His eyes landed on the partway open front door. Dismay shot through his veins, “Tell me he did not go out *there*!”

But by some instinct he thought long ago capped, the Potions Master knew with absolute certainty that it was so.

Sure enough, as he glided through the threshold, he came upon a softly shaking form on the top step, bathed with moonlight. There in the doorway he paused, trying to come to terms with the raging emotions within him. This was the child he has tormented for the past five years, and yet…and yet…

He spoke up quietly, “Mr. Potter, one would think you could find a more accommodating place to grieve.”

Harry, utterly startled, quickly whipped around to face him with a soft cry, nearly tumbling down the steps in his haste. At the last moment, he managed to catch himself. “P-Professor?” he half-stammered, half-choked. The irony of Snape being the one to come after him was not lost on the teenager. Nor was the picture presented to him any less strange: the Potions Master stood in the doorway to Grimmauld Place, casually bracing himself on the wooden support beams to either side. Light from within framed his dark figure and spilled around him, onto the top step. A strange intensity was clear in the man’s eyes as he watched him.

Moonlight reflected off tears which trickled down Harry’s cheeks, and Severus felt his heart give an odd twist at the look. He sighed softly. Who was he fooling? In no less than twenty-four hours, his entire opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived had changed---drastically. “Mind if I join you?” he inquired quietly.

Wordless, Harry merely shook his head, scooting over a bit to give the Professor room to sit.

Swiftly, before he could allow his nerves to change his mind, Severus exited the house and gracefully sat down beside his student, settling his robes around him. “You left in a bit of a hurry a while ago,” he remarked mildly. Around them, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft chirps of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the nearby orchard and gardens. Fireflies dodged hither and thither in the cooling night air.

Harry nodded and turned back to the darkness in front of them. Again, he said nothing.

Severus was fast losing his nerve, but if there was one thing the two had in common, (other than their wretched home life), it was that they were both exceedingly stubborn: “This is about Black,” stated bluntly, and not really a question.

The fifteen-year-old blinked rapidly, but nodded.

Silence fell between them, heavy and slightly awkward. It was soon broken, however, when Harry shivered---violently---in the chill wind. Something of which Severus quickly took note.

“Confounded boy,” he growled, “you’ll catch your death out here.” Brusquely, without giving the young Gryffindor time to react---or himself time to think about *exactly* what he was doing---, Severus took hold of his outer robe and, reaching out, wrapped both it---and his arm---around the teenager’s slight figure, drawing the boy tightly against his side.

At contact with the older man, Harry immediately stiffened in shock. Warily, he gazed up at his teacher, not sure what to think. The Head of Slytherin did not look at him, rather, kept his gaze firmly locked on something well ahead of them. He did, however, speak, “You need to be warm, Potter. The last thing the wizarding world needs is for its savior to die of pneumonia.”

The teenager nodded against the older wizard and slowly allowed himself to relax. Oddly enough, as soon as his initial shock was over, Harry found himself almost…savoring this contact with his teacher. He had never really been held before, not by Sirius and not by Remus, nor his friends or Molly Weasley. Hugged, yes, but never held. It was an entirely new sensation for him and…he liked it. He *needed* it.

And as soon as he began to relax, then the tears came again. Hot tears. Tears of grief and guilt and pain. Turning, not caring that this was once his least likable teacher, Harry hid his face against the Potions Master’s side…and began to weep.

Astonished, Severus quickly glanced down at the slight figure when he felt the teenager lean into him. Small shoulders shook with silent sobs; shoulders which, he could now admit, had borne the weight of the world far too many times. “Potter…” he breathed in shock, but did not draw away. For a few minutes the only sounds to be heard on the doorstep were Severus’s quiet breathing and the soft crying of his student. During that time, the Potions Master tried to deal with the emotions Harry’s unprecedented reaction elicited. At last he managed to ask, voice uncharacteristically gentle, “Have you grieved, yet?”

Trembling, the young Gryffindor slowly shook his head back and forth, beginning to sob in earnest.

To say Severus was dumbfounded would be an understatement. That Harry trust him with *this*, with his *emotions*, with his *weakness*…For as long as he could remember, Harry had been strong, to the point of folly, even; yet, here he was, crying like a lost child.

//I know you hated Sirius, Severus, but Harry *loved* him...//

Lupin’s words from earlier this evening came rushing back to him. And feeling the tremors which wracked the smaller form curled against him, he supposed that Harry must have loved Black a great *deal*---for him to be in such an emotional wreck.

Almost unconsciously, the Head of Slytherin tightened his arm around the teenager. He had never liked Black, nor did Black hold any love for *him*, but…the man was gone now. Times had changed. Over the past two weeks in-between Potions’ brewing and paperwork, not to mention his…ahem…nightly job for the Order, he had done plenty of thinking on their rivalry, and had made it clear that while he no longer hated Black---or James Potter, for that matter---, he could not completely forgive them either. He could *forget* their treatment, but forgiveness…was another matter entirely.

He only hoped he could do better by Harry.

Softly, he began to hum, slowly rocking them where they sat on the top step. A lullaby, really, that Lily had taught him all those years ago:

“Dream by night,

Wish by day,

Love begins this way.

“Night’s a friend,

With love to send,

Each new day.

“Bless your heart,

Bless your soul,

Let your dreams come true.

“Future songs and flying dreams,

Wait for you.

“Love it seems,

Made flying dreams,

So hearts could soar.

“Heaven sent,

These wings were meant,

To prove once more,

That love is the key.

“As you wish,

As you will,

Dream of flying stars.

“Love and care,

The power’s there;

Trust your heart.

“Trust…your heart.”

The last note rang clearly in the air before all fell silent. Soon enough, the usual night sounds took hold again. Harry, for his part, had long ago lapsed into silence, listening in awe as his Professor sang. After a moment, when it became evident that the man would not speak first, the young Gryffindor did, voice quiet and still shaky, “Y-You have a beautiful voice, s-sir.”

Severus, upon hearing that, gave a barely perceptible start and quickly glanced at his student, searching the emerald orbs that so steadily gazed up at him for any signs of deceit. There were none.

His cheeks suddenly felt rather warm.

The slight blush on the Potions Master’s face did not go unnoticed by Harry. And he grinned---if only a little.

Severus did not notice. Clearing his throat, he glanced away momentarily.

By this time, a full-blown grin had worked its way across the fifteen-year-old’s face.

Upon looking back down at his student, Severus was surprisingly relieved to see a wide smile on the teenager’s face. And he knew quite well why. Which, in turn, was precisely the reason his response was so stunning---for both him *and* Harry. He smirked back and retorted, “Yes, Potter, I *am* human.”

And earned a shocked, whole-hearted laugh from the young man, albeit something of a wet one. The teenager sat up, for which Severus was exceedingly grateful. He felt entirely too undone, completely unsure of himself. /Merlin, what is *happening* to me?/ he thought, uneasily straightening his robes.

Before the silence that had fallen between them could become too uncomfortable, the Potions Master gracefully stood to his feet and offered the soon-to-be-sixth-year a hand up. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up, Mr. Potter,” Severus murmured, brusquely brushing away the last remnants of the Gryffindor’s tears. “And I daresay you have some mildly upset friends waiting for you.”

Not giving the teenager much of a chance to feel guilty about *that*, the Head of Slytherin swiftly ushered him back into the warmth of Grimmauld Place. They made their way towards the kitchen in a---surprisingly---companionable silence. As they neared the kitchen, however, instead of going straight in as Harry expected, his Potions Professor gently tugged him into a nearby washroom. Startled, the teenager inquired quietly, “Sir?”

“We need to do something about those,” he explained, indicating the dried tear tracks on Harry’s face after running the faucet.

The teenager touched his cheek self-consciously, blushing slightly. “Oh,” mumbled.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “‘Oh,’ indeed,” he remarked softly, conjuring a washcloth and wetting it under the lukewarm water. “Unless, of course, you wish your Potions Master to be sent to Azkaban.” He, in yet another unprecedented action, turned, knelt, and began to lightly scrub away the tear traces on his student’s cheeks, determinedly avoiding the fifteen-year-old’s incredulous gaze. At one point, the Head of Slytherin rubbed a bit harder than he had meant to and Harry flinched. Noticing this, the Potions Master immediately stopped, and frowning, inquired, “Potter?” His frown deepened when he noticed the bruise on his student’s face.

Quickly, the teenager looked away, “It’s nothing, Professor.”

Severus did not buy it. “Potter.” His tone held a note of warning. The young man steadfastly refused to look at him. “Potter!” It hardened. He crooked his finger under the young Gryffindor’s chin and firmly tipped the fifteen-year-old’s face up. He started slightly when the young man flinched again. Hard. “Potter,” his voice had softened. He cursed under his breath when he took a good look at the dark, spreading bruise across the younger wizard’s cheekbone. “…Damn it, what did those Muggles *do* to you?!”

Startled by the Professor’s tone of voice, Harry met the man’s blazing obsidian eyes. “Really, sir, it’s nothing,” he insisted, hoping his teacher would let it go.

No such luck. “Like hell it is!” the older wizard snarled. “Do not give me that ridiculous nonsense, Potter.” Severus’s eyes turned fiery. “In spite of your spectacular habit of ending up wherever trouble happens to be, even *you* could not be fool enough to injure yourself so near your eyes!” Abruptly, the fire subsided, “You know you cannot lie to me,” quietly stated, “and I have no wish to use Legilimency on you, but I will if I must.”

That made Harry angry. “Why do you care?! Why do you *bloody* care?!” demanded. Now that his anger was fueled, he could not stop. “Fine. You want to know what the bruise is from? My uncle! They’ve given me the minimum care possible, minimum food, shelter, everything! Because freaks like me don’t *deserve* those things, all right?! Satisfied now?! Your most hated student lives a life of misery! Bet you’re--”

But whatever Severus *was*, he did not hear. After staring in horror at the boy a moment, he became aware of the pulsating energy around him. Its center? Harry.

The mirror in the washroom began rattling ominously and he suddenly remembered the mess the Headmaster’s office had been two weeks ago. Before Harry’s anger could wreak similar damage here, Severus reached out…and abruptly clasped his student’s head to his chest, fingers interlocked.

He half expected to be flung across the room. To his---and not to mention Harry’s---utter surprise, he was not. Rather, the Potions Master’s nearness calmed the young Gryffindor considerably. The teenager completely relaxed, and his anger fled.

Which begged the question why he could be calmed by the Potions Master where even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny failed.

After a moment, once Severus was sure the young man had subsided, he hastily released him. The Head of Slytherin was uncertain as to what prompted him to take such an action, but he *was* certain that whatever it was, it had changed the dynamic of their relationship indefinitely.

There was a long moment of silence wherein neither was able to utter a word. But Severus, still unnerved by what Harry had told him, at last managed, “Does Albus know?”

Harry, his anger gone, now simply shook his head wearily. “And it’s not like this anything new,” the younger wizard sighed.

Severus straightened slightly at that. “How do you mean?”

“My relatives have been doing it since I was old enough to walk,” the Gryffindor answered matter-of-factly.

The Potions Master was *not* happy to hear that. Checking his own anger, he prompted cautiously, “And why did you uncle hit you…?” He bit his tongue to keep from saying “this time.”

Harry shrugged slightly. “I was clumsy.” The teenager suddenly looked incredibly tired and vulnerable.

“He hit you because you were *clumsy*?!” his Potions Master repeated, disgust clear on his features.

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s right. My cousin---Dudley---tripped me. I couldn’t catch myself in enough time, and the tea kettle I was carrying shattered when I fell.”

Concern lit the Head of Slytherin’s face. “Were you burnt or cut?”

Harry said nothing, but dropped his eyes to the floor. Severus had his answer.

“Show me,” he demanded. Merlin, was this child *suicidal*? If either the cuts or the burn had gone untreated…

The young Gryffindor sighed and pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head. Around his lower torso was wrapped a makeshift bandage (a strip of his Aunt Petunia’s old, unused sheets).

Severus glanced up at him, mildly impressed. “You wrapped this yourself?” he gently prodded at it as Harry nodded. “Well done, Mr. Potter,” he approved softly.

Startled and pleased, Harry smiled shyly at his teacher and was favored with a slight upwards turning of the dark man’s lips.

“May I?” he inquired, indicating the bandage.

Harry nodded slowly, trying hard to rein in his nervousness.

Severus nodded back, somewhat surprised that his student had agreed. Carefully, he unwound the linen from around the teenager, grimacing in sympathy when he saw the burns. Tenderly, he fingered the inflamed skin. Feeling the fifteen-year-old flinch, Severus lightened his touch. “Muggle medicine,” he remarked.

Even though it was not a question, Harry nodded anyway. “Yeah, my aunt more or less threw it at me.”

Severus sighed and shook his head. “As I am reasonably sure you are not accustomed to receiving praise, is there anything else you wish to tell me about your oh so wonderful home life? As I am also quite sure your friends know nothing about this particular…complication.” He was treading dangerous ground here, he knew that, but he was quite firmly of the opinion that it would help more than hurt the young man to get it out. He murmured an accio spell, calling two lotions to him from the Order’s stores here at Grimmauld Place, smirking slightly at his student’s startled gaze. “Well?” prompted with uncommon gentleness. He *could* be a patient man when he wanted to be…

Harry said nothing for several minutes, silently watching as the older wizard as he went about retreating the burns. He shook his head slightly in bewilderment. What *had* gotten into his teacher? He actually felt brave enough to ask it aloud.

The Head of Slytherin’s smirk widened. “It would seem a certain snowy owl happened along with a much needed apology,” he answered lightly, easily going with the evasion. Becoming serious, he sighed and continued, “As I told you in my letter, Mr. Potter, you are not your father, and you need not apologize for his mistakes. Nor your godfather’s.”

“I can’t believe they did that to you,” Harry advised him, shaking his head angrily. “I can understand now why you hate me.”

“Not anymore, Mr. Potter,” Severus responded, smoothing the healing ointment over the burns. “It was cruel of me to do so in the first place.”

The fifteen-year-old’s response was immediate: “You *aren’t* cruel!”

Abruptly, the Potions Master stopped spreading the ointment and raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor’s outburst.

Harry flushed, but continued doggedly, “I mean, yes, you can act like a real bastard sometimes, but I’m guessing at least *some* of that is because you *have* to.” He sighed. “And really, sir, in some ways you treated me better than they ever did. My relatives, I mean.”

Severus stared at the young man a minute, before shaking his head in self-reproof and muttering, “How so? I seem to recall several incidents where I acted little better.” He started administering the ointment again.

Harry sighed in relief as the cool ointment started working. He hazarded a tiny smile at the man kneeling in front of him, feeling the magic invested in the ointment pulsing through his body. “This, for one,” he replied softly. “You put a lot of power into this ointment, didn’t you?” At Severus’s rather startled nod, he inclined his head. Then grimaced. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the burn cream my aunt gave me was outdated.” The Professor moved to spread the second ointment over the bruise, touch feather-light. “You have never hit me, either, although I’m sure there were times you *wanted* to…” This elicited an amused snort from the man. There was silence between them for a few minutes as Severus finished up. “But honestly, sir, ‘cruel’ is not exactly a word I would use to describe you.”

Severus sat back on his heels and gave the boy a rather bemused look. “How, then, would you describe me, Mr. Potter? Now, anyway?” the Head of Slytherin asked, truly curious. Most children, his own Slytherins included, classified him as rigid, dark, and somewhat frightening. Gryffindors generally called him a “greasy git” and “bastard,” and really, he could not fault them. But this young man…he could not help but wonder what *Harry* thought of him. What little he knew, anyway.

The smile of the Boy-Who-Lived softened. “Why don’t you use Legilimency on me to find out?”

The Potions Master gave a small start. “Potter, are you…?”

The soon-to-be-sixth-year met his gaze solidly. “I’m positive, Professor.”

A beat of silence, then Severus slowly began to shake his head. “I cannot do that.” /Not now, after what I have learned of your home life,/ he thought, but did not say.

Harry grinned a bit. “Professor, it’s really all right.”

The man sighed and shot his student a slightly amused look. “I do believe this is the first time anyone has actually *asked* me to use Legilimency on them. However, if you insist, Mr. Potter…”

The young Gryffindor grinned a little more, feeling comfortable enough in the older wizard’s presence to banter somewhat, “Which I do…”

Severus shook his head again before placing his hands lightly on the teenager’s shoulders and locking their gazes. “Legilimens,” he incanted softly.

As Harry felt the man’s spell take hold, his memories began to swirl into focus, running through earlier today before finally falling on his and the Professor’s discussion on the front steps. Without consciously knowing how he did it, the fifteen-year-old stopped his teacher at the point wherein the man had just reentered the house:

//His teacher’s back is to him, tall frame slightly ahead and scarcely into the threshold. Light once again haloes the Professor, spilling out behind him. It is indeed an odd sight, but also strangely right. And in that moment, two words come to mind, /*Guardian Angel*./ He nods slightly to himself, satisfied. It fits.//

Brief though the memory was, the Potions Master gently broke off the spell. Once again sitting back on his heels, Severus regarded the young man in unconcealed shock. He shook his head several times, jaw slightly slack and unable to form any words. This young man thought of him as a…guardian angel? Where along the line had he picked *that* title up? Guardian, perhaps, but *angel*?

A quiet laugh drew his attention back to the teenager. Harry’s emerald eyes danced with amusement as he remarked, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words, sir.”

That broke the spell that had fallen. Severus scowled mildly at his student, rocking to his feet and standing. Harry was still watching him, eyes bright with mirth. Unable to keep scowling in the noticeably lightened atmosphere, the Potions Master sighed, shaking his head, and banished the two ointments back to the storeroom. “You are all set, Mr. Potter. Those burns should be gone by tomorrow,” he advised the teenager. Producing his wand (up until this point having used wandless magic), the Professor conjured a roll of fresh linen bandages and carefully wrapped it around Harry’s torso, banishing the old one.

The soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old grinned as he pulled his shirt back over his head. “Thank you, sir.”

Severus took one look at his student’s grin…and shook his head again, returning the wand to its place in his robes. “You are a strange child, Mr. Potter,” the older wizard remarked as the two headed back out.

If possible, the young man only grinned harder. “I know.” Then his mind fully registered what his teacher had said, making him pull up short, “Hey, wait a minute! Did you just call me a child?!”

The *very* uncommon sound of the Head of Slytherin laughing was all the answer Harry received as the older man exited the bathroom ahead of him. The laugh was rich, baritone, and in spite of everything, as the young Gryffindor followed, he found himself smiling.

Picking his pace up a bit, he hurried to catch up with the Potions Master. Once he reached his Professor’s side, Harry slowed to his regular walk and was pleased to note that the older wizard had slowed his own stride to match Harry’s.

Just before they reached the threshold to the kitchen, Harry looked up at Professor Snape and advised him quietly, “You know, you should do that more often.”

Severus raised an inquiring eyebrow. “And what would that be, Mr. Potter?”

The teenager smiled softly. “Laugh, sir.” And then dodged ahead into the kitchen before his teacher could respond.

Not that he would be able to.

He shook his head slightly. What *was* it about this one child…er…young man that had managed to render him speechless---twice, now?

Deciding not to dwell on it---at least for the moment, anyway---Severus shook it off and followed his student into the kitchen.

He was just in time to see the other three Gryffindors practically pounce on Harry, demanding at once to know if he was all right. And Harry? He just laughed and assured them that yes, he was *indeed* perfectly fine.

Looking over their heads and smiling gratefully at the Potions Professor as he did so.

Severus, who had been in the process of making his way back to his abandoned chair by Lu…er…Remus, paused momentarily as he caught sight of it. Of its own accord, blush tinged his pale cheeks. But he nodded to his student in acknowledgement of the gratitude and quickly sat down.

Albus, having watched the entire episode from the moment Harry had reentered the room, now turned to Severus and laid an inquiring gaze on his Potions Master; that ruddy twinkle had returned to his blue eyes.

In response, Severus could only blush harder.

Chuckling silently to himself, the Headmaster relented and turned back to his observance of the four students. He, however, did not miss Remus leaning over and whispering to the other man, enemy turned ally, “I don’t know what you did, Severus, but thank you.”

In response, Severus merely nodded.