Harry stood frozen for a few awful seconds, hearing his pulse pound in his ears heavily. He was dead.

Snape was going to murder him. Snape was going to tear him into pieces. Forget looking into the man’s Pensieve, stealing from the man’s private store at Hogwarts, and being disrespectful in class; forget barging into his house; forget ignoring Snape’s instruction – forget it all. This was the worst thing Harry could possibly do next to burning down the whole house. After Snape was finished with him, facing Voldemort would feel like an afternoon picnic.

The portraits were all talking fervently to each other, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Snape came billowing down the hallway and demanded to know what had happened. Harry heard a step at the far end of the hallway. And then he lost it completely. Harry ran up the other side of the hallway, ignoring the shouts of the portraits to stay where he was so the master could deal with him.

Heart racing, Harry ducked into an open door. It was the sitting room where he had first arrived in the cursed fireplace. Oh, now that curse was nothing compared to what Snape would do.

If he could just find some Floo powder, Harry could try to get out of the house. Not forever, just long enough for Snape to calm down and realize that his intrusive houseguest did not mean to blow up his potions lab. Harry began searching the various boxes and vases on the shelf over the fireplace. No one had used the fireplace as a part of the Floo network in years, but Harry was too distraught to think rationally.

"Harry James Potter!" Snape’s voice roared in the hallway. "Where are you? Show yourself this minute!"

"He went into the parlor," a portrait called out helpfully.

In the midst of his terror, Harry’s one coherent thought was that he was going to tear that portrait to pieces if he survived Snape’s wrath.

"Thank you," Snape’s angry voice was drawing nearer.

Harry felt panic surge through his body, and he could not remember a time when he felt more terrified. Even the battle in the Ministry of Magic paled in comparison. He did only the thing that seemed appropriate in a situation like this – he hid. Later on, he might admit that it was a silly, childish thing to do, but for now it seemed the only option. He scrambled over to sofa and crouched behind it against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and waiting fearfully.

Yes, he was hidden for now. Maybe he could hide for the next few days. Snapdragon Manor was big, and he was sure to find dozens of places to hide whenever he heard Snape approaching. Harry had learned to hide from Dudley for ten years; this wouldn’t be much different except that Snape would hex him whereas Dudley enjoyed punching.

Angry footsteps stomped into the sitting room. Harry tried to stay very still and quiet, taking soft breaths that he hoped Snape could not hear. Don’t move, don’t squirm, just stay quiet.

"I know you’re in here, Potter," Snape’s voice was hard as nails and cold as ice. "The portraits said you came this way, and there’s no way out from this room. Come out from wherever you’re hiding, and I mean it now."

Did Snape ever not mean anything he said? Harry would have to ask him why he insisted on ending every speech with the statement that he meant what he said. Provided, of course, that Harry lived long enough to do that.

"Potter, I’m serious," Snape’s tone took on a deadly edge. "I’m counting to three, and you better come or so help me, you’ll find yourself doing detention with me every night of the school year. One – detention for three hours every night. Two – and I may see if you can have detention in every spare hour you have at school. Thr –"

"All right," Harry leapt out from his hiding place. "I’m here, but it was an accident, I swear. I didn’t – ow!"

Snape had reached out and grabbed Harry by the ear. The man looked livid, angrier than Harry had seen him before, including the time when Black had been set free in the third year along with Buckbeak.

"I am going to ask you a few simple questions," Snape said silkily, making shivers run up and down Harry’s spine. "If you answer them truthfully, I might just let you live until morning. When you went down the hallway earlier, was the door open?"

"No," Harry found himself leaning towards Snape’s hand to relieve the pressure on his ear, "but it wasn’t locked."

"Did you hear what I said about doors that were closed?" Snape’s voice grew even softer.

"Y-yes, but –"

"And Potter," Snape was speaking in a whisper now, "did you understand what I meant when I said not to enter rooms with the door closed?"

"Yes," Harry was turned red, his cheeks tinged pick with shame.

"So you pushed open the door and went inside, knowing full well you shouldn’t be in there. Did you decide it would be fun to start playing potions, mixing things together to see what would happen?"

"No, I saw the cloak on the top shelf –" Harry stopped suddenly, realizing he had just given himself away.

A fierce light gleamed in Snape’s eye. "So, you went looking for your cloak, did you? You decided to find it despite my warnings that you did not need it. It was on the top shelf. Did you try to climb up on the shelves to reach it?"

"Yes, but I put the cloak back up as soon as I saw it wasn’t mine. Then the shelves started falling off the wall. I jumped and ran for the door, and then everything exploded."

"So not only did you disobey me again, you put yourself into danger simply because, once again, you knew better than I did. Are you starting to see a pattern here, Potter?"

Harry looked away. The sinking feeling in his stomach was plunging lower by the moment.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to stock that store?" Snape continued, his fingers tightening and making Harry wince in pain. "Do you have any idea what it cost? Thankfully, I have another small store downstairs next to my potions lab, but I keep dozens of valuable vials and bottles up here. The ingredients to make the potion I gave you to keep from burning the other night – they came from the store upstairs."

"I’m sorry!" Harry cried out. He felt just awful, like he had an empty cavern in his stomach that could not be filled, and he was turning redder, and maybe Snape would kill him so he wouldn’t have to keep feeling so bad. He ruined everything – any time someone tried to help him, Harry managed to ruin it.

Snape had no sympathy. "Believe me, Potter, you are about to serve the worst punishment you could possibly imagine. You knew what I had told you, but you went ahead and did what you wanted, ignoring my orders. That falls under willful disobedience. I did not tell you about the different kinds of disobedience simply to hear myself talk – I did it so you would think about your actions and the consequences they have, and not disobey me! But because you insist on behaving like a child, I will treat you like one. For the next two days, a full forty-eight hours, you don’t leave my sight. Since you cannot be trusted to mind me when I am not there, I will stay with you and see that you behave. You will sit with me in the potions lab while I work, come into my study when I send letters, and sleep on the sofa in my room at night. At the end of two days, if I think you can be on your own again, you’ll be allowed to return to your schedule under certain restrictions. If not, then you’ll have to stay by my side until school starts."

Harry’s mouth dropped open, but he could not articulate a single sound.

"In addition, you’ll go to bed at eight o’clock for the next week and do chores around the manor to show me how sorry you are. If I hear any complaining or whining, I’ll extend your punishment. Also, you’ll accompany me to Diagon Alley to replace the items you destroyed. In short, you’ll be the best, most helpful, most considerate boy you can be, or you’ll be a very unhappy Potter."

Harry nodded, trying to look as contrite and miserable as possible. He did feel bad – it was stupid and thoughtless to blow up Snape’s lab. Harry remembered how upset he had felt in the second year when someone had rifled through his dorm room in search of Riddle’s Diary. It had been Ginny and she had been possessed, but Harry remembered how angry he had felt that someone would rip through his things, completely heedless of his feelings or concerns. It had not been a good feeling, and Snape probably felt even more frustrated because he needed the potions store to do his work, both as a teacher and as a spy.

"I am sorry, really," Harry insisted. "I promise I’ll listen in the future, I really do."

"We’ll see about that," Snape growled. "Oh, and one more thing." He pulled Harry over to the sofa and sat down before dragging Harry over his knees.

"Oh, no!" Harry protested, both in dread and in shame. He had forgotten that this was the same sofa on which Snape had first punished him. Why did he have to choose this room to hide in? If he had hidden anywhere else, Snape might not have remembered how much Harry hated having to be punished this way.

"Accio ruler," Snape said, a certain vindictive pleasure in his voice.

Harry angrily crossed his arms, not an easy task to accomplish while hanging over someone’s lap. It was one thing for Snape to punish him, but Harry knew that if he looked back the man would be sneering with delight, glad for an excuse to beat his ward again.

That’s not fair, a small voice inside Harry spoke up. You blew up his potions store, and you’re surprised that he’s going to smack you a few times?

Yes, but he’s going to use a ruler instead of his hand, and he shouldn’t look so satisfied when he gets to punish me. He’s the only person besides Flich and Umbridge that enjoys hurting other people, savoring their punishments like the sadistic prat he is.

You disobeyed him, the small voice argued. You heard what he said, and you did the opposite. I warned you not to go in there, but you just had to. And if that had been your cloak on the shelf, he would have known it was gone and would have come looking for you. This isn’t Hogwarts where you can blame stuff on other students – it’s just the two of you.

Well, still, he doesn’t have to look so pleased. He could look a little sorry that he’s going to wale my rear again when I didn’t mean any of it.

Oh, shut up, the voice replied. You destroyed part of his house. You deserve every bit of punishment he hands out. In fact, he should use a belt right now, not some flimsy ruler. So once he starts, you take your punishment like a man.

All these thoughts passed through his head in a matter of seconds, but Harry barely had time to resign himself to his fate before Snape brought down the ruler with a crack.

Harry sucked in breath and knew his conscience was wrong on two points. First of all, the ruler was not flimsy at all. Harry could not see it, but it felt like a thick slab of wood slamming into his helpless bottom. And second, there was no way he would be able to take it like a man since the second and third whacks made his eyes smart painfully and he could barely keep himself from reaching back in attempts to shield himself.

"I had thought that you were really too old for this kind of punishment," Snape said in between hard smacks. "After all, you are about to turn sixteen, and this probably is more befitting to a eight- or nine-year-old. However, it seems to get through to you better than anything else."

Harry tried not to cry, he told himself he was too old to cry, and he was not going to reinforce Snape’s opinion that this was an appropriate punishment. But Snape meant business, and by smack ten, Harry felt a few tears start to leak out. By the twentieth smack, he didn’t care about his dignity or his pride, and he only cared about when Snape would stop paddling him.

"All right, all right," Harry wailed, twisting away from the ruler pitifully. "I swear I won’t ow! disobey you again. I swear, I swear I’ll be good."

"Oh, promises, promises," Snape scoffed, not pausing for a second. "The moment you see an opportunity, off you go, forgetting every rule, only caring about doing what you want at the moment. But when you get caught, it’s all tears and sad puppy looks. Now, stop squirming, and let me finish. I declare, the only time you behave is after I tan your hide good and hard. I should wallop you every morning, just to ensure that you mind me for the rest of the day."

"No!" Harry felt desperate. "No, don’t do that! Please, I will behave, you’ve got to believe me." Tears were falling freely down his face, and he didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

"I don’t have to do anything of the kind," Snape retorted. "I’ll stop once I think you’ve got the message, you disobedient, arrogant, horrible little brat."

Four wallops later, and something in Harry finally broke, crumbling his resolve to pieces, and he started crying in earnest. Even after Snape delivered one last stinging smack to the seat of Harry’s trousers and then put the ruler aside, Harry did not attempt to move, but lay there in tears and remorse. He expected Snape to yank him and seat him down on the sofa for another lecture. Or worse, make him go put his nose in the corner and stand there for a long time to think about how he could improve his behavior. Or yell at him to get out of the room so Snape didn’t have to see him any longer

But Snape did none of those things. He shook his head, commenting, "Really, Potter, you’re more trouble than you’re worth." But as he spoke he helped Harry stand on his feet, a firm hand on each arm so Harry would not fall.

In utter contrition, Harry stood there, tears still leaking out and feeling for all the world like a well-punished child. For some unknown reason, he wanted to be near someone, anyone, just not to be alone in his misery. He hated the feeling of loneliness, ever so strong since Sirius had died.

"All right, Potter, pull yourself together," Snape said, rather sternly, but as he spoke, he placed a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

Later Harry would blush and look away when he thought about what he did next. It was really so immature, so babyish – if Ron ever found out, Harry could never look him in the eye again. But standing in the sitting room, Harry abandoned all logical thought and wrapped both his hands around Snape’s wrist and laid his head down on the man’s forearm. It felt so good just to be near someone, not to feel utterly alone and lost in the world.

Snape almost jerked back from the boy’s hold, but then sighed heavily. "There, there," he said awkwardly, giving Harry a few pats on the back, "stop making such a fuss. And I’m still extremely upset with you. Come now, you’re really too old to be crying like this."

Harry yanked away from Snape, the feeling of comfort gone. "First, you say I’m acting childishly and need to be punished like one, and now I’m too old? Make up your mind!"

Snape grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, turned him to the side, and gave Harry two sharp slaps on the rear. "Don’t you take that tone with me, boy, or you’ll find yourself back over my knee until you learn some respect. Now, we’re going to see if we can salvage any of the potions store."

Resisting the urge to rub his smarting behind, Harry was pushed reluctantly back towards the site of disaster. His tears had stopped thankfully, but he felt embarrassed that he had carried on so, like some two-year-old tired and hungry, needing a nap and bursting into tears. If Snape ever told anyone about this – well, Harry wasn’t sure what he could do, but he knew he would not be happy with Snape.

"I don’t understand why you can’t use magic to put it back," Harry ventured, careful to keep his voice very respectful. "Can’t you just, you know, reverse everything and unbreak the glass and have the potions fly up on the shelves? I’ve seen Hermione fix my glasses when they get broken."

"It’s not that simple," Snape growled, still pulling Harry along by the back of his neck. "I might could mend one bottle, provided the ingredients inside were not too shaken up. But once they get mixed with other ingredients, you can’t undo the mixture. It becomes a chemical change, not a physical."

"But why can’t –"

"No, you can’t," Snape insisted. "It’s not like melting ice into water and then refreezing it. It would be likely cooking meat and then trying to turn it raw again. Magic can’t change all the laws of physics not matter how many annoying brats wish it were different. And add to it flammable chemicals that ignite when broken open and mixed –"

Harry felt the hand around the back of his neck tighten.

"Potter," Snape had returned to his deadly whisper, "you better pray I can find one salvageable item in that mess, or you’re not going to sit down for a week."

The smell was terrible as they neared the door, and Harry tried not to gag. The potions store was in shambles: broken shelves all over the floor, glass laying in jagged shards, and nasty things coated in slime and brown goo oozing around the glass and wood, and stinking fumes lingering up in slow, thick clouds. Harry clasped a hand over his mouth, hoping he wouldn’t throw up.

"Look at this, just look at it," Snape said crossly.

Harry was trying not to.

"You never do anything halfway, do you?" Snape stepped over the remnants of the door to better survey the mess. "Bat livers gone, dragonfly wings destroyed – you broke my one vial of unicorn horn dust! Do you have any idea how hard that was to come by? It’s going to take half your parents’ fortune to replace everything, so I hope you’re happy."

Oh, that was a bummer. Harry slumped a little farther down in despair. The money his parents had worked for and saved and tucked away for the future, now spent to replenish the potions store of his father’s rival. Maybe this was poetic justice . . . somehow.

"Nothing, nothing," Snape raised a ragged edge of the shelves and looked underneath. "Ruined, smashed, exploded – ah-ha! One bottle of pickled dragon’s eggs, unharmed." He levitated the unbroken bottle outside the room into the hall.

Harry didn’t know whether he should offer to help or stay where he was. Either way, Snape would probably yell at him. Harry frowned and got in a quick rub at his sore bottom while Snape was rifling through what looked like pigs’ toes and minced dragons’ hearts. Harry wanted to be mad, to stay angry, but the truth was, Snape had let him live for the time being. And Harry had learned to be grateful for small blessings.

"All right," Snape finally stood up and ran a hand back through his dark hair, "out of a store that used to hold 768 perfectly good supplies, I found four usable vials. That means that I have to find 764 new ingredients by September. And here I thought we might have a relaxing summer."

"I said I was sorry," Harry protested. " And I haven’t complained about my punishments, any of them."

"Because if you did, I would use your tongue as one of the replacement supplies," Snape shot at him. "Well, stop standing there looking like a complete idiot. We’re going downstairs to get protective gloves, and then you’re going to clean it all up while I write letters for new supplies. Move!"

-----

Snape was as good (or as bad depending on how you looked at it) as his word. For two hours while Harry cleaned up, Snape sat in a chair in the doorway and browsed through catalogues of potions supplies, marking the new supplies he needed. Harry tried to work quickly, thick leather gloves on his hands and a charmed cloth tied over his nose and mouth so he could breathe, but the job dragged on forever. Most infuriating of all was that Harry knew Snape could clean it all up with a wave of his wand if he wanted to. For that matter, Harry could clean up with a wave of his own wand if the overgrown bat would let him have it instead of doing this tedious manual cleaning for hours.

"You missed a spot," Snape pointed with his wand to the far corner without looking up.

Harry straightened, wiping his sweaty forehead on his arm and pulling the cloth down off his face. "The floor has been stained in a few places. What do I used to clean it up?"

"Your mouth," Snape still did not look up from the catalogue.

"Very funny," Harry retorted.

"Fine, I have a toothbrush you can use later to scrub the entire floor," Snape commented.

"It’ll probably get more use here than on your teeth," Harry muttered under his breath.

Snape looked up from the catalogue. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, I’m cleaning," Harry hastily went back to work.

By the time the room was clean enough, all broken stuff in trash bins and the floor empty but needing a good scrubbing, they went to supper. Harry’s shoulders ached from picking up all the broken shelves, and his back hurt from bending over for so long, and his rear end was unbelievable sore as he tried to sit without squirming or showing his discomfort. He could Snape trying not to smirk, which made Harry feel twice as contrary and out of sorts.

But worst of all was when Snape announced that it was time for bed. Harry grimly followed Snape upstairs and to the door of the master bedroom. Snape’s bedroom was oddly usual and unremarkable – dark, handsome colors and rich mahogany with accents of black iron, a very masculine room. Snape handed Harry a pair of pajamas and pointed to the bathroom. A long, hot bath sounded like just the thing to help relieve his soreness.

Harry headed into the bathroom, but when he turned around, Snape was standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a resigned expression.

"Hey, I’m getting undressed here!" Harry objected.

"I said I’m not letting you out of my sight for two days," Snape replied calmly. "For all I know, you’ll try to flood the bathroom to see if you can make an indoor pool."

"I’m not undressing with you watching," Harry stated, crossing his own arms.

"Oh, don’t be a baby, Potter. You’ve taken showers with boys before, and I’ve been Head of Slytherin for years. It’s not as if I’ve never seen a boy naked before, and just to rest your mind, I prefer something a little more feminine and older, a woman with charms not a half-grown brat with an attitude problem."

"I’ve never seen you interested in women," Harry said suspiciously, but he pulled his shirt off as he spoke.

"At Hogwarts? Where the only females are underage students and married or spinster teachers? You’re right, Potter, how could you have possibly missed that I find women attractive when I’m surrounded by such eligible females?"

Harry was pulling off his socks and shoes, but he stopped for a moment. "What about Tonks? She not too young or too old, and you never looked interested in her."

"That’s just what I need, a snippet of a witch with color-changing hair and a smart mouth. Take a bath and stop annoying me with questions."

Harry was in the sudsy, hot water, swishing a wash cloth over a bar of soap when he ventured to ask, "Are Death Eaters allowed to get married?"

Snape, who was now leaning against the doorpost in boredom, glanced over to his soapy ward. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know, can you get married after you become a Death Eater? I know Lucius Malfoy is one and Bellatrix Lestrange, and they’re both married, but I thought they became Death Eaters after they were married. I mean, does he like his followers to love someone other than him?"

"I wouldn’t know," Snape answered shortly. "No one has ever mentioned marriage at the meetings. And don’t speak Bellatrix’s name in this house."

Harry blinked. "You don’t like Bellatrix? But I thought –"

"I said don’t talk about her," Snape ordered, his voice hard. His dark eyes were glinting with fury, and Harry could see that Snape was clenching his hands into fists beneath his sleeves. "No more talking. Start scrubbing, and wash that dirty hair of yours."

This was an excellent opportunity to tell Snape that he should wash his own hair, but Harry only nodded mutely as he reached for the shampoo.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was lying on his new, makeshift bed: a large sofa with a soft pillow and sheets and blankets tucked around him. His body was tired from the hard day of work, but Harry’s mind kept racing, refusing to let him rest. Why did Snape hate Bellatrix? She had killed one of the people Snape had hated the most. And was Snape really going to let him go to Diagon Alley to collect more potions? And was what with Snape liking women? Not that Harry thought the potions master should like men or anything like that – to be honest, he didn’t like to think that Snape could be romantic at all. He tried to picture Snape wooing some woman in the dungeon, telling her she was beautiful as he mashed up beetles for a nasty potion.

"Whatever you’re snickering at," Snape said from the desk across the room, "stop it, and go to sleep."

"It’s too early to sleep," Harry complained, twisting on the sofa. And it felt weird to be lying on the sofa, trying to fall asleep while Snape worked at his desk. What felt even stranger was the fact Harry didn’t find the whole situation to be that disconcerting. He had done something terrible and been thoroughly punished, but instead of lying there seething and hoping for revenge, Harry felt warm and safe inside. He should be mad, but that would take an awful lot of energy, and it was more fun to think about what would happen in the next few weeks than plot against Snape, which seemed to be getting him into more trouble lately.

"How are you feeling?" Snape asked, thumbing through a large book with one hand.

"Sore," Harry grumbled, trying to find a comfortable position on the sofa.

Snape got up and walked over to the large wardrobe and looked through it until he found a small corked bottle. He took out a big spoon and walked over to the sofa. "Here, swallow this," Snape poured out a good amount of thick, black goo into the spoon and held it out towards Harry.

"That’s gross, and I’m not sick, just achy from cleaning," Harry said flatly. It was ridiculous to refuse because he knew Snape would make him take the potions eventually, but Harry was not going to do everything the man said just because Snape was in charge. The man was a total control-freak, feasting on power the way vampires feasted on blood. Once Harry gave into him, the potions master was likely to suck the life right out of his ward.

"Immobulus," Snape had pulled out his wand with his free hand, and Harry fell back on his pillow with a thud. Snape set the spoon on the table and reached for the bottle. "I think you need an extra large dose of this delightful medicine to help curb your tongue." Snape began pouring the gooey stuff into Harry’s open mouth, and Harry’s eyes bulged at the horrendous taste. Honestly, each potion seemed to taste worst than the last, designed just to torture him with its nasty taste. And now he was going to choke because he could not swallow while under the spell, nor could he tell Snape that though he doubted Snape would care whether or not his ward choked as long as he was quiet and still.

After pouring what seemed like half the bottle in Harry’s mouth, Snape recorked the bottle and reached to push Harry’s mouth closed. Some of the medicine drooled out of the corner of Harry’s lips, but Snape wiped it away with a clean handkerchief. "All right, Potter, just swallow. Your natural reflexes still work. Swallow the potion and then you can go to sleep."

Harry tried, he really did, but he could not get the awful stuff down. Snape sighed (he was huffer and puffer in the manor, always sighing over something, Harry furiously thought). However, Harry’s eyes widened a little more as he felt cold fingers firmly stroke over his throat as Snape encouraged, "Come one, Potter, you can do it. Just swallow – there we go, good boy."

The nasty potion made its way down Harry’s throat, leaving a disgusting aftertaste in its wake.

"Since you cannot obey me in little things," Snape was a little sterner now, "I’m extending your time within my sight to three days. Furthermore –" Snape broke off suddenly, and his face blanched with pain for second.

Fear shot through Harry, but he was powerless to move or even voice his concerns.

Snape’s right hand flew to his left wrist, where under the long sleeve of the black robe Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin. Voldemort must be calling a meeting of the Death Eaters.

Snape straightened, calm and resolved once more. "I have to leave for a bit. Luckily, it’s bedtime for you so I don’t need to worry about your whereabouts. You close your eyes and go on to sleep, and I’ll be back in a few hours."

Harry tried to speak, to yell, but all he could manage was a rumbling sound deep in his throat. He tried to talk with his eyes, but that had not worked last time, and he really didn’t expect it to work now.

"Potter, I will be fine, much to your dismay I’m sure," Snape said dryly. He pulled the covers up over Harry’s shoulders and dimmed the candlelight. "The Dark Lord has not been killing his followers lately – there are too few of us already, and he needs every single person still alive and loyal. Now, just relax and don’t worry. I’ll be back before morning, and if not, the house elves will tend to you.

Harry made the throaty noise again, praying that Snape would let him talk.

"Potter, there’s nothing you can say that will keep me here, or as you would probably prefer, let you go with me. You’re staying on that sofa because you’re being punished. Good night."

Snape Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving Harry all alone in the dim room. Harry stared up at the ceiling, blinking quickly. He refused to cry, he didn’t care what Snape had done to him, but the prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes was stronger than his resolve for not crying.

It was just the reality of the whole thing that was getting to him. Sometimes Voldemort and the whole prophecy thing seemed like a far off dream, something to worry about later. But here at Snape’s house, it was real. Snape was being summoned to a Death Eater’s meeting, and knowing first-hand Voldemort’s need for inflicting pain, there was a good chance that Snape might get tortured tonight. What if he were tortured to the breaking point and he revealed Harry’s true location? What if Death Eaters stormed Snapdragon Manor that very night while Harry lay on the sofa, powerless to fight back? He could picture the frightening mask gliding up to his bed, leaning over him with a cold smile underneath.

Harry shut his eyes tightly, trying to push the image away. Snape was stronger than that – he would not agree to let Harry stay at his home without ensuring Harry’s safety. What if Snape couldn’t reveal Harry’s whereabouts so Voldemort tortured him until Snape lost his mind, like the Longbottoms? And then he would be shipped to St. Mungo’s to spend the rest of his days in mindless idleness, humming to himself like Neville’s parents. And Harry would be responsible for it, just like he was responsible for everything else. It wasn’t bad enough that he had ruined Snape’s house and his summer, now he was making sure Snape physically suffered at well.

Harry could feel the potion starting to work; already he felt less sore and more comfortable, and his body wanted to drift off into pleasant sleep. But he forced his eyes open. He was not sleeping until Snape came back, not until Snape was in the bedroom, alive and in one piece.

It was going to be a long night for the both of them.